IN THE STEPPES OF CENTRAL ASIA
Philip Leibfried
The stillness and darkness were almost palpable as the man drove his Land Rover over the vast southern plain of Mongolia. Anxious to get the Mongol helmet he had discovered at an archaeological dig to a museum in Russia and have it authenticated, he had gone without sleep or food for almost twenty-four hours. For the last few hours, the man had noticed something even more palpable - an ominous, eerie feeling, a feeling that he was being followed. Several times he checked the rear view mirror, but saw nothing. Yet the feeling persisted. He had told his colleagues to meet him at the museum, but they would still be several hours behind,needing time to pack their equipment.
The lack of nourishment and sleep began to play upon the man's nerves. Having heard tales of the spirits of Mongol warriors roaming the area, a soul-chilling fear suddenly swept through his being. Although he was a scientist, he had an active imagination which did not require a great amount of stimulation. He looked skyward; the crystalline, blinking stars added to the feeling that he was also being watched, while the lack of a moon made it easy for shadows to go unseen.
The helmet was a personal item, possibly belonging to Temyjin himself. The Mongol leader's spirit might not like the idea of a foreigner possessing his helmet. Once more the man checked his rear and side view mirrors, then pulled off the road and stopped. He removed the object from the burlap bag which covered it. Taking a flashlight from the glove compartment, he played the light slowly over the helmet's surface; it was gold and tapered up to a fine point; a narrow band at the base was stamped with Mongolian sacred symbols, and fine chain mail hung from the sides and back. A large piece of blue jade, oval in shape, was mounted in a silver bezel on the front. He placed it on his head, but it was much too small for him. As the archaeologist continued looking at it, the earlier feeling returned and he thought he saw a Mongolian face reflected on the surface. The man turned and looked about quickly, but saw only blackness. He did hear something though - the sound of distant hoofbeats. He quickly placed the helmet back in the bag, turned the key in the ignition and floored the gas pedal.
Many miles later, after crossing the border into Russia, the man stopped again. It was late and he was very tired. He thought it best to get some rest, as he had a considerable distance yet to travel. Again he heard hoofbeats, which became louder with every second. He looked around, but the darkness yielded nothing. Suddenly the sound ceased. The man convinced himself that what he had heard was either some locals out for a night ride, or his hunger was making him hear things. After one more intense look on all sides, he crawled into a sleeping bag in the back of his vehicle.
He soon drifted into sleep and dreamt a dream of Mongol warriors riding swiftly on their speedy ponies, shooting arrows from their short powerful bows and swinging their curved swords. One came straight for him. Waking with a start, the man looked about and listened intently. Was that a horse snuffling? On his left there was a scratching noise; on his right came the sound of soft footsteps. Suddenly there were sounds all around. The man placed his hands over his ears. After several seconds, he lowered his hands and was relieved by the silence.
He drifted off again and once more had visions of Mongol warriors charging pell mell at him. This time, however, he could actually smell the horses. Gripped by panic, the man grabbed his cell phone and called his colleagues at the dig. He told them to bring guns, that he feared for his life. When they asked why, his reply went unheard as the phone went dead. The man cursed, wishing he had armed himself.
Unable to sleep now, he suddenly heard voices speaking in a strange tongue. They seemed to be all around the Land Rover. Although he did not know the language, the man was able to detect the anger in their tone. The voices quickly grew louder; any moment the man would be face-to-face with the speakers. He steeled himself and found himself praying for the first time in many years.
As the last star faded and the night was darkest, the man's associates arrived. Receiving no reply to their calls, they peered cautiously into the vehicle. One of them aimed a flashlight through the window of the car; there, in the rear section, was the man's contorted corpse. An expression of stark terror gave his face a demonic appearance and an arrow protruded from his chest. Looking about, they noted that everything seemed to be in order, except that the helmet was nowhere to be found. One of them climbed in and removed the arrow from the body and gasped as he examined it. He swore to the others that it was just like those used by the ancient Mongols. As he examined it more closely, the wood rotted in his hand, the head and feathers falling to the earth. Just then the group heard hoofbeats and strange voices behind them.
- - -
Born in Yonkers, NY. Graduate Pace Collge. Previous published work have all dealt with film history.
Awaiting response on my first novel submission.
