Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan

by Pamela Sargent

  “You cannot,” Temujin responded. “Neither can I.”

  “The will of the spirits grows clear.” Khorchi smiled. “I'll speak of this dream to others. When more hear of it, more men will rally to you. And what will you give me for bringing you such a omen?”

  “The command of a tuman,” Temujin said, “when I have ten thousand men to give to you.”

  “Can you doubt that you will?” Khorchi shook his head. “But if you're going to make me a Tuman-u Noyan, will you also allow me to choose thirty wives from among the most beautiful women we capture? They would give me more happiness than ten thousand men, and I can hope that they match the beauty of your own good wife.”

  Temujin laughed. “You'll have both the army and the women. I know better than to deny a powerful shaman his due.”

  “You were always generous.” The Bagarin bowed his head. “Now I must leave you, and see to the wives I have.”

  “Go in peace,” Temujin said.

  Khorchi left with his men. Borchu stood up and grasped Temujin's hands, then went to his horse.

  Bortai handed Jochi's garment to a servant. Temujin was silent as the women went to the carts. “If you had stayed with Jamukha,” she said at last, “your spear would have been shattered, as the cow's horn was.”

  “I don't need you to explain dreams to me, Bortai.”

  “I think you're still sorry you left him.”

  “You're wrong.” He stood up; she could not read his face in the shadows. “The spirits spoke in my dreams, and in Khorchi's, and through you. Jamukha and I are no longer boys playing at dice by the Onon, and can never be those boys again. I knew only one of us could lead when we danced under the great tree.” She should have been relieved that he had no regrets, but his words were a barrier between them.

  Temujin lifted his head and sniffed at the air. “The clouds hide the stars,” he said. “A storm will come tonight.”

  “I know.” She held out one arm. “Help me to my feet.”

  He pulled her up. On the dark plain, fires flickered, looking like the stars that were now hidden. Inside the nearby enclosure, mares whinnied and nudged their foals, skittish about the storm soon to come.

  Temujin picked up the cushions and followed her to the back of the cart. He lifted her into it, then climbed in after her. Khokakhchin, lying at the other end next to the chests, slept on with Jochi. Bortai wriggled out of her coat and long tunic, then covered herself with a blanket; Temujin pulled off his coat and boots and stretched out at her side. His arm tightened around her, then relaxed. She touched his face gently; he was already asleep.

  Wind slapped against the cart's leather covering; a child wailed in a nearby wagon. Temujin was her only shelter against the storms men created when they fought. She pressed closer to him. He would rule; she would be safe.

  52

  The slaves settled the lambs inside the tent. Jeren stirred the broth in the kettle on the hearth as Bortai suckled Chagadai. She had laboured for a day and a night giving birth to him last summer. Chagadai's brown eyes had the gold flecks of his father's; Temujin had noticed that.

  Someone shouted outside. Temujin entered; one girl soothed the startled lambs while another secured the flap behind him. He stamped the snow from his boots, then hung up his weapons.

  “Lazy old woman,” Temujin said to Khokakhchin, who looked up from where she was playing knuckle-bone dice with Jochi. “I spend the day hunting in the cold while you and my son sit here gaming.”

  “And did you bring us anything?” Khokakhchin asked.

  “Would I be standing here empty-handed if I had?” He took off his hat and shook the snow over Jochi, making him squeal. “We found a tiger's tracks near here. It's scaring off the game. We'll have to set out a poisoned carcass for the beast before it starts feeding on our herds.”

  “Then Jochi's done more than you have today,” Khokakhchin said. “He won two bones from me.”

  Temujin laughed. “Lazy old woman.” He had whispered to Bortai only that morning not to send Khokakhchin out with the sheep, to let her rest.

  Jeren glanced at Temujin, then scurried away from the fire towards Bortai. The Taychiut girl was still skittish around him; having her own small yurt and knowing she would be his wife when she gave him a child did nothing to ease her. She kept near Bortai, as if for protection, unlike Doghon, who resented having to share him with anyone. Temujin took what he wanted from Jeren and left her alone the rest of the time. Bortai supposed that made him a better man than Chilger-boko.

