by Zoë Archer
“Certainty is for milksops.”
She smiled, and he felt it plain throughout his whole body. “We are definitely not milksops, are we, Captain?”
“No, ma’am, we aren’t.” She didn’t object or pull away when he brought his horse up beside hers, then took her hand. A slim woman’s hand, but definitely strong and able. With just the touch of her skin to his, heat roared through his body. He had the urge to take her sweet fingers in his mouth, lick them, or guide them to where he needed touching most. Instead, he made himself what he never thought he could be: a gallant. He kissed her hand. But he wasn’t completely transformed into some cavalier. Her eyes widened as he pressed his mouth to her palm, then she flushed as his tongue came out quickly to lap at the sensitive skin.
Gabriel made himself release her hand and put a little distance between their horses, otherwise, he’d drag her right off her saddle and give in to what his body and heart demanded—claiming her for his own.
Fate was a contrary bitch, bringing him to Thalia when every day meant facing mortal peril. Gabriel had never known another woman like her. It wasn’t his own possible death that bothered him—though he wasn’t particularly keen on the idea of his final muster, not when being alive was pretty damned pleasant—so much as knowing that she was in danger. Well, he’d just have to stay twice as vigilant.
Yet she had sharp eyes, too. “There it is,” Thalia said, pointing ahead into the broad plain. Her voice came out a bit breathless, which gratified him even if he wasn’t satisfied. “It’s beautiful.”
As Catullus Graves’s distance-viewing device had shown, there were almost a hundred acres covered with small red flowers, with a large encampment of gers in the midst of them. The flowers weren’t of themselves extraordinary, but in the entire time Gabriel had been in Mongolia, he had seen only small sprinklings of these flowers, and never in this abundance. A soldier wouldn’t note them outside of what they might indicate about the season, the quality of the land, or whether there was water for horses nearby, and that’s what his mind went to first. But then, at Thalia’s comment, he did see the flowers for their bright beauty, a carpet of flame that dazzled between the lush green grasses and the blue sky.
There wasn’t much time for poetic fancy, though. “Do these nomads follow the flowers, or the other way around?” he asked.
“We’re going to find out,” Thalia said. “However, we cannot simply stop and examine the flowers without first paying our respects to the tribe. That would be suspicious and rude.”
“I don’t know the first thing about Mongol customs,” Gabriel admitted.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “Just follow my lead.”
Since his promotion to captain, he hadn’t much experience being directed by anybody else, and certainly never by a woman. Even so, he was out of his element here in Mongolia, and had enough brains rattling around inside his skull to understand it was best to let Thalia take charge. For now.
As they rode into the encampment, they were met with naked stares of curiosity from the people who lived there. Men tending herds of livestock and horses watched them from the backs of their saddles, while women stopped in the middle of their chores to gape. And a flock of children chased after them like ducklings, jostling and peeping amongst themselves. Almost everyone was looking at Gabriel, not at Thalia or Batu. Their interest didn’t unsettle Gabriel too much. He was familiar with being the first white man locals had ever seen. Some soldiers never got used to it, or felt that the color of their skin somehow made them better than a country’s natives, but Gabriel wasn’t one of them. So he returned everyone’s stares with a polite nod.
“This is the chieftain’s ger,” Thalia said as they neared the largest tent. “We shall speak with him first.”
Riding up, they were met by a barking dog, who danced his guard in front of the ger, and Thalia called out, “Nokhoi khor!” A little girl darted out and grabbed the dog by its neck, but that didn’t stop the animal from continuing to bark. As Thalia, Gabriel, and Batu dismounted, a boy came from behind the tent and took hold of the horses’ reins. He and Thalia spoke for a moment before she gestured for their party to go inside.
It took some moments for Gabriel’s eyes to adjust to the darkness. The only light came from an opening at the top of the tent. At first he was reduced to using his ears, listening to Thalia exchange pleasantries with a man, the sounds of someone preparing a meal, two children playing on the floor. But then the haze that filmed Gabriel’s sight disappeared, and he looked around. He hadn’t been inside a ger since he’d left Urga, and was curious what he’d find. And he was surprised, but for a different reason than he’d originally believed.
