Limbo

by Thiago d'Evecque

  Finn mac Cumhail had returned.

  Finn’s resonant voice and fiery speech sparked new memories. Memories of the height of a battle between angels, when our resolve seemed to fail, and one ally stirred the flame of hope in our hearts to dismiss all doubt.

  Her name was Belial.

  When our foes drove us out of the heavens and we fought back, fed up with tyranny, I remember fighting alongside Azazel, but that memory was blurred. He smiled as we threw ourselves at enemy swords in a battle doomed from the start.

  Every time we attacked, we were violently repelled, and the angel Belial howled again, singing about freedom, about dying rather than accepting slavery, that we were the children of indignation. Belial, short black hair, muscular black body, invincible, tenacious. In the end, she fell like everyone else. They ripped off her freedom, as they did her white wings. Her fragile presence blinked in the Limbo, cold, silent, grim. Unreachable. Like the glow of a distant star that had actually exploded and gone out ages ago.

  My head spun as the Irish landscape crumbled around me, throwing me once more into the barren, black nothingness. The thin outline of my small muscles was now visible. I leaned against Chuck before I collapsed.

  Are you all right?

  “Just a little dizzy, I’m fine.”

  You’d better be, he said, but without the characteristic evil conviction.

  I shook my head a few times. “I won’t leave you yet. You would miss me terribly.”

  Want to bet?

  Halfway through my journey, I thought of the sixth soul to send to the world of man. I chose someone who was a symbol of healing, of zeal; someone who showed care, generosity, both in body and spirit. Someone who would calm the afflicted with words of peace. That is why I would course the Tao to meet the representatives of prosperity and good fortune, the group that ascended to Enlightenment, from earthly life to ethereal divinity.

  I would go to the Eight Chinese Immortals.

  7

  ONE WAY, A THOUSAND DIRECTIONS

  The Eight Immortals are a group of legendary Chinese deities. Each of them attained transcendence in their own way, following their own particular path. My chosen was He Xiangu, the only woman in the group.

  Each of them represented a distinct characteristic and power. Martial arts masters have created eight styles of drunken boxing, or drunken kung fu, after them.

  How did mere mortals attain eternal life? Chuck asked.

  “Perhaps their immortality is metaphorical, a way of saying that they have reached a higher spiritual realm. I think they discovered the secrets of Limbo and Earth.”

  They may have been the only humans to unravel the mystery of the planes.

  Eight. Eight spiritual weapons. Are you ready for this?

  Afraid of the answer, I shut up, trying to ignore my throbbing open wounds.

  I assumed I was near the goal, but the setting didn’t change. Everything remained in the suffocating pitch-black. Then eight figures began to take shape like watercolor paintings, slowly coming to life.

  I was standing before the Eight.

  Are we in a circus?

  With slow steps, I came forward. The Flutist’s music filled the darkness and filled it with life. It was a calm tune.

  “Venerable Eight,” I said, and bowed my head.

  The Former General, their leader, carried a feather fan that, according to legends, revived the dead. He looked nothing like a military man—he wore a brown kimono opened to the waist, leaving his massive belly exposed. He had a kind face.

  “Welcome to our home, incomplete being,” he said.

  “Do not fret, what’s empty will be full,” said the Scholar. “And what’s lacking shall be abundant.” Tall and elegant, he had an upright posture and austere expression. Although not the official leader, the others respected him as if he were. He carried a sword strapped to his back to disperse evil spirits.

  The Elder stifled a laugh. He mounted a backward-facing white mule. An eccentric, wrinkled old man with a few long, cloud-white hairs and a lengthy beard. Lover of wine, he produced his own. He lived as a recluse hermit recluse for all his hundreds of years.

  “Um… look,” I started. “I came because—”

  The Beggar, in his dirty and ragged clothes, was sitting on a huge clay gourd, with his iron crutch in his hand. He had one eye wider than the other and a grumpy expression. His hair and beard were black and tangled. He attained immortality at the request of the gods themselves, who saw him as a great promise for their knowledge.

