Descendants of the Scythians - Страница 19

“Neither do I.”

He made a gesture of resignation.

“Where are we?” they suddenly heard the surprised voice of Dmitro Borisovich. “What kind of stage scenery is this? It was rather foolish to paint leaves and grass yellow and pink!”

Then Ivan Semenovich replied:

“It’s not scenery at all, my dear friend. It’s quite a real forest, but of such preposterous colors…”

“Wait a minute!” the archeologist cried out. “Things like this don’t exist, so I must be dreaming!”

“Then we must be dreaming collectively one and the same dream — Artem and Lida also wondered whether they were dreaming. Yes, my friend, that’s how things are. Not only you, but even such an old hand at geology as myself cannot find any plausible explanations. By the way, have a look at this unusual cliff we’re lying on.”

Artem took another look around. Tall trees with pink leaves stood close to what looked like an almost vertical cliff, rising high, with jagged rocks sticking out of it. In fact he could not see where the cliff ended. It even seemed to Artem that it pierced the thick gray clouds overhead.

“I can’t understand what’s going on, Ivan Semenovich,” Artem said at last, noticing that the geologist’s gaze was directed at him.

“Well, I must admit once again that I can make no more out of all this than you.”

“And who is singing that song?” said Lida.

“A song? Oh, somebody’s really singing!”

“And the song is getting nearer!”

“Quite a few people must be singing it…”

“The song is absolutely unfamiliar to me. I’ve never heard anything like it before.” As the geologist said it, he raised his hand in warning. “Listen, just listen, and keep quiet.”

In the ensuing silence, they heard a distant shout, then another one… Then the sounds of something like a tambourine could be heard; other tambourines still further away joined in; then more shouts — cheerful, triumphant, solemn. But how could it all be happening two hundred meters underground?

All four explorers were sitting now, in silence, glancing at each other from time to time. Something impossible and incomprehensible was going on! The strange sounds did not abate; on the contrary they grew louder as though thousands of people had raised a shout, drowning the beat of the drums.

“Is it a sort of a parade or something?” Artem attempted a joke, but it sounded very inappropriate. Nobody smiled or paid any attention to his words for that matter. Discom- fitted, Artem did not pursue the matter. He felt a growing anxiety; the others also looked quite disturbed.

“Look over there!” Lida cried out.

A long arrow pierced the dense pinkish-yellow folliage, swished past them, then struck the ground, its feathers quivering in the air, its slim shaft sticking out from the grass, the harbinger of an unknown menace.

Ivan Semenovich was the first to regain control of himself. Overcoming his weakness, he rose to his feet, walked over to the arrow, and pulled it from the ground. His gray eyes studied the unexpected messenger thoroughly. At last he shook his head disapprovingly. His face had acquired an I-don’t-like-the-look-of-it expression.

“Have a look at this thing, Dmitro Borisovich,” he said, handing the arrow to the archeologist. “It’s not a toy. And it is not the kind of arrow used in archery for sport these days either. It’s a combat arrow if I’ve ever seen one. The arrowhead is made of bronze, you know.”

“What? Made of bronze you say?”

The archeologist immediately stopped thinking about his weakness and fatigue, sprang to his feet, and ran to Ivan Semenovich.

“A combat arrow you say? Oh, give it to me!”

He took the proffered arrow and began examining it. He alternately brought it quite close to his short-sighted eyes and then held at his arm’s length, bending his neck in a funny manner, as though taking aim at it from under the spectacles.

“What do you say about it?” Ivan Semenovich asked impatiently, this arrow evidently becoming suddenly a very important thing for his musings.

“Just a moment, wait just a bit. I can’t come to a conclusion so quickly. My eyeglasses are all smutty.”

Dmitro Borisovich put the arrow on the bag nearest him, handling it as though it were the most precious of jewels. Then he took off his spectacles and wiped them very carefully with his handkerchief, all this without taking his eyes off the arrow one instant. Putting his glasses back on, he peered at the arrow, his head bent apprehensively and mistrustfully, but some hope glinted in his eyes.

“So, what can you say about it?” Ivan Semenovich asked again.

