The Flame of Destiny

Southern edge of Eurasian steppes

Taymur looked up to the felt canvas. He had been staring at it for at least an hour. First, it was pitch black. Now he clearly saw the thin beams of a wooden frame in the dim twilight.

He had barely slept, he was too excited and couldn’t stop his stream of thoughts. The big day had arrived ... almost. The day he’d been waiting for.

His much older brother, Bhaltu, was calmly snoring beside him. His two younger sisters, Leyla and Darya slept peacefully on their felt blankets at the other side of the yurt. Aunt Azra lay next to the girls. These were the people that shared the tent with him, this was his family.

Taymur quietly slipped into his leather trousers and pulled a rough woolen cloak over his shoulders before heading out. Already the pine trees were peeking through the morning mist. Further south, the white caps of the great mountains caught the first rays of the sun on their eastern slopes. To the north, the green steppes continued as far as he could see, like an ocean of grass.

By the Earth Mother Shatanaya, he thought and clasped his hands together while he bowed his head, this place is beautiful.

Pretty as it was, it was also a harsh place as his brother kept reminding him. They worked every day from sunrise to sunset just to survive. He was barely eight summers old but already needed to do his part for the clan. Mostly small chores like fetching water and watching over the horses, but that was all about to change.

The spring hunt in the forested hills over the next few weeks was crucial for their survival on the long trek north. And he, young Taymur of the Tanisha, the toughest clan of the Free Sarmatians, would join the hunters for the first time! He beamed with pride at the thought, but it also made him nervous.

I can quickly check the traps, he thought; the others won’t wake for a while. In the morning freshness, he walked to a dense grove near a small stream.

“Damn!” he said as he saw that his trap had sprung without catching anything while Bhaltu’s trap had caught a mink. His brother could fashion a reliable trap from two young pine trees in a few minutes with just his knife and some wire. He lifted the collapsed log and took the poor animal underneath. Bhaltu’s traps were so nifty they killed the animal without spoiling the fur.

Their parents had died in a skirmish with a clan from another tribe several years ago. Bhaltu was young then, barely boasting a first fluffy beard. With the help of Aunt Azra, he had somehow managed to take care of him and his two baby sisters and grown into a formidable hunter that owned a dozen horses. Their yurt was now one of the most powerful in their small clan.

Soon, Bhaltu would have to find a wife. This should be easy for his tall, handsome and ever cheerful brother thought Taymur. Not for the first time he was a little bit jealous. But today he could put away these thoughts. Today he would become a hunter too!

As he walked back into the camp, he saw his brother fully dressed and astride his horse, ready to leave. He panicked. “Wait for me!” Taymur shouted running as quick as his little feet could carry him towards his horse.

“Come on Tamo-kun,” laughed Bhaltu, “we don’t have all day.”

A few minutes later, sweating and out of breath, he caught up with the hunters and rode next to Bhaltu who was leading the band on his large black mount Tancred.

Taymur rode Taros, an old chestnut stallion. The horse was sure-footed and reliable but had lost the speed and vigor of his youth. He didn’t mind, for a young boy, horse-riding can be terrifying. At least with gentle Taros, he didn’t make a complete fool of himself as the hunters navigated the rugged foothills of the Caucasus Mountains.

Bhaltu continuously scanned the ground as they advanced. “Look,” he said after about an hour. Taymur peered down following Bhaltu’s finger. At first, he saw nothing at all in the soft ground of a parched river bed, but after a while, he could make out faint traces.

“See this Tamo-kun,” said Bhaltu a little later as they approached a small stream. Taymur saw a mess of tracks. It made no sense to him.

“At least a dozen deer came to drink and then went south.”

They started following the freshest tracks along a brook that cascaded from the mountains. They were over a day old so they rode hard to catch up with the herd.

But they didn’t see any deer that day and Taymur had the feeling that they weren’t getting any closer. He felt tired and disappointed when the group finally stopped and made their camp in a small open spot in the bush. His initial enthusiasm had waned, hunting was laborious. Where was the fun part?

“This could take some days,” sighed Bhaltu, “it was a tough winter. Herds are few and small.”

“Why do we have to hunt,” complained Taymur, “we could keep goats and sheep like the other tribes.”

“We’re Tanisha,” replied Bhaltu sternly, “we’re descendants of the Royal Sarmatians. We’re horselords and don’t deal with lesser animals like goats and ugh… cows, except to steal them.”

Taymur nodded unconvincingly.

“And if we don’t have enough food,” joked Bhaltu and pretended to bite his brother’s ear, “we eat small boys that taste like piglets.”

Taymur giggled but he wasn’t satisfied with the response. The other clans had a much easier life. They didn’t have to hunt for every meal; they could just kill a sheep from the herd. Some claimed that the rich and powerful Alans on the central plains only hunted for pleasure. They watched lazily over their vast hordes of cattle and horses while sitting on their thick Persian rugs. They only bothered to leave their silk-draped yurts to extract gold from passing traders.

Not his clan! The Tanisha had to settle for the land that no one else wanted, land barely suitable for grazing. In winter, they scraped their existence from the dry scrubs in the mountainous south. In summer, they hunted the mosquito-infested taiga forests hundreds of miles to the north. On their long treks every spring and every fall, they lost many horses. How could they ever get stronger and reclaim the central lands of their ancestors?

He knew the answer: they had to fight another clan and take over their horses and territory. But Surhab, the Tanisha clan leader, was a coward, he would never fight. Things will surely be different with Bhaltu as clan leader. He’s brave and strong. I wish his time comes soon.

[Picture Taymur]

For the next few days, the hunters followed the stream, and the distant, snow-capped peaks seemed to get a little closer each day. Yet the deer remained elusive, and their tracks were vague. They only managed to shoot some birds and hares, barely enough to feed their own company.

On the fourth day, they climbed more steeply. The gently flowing river turned into a cascading stream that meandered down through the green lichen-covered rocks. It was difficult terrain but the band advanced steadily on their tough horses.

Over the crest of a hill, the forest was interrupted by steep and rocky slopes. In the evening light, the peaks in the distance seemed a lot closer than the day before and a cold wind came down from the mountains prompting them to make a fire and sit close together.

“Look Tamo-kun,” said Bhaltu pointing south, “that rock looks like a Gulla with a crooked nose and long ears.”

Taymur shivered and pulled his cloak tightly around him.

“Are Gulla really here,” the boy asked.

“Of course, Tamo-kun,” said Bhaltu with a straight face, “the mountains and caves are full of them. Better stay close to us or they’ll take you. I’ve heard they love little boys, even scrawny mongrels like you!”

Taymur looked startled but Bhaltu laughed and prodded his little brother in his belly. The other men and women laughed happily. So it was a joke? Taymur wasn’t completely reassured. He pulled the woolen blanket over his shoulders and gazed into the fire. The dancing flames calmed his mind and with the warm glow on his face, he was soon comfortably asleep.