Tears of the Dead

by Brian Braden

  “No more!” Fu Xi shouted. Covered in mud, he sat up and slid backwards until his back encountered immoveable rock. His right arm dangled over the cliff.

  She kissed her palm, and then held it flat towards the cliff’s edge. Lips pursed with the utmost tenderness, she softly blew a foul kiss into the mist. Like a curtain swept aside by a giant invisible hand, the rain suddenly pulled back. A thin sheen of clouds still cloaked the sun, but the entire horizon now lay exposed. An unending ocean stretched before Fu Xi. Angry whitecaps mercilessly assaulted a handful of rocky promontories poking above the stormy sea, stretching away toward the horizon.

  “Have I journeyed so far beyond the Roof of the World that I gaze upon an unknown sea?” he whispered to himself. Fu Xi squinted at the rocky outcroppings, trying to snare an elusive thought fluttering like a moth just beyond reach.

  And then he knew.

  There will be no other men.

  “No.”

  The apparition cackled.

  “Look down from the roof of creation, Fu Xi, and behold a murdered world, drowned by the Heavenly Emperor and his lap dog, your mother.”

  “Lies.” He closed his eyes as despair’s cold venom finally reached his heart.

  She giggled. “No lies, Fu Xi. Lies are unnecessary servants where darkness and death reign. Despair and fear will suffice nicely.

  “Nushen lies buried under a mile of water and mud, along with every village you ever set foot in. Gone. Cursed. Forgotten. Abandoned...like you.”

  He opened his eyes and beheld a nude Erubian girl, barely a woman, with long hair like dirty water. Fertility’s perversion, she cradled an equally grotesque pregnant belly, eyes brimming with vacant hate.

  “Your quest has failed.” Blood began to trickle down the inside of her thigh. “The man with white hair is dead, his people swallowed by the flood.”

  She pointed accusingly. “Forsake your mother and the Emperor of Heaven, and I shall raise you higher than any who have come before or after. In the coming age, the greatness of the Eleven Princes shall pale compared to your glory.”

  Eyes like a snake, she advanced on him, blood gushing from between her thighs.

  “Choose, Son of Nuwa. Serve or rule.”

  “No,” he mouthed.

  “Then abandon all hope. The past is dead, the future, stillborn.”

  Mud and stone gave way, and the God of Names fell.

  22. The Peaceful Walk

  “Lord Fu Xi, come,” Sunnah spoke in short, choppy sentences as one not comfortable with the Song of Atlas.

  He hopped the rail fence. Swallowing hard and heart pounding, I followed. We strode into the meadow as horses thundered by so close I thought they would knock us down. The heat radiating off their bodies warmed my skin. I glanced back at the railing, but Leviathan had vanished.

  “Soquili have powerful spirit, almost as strong as god. My people live in harmony with Soquili since Edoda made them from lighting and thunder.”

  “Are they...magical?” I asked.

  The red man frowned at me. “All life magical. I thought gods know this.

  “Stay here, don’t move.” Sunnah whistled faintly, and a chestnut stallion broke away from the herd toward us. Galloping at full speed, I thought for a moment it might trample us. At the last second, Sunnah pivoted and leapt onto its back. They merged into a single, fluid entity. Slightly supported on his knees, Sunnah sat arms crossed and bottom barely off the horse’s back. I wondered if he controlled the creature, or if it merely permitted him to ride.

  The horse bolted right, and accelerated toward the fence. It arced gracefully over the rail before hitting the ground at full gallop. Sunnah appeared to speak to the beast and nudge its mane. In response, the horse wheeled about and galloped back at the railing, accomplishing another beautiful leap before trotting toward me.

  I stepped back as Sunnah slid off its back.

  “What must I do?” I asked him.

  “My people walk two paths to become one with Soquili. First is Do-Hi, the Peaceful Walk, which begins as child.” He placed his hand palm down, two fingers extended to indicate perhaps a toddler walking. “It is way of listening, watching, and wisdom.” He pointed to his ears, his eyes, and his heart. “Path of patience last lifetime.”

  “Is this the path you took?”

