Memphis, Egypt, Roman Province

Before him was utter and complete darkness. In this land of mysterious ruins and forgotten kings, the blackness seemed to transport him to primordial times. He shuddered as he realized that the bright Egyptian sun had never lit these walls. No man had walked here for hundreds of years.

Spyro glanced back over his shoulder. The entrance faded out of view. He could just about distinguish the silhouettes of four large Roman legionnaires leaning leisurely on their spears. They had accompanied him all the way from Alexandria. But they showed no inclination to follow him into the dark corridor

“Eh... Diokles,” he said trotting hastily forward to keep up with his companion’s long strides. He almost stumbled over his long robes. “Why aren’t the soldiers coming with us?”

Diokles walked on, unperturbed. He held his bright torch high beside him. With his weathered face, wild red beard and piercing eyes, he looked like a demon. “I suppose they are afraid,” said the scholar.

“But…” stammered Spyro, “they are veterans, from Pannonia. The toughest men in the Empire.”

“They are cowards!” scoffed Diokles, “Afraid of the dark and the mysterious.”

A shiver went over his spine. Spyro nervously scratched his graying beard. With clattering teeth, he asked, “shouldn’t we be afraid too… perhaps just a little?”

Diokles halted and turned, looking his companion straight in the eyes. “We are ‘learned men’, we are not afraid of the dark.”

Learned men perhaps, thought Spyro but not adventurers. He felt very vulnerable. His legs trembled and he could barely keep from falling. “If it is just about the dark, why do you wear your armor and do you carry a shield?”

Spyro did not wear any armor himself, the breastplate that he had once owned as a young man did not fit his middle-aged belly and he had never bothered to have it adjusted. He had never needed to.

Diokles looked at his shield as if he noticed it for the first time. “Oh, do not worry, just a precaution,” he said casually, “you never know.” He strode deeper into the cave.

“Never know what?” said Spyro now standing still with his hands on his hips, “what do you expect to find there anyway.”

“You would call me a fool if I told you,” shouted Diokles already a dozen paces deeper in the cave. The echo reverberated spookily in the corridor. “But it will surpass your wildest dreams.”

“There is nothing here! We are hundreds of miles away from the Valley of the Kings. There are no dead Pharaoh’s!”

“I told you, that you wouldn’t believe me. So there is nothing to worry about.”

“Now wait a minute,” shouted Spyro agitated and running again, “So either you are wrong and we have traveled two hundred miles for naught, or you are right and we will need weapons to fight a demon so foul that I cannot imagine it?”

“That sounds about right… although I would say that a dragon is more likely than a demon.”

“Son of a Hydra,” cursed Spyro under his breath, “I will not follow this fool!”

He crossed his arms and planted his feet firmly on the ground.

Diokles ignored him and walked on. The torch was rapidly fading out of view. Behind Spyro, the entrance was a tiny speck of light.

Spyro shook his head and hastily ran forward, “wait for me then!”

“Why did you want me to come anyway?” Spyro asked breathlessly when he caught up with his friend, “you know I don’t like adventures; especially not if they are mysterious.”

“Three reasons,” said Diokles without slowing for an instant. “First, you are my friend.”

“Friendship is overrated,” snorted Spyro.

“Second, nobody will believe me if I am right about what we will find here, but there is a tiny chance that they will actually believe you.”

“You are right about that,” said Spyro.

“And third, as the second brightest scholar of Alexandria and by extension the whole known world, you might actually be able to help me accomplish my goal.”

“Second brightest, second brightest,” scoffed Spyro, “who do you think you are…”

His rant was interrupted when he stumbled over a large stone. Part of the corridor had collapsed and they had to crawl over boulders and rocks.

Spyro kept falling behind. He got up again after tripping over a large boulder, tearing his white robes. How come Diokles moves so effortlessly and his torch is always so bright? I am not made for this. I really wish this tunnel would end.

The corridor stopped abruptly. Before them was a solid sandstone wall, covered in ancient writing, “Ah, here we are,” said Diokles cheerfully, “a first obstacle.”

Spyro wished the corridor had not ended after all but his friend pulled him forward.

“It is a bit archaic,” said Spyro and he peered over the small writing carved in the solid stone, “a couple of centuries old, but I can read it.”

“Is it Greek, not Egyptian?” asked Diokles. He sounded surprised or delighted, Spyro could not tell.

“I told you, there are no ancient pharaoh’s here. You saw the entrance; it looked more like a barbaric burial mound than a Pyramid.”

“Go on, read it,” said Diokles impatiently, “we don’t have all day.”

Spyro returned his attention to the writing. His face broke into a smile. “It is a riddle,” he said.

He scraped his throat and read. “Every day at noon, a silk merchant leaves from Tyre to travel to Alexandria. He needs exactly seven days to complete the trip. Every day at noon a wine trader leaves from Alexandria to Tyre along the same route and needs exactly seven days to complete the trip. How many wine merchants does the silk merchant pass before arriving in Alexandria?”

“That is easy,” said Diokles, “the answer is seven of course. So what do we do?”

“Eh…” Spyro hesitated.

Diokles lowered the torch. “Look, down there,” he said, “there are stones with numbers. We just have to press the stone with the right number... ” He moved his hand forward and felt for the stone with number seven.

“Wait!” hissed Spyro grabbing the arm of his companion, “It can’t be that easy. There must be more to the riddle.”

Diokles pulled his arm back. “So, what is the answer?”

Spyro played with his gray beard and frowned while he pondered the riddle. His body was motionless like a statue. Diokles paced up and down, now and then stopping to look at his friend with an eager look. But Spyro kept staring at the riddle and frowning.

“I know,” shouted Diokles suddenly, “of course, how stupid. They pass through the province of Arabia. Those lands are filled with robbers and thieves. There is no way a trader can make it through alive. The answer is two… or three or perhaps even none.”

“Come on. That is not how riddles work,” objected Spyro. “The riddle should contain all the information. It clearly said they all take seven days, robbers or not. You cannot make assumptions based on external knowledge. Besides, we do not know when the riddle was written down. Perhaps Arabia was a safe place back then.”

“You are right,” replied Diokles, “if anything, it was probably safer in the old days. Now, it is not only thieves and robbers you have to worry about. You have to watch out for Roman tax collectors, avoid corrupt officials and evade angry patrols. It is a small wonder there still is any trade.”

“Aren’t you exaggerating just a little? Trade is good. We have never been more prosperous.”

“We,” sneered Diokles, “We? Who is ‘we’? Not the poor in the slums of which there are ever more, not the slaves, not even the soldiers – they can barely defend the border. Not even the barbarians. Ever more wealth is kept in ever fewer hands.”

“You almost sound like a Christian,” laughed Spyro.

“I know you mock them,” said Diokles, “and I am not a Christian, but they at least understand the plight of the masses.”

“Of course!” shouted Spyro sounding very excited.

“What? You agree with me for once?”

“About the Christians? Of course not, they are a bunch of religious fanatics. What sensible man believes in a single god. No, I have found the answer to the riddle! There are thirteen merchants, a most un-Christian solution,” he chuckled. “Six merchants that were already on their way before the silk merchant leaves - and seven more that leave Alexandria when the silk merchant is on its way.”

“Good work,” said Diokles, “I knew you were not completely hopeless. Without further delay he pushed the stone with the number thirteen.

The stone did not budge.

“Push harder!”

Diokles kicked with all his strength.

The stone moved an inch.

“Again!”

He kicked once more and the stone shot through the wall.

A strange rattling noise resounded from below. A loud thump followed. The entire room shook up and down. It was followed by a low, rumbling sound.

Spyro took a few steps back, grabbing the wall for balance.

“Look,” said Diokles, “the wall is moving.”

Slowly, inch by inch an opening appeared in the thick sandstone wall.

Diokles stared at it, his eyes wide with amazement. “Oh, this is ,” he said grinning broadly, “the work of a powerful sorcerer or … an immortal. It means I am right about what we will find here.”

Spyro shook his head. “Never heard of levers and counterweights?” he said dryly, “this is an old technique.”

Behind the new opening, a steep staircase dropped down in the dark. A dry, arid smell rose from below. The scholars exchanged anxious glances.

Diokles took the lead going down, holding his torch high. After a dozen steps, the stairs made a complete turn and they passed underneath the moving wall and the chamber where they had been earlier. They saw a three inch thick iron chain that was attached to the moving wall on one end and to a massive boulder on the other end.

“All right, I admit, no magic,” said Diokles, “now wipe that smug expression off your face.”

“I might become an adventurer after all,” said Spyro gaily and he started to whistle a tune.

A few steps later, he stopped whistling and pointed ahead of him, “w... what is that?”

Beside the stairs, just below the riddle room, was a field of spears. Their tips pointed upwards and gleamed spookily in the torchlight. Skulls and bones were scattered along the floor.

“I suppose that happens to you if you guessed seven,” said Diokles dryly.

Spyro lurched down, retching uncontrollably.

“Come on adventurer, no turning back now.”

“Give me a minute,” said Spyro panting.

“Move on,” said Diokles and strode forward, “no time to waste.”

Spyro looked at his friend in confusion. “This tomb is hundreds of years old,” he said, “the corpse is not going to run away.”

But Diokles did not listen. He already turned the next corner and Spyro had to hurry to keep inside the range of the torch.

A little later they passed underneath a small arch and entered a narrow room. It was blocked by a solid brick wall. Five iron turning knobs were attached to the wall.

“Try to solve that one,” said Diokles.

