Tale of the Spinward March: The Great Khan (Tales of the Spinward March Book 1)

by David Winnie

  Her friends made faces and voiced disgust. “What did your father do when he returned?” asked Salaam.

  “Mother took his kill to feed me,” Grrrscnk responded. “It was clear he was inferior; therefore, his male children were inferior as well. Mother drove him away, along with his inferior sons.”

  “So, how is that better?” pressed Dawlish.

  “Silly monkey!” Grrrscnk chuckled, “Look how selecting a mate has unsettled friend Angkor. Hecht do not get unsettled. If the male is unworthy, then he is driven off. Mother than raised me as the superior Hecht female who you see today.” She ripped a mouthful of loin, and chewed noisily, her snout in the air, blood running down from the corners of her mouth.

  “I’m not looking to mate with Sophia,” Angkor protested. “I just think she’s very pretty.”

  His friends hooted and laughed, (in Grrrscnk’s case, snapped jaws.) “Angkor,” chortled Xaid, “if you were any more obsessed with this girl, I’d say you were in love.”

  “How can that be?” answered Angkor, “I can barely speak to her.”

  “I repeat, friend Angkor, you’re going to die a virgin,” laughed Dawlish. “Listen, go find her this afternoon and walk with her. Don’t think what to say, just walk with her and listen. She’ll ask questions; just answer her honestly and ah-HA! You’ll have a conversation.”

  “Do you really think that will work?” Angkor was anxious.

  Xaid slapped him on the back of the head. “Quit thinking,” he admonished. “Just go talk to her.”

  Grrrscnk tossed another bloody haunch into her mouth. “Take her to get something to eat,” she suggested.

  He found her near the restaurant. “Hello, Sophia Marshall,” he said, with the slightest tremor.

  “Angkor! Son of Tenzing. How wonderful to see you!” her voice was as radiant as her smile. “Would you like some tea?”

  “Please, “he answered, “and, uh, may I walk with you?”

  She lowered her gaze as she prepared his tea. “I would like that very much, yes.”

  They walked for hours. In silence at first. Then she asked him about school. He told her of University and of Angkor wat, where he had spent so many years. “How did you come to be named for the school?” she asked.

  He explained the naming day ceremony and of his people, the Khalkha. He told her of growing up on the steppe and mountains in a yurt with his mother. His chest puffed as her spoke of his father, now headman of Mongolia and soon to be Chairman of the Earth Council.

  “And, Sophia,” he asked, “tell me how a Hindi girl came to have an English name?”

  “My grandmother, Sophia, came from London,” she explained. The grandmother had moved to Delhi to attend school, where she met Sophia’s grandfather. Her own mother had been as dark as any Hindi, but Sophia had come out pale and blonde. Her parents and grandparents had doted on the curly haired child. Sadly, the rest of her family and neighbors did not. Classmates would pull on her locks. Small boys had held her down and poured ink in her hair.

  Normally, even in modern times, a middle-class girl in Calcutta would have been betrothed by sixteen. Try as he might, Sophia’s father couldn’t find a suitable husband for his daughter. Eager suitors would meet the pale, blonde girl and not return. Heartbroken, she had fled to Delhi, determined to make a life for herself and perhaps one day find a good man.

  Despite Delhi’s modern and cosmopolitan image, there were few opportunities for a girl like Sophia to succeed. To be sure, men (and a few women) had made unsavory advances on the girl. She never wavered and resolutely applied for every honest job she could find. The tea jar she carried paid poorly and she often went to bed hungry, but it was an honest day’s labor.

  Before either of them noticed, evening began to fall. Sophia had to return the jar. Angkor followed her to the storefront of her employer, a dour little man with a pinched face and bandy extremities. He complained about her meager earnings for the day.

  “Perhaps if you gave her better tea to sell, she would make better money for you, old man,” Angkor cut in to the tea man’s complaining.

  “She will sell what I give her!” the tea man shouted. “If she would smile pretty and use her charms, she would sell more tea. Walking about with a barbarian such as yourself doubtlessly scared off her customers. Who are you anyway, young pup?”

