Long Hidden: Speculative Fiction from the Margins of History

by Tananarive Due

  “Yes, miss,” I assured her. My eyes traced up the iron mystery and I wished I knew what it was.

  * * *

  We were out of the pit before too long. Rope-ladders fell over the walls and men scrambled down to collect us. Some of our rescuers stopped to observe the massive machine. Two whites stood in the middle of the cavern openly contemplating an investigation as I was carried to the surface.

  By the next day, the doctor had finished patching me up, saying I was fit return to work. The aches and pains I felt told another story. Poor Wing was in sadder shape than I, Fat Leung told me that morning, but he was still “expected to recover soon.” I shuddered at the thought.

  As I was being released, Benny arrived. He wore grey and fiddled with the stopwatch in his hands. “It seems young Olivia was impressed with you and your fellow’s bravery,” Benny said as the doctor finished changing my bandages. “She’s insisting that we increase your pay by ten cents.”

  “How generous.” I smiled at the thought. “Please, tell her that I–”

  “Will not receive a penny.” He glowered at me. “Your callous rigging nearly cost that girl her life. If she died, we’d all have suffered for it.”

  “I was following orders.”

  “At the cost of your discretion.”

  “You never said how much to put down. I didn’t expect us to blast open an old cave. Or unearth that thing.” I rotated my arm limply. “What did we find, anyway?”

  My foreman stared at me, his face dire. “I’m not sure. The side of the cave nearest to the river has track marks along its bottom, as though it crashed inside and caused a cave-in ages ago.”

  “It’s a vehicle?”

  Benny and I headed for the front doors. “It has no wheels to speak of, but we suspect those cylinders are engines of some kind. Since it does not look fit for moving in water, it’s likely to be a dirigible.”

  “From where?”

  “No idea. Bunting sent people down there this morning to inspect it. Sent the photographer to take some more pictures, too. One man came back an hour ago.” He breathed deep, “He found bodies inside.”

  That struck me. “There are people in there?”

  “He did not describe them as such.” Benny’s eyes grew distant. “He said that they were tall, taller than any of us, and human-like, but…” He stared into the distance, looking lost. “Their hands and skin were as serpents’ scales with wide, toothless mouths. They were slumped over some desk by a window at the machine’s front.”

  Monsters. Possibilities ran through my mind as I followed Benny into the street. The obvious one was that these were men fleeing Diyu, Buddha’s earth prison for the most wretched of souls. It was a feared place where dreadful King Yanluo Wang and his underworld wardens tormented those unforgivable ones that were not yet allowed to be reborn. Perhaps these men had escaped the gaze of their wardens, constructed a ship out of unused torture instruments, and then sailed to Earth on cursed winds. Speaking my mind thusly would elicit scepticism from my foreman, who had long abandoned his patience for the immaterial.

  Wind blew up from the river, tickling my wounds as we walked down the road. Benny continued, “Bunting’s sent a telegram to the Geological Survey of Canada, hoping we can get it put up in a museum or taken apart.” We rounded a corner and neared the centre of town. “Either way, it’s out of our hands now.”

  A wagon had parked along the main road. People stopped to watch as men’s bodies were thrown to the ground, wrapped in white cloth. Some were unwrapped, or had the material around their heads pulled by coroners or co-workers. I noticed something among the corpses, a troubling fact I could not ignore.

  My foreman was saying something, but I cut him off. “Where are the dead?”

  Still walking, Benny regarded me strangely, “What?”

  “Where are our dead?” I pointed to the row of bodies.

  Benny cleared his throat, “Bunting says to leave them for now.”

  “Leave them!” I cried, running to his front, “How could he –?!”

  He pressed a hand against my chest, stopping. “I’m talking to him about arranging something. For now. Well. ‘They’re already buried, so why bother,’ he said.”

  Shock beat at my chest. Benny saw my surprise and sighed. “Xiao-Li, I don’t care for it either, but I can’t move them without Bunting’s approval, and right now he’s more concerned about moving Olivia to–”

  “No.”

  Benny’s face tightened. “I’m sorry?”

