Tears of the Dead (45 page)

“Do not dwell on your love’s final breath; instead remember those words last spoken in love. In these, you will find courage and shall fear death no more.”
- Scythian Proverb

The Chronicle of Fu Xi

***

A flat sea reflected a lifeless mist. The very air seemed to absorb the moans and wails rising from the shattered rafts.

“We drift between worlds,” Aizarg mumbled into a fog so thick they couldn’t see the flotilla’s opposite side.

Ghalen supported Aizarg by one arm, Sana held the other as Ba-tor clung to her leg.

Sana spoke to Aizarg softly, “Ghalen and Okta swam around the rafts. They are nowhere to be found.”

“Have them take out a boat and search the surrounding water.”

“The storm destroyed the boats.”

Ba-tor looked up at Sana with an expression as blank as the fog. “Is Mommy gone now, too?”

If Ba-tor had been a Scythian child, she would have told him the truth. Now, she found the truth too heavy to bear.

“I’ll take him.” Su-gar scooped up Ba-tor and returned to the mast, where the Lo huddled, stripped by the storm of everything except their clothes and lives.

Aizarg peered into the grayness. “The rain stopped. Tell me, Sana, how many marks are etched upon the mast?”

“Forty, my Uros.”

“Forty days and forty nights...The silence, it hurts my ears.” He patted her hand. “You will have to make the marks from now on, my Isp.”

“Aizarg...”

“Say nothing.”

She lowered her head.

“Aizarg,” Ghalen said. “We grieve with you.”

Aizarg wouldn’t take his eyes off the fog, as if it would surrender his wife and firstborn any moment. “Does my grief hold any greater value than any of our people who have lost so much?”

“Sana, Ghalen, come here for a moment.” Okta motioned them a few paces away from Aizarg.

“How is he?” Okta asked in a hushed voice.

Sana looked back at Aizarg. “I don’t know.”

“No one saw either of them wash overboard?” Ghalen asked.

“A wave hit, I opened my eyes, and she was gone. I spent the rest of the night holding Ba-tor and the mast, afraid to let go of either. No one else saw her or Kol-ok after that.”

Okta put his hands on his hips. “We’re lucky we only lost two.” Sana followed his gaze across the broken flotilla.

How are we even still afloat?

The Master of Boats rubbed his beard, expression as dark as Sana had ever seen. “The food is gone, our shelters destroyed. The storm took everything. The two barges are beaten up, but they’ll float in a calm sea. The bow raft’s bindings are rotted, she’s coming apart. We’ll have to cut her loose.” He glanced over his shoulder as Aizarg. “We’re going to have to make some tough decisions, with or without the Uros.”

“We still have plenty of water,” Sana said.

“Maybe not,” Ghalen blew out between puffed cheeks.

“You haven’t told her yet?” Okta frowned.

Ghalen shook his head. He pointed to the water. “Taste it.”

Sana knelt down, cupped some water and took a sip. She grimaced and spat it out. “It tastes like salt!” Horrified, she looked up at Ghalen.

Ghalen shook his head. “We’ve never seen water like this.”

Sana shook her head. “We can’t drink it. Watering holes that smell of brine kill, but only after it drives you mad.”

Okta looked out over the Lo spread across two barges. “We better tell everyone before people try to take a drink.”

Sana spied something slither just below the surface. Ghalen snatched her from the edge as demons drifted from below the rafts. Panic ensued as others spotted the demons.

“I thought we’d seen the last of them,” Okta growled.

“Get Levidi,” Aizarg commanded from behind them.

In a few minutes the Lo lined the edge of the Supply Barge, staring at demons swimming around their flanks. They merged into a black stream flowing away from the flotilla.

Levidi held out the staff nervously, ready to banish the monsters. “This fog reminds me of the ice mist. I don’t like it a bit, not a bit.”

“Just banish them, Levidi,” Kus-ge said.

“I follow the Uros’s command, not yours.”

“They don’t seem interested in us,” Ezra said. “Where are they going?”

“Wherever they are going, so are we,” Okta said. “The current draws us that way.” He pointed to where the demons swam.

“Something floats up ahead,” Ba-lok squinted.

Okta shrugged. “It’s a piece of flotsam or debris.”

