“The prisoner must be unhappy,” one Taychiut boy said, “not being able to join the feast.” He laughed.
Chaghan batted her eyes. “Khadagan feels sorry for him.”
“I don't,” Khadagan said. “Targhutai's soldiers should have killed him. I don't know why they didn't.” He's better than all of you, she thought savagely, then glared at the boys. “You ought to be eating with your own families.”
“How rude,” Chaghan murmured, “after your father said they could stay.”
Khadagan stood up and climbed towards the grove; the airagh made her bladder ache. Targhutai clapped and sang as one of his men plucked a one-stringed fiddle; some of the younger men were wrestling. She found a cool, dark spot under the trees, then slipped down her trousers. The others cared nothing for the boy who would be listening to the sounds of merriment he could not share. She thought of sneaking away with some food for him, but Temujin's guard would only take whatever she brought for himself.
Khadagan left the trees, stepped over a man who had passed out, and went back to where her father sat. Worrying about Temujin had only ruined the feast for her. She seated herself near her aunt, promising herself she would not think of the boy.
When the sun dropped towards the west, Khadagan knew the feast would soon end. More of the men, and some women, were vomiting by the trees; others were being carried to yurts by friends. Those who had tents at the far ends of the camp stumbled to the rope where the horses were tied. At last Sorkhan-shira wiped his hands on his coat, got up, and beckoned to his children.
Her brothers held their father up by the elbows as they staggered towards their yurt. Khadagan and Khaghar followed them along the bank; the old woman, supporting herself with a stick, seemed about to collapse herself. A few people had passed out by the river; others dragged them up by the arms and flung them over horses.
The grounds around their yurt, except for the tethered horses, were empty and quiet, but men would come there to churn milk before dawn. Sorkhan-shira went inside, groaned as he stumbled to his bed, sat down with a grunt, then looked up at Chimbai.
“Son,” he said, “it's time we visited my Khongkhotat friend and paid court to his daughters. We'll leave in a few days, and get you betrothed before the obo festival. In fact, it's time we both found wives, and maybe some young man will ride back with us to court your sister.”
Khadagan moved towards Khaghar's bed. The old woman lay on her stomach, apparently dead to the world; Khadagan gently took off the servant's boots.
“Come here, girl.” Sorkhan-shira beckoned to her; she crossed to his bed. “You should be betrothed, and I've neglected that.”
“There's still time,” she said. “I'm young. Maybe a Taychiut will ask for me—then I could stay near you.”
Her father tilted his head. “I'll confess that I didn't expect this, but you show signs of becoming quite pretty.”
Chilagun snorted as he pulled off Sorkhan-shira's boots. “Father,” Khadagan said, “you're drunk.”
“A man can see even when he's drunk. At the moment, I see that your nose is too long, and your eyes too small, and your mouth too thin and a bit crooked, yet your face is pleasant to gaze at in spite of that. Strange that I never saw this before, but maybe your mother's beauty blinded me. I'd see her face and think only that yours would never be like hers, but—”
Sorkhan-shira stretched out. Khadagan checked the fire and set a jug near her father's bed, knowing he would wake up later with a throbbing head and parched throat; he would need more kumiss then.
“Khadagan Ghoa,” Chilagun whispered as she passed his bed. “Khadagan the Fair.”
“Sleep it off, Chilagun,” Chimbai said as he fell across his bed. “Let our beautiful sister rest.”
Khadagan crawled into her own bed. The sky was light above the smoke-hole; the first full moon of summer brightened the heavens. Her father had praised her before, but only for her cooking or weaving, never for her looks. Temujin had said she had some beauty. Foolish talk, the words of a drunken man and a desperate boy.
She drifted into sleep. “Sorkhan-shira!” a man was shouting. Khadagan tensed against the cushions of her bed, then sat up. “Sorkhan-shira!” Other voices were calling out in the distance. She got up and ran to the doorway, then pushed the flap aside.
A Taychiut stood there; other men were gathering along the bank. “What is it?” she asked.
