Orbey Khatun lifted her head. “Your presence is not required, Hoelun Ujin,” the old woman said. “The sacrifice was made at dawn, as the shamans told us it must be. Tengri and Etugen have heard our prayers. The bones have been burned, and the ancestors have had their offering.”
Hoelun circled the group until she was near Orbey. The platters were nearly empty, and the shreds of meat on the nearest platter were bloody; they had begun the ceremonial meal when the food was barely cooked.
“I see what you're saying,” Hoelun muttered. “My husband's dead and my sons are still boys, so you can bar me from my place. You think you can divide the meat and leave nothing for me.” She sat down, elbowed Targhutai's wife aside, and grabbed a piece of meat.
Sokhatai's eyes were slits; Orbey leaned forward. “Hoelun Ujin doesn't wait to be offered our food,” Orbey said. “She just takes it for herself. That's her custom — to come uninvited and to take whatever she likes.”
“I'll take what's mine,” Hoelun responded.
“Nothing here is yours. We made the sacrifice—we invite whom we choose. You think, because our husband Ambaghai Khan is dead, that you can insult his widows and grab what you want.”
Hoelun chewed her meat and forced herself to swallow. She could not bring herself to look at the other women, knowing what she would see—indifference, fear of the Khatuns, resentment of the young widow who sought to lead these clans. The two old women had probably filled their ears with talk of how she would only bring disaster upon them if they supported her.
“I've had a share of the sacrifice in spite of you,” Hoelun said slowly. “I say this now—I shall make the next sacrifice. You, Honoured Khatuns, will get only what scraps I choose to give you.”
“Be silent!” Orbey shook a fist. “Yesugei the Brave is dead!” Hoelun caught her breath, shocked at hearing his name spoken aloud so soon after his death. “Did he destroy our enemies while he was alive?” Orbey continued. “Why does his widow believe she can lead, with only a boy who isn't yet a man?” The Khatun settled back on her cushion. “The men swore only to follow Yesugei, and he is gone. You have no place now, Hoelun. The spirits have abandoned you. You are only a widow who claims what doesn't belong to her.”
“And you are only an old woman who will soon lie in her grave.” Hoelun smiled as Orbey recoiled. “You've never thought of your people, only of what you lost and what you might have again through your grandsons. My husband might have been Khan but for you and your poisonous words against him. My son will be a Khan when you lie under the ground.”
“Tell her!” Sokhatai whispered to the other Khatun. Orbey looked around at the circle of women, then turned back to Hoelun.
“I will say this now,” Orbey said. “I summoned the shamans, and they set the time for this sacrifice. But I had another question to ask them. They burned the bones and read the cracks, and Bughu gave us the answer. The spirits have turned from you—that's what the bones told him. The spirits led Yesugei to his death, and you would only lead us to where he dwells now.”
Hoelun shook with rage. The shaman had betrayed her. Bughu had seen how uncertain her place was, and how little he could gain from supporting her.
Orbey showed her teeth. “You should have surrendered your place for a humbler one while you still had the chance,” the old woman went on. “You'll have nothing now.” She gestured with one clawed hand. “Get this woman out of my sight.”
Hands grabbed at Hoelun and pulled her to her feet. Women surrounded her, kicking her legs and clawing at her head-dress. She struck at them as she stumbled towards the doorway. Someone shoved her outside; she toppled forward and clutched at the grass.
A foot caught her in the side. She gritted her teeth, then got to her knees. Eyes watched her from the entrance as she stood up and walked towards her horse.
22
Hoelun kept to her yurt. Temujin and Khasar settled their sheep, then came inside. There was just enough fuel to keep her fire going, but Hoelun refused to let Khokakhchin collect more.
When they finally went to their beds, she was unable to sleep. Rage and fear made her shake uncontrollably; her face grew hot, while her hands were like ice. Who would speak for her now? The men would know about the sacrifice, her exclusion, and what the bones had said.
Hoelun dozed, then woke to the sound of voices. The sky was still dark above the smoke-hole. She listened to the sounds of voices, barking dogs, and running feet.
