Scene Three. Koloyar

  Four days until the Expedition.

  The day began for the Smith as it always did. The sleep that had embraced him just an hour before dawn slipped away abruptly, awakening him to the familiar silence of his home—though, to him, it was never truly silent.

  The habit of rising half an hour before the Meeting had followed him since childhood, when he would rush to training with the previous Smith of the settlement—a man who had once held the same role and, more than thirty years ago, had entrusted it to Koloyar.

  The evening before, the Smith had personally inspected the coal delivered by the village boys. In truth, life in the settlement had long settled into such a rhythm that there was little need for this check.

  All the boys of the village knew: the forge must never lack coal. And should the unthinkable happen—if the two apprentices on duty, for some dire and near-impossible reason, failed to bring the required daily supply—then the entire swarm of village lads would spring into action. They would rush to the smoldering clearings, their young hands gathering the precious fuel, their faces streaked with soot and determination. There were always enough willing helpers to ensure the forge could burn as it should, ready to craft weapons, shape rings of chainmail, and even forge kuzlo—the iron tips affixed to wooden plows, helping turn the earth for the coming harvest.

  For this, the Smith never held back his praise. These boys deserved it, always. For their labor, for their training, for every effort they made—whether in the precise execution of a combat maneuver during sparring or in the swift and skillful completion of a task in the forge. He gave freely of his knowledge, pouring it into them with the warmth of a father’s heart, shaping them as carefully as he shaped the steel beneath his hammer.

  He loved these boys as if they were his own, and perhaps even more—because, as for his own children, azhe onomo bude, it would be a very long time before he could see them.

  As he woke, the Smith did not rush to open his eyes. Instead, he lay still, his mind already at work, reviewing the plans for the day. He considered how he would conduct the warriors’ training, what he would teach in the forge, and which of the boys were ready to take on greater responsibilities.

  The eldest among them, in time, would find their place in the Village Council or become respected men in their own right—people whose voices carried weight, whose judgment even the true Elders of the settlement would heed. And among them, under the quiet guidance of the Old Man, the future of the village was already being forged.

  ?I will take Svyatogor as my right hand,? Koloyar decided. ?He sees things as they are, understands their essence, and his warrior’s skill is sharp.?

  He recalled how the young man had assisted in the forge the night before—the way he explained the subtleties of working the furnace to the younger apprentices, his words thoughtful, his reasoning sound. The others listened to him, the younger ones and even his peers. And if Koloyar entrusted something to Svyatogor, he never had to worry about it being done well.

  ?I will meet with the Old Man, discuss his appointment. If he approves, we will soon name a new leader for the warband.?

  Koloyar always consulted the Old Man when choosing which of the boys would lead a wataga. And when it came to choosing his own successor, that was a decision he would not make without speaking to the village elder first.

  No one had ever set this as a rule, yet it had been this way for as long as anyone could remember—an unspoken law, as natural and immutable as the rhythm of the forge itself.

  "To grasp Svyatogor with the right hand. To see the true and a benevolent tyro," Koloyar remembered how one of his apprentices—Svyatogor—had helped in the forging yesterday, the conclusions and arguments that the guy had made during explanations, showing the youngsters the subtleties of working with the blacksmith's forge. Older and younger guys, and even those of the same age, they listen to him. And if Koloyar entrusted something to Svyatogor, one did not need to worry about the task being done properly.

  "As I was tasked by the Elder, to select a guardian for the Punisher," Koloyar finally concluded his reflections.

  The Smith always discussed with the Old Man each of the boys he promoted to be leaders over the packs. And he must tell the eldest of the village about finding his replacement. Although no one imposed the obligation to discuss decisions regarding the apprentices, it seemed to happen naturally and had long been an unwritten rule.

  "Cheredima trebna,"[2] the Smith smiled at his own thoughts, recalling his participation in the Council of Elders, managing the affairs of the settlement.

  [2] ?Cheredima trebna, ? which could indeed be translated from Old Slavic as ?It is necessary to follow the established order.?

  The Old Man's catchphrase, which he always let out when disputes arose among the participants in the evening meetings. There were several such phrases, uttered by the most authoritative elder, that had become the rule and motto of the village. Each meeting was opened by the Old Man with the same address to the people: "Soveche sezdаti."[3] And the response of those present: "Deyati kupno lade." And these words had long become the motto of the settlement. All the villagers, out of habit, used the wisdom of these phrases in everyday life and authoritatively repeated them, not at random, but absolutely accurately copying the intonations of the Old Man. "Soveche sezdаti," when faced with a difficult decision, one villager would say to another.

