Descendants of the Scythians - Страница 13

Instead of replying, Artem handed the archeologist the chest without uttering a word; he just pointed to the ornament on the lid.

“All right, so what does this have to do with the map?”

“It’s right here! You can see for yourself!”

“You mean this ornament?”

“Yes, this ornament, and none other! This ornament is the map Pronis mentions in his message. It’s like a maze, you know. Just have a closer look; it’s terribly simple!” Three heads leaned over the lid of the chest. Six eyes began examining the intricate pattern of lines on it, exchanging occasional agitated remarks. Dmitro Borisovich was distrustfully tracing the groove of the main line with his finger. Lida went into raptures, uttering words of praise; Ivan Semenovich nodded his head in contentment.

As for Artem, he had completely lost control. He rushed up to Diana, grabbed the head of the astounded dog, turned it this way and that, pushed her over, and rolled her over onto her back. Diana did not offer any resistance as she was quite accustomed to such expressions of feelings in the effusive young man. And in spite of the fact that today’s expressions were especially violent, Diana only gently pressed her teeth into the man’s hand.

Artem pushed and pulled, patting the dog’s back and sides. His happy voice rang out triumphantly in the room: “We’ve got the map! We’ve got the map! We’ve got it!”

CHAPTER FOUR

The representations of horses and Scythian heads are discovered on the walls of the subterranean passages, and the enigma of the torches is solved; an unexpected obstacle blocks the way and Diana expresses the common attitude toward it; gray gas threatens to destroy the expedition and there seems to be no chance of rescue.

Ivan Semenovich stopped before the entrance to the cave and turned to his companions. He looked everyone over thoroughly and meticulously checked their gear. As was always the case before, this time, too, Ivan Semenovich took upon himself the leadership in the expedition in spite of the fact that now it was of an archeological nature rather than a geological one. When Ivan Semenovich had drawn Dmitro Borisovich’s attention to this circumstance before leaving home, and suggested that the latter assume leadership of the group, the archeologist dismissed the offer with a wave of his hand:

“Of course I won’t, my dear friend. Going through a cave is not an archeological venture; it belongs rather to a realm of which you, as a geologist, have much better knowledge. If we’re lucky enough to come across some ancient artifacts which would concern archeology, then, yes, I’m at your service, and will gladly take up the leadership. But now… no, and once again no. Don’t talk about it any more. You lead us! You give the commands!”

This time they did not overburden themselves, since they planned an expedition of only a short duration. What they had set out to do was to investigate some of the passages and corridors in the cave. If the predictions and expectations came true, then they could always come back to the cave, bringing along diggers and all the necessary tools and equipment for carrying out steady, purposeful work.

“Is everybody in good shape? All right, all right, you don’t have to prove it, I can see that you are. Do you have the dynamite charges, Artem? Good. What about the map? Do you have that with you, too, Artem? You haven’t left it behind, have you?”

The young man grinned broadly: Ivan Semenovich must be joking!

“Good. Has everyone got something for lunch? Lamps? Pickaxes? Everything’s in order? All right then, let’s go. Dmitro Borisovich, please lead us since you already know some part of the way through the cave.”

The day, bright, sunny and warm, was left behind. Eternal night, damp and portentous, reigned supreme inside the cave. Lida realized that she was even slightly nervous. She felt quite different now than the time she and Dmitro Borisovich had explored the cave. She wondered why she was so apprehensive — what was the cause of her nervous tension. It was just a reconnoitering trip like the previous ones in which she had taken part. Had she been so affected by the fact that they were now following the route indicated in the ancient parchment that existed no more?… But did it make much difference what kind of a map they used — the ancient one or copy they had made?

Artem was — or seemed to be — more relaxed. He was constantly checking the route they were following against the one on the map copied from lid of the chest. Every so often he would look up at Dmitro Borisovich, Lida, and Ivan Semenovich. The geologist was reserved as always; he did not seem at all affected by their present unusual circumstances. There was probably nothing special in it for him since he seemed unaffected by the romance of archeology; rather he regarded everything in terms of geological prospecting.

