When Zaria returned to the palace there was huge commotion in process. Apparently it had erupted over the fact that one of the three generals who had taken over the kingdom was found dead in the palace. It was determined that he was killed by poisoning. There immediately erupted a disagreement between the younger of the generals with the oldest of the three as to who was responsible by the assassination. The guards were on permanent high alert, though they allowed Zaria to enter unnoticed when she arrived, and to return to her chamber.
It seemed there were already those who had strong alliances and familial connections with each of the new surviving tyrants. And because of this bonding there were already the early signs of serious division among the Pazyryk people in the streets. Instability and an internal war seemed imminent to many. For a full week, the tension mounted and finally, the wise Krido was called to weigh in on the impending chaos. He eventually negotiated a truce between the two rivals to at least appear that they would share the power in order to restore peace and tranquility throughout the Scythian territories.
The spring had arrived early and as the heavy snow melted, bodies from the plague were quickly being buried, creating a more positive feeling among the people, anxious to get out and celebrate the coming of more clement weather. The citizens who called themselves Trendah, meaning 'foxes,' were advocates of the younger general, a warrior named Lothroan. The others, aligned with more traditional ideas of the Pyzyryk citizens, were called Ursrah, meaning 'bears.' The general who led this austere, conservative ideology of the newly occupied palace was named Bahadur.
On one occasion while in passing, Krido stopped Zaria in the palace and took her aside.
"Princess Zaria . . . I see you are staying at the fringes of the citadel these difficult times. And it has given you a freer reign, I'm sure. I hope you have not forgotten your purpose here to your leaders and their people."
"Of course not. I am here, wise counselor. I have just decided not to show any favouritism to either Lothroan or Bahadur. As you remember I am not one to love a Scythian king."
"Nevertheless, your respect and a greater willingness to assist them should be expected, fair princess."
"I hardly think a slave such as myself . . . with a false title and useless powers should be anything our new leaders would want to concern themselves with now. Their own battle for power dominates the activities of the palace, as you well know, Krido. It leaves me happily detached. But I do have my own concerns."
"Which are?"
"The older general, Bahadur . . . his mind will be like Sharvur's, I am sure. He will haplessly respect that my virginity acts as a guardian here. And for this I do not worry of him . . . unless his mind is filled with the same cruelty and love of domination as Sharvur's was."
"There is rare chance of that," Krido replied. "For Sharvur was one of a kind. A truly troubled man. He was sick in his thinking . . . and sadly, his ways with women. But this only contributed to his failings. He is locked away now where he will die of deprivation."
"Yes. But this other new leader . . . Lothroan. He is young, and of a new mind. He may not put any truth into my powers of innocence . . .as you and I do not. This will only leave me at a greater danger of becoming his sex slave as Sharvur would have surely done . . . had not his superstitious ideas held him back from that final act with me."
"You have a point, princess. Your prescience goes hand in hand with your beauty. But as you are still a slave . . . you will have to endure what ever is your fate. Be it with king or kings. We are all bound to what our future holds."
"I am just aware of all possibilities, Krido. Do not scold me for my apprehensiveness these days in the palace."
"Fine. But just always remember who you are . . . and why you were abducted. There is truly no easy life for those vanquished or abducted in battle. . . even for a false princess with absent powers as yours."
Zaria nodded sadly. "I have been mindful of that everyday for this past year and a half. And I will not forget it now, counselor."
"And as to that . . . false power. . . . You must not speak of that so freely, Zaria. Those notions are ours . . . and ours alone. Put it out of your mind. I caution you to resume your usefulness to the kingdom, no matter what the truth. And I would hope these uncertain days have not given you any ideas of trying to escape your lodging here."
She looked up quickly at him. "Your role with the Pazyryk clan is your survival. Such an attempt to leave us . . . would not be wise to your health, beautiful slave."
Zaria could see Krido was strongly resolved in his comments to her. She had also always known that his overarching concern was for his own people.
"I will watch my tongue, fair counselor. And you can be assured . . . the palace here is where I shall remain."