“It’s a body.” Sana immediately recognized a bloated human abdomen.

“No!” Aizarg pushed his way forward.

“It’s not one of them!” Sana grabbed Aizarg’s arm, trying to quell his fear. “It’s been floating for a long time.”

The nude, grossly distended male corpse drifted a few yards to their right. A claw encircled its neck and dragged it down.

Su-gar walked up. “The children are asking for...” She glanced over the water and screamed.

Hundreds of bodies floated ahead, suspended in the glass-like sea.

“Su-gar, go back with the children!” Okta demanded, but she kept screaming. Ezra hid her face. Spako braved the raft’s edge and put a protective arm around both Ezra and Su-gar.

“Ezra,” Okta said. “Take her back. Spako, tell the women to hide the children’s eyes.

The fog lifted slightly, revealing clumps of bodies. Sana couldn’t look away from the blackened, bloated faces staring vacantly into the sky. Along with beasts of every sort, they formed grisly floes stretching as far as they could see. Demons circled the ghastly islands, pulling one body after another into the depths.

“What are they doing?” Levidi asked.

“Feeding,” Aizarg said grimly.

Ghalen turned to Okta. “We’re being drawn into it. Do we have anything to steer with?”

“Nothing.” Okta gritted his teeth in frustration. “Not even a damn pole to push away the corpses.”

“We can’t go in there,” Kus-ge’s voice teetered on panic’s edge.

Virag peered around her. “It looks like we don’t have a choice. I think I’m going back to the mast.”

“There are thousands,” Ezra whispered.

“Tens of thousands,” Aizarg said as if in a trance. “The demons feast on the dead. They will leave no trace of the time before the flood.”

“Do something!” Kus-ge grabbed Ba-lok’s tunic.

“I don’t...I can’t...” he stuttered impotently.

“This is Heli-dar! Don’t you understand, fool? We are dead!” Kus-ge shrieked again and again until Sana struck her squarely on the jaw.

Sana stepped over Kus-ge’s unconscious body and glared at Ba-lok. “Drag your woman to the mast before I throw her in.”

Ba-lok obeyed.

Soon, an overpowering reek blanketed them.

“Are we truly dead?” Ezra gagged.

“No,” Aizarg said.

Sana peered over the edge as the demons danced beneath her reflection. As if falling into a trance, calmness spread through her limbs.

“The water...” she whispered. “The salt...something Atamoda once said.” Words slowly congealed in her mind. “
Woe to those who forget the lost, for at the end of all things I will disgorge them upon you, and the waters will be filled with the tears of the dead.”

A high-pitched scream jolted her from the trance, as the demons shrieked and parted before them like autumn leaves in the wind.

Everyone stared at Aizarg’s staff, which shone with a brilliant blue light.

Levidi stared at the staff. “Aizarg?”

“I asked nothing from the Nameless God. Its power is summoned by another.”

The fog darkened behind the flotilla. Sana blinked, and then frowned, trying to comprehend what she witnessed. She looked up, and then kept looking up, as a dark shape peeled back the mists and loomed over the flotilla.

Trembling, Sana covered her mouth and sank to her knees.

“Sana?” Ghalen knelt beside her.

Speechless, she could only point.

Aizarg took the glowing staff from Levidi, raised it high, and shouted to his people. “Behold, the Black Fortress!”

“A mountain upon the waters. What a mighty vessel!” Okta gasped.

“What a mighty God,” Aizarg replied.

The Uros and his people fell to their knees and bowed their heads as the Ark drifted by only a few feet away; a black wall vaulting high above into the mist. It slid by without sound or ripple, propelled by an unseen force. It repelled the dead; they parted before it to create a wide, clear channel. The flotilla drifted into its wake and followed the Ark through the watery passage.

Soon, the flotilla began to lag behind the Ark. The dead floated away to either side, slowly vanishing into the thinning mist.

“It protects us,” Sana whispered, and the people rose and watched in wonder as it drifted farther away.

Ghalen wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “The dead are gone. We are not forsaken.”

She rested her head against his chest. “We are not forsaken.”

At that moment a blinding light erupted from behind the Ark. They turned away and shielded their eyes.

