“The Narim destroyed it long ago.”
“Did they burn it?”
“No, they took it.”
“Took it? How does one take a forest?”
“They cut it down.”
Levidi frowned. He couldn’t imagine this. Stone and brass hand axes were good for breaking up driftwood or small marsh scrub, but quickly dulled when confronted with any sizable tree. Beach salvage composed the bulk of the Lo’s usable wood.
“How did they transport the wood to their mountain?” Ghalen asked.
Aizarg appeared to struggle, as if unable to find the right words. He shook his head. “I will sound foolish if I try to repeat Sarah’s words. Sarah says the Narim possess craft and powers unknown to us.”
Ba-lok, walking closely behind Aizarg, rolled his eyes.
Levidi gave Ba-lok a sharp look. “Do you have a problem with what the Uros says?”
Ba-lok matched his stare. “I only council caution, we are putting too much faith in the hands of one little girl.”
Levidi knew Ba-lok came from a line of great sco-lo-ti, including Setenay’s late husband.
Ba-lok possesses the blood of great men and a legend such as Setenay, but he shows few of their virtues. He is an arrogant brat that chafes at Aizarg’s wise leadership.
Levidi harrumphed and set his gaze forward.
If I had grown up in the Minnow Clan, my friends and I would have quickly set young Ba-lok straight.
It wasn’t uncommon for the young boys of an arun-ki to ‘humble’ a sco-lo-ti’s son with a good drubbing if he grew arrogant with his father’s power.
Setenay finally spoke, “Do not underestimate this young woman. She is not a firefly, a random light in the marshes that darts to and fro in the darkness for children to chase. She is a torch, leading us with purpose, though this purpose is not her own.”
Levidi almost opened his mouth to ask her what purpose, but thought better of it, sharing the fear of the supernatural instilled into all Lo men. The rest of the men remained quiet. Setenay’s words put the issue to rest and gave Levidi something else to think about other than his dislike of Ba-lok or his aching legs.
Ghalen and Sarah ran back, breathlessly signaling for everyone to get down.
“Scythians!” Ghalen said in a low voice.
Levidi tightened the grip on his sagar and took a deep breath.
***
Aizarg dreaded this moment with their first step beyond the marshes. He hoped they could avoid the horseman, but deep in his heart he knew they would likely cross paths with the Scythians sooner or later.
The rest of the party lay flat in the tall grass while the Uros and the two sco-lo-ti crawled forward on their bellies until they came to the tracks.
“Yes, those are Scythian horse tracks.” Aizarg examined the disturbed ground and flattened grass.
“How are you so sure?” Okta asked. “This ground is covered with all sorts of tracks.”
“Look at the hoof prints,” Ba-lok said. “They have a double edge not seen with wild horses. The Scythians forge pads of bronze and attach them to their horses’ feet with iron pegs to make them more fearsome.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Okta said as he chewed on a wad of mud weed.
“It’s true,” Aizarg said, poking the dirt around one of the tracks. “When wild horses come into the marshes looking for water, they follow game trails. When Scythians come looking for blood and slaves, they often don’t follow the trails. This allows a good hunter an opportunity to compare the tracks.”
Aizarg grimaced. The tracks spoke to him, but he had a difficult time believing what they said.
He stood up and brushed himself off.
“Uros, get down!” Okta pleaded.
“Okta, take another close look at the tracks and tell me what they say to you,” Aizarg said respectfully to the sco-lo-ti, knowing Okta was out of his element, but he wanted to nurture in him the necessary tracking skills to survive.
Okta cocked his head, intensely studying the ragged indentations. Ba-lok crawled closer to the tracks, trying to discern what Aizarg hinted at.
“They are in full gallop!” Ba-lok said in a loud, proud voice.
Aizarg smiled, but wished Ba-lok would have given Okta a chance to figure it out. “Yes, my Second. What else can you tell me?”
Sometimes I want to praise him, other times I want to strike him. Aizarg suddenly wondered what kind of man Kol-ok would grow to be.
