Warrior

by Zoë Archer

  “That big man from yesterday at the nadaam,” Thalia quickly explained, “whom Gabriel guai wrestled at the very end—he is part of a group of men who want to hurt us, who want to hurt the whole of Mongolia. We are trying to stop them.”

  “What do they want?” Bold asked stiffly.

  “I cannot tell you, for your safety.” She turned pleading eyes to Oyuun, who had treated Thalia as a younger sister rather than guest and now looked betrayed. “Please understand, these men are dangerous and ruthless. They might have persuaded or even forced you to drug Gabriel guai and me.”

  Oyuun said nothing, her mouth taut.

  “These men might have treated our food without you knowing it,” Gabriel added, which Thalia translated.

  “I cooked it myself and never once left anything alone,” Oyuun said. “I even brewed the tea myself in this kettle.” She marched over to the hearth and snatched up the object in question, an old, battered piece of metal that looked as though it had been in use for literally generations. “I boiled the meat in this pot,” she continued, striding to her well-used cooking vessel, which, even then, boiled milk for cheese.

  Thalia’s attention snagged on something. “Might I see the tea kettle?”

  Without a word, Oyuun thrust the kettle into Thalia’s hands, then she crossed her arms over her chest.

  Gabriel was immediately at Thalia’s side, making her color. “Tell me what you see,” he murmured.

  She made herself focus on the iron vessel in her hands, even though she couldn’t stop her reaction to Gabriel’s nearness. “This kettle,” she answered quietly as she turned it over in her hands. “It isn’t Mongolian. It’s Chinese. The shape is different, so is the metal. Strange.” It was also, she realized, incredibly old. Having studied many objects and artifacts from Mongolia and nearby regions with her father, Thalia knew how to date a piece based on clues from its appearance. The heft, the way it was made, even the small dents and rubbings on its surface all told her one thing: the kettle was hundreds of years old, maybe even more. And it felt…alive…in her hands.

  “Maybe they got it from a Chinese trader,” he suggested.

  “What can you tell me about this?” Thalia asked Oyuun. “When did you get it?”

  The chieftain’s wife looked at her husband, who answered, “We’ve always had that kettle. I remember my grandmother brewing tea in it, and she said it belonged to her grandmother. But we have made tea for everyone in our tribe using it, and no one has ever become ill afterward.”

  “And any visitors?”

  “None of them, either.”

  “Do you know if any of them…” Thalia could not bring herself to look at Bold. Concentrating on a painted cabinet that stood behind him, she cleared her throat and felt her cheeks heat. “Did any visitors…sleep with anyone…after?”

  “We all sleep in the ger together.”

  Everyone stared at Thalia; she wondered if it was possible to will oneself out of existence by sheer embarrassment alone. Mongols were open about their sexual lives, but there was a part of Thalia, a very English part, that couldn’t quite be comfortable with such complete candor. Even Gabriel, who was as unpolished as a wolf, looked a trifle red.

  “Not sleep,” she said through her teeth. “Share a bed. Two people. In a bed. Together.”

  The smile the chieftain and his wife shared made Thalia long for a herd of stampeding horses to come through. “Ah,” said Oyuun, momentarily forgetting her tension. “If they did, no one said so, and we did not see it.” Her husband nodded to confirm this.

  Despite her embarrassment, a strange current began to run up and down Thalia’s neck as she stared down at the humble object in her hands. “I would like to borrow this for a moment.”

  Before Bold or Oyuun could reply, Thalia was already outside, with Gabriel easily matching her long strides with his own. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “Not sure, yet,” she said. “It’s only a feeling. But I believe we triggered something last night.” When she turned and headed toward where the hunting eagles were perched, he nodded with comprehension. Thalia smiled to herself. She did not need further words with Gabriel. He understood her.

  As she and Gabriel neared the eagles, the birds began shifting on their perches and ruffling their feathers. The closer they came to the birds, the more unsettled the animals became.

