Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan

by Pamela Sargent

  He knew so little. Once, he had believed old men were wise. Now he was an old man, and wondered how many other old men had simply cloaked their ignorance in pretended wisdom.

  Before he could question the monk further, the face disappeared.

  Temujin remained inside his tent when the Tangut King arrived with his tribute. Li Hsien was forced to kneel outside and make his speeches by the entrance as a procession of guards displayed the tribute to the Khan. The tent was soon filled with golden Buddhas, strings of pearls on silver trays, and gleaming cups and bowls. The men spoke of other gifts—a great tent of silk, camels and horses in the hundreds, handsome boys and beautiful girls clothed in fine camel-hair coats.

  Temujin allowed the King to come to his tent for three days, but refused to admit him. On the third day, Temujin gave a sign to Tolun Cherbi. The cries of the dying monarch and his kin eased his pain; when the King's head was carried to him on a silver plate, he felt that the evil spirit wringing his heart might leave him.

  In the morning, his pain worsened. He drifted into an uneasy sleep, and woke to find Yisui hovering over him.

  “Your men are here for the feast,” she said. He struggled to sit up as she smoothed down his robe; one of her slaves knelt to help him on with his boots. Men streamed into the tent, followed by slaves with jugs and platters of food. A woman in a red silk robe and a high golden head-dress was led through the doorway with her attendants; he had forgotten that he meant to claim the Tangut Queen.

  “Your new wife greets you,” Tolun Cherbi shouted. “She is called Gorbeljin Ghoa, and you see she merits her name. The King of Hsi-Hsia and his kindred are no more, his city is ours, and his Queen yours, my Khan.”

  The red-robed woman looked up. Her skin had a soft golden hue, with no traces of tears on her cheeks. Her long eyes were as black as Yisui's, her form as graceful and delicate as that of a Han woman as she bowed.

  Gorbeljin came towards him, bowed again, then seated herself at his side. The men roared with laughter. “She can't wait to fulfil her duties!” one shouted. Yisui leaned towards the Queen, her face pale, her eyes wide with pity. Temujin smiled as he grabbed at the goblet a slave was handing to him.

  Temujin woke. His head swam, but his pain had lessened. He recalled that he had risen from his bed as the men danced. He had managed to stagger outside to relieve himself; someone had helped him back inside. Perhaps the death of his Tangut enemy would restore him. It had been cowardly of him to fear, to doubt, to think the evil spirit would take him.

  He was alone with Gorbeljin. Someone had taken off his clothes and boots, and laid his blanket over him. His comrades and the Queen's women were gone; Yisui would not be his shadow tonight. The hearth fire was burning low, but he glimpsed the Queen's face in the shadows. She had removed her head-dress; her hair was a mass of dark plaits. Her head turned towards him, and he looked into eyes as black and cold as a snake's. He tried to rise from the bed; the invisible falcon, protesting, gripped his heart.

  “I am your death,” Gorbeljin said, and the claws around his heart dug deeper. He had heard her words in his own tongue, yet her lips did not move. Her high cheekbones were flushed; beads of sweat gleamed like jewels on her forehead.

  Cold fingers brushed against his hand. “I am your death,” Gorbeljin said again. Her lips were pressed together even as her voice surrounded him; he was trapped in a spell, one he could not escape.

  She stood up. The robe fell from her shoulders; her body was a slender stalk silhouetted by the light. She came towards him, lifted the blanket, and crept into the bed.

  The pain inside him flared. Even as he struggled against her, he felt himself grow stiff. Her nails clawed at him, raising welts on his arms. He grabbed her wrists, and his heart felt as though it would burst. Her legs were a vise around his hips as she drew him into herself.

  He struck her hard, knocking her from the bed, then fell back against the pillows. She scrambled to her feet and leaned over him.

  “Get away from me,” he said. A soft sound came from her; she was laughing. She crept towards the hearth and brought her hands together, then rocked from the waist. He tried to call out, but his voice died in his throat. She moved to the bed and knelt at its foot, near the plate that held the head of Li Hsien. He heard a small, choked gasp, and knew that she was weeping.

