“You said that about the last one, when a wild white horse came to you and let you ride it.”
Bortai frowned. Anchar was eight, two years younger than she was, but lately he teased her more. She dressed in her knee-length tunic, went to her father, and sat down on the carpet by his bed.
“Don't mock your sister,” he said to Anchar. “Dreams can tell us much. The spirits send them as warnings, or to show us what might happen. Now, daughter, tell us about your dream.”
“I was standing alone outside,” Bortai said, “and I saw a light. Then a white falcon flew towards me with a flaming light in one claw and a paler light in the other. It dropped the lights into my hand, landed on my arm, and told me they were the sun and the moon.”
Her father plucked at the thin greying beard under his chin. “Are you sure of this?”
She nodded. “And I saw the bird's eyes when it spoke—they were brown and green and gold. Then the lights got very bright, and then I woke up.” Bortai tilted her head. “What does it mean, Father?”
“I can't say, but it must be an omen of some importance, because I think my dream was much like it.”
“Is that so, Dei?” Bortai's mother said from the hearth. “It's hardly unknown for a family to have dreams that are much alike. How many times have I told you one of mine, only to have you dream it next?”
“But on the same night?” Dei shook his head. “And this dream is most unusual. I've dreamed of the sun and moon before, but they always remained in the sky.”
“Did you see a gyrfalcon, too?” Bortai asked. “Did you hold the sun and moon in your hands?”
“I recall a white bird,” her father said. “It might have been a gyrfalcon. Something was carried to me, so I suppose the bird must have brought it. I think you saw this omen more clearly than I.” Dei stretched his legs, then beckoned to his wife. “Shotan, where's my breakfast?”
The round-faced woman reached for a bowl. “Sometimes I wonder why people call you Dei the Wise. You might better be named Dei the Thief of Others' Dreams. This isn't the first time you've heard of a dream and convinced yourself you dreamed it, too.”
“No, Shotan.” Dei twirled one end of his long moustache. “I believe Bortai and I shared this one—it's only that mine wasn't as clear. I had a piece of her dream, and she's shown me what I didn't see as well in mine.”
Shotan gazed at him affectionately with her warm dark eyes. “Perhaps you should have been a shaman, Dei.”
“The call wasn't strong enough in me, but perhaps our daughter has the soul of a shamaness.”
“That's all very well, but she'll have to be married someday, and some men don't like it when their wives make magic or send their souls travelling outside their bodies.”
“It isn't a bad omen, is it?” Bortai asked.
“The bird was white,” Dei responded, “and that's a colour of good omen.”
“Pray that we aren't given the moon and sun,” Shotan said. “If they were in this camp, there would be darkness everywhere else under Heaven.” She ladled broth from the kettle for their meal; Bortai got up and went to the hearth to help.
12
The sheep bleated; lambs huddled close to the ewes. At the edges of the camping circles, other clumps of sheep and goats grazed on the short grass sprouting amid small patches of melting snow.
Bortai wandered away from her mother and settled herself on a small rise to the north-west of her father's flock. Usually she gossiped with her cousins and the other girls watching the sheep, but she wanted to be alone now, to ponder her dream.
The yurts of the Onggirats who followed her father stood to the west of the Urchun River. Dei was chief of a small camp, with fewer than two hundred people. Other Onggirat clans joined them in the autumn, when they moved south towards Lake Buyur to hold their great hunt before travelling on to winter grounds.
Like many Onggirat warriors, Dei had not been to war for some time. As a young man, before she was born, he had gone on raids, but the Onggirats, unless they were threatened, preferred to avoid battles. Trade with the merchants who sometimes sent caravans through the neighbouring Tatar lands could bring them as much as they might take in a raid.
The Onggirats also bragged to every visitor about the beauty of their girls. There was no reason to war with Tatars when a truce could be had by marrying an Onggirat woman to a Tatar chief, no purpose in fighting Merkits or Mongols if other Onggirat daughters dwelled in their tents.
