Nart Sagas: Ancient Myths and Legends of the Circassians and Abkhazians

SELECTION OF THE CIRCASSIAN NART CORPUS

Translated and Edited by

John Colarusso

with the Assistance of

Rashid T’haghapsaw

Majdalin (Habjawqua) Hilmi

Kadir Natkhwa

and others

SAGA 1  l  If Our Lives Be Short, Let Our Fame Be Great

The Narts were courageous, energetic, bold, and good-hearted. Thus they lived until God sent down a small swallow.

Do you want to be few and live a short life but have great fame and have your courage be an example for others forevermore? asked the swallow. Or perhaps you would prefer that there will be many of you, that your numbers will be great, that you will have whatever you wish to eat and drink, and that you will all live long lives but without ever knowing battle or glory?

Then without calling a council, but with a reply as quick as thought itself, the Narts said, "We do not want to be like cattle. We do not want to reproduce in great numbers. We want to live with human dignity.

If our lives are to be short,

Then let our fame be great!

Let us not depart from truth!

Let fairness be our path!

Let us not know grief!

Let us live in freedom!"

In this way they chose to be small in numbers but to perform deeds of courage and boldness. This was the answer they gave to that small swallow to take back to God. And so their fame has remained undying among people. The Natuquaja¹ are their descendants.

From GENEG, 362, recorded in Syria in Abadzakh West Circassian.

l The heroic spirit articulated here is reminiscent of the Ancient Greek concept of kleos aphthiton ‘imperishable glory’ [KT]. This is the first of numerous parallels between the Nart tradition and the lore and civilization of Ancient Greece. Many of these parallels may have arisen during the long period of Greek colonization of the Black Sea coast (see Ascherson 1995, 49–88).

¹ I do not recognize the Natuquaja, the tribe referred to, as one of the historical Circassian tribes. The name seems to be a Shapsegh-derived form [nɑ(r)tʿəq°ágye] ← /nahrtʿ-ə-q°a-a-gya/, with the sense of ‘Nart-inal-son-conn.vowel-instr’ (as a derivational suffix), literally, the sons of the Narts. In a note Hadaghatl’a claims that this was one of the ancient Circassian tribes that lived along the Black Sea coast and that one village in this region is descended from them.

I have adopted a deep phonological representation of Circassian vowels (Kuipers 1960), whereby the neutral vowel is /ə/([ə]), the mid, central, or front vowel is /a/ ([ε], [æ], [a]), and the open back vowel, which also fills syllable codas, ([ɑ·]), is either /aa/ if it reduces when unstressed—because it arises from two /a/s—or /ah/ if it persists regardless of stress—because it seems to be patterned after the plural allomorph /-ah-/ in prefixes (/-ha-/in suffixes). Once the equivalence of persistent [ɑ] with /ah/ has been made, I have assumed that the speaker extends this equivalence to those persistent [ɑ]s found also in loanwords. A more conventional analysis of /I, e, a/ would be closer to the Cyrillic orthography but would ignore a host of phonological patterns that link [e] as well as /ʔ/ with reducible [a]. For more on Circassian phonology and vowels, see the introductory remarks in Appendix A.

SAGA 2  l  The Tale of How Warzameg and Yimis Came to Be

It is told that the Narts had a golden tree. This was no ordinary tree, not least because it was golden. If an apple were to sprout from it in the morning, then by the evening of the same day it would have fully ripened. This same apple held within it an amazing magical power. One side of the fruit was red, and the other was white. It was said of it:

If a barren woman tastes of the white side,

Then to her will be born a daughter

With hair silken white.

If a barren woman tastes of the red side,

Then to her will be born a Nart son,

A great son, a white son,

With hair silken white.

But it came to pass that the Narts could no longer enjoy the wonders of this marvelous apple. Each time an apple would sprout forth, it would be secretly stolen in the dark of night. For a long time no one could discover this thief.

Now, alas! What are we to do? said the Narts as they sat together at their council. Some of the wisest among them said, A guard must be set! And so a guard was posted by the tree. But, alas, this effort was to no avail, for during the night the apple once again disappeared.

We must enclose the tree within a high fence made of thorns! others then said, and a fence of sharp thorns was built around the tree. But, alas, this too was to no avail. Once more the apple disappeared during the following night.

Now, surely we must surround the tree with a whole band of mounted warriors! some said, and so a mighty band of armed horsemen was set around the tree. But, alas, this too was in vain. No one was able to catch a single glimpse of the thief, not even of his feet or his footprints. And in this way the theft of the apples continued for a long time.

There was one Nart, Tatemquo,¹ who had two sons. The elder was called Pija,² the younger Pizighash.³ These two brothers were famous throughout the land of the Narts and beyond for their skills in battle. Their arrows never went astray; their swords never failed to slash. They came to sit guard through the night beneath the golden tree of the Narts. While they were thus sitting, the elder brother, perhaps being more tired than the younger, fell asleep. Pizighash, the younger brother, remained sitting, however, with his bow and arrows at the ready. Suddenly three doves flew up to the golden tree of the Narts and alighted on it.

