by J A Deriu
Nico was tossed a bedroll. It was tied tightly together, and he struggled for minutes to untie the knots. He finished the drink and looked to the Mongol for more. He held up the bag. The Mongol leader was playing with a knife, carving a bit of wood. He looked back at Nico. His eyes had a wink of emotion. He tossed the wood carving into the fire, reached for his packs, and threw across the fire another drinking bag. It was full and warm.
Nico stepped into the darkness to piss the foul liquid out of his body before returning and ripping off the cork of the full bag with his teeth. He forcibly drank from it, stopping only when concerned that the splashing at his chest was wasting the brew. He squeezed his teeth and ate more of the food. The Mongols disinterestedly watched him, chewing on their own sticks of dried meat.
The drink began to stew in his head at the same time as fatigue clouded him. Two of the Mongols had rolled themselves up in the bedrolls and were snoring. Only the leader remained awake looking at the black sky, still playing with the knife in his hands. A bead of sweat caused by the fire dribbled down his dark skin.
Nico unrolled the bedroll. It was a strange, soft material that he had not felt before. He wriggled into it. It was immediately warm and cozy like a hotel bed. He was uncomfortable to be asleep surrounded by these dangerous-looking men in a grim land. His eyes closed, and he could not stop his body yielding to the exhaustion.
He woke with a hurting head as he had done many times before. His eyes adjusted to the pale light, and there was the smell of something cooking. Nico lifted himself, accompanied by the sound of cracking bones. The Mongols were sitting around the fire, which had large branches jutting from the flames and a kettle suspended over it by metal rods. The Mongol leader walked across to Nico and passed down to him a wooden bowl. It was some kind of cereal mush mixed with warm water from the kettle. Nico ate it with his fingers, not worried to smell it first.
It seemed unnatural for the Mongols to be still. They stood restless and exchanged short bursts of words. Nico sat on a stone close to the fire waiting for activity. The horses wandered farther away from the camp looking for tufts of grass to eat. The Mongols were not concerned. Nico held the drinking bag in his hands, kneading it to guess how much was left. He could not stop himself. He uncorked the bag and poured the alcohol down his throat until the last drop. The Mongol leader watched him with the slightest frown. Nico wiped his lips, held up the empty bag, and hiccupped. The Mongol made the face of a stern father and then possibly a grin. He picked up a nearby bag. It belonged to one of the others, who opened his mouth to complain and then quickly shut it. The Mongol threw the bag so that it landed at the feet of Nico.
The Mongol leader watched the horizon. Nico started watching it, too, with nothing else to do. The color gradually changed from a dull gray to a duller gray. The sky was dotted with the black spots of birds, some in formation, some alone.
They ate the same cereal as the day before. Nico paced himself with the flagon, sensing that there would not be another one. The Mongols handled their weapons, feeling the blades of their knives and swords and checking their guns, squinting an eye atop the sight.
The sun lowered, and Nico’s breath began to mist. The days were short, wherever they were. He bundled himself in the snug bedroll and tried to think of Isabella. He tried to convince himself that the predicament was only a nasty interlude in his inevitable return to her. The Mongols had ignored him as if he were not there. They could not have meant him harm. The photograph they had held of him at the Qing waystation was disconcerting. He was certain that it had something to do with his princely status. Yet why did the world not know that he had been stripped of this status? His father, without ceremony, had dumped him from the family in the basement of a Metropolitan casino. Nico was as intoxicated with alcohol and mischief that night as he was full of the strange Mongol brew on this one. His mind was too shattered to form a coherent picture of Isabella, and he slept instead.
The squawking of birds woke him in the morning. He shook his body to life and sat reaching over to the fire to warm his hands. The Mongol leader, eagle eyed, was still scanning the horizon. The other two were hunched over playing a game. They were throwing what looked like knuckle bones and then grunted over how they lay before scooping them up and throwing again.
The Mongol leader stood. He had seen something and fixed his stare on it. Nico could see a dot on the horizon moving in their direction. It quickly increased in size, and a second appeared behind the first. The two of them were horse riders. The Mongol watched them come toward their camp with unflinching attention. The other two continued to play their game as if it did not concern them. They rode with speed. Nico stood and felt his limbs. The riders were wearing maroon-colored tops that had the look of something military. They had slim fur hats sitting high on their heads. The second rider had a slash of long hair that trailed behind. They came into the camp with confidence, slowed, and dismounted. The Mongol leader met them and growled at the other two Mongols to hold the reins of the horses.
The two new arrivals had disciplined bodies and lively movements. The first nodded at the Mongol leader and then rushed to face Nico. He approached him with wide eyes. He was a young man, blond headed and pale skinned. He took off his leather riding gloves and stopped an arm away from Nico. He studied Nico as if looking at a painting in an art gallery. He suddenly bowed, as though grasping that Nico was real, and he spoke in hurried Russian.
