Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan

by Pamela Sargent

  “Then you are descended from the son of the woman captured by my ancestor Bodonchar.” The boy fell silent; his eyes were suddenly wary.

  “If Bodonchar was your ancestor, your line is more noble than my own. I can't claim descent from him myself, since the mother of my people was pregnant when he found her.” Jamukha studied the boy. His clothes were worn and patched, his felt boots shabby; in spite of his proud bearing, he looked poor. “And what is your clan?”

  The boy surveyed him coolly; Jamukha had the feeling he was being judged. “You rode to my aid,” the stranger said, “so perhaps I can trust you. Only my family is here, my mother and brothers and sister—and Bekter's mother and brother. Will you swear an oath not to tell others you saw me?”

  Jamukha slapped his chest. “My promise lives here. I swear before Heaven that I'll be silent.” He had reasons enough not to tell others everything about his journey. “Trust me.”

  “I trust no one more than I have to. All you have to know is that if I ever find out you broke your promise, you'll suffer for it.” He spoke softly, but his threat did not seem an empty one. “My name is Temujin,” he continued. “I am the son of Yesugei Bahadur, who was the son of Bartan the Brave, nephew of Khutula Khan, and grandson of Khabul Khan. My father's followers abandoned us in the spring before last.”

  Jamukha gaped at him, impressed by his lineage and moved by his plight. “I know about your family,” he said. “Some say you must be dead, and others claim you live, but your enemies have probably forgotten you by now.”

  “Our kinsfolk and friends have forgotten us, too,” Temujin said.

  “Fools. You don't deserve—”

  “Let them believe what they like. If they forget us, I'll be safe until I'm strong enough to have my own way.”

  Temujin flicked his grey horse lightly with his reins and trotted towards the river; Jamukha kept at his side. “We have different burdens, Temujin. You have a family and no tribe, while I have a tribe and no family. My parents died when I was young, before I knew them, and I have no brothers.”

  “I'm sorry to hear it,” Temujin said.

  “Don't pity me. I'll take my place as a chief someday, and already sit at councils with the men, but I've grown used to being alone. I often go hunting or scouting by myself. Loneliness has its uses—it teaches you not to rely too much on others.”

  “I've learned that lesson,” the other boy said.

  They came to the bank of the river. The wind gusted, and a veil of snow rose from the Onon, revealing the ice below. The bank was higher on Jamukha's right; the boys guided their horses nearer to the frozen river, where the bank could shield them from the wind.

  “How old are you?” Temujin asked.

  “I'll be thirteen this spring.”

  “Then you'll be a man before long. I was eleven this past summer.”

  Jamukha glanced at him. Temujin was tall for a boy of his age, and the shoulders under his worn sheepskin coat were broad. “Why does your brother fight with you?” he asked. “Your lives must be hard enough without that.”

  “My father made my mother his first wife, even though his other wife had already borne Bekter. He hates knowing that I'm Father's heir.” Temujin shook his head. “Little as we have, he wants to claim it all for himself. My half-brother Belgutei isn't so bad when he's not around Bekter, and my mother has three other sons.”

  “Then you have the beginnings of a new bone of your clan,” Jamukha said. “When you and your brothers have wives, you can sire many warriors.”

  Temujin adjusted the collar of his coat. “I was betrothed to an Onggirat girl before my father's passing. We had only a little time together before I had to leave her.”

  “Will she wait?”

  Temujin's pale eyes narrowed. “She promised that she would.”

  “Well, if she forgets, you can find another wife. It doesn't matter who the woman is as long as she tends to you and gives you sons.”

  “You wouldn't say that if you'd seen Bortai.”

  Jamukha felt a twinge of resentment. Yet Temujin, abandoned as he was, had little enough to sustain him; he would cling to the hope that at least one person, even a distant Onggirat girl, still thought of him.

  Jamukha did not want to dwell on that girl. A man's bond with a woman could never be as strong as those with other men, who were comrades in battle and companions during the hunt. He shifted in his saddle. He never thought of love when he allowed men to take their pleasure and give pleasure to him; the act was one intense moment apart from such feelings. Yet he now felt that he had been seeking more without knowing what it was he wanted. Perhaps there could be love with a companion like himself, someone with whom he could both give and take, someone who would honour that love above all others.