Ah, now! What should I do? he asked himself, but he did not waste much time in thought. Quickly he took aim and shot at one of the doves and wounded it. Despite this, the three doves rose up and flew back from whence they had come, taking with them the golden apple.

Pizighash took out his white handkerchief and blotted some of the blood that the wounded dove had spilled, then he called to his brother and woke him up. He told him all that had happened, and together they set off. They followed the trail of blood left by the wounded bird until they came to the shore of the Sea of Azov.⁴ There the trail disappeared.

Now, said Pizighash, you and I sprang from the same mother and father. So if we turn back without discovering who these thieves are, then not only will we surely be disgraced, but so will our mother and father. These three doves who returned to this sea, I shall go after them. Stay here on the shore. Wait one year for me, and if I have not returned by that time, you must assume that I am dead.

So be it, said his elder brother. Seek them upon the waves! Seek them in the depths! May your quest be blessed!

Nart Pizighash struck the sea with his sword. The waters parted and he descended straightaway to the seafloor.⁵ Once in the dark depths, he set off and traveled far until he came upon a mist-filled ravine. There, nestled deep within it, was a beautiful white house. He entered, and as he did so there appeared seven brothers, all of the exact same size and appearance, who followed behind him.

Welcome! they said. They bowed before him and showed him great respect. They stood ready to serve his every need. Two young women then entered, one carrying an ewer, the other a snow-white towel. They let him wash himself and then they retired. In a few moments they returned, bearing a small three-legged serving table laden with food. First Pizighash saw only the sumptuous array of food on the table, but then he discovered the apple that sprouts from the golden tree of the Narts lying among the delicacies.

Aha! What is unfolding is a marvel, said the Nart youth as he sat there. As things have happened, I have chanced upon the exact spot where my quest lies!

They fed him and gave him drink. These men sat together as one and they stood together as one. All that they did they did as one. Finally they said to him, We are the children of the goddess of water. In all we are seven brothers and three sisters. If you will speak honestly, then why should we keep secrets? Those you see before you are our two sisters. The third is unable to wait upon you.

What is amiss with her? Is there any way at all that I can be of help? asked Pizighash.

We shall speak to you of what has befallen her, said the sons of the Lady of Flowing Waters,⁶ if it does not seem importunate.

Speak, replied their guest.

The three sisters used to put on the skins of doves and in this guise would fly to Nartia, land of the Narts, in search of husbands. They would bring back the apple, which sprouts in one day on the golden tree of the Narts. Until now no one has ever followed them back here, but after this flight the youngest of the three sisters, the damsel Meghazash, returned wounded. Now she lies in bed, bleeding and in need of help.

Well then, what is needed? asked the young Nart.

You would not be able to find it. Her cure is some of that same blood that she shed in Nartia, they replied.

If that is so, said the young Nart, then I happen to have some of that very same spilled blood.

He then reached into his pocket and brought forth the white handkerchief with some of the dove’s blood on it. The brothers took it from him and moistened the cloth. When they applied it to her wound, the lovely damsel Meghazash was suddenly restored to health.

The sons of the water goddess were overjoyed and sang Pizighash’s praises:

"The sea’s floor and the land’s plane for you are both alike

But nowhere have we seen a man who is your like.

Here from our three lovely sisters, dear guest, choose you one.

We shall give you her who is dearest to your heart."

Then if that is so, said the young Nart, give me the one whom I have restored to health.

"The one you healed is the damsel Meghazash,⁷ and so the damsel Meghazash is your good fortune," said they. So saying, the brothers gave the youngest of their three sisters to Nart Pizighash as his boon and his bride, as his reward and good fortune.

Thus the Nart who came from the dry land and the damsel who lived on the seafloor were joined together, and their families became linked one to another.

The brothers then showed great respect to Nart Pizighash and held him in the highest esteem. A great banquet was held in his honor, and he departed with the damsel Meghazash as his companion.

When Nart Pizighash returned from the sea and approached the place he had left, his brother was waiting for him. Pija was overjoyed when he saw him. As long as you have returned alive, nothing else matters. With the maiden as companion, the three set off for their people. Once back among the Narts, a great feast was given to honor them. For seven days and nights the Narts were overjoyed. They were as happy as dogs or pigs:⁸ they ate, they drank, and they danced. The feast lacked nothing.

They remained together, and as life passed Meghazash gave birth to two boys. The youngest they named Warzameg,⁹ and the elder they called Yimis.¹⁰ These sons of Meghazash rose to become the leading men in Nartia, the Circassians say, but this is another tale.

