Black Sea Gods: Chronicles of Fu Xi

by Braden, Brian

  Sarah searched Aizarg’s eyes with a worried expression. “Will Atamoda think less of me? I fear she will not accept me.”

  “She will see everything I see in you. She will love you.” Aizarg grinned. “You have no idea how much she wants a daughter! She loves the boys, but boys can’t fill the place in a mother’s heart a daughter can.”

  Sarah almost squealed. “I can’t wait to meet them all!”

  Aizarg heard a faint thunk and Sarah jerked forward in his arms. Her eyes grew wide.

  “Father?” she whispered. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as a trickle of blood ran out of her mouth.

  “Sarah!” Aizarg screamed and caught her as she slumped. A dark, red blot rapidly grew between her breasts, a bloody arrow poking out of its center. Aizarg peered over her shoulder and saw a black Scythian arrow shaft between her shoulder blades.

  Six dark figures descended from the eastern ridge, silhouetted by daybreak. Two carried bows at the ready, walking side-by-side in the lead. Four followed behind.

  “No!” Ood-i snatched his sagar while Okta grabbed his boar spear.

  Screaming furiously, Ood-i rushed the Scythians from Aizarg’s right as Okta charged from the left. Ood-i reared back, building momentum for his throw.

  The Scythian archers released a volley and Ood-i crumpled to the dust, arrows protruding from his chest and neck.

  With a grunt, Okta threw his spear. It sailed gracefully toward the Scythian archers. The archers calmly stepped back and the spear sank harmlessly into the ground at their feet.

  Aizarg heard the Scythians laugh and realized he had no spear. He looked around for his staff, but it rested against his pack on the other side of the fire.

  Setenay rushed to Aizarg as he lowered Sarah to the ground. “Do not lay her fully on the ground, support her!” Setenay commanded as she snapped off the portion of the arrow protruding from Sarah’s back.

  Okta didn’t slow down. He pulled his knife and charged the archers. They fired again. Okta dodged one arrow, but another found his thigh. He fell, clutching his leg in agony. The archers ignored Okta and closed in on Aizarg.

  The Scythians were calm and self-assured. They walked almost shoulder to shoulder, bow-legged from years of living in the saddle. They had the same shaved head and top-knot of the Scythian prince, but their trousers and vests were of plain horse leather.

  Now Aizarg got a good look at the four other Scythians behind the bowmen. Two men carried light spears. To their left strode a tall, dark woman dressed similarly to the men. She held a leash tied to a battered and bruised man.

  Ba-lok!

  The older Scythian on the right had a long scar across his tattooed face, giving his grin an evil twist. “Kill the witch before she curses us. I will slay the man,” he said to the younger one, perhaps a few years older than Ezra.

  Setenay placed herself between the Scythians and Aizarg. “You are already cursed, children of Sosa!” Setenay pointed an accusing finger at the Scythians. “The rising water will forever seal your kind in an icy tomb.”

  So this is how it ends. Aizarg held his daughter close and stared defiantly at the Scythians.

  As the Scythians notched their bows and began to draw, a sagar sliced out of the sky and impaled both men. It penetrated the older Scythian’s neck, almost beheading him, and continued on through the younger man’s abdomen. It sank so deep into the ground it held both dead men upright.

  Then Aizarg heard a sound that had never been heard before: a Lo war cry.

  The two other Scythians turned their head in surprise, just in time for one to see a sagar penetrate his chest.

  Ghalen and Levidi charged along the riverbank from the south, with Ezra close behind. The last two Scythians shrieked their own battle cry and rushed them, knife and spear at the ready.

  “Father,” Sarah whispered and coughed in a series of weak spasms.

  “I am here!” Tears streamed down Aizarg’s cheeks and fell onto Sarah’s bloody chest.

  Disoriented, Sarah tried to move her head. “Where is Ood-i? I cannot see him.” Aizarg glanced over at Ood-i. One of the arrows had gone halfway through his neck.

  Setenay knelt next to Aizarg as the battle raged along the shore.

  The remaining Scythian man loosed his light spear at Levidi, who barely dodged it. A few seconds later they clashed. The Scythian jumped and planted both feet into Levidi’s chest, hurling him backward. In an instant the Scythian fell upon him, dagger drawn and thirsty for blood. They rolled in the dust, Levidi desperately trying to hold off the horseman’s blade.

