The Flame of Destiny
Passage across the Plains

The next morning, it was time to leave. Yahsi and Samira loaded the last items on their rickety cart. They left no trace of their presence except for the charred remains of a campfire and patches of dried grass where the yurts had been.

With a sigh, Yahsi lifted Nehir on the wagon. They only had their one old horse for the three of them. The poor creature was barely able to pull the heavy cart and they were forced to walk next to the animal and push the cart on the difficult stretches. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t move as fast as the others. They fell behind from the first day.

The other families were friendly and helpful, they respected Yahsi and enjoyed Samira’s cheerful company. Whenever he could, Taymur remained behind and allowed Yahsi to ride his old horse while he walked next to his malika. Bhaltu also helped them as well as he could, pulling the cart free when it was stuck in a muddy crossing in a valley, or guiding them over the high passes. But he had many other duties, not least to take care of his smaller sisters and scout the road ahead.

For the first few days, Yahsi and Samira walked all day without a break, yet they arrived at the camp site much later than the others. Leaving first, before daybreak they would be caught by mid-morning and lose sight of the others by noon. Without the signs that Bhaltu left behind, they would never even have found the clan.

They didn’t fare any better over the following days. Each time they left first but arrived last. With the help of the brothers, they reached camp just before nightfall.

Surhab didn’t like this one bit and complained to Bhaltu, “they’re slowing us down and we haven’t even reached the plains.”

“Don’t worry,” said Bhaltu, “they’ve only one horse but they’re strong and determined, they’re not giving up. My little brother helps them as best he can.”

“I don’t want you or your brother to help them anymore,” said Surhab sternly, “we can’t afford to split the clan.”

“What do you mean,” asked Bhaltu struggling to understand what Surhab was trying to achieve, “if we don’t help them, we’ll certainly be split. They’ll be cut off from the clan and exposed to danger.”

“They’re not really in danger. The other tribes will never attack a lone woman and two small girls. But if you or Taymur are with them, they might kill you.”

“Not attack?” growled Bhaltu. “Are you out of your mind? Who knows what they’ll do them. They might be kidnapped; we’ll never see them again. Is this how you honor Yahsi, the widow of the leader who gave his life to defend our clan?”

“You mean the leader who failed to defend our clan, and led us into an ambush,” scoffed Surhab. “I’m the leader of the clan now and you better get in line.”

Bhaltu fumed. He would have liked to smack Surhab’s smug face. But he wasn’t ready to challenge the leader’s authority. He was too young and none of the elders would support him.

“You should’ve given the girl to me instead of the old witch,” said Surhab, “I could have taken better care of her.”

Bhaltu stamped back to his tent. Surhab called after him, “and don’t leave any signs for them, I don’t want a Roxolani war band to surprise us at night!”

A few hours later, when it was almost dark, Yahsi and Samira staggered into camp and hastily pitched their small tent.

Bhaltu waited a while until he was sure Samira was soundly asleep, then went over to Yahsi and told her the bad news. “I can’t help you anymore,” he said regretfully, “Surhab won’t allow it.”

“Don’t worry,” said Yahsi refusing to break down in tears, “I’ve travelled this route dozens of times in my life. I appreciated all the help from you and your little brother but I can manage. We can manage.”

“Be careful,” said Bhaltu, “stay east of the Great River, raiders have been spotted on the other bank. They’re not Sarmatian, we don’t know what they’ll do to you.”

Unbeknownst to them Taymur had woken up and followed his brother. While his brother was speaking with Yahsi outside, he sneaked into the tent and whispered to Samira. “Malika, they want to leave you behind. But I won’t let that happen. I’ll come with you, I have a horse, with my help you can move faster.”

“Don’t be silly,” said Samira, “you belong with your brother. Yahsi and I can manage.”

“No! You don’t understand,” he said firmly. “It’s very dangerous. You need an extra horse.” The poor boy was so upset he started sobbing.

“Hey,” said Samira, “Don’t cry. I’m the one in danger.”

“We might never see each other again,” he said, “you must come with us. We can share a horse.”

“Why doesn’t Surhab give us a horse, he has plenty?”

“He’s mean and wants to keep them for himself,” whispered Taymur, “he only cares about his horses and his gold. Bhaltu says that he’s not a real Tanisha leader but there’s nothing we can do as long as he is chieftain.”

“Wait! I have an idea!” said Samira excitedly a bit louder than intended.

“Samira, you should be sleeping!” Yahsi’s stern voice cried, and her angry head peeked inside the tent.

“Tamo-kun, what are you doing here?” Bhaltu said, as surprised as he was upset.

“Please, forgive us but I have something to show you,” said Samira. “To both of you. I think I can help.”

She took something from under her dress and held it up. Only a thin beam of moonlight entered the tent through the open flap, yet the amulet sparkled in a thousand colors.

The others gasped, they had seen the pretty amulet shine in the sunlight, but never seen it like this. It was magical, as if it contained a hidden fire

“This is beautiful,” stammered Yahsi.