  “You came because you had to,” said the Former General. “No more, no less.”

  “Yes, but listen, please, I want—”

  “Where there is no want, there is peace,” said the Scholar. “And where there is peace, harmony and happiness prevail.”

  The Elder was having a good time, showing his toothless mouth. The others seemed uninterested, except Xiangu. I gave them all an appraising regard.

  The Uncle wore simple robes. He was the uncle of a Chinese emperor. After witnessing a cowardly murder, he gave up life in court and material goods to become a wanderer. The jade board resting at his feet was used to purify any room.

  The mysterious Teenager had only one shoe on. She held a basket of flowers and wore a blue dress. Her face changed constantly—sometimes a grumpy boy, sometimes a mischievous girl. I knew nothing about their life.

  The Flutist was seated and never let go of his musical instrument. His hair was tied back in a lazy bun.

  He Xiangu, my chosen one, sat next to the Flutist. She was just a girl in her late teens, holding a large, colorful lotus flower. The flower was said to heal and improve every aspect of a person’s health. She looked at me as if she already knew everything.

  I tried again. “I need He Xi—”

  “The universe has no needs,” said the Former General. “All things are equals.”

  “Why do you—”

  “Whoever wants to traverse the Way,” said the Scholar, “cannot. For it has no form.”

  What sort of mockery are these pathetic clowns pulling? Unleash me upon them.

  It was impossible to talk with them. As long as I tried, they would cut me off with those cryptic lines. Then I shut up and stood there, watching my unnecessary breathing. I noticed my body, I noticed the rise and fall of my chest, I noticed the texture and weight of Chuck in my hand, his impatient force crawling from the hilt tentacles to the blade runes, then I went back to my breathing.

  I don’t know how long it took. How long, of course, from a human point of view. Gauging from Chuck’s incessant grumbling, I can assure it was quite a while. Some of the Eight looked at me, the teenager with several different faces.

  “A deep silence, much used yet inexhaustible,” said the Former General, breaking the quiet. “That is the Way.”

  “Speak a little less to find the right attitude,” said the Scholar.

  “We understand why you came, luminous warrior,” said He Xiangu. “But you must understand something of profound importance.”

  I heeded every word.

  “No matter the individual’s wisdom,” she continued, “background or social standing.”

  I leaned forward.

  “It doesn’t matter if one is mortal, immortal, or anything in between.”

  “Yes?” I asked, unblinking.

  “All souls must have some fun,” He Xiangu concluded.

  The other seven giggled, except the Beggar.

  “We know what you need, warrior,” Xiangu continued. “We too look at our old home.”

  “Answer me one thing, please,” I said. “How did you get here?”

  The Beggar struck the black floor. “You come uninvited, demand, and ask. First, our fun. Then your answers.”

  “What kind of fun?”

  They dropped their weapons and baubles on the ground and stood up, except He Xiangu and the Flutist.

  The Uncle touched his fingertips on his toes without bending his legs. “We want to st
retch our bones a little.”

  They started stretching, snapping their joints, crouching, supporting each other’s legs, and turning their necks sideways. The Elder slowly dismounted from the mule, as if he were a fragile man, and initiated a mad warm-up. He looked like a rubber doll. He raised his arms and folded back until his hands touched the floor. Then he lifted his legs in a handstand, held it for a while and threw them back, standing up again.

  By the Abyss, I hate this ancient, wrinkly shitbag the most.

  The Flutist’s melody grew faster and more energetic.

  They surrounded me.

  Well, it’s clear they want to fight.

  “You don’t say?” I whispered to Chuck. “What I would do without your precise observations?”

  Cursed Dark, I hope they want to fight. The old goat looks randy.

  “Have fun,” He Xiangu said with a smirk.

  Six Immortals rushed toward me.

  Let me tell you how to defeat several aggressors at once: you defend yourself from the first one and attack the second one as fast as you can. They never come at the same time. Pretend that the first attack has destabilized you and disable the second aggressor when he doesn’t expect.

  That is exactly what happened.

  But I failed miserably.