“What is it?” Okta squinted. “Is it some new magic?”

Sana held her hands toward the warmth and laughed. “It is the most wonderful magic of all. The sun!”

The Ark pierced the horizon and vanished into the sunrise of the new age.

Ghalen squinted. “Where are they going?”

Aizarg turned away. “They sail to their destiny. We sail to ours.”

The Lo cheered and danced, raising their hands to the sun and a new chance of life.

A grudging smile momentarily graced Virag’s face. “Remind me never to curse the sun again.”

After a few moments, Sana looked around for Aizarg among the rejoicing people. She found him standing on the flotilla’s opposite side, staring at the retreating fog bank and the land of the dead. Sana wrapped her arm around his waist.

“Tell me what you told Su-gar, the day we found the flotilla,” he rasped.

She paused for a moment before speaking. “Those words were for a grieving maiden. They hold no magic for your heart.”

“Then does my Isp have words of comfort for her Uros? Tell me, I beg you, so I can find the courage to face the sun again.”

She opened her mouth to utter an old Scythian proverb, but stopped. Sana looked about at the vast, endless expanse of water and thought of her grandmother, the legendary woman she met only once.

She’s the one who truly spared me. What would she say?

“The sea comes first.” Sana didn’t know why she spoke those words, only that she must.

As the Lo danced and praised the Nameless God, Aizarg’s tears fell into the salty sea.

“You were forbidden from aiding him.” The Black Dragon stood apart from Nuwa, watching Fu Xi’s retreating figure in disgust. “How easily you disobey the Emperor of Heaven, but I’m sure he’ll forgive you...
again
. You were always one of his favorites.”

Perched on a rocky pinnacle overlooking the fertile grasslands, Nuwa gazed upon Fu Xi and Heise, soaking in the joy radiating from her child.

“I didn’t help him.” She crossed her arms and smiled wryly. “I helped his horse.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “And I thought I hadn’t taught you anything about deception!” He raised an accusing eyebrow. “And the apple that saved his life?”

She turned to him, eyes narrowing with blue fire. “
That
gift came from another.”

She’d never known him to display fear, even if he could experience fear. But her enemy suddenly appeared uncomfortable, looking about suspiciously.

“Is something wrong?” she mocked.

“There are many ways to win a war. Hold no hope Fu Xi will reach them. The Lo will perish.”

“I stopped you from killing them once. I can stop you again.”

“You didn’t stop me on the mountainside.”

“Fu Xi still lives, doesn’t he?”

“As you said,
that
wasn’t your doing,” he said dryly.

He transformed into mist and blew away, chased by the morning sunshine.

The goddess returned her attention to Fu Xi as the Red Sword materialized in her hand. Caressing the muddy orichalcum blade, she thought of her first born.

Totaresh will try to slay him the instant they meet. Fu Xi is powerless without this sword by his side, but I am forbidden from returning it to him.

She examined the blade forged to slay gods, smiling the way women often do when they possess a secret.

And Nuwa had many secrets.

But I am not forbidden from giving it to another.

“Your trials have just begun, my beloved sons.”

***

“Mother.”

She groaned as sleep lifted its veil.

“Mother, wake up.”

Someone gently shook her.

“Mother!”

Disoriented, Atamoda shot upright.

Kus-ge!

She found a world shrouded in fog and Kol-ok staring at her.

She fell forward in the boat, hugging and peppering kisses on her son. “I thought I’d lost you!”

“I thought I lost everyone. The storm washed me overboard. Not long after I found my boat, I saw you treading water.”

“I don’t remember anything after...” Atamoda cupped her hand over her mouth, remembering Kus-ge cutting her loose.

She tried to kill me. Again.
The betrayal felt like bile in her throat.

“You’ve been asleep for a long time. A day has come and gone. It’s dawn again.”

“Something is different...”

“It stopped raining.”

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, “Oh, thank the Nameless God!”

“The water is foul.”

Atamoda reached into the water to palm a sip, but quickly spit it out.

Salt.

“I tried to drink some after the storm, but it made me vomit.

“Don’t worry. We will find good water.”

“We are alone.”

“We will find our people,” she nodded vigorously, trying to convince herself. “Or your father will find us.”

