River God: The Horse Lords
Page 1
The Horse Lords
Book 2
The River God
Diana Drakulich
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Text copyright © 2017 Diana Drakulich
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise – without express written permission of the author.
Editor – Dennis Chekalov
denc@aaanet.ru
Cover Art – Gabrielle Bujdoso
gabibujdi@gmail.com
Graphic Design – NA Studio Design
abgwriter@gmail.com
Know This O My Children –
There have been and will be again,
Many destructions of mankind
The greatest of these being by fire and water.
There is a story that Phaethon, son of Helios, (the sun)
Yoked the steeds to his father’s chariot.
But Phaethon was not able to drive
The horses in the path of his father
And burnt up all that was upon the earth.
Now this has the form of a myth,
But it really signifies a declination of the
Heavenly bodies moving around the earth
And a great conflagration upon the earth
Which recurs after long intervals.
Just when nations are beginning to be provided
With letters and other requisites of civilized life,
Tthis stream from heaven,
Like a pestilence, comes pouring down,
Leaving only those of you (alive)
Who are destitute of letters and education.
And so you have to begin all over again
Like children who know nothing
Of what happened in ancient times –
Plato, Timaeus, (`The Atlantis’) Dialogue 360 BC
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – Escape from the Dark House
Chapter 2 – Man Eaters
Chapter 3 – Hahq among the Black Cloaks
Chapter 4 – Unfathomable Darkness
Chapter 5 – Skulls of Sacrifice
Chapter 6 – Priestess of the Black Serpent
Chapter 7 – River God
Chapter 8 – Black Cloak Feast
Chapter 9 – Blessed Darkness
Chapter 10 – Yellow Horse
Chapter 11 – Back to Back
Chapter 12 – The Wonder
Chapter 13 – The Day After
Chapter 14 – Holy Mata Drakaina!
Chapter 15 – Sava in Taurica
Chapter 16 – Golden Skulls
Chapter 17 – Tauri Wedding Ritual
Chapter 18 – Drums of Taurica
Chapter 19 – Honor Me
Chapter 20 – Wrath of the Goddess
Chapter 21 – Camp of Man Eaters
Chapter 22 – King Arkos
Chapter 23 – Small and Sickly
Chapter 24 – Manly Pride
Chapter 25 – Horse Race in Taurica
Chapter 26 – Goddess of the Hunt
Chapter 27 – My Adoni
Chapter 28 – Pleasure in Your Embrace
Chapter 29 – Adoni
Chapter 30 – Land of the Neuri
Chapter 31 – The Wolf People
Chapter 32 – Queen Toxaris
Chapter 33 – We Ride Then!
Chapter 34 – Brothers from Another Mother
Chapter 35 – Vampir or God?
Chapter 36 – What is War?
Chapter 37 – Dance for God
Chapter 38 – Riddle of the Sphinx
Chapter 39 – Holy Mountain
Chapter 40 – The Lost Temple
Chapter 41 – The Doors Will Open
Chapter 42 – Smoldering Attraction
Chapter 43 – My Sister for a Horse
Chapter 44 – A Sparkling Tunnel of Dust
Chapter 45 – Pythons in a Blue Pool
The Brazen Race Book 3 Exerpt - Strigoitsa
Glossary
Sources
Chapter 1 – Escape from the Dark House
Sauromatian horses are famed
For being hardy and swift –
Tacitus, Roman Senator, Historian 100AD
All night and well into the next day Sava walked and trotted alongside the funeral cart to save his exhausted horse. Within the cart lay a dying man, the sacrificial victim he had stolen from the Dark House of the Black Cloaks. Fear of Black Cloak vengeance for the mortal sin he had committed against the Gods pushed the nomad onward, giving wings to his exhausted feet.
The sun glared down, boring into his brain. Exhausted, not having eaten or slept in nearly two days, he tripped and staggered. Head down, panting, he leaned against the sweating hide of the golden stallion. Soon now the Black Cloaks would come, howling like wolves with prey in sight.
Wiping the sweat off his eyes, the nomad scanned the boundless Sea of Grass that waved before him. Then he saw it.
“Come on Son”, he murmured to the stallion and turned them onto a faint trail leading up a low rolling ridge.
At the top of the ridge was an ominous sight – a pyramid of black-sighted human skulls the height of a man. Protruding from the right eye socket of the skull at the top was a black flint sacrificial knife. The message was clear - Death to Intruders.
Here was the boundary marker for the Androphagi, Eaters of Men.
Standing on the ridge crest, the nomad studied the horizon. Far ahead a narrow, shimmering blue ribbon snaked through a wide shallow valley. On the other side of the river rose massive dark barrows.
There it is - the Boryesthenes. If we can get across the river ahead of the Black Cloaks, we have a chance.
The nomad was reeling with exhaustion. The golden stallion’s head hung low, his sides heaving. The horse trotted with a distinct limp in his right front where the lion had raked his shoulder. The wound was swollen red, raw and turning septic.
