Three from the forest. book 1

"Now you, Tarkh," said Boromir. He pulled himself together, and his voice hardened. "The hunters decided to keep you out of the Initiation."

A single female voice rose in the crowd, but the people outside the line stood silently, looking at Boromir. The rear ones craned their necks and climbed onto the shoulders of the front row. Thunderbolt roared, driving away the brave souls who crossed the line. Branches crackled on the tree, where boys sat like crows.

"It's a big village," Boromir repeated, "but it's all in plain sight. We talked to hunters, old people. You won't make a hunter, you won't make a magician. You're not fit to be fishermen, bee-keepers, or potters. You don't even do what children can do: pick berries, nuts, and brushwood....

There were whispers in the crowd. Roslanikha, Targitai's mother, sobbed hopelessly, withered early, exhausted by labor. She was supported by Zharook, the brother of Targitai's father, who died in the Forest.

The old men bowed their heads. Taras stared straight ahead, avoiding his grandson's desperate gaze. Long silver hair fell to her shoulders. He was leaning on a thick, gnarled stick, placing it between his legs. Taras's hands were wrinkled, wide, with flattened fingers, irregularly fused bones, glaucous scars, and swollen veins. The hands of a seasoned hunter.

Thunderbolt was sitting on the edge of a log next to the elders, fidgeting impatiently, frowning. When Boromir stopped, catching his breath, Thunderbolt rose to his full height, looking like a hundred-year-old oak tree growing in a spacious clearing, and said in a voice as rough as unpolished wood:

"Let me speak, Magus! You're so kind and gentle that you're drowning in snot. Watch out, you'll slip. Grandfathers and great-grandfathers cut the truth in the eyes of the gods, and you're afraid to tell it to a sucker. We decided the other day that we would expel the quitters, according to the old custom. As it has always been done! There are only two loafers: Targitai, son of Vyrvidub, grandson of Taras, and Oleg, grandson of the Blockhead!"

A woman in the crowd began to wail and sank to the ground. Another woman screamed at the top of her voice. They were shushed, then dragged away so as not to interfere.

Boromir said uncertainly:

"Targitai is hopeless, but Oleg can still learn something...."

Thunderbolt burst out laughing and said in a voice as rough as a bear's roar:

"You're taking Tilak instead! Come on, old age makes you soft. To survive in the Forest, you have to work like ants. Everyone can see that Oleg is a klutz, a loser. Smarter than Tarkha, who argues, but the mind is occupied with anything but business. Have we decided? Decided. So declare the general will!"

Boromir sighed and said in a faded voice:

"The Neuras of the Light Forest! I declare the will of the gods who created us, gave us laws, and lead us through Darkness. This spring, as always, we sorted out the young ones. The gods are kind to the People! We convert eight подпарубков into парубки. Only two were никчемами. You know what to do."

He turned to the elders, who were sitting in a row on a log like blue pigeons. People were talking softly, and Roslanikha's screams could be heard in the distance. Taras shook his head, but remained silent. The gods, protecting the People, ordered Mara and her bloodthirsty daughters to take away the sick in infancy. Others die in childhood. The strongest and most enduring reach the парубочества. However, healthy people can also disappear if they get lazy and timid! By the will of the gods, they were culled when they were initiated into Hunters. Targitai had been fed, clothed, and cared for nineteen springs, but as you can see now, the hard-won food was wasted. The law is strict: those who do not work do not eat. And Targitai is trying to remain a child, even though he has outgrown his father, he has a slant in his shoulders, he would break his neck if he had a chance to clash.

In complete silence, when even Targitai's mother held her breath, Thunderbolt rolled from heel to toe and back again, blushing frighteningly at the top of his voice:

"Гоям — fun in honor of the bright gods! Изгоям One day for the outcasts to pack!"

Boromir was handed a tambourine, and the magus tapped his fingers. The taut skin responded with a deep, drawn-out moan. The people stirred, the guys stretched out in a line. When the hunters lined up, a stake formed around the campfire. The men put their hands on their neighbors' shoulders, interlacing their arms.

Thunderbolt grunted bravely, broke into the row. He towered almost a head above his neighbors, and his huge arms, like logs, almost bent them to the ground. Boromir began to tap on the tambourine. The men swayed and stamped, still not moving. The girls squealed softly. They were barefoot and wore thin leather shirts, but each had a wreath of grass or birch bark on her head, and braided cords with pendants in her braids. Wild, crazy eyes. After the hunters, it will be their turn, and then ... then what they have been dreaming about all winter will begin, at the very thought of fragrant herbs and hot greedy hands, the blood begins to roar in the temples...

The tambourine was booming louder, the women were beating their palms. In the Forest, even women have wide, callused palms, and the claps are like blows of an axe on a tree. The men slowly moved around Veles' pillar. They followed the course of the sun, as their forefathers had walked from time immemorial. Boromir used to say that one day, following the sun like that, the forefathers wandered into distant hot India. Many stayed there, but others returned hundreds of years later....

Left alone, Targitai backed away until the water splashed under his feet. A bird screamed maliciously overhead, and dust fell from the low branches. He turned his back on the village, the trees parted, but for a long time he heard the tambourine, the thunder of dancing. The ground shook as dozens of feet struck it at the same time.

Bare feet slapped after Targitai. Oleg caught up with him, pale, thin, with bulging eyes. He was hunched over, his sharp collarbones protruding, threatening to break through his thin skin. The clothes hung like a scarecrow.

"Tarkh," he said with fear, "what should I do now?.. Me too... at least it's up to you, but what's up to me?.. I tried, I worked... even if it was out of place, but I tried!"

Large drops of sweat dotted his face, and a drop hung on his nose. His eyes glittered, and a pouch with dried toad legs dangled absurdly from his thin, sinewy neck.

"I don't know," Targitai replied hoarsely.

My stomach felt heavy and cold, as if I had swallowed a huge frozen fish. He sat down, leaning against a mighty oak tree. A nimble squirrel ran overhead, clicking its tiny claws. There was a noise coming from across the River, cheering.

Oleg shifted from one foot to the other, hurriedly sat down. A long robe covered his legs, and the young magus looked even more like a young girl.

"Will they really... be banished?" he asked. "They were гоями, they became изгоями... but it's better to immediately head into the swamp! You can't survive in the Forest."

"They will expel you," Targitai repeated in a hollow voice.

"Why? Why?"

"Have you seen their eyes?.. They rejoice! It turns out that they hate us."

"Rather, they envy" Oleg replied in a drooping voice.

The forest surrounded them from all sides, leaving only a narrow opening where water gurgled, jumping over rocks, and screams could be heard from afar. The earth, hidden by a thick moss skin, smelled of damp, of the grave. The moss bulged, and in some places it burst under the pressure of the underground roots, whitish like the hands of ghouls. They were leaning out, moving liberally, trying to grab an unwary man or beast. It smelled rotten.

Oleg looked around nervously. You can't hide anything in the village, especially cowardice. Not a single girl, not even the pockmarked Dasha, dared to marry Oleg. He was three years older than Targitai, but he had never fought, and he turned pale when he saw blood. When a goat was slaughtered in front of him, he fell asleep to the ridicule of boys and girls.

"How do we go to this Forest?" Oleg asked. His whole body was shaking.

"Who said we'd go together?" Targitai replied rudely. "I'm not going to sit next to you."