We started our journey back at sunrise after all the preparation, some rest and a small breakfast. Riding back on the same path, we witnessed a different kind of natural majestic scene from the previous night. Endlessly white mountains stretched as far as I could see under the bright brilliant winter sun, with a lot of forest light surrounding them. Wide valleys and high plains were transformed into seemingly endless carpets of snow. Drifts sculpted by the wind created undulating surfaces with subtle textures and patterns visible under the sunlight.
As we drew closer, the weight of the seven wolf carcasses draped across spare horses became starkly apparent. The sun stood high overhead, casting sharp shadows across the snow as we finally reached the Sacred Mountain around noon. The welcoming cries of the Tagh Boru tribe members echoed through the crisp air as they emerged from their yurts, their faces a mixture of relief and curiosity. These were not the scrawny prey of novice hunters, these were prime specimens, their thick winter coats matted with blood, their formidable teeth bared even in death.
Dismounting, the ache in my muscles was a familiar counterpoint to the lingering adrenaline of the hunt. Yet, it was the unwavering gazes of the gathered tribe members that held my attention. The sight of the seven massive wolf carcasses, now unloaded and lying against the white ground, drew gasps and mumbling from the assembled tribe. Then, pushing through the crowd with bright smiles, came Aycecek and Aylaqun. Moon Flower eyes sparkling with genuine warmth, reached out and clasped my arm. "Kirisen," she said, her voice filled with admiration, "you have hunted with the ferocity of ten men! Welcome back, my Sky Wolf."
Aylaqun, ever more reserved but no less sincere, stepped forward and gave a curt nod, a gesture of respect. "Seven wolves," she whi gaze sweeping over the fallen beasts. "A formidable hunt. The tribe honors your strength and skill, Master." A gentle smile touched his lips. Their open welcome, their words of praise, washed over me with a warmth that chased away some of the lingering chill of the mountain air. In their eyes, I saw not just surprise, but a genuine respect for what had been accomplished.
The wolf hunting trial normally takes at least two or three days to complete, because they have to travel to the hunting spots, then track the wolves down before laying out the attack, and then travel back. However, with the help of my skillful companions who led the path and scouted the wolves for me, we wasted almost no time.
We offered a concise report of the hunt, detailing the unusual aggression of the wolf pack and the swift action taken to the elders. Night Star, corroborated her account, her gaze occasionally flicking towards me with a newfound respect. Following the report, the tribe offered us warm hospitality and led us to our yurts, where thick furs and steaming bowls of broth awaited. The weariness of the long ride and the intensity of the encounter settled deep in my bones. With the Tamga Marking ritual scheduled for the early hours of the night, now was the time for rest.
The wolf blood Is an important part of the ritual, but it presents a challenge in itself. In ancient times, they hunted together, then immediately followed by the marking ritual. But as family grew into a clan, and a clan into a tribe, the hunt became a separate endeavor, requiring a return journey for the ritual. Therefore, we had to collect the blood from the wolves and keep it warm by my body temperature during the ride back. Then, we would need to warm it a bit by the fire before the ritual could begin.
The biting wind whipped around us on the Sacred Mountain offering site, the moon casting long, silver shadows across the snow-covered ground. The air was thin and cold, but the energy radiating from the assembled Tagh Boru tribe warmed me from the inside out. The scent of wood smoke from the nearby fire mingled with the wilder, I carefully poured a small amount of the wolf blood into a shallow bowl then leave it next to the flame. Fainter scent of the thickened wolf blood, creating an atmosphere that was both primal and deeply spiritual.
Temurel the Iron Hand, his face illuminated by the moonlight, stood before me. He was a towering figure, his eyes reflecting the cold light with an intensity that spoke of generations of hunters and warriors. Around us, the elders, the most seasoned hunters of the tribe, formed a silent circle, their presence a powerful testament to the ancient traditions we were about to enact. Other members of the tribe, drawn by the significance of the ritual, stood further back, their faces filled with a mixture of reverence and curiosity.
Now softened from its partially frozen state. The dark liquid within swirled gently as he raised it towards the moon, offering a silent prayer to the spirits of the hunt. He then turned to me, his gaze piercing and unwavering. It was thick and dark, almost black in the moonlight, a potent symbol of the life force we shared with the hunted beast. The scent of it, raw and untamed, filled the air.
The Iron Hand mixed charcoal powder from the offering fire pit with the earth of the offering site, then drew a pointy mountain mark at my chin. Then he dipped his fingers into the blood and drew three lines from under my nose, over my mouth, to my chin. Even though it looked like an upside-down version of the Latin letter M, the combination of these two marks together symbolized the noble Mountain Wolf.
This marking signifies more than just kinship, it declares the wolf's spirit now intertwined with my own, the unwavering loyalty to the pack and the fierce protectiveness of the mother wolf for her young, the wolf's keen senses and relentless pursuit and its bravery in the face of any challenge, all become mine. I shall stand steadfast against any storm, with my unshakeable courage. Marked by the wild tenacity of the wolf and the enduring strength of the mountain. Now my words become the words of the wolves, as solid as the mountains. My deed become the deed of the pack, the Mountain Wolf is now also my kin, and its spirit will guiding my path.
The chanting of the tribe, on the ancient power that seemed to vibrate in the very stones of the mountain. The wind carried their voices towards the moon, a wild, rhythmic song of belonging. A profound sense of connection, a feeling of being both marked and embraced. The tribe erupted in a chorus of cheers, their voices echoing across the mountainside. The moonlight seemed to intensify, bathing us all in its silvery glow, and I knew, with a certainty that transcended words, that I was no longer just a guest. I was part of the Tagh Boru, bound by blood and ritual to their ancient way of life.
