The Spear Cuts Through Water

by Simon Jimenez

Even the Third Emperor, the softest of my boys, turned cruel in his later years. In those days I was a more active parent; I even delighted in teaching my sons the way of the world. The Third and I spent much time in the Bowl, where I showed him the secrets within its waters. The worms that emerged from the spout of the Sleeping Sea; worms that spun silk in their bellies. And together we wove fine carpets and tapestries the likes of which I think are yet to be matched in quality. He was, perhaps, too soft. Those who craved his power beheaded him. I took our revenge, and afterward I sewed my son’s head back onto his body, but I saw that ever since then he was not the same. He shied away from the things he used to like to do. He let the people weave the carpets and he shrunk away from the light. Fear weighed on his shoulders every day. Once, on the banister of the pleasure boat, a small bird landed gently, and my son flinched, and I watched him as he, without a word, used the power I had given him to break the bird’s neck. The creature dropped into the water like a rock. “There is nothing left to fear, Mother,” he said softly. Blame is an endless circle. And I seemed to be standing in the center of it.