Bones of the Hills (40 page)

“The man who leads the nation must not be weak,” Genghis said. “He must not be given to rash acts or spite. He must use his mind first, but when he
does
move, it must be as the snap of a wolf, without mercy. The lives of many rest on him and one wrong decision can destroy everything my brothers and I have built.”

Genghis showed a touch of his inner rage in his clenched fists as he took a deep breath.

“I am the khan of the sea of grass, the silver people. I have chosen my heir, as is my right. Let the sky father and earth mother destroy any man or woman who stands in the way.”

Heads bowed nervously in the crowd and Kachiun stepped through them to stand before Genghis and Ogedai. Genghis waited with his hand on his sword hilt, but Kachiun merely smiled. Seeing Ogedai was nervous, Kachiun winked at him before going down onto one knee.

“I give my oath freely, Ogedai, to you, the son of my brother and his heir. May the day you inherit be many years from now, but until then, I vow to honor your father’s command. On that day, I will swear to follow you with gers, horses, salt, and blood.”

Khasar followed closely behind Kachiun and he too knelt and spoke, his eyes proud. They could not give the full oath to the khan while Genghis lived, but each man swore to honor the boy as heir. As the tension faded, Genghis took his right hand from his sword and let it rest on Ogedai’s shoulder. Temuge completed his vow and Jochi and Chagatai stepped forward. Of all in that room, Genghis needed to hear the two young generals give their word publicly, so that there could be no doubt. The senior men and women of the nation were all there as witnesses to this moment above all the others.

Jochi winced as he knelt, though he forced a grin for Ogedai. In his deepest heart, Jochi had known he could not inherit. He was not certain yet that his father would leave it at that, or dole out some other punishment for the folly of his fight with Chagatai. There, at least, he was triumphant. Chagatai would not inherit either and he had been certain he would one day lead the nation. Chagatai’s dashed hopes were like hot airag in Jochi’s blood.

With his broken leg, Chagatai could not kneel with the others. He hesitated under his father’s gaze and the officers around looked on in fascination as the problem became obvious.

“The Chin kowtow, outstretched, Chagatai,” Genghis said coldly. “As you are injured, you may do that.”

Chagatai’s face flushed brightly as he eased himself onto the floor and touched his forehead to the cool stone. It was not difficult to guess that his father would inflict a brutal punishment on him if he tried to delay.

For his part, Ogedai seemed delighted to see Chagatai lying flat on the floor. He beamed as his brother spoke the ritual words before using the stick to clamber painfully to his feet. In the crowd, Yao Shu too
could not prevent a smile from breaking out on his face. Truly, there was a place for karma in the world, that he should have lived to see the young fool humbled before the nation. The need for revenge seeped out of him, leaving him feeling empty and soiled. Yao Shu shook his head in sadness at what he had allowed himself to become in the Mongol camps. This was a second chance and he vowed to renew his studies and his teaching of the khan’s sons. He brightened at the thought of working with Ogedai. The lad was quick-witted and if the family violence in his blood could be tempered, he would one day make a fine khan.

It took a long time for each man and woman in the hall to make their vows to Ogedai. By the end of it, the night was almost over and the sky was gray in the east. Genghis had not troubled to have water brought to them. As the last arban officer rose to his feet, the rest broke into cheering, understanding that they had seen the beginning of a dynasty in that night, in a city on a hill. Under the eye of the Great Khan, even Jochi’s and Chagatai’s officers joined in enthusiastically, relieved that no blood had been shed.

Genghis held up his hands to quiet them.

“Now go, and tell your families what you have seen here. We will throw a feast in Samarkand this day to mark the occasion.” His expression tightened as the crowd began to chatter and smile, flowing toward the great doors at either end.

“Kachiun? You and Khasar will stay. You too, Temuge. I need my brothers around me for what I still have to do.”

As his three brothers halted, looking surprised, Genghis turned to where Kokchu still crouched at his side.

“I have horses ready outside, shaman. You will accompany me.”

Kokchu bowed his head, hiding his confusion.

“Your will, my lord khan.”

As the sun rose, Genghis rode slowly out of Samarkand, his three brothers and the shaman with him, accompanied by one spare mount. Temuge had called questions at first, but when Genghis did not answer, he had fallen as silent as his brothers. None of them knew where Genghis was leading them, or why his mood seemed so dark on that day.

The families of the nation were encamped just a few miles from Samarkand, out of reach of battle lines. Genghis did not hesitate as he
reached the first lines of gers, each one with its line of white smoke rising slowly into the air. The camp was already busy. The Mongols enjoyed this part of the summer days, before the heat became intense. With the river and lakes to the north, there was even enough moisture in the air to coat the grass with dew, and the sun made it sparkle for the short time before it burned away.

Those who were up and about already looked to the khan and his brothers in awe as they passed, standing with their heads bowed rather than look on the great ones of the nation. Dogs barked excitedly, but Genghis ignored them all as he walked his horse through the maze. He passed his own great ger on its cart and dismounted at last at the small home of his mother.

“Nokhoi Khor”
he called softly, a greeting as much as a request to have his mother’s old hound held before it could rush out and attack. Genghis had never liked dogs and kept none himself. He waited for a few moments, then turned to the small group with him. Between them, they represented the ruling powers of the Mongol nation. Only Ogedai ranked with them and then only after that night.

“Wait for me,” Genghis said, ducking low and opening the painted wooden door to his mother’s home.

It was still dark inside. His mother had not yet thrown off the cap of felt that let light in during the day. The light from the open door let him see a huddled figure on the bed. Her old hound slept curled up by her legs and showed its teeth as he approached, a low rumbling in its throat. Genghis swallowed dryly.

“Send your dog out, Mother. I need to speak to you.”

