Tears of the Dead

by Brian Braden

  Sana leaned over and peered into the water, wondering if she fell in, would her soul be condemned to a coward’s death. She didn’t know if her gods still reigned, but she knew the demons were real, even if they were banished.

  “You take chances for someone who can’t swim,” Ghalen called from the end of the line of boats.

  Sana pulled up her legs and held them against her chest. She slid into the bottom of the boat.

  “You weren’t in the line,” he held up a small ball of fish. “I drew your ration. May I join you?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” Light as a cat he stepped through the boats, the little hulls barely dipping as he passed.

  Ghalen settled cross-legged beside her. She drew away, looking around to see if Ezra and Su-gar still swam. Now only waves frolicked in the empty lagoon, reflecting the dimming braziers on the Crane side of the Spine. They were as close to alone as anyone could be in the arun-ki.

  “I want to be alone.”

  He held out the fish. “Eat, and I’ll leave you alone.”

  Her stomach growled fiercely. As tired of dried, stale fish as she was, Sana’s mouth watered. She took the fish and stuffed it in her mouth.

  “I’ve eaten,” she said with muffled voice around the dry wad. “Now go.”

  Only wearing his loin cloth, he looked so at ease, arms resting on his knees. She didn’t want to look at him, and stared away instead.

  “What was his name?” Ghalen asked.

  “Who?”

  “The prince to whom you were betrothed.”

  “What makes you think it was a prince?”

  “You are a princess...or were. You’re of age, and not disagreeable to look at. I assume your father would have arranged your marriage to a prince.”

  Not disagreeable?

  “His name was Warzameg, a prince and powerful warrior from the northern steppe. We were to be wed in late winter before the elk returned to the Adyghe Mountains.”

  “War...zah...meg,” Ghalen slowly intoned. “You a’gan have some very strange names, difficult to pronounce.”

  “Our names are difficult to pronounce?” Sana shot back. “Every mark on the mast is a day my tongue has tripped over itself trying to spit out your impossible Lo words.”

  Ghalen looked hurt, but she knew better. “What are you talking about? Our words are easy, once you know what they mean.”

  “They are gibberish!”

  “What does your name mean?”

  Sana paused.

  “Is it a secret?”

  “Among my people, the source of one’s name is power. There are words one speaks every day, and there is the language of names, spoken only by the witches and the dead.”

  “Hmm,” Ghalen grunted and shrugged. “Well, my name comes from old words, before the time when your people invaded the g’an, when Aryan, Sammujad and Lo spoke very different tongues. It means iron spirit.”

  “That is a powerful name.”

  A warrior’s name. “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” He hurried past the subject. “Or take Aizarg’s name, for example. He has a strange one. It could mean Good Father or Father of the East, depending how you say it.

  “Are you going to tell me what Sana means?” he pressed.

  “It is from my grandmother’s name,” she relented. “I was the first daughter born in her line.”

  “Ahh!” Ghalen smiled.

  Sana kept looking out of the corner of her eye at him, drawn to his smile and laughing eyes; unsure of the new man who sat beside her, speaking so free and easy. Tall and blond and fair, he struck her so differently than compact and dark Scythian men.

  “Then you have a blessed name, a holy name.”

  “Tell me, what does it mean?” She asked too eagerly, letting her guard down. But she needed to know. Ghalen offered her a window into her own past, he held a precious mystery hostage, one she’d only guessed at since she could remember. Even the tribal witches did not know the origins of Setenay’s name; hence, they held no enchantment over her.

  “Are you sure you want to know?” He winked.

  “Tell me!” She wanted to hit him.

  “Oh, alright. Setenay means Life Giving Mother.”

  “So Sana means...?”

  “Life...” Ghalen shrugged. “I think. Maybe Sena would be a better, more ‘Lo’, way of saying it. I suppose it doesn’t matter. During the council celebrations, my mother used to complain the old words were so corrupted with Sammujad mish-mouth, it was hard to speak in proper Lo anymore.”