  Temujin slipped off his two heavy coats, handed them to a slave, then crossed to the back of the yurt. “Daritai's outside,” he said to Bortai. “He came here with Altan and my cousin Khuchar, and my two Jurkin kinsmen are with them. They rode in just after I did—they'll come here when their horses are settled.”

  Bortai nodded, tied Chagadai to his cradle, then got up. The slaves had set out bowls of broth and a few shreds of venison on a platter when the visitors entered. Temujin murmured a greeting and embraced them all. The five men sat on cushions at his right and asked about his hunting.

  “A cat's prowling nearby,” Temujin said. “I told those watching our herds to be alert.”

  Bortai settled the four slaves on her side of the tent, near Khokakhchin and Jochi, then sat by Chagadai's cradle, close enough to hear the men. Jeren sat next to her, refusing to look at Temujin.

  Daritai and the men with him would not be here merely to pass the time and tell stories. Daritai and Khuchar had joined them after they moved camp to the Kimurgha River; Seche Beki and Taichu, the two Jurkin chiefs, had come to them that autumn, and Altan soon after that. Jamukha had surely been weakened by their loss.

  “Spring approaches,” Altan said. He dipped a bit of meat into his broth, chewed it, and licked the fat from his fingers. “It will be good to taste kumiss again, and all the more welcome if we have something to celebrate.”

  “Indeed it will,” Temujin replied.

  “Decisions must be made,” Daritai said; he gulped down some broth. “It will soon be time to hold a kuriltai.”

  Bortai's hand tensed on the cradle. “Yes,” Temujin said softly. “We should prepare to take up arms against the Taychiuts, and my father's spirit still cries for the punishment of the Tatars who took his life.”

  “I want vengeance for Yesugei,” Altan said. “I well remember how I once fought with your father. But to fight a war, we must have a leader. To be strong, we must be an ulus, a nation, as we once were under my father Khutula Khan. It's time we had a Khan again.”

  The tent was silent except for the slight crackling of the fire. “You speak the truth,” Temujin said at last. “Others would see that we're more than men who have come together for only a while.”

  “Every man here has a claim to the Khanate,” Daritai said, “Altan, because he's the son of Khutula, and Khuchar, because he's the son of my brother Nekun-taisi. Then there are Seche and Taichu here, who are grandsons of my father's brother Okin Barkak.” He paused.

  “You have forgotten yourself,” Temujin murmured. “As the nephew of Khutula Khan, you also have a claim.”

  Bortai glanced up. Daritai leaned forward on his cushion; she lowered her head. “And you, of course, my nephew—your claim is as great as ours.”

  “And shall we each rally supporters,” Temujin said, “and present our claims at the kuriltai?”

  “The Noyans,” Altan replied, “could spend days debating our claims instead of choosing the one they want right away. We've come together too recently to risk arguments that might make unity harder to come by later.”

  “And whom do you think the Noyans favour?” Temujin asked.

  Taichu laughed. “Isn't it obvious?” Seche Beki said. “Who took it upon himself to leave Jamukha, and saw we could further our ends without him? Who is the man Khorchi's dream told him to follow?”

  “You must be Khan, Temujin,” Daritai said. “We left your anda, and came to you. You'll lead us in battle, and we'll o
ffer you the most beautiful of the women we capture, and the strongest geldings and mares. When we hunt, we'll surround the game until the animals are as close together as trees in a forest, and drive them to you.”

  Temujin said, “The kuriltai must decide who will be Khan.”

  “But we know what they will decide,” Altan said, “if we support your claim. If we give up our own claims, the Noyans must turn to you.”

  “You honour me,” Temujin said. “I cannot turn away from what is asked of me. If the Noyans choose me, you'll all be rewarded.”

  “Then all that remains,” Khuchar muttered, “is the formality, my Khan and cousin.”

  Bortai rose, motioned to a girl, and had more broth brought to the men and herself, then sat with them as they told stories of old victories. The five must have argued heatedly before coming here; none of them could be supporting Temujin so willingly.

