Black Sea Gods: Chronicles of Fu Xi

by Braden, Brian

  Without a word, Ghalen gently put Setenay down. Levidi did the same with Okta. They grabbed their sagar spears from Ood-i and shuffled abreast of one another into a battle line.

  “Who are they?” Levidi whispered.

  “What are they?” Ood-i said.

  One after another, the strange figures sharpened into focus and drifted forward. They were once Sammujad warriors. Their colorless clothes and leather armor hung in shambles and their sagar spears were broken and splintered.

  “Aizarg! Their heads! Look at their heads!” Levidi’s voice quaked.

  Above the black pits of their eye sockets their skulls were cleanly cut off.

  “These are the Scythian Death Slaves, the ones who lined the ridges,” Aizarg whispered as his nightmare become reality. “Setenay is right, we are between worlds.”

  “How do we get back to our world?” Ghalen asked.

  “I don’t know,” Aizarg stole a glance behind him. Setenay still lay on the ground. He desperately wished she stood by his side, telling him what to do.

  “They’ve come to steal us away, to exact vengeance on us for desecrating their bones!” Levidi jabbed his spear at the army of the dead and shrieked. “Get back! Back, I say! You will not drag me to heli-dar!”

  Aizarg knew they all held their ground by a frayed thread of courage. Levidi’s bravery in the mortal realm did not guarantee courage against the terrible powers of the spirit world.

  “Hold!” Aizarg said firmly, placing a hand on Levidi’s shoulder.

  The battle lines were about thirty feet apart, but the dead vastly outnumbered the living. Aizarg glanced left and right. Ghalen leaned out slightly ahead of the line, as if he’d been ready for this moment his whole life. Ood-i was unexpectedly calm.

  Men of the Lo hold their ground against the forces of hell, he thought with unexpected pride and hope.

  Behind them, Setenay suddenly moaned.

  They all turned.

  Ghalen cried, “Setenay! She is possessed, too!”

  Sarah had mysteriously reemerged from the mist. She stood hand in hand with Setenay, whose eyes were as white Sarah’s. They faced the men as the blue aura engulfed them both.

  “Quickly, form a circle around Okta!” Aizarg commanded.

  The men formed a circle, spears outward, trapped between the ghosts and the possessed women.

  “We are doomed!” Levidi cried out.

  “Calm yourself!” Aizarg scolded him. “I’m frightened, too, but we must think clearly.”

  “Aizarg, the ghosts do not attack,” Ood-i said.

  The shades hovered at the edge of the mist but didn’t move toward them.

  “Yes,” Ghalen whispered. “Why don’t they attack?”

  Then, in the center of the spectral line, a tall figure stretched out his sagar toward the men.

  Aizarg looked at the apparition, trying to discern its purpose. Unconsciously, he reached up and clutched Atamoda’s li-ge.

  “He’s pointing,” Aizarg whispered, suddenly understanding what the ghost wanted. “He’s pointing behind us.”

  Aizarg looked back. Setenay and Sarah were slowly drifting away, hand in hand. The blue aura bridging them brightened.

  “They want us to follow the women. Levidi and Ghalen, get Okta. We must hurry,” Aizarg commanded.

  The women floated above the grasslands as the men stumbled after them like moths chasing a flame. The dead marched forward as their ranks split and flanked the men on either side.

  ***

  Time lost all meaning as they walked in silence. While still cold, the air didn’t carry the same bone-numbing chill.

  Every so often Aizarg spied dark, silent shadows paralleling them beyond the ghostly army. They were hulking, monstrous forms. The hair on Aizarg’s neck stood up when they appeared. The black forms retreated only when the dead lifted their sagars toward them, only to reappear at different points.

  Aizarg didn’t know the intentions of the army of the dead or the spirits possessing Sarah and Setenay. However, he had no doubts the black shadows were malevolent and the only thing standing between them and his men were the dead.

  The others didn’t seem to perceive the lurking shadows and Aizarg thought it wise not to mention them.

  “This is the march of the damned,” Levidi muttered to himself. The fear remained, but without the panic.

