Black Sea Gods: Chronicles of Fu Xi

by Braden, Brian

  Setenay’s eyes were still sharp, but were sunken in dark pits above hollow cheeks.

  She looks depleted, as if the spirit stole something from her...or gave her a heavy burden.

  “What do you remember, Uros?” Setenay’s voice carried only a shadow of its former power.

  “We walked with the dead.” Aizarg glanced about as if the mists would suddenly reappear. His voice quivered. “There was mist, wind, and a voice of fire. If I try to speak of what happened, I fear I will slip into madness.”

  “It’s often the duty of the patesi-le to dance with madness,” her voiced cracked. “Such is the way of the spirit world.”

  Aizarg swallowed hard. “You were not yourself. Neither was Sarah.”

  “The spirit took us. Sarah remembers nothing.” Setenay’s eyes darted left and right as if reliving the moment.

  Aizarg frowned at Sarah, kneeling across from him. “Nothing?”

  Sarah shrugged. “My last thoughts were going to sleep the night before. That is all.”

  “Count yourself fortunate.” Ghalen shuddered.

  “What do you remember, old mother?” Aizarg whispered.

  “Everything and nothing. The spirit revealed different truths to my eyes. I beheld visions without understanding, images for which I have no words. The spirit bestowed the cruelest gift of all, prophesy without wisdom,” her voice trailed off.

  “Ood-i, Levidi, and I remember the dead Scythian prince and the covenant you made with the dead, but hid our eyes when the terrible spirit appeared,” Ghalen said.

  “My covenant was not with the dead,” Aizarg said as yesterday’s events played out again in his mind. “The ghost was only a messenger from an unknown power; one I believe holds the key to our salvation.”

  “I remember only bitter cold,” Okta said.

  Ood-i nodded. “You should be thankful. I would rather be pulled apart by Scythian horses than live through that again.”

  “Why can’t I remember anything, Setenay?” Sarah softly stroked the old woman’s brow.

  Setenay grasped her arm with both hands. “Oh, dear Sarah!” Her lower lip trembled. Tears formed at the corner of her eyes and rolled into her hair. Setenay squeezed her eyes shut and, after a few moments, regained her composure.

  “Uros, come closer,” Setenay whispered.

  Aizarg leaned in closer.

  Setenay peered into the sky and reached straight up as if trying to touch something. “I do not know if these visions are of this world or the next. I am too small a cup for what the spirit has poured into me!” Setenay trailed off.

  Aizarg leaned within inches of Setenay’s face. “What did the spirit show you? Tell me, Setenay!” Despite his best effort, his desperation broke through.

  Setenay slowly turned her head left and focused beyond the hill. Her hand fell until she pointed to the east. “The spirit and the flesh shall be parted,” she groaned. “And the sea will overflow with the tears of the dead.”

  The dream from two nights ago rushed back into his mind.

  “The water is filled with the tears of the dead!” the voice in his dream had said.

  “Father, are you all right? You are ashen,” Sarah said.

  “No, Sarah. I don’t know if I will ever be all right again.” He regretted the words the moment they left his lips.

  Several paces away, Levidi still squatted and rocked.

  Setenay took Aizarg’s hand and she tried to pull herself up. Ghalen and Sarah reached behind her back and helped her sit. “I want to tell you, Uros, but I don’t know how. I am mute before the horrors in my mind’s eye. What is certain is time is short. You and Sarah must go to the Narim, now! They are our only hope.”

  “Setenay, I am afraid,” Sarah whispered.

  “You should be,” the old woman rattled. “We all should be. I see a terrible shadow approaching, but not its form. Go now, both of you.”

  Aizarg stood and found his pack. “All of you, come here!” he said.

  The group surrounded Aizarg, but Levidi didn’t move.

  “Sarah, do you know where we are?” Aizarg motioned to the hills.

  “Yes. This is the canyon I spoke of. When we climb that hill,” she pointed east, “we will look upon the Hur Valley.”

  “There are deep foot tracks over there.” Ghalen pointed to a faint trail of flattened grass and exposed dirt several yards away. “Many have repeatedly passed this way.”

  “Those must be from Virag’s caravans,” Ood-i said.

