Free The White Ship by Chingiz Aitmatov

afraid to look around them, they were afraid to stir. They pressed themselves to one another and never noticed when they fell asleep.
    It's not for nothing people say an orphan has seven destinies. The night passed safely. No beast had touched the children, no forest monsters had dragged them off into the woods. When they awakened, it was morning. The sun shone brightly. Birds were singing. The children rose and followed the raiders' trail again. On the way they picked berries and roots. They walked and walked, and on the third day they halted on a mountain and looked down. Below, on a wide green meadow a great feast was in progress. There were yurts without number, rows upon rows of smoking fires, and countless multitudes of people. Young girls flew up and down in swings, singing songs. Powerful men circled around each other like golden eagles to amuse the people, wrestling one another to the ground. Those were the enemies, celebrating their victory.
    The boy and girl stood on the mountain, not venturing to approach. But the desire to be near the fires was too strong —a tasty smell of roasting meat, bread, and wild onions came from them. The children could not resist and came down from the mountain. The hosts wondered at the newcomers, surrounded them:
    "Who are you? Where are you from?"
    "We are hungry," said the boy and the girl. "Give us something to eat."
    The people guessed who they were from their manner of speech. They shouted, argued—should they, or should they not kill the children, the remaining enemy seed, at once, or take them to the khan? While they disputed, a kind woman managed to slip the children pieces of roast horsemeat. They were dragged off to the khan, but they could not let go of the food. They were brought to a tall red yurt, guarded by warriors with silver hatchets. And the troubling news that children of the Kirghiz tribe appeared from who knows where in the encampment spread among the people like wildfire. What could it mean? Everyone abandoned the games and the feasting and came running in a huge crowd to the khan's tent. The khan was at that moment sitting on a snow-white rug with his leading warriors, drinking koumyss sweetened with honey, listening to songs of praise. When the khan heard why the people had come to him, he flew into a mighty rage: "How dare you trouble me? Haven't we exterminated the Kirghiz tribe, to the last man? Have I not made you masters of the Enesai for all time? Why have you gathered here, cowardly souls? Look who it is before you! Hey, Pockmarked Lame Old Woman," cried the khan. And when she stepped out of the crowd, he said to her: "Take them away into the taiga and do what is needed to put a final end to the Kirghiz tribe, so that no trace of it is left, so that its name is forgotten forever. Go, Pockmarked Lame Old Woman, do as I bid you . . ."
    The Pockmarked Lame Old Woman obeyed silently. She took the boy and girl by the hand and led them away. For a long time they walked through forest, then they came to the bank of the Enesai, to a high cliff rising over it. The Pockmarked Lame Old Woman stopped the children and placed them side by side at the edge of the cliff. And, before pushing them down, she said:
    "O great river Enesai! If a mountain should be cast into your depth, the mountain will sink like a small stone. If a century-old pine should be cast down, it will be carried off like a small twig. Take, then, into your waters two grains of sand, two human children. There is no room for them on earth. Am I to tell you, Enesai? If the stars became men, the sky would not be wide enough for them. If the fish became men, the rivers and the seas would not suffice for them. Am I to tell you, Enesai? Take them and carry them away. Let them leave our weary world in childhood, with pure souls, with a child's conscience, unstained by evil thoughts and evil deeds, so they will never know human pain or cause suffering to others. Take them, take them, great Enesai . .