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Chapter 23
The curse formed the crux of Shoma Shehure's thinking. He'd been there, three years ago, when Asheno's predecessor, Hathori's father Ekhuze, died. As per tradition, all the living Dzuni were summoned to Ekhuze's bedside once the doctor decided the end was approaching. Shehure, then seven years old, and Ahame each sat on one side of Hathori. The young dragon stared at his frothing, thrashing father the entire time. His mother wasn't there—she had left long ago, agreeing to bear Hathori and Hatharu only as part of a business proposition. Shehure and Ahame were Hathori's real family. Only they had any real conception of the suffering Hathori had borne at Ekhuze's hands.
Two months before, the little dog and snake stumbled upon Hathori sitting on a rock in the northwest corner, quietly sobbing. When Ahame touched his shoulder, Hathori flinched and tried in vain to hide the pain. His friends, however, discovered the large, angry bruises appearing on his shoulders and backside.
"How many times has your father done this?" Shehure remembered asking Hathori.
"This is the first time," replied the dragon, but too quickly for Shehure's comfort. Shehure correctly guessed that Ekhuze beat Hathori often, and Hatharu, too. It was impossible for the dog's sharp ears to miss the servants' and Dzunis' hushed conversations about Ekhuze's screaming fits and how one servant needed stitches after being attacked by him. How like Hathori to try to hide it, to keep his dearest friends from worrying. Already, at the age of seven, Hathori was well-known among the Dzuni for his compassion and his tendency to always put others' troubles before his. He was forever digging Shehure and Ahame out of the conundrums they got into.
The sight of the dark green bruise made Shehure's blood boil.
"Hathori, we're here, it's okay," Ahame hugged the boy, trying to brush away his tears.
Family head or no, Shehure couldn't just let this pass. Hathori didn't deserve such abominable treatment.
"I'm going to get some ice for Hathori," lied Shehure, running towards the house.
"Okay, Hure," called Ahame, using his pet name for Shehure.
The dog snuck by the servants soundlessly. Ekhuze lived in the wing occupied by every Dzuni god in family history, up through Asheno. As he followed Shehure's memories, deep foreboding entered Haku's mind when he saw Shehure slide into the exact same parlor where he'd had so many altercations with Asheno. But instead of Asheno, an even more skeletal and pallid man lay on a divan next to the bay window. A tank stood by the divan, within easy reach of the man. Oxygen. Ekhuze had the same color hair and eyes, except his hair was shoulder-length. The rasping of his breathing could be heard clearly throughout the room.
As Ekhuze slowly settled into a sitting position, the dog felt his courage quiver. The head's eyes were wide open, the whites startlingly visible, and the irises glazed with an expression Shehure couldn't identify.
Madman, Shehure had once heard a servant say, spitting teeth and blood into her hand after bringing dinner to Ekhuze.
He considered apologizing and leaving. The memory of the livid bruises steeled his faltering reserve.
"Good evening, my God," Shehure said, bowing jerkily. "I came here to tell you not to beat Hathori and Hatharu anymore." Ooh, he hadn't meant to blurt it out like that. A feeling of dread grew as he waited for Ekhuze's response.
The crazed eyes looked at Shehure endlessly. "And why shouldn't I beat them? They are my Dzuni." The crackly, weak voice laughed. "If they disobey me, they must pay. You Dzuni are always so ungrateful to the god who's sacrificing his life so that you may live. I am 21. I will die before my 25th birthday. That is the way it's always been. I will die, alone in my misery, and all of you will be glad for my death." The mouth twisted itself into a furious grimace, then a devilish smile. "If you're going to be so happy at my death anyway, I might as well make you even happier."
Unexpectedly strong hands gripped the neck of Shehure's hekasho, as he sat, mesmerized by the deadly, grating words. Haku had experienced that same feeling of surprise every time Asheno's fragile-looking body took on an inhuman strength in anger. Ekhuze lifted the boy off his feet, and dragged him towards an old wooden door concealed by a tapestry. Ekhuze and the struggling Shehure disappeared down a dark stairway.
"This is a special place for the dog," Ekhuze finally stopped, his breathing labored. Shehure's eyes widened as he scanned the small wire cage, barely large enough to contain his body curled up. Shehure kicked more fiercely, but in the end Ekhuze overpowered him and stuffed him into the contraption.
