Khadagan stood outside the yurt with her brothers. The Taychiuts had been searching for some time, moving steadily towards her father's camping circle. She should have guessed that Targhutai would search the dwellings when the boy was not found, that he would suspect someone had hidden him.
In the distance, several men dismounted by her uncle's tent. Two rummaged through the trunks in his wagons as the others went inside. The searchers had started at the edges of the camp, moving steadily towards its centre.
They'll find him, Khadagan thought. Her father would be killed for hiding him, and perhaps her brothers as well. She had led them to this with her pleas, had allowed herself to be swayed by the captive's plight and his gentle words.
Five Taychiuts rode towards their dwelling. Khaghar's hand clutched Khadagan's shoulder. Sorkhan-shira sat by the cart, calmly sharpening a spearpoint. Khadagan's hands shook; she forced herself to be still.
Her father got to his feet and leaned his spear against the cart as the Taychiuts dismounted. “We'll look here now,” one of the men said.
“Useless task,” Sorkhan-shira replied, “but Targhutai's ordered it, so we must obey.”
“Useless it may be,” the Taychiut said, “and I'm weary of hearing the women curse at us for disturbing their things.”
“Come inside, friend.” Sorkhan-shira led the men into the yurt. Khadagan was afraid to move or to look into her brothers' faces. The men would never believe that Temujin had crawled into the cart without their knowledge.
She heard a thump, as though something had been overturned. “—must be dead,” her father was saying. “He'd be easy prey with that kang.”
“We'd have found the body by now,” a man responded.
“He might have been dragged off,” Sorkhan-shira said. “He may be lying at the bottom of Onon-eke, trapped and drowned by the reeds, or the current might have swept the body elsewhere.”
Khadagan heard another thump, then the creak of a trunk being opened. “Still,” another man murmured, “he'd have to get rid of the kang to have any chance in the open. Targhutai wonders if someone here might have taken pity on him.”
Sorkhan-shira laughed; Khadagan was surprised at how natural his laughter sounded. “That's a good one,” he said. “Anyone who did would deserve to die simply for being a fool.”
“I pitied him a little myself,” a Taychiut said. “There's something of Yesugei in him, and the Bahadur was a good man before he so carelessly allowed his enemies to poison him.” Khadagan heard a clang as something struck the hearth.
“I'll admit I felt sorry for him,” Sorkhan-shira said. “Natural enough, given the state he was in—he didn't have much strength left by the time I got him.”
“He had enough to knock out his guard.”
Sorkhan-shira laughed again. “A boy half his size could have taken on that weak fellow, even bound to a kang. Set down those cushions and rest here a while—you deserve a drink for your trouble.”
“We'll come back for that drink another time,” a deep-voiced man said. “Targhutai will rest easier when he knows the camp's been searched. We can stop hunting that accursed boy then.”
Two men came out to search the wagon behind the yurt. Khadagan kept her eyes down as her father emerged with the other three. Their booted feet moved towards the cart. “We'd better look here,” the man with the deep voice said.
Khadagan's throat tightened. Khaghar gripped her more tightly.
“Save yourself some effort,” her father said. His hand grasped his spear; he thrust the weapon into the wool, then pulled it out.
The three Taychiuts grinned. “We have our orders,” one said. They pulled wool from the cart, throwing it to the ground. Sorkhan-shira leaned against a wheel and fingered his drooping moustache as the pile of wool near his feet grew. Khadagan felt a hand on her other shoulder and looked up at Chimbai's tense, sallow face.
One man sighed, straightened, and wiped his brow. “Hot work,” Sorkhan-shira murmured, “on a day like this.” The man nodded. “And wasted effort, if you ask me. How could anyone live through this heat buried under so much wool?” Another mass of wool was thrown out; the cart would soon be empty.
“He's right,” the man said as the other two Taychiuts came around the dwelling. “We're through here.”
“My tent's in disarray,” Sorkhan-shira said, “and now you leave my wool dumped on the ground.”
