Black Sea Gods: Chronicles of Fu Xi

by Braden, Brian

  Ba-lok shook Ghalen off, snatched his spear from Levidi and stomped away.

  The group resumed their trek as Okta came alongside Aizarg.

  “The sco-lo-ti of the Minnow Clan has some growing up to do,” Okta said dryly.

  Aizarg nodded. He had serious doubts about Ba-lok’s ability to control himself. He also had doubts about Okta, as well. Aizarg couldn’t easily shrug off the older man’s loss of judgment last night.

  “He is young,” Aizarg said. “The duties of a sco-lo-ti have been thrust upon him at an early age. The burdens of our time are heavy enough for any man, let alone one so young.”

  “I will try to share your optimism,” Okta said in the same dry tone.

  Okta was Aizarg’s distant cousin, but many said the two sco-lo-ti looked more like brothers. Aizarg acknowledged the physical similarities, though Atamoda often told him the older sco-lo-ti had a bigger nose, more gray hair, and wasn’t nearly as handsome as Aizarg. He enjoyed it when his wife said such things. He suspected Okta had a darker, moodier personality than his own. He did, however, acknowledge Okta’s intelligence and renown as an effective leader. Aizarg hoped last night was just a passing indiscretion.

  “This girl, she leads us into low-ground.” Okta motioned to the small rolling hills rising on both sides of them. They were in a shallow indentation, a depression, between the two ridges about a hundred paces wide. It stretched east as far as they could see.

  “She said it’s the route Virag follows to Hur-ar,” Aizarg responded.

  “I am uncomfortable being at the bottom.” Okta took something out of his waist pouch and put it in his mouth. “I am uneasy being unable to see the horizon. We are ripe for ambush from the ridges above. If we walked on the crest of either the northern or southern ridge, we could see approaching a-g’an. Let us follow this route, but from above.”

  Aizarg thought this sound advice. He clicked loudly twice with his tongue to get Ghalen’s attention. Ghalen looked back and Aizarg pointed to the top of the northern ridge. Aizarg extended his hand out, palm down and motioned away from his chest. Ghalen nodded.

  Ghalen turned north and started up the gentle slope. The group followed, but Sarah hurried back to Aizarg.

  “Uros,” she said with urgency. “We must stay in the low land!”

  “We are blind to an ambush. We can still follow Virag’s route, but from above.”

  The group stopped and gathered around Sarah and Aizarg.

  “Uros, you are wiser in such things than I,” Sarah said, visibly apprehensive. “But Virag was adamant that his caravans always stayed in the low ground. He didn’t even put scouts on the ridges.”

  Ba-lok spoke up. “Does the Uros listen to a sco-lo-ti or a slave wench?”

  Sarah shot Ba-lok a scornful look. Setenay folded her arms but remained silent.

  “I think the girl means well,” Okta spoke softly from behind Aizarg. “But down here, our sagar are useless. The Scythians can rain arrows down on us from above.”

  Aizarg stroked his beard and considered his options.

  “Uros,” Ghalen spoke. “On the ridge, any Scythian horsemen will have to charge uphill. We can also fall back behind the ridge if necessary. This might shield us from some of their arrows.”

  Levidi nodded. “It sounds reasonable to me, Aizarg.”

  “It’s plainly common sense,” Ba-lok agreed and narrowed his eyes at Sarah. “I don’t know why the Uros even hesitates.”

  Only Ood-i and Setenay had not offered their opinions. Aizarg expected Setenay to remain quiet on a matter well within the realm of flesh, suitable for an Uros and his men to decide.

  “Well, Ood-i, what do you have to say before I make a decision?”

  Ood-i looked over at Sarah and then back to Aizarg.

  “Sarah would not c-council us to remain in the low country if she didn’t have a g-good reason. I trust her.”

  Sarah and Ood-i smiled at each other.

  “Hah!” Ba-lok laughed. “I would expect as much!”

  It was choice between the advice of a former slave girl or every man in the party except her lover. Something gnawed at Aizarg, a piece of critical information he felt missing. Her words cast a shadow of wisdom, but he couldn’t give the faint specter enough form to override the advice of his men.

  “We walk the ridges.”

  ***

  The men’s spirits rose as they crested the ridge and pressed east.