“Look, there are markings on the knobs,” said Spyro proceeding carefully, “here is a knob with animal pictograms; a dolphin, a lion. Oh and this knob has pictures of gods.” He looked at Diokles and smiled mischievously, “real gods.”

His hands delicately touched the next handle. “This one has with five weapons, spear, sword, bow… That one has five types of food and the last one lyre, flute - five musical instruments.”

“Another riddle?”

“Yea. We just have to turn them in the right way and somewhere behind the wall, everything will align. A latch will be pushed through by a spring and the door will open.”

“Or the roof will fall down,” laughed Diokles.

Ignoring him Spyro continued. “Look, here is Apollo. He uses a bow, he has a lyre and his animal is a dolphin. Let me just turn these knobs the right way.”

No sooner had he turned the first knob, or a terrible noise erupted from behind. A heavy portcullis dropped down, blocking the passage through which they entered.

Diokles tried to lift the iron gate but it did not budge an inch. “You better solve the riddle, or we are stuck.”

“No problem, now for the lyre.”

When he turned the second knob, he heard something drop beyond the wall.

Just like in the riddle room, they heard a loud rattling noise, then a massive boom that shook the entire room followed by a low rumbling sound as the walls started to move.

“You see, easy,” said Spyro looking proudly at his friend.

“Spyro!” shouted Diokles, “we are not done. Look around you. The walls are moving towards us. You better hurry and solve that puzzle!”

“Oh no,” stammered Spyro. He turned the other knobs. “It should open now,” he said when he turned the fifth knob in the right position.

“It is not stopping,” remarked Diokles, “we are doing something wrong.”

“I see,” said Spyro scratching his beard, “Apollo is aligned correctly but now Athena and Zeus are off!”

“I told you one god is better,” moaned Diokles.

Spyro turned the knobs again. But each time he managed to align one series correctly, the others were misaligned. It was hopeless. He frowned at the knobs.

“Hurry, we will be crushed,” urged Diokles, “this is not helping.”

Spyro went back and turned the knobs frantically. He tried every combination but nothing happened.

“Spyro, we will die!” shouted Diokles while he tried to push back the walls with all his might, “the force is too strong.”

“I am doing my best, do you know how many combinations there are?”

“I don’t care,” snarled Diokles, “do something before we are squished.”

“This thing is like the Gordian knot,” cursed Spyro and he slammed the knobs in frustration, “there is no solution. We are doomed!”

The walls kept moving ever closer. They were now barely two feet apart.

“A Gordian knot!” shouted Diokles, “of course! That’s it. Move out of the way!”

Spyro moved with his back against the wall. “What are you doing?” he asked confusedly.

Diokles ran all the way back to the iron gate. Then he turned around and sprinted forward.

“Watch out! You will hurt yourself.”

Diokles ran as fast as he could and rammed his shoulders into the brick wall.

There was a loud crack followed by the noise of falling stones.

When the dust settled, the wall was breached with a hole large enough to crawl through.

“That is how you deal with a Gordian knot,” said Diokles brushing off the dust from his clothes, “brute force.”

Spyro stared at his friend in amazement. Then he quickly crawled through the crack, before the walls collided into each other.

“So, now do you believe we will find something amazing here?” said Diokles when Spyro emerged from the other side of the hole into another dark corridor.

Spyro turned around and saw that the shifting walls were opening again. Good, he thought, we are not trapped.  “I will believe what I see,” he responded matter-of-factly.

“Like when I showed you the claws of that monster that I purchased from the fur trader,” snapped Diokles as he walked deeper into the dark corridor, “it takes a lot of seeing for you to believe anything.”

“That was from a wolf, or a bear,” scoffed Spyro, “not a monster.”

Diokles sighed. “Do you want to start again? I have cataloged all large mammals in the known world and I have never come across any wolf or bear with that size of claws. It must be a monster. Even in the frozen forests north of the wild mountains, nobody has seen a wolf with such claws,” he continued as he strode deeper into the corridor.

“How can you know for sure if you have not even been there?”

“Listen to yourself. To prove the existence of a real monster; I have to disprove the existence of giant wolves but the only proof you accept is evidence of a thing that does not exist. This is not logic, my friend.”

The corridor ended abruptly a little further. A large iron-reinforced door blocked the passage.

“Oh, you want to argue logic with me,” replied Spyro, “that will be fun.”

Diokles halted in before the door. Its surface was smooth and solid but there was a small handle to open it. Diokles stretched his hand towards the handle.

“STOP!” shouted Spyro, “stop, by the club of Herakles.”

Diokles quickly pulled back his hand as if the handle had been on fire.

“Use your head! Remember what happened last time. Let’s be careful.”

“Good idea,” replied Diokles unperturbed. He took his shield and sword.

“Eh, what about me,” asked Spyro.

“Just move out of the way,” said Diokles.

After Spyro had crouched shivering into a corner, Diokles approached the door. Hiding behind his shield he slowly reached out with his sword. He gently touched the handle, and then pushed it down.

They heard a ‘click’ and a latch opened somewhere. From all sides, small darts whizzed by. Diokles heard two ‘plocks’ when darts bored into his wicker shield. A third arrow brushed through his hair. Another crashed into the wall, close to Spyro, a fragment hitting his cheek.

He sank down, his heart throbbing in his throat. What am I doing here? I don’t like adventures.  

“You see,” said Diokles merrily, “these are just tiny darts, not dangerous at all.”

Spyro stood up. He brushed the dust from his robes and looked at Diokles furiously, “they could have been poisonous for all we know.”

“I don’t think poison works after five hundred years.”

“Five hundred years, how do you even know?”

“Oh, it is just a guess,” said Diokles who had already opened the massive door and was looking beyond it.

Spyro stood there, frozen, his mind working out the implications. Five hundred years ago, who ruled Egypt? Then he shouted out to Diokles who had already passed into the next room. “You think this is the tomb of…”

“Shhh,” interrupted Diokles, “don’t shout, show some respect for the dead.”

“You could have told me earlier.”

“You would never have believed me.”

“You bet,” shouted Spyro as he walked on passing through the door, “not in a thousand years I would have believed you. This is the most outrageous thing I have heard. The tomb of …”

Spyro fell silent when he entered a large hall. An enormous marble sarcophagus stood in its center. Elaborate mosaics lined the walls depicting scenes of battle, hunting and ceremony – each more beautiful than the next. Horses, lions and even elephants were beautifully depicted. There were hundreds of small figures in vivid detail.

One figure came back on almost every mosaic, a dashing young commander, with blond hair on a large horse.

No, I don’t believe this, thought Spyro.

“Behold,” proclaimed Diokles solemnly, “the tomb of Alexander of Macedon, conqueror of the known world, son of Zeus.”

“Alexander the Great!” whistled Spyro. “You mean this is his original tomb, before they moved his body? I thought it was destroyed by the Ptolemys.”

“Not destroyed. Hidden from view and erased from all records. He could not destroy it outright and risk the wrath of Zeus. I have searched years to find it.”

“But why would the Ptolemys go to such lengths to hide it? I mean, nobody in Egypt disputed that they were the lawful successors, Alexander had no heir, I mean, at least not after they were all killed.”

Diokles looked at his friend intently. “That, my friend is a very good question. I hope the answer lies buried down here.” 

For an hour Spyro inspected the mosaics. He ran from wall to wall, uncovering exciting details about historic battles and foreign cultures.

“Look at these catapults,” he whispered as he looked over the mosaic of the siege of Tyre, “even the Romans don’t make them like that anymore.”

Another mosaic showed Alexander accepting tribute from the conquered peoples in Persia, “they offer him earth and water.”

“Spyro, come here, you have to see this!”

There was something in his voice, some childlike enthusiasm. Spyro broke off from his own discoveries and walked over.

Diokles pointed a gleaming spear at a large mosaic.

“Put that spear away, we are not grave robbers.”

“Strictly speaking, since Alexander’s body is not actually here, we are not robbing a grave. So, forget about the spear, look at that,” he said, “what do you make of it?”

Spyro inspected the scene closely, “too bad this one is so damaged.”

“Come on,” said Diokles impatiently, “look closely.”

“I see lots of horsemen with bows, Scythians from the steppes no doubt. It could be depicting the battle of the Jaxartes River. A brilliant tactical victory of Alexander over these savages, I must say. How he sacrificed his vanguard to obtain a superior position was truly inspired.”

“We are not discussing strategy here. Look closer, do you see anything notable?”

Spyro let his fingers glide over the mosaics. He studied the figures one by one.

“Some of the Scythian warriors and even commanders are women,” he said, “How repulsive, this is really barbaric! But that is hardly surprising for Scythians.”

“Come on, that is not what I mean. Look again, where are these Scythian warriors looking at?”

“Of course!” said Spyro feeling stupid. It had been staring in his face all this time, “they are looking right, away from the Macedonians.”

“Yes, they are fighting with Alexander, against a common foe; this is not the battle of the Jaxartes at all!”

Spyro looked to the right where the mosaic had been most badly damaged, only the stone behind could be seen, “too bad that we will never know who they were fighting.”

“That is where you are wrong!” said Diokles triumphantly pointing at the mosaic “look here, carefully.”

Spyro peered intently at the figure of a Macedonian hoplite trusting his long harissa downward into a defeated enemy. But the enemy had been carefully erased, the stones peeled off one by one. Only a hand, desperately grasping the Macedonian’s leg was still visible. For some, reason it had been omitted or forgotten.

It was a hand with five long claws.

