Chapter One - Prologue
Sarak moved briskly, his
khan, or sleigh, gliding across the arctic snow pulled by eight reindeer. It was a comfort to be in familiar lands, the lands of tribes that spoke and prayed the way his people, the Pebai, did. He looked to the front of the
khan and noted with admiration how adeptly his 14 year old son, Samatu, had handled himself these past few months.
It had been important to take this trip, to know what was going on in distant lands. He wished it was all the new information was pleasant, however. There was so much to let others know about.
And Khatyako… He thought about how sorely he had missed talking with her, laughing with her, laying with her at night, spending all hours together in the never-setting summer sun. He’d be home soon.
Samatu guided the reindeer along the terrain. Even in the dim sunless glow of a winter day, Sarak began to see landscapes that became quite familiar with Sarak started appearing, and he was able to fine-tune their way home.
Several hours later, he could see the rising smoke from fires in the distance. Starting off as dots in the distant horizon, the unmistakable shape came into view of the Pebai’s
mya, or conical-shaped tents that were made from the hides of reindeer laid over about 30 to 50 poles that were arranged together.
He waved to some of the herders and hunters that he passed, men he had known for years, and they cheered upon seeing the Sarak and his son return. The last minutes of the return went by so agonizingly slowly, but eventually they were by the main reindeer herd.
Mandak, a skilled trader that the clan counted on when haggling with other tribes, took the reigns from Samatu and greeted him warmly. “Welcome back, you two. We’ve been praying for your safe return. I’ll take the reigns and take care of the reindeer, and I will let the others know you have returned.”
Sarak smiled. “It is great to be home, Tolik. Thank you, and we’ll see you in a few minutes.” Sarak knew that in the discussions ahead, Tolik’s views would be valued. Even for a secluded people such as themselves, trade was important.
Sarak put his arm around Samatu’s shoulders and the two walked towards the largest
mya together. As they approached, Sarak saw a figure standing by the tent opening. He could feel his pulse quicken.
The female figure stood erect, her chin high. Her clothes were made in the traditional way, made of pelts and, as is the case with women’s clothes, opened down the front versus on the side for men’s clothing. Her clothes were well made, from the best pelts, and were trimmed with dog fur along the hem. The flaps were closed by means of suede laces, seven on each side. Her clothing was adorned with ornamental inserts, incorporating traditional Pebai patterns, made of white and dark fur.
A whisp of light brown dark hair escaped her hood and blew in the wind. As he approached, he admired the curves of her body that had always been so alluring to him. She was always seen as an attractive woman by others, although maybe not the most so in a purely physical sense; her poise, strength, and self-confidence added to the overall attraction, though. As far as his own opinion, there was no other woman who could even compare. Even in her middle age at 30 years, she has retained so much of her youthful beauty. And then the look on her face. She looked upon him with what he knew was her look of love and yearning, but she kept the façade that her status requires, especially in the presence of the other people around.
Because, of course, this was Khatyako, leader of the Sarakid clan, Chieftess of the Pebai. She is also regarded as High Chieftess, lord over the smaller and weaker Pyak and Yezyngi tribe chiefs. Her mother and grandmother have led the Pebai, taking the advice of the other elder women. With the blessings of the Spirits, so will her daughter, granddaughter, and beyond. Women lead our tribes and families; this is the way of the Pebai and the other true people. Our Shamans tell of the way things used to be within the Pebai, and the way it still is with other peoples when men lead everything: Competing inner conflict and ambitions. He has seen this effect himself, and now his own son has seen it with his own eyes, too. Women are just better able to agree on how things should run, whether that be a family or a tribe.
The men of the Pebai and the other tribes of the true people certainly have their own important roles, though. We are the herders, the hunters, the fishermen, and when needed, the soldiers. The Shamans are all men, usually passing their calling from father to son.
