Tears of the Dead

by Brian Braden

  Why did he bring his staff here?

  “You pronounce a punishment before a crime has been committed, and now you have no room for discretion.”

  “There must be deterrents.”

  “There must be compassion.”

  “Unless the fish return, we will soon run out of food. We live on the edge. One slip and we will not make it. You must trust me in these matters.”

  “Then trust enough to consult me!” Atamoda raised her voice, pointing toward the Minnow side of the Spine. “You consult with Ba-lok, but you have no time for me?

  “I cannot always consult with you on everything. I’m trying to keep this arun-ki together!”

  “I am trying to keep our people together,” she held her fist tightly clenched next to her chest. “And they are starting to tear themselves apart. Hunger may kill us, but distrust and fear will destroy us as surely as the strongest storm.” She slid closer to him and grasped his hand, careful to avoid the heat radiating from the staff. It felt like a third person, an interloper driving a wedge between them.

  “Our people have never known famine. I must rule with absolute authority. Not only should my edicts be respected...” She saw doubt swimming behind Aizarg’s eyes with each lightning flash. “...they should be feared.”

  She pulled away.

  “Your edicts? Or your god’s edicts?”

  She regretted the words the second they flew from her mouth. Aizarg’s head bowed, as if she’d placed another weight on his shoulders. Atamoda tried to keep the tenuous bridge between them open.

  “The Nameless God doesn’t speak to my heart, though I wish he would. You still speak to my heart. I beg you, please talk to me. Let me carry some of your burden. Don’t shut me out.

  “You no longer come to our bed. I miss you, and so do the children. The Nameless God spared us, yet you make no time for us. Levidi spends more time with the orphans than you make for Kol-ok and Ba-tor.

  “You stare at the staff from nightfall till dawn. I am thankful to the Nameless God, but there are other voices, loving voices.”

  Aizarg leaned the staff against the pylon, reached out and took her hand. “The people are hungry. Fear begins to crawl along the decks like a water demon. Frightened people do things in the dark of night they would not do in the light. My rule must be firm.”

  “Didn’t the Nameless God also promise the light will one day return?”

  “He did.”

  “Then rule firmly, but with hope.” Atamoda drew him close. “Save some hope for yourself.” At the edge of storm, sea and darkness, they sank to the deck in a lovers’ embrace.

  ***

  Alaya had grown so used to E’laa and Toma, she couldn’t imagine life without them. Their little eyes heavy, she tucked the two Minnow orphans under the blanket.

  “I don’t want to go to sleep,” Toma rubbed his eyes and yawned.

  “Levidi is going to teach you a game tomorrow,” she whispered, “But only if you go to sleep.”

  “What kind of game?” the boy asked.

  “Levidi and Ghalen made a swing rope on the Supply Barge. Levidi swears it will swing all the way to the Köy-lo-hely, but told me he needs a brave boy to test it first.”

  Toma’s eyes grew wide, and he tried to sit up. “I will test it! Please, let me try it.”

  Alaya smiled. “I will tell him, but only if you go to sleep.”

  Toma snuggled next to his twin sister, whose eyes were already shut. Alaya placed another blanket over the raven haired children and turned to join Levidi in the adjacent boat.

  “Alaya,” E’laa timidly called after her.

  Alaya turned to see deep brown eyes, loving and full of trepidation, peeking out from below the hem. “Will you lie down with me?”

  Without a word, she curled up next to the child and placed her arms over the twins, drawing them to her bosom.

  “Don’t leave us,” E’laa whispered.

  “I won’t,” she said and prayed to the Nameless God the words would be truth.

  Alaya listened to the rain and let the rocking deck sink into her bones. The children occasionally stirred at the nearby claps of thunder, but soon their small chests rose and fell in rhythm with the sea.

  E’laa and Toma’s parents were snatched under by the demons while the twins looked on. Since then, they lived with the other orphans on the center rafts, taken care of by both Crane and Minnow women. Alaya felt herself drawn to them more than the other children. She developed a bond with them, to the point they began to eat and sleep with her and Levidi. Levidi welcomed the twins, treating them as his own children and giving them part of his own rations.

