Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan

by Pamela Sargent

  Sochigil shook her head. “Don't hope for that, child. Years may pass before Temujin grows strong enough to take revenge, and it'll be too late for us by then.” The dark-eyed woman adjusted the scarf that covered her hair. “You see how long it took these Merkits to punish us for what my husband did. They know I'm Yesugei's other widow. They were pleased to hear it, almost as happy as they were when you fell into their hands.” She plucked at her coat. “Given who we are, they're unlikely to offer us to common herdsmen.”

  Bortai glared at her. The fool took pride in being a captive of some importance. Her jaw tightened. These men might have an ancient grudge against Yesugei, but that alone would not have brought this attack. There had been no reason to strike at Temujin before, but now he was a rising young chieftain and a possible threat to them.

  Temujin would want to fight for her, but he needed an army to ride against the Merkits, and striking at them too soon could end in disaster. It would take time for him to marshal his forces, and by then she would be a Merkit's woman. Even Hoelun-eke would have advised her to make the best of her lot, as she had when Yesugei captured her.

  Three men came towards them; one was Chilger-boko. A bitter taste filled her mouth. He had strutted among the other men after they stopped to make camp, pointing at her from a distance as if she were already his.

  Three pairs of booted feet stopped in front of her. “This is the one.” She recognized Chilger's voice. “Temujin's woman.”

  Bortai looked up. One of the three Merkit chiefs, a squat man called Toghtoga Beki, was with him. The third man was smaller and less massive than Chilger-boko, but his small dark eyes and wide mouth resembled the young man's. She knew who he was before he spoke.

  “She should go to my brother,” he said. “Temujin's father took my first wife from me, and Chilger has no wife.”

  “We'll decide that,” Toghtoga said, “after we capture her husband. Many here would like to take her into their tents. But you have some right to decide this woman's fate. I think Dayir will agree, and Khagatai has enough wives already.”

  Chiledu stared at Bortai for a bit, then walked away with his brother and Toghtoga. These Merkits obeyed their chiefs readily. Toghtoga and the two other leaders had ordered them to stop their raping of the women in the camp and the pillaging of the yurts in order to pursue Temujin. The soldiers had restrained themselves since then, but Chilger-boko might not be willing to wait much longer. The thought of being his woman filled her with disgust.

  She glanced at the other prisoners. One young woman was weeping; Bortai had seen her lying outside a yurt, trousers around her ankles, her long robe pushed up to her waist, the body of a small boy with an arrow in his chest at her side. A little girl nestled against her mother. Two captive boys sat among the guards, looking up at them uneasily as the men told stories.

  Bortai's eyes stung; she reached for Khokakhchin's hand. “Stay with me, Khokakhchin-eke,” she whispered. “I couldn't bear it if we were parted.”

  “Poor child.” Khokakhchin draped an arm over her shoulders. Bortai gazed up at the dark wall of Burkhan Khaldun, praying that the mountain's spirit would protect her husband, then remembered the story Temujin had told her long ago, of how he had dreamed of standing on a mountain from where he could see the world. She wondered what he saw from this mountain.

  Dreams, she thought despairingly. A dream had promised Temujin to her, but had not shown her that their time together would be so short.

  The Merkits stayed by the mountain for three days. Each morning, men rode off to look for a safe path through the thickets and marsh; each evening, they returned without having found a trail. The Merkits muttered about the perils of the land, the mires that had trapped a few horses, the thickets that did not allow them to pass. Even if they found a way through, wooded slopes lay ahead, with places from which they could be ambushed.

  On the fourth day, no one rode out. The faces of the men were sullen as they gathered to hear what their leaders would say. Bortai watched from where she sat with the captives, realizing that the Merkits might give up the search.

  The chief called Khagatai Darmala stepped forward. “It's useless to search here,” he said. “The cursed son of Yesugei has escaped us.” A few men murmured to one another. “Yet we've wounded him—his tents are empty, his people scattered, and his own woman is our captive. We've had revenge on him—he'll shed bitter tears over what he's lost, and trouble us no more. We'll ride out of here today, and take any of his people we find along our trail. In his camp, the frame of his yurt will be broken, and the entrance that harbours his household spirit will be trampled under our feet. Be at peace, brothers—we have a victory.”

