Called to Gobi

by D. I. Telbat

  At the fire, everyone had their knives out working on chunks of wood. I didn't interrupt to ask questions, only watched as they began to fashion crude bowls and plates. Zima walked out of the woods and up to me. She held her braced arm with pain on her face. It was clear she'd been straining the healing bone too much.

  "There's a stream to the west that runs from the glacier," she said. "It'll be frozen in a couple weeks, but we can always melt the snow. It's about a hundred paces that way. As soon as they have a bowl ready, I'll milk the mares. The baby needs to be fed, too."

  Approving, I nodded, and she continued about her work. I hadn't used everything in my backpack since my arrival to Mongolia, so I dug through it to find what else we could use. There were my two changes of clothes and the sewing kit that would come into play at some point. None of us had been wounded, so I left the first aid kit in the pack. Sitting at the fire with the sewing kit, I took the blankets in my lap, along with the baby, and began to sew the blankets together in pairs. In the bundle from Hasagt, there were six blankets, making three sets. It was better than handing out one blanket for each adult. Everyone would have three layers of covering, though shared, then I'd sleep at the foot in my sleeping bag in front of the shelter's opening, which faced south.

  All of this would be adequate for now, but it would need to be reinforced eventually—and preferably before the ground froze.

  One of the clansmen sat next to me as he carved expertly at his wood. I knew him to be Sembuuk, someone Lugsalkhaan had said was a skilled hunter. He was built like me, though a little shorter and older. In the light of the fire, his face appeared as the others: weary and grieved.

  "You have lived in the woods before, Andy?"

  "As a youngster, I slept in tents in forests quite often. I know how to care for myself. But here, with six adults, three children, and a baby?"

  "The forest has everything we need. We'll be okay."

  He noticed that I was looking at his falconer's sleeve.

  "I have a young eagle," he said. "Tomorrow, I'll ride out into the steppe. If she's near, she'll find me. With her hunting for us, a group this small can survive the winter."

  "And we have the mares' milk," I added.

  "Yes, but we may need to kill a couple of the old and dry ones for meat and skins. I've heard it may be a long winter."

  Nodding, I noticed Zima and the other woman, a plump mother of about thirty-five, milking the mares. Zima could only use one hand, but she was helping.

  "We need to watch the convoy as well," Sembuuk said. "As soon as it breaks its long procession, we need to go down and find grain for the horses, lattice from the gers to improve our shelter, and any tools."

  "I've been thinking," I said quieter for only his ears, "that the convoy probably won't cease." Sembuuk looked up from his wood crafting. "As long as there are Chinese troops in the north, there will be constant traffic back and forth through the steppe. That's armed traffic, Sembuuk, with escorts. They'll be worried about any rebel bands disrupting their supply train."

  "Then they'll shoot us if we draw near." He continued carving.

  "And any livestock they see, they'll continue to take it to feed the troops. You already witnessed that. They knew they didn't need to bring much food because they could pick it up as they went along."

  "It's wicked, but you're right." He scowled. "You were in the military in America?"

  "No, but I've read a lot of books. I was just a shameful criminal in America, but God saved me from that life."

  "Your God is more helpful than my gods, then."

  "My God has promised to work all situations toward a good result for those who love Him. As difficult as that is to believe, it even includes this situation."

  We talked about what it meant to love God as the women chilled the milk with snow from the glacier and split the meat from my saddle bag. Manai climbed onto my knee, perhaps as he would've done with his own father.

  I blessed the food aloud before we ate. They seemed to think it odd that a man would thank a God at a time like that, but they were polite. In minutes, we had bellies full of milk and dried beef. Yawns soon followed. It was well after midnight, but no one wanted to leave the warmth of the fire. Taking leadership, I announced the sleeping arrangements, then encouraged everyone to get some sleep. We would have a busy day ahead of us.

  *~*

  Chapter 18

  It seemed natural for me to take command of our small camp, and no one objected since I'd brought most of the supplies. Sembuuk surely knew more about living off the land than me, but I had a better overview of our entire situation.

