by Lizzy Ford
Blinking, I twisted. I hadn’t noticed him move from his spot down the table, but I’d stopped noticing much of anything. “I don’t want to offend Ghoajin,” I murmured.
“She is asleep. She cannot be offended.”
I looked at her and saw she was indeed out cold, her head resting on the shoulder of the woman beside her. I smiled and made it to my feet.
Several people called out to him as we left the feast while the others seemed content to eat and talk. The night chill helped my senses awaken some, and I hugged myself, following Batu through the tents.
He ducked into one, and I followed, pausing inside the entrance. “Whose ger is this?”
“My mother’s. She had no children but me. They leave it up for when I visit.”
“Do you visit often?”
“When possible.”
“I can’t believe Ghoajin is still alive.” The words sounded morbid aloud, and I glanced at him, rushing on. “That came out wrong. I’m sorry.”
Batu was peeling off his weapons. “She is the oldest living member of any steppe tribe. You are right to be surprised, ugly one.”
I smiled, dwelling on how much time had passed with some disbelief. I could’ve played it off as not happening if I hadn’t met her when she was young. Carter’s brilliance – and the idea I could’ve been stored like wine in someone’s basement for seventy years – never ceased to terrify me. It was also amazing to have passed through time as I had and had met Ghoajin on either end.
“What do you do, goddess?”
Blinking out of my thoughts, I moved away from the entrance to the fire, where it was warmer. “Thinking about how I was asleep for so long. Where was my body while I slept?”
“It is not known. Some say you were buried with the Great Khan, Genghis. Some said you went back to Father Sky.” He shrugged. “The Arabs found you, but I know not how. When I heard they had found you, I came after you.”
If you hadn’t killed Mahmood … I didn’t let the thought stick around. It was likely I would never know for sure where I ended up sleeping away seventy years.
Batu approached me with new bandages the way he had since finding me. He unwrapped my hands and arms, inspected them and then rewrapped the bad hand and opposite forearm. “The others need air,” he explained and tossed the used bandages into the fire.
Peeling off his tunics and boots, he dropped into the bed opposite the door, his bare chest drawing my attention.
“There’s only one bed,” I complained, looking around.
“We have slept together since meeting, goddess. Why does it bother you now?”
I rolled my eyes at him. “We had no choice in the wilderness.”
“Then sleep by the fire. I am in need of a real bed.” He rolled his muscular back to me.
I guess it doesn’t matter. It just seemed weird to sleep with him when we weren’t trapped in a pup tent built for one. But I wasn’t about to sleep by the fire as he suggested. I, too, needed a real bed and a good night of sleep.
Stripping off my boots, I snuggled into bed with him. He was right; we had been sleeping together for a few days at least. One more wasn’t going to matter, and … I kind of looked forward to his warmth and strength at night. In a world that scared me, he left me feeling protected.
Pressing my back to his, I couldn’t help wishing I could wake up to a hot bath in the morning to soothe my aching legs.
“Batu, do you regret not staying here and marrying the woman you wanted to?” I asked drowsily.
“I do not regret any choice I have made.”
Of course not. What an ass. “I saw how you looked at her.”
“What purpose does regretting a choice serve, goddess?” he responded. “It cannot be changed, and I made it with honor.”
“But don’t you feel anything?” I asked in irritation, sitting up to stare at him. “You cannot go through the world without feelings. It’s not possible.” He had issues expressing his emotions; this much I knew.
“I feel, ugly one. I do not let this control me.” He twisted to see me. “You feel too much.”
“I do not.”
“It controls you, does it not?”
“It didn’t use to.” I shook my head. “You’re right, I think. You’re always right. I don’t understand how it’s so easy for you to just … live.”
He chuckled. “What else would I do if not live?”
He was either being dense or didn’t understand what I was trying to say. Either way, I was done for the night. “Sleep well, Batu.” I settled back into the bed, my back to him.
“And you?” he asked, shifting. “Do you regret Taylor?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.”
“You are peculiar, Moonbeam. How do you not know your own mind?”
“It’s complicated.”
He wrapped an arm around me, the way he had since the first night in the pup tent. I started to object – but liked being there too much to tell him to back off. He was warm, solid, and strong. He grounded me when I was tired, sick or scared of my new world. Relaxing into him, I lifted my head for him to shift an arm beneath my neck.
I liked it when he held me.
“How so?” He sounded drowsy. He pulled me into his heat.
“I don’t regret meeting him. I regret the circumstances that placed us together, and I also regret …” making him cease to exist.
“These are not things to regret,” Batu said. “This is –”
“- the nature of things. I know.”
“You have a delicate heart. If you killed him, this regret I would understand. But you are not capable of taking a life.”
I was quiet, staring at the fire in the middle of the tent.
“Moonbeam?” There was an odd note in his voice. “Why do you choose to be quiet now?”
“Because I’m tired.”
“You did take his life.”
“Good night, Batu!”
He pushed himself up on his elbow, removing my pillow. Batu pushed me onto my back. He gazed down at me, surprise on his features.
