Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan

by Pamela Sargent

  Khulan, she thought, might have pleaded for Khasar; the Khan might have listened to his favourite wife. But Khulan asked him for nothing. Perhaps that was one reason Temujin still burned for her as though she were the wife of only a few days. Khulan lived as if the world could not touch her. The Merkit's beautiful face was always serene, her soft brown eyes contemplative and distant. Once Bortai had believed her to be too gentle and weak; Khulan was kind even to the lowliest of her slaves, who often took advantage of her generosity. But she held the Khan's favour, and he would not have loved a weak woman that much.

  “First, it was Ibakha,” Bortai said, “a silly girl who could have done nothing against the shaman, and now Khasar suffers because of a joke.”

  “Mockery can be a weapon,” Khadagan said. “A man who laughs at Teb-Tenggeri shows that he doesn't fear him.” She made a sign. “You must be careful.”

  Bortai glimpsed the tiny forms of distant riders to the south. One of them wore a feathered head-dress; she gritted her teeth. Teb-Tenggeri had dared to come here so soon after insulting Khasar; maybe Temujin would finally curb his insolence. She motioned to the guards, then dug her heels into her horse's flanks.

  Bortai had hardly settled herself inside her tent when she heard the guards greet her husband. Temujin entered, trailed by a group of young captains; she greeted them as her women set food on the table in front of the bed. Temujin performed the blessing, then seated himself; the men sat on the cushions to his right.

  Other men entered, carrying hawks for the Khan to inspect. Temujin took one bird on his wrist, peering at it in the same distantly curious way he gazed at his youngest children. He handed the hawk back, then glanced at Bortai. “My chief shaman wishes to speak to me,” he said. “I mean to ask him about Khasar.” She heard uncertainty in his voice; maybe he regretted his harsh words to his brother.

  A guard called out beyond the doorway. Teb-Tenggeri entered, his six brothers at his back. Temujin nodded to him, but did not beckon him nearer. Bortai leaned forward; usually the Khan was quick to seat the shaman at his side.

  “My brother Khasar came to me,” Temujin said, “and complained about you. He told me that you and your brothers set upon him. I sent him away for disturbing my rest, and now he sulks in his tent, refusing to speak to me. The Khan would hear what you have to say.”

  Bortai tensed. Temujin sounded almost as though he was pleading with the shaman for an explanation.

  “I came to you as soon as I could.” Teb-Tenggeri took a step forward. “I knew you would want to hear my reason for acting as I did. Ever since I told my father of the dream that told us to follow you, my only wish has been to serve you, brother and Khan.”

  The shaman glanced around the tent. The lute-players kept their heads bowed; the servants and the captains averted their eyes. “I didn't mean to offend you by striking at Khasar,” Teb-Tenggeri continued. “I was acting on your behalf.”

  “I had no reason to want my brother beaten.”

  Teb-Tenggeri's face grew solemn. “I have served you,” he replied. “My dreams have told me of your greatness, the spirits I command have done your bidding. I trust my dreams, for everything they've told me has come to pass. I've flown to Heaven and seen that Tengri favours you, and yet now a darker dream has come to me.”

  Temujin's hands fisted. “Go on.”

  “The spirits spoke to me.” The shaman lifted a hand. “They told me that Temujin would rule the ulus. But then another voice whispered that Khasar would rule. My dreams have always guided me, but none of my powers can tell me what may happen now. Such a dream can only mean that Khasar is plotting against you.”

  “I don't believe it!” Bortai cried before she could stop herself. The shaman's eyes darted towards her and the coldness of his glance locked her throat. She stared at the others desperately, then realized none of the men would speak out.

  “It is so,” Teb-Tenggeri said. “By mocking me, he mocks you, and shows what he thinks of us both. He wouldn't be the first brother of a Khan who wants his throne for himself.”

  Temujin's face was pale. “Perhaps it's true,” he whispered. “Khasar came to me instead of taking his revenge on you. He must have known that if he moved against you himself, I'd discover his plans too soon. He was always ready to defend himself before—causing discord between us must be part of his plot.”

