The men and Setenay quickly stripped off their winter clothing until they wore loin cloths. They stuffed their heavy garb into their oiled skin packs.
“Ahh...that feels so much better!” Levidi stretched with a big smile on his face, obviously feeling more comfortable in his normal attire. “It’s going to feel good to take a swim, even in that muddy water. I’m as filthy as a Scythian.”
“Sarah?” Ood-i remarked. “Why aren’t you in your loincloth? You have to p-put your clothes in a pack to keep them dry.”
Sarah stood facing the group, her arms folded and shoulders stooped. Her lip trembled as tears formed at the edge of her eyes.
“I don’t know how to swim,” she whispered.
The group looked at one another, bewildered.
I neglected to consider she is a-g’an. Many of them do not know how to swim.
Aizarg lifted her chin. “Do not fear. Lo learn to swim before we walk. One of us will carry you across on our back.”
She looked up at him again with a weak, but trusting smile. The same fondness stirred in his heart that bubbled up in front of the fire in Virag’s camp two days ago. Her inner strength, courage, and intelligence touched something deep inside and he couldn’t stop thinking of her plight. Since yesterday evening, a bold idea formed in his mind. He would have to discuss it further with Setenay and Okta before he could act on it.
After a few minutes of conversation, they agreed Okta would carry Sarah across. His people where acknowledged as the best swimmers among the Lo. Ba-lok would carry his grandmother and the extra gear and weapons would be divided equally between the other men.
“I will carry Setenay if you wish, Ba-lok,” Ghalen offered.
“I can take care of my own flesh and blood!” Ba-lok shot back.
Ghalen raised both hands and backed up. “I was only trying to be helpful.”
Setenay came between them. “It was very kind of you to offer your assistance to the sco-lo-ti of the Minnow Clan, Ghalen.” Setenay grimaced at Ba-lok and spoke between gritted teeth. “I’m sure he knows how to politely decline your offer like a good sco-lo-ti should.” She emphasized the word sco-lo-ti each time.
Ghalen nodded and turned away.
Sarah stripped to her loin cloth and stood almost naked next to the men. She arranged her long hair to cover her breasts. Aizarg sensed Sarah’s discomfort at being unclothed around the men. He didn’t understand her modesty, as she probably wore little more in Virag’s yurt.
Setenay must have sensed it too, as she touched Sarah’s arm and spoke softly to her. “I understand the a-g’an cover themselves, especially their women, unless they intend to couple. We do not.” Setenay proudly motioned to her ancient body as if she were still a maiden. Her dilapidated breasts hung almost to her waist and her leathery skin sagged in loose folds over protruding ribs. She stood without shame in front of the men as if she were fully clothed.
Aizarg tried to reassure Sarah. “Lo women stir men’s passions with more than just the sight of their naked flesh. When a Lo boy begins to notice women and his excitement is apparent to all, he is ready for the Rights of Passage. When he returns from the Rights, the mere sight of a breast or curve of a hip will not cause him to become aroused. He is a man, in control of his passions.”
Setenay cackled and slapped her knee. “Only a dead man is in control of his passion! But the Uros is mostly correct, just the sight of flesh does not stir the Lo loins as it does the a-g’an savage.” Setenay considered Ba-lok and continued dryly, “Unless wine is involved.”
Her smile returned as she turned back to Sarah and wagged her finger. “Ahhh, but when a Lo girl returns from her Rights of Passage, she will have learned to not only capture a man’s body, but his spirit as well. This is truly how a wife keeps her man’s flesh and soul satisfied over the long years.”
Sarah seemed to relax. “I am alright. I am ready to cross the river.”
The men removed ropes from their packs and bound their sagar and boar spears tightly together, forming three narrow rafts of two to three spears each. Aizarg, Ghalen and Ood-i collected the extra gear and packed it into bundles. Then they firmly bound the bundles to the thick base of the spear rafts. They tied a rope to their waists with a slip knot, so it could be easily disconnected in case of trouble. Finally, they securely attached the ropes, about two yards in length, to the pointed end of the spear rafts. This would allow the bundles to streamline in the current and reduce the likelihood of snagging.
