River God: The Horse Lords

by Diana Drakulich

  He felt a slight tremor in the Black Cloak’s body, then a barely perceptible moan.

  “Still alive? Surely some god watches over you.”

  Pressing the sick man’s cheeks together so that his jaw dropped, Sava dribbled a little water into his mouth. The cut-throat victim swallowed painfully, with effort. Uttering a deep groan his eyelids fluttered open.

  For the first time Sava gazed into rich brown eyes, solid and vital as the earth beneath his feet.

  When Sargis opened his eyes and saw Sava, it was like looking into a shimmering, blue-green lake. Water for his parched, betrayed soul. Then he realized he saw not water but eyes. Calm, friendly eyes.

  Reassured, the wounded Black Cloak released a deep sigh. A slight smile curved his lips. His eyes closed and he slipped back into darkness.

  And in the mutual exchange of that one look Sava sensed he had made a true friend. He untied the bandage around the man’s throat. The deep gash appeared to be closing over.

  Truly this Black Cloak has the life force of a bull!

  With night rapidly descending the nomad built a small fire, shielding it from sight with rocks in front. Using a bronze vessel from the cart he boiled dried meat to make a gruel. Lifting the wounded man’s head, he slowly dripped the thick liquid onto the man’s tongue, then ate some himself.

  Darkness found Sava sitting with his back leaning against the rough stone wall next to the cave mouth. Though exhausted he would sleep little this night. Keen ears cued for sound, he watched over the trail along the river below.

  A wind came up, moaning though the tree tops, darkening the sky. Blowing hard, then harder still. Suddenly rain pelted down, the sound reverberating in the cave like the roar of waves. The rain sheeted down the front of the cave, a waterfall obstructing his view.

  Sava’s eyes drifted over the dank gloom inside the cave. Flashes of white caught his attention. More piles of broken bones littered the back wall. Some looked suspiciously like human femurs.

  The dank scent of the cave reminded him of the Dark House. The realization descended –

  Ah. I was a fool to think the Man Eaters would not know of this cave. Come the dawn, this will be one of the first places they search for us. Goddess just give us this one night and then we are gone.

  An ear-splitting CRACK of lightning flashed. Images exploded in Sava’s mind – of bodies lying on a blood soaked altar. Now that he had a little time to rest, the gravity of his theft from the Black Cloak kurgan sank in.

  I stole from the sacred graves of our fathers. By taking the Black Cloaks’ sacrifice I have defied the will of the All-Seeing Gods.

  Dread clenched the nomad’s heart with an iron fist. That Other Voice in his head hounded him relentlessly:

  Ah-Gin, God of War and Velesh, Black Serpent of the Under World will send men and demons to hunt me...I will be hounded unto the end of my days in this world and the next.

  And then there was the Androphagi to consider -

  If the Man Eaters catch me they will flay me alive. They will cut off and eat pieces of my body and make me watch.

  The wind howled. Heavy rain thundered outside. Fine droplets of mist wet his face. With a shiver the nomad wrapped his fox fur-lined cloak closer around him.

  Rising he checked on the comatose Black Cloak. Made sure the man’s fur-lined black cloak was well tucked in around him.

  We will have to be on the run again before dawn. This poor wretched victim is too far gone to survive such rigors. By playing the hero I have alienated two tribes and put the survival of my people at stake, including my own.

  Anxiety dug sharp talons into his mind. It seemed as if the whole world was chasing him. Wanted to kill him. First the Black Cloaks, now the Man Eaters. He was alone and saddled with the responsibility of trying to bring a mortally wounded man back to life.

  I should have killed that cannibal at the river while I had the chance. No doubt he is sounding the alarm, organizing a horde of Man Eaters to pursue me. Once again I have let my heart rule my head. Now I will pay the price…

  Too exhausted even to worry for long, Sava resumed his seated lookout position at the cave mouth. His head fell back against the rough stone cave wall as the rain sheeted down… and then… he knew no more.

  The rain stopped. For a rare moment the world was encompassed in a vast stillness. Then an owl hooted, its call ululating through the heavy atmosphere. A fox made its weird cackling bark. The shrilling click of insects surged in waves of sound.