"Good. And I am sorry that your fellow slave, Branka, has been presumed killed by the weather. But she made it her choice to try and escape. Out into the snow with the Amazon girl. The environment here would always do the same to you, I'm afraid, Zaria. Do not harbour such desires to get away, princess."
"Of course. I honor your wisdom, Krido."
With that, the old man in his pristine purple robe left her in the long hallway. He moved away with his tall staff and characteristic shuffle across the stone tiles. As Zaria walked along the citadel's passageways to her own chamber, she came to the guarded cell where she knew Sharvur was being confined. It was there, behind the heavy door that the former king was locked in for life. She stood before the cell briefly and nodded to the guards—and they nodded back. The room beyond the door was deathly quiet. How was Sharvur now looking? she wondered. What did he think of each long day in his isolation behind those rock walls?
* * *
At Zaria's next opportunity—while a grand meeting was called by the pair of kings for all the generals to assemble, she escaped again, into the tented city below. The meeting of the military leaders was to be lengthy—a discussion of readiness of the clan to defend itself in the more active spring when attacks were imminent and the Pazyryk mounted their own raids for goods and plunder. Zaria went again directly to Moshtok's house. And there she was greeted by an exuberant Branka.
"Sister! The snows have left us . . . and we are making last plans to leave this place. In only days we hope."
Zaria entered the small house and found several bundles of what appeared to be supplies and belongings on the floor in a state ready to travel. Moshtok entered from a back room. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and told her he had a surprise for her to see.
"Come with me, my student," he said smiling, now with a new atmosphere of excitement. As they stepped out to the back of Moshtok's tent he showed Zaria what he had apparently been working on since her previous visit. In the distance, toward the direction of the magnificent mountains, was a leather object Moshtok had set up some twenty to twenty-five meters away. It was the dimensions of a man and when he was joined by Tomyris the Amazon, carrying two Scythian bows and a handful of bronze-tipped arrows, it was obvious the mysterious object was a target used for archery practice.
Zaria was amazed at how the young Tomyris was now so animated and friendly. She spoke a few more words now, easily understood in the Scythian dialect, clearly a language related to the Amazon's manner of speech.
"I have had my own teacher these many days," Mostok said, nodding toward Tomyris. And there is no better at the skills of bow and arrow than an Amazon warrior."
Tomyris smiled and handed Moshtok one of the lethal, strung bows and several arrows. As someone who had been attacked before, and seriously insured by this weapon of nomad raiders, it was Moshtok's decision to become skilled himself with the bow. This he had been practicing before their journey out across the great Steppe to Branka's and Zaria's homeland. Never a soldier himself, Moshtok looked out of place to Zaria, holding the bow in a stance while placing an arrow into his hands. He then drew the string back with considerable strength while aiming. As he let go of the poised string the arrow shot out toward the target, striking the leather structure and sticking deep inside of it.
"Yes!" Zaria said loudly, holding her hand against the sides of her face in amazement. As she did this Moshtok took another arrow from Tomyris and drew the string back once more—pausing to aim, then letting it fly. This time the missile sailed past the target, missing it by at least one hand's width.
"Well, as you can see," Moshtok said, less enthused. "I am still learning this skill. But I will be ready very soon."
"You're wonderful, Moshtok," Zaria said, hugging him for support.
"But we will definitely be in good company when we depart," he said with more glee in his voice. "Show her Tomyris . . ."
The young Amazon stepped forward. She took the handful of remaining arrows and reached behind her, placing them as a bundle behind her head inside her chitin. She took the first arrow out slowly and placed it into position with the bow, drawing it back with astounding strength for a girl of her age. After taking careful aim, she released the string, and with perfect accuracy it hit the target dead center.
Zaria just blinked her eyes at this spectacle of skill and strength in the girl. Then in rapid fire Tomyris reached behind her and within several moments one by one sent all the remaining arrows into the air—all hitting the target with an amazing proximity of each other.
"That's very . . . impressive!" was all Zaria could say, as if in some state of mild shock.
Tomyris smiled and stepped back behind Moshtok, as if transformed from seasoned warrior back into a teen-aged girl.
