by Susan Moore
Jamuka hugged her tight, then released her. “You must run as fast as you can to Altan, Bao Bao. You don’t have much time. Be swift, like the wind. Go!”
She turned and ran outside. Jebe followed. They bounded back down to where Altan was waiting, with Burilgi.
She threw Burilgi over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“You crazy strong, Princess,” said Altan.
“Not for long. It’s about to wear off and then you’ll have to carry us both.”
Altan took her hand, leading her to a hole that had been cut in the fence.
She tossed Burilgi over the fence and caught him the other side.
“Down,” said Altan, pointing through the forest.
She took off at a sprint with Jebe at her side.
A familiar whinny up ahead spurred her on. She reached her horse and threw Burilgi across the saddle.
“Take him,” she shouted back to Altan.
“You?” he said, catching up, breathless.
“I have to run,” she said, her heart beating fast, the blood pumping through her veins.
“Follow Jebe,” he said.
Nat followed the black wolf at top speed. She’d never felt so alert, so alive.
Jebe slowed to a lope at the bottom of the valley. Nat could now hear the unmistakable sound of Fred’s warble. They came to a small clearing where Fred sat astride her carthorse, holding a large test tube in her gloved hand.
“You’re alive!” sang Fred at the top of her voice.
She jumped down from the saddle and gave Nat a big slap on the back.
“Have they retrieved any Tumen Vachir yet? I’m here on standby, following orders.”
Nat shook her head. All of a sudden her whole body started to tremble. It was as if someone had pulled the plug. All her energy drained away. Her knees buckled. She fell to the ground.
“Now’s not the time for theatrics,” said Fred.
“I took some,” whispered Nat, her voice now a faint whisper.
Jebe whined and started to lick her face. Fred shoved his nose out of the way.
“Are you poisoned?”
“No,” said Altan, thundering up on his horse. He had Nat’s in tow carrying a strapped-down Burilgi.
He jumped down. “She take secret.”
“What are you talking about?” said Fred.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
COMA
The drumming of horses’ hooves pounded through Nat’s ears, tattooing her mind with their rhythm. Using every drop of energy she could muster, she half opened her eyes to find Jamuka’s head looming over her. His eyes were screwed tight against the biting wind, his hat pulled down low, the fur flaps anchored down over his ears. He was focused on the path ahead, beyond where she lay cradled in his arms. She had no idea how long she had been asleep or where they were. Her eyelids started to droop. When she tried to form words, nothing came out. Every muscle in her body was limp.
What if she stayed like this forever?
This question played in her mind, over and over, until she passed out again, into a coma-like sleep.
Chapter Sixty-Eight
RECKONING
The General stood amid the smoking ashes of the camp.
“You imbeciles!” he roared at the injured soldiers. “You’re telling me that a red-haired girl, a wolf and some ragtag group of Mongolian nomads did this?”
No one spoke. No one uttered a word.
He smashed a half-full bottle of vodka over the nearest soldier’s head. The soldier screamed.
“You’re a bunch of snivelling drunks. I should never have given you such an allowance. One of you probably fell drunk over your stove and set the camp on fire. You burned that Mongolian too, eh?”
He spat on the ground, then looked into the terrified eyes of the soldiers, searching for answers.
“Take them back to headquarters on foot. Then torture them until you find the truth,” he ordered the soldiers who he’d brought with him.
He tossed his cigar into the ashes and turned to his waiting Speedcopter.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
GAN
The “laaaaaaa” of Fred hitting a top note woke her. She found herself looking up at the stained canvas roof of Tolui’s old ger tent. Smoke curled upwards from the stove creating hazy patterns in the lamplight. A warm nose nudged her hand. Very slowly she moved her head to find Jebe staring at her.
“This is confounded!” sang Fred. She held a test tube in one hand, out of which poured yellow smoke. “My assumptions are wrong!”
Fred rammed the test tube back into a rack, pushed back the chair, got to her feet and turned towards the stove. Even with her taped-together glasses perched on her nose, Nat could see how bloodshot her eyes were.
“Aha, you are awake,” sang Fred.
Nat managed a weak smile. Fred thrust a hand in her coat pocket. She pulled out a small brown bottle and knelt down next to her.
“I can’t find an antidote to this wretched poison but I can at least cure you. Drink,” she said, putting her hand under Nat’s head to bring her up to the edge of the bottle. The smell made Nat’s eyes water.
“Open your mouth,” said Fred.
Nat did as she was told. Fred poured in a spoonful. A bitter, spicy taste filled her mouth. Yuk. Closing her eyes, she forced herself to swallow the foul-tasting liquid.
“Good,” said Fred. “Give it a couple of hours and you’ll be as right as rain.”
“Water?” croaked Nat.
Fred shook her head.
“Absolutely not. We need it full strength, no dilution,” she said, getting back to her feet.
“What about the antidote?” croaked Nat.
Fred spread her arms and opened her mouth wide. Nat winced in anticipation.
“It is a trial. My mixtures and my methods are in vain,” blasted Fred, singing at the top of her voice. “What can I do?”
