Collected Short Fiction, page 138
This was just as well with her. The white tiger pelt Jali-gulug wore over his coat was a constant reminder of his deed; she had occasionally glimpsed the envy and hatred in Bughu’s eyes when he glanced at his apprentice. Bughu would be thinking of the rewards he might lose to Jali-gulug, of the influence he might no longer have. Khokakhchin was content not to have any of his hatred and resentment directed at her.
In spring, they moved north, toward the Onon River, and made camp within sight of the Kentei massif and the mountain of Burkhan Khaldun. The mountain harbored a powerful spirit, and Yesugei was soon riding there with his shaman and his close comrades to make an offering and to pray.
They returned to the camp without Jali-gulug. Some said that the spirit of the mountain had kept him there, even that the young man had been given the power to ride to Heaven from Burkhan Khaldun. Others, noting Bughu’s easier mood during the absence of his apprentice, whispered that Bughu had told Jali-gulug to remain there in the hope that the spirits, or the rigors of spending days alone on the tree-covered slopes, would send the lad to dwell among the dead for good.
Hoelun heard the whispers, and repeated her suspicions to Khokakhchin while preparing to join the other women for the spring sacrifice to the ancestors. “Bughu thinks only of himself,” Hoelun murmured as she adjusted a square birch headdress adorned with feathers on her head, then pushed her thick black braids under its cap. “He knows that Jali-gulug might someday be a great shaman, perhaps even one who could strike fear into my husband’s enemies. He should have stayed with the lad on the mountain to guide him.”
“Bughu had to return to set the time for the sacrifice,” Khokakhchin reminded her mistress.
“He could have done that before he left.” Hoelun stamped her booted feet and smoothed her long pleated tunic down over her trousers. “Instead of training Jali-gulug, he avoids him whenever he can. Instead of using his magic to help us, he curries favor with Orbey Khatun in case her grandson ever decides to challenge my husband.”
Her mistress, Khokakhchin realized, was irritated not only by the shaman, but also by the prospect of spending the day with the old Khatun. Orbey and Sokhatai, as the widows of Ambaghai Khan and the oldest women in Yesugei’s camp, always presided over the spring sacrifice. They would be picking at Hoelun as they dined on their sacrificed sheep, trying to affront her while being careful not to openly insult her, resenting her because she was Yesugei’s wife.
“When Jali-gulug knows more magic,” Hoelun went on, “I’ll advise Yesugei to consult him more often. Maybe by then—” She fell silent. Sochigil was calling to her from outside. Hoelun tightened the sash around her waist, secured her knife, slipped on a coat, then left the tent.
Khachigun crawled to her over the carpet. Khokakhchin picked up Hoelun’s youngest son and went outside. Blue and white flowers dotted the land; women were riding toward the yurt Orbey had raised beyond the camp. The wives of Yesugei’s brothers and his close comrades would honor the ancestors today, and Hoelun would no doubt be hoping that the two old Taychiut Khatuns would soon join those forebears.
Temujin and Bekter were watching the sheep. The scowls on their faces as they glanced at each other told Khokakhchin that the two half-brothers were working themselves up to a fight. Khasar and Belgutei stood to one side, their eyes on the two older boys.
“Bekter!” Khokakhchin shouted as she approached. “You and Belgutei will go to your mother’s tent, fetch baskets, and gather argal for the hearth. Make sure you bring only the driest of the dung back. Temujin, you and I will look out for the sheep. Khasar, you’ll watch Khachigun.”
Bekter glared at her with eyes as black as kara stones. “Why do I have to—”
“Silence!” Khokakhchin raised a hand. “Temujin and Khasar will gather fuel later, while you watch the sheep. Any more from you, and I’ll tell your father you’ve been disobedient and deserve a good beating.”
Bekter hurried off with his brother. Khokakhchin moved toward the sheep. Yesugei’s camping circle was near the Onon, and a few sheep had wandered toward the river to drink. One black-headed ewe would drop her lamb soon, perhaps today. They would need many lambs to replace the ones lost over the winter.
“Khokakhchin,” Temujin called out. He was gazing northwest, toward Burkhan Khaldun. She turned and saw the tiny form of a man on horseback riding over the snow-strewn land below the massif. Jali-gulug was returning from the mountain. Her eyes were still sharp; even at this distance, she saw that he was slumped over his horse, barely staying in his saddle. She was suddenly afraid.