  “I should ride back,” Temujin said. “My mother will worry when Bekter returns without me.” He was silent for a while. “She kept us alive, after the few sheep we had with us died. We would have starved without the sorb apples and plants she gathered when we didn't have game.”

  Temujin smoothed down his coat collar. Jamukha noticed the hollowness under his wide cheekbones, then quickly reached under his saddle for some dried meat. “Take this,” he said.

  Temujin grabbed the meat and tore at it with his teeth. “Thank you,” he mumbled, his mouth full, then gulped down the rest.

  “We might hunt together,” Jamukha said. “I needn't ride on right away, and together we'd have a better chance.”

  Temujin grinned, looking more like the young boy he was. “As long as you promise not to steal the kill for yourself.”

  26

  By the time the sun dropped towards the west, Jamukha and Temujin had tracked a young deer and brought it down. The animal was thin and weak, but Temujin was delighted with their kill.

  “We'll eat well tonight,” he said as they lifted the carcass to his horse. “You must come with me, Jamukha. My mother will welcome you when she sees what we've brought. You don't want to ride on yet, do you?”

  “No,” Jamukha admitted.

  “Then come on.”

  They rode towards the foothills bordering the Kentei massif. Soon Jamukha noticed a small stream of smoke rising from near the edge of the forest, but they were amid the trees before he saw two yurts. A rider passing this way might assume a shaman had travelled here to be closer to the mountain spirits. Mount Tergune towered beyond the hills, Burkhan Khaldun lay to the south-east, and there were other places where a powerful shaman might fly up to Tengri. A cart without a covering stood behind one yurt; another cart holding a trunk was next to the smaller tent. This family would have little to steal.

  “We have a barricade deeper in the forest,” Temujin said, “where we can hide. Sochigil-eke, my father's second wife, ran there this autumn, when a band of men came to hunt by the river, but my mother took out her bow and stayed with the rest of us.”

  “What happened then?” Jamukha asked.

  “Mother told us to wait until they were close, fire one volley as a warning, and then retreat to the barricade. She said she'd cover us while we ran, but luckily the men rode away without troubling us.”

  His mother was obviously brave. Jamukha imagined a fierce old creature with a heavy body and a strong, ugly face under her high square head-dress.

  Temujin called out his own name, then slid down from his horse as a boy lifted the tent flap and came outside. “I've brought meat,” Temujin said, “and a new friend who needs shelter for the night—his name is Jamukha.” He pulled the carcass from his mount.

  The younger boy smiled. “Bekter came back a while ago, shouting about you and a stranger trying to steal his game.”

  “It's a lie. He took my kill for himself—Jamukha was trying to help me.”

  “You should have been here, Temujin. Mother was cursing Bekter for riding off and leaving you. Then she hit him so hard with her stick that it broke on his back.”

  Temujin chuckled, then turned to Jamukha. “This is my brother Khach
igun.”

  Jamukha nodded at the child, then dismounted. Someone else peered out from behind the tent flap. “My mother,” Temujin murmured. “Her name is Hoelun.”

  The woman's face surprised him. He had expected a woman aged by struggle and hardship, but Temujin's mother had smooth, pale brown skin, her lips were full, and her eyes a light golden brown. Two thick black braids were looped behind her ears under the fur hat that was her only head-covering. Beauty in women left him unmoved, but he saw something of Temujin in her steady gaze.

  “Greetings,” she said. “I was told you encountered a stranger.”

  “This is my new friend Jamukha,” Temujin replied. “He's a Jajirat, the son of a chief, and you see that he brought me luck.” He poked at the dead deer with one foot.

  “I greet you, Ujin,” Jamukha said as he bowed. “Your son has told me why you camp here. I've promised him not to speak of our meeting to others.”

