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Just before dawn, Abarōz woke and walked to her father. Curled on his side, he looked like a sleeping child. But she couldn’t forgive herself if she left without saying goodbye.
“Father,” she whispered, crouching by his side. He mumbled, turning over. “Father,” she said louder.
He shot up, putting one hand on her throat.
“Who are you?!” he hissed.
Abarōz answered through coughs.
“F-father, It’s all right—it’s–it’s me.”
His arm fell to his side.
“Forgive me,” he said. “You startled me.” He glanced at the red-streaked sky. “It is early.”
“Yes.” Abarōz did something she had never done in Dardan: gave his arm a squeeze. “Father,” she told him, “I must tell you I need to leave. I’m here to bid you farewell.”
“Ah.” He looked somber. “I return from my own journey only to have you make one.”
Abarōz sighed.
“It can’t be helped. Or you may have come back for nothing.”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he smiled, “for I’ve been able to see you again.”
Abarōz blinked away tears. She had to stay strong—for him.
“Do not worry, Father,” she said, stroking his grizzled face. “I’ll be back before you know it.”
“May Tengri make it so.”
She put down her hand reluctantly, rising to stand above him.
“I will return,” she said. “And we’ll be together again.”
He gave her a smile so full of love that she had to turn away. When she found Shāhpuhr, he sensed her sadness and bent to kiss her cheek. She was thankful for this and the sight of two loaded packs, gold plate roped to the deerskin.
“Ready?” he asked softly, motioning toward the Rōd. Bükrek was not to be seen, which Abarōz thought was deliberate: they had already said their goodbyes.
The forms of sleeping ebrens dotted both banks of the river. As Shāhpuhr approached Catanes, Abarōz’s hands flew to her mouth.
“Shāhpuhr! I don’t have a dragon!”
This awoke Catanes, who smiled up at his rider. The two of them exchanged roars.
“He says,” Shāhpuhr told her, “that the blue at his side, Iotapa, proved her courage at Dardan.”
Abarōz looked into eyes the same color as the dragon’s scales. She walked slowly to the ebren’s side, and once Shāhpuhr relayed that his friend needed a mount, Iotapa hugged the ground.
“Thank you,” Abarōz told her, feeling a twinge for Az. But she tried to push away thoughts of her last disastrous ride as she leapt atop Iotapa.
The dragon unfurled her wings, taking off to soar past water and trees. Lulled by her ride’s smoothness, Abarōz relaxed her death grip on Iotapa’s spike. Hearing a nearby flap, she turned to see Catanes where Shāhpuhr rode with both hands free.
“A master Aswār?” she teased.
“Not quite,” he smiled. “Give me another two years.”
They continued in silence, Mihr flaring brighter the farther they flew. The sky turned a burnt-orange as they soared above Sangal’s lair.
“Ugh,” shuddered Abarōz, thinking of her adventure there. “You don’t think the north ebrens will attack?”
Shāhpuhr shook his head.
“They are far too arrogant to expect anyone in their space. In this case, their hubris is not a flaw!”
Abarōz laughed, impressed that his mother had taught him something of the Hrōmāyīg. He had really missed nothing by not growing up in Dardan.
At last, they were free of the desert and approaching a tree-lined land. Abarōz looked down. She had never been this far north and she was frankly afraid.
“Shāhpuhr,” she called, “are we sure this journey is wise? To venture to a place only spoken about in whispers; to attempt a bargain with wolf men. If this isn’t madness, what is?”
He shot her a wry grin.
“I can’t dispute you,” he said, “but when have the two of us been anything but mad?”
She couldn’t maintain her frown.
“True,” she told him, “but this Abaxtar is not Šahr. The customs will be unknown to us—even the language!”
“We have no idea,” Shāhpuhr said, “of what lies ahead in that strange land. But if there’s one thing I trust, it’s my mother. My faith in her equals my faith in you.”
Abarōz felt a glow as if she could fly without a dragon.
“Thank you,” she smiled. “I return the feeling fully. Unless, of course, you’re under your father’s curse.”
He laughed.
“I can’t blame you.”
“So what are we looking for when it comes to this Abaxtar?”
