by Elena May
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Wind of Change
“Merely eight and a half centuries had passed since the birth of Christ, as the Byzantines marked time,” the Prince said, “though my people had counted thousands of lunar years. I still remember it all as if it were yesterday: the day when everything I had known started to unravel.
“The woods were the place to be on that day, an oasis of green freshness under the scorching sun. I walked among the high oaks and elms, collecting firewood to cook the two rabbits my eagle had hunted down earlier. High above the sunlit treetops, sneaking between the dense green leaves, stretched an endless blue sky. Only one small, wispy cloud marred this perfection, eerily frozen in one spot.
“I reached a place where the trees were sparse, and the sun’s glare poured freely over me, blazing and burning. I stepped onto a carpet of colors—blue cornflowers, so bright they looked almost unnatural against the more subdued white yarrow and wild carrot, purple thyme and golden meadow buttercups. High above them all rose the cotton thistle, its flowers purple, fluffy and inviting, but its long stems and branches thorny and harsh. The air hung thick and heavy with their sweet, intoxicating perfume. Birdsong mingled with the loud buzzing of beetles and the chirping of crickets in a heady summer melody.
“The air was so hot, it swam before my eyes, heavy with pollen. Not a breath of breeze reached me, and the leaves and flowers stood unmoving, as if frozen by a magic spell. I ached to remove my riding boots, but sand vipers frequented these woods, and walking barefooted was asking for trouble. I remembered a small pond nearby—more of a natural dam where the river became wide and flowed very slowly. Perhaps I would find freshness there.
“As I walked towards the pond, another sound emerged among the buzzing and birdsong. People talking. I couldn’t make out the words, and, my curiosity rising, I quickened my steps. Soon, I spotted a large rock protruding above the treetops. I knew this rock—people called it the Snake Stone. I knew I could see the pond from the top, but the rock was so steep, I’d have to climb it on all fours.
“As I approached, the speech grew clearer, and I recognized that someone was speaking Greek. I made out a few hushed words—kingdom, union, house. Finally, I reached the rock and placed my palm against it—the surface was so hot I could bake an egg on it. I laid down my firewood and started climbing. Beetles buzzed next to my ears, drowning out all other sounds.
“A dozen lizards were lounging on the rock, but they all scattered as I approached. The largest one bit off its tail before running away, and the limb twisted and jumped before my eyes. A shed snakeskin lay on the rock, and I picked it up to examine it. It was dry and scaly under my fingertips. Zigzagging black over pale grey, splattered with yellow dots. A male horned sand viper. I looked around, my eyes scanning the rock, but the snake had shed his skin and started a new life somewhere else.
“Absentmindedly, I tucked the snakeskin into my belt. I had no idea why I did it. Had I skinned a living snake, I could have used the leather for boots, but this dry husk was useless. And yet, something drew me to this remnant of a past life thrown away and forgotten.
“I reached the upper part of the rock, where I could walk on two feet. Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my eyes turned upwards, towards the pure blue sky. I prayed for blessed wind, but the air was so still, the tiny sand particles covering the rock surface never moved unless my boots kicked them aside. The single cloud above hung suspended in the exact same place.
“I now heard the voices more clearly. ‘Comes to holy Illumination,’ a man was saying in Greek, and my curiosity grew. I took two steps in one stride as I climbed up. ‘That he may prove to be a child of Light, and an inheritor of eternal blessings; let us pray to the Lord.’ I smiled and stopped. A baptism.
“Like all our khans before, Khan Presian allowed our people to practice whatever faith they saw fit. Baptisms in our lands were uncommon, though not unheard of. I myself had seen many during the year I had spent in Constantinople for tutoring, but this one, performed under the clear blue sky, seemed different.
“I took the last step that brought me to the top of the rock. Down below, I saw six horses grazing along the shore of the river. My eyes moved to the figures standing next to the small pond.
“On the left stood a tall man. His straight black hair was unbraided and cut to shoulder length, and his sparse beard was trimmed short. He wore a white linen tunic and leather pants. His face was smooth, but his confident, straight-backed posture betrayed maturity uncommon in youth. My guess was that he was slightly older than me—perhaps in his midtwenties.