  Life. My name means ‘life.’

  Great power had just been handed to her, and she knew this man had no idea what he’d just done. He gave it to her freely, without price, as if were a common thing like a wildflower plucked from the steppe.

  She looked up to catch him staring at her. His eyes were too deep, so clear she could see his soul. It lay there, unguarded and innocent, open to the daggers of a cruel world.

  He was like Atamoda, trusting and good and a fool.

  Ghalen leaned in close, brushing aside the invisible shield she’d erected around her body and heart since the Scythian maiden learned that blood and cruelty were the ways of the world.

  “Sana,” he whispered, casting the man’s spell with his deep, silky voice.

  She nodded, his warm breath caressing her cheek.

  “If you are to be Isp, you have to learn to swim.” Ghalen leaned backwards, rolling head over heels into the Lagoon.

  Spell broken, a wave of disappointment and relief passed over her. She stood up quickly, almost losing her balance in the rocking boat.

  He emerged, hair slicked back with that infuriating smile of his, gripping the side of the boat. He held up his hand. “Come on, I’ll teach you.”

  “No!” she said, arms tightly wrapped around her shoulders. She glanced at the line of boats, wondering if she could make it all the way across to the rafts while standing. She’d crawled out here before on all fours while no one was watching.

  Her eyes darted about, looking for an escape.

  “Sana, you must learn to swim. It’s dangerous if you don’t. If Ezra can do you it, you can, too.”

  “Atamoda can teach me,” she protested.

  “She isn’t here. I am.” He extended his hand again.

  If I enter the water, I am fully in his power, defenseless at the mercy of...an enemy.

  He seemed to sense her fear. “Sana, this is my horse, this is my steppe. Water is my people’s blood. You’ve only seen the water offer death, but for us, it offers life.”

  Life.

  Memories of demons, and heads and hands vanishing below the silt-choked water filled her thoughts.

  “I will protect you.”

  Cautiously, she knelt down, grasping the sides of the boat. Sana took his hand and lowered one foot into the lagoon.

  “If you don’t want to lose those, I’d leave them in the boat,” Ghalen nodded to the daggers around her thigh.

  The thought of removing them gave her one more reason to hesitate, but she found herself untying the thin leather thong and placing the knives in the bottom of the boat. Each slender blade rested inside a double-slit cut in the thong’s widest portion, which firmly held the blades.

  She tried to stop shaking, but couldn’t. The daughter of Scythia closed her eyes and committed to her fate.

  It happened so quickly she didn’t have time to register the transition between the air and water. She inhaled, shocked by its frigid embrace.

  “It did not feel this cold on my feet!”

  “It never does,” he laughed.

  His arm, warm as a river stone under the summer sun, locked around her waist. Sana drew her arms in close to her chest, fists under her chin. She stretched out her toes, instinctively feeling for a bottom she knew wasn’t there. Sana clenched her eyes, ashamed of her fear, ashamed of her urge to draw closer to him.

  “Don’t let go!” she whispered.

  The sensation of hi
s warm body, locked warmly, intimately with hers, made her stomach flutter with each wave.

  Sana knew at that moment, her fate no longer belonged to her.

  Maybe I never truly had control.

  Ghalen’s legs began slowly pumping in a steady rhythm.

  “Open your eyes.” His breath tickled her nose, his voice reverberated through her body.

  She shook her head violently.

  He lifted her chin. “Look.”

  If he is holding me with one hand, and lifting my chin with the other, then...!

  She opened her eyes to find them floating in the middle of the Lagoon.

  “Take me back to the edge. Now!”

  “I will, but we’ll do it together. First, we must learn to hold our breath. Do this.”

  Ghalen pinched his nose, made big puffy cheeks, and put his face underwater.

  “That looks silly. It is beneath me.”

  “Drowning is sillier. Do it.”