Speaking of daughters, the two Sarak and Khatyako had came out of the tent and yelped with excitement, hugging him ferociously. They had really grown! Senda, age 11, and Yar, age 8. The future of the tribe would someday be with them. But it was a consolation to know that, at least for the moment, they were still fun-loving girls that get excited when Papa comes home. “Girls, girls! I missed you, too! We will spend all day tomorrow together, I promise. But for the rest of the day I need to talk with Mama and the others.” They were smart girls and understood what was going on; their mother was raising them well.
Senda moved away, tugging her little sister with her, and shouted over her shoulder. "Ok, Papa, but you better have brought us presents from the foreign lands!"
But now, after his long trip, as much as he just wanted to grab Katyakho and lay down with her next to a warm fire, he had to tell her – and everyone else – some important things.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Khatyako heard the calls of the scouts over an hour ago, reporting the return of Sarak and Samatu. She had never prayed so much as she had these past few months. It was so hard for her to ask him to undertake this trip all those months ago, knowing the dangers, but news from beyond the Tribes were getting less and less common. She had to send someone she could trust to find out what was going on in the wider world. What she didn’t expect was Sarak wanting to bring Samatu, but it did make sense. He needed the experience and wasn’t that far away from getting married, himself.
As Sarak approached, she saw the all-too-familiar glimmer in his eye, the one that always made her blush. But he knew how to be a good husband to a Chieftess, and he did his duty. After the girls interrupted and gave their Papa a hug, of course.
He knelt down before her, putting his head by her snowy feet. “Wise mother,” he said, using the term of address for a Chieftess, “I have returned with many stories of my travels.”
She reached down and lifted him up by the arm, saying the words intended for public consumption. Her heart yearned to say much different words. “Dear husband, your return fills my heart with joy. Come in and tell me everything.” She had intended to turn and go inside, but her emotion welled up. Abruptly, she threw her arms around Sarak and kissed him hard, right on the mouth, for several seconds. As soon as Sarak overcame his shock, though, and started to put his arms around her, she pulled away. A crowd of people started to gather, and some of them chuckled.
A piercing voice broke the quiet scene. “Cleansed! They must be cleansed before entering the Wise Mother’s
mya, especially after their trip to foreign lands!” A man approached. As she knew from his voice, it was the new, young, and idiotic Shaman. Hopefully the Spirits would send her a new Shaman soon. This one was incredibly irritating.
Khatyako responded, trying to hide her exasperation. “Of course. Perform the cleansing, and then send Sarak inside.” He heard the Shaman take the two to his
mya, and the sound of the Shaman’s tambourine fill the air. Khatyakho took the time to make sure freshly cooked reindeer was available in her
mya; Sarak would undoubtedly be very hungry.
After a few minutes, Sarak and Yurak entered, joined by the trader Mandak. Besides the two of them, a few of the elder women were in attendance, along with two other advisers, the tribal negotiator, and Wayngachi, off in the corner of the tents, listening. Wayngachi’s job was to study people and listen to whispers. It was unusual to have so many men advisers, actually. The only roles woman are barred from are Shaman and, when there is one, War Chief.
She offered Sarak food, which he eagerly consumed. After a few minutes he rose to his feet and spoke. “Wise Mother, it’s time for me to share with you all the stories of my travels.” She nodded. Sarak then looked into the fire, reflections of the fire dancing in his dark eyes. He spoke, forming images with his words.
“The foreign lands are in upheaval. From the time of our last trek, tribes are in very different places than where they used to be, and new tribes have arrived. Nearby to the northwest, as we already knew, the Lamtü, or lowlanders of the true people, have been united under their own High Chieftess, named Kontäw. I met her, and she expressed her desire to live in peace together as neighbors.”
“I traveled south to two areas dominated by the Finns, Romny and Belo-Ozero. They were very fearful of activities going on further to the west, so I headed that way, towards the lands of the Slavs. There, I discovered that a Viking named Rurik had invaded and had become ruler there. While he has kept loyal to the Norse faith, his son Helgi is reported to follow the Slavic faith but still retain Norse customs. I do not expect that nearby Slav leaders will be safe.” The Vikings had been known to them, especially to the lowland tribes that had their shoreline raided by them from time to time.