“Next to him stood a young woman, dressed in comfortable-looking leather riding clothes. The traditional garb contrasted with the silver cross around her neck and her unusual hairstyle—a single black braid, winding in a circle around her head.
“On their right were a boy and a girl with almost identical round faces, their heads at the level of a grown man’s waist. The boy was dressed like his mother, but the girl wore a long dress of blue velvet and a headdress made of a white kerchief with pale blue gems hanging from all sides.
“On the other side of the children stood a long-bearded priest in a black robe and a black hat. Next to him, an older woman held a naked baby boy. He was large and chubby in her arms, black hair covering his head. Not a newborn.
“That surprised me. In a time when babies rarely survived past the first month, Christian parents always hurried to baptize their children right after birth and save their souls. Perhaps these parents had waited for forty days before presenting the child to anyone, as had always been the way of our people. The location was also curious—we had a small church in the city to serve the needs of the Christian population, but instead they had chosen to come here, under the Eternal Blue Sky. But had the Christian God not been also baptized in a river?
“I stared at this family, so like my own, and yet so different. This unusual mixture of the familiar and the foreign brought a smile to my face and filled my heart with wonder and delight. Yet, something about these people confused me. I didn’t know them. The father wasn’t a great boíla. But if they were commoners, they likely spoke no Greek. What drew them to prayers they couldn’t understand?
“My smile disappeared when the priest took the baby from the woman’s arms and lowered him into the pond. A pitiful cry rose from the boy’s throat, splitting his lungs in pieces. His face grew scrunched and red, but his parents stood by, doing nothing to spare their child the pain.
“I could never understand this barbaric custom. It was bad enough in summer, when the pond was pleasant and refreshing, but I had seen this performed in winter, in freezing water, and it terrified me. Not wishing to disturb, I turned around and made my way back to where I had made camp with my family.
“The wispy cloud still hung in the same place in the blue sky, as if someone had painted it there, as I emerged from the trees. I prayed for the wind to come and bring more clouds, but the air was still and the blades of grass uncannily frozen, as if carved of stone. Even rain would be welcome. Perhaps even a storm.
“I laid the load of firewood next to where my mare was grazing. My eagle stood perched on the saddle’s pommel, his head covered in a leather cap—I preferred to ride without a saddle, but I always took one when hunting, so that I could bring my supplies. The sun caressed my face and I smiled as I spotted a small figure, nearly hidden in the high spear grass and blue iris flowers.
“There, underneath the sparse shade of a lone oak, sat my four-year-old daughter, Erniké. Next to her lay her small bow and a quiver with toy arrows, wooden and blunted at the end. She played with a set of polished sheep anklebones, her small chubby face a mask of concentration. Her intense gaze never broke, not even when she reached out to a bowl of fresh figs next to her to grab three in her small hand and stuff them all into her mouth at the same time. Multiple strands of raven-black hair had escaped her two braids and gotten into her eyes, but she didn’t seem to notice or care. Lost in her game, she didn�
��t even see I had returned.
“I tore my gaze from her and looked up north. The Danubian Plain stretched endless before me, like a vast sea of grass, the green mixed with yellow from the long drought. Is this what the boundless steppe of Asia looks like? I often wondered. There, far, far north, beyond the Carpathians and the great Dnieper River, were the lands my ancestors had called home. They had taken the long and perilous journey southwest with nothing but their horses and their yurts, leaving behind the only home they had ever known, fleeing the constant wars with the Khazars and looking for a better life. What wonders had they seen on the way?
“A horse whinnied, and I looked back south, towards the woods. A rustling sound came from one of the low hazel bushes that grew among the elm and hornbeam. A moment later, a spotted rabbit appeared, hopping towards me. My lips curled. The poor creature stood no chance.
“Out of the green woods came a snow-white stallion, galloping as if he had the wind in his hooves. And on his back was a goddess.
“She was dressed in boiled leather and rode the horse with no saddle or bridle. Her lustrous hair, a black so dark that it was almost blue, fell long below her waist in two neat braids, each as thick as her arm. Her tan was soft and warm, like the olives I’d seen grow along the shores of the Aegean Sea. Her dark eyes were large and turned upward, and her nose was small and short.