Nico did not understand what he said. His Russian was terrible due to his lack of attention in class and dislike of tutors. The man looked dumbfounded. He contemplated. The second of the arrivals was a woman. “He speaks English, Anton,” she said and studied Nico also. A long-gloved finger touched her chin. She looked to be of a similar age and equally as fair, with an upturned nose and pampered look. “They speak English in the Metropolis.” Her voice was heavily accented. She spoke in Russian to the man and checked Nico again with a suspicious look. She tore off her fur hat, and thick locks of cherry-red hair cascaded down her face and onto her vest.
The man stepped forward and lowered himself onto a knee. “Your Holy Prince, we are honored.” He crossed himself. “For faith, for the tsar, and the fatherland. God is with us.” He stood.
They both looked at the woman. “He did that for both of us,” she said, looking at his dirty knee and the hard ground.
“Prince, I am Count Anton Krawtzoff, a leader of the Cossack resistance for the Holy Church.” He hesitated. “And this is my wife, Countess Regina. You have come. We can scarcely believe it to be true. We prayed for your victory.”
“I have been abducted by these men,” Nico said, pointing at the Mongols. The leader watched with interest. The other two were stroking the horses. “I am not supposed to be here.”
“Prince, we have heard of your magnificent victory, delivered by all of the saints. The people want to see the tsarevich.”
“Ha. I was not part of that battle, and I am not the prince.”
“Aw.” The woman moaned. “I told you this would be a waste.” Then she said some Russian swear words, which Nico did understand.
“There would be no mistake, Prince,” Anton said. “These men, the Mongols, can find a lizard in a desert.”
“If these men have anything to do with you, tell them to take me back to where they abducted me from.”
“Prince, how is that possible –”
“Let’s have something to drink,” the woman interrupted. “We rode for two days to get to this forsaken place.”
“Yes, sit down. Prince, let us talk about this.”
The woman, Regina, went to her horse and pulled off saddlebags. Nico spent a long moment looking at Anton, and the count returned a forlorn look. The Mongol leader watched bemused with his hands on his hips. Regina sat near the fire and busily sorted through her bags. She pulled out a flask, unscrewed the top, and took a long drink. Nico sat across from her. Anton followed. �
��You are Prince Nicolas Romanov, aren’t you?” she asked.
“Hmm,” Nico responded.
“Be truthful,” she said. “Otherwise we leave you with these three, and they won’t see the point of taking you back to where they found you. Instead, I’d say, they’d prefer to use you for target practice.”
“Well, I am that person,” Nico answered, “but I am not the tsarevich. There has been a change in the lineage.”
“Ha,” Anton chuckled. “I knew good fortune would bring us to you, Prince Nicolas.”
“What do you mean, there has been a change in the lineage?” Regina asked.
“My father, Tsar Alexander, changed it. I am not to be his successor.”
“That is not what is told in the villages of the occupied lands,” Anton said. “Instead, the story has spread of your great victory at the head of the tsar’s army. An army from the new lands that defeated the Janissaries in a brutal daylong battle, where you fought bravely, slaying many of the Ottomans yourself, under the two-headed eagle banner of the empire.”
Nico laughed. “What is in the flask?” he asked.
Regina looked at it. “Vodka. What else?” She threw it toward him. “Help yourself.”
He caught the flask and rushed it to his lips and gulped down the familiar-tasting spirit. He wiped his lips and looked across the grim, naked land. “I did not even see the battle.”
“It is of no concern. We are not here to listen to a tale of the battle,” Anton said. “We have come to escort you to rebel command. The rebellion is to start, and you are to lead it.”
“Ha,” Nico laughed and drank more from the flask.
“You would not be expected to lead it in the way of strategy and orders – you are a boy. You would be more of a figurehead for the people to rally around, a symbol of the fatherland, the return of the empire of the Russians.”
Nico continued to laugh, placing his hand across his mouth.
“He is not what we expected, is he?” Regina said to Anton.
“Don’t despair. He will be. He has the royal blood.”
Nico guzzled the vodka, focused on its vicious taste, and ignored the talking of the two arrivals, who had reverted to speaking to each other in Russian.
The Mongol impatiently paced in front of them, cursing at his men, who continued with their game.
“I don’t really understand,” Nico said. “Why did they take me, and why are you here?”
Anton stood as if he were a soldier who had been ordered. “Prince, they have been employed by the people of the rebellion,” he said crisply. “They have been paid excellent coin. And they are impatient.”
His wife had moved next to him. “And we have been trusted to ensure you fulfill your duty, or destiny … or whatever.” She snatched the flask from him and took a swig, showing disappointment with how little was left.
“We are to take you to the fatherland, Prince.”
“Ha, are you serious?” Nico said. “I paid no attention in geography, but even I know that Old Russia is a world away from wherever we are.”
“Don’t we know that!” Regina scoffed.
“There are trains. We have traveled the distance. It is not difficult,” Anton said.
“It is a nightmare,” Regina rebuffed. “Trains that should be scrap metal, people that are savages, food that will make you vomit.”
“Well, it doesn’t concern me,” Nico said. “I won’t be coming with you.”
“Oh, Prince Nicolas, there is destiny and fate that cannot be changed,” Anton said.
“And we are going to clobber you if you don’t come with us,” Regina added.
Nico looked at her to determine her seriousness. Her smirk was unreadable, both malicious and humorous.
