Page 62 of Tiger's Tale
Matriova put her hand on his arm and said, “Hold off on that for now. The three of them are cementing their bond. There will be time for that later. If they are to truly form a Transcendent Troika as the legends say, they’ll need to work together in perfect harmony.”
“Troika. If I recall, I saw images of something like that on the scroll.” Zakhar became distracted, rummaging through his papers.
Nikolai stood and said, “Yeah, well, if we can’t talk, there isn’t much point in waiting around right now, is there?” He picked up a stick and thrust it into the fire and told Danik he was going to head out to look for more firewood.
When Danik pulled out his domra and asked if anyone had a musical request, this time being especially pleased that he could ask Veru or Stacia themselves, they answered that they would prefer to speak to Iriko just then. Danik said he understood and tucked his domra away, but he was disappointed at their answer. He’d always thought the tigers enjoyed his music. He climbed into his blankets and rolled away, trying to ignore the soft murmuring and laughter coming from the other side of the fire.
As for Matriova, she often glanced at her son but was more than thrilled at seeing him interacting with the other tigers. It warmed her heart to see flashes of the boy she’d once known appearing in the face of the sullen man he was now. She hoped that at least Iriko would not, in fact, choose to abandon the spirit that had chosen him. Of all people, she knew the power and responsibility that came with a tiger’s life, but she also knew the loneliness and abandonment of living without it.
She didn’t understand why it had stayed with her son instead of returning to her, but she had thought about it constantly over the years. Matriova had waited many decades to pass on the token. Her daughter had been the perfect host, a more excellent candidate she couldn’t have hoped to find among all her people. Everyone knew it and looked forward to Baikali ruling in her place. She’d been so perfect, in fact, that Baikali hadn’t hesitated when she saw the need to save someone else—her younger brother.
Matriova didn’t think she’d been nearly as prepared when she’d accepted the tiger token. In fact, she’d been more like Iriko—impulsive, quick-tempered, and selfish—but over the years and through the trials and experiences the tiger gave her, she’d been able to mature, become more than what she’d been. Perhaps the tiger was drawn to Iriko. It knew, somehow, that her son needed its guidance.
If she were being honest with herself, she’d confess that she missed the tiger. It had been a part of her for so long that the tiger had become a piece of her identity. It was her friend when she was alone. It protected her from the elements. It strengthened her in times of weakness. Were there things she gave up? Certainly. But in her view, there was so much more she’d gained by wearing the tiger token than she’d lost.
The real test for her now was about seeing the tigers of their people bond with outsiders. Did these two girls who’d been born with wealth, all the opportunities that power and an empire could give them, really need more? How could she learn to accept that the gift that meant so much to her people could fall into hands so soft and pampered? What did they know of loss? Of sacrifice? Of struggle? Of doing without? Did they even understand what the tiger tokens meant to the people who lived in this land? Could they possibly understand?
And worse. If she saw that great gift withdraw from her people, what would they have left? Could she ever reconcile the feeling that she had known the tokens were within her grasp and she had done nothing to reclaim them? Could she trust that the White Shaman of the Tundra would know what to do and that it would be the best thing for her people? Then again, what if she made a mistake and did something that protected her own people but caused the destruction of another? Could she live with that?
But what of the Transcendent Troika? Had the time finally come? Was it to be these three who formed the envisaged masterpiece? They were so unprepared, so unskilled, so... unwilling. But... if there was one thing the ancestors had taught her over the long, harsh winters, it was that the direction of a great stampeding herd could be impacted by something as simple as a blowing leaf. Perhaps there was more to them than what she could see on the surface. Matriova rubbed her temples, feeling an ache in her head as she thought of these weighty issues.
Of course, the young didn’t think of such things. They only considered where their next meal was coming from, how long they could sleep before their mama kicked their foot to make them rise to work in the morning, or who might be winking at them from across the fire. Not for the first time, she longed to join her people who had gone on before—the wise ones who sat at the open doors of their yurts watching them as they smoked pipes and laughed at the silly worries of the still living, their laughter and smoke twirling overhead to make the lovely colors of green, blue, pink, and purple in the winter sky.
Zakhar didn’t feel a bit sleepy. First, he documented all he could about meeting Iriko and how the newcomer had interacted with Veru and Stacia. When he felt their conversation had dwindled to more mundane topics, he decided to move on to more important things. He wanted to take advantage of the time he had with Matriova and pulled out the scroll so she could help him translate it.
After painstakingly copying her translation for the better part of an hour, Zakhar knew he’d need to share it with the others. It was quite obvious that the document had been meant for their eyes, but there were details included that were still a mystery to him, including how and when he recorded the document originally. He asked Matriova again and again what her thoughts were regarding certain passages of text, but she said she had no context or knowledge of such, even though she’d carried a piece of the tiger charm herself for a bit longer than four hundred years and had heard stories passed down for generations before herself.
Her best advice was to ask the White Shaman. Not even in her lifetime had she met him, though in her younger days she had attempted to ascend the mountain. She told Zakhar that though tigers were allowed to climb the mountain, they never encountered the White Shaman, at least as far as she was aware. Instead, they were sent a dream, one that helped them in their life journey. When they woke, they would find themselves back at the mountain’s base.
Those who persisted would find they became confused and turned around until they lost their way. Soon they were no longer allowed to climb, and some even lost the memory of the mountain completely. When Zakhar asked her if she’d ever had a dream on the mountain, she replied she had, but she refused to share with the priest what it was and told him when she’d awoken, she was at the mountain’s base. After that she’d journeyed home, never to make another attempt.
Now that they’d translated the scroll, both of them became quite excited by what they’d read. Zakhar couldn’t wait to copy it again in his own language and make an attempt to imitate the beautiful artwork surrounding it, but he knew, though his hand had made the scroll, at that point in his life he wasn’t nearly a skilled enough artist to replicate it. The realization was stunning and awesome. He wanted to tell someone, but who and when? Would they think him crazed or that he’d imagined it?
As he discussed the scroll with Matriova, both of them felt there were symbols and meanings in the art to discover that went far beyond the simple words of the text itself. Some of it felt distinctively Russian to Zakhar, though he wouldn’t dare suggest as much to Matriova. He didn’t think she’d take such a thing well.
Together they read it, each mumbling the words to themselves, trying to make sense of the passages of text.
In dire times, at world’s end,
Some must face a daunting task.
Choose to embark,
And leave their mark,
Troika three the mount ascend.
There the truth they must unmask.
Seven spirits bless the land
Pass their tests and wisely rule.
But if instead,
You cling to dread,
Raging beasts will gnaw your hand,