  The Former General attacked first. They were all unarmed, but I kept my sword. He came in furiously, shouting battle cries, and punched me. I deflected the blow with Chuck’s flat side and spun around, ready to cut the second attacker, the Scholar. But something strange happened.

  A gust of wind directed my slash away and made me miss. I widened my eyes in misunderstanding and saw the Scholar’s right foot get closer at an alarming speed in a perfect flying kick. He hit my chest right over the injury I got from Azazel and threw me back. The dark wound seared and enlarged.

  Did you notice that…

  They came up again, and I ignored Chuck. The Scholar ran and kicked toward my head. I stabbed for his leg, but another heavy blast made me swerve at the last moment. His foot whacked my face with a dry thud, sending me reeling.

  Can’t you…

  The Beggar hit my right leg. As I flinched, I tried to pierce his belly, but the wind blocked me.

  Look at the…

  He dealt a sequence of quick strikes to my torso and ended with a punch on my chin, knocking me down again.

  THE FLUTIST! IT’S THE FLUTE, OAFISH CREATURE! Chuck shouted, his runes bursting with light and his tentacles vibrating. And this time, I got it.

  Each time the gust of wind hindered me, the Flutist’s song changed its tone. It rose rapidly and then returned to normal. First, I would have to take care of him.

  “Get ready to fly.”

  What?

  The Beggar and the Scholar charged to resume the beating. I pretended to go left and ran right. The duo was almost in front of me. I glared at the Flutist playing his damn instrument as he watched the fight. I hurled Chuck at him with all my strength.

  Raaaaaaaaarrrrrrghlgglglrllgh! It was more guttural gurgle than scream.

  The sword plunged straight into the Flutist’s chest. He widened his small eyes, disappeared and then reappeared next to where he was. Nodding once to me, the Flutist resumed his agitated melody. He wouldn’t interrupt me anymore.

  Chuck was stuck in the ground next to He Xiangu. They just wanted me to fight unarmed.

  A heavy impact on my back made me fall. I got up fast. The Former General was upon me.

  I raised my guard. I knew kung fu.

  Well, it wasn’t kung fu, technically, but I could hold my own. And I had an advantage: I didn’t fight clean.

  I exchanged some quick pummels with the Former General and the Scholar flanked me with a kick. I shoved the Scholar with my shoulder and head-butted the Former General’s nose. He went dizzy and my forehead exploded in pain, but I pushed through it to elbow him, knocking the fat bastard flat on his back.

  The Scholar pushed forward and kicked me in the face. He moved like lightning. I tried to block him and clutched my fingers around his ankle, yelled, and swiped my shin between his legs. The Scholar squinted for a moment and his eyes watered. He cupped his hands over his groin and dropped to his knees.

  I didn’t even have time to strike another blow.

  The Elder, in a rage of osteoporosis, slid across the floor and swept my legs. As I stumbled, the Uncle ran and jumped to elbow me with all his weight. I rolled to the side and got up, but ran into the Teenager. He or she grabbed my hand and twisted my arm. The Beggar hammered me with swift punches, and I wasn’t sure what was worse: his strikes or his stench of sweat and vomit.

  I put my foot on his belly and pushed back, tumbling over the Teenager and pulling free. I kicked his or her face and looked at the others. The Former General and the Scholar sat watching the fight, as if they had been disqualified. The gender-bending Teenager now did the same.

  The Elder, with a mocking smile, bent his wrists and pointed his fingers together, imitating snakes. His thrusts were a blur. I tried to deflect and counter, but he dodged with gravity-and-age-defying movements. The Uncle also raced forward. I spat on his face and punched him while he was confused, but it was just a distraction. My target was the Elder. I jumped to knee the old man’s nose, and he collapsed without ever losing his smile. He sat up and looked even more amused, showing his few teeth.

  The Beggar and the Uncle attacked together.

  And it rained punches and kicks, battering me from head to toe. I blocked as much as I could, which wasn’t much.

  The Beggar grabbed my neck in a chokehold and bent forward, punching my head.

  And I can’t say why I did what I did next.

