River God: The Horse Lords

by Diana Drakulich

  “Tell us Young Sava - Why did Royal Skythia invade and conquer Medea? Vuk asked. “Medea is a long way to go in the name of self defense. By warring against Medea, the Royal Skythians alienated Persia, for which we are now reaping the fruit.”

  Sava remained mute, waiting for the next verbal blow.

  “If you think about it, this demand for War never ends. Most wars are planned in secret, years in advance. Even the victors sustain heavy losses from war. So why so much war?” The Neuri sorcerer tilted his head in question. The golden bells on his antler headdress ching -chinged through a vast silence in the great room.

  50 pairs of golden-green Vukari eyes watched and waited for Sava’s response. But he had no real answer. However he was beginning to understand the unique mindset behind those eyes, and his estimation of the Vukari rose.

  “War is just another name for mass blood sacrifice.” Spartak, the Neuri voivode spoke. “One sacrifice is not enough. The vampir serpents can never be satisfied. Can never get enough blood. Whole cities, whole peoples must be sacrificed.”

  “The blood suckers constantly hiss the need for War into the ears of their agents and lo! Men declare War, thinking it all their own idea. `Free Will’ they call it. Hah. We Neuri are not fooled. We will not easily march when they start pounding the drums for War.”

  As Vuk spoke, the golden bells of his antler headdress chimed, lilting in the dusky firelight. And 50 pairs of golden-green eyes blinked slowly in affirmation.

  “Are you saying we should stand back and let the Persians take our lands? Force us to throw our our faces in the dirt? Live with Darius’ foot on our necks? Will the Neuri not fight to protect your Holy Mountain?” Sava responded, at last finding his tongue.

  The golden-green eyes flickered. In pain? Nothing was more sacred to them than Holy Mountain, even their lives. Sava had struck to the heart.

  “That is always the catch isn’t it?” Spartak said, a sardonic twist on his lips. “This is why rulers always try to make us believe we are being threatened. Always pounding the drums for war. `To have peace we must have war!’ They shout. We Vukari will fight in our own defense, but we will not throw away our lives in some hopeless, heroic battle against insurmountable odds.”

  If the Neuri join this `alliance’ against Persia and lose, our tribe will be killed off. Enslaved. Destroyed. Such is the punishment for those who resist. You know this well Sava, Son of Skopasis.” Toxaris said.

  “What about your Holy Mountain? Will the Neuri not defend it?” Sava responded. “Even if it be vampir demons calling for war, the fact remains - Persia seeks to enlarge its dominions with our lands and our wealth. Are we to just sit back and let them take it? Are we so weak? Such miserable slaves?”

  As he spoke these words it suddenly dawned on Sava that persuading the Neuri to attend the war council could backfire. With devastating results. If Toxaris speaks out at the war council and tells the people that Ah-Gin is but a blood-sucking vampir, havoc will erupt. The council will get nowhere.

  Still I must do my duty. Let the fates determine the end result.

  And then Toxaris spoke his thoughts aloud -

  “Long have we Neuri chafed against this degenerate practice of offering the blood of innocents to `the gods’. Long have we wished to speak out against it. The war council will provide us with a powerful forum before the tribes.”

  His doubts thus confirmed, Sava’s heart sank. If Toxaris utters such blasphemy at the council, nothing will get done. Meanwhile the Persian army is bearing down on us like a devastating ala.

  “My Queen – You speak of the injustice of blood sacrifice. But what of the blood which will be shed when the Persians invade Skythia? There will be a horse sacrifice at the council to invoke Ah-Gin. This sacrifice will be but a drop compared to the river of blood which will flow in the war to come.”

  Toxaris studied him with appraising eyes. Then with unerring ease she struck at Sava’s greatest weakness:

  “And what if those vampir priests demand that you bring your golden stallion to the sacrifice altar? Hmmh? Because `the god’ demands only the best. Eh? What then Sava?” The queen’s voice dripped scorn. ”Will it still just be some small necessary evil? Still just a `drop’ of blood in the river? As long as it’s someone else’s good horse?”

