Many evils tried to sway good Xiao Gǔ from his quest. He rode along the River of the Cunning Voices one day and he passed a small island in the river inhabited by beautiful women who tried to coax him with the honey-throated songs, but to Xiao Gǔ, their music sounded like the hissing of serpents, and he traveled on. Many miles further on, an Ill-Dream Tree wished to play a game with Xiao Gǔ, offering prizes of majestic riches, but the tree had the most bothersome odor, and Xiao Gǔ was fast to leave the troubles it promised. Rising dust and more dust blooming around him, he crossed the Desert Sea of Sleeping Dragons, and the sun beat down making Màn Lùjìng’s progress a wound of sluggishness. In the middle of the sand-swept landscape, he passed a small company of people in considerable terracotta pots lifting shells over themselves as if bathing, yet there was not a drop of water in the pots or the shells. One empty vessel sat at the edge of their community and they offered him a chance to reside and thrive in their oasis, but he thought better of it and with a polite NO traveled on. Even-minded, he was not one for bounce & hopHOP, no, dash, ripe with bump & jostle, he’d always stood against the temptations of FAST, but today, under the animal-sun, he wished he’d bought a rabbit for a stead.
At the far edge of the desert, he happened across a small village with an open market offering herbs, flowers, and spices and silks. Talking birds in delicate cages and sea creatures carved from wood said to be imported from the eastern jungles were for sale. All the peddlers called to him telling him how high quality their produce was, but after careful examination, Xiao Gǔ saw that every single offering on display showed signs of wilting and rot, and the birds looked sickly, so he traveled on.
Stars rose, but they offered his desire no warmth. The sun appeared, only to bite and finally bleed to death in the arms of the horizon. Without maps he put nights and miles and forests and grasslands behind him. He saw shores, he saw mountains—climbed or went around as response, rain churned, he went that way… and toward. There were colors and splinters, but ugly, or phenomena to be disregarded, nothing changed.
Between a vast expanse of dry grass and noon he noticed his food supply was low. As his stomach urged him to eat, he quickly urged his stead onward. They came to a valley filled with peach trees, but every single peach had already had a bite taken out of it. Poor Xiao Gǔ found himself in a land of plenty but he could not eat. One night, while keeping warm by his campfire in the Valley of Sess Qua, he heard vile hopfrogs croaking in the dark with the tongues of demons. Long ago at another campfire, he’d heard the legends of their feeding habits—“Young, male flesh… to tear and taste.”—and quickly fetched and mounded much wood onto the blaze, wishing it higher and higher, to keep the dreadful creatures of many a tavern-tale away.
But the terrible croaking grew louder, became a great chorus, a dark spell, and he felt faint, thinned, and passed into a deep deathlike slumber. He slept for three days, and finally his turtle, sensing Xiao Gǔ was in the grasp of some deathly enchantment, reached down and snapped him up in its beak and carried him away from the Valley of Sleeping Death.
Xiao Gǔ rode all day. His belly grumbled and began to look for a place to bed down for the night. Ahead he saw a crossroads and thought to camp there. Simmering a salted fish, some roots and herbs in a small pot, he looked up and read the fingerpost he was camped under.
LONG IS THE WAY
slow this way
THIS WAY PLEASE
COMFORTS ½ DAY
UP
doors and ladders to suit your eagerness
INFORMATION
He shook his head after reading each finger. “I have spent time with slow and long. To-morrow we try information, my friend.”
Màn Lùjìng, munching on a leafy bush, made no reply.
In the morning they rode and rode. Noontide arrived and twilight as well.
Nothing brought more nothing.
And the cloak of Mother Night unfolded around him.
About him, the stony terrain grew more mountainous, and Xiao Gǔ was unsure of the way. Happily, he saw the abode of poor folk by the side of the road, so he made his way to it. There was a figure out front working busily, so Xiao Gǔ watched. As he did, he saw that it was a young man and he was sweeping the courtyard in front of the broken shack, trying to use some form of magic to move his broom.
“Greetings, Young Sir!” called Xiao Gǔ. “How are you managing that wonderful trick?”
“Why, by magic, of course,” answered the man. “I am Xuétú Wūshī, apprenticed to the Exalted Wizard, Zang Chu Hsu, who dances on the Battlefield of End-Night, fighting the Flames of Naught and Dread. It is he that lives in this humble abode.”
