Inside Horohan’s yurt, the warmth of the fire casts a golden glow over the fur-lined interior. Khanai, the majestic white tiger, sprawls lazily near the hearth, her ears twitching at the crackle of the flames. Nearby, perched on a sturdy wooden stand, Khatan, ruffles his feathers and lets out a low, impatient screech.
Horohan, humming softly, moves with ease, tending to her companions. She fills a large bowl with chunks of raw meat and sets it before Khanai, who lifts his head, sniffs appreciatively, and then begins to eat with a satisfied purr.
“There you go, you big softie,” Horohan murmurs, scratching behind Khanai’s ears. The tiger’s eyes close in contentment, her massive tail thumping softly against the ground.
Khatan, not to be outdone, screeches again, his piercing cry echoing through the yurt. Horohan laughs, turning her attention to the eagle. “Patience, Khatan. You’ll get your share.”
She carefully places a piece of meat on a gloved hand and raises it to Khatan. The eagle’s sharp eyes gleam as he snaps up the morsel, his beak clicking with satisfaction. Horohan strokes his feathers, murmuring soothing words.
As Khatan finishes his treat, he fluffs his feathers and hops from one foot to the other, clearly pleased with himself. Horohan chuckles, shaking her head. "You two are more demanding than an army of warriors," she teases, reaching down to give Khanai another affectionate scratch behind the ears. The tiger’s purring intensifies, her eyes narrowing in bliss.
Suddenly, Khanai rolls onto her back, exposing her belly and kicking her legs playfully in the air. Horohan laughs, kneeling down to rub the tiger’s soft underbelly. "Such a fierce beast, aren’t you?" she says mockingly. Khanai’s tail thumps against the ground, echoing her contentment.
Khatan, not wanting to be left out of the attention, hops onto Horohan’s shoulder, his talons gripping her padded armor lightly. He nips at her hair, tugging playfully. "Alright, alright," she says, trying to fend him off with a laugh. "You’re just a jealous bird, aren’t you?"
Khatan screeches in response, flapping his wings for balance. Horohan turns her head slightly, rubbing her cheek against the eagle’s beak affectionately. "There, happy now?"
Just then, the yurt’s entrance flap opens, and Kuan steps in, closely followed by Tovak. The sight that greets them leaves Konir chuckling and Tovak wide-eyed with surprise. Horohan, on the floor, wrestling playfully with her tiger while an eagle perches on her shoulder, is not the image they expected of the formidable Khatun.
“Well, isn’t this a scene to behold?” Konir remarks, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Tovak, welcome to the inner workings of our Khatun’s war council.”
Tovak stands at the entrance, eyes wide and unsure how to react to the playful chaos before him. Horohan quickly stands up, making large, sweeping gestures to her animals, signaling them to stop their antics. Khatan, understanding instantly, flaps back to his wooden stand, feathers settling as he perches regally.
Khanai, however, still young and untamed, looks confused by the sudden change in tone. She stands up abruptly, causing Tovak to twitch in surprise and fear. Horohan, sighing with a mix of exasperation and affection, pushes the tiger back down with her hand, making Khanai clumsily lay back down.
“Settle down, you big kitten,” Horohan mutters, and then, with a resigned sigh, she lets herself fall down on Khanai, using the tiger as a cushion. “You know what? Let’s postpone this meeting,” she announces, clearly overwhelmed by the situation.
Konir bursts into laughter, his voice echoing through the yurt like a fox’s cackle. “Horohan, you need to leave the yurt anyway, so you might as well do this meeting now.”
Horohan sits up slightly, still sprawled on Khanai, and raises an eyebrow. “And why exactly do I need to leave my own yurt?”
Still chuckling, Konir walks sideways to the entrance and opens the flap wider, revealing a group of shamans from different clans, all standing expectantly. They enter the yurt, their expressions a mix of reverence and apprehension.
