“What do you want from me?” she asked.
“Why are you not a shamaness?” Jali-gulug said.
“Once, I thought the spirits had called to me,” Khokakhchin replied, “but I was wrong. The spirits decreed that I turn away from the idughan’s path.”
“There’s more power in you than in Bughu.” His voice usually shook, breaking when he pitched it too high, and often his tongue tripped over his words, but now Jali-gulug sounded like a man. “Bughu is a poor shaman. I might have learned more from you.”
“I know only a little of a shamaness’s lore. Whatever you may think of Bughu, he has more such learning than I do—he’ll teach you much of what you need to know. After that, you may have the power to learn more by yourself.”
“Your dream called to me,” Jali-gulug whispered. “I saw a wall of fire. I heard the cries of people.”
Did he have the power to touch thoughts and enter dreams? She thrust out her hand and made a sign. “If you can sense that much,” she said, “then you must know why I can’t use whatever power I have.”
“I know only that you somehow summoned the fire I saw in your dream.”
Khokakhchin bowed her head and pulled her scarf closer around her face. “I thought that I could help my people. Instead, I brought them terror and death.”
“Tell me of what you did.”
Jali-gulug seemed to be drawing the words from her. “I’ve always had sharp ears,” Khokakhchin murmured. “Those in my camp used to say that they couldn’t keep their secrets from me even if they whispered them.” She rested her hands against her knees. “It was late summer, a night much like this one. We had made camp to the west of Lake Kolen and the lands the Onggirats wander, hoping to find better grazing, because there had been so little rain that summer that even the watering holes were drying up. I woke while it was still dark. The air was too still, as if a storm was coming, and I thought I heard distant thunder, but the patch of sky above my smokehole was clear and black and filled with stars.” She found herself unable to speak for a moment.
“Go on,” Jali-gulug murmured.
“My children were asleep, my husband Bujur resting at my side. I left my bed without waking him, without even troubling to put on my boots, and went outside. I still sensed thunder, but the sound seemed to be coming from below instead of above me. I dropped to my knees and put my ear to the ground. Then I knew the sound for what it was, the sound of horses galloping in our direction.”
She paused to take a breath, remembering how fear had welled up inside her. “The Tatars were riding against us. It couldn’t be anyone else. The Merkits camped to the north of our pastures were on the move toward Lake Baikal, and the Onggirats and our people were at peace.” Her voice shook; she swallowed. “There had to be hundreds of them. The sound I heard was that of an army. We couldn’t fight them—our only chance was to get away.”
As she spoke, she saw herself back in her camp, outside her yurt on that last night. She had cried out to Bujur; in moments, everyone was awake. By then the wind was rising, blowing from the northwest to the southeast, toward the enemy. She ran into her yurt, pulled on her pants under her shift, and told her two daughters and young son to bring only their weapons and what food they could carry. She was running for the horses when she saw a spark leap from the watchfire just outside the camp to the grass.
“That flame died quickly,” Khokakhchin went on. “The men on guard by the fire put it out and mounted their horses. We still couldn’t see any Tatars, but others had put their ears to the ground and heard the enemy approaching.” She was silent for a bit. “The sight of that flame leaping into the dry grass had made me long desperately for another way to defend ourselves. The Kerulen River lay to the south of us. A few of the men could cross and set fire to the grass. The wind was blowing toward the Tatars—it would carry the fire toward them. We would have time to get safely away while the fire held them back.”
Jali-gulug recoiled.
“It was madness,” she continued, “the wish of a moment, the words of a malign spirit whispering inside me. To misuse fire is one of the gravest of sins.” She made a sign to ward off evil. “But my wish had roused the spirits. They granted my wish. Almost at once, lightning flashed from the sky and struck the ground to the south.”
Convinced that she had summoned the lightning, she fell to the ground and covered her face, terrified and yet fascinated by the power now flaring inside her. Flames danced where the lightning had struck. Her skin prickled. She looked up as another bolt hit the ground and knew that she had called it to Earth.
“People were flinging themselves to the ground, trying to hide from the lightning,” Khokakhchin said. “Thunder came, and more lightning flashed across Heaven, but no rain fell. The wind grew stronger, and the flames spread over the grass until a wall of fire was moving south.”
