Descendants of the Scythians - Страница 37

Two acolytes handed Dorbatay a large gold bowl and a long stone knife with the golden haft.

“The bowl and the knife are the traditional sacred ritual objects of the Scythian soothsayers,” Dmitro Borisovich whose archeological curiosity had again been roused, began whispering excitedly.

Dorbatay raised the bowl and the knife into the air ceremoniously and shouted something very loudly as though addressing some request to the clouds that were moving slowly across the sky. Dmitro Borisovich said:

“He’s speaking half Greek, half Scythian again. He says that the strangers will see with their own eyes what will happen to them in just a short while, so they’d better hurry up with the acceptance of his proposals.”

Ivan Semenovich shook his head silently, without taking his eyes from the altar and what was going on beside it.

Dorbatay lowered the knife, its point downward. That was also a signal. The soothsayer’s assistants who had been holding the bound slaves, now began dragging them toward the soothsayer. One of the slaves uttered a piercing cry, trying to free himself. The other slave, treading heavily, moved on without resisting, evidently having relinquished all hope of deliverance. Loud shouts came from the crowd. Artem went pale. He cried out:

“They’ll kill them! Ivan Semenovich, they will! We can’t let it happen!”

There was a deep frown on the geologist’s brow. He grabbed the young man by the shoulder.

“Wait, Artem, wait. The time for us to act will come very soon.”

Meanwhile the assistants were dragging the slaves toward Dorbatay. As the soothsayer was waiting his wandering gaze fell upon the strangers: there was a menace and triumph in his eyes. The first slave had already stopped his wailing; he seemed to have lost his voice. He was only making hoarse wheezing sounds, his head hanging back. The excited murmur in the crowd was growing, but above it rose the hysterical lamenting of a woman. Ivan Semenovich gently pushed Artem forward.

“Now’s the time, young man!”

In one leap Artem was at Dorbatay’s side; the latter was startled by Artem’s sudden movement, and stepped back. The soothsayer’s assistants did not so much as budge to intercept Artem, so sudden and swift was his leap. Now he was standing right in front of the old soothsayer, with arms akimbo, his stance expressing contempt. Diana was at his side, baring her teeth and growling menacingly, ready to defend her master.

A dead silence fell over the steppe. Everyone froze. Everybody was waiting to see what the mighty, glorious Dorbatay would do to the impertinent stranger who, in Dorbatay’s words, had been forsaken by the gods. Surely the great man had stepped back to have more room to set about incinerating the stranger.

Dorbatay, unlocking his clenched feeth with difficulty, shouted something wildly to his assistants, pointing at Artem with the stone knife. But they did not have the pluck to approach the young man. Once again, as it happened on the previous day, the old soothsayer had to face the challenger all by himself.

Artem was quick to use the situation to his full advantage.

“Listen, you, old rogue!” he said very loudly right into the soothsayer’s face. “Your rule’s finished. I challenge you to a contest. Show all the tricks you’re capable of. I’ll show mine. Then we’ll see who’s a more powerful magician. Where’s your interpreter?”

Knowing that Dorbatay could not understand a single word of what he was saying, he added:

“All right, now I’ll explain everything to you, nice and clear. Varkan, Varkan!”

Varkan urged his horse forward and in a moment was at Artem’s side. Artem said:

“Dmitro Borisovich, tell Varkan everything that should be interpreted to this rogue, the soothsayer, that is, and to all the rest of the Scythians!”

Varkan listened to the archeologist and then began speaking, his voice strong and loud enough to be heard by all the Scythians. A loud clamor arose from the crowd. Dorbatay’s face clouded. Now Artem had cut all paths of retreat. The crowd was waiting for Dorbatay’s reply to the challenge of the audacious stranger; all eyes were fastened on him. The old soothsayer had at last made up his mind. He shouted his reply to the young man in a hoarse voice, that was brimming with menace.

“He says that the gods will reduce you, Artem, to ashes,” the archeologist translated. “Aren’t you scared?”

“All right, we’ll see shortly who’ll be more successful in using the heavenly fire! You start, old man! I invite your gods to incinerate me! But mind you, if you fail, then it’ll be my turn!”