“Get your father up. Yesugei's son has escaped.”
Her heart raced. “What happened?”
“Hit his guard with the end of his kang and knocked him cold. The boy's gone. Don't stand there, girl—get your father.”
Khadagan waited by the hearth. Sorkhan-shira, shocked into sobriety by the news, had gone out to join the search. Her brothers had murmured about Temujin's daring before returning to their beds. She could not sleep, and was afraid to look outside, where the men would be fanning out to search the wooded land near the camp. The full moon would make it easy to spot the boy in the open, so they would expect him to run for the trees.
She sat up until she heard footsteps outside. Her father suddenly came through the entrance. “You should be asleep,” he muttered as he passed her.
“Did they find him?”
“No.”
Her heart skipped a beat. She followed him to his bed. “But he isn't safe yet,” Sorkhan-shira continued. “We'll look again, when it's daylight.” He heaved a sigh as he sat down, looking distressed. “Let's pray he's making his way to wherever his family's hiding now.”
“Yoked, and without a horse?”
“It's out of our hands.”
“But when he's found—”
“Quiet,” he said softly. “You'll wake the others.”
“What'll they do to him?” Her throat was so tight that she could hardly speak. “They mustn't—”
“Calm yourself, Khadagan.” He put an arm around her and drew her to him. “I'm cursed with pity for him myself.” His voice was very low. “He was clever enough to hide in the river instead of making for the trees—must have known the men would search the woods first. I saw him hiding in the Onon.”
Khadagan stifled her joy.
“A face, barely above the water,” Sorkhan-shira whispered, “and he was using the kang as a float. I told him to wait there. No one else saw him. I joined the others, then went back and told him to lie low until we'd gone back to our tents. At last I convinced Targhutai the boy couldn't go far and that we'd have better luck with a daytime search.” His fingers dug into her. “And I'm only telling you this to console you. You know what will happen to me if anyone else finds out what I've done.”
He grabbed for the jug by the bed, whispered a prayer, than drank. “Foolish of me, to risk so much for him. I told him not to speak of me if he's caught—I hope he's brave enough to hold his tongue. I did what I could, but we may all come to regret it.”
“You're a good man, Father. I would have hated you if you'd surrendered him.”
“Perhaps that's also why I didn't.” He cocked his head, listening to the drumming of the churns outside. “There will be little sleep for me tonight. I must see to the churning, and then—”
The boys stirred in their beds. Chimbai sat up. “Was he caught?” he asked.
Khadagan shook her head, then heard a sound by the doorway. Chimbai jumped to his feet; Sorkhan-shira lifted his head.
A shadowy form pushed through the entrance. Temujin stood there, barely visible in the glow of the hearth fire, his yoke still around his neck. His wet clothes clung to his body; his hair was plastered against his head.
“The beating of the churns guided me to your tent,” Temujin said. “It's dark now—no one saw me enter.”
Sorkhan-shira got up and went over to the boy. “What are you doing here?”
“I can't get far this way. I beg you—you were kind to me before. Please help me now.”
“This is how you repay me.” Sorkhan-shira pulled him towards the hearth. “Don't you know w
hat will happen to us if you're found here? I should take you to Targhutai now.”
Khadagan ran to her father and grabbed his sleeve. “No!”
Sorkhan-shira let go of the captive. Khaghar was awake now, watching from her bed. Chimbai suddenly thrust himself between his father and Temujin. “You can't give him up,” Chimbai protested as his brother hurried to his side. “If a bird flies from its cage and hides in a bush, does the bush surrender the bird?”
Sorkhan-shira struck his chest. “This bush may have its limbs torn from it for the sake of this bird.”
“He came to us, he trusts us. How can we give him up?”
Sorkhan-shira glared at them. “Has this boy put a spell on all of you?” He looked towards Khaghar, as if hoping she might support him, but the old woman was silent.
Khadagan tugged at her father's sleeve. “Let me speak to you.” She turned and walked to the back of the tent. Her brothers were already removing Temujin's yoke. Her father's hands tightened into fists as he strode to her.
