Descendants of the Scythians - Страница 29

“There’s one thing that still remains unclear to me,” Lida said, as if picking up the thread of the conversation.

“Ugh, just one thing?” Artem snapped. “Everything else she’s understood, so it’s all clear to her!”

“Hold your tongue, Artem!” Ivan Semenovich said angrily. Lida continued as though she had not heard Artern’s acrimonious remark:

“What role does the misshapen Scythian play in all these goings on? That’s what I’d like to know.”

Naturally, no one could provide her with an answer, and the conversation ceased.

They were moving along the same road they had taken on their way to the chieftain’s tent. It was a passage between two rows of wagons and kibitkas. The soothsayer, already on horseback, trotted past the explorers, leaving the crowd behind. He looked down at the explorers from his horse; it was not a comforting glance, for it was filled with cold fierceness. To thi^ik only that they were at the mercy of this cruel and unscrupulous person!

Further in the distance, beyond the crowd, on the knoll, the explorers saw a group of people. They were probably the captives whom the explorers had seen earlier in the day. It was difficult to say for sure, though, as they were far away.

Artem again turned his gaze to the precipitous cliffs that were rising high on the far side of the field beyond the forest and the hillocks. The whole place seemed surrounded on all sides by mountains which reached high up to the clouds and beyond. The surroundings resembled an enormous mountain valley, especially now in the dusk, when the unnatural yellowish-pink of the plants had changed to a uniform black.

Mountains, mountains everywhere. But are they really mountains, in the proper sense of the word? They’re probably not mountains but the walls of a gigantic cave… a cave where ancient Scythians lived… But how had they found their way here?… And how and why had they managed to survive to modern times? Hm, if it is a cave, does that mean there is a ceiling somewhere up there, above the fields, the woods, the wagons… rocks straight ahead, hidden beyond the clouds? Very, very strange, incredible, impossible!

Meanwhile the procession reached the kibitkas, adorned with grotesque pictures crudely drawn on the felt of the tents, among which one could make out figures of panthers — poskinas — lions, and deer.

“These pictures must have some religious or ritual significance,” remarked the archeologist who had almost completely regained his composure. No signs of his recent agitation were noticeable.

The procession stopped. The soothsayer was standing in front of a big kibitka. Now, on top of his long dress, he was wearing a long cloak also adorned with grotesque pictures of animals and birds. The soothsayer was now full of dignity, as if he were waiting for distinguished guests.

“The old trickster’s putting on this show to let us see what a big wheel he is,” Artem muttered. “If I could, I’d beat the hell out of…”

“Keep quiet!” Ivan Semenovich said sharply. “Don’t forget we’re in his hands. I’ve already told you to keep quiet, haven’t I?”

The soothsayer pronounced a short incantation, pointing alternately to the kibitka and the captive strangers. Those Scythians who were standing closer, immediately stepped back as though the strangers and their horrible poskina had become doubly dangerous to touch. Another wave of renewed fear passed over their faces. The soothsayer certainly did possess the power to intimidate these people.

After the old man was through with his incantations, he stepped aside, and the robust priestesses, daggers in hand, points forward, came up to the captives and indicated the entrance to the kibitka with their weapons.

“I think we must go in there,” Dmitro Borisovich said. “You don’t need any interpretation here. Right, Ivan Semenovich?”

“We don’t have much of an option,” replied the geologist.

He was the first to enter the tent, drawing the piece of felt that served as the door, aside. Lida was the last to go in. She was very tired by now, and what she wanted most of all was a chance to rest.

As she was going in, she thought it would be a good idea to draw the piece of felt carefully across the entrance, completely closing it and indicating to the Scythians that the strangers were not to be disturbed. When she turned around, taking hold of the edge of the felt, she unwittingly looked through the opening, and what she saw made her stop, rooted to the spot. Forgetting all about her tiredness, she watched.

She saw the misshapen Scythian, who had evidently come with the crowd, talking to the old soothsayer, gesticulating excitedly, and glancing every so often at the kibitka. Without understanding a word, Lida realized that the younger man wanted the soothsayer to give him something that was in the kibitka. But the soothsayer kept doggedly shaking his head, apparently saying no. The younger man insisted.

