Sava embraced her, kissing warm lips in a clinging, nostalgic goodbye. Grasping her shoulders his swirling sea green eyes dove deep into her soul.
“Yagya has said that if I don’t come for you in twelve moons, he will marry you off to another. Keep heart. If I survive, I will come for you Sorsha. Nothing will stop me. But for now you are safer in Taurica.”
“Nay, don’t say that!” She begged. “Your people are my people now Sava.”
“The only thing that could keep me away from you is that I am no more. I would never want you to be alone in this life Sorsha.”
Stationed at the entrance to the great council yurt, the big war drums started up a blood-firing, rhythmic salvo. Turning, Sava strode away, shoulders broad, back and hips supple with that serpentine fluidity the Sauromatae were noted for.
Watching her heart walk away, Sorsha felt her life suddenly reduced to a blank, empty void. A shell of short-lived happiness.
Clang-clang! Clang-clang! Came the distant sound of a blacksmith’s hammer striking an anvil.
He crafts a sword for WAR.
Clang-clang! The hollow banging of metal on metal resonated. Echoing to her soul. All her life she would never forget that moment. That hollow, ringing emptiness. It was the final nail. And in her heart Sorsha wept.
Chapter 33 – The War Council
Skythians feed on mare’s milk
And excel all men in justice –
Ephorus, Greek historian, Historiai, c. 400 BC
Long curving bull horns sounded the chilling, reverberating call – to WAR.
Bull horns blended with the big war drums, thundering like thousands of hooves in an earth-shaking cavalry charge. Sava’s blood throbbed to the ground-swelling beat as he strode to join the tribesmen streaming into the great yurt.
At the same time he felt numb, gutted by the realization that he might never see Sorsha again. On top of that, he would have to face the Black Cloak accusation of tomb robbing and be judged accordingly.
Brata’s guilt was assured, for he had failed to do his duty and die so that Prince Kanxa’s soul might not be heart sick in the Other World. What strange justice. Sava wanted to spit.
Staring with blind eyes he gazed around at the vibrant, buzzing assembly of nobles, priests and elite warriors. Everywhere he saw the flash of gold, the restless flitter of eyes, heard a multitude of chattering tongues.
Everyone was dressed in their best. The tribesmen were nothing if not proud. At a momentous gathering like this to determine the fate of an entire people, the need to see and be seen was paramount.
Each of the nine tribes - the Black Cloaks, Androphagi, Tauri, Geloni, Budini, Agathrysi, Neuri, Sauromatae and Royal Skythian were gathered around a pole capped with the metal image of their tribal symbol. Sava sat cross-legged next to Brata near the Sauromatian insignia of Mata Drakaina.
Outside a great crowd was massed, primarily composed of Royal Skythians and Sauromatae. Spokesmen were stationed at the yurt entrances on two sides to shout out all that was said inside.
Bellowing bull horns announced the entrance of Royal Skythian King Idanthrysus accompanied by his voivode, Taxakis. Idanthrysus wore a gold diadem of interlocking antlers studded with brilliant gems. Mounting a low dais he took his seat on the golden lion chair, throne of the ruling descendants of Skythes, strongest and wisest son of Herakles and Mata Drakaina.
Sauromatian King Raymaxos entered with Queen Gula. Raymaxos wore a gold helmet imprinted with battling warriors and lined with silky black marten fur. A black horse tail trailed elegantly from the conical top. Now middle-aged, The Sauromatian king was a veteran of many battles.
The edge of Queen Gula’s silver and gilt helmet was adorned with jewels and embossed with battling Amazons on horseback. Delicate dangling medallions extended below the helmet to dance before her blue eyes.
They were followed by Voivode Skopasis and Sava’s mother, Dragana. Skopasis’ dark penetrating eyes glinted under a lion skull headdress, its fangs extending to his ears. It was crested with golden eagle feathers. The voivode exuded a leonine grace and power.
Royal Skythian high sorcerer Zoltan stalked in with his deputy Xobash. Wreathed around the sorcerer’s head was a living viper. The serpent’s swaying, darting head centered over the priest’s glittering dark eyes projected a mesmerizing mind spell.
The thought struck Sava - The serpent on the head is the sign of Dionysos. Has Zoltan secretly aligned himself with the wine god’s treacherous priests?
