by Brian Braden
The decks shuddered as another enormous wave broke over the storm wall, spraying mist over everything and momentarily dimming the braziers. Those ahead of him in line barely flinched and continued to talk casually to one another. Spako trembled, his empty stomach heaved. He only wanted to slink back into the boat with his master, curl up and die.
He closed his eyes and hugged the mast even tighter. Spako wanted the nightmare to end, dreading whenever the Master commanded him to fetch their rations. Once a mighty warrior, he now felt as helpless as a child.
He did not know why the strange Lo god spared him and took the rest of his Master’s henchman. Master said Spako was good for only two things, looking fierce and killing.
Spako knew how to look fierce, that was easy. But killing, he didn’t like killing. He’d do it if he must, but it made him feel bad, like the sea did now...sick inside. Thankfully, Master said Spako was too clumsy to be a good killer, so usually Spako only had to stand behind Master’s couch with a spear and look fearsome.
Now the others were dead and Master told Spako to do many things he wasn’t good at, like listening and remembering. He hoped Master didn’t ask him to kill, because he felt sick enough.
The deck below lurched and dropped with greater frequency. Spako had walked the deck when it had been worse, but now it frightened him more. He gripped the mast even tighter, trying to catch his breath.
I cannot breathe. He wanted to run, but fear paralyzed him. He hugged the mast tighter, knowing any minute the raft would disintegrate below him, sending him into the depths where the demons awaited. Spako slid down to the deck, desperately wanting something solid to make the world stop shaking.
Several women and children ahead of him in line began to giggle and point.
“Look at the mighty Sammujad!” One of them said. “He cowers like a baby.”
Thunder boomed and another wave jolted the flotilla. Too terrified to even feel shame, Spako hid his face. Once, they would have trembled in his presence, but now he played the fool for their amusement.
“The Sammujad is going to soil himself!” one of the women cackled before the rest joined in.
“Leave him alone!” A woman shouted. Spako heard pushing, a wet slap and someone yell, “Ouch!”
“Get back in line and leave this poor soul alone,” her voice came again. He wanted to open his eyes, but couldn’t. The mast was safe, and that was where he would stay.
“He’s just a stupid a’gan, Su-gar,” an older female voice said, perhaps the woman who cackled. “He knows nothing of the sea. Why do you care?”
“He is alone, and afraid. What do we really know of the sea? Were you not afraid when the demons came?”
Silence.
“Imagine how one only accustomed to the land must feel. Where is your pity?”
A tender touch lighted on his shoulder. She smelled the way all Lo women did, like fresh spring air.
His heart slowed, and his fear subsided enough for him to open his eyes. She had a face filled with love and goodness. Peace suddenly washed over his heart.
“Do not be afraid.”
Spako nodded dumbly.
“The waves are frightening, but you are safe.”
The old woman crossed her arms and turned her back to them, moving up in line. “Stupid Crane girl, wasting your mercy, if you ask me.”
The girl with the eyes deeper than the sea ignored her, never taking her gentle gaze off Spako.
“Stay here,” she said. “I will get your ration and bring it to you.”
The line moved on without him as she returned and knelt down next to him. “A portion for you, and a portion for the one you share your boat with.”
She held out two crumbling handfuls of dried fish wrapped loosely in leaf, but Spako could not remove his hands from the mast. She sighed, put down the fish, and began to gently pry his fingers from the mast.
“The waves will take Spako,” he whispered.
Su-gar looked out across the whitecaps. “Is that your name...Spako?”
He nodded.
“Spako, take my hand, and I will lead you to your boat.”
Unable to take his gaze off of her face, he surrendered to her will. Her touched calmed him as if under a trance. Gently supporting his elbow, Su-gar scooped up the leaf and led him across the pitching decks. The Lo gave the lady and the giant odd looks as they stumbled by.
“Spako does not walk on water,” he stammered. “The ground should not move.”
She smiled. “The waves will tell you what to do with your feet if you listen to them. Do not fight it, flow with the water.”
