by Luke Donegan
“And you dived in and pulled me up,” said Jay.
“Yes. You were lucky. If I hadn’t spotted you ...”
The Hearth-Father’s eyes were lost in thoughts and darkness.
Passage. Passage through this world, the man thought to himself. How much more is left to me?
He listened to the waves below. Starlight brushed his skin, the finest brush imaginable. The busy sounds of the children came from the buildings behind. He felt a hollowing in his chest, a growing emptiness.
Presently the children gathered on the balcony. Rhada and Grace held two of the youngest children in their arms. Jay stood on the balcony before the waiting group, starlight and the endless ocean behind him.
The warrior son of a noble family, Lui Pang was called to arms under the banner of Shih Huang-ti. Lui Pang excelled in battle, and during Huang-ti’s campaigns he rose quickly through the ranks to become Huang-ti’s foremost general. He was the Dragon of Sichuan and the dragon’s wings were emblazoned on his breastplate.
A garden lizard perched on Lui Pang’s shoulder. The lizard had a green body with red patches about its mouth and neck. The lizard’s long tail wrapped around Lui Pang’s neck. Some people thought the lizard was a bloodsucker, and that it fed from the vessels at Lui Pang’s neck. His closest companions knew this not to be true - they had seen Lui Pang feeding insects to the lizard he caught spiraling around lamplights at night.
Lui Pang and the lizard were never separated. Members of the Animist Cults in the city thought that the lizard was Lui Pang’s soul.
On the Emperor’s wedding night he rowed Shih Huang-ti and Sui-lin along the Yellow River. Sui-lin laughed as Lui Pang’s lizard clicked and snapped at water bugs in the night air. She caressed the lizard – it looked at her, blinking its eyes with pleasure. Lui Pang had sworn to protect the Empress with his life.
When the Dao stole Sui-lin Lui Pang dove into the river after the receding boat.
“It is law,” cried Shih Huang-ti after him. “She is his payment.”
Lui Pang swam after the boat. It receded fast on the current, beyond his grasp.
In the years that followed the Empire of Ch’in fell into decay. The Tiger slept behind his barred door as the Dragon fought to keep the Empire together. Lui Pang rallied the faithful and met invading armies in the hills surrounding Ch’ang-an. His lizard companion screeched as the Dragon raced into battle.
Winter came and the armies surrounding them grew. One morning he stepped from the Palace of Shih Huang-ti to find the Yellow River frozen solid. A servant girl cried out that the Emperor had gone. Lui Pang sat on the Emperor’s empty bed for a long time. His heart was broken and the lizard wailed like a newborn.
Lui Pang became the caretaker Emperor of Ch’in, but despite his determination, he could not prevent its decline. After twenty years he was an aging man. His hair had become gray and the empire little more than a city-state. With his lizard wrapped about his neck he donned an old cloak and walked into the city disguised as a peasant. In the taverns and mahjong halls he listened to conversations and read the morale of the city. This night he listened to the tale of a boastful man. The man had flaming red hair.
I brought about the downfall of the old Emperor, claimed the man. I stole his wife, the fair Sui-lin, and together we sailed down the river to the sea.
Rubbish, cried one man.
Lies, cried another.
More drink for the crazy man, called a third.
It is true. See my fangs.
He growled and transformed into his animal form, a tiger.
His drinking companions leapt back from the table. Lui Pang drew his sword and held it at the throat of the animist.
I believe you, he said. Tell me more.
The animist with flaming hair and long whiskers laughed. Why should I talk to you? he asked. A common soldier. I do not fear you.
Lui Pang whipped his cloak aside. The dragon on his breastplate shone for all in the room to see.
His lizard hissed at the animist.
I am the Caretaker of Chang-an, Lui Pang told him. Tell me about Sui-lin. Where did you take her?
The animist hissed. You will not find her, he whispered in Lui Pang’s ear. She has gone to the Land of the Dead. There, far beneath the sea they call her Empress.
Lui Pang dragged the Dao into the street and threw him to the ground.
