Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan

by Pamela Sargent

  Temujin clutched at him. “Can it be—”

  “I promised to watch over you, and I am here, my anda. You longed for me to be your comrade once more, and I have come to you.” Even as the ghost spoke through him, Kokochu understood why the spirit had been sent to him. Only the ghost of this man could bind the Khan even more closely to him.

  “Jamukha!” Temujin cried.

  Kokochu's arms slipped around the Khan as Temujin sagged against him. “I am with you again, anda Temujin, as you wished me to be.”

  92

  Hoelun sat with Bortai to the left of her son's throne. To the south of the great pavilion that shaded them, circles of yurts and wagons stretched to the horizon, and hundreds of horses were tethered near Temujin's ordu. Noyans had ridden there from all the regions her son now ruled to hear his proclamations.

  Her pains had troubled her during her journey, but to see Temujin as Khan of all the tribes was worth enduring any discomfort. Kumiss had eased the dull pains in her chest and the sharper ones that sometimes lanced through her entrails; her sable coat protected her from the cold spring air. Her son had summoned his men there, near the Onon's headwaters, for a kuriltai. Hoelun thought of the day, nearly forty years ago, when she had first seen Yesugei by the river; Temujin's father had never imagined such glory for his son.

  Many whispered that Teb-Tenggeri had advised the Khan to hold the kuriltai. The bones and the stars had shown the shaman that the spirits wanted Temujin confirmed again as Khan, now that all the tribes had submitted to him. All the Noyans had gathered to raise Genghis Khan on the felt once more; Khorchi, Usun, and other shamans had presided over the horse sacrifice, but it was Teb-Tenggeri who had hoisted a tugh of nine white yak-tails and proclaimed Temujin as Khan.

  Without the shaman's powers, some said, Temujin might lose Heaven's favour, and he had turned more to Munglik's son in the year since Jamukha's death. Those who wanted something from the Khan were learning that a word to the shaman could win Temujin's attention; those who feared Teb-Tenggeri were careful not to offend him.

  Hoelun looked towards the throne. Temujin's sons and brothers sat to his right, and his wives to his left, but Teb-Tenggeri stood behind him, adorned in a feathered head-dress and white robes. It was said that Jamukha sometimes advised the Khan through the All-Celestial, that Temujin's anda watched over him now. She wondered if her son would ever be free of Jamukha's memory.

  Temujin was listing the ninety-five men he would make heads of one thousand households each. Hoelun listened, swaying to the metre of the speech. All of the Khan's most devoted followers, including Hoelun's four adopted sons and her husband Munglik, were among the ninety-five who would command these mingghans. Her foster son Shigi Khutukhu was with the Uighur scribes seated near the pavilion, seeing that their brushes noted the Khan's words on their scrolls. Shigi Khutukhu had learned the script quickly; he could look at those strange markings and see the words in them.

  Temujin fell silent. Hoelun looked up as Shigi Khutukhu stepped forward, then bowed. “My Khan and brother,” the young man said, “have I served you less than any other man? Your mother raised me as her own, and called me her son. Others have served you well, but I am the one who sees that your words will live. Don't I deserve a greater reward than you have given me?”

  Temujin nodded. “You are my younger brother,” he said. “You will have your share of everything that is my family's, and you may break the law nine times and be pardoned. You will also be my eyes and ears—I make you the judge of all my people. You will divide them, giving a part to our mother Hoelun Khatun, a part to us, a part to our younger brothers, and a part to our sons. You will record all your judgements and, once you have taken counsel with me and written them, no man may alter them.”

  Shigi Khutukhu bowed again. “I am honoured, but it is not fitting for me to take a part equal to that of your other brothers. Instead, I ask only that you reward me with a part of what you take from any earthen-walled cities.”

  Temujin's brows lifted as he gave his assent. Hoelun's foster son obviously anticipated greater conquests. If Temujin took cities in Hsi-Hsia and Khitai, Shigi Khutukhu's share of the booty would bring him much wealth. The Khan would grant his adoptive brother's request because it showed how much faith Shigi Khutukhu had in him.

