Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan

by Pamela Sargent

  He had not thought of what would happen after the boy's death. Sochigil-eke would weep and wail, but they had little to fear from her. Belgutei would mourn, but would also fear Temujin more from now on; he might even be secretly relieved at being free of the brother who had bullied him, too. Temuge and Khachigun had no fondness for the dead boy, and Temulun was too young to care. But he did not know what his mother would do.

  She might drive them away. Even Temujin might shrink from confronting her if she barred the tent to them. They could go to Jamukha's camp, but maybe his Jajirats would not be so willing to take in two outcast boys.

  Khasar knew then why his brother had been compelled to take Bekter's life. He had wanted to end the stealing and fighting, but might have found other ways to stop it. Bekter had been Temujin's rival, but that could have been settled when they were men.

  Bekter's death might serve Temujin's aims, but that was not the only reason he was dead. His taunts about Jamukha and the evil word he flung at Temujin by the Onon had called his death to him. Maybe it was true. Khasar shuddered as he recalled the laughter and the odd sound he had heard in the night.

  He would not dwell on such thoughts. Bekter had lied; he had told enough lies in the past. His death was a matter of honour; Temujin had silenced the lies directed against him and his anda.

  It was nearly night when Khasar heard the sound of footsteps under the trees. His bow was in his hands when Hoelun stepped into the clearing, carrying a basket. She moved around the enclosure, stooping to pick up the drier dung outside it, then sat down in front of them.

  “I've been doing what I can to comfort Sochigil,” she said. “She refuses to eat and sits staring at the hearth, but she's stopped crying. I had to tell Temuge and Khachigun that it isn't right to show joy at a brother's death.” Her face was hidden in the darkness beyond the fire; Khasar was relieved that he could not see her eyes. “I don't suppose you stopped to dig a grave.”

  Temujin did not reply.

  “I thought not. We'll say no more about it.” She rested a hand against her basket. “Belgutei's with his mother. He's showing some wisdom in spite of this. He's said nothing about avenging his brother, only that he must do what he can to ease Sochigil-eke's grief. I think he sees that this fighting has to end if we're to go on.”

  “Then there's no reason to kill him,” Temujin said. “Without his brother, he won't trouble us. I'll do what I can to be more of a brother to him.”

  “So one murder is enough for you.” Hoelun cleared her throat. “I'm partly to blame for this. I left it to you to settle things and didn't see where that might lead you. But I understand now, bitter as it is to accept it, that your evil deed has solved a problem.” She glanced at Temujin. “You're rid of your rival, and I won't have to step between you and him.”

  “As you say,” Temujin murmured, “a problem has been solved. I feel no regret.”

  She let out her breath. “And now I must be as wise and practical as you.” She stood up, then picked up her basket. “Whatever you've done, you are my sons, and I have to live with that.”

  She left them. Khasar sighed; he would not have to worry about what she might do. He turned towards his brother. The firelight flickered on Temujin's face; Khasar saw his brother's smile.

  30

  “I want to hunt,” Temulun said as Hoelun came outside.

  Hoelun frowned at her daughter. “You and Temuge will find dry wood for our fire.”

  Temuge was sitting near the yurt, testing the spring in his small bow. “She can hunt with me,” he said.

  “Neither of you will hunt,” Hoelun replied.

  Temulun let out her breath. “Khasar and Khachigun won't take me with them, and now you won't let me—”

  “Enough,” Hoelun said.

  Sochigil looked up from the bird she was plucking. “Listen to your mother,” she murmured. “You should be helping her, not running around after your brothers.”

  Temulun scowled. With her brown face, piercing pale eyes, and disorderly braids, she looked as wild as her brothers.

  “Collect the wood,” Hoelun said to the children. “If you happen to find small game while you're at it, take it, but you'll bring back fuel, and you're not to wander far.”

  Temuge thrust his bow into his case and moved towards the trees; Temulun hurried after him. The two roamed the forest like a pair of wild animals. In spite of her warnings to stay near the camp, she suspected they had been exploring the foothills.

  “Hunting,” Sochigil muttered. “Wrestling with Temuge and challenging him to horse races—that's all the girl thinks about.”

