east wind arrived with the urgency of a morning at the beginning of
spring.
It carried the scent of snow from the high peaks, yet it
was no longer as biting as the winter wind that freezes everything it
touches.
The caravan of the Khorzha, the lords of the
herds, had been forming since dawn. Around fifty carts lined the
prairie, while in the distance, the herders gathered groups of horses
and flocks of goats and sheep.
For the young prince Chinggis Yüd, it was the
first time he would ride at the head of the tribe, following his
father.
He trotted his horse confidently, greeting every family
along the way. His beautiful long kaftan, made of fine felt
dyed in ochres, blues, and earthy reds, lined inside with arctic fox
fur, fell to his thighs over the saddle. His dark baggy trousers fit
into tall boots that snugly held the fine bronze stirrups.
A mixture of emotions hung in the air. His father, Alysh,
on a magnificent black horse, waited at the front, accompanied by his
young sister, Saraí.
Chinggis slowed beside
them, looked at the sky, and whistled. From the endless blue, his
falcon arched gracefully and landed on his right hand.
The barking of dogs grew louder, mingling with the sound of
hongorong —the small bells around the necks of the
cashmere goats—, whose jingling drove away the malevolent ongon
spirits.
Suddenly, a kid goat broke away from the herd, and a loyal bankhar
(Mongol shepherd dog) with black and gold fur ran across in front of
the horses.
The prince’s horse, a young, athletic, and nervous
steed, reared. Its instinct lifted it onto its hind legs, throwing
Chinggis, who, distracted, had been feeding his falcon.
His body flew through the air as the horse bolted. Then, a
protective shadow, appearing suddenly, softened his
fall. His head stopped just short of a massive granite boulder—had
he hit it, his life would have ended.
While his father sped off after the runaway horse, Saraí
rushed to help her brother.
Chinggis felt his body leave him,
suspended for a moment in the void where the Altan Sülde
—the golden spirits— purify before leaving the earth.
—Brother, wake up! —Saraí whispered, stroking his
cheek.
—What happened? —Chinggis asked, opening his
eyes.
—The horse ran off, and you fell —she
replied.
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Saraí removed a pendant made of interwoven blue ribbons, a symbol
of the invisible paths of the air: the Sülü Kermes, a
talisman to prevent evil spirits from confusing travelers. She hung
it around her brother’s neck.
—It will protect you as it protected me. You need it now
more than ever.
Alysh arrived with his son’s horse. He dismounted, relieved to
see him unharmed.
He looked at the enormous stone and realized
that his late wife, Aynura, had saved the boy from
certain death.
Tears welled in his eyes.
—Was it mother? —Saraí asked.
Her father nodded
silently, eyes deep with affirmation.
The old shaman, Erlik, relative of Aynura,
descended from his cart and approached the front of the
caravan.
Everyone waited for him to alter the course of events
with his magic.
Bad omens! the people murmured.
Erlik, gifted with the ability to speak with the dead without
losing his soul, silenced everyone with his Kügür-Terek,
The Singing Tree: a staff carved from a young Siberian
larch, symbol of rebirth and mediation between worlds.
He took Chinggis by the right arm and traced a circle on the
ground with ashes and dew collected from the grass.
Inside the
circle, he placed a handful of earth from the home when the boy’s
mother was alive.
Then he spoke his command, placing the other
hand on the young boy’s forehead:
I am the one who walks between shadows and the
wind.
The one who speaks with the dead and follows the path of
the wolf.
I protect you, born in the storm.
I give you my
breath. I protect you.
His hands released the still-weak prince.
Part of his soul
had remained behind, trapped at the site of the accident, while the
other, renewed, returned to fill him with life.
The shaman lit some juniper leaves and spread the smoke around the
boy’s body, waving an eagle feather.
The smoke purified the
soul and closed the doors to malevolent spirits; with his breath from
the invisible world, he drew in the benevolent spirits of the sky.
Finally, he shook off the ashes, spat three times, invoking the
three universal protective forces: Tengri (Sky), Yer
(Earth), and Suu (Water).
He kissed his iron
ring, adorned with three tiny bells carved from fragments of silver
and bone, and planted his staff in the ground to awaken the spirits
of dawn and open the path for the protective shadow of the
East.
—We may continue —Erlik said to Chief Alysh.
Everyone mounted and took their positions.
Alysh waved his
hand to both sides and shouted:
—Forward! Forward! Djajyl bur awaits! May the benevolent
spirits protect us!
Behind him, every soul echoed: So be it!
Superstition
attributed bad omens to the startled beginning, which had weakened
the protective shadow of the East.
Many whispered of misfortune
as they moved forward. Others adjusted their talismans and murmured
prayers.
The chief had been tempted by forces before—first his
wife, now his son…
Who would be next?
Nothing would ever be the same after that dawn.
For the
gods of Altai had awakened.