  Jaw clenched, Sava’s eyes dropped away from her bold stare. Toxaris had read his secret fear and used it against him. To be forced to slaughter his beloved Zlatna, the horse he had grown up with and spent years training and riding. To so brutally betray the noble animal who so trusted him. Who would literally jump through the fires of Tartarus at his command. To betray such a Being who had given him nothing but unstinting labor…Who had saved his life. Everything in the nomad’s soul rebelled against it.

  Zlatna is my true friend. How can I KILL my FRIEND?!!

  “Your words have the hard ring of truth, noble Toxaris. I am forced to agree with you. Blood sacrifice is a huge injustice. Whether it be a mute animal or a man.” At those words he and Brata shared a quick speaking glance. A look the 50 pairs of golden-green Vukari eyes did not fail to notice.

  “So…if the serpents’ agents, whom you rightfully call ennarei, `half men’ – If they demand that you bring your stallion to the altar, will you submit Sava?” Toxaris fixed him with her penetrating gaze.

  The very thought made Sava’s inner vision go dark, his body shudder. “Nay. I would resist.” Somehow.

  “But how would you resist? You are one against many. They would simply crush you in front of everyone and take your stallion away. These ennerei who claim to `speak with the gods’. Pah. It is time we spoke out against such madness.”

  Brata stared at Queen Toxaris. Transfixed. Torn up inside. Since the age of 15 summers, battle was all he had ever known. Ten years of fighting for the glory of Melanchaenia and look how my people repaid me - by sacrificing my soul to vampir demons?!

  The bitterness of betrayal whipped at Brata’s heart. The enemies he had fought and killed. The loot he had taken. All he had done for his tribe amounted to nothing. All the blood soaked glory, the heads of foes he brought to the council, his exalted position close to Prince Kanxa…

  All my plunder, my horses, cattle and gold… All of it gone now. Given away to others who did not earn it with their life’s blood. And I am left with only the scars...

  Venomous thoughts against the ruling elite of Melanchaenia seethed like vipers in Brata’s mind. At the same time Toxaris’ stunning words acted as an extraordinary balm to ease the guilt he bore because he had not died for Prince Kanxa. A new primal energy coiled his innards, burning its way into his mind.

  As she spoke, Toxaris read the intensity in the Black Cloak’s disturbing regard. Here was a man with dark secrets. Mentally she reached out to perceive his thoughts. But he sat aloof, formidable. His mind was closely guarded, though she sensed her words had cast his understanding of the world into turmoil.

  “Your points are all well taken. I will give them serious thought. Your ideas intrigue me. I would like to hear more. Do the Neuri believe in the World Tree?” Sava asked, in an attempt to divert the discussion to topics less threatening to the success of the war council.

  “On the high holy day of midsummer, we Neuri say the most ancient of trees lift their roots from the ground and walk. On that day we hear the trees speaking to each other in a mysterious language.” Vuk responded, his smooth voice rolling on like a deep river. “But we do not worship trees. We worship only Jivan, the Living God. Earth, trees, sky, all part of the Living God.”

  “Trees are sacred to us also.” Sava nodded. “My people believe the gods dwell on three levels, like a mighty oak. Underground at the roots is the black serpentn, Velesh - Lord of Death. This we call NAV – the Under World. Volcanoes, earthquakes, rivers and lakes, all that rises from underground come from Velesh.”

  “JAV is at the earth’s surface where man and animals live. JAV is ruled by Mata Drakaina, Mother of Creation and by Ah-Gin, god of Fire,
Sword and War. Mata Drakaina births and nurtures us. Ah-Gin protects us.” Sava said.

  “PRAV is the third level of the World Tree, the Over World ruled by the sky gods. By Tabitti, goddess of the sun, who drives her chariot drawn by golden horses, by Father Moon and by he star gods.”

  “So many gods. How do you please them all? With blood as your ennarei demand? And at the root of your `World Tree’ is the Trickster, the black drakon. The serpent who rules them all. Velesh we simple-minded men call him. Pah. No one knows the demon’s real name.” Toxaris stared pointedly at the gold serpent ring King Yagya had given Sava as protection against Neuri sorcery.

  Sava realized - This symbol of Velesh is offensive to the Neuri. But if I take it off I lose Velesh’ protection. So be it.

