FSF, May 2008 Read online

  The High Reader clenched his fists. “Tribute of Angels must die."

  The old man said, “If the Living World has sent him it is the will of God. But if he does not come from God he must surely die, for no creature can resist him. I have looked, and even the insects cease their flight to listen to him."

  The master answered, “God taught us that the sky is a living book, with words written every night. Tribute of Angels has taken us away from that wonder of wonders. How could he have come from God?"

  "Then he must die,” the old man said.

  They turned back to the stairs. Softly, the young Reader who had begun it all asked, “What should I tell him? The man who asked about the Festival?"

  When the master didn't answer, the old man said, “Tell him to be patient a short time longer, until the will of God shall reveal itself."

  All that day and night the Readers built up their power. They cut the throats of three bulls, they cut their own arms and legs, they burned parchments with prayers, they burned the clothes they'd worn when they went to hear Tribute of Angels. In the morning they marched down the hill to the great city and palace of Immortal Snake.

  A single figure stood at the gate. Broken by Heaven stood motionless in a long white dress, with a white jewel set upon her forehead.

  The Master Reader crossed his thick arms on his chest. “Mistress,” he said, “please step aside. We come as messengers from the Living World."

  Broken by Heaven said, “When we spoke weeks ago I told you that God's greatest gift was not the writing in the sky but life on Earth, revealed in the stories of Tribute of Angels. Now, today, tell me if I lied or spoke the truth."

  The Reader answered, “Tribute of Angels desecrates the will of Heaven. Now he must die."

  "And who will kill him?"

  "That is the province of Immortal Snake, beloved of God."

  "Tribute of Angels is the companion of Immortal Snake. Is it time, then, for the Snake to shed his skin?"

  "We will speak with Immortal Snake directly."

  "Of course. God dwells in my brother. Come with me.” She turned and opened the door that led to the royal pathway of the Nine Rings. Though her skin and all organs trembled, she walked with a firm step, never looking back.

  They found the ruler sitting alone in his petition room, on a chair carved with lions and swans. Broken by Heaven had told him to wait there; now she was pleased to see the formal air he struck, as if indeed the Living World would speak through his mouth.

  The High Master of the Readers spread himself face down on a carpet depicting Immortal Snake raising the dead. “Great lord,” he said as he rose to his feet. “Speak to us of the slave, Tribute of Angels."

  "My companion in death."

  "Yes, lord."

  "Then I shall speak. God sent me first the terror of my dying and I was frightened as a naked child. God then sent me the memory of the slave who had come to me as a gift, by record from the Emperor of Mud and Glory, but in truth from the Living World. His voice and his spirit made me happy, and so I gave him gifts, beautiful clothes, statues, gold. He gave it all to the poor, and the people love him. He has given me something almost as precious as his tales. He has taught me to serve my people, and for this I would kiss the tips of his fingers."

  The Reader said, “He will destroy everything. His stories cover God's writing in the sky. Without that we cannot know when to hold the festivals, we lose the length of days and the order of the nights. We will not know when Immortal Snake must shed his skin. Yes, I speak of that too, for without the sacrifice the Living World will take back its blessing, and nothing will remain but death."

  "I once cared for my life,” the ruler answered, “but now I care only about my people."

  "Good. Then for the sake of the people destroy Tribute of Angels."

  Immortal Snake closed his eyes, and his sister held her breath. He looked again and said quietly, “Since we agree that all we do is for the life of the people, the people will decide.” The Readers stared at him. “Come tonight to the Plaza of Celestial Glory. Then you will tell your fears to all who wish to hear them.” And with that he stood up from his chair of lions and swans and left the room.

  The Plaza of Celestial Glory celebrated Written in the Sky's triumph in one of its many battles with the Empire of Mud and Glory. Formed by the facades of the palace and various ministries, its huge open square flashed with gold, rubies, sapphires, and emeralds, the colors of the sun, blood, the sea, and the plants, so that all of heaven and earth would honor Immortal Snake.