  Aizarg peered up the hillside. “The spirit led us here. Strange powers guide our ways. To what purpose, I can only guess.”

  Aizarg glanced at Levidi and took a deep breath. “I have a plan. All of you wait here.” Aizarg walked over to Levidi and knelt down.

  Levidi’s eyes, red rimmed and wide, looked through Aizarg.

  “Levidi.” Aizarg touched Levidi’s shoulder and spoke softly. “Levidi, I need you to look at me.”

  Levidi continued to rock back and forth.

  “Levidi! Look at me!” Aizarg commanded.

  With a faint shift Levidi’s gaze focused on Aizarg.

  “Aizarg.” Levidi briefly smiled with recognition before his smile crumbled along with Aizarg’s short-lived relief.

  “I want to go home, Aizarg. I want to go home!” Aizarg embraced Levidi and held him tightly. Levidi sobbed into Aizarg’s shoulder like a child. Aizarg would rather face all the tribulations of their journey again than see his friend like this.

  “The dead, Aizarg! The monster...the winds..!”

  Aizarg patted his back. “Peace, peace! It’s over. I want to go home, too. But home is forward, not backward. The spirits showed me the way, but if we go back now, all is lost. I need you to be strong.”

  Levidi quieted. As he slowly regained his composure, he could not meet Aizarg’s gaze.

  Aizarg thought about Setenay. “Do not be ashamed. You were brave. Even a patesi-le should never see the things we beheld.”

  Aizarg stood and lifted Levidi by the arm. Ghalen stepped next to them and held out Levidi’s spear. “Here, take your spear. I’m not turning back, and that means you can’t turn back. You have to carry my things, remember? I’m not going to let you off that easy.”

  Levidi grimaced at Ghalen and snatched his spear. He looked around at the group as if seeing them all for the first time. Levidi frowned at Aizarg. “Your hair?”

  Aizarg shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know. Sarah is the same.”

  Levidi glanced over at Sarah and then back to Aizarg. “It looks better on her. It makes you look like an old woman.”

  Aizarg smiled. He’ll be fine.

  Aizarg absently clenched his right fist.

  “My spear. Has anyone seen my spear?”

  “You tell him,” Ood-i said to Okta, his meaty face twisting in discomfort. “You found it.”

  “It’s over there.” Okta pointed downhill toward the west, where the canyon opened up toward the open g’an. “Something destroyed your spear.”

  Aizarg saw a black streak in the grass only a few yards away.

  It was still intact, but the heavy iron point and cross piece were melted into a graceful tear drop-shaped glob. The glob’s narrow end thinned and twisted around the shaft like a serpent until it terminated a third of the way down.

  Aizarg wouldn’t have recognized it if it weren’t for the familiar scratches on the shaft.

  “What new wonder is this?” Aizarg marveled. “The metal is blood red!” Aizarg knelt down and reached for it, wondering how the black iron transformed to a metallic crimson.

  “It is hot!” Ood-i cautioned. “I tried to pick it up shortly before you woke, but it burned me.” Ood-i showed Aizarg the blisters on his thick fingers.

  Aizarg lightly touched the red teardrop. “It’s not even warm.” He ran his finger cautiously across the entire surface, both wood and metal, before he grasped it and stood.

  “It’s lighter and better balanced,” Aizarg marveled.


  “This cannot be!” Ood-i frowned. “It was like fire only moments ago.” He reached out to touch the spear, but jerked back and winced. “It still burns!”

  “Bah! Let me try!” Okta stepped forward. He touched the red metal orb, but snapped his hand back as if bitten. He shook his hand and watched the blisters rise. He gasped. “What manner of witchcraft is this? Ghalen, Levidi...touch it and see what I mean.”

  “I already see what you mean!” Ghalen exclaimed. “I’m not getting near it.”

  Sarah held her hand close to the red metal. “I can feel the heat radiating from it like a hot coal. It is plain to see the spear of the Uros is for his hand alone.”

  Aizarg looked at his people. With the exception of Sarah and Levidi, the rest wouldn’t look at him.

  They are afraid of what is happening to me. He looked at Sarah’s hair. I am, too.

  Aizarg suddenly felt overwhelmed and isolated.

  Levidi smiled weakly and stepped up next to Aizarg.

