Black Sea Gods: Chronicles of Fu Xi

by Braden, Brian

  Levidi collapsed on the ground and lay with his head on his bundles. “I’ve never seen so much animal dung in my life. I’m filthy again!”

  Ghalen stretched out on the ground to expose as much of his body to the setting sun as he could. He put his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. “I know of a cool stream a day’s walk to the west,” he said. “I’m sure you could wash off there.”

  “If I get any filthier I will get back into that cursed river!” Levidi folded his arms and scowled.

  “We need to make a fire,” Ba-lok said as he walked up behind the group. “Ghalen, gather wood.”

  Setenay cringed on the inside. He’s not learning his lessons.

  Ghalen sat up and spoke calmly, “First, I don’t take orders from you. Second, just where in the goddess’s name do you expect to find any wood out here?”

  Ba-lok folded his arms and stared defiantly at the Ghalen. “I am Second to the Uros. I am a sco-lo-ti.”

  Ghalen lay back again and returned his hands under his head. “The Second to the Uros? Impressive, but not impressive enough to snap your fingers and produce reeds or cords of wood. Oh, and you are not my sco-lo-ti.”

  Ba-lok turned deep red. “We can burn bundles of grass!”

  Ghalen laughed. “These thin blades of scrub are not like thick marsh reeds. You just can’t bundle them and throw them on a fire.” Ghalen pointed back over his head to one of the few trees lining the ridge. “These pitiful excuses for trees might provide a twig or two at best. And I suppose you’ll volunteer to gather grass all night? That will be fine by me. I’ll sleep and you can scurry about like a little boy in shore camp, throwing handfuls of grass into the fire.”

  “Enough, both of you,” Aizarg interjected.

  Setenay scowled and picked up her stick. Ghalen and Ba-lok saw her and grew quiet.

  Aizarg put his hand on Ba-lok’s shoulder. “I appreciate your intentions, but I don’t think we can make a fire tonight.”

  Aizarg is in need of council, too. Though, I cannot provide it. He is still the sco-lo-ti, but he needs to become the Uros.

  Setenay thought of the dead Scythian. Such men lead with authority and force. Such men are feared. The men love and respect Aizarg, but they do not fear him.

  Sadness swept over her at the memory of the dead prince’s bloated face. His name was Tuma.

  She knew the meaning of that name...“Half-breed.”

  A shiver went up her spine.

  Perhaps it would be best if they feared Aizarg. Fate will either forge Aizarg into the man he needs to be or we will all perish.

  Setenay glanced at Sarah, who wandered downhill from the camp. Sarah turned her head from side to side, scanning the ground, then she stooped, and picked up an object. She carried it a few paces, dropped it, and then repeated the process over and over.

  What is she doing?

  As the sun dipped to the horizon, the men debated what to do next.

  “Are we prepared to travel for days without a fire?” Okta said. “The nights will only grow colder.”

  “We’ll be all right,” Aizarg said. “We endure cold winds on the sea for days without complaint.”

  Setenay would not get involved, though her old bones secretly yearned for a fire.

  “Bed down and try to stay warm,” Aizarg said.

  “Where is Sarah?” said Ba-lok, looking around.

  “I smell smoke,” Levidi said, surprised.

  They found her on her hands and knees in the middle of a circle cleared of grass. She gently blew on embers struggling for life at the base of a small pile of dry grass. A stack of dried animal dung and a small pouch of flint chips sat next to her.

  “Didn’t you hear the Uros, woman?” Ba-lok demanded. “No fires tonight.”

  She ignored him and continued to blow on the grass. Ba-lok moved to stop her, but Aizarg held him back.

  The embers below the grass suddenly sprang to life and started to consume the pile. She took a chip of dried animal dung and held it to the flames. The chip slowly caught fire and released a dull orange flame and thick oily smoke. As the waste began to heat, the smoke lightened and the flame brightened to yellow. She added a few more chips and the fire flared to life.

  “Sarah!” Setenay said in amazement.

  She smiled up at Setenay. “This is common knowledge to those who dwell beyond the marsh. I suppose it’s understandable the Lo wouldn’t know about this kind of fire craft.”