  Resigned, she puffed out her cheeks and pinched her nose.

  He frowned.

  “What?” she exhaled.

  “It does look silly.”

  She kicked him.

  “Ouch! Don’t do that if you don’t want me to let go.”

  “A Scythian princess does not look silly.”

  “I’m only joking. Please, let’s try it together.”

  Ghalen didn’t seem to struggle the least bit, swimming and supporting her. She felt herself relaxing slightly as the passing moments found her still alive.

  He held his breath again. Reluctantly, she copied him.

  “Good. Now, do it again, and this time we’re going under water.”

  The thought of descending into to the black abyss terrified her. “I changed my mind. I am not a fish. Take me back to the edge.”

  “Sana, have you ever watched a bird and dreamt of flying?”

  She nodded.

  “This is as close as you will ever come. You can fly like an eagle beneath the waves. One day the water will turn from black to dappled blue again, warm under a summer sun. Fish will dance around you like flocks of sparrows, and you will know such joy, joy you never thought possible. We have a saying: From water we emerge, by water we are sustained, and through water we will pass.”

  For a moment, Sana saw those blue, sunlit waters in his eyes.

  “I am ready.” She held her breath and prepared for whatever fate had in store.

  The first few dives were terrifying. The water invaded her ears, making them feel stuffy. But, like many new experiences, the fear melted away, replaced by the exhilaration of new frontiers. Time passed, and soon she held her breath without pinching her nose.

  Grasping her waist, Ghalen began to swim around the Lagoon, showing her how to kick, move her arms, and float.

  She didn’t feel as if flying, but welcomed the sense of lightness with each swell. Together, they swam against the waves to the upstream rafts.

  Ghalen’s arm slowly relaxed, his hand finding hers.

  Her fear reemerged. “What are you doing?”

  “Teaching you to fly.” He held up his finger. “Listen.”

  In the distance she heard the familiar boom of a large wave striking the bow rafts, then the Spine creaking, and the rapid, successive splashes along the ribs.

  “Get ready, it’s a big one!” He smiled like a little boy.

  “What are you doing? No, stop...”

  With a mighty kick, Ghalen pushed off the rafts edge, just as the wave passed under them, rushing by as if it were air. Sana kicked away and, arms outstretched like wings, she rose above the boats ahead of her.

  For a fleeting moment, she became a little girl again, chasing a feather drifting beyond camp’s edge where the pickets stood vigil.

  I am a feather!

  She glanced to her left to see Ghalen smiling back at her, both arms extended outward. He wasn’t holding her hand, and a boat loomed ominously ahead of her. She grabbed its side, but the wave dragged her underneath the hull. Sana struggled against the current, but it yanked her with unbelievable force, trying to pry her fingers from the boat.

  Ghalen snatched her to the surface, pressing her hard against his chest.

  She spit out a mouthful of water. “Let go of me!”

  Sana wiped the water from her eyes and looked up, irritated by his silence.

  Ghalen wasn’t smiling anymore. As if in a trance, he stared down at her. Sana realized how close he pressed her against him. Blood pumping, she found her arms firmly wrapped around his waist. Skin to skin, they slid achingly against one another in harmony with the sea.

  Only a moment separated her from a choice; surrender to the overpowering instincts building within, or leave the water’s embrace. Perhaps he would not afford her a choice. She’d seen it before, when a man’s passion becomes so inflamed he’s taken by madness. The water did nothing to quench this fire, only feeding its flames.

  She wanted to wrap her thighs around his waist, to pull him in tight, to seize him and take him. But if she surrendered now, she surrendered everything.

  I am still a captive. I am still Scythian.

  “No,” she grabbed the side of the boat and squirmed from his grip.

  Sana turned her back to him and closed her eyes, prepared for what may come next. Would he take her? Would it hurt? Being the daughter of a great king, she never imagined her first sexual experience would be rape, or that it would occur in the sea.