“What is it?” he asked.
“You can't give him up,” she said very softly. “We risk much if we help him, but you'll also be taking a chance if you give him up. Targhutai Kiriltugh may want to know why he came here, and a beating could loosen his tongue. He might speak of the kindness you showed him, and that you found him without giving him away.”
Her father grunted. “How clever my daughter is.”
They went back to the hearth. Temujin flexed his arms; Chimbai was holding the yoke. “We have to burn this,” the older boy said.
“I can try to get away now.” Temujin glanced at Sorkhan-shira. “I might have a chance.”
“You're certain to be seen.” Sorkhan-shira shook his head. “Burn the kang, then hide him. I'll go out and keep the men away from this tent.”
Chimbai and Chilagun broke the kang into small pieces and Khadagan fed them to the fire. The wood was damp; she blew on the fire to keep it going. When the yoke was reduced to blackened bits of wood, Khaghar hung a kettle over the hearth.
Chimbai blocked the door while Temujin quickly gulped down some broth. Khadagan could not bear thinking about what might happen to them all if he were discovered. Her father would die for his treachery, and perhaps her brothers as well. Targhutai might be more merciful to her. He might settle for giving her to one of his men as a slave instead of throwing her to his soldiers.
Temujin said, “I have to hide.”
“The cart outside the doorway,” Chilagun murmured. “You could hide there.”
Khadagan looked up. “He'll smother under all that wool.”
“Exactly why nobody would look there.”
“I'll chance it,” Temujin said. “If they find me, I might convince them I crawled there by myself.”
Khadagan took his empty bowl. “They'll wonder how you lost your kang. They'll know someone helped you, so you can't protect us if you're caught.”
He gazed at her steadily. The boy was willing to endanger them to save himself. He must have thought hard about his chances, about the man who had protected him, the boys who had wanted his yoke removed, and the girl who had blushed at his compliments. He had known what they would do.
“I'll reward you someday,” Temujin said. “I swear it.”
Chimbai peered through the doorway, then motioned to Temujin. Khadagan followed him to the entrance. Dawn was near. Temujin crept through the darkness towards the cart.
“You'll have to watch him, Khadagan,” Chimbai said. “Don't let anyone near the cart, and make sure he doesn't come out until everyone's asleep.”
She stomped back to the hearth, cursing under her breath. A few words from her would have persuaded her father and brothers that hiding him was too risky. She had not even thought of them, only of how grieved she would be to see Temujin a prisoner again.
He knew how to bend people to his will even when powerless. Perhaps Tengri had touched him on Mount Tergune. Their fate was in His hands now. It was easier to believe that the spirits had made a tool of her than to admit that her weakness had led her family into danger.
34
Khadagan set curds on rocks to dry, then knelt next to Khaghar in front of the long ground-loom. A yurt panel needed a new wool binding, and Chimbai could use a new shirt when he went looking for a wife. The tasks had given her an excuse to stay near Temujin's hiding place. Her aunt had praised her diligence before going off with the other women to tend the sheep.
Khadagan straightened a strand of wool, pulled on the hand-loom's shuttle, then looked up to see Chaghan riding towards her along the bank.
Her cousin reined in her brown gelding. “Some of us are going to look for that boy,” Chaghan said, dismounting. “I told the others to wait until I fetched you.”
“I have to work.”
“Oh, Khadagan. You can tell your father you were helping us search. Everyone who isn't needed here is out looking.”
“I can't leave everything to Khaghar-eke.” The heat, even this early in the day, was making her flush; she wondered how Temujin was faring under the wool.
“He'll really get beaten if he's caught.” Chaghan giggled. “Maybe he'll get away.”
“He won't get far on foot and bound to a kang. Perhaps he'll give himself up and take his chances with Targhutai. After all, he wasn't put to death before.”
“Come with us,” Chaghan said. “If we find him, we'll chase him like a hare!”
Khadagan pushed the shuttle. It was all a game to Chaghan. “He may already be dead,” she said. “A cat might have brought him down and dragged him to its lair.”