Kol-ok lifted the blanket between them. “We have food, even if there isn’t any water.” He handed her a fish cake, and then craned his head left and squinted. “Do you hear that?”

Atamoda lifted an ear. “No.”

He turned around and peered into the fog.

Then Atamoda heard the distinct lapping of waves against a shore. “I hear it.”

“I smell fish, too. Land!” Kol-ok snatched the paddle and began to row.

“Can it really be?” Atamoda started to cry as the boat plowed through sheets of dead fish. She scooped up a dead trout and sniffed it.

“It’s fresh, dead only a day or so.”

“We’ll eat well tonight. Oh, think of it, fresh fish for supper!”

She sniffed it again. “Perhaps the salty water killed it.”

Jagged boulders stood like ghostly giants along the shore as they beached on a steep, rocky bank.

Kol-ok tested the ground with one foot before fully committing to the earth.

“It’s real!” He held out his hand to Atamoda.

She wobbled from the boat, her balance not yet trusting solid ground. Atamoda sank to the earth, grabbing fistfuls of pebbles and breathing in the muddy scent. Touching her forehead to the ground, she uttered a silent prayer to the Nameless God.

Atamoda pulled Kol-ok down beside her and hugged him hard, realizing how close she’d come to losing him.

Kol-ok looked out over the foggy water. “Father cannot be far away. The current which brought us here will do the same for them. We’ll make camp here. If you will gather up fish, I’ll look around for some wood and good water. If we can light a fire, maybe they will see it.”

Kol-ok stood and turned around.

“Mother.” He nudged her.

A few feet away, an old man, tall and bony, gawked at them. He carried a strange metal pot in both hands, his long gray beard fell over a heavy wool vest. Combined with a conical wool cap and furry leggings, he looked half sheep.

Atamoda staggered up. “Hello,” was all she could think to say.

Her voice seemed to shake him out of his trance. He dropped the pot with a
thunk,
and fish spilled onto the bank. Atamoda realized the pot was actually a metal helmet.

Her stomach tightened.
Sammujad warriors sometimes wear metal helmets.
But this man didn’t dress, or look, like a Sammujad.

He knelt down and stuffed the fish back into the helmet, apprehensively looking over his shoulder. That’s when Atamoda noticed horrible scarring, as if the right side of his face had once been scorched.

He stood and tucked the helmet under his arm, astonishment transforming to hostility.

“Pahak chay yel!” He pointed to their boat. “Pahak chay yel!”

Kol-ok slid between Atamoda and the old man. “We’re not welcome here.”

She stepped backwards.

He shooed them toward the boat. “P’akhch’yel ! Veradarrnal depi tsov. Miayn mahy spasum e dzez aystegh!”

He’s afraid.

“Zeljko!” A whip-like voice barked from her right.

The old man dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

Before Atamoda could turn to look, she heard a loud crack. Kol-ok spun about, blood shooting from his mouth, and fell motionless to the ground. Atamoda didn’t remember the blow, only an explosion across her cheek, and then darkness.

She awoke to excruciating pain in her scalp and across her back. Coming to her senses, she kicked and screamed, but couldn’t see who dragged her by the hair. A moment later, he released her. Before she could get up, a sandaled foot pinned her neck.

Strange male voices laughed jovially with guttural, alien words, drawing pleasure from her torment.

Terrified, she struggled vainly to push away the foot, but they only laughed louder.

A gaunt face with high cheekbones and grotesquely pointed teeth leered down at her. Black hair cut like a bowl dropped over a face red as an autumn sunset. Strange, rust-streaked metal mesh covered his chest.

Then a black-skinned giant clad in gleaming crimson metal filled her vision. He towered above the red man, and considered her dispassionately, like a fisherman wondering if a minnow was worth keeping.

Demons!

Atamoda squirmed, wanting to scream, struggling to breathe.

“Rantaian,” the giant said and turned from her sight.

A look of disappointment briefly passed over the red man’s face. Rusty iron chains appeared in his hand. He gleefully rattled them over Atamoda’s face before once again snatching her by the hair. She shrieked in agony as he dragged her toward the echoes of screams, and the reek of burning flesh.

To Be Continued in
the
Chronicles of Fu Xi, Book III,
Totaresh