Black Sea Gods: Chronicles of Fu Xi

by Braden, Brian

  A good sco-lo-ti speaks little and when he does, he speaks softly but firmly. He leads by example in every facet of his life. A Lo fisherman is a free spirit, he cannot be told what to do. He will die before he becomes a slave, for that is the fate of the a-g’an. He must be led by the spirits and his own inner light. A man’s journey is his own, his sco-lo-ti and patesi-le are merely guides.

  Aizarg closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Father, how can I guide them when I am so confused?

  Aizarg raised his hands. “People, nothing we say here is of any consequence until the patesi-le emerges from her prayers. We should return to our huts and enjoy the company of our wives and children. When Oeto-sy rises in the east, perhaps Atamoda will bring us guidance from the gods.”

  The men voiced their agreement. Atta rose again.

  “Sco-lo-ti, I offer one more course of action. I say we call a Council of Boats. Other arun-ki may have experienced the same phenomena, and a neighboring sco-lo-ti may have answers to the day’s mysteries. Perhaps one of our fellow clans knows when the fish and animals will return.”

  Aizarg again stroked his beard and considered Atta’s advice.

  “Atta, I thank you for your wisdom. You are correct, we need to seek the counsel of our kin to the east and west. I, Sco-lo-ti of the Crane Arun-ki, call a Council of Boats for tomorrow evening. Xva...”

  Xva snapped to his feet. “Yes, sco-lo-ti?”

  “Gather two torches from each man and pole east until you come to the arun-ki of your uncle, Bla-la-te. Tell him of today’s events and request he and his patesi-le attend our Council of Boats. Atta, will you do the same to the west and summon your cousin and his wife? Ask them to send boats to the next arun-ki, but no farther. I do not want to delay the Council waiting for distant clans to reply.”

  Both men nodded, then turned to leave. They suddenly stopped and backed up as someone climbed the ladder onto the platform.

  Atamoda, clothed only in a loin cloth, normal attire for both Lo women and men, emerged into the firelight. She had swum from their hut. Her long black hair matted against her back and over her breasts. Her lovely brown eyes were red. Aizarg knew she’d been crying and struggled to compose herself.

  The men rose for the holy woman.

  She spoke in measured, formal tones. “Fishermen of the Lo, I, Atamoda, daughter of Kissar and wife of Aizarg, patesi-li of Psatina, seek private council with the sco-lo-ti.” Her large brown eyes pleaded to Aizarg, Please come home!

  They didn’t speak during the short jaunt to the hut. She sat in front of his boat, head down as he poled to their dock. Behind them, the men’s voices carried clearly across the water, confused about her sudden appearance.

  She climbed the ladder to their hut as he tied off the boat. When he entered, she buried her face into his chest and sobbed.

  “The gods are silent. They’ve abandoned us, Aizarg. We are alone!”

  Aizarg’s heart fell. His beloved Atamoda knew better than to make such an announcement before the men assembled upon the köy-lo-hely. She trembled in his arms, on the edge of complete panic.

  “Tell no one until the Council of Boats,” he whispered.

  Intertwined in the furs, they held each other in the darkness until he finally heard her breathing slow and become regular.

  As she slept, Aizarg stared through the roof’s smoke hole, watching the stars come and go through the small opening. He thought of his youth, when he didn’t have a care, beyond riding the giant waves beyond the Silt Flats.

  As a boy, he accompanied his father and uncle on an overnight fishing expedition. There, he heard something he never forgot. Around a fire on the edge of the marshes, his father spoke to his uncle in a moment of confidence when he thought Aizarg asleep.

  Around the hearth, the women folk say love and hate are sisters. Bah! Maybe for women! Men know better, especially a sco-lo-ti. Love is like the feeling one gets when away from the sea, when you can’t smell it. The Sammujad call it ‘fear.’ I love my people. I love my family. The thought of losing them, seeing them hurt...( Aizarg heard his father’s fist thump hollow on his chest)...that is what makes my heart sink like a stone, that is what makes me fear. I’m supposed to protect them. Love and fear...they are the same. Love is a tender curse.

  For the first time, Aizarg understood what his father meant.

  5. The Council of Boats

  The Council of Boats served as a tribal summit and festival for the Lo Nation, which dwelt along the reed beds of the Great Sea’s north shore.