  Atamoda promised her she would talk to the Uros about adopting the children. Alaya sensed hope fluttering in the darkness like a tiny moth, so fragile even a breath of joy upon its delicate wings may crush it. It gave her spirit enough light to find a song in the storm. She ran her fingers through E’laa’s long, midnight hair and began to hum.

  ***

  They reclined in each other’s arms beneath the leading edge canopy, snuggling under a blanket Atamoda borrowed from a nearby Minnow family. Atamoda watched the lightning snake across the sky.

  “You spend a great deal of time with the Scythian girl,” Aizarg said, the afterglow of their lovemaking loosening his tongue.

  “I like her.”

  “That’s natural, she saved our son.”

  “I’m teaching her our ways. She’s already making rope and weaving. Alaya says Sana is good with the children, but...”

  “But what?”

  “Sana has secrets.” Atamoda rubbed the inside of her thigh. “She carries four daggers tucked in a band around her thigh, hidden under her loincloth.”

  “It is the Scythian way.”

  “I know, but it makes me uneasy.”

  “Should I be concerned?”

  “No, but I’m not sure I fully trust her yet.”

  Aizarg paused for a moment. “Did she tell you anything about her past, about her parents?”

  “She won’t open up, other than telling me about her brothers and sisters.”

  “What does your heart tell you, patesi-le?”

  “My heart says we should bring her into the Crane.”

  “Setenay wished for her to be in the Turtle Clan.”

  “She didn’t know Ghalen would be the Turtle Clan.” She sat up on her knees and giggled. “By the Goddess, Aizarg, they hate each other!”

  Aizarg laughed, perhaps the first time she’d heard him laugh since he returned from the Valley of Beasts. “I know I shouldn’t think it’s funny, but it is.”

  “A few nights ago he told her to ‘make herself useful’ and cook his ration. She gave his ration to the children!”

  “Ghalen didn’t tell me about this,” Aizarg smirked.

  “He made Levidi promise not to talk about it.”

  “A promise never stopped Levidi from gossiping about anything. What did Ghalen do?”

  “He tossed her into the lagoon. Alaya had to fish her out.”

  Atamoda paused for a moment. “While we’re talking about this, the others should be placed, too. Ezra is easy, he is practically already Carp.”

  Aizarg nodded. “He has formed quite a bond with Okta.”

  “And then there are the orphans. They’ve mourned enough. Now they need homes. I believe the time for an adoption ceremony has come.”

  “Agreed. We will discuss it further with the inner council.”

  “Alaya and Levidi are particularly fond of the Minnow twins.”

  “They’ve wanted children from some time,” Aizarg nodded. “You’ll have to discuss it with Kus-ge.”

  Atamoda sank back down into his arms. “She raised no objections when Alaya took the twins from the Supply Barge; neither did anyone else in the Minnow.”

  “Hmm,” Aizarg grunted.

  Atamoda took a deep breath. “And then there is Virag...”

  “Ba-lok has already approached me regarding the two a
’gan. Virag and his henchman will be placed with the Minnow.”

  Atamoda’s blood suddenly coursed hot. “No.”

  “Ba-lok thought it best we keep a closer eye on them, and I agreed. As much as I despise Virag, they cannot remain isolated downstream. Virag and his giant must be brought into the fold. He is willing to bring them into the Minnow.”

  She stood and paced back and forth beyond the canopy, arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders as the rain found her once again. “Kus-ge rules the Minnow. Kus-ge rules Ba-lok.” She turned and faced Aizarg. “Virag slinks on the opposite side of the Spine, no longer content to hide in his boat. Whispers fester there. If Ba-lok wants the a’gan closer, it is only because Kus-ge wills it.”

  Aizarg stroked his beard. “She is a difficult woman; he is a difficult man. But he is my Second, and she is his patesi-le. They are part of our chain, as is Virag.”

  “Aizarg, the Spine has become a wall between the clans. Ill will spreads through the Minnow against us, against you. There are too many whispers floating among Ba-lok’s people.”

