Tomb of the Khan

by Matthew J. Kirby

  “Nothing.” Masireh felt as though someone had wrapped a blanket around his head, and even though Grace wanted to scream, his words came very slowly. “I … hope this won’t be an … insurmountable obstacle.”

  The merchant smiled at him. “I think we can come to an arrangement.”

  Masireh looked down at his empty tea cup, and only then realized he had been poisoned. As he slumped to the carpet, he watched the shadows of the merchant’s men closing in upon him, and then the shadows swallowed him.

  “He’s unconscious,” Grace said, floating in a darker void than the Memory Corridor.

  Yes, he is, came an unfamiliar voice.

  “Who’re you?”

  This is Anaya. I’m a technician. We’ve met before. Dr. Bibeau is with Natalya at the moment. Are you okay?

  “I’m fine,” Grace said. “We just have to wait a minute.” This had happened before. When her ancestor was sleeping or unconscious, the simulation lapsed into a kind of nothingness, but with the way time flowed faster in the Animus, it never lasted long. But now Grace was actually worried about Masireh, and eager to find out what had happened.

  It looks like he’s coming to, Anaya said.

  Grace focused back in, and a brilliant night sky stuffed with stars soon drove the smoky gray away. The Milky Way stretched overhead like a dust storm in space, and Grace realized Masireh was lying on his back. Once again, she opened the door of her mind and turned what was hers over to him.

  Masireh tried to sit up, but found his hands and his feet were bound. His movement seemed to bring someone toward him, though. The desert sand whispered against the person’s sandals, and a moment later, the merchant stood over him.

  He’d been eating something, and he kept chewing for a moment. “I’m sure you know what happens next,” he finally said.

  “You release me and then you crawl back to Marrakech to face your disappointed buyers,” Masireh said.

  The merchant laughed. “There are no buyers. You know that.”

  Masireh smiled back at him. “Yes, I know that.”

  “You’re going to take me to your mines.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “Then we will kill you.”

  “I would not be the first Wangaran to die this way. I shall not be the last.”

  Grace felt Masireh’s heart pounding, even if outwardly he tried to remain calm. He had no idea where they were, but given the night’s darkness, he’d been unconscious for hours, and they might have taken him miles from Timbuktu. After they’d poisoned him, they’d likely just rolled him up in the carpet and thrown him over a camel. His wife was probably wondering where he was. His sons would be out looking for him throughout the city.

  “You won’t be able to show your face in Timbuktu again,” Masireh said. “Where would you even sell the gold?”

  “I have partners,” the merchant said. “It will be easily done.”

  “I wonder if they know they’re dealing with the sort of man who would poison another man’s tea.”

  “It wouldn’t matter,” the merchant said. “Gold is gold. And you will take us to your mines. I will not ask you again.”

  “Then you are learning,” Masireh said.

  The merchant drew a knife from within his robes that Masireh recognized as his own. Then the merchant bent down and sliced the blade across Masireh’s cheek. A quick, casual stroke, and Masireh felt the hot, sticky flow of his blood, and then the pain.

  “I won’t give you an easy death,” the merchant said.

  “Is death ever easy?” Masireh asked, licking the side of his mouth where his blood had run. Grace could taste the iron.

  “I admit,” the merchant said, “you are braver than I expected you to be.”

  Masireh said nothing. In truth, he did not think himself brave, and Grace felt his terror, even as she tried to reassure herself that he would live through this. He had to, or else he couldn’t have passed this experience on in his genetic memory. But what would he go through before then?

  “I am going to get some sleep,” the merchant said. “But I don’t think you will. You will spend the night thinking about what I will do to you tomorrow, and then in the morning, I will do something much worse if you don’t take me to your mines.”

  “How long will I have to contemplate?” Masireh asked.

  “Five hours until dawn,” the merchant said. “Plenty of time.”

  Before Masireh could say anything more, his captor walked away, reopening the view of the stars, and Masireh lay there studying them. Since he had just cleverly learned the hour, he was able to find his position before long. One didn’t traverse the shifting deserts without a constant map. It seemed they were ten miles west of the city, heading toward the great river basin where the earth’s riches were found.