“Spako will try.”
She patted his hand.
They came within sight of Virag’s boat. Su-gar stopped, her warm expression evaporated as she considered the boat. She looked up at the giant. “You can make it the rest of the way. If you need help getting you ration, look for me. I will help you.”
Her hand slipped away, and the trance evaporated. Sadness fell over Spako. The decks seemed to pitch higher, the rain was louder, the air colder.
The girl called Su-gar smiled and turned away. Spako looked at the reed tarp covering the boat. Now it didn’t look like sanctuary.
He knelt down and crawled into the humid, stifling boat.
It stank.
Virag kicked him. “What kept you? Give me the food.
“The portions are smaller, fool! Next time, make sure they give you the same size allotment.” Virag tossed him a small chunk as if he were a dog at his feet. “Eat.”
The slaver took one small bite for himself and then carefully wrapped the rest and tucked it under the blanket.
“I see they gave you a leaf. Ask for two next time. I figure they’ll become expensive commodities as soon as all the debris begins to sink.”
Spako pulled himself into a ball and shrank back into his corner of the boat. Instead of closing his eyes, the Sammujad turned and cracked the tarp on the side facing the sea.
For reasons he could not understand, he wanted to look at the sea and smell the fresh air.
It smells like her.
Soon, the waves rocked the giant to sleep.
26. The Kingdom of the Mind
The sultry morning breeze woke me from my wine-fueled slumber. The sea breeze carried the promise of rain, and the faint pounding from the distant quarry. The wind became a messenger for my conscious. I stared at the gilded ceiling, trying to ignore its call.
Two slave girls shared my bed, one ebony, the other as pale as the gossamer curtains dancing over my window. They snuggled close to me as I lightly caressed their brands, wondering how much pain they had felt under the iron’s kiss.
Then a familiar, smoky scent tickled my nose. Across the room someone cleared his throat.
I craned up to see Amiran standing patiently beside the door.
“I bid you good morning, Lord Fu Xi. I am here to ensure your needs are met in Lord Leviathan’s absence.”
“My needs?” I considered the two girls, one under each arm. “I think my needs are already taken care of.”
Amiran clapped twice and barked, “Be gone!”
The girls slid from my bed without so much as a pout or a glance backward. No blessing asked, none given. Last night’s pleasure forgotten, diminished.
Amiran stared at me with that same penetrating gaze.
“Give me your thoughts, Scholar. I’ve suffered that damnable look on your face more than once since my arrival. Why do you disturb me?”
Amiran grinned and bowed slightly. “It isn’t my intention to be disrespectful; it is only that you are so different from the Princes of Poseidon.” Amiran caught himself as if he’d been speaking out of turn. “Would you care to join me for breakfast?”
Eager for the food and conversation, I quickly donned the garment they called a toga, relishing its comfort and simplicity. Following Amiran through the palace, I realized he’d been speaking in my native tongue.
“You’re speaking Cin
in my own dialect.”
“Does it please you, Lord? I’ve been practicing. Your language is exquisite.”
“Do you attempt to ingratiate yourself?”
His backbone stiffened. “I do not ingratiate.”
I realized I’d insulted him. “I did not mean to offend.”
His demeanor softened. Grinning wide, he rubbed his round belly. “No offense, Lord Fu Xi, only hunger. We will dine in the library.” The contrast between his white teeth and black skin gave the impression his smile might swallow his face if it grew any wider.
Plump, with delicate hands like a woman’s, yet possessing iron’s glint in his eyes, Amiran presented a quandary. Neither king nor vassal, how do I classify this slave who spoke like a god?
“What is a ‘library’?” I asked as I followed. I’d yet to hear Leviathan or Quexil speak of this place.
He spoke over his shoulder. “Perhaps we should stop in the rotunda first?”
Like Mother, he answered questions with questions.
“You irritate me,” I said bluntly. “You speak in a free manner with both me and Lord Leviathan. No other mortal I’ve encountered here does this, even Quexil.”
