Tears of the Dead

by Brian Braden

  Spako’s continuous stream of snores seemed louder, the rain less threatening. Virag kicked Spako to make himself feel better, but the bodyguard didn’t stir.

  He gazed up at the water dripping between the tightly packed reeds, wondering why Aizarg spared his life.

  To the sound of distant thunder, sleep eventually stole over the slaver.

  18. The Dragon’s Mark

  Except for the captain, only red men crewed the ship. While they walked in fear of Leviathan, the captain did not.

  A thick, grim fellow, he wore black wool from head to toe, and carried a whip the way other men carry a sword. Buried deep underneath a bushy brow, he possessed the same strange round eyes as Leviathan and the red men. While the men of Cin sometimes sported thin, wispy beards, this man’s black whiskers were like a bristle broom. I fought the urge to touch it the entire journey.

  Perhaps their round eyes fascinated me the most. I’d seen eyes like this before, though it took me a day to make the connection. These Tall Men shared the same round eyes as the Ice Men. I pushed this fact aside, determined not to let the physical similarity prejudice my opinion.

  We sailed east across what I had once assumed an endless ocean, but two days later we sighted a lush, mountainous land replete with cool mists and dense forests. The ship steered south along its western coast for several more days until we rounded a peninsula and turned north.

  I felt I had nothing to fear from Leviathan or his men. I spent those days wandering about the floating village, this glorious blend of timber, rope and canvas, woven into a magical sculpture gliding across the waves. Mother never hinted that such a wonder was even possible. Something new! Oh, how can I convey to the gentle reader how powerful a spell discovering something new can cast on an ancient heart.

  On the morning of the third day, Leviathan took me by the arm and escorted me to the bow. The ship paralleled a massive sea wall of boulders, each as large as the ship. It originated from basalt cliffs and protruded a mile into the sea.

  How could even gods fashion such a wonder? I made no attempt to hide my unabashed awe from Leviathan. He tapped me on the shoulder and pointed ahead to a wide opening in the sea wall. We turned west and entered the Harbor of Wu.

  Nothing could have prepared me for what I beheld.

  The Chronicle of Fu Xi

  ***

  Fu Xi awoke with a startle and snatched up his sword.

  Dragon!

  He crouched naked beside the dead fire, Red Sword at the ready.

  The odd brush pile, the abnormally smooth ledge... evening’s slumber cleared the mist from his mind, revealing morning’s truth.

  Breathe. Relax. Fu Xi’s heart pounded as he forced himself to admit that if a bull dragon still dwelt in these mountains, the Donkey Men would not have camped here...

  …at least not for long.

  Fu Xi donned the lion skin, slid the Red Sword over his back, and walked to the edge of the cliff and into the rain. Turning and taking in the cave’s grand sweep in the gray daylight, it all made sense.

  Almost.

  It isn’t deep enough.

  He returned beneath the ledge’s shelter. His feet slid over the granite floor, sanded smooth by armored scales over a span of centuries.

  Fu Xi approached the brush pile, seeing it in a new light. The stack of dry rotted timber, possibly here for hundreds of years, didn’t arrive on this ledge naturally. Judging by the size of the vegetation pile, the bull dragon couldn’t have been more than adolescent, perhaps two centuries old, when it last hibernated upon this ledge.

  He craned his neck back, scanning the cave wall until he saw another cavern recessed high above, almost hidden in the shadows near the ceiling. The ledge only served as the dragon’s porch, above lurked the beast’s true lair.

  After a few minutes of digging in the brush pile, Fu Xi found a stick that didn’t crumble in his hands. Scrounging a few scraps of cloth from the Donkey Men’s loot pile, he fashioned a makeshift torch. He stirred the fire’s ashes, rekindling enough dormant sparks to light the torch.

  Fu Xi placed the torch between his teeth, found a handhold, and began to climb the cliff.

  ***

  The scale of the city overwhelmed me, the details lost in the overall impression washing over me like a wave. My first thought became my lasting thought - nature bent and subdued in ways I’d never witnessed before. The city, vast and overwhelming, dominated the hill rising from the harbor, smothering whatever natural features the Emperor of Heaven once placed there.