Sava heard a barely perceptible moan then, like the wind rustling the sparse grass on this desolate ridge. Peering into the cart, he hovered over the wounded Black Cloak. The bleeding from the stab wound in his neck had stopped, but the man’s face was ashen. His mouth was clenched in a grimace, eyes half open, seeing nothing.
He suffers. Have I only prolonged his death?
Gently lifting the Black Cloak’s head, Sava spent precious moments giving him many tiny sips from the waterskin.
“Don’t die my friend. We are almost there.” He intoned, leaning close.
The nomad poured water for the stallion into a deep bronze bowl from the funeral cart. Fully stocked with supplies for the journey into the Other World, the cart was to have been burned at sunrise. But Sava had found a better use for it.
For his own desert dry tongue the nomad allowed himself only a few swallows. Sinking to his knees he touched fingertips to forehead, breast and then to Mata Drakaina’s sacred living breast -
“Mother Goddess – Hear me. I beseech thee. Give us strength to outrun the Black Cloaks!“
At that moment he felt a low, deep vibration shake the earth like the warning rumble of a coming earthquake. The nomad put his ear to the ground. The sound was unmistakable - the swelling thunder of many hooves pounding the ground. Lifting his head he gazed back in the direction of the Black Cloak burial kurgan. A fine cloud of dust rose on the horizon.
Here they come!
Leaping onto the cart the nomad grabbed the reins and slapped them on the stallion’s back – “Eee
Yah! Yah! YAH!”
Hearing the desperate urgency in his voice, the golden stallion threw himself forward in the traces and the wagon took off, jolting down the opposite side of the ridge along a faint stony trail, wheels bumping over rocks and ruts. After careening down the ridge, the cart hit the open steppe.
Reaching into the wagon bed Sava grabbed a whip and cracked it over the stallion’s head, whistling encouragement. The golden horse responded, increasing his speed to a gallop. The nomad hated to push his horse so hard, but there was no help for it.
The grass land appeared flat, but here and there it was riveted by narrow crevices. A deep crevice the width of a man’s outstretched arms appeared just ahead. The stallion saw it in time. Collecting his haunches, huffing with effort, the golden horse made a tremendous leap. The light cart flew over the crevice with the horse, but not quite far enough. The back wheels caught against the opposite edge.The cart hung precariously.
“Come on! Yah! YAH!”
Using all his weight the big stallion thrust his body against the breast strap. A sudden sharp lurch and they were racing across the steppe. Sava glanced back to see the dust cloud rising higher, thicker, darker. The Black Cloaks were pushing their horses hard. Sava stood up. Feet planted, balancing in the careening the cart, he whistled, cracking the whip -
“YAH! YAH!”
Drawing on all his remaining strength, the golden horse increased his speed to a hard gallop. Mile after mile the stallion ran, hooves beating the ground, running his heart out, body lathered white with sweat.
Fierce screams rent the air. The nomad glanced back to see a swarm of riders outlined on the ridge crest behind them. Black cloaks flying in the wind they were lashing their horses in a mad fury.
The Black Cloaks’ horses were fresh and unhindered by a bulky cart. Seeing the cart, they screamed with rage. Standing balanced in the bouncing cart, Sava cracked the whip over the galloping stallion’s sweat-streaked back –
“Yah! YAH!”
And the golden horse responded, stretching out into a dead run. Wind blurring his vision, Sava’s mind was engulfed by drumming hooves and furious howls from pursuing warriors. If the cart struck a rock at this speed, it would flip over.
Ahead he could see the blue-green river clearly now. The horned river god, Boryesthenes beckoned –
Come. I will embrace you. Sink into my blue-green depths.
The thunder of pursuing hooves grew louder. Poisonous arrows began hissing out of the sky, thudding into the earth just behind the cart. Soon they would be within range.
And there it was – the gleaming blue river. Sava aimed the galloping horse toward a shallow ford. Horse and cart careened down the sandy bank, hitting the water with a splash. Within moments the water had risen to the bottom of the cart bed.
The temptation for the horse to stop and drink was extreme. Zlatna had sweated copiously. The horse had been running most of the day under a grueling sun. He was exhausted and dying of thirst.
The horse hesitated. Just one drink. Sava hated to force the stallion on but there was no help for it. He cracked the whip, striking the horse on the back.
“Hah! HAH!”
Lifting his knees high, the stallion splashed through the water. Using his last vestige of strength Zlatna managed to pull the cart against the current. And then they were slogging up onto the opposite bank.
“Eee yah! Yah! YAH!”
Without pausing the stallion set off again. Sava drove him toward the closest giant barrow, crouched like an ancient sphinx on the plain.
As he had hoped, the Black Cloaks stopped at the river, fearful of being caught trespassing on the sacred burial grounds of the Man Eaters.
Horses milling in frustration, the Black Cloaks screamed threats and curses as they fitted arrows to their lethal double curved bows.
“Hai Yah! YAH!” Whistling and slapping the reins, Sava urged the stallion on.
And the exhausted horse gave his last, dragging
the cart through the soft sandy river ground to the kurgan. Just as they reached the opposite side of the massive barrow, the sky blackened with an angry cloud of arrows.
The stallion’s knees buckled. Uttering a deep groan, Zlatna went down. The golden horse had given his all. He had no more left to give.