Okta looked over Ba-lok’s shoulder as the young sco-lo-ti muttered to himself in concentration. “The tracks don’t cut very deep. There are perhaps ten to fifteen horses, they are scattered and...” Ba-lok’s eyes grew wide. “They’re riderless!” he blurted.
“Yes, Ba-lok. These animals are stampeding and riderless. Where are these tracks headed?” Aizarg already knew the answer.
Okta stood as his eyes followed the tracks up the southern rise until they disappeared over the ridge. “They go to where the other animals went, to the Valley of the Beasts.”
Aizarg signaled the rest of the party to come forward.
“This is a sign from the goddess,” Levidi said cheerfully. “Without their horses, the Scythians are less of a threat!”
“I see, Levidi. And what else does the goddess have to say today?” Setenay shot Levidi a look as if he were a child who spoke out of turn.
Levidi smiled sheepishly and shrugged.
She turned to Aizarg. “Heed my council, Uros. Are the horseless Scythians less of a threat? The answer is yes and no.”
“How so?” Aizarg asked.
Setenay continued, “They will move slower, of course. That is good. But whatever power has drawn the animals to the Valley of the Beasts has also broken the Scythians’ powerful spell over their horses. The Scythians will be frightened and therefore unpredictable.”
“Frightened, unpredictable, and still armed with powerful bows,” Ghalen added. “And, I suspect, chasing their horses, which means they’ll be coming from that direction.” He pointed toward the north. “Uros, I recommend we get moving and quickly.”
“Yes,” Aizarg nodded. “They’ll see our tracks, but hopefully they’ll be preoccupied with finding their animals and continue south.”
“I know they’ll be cha-chasing these animals,” said Ood-i, standing in waist-high grass several paces to the east. They quickly gathered around him.
Sarah gasped when she saw what lay at Ood-i’s feet and buried her head into his chest. He gently put an arm around her.
Aizarg studied the dead Scythian. He’d experienced several close calls with their warriors during his life, but this was the nearest he’d come to one.
The warrior’s rigid body arched back slightly. His shaven head twisted and grossly cocked to the side, swollen tongue protruding from broken jaw. Vacant eyes stared wide from a tattooed face, now bloated and purple. A frayed leather strap wrapped around his bare foot spoke of how he died and of a soft-soled, high leather boots lost somewhere along his grisly journey. Deerskin trousers, richly beaded with fearsome geometric patterns, were shredded and bunched around his waist. A gash along his shin exposed bright white bone on the warrior’s other leg. The Scythian’s red cherkesska, a coat with a tight fitting torso and flaring below the waist, twisted around his neck like a gruesome scarf.
“Poor soul,” Setenay said. “He was young. The goddess only knows how long his horse dragged him before he died.”
“Poor soul?” Ba-lok frowned at his grandmother. “I doubt this man ever uttered the words ‘poor soul’ in his entire, miserable life.”
“He was important,” Setenay continued, ignoring her grandson. “Look at his face, only Scythians who’ve led men in battle bear tattoos on their face. His coat is red, signifying what they call ‘blood power,’ the right to slay one of their own at will and without repercussion. It’s a privilege reserved only for chieftains and princes. I’ll wager many of the skulls tied to his horse were from his own people. He was likely
feared and respected.”
“I hope it was one of those skull tethers which snared his leg,” Ba-lok said and spit on the body.
“Do not disrespect the dead!” Setenay snapped. She steadied herself against her stick and bent down to examine the body more closely. She turned pale, closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Setenay, are you all right?” Ghalen asked.
“I am fine. Even the old are sickened by a tragic death.”
“We must go,” Aizarg said.
As they turned to leave, Aizarg looked back. Sarah knelt next to the Scythian’s body, digging with her hands.
“Sarah!” he called. “Come!”
She didn’t look up.
“What’s she doing?” Levidi asked.
Aizarg walked back and knelt next to her.
Sarah tore into the prairie soil until her fingers bled. Her tears fell into the shallow hole.
“We do not have time for this. The Scythians may crest the northern ridge any moment. We cannot bury him,” he said softly.
“I must.”
The rest of the party encircled them.
“Leave him!” Ba-lok sneered. “The savage got what he deserved.”
