by Lizzy Ford
“Everyone has a skill,” he stated and released me. He appeared satisfied I was no longer ill. “Not everyone hunts. Not everyone tends the fire.”
“You can do it all.”
“I’m a warrior, ugly one. You are not.”
I breathed out a puff of frustrated air. Batu stepped out of my personal space and went to the tree stump to sit and skin animals. “Then what is my skill to help us survive?”
“You entertain me.”
“No, really, Batu!”
“We will discover it.”
He didn’t know either. I should’ve known this, but it still hurt a little to think he thought so little of me. “I’m totally lost.”
“You are right here. How can you be lost?” With his back to me, I wasn’t able to tell if he was messing with me or not.
“Because I don’t belong here. I feel lost in every way.”
“Then I will find you and remind you of where you are.” This time, I heard the humor in his voice. “You cannot be lost if someone finds you, Moonbeam.”
His logic defied me sometimes. I circled him to see him yanking the skin of rabbits with ease that left me a little sick to my stomach. It added to my sense of helplessness to control my fate or even whether I lived or died on a daily basis without his help.
“I can’t stand it, Batu!” I nearly shouted.
He looked up at me.
“What am I supposed to be doing? Aren’t I supposed to be … useful?” I demanded, uncertain how to explain I was having an existentialist crisis.
He lowered the rabbit in his hands. “I do not understand what you seek, goddess,” he said, studying me. “You are angry, and I do not understand why.”
“Because I feel … helpless. Useless. I’m not part of your world, Batu, and I am unprepared to be here, but I realize now I’m here for good. I can’t go back to my home. I don’t want to be a burden to you, and I don’t want to die. So I’m stuck in this weird place.”
He tilted his head to the side. “This is madness, goddess! Why does the lark sing or the deer leap?” he asked. “It is in their nature to do so, and we do not ask them why. It is not in your nature to hunt or skin animals or draw a bow. You are still part of this world. You should not question yourself this way. You are no burden to me.”
He meant it. I didn’t know how I was anything but a burden to someone like him, but his features were clear and dark gaze sincere. If anything, he was amused by my crisis.
His answer soothed me some. I sat down on the other side of the fire. He returned to his skinning and gutting, and I watched. He led a fairly simple life. He never asked why something happened or failed to roll with the punches. His outlook was grounded and very much in the present, while I felt like I had to find the deeper meaning in everything or uncover how today fit into the big picture of the overarching plan for my destiny.
I preferred his perception of the world. Grateful for today, unconcerned about tomorrow, Batu was the epitome of how my yoga instructor said we all should be.
Aside from the killing and the fact he’s not vegan, I added mentally.
He had a way of calming my anxiety and grounding me, too, and he was definitely not bad to look at.
Maybe … he was what I should be like. Maybe I should notice the gorgeous stream or the grassy steppes stretching out to meet the sky and how far I could see instead of the internal agitation that had me running in circles tormented about why here, why now, why me.
Which wasn’t like me. Before my first journey through time, I was very laid back and capable of going with the flow. The Old West was eye opening in so many ways, a growing experience unlike any I had been prepared for.
I wanted to let go of all that, though, the emotions and doubt and fear and everything else that sent me into a tailspin or prevented me from moving forward.
“I have languages,” I murmured.
“A great skill indeed. You can barter with traders, command our enemies to submit, and speak to all of the Empire’s peoples.”
“Yeah.” It was a lot. I didn’t see how it tied to survival, but Batu was probably right. Maybe everyone had a unique contribution to the Empire, as he said. Mine wasn’t physical or part of the day-to-day but equally important. At least, I hope so. I didn’t want him or anyone else getting sick of me and tossing me out to survive on my own. Because I knew I wasn’t going to make it long. I didn’t have the survivor’s instinct.
“Do you feel well enough to travel?” he asked.
I nodded.
“My mother’s clan is near here. We will seek refuge with them.”
“Is your mother there?”
“She died when I was young,” he replied.
“Oh. I’m so sorry, Batu.”
“It is the nature of things.”
Nothing fazed this guy, for which I was grateful, because I’d been an emotional mess since we met. I started to relax again, assured of my safety and companion in a way that flew out the window every time he drew his sword and started slaughtering people.
I had to stop questioning who he was as well, if I wanted to stay sane. The day-to-day approach was going to be the only way I’d make it here. This was to become my new home; I had to accept that and make it work.
He finished with his chore and tossed the meat into a small pot. Starting the fire once more, we sat while he boiled the meat. We ate a cup of soup before he drained the water and packed up the meat in a bag.
I tried to help get the horses ready, only to end up taxed and dizzy. I sagged against my horse.
“It is good you try,” he said and took the saddle from my arms.
“Omigod! That’s the worst thing you’ve said to me yet,” I said with a tired sigh.
He smiled and saddled my horse before lifting me on top of it. His strength left me stunned once more, and I wasn’t about to think about how much he did for me when I was unconscious or fevered.
“Batu, thank you for taking care of me when I was ill,” I said, realizing I hadn’t bothered to acknowledge all he’d done.