From Hadaghatl’a 1968, vol. 1, no. 3.1, pp. 86–90, in Shapsegh West Circassian.

l This is one of the few tales centering on an earlier generation of Narts. Spearer and Slasher, the sons of a hero whose name can be read as Grandfather, embark on an adventure in which one of them wins a maiden, whose name means many offspring or the one who is not abandoned. In doing so, they unite the realms of the earth and of the water. From this union will come one of the great heroes, Warzameg, who will in turn be leader of a yet younger generation of heroes. Parallels with the Indo-European Divine Twins, in Greek the Dioskouroi, and their rescue of the maiden Dawn are evident, these associations themselves leading into the watery origins of the prime Greek fertility figure, Aphrodite. The golden apples have correlates also in the life-giving golden apples of the Hesperides, mentioned in the Labors of Herakles of Ancient Greece, or the magic life-giving apples of the goddess Idun, of the pagan Norse pantheon. In both traditions these apples are stolen and must be recovered so that life can continue.

¹ The name [tɑtémq°e] ← /t-ah-tá-m-q°a/ ‘father-intimate.possession-father-obl-son / naming.suffix’ would appear to mean grandfather. He represents the oldest of four generations of Narts, of which only oblique references such as the present one survive.

² Pija [pə́gye] ← /pʿə́-gy-a/ ‘sever-spear-in,’ he who spears.

³ Pizigash [pʿəzəɣéś] ← /pʿə-zə-ɣá-ś/ ‘sever-who-causes-fall.off’, he who severs or he who causes parts to fall off, to be lopped off.

⁴ In Circassian /mə-wə́+t’a/ ‘not-val+dig’, that is, that which cannot be dammed up, the source of the Greek name for this sea, Maeotis. Note also Circassian [tʿáne] ← /tʿáana/ ‘the Don River’, Greek Tanais, the name for the Don and its vicinity, and Iranian don ‘river’, perhaps a borrowing from a northern Circassian-like language.

⁵ Note the obvious biblical parallel. God tells Moses: But lift thou up thy rod, and stretch out thine hand over the sea, and divide it: and the children of Israel shall go on dry ground through the midst of the sea (Exod. 14:16).

⁶ The name of this water goddess is [psétḥe g°ášye] ← /psə́-tḥa g°áašya/ ‘water-god lady’, at one point, and /psə́-x̌°a g°áašya/ ‘water-flow (river) lady’ at another.

⁷ This may be an Iranian name, *maga-zač, Sanskrit maha, Greek mega-, English much, and for the second stem Ossetic zæic ‘offspring’, that is, (she with) many offspring, similar in sense to Setenaya, Iranian sata, Latin centum, Lithuanian šimtas, English hund(red), Circassian /na-ya/ ‘mother-the.one.of’, mother of one hundred, the fertility figure of the next generation. In purely Circassian terms, it would be /mə-ɣa-za-č’y/ ‘not-let-(be)one-inst’, the one who is not abandoned, which in fact accords well with the tale and therefore probably reflects a folk etymology.

⁸ Literally, [ḥekʿyefqʿ°əkʿyef] ← /ḥa-kʿyaf-qʿ°ə-kʿyaf/ ‘dog-happy-pig-happy’. The Circassians consider dogs and pigs the happiest of animals.

⁹ The name has no clear etymology within Circassian. It appears in various Circassian dialects as ‘Warzamayg’, ‘Warzamaj’, or ‘Warzamas.’ It reflects the form *warza-māka, borrowed from an Iranian language other than Ossetian, which has Uryzmæg. The name would be an adjective (-māka) based on the Indo-European stem *Hwerg- ‘to strangle’, as in several Germanic legal terms that have an association with strangling or being hanged, such as Old Norse vargr ‘wolf, outlaw’, Old English wearg ‘monster, outlaw’, Modern English worry, and even Hittite hurkel ‘outlaw, sex criminal’ (see Gerstein 1974, 172), though for the last one Held, Schmalstieg, and Gertz (1987, 151) have only the gloss ‘outrage, offense’.

So, originally he was the great wolf or outlaw, which is in keeping with his scruffy appearance in some accounts. This etymology receives support for the tale of the rape of Setenaya, something now expressed through the separate figure of the Gorgon swineherd (saga 4) but perhaps originally a deed performed by proto-Warzameg.

Abaev (1996, 4:127; 1990, pp. 246–47) does not know what to make of this root, noting only that it has an Iranian pedigree and belongs to that group of names ending with -maka. Knobloch (1991, 64, §218) takes the form back to Iranian *warāza- ‘wild boar’ solely on the basis of the Armenian form (borrowed from Iranian) Varazman, which may or may not be relevant. Benveniste (1959, 129) takes it back to a hypothetical *(a)varazmaka-, but notes that it is devoid of sense even if of obvious Iranian form.

¹⁰ This name would appear to be linked with an Indo-Iranian source; cf. Sanskrit Yama and Avestan Yima, both gods of death. Circassian folk etymology takes the name to be /yə-mə́-s/ ‘inside-not-sit’, the one who is never home, the wanderer. In fact, the Circassian form may have been reshaped from an earlier Iranian one to fit this folk etymology. The link to an Indo-Iranian death figure, specifically to the Iranian form yima-, is strengthened by the fact that in the saga How Warzameg, Son of Meghazash, Won the Damsel Psatina (saga 3) a third brother is added after Yimis, Pshimaruquo, whose name means Prince of Death (see the end comments in saga 39). He would seem merely to be an epithet of Yimis elevated to the status of a character.