Philip Leibfried
The stillness and darkness were almost palpable as the man drove his Land Rover over the vast southern plain of Mongolia. Anxious to get the Mongol helmet he had discovered at an archaeological dig to a museum in Russia and have it authenticated, he had gone without sleep or food for almost twenty-four hours. For the last few hours, the man had noticed something even more palpable - an ominous, eerie feeling, a feeling that he was being followed. Several times he checked the rear view mirror, but saw nothing. Yet the feeling persisted. He had told his colleagues to meet him at the museum, but they would still be several hours behind,needing time to pack their equipment.
The lack of nourishment and sleep began to play upon the man's nerves. Having heard tales of the spirits of Mongol warriors roaming the area, a soul-chilling fear suddenly swept through his being. Although he was a scientist, he had an active imagination which did not require a great amount of stimulation. He looked skyward; the crystalline, blinking stars added to the feeling that he was also being watched, while the lack of a moon made it easy for shadows to go unseen.
The helmet was a personal item, possibly belonging to Temyjin himself. The Mongol leader's spirit might not like the idea of a foreigner possessing his helmet. Once more the man checked his rear and side view mirrors, then pulled off the road and stopped. He removed the object from the burlap bag which covered it. Taking a flashlight from the glove compartment, he played the light slowly over the helmet's surface; it was gold and tapered up to a fine point; a narrow band at the base was stamped with Mongolian sacred symbols, and fine chain mail hung from the sides and back. A large piece of blue jade, oval in shape, was mounted in a silver bezel on the front. He placed it on his head, but it was much too small for him. As the archaeologist continued looking at it, the earlier feeling returned and he thought he saw a Mongolian face reflected on the surface. The man turned and looked about quickly, but saw only blackness. He did hear something though - the sound of distant hoofbeats. He quickly placed the helmet back in the bag, turned the key in the ignition and floored the gas pedal.
Many miles later, after crossing the border into Russia, the man stopped again. It was late and he was very tired. He thought it best to get some rest, as he had a considerable distance yet to travel. Again he heard hoofbeats, which became louder with every second. He looked around, but the darkness yielded nothing. Suddenly the sound ceased. The man convinced himself that what he had heard was either some locals out for a night ride, or his hunger was making him hear things. After one more intense look on all sides, he crawled into a sleeping bag in the back of his vehicle.
He soon drifted into sleep and dreamt a dream of Mongol warriors riding swiftly on their speedy ponies, shooting arrows from their short powerful bows and swinging their curved swords. One came straight for him. Waking with a start, the man looked about and listened intently. Was that a horse snuffling? On his left there was a scratching noise; on his right came the sound of soft footsteps. Suddenly there were sounds all around. The man placed his hands over his ears. After several seconds, he lowered his hands and was relieved by the silence.
He drifted off again and once more had visions of Mongol warriors charging pell mell at him. This time, however, he could actually smell the horses. Gripped by panic, the man grabbed his cell phone and called his colleagues at the dig. He told them to bring guns, that he feared for his life. When they asked why, his reply went unheard as the phone went dead. The man cursed, wishing he had armed himself.
Unable to sleep now, he suddenly heard voices speaking in a strange tongue. They seemed to be all around the Land Rover. Although he did not know the language, the man was able to detect the anger in their tone. The voices quickly grew louder; any moment the man would be face-to-face with the speakers. He steeled himself and found himself praying for the first time in many years.
As the last star faded and the night was darkest, the man's associates arrived. Receiving no reply to their calls, they peered cautiously into the vehicle. One of them aimed a flashlight through the window of the car; there, in the rear section, was the man's contorted corpse. An expression of stark terror gave his face a demonic appearance and an arrow protruded from his chest. Looking about, they noted that everything seemed to be in order, except that the helmet was nowhere to be found. One of them climbed in and removed the arrow from the body and gasped as he examined it. He swore to the others that it was just like those used by the ancient Mongols. As he examined it more closely, the wood rotted in his hand, the head and feathers falling to the earth. Just then the group heard hoofbeats and strange voices behind them.
- - -
Born in Yonkers, NY. Graduate Pace Collge. Previous published work have all dealt with film history.
Awaiting response on my first novel submission.
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Very evocative story, Phil! I enjoyed it. Could see the helmet, feel the coldness of the world around the scientist as he was surrounded by his fate...