The crowd hushed as Zoltan’s glittering gaze surveyed the assembly. His face was painted with black and white stripes running from forehead to chin. The high sorcerer emanated an invisible vortex of seething power.
Zoltan’s arrogant bearing proclaimed to one and all - I answer to no man. No ruler. Only to the gods.
Even more than the kings, the sorcerer’s divine presence commanded awe - He Who Speaks With The Gods. Now facing a great invasion, the need to placate the war god Ah-Gin was absolute.
SSSsssst. The sorcerer shook his hissing double snake-head staff. He spoke the dreaded words:
“Tomorrow at dawn, the council will beseech Ah-Gin’s support against Persia. Seven of the finest horses will be sacrificed - six white mares and - a magnificent golden stallion.”
One by one, Zoltan announced the names of the six white mares. As he did so, the owner of each horse groaned. These were prized animals from the best Royal Skythian herds.
When it came to the last sacrifice, Sava stiffened, feeling a deep constriction in his chest. Nay. He would not - Dare?!
Zoltan’s lips moved. The name echoed: “ZLATNA.”
“NAY!” Sava thundered, shooting to his feet as if a great hand lifted him.
“NAY!!!” Echoed the voices of Brata and his Neuri friends rising in support.
This heartfelt – ‘NAY!’ – reverberated. It carried beyond the felt walls of the great yurt to the crowds outside.
“NAY!” Sava thundered again. “You will not kill my horse to satisfy your VAMPIR PARASITE Ah-Gin whom you call `god’!”
The people were dumbfounded. Amazed at this shocking blasphemy. To resist the will of the Sword in the Stone was to invite your own death.
Ennarei, katochos, sorcerers, witches, shamen, sages and soothsayers, warriors and voivodes, kings and queens - all the leadership of ancient Skythia and Sauromatia were stunned speechless. But not for long.
In all memory, in all the ancient stories passed down by word of mouth for a thousand years, no one had ever dared to deny a horse sacrifice. The greatest army on earth was marching down on them. The God of War must be propitiated. The People’s fate depended on Ah-Gin’s favor.
The crowd rumbled in anger. “How DARE this upstart deny the Sword in the Stone?! We are lost without the war god’s favor!”
I will not back down. Not this time. Sava raised his arms, encompassing them all -
“Honorable Ones, I ask you - What crime did my horse commit?! Was Zlatna too swift? Too brave? What evil did he do that he should be put to death?!” Sava ground out, seething with rage. “This is against all justice!”
“Hssst! Silence pup!” Zoltan shook his snake head staff. “We are not playing at children’s games here. WAR is not for the faint of heart. Did your `father’ not tell you? War is sacrifice. War is Death!”
“We would not even be having this council if not for Zlatna! Even when my horse was wounded and half dead from hunger and thirst, he found the strength to outrun my pursuers so that I could bring the tribes together for this council. Zlatna saved my life! He is my friend! And now you would force me to - Kill. My. Friend!?”
“Your horse has been chosen because he is great. He is the fastest horse in all Skythia and Sauromatia. Zlatna will be the swiftest messenger to the god’s ear.” The high sorcerer’s tone brimmed with arrogant hubris.
“Are we to believe Ah-Gin whispered Zlatna’s name in your ear high priest? I don’t believe it! You have some cunning scheme in this!” Sava
ground out.
“Enough!” King Idanthrysus rose from the golden lion chair, aghast at such obstinate challenge. “The sacrifice will take place tomorrow at dawn. Sava – make sure Zlatna is there, or you will bear the consequences. Those who resist the will of the gods will be punished in this life and in the next!”
At the king’s none too subtle threat to her son, Dragana rose, her visage that of a ferocious lioness. It was she who had bred Zlatna and given him to Sava as a wobbly-legged golden colt.
“Noble Idanthrysus - Who are you to tell the Sauromatae what consequences we will have to bear? It was Royal Skythia’s ill-advised invasion of Medea that brought this Persian scourge down upon us all. Make no mistake, we Sauromatae are not your vassals! We are your strongest allies and retain all rights. We can walk out of here right now!”
“Silence woman! No one can deny the Sword in the Stone his due!” King Idanthrysus shot back, but his insides were quivering. Voivode Skopasis had not risen with his wife in protest, yet. But he could not be happy about this demand to kill their most prized stallion. A poor reward after all his son had gone through to bring the tribes together.
