18. Death Is Not Found behind Mountains, but Right behind Our Shoulders
18
DEATH IS NOT FOUND BEHIND MOUNTAINS, BUT RIGHT BEHIND OUR SHOULDERS
It took them two days to reach the Ural Mountains and another two to climb the mountains and find the road that led to a military outpost overlooking the West Siberian Plain. Since they agreed it wouldn’t be smart to introduce the tigers to the soldiers at the outpost, Nik and Zakhar went to gather information from the soldiers, while Danik and the tigers hunted.
Veru managed to catch a ground squirrel and a marten, but Stacia only found a nasty badger who refused to come out of his hole no matter how deeply she dug. He used his long claws and sharp teeth to cause her enough trouble to make her give up on him and take the squirrel Veru dropped at her feet instead. Since they were only out hunting for a short time, Danik returned with just three fat grouse, which would be enough for dinner for the men. They returned to their meeting place to find Nik and Zakhar waiting.
“What did you discover?” Danik asked them.
Nik answered, “Not much. It seems this area is populated by Samoyed peoples, not Evenki.”
“Will they hunt the tigers?”
“I don’t know,” Nik answered. “Some live in the forest, others along the rivers. They live in clans and claim territory based on family lines using signs or symbols of their clan to designate borders.”
“Did they say where to find the Evenki?”
“The man I spoke with believes they are located much further east. Almost all the way to the sea.”
Danik removed his hat and slapped it against his thigh. “That far? Is it even safe for us to travel across the lands of the Nomadic Alliance? I know the tsarina was passing laws to protect those who wanted to immigrate to the empire, but I don’t know how easy or safe it will be for us to travel through. Tell me again exactly what instructions the soldier gave you before departing the capital.”
Pacing, Nik thought and said, “The man told me head to an outpost and ask for directions. Then he mentioned something about hunting and bringing a gift of meat or pelts to the people in exchange for information. He warned me to tell no one about the tigers until we found his people, the Evenki, saying they would believe us and help us and that we should ask for a shaman. He never mentioned any other tribes or clans.”
“Right. So he had to have known that his mother’s people were located on the far side of the Nomadic Alliance. If he did, then why have us stop at an outpost? Why not tell us to travel all the way to the Great Sea?”
“He said his father had been stationed at one, and that’s how he met his mother, who was Evenki.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Danik said. “If the Evenki are located that far out, why would they come to the borderlands? How would his parents even have met?”
“I don’t know. Trade, maybe?”
“Council meetings,” Zakhar suggested. “The Nomadic Alliance council leaders would have met with diplomatic leaders from the empire from time to time. It would make sense for them to travel to more neutral territory when discussing accords. A traveling diplomat would have taken a contingent of soldiers stationed at the outpost, especially those who knew the traditions and languages of various clans.”
“Then we need to seek council leaders. Perhaps they will know how to find the Evenki or the shaman we seek,” added Danik. “I say we head out, walking at a normal pace. Let me set some traps so we have some furs and meat to trade with. Then we’ll see what we find. I figure the least we’ll get is information.”
Agreeing with Danik, the men headed down the mountain and out onto the Great Siberian Plain. They made camp along the Ob River, and Zakhar and Nikolai learned how to bait and set traps from Danik. Within a week, they had a growing pile of squirrel, arctic fox, ermine, otter, lynx, rabbit, and even some highly prized sable.
He taught them how to skin, flesh, and stretch the pelts, reserving the meat for themselves or the tigers. Once Nik had been taught how, he took to the skinning of the animals quite easily, which Danik appreciated. Skinning the animals had always been the part of his job that he’d hated the most. Zakhar was also happy to let Nik do the job, though he didn’t mind the stacking or the stretching. Counting and numbers had always been something of a fascination for him.
When he asked Danik the price each pelt would fetch at market, he kept a running total on parchment and began calculating the numbers against how many meals each pelt could provide for the hungry. Soon Zakhar was the first to rise in the morning, very excited to see what catches could be found in the traps, and he was very quick to remove the animal and bait the trap afresh. Though he still prayed over the fallen creatures of the Lord, he counted it a blessing that their flesh could be used to feed and clothe the hungry and naked.
Zakhar would even hum or sing songs of thanksgiving as he wrung the mud from the bodies of the poor dead creatures. Danik, though he loved music and singing, and despite the fact that hunting was his work, had never developed a fondness for it. He didn’t deny the beauty of the furs, or their warmth, and he even agreed with Zakhar about the money and the feeding of children, but to him the memories of taking the feathers or the fur from the animals would never leave his mind.
He’d come across bands of hunters who were so thorough in their work that they left no trace of animals behind to repopulate the area. These men didn’t hunt for meat or to create a warm coat or blanket but to line one of many cloaks of wealthy men or to fill a wardrobe with beautiful colored fur coats and hats that were rarely used.
It saddened him in a way that made his heart ache. On nights when he played his music, he’d seen creatures of the forest draw close, even when he had a roaring fire between them. He’d fed forest squirrels before and watched them play and their antics as they stuffed their cheeks full to the brim with nuts and then scurried to hide them from one another, screeching when a fellow dared to dig up his brother’s hidden stash, making him laugh.