  The cities in Cin were walled and in constant danger of being reclaimed by the surrounding wilderness or attacked by neighboring settlements. This city existed boldly, without fear, open and bright. At the tall hill’s base, a long stone jetty protruded far into the harbor. Wooden buildings, storehouses, and moorings packed its half-mile length. More people crowded onto that jetty than existed in Cin’s largest settlement. Thousands of buildings blanketed the hill and lorded over the harbor. Squat wooden and mud structures crammed along the harbor, while ever more glorious structures adorned the hill as it climbed away from the waterfront.

  The ship anchored in the harbor for several hours as small boats came and went. I didn’t understand the nature of the delay, but I surmised they were preparing for Leviathan’s arrival.

  Eventually, we docked, and Leviathan escorted me into the bustling city. His warriors formed columns on either side of us, clearing a path through the throng of humanity. People threw flower petals and dropped to their knees as Leviathan passed. His lieutenant, the foul-looking red man from the beach, marched ahead of the procession shouting and wielding a whip with cruel indifference to the people’s adoration.

  We marched up an avenue composed of stone blocks joined so tightly a knife blade could not slide between them and so wide ten men could walk abreast Yet, for all its width, the crowd pressed in so relentlessly I thought they would sweep the bodyguards aside.

  Even I, a god, found it overwhelming. Wu wasn’t a city so much as a hive, engorged with breeds of humanity I did not know existed. Red, black, and olive faces strained around, over and between the guards to catch a glimpse of Leviathan. A few even possessed skin pale as moonlight and hair like fire.

  With the exception of red men, who wore either white armor or finely adorned red robes, the mortals of Wu dressed in simple linen robes with varying degrees of color, quality, and cleanliness.

  We marched higher up the hillside until we left the frantic bustle of the wharves behind us. The columned marble buildings grew in size and stature as did the spaces between them. Now, only red men and women of various color and garb (or lack of it) strolled among isolated structures of stone and marble. These magnificent palaces ascended above the trees and dotted the mountainside high above the city.

  In the distance, I saw thousands of men disemboweling the mountainside above the sea. Now I knew where the stone came from for the sea wall and the city. Wooden scaffolding stretched hundreds of feet up terraced cliffs. From several miles away I heard the clink of thousands of hammers and picks. The quarry cast a pall of yellow dust over the city.

  Leviathan’s palace dominated the hilltop. It possessed an uncanny similarity to Nuwa’s Second Realm, but its scope far exceeded Mother’s temple. A hundred columns supported a structure of astonishing dimensions, a man-made mountain of polished limestone, granite, and marble. Frescos and carvings lined the entablature above the main colonnade. Scenes of ships, porpoises, dolphins, and the creatures I would soon come to know as horses, stretched over my head. Leviathan waved off the bodyguards, and together we entered the palace.

  While I let the wonders of Wu sweep me away, Leviathan studied me. I try to imagine what Leviathan thought of me, this strange god who gawked in unabashed wonder at his city.

  He led me to a sunken rotunda as grand as the Place of Perfect Sorrows. Instead of a view of the sky, I looked high above at a dome decorated in exquisite, lifelike murals depicting battles and great feats. I
will never forget my shock as I beheld a painting of a sky full of dragons.

  The Chronicle of Fu Xi

  ***

  Fu Xu held the torch high as he stepped into the dragon’s lair. Except for water dripping somewhere deep in the cave’s pitch black bowels, absolute silence permeated the cavern. A thick, unbroken layer of dust covered the perfectly smooth, wavy glass, coating the entire cavern. The black glass removed all doubts that Fu Xi stood in the former lair of the mountains’ lord.

  He knelt down, wiped away the thick dust and caressed the glass. It felt as smooth as ice yet almost warm to the touch, as if retaining the memory of the fire that birthed it.

  Holding the torch high, Fu Xi craned his head back and peered up at the roof. Glass coated stalactites extended from the darkness.

  No guano, no bats.