The deep-voiced man shrugged. “Can't help you, friend. We want to be finished before dark.”
The five men walked towards their horses. Khadagan reached for her father's hand and squeezed it. “We have work to do,” he whispered. “Khadagan, this wool and our belongings must be put back in their proper places, and then you and old Khaghar will boil a lamb. Sons, come with me. It's time we sent our charge on his way.”
It was night when Sorkhan-shira returned and sent Chimbai out to fetch Temujin. “Targhutai's angry,” he said, “but he's been convinced that the bird that escaped is gravely wounded or dead. He also has the consolation of believing that none of his followers sheltered the fledgeling.”
They would be safe, Khadagan thought, once the boy was gone. Temujin would be free. She did not believe that she would see him again; the life he faced now would not be easy. Temujin might vanish, to become only another nameless outcast swallowed by the steppe, his bones never to be found.
Temujin came inside, followed by Chimbai. The boy's face was flushed and he moved stiffly; it was a wonder the heat had not completely overcome him.
“It's clouding up outside,” Chimbai said,
Sorkhan-shira nodded. “That will make it easier for our charge to sneak away.” He put a hand on Temujin's shoulder. “You nearly got us all killed. We might have been scattered like the ashes of a fire. I felt death reaching out for me today.”
Chilagun handed Temujin two small leather jugs of kumiss; the boy secured them under his worn belt as Khadagan handed him a large sack. “There's boiled lamb in the sack,” Sorkhan-shira went on. “Get to the bank and head downriver. You'll find an unsaddled yellow mare in the copse of trees just beyond the second bend. My men will think she slipped her traces and wandered off, and since she's old and fallow, no one will look for her.” He held out two arrows and a bow. “You'll have food, so you needn't hunt. Now find your family and leave us free of you.”
He had given Temujin no flints for a fire, and no saddle. A bow with two arrows would not be much of a defence, but Khadagan did not protest. The danger was nearly past.
Temujin hefted the sack, then touched Sorkhan-shira's hand. “You'll be rewarded for what you've done someday.”
“Having you away from here will be reward enough.”
Chimbai and Chilagun embraced Temujin in turn. The pale-eyed boy bowed to Khaghar. “I'm also grateful to you, old woman.” He glanced at Khadagan. “Remember my promise.”
She lowered her eyes. When she looked up, Temujin had vanished.
Part Four
Temujin said, “I was no more than an insect scurrying for cover, and this mountain gave me shelter. I was no more than a bug crawling on the ground, and the spirit who dwells here gave me my life.”
35
Dei Sechen said, “You're growing older, daughter.” Bortai tensed, knowing what would come next. “You're growing old inside my tent.” Her father was drunk, glowering at her from his bed. “Some say I can't even break my own daughter to the bit. You're seventeen, Bortai—how much longer will you wait?”
She glanced at her brother. Anchar hunched over the arrows he was fletching. Shotan was silent as she moved towards the hearth.
Bortai said, “I'll wait until my betrothed comes for me.”
“And when will that be?” Dei sighed. “I've been patient. I let you talk me into turning away suitors with many herds because I couldn't bear your tears.”
“I made a promise,” she said, “and so did you. Temujin is waiting until he has more to offer me.”
“You deceive yourself, girl.
He's dead, or he's forgotten you.”
“You could have had a husband by now,” Shotan murmured. “You won't have your beauty forever.”
Bortai lifted her head, dismayed; her mother had always taken her side before. Even Anchar, who usually stood up for her, said nothing. She could feel her father stoking his rage.
“I'm still young,” Bortai said. “Many are unwed at my age.”
“The longer we wait,” Dei said, “the less of a bride-price I'll get.”
She knew that she was being obstinate. If any of the men who had asked for her had possessed the light she had seen in Temujin's eyes, maybe she would have given her consent.
Why did she cling to her hopes? Temujin was no longer the boy who had made that promise; she was not the child who had sworn to wait. All she could recall of Temujin was his eyes. She might be no more than a faint memory to him; he probably supposed she had been wed to another.
