Serpent Goddess: The Horse Lords Book 1

by Diana Drakulich

Kneeling, Sava put his mouth close and blew on the embers. A small flame erupted and the torch caught fire. Hail Goddess!

  Sava raced back to the open kurgan door and dragged it shut. Grasping the stallion’s lead and holding the torch high, he trotted across the great hall and disappeared down a dark passageway.

  Chapter 34 – Great Hall of Sacrifice

  Skythians guard the sacred gold (in their kurgans)

  With most especial care.

  Year by year they offer great sacrifices in its honor –

  Herodotus, The Histories

  Singing an ancient lament accompanied by bleating goatskin bagpipes and slow drumbeats, the mounted Black Cloak funeral cortege wended its way toward the massive kurgan.

  Keening wails as old as Death itself poured from the women. The men gouged their faces with fingernails until the blood ran. Seven times they pounded their breasts with a clenched fist, for the young prince had sired no children. His light was extinguished.

  Steady dolorous drum beats marked their steps:

  Ahh-Ahh-Ahh!

  Alas my Brother is gone!

  My right hand is cut off

  My prince is no more

  What can I do?

  Ahh-Ahh-Ahh!

  Alas who will give me water

  For the tears I must weep?

  I am drowning in sorrow

  For he was a true man!

  The fallen pince’s chariot, drawn by his two favorite horses, headed the procession. The chariot was followed by the prince’s close friends, Sargis and Mattahn.

  Behind them rumbled the ornately carved funeral cart that carryied Prince Kanxa’s body, followed by King Vartan, the Queen Mother, their second son, the priests and a multitude of Black Cloak nobles.

  Sargis was a broad shouldered, powerfully built young man with a round head on a thick, muscular neck. He wore black boots and black buckskin leggings embellished with silver lightning strikes down the outer seams. Thrown over his bare shoulders was a mink-lined black woolen cloak bordered with kneeling silver stags.

  Today Sargis’ head felt strangely heavy and so did his legs. Too heavy.

  He squinted, trying to focus, to concentrate. Something was wrong. But his numbed brain could not block out a chilling anxiety shooting up from his gut. What will happen now that my prince is gone? Why was my family not invited to Kanxa’s funeral?

  Sargis had never witnessed the rites of a royal funeral, but he knew there would be pain. Kanxa’s chariot horses would be sacrificed to carry his spirit into the Other World. And this was as it should be, for what was a nomad without his good horse?

  The chariot horses were grandly caparisoned, their harness embossed with disks of stamped gold. Each horse wore the red and gold felt mask of a stag with tall, elaborately curling antlers.

  Sargis wore the mask of Herakles, male progenitor of all Skythians. He exchanged a sidelong glance with his good friend, Mattahn. His eyes asking – What is going on?

  Mattahn too wore a Herakles mask. His friend’s eyes shot him a grim look. In a whisper that was almost inaudible he said, “Be strong.” And then Mattahn would not look at him again.

  The grim looks and strangely impassioned embrace of his parents as they said goodbye flashed into Sargis’ mind. A light went on in his hazy brain. The realization crashed in on him like a punch to the gut – I have been Chosen.

  Like a frantic caged animal, his survival instincts leapt against the iron bars of his fate. Let it not be so! I am a warrior. My destiny is to fall in battle. Not on the altar like some mute trussed animal!

  Behind his Herakles mask Mattahn’s glazed eyes reflected deep guilt for the death of his blood brother. I failed Kanxa. I should have died with him in battle - back to back. Now I must do my duty so that my prince will not be sick at heart in the Other World…

  ***

  Leading his horse, Sava followed the dark passageway down to the lower realms. Down into an unknowable abyss, domain of the Black Serpent. Abode of the Dead where Time had come to a shrieking end.

  Through fetid air thick with damp and decay, they trotted past yawning dark doorways. Portals to burial chambers where robed skeletons rested on biers laden with weapons and golden treasure.

  Trespasser. Intruder. Cold claws scraped down the nomad’s spine. To invade this sacred space of mortal pain, gods and spirits was strictly against all laws. `Those who defy the gods are condemned to be punished, in this life and the next’.