“NO!” Sarah jumped up and pushed Ba-lok back with unexpected force.
Setenay interjected herself between them, shushing Sarah.
“It’s all right, child. Tell me, why do you feel the need to bury the Scythian?”
Sarah looked down at the body with a mix of emotions Aizarg did not understand.
“I know him.” She closed her eyes and composed herself. “He was Tuma, a Scythian prince. He was the son of Sawseruquo, the chieftain Virag bribed for passage. He...” she paused and choked back a sob. “In the darkness, where others were savage, he was gentle.”
Ood-i winced and turned away.
“Son of Sawseruquo...” Setenay whispered so low Aizarg barely heard her. She closed her eyes and turned away from the group.
“This thing must be done,” Sarah said with conviction. “I feel it in my blood!” She looked frustrated, trying to find the right words. “I pity him.”
“Sarah, he might have shown you kindness when not under the eyes of his people. But if he were alive, he wouldn’t think twice about killing or enslaving you,” Ghalen said, taking her by the elbow and trying to coax her away. He glanced again over his shoulder at the northern ridge. “Pity will kill us on the g’an.”
Sarah pulled away and pointed down at the dead man. “He showed me pity! Ood-i showed me pity! Maybe the gods turned their back on us because we don’t show enough pity. It’s not my place to judge this man worthy or unworthy. It’s only my place to show mercy.”
Sarah broke down, sobbing into Setenay’s shoulder. The old woman embraced her and stroked her hair.
“Aizarg, talk some sense into this woman,” Ba-lok said with contempt. His tone set Aizarg’s blood boiling.
“All of you!” Setenay interrupted before Aizarg could respond. “Quickly, gather stones and rocks. Ghalen, straighten the Scythian’s limbs and garments the best you can.”
Setenay shushed Sarah. She moved the girl’s hair out of her eyes and wiped away her tears.
“Sarah,” Setenay whispered. “Scythians don’t bury their dead; they cover them in mounds they call zhaqas. We can at least fashion some poor version of this to honor the...” She paused for a moment, transfixed on the body. “...the stranger.”
Sarah nodded, fighting a fresh wave of tears. “Thank you, Setenay.”
Ba-lok shook his head in disbelief. “Grandmother, this is a Scythian! Have you forgotten they kidnapped you? Ghalen, how many of your clan’s women and children have vanished from the marshes? Uros, how many of your men have died under their arrows? Are you prepared for the quest to fail, for us to die under a blanket of arrows to honor one who would take our skulls if he could draw one more breath?”
“Grandson, do not lecture me on my own past!” Setenay’s low voice carried power. She turned to Aizarg. “Uros, follow her light.”
Follow her light.
Setenay’s last words evoked an almost physical reaction in Aizarg. Suddenly, he felt a wave of urgency and purpose.
“Gather stones. Make it quick,” Aizarg said with finality.
Ba-lok’s disbelief rapidly turned to outright anger. “Have you all taken leave of your senses?”
Aizarg moved to confront Ba-lok, but Levidi moved between them.
“I grow tired of your continual disrespect toward the Uros!” Levidi hissed between clenched teeth. “He has given a command. You are bound to follow it.”
Aizarg had never seen Levidi so upset.
“Out of my way!” Ba-lok shoved Levidi backwards. Before Aizarg could intervene, Levidi dropped his packs and spear and tackled Ba-lok.
Sarah screamed as the two men punched and grappled on the ground in a cloud of dust, occasionally bumping up against the dead body.
Ghalen and Okta jumped back out of the way, but made no move to separate the two men. Ghalen grinned every time Levidi landed a good punch.
Aizarg knew he had to immediately assert control, but Setenay gently pressed her stick into his chest.
In a calm, almost formal tone, she whispered where only Aizarg could hear. “Uros, your Isp humbly begs for permission to resolve this situation. One seeks the approval of his best friend, while the other...” she sighed. “Well, the other just needs to grow up. It would be most unfortunate if the Uros had to broker a peace between the two, for it is an unwinnable task.”
Aizarg stepped back and motioned Setenay forward. “Proceed.”