  Setenay smiled. “I forgot about this craft of making fire. I haven’t seen it used...” she saw the Scythian’s face again. “...Since I was about your age, Sarah.” She felt a little embarrassed she’d forgotten such a practical skill.

  “This is a pleasant surprise,” Aizarg commented with a grin. “Why didn’t you speak of this earlier?”

  “I thought it easier to show you than try to explain it,” Sarah said with a self-conscious smile, as if she were afraid she’d done something wrong.

  She knows when to speak the truth to the blind, and when to simply lead them to safety.

  “Also, I had to wait until sunset,” Sarah continued. “That’s when the wind usually settles. Grass fires are terrible things; they can travel far and kill many. We’ll have to be careful in the morning and cover the embers with lots of dirt.”

  Ghalen nodded. “During dry seasons, the marshes burn as well.”

  “Another reason I waited until dark is the smoke can be seen for a day’s journey in every direction. My people say only the dead make daytime fires upon the g’an.”

  No one spoke. They gathered around the fire started by a little slave girl who knew more about the world they found themselves in than any of them. In this moment Setenay realized how lucky they’d been so far. They survived negotiations with Virag the Terrible not because of Aizarg’s leadership, but because of the fruits of Ood-i’s indiscretions. The effect Sarah had on the water demons still mystified her. And now they had a fire because of this intelligent, crafty former slave.

  She looked at Aizarg, who stared at the fire, eyes unfocused and lost in his own thoughts. Setenay touched the small of his back and whispered, “Perhaps the gods haven’t completely abandoned us. She certainly is a blessing, isn’t she? Maybe it’s time to do that thing you discussed with me and Okta.”

  Aizarg’s eyes refocused and he smiled broadly down on Setenay. He turned to Ba-lok. “Take the first watch.”

  Ba-lok frowned, grabbed his pack, and went up the ridge. Setenay and Aizarg agreed Ba-lok should not be present for what was about to transpire. Setenay wanted no disparaging remarks to spoil what should be a joyous and solemn event.

  Everyone else moved their belongings down next to the fire and unrolled their mats and blankets.

  “Old mother,” Ghalen said as he put her pack next to his mat. “You will sleep next to the fire tonight. I am going to put your mat next to mine, but don’t get any ideas.”

  She smiled, reached up and patted Ghalen’s cheek. “You are safe tonight; am I?”

  Ghalen kissed her on her forehead. “Dear woman, I am only mortal, but I will do my best to control myself.”

  Everyone ate, and settled close to the fire, their eyes grew heavy. Aizarg, Okta, and Setenay looked at one another and nodded.

  Aizarg stood. “Sarah, stand next to me.”

  Confused, she did so. With a wry smile, Aizarg took her by the hand.

  Setenay stood and instantly wished she hadn’t sat down. Her thighs and calves ached in protest.

  It’s not the köy-lo-hely, but it will do.

  Okta remained cross-legged on his mat with a wide grin, while the rest of the party looked on.

  Setenay spoke, “The Lo are a compassionate race. We did not abandon the refugees during the Scythian scourge in my grandmother’s time, and we will not abandon you now, Sarah.

  “However, we cannot have a daughter of the g’an among us, tempting a husband to further adultery. I know your heart, child, and I know dear Ood-i’s, too. If you came to liv
e with us, I know both of you will genuinely strive to keep your vows, but the seeds are already planted for your failure.”

  Ood-i leaned forward. “Setenay, w-what is this all about?”

  The patesi-le held up her finger, “Patience, hear us out.”

  “Therefore,” she continued, “there is only one path open to us. Sarah, do you want to live among the Lo for the rest of your life?”

  A spark of hope lit Sarah’s eyes.

  “Yes!” she said breathlessly.

  Aizarg spoke to Sarah, “You will stay with us, in my arun-ki, until you are properly trained in the ways of our people. Then the day will come when you will be married off to a man from another arun-ki. I promise he will love and cherish you, but this is the condition you must accept to stay. Do you accept it?”

  Sarah looked back at Ood-i. Tears rolled into his beard as he nodded once. She turned and nodded to Aizarg.

  “I accept.”