  Sunnah nodded.

  “As a god, I have as many lifetimes as necessary. What is the other path?”

  Sunnah smiled and produced a green apple in his right hand. “Bribe.”

  The Chronicle of Fu Xi

  ***

  He tried to take a breath, but his lungs refused. He tried again, but it felt like sand filled his chest.

  I am dead.

  Fu Xi pushed himself onto his elbows and gagged until gouts of sour water gushed from his mouth. The spasms receded, and he inhaled a gulp of sweet air.

  I must be alive, or I wouldn’t feel so terrible.

  He found himself sprawled across a huge oak trunk that was stripped of most of its branches. Limbs quivering, he pushed up onto all fours and somehow sat up.

  Fu Xi shivered in the cold drizzle, naked amongst a massive timber pile, washed up on a strange shore. The shattered forest stretched into the fog in both directions. Waves sloshed between the timbers and splashed around his feet.

  Fu Xi looked at the knobby bulbs he once called knees and the twigs that used to be his legs. Hands shook as if palsied, his skin, only a modest veil for a bashful skeleton. He touched the dagger wound, surprised to feel a scar. The venom no longer burned in his veins.

  Fu Xi vaguely remembered clinging to drifting logs and the passing of days and nights, but nothing more. He knew he should get up and keep moving, but didn’t know where to, or even if he could. He craned his head about to look behind him.

  The timber piled up against formidable cliffs, mighty walls stretching in both directions and ascending into the fog. Climbing them would be impossible. He could not stand, let alone climb off the timber pile.

  He lowered his head into trembling hands.

  “Mother, forgive me.”

  He laid back on the trunk, letting the rain wash over him. Fu Xi wanted to surrender and end the humiliation of his failure. An alarming chill settled into his bones, as if the rain leeched a divine essence from his spirit and flesh.

  One more journey awaits the God of Names.

  Yet, another voice inside shouted, No!

  He tried to suppress the voice, command it to accept its fate. He’d fought the good fight, carried on as far as his flesh could carry him. The time had come to surrender.

  No! The voice shouted again.

  Fu Xi suddenly recognized this voice. It had always been there, so long eclipsed by divine blood’s blinding light. This cry came from his mortal half, kicking and screaming against the darkness enveloping it.

  Where there is purpose, there is hope. Fight!

  Fu Xi steeled himself for the impending struggle. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself back into a sitting position, head swimming from the effort. The deathly chill ebbed, but he knew it would return if he didn’t get up.

  He tried to stand, and the world went black.

  He awoke with a face full of wet sand. He rolled onto his back as pain raked ragged claws over his chest. He coughed and felt something warm trickle down on his chin. He wiped it away and discovered bright red blood covering his fingers.

  I’ve broken my ribs.

  Fu Xi looked up and realized he’d passed out, tumbled off the timber pile, and now lay at the base of the cliff.

  Icy fingers crept back into his flesh. This time, his mortal half remained mute.

  ***

  He placed the apple in my hand. It reminded me of the green apples in Mother’s orchards.

  “Hold toward herd, see who hungry.”

  I offered the apple, trembling in anticipation. The horses galloped by, seemingly uninterested in my gift. Then a gray horse peeled away and trotted tentatively in our direction.
r />   “Hmm,” Sunnah grunted.

  “What?” I asked, concerned about his tone.

  “She not one I expected.”

  Another horse, this one with a beautiful black coat, separated from the herd and trotted toward us, but hung farther back.

  Sunnah laughed and crossed his arms. “Where gray goes, so goes black.” He pointed at the gray horse. “He loves her. The master will be amused.”

  “Why?”

  “He say ‘Sunnah, whatever horse choose Lord Fu Xi, teach him to ride.’ Two Soquili choose Lord Fu Xi. Two very different soquili, this make more work for Sunnah.”

  The gray mare pulled back her lips and took the apple. I expected her to pull away, but she continued forward and nuzzled me. Except in combat or a hunt, I’d never been so close to a beast. I never thought man and animal could bond, and yet such a thing had just transpired.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Don’t know, she not tell me. Maybe one day she tell you.”

