Saint-Germain 18: Dark of the Sun: A Novel of the Count Saint-Germain

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Yes, she is.” Zangi-Ragozh surprised the clan members with this statement. “All medicaments are improved by the might of the gods.”

  “Do you truly endorse her magic?” Gotsada demanded.

  “I do.” He signaled to Ro-shei. “He will need a carry-pallet.”

  “How can you know what is best for the Kaigan of the Desert Cats?” young Neitis asked with a little bravado in his manner.

  “I can know because he is made of flesh, as are all men. He is strong, and that bodes well for him, but he is not made of anything stronger than flesh,” said Zangi-Ragozh in a tranquil tone.

  One of the Desert Cats laughed, and this broke the rising tension. Soon all the clan members keeping watch over the wagon were laughing, as much from relief as from mirth.

  “I will see to the carry-pallet,” said Ro-shei while the Desert Cats were distracted. “I will be ready in a short while.”

  “Very good; so will he,” Zangi-Ragozh answered, then ducked back into the wagon’s interior.

  “Is it safe to move him?” Dukkai asked, her nervousness now more controlled than before. She had stopped chanting just as Zangi-Ragozh had come back into the wagon.

  “It is,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “Ro-shei will bring a carrying pallet, and that should be enough for the distance he has to cover.”

  “Are you sure that you have done all you can for Baru Ksoka? Have you used all your knowledge to aid him?” This bordered on an accusation.

  “For the time being, yes. Now he needs a chance to strengthen himself and to be restored. It would be best if he had as few disturbances as possible.”

  “Is that important?”

  Zangi-Ragozh nodded once. “Out here, on the trade route, rest is the most potent medicine of all. If he is bothered, jostled, fussed over, or his rest impeded in any way, it will only serve to slow his recuperation. As he improves, there will be more I can do.”

  “You do expect him to improve, don’t you? If you think he will get worse, let me know now so that I may chant for him more diligently.”

  “He may have some fever, but I have treatments for that if he should need it; however, the sovereign remedy should keep rot at bay. He may have swelling around the bites. But unless the wolves were rabid, he should recover, if his wounds are kept properly dressed.” His voice was level and assured, and he looked at Dukkai somberly. “We will know in a day if he will recover: believe this.”

  “Then I shall chant for as long as I can today, and as long as I can tomorrow,” she announced. “It is what the clan expects of me, and what I must give them.” She looked from Baru Ksoka to Zangi-Ragozh. “I hope you are right.”

  Before he could answer, the back flap was lifted and Ro-shei climbed onto the platform. “I have the carrying pallet, and two men to bear it.”

  “Will that be enough?” Dukkai asked sharply.

  “Two men should be sufficient,” he told her, “if they are careful.”

  “Have Gotsada walk with them, to keep the clan away,” said Dukkai.

  “A very wise precaution,” said Zangi-Ragozh. He signaled to Ro-shei. “Leave the carrying pallet here and go find Gotsada, if you would; bring him here quickly. Tell him he is needed to protect the Kaigan.” As Ro-shei moved away, Zangi-Ragozh pulled the carrying pallet into position, bracing it in place with a small, heavy chest. “I will make this as easy as I am able,” he said to Baru Ksoka, although only Dukkai gave any sign of hearing him. With a swift, powerful motion, he lifted Baru Ksoka and lowered him onto the carrying pallet, then set about securing the two broad belts around him. “There,” he said as soon as he was finished. He reached for one of the folded lengths of wool and put it over the Kaigan’s recumbent form. “This will keep him warm.”

  “Is cold really so dangerous?” Dukkai asked as if she expected a different answer than before.

  “Men die of it,” said Zangi-Ragozh, lifting the carrying pallet with no apparent effort; he moved this to the rear platform and saw two young men—Ksuintol and Erasai—waiting. There was no sign of Ro-shei or Gotsada. “Baru Ksoka is almost ready for you to carry him.” Behind him, from the wagon, he heard Dukkai start to chant again. “Carry him as lightly and gently as you can. Let nothing intrude upon him.”

  Erasai seemed a bit dubious. “Nothing? Not even his family?”

  “Only his women, when he is in their care. Otherwise you may interfere with Dukkai’s magic.”