  Standing in front of the birds, Thalia and Gabriel exchanged glances. He nodded at her, and she held up the kettle so it was no more than a few inches away from the eagles. Their screeches flared out over the steppes, causing horses, camels, and sheep to look up from their grazing. Even the men and women who were performing their daily chores paused to see what was causing such a commotion.

  Thalia quickly took the kettle away, and the eagles quieted. As a test, Gabriel held up the ruby again. The birds remained silent. Once more, Thalia presented the eagles with the kettle, and people, including Batu, came out of their gers to investigate the birds’ renewed shrieks. Bold and Oyuun were also watching from the doorway of their tent, mystified.

  “Oh, my God,” Thalia breathed. “The Source isn’t the ruby.”

  Gabriel put the ruby into the inside pocket of his jacket. He held her eyes with his as the weight of their discovery settled over them. It was both ridiculous and also profound. “The bloody Source everyone’s chasing,” he said with a shake of his head and rueful smile. “It’s a damned shabby kettle.”

  “Magic?” Bold repeated. “That cannot be.”

  “It seems strange,” said Thalia, “but the test with the birds is always accurate. Your tea kettle holds a powerful magic.”

  “We would have known,” Oyuun put in. She examined the kettle as if it were a familiar dog that had suddenly begun to speak. She turned questioning eyes to Thalia and Gabriel. “Wouldn’t we?”

  Since Gabriel was almost entirely unfamiliar with the realms of magic, he stood with his arms crossed over his chest and let Thalia do the explaining to Bold, Oyuun, and almost the entire tribe, most of whom were now gathered inside the large ger that had been used for the feast before the nadaam. Instead of engaging in raucous merrymaking, however, the large assembly of people were almost completely silent, save for a few babies and children fussing. Everyone wore similar stunned expressions. Except Thalia, Gabriel, and Batu.

  “Not necessarily,” Thalia explained. Batu provided Gabriel with a running translation. “Sometimes magic is contained in an object and it takes a special set of words or actions to release it. But we already know that this kettle contains some kind of power. Gabriel guai and I felt it last night”—though she did not explain under what circumstances—“but more than that, the crimson flowers that follow the tribe come from that power.”

  A murmur of startled understanding rippled through the crowd.

  “How can we release the magic?” a man asked.

  Now it was Thalia’s turn to look mystified. She honestly had no idea. Whenever she had discussed the use of Sources with her father and other Blades, they had never mentioned exactly what one might need to do to access a Source’s power. There were many combinations of words and rituals, too many to know where to begin. Then a horrible thought occurred to her. Would she and Gabriel have to make love in front of the entire tribe to bring forth the magic? That was a spectacle in which she had no desire to participate.

  “Water,” Gabriel said behind her.

  Surprised, Thalia turned to face him. “What’s that?”

  He strode forward, taking the kettle from Oyuun. “It has to do with water, I’d reckon. Why else place magic inside something that heats water?”

  “But they boil water inside the kettle every day,” Thalia pointed out. “And nothing has happened.”

  Gabriel considered this for a moment while staring intently at the kettle. “Water’s scarce in Mongolia,” he finally said. “So they might not have used enough or,” he added, brows drawn down in concentration, “perhaps they used too much.” He turned to Oyuun. �
��We’ll need water and a fire.”

  Oyuun nodded at the translated command and gestured for some women to assist her, which made Thalia smile a little to herself. Ever the soldier, Gabriel could order around even a chieftain’s wife with no resistance. His air of authority would not allow questioning or disobedience. Thalia recalled how he’d demanded that she repeat her full name to him a few nights before, and ordered her to the bed, how she’d been unable to deny him. In the middle of the large ger, with hundreds of eyes surrounding her and the mystery of the Source unfolding, she couldn’t stop the rush of pleasure, remembering him buried deep inside of her.

  Pressing a hand to her fluttering stomach, Thalia watched as a fire was set up and the kettle filled. Gabriel placed the kettle onto the fire.

  “And now?” Thalia asked him.

  He did not take his eyes from the kettle. “Now, we wait.”