  “Well, I better find out what all this fuss is about. Maybe we can use Aizarg’s fancy new staff to start our dung fires, eh?”

  “Levidi, please,” Aizarg said, remembering Levidi’s terror only moments ago. “You don’t have to prove anything...”

  Levidi ignored him and held a shaking hand close to the staff. And then he held it closer.

  “I don’t feel anything.” He grinned and grasped the staff with both hands over Aizarg’s fist. “Your staff likes me, Aizarg!”

  A knot released in Aizarg’s stomach and he gave Levidi a tight hug.

  “Uros.” Okta grimly stepped forward. “What is your command?”

  The words of the Scythian ghost rang in Aizarg’s mind.

  Aizarg of the Lo, only you and Sarah may enter Hur-ar and the Fortress of the Narim.

  “I do not know what we experienced yesterday, but for better or worse, our circumstances have changed.” Aizarg hefted his strange new staff. “I have entered into a covenant with a power from the spirit world, one I must fulfill.

  “We make a base camp here. Ghalen, you remain with Setenay. Okta, you take the rest of the men and search for Ba-lok.”

  Sarah touched his arm. “Virag never made camp at the bottom of the canyon. He said it wasn’t safe.”

  “She has a point,” Ghalen said. “We are protected from the wind down here, but also trapped.”

  “Virag often camped at the top of the hill.” Sarah pointed uphill to the east. “The wind is harsh, but you can see approaching danger.”

  “So be it. Gather your things, we climb the eastern slope and make camp there. Sarah and I will depart for Hur-ar once camp is established.”

  “I don’t think Setenay can make it up the hill,” Ghalen said.

  “Your pack has already worn a blister in my shoulder, so why should anything change now?” Levidi huffed with a half-hidden smile. “Carry her and I will haul your junk.”

  Sarah gathered her things and approached Aizarg. “Father,” she whispered and looked about to make sure no one was listening. “Let us climb the hill alone first. They can wait a few moments before they follow us.”

  Aizarg nodded.

  ***

  We are finally here.

  Aizarg wanted to climb faster, but his thighs burned. Occasionally, he reached down and steadied himself against the gusting wind, which intensified and shifted out of the north as they climbed above the sheltered canyon.

  About halfway up the slope the morning sun crested over the hill. Sunlight shimmered up and down his staff’s red metal coils. He didn’t know why the spirit transformed his spear, but it made an excellent walking stick. His hand fell comfortably on his normal grip point, just below the metal.

  The hill rose higher than he suspected. The group below looked like insects in the canyon’s shadow. Near the top, coarse grasses gave way to worn rock and the wind lightened.

  Sarah pulled him forward like a little girl. “Come, I want to show you!”

  Out of breath, Aizarg smiled and they locked arms as they crested the hill.

  Aizarg couldn’t take it all in at first. The magnitude overwhelmed his senses and made him dizzy. He braced himself against the staff.

  “I wanted to share this with you first!” She spread her arms wide and twirled around. “These, Father, are mountains!”

  They stood along the crest of a long line of hills stretching north and south, horizon to horizon. The eastern slopes dropped steeply in front of them and flattened out into a brown, grassy valley far lower than the canyon behind them. A wide, black river meandered through the center of the basin. Aizarg only noticed the sprawling valley as a fleeting afterthought, a footnote to the immense glory lording over him.

  On the opposite side of the river the grasslands sloped up to a narrow blanket of dark green trees. Beyond the trees sheer gray cliffs vaulted skyward until they scraped the roof of heaven.

  Boldness. That was the only word Aizarg could summon. He found it difficult to crane his head back to see their tops. Tears trickled down his face and were quickly stolen by the wind.

  How does the sun climb over them?

  The image of the swirling spirit suddenly jumped into his mind. The mountains were like the spirit frozen in timeless stone.

  Above the stony mountain cliffs, blankets of white-capped peaks reminded Aizarg of teeth. Clouds danced and shot off the summits, their billowing edges catching the sunlight like silver streamers.

  “The clouds,” he gasped. “It tears them apart. Look how their tattered remains rest on the tops.”

  “That is called snow.” She leaned over and placed her head against his chest.

  “Snow? Is that what clouds are made of?”

  “Maybe. I never thought of it before.”