  The sleeping arrangements inside the lean-to were simple. The two men without wives were on the one side. The man and wife were in the middle, and since Zima told me she didn't want to sleep next to a man unless it was me, she slept on the other side next to the wife. I slept at their feet across the entrance in my sleeping bag. If any animal were to attack us, it would have to confront me first. As there were many wolves in the woods, no one asked for the doorway position in my stead. Unfortunately, none of the dogs had stuck around and had instead romped off with Duulgii. We had to make do with what we had.

  The two horse blankets made of felt were lain on the ground under the sleepers for padding and some warmth, and when the three layers of blankets were added, everyone sighed with relief that there was in fact escape from the cold. The children lay among the adults, the baby between the women. In moments, the feet in my face stopped wiggling and their breathing became regular. Snug in my sleeping bag, I watched the fire light flicker on the tarp roof.

  "Thank You, Lord, for keeping me safe today. You obviously have more for me to do."

  Though I remember only closing my eyes, it was suddenly morning. I awoke to Sembuuk climbing over me to exit the lean-to. With the birds chirping noisily, it was certainly time for me to rise as well.

  Sembuuk and I took the horses to water, then returned with wood to stock the coals from the night before. The other two men emerged sleepily and sat with us, heating water in the primitive bowls.

  "Today, we need to scavenge for food," Sembuuk said. "Andy and I will check the convoy. If it has thinned or is gone, we'll all go down to pillage our camp. Andy?"

  "We need to locate other clan members, too." I gestured at Kandal, an elderly Kazakh, and the other unmarried man. "There are survivors out there. Families should be together. Can you make contact?"

  Kandal nodded.

  The men agreed on our individual duties. When the two women awoke, their hands would be full with caring for the children and their own chores, none of which I needed to address.

  Sembuuk and I mounted our horses and rode to the east. Ten minutes through the forest was all it took to emerge onto the open plain. These were the last trees for a thousand miles, maybe more. The belt of trees was strangely even on our left and right, as if they'd grown at the last possible altitude along the mountains. We were a lot higher than I'd thought we were.

  Adjusting my binoculars, I spied on the caravan of military vehicles far below, still streaming along steadily. But I did notice some gaps at certain intervals. The trail on which they drove was a well-defined dirt road now, one section passing through the clan's old camp where a vehicle stopped as we watched and two soldiers picked through the debris. All of this I reported to Sembuuk, then passed him my glasses. Instead of focusing on the carnage, which may have been too painful to see, he trained his view at the sky.

  "There." He pointed. "My raptor." He handed me the binoculars. "She can spot a squirrel a mile away. I know she's already seen us."

  "Look." I gestured down the forest edge to the south.

  Two other riders stood with their horses as we were, watching the convoy roll along from horizon to horizon. Beyond them some distance was yet another rider. These riders represented remnant camps, I guessed, and we rode toward them. We were the most northern. When we met, Sembuuk knew them all, and they each announced who they had in their camp
s. As presumed, ours was the largest. The middle camp had six adults with two children, and the southern camp had four adults and one child. No one had seen Duulgii and his riding partner, which I thought was odd since they'd departed from our camp the night before to search for others. I suggested it might mean a fourth camp was somewhere nearby.

  "If there are any more gaps in the convoy by nightfall," one man said, "we might sneak down and get some gear."

  "There's no room for error," Sembuuk said in warning. "If we're a crowd, we'll be spotted. Their vehicles have lights. We already know they'll shoot anyone they see, though we're too far away from them up here. Tonight, two men should go down and find everything for all three camps. I . . . have no wife or family left, so I will go. Who else?"

  It was an unattractive offer and a potentially deadly mission, so no one spoke up.

  "I'll go," I finally said. "But I suggest we leave the horses well out of sight."

  "We'll walk the last distance in the dark." Sembuuk pointed at one man. "You hold our horses and pack up the gear we bring back. To make that easier, we'll get saddles first."

  "How about a wagon or a cart?" I asked.