But she had sworn an oath, and the spirits had sent her a dream. If he were dead, she would know it somehow.
“Your mother's sewn your wedding robe,” Dei said. “She waits, hoping for the day when she can embroider your coat for you.” He paused. “I was fond of the boy. I'd give you to him if he were here, but I won't wait any longer.”
Bortai forced herself to look into his eyes. “I made a promise.”
His hand caught her on the cheek. “You'll give this up!” he shouted. “You'll marry the first man I find suitable. I swear it—if I must beat you and drag you to your own wedding, I will. You'll be settled by summer, one way or another.”
“I'll wed Temujin.”
Dei grabbed one of her braids, then struck her again. She suffered the blows, refusing to protect herself. He'll come for me, she thought despairingly; he must.
36
The high-pitched whistles of marmots pierced the air. Khasar stood up in his stirrups as Temujin loosed his hawk to soar, then dive swiftly towards a fleeing marmot.
Borchu laughed; the young Arulat had trained the bird himself before giving it to Temujin. The hawk's wings fluttered, and its beak stabbed at the prey.
Temujin and Borchu rode towards the bird. A cold wind rushed down from the snow-covered cliffs to the west, making Khasar sway in his saddle. Bits of green dotted the land before him; to the north, he could see the distant massif of Burkhan Khaldun in the Kentei range that marked the boundary between forest and steppe. The forest where Khasar had once hidden always grew darker in spring, when leaves sprouted from tree limbs and hid the sun, but in this valley, the spring brought light.
The hawk flew to Temujin's wrist, and he fed it a bit of meat while Borchu hung the dead marmot on his saddle. Temujin hooded the hawk, then looped the tether around his wrist. Borchu stepped to his own horse and swung into the saddle. The young man spent more time in Temujin's camp than he did in his father's. Khasar preferred the Arulat to Jamukha, although he would not have said so to his brother.
They had not seen Jamukha for nearly a year, largely because Temujin's anda had to lead his clan now. Jamukha had talked of joining their camps, but Temujin wanted to gather more followers first. Jamukha had been careless once, addressing Temujin as “younger brother”, as though Temujin were his vassal.
Borchu was different. His oath of friendship seemed as binding as an anda bond, his wealth only a source of gifts for his comrade.
Khasar rode slowly towards the others. He could still marvel at how Temujin seized the worst misfortunes and turned them to his benefit. He thought of how his brother had laughed at their mother's tears when he had found the family again after his escape from Targhutai's camp.
Even Borchu's friendship had been wrenched from disaster. Shortly after the family had moved to the Senggur River valley, thieves had swooped down on them and stolen their eight remaining geldings. The thieves had missed taking the yellow mare Temujin had brought from the Taychiut camp only because Belgutei was away hunting on her.
Temujin had insisted on riding after the thieves alone. He had met Borchu along the way; the Arulat had seen men pass with eight silver-grey geldings. Borchu had immediately pledged to help Temujin steal the horses back.
Khasar had told the story often to those who had joined his brother since then. The two boys had crept up on the thieves, wounded two of them, chased the others off, and captured the horses. Borchu had even refused to accept part of Temujin's tiny herd in return for his help.
Having Borchu as an ally was welcome, and not just because he had been a brave and steadfast friend of Temujin's from the start. His father was Nakhu the Rich, chief of the Arulats. Nakhu Bayan had many herds, and Borchu was his only son.
“I'd like to keep this hawk,” Temujin was saying as Khasar approached, “but I may make a gift of her to Bortai's father.”
“You're going to claim her?” Borchu asked.
“I've waited long enough.”
Khasar frowned; he had hoped his brother might have forgotten Bortai. That Onggirat girl would not have waited this long, with no word from him.
Khasar felt a familiar twinge in his groin. He could use a wife himself.
He lifted his head. Five riders, followed by six carts and other men on horseback herding a flock of sheep, were moving towards their camp from the north-east. More people had decided to join his brother, then. Their camp was still small, but over twenty yurts stood in the camping circles to the south of Temujin's own tents. The men with Temujin followed him south into the Gobi to raid unwary travellers at watering holes. Temujin always gave most of the loot to the others.