  In the strained silence of the tent, the noise of water gradually coming to boil could be heard like a soft song. Steam rose up from the spout as the water heated. After several minutes, the water evaporated, and the steam disappeared. Still, Gabriel would not take the kettle from the fire. Thalia shifted her gaze back and forth from the tea kettle to Gabriel, wondering what each would do next. It seemed somewhat useless to continue to heat the kettle without more water.

  “I should refill it,” Thalia said, stepping forward.

  Gabriel held out his hand, a wordless imperative to stay where she was.

  Both she and the assembled tribe grew restive as they continued to wait. Yet no one would disobey Gabriel or even dare to move more than necessary.

  After what seemed like lifetimes, the kettle heating over the fire, Thalia gasped. She reached out and gripped Gabriel’s arm. “Do you—?”

  “I see it,” he answered, clipped.

  It started as a small puff, but within a moment, thick, sweet-smelling steam began to pour out of the kettle. Nothing could be left inside the kettle to create that steam, and certainly not so much of it. But it continued to flow from the kettle unchecked, warm and fragrant. It formed a heavy cloud just above their heads. Figures began to appear within the cloud, gathering shape and substance.

  Thalia’s pulse raced, and she felt Gabriel’s steady fingers intertwine with hers as the Source finally revealed its secrets.

  Chapter 14

  Within the Clouds

  Gabriel hadn’t thought, but had instinctively taken Thalia’s hand in his own. When the world fell apart and reshaped into something new, the only thing that felt right and balanced was her. He needed the touch of her skin, having her close and under his protection, as a warm vapor shaped itself into a thick cloud within the tent. Gabriel didn’t know what the hell the cloud was, what it might be capable of doing—good or ill—and had to be sure he could safeguard Thalia.

  He waited, tensed, as shapes congealed within the mist. Gabriel’s other hand hovered over his revolver, just in case. Maybe a bullet couldn’t stop a magical steam creature, but it might, and he’d be ready.

  Instead of a beast or something sinister, the figures revealed themselves to be people. They sharpened into focus, as did the world around them, until it was like watching a stage play hovering over the ground. The crowd watching the display shouted out as one, and even Gabriel had to swallow an oath. The figures in the clouds were the tribe themselves. Gabriel recognized several of the faces, including those of the chieftain and his wife. And, Great Gideon, Gabriel himself and Thalia, as they had competed in the nadaam and taken a meal with Bold’s family. Bizarre, to see himself manifested within the steam.

  Everyone in the tribe appeared to be going about his or her normal life, performing chores, tending to the animals. And cooking. Oyuun gasped nearby as she watched herself in the mists, filling the tea kettle. Yet, these ordinary tasks were odd because—

  “Everything is going backward,” Thalia murmured beside him.

  “Like a zoetrope spinning in reverse,” Gabriel answered.

  And in that strange pattern, the ordinary life of the tribe played out topsy-turvy, the sun setting and rising, west to east, and odder still, foals disappearing back inside their dams, tall grasses retreating as seeds into the earth, thaws turning to snow. Yet, through it all, the shadow play kept returning to the kettle as Oyuun and then many other women, old dames growing young, boiled water inside it as their families moved across the steppes. Always, the bright carpet of red flowers surrounded them, wherever they camped.

  “My grandmother,” Bold exclaimed as one of the cloud women brewed tea. Then she disappeared and more women took her place. Whole generations, hundreds of years, passed in a moment. Even the kettle itself grew slightly less battered. The unceasing rhythms of life, even in reverse, made Gabriel feel humbled and small, knowing how brief his own time on this earth was in comparison to the bigger world. He gripped Thalia’s hand more tightly.

  Then there was a shift within the clouds. The kettle left the tribe and was now carried backward in a horseman’s pack. A soldier, judging by his armaments. But he carried no firearms, only a blade and bow. It seemed to be far back in the past, possibly more than five hundred years. He sped through the steppes, through territory which seemed recognizable to Gabriel, and quickly he realized why. A thriving city appeared in a familiar valley.

  “It’s Karakorum,” Thalia breathed.

  “Except alive.”