  The two young men exchanged glances, and Ksuintol was about to speak when Gotsada arrived to take charge of the situation. “Your companion told me what must be done. I will see that the Kaigan is undisturbed as we go through the camp.”

  “Very good,” said Zangi-Ragozh, saying to the two young men, “Remember: lightly and gently.”

  “Take him up,” ordered Gotsada, and took up his position at Baru Ksoka’s head. “We will not go any faster than a walk.”

  The young men hefted the carrying pallet and got it balanced between them, then, at Gotsada’s nod, they set off toward the Kaigan’s large, round tent, Gotsada warning all those who approached to leave Baru Ksoka alone so that he could rest. As they moved through the camp, more and more of the Desert Cats followed them, at a respectful distance.

  Zangi-Ragozh remained on the rear platform of the wagon, waiting for Ro-shei to return. As he listened to Dukkai’s chanting, he noticed that the pale-yellow snow had started falling once again.

  Text of a letter from Hu Bi-Da to Jho Chieh-Jen, both in Yang-Chau, at the end of the Fortnight of the Frost Kings.

  To my most esteemed colleague and fellow-employee of the distinguished foreigner Zangi-Ragozh, the most earnest and sincere greetings of Hu Bi-Da, the senior clerk of the Eclipse Trading Company, with the fervent wish that Jho Chien-Jen is faring better than we are here at the offices and warehouses of Zangi-Ragozh’s trading enterprise.

  Alas, I must begin by reporting that we now have learned from four sources that the Bounteous Fortune, and all her cargo, are lost. The Bounteous Fortune had just left Sangasanga between the Sulu and Celebes Seas, bound for Marakan. Captain So was relieved that the ship had not been damaged by the huge waves and howling winds that had battered the region, saying it was unwise to go to sea with such omens. He ordered canvas shelters be put on deck to guard against the stinging, stinking rain that fell relentlessly and pledged to ride out the storm. But in those narrow waters, what is hardly noticed in the open sea becomes cause for upheaval. The two seas and the Macassar Strait combined the force and confines of the waters, making the waves higher, more irregular and disruptive, and at last, the Bounteous Fortune broke apart on the rocks of Borneo and sank in shallow water. All but three of the crew died of injuries or drowning, Captain So succumbing to infections in burns and similar eruptions on his skin, which no one would touch, fearing it would pass to them. Two of the three remaining succumbed to similar lesions; the lone survivor had improvised a turban Such as some wear in India and wrapped himself in broad leaves during the rain. He finally came upon a ship belonging to Kao Shai-Ming, who, in the spirit of Yang-Chau, brought the sailor, one Mong-Dja, back home. Now that winter is closing in again, I am very much afraid that no ships from Eclipse Trading will be able to set out again until at least the Fortnight of Flower Rains, and that is ten fortnights away—too long for ships to be idle if any business is to succeed.

  It pains me to add more unfortunate news: the house of Dei-Na, our employer’s former concubine, was broken into and ransacked. Dei-Na herself, who has led an exemplary life, was treated with great violence and disrespect and has withdrawn to the house of her father, to tend to him now that his health is failing. She has taken as much of her goods, clothes, and food that can be salvaged. As you must have heard, there was a raid by hooligans in the riverfront area. Twenty-three people were killed and another forty-nine were injured, according to what the Prefecture has announced; I am of the opinion. the figure is higher, but I have no means to confirm this suspicion. In the raiding, six ships were set afire, and i
t was only due to Kuan-Yin that none of this company’s ships were lost, although the warehouse on Old Canal Street was a little damaged.

  For these reasons, and because of the Gray Cough, I can only spare nine men. You may have to find the remaining six you seek from outside the city. I know that rebuilding the south wall of the compound is essential, and that there have been raids in your area as well as inside the city walls. I regret that we have reached such an impasse, but with the weakness of the sun, the tempestuous weather, the spreading and insidious Gray Cough, and general hunger, no one is free from; want, or capable of eliminating danger. You tell me your supplies are low, and you now know that mine are, as well. I wish I were in a position to do more, but I am not, just as you cannot spare anyone to fortify the docks and increase the guards on Zangi-Ragozh’s ships. I will beseech August Heaven to aid you, as our Captains must also be aided, at least until such time as our employer returns to make his desires and decisions known to us all.