Temujin motioned to Borchu. “We must greet those people,” he said. Khasar trotted after his brother and his friend. The sheep the newcomers were bringing would increase their herds; they would not have to steal more for a while. Perhaps the travellers were more young men who sought a new leader, who had heard that the young chief camped by the Senggur welcomed any who came as friends and was generous with his followers.
“Mother!” Temujin was shouting to her. “Mother!” Hoelun set down the garment she was mending as her son came around the wagon; an old woman was with him. “Look here—our old servant has returned to us.”
Khokakhchin's face was even more wrinkled, but Hoelun recognized her small dark eyes. She jumped to her feet and embraced the old woman.
“I never thought I'd see you again.” Hoelun trembled as she wept; Khokakhchin's brown cheeks were streaked with tears.
“She came here with some Khongkhotats,” Temujin said. “A few from one of their camps wish to join me.”
Hoelun glanced at him. “Is Munglik—”
“The men left his camp in the night. Khokakhchin-eke came with their women.”
“I was given to a kinsman of Munglik's two years ago,” Khokakhchin murmured. “Munglik let me go. He won't join you himself, but didn't stop us.”
How like him, Hoelun thought. He would make this small gesture, in case Temujin grew stronger, but would not risk offending his Taychiut allies.
“You have a place with us,” she said as she released Khokakhchin. “You always will, old friend.”
“You come at a happy time,” Temujin said. “I plan to fetch my betrothed soon, so you'll see me wed. I must go to the men now.” He hugged the old woman, then walked away.
Hoelun led Khokakhchin inside her tent and settled her on a cushion. “Temujin's grown tall and handsome,” the old woman said. “Khasar, too. Even young Khachigun seems like a man.”
“They've had to become men quickly.” Hoelun was suddenly overcome; she leaned against Khokakhchin. “What brought you and the others here?”
“Stories of the young chief who welcomes followers from all the clans, keeps his promises to them, and gives them most of what he wins, even when there's little.”
“Then our enemies must have heard such tales,” Hoelun said.
“They've also heard that a Jajirat chief allied with Toghril Khan is your son's ally. I don't think you have to fear them yet.”
Hoelun spoke
briefly of what had passed, all the seasons hiding in forests and foothills. Khokakhchin was silent, her dark eyes solemn. “That's quite a tale,” the old woman said when she was finished.
“And now he wishes to claim his betrothed,” Hoelun said. “If she's been married, I suspect he'd risk his life and those of his men to steal her.”
“Does he still care for the girl so much?”
“I don't know,” Hoelun replied. “She was promised to him—I think that's what matters to my son. Temujin will never surrender anything he considers his.”
“Then tell him—”
“What? That he's still a minor chief whose dreams are greater than what he has? That he may throw away what he's won so far for the sake of a girl who's probably forgotten him? I can't stop him if he's determined to go to her.” Hoelun sighed. “He's survived all his hardships so far. I think he believes that nothing can defeat him.”
37
Bortai was carrying milk back to her mother's tent when she saw the two riders. They trotted along the river-bank on grey horses, with two spare greys behind them. A hooded hawk clutched the wrist of one rider; the spare horses carried packs.
One of her suitors might have returned for her. If her father approved of him, Bortai would have to accept him.
They neared the horses drinking at the river. Dei rode towards the strangers, followed by Anchar and two other men. The travellers halted. The one with the hawk handed the bird to his companion, then dismounted, holding out his arms. He was broad-shouldered and taller than her father; she did not think he had been here before. Anchar suddenly leaped from his saddle and ran towards the stranger; they embraced. Her brother threw back his head, and seemed to be laughing, as Dei strode towards them and caught the tall man in his arms.
Bortai was afraid to hope. Her father had dislodged the traveller's hat; she caught a glimpse of his dark reddish braids before he reached up to tug at the flaps.
Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan Page 21
