In the Captivity of the King of Jackals
Chapter 3
The travelers ride through the forests.
Bees gather honey here,
The voices of springs
Entice the thirsty with the splash of water.
And they reached the chain,
Like beads, of even mountains,
And arrived at the lakes,
Painting the blue heights.
Here flowers are more numerous than stars,
And the grass is human height
Hiding large game,
And it’s impossible to catch prey in the meadows.
Herds run here,
Like the furious wind of deserts,
And, as if from a strong wave,
The wormwood bends to the ground...
Here they reached such a land,
Where neither crows nor vultures will cry.
And in the sands, like in delirium, they wander,
Not quenching their fierce thirst.
A barren drought, a bald takyr,
And the taste of water is forgotten.
And into the sand, after the hero, another hero
Began to shed excess weight...
The argamak is gasping, wheezing —
There’s no strength to lift its hooves,
And the road stretches for long days.
Silently, the heroes dismounted,
There’s no end to the desert — you could die,
And the worn-out feet are ground down.
Brave Chilten is exhausted,
And in his eye sockets, Death appeared,
And his emaciated face.
Let it be for a moment, but decay blew over...
Another day has flown away,
And the night’s rest — among ancient ruins.
Here, in some distant age,
A proud man lived
And erected, like a mighty god,
His white-stone palace.
White stones, moss, and thyme...
The samum has swept away all centuries.
The palace has become ruins,
Standing unfriendly, gloomy.
Time carries out its judgment.
The tribe has been swept away by Time...
Well, and with this living life,
What will it do next?
Will it not make bloom
Suddenly with thousands of flowers,
So that one day, as dust in a handful,
The garden and a reliable shelter become?!
“Why is the human son not created
By eternal fate,
And the blind wind carries away
All that is gathered in the depths of time?
Time, trampling flowers,
What is more ruthless and cruel!
In the circle of hopeless darkness
You take away parents,
And then you steal children.
Human son, why are you
Submissive and mute to this will?
But day by day it becomes more sorrowful
To live, burying each other all life.
Where will the limit be and when?
Chasing both days and years,
Humanity rushes forward,
The race renews endlessly,
Sending a messenger after the messenger...
Or is there no end to the nomad life?” —
Thus Chilten pondered, and the despair
Was more hopeless than the waves of sand.
In the stream of thoughts, only a multitude of worries,
And the current sweeps them askew...
Suddenly, in the distance, the sky trembled,
Lights flickered in it.
Appearing here and there,
They light up magically
And go out, and flare up again.
Now a terrible laugh is heard,
Now a long howl seems to echo.
From all the hollows, over the hills,
A wave of fire approaches,
The night of the desert, a peaceful night,
The world has lost itself in a storm of shadows,
And, unable to overcome the misfortune,
It has succumbed to the onslaught of lights.
Chilten hid his army in the night,
Like stakes driven into the ground.
Whirling tornadoes twist,
There’s not enough strength for the fight.
Here the mass is already close,
Surrounded from all sides,
Like a flood river,
That undermines the mountains’ slope.
Here — the living wave of jackals,
Rushing upon Chilten’s army.
Chilten’s army is shaken,
And the jackals cannot be restrained —
They tear at the lagging horses
And do not disdain the weak.
Only here does the merciless and deadly battle begin.
Clenching the tiger's fur in his hand,
Chilten shouted with all his might.
And the lights flared up in the distance,
The night trembled in fear.
And then the King of Jackals roared and rose
Above the dunes.
Two huge, watchful eyes
Approached, and behind — a brawl...
Crowds of small lights, burning with malice,
Accompany the King to Chilten.
The King of Jackals is strong and brave,
But still slightly bewildered...
And, surveying his troops
From a low hill,
He said in response to Chilten:
“We are many, like sand on the hills,
We are the grass that grows, no matter how much you burn,
You cannot cut down our thicket,
Our doomed enemies!
If you defeat one —
Immediately a thousand will rush after.
Let those leading the caravan
Give us a camel a day,
Still, the entire thousand-strong caravan
Will not reach the saving lands —
Only the last camel will survive.
If you lead a detachment of ten thousand
Across my steppe,
You will hardly spend on ransom
Less than a thousand horses.
Even if you destroy
All my jackals, still
There are so many in the sands...
You, like a mouse,
Are caught. Your army is captured!”
A chill ran down the spines of the horsemen from these threats.
Chilten listened grimly to the speech,
And, hearing about death and decay,
He struck the ground in anger —
He punched a hole in it.
And directed his ring
At the ruins by the big road.
The palace’s porch caught fire,
Flames rose to the clouds
Screeching, clearing the way,
Melting, the stones flow like mercury,
And basalt boils, burning...
And Chilten wants to turn the light
And calls to the King of Jackals:
“Hey, jackal kin, tribes!
Is our strength now visible to you?
Let the way be as free as before!
From now on, I will not allow banditry,
And remember, King of Jackals,
The sufferings of the victims will not be forgiven you!
A weapon is given to man,
Stronger is it than your strength!
Well, if you continue your wicked trade
Stealthily,
I will turn the sands to ashes,
You will all become black ash!”
Then the jackal horde disappeared,
As if it had sunk into the ground without a trace.
It became quiet in the sands — not a soul...
The same stars — in the same wilderness.
To be continued...
Beginning:The Tale of Brave Chilten. Part 2. Chapters 1-2