  This would not do. Silence would not help me. I pointed in the direction of the site. “We need to gather them and have them properly buried. At the very least, we should pray for them.” He said nothing. I continued: “Sir, it’s important that we do! So that when they’re–”

  “Xiao-Li, how long have you been working here?”

  I hesitated. “Since the autumn, sir.”

  “I see. What did you do before coming to Canada?”

  My heart crawled into my throat. I thought of sweeping the monastery’s steps. The morning mantra recitations. Pilgrimages into town for Ghost Day celebrations.

  Her hand on my arm as we walked along the river.

  “Nothing, sir.”

  “Is that so? You did nothing back home?”

  My words turned to dust in my mouth.

  “You did nothing and you think you’re in a position to make demands?” Veins in Benny’s neck and along his forehead throbbed. “I crawled to get where I am now. I fought to put myself above you ingrates so I didn’t have to shovel another damned thing. Who the hell are you, Xiao-Li? What nothing did you do? Were you a potter? A noble?” He put his face close to mine. “A killer? We don’t know, do we? You’ve never said, ever, and all you do here is rig dynamite and eat. So, Mister Nothing, what gives you any kind of authority over me?”

  A weak noise came from my throat.

  Benny’s face gained a sinister sense of serenity. “Let me explain something, Wu Xiao-Li. So long as I am foreman, you do as I say. I tell you where the dynamite goes, I tell you what to eat and when, and–”

  A cry from afar.

  Halting, Benny and I heard men howling across the canyon. Without a moment’s hesitation, we ran, leaving the argument where it was. Benny took a horse from a white that had just dismounted it. He saddled up, jabbering at the man in English, and rode off. I followed, calling after him. No response. Not even a glance back as his steed scaled the slope.

  Reason said to run back and find a cellar to hide in. However, faith said to push onward. Undoubtedly, something else had fled the cave: another evil escaping Diyu. Something only a man of my station could deal with. I remembered some banishment rites and hoped they would do, for the sake of both the dead and the living. I had to move.

  A quick scan of the town found a man loading a six-shooter into his belt while setting his boot into a steed’s stirrup. I rushed to him. In broken English, I hurriedly begged him to take me. The white cast a glimpse at the chaos ahead and lifted himself onto his mount. Then, reaching down, he seized me and tossed my body over the backside of his horse as though I were a potato sack. We rode towards the screams.

  I struggled to hold onto the rider’s saddle. Each bucking of the stallion made my injuries sing and threatened to cast me to the ground.

  Men were panicking around me when we stopped. One poor soul had fainted around his fellows. Four fled downhill on foot. The rider dismounted and loosed his pistol. I dropped, aching all over as I staggered onward. Benny was shaking someone and screaming at him in English. Their conversation was too fast for me.

  Men stood by the hell-ship’s pit. I went to them, approaching the edge. Hesitatingly, I looked down. Lantern light split the darkness below, revealing rocky floors and scattered tools. The photographer’s camera lay in shambles. One side of the ship had been pried open, as though giant hands had parted the steel.

  Amid the stone was the distinct sheen of fresh blood.

  * * *

&n
bsp; News of the murders spread like fire. Men were found shredded, cleaved in two or pulled apart. A lone survivor, Bunting’s photographer, uttered something unintelligible before bleeding out. Witnesses around the hole claimed they saw a terrible shape bolt out of the dirigible at blinding speed and vanish into the woods. We were not safe. Wagons were loaded immediately, with most of the townsfolk swiftly evacuated to the next town over.

  Olivia asked to see me before she was evacuated with Bunting’s peers. Head bandaged and hobbling, she took my hand and led me to her carriage. I saw the look Mister Bunting gave as we walked together. His shock at our friendliness was a welcome surprise.

  “I do hope you’ll be alright, Mister Charlie.” Olivia pawed my shoulder. “This business with monsters and dirigibles is too much for anyone to bear, I fear.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  She smiled my way. “When this is over, do come with my uncle to Ottawa. I would have you help with my gardens.”

  “Gardens?”

  “Your hands, Mister Charlie.” She took one and examined it. “They’re too delicate for a man’s. Hard labour is not for you, I can tell.” Her grip was soft. The slimness of her fingers made me nostalgic.

