Chapter II, Part II: Deoxy's Origin Myth
13th Cycle, Water-Type Month, 1191 AAD
Abandoned Village, Renqu Prefecture
PW's eyes were shut but his mind raced on. The chilly morning wind licked his ears. Thick clouds stuffed the heavens; they bore the sun's rays upon their backs and kept it at bay, and so the earth was covered with a soft deep blue haze. In the cities, was almost time for the pidgey to arise form his nest and sing. The night guards, cold and lonely at the gates, would then head home to rest.
PW folded like a book in his sleep. Minutes ago he turned over and the pain tore him out his rest. He sat his chin on a dark windowsill. The roads were dusty, the grass tall and dry. There were crumbs of brickwork at the foundation of a nearby altar. The pokemon who stole him a way moved into a tiny rural ghost town at the top of a hill. Maybe 10 machoke, or 40 pichu, or 4 nidokings could live here comfortably. PW briefly prayed for his family, then got up. He was a tomb sweeper. He worked from sunrise to sunset, so he had little time to dwell. He would have to check on his wound, eat, and then leave.
The family's hierarchy was as follows: Drifter, a chesnaught, was the alpha. He barked orders at his six 'children'. Finally, PW was as low as the dirt under their feet. Although they did not hate him, they did him no favors either. The 'children' consisted of two ekans, a talonflame, a bidoof, and a drowzee. The benefit of them living here was that everyone received their own home. PW's thought it exciting at first, but reality was a brutal party pooper. His home was a single small room made of rammed earth. A floor of dirt. It had two pieces of furniture: a bed and an altar table. The bidoof, Rishu, built them according to an instructional book—or his hazy memory of it anyway. The beds were short tables but with old fishing nets across the top instead of a firm surface. Meanwhile, the altar table wiggled on its tall legs worse than a newborn ponyta. Rishu wanted to be a master woodworker. The proper schools required tuition, however, so, the bidoof practiced on his own.
A polished bronze mirror sat atop PW's altar table. His wound went from a large purple rash to a small lesion where fur did not grow. As he examined it, a fog blew over the village, and the moisture dug into the walls and forced up an ugly scent of wet mold. A breeze thrust through the gaps in the window shutters and scooped out the scent, then it trickled back into his nostrils. PW shoved open the wooden door to his little shack and took deep breaths. He glanced around. The place did look ancient, in the worst ways possible.
He spotted purple creatures slithering out the grass. The ekans duo went to PW every morning, bringing him water, medication, or on this occasion, a message. "Porridge!" One of them shouted. He then bobbed his head, copying his brother. "Fresh porridge!"
"There will be a new flavor of porridge!" His brother added. Their heads bobbed as if triangulating the monk's position. In reality the first one struggled to focus his eyes, being too close to the mienfoo, yet too stubborn to move backward. The second just like how the motion felt on his neck.
"Zhi, Er, Drifter won't-?"
They hissed and stopped him. "We swear on Shenlong's name, "they said in unison, "We are Yi!"
"And Er!" His name said like 'are'.
"That's right, Yi, and Er…" And I thought my name was stupid. "Drifter won't let me eat until you all pray."
And then came the chesnaught's voice, shouting through the walls. If anyone else still slept, they did not afterward. "Go sell venom in Kebia like you should be doing!"
"Yes Drifter!" In unison. PW bowed to Yi and Er, then they were gone. PW's ears quickly rotated towards the sound of a curse word flying out a window. Drifter, the chesnaught, had burned himself. PW went to help. Drifter hunched over a pot of porridge as it boiled over a clay oven, kissing his burnt finger like a newborn.
His home smelled even worse than PW's. He used the talonflame's bile as fuel, as well as driftwood. His oven was a simple thing of clay. The 'elements' were holes for the flames to lick the bottom of the iron pot. The oven as well as the other items in his home were all that was left behind by the earlier residents. No-one knew the reason, but it was suspected that the old residents looked to move into apartments in the city, and thus would have no room for them. Regardless, Drifter had clearly taken the best home for himself, and made full use of it. Upon PW's entering, the grass-type nodded to him.
"Hey kid! Does your wound still hurt?"
"I rolled on it again in my sleep," PW pouted. "At least it is the morning this time. Are you okay?!"
"Only babies cry," he sung.
Drifter moved his pot to a rickety table. He held his hands near to the pot as if using mind powers to make sure the table did not break, and only once completely satisfied in his food's safety, did he take his eyes off it. He plucked a jar of pickled vegetables from off the ground, dumping it into the porridge. PW rose an eyebrow. No wonder the meal was always watery, mushy, slop.
"Looks scrumptious, doesn't it? If I had the skill I would bake." As if reading his mind, Drifter commented on the dish, yet he then dumped oil into the pot. "Hm, what's missing," he mused. His face scrunched up as he thought. He put the pot back on the burner so the excess moisture would cook out. He grabbed something off a nearby shelf: a scroll of bamboo. He handed it to PW. As the boy unrolled it, he made a light smile.