“Maybe we can trade this for a horse,” said Samira proudly, “Surhab will surely pay for this.”

“He most certainly will,” said Yahsi, “you’re our saving angel.”

Samira took off the amulet but when she wanted to hand it over she hesitated. This had been given to her by her good friend Fingo and it gave her strength and courage.

“You don’t have to do it,” said Yahsi, “we can replace another way.”

She knew her strength and courage would not pull the cart. They needed a horse. She would give anything she had to help the people that saved her from the Gulla and given her shelter. “Please take it,” she said. They didn’t hesitate any longer and traded the amulet with Surhab for a horse that very night.

The clan leader thought he had made the deal of his life. When he saw it, he had wanted it. He knew it was worth three or four good horses but he drove a hard bargain, where else where they going to replace a horse? In the end, he exchanged the amulet for one shabby horse.

But then the trouble started for Surhab. First, he gave the amulet to his wife, Irene. She held it in her hands where it looked pale and plain, all the shine had gone. “This is a toy,” she said, “a worthless stone. What has gone into your head to trade this for a horse?”

He quickly took back the amulet and gave it to his oldest daughter. It still looked plain and boring and his daughter wasn’t impressed. At least until his younger daughter saw it. “What do you have there?” the youngest asked.

“Nothing for you,” replied the oldest, “you’re too young.” Suddenly they both wanted it and started fighting.

Surhab intervened and took it back. What should I do with this cursed amulet?. For a short instant, he thought of giving it back to Samira. No, I can’t do that I’m the chieftain, I never lose on a trade. I would rather throw it away than let that little trickster or the old hag win. No, I’ll sell it to a trader, even without its shine, it looks kind of special.

For Samira and Yahsi, the new horse hadn’t come a moment too soon. The Tanisha had just left the rugged foothills and entered the endless undulating grasslands. Their clan was renowned for the large distances they covered and Surhab was determined to keep up that reputation. Lightly packed and with slender two-wheeled carts, suitable for the endless grasslands, their clan could ride forty miles on a good day. Surhab wanted to keep that pace even if it would force them to ride from dusk till dawn. He had no pity for stragglers.

The Tanisha were a small clan among the tribe of the Free Sarmatians which most called the Wild Sarmatians. Some tribes on the grasslands were sedentary farmers and most didn’t travel nearly as far, except in bad years. But the Free Sarmatians were true nomads and hunters. And none more than the Tanisha.

“The Royal Alans are the most powerful of all the tribes,” explained Surhab at the campfire when he was in a rare good mood. “From their base near the two great rivers they collect tolls from traders and they’re richer than all the other tribes put together.”

“They also have the biggest army,” added Bhaltu, “they can field ten tumen of ten thousand mounted archers each.”

“That’s why they always claim half of any tribute, plunder or booty which we collect from the settled peoples,” said Surhab, his mouth became wet from the thought of these riches. “Imagine that.”

“Once, many generations ago, we were just as powerful,” said Yahsi wistfully, “in those days our tribesmen were like the Alans and controlled the riches from the settled peoples. We brought peace and prosperity to all the lands between the snowy mountains in the south and the endless forests in the north.”

“We were just as rich as the Alans are today,” agreed Surhab.

“What happened?” asked Samira. “How did you lose that?”

“Hah,” scoffed Surhab, “it was stolen from us!”

“We were so used to the easy life,” said Yahsi, “that we forgot how to hunt and how to rear animals. We just collected toll from the traders and took tribute from the farmers. We became lazy and lost our ways. The gods punished us for that.” She touched her forehead.

They explained her that about a century ago, the Royal Sarmatians were challenged by the ruthless and powerful Alans that came from the east and rampaged through their lands. Lazy and arrogant, they ignored the threat and let the Alans overrun their eastern lands. When they could no longer avoid a fight, they prepared badly for the battle. Treacherous tribes switched sides and when it was clear the battle would be lost, even their staunchest allies defected. Completely defeated on the battlefield, the Royal Sarmatians were banished from the central grasslands.

But in their pride, they declined to adapt to the new reality. They refused to deal with ‘inferior’ animals such as cows, sheep and goats like the other tribes did. They didn’t want to live like their former subjects and felt far too superior to work the land for food. They only kept the horses they valued so much. Just like today, horses were their wealth, status and power.

They foolishly thought they could survive by looting and raiding the other tribes. But instead of accumulating wealth and glory, they were driven further and further away when these previously submissive tribes joined forces and routed them.

They were banished to the most remote grasslands. The lands that could not be farmed and had so little grass that no other nomads were interested. In summer these proud Free Sarmatians roamed the barren grasslands near the endless coniferous forests of the northern taiga. Since the winter there is unbearable even to the toughest Sarmatians, they spend it on the southernmost edge of the steppes, near the rocky foothills of the Caucasus Mountains.

“Many couldn’t cope and left the tribe,” said Bhaltu.

“Or they simply died,” added Yahsi grimly.