She got up quickly and pulled on her clothes. Temujin slipped from his bed and went to the entrance, followed by Khasar. Khachigun sat on his bed with an arm around Temuge; Khokakhchin stirred at the foot of Hoelun's bed.
The voices outside were louder. Targhutai and another man suddenly burst through the entrance, shoved Hoelun aside, went to her bed, and dragged Khokakhchin to her feet.
“Leave me be!” the old woman cried. The other man forced her towards the doorway.
Hoelun stepped in front of them. “What do you want with this woman?”
“We're breaking camp,” the man replied, “and leaving you behind. You'll have to get along without her.”
Khokakhchin tried to pull away. “I won't leave the Ujin!”
“Then you'll die here.”
“No!” Hoelun caught the man's arm. “You must go,” she said to the old woman. “Look after yourself now, Eke, and stay alive until we meet again.”
Khokakhchin covered her face; the man pushed her through the doorway. “You can't do this,” Hoelun said to Targhutai. “Is this how you repay the family of the man who led you?”
“Your husband is dead,” The Taychiut's lip curled. “I'll lead these people now.”
“Orbey Khatun urged you to this,” Hoelun muttered. “You won't follow a woman and a boy, yet you allow your spiteful old grandmother to tell you what to do.”
His fist caught her on the side of the head; she fell, and when Temujin hurled himself at Targhutai, the man knocked him aside. “Don't leave this yurt,” the chieftain said. “I won't stain my hands with your blood, but can't answer for what others might do.” He went outside.
Hoelun's head throbbed. Temujin sat with her, holding her in his arms. At last she climbed to her feet and let him lead her to her bed.
She sat down and took off her head-dress. The sound of creaking wagon wheels and bellowing oxen filled the camp; the ground shook from the movement of animals and carts. Dust drifted under the door flap. The women would have their yurts down and their possessions loaded into the wagons before the sun was high.
A small hand touched her sleeve. “What will happen to us?” Khasar asked.
“I don't know.”
“We'll stay alive,” Temujin said softly.
Temulun was crying; Hoelun untied the baby's bonds, lifted her from the cradle, suckled her, then rocked her in her arms. Khasar sat with his two younger brothers while Temujin paced by the hearth.
Perhaps she would not have been able to lead. Old Khokakhchin had offered her advice too late; Hoelun should have been following it years ago. She had trusted in the oaths sworn to her husband, forgetting how tenuous the bonds among these people were.
Temujin sat down by the doorway. She saw no fear in him, no despair over what might become of them. Then Temulun stirred in her arms and she thought of her daughter's helplessness, of all that lay ahead.
They waited in silence for a long time until the more muted sounds outside told Hoelun that the camp was nearly empty. Sochigil might have been forced to leave with the others; she would be no threat to Targhutai's ambitions.
Temujin said, “I think they're gone.”
“Don't go out.” Hoelun tied her daughter to the cradle, then stood up; her head still hurt where Targhutai had struck her. “Some may have stayed with us. I'll see.”
She covered her head with a scarf, moved to the entrance, and lifted the flap. Someone had pulled her husband's standard out of the ground; the tugh lay in front of the doorway. The ground was scarred by the ruts of wheels
and the flat, bare spaces where the other tents had been. To the south, where some of the Khongkhotats had camped near her husband's circle, one lone yurt still stood.
She crept outside and looked around. Rows of carts, lashed together, were moving north-west away from the river, following the herds and the riders leading the animals. Nine grey geldings grazed near the Onon, and a few sheep huddled near a wagon. The Taychiut chiefs could tell themselves that they had not entirely forgotten their duty, that the almost inevitable deaths of this family were no concern of theirs; they had left a few animals behind. They could always say that Hoelun had refused to follow them.
Sochigil's yurt still stood near her own. A black dog by the entrance slinked away as Hoelun approached. Belgutei suddenly poked his head outside.
“Is your mother here?” she asked him.
Belgutei nodded. Hoelun entered the dwelling. The hearth fire had gone out; Sochigil sat in the shadows just beyond the beam of light shining through the smoke-hole.
