Addison Cooke and the Tomb of the Khan

by Jonathan W. Stokes

  “No one can know our names! That penalty is death.”

  “Is that your answer for everything?”

  The man pressed his blade harder against Addison’s neck.

  “I will take that as a ‘yes.’” Addison found that the key to negotiation was discovering what the other person wanted. But in this case, the only thing the Darkhad seemed to want was to kill Addison, and Addison was not willing to make that deal. “I have information,” he said, desperate to find wiggle room to negotiate. “I know the Chinese triads and Russian vori who are coming to trespass on your land and rob the tomb of Genghis Khan!”

  “We do not mention the tomb of Genghis Khan!” hissed the warlord. “That penalty—”

  “Let me guess,” said Addison. “Is death.”

  Strong hands pinned his arms to the ground. His tie was loosened and his collar torn open, exposing his heart. Addison shut his eyes.

  The Darkhad warrior straddled Addison’s chest, clutched his dagger in both hands, and raised it high over his head to strike.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  The Darkhad Camp

  ADDISON WAITED FOR THE blow. The suspense was killing him. He had never been a very patient person to begin with. He had to know how things turned out. Finally, out of curiosity, he opened one eye and then the other.

  The Darkhad leader was staring, transfixed, at the medallion around Addison’s neck. He dropped his dagger in the dirt and muttered what Addison took to be a prayer.

  Other Darkhad warriors gasped in astonishment. They released Addison and stepped back in superstitious awe.

  At last the chieftain spoke. “How did you come to wear this medallion?”

  “My uncle gave it to me. It belongs to my family.”

  “Please, I beg your forgiveness.” The Darkhad chieftain bowed low, pressing his forehead to the earth.

  “That’s more like it,” said Addison, standing up and patting himself off. Nearly every single person he’d met on this summer vacation had seemed intent on murdering him. It was nice to finally get some proper treatment.

  • • • • • •

  The chieftain mounted his warhorse and guided them up the steep slope and through the forest to the hidden Darkhad encampment. It was a circle of huts, a few cook fires, and some mountain pasture where the horses could graze. Addison studied the hard lines etched into the faces of the nomads. In the cooler high country they were bundled with sable and fox furs. Their broad shoulders were strapped with weapons.

  “Welcome to our camp,” said the chieftain. “I am Not a Human Being.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “That is his name,” said I Don’t Know. “Khünbish.” She pointed to a one-eyed warrior who carried a hunting eagle on his gloved arm. “And that is Not a Person.” She pointed out a few other men in the encampment. “That is Not This One, and that is Not That One. No Name is the one brushing Nobody’s horse.”

  Addison nodded. This was all becoming quite reasonable. He pointed to a scarred bowman who walked with a limp. “What’s his name?”

  “Ganzorig. It means ‘Steel Courage.’”

  “Wait, how come he gets to be named Steel Courage?”

  I Don’t Know shrugged. “Just lucky, I guess.”

  The chieftain led Addison’s team to his ger, a circular tent of stretched wool, covered with animal pelts and cinched together with horsehair ropes. Addison ducked inside and stared at the tent intently. It was decorated with weapons, hanging slabs of mutton, and a horse-head fiddle.

  Nobody steered the males to the left side of the ger, while I Don’t Know led Molly to the right. “Men sit under the protection of the great sky god, Tengger,” Nobody explained. “Women sit to the east, under the protection of the sun.” The chieftain took his seat at the rear of the ger, by the family altar, which was covered in small idols. Addison sat by a wooden tent pole and rested his back against a pile of saddle blankets.

  I Don’t Know served everyone cups of horse milk. She then stirred a large pot of stew on the cook fire in the center of the ger.

  The chieftain spoke for a while in the Darkhad dialect before turning to Addison’s group. “My niece and nephew tell me you escaped Ulaanbaatar.”

  Addison looked in surprise from the chieftain to Nobody and I Don’t Know. He did see a family resemblance.

  “I am not a city man myself,” the Darkhad leader continued. “How did you like it?”