  “I'm grateful for that, and also that you brought no harm to him.” The woman stepped outside; she was small, and her long coat was as shabby as her son's. “Not many would help outcasts, and others who pass this way shun us. It's well that you mean to keep silent about who we are. It wouldn't do you much good to have our enemies think you've befriended my son.”

  “I wasn't thinking of myself when I made that promise.”

  Hoelun Ujin waved a hand at Temujin. “Take your horse and our guest's to where we keep the others.” Temujin led the horses away; Jamukha was about to follow when the woman beckoned to him. “Please stay, Jamukha. We're not going to steal your horse. Khachigun, you'll help me butcher and hang this meat.” She knelt, slipped her bowcase from her belt, and pulled out a knife.

  'I'll help you, Ujin,” Jamukha said. “I'm partly to blame for bringing you this extra work.”

  Hoelun's grim expression softened. “You deserve praise and thanks for bringing it.”

  By the time the meat was butchered and hung to dry, Jamukha had met some of the others. Temuge, at five the youngest boy, had eyes like his mother's, as did Khachigun; only Temulun, a little girl of two, had eyes with the same greenish tinge as her oldest brother's. Belgutei emerged long enough to mutter a greeting before his brother Bekter, with an angry glare at Jamukha, pulled him inside. Their mother, Sochigil, was a dark-eyed woman with a sad face who fluttered aimlessly about while Jamukha helped Hoelun hang the strips of meat. Apparently the entire family shared this yurt; they would need only one fire and be warmer if they kept together. He supposed that they kept some of their meagre belongings in the other.

  Night had come when Hoelun Ujin led him inside. “Temujin said you have three sons besides him,” Jamukha said, “but I've only met two.”

  “Khasar's watching the horses,” Khachigun said as he entered with an armful of deer bones. Hoelun shot him a glance. Jamukha was about to ask how many horses they had, then thought better of it.

  The yurt was warm; smoke rose from the hearth. Jamukha and Khachigun picked over the bones while Sochigil cleaned the hide with a stone and Hoelun prepared a meal. She had taken off her coat; her long plain tunic was one a man might wear, without the pleats and tucks common to women's garb. The silence was broken only by an occasional gurgle from Temulun as she watched Temuge clean his knife. Bekter glared at Jamukha and swatted Belgutei whenever the younger boy seemed about to speak.

  “Perhaps I should tell you more about myself,” Jamukha said at last.

  “Please do,” Hoelun said from the hearth.

  “My father was our chief. My mother died giving birth to me, and my father not long afterwards. It's said that a boy who loses his father knows one of the greatest sorrows life can bring, and I share that sorrow with your sons. But it's also said that one who loses his mother suffers an even greater loss.” He glanced around at the other boys. “When I see how your mothers here care for you, I know the truth of that saying.”

  Temujin came through the doorway. “I told Khasar all about you,” he said to Jamukha. “You'll meet him in a while.”

  “Isn't he going to share the meal?” Jamukha asked.

  “He'll eat later. Someone has to keep watch,” Temujin sat down as the others gathered near the hearth; Bekter winced as he seated himself. Temujin grinned at his half-brother. “I hear that my mother's stick danced on your back today.”

  “You and this stray.” Bekter's lip curled. “Why did you bring him here?”

  “Silence!” Hoelun said sharply. “Eat your food.”

  They ate quickly. Hoelun suckled Temulun, then put her daughter to bed before sitting down to eat herself. She had cooked a small piece of the fresh meat, but there were only a few shreds for each of them; the rest of the meal was a liquid that tasted of bark. Jamukha finished his food still hungry, although the others seemed satisfied; their pinched faces showed they were used to less. A bit of meat remained, but that was probably Khasar's portion.

  “I am sorry for our poor hospitality,” Hoelun murmured as she gestured at the platter.

  “I enjoyed this supper,” Jamukha said, “and you prepared it well, Ujin. I've never tasted fresh game as good.”

  Hoelun's eyes were still wary, but a smile played around her lips. “Someone has brought you up well, orphan that you are.”

  “My uncle cares for me.” He wondered if his uncle would have so willingly assumed that obligation if he had sons of his own.

  Hoelun got to her feet. “It's time you children were asleep.”