  With studied ceremony Sava removed the serpent ring. He handed it to Vuk saying:

  “In truth, blood sacrifice has always secretly offended me. Tonight your people have opened my eyes. The sight of this symbol is now abhorrent to me. And though he does not speak, I know that my friend Brata has good reason to feel as I do.” Sava glanced at Brata, who nodded with feeling.

  “Take this ring.” Sava said. “Melt it down. Transform it to honor Jivan, the Living God.”

  “Ah, it is not difficult to advise the wise. Is that not true my people?” Toxaris said.

  And 50 pairs of glittering pairs of golden-green eyes closed once, in affirmation. Then opened again, radiant.

  And in that brief moment Sava beheld the nobility of these strange Wolf People isolated in their holy mountains. His fears of being drugged and poisoned were unfounded. The Neuri longed for contact. They gloried in the opportunity to exchange ideas with the outside world.

  “My Queen, may I speak boldly?”

  Toxaris smiled. “We welcome your thoughts O Sauromatian.”

  Sava took a deep breath and dove in. “If Jivan does not demand blood sacrifice, then what happened to your four husbands?”

  For he had surmised that despite their claim to nonviolence, the Neuri were a tribe who practiced the custom of `King for a Year and a Day’.

  Chapter 37 - Dance for God

  Never give a sword

  To a man who can’t dance –

  Confucius, 500 BC

  “Hssst! Your words are a sacrilege against Jivan!” Toxaris threw her arm, finger aimed at Sava, as if throwing a spear.

  “The Living God does not ask for the heads of the queen’s husbands.” Vuk said. “It is our ancient custom that the King reigns for only a year and a day. In that time he is feted and honored as our hero. Then the King offers himself to be sacrificed, so that his spirit will always protect us. This is our ancient custom. In this way, it is the Queen who always reigns supreme.”

  “What about your sons Queen Toxaris? Will your sons not wish to rule?” Sava asked.

  “Nay. My sons learn from earliest childhood that their role is to serve. Always to serve. It is for the good of the tribe that we do this. We believe that the woman is better suited to rule. It is She who gives birth. She bears children through pain and suffering. She nurtures that child with milk from her own body. It is the Mother who fully understands how precious is Life! Therefore it is the woman who rules most wisely. Who guides her people away from needless war and a culture of violence.”

  That depends on the woman’s character. Sava thought. Just as with men there are ruthless women who should never be given power.

  He sensed an inner conflict in Toxaris’ words. The queen’s imperious defense of this customary `Killing of the King’ struck him as cover for a grave uncertainty, even guilt.

  “Your words are wise My Queen. Out of her own body the woman bears new life. In this way she is akin to our Earth Mother, Mata Drakaina. We Sauromatae also believe women are great. Our mother line descends from the Amazons. Still I fail to see the difference between the `Killing of the King’ and blood sacrifice. Both these practices strike me as a grave injustice.”

  There was an involuntary gasp. Multitudes of golden-green eyes sparked at the blasphemy of his words. Yet Sava sensed the Neuri were enjoying the discussion immensely. Each of them has thought the same thing.

  “Our traditions insure the survival of our race. They will remain as they have always been.” Toxaris dismissed the subject with a peremptory wave.

  But Sava knew his words had struck home. Now it was the queen’s turn to attempt a diversion, to put him on the defensive.

  “We wish to know more about your friend, Brata, he is called? Brother? Only that? What of his lineage? His background? Why does he never speak? We see by his dress that he is a Black Cloak.”

  As Toxaris spoke she handed a juicy morsel of meat to a large black dog with expressive golden spots over its eyes. It lay at her side, head resting on her thigh. The dog lifted his head, opened powerful jaws and delicately took the meat without touching her fingers. Then it resumed its position, head on her thigh, expressive dark eyes watching, listening.

  Sava noticed several of these distinctive large dogs lying next to their people, completely at ease, part of the extended family.

  “Noble Toxaris, I don’t know my friend’s true name. I call him Brata because he is a true brother to me. I found him near death in Melanchaenia, stabbed through the throat. He was so far gone, I had small hope he would survive. Given the rigors and dangers of my travels I could not stop for long to nurse him.” To put it mildly. “But Brata’s hold on life is strong, like a bull. The dagger that cut his throat damaged his voice, but it may heal in time.”

