Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan

by Pamela Sargent

  Chimbai nodded. “Father moved us to Targhutai's camp after our mother's passing—he's Sorkhan-shira, leader of our clan. I am Chimbai, and this is my brother Chilagun. Our sister's name is Khadagan.”

  “It's cruel,” Khadagan said, “putting you in a kang and treating you this way.”

  “Our sister isn't always as hard as the rock for which she was named,” Chimbai said. “The weakest lambs never lack her care. But she's right—you're badly treated for a boy.” He leaned forward. “You could save yourself, Temujin. Swear to serve Targhutai. Give up your claim. You'd have your life, and a chance for more later—even a slave can rise. You won't last long this way.”

  “Targhutai claimed my place. My mother didn't keep me alive so I could bow to him.” Temujin moved his fingers. A look of pain crossed his face; the yoke must be hurting him. Chilagun gave him more kumiss. Khadagan poured her whey into a large jug, leaving the curds in the kettle; she would set them out to dry later.

  “You're a stubborn one, Temujin,” Chimbai said, “and brave, for all the good it does you.”

  Khadagan moved towards them. “Can't we take off the kang?” she asked. “You can guard him without it.”

  “For once, I won't listen to you.” Chimbai turned towards Temujin. “I'd let you out if it were up to me, but Father would beat me raw for disobeying Targhutai's orders.”

  “Targhutai tried to storm your hiding place, didn't he?” Chilagun said. “I know two men were wounded.”

  “They tried,” Temujin replied. “Then they fell back, and Targhutai shouted that he wanted only me, and swore to let the others go.”

  “Sounds like him.” Chimbai fingered his faint moustache. “Father and I hunted with him not long ago, and we might have had even more game if he hadn't held the men back. He's like that, settling for what he can get without too much effort. Caution can be a virtue, but—”

  Khadagan touched Chimbai's arm. “Let him tell his story,” she said. Temujin smiled at her. Other boys had never looked at her that way, as if happy to be near her. She lowered her eyes. He was only grateful for the kumiss and a few kind words.

  “My mother and brothers urged me to escape,” the captive said. “I saw I might lead our enemies away, since they wanted only me. They didn't spy me until I was further up the slope. I rode for the forests near the top of Mount Tergune. The trees are too thick there for horses to pass easily, and the Taychiuts would have had to cut a path to pursue me. I hoped to circle back afterwards and escape.”

  Temujin was silent for a moment. “I hid for three days, hoping to wait them out. Then I decided to scout and look for an escape, but when I led my horse down the hillside, I heard something fall, and looked around to see that my saddle had slipped off my horse's back.”

  “You didn't buckle it properly,” Chilagun said, “or else the cinch was loose.”

  “No, it wasn't that. It couldn't have happened, yet the saddle was on the ground. The spirits were warning me to stay there, not to ride away—that was all I could think. I waited three more days, then went down again. I didn't see any men, but suddenly a boulder as large as a yurt rolled in front of me to block my path.”

  “Another sign?” Chilagun asked with a smile.

  “It had to be. Up there, so near to Heaven, I felt the presence of Tengri. When the wind moved through the pines, a voice whispered to me to go back. Weak and hungry as I was, I couldn't ignore it. After three more nights, my only drink was a lick of melted snow, and my only food a few small berries. I went back to the boulder and cut a path around it, praying that my enemies had given up the hunt.” Temujin took a breath. “They were waiting. They'd set men all around the woods to watch for me.”

  “It seems,” Chimbai said, “that you misread those signs.”

  “I expected to die then, but I think Targhutai knew the spirits were guarding me. Several times, he came towards me, after his men had beaten and bound me, and each time he let me be. The men spoke of my courage in holding out for so long and mockingly said I deserved some reward for that. They told Targhutai he had nothing to fear from a boy.” Temujin bowed his head, resting his chin on the yoke. “Targhutai says now that the spirits of Mount Tergune stayed his hand, but the words of his men also held him back.”

  “He was your father's comrade once,” Chimbai said. “He might have been thinking of that, too.”