Spyro was stunned. It looked similar to the wolf claw that his friend had purchased once from that mysterious trader. “This can’t be.”

Diokles gazed at him. “What do you make of this,” he asked eagerly.

Spyro started to shake, first his head, then his whole body. He laughed loudly, “I must say, these sculptors had a lot of imagination.”

Diokles looked furiously at his friend. “What about this?” he said pointing at another part of the scene where several Macedonian hoplites were engulfed in a rain of fire.

“What about it? Every barbarian knows how to make fire.”

Diokles’ rolled his eyes. “Come on, use your head! Fire does not rain down in heavy bolts.”

“I don’t see any bolts. You have too much imagination.”

Diokles looked around frantically, searching for more clues.

“Calm down,” said Spyro, “let’s investigate all of these carefully, nobody will disturb us down here.”

In the distance, a distant clunk echoed through the corridor. The faint noises of metal shod footsteps could be heard.

“The soldiers are coming,” said Diokles, “we have to hurry.”

“I thought you had a deal with the governor.”

“Yes,” replied Diokles already moving to another scene, “the deal was that I would locate the tomb and then call him immediately, without taking as much as a peek inside.”

“What?” hissed Spyro, “Are you joking? Double-crossing a Roman governor is not exactly good for your health.”

Diokles frantically searched on, his torch waving up and down, “please help me, I know there is more. We still have time.”

The sound of footsteps came closer. Reluctantly Spyro investigated another mosaic.

What more does he expect to find? For a few short moments, he looked over the mosaics.

“Diokles! I think you should come and see this,” shouted Spyro.

Diokles ran over quickly and looked at a mosaic depicting a large fortress against a backdrop of white capped mountains. A fire burned high on one of the peaks. Two figures stood on the ramparts of the fortress.

“That woman,” said Diokles following his friend’s finger, “she is the Scythian commander; she looks the same as on the other picture.”

“Almost the same,” said Spyro, “look closer.”

Diokles raised his eyebrows in surprise, “she is with child. That is interesting.”

“Unfortunately they erased the figure next to her. We will never know who her companion is, perhaps the father of the child she carries.”

The footsteps sounded very close. Someone was fumbling with the handle.

The scholars ran towards the door of the tomb and arrived just as it swung open. Four burly guards entered and immediately surrounded them.

A man in white toga strode into the room.

“This is not the governor of Egypt,” whispered Spyro

“I never said ‘the’ governor,” whispered Diokles back, “I said a governor.” He was still holding the silver spear.

The man stood still before the pair.

“Forgive us lord,” said Diokles, “we have just gone in to confirm that this is really what we are looking for.”

The governor’s ice-cold eyes glanced over the scholars. “I will have this,” he said through pursed lips.

Diokles meekly handed him the silver spear. Then he fell on his knees, “Your grace Septimus Severus[1], governor of Pannonia, I am deeply honored to present you the original tomb of Alexander of Macedon.”

Spyro followed his friend and bowed down.

“Good work. I will remember the two of you. You will be rewarded with gold.”

“At your service,” said Diokles slowly getting up.

“But,” he continued with a voice of steel, “this discovery is to remain an absolute secret and you will leave now. My men will escort you out.”

The companions blinked when they emerged from the tunnel into the bright daylight.

“That was quite a discovery,” said Spyro, “what do we do now?”

Diokles did not reply immediately. He looked ahead dreamily. 

“This was not a coincidence,” he said after a while, “this discovery is not a coincidence.”

“Of course not, you searched for years.”

“No, listen to me,” said Diokles taking hold of Spyro and looking him straight in the eyes, “it is almost exactly five centuries after Alexander’s conquests brought peace and enlightenment to the known world, and now, just as everything around us is about to collapse, we discover the truth about his last battle against the forces of chaos.”

“I am sorry but that is nonsense. What forces of chaos? What collapse? The world has never been more stable. One can travel from Britannia to the lands of jade and silk and only pass through the domain of four emperors.”

“Stability is an illusion. Pantha rei, everything flows.”

“Quoting from your favorite Persian philosopher?”

“I am serious. Trouble is brewing. Even the empire is vulnerable. The senate is a mockery. We are only one bad emperor away from a complete collapse.”

“You underestimate the Romans. They always emerge stronger from every crisis.”

“I am afraid it will be different this time. We have been ravaged by disease. We can barely keep the barbarians out and we have no idea what lies beyond the barbarian lands. The Parthians will not come to our aid. They are even weaker.” 

Spyro sighed. “What are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think the answer can be found here. I will try to find that fortress in the mountains on the last mosaic. Perhaps I can find some answers there.”

“Don’t do it. Nobody will help you,” said Spyro, “they will not even believe you. These mosaics… what is left of it, Severus will never share it with anyone. He will use Alexander’s legacy for his own ends. All you have is your memory and a few coins of gold as our reward.” 

“A few coins of gold, and … this,” said Diokles and he produced a small amulet from under his robes, “I found it in the sarcophagus.”

Spyro’s eyes widened. The silvery surface of the amulet reflected the light of the sun and shone in all the colors of the rainbow, brighter than the brightest gem Spyro had ever seen.

The Clan With

Northern Steppes c.a. 200 AD

It was one of my earliest and most terrible memories. All the clan’s children followed Irina, the wife of the clan leader. Trailing at the very end of the line of children was I, Kiara, the southern girl - I can't recall my real parents, so I'm either an orphan or a slave - yet, Shereen, the clan witch, chose me as her apprentice for a reason I cannot fathom.

To this day, I remain an outsider, which is evident at first glance, and it was even more evident on that fateful day. All the clan children had fair faces and golden hair, whereas my skin had the color of mud, and my long hair was as black as night. Sometimes, I wish I could just vanish. Other times I hoped, almost expected that everything would eventually fall into place. Despite being a slave, the others didn't overly mind my company. The children enjoyed my friendship, while the adults appreciated my helpfulness, never needing to explain a task more than once. The boys eventually noticed me as I got older, even Tao, the clan leader's third son, with his bright, friendly eyes and generous laugh.

Not that day though as I hopped along with the small children in my tattered dress. They drank the sweet milk so eagerly much that it spilled onto their rabbit fur jackets. Even Irina's stern face softened momentarily, clearly enjoying the children's delight.

As the procession moved on, she lifted the kettle and proceeded to the next yurt. Then it was finally Shereen's turn. Her little witch's tent stood at the camp's edge, but she was a pillar of the clan. She kept people and animals healthy, had an herbal remedy for every ailment, and protected the clan from demons.

My heart skipped a beat as the unthinkable happened. Irina skipped Shereen's yurt and headed back towards the watchtower. I knew what it meant, the essence of the clan was sharing food, milk, and hunting spoils and if you’re not a recipient, you’re not of the clan. Shereen was banished on the eve of the seasonal migration.

I ran to the yurt but dared not enter. What could I say? How could I console my mentor and stepmother? Yet the soft growl of Noush, the tame wolf, urged me to go inside.

Shereen seemed to have accepted her fate. "There's no use resisting," she warned me calmly, "these are our ancient customs. I'm too old and will slow down the clan on the long journey to the winter camp."

"But you're our witch," I cried out desperately, "we need you more than ever."

"The clan has a new witch," she answered calmly, staring intently at me. "Yes, you. You think you're not ready, but I've taught you everything I know. The rest you'll just discover on your own."

I've learned everything, I thought, but I know nothing. And of what I do know, I understand only half. And from what I understand, I don't even know when to use it. But I said nothing. I didn't want to appear weak in the presence of so much strength and resolve. I could only think of poor Shereen. "And you," I whispered, "what will happen to you?"

She smiled briefly, her eyes not smiling. Even the white patch under her left eye didn’t move. "I'm heading to the pine forest," she said, "I can no longer travel long distances with the clan, but I still have a few good years in the woods."

It was a lie. No one could survive alone through a winter in the icy pine forests north of the grassland above the Red River. "Let me come with you," I begged, "together we might survive. I can gather wood and hunt."

Shereen stroked Noush's furry head. "I have got the best hunter," she said confidently. The fur of the once mighty gray wolf had thinned. How could she still help? I wondered, she could barely catch enough for herself.  "Don't even think of following me," she said sternly, "Your place is with the clan."

"But I need you," I wept, "stay with us." I hugged her like I never had before. Only then did I feel how frail her body had become from the harsh nomadic life. Noush snuggled against us. I would miss her too.

"I’ll never truly leave you," Shereen said, "you’re  my successor."

The clan leader stared intently towards the north, in the direction we had left the previous morning on the annual trek. His face was expressionless, but I could see he was worried. His hair fluttered slightly in the rising wind.

"Expecting bad weather?" asked a warrior.

"A snowstorm," the leader replied curtly, "we'll camp here for the night."

On the open autumn-brown grassland, there was no shelter, and we had to make do with what we carried. The two-wheeled carts were arranged in a circle. Inside, we let the horses graze, tethered to a cart.

In the middle of the circle, we quickly set up a couple of low and sturdy tents, ugly things without comfort, ordinarily used only for storing materials, they had to protect the clan from the icy northern wind and the lashing snow.

We were just in time. Tao and another boy barely managed to close the violently flapping tent door, so strong was the wind already. And that was just the beginning. As soon as we lay under our animal skins, the storm hit us like a roaring river. Younger children began to cry; I sang a song to calm them down.

I could only think of Shereen. She would never have reached the forest in time. The storm came from the north, so she was probably in the thick of it, unprotected on the cold plain, without even a tent for shelter. She could never survive this.

"Try to get some sleep," Tao said kindly.

