The Amazon Chronicle

Book I

- Taysha -

Lost Daughter of the Amazoi

First Revision

© Brad Foubister 2013
All rights reserved

First Revision printed Nov. 2013

This book is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual persons or events is purely coincidental.

Edited:
Sally Jennings

Printed:
Lulu.com

Cover:
Studio-Era.com

Osfer (the language of the Amazoi) and the Amazoi Tribal Symbol are copyright Brad Foubister 2013

Dedicated
To
Whom the Story Speaks

PREFACE 

In 1946, in the wake of the Nazi destruction, the Great Soviet Union set its energies on rebuilding its war-torn nation. During this time a young engineer named Nicolai Stranskov was tasked with the reconstruction of Anapa, a small city with a long history on the northeast coast of the Black Sea. While digging out a foundation under a devastated Greek Orthodox Church, workers uncovered seven large clay pots weighing several kilograms each. The wide-mouthed jars were sealed with a tar-like substance that had become brittle with age. In the hope that they held treasure, the workmen opened the jars before Stranskov's arrival only to find they contained 24 tightly wound scrolls of papyrus-like material.
Recognising the importance of the discovery, Nicolai chose to entrust this newfound historic treasure to the Party and surrendered them to the authorities based in Sevastopol. They were in turn handed over to the Moscow State University where they sat untouched for the next eleven years, waiting to be translated and documented.
In 1957, Alexandar Orlov, the new university curator, took control of the huge stockpile of artifacts yet to be archived. Having been a teacher of ancient Greek studies and language at the Irkutsk State Institute of Foreign Languages, he held a special interest in the pots and the scrolls inside them. He had recognized the jars to be of Greek design and thought them possibly from the ancient Greek colony of Gorgippia. 
He quietly gathered information from his friends and specialists in the academic field on the handling and storage of ancient documentation. Then with the great amount of spare time his new position provided, he endeavoured to learn the mystery of the scrolls.

Undisturbed, he spent the next 33 years of his life translating the pages from ancient Greek while researching the local tribes, languages and history of the Caucasus Mountains. 
In the confusion following the dismantling of the Soviet Union in 1991 and with the help of an unknown friend, Alexandar Orlov transported the scrolls to his apartment on the outskirts of Moscow. Upon his death in 2005, his unfinished books were found along with a room full of linguistic charts, books of historical documentation on the tribes and settlements along the Caucasus. 
Using descriptions found in the scrolls, Orlov had created detailed maps of the locations and routes he estimated to be the paths taken by the people described in the scrolls. 
His manuscript covers had the handwritten title of "The Ama-zoi. Were they the Amazons of Greek Myth?" that recount the history of a tribe over a span of five generations.

(The location of the original Greek Church and the whereabouts of the scrolls are presently unknown.)

The title “Taysha: The Lost Daughter of the Amazoi” was taken from Professor Orlova’s notes found among his papers after his death in 2005.

*More information can be found at the end of this book.

Taysha
--Lost Daughter of the Amazoi--

These stories were told to me by my mother as were told to her by her mother, and so on and so forth through countless days.
The paths chosen by those who have lived and died by fortune’s fickle ways are re-told to you to help direct your choices in the hope that you will not sway and flutter, wafted by the mischief of the gods like a mindless leaf in the wind.
These stories are of us all.

	In the morning of an early winter day long ago, Taysha and her mother were checking the fish traps at the river when the screaming started. Out of sight beyond the dense line of trees they could hear the shrill voices of panicked women mixed with the barking dogs and the guttural yells of the men. The sounds echoed from the mountainside behind them, adding to the confusion, but they could tell the cries were coming from their village. People were calling out to family members and signalling out points of assembly against the unseen danger. 
Despite her fur cloak and winter tunic, Taysha felt a sudden stabbing cold engulf her entire being. She was breathing hard and trying to listen as she stood not knowing whether she wanted to run toward the sounds or run away. She looked at her mother for answers and could instantly tell she didn’t know what to do either. Taysha’s thoughts seemed to carry her countless mountains away as she tried not to think of what might be happening. The empty feeling in her stomach told her something terrible was coming toward them and she looked up at her mother again. She could not help thinking it was such a waste for her mother at 28 Winters and herself at the beginning of her 14th, to die so young. Taysha knew they would not be the only ones. 
She had reached child-bearing age last summer and her parents and the elders had chosen the husband she would marry the coming spring. Her thoughts went to the marriage ceremony she would not be having and to the young man who was supposed to be her partner until the end of this life. That young man was somewhere where all the yelling was coming from. 
Taysha looked in the direction of the village, hoping to see him running toward the river but neither he nor her father or brother nor anyone else came. Her head started swimming and her stomach ached. She looked at her fingers that had become cold and numb from the river water when her mother's hand flashed out and grabbed Taysha by her wrist. 
"Come!" she commanded as she started to run towards the village. Taysha looked down to keep from stumbling on the smooth river rocks but they did not get far. Her mother suddenly stopped before she could finish her third step. 
As Taysha looked up, she saw them.

