“You know my secret now. I beg of you to keep it, for I have lost too many dear companions in my life already. I could not bear to lose you as well,” Asriel pleaded, even as his eyes made the implicit threat clear.
“Of course. I am so sorry about Co-Belit. I can’t imagine what that must be like, losing someone after all that time,” Jeremy said.
“Thank you. I assume it must be the same with you mortals. The only difference is that we had the chance to spend more time together than any of you could ever hope to live. If only we hadn’t squandered it. I should have followed her wherever her heart led. It was my selfishness that drove us apart all those times.”
“Listen, kid.” The waiter stopped to consider. “I have gotta stop calling you that. Well, listen, Asriel. You can’t keep blaming yourself. I can’t claim to know anything about the two of you, but I do know that in any relationship, mortal or immortal, it takes two to tango. If you two didn’t spend enough time together, that was on both of you.”
“I just don’t understand though. Why her? She was the beauty in this world. Why should I live on while she died?”
“Hmm… you’ll have to forgive my saying it, but just because you’re some fancy immortal don’t make you any different from the rest of us. Screwed up stuff happens to all of us. Why’d my dad throw me out for being the way I am?”
“It’s different. You’ve got to understand. For millennia, I have lived without fear of anything but the darkness. I never thought harm could come to any of us by any other means,” Asriel argued.
“No, it’s not. You’ve literally seen history unfold. Did anyone ever predict the Black Death? Or the World Wars? No. No one thought that any of those things could ever occur, and when they did, people suffered. You know what they did? They got on with their lives.”
“I don’t know if I can Jeremy. Not without her.”
“You gotta. You will be here long after I am ash, and you have the ability to change the world. You can help to shape it for the better. Whether you choose to do so is on you. Us ‘mortals’ will continue to function as we always have with or without your help.”
“I know you will. That is what comforts me. You mortals do not need me. I can retreat into my own little haven, far away from the world. I would fill it with all of life’s delights and wait there until my time comes, and I too am claimed by the sun. My remaining brethren can take care of this world.”
“Will they do that though? From what you’ve told me, they don’t do much if it doesn’t involve your people. You, Asriel, have had the vision to shape the world before, and I believe that you can do so again. Make it into a better world for us all.” Seeing the immortal hesitate, Jeremy added, “Lemme tell you a little secret.”
“Go ahead.”
“There ain’t no reason for any of it. None. Bad things just happen. Not even you can stop it, and I certainly can’t. What we can do though, is move past it and make the world a more beautiful place regardless.”
“Perhaps Jeremy, perhaps. I will go now. I need some time to myself. I do not know if we shall meet again, but know that you have my friendship and gratitude. I wish you luck in your life, and may it always be filled with joy.”
“Asriel, think about what I said. Please, at least do that. Goodbye, friend.”
ΜΟΛΩΝ ΛΑΒΕ
-King Leonidas I, Sparta
27
A cloud of red dust followed the young scout as he rushed towards the mounted hordes of Chinggis Khan. He wore the same outfit that his people had worn since time immemorial- a long, heavy coat made from tough animal hide with a pointy fur hat. A curved, steel sabre hung from a simple leather belt while a quiver, bristling with black-feathered arrows, was slung across his back. He held a wooden composite bow in one hand, using the other to steer a small horse, almost a pony, born of the same, cold steppe as he. Such were the warriors that had conquered the world.
On that day, he rode across hot, rocky terrain, galloping at full speed to give his commanders the good news. At last, they had caught up to Jalal ad-Din, the last Shah of Khwarezm. He led the battered remnants of a once glorious army, a mere fraction of what they had been before the previous Shah had incurred the wrath of the khan of khans. The Mongols had hounded him across his own domain, reducing his cities to rubble and driving his subjects before them in a storm of trampling hooves and flying steel. Now he waited for them, preparing for a final stand, trapped between the mountains and the rough, turquoise waters of the Indus river.
