Three from the forest. book 1

"Greetings to the servant of the bright gods" Mrak boomed in a thick, dark voice. "The best part of the deer is for you, Boromir."

"Not to me, but to the gods," the magus corrected angrily. "My teeth are not for hard meat. If you shoot down a young grouse, bring it in... Tarkh, have you forgotten that tomorrow is the day of Initiation into Hunters?"

Targitai nodded quickly. He held Sopilka carefully to his chest, his eyes were devoted and pure. Boromir clenched his fists angrily. Taras's eldest grandson always looks loyal, but he is the laziest of all the People. Shirks housework, does not know how to hunt, does not catch fish, does not set snares for animals and birds. When they sent for firewood, he disappeared all day, but brought one or two twigs. They taught me how to be a bee hunter, but I was afraid of bees, they taught me how to cut a tree — everything went wrong. He does not know how to make hides, cut stones, or make pots....

Boromir said sarcastically:

"Did you kill the deer, Targitai? Did Mrak just help carry it?"

Targitai looked helplessly back at the huge hunter. Mrak bared his teeth scowlingly. Ferocious and unsociable, for some reason he singled out Targitai, listened to his doodling and simple songs, and stood up for him. They were afraid of Mgak. No one knew its full power. Mrak did not take part in fist fights, but he easily crushed bera, broke Turu's back, he had the most powerful bow and the longest arrows, more like darts.

"Tomorrow morning," said Boromir.

He looked at Targitai's clean face, which befitted a girl more than a future hunter, and repeated with an evil grin:

"With the first chirp of birds!"

And he left, banging his staff menacingly. Targitai looked fearfully at the magus' straight back. The taut muscles of the former hunter, the tribe's best hunter, moved confidently under the bearskin.

For such a magician, anyone who is not a hunter is not a human being at all!

The next day, in the morning, they prepared a place for a ritual bonfire. The fog was still creeping across the River, clinging to the bushes, and the guys had already dragged a whole mountain of dry deadwood, brushwood, and twigs. On a high place, on the riverbank next to the cemetery, as bequeathed from time immemorial, a wide heavy deck was laid. There was a blackened hole in the middle, a sharpened stake was inserted there, belts were tied, and two burly men were pulling hard, swelling the veins. The stake was spinning, men and women were milling around, kids were staring. The men got soaked, dropped the tops, and finally thin smoke came out of the deck.

Boromir walked around strict, shouting. The hunters, at his direction, tore stones and stumps out of the ground, trampled them down, and the girls ran after them, waving brooms. They tried to hurt the guys.

Oleg, the younger Magus, followed Boromir relentlessly. It was known in the village that Boromir was often angry with Oleg, he beat him with a staff several times. Oleg was known to be clever among the young guys, but when he got to Boromir as an apprentice, everything went awry. He couldn't remember the simplest charms, he brought the wrong herbs from the Forest, he was smart: they say, any fire is from the gods, so that a flint is born as sacred as from fidgeting with a tree on a tree. A mountain of old junk, trash, crumbled buckets, worn leather, trampled shoes, broken spears, cracked mugs, ladles, and spoons were piled on the edges of the trampled area....

Boromir looked around, threw Oleg:

"Take two guys, bring in that old sushina! The fire must reach to the sky, understand?"

"I got it, I got it," Oleg replied hurriedly.

"And what did you understand?" Boromir asked suspiciously. "Why such a fire?"

"Well, to make the gods feel hot..."

"You fool," said Boromir angrily. "The more the earth is illuminated, the more it will be sanctified. The Light is holy, understand? The gods rejoice, good luck will be sent! Go on, you idiot."

Men and women, covering themselves with their hands from the heat, ran up to the fire, threw trash, clearing the houses of evil spirits. Over the winter, a litter of bark and grasses has accumulated, it is overgrown, disgusting white worms are teeming, they are about to turn into thick green flies, gadflies, horseflies... Glory, glory to Agni, everything is burning, is being blown away by smoke. Boromir perched himself on a tree stump with an effort, clapped his hands imperiously:

"Good, good!.. The gods look kindly. The world is being cleansed of filth. The light gods love, the dark gods are bitter... And now we will purify ourselves!"

Oleg, at his sign, swung wide, hitting the man standing behind him in the face with his elbow, and threw a bundle of dry brushwood into the fire. The guys, without waiting for it to get hot, began to smoke through the fire, tucking their legs like a rabbit. The girls were late, the flames were blowing up their skirts, burning their legs. There were screams, jokes and advice.

