The first light of dawn painted the eastern sky. A cool, crisp air, typical of early spring, carried the scent of damp earth. At the Sacred Springs, where steam rose gently from the warm water – a constant feature that made the Sacred Mountain feel milder – the Tagh Boru gathered. Patches of snow still dusted the higher slopes, but around the hot spring, the ground was clear. The flickering flames of a newly lit fire danced, their light mingling with the nascent sunlight and the rising mist, illuminating the faces of the assembled tribe. Aylaqun, her silhouette framed by the breaking day, her eyes holding the wisdom of ages, stood at the fire's edge, her voice clear in the stillness of the morning.
"Spirits of the Water, guardians of this warm spring, hear us as the new day begins!"
One by one, as the sun climbed higher, members of the tribe approached the fire with their dawn offerings. Temurel, his expression solemn, poured fresh milk into the flames, a silent invocation for the tribe's flourishing with the sun's return. Temurcin, his gaze steady on the rising light, tossed in a braid of horsehair, a symbol of their enduring partnership with their steeds as they embarked on the spring migration. Aylaqun, offered butter, its richness a hope for the land's fertility under the strengthening sun. The fire crackled, its warmth a welcome counterpoint to the morning chill, merging with the ethereal steam from the hot spring – a potent image of life awakening with the dawn.
Then, Aycecek stepped forward, the early sunlight catching the determined set of her jaw. She held a small, intricately carved bowl. She poured water from the spring into the flames. As it hissed and vanished into the rising heat, a symbolic purification as the new day broke, she spoke, her voice clear and carrying on the morning air.
"We thank you for the water that sustains us, that cleanses us from winter spirits. We ask for your blessing on our journey to the grasslands, for the health of our herds as they graze the first shoots of spring, and for the bounty of the pastures under the growing light."
After these initial offerings, Aylaqun gestured towards a quieter pool of the hot spring, where the first rays of the sun now touched. There, a portion of fresh meat awaited. Temurel carefully placed it near the steaming water's edge, allowing the rising vapor to envelop it.
"For the Wolf Pack," Aylaqun announced, her voice softer, filled with a morning's quiet respect. "Our brothers and sisters who also greet this new day in the wild. May you thrive in this season of growth and protect our sacred land. May our paths be protected by your spirits in the days to come, true Guardians of the Mountain."
I stood among them, feeling the ancient connection to the land renewed with the dawn, the hopes for the season rising like the steam from the spring. The smoke from the fire mingled with the mist and the soft light of the rising sun, a tangible promise of the life and growth that spring held. The Ice-Melt Ritual, held at the dawn-kissed sacred hot spring, was a heartfelt beginning to their spring, a prayer for prosperity, and a testament to the enduring bond between the Tagh Boru and the world around them.
"Do you remember when we first met, my Kirisen? That day, I came to pray to the Water Spirit after everyone left and asked for a strong and brave husband to help me get revenge. Will you help me, my husband?" Aycecek asked me after the ritual.
"Of course, I will help too. Right, wise Sky Wolf?" Kara Yulduz replied, looking to me for confirmation. I just nodded, offering no verbal reply.
With my modern sensibilities, I feel like I'm a pedophile or something. Even though this is the normal marriage age for girls in this era, it still feels strange. Aycecek might look older than her age, but she's still just a sixteen-year-old girl, and essentially a princess with a revenge issue. I will eventually help her get revenge, but after hearing more details, I think the territorial conflict that led to her clan's destruction also came from the expansion of the Huna long before they were pushed further north by the Chinese and their allies, the Yuezhi.
With all the information I've gathered, the Huna are probably the original name of the Xiongnu. I didn't know much about them except for their conflict with the Han Dynasty, it might be late Qin right now. At first, I thought I might accidentally change the course of history, but I'm realizing it's not so simple. Even with the help of the Tagh Boru and the Huna, I can't just bend everything to my will. I only needed to focus on survival of me and my tribe.
Now we riding to our spring site. The soundscape was just as enchanting. The rush of melting snow turned into gurgling streams, their clear waters reflecting the azure sky. Bees, newly emerged from their winter slumber, buzzed lazily among the blossoms, their industrious hum a constant undertone. The calls of unseen birds echoed through the valleys, their melodies a joyful chorus celebrating the season's return.
Here and there, you might spot a nomadic family beginning to move their herds to higher pastures, their yurts like pale mushrooms dotting the greening landscape. The air would carry the lowing of cattle and the bleating of sheep, a natural harmony blending with the floral and aquatic symphony. The overall impression was one of breathtaking, untamed beauty – a landscape bursting with life and color after the long, silent winter. The spring was a reminder of nature's resilience and the vibrant energy of renewal.