  He tried to rise; the falcon tore at him. An eddy caught him, sweeping him into a black pool, and he surrendered to it, fleeing his pain.

  When he came to himself, he felt the emptiness of the tent. He struggled to sit up, his arms throbbing with pain. Gorbeljin's golden head-dress sat on a chest near the bed; the woman was gone.

  Temujin stumbled from the bed, grabbing at his clothes. He was pulling on his boots, heedless of the pain, when one of the night guard called out. He staggered to the entrance; the officer on duty rushed towards him. Other men were running towards the line of tethered horses beyond the wagons.

  “The Queen,” Temujin gasped.

  “I am to blame.” The officer struck his chest. “I saw the lady come out and go behind the tent—I thought only—” The man shook himself. “When she didn't return, I ordered a search.”

  “Bring me a horse.”

  “My Khan—”

  “Get the horse!” he shouted. The officer barked an order; a boy was soon running to him with a bay gelding. Temujin grabbed the reins and heaved himself into the saddle. His insides flamed; his heart was a fist contracting inside him.

  His tent, and the smaller yurts near it, stood at the north end of the camp. The sky was overcast, the land beyond the torchlit camp dark. Riders fanned out, and leaned from their saddles, searching the ground for tracks. Temujin rode north with one search party. The woman could not have gone far on foot. He would punish her for trying to escape him, for casting her evil spell.

  The moon sailed from behind a cloud. A gem glittered in a patch of short grass. The silver light revealed the faint marks of footprints in this softer, wetter ground. She would suffer for this; he would break whatever spirit remained in her. He would live long enough to conquer her completely, and see that she lived the rest of her life in fear of him.

  The moon hid from him, and when the bright orb shone once more, he saw her standing on a distant hill overlooking the river. Her red robe seemed black in the moonlight, her braids a mass of snakes along her back.

  He lashed at his horse and galloped ahead of the others. Gorbeljin turned towards him, her eyes black slits in her white face. As he bore down on her, she spun around and leaped from the hill. He raced up the slope; his horse reared, nearly throwing him.

  The woman was caught in the rapids below. The silvery water swept over her, then lifted her up, carrying her as easily as it would a leaf. The river swirled around her, swallowing the small dark form and spewing her up again until he could no longer see her.

  The men behind him were shouting. Blood pounded in his ears; his heart constricted. The talons tore at him; he cried out as he pressed his face against the horse's mane.

  I am your death, she had said, and he sensed the death inside himself.

  After the body of the Tangut Queen was found, caught in reeds along the river-bank, they moved camp to the cooler foothills overlooking the Wei River. By the time Temujin was carried to his tent, his body burned with fever.

  The men around him could no longer pretend he would recover; the Khan's tent had been raised beyond the fires outside the camp, with no tents near it. Only Yisui remained to care for him; the other women were sent away.

  A dream came to him during the night, in which he saw his people following a horse without a rider. Before dawn, he summoned Khasar's son Yesungge and told him to fetch Ogedei and Tolui. When he heard the drums of the shamans outside, he knew that a spear ribboned in felt stood outside the tent.

  He had to reach beyond death through his sons. He would offer them his counsel, but that last task might be no more than an empty gesture, a grasping at a future he could not control.
/>
  His sons took three days to reach him. Yellow soil sifted down from their silk tunics as they entered the tent and settled themselves near him. Yisui's hands shook as she offered them goblets, and tears streamed from her eyes. Temujin disliked her weeping, which she no longer bothered to conceal, but felt a bitter joy at knowing how deeply she would mourn him.

  “Father,” Tolui said. “I didn't believe what Yesungge told me until I saw the spear. I can't believe it even now.”

  Temujin shivered under his blanket. The fever came in waves, but had abated for the moment. He had to speak while his mind was clear, before the fever burned in him again.

  “Listen to me,” Temujin said. Ogedei's moustache twitched as his mouth worked; Tolui gripped his goblet tightly. “My end is near, and you must hear my last words.”