  The Khan beckoned to Munglik, who approached the throne with his other six sons and glanced at Teb-Tenggeri before he bowed. “Munglik-echige,” Temujin said, “you have protected and served me for many years. You saved my life when Nilkha Senggum plotted against me and summoned me to his camp. If you had not brought me to turn back, I would have thrown myself into the fire. As your reward, you will sit near my throne, and all the generations that follow you and your sons will have my gifts.”

  Teb-Tenggeri lifted his head as his father settled on a cushion near the throne. His beautiful face, still beardless but with the traces of a moustache, held a triumphant look. Hoelun could almost believe that he, not the Khan, was dispensing these honours, that he meant to give his father and brothers a higher place than anyone.

  The Khan had spoken to his comrades Borchu and Mukhali. Each man would command a tuman, with Borchu the general of the ten thousand of the right, and Mukhali commanding the left wing of the army. After honouring Mukhali with a princely title, the Khan summoned Jurchedei.

  Khadagan turned towards her husband, narrowing her eyes as Temujin spoke of how Jurchedei had served him so well that he had been rewarded with the Khan's own wife Ibakha Beki. Jurchedei smiled; apparently the gift had pleased him.

  Teb-Tenggeri had brought that about. Jurchedei might be honoured to have the beautiful Ibakha, but Khadagan knew what the servants said; the shaman had sent the Khan the dream ordering him to surrender his wife. Ibakha's banishment from the Khan's ordu was a warning to others; Teb-Tenggeri could easily rid himself of anyone else who troubled him. Khadagan stilled her thoughts. She would not be so foolish as Ibakha.

  The Khan recited words of praise for his four foster brothers, with a special tribute for Boroghul. Tolui lived because Boroghul's wife Altani had defended him against a Tatar soldier; Ogedei lived because Boroghul had carried him from the battlefield. Another speech honoured the Bagarin chief Usun; that old man, a shaman himself, kept his eyes averted from Teb-Tenggeri. Even he, Khadagan knew, was wary around the younger man.

  She sat up as her own father and brothers came forward. “Sorkhan-shira,” the Khan said, “you cared for me when I was a prisoner in Targhutai Kiriltugh's camp. Your daughter Khadagan hid me, and your sons Chimbai and Chilagun helped me to escape. That memory lives in my heart. Ask anything of me, and I shall grant it.” Khadagan's chest swelled; Temujin had kept the promises he had made so long ago.

  “My son Chimbai led your army against the rebellious Merkit clans,” Sorkhan-shira replied. “I wish only to camp where I choose in their former lands along the Selenga River.”

  “You may camp where you wish,” Temujin murmured, “and your sons may come before me at any time and ask for whatever favours they like.”

  Sorkhan-shira bowed. Khadagan wondered if he had caught the faintly mournful tone in the Khan's voice. This should have been the most joyful day of Temujin's life, but perhaps he was thinking that this might be all he would ever gain. Much had happened since she had taken pity on a captive boy. For a moment, she allowed herself to mourn those who had fallen in the battles against him, and remembered the other husband she had lost.

  Khulan gazed at Chimbai, refusing to allow bitterness to overwhelm her. Her father's gift of her had only bought peace for a time. After submitting to the Khan, many Merkits had rebelled and run off to make a final stand. Her husband had ignored her pleas for mercy, and Chimbai had been his sword against the Merkits. There was no purpose in dwelling on such thoughts; she was growing used to letting them sink below the dark, calm surface of her mind.

  The Khan was a storm that came upon her, assaulting her body but leaving her soul unmoved. He spoke of his love for her and
had given her the title of Khatun when their son was born. After Kulgan's birth, she had hoped she might know some peace, that her son would secure her place while Temujin found a new favourite among his women. Instead, his passion had grown, as if feeding on her indifference.

  Sorkhan-shira bowed and backed away; he and his sons would camp in her people's lands now. The Khan called out Nayaga's name; Khulan composed herself as the young man bowed before him. Nayaga could have no regrets. Temujin had given him command of a thousand for his loyalty.

  “When this man rode to me,” Temujin said, “with his father Shirgugetu and his brother Alagh, they were bringing my old enemy Targhutai Kiriltugh to me. But Nayaga saw that a man who lays hands on his own leader commits evil, and persuaded his father and brother to let Targhutai go. He did right then, and has proved his courage and trustworthiness since in many ways. Borchu will command our right wing, and Mukhali the left—let Nayaga be a Tuman-u Noyan and take command of the centre.”