  She stretched out her long neck and nuzzled Sunnah.

  “Can you talk to them? What is she saying?”

  “She want another apple, promise to teach Fu Xi to ride.” He rubbed her snout. “No more apples until you earn them!” he scolded.

  I mimicked the way Sunnah stroked the animal. The corded muscles beneath her bristly fur felt like iron, potential power ready to be unleashed at my command.

  Command? I don’t know if that is the correct word. Perhaps request might be more appropriate. This beast and I were about to enter into a partnership whose dynamics I could only begin to imagine.

  “What about him?” I nodded to the stallion as it pawed the dirt and snorted, bobbing his head impatiently up and down. “He doesn’t sound happy.”

  “He jealous, wants us away from mare.” He shrugged. “Or maybe he want apple, but too proud to be nice. She give herself, but him you must take.

  “Come,” he said. “We go to barn, get bridle. Much to do. Lord Leviathan want to ride with you soon.”

  He grimaced, face intense. “Lord Fu Xi must not fall, make Sunnah look bad.”

  As we walked through the meadow toward the gray wooden and stone structure in the distance, I noticed Leviathan’s brand on Sunnah’s arm.

  “You are not Olmec?”

  Sunnah’s mood darkened. “No.”

  “Tell me of your people.”

  “My people ride ponies.”

  “What is a pony?”

  “Like horse, but small, strong, fast. Horse bred for gods. Ponies wild and free, like Sunnah’s people.”

  Sunnah wouldn’t look at me, the twinkle evaporated from his eyes. I decided not to press the conversation, so it surprised me when he continued to talk.

  “Gray mare see your spirit. You are god, but not like god. Gods and Olmecs come up Old River in ships, take ponies. Take Sunnah’s people. Ponies gone. Sunnah’s people gone.

  “World belong to gods. World belong to Olmecs.”

  I glanced up the hill toward the palace. In the distance Amiran stood alone, watching us.

  The Chronicle of Fu Xi

  ***

  Fu Xi closed his eyes, this time he felt sure for the last time. Perhaps a day passed, or only a moment, before he heard the voice.

  “Take my hand,” he said in perfect Nushen Cin.

  Fu Xi’s eyes opened to a broad, stocky shadow standing over him. The stranger rested against a spear, hand extended.

  For a moment Fu Xi hesitated, wondering if the Black Dragon had returned to torment him, but then relented and offered his hand.

  The stranger hefted him up, supporting Fu Xi’s arm over his broad shoulder. Each step summoned dagger-like pain in Fu Xi’s side. The stranger partially carried him towards the cliff wall only a few paces ahead, where Fu Xi spotted a vertical crack, perhaps only a few feet wide, partially obscured by a large boulder. Together, they entered the narrow ravine.

  The walls stretched so high, the sky looked like a thin, crooked line, and the light dimmed to an eerie twilight. They sloshed through rainwater streams cascading down the granite corridor toward the sea.

  We’re walking uphill.

  “Where am I?” Fu Xi coughed, but the stranger didn’t answer.

  Fu Xi squinted in the darkness, trying to focus on the man helping him. The stranger’s long brown hair and matted beard seemed to melt into the thick, wet furs heaped on his shoulders. Fu Xi hadn’t seen fur like that in an eternity.

  Mammoth.

  The man stared ahead with a calm, knowing smile. Fu Xi peered harder, trying to make sense of the stranger’s face.

  Something is wrong with his brow.

  “You’re an Iceman!”

  The Iceman grinned warmly at Fu Xi, with twinkling hazel eyes so generous and full of love it stole Fu Xi’s breath.

  “Morning Star?”

  “Come, Fu Xi, let us walk together for a while.”

  “You’re dead.” Fu Xi looked about, letting this realization sink in. “Am I dead, too?”

  “You are immortal, though you seem to have forgotten.”

  Fu Xi rested most of his weight on Morning Star’s shoulder, which felt as real as the stony ground beneath his feet. He dared not speak further to this apparition, fearing Morning Star would vanish and leave him alone again. Fu Xi didn’t fear death as much as being alone again.

