Black Sea Gods: Chronicles of Fu Xi

by Braden, Brian

  Noah took a long drink and passed Aizarg the jug. He resumed his whittling. Aizarg saw a shape emerging from the wood in Noah’s hands.

  Is it a bird or a beast?

  “Listen, Aizarg, and understand why God sends this mighty deluge. To know the story of God’s judgment you must know the story of my people and how the world came to be.”

  And Noah began his tale.

  ***

  This is the saga of the Narim, as told to the Uros and then told to me, Fu Xi. While this is also the story of my mother and her kind’s fall from Grace, I will dutifully relay Aizarg’s words and not my own.

  “After the God of the Narim created the world and put all the living things upon it, He created mortal men and women in the shadow of His image. God bred into their nature the will to cover the earth and subdue it. The Narim called them ‘Hollow Men;’ formed in flesh, but incomplete in spirit. They were like seeds, ready for planting but not yet fertilized with God’s spirit. These common mortals lived short, savage lives and were susceptible to all manner of evil and corruption. The Hollow Men were as children, waiting for the firm hand of their loving maker to guide them.

  “That hand was provided by the Children of God, a race of powerful angels sent to earth to live among the Hollow Men. These were spiritual entities, which could only exist in the earthly plane by inhabiting the bodies of mortals. As teachers, mentors and protectors, the Children of God were to lead mankind to choose righteousness and forsake evil. To do this, men were given a perfect example by which to strive in their earthly mission.

  “Those shining examples were the Children of the Garden. In those ancient days, God planted a grove in a sheltered valley, far to the south of the Great Sea where the steppe met the mountains. It was protected from the outside world so that sin and corruption could not enter. In the Grove of God, He created a perfect man and a perfect woman, the forbearers of the Narim. The Children of the Garden were formed in God’s image both physically and spiritually. Unlike the Hollow Men, they were immortal and innocent and walked with God the way a child walks with their father.

  “Of the three races, God most loved the lowly Hollow Men. Born without Grace, common men only had the gift of free will and a yearning to seek out their maker. It is free will that is the wellspring of true, lasting love.

  “At a time of God’s choosing, the Children of the Garden would emerge and, with the Children of God, lead the Hollow Men on the path to their Creator. Together, the immortals would serve the Hollow Men and fill their spirits with the light of God.

  “Alas, the Corruptor came to the Garden and tempted the perfect man and woman. The Black Dragon, the betrayer of God, deceived the Children of the Garden into tasting the fruit of the forbidden tree. Their immortality drained away and they became as Hollow Men. Though exiled from the Garden, the spirit of God still echoed in their souls and they begot a race of long-lived mortals, the lineage of Noah and the Narim. God placed a powerful kerubim, a winged creature wielding a flaming sword, to guard the Valley of the Garden and the Tree of Wisdom. As the Narim fell from Grace, so did the Children of God.

  “The Corruptor came to the Children of God and said to them, “Behold, the Emperor of Heaven has failed. Do you not love the Hollow Men? You are the only hope for the race of men. Are not the sons and daughters of men fair? Take them and breed a new race of men, perfect and immortal. This thing you must do if thou truly love them.” Though it was forbidden, they loved the daughters and sons of men and spawned a race of powerful demigods, heroes of old. The Children of God became drunk on the elixir of the material world and forgot their purpose. In their pride, they established earthly kingdoms. At first, they were content to be called kings, but soon called themselves gods. They possessed the most beautiful of mortal bodies, often not willingly given. They transformed into vain and prideful creatures. They made their immortal offspring princes and enslaved the Hollow Men. The servants of man became its oppressors The Nephilim, the Fallen.

  “The kingdoms of the Nephilim built great fleets and armies and set about bringing the world under their heel. Meanwhile, Noah’s ancestors became a race of wanderers, seeking their way to redemption as the Hollow Men drifted in darkness, alone and separated from God.

  “All the while, the Black Dragon strode creation unopposed as the world fell farther into his clutches.”

  The Chronicle of Fu Xi

  ***

  It wasn’t the strong drink that made Aizarg’s head swim; the power of Noah’s tale and its implications staggered him.

  “How old are you?” Aizarg asked as he stared at Noah.