  “Look how the ground gently rises and falls. The hills look like waves frozen in place,” Levidi remarked, looking out across the endless expanse of rolling grasslands. The grin on Levidi’s face reminded Aizarg of an excited boy taking his first boat ride beyond sight of the arun-ki.

  “Perhaps the whole world was once a sea,” Setenay remarked at the view spread before them. “Maybe Psatina transformed this part of the sea into soil as a home for the a-g’an out of pity.”

  When put in that way, the g’an is almost beautiful.

  They marched along the crest until the sun arced toward the horizon and their lengthening shadows preceded them. The Lo seemed to liven up as the day wore on.

  Sarah walked close behind Aizarg, looking left and right as if she expected a line of Scythian raiders to emerge from behind a hill at any moment.

  “Come here, girl. Walk next to me.” Aizarg motioned her forward. She wore an expression of relief on her face, as if being closer to him would protect her.

  He suddenly remembered when Kol-ok was much younger, when Bat-or still slept in Atamoda’s belly. Aizarg took him for his first walk deep into the marsh. Every sound frightened the boy, though he tried to hide it from his father. The boy walked so close to Aizarg it was difficult not to trip over him. Aizarg reached down and took the boy’s hand and Kol-ok’s fear melted.

  As Sarah walked next to him, Aizarg resisted the urge to hold her hand.

  “As I told you last night, you are a free woman. When we reach Hur-ar, your debt will be paid and you may remain with your people.”

  “They will not take me back,” she said, finally looking down. “My father permitted a favored wife to sell me into slavery. Under Hur law, it is his right. If you return me, he will simply sell me again.”

  Aizarg halted and considered her. “Are your people savages?” He raised his voice. “How can a man sell another human, let alone his own flesh?”

  “My people are worse than savages,” she said darkly. “They think of themselves as civilized, superior to all. The Hur are haughty and wicked.”

  Aizarg shook his head and continued east. “I shudder at the thought of a father betraying his daughter to the slaver’s whip. I pity you, poor Sarah.”

  An iron gray sky forming in the north slowly banished the pale blue sky. The leading edges of the thin clouds burned fiery orange and red in the sinking sun.

  Aizarg often wondered if the clouds were really on fire, but the prospect didn’t concern him upon the Great Sea. Now, however, they traveled across endless expanses of dry grass.

  Will they burn the grass if they dip too low? He saw no evidence of recent prairie fires, so he supposed such things didn’t happen.

  “May I stay with your people?” Sarah whispered, interrupting his thoughts.

  He frowned as he considered her plea.

  “Ood-i is married,” he said after a long pause. “We do not take more than one wife, nor do we tolerate concubines. If you live among us, it will certainly cause strife. I cannot bring an element of discord into my village.”

  “Ood-i has vowed to no longer bed me. He said as much before you and Setenay this morning. I, too, made that vow.”

  “It’s not that simple.” Aizarg briefly thought about the warmth he witnessed between Sarah and Ood-i earlier. “Do you deny Ood-i loves you?”

  “I do not,” she replied softly.

  “Do you deny your love for him?”

  “I do not.”

  Aizarg sighed. “The ways of the heart are a mystery to me, but even I know you two wi
ll eventually find your way back into each other’s arms. Ood-i is a good man, albeit a weak one. You will live in scorn, isolated from the village women even if you keep your vow.”

  Aizarg caught Ood-i’s wary eye. “No, Sarah, you cannot live in my arun-ki. Even though I sympathize with your plight, my people must come first.”

  She kept her head down and continued to walk next to Aizarg, trying to keep up with his long strides. Finally, she spoke in a calm and clear voice, but Aizarg couldn’t mistake the deep sadness riding on every syllable.

  “Uros, then I ask you release me within sight of my homeland. I will find my own way in the wilderness.”

  “Sarah, I admire you’re spirit, but you will surely die alone.”

  Sarah stopped. Her face burned with determination. “I would rather die alone and free than live another day as a slave.”

  Aizarg didn’t show any response and resumed walking. Thoughts of Kol-ok and Ba-tor filled his mind.

  “Sarah?” Aizarg finally spoke again.

  “Yes, Uros?”

  “We will not abandon you. I will consult Setenay and ponder your dilemma further.”