  I withdrew my hand slowly, bowing my head. “I do my best.”

  One last smile.

  I watched her leave. As the carriage rounded a bend, and as the grinding of its wheels grew distant, I prayed for her health.

  * * *

  Night fell. Half of us stayed behind to search for the killer. Benny oversaw the mission, bent on bringing the fiend to justice. Mister Bunting, furious at the death of his photographer, interrogated my colleagues for answers. Men patrolled the grounds with lanterns. Some whites bore pistols and rifles. My fellows were forced to arm themselves with shovels, sledgehammers, and hatchets. I saw Fat Leung pacing around with a meat cleaver. He looked like he knew how to use it.

  I, meanwhile, sat by the pit. It was clear our attackers were more tortured souls come to haunt the living. Hands rubbing together, I hummed all of the necessary mantras. Among my prayers, I begged Yanluo Wang to send his wardens to protect us should our weapons fail.

  “I never knew you were a praying man,” someone said. I turned to see Wing. He was bandaged tightly, white cloth wrapped around his neck, head, and leg.

  Finishing my chant, I rose and made for him. We headed for the town slowly. A quartet of men were nearing the pit, passing us as we chatted. “In Buddha’s words are truth. Hopefully, mine will reach the right ears.”

  Wing looked to the woods beside us. A thick patch of trees and shrubs choked a path over the hills. “Can you really keep faith here?”

  “Life is suffering, Wing. The path to Nirvana frees us from it.”

  “I’d sooner be free now,” he sighed. “What are we doing here, Xiao-Li? Why are we so far from home?”

  “We came in search of work. We were promised a dollar a day and a chance to settle in the new world.”

  “We were. What about you?”

  I hesitated, “I had to leave China.”

  “Are you a criminal?”

  “Not really.”

  “‘Not really’? You’re not filling me with confidence right now.”

  “I broke a law.” I glanced at my hands idly. “Not one a policeman or dignitary would care about, but I had to be punished just the same.”

  My friend shook his head. “You’re strange.”

  “I just try not to focus on who I was. I’d rather work on who I want to be.”

  “So you think suffering out here with us will help you on your way?”

  “Wing, we are born to suffer.”

  I looked to the lights about town, stared out at them and the way they danced like the stars overhead. “From our first meal to our last piss, we suffer. Not only because of the harshness of existence, but also because of what we do to ourselves. We are all so fragile and yet the walls we built around ourselves are so high. Look at Bunting and Benny. They put themselves above us while we writhe in the mud for their satisfaction. That is because they are taught that suffering is integral to progress. And it is, but only progress in the realm material.”

  Wing raised an eyebrow, “So you follow Buddha to create progress for your soul.”

  I remembered her breath against my face. “I try to. More than ever. In his words, I find peace. In peace, I find progress, and I hope that when my time comes, I will be put in a better place.”

  A faint laugh. In Wing’s face, I saw the beginnings of a grin. “Xiao-Li. You truly–”

  Then his head was gone.

  A black shape swept through the air, snapped out of the trees and then back again. Blood specked my face. Wing’s headless body went limp and dropped.

  Men screamed around me. Gunshots fired and bodies scrambled, weapons raised. I stared down at his corpse. At his blood. My thoughts fell away. Fear took hold. I stumbled backwards, words caught in my throat. Invisible weights gripped my legs. Lurching, numb, I made for the town. The world tilted with each step.

  * * *

  Fat fingers slapped my cheek. I snapped awake and re-entered the world. Cleaver in hand, Fat Leung gripped my shoulder, saying something. Men rushed past, hollering. In front, Bunting was panicking, pointing at the path leading out of town. Benny shouted orders at someone. His thugs paled at the sight of me. Thoughts returned to my mind. Sound came next.

  “I said get to the goddamn wagons!” Bunting cried, scrambling my way. “Escort me! I’ll raise your pay, gladly!”

  “We need to stand our ground!” Benny bellowed, loading a pistol.

  Bunting kicked dirt in his direction. “You can stand your ground!” He clapped his hands in front of my face. “Charlie! Charlie, snap out of it! Help me get my bags!”

  All at once, my blood boiled. Red mist came over me. Suddenly I began to hate the mere sight of him.