SAGA 3  l  How Warzameg, Son of Meghazash, Won the Damsel Psatina

The Nart Lady Meghazash had three sons¹, Warzameg, Yimis, and Pshimaruquo², and three daughters also. The latter had no equals in beauty.

When the time drew near for Meghazash to die, she gathered her sons about her and conveyed to them her last wishes. Sons, she said, "you will give each of my three daughters to a good man thus. When seven months have passed after my death, you will be visited in the middle of the night by a horseman who will ride into the center of our courtyard and cry out to you, Are you ready?’ Give to him your eldest sister. Then, when a further three months have passed, another horseman will come in the night just like the first. You will give to him your middle sister. Finally, one night a third horseman will come as the others will have, and to him you will give the youngest. There is one further demand I must make of you: do not ask these horsemen to which clans they belong.³

"Aside from this, you will find three horses ready and standing in the stable. May they bring you happiness. May you test yourselves on them and award the best horse to the best man.⁴ Divide the remaining livestock among yourselves. After this, when the time has come for you to marry and live apart, let the Nart council divide the property among you. Then live apart. I shall not divide this property among you myself, because you would then say, ‘You gave this one more and the other one less,’ and saying this you would curse me in your hearts."

Seven months after Meghazash died, a horseman came in the middle of the night, just as she had foreseen. He cried out, Are you ready? The youngest son, Warzameg, came out of the house and bade him welcome; he then went back in to tell his eldest brother what was happening and to ask him what he should do. This brother told Warzameg, I shall not give my sister to a man whose clan I do not know. Go back to bed! But Warzameg obeyed his mother’s last wishes, and instead of returning to bed, he went to his eldest sister and helped her prepare for the journey. Then he led her outside into the courtyard and gave her away to the horseman.⁵

Three months later a second rider came in the night, rode into the courtyard, and cried out, Are you ready? Again Warzameg came out of the house and bade him welcome. Then he went to his middle brother, told him what was happening, and asked him what they should do. This brother told Warzameg, I cannot give my sister to a man whose clan I do not know. Go back to bed! But once more Warzameg obeyed his mother’s last wishes and helped prepare the middle girl for the journey. Then he led her outside into the courtyard, as he had the first, and gave her to the horseman.

Finally the last horseman came in the night, as had the others, and cried out, Are you ready? Warzameg came out and bade him welcome. Then he, as youngest brother, went back in to his youngest sister’s room. He told her what was happening and asked her, Will you go with him?

I shall. All this was preordained for me long ago, she said.

Then so be it! Dress yourself! He then helped her to prepare for the journey. He led her outside into the courtyard and gave her to the horseman.

Some time later the three brothers were speaking among themselves. The two elder brothers suddenly asked Warzameg, Where are our sisters?

They have left us for husbands. Each has married by her own wishes, he replied.

No! You have sullied our honor. You have given them away to those horsemen in the night, they said and grew furious at him. If a guest should come, then the obligations of the host will rest entirely on you. You yourself must do anything and everything that our sisters would have done. So they sought to punish him for what they saw as his treachery.

For a long time Warzameg did all the chores of the household. Soon he grew tired and could no longer carry on with his tasks. He sought the help of his friends, and they advised him to seek wives for his elder brothers so that the women could then aid him in his work about the house. He followed their advice. All went well, and soon the elder brothers had brides.

Then one day Warzameg’s brothers were talking between themselves and decided that it was their younger brother’s turn to find himself a wife. When they broached this subject to him, he said, "I shall not marry as you did. The one whom I shall marry is the damsel Psatina,⁶ sister of the Nart Lady Setenaya. Among all the Narts there is no other whom I would marry."

His brothers laughed at him and mocked him cruelly, saying, How can you marry her? We have had word that she lives in a land far away that you could never even reach.

I shall go! said Warzameg.

Warzameg had received a bay horse when he and his brothers had divided their mother’s estate. Now Warzameg readied himself and his horse for the long journey. As he was about to leave, he said to his brothers’ wives, If I live, I shall return. If I die, then my mortal remains will be brought back to you. Until you see my corpse, do not mourn me or raise a grave mound for me. Upon saying this, he turned and rode out of the courtyard and off into the empty plain.

No one knows whether he traveled long or a little, but finally he came to a village. Warzameg rode up to a little old shepherd who was tending his flock on the outskirts.

May your herd be bountiful! Warzameg said in a customary greeting.

Thank you! Please come to my house and be my guest, the little old man replied.