“No one's seen a cat near here, and there would be blood and some sign of a struggle.” Chaghan led her horse closer to the cart. Khadagan's hand froze on the shuttle. A dog bounded towards the cart and sniffed at the wheels. “Well? Are you coming or not?”
Khadagan was afraid to speak. The dog howled. Chaghan stared at the cart, frowning. “I told you before,” Khadagan said at last. “I can't go.”
Chaghan mounted. “We probably won't find him.” She paused. “Some of the others wouldn't care if he gets away, but if we see him, we'll have to tell the men.”
Chaghan rode away. The other children might not mind if Temujin escaped, but none of them would take the risk of helping him. Even the Taychiut boys and girls, some of whom must have known him years ago, would not waste any pity on him.
“Foolish girl,” Khaghar said. Khadagan wondered which of them the old woman meant.
Sorkhan-shira did not return until evening. “Your brothers won't be back tonight,” he said. “They'll keep looking with the younger men.”
Khadagan handed him a jug as he sat down on his bed. “How long will they search?”
“For tomorrow, at least. I have to join your uncle after I eat to look downriver. Targhutai thinks the boy must be hiding along the bank, since he'd be safer there than in the open, but he means to cover as much ground searching as he can.”
“Then Temujin can't leave yet.”
Her father shuddered. “No.”
“May the spirits protect us,” Khaghar muttered from the hearth.
Sorkhan-shira ate his food without speaking, then stood up. “My brother will want to share a drink with me in his tent after we've searched. Can you look after the boy?”
Khadagan nodded. He patted her shoulder, then left. She rinsed the platter with broth, set it down, and went outside.
Except for the sound of singing in a distant yurt, the camp was quiet; a cloud drifted across the bright moon. Khadagan crept to the cart. “Can you hear me?” she said softly, and was answered by a muffled grunt. “There's a jug of kumiss inside, by the hearth. Go in and drink it—I'll wait out here.”
Temujin slipped out from under the wool; bits of fleece clung to his face and hands. He disappeared inside the tent. Khadagan sat down by the cart. No one was likely to come by, but she was ready to warn him if anyone appeared.
He came back out in a few moments, moved around the
side of the yurt to piss, then hurried towards her. “I can't hide under that wool much longer,” he whispered.
“You must. They'll still be searching tomorrow.”
He knelt and put a hand on her shoulder; she pulled away. “Khadagan,” he said, “your father, kind as he's been, might have given me up except for your words.”
“He may regret that he didn't.”
“You and your brothers have been my friends. I swear to you that one day you'll see them honoured, and that you will sit at my side.”
The heat had affected him. Here he was, in grave danger, speaking of impossible triumphs. “Yes,” she whispered, “if you don't bring us all to ruin first.”
“I won't forget. If you're ever without protection, turn to me, and I'll hold out my hand to you.”
“Don't soothe me with your talk,” she said. “It's too late for us to give you up, anyway. Now hide yourself.”
Khadagan kept near the yurt the next day, and did not see her father and brothers until after sunset. They all wore troubled expressions as they sat down to eat.
“Targhutai has to give up this hunt soon,” Chimbai said. “His men are telling him that the boy would have surrendered by now if he were still alive.”
“Until we're sure,” Sorkhan-shira muttered, “the lad will have to sweat in his bed of wool.” Khadagan got up and fetched another jug. “You're drinking more, child.”
“It isn't for me, Father. I'll give it to Temujin when it's safe for him to come out.”
Her father scowled. “We've done enough for him. He can go without food for one night.”
She did not feel like arguing with him. The hunt would soon be over. The boy would escape, and they would be safe.
Khadagan slept soundly that night, not waking until she heard the familiar sound of the churning outside. Her father's bed was empty. She closed her eyes again and was dozing when the beating noise outside abruptly ceased.
Sorkhan-shira suddenly came through the entrance. “Get up,” he said; Khadagan's brothers sat up in their beds. “We've been told to wait outside. Targhutai's ordered a search of the camp.”
Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan Page 20