  Noah laughed again. “Tomorrow, I will turn six hundred years old! Your arrival was quite the unexpected birthday surprise, I can tell you.”

  “And yet you Narim are not gods?”

  “Absolutely not! There is but one God, all other creatures of earth and heaven are but his servants,” Noah said indignantly, as if Aizarg had offended him. To reinforce his point he took the edge of his knife and made a small nick in his thumb. A few drops of blood fell to the ground. “I am a man, every bit as mortal as you. And that word, Narim...or Narts...or whatever, they are not our words, mind you! It is what those Hur-po call us; it means ‘hero’ or ‘god.’ We are neither. We are the Tribe of Adam, the Children of the Garden.”

  Noah thumbed over his shoulder at the cottage. “Zedkat was a little girl when her father brought her to me as a betrothal for Shem. That was the last time the Black Gate was fully open to the western sun, almost a hundred years ago.” He leaned back and sighed. “And that was the last time I saw another of my people.”

  “She is almost a hundred summers?” Even after Noah’s tale, Aizarg could not believe such a thing. “You are all so old.”

  “No, my friend, you are so young! I don’t live abnormally long; your lives are abnormally short.” He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Though, in recent generations our life spans have noticeably shrunk.” His eyes lit up and he reached over and patted Aizarg’s knee as if they were old friends. “My grandfather is nearing a thousand years old!” Suddenly, Noah’s face grew grim. “He may still be alive, along with many of my tribe who moved on to the west.”

  He bowed his head and closed his eyes. “Please, dear and wonderful God, protect your devoted servants beyond these walls.” He opened his eyes again and looked about until he found his knife and wood and commenced whittling again.

  “Anyway, it does not matter how old I am. The days of a man’s life are not his own, to sit about and count them like the Hur-po sit about and count their gold. The hours of the day belong to God, spend them to honor Him and you will inherit the treasures of Heaven.

  “You and your kind are separated from God at birth. Without His spirit dwelling within, you do not live very long. You are creatures of this world who have no understanding, no inner voice leading you back to your Creator.”

  Aizarg felt for his li-ge, suddenly uncomfortable and irritated. Noah challenged every tenet of his faith. “My creator is Psatina, the Earth Mother.”

  Noah appeared frustrated, as if he couldn’t find the right words. “Please, I did not mean to offend. Your gods are manifestations of the Nephilim. After they fell, they led the Hollow Men to worship the creation and not the Creator. It is for such crimes that God sends the deluge to wash them away.”

  “I don’t feel any ‘hole’ in my spirit,” Aizarg said.

  “Tell me, Lo man, had you ever felt warmth akin to that elixir spread through your body before?” Noah pointed to the jug.

  Aizarg shook his head.

  “I could have described it to you, but my words couldn’t do justice to the feeling. I am as a man with sight trying to describe the world to one born blind. My people have tasted the elixir of God’s very presence.” He put down his knife and wood. “My people are born with the Creator’s spirit dwelling within us. I can hear His voice in my heart. When He chooses, I can hear His voice in my head.”

  After a long pause Aizar
g finally asked, “What is your god called?”

  Noah frowned, as if surprised by the question. “That is a question I haven’t heard in many, many years. He has no name, at least a name we are worthy of calling him.”

  “Then how do you worship him?” Aizarg asked, truly intrigued.

  Noah leaned in with his hand on his hip. “Do your children call you by name?”

  “No,” Aizarg shrugged. “That would be disrespectful. They are not my equal.”

  Noah smiled. “And how do your children honor you?”

  Aizarg considered the question for a few moments. “They obey me. They honor and respect me. They show me that they love me.”

  “Yes!” Noah pointed a finger to the sky. “And so it is with my God. He is our father and to worship Him is to simply be a good child. That is how my people worship Him.”

  Something about that answer angered Aizarg. He thought about his people, and the innocent street children in Hur-ar. Aizarg spoke slowly, measuring his words carefully as not to offend his host. “A good father loves and cares for his children. A good father must forgive. Why should we ‘Hollow Men’ suffer for the sins of Narim and Nephilim? If your god is so powerful why doesn’t he strike down the Black Dragon?”