  “There's also my uncle Daritai to consider. He'll do nothing when he finds out I'm a prisoner, but my death might have forced him to break with Targhutai. This way, whatever happens to me, the Taychiut can tell my uncle that he spared me, that I brought whatever fate I suffer upon myself with my stubbornness.” Temujin glanced from one brother to the other. “Tengri has spared me. I used to dream of standing on a high mountain, and on Mount Tergune, I saw the signs of Heaven. Targhutai held my life in his hands and failed to take it.”

  Khadagan heard no doubt in his voice. A light shone in his eyes, undimmed by his captivity, but it might be only the glow of madness. A starving boy on a mountaintop, harried by enemies, could imagine anything; a beaten prisoner might cling to the smallest hope.

  Sorkhan-shira came through the doorway. “What's this?” he shouted. “I expected to find my meal ready.”

  Khadagan stood up. “I'll get it, Father.”

  “My daughter isn't usually so idle.” Sorkhan-shira folded his arms as he looked down at Temujin. “A prisoner you may be, but it seems we're to be your servants. You can't feed yourself in a kang, or even lower your own trousers. What shall we do when you have to relieve yourself?”

  “Assist me,” Temujin said.

  Sorkhan-shira laughed. “They don't free your arms even for that?”

  “No. I don't ask until I must, and then I'm beaten for causing my guards more trouble.”

  “Well, I'll only beat you if you don't ask—you won't piss inside my tent.” His foot moved against the empty jar. “I see my sons have given you drink. Chimbai, take him outside and help him with what must be done.”

  Chimbai and Chilagun helped Temujin up; the older boy led him from the yurt. “Fetch the food, girl,” Sorkhan-shira muttered as he walked towards his bed and sat down on a cushion.

  Chilagun seated himself near Sorkhan-shira. Khadagan set out some dried meat and curds, then handed her father a jug. “Targhutai should have killed that boy,” Sorkhan-shira said. “He'd like to break the lad. If the boy doesn't give in soon, he won't live long.” He sprinkled a blessing, then drank deeply from his jug. “A brave spirit—he might have become quite a man.”

  Khadagan said, “Remove the kang.”

  Sorkhan-shira lifted his heavy brows. “What?”

  “Let him out. Chimbai and Chilagun can still watch him. You said yourself we'd have to feed him otherwise, so it would be less trouble for us.”

  “We'll have a great deal more trouble if he tries to escape.”

  “Please!”

  “Silence, child.” Her father's eyes narrowed; his drooping moustache twitched. “His plight may touch your heart, and you're at an age when a girl dreams of suitors, but an enslaved boy, however noble and good-looking, is hardly a fitting match.”

  “It isn't that,” she said hastily. “I'd pity anyone treated that way, and if he somehow lives to challenge Targhutai someday, it might help to have him as our friend.”

  “Be careful, Khadagan,” Sorkhan-shira said. “Targhutai has my oath. Would you have me dishonour it?”

  “How can you break it by showing that boy a bit of mercy? He's Targhutai's prisoner—our clan has no quarrel with him.” Her father would not be moved by those words alone. “And if we're kind,” she continued, “that may weaken Temujin's will. Beating him and treating him badly hasn't broken him, so maybe kindness will. Targhutai might be grateful to you for that.”

  Her father's small dark eyes grew more contemplative; he scratched at the band of cloth around his shaven head. She had reached him; he could see mercy as both a kindness to the boy and a service to his chieftain.


  “Maybe you should listen to her,” Chilagun said. “We'll keep an eye on him. We wanted to take off his kang before, but we couldn't disobey you.”

  “As if you haven't disobeyed, when you thought you could get away with it.” Sorkhan-shira pulled at his moustache. “You're easily swayed by your sister. I hope you show more manliness with your own wife, but then she may not be as clever as Khadagan—even I often fail to cut a path through her thickets of words.”

  Khaghar entered and set down her basket. Sorkhan-shira waved an arm; the old woman brought him another jug before sitting down next to Khadagan. Chimbai and Temujin came back inside; Sorkhan-shira studied the captive in silence as the boys approached him.

  “Temujin,” he said at last, “you tried to get away once. You must spend a lot of time thinking of ways to escape.”

  “I won't deny it.” Temujin's hands twitched above the yoke's wings. “But I wouldn't get far this way.”

