Authors: Brian Braden
The Chronicle of Fu Xi
A bearded mortal with midnight skin and eyes as deep and mysterious as the Sunrise Sea awakened me. Blacker than Leviathan, his thickening body, balding crest, and gray-streaked beard spoke of both privilege and one taking the first steps into life’s autumn.
Ah, but his eyes sang of one who’d lived a thousand lifetimes! He stood at the foot of my bed, arms crossed, considering me, not as a man looks upon an immortal, but as if I were a curious phenomenon to be studied. Something in his expression vaguely reminded me of Mother, and I found the experience uncomfortable.
He wore fine white linen wrapped and folded in the most puzzling of fashions around his body, a dark purple band falling gracefully down the center. He knew enough of the coastal Cin dialect to converse with me, introducing himself as Amiran, a member of a caste of learned mortals known as ‘Scholars’. He bowed low, and on behalf of his master, welcomed me to the Palace of Leviathan, Prince of the Great and Glorious Empire of the god Poseidon. As a god and honored guest, I would be treated well. However, by my host’s command, I must not leave my chambers until I could converse directly with Prince Leviathan, who in due time would personally answer all my questions.
I’d never heard a Cin dialect spoken in so rich and deep a voice. It reverberated in his throat like captive thunder, but spilled forth like spring cream. I enjoyed listening to him, impressed by his grasp of my language’s subtle tones and inflections.
Every morning for two weeks Amiran came to my chamber for language lessons. An exotic, and I must admit, pleasant odor always accompanied him; warm like autumn’s first wood smoke, yet slightly sweet. Its presence would precede the scholar by a few moments and linger long after he left.
More often than not, Quexil, Leviathan’s lieutenant from the battle on the beach, accompanied him. Quexil stood in a corner, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. With hair cut as if someone had put a bowl on his head and trimmed around the edges, his beady eyes and large Adam’s apple gave him the look of a foul tempered vulture. He kept a silent vigil on the old scholar, though for what purpose I could only guess.
I took delight in shocking Amiran with my rapid mastery of their tongue, which they called “The Song of Atlas.” I found the name laughable, though I politely withheld this opinion. An oddly crude language for such a glorious civilization, full of abrupt halts and stuttering sounds, it lacked the melodic grace inherent in Cin’s many tongues. Eventually, I could converse well enough with Amiran without accidently spitting when speaking.
I found myself intrigued with this amazing mortal. I greatly desired to ask him questions, but he would only cast a wary glance toward Quexil, stating, “Prince Leviathan will address these concerns, my lord. I humbly beg we continue with your lesson.”
I began to feel like a prisoner
and resolved to confront Quexil the next morning.
However, Amiran and Quexil didn’t return at dawn. Instead, Leviathan burst into my chamber, dressed in a flowing white robe. Intricate gold earrings dangled from his ears, each finger encased in silver and gold rings. Several jewel-encrusted necklaces hung from his thick neck. He joyously embraced me and expressed his pleasure that we could finally speak to one another.
Questions tripped over questions, but he insisted on showing me the palace first.
“Now that you can speak our language, you can command as a god rightly should.” With that, he whisked me away on a grand tour of the Imperial Palace of Wu.
T
he Chronicle of Fu Xi
***
Like an unrelenting predator, the waters claimed the dragon’s cave and chased Fu Xi up the mountain. He shambled along a ridge, spirit driving his failing flesh onward.
Gnarled pines, forever bent with the wind, reached up to the heavens in a tangle of black and gray. Along the mountain’s spine, they clung to lichen-stained boulders and thin mud as if terrified they could slide off the mountainside at any moment.
This mountain is ancient, it has secrets.
Until now, the rocks and cliffs had been sharp, new, and thrusting boldly into the heavens. Now the landscape felt worn, old. Twisted limbs begged the heavens for mercy, or perhaps forgiveness, but the sky answered only with more rain.
Time no longer mattered, the passage of day and night a concern for the past age, not this one. Fu Xi’s universe consisted only of a pebble or a boulder within his immediate sight. His only goal the next handhold, his only hope another footstep.
