Descendants of the Scythians - Страница 47

Varkan and the other Scythian dragged the carcass closer to a tree. From time to time, Varkan glanced up at Lida and Artem as if he knew what mood they were in. His face was cheerful, and every time he met the gaze of Lida or Artem, a broad, genial grin appeared on his face, as it so often had before.

Lida and Artem watched in fascination how dexterously Varkan made a long cut across the boar’s belly, removed and threw away the intestines. Meanwhile, the other Scythian brought the horses; the boar was put on one of them and firmly secured. Varkan mounted his horse, his friend jumped up behind him. Then Varkan gave the signal: let’s go.

The horses trotted off. Artem followed the horse with the boar’s carcass. Even disembowled and slung across the horse’s back the boar had a very threatening appearance with his wide open mouth and tusks. Willy-nilly, Artem recalled the moment those tusks had been aimed at him. With what infernal fury those beady red eyes had blazed then! If Varkan’s friend hadn’t delivered those timely blows, Artem wouldn’t have had a chance to examine the head of the dead beast and recall the details of the hunt.

“Varkan seems to be very grateful to you, Artem,” Lida said unexpectedly, catching up with the young man. “Remember how movingly he put your hand to his forehead? That must have been the Scythian way of saying ‘thank you,’ what do you think?”

“Yes, must have been. But in this case I should thank Varkan’s friend for what he did…”

“But to pluck up courage to jump down from that tree onto the boar! Weren’t you frightened?”

“I didn’t have to pluck up my courage. I don’t think there was even time to get properly frightened. I did the first thing that came to mind, and there’s nothing more to discuss, really.”

Lida realized Artem had definitely changed and was no longer the boy she had known at college or while they were exploring the Sharp Mount. Then, he had been an ordinary young man, a good friend, sometimes a little droll, but in most respects, very much like so many others.

Now, under these exceptional conditions verging on the unreal, Artem had begun to develop some new qualities; bravery, quick reflexes, keen powers of observation, and sharpness of reasoning. But to look at him, he remained his old self: the same shock of hair, the same wide-eyed expression, sometimes filled with inexplicable sadness. It was his behavior that had changed. And all the drollery seemed to have disappeared. His every movement, his every phrase seemed so dear to her, so close…

* * *

They had left the forest and were riding across the remarkable pink steppe. Grasshoppers chirped loudly, and above their heads, just beneath the low clouds, larks were singing. The smell of honey, emanating from the high grass, hung m the air. The pyramid of branches with the scimitar sticking from the top came into view in the distance. From this distance, the pyramid looked quite small; the scimitar looked hardly thicker than a piece of hair; in the evening dusk, the cliffs seemed to have moved closer and to lean inward, encompassing in a tightening grip the forest, the steppe, and the Scythian camp…

The neighing of many horses reached their ears. Varkan gave a warning gesture with his hand and turned his horse aside; Artem and Lida followed suit. This proved a very timely maneuver; the first horses of a big herd emerged from the high grass. Hundreds of horses were galloping straight ahead in what appeared to be a solid mass, making the earth tremble. About a dozen Scythians were driving the herd along, cracking their long whips.

The riders stopped to watch the herd pass. Varkan surely knew what he was doing when he gave the sign to make way! Even at a considerable distance away from the herd, their horses grew restless and began neighing, and evidently wanting to join the herd. It was frightening to think what might have happened to them if they had not moved out of the way of the herd!

Artem recalled the stories about the Scythians Dmitro Borisovich had told in the evening by the fire after the day’s work at the Sharp Mount. Now, before his very eyes, illustrations of those stirring stories had come to life.

Herds of horses were the main asset of the Scythians. Artem knew already that horses’ meat and milk were the main staples of the Scythian diet; how had it happened that these herds were owned by just a handful of wealthy Scythians? Artem kept thinking about these things long after the herd had disappeared. Meanwhile, Lida, overcome with fatigue, had begun dozing in the saddle. Artem also felt weariness spreading through him.