The scout passed swiftly through the assembled ranks of the Mongol force, taking a moment to dismount and disarm under the fierce gaze of the armoured kheshig, the khan’s guard. At last, he reached the person who had given his people a future. He was a powerfully built man in his middle age, sporting an unruly mane of greying black hair with a large beard and penetrating, dark eyes. His hands and face bore the marks of a rough life on the saddle. The marks of a warrior. The khan of khans was, above all, a Mongol warrior like those he led. All the wealth and lands that he had acquired throughout the years had never changed that.
He was surrounded by his generals, hardened men who had ridden with him on campaign after campaign from the Jin capital of Zhongdu to the shimmering gates of Samarkand. One in particular was favoured above all: Subutai, the greatest tactician that the world had ever seen, a leader of men equal to Chinggis himself. Like his master, he wore a shining suit of lamellar plates, marking him as one of the Mongol elite. Subutai had an unusual face. Amber eyes hosted a vicious spark in startling contrast to the beautiful countenance of an olive-skinned boy. Still, his mind had led the Mongols to crushing victories against impossible odds. Alone, he was a ferocious fighter. It was said that, armed only with a sabre, he could easily hold his own against a hundred trained soldiers, even Mongols.
“Khan of khans, my noyans, the army of Khwarezm is encamped but a few days’ march from here. They seem to be preparing for battle,” the scout declared.
“Numbers?” asked Subutai.
“Fifty thousand at most, noyan. They are battered and broken, no match for us.”
“What is your name, soldier?”
“Erke, noyan.”
“Take note, young Erke. They may be tired and worn, but they have a leader and more importantly, a faith. The Khwarizmi khan leads them in the name of their God, and they will fight to the last gasp in his defence. Never underestimate such men. They will exact a heavy price for the head of their lord if we are not careful.”
“Forgive me, noyan,” the warrior bowed his head in shame.
“You have done well in your duty,” Subutai remarked, unwilling to leave the young man feeling humiliated in front of Chinggis. “Have some airag and prepare yourself for the fight ahead.”
“Thank you, noyan,” Erke said, giving the assembled nobility a curt bow and rapidly walking away. He was disappointed that the khan of khans had not even acknowledged him and berated himself for the foolishness that had earned him a rebuke from Subutai. However, he felt relieved at being away from those piercing, amber eyes. There was something unnatural about that man. Erke could not help but shudder at the thought of such a warrior on the other side of the battlefield.
***
Naharai rode at the head of the Mongol lines, alongside Chinggis. Subutai, they called him. He had borne many names. Enkidu. Pausanias. Huneric. Godfrey. Now, he was Subutai, first amongst the Mongolian commanders. The Mongols fascinated him. They were a people bred for war, taught from childhood to be excellent riders and bowmen. They were possessed of an incredible endurance and an iron will. At times, Naharai wondered if Chinggis was one of his siblings in disguise. The man had raised himself from a tribal outcast in the harsh Mongolian steppe to a mighty emperor in a matter of a few years. He was only a mortal man, though certainly worthy of immortality, Naharai thought. By his side, Naharai was sure that he would finally eclipse his brother Asriel’s work at the side of Alexandros of Macedon. Often, he fantasized about the day when he would
once more lead an army to sack Asriel’s beloved Rome.
For the moment, however, he had to focus on obliterating the last vestige of the arrogant fools who had thought they could defeat Chinggis Khan. In the distance, he could see their vast, glittering ranks, relics of an empire that he had swept away. They were dwarfed by the massive Mongol horde. Brave men. They were prepared to die with Khwarezm. Naharai would happily oblige them.
“My khan, I have sent scouts to explore the land. They will return by the end of the day. I would encourage you to wait until tomorrow to minimize our losses,” he said, turning to face Chinggis.
“Subutai, we outnumber them by the thousands. I will not give a single one of them time to escape. Especially not that royal brat,” the Mongol chief replied.
“My khan, these men fully expect to die. Your army will suffer greatly if we rush this.”
