Temujin stood in the deepest shadow and struggled to find words to express his gratitude. He had nothing to give even the children, and he felt ashamed for the burden and fear he had brought into their home. Basan’s wife had not warmed to him, though Basan’s oldest son seemed to have lost his nervousness and replaced it with awe when he heard who the stranger was in their home. The little boy had visibly summoned his courage when Basan told them it would be that night, and approached Temujin with all the self-consciousness of his twelve years. To Temujin’s surprise, the boy had gone down on one knee and reached out for his hand, pressing it down on the top of his head, where Temujin could feel his scalp lock of hair against the bristly skin.
Temujin found his throat tight with emotion at the boy’s simple gesture. “Your father is a brave man,” he murmured. “Be sure to follow his steps.”
“I will, my khan,” the boy replied.
Temujin stared at him and Basan’s mother hissed in a breath. At the door, Basan heard the exchange and shook his head, troubled. Before Temujin could reply, the bondsman crossed the ger to his son and lifted him to his feet.
“You cannot give an oath to this man, little one. When the time comes, you will pledge your sword and your life to Eeluk, as I have.” He could not meet Temujin’s eyes as he spoke, but the little boy’s resistance fled in his father’s strong grip. He ducked away and scurried to his mother’s embrace, watching them both from under the crook of her arm.
Temujin cleared his throat. “My father’s spirit watches us,” he murmured, seeing his frozen breath like a plume of mist. “You do him honor in saving me.”
“Walk with me now,” Basan said, embarrassed. “Do not speak to anyone and they will think you are another of the guards on the hills.” He held open the door and Temujin ducked through it, wincing at the pain from his scabs. He wore a clean tunic and leggings under a padded winter deel that belonged to Basan. Beneath the thick layers, the worst of his wounds were heavily bandaged. He was far from healed, but he yearned to be placed in a saddle. He would find his tribe among the wanderers of the plains, and the Wolves would not catch him again.
Basan walked deliberately slowly through the encampment, trusting in the dark to hide the identity of his companion if anyone was fool enough to brave the cold. There was a chance someone might notice that he returned without his mare, but he had no choice. It did not take long to leave the gers behind, and no one challenged them. The two men walked together in silence, leading the pony by the reins until the camp of the Wolves was far behind. It was late and Basan would have to work up a sweat to reach his post without causing comment. When they were hidden in the shadow of a hill, he pressed the reins into Temujin’s hands.
“I have wrapped my second bow and placed it here,” he said, patting a bundle tied to the saddle. “There is a little food, but I have left you two arrows with it, for when you need to hunt. Lead her on foot until you are far away, or the watchers will hear your hooves. Stay in the shadow of the hills as long as you can.”
Temujin nodded, reaching out to clasp the bondsman by his arm. The man had been his captor with Tolui and then saved his life and risked his own family to do it. He did not understand him, but he was grateful.
“Watch for me on the horizon, Basan,” he said. “I have scores to settle with the Wolves.”
Basan looked at him, seeing again the determination that reminded him chillingly of Yesugei when he was young.
“That is your father talking,” he said, shivering suddenly.
Temujin returned his gaze for a long moment, then clapped him on the shoulder.
“When you see me again, I promise your family will be safe,” he said, then clicked in his throat to start the mare walking once more. Basan watched him go before he realized he was late and began to run. By the time Temujin passed out of the hill shadow, only Basan would be there to see him go, and his horn would remain silent.
CHAPTER 19
KACHIUN SAT ALONE on a gentle slope, breaking his fast with a little hard bread and the last of the spiced mutton. He and Khasar had managed to recapture most of the herd Tolui had scattered, and Hoelun had slaughtered and smoked enough to keep him for many days of his lonely watch for his brother. The supply had dwindled despite his attempts to eat sparingly, and he knew he would have to hunt marmots and birds the following day if he was not to starve.