The air, still carrying a whisper of winter's chill, vibrated with the lowing of yaks and the bleating of sheep. The Tagh Boru were on the move. Their small, sturdy horses, their winter coats still a little shaggy, picked their way through valleys now painted with the pastel hues of early spring blossoms.
Leading the way were the scouts, their keen eyes scanning the awakening landscape. Behind them came the families, their yurts dismantled and loaded onto sturdy carts pulled by oxen or additional horses. Children, bundled in layers despite the warming sun, peered out from atop the bundled belongings, their faces alight with the excitement of the journey to the spring pastures.
Aycecek rode beside me, with her wolf-fur lined leather armor. Even with her leather armor, there was a lightness in her eyes, a reflection of the season's optimism. Kara Yulduz rode close by, her small stature belying a sharp awareness of her surroundings. Sometimes, she would point out early blooming wildflowers, her voice soft with wonder. She also secured the falcons to makeshift perches on other horses' saddle.
The rhythm of the migration was ancient and familiar. The creak of wooden wheels, the steady cadence of hooves on the thawing ground, the calls of herders guiding their flocks – it was a symphony of nomadic life. Here and there, a herder would pause to let their animals graze on the fresh shoots of grass pushing through the earth. As they journeyed, the landscape unfolded in a panorama of spring. Snow-capped peaks formed a majestic backdrop to hillsides now splashed with the pinks and whites of wild cherry and apple blossoms. Clear streams, swollen with snowmelt, gurgled alongside their path.
You could see other families and smaller groups of the Tagh Boru joining the procession from different valleys, their lines converging like tributaries flowing into a larger river. There was a sense of communal purpose, a shared anticipation for the rich grazing lands that awaited them at their traditional spring encampment. The air carried the promise of new life, the scent of blooming flowers mingling with the earthy aroma of freshly turned soil and the woolly smell of the moving herds. It was a time of renewal, a journey filled with the quiet hope of a prosperous season ahead.
The Tagh Boru are on high alert right now, all elite warriors and scouts are equipped with armor or some form of protection. Temurcin has become my partner on scouting duty, and sometimes Kara Yulduz and Aycecek will bring the falcons with us too. When the caravan stops, Kara Yulduz will lead our party to hunt small game to practice our falconry skills or to let me train my horseback archery skills.
The caravan stopped from time to time to gather some wild garlic, wild onions, and other vegetables. After we settled at our spring site, the tribe began the spring harvest. Kara Yulduz led our party to gather the berserk herbs nearby, explaining other uses for them. Some tribes mixed the dried leaves and seeds with other herbs and used it as smoke before battle or burned it in enemy camps to disorient them. Others brewed it into tea or made a poultice from its leaves to reduce pain from wounds, joints, or toothaches. And of course, some would use it to enter the Spirit Realm or for hunting and killing, as Aykuz used to tell me about the Dream Weaver.
One afternoon, while we rested and gazed at the vast blue sky, Aycecek braided my hair into three braids, tying them at my nape. This is the most common hairstyle for Tagh Boru men. The Tagh Boru keep their hair long to connect with the Sky and braid it because it's easier for riding horses. The braid count or ornamentation indicates marital status, age, or social rank: two or three for men, and multiple thin braids for women. Three braids, the most common for a warrior, reflects their belief in the Trinity of Tengrism, Sky-Earth-Underworld. Seven braids are linked to the Seven Stars and North Star, a guiding light in the night sky. Nine is a sacred number symbolizing the layers of the sky. Boys and girls wear three or five small braids, then girls will add more braids upon reaching puberty, from seven up to forty thin braids depending on their clan tradition, while boys will receive warrior braids after proving skill in hunting, combat, or horse taming. After marriage, women will reduce their braid count to two or one thick braid, and widows often unbraid their hair or wear a single loose braid as a sign of mourning.
Aycecek and I naturally drowned towards each other, it might not be like modern love stories but I feel like we comfort each other somehow. I never thought about having a partner before I met her. It's as if I had traveled through time just to meet her, or perhaps she was the one who called out to me, and the universe listened. She let me see into her clearly, I talk to her like talking to myself, as if we had already become one.
As she braided my hair, she asked, "Will you ride together with me under this endless blue sky, my Kirisen?"
"Yes, I will ride under the eternal moonlight with you too," I replied, then asked, "Will you forever be my pack, always hunting together?"
"You are already my herd, as I will always be your unthirsting river," she answered while looking into my eyes.
"My bride Moon Flower," I gazed back into her eyes and responded, "I see your heart clearly now. You will always be my flower in the moonlight, my Sunshine."
"I understand you completely now, my groom Sky Wolf. I will always be your moon, as you will always be my sun," she answered.
Something blossomed between us, binding us together. I wish things would stay like this forever, but entering the future is like riding into a blizzard. The only way out is to go through it, even when you can't see what lies ahead, you still need to ride on.