“You, Moonbeam, murdered your husband?”
“I did not murder him,” I snapped and tried to push him away.
He captured both wrists in one hand easily and pinned them to my chest, unconcerned with any attempt I made to escape. He was too strong to be remotely fazed. “But you had a hand in it,” he said, reading my features. “You were involved somehow.”
I sighed, resistance deflating with the aid of exhaustion and sorrow. “Yes, I did,” I admitted. Lying took energy. I sucked at it to begin with, and I had no energy to spare. Batu was too relentless to let me lie to him. “Someone used me to get close to him then killed him.”
“But it was not your sword,” he pointed out. “Why are you guilty for an act that was not yours?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” I tugged at my hands.
He smiled, aware I wasn’t going anywhere until he got what he wanted.
“You can be a real ass, Batu,” I muttered. “Why do you care?”
“Because you do not wish me to know. It is important to you, so it is important to your guardian.”
I was too tired to debate his logic. “Taylor knew he was dying. Before he did, he forgave me for my involvement in his murder and told me I had … made a difference in his life. Everyone around me died, Batu. Not just him. I was the only one who survived, and that feels … wrong. His kindness in his last moment feels wrong. Telling me I meant something to him despite what was going to happen …wrong.” I clamped my mouth closed, close to tears. “I shouldn’t have survived and he shouldn’t have died. If we had never met, he wouldn’t have.”
Understanding crossed Batu’s features. He released my hands.
The truth was out. There was no need to fight him anymore. I wiped my eyes quickly and sighed, struggling for control of my emotions. “That’s why I’m sad,” I said tightly. I rolled onto my side once more, hoping he took the hint to leave me alone.
While I appreciated his silence, it also bothered me to think he might be judging me for the first time.
Eventually, I fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Chapter Ten
I awoke alone the next morning and was soon collected by Ghoajin for a tour of the encampment. We walked among the members of her clan for most of the morning. She proudly introduced me as the goddess she had told everyone about and explained to me everything we saw, from how the women trained the children to ride horses, shoot bows, and maintain weapons to which principal members of the clan had how many herds of goats, sheep and horses.
We were followed by a trail of women and children, along with some younger boys who had not yet been sent off to the war camp nearby for further warrior training. Women ran the encampment, she told me, and what we saw seemed to support this. Aside from Batu, the only men of fighting age present were wounded, slaves, or men there for the protection of the camp.
I had run into the concept of slavery in the Old West. It made me extremely uncomfortable, but what I saw here was a little different than I expected. The slaves were expected to serve the families that owned them but were also free to intermarry with the Mongols, buy their freedom by volunteering to fight, or provided accommodations if they had special skills. Some were adopted, others rewarded with horses and others strung out in the sun with whip markings as a warning against stealing or disrespecting their owners.
It was another display of the world that bred a man like Batu: barbarity and generosity side by side with loyalty trumping pretty much everything else.
And then there was the harem. It was contained in a large tent and owned by one of Ghoajin’s nephews, who was the chief of the clan. No one was permitted to enter without his permission or paying off someone.
We didn’t go inside, for which I was grateful. It was hard enough for me to put aside my twenty-first century American morals and perceptions without being confronted by the existence of sex slaves. Ghoajin assured me the women were treated well, but …
It didn’t sit right. In the Old West, there had been a brothel that fascinated me, but a harem sounded a little more sinister to me. I was working on not judging the culture or the people around me for living the lives they thought were natural.
We stopped at noon to give Ghoajin a break and sat down in the shade of a tree for a light lunch with several of her great grandchildren and the children of Batu’s ex, who accompanied us, along with several other women. I watched the kids play with a smile.
“I am glad Batu brought you back,” Ghoajin said. “When he was six, his mother died. He left his father’s clan and … disappeared.” She paused to catch her breath. “For ten years. He was gone. And then he came back, to us, his mother’s … people. He knew how to fight and was determined … to become a champion warrior.”
I listened, fascinated by the story about a man I barely knew.
“He was consumed by the need to prove himself,” his ex, a woman named Suvdin, added.
“He was,” Ghoajin agreed. “He never spoke of … what happened when he left. But he came back … with fire.”
It was difficult for me to imagine a child of six surviving this brutal world on his own. Then again, I could almost believe it about Batu.
“He is fire,” Suvdin said. “He consumes or is cold. He does nothing or he conquers all. He is much like the tales we heard of Genghis.”
Ghoajin nodded proudly.
I detected some … wistfulness or maybe regret in the soft tone of Suvdin. Batu claimed not to be dwelling on his choice of duty over the woman he cared about, but she seemed to be. I shivered at her description, able to understand how right she was about Batu. His fierce devotion and loyalty, coupled with his athletic prowess, was a combination that would be explosive in a real relationship. She was right; he would burn up the woman of his focus with possessive passion.
Hearing her talk about him made me feel awkward around her, a little too aware that I slept in his bed, albeit platonically. He wasn’t mine, and I had no intention of ever marrying again, but for the sake of his people’s customs, I was the woman at the center of his world.