  Ogedei made a sign against evil. “Don't say it, Father.”

  “Listen while I can still speak. I've conquered so much for you that it would take you a year to ride through the lands I rule. Now you must keep what we hold and extend its boundaries. I'll tell you—”

  The pain gripped him. Yisui held out a goblet; he turned his head away from her. “I've left much unfinished, but I can tell you how to defeat the Kin. The best troops of the King of Gold are in the fortress of Tung-kuan, and can't be taken there. To the south, mountains protect them, and the Yellow River flows to the north. Here is what you must do.”

  His pain eased as he thought of the strategy he had hoped to use himself. “The King of Gold,” he continued, “will trust his men to guard the pass at Tung-kuan. You must ask the Sung for passage through their territory. Because the Kin are their enemies, they'll agree. From the south, advance on K'ai-feng. The King of Gold will then have to call the forces at Tung-kuan to his side. The long march will tire them, and you can defeat them easily.”

  “It will be done, Father,” Tolui said. “I swear it.”

  “And when the Kin are crushed, there will be no buffer between our lands and those of the Sung.” Temujin took a breath. “Remain united, act together against your enemies, and reward your loyal followers. You know what I've often said about how a man should conduct himself.”

  “I know,” Ogedei said in a choked voice. “In your daily life, be as joyous as a young calf or a frolicking fawn, but in battle be like the hawk. When you feast, behave like a colt, but in war fly at the enemy like a falcon. By day, be as alert as the wolf, and by night as cautious as the raven.”

  Ogedei covered his eyes; Tolui's shoulders shook. “Save your tears for when I am gone,” Temujin whispered. “I've said that Ogedei will be my successor, and your brother Chagadai will respect that choice—see that he makes no trouble. Heed the counsel of your mother, who will watch over my homeland until the kuriltai is held. Remember—”

  He gasped for air. “Ogedei, you'll take those women you want from among my lesser wives and concubines, and give the rest to whomever you choose. You will, however, allow my four Khatuns to remain faithful to me. Since they have been mine, there's no need to wed them to others.” They would remain his while they mourned him.

  “I swear—” Ogedei coughed. Tolui lifted Temujin's hand and pressed it to his cheek.

  “Tolui,” Temujin murmured, “you are my Odchigin, the Prince of the Hearth. See that our homeland is protected and preserved. Many of our people will be tempted by the ways of the lands you conquer—see that they don't forget—”

  He could tell them no more. The world would be theirs, and if those who succeeded them lost it, their ancient homeland would be their only refuge.

  “And now you must leave me, my sons. I long for my old grazing grounds—see that I'm led there to rest on the slope of the great mountain that protected me. Hide my death from all until I'm brought home.”

  “Farewell, Father,” Ogedei said.

  “Farewell.” His face burned; the bird tightened its grip. They would have to do what they could with his legacy. His work was done, but to what end?

  Temujin said, “Go from this tent.”

  Yisui clutched at his hand. “I cannot.”

  “Leave me, Yisui.” The scribes had taken down his last commands, the lands and possessions that would go to each of his sons and brothers, but he realized then that he had neglected one loyal follower. “Give the Tangut King's tent and all his tribute to Tolun Cherbi. He warned me to postpone this war, so it's fitting for him to have it.”

  “Yes, Temujin.”

  “See that I'm avenged by the deaths of all in Ning-hsia. You'll tell my generals that order still stands. Swear it to me.” A rushing sound filled his ears, drowning out her voice and the chants of the shamans beyond the doorway. He could not hear her answer, but she would obey; she would fear his ghost too much to do otherwise.

  “Go,” he said. He heard her wail as she passed through the doorway, and felt eased when she was gone. He could issue no commands to death. It was useless to struggle against that which would finally relieve him of his pain, yet part of him still resisted.

  Give me an answer, he thought; tell me now what my purpose was.