  “I am Angkor son of…” Angkor started in a loud voice, then quieted. “I am Angkor and Sophia is a friend of mine. You are worried about money? Here, here is the money you think I cost her for walking with her friend. Maybe now you will give her a fresh jar to sell instead of that week-old swill.” He threw his credit chip at the old man.

  The seedy merchant fumbled the chip, caught it and rubbed it in his fingers. He swiped it, then handed it back to Angkor. “Thank you, young man,” he said, “but she will sell what I give her.”

  Angkor stiffened. Sophia placed her hand on his chest. “Angkor, go,” she ordered. “Let me handle this. Thank you for a wonderful conversation; we’ll talk later.”

  Outside, Angkor seethed. “If he so much as looks at you improperly,” he said.

  “Yes, yes, I know,” she answered, “Truly, thank you for a wonderful afternoon.” She kissed him on the mouth and hurried away.

  Chapter 7

  Years later, Angkor and Sophia would tell their friends that it must have been any one of several factors that lead to their actions that fateful week. Monsoon season was approaching, so the weather was oppressively hot. Or perhaps it was getting close to finals and Angkor wasn’t thinking clearly, given the stress of the upcoming examinations.

  Or it could have been as simple as the fact that the two were deeply in love.

  Daily, Angkor was finishing his studies and racing to the market to find Sophia. The tea sales were good, given the heat and that the seller, perhaps unnerved by Angkor’s visit, had started giving her a better quality of tea. Often, the jar was nearly empty by the time Angkor would find her in the late afternoon.

  They talked as old souls, discussing the events of their day, their plans and dreams. Sophia wanted little more than a steady job and nice place to live. Angkor was certain of his future; already he was applying to medical schools to earn his doctorate in genetics.

  They would find a restaurant or food stall and have supper together. They had an occasional squabble. Sophia, being a proud young woman, would insist on paying her way. Angkor would take the position of a gentleman and a gentleman never allowed his partner to pay for her meal. On days, she had excellent sales, she prevailed. Most days, she would acquiesce. Partially out of practicality, but mostly because he was so gallant it was cute. She often suppressed a giggle as she argued about paying before allowing him to present his own credit chip.

  The fateful day happened in late summer, weeks before the monsoon season. Angkor had spent the morning studying for his final exams with his friends. Only Grrrscnk was in a good mood; the high temperatures were more to her liking. While Dawlish, Xaid and Salaam were from torrid regions, the sweltering heat of this day was too much for them as well.

  Finally, Angkor punched his pad off and declared, “Screw it. I know this stuff backwards and forwards. If I’m going to be miserable, I’d rather it was with Sophia.”

  They all agreed it was a good time for a break and wandered down to the market. It was bustling this early; later everyone would be seeking shelter from the blazing sun. Angkor searched in all of Sophia’s usual spots, but his girlfriend was nowhere to be found.

  The five had lunch at their favorite eatery (one that served the Hecht) while they commiserated with Angkor and planned the rest of their day. It was getting closer to noon; the already oppressive temperatures were moving toward unbearable. They could go to the air-conditioned library at the university and study. Or perhaps go to the cinema and enjoy a movie. Grrrscnk declared, “Monkeys are weak because they melt away in a little heat. You can go cower in an ice box if you want. Me, I’m going out for a walk and enjoying this marvelou
s weather.”

  Angkor stood. “Look, you guys do what you want. I’m going to find Sophia.” He excused himself and left.

  Dawlish narrowed his eyes. He had that curious feeling his uncle had told him, the feeling a warrior gets when battle was near. Without a word, he rose and followed Angkor at a discreet distance, staying just out of sight. When Angkor arrived at Sophia’s apartment building, Dawlish used utmost care. There were few spots of concealment in the tenement.

  Here, Angkor tapped on Sophia’s door. “Who is it?” came the muffled cry.

  “It’s me, Angkor,” he replied.

  “Angkor?” He heard shuffling feet. “Go away.”

  He was confused. Go away? Sophia had never told him that. What had he done wrong? He knocked again. “Sophia!” he cried, “it’s me. Angkor. Open the door.”

  “No.”

  He got angry. His fist pounded the rickety door. It creaked and splintered under his assault. “Sophia,” he yelled, “this is silly. Open the door this instant.”

