Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan

by Pamela Sargent

  “You will never be far from my side.” Her husband had kept that promise.

  In some of the places where people still lived, Khulan had left what she could for them—a trunk of clothing, a cow, baskets of grain. Kulgan mocked her for that, echoing his father when he told her that she was only prolonging their futile struggle for life. Her small acts of mercy ended when her son rode back with other young men to one wretched village to reclaim what she had left and to have some sport with the people there.

  After that, Khulan turned to bringing some of the survivors with her. One of the first was a young girl she had found outside the ruins of Bukhara, a starved creature with round dark eyes. The other women called her The Mute, since she never spoke, but Khulan knew that she had a voice; she had heard her choked sobs in the night, and her sharp cries when she started from sleep. Temujin had let her keep The Mute; he enjoyed seeing the girl's lovely face grow ashen and her eyes widen with terror whenever he was inside Khulan's tent.

  He had not been so kind to others she found. One girl was thrown to some of his men for their amusement. Another was given to Kulgan; she remembered the sound of the girl's weeping as her son dragged her to his tent. She never knew what her husband would decree for those she tried to save, and The Mute's sad eyes told Khulan that her mercy had brought the girl no peace. She no longer searched the oases and deserts for people to rescue.

  After Samarkand's surrender, the Khan made camp south of the city, where green grassland shaded by trees offered grazing for the horses. By autumn, when Temujin's wing of the army moved on to Termez, the land was grazed clean. The people of Termez had made the mistake of holding out; the town was taken and levelled, its people led out to be killed. Temujin gave Khulan pearls from Termez, taken, so he claimed, from the belly of an old woman. Some of Termez's people, it was rumoured, had swallowed their jewels; the Khan had ordered his men to slit open the bellies of the dead.

  Even with his victories, the slightest setback could rouse Temujin's wrath. He laughed and sang with his men when they celebrated, but brooded after they left his side. The Shah still eluded him, and Khulan had thought that was the cause of his black moods and his savagery. Shah Muhammad had fled from his capital of Urgenj towards Balkh, then south-west to Khorassan, Jebe and Subotai at his heels. She had assumed that tales of arguments between Chagadai and Jochi also troubled him, even that her husband longed for his homeland.

  Yet none of this was enough to account for the emptiness she often saw in his eyes. His dark mood lifted only when he rode out to rejoin his forces; his only joy now was in war.

  She had glimpsed this void in him before, the last time he had come back from Khitai. He had stared at his loot—the painted cups, delicate jade carvings, the scrolls for his Khitan advisers that he could not read himself—with a bewildered, haunted expression. The void inside Temujin seemed to increase the more he won; he toyed with his spoils as if uncertain of what to do with them. Khulan did not know what caused the hollowness in his soul, but realized at last that he wanted his enemies to share his emptiness.

  Understanding that made her pity him, while a part of her felt it was just for him to suffer. He would scorn her pity, although he might also be pleased that she felt even that much for him. She was no longer indifferent to him.

  107

  “That report was true.” Borchu sat down and wiped the dust from his face. “Urgenj still stands. The men were thrown back when we last tried to storm the walls. Over two thousand died on the bridge, and more in the streets.”

  Temujin glowered at him. “You didn't have to ride here to tell me that.”

  “Your two oldest sons bear much of the blame.”

  “I didn't need to hear that, either.”

  The mute girl from Bukhara set a jar of wine near Temujin, then scurried to the darkest part of the tent. Khulan knew the girl understood more of the Mongol tongue; she followed the orders Khulan gave her, but remained silent. Her despairing face spoke, saying that every visit of the Khan's tormented her. He might demand that she share his bed, or give her to Kulgan; Khulan had heard the screams of girls from her son's tent and the silence that often seemed worse than the screaming. The Khan might leave her behind when they moved on. So far, he had done nothing, but the girl always had to fear that he would.

  “Your sons asked me to come to you,” Borchu said, “and I knew only you could settle this. Jochi won't speak to Chagadai, and Chagadai wants to take command. The spirit of the men isn't being helped by their dispute. Chagadai says Jochi's disobeying you by refusing to do what's necessary to take Urgenj. Jochi wants to save all he can, since the city is in the lands you promised to him.”