  Masireh tested his bindings again, but found them unyielding, and the cords had begun to dig into his wrists. He craned his neck in all directions, and found his ties were staked to the ground. There was no escaping them.

  The merchant and his men had set up a camp a few yards away, but without tents. They lay around the fire, their murmurs occasionally marked by laughter, their camels a shield from the wind. Masireh looked back up at the sky, offered a prayer to Allah, and after that, Grace followed him around as it seemed he paced the confines of her mind, thinking within her thoughts.

  After Grace and David left, Natalya took as long eating her breakfast as she could, long enough to wonder if Isaiah or Victoria would come looking for her. They didn’t, and eventually she sighed and made her way slowly toward her Animus room, stopping along the way to step outside and admire the trees and breathe the fresh air from a small, unlocked balcony.

  The slanted morning light hit the pine needles on the forest floor, and a light breeze set the tops of the trees swaying as if to music. Something gentle, like the third movement in Respighi’s Pines of Rome, a piece her dad always liked. She closed her eyes and smelled the air, felt the goose bumps rise on her arms from the chill. If she wanted to, she could climb down from the balcony and take off running into the woods, down the mountain. Why did that feel like it would be an escape? Natalya really wasn’t a prisoner here. None of them were.

  That’s what made this experience confusing.

  Monroe had said the Templars were ruthless and not to be trusted. That they sought to dominate and control the world, repressing free will. But that hadn’t been the case so far. Natalya was here because she had seen the look on her parents’ faces when Isaiah had told them about the compensation if she stayed. Her mom and dad would never have made her stay, but participation in Abstergo’s “research study” meant they wouldn’t have to work quite so hard, not to mention the “educational benefits” they saw, so Natalya had reassured them that she wanted to stay, even though she wasn’t sure at all.

  When she thought about Bayan’s simulation, she almost wished she had let them take her home.

  Someone knocked on the glass door behind her, and Natalya turned. Isaiah stood inside, on the other side of the door, motioning as if to ask permission to join her.

  She nodded, and he stepped out onto the balcony, breathing deeply through his nose.

  “I made sure to have many areas like this built around the Aerie,” he said. “Places of calm, for reflection and meditation.”

  “It’s nice,” Natalya said.

  He stepped up next to her and leaned forward, resting his forearms on the railing. “I wondered if you would avoid the Animus today.”

  Natalya said nothing.

  “It’s natural,” he said. “And I think I was a bit impatient yesterday, and hard on you. I apologize if that’s the case.”

  Natalya shrugged.

  “Do you need a day off?” he asked.

  Natalya stopped and thought about that, a bit surprised that Isaiah had offered it. But she realized she’d reached her avoidance’s point of diminishing returns, and that putting it off from here would just make it harder. “I can do it,” she sa
id.

  Isaiah nodded. “When you’re ready, then.” He turned and reentered the building, leaving her alone on the balcony for another few minutes.

  Then she followed after him, and soon reached her Animus room. Neither Isaiah nor Victoria was waiting there for her, which she found curious, considering how important her simulation had seemed to them yesterday. Maybe one of the others had found the third Piece of Eden in their simulation. If that were the case, it would certainly help Natalya to share some of the pressure.

  Sometime later, Victoria came in, apologizing for keeping Natalya waiting. Apparently, Sean and Grace had needed some extra attention. Natalya put that aside to perhaps ask them about another time.

  Victoria fixed her with Professional Compassion gaze. “Are you ready?”

  “I’m ready,” Natalya said.

  “What you are going through is probably not unlike PTSD,” she said. “Post-Traumatic Stress—”

  “I know what it is,” Natalya said. But maybe there was something to that. Last night, she’d woken up at three thirty in the morning all sweaty, thinking that a Song dynasty bomb had just gone off.

  “You’re experiencing trauma on two levels. Your level as an observer, and your ancestor’s level as a survivor. Perhaps we can talk about that later?”