Those who were cunning, jumped from the side, where there was less fire, Boromir sent them through the fire again. Let them purify themselves by burning the forest damp out of themselves. Laughter is pleasing to the gods. They laugh, it means they are full, satisfied, and praise you. Then the guys will start dragging the girls through the bushes that have already grown green leaves. It also pleases the gods. The most pleasing of all animals are humans.

Off to the side of the cemetery, almost by the River, a small flock of boys were waiting. They were the first to be driven through the campfire, now they were scratching the burned places, whispering to each other. Targitai shyly stayed behind. This is the sixth time he has watched the dancing and the Fire festival from here! There are guys who have become hunters for the twelfth spring, even for the tenth, and he meets spring for the nineteenth time....

Thunderbolt, the Senior Hunter, sullen and unwieldy from an excess of monstrous strength, meticulously examined the young, frowning. They're getting smaller! Previously, they slept in the snow like grouse, ate raw meat, moose were caught in a windfall, deer were crushed with their bare hands! And now they're clean, they wear tanned skins, they try to catch fish, but they won't give up, they lure birds into snares, they search for raspberries, even goats... Ugh!

Boromir approached slowly, grimacing from pain in his lower back. Thunderbolt nodded, still looking at the guys. He didn't like Magi, but Boromir wasn't born a magus. Thunderbolt was a boy, he remembered a mighty hunter who fell under a fallen tree in a thunderstorm. Another man would have been flattened, but Boromir shook off the tree and crawled to the nearest dugout. He did not die, he did not succumb to the underground forces, although they took away his bestial power. He became the younger magi of the wise grandfather Ognevit, and when he left for Viri, he stood in his place, protecting the village from the Dark Forces of the Enemy. He knew the business, he knew the customs, and besides, of all the rituals, he loved Initiation into Hunters the most.

Pushing and getting in each other's way, the guys dragged a huge circle tied with bunches of dry grass and smeared with tar to the hillock. Oleg brought a burning brand, the hay burst into flames. The orange flame cautiously licked the smudges of tar, roared joyfully, gaining strength, flashed with black smoke, crackled.

"Push!" Someone shouted.

"Hey, watch out!"

"Make way for the clear sun!"

A flaming circle rolled off the shore. He jumped up on a rock, swerved, but one of the brave men rushed to intercept, pushed, and the circle rushed to the water, gaining speed. Sparks flew in all directions, and even Boromir, who was tying up the straw himself, felt as if the sun had actually rolled down from heaven into the River.

The whole village has already gathered at the consecrated place. Even the most decrepit and infirm crawled out and stumbled to the temple. A new pillar with the roughly hewn face of Veles, the god of hunters, was already standing on the edge of the trampled area. It was put up anew every spring: the ground is damp, the pillar rots after a couple of years. If you wait a bit, the crow will land on top of its head, and the pillar will fall with a crash. I hit a kid once. The village realized that Velez was demanding a sacrifice. From that time on, a baby was given away every year, then things got better with hunting, and Boromir risked burning a dead moose instead of his sister's child, who fell to the lot. The whole village watched in awe, the old men predicted cruel punishments, but the beast went to the slingshot, the fish were caught, and the village breathed a sigh of relief. Gradually, they got used to giving Veles a large animal, the first fish after swimming, and the first basket of berries in the spring. The guys who were going to perform the ceremony were placed under the pillar of Veles. Two hunters, Thunderbolt's assistants, pushed back the people, drew a circle, and threatened that if anyone stepped over, they should take the blame on themselves. If Velez doesn't say anything, he has already shown unnecessary kindness more than once, then Thunderbolt will break the bones of the wicked.

The hunters rolled up a huge dry log and honorably seated the four elders. Boromir looked sharply at the silent boys. His eyes, which were not old at all, flashed unkindly:

Even Targitai didn't oversleep... welcome! Let's see what we're good for.

A child in the crowd began to cry loudly, breaking the tense silence. They shushed her from all sides, pushed the stupid woman out, and told her to get out. Boromir barked fiercely:

"Kremen!"

A sturdy boy stepped out of a group of teenagers, pushing his friends aside unnecessarily. He was wearing a soul jacket made of raw bearskin. The sun shone on the steep shoulders. His bare arms were covered with blue scars. He strained his shoulders, puffed out his chest proudly:

"I'm ready, Senior Magus!"

