Authors: Brian Braden
I’ve loved countless mortal women before and since, but for a night the farm girl from Nushen made me forget I was a god. For a tiny sliver of night, I was not alone.
Perhaps her precious gift was instead a spell, and all spells come with a price. Maybe the memory of her name was that price, perhaps I will never truly know.
The Chronicle of Fu Xi
***
Fu Xi took as deep a breath as he could, sternum burning as ribs stretched to the bursting point. “I cannot...pull you up...by myself. You must...help me.”
The horse didn’t budge.
“I know you are...afraid,” Fu Xi whispered. “But I cannot... let...you...die.”
The horse eyes began to turn bloodshot under the strain. Both god and beast rapidly approached their breaking points.
Fu Xi knew if he failed they were both dead. The demigod willed his numb left arm to grip the rock, and pulled with all his strength with his right. The reins sank deeper until they met bone and could go no further. Agony like a thousand fires rippled through his core. Fu Xi screamed as the reins melded to his bone, adding his strength to the leather’s.
Still, the horse didn’t budge.
“Pull yourself up...damn you!” He shouted.
Heise
stretched forward an inch. Fu Xi took up the slack, and the horse inched forward again. Now the horse’s head pressed against Fu Xi’s belly, gouts of hot breath caressing his abdomen.
He will not be able to turn!
Panic gripped Fu Xi. The ledge was too narrow, the horse too big, and Fu Xi blocked the way.
He pulled again, though this time with diminished strength.
Heise’s front hoof slammed down on his foot, taking Fu Xi to new levels of pain.
Still, the demigod pulled.
“Damn you! You can’t die...,” Fu Xi heaved again. “...I haven’t...”
Pull!
“...Even...”
Pull!
“...Properly...”
“...Named...”
Pull!
“...You...”
Pull!
“...Yet!”
A back right hoof found level rock. The horse bolted upward and slid right, slamming Fu Xi against the cliff.
And that’s where the horse halted, head down and shaking violently.
Fu Xi’s trembling rivaled the horse’s, his muscles shouting in relief.
Now, how am I going to get out of this?
Fu Xi knew the horse couldn’t back up, so he’d have to slide down and ingloriously crawl from between the horse’s legs. The reins, now fused with his arm, made this plan somewhat problematic.
He’d have to cut the reins and pull them from his flesh. To do that, he’d needed his left arm.
If the spiders still feasted on his arm, he couldn’t feel it, the venom completely rendering the limb numb. He tugged, but his arm didn’t budge. He pulled again with the same result.
It’s swollen inside the hole.
Fu Xi took a deep breath and braced himself again. He slid down on one knee below the horse’s belly, all the while pulling his left arm. He sensed, but could not feel, ragged stone scraping away skin, taking gouges of flesh with it.
His arm broke free with a gush of blood and pus-filled fluid.
Several flattened spiders, each the size of a small squirrel, flopped onto the ledge, hairy legs pulled tightly against their abdomen. Fu Xi hoped they had suffered and brushed them over the ledge.
He slid fully underneath the horse, left arm dangling, sleeve torn and bloody. Skin hung in tattered sheets. He extended the limb from under the horse and let the downpour wash it clean. Before his eyes, damaged skin fell away, and the flesh began to knit together and heal. The residual venom kept him from feeling too much pain. Part of him wished the spiders had bitten his right hand, too.
***
As we slept in each other’s embrace, a chilly sunrise crept into our hiding place. Dawn’s faint caress lightly probed the haystack, reminding us of our true places in the world and slowly picking away the spell’s fragile weave.
Without opening her eyes, she smiled broadly and snuggled against me. I lightly brushed her thigh, marveling at her smooth, soft skin. My hand found its way to her stomach where I playfully traced circles around her belly button.
What would it be like to put a child there and know it was mine? What would it be like to wake up to this beautiful woman every morning, to know my children sleep in the next room, to see her age, and my sons grow?
My Honored Student would know all these joys. I knew across the village he lay next to his bride and likely had already planted a seed in her womb.