  He heard the lock rattle and she slowly opened the door, just a crack. “I don’t want to see you today, Angkor,” she sniffed, “Please go away. I will see you tomorrow, perhaps.”

  She started to close the door, but he blocked it with his foot. “Why won’t you see me today?” he asked, exasperated with the exchange. “Is it something I said? Something I did? Something I didn’t do? Please, just talk to me, Sophia!”

  “Do you promise not to be mad?” her voice quivered.

  “Of course. Please, just open the door for just a minute. Let’s talk about whatever this is all about,” he pleaded.

  She relented, allowing Angkor to open the door. While she held her veil over the right side of her face, he could still see the bruising.

  “What is this?” he demanded as he pulled her veil down, revealing one blackened eye and a large, swollen welt on her face.

  “Angkor, please,” she pleaded. ‘I was clumsy; I dropped the jar and spoiled a whole day’s tea. It was my fault, not his.”

  “He touched you?” Angkor’s eyes narrowed. “He struck you? My woman, he struck my woman?” His breathing slowed, his nostrils flared and he furrowed his brow. He whirled without a word and was gone in an instant, ignoring Sophia’s cries.

  Dawlish observed his friend’s exit, Sophia close behind. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but was certain it was time to call for reinforcements. He followed Angkor and the crying Sophia while communicating with Grrrscnk, Xaid and Salaam. He was certain now where they were going.

  Angkor didn’t bother knocking. The door of the tea shop exploded from the force of his shoulder. The tea seller fell backwards from his stool, the terrifying visage of the enraged Mongolian stealing his breath. He scrambled back, whining and wetting himself as Angkor advanced. He was trapped at the rear wall of his tiny shop. “No,” he whimpered, “Don’t hurt me.”

  “You touched my woman,” Angkor hissed. His fist pounded the seller’s face. “You struck her,” he said as he punched the smaller man again. “You dared raise your hand against the woman of the son of Tenzing.” The fist struck again, and blood spattered on the limed wall. “You struck the woman of a Khalkha warrior.” He punched again and released the blubbering, bleeding tea seller.

  Red rage overcame Angkor’s senses and he kicked and punched the prone form. Sophia screamed, pulled on him and begged him to stop. Dawlish and the others rushed in when they heard Sophia’s screams. Dawlish wrapped powerful arms around his friend and pulled him into the street. “Hold him,” he instructed Grrrscnk.

  Salaam was leading the frantic and crying Sophia from the shop. Xaid knelt over the beaten shop owner. “He’ll live,” he reported.

  “The police will doubtlessly be here soon,” Dawlish announced. “Go take care of them, friend Xaid.” The Singh nodded and left the room, helping Salaam lead Sophia away.

  He grabbed the tea seller by the collar and sat the semiconscious man on his bed. “You are fortunate,” he said, “Had she been the woman of a Turk man, your belly would be spilling your innards on the floor right now.

  “The police will be here soon. You can tell them what you wish, but you will not forward any charges against my friend. Nor will you give his woman any more trouble, understand? If you see her in the street, you will turn and run the other way, lest I see you and come visit you with my knife.”

  Dawlish extracted a handful of plastic rupee notes from his pocket and stuffed the bills in the seller’s shirt pocket. “For your injuries. If it’s not enough, well, that’s the cost of doing business, yes?” He patted the little man’s bloody cheek and smiled. The seller nodded and smiled, exposing his broken teeth.

  Dawlish stood, then announced, “Oh, lest I forget, Sophia is my friend as well.” He spun about, his foot catching the seller squarely in the head. Dawlish heard the crunch as the older man’s skull fractured and his body toppled onto the bed.

  The Turkman fished his money back out of the man’s pocket. “I changed my mind,” he said. “The likes of you don’t deserve the mercies and generosity of a Turk man.”

  In the street, Xaid was handing a policeman a handful of banknotes and speaking with a lot of gestures. Grrrscnk and Salaam were leading the crying Sophia away. Angkor sat on the sidewalk, his head down. Dawlish pulled his friend to his feet and led him away.

  “You know, Angkor,” he told his friend, “your one quality I admire most is your restraint.”