  "No, we'd need a horse to draw it," Sembuuk said. "Besides, it would leave more noticeable tracks." He climbed off his horse and tossed me his reins. After a few seconds, he'd arranged three fist-sized rocks on the ground in a triangle. "This is Three Rocks. Every morning, we have khuruldai here—a meeting. Three rocks for three camps. As time goes on, we'll meet once a week. We'll send you two people from our camp to make us equal in number. More survivors may show up, and we'll distribute them evenly. Keep the camps separate for now, and small—to draw less attention from these Chinese murderers."

  "And don't engage the Chinese," I added strongly. "We can't win against so many guns. If we antagonize them, they'll take the time to hunt us down in the woods. They know some of us escaped. Since they haven't come after us, they probably believe we won't cause any problems, and we need to hold ourselves to that."

  "At dawn, we'll split what Andy and I are able to retrieve from the camp. Our grandfathers started over time and again. We will, too."

  The men nodded, though gloomily, and we parted ways. We would meet again at Three Rocks at dusk.

  Sembuuk and I rode north again, then watched the convoy and studied the terrain below. Gradually, we put together a plan for that night. For smaller items, we would act as a relay team, and work together for heavier things. We also discussed a list of gear we wanted to find—if it wasn't too damaged by fire, gunfire, or vehicle tires.

  "If we find only one axe, then we draw straws for the axe," Sembuuk decided. "And that camp must chop wood for all three camps for one week. Then we'll rotate. If we find two axes, then two camps split wood and share with the third camp. This rule should apply for all gear."

  Leaving him there to call for his eagle, I started into the woods toward our camp. One hundred feet later, I heard a soft whine to my right—a dog's whine. Right away, I recognized Lucky Hunter, Lugsalkhaan's dog, and climbed off my mount.

  "Easy, boy. What do you have there?"

  At first, I thought it was a wild animal carcass that Lucky Hunter was guarding, but then I realized it was a human. I knelt on one side of the body, opposite the dog. Lucky Hunter, silent now, watched me with those patient, cautious eyes. He wouldn't leave his master. Lugsalkhaan lay before me. He was shot through the side by a bullet. A lung had probably been punctured and he'd slowly suffocated there through the night. It was impressive he'd made it that far before falling.

  "Come here, boy," I called.

  The dog hopped over his master and sniffed my hands. He was hungry and smelled meat or milk on my fingers. We needed the dog desperately, and though I could've used the food myself, I tore my last stick of meat into pieces and fed Lucky Hunter from my hand a piece at a time. Gobbling it up greedily, he then sniffed at my clothes for more. It was all I had, and I hoped it was enough to draw him away.

  A few minutes later, I rode into camp with Lucky Hunter trotting alongside. The dog was welcomed with hugs from everyone, as if he were a long-lost relative, and Zima was wise enough to bait him into staying with a small bowl of mare's milk.

  Quietly, I told Zima of Lugsalkhaan's fate. Also, I informed the husband and wife and their son from our camp that they were going to another camp at dusk. They weren't very happy to leave our developing camp until I told them someone had saved one of their other children at the southernmost camp. That would leave seven at our camp: Zima, the baby, Manai, Sembuuk, Kandal, and the last adult, Bolor, the father of the other child, his seven-year-old daughter, Beveg. It was still several to look after, but more manageable.

  Kandal was nearly seventy, and when it came to the skills required to make wooden tools, or knowledge of vegetation, he knew more than all of us. When Lucky Hunter lost the camp's attention, Kandal explained to the three children the kind of edible plant he wanted them to find. Lucky Hunter bounded along after them as they entered the forest. With the children on their quest, Kandal explained to the others, for my sake mostly, how to make a small ger. We needed birch saplings and willow lengths and many leather strips. Since I was to bring us the felt and canvas that night, Kandal wanted to have a frame for a small ger ready as soon as possible. He said I could sleep under my tree, but he was going to live in a civilized shelter. Even though the husband and wife were leaving that night, they helped collect the items Kandal needed to construct the first of several gers.

