Tears of the Dead

by Brian Braden

  Panic flared again within Atamoda. “That will cast us adrift. We will never find our way home!”

  Aizarg squeezed her hand. “Home is forever gone.”

  “Heli-dar lies to the south. The bosom of the Great Mother is the realm of the dead.”

  “I’ve already walked the realm of the dead. We trust our fate to the current and the God of the Narim.” Aizarg removed one of the two li-ges around his neck and placed it around her’s. “We are together. We are home.”

  Aizarg suddenly peered over his shoulder at the darkening northern horizon.

  “What is it?” she whispered.

  “Dark clouds, do you see them? They rush from the north to meet the ones approaching from the south. When they clash I fear it will not bode well.” He nudged her toward the center of the flotilla.

  Kol-ok and Ezra knelt down and looked back to Aizarg for confirmation. The Uros nodded. “This Nameless God promised us a new world. The only way to find it is to cut loose the tethers that hold us to this one.”

  Ba-lok reached to cut the line, but hesitated. “Father, the rope is no longer tight.”

  Atamoda watched as the ropes bent limply and began to slide under the boat. Boats and rafts creaked and popped as they shifted and jostled against one another. Reed scrapped against wood as the deck beneath her slowly began to shift and rotate.

  “The current reverses,” Aizarg said.

  The flood is receding!” Atamoda gasped.

  The tethers suddenly yanked tight, and the entire flotilla lurched around the pivot point. Atmoda held Aizarg to steady herself. Confusion and screams spread across the flotilla.

  The flotilla accelerated toward the tree tops along the submerged shore.

  “Cut the lines! Quickly!” Aizarg shouted.

  “But the flood is receding. If we stay here the water will pass us by,” Atamoda said, unsure why Aizarg still wanted to cut the lines.

  “Cut the lines, now!” Aizarg commanded, eyes locked on the approaching line of clouds.

  Kol-ok’s line quickly succumbed to his flint blade. Ezra’s rope, however, floated closer to the bow and had too much play for Ezra to simply sever it with one hand.

  Only Atamoda saw everything unfold. Aizarg and Kol-ok were not watching the a-g’an boy as he tried to cut the line. Ezra ignorantly wrapped the rope around his wrist, which quickly slipped under the boat.

  She reached for him. “Ezra, no!”

  The rope snapped tight and ripped the prow off the boat, yanking Ezra into the water. The boy vanished under the flotilla.

  Without hesitation, she leapt in after him.

  Bone chilling numbness embraced her as she plunged into murky shadow beneath the flotilla. Atamoda frantically fought the current, chasing Ezra’s struggling image. He seemed to become more tangled in the rope anchoring him to the köy-lo-hely far below.

  If he does not cut himself loose, I will not be able reach him!

  Over her head, wobbling bubbles clung to the bottoms of rafts and boats. The speed at which the flotilla accelerated overhead gave the illusion she swam at an incredible speed. Atamoda knew better, knowing the current flowed faster than she could swim. Ezra’s image slowly faded, his form less animated.

  I cannot save him.

  She switched her attention to the flotilla overhead, trying to gauge how long until the opposite side passed over. She planned to snatch the underside of the nearest vessel and work hand-over-hand until she pulled herself up.

  She looked down just in time to see Ezra’s face, cheeks puffed out, eyes bulging in terror, hurtling toward her. He drifted just under the hulls, a frayed rope wrapped around his left wrist, knife still clutched in the other hand.

  She caught him, snatched the knife, and tucked it into her drawstring. The knife became a dangerous liability now that he’d freed himself. She’d seen enough panicked children to know Ezra teetered on the brink of losing control.

  His lungs are beginning to burn.

  Kicking against the current, she cradled Ezra with one arm and felt along the flotilla bottom, ready to grab the last boat.

  Ezra began to thrash, clawing at the hulls.

  The water lightened ahead, she sensed the edge of the flotilla approaching.

  Just a few more moments, hold on Ezra!

  The boy began to claw at her, trying to poke his face into the voids and cracks between the boats and rafts. Expertly tied Lo knots secured the Lo fleet together with flexibility, snug enough to prevent each vessel from bumping and damaging one another. If he tried to cram his face up between them, he would likely get trapped and drown.