  Moonlight shone in through the cave mouth making a silver road that led further into the depths of the cave. Flashes of light and dark shadows danced along the cave walls. The campfire leaped, sparks snapping, churning and whirling through the blackness.

  But Sava was insensible to it all. Until a hissing whisper slithered into the dark depths of his dreams and called his name.

  Chapter 5 – Skulls of Sacrifice

  In order to strip the skull,

  The Skythian makes a cut

  Around the head above the ears

  Laying hold of the scalp,

  He shakes the skull out -

  Herodotus, The Histories

  Sssava…Sssava…SAVA…

  Over and over. Sibilant, insistent, susserating Voices calling his name. Like the slow drip of water trickling on his forehead. The Voice would not stop. Was it one Voice or many?

  Slowly the nomad’s consciousness rose through layers of sleep-induced exhaustion.

  His drained mind roused itself, breaking through the placid surface of sleep into awareness. Bleary eyes cracked open. Then snapped into awareness.

  Sssava...Sssava…SAVA…

  Hnnh!

  Whipping his akinake from its sheath he leapt to his feet, eyes straining to pierce the darkness.

  “Come out! Who are you? Who is it!? Who calls me?”

  But the only answer was the echo of his own voice, bouncing off dark, fathomless cave walls. Ephemeral shadows quivered before his straining eyes. Behind those shadows crouched entities of profound, mind-bending power.

  Only a dream. He tried to reassure his pounding heart. But a dream of evil portent.

  Somewhere buried deep within, he knew those Voices – Nameless, malevolent entities, more ancient than the mind could imagine.

  The Voices had whispered to him the night of the lion attack as he traveled toward Melanchaenia. From childhood these hissing Voices had haunted him.

  Sssava…Come HERE Sava…

  Sibilant Voices vibrating, echoing. A multitude as one. One Mind. Demonic. Hypnotic. Stunning.

  Sssava… Come HERE Sssava…

  Hissing his name. Demanding complete abject submission.

  Looking for reassurance. For a solid connection to this, the `real’ world, Sava’s eyes sought out the stallion in the grassy glade.

  And there Zlatna was, peacefully munching grass, his golden coat illuminated silver by a shaft of moonlight. As if all was normal.

  Sssava... Sssava… Come HERE Sssava... Invisible. Timeless. Insistent.

  Back against the cave wall, white knuckles gripping his akinake, he crouched to defend against a nameless multitude of hissing, flickering tongues of FIRE –

  Ssava... Come HERE Sssava...

  Inexplicably, the Voices stopped. A soft wind rustled the trees next to the cave.

  Was it just the wind in the leaves I heard? The warning of another storm coming? A trick of the Mind brought on by a nightmare?

  His eyes flicked back to Zlatna. The stallion was his watchdog. If intruders were lurking, making even faint noises, the horse would be on the alert, head high, ears pricked, nostrils flared. He would stomp and snort a warning. But the stallion continued avidly munching the grass Sava had cut, unconcerned.

  Sssava... COME Sssava... Come HERE Sssava…

  The hypnotic whispering started again, echoing from deep within the vast cavern. A malignant presence was slowly, deliberately trying to mesmerize his mind. Steal his will. Break down his ability to thin
k rationally.

  How do the Voices know my name? Is it one Voice or many?

  Somehow in a far distant past, he had a connection with these unknown entities. But his mind had deeply buried that memory so that he could function in this, the `real’ world. For the Voices triggered a raw body-shaking, cringing, plunging terror.

  Confronted with such overwhelming arcane power, the nomad’s consciousness splintered. Every muscle, every hair on his body went rigid. Demon Vampirs. This cave is full of them!

  Sibilant whispers echoed off the cave walls like serpents slithering along stone passageways. Coming closer. Something is panting like a terrified hunted animal. Is that me?

  Sssava…Come HERE Sssava...

  He wanted to burst out of this cave of demons and bound away like a hunted deer.

  So cold… I have never felt so cold…

  He was cold to the marrow of his bones. His body shuddering, his spine wavering like a fish flapping mindlessly, frantically out of water.

  Fear pulsating, slamming his heart into a thousand stadia gallop.