  [3] ?Soveche sezdаti? might translate to ?Let's gather for the council? or a similar phrase referring to the assembly of the council.

  "Deyati kupno lade," [4] he received in response, not only with a detailed opinion from the speaker but also with concrete neighborly help.

  [4] ?Deyati kupno lade? could be interpreted as ?To act together harmoniously? or a phrase encouraging collective action and unity.

  How and why this rule was established was not important. The main thing was that it worked, and all issues the village Elders discussed, were always from two points of view, where one tried to oppose the other, and in the case of complete heartfelt agreement with the proposed decision of the issue and non-disputable. But, after discussing aloud, the dissected was executed exactly as agreed.

  The Smith opened his eyes, mentally reminded himself to discuss Svyatogor's candidacy with the Old Man, and smoothly getting up, sat on the bed, dropping his feet onto the floor with a dull thud.

  He was not afraid to wake his family; the Smith-Mentor should never have had one. This was the main rule, thanks to which the village got a respite from the curse's action and, at the same time, the rule was a secret not told to the simple villagers. ?

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  Certainly, understanding the narrative sensitivity, here is a revised version that reflects the characters as either widows or established ladies of the village:

  Widows and well-regarded ladies of the community certainly harbored a fondness for the enviable single man – both those who were once his youthful pupils and those recently bereft of their spouses. Remarkably, in the village, there was a high count of widows: for every two married women, there was one widow.

  And while the incidental touches from the ladies, who perhaps unwittingly flirted with the hero during training sessions or village festivities, kindled in the Smith an irresistible urge to banter, such interactions never escalated into anything further on his part. Yet, with the widows, it was a dignified conversation where he explained that a domestic life was not in his future, and if he ever embraced anyone closely during the village celebrations, he inspired strict discretion regarding these encounters.

  Only if this understanding was mutually accepted would their intimate moments transpire again, invariably filled with deep warmth and his substantial masculine vitality, leaving the fortunate woman falling asleep in a bed warmed by Koloyar.

  Nevertheless, such occurrences were rare for the widows who, reminiscing long afterward, patiently awaited another rendezvous, regretting the pact to shroud their affection in secrecy.

  True, sometimes a lady might share confidences with her fellow widow about her longing for her past partner, occasionally mentioning the Smith. When the tear of unspoken yearning rolled onto her pillow, it became the epitome of pent-up emotion, particularly when learning that the Smith's absence was due to the company of another neighborly widow.

  When the moment of overflowing sentiment arrived, leading to inquiries that demanded explanations, Koloyar remained reticent regarding queries of affection or its lack, instead playfully engaging in delightful banter and sealing gestures of camaraderie with tender, lasting kisses. Should a lady take serious umbrage, it served as an unmistakable signal for him to step back, and Koloyar would correspondingly halt his dispositions. He’d deftly switch topics to recount the forge's affairs, the training sessions, and his proficient pupils, gracefully withdrawing from the personal endeavors of any lady bereft of hope in captivating him.

  And in casual village encounters, which were inevitable, he would cite pressing obligations. Should the ladies attempt to visit, perhaps with the intention to lend a hand at the forge, the notion was outwardly welcomed. Yet, such advances were consistently parried by the apprentice lads, the residents of the smithy, who met these overtures with fervent, sinewy frames. A ladies' gift of food was enjoyed in good spirits, and any assistance in the homestead swiftly diverted undue attention away from Koloyar.

  This was his way of guiding the young men not only in combative and blacksmithing arts but also in the finer points of relating to ladies of stature. His pupils revered him, while the graceful widows and respected matrons became for the more mature lads yet another stirring incentive to dedicate themselves earnestly to their craft.

  Many apprentices aspired to be the chosen successor to the Smith, but he did not explicitly groom anyone to take his place, trusting that any of the senior apprentices would, given time, fill his role if the final dance with mortality beckoned, a competition where extra time could no longer be vied for by the Smith. Koloyar, well-prepared for his fate, held a secret hope that his own end would come swiftly, to avoid the sorrow of enduring more of his apprentices’ funerals. Bearing witness to the burning pyres on which his departed pupils lay was a torment he deeply wished to forgo.

  Sitting up in bed, the Smith shook head, envisioning the glow of the forge before him, sparks scattering in all directions.

  "That's why it is not possible," he muttered with a wistful chuckle, dressing in his work attire before stepping out into the fresh morning air.

