Crimson Poison

by Susan Moore

  Jamuka boiled up a fresh batch of salty tea.

  “I think it is time that I told you the secret of the Clan, Bao Bao.”

  “Secret?” said Nat from where she was lying next to the stove and propping her sleepy head up on her elbow.

  “The Clan, all except Buqa – but he is not Clan since he only married into it – has agreed that we should reveal it to you.”

  “What kind of secret?”

  “One upon which I must ask you to swear an oath.”

  “A promise?”

  He handed her a small bowl of airag and opened the stove door. “Indeed. Now, throw this in to make your pledge.”

  Nat tossed the contents into the flames. They hissed, turning a scorched blue. She was now fully awake.

  “Once you hear the secret, you are as much its guardian as we are.”

  Nat slipped her hand into her pocket and touched Fizz’s snout to record.

  “As you know, our Clan has roamed the Steppe and these mountains for many tens of generations. A thousand years ago a member of our Clan, a medicine man named Jelme, created something that helped change the world order. He used plants to create cures for sickness. He would travel far and wide across the Steppe searching for new supplies and specimens.

  “One day he discovered a new plant in a summer pasture. It had the most beautiful deep-red petals. He took samples to run tests upon but every time he cut into a petal it instantly withered and died. He was about to give up, when he tried cutting one of the petals in a different way and it began to ooze a blood-red liquid. He captured the droplets and carried out some experiments.

  “Nothing happened until he mixed a drop with the sap of a lumen tree. The mixture frothed and turned from bright red to dark purple. When the final bubble burst, Jelme took a sip.

  “All of a sudden he felt an enormous surge of energy. His veins started to pulse with an increased flow of blood. He sprinted out of his ger, out on to the Steppe.

  “His horse saw him and came to trot alongside, but Jelme accelerated. Soon they were running neck and neck, the horse at a flat-out gallop.”

  “No one can run that fast!” said Nat.

  Jamuka handed her a bowl of salty tea.

  “Finally his horse collapsed, exhausted,” he continued. “But Jelme’s energy knew no bounds. He carried his horse back to camp on his shoulders. The ones who saw him said he showed the strength of twenty men.

  “But just as he entered the camp he collapsed to the ground, all his strength drained away. He had to be carried to his ger, where he lay, unable to move or speak, for a week.”

  “Was the plant Tumen Vachir?” asked Nat.

  Jamuka held up his hand. “There’s more, Bao Bao. At the end of that week Jelme was able to sit up and, little by little, he could walk again. All that time the dark-purple mixture called to him. One night, unable to resist it any longer, he filled an entire cup and gulped it down.”

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  TEMUJIN

  Jamuka poured another bowlful of salty tea and took a loud slurp. Nat sat wide-eyed, gripped by the story.

  “This time Jelme ran so fast that time seemed to stand still. The Clan watched him wrestle a line-up of the strongest men. He defeated them one after another. The liquid’s effects lasted longer than before. It was not until late the next day that he finally collapsed.

  “As he lay in his ger, a young hunter entered. His name was Temujin. Temujin was curious to know more. Jelme still could not speak, so Temujin dismissed the young girl who cared for him and stayed to care for Jelme himself.

  “Eventually, as his voice returned, Jelme shared the secret of the potion.

  “On the promise that he would give them a large share of the bounty, Temujin persuaded some of the Clan to take the potion and make a surprise raid on a neighbouring tribe. They would, he assured them, have more than enough horses, goats and sheep never to have to fight again.

  “These men fought the battle with their new strength and speed, and quickly overcame the enemy. Those who were captured in turn pledged allegiance to Temujin. The alternative was death. He used this tactic again and again, soon conquering the Steppe. He became Genghis Khan and the plant that helped him was Tumen Vachir.”

  He stopped. Nat looked up at him.

  “Is this another of your Clan fairytales?” she said.