  Come HERE Sssava… Multitudes of hissing whispers.

  Then something buried deep within himself answered the Call. Another Sava.

  Picking up a burning brand from the fire, the nomad followed the silver moonlit trail deeper into the cavern. Holding the brand high, he paced down a narrow, murky passage.

  Black eye sockets of a human skull glared at him from a ledge as he passed by. Black hands and symbols traced in charcoal lined the cave walls. Stick figures with bound arms knelt before stick men with raised clubs.

  The passage opened into a great cavern. White stalactites jutted down from the towering ceiling like the gleaming fangs of a drakon’s mouth.

  A single huge stalagmite rose from the center of the cave floor, ending at a point near the ceiling some 30 feet up.

  The twisting ridges of the stalagmite was ringed with human skulls all the way up.

  Come HERE Sssava…

  Arranged on the cave floor, a ring of lion, bear and wolf skulls surrounded the massive stalagmite altar. Moving on cat’s feet, Sava stepped over the skulls and paced up to the altar.

  A human skull with a flint knife inserted into its right eye socket called to him.

  A hand that seemed not his own drew the knife out of the skull. Holding the torch close, he studied it. The edges of the blade were sharp, serrated and colored a deep russet red, as if stained with the blood of a thousand years of sacrifice.

  Fascinated, Sava turned the knife over in his hand, feeling the blade, sensing its mysterious arcane power over the holder.

  Kill!...Kill him!… KILL HIM!… A multitude of mesmerizing voices drowning out all thought.

  He could not hear himself think, only the thundering, overwhelming waterfall of command –

  Kill him!... Kill him… Kill!... KILL!

  A graphic image burst into Sava’s mind.

  He saw himself standing over the wounded Black Cloak, knife raised. Saw himself thrusting the knife into the victim’s throat. Saw the precious red blood spurting out.

  Saw himself riding away - Finally FREE.

  Free of this burden he never wanted. This burden which was bound to destroy him and his mission to save his people. The image intense. Compelling.

  Kill him Sava! Kill him! Kill! KILL HIM!

  A waterfall of hypnotic Voices drowning out all logical thought. Taking over his mind. Breaking down his will. Gripping the stone sacrificial knife, the nomad paced back to the front of the cave.

  He found himself poised over the unconscious victim.

  The flickering light of the torch played over the Black Cloak’s unconscious face. The expressive black brows, high bridged nose, strong jaw. He is an Eagle.

  KILL him Sssava… KILL Him!... KILL! KILL HIM!

  The victim’s eyelids fluttered. As if he sensed death hovering, the wounded man was struggling to regain consciousness. Fighting to rise up - out of the darkness. Out of the mortal weakness which chained him.

  The Black Cloak strained to open his eyes. To see. One last time. To struggle against his final, on-coming death.

  KILL Him! KILL Him! Kill! KILL HIM!

  Sava’s fingers gripping the knife turned white. He saw himself repeatedly striking the helpless victim, driving the sacrificial blade deep. Saw the precious red blood gushing out.

  He is slowing me down! No one will ever know…or CARE what happens to him. He is bound to die anyway. One swift blow will put him out of his misery. Then I can go on with my mission and my life.

  One death against the fate of many. One lethal strike and he would be free of the desperate burden of caring for this mortally wounded victim.

  His king, his father, his family, people - they were all counting on him to bring the tribes together for the war council. Above all else he had to complete this one mission.

  Instead he had failed them. Again. He had let himself become involved in this debacle of trying to save a dying man.

  Kill him Sssava! Kill! KILL HIM!

  Compelling, sibilant chanting Voices. Hypnotizing his will. He coiled his arm, poised to strike.

  It’s the only way. Or All will be lost.

  The victim’s eyes flickered open. For the last time Sava gazed into those deep, rich brown eyes, solid as the earth beneath his feet.

  The man’s lips moved, desperately trying to speak. A pathetic croak emerged. But Sava understood him implicitly – Don’t kill me... My Friend.

  The earthen eyes closed again, blindly awaiting their fate.

  `My Friend’.

  ”Return to your master, ye vipers! I will not bow to your will! Never!”