  Sava paused before two empty burial chambers, but passed on. Before long he found himself facing a solid wall of earth. Dead end.

  To his left was the last chamber. Standing in the doorway he lifted the torch high. Empty. A stone bier stood in the middle of the chamber. With my luck…this will be the one they use.

  Too late to turn back now. The nomad’s eyes slid around the chamber, desperately searching for an adjoining alcove. A closet, a hole, anything big enough that he and his horse could slide into.

  A tall shadowed opening on the other side of the chamber beckoned. He rushed to check it out. Glimmering torchlight revealed a storage room stacked with miscellaneous supplies, pots and vessels.

  After positioning the horse flush to the adjoining wall, he laid the torch on the ground and placed a large pot over it to extinguish it. He took up a position standing close to the horse’s left shoulder.

  In the deep silence of this vast tomb, the slightest shuffle, the softest stomp would reveal their alien presence to the approaching Black Cloaks.

  Quivering torchlight, footsteps and voices were coming down the passageway. The steps paused, then entered the adjoining chamber.

  From the sound of shuffling feet Sava guessed they carried something heavy. I knew it. Could my luck get any the worse?

  Aye it could. That other Voice in his head said. Much worse.

  The horse tensed, pricking his ears. Grasping the lead, Sava placed his left hand lightly over Zlatna’s nose.

  Shhhh… He whispered under his breath into the stallion’s flickering ear. At the same time he fought to slow his own slamming heart.

  Soft grunts and quiet shuffling echoed as a heavy catafalque was laid on the stone bier. Standing at the edge of the adjoining wall, Sava had only to lean slightly forward to peer with one eye around the dark doorway.

  Several ennarei in long black robes stood gazing at a body. It was laid out in a stunning suit of gold scale armor topped by a conical golden crown. The dead man’s face was covered by a spectacular gold drakon mask.

  One of the black-robes spoke in accented Skythian: “Alas. Such a great loss. Our brave young Prince Kanxa, killed in battle by those Sauromatian dogs.”

  Inwardly Sava flinched, remembering the disastrous Black Cloak night raid on his camp. Was the man I killed Prince Kanxa?!

  “King Vartan demands revenge against those craven sons of Amazon bitches!”

  Sava’s brow lifted in a wry grimace. Craven? Because we fought back?! These Black Cloaks seek blind vengeance. How then can I approach them about the war council?

  “The king’s son will not go alone into the Other World.” An authoritative voice said.

  “How many will be sacrificed?”

  “Four. And his two best horses.”

  “Do the victims know?”

  “Nay. We let them think they are here to pay their last respects and to witness the horse sacrifice. They were all plied with drugged koumiss and feeling no pain.”

  “Remember, what we do here today is for Prince Kanxa’s soul, that he may not be heartsick in the Other World.” The Voice of Authority said.

  Sava stood frozen at Zlatna’s shoulder. The horse did not move a muscle. Not a tail swish nor a ripple of his hide. The black-robes were just feet away. The tension was excruciating. The slightest sound could trigger chaos.

  There was a long silent pause during which the Black Cloaks did not move or speak. As if listening. Sensing that something Other lurked closeby.

  The nomad held his breath, a clenched f
ist of ice squeezing his heart. Every moment vibrating with tension.

  His vision blurred. There was a high whining in his ears, like multitudes of shrill night insects.

  “Alas, we have lost a true man. Kanxa would have been a great king.”

  “Aye. Our young eagle was cut down in his prime by those Sauromatian curs.”

  “We will make them pay. And pay again.” The tone was venomous.

  A pit of vipers writhed in Sava’s belly. The golden torchlight in the burial chamber trembled. It changed color to orange, then crimson. The walls shivered before his eyes, running rivulets of crimson. Oozing blood.

  So cold. Suddenly he was freezing. His teeth clenched, body shaking with tremors.

  A slow deep booming sound vibrated the ground under his feet. The earth trembled as if a massive unstoppable force was about to erupt through the floor.

  A strange movement drew his eyes to a black hole that had appeared at the base of a wall in the burial chamber. He struggled to focus on the twisting, spinning mist of black lit shadows there. A large dark face peered out of the hole.