Artem was standing in front of Dorbatay, composed and unimpressed by the soothsayer’s threats. Dorbatay realized then that in his rage, he said something he should never have said, and that the stranger was aware of this. The crowd meanwhile was waiting for the terrible punishment to be executed, and every minute that passed without anything happening was one more point in favor of the stranger! Still holding the sacred bowl and knife in his hands, Dorbatay began uttering his imprecations. He strained so much, shouting them that the muscles of his old withered neck stood out, once in a while he shifted from shouting to sinister hissing and then back to shouting; he waved his arms as though inviting all the fiendish elements of nature to unleash their fury upon the young malefactor. The latter remained as self-possessed as before, showing no fear. Artem was even smirking! A surging murmur passed through the crowd, and there was some new quality in that murmur. Artem felt that the mood of the crowd was shifting in his favor. Dorbatay was losing his hold over the Scythians! Artem decided to use the moment to speed up the downfall of the soothsayer. He boldly stepped forward and stood very close to the old man who kept waving the knife and the bowl wildly.

“It doesn’t seem to be working, eh?” Artem asked sarcastically. I don’t feel any flames burning me. So, make room, you’ve failed! Step aside, old man, now it’s my turn!”

“Artem, watch out!” Lida cried out a warning.

In an abrupt and swift movement nobody would have expected him capable of, Dorbatay rushed at Artem, his knife poised high, ready to strike. Another moment, and he would have driven it home into Artem’s chest. But at the very last instant he started back though Artem did not stir, never trying to parry the blow. Diana, watchful and always on guard, leaped forward, aiming at the soothsayer’s throat. Her jaws closed with a snap, missing him by hardly an inch. Dorbatay was immensely lucky to have been able to recoil in time! Diana landed on her feet and stood ready for another attack. Her bristling hair, bared teeth, and low growl indicated her readiness to go into action.

“Ah, so that’s how you want it!” Artem said slowly, as though perplexed. “You’ve realized that you can’t call your heavenly fire down on me, so you’ve decided to stab me with your knife? That’s where you’re wrong. No good even trying. But now it’s my turn. I warned you, didn’t I? Open your eyes wider!”

In an unaffected gesture, Artem pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Dead silence fell over the crowd. Hundreds of eyes were following Artem’s every movement. The young man knew it and, after inhaling the smoke, released it slowly and deliberately right into the face of Dorbatay who stood stunned by the performance.

“Aha, you don’t like it? Wait, I have something else up my sleeve. Dmitro Borisovich! I want Varkan to translate that now I will knock the soothsayer down without even touching him, with the help of the heavenly fire. Yes, the heavenly fire will topple him over!”

Yarkan translated what had been transmitted to him by Dmitro Borisovich. Dorbatay’s face showed reluctance to believe the stranger would be able to do it. The soothsayer probably thought that his opponent was trying to scare him into submission, the thing he himself had just tried to do. After all, Dorbatay knew better than anyone else the true worth of “the heavenly fire”! He put one foot forward, his stance and newly regained composure showing that he was not intimidated by the threats of the impertinent stranger.

“I see that you’ve prepared yourself for what’s to come. All right, here it goes!”

Artem took a small object out of his pocket and put it close to the lit cigarette that was sticking out of his mouth. In a moment the object began hissing and smoking. Artem held it high and hurled it to the ground, right at the soothsayer’s feet.

“Now, let’s watch what happens. Now everyone will see whether you’re strong enough to stay on your feet!”

Dorbatay panicked and was about to bolt when he saw the strange object hissing at his feet like a furious miniature monster. To make things look even more terrifying, it was smoking. But the soothsayer understood only too well that if he bolted, it would immediately spell the end of his influence over the Scythians. So, suppressing his great fear of the smoking magical object, he stayed put, only shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Just one moment,” Artem said, “and here it comes! Hold on, old man!”

The moment he said it, there was a deafening crack at Dorbatay’s feet. Fire seemed to leap from the ground and hurl him into the air. It was impossible to say whether the old soothsayer was felled by the explosion or by the terrible fright he took from seeing the fire and hearing the ear- splitting crack, but whatever the cause of his fall, he flew into the air, turned over, flailed his arms, and dropped to the ground with a heavy thud, face upward. As he fell, he dropped the sacred bowl and the sacred knife and they rolled over to rest at Artem’s feet. Then Dorbatay turned face down and remained in that position, wrapped in the loose folds of his ceremonial scarlet cloak as though afraid to look at the powerful young magician who had brought down fire and thunder from the heavens, much less to rise.