  “No, it isn’t,” Aizarg said as a strange calm settled over him. “The dead could easily overwhelm us. I feel no malice...” ...at least not from the dead.

  “I don’t feel as cold,” Ood-i said from behind.

  “Neither do I,” Ghalen huffed and readjusted Okta’s arm over his neck.

  “I think the dead are protecting us,” Aizarg said.

  “From what?” Levidi asked.

  “I don’t know,” Aizarg lied as another black shadow darted beyond the ghostly escort.

  Without warning, bloodcurdling shrieks, an unholy blend of animal rage and frustration, rang out from the mist. They were so loud Aizarg flinched.

  The women released their hands and the blue aura connecting them thinned and parted. Setenay settled to the ground and stopped. Sarah drifted a few more paces before also settling to earth. The ghosts halted, surrounding the men on three sides.

  “What now?” Levidi whispered as he looked around.

  The shadows beyond the dead grew in size and number. They merged into a black mass like an imposing wave threatening to break over them. Then, with another hideous scream, the dark entities scattered and vanished into the mist like bats fleeing the dawn.

  Aizarg winced again, their malignant screams almost too much to bear.

  “I thought I heard something,” Ood-i said. “Did any of you hear that?”

  Ghalen and Levidi shook their heads.

  Something has driven away the evil spirits, Aizarg thought with relief. Why didn’t the other men see or hear them?

  Sarah and Setenay slowly rotated to face the men. The blue aura intensified as misty tendrils twisted and wrapped into tight, brilliant balls of light over each woman’s head. The light intensified and elongated into tongues of blue flame, which slowly drifted away from the women, one floating to the left and one to the right.

  The women collapsed as if invisible strings had been cut. Ghalen and Ood-i began to walk to them, but Aizarg barred their way with his spear.

  “Wait. Keep your spears up and be patient. The women will be all right.” Aizarg didn’t know that, but he didn’t want the men to let their guard down.

  The blue lights floated soundlessly over the ranks of the dead. As they passed over the ghosts, the blue aura briefly transformed each apparition, providing a glimpse of what they were in life. Their spears suddenly became whole. Sawed off heads were instantly covered with full heads of hair. Empty sockets were filled with mournful eyes. Their sorrowful expressions disturbed Aizarg more than the empty, ghastly skulls. As the blue flame moved on, each spirit reverted to a deathly apparition.

  “What does this all mean, Uros?” Ghalen gasped.

  Aizarg shook his head.

  Finally, both flames came full circle in front of the men and fused together as one over a single ghost. This ghost became life-like and stepped forward. The light followed him, bathing him in shimmering blue light. Aizarg recognized the man and caught his breath.

  His name was Tuma.

  This was not the mangled corpse they buried yesterday, but what appeared to be a living, breathing young man. The Scythian prince’s feet hovered above the ground. His head was shaved except for a top-knot of long brown hair falling over his broad left shoulder. His clothes, no longer shredded and in perfect condition, covered a tall and handsome body. Bronze buckles firmly clasped black leather armor over a pale red cherkesska. No longer covered in hideous tattoos, the scars of his earthly life were washed clean.

  There is something familiar in his eyes.

  The men stared slack-jawed as the ghost slowly drifted past, paying them no mind. The ghost
briefly considered Setenay and then floated to Sarah, where he stopped and looked down upon her.

  Ood-i pressed forward, but Aizarg held him back. “We are now only spectators to our fate,” Aizarg whispered.

  The ghost didn’t have the haughty look of a man who once wielded great power. Instead, he gazed upon Sarah’s form with tender adoration. The Scythian lingered over Sarah only for a moment, and then stepped back to Setenay and knelt down. He touched her and a bolt of blue flame arced throughout Setenay’s body. She arched and let loose a primal scream that made Aizarg want to rush to her side.

  “What is he doing to her?” Ghalen cried.

  Setenay moaned as her body settled.

  “She’s still alive,” Aizarg tried to calm Ghalen.

  The ghost stood and skimmed across the ground until he came within arm’s reach of Aizarg.

  “Aizarg of the Lo, I come to deliver a message,” the Scythian’s voice shifted and floated like the blue flame dancing over his head.