Watching them talk made Lida’s heart race wildly for some reason or other. She could not guess what it was that the ugly Scythian wanted, but she sensed it was something extremely significant, something that might concern them all. But what? Why was she so unnerved by it?

The soothsayer was now listening to the stoop-shouldered man with growing attention, and then Lida saw him nod his head curtly. The younger man’s face twisted into a contented smile. She shifted her gaze to the soothsayer, checking whether he had in fact given his consent. The soothsayer nodded his head in an unmistakable gesture of assent.

The misshapen Scythian cast a quick glance at the kibitka. His whole face shone with satisfaction. His eyes seemed to have located Lida in the kibitka and were resting on her… His gaze made her shudder and start back so violently that she almost lost her balance.

“Lida, what’s keeping you?” she heard the voice of Ivan Semenovich. “Come here. There’s something new and interesting for all of us.”

Lida turned around, and as she walked over to join the rest, she stopped dead, overcome with surprise. She saw something that she never expected to see.

Her friends, sitting on a rug, were talking to none other than Varkan who had somehow made his way into the kibitka. The Scythian was lying in the far corner of the kibitka, covered with a piece of cloth, only his helmeted head showing.

“Varkan!” Lida exclaimed in astonishment, opening her eyes wide. The next moment she flushed as she saw the young Scythian, hearing her utter his name, smile amicably at her.

CHAPTER THREE

The explorers are informed that they are the property of the gods the Scythian food is eaten and complicated problems involving Skolot and Dorbatay are discussed; the archeologist goes into one of his impromptu discourses on history and Dorbatay puts forward his conditions; more is learned about Hartak, the misshapen Scythian, and Ivan Semenovich expands his ideas.

“Don’t just stand there like that, Lida. Come over here. You’re not afraid of our friend Varkan, are you?” Ivan Semenovich said, laughing.

“Of course not! But how… how did he get in here?” Lida asked, still in the grip of the initial fright.

“That’s what Dmitro Borisovich is going to explain to us, as he remains the only person who can communicate with Varkan. Dmitro Borisovich! We’re waiting for you to start!”

In the semi-darkness of the kibitka, into which the twilight could penetrate only through the opening at its top, the conversation began, with Dmitro Borisovich acting as the interpreter. Artem was dispatched to stand guard at the entrance. He was to signal should anyone approach. That was the first thing Varkan wanted the explorers to do. Varkan was lying on llie floor, almost completely covered with a piece of felt; if the alarm were given, he could pull the felt over his head in his dark corner, and thus remain unnoticed by anyone who entered.

Varkan was telling his story in a low voice but speaking very fast. Dmitro Borisovich had to interrupt him once in a while, asking him to repeat or explain something that he had missed or failed to understand. Every two or three minutes, he stopped Varkan to translate what had been said. Impatient to render Varkan’s words as quickly as possible, he made short cuts, dropping words and sounds, gesticulating with his agile hands to help himself and others get his meaning.

“Skolot, you see, could do nothing in that situation,” Dmitro Borisovich translated. “The soothsayer — as we ourselves correctly guessed — managed to use the approaching thunderstorm to his own ends, threatening the Scythians with the wrath of the gods who would hurl rocks down from the sky if… well, in fact, rocks do happen to fall from the sky here…”

“That is quite an understandable phenomenon given the local conditions,” remarked the geologist.

“Terrified, the Scythians followed the soothsayer and demanded that we be handed over to them. The soothsayer’s case was immensely strengthened by the thunderbolts… Skolot was obliged to give in to the demand as he was afraid that any further resistance would lead to the fighting between his warriors and the soothsayer’s henchmen. So, now we’re in the hands of the soothsayer who has put a magic spell on us so that no one, except for him and his priestesses, can approach us… A sort of taboo. Now we’re the property of the gods, so to speak… And since the soothsayer has developed a strong dislike for us, we, as Varkan tells me, are in danger of being… errr… sacrificed to appease these gods…”