  This Year of Yellow Snow has brought many hardships, not only to the Middle Kingdom, but to many other lands. From the reports of the sea Captains, no port has been untouched by this dreadful cold, and the burning rain. It may be some time before any of us will be able to restore his fortunes, and it may be that, if worse comes, most of us will lose all. It has been reported by a number of trustworthy seamen that Sunda Kalapa has been all but leveled by waves and falls of ash that are higher than a tall mat in many places. Such desolation has been spared us, but it may still happen that we may endure greater calamities than have befallen us thus far. It troubles me that we cannot provide suitable offerings to our shrines nor spare more incense for the ancestors, but I also know that this is the Will of Heaven, and that when the worst has been reached, the change will come that, like the seasons, will restore us to better than what we had before, for all nature must ultimately be in balance.

  May Kung Fu-Tzu’s principles guide you, and Lao-Tsu’s comprehension bring you comfort. May your family be spared suffering, and may all this soon be nothing but a terrible memory.

  Hu Bi-Da

  Senior Clerk, Eclipse Trading Company

  (his chop)

  6

  Outside the mud-brick walls of Turfan where during most winters a sea of Mongol, Uighur, Jou’an-Jou’an, Turkish, and Persian tents besieged the town with merchants and their goods, there were now only a few tents, and a cluster of improvised paddocks for the camels, mules, and ponies of the stalwart or desperate travelers who had arrived there before the snows came. Eight bodies hung on ropes from the city walls, their flesh blackened and becoming mummified in the dreadful cold. The ground was now thigh deep in yellow snow, and there was more coming from the wind-bludgeoned clouds above.

  Baru Ksoka halted his clan not far from the entrance to the town. He had taken up the lead position in their numbers only the day before, and it was an effort for him to remain in the saddle. “Everyone hold!” he shouted, barely heard over the wind. “The gate of Turfan is ahead. I and Imgalas will ride to the gate, to secure a place for us, our herds, and flocks. We will try to get places for all of us inside the walls. Zangi-Ragozh, come with me. The officers of the town will want to know about you, since you are not Jou’an-Jou’an.”

  From his place on the driving-box of his wagon, Zangi-Ragozh signaled with a wave to show he had heard. “We are going to the town gates, Dukkai,” he said. He stood up on the box and called back to Ro-shei, who rode immediately behind him, “We’re going to the gate.”

  Dukkai was protected by the double-flap from the worst of the wind, and wrapped in bearskins over her winter clothing. “Then we will have a chance to rest and get warm, and for our animals to be fed and watered. I will chant for their strength and endurance; the gods have demanded much of us.” Her pregnancy was going better than it had, and she might have ridden with the other adult women, but she tired quickly, and Baru Ksoka had decreed that for the sake of his child, Dukkai would continue to ride in the wagon.

  “So we hope to be restored. If all is well in Turfan.” Zangi-Ragozh kept his voice level.

  “All well? Nothing is well, here or anywhere. Yet it may be that they will let us stay here and recruit ourselves for the next stage of our travel. At least we will not have to bed down in snowdrifts, as we have done the last four nights.” There was a brief, awkward pause, and she spoke more quietly, “I am sorry you won’t be going on with us. It was not a decision he made easily, asking you and your companion to leave us.”

  Zangi-Ragozh gave a shrug she could not see. “Baru Ksoka is taking the northern route, and I am planning to keep to the middle, going through Karashahr to Aksu, which would part us in any case. Turfan is as far as I want to come into the mountains, especially in this winter—I might as well be in the distant northern forests.” He knew she wanted something less final, so he added, “We may meet again in Kashgar, if you take the Amber Trail, in Tashkent, or Tok-Kala. I will ask for you and the Desert Cats wherever I go, all the way to Constantine’s City, if I push on so far.”

  “That is a greater journey than any I have traveled. Do you want to go there?”

  “I am bound for my native earth, which is some distance from Constantine’s City,” said Zangi-Ragozh.