  Soldiers cleared away the beggars and street merchants who usually clogged the sides of the plaza, then workers built platforms for the Readers to address the crowd, and booths for honored guests. Meanwhile, heralds traveled all up and down the Nine Rings, and beyond to the villages and farms, calling out the message that that evening Tribute of Angels would tell his stories to the people.

  That afternoon, Broken by Heaven once more traveled to the Temple of Names. At sight of her the priests cringed inside their stone masks of forgotten alphabets. They still remembered the day she demanded they take back her childhood name, and they recognized the basket she carried. She'd already used it to discard her original name relics, the strands of hair, the black doll. When she turned it over this time it held only an oversize white dress of coarse cloth. “My name no longer belongs to me,” said Broken by Heaven, who once was More Clever Than Her Father and Everyone Else.

  The priest said, “Mistress, the Living World does not like it when a woman—"

  "My new name,” she said, “is Wiser Than Heaven."

  They did the ceremony as quickly as possible and purified themselves as soon as she left.

  Thousands gathered, from farmers to ministers, beggars to generals. Even the deaf were there, for word had spread that the stories of Tribute of Angels could heal the sick, including those beyond hearing. At first no one was sure which way to look but then a great snake banner unfurled from a low palace balcony and everyone knew that that would be the source of “the Voice of God,” as some were calling the Snake's companion.

  Before that voice, however, there came another sound, and if the crowd had been capable of movement they might all have panicked and tried to run inside the buildings. Trumpets. The great copper horns of the Readers sounded in the evening air, and people covered their eyes, for the sound was the signal for Immortal Snake to shed his skin, a ritual no one must witness. They cowered down as best as they could, trying to hide among their neighbors, wondering when the white bulls would trample them.

  Instead, they heard voices, amplified through speaking tubes. “Arise, blessed ones. The champion of heaven and earth calls upon you to watch, and to listen.” Still frightened, they nevertheless dared to look up. And then a great cheer surged up from the plaza, for yes, there were the Readers, terrifying in their masks and robes, and look, they carried no effigies this time, but the very remains of previous rulers—but above them, on the royal balcony, Immortal Snake opened his arms to his people. He wore a robe of blue silk streaked with red, the colors of sunrise, and his face was painted golden, and on his head he wore a golden crown in the shape of a coiled serpent with eyes like the night sky flashing with stars.

  "Beloved,” Immortal Snake called out, and his voice carried across the square to bounce off the sides of the ministries. “Tonight you will give your judgment of what is true and what is false, what is above and what is below. Listen now to those who have served us through all our past glories, the Readers of God's Writing in the Sky."

  The Master Reader stood at the front of the platform, with the skins of the past rulers lined up behind him. “You believe,” he said, “that Tribute of Angels has come to you from the Living World. This is a lie. He and his stories have risen up from the Abyss. If this man lives, God will abandon us and all our joy and glory will fall to dust."

  As soon as the Reader finished, Immortal Snake spoke again. “Now hear the voice of Tribute of Angels.
And then decide if he shall live or he shall die."

  From inside the palace the storyteller stepped onto the balcony, wearing only his slave cloth. “I am a servant of God,” he said. “All hatred in the human heart is a violent strike against the Living World. Therefore, I ask only that no one seek violence. I call for no man's death, but offer only a story. For Immortal Snake has asked that I tell a simple tale, and there is no greater joy than service to Immortal Snake."

  In later years scholars would ponder and explore the stories of Tribute of Angels. They would write them all down, both forward and backward, and then add up the number values of all the words, and chart the shape of the letters, and search for phrases that appeared first in one tale and then another. But no one ever talked about the story told on the night the Readers called for the death of the teller. No one wrote it down, and everyone who was there would claim they had no memory of what he said.

