“So, what can you say about it?” Ivan Semenovich asked again.
“It’s impossible. It’s much too… much too… and yet there’s no room left for doubt… You see, it’s…”
The archeologist was apparently having difficulty finding the proper words to express himself. He picked up the arrow again and said, displaying it for his friends to admire it as though it were a thing of enormous value:
“My friends, it is an exact replica of an ancient arrow! Arrowheads of this type have been found in the excavations of the Scythian burial mounds. But they were always damaged, rusted and bent. You see my point? But this one is a new ancient arrow!”
“What do you mean — ‘a new ancient arrow’? I’d say that’s a very odd collocation, Dmitro Borisovich. Could you please make your meaning clear?”
“No, I can’t! What do you want from me, Ivan Semenovich? I’m only describing what I see; I beg you to understand this. And I’m as puzzled as the rest of you! Truly I am!”
Artem glanced at Lida, and Lida returned the stare: it was nigh to impossible to make any sense of the archeologist’s confused words.
The distant song changed in tone; now it was filled with joy and triumph. There was neither severity nor despondency in it any longer. Now it was truly a song of victory and jubilation.
“I have really never heard anything like it before,” Ivan Semenovich said pensively, casting a glance at Artem and Lida. He probably meant both the song and the archeologist’s garbled explanations. But the archeologist was not aware of the song at that point, for he was fully absorbed in examining the arrow.
“Look at Diana,” Artem said to Lida in a low voice.
The dog was standing now, her legs wide apart. She turned her head in the direction from which the song was coming. The dog was obviously nervous. She was prepared.to fight an unseen and unknown enemy. Ivan Semenovich also noticed this. For some time he stood looking at the dog as if thinking the situation over. Then he said, quietly and determinately, putting special stress on this quietness and determination:
“My friends, we must find out what’s going on there. Collect your belongings and get ready to move. Dmitro Borisovich, you’ll have plenty of time to examine your arrow later.”
The archeologist gave Ivan Semenovich an annoyed look, but obeyed, putting the arrow under the flap of his rucksack so it was sticking out of either side, and scrambled to put it on.
Ivan Semenovich was the first to start forward, picking his way among the trees, moving in the direction from which the song was coming.
They were walking through a big, dense forest. Something about it was different from the forests they were familiar with. Maybe it was the uniformly enormous trees or the unusual coloring of the leaves and grass — something they had never seen before. Everything was new and complicated, as though they had suddenly been transported to a far-away land. Things were further confounded by the arrow, the song, and the beat of drums.
Suddenly Ivan Semenovich raised his hand in a gesture of warning that meant: “Be on your guard!”
They were approaching the edge of the forest. They could already glimpse the overcast sky through the giant trees; a few more steps and they would be out in the open… Abruptly Ivan Semenovich doubled over and jumped behind the nearest tree, signalling for the rest to do the same. Diana, obedient to the strong hand of the geologist who had grabbed her collar, went to lie down by his side. Her body was trembling. They looked out from behind the trees, bewildered beyond measure. Artem’s breath was taken away; his hand clasped Lida’s; he was afraid to make even the slightest movement. He had to be dreaming it all! What else could it be? In real life, nothing of the kind could ever occur — such things happened only in dreams!
A wide field of the same strange pinkish-yellow color stretched into the distance from the edge of the forest. There were long rows of kibitkas[1] with covers of felt close to one another in one corner of the field; other big wagons, some of which had six wheels, could also be seen there.
Much further away, beyond the kibitkas, was a large herd of horses. And in the distance, encircling this most unusual of subterranean landscapes, steep, almost vertical mountains, similar to the cliff from which the explorers had started, were rising high into the air, seemingly without any ledges, to disappear in the low, dense, gray clouds. The place they vhad found themselves in was a sort of valley surrounded by high mountains; only it was much too wide.
But none of the four contemplated this picture for long, since their attention was riveted to something that was happening much closer to where they were hiding and which was of much greater importance to them at the moment.
Several hundred people were standing not far from the edge of the forest near a strange object made of branches and twigs. The several hundred men and women were wearing bizzare clothes, their uncommon appearance immediately catching the eye.
The men were wearing high conical felt hats; felted waistcoats of a sort, the backs of which were longer than the front; breeches, long or short, evidently of wool. The long, wide ones were tucked into the men’s boots; leather straps were wound around the legs in the manner of puttees. The men were also brandishing long spears and holding bows and quivers; some of the men had battle axes, the handles stuck into their belts. The men formed an agitated crowd, some shouting, some singing; all of them brandishing their arms, as though threatening someone.
The women were standing in a separate group from the men; they were wearing long linen dresses and were draped in long cloaks with wide folds; their headgear was very tall. Some had what looked to be shawls on their heads. Men and women alike were garbed mainly in linen, but there was also a lot of wool and leather to be seen. The women were singing the same song, but in a more subdued manner. And all of them were looking in the direction of a large procession which was approaching in a cloud of dust. It was difficult to make out any details of the procession through the dust, but it was clear that a big mounted party was approaching with a group of people moving haltingly and tiredly on foot.
Artem felt Lida grasping his hand. He turned to look at her. She was about to ask something, but at that moment, the voice of Dmitro Borisovich, brimming with excitement, could be heard:
“Scythians! My friends, these people are Scythians, real Scythians! What we see in front of,us is a temporary camp of the ancient nomadic Scythians!”
“Not so loud!” Ivan Semenovich cut him short.
For a moment Artem was distracted from the exotic sight. He turned his head to look at Dmitro Borisovich, trying to comprehend the words he had just heard. Scythians?… An ancient Scythian camp? Was Dmitro Borisovich making fun of them? Scythians living in this underground world in the 20th century?
One glance at the archeologist, though, was enough to convince anyone that the man meant what he had said: there was not a trace of frivolity in his demeanor; he had evidently been much taken by the things that were going on in the field. He was panting; his fingers kept nervously picking pieces of bark from the tree; his eyes were feasting on the singing people and the approaching procession. He kept adjusting the spectacles that slithered down his nose periodically.
Artem turned back to Lida. “Did you hear him?” he asked in a very low voice.
Lida nodded without saying anything.
“Scythians?… Can you make any sense of all this?”
Lida shrugged her shoulders: it was clear she understood as little as Artem.
Meanwhile, the procession was getting closer and closer. Apparently, the solemn song was in honor of the procession. It had-already been welcomed by a rain of arrows, shot upward into the gloomy gray sky, accompanied by frenzied shouts. The arrows were landing in the forest; it was probably one of the arrows from a previous volley that had strayed far enough to be picked up by the four explorers.