Descendants of the Scythians - Страница 27

“I don’t know. They attacked Varkan… They’re pushing forward and are on their way here… They seem incensed at something.”

That was all Artem could say, but just then, Varkan entered the kibitka and began telling his story, addressing himself to both the chieftain and Dmitro Borisovich. The chieftain frowned.

“What is he saying?” Ivan Semenovich asked the archeologist.

“I do not understand. He must have forgotten I don’t speak Scythian. But judging from the way he sounds, it must be pretty bad.”

Abruptly, Skolot interrupted Varkan and picked up his helmet from the rug. His hand gripped the golden handle of his short sword. Without rising, he pointed at the guests.

Varkan understood. He turned to Dmitro Borisovich and spoke again — this time in Greek. The archeologist listened to him attentively, pulling anxiously at his beard.

“Well, what’s he telling you?” Ivan Semenovich asked impatiently.

“He says that the soothsayer has instigated the Scythians to come here to Skolot and demand that we be given to the priests. The soothsayer warns of the gods’ wrath, scaring the people with an approaching thunderstorm, saying that lightning will strike them dead and rocks will begin to fall on their heads for their disobedience to the soothsayer. The soothsayer also says that the gods are already angry at the Scythians because Skolot would not allow us to be sacrificed…”

Artem saw the shrewd move of the soothsayer: he had used the approaching thunderstorm for his purpose, and thunderstorms were evidently rare in those parts.

“Ivan Semenovich, there really is a thunderstorm coming. I’ve seen it,” he said. “The whole sky — or maybe not the real sky but whatever they have here for a sky — is covered with dark clouds, and the soothsayer apparently wants to use the occasion to scare the wits out of the Scythians.” Ivan Semenovich remained silent, pondering the problem. The archeologist began speaking again:

“Varkan says that the Scythians are indeed frightened. They fear that the rocks will start tumbling from the sky. That’s strange, since according to what we know about the Scythians from historical sources, they were not afraid of thunderstorms. But here they…” Dmitro Borisovich spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

Ivan Semenovich shrugged his shoulders:

“Your historical sources might have had their reasons, but don’t forget that the conditions here are rather peculiar. The falling rocks mentioned by Varkan — isn’t that a good enough reason to be afraid of thunderstorms?”

Lida glanced at the geologist in surprise:

“Rocks? Do you believe rocks can really fall from the sky here during thunderstorms?”

“I don’t see why we should regard this idea as impossible. Don’t forget where we are. Powerful electric discharges can, of course, dislodge huge pieces of rock in the mountains, sending them down into this valley… Have you forgotten that in all likelihood, we are in an enormous subterranean cavity, a sort of gigantic cave?”

Now, when this idea had been expressed at last, it sounded incredible, and yet it was the only plausible explanation. Ivan Semenovich seemed to be the only person among the four explorers who had the presence of mind to think of the actual state of things. The presence of Scythians in this subterranean cavity of unthinkable size could be regarded as highly enigmatic and baffling, but still he never forgot they were somewhere underground in a gigantic cave where everything, from the chimerical yellow-pinkish plants to an underground thunderstorm with rocks raining from the sky, was highly unusual and unique. To arrive at an ultimate explanation that would take all these things into account was still impossible, the more so since there was no time to ponder it properly.

Diana, who up to the moment had been lying quietly on the rug in the kibitka, got to her feet and rushed to the exit, growling threateningly. Loud shouts poured in from outside.

Skolot rose slowly to his feet and walked out of the kibitka, his hand on the golden hilt of his sword, his countenance growing more concerned by the minute. Varkan followed him, giving the strangers a glance of consideration and encouragement to indicate that they were not to worry too much. Ivan Semenovich replied with an expressive gesture: we’re doing fine. Then he addressed himself to his friends:

“I think we should follow them. There’s nothing much for us to do here.”

They left the kibitka one by one. The geologists’ knit brows and set jaws indicated his determination to fight if need be; Dmitro Borisovich clutched the handle of his pickaxe firmly. Lida’s green eyes shone big on her pale face; she was biting her lip nervously.

“Are you scared? I can assure you…” Artem began grandly.