"I think one night in here will make you a good doggie," cooed Ekhuze, oblivious to the bites and scratches Shehure had given him. He turned, leaving the boy locked in a cramped blackness.
Two months later, as he watched his dying god, Shehure thought that no doubt he was happy Ekhuze was dying. Nevertheless, he kept his face somber on purpose. It would be a hot day in Gobrin before he satisfied Ekhuze's predictions that his death would bring happiness to the Dzuni.
The rattling and screaming stilled abruptly. The tense muscles relaxed and settled onto the bedclothes. The eyes still stared, deranged, up at the ceiling, all movement ceased.
"Thank God," the old horse said at last, "he's dead!" Several of the older Dzuni, and some of the younger, including Ahame, smiled. Hathori let out an audible sigh of relief, slumping in his seat. Shehure saw Hatharu silently mouth thanks.
"Aren't you glad he's dead?" asked Ahame, noticing Shehure's grim look for the first time.
"No. I refuse to be glad."
Shehure was present at the birth of Asheno, five months later. When he sensed his end nearing, Ekhuze had hired a woman, to insure that a new baby would quickly be available to replace him. He hadn't fathered Asheno—no one was certain who Asheno's parents were, for the woman had left afterwards and the father some stranger she'd lured to her bed.
"Too bad he'll go insane," the sheep murmured as the Dzuni beheld their new god, still bloody from the birth and wailing thinly. The youngest Dzuni, the monkey and boar, took fright at the grotesque child and were lead out of the room.
"This child marks the sixth Dzuni god I've known in my lifetime," the ancient tiger remarked matter-of-factly.
I will die, alone in my misery, and all of you will be glad for my death.
Ekhuze's words thudded in Shehure's mind. The memories of that night still burned. No, there was no reason to be glad when the god died. Another one would come along, to renew the cycle of misery among the Dzuni.
They are my Dzuni.
Did they really belong to the god? Unconsciously, the dog's brain said yes, the Dzuni belongs to the god, and they must obey the god. But why? Why? Shehure's voice of reason couldn't accept the instinct to obey for no good reason.
That is the way it's always been.
"Does it always have to be like this?" Shehure wondered out loud. Only the sheep heard him.
That evening, after drinking the traditional toast to Asheno, and performing the traditional oath of allegiance to the new god, Shehure escaped to the northwest corner. The first hint of frost hung delicately in the air. Wandering the meandering paths aimlessly, the dog found himself looking up at Old Blood.
That is the way it's always been.
The Dzuni were invariably either rejected by their parents, or overprotected by them. Shehure had been relatively lucky—his parents had been squeamish at first at the prospect of raising a baby who'd turned into a blind, deaf, whimpering puppy when embraced by his mother after birth. Still, they had tried to have a baby for so long that they were willing to give Shehure a chance once the curse had been explained to them. He enjoyed an unusually viable relationship with both parents. Stories abounded of despairing mothers committing suicide, fathers sinking into alcohol, both parents going insane, turning siblings against their cursed brethren…Hathori and Hatharu's mother had just abandoned them, and Ekhuze had been no prize in the parental department.
The mother of Rhishu, the toddler monkey, seemed loving enough to Shehure, but Rhishu's father had serious problems. Already, Shehure could see self-esteem problems developing in poor Rhishu. Certainly, why shouldn't he have problems after listening to his father blame his mother for Rhishu's "condition" in one of their extremely audible arguments? Whenever Shehure saw Rhishu's father, he never smiled and his cheeks were always flushed from drinking too much wine.
The father of Khagura, the boar, had left her mother after she was born. The tiger once mentioned she'd been raised by Shehure's predecessor when her mother threw herself off a balcony. The tiger, cow, sheep, horse, rat, and rabbit were all elderly. Surely, as new Dzuni replaced the older ones, Shehure would see more examples of parental dysfunction in his lifetime.
That is the way it's always been.
Dzuni rarely ever married outside of the family. Usually they married each other, or occasionally a trusted relative. It was not unheard of for Dzuni to resort to dalliances with the estate servants to relieve their sexual needs. That offered fewer problems than risking a broken heart when a lover found out about the curse and rejected them, or getting the approval of the head for marrying outside the family.