  He spoke softly, without the speaking tube, yet each one heard him like a whisper alongside the face. It seemed to each that he or she stood alone in a dark world, and the only light was the glow that flowed from the lips of the storyteller. In the beginning the tale was a sweet dream, soft and quiet. Then a wind came, and swept them into a storm of fire.

  He talked through the night, and as the world edged toward morning his voice rose, and the story shifted wildly, one moment as joyous as the hidden doorway to Paradise, the next a lightning bolt of terror. As the first edge of dawn approached, his voice cracked open their bodies and shattered their bones.

  At last it was over. The sun had not yet risen but the people discovered they could open their eyes, look around them for the first time in many hours. There, at the feet of the platform, on the mosaic tiles depicting the glory of victory, the Readers lay, every one of them face down in a great wash of blood.

  In the plaza the people stared in confusion and horror. Many looked up at the sky, frightened the stars would fall to earth and crush them. On the balcony Immortal Snake had to steady himself as he looked down at the blood, so much of it, he thought he would drown in it. Alongside him, Tribute of Angels stood motionless, his head down, his arms held low, the hands clasped together.

  Only his lover was able to speak. Wiser Than Heaven took the arm of her brother. “Now,” she whispered, “before they can run away. Look for the white horse tethered just inside the gate. Go!” Immortal Snake stared at her a moment then he seemed to come awake and hurried inside to the stairs. Wiser Than Heaven turned to her beloved. “Walk alongside him,” she said. “I will follow."

  She watched him as he glided down the stairs, then she stepped onto the balcony. “Children of Immortal Snake,” she cried. “Beloved of the Living World. The Angel of Death has stepped among us tonight. God's will has revealed itself. Look up, look up! Do you see? The stars have not vanished, they shine so brightly you can see their faces. The stars cry out with joy. They shine for you, and they shine for Immortal Snake, who has descended from heaven to live on Earth. And now, children of God, behold your ruler. Your servant. Your father. Immortal Snake comes among you!"

  With that the great doors of the palace flung open as if by the hands of angels, and Immortal Snake rode forth on a white horse, its mane braided with diamonds. The people fell back, frightened, but they could not keep away, for he was beautiful, far more than the idealized portraits and statues. It was the beauty of a man who has ridden on the boat of stories, traveling beyond the sky night after night. The storyteller himself stood beside him, and the people bent down to kiss the dirt around his feet. Soon Wiser Than Heaven joined them, and slowly, with the Snake's male companion to his right and his female companion to his left, they moved up the hill to the deserted observatory known as the Kingdom of God.

  When they reached it, they saw that the young tree, which the Readers had planted when the new Immortal Snake ascended to the Seat of Heaven's Grace, lay uprooted on the ground, its branches withered and dry, as if it had lain there for years. Wiser Than Heaven took a small gold-handled hoe which she had attached to the saddle and gave it to her brother. “Hoe a small place on either side of the tree,” she whispered, and was thankful for the grace and elegance with which he did as she told him. Next, she and Tribute of Angels both took a handful of seeds from a green silk pouch she wore around her neck and dropped them into the hoed dirt.

  "Children of the Snake,” she called out to the huge crowd. “Now you must close your eyes with holy dread, for no one may witness what is about to happen.” All up and down the hill people put their hands over their eyes and crouched down and buried their faces in their arms. A strange faint sound drifted through the air, the softest whisper of a breath, a scratch on the wind. Tribute of Angels was telling a story to the seeds. When at last Wiser Than Heaven called to the people to open their eyes two fully grown fig trees stood at the top of the hill. And behind them vines and flowers covered the walls and doors and windows of the Kingdom of God.

  Thus ended the long rule of the Readers, who worshipped the sky and ignored the Earth. No longer would they kill the Snake's companions, no longer would they lure him to shed his skin. From then on, each Immortal Snake would serve his people for the length of his life.

  * * * *

  Far to the east, in the Land of Mud and Glory, the man whom his subjects called Emperor of All the World stood in a small dark room with the seer of the imperial court. Though the Emperor was a short man and the seer was long and bony, the Emperor rose high above the diviner, for he stood on stilts covered by his long robe painted with the night sky. His face was painted green and his hair was braided and waxed to stand out from his head like the rays of the sun.