  Addison realized, to his amazement, that the chieftain was making friendly small talk.

  Molly answered before Addison could reply. “Ulaanbaatar was so-so. We blew up a museum and burned down a palace.”

  The chieftain slowly nodded. Addison knew that small talk was not Molly’s best department.

  “Here, have some makh,” said I Don’t Know, ladling some stew into a bowl and handing it to Eddie.

  “Thanks, I’m starving! What’s in it?”

  “Boiled sheep parts. You know, bones, fat, organs . . .”

  Eddie stared into the pot and watched a sheep’s head bubble to the surface. Out of politeness, he tried to hide his gag reflex with a cough.

  “There’s sliced potato in there, too,” I Don’t Know said helpfully.

  Raj held out his bowl to try some.

  “What else are you cooking?” Eddie asked.

  “Oh, lots of things. We have mutton broth, mutton dumplings, and mutton pancakes.”

  “Do you have anything that’s not made out of mutton?”

  I Don’t Know held up a shriveled black creature skewered on a stick. “Blowtorched marmot. A delicacy in the steppes.”

  Eddie sipped his mare’s milk and kept quiet.

  Addison had been gazing into the fire, deep in thought, and finally looked up at the chieftain. “Sir Frederick met the Black Darkhad hundreds of years ago. He called you Ghost Warriors. Your tribe nearly killed him, but decided to let him live.” Addison leaned closer to the fire, fixing the chieftain with a knowing smile. “You know about Sir Frederick’s clues. That’s why there are Darkhad as far away as Kashgar. It was the Darkhad who built those booby traps!”

  Not A Human Being nodded. He bit the crispy arm off a burned marmot with evident relish. “You caught us off guard in Ulaanbaatar. We would have done a better job protecting Sir Frederick’s lance, but honestly, we had no idea you would rob a museum.”

  “I don’t get it. If you want to protect the Khan’s tomb, why protect the clues? Why not destroy them?”

  “As Darkhad, we can neither follow the clues to open the tomb nor bring ourselves to destroy them. They are our only link to the prize we’ve guarded for eight hundred years.” The chieftain opened the collar of his tunic, revealing an embroidered bead mandala hung around his neck. It was the Templar symbol—an eye in the center of a radiant sun. “Your knight found the tomb and the Darkhad tried to kill him. He told the Darkhad that if we did not know where the tomb was, or if it even existed, one day our people would forget their vows and the Khan’s legend would fade from the earth. By remembering our history, we remember who we are. So we protect the clues and we honor your knight.”

  “And now that I’ve appeared, with the same medallion as Sir Frederick?”

  The Darkhad leader shook his head. “I cannot allow you to go after the tomb. It guards the golden whip. And that is sacred to Mongolians.”

  Addison frowned. “How big is the Great Taboo?”

  “Two hundred forty square kilometers.”

  “And how many Darkhad are left to guard it? Twenty-five? Fifty?”

  The chieftain maintained a stony silence.

  Addison pressed his point. “You can’t defend an entire mountain. The smart move is to find where the tomb is hidden. The Russians have the clues and the Chinese are not far behind. They will find the tomb. They will find the golden whip. Our only chance is to find it fi
rst and bury it somewhere else in the wilderness. Somewhere where there are no clues.” Addison saw I Don’t Know nodding in agreement.

  The chieftain’s jaw muscles tightened so that veins pulsed in his temples. “This is impossible. No Darkhad may approach the tomb. We have taken vows for centuries.”

  “Your vow is to protect the tomb and its treasure. You must find the tomb now in order to protect it.”

  The chieftain rose to his feet. “No. It is forbidden by our laws.” From his stern expression, it was clear that his decision was final.

  • • • • • •

  Outside the ger, Addison’s team found their horses fed, watered, and groomed. Addison admired how the Darkhad trimmed their horses’ forelocks short and left the bridle path unclipped. Already sore from the morning’s race, he mounted up.