Fu Xi’s weakened flesh couldn’t reject whatever venom had tipped the Donkey Men’s blades. His wounds wouldn’t fully close, and they festered in the rain. The poison seared the demigod’s blood, trying to pry divine spirit from muscle and bone. He felt his flesh slowly boiling away.
The lion’s skin had begun to rot, too. Fu Xi had already cut strips to reinforce the straps holding Red Blade to his back.
Five mangy hyenas may bring down the lion
.
Fu Xi laughed deliriously at the thought.
He looked about only to discover the downpour had transformed into snowfall. The wind ceased as heavy wet flakes softened the jagged gray mountain with an unbroken white blanket.
Silence, so strange and alien after days of unceasing rainfall, filled his ears. His own heartbeat pounded in his chest so loudly Fu Xi felt certain it could be heard for a thousand miles. The silence also gave birth to voices. Children laughed and acolytes shouted his name. Sometimes, Tiejiang’s hammer rang out against the anvil, slicing clearly through the snow without echo. Fu Xi almost felt the forge’s heat, and heard Tiejiang’s laughter. More than once, a horse’s neigh made him spin about.
“Heise, you are a lazy horse,” he croaked at the snow drifts, almost too weak to speak. “You can come out now. I promise I won’t make you carry me.” Breaths came in ragged puffs, each word heavy as an iron ingot. “You were very selfish to leave me. I would have killed the other lion, if you had...” he wheezed and steadied himself against a boulder. “...if you had only waited a few moments. Come out so I have someone to talk to.”
Soon, the snow piled deeply all about. Bare feet numb and icicles dangling from the daggertooth fangs, Fu Xi trudged forward, seeking any path that would support his weight.
Snow turned to drifts, and drifts to white waves frozen in mid-crest.
So white, so soft. Perhaps I could lie down, if only for a little while.
Lungs scraped the thin air with every ragged wheeze, reminding Fu Xi he still lived. His mind began to drift as his eyes grew heavy, and warmth spread through his limbs.
***
As we walked, Leviathan told me this was the farthest outpost of the Empire of Poseidon, and I could dwell there as long as I desired.
Glorious. In how many tongues can I say this word? It is the only word the God of Names can summon to describe Leviathan’s domain.
A city unto itself, one could enter the Palace of Wu and never find their way out. Walls of the whitest marble and gilded ceilings lined endless halls, staterooms, sleeping chambers, dining halls, gymnasiums, baths, brothels, and pleasure gardens. Half a dozen kitchens fed Leviathan and his staff of warriors, servants, and concubines. Gardens bursting with a dizzying variety of exotic flowers and trees, imported from every corner of the empire, blanketed the grounds. Pools and fountains flowed from crystal clear springs throughout the estate.
My questions melted under Leviathan’s radiance. Every time I presented an inquiry, he distracted me with a new wonder. Before I realized it, evening’s end found us upon gilded thrones, side by side, in Leviathan’s great hall.
He held court among a thousand of his best warriors, the red men I came to know as Olmecs. Wearing headdresses overflowing with colorful feathers, they reclined across the hall’s expansive floor upon cushions and blankets. Even without their white armor, the jagged red and black body paint covering their squat bodies made them appear grim and eager to kill, even as they celebrated.
The Olmecs reflected the throne room’s unexpected savagery. Instead of airy, refined columns and tapestries common to the rest of the palace, the throne room felt tomb-like, a man-made cavern of dark gray lava stone. Geometric gold and silver designs covered the ceiling. Every few feet along the long walls, a stone head, topped with a plumed headdress, glared out into the hall. Black iron braziers cast malevolent shadows across the giants’ ruby eyes and menacingly gaping mouths.
Leviathan pointed to the heads. “This hall honors my elite Olmec Warriors, the Obsidian Guard. These statues memorialize their great captains who have served me in ages past. They hail from deep jungles in the narrow isthmus between two great continents. More loyal warriors, you will never find.”