  His thrashing erupted into blind violence. If he prevented her from grabbing a passing boat, they would both die. Atamoda did the only thing she could to save both their lives. With a sudden thrust, she rammed the top of his head into the underside of a passing raft.

  Ezra passed out with a thud.

  I’ll worry about clearing his lungs topside.

  For a moment she hung suspended above the blackness, the flotilla passing just over her head. Memories of the demons bubbled up in her mind as she suddenly found herself fighting for control.

  The last boat rapidly approached as Atamoda’s lungs began to ache. Gently cradling Ezra’s waist, she kicked hard with the current and caught a handhold on the reed keel.

  And then her hand slipped.

  Frantically, she flailed for the boat. Above the water, she knew the wind pushed the flotilla faster than she could swim with the current. She’d never be able to catch them, especially towing Ezra’s limp body.

  She made one more lunge, but the boats’ edges slipped farther away. Atmoda abandoned the flotilla and kicked for the surface. A strong arm snatched her around the waist and pulled her with great force toward the flotilla. She turned to her left and saw Okta winking at her, his left arm firmly holding the side of a boat.

  “Help us!” Okta gasped, exploding up out of the water dragging Atamoda and Ezra with him.

  Ba-lok and another man from the Minnow Clan plopped Atamoda and Ezra in a boat next to the unconscious Kus-ge.

  “Okta, what happened?” Ba-lok said.

  “The current suddenly shifted. Ezra was pulled under trying to cut us loose. Atamoda dove in after him. I told the Uros I’d get both of them.”

  Aizarg sent Okta instead of jumping in himself?

  “Ba-lok, please help me up.” Shivering and coughing, Atamoda struggled to stand. “Aizarg is on the other side of the flotilla, likely worried about me. I must go to him.”

  Ezra suddenly coughed and began to stir.

  Okta leaned over him. “He will be fine. He didn’t swallow too much sea.” He examined the swelling bump on the boy’s forehead and chuckled. “I saw how you calmed him, Atamoda. We’ll have to teach him to swim.”

  Atamoda turned her attention to Ba-lok’s wife. “How is Kus-ge?”

  “Exhausted. We cannot wake her,” Ba-lok said

  Atamoda envied her. She wished she could fall asleep and put this unending nightmare behind her forever.

  “Let her sleep,” she said. “Take care of Ezra, let him sleep, too. I’ll be back to check on both of them.”

  Atamoda looked off to the northwest. The tree tops were close. In a few more minutes they would find themselves caught up in the branches.

  She faintly heard her and Okta’s names being called along the edges of the flotilla.

  They are looking for us.

  “Aizarg needs me.” Atamoda stepped out of Ba-lok’s boat and onto the adjoining raft, ready to make her way through the crowd across the flotilla.

  Then the deck shifted under her feet.

  What now?

  A faint rumbling from the north made Atamoda stop in her tracks.

  “What is it?” Okta gasped.

  “I hear it too,” Ba-lok stepped next to her.

  Atamoda lifted her ear to the north. “There it is again. I am not imagining it.” Is that what Aizarg heard?

  Across the flotilla,
all the Lo turned and faced north. A hush settled over the flotilla. A frigid blast of air swept across the decks, making Atamoda shiver.

  “The northern sky darkens. The clouds are so low!” Ba-lok said.

  “The current shifts yet again,” Okta looked around at the water as it began to retreat from the shore again.

  “Sco-lo-ti, what do you hear?” voice quaking, a man from the Minnow Clan asked his leader. “Do the demons return?”

  “I don’t know.” Ba-lok shook his head.

  The rumbled strengthened, steadily growing louder until a low vibration pulsed deep through her chest and rattled her bones.

  Atamoda turned ashen; her mind finally comprehended the horrible magnitude of what her eyes witnessed.

  “It’s not a cloud.”

  Across the entire northern horizon, the sea rose to join the sky.

  Run to Ba-tor!

  Screams rose over the thunder as Atamoda fled toward the flotilla’s center.