  Beyond the gate, the Blacksmith, having broken off a branch from the apple tree and chewed on it a bit, looked eastward, where, not yet fully visible as a complete sphere beyond the forest, shining with rays, Yarilo – the grandson of the God who gave warmth and life to the earth – rose into the sky.[5][6]

  [5] The Rod is the supreme God of the Slavs. The creator of all that exists and does not exist. The progenitor of Svarog and Lada – the Father and Mother of all the other Slavic Gods.

  [6] Yarilo is the spring-summer aspect of the Slavic sun god, linked to fertility, growth, and the vitality of youth.

  The Smith turned to face north and, swaying slowly and smoothly back and forth with increasing amplitude, began to wait for the Encounter.

  A shadow flickered by, and at first one silhouette, then two more, and then more, appeared behind the teacher – his disciples joined in, silently keeping pace with the movements of Kolyar, starting the ritual of greeting the sun, which in a single moment, noticeably reddened the sky above the forest with its warm and bright rays, touching the group of people standing below.

  The Smith's consciousness dissolved in the morning air, smiling and with slightly closed eyes, he caught the sun's rays, alternating on the left and right sides of his face.

  Svyatogor, who was the first shadow, rejoiced that he was standing next to the teacher again that day, and that the teacher was radiating some incomprehensible yet almost tangible energy, sharing it along with his joyful emotions with the surrounding world and with his disciple. The boy was glad to greet another beautiful day at the start of the spring month of May. And the smiling Yarilo would bless the people with good fortune, bring millet, turnips, gudies, lead fish to the river, fill the forests with game and fur.

  Till today, till this very moment that had just arrived, Svyatogor thought that the Smith always smiled at the face of Yaromir, because he did not want to offend the Forefather, and simply rejoiced at another new day, beginning with the morning sunrise. But now, carefully repeating the Smith's movements of the Encounter, also smiling at Yarilo, Svyatogor, suddenly caught a ray of sunlight from the corner of his eye, pulled out an especially bright sunbeam that slipped into Semyon's soul, and, instantly warming the body, passed through with a warm wave, heating the muscles and bones down to the feet, to the very heels and, reflecting from the ground, filled Semyon with its strength.

  This beam, unexpectedly, became such an overwhelming surge of vigour that Svyatogor wanted to leap, soar into the sky, but, imitating Kolyar, he held himself back and turned the second half of his face to Yarilo. And, desperately hoping that this first encounter was not just by chance, he began to wait for another ?own? ray.

  And Yaromir did not need to be pleaded with. He sent a flow of sunlight, but not with one beam, but a full-flowing stream that slipped into Svyatogor's eyes.

  The lad squinted from pleasure—?God's grace flowed through him, and unable to conceal his joy, he laughed and bowed to Yarilo. ? The Smith looked at Svyatogor, raised his hand in greeting, smiled, and whispered.

  ?The Discipliner's time has come! ?

  And without a pause, he continued with a full voice, addressing everyone at once.

  ?May God grant us bounty! ?

  Immediately, a dozen young voices echoed in response.

  ?May God grant us bounty! ?—asking for grace from the generous Yarilo.

  ?Finish without me. You'll lead the warm-up, and then fetch Istislav, ? Kolyar told Svyatogor, ?today he will assist, we will be teaching the young ones,? the Smith assigned the task, already virtually handing over full responsibility to the new Discipliner of the squad.

  Nodding to the boys that they should continue, and receiving a bow in return, which straight away signified confirmation, understanding, and willingness to comply with the order, the Smith hurried to morning breakfast and bed drills with Pelageya, a charming woman with three decades under her belt, however, who only reflected a dim sadness in her brown eyes.

  The experience of years lived added just a hint of noticeable melancholy to her face, but Pelageya stood out among the other beauties with her refined yet sturdy figure, leading into full, broad hips, and above the flat stomach, high, uplifted breasts that drew in the male gaze.

  Pelageya's breasts had another pleasing quality; when the Smith looked at them through the fabric of the sarafan, their buds swelled, brazenly fixating on Kolyar with their protruding nipples, unlike Pelageya's eyes, which shyly averted to the side, modest in the presence of another…

  And the Smith, having remembered this, hurried to the fifth house from the edge of the village, where lived this very kind, good-hearted, and sad woman, located on the same side as the yard of the Elder, surrounded by a high solid fence and standing remotely on the outskirts of the village. And an hour later, faced with the decision regarding Svyatogor, under the tender gaze of Pelageya, Kolyar felt compelled to resolve the matter with the Old Man as quickly as possible.