Volodimir Vladko - Descendants of the Scythians

“Dmitro Borisovich, Varkan’s gone.”

“He was at our side just a moment ago…”

“He didn’t tell you he was leaving, did he?”

“No, he didn’t.”

“So, he’s gone off somewhere without warning us!”

“I don’t know what to say, Artem. I don’t know why he’s done it.”

Varkan’s disappearance baffled the explorers greatly. If he had been seized by the priests they would surely have noticed the commotion. So, had Varkan just run away, abandoning them to their fate? That seemed highly unlikely!

Dmitro Borisovich looked around, feeling quite at a loss.

At last, failing to locate Varkan anywhere, he said hesitantly:

“He couldn’t have just taken fright and run away…”

“No, he couldn’t,” Lida said with conviction. “Varkan would never do such a thing! Artem, do you think he could have bolted like that?”

“No, he couldn’t,” Artem said without any hesitation.

“But where in that case is he?” Ivan Semenovich asked. No one could provide them with an answer. Varkan must have chosen a moment when nobody was paying attention to make his escape. With Varkan gone, the situation seemed entirely hopeless.

Meanwhile, the strangers were being driven further and further away from the dais. The stern, bearded faces beneath the bronze and leather helmets and felt hats now looked at the strangers with great hostility. The smiling faces and friendly, curious stares which had greeted the strangers several hours earlier were all clouded with malice now. The seditious rhetoric of Dorbatay and the insidious instigations of the nobles had done their job: Aren’t these strangers directly responsible for the death of our old chieftain Skolot? They have put Skolot under their spell, thus causing the gods’ wrath to smite the chieftain. Hasn’t the sage Dorbatay explained everything beautifully? Hasn’t the sage Dorbatay spoken in behalf of the gods whose voice told him that the strangers must die? Dorbatay, who in his wisdom knew best, decided that the strangers should not be sacrificed now, and so it must be. But there is no chance for the strangers to avoid terrible retribution, because the gods are against them!

All these thoughts and emotions could be read on every Scythian face. The wall of hostility, bristling with spears, was pushing the strangers along the passage. Any attempts at resistance would be suicidal. Even for the dog, there was nothing to do but to growl and retreat. Now the sinister silence was broken only by this growling and Dorbatay’s urgings.

“Stay close together,” Ivan Semenovich said.

“They still want to tie us up!” Lida said in alarm.

“We can’t allow it! We’ll fight!” Artem exclaimed hotly.

“With what? We’ve got no weapons,” Dmitro Borisovich said.

That was a very pertinent remark: they had no weapons of any sort with them. If earlier they had had their pickaxes to defend themselves with, now their only weapon was Artem’s pocket knife. Consequently there was not much sense in what Artem had said: he was seething with rage. It was the sudden disappearance of Varkan that had affected him the most. He did not want to believe that Varkan had just run away; such an act of faint-heartedness on his part was entirely out of character. But if he had not just run for it, he should have warned them somehow… Varkan, have you already forgotten that today we became blood brothers?

“Didn’t you, Dmitro Borisovich, tell me that the ties between blood brothers are much stronger than those of real brothers?” Artem said reproachfully.

The archeologist, with a gesture of the one entirely baffled, admitted frankly:

“I’m absolutely nonplussed myself…”

“I just can’t believe Varkan has run away, leaving us to the mercy of fate!” Lida exclaimed with a challenge in her voice. “He’s not that kind of person! He couldn’t have abandoned us like this!”

Meanwhile they had come to the end of the passage between the two walls of the armed Scythians. Once they were out of the perimeter of the kibitkas surrounding the place where the feast had been held, they ceased to be the guests of Hartak; that was probably why the priests, following Dorbatay’s orders, had forced them out there. Ivan Semenovich realized that now the moment had come when the priests would feel free to put Dorbatay’s plans into action.

The fifes played an extremely high-pitched tune somewhere behind them, probably by the dais. Blazing new torches were brought. Their fitful flames fought off the darkness that pressed on all sides. Everything looked even more ominous in this flickering light which gave the scene a sinister, fairy-tale atmosphere: here and there from the darkness would appear a bearded face with jumping reflections in its hostile eyes, or a hand with a drawn bow and the arrow ready to fly from the taut bowstring, or a high felt hat of a priest… It was quite a hopeless situation — on all sides the explorers were threatened with swords and spears; the advancing priests could be glimpsed in the unsteady light, which also revealed the two Scythians with the rope who were ready to bind the strangers.

Artem was thrown into utter despair; his voice trembled when he asked the geologist:

“What are we going to do, Ivan Semenovich? What?”

He was well aware that the geologist was not in a position now to say anything, but still he wanted to hear some words of encouragement that would revive the dying hope that they would be saved.

Suddenly Diana raised her head as though listening to something and gave a short bark. Then she looked at the geologist as if expecting a command. The two priests with the rope had positioned themselves so they could go into action the moment a suitable chance presented itself.

Diana gave another short bark as though warning her master of something. Only then did the explorers hear horses approaching at a gallop and muffled shouts in the distance. A few moments later there remained no doubt that several riders were approaching at high speed; the clatter of hooves and shouts were clear, and the voices of the riders could be distinguished; one of the voices sounded very familiar…

“Varkan, Varkan!” Artem shouted at the top of his voice.

Pushing the priests aside with his snorting black horse covered in lather, Varkan broke through the circle of swords and spears; in one hand he was holding the reins of several riderless horses. More of Varkan’s young friends appeared on the scene, armed with swords, adding to the confusion by pushing the priests still further away. Discordant shouts rose from the crowd. No one had expected this momentous attack, not even Dorbatay!

Varkan shouted, his voice rising above the din:

“Ratman! Ratman!”

And all the other riders shouted with him:

“Ratman! Ratman!”

The word rang in the air; Varkan, meeting the anxious gazes of Dmitro Borisovich and Artem, pointed to the riderless horses with an expressive gesture as if to say: hop on! The other riders held the priests at bay to keep them from preventing the strangers’ escape. And above all the deafening clamor hung the battle-cry of Varkan’s party:

“Ratman! Ratman!”

But why did the warriors and hunters not budge and rush to the aid of the priests? Only a very short while before.

Dorbatay and his henchmen had enjoyed the support of the Scythians in their move to seize the strangers; it had seemed that all the Scythians were ill-disposed toward the strange magicians. And now Varkan and a handful of his friends were fighting in an audacious attempt to rescue the strangers in full view of the armed crowd, and not a single Scythian made the slightest move to assist the priests in repelling the attack. What could have influenced the mood of the crowd? Varkan, in spite of all his audacity and daring, could not have done anything against such odds if it were not for the unexpected tacit non-interference of the crowd; by their staying away and passively observing, the Scythian warriors inadvertently helped Varkan’s cause. But why should they want to do it?