“Yes,” Thalia said softly at his side, sensing his question. “It looks the same. All gers are arranged exactly the same way as one another. The stove is at the center, while the door must always face south.” She made a small movement toward the left side of the tent, where a woman was stirring a fragrant kettle of milk. “That is the women’s side, where food is prepared and the children sleep. The right is where men sit.” Sure enough, a man stood on the right-hand side near some saddles, ready to greet the visitors. Everything else, from beds to red-painted cupboards, to the shrine that decorated the north part of the ger, was just as Gabriel had seen in Urga. “It is an ancient custom that is never broken,” Thalia explained. “And this way,” she added, “you always feel as if you are home.”
Having spent the last fifteen years in tents and barracks, none of them remarkable, comfortable, or at all homey, the idea that a man could find his home anywhere and with anyone strangely pleased Gabriel.
The man Thalia had been speaking with started to talk to Gabriel, but he could only shake his head in response. Thalia immediately stepped in and began to talk, while Batu quietly provided an ongoing translation.
“He is my cousin from England, and speaks no Mongol.”
“You are welcome to my home, cousins,” the man said, with Batu translating. Gabriel noticed that his del was slightly finer than everyone else’s, with silk trim along the cuffs and hem. The chieftain.
Not content with playing mute, Gabriel repeated what he had heard Thalia call out earlier. “Nokhoi khor,” he said, with a small bow.
The chieftain looked puzzled, while Thalia suppressed a smile, and the children giggled. “You just told him to hold his dog,” she whispered.
“I’ll shut my gob, then,” Gabriel muttered as he felt his face grow hot. So much for international diplomacy. He’d stick to shooting and scouting from here on.
More pleasantries were exchanged, including questions about livestock fattening, horses, and family members, in that order. After this, Gabriel was waved toward the northern part of the tent, which, Thalia murmured, was the seat of honor. He sat on the ground, with Thalia to his right and Batu on his left. While small talk was made, the chieftain approached Gabriel and pulled a silken pouch from his del while also going down on one knee. The chieftain touched his right elbow with his left hand as he pulled a small bottle from the pouch and held it out to Gabriel expectantly.
“A customary snuff exchange,” Thalia said when Gabriel looked at her. “All men do this when they greet one another.”
“I don’t have any snuff. Just cheroots.”
“It doesn’t matter. It’s custom, a sign of friendship.” She offered quiet guidance as Gabriel did what she instructed. “Take a pinch of the snuff using your thumb and forefinger, that’s right, now sniff it. Bless you,” she added when he sneezed. The chieftain laughed good naturedly. “Return the bottle to him, and mime handing him your own bottle. Yes, just like that.” Gabriel tried not to feel like a dolt as he pretended to give the Mongol chieftain a snuff bottle, but no one seemed to think it odd, and the entire ritual was enacted one more time in pantomime.
“What about you?” Gabriel asked Thalia.
“Only men.”
The ritual was repeated with Batu and the chieftain.
After this, the chi
eftain turned to Thalia, and, as he spoke, Batu continued to provide an ongoing translation. “We have heard of you. My brother has gone to Urga and made mention of the English Mongol and his daughter.” It did seem an apt way to describe Franklin and Thalia Burgess, since they weren’t one nationality or the other, but some kind of mix. It wasn’t rare for people living away from home to go native in one way or the other—sometimes the efforts were absurd, and sometimes the expatriates turned more native than the actual natives, as if trying to lose themselves in someone else’s culture. Somehow, Franklin Burgess had struck just the right balance, and his daughter was proof. Gabriel was beginning to wonder if he could ever get used to seeing an Englishwoman cinched into a corset or dragging a bustle behind her after seeing Thalia’s freedom of movement. And freedom of self. She was so different from the girls his comrades in arms used to moon over, those gentle creatures who were trained to serve, docile and obliging. What the hell had he been thinking, even to consider having a girl like that as his bride?