She had forced herself to her feet, crying out to the others. A few people stood up, then ran toward the pen where some of their horses were kept. Lightning was no longer flashing overhead, and the wind was dying. The fire spreading across the steppe on the other side of the river would hold off their enemies until they could escape.
Then the wind rose once more and shifted, shrieking past Khokakhchin as it blew north. She watched in horror as sparks flew across the narrow stream of the Kerulen and flared up in the grass along the river’s northern bank. She ran for her yurt, screaming for her children. Her son scurried through the doorway, clutching his child’s bow; she swept him up in her arms. The fire was upon the camp by the time Khokakhchin reached the horses; by then, she was praying, calling upon the spirits to forgive her for calling down the lightning.
She looked back. Her daughters were running toward her, their masses of long black braids whipping in the wind. She saw Bujur dart back inside their yurt for a moment, perhaps to get his bow or his sword. The wagon next to the yurt was beginning to burn; the wind quickly carried the flames to the tent’s felt panels, and then a curtain of fire hid the dwelling from view.
“A few people got away,” Khokakhchin murmured. “Others died in the flames. Tengri showed the land some mercy then by sending rain to douse the fire. By then, the Tatars were in sight. They killed most of the men they captured and raped the women and girls. I think no more than forty of us survived—our camp was small, much smaller than the Bahadur’s here. My daughters were taken away by one band of warriors, and I never saw them again. My son was put to the sword. He was only a child, no more than four, but the Tatars had sworn to kill all the men and boys of our chief’s family, and my husband was brother to our chief.”
“I weep with you, old woman,” Jali-gulug said. “I pity you.”
“One of the men who raped me took me under his tent as a wife, but he fell in battle before I could give him a son. His first wife made a slave of me.” Khokakhchin sighed. “I brought our fate upon us by wishing down the lightning, by treating fire so carelessly. I earned my suffering.” She covered her eyes for a moment. She could weep for all of them, her dead son and her husband and her lost daughters, even after all these years. “And that is more than I have said to anyone about this ever since that evil night.”
“I will not tell this tale to others.”
“I’m grateful for that.”
“You have suffered enough. Old Woman Khokakhchin. You don’t have to suffer more by hearing your story retold. It would also do no good to have others here know of your powers.”
She had heard the coldness in his voice even while he was speaking kindly to her. His concern was not for her, but for whatever abilities she might still possess. The shamaness Kadagen had told her that others might draw upon them for good. Perhaps a powerful shaman, the kind of shaman this boy might become, could use them to protect Yesugei’s people.
No, she told herself. She would not allow a moment’s arrogance to bring more ruin upon others.
Jali-gulug said, “The spirits will use us as they wish. What we want doesn’t matter.”
> Khokakhchin got to her feet. “You have much power, young one. I saw that sooner than anyone here. Take care that you don’t make my mistake.”
2
Hoelun Ujin gave birth to her third son, Khachigun, in early autumn, just after Yesugei and his men rode off to raid their Merkit enemies. The birth went more quickly and easily than had those of Temujin and Khasar. Khokakhchin stayed with her mistress during her labor, summoned Bughu to bless the child, and nursed Hoelun during the days when the Ujin was confined to her tent with the infant.
Yesugei returned with little loot and tales of having to pursue Merkits into pine-covered hills and losing their trail there; someone had warned the enemy and given the Merkits time to escape. Hearing of his new son soon cheered him, and there was still the prospect of Toghril Khan’s reward for the foray against the Merkits. The Bahadur’s followers broke camp and moved south, to the Senggur River valley. From there, Yesugei, his two brothers, and his close comrade Charakha rode west to meet with Toghril and his Kereits and claim their payment.
The Bahadur came back from the Kereit Khan’s court with only a couple of gold goblets, a few trinkets, some goats, and three breeding mares past their prime. Toghril might be Yesugei’s sworn brother, bound to him by an anda oath, but he was apparently unwilling to give away any more of his great wealth until the Mongols had killed more Merkits.