  As he spoke those words, Sava made himself focus on the black dog with its head on Toxaris’ thigh. This helped him block the image engraved in his mind of Brata sprawled across the blood-soaked altar of the Sword in the Stone. He had told the truth - with some very relevant facts omitted.

  But it was clear the Wolf People were not satisfied with his explanation. Golden-green eyes shot into his like tentacles of light, feeling for validity, dissecting his expressions, seeking a tremor, a weakness, a lie.

  The Vukari sensed there was more to Brata’s story. Much more. And this aroused their innate curiosity. Sava realized the Wolf People loved a mystery. They had an intense desire to delve into all things hidden. It would be difficult to hide the truth from them. He did not trust the queen’s barely concealed interest in his friend.

  “Such an impressive dog.” He gestured toward the queen’s black dog in an attempt to divert their searching minds away from Brata. “He seems very aware, watching and listening to all we say. You treat your dogs like respected members of the family.”

  Queen Toxaris smiled and stroked the black dog’s head. “This is Silvan. I owned his mother and his grandmother, IF it can be said that anyone actually owns these noble beings. But we do not call them dogs. `Dogs’ are craven curs who skulk with their tails between their legs and eat garbage thrown out the back door. We call them Drakons, for their courage and intelligence.”

  “It is an honor to have one.” Spartak’s hand stroked the big head of his own proud beast. “Our Drakons protect us. They hunt, eat and sleep with us. Our Drakons help us fight invaders. They guard our homes, our flocks and our children. They are our constant companions.”

  “We Neuri are descended from the wolf.” Vuk added.”But when our race split off from wolves, All-Seeing Jivan sent the Drakon dogs as our protectors. They act as intermediaries between us and the wolves. The Drakons keep the wolves away from our flocks and homes so we are not forced to kill the wolves and thus to injure our ancestor spirits. In this way we stay on good terms with the wolves.”

  Sava nodded but smiled inwardly. But what about the wolves the Neuri kill to make their wolf hats?

  “Our wolf headdresses are made from wolves who repeatedly raided our herds and so must be eliminated.” Voivode Spartak read his mind. “By wearing the wolf’s head and tail, we honor his cunning, his invincible spirit. We take on the fierce, vigilant mind of the wolf.”

  Sava could not argue with that. His
real concern was how to deflect the Vukari curiosity about Brata. Judging from the restless flick of their eyes to Brata, their perceptive minds would not be sidetracked for long. If these people learned that Brata was a sacrificial victim, they could decide to keep him as the next short-lived `King for a Year and a Day’.

  Since Brata was already dead to his own people, he was disposable. No Black Cloaks would ever come to Neuria looking for him. Brata was the ideal `new blood’ to rejuvenate the Neuri royal bloodlines. Sava was anxious to get back to the main order of business – the alliance.

  “So Honored Toxaris, will the Neuri attend the war council?”

  “We will think on it and let you know our decision tomorrow. For now we will relax and have some entertainment. Our men will honor us by dancing kolo. Do you know how to dance kolo Sava?”

  “Aye My Queen.”

  Variations of kolo line and circle dances were performed among all Skythian tribes. Kolo was danced to honor the gods, the ancestor spirits and to request fertility for the tribe and herds.

  “Then you will please us by dancing also.” Toxaris said in her resonant, compelling voice.

  It was an order. The Neuri men were standing up. Magnificent broad shouldered, black-haired, golden-skinned giants all of them.

  Sava sensed he and Brata were being tested. He felt a stab of concern for his friend. There were no secrets here. He noticed how Toxaris’ eyes slid in Brata’s direction as he rose to join the dance.

  Now much improved in health, the Black Cloak was powerfully built with broad shoulders and lithe narrow hips. Though not as tall as the Neuri, he exuded masculine charisma. Though Brata did not speak, the awareness shining through his rich earthen eyes appealed to the Neuri. His unspoken secrets fascinated their telepathic pack mind.

  The Vukari men lined up, muscular arms gripping each other’s belts behind the back. A duduk and goatskin bagpipe struck up a rhythmic opening salvo and the room came alive. A resounding drumbeat joined in with a hip and shoulder rocking beat.