I rolled onto my back, relishing the prickly hay against my back and the satin of her thighs over my stomach. I pulled her onto me and let her rich black hair spill over my face. She stretched and smiled as my hands explored her hips, eager to love her again.
The Chronicle of Fu Xi
***
Locked in spasms of agony, Fu Xi could not unclench his fist from around the reins. As feeling began to return to his left hand, he tried to pry his right hand open. He winced and peeled the leather from his right index finger’s skin. He shuddered as he beheld his open palm.
The reins emerged from a bruised mound in his palm. The mound, mottled and purplish, encircled his wrist, then wrapped around his arm like a vine until the reins reemerged just below his elbow. He tore away the remaining cotton material from his sleeve and fully exposed his right arm. Sharp, painful tingling rippled up and down his right arm in contrast to the dull throbbing ache engulfing his left arm. While one limb healed, the other fought to reject the infiltrating foreign body.
Fumbling, he gripped the reins just below his right palm. Shielded beneath the horse from most of the rain, his breath came in misty clouds and joined the steam rising off Heise’s shivering flanks.
He reached up with his left arm and patted the horse’s belly.
“If you piss on me, I’m going to throw you off the cliff myself.”
Heise
whinnied, his shivering slowly subsiding.
“Listen carefully. I am going to scream, old friend. Don’t be frightened, do not run. It will be over quickly, and we will be on our way. Maybe there is a cave around the bend, and I can start a fire, and we can warm ourselves.”
Fu Xi took a deep breath, wrapped the reins once around his left arm and steeled himself...
...then yanked.
Fu Xi’s scream echoed off unseen canyon walls before being swallowed by the downpour. The agony burned deep into his bone, but the reins did not budge.
The leather is fused to my bone.
He would not be able to pull them straight out at the palm. That left only one choice.
Without hesitation and with the determination of a god, Fu Xi yanked the reins upward, ripping them from skin and tissue. The leather emerged from his arm with a wet, tearing sound. His stomach heaved at the unnatural, bone searing pain.
And then it ended.
His head pressed against cold rock, Fu Xi held the bloody reins like a perverse afterbirth.
Heise craned his head underneath his belly and nudged Fu Xi as a mare might nudge of newborn foal. The demigod’s breath came in big gulps as the pain subsided. The deep, ripping gash encircling his right arm began to stitch itself closed. He extended both arms over the ledge into the downpour and let the water wash away the remaining blood and tissue from his flesh and leather straps. In a matter of minutes only clean, unbroken flesh remained. The only remaining scars seared deep into Fu Xi’s memory.
Gods do not forget.
Fu Xi crawled out from under the horse. He cradled the steed’s head and gently stroked its nose.
“All is well, but watch your step, old friend. I don’t think I can do that again.”
The horse’s trembling finally stopped.
Fu Xi tied the straps to the reins as best he could.
They will have to do until I can fashion new ones.
He grasped the reins below the knots and turned back down the trail.
Horse and god vanished into the rain.
***
Silhouetted against a fresh born blue sky, the sunlight finally found her. She opened her eyes and gazed down upon me. The lingering tenderness evaporated, replaced by reverence.
The spell broken, the woman saw the god, and the god saw the mortal.
She lowered her eyes and crossed her arms over her breasts. “It is my sincerest wish I have pleased you, great Lord Fu Xi.”
To sleep with a god came with divine blessing. Now I had a duty to fulfill. I touched her belly lightly and repeated the blessing I’d uttered countless other mornings across the land of Cin.
“You have pleased me, and in return, your womb is blessed by the Goddess Nuwa herself. You will marry well. Your husband will cherish you, and you shall bear him many children, many boys. Daughter of Nuwa, you will never know loneliness, even unto the end of your days.”
Joyful tears filled her eyes. “Thank you, Lord Fu Xi! Thank you!”
I snatched her back down to me, my lips eagerly seeking hers. I wasn’t ready for the magic to end. The god could wait; I needed a few more moments as a man.
“Great Lord Fu Xi, are you going to roll around all morning in the hay with my cousin, or are you going to come out here and eat?” A voice called from beyond the hay.
I pushed her up. “You are Tiejiang’s cousin?”