"The High Priestess sent me a note?"
Drifter saw his energy shift and snickered. "Her personal mail bird just before you woke up. Let's help pay taxes before you go, yes?" PW of course shook his head. "Since you are healed, you will be my labor boy. You'll fetch the water, the groceries, clean the rooms, and all those other girly tasks."
"Argh..." PW groaned. "Elder, how am I to pay taxes if my job doesn't pay me?"
He tugged the hair on his chin. "Simple, go to the farm and take a basket. Fill it with gracedia in one shift! Leave it on the table."
But rather than move, PW stood silently with his mouth open slightly. "…Are the flowers going to be sold to pay taxes?"
"The crops are taxes! In fact, it is not even time to sell crops, not until the first moon of next month! Oh, that's what, I have to make sure Rishu fixed my wagon right…," PW imagined the elderly grass-type in the streets in Kebia, crouched under an umbrella beside his cart. He keenly, diligently waiting until all his product was sold. He worked until he could not, refusing to give in just because he was slower than his younger counterparts.
"Your time units, what are they?"
Drifter once pulled at the fluff on his chin. "Quarters, stints, shifts, brawls, battles, rests, and flinches! Quarters are a fourth of the day, the rest are a fourth of the previous. Now get picking!"
PW bowed and rushed outside. Drifter tucked away little farms in every patch of soil available on the hill. With Rishu's help, Drifter was able to force crops to grow, though it took longer. There were three farms in total. They had a farm for growing taxes, a farm for growing food, and a zen garden for growing bored. PW collected a basket laid by the soil and got to his work in the tax farm. By now, PEAT had been assigned his morning chore enough times to know it by heart. He was sat upon a big rock by the tax farm with a guqin on his lap.
"Zao." He said.
"Zao!" PW replied. He looked up to see PEAT staring intensely at him, seething. "You don't have anything better to do?" PW asked.
"He said to me, 'go watch that new child!'. So I watch you."
"That was days ago!" PW picked a flower too harshly. The stem split vertically in two; the liquid viscera dripped down his paw. He wiped it on his fluff. "Something tells me he wouldn't ask other kinds of children to be watched..."
" 'The Old Numel Damns the River' "
"What's that?"
PEAT sighed regretfully. "Another thing we can't afford," he muttered. "It is about a numel so impatient, he dams a river instead of waiting for the tide to recede, so the city drowns."
"Are you trying to tell me something?"
"The gracedia are a bribe to keep us from being conscripted into the army. You should shut up and assimilate to save our skins."
He gave a determined humph. "Better to die on my feet than begging on my knees."
PEAT readied his guqin. He plucked out a song according to his memory, the resonating notes filling not only the air, but the soul as well. As his own playing grew pleasant to him, PEAT played with a steadier tempo.
"I told you about that noise!" Drifter shouted from his home. PEAT plucked as gently he could, but his guqin was no silent instrument. Therefore, he went on the defense, shouting back.
"His lectures start soon!"
"You are becoming so untrustworthy; you will be drafted like From Vermilion Skies soon if you do not stop! Do you understand?!"
"Yes, Drifter!"
"Play until prayer and be silent about it!"
PEAT sounded submissive, but he then mumbled something secret. It scared the psychic to know that his talonflame friend was promoted to the army so quickly. Not two hours after From Vermilion Skies helped battled PW, Empress Quqi had placed him in the flying navy. At the same time, the drowzee knew it was fated that he would serve either way, given his rare typing.
He found PW trying to stuff a smile behind his shoulder. PEAT called him out, shaking his fist. "Dare he laugh at my expense? I will control your mind and lead you down a well!" PW shook his head, still giggling. "Laugh until your stomach tears! Your people did not believe Her Lateness was serious either!" The drowzee folded his hands together, screwing his eyes shut, and making an ugly grimace.
"Chill out! I'm not laughing at you! I'm laughing because—because," his tone more serious as he chose words, "Argh! You would not understand if I explained!"
PEAT said nothing, face stern, chin on hands. He waited very patiently, as PW snuffed out his fits of smiles and giggles. Once all was silent, save the rustling of wind through grass, he said, "Are you through laughing at this impoverished young man?"
PW ducked his head. "Please understand,"
"Your dreams are all that I must know! At your temple you showed others how little you own and how much you train but your stomach was always full of food. May I ask you a question?"
PW stood straight. "Depends on what that question is..."
"Of course," he spat. PEAT took to his guqin again. He plucked slow, strong notes. "You imperials, why do you laugh at us humble workers who suffer for your gain?" PW went silent. "Don't attempt to answer, it is a rhetorical question. Rhetorical...Rhetoric." He muttered. "The wise Philosopher Yang Xiangfa uses this skill masterfully. As a medicham, I suspect his reasoning will be the best around."