“When I was young, Bükrek told me tales. She said it lies in the northwest and is heavy with trees. The forests there make Razūr look like a pinprick.”
Abarōz shuddered to think of this wood and its creatures. The wolf men might well be the least of their worries. She tried to distract herself by looking down at the landscape. After just a short time aloft, she spotted a vast spread of water.
“Is that an ocean?” she asked.
“No,” answered Shāhpuhr. “It is a sea of black.”
Abarōz leaned over cautiously.
“But all I see is blue.”
“Still, My mother says it is called the Black Sea.”
“Oh,” she gasped, amazed that she couldn’t see the opposite shore. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Nor I. The Bērūn contains many wonders.”
And dangers.
“Will we reach the forest by nightfall?”
“Oh yes. Not to Abaxtar, but the north ones that lie before it.”
Abarōz felt her skin prickle: yet another unknown.
As the dragons flapped on, she saw the Black Sea give way to green thickets. The further they flew, the more dense they became, and the less Mihr warmed them.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“In the north I spoke of. It is a good time to land.”
Abarōz didn’t need to guide Iotapa as Catanes aimed for the ground. They set down their claws in a green clearing where both riders jumped off. Abarōz looked around warily.
“There,” Shāhpuhr said cheerfully. “That wasn’t so bad!”
“I’m not worried about the journey—it’s the destination that scares me.”
“There are no Erbörü here, so you don’t have to worry.”
“But,” asked Abarōz, “what else might be hiding?”
He raised his shoulders, spreading both hands. The two ebrens, in need of rest, closed their eyes and sprawled out full-length.
“One thing is sure,” he said. “These woods have never been cut.”
Abarōz nodded—even she could tell. These trees towered so high they seemed to reach past Mihr.
“What should we do now?” she asked.
“Besides not harm the trees? We rest.”
“But we only rode!”
Shāhpuhr let out a low chuckle before pulling dried meat from his pack.
“Eat,” he said, tearing off a small chunk for her. He cocked his head and listened. “I don’t hear any large creatures, so I think we’re probably safe.”
Abarōz let out a breath. How she wished that he knew. She startled at birdcalls unlike any she’d ever heard. They were wild and screaming, though Shāhpuhr took no notice—of them. He seemed more concerned about her.
“I take it,” he said, “you don’t much like the outdoors?”
Abarōz gulped.
“I like Razūr since it’s calm and safe. But here?” She swept her eyes to a low-hanging branch. “Anything could happen.”
“That is so,” said Shāhpuhr, “but I find the more wild the place, the better I like it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t like to be bored. Not knowing what or who I’ll meet keeps me on my toes.”
“I don’t know,” Abarōz sighed. “Give me a Dardan without the S̆āh, and I could be perfectly happy.”
“Buried in stone?”
She sighed.
“Well, I didn’t mean it that way. But I’d like the safety of a city mixed with a touch of Mihr.”
Shāhpuhr grinned.
“Perhaps you’ll achieve that someday.”
Abarōz sighed.
“I doubt it. But in the meantime, at least we don’t have Al-razi.”
Shāhpuhr motioned over the clearing.
“Here we are free,” he said.
“You’re right. That at least is something.”
“There is no one to watch us,” he whispered, sidling over to where she sat. His face now inches from hers, he bent to touch her forehead. “Whatever we do will never be told. By the sky god, I swear it.”
Abarōz closed her eyes, all her emotions colliding. Should she continue to follow the old ways—those of Dardan—or give herself up to Shāhpuhr’s? At last, the warmth she felt for him made her decision easy.
“Kiss me,” she ordered, surprised at her own boldness.
His eyes shone as he put his arms around her. At first, his kisses were gentle, soft lips upon hers; then, he deepened them, allowing their tongues to explore. Someone let out a groan and to Abarōz’s shock it was her!
Shāhpuhr’s hands caressed her throat before moving down to her sides. Abarōz felt a heat that had long surpassed warmth: it scorched like an ebren’s flame. Even though she flushed, shy at her lack of experience, she placed her hand in his hair, raking through the long strands.