That is the way it's always been.
The dead god's echoing voice gained a disturbing quality as recollections of, "You can't blame Ekhuze for hitting his own son, it's the curse," or "Ekhuze can't help it, he's insane" popped into Shehure's mind. Why MUST they resign themselves to such behavior? Surely they could seek a better life than that?
Spiting his memories of the wire cage, pity flooded Shehure. The late god, who couldn't live to his 25th birthday. Unable to experience two solid weeks of good health. No mother or father to love and comfort him, forget his "wife" and two sons, both of who had obviously feared and hated him. A man who never had the chance to play with other children in the sunlight, to roll around in the mud, instead imprisoned in the darkness of his own mind and the sticky, tangled cobwebs of the curse. Asheno would go through the same insidious process, rotting from the inside out. Maybe Shehure should try to be friends with the new god…although he would probably turn out just like Ekhuze in the end.
The thought of imprisonment reminded Shehure of the cat. The cat, traditionally doomed to a life of internment within the same house for most of his or her natural life, allowed contact only through the bars of the house's windows. Even the servants shunned the cat's house. This current cat was unusual—he had been allowed to marry when he was young, presumably by a more benevolent head than Ekhuze. Shehure had never seen the cat, although he had heard the whisperings about the cat's true form. A monster. The cat had a grandson seven years older than Shehure, named Khazuma. The dog admired Khazuma greatly—he knew about the family curse, yet continued to treat the Dzuni like human beings. He'd even tried to help Shehure learn basic martial arts concepts. Khazuma hadn't been around lately; he was too busy training to become a martial arts master. Admiring the silhouette of Old Blood against the setting sun, Shehure idly wondered if Khazuma knew the cat at all.
Shehure did not have a chance to find out until immediately after Lhadoman's birth, three years after Ekhuze died. By an odd coincidence, Shehure discovered the now-seventeen-year-old Khazuma seated upon a crumbling stone bench built into a garden wall across from Old Blood. Khazuma had developed the muscular physique of the martial artist, but his face retained minute traces of baby fat on the cheeks and his hair still shone with the same ginger tint. Shehure heard Khazuma sigh despondently. Of course, his grandfather had just died. Perhaps Khazuma had been close to the old cat?
"My condolences for your grandfather's death, Khazuma," The dog approached the older teenager from behind.
"Oh! Shehure," Khazuma, startled, then smiled. "Haven't seen you in a long time." The smile lacked some of the warmth Shehure remembered.
"Were you close to him?"
"Who? Oh, my grandfather the cat." Khazuma smiled bitterly and said no more. Shehure observed his face carefully. Maybe the teenager felt guilty?
"Are you going to high school now?" asked the dog, to change the topic.
"Hmm…no. I'm being tutored at home so I can devote more time to martial arts." At the mention of martial arts, Khazuma brightened a little. "In a year or two, I hope establish my own teaching center."
"You can teach all the Dzuni! You're an excellent teacher. The only moves I remember are the ones you taught me," said Shehure, demonstrating a few punches and kicks. "See?"
Khazuma laughed. "Indeed, but you're very rusty."
"I never was very good. The art of writing is the road for me." Shehure laughed as well.
"I'm glad, writing will be a good way for you to relieve yourself," Khazuma nodded his head seriously. Shehure's smile faded, as the two returned to their own inner thoughts.
"Hure! Where are you?" Ahame's voice yelled, piercing the silence.
"You'd best go, I'll be back to pay my respects to the family soon," said Khazuma.
As Shehure ran towards the house, he heard Khazuma say quietly to himself, "He'll suffer so much."
Who will suffer so much? Curiosity consumed Shehure, but he thought better of pressing Khazuma.
"I've been looking for you for ages!" Ahame scolded as Shehure came within sight of the spacious back porch.
"Oh, Ahame, you've only been looking for ten minutes," scoffed Shehure, flipping a hand.
"True, true, but I don't want to miss any of the wonderful tea because of you," sang Ahame, poking Shehure in the nose.
"What idiocy are you babbling now, Ahame?" Hathori walked onto the porch, frowning.
In the light teasing that ensued, Shehure momentarily set aside his plans to befriend Asheno and begin looking for an antidote for the curse.