The lead shaman, an elderly man with a long, braided beard, steps forward and bows slightly. “Khatun, it’s azhunaan, we are here for our biyearly meeting. With the recent changes in clan organization, we need to find a common ground that doesn’t favor any one clan over the others. We concluded that the most neutral and respected place for this meeting is in the Khan’s yurt.”
Horohan’s eyes flick to Konir, her gaze sharp and incredulous, as if to say, “You’re not even a proper shaman, how did you agree to this?!”
Konir, finding this development thoroughly entertaining, shrugs with a mischievous grin. “It seemed like the best solution, Khatun.”
Horohan sighs, standing up and brushing herself off. She looks at the gathered shamans and then back at her now comfortably settled tiger. “Very well. Tovak, wait for me outside.”
Tovak nods, still slightly bewildered by the entire scene. “Yes, Khatun.”
As Tovak exits, Horohan turns to the shamans, her demeanor shifting to one of authority and calm. “Welcome to my yurt. Please, make yourselves comfortable.”
The shamans start to arrange themselves around the space, clearly relieved that their request has been granted. Khanai watches them curiously, her tail flicking lazily.
Konir, still smirking, finds a spot near the back, leaning against a support beam. Horohan gives him a pointed look, which he meets with a wink and a chuckle.
As the shamans begin their discussions, Horohan clicks her tongue, a signal her eagle and tiger recognize almost immediately. Khatan flaps his wings, settling comfortably on Horohan's shoulder, while Khanai rises and pads towards the entrance. The tiger stretches before stepping outside, followed closely by Horohan.
Once outside, Khanai makes a comical sound as her paws touch the cold snow, a mixture of a growl and a whine. Tovak, who had been waiting just outside, jumps in surprise at the sight of the tiger emerging first. He slips on a patch of ice and lands on his back with a thud.
Horohan steps out, spotting Tovak sprawled on the ground. “Are… are you okay?”
Tovak, his pride more bruised than his body, struggles to speak. “I... I might not feel too good.”
Horohan crouches beside him, her expression shifting to concern. “Should I find someone else for the mission?”
At this, Tovak scrambles to his feet, despite the lingering pain. “No, Khatun! I am the most discreet Orogol you can find,” he declares, though his voice wavers slightly with the tiger so close.
Horohan hides her smile, appreciating his determination. “Very well, Tovak. Your mission is straightforward. Ride to the Kolopan border and check if the water is frozen. Do not take any unnecessary risks. Be back in 2 days.”
Tovak nods vigorously, eager to prove himself. “Understood, Khatun. I will not fail you.”
Horohan places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Stay safe.”
Tovak nods once more, then turns and hurries off to his yurt, slipping slightly on the ice but catching himself before he falls again. Khanai watches him go, her tail flicking lazily.
Horohan chuckles softly. “Well, that was quite the exit. Let’s hope he has better luck on his mission.”
Horohan stands in the biting cold, watching Tovak make his way back to his yurt. Suddenly, an epiphany strikes her. The shamans are conducting their biyearly meeting in her yurt right now, a detail she had overlooked in the rush and surprise of the moment. Her mind drifts back to a memory from her childhood, a scene deeply embedded in her consciousness.
The yurt of her childhood was warm and filled with the mingling scents of sage and burning wood. Young Horohan, no more than ten years old, sat quietly beside her father, Urumol, the Alinkar chieftain. The yurt was packed with important figures: the Alinkar shaman, her father’s trusted advisor, and their guest, the Kolopan shaman, a man with a long braid of silver hair and eyes that seemed to see into one’s soul.
Urumol had raised her to be his heir, instilling in her the importance of understanding shaman matters. The shamans were more than spiritual guides; they were political allies, wielding significant influence over the tribes.
Urumol’s deep voice resonated through the yurt. “Horohan, this is Shaman Darijin of the Kolopan. You’ve met him before, though you were younger then.”