  The chieftain pointed south to the foothills. “In memory of your knight, I will spare your lives. Nobody and I Don’t Know will escort you safely off our sacred land.” He handed Nobody a two-way radio that Nobody handled like a religious artifact, tucking it carefully into his pack.

  Addison guided his horse to the mountain path, carpeted with pine needles. “If you see my aunt and uncle on your land, please don’t kill them. They’re being held against their will.” He lifted the bronze medallion from his shirt so that it sparkled in the light.

  The chieftain raised his hand in farewell.

  • • • • • •

  As soon as they were on the trail, Molly, Eddie, and Raj pelted Addison with questions about his bronze medallion. Addison explained it as best he could.

  “Are the Cookes descended from Templar knights?” asked Molly.

  Addison really had no idea. Somehow, he couldn’t quite picture his uncle Nigel swinging a sword around. And he knew from experience that he wasn’t particularly talented with swords himself. He would have to rescue his uncle if he hoped to learn more.

  They reached a fork in the mountain path. One route led downhill toward civilization. The other wound higher into the dark forest, disappearing around a steep bend. Addison reined his horse and faced the Darkhad. “I Don’t Know, you liked the plan I told your uncle in the ger.”

  I Don’t Know quietly nodded. “We have a better chance of defending the tomb if we actually know where it is.”

  Addison turned to her brother. “Nobody, what do you think? We find the tomb and alert the Darkhad.” He gestured to the radio in Nobody’s pack. “Then the Darkhad can defend the right spot instead of patrolling this entire wilderness.”

  Nobody hesitated. He chose his words carefully. “It’s not that I’m disobeying my uncle, it’s that I’m following my vow to protect the tomb.”

  Addison nodded. Whatever helped Nobody sleep at night.

  Nobody guided his horse to the steep path up the mountain. “There is a river near the mountain peak. My whole life, our uncle has never let us go near. I’ve always wondered what is hidden beyond. I believe it is a good place to start.”

  Addison recalled the river mentioned in Sir Frederick’s final clue. “It works for me,” he said.

  The horses labored uphill through the late afternoon. Moss hung from the trees like witches’ hair. Molly spotted a roe deer in the midafternoon, but they did not see another living creature for the rest of the day. Occasionally the fairy-tale forest parted to reveal the mystical landscape below. The sweep of the valleys, cloaked in blankets of mist; the faint brushstrokes of the mountains.

  Addison consulted Fiddleton’s Asia Atlas and gasped in astonishment. “My God, this has never happened before!” He held out Fiddleton’s map for all to see, stabbing it excitedly with a finger. “We’re in uncharted land! There’s just a blank green spot on Fiddleton’s map that says, ‘forbidden.’” He shook his head, amazed. “Roland J. Fiddleton rounded Cape Horn in a kayak. He rescued three Sherpas from the summit of Mount Everest. If Roland J. Fiddleton hasn’t mapped this mountain, it really is forbidden!”

  The dense forest thinned, giving way to rolling hilltop fields. The horses crossed beds of red, yellow, and purple wildflowers. Vultures, falcons, and steppe eagles hunted the slopes.

  Nobody guided them to a cairn of rocks piled at the crest of a barren hill and signaled a dismount. “This is an ovoo. Mongols pile stones on top of high hills to serve as altars to the gods.”

  On foot, I Don’t Know bade them circle the ovoo stones three times clockwise for luck on their journey. She took a splash of mare’s milk from her canteen and spritzed it in the air with her fingers for the sky gods. She then plucked hairs from their horses’ tails and added them to the rock pile. The horses didn’t like having their tails plucked. Molly had her own ponytail, so she could relate. Out of sympathy, she plucked one of her own hairs and placed it on top of the ovoo.

  Nobody dropped grains of rice in the stone circle, announced his family name, and placed a white pebble on top of the pile of rocks. Last, he and I Don’t Know made Addison’s group take off their shoes and lie on the ground to absorb the good luck of the holy site. Addison wasn’t sure if this was all a waste of precious time, but he knew they needed all the luck they could get.