  “I cannot find words for what I see,” he stuttered. “Now I understand what you were trying to tell me. The Narim must truly be gods to dwell in such a place.”

  Sarah reached up and hugged him tightly around the neck. Aizarg tore his eyes away from the majesty to the small woman-child. She smiled up at him with glowing contentment.

  “What was that for?” he asked.

  She smiled through fresh tears. “Growing up in Hur-ar, I was always afraid. The only time I was ever happy was when I wandered the mountains surrounding my home. These mountains were my refuge.” She hesitated, trying to control her emotions. “When Virag made camp, I would often stand and gaze at them. Surrounded by Virag’s evil, they gave me hope. Now, I wanted to see them again through your eyes.”

  Aizarg smiled and placed his finger to her lips. “You’ve never been able to share that love with anyone until now?”

  She nodded, tears starting afresh.

  “The mountains are your place of beautiful solitude.” Aizarg wrapped his arm around his daughter and focused his attention on the valley. On this side of the river, fields of broken, gray landscape lined the long stretches of the shore.

  “What is that?” He pointed to the strange landscape.

  “That is the Dead Forest. It will take us the remainder of the morning to reach it.” Sarah held her hand to her mouth in surprise. “The Hur River is flooded! Oh, please, no...” She peered north of the Dead Forest, as if trying to find something until her eyes suddenly lit up. “The Kupar Bridge is still intact!”

  “Where is it?” Aizarg leaned in and squinted, trying to see what she saw.

  Sarah held her finger out ahead of Aizarg’s face. “Look to the far left of the Dead Forest on this side of the river. There you’ll see an oxbow in the river that bends toward us. Do you see it?”

  “I do, but I don’t see the bridge...Ahh! I see it!” He shouted. Two tall structures stood on either shore with a thick gray line crossing the river between them. Aizarg felt a little disappointment.

  “From your descriptions, I thought it was bigger.”

  “It’s every bit as big as I described, Father. It is just that we are very far away.”

  She said twenty men could walk acr
oss that bridge shoulder to shoulder! How far away are we? He looked from the bridge to the mountains and then across the valley. He shook his head with new understanding.

  “Look beyond the bridge,” Sarah said. “Do you see that faint, brown line twisting away from the bridge on the opposite shore?”

  “Yes.”

  “That is the road to Hur-ar.”

  The road cut to the right and snaked south along the river until it came to a point immediately across the valley from where they stood. Then the road turned sharply east until it came to a point just short of the mountains. Dozens of light and dark green squares and rectangles of strange grasses surrounded the road as it approached Hur-ar. The road ended at a deep, box-like canyon where the impregnable wall of mountains parted. A dark brown line stretched from cliff to cliff at its mouth. Beyond the line, in the heart of the canyon, were hundreds of dots and squares arranged in geometric patterns.

  Sarah pointed at the canyon. “That is Hur-ar, my former home.” Her soft expression evaporated with a voice as sharp and cold as the wind. “The road ends at the city wall, which seals the city against the mountains. It is the only way in.”

  Now Aizarg saw the countless dots were structures, perhaps huts or tents.

  “Amazing.” Aizarg could not have imagined such a place existed.

  The sheer cliffs surrounding the city rose halfway to the snowy peaks. Golden morning sunlight bathed the valley, except for Hur-ar recessed deep in the blue shadows of a canyon.

  “They mustn’t get sunlight until noon!” Aizarg gasped.

  Sarah nodded. “It’s even worse in the winter. Hur-ar is often a dark, cold place, but the canyon provides excellent protection. Hur-ar has never been invaded. They have a saying...‘Who needs the sun when our homes are lit by gold’s luster?’”

  The towering cliff behind Hur-ar, the tallest of the canyon’s sides, drew Aizarg’s eye. He saw a faint line zigzagging up the cliff and traced it up until the cliff terminated high above the city, just below the snowline. A thick, dark line outlined the top of the cliff. At first, he took the line for trees along the top of the cliff, but realized it was another wall. It paralleled the thinner, less imposing, city wall below. A giant shape, dark and ominous, jutted from behind the black wall. Aizarg thought it might be a rock outcropping below the main peak. He squinted and shielded his eyes against the sun to get a better look.