Chapter 357 - Aioa part 5

A flood of recollections welled up at the sight of her: my own and the memories I had taken from her sister. I remembered her as a babe, holding her in my arms, looking after her and her twin sister during the time I spent in the village of the Tanti. Yet I knew her as her sister had known her, later, after I surrendered to Zenzele and was taken before Khronos. Ilio had returned to the village following my capture. Somehow he convinced the elders to flee from the lake, to give up all that was familiar to them. They were too young to remember that, my precious granddaughters, but they remembered the hegira that followed shortly after, a life of ceaseless wandering, always fleeing, always hiding from the God King's slavers. They had few memories of the village by the lake, and even less of me. The Vishantu joined them in their exodus. Tapas was their chieftain then. The twins, adolescents now, marveled at his size and strength. They merged their tribes together, and then took on the Pruss, who had been decimated by the God King's raiders. In desperation, Ilio shared the Living Blood with the bravest of their mingled peoples, creating a rank of immortal protectors. Tapas was one of those, and so was their uncle Sephram, and their grandfather Valas, who had always been so gentle and meditative. They blossomed into women, protected by these cold, white, powerful immortals, men who could fly through the treetops and crush the hardest stones to dust in their bare hands. Their mother sickened and Ilio gave her the Blood to save her life. But even the Blood could not hold death at bay for the fragile Priss. She was strong for a while, an immortal of inexhaustible kindness, and then she had weakened again, the life in her slowly fading away, guttering like a flame that had burned up all its fuel. Ilio, heart broken, took his wife to Uroboros. He went to sue the God King for peace. Perhaps, Ilio reasoned, if he disavowed his maker, the God King would have mercy on them, call off his wolves and leave them in peace. Before he left, Ilio shared the Living Blood with Irema and Aioa, a father's parting gift, in the hope that they could protect the Tanti in his absence. Irema and Aioa prayed their parents could win them some respite, but Khronos was a pitiless man. His raiders came for them again and again. The twins did their best to protect their people: Aioa, who found food and shelter for them, no matter the circumstances, and Irema, who kept the tribe just one step ahead of their brutal oppressors. And then they heard of Asharoth. They heard of it from another group of refugees, fellow exiles fleeing from the God King. Thest, their father's maker and the God King's sworn enemy, had returned from the east, they said, and he had founded a city to rival Uroboros itself. It was a city, the exiles said, where both mortal and immortal dwelled in peace and harmony, where all men were equal, and safe from the God King's tyranny. The sisters hid the Tanti as well as they could and left off with their giant husband to see if the stories were true, if Asharoth truly did exist, or if it was just another lie spawned by the devious Khronos, a deceit to lure his enemies from hiding. And woven through those memories like a sturdy leather cord: the bond the two women shared, and the love they held for the community that had nurtured them, the brave, the resourceful, the good and honorable Tanti.

My mortal descendants.

My people.

My tribe.

Oh, how my blood boiled at the memories of their persecution! Khronos would pay! For every drop of blood the Tanti had spilled. For every tear they ever shed. For every hardship and bad dream. For every hopeless moment. I would exact a terrible revenge for the suffering my people had endured at his behest! He would rue the day he first heard the word "Tanti". Khronos would pay!

With some effort I put aside my anger, embracing the woman, my granddaughter. Pressing my face into her abundant hair, I inhaled her scent and committed it to memory. Of course I knew it already. I had Shared with her sister and possessed all of their filial recollections, but Shared memory is not the same as subjective experience, or the memories it inspires. Memories that are passed through the Blood are like faded photographs. They lack the piquancy of direct experience, and all of its sensory associations. Like dreams, Shared memories wane fast. But here she was. At last. Aioa. Named after the Neirie slave who had galvanized me to take action against the Oombai elders. Her murder had cast me in the role I tenanted now: avenger, liberator, warrior.

"You're smaller than I remember," she said.

"I've not grown smaller," I said with a chuckle. "You've gotten bigger. But you truly remember me, after all these years? You were so young when I was taken to Uroboros!"

