Volodimir Vladko - Descendants of the Scythians

The elders and nobles who were standing in a circle around the dais cheered so loudly that they completely drowned the dissatisfied murmur of the warriors and hunters who found themselves pushed much further away from the dais. The elders and nobles bellowed out the name of Skolot’s son, each trying to outdo the others in enthusiasm. This was what Dorbatay was waiting for.

“Noble Hartak,” Dorbatay said very loudly. “The gods bless your elevation to the chieftainship. The Skolots greet you. Do you not hear their thunderous support? They unanimously call upon you to be their chieftain! Accept this gold helmet and offer obesience to the gods! Let all the Skolots offer up their prayers with you, new chieftain of our people!”

Without any delay, he put the gold helmet on Hartak’s head. The helmet proved too big and heavy for Hartak; it tilted over one of Hartak’s eyes. But Dorbatay did not bother to adjust it.

“Pray, o Skolots!” he shouted at the top of his voice. “Pray with the noble Hartak and me; pray to our stern but just gods, and thank them for not punishing all of us, in their mercy, along with Skolot!”

In a rasping voice he began singing a long drawn-out prayer. It was immediately picked up by the other priests and the nobles. In a few moments, all the Scythians joined the prayer. The tune was the same the explorers had heard when they first regained consciousness and found themselves in the pink forest. There was something sinister in the slow, sad, harsh-sounding prayer.

Artem glanced anxiously at Lida to see how she had been affected by what had just transpired. Lida was still in control of herself, but it was evident that she was thoroughly frightened. Now Hartak, who had suddenly become chieftain, was master of the situation, the very Hartak who had so persistently tried to marry her… And obviously this hideous man had not given up his intention: even at the tensest moments, Lida intercepted quick glances from Hartak which made her wince.

Who was now going to come to their aid? The situation had become much more dangerous with the death of Skolot, even though before, both brothers had regarded the strangers only as a means to gaining their own ends in a feud which had been going on for ages. Dorbatay had won at last, and now he was standing, puffed up with pride, over the body of his brother whom he had poisoned. From now on he could discard all pretense. He had gained supreme power, because Hartak was a puppet in his hands; and it was not at all clear whether Dorbatay would consider it worthwhile having the strangers alive rather than dead; besides he surely remembered that the strangers had defied him on several occasions!

Lida probably felt, as all the explorers did, that Varkan was the only Scythian who could be considered a friend. Some other young Scythian warriors — Varkan’s friends — seemed to have been friendly to the strangers, but this friendliness might well have been shown only in deference to Varkan. But in any case, now, when the situation had so drastically changed, Varkan and his friends could do very little to help the explorers. Varkan’s relations with the soothsayer were bad at best, and Dorbatay was hardly a person to forgive his enemies.

Dmitro Borisovich, in spite of his forebodings concerning the future and his realization that after the murder of Skolot their own lives were in jeopardy, could not allow his archeological enthusiasm to be dampened by his worries. The archeologist took in and catalogued in his brain everything he saw, every little detail: The Scythians offering up their prayer! Fascinating! No archeologist or historian had ever seen such an exciting scene before; no scholar had ever eyewitnessed the ceremony of the proclamation of a new Scythian chieftain! And there was Skolot’s funeral to observe as yet! Ah, the archeologist wished he had more than one pair of eyes and more than one pair of ears!

“Keep your eyes open, young man, take a good look!” Dmitro Borisovich said in an agitated whisper. “You’ll never see anything like it again in your life!”

“I probably won’t… because I’m not sure how long I’m going to live… or you either, for that matter,” Artem muttered in irritation; he was annoyed at the professional enthusiasm of the archeologist who seemed oblivious to the grave danger hanging over them.

Ivan Semenovich was intently watching everything happening around them to assess the situation and draw some conclusions. The explorers, with Varkan standing close by, were surrounded by the soothsayer’s henchmen and chief Scythians, their daggers and swords unsheathed, evidently to forestall any attempt on the part of the explorers at escape. The warriors, who had obviously been swayed by the soothsayer to change allegiance to him, positioned themselves so that they separated the strangers from the rest of the crowd. If earlier an attempt at escape was not entirely unthinkable, now it was absolutely out of the question. There was no one to turn to for help either. Dorbatay had firmly re-established his influence over the Scythians; he seemed to have taken all the necessary steps to foil the strangers’ attempts to escape. At the slightest suspicious movement, all the warriors and hunters would rush at the strangers with their swords and spears.

Ivan Semenovich was racking his brain for a solution: what could they do under the circumstances? Who would help them? Only one thing gave him some hope: weren’t they supposed to be the guests of Hartak, too? But the chance that he would honor their status as guests was dismally small: Dorbatay would surely do something about that…

“Artem, do you happen to have any primers with you?”

“No, I don’t, Ivan Semenovich.”

“What a pity!”

“I used some of them at the altar…”

“Yes, I know, but not all of them.”

“No, the rest are in the knapsack. I didn’t think they would be of any use at this feast. How was I to know…”

The geologist did not say anything else; the young man was not, of course, to blame for negligence — if Ivan Semenovich himself had not foreseen such a turn of events, how could he expect Artem to have done so?

The prayer ended. Now Dorbatay could rest assured that none of the warriors or hunters would dare express any disapproval over Hartak’s elevation to the chieftaincy. The soothsayer had surely known what he was doing when he began the prayer. When it was over, Hartak was firmly established in the eyes of the god-fearing Scythians as chieftain with full rights.

There was only one thing for Dorbatay to settle now: what to do with the strangers? Dorbatay seemed ready to tackle this problem as well. The soothsayer was not likely to have them killed right then and there — especially the young magician who had publicly disgraced him. It would not be in keeping with the inspired and very effective performance he had just put on. They were surely to die, these conceited strangers who had halfwittedly rejected his most superb conditions! But they were to die in a manner that would consolidate his power. Lida should probably be spared, as she could be useful in manipulating Hartak.

Dorbatay now looked quite self-assured; in a very loud voice, so loud in fact that it carried to the outer fringes of the crowd, he said to Hartak, bowing to him and assuming a very deferential air:

“Now, illustrious Hartak, wise and mighty chieftain of the Skolots…”

He made a pause, a short but well-timed pause imbued with irony, which was only emphasized by the solemnity of the address. This miserable puppet who was eager to do anything to please him, Dorbatay called a “wise and mighty chieftain”! It did sound like thinly veiled mockery.

“Now, illustrious Hartak, wise and mighty chieftain of the Skolots,” Dorbatay repeated, “we must fulfill the will of the gods. On behalf of the gods, o Hartak, demand that the cursed strangers be delivered into my hands. Do you agree to give them to the gods?”