“Don’t waste words, Artem,” Lida cut him short. “I’m prepared to face anything. Let’s go!” Lida spoke with a trembling voice, but all in all, she was in control of herself. Brave girl!

The agitated murmur of the big crowd subsided when Skolot appeared from the red kibitka accompanied by Varkan and his warriors in battle leather and metal helmets. Even the old soothsayer standing in front of the crowd grew quiet. He scrutinized the stern face of Skolot, apparently trying to discover some signs of indecision which would indicate that he could press his case further. But the chieftain’s dignified expression revealed only imperturbability and self-control. He clenched his hands into fists, waiting for the proper moment.

Then another round of shouts rang out from the crowd: the strangers appeared from the tent. There was resentment, animosity, even hatred in those shouts, for the crowd had been incited by the soothsayer and his henchmen. Without any encouragement from the old soothsayer, the Scythians began moving in on the red kibitka.

Abruptly the chieftain stepped forward and shouted something, his hand still on the hilt of his sword. The crowd immediately fell silent. Those in front even began pushing backwards, retreating before Skolot, whose eyes burned with anger under the gold helmet. Now, not a single sound came from the crowd.

“See, our Skolot does have some authority over the Scythians,” Artem whispered to Lida.

But the girl did not listen: her attention was taken by the disgusting misshapen man, the one who resembled Skolot. He had appeared as though from nowhere at the side of explorers. Lida remembered that he had entered the chieftain’s kibitka together with them, but disappeared shortly after as she could not remember his being anywhere near them during the talk with the chieftain.

Now the misshapen Scythian was peeping from behind Varkan’s shoulder. He seemed to be waiting for something or looking for someone. His face was tense, the cunning eyes half-closed; he was leaning awkwardly forward, his left arm which was much longer than the right one, almost reaching the ground. Lida said, indicating the Scythian to Artem with her eyes:

“Where did he come from? Look, the stoop-shouldered one’s here again. Why had he come?”

“Yes, I already noticed him standing there. He’s a harbinger of evil to be sure,” Artem said gloomily.

“I don’t quite get you.”

“Oh, every time he appears, he brings some trouble for.”

“Arlem, I don’t think you know what you’re saying. You sound as though you were superstitious.”

“Superstitious or not, I’d gladly beat him to a bloody pulp!”

“Oh, Artem!”

Once again the voice of Skolot could be heard: the chieftain seemed to be asking the crowd a question. The sudden distant clap of thunder cut him short and sent a wave of renewed agitation through the crowd which started somewhere in the back and rolled forward to subside only at the red kibitka. But it had given a new impetus to the old soothsayer. The situation was ripe for action.

With his arms raised high into the air, the soothsayer began slowly advancing toward Skolot, glancing emphatically upward at the black cloud. The chieftain held his ground, standing motionless, clenching his fingers ever tighter on the hilt of the sword, his eyes riveted on the old man.

Lida caught a glimpse of the misshapen Scythian’s eyes flashing with joy and malice, but a moment later, all signs of emotion disappeared, as though this man had a special ability to sense someone’s gaze on him. He gave the strangers a quick side glance and immediately turned away, feigning complete indifference to everything around him. What a disgusting, revolting person, Lida thought. There was something of a spider in him. It was strange that she should feel such revulsion toward him, for she did not have anything in particular against him; he had not done her any harm; on the contrary, she caught him looking at her benignly, even with some interest. So, why should she be so disgusted at the proximity of this person? And Artem experienced a similar revulsion toward him, perhaps even stronger. There must have been some reason for it! Both Artem and Lida felt subconsciously that the misshapen Scythian was an enemy, perfidious and wily.

Without lowering his arms, the soothsayer launched into another harangue. His voice sounded threateningly; he began demanding something, pointing to the huge black cloud overhead. Then he stopped, craftily making a pause, like a skilled orator or actor. And in the silence, another clap of thunder resounded — this time much closer. The soothsayer seemed to have been waiting for precisely this. He started screaming something at the top of his lungs. Then he turned to the crowd, addressing it rather than Skolot. Discordant shouts of approval came from the mass of people milling about.