Thank you, but no. This I cannot do, nor can I tell you the reason for my journey. Where, though, might I find good lodging? Warzameg asked, quite oblivious of the insult he was giving to the old man by declining his offer of hospitality.⁷

Well then, enter yonder, the little old man said, ignoring the young man’s blunder, and he pointed a house out to Warzameg. But if you ever need the wisdom of an old man, he added, do not hesitate to seek me out.

Warzameg entered the courtyard of the house he was shown. There the people greeted him, helped him dismount, and led him to the guest quarters. They then went to the mistress of the house and said, We have a weary guest and he must be served promptly.

As the mistress of the house stepped out into her courtyard to draw water from the well, she at once recognized the bay horse as belonging to her youngest brother. She was Warzameg’s eldest sister. She ran to the guest quarters to see if her brother had really come.

Ah, Warzameg! I knew I was fated to aid you in your quest, for you cannot fulfill it alone. But you are no mere guest. Come with me! she said and led him to the main house. There he washed up. Then they sat down and began to eat together.

Warzameg asked his sister, Is your husband one of the men I met in the guest quarters?

No. He is at the wedding celebration of the damsel Psatina, but he should return soon, she replied.

Even as she was saying this her husband rode into the courtyard. He dismounted and led his horse into the stable. There he saw a bay horse standing in the place normally reserved for his own. We must have a guest, he thought and entered the guest quarters to greet him. Those therein said, There is no guest here. The lady of the house came in and said, ‘You are no mere guest!’ and led him out.

This must be a special guest, indeed, he thought as he went to the main house. He entered and saw Warzameg seated on the decorated cot, reserved for the most honored guests. The man bade Warzameg welcome and then sat down.

The sister noticed that her husband sat troubled and silent, and she asked him, Do you not know who it is that sits here with us?

Of course I know! He is your brother.

Well, yes, she said, but he is my youngest brother, the one who led me out to you in the courtyard that night.

Still her husband sat glumly, and so she asked him, Why are you so sad? Do you think that he has come to ask for me back or to demand a bride-price from you?

No, that isn’t it at all. How could it ever be that he and I could not re solve any problem that arose between us? If he says, ‘I want her back,’ then I shall give you back. If he says, ‘I want wealth for her,’ then I shall gladly give him cattle or whatever he wants. What troubles me is something else altogether, he replied, and then he began to relate the tale of his journey.

"I was thinking instead of the wedding celebration that my brother and I went to. The family had chosen my younger brother and me to be responsible for the festivities for the three days required, and so as lords of the dance and feast we took our rightful place in the center of the festivities. The celebration was over the day before yesterday, but we had to stay and tally up all the expenses for them and so could not return right away. Earlier today we finished everything and set off for home, but as we came to the forest road we heard someone screaming. We scattered and took cover. Someone was abducting the damsel Psatina! We cried out to the kidnapper and offered to hold a parlay, but he ignored our pleas. We fought with him, but in the end he escaped with her. He was riding a horse called Zhaqa. No other horse alive today can catch up to it.⁸ We were not able to help her, and I do not know what we should have done. It is this which bothers me," said the master of the house.

Warzameg saw his chance and said, If someone has taken the damsel Psatina and carried her off, I shall bring her back, dead or alive.

No one could hold back Warzameg, son of Meghazash. In the middle of the night he went to his horse and rode off into the darkness. He did not know which way to go, but soon he came upon a road and set off on that. He came to a little old shepherd tending his flock on the outskirts of a village.

Welcome, young man! Please be my guest at my home! said the little old man.

No, thank you. I am not a rider who can stay and chat. I have urgent business. Tell me where I may spend the night.

The little old man pointed out a nearby house to him and sent him on his way. But if you ever need the wisdom of an old man, do not hesitate to come to me, said the little old shepherd.

When Warzameg the Nart entered the courtyard that the little old man had shown to him, some people came out to greet him and help him dismount. Then they led him into the guest quarters.

Soon thereafter the mistress of the house came out into the courtyard and recognized the visitor’s bay horse. She was Warzameg’s middle sister. Like her sister before her, she went into the guest quarters and led Warzameg out, saying to him as she did so, You are no mere guest.

They sat down together to talk, and while thus seated the woman’s husband returned and entered the courtyard. He went to the guest quarters, but finding no one there he went to the main house. There he welcomed Warzameg and sat down, but soon he was lost in thought. When his wife saw that her husband was brooding, she asked him, What troubles you?

"When we were crossing through the forest, we saw the great scaly giant Arkhon Arkhozh⁹ abducting the damsel Psatina, who was crying out for help. But alas, we could do nothing. We tried to stop him, but he killed some of us and wounded others. He escaped with her, without suffering a scratch."

I shall find the damsel Psatina. I shall bring her back, either alive or dead, Warzameg said. He mounted his horse again and once more rode off.