  The men bowed their heads; only a few cheered. “Hear my words, Temujin!” Khagatai shouted at the mountain. “Heaven has abandoned you! Your camp lies empty, its hearth fires have died! Your followers will curse the leader who could not protect them! Your women will weep when they lie in our arms!”

  This speech brought a few more cheers. The chiefs strode towards the prisoners; Bortai huddled against Khokakhchin. One woman was pulled to her feet and handed to a Merkit, who dragged her away as she screamed. Sochigil shot a last desperate look at Bortai before she was thrust at the man who had captured her. A girl was dragged from her mother's arms and thrown to a warrior; one bewildered boy was led away by another man as his mother cried out after him. The chiefs were quick about this business, pointing at captives and parcelling them out until only Bortai, old Khokakhchin, and four other women were left.

  “This is Temujin's woman,” Khagatai Darmala said, “and Yeke Chiledu's bride was taken from him by our enemy's father. Our comrade is avenged. Chiledu might have claimed this woman for himself, but has asked that she be given to his younger brother, who was among those who found her. I say there's justice in that.”

  Chilger-boko stepped forward; his eyes gleamed. Bortai's gorge rose. “I won't be parted from my servant.” Her voice was weak; the men near her laughed, mocking her plea. “I must have her with me.” Her throat locked.

  “What's an old woman?” Toghtoga Beki said. “Let Chilger keep the old one as a slave.”

  Chilger lunged at Bortai and hauled her up by the arms. She pulled a hand free and clawed at his face; his fist struck her on the side of the head and she fell, stunned by the blow.

  “As for these others,” she heard Khagatai say, “do as you like when we're finished with them, and those left alive will serve as slaves.”

  The women screamed as Chilger dragged Bortai away. She glanced back; Khagatai lowered himself on one woman as the men around him cheered. Khokakhchin stumbled after Bortai and reached for Chilger's sleeve. He knocked the old woman aside with one powerful arm, and she lay in the dirt, her body still. Chilger threw Bortai to the ground.

  She twisted under him as he tore at her clothes. He slapped her hard, then pinned her to the ground, his weight crushing her chest. A forest of legs surrounded her, and voices shouted encouragement as Chilger thrust inside her.

  She clenched her teeth, holding herself rigid, and squeezed her eyes shut. Screams soared above the shouting; the wailing rose, then broke, shattering into shards against the roars of the men.

  43

  Hoelun crept outside her shelter of tree branches. Temulun and Temuge were outside, testing the spring of their bows. The two children spent the days following deer and elk trails while hunting birds and small game. She studied their small, fearless faces, then pulled her daughter to her.

  “Mother.” Temulun squirmed out of her arms.

  “I must speak to Temujin,” Hoelun said. “Stay here until I return.” She turned away and began to climb the slope, digging at roots with a stick as she went, then slipping them under her belt.

  Temujin's makeshift hut was above, in a small clearing. Khasar sat outside, shaping a long piece of wood into a spear shaft. As she approached, he put away his knife and got to his feet.

  “Is your brother still asleep?” Hoelun asked.r />
  “He's awake.” Khasar led her away from the hut. Temujin had not left his shelter since sending Jelme, Borchu, and Belgutei down from the mountain. The three were trailing the Merkits, making sure the enemy was not planning to ambush them when they left their refuge. For days now, her oldest son had brooded, eating almost nothing of the game his men found or the plants she brought to him.

  “His scouts will be back soon,” she said. “He'll have to speak to the others then and tell them what to do.”

  “I know.” Khasar folded his arms. “He's thinking of Bortai. I hope she was able to escape.”

  “I pray for that, too, but I've learned not to hope for too much.” She recalled the words she had shouted after Chiledu so long ago. “There will be others to choose from, and another wife to sit in his cart.”

  “You must fear for her,” he said.