Suddenly Varkan whistled sharply; there was a rider galloping toward them from the Scythian camp brandishing his spear. He reined in his horse sharply just in front of Varkan. They discussed something briefly. Varkan turned to look at Lida, who was half-asleep on her horse, then shifted his gaze to Artem, his eyes asking: is she all right? Artem made a gesture as if to say, she’s all right, just tired.

Varkan said something to the rider, who immediately turned his horse around and galloped away. In a short while Varkan stopped at a small, felt-covered kibitka. He dismounted, and helped Artem take the exhausted Lida from the horse. The girl was barely able to stand upright. Once inside, she collapsed onto a thick soft rug. Varkan said a few quick words to an old Scythian who was in the kibitka. In no time, tall pitchers of cold milk, plates laden with roast meat, and loaves of bread were brought in and placed before Artem and Lida. Varkan sat down by their side and invited them to have some food.

Every swallow of the cool, fragrant milk that was thirstily gulped down, seemed to give Lida new strength. At last, she felt so refreshed she even smiled. She was somewhat embarrassed for having shown weakness. But no one, of course, would mention it. Artem was eating the meat with gusto, washing it down with milk.

“Of course, it’d be more convenient to use a fork,” Artem said, making it sound like a revelation, and tearing off a.piece of meat with his fingers at the same time. “But it’s all right this way too, especially when you’re hungry. As a matter of fact, it suits the local life style better. Oh, and.what’s that?”

A woman in a tall headdress brought in a gold bowl; Varkan took it from her and put it on the floor, between himself and Artem. Artem watched Varkan with mounting curiosity, continuing to fill his mouth with morsels of food at the same time. Immediately after placing the bowl on the floor, Varkan left the kibitka with the host, the old Scythian. Artem said turning to Lida and shrugging his shoulders:

“Our friend seems to be putting himself to unnecessary trouble. Is he going to treat us to something else? What do you think?”

“Why shouldn’t he?” the girl said quietly. “He’s extremely grateful to you; take my word for it.”

Artem made a gesture as if to say skip it.

Varkan came back with the host who was carrying a wine-skin like those in which Artem knew the Scythians kept their intoxicating beverage, oksugala.

“Oh, it looks like he really is going to treat us to that ^Scythian drink,” Artem said.

Varkan stopped in the center of the kibitka, assuming a solemn posture, and began telling the old Scythian and the woman about the boar hunt. Though neither Artem nor Lida understood a single word, Varkan’s gestures were so expressive, so vividly presenting the events of the hunt that they had no difficulty in following the story.

Varkan finished his story, came up to Artem, and put Artem’s hand to his forehead the way he had already done.before, throwing Artem into utter confusion.

“All right, enough of that,” he blurted out, snatching his hand away from Varkan’s grip. “I do wish he’d stop bringing it up!”

Varkan picked up the bowl and put it right in front of Artem; then he bowed before Artem ceremoniously and.began speaking again, making himself understood with the help of gestures: Varkan evidently wanted to thank Artem for rescuing him from certain death. Then he pointed to the bowl, rolled up his shirt sleeve, and with a quick movement, made a small cut in one of his fingers. Several drops of blood fell into the bowl.

“What’s going on?” Artem asked, feeling quite at a loss; the whole procedure baffled him completely.

“Now you’ll have to do the same,” Lida said without a moment of hesitation.

“How do you know?” Artem said giving her a distrustful.glance.

“Oh, I remember reading about such a custom being practiced among primitive peoples,” Lida said, smiling. “It’s called ‘swearing eternal brotherhood’ or ‘becoming blood brothers.’”

“What’s that?”

“You’re supposed to cut your finger and let some of your blood drip into the bowl to mix with Varkan’s. Then you’ll drink the blood.”

Artem made a wry face:

“I don’t imagine it tastes very good…”

“Oh, there’s one more thing — some wine should be added to the bowl… But the Scythians don’t have wine… Oh, of course! They’ll use oksugala! You’ll drink that and it’ll taste better, even with the blood mixed in it.”

“Still I’m not very eager to try it. Why should we go through with this in the first place?”

“After you’ve done it, you and Varkan will become sworn brothers for the rest of your life. Which, incidentally, will put certain obligations on you.”

“Obligations? Will we behave like real brothers?”