  Natalya nodded. “Maybe.”

  “It’s important that you let me know if you start experiencing anything … unusual. Outside the simulation, I mean.”

  “Like what?”

  “Flashbacks. Vivid dreams. That sort of thing. Okay?”

  Natalya found everything about this conversation unsettling. “Okay.”

  “Natalya.” Victoria positioned herself to make direct eye contact. “I … I truly do have your best interest in mind. I hope you know that.”

  The doctor’s sudden intensity unsettled Natalya even more. “Thanks,” she said, but it came out as a question.

  “I once went through a very difficult time. The Templars brought me through it. We can help you. Remember that.” Victoria pulled away. “And now, let’s get you situated.”

  She went to the computer, Natalya climbed into the harness at the center of the Animus ring, and a few minutes later, an electromagnetic sledgehammer went to work on the back of her head, and shortly after that, she was sharing the stage of her mind with Bayan, about to launch a frontal assault on an impregnable fortress. Natalya was reminded of that saying, the one where an unstoppable force meets an immovable object, and she wondered exactly how that scenario was supposed to end.

  She looked around her, at Bayan’s Jagun now gathered at the bulwarks with three hundred other warriors, prepared to charge with Wang Dechen against the city gate, and for more than one reason, she turned her mind entirely over to her ancestor. She didn’t want the pain of desynchronization, but more than that, she didn’t want any part in the killing that was to follow.

  Bayan took command, rallying his troops with silent gestures. Wang Dechen’s strategy depended upon stealth, to catch the Song unaware, and Bayan hoped this night the Horde would finally breach the walls.

  Despite the hour, the air had not cooled, and Bayan’s sweat soaked into the silk lining of his armor as they waited for Wang Dechen to give the command.

  The general paced before the assembled force unmounted, his helmet gleaming. Horses would only alert the Song of their approach, so a silent foot charge would bring the army to the gates, along with their hooks and ropes. They had only to wait until the moon had set.

  Bayan noticed the captain of a nearby Arban, a man he knew, and remembered that Chen Lun belonged to his company. Bayan looked and found the Tangghut warrior among the ranks, appearing just as pathetic and frightened as he had before.

  Natalya could only pity the man from behind the curtain of Bayan’s disdain. She felt as Chen Lun did, and wanted no part of this, even though she knew Bayan’s mind, and the world that had shaped it. She knew of Tengri, the Sky-Father, and Eje, the Earth-Mother, who had sent the Mongols out from the steppes to subjugate the world. She felt Bayan’s surety, that if the gods did not want this conquest, the rule of the Great Khan would fail. Natalya understood, but understanding it did not mean she condoned it.

  Before the moon had set, a dense formation of clouds had advanced across the sky, overcoming the stars and smothering the moon. Wang Dechen gave the order, and the signal flags went up, sending his order silently down the ranks. The Horde marched, leaving the safety of the bulwarks, keeping to the trees, and staying silent, following the rise and fall of the wet terrain.

  When they reached the base of the mountain, Wang Dechen gave another order, and the signal flags spread the halt command down the line. Then the flags called the infantry forward, including Bayan’s unit, followed by the archers, and the ascent began.

  The trees and boulders strewn across the mountain’s face made it difficult to maintain the customary order of their line, and the wet leaves of the undergrowth painted Bayan’s face. The moon had yet to reappear by the time the infantry reached the city’s outer stone wall, and Bayan knew then that Tengri was with them.

  Wang Dechen sent another order by flag up to the front, ordering the infantry to prepare to assault, and the archers to ready their arrows. Bayan felt cold battle fire burning through his arms and legs, his sword eager for blood, and Natalya wished there were some way she could escape the confines of her own shared mind.

  Dozens of trained throwers came forward with their hooks and lines, and with the grace and precision of herdsmen roping their sheep, they sent their lines high into the air, up to the top of the wall, where the hooks lodged in stone.