Dmitro Borisovich, on the contrary, was quite understandably excited. For the first time since their arrival at the Sharp Mount, the entire group had set out on an almost purely geological venture which, in his opinion, was promising. Promising, yes, but what results would it yield? Hadn’t Dmitro Borisovich been bitterly disappointed many times before when seemingly promising beginnings had fallen through without justifying the hopes of the archeologists?… Could it happen this time as well?.. It shouldn’t, actually. The main thing was not to miss a single detail, not a single feature: everything here could be of importance, provided, of course, Pronis’s map and text were genuine.

That’s why Dmitro Borisovich was constantly on the alert, afraid of missing any other instructions Pronis could have left on the wall in addition to the ones indicated in the text. The archeologist was lighting the way with his miner’s lamp very carefully, and the patch of light thrown by it moved in front of him in an erratic pattern, revealing jagged protruding rocks, unexpected turns or steep rises.

The light from the lamp of Artem who was walking in the rear of the party, produced even more phantasmagoric effects. It gave the figures in front of him giant shadows which moved along the walls, jumped one over the other, curved up to the ceiling, and broke into phantasmagoric shapes which assumed the weirdest of configurations.

For some time they walked in silence. The archeologist was the first to break it:

“The head of a Scythian!” he called out solemnly, pointing to the representation of the head carved into the rock, with sharp severe features of the face in profile. Despite its rough, crude lines, the carving’s expressiveness revealed the dexterous hand of an ancient artist. The face, with its short nose and small beard, must have captured the distinct features of a warrior from the very remote past.

It was the very head Artem had seen yesterday, but now they had to turn in a different direction since the route Artem had taken the previous day was only a dead end. Artem looked at the map to see if it were accurate on that point, and in fact, the passage indicated that the way to the walled section was a dead end — the first proof that the map showed the actual layout of the passages.

Dmitro Borisovich walked on without hesitation and without consulting the map. He knew the way. They turned left, then began descending. The floor of the passage turned to soft ground quite different from the rocks they had been treading on just a short while ago. But the walls remained as rocky as before.

“That’s the sediment from the water that once flowed through here,” Ivan Semenovich commented in a low voice, writing something down in his notebook. “It must have been a sort of subterranean river. Hm, a curious point: it flowed not lo llie surface but the other way round, into the depths of the mount…”

“Hold it!” Dmitro Borisovich called out. He stopped at the new fork. “Artem, which way should we turn according to the map?”

“To the right,” Artem said with conviction.

“And what’s this?” Ivan Semenovich said, lifting his lamp high into the air.

Immediately above them, the representation of a horse was carved into the rock. It was a surprisingly good image: the steed seemed poised to jump, its hind legs slightly bent.

“Aha, the horse!” Dmitro Borisovich said triumphantly. “The first horse of those mentioned in the text. There should be two more somewhere on our way. Forward, forward!”

They saw the second horse at the next fork; Artem, after consulting the map, announced that they should take the right fork. Then he continued with an irrefutable conclusion at which he had just arrived:

“The horses mean we should take the right fork, and the heads mean we should go left. Besides, the arrows under the carvings point in the proper direction.”

At first, as was her habit, Lida expressed her doubts as to the validity of Artem’s hasty conclusion, but soon enough, she saw for herself that again, Artem’s hypothesis was correct; at the next fork, the carving of a human head appeared on the wall, and sure enough, they had to turn left. Artem beamed with satisfaction. They had been right in entrusting him with the map!

Dmitro Borisovich had not yet found much to rejoice in. They were already several hundred meters from the entrance, but he had not yet come across anything directly related to archeology, with the exception of the carvings, of course. But they, valuable enough in themselves, were not a phenomenon previously unknown to science; similar representations were rather well studied. Besides, these heads and horses had not yet taken them anywhere in particular.