Limbo

by Thiago d'Evecque

  A lump clogged my throat. I stuffed out my chest and nodded.

  “Are you ready?” I asked.

  “How can I be? Teach me, please.” She bared her teeth and closed her eyes, dropping her head to one side.

  I slid Chuck through her belly until he cut across her back. The sultana opened her eyes, and I already missed her.

  “Thank you, Scheherazade.” There was nothing else to say.

  Suddenly she was no longer there, only the soothing jasmine aroma still lingered. And I wished I had gone with her.

  Scheherazade’s revelation left me spinning. Possibly between human and angel. Memories ran like a broken dam. I remembered days spent on Earth, before everything. No humans, no angels—just me and nature. The happiness of new discoveries, the thrill of exploring the unknown as I walked the virgin blue and green world, endless possibilities. There were no clothes, there was no malice. The animals were docile and had no prey, no poison, no hunger for meat.

  Then, there was an angel.

  She sometimes visited me, curious and kind. Her eyes were the color of honey and held all the world’s secrets. We talked in an ancient and extinct language about remote ages, other angels, and why I was alone in that immensity. We talked about the seas, and I learned a lot. I learned about the heavens, the Creator, and Creation. She told me of the caste of angels and of her own battle against Evil. She told me how she triumphed over it and imprisoned its essence in a sword which she carried and showed it to me.

  I learned everything easily, because although I wasn’t an angel, I wasn’t human either. My physique was advanced, and I never got tired. My intellect was superior, and I always understood. I didn’t eat or drink, I just existed and praised the whole divine creation called Earth as if I praised the Creator Himself.

  But I fell in love with the angel and she loved me back. I remember the texture of her warm tongue on mine, the refreshing taste of her mouth, my body against hers, lying on the grass. Her gentle hands, her immaculate white wings, stretched up tall as if they could graze the clouds. Her touch, her breath, her soul.

  That was when hell began. Because our love was forbidden. Our union, unholy.

  My memories blurred, clouded with lightning from the angels’ rebellion, but now I realized that it didn’t really happen. Azazel was right. They fought back against oppression. I’m sorry I doubted you, old friend.

  My head hurt. I looked at my arms and could make out the tiny hairs on them. My body was more solid, less foggy.

  Why did she call me a forgotten god?

  “You came to the Limbo. This happens when everyone who believed in you ceases to exist—or to believe. Your legacy has expired,” I explained, losing my patience. “Gods that end up here don’t come back. As far as I know, at least.”

  He did not answer. For the first time I felt sorry for Chuck. It was a hard thing to realize we were no longer needed.

  “Look, I’m sorry. Who knows, there might be some—”

  Do not insult me, pathetic flesh. I don’t need your comfort.

  The gardens and the great Library crumbled into countless pieces.

  “I think all creatures in Limbo either stay here or come back as humans.”

  Go back in a prison of meat, doomed to rot in a few years? Ha! Forget it. I’d rather this prison of steel.

  Like many humans, gods were proud beings.

  We moved on, swallowed by the sepulchral dark. The dead’s wailing gained volume.

  For my fifth soul, I wanted someone who would inspire everyone to do their best not only with words, but with deeds. Someone that could bring out the courage hidden in every heart. Someone to fight, scream, run, and suffer together with their own. Someone whose speech and attitude would kindle the flame of hope when defeat tested the spirit. For defeat was a passing condition before the persistence of who never quits.

  Someone whose name was chanted ages after his disappearance. That even after returning to dust, still caused fear in the hearts of his enemies’ descendants.

  It was time to awaken the silver-haired Irishman to defend his island, the symbol of his nation, the leader of the band named Fianna, the monster slayer, the warrior who saved even gods, the mythical hunter Finn mac Cumhail.

  6

  WAVES OF COURAGE

  It’s funny how cowardice is universally despised. The infamy it generates is independent of society, time, or individuals. No matter the situation, the conditions, what is at stake, or what you may be giving up—running away, surrendering, abstaining from an act, even if suicidal, is considered a dishonor. In fact, the more suicidal, the greater the honor attached to the deed. It’s a fanaticism for courage, and fanaticism is no virtue.