“Prince, these are auspicious times,” Anton said. “As your victory proved. The Ottoman Empire is faltering. Look at those men, there – the Mongols. They know it. These men are from the Sect of the Yellow Hat. They guard the spirit banner of Genghis Khan. They are allied with us because the old empire is falling, and they wait to fill its void. They seek the return of their empire. We seek the return of ours. They have shown you the utmost regard because they know that you are an emperor-in-waiting.”
“Ha,” Nico laughed. “They have not shown me any respect.”
“Oh, they have,” Regina said. “The fact that you are walking and have no broken bones. These men would usually roast spoilt children over a flame.”
“You have a good wit,” Nico answered, “but be useful and tell these men to return me to where they abducted me from, or else the emperor-in-waiting will be very angry.”
“Hmm, Prince, respectfully, let me say that they won’t do that,” Anton said. “They have instructions to take you to the court of the khan in Karakorum, where you will be presented and blessed for the continuation of your journey and quest to mortally wound our mutual enemy.”
Regina lifted her eyebrows. “Yes. We are not looking forward to it either.”
“Do not fear, Prince. We will accompany you every step. Your safety will be our only concern,” Anton said.
“Yes. As I said, we are not looking forward to it either.”
“I need more vodka,” Nico said, warming his hands over the fire.
Regina with injured innocence went to look in the saddlebags. Nico tried to think of a way out of the predicament with the chatter of Anton in the background. He could only think of Isabella. He was certain he would return to her, as if the Russians and the Mongols were not there. He cursed the burden of his name. It had only been that – a burden.
“It will fall, Prince,” Anton said.
“What are you talking about?”
“Tsargrad will fall.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You would know the name Konstantinople. We know it as Tsargrad. I swear, by the relics of Empress Saint Theodora, the double-headed eagle, it will fall.”
“I don’t care.”
Regina returned. “No vodka,” she said, “but there is this.” She threw a bag on the dirt. It landed at the feet of Nico.
He picked it up. It was a pouch. He smelled inside. It was hemp. He smiled. “I could like you.”
“Fancy a smoke?” she said.
She skillfully rolled the cigarettes. The Mongol observed, came to the fire, turned over a rock, and sat on it. She lit three at once by holding them between her teeth and leaning into the fire. She gave one to Nico and one to the Mongol and kept the other for herself. Nico sucked deeply and hollered at the beauty of the taste. The Mongol laughed.
Anton stood. “I will find a place to think and pray.”
They smoked in silence. Anton wandered out of sight.
“Why is your English so good?” Nico asked.
“It is not really that good, not as good as my Turk, Russian, Latin, Polack, Magyar. You understand. At school we learned languages and more languages. I never thought I’d have a use for my English. So, I thank you … I am not going to call you Prince … I’ll call you …”
“Nico, call me Nico.”
The Mongol produced another one of his drinking bags as if by magic.
“He’s not as in a hurry as your husband thinks.”
The Mongol passed the bag. His face showed a wrinkle of a smile.
They drank and smoked happily with not much conversation. Regina spoke to the Mongol in a language that Nico could not guess. Anton returned. “Night is coming soon. It looks like we will camp the night.”
Regina looked across at the Mongol. “He does not seem concerned to keep his khan waiting.”
Nico breathed in the smoke of the hemp cigarette. He was certain that he would not travel with these people. The Mongol ordered his men to cook something, and they busied themselves over the fire. One of them ran to his horse and mounted it in the one str
ide. He rode away toward a cluster of trees in the distance. The Mongol leader began to hum a cheery tune. The husband and wife looked at him strangely and then smiled and hummed along.
The Mongol stood and started to move, at first swaying his arms and then moving his legs in a strange jig. He hummed louder and added wolflike yelps. His movements quickened into an acrobatic frenzy of flashing arms and legs. He had boundless energy and should have collapsed from exhaustion long before he sat down without a change to his breathing. The husband and wife applauded, and the Mongol gratefully nodded his head. He pulled back his lips and showed an imposing smile.
Nico reached for another hemp cigarette and saw that the rider was coming back. He had dead rabbits and birds tied to a string. He tossed them to the other Mongol, who furiously started plucking at them.
They ate rabbit and bird stew. It was tasteless to Nico among the hemp and alcohol. It darkened rapidly. Nico’s head began to swirl. The Mongol leader and the husband and wife talked as if recounting stories, Nico did not understand a word. A frigid wind blew over the camp, and one of the Mongols threw all of the available wood onto the fire so that it burned like a bonfire. The bedrolls were set out, and Nico tucked himself into his among the dancing shadows cast by the roaring fire.
He closed his eyes knowing that it would only be for moments and that he would need to do something drastic. Her face was thrust at him, angry, vicious, with a snarl that he had not thought possible. She was demanding his return, using foul and accusatory language. He had not imagined Isabella with such anger. He lifted an arm and outstretched his fingers as if he could touch her face. His eyes shook open. He could not know how long he had been asleep. The moon was fat and directly overhead. Sounds of sleep came from the Mongols and the count and countess. The fire had burned down to glowing red logs. He lifted his head and could see the outlines of the horses.