Clenching her jaw, Dragana remained standing in support of her son. She was an influential priestess of the Alani, a powerful Sauromatian clan. If Dragana walked out, her clan might go with her, thus splitting the Sauromatae.
Inwardly Idanthrysus struggled to regain the innate mantle of kingly supremacy he had worn so easily, just moments ago. Already they deny my authority and the council has just begun.
A fierce buzz of discussion rose. The council had barely started and sparks of rebellion to Royal Skythian leadership were already surfacing. The golden stallion was the pride of Sauromatia. High priest Zoltan’s demand to sacrifice their champion race horse could give the Sauromatae just the excuse they needed to avoid fighting a war they did not want.
King Idanthrysus flicked a commanding glance at Zoltan. The priest knew his job - induce superstitious fear to repress the rebellion rising within the ranks.
“Silence! The Sword in the Stone hears all! Sees all!” Zoltan shook his hissing serpent staff.
The buzzing voices ebbed. The sorcerer began to speak in a deadly calm, mesmerizing tone. The people leaned forward, captivated by his voice and the swaying darting serpent that hovered over his forehead-
“For a thousand years and more we have sacrificed to the Sword in the Stone. For a thousand years Ah-Gin, God of War has protected Skythia. With His aid we have come to own the Sea of Grass. Is this True?”
“Aye! It is true!” The people cried. “Hail Ah-Gin! Ah-Gin! Ah-Gin!”
“Now comes this upstart `son’ of Skopasis,” Zoltan spat out. “He DARES to deny the almighty God of War?! As if there is no honor in sacrifice? No honor in the giving of our most precious possessions to the gods?! Why should we give anything the less? Think you the Great Beholder does not see us now? Hear us now? If we fail to invoke the God of War, Ah-Gin will punish us. Severely. He will use the Persian army as his mighty hammer to smash Skythia down! Our people will become as so many others - Dust lost to the winds of Time. ”
A primitive wail went up from the crowd. Then a calm, stunning voice broke through the clamor.
“Your glib serpent’s tongue speaks LIES Zoltan.”
Hnnh. Looking around for the speaker, the crowd hissed in shock and denial. For a priest to be caught lying was a burning offense.
“To sacrifice innocents in the name of any god is a great injustice.” Queen Toxaris stood tall, her brow band with its red ruby reflecting a shaft of sunlight, flaring crimson. Her long black hair streamed down her shoulders in living rivulets. “We of Neuria sacrifice to no god. We worship Jivan, The Living God. Jivan asks our devotion, not the blood of innocents!”
“Ahh, we have heard of this Jivan, the `pretty god’ whom you praise by holding hands and dancing around in a flowery meadow where it is always summer.” Zoltan’s voice dripped contempt.
“So what will your god of peace do for us in time of WAR? Zoltan sneered. “Will we throw flowers at the Persians when they come to destroy us? You simple-minded Neuri in your high mountains. You know nothing! Fools. Your mountains protect you, not this pathetic `Jivan’.”
And when was the last time mighty Ah-Gin came down with his great sword to fight our battles?” The Neuri ennerei Vuk rose, his headdress a snarling wolf’s head.
Vuk’s piercing golden-green eyes focused intensely on Zoltan. “Strange how no one has ever seen Ah-Gin, is it not? Yet this `god’ demands so much blood.”
“Hssst! Silence you crazed Vukodlaki (wolf’s skin)!” Zoltan shook his staff. “You don’t belong here! Go home! Go back to Neuria and howl at the moon as is your wont!”
“Zoltan, you are possessed by a vampir demon.” Toxaris’ voice was resonant, compelling. “It is high time we spoke the Truth. Ah-Gin has never come to fight Skythia’s battles. And he never will. No matter how many victims are sacrificed in his name. Why? Because it is all a LIE.”
Toxaris turned to the audience – “Skythians, open your eyes! Think. Do you actually believe a god needs blood? What for? A god cannot eat flesh nor drink blood!”
Now King Yagya rose and glared at Zoltan. “Why sacrifice Zlatna? He is the fastest horse in all Skythia and Sauromatia. Use some lesser animal.”