I fretted for another hour, then closed my eyes and drifted into a strange dream world.

Suddenly, I was wide awake. "Did you hear that?" I hissed.

Over the sound of the storm, we heard neighing and stomping horses within the wagon circle. In the distance, there was another sound: a strange growl mixed with what sounded like particularly eerie laughter. As if there were demons in the wind.

No one else seemed to hear the faint sound, but Tao sensed my fear. "The horses are restless," he whispered, "don't worry, they can't get away."

Hardly had he spoken those words when we heard a crack, followed by galloping hooves.

"Horses have escaped!" I hissed.

"We're not going to catch them in this storm," yawned an older warrior, "we'll look for them tomorrow."

I didn't listen to him. I quickly went to the tent opening. I pushed the snow aside a little and poked my head through. I could barely breathe in the icy wind and felt the blood drain from my face. They were right, this was impossible.

Just as I was pulling my head back inside, I heard the eerie laugh, loud and clear. And then again, seemingly further away. I sat still for a long time, listening until the whole tent was in an uproar. "Kiara, just close the tent, damn it, it's cold!"

I crawled back under my blanket but couldn't sleep anymore.

I convinced Tao to search for the runaway horses with me as soon as the storm had subsided, in the twilight before sunrise. We dressed hastily and left the sleeping camp. The tracks of the escaped horses were thankfully not yet completely covered with snow, and we could see them clearly.

"There's something there," Tao shouted after a while.

It was a terrible sight. A stallion lay in the snow, colored red with blood. Hungry wolves fought over its flesh. We galloped towards them, yelling and shouting to scare the beasts away. I shot one of the brutes with a well-aimed arrow, but only when Tao pierced the leader with his spear did they flee.

It was too late for the horse. "Terrible monsters," Tao cursed.

"I don't think those wolves killed him," I said, pointing to the underbelly of the poor animal, "his belly is nearly ripped open along its entire length. That wasn't a wolf." Wolves usually target their prey precisely, letting the loss of blood kill them off. But this wound was deep and long, moreover, it seemed as if the predator had three rows of teeth.

We didn't have much time to think about it. A pathetic whinnyng urged us to continue searching for a second horse.

"That's Irina's favorite horse!" Tao shouted.

The animal was still alive but so restless that it took us quite an effort to catch her.

She was less badly injured than the stallion. She just had three thick red dots on her belly as if stung by a giant wasp.

"Those wounds aren't so serious," Tao said, "maybe she'll make it."

I examined the wounds, and although they seemed superficial at first glance, they smelled strange. "There's poison in it," I said, "she needs urgent care."

While Tao gently took the mare with him, I hurried back to one of the carts to get the necessary materials. Shereen had given me almost her entire witch's supply of herbs, and I had to hold back my tears as I searched through the neatly stacked bags for a strong antidote.

I hurried back. The poor horse was in terrible pain, and Tao had to restrain her convulsions forcefully while I applied the foul mixture that should have saved her. By then, the sun was already above the horizon, and the camp was awake.

"Stop that immediately!"

Irina's sharp voice cut through my heart.

"Filthy witch. Stay away from my horse."

I was angry with Irinda because she ostracised my stepmother. Yet, I would never harm a living being out of hatred or I would have learned nothing from Shereen.

I ignored her command. "I need to drive out the poison," I said, "this is a mixture of…"

Irina roughly pulled my hand away. "You're killing her!" she yelled angrily.

The poor mare tried to stand up. It seemed to work for a moment, but then she fell over and began to thrash violently. Foam appeared in her mouth. A few moments later, her breathing stopped.

She died a painful death.

It deeply affected me. Moreover, this was my first chance to prove myself as a witch, and I had completely failed. Irina hadn’t helped but it was my fault, that was an undeniable fact.

I cried.

"It's all your fault," Irina yelled angrily, "devil's child!"

Something in me snapped. Who was the devil? My parents, who were probably killed by this clan, or the unfortunate Shereen, who had just been banished.

For a moment, the lid that kept my anger in check popped off, and I wanted to hurt her. But I couldn't think of an insult or curse harsh enough. So, I did something even more terrible; I told her the truth. "You're just jealous," I said, "because your daughters are too stupid to become witches."

It had the desired effect. Irina turned red with anger. I didn't defend myself when she started to scratch and hit me.

The clan leader didn't even look at me; he surveyed the camp with a serious face. "The journey will be tough," he said, "we've lost two strong horses, and the plain is covered with a thick layer of snow."

"The snow will soon melt," said the other man, who quickly looked away when I approached. The new advisor to the chief was also a southerner. With his thick books full of strange symbols and odd chatter about that supreme god, many thought he was a sorcerer. His skin was darker than the other clansmen but lighter than mine. Did he dislike me just for that, or did he have something against witches?

"That only makes it worse," said the clan leader, "soon we'll have to trudge through mud."

The sorcerer wanted to say something, but I interrupted him. This was important. "There's more," I said, "we're being followed by strange demons. I heard them laughing last night, and that also explains the poison."

"Demons," laughed the sorcerer, "what nonsense. And you're the only one who heard them?"

"That's my gift," I said, "I'm the clan witch. I communicate with the underworld."

The sorcerer rolled his eyes. I had expected that reaction and didn't care.

I was, however, shocked by the clan leader. He turned his head and looked me straight in the eye. This time, I couldn't read any emotion on his face, or was it because I didn't want to face the truth?

He sighed deeply. "Kiara," he said and sighed again so that my courage drained away, "the clan has always valued you. We've treated you as one of us."

I braced myself for the 'but' and held my breath.

"But we can't forgive you for this."

I bowed deeply and hung my head. "I never wanted to hurt the horse," I said weakly, "I'm sorry for what I said to your wife. I'll do anything to make it right."

The man shook his head. "Don't you understand?" he said, "you can't stay with us anymore. When we move on, I don't want you to come with us."

My head was spinning. Was I also being banished from the clan?

"That sorcerer turned you against me," I yelled angrily.

"Priest," the sorcerer replied, "I'm not a sorcerer, I'm a servant of god. Not a slave of the underworld like you."

He didn't even bother to deny my accusation, nor did the chief. I looked at him one last time, trying my best not to cry, then turned around. I was banished.

I would never find Shereen on the vast grassland. And even if I did, she would probably have already frozen to death or been eaten by wolves. But I couldn't think of any other plan. Without a clan, I had no purpose. All my prospects and dreams had gone up in smoke; I would never see Tao again.

A tiny spark of hope kept me upright. Maybe she was still alive, but then I had to be quick, she would not survive another night under the open sky

Before the clan continued its journey south that morning, I rode my small but brave horse, Tekla, to the chilly north. I was lightly packed, just a knife, a bow, and a supply of herbs. Yet, I made slow progress in the fresh snow. The ground was soft and slippery, and it was difficult for Tekla to find blades of grass under the snow. But I stubbornly rode on, and Tekla didn’t falter. Even when it got dark, I continued, guided by the moonlight that eerily reflected off the snowy plain.

By morning, when I was near exhaustion, I recognized the hunting shelters and grazing spots of our old camp. That gave me new courage, and I rode on.

The camp was a disappointment. Apart from some wooden fencing and the watchtower, there was nothing left. Like a dog, I searched for leftovers on the piles of waste around the places where tents had stood until recently, to stop the rumbling in my stomach.

Then I followed the path further north, searching for Shereen. I knew the old clan witch couldn't have gotten far. She hadn't even been given a horse for her last journey.

There was something on the road in the distance, a piece of cloth sticking out of the snow. My heart froze as I recognized Shereen's gray clothes and I galloped closer. To my surprise, the clothes were simply left there in the snow. Shereen herself was nowhere to be seen.

My heart sank in my boots; I was almost sure it was too late. I had heard of people who went mad in the terrible cold and suddenly stripped off their clothes because they confused the biting cold with a burning fire. I had to find her as quickly as possible if only to protect her naked body from desecration by predators and birds.

But it was already too late even for that. I noticed wolf tracks leaving the place. The deep, large tracks indicated two large specimens. Was it still worth continuing the search and endangering my own life? Would I ever be able to catch up with those beasts?

The answer came from an unexpected corner.

I froze when I heard, in the distance, beyond a hill, the eerie, blood-curdling laughter. The same sound that had made me shiver during the stormy night. Without the storm, it sounded louder and sharper, and I could say with certainty that it was not a normal animal, not even a wolf.

Whatever the sorcerer and the clan leader had said, this was real. I shivered all over, but my love for Shereen won and I crept towards the hill to take a look.

My blood froze when I peeked over the hilltop and saw the three enormous creatures. Not wolves, they were many times larger than the largest wolf I had ever seen. They vaguely reminded me of lions, which I had never seen but had heard of and which were also depicted on the large golden belt buckle of a neighboring chief.

With their sharp claws, they tore apart the carcass of a small wolf and pulled large chunks of flesh away with their heads. The tails of the beasts ended in balls with spikes that swung dangerously back and forth.

I screamed when I recognized it. That was not a small wolf at all, but old Noush! The large, old wolf of Shereen looked like a fluffy toy wolf compared to those huge monsters.

The three monsters heard me. They raised their heads and turned in my direction. I thought I had seen the worst, but nothing could prepare me for what I saw next. I looked straight into the eyes of three bearded human heads. Blood ran down their jaws, pieces of red flesh dangling from their mouths, too small for the rows of sharp teeth.