  Temujin shook his head. “Then you'll say this to both of them. They are to follow Ogedei's orders, and you'll tell Ogedei that Urgenj is to be taken even if he has to burn it to the ground.”

  Borchu nodded, finished his wine, then stood up. “Ogedei won't fail you.”

  “I know.” The Khan looked up at his old friend. “Stay a while, Borchu. My wife can hear of how you helped me to steal my horses back.”

  “The Khatun's heard the tale many times before, and each time, our arrows find more of the thieves.” The lines deepened around Borchu's eyes. “I should start back, Temujin. The discipline of the men gets worse every day. They'll be heartened by your order.”

  The Khan nodded. “A safe ride to you, Nokor.”

  Borchu left the tent. The winter wind howled, shaking the tent's walls. Temujin stared towards the side of the tent where The Mute sat with two other slaves; the girl's hands fluttered to her throat. He gazed at her for a long time, and then his mouth grew slack; he had tired of that amusement.

  “Send them away,” Temujin said. Khulan dismissed the slaves as her husband prepared for bed. “My sons.” He stretched out and covered himself with the blanket. “Tolui is the greatest of warriors, but if all the world submitted to us, he wouldn't know what to do with himself. Ogedei has the talent to rule, but also has a talent for enjoying what he wins. He'll be a good Khan if he doesn't drink himself into an early grave. Chagadai thinks of my Yasa as a whip to beat men with rather than as reins to guide their actions, and Jochi hates me for not giving him the throne he thinks he deserves. Those are my heirs, Khulan. I could have done much worse, but I might have done better—not that you care about any of that.” He sighed. “I must hope that the sage from Khitai brings me the elixir of life, and then perhaps—”

  She stripped to her shift, then sat down on the bed to comb out her braids with her fingers. Ever since his campaigns in Khitai, he liked seeing her hair loose around her shoulders and back, the way the women of that land wore theirs in his bed.

  “Your son hasn't caused me to worry,” he said. “I'm going to make Kulgan a captain of one hundred when we move against Balkh. The boy did well at Termez. There he was, with over a hundred he had captured, and he ordered them all to tie one another's hands so he would have less trouble executing them. One man tried to escape, but when Kulgan took his head, the rest were cowed. He dispatched them all by himself.”

  She had heard the story from Kulgan. Most of the men had such stories, of prisoners who might have run away kneeling to offer their necks to the sword.

  “You should look happier, Khulan. Our son has done better than I expected.”

  Her heart throbbed painfully as she lay down next to him. He reached for her and buried his face in her hair.

  A shriek awoke her. Khulan sat up, clutching at the blanket. A guard shouted, but the wind drowned out his words.

  “I'll speak to my father!” That was Khojin's voice. Feet drummed against the steps leading up to the tent's platform, and as Temujin lifted his head, his daughter burst into the tent.

  Khojin wore a leather breastplate and a helmet, as she did even when she stayed in the rear with the other women. Toguchar's Hawk had remained in the Khan's camp while her husband followed Jebe and Subutai through Khorassan. The Khan had given the order; a skirmish was one thin
g, but having his daughter in the forefront of a siege was another. Khojin dropped her bowcase to the left of the doorway, then stumbled towards the bed; her wild, handsome face was streaked with tears.

  “What are you doing here?” Temujin asked.

  “My husband has fallen!” Khojin cried. “An arrow took his life at Nishapur!” She threw herself across the bed and sobbed. Khulan huddled against a cushion; the Khan gripped Khojin's shoulder.

  “I am sorry,” Temujin said at last. “He was one of my best generals.”

  “I was his luck!” Khojin wailed as she sat back on her heels. “I was his shield in battle, the hawk that caught his enemies in her talons, and I wasn't there to protect him! Now the army has withdrawn, and that cursed town still stands!”

  Temujin took her hand. “It will fall,” he muttered. “Tolui will avenge your husband. Dry your tears, daughter. We'll hold a feast for him, and I'll make the sacrifices myself, and then you must think of your children.”