The Onggirats had bought some safety in this way, surely wiser than swearing oaths to one chief or another and thus making those people's enemies their own. In return, others knew that Onggirats were not likely to be among those they met in battle. Her people fought when honour demanded it—if horses or women were stolen, or a promise was broken—but were content to live peacefully at other times.
Bortai's father had done his share to ensure some peace for his camp. Maybe that was why they called him Dei Sechen—Dei the Wise. Her older sisters, young women she could barely remember, were the wives of Noyans and chiefs in distant camps; the bride-prices had increased the herds her brother Anchar would inherit. Dei's first son had died five years ago; Anchar was likely to remain his only surviving son unless Dei took a second wife, which he did not seem inclined to do.
Bortai's peaceful life here would end when she married. During the past winter, she had overheard her parents whispering about possible mates for their youngest daughter. Her woman's bleeding would be upon her in three or four years, and Dei would not wait too long after that to have her safely wed.
South of the camp, a few men were riding out with their birds. One of the men loosed a hawk; the bird spread its wings and soared. Bortai smiled, feeling pleasure at the sight of the hawk's beauty and strength. She remembered the falcon in her dream and imagined it was flying to her once more.
“Look,” a girl called out. “Strangers.”
Bortai straightened up and clung to her bark pail. Sheep milled around her; most of the ewes had been milked and freed from the long rope to which they had been tethered, and were now being herded towards the tents.
She looked west. Two riders were moving towards the camp, with a string of four horses behind them. Visitors came among them from time to time—hunters who stopped for a meal, traders from south of the Gobi with goods to offer for furs, hides, and wool, young men taking their brides to a distant camp, a wandering shaman who might tell stories or summon spirits in a trance. The sun was low in the west, the riders small black shapes against the red orb. Bortai thought of the fiery ball the gyrfalcon had given to her.
“Come along!” her mother called out.
She followed Shotan to their yurt. By the time the milk was simmering on the hearth, Bortai was bursting with impatience. Dei would bring the strangers to his tent; she was already curious about them. While her mother skimmed the milk, Bortai set out a duck she had plucked to cook, then moved restlessly around the yurt, straightening the bed coverings and poking at the carpets under her feet.
The dogs barked outside. Anchar entered and hung up his bow and quiver. “Two visitors,” he announced, “a Mongol and his son. I heard them talking to some of the men while Okin went to get Father. They're Kiyats, a bone of the Borjigin clan. The man says he's a chief and the grandson of a Khan.”
“Well!” Shotan was clearly impressed. “I'll serve them the rest of the boiled lamb—guests must be honoured, especially such noble ones.” Bortai fidgeted; her mother glanced at her. “Bortai, if you can't be useful, sit down and keep out of my way.”
“I'll get more argal.” Bortai grabbed a basket and hurried outside.
Dei's circle was north of the rest of the camp. Bortai moved away from the tent, then stooped to pick up some dung. One uncle and a cousin were churning mare's milk outside their yurt, but most of the people were already inside. The visitors would be near the roped enclosure where horses were kept.
A wagon with a large wooden trunk stood between a yurt and the enclosure. J
ust beyond the back of the wagon, Dei was talking to the strangers, who had dismounted. Bortai crept forward, grateful no sheep were by this wagon, then shrank back against its side.
The man was tall and broadly built, but his hat hid part of his face. “—so you're riding to the Olkhunuguds, friend Yesugei,” Dei was saying.
“We're going among your brothers to find Temujin a wife,” the strange man replied.
“And a fine boy he is. I see fire in his eyes and a light in his face.”
Bortai could not see the boy's face, but he had the height of a boy of twelve. “His mother is my chief wife,” the man named Yesugei said, “and she's given me three other sons and a daughter.” Bortai strained to hear their words over the murmur of voices inside the nearby yurt. These formalities might go on for some time.
“I have a young son,” Dei said. “My daughters are grown and married—all but one.” Bortai tensed.
“Your camp seems prosperous,” another voice said; that had to be the boy. “I've rarely seen such beautiful horses as you have here.” His voice was high, but there was a confidence in it that she had seldom heard in a boy.