“We will proceed one at a time. I will go first,” Aizarg said, contemplating the river.
Where does all this water come from?
Something caught his eye. Something took shape in the muddy water about mid-stream. It rose and bobbed for a moment and then melted back into the stream. Then his eyes caught another object, and then another.
“I see them, too,” Okta whispered, “Are they sticks or logs?”
“No,” Aizarg said. “They are flat and have odd shapes and seem to blend in with the water.
“Setenay, are those shapes lurking in the angry water spirits?” Aizarg asked.
Setenay shook her head. “The spirits of water and earth departed with the gods. If this river is angry, it’s because it is soulless, and all things soulless are malignant and cannot be appeased. We should cross quickly.”
Aizarg took a step into the stream and instantly recoiled.
“What is wrong?” Sarah asked.
“I have never felt anything so cold!”
With an expression of deep concern, Setenay put her foot in the water and suddenly turned ashen. She stood there for what seemed like an eternity, her eyes wide and darting back and forth over the water’s surface as if she were watching something. Her lips were moving, but she uttered not a sound. She stepped out of the water, pursed her lips, and put her hands behind her back as if weighing something in her mind.
“The river is cold because it is soulless. It will seek to replace its departed spirits with new ones. That’s probably what happened to that beast. When we immerse ourselves in it, the river will try to devour us.”
They jumped as a large chunk of the earthen cliff splashed into the water to their left.
“It heard me,” she said solemnly. “No one enter the river until I say so.”
She put her feet back into the river and gasped, eyes wide and breathing shallow. She stood motionless for several long moments, gazing upon the black water.
“What is she doing?” Sarah said.
“I think she is talking to the river,” Aizarg whispered.
Suddenly, a massive section of the cliff gave way and crashed into the river, burying many of the rocks.
Setenay jumped back. For a few seconds, a large black island of dry earth stood in the middle of the river between the cliffs, rising several feet above the water.
In a few seconds, the banks fell away into the water. Within minutes the island narrowed and dissolved completely into the swift waters.
Setenay turned back to the group, her eyes wide with fear. Her expression frightened Aizarg.
“What happened?” Aizarg held Setenay’s arm.
She hesitated and looked back at the river. “Nothing,” she mumbled.
“What did it tell you?” Okta said. “Will it let us pass?”
“I...” she stammered. “It...” She took a deep breath and collected herself.
Aizarg sensed her hiding something. “What does it mean?” Setenay looked up into Aizarg’s eyes as if about to say something, but then held her tongue.
They encircled Setenay, waiting for her to answer.
With a stern expression of resolve, she looked at each of the men. “This river is empty and barren, it is filled with only cold rage. If we enter its body it will give us battle, for its intention is to kill us. We can defeat this black river by gaining the other shore. Swim like Lo men, don’t look back, and we will persevere.”
The roaring river taunted them. With grim resolve, Aizarg turned to the s
hore and shouldered his bundle.
“So be it. If the river wants battle, I will give it battle. I will go first, followed by Ood-i, then Okta with Sarah. Ghalen, you will enter with Okta in case he needs help. Ba-lok and Setenay will enter next, with Levidi as their escort. Do not enter the water until the previous group is safely on the other shore, am I clear?”
Everyone nodded.
Once again, Aizarg entered the stream. The cold cut into his leg muscles until he couldn’t feel the grassy bottom. Even the Great Sea in the dead of winter did not approach this level of freezing. He moved deeper into the stream, taking shallow, rapid breaths and trying to get used to the water, but his legs didn’t acclimate. Instead, they started to numb. The current tugged hard at his legs. He could feel the river trying to pull him down and rob him of his life.
He took one look back at his people and tried to give them a reassuring smile. They gave him shouts of encouragement, except for Setenay. She resumed her silent chanting.
Aizarg was a powerful swimmer, but this river gave him pause.
Our first enemy along the journey is water, the one thing we love and hold dear. He took a deep breath. If I don’t start swimming now, I never will.
He dropped his bundle and dove into the water.