“Sochigil.” Hoelun touched the other woman's shoulder; Sochigil did not move.
Bekter crept towards them. “We're lost,” he said.
Hoelun said, “We're still alive.”
He stepped closer to her. “This is your fault, yours and Temujin's.”
She slapped him. The boy stumbled back, covering his reddened cheek with one hand. “I won't hear such talk from you, Bekter.” He glared at her, his eyes wild with hatred. “Remember the tale of Alan Ghoa and her sons—the only chance we have is to remain together.” Bekter looked away. “We'll survive, and you and Temujin will have your revenge on those who abandoned us—save your hatred for them.”
She motioned to Belgutei. “A few sheep were left,” she said to the younger boy. “Keep them from straying.” He scurried from the tent. “Bekter, get your weapons and follow me.” She led him outside. “Guard the horses, and warn me if you see anyone riding here.”
Bekter hurried towards the horses. Temujin had left her tent; he bent to pick up his father's standard. “Come with me,” she called out to him.
Temujin stuck the standard into the ground, then followed her towards the Khongkhotat yurt. No wagons were by the tent. Hoelun made her way past ruts and clumps of drying dung.
“It's Charakha's tent,” Temujin said when they were closer.
“Yes.” As they neared the yurt, she heard a moan. She hurried around the dwelling, Temujin at her side.
A man lay face down by the doorway, his back covered with blood. “Charakha,” she whispered, and knelt; the old man was still breathing. “Help me carry him.” Temujin grabbed Charakha's legs as she lifted him under his arms.
They carried him inside; the tent had been looted. The old man groaned as they laid him on his bed. “Who did this?” Temujin asked.
“Todogen.” Charakha gasped for breath. “When he was forcing our people to leave, I went to him to protest. He said I had no right to stop him. When I turned away, he drove his spear into my back.”
Hoelun's nails bit into her palms. Temujin knelt by the bed; his shoulders shook as tears rolled down his cheeks. “You were always faithful,” the boy murmured.
“I don't forget my duty.” The old man's voice was feeble. “Munglik's wife and my grandson are gone. She didn't protest, but doing so wouldn't have helped her. My son—” He clenched his hands. “At least he didn't have to witness this.”
Temujin said, “I'll stay with you.”
“You mustn't, boy. I'm dying.”
“I'll stay with you as long as I can. I'm your chief now—I must.” Temujin threw his arms over Charakha and buried his face in the man's coat.
Hoelun stumbled outside. The tails of her husband's standard fluttered in the distance. She ran towards the tugh, knowing what she had to do.
The grey gelding's hooves pounded beneath her. Dust stung Hoelun's eyes and made her gasp for breath. Through clouds of dirt, she glimpsed the rows of carts following the dark mass of cattle and the paler one of the sheep. She tightened her legs around the horse, holding the reins with one hand as she hoisted her husband's standard with the other.
She was soon abreast of the slow-moving procession. Several women stood up in their wagons; a few of the men riding alongside the carts twisted towards her in their saddles.
“How quickly you forget your oaths!” Hoelun shouted. “You swore to serve my husband, and now you desert his widows and sons!” She held the standard high. “Turn back! Abandon those who have betrayed me!” She swept past the lumbering cattle and caught up with the horse herd, then looked back. One line of wagons had halted; her hopes rose.
She galloped on until she was near the men leading the procession. Lances dipped towards her, and the tails of the Taychiut standards danced in the wind. A small hill lay ahead of her; the wind, blowing to the south, would carry her words to these people. She rode up the hill and reined in her mount,
“Stop!” she cried. “Will you leave mothers and children to die? Will you forget the oaths you swore to my husband?” She rose in her stirrups, holding the tugh high. “Is this how you reward him for the victories he won? Can you turn away from the spirit that lives in this tugh? Will you forget the son who could bring you more victories?”
A line of carts was moving out from the others. Hoelun saw Targhutai then, riding next to the man who held the Taychiut chief's standard. Targhutai looked back at the carts, then signalled with one arm. The men around him fanned out and rode back along either side of the procession.