As he munched the dry meat, he found himself missing his family and wondered if they still lived. He knew as well as anyone that a family of wanderers was vulnerable on the plains, even if they moved by night. As the brothers had once ambushed a pair of herdsmen, so his family could be attacked for the little flock or the ponies they rode. He did not doubt Khasar would give a good account of himself, but against two or three warriors out to raid, there could be only one outcome.
Kachiun sighed to himself, sick of the way the world had turned its face against them all. When Temujin had been there, they had dared to hope for something more than lives spent in fear of every stranger. Somehow his brother’s presence made him stand a little taller and remember how it had once been when Yesugei was alive. Kachiun feared for them all and his imagination threw up unwanted bloody images as the days passed.
It was hard being alone. Kachiun had felt the strangeness of his position as Hoelun led her last three children away to the west. He had stood watch for many nights as a little boy, though always with an older warrior to see he did not fall asleep. Even those long hours had not prepared him for the dreadful loneliness of the empty plains. He knew there was a chance that he would never see his family again, his mother or Temujin. The sea of grass was vast beyond imagining, and if they were dead, he might not even find their bones.
After the first few days, he had found it comforting to talk aloud to himself as he scanned the distant hills, just to hear a voice. The place he had chosen was high up in the cleft, near where he and Temujin had killed Bekter, so long ago. He still shuddered as he passed that spot each dawn on his way up to the watching post. He told himself that Bekter’s spirit would not stay there, but his knowledge of the rituals was hazy. Kachiun remembered old Chagatai referring to more than one soul. One would ride the winds far above, but wasn’t a part of it bound to the earth? He didn’t mind taking the path in the light of the morning sun, but when he left it too late and it was growing dark as he came back, it was easy to imagine Bekter standing there in the shadow of the trees, white and deadly. Kachiun shuddered at the thought. His memories of Bekter seemed to have become frozen in that single moment when he had released a shaft to punch into his back. What had gone before was just mist, a different life. He remembered his terror that Bekter would somehow pluck out the shaft and turn on him in fury. The world had changed when Bekter fell onto the damp leaves, and Kachiun sometimes wondered if he was still paying for that day. Temujin had said the spirits gave you just enough wit and strength to live and then took no further interest, but part of Kachiun feared there was a price to pay for every savage act. He had been a child, but he could have refused to follow Temujin.
He chuckled to himself at the idea. None of the brothers could refuse Temujin. He had more of his father about him than Kachiun had realized in the first days. It had become more and more evident as Kachiun saw Temujin bargain and trade with wanderer families like old Horghuz and his wife. Despite his age, he was never taken lightly, and if he had been killed, Kachiun would honor him by trying to follow the same path. He would find his mother and build a safe place somewhere with clean water and good grazing. Perhaps they would find a small tribe willing to take on a family. Hoelun could marry again, and they would be warm and safe.
It was a dream, and though he knew it, he spent many hours in the fantasy, imagining something that was more than a little like his childhood around the gers of the Wolves, with horses to race in the sun. He had not spent every day thinking of the future then, and he missed the certainty of his old life, the solid path before his feet. On the high hill with the wind blowing his
hair, he missed it all and grieved again for Temujin. The wound in Kachiun’s thigh was still sore, but Hoelun had stitched the red holes closed and Kachiun scratched idly at them as he sat and listened to the breeze.
Temujin had not escaped his pursuers, Kachiun was certain. He remembered Tolui as a spiteful bully, much given to pinches and sneers when no one else was looking. The thought of Temujin in his power made Kachiun twist his hands together in the sleeves of his deel. The family of Yesugei had been given a hard life, and no one could say they had not struggled. There had been times like the morning of Tolui’s arrival when he had really begun to hope for a normal life. Now, it had all been taken from them, and though he waited, he no longer believed he would see Temujin return to the cleft in the hills. If the sky father was just, he would bring suffering to Eeluk and his bondsmen, but that too was just a dream. There was no justice in the world and evil men prospered. Kachiun struggled not to despair as he wrapped his deel around him, but there were times when he hated as ferociously as Temujin did. There should be justice. There should be revenge.