The door sprang open and Jamuka came in, his look of concern giving way to a broad smile.
“Bao Bao,” he said, falling to his knees, enveloping her in a large hug. “You are back with us.”
He sat back and took her hand in his. “I am sorry to have put you in such danger.”
Fred grabbed her hat. “I’m off out for more raw materials,” she announced, striding towards the door.
“The others?” Nat whispered when she was gone.
Jamuka paused. His eyes were ringed with dark shadows.
“We all made it back but Gan is dead.”
“Gan?” she said. “Burilgi’s mother?”
“Yes, Gan died before we had brought Burilgi back to the camp. It was probably best she did not see her disgraced son. He drank the rest of the elixir that he’d made in his tent so that he could chase and stop you. It was a huge amount, far greater than what you had taken. It is doubtful he will ever walk again so it now falls to Buqa to care for him.”
“He killed his mother,” said Nat, a chill running through her.
Jamuka nodded.
“Burilgi has admitted to selling the Tumen Vachir to the Barzurkan army. He wanted to make himself a fortune.”
“Have they got some?”
“Not any more. We are lucky that he only gave General Golkova a small vial, which the General used up in a test.”
“Zoinks! That is lucky,” said Nat.
“Indeed, because Fred has discovered that the Growemup fertiliser made the Tumen Vachir into a far more powerful weapon than in Genghis Khan’s day. It changed the plant’s chemical make-up, amplifying its strength tenfold.”
Nat winced. “Did any plants survive?”
Jamuka shook his head. “The Clan’s secret remains safe.”
“And what about that stuff Burilgi was pouring into the river… Was it Marbolic?”
“Yes. Marbolic, the deadly crimson poison. Burilgi wanted to kill the whole Clan so he made sure that it was taken daily to our river water supply and poured in. We are using another water source now, which Fred has d
eclared safe.”
Jebe shifted, lifting his head up to rest on her chest. Nat felt her eyelids start to close. As much as she wanted to stay awake her body cried out for sleep. Jamuka put his hand to her forehead.
“Rest up, Bao Bao. I should go and help Fred.”
He put more wood in the stove and headed out into the night.
Nat awoke to the sound of the wind howling outside. She was alone, except for Jebe. Turning her head towards the door she saw a newly made wooden box lying next to her pillow. Very slowly, inching her way, she managed to reach its lid. Using her thumb and forefinger, she made a pincer-like movement to grasp it. She failed. Her hand flopped down uselessly on the top.
Jebe lifted his head off his paws. With his nose, he raised her arm, bringing it to rest on the ground. He then put his nose under the edge of the lid, pushing upwards. It popped open.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
He rested his head back on his paws, watching her. Little by little she managed to lift her hand, bringing it to rest on the piece of felt that lay inside. The moment her hand touched it she knew what lay underneath. Very slowly, she managed to drag back the cloth.
Fizz’s small emerald head peeped out. He was cold to the touch, his eyes closed. The wing she had broken off lay at his side.
Chapter Seventy
TA-DA
“Wake up!”
Nat opened her eyes to see Altan holding up her boots.
“We go now, Princess.”
“Where?” she croaked.
“Fast.”
He didn’t wait for her response. He reached down, lifted her arm out from underneath the blanket and pulled.
Like a puppet on strings she came to her feet. A wave of dizziness washed over her and the room started to spin, but just as she was about to collapse back Altan put her arm around his shoulders to prop her up.
“I can’t,” she said.
“Fred say you good now. Boot one,” he said, dropping it on the floor.
She lifted her leg. It trembled with the effort but she was amazed to find she could move and place it in the boot.
“Next,” he said, dropping the other one.
No sooner was she booted than he was sticking her hat on her head, helping her to pull on her coat and her gloves, and hurrying her to the door.
They stepped out into bright sunlight. Nat put her hands up to shield her eyes from the glare. The wind slapped her cheeks. Everywhere was quiet, deathly quiet, until Altan let out a low whistle, and a familiar whinny broke out across the camp.
Her horse came walking between the gers. The moment it spotted her, it broke into a trot. Altan caught its reins. It bent its head and started to nuzzle Nat, searching for a snack, but he moved its head to one side so that she could reach the stirrup.
“Up,” he said.
“Where are we going?”
She tried to lift her leg but it started to tremble violently. He sighed and cupped his hands.
“Knee.”
Altan propelled her up with such force that she nearly shot over the other side. Her horse started to move off.
“Whoa!” she said, fumbling for the reins.
Altan placed them in her gloved hands. She grasped on to them with what little strength she had.
He put his lips together and let out another whistle. Nat frowned.
“That’s Temur’s call,” she said.
Sure enough, Temur’s brown mare appeared from the other side of Tolui’s ger. Altan jumped up into the saddle.
“Where’s your horse?” she asked.
“With ancestors.”
He clicked the mare on and it moved off with Nat’s horse in its wake. A lump rose in her throat. Altan had loved his horse. He’d told her how they had grown up together, lifelong companions, a Mongolian tradition. Urging her horse forward, she drew up alongside him.
“How did he die?” she said.
Altan stared straight ahead.