“I would sooner lose a thousand men than let Jalal ad-Din leave this place alive. I suspect that he will not cease to be a thorn in our side until he’s lying in the dirt, peppered with our arrows. Men like him are very dangerous Subutai.”
“You are right, my khan, but I fear you will lose more than a thousand men.”
“I want his head by tomorrow. Bring it to me.”
Naharai stared into the khan’s eyes, black pools daring him to argue. They stood there in silence for a few moments. Naharai knew that even Chinggis could not meet his amber eyes for long. Yet it was Naharai who looked away first, bowing his head and slowly turning his horse to address the officers. He did not dare undermine Chinggis in front of his soldiers.
“Spread the word, I want every man ready within the hour. I would suggest that anyone who wishes to survive this massacre keep his wits about him and fight with caution.”
“Yes, noyan,” came their reply. Then, they turned to give orders to their own subordinates. Soon, a great shout came up from amongst the warriors. At the edge of his vision, Naharai saw Chinggis’ lips curl into a wicked smile.
***
“Khan of khans, they are battering our centre! We must do something!” a panicked voice shouted above the clamour of dying men and clashing steel.
“Send more men to the front, quickly!” Chinggis replied. Night had fallen and the battle raged on. As the men of Khwarezm died, they were slaughtering Mongols in the hundreds. If it continued, by the time that the last soldier of Khwarezm lay dead on the rocky ground, the blood of half the Mongol army would be flowing into the Indus.
“Noyan!” a scout called to Naharai, running towards where the officers stood. “Noyan, we have found a path around the mountain. If we move quickly, we can crush the enemy.”
Naharai shot an angry glance at Chinggis, then gestured to one of his commanders, “Take ten thousand and follow this warrior. It is time to end this.”
“With pleasure, noyan. Khan of khans,” the veteran officer bowed and ran to his horse, quickly mounting and galloping after the scout, shouting orders as he went.
Watching them go, Naharai could not help but to remark, “How many Mongol mothers will weep for their sons on your account, my khan of khans?”
“They bleed bravely for their nation, a mother could ask for no greater honour,” the khan stubbornly replied.
“Oh, let up Temüjin. You made a mistake, just own up. At least to yourself. The blood of your people is on your hands. You could have waited a day and swatted Khwarezm like a fly. Instead, Khwarezm was allowed to meet its end in glory.”
The khan’s face reddened with rage, “Subutai, come with me. Jebe, take command.” The officers looked at each other solemnly, sensing the tension between the khan and his favourite noyan.
“Your will, my khan of khans,” Jebe replied as the pair walked stiffly into the khan’s ger.
“How dare you speak to me in such a fashion, Subutai? My name is Chinggis Khan, khan of khans, and I am your master. I shall ha-”
The fury in the khan’s face subsided, becoming a mask of horror as an extraordinary force grabbed him by the beard and pulled him to the ground. He reached for his sabre and was shocked to find it missing.
“Looking for this, my khan?” a suddenly cruel voice inquired, throwing the ancient blade across the fur-covered floor of the ger. Its wolf’s head hilt turned to face Chinggis as if in mockery for his weakness.
“What is this, Subutai?” the Mongol growled.
“My name is Naharai, mortal fool. It seems that we both found ourselves new names in this life.”
“What are you talking about? Have you gone mad? You are Subutai of the Uriankhai!”
“Temüjin Borjigin, I came into this world long before you came kicking and screaming from your mother Hoelun’s womb. I am stronger than a hundred men and faster than an arrow. I have learned the lessons of three thousand grim battles and will surely fight thousands more long after you are dust.”
“It is not possible. You are a liar. Release me, Subutai. Release me and your death will be quick.”
“Call me a liar again, and I shall break your neck and disappear into the night. I would be interested to see where your empire goes without either of us. I wonder, who would replace you? Your infant sons? Temüjin, what if I told you that I happened to be passing by when Behter died?”
“You li-” Chinggis stopped himself as he began to feel pressure on his neck, “Tell me, how did my brother die?”