He finished the last of the meat, digging his fingers into the seams of the cloth bag in search of some final morsel. He was tired and stiff from sitting for so long, but the coldness was more than just the wind. Somewhere to the west, Hoelun might be riding into danger, and he was not there to kill for her and die with her. Only stubbornness kept him at his post as the days fled.
Temujin saw two men in the far distance, high on a hill. His heart soared that it might be Arslan and his son, though he made sure his bow was strung and ready. If they were raiders, he vowed he would have their hearts on a slow fire. His injuries would not prevent him from firing Basan’s bow, and he was in no mood to be playing games after everything he had suffered.
Though it rubbed his bloody scabs away, he had ridden for five days, sunrise to sunset, as he had instructed Arslan to do. The cleft in the hills was many miles away from that desolate place, but by then he knew he could trust men who had deserted Eeluk. The new khan of the Wolves was not cunning enough to plan so far ahead, though Yesugei might once have been. Temujin shaded his eyes against the setting sun to watch the two men guide their ponies down a steep hill, leaning back in the saddles to balance. He grunted to himself as he saw one of them dismount and walk alone toward him, raising his hands. The meaning was clear and Temujin raised his bow in response. It could only be Arslan.
Temujin trotted forward, still keeping his bow ready. The man may have saved him from the pit, but it would be a long time before Temujin trusted anyone again. He stopped and let Arslan cross the final paces between them, seeing the man’s sure step on the springy grass. He walked as Yesugei had walked, and the memory brought a sudden pain that never reached Temujin’s face.
“I knew you would escape them,” Arslan said, smiling gently as he came close. “I did not expect you for many more days, though I see you have found yourself a fine mare.”
“She was a present from a man who remembered my father,” Temujin said stiffly. “But tell me, what do you think will happen here?”
Arslan blinked and chuckled. “I think you will wave to my son to join us and we will sit and share our food. As the camp is ours, I grant you guest rights.”
Temujin cleared his throat. He owed the man a huge debt and was uncomfortable with the burden of it.
“Why did you help me?” he asked.
Arslan looked up, seeing the barely faded bruising and the hunched way the young man sat in the saddle. Yesugei would have been proud of such a son, he thought.
“I swore my oath to your father, Temujin. You are his eldest surviving son.”
Temujin’s eyes glinted as he thought of Bekter. Would this man have come to aid his older brother? Temujin could only marvel at the turns of fate.
“You do not know me,” he said.
Arslan became very still. “I do not. I thought about standing by while you rotted in that pit, but I am not a man who stands by. Even if I had not met your father, I would have pulled you out.”
Temujin flushed. “I…am grateful that you did,” he said, looking away at the hills.
“We will not talk of it,” Arslan said. “It is behind. For now, I will say you do not know me, but you will learn my word is iron.”
Temujin snapped a glance at the man, looking for mockery. Instead, he found only stern control.
“Your father used to say that, yes,” Arslan went on. “It drew me to him and I believed it. If you are half the man he was, my son and I will take oath to you and bind ourselves in honor to your line.”
Temujin stared back at the man, sensing the quiet strength in him. He carried no weapons, but the mare had taken three steps away from Arslan while they talked, aware like her rider of a predator under rigid control. He wondered if Arslan thought there was a host of warriors waiting for Temujin’s return. The thought occurred to him that a man who weighed himself by his word might remain bound even when he discovered there was nothing but a few scrawny brothers hiding in the hills. The temptation was there, but Temujin ignored it, unable to play false with one who had saved his life.
“I have no tribe, nor wealth, nor anything but my own family in hiding,” Temujin said. “I have nothing to offer you, or your son. If you choose to ride on, I will make my own way back to them and still bless you for your help.”