Xiao Gǔ thought it odd that a great wizard would live in such poverty.
“But why are you sweeping the courtyard when it is only sand?”
“I am doing my master’s bidding.”
Xiao Gǔ saw the wisdom in this and nodded. “I find I am also in need of guidance, and any food you might spare” Xiao Gǔ continued. “I am trying to reach the Sea of Hali, and know I am close, but I do not know which way to turn.”
Xuétú Wūshī smiled and pointed to a tall mountain. “Turn south at Dà Yāncōng and follow the old road down to the sea, and you will have arrived at your destination.” Xuétú Wūshī stepped inside and returned with an oddly-shaped fruit and a small roll. “This is all we can spare.”
“Many thanks,” said Xiao Gǔ. “I wish you luck with your tasks.” He waved and he traveled on.
From this point onward, Xiao Gǔ noticed that the land seemed to be drained of color and signs of life. Dry, pale, gray. Everything was worn or cracked or crumbling. Weighted down by what he saw, and feeling he was thinning, he traveled on . . .
They moved slowly.
Swarms of dead black moths littered the ground. There were no creatures here, except the black deathbirds arcing above. The whole of the land was gray. Leering stars looked down. The lonely frequencies of dead things warbled in slow low tones . . .
“Everywhere… such grayness.”
“Màn Lùjìng, my slow friend, what swollen evil in its joy unleashes an assault such as this to condemn what was once radiant and beautiful?”
Four days of a lifetime later, Xiao Gǔ found himself, finally riding along the seashore, in search of the Winter Tree, the twin Cassia-tree from the hill that he’d left so many leagues behind. There, clinging to the rocks and being buffeted by waves, the tree stood. Xiao Gǔ rode over and struck a tiny gong that hung from the boughs three times with his girdle.
Then he waited.
Twitched where he sat.
Stood.
Walked around the tree in circles. Searched the distance, yelled hellos, toed and tossed pebbles to past time, looked to the sky for portents . . . waited and walked. And waited.
Night came. Morning and afternoon followed. He turned toward the stony beach and looked out over the cloudwaves. The clock assaulted Cassilda; he must deliver her plea and convince her father to come to her aid.
There was warmth in his heart as he thought of her. He wanted to look into her eyes and see them discover the rewards of pleasure. He wanted to see her smile.
“Those lips…” His knitting heart to heart.
Ready to dash, he paced.
Waited.
As he waited, gazing out over the sea, two men walked passed him on the beach. They stopped on the other side of the tree, and turned and looked at Xiao Gǔ, and he at them. They turned away, whispering animatedly to one other, and turned back again. One of them sat on a large stone, and struggled to take off one of his boots. Once he got it off, he shook it, again and again, as if to shake a pebble out of the boot with the sizable hole in the sole, but saw nothing fall out. Closing one eye and telescoping the other, he looked inside. “Nothing… to be done,” the man muttered to himself. There was a to and fro of exchanged glances between the two men followed by a wink replied to by a smile. The one in the bleak hat pointed. His companion stood, shook the dust from his ho
ley greatcoat and looked back at Xiao Gǔ. No nod, no shrug, they, offering no word, moved on.
Xiao Gǔ glared and kicked a small rock at the tree.
“I will not be turned.”
Night came and he began to worry.
He paced. He sat and stared.
He thought to strike the gong again.
The Weaving Maiden Moon rose and dropped her light upon him.
“Have I not performed my task properly?” he asked her, truly hoping for a reply.
Xiao Gǔ looked for portents in the sky. Looked over the cloudwaves for a sign he had been heard.
Nothing.
And nothing.
Despair rising within him he said, “I have made a promise and would not break it. A lady is in dire circumstances and needs assistance.’
“Won’t someone help me to help her?”
Again his thoughts turned to her eyes… and her pale lips, as dawn broke over the horizon.
Out of the cloudwaves appeared the Sentry That Sees Behind Every Mask, standing tall and strong, clad in armor and wearing the mask of a fox. In his mighty hand, he held a great, curved broadsword which flashed in the early morning light. “Who are you, and why do you summon me? Are you not a mortal? How is it you have known to ring the Gong of the Winter Tree?”