  Nor did he smell the characteristic mustiness associated with the dark, deep places in the earth. Once a bull dragon staked claim to a cave, he sterilized it with fire, converting rock to obsidian glass. The glaze sealed every crack and crevice, and rendered the cave inhospitable to vermin. Bull dragon’s kept their lairs immaculately clean, not even dragging prey into their sanctuaries.

  Fu Xi felt like an intruder in a sacred place. No less holy than his mother’s inner sanctum, this cavern still held power long after its lord had vanished.

  Fu Xi wrapped another rag around the torch and made his way deeper into the cave. He ran his hand along the wall, feeling for the tell-tale ridges and bumps he hoped to find. It did not take long.

  He stepped back and held the torch toward the wall. Elegant wiggles, curves and dots covered the wall, each melted into the glass by what must have been incredible heat. They formed intricate patterns from just above his head until they disappeared into the blackness above.

  The Dragon’s Mark.

  These mysterious designs adorned every dragon’s lair he’d ever explored. Their purpose remained a mystery, one his mother never would discuss.

  How did he die? Fu Xi couldn’t imagine a great bull dragon dying. But die they did, slowly vanishing over the course of the centuries. Yet, in all his travels, never did Fu Xi find one bone, a single tooth, or even a scale.

  Perhaps they faded so men could rise.

  The torch flickered, signaling to the God of Names the time had come to leave. Fu Xi turned toward the entrance’s dim beacon as terrible sadness enveloped him. Dragons were already rare when his mother brought him into the world so long ago. Now, all that remained to testify of their existence were these wondrous caves.

  Must I fade, too?

  ***

  Four tall, narrow windows in the upper dome focused beams of sunlight down upon an enormous marble statue dominating the rotunda’s center. A strange god stood in lifelike splendor atop a device I would come to learn they called a chariot. Hurtled forward by two powerful horses, his beard and hair flowed back over perfect shoulders. Boldly naked, face stern and fierce, the god gripped a strange three-pronged spear in his right hand, as if ready to strike.

  Leviathan halted a few paced before the statue and bowed slightly in deference. He turned to me and pointed to the statue.

  “Poseidon.”

  He touched his chest. “Leviathan.”

  I nodded, understanding Leviathan had sprung from this god called Poseidon as I had from Nuwa.

  I, the God of Names, Son of The Goddess of the West, felt suddenly small. A much greater world, ruled by a powerful god, and his offspring lurked at Cin’s very doorstep.

  And, until this moment, I knew nothing of them.

  I wanted to examine more closely the colored, inlaid tiles decorating the polished black granite floor, but Leviathan gestured I should follow him. As we walked deeper into the palace I glanced back at the tiles radiating from under the chariot’s wheels. They spread across the entire floor in unusual patterns and shapes that, at the time, appeared random and meaningless to me.

  Nothing about this Son of Poseidon could be random or meaningless.

  He escorted me to a spacious chamber near the main entrance. A luxurious wooden bed rested in the chamber’s center, painted bright red and raised on a spotless white marble floor by four bronze posts. Dark wood cabinets, carved with fish and unfamiliar birds, lined the opposite wall. Each held dozens of silk and cotton robes, blouses and tunics. A spacious marble tub sat atop a ceramic tile platform. Beyond, a gracefully arched window on the southern wall opened to a breathtaking view of the harbor city. Murals and frescos adorned the other walls, depicting everyday life in places far more glorious than the city out the window.

  As I strolled around the chamber, a parade of serving women bustled in carrying pots of steaming water. They filled the tub, then surrounded me and attempted to strip off my clothes. At first I resisted, but eventually I surrendered to their gentle persistence and delightful giggles. Without too much effort, they pushed me into the tub.

  Leviathan departed, his hearty laughter lingering in the corridors beyond.

  After my bath, breads, tasty cheeses, and exotic fruits were brought to me. I spent the rest of the evening alone, sitting in the window and gazing at the city below.

  Upon the ledge, admiring the tens of thousands of lanterns which rivaled the stars above, I decided patience would be the best course of action.

  Even after nightfall, I heard the distant pounding from the quarry.

  The Chronicle of Fu Xi

  19. The God’s Burden

  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 ama
zing 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.

  The 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.