  Sophia sat on her sleeping mat, crying. “What am I to do now, Angkor?” she asked, “Don’t you understand how difficult it is for me? Now that you have assaulted the tea maker, I have no job. What am I to do now for money? Where will I live? How will I eat?”

  He stood there, chewing his lip. When he saw the bruising on her face, the only thing he could think of was to smash in the face of that wretched man. He was responsible for her plight. It was up to him to find the answer. He made the decision quickly. “Gather your things,” he told her, “We have a train to catch.”

  “A train?” she puzzled. “Why are we going on a train ride?”

  “I need to speak with your father about this,” he explained.

  “I don’t want my father involved with this,” she said. “I moved here so my father had no more influence on my decisions.”

  “Nevertheless, I must see your father,” he said.

  “Why?”

  Angkor knelt and took her hands. “I am a Khalkha man,” he said, “bound by our traditions. I must ask for your father’s blessing before I marry you.”

  “Marry…me?” she whispered.

  “Of course. I see no one else in the room,” he answered.

  “Are you certain?” she asked. “You don’t know me that well. How do you know there aren’t things about me…things you might regret?”

  “In temple, I was taught we are all half people looking for our other half,” he said. “Our search may be long and it may be short. I think I knew the very moment I laid my eyes on you that you were my other half.” He lifted her into his arms. “Join with me,” he whispered. “Let’s journey together, first to Calcutta, then to our future.”

  The mag-lev train took only an hour. She held his hand the entire way while staring out the window. In Calcutta, the sun was low on the horizon. The walk to her home was short and anxious. An older version of Sophia, save for darker skin and hair, answered Angkor’s polite knock. “Daughter!” her mother cried, hugging Sophia tightly. “What has happened to your face?”

  “There was an incident in Delhi,” Sophia explained. “Mother, this is Angkor. He wishes to speak to Papa.”

  “Did you do this?” Sophia’s mother squinted her eyes and glared at the tall Mongol.

  “Madam. I am Khalkha,” Angkor stood at his full height. Mindful of Suishin, he continued, “We do not strike our women.”

  “Our women. “Sophia’s mother took notice. Her face softened slightly and she escorted them to the garden, next to the small household shrine to Bhadrakali. Sh
e returned minutes later with her husband and a servant carrying a tray of refreshments.

  “I am Ham, Sophia’s father,” he said, offering Angkor a glass of lavender juice. “My wife says you wish to speak to me.”

  “Yes, sir. I am Angkor, son of Tenzing. I am a student at University in Delhi, studying to be a doctor.” Angkor swallowed, then went on resolutely. “I have known your daughter for some time now and have grown quite fond of her. My people’s traditions demand I come to you and ask for your blessing, for I wish to marry Sophia.”

  Ham stared for a long moment, then shook his head. “Impossible,” he told the couple, “I am afraid you have come a long way for nothing. Good day.” He rose.

  “May I ask why, sir?” Angkor questioned.

  “I will not pay any aaunnpot your family asks.” came the explanation. “You should go find yourself another.”

  “I am not requesting a dowry, sir, or asking your permission.” Angkor stood, tall and proud. “I am only asking for your blessing.”

  “It is not given!” Ham thundered. “My daughter is not a suitable wife for a gentleman such as yourself. You may not marry her.”

  “What do you mean, not suitable?” Angkor asked.

  Sophia had turned and began to weep, embraced by her mother. Ham glared at his daughter and asked, “So, you have not told him? Do you add to your shame by becoming a liar, a deceiver now, trying to entrap a husband?” He stomped to the door, calling over his shoulder. “Tell him. Warn him so he can come to his senses.”

  “Sophia?” asked Angkor.

  She sat up, her mother holding her hands. “When I was eleven, some friends and I went to the cinema,” she said, “We had such a wonderful time, but the movie ended late. The other girls left the cinema, but I wanted to stay for one more movie. When it was over, it was dark out. I would be in trouble when I got home. I should have called Father, but decided to run home instead, so perhaps he might not know I was out after dark.

  It is not safe for a girl on the streets after dark in this neighborhood. There were five of them, older boys I think, maybe young men.” She lowered her head. “They did…things. To me.”