  “I’ve heard no whispers. The journey is hard, the people are hungry. Nerves are frayed.”

  “It’s more than that. We need to consider new ways...” Atamoda closed her eyes, searching for the right words. She couldn’t, so she said what stirred in her heart. “Abolish the clans. Make us one.”

  By the way he frowned, she knew the idea didn’t settle well with him.

  “Integrate the clans, mix our peoples. That is the only way to build trust.”

  “There are few foundations left to us, and you ask me to rip them from beneath our feet?”

  “Isn’t that what you did with your decree? If you give Ba-lok’s council such weight, what of mine?”

  Aizarg stood, donned his clothing, and picked up the staff. Atamoda followed, trying to keep touching him.

  “If a wound turns the flesh sour, beyond the reach of root or tonic, would you not severe the limb to save the body? Rot has settled in on the Minnow side. It will spread if you don’t act.”

  He turned and her hand slipped away. A cold gust embraced her, and she felt the wall between them reassert itself.

  “I will consider what you’ve said.” If her plea met fertile soil or bounced off her husband’s heart, she did not know.

  “I have much to attend to before I can sleep.” He peered over her shoulder into the darkness. “The storm is closer.” Aizarg turned to go.

  “Your god does not speak to me,” Atamoda called desperately after him. “How does he speak to you?”

  Aizarg stopped, but did not turn around. Atamoda feared she may have crossed a forbidden threshold, a wall the strange god erected between her and her husband.

  “He consumes me.”

  “I am afraid, not only for our people...but for you…for us.”

  Aizarg stepped out from beneath the canopy, joining her in the rain. He tilted her head up and kissed her, rainwater pouring into her mouth. In the lightning she saw him smile.

  “The inner council still has business, but I will come to bed tonight.”

  He turned to go, but then hesitated and looked back at her. “Do not be afraid, my love.”

  Atamoda watched her husband vanish among his people, huddled under the canopies. “I am afraid, but I will serve. I will wait. I will trust.”

  She turned away from the arun-ki to face the wind and endless darkness. The rain washed away her tears as she remembered that night, an eternity ago, when Setenay sent her to fetch Aizarg’s boar spear. The same loneliness and isolation from that night filled her spirit now.

  She gazed up at the spider web of silent lightning bolts crisscrossing the sky high above. “God of the Narim, is there room in his heart for both of us?”

  She leaned against the storm wall, but then pulled away, repulsed by the slimy fungus coating the stacked timber. Atamoda frowned and wiped her hands off on her tunic.

  She followed her husband into the canopy’s shelter and the warmth of the arun-ki. Unnoticed behind her, just inside the storm wall, the farthest forward binding rope on the bow raft snapped.

  ***

  Alaya slid under the tarp into the boat next to Levidi, careful not to lift the blanket too much and wake her husband. She snuggled deep into the hull beside him, drawing warmth from his smooth skin.

  She listened to Levidi’s breathing, her eyes unable to shut.

  The rain is louder now.

  “You’re thinking about something.” Levidi broke the silence. “I can always tell when you’re thinking.”

  “I thought you were asleep.”

  “Your singing was too beautiful. I haven’t heard you sing since the day we left for the quest. What made you find your voice?”

  She didn’t answer, content to listen to Levidi’s heartbeat mixing with the distant thunder.

  “Did they go to sleep alright?”

  “E’laa is still afraid to be alone. She’ll probably wake up screaming again.”

  “I’ll get up with her tonight.”

  Alaya smiled in the darkness and caressed his chest. They tried to bring the children in the boat with them the first night, but E’laa would not come near the raft’s edge. When she woke up screaming, one of them would stay with her until she fell asleep again. Sana, who also slept on the raft, offered to comfort E’laa, but Alaya did not yet fully trust the Scythian girl.

  They will be my children, therefore they will be my responsibility.

  Toma, however, mourned differently from his sister. He acted out, fought with the other children, and occasionally bit. As if knowing the child needed a strong hand, Levidi spent a great deal of time with him when not attending to his duties as Staff Bearer. Those duties usually meant simply sitting at the Uros’s side.