“What’s wrong with him?” Temujin asked. “Even I can ride better than that.”
“Watch the sheep,” she said.
Bekter and Belgutei had returned with dry dung, and Temujin had gone to gather more fuel with Khasar, by the time Jali-gulug neared the camp. By then, the men near the horse pen and the men churning kumiss behind Daritai’s tent had paused in their work to stare at him. Temujin, usually quick about doing his chores, had stopped picking up dung and was watching with the men. Jali-gulug’s face was thinner, his cheeks hollow, and his dark eyes had the entranced look of one who had communed with spirits.
He rode toward Yesugei’s circle, stopped by the horse pen, said something to the men there, then continued toward her. Temujin ran after him, Khasar at his heels. Jali-gulug’s bay horse was moving at a walk; by the time he reached Khokakhchin, the boys had caught up with him. Khachigun whimpered and pulled at the hem of her coat; she handed him a small skin of kumiss to keep him quiet. Bekter, standing near one of the dogs, made a sign against evil.
Jali-gulug reined in his horse. His braids had come undone; his matted hair hung down from under his wide-brimmed fur hat. “Old woman,” he muttered, “one can see much from a mountain.” His voice was so low that she could hardly hear him. “The spirits have spoken to me. They warned me . . . they . . .” He toppled from the horse; his body writhed against the ground, then stiffened.
She ran to his side and knelt. His body was as rigid as a board; his eyes were half-open, with only the whites showing. Two of the pouches hanging from his belt had spilled their contents. Khokakhchin carefully picked up the small bones used in casting spells and the large round jada stones that were used to make rain and slipped them back inside the pouches.
Khasar reached for Khachigun, holding his younger brother’s hand tightly. “I’ll fetch Bughu,” Temujin said, and ran off before Khokakhchin could stop him.
She managed to drag Jali-gulug into Hoelun’s tent and stretch him out on a felt carpet. His body was cold; she covered him with a blanket and moved him closer to the hearth. Too late, she thought of how the yurt and everything in it would have to be purified if he died here. If she was at his side when his spirit left him, she would be forced to stay outside the camp and under a ban for months.
Bughu soon arrived, and spent several moments prodding and poking the inert young man. “He won’t die,” the shaman said at last as he stood up.
She wondered if she could believe him. Bughu knew something of healing, even if he lacked the gifts of a great shaman. But he also resented his apprentice. He might be thinking of how to use his knowledge to rid himself of Jali-gulug.
The young man moaned. Khokakhchin sat back on her heels, determined not to leave him alone with the shaman. The sky above the smokehole was growing dark; she heard the voices of men outside the tent. Yesugei suddenly came through the entrance, drawing himself up as he caught sight of Jali-gulug lying by the hearth.
“Bahadur,” Jali-gulug gasped.
“A spirit is inside him,” Bughu said. “It must have seized him on the mountain. Pitch a tent for him outside the camp and I’ll do what I can to drive the spirit from him.”
Jali-gulug was trying to sit up. Khokakhchin slipped a pillow under his shoulders. “No spirit is in me now,” he whispered. “I need no help. Bahadur, listen to me. On the mountainside, I dreamed, and in my dream I flew east until I saw black birds hovering over your camp. Your tent was below me, Bahadur, its frame broken and its household spirits desecrated. I saw no people in your camp, only a great bull standing by your tent with a yoke around its neck.” Jali-gulug closed his eyes for a moment. His sallow face had grown even paler; Khokakhchin saw how weak he was. “This was the only dream that was sent to me on Burkhan Khaldun. It was a warning—you must not go east when we break camp.”
Bughu snorted. “I read the bones on the mountain. I saw no such omen in the cracks.”
“I tell you—”
Bughu stood up and faced Yesugei. “I served your father,” he said in his soft high voice. “I’ve read the bones for you ever since you were chosen as chief. I have told you what the stars decree for your sons. Does this boy know more than I do?”
Yesugei’s mouth worked. “He rid us of the ghost-tiger.” He gestured at the furry white pelt that covered Jali-gulug’s shoulders.