  Okta stood and spoke to Sarah, “When the time comes to marry, you will travel to my arun-ki. There, several young men will compete for your affections. Usually, these are arranged, but Aizarg thought it important you choose. It is a bit unorthodox, but we believe it is imperative you love the man you marry without reservation.”

  Setenay saw Ood-i’s shoulders sag.

  “Child, give me your hand.” Setenay took Sarah’s hand and placed it in Aizarg’s.

  “Aizarg, will you accept Sarah of the Hur-po as your daughter? Will you take her into your hut as if she were of your flesh?”

  Aizarg placed his large hands over her shoulders. Tears welled in Sarah’s eyes.

  “I will take Sarah into my home as if she were born of my wife’s flesh. She will be loved and cherished as a gift from the goddess herself until the day we are returned to the goddess’s womb...if she will have me as her father. Sarah, will you?”

  Sarah leapt at Aizarg, wrapping her arms around his neck with sobs of joy. He picked her up in a big bear hug.

  Setenay wiped the mist from her eyes and looked at the smiles of joy ringing the fire. Even Ood-i looked happy, though she sensed sadness below the surface.

  Setenay continued, “There is a ceremony appropriate for this occasion, handed down from patesi-le to patesi-le for generations. It is long and I am tired. Aizarg, Sarah is now your daughter. I’m sure you’ll do a fine job explaining it to Atamoda when we get home. Good luck.

  “Sarah, you are no longer of the Hur-po. You are a Lo woman now. Your new mother, Atamoda, will be in charge of your education.”

  Sarah struggled to speak through the tears, “I will not let her down.”

  “Be a good person, true to what is right, and you won’t,” Setenay caressed her cheek and then turned to the men.

  “As in those terrible days of old, we find hope in times of trouble,” Setenay said with finality. “From darkness, mercy.”

  “From darkness, mercy,” they all repeated.

  With a yawn, Setenay rubbed her palms together and held them up to the fire. “Let’s get some sleep.”

  Levidi spoke up. “Imagine, a patesi-le having her own pick of any man she wants in an arun-ki full of eligible men. That’s something I’ve never heard of.”

  Setenay, Aizarg, and Okta’s heads all turned at once toward Levidi, mouths agape.

  “What?” Levidi said, hands out in supplication. Setenay, Aizarg, and Okta looked at each other in amazement.

  Levidi burst out laughing and rolled over backwards, holding his gut. “Oh, my goodness! You didn’t think about that, did you?”

  Sarah searched each of their faces. “I don’t understand.”

  “Young woman,” Okta smiled from ear to ear. “You are now the daughter of a sco-lo-ti. No...Uros of the Lo people. Your adoptive mother is a patesi-le. By tradition, you must become a patesi-le, a holy woman, of the Lo people. We may have to search far wider than my arun-ki for a husband. By tradition, a patesi-le marries the son of a sco-lo-ti. If you must know, I do have unmarried sons.”

  Setenay blew out a long sigh between her teeth. She and Aizarg discussed many facets of this arrangement. What they didn’t consider were the implications of the sco-lo-ti and a patesi-le adopting a girl. The law was clear, Sarah must be become a patesi-le.

  You old witch, how could you overlook that one, small detail?

  She exhaled between puffed cheeks. “I’m getting old.”

  Aizarg looked at Setenay, “Can we do that?”

  Setenay shook her head and waved dismissively. “She can turn shit into fire. I guess that’s a good start for any patesi-le. How this affects her eligible pool of suitors is an issue for another day. I’m going to sleep.”

  Levidi still laughed, rolling on the ground as Setenay walked by. She kicked him in the side, which made him laugh even harder.

  ***

  Aizarg threw a few more chips into the fire and then sat down with Sarah in the grass.

  “Soon we will look upon Hur-ar. You have told me some things about it, but I have more questions about what to expect once we arrive. How long will it take us to travel from the Canyon to Hur-ar?”

  She took a deep breath. “Only a few hours. Once we descend into the Hur Valley, we can quickly cross the Hur River at the Bridge of Kupar. The Dead Forest lies on both sides of the river. A road cuts through the middle and leads directly to the bridge and all the way to the city.”

  “Bridge? What is a bridge? You didn’t mention that,” Aizarg said.