  Temujin pressed his guests to stay for the night, but they remained only long enough to finish their broth. They made their farewells quickly, clearly anxious to put distance between their horses and the tiger that might be prowling nearby. “Good hunting,” Daritai said from the doorway. “It might be wise to have a shaman cast a spell—that tiger could be a ghost.” He made a sign against evil with his hand, then ducked through the entrance; a woman lowered the flap.

  “What do you think of this?” Temujin murmured to Bortai.

  She leaned closer to him. “I'm surprised that they want to set a master over themselves so soon. The Noyans will choose you—that's certain, now that your rivals have given up their claims. They know they can't push you aside now, but I wonder how loyal they'll be if they see a chance to do so later. Every one of them would rather be Khan himself.”

  “I know.” Temujin rubbed his chin. “They want a Khan only for a while, until they're stronger and can press their own claims. I'll let them have their leader. Once chosen, I won't be so easy to push aside.” He stood up. “Jeren, bring me my coats. I'll sleep in your yurt tonight.”

  The girl's brown eyes widened; her pretty face went pale. She fetched his coats and put on her own, keeping her eyes from him, her small body trembling under her bowed shoulders. Bortai rocked her son's cradle. It would have been easier not to know that Temujin took as much enjoyment in Jeren's aversion as he did in Bortai's assent.

  53

  Jamukha studied the young horses inside the enclosure. A roan horse snorted, then snapped at the hindquarters of another. The roan had spirit; he might make a stallion.

  He gazed past them at the horses grazing on the steppe. Ten men rode towards the herd; Taychar was with them. A few men guarding the herd trotted towards the new arrivals; the small forms rippled in the summer heat.

  Jamukha had been up here for half a month with some of his men, two days' ride south of Munglik's camp, breaking horses and deciding which of the two-year-olds would be gelded. He welcomed the work; anything was better than going to his women, labouring to produce a son. Nomalan had whelped too soon a second time, and the others were as useless. He thought of giving them away and starting again with fresh stock.

  Two men entered the enclosure; one held a long stick with a loop of rope at its end, and as he slipped the noose over the head of one grey horse, the other approached with a bridle. The grey horse whinnied and tossed its head. Temujin had always favoured grey or white horses. Jamukha's mouth twisted. His anda had not only abandoned him, but had also won over several of Jamukha's allies.

  Taychar was riding towards him. Jamukha circled the enclosure; his cousin slowed, then reined in his horse. “Messengers,” Taychar said. “Arkhai and Chakhurkhan rode to our camp from Temujin's.” The young man scowled as he spoke the name of Jamukha's anda. “We've been riding hard all morning. I asked them for their message, but they said their words were for you.”

  Jamukha swallowed hard. Maybe his anda regretted his actions. “Bring them to my yurt,” he said, “after they've passed between the fires. We'll speak to them alone.”

  He stomped towards the small yurt, wondering what Temujin wanted. His scouts had told him of movements near his anda's camp by the Senggur, of chiefs riding there nearly a month ago for a kuriltai. A war kuriltai, perhaps; Temujin would still be anxious to fight the Taychiuts. That would not be so easy now. By taking in a small band of Taychiuts who had been attacked by Temujin last summer, Jamukha had opened the way to an alliance with them.

  He went inside. His tent was filled with saddles, bridles, and weapons; he sat down on the bed and waited until he heard the men outside.

  Taychar entered, followed by the two envoys. Jamukha rose and rattled off a few words of greeting as his cousin fetched skins of kumiss.

  “We come in peace,” Chakhurkhan said. The short, broad young man presented a scarf, then seated himself on a cushion.

  “Is that so?” Jamukha asked as Arkhai and Taychar sat down. “I heard that you held a kuriltai not long ago. I thought my anda might be planning war.”

  Arkhai smiled. “He wishes only to send you greetings—his thoughts often turn to his anda. We held our kuriltai not to make war, but to choose a Khan. This is the message I bring—we have chosen a Khan, after only a day of deliberation. Temujin has been raised on the felt and given the name of Genghis Khan.”

  Jamukha ground his teeth, too stunned to speak. Taychar choked on his kumiss. “What's this?” his cousin burst out. “Who gave him such a name? How can he call himself—”

  “The kuriltai proclaimed him Khan,” Chakhurkhan replied. “The shamans chose his name.”