  Khojin pressed her face against his chest; he held her until her weeping subsided. “What do you want?” he asked. “I can order Tolui to give you the greatest share of what's taken from Nishapur when it falls. Or, if you wish, you may begin the long journey home. Maybe the sight of our land will ease your sorrow.”

  Khojin looked up. “I don't want Nishapur's riches, and my husband would despise me for leaving before he's avenged.”

  “Then what is it you want?” her father asked.

  Khojin said, “I want the city.” Her lips drew back from her teeth. “I want nothing to live where my husband fell.”

  “That won't bring him back,” Khulan said. They turned to look at her with their yellowish eyes, the same cold emptiness in them both.

  “The Khan my father will say what he wants,” Khojin whispered. “A weak woman who indulges in pity won't decide this for him. Your pity would vanish fast enough if your son met his—”

  “You've said enough, Khojin,” the Khan said.

  “It's your doing that I wasn't with him,” his daughter replied. “He would have taken me along, but I wouldn't have him risk punishment for disobeying you. All my life, what I wanted most was to fight for you—for you, Father, not just for my husband. You tethered his hawk, and now he's gone.”

  Temujin said, “You should have been my son.”

  Khojin's eyes glittered with a fierce joy before tears filled them once again. “This is my decree,” he continued. “You may follow Tolui, but you're not to interfere with his decisions. You'll keep to the rear—I don't wish my grandchildren to lose both their parents. But you will decide Nishapur's fate. Tolui will be told that.”

  Khojin kissed his hands as she wept. “That's all I ask.”

  “Leave us, child. We'll hold a feast for your husband's spirit tomorrow.”

  Khojin left them. Khulan was about to lie down when Temujin's hand clamped down on her arm. “Speak to me, wife,” he muttered. “I know what you're thinking. Tell me why those souls in Nishapur shouldn't be dispatched to serve my daughter's husband.”

  “The city may surrender,” she said, “if the people believe they'll be spared. That would cost you less than taking it. Some of your men would be lost in a siege.”

  “They'll do as Tolui commands. His men know he won't be careless with their lives, or risk them needlessly.”

  “But some will be lost. Enough have died already.”

  “They will do their duty.” His fingers dug into her. “I hear nothing but pity in your voice. Your pity's useless—it only makes those you pity suffer more.” He drew in his breath. “I think I might be at peace if the world were empty of people, if they no longer scarred the land with their cities and their walls.”

  “How heartless you are, Temujin.”

  “Heartless? Do you think our enemies would have left us in peace? Had we been weaker, they would have taken our lands and put us behind their walls.” He paused. “The Khitan Ch'u-ts'ai tells me a ruler can win more by sparing the cities and allowing their people to labour for him. Mahmoud Yalavach and his son speak of levies and taxes, and Barchukh talks of all that the caravans can bring to us, but there's a danger in that. If we ever forget what we are, and find such ways more pleasing than our own, we'll lose everything we've taken. There's much to learn from the conquered, and yet we might be safer if we destroyed them.”

  He was silent for a moment, then said, “I wouldn’t want everyone to die. I would sorrow at the loss of my comrades, my sons, my beautiful Khulan.” His fingers were a vise. “I was sent against Hsi-Hsia and Khitai, and saw that it wasn't enough to take what we needed, that Tengri meant me to rule there. I thought that the Shah Muhammad would submit to me, but I deceived myself. I allowed myself to be tempted by thoughts of peace, and that was foolish. Heaven wants me to live until I've won the world—it must be—”

  His throat moved as he swallowed. His eyes moved restlessly; she saw a pain and desperation that shocked her. Perhaps, in spite of himself, he longed to turn back.

  His eyes cleared. He pushed her against the cushion and crushed her mouth under his.

  108

  When Khojin saw a strip of green on the horizon, she knew that she was near Merv. The green land was an affront to the desert that surrounded it. The barren land through which she had ridden, with its black rocks, pale salt-flats, and sand so fine it ran through her fingers like water, was strangely comforting, a bleak landscape that mirrored her grief. Now she saw life.