  Sarah smiled and nodded. Her pace quickened.

  “Sarah, something has been gnawing at my mind since we left the low ground. You said Virag paid off the Scythians, but how?”

  Sarah shrugged. “Before Virag forms a caravan and embarks on a journey, he always sends a runner to bring the Scythian chief to his trading camp. Shortly thereafter, the horde descends upon the camp and remains for a day or two, enjoying Virag’s ‘hospitality.’” She spat out the last word.

  “Once the Scythians are sated with wine, women and treasure, they let us proceed. Virag orders the yurts to be disassembled and, along with his trade goods, packed on the backs of his slaves. Even the pleasure slaves must bear heavy burdens for the journey. We walk along this deep depression for several days, and then make camp in the shadow of the Adyghe Mountains. However, the Scythians always emerge from the steppe and meet us just west of Hur-ar to extract another tribute before the return journey.”

  “Do the Hur-po pay the Scythian’s a tribute as well?” Aizarg asked.

  “No!” she said adamantly. “They will not come within sight of the Black Fortress! Hur-ar and its people are protected in its shadow.”

  “The ‘Black Fortress?’ Is that the dwelling of the Narim?”

  Sarah nodded.

  “Fortress...” Aizarg frowned. “I do not know that word.”

  “It means ‘the place that is strong in god,’” she said.

  “What does it look like?” he asked.

  Sarah looked toward the distant east and spoke, her voice barely audible above the wind. “It is a mountain within a mountain.”

  Aizarg shook his head in frustration. “Every description of these Narim is more like a riddle than truth! It confounds me. I don’t understand, as I have never seen a mountain, though I’ve heard tales they are mounds of dirt much larger than hills.” He pointed to the rolling terrain. “How much larger are mountains than these hills? Twice as big? Four times? Tell me.”

  She looked up at him again and covered her mouth, trying not to let the Uros see her smile. Her nervousness and fear were gone, replaced by girlish delight.

  “Do not make sport of me.” Aizarg didn’t know if he felt anger or amusement at her reaction. Maybe he felt a little of both.

  She bit her lip to keep from smiling.

  “Forgive me, Uros, I was not trying to be rude. Please, give me a moment to consider your question.” Her face became very serious and then her eyes showed a spark of inspiration.

  “When I was a child I heard tales of the Great Sea, but could not imagine it from others’ descriptions. Only when I finally beheld the mighty waters with my own eyes, I truly understood what those tales actually meant. I also came to understand there are some wonders too glorious for the crude sounds uttered by mortal lips.”

  She sighed. “These mountains escape mere words. They are beautiful, and the only thing I miss about my homeland.” She waved her hand across the rolling prairie. “Compared to them, these hills are like puddles left on the shore by a passing wave.”

  She had the ghost of a strange accent on her lips and her words were refined. She doesn’t speak like a common slave girl. She speaks like a patesi-le.

  Aizarg chewed on her words as a small commotion stirred at the front of the column where Levidi and Ghalen engaged in a lively debate.

  “You don’t throw it, you idiot!” Levidi scowled. “You plant the back of the shaft in the dirt and let the charging horse impale himself on it! If you weren’t so busy chasing women around the lagoon, you’d know these things.”

  Aizarg smiled. Levidi, always the expert on all matters.

  “So, my short friend,” Ghalen smirked. “Do you say ‘please’ when you ask the horse to impale himself, or do you just order him to jump on your spear-tip?”

  The rest of the group laughed.

  “No! No, you...you...” Levidi sputtered and pointed to his spear tip, flustered with Ghalen. “No! The horses, they are running so fast they can’t stop.”

  Ghalen thoughtfully put his finger to his lips. “Yes, I can see that. It must be easy to surprise a Scythian and his horse out here.” He swept his arm over the vast, open expanse.

  “I don’t know!” Levidi said defensively. “Maybe the Sammujad hide in the grass, and then jump up at the last minute.”

  “Or maybe they just throw the damn spear!” Ghalen laughed.

  “It’s too big to throw,” Levidi shot back. “It’s too heavy, and too long.”

  “Maybe too long for you to throw, but not me,” Ghalen said as he signaled for the party to halt. He shrugged off the bundle and boar spear and hefted the great sagar in his right hand. Ghalen tossed it up and down in his palm to get the feel for its balance point. Though very thick, especially at the base, the long shaft flexed slightly as he tossed it.

