The Thunder Never Sounds Read online

  Oxana jumped up and stared in the direction Artem was looking.

  The man walking up the hillside was indeed bedecked in the style of an amateur folk ensemble; a shirt of scarlet silk belted with a tasseled cord and baggies of blue silk tucked into short jackboots. In his hands he was holding a gusli; was he perhaps aping Boyan the bard?

  Wildly gaping around, the chronomuddler was trudging toward the hilltop. Now Oxana observed his long, emaciated face (perhaps the result of wandering about for three hours), the locks of fair hair barely covering his ears, the narrow chin covered with sparse blond stubble. An unsightly fellow, and yet there was something pathetically-helpless about him.

  The miscreant halted a few paces from their blanket and gawked at his contemporaries, stumped as to where they could come from. They could see the poor devil was just about to lose his marbles.

  “Have you seen the Mongols?” he asked anxiously.

  Artem shook his head.

  “What about our guys?”

  “Come sit with us,” Oxana said, looking at him with compassion. “Have a drink and relax. I’ll explain you everything…”

  2001

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  Yevgeny Lukin, The Thunder Never Sounds

 

 

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