  “Of course I do. I know what it is to be torn from a husband. I can hope that whoever may have her now treats her kindly. But I also know that any sons she gives that man will be our enemies. She'll think of her children, not my son.”

  Khasar was about to reply when she heard a shout below. Jelme hastened up the slope on foot, followed by Borchu and Belgutei. Their faces were grim; Hoelun knew then that Bortai and Khokakhchin had not been found.

  Hoelun went to Temujin's shelter, called out his name, and crept inside. She could barely see him in the darkness; he did not move as she knelt next to him.

  “Temujin,” she said, “you must come outside. Belgutei and your comrades have returned.”

  “And Bortai? But I don't have to ask, do I? Their shouts of joy would have filled this forest if she were with them.”

  “Come—your men need you.” She got up. At first she thought he might not leave, but he rose and followed her outside.

  Borchu hurried to Temujin and clasped his arms, then stepped back as Jelme embraced him. Hoelun sat down, waiting to hear what the young men would tell him.

  “We're safe for now,” Borchu said. “The enemy's left these lands. We followed their trail to our camp, then scouted north of it, far enough to know they're not waiting for us. They tore down the yurts and broke the frames. Everything they could carry is gone, but some of our people who hid on Burgi cliff came back when the Merkits rode away. They'll gather what they can and bury the dead, and then they'll search along the river for stray cattle and sheep before riding here. The enemy took the animals near our camp.”

  Temujin said nothing. Borchu glanced uneasily at Jelme. “I thought it might be worse,” Borchu continued. “If some were able to hide, we may find others.”

  Temujin said, “You have more to tell me. You know what news I seek.”

  Borchu took a breath. “Near the Tungelig, we found a cart with a broken axle. The land still bore the marks of many horses, so some Merkits must have found the cart.” The Arulat paused. “Under the wool in the cart, I found a bowcase, quiver and bow. They were—” He fell silent.

  “Say it,” Temujin said hoarsely.

  “I knew the design. They were Bortai Ujin's weapons.” Hoelun swallowed. The young woman would have taken her bow with her had she been able to escape on foot. She peered up at her son; his face was impassive. Khasar rested a hand on his brother's shoulder. Temujin shook him off, then beckoned to Belgutei. “And Sochigil-eke?”

  Belgutei tensed. “There's no sign of her.”

  “I am sorry, brother.”

  “I should have looked for her and put her on my horse.”

  “No, Belgutei. I sorrow with you for what we've both lost, but that we're safe here shows that we acted correctly. Even a moment's delay might have meant your capture, and I need every man I have now. I promise you our enemies will pay for taking your mother and my wife.”

  Her son, Hoelun thought, sounded like himself again, resigned to his losses but ready to face whatever came. “We'll gather more men,” Borchu was saying, “and my clan will aid you.” It was not such a defeat after all; they had more than they had possessed when they were hiding from the Taychiuts.

  “I owe my life to old Khokakhchin-eke,” Temujin said. “Except for her sharp ears, the Merkits might have been upon us before we could run. I owe my life to the spirit of this mountain, the spirit that guided me to the deer trails and kept me safe under the branches of its trees. I must give thanks to Burkhan Khaldun and to Koko Mongke Tengri for protecting me and being my shield.”

  The sun was above the tree-tops. Temujin lifted his face to the light, took off his hat, then loosened his belt and hung it around his neck as he bowed towards the sun. Hoelun got on her knees as the others knelt around him; Borchu handed her son a skin of kumiss. Temujin struck his chest with his free hand and knelt nine times, pressing his forehead to the ground and sprinkling the mare's milk after each genuflection.

  “Burkhan Khaldun shielded me,” he said softly. “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 this mountain kept my enemies from crushing me. I'll sacrifice to this mountain every day, and my children and their children will remember that the spirit who dwells here gave me my life.”

  He scattered more droplets, sat back on his heels, and looked around at the others, his pale eyes cold. “We'll come down from this mountain. I'll speak to my men after that. I must pray some more and listen to what the spirits say to me, and then you'll hear what Tengri wills for me. Leave me, and tell the men I'm ready to lead them once more.”

