Men and Monsters (Nightfall, Book 2) by Elena May

Author:Elena May
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: vampire, fantasy, magic, historical, paganism, medieval, postapocalyptic, dystopian, young adult fantasy, slavic folklore
Publisher: Elena May

Chapter Thirty-Two

Identity

Myra watched him across the fire, her eyebrows raised. Really? Vlad had been giving his own daughter his trademarked Chessboard Monologues, probably before he even knew chess existed? Impressive. And a little scary.

“Erniké followed me outside,” the Prince continued, “and froze when we reached the field where we kept the horses. ‘Father, please tell me you’re not making me milk a mare.’

“I gave her a grin. ‘If you fear you’ll damage your dress, get an apron.’

“She sighed and rolled her eyes. ‘Let’s get this over with.’

“Erniké brought a clean bucket while I caught one of the foals and wrestled it down to tie it to a rope. Then I fetched one of the mares who had recently given birth and led her close to the fence. Erniké held the foal’s rope and brought it close to me.

“‘This is madness,’ she said as the foal began to suck. When the milk started to flow, she pulled the foal back, but kept it close to the mare’s head. I knelt down with the bucket and started milking the animal, slowly and gently. ‘Why can’t you just ask a servant to do this?’

“I got all the milk from this mare that I could—barely enough for a glass—and stood up to bring another animal. ‘Because you need to learn how to do this and then teach it to your children.’ I led the second mare next to the foal and raised the bucket, handing it to Erniké. ‘Take a sip while it’s fresh if you want, but don’t drink too much, unless you want to make a trip to the privy. Once it’s turned into kumis, you can drink as much as you like.’

“She wrinkled her nose and pushed the bucket away. I sighed and took a sip myself. The milk was thick and sweet on my tongue. ‘Our ancestors had two ways to make kumis,’ I said. ‘If you are on the road, you pour the milk into a waterskin and tie it to the horse’s saddle, and the constant rocking will be enough. If you have settled down for a few days, tie the waterskin at the front of your yurt. Whenever someone passes by, they’ll swing it back and forth, and you’ll do the same with other people’s milk when you pass by their yurts. That way it will ferment instead of rotting.’

“‘But we’re not constantly on the road,’ she said. ‘And we don’t live in yurts. What’s the point of making and drinking this stinking stuff? It’s so much trouble, and for what? It tastes terrible. We are settled now. We have plenty of cows, goats, sheep and buffaloes, whose milk is so much easier to get and can be drunk fresh. We have such good wine from our fine vineyards, and yet you insist on putting all this effort into producing something we don’t need and isn’t any better.’

“‘It is what connects us to our past,’ I said. ‘Civilization doesn’t mean forgetting our identity. We can never be Greek.

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