  But Morning Star kept talking, voice brimming with kindness and patience. “I was born in a high, cold place like this. Deep in a cave, warmed by an enormous fire, my mother birthed me and died. I should have died, too, but another woman took me to her breast. Our clan was bigger then, we had more food.”

  “You can speak,” Fu Xi whispered, finding strength in Morning Star’s words. “I couldn’t even teach you to grunt, though I know you tried.”

  “Does my voice please you, Fu Xi?”

  Fu Xi realized this was the voice he always imagined Morning Star would one day possess; one to match his beautiful cave paintings, one which nourished Fu Xi’s spirit more than any earthly feast could ever satisfy his body.

  “It does,” Fu Xi choked back a sob, pressing his fingers against his eyes.

  “We searched for you, across the glacier and into the low-lands. Our people prayed for your return, and forsook the taste of all human flesh. Along the way, we found others, both Tall Men and Icemen. We shared your gifts and became one people as we followed the mammoth east across the Ice Lands.

  “And we never ceased searching for our long lost god.”

  Fu Xi sobbed, surrendering to overpowering sadness and joy.

  His voice is a place of safety where all my burdens are taken from me...

  “Along the way, we left our story on the walls of a thousand caves. One day, others will enter the dark places and find the pictures we left behind.”

  ...Let me feel this way every moment for the rest of my life, come what may...

  “In time, our descendants followed the last of the mammoth herds across an icy land between two great seas. There, we found new lands, warm lands. We learned to speak, and to sing and dance and tame the wild ponies. We did so many wonderful and terrible deeds.”

  ...His voice is a promise fulfilled. His voice is...

  “You believed in us. You did not forsake us, and one day the world will know, we were seeds not stones. Know this, Fu Xi. Even a god such as you cannot see the entire weave, where the ends are joined to others by the Master’s hands.”

  ...Hope.

  Morning Star halted. Fu Xi looked up and saw the ravine ended in a narrow fissure, through which poured blinding light. He held up his hand to shield his eyes, and felt warmth caress his palm.

  “Go,” he commanded and pointed to the crack.

  “I cannot! There is nothing left, I am empty.”

  “Then be filled. You carry a god’s burden, Fu Xi, but you do not carry it alone.

  “You have other children to save. Bring them to this place of safety, so they may lay their burdens down. You are the answer t
o a prayer they have yet to utter. Like me, they must not be forgotten.”

  Fu Xi gazed upon the crack, doubtful he could squeeze through. He turned to Morning Star, but the Iceman had vanished, as did the rain.

  “Do not leave me!” Fu Xi cried, but only echoes answered him.

  Summoning the remainder of his strength, Fu Xi wedged himself into the narrow gap as a faint voice called from behind.

  “A land of promise lies beyond this darkness. The way home is always forward.”

  Naked and alone, Fu Xi slipped through the crack and fell into sunlight.

  23. At the Weave’s Edge

  Soon after the men departed to fish, the women and children would congregate in shore camp to gather reeds. By mid-morning, their rafts piled high with lush stalks, they sailed to the köy-lo-hely. While the children played around them, the women would sit and chat while stripping stalks into soft, yellow fibers. After the mid-day meal, they hung the strips over long cross-poles to dry for several days. These eventually would be used for cloth and rope.

  As the shadows stretched east, the patesi-le would lay out strips of raw reeds lengthwise, signaling to others weaving time had begun.

  The women knelt in a long line facing the sea and began to arrange their reeds. Each arun-ki had its own distinct pattern, a mark by which clans recognized one another. As they weaved, they slapped the stalks flat where weft and warp embraced. Soon, the women pounded the deck in perfect unity. The arun-ki’s unique weave gave birth to its own harmony.

  It only took a birdsong, a breeze, or perhaps a cricket’s chirp for one of the women to begin the ai – the reed. Her voice chased the natural sound the way a child gleefully pursues a firefly. Immersed in the weave’s rhythm, the other women joined in. They inched forward across the köy-lo-hely, weave and song edging toward the sea. Then, far away, the first halah – the wood, answered them.