Batu interpreted Thalia’s answer into English, so Gabriel might follow the conversation. “You honor us,” she replied, but the chieftain waved away the compliment. A woman, whom Gabriel assumed was the chieftain’s wife, stepped forward with her eyes downcast. She held out a bowl of steaming tea to Gabriel, which he took and sipped from, before returning the bowl to her. She offered the same hospitality to Thalia and then Batu, before returning quietly to the women’s side of the ger.
Gabriel burned with questions about the flowers, but he knew that the polite rituals would have to be observed. Even so, he longed to leap up and run outside. It felt strange to be in a shelter again after living and sleeping in the outdoors. The monastery of Erdene Zuu had been but a small break in the routine. Inside again, Gabriel was becoming much too aware of Thalia’s nearness, the sweet soft femaleness of her; the sound of her voice, contained as it was by the felt walls of the ger, played low and hot in his belly.
“We are honored by your presence at our humble ail,” the chieftain said through Batu. “Whatever I have is yours, my sister.” A small child toddled up to him and began playing with the frogs that fastened the side of his del, and the chieftain accepted his baby’s mischief with good grace. “Have you joined us for our nadaam?”
“Forgive me, but are not the nadaam festivals held in July?” Thalia asked. She repeated the question in English for Gabriel’s benefit.
“Yes, but our tribe has a special custom. Each year, the strongest and bravest men from nearby ails come in the autumn to compete for a special honor.”
“What is this special honor?” she asked in Mongol and then English.
The chieftain, whom Batu told him was named Bold, called to his wife. The woman, named Oyuun, immediately left the tent. “I shall show you. It will take just a moment.”
“While we wait,” Thalia said, again in two languages, “I must remark on the flowers that surround your ail. I’ve never seen anything like them.”
Bold grinned. “I am so used to them that I never see them. I did not realize until I was nearly a man that not every ail had its own field of scarlet flowers throughout the year. They go where we go, even if we change settlements.”
“Does anyone know what makes them grow?”
The chieftain shrugged. “No one knows. They feed our livestock, no matter if the frost is very deep, so we do not delve too deeply into their mystery. The Buddhist priests cannot say, and the shamans will not. It may have something to do with the ruby.”
As Batu translated the word “ruby,” Gabriel’s senses sparked into awareness. Both he and Thalia exchanged glances.
“Here,” Bold said as Oyuun returned to the ger, a strapping young man following her. In an instant, Gabriel had sized the man up and knew he could be an impressive fighter. And better guard. In his hands, the man held a small red wooden chest covered with elaborate carvings, which someone had clearly labored over for a long time. Bold signaled to the man, and the chest was opened. It took all of Gabriel’s will to keep from cursing with astonishment when he saw what it held.
“This is our tribe’s glory and our prize,” Bold explained, pride weighting his voice, and Batu echoed the sentiment in his translation. The chieftain looked up at the man holding the chest as if asking permission, which was odd, since Bold was clearly the man in charge of the tribe. When he received a nod, Bold reached into the chest and pulled out its contents and held it up to the light.
Gabriel felt Thalia’s hand on his arm, as if she, too, were trying to restrain herself. Taking a quick glance at her, he saw a flush stain her cheeks, her eyes widened with amazement. Even though he was trying to remain calm, he probably looked the same way. Sometimes, a soldier’s training only went so far.
It was a ruby. Not an ordinary ruby, but one as large as a child’s hand, and a deep blood red that caught the light, shimmering and hypnotic. The stone was uncut, but even without polished surfaces, it was one of the most incredible objects Gabriel had ever seen. Surely it had to be worth hundreds of thousands of pounds, if such a thing could have a price.
“This is what the champion of the nadaam wins,” Bold continued through Batu. “For a year, he lives with our tribe and has the honor of guarding our ruby. Each year, he must defend his honor or yield it to a stronger, better champion. Unlike other nadaam festivals, ours is held as a tournament, so we may find the best man for the task.”