  13. The Courtyard of Stone

  I wasn’t the only refugee from the Deluge climbing the ragged spine of the world. Through mountain mists and torrential rain, omnipresent companions shadowed my every footstep. To my right, the future floated as a cold specter holding aloft a dim torch. To my left, the past dogged each footfall, snapping at my heels.

  In the courtyard of stone they become one.

  The Chronicle of Fu Xi.

  ***

  Forever is a cold, unchanging twilight.

  Fu Xi thought he knew the meaning of forever. The clouds thickened, and the sky darkened until mist and rain, day and night, melted into one. Time ceased.

  He did not know north or south, dawn or dusk. Fu Xi only knew trudging up or down. Trails, canyons, ledges, and peaks all blurred together, only pressing forward into the wall of water mattered.

  Occasionally, Fu Xi found ledges and caves deep enough to shelter him and the horse from the relentless downpour. Starting a fire wasn’t possible, what little timber he could scavenge was waterlogged or rotted. These respites were only brief affairs, a chance only to wring out his clothes, inspect his gear, and catch some needed sleep. Without fail, the rising deluge drove them from their resting places and higher into the mountains.

  As the days passed, rot began to eat away at Heise’s tackle. The oilskin kept Fu Xi’s armor and food dry, but the reins and straps securing them to Heise’s back began to bleach and crack. The apples and grain long gone, only mold lined the empty food bags.

  Heise’s ribs poked out along his flanks, but his eyes were still clear. Sores began to appear where disintegrating leather rubbed his hide. Fu Xi spent a great deal of time readjusting the load to keep the condition from worsening.

  He also spent a great deal of time scavenging for scrub grass, never passing up a solitary blade. Often, Fu Xi climbed sheer cliffs to pluck hardy tufts from among stubborn rocks to feed his horse by hand.

  Unless he could find more food, he knew doom awaited his beautiful black stallion. Heise provided the demigod a tenuous toehold in this world. The horse became an hourglass, marking the passage of time. All thoughts of his mother’s prophecies, finding the man with white hair, or his mysterious half-brother washed away.

  Only his horse mattered. Fu Xi even abandoned all thoughts of himself.

  ***

  Tiejiang crouched before a collapsible iron rack over a small fire. A clay pot filled with rice porridge, a kettle of tea, and a loaf of freshly steamed bread atop the rack made my stomach growl louder.

  He must have been waiting in the hayfield since before dawn, his presence here wholly unexpected but entirely welcomed.

  Carrying my sandals, I let the dew-covered grass caress my feet as I squatted next to Tiejiang. The young man nodded deferentially, gingerly offering the delicate ceramic cup with hands more suited for pounding iron than serving tea.

  I tapped two fingers against the rack’s corner and offered my thanks. Respectfully and patiently, Tiejiang waited for me to sample the tea to ensure it met my satisfaction.

  “The tea is delicious. Thank you, Honored Student.”

  Tiejiang still did not pour himself a cup. Instead, he prepared me a bowl of porridge and generous portion of bread.

  Only after I smiled and nodded, did he prepare himself a cup and small portion of food. Carefully, he turned the spout away from both of us as we settled in to eat.

  The Chronicle of Fu Xi

  ***

  Fu Xi’s shirt had rotted off days ago, exposing a sunken, empty belly. His divine blood kept him strong, regardless of his burning hunger. Separating seams and gaping holes in his cotton trousers testified they would soon follow the shirt’s example.

  The demigod’s skin grew pale, soft, and wrinkled like an old man’s. Occasionally, he considered his own flesh, amused at the illusion of aging.

  He plodded forward, reins in hand, down another mountain trail, along yet another cliff, when a woman’s scream rose from somewhere ahead.

  Fu Xi cocked his head to one side as the sound penetrated the thundering wall of rain and wind. Just when he thought his sanity was washing away with the rain, the scream echoed again.

  The trail widened ahead, allowing him to lead Heise at a trot. As the trail descended, thundering rapids congealed from the downpour and hemmed them in on the left. Ahead, a wall of sheer granite blocked their way. The trail widened into what appeared to be a narrow defile to his right and vanished into the rainy curtain.