She nodded innocently, lips pursed trying to suppress a smile. “First cousins, Lord Fu Xi.”
I sighed and sank back into the hay. All in Nushen were related in some manner, but I tried not to bed those closely related to Tiejiang or Nuwa’s current husband.
I gently slapped her on the thigh. “Get up. Get dressed. Go home.”
She cloaked herself in the cotton robe she wore to last night’s wedding and slid out of the haystack. Elated, she ran home filled with the divine blessing and glowing after a night with a god.
From beyond the haystack I detected the scent of fresh bread and rice. With a growling belly, I slipped on the ceremonial robes I wore the last night.
The rooster crowed, announcing another dawn in my endless life.
The Chronicle of Fu Xi
“Demons in the water. Demons among us. The God of the Narim gave me sight only to recognize that which slithered in the deep. My poor, beloved Atamoda could see both.”
– Conversations with the Uros.
The Chronicle of Fu Xi
***
Ice enveloped Atamoda’s arm. She snapped out of her stupor and yanked her arm from the water. She shook it as if it had been bitten, wiping the moisture off on her winter tunic. Atamoda bolted upright in bleary-eyed panic, unsure how she ended up in the bottom of this boat.
It is dawn.
She quickly looked about, trying to get her bearings.
I fell asleep!
Horrible reality washed over her like the cold flood smothering the world.
Atamoda’s arms sagged under the realization that she’d passed out.
How long?
She peered into the water, afraid of what she would see. Nothing stirred. She leaned over and sniffed the water, testing to see if it carried the now familiar scent that accompanied a demonic attack.
When the demons swarmed, the water released a faint, but noxious odor. Acrid and coppery, she could only describe it as a mix of blood and vomit.
The demons turn the water to venom with their very presence.
Water, her people’s nourishing life force, became their enemy.
No foul reek wafted from the flat surface this morning, but Atamoda took no comfort. The demons withdrew with the dawn, as they had on the previous mornings. She knew the danger abated only temporarily.
Atamoda squinted against the dull sunlight filtering through the overcast. The light hurt her eyes, but was welcome nevertheless. The heavenly curtain which descended in the wake of the thundering star seemed thicker this morning, robbing the dawn of color and washing the world in a lifeless gray. Atamoda felt as washed out as the sky, as cold as the sea.
She fingered her chest, searching for her missing li-gi.
Aizarg, where are you?
Far across the water only a few remaining tree tops poked above the water, the last vestiges of the marshy coast. Beyond them, the sea stretched endlessly north, occasionally dotted by floating chunks of ice. She scanned the horizon, hoping to see Aizarg, somehow, some way, sailing toward them.
A dark, little voice hissed in her mind.
Where would he get a boat?
She quickly pushed it aside. Doubt tried to strip away her hope, to expose her, naked and defenseless, before remorseless fate.
Setenay is with him. They are alright.
She railed against the madness. She had to believe it. If she didn’t, madness as deep as the water beneath the flotilla would claim her.
Her arms burned, her shoulders ached. In an attempt to stretch her legs, Atamoda shifted in the bottom of the boat, careful not to disturb Su-gar lying asleep at the other end of the small reed boat. Little Ba-tor cuddled between the young woman’s legs like a newborn. Seeing them helped calm her nerves.
Atamoda needed sleep, too. Days of relentless demonic onslaught weakened her defenses. But, at least for now, the demons were quiet.
She turned right and looked south. Like a forest in the dead of winter, naked masts and rigging filled her vision. She hoped to see her oldest child, Kol-ok, approaching across the lashed decks that formed the floating island. Across the Lo flotilla, blanket-covered mounds crowded the decks where families huddled for warmth. Weary eyes, shrouded in misty breath, peered out from beneath the blankets.
The men cower with the women and children
. Atamoda knew it wasn’t from cowardice, but from the realization they could do nothing to protect the flotilla.
Spears meant nothing against the enemy which tormented the remnants of the Minnow and Crane Clans. Only two women stood between the festering schools of demons and what remained of the Lo nation.
Here we are on the crest of our doom, the curse Setenay foresaw.
Su-gar groaned as if in pain, stirred and shook her head.