“I wished I had the skill to paint a picture of her, like one of those images Christians drew of their saints. I imagined her likeness on the parchment: her cheekbones high and sharp, her lips full, her eyebrows high, dark arcs on her large forehead. Perhaps I could pay some Greek monk to paint her image. The idea made me grin. He’d probably call me a barbaric heathen, but seeing his face at the strange request would be worth all the trouble.
“I watched as she raised her bow and nocked an arrow, the horse guided only by her strong legs. She pulled at the string, and the muscles and sinews of her arms moved under her tanned skin, strong as iron, her movements measured and completely under control. Rider, horse, and bow—they were one. One letter in a poem, one stroke of a paintbrush, one note in a heart-wrenching song. My eyes watered. I could watch her every day, until the end of my days. Roxana. My huntress. My goddess. My wife.
“I had been so lucky with her. Many khans of the past had selected matches for their great boílas, sometimes forcing them to take Slavic wives to speed up integration. That was why many noblemen—including the Khan’s own family—already had some Slavic blood. This was not the case for my family—we had come into nobility recently, as a reward for my grandfather’s great deeds in battle, which made it even more sensible for me to wed a Slavic woman and break this isolation. But Khan Presian had never been too strict about these rules, and I had somehow convinced him that a great boíla marrying a former priestess of Tangra was beneficial. He had blessed our union, and for that I was forever in his debt.
“The arrow found the rabbit’s heart. Roxana halted her horse and slid down, graceful as a lynx. She walked to her kill and picked it up. My eyes drank in all this magnificence, this predator, stronger than any other beast in these woods.
“Erniké looked up, finally noticing something beyond the sheep anklebones and the figs in her hands. ‘Mama,’ she said, ‘you’ll teach me how to skin rabbit.’
“Roxana walked to our daughter and caressed her hair and cheeks. ‘I will, my sweet. One day, when you are older and your hand is steadier. Now you’d only hurt yourself.’
“‘I won’t!’ Erniké said and pushed another handful of figs into her mouth. ‘I can cut the rabbit and see the future in the blood just like you.’
“Roxana laughed. ‘That’s not how it works, my love. To see the future in the blood, you must make a sacrifice. You must give an animal to Tangra instead of taking it for yourself. But this rabbit is for us. See—your father has gathered firewood. We’ll cook the rabbit and eat it.’
“She reached out to tuck in one of the numerous wayward strands of Erniké’s hair behind her ear. ‘Knowledge always requires a sacrifice. When I was a priestess, Tangra would sometimes come to me and send me visions of things to come. But then…’ She looked up for a moment and our eyes met. Her warm dark eyes were laughing, sending goose bumps down my skin. ‘Then I chose the love of a handsome young nobleman over the love of my god. I abandoned my priestesshood, and I haven’t received a vision ever since.’
“‘When I grow up,’ Erniké said, ‘I’ll be a priestess of Tangra.’ She had kept stuffing more and more figs into her mouth as her mother spoke, at a greater rate than she was chewing and swallowing them. Her cheeks were so full now that she looked like a field mouse glutting itself on grain, but miraculously, her speech was perfectly clear.
“‘You can be a priestess,’ I said and walked towards them, ‘but only if you do well in your studies.’
“Erniké scoffed at me, her small chubby face wrinkled in a grimace of disdain. I whistled, and my mare approached me. I reached inside the saddlebags and took out a quill made of a goose feather, a calfskin parchment, and a small bottle of ink. I knelt in front of my daughter and handed her the items.
“‘Show me what you know,’ I said, speaking in Greek to test her.
“The fire in her eyes almost made me shrink. She pulled the writing implements from my hands and laid them out on the grass in front of her. Carefully, she dipped her quill in the ink and started to write.
“Her hand was slow and unsteady, and a few drops fell on the parchment, but soon she was ready and handed me her work. I looked at the overly large and uneven, and yet very readable, Greek letters.