Horohan bowed her head respectfully, trying to recall the memory but finding only vague images. “It is an honor to meet you again, Shaman Darijin.”
Darijin chuckled softly, his voice like the rustling of ancient leaves. “Ah, Urumol, he grows more formidable each day. I see the strength of the Alinkar in his eyes.”
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Urumol beamed. “He is my pride and joy. One day, he will lead our people to greatness, with wisdom guiding him.”
The Alinkar shaman, a wiry man named Togrul, nodded in agreement. “Horohan has shown great promise. His spirit is strong, and his mind is sharp. He listens well, even when he appears bored.”
Horohan fought to keep a straight face, feeling the sting of Togrul’s perceptiveness. She had indeed been struggling to stay engaged, the conversations about ancient rituals and political nuances drifting over her head like clouds over the steppe.
Darijin’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “A true leader knows the weight of every word spoken in these gatherings. Remember, young Horohan, the spirits are always listening, even when we think they are not.”
Urumol leaned back, his eyes warm but stern. “Darijin speaks true. These moments are the threads that weave the fabric of alliances. Understanding them is as crucial as wielding a sword in battle.”
Horohan nodded earnestly, her mind absorbing the lesson despite her youthful impatience. The conversation flowed on, Urumol and the shamans exchanging sympathies and jokes.
Togul smiled. “Do you remember the day of Halökör? The Kolopan herd wandered too close to the Alinkar’s hunting grounds? We thought war was imminent, but instead, we found common ground and celebrated with a great feast.”
Darijin laughed heartily. “How could I forget? That feast lasted three days. I still remember the taste of it.”
Urumol leaned forward, his eyes sparkling. “Darijin, how long will you honor us with your presence this time?”
Darijin smiled, a hint of weariness in his eyes. “Not too long, Urumol. I’m here for anaanzhat. It is a Kolopan shaman’s pride to never miss it. This tradition has been passed down from one shaman to the next for generations.”
Horohan, her youthful curiosity piqued, tilted her head. “Anaanzhat?”
Darijin nodded, his expression solemn. “Yes, anaanzhat is held during the nine days before the summer solstice. Azhunaan, its counterpart, is held the nine days before the winter solstice. These days mark our biyearly shaman reunion.”
Urumol chuckled, his deep voice filled with understanding. “It seems the Kolopan take great pride in their punctuality. And you, Darijin, have never missed a single meeting, have you?”
Darijin’s eyes twinkled with pride. “Indeed, I have not. It is a matter of honor for us. Each shaman must attend, for the continuity of our knowledge and the strength of our unity depend on it.”
Horohan listened, though the significance of Darijin’s words didn’t fully register at the time. She saw it as yet another part of the adult world, filled with rituals and traditions that seemed distant from her immediate concerns.
Years later, standing outside her yurt in the cold, Horohan recalls that moment with a clarity that surprises her.
Horohan bursts back into the yurt with the force of a winter storm. The shamans inside, deeply engrossed in their divination rituals, freeze mid-motion, bones and runes clattering to the ground. Their eyes widen in shock as Horohan strides across the room, her focus locked on Konir, who is lounging at the back, barely participating.
Without warning, she grabs Konir by the neck and arm, yanking him to his feet. “What are you—” he starts, but his words are cut off by a shout of surprise and pain as she drags him out of the yurt. The other shamans exchange bewildered glances, their chants falling silent.
Outside, Horohan finally releases Konir, who stumbles and then whirls around, rubbing his neck and cursing under his breath. “What the fuck?! What do you want?”
Horohan’s eyes blaze with intensity. “Tell me, Kuan, is Darijin, the Kolopan shaman, still alive?”
Konir, still smarting from the rough treatment, glares at her. “To my knowledge, yes. Though he’s old and not as spry as he used to be.”
“Then why isn’t he here?” Horohan demands, her voice sharp.
Konir throws up his hands. “Because he’s from our enemies’ clan, naturally! He wasn’t invited.”