Take me there, to the Land of the Dead.
The Dao scoffed. No-one living can go to the Land of the Dead, he declared.
Nevertheless, you will lead me.
He swung his sword and the head of flaming red hair landed in the mud a few feet away. The animist departed the Land of the Living.
Lui Pang followed the animist’s spirit to the river. There they boarded a barge of the dead and pushed out into the swift stream. During the weeks it took to reach the sea, they did not speak. The dead do not speak with the living. But, for the entire journey, the tiger man howled with fury, allowing Lui Pang little sleep. He hissed at the lizard until it slipped beneath Lui Pang’s robes to hide.
On a dark, misty morning, they passed through the delta where the river opened into the sea. Other barges were visible on the wide horizon. Ghosts stepped from the decks and slipped beneath the ocean surface. The tiger man gave a final terrifying roar and stepped from the barge. Lui Pang watched the animist recede into the depths.
With grievous resolve Lui Pang placed his lizard on the deck of the boat.
I must leave you, he said. But I will return.
The lizard squealed with the pain of separation. It scrambled across the deck to re-join him. I will return, I promise, he said. Lui Pang leapt from the barge into the ocean. The lizard whimpered as it watched Lui Pang sink into the dark shadows below. It fell to the deck under the misty, heaving sky, crushed with loss.
Down, down sank Lui Pang, into the darkness. Ghosts fell with him, dim light emanating from each spirit. He ignored his growing, mortal need for air. He searched the Spirits until he found the one he sought. He swam towards the animist. No! the tiger man roared. You cannot enter. But Lui Pang grasped the Dao’s leg. The spirit dragged him all the way to the Land of the Dead.
There, in the dark land of ashes and dust, surrounded by legions of the dead, stood the Empress Sui-lin ...
Hearth-Father clutched his sides. “No,” he moaned. “Too soon! Too soon!” He collapsed on the balcony. Spasms rocked his body. His chair rattled across the balcony, struck by kicking legs.
The children cried out in alarm.
“Grace, run for the Doctor. And the Mother,” ordered Rhada. She held Hearth-Father in her arms.
“Teacher, what’s happening?” asked Grace.
“Run. Now!”
Jay rallied the older children. “John. Ayodhya. Get the children inside.”
Jayda stood on the balcony, wringing her hands.
“Is it Passage?” asked Ayodhya.
“Yes,” he said. “Quickly now.”
The older children gathered their charges together and left the balcony.
The man writhed and struggled. Jay and Rhada were barely able to keep him down. At regular intervals his body convulsed, his chest lifting as he cried out in pain. Jay met Rhada’s eyes, each searching the other for hope.
“How long will it take?” asked Rhada.
“I don’t know.”
Ayodhya returned carrying two pillows. She placed them beneath the Father’s head.
“Are the children okay?” Rhada asked.
“They are frightened but they are in bed.”
For a time the convulsions lessened. The Father relaxed, opened his eyes and looked at the children.
“Rhada? Jay?”
“We are here,” said Jay.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes, we can.”
“You must be strong. The children will need you.”
Tears squeezed from Rhada’s eyes.
“We will be strong, Father,” said Jay.
“Hmm,” muttered the Hearth-Father, closing his eyes. His body shook and he screamed. His chest heaved upwards. Jay and Rhada each held one of his arms to keep him anchored. His back arched. He screamed and screamed, and then something inside him snapped.
He fell to the boards. The screaming stopped as his body slumped on the balcony.
“Is the Mother summoned?” he asked breathlessly.
“Yes, Father” said Jay. “And the Doctor.”
“There is no need for the Doctor. It is upon me now. But I never believed it would hurt like this.”
He opened his eyes but his gaze was blank.
“I can’t see you. Where are you? I must hold you.”
“I am here, Father,” said Jay.
“Rhada, where are you? I must hold you.”
The Teacher of Ocean-Hearth moved past Jay and knelt beside the Father. Jay sat on the boards, separate from the two, cut off from the exchange about to occur.
