River of Blue Fire

by Tad Williams

  !Xabbu sat on his heels for a long silent time, the fire-poking stick clutched in his small hand. He stared at the flames, as though reading a particularly difficult passage in a textbook. “But you are the beloved Porcupine,” he said finally.

  The unexpectedness of it startled Renie into laughter. “I’m the what?”

  “Porcupine. She is the daughter-in-law of Grandfather Mantis, and in many ways his best-beloved of all the First People. I told you once I would tell you the final story of Mantis.”

  “!Xabbu, I don’t think I have the strength. . . .”

  “Renie, I have not asked you for anything. Now I am asking you. Please listen to this story.”

  She looked up from the embers, struck by the urgency in his voice. There was obvious silliness in a begging baboon, the small hands raised in supplication, but she did not—could not—laugh. He was right. He had asked nothing of her.

  “Right, then. Tell me.”

  !Xabbu bobbed his head, then pointed his muzzle at the ground for a moment as he thought. “This is the last tale of Mantis,” he said finally, “not because there are not other stories to tell—there are many, many I have not told you—but because it is of the last things that happened to him in this world.”

  “Is it sad, !Xabbu? I don’t know if I can take a sad story right now.”

  “All the most important stories are sad,” he replied. “Either what happens in the story, or what happens after it.” He reached out a paw and touched her arm. “Please listen, Renie.”

  She nodded wearily.

  “This is a story from late in the life of Grandfather Mantis—so late that black people, and perhaps even white people, had come to the lands of my ancestors. We know that because it starts with sheep, which came with the black herdsmen. These men brought their sheep in great flocks to eat the thin grass that sustained all the animals Grandfather Mantis and his hunters loved—eland, springbok, hartebeeste.

  “Mantis saw these sheep and recognized that they were a new kind of animal. He hunted them, and was both pleased and worried that they were so easy to kill—there was something wrong about creatures that waited so passively for their deaths. But when he had shot two with his arrows, the black men who owned them came upon him. The men were as numerous as ants, and they beat him. At last he pulled his cloak of hartebeeste hide around him, so that his magic blinded them, and made his escape. Although he was able to take the two sheep he had killed, the herders had beaten him badly. By the time he had limped back to his camp, his kraal he was so tired and sore and bloody that he felt himself to be dying.

  “Mantis told his family, ‘I am unwell—they have killed me, those men who are not of the First People.’ And he cursed the newcomers, saying ‘My word upon them. They shall lose their fire, and they shall lose their sheep, and they will live only like ticks, on uncooked food.’ But still he was unwell, and felt that the world had become a place of darkness. He felt it to be true that there was no more room for the First People.”

  Renie understood that here was the first of the parallels that !Xabbu intended to draw, between her own helpless despair and the misery of Grandfather Mantis. She was almost annoyed at what felt like cheap psychology, but something in the high seriousness of !Xabbu’s voice undercut it. He was preaching to her from the Old Testament of his people. This meant something.

  “He called all his family before him,” !Xabbu continued, “his wife Rock-Rabbit, his son Rainbow, his beloved daughter-in-law Porcupine, and their two sons, the grandsons of Mantis, who were named Mongoose and Younger Rainbow. Porcupine, with her great heart and sympathetic eye, was the first to see that something was very wrong with her father-in-law. Neither did she like the sheep, which Were strange to her. ‘Look,’ she said to her husband, Rainbow, ‘look at the creatures your father has brought back.’

  “But Mantis told them all to be quiet, and said, ‘I am weak with pain, and my throat is swollen so that I cannot speak proper words or eat these sheep. Porcupine, you must go to your father, the one called the All-Devourer, and tell him to come and help me eat up these sheep.’

  “Porcupine was fearful and said, ‘No, Grandfather, for when the All-Devourer comes, there will be nothing left for anyone. He will leave nothing behind under the sky.’