  The young men stood up. “They'll rejoice to hear it,” Khasar said.

  “We'll follow you,” Jelme added, “whatever you decide.”

  The four descended the slope. When the trees hid them, Hoelun said, “I want to know what you plan to do.”

  “You'll know when I speak to my men. Leave me, Mother—I wish to pray alone.”

  “I think you've already decided what to do.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You won't make me turn from my path.”

  “I'll say nothing in front of the men,” she said, “but I'll tell you here what I think of your intentions.”

  Temujin's face was drawn. “Toghril Khan and I have sworn an oath. Jamukha is my anda. They have to aid me now. Together, we'll ride against the Merkits before another year passes—I swear it to you.”

  “You have no power to swear such an oath,” she said. “They may not want to rush into a war with the Merkits.”

  “Do you think I'll leave my wife in their hands?”

  “You risk too much for her,” Hoelun said. “I loved her, too, but she's gone, and you have to strengthen your forces before you can fight. You must think of your followers now.”

  “I am thinking of them. Others here have lost their women. Our enemies must learn that those who take what is mine will suffer for it.”

  “You'll have your revenge in time,” she said, “but you have to grow stronger first. Toghril Khan and your anda may regret their oaths if you push them into this war too quickly. You're not prepared for this—you should wait—”

  “That's what my enemies expect,” he muttered, “that I'll nurse my wounds. You know nothing of these matters, Mother.” He stood up and paced. “The Kereit Khan has reason to hate the Merkits, but was content to leave them to their lands as long as he was safe on his throne. I must show him that, by striking at me, they threaten him, now that we're allies. Jamukha will welcome this campaign if he knows the Kereits will fight with us. The Merkits won't enjoy what they've stolen for long.”

  “We want the same thing.” Hoelun lifted her head, forcing herself to gaze into his angry eyes. “I've prayed for Bortai, and for Sochigil and faithful old Khokakhchin, too, but I can't watch you rush into a battle you cannot win.”

  “Be silent!” He crouched down and grabbed her wrist, twisting it hard. “I should have put Bortai on your horse and left you behind.” His fingers tightened before he released her. “No woman will tell me when to fight, not even you. I have the right to demand that Toghril and
Jamukha honour their pledges to me, and this battle will strengthen the bonds among us. I know what I have to do, and if you speak openly of your doubts, I'll drive you from my camp myself.”

  She rose unsteadily to her feet, knowing he meant it. “I've told you what I think, Temujin. I won't speak of it again—Tengri will decide our fate.” She rubbed her wrist; his fingers had left marks.

  “I'll speak to my men,” he said. “After we move camp, I shall ride to Toghril Khan.”

  She bowed. Whatever he did, she would follow him, even if he was riding to his death. “May the spirits give you what you want,” she said without conviction, then left him.

  44

  Wind gusted along the ribbon of ice that was the Uda River, lifting the snow into pale swirls. Bortai pulled at her hat and adjusted the woollen veil that covered the lower part of her face. The women in this part of Toghtoga's camp had herded their sheep together; a few dogs circled the flock, nipping at strays.

  Further down the valley, other women, children, and young men tended part of the cattle herd. To the north, high mountains sheltered the camp from the fiercest northern winds, but the cold was numbing.

  Bortai bent over and swept away snow with her tree branch. The sheep, like the cattle, could not paw through the snow to uncover food for themselves, and one of Chilger's sheep had already died; she had fed the animal by hand, only to lose it in the end, and Chilger had beaten her for that. The dark, distant mass of the horse herd grazed on land further from the camp. Chilger was away, out hunting with some of the men.

  One of the younger sheep bleated. Bortai pulled out a tuft of thin dead grass and fed it to the lamb. A Merkit woman hummed, her voice barely audible above the wind. The women had told Bortai of Chilger-boko's triumphs at wrestling; they had considered her fortunate to have such a strapping young man as her husband. They rarely spoke to her about him now; they knew how often he beat her.