Vietnamese Gods: Deal with a devil

Devils have their rules.

Recap: On the last episode, Desmond Sullivan, his butler, and an assassin they captured fought against the first of Princess Liễu Hạnh’s defense: a giant, haiku-speaking Crane. Tomorrow, they face the labyrinth of Bagua, but tonight, Desmond gathers his tools.

How cliche it was that the Moon was full.

That meant to Lan, it was a mere eight hours after she and her sisters “graduated” and were captured by Desmond Sullivan and his butler. Sitting in the mansion that sprung up in the middle of the desert, Lan wondered how a day could deteriorate so quickly. 

That morning, Lan, the youngest to have ever completed her tenth assassinations required to “graduate,” thought nothing of her task. Missions to eliminate Traitors were a dime a dozen, she herself had snatched four of them as a child. Well, a younger child. Before she could walk, she'd been taught that Traitors were the poison of Motherland - she was to dedicate her life to killing them, while the other side, Fatherland, was a wretched land of corruption and deceit. That morning, for the very first time, she was going to venture into that cursed ground with her sisters for one of the most heinous Traitors of all, he who was called Desmond Sullivan.

As the horse-carriage brought them South, Lan thought of the night before, when the Allmother paid her a visit. She recalled being summoned to the Chief's tent, but the hearth was cold. No stories were to be told that night. Instead, the Allmother called out to her from the dark, her voice dug into her skin, prodded at her mind for her lost mother. Lan didn't go through all the mental training to have those memories resurface and hurt her once more. She kneeled.

“Allmother birthed me, and I shall die for thee.” - Lan recited the mantra.

Lan…

The Goddess called her name, the voice, no, thought was placed in her head, tearing apart her magical barriers.

I am proud of you, young one.

“Thank you, Allmother.” 

Be careful of the man they called Desmond Sullivan. 

“Believe in me, Allmother. I shall succeed.” 

You're not the first to come for him, Âu Cơ said. Others have, and failed.

The Allmother put another image inside Lan's head, a glimpse of hastily dug graves that hosted her brothers and sisters in the hundred. Was it at Desmond Sullivan's behest or the price to pay for failure, Lan wasn't sure. 

“I shall succeed.” She repeated. There was little use for fake bravado or confidence in the face of someone who was in her head. She believed in herself, and that was going to have to be enough.

Desmond Sullivan.

Lan felt a sudden pressure on her brain when the name was uttered, then silent.

“Who is he, Allmother Âu Cơ?”

And the Story shaped itself in her mindscape, events by events, characters by characters, everything flickered back and forth in her eyes. The Hero, Son of Saint Gióng, The Vanquisher of Death, The Hell Walker, The Practical One. 

The Deceiver. Âu Cơ annunciated each letter, branding them into Lan's very existence. 

But Lan, my child. A wave of love covered the young assassin, smothering and suffocating and choking her heart until Lan found herself gasping for air.

Âu Cơ rose from the shadow, but all Lan could see was more darkness, darkness bent and willed into the shape of a long-haired woman. 

I, Allmother Âu Cơ, believe in you. She said.

I, who birth the first hundred children, Goddess of the Hearth. I believe in you. 

Lan found herself in tears, as she felt the scars she got, the sisters and brothers that died in training, it was all leading to this moment. It was all worth it.

I shall give you my blessings. Vanquish the insolent fool for me, and you shall join the ranks of my Protectors, fighting my husband by my side.

With that, the figure disappeared, leaving Lan blazed in her own determination.

Now, she found herself opposite of the Traitor, Desmond Sullivan himself. 

“That was it? Quite lame if you asked me, the whole “You're the Chosen One” trick. Can't believe you’d fall for that.” Desmond was laughing now, holding his stomach as if what Lan told him was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

Tracking him down was easy: the Allmother had shown her a trail of magic that led straight to him. With all the setbacks - being captured immediately, then denied an honourable death, then having to fight a giant crane for him so he'd let her sisters go - Lan hadn't had a good look at the so-called Hero until now. She was disappointed. The Chief sad he was 26 years old, but he more resembled a child in an adult suit. Yes, his suit was undoubtedly expensive, even with her untrained eyes, the silk  and flow like the night sky, and defensive magic pulsing underneath. Yet the first impression he gave off was uncomfortable, as she noticed on more than one occasion he rolled his shoulders and pulled on his sleeves, or took off his shoes only to put them back on again a bit later. 