He rode on for a long time until finally he came upon a little old shepherd tending his flock on the outskirts of a village. The little old man approached and bade him welcome in good Circassian manner. Warzameg, however, would not accept his hospitality because he feared that he would be a burden to one so old and that his quest would be delayed by the little old man’s slowness. Rather, he insisted that the little old man point out a place where he could stay. Warzameg then went into the courtyard that had been pointed out to him and hitched his horse to a post. He was greeted by men who led him to the guest quarters. Soon the mistress of the house came out into the courtyard and saw the bay horse. She recognized it at once, for she was Warzameg’s youngest sister. She went to the guest quarters and led Warzameg back to the main house.¹⁰

Warzameg asked his sister, Where is the master of the house?

He has a great many cattle and has gone to count them, she replied. He should return shortly.

Just then the master of the house rode back into the courtyard. As with the others, he eventually came to the main house, where he sat down and began to brood.

This is my youngest brother who sits here, the one who brought me out to you in the courtyard that night, she said to her husband, and yet you show him no courtesy.

Forgive me, said her husband to Warzameg, but as I was returning here I met some people who were coming back from the wedding feast of the damsel Psatina. They brought me terrible tidings and I worry now about these.

I know whereof you speak. The damsel Psatina has been carried off, replied Warzameg. It is she whom I seek. I must go now.

No. You mustn’t. You would never be able to overcome him by yourself, the husband warned him. He is carrying her off not to be his bride but rather to prove his might. This is his way of seeking a worthy opponent from among the Narts, a hero capable of defeating him.

Despite these words, he was not able to dissuade Warzameg. The husband said, Your horse will not be able to carry you there, and he offered him another horse. You will come to a river too wide for you to cross. Do not enter it! Go up along the bank and you will find a boatman. Persuade him to convey you to the other side.¹¹

Thus Warzameg set off and eventually came to an enormous river. As told to do, he went along the bank until he came upon a little old man sitting there.

Where are you going, young man? asked the little old man. An evil scaly giant lives on the other side of this river. He kills everybody. He will not allow even a bird to fly about in his domain. You will surely perish at his hands.

No, insisted Warzameg, I will not die at his hands. Help me cross this river! The little old man gave in to Warzameg’s plea and ferried him across the river.

When they had reached the other side, the little old man advised him, Now perhaps you need the wisdom of an old man. During the day do not leave the protection of the forest. Travel only at night! At dawn you will draw near his garden, and you might see him there. Beware if you fail to catch a glimpse of him, for you yourself might be seen and killed.

So Warzameg set off, traveling only at night. As the sun was beginning to rise, he came to a garden. He heard weeping and looked about. There in the garden sat the damsel Psatina.

Come over here, my lady, he whispered to her. Come up to the fence. Is it possible to get in? he asked her. The damsel Psatina went to a spot in the fence, opened a hidden gate, and let him in.

"Psatin,¹² I have come for you. I shall take you back."

No! You would be in terrible trouble and so would I. Even if the scaly giant does not awaken, his horse Zhaqa is certain to hear us and crush us with his hooves. The giant sleeps until noon.

Trust me! Let us go! urged Warzameg. We can go far by the noon hour. He helped Psatina onto his horse and rode off with her seated behind him. They rode until they reached the river and came up to the little old man.

The evil scaly giant will kill you, said the little old man. The ride that you made in the span of a morning he can make in a moment. He will catch up with you and kill you. Do not ride out into the open steppe! Travel along the edge of the forest!

Again they set off. They had been riding a while when Warzameg looked back and saw a horseman coming after them.

That must be him. What should we do? he asked Psatina. If we turn off into this field, his shepherds and those who tend his horses will see us and our lives will not be safe with them. They will betray us, for if they didn’t, he would kill them all. He is crazed. We can’t leave the forest’s edge. We must stay where we are.

Psatina said, Let me stay here. You go into the forest and hide. If I perish at his hands, then at least you will survive. If I cannot handle him, then you must not try either.

Warzameg agreed. He took cover in the forest so that he could still watch over the damsel Psatina. The scaly giant rode up alongside Psatina. You and I agreed that I would keep you for a span of seven years. If during this time no Nart came to challenge me for you, then I was to take you back to your home. Was this not what we agreed to do? Who was the man you were riding with? Where is he?

I did not mean to break our agreement, but the horseman was waiting, and I was sure that I could not awaken you. So I went off with him, she replied.

Where is this horseman? demanded the giant.

Here! cried Warzameg and he strode forth.

Who are you? What do you want? bellowed the scaly giant.

I have come for the damsel Psatina. If you give her to me, then I shall take her back. If you refuse, then I shall attack and slay you.

The scaly giant reached over, grabbed the youth, and with contempt hurled him back into the forest. Now come here! he ordered Psatina. He grabbed the maiden and carried her off again, warning her, Never do that again! When the seven years have passed, I myself shall take you back to your home.

When Warzameg’s sister and her husband saw his horse return without its rider, they thought, Surely, he has been killed. They set off to look for his body. Soon they came upon the cloak that Warzameg had sat on while hiding in the forest. Suspecting that Warzameg himself might be near, they looked all about and finally found him still clinging to life. Carefully they bore him back with them.