By then, it was time for Yesugei to meet with the leaders of clans and tribes that often joined him for the annual great hunt. Jarchiudai, an Uriangkhai chief and comrade of Yesugei’s, arrived with his men and announced that he would join the Bahadur for the hunt before returning to his lands north of the Kentei Mountains. A Jajirat chief rode there soon afterward, and Seche Beki brought men of his Jurkin clan, but Khokakhchin saw that fewer men would be hunting with Yesugei this year. Men unwilling to hunt with him this season might later refuse to fight under his command.
The men gathered to make a sacrifice for luck during the hunt and began arguing almost immediately. Orbey Khatun’s grandson Targhutai openly demanded command over more men of his Taychiut clan, and Daritai took Targhutai’s side. Yesugei and Daritai nearly came to blows before Nekun-taisi interceded, begging his two brothers not to fight. Bughu then read the bones of a sacrificed sheep and predicted a hard winter.
The men left the camp to fan out in two wings and gradually encircle their prey; the women took down the tents again and followed with the children in their carts. By the time they had caught up with the men and had finished skinning the carcasses of the deer that littered the ground, a snowstorm struck. The women dried as much of the meat as they could, cutting it into strips and hanging it up to dry before the howling winds and the sharp lashing of the snow forced them to stay inside their yurts and huddle by their hearth fires.
They made their winter camp near the southern slopes of the Gurelgu Mountains, not far from the Senggur River. The mountain cliffs offered protection from the fiercest winds, but Khokakhchin knew that this winter would be harder than many; the rivers had hardened into ice early. Bughu, whatever his failings in other respects, had read the bones correctly.
More snow came, a thick blanket that covered the ground. The women and children had to uncover the snow with brooms and sticks so that the sheep and cattle could graze, while the smaller lambs had to be fed by hand. Soon, even Orbey Khatun, who usually left the harder work to her servants, was leaving her tent with Sokhatai Khatun, Ambaghai Khan’s other widow, to help with the sheep and goats.
In spite of these efforts, too many animals died. The women butchered the carcasses and dressed the hides with salted milk, fearing that not enough lambs would be born that spring and summer to make up for the losses. Yesugei and his brothers, who were often away from the camp either to hunt or to guard the horses grazing near the mountains, returned with stories of wolf packs attacking stray horses and of tiger tracks in the snow.
A tiger soon struck near the camp, killing a stray lamb. Three nights later, the tiger came near Daritai’s yurt, killed a dog, and dragged off another lamb. Esugei, Daritai’s wife, had heard the bleating of frightened sheep, the howls of other dogs, and the snarling of the tiger, but had not dared to go outside.
Yesugei returned to the camp with Daritai, then sent for Bughu. The shaman arrived with his apprentice Jali-gulug. Khokakhchin poured broth for the visitors while Hoelun set out jugs of kumiss, then sat down next to her husband, Khachigun’s cradle at her side. Temujin and Khasar sprawled by the hearth, playing knucklebone dice; Khokakhchin sat with them, close enough to hear what would be said in the back of the tent.
“Is that tiger only a tiger,” Yesugei was saying, “or is it a spirit in the guise of a cat?”
“It isn’t a ghost,” Bughu replied in his high soft voice. “I’m sure of that. If we set out a poisoned carcass, we’ll rid ourselves of the beast. I’ll prepare the poison tonight.”
Jali-gulug said, “This tiger won’t take the poison.”
Khokakhchin lifted her head. Hoelun was staring at the young man, eyes wide with surprise; Yesugei frowned. Bughu’s dark eyes had narrowed into slits.
“Can you be so certain?” Yesugei said. “Bughu served my father as a shaman. You’ve only begun to learn what he knows.”
“That is so.” Jali-gulug’s voice was firm. “But I think setting out a carcass filled with poison will only waste good meat. This tiger killed one of Daritai’s dogs and carried off a lamb without the other dogs attacking it. I don’t think it will be foolish enough to eat poison.”
