The Flame of Destiny

Taymur gazed at the green plains to the north. Winter was over and on this bright spring day he could just see the dark streak on the horizon that was the edge of the forest. The vast forest where Samira had spent the winter. Or so he thought. In reality he had no idea where they had gone and the dark streak he took for the taiga was just a thin line of trees and shrubs along a small river. The vast northern forests were still many dozens of miles further away.

He had been staring at the horizon from Satanaya’s belly since dawn, like he had done every day since the clan had reached their summer pastures.

Even Bhaltu was annoyed, “come on little brother, help me,” he had said many times, “waiting will not bring them back any sooner.”

“Please brother,” he said ignoring Bhaltu’s ire, “let’s ride out and find them.”

[Picture Bhaltu and Taymur]

Bhaltu looked wearily in the distance. Even if Surhab would allow them to leave camp, he had no idea where to go look for Samira. The lands to the north were vast and barely anyone lived out there. “We can’t, my brother,” he replied softly because it saddened him more than he cared to admit, “please come back and help me.”

Taymur had tried to help but his mind always wandered away from the task at hand. “Why are they so late, what do you suppose has happened to them?” he asked.

Bhaltu could think of a hundred different reasons for the delay, very few offered any hope. Hope was rare on the northern steppes. A young girl, an old woman and a toddler surviving such a terrible winter on the taiga without shelter, without stores of grain and firewood? He doubted that even the Ugrians could manage that and these hardy people knew the forest like no other.

Sensing his brother’s doubts, Taymur became ever more distressed and absent-minded. When he shepherded the horses, he let them wander too close to the river which was swollen with cold melt water.

“Watch out,” shouted Bhaltu from a distance. Taymur tried stop them but the horses panicked and almost crushed him.

“You’re no use to me like this,” Bhaltu said, “go back to the yurt.”

Instead of returning to the yurt, he returned to the hill and kept his vigil for Yahsi and Samira.

Below him the poppies were blooming in bright red hues, reminding him of the good times he had last spring. He rolled his hands in the shape of a tube and looked through, a trick which he had learned from Samira. Together they once managed to spot some deer on the horizon before the others did and were praised by Bhaltu and even Surhab was impressed.

The sun was low on the horizon, casting long shadows on the grasslands. He got sleepy and barely kept his eyes open.

Suddenly he was wide awake. He rubbed his eyes. Did he just see one of the trees move? Transfixed he peered again in the distance. Was it just a shadow?

He saw what it was and with a jolt he jumped up and ran so fast down the hill that he stumbled and fell, but he got up and ran on. He sprinted into the camp, jumped over a fire, ran over a cooking pot then ducked under a washing line. “They’re coming! They’re coming!” he shouted as he ran passed Surhab who jumped back in surprise. He didn’t even notice the chieftain and hurried towards his brother. “They’re coming! I’ve seen them!” he shouted at the top of his lungs.

Bhaltu grabbed his brother by his shoulders, shook him somewhat too violently in his excitement, then looked him straight in his eyes. Taymur saw that all the weariness had disappeared from his face. “Are you sure?” he asked, “tell me what you saw!”

It took a while for Taymur to catch his breath and the words came haltingly. “I saw a cart, and a horse. They’re coming from the north, I’m telling you. A girl was walking besides the cart!”

“Praise the gods!” said Bhaltu, “come on brother, let’s ride towards them.”

The brothers soon galloped out of the camp. Taymur on his small, but lively gray foal, Bhaltu on a large courser. A few hundred paces after the hill, they clearly recognized the silhouette of a slender girl walking next to a horse that was pulling a cart. Taymur’s heart almost leaped from his chest. It’s Samira, she’s alive!

They galloped on until they reached the wagon. Bhaltu halted in a cloud of dust, just a few yards before he would have smashed into the cart, and jumped off in one smooth move. He ran to the weary travelers and lifted Samira high into the sky. He swung her around a few times. She was light as a feather, he thought. Then they hugged each other and were both in tears.

While he was still holding Samira, Bhaltu turned to Yahsi. “You made it,” he shouted, “how wonderful!”