  Hoelun studied the other woman. Sochigil had aged in the two years since her son's death; her face was thin and worn, her dark eyes listless. Even Bekter's death had roused no fire in her spirit. She had accepted Temujin's hints that he had acted in self-defence, and Hoelun did not contradict her son.

  Once, the other widow's passivity had exasperated her, but it served them both now. Hoelun saw to their needs, and Sochigil did as she was told, a companion when Hoelun told stories and reminisced about happier times, a sister for whom Hoelun could even feel some sympathy; Sochigil had never stopped mourning for what she had lost.

  “It's true,” Hoelun said, “that Temulun should learn more about a woman's duties. You might help instruct her in such skills.”

  “If you wish—not that I've done so well at certain tasks myself. I might have been a better mother to my poor lost son.”

  Hoelun did not protest those words. To have Sochigil shoulder part of the blame for Bekter's fate was preferable to having her turn against Temujin.

  Hoelun moved towards the river with her basket. Some berries might have ripened on the bushes, even so early in spring. She remembered the last feast they had enjoyed, when Temujin and Khasar had gone off on their horses and returned with a stolen lamb. Her mouth watered; she thought longingly of curds and milk and boiled mutton.

  Birds sang in the branches overhead. She had grown used to the woods. The few travellers who passed by usually avoided the region below the mountains where she had moved her camp, but some hunters on horseback had chased her and Khachigun into the forest last winter before retreating from Khasar's shower of arrows. One of the men had shouted to her in a voice much like Yesugei's.

  A cool breeze chilled her face. In the mountains beyond the river, the snow would be melting on the higher slopes. They would have to move again by summer, when bands of hunters would follow the deer and gazelles up the mountainsides. She wondered if Jamukha would return soon. They had not seen Temujin's anda since autumn. She remembered the taste of the kumiss he had brought them, and sighed.

  The boy's devotion to her son was apparent. He became Temujin's shadow while with him; she sometimes worried that he clung to her son too closely. But the Jajirat boy was a faithful friend, unlike Toghril, his clan's Kereit ally. Jamukha had talked of finding a way to speak to the Khan of their plight, but Hoelun had discouraged him. Pleas on behalf of outcasts were unlikely to move the Kereit Khan.

  She glimpsed the Onon through the trees. Temujin and Belgutei would be near the river with the horses. “Come no closer,” her son suddenly called out in the distance, “and keep your hands raised.”

  Hoelun set down her basket and took out her bow, then crept forward. Several paces downriver, near the herd, Temujin and Belgutei had their arrows trained on a rider. The stranger's arms were up; the way he sat in his saddle stirred a memory. She moved closer, her fingers tight around her bow, until she saw him clearly.

  “Munglik,” she whispered.

  “Peace,” the man shouted. “Don't you know your old friend? I searched this region for days, following old tracks, hoping they were yours.” Temujin kept his bow aimed. “I know you, Temujin—your father's eyes look out at me from your face.”

  Hoelun hurried along the bank towards them. “And you, Ujin,” Munglik continued, “I'd know you even after all this time. Call off these boys—I mean you no harm.”
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  She circled the horses and came towards him as he dismounted. He walked towards her and caught her in his arms, then released her. His face was browner, and his moustaches had grown to his chin, but otherwise he was much the same.

  “I prayed I'd find you safe,” he said. “I feared I might not find you at all.” Temujin lowered his bow, then shrank back as Munglik embraced him. “You've grown, boy.” He reached for Belgutei and threw an arm over his shoulders. “And you must be Belgutei—your face is much as it was.”

  Belgutei shook off his arm. The boys gazed at the Khongkhotat in silence, their eyes filled with suspicion. “I've been looking,” Munglik went on, “hoping the tales I've heard didn't mislead me.”

  “What tales?” Hoelun said.

  “Of a tent near here, of boys who run from strangers. I couldn't believe you were still alive, but I had to search. The spirits guided me to your side.” He clasped Hoelun's elbows. “Four years in hiding, yet you're still the beauty I remember.”

  She withdrew from him and adjusted her scarf, suddenly conscious of her ragged tunic and worn coat. “You flatter me, Munglik.”