  History is full of men and women who chose to give up their lives over bending the knee. People who died fighting so they wouldn’t live with their heads down. These people understood that courage wasn’t a spectacle. They never expected applause. Their courage was disinterested, or aimed at a larger, generous cause; a major good. Their deeds and words inspire everyone who gets in touch with them.

  Thus, lived Finn mac Cumhail.

  The surroundings took shape, bringing the refreshing scent of wet dirt and leaves. Huge trees obstructed the sky. Spears of light pierced through, blocked by swaying branches. Wide tree trunks towered over as if natural totems watched me from those ancient barks.

  Crickets and cicada songs enlivened the forest where the Irish warrior grew up, raised by his druid aunt, learning how to hunt, fight, and survive.

  Finn’s life was surrounded by myths. Besides his aunt, a powerful sage who had captured the Salmon of Knowledge raised him. Finn, while cooking it, burned his thumb on the mythological fish and instinctively brought it to his mouth to ease the pain. According to legend, some of the Salmon’s knowledge transferred to the warrior’s finger, and so Finn had access to this magical intelligence by sucking his thumb. The legend may be true, but let’s say I relate more to the Salmon of Doubt.

  It’s also said that he impaled serpent monsters, opened mountain passes, created caves, and paved paths over water.

  His hair had been gray since childhood, and for that he was considered favored by the gods. Kind and serene during peace, wild and uncontrollable in battle, the forest people saw in Finn a natural leader, even if he never claimed the title. His words touched the hearts of the men who followed him. He spoke about the importance of forest preservation, the freedom of Ireland, and uniting the nation. Thus, began the band of the Fianna, a group of independent warriors. Finn led them under the principles of ‘purity of heart, strength of arms and legs, and actions equivalent to words’. And the Fianna have known the glory of countless victories and their legendary deeds were sung centuries after their existence. They repelled invaders, fought thieves and murderers, and kept peace on their land.

  Something is wrong here, Chuck whispered.

  I walked unconcerned through the woods, stepping on crackling dead leaves. “Seriously? You, afraid?”

  It’s not fear, you dimwit. Pay attention to your surroundings. These trees are watching us.

  Now that he said it, I detected a strange sensation.

  I didn’t even have time to hate myself for the carelessness. I stared at the pointy end of an arrow. The bow it rested on was tense, as were the muscles holding it. Rigid muscles that seemed to want to jump off, like coconuts in a very thin bag. Veins leaped up twisting paths down his neck and arms. The man’s hairy, tanned body, if it had ever heard of fat in its life, dismissed it as a misfortune that only happened to others. Animal pelts covered his waist and thighs, and that’s all he wore. His long silver hair fell on his shoulders, and a vast blond beard matched thick eyebrows in a serious frown, punctuated by cold eyes that resembled frozen lakes.

  I halted and held my breath. Before I could say anything, my neck exploded in pain, my legs gave way, the world spun, and everything went black.

  “What do ye think it is?” asked a voice full of curiosity.

&n
bsp; “We will find out now,” said a low, husky voice.

  “And that gammy sword there? Can ye feel it?” asked a third.

  “Aye, clear as day,” answered the husky voice.

  “Must be right cursed,” said another.

  “It’s a demon that came to kill ye, Finn. Take a gander at its body,” said another.

  “Easy, lads. I seen its eyes. There was no bloodlust there.”

  Silence.

  “It’s waking up.”

  Pain throbbed and made me dizzy. It was like an anvil was crushing my head. The slightest movement sent stars dancing in front of me.

  Everything was blurry, and I tried to merge the multiple images into one. I sniffed smoke and burned wood.

  Five people sat around the remains of a campfire. In the center, Finn mac Cumhail analyzed Chuck with a cold expression. He circled it in his hands, studying the runes and sliding his thumb over the blade’s edge. His bow rested on the ground beside him. At his waist, bound by a thin rope, hung Finn’s mystical sword—the Son of the Waves.