A golden light sprang from the Father’s chest, a ball of shimmering light growing slowly larger.
Ayodhya cried out. “He’s dying!”
“The Mother will not be on time,” said Hearth-Father. “Do you hear me, Jay? You must witness. I give it all to Rhada. Do you hear? All to her. She will be Hearth-Mother. You are witness.”
He grasped the girl in his arms as the ball of light erupted in his chest. Rhada screamed but the Father held her firmly. Their eyes met and everything in him passed to her. All his wishes, his regrets, his all-consuming love for the children. It passed into her. And he found peace and comfort in this passing, knowing, for the first time in his life, that he was completely understood by another being.
The body inside the light disintegrated from the chest outwards. Light radiated out like flames into the night. It built and shone, projecting upwards into the dark night. Rhada cried and fell backwards as the heat of Passage scorched her arms.
Hearth-Father wailed one last, lonely cry as his spirit streaked away and was consumed by Dark Matter. This man, composed of flesh and love and passion, was gone. Nothing remained but empty space and memory.
The Mother arrived with her retinue from the Ascendancy. Jay and Rhada met the five figures in the courtyard. The Mother, white cloaked figure with gold mask, came forward but did not speak. The children bowed deeply for a long time. Eventually one of the retinue spoke.
“I am the Hearth Administrator,” said a tall woman. “This is my scion,” she said, indicating a younger woman. She gestured to the other two members of her group. “This is the Counselor, and his scion.”
“In the morning I will meet with the children and explain Passage,” said the Counselor solemnly. “They will have many questions.” He touched his fingers to the black sash that swept across his shoulder. “Grief is a natural response to Passage, but to grieve too much and for too long is to invite evil.”
Jay looked at the man with disdain. “How long is too long for a child to grieve?” he asked.
The Administrator interrupted. “Were you present when Hearth-Father passed?”
“Yes.”
“You are to ascend in his place?”
Jay shook his head. Rhada stepped forward. “I am Teacher of Ocean-Hearth,” she said. ”And Scion-Parent.”
“But you are very young,” questioned the Administrator. “How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
“That is too young for such responsibility.” She turned to Jay. “Why did he not choose you?”
“I am Scion-Teacher at the Museum. I have other responsibilities.”
He was pained to speak these words. Part of him felt it should have passed to him. He had been Teacher until a few months earlier. But for timing it would have passed to him.
“But you were here. Late at night.”
“I live here,” said Jay. “And work at the Museum.”
“Hearth-Father allowed you to live here, although you had no role?” The Administrator raised an eyebrow and exchanged a look with the Counselor. “This needs to be examined in the morning. We will return to the Ascendancy and arrange for an interim Hearth-Parent to oversee Ocean-Hearth.”
“But, it was passed to me,” argued Rhada. “Jay was witness. I was Father’s scion. Father meant for me to become Hearth-Mother.”
The Administrator shook her head. “You are too young. We will return again in the morning.”
“But,” started Rhada.
At that moment the Mother stepped forward and spoke. Her voice was deep and seemed to emerge from the night itself.
“Scion follows master, and we all ascend to the ocean of souls.” The golden mask lowered towards Rhada. “His memories are in her. She will be Hearth-Mother of Ocean-Hearth.”
Without hesitation the Administrator conceded. “Yes, Mother,”
The Mother gazed at the girl. Rhada bowed her head and kept her eyes downcast. “Thank you, Mother,” she whispered.
The Mother watched her for long minutes. Then she turned to Jay. Dark eyes behind the gold mask bored into his own eyes. They held him, as had the eyes of the Instructor and the Director. The others waited in silence as the Mother finished her scrutiny.
“Poor little bird,” said the Mother. “She is your friend. But she has taken something from you.”
The ascendant turned and walked from the courtyard.
“We will return tomorrow to complete our official duties,” said the Administrator. “You will be hard pressed,” she said to Rhada. “I have never heard of a Hearth-Mother so young.”