“Do not thank me for my duty, goddess,” he said, uninterested. He mounted his horse. “Though had I sold you to the trader at the post, I might be home by now.”
“Sold me?” I repeated, startled. “Were you shopping around?”
He turned his horse away before I could glimpse his face. “I had several offers.”
It took a moment for my shock to wear off. Nudging my horse forward, I drew abreast of him and stared at his features. “You weren’t considering it, were you?” I questioned.
“You would command much more at the Imperial City.”
I grumbled at him under my breath but really didn’t fault him too much. If he’d known I was going to get sick, he probably would’ve sold me.
He glanced at me, and I saw the sparkle in his eyes.
“You are not funny,” I told him.
“I do not try to be, ugly one. I did receive offers, and you would fetch more at the Imperial City. But I do not wish to sell you.”
“Because I amuse you? Or was it your honor that demanded a higher price?”
“Honor has no price. You are also beautiful, and you have a good heart, even if you are confused.”
I started to respond and then stopped. Did he compliment me or insult me? Or was he being … him and speaking his mind without intent to do either?
“If you decide to sell me, will you tell me in advance?” I asked.
The corners of his lips quirked up in his half smile. “So you can run, lamb?”
I hate that tone. The low growl, the one that told me was pretty serious about sinking his teeth into me, was nothing short of terrifying. “Maybe I’ll try to kill you instead. I’ve seen you chop off enough heads I might be able to do it.”
“You cannot skin a rabbit, goddess. How will you harm a man?”
I couldn’t. I knew it. He knew it. “You won’t sell me, will you? One day I’ll be too old to be beautiful and too bitter to make you laugh
.”
“No, Moonbeam. Even then, I would not sell you.”
I couldn’t figure this guy out. His teasing was almost too subtle for me to catch it, and his dedication to duty and honor so singularly focused, it didn’t seem possible. How did someone obsessed with honor slaughter everyone who came within arm’s reach?
“At least you admit I’m not ugly,” I said, taking what small victory I could with the perplexing man beside me.
He smiled without responding.
We rode for most of the day. I didn’t make it to noon before exhaustion overtook me. It then became a challenge to stay awake, despite the relative discomfort of being on horseback and sweating in the late summer sun.
So entrenched was I in not falling off my horse or dropping into the sleep beckoning me that I didn’t notice the city of mushroom tents until we were nearly upon them. Startled at how dulled my senses were, I blinked to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. They were really there. Several hundred tents flanked on three sides by herds of animals. Someone I took to be a guard rode out to us when we were half a mile away.
“Batu!” he exclaimed when close enough.
I focused on the mane of my horse, not feeling well enough at all to care what they spoke about. A real bed was my only concern. That, and not embarrassing myself by falling off my horse before we made it to the tent town.
The rider returned to the tents, and soon, several people were gathered at its edge. I didn’t feel up to greeting anyone and sighed. It was past sunset, though plenty of light remained. My legs were shaky, my hand throbbing and my skin clammy.
But I wasn’t going to tell Batu I was weak.
We reached the people, and he dismounted, cheerfully greeting several men and two older women. I waited until everyone’s attention was elsewhere before dismounting and leaning against my horse.
How was it possible I felt worse on the ground than I did in the saddle? I leaned for a long moment, closing my eyes and breathing in the scent of leather and horse. Gathering what strength I had left, I straightened, resolved not to appear weak to the hardy people of the steppes.
Several more people had joined Batu, who appeared to be telling a story by the grin on his face and his expressive hand gestures.
“Moonbeam?” The voice was ancient, thin and papery.
I faced the old woman who looked like she was over a hundred. Wrinkles engulfed her feature as she smiled. White hair was piled on top of her head, and she was hunched over a cane. Her dark eyes were bright, and she wore a white feather in her hair.
White feather. Like that worn by the spry young woman who helped me when I first landed in Mongol Empire before the pills.
“Ghoajin?” I asked hesitantly.
She laughed, the sound coming out mostly air.
“Omigod!” I was on the verge of squealing but didn’t, not wanting to draw more attention to how different I was. I did, however, hug her gently.
“I told … Batu … to find you or not … return,” she told me in her ancient voice.
I laughed. “You’ve lost none of your edge!” Leaning away, I was careful not to disrupt her precarious balance or mine.
“You have not … aged, Moonbeam,” she said, squinting at my features. “What happened … to you?”
“Well, it’s a little difficult to explain,” I started. “I was put into a deep sleep for a very long time.”
She nodded, though I sensed she didn’t understand. I didn’t know how anyone could. “It is good to see you, Moonbeam. You will … come to my ger.” She turned and started away. “Batu!” she belted.
I stifled a laugh. My suspicion that Batu was constantly being yelled at by someone in his family seemed to be correct. I already knew how fierce his great grandmother was and was pleased to see she’d lost none of her edge. I didn’t know why I was so happy to see her, unless it was because of how little I connected to this time. She was a small anchor, one of the first people I met when I landed in a crater.
She was also a reminder of what Carter had done to me, of how Taylor’s people had found me in her tent and forced me into the future a few decades.
