The Flame of Destiny

As soon as the Tanisha arrived at their chosen site, a low hill close to a small stream, they started unloading their carts, silently agreeing on a spot for each yurt. Irene and Surhab had a prime location in the center. Yahsi’s spot didn’t look much different from the others, perhaps just a stone’s throw farther from the river. Compared to the vast steppes, the campsite was so tiny that it made no difference.

Within the hour, several yurts had already been raised. Yahsi and Samira had barely finished unloading the cart when Bhaltu and Taymur approached. “Let me help you with that,” offered Bhaltu and together they set up the yurt. First, they place the frame of slender, well-worn wooden beams. Then they pulled over the felt canvas. As Bhaltu and Yahsi fastened it to the frame, Samira and Taymur had great fun playing hide and seek with little Nehir.

“I’ve got to help Azra with the horses,” said Bhaltu when the canvas was in place, “Taymur can help you.”

Yahsi was in an upbeat mood. She was already busy fastening the kitchen utensils to frame of the tent with strings of chord. Samira knew that every item had its proper place and there was no point in suggesting anything different. “Don’t worry,” said the woman, “I’ll furnish the palace on my own. You kids can go out and play.”

Taymur grabbed Samira’s hand. “Come on,” he said.

Samira was keen to discover the site and eagerly followed him. He directed her gaze at Satanaya’s belly. “If that’s her belly, what do we call these two hills?”

Samira giggled, “come on, I race you to the stream.”

They dashed down the hill and splashed merrily into the little stream. “I’ll teach you how to fish,” said Taymur, “there’s plenty in these waters.”

“I’d like that. I’ve eaten only dried meat and old yoghurt for weeks.”

“Tonight we’ll eat something special to celebrate our arrival,” said Taymur. “I saw my brother walking around with two fresh hares. It will be yummy.”

Samira’s heart raised. When she was hungry during the long trek she often thought of the midsummer festival on the agora in Ligeia where Diokles had taken her. The square would be filled with stalls more densely packed than the old town. There were exotic spices in large bags and stalls with flagrant flowers. The smell of freshly baked bread was competing with the mouthwatering scents of grilled meat.

She wondered if the Sarmatians also had festivals like that. In any case, grilled hare sounded so wonderful it brought tears in her eyes.

They splashed and frolicked until their clothes were soaking wet. “Come here,” called Taymur with shrill excitement, “you’ve got to see this!” He stared at a patch of mud on the bank.

His voice had a strange tone and Samira immediately went over to take a look. “We better get Bhaltu,” she whispered, “he’ll know what this is.”

They had rarely seen Bhaltu so concerned when he investigated the footprint in the mud near the stream. It was unlike any animal he had seen before. After a while, he got up and said hastily, “don’t worry, it must be a deer.” He blotted the print with his boot. “It’s certainly not a wolf.”

Samira looked at the stain in the mud. The edges were still faintly visible. The long thin lines didn’t look like deer hooves at all, they looked like long, sharp nails. Was it even an animal? She shivered and thought of all the monsters she had seen in the Underdeep. She had no idea what it could be, but if it was a Gulla, it was certainly much larger than the ones she had encountered before.

Over the next few weeks, Taymur and Samira didn’t see more of these claw imprints and gradually forgot about the incident. There certainly was enough to do: gathering plants, and herbs, fetching firewood and water. They hunted small game, tended the foals and milked the mares.

“Why don’t we put the camp closer to the stream,” complained Samira one day as she walked up the hill with two full buckets of water.

“Too many flies,” said Yahsi.

“Can’t we make an ‘aqueduct’, like they have in the cities?”

“Never heard of that. Girl, you ask too many questions, why don’t you go out and play.”

She went outside and ran into Taymur who had just returned from a hunting trip with his brother.

“Good catch?” she asked

“Not really, just some skinny rabbits,” he replied, “we followed an elk but lost it in the woods.”

“Didn’t you say you were a good hunter?” mocked Samira.

“I am! But this year there’s just no game.”

“Says the great hunter…” replied Samira teasingly.

“Oh stop it. I had my first kill already. I’m really pretty decent, better even than Bhaltu was at my age. He told me so.”