She’s still fighting the demons in her sleep.
Neither of Su-gar’s parents was known for their physical beauty. However, something about the combination of Ula and Ood-i, created a striking beauty in their daughter. Thick, black, and slightly frizzy hair framed a pleasingly round face. Her deep brown eyes, framed with lush eyelashes, topped generously pouting lips. Her pale, unblemished skin and ample bosom completed a young woman sought by men from across the Lo Nation.
Now Su-gar mourned. Her father accompanied Aizarg on his quest, trying to turn back the wrath of a nameless god and save the world. Her mother, Ula, fell to the demons the first day of the flood.
Su-gar stretched and bumped against Ba-tor between her legs. Her eyes flew open and darted about.
“Mother!” Su-gar screamed and shot upright in the boat. “Demons! Demons in the water!”
“Shhh!” Atamoda leaned over and stroked her hair. The girl’s deep, soulful eyes made Atamoda’s heart ache. “We fell asleep. It is dawn. The demons are quiet for now.”
“I am sorry, Atamoda. I did not mean to fall asleep!”
“You could not help it. Neither could I. Fortunately, the enemy did not strike. Dawn appears to halt their torments, at least for a little while.”
“Xva has not returned?” Su-gar arched slightly higher, peering out over the flotilla. She swallowed hard, voice cracking. “Did we lose any more last night?”
“I don’t know,” Atamoda whispered.
Su-gar adjusted her sitting position, trying to get comfortable, while doing her best not to disturb Bat-or.
Atamoda insisted Ba-tor stay by her side and not with the rest of the children huddled in the center of the flotilla. She wanted her little one close to her, nearest the source of her protective magic. With Aizarg gone and Kol-ok helping Xva protect the flotilla, Atamoda needed reassurance. She needed her baby boy next to her.
“Get some sleep, Atamoda. If the demons return, I will wake you.”
Atamoda did not hear her, her mind wandering over the terrible events since that day Ula died.
Kus-ge and boats from the Minnow Clan had arrived shortly before dawn the day after the marshes vanished under the flood. Enormous islands of ice, borne by the deluge, plowed under their arun-ki. Kus-ge led the survivors on rafts and boats to the Crane Clan.
They found Atamoda and her people already in boats and rafts, tied off to the submerged köy-lo-hely, the meeting platform in the center of their arun-ki. The slithering demons began to assemble in greater numbers, but had yet to attack the boats and rafts. The Minnow Clan and Crane Clans quickly lashed their boats and rafts together, creating a flotilla of nearly one hundred vessels carrying over two hundred people. That was as far as their unity progressed.
With their sco-lo-ti gone on the quest, discord immediately descended on the two clans. Many of the Minnow’s men and elders were killed under the ice floes. After Atta’s death, the Crane naturally fell under Xva’s leadership, but Kus-ge stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. The two patesi-le stood face to face in the center of the flotilla, the fate of their people resting in their hands.
Kus-ge adamantly argued they continue west along the vanishing coast looking for survivors from other clans, or perhaps even sailing east to seek the shelter of the distant Adyghe Mountains. Xva and Atamoda told the assembled people the coast would likely soon vanish under the floodwaters and they would become hopelessly lost in the powerful current. If they allowed themselves to be swept to sea, the Uros may never find them, and death would surely be their reward. As the sun rose, so did the heated words.
And then the fireball cut the sky in two.
As if waiting for the fiery signal, the demons rose in force from the depths. A black slick of ice and hate encircled the flotilla, ripping boats’ hulls and dragging screaming victims into the depths. Men hurled spears into the water with no effect. Women grabbed children and fled to the center of the flotilla.
The two patesi-le formed a hasty strategy to employ ancient warding magic passed down to both of them by Setenay. Atamoda took the northern flank where the ropes secured the floating island to the submerged köy-lo-hely. Kus-ge positioned herself on the southern end of the flotilla. Atamoda’s and Kus-ge’s combined magic protected most of the flotilla from the unrelenting demonic attacks, but only if they focused all their attention on the warding chants. Any time either one of them lost concentration, the demons swirled in and claimed another boat, another victim.