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  The Shaman

  THE SKY GREW DARK when a rainstorm broke over the mountains. Addison became a bit annoyed with the sky god at this point, but kept his feelings to himself. They were quickly drenched. The horses’ hooves kept suctioning into the mud, slowing their pace.

  At last the path became too steep and rocky for the horses. Nobody released them into the mountains, saying simply, “They will return to the Darkhad.”

  The massive thunderstorm shook the steppe. The wet group trudged along the backbone of a forlorn ridge, with no trees to shelter them from the pounding deluge. Nobody led the way to an overhanging rock jutting from the side of the mountain. They ducked underneath and shook water from their clothes.

  At the crease of the rock was a shallow cave, and inside burned a crackling fire. An old man with wiry eyebrows and a laugh-lined face sat wrapped in a horsehair blanket, poking the fire with a stick. Nobody crawled into the cave and asked permission for Addison’s team to spend the night under the overhang.

  Nobody emerged a moment later and gestured to Addison and Molly. “The shaman wants to speak with you.”

  “With us?” asked Addison.

  “He asked for the boy with the bronze necklace, and his warrior sister.”

  Addison frowned. There was no way the old man could know he was wearing a medallion under his clothes.

  Nobody beckoned him to the cave. “It is a great honor. The shaman speaks the sacred language.”

  Addison and Molly shared a glance and crawled into the cave.

  • • • • • •

  The old man greeted them with a cracked-tooth smile. He poured tea from a tin pot hung from a stick. The cook fire glowed yellow and orange on the cave walls.

  He flicked some tea in the air to honor the sky gods and gestured for Addison and Molly to drink. The tea tasted of moss and pine needles. The strange little man wrapped a cloth around his head, blindfolding himself. He began pounding a deerskin drum and singing an ancient tune, almost without melody. After a few minutes he set the drum aside and smiled pleasantly.

  Addison was, by this point, completely mystified. To his immense relief, the old man began speaking in English. Addison had been worried this was going to be a very short conversation.

  “Your legs are tired from the horse.”

  “Yes,” said Addison. It wasn’t riveting conversation, but it was a start.

  The old man swiveled his head to Molly. “Your legs are tired from kicking.”

  Molly’s mouth opened and shut. “Have you been following us?”

  “I can’t,” said the old man. “My legs are too tired.” He broke into a cackling laugh.

  Molly looked at Addison and back at the old
man. She eyed him suspiciously. “Who are you and what do you want?”

  “I am Not Here . . .”

  Addison and Molly nodded: this much made sense.

  “. . . and I want to talk to you.”

  “Well, have at it,” said Molly.

  Addison reminded himself that small talk was not Molly’s forte. “We would be honored to hear anything you wish to tell us.”

  The old man rocked his body from side to side. “I see much pain in your past, my son. And green in your aura, for healing.” The fire kicked up smoke that had trouble escaping the hollow. It filled the small room, blurring Addison’s vision and watering his eyes.

  “We lost our parents when we were young,” Addison found himself saying.

  The shaman nodded as if this were old news to him. “The ones who did this to your family are hunting you . . .”

  Addison’s brow furrowed. “What can we do?”

  “Ah . . .” When the shaman’s blindfolded eyes aimed at the smoking fire, it seemed to burn brighter. “Your family is old and full of secrets. Like this world, it is not as modern as it seems. Your life’s work is the past. The past is who you are. Ancient secrets are everywhere, waiting to be revealed.”

  Addison could not make heads or tails of this, but he listened, entranced.

  The crackling fire lit every wrinkle in the shaman’s face. The man leaned forward, lowering his voice. “There are many trials ahead. Things will become harder than you can bear. And then they will become even harder. I see a catacombs under a great city, I see your sister held prisoner on an island. I see a perilous journey through a hostile desert. I see a prophecy. You will feel alone in the world, but you have powerful allies you do not yet realize.”

  Addison’s head was swimming. He wondered if it was the smoke or just exhaustion. He did not believe in magic or voodoo, yet he found himself believing the mystic visions of the old man.

  The shaman leaned back, smiling. “I know what you seek on the mountain.”