Tears of the Dead (8 page)

Love burns brightest on the edge of oblivion. There, it is purged of the material li
fe, leaving only the purest of essences ready to be bent to the will of the Emperor of Heaven.

Copper or iron, mortal or god, only the smithy knows how long the metal must lay in the coals. Alas, gods must be buried long and deep in the blazing embers, the bellows blowing long and hard, before divine metal glows even the dullest red.

I entered the forge several years before my fateful journey to Wu, when the Goddess Nuwa and I, unseen from the forest edge, watched a young orphan boy.

The Chronicle of Fu Xi

***

An ocean tossed from heaven.

The unending storm gushed against the cliff, trying to wash Fu Xi and his horse from the mountainside. Water consumed him, trying to fill his nostrils with each breath. Head bent low
,
with shoulder thrust into the howling gale, the demigod defied the torrent. His outstretched right hand felt along the rocky cliff while his left tightly grasped the horse’s reins. Only the occasional nudge from behind or tug on the reins reassured Fu Xi that Heise still followed.

Ahead, the narrow path etched into the cliff revealed itself only a few feet at a time. Impenetrable shrouds of gray and black concealed towering mountains Fu Xi only sensed. He braved a glance down the precipice, unable to see the boiling river swallowing the valley far below. It announced its presence with a continuous, quaking crescendo shaking the mountain, as if conspiring with the storm to scrape him from the rocky wall.

But Fu Xi did not fear for himself. He didn’t know how. Perhaps it was too late in his immortal life to learn. Instead, he concentrated on keeping his horse alive.

The saddlebags still bulged with grain and apples, but they wouldn’t last forever. Grass this high was almost non-existent before the storms. Now, torrents and mudslides swept away or buried what little vegetation did grow.

If we remain on the roof of the world, starvation will eventually kill Heise.

Fu Xi glanced over his shoulder at the stallion he called
Heise, which simply meant “black.” He still didn’t have a proper name for the beautiful animal. Only a shadow through the rain, Heise sagged under the crushing downpour. How the horse kept his footing on the treacherous goat path, Fu Xi did not know. His right shank scraped the cliff while saddlebags hung over the abyss to the left.

Food wasn’t as much of a concern for the demigod. During his man
y quests he’d often gone days, even weeks without eating. He could function for days without a sip. While his body somehow adapted, Fu Xi’s divinity didn’t protect him from discomfort.

A cave, a ledge, any shelter I can find to build a fire and get
Heise out of the elements. Then I can worry about foraging for food.

The only caves he’d found were thousands of small holes and ledges peppering the cliff-face, no more than handholds and nooks. Once nests for swifts, Fu Xi investigated them several times to see if any birds or eggs remained. The birds were gone
,
and the holes infested by hairy, vicious spiders, larger than Fu Xi’s hand.

The demigod chuckled.
At least the spiders are dry.

***

He stood alone in the garden of stone, beneath a sharp blue autumn sky, frost glittering like shattered glass at his feet. Head down, the boy silently cried between his father’s freshly turned grave and his mother’s overgrown plot.

“His name is Tiejiang, son of the deceased smithy,” I said. “The Holy Mother arranged for him to live with his aunt.”

“This is not acceptable,” Mother said.

I frowned at the unexpected intervention of the Goddess in village affairs

“The child may have no father or mother, but my people have no blacksmith. He is the blacksmith’s son.”

“What do you intend, Mother?”

“I intend to send you on a quest.”

“A quest? Am I to bring a smithy from the outreaches of Cin to Nushen? A stranger hasn’t entered the purity of your abode in a thousand years.” I searched my memory for the closest village with a blacksmith. It would be at least a two month journey.

“No, my child. Your quest shall be to Nushen itself. Go to Tiejiang and raise him until he is a man. Teach him the art of iron and bronze as you did to the Tall Men in ancient days. Until that time do not return to my mountain realm.”

“You want me to dwell in Nushen, to live as one of them?”

“Dwell, yes; as one of them, no. His father’s hut is now yours until Tiejiang is promised to a wife. On that day, you may return to my realm.”

The Chronicle of Fu Xi

***

His trousers and shirt stuck to him like a second skin. Mud caked his legs and boots. He had put his oilskins to better use protecting the precious supplies on Heise’s back.

Fu Xi looked up into the turbulent sky and let the cold rain spray his face and rush down his throat.

Finding water is not a concern.

He lowered his head and considered his horse with a mock scowl. “The things I do for you! You are more trouble than a woman.”

Heise silently nuzzled his back
,
and Fu Xi stroked his snout in return, trying not to notice how little rock remained between Heise’s hooves and the edge of the narrow path.

“Did they also teach you how to be a mountain goat in the stables of Wu? Perhaps your mother was a goat.”

Fu Xi shook his head and gently tugged on the reins.

For many days they trod the spine of the world, occasionally straddling the very tops of the mountains. Denuded of glacial raiment, the peaks lay exposed, naked and jagged like dragon’s teeth. Sometimes they found themselves blocked by granite walls, lightning exploding around them in a battle between earth and heaven. More than once impenetrable terrain forced Fu Xi to double back until he located a new path. Sometimes, these pathways dipped precariously in elevation to the tree line, just above the boiling, flooded valley. Each time they descended Fu Xi discovered the water higher than before. The mist never lightened enough for Fu Xi to glimpse the opposite side of the valley.

Will I come to land’s end, unable to advance, unable to go back?

Carefully placing one foot in front of the other like a cat, Fu Xi picked his way down the path as it slowly descended. The roar from below steadily increased as the trail curved around the cliff face. Scrubby trees appeared out of the mist above and below them, misshapen sentinels clinging with gnarled roots to bare rock.

