THE
PROPHET QUEEN - Excerpts
“Soul-stalkers…. they prowl about hunting for converts…just like a wolf hunts for meat. They’ll do it with gifts and promises, and if that doesn’t work, they’ll do it by force. During the jihad, the army of the Caliphate put whole villages to the sword,” said Amram the scribe, waving his finger for emphasis. “They captured our Khagan and held a blade to his throat and forced him to accept their faith. But on the way back home he bathed in a stream and washed off the spell they had put on him. They never forgave that. They dream every day of taking our souls back to serve to their mullahs on a platter.”
“Nowadays it’s the Byzantine missionaries who want to ensnare us,” said Rivka. “I heard one of them at the hostelry last week, telling us we would burn in hell, with demons tearing our flesh, if we refused to bow to their icons. That’s like a man saying, ‘if you don’t lie with me, I’ll cut your throat.’”
“My
colleague speaks true.” Brother Peter, a Christian monk, spoke up. A skilled
healer who revered knowledge from every faith, he often accompanied Rivka.
"As rape is the opposite of love, soul-stealing is the opposite of true
conversion."
Leya
chanced to look at Yakob, and noticed the pallor of fear that had come over his
face. “Come on, Yakob, let’s take a walk.”
“Yes,”
Yakob whispered, “to the wine seller. I need a drink!”
As
they left, a dark image pursued Leya in her imagination.
Soul
stalkers.
***
The Dragon reached out and pulled off her helmet, and stared at her in amusement. “Why, you’re just a beardless boy.” He broke into laughter. His laughter sent fresh barbs of terror into Leya’s vitals. “Let’s have a look at you.” He gave an order to his men, who threw her down and roughly removed her chain mail and boots. They pulled her back up and now she stood before the Dragon Lord in a ripped, bloodstained tunic and trousers and bare feet. She held her head high, refusing to flinch when he prodded at her wounds and bruises. In a few seconds the Dragon would order the rest of her clothing removed, and find out the truth…
“They
say you killed quite a few of my men. Is that true? Hm?”
Leya felt great drops of sweat trickle down her face.
“You
should be punished, of course.” said the Rus lord, as he unsheathed his
dagger. Her skin tingled in dread as he ran the tip lightly over her face and
throat, hovering close to her eye. “What part of your body would you like to
give me for a trophy?"
***
"We call this the Father Confessor,"
said Nicholas the Flail, with a slight twitch of his lips. "It has a way
of...rooting out the sin within you. When we’re done, you'll thank us for
saving your soul from eternal hellfire."
At
the sight of the hulking instrument of death, a fresh wave of paralysis swept
over Leya.
"Bring the daughter of Satan,"
Nicholas commanded, and his eyes burned with such satisfaction that Leya knew
this was what he had wanted all along.
"For the last time: Leya of Khazaria, will
you submit to baptism and join the True Faith? Or would you prefer to lie upon
that instrument of confession until your error is pressed out of you like the
juice from a grape?"
Her terror reached a crescendo and her insides
turned liquid; she was sure she had wet herself. She passed beyond terror into a pure, white space. Out of its
center, an apparition shone forth: the form of her Protector, the glowing
Presence.
The
Bishop slapped her with his ring-covered hand. "Answer me, filth!"
The slap loosened her tongue. "Sikhmekh
koyun!" she spat out.
The
Flail turned to Father Maxim. "You're learned in barbarian tongues. What
did she say?"
Father Maxim cleared his throat. "Um... excuse my impertinence, Eminence, she, uh, suggested that you have carnal relations with a sheep."
***
“David
ben Yehuda sher Ashina, will you undergo the ordeal, and accept the mantle which
is being offered to you? Are you ready to become Khan of Khans, Sky-born
Emperor, High Khagan of Khazaria?"
David nodded. "Yes, Tabib… lords of the kuriltai… I am ready."