  Bortai's nails dug into her palms. If the shaman could make Temujin doubt Khasar, he would not shrink from striking at her or her sons. Terror filled her; if she spoke now, Teb-Tenggeri would send a spirit to silence her.

  Temujin stood up. “You'll be given fresh horses to return to your camp,” the Khan said. “I must ride to Khasar now, and find out exactly what his plans are.” The men with the hawks were still; the other men got to their feet. Before Bortai could find her voice again, they had all left the tent.

  94

  Hoelun stretched her hands towards the hearth. Even near the fire, she often felt cold. A shamaness had come to her tent throughout the winter, but this spring, her pains had worsened. Those around her were aware of her suffering, even though she refused to admit to it aloud.

  As long as she did not take to her bed, they might believe the evil spirit would soon leave her. If she forced herself to go on, the others would not leave her to herself, and no spear would bar the entrance to her ordu.

  Munglik would not come to her this evening. He usually spent the night in the tent of his Oirat girl, or with the Tangut woman who had been given to him. How like him it was to offer excuses for going to them, saying that he wanted Hoelun to rest, and she could sleep more easily alone. He would not admit that he did not want to share a bed with an ailing old woman.

  He would not listen to her. She had begged him to warn Kokochu the All-Celestial that his arrogance might test Temujin's patience, but Munglik was fearful of his shaman son. Kokochu might have the power to heal her; the Khan would refuse to hear any words spoken against him.

  A guard shouted to her from the doorway, then came inside and bowed. “Guchu and Kukuchu are here,” he said, “and beg to be allowed to speak to you at once.”

  “My sons are always welcome.” She moved towards her bed, determined not to let them see her frailty. Guchu and Kukuchu camped near Khasar's ordu now; perhaps Khasar had sent them to see how she was faring.

  As she seated herself, her foster sons entered. Their broad faces were flushed; they hung up their weapons and hastened towards her. “I know what some say,” she murmured, “but your old mother isn't quite so ill as they claim. Drink with me and sleep here tonight, and you may tell Khasar—”

  “Khasar didn't send us,” Guchu said. “We bring evil news, Hoelun-eke. We were with Khasar when Temujin arrived with his guard, shouting that Khasar was plotting against him. Khasar insisted it wasn't so, but Temujin claimed that Teb-Tenggeri learned of the plot in a dream.”

  Hoelun stiffened. “What are you saying?”

  “Khasar's been angry with Temujin these past days,” Kukuchu said, “but he would never plot against the Khan. A little while ago, Khasar confronted Teb-Tenggeri, claiming that the shaman was enticing some of Khasar's men to move to his camp. He'd been drinking, and joked that the spell Teb-Tenggeri used to lure them was bending over and parting his buttocks. The shaman and his brothers beat Khasar and drove him away. Khasar went to Temujin and demanded justice, but Temujin only dismissed him.”

  “Khasar's brooded ever since,” Guchu added, “but when he heard Temujin was riding to him, he was sure the matter would be put right. Instead, the Khan is calling him a traitor and demanding that he confess. We managed to slip away.”

  Her rage had burned away her weariness. “I told my husband his son would go too far,” she whispered, “but I never thought he would dare to come between Temujin and Khasar.”

  “The Khan might listen to your words,” Guchu said. “Give us your message, and we'll carry it to him.”

  Hoelun stood up. “I'll go to Temujin myself.”

 
; Guchu frowned. “Mother, are you strong enough to—”

  “I'll put a stop to this if it takes all my strength.” She moved towards the doorway and shouted to her guards.

  A man harnessed one of her white camels to a cart. Hoelun took the reins herself and drove through the night, accompanied by only a few men. Dawn was breaking as she neared Khasar's ordu. She drew up at his camping circle and climbed down, then strode towards his tent. Members of the Khan's night guard stood by the steps leading up to the doorway; Khasar's wives peered out from the tents stretching to the east.

  Several guards gaped at her, then saluted. “Are my sons Temujin and Khasar inside?” she asked.

  “Indeed they are, Honoured Lady,” one man replied.

  “Admit me.”