  Nayaga's brown eyes glowed and he bowed deeply, apparently overcome by such an honour. As he straightened, his eyes met hers; the glow in his eyes faded. Khulan looked away. He could not feel sorry, now that he had been so richly rewarded for his faithfulness. He had demonstrated his devotion by putting aside the love he once had felt.

  The Khan was speaking of how he would organize his army, and of those who would serve as his guards by night and by day. Gurbesu watched as the scribes took down his words, recording them as they once had written the Tayang's.

  Now that some Uighurs served him, perhaps the rest of that people would yield to him; the trade routes they controlled would bring more wealth to the Khan. The darker look she had seen in Temujin's eyes disappeared as he spoke of sending Subotai against the sons of Toghtoga Beki and Jebe against Guchlug. When he was rid of those enemies, the prospect of another war, a greater effort against Hsi-Hsia, would renew him. The Khan was made for wars; he would not rest with what he had won.

  The child inside her stirred; perhaps she would give him a son. The Khan had saved much of what had once belonged to the Naimans. If he could not read the script that recorded his words, he understood its uses. He would reach out to take more, yet she wondered if his conquests would change him. He would have to become more than a general in order to hold what he might win, and learn how to rule those unlike himself. She glanced at his sons; in their silk robes and camel-hair coats, they looked less like Mongols.

  The Khan was proclaiming his Yasa, the code of laws that would rule his people. “All the people will believe in a Supreme God,” he announced, “Who alone gives life and death. All must know that we owe all to His power, and all may worship this God as they choose.”

  Gurbesu bowed her head. She would pray with her Christian priests while seeing that the shamans received their due; the yellow-robed monks among the Tanguts could also turn their wheels for her. All the spirits would hear her prayers, and she would not slight those Teb-Tenggeri commanded. Her heart fluttered, as it often did whenever she thought of the chief shaman. Inancha had kept a tight grip on the reins controlling his shamans and priests; she hoped Temujin could do the same.

  The Yasa would forever govern all Mongols. We are all Mongols now, Yisui thought. The Khan's Yasa had forbidden anyone to be proclaimed Khan until all the Noyans had gathered for a kuriltai, although it seemed needless to say that. Temujin had taken no new title, but already many called him the Kha-Khan—the Great Khan, the Khan of Khans. No rival was left to threaten him.

  “The people of our ulus will not fight among themselves,” the Khan continued, “and all are forbidden to make peace with any people who have not submitted to us.” Yisui glanced at her sister, and wondered how many others would suffer the Tatars' fate. Yisugen's eyes met hers, and Yisui knew her sister was remembering the dead.

  “No subject of the Khan,” Temujin said, “will take another Mongol as a slave.” Yisui lowered her eyes; the slaves would have to be found elsewhere. She thought of the prisoners who had recently been allotted to her. It was easier to remain unmoved by the tears she sometimes glimpsed in their eyes and by the losses they had suffered, now that her own memories had faded.

  “Every man must pay for his wife,” Temujin said. “There will be no stealing of women among the people of our ulus, thievery that has only brought us to fight one another in the past. Our women will control what they own, trading as they see fit, for men should concern themselves with war and the hunt.”

  Bortai looked up at her husband. He might have been saying those words for her sake, and for Hoelun-eke's; their thefts had cost many lives. But he would not be thinking of that, only of keeping his nation united.

  His voice was solemn, his face hard as he paused so that others could carry his words to the people assembled beyond the pavilion. She had hoped he would feel joy today, that his grief had left him at last. He had wept for Jamukha inside her tent, all the betrayals forgotten as he mourned the man who had once been his closest comrade. He had thrown himself into the plans for his foray against the Tanguts with a joy that seemed a kind of desperation, but he had not escaped his anda. He often went to Teb-Tenggeri to hear the voice of his old friend speak through the shaman. His anda's spirit could still be with him, gazing at him through his stepbrother's dark eyes.