  Finn directed those ice-blue eyes at me.

  “Ye wanna live, so?” He asked me without ever changing his expression.

  “Ay,” I groaned, but he took it as a confirmation, so it worked out.

  “Who are ye and what are ye doing here?”

  How could I answer that? I stood as still as possible, which was not difficult, since my feet and hands were tied. Unable to think of a reply that would please him, I told the truth.

  “I’m an agent from Limbo and I’m here to send you back to Earth. Ireland needs you.”

  He did not move. The others burst out laughing.

  “It’s a bleedin’ mad demon!”

  “Did we hit ye too hard on the head, ye maggot?”

  “Quiet,” Finn said. His tone reminded me of a dagger scraping ribs. The laughter died. “So, it’s true, it all went arseways,” he mumbled, with downcast eyes. He put his left thumb in his mouth.

  The other four stared at each other, bemused.

  Finn speared Chuck on the ground.

  “Lads,” he said, rising, “we’re dead.” He concluded with the nonchalance of someone mentioning the phase of the moon.

  They scratched their beard and their heads, stretched, and put their fingers in their ears.

  “What’s that now?” asked a black-bearded bald one.

  “It’s tough to notice, lads,” Finn continued. “When I think about it, me thoughts get foggy and me mind wanders. I need fierce concentration, but I seen that time doesn’t pass here. I’ve been here for days, or what have ye, without eating, drinking, or sleeping.”

  Their gazes grew distant, like someone in a hangover trying to remember what had happened the day before between massive doses of mixed alcohol.

  “Aye, we are dead. We must answer the call of our Green Mother. I know in me heart she needs me, lads. Just as she needs ye.” His voice resounded. Finn puffed out his chest and looked into their eyes.

  “Tell the others that before they notice, I will return. But right now, I must use me strength and courage alone, lads. It’s not what I want, but it’s necessary. Ye, in my brief absence, must keep the forests free of enemies and the waters clear of invaders. Because each of ye has a role to play. I am a wee part of our whole.”

  Finn paced around them.

  “Ye are the sword and shield of Ireland. The defenders, the warriors, and the chosen children of our land. As ants and bees carry loads way heavier than their wee bodies, we wake up each day with the fate of our people on our shoulders. The burden is exhausting, lads, but our shoulders are mountains! The work is demanding, but our will is rock!” He shouted and his companions punctuated his speech with roars of approval.

  “We won’t fail in our duty, because we do not know defeat! As long as there is air in our lungs, our lands will be safe.” His rhythm was a crescendo, as if he were reaching the high point of an orchestra. “As long as there is life in us, we will give it! As long as there is blood in our veins, we will gladly bleed to protect what we love! If the gods themselves decide to sink our island, we’ll kick them in the arse! And we will make our land float again with these arms!” Finn slapped his own biceps, and the others stood up punching the air, laughing, and then they howled in unison:

  “Fianna!”

  My hair bristled and my insides flared as I looked at that man, because I had seen gods, demigods, archangels, and the strangest creatures, but I had never met a spirit of equal splendor.

  Finn approached me with Chuck in hand. He crouched down and cut the ropes binding me.

  “I still don’t understand all the shite going on, but the demon isn’t lying. That I know.”

  I stood, massaging my wrists.

  “Come along,” Finn told me. The others watched us fiercely as we marched into the woods.

  Finn gave me Chuck back. His energy had been dull until that moment, and now it rekindled and returned to the good old megalomaniac god. Only then did I hear my companion’s convoluted speech again. I have to admit, I missed his madness.

  What happened? Who is this half-naked barbarian?

  “Did you miss all of it?!” I whispered to him as we walked.

  Everything darkened after we fell down.

  That was weird. Chuck’s consciousness was probably growing closer to mine. He must have passed out with me.

  “They captured us, but we’re safe now.”