  Noah stopped whittling. His eyes bore deep into Aizarg. For a moment, Aizarg felt a tremendous power channeling through Noah, and he seemed to fall under his spell. “There is no forgiveness without sacrifice, and the price of forgiveness is always blood.”

  Noah stood and broke the spell. He stretched his back. “Enough talk. There is still enough night to get a good rest. Sleep, Aizarg of the Lo, and I will pray about your people’s fate.” He brushed the shavings off his robe. “We will speak again at dawn.” Noah looked down upon Aizarg and smiled warmly. For a moment, Noah reminded Aizarg of his own father. “You can pray to Him, too, Aizarg.”

  “How do I pray to a nameless god?” Aizarg asked.

  “Open your heart. Speak in truth. Bow in humility. Do these things and He will listen.”

  “Noah, do you love or fear your god?” Aizarg asked.

  Noah touched his heart. “My father once told me love and fear are often one and the same. My God commands me to do both.” With that he placed his carving on the stump next to Aizarg.

  The fearsome, winged beast with a long, graceful neck reminded Aizarg of the dragon statue in the market.

  “What is that?” Aizarg asked.

  “It is the kerubim that guards our lost garden paradise, the Place of Perfect Sorrows. It serves as a reminder to my people that we can never go back and the only way home is always forward.”

  ***

  Aizarg woke to a cool, gray dawn and the smell of roasting meat. Stiff and sore, he struggled to sit up. His shoulder throbbed and burned with the slightest movement. Sarah and Ezra sat around the rekindled fire as Zedkat tended a spit with a haunch of meat.

  “Good morning, Father!” Sarah beamed. She came around the fire and knelt next to Aizarg. She pecked him on the cheek and lightly gave him a hug. “I have so much to tell you!”

  “I spoke with Noah while you slept,” Aizarg said.

  “That’s wonderful.” Sarah seemed genuinely happy. “Zedkat says they have plenty of room in their enormous boat. We’re saved!”

  He patted her hand. “We shall see.”

  Aizarg’s mind raced last night before he found sleep. He would have to fetch his people and lead them here across the g’an. Leading hundreds through Scythian territory would be much more challenging that sneaking a handful.

  I’ll have to cross over the Black River again...twice. How will I get out of the city and bring my people back through its gates? The hurdles were daunting.

  Zedkat touched Sarah’s shoulder. “Go eat. I must tend to your father.”

  Zedkat carefully removed the cloth bandages around his shoulder and examined the wound. “The stitches are holding and the bleeding has stopped.”

  Aizarg examined the wound. A blood-crusted, puckered hole bristled with ends of sinew strings, each tied into a thick knot. The Lo also practiced the craft of stitching wounds and Aizarg knew Zedkat had done an excellent job.

  Zedkat cleaned the wound with clear, cool water and then smeared a yellow, odorless balm over it. She applied fresh linen and then tied a sling over Aizarg’s shoulder.

  “Leave it in the sling. It will heal faster and won’t hurt as much.”

  “Thank you, Zedkat,” Aizarg said.

  She smiled and blushed. “In about a week you must carefully cut the stitches and pull each out by hand. I will also give you some of the balm to rub on the wound when you change the dressing. Do this each morning. I showed Sarah how to properly dress it when I first treated you.”

  Aizarg’s stomach growled loudly enough for everyone to look up and snicker, especially Ezra. The man vanished with the morning, replaced by a happy, gangly boy reunited with his sister.

  Zedkat smiled. “Appetite is a good sign! You are strong and will heal quickly.” She fixed him a bowl, which he held in his sore right arm. The Lo considered it taboo to eat with one’s left hand, but Zedkat gave him a spoon. Since he never actually touched the food with his left hand, he decided it must be acceptable.

  A simple but hearty fare, a haunch of goat meat and a pot with simmering porridge sat to one side of the fire. Zedkat gave him a flat, circular piece of food he recognized as neither meat nor grain.

  “It is called bread.” Zedkat took one and ripped it in two. “It’s best when dipped in the porridge.”

  Aizarg followed her example, pleased to discover the bread both light and filling.

  One more thing I will bring back to my people.