He sank to his knees. One hand went to the mezuzah he wore, and his lips moved in a Hebrew prayer. Meanwhile Tabib Morut unwrapped another cord, similar to the one which had been used to execute the previous Khagan. The Tabib and the Kender approached and David looked out over the multitude as if seeking help. His eyes found Leya and fixed upon her. He planted the base of the royal standard on the ground and held it up with both hands, while they looped the cord around his neck just as they had done to his father. A momentary flicker of fear crossed his face, quickly replaced by the mask of serenity which was the face of the Sky-born Emperor.
After the men had tightened the cord three times around the new Khagan’s neck, Tabib Morut used a wooden stick to tighten it still further. Only David's hands, tightly gripping the royal standard, betrayed his struggle against the overwhelming urge to free himself of the noose.. Now the multitude stirred; a low moan of sympathy rising from their throats.
Prince David’s face began to turn purple as the cord cut off his breath. Now in a tremendously loud voice Tabib Morut shouted a question in his face. “David ben Yehudah! How long do you intend to rule over us?”
David’s
face twitched; his body spasmed with the torment of slow strangulation.
"Un--until--". His hands clutched the standard as if that were all
that held him upright .
The
White Shaman leaned closer, his face hard as granite as he took the measure of
his royal victim.
And
then Leya saw Kender Ziebel unsheathe his dagger and move closer. By
Kvara! They mean to kill him! She
tensed in readiness, determined to leap up and prevent them.
Tabib
Morut shouted into David’s ear. "For the final time, my lord: how long do
you intend to rule?"
"Till the… …till the invaders…” David forced the words out. "…are thrown from our land! aagggghhhh…” his last phrase, surprisingly strong, ended in a choking gurgle and he collapsed across the stones.
***
“We
both know my time has come. Leya….” grandmother coughed, struggling to say
the words. “Leya…get… my medicine bag.”
Leya
put her grandmother on the ground and fumbled with frozen fingers, trying to
loosen the strings of the bag which never left her grandmother’s belt. Others
passed by, looking like dim shapes amid the swirling blizzard. “Is there some
medicine in here for you?”
“No…not
for me. It’s yours now, chochuk.
Healing herbs…spirit brew…spellcasting stones.”
“But
grandmother, the Rabbis say that Jews are not to cast spells, but only to depend
on prayer—“
Grandmother coughed. “Prayer is a spell, isn’t it? Now come, kyz,”
she pulled Leya closer, and whispered in her ear. “You’ve traveled the Sky
Road. You passed beyond the gates… where few return. Haven’t you learned the
truth?”
“Which truth,
Grandmother?”
“Truth…behind
the masks.”
Leya thought
of the mask, which the Tabib had worn, at the celebrations by the Tree. “What
do you mean? I can’t understand your riddles, baba-hanne.”
“The
faiths,” qam Almalik whispered. “Names of God. Vestments… temples…symbols. The foolish are blinded by these coverings
and they go to war against each other. But the truth…there is one great
Spirit…a glory that fills every living thing.”
Leya lovingly
smoothed her grandmother’s hair back. “Yes, baba-hanne,
I know.”
“So…should it matter, which masks your comrades wear? ‘Jews
do this, heathens do that.’ Look beyond the masks and rules, and just d-do
what needs to be done. “
***
They came riding up the hill in
a great clatter of horses and shouts. The long pursuit had sharpened their anger
and blood lust. She knew there would be no quarter from them. She stared them
down: a horde of shouting, coarse men, their faces grimy and their eyes glowing
with an unholy excitement, shouting war cries in a babble of foreign tongues. At
their head rode the Dragon Lord Sviatoslav, Prince of Kiev. He sat tallest of
all, teeth bared in a grinning snarl, his eyes on fire with the joy of conquest.
For one moment, absolute terror
swallowed her. What madness had possessed her? Once more she stood alone facing
the enemy who had killed her family and thousands of her countrymen. He ripped
apart cities like one devours a haunch of lamb: the mighty Dragon!