  “You may have my bed, Jamukha.” Temujin gestured at one of the hide-covered cushions, then stood up. “It's my turn to guard the horses.”

  “I'll come with you if you like,” Jamukha said. “That way, I can watch for part of the night while you sleep.”

  Hoelun turned towards him. “You needn't.”

  “I don't mind, Ujin. I'd be sleeping on my horse under a tree if your son hadn't brought me here.”

  “Then come along,” Temujin said. Jamukha picked up his weapons and followed the other boy outside.

  They walked a short distance through the dark wood to a clearing dimly illuminated by the half-moon in the winter sky. Nine grey horses stood with his own brown gelding inside an enclosure of rope, where another boy was guarding them; a banked fire glowed on a bare spot of ground.

  “You aren't quite as poor as I thought,” Jamukha murmured to Temujin.

  “Oh, they left us our geldings, but without a stallion and mares, we can't increase our herd. They must have thought someone would steal them by now and kill us while they were at it.”

  “And you didn't have to eat any of them?”

  “Mother said we'd dine on rats and bark first, and we have, often.”

  The other boy came towards them. “You must be Khasar,” Jamukha said.

  “My brother told me how you met.” Khasar clasped Jamukha's hands. “A pity you didn't put an arrow into Bekter.” He laughed; except for his darker eyes and his readiness to smile, his face resembled his older brother's. “Maybe we can hunt together tomorrow.”

  “I'll have to ride on then,” Jamukha said, already feeling some regret.

  Khasar left them. Temujin circled the makeshift enclosure, reaching out occasionally to pat one of the horses. “I'm glad you came with me,” he said. “I'm nearly falling asleep.”

  “Rest, then. I'll wake you later.”

  Temujin stretched out by the fire. The flames would ward off other animals, and Jamukha had heard no wolves, but would take no chances. Unlike the steppe, where danger could be seen at a distance, the forest was a dark place that concealed much. He climbed into a tree, where he would have a better view of the clearing and be hidden from sight.

  The wind whistled overhead, then faded; the half-moon rode above pale streams of clouds. Tengri's smoke-holes were bright against the black sky; the Seven Old Men twinkled near the Golden Stake.

  Something rustled; it might have been the wind, but Jamukha tensed, sure that he was being watched. He scanned the area around him and saw nothing, but he ha
d learned to trust his instincts. He drew an arrow from his quiver and readied his bow.

  He remained on guard, stiff with tension, marking time by the passage of the moon and the turning of the stars. Even after nearly half the night had passed, he was afraid to leave the tree. This forest might be alive with spirits his weapons could not touch.

  Temujin stirred, opened his eyes, and stood up. “Jamukha?”

  “I'm up here.” Temujin moved closer to the tree. “I think someone's watching us,” Jamukha whispered.

  “I suspect someone is.” The other boy did not seem worried. “Climb down—I'll cover you.” Jamukha hung from the limb and dropped to the ground. “Get some sleep—I'll take my turn now.” Temujin lifted his head and gazed past him. “Go to bed, Mother. You can see I'll be safe.”

  Jamukha wheeled around. A shadow moved out from behind a tree and disappeared in the darkness. He thought of the woman hiding there in the cold, watching him, ready to let an arrow fly. “But why—”

  “You might have cut my throat while I slept and taken our horses. Mother was making sure that you didn't, as I expected she would.”

  “I wouldn't have harmed you.”

  “You've shown that. I never doubted you myself, but I'm happy you passed the test. Sleep soundly, Jamukha—you have nothing to fear now. I give you my oath on that.”

  The morning meal was a thin broth made with a bone. Jamukha drained his small bark bowl, then leaned towards Hoelun. “Thank you,” he said, “for welcoming me under your tent.”

  She smiled. “You must take some of the meat with you on your journey.”

  He accepted a piece from her. Belgutei had gone out to guard the horses. The rest of the family said farewell; Bekter looked relieved that Jamukha was going.

  Temujin caught up with Jamukha on the way to the horses. “I'll ride out with you,” the boy said. Jamukha grinned, pleased at having some more time with his new friend.