  From Aizarg’s arun-ki, the reeds continued four days’ voyage west. There, tall coastal grasses diminished into flat pebble beaches and the g’an transformed into low forested mountains. Three days voyage east, the gentle reeds suddenly ended in jagged cliffs. Where the reeds ended, so did the Lo world.

  The Great Sea was the center of the universe. To leave her was to leave life itself. The farther one traveled from the Great Sea, the farther one drifted from all which was good.

  The Chronicle of Fu Xi

  ***

  Both Xva and Atta returned early and went directly to Aizarg’s hut. In the night, they encountered torch-bearing messengers from other Lo settlements spreading the word of the fish exodus. News of the Council of Boats and the tale of the Valley of the Beasts rippled across the northern coast like a fire though the reeds. It quickly became understood Aizarg’s arun-ki would host the hastily convened Council of Boats.

  From the nearest reaches of the Lo universe, seven sco-lo-ti arrived by sunset. Most sco-lo-ti and their patesi-le were accompanied by villagers. Flotillas trailed behind the delegates’ boats like ducklings.

  The council would convene after sunset. Merriment often preceded a Council of Boats, but not this time. None of the usual laughter floated between the huts. Older children sat listlessly on docks, attuned to the dark mood. However, the crisis didn’t prevent delegations from observing strict formality. Custom demanded they call on friends and relations prior to any council business. In accordance with this custom, the hosting sco-lo-ti and his wife didn’t receive visitors. Aizarg and Atamoda prepared for the evening’s events throughout the somber afternoon.

  Aizarg leaned against the hut’s entrance, watching little Bat-or play at the end of the dock. The child of four summers slapped the water with a long stick, giggled, and slapped it again.

  Kol-ok crouched on the other side of the dock with a net, patiently looking for any fish lurking in the shadows under the log pylons. No fish swam under the dock today, or anywhere along the reeds. Usually watching his boys lightened his heart, but now it filled him with apprehension.

  Atamoda doted on Kol-ok because he favored Aizarg down to his grey eyes and even temperament. He would grow tall and slender. Both quiet and contemplative, Kol-ok possessed the necessary traits of a future sco-lo-ti.

  Stout little Bat-or possessed wide shoulders and his mother’s large soulful eyes, though he had Aizarg’s red hair.

  “Stop hitting the water, Bat-or!” Kol-ok shouted. “You’re scaring the fish!”

  A scowl crossed Bat-or’s dirty face as he crossed his chubby little forearms. He harrumphed, walked across the dock and urinated in the water in front of his brother.

  Aizarg stifled a laugh.

  “You little...!” Kol-ok pushed his brother into the water then leapt in after him. The boys grappled and splashed until their taunts and screams turned to laughter. Beyond his splashing children, he turned his attention to the fishermen trickling into the arun-ki.

  Their boats skimmed across the sparkling water, crisp shadows in the brilliant sunset. He knew their nets were empty by how high they rode in the water.

  Panic is only a few days away unless the fish return.

  A warm, calloused hand clasped Aizarg’s.

  “Husband, your council garbs are laid out. The boys will play in the water until sunset,” she whispered in his ear. A white marsh flower adorned her hair. “I need you.”

  I need you, too.
<
br />   Aizarg pulled her close with one hand and slid the other under her long hair and lightly caressed the small of her back. With a sensuous arc of her neck she closed her eyes, turned and led him to their mat. She pulled him down and, to the distant music of their children’s laughter, they momentarily forgot their fears.

  Afterwards, they lay in each other’s arms listening to the boys splash outside. Atamoda seemed to settle down since last night, but he still sensed her apprehension.

  “Levidi thinks you need to talk with Ood-i and Ula,” Aizarg said, trying to bring her mind back to life’s more ordinary affairs.

  “I was going to swim to their hut today, but with the Council tonight...” she said, trying to latch on to the topic.

  “That is understandable,” he said. “Levidi and Alaya believe the strife in Ood-i’s hut has something to do with Su-gár still being unmarried,” Aizarg pressed.

  Atamoda looked up at him and smiled. “So Levidi is a patesi-le now? Has he given you his opinions on midwifing and raising children?”

  “Levidi is an expert on all matters, just ask him.”