Hoelun opened her eyes blearily, still bloodshot from the airag she used to bring sleep without dreams. She closed one again almost immediately, wincing at the pain that throbbed in her head. Genghis could smell the tang of urine in the ger and the strong scent of unwashed flesh. It saddened him to see his mother’s gray hair wild and unkempt, and he knew he should have roused her from grief long before this. She looked ancient and worn out as she watched him. While he had buried his sadness in the attack on the city, filling his days with plans and action, she had been left alone to grieve and the process had eaten her away.

Genghis sighed to himself. He stuck his head outside once more, blinking against the light.

“I need you to take her dog, Kachiun. And I need food and tea and firewood for the stove. Will you fetch those, Khasar?”

He stepped back to let Kachiun remove the old hound from their mother’s bed. As Kachiun reached for it, the dog erupted, snapping. Kachiun simply cuffed it on the muzzle and dragged it off the bed, giving it a kick toward the door so that it ran outside, still barking.

“Leave the dog alone,” Hoelun said irritably. As she sat up and realized two of her sons were in her ger, she ran a hand automatically over her hair and glared at them. Genghis could see she had lost weight alarmingly over the previous few months. Guilt swept him that he had not made sure someone was looking after her. Surely Chakahai and Borte had brought food and changed her clothes?

“What is it?” Hoelun said, wincing as her head pounded. She gave up on her hair and let her hands fall to the blankets on her lap, the yellow nails dark with dirt.

She had addressed Kachiun, but he only shrugged and looked to Genghis.

“Get some hot salt tea inside you and we will talk,” Genghis said flatly. In the small ger, he heard her belly rumble with gas and was not surprised when she threw back the greasy blankets and heaved herself to her feet. She did not speak as she pushed her feet into soft boots and left the ger to visit a toilet pit nearby.

Kachiun looked at his brother in shame.

“Is it for this you called us?” he said. “I did not know she was so far gone, I’m sorry.”

“Neither did I,” Genghis said. “Have I not had my hands full with a thousand things since Temulun died?” He looked away then, aware that his words were weak. “We will make it right, after today,” he added.

Khasar returned just before their mother, so that she followed him into the ger. He too was subdued at the skeletal figure who took her place on the bed. He embraced her formally, but winced to himself as he laid a fire in the stove and lit tinder with a flint and steel, blowing on it in his hand until a small flame puffed there.

The tea seemed to take an age to boil, and it was Genghis himself who poured the first cup for his mother. She sipped at it and her eyes lost some of their blankness as the warmth spread through her old body.

“What do you want, Temujin?” she said at last, using his boyhood name as no one else in the camp dared to do.

“Vengeance for my sister,” Genghis replied, his voice almost a whisper.

Hoelun’s eyes were wide and dark in the gloom, and she closed them as if he had struck her. “I do not want to hear this,” she said. “Come back tomorrow and I will be stronger.”

Genghis was unrelenting and he took the empty tea bowl from her hands, shaking his head.

“No, Mother. Get yourself dressed, or I will send a servant to you. You will ride with your sons today, away from this camp.”

“Get out, Temujin,” she said, her voice stronger than it had been before. “Take your brothers with you. I am waiting to die, do you understand? I have played my part in your life and your nation. I was there at the beginning and it has brought me only sorrow. Just get out and leave me behind you as you have always done.”

When Genghis replied, his voice was gentle. “I will not, Mother. Kachiun? Tell Temuge that he will have to wait for us for a while. I will wash and dress her and make her ready.”

Defeated, Hoelun slumped back on the bed. She remained limp as Genghis used a water bucket and cloth to smooth back her hair. He found a bone comb on the floor of her ger, and she sat in silence as he began to draw it through the knotted gray mass, his hands taking infinite care not to hurt her further.

The sun had risen completely by the time they finished dressing Hoelun. She had not spoken again, though she had welcomed the dog when it returned to its place at her side, darting in when it saw its chance. The will to resist seemed to have deserted their mother, and both Genghis and Kachiun were silent as they helped her into the saddle and placed her feet in stirrups. Hoelun sat badly, so Khasar passed her reins over the horse’s head and looped them over his saddle horn to lead her.

As he too mounted, Genghis looked around him at the family who had hidden from their enemies in a lost and distant cleft in the ground when he was just a boy. They had walked with death then and the memories were cold on his skin. He could imagine the spirit of Bekter with them, and he knew the brother he had killed would approve of this day. He hoped Bekter could see it. Temulun too was missing from that small group of survivors, though she had been just a squalling baby when they had been forced to run. In her place, the shaman rode in sullen silence, watching the khan from under heavy-lidded eyes. As Genghis began to trot away from the camp, he heard hawks calling overhead. Their high voices reminded him of Temulun’s cries, when every meal was a victory and every battle was still to come.

They rode south and east through the heat of the day, drinking water from the skins Genghis had supplied with each mount. He had prepared for the journey and the saddlebags were full of dried mutton and hard cheese. In the afternoon, as the ground began to rise, Genghis stopped to break the cheese on a flat stone, using the hilt of his knife to crumble the blocks before mixing them in a skin of warm water and passing the bags under each saddle. The bitter broth would sustain them when they stopped again that evening, though he did it mainly for his mother, who was not used to hard riding.

Hoelun had woken from her stupor of the morning, though she still winced at the hot sun and had stopped once to vomit weakly before going on. Her eyes sought out Genghis as he rode ahead, and she too recalled the first days of hardship, when the hand of every man was set against them. Five sons and one daughter had been with her then, where now only four sons remained. Had she not given enough for Genghis’s ambition and dreams? She saw the mountains rise before her as she rode, her horse picking its way carefully when even the goat trails ended. As the sun beat down, the ground rose more and more steeply and still Hoelun did not speak to any of the men with her.