  “A message? Who sends this message?”

  The blue flame above the ghost’s head suddenly brightened. “Aizarg of the Lo, only you and Sarah may enter Hur-ar and the fortress of the Narim. The others may not cross beyond the Dead Forest.”

  “Does this message come from the Narim?” Aizarg said with sudden hope. “What can you tell us of them?”

  The ghost ignored him and continued to speak.

  “Once you return to the other side of the Black River, you shall no longer accept strangers into your midst, lest you share in their judgment. In exchange, a new land shall be granted to your people. Do you accept this covenant, Aizarg?”

  “A covenant? With whom do I make this covenant...with you?” Aizarg stepped closer to the ghost, desperate for answers. The flame suddenly brightened and Aizarg turned away.

  “You make this covenant with the spirit who sends me. I ask again. Do you accept this covenant, Aizarg of the Lo?”

  A new land?

  “What if I do not accept this covenant?”

  “Then you and your people perish.”

  One by one, Aizarg looked at his men.

  The decision is mine alone.

  He looked out over the horde and felt the same sensation as last night’s dream. Everything has changed.

  A new reality dawned on Aizarg. He suddenly realized this was no longer about his people avoiding, or even surviving, a coming doom. He and the Lo were caught between worlds, the playthings of gods.

  We are caught between two waves, our only chance of survival is to descend deeper into their embrace.

  Aizarg exhaled and plunged forward.

  “Aizarg, Uros of the Lo, accepts this covenant, but only if it will save my people.”

  “It is done,” the ghost said with finality and drifted away, but the blue flame did not follow him. As the ghost slipped out from under the light’s aura the pastel colors of life faded to animated gray. The ghost’s armor and clothes were once again shredded as it rejoined the dead.

  The blue flame flickered and split into two parts. Each began to slowly rotate and sparkle. They spun faster and faster and intensified. The men backed up and shielded their eyes.

  The mist lightened and started to pull toward the flames like a curtain being tugged from one end. The ghosts washed out and faded away as their forms stretched and distorted with the mist. The mist swirled around the dazzling orbs like a whirlpool, a vortex which sucked the air until it roared like a thousand rushing waters. Aizarg and the men fell to their knees, tunics flapping and blowing in the wind.

  The vortex finally engulfed the ghostly horde and ripped away the icy curtain, revealing a pale blue sky and approaching sunset. The sun backlighted the swirling vortex, gilding the white whirlwind with crimson fire.

  Levidi buried his head under his arms and shrieked. The rest of the men bowed their heads to the ground, too terrified to look upon the supernatural power. Only Aizarg did not avert his eyes as tears streamed down his face.

  Then the blue orbs blinked. And blinked again. An immense human-like form materialized from the vortex with the orbs as its eyes. Outstretched arms formed, collapsed, and reformed in the whirlwind.

  For a moment, Aizarg thought the form resembled a robed woman. Then great bird-like wings emerged behind the entity and partially obscured the setting sun. Lightning flashed within the entity and erupted from its fingertips. The blue orbs intensified and captured Aizarg in their power.

  “Have mercy on us!” Aizarg pleaded.

  The entity’s white, misty body suddenly darkened to a smoky gray. It grew and transformed as arms morphed into fore and aft claws. The soft wings sharpened to bat-like forms that engulfed the sky. The entity’s snakelike neck arched back as if about to strike. Massive jaws opened to reveal eternal blackness.

  Inside the blackness, Aizarg saw endless stars, from which emerged a brilliant light that consumed him in a sea of white fire.

  19. To Dance With Madness

  The old Uros spent his last years warming his bones under the sun or in front of a roaring fire. It did not matter if a snowstorm blew down from the mountains or a dust storm rolled in from the desert, Aizarg would rather sit in front of his tent than in it. He only sought the shelter of his yurt when it rained. He hated the rain.

  I rarely left his side during that time. My scrolls and paintbrush were always nearby, ready for me to capture his words, whatever they may be. It was my purpose and I had time.

  More often than not, we sat in silence and enjoyed a good cup of fermented barley. Sometimes, we spoke of children or fishing or the proper planting of crops. He avoided talking about women. On that subject he said gods had no special knowledge over men.