To him, each animal had a soul, just like the tsarevnas. Even when he didn’t know Veru for who she was, he knew she was special. He couldn’t have killed her even then, no matter how beautiful her coat. The thought that some man might end her life simply to use her as a floor decoration or to hang her on a wall sickened him.
Though it was his job, Danik felt that someday there would be a reckoning for what he’d done. Following the tsarevnas and serving them was a small way he could pay a penance. He felt he owed it to them and to every creature he’d hunted to keep the tigers alive. If there was a way to make a livelihood from his music, he’d prefer to do that, but without his parents, he wasn’t sure how.
Still he played at night, even while noticing that Nik cringed every time he did. He thought to inquire about it, but Nik simply rolled over and tried to sleep. It was obvious he still didn’t want to share anything about his past. Even so, the music was the only thing that soothed Danik after a long day of hunting. It was how he apologized to the creatures that remained. Most of the time his songs were melancholy, but occasionally, he remembered the squirrels or the birds and played happy, lilting songs for them.
When Danik announced they had plenty to trade, they set off downriver, seeking signs of a settlement. The first group they came across were less than friendly. In fact, they shoved the three men to the ground, grabbed their bags, rifled through them, and took everything they had. Then they used their fishing spears to point them in an opposite direction so they’d clearly get the idea to vacate the clan’s family lands.
“Well, that didn’t exactly go as planned,” Danik said, circling back to the camp.
“Not at all,” Zakhar agreed. “It was a good idea, though, to leave behind the tigers and most of our gear and pelts. I’ll calculate our losses when we return. Thank you for that, Nikolai.”
“Yes, thank you,” Danik echoed.
“Right. Well. I’ve learned from a few tough lessons over the years. There are some things I’d rather not risk.”
“Makes sense. I, for one, am delighted that my domra wasn’t taken. Spasibo, again.”
“Pozhaluysta.”
“But are you glad, Nikolai, my new friend? You don’t seem to enjoy Danik’s music, even though he is quite good at it. Do you not find his skills excellent? Perhaps you are used to musicians of exceeding talent, having been one of the trusted palace Guardsmen.”
Nik clasped his hands behind his back, an easy thing to do now that his bag was emptied. He spoke hesitantly. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate Danik’s ability. As far as musicians go, I’m sure he’s quite good. I simply dislike music in general.”
“Certainly not all music,” Zakhar exclaimed. “What about songs celebrating our Lord?”
Shrugging, Nik replied, “I’m not too familiar with most of those.”
“Music of Christmastide?” Danik asked.
“Those tunes I especially loathe.”
“But... why?” Zakhar said.
They waited, staring at Nik until he grew uncomfortable. Finally, he said, “My mother had a music box. She loved it, and I did, too, for a while. Then she died, and it was horrible. Anytime I hear music, it reminds me of her death. And that’s all I want to say about it.”
Zakhar replied in his soothing priest’s voice. “I’m so sorry, my son. If you ever wish to talk more of this, you may speak to me of it by requesting a confessionary meeting in private.”
Nik snorted. “Sure. When I want absolution, I’ll ask you.”
“I did not mean to suggest you needed absolution. I merely wanted you to know that I am available as a priest, should you wish to use me as such.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Nik said.
“I’ve never met anyone who hates music,” Danik interjected. “How can you blame music for a tragedy like that. It just doesn’t make sense.”
It didn’t seem like Danik wanted anyone to answer. He appeared to be simply talking to himself. Zakhar patted him on the arm as if attempting to soothe his feelings as well. Nik’s mouth twisted up in a wry sort of smirk. He wondered if by just saying what he did he’d been able to spare himself music in the evenings. If so, it would be worth it. Nik doubted it would work for long though. Trying to keep Danik from his songs would be like trying to keep Zakhar from his studies.
The priest had brought a fat tome of scripture; it had been one he’d personally been copying from various scrolls, and it was filled with his own flourishes on each title page. Nik didn’t tell him, but he thought the artwork quite beautiful. When Zakhar wasn’t reading scripture, he was studying maps or creating new ones with various colors of bottled ink and parchment. As they camped that evening, Zakhar worked on his rendering of the tigers pulling their sleigh with the three of them riding along. Nik was holding the reins, and there was a painted smile on his face.
Had he been smiling? He couldn’t remember. Actually, Nik hadn’t recalled smiling in a long while. The last time he could remember being truly happy was when he’d danced with his mother. Since then he’d been enthusiastic, such as when he thought he might win the affection of a tsarevna, but he hadn’t felt happy, at least not in a carefree sense. Glancing over at Danik that evening as they camped, he could almost see the distress on Danik’s face. Even without an instrument in his hands, the man was drumming his fingers against his leg.
He sighed, acknowledging that even to him it was too quiet in the camp. “It’s fine with me if you want to play something,” he said to Danik. “I’ll suffer through it.”
“No. No. I don’t want you to remember your mother like that.”
“It’s not like you’ve played that one song of hers anyway.”
“Can... can I ask what song was it? The one in her music box?”