The man holding the chest said something to Bold, which Batu did not translate. And again, the chieftain seemed to obey the man, returning the ruby to the chest, where it lay on a blue silk pillow. At once, the man closed the chest and left the ger, looking about him with alert eyes. He would have made an excellent soldier.
Thalia spoke in Mongol, then said in English to Gabriel, “I told him I am awed by his ruby,” Thalia said.
“It is not mine,” answered Bold, Batu interpreting, “but belongs to our tribe. We have had it in our possession for many generations, and each is taught to revere and protect it.”
“Where does it come from?” Again, she spoke in two languages so Gabriel could follow.
Batu translated the chieftain’s response. “We do not know. There are stories, of course, but none that have been confirmed. Where it comes from does not matter. All that matters is keeping it safe.”
The toddler that had been sitting in Bold’s lap suddenly fell over and began to cry. As Oyuun and Bold picked up the boy and soothed him, Thalia turned to Gabriel.
“It must be the Source,” she said in English, quiet and urgent.
“You sure?”
“How could it not be?”
“It surely is the ruby of Genghis Khan,” Batu added.
“There is a legend,” Thalia said quickly, “that when Genghis Khan was born, he clutched in his hand a blood clot, and this was the secret to his power. Some have speculated that it wasn’t a blood clot at all, but a ruby.” She looked over to the door of the ger, where the ruby’s guardian had been minutes earlier. “This ruby. It must be what causes the flowers to follow the tribe and bloom all year.”
Before Gabriel could answer, the squalling child had been attended to, given a dumpling to keep him quiet, and Bold returned his attention to his guests.
Thalia spoke to the chieftain, but didn’t translate her words for Gabriel.
“She wants to compete in the nadaam, Gabriel guai,” Batu said, eyes wide.
“What?” asked Gabriel.
Bold said something in Mongol at the same time that sounded very much like, “You?”
Thalia turned to Gabriel. “How are you with a bow and arrow?” she asked in English.
“Never shot one,” he answered, thrown. “Guns only. A cannon, once.”
She pointed to herself as she spoke to Bold.
“Sister,” the chieftain said, Batu translating, “you cannot enter. You would have to live with our tribe for a year if you won. But, more importantly, our nadaam is for men only.”
Gabriel had gathered his sc
attered wits enough to growl, “The hell you’re competing. I don’t know what the damned tournament is, but you aren’t entering. I’ll do it.”
Thalia shot him an angry look, but he wouldn’t back down. He had already committed himself to protecting her, no matter what it cost him. And if there was physical danger, he damned well wouldn’t let her get involved. He might not have Catullus Graves’s brains, but Gabriel did have brawn in his favor.
Thalia began to speak to Bold, without repeating herself in English, so Gabriel had to rely on Batu to provide him with her words. “In England, it is quite common for women to be warriors.” She ignored Gabriel’s curse of dissent. “There is even the famous warrior queen, Boudica, who waged glorious war against the Romans.” To Gabriel, she hissed in English, “No orders from you, Captain. If we want to win the ruby, then I must compete.”
Knowing that it would be impossible to get answers from her, Gabriel looked at Batu. The servant looked just as appalled as Gabriel. After their talk, they had reached an armistice, and were united in their need to keep Thalia safe. “Tell me what else happens at these nadaams.”
“It is a celebration of the three manly arts,” Batu explained. “Horse racing, archery, and wrestling. Usually, children compete in the horse race, and women may enter the archery competition, but it must be different here. I should mention that there are no weight classes in the wrestling competition, as there are elsewhere.”
Wrestling? “You are not entering the tournament,” Gabriel repeated to Thalia. He looked to Batu for reinforcement.
“Your father would not allow it,” Batu added. “And he would be furious should I let anything happen to his only child.”
“I’m a grown woman, not a child,” Thalia said through gritted teeth. “He would also know that the Source must be protected at all costs.”