She was also expecting a chiselled jawline and body straight out of the magazines she read on the train. But there was nothing remarkable about the man in front of her in terms of looks: a round face, black hair that was cut with a bowl on the owner's head and covered the eyes, finished off with a nose that took up a bit too much real-estate on his face. Without the suit, she would have forgotten him immediately if they happened to bump into one another on the street. Perhaps there was a reason why he dawned such an inappropriate attire for such a mission, to flaunt appearance, draw attention from his unimpressive face, a shy peacock. 

Everything changes however, when he started talking. When she woke up to see him scribbling in his note on a chair opposite her, she was going to throw everything she had at him. She was supposed to, but she couldn’t. For one thing, she hasn’t been able to feel her mana at all. For another, she couldn't physically muster up any anger.

“Don't bother.” - He said without looking up. She noticed he was drawing.

“Where have you taken me, Traitor?” - Was it the smell of lavender and chamomile, or how soft it was what she was laying on, or that melancholic music. Or was it his voice?

“Do you like Beethoven, Ms. Lan?” - Did he get that from her expression?

“Is that the name of the instrument?” - The question was forced out of her. 

“It's the composer, the person who made that music. It's my wife's favourite piece, Moonlight Sonata played on a violin.” - He answered.

“Where is this place, Traitor?” - She tried to summon her rage again to no avail. She was relaxed, for the first time in years. That wasn't a voice, but cotton candy, or clouds, or her mother's lap. 

“It's a pocket dimension. Quite handy, don't you think?” He finished the drawing, turned a page, wrote something in the corner.

“Where are my sisters?”

“I answered your question, now it's my turn. Tell me, Ms. Lan, what did the Allmother tell you?”

And she did. Then, before she could inquire further, he told her a Story, not his own, but of Saint Gióng, one she had never heard before, one that was too far-fetched to be true, one filled with blood and pain.

“Is it true?” She asked when he ended the story, with Saint Gióng waking up from the pain.

“What is Truth?” Desmond sneered, but his eyes were glazed over, seemingly drained by the Story. His butler, who was standing there in silence, offered him some chocolate on a silver platter.

“Am I to just take your words? From a Traitor no less, that one of our Gods were manufactured by our Father?”

“You believe in what you will. I’m not here to convince. I’m just a Storyteller.”

“So you just make up stories?”

“Somebody has to.”

Lan came to a revelation to never look into his eyes, because what minutes ago sounded impossible was now convincing, even real under his gaze. How can someone's eyes be so serious? Along with that, the head, the nonchalance but firm palm under the chin while the other slowly tensed up into a fist. It was as if the word “serious" came to life and became the boy in front of her.

“Do you know what the Gods are most afraid of?” - He broke the stare, and she could feel herself breathing again.

“How could they be?” - She couldn't imagine how Âu Cơ and her tendrils of darkness could fear.

“They are afraid of being forgotten. Many have been, and many more will be.” 

“What if they were?”

“They become nothing.” - Desmond snapped his finger as emphasis. 

“And what role do you play?”

“Have you seen The Archive?”

“What sort of question is that? It’s the biggest library in Motherland.”

“I didn’t ask if you knew about it. I asked if you’ve seen it.”

“No... It’s hidden away by magic.”

“Tell me, how much magic would it take to conceal a tower that supposedly stores the records of everyone in your population?

To this, Lan didn't respond.

“Correct, unless the Allmother could spare her magic for such a feat, but I know for a fact she isn't too big on administration.”

Lan knew the answer now.

“Yes. Your so-called Archive isn’t a building, it’s a group of people. A group of us, the Storytellers to be exact.”

And Desmond finally showed Lan what he was working on: a drawing of… her, only years older, along with detailed background information from blood type to mole placement. One line that stuck out was: Status: Deceased (2040). That was ten years ago.

“Is that…”

“I met her around a month ago in District 3, about 50 minutes from where we are.”

“But they said she…”

“No, Ms. Lan. Your mother, in fact, did not die on a botched mission. Vengeance, however, serves as a great motivation.”

“Why are you showing me this?”

“I need your genuine assistance. No more blackmailing or threats. I need you to help me of your own free-will and consent, with full brain capacity, and not only will I let your sisters go, but I will take you to your mother.” - Desmond said, looking at her again with those eyes.

She agreed without a second thought as to why this man, who had her at the tips of his fingers, would need such a thing as “consent.”

She would soon learn that devils had their rules.

This is the seventh episode of this novel. The fifth episode is here.

If you would like more information on Vietnamese Mythology, you’ve come to the right place.

Want to know how to pronounce the Vietnamese words in the post? I have a Glossary too (although it might take me quite a while to fully update it).