  To the right it is.

  Fu Xi led Heise up the trail, the excitement energizing the otherwise lethargic steed.

  Less of a canyon and more like a wide crack in the mountain, the defile afforded space enough for both man and horse with room to spare. The gray walls vanished into the rain high over his head. Fu Xi’s horse kept a sure footing despite the small streams gushing down either side of the trail.

  Another high pitched shriek echoed down the defile, cutting through the rain’s background din. Fu Xi stopped in his tracks. A beast lurked somewhere beyond the rainy curtain.

  Fu Xi turned and reached under the oilskin blanket on Heise’s back and withdrew the orichalcum blade. Fashioned for gods, the Red Sword and the neatly packed Red Armor were both untouched by rust or rot.

  Blade extended in one hand, and reins in the other, Fu Xi cautiously inched his way deeper into the narrow defile.

  ***

  We appeared roughly the same age, two men in their early twenties dressed in simple cotton trousers and tunic. We squatted before the fire as old friends do, slowly enjoying our steaming tea and watching the sun come up. For fifteen years, this is how we spent our mornings before stoking the forge and beginning the day’s lessons.

  “The cooking rack is new, isn’t it?” I examined the collapsible iron rack, admiring Tiejiang’s handiwork. “Don’t let the village women see it, or they will be pestering you for one.”

  “They already have. The main rack breaks down into two pieces, the legs fold in. It can easily be stored in a backpack.”

  I nodded my approval and took another sip. The rack was beyond anything I taught him. Tiejiang long ago developed into a master smithy. Mortals often blossom beyond the dreams of their divine mentors.

  “Why are you not with your new bride?” I finally asked.

  “She sleeps in our hut.”

  “Do not let her sleep in too much, or she will become a lazy wife.”

  “She’s not lazy, only exhausted. I let her sleep out of pity.” The briefest of smiles touched his lips.

  “And you are not exhausted?”

  “A good smithy knows when to let the metal cool. Besides, I’m hungry.” Tiejiang held the cup to his lips to hide his smile. “Are you exhausted, Lord Fu Xi? It is my sincerest wish that my cousin pleased you.”

  I cleared my throat. “Her ancestors would be proud.”

  “Good, because I have many more cousins asking to sleep with you,” he said with a straight face. “They are lined up behind the haystack, shall I get th
em now, or do you want to finish your breakfast first?”

  I threw a crust of bread at him as he abandoned all pretense and fell backwards laughing, holding his stomach.

  Oh, I miss his laughter! Perhaps more than anything in this world, I miss his laughter.

  The Chronicle of Fu Xi

  ***

  Heise whinnied and tugged against the reins.

  “Yes, I’m sure you can smell them. Stay behind my sword.”

  In a few minutes the defile veered right and then widened into a large, almost circular opening. At first glance it reminded Fu Xi of a natural courtyard with the defile continuing on the opposite side.

  A solitary, scraggly tree stood in the enclosure’s center, gripping naked rock with gnarled roots. High in its bare clutches, a thin, nude girl clung desperately among twiggy branches. Two burly shapes circled the trunk, high muscled shoulders rising and falling with smooth fluidity. Even with their soaking, spotted fur matted against their skin, the big cats were half as large as his horse. Long, curved fangs extended far below their lower jaw. Even in the dull light, their pale eyes gleamed with primal hunger. The cats’ attention fully locked on their prey, they didn’t notice Fu Xi’s approach.

  Dagger teeth!

  A shredded human body, throat ripped open, lay crumpled at the base of the tree among shattered tree limbs.

  Fu Xi released the reins and placed himself between Heise and the predators. The horse reared back and whinnied, drawing the cats’ attention.

  They stopped pacing and turned toward Heise, ears perked forward. Fu Xi crouched with sword extended over his head. Maddening hunger burned in the animals’ eyes, and the demigod knew they would fight until the death.

  The dagger tooth on the left slowly paced farther left, the other one extended right.

  They are famished, but not stupid. They sense my power.

  Fu Xi quickly ascertained that the cat on the left was dominant of the two juvenile males.