  “In the Carpa-Ti Mountains, I recall you said,” she remarked. “Baru Ksoka said we may reach Kashgar on the Amber Trail, if we find no good pasturage in Dzungaria. The last one of our Kaigans to lead us to Kashgar was Baru Ksoka’s great-great-great-uncle. It is a very long way to Kashgar, I think.” She was improved from a fortnight ago, but she still had much discomfort, and she had to shift position frequently or risk more aches and cramps; the furs whispered as she adjusted her position behind the driving-box. “I hope it isn’t too rigorous, making our way there.”

  “It may prove more demanding than is usually the case,” he said carefully. “Consider how difficult it has been to get to Turfan.”

  “Surely it will not be so harsh in the West,” she said, repeating what the Desert Cats had been saying for three fortnights.

  “I hope it is not. But it may be that the desolation is spreading.” Zangi-Ragozh waited for her to respond.

  She was silent for a long moment, then said, “If you think this is not a wise thing to go so far, then tell the Kaigan.”

  “I have,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “When he informed me he had decided—much as it embarrassed him—that it would be best if Ro-shei and I left your clan.”

  “But you saved him. His wounds are healing almost without fever because of you.” She was deeply indignant. “How can he serve you such a turn when you have spared him suffering and restored his health? and saved his child within me, for that matter?”

  “I think he is worried for the clan, which is what a Kaigan must be; I cannot argue with his decision, for it is what I would have done, I suspect, had our situations been reversed,” said Zangi-Ragozh. “Many of the Desert Cats see my companion and me as interlopers.”

  “Not interlopers,” said Dukkai firmly.

  “Not to you, perhaps, but to most of the Desert Cats: Ro-shei and I are barely tolerated, and that will not change for the better.” He softened his voice still more. “If the winter is as hard as the rest of the year has been, resentment toward our presence will only increase.”

  She sighed. “I know you’re right, for I can feel it as if it were a sandstorm building, just beyond the limits of sight, and I understand that Baru Ksoka did not decide the issue without much reflection, but I am still abashed that you should be made to—” She stopped as a wooden horn sounded and the gates of Turfan began to open.

  “I think we had best move up now,” said Zangi-Ragozh, and twitched the reins to put the pair of ponies moving. “It seems that Baru Ksoka wants me to present myself.”

  “You mean he wants you to translate for him, if you can,” said Dukkai, sounding disgusted. “In case the men of Turfan no longer know the Silk Road coign.”

  “Then that will be what I shall do, although he will pr
obably have little use for me. Turfan is more a caravan camp with walls than a real town,” said Zangi-Ragozh, taking care not to force any of the clan’s carts and wagons aside as he threaded his way toward the head of the line; the snowy road made the way difficult, and it took all Zangi-Ragozh’s skill to keep the ponies from floundering in the roadside ditch that lay hidden beyond the uneven furrows left in the snow. At last he drew up behind Baru Ksoka and Imgalas.

  Two dozen armed men in bearskin cloaks stood in the mouth of the gate, their spears and bows at the ready; they shouted in ragged unision, “Halt, you Jou’an-Jou’an!” They spoke in the Mogol-Hunnic-Turkic patois of eastern Silk Road merchants. “You may not enter!”

  Baru Ksoka stopped his pony and signaled to the rest to slow, as well. “Tell me,” he said quietly to Imgalas, “do you suppose they mean to kill us?”

  “I think they fear we will kill them,” said Imgalas, deliberately raising his voice enough to carry to the contingent of guards.

  “Well. we have no such intention,” said Baru Ksoka, and addressed the men barring their way. “I am Baru Ksoka of the Desert Cats clan of Jou’an-Jou’an. We have wolf-pelts and goats to trade, and a few strings of Chinese copper cash to pay for shelter and food.”

  One of the guards stepped forward. “You will have to surrender your weapons, and you must pay us in gold.”

  “We need our knives, but if you must have our lances and arrows, you may hold them. We would rather keep our bows. Without arrows, what harm is there in letting us have them?” He studied the guards. “Can we not trade the pelts instead of giving you gold? Gold cannot warm you.”

  “You are right as far as it goes,” said the guard. “But we must think of better days to come, and for that, we must have gold.”

  “Then,” said Baru Ksoka, “we are at an impasse. We do not trade in gold, but in furs and goats and copper cash.” He rubbed unthinkingly at his forearm; his half-healed wound was aching from the cold. “If you cannot accept what we have, then I fear we will have to camp outside the walls.”