  Ezra and Sarah ate and talked quietly, occasionally snickering. Sarah giggled and punched her brother in the shoulder. He feigned pain and then returned the punch. Aizarg couldn’t quite put his finger on something about the way they ate and spoke to one another. An air existed about them in the way they ate, their refined mannerism, and the eloquence of their speech. Ezra seemed too well-spoken for a beggar and thief and Sarah underwent a profound change since they entered the valley. He had many questions for her, but they would have to wait.

  Aizarg looked up and saw an older woman staring at him in the gray light of dawn. He recognized her face from last night.

  “I am Emzara, wife of Noah,” she said without smiling, but Aizarg saw tremendous sorrow in her eyes. Aizarg put down his food and struggled to stand. Zedkat and Sarah rushed to his side and helped him.

  “I am grateful for the hospitality of the House of Noah,” Aizarg said as he motioned to the fire and food. “There is so much food! Your warm generosity is appreciated. I cannot thank you enough.” Aizarg bowed slightly to the matron of the Black Fortress.

  Emzara reached out a trembling hand toward his wounded shoulder and then pulled back. Aizarg saw black circles under her eyes, even in the dim morning light. Emzara looked as if she’d been crying all night.

  She adjusted her hair and smoothed her robe. “You are welcome, Aizarg of the Lo. Breakfast is our biggest meal of the day, so it was easy enough to make a little more. We usually only cook in the morning and then eat what is left throughout the day.” She pointed behind Aizarg. “Noah and the men were up before dawn. They are loading the last of the food stored in the mines. Noah is in the ark. After you eat, he requests you join him there.”

  Aizarg turned and beheld the ark in its full glory, a gray behemoth in the morning fog. When he didn’t concentrate on the details and took it all in as a whole, its shape and purpose became apparent.

  Emzara turned to Sarah and Ezra. “Would you please help me in the house?”

  Ezra bowed low, and in a formal voice said, “Oh, Lady of the Narim. We shall render whatever assistance you may require.”

  Emzara put her hand on her chest. “Oh, my! Well...” She cleared her throat. “How about you start by simply calling me Momma Emzara.” She took their hands and led them to the house. “Zedkat,” Emzara
called out over her shoulder. “Get to your chores. There is much to do.”

  “Please, eat as much as you like. Leave your bowl and spoon and I will be along shortly to clean up,” Zedkat said to Aizarg and hurried off.

  ***

  The fog lifted quickly as Aizarg stood at the base of the ramp leading to the enormous entrance. It only took a minute to realize the ramp was also the ark’s door. Heavy ropes attached to iron eyelets on either side of the ramp were to draw it up against the wall. He marveled at how the ramp, heavily coated in pitch, would seat against the frame with any water pressure.

  The weight of the water will press the door against the frame and seal it.

  Aizarg slowly stepped up the ramp. His imagination ran wild at what he might see. With each step, he felt a power emanating from the ark, like a hum vibrating through his flesh. Halfway up the ramp, the vibration became a warm sensation, and then elevated to a burning pain shooting from his feet all the way to his head. Aizarg beat a hasty retreat down the ramp, and the burning instantly ceased. He tried again, but met with the same results.

  It will not let me enter.

  “I prayed, Aizarg, but God saw fit to answer you directly.” Noah stood in the entrance, grimly looking down at Aizarg. His robe now replaced by the leather apron and waist wrap. A bronze headband pulled Noah’s hair back and a light sheen of sweat covered his face. He gripped a bulky iron hammer in his right hand.

  He may not be a god, but looks the role.

  “What does this mean?” Aizarg asked, but his heart already knew the answer.

  Noah put the hammer down and descended the ramp. “Come.”

  Aizarg followed him down along the length of the ark until they came to where a heavy coating of fresh pitch covered the gouge made by Shem’s arrow. Aizarg’s dried blood still streaked the ark’s planks.

  Noah pointed under the ark. “Is that yours?”

  Aizarg bent down and hefted the staff with his left arm. It felt heavier this morning.

  “Yes, this is mine. I’d forgotten about it.”

  Noah snorted a quick laugh. “I wouldn’t make that mistake again. Is this your spear that was transformed in the presence of the Angel of Death?”