  Maybe it was his armpit’s abominable stench—a mix of sewage and carrion—that made me a little irrational. Maybe it was the desperation of the battle, even though they weren’t even close to fighting seriously. Maybe just because I knew it would work.

  What I did was stick my finger up his ass.

  The Beggar let go of me and shielded his butt with his hands, with lips pursed and eyebrows raised. I pulled my arm back, closed my hand tightly, burying nails in ghostly flesh, and pounded his chin. He collapsed.

  Laughter filled the air. The Uncle even stopped fighting and raised his hands, as if asking for a break. The Elder lay down guffawing. Even He Xiangu chuckled.

  I was panting, aching and nervous, but at that moment I relaxed.

  “Hahahahahaha! That was priceless!” said the Uncle, sitting down.

  The fight was over. And I wanted to rip my finger off, burn it, and bury it.

  We all sat cross-legged. The Flutist changed his melody to a soft, almost imperceptible sound.

  I had gotten Chuck back.

  You are utterly shameless, really. That was tasteless. Even for a foul cur like yourself.

  “Oh, spare me. It’s a fight, I have to use all my resources.”

  So, when you tell someone you’ve been fighting, it is implied you walked around sticking your finger up other people’s bungholes?

  I ignored him.

  ‘Resources’… Ha! I wonder what would happen if the fight took longer. What other ‘resources’ would be used…

  “Venerable Eight,” I said, avoiding Chuck’s harassment, “thank you for having me.”

  Despite the pain, I knew they went easy on me and just wanted to ward off the boredom of immortality.

  “We thank you, bright warrior,” said the Former General. “Fighting amongst us has lost its appeal ages ago.”

  “And we have never used such exotic techniques,” said the Elder in a weak, husky voice, the complete opposite of his martial movements.

  The others laughed. Except the Beggar, who stared at nowhere, with arms crossed.

  “How did you all come to the Limbo?” I asked.

  “What you call Limbo we call home,” the Scholar said. “We achieved Enlightenment—or The Way, on Earth—and ascended. This is where we choose to spend eternity meditating.”
r />   “In fact, the Way is never achieved,” said the Teenager. “But it is for this unachievable pursuit that we exist. That is why it’s called the Way. The point is to travel it, not reach its end.”

  “I think I understand.”

  The Former General fanned himself. “Why did you choose Xiangu, warrior?”

  “You said you can see the Earth, right?” They nodded. “I believe there is a need for someone with her virtues and abilities. He Xiangu can spread kindness, care. As a symbol of spirit, body, and mind healing, I think she will be a welcome and long overdue panacea, in fact.”

  “Indeed, Xiangu dominates without violence,” said the Former General.

  “She does not feed presumption or seek power,” said the Teenager.

  “She does what she must, forcing no one,” said the Scholar.

  “Like water, she silently adjusts to the lowest level, which man despises,” said the Elder.

  “Not opposed to anything, she serves everything without demands,” said the Uncle.

  They looked down in reflection.

  “She is helpful in giving,” said the Beggar. “Sincere in speaking, gentle in leading, and powerful in acting. You’ve made the best of choices, tricky warrior.”

  He stared at me, blushed for a second, and turned his head away. I couldn’t help but smile.

  The Flutist continued his song, but he looked at Xiangu tenderly and nodded once. His smile quivered and his eyes filled with water.

  “I have the best siblings anyone could ask for.” She stood up with the lotus flower in her hands. “And I didn’t even ask. They were gifted.”

  Everyone looked at her.

  “Bright warrior, I have chosen the Way, and this is my place.” Her voice was sweet yet firm. “But I would never refuse humanity’s call for help. As for you.” He Xiangu approached me. “The eternal powers have no preference, but they always favor the good. Your Way is righteous.”

  She studied my eyes with a childlike expression. “Now do what you came to do.”

  I got up too, with a lump in my throat from having to separate her from those who loved her so much and whose love she returned. But it was necessary. In fact, she would be back soon, so to speak. But I didn’t offend them by saying that. Enlightened beings they were, they understood both Limbo and time much better than me.