Desperate and hungry these nomads struggled on. They were no longer a proper tribe, just a single clan with a handful of families. They kept struggling until a new leader arose, Tanis. “He taught us how to hunt and how to make the most of our horses,” said Surhab. “He even gave our clan a name that we can be proud of, we’re Tanisha.”

In their stubborn pride, they still refused to rear any other animals. They bred fine horses and became excellent hunters.

“So, remember. We’re not just any clan of the Free Sarmatian tribe,” said Bhaltu, “we’re from a royal line and one day we will regain what we have lost”

“Or so the legend goes,” said Azra to everyone’s annoyance, “the details are lost in the mist of time. Perhaps Tanis was just a tramp that made up a nice story and his successors embellished it over time.”

“Don’t you have writings,” asked Samira, “you know on papyrus or vellum… or stone carvings. That is where city people keep their history.”

They all stared at her in disbelief. “Our language can’t be captured in stone,” said Surhab with finality, “that’s impossible.”

“And what’s the point,” said Yahsi, “why would you need writing if the elders can pass on their memories in song and rhyme? What can be more accurate and everlasting?”

Samira nodded. Once she was the proud owner of a few papyrus rolls but she had lost all of them, yet she still knew the words by heart.

“Go Bayram, well done, now just a few more minutes and we can rest,” called Samira as the horse pulled her and the cart over a steep rump, “good boy. How strong you are!”

“Just whistling will do,” laughed Yahsi, “you don’t have to talk to it.” She was riding the old mare Serpil and carried some supplies and most of the water.

“Ho there,” called Samira undeterred, “not too fast old boy. We’re going downhill now.”

Bayram looked shabby and had a stubborn streak yet he was healthy and strong. At first, he didn’t want to come, he didn’t even let Samira approach him being terrified of strangers. But Samira and Yahsi had waited patiently and treated him gently. Yahsi put soothing herbs on the wounds on his back and Samira stroked him on his neck. After a while Bayram relented and he became a gentle and loyal workhorse, pulling the cart with most of the supplies on his own while Serpil carried Yahsi and Samira.

When Serpil was tired, Yahsi would sit on the cart and Samira would walk and gently lead her on, whispering encouragements in the mare’s long drooping ears. Young Taymur often came to help them fetch water or pull the cart out of the mud.

Even with two horses, the trip across the steppe lands was exhausting. On the first day in the plains, they made it to camp just before nightfall, about an hour after the others had arrived. After the horses were freed and grazed peacefully, Samira and Yahsi collapsed exhaustedly on the ground and didn’t even bother to set up a tent.

“I don’t know if I’ll survive another day,” said Samira.

“We still have four hundred miles to go,” said Yahsi, “you can’t give up now!”

Samira didn’t give up. Every day she grew a bit stronger and more used to the harsh nomadic life. Soon they were able to keep up with the rest of the clan.

They were now deep in the steppes. The white-capped mountains were just a distant memory.

Although seemingly endless, the grasslands were far from monotonous. Different shades of green and flowers of all colors formed a carpet under the ever-changing pattern of white and gray clouds in the steel blue sky. The gently rolling hills were dotted with landmarks that the Tanisha used to navigate over enormous distances. Samira was surprised to learn that almost every mound of grass had a name and was the house of some wondrous creature. She listened eagerly to all the stories. Some were evil and some were good, but she noticed that none had ever been seen by a living Tanisha.

On the afternoon of the tenth day on the open steppes, the nomads were oddly talkative. Even the usually stern Yahsi was in a good mood. “Ah, there is Satanaya’s shoulder,” she said, pointing at a round hill in the distance, “we’re getting close. We’ll reach camp by evening fall.”

Samira shouted with joy. She couldn’t believe it. Had they really made it?

“Let’s have us a nice bath when we arrive,” said Yahsi.

“Oh, that would be wonderful,” said Samira, “I didn’t know you had any baths.”

“Hmmpf, you think we’re savages?”

Before Samira could reply, Bhaltu rode towards them, followed by Taymur.

“Samira, come with me, I have to show you something,” said the tall and handsome hunter. Yahsi nodded in approval and Samira let Bhaltu pick her up. The three of them rode towards Satanaya’s shoulder, while Yahsi marched on with both horses.

[Picture Samira and Taymur]

“Close your eyes,” said Bhaltu as they approached the crest. They climbed to the top of the hill where Bhaltu gently reigned in the horse.

“Now open your eyes.”

At first, she thought she was dreaming, she couldn’t believe what she saw. Below her unfolded the most amazing landscape. Tulips were so abundant in the green spring grass that it looked like a giant red carpet. The sea of red and green stretched out in the gently rolling landscape as far as the eye could see. It was only interrupted by a river that meandered through the plain like a silver necklace.

“This is our land,” said Bhaltu.

Samira was lost for words, “this is the most beautiful place in the world,” she said, “I’ll never want to leave again.”

“It is a red carpet for a princess,” quipped Taymur and he blushed as he said the words.

Samira smiled at him and her eyes twinkled with happiness. This is where I belong, she thought, perhaps for the first time in her life. This is my home and these brothers are my family.