Ruler of the Sky: A Novel of Genghis Khan

by Pamela Sargent

  “But there is more I can't grasp.”

  He joined with her, but she sensed his thoughts were elsewhere. She held him until he was asleep. The shaman had raised such doubts in his mind; she knew what Teb-Tenggeri must have said. Listen to me, and you will keep your throne; only I can summon the spirits that will aid you.

  She was dozing when she heard shouts outside, and recognized Temuge's voice. Temujin's youngest brother was demanding to see him.

  Temuge burst through the entrance, came towards them, and knelt at the foot of the bed. “I demand justice of my brother the Khan,” Temuge said in a choked voice.

  Temujin sat up slowly. “Some from your own camp went to join Teb-Tenggeri,” the Odchigin continued, “and you didn't stop them. Now some of my men have done the same. I sent my comrade Sokhur to the shaman to ask that he return my followers, and he and his brothers beat Sokhur and sent him back to me with his saddle tied to his back. How can I endure such insults?”

  Temujin reached for his robe and pulled it around his shoulders. “Go on.”

  “I didn't come to you then,” Temuge said. “After what happened to Khasar, I saw I'd have to settle this myself. I went to Teb-Tenggeri. His brothers set upon me and forced me to kneel to the shaman before driving me away without the men I sought.” He opened his coat and shirt, then thrust his bruised face towards them. “See the marks those Khongkhotats left on my body! What will you do about that? Must Khasar and I believe that our brother cares for us no longer?”

  Bortai sat up and drew the blanket over her chest. “How can you allow this?” she asked.

  “Khasar served you well,” Temuge said, “and you treated our brother poorly for his loyalty. I did nothing more than demand what was mine. What will you do for us, Temujin?”

  The Khan was silent. “Don't you see what they're doing?” Bortai cried. “While you're still alive, they dare to raise their hands against your brothers.” Tears trickled down her face; she refused to hold them back. “When your fine, strong body crumbles into dust, what will become of us?”

  Temujin shuddered and made the sign against evil. “Yes, I'll speak of that,” she went on. “Your people are grass in the wind—who will rule them when you're gone? Do you think men who would strike at your brothers will ever allow my sons to rule?”

  He looked towards her. He would order her to be silent; she would not obey him, not this time. “Whatever powers he has,” she said, “it's you who made yourself Khan. Will you lose what you've won? Let the shaman go on affronting you, and your great ulus will slip through your fingers. Move against the All-Celestial and test the powers he claims to have.”

  “My anda speaks to me through him,” Temujin said. “He has become the comrade I longed for and lost.”

  “Give it up, Temujin.” Bortai clutched at the blanket. “The shaman is only using your grief and your regrets against you. Let him go on dividing you from those who love you most, and you risk everything. He tests you by shaming your brothers—do you think he'll hold back from striking at our sons next?”

  “His knowledge—” Temujin began.

  “He uses it only for himself. If you treat Temuge as you did Khasar, I promise you that all will know what I think of such injustice. Teb-Tenggeri will have to deal with me then—maybe that will bring you to see what he is.”

  The Odchigin looked from her to his brother. “Your wife is wise,” Temuge said. “I beg you not to ignore her advice.” He got up and went to the hearth. Temujin stared past Bortai; she saw the despair in his eyes.

  “Once, my dreams were clear,” he said at last. “Now I only glimpse them through a mist. Once, the spirits spoke to me, and now they're often silent. Only the shaman can ease the doubts that torment me—I can still hear the spirits through him. I can speak to Jamukha, and know he has forgiven me. Do you see what you're asking of me? If I strike at Teb-Tenggeri, and his powers are what they seem, he'll turn them against me. But if I succeed in punishing him, it will show that the spirits have abandoned him, and I'll have to wonder if he ever truly commanded them.” He paused. “If I lose my shaman, I'll lose my anda again.”

  “You are the Khan,” Bortai whispered, “the great tree that shelters us all. You must think of the living—your people and your sons.”

  “Yes, I must, and bring myself to believe that my shaman only clouded my thoughts with his spells. You've given me good counsel, Bortai, but I'll suffer for acting on it.” He stood up. “Temuge.”