  “Do not ask after the beginnings of things, or inquire about their ultimate ends.” Ch'ang-ch'un was speaking. There was something else the sage had told him, something that might yield an answer. He had strained for understanding when the Master spoke to him, imagining that he could seize the Taoist's knowledge and make it his own, and that had been a mistake. Ch'ang-ch'un had told him that the way to wisdom lay in accepting the world as it was, in knowing its workings, not in forcing one's will upon it. His will could bring him nothing now.

  The rushing sound came to him again. Ch'ang-ch'un had spoken of becoming like water, yielding to the shape of the container that held it, reflecting all of Nature in its surface. It seemed to Temujin then that he was floating on a vast river that flowed through all the world. He closed his eyes and drifted along its currents.

  He saw a city of Khitai; through the open gate of its crenellated wall, he glimpsed the curling eaves of houses and the towers of pagodas. Tiny scows crowded with people and larger duck-shaped craft with sails bobbed on the water. In the distance, the Great Wall snaked across the land. How useless that Wall had been at repelling invaders; it had only made the people behind it believe that it could shield them from the outside.

  The river carried him past yellow lands and loess cliffs, past earthen-walled cities fed by canals, and rows of green willows and poplars that marked an oasis. The waterway wound through a desert of sand and then flowed past a stretch of black Gobi, a wide expanse of rock without sand or dust. He passed a patch of steppe dotted with tents, then a forest thick with pines and larches. He came to a town with golden-domed mosques and slender minarets adorned with coloured tiles; near the hills outside the town, a trail of dust marked a caravan's passage.

  The river swept him on. People made their way down to its banks, and soon it seemed that all the world had come to watch him pass. People with pale skins and dark ones, some with the sturdy frames of Mongols and others with the slighter bodies of the Han, gazed at him as he drifted on the waters. Yellow-haired people lifted their arms, and black-haired people knelt by the reedy shore. He saw black eyes and brown ones, yellow eyes with drooping folds and the round, fierce blue eyes of outlanders.

  His descendants might lose the world, but would leave their mark upon it. While they held it, the caravans would move between its easternmost regions to distant lands in the west. His realm would link the east and the west for a time, connecting lands long divided and unknown to one another, and something new would grow from them. The seed of his people would be scattered. Even if they were driven back to their homeland and forgot what they had once been, they would leave their mark on the people of far lands. His realm was a crucible and the iron race forged there would transform the world.

  The river bore him on to unknown lands hidden by a thick grey mist. He could not see what lay ahead, but understood now that a mighty force bound the world. He had thought of it as God
, but whatever it was, it underlay all things and united them in a whole. He knew at last that its purpose would always remain unknown, but that it was the nature of men to seek to understand this force even as they were driven by it. Nature would give them the means to know its ways; they would have the power to become more than they were, to live forever as he had hoped to do, or to destroy themselves.

  What he had done was part of this process, and others had to make of it what they would. When all the peoples of the earth were one ulus, they would be free to find another purpose. Heaven had offered him an answer, but how cruel to let him glimpse it only now, with no one near him to share the vision. He listened, straining to hear the sound of a voice, but he was alone on the endless river, with an empty desert stretching before him.

  The desert deepened into purple, then vanished. The river swept him on into the unknown.

  123

  The bodies of men and camels lay near a watering hole. Yisui averted her eyes from the corpses. She had seen other bodies along the cortege's route, those of travellers unlucky enough to cross the path the Khan was taking on his last journey. Merchants with caravans, families moving between towns, and herdsmen at oases had all fallen to the swords of grieving soldiers. Her husband's death would remain a secret until he reached the homeland.

  He was gone, yet the sun still beat down upon them; at night, the stars shone as brightly as before. It seemed impossible that they could, that Heaven's glory had not dimmed after his passing.

  The man driving Yisui's cart prodded the camel with the end of his whip. Ahead, lines of men on horseback moved slowly among the dunes of Kansu. The land shifted around them, a sea of sandy waves swept by the wind. Subotai was just behind the advance guard, leading the bier with Ogedei and Tolui. More troops followed the procession, along with the women, children, herds, and those slaves fit enough to survive the journey.