  Very old and thin, and dressed in a shapeless robe the color of mud, with long white hair, the seer might have been a man and might have been a woman. Not even the Emperor knew, or cared.

  The two of them stared into a small three-legged cauldron where the remains of an ancient tortoise bubbled in a dark broth. “Now?” said the Emperor.

  "No,” the seer said. “Not yet."

  The Emperor sighed. “"Then it will not come in my lifetime."

  "Perhaps not even in the lifetime of your son. But it will come."

  "Then all is good."

  * * * *

  Immortal Snake ruled seventeen years, dying finally after he went out in a storm to command a tornado not to attack his city. The tornado turned aside, but the ruler became ill and his lungs filled with water and he drowned in his love for his people. During his reign, with his sister and Tribute of Angels beside him, he became the living breath of compassion and wisdom. And power. The Army of Heaven extended its rule over countries and provinces and peoples no one had even known existed. Every year the other Great Powers sent money and treasure to the Nine Rings, while their young men and women imitated the styles and speech and art of the land of Immortal Snake, which was no longer Written in the Sky, but had been renamed, under the direction of the ruler's sister, Mirror of God.

  Tribute of Angels no longer spoke every night, but four times a year, at the beginning of the seasons, people gathered at sunset up and down the hills to the south of the Nine Rings. Tribute of Angels would sit cross-legged on top of the hill, wearing the slave clothes in which he'd first come before Immortal Snake. He spoke softly, yet each would hear him as if the Teller sat alongside and whispered in their ears. When morning came, the people would walk away slowly, their faces empty but their eyes lit with a secret fire, like someone who dreams that he has passed through the seven spheres and come upon the hidden throne of God.

  When Immortal Snake died, panic rose up in the land. People burned their crops at night, for fear the sun had gone out and they would never be warm again. When day came others jumped off their roofs in the belief that divine messengers would lift Immortal Snake to heaven and they would be carried along. The world must end, they thought, for no Immortal Snake had ever died a natural death, and now there were no Readers to appoint a new one.

  Soon, however,
joy replaced terror, for the word went out from the Nine Rings that the people themselves would choose their ruler. As for the choice, no one even had to discuss it. Tribute of Angels became the new Immortal Snake. In a ceremony designed by his beloved, he lay face down on the Plaza of Celestial Glory. One by one the ministers, heads of the noble families, and even village leaders sprinkled him with rose oil, calling “Rise up, beloved of God. Rise up.” Finally, Wiser Than Heaven herself took the body in her arms, like a mother sheltering a dead child. “Rise up, rise up,” she said. “Awaken to your people. Rise up, Immortal Snake!” Now he opened his eyes, and kissed her, and the celebrations began.

  Under the rule of the new Immortal Snake the land of Mirror of God became even more powerful, more loved and admired. Its empire now stretched across the world. When drought or locusts destroyed crops people everywhere suffered, except in Mirror of God, for they had taken the best of every nation's plants and livestock and spices.

  For twenty-two years Immortal Snake, who had been Tribute of Angels, ruled his people. And then the sun hid his face, for the Snake became ill.

  Day after day Wiser Than Heaven sat alongside him. He lay now on the same narrow bed he'd requested for his quarters so long ago. When she joined him, there was more than enough room for both of them, for it was as if each had vanished and a single being replaced them. It had always been like this. In their glory days it was as if a star came to lie among mortals. Now it looked like the union of light and shadow, for the great storyteller was nearly gone.

  She was sitting alongside his bed on the tenth night of his illness when he turned toward her and whispered, “Can you see the sky?"

  "Yes, of course,” she said as she glanced up at the high window above the bed.

  "Tell me what is written there."

  She began to cry, the first time in days. “I'm sorry,” she managed to say. “I don't know."