He put Samira down and looked at her. “By the gods, you look great, a little thin, but you have grown!” He quickly jumped on the cart and hugged Yahsi, almost crushing the old woman.

Overwhelmed by his older brother’s affection and enthusiasm, Taymur stood shyly in the background. When Bhaltu was talking to Yahsi, he approached Samira and said softly. “I’m so glad to see you again.”

Samira smiled at him and was just about to answer when they were loudly interrupted. “And here’s little Nehir!” bellowed Bhaltu from the wagon with the toddler in his hands, “you made it all!” Holding Nehir in one arm, he jumped out of the cart and handed the child to Taymur. He lifted Samira onto his horse, “come on brother, let’s give the girls a ride back to camp.”

The brothers escorted them to the camp. They couldn’t contain their joy while Yahsi and Samira wept tears of happiness and relief.

Back in the camp, they were surrounded on all sides by the other clan members. They lifted the girls on their shoulders and carried them triumphantly through the camp. They wanted to hear every detail of their story.

“Stop!” Bhaltu exclaimed cheerfully, “let them rest and eat. Tonight, we celebrate and hear their stories. They’re back and will always remain with us.”

The entire clan cheered and danced at the prospect

“That’s not your decision,” said Surhab sternly.

The clan members fell silent. Yahsi looked wearily at the frowning clan leader.

“What are you talking about?” said Bhaltu indignantly, “they’re part of our clan. They have endured a terrible ordeal. Nobody survives a winter on the taiga. They have proved their worth beyond any doubt.”

“It’s been a tough winter for all of us and we’re still short of horses,” said Surhab, “and without horses they can’t hunt, forage or keep up with us when we move again.”

“But... ” stammered Bhaltu and tried to restrain himself, “you can’t be serious,” his joy faded as if Surhab had thrown a bucket of ice cold water over it.

Taymur trembled with rage. He ran at Surhab, flailing with his fists. Bhaltu just managed to stop him.

“Keep that dog of you under control,” said Surhab menacingly, “or I’ll teach him a lesson he won’t forget.”

“Wait a minute,” Bhaltu said angrily as he walked to Surhab, “you’ll treat my family with respect or I will teach you a lesson.”

“Stop!” Yahsi shouted with an exhausted squeaky voice. She moved between Bhaltu and Surhab who respectfully took a step back. “I didn’t survive blizzards and angry wolves to listen to your squabbling.”

She took a simple leather pouch from under her robes. She knelt and put the bag on her lap. The clan members gathered around to get a glimpse of what she would reveal, except for Surhab who crossed his arms and looked the other side.

Then she opened it and the onlookers gasped. “This is beautiful,” said Azra. “It’s as if you caught fire from the sun.”

Intrigued, Surhab peeked over the heads of the others. His jaw fell in amazement when he saw the beautiful dark yellow stones and for a moment he was speechless. He had seen amber before as small stones worn by a shaman on an amulet or dangling from a necklace of a noblewoman. He also knew the legends of large ingots of the precious material that could be found deep in the forest. But he had never seen or even suspected the existence of such large and pure stones.

Yahsi searched through the gems in the bag and took two average-sized ones in her hands. Then she closed the bag again and put it away carefully. “I think this should be worth about two horses,” she said, putting the small stones in Surhab’s hands.

The clan members cheered and clapped their hands. What was good for Yahsi, was good for the clan. Even Surhab smiled when he recovered from his surprise, the stones were worth at least three horses.

The Tanisha were a tough people and their life was often grim, but when they had cause to celebrate, they did it with all their heart. That night the singing and cheering could be heard all the way to the Temel camp and it was said that their campfire was so big and hot that it still smoldered two days later. The hangovers from drinking kumis by the bucket lasted even longer.

With spring came busy and cheerful times with much bustle and hustle. The foals needed care and there were deer and elk to hunt. Samira spent most of her days near the camp foraging or tending the horses. She learned about the magical healing power in plants and herbs from Yahsi, as well as the immutable rhythms of the landscape and the seasons. She loved the animals, treating them well, and at times, it almost seemed like they helped her in turn. With her as yet unrefined skill of conjuring fire, and deep connection to nature’s spirits, she could hope to become a worthy successor of this wise and motherly woman.