  “Which is why you wear that kang. My daughter, however, is a stubborn girl, and tender-hearted. She'll be after me to free you from it until I either give in to silence her or beat her.”

  “We could unyoke him,” Chimbai said. “He can feed himself then, and I'll watch him. I give you my word—”

  “Are all my children begging for him now?” Sorkhan-shira scowled. “Very well. You're all likely to disobey me as soon as I set foot outside, so release him now.”

  Chilagun grinned. Chimbai began to untie the leather thongs around Temujin's wrists. “Listen to me, Temujin,” their father continued. “If you make one move to escape, you'll be yoked again, and get the worst beating of your life.”

  Chimbai loosened the yoke, separated the pieces, and lifted it from Temujin's shoulders. Temujin's face was taut with pain as he lowered his arms; his wrists were raw where the thongs had bitten into them.

  Chilagun eased the boy to a cushion. “My arms.” Temujin moved his shoulders. “Needles are stabbing them.” Khadagan pushed the plate of curds towards him, and his fingers grabbed at the food. “I'll remember that you did this for me.”

  “Your next guards won't be as soft-hearted as my children,” Sorkhan-shira said, “so this small taste of freedom may only make captivity more burdensome later.” He paused. “Targhutai Kiriltugh might treat you better if you gave up your claims.”

  “I cannot.”

  Sorkhan-shira rubbed his chin; Khadagan saw a glint of admiration in his eyes.

  They finished the meal in silence. “I'm sorry there's no more,” Khadagan said.

  “We'll eat heartily tomorrow,” Chilagun said, “at the feast.” Khadagan shook her head at her brother, wishing he had not mentioned that. The Taychiuts were not likely to share the feast marking the first full moon of summer with their captive. Perhaps Temujin would be left in her father's care; if so, she would find a way to bring some food to him.

  Sorkhan-shira drained his jug and stood up. “I must see to the churning. Chimbai, you and your brother will take turns guarding him, and he may sleep without the kang, but put it on him if you have to take him outside.”

  Sorkhan-shira left. Khaghar picked up the platters and empty jugs and went to the hearth. Temujin stood up, stretched, then said, “Thank you, Khadagan.”

  “There's nothing to thank me for.”

  “Your words moved your father to free me.”

  She crossed to the entrance and went outside. The men sang as they churned. She went behind a wagon several paces from the tent and crouched to relieve herself.

  Maybe Temujin would escape—not while her brothers were guarding him, but another time. If he survived, he would surely win followers and return one day to challenge Targhutai. He might remember her kindness then, and even come to court her.

  She pulled up her trousers and walked back to the yurt. Temujin, if he ever became a chieftain, would have his choice of women; he would hardly settle for someone like her. She lingered by the doorway. They would never let him escape.

  Chimbai was talking inside the tent; she strained to hear him over the drumming of the churns behind the dwelling. “That noise may disturb your sleep,” he said.

  “I'll sleep well without the kang.” Temujin murmured something she did not catch, then said, “You're almost a man, aren't you?”

  Chimbai grunted. “Sixteen this spring. Father says we'll find a wife for me after the summer feast. He knows a Khongkhotat Noyan with daughters ready to be wed. I met them as children, and don't remember much about them, but Father claims they're quite beautiful now.”

  “He should find a wife for himself,” Chilagun said.

  “Maybe he will,” Chimbai responded. “The man has three daughters, and Father smiles at the young women more lately. We may both come back with brides, and you could court the sister who's left. Then Father could see to getting Khadagan betrothed.”

  “Khadagan will have suitors,” Temujin said. “She already does a woman's work, and there's beauty in her face.”

  A dog slinked towards Khadagan and whined. “Our sister's a good girl,” Chimbai said. “She's clever and does her chores without complaining, but even I wouldn't call her a beauty. She'll have to hope for a man who can overlook that and value her for other things.”

  She winced. Her brother had always been honest, which was better than being a liar and a flatterer, but she wished he had tempered his honesty.

  “Perhaps you haven't truly seen your sister,” Temujin said. “When some boys were tormenting me, she spoke up for me, and I saw beauty in her.”