“It’s impossible. It’s much too… much too… and yet there’s no room left for doubt… You see, it’s…”

The archeologist was apparently having difficulty finding the proper words to express himself. He picked up the arrow again and said, displaying it for his friends to admire it as though it were a thing of enormous value:

“My friends, it is an exact replica of an ancient arrow! Arrowheads of this type have been found in the excavations of the Scythian burial mounds. But they were always damaged, rusted and bent. You see my point? But this one is a new ancient arrow!”

“What do you mean — ‘a new ancient arrow’? I’d say that’s a very odd collocation, Dmitro Borisovich. Could you please make your meaning clear?”

“No, I can’t! What do you want from me, Ivan Semenovich? I’m only describing what I see; I beg you to understand this. And I’m as puzzled as the rest of you! Truly I am!”

Artem glanced at Lida, and Lida returned the stare: it was nigh to impossible to make any sense of the archeologist’s confused words.

The distant song changed in tone; now it was filled with joy and triumph. There was neither severity nor despondency in it any longer. Now it was truly a song of victory and jubilation.

“I have really never heard anything like it before,” Ivan Semenovich said pensively, casting a glance at Artem and Lida. He probably meant both the song and the archeologist’s garbled explanations. But the archeologist was not aware of the song at that point, for he was fully absorbed in examining the arrow.

“Look at Diana,” Artem said to Lida in a low voice.

The dog was standing now, her legs wide apart. She turned her head in the direction from which the song was coming. The dog was obviously nervous. She was prepared.to fight an unseen and unknown enemy. Ivan Semenovich also noticed this. For some time he stood looking at the dog as if thinking the situation over. Then he said, quietly and determinately, putting special stress on this quietness and determination:

“My friends, we must find out what’s going on there. Collect your belongings and get ready to move. Dmitro Borisovich, you’ll have plenty of time to examine your arrow later.”

The archeologist gave Ivan Semenovich an annoyed look, but obeyed, putting the arrow under the flap of his rucksack so it was sticking out of either side, and scrambled to put it on.

Ivan Semenovich was the first to start forward, picking his way among the trees, moving in the direction from which the song was coming.

They were walking through a big, dense forest. Something about it was different from the forests they were familiar with. Maybe it was the uniformly enormous trees or the unusual coloring of the leaves and grass — something they had never seen before. Everything was new and complicated, as though they had suddenly been transported to a far-away land. Things were further confounded by the arrow, the song, and the beat of drums.

Suddenly Ivan Semenovich raised his hand in a gesture of warning that meant: “Be on your guard!”

They were approaching the edge of the forest. They could already glimpse the overcast sky through the giant trees; a few more steps and they would be out in the open… Abruptly Ivan Semenovich doubled over and jumped behind the nearest tree, signalling for the rest to do the same. Diana, obedient to the strong hand of the geologist who had grabbed her collar, went to lie down by his side. Her body was trembling. They looked out from behind the trees, bewildered beyond measure. Artem’s breath was taken away; his hand clasped Lida’s; he was afraid to make even the slightest movement. He had to be dreaming it all! What else could it be? In real life, nothing of the kind could ever occur — such things happened only in dreams!

A wide field of the same strange pinkish-yellow color stretched into the distance from the edge of the forest. There were long rows of kibitkas with covers of felt close to one another in one corner of the field; other big wagons, some of which had six wheels, could also be seen there.

Much further away, beyond the kibitkas, was a large herd of horses. And in the distance, encircling this most unusual of subterranean landscapes, steep, almost vertical mountains, similar to the cliff from which the explorers had started, were rising high into the air, seemingly without any ledges, to disappear in the low, dense, gray clouds. The place they had found themselves in was a sort of valley surrounded by high mountains; only it was much too wide.

But none of the four contemplated this picture for long, since their attention was riveted to something that was happening much closer to where they were hiding and which was of much greater importance to them at the moment.

Several hundred people were standing not far from the edge of the forest near a strange object made of branches and twigs. The several hundred men and women were wearing bizzare clothes, their uncommon appearance immediately catching the eye.