  The high pitched, metallic shrilling in his ears grew louder. The low booming vibration under his feet more resonant. Extreme apprehension begged his limbs to bolt away on wings of eagles.

  An amorphous dark head oozed out of the hole. As it wriggled out of the hole, the thing humped, then slithered. Like two animals connected.

  His eyes shot wide then narrowed. The entity was lifting and pulling itself along with powerful arms in front. Then its long muscular tail slithered behind. And it was coming toward him.

  Sava’s confused brain convulsed with knee-jerk panic. He repressed the instinctive urge to spring into the air while drawing his sword and to come down fighting.

  But if he did that he was a dead man. The Black Cloaks were still there. Somehow he held on to his rapidly disintegrating self control.

  The thick, writhing rippling black shadow humped and slithered along the wall, a few feet behind the Black Cloak priests.

  Have they no eyes? How can they not see THAT?

  The entity rose up on its heavy coiled serpentine tail. The shadowy face was vaguely humanoid. Flickering red torch light striated with deep black revealed a blunt nose. The slit of a mouth and relentless red, black-slitted eyes.

  A forked black tongue flickered out, in, out. Sava knew it was closing in on his scent. Honing in on his hot, palpitating fear.

  “Alas our princely spirit, gone before his time.” The Black Cloaks chatted on as if the very walls were not oozing with hissing demons…

  His father’s words echoed in Sava’s head – `Beware the Mind. It can make you hear things. See things…’

  The Drakon was slithering toward him. Now it was gliding on its powerful serpentine tail, the human-like head and torso upright. The entity flowed with an irresistibly potent, rippling force. Beyond anything he had ever seen.

  The dynamic effortless power radiating from the Drakon was stunning. It could move through walls. Through solid stone.

  An icy wave of terror slashed down Sava’s spine. His white-knuckled fist gripped the hilt of his akinake.

  Lo, Velesh comes. A Voice in his head said.

  Nay – It’s an illusion. A trick of the Mind!

  Chapter 35 - Black Serpent of the Under World

  He bound my hands

  And forced me down to the Under World

  The House of Darkness

  Home of the Dead

  Where all who enter

  Never return to the sweet earth

  Those who dwell there squat in darkness

  Dirt is their food.

  Their drink is clay –

  Epic of Gilgamesh 1500 BC

  The Black Cloaks seemed unaware of the huge black Drakon slithering right by their feet.

  Sava could almost hear the Black Serpent’s menacing hiss - You have always defied me. Now you will learn. Now you will COME when I call your name…

  But the entity had disappeared from sight. His eyes swiveled wildly, trying to find it. Until some thing bumped his boot. Compared to the Drakon this creature was small. But Sava instantly realized what it was. Viper.

  The head repeatedly thrust against his boot leg as if probing. Blindly sensing his pulsating heat in the darkness.

  The viper coiled around his ankle, then began crawling up his leg. Sava had to exert his last vestige of self control to keep from ripping it off his leg and crushing its head under his boot. Hold on – just a little longer until the Black Cloaks leave.

  Upon reaching the top of his boot, the serpent shoved its head down inside his bootleg. It paused, as if making up its mind.

  Get away damn you!

  Instead the viper slithered down inside of his boot. Jaw clenched, muscles rigid, Sava fought the need to pant. To scream. To grab its tail and jerk it out.

  Now coiled around his bare ankle, the serpent thrust its head up into his leggings. Forked tongue flickering, it licked his bare skin.

  It is tasting me. Testing me. Daring me to move.

  Tongue flickering over his skin, the serpent began to slither up Sava’s bare leg. Cold terror washed over him, threatening to reduce his mind to hysterical panic. He stood frozen, gritting his teeth as the Black Cloaks vowed bloody revenge against the Sauromatae.

  The serpent licked his kneecap, then wound its way up his thigh to investigate a warm alluring oasis. This was going way beyond Sava’s outermost limits of control.

  Ah-Gin’s hairy stinking balls! Silently cursing at his powerless state, he fought to repress the frantic urge to leap away. To scream, to slap at the thing crawling up his thigh. He was dying to grab its tail and yank it out of his leggings.

