Genghis: Birth of an Empire (29 page)

* * *

T
emujin sat in the icy filth, barely conscious of his surroundings. He had found a tooth in the muck at the bottom, large enough to have come from the jaw of a man. He did not know how long he had been sitting staring at it. Perhaps he had slept; he couldn’t be certain. Pain and despair had exhausted his senses to the point where he could not be sure if he dreamed or was awake. He ached in every bone, and his face was so fat with bruising that he could see only through a slit around one eye. The other was still crusted with thick blood, and he dared not pick at it. He did not want to move at all, in fact, with the threat of pain from endless scrapes and cuts. He had never felt so battered in his life, and it was all he could do not to cry out or weep. He kept his silence, finding a strength of will he had not known he possessed until that moment. It was made hard in a furnace of hatred, and he relished the core of him that would not bend, nurturing it as he found he could endure and live.

“Where is my father? Where is my tribe?” he murmured, screwing his face up against the grief. He had ached to be returned to the Wolves, but they cared nothing for him. It was no small thing to cast off the last threads of his childhood, the shared history that bound him to them. He remembered the simple kindness of old Horghuz and his family, when he and his brothers were alone. For a time he could not measure, he stood slumped against the walls of earth, thoughts moving slowly like ice on a river.

Something grated above his head and he jerked in fear, coming awake as if he had been dreaming. Some part of him had been aware of a moving shadow on the floor of the pit. He looked blearily upwards and saw to his dull astonishment that the lattice had vanished. The stars shone down without restriction and he could only stare, unable to understand what was happening. If he had not been wounded, he might have tried to climb, but he could barely move. It was excruciating to see a chance to escape and not be able to take it. He had done his best to spread the damage as much as possible, but his right leg felt as if it had been shredded. It still seeped blood sluggishly into the muck around him, and he could no more jump than fly out of the hole like a bird.

He found himself chuckling almost hysterically at the thought that his unknown savior had left, expecting him to make his own way out. In the morning, the fool would find him still in the pit, and Eeluk would not leave him unguarded again.

Something came slithering down the wall and Temujin jerked away, thinking it was a snake. His mind was playing tricks as he felt the rough fibers of a braided rope and the beginnings of hope. Above him, he saw the shadow block the stars, and he strained to keep his voice low.

“I can’t climb out,” he said.

“Tie yourself on,” came the voice from the night before, “but help me as I pull.”

With clumsy fingers, Temujin tied it round his waist, wondering again who would risk Eeluk’s wrath. He did not doubt that if they were discovered, his rescuer would join him in the pit and suffer the same fate.

As the rope bit into his back, Temujin’s legs scrabbled uselessly at the earth walls. He found he could dig his hands in as he climbed, though the effort was like setting his skin on fire. He felt a scream bubbling along inside him until involuntary tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. Still he made no sound until, at last, he lay on the frozen ground in a silent encampment.

“Get away as far as you can,” his rescuer said. “Use the mud of the riverbanks to hide your scent. If you survive, I will come to you and take you farther away.” In the starlight, Temujin could see he was gray-haired and had powerful shoulders, but to his surprise, he did not know the man. Before he could respond, the stranger pressed a bag into his hand and Temujin’s mouth watered at the odor of onions and mutton. The bag was warm and he gripped it as if it were his last hope.

“Who are you to save me?” he whispered. Part of him was yelling that it didn’t matter, that he had to run, but he couldn’t bear not knowing.

“I was pledged to your father, Yesugei,” Arslan replied. “Now go, and I will follow you in the confusion of the search.”

Temujin hesitated. Could Eeluk have staged it all to find the location of his brothers? He could not risk telling a stranger of the cleft in the hills.

“When you leave,” Temujin said, “ride five days north, sunrise to sunset. Find a high hill to watch for me. I will come if I can and lead you to my family. You have my thanks forever, nameless one.”

Arslan smiled at the courage of the younger man. In many ways, he reminded the swordsmith of his son, Jelme, though there was a fire in this one that would be hard to extinguish. He had not intended to give his name, in case the young warrior was captured and forced to reveal it. Under Temujin’s gaze he nodded, making a decision.

“My name is Arslan. I travel with my son, Jelme. If you live, we will meet again,” he said, taking Temujin’s arm in a brief clasp that almost made him cry out in sudden pain. Arslan replaced the lattice and stone, then walked away, moving like a cat in the frozen starlight. Temujin could do no more than shuffle as he took a different direction, concentrating on staying alive and going as far as he could before the hunt began.

* * *

I
n the blue-gray light of dawn, two young boys dared each other to go to the edge of the pit and stare down at the captive. When they finally found the courage to peer over the edge, there was no one there looking back and they ran for their parents, calling an alarm.

When Eeluk came from his ger, his face was tight with excitement. The powerful red bird gripped a leather sleeve around his right forearm, her dark beak open far enough to show a sliver of dark tongue. Two hunting dogs leapt around him, sensing his mood and barking madly.

“Go out in threes,” Eeluk shouted to his warriors as they gathered. “I will take the western point— and whoever brings him back will have a new deel and two knives with horn handles from my hand. Tolui, you are with me. Mount up, my brothers. Today we hunt.”