The river assaulted him. The cold gripped his chest and attacked his arms, quickly numbing them. Every time he came up for air, he saw the opposite bank shift farther south. Now the swim didn’t look like a short dash, but instead an agonizing distance swim. Aizarg no longer felt his arms and legs, but he kept swimming.
His bundle quickly floated downstream. The rope tightened and then jerked against his waist. The bundle acted as a sea anchor, further dragging him along with the current.
Something slammed into his left side. It hit with enough force it should have hurt, but he only felt the pressure. He looked up and saw a large black limb float by, twigs and sticks protruding from it like skeletal hands trying to snare him. He pushed it aside and resumed swimming when he saw it heading for his bundle. If it snared the rope or bundle, it could drag him downstream and drown him. He gave the rope a quick jerk downward and the limb floated over and safely past his bundle.
Treading water, he looked back and saw the party well upstream. Aizarg turned to swim again when his left hand struck something hard.
It almost felt like it bit me.
Aizarg pulled back and shook his hand. He saw nothing. He reached out again and touched something smooth and flat. It felt like a rock with the added sensation of cold that clearly registered through his numb hands. After a few seconds he realized what it was.
A large chunk of ice floated by, its smooth top flush with the water’s surface.
These were the strange shapes I saw floating in the water.
Ice might form in thin crusts in the shadows along the shore of the Great Sea in the dead of winter. For Aizarg, ice of this magnitude, like the dead beast along the shore, defied imagination. He didn’t have time to marvel at the massive chunks of ice, he had to keep swimming.
With his jaw chattering, he kept pushing himself. He felt himself starting to warm. Part of him welcomed the sensation and part of him felt the black river wrenching his soul from his body.
His vision began to fade.
He thought he felt something touch his leg, but he couldn’t be sure.
Perhaps it is the grassy bottom. Then he felt pressure just like an icy hand. Terrified, he jerked his leg back and the pressure abated. For a fleeting second a thought crossed his dimming consciousness.
I might not make it.
Then his foot bumped the soft, grassy bottom. He didn’t know how, but he found his rubbery legs and stood. As Aizarg staggered forward, it seemed that the current suddenly grew stronger, as if the river raged at his escape.
Aizarg stumbled from the water and the illusion of warmth vanished. He shivered so hard he had difficulty seeing. He pulled against the rope and, with great exertion, dragged the bundle out of the water. Adrenaline ebbed and left him weak. Aizarg trembled at the realization the river almost defeated him.
The sun began to warm his shoulders and the sensation gave him comfort. He wanted to fall to the ground and let the sun work its magic, but he knew he could not let the others see him fail.
Aizarg looked back across the river. To his amazement, he had drifted a few yards past the dead beast, more than halfway to the southern cliffs.
Thank you, Okta! If he had started next to the carcass he would have surely been swept past the southern cliffs and into the unknown.
He untied the rope from his waist, shouldered the bundle, and walked upstream. The river’s spell faded with each step and Aizarg’s limbs began to warm. Soon, he ran. As he neared the shore opposite the party, he waved to let them know he was all right. They waved back and Ood-i started forward with his bundle.
“Wait!” Aizarg shouted and held up his hand to motion Ood-i to stop. Ood-i halted in acknowledgement.
Aizarg unwrapped his bundle and placed it in the grass away from the water. He coiled up the rest of the rope and tied a wide loop on the end. He had enough to throw about a third of the way into the stream.
Suddenly angry at himself, Aizarg knew he should have strung several ropes together and carried one end across with him. Even with nothing to secure the ends to, two men could have anchored the rope while the rest of the party pulled themselves across. Then they could have simply pulled the last man to the other side and retrieved the rope.
Pride in his people’s mastery of water kept him from thinking of such a practical idea. That pride almost cost him his life and Aizarg feared what the rest of the party now faced.
With rope firmly in hand, Aizarg braced for Ood-i’s crossing. He raised his hand and shouted, “Come across and be careful! The river is swift and full of debris!”
Ood-i cupped his hand over his ear and shook his head.