She gazed up at me, her dark eyes intense with emotion. "Yes, I remember you," she said. "Shast'pa'ulm, also known as Thest, also called Gon. I remember your face. I remember you carrying me by the lake, and how the sunlight glittered on the water. You carved me little animals out of wood, and we sat and played with them on the shore. I still have one of them." She pulled a carving of a bird from beneath her tunic. I had fashioned it for her twenty years ago. She had drilled a hole through it, wore it on a leather thong around her neck. Its surface was glossy smooth from handling.

"A hawk," I said. "I remember making it for you."

It was a crude thing. I am no artist. But I was touched that she still possessed it. That she cherished the thing.

"You made me other playthings," she said, looking down at the pendant for a moment before putting it away. "A rabbit. A deer. I lost the others during our flight, but I managed to hold onto this one. I've always kept it close to my heart. Irema does not remember you, but I do. Because of this. And because of the lake."

The memories her words invoked were like daggers in my heart, each one of them. I cherished the time I had spent in the village of the Tanti. Even as I lived among them, I had savored it, knowing it could not last forever. They had accepted me, in full knowledge of what I was. Potashu T'Sukuru. Deathless blood god. I was god and protector but also-- when Ilio took the Tanti woman Priss for his wife-- father and brother. My child had impregnated the Tanti woman before I had given him the Living Blood, and she bore him two beautiful mortal daughters, my granddaughters, Irema and Aioa. Priss's father, the indolent Valas, became my co-grandfather and fast friend. How many times had we lazed the night away, Valas drunk on framash and I just as inebriated on the wine of his friendship? Until I met the Tanti, I did not believe it was possible for mortal and immortal to dwell together in harmony.

I was powerfully touched that she remembered me from her childhood, that she had loved me as a mortal child, that I was not just some mythological figure to her, the Father, sworn enemy of the wicked God King. I was her grandfather.

Weeping black tears, I drew her back to me. I hugged her fiercely, saying her name again and again, remembering the lake and the baby in my arms. She wept a little, too, her arms curled around my back, her face pressed to my chest. I did not care that the others were watching or what they must think of my blubbering.

When at last we parted, laughing and wiping away our tears, I turned to the others. Sunni seemed fascinated by my histrionics. Chaumas was sitting in the snow, playing with Yul's head. Rayna wiped a cheek with the back of her hand. Drago scowled at the heavens in discomfort. "Shall we continue?" Eris asked, the wind blustering his hair around his head.

"You say the final piece of my body is near?" I asked Aioa.

"North," she said, pointing into the darkness. "Over the mountains, where the sky burns at night."

"Where the sky burns?" Rayna asked.

"I have seen it with my own eyes," Aioa said. "The land there is made of ice, and a river of fire flows through the sky at night."

"And what of our enemies?" I said. "What of Baalt and the other Eternals the God King sent?"

Aioa shrugged. "I do not know. They turned back several days ago. Left off their pursuit of us. Perhaps the God King called them back to Uroboros. Or perhaps they sensed your coming and sent for reinforcements."

"Or perhaps they mean to ambush us," Drago said. "For all we know, they could be laying a trap for us at this very moment. Baalt is just as treacherous as the God King himself."

"That is possible," I said. "In fact, I think it very likely. But we have the superior numbers now. I think we should continue. If I mean to defeat the God King someday, I must have my original body back. I must be restored. Baalt may be laying a trap for us. They may have withdrawn to await reinforcements. They might even be racing for the final piece of my body right now, meaning to take it back to Khronos or hide it somewhere else. There's really no telling what our enemies mean to do, but I know one thing for certain. I am tired of running from the God King and his minions. It is time for them to see our fists rather than our asses!"

I have never considered myself a great leader. Nevertheless, my little speech had the desired effect. I watched as the faces of my companions hardened with resolve. When I had finished speaking, they were ready to fight, ready to take on the God King's assassins, and anything else that Khronos threw in our path.

And I was, too.

I was a little surprised by the realization. I have never been much of a warrior. But my heart cried out for war. I hungered for the blood of our enemies.

We went north, into the land of the burning sky.