  I warned you, didn’t I? Gormless bastard.

  Finn looked at me sideways with his grave face. “Can ye talk to this thing, so?”

  “Yes. It’s a spiritual weapon. There’s a soul in here, just like in yours.”

  “Mine? Me Mac an Luin?” It was the Irish name for the Son of the Waves. He stared at his weapon as if for the first time. It was shorter than most swords, and simpler, too. Its blade, however, reflected the color of all the seas in the world. When the sword moved or the light shifted, its reflection shifted along in a play of images, as if blue and green waves danced in constant motion. “I always feel sure and doughty with it in hand. I suppose it does grant me a different energy.” Finn glanced at Chuck. “But we never talked.”

  “I think mine is a little unusual.”

  “And darker, too. Is it a demon?”

  “An ancient god. It’s hard to explain, but he’s not all bad. He’s kind of nice.”

  Furious, the nameless described in detail several painful ways in which he could kill me, if he wanted to.

  “And ye, are ye a demon?” Finn asked.

  “I’m not.” At least I thought not, as did Scheherazade. “I don’t quite remember who I am. My memory is nebulous, just like my body.”

  “And yet the sky is always blue, innit. No matter how many clouds are in the way, the sun still shines and the sky is still blue. Ye came here because ye still remember what to do. Don’t bother with the clouds. The wind takes them away with time.”

  I burned with confidence and optimism. My worries dissolved. My breathing—or my bearing—relaxed. Things weren’t so bad after all.

  We walked a little farther out of the woods and reached a deserted beach. The soft, calming white sand reflected the sunlight and brightened the setting even more. It was a breathtaking landscape. The crystal-clear water glowed in darker shades of green toward the horizon. The wind blew hard and cold, carrying the smell of salt, pinching nose and skin. Small waves rose and broke a few feet from us, in a never-ending pleasant sound—it was always mended by the next wave.

  “What a heavenly place,” I said.

  I’ve seen better.

  “It’s the only one I know,” said Finn. “But every day I’m impressed, too. How could I not give my all to protect it?”

  “Finn… these landscapes don’t exist anymore. Not in the same way. I’m not sure about this one in particular.”

  “Did demons invade our world?”

  Is everything a demon for this bumpkin?

  “That would be easier to explain.” I
gave a sad smile. “No, mankind did it. Wars have taken gigantic proportions. Pollution devastated places like this.”

  Finn’s eyes swept the entire length of the beach. He picked up a handful of sand and let it slide between his fingers to the last grain. He shook his head.

  “I don’t get it. How could man end this? What for?”

  “The world has changed.”

  “It’s been that long?”

  “Much longer than you think.”

  Finn put his left thumb to his mouth and made a serious face. “There’s no time here, aye?”

  “Right.”

  “So, when I get back to the Green Mother, will I still be here? If time doesn’t pass, I’m always here.”

  “You know, it’s weird,” I started, scratching the back of my neck. “Time doesn’t exist, but the Limbo is bound to rules. You will only come back here after your time has passed there.” I simplified as much as possible what not even I comprehended exactly. “Here, however, to those who don’t understand how it works, it’s almost immediate.”

  It can only be the work of demons!

  “Then the lads will hardly miss me.”

  “I think so. They don’t seem to know what’s going on.”

  “Good,” he whispered with a powerful voice. “I suppose they can’t come with me, right? More doesn’t mean better in this case?”

  “Precisely. The order of some things cannot be changed without serious consequences.” I remembered Roland’s horse and hoped it didn’t cause any imbalance. “There is a limited number for me to send back.”

  Finn nodded and regarded the beach one last time. “So be it. What should I do?”

  I focused. “Inspire them. Show that courage is not just the opposite of cowardice, but of apathy and indolence as well. And that it must always be tempered by prudence.”

  I buried the sword in his chest. His serious expression did not change. It was hard to meet those icy eyes, but I fought to do so.

  His body dissipated in waves that fell on the sand but did not wet it.