"Stand to the right," Boromir ordered in a warming voice. "Our village is large, with six dwellings, but everyone is visible. Everyone knows that you got this bear yourself.... The old people were the first to name you for Initiation."

Kremen, barely able to keep his lips from spreading, quickly moved to the right of the magus.

Boromir followed the guy's confident step with satisfaction, said loudly:

"Vyacheslav!"

"I'm here, Senior Magus!" The boy who was standing next to Targitai hurriedly shouted. His voice rose in excitement to a puppy squeal. Pushing Targitai aside, although he was not blocking the way at all, Vysheslavka, Slavka, and now Vysheslav quickly stepped towards Boromir.

The old magus spoke slowly, squinting at the crowd of parents and tribesmen frozen in reverent silence:

"You're not as strong as Kremen, but you're tough, you know how to track an animal, and you know its habits. You can spear a fish better than any other adult. They say he's learned to be a bee-hunter. Tomorrow, Vysheslav, your trial will begin."

Vysheslav proudly walked over to Kremen and stood next to it. A woman in the crowd sobbed happily. The children clung to her skirt and looked at her older brother with envy. Boromir turned to the подпарубкам:

"Горята! Tretyak! Неустрой!" The guys stepped forward, puffed up, spreading their shoulders, trying to look mighty and angry. Boromir said weightily:

"The three of you were named by the Senior Hunter. Stand on the right."

Targitai wrapped his arms around his shoulders, stilling his trembling. The guys were leaving, the group was thinning out. Gradually, almost everyone left, and only Nazarko and Tilak remained with him. Both are much younger, but they are skilled fishermen. Tilak was rumored to be able to change into a wolf. Lies, most likely, but still Tilak is burly beyond his years, strong, justifying the name. Even as a child, his name was Telesik, because his body was large and burly. He has chest hair now, even though Tilak is only ten years old. He is taciturn, unlike the cheerful Nazarka, and often disappears into the Forest. When he comes back, he smells of sweat and blood.

Boromir turned to the others and spoke slowly:

"Nazar, you haven't come of age yet.... But I've seen that you're good at hitting fish. You can stand to the right... if you want."

"Of course I want to!" Nazarko exclaimed indignantly. His eyes lit up. He rushed to the selected ones with such alacrity that he stumbled and sprawled at full height to the laughter of the crowd.

A fool, Targitai thought. A complete fool. Why is it bad to remain a подпарубком? The парубок has responsibilities and worries. "Parubok" means that it is necessary to mate, take a mate, build a nest, feed, protect...

Boromir's eyes were as sharp as a vulture's. His face twisted, as if he understood Targitai's thoughts. Piercing him with his gaze, he said to Nazarka:

"You're still growing up now... you can fish if you want, or not. And the hunter is obliged to catch. Think again! You have three years left."

Nazarko even screamed, clutching his hands to his chest:

"I will always fish! I will always hunt! Is there anything better than being a hunter?"

In the crowd, Nazarka's mother happily wailed and shouted: Behind her, the man smiled and supported his wife by the shoulders. They loudly slapped him on the back and shoulders, congratulating him on having such a son.

Boromir cast a sharp glance at Targitai again, said heavily:

"Welcome, Nazarko. You'll make a hunter. Now you, Tilak. You're too young, but you know the Forest like you know your meadow. You brought me medicinal herbs, found the golden hair of beregin, managed to get away from the kikimora... if you want, stand to the right. The initiation ceremony is difficult, but you will pass, I feel it. I even feel in my heart that you can become my junior magus!"

There was a gasp from the crowd and a dead silence. Targitai found Oleg with his gaze. The young magus stood like a pillar, his face slowly turning pale. Boromir has announced publicly that he is going to take another student instead!

Tilak, who will be called by his full name Attila after the Initiation, bared his teeth in an evil grin. Oleg is like a magician — neither be nor me, nor a cuckoo. Thunderbolt said that he was neither fish nor meat and was no good for crayfish. He doesn't remember spells, he does everything wrong, but how far is it to trouble when the Enemy surrounds the village?

Boromir turned his eyes from the silent, mouse-like Targetay to Tilak, and felt a chill. A dark evil force is rapidly awakening in the basement. Such a person will not wait for the Elder Magus to go to Viri himself!