Читать книгу 10 new Scythian tales - Guy Sebeus - Страница 2

1

Long ago, there were father and mother.

They were Scythians – people living in southern steppes, on the warm sea shore. And they spent a good half of their life in the saddle. Horse riding, they hunted wild animals, fought for their native land, made long journeys for horse herds.

Once, they’ve given birth to a son.

According to Scythian tradition, the father put the baby into the saddle immediately after his birth. But failed to hold him. The baby tumbled down, falling.

The father was distressed:

“It’s a bad sign!” Well, I’ll call him Tumbler and wait for a year.

A year later, he put his son into the saddle again.

And again – head over heels! He rolled down under the horse.

The Scythian was distressed, but did not show it so far. He waited until his son was three. Again, he put him into the saddle.

And again – flip-flop under the horse’s hooves.

The Scythian was angry:

“Such a shame has never happened among the Scythians – a three-year-old boy cannot sit in the saddle! My son cannot be so disgraceful!”

So, he ordered his wife to make a terrible thing: to leave the boy in the camp. Without him, they went with the herds to look for succulent grass to graze them.

The Scythian mother cried and begged her husband to take pity, but he was adamant:

“I renounce such a son, and that’s it!”

He agreed to do the only thing – to leave a mare for the child to let the boy drink her milk. And he added:

“He is no son of mine until he comes to me riding a horse! My ancestors, same as me, flew across the steppe like birds! We don’t know whether the horses carried us or we carried them! And this one has no wings behind, only fluff and feathers from falling!”

2

The baby stayed alone.

The steppe is cold at night, wolves howl. He has tried to climb on the mare. However, he couldn’t do it tumbling head over heels, hurting his sides.

Still, not crying. The time to feel sorry for himself passed, it is necessary to survive somehow!

Meanwhile, his mother cannot find a place for herself. She turned with a plea to mother eagle:

“Eagle-bird, help my little son, you are a mother too!”

But the eagle is a proud bird. She refused not even turning her head.

The Scythian mother started begging a fat bustard-bird:

“Help my little son, home-bird, you are a mother too!”

But the bustard has no time, her brood is big! Busy with her cackling, she does not hear and does not want to see anyone!

Helpless mother’s heart is crying. Suddenly, she hears someone’s high-pitched squeak:

“Do not cry, poor mother’s heart, I’ll help you!”

The Scythian mother sees a tiny bat in the night sky.

“Thank you for your compassion, dear. But how can you, small bat, help my boy? You are afraid of everyone yourself!”

“But our older sisters, strixes, are afraid of nobody.”

“Who are the strixes? Do you mean those fibbed about in the fairy-tales told by old men at nocturnal campfires?”

“Maybe, old men fib,” the bat responds fluttering her thin wings. “But the strixes are talked about, not forgotten! You know better than me – invisible matters exist! Otherwise, why does your heart hurt and ache so much? So accept the strixes’ help while I’m offering despite you do not believe in them. This is no time to take care of the external image when the internal feelings overflow!”

3

Meanwhile, Tumbler-baby is sad and sorry for being left, but is still trying to climb on the horse. Still, cannot cope with it. Clings to the mare’s udder, drinks some milk, gains some strength and tries again, stubborn! Covered with dust and blood, tired, but just for a moment he leans to the ground and tries to jump back on the horse again doing everything as his father taught. And recalls his mother feeling pity for her.

Suddenly, someone grabbed his coat with claws and seated him right into the saddle.

“It seemed to me!” Tumbler thinks. He is so glad: not only for the first time he sits in the saddle, but stays there without tumbling!

“Let me, he thinks, make at least a small step forward. I know, I’ll tumble down, hurt myself. Still, this is no time to take care of the external image when the internal feelings overflow! I’ll not care of myself, but I’ll prove to my father that I am his son!”

It seems to Tumbler that he rides the mare across the steppe himself. In fact, chimera-strix following his mother’s prayers carries him with her vast wings!

Strixes are terrible: goat snout, paws with fingers and enormous bat wings. One thing is good: they are invisible to people because of the origin from another world. Otherwise, they can scare someone to death!

The mare gallops across the steppe. Tumbler has forgotten about his falling as if he has wings on his back. The invisible winged strix supports him, not leaving!

The boy is glad, but he isn’t hurrying to come back to the parents trying to learn even better. To let it really seem that it is not the horse that carries him, but he carries the horse with his wings.

4

Once, the Scythian father was grazing his herd. Suddenly, out of nowhere, wild steppe horses raced across his path. Their exuberant leader struck the Scythian’s horse with his powerful breast so that the rider tumbled over the head from the saddle.

“This is deadly,” the Scythian had only time to think. But suddenly another rider racing across the steppe as if having wings caught him.

“In the entire steppe, there are no winged riders,” the Scythian father tells him, “Such ones exist only in my family. But the Creators deprived me of the winged offspring.”

Tumbler did not answer. He looked into his eyes and smiled through tears. Only when the mother rushed to hug and kiss him, the Scythian father recognized his son, who became a real rider.