“If you’re so good,” replied Samira, “why don’t you teach me?”

[Picture Samira and Taymur writing]

The boy pondered that for a moment. “Okay,” he said, “but what can you teach me?”

Samira thought a minute and then said, “I’ll teach you how to read and write.” She had learned only the basics from Diokles but was eager to keep practicing and hadn’t found a single person who was literate among the Sarmatians.

“Can’t you teach me something useful?” Taymur asked with a long face.

“It’s very useful,” replied Samira. “One day you’ll thank me for it.”

“Very well,” sighed Taymur, who was actually looking forward to teaching Samira to hunt and spending more time with her, “we have a deal.”

For now, Taymur’s hunting lessons proved much more useful than Samira’s reading classes. The clan really needed more food. Samira was an attentive pupil and she had a knack for finding and tracking animals. With her keen eyes, she quickly learned to recognize the tracks of suitable prey and she seemed to have an uncanny ability to predict their behavior. “You just have to think like them,” she told Taymur when she predicted the direction of their movement or found a lair close the river.

She was still hopeless at archery; she just wasn’t strong enough to draw the string all the way behind her ear as she was supposed to. Taymur was happy to take it over from her. He had a small bow that was specially made for him and he practiced every day. Together they were a good team. More than once they returned to the camp with a rabbit or a pheasant. Some days, when Bhaltu returned empty-handed, this was all that stood between them and a week of yogurt, cheese and hard bread.

One day Samira and Taymur accompanied Bhaltu to the Temel, a larger neighboring clan. He wanted to trade some of the furs and hides he had gained in the mountains over the winter and get some cooking utensils in return and perhaps a small surprise for his little sisters.

Samira happily went on her first outing with the brothers. She wore her bright silk trousers, still too wide, and rode her trusty steed, Bayram.

“Keep an eye on the horses,” Bhaltu said to the children when they arrived at the Temel camp. He took the load of furs and walked to the largest yurt in the camp.

Samira and Taymur remained with the horses for a while but then started to explore the camp’s surroundings. Their attention was drawn to a wooden tower around a large pole. As they played there, a group of youths came up to them.

“You look weird,” said an older boy to Samira, “you’re not Sarmatian, what’re you doing here?” His tone was intimidating.

“She belongs to our clan,” said Taymur, “leave her alone!”

Samira was glad he stood up for her, but didn’t have time to thank him.

“She looks like a mudeater,” said an older girl. “And you know what we do with mudeaters over here,” she added menacingly.

The boy sniggered and approached the Tanisha children.

“She’s not a mudeater, she’s a malika,” said Taymur and he immediately regretted it.

The Temel youths looked at each other and began to chuckle. They jeeringly surrounded the couple. “Let me see that princess,” said the big boy. He reached out with his hand and tried to grab Samira’s hair.

“Don’t touch me!” Samira yelled. She stepped back and slapped the bully with all her strength.

A flash of anger swept over the boy’s face. He glared furiously at her. “You’ll pay for that,” he snarled.

Samira was surrounded by the growling, menacing gang. They were no longer boys and girls, but nasty Gulla that came to kidnap her and bring her back to the Underdeep. She shivered and wept, she couldn’t help it, and cowered in shame.

“Leave her alone!” said Taymur, stepping between them, “she’s my sister.”

“You’re a fool, just like your father was,” said the largest boy who towered over Taymur.

Taymur’s eyes narrowed, his hands were clenched into fists and his arms were trembling. His temper was boiling over. “Your father was a dog,” he hissed back.

The bully was waiting for just such an insult and threw a punch at Taymur but he ducked low and dodged the fist. The boy lost his footing for a moment. Then he roared and bared his teeth.

Taymur swung a punch at the bully, but his arms were too short to even reach him. The boys jeered as he missed.

“At least my father had honor,” he said undauntedly, “and stood like a true warrior.”

This didn’t diffuse the situation. Strong hands grabbed him from behind and he could no longer move.

Samira was still haunted by memories of horrible Gulla and too scared to intervene. She ran back to the horses where they had left their equipment. She hugged Bayram as if it was her best friend that would always protect her. His soft snorting and warm feeling calmed her. “They are just stupid kids,” she said.