  “Mantis was stubborn. ‘Go to the old man yonder, the All-Devourer, and tell him to come that he may help me eat up these sheep. I feel that my heart is upset, so that I want the old man yonder to come. When he comes, I will once more be able to talk properly, for my throat is swollen now and I cannot talk in the way that I should. Let us lay out the sheep and welcome your father.’

  ‘Porcupine said, ‘You do not want that old man to come here. Let me give you some springbok meat, so that you can fill your belly.’

  “Mantis shook his head. “That meat is white with age. I will eat these sheep—this new meat—but you must tell your father to come and help me.’

  “Porcupine was sad, and full of a great fear, for Mantis had never before been so sick and so unhappy, and something terrible was bound to happen. ‘I will go to fetch him, and tomorrow he will come. Then you will see him for yourself, that terrible old man, with your own eyes.’

  Mantis was satisfied with this and fell asleep, but still he cried out in his pain even as he slept. Porcupine told her sons Younger Rainbow and Mongoose to take the springbok meat away and hide it, and to take their father Rainbow’s spear and hide that as well. Then she set out on her journey.

  “As she traveled, she looked on everything she passed with the eye of her heart, and said to herself, ‘Tomorrow this thing will be gone. Tomorrow that thing will be gone.’ When she reached the place where her father lived, she could not face him, but from a distance shouted out: ‘Mantis, your cousin, bids you to come and help eat up the sheep, for his heart is troubled.’ Then she hurried back to her family at the kraal of Grandfather Mantis.

  “Mantis asked her, ‘Where is your father?’

  “Porcupine said, ‘He is still on the way. Look at that bush, standing above us, to see if a shadow comes gliding from on high.’

  “Mantis looked but saw nothing.

  “Porcupine said, ‘Watch for the bush to break off. Then, when you see that all the bushes up there have disappeared, look for the shadow. For his tongue will take away all the bushes even before he has come up from behind the hill. Then will his body come up, and all the bushes around us will be devoured, and we will no longer be hidden.’

  “Mantis replied, ‘I still see nothing.’ Now he, too, was frightened, but he had invited the All-Devourer, and the All-Devourer was coming.

  “Porcupine said, ‘You will see a tongue of fire in the darkness, for all that stands before him he destroys, and his mouth engulfs everything.’ And she went away then and took back the springbok meat that had been hidden and gave it to her two young sons, that they should be strong for what lay ahead.

  “And as Grandfather Mantis sat waiting, a great, great shadow fell upon him. He cried out to Porcupine, ‘Oh, daughter, why is it so dark when there are no clouds in the sky?’ For in that moment he felt what he had done, and he was very afraid.

  “The All-Devourer said in his terrible hollow voice, ‘I have been invited. Now you must feed me.’ And he sat down in Mantis’ camp and began to eat everything, for within the great mouth, in the heart of the shadow, there was a tongue of fire. First he ate the sheep, and chewed their bones, and swallowed their fleeces. When he was done, he ate all the other meat, and the tsama melons, and the roots, and every seed and flower and leaf. Then he devoured the shelters and the digging sticks, the trees and even the stones of the earth. When he swallowed down Rainbow, the son of Mantis, Porcupine took their two children and ran away. As they escaped, the All-Devourer swallowed down Mantis’ wife, Rock-Rabbit, and then even Grandfather Mantis himself disappeared into the stomach that now stretched fro
m horizon to horizon.

  “Porcupine took the spear which her sons had hidden and heated it in the fire until it glowed, then she tested her sons to make sure that they would be fit for what lay ahead. She touched Younger Rainbow and Mongoose with the hot spearpoint, pressing it on their foreheads, their eyes, their noses and ears, to make sure they would be brave enough to see and understand the way ahead. The eyes of Mongoose filled with tears, and she said ‘You are the mild one—you will sit on my father’s left hand.’ But the eyes of Younger Rainbow only grew drier the more she burned him, and she said, ‘You are the fierce one, you will sit on my father’s right hand.’ Then she took them back to the fire and they seated themselves on either side of the All-Devourer, who was still hungry, although he had eaten nearly everything under the sky.