I really didn’t know what to think sometimes.
Not wanting to draw the wrath of the hundred-year-old dynamite of a woman, I trailed her as she walked slowly with the help of a boy around the age of thirteen or so.
Batu soon joined us and swept his great grandmother off her feet to carry her. I heard her grumble at him, and he ignored her.
It was hard for me to come to grips with the idea they had families, love, and somewhat normal lives when I also knew the boys and men around us were headed to war. The duality of this world stumped me, despite witnessing how Batu balanced being dedicated and lethal.
I followed them into a large white ger that appeared to be the same I had stayed in for a night seventy years ago. Pausing in the entrance, I looked around, a little unnerved at being once again where Taylor’s people had grabbed me. I didn’t see the massive, cloaked and masked figure who threatened to kill me last time I was here. I wanted to think he was dead by now.
But I knew better. He had been in the Old West with me and again in the tent of Ghoajin. He was a time traveler with his own mission, one I wasn’t able to identify by his random interference.
“Moonbeam.” Ghoajin had seated herself by the fire. She waved for me to join her.
I did so and slid into the space between her and Batu. Family members began scurrying into and out of the tent, laying out food for a large feast around the fire. I turned to speak to Ghoajin only to find the elderly woman nodding off. Taking pity on her, I glanced at Batu.
His eyes were on a woman across the tent, one who was staring back at him briefly until she noticed I was looking at her, too. Young and pretty, I sensed there was or had been something between them.
“You know her?” I asked, curious about the side of Batu that didn’t involve war and survival.
“Yes.” His gaze dropped to the fire. “She was to be my wife, if I had not chosen to become a guardian.”
“Oh.” Why did I feel a small twinge of envy? Or was it jealousy? “Maybe she will wait until you are forty seasons and marry you.”
He snorted. “She married another.” The words were casual with no sign of suffering, yet I sensed there was more to the story or at least, emotions he was glossing over.
My Batu was not as simple as I thought.
And I really was jealous. I had no idea why, though. He had never shown interest in me, and I certainly didn’t gravitate towards someone who was violent.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I took you from her, didn’t I?”
“I chose duty,” he replied with a shrug. “I knew what that meant.”
“But that doesn’t mean it’s easy.”
He met my gaze. “You are right, Moonbeam. It was not easy, but it was right.”
I wished I could think of Taylor in that light. His loss could never be right or necessary.
Batu and I looked at each other for a long moment. The exchange felt … intimate, two people who understood loss and the suffering that followed. I dropped my gaze to the fire, not liking the way my blood often stirred when we gazed too long at one another.
“Moonbeam, where did Batu … find you?” Ghoajin asked, awake once more.
“Tell us a story, Batu!” one of the children exclaimed.
A chorus of others joined in.
Batu rose, and they fell silent. “Are you prepared for a tale of adventure, battle and magic?” he started solemnly.
The ger was silent. The woman preparing food smiled at one another at his dramatic start, and the children all gathered around the feast.
Someone set a wooden plate of food before me, and I ate.
Batu stepped away and began a ridiculously melodramatic re-enactment of being captured by the Arabs, tortured in their dungeon and then breaking free to rescue me and battle free from the soldiers at the castle. He mixed humor and hyperbole, brandishing his sword
to fight off imaginary attackers and pretending to stroke his hair whenever he mentioned me.
I found myself laughing along with the others. I already knew he had a sense of humor, and seeing his one-man play helped me appreciate his view of the world even more. I wasn’t accustomed to being the serious, pensive one, but between the two of us, I was.
The children cheered when he reached the end of his tale, and he bowed to them. Batu sat at the feast down the table. The space beside me had been taken by an older woman.
Too exhausted to do more than eat, I listened to those talk around me and answered the questions Ghoajin directed my way. This felt like a welcome home party for me as well as Batu. It was an odd sensation, one I wasn’t sure was appropriate. It wasn’t my homecoming, or wouldn’t feel like it, if Ghoajin wasn’t present and hadn’t given me the seat of honor at her side.
My gaze drifted more than once to the pretty woman Batu had wanted to marry. She had three kids of her own hanging around her, all under the age of five, and was cheerful and outgoing. It was a good thing, except I could tell by Batu’s occasional glance in her direction that he bore some sadness about his choice.
I understood regrets in a way I hadn’t when I went on my first adventure. It was heavy knowledge, and I didn’t like it. I had the feeling Batu saw what I did when he looked at the woman he wanted to marry: the opportunity to be normal that he passed up.
Neither of us was going to qualify as normal people in our lifetimes, no matter where or when those lives occurred. As he often said, it was the nature of things.
The party continued into the night, until my recovering body began to slouch of its own accord. My eyelids grew too heavy to keep open, and I rested my elbows on my knees and struggled not to fall asleep in my plate. I was full and comfortable, warmed by the fire and cheered by the happy people around me. Seeing Ghoajin was an unexpected morale boost. I wiped my face and drank more water to help me stay awake.
“You need rest, goddess,” Batu said from behind me.