  She rode at the head of the procession with the men, trailed by her slaves and wagons. As she neared the fertile land of these oases, she noticed that the fields had been grazed nearly bare; deep ruts scarred the land and trees had been reduced to stumps. Beyond the blackened heaps and mud walls, a small Mongol force was camped.

  A rider galloped to her and told her that Merv had surrendered several days ago. He rode at her side, speaking of how the people had been ordered to come out from behind the city's walls. Tolui, seated on a gilded throne looted from the city, had waited on the plain as the captives were led before him. The soldiers of Merv had died first, and then the people, divided among Tolui's men for execution. The man's dark brown face glowed with good humour as he mimicked the piteous cries of the doomed.

  The hills she had seen at a distance turned out to be heaps of heads. There seemed to be thousands in each pile, each hill crowned by perching black birds. Tolui's army had moved on to the south-west.

  The rider told Khojin of green fields and gardens, of a great mosque with a blue dome where a sultan had been buried, of shops filled with silks, cottons, copper pots, and woven fabrics. All she saw were ruined walls, piles of bricks, a long row of mounds over an underground channel of water, and a large dome blackened by fire. Sand had drifted over the pale green fields and ruined gardens; the man said that the underground canals were drying up. Tolui's army had destroyed the dam on the nearby river.

  Khojin's spirits lifted at the sight of the destruction. Her brother's methods during his campaigns were familiar to her—savage punishment for even a show of resistance in the beginning, so that those he met later would be weakened by terror. Tolui would punish Toguchar's killers.

  Scattered bodies marked the way to Nishapur. She urged the procession on, stopping only to sleep or when the sun grew red and winds raised the desert sands. She caught up with Tolui's rear forces at the edge of an oasis. Two of his men rode with her to Tolui's tent.

  She passed horseherders and cavalry, camp-fires and tents, siege engineers from Khitai and wounded men being tended by comrades, until she caught sight of her brother's standard. In the distance, ballistas, hundreds of catapults, and siege towers stood around the walls of Nishapur. The plain between Tolui's camp and the city was a sea of men, many of them captives driven towards the city's moats and the ladders that had been thrown against the earthen walls. The dark sea rippled, then grew calm, as if waiting for a wind to move it.

  Tolui was outside his tent, surrounded by men. She dismounted as he came towards he
r. “I've been waiting for you,” he said grimly. “Nishapur has offered to submit—a delegation came to me this morning. They'll let us take what we want if we spare their lives and let the city stand. I told them they would have my answer soon.”

  Khojin gazed at him silently.

  “Father said it was for you to decide,” Tolui went on. “I can lead my men into Nishapur to claim our tribute, or I can send them against the walls.”

  Khojin's hand darted towards her knife; she lifted it above her head. “There can be no mercy for them,” she called out. “Order the attack.”

  Tolui smiled. “Khojin, I've dishonoured you in my thoughts.” His soft voice sounded much like their father's. “I believed you might shrink from punishing them in the end. May I be cursed if I ever doubt you again. Nishapur will be yours.”

  He spun around and shouted his commands.

  Stones hurled from catapults battered the walls of Nishapur. The defenders answered with volleys of spears, arrows, and bricks from the walls and towers. During the night, the besiegers hurled flaming pots of naphtha over the walls and pushed prisoners forward to fill the moats. By morning, the moats were clogged with rocks, fallen trees, dirt, and bodies, and several breaches had been opened in the walls. Men carrying ladders swarmed over the filled moats and climbed through the breaches to open the gates. Soldiers fell; others took their places.

  When Khojin, surrounded by soldiers, entered the city, her brother's men had been fighting inside for two days, taking Nishapur street by street. The defenders had fought hard, clearly knowing what was in store for them after Tolui rejected their surrender. They would pay for their resistance, for taking her husband's life.

  Tolui was waiting for her in a large square near one gate, next to a platform on which his golden throne sat. He took her by the hand and led her to the throne. “The city is yours,” he said. She barely heard his words over the screams and the roars of triumph echoing through the nearby streets.