Even from this distance, I saw the anger and hatred in their gaze as they recognized me as human. My life was in danger. I ran back and jumped on Tekla. As fast as I could, we galloped away. But the monstrous beings didn’t let me get away so easily. They were hot on my heels, and I could hear the pounding of their paws getting closer.

We approached the abandoned camp. Teklanimbly slalomed through the remnants of the broken fencing, regaining some distance. In the summer, the camp had many defensive structures against attacks from enemy clans, but these had been dismantled to use the wood for a bonfire. On the ground, there were still a few sharp stakes that could be suddenly raised with a rope to impale attacking riders.

I threw one such rope around Tekla's neck and spurred her on. Two sharp stakes shot up just as the first monster rushed in. It was hit in the shoulder, and the monster roared in anger and pain.

It wasn’t enough. The pointed stake broke as if it were a toothpick. The bleeding didn't seem to bother it. So, I had only managed to make it angry. The monster snorted and charged at me.

Lightning-fast, I released Tekla's rope and gave the faithful animal the spurs. The monster was faster, and there was no escaping it.

Suddenly, the bloodthirsty creature turned around, and for a moment, I thought it had given up the chase and I could simply escape. But this maneuver was just the start of a special whipping movement, it lashed out with the spiky ball on its long tail.

Tekla was hit full-on; she fell forward and lay convulsing on the ground.

If she didn't die from bleeding, then it would be from the deadly poison. First Shereen, then Noush, and now Tekla. Everyone I knew was dying. But I had no time to mourn; I had to get up and run.

While the monsters were busy tearing apart my horse, I sprinted away to the watchtower. I jumped as high as I could and managed to grab a beam on the first floor. I swung myself onto the platform and quickly climbed the rickety ladder to the top.

Soon, the monsters had finished eating and gathered at the base of the tower, then tried to ram the structure. I was swung back and forth by the shocks, but the tower, built of mature pine trunks, held firm. After a while, they changed tactics and began to dig. With their large claws, they broke through the hard ground. But the beams were deeply embedded in the soil, and it was a huge task.

One of the skills of a witch is to converse with the underworld. But it felt more like a curse at that time, I’d rather be ignorant of what they were saying to each other in their demonic tongue.

"You're an idiot," barked the largest, "to get caught by that human child."

"I'll make her pay," growled the wounded monster, "I'll tear her to pieces. Just help me out, together we'll bring down the tower faster."

"We don't have time," said the third, "the clan is moving further south. The longer we wait, the harder it'll be to find their trail again."

The wounded beast stubbornly dug on.

"Didn't you hear us?" growled the other one again, "leave this ape here. She won't survive the winter alone. We need to exterminate the clan of hunters; that's more important."

"You can go without me," he snarled, "the two of you can easily take on the clan, while I devour her."

The large creature nodded, and two of the monsters ran off, straight to the south. No doubt they were delighted with the fresh tracks I had laid in the snow, I thought bitterly.

What can I do now? The wounded monster kept digging. After an hour, it had completely detached one of the four support beams. It rested for a moment, and I peeked over the platform to get a good look at the creature. Was it sleeping?

Suddenly, the monster swung its tail. I was at a safe distance, but instinctively pulled my head back, saving my life. "Thud, thud, thud," three poisonous darts embedded themselves in the wooden beam next to me.

With a growl, the beast started digging at the second support beam. I had to do something fast. My own life was worth nothing, but I was thinking of the clan that was unaware of the danger.

I detached a thick stick from the tower and began to sharpen one end with my knife. Perhaps I could spear the creature if I could jump on it with my full weight from the tower.

I worked in complete silence, not wanting it to catch on to my plan. But it was difficult. The tower was now dangerously swaying back and forth. It seemed the monster no longer needed a break. It smelled victory and would continue to the end, and I was still fiddling with the point.

"Why won't you leave us alone?" I cried out in despair, "we haven't done anything to you."

To my surprise, the monster responded. Witch communication worked both ways. "You weaklings can do nothing to us," it growled back, "but you empty the fields and forests. Then we have nothing left to eat."

"I'm sorry," I said, "we will hunt elsewhere. We don't want conflict with such powerful and noble beings."

"Hah," it roared, "you say that now because you're afraid. But as soon as you return to your clan, you'll forget your promise. And if not, other tribes will come and empty the forests. No, it ends here!"

With all its might, it pushed against the second pillar. The tower tilted, the wood cracked, and the connecting beams broke. It's now or never, I thought, and dove down. I aimed the sharp stake at the huge body of the monster.

Miraculously, I hit it close to its hind leg. The stake penetrated until it hit bone and then snapped. My arms nearly snapped too, and I was flung away, hitting my back hard against a broken support beam of the tower.

Half a moment later, the tower crashed to the ground. Miraculously, I wasn't hit by flying pieces of wood.

It took a while before I was conscious enough to stand up. When I finally did, I was pinned against the pole and couldn't quickly escape. I drew my knife, more of a kitchen utensil than a weapon, but a member of the Wolf clan never gives up.

The raging beast charged at me. I stood no chance.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow flash. A wolf, even larger than Noush, charged at full speed toward the monster. Where did it suddenly come from?

The monster leaped at me, the wolf was too late... or not.

The wolf hit it at full speed. First with its paws, then its jaws quickly and relentlessly closed around the throat of the beast.

We rolled over each other, animal, monster, and human. A tangle of claws, paws, and hands. Growling, screaming, and roaring. Blood splattered over my clothes.

A furious mother wolf against a monster from the underworld. It was a horrific fight.

The roaring stopped. I stood up and to my relief, noticed the blood wasn't mine.

The wolf seemed relatively unharmed too. It was a female, still young but what a predator! The anger had vanished from her eyes as she looked at me. There was a deep pride behind those dark eyes. Her snout was less pointed than most wolves, giving her a wise appearance. Under her right eye was a noticeable white spot. It seemed like... no, that couldn't be.

The wolf whimpered softly, and only then did I see the poisonous spike that was stuck in her front paw. She was very compliant when I took her paw and didn't make a sound when I pulled out the long spike. The wound wasn't serious, but by then I understood how dangerous the poison was.

As well as I could, I sucked the poison out and then applied the same mixture I had used on Irina's horse. I knew it would burn terribly before relief set in and had no idea how the animal would react.

I shouldn’t have worried, she remained remarkably calm, as if she knew what was about to happen.

"I'll call you Naya," I said, "if I used your real name, they'd never understand."

Naya barked softly.

"I came back to look for you," I said, "but to be honest, it was only after I was banished. Do you know why? Because I wanted to save Irina's horse with an antidote."

Naya growled as if she would like to teach that frustrated lady a lesson.

"As soon as you can walk, we must head south. We need to warn the clan about those monsters. I heard them talking, they want to exterminate everyone."

Naya stood up and threw her head back.

"Do you want me to climb on your back?"

She nodded.

I had once ridden Noush, but I was just a child then. Naya was bigger and younger, but still a wolf; it would never work.

"I have a better idea," I said. Among the debris of the tower, I found what I was looking for, a wide, slightly curved plank. I tied a rope to it and made a loop at the other end.

The smart wolf immediately understood and crawled through the loop, which I then tightened around her chest. I had barely sat down before Naya darted forward. The plank slid lightly over the fresh snow, moving at the speed of a galloping horse.

Looking at their slender bodies and powerful long legs, it's clear that wolves are built for long pursuits. Even the best racehorse can’t keep up with them for long. Naya ran tirelessly for hours on end.

Occasionally, she paused to sniff the increasingly strong scent of the two remaining monsters and then growled. I could only go by the half-buried tracks, but with her sharp nose, she could smell the clan and the monsters. She ran faster and faster. Did she know we were too late?

We were getting very close. The tracks of the monsters were fresh, you could see the snow stirred up. A little further on, just before a small hill, I saw that the monster tracks split.

A tactical maneuver, I immediately thought. "We have to warn the clan!" I said, "They’re preparing to attack from two sides!"

Naya was out of breath from the effort. Yet, she surprised me again with her intelligent clarity. She threw her head back and howled as only wolves can. The call echoed off the hills and seemed to come from everywhere at once.

"Brilliant!" I exclaimed, "They may not believe in monsters, but they do believe in wolves." Hearing the howls, the clan would quickly assume a defensive position. With twenty skilled archers behind a wall of wooden carts, the monsters would think twice before deciding to attack.

We left the sled behind and crept closer, cautiously. Naya led the way, by far the best hunter among us, and she led us unnoticed to a vantage point above the clan. With my bow at the ready, I peered through the bushes to observe the scene.

The large monster stood thirty paces outside the circle of carts. The sorcerer or priest shuffled towards it on his own. He seemed like a midget, compared to the enormous creature, a frail and scared midget. The fool didn't even have a weapon! He only carried his wooden cross, holding it as if it were a shield.

The other clan members were hidden behind the carts. They had their bows drawn but made no inclination to intervene. The sorcerer stopped. He turned around. His body trembled all over, desperately looking to the clan leader.

"These monsters were supposed to be nonexistent," the clan leader shouted angrily, "you were so sure of that. Now shoo them away with your book that has the words of your powerful god!"

But the poor man had no sorcery, only that simple cross. Was he going to use it as a club? Meanwhile, he seemed to realize that the clan's anger might be less dangerous than the monster and he took a step back.

The monster was not willing to let its prey go and prepared for a whip strike with its deadly tail. "Now, Naya," I called.

I fired an arrow and charged forward.

The arrow hit the creature. It didn't hurt it, but it hesitated. I ran as fast as I could, but I would never make it in time.