  Genghis Khan, Jamukha thought. The Universal Khan, the Strongest, the All-Powerful; the name held great power. How had he dared to accept that name? It was a challenge to anyone who heard it.

  “I'm sure Temujin had something to do with the choice of a name,” Taychar muttered. “How could this happen? Didn't his cousin Khuchar object? Didn't Altan have more right to be Khan, if you were to choose one?”

  “Altan spoke for Temujin at the kuriltai,” Arkhai said, “as did Khuchar and Daritai Odchigin. Seche Beki and Taichu made no objection.”

  Jamukha thought of sending Arkhai and Chakhurkhan back to their new Khan with their braids lopped off, perhaps even their heads. He steadied himself. Altan was behind this, along with Khuchar and Daritai. They would not have given up their own ambitions unless they were sure they could dispense with Temujin later. He had raged when they had gone over to his anda, but perhaps they would be more useful to him there.

  Taychar cursed. Jamukha held up his hand. “Silence, cousin,” he said. “Let us enjoy our time with these old friends. Clearly Temujin thought only of sharing the news of this great honour with me.”

  “True,” Arkhai said. “His bond with you endures, as does our Khan's friendship with the Kereits. Toghril Khan received our envoys not long ago, and claims to be delighted that the Mongols are no longer without a Khan.”

  The foolish old man was thinking only of having a strong ally at his back, to shield him from Merkits and Naimans; he could not see that Temujin might pose a threat to him. But perhaps Toghril suspected this unity would not last long.

  “Temujin spoke well after he was raised on the felt,” Chakhurkhan said. “He made Borchu's cousin Ogele Cherbi his chief archer, and Khasar his chief swordsman. Soyiketu Cherbi's in charge of his cooks, while Degei is now chief shepherd and Mulkhalku will tend the cattle. Belgutei will look out for the horse herds, and Borchu and Jelme have been raised over all the other chiefs.” Chakhurkhan drank, then belched. “We ourselves—Arkhai and I, and our comrades Taghai and Sukegei, he calls his arrows, which he'll aim near and far.”

  Jamukha plucked at his moustache. “Then many have been honoured.” He wondered how Altan and the others who had given up their claims had felt at seeing such honours go to Temujin's close associates.

  Taychar reached for another jug. “I must ask you this,” Jamukha said. “If you wanted a Khan, couldn't you have chosen one while Temujin and I still camped together? Why did you c
hoose one now?”

  “You sound displeased,” Arkhai replied. “I assure you that our Khan still has the greatest regard for you. He knew when he left you that you could no longer lead together, that his men chafed at following you while yours resisted him as a leader. He thought it wiser to let the men choose which of you to follow. He saw that many would stay with you, that you would still be strong without him. He never intended to harden his heart towards his brother. He was anxious for us to assure you of his love.”

  Oh yes, he thought. Remain my friend, but bow to me as Khan; that was what his anda wanted. Temujin had waited until he sat on a throne to send a message.

  “You have made your choice,” Jamukha said. “You must abide by it.” Taychar glowered at him. “You will tell your Khan his message pleases me. The Noyans have chosen their Khan—you must tell them all to serve him loyally. You must tell Altan and Khuchar in particular not to forget their promises to him.”

  Chakhurkhan grinned. “We'll carry any messages you give us, friend.”

  Jamukha stood up. “You may rest here—I have to break another horse to the bit. We'll drink later while you tell me all about the kuriltai and Temujin's enthronement. I will expect you to recite all the speeches.”

  “All that we can recall.” Arkhai let out a braying laugh. “We were quite drunk by the time many of them were given.”

  “Then we must see you drink enough to restore your memories.” Jamukha strode outside, Taychar at his heels. His cousin caught him by the arm as they neared the horses.

  “Genghis Khan,” Taychar muttered. “Temujin planned it all along. That cursed Altan—”

  “May already be regretting his choice,” Jamukha said. “Temujin has his throne. We'll see if he keeps it.”

  54

  A dream came to Hoelun. Yesugei rode towards her, a falcon on his wrist, his face as youthful as on the day she had first seen him over twenty years ago. He lifted her to his saddle; she leaned back against him.