  “Wait.” Levidi held up his hand and dropped his sagar. He pulled the much shorter boar spear from his back and dropped his bundle. “If you cannot throw a sagar farther than I can throw a boar spear, then it’s not worth throwing. Agreed?”

  Ghalen grinned. “Let’s take it further...if I can throw a sagar farther than you can toss a boar spear, you must carry my bundle for the rest of the journey. If I can’t, I carry yours. Agreed?”

  Levidi hefted his boar spear with a confident grin. “Agreed!”

  Aizarg knew of few spearmen as good as Levidi, but in an equal throw he would not wager against Ghalen. Even with Ghalen’s mighty arm, this was no contest. While the boar spear had a heavy iron tip and cross piece, the sagar weighed twice as much. Aizarg believed the difference too great, even for the likes of Ghalen.

  The group backed up and gave the men room. Levidi shook out his limbs, hoisted the spear on his shoulder, and faced downhill toward the depression. Ghalen raised his hand. “One moment.”

  He reached down and picked up a few twigs of dry grass. He crushed the stalks, raised the pieces over his head, and let them fall.

  “The wind blows that way.” Ghalen pointed east along the ridge’s gentle spine in the direction they were walking. “I suggest you throw with the wind to your back. It might help your chances.”

  Levidi scowled at Ghalen. He cocked his arm and prepared for a running throw.

  “STOP!” Ghalen raised his hand. “Throw from a standing position. That will keep the competition fair and will also better your chances.”

  Levidi lowered the spear and crinkled his face. “I see. Your concern for fair play and my welfare is admirable.”

  Ghalen bowed low and spread his arms.

  Levidi placed most of his weight on his back leg. His eyes narrowed and his brow lowered in concentration. He fully extended his left arm up at about a forty-five degree angle. His left palm faced down and flat, as if telling the other arm where he wanted the spear to go. His right arm cocked back and his bicep bunched into a tightly
wound ball of captive energy.

  Levidi hesitated for only a breath, and then sprung forward. All his weight instantly shifted to his left foot. His left arm fell, and in a blur, his right arm revolved over his head. With a sharp grunt, all his bodily energy transferred through his right arm into the spear.

  A collective ‘ahhh!’ rose from the group.

  The spear sailed through the air with just a hint of wobble. It arced, nosed down, and firmly planted itself into the thick soil with a solid, satisfying shoop all the way to the iron cross piece.

  Satisfied with an excellent throw, Levidi grinned. The spear landed just shy of where the ridge sloped away into a small saddle, easily forty paces away. The men slapped their chests in approval and Aizarg beamed with pride.

  “That throw would have easily killed a boar,” Aizarg said to Sarah.

  “Ghalen,” Okta said. “That was Levidi’s own spear. He’s been familiar with its feel and weight since becoming a man. You’ve only carried that sagar for a day and have never thrown it. I think you wagered in haste.”

  The smile vanished from Ghalen’s face as he gauged the distance to Levidi’s boar spear.

  Ghalen bowed his head to Levidi. “That was an excellent throw. You are truly a great spearman,” he said with all seriousness.

  Once again, he lightly tossed the sagar up and down in his right palm. As he did so, he worked his grip farther back down the shaft until two-thirds of the spear lay ahead of his hand. Ghalen tightened his grip and hardened his face. He relaxed and rested the sagar on his shoulder. His throwing arm, long and lean, didn’t bunch up like Levidi’s. At first, Ghalen took a similar throwing stance as Levidi, but he lifted his front foot completely off the ground. He slightly bent his forward knee and pointed his toes down.

  Whereas Levidi lunged forward, Ghalen’s throw was a picture of fluid grace. His throw didn’t start in his arm as much as it began with his back leg. Ghalen dropped his forward leg as the energy traveled forward through his body like a wave. He bent forward like the tall grass blowing around his feet and exhaled on the release without grunt or strain. The giant spear cleanly sliced through the air without the slightest trace of wobble. To Aizarg, it almost looked as if it accelerated after it departed Ghalen’s hand, as if propelled by some unseen force. The sagar looked like it belonged in the air.