When Yahsi was in a good mood, Samira sometimes joined Bhaltu on a hunt. More than anything, she wanted to become a true Tanisha, a hunter and nomad of the great steppes, and had to be an excellent rider. She had seen excellent riders in Ligeia, but the Tanisha were on a different level. It was like they were born on a horse!

The children played games on horseback, they stood upright on their steeds, without saddle or ropes, and tried to push each other off. In another game they used long sticks to hit a ball of cloth. She always wanted to be on Bhaltu’s side and he often passed her the ball, favoring her over older children. But when they played against Surhab’s yurt, Bhaltu became very focused and did everything he could to win. They also practiced horseback archery, shooting in all directions at a full galloping. They hung logs from the trees and tried to hit these while riding speed. Almost every night they had fun with new tricks on the saddle. They jumped off a galloping horse and then back on. They hung upside down from the saddle. They jumped from one horse to another.

Determined and with boundless energy, Samira worked hard to catch up with the others. After a few weeks, she could match any of the teenage boys and girls of the clan at riding or shooting. She felt immense pride when she managed to shoot a rabbit at a gallop or when she made a large Temel boy tumble from his horse with a clever feint.

Another popular pastime was wrestling which was practiced by all except the very young and the very old. Being of the same age, Taymur and Samira, wrestled almost daily. He was stronger but if he lost his concentration for an instant, he would find himself smacked on his back. Bhaltu easily beat the two of them, even when they snuck up from behind - which they tried a couple of times every day. He would take one of them in each hand and toss them both into the cold river. But no one, not even Bhaltu, could defeat Zohod, the eldest son of Surhab, a bear of a man.

The reading and writing lessons with Taymur continued in spring and summer. They wrote with sticks in the sand or carved with a knife on a piece of bark. When Samira had exhausted all her Greek stories, they started practicing with Tanisha tales and legends. There was an endless supply of stories about Narts, sky spirits and evil dragons. Surhab made fun of them when Samira suggested that she could write Tanisha stories in their own language using the same Greek letters. “Our language cannot be captured by your stupid scribbles,” he said disdainfully then erased her drawings in the sand.

The long summer evenings were seldom wasted. As soon as someone whistled a tune or started pounding a rhythm with a stick on a kettle, clansmen dropped their chores and joined in. Tanisha loved the fast, intense dances to the sound of heavy drums and blaring flutes and none more so than Samira. When she danced, she forgot all her worries about status and lineage, and moved tirelessly on the fast beats. She gained much pleasure from these moments and so did the people watching her. She jumped and turned on the rhythm. She lost herself completely in the music and shook her head so fiercely that her hair always tangled into a hopeless mess. Yahsi inevitably complained about it when she combed it back, but never once became angry with her.

The war dance was the most exhilarating. All the young men and women of the clan moved to the rhythm of the ever faster pounding of the heaviest drums. They spun and jumped and slashed all at the same time. The colored ribbons tied around their wrists and into their hair swung wildly. The wooden swords clattered. This went on for minutes until sweat streamed down their cheeks.

With so much to learn and do, time flew by. Spring became summer and not much later - or so it seemed - the endless green meadows turned yellow and brown while the deep blue sky turned dull and gray. The clan became restless and prepared to move south. This time, no one tried to stop Yahsi and Samira. On the trek to their winter camp in the mountains, they proudly rode at the head of the clan.

The weeks turned into months, the months into seasons and then into years. Faraway Ligeia and the dreadful Underdeep were only a vague memory from another time. Even the attack of the Trolls on the taiga became a distant nightmare.

Samira began to change. She was no longer a small girl, but grew tall and proud and was slowly turning into a young woman. The changes were new but didn’t scare her. She looked towards the future with confidence. Even though she still missed her parents, she was surrounded by people who loved her and was sure that she had finally found her place in the world.

She was a Sarmatian steppe hunter of the Tanisha clan!

[Picture Samira and Taymur]

TO BE CONTINUED