Volodimir Vladko - Descendants of the Scythians

Diana, who up to the moment had been lying quietly on the rug in the kibitka, got to her feet and rushed to the exit, growling threateningly. Loud shouts poured in from outside.

Skolot rose slowly to his feet and walked out of the kibitka, his hand on the golden hilt of his sword, his countenance growing more concerned by the minute. Varkan followed him, giving the strangers a glance of consideration and encouragement to indicate that they were not to worry too much. Ivan Semenovich replied with an expressive gesture: we’re doing fine . Then he addressed himself to his friends:

“I think we should follow them. There’s nothing much for us to do here.”

They left the kibitka one by one. The geologists’ knit brows and set jaws indicated his determination to fight if need be; Dmitro Borisovich clutched the handle of his pickaxe firmly. Lida’s green eyes shone big on her pale face; she was biting her lip nervously.

“Are you scared? I can assure you…” Artem began grandly.

“Don’t waste words, Artem,” Lida cut him short. “I’m prepared to face anything. Let’s go!” Lida spoke with a trembling voice, but all in all, she was in control of herself. Brave girl!

The agitated murmur of the big crowd subsided when Skolot appeared from the red kibitka accompanied by Varkan and his warriors in battle leather and metal helmets. Even the old soothsayer standing in front of the crowd grew quiet. He scrutinized the stern face of Skolot, apparently trying to discover some signs of indecision which would indicate that he could press his case further. But the chieftain’s dignified expression revealed only imperturbability and self-control. He clenched his hands into fists, waiting for the proper moment.

Then another round of shouts rang out from the crowd: the strangers appeared from the tent. There was resentment, animosity, even hatred in those shouts, for the crowd had been incited by the soothsayer and his henchmen. Without any encouragement from the old soothsayer, the Scythians began moving in on the red kibitka.

Abruptly the chieftain stepped forward and shouted something, his hand still on the hilt of his sword. The crowd immediately fell silent. Those in front even began pushing backwards, retreating before Skolot, whose eyes burned with anger under the gold helmet. Now, not a single sound came from the crowd.

“See, our Skolot does have some authority over the Scythians,” Artem whispered to Lida.

But the girl did not listen: her attention was taken by the disgusting misshapen man, the one who resembled Skolot. He had appeared as though from nowhere at the side of explorers. Lida remembered that he had entered the chieftain’s kibitka together with them, but disappeared shortly after as she could not remember his being anywhere near them during the talk with the chieftain.

Now the misshapen Scythian was peeping from behind Varkan’s shoulder. He seemed to be waiting for something or looking for someone. His face was tense, the cunning eyes half-closed; he was leaning awkwardly forward, his left arm which was much longer than the right one, almost reaching the ground. Lida said, indicating the Scythian to Artem with her eyes:

“Where did he come from? Look, the stoop-shouldered one’s here again. Why had he come?”

“Yes, I already noticed him standing there. He’s a harbinger of evil to be sure,” Artem said gloomily.

“I don’t quite get you.”

“Oh, every time he appears, he brings some trouble for.”

“Arlem, I don’t think you know what you’re saying. You sound as though you were superstitious.”

“Superstitious or not, I’d gladly beat him to a bloody pulp!”

“Oh, Artem!”

Once again the voice of Skolot could be heard: the chieftain seemed to be asking the crowd a question. The sudden distant clap of thunder cut him short and sent a wave of renewed agitation through the crowd which started somewhere in the back and rolled forward to subside only at the red kibitka. But it had given a new impetus to the old soothsayer. The situation was ripe for action.

With his arms raised high into the air, the soothsayer began slowly advancing toward Skolot, glancing emphatically upward at the black cloud. The chieftain held his ground, standing motionless, clenching his fingers ever tighter on the hilt of the sword, his eyes riveted on the old man.

Lida caught a glimpse of the misshapen Scythian’s eyes flashing with joy and malice, but a moment later, all signs of emotion disappeared, as though this man had a special ability to sense someone’s gaze on him. He gave the strangers a quick side glance and immediately turned away, feigning complete indifference to everything around him. What a disgusting, revolting person, Lida thought. There was something of a spider in him. It was strange that she should feel such revulsion toward him, for she did not have anything in particular against him; he had not done her any harm; on the contrary, she caught him looking at her benignly, even with some interest. So, why should she be so disgusted at the proximity of this person? And Artem experienced a similar revulsion toward him, perhaps even stronger. There must have been some reason for it! Both Artem and Lida felt subconsciously that the misshapen Scythian was an enemy, perfidious and wily.

Without lowering his arms, the soothsayer launched into another harangue. His voice sounded threateningly; he began demanding something, pointing to the huge black cloud overhead. Then he stopped, craftily making a pause, like a skilled orator or actor. And in the silence, another clap of thunder resounded — this time much closer. The soothsayer seemed to have been waiting for precisely this. He started screaming something at the top of his lungs. Then he turned to the crowd, addressing it rather than Skolot. Discordant shouts of approval came from the mass of people milling about.

The old soothsayer made an expressive gesture, symbolically removing the strangers from Skolot’s side and handing them over to the crowd. Then he pointed no less expressively to the ominous cloud straight overhead. His hands were in constant motion, as though he were tearing something that hindered and resisted him, apart; his every movement drew a clamorous response from the frantic, overwrought crowd.

Skolot shook his head, stretching out his arms as though in defense of the strangers. But the soothsayer made another step forward, yelling a long imprecation. Whether he had finished speaking or stopped at the right moment was impossible to say, but the blinding lightning lit up the scene, putting a frightening emphasis on his last words. The crowd was scared into immediate silence, and this unnatural, terrifying silence was filled with an ear-shredding clap of thunder, rolling from one end of the sky to the other.

Artem saw the dismayed, shocked faces of the Scythians. He saw the gray old men tremble with fear, scared out of their wits by the lightning, the thunder and soothsayer’s malediction. There was only one thing missing to complete the picture — rocks raining from the sky as Varkan said they would… There was little doubt that such powerful bolts could, in fact, dislodge large rocks from their places higher up in the surrounding mountains and send them rolling down. This thought made Artem look up, but he saw only the seething cloud that seemed almost to be touching his head. The old soothsayer could not have chosen a better moment to get hold of the strangers.

Meanwhile the old man began speaking again, his voice even more menacing. He moved toward the strangers, flailing his arms. He walked straight ahead, ignoring both the chieftain and the warriors around. The frantic crowd followed him. Lida shuddered and grabbed Artem’s hand — it was a terribly frightening picture indeed.