  “Your son's nearly a man—he'll soon be as tall as his father.”

  “I'm pleased to see you, old friend,” Temujin said in his soft voice, not sounding pleased at all. “So you've heard stories. Have our enemies also been told these tales?”

  “Targhutai Kiriltugh has.”

  Temujin's eyes narrowed.

  “When I was last in his camp,” Munglik said, “he spoke of how your mother's brood might have moulted by now, of how her fledgelings could be old enough to fly against him. I was in a Dorben camp a few days ago, and there I heard that the Taychiuts mean to search for you after their mares drop their foals.”

  Hoelun tensed. “I knew we couldn't stay hidden forever,” her son said. “What will you do for us now, old friend?”

  Munglik hooked his fingers around his belt. “What can I do? I took a risk in looking for you. If I brought you to my camp, the Taychiuts would soon learn of it. Targhutai has his camp north-east of you, five days' hard riding away. You have some time—find refuge somewhere else.”

  Temujin studied Munglik with calm, cold eyes. Hoelun guessed what her son was thinking. Munglik had taken this chance; maybe he still thought guiltily of the oath he had sworn to her husband. But he would not stand against his Taychiut allies openly.

  “I'm grateful to you,” Temujin said. “Targhutai wouldn't be pleased if he found out you warned us, so you've risked something for us.” He glanced at Hoelun. “But Targhutai won't find us here. There are friends who will shelter us.”

  Munglik might believe that. Did Temujin plan to flee to Jamukha's camp? She did not know where else they could run.

  “I can't stay long,” Munglik said. “The comrades who rode with me are camped a day's ride away, and they'll be wondering what became of me.” He took his horse's reins and walked towards the river, away from the boys.

  Hoelun followed Munglik. “Don't go far,” she said as his horse drank. “My son will want us in view.”

  “And within range of his arrows.”

  “He has reason to be wary even of an old friend.”

  “You have nothing to fear from me. I could never bring harm to you, Hoelun. It pains me to know how little I can do for you.”

  How useless his words were. She sat down; he settled on the ground next to her. “I expected to find a faded flower,” he murmured, “but you've blossomed even more.” She sighed; more useless words. “Temujin's grown quite handsome, and Belgutei has fire in his face. And the others?”

  “My children are strong, no thanks to those who abandoned us. Sochigil's older son met his end two years ago.”

  “I grieve to hear it.”

  “Belgutei mourned, but Temujin's tried to take his older brother's place. The boy looks up to my son now.”

  He took her hand. “I remain your friend, Hoelun. I'd still have you as my wife if that were possible.”

  His gentle words did not console her. Munglik could resign himself to their capture, and then hope to persuade the Taychiut chief to give her to him. He could still feel he had honoured his promise to Yesugei by warning them, but would not fight for her and her children.

  “I hope the wife you have is well,” she said.

  “Indeed she is. She's just given me a fourth son, Kokochu, and it may not be long until a fifth's inside her.”

  Poor woman, Hoelun thought. Giving birth to sons was one of life's greatest joys, but having so many in such a short time was not something she would have welcomed.

  “I'd stay with you,” Munglik said, “but I must go.”

  She drew her hand from his and stood up. “Don't fear for us, Munglik. Living as we do has hardened us, and we have ways of escaping the Taychiuts.” She wanted to believe her own words. “Orbey Khatun won't get another chance to gloat over me.”

  “True,” Munglik murmured. “She followed Ambaghai's other widow to the grave last spring.” Hoelun smiled at that.

  They walked back to the boys. Munglik said his farewells quickly, then mounted. “Safe journey, friend,” Temujin said to him. “I'll remember that you thought of us. I won't forgive the ones who abandoned us, but I also won't forget those who helped us. That promise lives in my heart.”

  “May Heaven protect you all.”

  Temujin moved closer to Hoelun as Munglik rode away. “Where can we go?” she asked. “Even your anda may not be able to protect us.”

  Temujin said, “We're not leaving.”

  “But we have a chance to escape,” Belgutei said.