“Abarōz,” he panted, and his fingers swept upward to right below her chest. “May I?” he whispered, and all she could do was nod. As his hands caressed her breasts, she lost all sense of place: she could have been here, in these woods; sequestered in Dardan; or in Şahmeran’s den, with its falls and flowers.
“More,” she begged, and he lay her down, his own body flush with hers, every inch of their flesh touching. Abarōz felt his groan vibrate as the friction between them grew. Was this really it then? So many visions passed through her mind: Adrina, scolding; her father, disappointed; the entire city of Dardan wagging its finger under her nose.
“WAIT!” she yelled, startling Shāhpuhr with a hard push. “I know,” she said, her breath coming in gasps, “that with you, I am free, but . . . my old life is watching.”
He caught his own breath before he rolled to his feet.
“It’s all right,” he said. “You must tell me if I go too far. I may not have grown up ‘civilized,’ but I fancy myself a good man.”
“You are,” Abarōz told him. “I’ve never known a better one.”
He bowed, and she felt she could trust him (and herself) to slowly rise and move toward him, placing her lips on his.
When they pushed apart, he gave her a lopsided grin.
“I hope you don’t hate me.”
She playfully smacked his arm before they stood in silence below the cathedral of trees.
“Abarōz?” he asked. She prepared herself for anything. “I think we should stay here tonight. That way, we can get a fresh start in the morning.”
“Whatever you say. After all, you are a boy of the forest.”
He laughed, her humor dispelling any unease. Shāhpuhr walked the dragons, picking up fallen branches, and, before long, a merry fire sparked. He sat on a fallen log, then beckoned for her to come over. Even though their thighs touched, she felt completely safe. Gazing over at the sleeping dragons, Abarōz let out a sigh.
“If only,” she said, “life could always be like this: no wars, no Sangal, no S̆āh.”
“That would be perfect,” he answered, “but you know that Gehān is not. We must learn to work with her flaws.”
Abarōz smiled as she stared at orange flame dancing. She and Shāhpuhr sat together until Mihr’s rays disappeared. He set out two blankets on moss.
“Rest,” he said, lying down. “Tengri knows we’ll need all our strength tomorrow.”
“Yes,” said Abarōz, thankful for two things that warmed her: him . . . and the fire. After feeling Shāhpuhr’s embrace, she had no trouble closing her eyes.
The next morning, Abarōz woke to the harsh call of birds. Why were they still there? They sounded annoyed, affecting her the same way. What was it about these woods that brought forth such terrible sounds?
Shāhpuhr rose to his feet, then stamped out the fire’s ashes. Abarōz got up and gulped down a flat piece of bread. As Shāhpuhr dined on dried meat, she walked out to Iotapa whose blue eyes were now open.
“No,” Shāhpuhr said.
“I’m sorry?”
“We can’t fly over the forest. Might as well wave a red cloak to tell every creature we’re here.”
“Oh. We walk then?”
He nodded, strapping on his gold sword and handing Abarōz hers. He turned to roar at the two dragons.
“Ready?” he asked Abarōz.
She only stared as Mihr poked through the trees.
“Not really,” she said, “but as always it doesn’t matter.”
Shāhpuhr didn’t smile.
“Stay by me,” he ordered, making for a nearby thicket. “We don’t know what to expect.”
Abarōz sighed, wishing he’d kept that to himself.
She trailed him by two hands’ breadths as he dove into the woods, taking a dirt path north. The farther they walked, the denser—and darker—it seemed this forest became. There came a time deep inside when Shāhpuhr unloosed his sword to cut away thick hanging branches.
Abarōz’ gloom increased in proportion to that around her. She grew more apprehensive as she heard the scuttle of creatures, some on dirt and some on wood. She even gave a small cry as a leaf hit her upturned face.
Why was she here again?
She bumped right into Shāhpuhr as he abruptly stopped,
“Wha—?”
“Shhh.”
He had his blade in both hands as he sniffed the air.
Abarōz tried to look over him, but of course he was too tall. Then, she heard a deep growl, and it wasn’t coming from him: She saw a small dark brown form launch itself at his throat.
“Ah!” he cried, swinging his sword in a death blow.