The retinue followed the Mother out of the courtyard, leaving Jay and Rhada alone. Their private thoughts, their fears and disappointments, glazed their bodies like an invisible barrier, keeping them apart.
Chapter 6 BELONG
He had never witnessed a human’s Passage. He had seen animals die. As a boy he had watched an old laying hen at Ocean-Hearth approach Passage. The bird twisted and squawked as its body erupted into golden light.
He had watched ants and jelly stingers disappear in little puffs of light. And he had been raised to see this as a wondrous thing.
But now Jay knew that Passage was not natural death. Every dissipation of golden light represented a life cheated of its life. The breaking of natural law. Seeing it for the first time as an Aberration, in the death of a loved one, broke his heart. Hearth-Father should have been riding the wind, not lost in abject darkness.
And now Rhada was Hearth-Mother. The Counselor and the Administrator had returned the following morning. The Mother did not return. In a simple ceremony the Hearth-Father was fairwelled and Rhada formally recognised as Hearth-Mother of Ocean-Hearth. The Counselor spent the day with the children, discussing Passage and its function in the natural order of life.
It is all lies, thought Jay as he listened to the explanation. Do you know you are speaking lies?
That night Jay and Rhada sat with the children and answered their questions as best they could.
“Where did he go?” asked a boy.
“It is Passage, not death,” said Rhada. “Death is when you die accidentally and your body remains on the Earth. Passage is a journey to the ocean of souls. There all our memories come together. Hearth-Father is in a good place.”
Jay watched his friend explain Passage to the children. He desperately wanted to tell the truth. But it could only cause despair.
“Can he see us?” asked a girl.
“Perhaps, Ellen. The Spirit realm is located between the stars and the galaxies. Far away. But it is also here, with us. In us, like a great wind blowing through our bodies. I believe that the spirits of all who have passed to the spirit realm are still with us. Though we cannot see them.”
Waves crashed on the rocks below Ocean-Hearth. Jay stood and looked over the balcony. One of the older boys raised his hand.
“What about those who die before Passage? Their bodies remain, but where do they go?”
Rhada looked to Jay for help. His back faced her.
“I don’t know John
,” she said. “Some think that people who die early get another chance. That they are reborn and live another life until they come to Passage. Perhaps this is true.”
She looked again at Jay, wanting his help.
Then came a question she could not answer.
“Hearth-Mother,” said Jayda. “When Hearth-Father went to the spirit realm? Did it hurt?”
Rhada looked from Jayda to Jay. Her mouth was open, but she did not know what to say.
The Scion-Teacher and the Scion-Triumvirate held regular lessons for the Museum children. Jay and the Scion-Curator of Science gathered the children in the Science Dome to learn about the planets and the Solar System. Masodi described the planets in turn according to mass, radius, term of orbit, distance from sun, and number of moons.
The Scion-Curator was in his late teens. Black hair fell about his face. The children gazed from the observation platform at the red dusty surface of a planet.
“This is Mars,” said Masodi. “Fourth planet from the sun, orbiting once every 689.98 days at a distance varying between 1.38 and 1.67 astronomical units. Who knows what an astronomical unit is? Anyone?”
Blank stares met this question.
Why are we teaching them figures? thought Jay. Tell them what it is. Tell them we sent terraformers to Mars, thousands of years ago. And after the Quask Wars we left them there to die.
“How many times do I have to tell you this? Repeat after me. An astronomical unit is the average distance of the earth to the sun.”
Masodi and Jay shared little in common. Masodi did not respect the subjective nature of narrative, which was the essence of the Teacher’s craft.
“There is no interpretation in Science,” Masodi told Jay in their preparation session. “Science is about truth. There is nothing else.”
“I disagree. I believe that interpretation is all we have.”
“Then I request that you do not take part in my lessons. I understand that you must be present. But leave the Science to me.”
Jay looked at the Scion-Curator. “Do you dislike me because I am not Erys?” he asked. “It is not my fault.”
Masodi turned away. Like a bird in a cage, an answer fluttered behind his lips, and remained unspoken.