Branka clapped her hands and reached over, tussling the Amazon's hair, sister-like.
"So you see, Zaria, I have the best teacher," Moshtok announced, nodding to Tomyris. "And having her accompany us, makes me feel all the better."
"What about horses?" Zaria asked.
"I have arranged with a good friend at the military stables to leave the corral unguarded the night we choose to leave, and to have five strong horses ready for us. All well fed and watered. My friend assured me now there is enough early grasses of spring for them to travel on. Everyone nodded in satisfaction.
"Let us go inside," Zaria said in a serious tone "We need to discuss our plans to leave within days."
* * *
Meeting Tsudros that afternoon in the sunlight just outside his tent, Zaria threw herself into his wonderfully tattooed arms. Brushing his long straight hair back away from his handsome face, she kissed him in a way that was not only a greeting but a promise of her devotion to him. It was a silent appreciation of his willingness to accompany her on the greatest and most daring attempt of her young life—her escape from almost two years of slavery in the East. The man whom she loved and had decorated her body with his own unprecedented designs was now, too, ready to travel west. Bringing her inside his home, he showed Zaria more of the tightly fastened bundles of his artistic efforts—the woven decorative clothing which were prepared to sustain their needs through trade across the great distance and with whomever they might encounter. Tsudros gave Zaria the assurance she needed to hear—that he would be ready upon a days notice to make their nightly escape. And as he placed her gently on his bed and kissed each of her naked tattoos, the artist of few words left her once more with the supreme gift which she had so long waited for—an beautiful act in defiant violation of her duties as vestal virgin.
* * *
Within three more days, Zaria was prepared to leave that following night. She had told Mila, her aid and confidant to go out in the afternoon and warn Moshtok and Tsudros to prepare for their late night departure. She was confident all would be ready—the horses, the supplies, Branka, the young Amazon, and most of all their dedicated will to carryout a grand and orchestrated plan for escape and survival.
That next day as the sun grew low and threatened to disappear behind the Altai Mountains, Zaria checked once more the bundles of her own supplies she had kept hidden under her bed for weeks. As it grew darker and her plans were laid for the palace guards to allow her out of the citadel, she felt there was one more act she needed complete.
She went down the stone hallways, already lit with bright torches. And there she came to the cell where Sharvur had been kept in solitary captivity for over two full moons. She spoke to the guard standing at the locked entrance, and the young man reluctantly granted her wish—to go inside the chamber alone, while he would wait outside, prepared to run in if she needed protection. The soldier unlocked the door and readied his sword to assist upon Zaria's call.
As she stepped into the room it was a dim and barren environment—much sparser than anything she had to endure in her own early captivity. As her eyes adjusted to the low light—one small torch in the corner, what Zaria noticed first was the absence of mirrors. They had always been present in the former king's sleeping chamber, as were the large decorative vases, and floor candles near his bed. Now, as she looked across the room there was a small bed and what appeared to be a thin man reclining upon it without blankets. She approached him slowly, silently. Sharvur was asleep and looked already dead to her.
"I see you are at least in peace in your new home," she said softly, nervously.
Sharvur opened his eyes. He was motionless. Only his predator-like gaze reminded her of the former king. Soon he seemed to comprehend who his lone visitor was.
"It is true there are some dreams that never seem to go away," he said blankly to her.
"And like all dreams," Zaria replied, "there is a time to awaken . . . a time to see what we have made of our life." She then approached his bed even closer.
"Why have you come here, Zaria? I would think a palace princess would have better things to do."
"I do have a better thing . . . and I will do it very soon." She continued defiantly. "For I am leaving your former kingdom, Sharvur."
He sat up in his bed and looked at her more closely. She could see he looked to be the same gaunt man he was while dying of the winter fever.
"But what of your duties . . . protection of my people, then?"
"They are no longer your people . . . and I am no longer your slave."
A brewing anger, something closer to a festering rage could be seen growing upon Sharvur's hollow face. He was pale, lifeless and looked little of the man he once was.