  Her husband fell silent. She watched Teb-Tenggeri as the shaman lifted his arms and uttered his own blessing on the Yasa. How strange, she thought, that Teb-Tenggeri so closely resembled the dead man; she had never noticed the likeness before. His handsome face had grown leaner, and his eyes had Jamukha's predatory look.

  Jamukha had wanted to rule Temujin. Perhaps Teb-Tenggeri was ruled by Jamukha's old ambitions now, which might echo his own. Bortai closed her eyes as the shaman chanted. His voice throbbed against her ears, drowning out thought.

  93

  Bortai panted for breath as her horse neared the camp; Khadagan's mount halted near hers. “I'm getting fat,” Bortai said. “It may be good for a Khatun to be plump and show how well her husband provides for her, but the weight is a burden.”

  Khadagan laughed; the gyrfalcon on her wrist fluttered its wings. “You'll never be fat.”

  Khadagan never would, Bortai thought. Heaven might not have granted her beauty, but had given her the slenderness of youth.

  Their guards waited several paces from them. Bortai adjusted her gyrfalcon's tether around her glove. She had escaped her worries for a little while, but in the camp, they would press in on her again.

  The tents of the Khan's camp covered the plain on both sides of the river, which had swelled with the melting snows of late spring. Bortai drew her sable coat more tightly around her against the cold. The coat had been one of many offered to the Khan by the Oirats, and the white falcons her guards carried were also Oirat gifts. Jochi, sent out with an army by Temujin, had won the submission of both the Oirats and the Kirghiz people, and their northern forests had been added to the Khan's realm. Temujin had granted Jochi command over those people. Perhaps the rumours that Jochi was not the Khan's true son would at last die.

  Temujin had achieved much since his proclamations two years ago. Another foray against the Tanguts, the submission of the reindeer people and the forest tribes—the Tumats, after a brief rebellion, had also surrendered to the Khan's general Dorbei, who had cleverly sent out spies to spread false reports about his army's movements, thus taking the Tumats by surprise.

  But the victories had also brought sorrow to her husband. His foster brother Boroghul was dead, killed by Tumats in an ambush. In his grief, Temujin had wanted to lead an army against the Tumats himself, but Borchu and Mukhali had dissuaded him. Bortai knew that Teb-Tenggeri had added his voice to those of the two generals. The shaman preferred to keep the Khan near his own camp and within reach of his spells.

  Bortai knew what some whispered inside their tents. Teb-Tenggeri read the omens before all kuriltais. He argued with the Khan in front of others without rousing Temujin's wrath, and demanded what he liked for him
self. The Khan's own mother had dared to speak openly against the shaman, and now she was ailing, which proved she had offended the spirits. Teb-Tenggeri's camp had grown nearly as great as the Khan's, and more households had gone there to serve the shaman.

  Temujin must know what others were saying, yet did nothing. Bortai had carried only a few such tales to him before his glaring eyes warned her to be silent. The Khan still feared the man who spoke to him in the voices of the dead and who might hold Hoelun-eke's life in his hands.

  Khadagan said, “What troubles you now?”

  “I think you know.” She could confide in Khadagan; most of Temujin's other wives and women were too afraid of Teb-Tenggeri even to talk of him. “Temujin must act soon.” She made a sign against evil. “I told myself that Teb-Tenggeri was certain to go too far, that our husband would see he had to be put in his place. What will become of us if anything happens to Temujin?”

  “You can't say such words to him,” Khadagan said. Bortai sighed. Temujin recoiled from any talk of what might happen after his passing, as if he could hold death at bay by refusing to think of it. Maybe he thought Teb-Tenggeri's spells would keep him alive forever.

  “He wouldn't even listen to Khasar,” Bortai said. “His own brother, and Temujin let it pass.” That had been the latest incident. Khasar and the shaman had been arguing. It was said that a few careless jokes of Khasar's, uttered in drunkenness, had started the fight, and Teb-Tenggeri's six brothers had beaten Khasar severely. Temujin had been in Khulan's ordu when Khasar had arrived there to demand punishment for the affront. He might have taken action against the shaman himself, but had thought it proper for the Khan to dispense justice. Instead, Temujin had sent him away with mocking words about how the mighty Khasar had allowed himself to be beaten.