  The Odchigin turned towards him. “You may settle your dispute with my chief shaman,” the Khan continued. “I shall summon the Khongkhotats to my side, and you may do as you like with Teb-Tenggeri. It wouldn't be fitting for me to raise my own hand against him.”

  Temuge struck his broad chest with a fist. “I'll meet with him,” he said, “and make certain I have strong men at my back.”

  “Don't speak to me of what you'll do. If Teb-Tenggeri learns of your intentions, he may turn his spells against you. If he doesn't, I'll know his powers have failed him at last.”

  “He won't be suspicious,” Bortai said. “He's too filled with pride to think anything could harm him.”

  Temujin shot her a glance, then gestured at the Odchigin. “Go!”

  Temuge left the tent. The Khan sat down, his back to her. “I'll meet with the Khongkhotats here,” he muttered.

  “I'll be at your side,” she said.

  “It would be better if you weren't. There may be danger.”

  “Then I'll face it with you.” She would not let him give in to his fears.

  “You told me to leave Jamukha,” he said. “You were right to do so, but that parting caused me much pain. You warned me that Toghril would prove false, and I ignored you only to find that you were right about that. Now you tell me I must rid myself of Teb-Tenggeri. Must I forever distrust those around me?”

  “Your brothers love you,” she said, “as do your generals, and so do I. You have no need of false friends.”

  “And I must think of what I have to win. God means me to be the greatest of Khans, to rule all the lands under the sun's path, and my ulus is Tengri's weapon. It seems I must find all my joys in my destiny, in taking what Heaven offers to me.”

  He got up and went to the entrance to summon the guard.

  Bortai kept her face still as the shaman and his six brothers entered, followed by Munglik. Teb-Tenggeri seemed calm as he and the others hung up their bows and quivers on the western side of the doorway, even after he caught sight of Temuge sitting at Temujin's right. Twenty members of the day guard were inside the tent; the three muscular men Temuge had brought were beyond the entrance.

  The shaman murmured a greeting. Temujin said, “My brother Temuge Odchigin has complained to me about you.”

  Teb-Tenggeri frowned. “He has no reason to complain,” he said in his musical voice. “Some of his men chose to join me. Does it matter if they serve me or the Odchigin, as long as they serve their Khan? If he's such a poor leader that he cannot hold them, then surely they should have the right to choose another. I suspect they came to me only because the Odchigin may harbour ambitions much like his brother Khasar's.”

  Temujin nodded at Temuge. The Odchigin jumped to his feet, bounded towards the shaman, and seized the collar of his white coat. “We'll settle this,” Temuge shouted. “You forced me to kneel to you—we'll see who's stronger now!” Teb-Tenggeri thrust his arms up; Temuge wrestled him to the floor. The shaman's feathered hat fell to the carpet and Munglik stooped to grab it. Teb-Tenggeri kicked with one leg, catching Temuge in the knee, then leaped to his feet. His dark eyes glittered as he looked towards Temujin; the faces of his brothers were pale with shock.

  “Settle this outside my tent,” Temujin called out. “You may prove who's stronger there.”

  Temuge dragged the struggling shaman outside. “What's this?” Munglik asked as he came towards the throne.

  “Temuge has been insulted,” Temujin said softly. “Your son has overstepped his bounds.” />
  Munglik's face sagged; his sons eyed the Khan's guard. Bortai heard the shouts outside, and then a sudden silence. Temuge, his chest heaving, stumbled back through the doorway. “That shaman isn't much of a fighter.” Temuge gasped and showed his teeth. “He fell, pretended he couldn't move, and now he won't get up. His limits are clear.”

  Munglik lifted his hands and groaned. “What have you done?” The old man covered his face; a harsh sob came from him. His other sons were moving towards Bortai and Temujin, hands on their knives. Temujin leaped up and pulled Bortai to her feet, then lashed out with one arm as one of the brothers lunged towards him.

  “Stand back!” the Khan shouted. The guards quickly massed around him and Bortai; others poured through the entrance. Soldiers surrounded the Khongkhotats as other men guided Temujin and Bortai outside.