Xiao Gǔ bowed before such a commanding presence, and when he rose, he said, “My name is Xiao Gǔ and come at the request of Cassilda, bearing a message for her father the Amber King.”
The sentry gasped in shock. “You have seen Cassilda? How does she fare?”
“Not well good sir. She has been cursed to tend the rain-sheep by her hateful husband and father-in-law, and cannot leave the barren hillside where they have imprisoned her. Her plight is dire. I have a letter written by her hand to give to her father.”
“Come,” said the sentry. “We must be quick to the king’s court. There you must tell him of what you have seen, that we may free his royal daughter.” The sentry turned, and faced the water. He reached into his belt pouch, and pulled forth three iridescent, deep black feathers and threw them toward the heavens. The air was suddenly filled with great, black birds, cawing to the sky. They ascended into the air rapidly and made circles. Then they flew and whirled in a funnel toward the water. They dropped closer and closer to the water, until they joined, forming a feathered, black walkway across the Sea of Hali, allowing Xiao Gǔ and Màn Lùjìng to follow the sentry across the water. The three travelers stepped out and walked across the Bridge of Crows over the cloudwaves to the Kingdom on the Other Side.
A cold wind blew against their every step, making the going difficult. Still, they trudged forward, pressing against the chill air, until finally the other side could be seen. The thin light was dying and twilight surrounding them as they reached the far shore.
“What is this place?” Xiao Gǔ asked. This is a place of no delight… shadows in shadows cast a winterspell of ruin here.
“This is Carcosa,” the sentry said. “Welcome to the dominion of the King in Yellow.”
The armored man led him up a hill toward a massive structure surrounded with 1,000 columns made of cracked and pale yellow stone. Surfaces here were bent, strained, despair had unspooled here. Between each of the two columns stood a great doorway of the heaviest wood, rivers of unkind had splashed against them, and to keep the ink of misery from snuffing what light remained in the city, the doors had been closed to the world. Faced with difficult, Xiao Gǔ examined the Great Dragon Castle, and saw that it was marked and ravished by disrepair, and that all the gates and windows-high were shuttered against him. There were no locks or handles. The sentry turned to him in front of one of the gates, and said, “To open each gate you must combine saliva with a drop of your blood and inscribe your name on it in your best calligraphy. If you have picked the right door, it will open and grant you entry into the king’s court. If you have not yet gained access by sunrise, I shall be forced to slay you.”
Xiao Gǔ tried many doors, but none opened to him. He stopped, and stood back to consider his predicament while the sentry merely stood and waited. He looked into the East, and saw the sky begin to pale, and realized he had little time. He looked back to the gates, studying each in turn, until finally he found one that was different. On this one, near the center of the great oak door, was a tiny, worn carving of a Cassia tree.
“Surely this is the one,” Xiao Gǔ said. So he spat into his hand, and pricked his finger again, stirring his brush in the mixture, and wrote his name at the base of the carving of the tree. There was a resounding click, as if from a giant lock, then, on the wind came the sound of a gong, and the door swung open.
The sentry turned and bowed to Xiao Gǔ, and bade him follow. They walked many dim halls where the floors were caked with the dust of many years. Long dead and dry flowers leaned in vases. The walls were shaped by failure, any capacity or meaning they once had leeched out by a language of nothingness and woe. And all the statues in the halls were cracked, broken… many were headless. Faded paintings of courtly grace and threadbare tapestries hung everywhere.
Eventually, they reached the hall of the Great Black Doors, where the sentry informed him that he was allowed only two steps at a time. Each time he wished to move further, he had to request it, and be granted permission to continue on. It was a laborious process, but Xiao Gǔ did as he was bidden, and they reached the far end of the hall where they came to two great black doors. Upon each of them were pale yellow symbols, which seemed to shimmer and waver, causing Xiao Gǔ to clutch his belly in sudden dizziness.
Xiao Gǔ entered the great hall, and made obeisance to the figure on the throne. The Yellow King sat, slouching to one side, his pale, ragged raiment hanging from his skeletal figure. His bony hand held a pale mask to his face, and his breath came from behind it, sounding ragged and labored.
“Who is this who comes before me?” rasped the king.
“It is I, Xiao Gǔ, your majesty,” cried the traveler, not raising his eyes. “A simple traveler who brings news of your daughter Cassilda, who tends the rain-sheep on a barren hillside, cursed to do so for all eternity by her husband, the son of the Water Dragon King of Ponah Pei.”