“They are hardly a match for your own fine horses.” Dei paused. “Friend Yesugei, I had a dream last night, and I've been wondering what it means. A white falcon carrying the sun and moon in its talons brought them to me and alighted on my hand. And at the moment I dreamed this, you and your son, of a Khan's noble line, were riding to my camp. The falcon must be a spirit that watches over you, and I see the light of its eyes in yours and your son's.” He was silent for a moment. “You have a son of nine, and I have a daughter close to his age.” Bortai's hands tightened around her basket. “Our daughters are our shields, friend Yesugei—their beauty protects us. Instead of fighting with others, we put our beautiful girls in their carts and lead them to the tents of chiefs and Noyans.”
“I know of their beauty, Dei Sechen,” Yesugei said. “My son's mother belongs to your Olkhunugud clan.”
“Unsaddle your horses,” Bortai's father said. “Come to my humble tent, eat your fill of our poor food, and see my daughter for yourself.”
Bortai crept away, then ran for her dwelling. She stopped by the door only long enough to subdue the snarling dogs with a glare, then hurried inside.
“You didn't find much fuel,” Shotan said.
“They'll be here soon.” Bortai thrust the basket at her mother, wiped at her face, then smoothed down her thick black braids.
“Really, child. Come and sit down, and try to act as you should.”
She followed her mother to the back of the yurt, where they sat down to the left of the bed; Anchar settled on the right. She curved one leg under herself, rested her hands on an upraised knee, and struggled to compose herself.
Her father clearly believed that her dream had something to do with these visitors. The stranger wanted to betroth his son, and Dei must have seen some good in the boy, but she knew nothing about him except that he had a noble lineage and was tall for a boy of nine.
Their dogs barked. “Call off your dogs!” Yesugei shouted.
“Come inside,” Dei replied. Bortai lowered her eyes quickly as the visitors came through the doorway. “I bring guests,” her father continued, “who rode here from under that part of Heaven to the west. This Noyan is Yesugei Bahadur, chief of Kiyats and Taychiuts and leader of Borjigins in hunting and war, grandson of their Khan Khabul and nephew of Khutula Khan. His son's name is Temujin.”
She was afraid to look up. “This is my wife, Shotan,” Dei went on, “and my son Anchar, and here you see my daughter Bortai.”
She lifted her head. The stranger named Yesugei stared at her with large pale eyes, then smiled. “You spoke the truth, brother Dei. The girl is beautiful. I see light in her eyes and fire in her face.”
“A noble man has praised our daughter,” Dei said. Bortai's gaze shifted towards the boy, who was still hidden in the shadows beyond the hearth. He stepped to his father's side as the light caught his face.
She nearly cried out. He has the falcon's eyes, she thought wildly. They were as pale as his father's, green and gold mixed with brown, but his seemed colder and steadier than Yesugei's warmer ones. His eyes held her, and she seemed to feel the falcon clutching her wrist.
Yesugei offered a small scarf to his host; Dei responded with a jug of kumiss. The two were soon seated in front of Dei's bed while Temujin and Anchar showed each other their knives and bows.
Bortai sprinkled blessings over the images of their household spirits. Her mother set out boiled lamb, duck garnished with wild onion, a few dried curds, and some airagh, the stronger kumiss Dei usually saved for special feasts and occasions. They sat down on the carpet to the left of the men, while the boys sat to the right.
“You have a fine-looking son, Yesugei Bahadur,” Shotan said. Their guest grunted; like most men, he was not likely to say much until he had finished eating. “My own son may be small, but he wrestles well, and is a match for any boy here.” She clearly intended to fill the silence with praise for her children.
Dei speared a sliver of meat with his knife and offered it to Yesugei. “My daughter is also small for her age,” Shotan went on, “but no illness has ever troubled her. She rides like the wind, and I've never seen any animal that can frighten her.”
Bortai felt fearful now. Her mother was bragging too much. Were they so certain this Bahadur would want her for his son? She sneaked a glance at Temujin. He was staring at her across the platter of meat slivers; she blushed and took a piece of food.