“And my spell protected your camp while he was going to meet that tiger.” There was a coldness in the shaman’s eyes, an empty look as he gazed at Yesugei, the kind of look a man might have after his spirit had flown from him.
“If we’re not to go east,” Yesugei said, “exactly where would you have us go?”
“I’m not certain.” Jali-gulug sounded hoarse.
“He doesn’t think we should go there,” Bughu said, “yet he can’t tell us where else to go.”
“West,” Jali-gulug murmured. “We could camp near the Tula River.”
“Those lands are Kereit pastures,” Bughu said. “Toghril Khan would surely let us graze our herds there, but you would have to offer him some tribute in return. I don’t know how much we have to give him after the winter just past.”
Khokakhchin knew what Yesugei would decide; he had little choice. He would heed Bughu because he could not afford to slight him. If he did, the shaman would turn to Orbey Khatun, who would grasp at any reason to cast doubt on the Bahadur’s ability to lead. The men would also wonder how much Yesugei’s oath of brotherhood with the Kereit Khan meant if they had to lose even more of their depleted flocks and herds in exchange for grazing on Toghril’s land. Jali-gulug might have met and overcome a ghost and a tiger, but he was still young, still learning; he could be wrong. They would go east, whatever Jali-gulug’s dream had told him.
“Are you well enough to move?” Yesugei said to Jali-gulug. The young man nodded, sat up, and slowly got to his feet. “Good. Old woman, give him some kumiss and send him on his way.” The Bahadur motioned to Bughu. “Come with me while I finish milking my mares. The women will soon return from their spring sacrifice. I’ll want to know what the bones told Orbey Khatun.”
The two men left the tent. Khokakhchin rose and went to the eastern side of the tent, where jars of kumiss hung from goat’s horns set in the yurt’s wicker frame. She took down a jar and brought it to Jali-gulug.
“Here,” she said as she sat down. He knelt and whispered a blessing as he poured out a few drops. “I must be rude and beg you to drink it quickly, so that I can fetch the Bahadur’s sons, settle the sheep, and prepare supper.”
“You must tell Yesugei Bahadur not to go east.”
“Oh, yes.” She shifted her weight on her felt cushion. “I, a servant and an old woman without sons, will tell a chief, a man with Khans among his ancestors, what to do.”
“You could tell his chief wife. He listens to her.”
“I’ll tell no one. Hoelun Ujin would say only that it’s not something for me to meddle in.”
“It’s something you don’t want to meddle in. You think your life ended for you on the night you called down the lightning. You’ve lived in your body like a ghost ever since. Hoelun Ujin cares for you, her children seem to have affection for you, and Yesugei Bahadur probably holds some fondness for you, even if he won’t admit it. But you’ll do nothing to try to shield them from harm.”
“Stop it,” she said, knowing he had struck close to the truth.
“I didn’t think you were a coward. I thought you were more than that. After we faced the tiger together, after you spoke to the spirit of your husband, I thought you’d see how your power might be used for good, how you might make up for the suffering you brought to your people. I could draw on the force inside you, Khokakhchin. Tell the Bahadur and Hoelun Ujin what they must do, and I’ll draw on your power to cast my spell. They’ll listen—”
“They will not listen!” She looked into his eyes and saw only the glazed stare of a madman. “Leave me alone. I want nothing to do with your magic. Bughu hates you already, and I don’t want him seeing me as another enemy. He’s more dangerous than you know.”
“I know what Bughu is.” Jali-gulug set down the jug. “He has no true power, and no great gift, because he doesn’t believe in the spirits. No voices sing to him in the wind, and no spirits speak to him in his dreams. He wouldn’t know them even if they did, for he doesn’t think they exist.”
Khokakhchin was too shocked to speak.
“His spells are meaningless,” the young man went on, “his chants empty gestures. I’ve seen it for some time, while he was teaching me, I heard it in the way he spoke. The world to him is a soulless place. That’s what makes him so dangerous, Khokakhchin. He has knowledge, but will not use it to serve the spirits, to honor Etugen, the Earth, or to bow to the will of Heaven, but only for his own ends.”
She had glimpsed the emptiness inside Bughu without knowing what it was. The horror of what lay inside him nearly made her choke. That had to be why he had been so blind to Jali-gulug in the beginning, and refused to see his talents even now.