"If you don't have money for his speeches, can you buy a book of his?"
He strummed a note. "Never." He stated immediately. "I will never meet him or his works. My name is too 'low-class'," huffing angrily.
PW felt the atmosphere thicken on his whiskers as a fog of moist air swept through the garden. PEAT played an uplifting tune. " I enjoy playing, 'Who has a Crush on the Dragon?'. A garchomp admires Shenlong. She trains, flying across the world, building her endurance so she may reach Him. She dies in the mesosphere. 'Do not reach for the stars,' He teaches us."
Grim, PW thought. "What do you do for money?"
"I am a bard. I sit across the hills, and through the trees, and speak in some courts, reciting my eaten dreams for an audience of some, for pay that equals none." Suddenly, another instrument stole the stage. A massive bronze bell in a distant temple rung twice.
PEAT stood up quickly. "Full basket!?"
"Full enough!"
PEAT, PW, and the elusive Rishu hurried to Drifter's home. PW left his basket on the table as he was told, then was beckoned by Drifter. He gave PW a small prayer book. "It is time you joined our service and find out why all children love their prayer!" The old man happily stated.
PW had the stern expression his kind were known to. "I don't have to chop rocks?"
"Not today, sit with us," he said.
Breakfast was ready. Drifter moved his porridge from a pot to a large iron rice bowl set in the center of the table. Everyone was given a spoon, but it was not quite time to eat yet. Before they ate, however, they were to pray for the morning. PW skimmed through the book, hoping to silently discredit their religion. However, he saw not parables, but heros and villains battling in ancient paintings, spitting action-hero quips in beautiful clerical script. PW hurriedly looked to the others, to see if he was given a comic book or if it truly was a holy text, but this glancing was cut short by Drifter. "PIT!" He shouted.
"It is PEAT!"
"PEAT! Read the first verse! Then, Rishu, and PW!"
PW squinted and looked away, trying to understand where one verse ended and other began, as there were no punctuation marks unlike the modern Mandarin he was used to. He learned quickly, however, and so began the Black Star Province's origin myths.
Issue One, Chapter One
"Forty million years ago, the Dragon and his two sons, Groudon and Kyogre, worked tirelessly to form the continent of Asia!"
"Kyogre, the one who likes to cry, made the seas!"
"Groudon, who likes to rest, made the lands!"
"And the Dragon, who likes to roost, formed the heavens!"
"On their eleventh day, they deemed their work splendid and gave themselves a holiday in each's domain. Groudon laid dormant in the hottest volcano and Kyogre in the deepest marine trench, but the Dragon had no place to rest!"
" 'Son Groudon, there is no place for me to vacation. I must sleep in your location.' "
"Our lord above curled around a mountain and took off His sore wings. He did not have the clouds to hide Him, nor company for His loneliness. In His final act before bed, He created all of Asia's pokemon and breathed life into them. Then He made Snapdragon: a feraligatr in his image. His scales were jade. His fists could crack the earth in half. God spoke to him before His slumber."
" 'Snapdragon, defend me from the treacheries of greed. Make evil pokemon pay me no heed!' "
"But He was too tired. The dragon forgot to breathe life into Snapdragon!"
"The boulders became pebbles. A misdreavus, hungry and frowning, floated up to the head of God. Because of Groudon's tossing sleep, a piece of China broke off. The lowered population made DuxDux mope."
" 'Oh great lord, who makes us blink and breath, why do you not make enough souls for me to eat?' " Hearing no response, the ghost became angry! 'Wretched God, did you forget to create ears? If you will not help me, I will help myself!' "
"The Evil DuxDux possessed a meteor and flew into him. He intended to poison the Dragon Lord through food. God bit the meteor, and inside laid a demon of equal power! God killed Deoxys, so DuxDux possessed it, too. He tried to kill Demon DuxDux with a meteor, but DuxDux hit back three!"
" 'Snapdragon,' He called. 'My faith laid in your name! But when trouble speaks, I am to blame! DuxDux dances with his son of death all because I forgot your breath!' "
"Completely embarrassed, the dragon fled, forgetting His wings behind a shed. Into the skies, He'd always stay. He made a mistake and His children paid!"
"Forty million years later, their battle still goes."
"Snapdragon and DuxDux, forever foes!"
A dull thud hit PW's ears as Drifter smacked his book shut. The family turned their heads to the mienfoo. PW grew nervous.
"What are you looking at me for?!"
"Well, Shaolin, what do you think?"
He crossed his arms. "Err…My mom told me not to talk about politics or religion!"
Drifter shouted: "Go to work!"
PW's eyes shot open. "What did I do?!"
Drifter stood up and cracked his knuckles. PW left without question. He quickly saw the reason he was kicked out so quickly. The sun had risen five degrees since his waking up. His tomb sweeping role would last from sunrise to sunset, food to be provided by the generosity of the visitors.