“You said you were the land and the bones of the hills,” Arslan said softly. “I believe you were speaking with the words of your father. I will follow you.”
“Call your son to me, then,” Temujin said, suddenly exasperated. He did not want to begin to hope, but he had been changed in his captivity. He could no longer be satisfied with mere survival. He looked down at Arslan and he imagined a trail of fire and blood across the tribes that would end in the gers of the Wolves. He had seen it in the darkest days in the pit. While the flies had buzzed around him, his imagination had been in flames.
As Jelme approached, Temujin dismounted and hobbled to the two men.
“If you will call me khan, your will is no longer yours,” he said, remembering his father speaking the same words. “Kneel to me.”
Both Jelme and his father went down on one knee, and Temujin pressed his damaged hands on their heads.
“I ask you for salt, milk, horses, gers, and blood.”
“They are yours, my khan,” both men said together.
“Then you are kin and we are of one tribe,” Temujin said, surprising them. “I call you brothers and we are one people.”
Both Arslan and Jelme raised their heads, struck by his tone and everything it meant. The wind picked up, rushing down from the mountains. Temujin turned his head in the direction of where his family would be hiding. He knew he could find his tribe among men scorned by all the others, among the wanderers and the herdsmen. Men like old Horghuz and his family, killed by Tolui. They were few, but they were hardened in fire. They had been cast out and many would hunger as he did: for a tribe, and for a chance to strike back at a world that had abandoned them.
“It is begun here,” Temujin whispered. “I have had enough of hiding. Let them hide from me.”
When Kachiun saw the three men riding south, he did not know who they were. He took careful note of their path and slipped back into the cleft in the hills with his bow and quiver ready. He knew the lie of the land better than anyone, and he raced down the inner slopes, leaping over fallen trees and old wood until he was panting.
He took his position close to where they would pass, well hidden in the undergrowth. There was murder in his heart as he prepared himself. If Tolui and Basan had returned with their captive, Kachiun would risk two long shots and trust his skill. He had trained for it and neither Khasar nor Temujin were his master with the bow. He waited in silence for the clop of hooves, ready to kill.
When they came into sight, Kachiun’s heart pounded with excitement as he recognized his brother. Just seeing Temujin alive lifted his spirits from where they had sunk in the days alone. He pres
sed his lips tight and only then realized he had been murmuring his brother’s name aloud. He had been too long on his own, he admitted to himself as he sighted down the arrow at the older of the pair riding with Temujin.
Kachiun hesitated, his sharp eyes taking in every detail of the three men. Temujin sat tall in the saddle and there was no sign of ropes or a rein tied to the other men. Would they trust a captive not to gallop away at the slightest chance for freedom? Something was wrong, and he adjusted his grip on the drawn bow, the powerful muscles of his shoulders beginning to quiver. He would not let them past—he could not—but if he fired a shot in warning, he would have lost his chance to kill them swiftly. Both men were armed with bows, though he saw they were unstrung. They did not ride like men in hostile territory. Kachiun saw they carried long swords like the one Yesugei had worn on his hip. Nothing about them made sense, and while he hesitated, they had drawn level with his position in the trees.
He risked it all.
“Temujin!” Kachiun roared, rising from his crouch and pulling the bowstring back to his ear.
Temujin saw the figure out of the corner of his eye.
“Hold! Hold, Kachiun!” he shouted, raising his arms and waving.
Kachiun saw the two strangers vanish from sight in the instant of his warning, as fast as cats. Both dropped on the far side of their ponies, using the animals to shield them from attack. Kachiun breathed in relief as Temujin nodded to him, leaning over to dismount with a terrible awkwardness.
Kachiun’s heart thumped at the sight. The Wolves had hurt his brother, but he was here and he was safe. Temujin limped visibly as they ran together and Kachiun embraced him, overcome. It would be all right.
“I did not know if they were friends or enemies,” Kachiun said breathlessly.
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