  While everyone was busy, I walked back through the woods with my shovel and found Lugsalkhaan's body. The adults in all three camps anticipated seeing the great clan leader alive, and that gave them hope, so I buried him in secret in a deep grave with a cross engraved in the tree at his head. I stood there for a while, my hands folded, not sure of what to say. Already, I had buried more people than any man ever should.

  "Who died, Andy?" Sembuuk asked. I hadn't heard him approach. He led his horse as his eagle perched attentively on his arm. "One of us?"

  "Lugsalkhaan," I said. "A bullet through the chest."

  "Does anyone know?"

  "Only Zima."

  "You're wise to keep this quiet. His legend will go on, and he will live forever."

  "And we adopted Lucky Hunter."

  "Then we are doing better than the other camps. None of them have birds. They have dogs, but too many dogs become unruly. There's already talk of killing the dogs for food and fur. Their winter coats are in season. But if we have only one dog, it's perfect to keep our camp clean and guarded, especially by Lucky Hunter. He's known to be dependable. The wolves know of our giant herd dogs as well. They've killed wolves before to protect the herds, and the wild cats will stay away. Look." He held up a small rabbit. "We'll eat well tonight. Has Kandal found his tongue yet? He's wise in the things we must do now before winter."

  "He has the kids running around for herbs and the others are building a ger."

  Sembuuk laughed and his eagle screeched.

  "All is well, then. I can already tell that the other camps will want our Kandal on loan. We may need to hunt for them, too, which my raptor prefers. They hunt best in their own territories rather than taking turns with competitive raptors."

  We returned to the camp and worked on an assortment of tasks. I even went to the stream and built a large pool in front of a log jam. With the others, I helped peel the bark from the saplings so they'd dry faster, and then dragged logs in for firewood. With Sembuuk's help, we enclosed the camp with a fence of woven branches, then an adjoining corral for the horses. The horses couldn't be allowed to range freely as they were used to since the Chinese would shoot them for food if seen on the plain. In a few hours, the camp became a large courtyard, with several large cedar trees standing tall in our midst. We plotted out spots for four gers at ten paces from each other, with a central fire—three gers to live in, and one for supplies.

  In the afternoon, I took a nap as Bolor, Zima, and the kids went with Sembuuk
to graze the horses on the plain. There didn't seem to be much of a threat from the Chinese as long as we didn't approach them.

  I awoke to Lucky Hunter's wet nose on mine, but Zima's smiling face pushed the dog aside.

  "Did you sleep well?" she asked.

  "Um . . . yes."

  It couldn't have been a bad sleep; I had draped all six blankets over me.

  "Are we engaged, Pond?" she asked, smiling. I blinked several times, and she had to repeat herself. "Are we engaged?"

  "To be married? I . . . Yes? Um. I thought we agreed on it, right?"

  "Then why do you wish to make me a widow before we even have the wedding?" Her smile had faded.

  "A widow? I don't—"

  "You're going into the Kazakh camp tonight."

  "Oh. Yes. I am."

  "Do you think that's wise?"

  She didn't ask if it was safe, only wise. But it seemed like a trick question.

  "We need the winter supplies."

  "Let someone else go. You do everything."

  "No one else wanted to go."

  "Well, I don't want you to go. I don't want you to be shot."

  "Zima, it's—"

  "I won't let you."

  "Zima, I'm listening to what you are saying, and I believe it's wise to be concerned, but I must do this. The others may be too afraid to go, and fear causes people to make mistakes."

  "You're not afraid?"

  "A little, but not much, because Sembuuk and I have a good plan."

  "And your plan stops bullets?"

  "Zima, you need to understand all three camps need this gear and need it right away. Do you remember I was a criminal for many years in America?"

  "Yes."

  "As a criminal, I did many dangerous things, especially during the night. What I did back then was wrong, but tonight, God is allowing me to use those old experiences to do something good. I know how to move in the darkness, and how blind the Chinese will be from their own lights. And I know how to avoid looking into their headlights so I can keep my night-eyes. Other things, too."