  “They dared to lay hands on the Khan,” one man said; another cursed. Temujin, his arm still holding Bortai tightly, pushed his way towards Temuge. Other guards, swords out, were ringed around the men who had ridden there with Munglik and his sons.

  Temujin stopped in front of his brother. “So you have settled your dispute,” the Khan said.

  “See for yourself.” Temuge grinned mirthlessly and led them to the wagons near the great tent. The three burly men who had come there with the Odchigin stood next to one wagon; the shaman's body, twisted at the waist, lay at their feet. Bortai caught a glimpse of Teb-Tenggeri's glassy eyes and made a sign against evil.

  “His back is broken,” Temuge said. “No blood was shed. As I told you, he wasn't much of an opponent.”

  Temujin gazed at the body; his mouth worked. “Rise,” he said in a voice so low that Bortai could hardly hear him. “Rise.” She pulled at his arm, but he looked down at her with dead eyes, as if his own spirit had left him.

  Munglik and his sons were being led to them. Temujin let go of Bortai and held up his hand.

  “Your son's powers have left him,” the Khan said as Munglik was pushed towards him. “The spirits have withdrawn from him. Because you couldn't control your sons, Munglik-echige, one of them is dead. You deserve to be punished for not restraining him, for allowing him to trouble the peace of my ordu and my kin, for letting him mislead me with his spells.”

  “I've been punished,” Munglik whispered. “My son's been taken from me.”

  “You're at fault,” Temujin said, “but so am I, because I didn't fight the spell he wove around me, because I wanted to believe—” He shook himself. “I promised you that you would be honoured, and can't go back on my word now, or no one will believe any oath I might swear. I can't kill you, and make my own mother a widow—your death would serve no purpose, and your ambitions are now at an end. You and your sons are free to go, but take care that you trouble me no more. You may think about what you might have gained if you had been truly loyal to me.”

  The Khan turned to the guards nearest him. “Place a tent around the shaman's body. Close the flap and the smoke-hole, and see that it's guarded for three days. The shaman was a man of power—I want to be certain his spirit has left him before he's laid to rest.” The shaman still bound him, Bortai thought. Temujin would rather see him rise from the dead, even if that meant his own death, than to know that the voices that had once spoken through Teb-Tenggeri might forever be silent.

  Munglik bowed his head as his other sons led him away. “Usun will be my chief shaman,” Temujin said tonelessly. “He's both wise and too old to have many ambitions.” He pulled his coat close around him. “Bring me a horse—I won't remain so close to evil spirits.” He walked away without looking back at Bortai.

  Hoelun had not wanted her daughter here, but Temulun had insisted on coming, with three shamans in her train. The shamans had chanted and sacrificed a sheep. Temulun, it seemed, was determined to pretend that the evil spirit clinging to her mother could be dispelled.

  Now she sat by Hoelun's bed, babbling of the white falcons that were her husband's share of the Oirat tribute. Her pale eyes, so like Yesugei's, shone as she talked of her favourite birds; one would have thought the falcons were her children. Temulun had said little about her sons.

  The servants moved quietly around the tent, sweeping the carpeted floor of dirt and insects. Go, Hoelun thought; she did not want Temulun near if she suddenly failed.

  Hoelun closed her eyes. When she opened them, one of the servant women was whispering to Temulun. “I've heard that rumour,” Temulun said; her handsome face filled with scorn. “It's only foolish talk.” She looked down at Hoelun. “If Munglik-echige has anything to do with spreading those stories, maybe you should warn him to stop.”

  Hoelun sighed. Temujin had broken her husband; Munglik could do nothing against the Khan now.

  Temulun looked up at the servant. “What must have happened,” she went on, “is that my brother's guards took the shaman's body away and buried it in secret. The shaman didn't rise from the dead on the third day, and his body didn't float out through the smoke-hole.”

  “But they say the entrance was still closed, and that the smoke-hole was opened from the inside.”