“Heed my words!” Hoelun shouted. “This is the tugh you swore to follow!” Targhutai's men were surrounding the carts, lashing at the people in them and forcing them back. Two riders tried to break away; more Taychiuts blocked them. Some wanted to stay with her, but they would not be allowed to remain behind.
Hoelun shook her standard as the people moved on. “Remember me when your chieftains lead you to ruin!” she cried hoarsely. “Remember me when those you love lie dead at the hands of your enemies! Remember me when my sons punish you for what you've done today! It was my husband who brought you together and my son who would have kept you united! You betrayed me today—you'll betray one another tomorrow!”
The procession continued past her; the people, wagons, cattle, sheep, and horses were soon indistinct shadows in the drifting dust. She waited on the hill until they were only a distant cloud on the horizon.
23
Hoelun and her two oldest sons buried Charakha next to his yurt, digging his grave with long sticks and sharp stones. Belgutei joined them as they laid the old man in the small pit; Hoelun whispered a farewell.
“Cover the grave.” She turned to Sochigil's son. “Is your mother still in her tent?”
Belgutei nodded. “I looked after I asked Khachigun to watch the sheep. She hasn't moved, and she won't speak.”
Hoelun left the grave, walked between the two fires she had set beyond it earlier, and went back to her own dwelling. Temulun was shrieking the piercing cry that meant she was hungry; Temuge sat next to the cradle, poking listlessly at a piece of felt. Hoelun picked up her daughter, opened her garments, and thrust a nipple into the child's mouth.
Khachigun came through the doorway as she finished suckling his sister. “Will we be all right?” he asked.
“Yes. Your father didn't sire cowards. You're both brave boys, and I know you won't disappoint me.” She set Temulun's cradle down. “Temuge, watch your sister. Khachigun, get back to the sheep.” She picked up her head-dress, secured it on her head, then went to Sochigil's tent.
The woman was sitting by her hearth. “Look at you,” Hoelun said, “letting your fire go out and giving no comfort to your sons.”
Sochigil swayed. “They should have killed us,” she said. “That would have been kinder than this.”
“If you don't find more spirit than that,” Hoelun said, “I'll drive you from this camp myself. If you're so willing to die, I can make it easier for you to do so.” She paused. “You've grieved enough. We must think of
our children now.”
“We can't live alone.”
“We have a few sheep and our horses. The Onon will give us water and fish. We'll live on rats if we must, but we will live.” She hauled the other woman to her feet; Sochigil gazed at her passively. “You're going to gather all the dry dung you can find before dark, while I go down to the river to search the bushes for berries. We're lucky they deserted us in this season - we'll have time to prepare for winter.”
If they could survive the summer, if no raiders came to steal what little they had left, they might find enough game by the autumn to live through the harsh winter. If they grew desperate, their animals could provide meat, although she did not want to resort to that, since they would be more useful alive. Ducks were returning to the river, and she could dig for roots. There was even a chance that some of the deserters would slip away to join her, but she would not hope too much for that. It would be easier for them to forget her, and to assume eventually that death had claimed her children.
She would not think too far ahead, but only of each day. She handed Sochigil a basket, then led her outside.
Temujin took the long stick from Hoelun. A thread made of tendons, with a bent sliver of bone tied to the end, dangled from the makeshift fishing rod.
“Catch what fish you can,” Hoelun said. “Even the small ones will feed us.” Bekter moved closer to the bank with the rod she had made for him. “We'll share the catch equally,” she continued. “There will be no arguments about who caught more fish and deserves more to eat.”
Bekter gazed at her sullenly. She picked up her juniper stick and walked along the bank towards a small grove of slender willows. Clumps of green sprouted next to the roots of the trees. Hoelun glanced towards the grassy spot where Belgutei and Khasar were grazing the horses. Sochigil was sitting outside her yurt with the smaller children. Khachigun spent much of his time watching their few sheep; even young Temuge, who had the task of tending the fires, was more useful than Sochigil, who did little except rock Temulun's cradle and croon to her.
Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan Page 12