Chapter 2 – Man Eaters
The Man Eaters (Androphagi) have the
Most savage character of all men.
They have no concept of justice
And in fact follow
No civilized traditions at all –
Herodotus – The Histories
Sava crouched over the fallen, gasping horse as Black Cloak arrows whizzed down, striking just feet away. Due to the massive width and height of the kurgan, the arrows were hitting too far out. They were safe for the moment but the stallion and the wounded victim were both at death’s door.
With a deep groan, the golden stallion lay full out on his side and closed his eyes, sides heaving. At least he still breathed. For now.
For two days the horse had barely eaten, taken only a little water and been on the run. His right shoulder was gouged and swollen from the lion attack. Fever and septicemia were setting in. Lifting the the horse’s head Sava placed it on his lap.
“Zlatna my friend, thank you. Thank you for getting us this far. You will be alright. Don’t give up. Don’t leave me now.” He murmured, stroking the stallion’s face and neck.
But that Other Voice in Sava’s head stabbed his heart with the sharp sword of guilt –
I have sacrificed the hopes of my people and the horse of a lifetime to foolish pity for a dying man. I might lose everything, including my life.
With a groan, the nomad staggered to his feet and went to the cart. The cut-throat victim lay rigid. Unmoving.
Is he dead? All this for a dead man?
He placed an ear over the man’s nose.
He still breathes. Barely. Surely Mata Drakaina watches over him.
He checked the dried bloody rag that served as a loose tourniquet around the victim’s neck. The wound had clotted but after so much blood loss and deprivation the victim was on the point of death.
Sava picked up the waterskins and shook them. Empty. They needed water and soon or they would all die. Yet all the fresh water they could drink was so close, so tempting.
Stealing to the end of the kurgan, he peered out. The Black Cloaks were still there on the other side of the river screaming curses, firing arrows, their horses milling and surging.
It was a waiting game now. A question of how long the Black Cloaks would risk remaining on Man Eater lands as opposed to how long Sava could last without water. The Black Cloak party only numbered about 15 or 20 warriors. Members of the funeral cortege who had returned to the Black Cloak kurgan only to find their sacrificial victim and funeral cart stolen.
Despite their fury, the Black Cloaks were nervous. The Man Eaters were zealous about guarding their burial kurgans. If a large party of cannibals chanced upon them, the Black Cloaks would be in serious trouble.
Already dangerously deep within cannibal territory, the Black Cloaks were hesitant to cross the river and trespass on sacred Androphagi burial grounds.
This was what Sava had been counting on. Still the irate Black Cloaks might risk waiting him out, knowing his desperate need for water. And Sava was equally at risk of being discovered by the cannibals.
At least the kurgan provided a sliver of shade from the burning sun. For now. The nomad’s sharp eyes scanned the river valley with its three huge barrows a hundred yards apart.
We need to get hide. If only I could find a way into this kurgan.
But a glance showed him the huge wooden doors of the kurgan were sealed with stones and boulders. Sava allowed his exhausted body to lean against the earthen barrow. His knees bent and he drifted slowly down to the ground. Two days with almost no sleep, constantly running for his life.
Just a few moments of rest…
A searing glare burned h
is eyes. The nomad blinked, vision blurred. The red hot sun had sunk low on the horizon and was shining directly into his eyes. He glanced at the horse. Zlatna was still lying down, but his head was up.
Thank you goddess.
He ran a swollen tongue over cracked lips and swallowed painfully, his throat thick with dust. Water.
Groaning, Sava rose and walked on stiff unsteady legs to the cart. He leaned over the inert body of the sacrificial victim. The man still breathed. Barely. His breath and heartbeat faint, irregular.
Creeping to the edge of the kurgan the nomad looked out. Before his eyes clear blue water beckoned, sparkling in the lowering sun. The opposite bank was empty. The Black Cloaks were gone. Unless it’s a trick.
“Come on Zlatna. Up, up. Come on son”.
Slowly, stiffly the horse lurched to his feet and stood head down, sides heaving. Working quickly Sava reattached the harness to the cart. Holding the reins at the stallion’s head, he led the stiff, limping animal toward the river, the cart clattering behind.
At the riverbank Zlatna nickered and splashed straight into the water, dragging the cart in with him. The horse took a long grateful drink, raised his head, then dropped it again and again to drink the pure clean water.
“River God, I thank you. You saved our lives today.” Sinking to his knees in the clear sparkling shallows Sava bent to drink his fill.
Careful not to let the stallion drink too much at once, Sava led him up onto the bank and unhitched him to graze on the lush grass along the bank.
Grasping a full water skin he propped up the Black Cloak’s head and patiently gave him many sips of the life-giving nectar. Then he washed the dried blood off the victim’s face and body.
Later the stallion waded back into the river and simply laid down in the water, letting the cool, cleansing current work on his burning shoulder wounds. After removing his armored tunic, Sava too sank down into the water, letting the crystal current refresh and renew him. Body, mind and spirit.
They stayed in the water for hours like this, drinking, washing, soaking and resting, then drinking some more.