"Nor do I now have such a duty," Zaria continued.
"Are you saying. . . you defied my orders to stay pure, Zaria?"
"I am saying I have no more duties to you . . . or anyone else. No more than you are now anyone's king, Sharvur."
He struggled to move closer to her, now sitting up at the edge of the bed. Zaria bravely held her ground, remaining only an arm's length away. For the first time she felt a supreme power come over her—a feeling much more dominant than the minor opportunities she once could only manipulated with him. It was now a true and pervasive force as she stood above the reclining and failed king.
Zaria stood steadfast, radiant with life and imbued with purpose.
"I want you to see me now Sharvur . . . and remember me as who I have become. Not who I once was under your rule."
The former king was frozen and silent. As Zaria then began to unfasten the clips of her chitin he began to be mesmerized. She continued to slip the garment off her shoulders and let it fall to the floor. The action left her upper torso fully naked in the dim light. Zaria could painfully feel Sharvur's eyes hungrily upon her. Next, she unfastened the loose pants she wore, which had fully covered her legs and thighs as she entered. She took these down slowly too, and then off her feet deftly and completely.
Sharvur remained paralysed at her unexpected disrobing. He was noticeably beguiled by these actions. Lastly, Zaria pulled down and then off the under garment she wore for her modesty, warmth and hygiene. She now stood completely naked before him, turning around enticingly—arms out like the wings of a white and decorated dove.
As she revolved in a graceful gyre so to expose all of her embellished and unembellished skin, Sharvur finally gathered his wits and spoke softly.
"I see you have drunk deeply from that which pleases you, princess. Long sessions with the tattoo artist."
"Yes. And I am here now to tell you. . . and not show you . . . that there are other changes upon my body you will never see or know, Sharvur. Even as I stand her fully naked before you."
Sharvur was again speechless at this remark. He was still trying to understand if the unexpected spectacle was not some apparition he had conjured up in his depravity and weakened state.
"There is yet one small tattoo . . . one I have on me which will always be hidden. Just as the condition from which I speak to you now. . a virgin or not. And for those you will never have the pleasure of seeing or knowing."
"Sharvur's hands suddenly sprang out to grasp her, but as quickly, Zaria stepped back, just out of his reach.
"There are many things you will never know about me, former king. And you shall go to your grave never having known them."
Sharvur mustered a weak smile upon his lips.
"You can not be sure of that . . . My death, sweet princess. For I have survived many difficulties. I have come back from the cold hands of death before if you remember."
Zaria took two steps again—forward, and toward him. It allowing her decorated identity to be etched in his mind. She was taunting and defiant with her body.
Defeated, Sharvur no longer tried to touch her. "You see, beautiful one . . . soon your generals will kill each other . . . over power. It is the way of the world. The Pazyryk people will return to me for their strength and stability."
Zaria was already putting her clothing back on.
"They will bring me back . . . as their king once more. . . and I shall then see that hidden tattoo you hide between your legs. I will fully learn whether or not you defied your orders to remain pure in my kingdom. . . .And I will at last know if you betrayed me by tasting of a man fully."
"Perhaps that wish to know will sustain you, failed king . . . a few moons longer. But time is running out for you and your past cruelty. Your evil lust became your executioner. And I have come to curse you at last for what you have done . . . to me and my sisters. For I promise you here, Sharvur, this night. . . your princess will no longer remain in this kingdom . . . whether you die soon as predicted and wished by many . . . or are ever so fortunate to return to power . . .and create a curse upon the land once more."
Sharvur just glared back at her.
"We shall see, my beautiful slave . . . we shall see." His voice was now weakening. "At least you have given me something to contemplate in my solitude . . . to wonder if your presence here was but a dream.'
Zaria left his bedside and walked back to the door. There, she turned and called out to the imprisoned master once more.
"Farwell, my failed and evil king! May you leave hungering . . and with no satisfaction to what ever world awaits you. For satisfaction is something you never intended for me to have as your slave. Yet, as I escape this kingdom with the man I love . . . you will always regret . . . that I had found it.
* * *