  He shook his head. “Sadly not, Bao Bao. Genghis Khan made everyone in the Clan pledge an oath to keep the secret of the tonic, which he named Tumen Vachir, after the plant. The penalty for disclosing the secret was a swift and merciless death.”

  Nat shuddered at the thought. “So when did the Clan stop using the potion?”

  “Just before he died, Genghis Khan commanded that Tumen Vachir no longer be used. He had by then conquered much of the known world. He wished for his people to live in peace and have their strength intact to give them the energy to keep his kingdom intact. On the day he died the last of the supplies were destroyed and the tonic was never made again.

  “But he also instructed the Clan to swear an oath to pass on the secret to future generations, in case there should ever be a situation that called for Tumen Vachir. That was a thousand years ago. Since then our Clan has grown and spread throughout the whole of Mongolia, keeping the secret with it all this time.”

  There was a sudden gasp from behind the curtain. Jamuka leapt to his feet and rushed over. Nat followed.

  Nat let out a loud shriek. Aunt Tolui’s eyes were bulging out of their sockets. Blood was trickling from the corner of her mouth.

  Jamuka put his hand gently to his aunt’s neck, searching for her pulse.

  “Please. Allow me,” said Fred, rushing in through the door.

  He moved to one side for Fred. He put his hand on Nat’s shoulder, the sadness in his eyes making tears spring up in her own.

  “It’s a terrible business, this Marbolic,” said Fred, straightening up.

  Nat saw that she had closed Aunt Tolui’s eyes and wiped away the blood. Jamuka bowed forward, planting a light kiss on her forehead.

  “Farewell, Aunt. I give my word I will hunt out who did this, and make them pay.”

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  ARROW

  It was as if time had stood still in the valley. The camp looked exactly the same as it had done when he was a boy. It remained nestled in the clearing at the bottom of the mountain. Having vowed never to return, here he was. The smell of smoke hung in the air. The taste of bile rose in his mouth, making him want to retch.

  He crept closer, surprised that one of the wolves hadn’t spotted him yet. Maybe they’d all died from Marbolic poisoning. He hoped so. He had hoped to get there and find the whole Clan and wolf pack dead but evidently some were still alive, including his father.

  His hand flew up to his eyepatch, covering it with his glove, trying to block out the memory of the hunting trip with his father, a wretched drunk. A flash of pain shot through him at the memory of the agony caused by the arrow as it shot through the air and pierced his eyeball.

  He had learned to hate from an early age.

  Raised voices from down in the camp dragged him back to the present. A wolf began to howl. One of the ger doors sprang open and to his surprise a tall girl with long red hair came flying out shouting, “Help!” in English. Who was she? What was she doing there?

  He watched as two men emerged from another ger, and came to her aid. Muffled voices, and then the chanting began, accompanied by a lone wolf’s howl.

  A satisfied smile spread across his face. Another villager dead, and there looked to be only a handful left to deal with.

  He took out a bottle of airag from his pocket and pulled out the cork. Toasting himself, he took a long swig. Despite the cold, beads of sweat formed on his forehead. He felt power return to him. He just had to find a way to make sure none of them lived. Perhaps he’d been too easy on them, letting the poison seep slowly downstream and into their water supply. He had to find a quicker way to kill them, some
thing much more efficient. He wanted to wipe the Clan out once and for all.

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  NEWS

  The General smoothed his hair down with a big meaty hand. The American news reporter for CQN pushed the microphone in close.

  “So, let me get this clear. The Barzurkan army has a new secret biological weapon, which will change the world order.”

  “That is correct,” he said.

  “But you haven’t told us what it is, where it is or how it will manifest itself.”

  “Correct.”

  “So how do we know you’re telling the truth? Perhaps it is merely a mythical weapon?”

  The General puffed out his chest.

  “We Barzurkans do not make mythical weapons.”

  “So when will you reveal it?”

  “I like to think of it as more of an unveiling.”