  “In a moment he would eat them up, too, but instead the two brothers grabbed his arms and pulled him back, dragging him down to the ground. As they held him, fighting against his great strength, and while the tongue of flame in his black mouth was burning them, Younger Rainbow took his father’s spear, and at his mother Porcupine’s bidding, sliced open the stomach of the All-Devourer. He and Mongoose pulled the stomach wide open, and everything that the All-Devourer had eaten came rushing out in a flood—meat and roots and trees and bushes and people. Even Grandfather Mantis came out at last, changed and silent.

  “Porcupine said, ‘I feel that everything has changed. Now is the time when we must go away and find a new place. We will leave my father the All-Devourer here, lying in the kraal. We will go far away. We will find a new place.’ And she led her father-in-law and all her family away, out of the world and into a new place, where they still live.”

  Renie had been so struck by the idea of little Mantis crouching in fear as the sky turned dark and the All-Devourer came upon him that at first she barely realized the story had ended. In his folly, the Bushman’s god had called down the ultimate horror—how was she any different herself?

  “I . . . I’m not sure I understood the story,” she said at last. It had not been as sad as she had feared, but the ending did not seem to outweigh the terror of what happened to the characters. “What was it supposed to mean? I’m sorry, !Xabbu, I’m not being difficult on purpose. It’s a very impressive story.”

  The baboon sim looked tired and dejected. “Do you not see your own self in this, Renie? That you, like Porcupine, are the one who we depend on? That like Mantis’ beloved daughter-in-law, you are the one who has taken action when all seemed hopeless? It is you that we rely on to bring us out of this place again.”

  “Don’t!” A flash of anger took her. “That’s not fair—I don’t want anyone relying on me! I’ve spent all my life picking other people up, carrying them around. What if I’m wrong? What if I’m too weak?”

  !Xabbu shook his head. “We do not need you to carry us, Renie. We need you to lead us. We need you to look with the eyes of your heart, and to take us where they direct you.”

  “I can’t do it, !Xabbu! I’m out of strength. I can’t fight any more monsters.” The All-Devourer story was becoming jumbled in her head with her own dreams and the shadow-creatures of these unreal worlds. “I’m not Porcupine. I’m not sweet and sensible. My heart doesn’t have any goddamned eyes.”

  “But you do have prickly spines, as she does.” The baboon’s mouth quirked in a slightly sour smile. “I believe you see more than you know, Renie Sulaweyo.”

  Emily had woken up, and was lying quietly on the ground watching them, the whites of her eyes bright parentheses in the predawn light. Renie felt bad about waking her—they were all tired and needed rest, God knew—but even that brief moment of guilt sent off another sizzling spark of irritation. “Enough of the mystical foolishness, !Xabbu. I don’t get it. I never have got it. I’m not saying you’re wrong, but you’re speaking a language I don’t know. So instead of waiting for me, what are you going to do about all this—the Grail Brotherhood, this network we can’t get out of, all this? What’s your plan?”

  !Xabbu was quiet for a moment, as if shocked by her vehemence. She was embarrassed at how hard she was breathing, how much her control had slipped. But instead of retreating or arguing, !Xabbu only nodded gravely.

  “I do not want to make you angry, Renie, by saying things you do not believe in, but once again you have seen with the eyes of your heart. You have spoken a truth.” A heaviness as dreadful as her own seemed to come over him. “It is true that I no longer know what I am meant to do. I tell you stories, but I have forgotten my own story.”

  She was suddenly frightened that he might leave them—leave her—and set off on his own into the river-jungle. “I didn’t mean . . .”

  He raised a paw. “You are right. I have forgotten the purpose I was given. In my dream, I was told that all the First People must come together. That is why I am in this shape.” He gestured at his furred limbs. “So I will dance.”

  This was the last thing she had expected to hear. “You . . . you’ll what?”

  “Dance.” He turned in a circle, inspecting the ground. “It will make no noise. You can go back to sleep if you wish.”