“I know everything. My studies are going excellently well. My tutors say I am brilliant.
“I smiled. ‘You certainly are, my sweet.’
“Finally, her frown disappeared, and she smiled. ‘When I grow up,’ she said, this time speaking in Old Slavonic, ‘I’ll speak a thousand hundred languages.’
“My smile died on my lips, and I reached for my bow. Roxana stiffened and stood next to me, nocking her own arrow. She had heard it too—riders were approaching.
“A group of a dozen men appeared in our view, and I lowered my bow as soon as I recognized their leader. It was Terimer, one of the boílas. I was still young, and my father took over most of the council duties, but I occasionally attended the meetings and knew him as a wise advisor to the Khan.
“He slid off his horse and ran a hand through his greying hair. ‘My friends,’ he said, ‘I bear grave news. Khan Presian is dead.’
“A lump formed in my throat, and I reached out to lean on my horse. ‘How?’
“Terimer waved his hand. ‘Doesn’t matter now. What matters is that Boris take over his father’s duties as soon as possible, before Byzantium or the Serbs have learned of this.’
“I bit my lip—Boris was away, overseeing our lands in northern Macedonia. ‘Have you sent messengers?’
“‘They’re on their way,’ Terimer said. ‘Boris will be crowned immediately after he receives the message, and we will have an official ceremony once he returns to Pliska. In the meantime, we should do our best to contain the news. I’m certain our enemies’ spies are already on the way. I’ve sent my men out to try to intercept them, but we need all the help we can get.’
“‘I understand,’ I said. ‘I’ll return home immediately and dispatch my warriors to the task.’
“Terimer thanked me and rode away. As I stood, staring at the retreating party, Roxana placed a hand on my arm.
“‘What’s wrong, my love?’ Her fingers tightened around my arm. ‘Something bothers you, and it goes beyond the Khan’s death.’
“Wrong? I looked at her, surprised. Was anything wrong? But as I wondered, I realized I had fears buried deep down that my face had betrayed. And Roxana had read me, understanding me better than I understood myself. ‘Nothing is wrong,’ I said. ‘I just wonder what kind of a khan Boris will be.’
“‘Boris is a khan of Krum’s Dynasty,’ Roxana said. ‘He can be
nothing different from his father and grandfathers, and they were all exceptional. And, most of all, we know him. He is a smart man.’
“‘That he is,’ I conceded.
“She squeezed my arm. ‘Then what bothers you?’
“I tore my eyes from the retreating riders and looked at her. ‘He named his firstborn Vladimir. Why give the future ruler a Slavic name?’
“My own doubts confused me. Of course, I had always known this day would come. Presian’s grandfather himself, Khan Omurtag the Builder, had carved these words into a pillar of stone: Even if a man lives well, he dies and another one comes into existence. I had known that the ruler who had given me the opportunity to influence matters of state with my counsel, the one who had blessed my marriage to Roxana, would one day die. But I had been unprepared. I had hoped I would have had some knowledge of young Vladimir’s strengths and values before his father came to power, but right now, the young heir was barely older than Erniké.
“Roxana walked in front of me so that she could face me, and our eyes met. ‘My love, we need unity most of all, and we can never achieve unity if we present ourselves as the ruling class. We need to give the Slavic people the message that we are not ruling over them but with them. This land is our land—ours and theirs alike. Giving the future ruler a Slavic name is the best message Boris could have sent. Besides,’ she added and winked at me, ‘as far as Slavic names go, this one isn’t half bad.’
“I had to give her that. Vladimir. Ruler of the world. My mind told me that she was right, but I had a strange premonition I couldn’t shake off. ‘Of course,’ I said and held her hand, ‘and whatever the future holds, my love, I have you, and you have me, and we have Erniké. We will face it together.’
“A sound arose from the stillness. A sound that minutes ago would have made me rejoice, but now filled my heart with foreboding. Rustling leaves. My hand strayed to my belt, and I took the sand viper’s skin I had picked up earlier. The dry husk crumbled to dust in my palm, and the small particles flew into the air. I followed them with my gaze, up and up, until they reached the wispy cloud that now moved across the sky.