  He pulled a fat cigar out of his pocket. His aide leaned in with a lighter. The General took a drag and blew a huge cloud of blue smoke right at the camera lens.

  “Tomorrow. Come back to my headquarters tomorrow and all will be revealed.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  PAPER HORSES

  Nat was in a deep sleep when Jamuka woke her. The wood had burned low in the stove, the embers bathing everything in an orange glow.

  “Get up and come with me, Bao Bao. We must get up to the mountaintop before sunrise,” he said.

  “What?”

  He held up a bag.

  “We must send a message.”

  “With a bag?”

  He smiled. “I will show you. Come.”

  He offered his hand. She took it and clambered to her feet.

  “Wear two coats,” he said, holding them up.

  When she stepped outside into the freezing, dark night, she understood why. The cold was bone-bitingly deep even in two thick layers of wool.

  Her horse was standing ready and waiting next to Jamuka’s. Jebe stood, his golden eyes glowing in the dark.

  “I’ll help you up,” said Jamuka.

  She placed her boot in his cupped hand. He boosted her up into the saddle, then handed her a flask.

  “Ma huang tea to help you against the cold. Drink it, then we ride fast,” he said, springing up on to his horse.

  He softly clicked his horse on.

  “Where are we going?” said Nat.

  “To a sacred mountaintop. After, we will head north to an area the Clan has not yet searched.”

  By the time they reached the summit, the first glimmer of dawn was creeping into the dark night. Nat stiffly dismounted, the frozen snow crunching under her boots. Her hands were cramped from holding the reins. She flexed and banged her gloves together to get the circulation flowing again. When she exhaled, her breath crystallised in puffs of white.

  Jamuka took off his backpack and set it down on a slab of black rock. Reaching inside, he brought out the brown cloth bag.

  “We are ready,” he said, climbing up on to the rock.

  Nat joined him; Jebe followed. The fear she had felt earlier melted away as they stood side by side on top of the rock. It was like standing on top of the world. Fingers of rose-tinted light were creeping across the white-covered plains of the Steppe below. Nat felt as if they were the only humans left on earth.

  “It is time to call upon the spirits to come to our aid, Bao Bao,” said Jamuka, passing her the bag. “Open it and let the wind do the rest.”

  He started to chant from the base of his throat, like a gurgling mountain stream. Jebe lifted his head and let out a long mournful howl.

  Nat removed her glove, reached into the bag and pulled out a handful of paper horses, cut from an old notebook. They fluttered up into the air like butterflies and drifted off into the brilliant dawn.

  Jamuka’s chanting reached a crescendo as the final horse moved out of sight. Jebe let out one long last howl. Their voices trailed off, leaving a whispering quiet.

  They sat down cross-legged on the ground, eyes closed in meditation. Nat focused her thoughts and prayers towards the journey of the paper horses.

  A wet nose pressed into her face. She opened her eyes to see Jebe staring at her. He whined and then walked over to the other side of the mountain. He looked back at her and whined again.

  “What is it?” she said.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  MRS McTAVISH

  “Henry, come to the sunroom, please. I have someone I’d like you to meet,” said Aunt Vera, calling him through NutNut’s intercom.

  Henry sighed and closed the Mongolian history book he had been reading. He wanted to be with Nat, and not at his mother’s beck and call as she went into “spending overdrive”, as his father called it. Deliveries of new clothes, sample furnishings and fabrics had been arriving round the clock. Only the night before, the whole household had been woken up by a late-night delivery of marble, flown over from Italy.

  It was probably another designer or architect she wanted to parade him in front of. He trudged along the hallway, taking his time.

  Instead, he was surprised to find a white-haired woman in a red kilt, brown stockings and lace-up brown shoes scowling at him. She eyed him up as if he was a specimen under a microscope.

  “Henry darling, please meet Mrs McTavish,” said his mother.

  He walked up and held out his hand. “Hello.”