Temujin seemed unlike the other boys she knew. His forehead was pleasingly wide, his dark hair had a reddish sheen, and the well-formed cheekbones of his broad face showed that he would be as handsome as his father someday. She had also seen how he acted towards Anchar. Temujin had spoken warmly, but almost as a man might speak to a boy, even though he was not much older than her brother. There were also his eyes, as wary and observant as a cat's, pale eyes unlike any she had ever seen.
Yesugei gulped down the last piece of duck and let out a belch. “Bortai brought down that duck,” Shotan said, “so I hope it pleased you. Her aim with the bow's quite remarkable, and her cooking will soon be as good as her aim. In some, beauty isn't a guise that hides flaws, but only one of many fine qualities.”
“I see what your daughter is, Ujin,” Yesugei muttered, sounding a bit drunk. “You've fed us well, Dei Sechen. You deserve to be called the Wise for choosing such a wife.”
“He chose me,” Shotan said, “but it was I who begged my father to accept him. Dei had to ask three times before my father would agree. I myself have never felt that delay in such matters serves any purpose.”
She motioned to her daughter. Bortai picked up the platter and went outside to throw some bones to the dogs. They may leave tomorrow, she thought. Yesugei and his son might stay only long enough to exchange tales with her uncles and the other men before riding on.
She came back through the doorway, rinsed the platter with a little broth, poured the liquid back into the kettle, then fed the fire. Anchar and Temujin were playing with antelope bones on the other side of the hearth, Temujin aimed one of his bones, flipped it, and hit one of Anchar's.
“You're good at this game,” Anchar said.
Temujin shrugged, then looked up at Bortai. “Sit with us,” he said.
She sat down. He grinned at her, then aimed another bone. Her parents and Yesugei were deep in conversation over another jug of airagh.
“... farmers had just brought in their wheat,” Dei was saying, “so we had enough fodder for our horses and the animals we stole. There was a woman—” Dei sighed. “She was so slender my hands could encircle her waist easily. But she tried to run away, and one of my men had to shoot her.” He sighed again. “Just as well. She might not have survived the journey across the desert.”
“I remember a raid two autumns ago.” Yesugei's voice was slurred. “We took a Tatar camp. I ate in the chief's tent that night. His
back was a cushion for my feet while his daughter's tears salted my food.”
Bortai pressed her lips together. The two men might get so involved in their happy reminiscences that she would be forgotten.
Temujin leaned forward. “Your father told us about a dream he had,” he said, “where a gyrfalcon brought him the sun and the moon.”
“Bortai had the same dream,” Anchar said. Temujin raised his brows. Bortai heard one clink and then another as her brother's bone struck others. “There, Temujin—I won.”
“You're good at this game, too, but I'll win next time.” Temujin paused. “You dreamed your father's dream?”
“He dreamed mine,” she said.
“I had one last night,” Temujin said. “I've had it before, but this time it was different. I stood on a mountain, so high that I could see all the world. Before, whenever I dreamed it, I couldn't see what was below, but this time, I could see everything.”
“What did you see?” Bortai asked.
“I saw the steppe, and thousands of yurts, and valleys near mountains, and so many herds of horses I couldn't count them all, and hundreds of hunters chasing deer and wild asses. There were other animals, too, and a caravan with camels, and hawks and falcons soaring above all of it.”
“Did you see any villages?” she asked. Temujin shook his head. “Then it couldn't have been the whole world.”
“It was the world,” Temujin said, “and we were the only people under Heaven. In the dream, I took off my hat, put my belt around my shoulders, and offered mare's milk to Koko Mongke Tengri in thanks for showing it to me.”
“What does it mean?” Bortai asked.
“Maybe it means the world will belong to us. My father says we're the best fighters in it, that God made us that way. Why shouldn't we have it all? And why shouldn't one Khan rule everyone?”
Bortai frowned. “Everyone?”
“There's one sun in Heaven. Why shouldn't there be one Khan on Earth?”
Bortai rested her hands on her knee. “You sound as if you mean to be that Khan.”
Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan Page 7