  The tall, lean woman leapt at Ghalen with the nimbleness of a deer. Her black hair flew about like a wild mane as she wielded a long, curved knife against Ghalen’s boar spear. She dodged, twirled about, and delivered a solid kick to Ghalen’s head. He wiped a spurt of fresh blood off his lip as he stumbled back.

  She lunged again. He brought the spear up in both hands to block her assault. Like lightning, she kicked straight out and cleanly snapped the shaft in two.

  Dumbfounded, Ghalen held the two broken pieces of his spear. The Scythian woman briefly laughed and fell upon him with renewed fury. Ghalen jabbed the pointed end of the spear at her, but she deflected it with the side of her arm. Before she could pivot, Ghalen swiped the blunt piece across her face. She spun about and crumpled, unconscious.

  Ezra joined in Levidi’s battle. He jumped on the Scythian’s back and succeeded in pulling him away from Levidi, but couldn’t get his knife under the man’s throat. Levidi pulled himself up, forearms dripping with bloody slash marks. Levidi grit his teeth and punched the Scythian hard across the jaw. The Scythian fell backwards on top of Ezra and didn’t move.

  Sarah grew pale and cool in Aizarg’s arms while Setenay tried to stanch the bleeding with strips ripped from Sarah’s dress. Setenay looked up at Aizarg and shook her head.

  Aizarg released a long, mournful wail and pressed Sarah close to him.

  “No, no, no, no...!” He looked to the heavens. The stars were almost gone as sunlight streamed over the horizon. “If you are a god, the God, save her! Where is your mercy?” Aizarg almost spat the last word. “Where is this love Noah spoke of? If you created this world, why is it so flawed that you see fit to destroy it? Why do you bring suffering to those who are innocent?”

  Ghalen, Ezra and Levidi approached and stood over them.

  “Sarah!” Ezra cried and fell to his knees next to Aizarg. Setenay put her arm around him.

  “Father,” Sarah whispered and smiled weakly. “You promised to leave your tears in Hur-ar.” Her breaths came in sharp, short cuts as her lungs filled with blood. Her eyes glazed over and became distant.

  The sun broke over the horizon and a ray of light fell on Sarah’s face. Her face suddenly took on new life and she focused beyond Aizarg. A smile touched her blue-tinged lips.

  “I see Ood-i!” She held up her hand and reached out. Then her eyes suddenly grew wide. She extended her index finger and rolled her head to the right, to the north. “I see her! She is beautiful! The spirit has come to take me home, just as she promised.” Her voice trailed off into a strange, unfamiliar whisper. “The Offering Blade is raised. Dawn’s bitter duty is upon her.”

  The northern sky suddenly flashed.

  Aizarg and the rest turned to where Sarah pointed. Setenay stood and faced north, where only a few stars were still visible.

  The Heart of the Dragon twinkled and brightened spectacularly. It rivaled the sun and bathed the shore in brilliant white light.

  “It has begun,” Setenay said grimly. “The God of the Narim has sliced open the sky and will fill the sea with the tears of the dead.”

  ***

  The spirit waited in the circle of death throughout the night. Her blazing eyes were the only light except for the stars. The dust still hung in the windless valley as the stars faded in the false dawn. She snapped closed the fan in her right hand, and with an elegant flick of her wrist, transformed it into the Offerin
g Blade. She faced north and pointed to the star called the Heart of the Dragon. With the tip of the blade, she drew a line from the Heart of the Dragon to a point on the southeast horizon.

  “Behold, I have cut open the roof of Heaven.”

  The Angel of Death lowered her arm and leaned her head back. In the sunrise of a new age, she closed her blazing eyes and evaporated like a puff of smoke.

  The Heart of the Dragon twinkled, and then gave birth to a ball of fire. Its long, blazing tail lit the entire valley with white light. Like a fiery sword, the giant meteor hurtled across the sky in claps of thunder on the exact arc traced by the angel’s dagger until it fell below the southern horizon.

  In a blinding flash of light, the Herald of the Cataclysm plunged into a nameless ocean far to the south.