  Taking its excruciating time, the snake kept on, its cool, scaly skin rasping the naked flesh of his thigh. Forked tongue licking, tasting his unadulterated quivering terror.

  Goddess don’t let it bite me. Not THERE…

  He had heard that poisonous vipers lived and hunted in these kurgans, attracted by rodents that fed on decaying bodies. The serpent coiled around Sava’s upper thigh. Its tongue flickered over his cringing genitals.

  Eeeyagh! Biting down on a scream of mental agony, he refused to break, to let his brain dissolve into mindless hysteria. But his heart was slamming at a thousand stadia gallop.

  Muscles rigid Sava repressed the need to pant, holding his breath while the black robes in the next room went on endlessly chatting about `Poor Prince Kanxa’.

  CURSE Prince Kanxa! He brought his fate upon himself! Will you never leave? Be done! Be gone! He screamed soundlessly as the serpent’s tongue flicked at his shrunken gonads. It seemed to be considering whether his living balls would be a tasty snack.

  Steam was literally pouring out the top of Sava’s head – generated by his racing heart. Yet his hands and feet felt like ice. He desperately needed to move.

  A rough, rasping Voice hissed like a whip: Sava. Come HERE Sava!

  NAY. It’s a trick of the Mind!

  His heart was lodged in his throat. Poised to explode, he ached to reach down and yank that damn viper out of his pants. Heart-thudding fear surged through his veins, blinding his vision, blurring all reason.

  Holy Mata Drakaina! I beg you. End my torment!

  The hissing whiplash Voice morphed with the high-pitched humming buzz. The effect was as if a large hornet had climbed into his ear. Intolerable.

  The serpent’s tongue kept flickering over his shrunken pudenda. Unbearable.

  He was locked in an agony of dread. His goals had been so high. Now he mourned his miserable end.

  Somehow he held still. The buzzing in his ears merged with the whiplash hiss. Its tone mesmerizing, sinister, yet somehow seductive. The nomad’s body shuddered at the compelling Voice humming in his ear -

  COME HERE Sssava.

  NAY.

  His disintegrating mind desperately trying to resist the mesmerizing onslaught of the Deathless Being that grasped him by his most vulnerabl
e organ. Daring him to break.

  Trying to make him react so that he would be discovered. Alone and trapped down in this pit.

  The hissing metallic buzz piercing deep into his consciousness –

  SAVA… Come HERE Sssava.

  I am your slave. What would you have me do?

  His will weakening. Sliding down into a pit of demons salivating to suck dry his dreams, his very soul.

  There was the slightest puff of warm air near his ear. He knew that breath. It was his horse, speaking to him in that subtle secret language. I am here for you.

  Soundlessly the golden stallion blew his sweet warm breath into Sava’s face. The nomad inhaled the life-giving breath. Exhaled into the stallion’s velvety nostrils. Back and forth, Sava breathed in this pure revivifying force of nature. My good horse.

  The low thumping boom sounded again, louder, vibrating the floor under Sava’s feet.

  “Did you hear that? The Black Serpent is rising. We must begin the sacrifice ritual.” The Authoritative Voice said.

  Sava’s his barely functioning brain registered fading voices and departing footsteps echoing down the passageway.

  The Black Cloaks are leaving. A ragged sigh of relief hissed between his teeth.

  Now if I can just get rid of my little `friend’ here without getting bitten.

  Fingers moving with utmost caution, he undid the thongs of his leggings. With great care he slowly opened his pants. A delicate operation.

  The Black Cloaks had left a flaming torch on the burial chamber wall. It lent enough light to see a sinous black outline wrapped around his thigh. Aroused, the serpent lifted its head away from his quivering genitals.

  In a lightning strike move Sava snatched the viper behind the head. He jerked its coiled body off his thigh and flung it writhing against the wall. Begone - Filth of demons!

  Hitting the wall with an audible smack, the viper flopped to the floor and slithered into darkness.

  Sava knew there were more where that one came from, but he was still trapped.

  The stallion nuzzled his cheek, blowing sweet earthy breath in his face. Gasping, heart racing, the nomad leaned against the horse’s living shoulder, staring blindly into darkness.