  The men stepped out of her way; she called out her name, then went inside. The tent was filled with men; they scrambled to their feet. Khasar stood at the back of the tent; his hands were bound, while his belt and hat lay on the floor. Temujin, sitting in front of Khasar's bed, shrank back as she walked towards him.

  “What a disgraceful sight,” she muttered. “Never were two brothers as close as you, and now you turn against Khasar with no thought of what he's done for you.”

  Temujin did not meet her gaze. She went to Khasar, untied his wrists, then stooped to pick up his belt and hat. Temujin did not speak; no one reached out to stop her. She pressed the belt and hat into Khasar's hands. His face was bruised, and blood trickled from one side of his mouth.

  “I did nothing wrong, Mother,” Khasar said. “I am falsely accused.”

  “I know.”

  “Yet Temujin refuses to believe me.”

  She glared at the Khan. The men glanced from her to him. Temujin's face was drawn. She thought of how he must have passed the night, shaming his brother and himself with his baseless suspicions, refusing to see the truth.

  Hoelun sat down before the bed, opened her coat, then ripped her robe aside. “Look at these breasts!” she shouted. “Look at the breasts that fed you!” A few of the men covered their faces. “Look at the mother who gave you both life! Khasar couldn't have done anything against you, and yet you would strike at your own flesh!”

  Temujin leaned back, his face pale. “I'll tell you this,” Hoelun continued, lifting her sagging breasts in her hands. “Temujin could suck the milk from one breast, and Khachigun and Temuge could barely empty one between them, but Khasar could drain both of milk and ease my aching so that I could rest. Temujin, who is so wise, got his wisdom from my milk, and Khasar his skill with the bow. How often that bow has served his brother. His arrows brought your enemies to surrender, but now that you've killed those who fought against you, you wish to be rid of him!”

  Temujin seemed about to speak. She shook her head at him and closed her coat. “All speak of how fair Temujin is in his judgements,” she said, “how he rewards those who are loyal, and yet now he tears at his own brother, the archer whose arrows struck fear into the hearts of his enemies. He's thrust a knife through his old mother's heart, and brought misery to her old age.”

  Hoelun lifted her head. Temujin got up and paced in front of the bed. “Go on,” she said. “Ignore the truth, threaten your brother, drive your old mother from this tent. See how much honour that brings to your name.” If he tried to harm Khasar, she would cling to her younger son until the Khan's men dragged her away. She would curse Temujin as long as she had breath to say the words.

  “I've done nothing wrong,” Khasar said.

  “You shouldn't have to say it,” Hoelun said. “The man some call the Great Khan should have seen it for himself.”

  The men were still. The Khan paced in the shadows; Hoelun kept her eyes on him. At last Temujin moved towards her, his shoulders sagging. He helped her up with one arm and she knew that she had won.

  “Any man would fear the anger of such a mother,” he said. “I'm ashamed of what I've done. Khasar is free, and I'm sorry for disturbing his rest.” He let go of her, refusing to gaze into her eyes. “I'll leave you now.” His men quickly gathered around him; they left the tent.

  “Sorry for disturbing your rest.” Hoelun clutched Khasar to her. “He should have gone on his knees to beg your forgiveness.”

  “Temujin would never have been brought to this by himself,” Khasar said.

  “I know. That makes no difference.”

  “A spell is on him,” Khasar said. “He must believe he can't keep his throne without his shaman.”

  “He may not keep it with him.” Hoelun leaned against her son, suddenly weary.

  Temujin's shame did not last. Within days of Hoelun's return to her ordu, the Khan stripped Khasar of most of the households he commanded, leaving him with only a thousand.

  It was Guchu who brought this news to Hoelun. She sent him away, telling him to watch over Khasar, and wondered where Teb-Tenggeri would strike next. Khasar was free, but weakened; one of his Noyans had fled to the west, according to Guchu. The shaman would collect more followers when people saw that the Khan would not confront him even for his brother's sake. Teb-Tenggeri would separate Temujin from anyone who might challenge his influence.

