The Legend of the Mother Deer. Continuation

Miraculous Rescue

It is said for a reason — an orphan has seven fates. The night passed safely. The beast did not touch them, and the forest monsters did not carry them away. When they woke up, it was morning. The birds were singing. The children got up and wandered again along the path of the theft. They gathered berries and roots along the way. They walked and walked, and on the third day, they stopped on a mountain. They looked down and saw a great feast taking place in a wide green meadow. There were so many yurts set up that they could not be counted, so many fires were smoking that they could not be counted, and so many people were around the fires that they could not be counted. Girls were swinging on swings, singing songs. Strongmen, for the amusement of the people, circled like eagles, throwing each other to the ground. It was the enemies celebrating their victory. A boy and a girl stood on the mountain, hesitating to approach. But they really wanted to be near the fires, where the delicious smell of roasted meat, bread, and wild onions wafted.

Unable to resist, the children began to descend from the mountain. The hosts were surprised by the newcomers and surrounded them in a crowd.

— Who are you? Where are you from?
— We are hungry, — replied the boy and the girl, — give us something to eat.

They guessed from their speech who they were. They began to make noise and argue. Should they kill them, the surviving enemy seed, immediately or take them to the khan? While they argued, a kind-hearted woman managed to slip the children a piece of boiled horse meat. They were dragged to the khan himself, but they could not tear themselves away from the food. They were taken to a high red yurt, where guards stood with silver axes. And a disturbing news spread through the camp that children from the Kyrgyz tribe had appeared out of nowhere. What could this mean? Everyone abandoned their games and feasts and rushed in a huge crowd to the khan's yurt. And the khan was sitting at that moment on a white, snow-like felt with his noble warriors.

He was drinking kumis sweetened with honey, listening to praise songs. When the khan learned why they had come to him, he fell into a terrible rage: “How dare you disturb me? Did we not completely wipe out the Kyrgyz tribe? Did I not make you the lords of Enisey for all eternity? Why have you gathered, cowardly souls?

Look who is before you! Hey, Speckled Lame Old Woman! - shouted the khan. And he said to her when she stepped out of the crowd: —
Take them into the taiga, and make sure that the Kyrgyz tribe ends here, that it is not remembered at all, that its name is forgotten forever. Go, Speckled Lame Old Woman, do as I command...”

Silently obeyed the Speckled Lame Old Woman, took the boy and girl by the hands, and led them away. They walked through the forest for a long time, and then came to the bank of the Enisey on a high cliff. Here the Speckled Lame Old Woman stopped the children, placed them side by side at the edge of the cliff. And before she pushed them down, she said: — O great river Enisey!

If a mountain is thrown into your depths, the mountain will sink like a stone. If a century-old pine is thrown, it will be carried away like a splinter.

So accept into your waters two tiny grains of sand — two human children. There is no place for them on earth. Should I tell you this, Enisey? If the stars became people, they would not have enough rivers and seas. Should I tell you this, Enisey?

Take them, carry them away. Let them leave our loathsome world in their infancy, with pure souls, with a child's conscience, untainted by evil intentions and evil deeds, so that they do not know human suffering and do not cause pain to others. Take them, take them, great Enisey...

The boy and girl cried and wept. What do the old woman's words matter when it is terrifying to look down from the cliff? In the depths, fierce waves rolled.

— Embrace each other, children, for the last time, say goodbye, — said the Speckled Lame Old Woman. And she rolled up her sleeves to make it easier to throw them off the cliff. And she said: — Well, forgive me, children. It is fate. Although I do not wish to do this now, I will do it for your own good...

As soon as she said these words, a voice rang out nearby:
— Wait, great wise woman, do not destroy innocent children. The Speckled Lame Old Woman turned around and looked — she was astonished to see a deer standing before her, the mother deer. And her eyes were so large, looking at her with reproach and sadness. And the deer was white, like the milk of a first-time mother, with a belly lined with brown fur, like that of a small camel. The antlers were beautiful, sprawling like the branches of autumn trees. And the udder was clean and smooth, like the breasts of a nursing woman.

— Who are you? Why do you speak in human language? — asked the Speckled Lame Old Woman.
— I am the Mother Deer, — she replied. — I spoke this way because otherwise you would not understand me, you would not listen to me.
— What do you want, Mother Deer?
— Let the children go, great wise woman. I ask you, give them to me.
— Why do you need them?
— People killed my twins, two fawns. I am looking for children.
— Do you want to raise them?
— Yes, great wise woman.
— Have you thought it through, Mother Deer? — laughed the Speckled Lame Old Woman. — After all, they are human children! They will grow up and will kill your fawns.

— When they grow up, they will not kill my fawns, — replied the mother deer. — I will be their mother, and they will be my children. Will they kill their brothers and sisters?

— Oh, do not say that, Mother Deer, you do not know people! — shook her head the Speckled Lame Old Woman. — Unlike forest beasts, they do not spare each other. I would give you the orphans so that you would learn that my words are true, but people will kill these children too. Why do you want so much sorrow?

— I will take the children to a distant land where no one will find them. Spare the children, great wise woman, let them go. I will be their faithful mother... My udder is full. My milk weeps for the children. My milk asks for the children.

— Well, if that is the case, — said the Speckled Lame Old Woman, thinking, — take them and lead them away quickly. Take the orphans to your distant land. But if they perish on the long journey, if robbers kill them on the way, if your human children repay you with black ingratitude, then blame yourself.

The Mother Deer thanked the Speckled Lame Old Woman. And to the boy and girl, she said:
— Now I am your mother, you are my children. I will lead you to a distant land where the forested hot sea of Issyk-Kul lies among the snowy mountains.

The boy and girl rejoiced and ran eagerly after the Horned Mother Deer. But then they grew tired and weak, and the journey was long — from one end of the world to the other. They would not have gone far if the Horned Mother Deer had not fed them with her milk and warmed them with her body at night. They walked for a long time. The old homeland Enisey was left further behind, but there was still a long way to the new homeland, to Issyk-Kul. They made their way through dense forests, scorching steppes, shifting sands, high mountains, and turbulent rivers through summer and winter, spring and autumn. Packs of wolves chased them, but the Horned Mother Deer, placing the children on her back, carried them away from the fierce beasts. Hunters chased them with arrows, shouting: “The deer has kidnapped human children! Catch her! Grab her!” — and shot arrows after them; and from these uninvited rescuers, the Horned Mother Deer carried the children away. She ran faster than the arrows, only whispering: “Hold on tighter, my children, — the chase!”

Finally, the Horned Mother Deer brought her children to Issyk-Kul. They stood on a mountain — astonished. All around were snowy ridges, and in the midst of the mountains, covered with green forests, as far as the eye could see, the sea was splashing. White waves walked on the blue water, the winds drove them from afar, carrying them away into the distance. Where Issyk-Kul begins, where it ends, is unrecognizable. The sun rises on one side, while on the other it is still night. How many mountains stand around Issyk-Kul — they cannot be counted, and beyond those mountains, how many more such snowy peaks rise — it is also impossible to guess.

— This is your new homeland, — said the Horned Mother Deer. You will live here, plow the land, catch fish, and raise livestock. Live here in peace for a thousand years. May your lineage endure and multiply. May your descendants not forget the language you brought here, may it be sweet for them to speak and sing in their own language. Live as people should live. And I will be with you and with your children's children for all time.

Thus, the boy and girl, the last of the Kyrgyz tribe, found themselves a new homeland on the blessed and eternal Issyk-Kul.

The Legend of the Mother Deer