  “Perhaps the Khan shouldn't have buried the body secretly,” another woman said. “If people had seen it—”

  “I don't have to see it,” Temulun said, “to know the story's false. Those who feared the chief shaman may be willing to spread it, but it only makes others admire Temujin all the more for being stronger than a man with such powers. Anyway, Temujin has declared that it was Tengri who took the body, that it's a sign Heaven no longer loved the shaman and wouldn't allow him a burial, so my brother's found a use for such talk.”

  The servants made signs; talk of death and burial was inappropriate around an ailing woman's bed. Temulun waved the women away, then leaned towards Hoelun. “When you're well, Mother, you'll have to come to see my birds.”

  “Temulun, your birds will have to hunt without me, and you should be with your sons, not here. Will you carry evil spirits back to them? You've done what you could for me—it's time you were on your way.”

  Temulun lifted her mother's hand to her cheek; Hoelun felt her daughter's tears against her palm. “Mother.”

  “I love you, daughter. Now let me rest.”

  Temulun wept. Hoelun closed her eyes and drifted; when she opened them once more, her daughter was gone, but someone else stood near the bed. She squinted and saw Munglik's shadowed face.

  “I've lost a son,” he said. “I can't lose my wife.” His body was as stooped as a much older man's, bowed by grief. “I should have listened to you. My remaining sons have lost their courage, and what will I do without you?”

  She lacked the power to answer him. “I loved you when I first saw you so long ago,” he said. “I know I was never the man the Bahadur was, but you gave me some strength. What will I be without it?”

  She managed to lift her hand. Munglik clutched it in his, set it down, and smoothed her blanket over her.

  At last he left the tent. She heard nothing but the wail of the wind outside, and realized her servants were gone. She knew then that a spear stood in front of the tent, warning everyone that death was inside.

  Hoelun slept. When she woke, her pain had lessened, but perhaps she had only grown used to the talons of the evil spirit that still clutched at her. A man was with her, gazing at her with Yesugei's eyes; her husband had come to fetch her.

  “Your name will live, Yesugei,” she said softly. “Temujin has surpassed all your hopes for him. Thousands know that our greatest Khan came from your seed.”

  “Mother,” the man said.

  “Temujin,” she gasped. “You risk a curse by being here.”

  “Then I'll risk it. I can't let you go without seeing you one last time. I've begged Khasar's forgiveness and restored all his herds and households to him. I've cursed myself for bringing you sorrow.”

  “I feel no sorrow now,” she said. “I lived to see you make a nation. Leave me to my rest, Temujin. My life is completed, and you are the Khan.”
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  “And with everything I win, something else is taken from me. I can't—”

  “We must all die alone. Your father awaits me—go.”

  He whispered a prayer, and was gone. A shadow fluttered on the western wall of the tent, the form of a man. Hoelun slowly raised her head, heedless of the pain tearing at her.

  “Yesugei,” she whispered, and fell back. Her soul rose from her body and flew to him.

  Part Seven

  Temujin said, “The greatest joy for a man is to bring death to his enemies, to herd them before him, to hear the weeping of those who loved them, to mount their horses, to hold their wives and daughters in his arms.”

  96

  Her women were weeping. Ch'i-kuo looked around the nearly empty room. Her favourite ivory incense burner, her oil lamps, and her scrolls of silk and paper had been taken away and put on the backs of the mules that would carry her belongings from the city. Her jewels and robes of silk, linen, damask, brocade, and fur had also been packed for her departure.

  Ch'i-kuo clapped her hands sharply. “Go,” she whispered. “I wish some time alone before I leave.”

  The women bowed themselves out of the room. A film of the yellow dust spring always brought covered part of the floor. Ch'i-kuo knelt on the carpet of ivory strips and gazed at the painted screen that stood before the window. Even in the midst of a crowd, she had always lived at court as though a screen stood between her and those around her.

  She held her mind still, making it as blank as a scroll before she set her brush to it, and the first of the images she wanted to recall came to her.

  A man holding a brush sat at a low lacquer table. He wore a robe of fine white linen, fastened on the left with a jewelled clasp; a long black braid hung down his back. He had been the Emperor Ching during his life, and known as Ma-ta-ko to his own people, but the name that came to her now was Chang-tsung, the name by which he would forever be known.