  In simultaneous motion, the throwers retreated and Bayan’s line advanced to the ropes, where his warriors took hold and planted their feet on the wall. From there, they began the slow march up the vertical face, while the archers below them kept their bows pulled, sighting for watchmen on the wall who might sound the alarm.

  Bayan made sure his entire unit was on the ropes before he took a line in his hands. The penalty for desertion was death, meted out not only to the deserter, but often to his commander as well. His first warriors had not yet reached the top of the wall, but they would soon, and Bayan ground his boots into the stones, which were slick with moss in places.

  He had heaved his body ten feet off the ground when a warrior fell from above with a cry. Bayan looked down at him in confusion, and then five more warriors fell from ropes to either side, smacking into the ground with heavy thuds.

  An arrow struck the wall near Bayan’s left foot with the spark of metal against rock, and the twang of its flexible shaft. It had not come from the Mongol archers, nor had it come from overhead. The missile had come from the trees to the northwest.

  Bayan looked, and he heard the next volley more than he saw it in the faint light, and then half the men on the ropes fell, pierced and screaming. There were so many of them, they landed on top of one another with the crack of breaking bones. A moment later, arrows rained down on them from the top of the wall as well.

  Over the sounds of dying men, Bayan heard Wang Dechen’s command, “Pull back to the line!”

  “To Wang Dechen!” Bayan shouted to his men. Then he dropped to the ground, already smelling blood in the air, arrows whispering in his ears.

  The Song devils had somehow known of the Horde’s advance and circled a force around them, outside the wall. Bayan took cover behind a pile of bodies as his warriors descended, and near his hand he noticed Chen Lun’s open eyes and bloody face. Bayan looked away from those eyes and scanned the forest, searching for their attackers, until the last of his men had reached the ground, and then he bolted with them toward the safety of the trees.

  The forest gave them some cover, but arrows from the wall above and the dark woods to their left still managed to find occasional flesh.

  Bayan ordered his men to stand firm, then searched out Wang Dechen and found him glowering a short distance away, a smear of blood upon his helmet.

 
“Our numbers are reduced by a third at least,” Bayan said.

  “Some of the ropes are still in place.” Wang Dechen pointed through the trees. “If our archers could drive the enemy back from the wall, a few of us could reach the top.”

  “And what of the enemy at our flank?” Bayan asked.

  “Take your company and march toward them. Engage them and draw their fire.”

  “Yes, General,” Bayan said. He still wondered how the Song had managed their maneuver, but now was not the time to solve that problem.

  He ducked back through the trees to his men, and after a quick scout he found three of his Arban captains and ordered them to round up what they could find of their units. A few minutes later, he had twenty men assembled, not a high number, but enough to accomplish what the general wanted done.

  To Natalya, the new objective seemed like a suicide mission, but Bayan felt no hesitation and she could admire his bravery, even if she deplored what he was doing.

  As Bayan crept forward, advancing on the enemy bowmen, he wished the moon would reappear. The Horde had lost the advantage of surprise, and the darkness now gave a new advantage to the Song, who knew the terrain.

  Bayan drew his sword, quietly, his hands slippery with either water, sweat, or blood, or perhaps all three. His men armed themselves as well, and they closed the distance without disturbing the foliage, until they caught sight of the first archer. He stood behind a tree, a shadow with a bow. The night and the forest kept the others hidden, but they had to be close by.

  Bayan silently ordered his company to fan out, to create the illusion of greater numbers, and when they were sufficiently scattered, he gave the signal.

  All twenty men howled, ripping the silence open at the belly, and rushed forward. Bayan charged the Song archer, who had spun around at the sound, a look of shock on his face as Bayan ran him through with his sword. A moment later, arrows came at them, but not well aimed. That meant Wang Dechen could stage his second assault on the wall without the pressure at his flank.

  Bayan and his men ducked and weaved through the trees, rushing and retreating, never offering the archers an easy target. When Bayan spied another of the bowmen, firing arrows haphazardly, he circled wide around the enemy and rushed him, but before he reached his target a second shadow leapt out at him.