“He has some skill,” Jali-gulug continued. “He can cast a few spells. It wouldn’t be hard for him to make the Bahadur see you as merely a useless old woman and me as no more than an afflicted boy.”
“That’s why we must keep out of his way,” Khokakhchin murmured.
“It is also what gives us a chance to stand against him, because that is all he sees.” He leaned toward her. “Say only that you’ll lend me your power if I need it.”
“I promise nothing.” She stood up. “I am going to get the Bahadur’s children. Please be gone from this tent before I return.” She moved toward the doorway, whispering a prayer.
The bones were saying different things. Bughu had seen no evil omens in the bones he had read on Burkhan Khaldun, but Orbey Khatun, at the spring sacrifice, had burned a clavicle that refused to crack at all. Yesugei demanded another sacrifice, with an exact question to be put to the spirits: should they appeal to the Kereit Khan for the use of his lands, or go east?
Bughu killed three sheep and burned their bones. All three of the clavicles split down the middle. The omen was clear.
Yesugei’s followers took down their tents and moved east. Yesugei rode in front of the procession with most of the younger men and the horses, the women followed in their ox-drawn carts with the sheep and cattle, while the boys and older men brought up the rear. They went at a slow pace, so that their animals would not lose fat.
Yesugei had sent scouts ahead of his main force with orders to treat with the Onggirats for the use of the lands bordering their pastures. His scouts returned to him with disturbing news, while the Bahadur’s people were still far from Lake Kolen, in land bordering a mountain ridge and foothills. The Onggirats were camped along the Urchun River and near Lake Buyur, farther south than they usually were in late spring. A large encampment of Tatars led by Ghunan Bahadur were traveling north of the Yellow Steppe and the Kerulen River to the lands the Mongols had hoped to graze.
Yesugei cursed when his scouts brought him this report, but Khokakhchin noticed the half-smile on his face after the men had left his tent. The Tatars would pay for encroaching on lands that bordered Mongol pastures. War would come now, and Yesugei welcomed the prospect of fighting the Tatar chief Ghunan. This was too good an opportunity to be missed. The Tatars might be prepared for one of Yesugei’s raids, but not for a larger Mongol force.
Yesugei sent out messengers, summoning his allies to a kuriltai. Other chiefs were soon riding to his camp for the war council. Seche Beki and his brother Taichu came with a few of their Jurkin retainers, Yesugei’s cousin Altan swore to lead his men into battle under the Bahadur’s command, and the Arulat chieftain Nakhu Bayan was willing to fight at his side. The horses tethered outside Yesugei’s yurt grew so numerous that one might have thought a Khan dwelled in this camp.
The men practiced their archery, raced their horses, honed weapons, dined in Yesugei’s tent, went hunting with their falcons, got drunk and recited stories, and spent the rest of their time talking of war and planning their tactics. They would strike at Ghunan in summer, when he would not expect an attack, and exterminate his people.
Khokakhchin thought of Jali-gulug’s prediction as she moved among the men, helping her mistress and the other women serve boiled lamb and airagh, the stronger fermented mare’s milk offered on special occasions. Yesugei had ignored Jali-gulug’s advice, and now more Mongols would join him in punishing the Tatars. At the agreed time, each force would advance east before converging on Ghunan’s camp. With a victory, they would destroy one of the most powerful Tatar chiefs and strike terror into the other Tatar leaders. More people were saying that the Mongols, who had lacked a Khan since the death of Yesugei’s uncle Khutula, might soon have a Khan again, that the chiefs would elect Yesugei. Even Orbey Khatun would soften toward Yesugei if he took Ghunan’s head.
Khokakhchin listened to the loud drunken voices of the Mongol chiefs as they sang their songs and told herself that she was wrong to worry. Temujin, who was learning about his ancestors, recited the tale of Bortei Chino and Maral Khohai, the Blue-Gray Wolf and the Tawny Doe who were the forebears of all Mongols, and won high praise from the men for both his performance and his memory. The warriors complimented Yesugei on the beauty and the cooking of his wives, the strength and swiftness of his horses, the soundness of his strategy. The omens were favorable, the early summer weather was warm, wildflowers were blooming on the steppe, and there was every reason to think that the war against Ghunan’s Tatars would go well.