“I thought these meetings included all shaman clans despite rivalries,” Horohan retorts, her tone accusing.
Konir sighs, his irritation giving way to a more serious demeanor. “In usual times, yes. But this year’s situation is exceptional. We couldn’t find another way. Besides, it’s not unheard of for a clan’s shaman to be excluded from these meetings.”
Horohan listens, her mind racing. After a moment, she nods decisively. “Darijin will want to be part of this. I’m certain he will try to come, even if he doesn’t know where it’s taking place.”
Konir raises an eyebrow, a mix of curiosity and skepticism on his face. “And why do you want him here?”
Horohan steps closer, her voice lowering to a fierce whisper. “Because you’re an idiot if you can’t recognize a good hostage opportunity when you see one.”
Konir’s eyes widen in realization, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Ah, I see. You’re thinking ahead, as always. So how are you planning to make him come?”
…
Konir finds himself astride a horse, riding alongside Tovak towards the Kolopan settlement. He can’t quite explain how Horohan persuaded him, but here he is, bouncing uncomfortably in the saddle. Tovak, equally perplexed and more than a little intimidated by Konir, rides in silence, casting wary glances at his companion.
The silence stretches on until Konir finally breaks it with a string of complaints. “By the Ahen’Arelgul spirits, how did I get roped into this? I’m a shaman, not some courier. My backside hasn’t seen this much punishment since… well, since ever! And these saddles, who designed these torture devices? Must’ve been someone with a grudge against humanity, I swear!”
Tovak, suppressing a smile, continues to ride in silence, unsure if he should respond. Konir doesn’t seem to need any encouragement to keep ranting.
“And this cold! I could be sitting by a warm fire, sipping tea, and instead, I’m out here freezing my—oh, and did I mention the food? Do you think Horohan packed us anything decent? No! It’s the same dried meat, always. I’m half convinced the meat is made from the same stuff as the saddles.”
After several long minutes of this, Tovak finally musters the courage to speak. “Why… why are you coming with me, Shaman Konir?”
Konir stops his tirade, looking at Tovak as if noticing him for the first time. “Ah, yes, there’s been a change of plans. We’re not just spying anymore. We’re emissaries now. Diplomatic stuff. We’re still checking if the rivers are frozen, mind you, but we’re also inviting Darijin to azhunaan.”
Tovak blinks in surprise. “We’re inviting the Kolopan shaman to azhunaan?” He is hard at work, pretending to know what inviting an enemy shaman to azhunaan implies.
Konir nods, a wry grin spreading across his face. “Exactly. Horohan figured having him at the meeting could be useful. Something about leverage. So, we’re going to play nice, smile a lot, and try not to freeze to death before we get there.”
Tovak, still processing this information, hesitates before asking, “And if the rivers aren’t frozen?”
Konir sighs dramatically. “Then we get to improvise. Isn’t that just grand? But for now, let’s focus on the task at hand. Smile, be polite, and try not to look like you’re about to run off with their sacred relics.”
Tovak chuckles, the tension easing slightly. “I’ll do my best.”
As they ride towards Kolopan, the landscape begins to change. The vast steppes give way to rolling hills dotted with sparse trees, their bare branches etched against the cold winter sky. The sun sinks lower, casting long shadows that stretch across the snow-covered ground. The air is crisp and biting, filled with the distant howls of wolves.
As night falls, Konir and Tovak set up camp. The flickering firelight casts a warm glow, but it barely holds back the encroaching cold. Konir, wrapped in layers of fur, huddles close to the fire, his grumbling a constant companion. “Cold, so cold. And so hungry. We might as well gnaw on stones. I might not even wake up. If I die tomorrow, do something for me Tovak. Please, tell Horohan that I will haunt her for the rest of her life. Please do that, ok? I will become a vengeful monster if I die in this cold, I can swear it.”