  One autumn night he sat on his blanket and drank his barley ale and chewed on bitter root, as it often made his gums feel better. The wind blew down from the northern mountains and Aizarg had a distant air of remembrance. Perhaps the cool mountain air took him back to that previous age when he didn’t carry the weight of a life lived for others.

  He put down his ale and spit out the root. I picked up my brush and scroll and waited for him to speak.

  “It was on the morning of the seventh day after Levidi and I found the Valley of the Beasts that I looked upon Hur-ar,” he began. “Sarah told me much about Hur-ar on the journey.

  “A great deal of what she said I didn’t understand, but some I did. I assumed I would come to understand once I saw these things with my own eyes.” Aizarg leaned over like a confidant. “But when I crested that hill, I realized I knew nothing. That...!” he shook his bony finger, “...that is when I was the most frightened. The unknown became real, it had a face. It was the face of mountains. It was Setenay’s face.” The Uros looked down at his arthritic hands. “The unknown is a pit. If we see the bottom, we fill it with our hopes. If we see blackness, we feed it our fears.

  “I stood between the endless g’an and the mighty mountains, between the worlds of flesh and spirit, and saw the pit.”

  The Chronicle of Fu Xi

  ***

  “Wake up, Father!” A hand nudged Aizarg’s arm.

  He swatted the voice away and mumbled, “Bat-or, tell your mother I’ll get up in a moment.”

  A sweet, light voice giggled, but it was not Bat-or. The hand shook him harder. “Get up!”

  Another voice, low and heavy, came from beyond the first. “He’s fine.”

  “His hair, it is like yours, Sarah,” said another familiar voice.

  Sarah...quest...dead...

  Aizarg’s eyes flew open and he bolted into a sitting position. “The light!” he screamed as several pairs of hands restrained him.

  “It’s over,” Sarah pushed him back down. “Lie down and recover your strength.”

  Aizarg squinted against a clear, cool sky, but he remained in shadow. Sarah, Okta, and Ood-i came into focus, huddled over him. He was disoriented, but took comfort in their familiar faces.

  “How long have I been asleep?” Aizarg ran his han
ds through his hair and rubbed his eyes. His stomach growled.

  “It is morning. You are the last to wake,” Okta responded. “Judging by the sound of your stomach, both you and your appetite are none the worse for the experience.”

  “I’ll get you something to eat,” Ood-i trotted off to retrieve his pack as Aizarg looked around.

  They were surrounded on three sides by steep hills far larger than anything they’d encountered thus far. The hills blocked the morning sun. They couldn’t proceed east without a steep climb.

  Are these mountains?

  Ood-i returned and gave Aizarg a chunk of dried fish and a water skin.

  “Thank you.” Aizarg took several hungry bites between healthy gulps of water. “Is everyone all right?” he mumbled between bites.

  Except for Okta, they all looked down at the ground. Aizarg stopped in mid-chew.

  “Ba-lok is still missing,” Okta spoke up. “Otherwise, we are all here.” Okta lowered his voice, “Levidi is...disturbed.”

  Aizarg peered around Okta and saw Levidi squatting several yards away with his back to them. Levidi rocked back and forth with his arms wrapped around his shoulders.

  “I am disturbed, too,” Aizarg said dryly. “I can safely assume we are all disturbed.”

  Aizarg finally noticed Sarah’s pure white hair. “Sarah!”

  Sarah smiled weakly. “The mist is still in our hair.”

  “Yours is the same, Uros, even your beard,” Ood-i said. “Only you and Sarah were affected.”

  Aizarg frowned and pulled at his hair, trying to spy a white lock through the corner of his eye.

  “Where are Ghalen and Setenay?” Aizarg asked.

  Okta nodded to his right and Aizarg followed his gaze. Ghalen knelt over Setenay, who lay under a blanket at the base of the eastern hill.

  Aizarg hurried to her side.

  Ghalen held Setenay’s hand and looked up at Aizarg with a forlorn expression. “The mist...the spirit, they took a heavy toll. She cannot travel until she is well.”