“With an arrow through the neck. An arrow shot from the bushes by his younger brother over a marmot.”
“How is it possible?” Chinggis asked, incredulous. “To have witnessed it you would have to be far older than your face implies. None but my mother and brothers know what happened on that day. Tell me, were you sent by the sky father to aid us?”
“No, Temüjin. I am with you out of love for you and your people. However, I will not tolerate disrespect. I am loyal to you as long as you remain a capable ruler and do not mistreat me. Are we understood?”
“Yes. Please, forgive my arrogance, I thought you were a common man.”
Naharai released the khan and waited as the Mongol took a moment to rub his sore neck and retrieve his sword.
“There is nothing to forgive, mortal. When we leave the felt walls of this ger, I am Subutai and you are Chinggis. You will tell no one my secret.”
The two men locked eyes in understanding as the khan offered his arm to the immortal. Naharai grabbed it for a brief moment in a firm clasp, and the two of them walked wordlessly out of the ger to watch the sun come up as the last hope of a dying empire was finally crushed.
***
“My khan, the enemy has been eliminated. They have been massacred to a man. Our warriors are looting the dead,” Naharai announced as the sun revealed the grisly result of the night’s butchery.
“What of Jalal ad-Din?” Chinggis asked.
“I do not know. He is likely amongst the fallen.”
“My lord, may I speak?” a young scout piped in. Erke, Naharai recalled.
“What is it?” Chinggis asked.
“I believe I saw the khan of Khwarezm towards the end of the battle. As I slew one of his soldiers, I turned my head towards the river. There, I saw a man surrounded by a ring of enemy soldiers. I watched as he removed his golden armour and threw it into the river, keeping only a jewelled sabre in his belt. Then, he shouted a few words in a language that I did not understand before mounting his white steed and riding it straight into the water. I watched as time after time, he and his steed defied the river’s will.” Erke hesitated for a moment, looking down briefly before continuing, “My khan… he made it to the other side.”
***
Night had fallen and Naharai stood on the grassy plain before the hill called Shiroyama. The imperial army had spent hours pounding it with thunderous volleys of cannon fire. Occasionally, they were rewarded by screams of anguish and the sight of armoured figures scurrying out of a projectile’s vicious path. Most of the time though, the lead balls wedged themselves into the hillside or whirred far above the enemy ar
my. He turned away in annoyance. In simpler times, the two armies would simply have charged at each other, with the mightiest warriors taking the victory. However, the imperial army would be annihilated in any direct assault on the hill. The rebels had been trained from birth in bushido, the way of the warrior. They did not fear pain, nor would they flee their coming death. They were samurai.
However, such men were hard to come by. In the new era, they were out of date. A farmer holding a rifle could wipe away years of training with a single shot. No armour or technique could defend against the fearsome weapons of the West. He had seen how armies of peasants, armed with flintlock muskets, had massacred the mounted nobility of Europe. Now that change had come to the land of the rising sun and Naharai intended to be a part of it. An army of gun-wielding peasants, instilled with the spirit of bushido, if not the samurai’s skill at arms, could conquer the world.
“Aritomo-sama! We are running low on ammunition for the cannons. Shall we order an assault?” a young officer asked.
“No, not yet. Keep up the barrage, do not let them sleep. We want them tired tomorrow, unable to lift their swords,” Naharai ordered, smiling. If only it were that easy.
“Your will, Aritomo-sama,” the officer bowed, turning away to deliver the command to his subordinates.
Naharai turned to his chief lieutenant, Nakamura. Though he had been raised a samurai, he was a man given to shameful excess. Naharai felt only contempt for Nakamura. Unfortunately, he had been unable to get rid of him. Not only was he a favourite of the Westerners who had come to train and equip his army, but he was also dearly loved by the Meiji brat. Not even Yamagata Aritomo could publicly defy the young emperor. Currently, Naharai was of a mind to get rid of two birds with one stone.
An Immortal Dance Page 19