In an instant her eyes captured all their details as if they had been carved in stone. Three men, painted, wild, and horrific had appeared out of the bushes about two stonethrows away. Their brown hair and beards were either dyed a reddish-brown or coated in mud. Their faces were covered in the yellow paint of war. On their left arms they held small, round wooden shields with the markings of their tribe. All three had short, wide swords. Their thick leather armour was stained with sweat as they stood steaming and panting for breath.
They had appeared just to the right of the shortest distance between the women and their village. Taysha could feel her mother's hesitancy as she lightly pulled Taysha’s hand as if she were going to run, then rocked back on her heels in second thought. It was obvious they would never make it past the men.
Taysha's eyes kept darting from one to the other, trying to assess the situation. But it made little sense to her. The smiles on the faces of the three men were what confused Taysha the most. 
'How can they pretend to be so happy?'
The senselessness of her situation knotted her fluttering stomach. She was angry with them for their obvious joy at creating such turmoil in her village. The idea was beyond her understanding. They reminded her of Rafelti, that stupid boy who took pleasure in kicking down the play-hut Taysha and her friends made summers ago.
Taysha's scattered thoughts seemed to drop out of her head as the men started to walk casually towards her and her mother. Taysha began to feel dizzy, then suddenly became strangely confident. Her reasoning had told her the only explanation for why three armed men would be walking in their direction: there were men from her village behind her. 
“Of course,” she thought. “Some of our men must have been out hunting and came back when they heard the noise from camp. They must be standing right behind us now. Right across the river.”
A nervous smile crept across her lips as she dared looked directly into the eyes of the closest man to her left. Only then did she realize he was not looking behind her but at her, and he was smiling back.
Taysha started to turn around to look across the river as if doing so would make her imagined rescuers real.

Before she could, her mother grabbed her shoulders and pulled her close to her face. She touched Taysha’s forehead to her own and with eyes tight shut, said quietly and quickly, "You must run or you will die. This is not my wish but it must be done." She opened her eyes and looked deep into Taysha's. 
"Go!" she whispered forcefully.
With that, her mother pulled Taysha's body sideways by the shoulder of her bear fur cloak in the direction of the river. She released her grip and turned towards the men. Taysha stumbled sideways a step or two and stood with her mouth open, waiting for some words of response to come out. Her mother snapped her head back towards her.
"Go!" she screamed with a grimace that horrified Taysha. It brought a new darkened fear to the depths of her soul. In shock, she stepped back but steadied herself once again in an attempt to understand. At the sight of her hesitation her mother swiftly bent down and picked up two large stones, holding one up high over her head facing Taysha. 
"I will kill you myself! I will not let them have you!" she screamed. Her eyes were opened wide and she bared her teeth as she snarled, “Go!" 
It was the last word Taysha ever heard from her mother. It was coarse and unearthly, like Taysha imagined how the gods might sound. She turned and started to run.
The moment her mother saw Taysha take her first step towards the shallow river, she flung the stones at the attackers. Until then, the three men had continued walking slowly and carefully over the slippery river bed. Knowing their prey was secure, they were in no hurry. There was nowhere else to go. For them, it was promised prizes such as these they came for. 
The projectiles fell short, as the men were still more than a stone's throw away, but it made them square off their shields and come forward at a quicker pace. The older man with the greying beard who had locked eyes with Taysha reacted swiftly to the sight of the young girl running off across the river. It was clear to him that one immediate entertainment would get away if they didn't hurry. The sounds behind them from the village told them that their brothers-at-war were already looting the village and choosing their women. That meant there would be little left for them.

This would make their stratagem of circumnavigating the village defenders a complete waste. To leave a battle empty-handed was worse than being slain. At least there was honour in being slain. But a young woman ... that was more valuable than gold, or weapons, or armour. To have a life-long slave, a bearer of children as more slaves, entertainment in song, dance and fucking for himself, his sons, and his friends…
No, he couldn't let this go so easily.
He quickened his pace to catch Taysha who was now running into the icy waters with abandon. She was stumbling but not falling. The sting of the cold water meant nothing to her as it splashed up around her. 
Her pursuer was soon met by the rocks hurled by her mother. They either missed him or ricocheted off his shield but the heavy sound of impact and told him not to treat the threat lightly.
"Take her!" he yelled to his two brethren as he made a slightly larger arc in his path to avoid the flying stones. His command was answered with laughter. The other two were happy with their payment, the woman who stood still in front of them, hurling rocks and muttering prayers to her gods. There was no hurry to collect their quarry. They were content to admire this vicious animal trying desperately to defend her young, though quite uselessly. Like a wild animal caught in a trap, she would snarl and bite and scratch until she was beaten and tamed. All living things can have their free will beaten out of them. The same will happen here. After the first few days of hunger and pain, she would be re-born as their willing servant. Yet the Amazoi woman who stood her ground saw things differently. 
As Taysha reached the opposite side of the river she turned around to see her mother reciting not prayers, but the wisdom of her people.
“The gods do not let us suffer these things, unless we submit to them by our own accord.”
“The gods do not let us suffer these things, unless we submit to them by our own accord.” 
“The gods . . .”
She would not yield, not submit, not stop until the three lay dead at her feet. She saw her greatest chance in the armour-less legs of her daughter's hunter.