  Mrs McTavish’s hand was cold and bony. “A nice firm handshake, young man. You’ve done well with the manners, Mrs Walker. That’ll make my job so much easier.”

  “Job?” said Henry.

  “Come and sit here,” said his mother, patting the yellow sofa.

  Mrs McTavish was keeping a beady eye on him. He smelled a rat, a large rat.

  “Now that we’re going to have a bigger family, not to mention a bigger house and a very busy new social life, I need help, so Mrs McTavish has kindly flown in from Scotland to be your new nanny.”

  “Nanny?” said Henry, jumping up. “I don’t need a nanny!”

  “Not just for you. It’s for the Brat – I mean Natalie – as well.”

  “What about Prissy?”

  “She’s old enough to look after herself.”

  “No.” Henry stamped his foot, his blood boiling.

  “I’ll soon put a stop to this sort of behaviour,” said Mrs McTavish, raising a bushy eyebrow.

  “Mrs McTavish comes from your ancestors’ old hometown of Loch Tavish. I’ve long considered it important that you should have some influence from the old country.”

  “I don’t need her or my old country,” said Henry, gritting his teeth.

  Aunt Vera checked her watch. “Look at the time, so much to do. Now, I must dash to my next meeting. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.”

  “Please, Mummy, no!” said Henry, grabbing on to her arm. “I’ll come with you.”

  Mrs McTavish stepped forward and, with a surprising show of strength, she prised Henry’s fingers off his mother’s arm. “We’ll have none of that, Henry. You need to show your mother the respect she deserves.”

  Aunt Vera slipped out of the door without another word, leaving him stranded. Mrs McTavish leaned in close to his face. Her breath smelled fishy.

  “Now then, Henry Walker, let me tell you my list of rules.”

  Chapter Sixty

  AMBUSH

  Jebe was racing down the side of the mountain.

  “Wait!” called Nat, glancing back at Jamuka, but she could see that he was in a deep meditation. He would remain like that for an hour, at least.

  Jebe stopped his descent and whined again, urging her to follow him. She did a quick calculation – if they were quick she could be back before Jamuka emerged from his meditation.

  She took off after him. He waited for her to catch up. The mountainside was so steep that she almost lost her footing. She reached him and clung on for support.

  They quickly reached a line of fir trees. Jebe’s nose went to the ground. He took off at a lope, on a scent. Nat broke into
a jog to keep up.

  Just when she thought she couldn’t run any further Jebe halted up ahead. She caught up with him. He was standing beside a mountain stream, sniffing some fresh tracks in the snow.

  Bending down to take a closer look she realised that they were not made by a forest animal. They were long thin slices, cut by a pair of skis. A feeling of unease settled on her. Maybe she should have waited for Jamuka.

  Jebe began to paw the ground, his tail twitching.

  “What?”

  He took off at a run.

  “Wait,” she said, following him.

  They came around a bend in the bank. Up ahead stood a waterfall where two men were busy emptying containers of crimson liquid into the stream. A foul stench of rotten eggs hit Nat’s nostrils. One of the men was tall, dressed in a military uniform, while the other was short and squat.

  Jebe growled. Before she could stop him, he leapt across the bank, charging towards them. Quick as a flash the tall man spun round, pulled out a gun and fired. A CRACK! split the air. Jebe let out a high-pitched yelp and fell to the ground.

  “No!” cried Nat, leaping across to him.

  She fell to her knees. Blood was seeping from his side into the white snow.

  The man strode over and kicked Jebe.

  “Stop it!” screamed Nat.

  She sprang up, kicking high into the air at the man but his hand shot out, blocking her. She turned. Using all her strength, she leapt forward aiming a one-inch punch to his head, adrenalin coursing through her body. But quick as a flash, before her punch met him he clipped her hard on the side of her head with the butt of his revolver. She could feel herself falling backwards. Then everything went black.

  Chapter Sixty-One