  “Charlie!” Bunting lost patience. “Wake up, you dolt! Wakey-wakey! We go! We go, right, Charlie?! Charlie!”

  I had enough. Teeth grating, I rushed at Bunting, growling and falling on him. My hands grabbed his throat. I shook and choked him with all my might. Amid my fellows’ shouts and Bunting’s gagging protests, I screamed, over and over again:

  “XIAO-LI! I AM XIAO-LI! SAY IT! SAY IT! XIAO! LI!”

  I meant to rip him apart. Bunting’s face grew wild with shock. Two sets of hands took my arms and pulled me from him. Like an animal, I thrashed in their grip.

  Something flew out from the darkness. I awakened from my murder-trance and was dropped. I thought it was the same force that claimed Wing. I was wrong. The bloodied carcass of a horse flew past and struck one of the workers behind me. Great slash-marks lined its side. Its neck was twisted backwards.

  A shape moved out of the corner of my eye, snapping forward. Veering, it encircled the camp. With it came a horrible screech. Shots rang. Benny opened fire as the shape shredded through the cliff’s edge. It sprang at us. Entering the lamplight, I saw a mass of black, dark orange, and pale yellow rip through the town centre. An unlucky marksman vanished under the mysterious missile as it fired into the surrounding darkness again. A horrible crunch followed.

  Then, silence. The men formed a clumsy half-circle, facing the woods where the thing hid. Bunting propped himself on one of Benny’s thugs and got to his feet. He held his throat and stared at me hatefully.

  A rustling. Rising, I looked round, trying to find its source. It seemed to come from everywhere. Suddenly, a voice:

  “Hear me!” It came as a scratching, scraping cacophony, melding over what was very clearly Mandarin. “Which of you is patriarch here?! Speak! I have need of you!”

  Confusion took my colleagues. “What’s he saying?!” Bunting wheezed.

  Gun cocked, Benny put his hand out. “I’ll translate.”

  “Christ!” a white yelped. “First moon-man we meet and he speaks goddamn Chinese!”

  “Shut up,” Benny growled. Stepping forward, he switched to Mandarin. “Right, whoever
this is–”

  “We would know your name!” I called, cutting off Benny.

  “Are you the patriarch?” hissed the voice.

  I ignored my foreman’s stare and pressed on. “Please, we need to know who this is!”

  “For what reason?”

  “So I can help you!” I explained. “I know I have done wrong by Buddha! I know I strayed from the path, but please!” My arms went up. “Let me send you on, so your soul can be cleansed!”

  A horrible trilling. “Soul! You think I am some living dead walking the land again? Oh, my sweet bumpkin. There are worlds so far beyond your star that your primate brains would shatter at the truth.”

  “Then who is this?!” Benny knocked me aside and aimed the pistol at the dark. “Tell us what the hell you are!”

  A thoughtful hiss: “Shurach Ul Urana of the Bendrax Cluster, Seventh Brother of Kalkak Ul Kraien. Does that mean anything to you?”

  No colleague of mine went by any of those names. Mister Bunting shook his head. Benny continued with the translation. “Not at all.”

  The thing’s horrible trilling sounded across the camp. “Wonderful,” said the creature. His voice had become serene, jovial. Just then, I realized that he had laughed.

  “What are you?” Benny asked.

  “Assassin,” he declared, almost giddily. “Hired blade of the Akarcza Hidden. The product of four long years of biomoulding. Reborn as the finest weapon you could imagine. A hundred lives claimed in my time before my capture. If not for you curious lot, I’d still be in that ship.”

  Doing his best to translate, Benny explained to our supervisor and white fellows what was said. We watched their eyes bulge and their bodies shake. His words came as a mystery to me. I did not know what biomoulding was, but it sounded horrible. My foreman called out, “What do you want?!”

  “I need you,” our hunter declared from his hiding spot, “to repair that ship. It was my prison vessel, collecting me from my trial and transporting me to the Cortze Nebula Penitentiary. The engines failed and my wardens put me in stasis, no doubt sounding some beacon before we crashed. I mean to leave here before reinforcements arrive. Now, bring your engineers–”