What would I do without her?
Setenay calmly stepped forward as the men rolled and tore at each other. She cocked her head sideways as if pondering who might actually win the fight. Then, with the quickness and efficiency of someone who had delivered countless spankings and mild beatings to generations of Lo children, Setenay proceeded to whack both men with her stick.
Aizarg cringed with each strike to the men’s backs and thighs. A few sharp blows even landed on heads and faces.
The men yelled “Ouch!” and “Stop it!” as they quickly separated and scrambled away from the stick-wielding woman. At first Setenay struck with dispassion, but as the men ran away, her face filled with rage. She darted after them, swinging her stick wildly.
“Why are you running, brave men? Fight me!”
Ba-lok, who obviously suffered Setenay’s beatings more than once in his life, moved quicker than Levidi and suffered fewer blows.
Ghalen, standing next to the dead body, began to laugh at the sight. Setenay, eyes full of wrath, suddenly came at him with the stick.
“Do you want a taste of this, too?” she yelled.
Ghalen held up both hands and backed up, “No, old mother!”
“Good! Then behave yourself!”
She lowered her stick and looked at each man except Aizarg with blistering scorn.
“Now, can you all act like Lo men, the men our people and your Uros need during this desperate hour? What would we do if one of you were seriously hurt? Leave you here? Would you leave us with one less spear against the Scythians due to your senseless bickering?”
The men hung their heads in shame.
She walked to Levidi. Face streaked with dirt and blood, he bent over with his hands on his knees trying to catch his breath. Levidi put his hand to his face and examined the blood on his fingers.
“Setenay, you broke my lip!”
“I’m sorry, Levidi,” she said tenderly. She held his chin and moved his head to one side, examining his lip. “Does it hurt?”
“Yes, it does,” he sulked.
She slapped him hard across the cheek.
“Agghh!” he shrieked. “Why did you hit me?”
“To take your mind off your lip,” she said calmly. “Listen to me carefully, you are not the Second, so stop acting like it. Am I clear?”
“Yes, old mother,” Levidi said softly.
She reached up and gently straightened his hair and rubbed his cheek. Her voice turned soft with kindness and affection. “You must serve Aizarg as your Uros, not like a childhood comrade.”
“Yes, old mother,” Levidi said once again.
Setenay turned and walked up to Ba-lok. “Listen, sco-lo-ti!” She took a breath. Her words were quiet but stern. “Sarah is the reason we’re still alive. She’s the key to finding the Narim. It is no accident she’s with us. The Uros sets our course. You serve the Uros. You pledged your spear, the highest oath a man can make. If you did so with anything less than your full heart, it will be a curse upon our quest.”
Ba-lok, also covered with dirt and bloody scratches, looked coldly at his grandmother through a rapidly swelling right eye.
“I will serve my Uros, with my heart and with my life, if need be. But I will not bury a Scythian dog!” He turned to Aizarg. “I will do something useful and stand watch on the ridge while the rest of you play in the dirt.”
Ba-lok picked up his pack and sagar and stomped off.
Setenay’s eyes followed him with sadness. Aizarg felt her pain. She loved her grandson as much as he loved his children. For all her power and wisdom, she couldn’t control his heart.
“Let us quickly finish our business and depart. There is still enough daylight to cover a good distance,” Aizarg said. He knew wounds were opened today which might never heal. He needed to keep the group moving.
Ood-i and Sarah wandered about, looking for stones, and were soon joined by the rest.
Occasionally Aizarg looked to the north and saw Ba-lok standing motionless, his back to the low ground.
Ba-lok’s small, solitary silhouette reminded Aizarg of the broken sagar which lined the ridges the day before.
The wind picked up from the north as each of them brought stones to Sarah. She didn’t cry or show any emotion as she quickly arranged the rocks with care until the body vanished under them.
When she finished, they stood around the pile for several long moments. No one spoke a word until Aizarg grabbed his boar spear and turned to leave.
Sarah touched his arm and whispered, “I’m sorry I caused discord among your people.”
Black Sea Gods: Chronicles of Fu Xi Page 16