  ***

  The shore fell quiet. Everyone stared at the heavens, where a thick, white trail hung from horizon to horizon like a tear in the fabric of the sky. Dawn gave the cloud a gilded edge.

  Setenay didn’t look up; her concern remained on the wounded...and the dead.

  Ood-i sprawled on his belly, head to the side and eyes wide.

  He died before he hit the ground.

  Setenay closed his eyes and moved on to Okta. She knelt beside him and examined the wound.

  “I am fine! Help me up!” he protested.

  “Hush! You will not think you’re fine in a few moments. This isn’t a simple bone hook, it’s a barbed Scythian arrowhead.” He winced as she broke off the shaft and pulled a knife from a hidden fold in her dress.

  “Open your mouth and bite down on this,” she said and held up the broken shaft.

  “I’m not going to put a filthy Scythian arrow in my...” She crammed the shaft between his teeth as he protested. Before he could spit it out, she sank her knife into his thigh alongside the arrow head.

  Setenay twisted the tip and pried the arrow from Okta’s thigh. He bit down hard in agony.

  “The Scythian points do as much damage coming out as going in,” she said. “Fortunately for you, it wasn’t too deep.”

  She ripped a strip off her dress and bandaged his wound the best she could. Okta stood and winced. “I can walk,” he grimaced and limped to where Ghalen tied up the unconscious Scythians.

  Setenay stood and saw Levidi cutting Ba-lok’s bindings.

  Ba-lok’s battered and bruised face, one eye swollen shut, testified to his treatment at the hands of the Scythians. Levidi removed Ba-lok’s gag and tried to tend to his wounds, even though his own arm bled profusely. Ba-lok slapped Levidi’s hand away. “I don’t need your help!”

  He will be fine, at least on the outside.

  Levidi threw his hands up in disgust and went to help the others.

  Except for Ba-lok, they gathered around their Uros as he embraced his daughter’s body. Unwilling to let go, he rocked her back and forth, his eyes still locked on the northern sky.

  Ezra knelt next to Aizarg, sobbing and running his bloody fingers through his sister’s white hair.

  “She’s dead,” Setenay whispered, trying to get Aizarg to look at her. “Sarah is with the spirit of the mist. She is with the God of the Narim. The water is rising, Uros. You have a responsibility to the living.”

  “Uros,” Okta gently touched his shoulder. “We must give Sarah and Ood-i to the Great Mother. We must place them into the water.”

  “No,” Setenay said flatly. “The water is cursed and old ways are dead. They are already one with the God of The Narim. Okta, Levidi and Ghalen, do what I say and be quick. There is no time to mourn.”

  She put her arm around Ezra. “Young man, help us honor your sister.”

  Ezra wiped his eyes, leaving bloody smears like war paint. “What must I do?”

  I must guide them once more.

  Setenay looked across the water. The demons were gathering near the shore, bunched up and writhing near the raft.

  Only once more...

  Over the next few minutes Setenay gave them specific instructions. The men worked quickly, with only the occasional sniffle or sob to break the silence.

  Ba-lok didn’t help them. He sat on the raft and stared out across the endless expanse of flat, swift water. Only a few hilltops could be seen poking above the water. The edge of the raft lifted slightly in the current.

  “Stay out of the water,” she called to her grandson, but he didn’t respond.

  A loud hiss drew everyone’s attention. The water reached the camp fire, only a few feet from where Aizarg held Sarah.

  It didn’t take long for the men to lay down the first layer of rocks. Under Setenay’s supervision, Ghalen and Levidi carefully broke off the ends of the arrows in Ood-i’s flesh. Together, they picked up his body and laid him out on his back on the right side of the rock bed.

  Setenay called to Aizarg, “It is time. Bring Sarah.”

  Her voice pierced the fog of Aizarg’s grief. He looked about as if he were seeing everything for the first time.

  “Come, Aizarg. Come and honor your daughter.”

  Aizarg gently lifted Sarah and carried her to the rock bed. There, he laid her down next to Ood-i.

  Setenay signaled the men, and they began to cover the bodies with stones.

  “Wait!” Aizarg reached down and joined the lover’s hands. “They will never be separated again.”