Suddenly the ground shook, and there came a distant roar on the wind. Xiao Gǔ was terrified and perplexed, whereas the sentry and the king merely appeared saddened by the great noise and thunderous rumbling. The king saw his reaction and said, “That is my brother, the mighty black dragon Nyarlheiloong. The Water Dragon King imprisoned him long ago, and made off with my daughter so she could marry his son, and he could claim dominion.”
“How is he imprisoned, may I ask?” Xiao Gǔ queried.
“A great seal has been laid over the entrance to his underworld citadel below this very palace. The entrance is guarded by the Seven Daughters of the Wolf: one has the head of a bird, one the head of a cricket, one the head of a carp, one the head of a viper, one the head of a goat, one the head of a boar, one the head of an eel. Beyond that, the great seal itself is held in place by six magical bolts that cannot be broken.”
Xiao Gǔ had an idea. “Cannot be broken, you say? But can they be loosened?”
The king slumped and covered his mask again. “I am the sole cause of these woes and troubles,” he cried. “I failed to defend my daughter and my kingdom, and now we all suffer in this dim, dispirited land.”
“All may not be lost,” Xiao Gǔ said. “Please. Let me see this entrance and examine this seal. I may be able to be of aid.”
With the permission of the king, the sentry brought him down the mountainside and to the cave entrance. There, guarding the entrance were the seven monsters and covering the opening was a great seal three times as tall as a man, and shaped to have six wholly-equal sides.
“How do we dispatch these monsters?” the sentry asked.
“I must ask the aid of my friend, for Màn Lùjìng is not only my steed, but a minstrel of the highest order.” He crouched down and whispered to Màn Lùjìng, who nodded and st
rode down the path toward the monsters.
As soon as the turtle reached them, the Seven Daughters of the Wolf made to attack, but Màn Lùjìng fixed its ruby-pupiled pearl gaze upon them, and began to sing, and sang of the beginning of the world, of the gods of the mountains and the dragons of the rivers, and finally of the rise of man. The monsters were awestruck by the beautiful voice, and momentarily lulled.
“Each is chained to its post, yes?” Xiao Gǔ asked. The sentry nodded, so Xiao Gǔ walked up to each and from a pouch on his belt took several vials, looking at each vial to determine which one to use on the monster he faced. Then he blew a different color dust into the face of each beast saying “Unday ah-na nay.” The beasts stiffened into statues after Xiao Gǔ was finished.
“What is that?” the sentry asked when Xiao Gǔ returned.
“Kufra Dust. When I was very young and had not been on the road very long, I once shared my meager pot with a fellow traveler who named himself, Black John the Conqueror. He was a strange old man—the 7th son of a 7th son, a healer and an ancient wizard from a land he said was a vast swamp on the other side of the world.’
“To thank me for my kindness he reached in his heavy carpet-bag of gris-gris, as he called his spells, and told me, if I ever needed extra hands to bind evil’s bent until I could slip away, this ‘Will sure cure yer ills, boy.’
“Black John explained how to use it, but I’ve never felt I had the need.”
At each corner of the seal behind the monster statues was a great metal bolt. Xiao Gǔ went over to Màn Lùjìng, his turtle, and lifted the topmost part of the saddle. There, hidden underneath was a small compartment, and he took out an oddly-shaped small jug. “This is magical oil that I acquired in my travels,” he said. “It is known to loosen the most stubborn of locks.”
With the beastly guardians hardened, Xiao Gǔ went to each of the bolts and applied the oil. With ease he gave each one a twist, and they started to come loose! Nyarlheiloong, brother to the king, and brother to Uagio Tsotho, Shupnikkurat, Kas-Ogthqa, and Assaatur, felt his bonds loosening, and he started thrashing on the other side of the prison door. The earth trembled beneath their feet. Xiao Gǔ hastily climbed down and ran to one side with the sentry, and the great dragon burst forth, blasting the great seal into a thousand and a thousand pieces. Before them, a massive form, dark as glowing midnight, took to the free air. Several smaller forms, slayers by the look of their malformed teeth and claws, followed. As a single voice, they roared a mighty roar that shattered the sky, and flew through the passageways into the king’s palace.
A Mythos Grimmly Page 27