Her courage dissolved. She
would have turned and run--but terror froze her in place.
Sviatoslav stood in his
stirrups, piercing the air with his sword. He shouted a battle cry, and because
she had troubled to learn the Rus language, she understood every word.
"Death to the Khazars!
Bring me the head of King David!"
These words were the only ones that could have revived her courage: the courage of a woman protecting her loved ones. It was she alone who stood between the Dragon and her David, lying helpless on his pallet. The fear melted into calm determination. She picked up a handful of dirt and rubbed it onto her face to emphasize her scars. Unarmed but for a dagger in her boot, she stood in the enemy’s path with her hands on her hips, the sun glinting off her golden headdress: the arrogant, deathless queen. Gathering the spirit power about herself, she donned the glamour of the fearsome ghost warrior Ishi Galdun: she who had risen from the burial mound to defend her people once more.
***
“I don’t want to wait for a
wedding, because we could both be killed tomorrow.”
And Leya did not wait any
longer. She bent and pressed her lips to his; buried her fingers in his
luxuriant hair. She reveled in his scent, the texture of his skin, the glowing
gold hairs on his arms. All of the feelings that she had concealed rose to the
surface: a fire hotter than a grass fire that sweeps over the fields.
“Oh, David. I prayed for you
every night. I lived in terror that something would happen…”
His arms went around her and
pulled her down to him. Her words were muffled against his chest.
“Shh…don’t speak of it.” He stroked her hair. “We’ll never be parted
again.” He rocked her in a fierce embrace and she wrapped herself around him,
like a vine around a tree trunk.
Insects chirped in the grass,
sweet as a hidden saz player in the
royal bedchamber. Slowly, she pulled the drawstring of his trousers. She rolled
up the fabric of his shirt and slid her hands along his body, reveling in his
magnificence of smooth bronze skin and finely sculpted muscles.
“Her perfume is more fragrant than any spice,” David quoted as he
unlaced the fastenings of her tunic.. His
eyes shone with adoration as he beheld her, never once flinching at her scars.
His fingers unlaced the drawstring of her trousers and slid the fabric over her
hips, tracing her curves and exploring her recesses. “Her bowl overflows with honey…”
The touch woke long-dormant
sensations and she arched backward, gasping in unbearable delight.
“David, my Arslan, my golden
lion.” The sweet fire consumed her: the hunger to be touched, to taste him, to
open to him. She pressed herself
against him, trying to touch all of him at once, for she had to have him now,
before the enemy took him from her.
***
“Greetings
to the Khagan and the Khatun,” Tabib Morut dropped to his knees and touched
his forehead to the earth, in traditional homage to the King and Queen.
“ I foresaw a long time ago that this would be the place of the final
battle. This is where we’ll hold
off the multitudes of the enemy just as in the days of yore.”
“Tabib,”
said King David. “Is it sorcery you're planning?"
The
White Shaman met his king’s eyes without flinching. "You know what I
speak of. You have been to the Sky Path, my Lord. Haven’t you?"
David’s
eyes flashed. “Respected Tabib, you know that the sacred Torah forbids us to
have dealings with unclean spirits. The Gaonim in Babylon have decreed a cherem—
excommunication—on practitioners of the dark arts.”
Tabib Morut exhaled sharply. “If I might ask, my lord Khagan, where are these Gaonim now and what are they doing to help their brethren in Khazaria? Now, my lord Khagan, I beg you to put aside your fears, and stand with us.”
Khagan
David looked from the Tabib to his beloved. “Leya? You’re going to go
through with this?”
Leya
reached for his hand. “It’s what I was born to do, sevgilim. I
walked on the Sky Path, and learned that the One Great Tengri is beyond the
faiths that men create.”
