Later in the day the girls were summoned again from their rooms by the attending women. This time they were led out of the palace cave complex onto the open plains. These vast lands stretched out to the east as far as the eye could see. Looking down from the foot of the mountain where Sharvur's fortress was embedded, the girls took in the enormous tent city that was his domain. They understood that this was but one of the Scythian leader's mobile horse settlements, as word was in the western lands that he and the Pazyryk controlled much of the immense territories leading into Asia.
The girls were brought down to a corral where many horses were being attended to by men whose job it was to groom and look after them. There they were led to a young man, who cleaner and more refined than the others, seemed to have been waiting for their arrival. He was tall, of a thin build and had no beard as most of the nomadic men had. This gave his face a more handsome appearance and a somewhat closer affinity to the younger males the grils were used to seeing all their lives in the Western provinces. This young man appeared to be in his mid-twenties. He was dressed in the traditional leather clothing of the soldiers, buit instead of braided, wore his hair long and free. He was also uncharistically unarmed and his kind face projected intractable boyish features. Surprisingly, he began to speak to the girls in their native Slavic language.
"My name is Moshtok," he told them, and flashed an unexpected smile. "I am to be your translator and teacher of the language of my people."
The three girls were astounded by his speech and demeanor. Branka put her hand over her lovely mouth in surprise, while Zaria and Svetlana widened their eyes and fidgited with their golden hair in anticipation of what he would tell them
"We are the horse people of these plains," he said. "And our language is known far across these lands."
Moshtok waved his long arm out beyond the corralled horses to the distant snow-capped mountains including all the flatlands between.
"You will be expected to know this language and use it when you are in the presence of our exceptional king."
The girls took great solace from his voice and familiar language. It was a comfort they did not expect. As he gave them this warning, they did not take their eyes off him and nodded as he spoke.
"You must know . . . our king Sharvur is a man himself of little words. But when he wants to speak to someone, they must respond clearly and sensibly. He has been known to . . . punish those severely who do not respond to him with total respect. And so you must honor him with the language he knows and understands. Do you follow what I am telling you?"
The girls quickly indicated with their rapid nods that they did.
"The word in our land for 'yes' is Kir."
"Kir," they answered back in unison.
"King Sharvur has put me in charge of teaching you our language. You must begin using it quickly and never speak in your own tongue. . . this one again--at least while in his presence. Do you understand that also? For this is Sharvur's command."
"Kir!"
"I do not wish to disappoint him. He is my master. And you girls could become trouble for me if you do not show progress in what I have taught you. You must alwways do your best . . . as I must. Understood?"
The girls all answered back in unison once more. But it was Zaria's nature to take the lead.
"So . . . how did you learn our language so well, Moshtok?"
He paused and answered with a surprisingly sad look.
"Well that is a very long story. But just know that I was kept most of my childhood in your lands. A prisoner like you."
The girls silently looked at each other in amazement. Because I am one of Sharvur's many cousins, I was captured and taken from here by a large warring party of your own people. This happened many years ago. They took me as ransom to get back children Sharvur's father had taken in a great war. Much as you were taken."
The girls looked with empathy into the young man's face.
"We are all very unfortunate," Zaria said quietly, now feeling a special kinship with him.
"It took many years for this trade of children to return me here. Over time I learned the ways of your people and soon could speak your beautiful language. Because of it I am valuable to Sharvur as his translator now. And that is also why he gave me this task to be your teacher."
"We will try to learn quickly," Branka said, receiving nods from both Svetlana and Zaria.
"But what will happen if we do not progress to the satisfaction of Sharvur?" Zaria asked.
Moshtok widened his eyes and looked deeply into Zaria's face.
"Just never forget . . . though you are young, and Sharvur treats you kindly now, you are still his slaves. I know my cousin . . . one day. . . and very soon, you shall see what else is expected of you."
The girls did not have to be told this, though it was somehow alarming words heard in their own tongue. The three teens looked out at the galloping horses, trying not to consider any image of what Moshtok referred to.
A man looking to be a soldier, with an ugly face and strong arms had selected three horses. He brought them over with some difficulty to the edge of the enclosure. After speaking to Moshtok he motioned for the girls to step over the railing of the wooden fence and prepare to mount the animals. Mostok did the same, easily and with a skill expected of his people. While he took the largest horse, he directed Zaria onto her own animal as well. The other two girls were strangely directed to ride together on a single horse. Once again, Zaria and the other two girls experienced the inexplicable condition of her being singled out and to receive a different treatment.
Once mounted and fairly comfortable while seated on the camel-hide saddle blankets, Zaria and Svetlana tightened the leather reigns firmly in their hands. Branka held on tightly to her teenage friend and dug her heels deeply into the sides of the horse for support. Moshtok led the way, trotting the animals out the gate of the corral. While the girls had spent some little time on horseback living in their village, they were not entirely comfortable with the experience and became much frightened as their teacher made a whistling sound, signaling the animals to begin a strong run across the flat, cold earth.
While riding, Moshtok surprisingly began his lessons. He pointing at objects and gave their names in each language as they ran. The girls, now laughing with the novelty of this procedure and the headiness of the cool, fresh air, soon began to laugh while reciting his prompts.
"The sky is Uuro."
"Uuro!" the girls shouted back together.
The mountains are Vuna."
"Vuna!"
"The plains are Geot."
"Geot!" they faithfully yelled.
"And these horses are stupid!
"Stupid!" They shouted en masse. And all began to laugh.
For the next two hours Moshtok led the girls on a circular ride across the vast barren lands, featuring only light outcroppings of bushes and rocks. It was for the most part bleak and lifeless. He seemed to take great delight in naming anything they could find and soon began small phases with them.
"I am thirsty now. . .Eow tella niras tora.
"Eow tella niras tora!"
At one point in the afternoon ride back, Moshtok took them along an ancient dry river bed and up to a high plateau. Here the wind blew cooler and there were ominous clouds on the horizon. Soon they were before a section of terrain that was covered by what appeared to be artificial domed earth mounds. This is our sacred place of the dead, he told them. "Thanura"
The girls did not repeat this word.
Here are buried our great ones. Warriors, shamans, and great women storytellers. They have in those chambers below all they will need in the next world. Weapons, horses, food and slaves.
The girls remained silent.
And now I will take us home for food and water and sleep. Troph, Nera, Eapna"
"Troph, Nera, Eapna! The girls recited with great eagerness.
They eventually returned tired and sore to the horse enclosure. It was a place surrounded by hundreds of leather tents and many people were standing and seated on the ground watching them as they dismounted. Moshtok told the girls they had been excellent students that day and touched each affectionately with an open hand to their foreheads. He then diligently returned them back up the trail to the mountain fortress and their attending women, who had been stationed all day for their return. It was a familiar place now, and one—not by choice, but by fate that they would call Ikela. . . home. What awaited them in this new "home" they each did not know.
* * *