“Beware lest you arouse the war god’s fury!” Zoltan shook his staff ominously. “Zlatna will be sacrificed because he is the fastest horse and therefore the swiftest messenger to Ah-Gin. What good is a sacrifice if there is no pain in the giving of it? The gods know ALL. We must give the best to get the best!”
“A great war is coming, yet you start by killing off the cream of our breeding stock? Zlatna is the best stallion of our generation. We need him to breed more war horses.” The logic of Dragana’s was chilling. “Out on these open plains, it is the speed and endurance of our horses that will win this war against the Persians. The speed of our horses is our one chance for victory.”
Voivode Skopasis rose, his red cloak with the black insignia of Mata Drakaina swirling from his broad shoulders. Skopasis’ charismatic presence compelled awe. The excited buzzing died down to hear his words.
“To sacrifice our best stallion is foolish. We could be fighting the Persians for years to come. Zlatna has at least ten good years of breeding left in him. At 200 foals a year, Zlatna can sire over 2,000 horses who can run a thousand miles in ten days. Why would you cut this stallion off in his prime? It makes no sense.”
There were shouts of – “If Zlatna will not be sacrificed then why should I bring my good horse the altar?!”
Some wag called out: “Zoltan has become rich off his prophecies. Why is it the war god never whispers the names of Zoltan’s horses in his ear?”
Another said – “Let Zoltan bring his own horses to the sacrifice. Then we will see what kind of `quality’ he brings to the bloody altar!”
This unheard of disrespect was greeted with a roar of laughter.
Chapter 34 - Brata Rises
Only the Dead
Have seen the end of war –
Plato, c. 400 BC
BOOM - Zoltan thrust his serpent staff hard against the wooden dais. “Silence! I would bring my own child to the altar if Ah-Gin willed it!”
“Hah. If only you had a child. Is that another of your vain boasts Zoltan?” Someone called out.
“Enough! It has long been foretold - the day we turn our backs on the Sword in the Stone - Skythia will be destroyed. Nothing will remain but our great kurgans. No one will remember Skythia even existed.” Zoltan’s voice was a weapon, relentless, mesmerizing.
The ebullient, questioning spirit of the people shrank away, replaced by deeply ingrained superstitious fear. The great yurt went silent, riveted by Zoltan’s mesmerizing voice, by the hovering swaying viper’s head over his glittering eyes.
In the high sorcerer’s speech, Sava recognized the hypnotic, compelling tones of the `Bellytalker’. The black demon who co
ntrols from within.
“Ungrateful slinking curs! How quickly you forget!” Zoltan hissed. “What god has made Skythia great and feared amongst her neighbors? What god keeps Skythia safe?!”
“Ah-Gin!” The people roared in response. “Ah-Gin! Ah-Gin!”
Gazing up toward the sky, Zoltan held out his arms. “Ah-Gin!” He called out – “Nothing is ours. All is YOURS.”
“Nothing is ours. All is YOURS!” The people roared.
So quickly and completely had the crowd turned tail in fear of the war god’s ire, Sava was reminded a school of frightened fish. The few voices in support of sparing his horse had been shouted down by a volcanic groundswell of enthusiasm for blood sacrifice. People were working themselves up to a fever pitch.
Rising from the lion throne King Idanthrysus drew his akinake from its jeweled sheath. Brandishing the shining sword he called out - “How has Skythia ruled the Sea of Grass for a thousand years?!”
“By the sword!” The people shouted. “The Sword in the Stone!”
“By this sign have we conquered!” King Idanthrysus bellowed, holding his sword on high.
“Ah-Gin! Ah-Gin! Ah-Gin!” The people chanted, heads nodding in maniacal fervor.
BOOM. Zoltan struck his staff on the wooden dais. “Now in our time of greatest need, you fools think to turn your faces from Ah-Gin?”
BOOM. The staff struck the dais. “You will remember this day - when Persia crushes Skythia under an iron boot and you are all fleeing like ants, running to the freezing wastes of Hyperborea!”
BOOM. Again Zoltan struck. “The Sword in the Stone is angry. We have become arrogant. We have not shown Ah-gin enough gratitude. Now Ah-Gin has sent the Persian army to punish us. There is only one way to propitiate the God of War – with BLOOD.”
“BLOOD is Man’s gift to the Gods!” The people roared.
Wine God's Sorcery: The Horse Lords Page 18