Bughu was struggling to restrain himself. His mustache twitched; Khokakhchin saw his left hand tremble. She was suddenly relieved that Sochigil was in her own tent with her sons. Had Yesugei’s second wife witnessed this, talk of the apprentice’s challenge to his master would have flown around the camp, shaming Bughu. Yesugei and Hoelun would at least have the wit to keep silent, knowing that even a weak shaman could be a dangerous enemy.
“And how do you mean to rid us of the tiger?” Bughu pointed his chin at Jali-gulug. “By hunting it? I’ve never seen you bring down anything larger than a hare.”
Khokakhchin tensed. Young Temujin glanced up from his dice, clearly aware of the shaman’s anger.
Yesugei held up a hand. “Enough. Bughu has served me well for some time. We’ll do as he advises, and set out the carcass.” He turned to Jali-gulug. “If the tiger doesn’t take the bait, you’ll get your chance at it. Until then, you’ll follow Bughu’s instructions.”
Khokakhchin did not look at Bughu and Jali-gulug as they left. Jali-gulug should have known better than to disagree with the shaman in front of their chief; better to have taken Bughu aside later and spoken to him alone. But Jali-gulug was barely more than a boy, still learning. Bughu, old enough to have learned some forbearance, had only made matters worse by insulting him in Yesugei’s presence. She wondered if the shaman was still blind to Jali-gulug’s growing abilities.
The shaman set out the poisoned carcass of a lamb. Sochigil claimed to have heard that Bughu had mixed the poison alone, refusing to show Jali-gulug how to prepare it.
For four nights, the carcass lay just outside the camp, untouched. On the fifth night, the tiger killed a ewe outside Charakha’s tent. Charakha’s son Munglik had awakened to the sound of howling dogs, and left his tent to find a large white cat feeding on the dead animal. He had never seen such a tiger before, white and without stripes. He had not dared to move, afraid the tiger might leap at his throat, and had waited until the beast slipped away over the snow.
Charakha rode with his son to Yesugei’s camping circle. The Bahadur listened to Munglik’s tale, then sent Charakha and Munglik to fetch Bughu and his apprentice. Jali-gulug arrived alone, but Bughu was accompanied by Targhutai. Khokakhchin saw the Bahadur scowl as Bughu explained that Targhutai had come here to volunteer to hunt the tiger. She did not believe it. Targhutai was here so that he could later tell his grandmother Orbey Khatun what had been said.
Khokakhchin served jugs of kumiss, t
hen seated herself with Hoelun and the children on Yesugei’s left. “Munglik,” Yesugei said, “have you told the shaman your story?”
Munglik nodded. “Never have I been so frightened.” He was a good-looking, sturdily built lad of thirteen, not the sort to admit easily to being afraid. “Even our dogs were cowering.” Munglik drew his brows together. “The more I think about that tiger, the more I wonder if it was a tiger at all.”
“Maybe it was a shape-changer,” Charakha muttered, making a sign against evil.
“If it’s a tiger, it can be brought down,” Targhutai said. “I’m willing to lead the hunt. If it isn’t a tiger, but something else, then it means a curse may lie upon us here. Perhaps the spirits don’t want us grazing these lands.”
Khokakhchin studied Targhutai’s chubby, petulant face. How obvious the young Taychiut man was. If by some miracle he captured the tiger, more of the men would view him as a possible new chief, and Yesugei’s position would be weakened. If the tiger escaped him, but continued to prey on their flocks and herds, more would come to believe that this land was under a curse. Yesugei would be blamed for that, since he had chosen the site. Some of his men might even desert him for another chief.
“There will be no tiger hunt,” Yesugei said. “I won’t put men at such risk until we’ve tried everything else. You know how dangerous and treacherous a tiger can be.”
Jali-gulug leaned forward. “Bahadur,” he said softly, “I ask for my chance at this tiger.”
Bughu shot him a glance. Yesugei stroked his long mustaches, looking thoughtful. “I’ll need Bughu’s help,” Jali-gulug continued. “He will have to cast a spell to protect the camp from evil spirits and ghosts. I will go outside the camp and wait for the tiger there.” Bughu looked relieved that his apprentice had acknowledged needing his aid.
Targhutai snorted. “Wait for the tiger? Do you think it’ll just walk up to you so you’ll have an easy shot?”
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