  “Lo dogs!” a voice screamed. The Scythians were awake, sitting up with their hands and feet bound. The man sneered through bloody teeth. “You and your witch brought this curse upon us. You drove our horses away! We found your tracks next to those of our horses. We will make you pay under a hail of arrows. Your men will be impaled on our spears and your women and children will be our slaves.” He nodded to Ba-lok. “We will use them like we used your sco-lo-ti.”

  Ba-lok flinched and seemed to shrink down on the raft.

  Ghalen snatched his sagar and strode to the Scythian. “I will finish what I started!”

  “Stop!” Setenay shouted. “In due time, Ghalen. Let us honor our dead first.”

  She looked back at Aizarg. He stood over the bodies, gazing down upon them, seemingly oblivious to what transpired around him.

  Ghalen turned back and the Scythian man laughed. Ghalen spun around and knocked him out with the end of the sagar. He raised the handle against the woman. “Will you defile our dead with your words, too?”

  She offered up her chin defiantly, but her eyes weren’t as hard as the man’s. “I do not speak with my cousin’s tongue,” she said. “I will not dishonor your dead, marsh man, but...but...”

  “Speak!” Ghalen shouted and reared back the spear handle.

  “Why do you bury your dead in a Scythian zhaqa? I thought your kind surrender your dead to the water?”

  “The water is cursed,” Setenay spoke up. “We honor our dead as we did your dead prince we found several days ago.”

  Ghalen lowered his spear. “Yes. It was this woman’s mercy,” he pointed to Sarah, “that convinced us to bury your prince. He was dragged to death by his horse. She said he was worthy of mercy. It is only because I honor her spirit that I don’t kill you now.” Ghalen threw down his spear and walked back to gather stones.

  The Scythian woman lowered her chin, her defiance gone.

  The zhaqa quickly rose around the bodies, only a few paces from the rapid upslope of the eastern ridge. Okta and Ba-lok moved the raft back several times and loaded it with the rest of the supplies. The water completely submerged the campfire now.

  Except for Ba-lok, they surrounded the burial mound.

  Aizarg spoke. “I have no words for the sadness that takes my breath.”

  “There will be more pain...more grieving,” Setenay said. “There will also be hope. Let Sarah’s spirit light your way through the darkness to come. Let Ood-i’s bravery inspire your courage for the trials ahead.”

  “Uros, the water is almost upon us. We must go,” Okta said urgently, but Aizarg didn’t respond as he stared at the zhaqa.

  Setenay
looked at Aizarg and shook her head.

  Time is short. Snap out of it!

  “Yes, it is time to leave, but one thing remains to be done.” Setenay walked to the prisoners and pushed the man with her foot.

  “Wake up, shawa!” she shouted.

  He rolled over with a groan. “How do you know my title, bitch?” he sneered and spat at her.

  Setenay whacked him across the face with her stick. “I know everything about you by the lack of beads adorning your cherkesska. You were the page to the prince we buried, were you not?”

  He rubbed his cheek. “I was.”

  “Death or life, shawa. The choice is yours,” Setenay said coldly.

  “I will die before I submit to the will of marsh men.”

  Setenay glanced warily at the sky. The cloudy trail high above them wasn’t blowing away or dissipating. Instead, it slowly expanded over the sky. Both beautiful and terrifying, golden tendrils of glittering, wavy light danced and streaked beyond the milky veil.

  “So be it. Ghalen, Levidi, take him to the edge of the water. Untie him and then throw him in, but do not enter the water yourselves. Drag the woman to the edge, but do not throw her in yet.”

  “Are you sure?” Ghalen asked.

  “Do as I say!”

  They dragged the Scythians to the water’s edge. The man tried to bite and claw Levidi. The woman resisted, too, but not as much. She seemed more intent on trying to decipher the Lo’s intentions.

  Setenay walked back to Aizarg, who still stood in a trance by the zhaqa. She slapped him with full force. He staggered back under the old woman’s assault. Setenay hit him again and again until he grabbed her wrist.

  “Stop!” he shouted.

  “Are you through?” she said. “Sarah is dead. You cannot help her now!” She pointed to the sky. “Death is here and will now be your constant companion! The God of the Narim will only save those who fight for life. Death or life, the choice is yours, Uros of the Lo.”

  Lucidity returned to Aizarg’s face. All eyes were on him. Without a word, he walked to the edge of the water and retrieved his staff before the black fluid covered it.