A gray blur shot past me at an incredible speed. Despite her dislike for the sorcerer, Naya followed my lead. She leaped, trying to grab the monster by the throat with her strong teeth. However, this time it turned out differently. This was an exceptionally large monster that was not at all weakened by exhaustion or blood loss. The creature threw its limbs around her and pulled her away before her jaws could close around its throat.

Wolf and monster fought a battle to the death. Naya bit and clawed and didn’t let go. They held each other like two wrestlers.

This made Naya vulnerable to the dangerous tail of the creature. Just as I reached the sorcerer, I saw the poisonous bulb move. The monster prepared to pierce Naya's back with dozens of poisonous spikes.

I snatched the cross from the sorcerer's hands and rammed it against the scaly tail. I pinned the tail to the ground, as one would do with a venomous snake. "Help me, then," I cried out in desperation. The thing had enormous strength, and I couldn't hold it on my own. The sorcerer finally sprang into action and pressed down on the cross with me. In doing so, he got pricked by a spike on his hand, but he gritted through the pain and didn’t let go.

Finally, the clan members sprang into action and charged with their spears, with Tao leading the charge. I could tell the monster was beginning to get scared, yet also that Naya wouldn't last much longer in its powerful clutches. "Release the wolf," I demanded in their language.

With a powerful motion, the creature threw Naya through the air as if she were a troublesome cat and wrenched its tail free, sending both the sorcerer and me tumbling to the ground.

The creature then loomed over me, towering on its four legs so that my head didn't even reach its shoulders. Its roar was as loud as thunder, and I was nearly blown back by the force. The second monster had descended from the hill and responded with a long, sinister laugh.

The clan members halted their charge and hid behind their small shields. Only Tao seemed ready to use his spear. The sorcerer collapsed to his knees, clasping his hands together as if hoping for divine intervention on the godless steppes.

No, I thought, your god won’t help, we needed the power of a witch.

"Mighty lord of the forest," I spoke loudly, "we seek no war with you. But if you attack us, we must defend ourselves."

"If we wish," the monster snarled, "we could exterminate all of you."

"You’re great warriors and have fought valiantly." I nodded towards Naya. "Only through unexpected aid from the forest was I able to kill your comrade at the camp."

This seemed to surprise the creature, though it showed no grief at this news.

"I repeat the promise I made to him," I continued, "as long as I am a witch, the Wolf clan, we will no longer hunt above the Red River. We will respect your territory and live in peace."

"I have no use for promises," it growled.

"It is an honorable agreement," I replied, "with this, you can return to your people with your head held high."

His hesitation seemed to last forever, and my heart pounded like that of a trapped prey. He could kill me with a swipe of his paw, and not even the brave Tao or the swift Naya could stop him.

"Agreed," he finally grumbled and, without giving me another glance, turned and walked away.

The clan members were still trembling behind their shields as if they hadn't grasped what had happened. They would understand in time, I thought, but now I had more pressing matters.

"Lay down," I told the sorcerer. Surprisingly, he obeyed and allowed me to treat his wound.

As I was busy with the herbal mixture, the clan leader approached me and patted my shoulder. "Welcome back, Kiara, witch of the Wolfclan."

I smiled, not at the clan leader, but at Tao who stepped towards me with relief.

"Enough with your tales, girl," the Persian envoy said, weariness in his voice. "I've had my fill of your fairy tales... I can guess the rest: and they lived happily ever after in peace with the monsters. But we never went back to the woods, oh no, we kept our promise."

The envoy stood up, straightening his back - he was tall and his head almost hit the ceiling of the yurt - and continued his rant. The louder he spoke, the more confident he became. "Do you think I believe a word of this? These are excuses. The woods are safe, you've made no pact with those beasts. The only pact that counts is with the glorious Emperor in Ctesiphon, the King of Kings. Your clan must deliver a hundred animal hides annually, just like the other northern clans. That way, you can partake in the heavenly peace and divine glory of the new Persian Empire."

He paused for a moment before continuing in a threatening tone. "The alternative is war."

I silently watched him. Had I expected a different reaction?

"Since the previous Imperial envoy didn’t return, we expect extra effort. At least three hundred hides and fifty pieces of amber."

He threw the necklace I had given him earlier to the ground. "Real hides or amber, not worthless strings of beads."

The others watched in silence, not fully understanding the conversation. Only the sorcerer and I could understand Middle Persian. Yet, the tension was palpable. Even Naya sensed my unrest and growled softly.

'And then those monsters. You didn't even invent them yourself. Do you think I haven't heard of the Manticore? It appears in so many ancient stories. Yet, you even messed that up. Manticores don’t live in the north, only in the east, in the dense warm forests beyond the Indus. And their arrows aren’t poisonous, that's something you added to give yourself a starring role.'

This was no longer a negotiation, he wouldn’t be persuaded by words. I signaled my clansmen to leave the large yurt. They stood up without objection. The sorcerer and the chieftain were the last to leave the tent. I was left alone with the envoy and his five armed bodyguards.

'You're not even believable as a witch,' the envoy continued ranting. 'You're not old or deformed. You don't even have a speech impediment! The only thing that makes you different is that you look Persian, unlike these pale savages that surround you.'

I stood up and walked to the exit that was somewhat hidden behind a piece of silk serving as a curtain. I carefully tied the tent shut with sturdy knots that wouldn't easily come undone.

'And those wolves,' the envoy said, 'that old beast is just that, a tame old beast. Nothing more than that.'

Naya growled menacingly.

From behind the screen, I spoke to them calmly yet sharply. 'Those monsters were partially fabricated. I thought by incorporating an element from your folklore, I would appear more credible. If I had only used wolves in my story, you would have simply asked for more hides.'

'See,' said the envoy with a trembling voice, 'it was all lies. You're not scaring me with your little tales.'

'I know,' I said. 'Next time, I’ll try harder. I hoped my agreeable Persian appearance would put you at ease but I’ll have to look more witch-like.'

'What do you mean,' the envoy responded uncertainly. “There won’t be a next time. If you pay now, I won’t need to come back.”

His bodyguards draw their swords.

'A hunchback or a cleft, perhaps some protruding teeth,' I said calmly. My voice was already getting a bit growlier; that's how it always goes. 'It's all possible.'

I completed the transformation and revealed my other form.

The soldiers clenched their swords, but I wasn’t deterred in the slightest. With my keen wolf nose, I could smell their panic. They wouldn’t put up a fight.

'Don’t be scared,' I growled, 'death will be swift and painless, and the afterlife doesn’t  exist.'

The soldiers didn’t stand a chance. Naya and I knew exactly where their vulnerabilities lay, and they were petrified in fear. I killed the envoy last.

After transforming back into a girl, I stepped outside the yurt where the entire clan stared at my torn clothes. Blood dripped down my chin. Naya jumped beside me, and I stroked her head.

'The Wolf Clan is free,' I called out hoarsely, 'we recognize no Emperor and pay no taxes. To no one.'

Naya howled as the clan cheered.

Samira and the Twig Men

A Christmas Story

For my godchildren Lune and Jade, for my daughters Hanne and Amber, and all other brave girls with a heart of gold.

Caucasus Mountains, Midwinter

"Is she doing any better?" I whispered worriedly as I entered the yurt that morning. The question was unnecessary; I could already hear the answer. Irina held both hands on her swollen belly and groaned incessantly.

"No," said Yahsi curtly.

My normally confident stepmother looked pale and tired. She had watched over the pregnant woman all night, but it had been in vain. The fever only increased, and the pain sounded worse.

I threw the flap of the yurt fully open. An ice-cold wind blew in but it was better than that terrible smell of sickness and death. I quickly replaced the woolen blankets that were soaking wet from Irina's fever sweat. I hoped the fresh winter air, the pale light of the morning sun, and the clean wool would bring some hope to the gloomy scene.

But more than the appearance of purity was needed to forget the misery of the longest of nights. I saw the desperation on Irina’s face and my heart sank.

"What else can I do?" I asked. Yahsi had tried everything, but if anyone knew what to do, it was surely my stepmother. She knew all about herbs and plants. Better yet, she could ask her ancestors who spoke to her through the rustling of leaves or the swirling of the snow.

But Yahsi shook her head sadly. "Samira... I don't know this time. We need a miracle."

"But we must save her. And the baby..."

"Save the child!" groaned Irina from under the blankets, "you can let me die." She looked at Yahsi hauntically with large, bloodshot eyes and screamed out in pain and terror.

"Bring me stalks of pennyroyal," said Yahsi, "you will find them higher up the mountain."

"But," I said, puzzled, "she just asked to save the child."

"If I do nothing, they will both die," Yahsi said brusquely.

"And the father..."

"The father understands that a newborn won't survive this winter without a mother," snapped Yahsi. "She can bear him more children later. He already has two sons."

Irina moaned so heartrendingly that shivers ran down my spine.

"Go now!" Yahsi yelled," or it will be too late."

It seemed pointless to argue further. She could best assess the situation. She also knew that the father, the clan elder, would be furious. Especially if the stillborn was a son. Maybe he would banish us. Old Yahsi was only valued for her knowledge of herbs, and I was the poor orphan girl who didn't even belong in the clan.

With these gloomy thoughts, I prepared for the quest to find the deadly herbs in the midst of winter. I put on a coat of rabbit fur over my woolen tunic and took warm mittens. I tucked a small knife under my belt and a sagaris, the weapon of our people.

It was a difficult journey. Snow had fallen in thick layers in recent weeks. As long as I could, I followed the narrow path that wound up the mountain through the trees.