“I don’t know what it was called,” Nik said quietly.
“If you hum it, I might be able to tell you the name.”
The fire crackled and popped, and when Nik put his hand on Veru’s back, she looked up at him with her dark gray eyes. He saw the human girl beneath the face of the tiger at that moment, and something inside him broke. Music filled his mind as he closed his eyes, and the image of his beautiful mama on that long ago night when she’d asked him to dance came clearly to his mind. She’d placed his hand on her small waist and took his other hand in hers, and together they’d twirled on their warped wooden kitchen floor.
Soon real music filled his ears as notes were plucked that matched the tune he’d been humming without realizing it. Quickly he dashed the tears from his cheeks as Danik lowered his balalaika. “It’s called ‘The Turning of the Troika,’” Danik said. “I’m sorry about your mama.”
“Don’t be,” Nik replied, getting up and heading to the other side of the fire. He laid down, stuffing his empty bag under his head. “She’s better off dead.”
* * *
The next morning they repeated the process, heading in a different direction. When they came across signs of a clan, they took only a bit of meat and a few pelts, leaving the tigers and the rest of their supplies behind, and walked on until they found a group of people fishing at the river. After showing them the items and making a gift of a beautiful fox pelt and a brace of birds, they were taken to meet with the head of the clan.
Fortunately for them, a translator was located who knew enough of their dialect that they could present their case. When Nikolai and Danik weren’t certain how to proceed, Zakhar easily took over. They seemed to understand that he was a holy man and thus were very willing to help him on his quest, especially when he said he had a writing he needed to show to a shaman.
They said they had such a man in their clan, and he was brought in and introduced to them. There was then a sharing of certain foods and drink followed by a cleansing ritual. Zakhar was fascinated by the entire process and longed to document every part of it. Then the shaman asked politely if he could see the document they had mentioned. Unfortunately, they had left everything back at the camp with the tigers, but Zakhar, unwilling to say nothing, described the document in detail as best he could, promising to return with it in the morning.
The moment he mentioned the three tigers on the parchment, everyone in the little yurt froze in place. Then they glanced at one another with wild eyes. The shaman hissed a command, saying everyone should leave except the translator. When all had departed, he asked very pointedly, “Have any of you three seen or killed a tiger?”
Zakhar looked at his companions, who nodded. “All three of us have seen tigers, yes. We have not killed any.”
“How many did you see?”
“We have seen two.”
“And the colors?”
“One is gold and white and the other is red and black.”
The shaman sat back and took a deep breath. Then he looked at the translator and said a string of words in their language. Immediately the translator rose and disappeared, ducking out of the yurt opening. He returned with another man who was dressed for travel. The shaman gave the man instructions. When he was finished, the man nodded soberly, then stood by, waiting.
“What’s happening?” Danik asked.
The translator presented Danik’s query to the shaman, who answered, “This is our best guide. He will take you to the site of our Great Gathering Grounds. You must hurry. You have only two days to travel many, many leagues before the end of the final winter clan meetings. If you move quickly enough, you may catch up with the one you seek before she travels too far toward home.
“We will give you as many rations as we can spare so you don’t need to stop to hunt. When you find her, our guide will make introductions. Should the great leader of the Evenki agree to meet with you, tell her all you have told me, and she will listen.
“If she decides to help you, she will tell you where to find the third tiger, the gray-and-black shadow who stalks the taiga, roaring with his pain, invisible and unseeing. Only then will you be ready to ascend the Dreaming Mountain to find the Storyweaver of the Sky, the One Who Hears All—Above and Below, the White Shaman of the Tundra.”
Before they knew it, the three men were hurried from the yurt, the guide following behind them. Runners quickly approached packing their bags full of raw fish, reindeer meat, and extra clothing. The pelt they’d given as a gift was returned to them, and they were shown many more pelts they’d be gifted in exchange, along with a lightweight and sturdy yurt their guide strapped to his own back. Danik attempted to refuse them, but the good people insisted. The three men humbly bowed and promised to return someday bearing many gifts of their own.
Quickly they headed back to the trees where they’d left their things, their silent guide following behind them. When the tigers emerged, he was shocked, but within a few moments, he dropped his pack in the snow and bowed himself to the ground, mumbling words no one understood. Gently, Zakhar took hold of the man’s arm and bid him rise.
Nik took the magic boots from the pack left with the tigers while Danik fed them some of the reindeer meat given to them by the clansmen. Once the sleigh was created, they ushered the wide-eyed guide onto the sleigh, offering him the reins, and then the rest of the men climbed aboard. As the tigers began to run, each of the men lowered their heads in fur-lined cloaks to keep the bits of stinging sleet and snow from their eyes and sunk even deeper into their thoughts.
Now they knew they weren’t only seeking a shaman. They were looking for a man they’d only heard of in children’s tales.
The Storyweaver of the Sky.
The One Who Hears All—Above and Below.
The White Shaman of the Tundra.
As if that weren’t enough.
They were also supposed to find a third tiger.
One who was gray and black, perhaps blind, in pain, and, to make matters even more difficult, invisible.