“I overheard you tell Lord Leviathan you often live among mortals as one of them, teaching them. Why, then, Lord Fu Xi, would my manner irritate you?”
I held my tongue, realizing all in Nushen spoke to me with easy familiarity. Why, then, did it disturb me now?
We entered the rotunda, where Poseidon’s statue greeted all who entered Leviathan’s palace.
“The Caste of Scholars enjoys special privileges bestowed by our master, The Glorious God Poseidon. Collectors of the world’s knowledge, we are slaves to the truth, and the truth must never be afraid to speak.”
“Why are you here, serving Leviathan?”
“As Expedition Scholar during the exploration of Asu, which you know as Cin.”
Amiran motioned to the floor where I stood, with its intricate, if puzzling, tile patterns. “Do you know what this is, Lord Fu Xi?”
I shook my head. “I’ve passed it by many times, but there are still many questions I have yet to ask. Leviathan has kept me occupied with sword and horse.”
Amiran grinned and winked. “Yes, I see. It’s a wonder you find time for wine and women.”
“You aren’t afraid to speak, are you?” I warmed to this odd, fearless man. I never saw this side of Amiran during my tutelage following my arrival. But then again, Quexil wasn’t here.
He circled the outside of the tile pattern, never stepping inside the black inlaid border. “Your right foot treads the western coast of the continent we call Olma Major.” He pointed. “Your toe touches a star, which represents the Imperial Colony of Nazcu. Your left foot rests in the Ocean Gadeirus, named for Leviathan’s half-brother and Ruler of Olma Major.”
I knelt down, touching the tiles, unsure exactly what Amiran meant.
“To your left, across the Ocean Gadeirus, is Wu, that tiny crescent off the coast of the Continent Asu, what we call the New World. To your right lies the continent of Olma Minor. Farther right, the Ocean Atlas, and then the continents of Alkebulan and Ereb.”
Then it all formed in my mind, an overwhelming truth. I reeled under its power.
“This is the world, Lord Fu Xi.”
The Chronicle of Fu Xi
***
Fu Xi opened his eyes to find a leather strap, cracked and bleached almost white, resting on his chest. He followed it up until he came eye to eye with what must be the first creature to greet him in the afterlife.
He frowned, unsure if he finally faced madness, death, or salvation. He held out a tentative hand. Hot, wet breath caressed his fingers. A broad, warm nose nuzzled his palm.
“I beg your forgiveness if I don’t rise,” Fu Xi croaked. “I don’t mean to offend, but I’m not sure you’re real.”
He looked to where the wolf had been and saw nothing. The soft ground all about had been torn up, as if a battle had taken place. Fu Xi looked in the opposite direction and saw the wolf’s trampled body heaped several yards away.
“Thank you,” he whispered tearfully. He reached up and caressed his horse’s snout. Too exhausted to guess how his beloved horse survived, Fu Xi merely accepted it.
Heisè nuzzled Fu Xi’s cheek, and then nudged his side.
“I can’t stand,” Fu Xi answered his friend’s unspoken question.
Heise’s saddle and bags were gone, only his bridle remained, but his flanks appeared fully healed.
“I can see by your healthy coat and fat belly, you have been eating well. You’ve obviously been enjoying yourself while I’ve been trying to save the world.”
Heise bobbed his head and pawed the ground.
“It’s good to see you, too.”
Fu Xi gulped. “Perhaps you can assist me in digging for worms?”
Heise neighed and shook his head.
“I didn’t think so.”
***
I’d never seen a pictorial representation of land. Its simplicity, its brilliance, stunned me.
Amiran enjoyed this, of that I had no doubt.
“What is this called?” I tapped the floor.
“A map.”
“I’ve never seen a map.”
“A god never forgets. Your kind has no need for such things. Mortals, however, with our limited intellect, require crutches in many forms.”
In my many thousands of years, I never had to explain to a mortal how to go somewhere. It was I who journeyed from place to place, committing valleys, fields and streams to memory. Such an abstract representation was simply unnecessary.