  She had one hope left, faint as it was. Munglik had been in the camp of his sons during the past days, perhaps because he feared she might turn her wrath on him. She summoned a guard and ordered him to ride to her husband.

  Hoelun greeted Munglik in front of her tent. She had adorned herself in her favourite blue robe, painted her face, and lacquered the braids under her head-dress with sap. Munglik approached her with a worried look on his creased face, then smiled as she took his hands. “You look well, wife,” he said.

  “Spring has renewed me.” She led him inside, seated him on the bed, then beckoned to her servants. “I have missed you, my husband.”

  Munglik had brought only a few men with him. They ate the lamb Hoelun's cook had prepared; she smiled and laughed while they told stories and sang songs. The men were soon too drunk to notice how little she had eaten, how much she had to drink to dull her pain.

  Her husband's face was placid when the other men stumbled from the tent. Hoelun sent her servants away; as Munglik stood up to take off his robe, she reached for his hand. “Before we sleep,” she said, “I have something to say.”

  His brow wrinkled; he sat down next to her. “This is about Khasar, isn't it?” he said. “Everyone knows what you said inside his tent. A mother should love her sons, but you can't know what he might have been plotting.”

  “This isn't about Khasar, and sometimes a father's love can be as blind as a mother's.”

  Munglik tugged at his grey beard. “I see.”

  “Hear me out, Munglik. I'm not thinking just of my own sons now, but of yours. Think of how quickly Temujin might turn against your son if he goes too far.”

  “You're wrong, Hoelun. Temujin knows what he owes to Kokochu.”

  “Temujin owes what he has to his sword, and to those of his brothers and generals. The All-Celestial did no more than put his blessing upon it.”

  Munglik made a sign. “Be careful what you say.”

  “I'll say what I please. I've lost what fear I had of Teb-Tenggeri. You're his father—it's up to you to tell him what others fear to say. Tell him to lift whatever spell he's cast on Temujin before that spell is turned against him. Tell him to restrain himself—if you can bridle him, your other sons can easily be curbed.”

  “I can't say that to him, Hoelun.”

  “Then maybe it's time you gave him one of the beatings you should have given him long ago.”

  Munglik thrust out an arm. “You may not fear him, but I do. He would put a curse on us both if he—”

  “His own father?” she said harshly. “His father's wife? You can believe that, and still not have the courage to face him? What kind of man are you?”

  “Hoelun—”

  “But I know what sort of man you are.” The words forced themselves from her throat. “You may be afraid of him, but you're also thin
king of what you might win for yourself through him. I see what you were all along. When we were outcasts, you pitied us, but did little for us. When Temujin parted from his anda, you stayed with Jamukha, and only came to us when you saw my son would be stronger. Temujin wanted us wed, and I made the best of that—I knew he had to secure your loyalty. You haven't been a bad husband, and your advice saved Temujin's life, but you were always one who held his finger to the wind before acting. Now you think you'll gain more by appeasing Teb-Tenggeri.”

  He grabbed her arm. “Be silent.”

  “I curse your son, Munglik. If you won't hold him back, may you have my curse as well. I spit at your feet, I turn my face from you.”

  His face twisted. She saw the struggle in his eyes, and thought he might relent.

  “Call back your words,” he muttered, “and I'll forgive you. It will be as though they were never spoken.”

  “The bow has loosed its arrow,” she said. “I can't call it back. Only you can keep it from finding your son's heart.”

  He got up and strode from the tent. The evil spirit's claw tore at her again; she sank back against the bed.

  95

  Bortai heard the soft sound of footsteps; Temujin was coming to bed. He had been brooding by the hearth for much of the night. She reached for him as he slipped under the blanket.

  “Bortai,” he said, “there's so much I don't know. My words live in what Ta-ta-tonga sets down, and yet I can't read his markings. The people of towns and cities can make paths for water and force it to do their bidding, while we must roam our lands in search of it. Teb-Tenggeri can trace and call up the spirits, while I must struggle to hear them on Burkhan Khaldun. I thought men grew wiser with age, but instead I see how little I know.”

  “You grasp what a Khan must know,” she said.