  With all his strength, Sava smashed the stone knife against the cave wall. It shattered, the pieces clattering, echoing on the stone floor.

  The hissing voices went silent. The nomad sensed a rising current, a surge of malevolence winding its way up from deep within the bowels of the cave.

  There was no time to waste. Moving with alacrity he pulled the cart with the wounded man in it out of the cave and hitched horse to it.

  Moonlight revealed a world clothed in black and silver but in Sava’s heightened state of awareness it was enough light. Leading the horse he found the way back down onto the faint trail leading through the hills along the river.

  The rosy light of dawn lit the way as the cart rumbled down from the hills toward the Boryesthenes River. And none too soon, for the lone cannibal had already reached his camp and roused a war party.

  The Man Eaters were saddling up at the first hint of daylight to wreak bloody vengeance on the thief who had trespassed on their sacred burial grounds. The prospect of loot, including a magnificent stallion, a wagon and barbecued man meat all spurred the chase.

  Upon reaching the riverbank, Sava allowed Zlatna a long drink and refilled the water skins. When he lifted the Black Cloak’s head to give him small sips, the man’s eyelids fluttered.

  The victim murmured, trying to speak. His eyes opened and stared straight into Sava’s.

  The nomad found himself drawn into a brown pools of devastating pain. He KNOWS. Knows that I wanted to KILL him.

  Filled with shame, Sava glanced away. He shut his eyes against the images of the sacrificial knife, the speaking skulls, the hypnotic Voices. But he could never forget. The Voices would always be there, waiting.

  Placing a warm palm over the helpless man’s clammy forehead, Sava returned his agonized gaze.

  ”Do not fear my friend. You are safe with me. Safe. I swear it, as Mata Drakaina is my witness, no harm will ever come to you by my hand.”

  The Black Cloak must have seen the truth in Sava’s eyes because he released a deep sigh and the earthen eyes closed.

  Regretfully Sava pulled Zlatna off the grass along the riverbank and back onto the trail. They moved out at a trot with the nomad running alongside, frequently glancing over his shoulder.

  Goddess Tabitti in her chariot was halfway past the zenith in the sky whe
n he spotted a telltale cloud of dust rising from the hills behind them.

  Here they come!

  Jumping into the cart he slapped the reins. “Hah!” Zlatna broke into a canter, the cart rattling and jouncing along behind.

  Hours later the stallion’s golden sides were darkened by sweat and streaked with lather. Baking hot rays poured down on their heads.

  My good Zlatna. But how much longer can you keep this up?

  The nomad glanced back at the Black Cloak lying in the wagon. The man’s face was set in a rigid grimace.

  He must be dying of thirst and suffering from this jouncing cart, but there is no help for it.

  A low earthshaking rumble, like thunder before a coming storm became audible. It was the sound Sava had been dreading. The rolling resonance of waves of pounding hooves.

  Glancing back he saw them, distinct against the skyline, riding low across the necks of their ponies, pushing all out. At the same moment the cannibals spotted the wagon and howled, surging with bloodlust.

  A pack of wolves with the kill in sight.

  For a moment Sava’s eyes glazed over with fear. The Man Eaters were hot on his trail and the stallion was on the brink of collapse. Still the golden horse kept on, his long smooth gallop eating up the miles. But pulling a cart with two men in it over the uneven trail was rapidly using him up.

  And then in the distance Sava saw something the river god sent – a massive raft drawn up flush to the riverbank. Large sacks, probably grain, were being loaded onto the raft.

  “Hah! HAH!” Snapping the whip over the laboring horse’s back.

  It appeared the grain had just finished loading. The boatmen were in the act of throwing off the ropes tying the raft to shore.

  “Wait! WAIT!“ Whistling he slapped the reins on Zlatna’s flanks – “Yah! YAH!”

  The growling thunder of pounding hooves told him the cannibals were gaining. Bracing his feet, balanced precariously, the nomad stood up and drove the bouncing cart like a chariot, whistling, cracking the whip over the laboring stallion’s head.

  “Come on boy! Yah! YAH!”

  The exhausted horse responded, calling on his last reserves. Horse and cart careened up just as the boatmen disengaged the last ropes holding the raft to shore.