Volodimir Vladko - Descendants of the Scythians

“Ssh!” Ivan Semenovich stopped the archeologist once again.

Meanwhile, the chieftain was silently watching the goings on at the altar, his face impassive, wearing no definite expression. His warriors were also silent. The only sounds were those of the captive woman wailing as she was dragged to the altar and the muffled murmur of the crowd.

“They want to kill her!” Lida said heatedly.

“To sacrifice her!” Artem cried out in no lesser state of indignation, quite forgetting the necessity of keeping his voice down.

“Ssh! Shush!” they heard the arresting voice of Ivan Semenovich from behind his tree.

But this time Artem was loath to obey the order as he had done before. He burst into an impassioned plea:

“Ivan Semenovich, we can’t just watch this! We mustn’t! We must interfere, we must help them, save them!”

“But there are only four of us, Artem!”

“It makes no difference! We cannot simply remain detached, impassive observers!” Artem grabbed the handle of his pickaxe in a determined manner.

“It’s insane, Artem! I command you…”

But it was already too late: Artem had sprung forward, his figure standing out boldly against the background of reddish tree trunks. He was noticed immediately. Several riders took off in a gallop toward him, spears held high. Piercing whistling and shouting resounded in the air.

The explorers were surrounded in no time — the archeologist barely had time to move from where he was standing; Lida and Ivan Semenovich had taken but a single step after Artem. One look at the riders sufficed to bring home the realization that any resistance would be futile. The spears were poised to strike, the battle axes held high in the air. But the Scythians did not use their weapons. They exchanged remarks, evidently puzzled by the unusual appearance of the strangers. At last one of the riders said something in a commanding tone. Some of the riders began pushing the explorers forward with the buts of their spears.

“Oh, you, stop it, damn you!” Artem bellowed furiously at them.

“I’m afraid we’ll have to submit, my friends,” Ivan Semenovich said in a low, resigned voice. “Now we’re captives, too.”

“Ivan Semenovich, it’s me who’s to blame! I’m so sorry,” Artem said, turning to the geologist, as the awful realization of what he had done dawned upon him.

“It doesn’t matter now, Artem. Besides, if you hadn’t done it, I would have done it myself,” Ivan Semenovich confessed. Artem saw that the older man was sincere.

The riders began prodding the explorers with the sharp points of their spears. The riders were on all sides, so there was nothing else to do but walk toward the crowd of Scythians, the chieftain, and the captives…

The explorers puzzle over the word poskina, and Artem duels with the old soothsayer; Dmitro Borisovich discovers that he can communicate with the Scythians and acts as an interpreter in the chieftain’s tent where the guests are treated to oksugala.

Dmitro Borisovich shrugged his shoulders:

“Well, if we must submit and go where they take us, we must. I wouldn’t say it’s the best way to get to know the way of life of the ancient Scythians… But…” He pulled his trilby hat which had miraculously survived all their misadventures down low over his eyes. “But it appears we have no choice… Hey, what are you up to?”

One of the riders, obviously having taken an interest in the very unusual — from his point of view — piece of headgear that the archeologist was wearing, had plucked it from his head with the spear and raised it into the air, demonstrating it to the others. This caused a brief but lively exchange among the riders.

It was Diana that changed the mood: she, taking offense on behalf of her friend, leaped into the air, growling threateningly. Zooming through the air, the boxer clasped the spear with the archeologist’s hat perched on it between her massive jaws with strong teeth and snapped it in two as if it were a straw. A muffled crunching sound could be heard; the trilby fell to the ground. The rider had some difficulty regaining control of his frightened horse that reared and pranced. The rider himself was also somewhat unnerved by the sudden attack, and he neither tried to prevent it nor did he attempt to inflict any punishment.

Diana meanwhile jumped back to the explorers’ sides, crouched, and bared her teeth, ready to fight for her friends. Dmitro Borisovich retrieved his trilby from the ground and clamped it on, muttering offendedly:

“What bad manners!… Good girl, Diana! Without you I’d’ve lost my hat…”

“Good for her — yes, but let’s hope it won’t aggravate the situation,” Ivan Semenovich said, glancing anxiously at the riders.

“I don’t think it will. Just look at them; see how upset they are. They must be in mortal fear of the dog by the looks of them,” Artem said.

The riders were in fact glancing at the dog in consternation. The boxer seemed to be the source of great fear. The rider whose spear had been broken by Diana threw the butt briskly into the bushes. He turned around to look back at the dog once again, then moved a little further away, repeating one and the same word over and over again:

“Poskina!… Poskina!… 91

The rest of the riders also made it a point not to get near the dog, holding their spears and swords ready. The word poskina was on everybody’s lips.

“What’s the meaning of this poskina, I wonder,” Lida said to herself in a low voice.

No one volunteered an answer. One thing was clear anyway: the riders were reluctant to do anything to the tawny dog and she no doubt felt it. She growled fiercely again, then turning disdainfully away from the riders, she trotted over to Ivan Semenovich. The riders began prodding the explorers once again, urging them on. But now they did it in a much more careful manner, as though suddenly inspired with some respect for the new captives. Even the pushing was more an invitation than a command.

Artem smiled contentedly:

“Ah, thank you, dear Diana, for your timely interference!”

He expected the others to pick up on his joke and develop it, but Ivan Semenovich said soberly:

“We really must go, my friends. Let’s show reserve and caution. The situation is a serious one indeed. And don’t forget that our every movement is closely observed.”

The explorers captured the crowd’s attention. The singing and shouting stopped, the welcoming ceremony abandoned, for the Scythians were now staring at the strangers. A murmur of amazement rippled through the crowd. Even the captives — silent and resigned, concerned only with their own misfortune — turned to look at the new arrivals escorted by the riders. Even the chieftain, superior and indifferent up till then, was regarding the explorers with curiosity.

They walked under stares in which no benevolence could be discerned, feeling very much ill at ease but trying to look relaxed and dignified nonetheless. What else could they do?

Once again, the word first uttered by the riders was heard to rise above the crowd:

“ Poskina! Poskina!”

The word passed from one Scythian to the other; they seemed to forget about the strangers, so much were they affected by the dog; they kept pointing at Diana, looking at her in consternation, and remarking in agitation:

“Poskina! Poskina!”

The only one who was indifferent to all this commotion was Diana herself. She walked quietly at the side of Ivan Semenovich, glancing every now and then at him with her intelligent eyes as though trying to convince her master of he.’* absolute loyalty.