Atamoda hadn’t left her boat or talked to Kus-ge since the assault began. Her world shrank to the stretch of water immediately in front of her. Her only news of her people was carried to her by Xva, who wandered the flotilla and tried to keep order.
Most of the time the demons turned away, but sometimes they didn’t. While the majority of boats were lost during the nights, some were snatched when Atamoda tried to eat or drink or even relieve herself, deepening her sense of guilt. Between the horrible screams of her people being dragged to their doom, and the constant crackling of the demon ice, Atamoda’s sanity began to slip away.
The demons sensed Atamoda’s exhaustion, and took delight in tormenting her. In her heart, she knew the demons could take them anytime. The flotilla became their plaything, something to be toyed with until they found other sport. Knowing the demons would take Kol-ok and Bat-or if she failed, kept her fighting.
During the long, terrible nights, the patesi-le blindly chanted into the starless void, arms extended, for hour after grueling hour. The crackling of ice and occasional scream painfully reminded Atamoda that her magic was too weak to protect everyone.
The demons relented briefly at dawn. That’s when Xva returned to their boat bearing the grim tally of the dead and number of boats lost.
Now Atamoda scanned the surrounding boats, searching the weary faces of her tribesmen for Xva. A gnawing fear burned through the numbness in her spirit.
“Get some sleep, Atamoda,” Su-gar repeated.
“I will, when Xva and Kol-ok return,”
“What if they don’t come back?” Su-gar fretted.
“They will!” Atamoda snapped. “They will! And so will my husband!”
Su-gar shrank back. “I am sorry.”
Tears welling, Atamoda shook her head and waved her hand. Pressing fingers against eyelids, she willed the emotion and despair back into the dark recesses.
How many are already dead?
The voice in her mind whispered again.
She took several deep breaths and opened her eyes as control returned.
“He will return, and so will Aizarg. I know this,” Atamoda said. “Xva must also attend to Sahti.” Xva’s pregnant young wife, helped care for the children in the center of the flotilla.
Since Atta’s death at the hands of the demons, young Xva stepped into the role as leader of the arun-ki, a role surprisingly unchallenged by the older men. Perhaps it was the trust Atta once placed in the young man, or the overwhelming fear generated by the demons. Perhaps it was the hard look in Xva’s eyes since Atamoda pulled him from the demons’ clutches. Something in the young man’s spirit demanded others follow. For that, Atamoda was thankful.
As if in answer to a prayer, Xva and Kol-ok stumbled from beyond the huddled mounds and collapsed into the boat between Atamoda and Su-gar. Atamoda threw her arms around Kol-ok’s neck.
Xva laid his spear across the bottom of the boat, closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath. Sugar leaned over and handed him a water skin and a piece of dried fish. Xva inhaled the food and gulped down the water.
Xva looked years older. His long sandy hair fell lank over his brow, obscuring what were once piercing hazel eyes. Dark shadows below his eyes mirrored the sky.
“How are you holding up?” he asked Atamoda.
“I fight until the Uros returns.” It was the only answer she could give without breaking down again. “What of the flotilla?”
“With first light I tallied seventy-three boats and rafts.”
Su-gar gasped and pulled sleeping Ba-tor protectively to her bosom.
“How many of us remain?” Atamoda whispered.
“Eighty-five.”
Atamoda turned away, overwhelmed by a staggering sense of failure.
“The children?” she finally found the courage to ask.
“Safe on the center rafts. We lost only men last night; Minnow Clan mostly, from the southern flank. The demons ravaged the outer boats until almost dawn. Without your magic, patesi-le, all would be lost...” Xva opened his mouth to say something else, but held back. Atamoda saw fear behind his exhausted expression.
“What is it you fear to say?” Atamoda demanded. “Why only the Minnow Clan? Tell me.”
“Kus-ge collapsed before dawn. We cannot revive her. Her magic no longer shields our people.”
Atamoda slumped down into the boat.
Sleep.
I just want to sleep.
She caught a faint odor wafting from the north.
Venom.
Xva sat up and looked about. He pressed his hand against the bottom of the boat. “Did you feel that?”
Atamoda’s heart sank.