“If this trail does not ascend
,
we may have a slight problem,” Fu Xi remarked. Heise could not turn around on this narrow path. If the trail wound all the way down to the water, the horse, and perhaps, even Fu Xi were doomed.

“Don’t expect me to carry you!” Fu Xi huffed.

The trail steepened further and followed the cliff to the right, beyond his sight. He mentally drew a line through the mist from their present position to where he estimated the trail met the raging flood waters, still hidden from sight.

One hundred, perhaps two hundred yards before we encounter the torrent.
His only hope, buoyed by the appearance of the trees, was the trail might widen below and at least afford them the opportunity to turn around.

Crack.

Fu Xi heard Heise’s hoof slip before actually feeling the reins snap tight. The alarming heaviness of the sound, the surrender of the stallion’s weight to the precipice, triggered the demigod’s instincts. He spun about, and threw his back flat against the jagged rock, bracing his heels against the ledge. Time seemed to crawl as the horse’s back haunches vanished over the cliff, Heise’s head craning forward as his front legs paddled furiously for footing.

***

“Mother, this is perhaps the most unusual quest you’ve ever charged me with,” I said playfully, truly intrigued. “Should I beg to ask the Goddess why?”

She didn’t take her gaze off the boy. “A village without a forge, is a village without a heart. It will soon grow cold and die,” she said. “I will instruct the Holy Mother to provide you anything you need. Should you ever require me, come to the edge of the forest at sunset.”

“You banish me to Nushen for fifteen years so the village can have a blacksmith? I doubt this is your only reason.”

“From the time mortals can walk, to the day they lie down to die, their existence is defined by the choices they make. Gods are only afforded two choices: rule or serve.

Now, go to him.”

Elated with my task, I stepped from the shadows, eager to begin my exile with my new charge.

Mother touched my arm. “At no time shall you call him Son, nor shall he speak of you as Father. This is my command.”

For fifteen years I lived in pleasant exile in Nushen, never once climbing the mountain to my mother’s realm. I raised Tiejiang as a son, but never did either of us disobey Mother’s command. Occasionally, he called me Lord Fu Xi, but more often addressed me as “Honored Teacher.” I simply referred to him as “Honored Student.”

The
Chronicle of Fu Xi

***

In a blur, Fu Xi wrapped the reins several times around his right arm. Instinctively, he shot his full left arm into the nearest nest hole and braced for the shock of eight hundred pounds of horse slipping over the cliff.

The reins snapped and sliced into his arm.
Heise’s neck stretched, and the beast’s eyes bulged in panic. The God of Names arched backward and slammed his shoulders against the rock. Biceps and neck muscles bunched into corded iron bands, sinews and tendons strained to the breaking point.

Rainwater poured unimpeded over Fu Xi’s face and into his eyes, blurring his vision.

The horse’s front legs hooked over the thin ledge as his back legs pedaled wildly against the cliff face with a loud mix of scraping and clopping.

The reins began to stretch. Fashioned from the finest leather in faraway Wu, they were strong but never designed to support a horse’s full weight.

Fu Xi’s left hand found a strong grip inside the nest hole, but with no room to back up, the ledge’s narrowness prevented him from gaining further leverage. If he released his grip and tried to pull the horse down the trail, he’d lose his footing, and both of them would tumble over the precipice.

The reins cut deep into Fu Xi’s right arm. Blood oozed from the gashes only to be washed away. His immortal flesh continuously healed itself, and to his horror, skin began to seal over the straps, enclosing the leather within his flesh. Every time the horse struggled, the reins tore and sliced from within, slowly sawing toward the bone.

Something brushed against his left hand. Course hair and segmented legs probed his arm, then another
,
and another. Fu Xi steeled himself for what would inevitably follow.

In rapid succession unseen spiders attacked the length of his left arm, fangs sinking deep like jagged icicles. He clenched his eyes even tighter as venom raced into his veins.

Fu Xi knew the spiders could not kill him, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. His blood battled the venom, slowing its march to his heart. The pace of the bites began to slow, but not before his arm grew numb.

Fu Xi’s legs started trembling.

The horse hung absurdly over the precipice like a cat. Heise’s head craned forward, almost reaching Fu Xi’s trembling knees. If Fu Xi had the presence of mind, he might have found it all amusing.

He spoke in short, halting sentences, trying to focus against the agony, “As much as I...understand your need for...a rest
,
...I must...insist...we resume our trek down the trail....I’m being stretched, sliced and eaten...at the same time.”

Heise
only stared at him with the same, terrified bulging eyes.

***

The autumn equinox found Tiejiang a young man and engaged to the beautiful daughter of a sonless farmer. By the ruddy light of an engorged moon I returned to Mother’s Realm, my quest completed. I did not return until the following spring equinox, the day of my Honored Student’s wedding.

After a night of feasting and strong wine, I desired quiet and solitude to put the events of the last fifteen years in perspective; though I did not wish to return to sterility of Tortoise Mountain.

Instead, jug of wine in hand, I wandered the lush fields at the edge of the forest. I did not find solitude, but instead the company of a former acolyte of Nuwa.

In a season of white smoke, she would have been favored by the goddess herself, of that I have no doubt. That fate passed her by, and the prior spring she removed her white robes and became eligible to take a husband. Every name of every acolyte of Nuwa stretching to the dawn of Nushen is etched in my mind. But, as if a spell dimmed my mind, hers is not. Gods do not forget, but for reasons I still cannot fathom, the young woman’s name eludes me to this very day. Eyes deep and warm, cheekbones smooth and high with skin like the lightest of honey, her image is crystal in my inner eye.

Laughter drifted across moonlit pasture from the distant wedding celebration as she sought me out and offered her body. I took it. Buried deep in a hay stack’s warm embrace, we gave each other a night of gentle pleasure.