  She traced her finger lightly over her belly, letting her mind drift with the waves. “What does it feel like when you hold the staff...when the Nameless God makes His presence known?

  Levidi took a deep breath and placed his arms under his head. She sensed him staring straight up at the canopy only inches above their head.

  “Whole.”

  She frowned and lifted her head. “And you don’t feel whole with me?”

  “Not like that...different.” Levidi’s voice wandered, as if he began to drift away. “Like a promise has been fulfilled. As if I’ve come to a place of safety, and all my burdens have been taken from me. When Aizarg places the staff in my hands, I am not afraid. I want to feel that way every moment for the rest of my life, come what may.”

  He sighed. “But the longer I am away from the staff, I feel the cold creep back into my mind, into my soul.”

  “What is the staff?”

  “I can’t put it in words,” he whispered.

  “Try,” Alaya said, tracing her belly again.

  “An answer to prayer I have yet to utter, a promise to a question I don’t know to ask, let alone how to ask. It is...” She heard the frustration in his voice. He brought his hand up, as if trying to grasp an idea fluttering around his head.

  “Hope?”

  “Yes!” Levidi clenched his fist closed, his tone satisfied. “That is it, hope.”

  “I watched Atamoda cut another notch in the mast today,” he said. “The mast gives me hope, too. Every scar in the wood is another day we’re alive. She’ll be cutting another notch in only a few hours, so we should get some sleep.”

  Levidi kissed her, then closed his eyes and soon filled the boat with light snores.

  Alaya listened to the rain, unable to sleep. She didn’t need to count the notches on the Supply Barge’s mast to know how long they’d been at sea. Her body told exactly how much time had passed.

  She caressed her belly, excited and terrified by the occasional flutters deep inside her abdomen.

  “I’m hungry, Levidi,” she whispered, but he didn’t hear her.

  From outside the boat, she heard E’laa’s long, mournful wail. Careful not to wake Levidi, she slid out of the boat and l
ay down next to the child she needed to call ‘daughter’.

  ***

  Atamoda watched Aizarg once again, unseen in the shadows of the Supply Barge. Her bed remained empty as Aizarg resumed his place on the Köy-lo-hely.

  Did I ever truly reach him?

  He stared hard at the staff, as if it would bend and break, or buckle under the weight of a thousand questions, a thousand prayers, swimming through his mind. She wished the mysterious red orb would crack open and spill its secrets and tell him what to do.

  She sighed. It would probably tell him to go to sleep.

  She needed sleep, too, and started to turn away when she caught a glimpse of a man, spear in hand, approaching Aizarg from the far end of the Köy-lo-hely.

  “Father?” the man asked.

  Surprised, she looked back at the bed roll to see Bat-or sleeping alone.

  What is Kol-ok doing?

  Aizarg motioned his oldest son to come forward.

  “Father, can you help me make a better spear.” Kol-ok held out the spear; really nothing more than a crooked stick sharpened on one end. A few weeks ago, it looked too big for him. Now it looked too small. “There is plenty of good driftwood, and we have sharp flint.”

  Aizarg took the spear, turning it over in his hands. Atamoda looked on, fingernails finding her teeth.

  “Yes, you need a new spear. This is a child’s toy, only good for spearing frogs.”

  Aizarg handed Kol-ok back the spear. “But I cannot yet help you make a new one.”

  Kol-ok nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. But anger swept over Atamoda unchecked.

  Now he is pushing Kol-ok away, too.

  She began to step through the rain curtain between the Supply Barge and the Köy-lo-hely when Aizarg stood.

  “A man needs a proper boat before he can wield a spear. Come, I think there are still enough good reeds on the Supply Barge to craft a boat.”

  Leaving the staff behind, Aizarg led a gleeful Kol-ok through the rain curtain, winking playfully as he passed by Atamoda.

  “We’ll start small, a craft suitable for a man and his nets. Never start with rope and reed, but with the wood for the center line which will anchor both. We must also find a piece of wood suitable for the mast and mast block.”