Volodimir Vladko - Descendants of the Scythians

“Poskina!… Poskina!” the word went around among the Scythians.

By now the explorers almost reached the place where the chieftain was sitting motionlessly on his horse, watching the strangers attentively. Artem could see his face in detail now. The tranquil, deep-set eyes under the beetling gray brows, half-covered by the lids; the long thin aquiline nose; the pallid lips, almost hidden by the gray mustache, the beard cascading onto his chest. The mustache moved slightly — the chieftain said a few incomprehensible words. He was obviously waiting for the strangers to answer.

Ivan Semenovich and Dmitro Borisovich exchanged glances: how could they find out what this man wanted of them? What had he asked, what should they reply? And even if they said something by way of reply, would he, in turn, understand them?

Another wave of agitated murmuring passed through the crowd; the Scythians, highly intrigued, were moving closer and closer to the strangers. Soon they were surrounded on three sides by a dense wall of humanity. On three sides, because where the fourth should have been Diana was sitting, and the Scythians pointedly avoided getting close to lier, all the more so since the dog, disturbed by so many strange humans moving in, gave the surging crowd warning looks. She bared her teeth and growled with some reserve. Just in case, Ivan Semenovich commanded:

“Quiet, Diana. Sit, sit still, and keep quiet!”

The dog looked at her master, wagged her docked tail submissively and stopped growling. But her lips kept lifting nervously; she bared her powerful fangs, showing that she was ready to come to the aid of her friends.

The chieftain, failing to get any reply from the strangers, said something else, this time in a more gentle, almost friendly tone. But once again, he got no reply. Noticing that the Scythians had crowded much too close to the strangers, he turned his head, annoyed, and gave some command to the riders, closest to him. They immediately rode forward and pushed the crowd back, making more room around the explorers.

The chieftain nodded his head in satisfaction.

“Good, this way it feels safer somehow,” Artem said.

The chieftain must have heard Artem’s voice because he turned his severe face toward the young man. But he did not say anything; he just looked Artem over from head to foot.

Suddenly the captives resumed their wailing. The burly priestesses evidently considered it necessary to go ahead with the sacrificial rite that had been interrupted by the arrival of the newcomers. They began singing a ritual song, their daggers pointed high, ready to strike.

“Ivan Semenovich, they’re going to kill them after all!”.Lida cried out in horror.

Artem was overcome with rage. He absolutely could not allow people to be slaughtered right before his eyes. Without giving heed to what Ivan Semenovich was urgently saying to him, he rushed to the altar, brandishing his pickaxe and shouting frantically.

“Stop it! Leave them alone I tell you! Stop!”

The priestesses, greatly perplexed, froze. They had evidently not expected the strangers to risk interfering. The crowd heaved in agitation. Artem was now standing at the altar, brandishing the pickaxe.

“Leave these people alone I tell you! Leave them alone!” he shouted.

The armed priestesses began retreating little by little, for Arlem was indeed terrible to look at: his eyes flashed fire, his pickaxe held high, his mouth opened wide, yelling at the top of his lungs:

“What wrong have they done? What you want to kill them for? Clear out, or else I’ll…”

He fell silent as he saw the old soothsayer take a step toward him. He was approaching Artem in his solemn manner, his long, bony arms raised, muttering something maliciously. A murmur went through the crowd. There was enraged malignity emanating from the old soothsayer’s cruel, forbidding face. The beady, piercing eyes bored into the young man.

“Hey, I don’t give a damn for your hypnotic tricks!” Artem bellowed angrily at the soothsayer. “Don’t you try to scare me. I’m not so easily frightened, I’m not. Hey, you, move off!”

With these words, he rushed up to the captives chosen for the sacrifice. The priestesses had gotten hold of them again. The soothsayer tried to block Artem’s way, but the young man pushed him aside unceremoniously and leapt forward. The soothsayer reeled and almost fell. Infuriated and humiliated, he drew out sword and swung it high ready to strike.

“Aha, so that’s the way you want it,” Artem said, stopping in his tracks. “All right, you asked for it, you old geezer!”

He leapt to the side and struck the raised sword with his pickaxe. Metal struck against metal. The old soothsayer had evidently not expected such parrying. The short sword fell to the ground a few paces away. The soothsayer shifted his eyes from the sword to Artem and back in dismay.

“You didn’t expect that, did you, eh? That’s enough for you! And you, leave these people alone, I tell you!”

In a moment, Artem was near the priestesses, brandishing his pickaxe, shouting incoherent threats. This performance would probably have made little impression on the priestesses, but the way the young man had treated the soothsayer had frightened them, too. It was probably the first time they had ever seen someone resist and overcome him. The subdued priestesses hastily retreated behind the altar and peeped out looking alternately at Artem and the soothsayer who, regaining control of himself, retrieved his sword and rushed up at the young man.

“So you haven’t had enough yet, you old fool?” Artem said, speaking through clenched teeth. “All right, just you wait!”

But the soothsayer did not raise his sword this time. A few paces away from the young man, he stopped, raised his arms into the air, and began muttering something. The Scythian crowd responded in a distressed manner. Even the captives, hearing the voice of the soothsayer, fell back from the young man. The soothsayer gesticulated wildly, as though drawing a picture in the air, then he doubled, straightened up again, only to bend up again and then stand over, his voice becoming more and more menacing. Artem understood, at last, what was going on.

“Ah, you’re putting a curse on me, you old cheat? All right, you’re welcome, go ahead, I don’t give a damn about your mumbo-jumbo. Just keep your distance, and do as much cursing as you like. What a performance, eh?” he said to the captives, noticing how horrified they were as they listened to the incantations of the soothsayer. “Don’t be afraid, it’s nothing but trash, all this gibberish.”

Now, cooling off a little, Artem realized that the situation tcould not continue like this for much longer, and that he did not have much of a chance against the priestesses and the soothsayer if he stood alone. Something had to be done about the situation on the double. But what?

Meanwhile, the soothsayer seemed to have gone into a tantrum. There was foam on his livid lips, and his curses grew louder by the minute, though he still kept his distance.

Lida was looking at the young man with admiration. Dmitro Borisovich clenched the handle of the pickaxe in his hands; he seemed about to rush to Artem’s aid. Ivan Semenovich noticed the state the archeologist was in, and said, to calm him down:

“Wait, Dmitro Borisovich, wait. There’s still time. So far, Artem has been holding on his own just fine; you see for yourself.”

“But it might be too late if I wait!”

“No, it won’t, trust me. I know what I’m doing. We’ve got something in reserve yet. Diana, quiet!” He was holding the dog by the collar as she tried to run over to Artem.

The chieftain, grasping the gilded pommel of the saddle, seemed all eyes and ears, totally unlike his previous self when his face bore a mask of contemptuous indifference. He was now watching every move of the young stranger, and did not even hide his smile when Artem knocked the sword out of the soothsayer’s hand. He was listening to the frenzied incantations of the old soothsayer and glancing at Artem in astonishment, for apparently, the young man was not affected in any way. Then the chieftain turned his gaze to the young Scythian who had come forward earlier to greet him. The young stoop-shouldered Scythian was trembling with fright. He covered his face with his hands, evidently greatly terrified by the soothsayer’s shouting.