Pennyroyal is a small plant that thrives especially among tall grasses. So, I had to climb high enough to leave the forest and reach the higher meadows. And then hope that not everything was buried under the snow. How else would I find that tiny plant?

After an hour of brisk hiking, I reached the mountain meadow that had turned into a vast white plain where hardly a blade of grass stuck out. I barely made progress in the deep snow, but didn’t give up. With great effort, I made my way to a protruding rock so steep that no snow remained on it. Among the rocks, I could see a few blades of grass and some bushes poking out. Unfortunately, no pennyroyal.

I looked around, mainly to catch my breath. The meadow, already in the shade, was surrounded by rocks that rose steeply. These formed a rugged path to the mountain ridge bathed in the warmth of the sun. Had Yahsi not said that pennyroyal was mainly found on southern slopes? I wasn't sure, but the very idea of the comforting sun drew me onwards.

I climbed over cliffs, jumped from rock to rock, and quickly worked up a sweat. The sagaris served excellently as climbing gear. With some skill, that I possessed, it is possible to embed the sharp edge of the battle-axe into rocks or ice walls. I could also hook it behind a ledge and pull myself up with it. The handle was long enough to use as a walking stick.

Apart from a few frozen grasses and thorny bushes, I encountered only few plants on my climb. And certainly no precious pennyroyal! My hope was now set on the ridge and the sunny slope on the other side. Maybe the snow was less thick there.

I reached the ridge after an hour when the sun was at its highest point, which of course was still not very high on the shortest day of the year. I drank some ice-cold water and looked around. Even in autumn, when the mountains were still snow-free, we rarely came this high, and I recognized nothing. The other clan members claimed that the valley beyond was inhabited by goblins. But I had no time to worry about that now, as Irina's life hung by a thread.

To the left of me was a high rock still bathed in sunlight. The plants and bushes grew thicker on it. I noticed different colors among the green: the tiny, light purple flowers of sea lavender, the exuberant yellow of a mountain aster, and here and there a red tulip. Did I also not see the light pink of pennyroyal?

How lucky those flowers were, I thought. They received sun from morning to evening, were sheltered from wind and snow, and yet had a magnificent view over the valley. And most importantly, they were where I wanted to be and did not have to climb over steep rocks!

It seemed like the hardest climb of the day, but hopefully also the last. Full of good spirits, I began. The rocks were steep and sharp, but on the sunny side of the mountain, there was less snow and ice and I made good progress. I followed the bare stones surrounding the mountain meadow as long as possible because there was less snow and more grip. After half an hour, I finally emerged above the bush. Only a short descent and I could search for pennyroyal.

Descents are always treacherous, so I proceeded very carefully. Just a few more steps...

I put my full weight on a patch of ice and slipped. So close to the meadow, there were no high rocks to stop me. I hit the ground, rolled a few times through the snow, and then began to slide downhill. Faster and faster.

I hacked at the snow with the sagaris, but it was to no avail, I barely slowed. The chasm came closer and if I had known then how deep it was, I probably would have fainted from fear.

But I didn't know and kept trying again with the sagaris. Finally, it caught on a rock. My arm was nearly torn off, but I didn't let go. I came to a stop with my legs dangling over an abyss so deep I couldn't even see the bottom through the mist.

As soon as I caught my breath, I stood up. Snow had entered all the openings and seams of my clothes, and they had become soaking wet. Soon I would become hypothermic, and then... I wouldn't make it back to camp, and the chance that my clanmates would find me up here was virtually nonexistent.

By moving a lot my body would heat up and I could hold out a bit longer, but I needed fire to dry my clothes to survive. And for fire, you need wood. So, I had to descend to the nearest forest. And that was the forest in the other valley, where everyone thought Goblins lived.

I descended cautiously until it became less steep, then ran into the forest. The effort kept my body warm, but my fingers were already losing their feeling. Panting and heaving, I gathered some branches and twigs. The sound of breaking wood echoed loudly in the deathly silent forest, and I was really scared that the Goblins would find me soon.

After a while, I had a nice pile of firewood. It took a long time with my numb hands, but I managed to start a fire. I was saved!

I just had to wait until my clothes dried. I nestled close to the fire. For a moment, I forgot about Irina and thought of the other clanmates who might have already lit the big campfire for the midwinter festival. In the blissful warmth, I closed my eyes.

"Help!"

I woke up startled. What was that? It was a high-pitched voice, surely not a Goblin? Or perhaps it was, those creatures were cunning and knew many tricks to deceive unsuspecting humans.

"Help!"

There was the squeaky voice again. It was too distinct for a human child but too high for an adult.

Cautiously, I crept deeper into the forest. The voice grew louder, and now I also heard a soft growl. Then I saw it, the large gray-striped cat. With its claws, it pressed a short, thick twig to the ground.

The wild cat had noticed me a long time ago and hissed angrily in my direction.

"Help!"

It came from nearby, almost as if the cat was speaking to me. Was that twig moving? I squinted my eyes as if that would make me see more clearly.

The cat hissed menacingly. It had little patience for my hesitation.

"Help, please!" The voice now sounded weak and moaning.

I charged forward, screaming and swinging my sagaris. The cat bolted off.

I picked up the twig. It looked somewhat like the dolls we make for the little ones, with two twigs for legs, two for the arms, and a chestnut for the head.

I shook my head and laid the doll back down. The cold and fatigue were making me imagine things, there was no other explanation, there was no voice.

A little further lay a small, straight stick. Now, I really enjoy playing the flute. Whether it's for joyful feasting or sad singing, when there's a need for comfort or time for joy, then I bring out my wooden flute. Sometimes even when I'm all alone.

With so much flute in my head, it won't surprise you that I sometimes hear a flute when the wind blows around the yurt or see a flute when there's a twig lying around with some dark knobs that make you think of holes, and I picked up the straight twig in wonder.

Of course, you think it was just a twig. But no, this was really a flute.

I was still marveling at the tiny instrument when I heard rustling. I turned around lightning-fast. The wooden doll had disappeared. I just caught a glimpse of a shadow running into the forest.

"Hey!" I called out, "you forgot your flute."

I chased after the doll. It was so small and light that it could walk on the snow while I sank to my knees with each step. Fortunately, the tiny tracks were easy to follow. After a few minutes, I came to a small, dark hole hidden among dense bushes. It looked like a fox's den. Had it hidden itself in there?

"Your flute!" I called out and carefully stuck my hand in the hole. "Come, take it."

There was no response. I stuck my head into the den to call out and did so with my friendliest voice. I listened for almost a minute, but it remained silent.

Then I did something silly, or maybe not so silly because what else is a flute for? But what followed was anything but ordinary.

I put the tiny flute between my lips, stuck my head as far as I could into the den, and blew on it. Without being able to play the notes with my hands, it was of course not high-quality music, but the sound was loud and clear.

And everything changed.

Again, I felt like I was rolling down a mountain. This time I wasn't sliding but just falling into the depth. Two large tree trunks rushed towards me at lightning speed. But they were my own boots! Suddenly they disappeared. The landing was soft, a bit like jumping into fresh snow.

I still held the flute. It was no longer a tiny thing, but a beautiful, large flute with seven round holes for the fingers. I looked up at a black earthen ceiling. Before me, the fox's den stretched out as a wide long corridor where a group of riders could easily pass without dismounting. In the distance, music played, and I saw faint lights dancing on the walls. A warm wind blew towards me.

I gathered all my courage and walked into the wide tunnel. The music grew louder, and I saw dancing shadows on the wall.

"There you are," called a friendly voice.

A strange creature was smiling at me. Its hair was green as leaves, and its limbs were thin as twigs, but its chestnut-brown eyes smiled kindly at me.

"Did you know I was coming?" I asked, bewildered.

"We had hoped," said another creature. She had long grass-green hair and wore a dress of red and brown autumn leaves.

I extended my hand with the flute. "This is yours, I think."

"Give it to our son," said the little father, "then he can thank you himself. He's over there."

"Oh," I said, and then I saw the two sparkling eyes peeking at me from behind a corner. But then they disappeared again.

"What brings you here, daughter of man," asked the twig mother.

"I'm looking for herbs," I said, "for pennyroyal."

They both seemed a bit startled. "Aren't you a bit young for that?" asked the man.

The woman nudged him irritably.

"It's not for me," I said, “the chieftain’s wife is in great pain.”

"We'll help you," said the man and gave me a small bottle with a green liquid. "A few drops should suffice."

I carefully tucked it away in my tunic. My clothes were by now dry, and I was starting to get quite comfortable.

"But you can't go back yet," said the woman, "first we celebrate." She clapped her hands, and suddenly autumn leaves started falling. They fell so thickly that I couldn’t see anything. They kept falling and it felt as if they were sticking to me.

When I could see again, I looked into the broad smiling face of the little man. "Wonderful!" he said.

The long dress fit me perfectly. The interconnected red and brown leaves felt like silk and were edged with beautiful dark red flowers. Blossoms were in my hair, and the sturdy boots I usually wore had turned into elegant sandals made of twigs that felt softer than the finest leather. I spun around, and the dress fluttered, it looked like a whirlwind playing with autumn leaves.

Thus I entered the great hall where the celebration took place. The ceiling swarmed with fireflies that spread a warm, sparkling light. It smelled of resin and freshly baked chestnut pies. Dozens of twig men and women danced around.

"What are you celebrating exactly?" I asked.

"That you saved our son," said the little man with a wide smile, "and of course, that the sun is coming back."