“COME!” Aizarg shouted and prayed for the best.
Aizarg saw Ood-i gasp and stiffen when he entered the river. He cringed, for what he knew Ood-i felt. Without further hesitation, Ood-i threw his bundle into the rushing stream and dove in.
“That is a Lo man, indeed!” Aizarg whispered with a smile.
With powerful strokes and large splashes, Ood-i didn’t swim as much as he attacked the water. Unlike Aizarg’s graceful style, Ood-i punched his way through the river. Instantly, the current dragged him south. Aizarg trotted along the shore, rope at the ready and fully prepared to reenter the water should his friend need help.
Oblivious to everything except his next stroke, Ood-i ignored the limbs, logs and chunks of ice bobbing and sliding around him.
To Aizarg’s amazement Ood-i neared the shore several dozen yards upstream from where Aizarg did, pulled himself up on all fours and crawled out of the water. Aizarg reentered the water up to his ankles and pulled Ood-i up. He began to shiver all over again.
Ood-i’s lips were blue.
“I...I th...th...think my t...testicles have shriveled all the way into my throat!” Ood-i stuttered between gulps of air.
Aizarg laughed and untied Ood-i’s bundle. “Come, keep walking and you’ll feel better. We have to be ready to help the others.”
Aizarg shouldered Ood-i’s bundle and the two men walked back upstream.
Aizarg laid out Ood-i’s bundle next to his and added Ood-i’s rope to his section.
“Uros,” Ood-i stammered, looking back at the water. “It almost felt like something t-tried to suck me down into the depths. For a few moments I wasn’t sure...”
Aizarg interrupted, “Put that aside and concentrate on bringing our friends across. Hold one end and wrap it firmly around your waist. You are the anchor man. If someone gets in trouble, I will enter the water with the other end and you will pull us to safety.”
Aizarg signaled for the next group.
With trepidation, Aizarg watched Okta and Sarah approach the water. Ghalen stood next to them on their downstream side.
Good, Ghalen will be there in case she falls off.
He saw Okta and Setenay reassuring her again, and then Okta leaned down. Sarah put her arms around his neck. A knot formed in Aizarg’s belly.
He has to pull himself and her extra weight through the river. Okta volunteered eagerly to carry her.
He’s glad to enter the water again, no matter how cold.
He saw Sarah close her eyes and Okta gently slipped into the river.
Sarah screamed in agony at the shock of the water’s icy slap, but she held on. Her weight forced Okta into a breast stroke, further slowing him down. Aizarg saw the strain on Okta’s face as he battled the river and fought to keep Sarah’s head above the water.
If Ghalen struggled against the cold, Aizarg could not tell. He kept this head above the water with a side stroke a few feet downstream of Okta and Sarah
“All right, Ood-i, let’s move downstream with them,” Aizarg said and started briskly walking.
Once again, branches and logs floated past the swimmers. He heard Ghalen’s voice getting louder, shouting directions to Okta about oncoming dangers and offering words of encouragement. “Slow down, there’s a log about to pass ahead of you...Speed up and it will pass behind you...You’re doing great, Sarah, you are almost to the shore!” Each time, Ghalen expertly dodged the logs as they passed Okta and Sarah.
Sarah slowly turned white with cold and terror, but Ghalen’s voice seemed to give her strength.
Ghalen has the strength of a lion and the heart of a sco-lo-ti. At every turn he proves himself. Aizarg wished Ghalen, a natural leader, was sco-lo-ti in the Turtle Clan, and not his older brother Masok.
“Uros!” Ood-i tapped Aizarg on the shoulder and pointed upstream. Ba-lok and Setenay were entering the water with Levidi off to the side, just as Ghalen had done with Okta and Sarah.
“Why are they getting in?” Aizarg said, bewildered. “I gave specific instructions!”
Okta and Sarah were two-thirds across the river as they approached the point opposite the carcass. Ghalen concentrated on Okta, who began to struggle.
Aizarg spied a stealthy shape materialize in the muddy water and then vanish just upstream of Okta.
Black Sea Gods: Chronicles of Fu Xi Page 12