“I traveled southeast to the Mordvins. They are scattered, and fighting between each other will most likely start soon unless a larger tribe overruns them sooner. I traveled on to the Volga River and to the Altaic peoples. There, too, they seemed to be forming armies. They have mastered combat from atop horses, though, and they look capable of fearsome things.”
“Lastly, I traveled north to the Komi. They greeted us warmly. Interestingly, despite me telling them that I was of the tribe Pebai, their High Chief, a man called Burmort, refered to me as a ‘messenger from the Yaran peoples.’ I’m not sure how this name came to be for us, but he says it’s quite common among Komis that all the tribes of the true people are called in this way.”
“Also, interestingly, it appears that the Finns, Komi and Mordvins still pray to the Spirits in a similar way that we do. Not the same way, and the gods and spirits have different names, but it felt more familiar than any of the other practices I saw in the different lands."
“Wise people from the southern lands say that, in lands even farther to the south, that there are great tribes that have armies the size greater than we have numbers for, and that their ways of praying are especially strange, only having one god. One of these tribes uses a cross for a symbol for their god, and the other one uses the image of the crescent moon as a symbol for their own.”
“In all, Wise Mother, there is great chaos happening around us. I fear for the safety of our people, and that of the other true people.”
Khatyako sighed. So much danger. Even while Sarak was gone, their scouts would find bands of people wandering north, apparently to escape danger to the south. Unfortunately, these people were not used to the natural dangers of the north, and most perished.
The Shaman spoke. “Wise Mother, for eons the gods and spirits have protected our lands. We know how to live here, but others do not. We find their frozen remains all the time. Surely, we are safe in the lands of the true people.”
There was a pregnant pause as people took in the Shaman’s words.
"Yaran." It was just that one word Khatyako spoke. “The Komi have given us this name, because it is the way the world is moving, away from the era of tribes. Instead of just raiding other tribes for valuables or women, tribes are conquering other tribes to rule them.”
“Is this no different than the arrangement we have with the Pyak and Yezyngi, Wise Mother?” This time it was the negotiator, that spoke. “They defer to us and pay tribute because there are more of us and we are able to field more warriors.”
Khatyakho thought on this. “No, this is something more. They pay us tribute, and we leave them alone, but their payment also comes with knowledge that we will fight any other group that comes along. And this just an arrangement of the moment; that could change in an instant. No, I feel these other conquerors do so to create even bigger armies that can conquer even more distant lands. Especially ones that are perceived as weak and unorganized.” A look of concern and urgency crept onto her face.
“We will not be that weaker tribe, one that is ripe for conquest. Our survival – and that of the true people – count on it.” She looked to Sarak. “Husband, I name you War Chief of the Pebai, to…. No. That’s wrong. I name you War Chief of the Yaran people. You will prepare the soldiers of our tribes for war.”
Sarak stood up quickly, the meaty reindeer rib falling out of his hand. “Against who?!”
Khatyako did not respond, and looked to the negotiator. “Send a messenger to Lamtü of the lowlands. Tell her we look forward to an era of peace, as well.” She looked around to the others. “We will march on Lamtü’s warriors and unite all the tribes of the Yaran under our leadership. We will provide a strong, united front to the foreigners. And I will not clue Lamtü in on her lack of foresight and allow her to strengthen her defenses in the meantime.” All in the room sat or stood in place, shocked at the words of the High Chieftess.
"And now leave us, please. I wish to spend some time with my husband."
As the others shuffled out, Sarak slumped back down and uttered to himself the word that had been on his toungue ever since he had visited the Komi. "Yaran." As Khatyako started to tug on his clothes, thoughts of future conflict subsided, at least temporarily.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