“Heart stopped after too much gallop.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “He was a brave horse.”
Altan kicked Temur’s horse into a trot. Nat took a deep breath and spurred hers on. They passed into the thick forest.
The trotting was exhausting. Up, down, down, up. Nat’s legs were like jelly so she gripped tight on to the mane, willing herself not to fall off.
Out of the corner of her eye she caught sight of a dark shadow darting through the trees at top speed. Seconds later, Jebe appeared. He drew up next to her, slowing to a lope.
Up ahead, she could now make out a familiar bulky figure seated on a large rock. At the sound of their approach Fred turned towards them. She was using a long stick to break up ice covering the stream next to her.
“Well, that took some time. I was worried you weren’t coming back.”
“Sorry,” said Altan, jumping down.
Fred stood up and walked over to Nat’s horse, offering her a hand down.
Nat swung her leg out of the saddle. Fred caught her.
“Right, let’s get to work,” she said, helping Nat over to the rock.
A long rack of test tubes, glass bottles, a needle and a surgical steel tray lay on a camp table next to her.
“What’s this for?”
“Once I’ve got the water from the stream, I will take your blood,” said Fred.
Nat quivered. “Blood?”
“Because,” said Fred, lowering a glass bottle on a string into the stream, “I may be a first-rate botanist and biochemist, but my theories on this confounded Marbolic have so far proven incorrect, so we must pursue this new avenue. Your blood has been exposed to the extremely potent elixir of Tumen Vachir. I believe that, in conjunction with my medicine, it can help formulate a cure for the Marbolic poisoning.”
Nat swallowed hard. She looked across at where the enormous syringe, with its glistening needle, lay on the table. She felt sick.
A crackling noise behind made her jump. She turned to see Altan fanning the flames of a neat pile of burning twigs.
Nat watched as Fred pulled the bottle from the stream, set it down on the rock and picked up the syringe. She looked up at Nat, her shaggy grey hair rigid with frost, her round glasses steamed up. Nat shrank back. Jebe let out a low growl.
Chapter Seventy-One
BLOOD
“Wolf, stay down!” shouted Fred, pointing the needle towards him.
Jebe lowered his head, digging his paws into the snow ready to pounce. He let out a deep growl. Altan sprang forward between Jebe and Fred. He crouched down to look Jebe directly in the eyes. Jebe whined and sat down.
Altan placed his hand on Nat’s shoulder. She looked up at him. She was trembling from head to toe.
“I can’t do this.”
“Must, Princess.”
The look of desperation in his eyes made her heart sink.
“Right. Coat off. Let’s be practical and get on with it,” said Fred.
Nat felt like a trapped animal.
“Now?”
“Yes. I shall refer to this as my elixir; that’s the proper alchemist’s term.”
“But alchemists aren’t real, are they?” said Nat.
Fred pointed the syringe at her. “They are now.”
Nat reached up to undo the buttons of her coat, but her hands were shaking uncontrollably.
Altan reached under her neck for the top button, his warm hands grazing the skin under her chin.
“Chop-chop,” said Fred.
He helped her out of her coat. She shivered as the cold wrapped its icy tentacles around her.
“Sleeve up.” Fred moved in closer.
Altan took her hand and pushed the wool sleeve up above her elbow. Nat’s teeth began to chatter. Fred produced a piece of string from her hat, reached down and wrapped it around Nat’s upper arm, pulling it tight.
“Ouch!” said Nat as it pinched in. She buried her free hand in Jebe’s black fur.
“We need the pressure,” said Fred, holding up the s
yringe.
Nat gulped. “Is the needle clean?”
“Hmm, good point.” Fred reached into her pocket, brought out a bottle and removed the cap.
“Airag?” said Altan, sniffing the air.
“I ran out of surgical alcohol a while ago,” said Fred, dipping the needle into the bottle. “This will do the trick.”
Nat looked at Altan.
“Right,” said Fred, taking hold of Nat’s arm. She poured the rest of the airag over the skin. The fumes made Nat’s eyes water.
“Arm sterilised. Needle sterilised,” she said, leaning in close. “I spy a good vein here!” she sang.
She drove the needle into Nat’s arm.
“Argggghhhhh!” cried Nat.
“Steady!” said Fred.
Altan took hold of Nat’s shoulders while Fred released the string. Nat looked down to see her bright-red blood fill the syringe. Her head spun; Fred started to sing: “I see the life force coming from within!”
Chapter Seventy-Two
HOAX
The reporter and cameraman walked into their station editor’s office. They’d both been expecting this – the pat-on-the-back, “great job, you both deserve a raise” meeting for the piece they’d done on the General. It was still making world headlines, even now, days after its release.
They were surprised to find the head of human resources and the station’s security chief in the office as well. No one was looking in a celebratory mood.
“Take a seat,” said the editor, directing them to a pair of chairs set up opposite the committee.
“This is a formal meeting, which is being recorded,” began the human resources director.
“What’s going on?” said the reporter.
“We’ve been passed details from the Barzurkan army about the bribe you both took to broadcast their elaborate hoax,” said the security chief.