They tended to him carefully, and when he had been nursed back to health, he said to them, Now I must go. They tried to dissuade him, but he refused to heed their words. Once more he mounted the horse that they had given him and rode off. He came once more to the little old man sitting in his boat.

Grandfather, I have come again. The scaly giant caught up with me and took the damsel Psatina away from me. If you know how I can save her, then tell me! Surely you must know a way.

I shall tell you how you may save her if you can. I know that the horse that gave birth to Zhaqa is still alive. Ask Psatina to find out from the giant its whereabouts. He will certainly tell her where to find that horse. There is no one else who can persuade him. Also, pay heed to those in need! Never pass by someone in distress without offering your help to him!

The old man ferried the youth across the river once more, and Warzameg set off. Again he came to the giant’s garden and entered by the hidden gate. When Psatina saw him she said, Why won’t you stop risking your life? Our lives were spared the first time we tried to escape. But if I go off with you again, he’ll only catch us as he did before and we both may perish.

No, I have not come to make things worse for you. I have come this time not to take you back but rather to seek your help. I must know the whereabouts of the horse that gave birth to Zhaqa. You must trick the scaly giant into telling you where this horse is kept. Only when I have found this horse can I return for you. Then I shall be able to carry you back, and no one will be able to stop us.

Go back into the forest and hide, she said to him. Don’t let him see even your shadow. If I can, I shall make him tell me about this horse, she said.

Arkhon Arkhozh awoke and went out into his courtyard. He began to exercise with some steel bars and to bend them and toss them about. After a short time he went over to the maiden.

What do you think of that? he bragged.

That is all very amazing, but I suspect that Zhaqa taught you how to do to that, she replied. Tell me, what sort of mare gave birth to Zhaqa?

The scaly giant was surprised at her question and grew suspicious. Sensing this, Psatina took great care to remain calm, and eventually she succeeded in making him divulge all to her. Psatina discovered that the mare that had given birth to Zhaqa still lived and was kept near a cove among a herd of horses. These belonged to a sorceress called the Bitch of the Flying Wagon.¹³ She now had all the information that Warzameg needed. The next time they met, she passed all this along to him.

Warzameg said, Do not worry. If I survive, I will make my way back to you. If the horses are there, I will find the mare. With these words he was off.

In the course of his long quest, Warzameg came out into an open plain. There along the trail he stopped under a nearby tree. While he was resting there, a hawk, in headlong flight, swooped down and alighted on him.

Ah, Lord! he said. I must help this poor creature. He then took the hawk in his hands.

Save me! cried the hawk. But you can’t save me this way. So Warzameg stuffed the hawk under the folds at the chest of his coat. An enormous hawk suddenly flew up and asked Warzameg if he had seen a fleeing hawk. Warzameg did not reply, and the giant hawk flew away. Warzameg reached into his coat and set the smaller hawk free. Before it flew away it said, I cannot help you now, but if later you find yourself in trouble, call my name. Then it flew off.

Warzameg had set off again when after a short time he came upon a wolf who had fallen into a hidden ravine that opened up in the steppe. Warzameg thought, I shall lower a rope down to this wolf and help it back up. Help me! cried the wolf. But you cannot help me that way; you will fall in yourself. Instead, search the surrounding countryside and find a shepherd. Buy a sheep from him, slaughter it, and give it to me bit by bit. Then with your help I shall be strong enough to climb out. Warzameg set off and soon came upon a shepherd. He told him that he needed a sheep.

Welcome! said the shepherd. I shall kill a sheep for you. He picked one out, killed it, and gave it to Warzameg.

Warzameg brought the carcass back to the ravine and skinned it. He gave some to the wolf, and when it had finished that mouthful, he gave it some more. Bit by bit, the wolf ate the whole sheep and in this way regained its strength.

Now, said the wolf, lower the rope. Tie the rope to a tree. Don’t try to hold it yourself! Do as I say and I shall be able to crawl out.

Warzameg did as the wolf said, and the wolf crawled out of the ravine.

Was that enough to satisfy you, wolf? No? Then if you are still hungry, have what is left, and he gave it the lungs, which were all that was left.

The wolf said, The dogs of the shepherd chased me away from the sheep, and I fell into the ravine. If ever you find yourself in trouble, call my name and I shall come to your aid. Then the wolf loped off.

Warzameg traveled a great distance until he reached a great lake. The tide had receded and stranded a catfish on the shore. I shall help this poor creature, said Warzameg. He picked up the catfish, gave it food, washed the dirt off it, and set it free in the lake.

If ever trouble befalls you, call my name and I shall come to your aid, said the catfish before it swam out of sight.

Warzameg went yet farther and eventually passed beyond the shore of the great lake and into an immense forest. Deep in the forest he heard a voice crying from an eagle’s nest in the top of a tree. Remembering what the little old boatman had told him, he stopped to offer help. He tied his horse up and began to climb toward the nest. As he climbed higher, he saw that two baby birds had fled their nest in an effort to escape a snake that had wound its way up the tree after them. Warzameg struck and killed the snake. The little birds were grateful to him, but before they could say anything, Warzameg had passed out from the poisonous fumes given off by the dead snake and fell to the ground. The mother eagle returned. She did not see him lying unconscious at the foot of the tree.