The creature, small as a dog, lay bleeding on the dirt.
“Wh-what was that?” asked Abarōz.
“A xūg.”
“Di-did you h-have to kill it?”
“Don’t be deceived,” he said, “by that sweet furry face. The xūg has cutting claws and is a fearsome predator.”
“But it’s so small!” she cried.
“Size is not the issue—it can bring down a full-grown deer.”
“Oh.”
Abarōz felt relief she was with a boy of the forest.
“The only good thing,” he told her, sidestepping the body, “is that xūgs are hated by wolves.”
“I see. So when we find them, let’s tell them you killed one—before they tear us through.”
Shāhpuhr’s shoulders shook as he laughed.
“Remember,” he said, “the Erbörü are more than wolves.”
“I wish I could take some comfort in that.”
Shāhpuhr turned to face her.
“We cannot become complacent: my mother says these woods are filled with bears and big cats.”
“Now you tell me.”
“Though these may seem tame compared to the beasts of Abaxtar.”
“Is that supposed to be encouraging?”
He didn’t have an answer as he cut his way down the path. If one more branch snagged Abarōz, she was going to confront Şahmeran. As they made their slow progress, Abarōz felt a chill. Although the air was mild, she felt that the trees were smothering her. And she had lived in a cave!
Such thoughts just frightened her more, each rustle of branch or leaf causing her to jump. She nearly cried out to Shāhpuhr when he stopped before her: there, to the side of the path, was a modest thatched hut. It was hardly remarkable, except for its leafy location, and the stilts that held it up. To Abarōz, they looked like the giant legs of a chicken!
“Baba Yaga,” Shāhpuhr breathed. “We must have made it to Belarod.”
“Is that the name of the hut?”
“Oh no, she’s a—”
“Hello,” came a voice as the crooked form of a woman emerged from the hut. She was a bit hard to look at, what with her long face, crooked nose, and black hat that rose in a peak. In one hand, she clutched a broom, and Abarōz had a feeling she did more with it than sweep.
“Greetings,” said Shāhpuhr as she approached, though he kept his sword close.
“You are not . . . children?” this Baba Yaga asked. Though her accent was strange and some of her words unknown, Abarōz understood her.
“Er, no,” she said. “We consider ourselves full-grown.”
“Pity, for I had hoped to (strange word) you.”
Abarōz turned to Shāhpuhr.
“What did she mean to say?”
“I’m not sure, but I think she hoped to eat us.”
“WHAT?”
“It is said she devours children.”
“Blech.”
The old woman squinted over her nose before shuffling closer.
“Let us hope,” whispered Abarōz, “we are not the exception.”
Baba Yaga, now across from them, gripped her broom and gave them a stare. Abarōz almost felt that the witch could see her insides.
“Are you aware,” asked the woman, “that I am more than a (?) of children?” Both travelers shook their heads. “Well, I am. You hardly hear it in stories, but I have been known to give advice to passers-by.”
“Really?’ Abarōz gulped.
“Come, child—”
“I’m not one!” Abarōz cried.
The old woman frowned.
“Let’s not stand here and quibble. My advice is said to be wise.”
“V-very well,” said Abarōz, “what do you have to say to us?”
Baba Yaga smiled, transforming from fearsome to mild.
“Don’t think I don’t know what you seek—why you tread these woods. The Erbörü are fierce with no tolerance of strangers. You must approach them slowly, hands over your head. And . . .” she chuckled, “I’d put away those swords.”
Abarōz grew impatient. What kind of advice was this?
“One more thing,” said the witch. “Never disturb them when the moon is full. They’ll make me look like a rabbit.” This, at least, was helpful. “Now Dardans, take your leave, and follow the crooked path. When you hear a howl in the distance, you must set down your weapons.”
“Thank you,” said Shāhpuhr. “When I return home, I’ll inform Bükrek of your gifts.”
The witch gave a throaty chuckle.
“Oh, she knows.”
With a vigorous last wave, Abarōz followed Shāhpuhr back into the forest. Abarōz had to admit Baba Yaga no longer scared her, but she was left with just one question: Why the legs of a chicken?