Two girls sat down behind me. “Moonbeam, can we touch your hair?” one asked.
“Yes,” I said with a smile. They’d been eyeing me for most the morning.
One pulled out the pins holding it up in a bun, and they both gasped when it spilled down my shoulders. The two immediately began whispering and alternately braiding or twisting my hair. It felt nice to have someone mess with my hair the way my aunt used to every once in a while. Content, I gazed out over the encampment below the hill we sat on.
This … this was my new life. It was foreign, scary and very different, but it was where I had landed and where I’d remain. I wanted to be more like Batu, to let go of the decisions of the past and live for today. It was going to be a struggle to learn their world and customs, but I also had a great deal of time.
Batu was wrestling with boys in their early teens just outside of the tent city, teaching them moves and correcting their forms while they practiced. I watched him without the ability to understand the emotions that often stirred when I spoke to him or spent the night in his arms. Whatever they were, they were gradually becoming stronger – and they weren’t bad, which I think surprised me more than anything else.
“Suvdin,” I started quietly. “Can you teach me to shoot a bow and arrow?”
She appeared pleased. “Of course, Moonbeam. This is a great honor.”
I wasn’t certain what to say. They had some weird deference for me, despite me telling them repeatedly that I was a normal person.
Normal people don’t reappear seventy years later without having aged a day. I tried to dismiss this thought, wanting to fit in and become what they viewed as normal around here.
“Do you wish to start now?” Suvdin asked.
“Yes, that’d be great,” I said. “If it’s okay with you, Ghoajin?” I asked uncertainly, not wanting to abandon my hostess.
“I am surprised Batu has … not taught you,” she replied. “He is a good boy, but he has … always been different. I will … remind him to respect … those he should respect.”
I started to laugh but stopped, seeing how serious she was about yelling at her great grandson.
Suvdin smiled and shooed away the two little girls who had put random, lopsided braids in my hair and waited for me to rise. We walked down the hill, towards the area where the children around seven had been taking an archery class earlier. A barrel filled with practice bows of different sizes was present at one end, targets at the other.
Suvdin sized me up and selected one, handing it to me. Not wanting to embarrass myself by failing to draw it, I waited for her instructions.
She chose another and motioned for me to line up behind a rock demarking the area where shooters stood. With simple instructions and many, many corrections, she began to teach me. To my delight, I was able to draw the bow she chose. It was hard but nothing like Batu’s.
Everything seemed to be going well, until I shot my first arrow.
It landed two feet in front of me. I groaned. My right arm was sore already. It was harder than it looked to hold back the bowstring.
“You must hold your form,” Suvdin said, trying not to smile. “Nothing moves until the arrow is gone.” She adjusted my form. “Try again.”
I lifted the bow and notched an arrow. This time, Suvdin kept one of her hands under my right elbow to prevent it from dropping before I fired. With the other, she braced the front of the bow, taking some of the strain off me.
This time when I shot, it landed five feet in front of the target. “We did it!” I exclaimed. “We got
close!”
Suvdin nodded and ducked her head.
“Fine. Laugh,” I said. “Batu said three year olds can draw a bow better than me.”
“I would say children of five seasons,” Suvdin replied kindly.
“Thanks.” A little embarrassed, I was also proud for having done this well. “Again!”
She helped me five more times before stepping back to watch me fire on my own. I did worse without her help but not as bad as the first time. I tried a few more times, excited I was at least shooting in the right direction. Mostly. Everything I shot went left.
“What do you aim at, goddess?” Batu’s voice was amused.
“Isn’t it obvious? The point five feet in front of the target,” I retorted.
Suvdin did laugh this time. “Her aim is better than yours, Batu.”
“So I see.” He circled us, trailed by two younger boys I took to be cousins. He was scrutinizing my form with intensity that left me warm and self-conscious.
“Suvdin says I shoot like a five year old, not a three year old,” I added, somewhat satisfied.
“She is being kind,” he replied, eyes sparkling. “Let me see. Shoot at your target.” He crossed his arms.
I lifted the bow and arrow, rejuvenated after the brief rest and with newfound adrenaline pumping through my veins. I hit my usual target – a random spot five feet before the box I was supposed to hit.
“It is an improvement,” Suvdin said.
Batu approached. He stood in front of me, close enough for his body heat to reach me. “Show me again.”
I lifted the bow. He tilted my right elbow up a little more then rested his hand on my left elbow and lifted a few inches. Content, he stepped back.
“Take a deep breath and release.”
I did as he said. To my delight, my arrow reached the target this time, though it was nowhere near the dot at the center.
“She can be taught,” he allowed.
“She shows promise, Batu,” Suvdin chided him gently. “It is clear she has never held a bow. She will progress, perhaps as far as a child of ten seasons.”
“Nine.”
She smiled.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, both of you,” I said, too cheered by the fact I did it to care if they didn’t think me capable of outlearning someone half my size. “I’m ready for war.”