I glanced at Quexil lurking alone in the shadows, a living reflection of the stone heads. He nodded and smiled, mouth filled with the same sinister points.
These Olmecs would bear watching, Quexil included.
“Bring the feast!” Leviathan commanded.
Clad in white silk like my host, we dined on tender meats, richly stuffed eggs, and roasted snails. Music of string and horn, so extraordinary that I cannot describe it, made my soul ache. Their wine, made from a fruit called a ‘grape’, must have been fermented in Heaven itself. And the women!
At Leviathan’s command, a tapestry of nude women in every hue, every color, paraded before us to the beat of a lone, sultry drum. I recognized that a few were from coastal Cin. Some were like Amiran and Leviathan, with ebony flesh and long, lean, legs. Then came forth women with dusky flesh, rich, flowing locks, and delicious mysteries in their eyes. Finally, there came the most exotic women of all.
Three ivory-skinned women danced before the thrones, one with hair of gold, one with hair of coal, and one with hair of fire. At first I thought they may be ice women, with skin so white it must be cold to the touch. The redhead leapt into my lap like a cat, straddling me with urgency. I found nothing cold about her.
“Enjoy, brother,” Leviathan laughed. “But be cautious with the white ones. They bite.”
Then I noticed a raised patch on the woman’s arm. A second glance revealed it to be a brand, a serpent wrapped around a spear. My heart skipped a beat as I fingered the delicate scar, and I realized she was a slave.
She burrowed her face into my neck, seeking lips and darting tongue. Red wine embraced sweat, blending and becoming one in my blood. I closed my eyes, leaned my head back and surrendered to the fire haired woman.
I caught glimpses of the ceiling, with its exotic geometric patterns, that wrapped around skulls and dancing skeletons brandishing clubs and spears.
If not a throne room, then what purpose did this place serve?
Images replaced reflection, instinct replaced thought. A chorus of drums joined the lone beat, pounding faster and faster. Air stifling, heart pounding, passion rose against my will. I caught only a glimpse of the women as they danced, sweating bodies throbbing to the beat. The Olmecs rose, pounding bare feet against stone in time to the beat. Wide, lustful gazes feasted on the line of women, now separated from the warriors by only a narrow strip of floor. The women turned their backs to the men and faced Leviathan, undulating as if taunting the warriors. The men howled in response and sliced their chests with obsidian blades, smearing blood over their war paint. The air sizzled as blood, music and passion built to unbearable levels.
Leviathan sat impassively staring at the throng and ignoring me as I struggled against the spell. The skeletons on the ceiling seemed to come alive, tormenting my spirit as the throne room transformed into a dark temple, the feast now a sacrifice. I drowned in pleasure, unable to heed my hearts warning call as I felt her tongue run over my neck...
...and then her teeth.
Before darkness took me, I recall Leviathan raising his hand and dropping it. The Olmecs surged forward, snatching the women into their midst; grabbing, pulling, taking...
...screaming.
“For this is why the gods came to earth,” Leviathan smiled from behind his goblet.
Skeleton’s danced above my head, and mute giants looked on as the world vanished in fire and flesh.
The Chronicle of Fu Xi
***
Thunder rumbled in the distance.
The snow is soft, and not so cold. I will be stronger with a nap.
It rumbled again, sharper, closer.
Will I die? Or perhaps I shall only freeze, and reawaken with the spring.
Fu Xi’s eyelids grew heavy, warmth spreading through his limbs.
A tremendous boom shook the mountainside, snapping Fu Xi from the deadly stupor, and he began to shiver anew, life surging through his limbs again.
The boom transformed into a low, rumbling growl, and then a primeval roar.
Disbelief stirred the demigod to action. He groped for the hilt around his shoulder like a dog chasing his tail, before falling into the snow in a heap. He seized the hilt, only to find the sword had frozen to the lion hide. Summoning his strength, he ripped the sword from his back. Patches of frozen fur clinging to its edge; what had once been magically light, now felt like lead.
He staggered up.
It’s close.