  The dog howled; the boys would know someone was outside now. Khadagan went inside to find her brothers chuckling. “You have an admirer, Khadagan,” Chimbai said. “Temujin's captivity has scrambled his wits. He was just speaking prettily about you.”

  “I don't want to hear it.” She stomped past the hearth, where Khaghar was feeding the fire. Temujin knew she had been listening. That was why he had spoken kindly of her. He was desperate enough to try anything in the hope of escaping; he only wanted to find a way to use her. “Chimbai, you should be guarding the doorway.” She turned towards Chilagun. “And you should be sleeping.”

  “You have a suitor at last,” Chilagun said. “Too bad he's a captive.”

  “Maybe I shouldn't have spoken,” Temujin said. “I didn't think that those who've treated me well would use my words to wound their sister.”

  Her brothers hung their heads, having the grace to look ashamed. “I was telling him,” Chimbai said, “that Father and I will leave after the festival to find me a wife.”

  “If he forgets, I hope you'll find one by yourself. Things would be simpler for me and Khaghar if you had your own tent and a wife to do your work.”

  Chimbai grinned up at her. “You scold me like an old grandmother.”

  “My father and I rode out to find a wife for me,” Temujin said, “before his passing. My betrothed is an Onggirat, and I knew she was meant to be my wife the moment I saw her. Father left me with her family, but we had only a few days together before one of my father's men came to tell me he was dying. I had to leave. She promised she'd wait for me.”

  Khadagan moved away, touched by the longing in his voice even as jealousy gnawed at her. She began to straighten the blankets on the beds. Everyone knew how beautiful Onggirats were, and his betrothed was probably like the rest.

  “How old would she be now?” Chilagun asked.

  “Fourteen.”

  Chimbai grunted. “Then she may already be warming another man's bed.”

  Khadagan looked towards them. She saw the pain in Temujin's eyes before he lowered his head, and was suddenly angry with Chimbai. Temujin had little to hope for; her brother might have left him the consolation of dreaming about the girl.

  “I'm sure she'll keep her promise.” She smoothed down her short tunic. “Let Temujin rest now.”

  Chimbai got to his feet. “Use my bed, Temujin. I'll be watching by the doorway, so don't try to run away. Chilagun, I'll wake you when I get tired.”

/>   Temujin stumbled to Chimbai's bed and fell across it. By the time the others were in their beds, the captive was breathing deeply and evenly.

  She would not pity him too much, would not allow herself to fall prey to fanciful thoughts about him. He meant nothing to her. She had offered him only the kindness an abused dog or an old horse deserved.

  33

  Two men came for Temujin before dawn. Sorkhan-shira met them outside while Chimbai and Chilagun hastily yoked the prisoner. Temujin smiled briefly at Khadagan before the men led him away.

  The feast celebrating the sixteenth day of the summer's first moon was upon them. Sorkhan-shira and his sons rode off with the other men to make the sacrifice. Khadagan followed Khaghar to the empty space along the river-bank to help the women and girls prepare food. By late morning, fat lambs were roasting in pits, and the men had returned for the feast.

  A pavilion of felt resting on poles was set up for Targhutai; the chief sat under it with his three wives, his children, his brother Todogen Girte, and several of his men. Khadagan searched the crowd, but did not see Temujin. Her father knelt before Targhutai, held out a scarf for the chief to touch, then led her brothers and a few comrades towards one of the pits.

  Sorkhan-shira and his men were soon exchanging tales of past exploits. The women and girls gossiped as they ate and drank. Sorkhan-shira spread his arms wide while speaking of a past battle; Chilagun flirted with a passing Taychiut girl.

  Two Taychiut boys made their way towards them, paid their respects to the Suldus men, and sat down across from Khadagan and Chaghan. The men sang songs and got up to dance, whirling and stamping their feet before dropping heavily to the ground. Several children ran along the bank; three boys were pushed into the Onon, to emerge drenched and cursing. The older women murmured that they had never enjoyed such a fine feast.

  Khadagan ate as much as she could and drank airagh until her head spun. The sun beat down on the crowd. Men stumbled towards a small grove of trees above the bank to vomit or piss; a few rode off to relieve those on guard around the camp.