  “Jamukha would fight for us, but his men might not. It won't help us if we come between him and his men.” Temujin drew his brows together. “We know this land better than the Taychiuts do. Targhutai's men won't want to pay too great a price to rid their chieftain of one family. We have a chance if our courage doesn't fail us.”

  Hoelun could not let her son see her fears. “What would you have us do?” she asked.

  “Hide in a place we can defend. One of us will keep watch at the edge of the forest. If Targhutai doesn't find us, he may think we've gone somewhere else. Otherwise, we'll fight.” He paused. “Are you with me?”

  “Yes,” Belgutei said. Hoelun bowed her head.

  31

  Hoelun peered through the trees as Khasar rode up the hill; his horse was lathered with sweat. “I saw them,” he said, dismounting. “They'll reach the woods before the sun's high.”

  Temujin was awake in an instant. “How many?” he asked his brother.

  “Thirty.”

  “Then we have a chance.”

  Khasar led his mount to the other horses. The animals, six of them saddled, were enclosed by a wall of tree limbs. The family had built a makeshift barricade under the trees on this hill. Belgutei had done much of the work, pulling down boughs and stacking them on top of dead logs, but the others had helped him. From here, through the spaces between the trees, they had a view of the river below.

  As they waited, Hoelun's heart skipped; she steadied herself. The Taychiuts would find nothing at their old camp-site. She and Sochigil had taken down the tents and hidden the panels and wagons deeper in the woods; the children had covered the tracks leading there and to their hiding place. Targhutai might think they had moved elsewhere. Perhaps he would search along the river and not approach the hill. She had set her husband's tugh inside the wall of wood; she looked up at the nine-tailed standard and prayed that its guardian spirit would protect them.

  “Hide the children,” Temujin commanded.

  Hoelun took Temulun's hand; Sochigil reached for Temuge. Their eyes shone, as if their plight were only another adventure. Khachigun led the way up the hill. The trees were thick here, their limbs hiding the sky.

  They came to a rocky cliff shielded by trees. A narrow crevice, so small that it could barely be seen until one was near the rocky face, was at the base of the cliff. Temulun and Temuge had found the tiny openin
g some time ago. The two should not have wandered here alone, but Hoelun was grateful now that they had disobeyed her.

  Temulun crept inside, followed by Temuge. Khachigun, taller and broader, barely squeezed through the narrow opening; Sochigil had to remove her coat before Hoelun could push her inside. Hoelun passed the garment to the other woman, then peered into the crevice. The Taychiuts might pass and never suspect that anyone was hidden there.

  “There's just enough room for you,” Sochigil said; her voice was surprisingly calm.

  Hoelun said, “I'm going back. Eat and drink as little of what you've brought as you can. Don't make a sound, and don't come out until one of us comes for you.” She hurried away before Sochigil could protest.

  She descended the hill. Belgutei was with the horses, calming and steadying them. Temujin moved towards her as she crept behind the barricade. “I told you to hide,” he said.

  “You may need me if we have to fight.” Hoelun took out her knife, wiped the blade, then thrust it under her belt. Khasar gazed over the pile of wood, watching the land below; Temujin plucked at his bowstring.

  They waited in silence. The sun rose above the trees and glinted on the river. The Taychiuts might have found the campsite by now. At last she heard a man's voice in the forested land beyond the Onon.

  Hoelun sipped from a skin of water; her mouth was dry, her muscles stiff from waiting. Another voice called out below, closer this time. A man rode out from the trees towards the river-bank; another man followed.

  The boys readied their bows. The men murmured to each other, then started across the river, clinging to their horses as the water rose to their knees. Three other men followed them; other Taychiuts emerged from the forest.

  The five forded the narrow river, then leaned down from their saddles to study the ground. Hoelun held her breath. One man glanced up at the hillside. His horse whinnied; she tensed as one of her geldings neighed.

  “Now,” Temujin muttered. Arrows flew from his bow and Khasar's; their hands flashed towards their quivers for more arrows. A flock of birds rose screeching from the trees as the next volley fell towards the Taychiuts. One arrow struck a man in the shoulder; another embedded itself in a leg. The five riders plunged into the Onon as other men fired back. Hoelun ducked as arrows soared past the barricade.