  She could see the lightning flashes through her eyelids, feel its energy coursing through her body as she waited for the thunder.

  Cold water filled the void between. He seized her between the legs. Sana gasped.

  And then he hurled her upward in the chilly air and into the boat. She flopped into the hull like a wet fish.

  Gracefully, he slid in after her, grabbed her knives, and stood up. “Don’t forget these.” He tossed them in front of her.

  Dizzy from the emotions fighting for control of her heart, she hastily retied the thong. The knives felt different against her wet thigh, chaffing in a way they never had before.

  She could not read his impassive expression, just as relaxed as he was when he sat down beside her. He turned to make his way across the boat, as if the moment never happened.

  Before he reached the rafts he hesitated. Ghalen paused for several moments before turning around. He withdrew something from a hidden fold in his loincloth.

  How can they hide so much in their loincloths?

  Her heart almost stopped when she saw him holding Death. She hadn’t seen that black dagger since Setenay took it.

  “A woman taken in war is, by right of combat, a slave to the victor. Her life is completely his, correct?” He toyed with the razor edge.

  She nodded, staring at him defiantly, a cold sense of betrayal settling into the pit of her stomach.

  I was weak to let my guard down, to trust him. The hope she’d felt only moments ago vanished.

  “So, if I command you to marry me, you must by your own custom. Is that true?”

  “Yes.”

  Ghalen approached to within inches, turning the dagger over in his hands. To the Scythian maiden, Death served as a symbol of liberation from one’s oppressor. In his hands, it became a symbol of her slavery.

  She tried to forget the way his arms felt. Staring hard at him, her last act of defiance only served to stir the conflicting feelings tearing down her defenses.

  He’s no different, Sana. Learn to hate him, and accept your fate.

  Ghalen’s expression softened. “Setenay told me many things before she died, about her days among the Scythia. We revere her as a holy woman. She is legend, but she was also a woman. In you, I see her spirit.

  “An Isp cannot be a slave to anyone’s will but her own. She told me never to return this to you. I didn’t know why then, but I do now.” Ghalen held out Death to Sana, hilt first.

  “If Aizarg is to have an Isp, she will be a free woman, in both body and spirit. If I am to marry,
I will marry a woman who chooses me, in both body and spirit. My bride must be whole.

  “I release you from the bond of conquest.”

  With that, Ghalen vanished into the arun-ki.

  Sana stared at the dark blade in her palm, the edge forged to drink her blood. The Scythian slowly fell to her knees in the bottom of the boat.

  Sana lightly grazed the tip against her abdomen, not sure if she feared life or death more at this moment.

  ***

  Ghalen couldn’t breathe, wondering what insanity had come over him. He paced back and forth on the bow raft, fighting the urge to run back and wrest the knife from her hands.

  Setenay told you not to give it back.

  He crouched against the storm wall, running his hands through his soaking hair, and praying for a speedy dawn.

  40. Betrothed

  The newly wedded couple poled to the upstream edge of the arun-ki, all their earthly belongings secured to the wedding barge. There, they anchored and erected a small thatch tent on the deck in which to spend their first night as man and wife. After sealing their marriage, they woke the next morning, eager to begin their life together.

  The Chronicle of Fu Xi

  ***

  Sometimes he paced. Sometimes he squatted against the storm wall, letting the rain pour off him, hoping the bucking and rolling deck might shake some sense into him.

  Ghalen couldn’t get over the way she felt in his arms, the way their bodies blended in the water.

  The wind picked up from the north when Atamoda found him.

  “Come,” she said.

  Ghalen followed her between sleeping forms and dim braziers until the reemerged into the rain on the farthest downstream raft.

  Relief and joy flooded his spirit when he saw her standing where Virag’s raft used to be moored.

  Atamoda held Ghalen’s hand and patted his forearm as she led him to Sana. “She woke me and asked me to find you.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Understanding is not important. Being here is all that matters.”