Amiran smiled patiently, the way I would smile at a befuddled mortal.
“Gods may rule the world, but mortals administer it. A map keeps the wandering heart from losing its way home.”
After a few questions regarding orientation and methodology, reading the map became easy. The scope, however, implied staggering scale.
“How big?”
“That is a good question, and one subject to serious scientific debate. Some of my colleagues say the world is endless, infinite in all directions. Others say it drops off and spills into the abyss. The prevailing theory holds the world is encircled by a wall of ice.” The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. “I have my own theories.”
I motioned him forward, curious about a feature on the map, but Amiran didn’t move.
“Only gods may straddle the world,” he said grimly.
Suddenly self-conscious, I joined him. The world within the circle wasn’t mine.
Four straight lines stretched from the perimeter to the center, where Poseidon’s statue loomed. Beneath the chariot wheels, the lines intersected in a smaller continent, composed of golden tiles.
“What is this place?” I pointed.
“The Kingdom of Atlas, the center of the Universe, the very heart of Poseidon’s Empire.” He gestured to the scattered islands surrounding it. “These are Realms of the Eleven Princes.
“Ten islands for the ten sons of Cleito, with the oceans and seas bequeathed to Leviathan. He is Master of Fleets, Regent of the Waters.”
“And the twelfth, Leviathan’s sister?”
“I am forbidden to speak of her, other than to say she is a traitor.”
“There is much Leviathan hasn’t told me.”
“I’m sure he will in time, Lord Fu Xi.” Something about the flatness of his tone suggested otherwise.
Squiggles fashioned from fragmented red tiles littered the map. “What are these? What lands do they represent?”
“I will show you over breakfast.” With that, the Scholar turned and strode deeper into the palace. We passed familiar halls and entered dull, unadorned corridors I’d yet to explore. No longer light and airy like the rest of the palace, these dim, smoky passageways were lit by crude torches. The mundane palace business occurred here. We passed kitchens, storage, pantries and slaves’ gawking stares.
“They have never seen
Lord Leviathan here. They’ve never seen a god tread such lowly places.”
We turned a dim corner and came face to face with Quexil.
The Chronicle of Fu Xi
***
Fu Xi remembered the wolf, and knew what he must do. But he didn’t have the strength to drag himself to the carcass.
“I am too weak to crawl, but you can help me.” Fu Xi wrapped the reins around his arm, feeling the knot he tied on that rainy cliff long ago. He found searing pain in his abdomen, reminiscent of the agony he’d experienced when the reins had sliced into his flesh.
“Drag me, Heise. Take me to the wolf.” Fu Xi would devour the beast, as it would have feasted on him.
Heise seemed to understand and began to back up, dragging Fu Xi easily over the sand, but away from the carcass.
“No! Take me to the wolf, or I will die.”
Heise ignored his pleas and pulled him into the tall grass, away from wolf’s cooling flesh and his last hope.
“Stop!” Fu Xi tried to free his hand, but the horse dragged him faster, and his arm burned anew.
They entered a clearing where the grass had been flattened around a small mimosa tree. Heise stopped under the tree and dropped his head, letting the reins loosen from Fu Xi’s hand.
Fu Xi looked up and saw Heise’s saddle and saddle bags. The Red Armor, still tightly bundled and lashed firmly to the cracked leather, lay on its side.
Within arm’s reach, a saddle bag lay, flap partially open. Fu Xi peered at the bag, and, with a shaking hand, lifted the flap. A single green apple rested just inside the otherwise empty bag.
***
“Where are you taking Lord Fu Xi, sorcerer?” Quexil hissed.
Amiran folded his arms and stared down the warrior. “To the Library, Olmec. What of it?”
The Scholar’s tone betrayed not a shred of fear. I’d seen Quexil spar, and he had no equal among mortals. I had yet to see Amiran handle a weapon.
“I forbid it!” the Olmec shouted.
“You have no authority over me.” Amiran raised his sleeve, displaying the trident scar on his bicep. “You know who I serve.”