  She sighed and laid her head back down on Aizarg’s chest. “In this, he may be right. Su-gár should be married by now. Perhaps this council will provide Ood-i an opportunity to find her a husband. I’ll see if I can convince Ula to let her go.”

  Aizarg knew that sigh. It meant his wife wasn’t telling him something. He opened his mouth to press the issue, but thought better of it. The sco-lo-ti pulled his patesi-le closer and watched the sun set through the hut’s opening.

  ***

  Atamoda sensed Aizarg begin to ask her something and was glad he remained silent. She didn’t want to talk about Su-gár. She knew it wasn’t Ula keeping Su-gár from marriage. Atamoda knew Su-gár had eyes for another man, one already spoken for. She didn’t think Levidi knew this, and was certain Aizarg didn’t. Men could be deaf to the ways of the heart. Atamoda vowed Su-gár would marry a man from another arun-ki, one far away, before the next full moon.

  She ran her hands over her man’s chest and listened to their children’s laughter.

  ***

  That evening, Atamoda watched Aizarg stand in the center of the ring of light. He raised his hands and the crowd hushed. In the central lagoon, boats tightly encircled the köy-lo-hely. They stretched well past the first few huts, packed close enough for people to easily step from boat to boat without danger of tipping. Each boat bore a torch, creating a sea of flickering light.

  “I, Aizarg, sco-lo-ti of the Crane Arun-ki and husband of Atamoda, welcome my family to our Council of Boats,” he shouted into the torch-lit darkness. The seven sco-lo-ti and their patesi-le sat cross legged in a circle around the large brazier, with Aizarg and Atamoda nearest to the roaring fire. All the delegates, including Aizarg and Atamoda, were clad in ceremonial garb.

  Aizarg wore long deerskin trousers and a loose shirt woven from silken marsh weed fibers and dyed with red berries. A headband of small, multi-colored shells in the shape of a wading crane declared his clan. Accustomed to wearing only a loin cloth, he found the garb stifling, but the formal attire announced his status as sco-lo-ti.

  Atamoda dressed similarly, but her blouse was dyed robin’s egg blue, the traditional color of patesi-le. She didn’t wear a headband, but both she and Aizarg wore matching li-ge amulets.

  Each delegation’s garb displayed only slight variations denoting their clan. All wore the li-ge. Like Aizarg and Atamoda, the other sco-lo-ti/patesi-le delegations were spouses...except one.

  Ba-lok and his grandmother, Setenay, represented the Minnow Clan. Ba-lok’s wife, Kus-ge, watched from the surrounding boats. She couldn’t ascend to village shaman until the preceding patesi-le died. Setenay’s clear eyes and straight back told the world succession wouldn’t happen any time soon.

  A shrewd woman, her wisdom and kindness were renowned among all the Lo clans. Some elders called her the oldest person in the world. Old Atta called Setenay “the Grandmother of the Lo,” and claimed her ancient when he was a boy. Legend says as a young maiden Setenay possessed stunning beauty. A Scythian chieftain spied her near the marshes and stole her away. So moved by Setenay’s wisdom and grace, the horse lord released her. A renowned legend among the Lo, but Setenay never spoke of it.

  Although little of Setenay’s physical beauty remained, Atamoda marveled at the patesi-le’s ageless spirit.

  Relief swept over Atamoda when she saw Setenay arrive in Ba-lok’s boat, for Ba-lok’s beautiful wife was considered neither wise nor kind.

  After formal introductions, Atamoda prayed to the gods and threw sacrificial fish into the fire, though she knew they were not listening. The futile act overwhelmed her with feelings of emptiness.

  Bowls of spiced fish, meats, and wild grain cakes were placed before the delegates while Aizarg told the tale of the Valley of the Beasts. Gasps and murmurs from the delegates and crowd met his words.

  Each sco-lo-ti gave an account of what his people had witnessed. Some spoke of the fish exodus, while others described silent marshes where insects no longer buzzed and chirped. Moans issued from the crowded boats with each new tale and the mood steadily grew more somber. The thin crescent moon climbed high over the waters before all the sco-lo-ti finished.

  While the sco-lo-ti talked, Atamoda observed Setenay dwelling in the shadows behind Ba-lok. Then Setenay turned her full attention to Aizarg. Atamoda wondered why her mentor, the beloved woman who taught her the shaman arts, studied her husband so intently.