After the ritual, Temurel's family privately congratulated me. Temurel, who acting as a father figure, gifted me a gold-inlaid dagger that already bearing the Tagh Boru tamga. Aycecek gifted me her hunting bow that I used on the hunt. Temurcin had already given me the iron armor, and Aylaqun gifted me a rare bronze tube to hold the hallucinate mix and the healing remedy powder, a ritual version of the Dream Weaver.
As the boys finished their trial, other clans began returning to their campsites to prepare for what lay ahead. Aykuz also journeyed with them for her own purposes. The Altin had already made their preparations. But Baghatur's intentions remained unknown, and something felt imminent with the arrival of spring. Despite the limitations of winter, I considered this a crucial time for mutual learning and teaching. I had learned basic falconry from Kara Yulduz and in turn, taught her the Maidens Method. My focus now was on expanding my knowledge of herbs, poisons, and their war tactics, honing my horse archery skills, and teaching the Iron Method to any willing clan members. I also planned to apply the Dream Weaver to my flying needles, introduce the Iron Whip to others, learn their basic spear skills, and showcase my personal sword style to the clan.
My sword style mirrors my fighting method: survival above all else. The main difference is that it focuses less on breaking and locking joints, and more on sliding, slashing, cutting, and thrusting. While some might think of Chinese sword arts as acrobatic and fancy, the reality is that many styles resemble modern fencing sport. Those elaborate, acrobatic movements are often finishing techniques, deployed when an opening or weakness in the opponent's defense appears. It's essentially a duelist style. Of course this can vary from style to style, but for me with my focus on stopping opponents for my own survival, most of my basic strategy involve anticipating or waiting for their movements to fail or miss. I then aim to disable them primarily by sliding or slashing their tendons, ligaments, windpipe, major blood vessels or muscles, preventing them from moving and fighting. And when the opportunity arises, finishing moves like thrusting and deep cuts are executed.
But the most unique aspect of my sword style is the use of gravity in the movements. By leveraging the sword's mass, I create an angular force that supports its spinning, confusing opponents and allowing me to seamlessly transition that momentum into an attack. While incorporating controlling and sticking techniques from internal martial arts for defense and attack. With custom handle and many sword grips I utilize, I can change the sword's movements fluidly, spin the sword like a staff, employ a two-hand grip for controlling leverage, and execute flowing one-hand techniques, or switching hand attacks.
I named this internal sword style "Ten Directions Lotus Blossom" to pay homage to the Eight Trigrams Flying Dragon and the origin of my Chinese martial art, "The Thirteen Postures." Thirteen itself derives from the Eight Trigrams combined with the Five Steps. The Eight Trigrams or Bagua, represent eight symbolic states of a changing cycle, sometimes used to denote as eight directions. While the Five Steps are hidden methods disguised as a five elements stepping technique. However, my ten directions draw from a part of Southeast Asian interpretation of Chakravarti, the Indian subcontinent's concept of a universal ruler, "a wheel-tuning king". While ten directions itself mean all of directions, everywhere, or universal, derived from the eight cardinal directions with the addition of heaven and hell.
So the overall meaning of this sword style is something like the lotus blossoming in all directions, symbolizing movement and change across the eight cardinal points, with heaven above and hell below as the central axis. Wielding my sword like a dancing flower petal in every direction, making people "blossom" under the eyes of heaven and hell. Then I chose the lotus, a symbol of Buddhism to soften a terrifying nature of my sword style.
After the showcase, I felt my sword style was too complex for everyone, so I decided to focus on teaching weapon-controlling techniques, as few clan members had already learned some version of my internal martial art. It's like a simplified version of my sword style, aimed at making opponents lose control of themselves and their weapons, opening them up for any type of attack. They really liked it but still felt a little awkward using it on horseback, saying it was hard for them to adjust to using internal structure in an unstable state. I also felt like I had to stop the horse to use these controlling techniques efficiently. Unlike most weapon attacks from horseback, which utilize some level of momentum from the running horse, whether it's a sword slash or a spear thrust.
Aycecek added wolf fur lining to my helmet and iron armor, with a leather backing and padded layers of wool and felt for better shock absorption. She also made a new wolf fur jacket, a wolf fur-lined tunic, and crafted a necklace with three wolf's teeth pendants for me. Kara Yulduz also helped her, and I feel like they are growing closer. I teach my martial art to them together, with Aylaqun joining in when she has free time. Night Star is like a big sister Aycecek never had. I'm thinking about assigning her to guard Aycecek when I have scout duty in the spring. It's only a temporary assignment, they just need me to gain more experience before summer begins.
With scouting duty in mind, I'm readjusting my gear. I'll attach the bow case to my left hip belt and I'm considering either a more traditional canted hip quiver for quicker draws or the convenient combined bow case and quiver design of the Western Tribes. In the end, I'll stick with my long leather quiver due to its capacity and durability, as my horse archery skills are still developing. I felt like this setup would make it easier for me to adapt to our tactics, whether maintaining distance for encircling harassment with arrows, or executing back shots in hit-and-run tactics for both retreats and luring. Our horses are small and compact, making them easy to maneuver. However, I feel they are too small for my size.
It still feels strange that I've become a part of this tribe, as a warrior – thinking like one, dressing like one, living like one. Am I really a warrior yet? Even though I practice a killing art, it's still different from going to war or raiding other tribes.