  The ruin was now the center of a flourishing Mongol Empire, and the whole stone tortoises supported pillars to mark the limits of the city. Carts, merchants, scholars, ambassadors, traders, and holy people from all over the known world streamed into Karakorum, and the riches on display made Gabriel’s eyes sting. Even the wealth of the gilded palaces in India could not compare to the piles of gold, jewels, and silks that flowed like a swollen river. And included in that opulence was the humble kettle, carried in by the soldier, where it found its home within one of the vast storehouses of treasure and plunder.

  But it didn’t stay within the warehouse for long. Along with tapestries, polished blocks of jade, and scroll paintings, the kettle was placed into a cart and taken backward with a great army heading southeast. Even an old soldier like Gabriel could not stop the whistle of appreciation to see the size of this army, a huge column of riders and horses, stretching to the horizon and beyond. The ease and comfort of the men in their saddles marked them as the finest horsemen Gabriel had ever seen—and he’d been witness to incredible feats of horsemanship over the years. The vision within the mist moved along the enormous army, until it reached a single armored man, trailed by generals and guards, at the head of the troops. A man with ruthless intelligence glinting in his dark eyes as he surveyed the lands around him, missing nothing, assessing everything for his empire. Gabriel’s heart seized. The man’s power was a palpable thing, certain.

  A name rose up from within the tent, passing like a torch amidst the tribe watching the steam clouds. “Khan,” the herdsmen murmured. “Genghis Khan.”

  “Oh, my God,” Thalia gulped. “It really is him.”

  Gabriel said nothing, stunned. He, Thalia, Batu, and the tribe were the first people to see the conqueror’s face in over six hundred years or more. There was no denying the man had the air of command about him, worn with complete assurance. And yet, the Khan was a man only. Not a myth, or a creature of magic, but flesh, as faulty and fragile as any other living thing.

  Still, Genghis Khan knew warfare. And Gabriel witnessed its cruel machine as the kettle’s clouds showed smoking ruins turn into thriving towns, villages, and cities, the result in reverse of having the Khan’s army pitilessly subjugate and pillage with no concern for human life, only acquisition. Whatever settlement foolish enough to try to hold out against the Khan met with a gruesome, bloody end. Those who conceded defeat were spared, but those that defied him were destroyed utterly. The tribe, watching such scenes of slaughter, screamed and wept. Even Gabriel, who had witnessed things that would drive most men mad, felt his gorge rise to see men torn
to pieces, women and children skewered, kings and ministers tortured to death. Thalia pressed her face into Gabriel’s shoulder as she shuddered. He stroked the back of her head, offering what comfort he could. It was made worse because it was going backward, and a mutilated corpse became, in a moment, a man fighting for his life.

  “You must think me a coward, not to watch,” she gulped.

  “I think you’re a good woman who hates death and suffering. No shame in that.” He was glad that he could still be troubled by such brutality. If it left him unmoved, that would disturb him.

  Everywhere the Khan vanquished, he took. Not only treasure and goods, but people, too. Learned men and craftsmen were taken prisoner, added to the spoils. Yet the kettle continued on with the army, taken past the grassy steppes until the terrain grew barren and rocky, thirsty plains swept by the wind. A vast and pitiless desert.

  “The Gobi,” said Thalia, who’d lifted her head from the shelter of Gabriel’s shoulder. Shining wet tracks marked her face, and he brushed away the moisture with gentle fingertips. “I’ve only visited the very edge with my father a few times.”

  “A harsh place,” Gabriel replied.

  “But beautiful, from what I saw.”

  He had to agree that it was, in its desolate way. People lived there, too, tending short-legged camels and sheep. The isolated herdsmen were left undisturbed by the Khan, who passed them by. Through the hard desert rode the huge army, covering miles and miles, the porous border between Mongolia and China, until, appearing on the horizon, rose a craggy peak. At the top of the peak stood a thickly walled building with the distinctive sloped ceramic roofs of Chinese temples. The army was making its way, backward, toward the temple. A cold ember settled in Gabriel’s stomach. Monks and holy men would be no match for the Khan’s soldiers.