Tovak listens, his own thoughts heavy with worry. As the night deepens, he finally speaks up. “Every night, I’m scared of tomorrow, of what comes next. I sleep as late as possible because I’m afraid of never waking up.”
Konir stops his complaints, his sharp eyes softening. He shifts closer to Tovak, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Fear is a companion we all share. It’s the price we pay for the lives we lead. But remember, courage isn’t the absence of fear, it’s acting despite it.”
Tovak nods slowly, taking in Konir’s words. The night passes in silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the distant calls of the night.
The next morning, Konir is back to his usual self, complaining as he packs up his gear. “I think I’ve grown icicles on my eyebrows. What do you think? Can you see it? Look closer!”
They ride for a few more hours, the landscape growing more rugged as they approach the Kolopan rivers. When they finally reach them, they find them frozen solid, just as Horohan had hoped. Konir makes a show of peering at the ice and nodding sagely. “Ah, our mighty Khatun’s plans are as solid as this ice. She must have consulted the spirits of winter themselves.”
As they begin to cross the river, the ice beneath the horses’ hooves echoes loudly, the sound carrying across the still landscape. Tovak’s unease grows, knowing that a whole army would be impossible to conceal with such noise.
Midway across, a group of Kolopan hunters appears on the opposite bank, bows drawn and arrows nocked. They shout a warning, ready to defend their territory. Tovak’s heart races, but Konir raises a hand in a gesture of peace.
“I am Konir, shaman of the Orogol,” he announces, his voice clear. “I seek to speak with Shaman Darijin regarding azhunaan. This young man beside me is Tovak, my escort. Our lack of men and the sacred season should show you we come in peace.”
The hunters exchange wary glances but lower their bows slightly, the tension in their shoulders easing. One of them steps forward, his eyes sharp and assessing. “We will escort you to our encampment. Any sign of deceit, and you will not leave our lands.”
Konir nods graciously. “We understand. Lead the way.”
The hunters form a protective ring around Konir and Tovak as they continue across the river and into the Kolopan encampment. The camp is a hive of activity, with yurts clustered together and smoke rising from numerous fires. As they dismount, the curious eyes of the Kolopan warriors and their families follow them, murmurs spreading through the crowd.
Konir and Tovak are led to the central yurt, where the flap is drawn back to reveal the interior. Inside, an elderly man with a long braid of silver hair sits by the fire, his eyes as sharp as ever despite his age. Darijin, the Kolopan shaman, looks up, his expression a mix of curiosity and recognition.
“Shaman Darijin,” Konir begins, bowing respectfully. “We come with a message from Horohan, the Khatun of Tepr. She wishes to invite you to azhunaan.”
Darijin’s eyes narrow thoughtfully as he studies the two men before him. “And why should I trust the words coming from your mouth, Little Konir? You came out of nowhere and betrayed the Alinkar’s trust. Do you think we’ll fall to the same tricks?”
Konir meets his gaze steadily. “Because the times demand unity, not division. The sacred season is upon us, and we must honor the traditions that bind us all. We come in peace, with respect and a genuine desire for reconciliation.”
A group of Kolopan and Alinkar warriors burst into the yurt, their blades gleaming menacingly as they point them at Konir and Tovak. The atmosphere turns electric with tension, the crackling fire a stark contrast to the cold steel.
Darijin rises from his seat, his eyes burning with accusation. “You follow the orders of the patricide, Konir. Urumol succumbed to his injuries ten days ago and you come asking for reconciliation? You are a traitor and a man without morals. I have despised you from the beginning.”
Konir, taken aback by the accusation, tries to respond, but Darijin cuts him off, his voice growing louder. “I will find a way to prove to the world that you are not a real shaman, and that you killed the Orogol chieftain to take control over his land. You are nothing but the personal dog of the evil spirit who killed Urumol and Togrul with his own two hands. You will be judged before your ancestors here and now!”
Tovak, his eyes wide with fear and confusion, glances at Konir. The fire crackles loudly, filling the silence that follows.