Strings of Gods - Shaman Queen

The air in the steppes was different today. It wasn’t the merry laughter of the impending spring equinox celebrations. Something was amiss. A feeling as oppressive as a thunder storm had seeped into the serene landscape. It was pungent, not in smell, but in sensation - a prickling awareness that danced on my skin. 

I looked over the once never-ending, sea-green grass that was now like blades beneath the snow, adorned by the distant holy mountains. The grazing grounds past the huddle of round gers lay empty. The herd had still not returned from the night before. It wasn’t rare for the herd to wander off but this was under my watch. I had to retrieve them or else risk scrutiny from the Oboq’s wife. 

I placed down the different bowls my grandfather had asked for. He was chanting outside our brightly decorated ger. The rhythmic beat from his animal skin drum was hypnotic. Facing each direction one by one with his eyes closed. He had his headdress, the animal hair covered his face. An array of golden eagle feathers adorned the top. Small mirrors reflected the harsh sun deflecting evil spirits. 

He was the shaman of our tribe. Shamans in the Runnu empire were all rounded up and killed a hundred years ago except in the north. Shaman’s were rare and one like my grandfather who could manipulate the weather, and let deities use his body as a vessel to protect us were even more so. 

The energy was flowing from his staff on his back resembling a large white wolf’s head as the protection wards flew up in the air. I knew not to disrupt him during a ritual. 

“My child you need to get going before the festivities start,” my grandmother said as she mixed beef stew behind me. Blotches of red stained her skin from the harsh sun. I inhaled the salty warm smell. She smiled at me endearingly as she passed me a piece of hard cheese. The sweet taste burst into my mouth. Altan my golden bankhar dog wailed in response.

“I know grandmother, I am leaving now,” I said as I picked up my bow and arrows snug against the warm felt of the ger.

“Not for you yet,” my grandmother dismissed Altan as he moved at the motion of her hand. Momentarily excited. 

Suddenly a black horse darted past our ger. My sister’s young horse was as volatile as her.

“Buyan!” my grandmother called out.

“Get some control!” I warned as I shook my head. 

“I have control,” Buyan said as she circled around me. Her almond shaped eyes were wider than ever. She pulled her reins in as the stubborn horse shook its body. Her braids fell around her shoulders onto her dark blue deel. Her high cheekbones were sneaking out from underneath the remnants of her childish face. 

My grandfather slightly grumbled as Buyan’s horse stomped too close to him. The bells and tassels from his cuffs clanged together.

“If you can’t control that horse, how are you going to bring the herd?” my grandfather muttered.

Buyan turned her red face away as she pulled her horse towards me.

“We will,” I said gently. “Let’s go Buyan.”

“Hush, let the children be children!” My grandmother barked at my grandfather, before giving one last loving nod to me. 

Our grandfather shook water from his pouch towards us as he muttered words, a slightly less frustrated nod to me. 

“Be careful my children,” my grandmother said as she inhaled my cheeks with her nostrils. Her hands were warm on my skin. I walked towards the line of horses tied to the wooden pole further up the stream. 

Different instruments were being played, my grandfather would soon infuse the music with a ritual allowing it to emit flourishing energy around the land. He was going to use the energy of the clan’s singing and dancing to amplify his ritual tonight.

Between the many scattered round felt gers stood the largest ger draped in golden fabrics. Unlike the other gers it stood on wooden stairs. The Oboq was our leader with loyalty to the Khan of the Runnu empire. She was wearing a luminous golden deel, with her hair dressed in a red headdress with pearls running down on two sides of her face. She threw milk into the air, to ask the gods to protect her sons. There was a lack of men at the camp today. Most of the able bodied warriors had been called to the Toriad Capital. Kharkhot was a day’s worth of riding at medium pace if they used four horses each to switch between. 

Other members of the clan were taking different things to be set up for the celebration.

The northern mountains stood high on the horizon without a single stain of human life. The lush forests upon them gave them a green hue. Greenery seeped into the steppes, trying to rid itself of the winter. Blotches of snow stuck to the ground at various distances. 

“Can you smell it all, it's going to be beyond tasty,” Buyan said on top of her horse, “I am going to be so full I’ll not move at all tomorrow.” Her light brows were like strands of grass. Her high cheekbones were settling into her face, her nose like a button. We resembled each other a lot except my eyebrows were as dark as the night.

“I better hope there’s enough delicacies left with you around,” I laughed as we approached the horses tied to the pole. 

I untied my horse Tsagana as she neighed my long braid slithered over my arm. “Shhh, Shhh,” I said softly, half wiping my sweaty palms on her sturdy body. “You’re alright.”

My arm hairs pricked up as Tsagana stomped her hooves. My senses were elevated as I tried to push my worries away. Altan nudged his head at me. His soft golden fur swayed in the wind as I patted his enormous body. The others called him a lazy herder as he preferred to stay with me at all times. 

The burning cold sun blurred my eyes as I looked over to the other horses tied to the wooden pole, they shook their heads repeatedly.

“You don’t think the horses are acting strange?” I asked. 

“No, why would they?” Buyan said. Her bow was sticking out too wide against her slim frame. 

I jumped up on my horse in one swift motion as my orange deel glided over it. 

I guided my horse parallel to Buyans as the sounds of nearby children running around laughing filled the air. One of our younger cousins ran around with his chest bare, his clothing tucked in his waist carrying a wooden sword. A pack of medium sized bankhar puppies followed them, like small bear cubs their barks like hiccups. The other children thundered past them following the stream running on the left. Their joy kept them warm. 

Buyan tried to slow her horse down, as she sped towards the empty pastures. I exhaled deeply, accelerating my horse. Soon the scattered grey and blue of the gers were behind me. We chose to move our gers to different pastures as it allowed the grass to recover from our herd. This was our summer location where the lands would be even more lush than before