The Wandering God

54 Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon 2/2

臥虎藏龍
Wò hǔ cáng lóng
Crouching tiger, hidden dragon.
Talented individuals in hiding, concealed talent.

*~*~*~*~*~*

It is embarrassing to say, but there in the darkness I saw my memories pass before my eyes. Just like a scene from a poorly written play.

First my time on the island, filled with sand and waves, and clear turquoise sea. Watching one generation of islanders give way to another. Each long, sun-filled day blurring to the next.

Until the day the dalong had come.

Then there was my time in the ocean, fleeing, fighting, or killing my own kind. Those days were even more blurred, and I was glad. I had not liked who I was then. Something wild, without purpose, lashing out in every direction, just to see how far my own rage and power would take me.

And then I had met Lu. My time with him had been brief, no more than a few decades in my millennia long life. But those decades seemed to occupy more space in my mind than all the other centuries put together.

My memories with Lu were green and alive, filled with the forests of the valley, the sound of the rain on the trees at night, and my friend's laughing but sad eyes.

I miss him.

There was a brief flash of violence and action. The time I had spent fighting beside Lu and Yan and the others to overthrow the old gods. It was just a dark blur of battles and blood in my mind. It almost felt as though I had not lived that part of my life at all. Instead I had been playing a role, that of 'Liu Zhua, the Godeater', risen from the sea to wreck havoc on land.

I had played the role rather well.

After the violence there was my time as the sixth god. Near three centuries spent walking this empire, not caring where my feet took me, where I spent the night.

And then my own misplaced rage had turned me to what I was today, and I spent three centuries as a fallen goddess trapped in human form.

To be honest, I hardly saw much distinction in my memories between my time as the sixth god and my time as a human. You would think there would be a difference, between being a worshipped and desired goddess and a condemned creature wandering the empire.

But really, in my mind both periods of my life felt equally lonely.

There was one ray of sunlight in all those dull memories. Though really, rather than sunlight, I remembered him with the clouds and fog of the sea.

I will always remember the first words my husband spoke to me.

"Well, you're the strangest thing I've ever fished from the sea."

I opened my eyes. I was lying in a bed. I could feel the straw of the pallet through the rough linen laid over it.

The bed was in the corner of a one room cottage. The walls were bare, the ceiling low, but it was clean, the pressed dirt floor swept till it resembled clay.

On a wobbly stool beside the bed a man sat, his broad shoulders pulling the linen tunic tight across them, so I could trace the outlines of his muscles even through the material.

Who is this brute? I wondered as my eyes traced over him. His dark hair was shaved short, with just a hint of stubble upon his head. His hands were big and rough, and I knew he must be a worker of the lowest kind to have such worn hands at his young age.

The man was not bad looking, though rather brawny for my tastes. But I liked the way the muscles of his back sloped down to meet his tight-

"If you're hungry, I can make something for you to eat?" The man said, bringing my attention back up to his dark eyes. They twinkled with amusement.