Now the Tabib approached Leya’s women companions, his staff in both hands. “My brave lionesses, are you ready to stand with your Khatun? Are you ready to drink of the spirit brew, chant with us, and raise up the power?”
Abishag looked terrified. “The…the house of King Joseph would have no part of heathen ways. But… if my Lord the Khagan approves…then I guess God is with us.”
The old shaman nodded. “Good. Then follow me.” He turned and walked the spiral path, all the way to its central mound: the Kurgan of the priestess Ishi Galdun. He led them to the top, where a fire burned within a circle of white stones.
“Stand in the circle,” he instructed Chichak, Dina, Abishag and Latifa. He then removed several objects from a wrapped blanket and began to arrange them about the group.
“With these magical objects I form a circle of
protection and power,” he intoned, placing them one by one. “A stone from
the sacred mountain of Kara-kaia, birthplace of the Turkic people. A yat stone to draw the lightning.
A mirror, which is a path to the spirits’ world. It attracts the
beneficial, repels the evil. Red ochre: blood of Mother Earth.” Slowly he
sifted the red powder around the circle.
Tabib Morut now picked up a hoop drum painted with tamga symbols, and began to strike it with a stick. “Now: join hands and chant with me!”
“O Ancestors,
grant us your strength! Let White Bird carry us! Let Blue Wolf run with us! Let
Green Tree grow within us!”
Tabib
Morut stepped forth, holding the yat
stone. “O spirits that dwell under the earth,” his chant rolled ominously
thru the air. “O Kvara of the Thunders. Spirit of Winds, come and aid
us…fog, rise to protect us.”
Thick-bearded Rurik, the Rus commander, raised a powerful arm and pointed at the defenders. His archers began to loose arrows up into the sky to rain down upon the Khazar forces in front of him.
Tabib Morut’s yat stone flashed. A strong gust of wind rose from the valley floor, to stop the flight of the arrows—and turn a few of them back.
The enemy advance slowed. The
Pecheneg recruits stirred uneasily. A few rubbed at their eyes.
“Go on, lads! Attack! What are you waiting for? There’s no one there but an old man and a couple of women!”
“It…it could be a trap. I don’t like the looks of them.”
They stared at King David, who had taken up a position beside Leya, holding up his blade in both hands like some implacable god of thunder. “I will magnify and praise my Creator,” the Khagan sang in Hebrew.
Leya’s friends stood in a
circle, keeping up their monotonous chant.
Power of Ancestors, to you we call!
“Awake,
O ancient warriors,” she cried in a tremendous voice. “Khan Asprukh of the
Huns--Blood Drinker!” With every word the apparitions took on greater
solidity. “Alper Kaplan, heroic Panther!
Khan Ilterish, hero of the Darial Pass! You who held back Marwan and
blunted the sword of the jihad! I call you now! Arise! “ Her
voice, pulling up supernatural power, sounded shrill and terrifying in the ears
of every listener. “Arise by Sky
Father Tengri and gather your hosts--your ten thousand Khazar horsemen –to
destroy the filthy invader from Kiev! Awake!”
Out of the curls of smoke and
fog, out of the mists that rose from the steppes, a great spirit army seemed to
take shape: a shadowy multitude, an indistinct mass of manes, legs, the flutter
of standards, flashes of steel amid the murk.. The shadowy outlines of the
Priestess took shape atop the mound. Ishi
Galdun, warrior queen, clad in shining plates of armor, her tall headdress sends
forth sparks of light. She holds in one hand a sword as tall as herself, a spear
of lightning. In her other hand is the khoumiss beater, sacred to the Horse
Goddess. A trick of the air…a
vision conjured up on the Sky Path … a true ancestral spirit risen from her
long sleep to defend her land.
And so the Ancestors enjoyed one last celebration. After centuries of silence, the ghost warriors of the Kurgan exulted in the clash of swords, the twang of bowstrings, the thud of horses’ hoofs. And for one last time, they feasted on the blood of their enemies.