  Renie sat and stared, not sure what to say. Emily, too, was watching warily, but there was a light in her eyes that had not been been there previously, as though in some way the Mantis story had touched her. !Xabbu walked in a circle, dragging one of his hands to make a line in the dirt, then stood and stared at the sky. A glimmer of dawn was just appearing on the horizon. He turned slowly until he faced it, and Renie recalled another one of his stories. !Xabbu had told her that his people believed the first red light of morning was the hunter Morning Star returning to his camp, hurrying back to his bride, Lynx.

  And the reason Morning Star hurried, she now remembered, was that he feared the hatred and jealousy of Hyena, a lost creature of the darkness, almost as frightening as the All-Devourer.

  As he began the shuffling steps of what he had once called the Dance of the Greater Hunger, !Xabbu seemed focused on something beyond the camp, perhaps even beyond Otherland itself. Renie’s own despair had settled into something viscous, a heavy, sticky netting that exhausted her and held her down. So this was what her scientific investigation had become, she thought—half-baked answers to impossible questions, dancing monkeys, magical worlds along an endless river. And somehow they would sift this endless desert of sand for the one grain that would bring back her brother?

  !Xabbu’s dance continued, a throbbing, rhythmic movement that carried him gradually around the circle he had drawn. A few birdcalls enlivened the dawn, and the jungle trees rustled and shivered in the breeze, but in the camp the only movement was the baboon pacing step, shuffle, shuffle, step, bending toward the ground and then straightening to stretch his arms high and wide, eyes turned ever outward. He completed the circle and kept going, now a little faster, now slowing once more.

  Time slid by. A dozen circuits became a hundred. Emily’s eyes had long ago trembled and fallen shut, and Renie was half-hypnotized with fatigue, but still !Xabbu danced, moving to music he alone could hear, tracing steps that had been immeasurably ancient when Renie’s own tribal ancestors had first come to the southern reach of Africa. It was the Stone Age she was watching—the living memory of humankind, here in the most modern of all environments. !Xabbu was aligning himself, she realized—not with the material universe, with the sun and moon and stars, but with the greater cosmos of meaning. He was relearning his own story.

  And as the dance went on, and the jungle began to ripen into full dawn, Renie felt the cold hopelessness inside her thaw just a little. It was the story that mattered, that was what he had been telling her. Porcupine, Mantis—they were not just quaint folktales, but ways of seeing things. They were a story that gave life order, that taught the universe how to speak the words that humans could understand. And what was anything, any human learning or belief, but just that? She could let chaos swallow
her up, she realized, as the All-Devourer swallowed everything—even Grandfather Mantis, the spirit of first knowing—or she could shape chaos into something she could understand, as Porcupine had done, finding order where only hopelessness seemed to exist. She had to find her own story, and she could make it whatever shape she thought best.

  And as she thought these things, and as the little man in the baboon’s body danced on, Renie felt the thaw inside her spread and warm. She watched !Xabbu drawing his careful repetitions, as beautiful as a written language, as complex and satisfying as the movement of a symphony, and suddenly realized that she loved him.

  It was a shock, but it was not a surprise. She was not certain whether it was a man-woman love—it was hard to get past the anti-pathy of their different cultures and the strange masks they now wore—but she knew beyond a doubt she had never loved anyone more, nor had she ever loved anyone in quite the same way. His monkey form, which disguised but did not truly hide his bright, brave spirit, was transformed from a subject of bemusement into a shining clarity of meaning, as powerful as a drug experience, as hard to explain as a dream.

  I’m the one who has to see that we are all connected, she thought. !Xabbu’s dream told him that all the First People needed to come together, like in that story about his ancestor and the baboons. ‘I wish there were baboons on this rock,’ wasn’t that it? But that story isn’t really about him—it’s about me. I’m the one the hyena has been chasing, and !Xabbu has offered me his shelter, just like the People Who Sit on Their Heels did for his ancestor.