  “It is a giant structure spanning the river by which we can cross. The Narim built it long ago when they took the Dead Forest. They also built the road. The road and Bridge of Kupar have existed for well over a hundred years. The Kings of Hur-ar have kept both in good repair.”

  “I greatly look forward to seeing this ‘bridge’.” Aizarg wanted to finally behold all the wonders Sarah had spoken of over the last two days. “Is this ‘Kupar’ one of the Narim?”

  “Kupar was the type of tree which used to grow in the Dead Forest. The bridge and the Black Fortress are made of kupar wood, which is very hard. Once the Narim took all the wood, not a single sapling returned to the banks of the Hur River. Where there was once a great forest, now only grasslands and stumps remain.”

  The shadow returned to her face and she turned away.

  “What is wrong?”

  Sarah shook her head and bit her lower lip. “Forgive me, father, but I have a confession.”

  “Go on.”

  “When we left Virag’s camp, I fully expected we would be dead before sunset. I know I should have had more faith, but you are Lo, and Lo have no business on the steppe. I assumed we would flee to the marshes or be cut down at the first sight of Scythians. I never thought we’d actually get this close to Hur-ar.”

  Aizarg laughed. “I will not fault you for common sense. I’m surprised to be here myself.”

  “Hur-ar offers dangers every bit as deadly as the Scythians. You and your people are wholly unprepared for them. The Hur-po are snakes, deceitful and evil. In many ways, I was better off with Virag.”

  Aizarg pursed his lips and stared straight ahead. “Go on.”

  “The Kupar Bridge is guarded by the King’s warriors. They wear bronze armor and carry swords and bows. You and your men are no match. Virag had to pay bribes and tribute at the bridge and the city gates before they would let him enter the bazaar. We have no gold and no trade.

  “Even if we gain passage into the city, the Black Gate lies all the way against the mountain, up the Cliff Road. We have to pass through the entire city, with all its cutthroats and foulness. The thought of you and your...our beautiful people having to endure such evil fills me with dread. I vowed I would die before I returned to that place. I am afraid for you!”

  Aizarg lifted her chin. “Do not fear. Something has guided us to this point, of which you’ve played no small part. We must have faith. My wife...” he paused and chuckled softly, “...your mother, says the future is fog upon the water. Look for the stars, feel for the bott
om, and call upon the goddess for help. A man makes the decisions he thinks best and poles forward. You can’t reach the shore by sitting in place, hoping for a friendly tide which may never come.

  “Tell me everything about Hur-ar and the Black Fortress so we can both get some sleep.”

  She spoke while Aizarg occasionally nodded or asked a question on some detail. Sometimes he shook his head in disgust.

  “You’ve given me much to think about, daughter.”

  Sarah looked up at him, as large tears welled up and slid down her cheeks. She dropped her head into her hands and began sobbing.

  He put an arm around her and tried to console her.

  “What is wrong, daughter?” Aizarg couldn’t fathom why she cried.

  Now I will have two emotional women in my home. He suddenly thought of Ood-i and all the strife he had to endure with both Ula and Su-gar in his hut.

  My hut is not large enough for two strong women, two patesi-le. Perhaps I should have thought of this earlier. He took a deep breath. I wonder what else I have failed to consider on this quest.

  He gently rubbed and patted Sarah’s back as if she were a child. “Speak to me.”

  Her sobs became even louder. Several heads popped up off their mats and looked at them quizzically. Setenay’s was not one of them.

  “Daughter, now sit up and speak to me.”

  Sarah straightened, her face wet with tears. “I love the way that word sounds, rolling off your tongue...daughter. It drips with the love I never knew among my own people. This moment is an answered prayer.”

  Aizarg put his arm around her and gave her a little squeeze.

  “I hope you find happiness and peace among us.”

  “Father,” her voice suddenly changed to a hushed tone. “Tonight, the spirit’s second promise was fulfilled. She told me one day I would know a family’s love.”

  “I see. I know I should not ask this, but since you are both my daughter and will one day be a patesi-le, I suppose it’s all right.” He paused and looked over at Setenay, who snored loudly.

  Perhaps I should wake her for this.

  He collected his thoughts and asked anyway. “Did this swirling spirit you speak of foretell the fate of our quest or our people?”