  It frightened her.

  A gentle touch on her shoulder brought her back to the business at hand.

  “The sco-lo-ti sees with his eyes and touches with his hand,” Aizarg said, while helping her stand. “The patesi-le sees with her heart and touches with her spirit. Now I ask our holy woman to speak.”

  Atamoda rose to lay her grim tidings before the council. Dreading her duty, she opened her mouth to speak.

  “Atamoda, sit, dear child.” Setenay stepped forward. “Let my old heart say what your young heart fears to speak.” Relieved, Atamoda quickly sat down. Setenay leaned toward Atamoda and whispered, “Let me bear this burden.” The sadness in the old woman’s eyes shocked Atamoda.

  Setenay walked around the fire, and then turned to face the council. Her softly weathered face suddenly grew hard. The flickering fire cast deep shadows, transforming her ancient face into an image of doom.

  “I will tell you what these omens mean, for Psatina has revealed her will to me.” She lowered her gaze and sighed. “She has revealed her will like a scorned lover’s slap across the cheek, a burst of pain and a lifetime of regret and sorrow.”

  She paused as the fire crackled.

  “Sethagasi has called the creatures of the deep back to her womb. Psatina has summoned the animals of the g’an and Oeto-sy has hidden the birds from our sight. The creatures of the world reflect in flesh what the gods have done in spirit. The gods have turned their backs on us!” She shook her head and choked back a sob. “Oh, my family, and it is so much worse! The gods of the Great Sea have fled before the power of another god, a mysterious and silent god.” She raised her hand over the crowd and shouted, “He intends to destroy the world!”

  Horrified screams filled the lagoon. Several sco-lo-ti and patesi-le fell to their faces. Atamoda put her face in her hands.

  Okta, the tall and lean sco-lo-ti of the Carp Arun-ki, challenged her. “Are you certain?”

  “Slice off your arm and tell me if you are certain it is gone!” Setenay snapped. Setenay’s pronouncement carried the weight of certainty, sealing the Lo’s fate.

  Atamoda watched helplessly as the council fell into chaos in a moment too terrible for words.

  “No!” A voice rose above the chaos, though no one heard it above the wailing, save Atamoda. She looked up through her tears and saw Aizarg standing apart and tall. His teeth were clenched, his eyes clear and determined. Atamoda sensed that one small word, no, held power. It symbolized all the defiance
Aizarg could muster against the power of fate.

  It will have to do. She stood and wiped away her tears. If he stands tall, so must I. She moved behind him and touched his hand. Her presence seemed to give him strength.

  “No!” he shouted louder. The word gathered strength. Several delegates stopped moaning and looked at him.

  “NO!” he screamed at the top of his voice. The crowd’s wailing fell to whimpering. “No! I do not accept this!”

  Kus-ge called out from the crowd, “You must accept it, for it is Psatina’s will!”

  Aizarg brushed off Kus-ge’s comment as that one word grew in power and gave birth to others.

  “No!” Aizarg shouted. “I don’t know the will of the Earth Mother. I only know my will! As long as there is breath in my lungs, as long as I have a boat under my feet and a good spear and the strength to throw it, I have hope! I will not lie down and die.” He paused and stepped to the edge of the köy-lo-hely.

  “If I have to sail to the very heart of Sethagasi’s womb and drag the fish back, I will! If I have to walk into the Valley of the Beasts and slay every cursed animal there, I will do so before I see my sons starve! Do you hear me, Lo?”

  The sobbing and crying tapered off as Aizarg finally had their full attention.

  “Setenay.” He gently placed his hands on her thin shoulders and asked, “Why has Psatina turned her back on us? How have we offended her and what must we do to turn away her terrible hand?”

  Setenay shook her head. “I don’t know, Aizarg, she is silent now, as silent and empty as the Great Sea and marshes. She gives no omens, no signs. Her heart is barren to me. I only know the end will come soon, though its form is unknown.”

  Aizarg walked around the circle, staring hard at each clan leader.

  “Who among us committed so great a trespass as to deserve this? It was not my arun-ki! Ba-lok...was it your people? Okta...was it yours?

  The sco-lo-ti responded together and loudly, “No!”

  “If we are innocent, then why do we suffer? Do we deserve to watch our wives and children perish in agony?”