She heard a scream and looked back.

“Let me go,” cried Taymur. The kids were holding him with his arm twisted behind his back. The more he struggled, the more they hurt him.

The big bully picked up a heavy log. He chuckled as he approached the small Tanisha hunter. “Let’s see if you can also stand like a warrior when I knock your teeth out.”

The hooting and cursing of the boys sounded like Gulla and paralyzed her with fear. But Taymur was her friend and needed help. A deep fury took hold of her, as if her blood had turned into flaming oil. The anger she still felt against the Gulla and the Black Priests was now directed at the bullies. It grew stronger and eventually overcame her fear.

She grabbed Taymur’s bow and put an arrow on the string. She tried to pull it back but could barely pull it half way. “Come on,” she shouted to herself, “you can do this. You have to do this!”

“No blood,” said the mean girl somewhat concerned, “he’s Sarmatian.”

“I’ll do my best,” the bully said grinning. “But I’m not sure it’ll work.” He lifted the club and the boys that held Taymur from behind sniggered in delight at what was about to happen. “Can I keep his teeth,” pleaded one of the smaller boys, “for my collection.”

Suddenly the bully heard a twang from a bow and he saw an arrow slowly fly over them. It landed fifty paces away and dug a few inches in the ground. They turned to look at the shooter.

“Back down or the next one will be in your heart,” said Samira. She held the weapon unsteadily with trembling hands but the string was pulled back as far as her chin. Her eyes burnt with a terrible fury.

The youngsters stared at her and no longer dared to move. A few recoiled.

That moment lasted an instant. “That mudeater can’t even handle a bow,” scoffed the biggest bully. “Put that down before you hurt your princess’s hands,” he jeered.

Samira’s confidence dissipated and she lowered the small bow. The bully approached her brandishing his log like a club.

They heard another dry twang. This time it came from the direction of the big yurt. A long arrow split the log right in the middle. The boy screamed as he dropped the two halves on the ground.

“Enough!” shouted Bhaltu sternly, “leave my brother and sister alone. I can assure you that I can handle a bow.”

[Picture Samira]

On the way back to camp, none of the three were talkative, all lost in their own thoughts.

Taymur and Samira were still processing the fight with the bullies, while Bhaltu worried about the news he heard from the other clan. The Temel, who had given up on long annual treks, had remained quite far north all winter and lost many of their horses to wolves leaving them with very little of value to buy fur. And they couldn’t rely on the forest people who, according to the Temel, had their own problems with wolves and other dangers. There was a tribe further south, the Barda, that was thriving but always drove a hard bargain when you tried to obtain anything from them. That was something he learned from Surhab earlier. The chief hadn’t told the others what he traded with them, but the frustration dripped from his face.

Back at camp, Samira whispered to Taymur. “Thank you for standing up for me. That was really brave. I tried to help, but I couldn’t ... I’m really sorry.”

“Don’t worry,” replied Taymur, “you did what you could. You were also very brave. I’m surprised you even managed to shoot that arrow.”

“Do you ever feel like that?” stammered Samira, “I mean, so helpless… and so angry… like you are on fire? Like the whole world is on fire.”

“Yes,” chuckled Taymur, “yes, I know that feeling too.”

Samira doubted he really understood her. She couldn’t imagine anyone being consumed so completely by fire.

“Bhaltu?” Samira asked softly.

“Yes.”

“What’s a mudeater?”

Bhaltu sighed. “They called you that?

Samira nodded.

He sighed again. “That’s how we sometimes call the people who don’t live in tents, but live on a farm,” he said. “They eat bread made from grain that grows from the soil. Before the crops come out it looks like a field of mud. They also keep animals. But they don’t have the space like us to let them roam free on the plains, so they fence them into a muddy field.”

“Then they’re right,” said Samira gloomily, “I’m a mudeater, I used to live in a house and eat bread.”

Taymur shook his head and looked at her with pity. “Samira…”

“Never say that again!” said Bhaltu sharply. “You’re one of us now, a Tanisha hunter. Nobody should call you that again.”

“Oh Bhaltu,” said the girl, throwing her slender arms around him, “thank you. I always want to stay with you.”