Pfew! There are humans about. I smell them! she said.

He saved us and killed the snake, said her little ones. They showed her Warzameg, lying below.

The mother eagle then went to fetch water to revive the man who had saved her chicks. She returned with a beakful and forced some into Warzameg’s mouth.

What are you seeking? she asked.

I passed by your tree on my way to the horses of the sorceress, he said. I seek to become her herdsman.

No, said the eagle. You must not go to her. You will surely perish if you do.

I must go, even if I am to die, he swore.

Then so be it, said the eagle. I shall take you, both you and your horse, but the sorceress must not see me. Now let me set off to hunt so that tonight I can leave enough food for my little ones until I come back.

She then flew off and after a while came back with food for her brood. Then she bore Warzameg and his horse over the sea. There, on the far shore, she showed him a house with a fence around it.

Don’t go in there now! she said. Wait until night and then make an opening in the fence. In the morning you will be able to sneak in. At that time the sorceress will come outside and look all around her land. She will sit down over there. The eagle pointed to a spot. Creep up on her and put your mouth to her breast.¹⁴ Then the eagle flew back across the sea.

That night the youth dug a tunnel under the fence. The next morning when the sorceress came out into her yard to survey her land, the youth crept up to her, and before she could stop him he put his mouth to one of her breasts. Then in dismay she began to beat on her own eyes and ears.

Why, Mother, do you beat yourself so? asked her new foster son.

I beat them because my eyes did not see and my ears did not hear. What is it that you want?

I want to be the herdsman of your horses, he replied.

No! You wouldn’t be able to do it, she said. But if you stay around the house instead and watch what goes on in the courtyard for a year, then you will come of age.

The youth refused to listen to her advice.

So be it! she said. However, if you lose any of those which I place under your protection, I shall eat you!

They sat down together in her coach¹⁵ and set off. When they reached the forest, the sorceress’s coachman found the youth’s horse and took it along with them until they came to her herd. The sorceress showed the boy her horses and made her way back home. The youth spent the day riding to and fro and watching over the herd. When night fell, the sorceress’s horses lay down to sleep. He himself lay down intending only to rest but fell asleep. Upon awakening, the horses were gone, and although he searched hither and yon, he could find them nowhere. Finally, while riding along the edge of a stream, he came upon a catfish lying on the bank. It spoke to him and asked, Why, boy, are you crying?

I have lost the horses, he replied.

If that is so, said the catfish, then stay here and I shall find them, and off it went.

Not much time had gone by when the catfish drove the horses back to him.

Now, do not think of me again, it said. My debt to you has been paid. Then it slid back into the water.

At dawn the old witch set off, convinced that Warzameg would have lost the horses. So when she arrived in the forest where her herd was kept, she said to him, Surely, you have lost all the horses!

No, he replied. I have not lost them.

Then you have earned my first praises. Hobble your horse, set it out to graze, and then come and sit in the cart with me, she said. When he had done this, she let the youth sit down in the cart, and they rode back together.

Back at her house she made him hot cornmeal with milk. When he had finished eating, she told him, Rest, sleep well, and don’t worry about anything. You must ready yourself for two more nights of testing to prove yourself worthy of being my herdsman.

Again in the morning she made him hot cornmeal with milk for breakfast. Then she made him sit in the cart, brought him back to watch over the horses, and returned to the house.

When the youth found his own horse among the others, he mounted it and drove the other horses to the edge of the forest. There, while watching them, he grew drowsy. I’ll just take a little nap, he said, and so he dismounted, sat down, and fell asleep.

He awoke and again found that his horses had disappeared. He followed their trail but could not find them. While riding in the thick forest high up on a mountainside, he chanced upon a wolf.

What has caused you such sorrow, boy? the wolf asked him.

To my sorrow, said Warzameg, I have lost the horses once again.

Say no more, it said. Stay here and I shall drive them back to you, and the wolf loped off into the forest.

A long time passed, but at dawn the wolf drove the horses back to him.

Boy, it said, more remains of your ordeal, so don’t let them wander off again. I have paid my debt to you; think of me no more. And with that the wolf went back into the forest.

The old witch returned. Since you have once more kept the horses from disappearing, she said, you have earned my second praises. She made the youth turn his horse free among the herd and let him climb into the cart to carry him back. Once there, she let him eat and lie down to rest.

The following morning when the youth went back to the herd for the third time, he drove the horses into an open field. This time he became drowsy and fell asleep in the saddle. When he opened his eyes the horses were no longer there. He went in search of them but could not find a single one. When he stopped to catch his breath, a hawk alighted next to him.

Warzameg said to it, I was watching over a herd of horses and I let them go astray.

Sit here for a while, said the hawk, and I shall find them for you, and so it flew