"Well," said a little man drumming on a hollowed-out chestnut, "let's hear that flute!"

I played a cheerful tune to the rhythm of the drums, and the twig men began to frolic even more wildly. It was wonderful to see the cheerful crowd move. I also felt the urge to dance. If there was anything I loved doing more than playing the flute, it was dancing. But they kept requesting more tunes.

There was the son again. This time he didn't run away but approached cautiously. Of all the little men, he, with his long thin arms, he looked most like a twig. Even his little costume made of beech bark and his acorn cap as a hat couldn't change that.

I handed him the flute.

He looked at me shyly and didn't dare to say it, but I understood him. This tune was special for me. He put the flute to his lips, and the most beautiful sounds came out.

I danced to the rousing tune. The other little men and women clapped and cheered. Then we danced around with each other. Everyone wanted to dance with me, and it was so much fun that I agreed to dance with everyone.

You know, when you're as light as a twig, you kind of float a bit, and it feels like you can fly. That makes dancing even more fun.

There were little men with long slender arms who lifted me high above their little heads. Others had thick gnarled limbs and were very strong. They threw me into the air so I could do somersaults.

I didn’t forget about Irina. But every time I asked when the celebration would be over, they answered, "Just a little while longer. We can't stop now when it's so much fun?"

They might have been better off stopping a bit earlier.

Suddenly I heard a loud cry. "Root men!"

"Run!" someone yelled.

The son blew a high note. Instruments clattered to the ground. The music stopped. The twig men yelled. The twig women screamed. I looked around in shock.

Screaming

      Terrified faces

           The root men scattered in all directions.

But it was too late. The exits were blocked.

They stormed in. Dark beings with thick, gnarled limbs like knotted tree roots. They smelled of upturned earth and left muddy stains on the white birch bark carpets.

The root men grabbed the twig women by their long hair and dragged them along. The twig men couldn't do anything about it. If they got close, they were hit so hard you could hear the wood crack.

One by one, the twig women were seized and dragged away, struggling in vain.

I stood in front of the son and clenched my fists.

"Don't touch him!"

But they weren't coming for him, they were coming for me! There were at least ten. Their knobbly, root-like bodies were slow but hid a terrible destructive power. They intertwined as they approached me in a high hedge of gnarled branches.

I couldn't escape!

Trapped in a cage of wild, tangled roots, slimy tendrils wound around my arms like strangling snakes as the villains crept closer.

"Now it's your turn to save me," I cried out desperately.

The son looked at me. His face was as pale as birch, and he trembled on all his twig-like limbs.

The nearest root man grabbed my arm. Oh, how strong he was! I tried to break free, but just as I did, a second one grabbed me. A third took my leg. "Help!"

The son still trembled on his twig-like legs. Shaking and quivering, he brought the flute to his mouth. He blew a single note. Not a pure, sweet sound like before but a false and horrible noise.

For a moment, I thought I was floating, but it was something else. I grew and grew until my head almost hit the ceiling. The fireflies, once as large as eagles, seemed like little finches and flew away in fear. I was far from fully grown but already towered high above everyone.

The root men who had grabbed me now clung to me desperately so as not to fall to the ground.

I shook my arms, and they let go, flying through the air before landing with a loud thud. "That'll teach you!"

I grabbed to rescue the twig women from the claws of the root men. "Let her go!"

Everywhere I went with my giant fists, the intruders fled, and I was able to bring the twig women to safety. "Be gone!"

But the root men didn't give up. While I was pulling a woman from the claws of a particularly troublesome brute, a group of them charged at me. They darted through my legs, jumped on my feet, and slung their slimy tentacles around my ankles. They tried to hook them together with their roots. I was startled when I lost my balance and fell to my knees.

The twig men and twig women came to my aid and freed my feet while I violently shook the nastiest root man. "Take that!"

The fight lasted a while, but together we drove the wicked root men back outside.

Loud cheers erupted when the last root man ran away with his tail between his legs. The twig men danced around me and clapped their hands. The music had already started again, and the celebration continued as if nothing had happened.

"Now I really must return to my world," I said decisively.

The son nodded and walked with me to the exit. I shook his hand; that is, he climbed onto my finger, and I lifted him into the air. Once outside in the open air, he blew another false note, and I shot up higher, growing back to the normal size of a girl. It happened so fast... I hit a low-hanging branch, and everything went black for a moment.

I woke up shivering from the cold next to the fire that was still smoldering a bit. What a strange dream! In my hand, I held a small twig with a few side branches so it looked like a doll. It would be a nice gift for a little child, I thought.

Oh no! The baby... Irina.

A dreadful feeling came over me. How were they doing? I had to get back to camp as quickly as possible. But I didn't know where I was. On the way here, I climbed over rocks and even slid down a significant distance. Now it was completely dark and I needed a safer path.

Walking in the forest, I held my hands in front of my head, but even then, I occasionally got a sharp branch in my face. 

The meadow was not much better. Apart from the monotonous whiteness of the snow plain below me and the dark starless sky above me, there was nothing to see, nothing to orient yourself by. I couldn't even tell if I was going up or down, so heavy was the going through the deep snow.

The ridge seemed no closer. My hands and toes hurt more and more from the cold. Maybe I would be better off waiting for the moon and the stars, or the morning? But would Irina survive another night?

Desperately, I plowed on until I was nearly exhausted. Despite my efforts and the sweat on my cheeks, my fingers and toes felt ice-cold and frozen.

A tiny light hung a little further in the air. A firefly? I trudged towards it, but it floated further away. I followed it for a while, it remained unattainable in the distance.

Samira, what are you doing no?, I said to myself. We're not even going uphill anymore, this could take forever.

But something drove me on.

Just when I thought to turn back, the snow became a bit harder and less deep. It wasn't a real path, at least not one for humans. But it was easier to walk.

I kept following the light, for hours. It was the only thing I saw between the black of the sky and the white of the snow. It was as if the world had been reduced to that one point. With the loss of space, I also lost all sense of time. I no longer felt my toes and fingers, but well, at least the pain was gone.

How do you know you're alive if you see nothing and feel nothing? That weird question popped into my head out of nowhere. Maybe I had already died and was on my way to the eternal endless plain where my ancestors dwelled. Then I would finally be reunited with my dear parents.

The snow plain indeed seemed eternal and endless… until it suddenly stopped. In the distance, I saw a dark, black wall. Not the sunny green plain from our stories but rather the dark hell that that wandering priest once talked about.

I wanted to turn back but drawn by the light, I walked on. And it was a good choice because it wasn't the gate to hell, it wasn't even a black wall, but just a forest that was even blacker than the moonless sky!

In the dark forest, I could see the little light much better as it danced in front of me.

It disappeared abruptly in the middle of the large forest, where it was now so dark that I couldn't see my hand in front of my eyes. I looked around desperately, searching for the dancing light, but saw it nowhere. How did I lose it? Did it get ahead of me?

Iit suddenly reappeared very faintly in the distance. I ran towards it. I tripped over tree stumps, tore my clothes on branches, and slipped on a frozen creek. But I didn't give up, I had to keep up with it.

I came to a clearing. I saw the light in the middle of it, close to the ground. It no longer danced up and down but flickered in the wind. I knelt by the small flame. It was a beeswax candle like my clan sometimes used in winter.

You must understand that at that moment, I still thought I was dead, or at best hopelessly lost. So it took a while for it to dawn on me. But when I saw the other candles, forming a winding path through the forest, I understood.

Those candles were for the light festival! The great feast of midwinter night. That is when the clans from the valley come to visit us to celebrate together that the longest night is over and the sun is coming back. These candles showed me the way to the camp!

I no longer felt my fatigue and began to run, and run….

I stormed into the camp and sprinted straight to Irina's tent.

I heard her moaning before I entered and feared the worst.

Yahsi was still with her and glanced at me tiredly. She didn't seem very worried, at least not about me. "There you are at last," she sighed, "did you find the herbs?"

The pennyroyal! I had completely forgotten it when I got lost. I had only thought about myself, and surviving, how could I be so stupid? I was deeply ashamed.

"Eh…" I mumbled.

"Why else would you have stayed away so long," Yahsi asked impatiently. "We were worried, Bhaltu is looking for you."

I was ashamed because I had slipped on the mountain, and I dared not even mention the dream. My cheeks blushed, and I suddenly felt very warm. I took off my fur coat.

I felt something hard under my tunic and took it out. The bottle! I was as surprised as Yahsi. "Give her this," I told her, "it will help, I'm sure of it."

Yahsi smelled it and wrinkled her nose. She didn't trust it, but I begged her to give it anyway. It was our last hope, so she was willing to try.

Hardly had Irina taken a few drops of the green liquid when she breathed more calmly. She stopped moaning and slowly color returned to her face. With a smile, she fell into a long deep sleep.

We knew it would be alright.

We heard the hoofbeats outside the yurt of the first guests arriving for the festival. The music began to play. My feet started moving to the fast rhythm of the drums. My heart warmed at the cheerful tune of the flutes.

It was a unique feast. I enjoyed it all the more because I had been able to help Irina. Yet despite my happiness and the fervor of the clansmen, it couldn't compare to the celebration of the twig men.

Four weeks later, a perfectly healthy child was born. Irina was overjoyed, and so was the father.

As the son of the chief, the boy was showered with beautiful gifts. The little wooden doll I gave him was just something very simple. Yet it became his favorite toy and he never let it go. When I saw the wooden doll lying next to the sleeping child, it seemed as if those chestnut-brown eyes winked at me.

THE END