He watched as the bondsmen and the lesser warriors formed their groups, checking equipment and supplies before leaping into the saddles of their ponies. Eeluk was pleased to see their mood was light, and he congratulated himself on the decision to bring Temujin back to the camp. Perhaps seeing him beaten and dragged bloody was a final proof that the sky father loved the new khan of the Wolves. There had been no lightning strike to punish Eeluk, after all. Even the oldest of the crones should be satisfied with what he had achieved.

It crossed his mind to wonder how Temujin had escaped the pit, but that was a problem for his return. The young man could not have gone far with his injuries. When they brought him in, Eeluk would ask him how he had climbed the slick walls, or who had helped him. He frowned at that thought. Perhaps there were traitors among the families. If there were, he would root them out.

He wound his reins around his fist and mounted, enjoying the feeling of strength in his legs. The red bird spread her wings to balance as he settled himself. Eeluk grinned tightly, feeling his heart begin to beat faster. It usually took a little time for him to come fully awake, but the prospect of hunting a wounded man had fired his blood and he was ready to gallop. The red bird sensed it in him and ducked her head, tugging at the hood with a long claw. Eeluk pulled away the leather restraint and the eagle flew from his forearm, lunging upwards with a screech. He watched her beat the air for height, his arm rising without her weight until it was almost a greeting or a farewell. On such a morning, he could feel the land. Eeluk glanced around the camp and nodded to Tolui.

“Come. Let’s see how far he has managed to run.”

Tolui grinned at his lord and master, digging in his heels and sending his mount surging forward. The hunting dogs broke off their howling to run alongside, hungry for a kill. The air was cold, but the warriors wore padded deels and the sun was on the rise.

* * *

T
emujin lay very still and watched a fly crawl across the mud in front of his face. He had slathered himself in river clay to mask his scent, but he did not know whether it would work or not. He had gone as far as he could in the dark, though by the end he was limping and sobbing with every step. It was strange how much weakness he could show when he was on his own. He did not mind the sting of his tears on his raw skin when there was no one else to witness it. Every step was an agony and yet he had pushed himself on, remembering Hoelun’s words on the first nights in the cleft in the hills. There would be no rescue; no end to their suffering unless they made it themselves. He kept going, relying on the dark to hide his movement from the watchers on the hills.

By the time dawn had come, he had been hobbling like a wounded animal, almost doubled over with pain and weakness. He had collapsed at last by the bank of a stream, lying panting there with his head turned to the pale sky that heralded the sunrise. They would discover his escape by first light, he realized. How far had he come? He watched the first gold spark touch the dark horizon, instantly too harsh on his eyes. He began digging his swollen hands into the clay, crying out as his broken finger jarred yet again.

He was mindless for a time and there was relief in that. The mud worked loose in a paste he could squeeze between his fingers as he smeared it over his skin and clothes. It was cool, but it itched appallingly as it dried.

He found himself staring at his broken finger, seeing the swollen joint and the purple skin beneath the mud. He jerked from a daze then, suddenly afraid that time was slipping away in his exhaustion. His body was at the very end of its endurance, and all he wanted to do was give up and pass out. At the heart of him, at the deepest part, there was still a spark that wanted to live, but it had been smothered in the muddy, dumb thing that wallowed on the bank and could barely turn its face to feel the sun move in the sky.

* * *

I
n the distance he heard dogs baying and he surfaced from the cold and the exhaustion. He had eaten Arslan’s ration of food long before, and he was starving again. The dogs sounded close and he feared suddenly that the stinking river mud would be no protection at all. He heaved himself along the slope of the bank, hidden by the grasses on the edge as he moved in spasms, flopping and weak. The howling dogs were even closer and his heart beat in fluttery panic, terrified at the thought of them tearing at him, ripping his flesh from his bones. He could not yet hear the hooves of riders, but he knew he had not made it far enough.

With a groan at the icy sting, he pulled himself into the water, heading out to the deepest point and a thick bed of reeds. The part of him that could still think forced him to ignore the first patch. If they saw where he had been lying, they would search all around it.

The river numbed the worst of his pain, and though it was still shallow, he used the current to push himself downstream on his hands and knees, scrabbling in the soft mud. He felt live things move between his fingers, but the cold had reduced him to a core of sensation that had no link to the world. They would see the cloud of muck he had disturbed. It was surely hopeless, but he did not stop, searching for deeper water.

The river wound around a corner, under ancient overhanging trees. On the other side was a bank of blue ice that had survived the winter in constant shadow. The rushing water had eaten a shelf beneath it, and though he feared the biting cold, he made for it without hesitation.

He wondered vaguely how long he could survive in the freezing water. He forced his way in under the ridge of ice and knelt in the mud with just his eyes and nose above the surface. They would have to enter the water to see him, but he did not doubt the hunters would send dogs up and down the stream.

The cold had numbed every part of him and he thought he was probably dying. He jammed his jaw shut against chattering teeth, and for a little while, he forgot what was happening and simply waited like a fish, frozen and blank of thought. He could see his breath as mist on the surface of the clear water as the cloud of muck settled around him.

He heard the excited yelping of dogs nearby, but his thoughts moved too slowly to feel fear. Was that a shout? He thought it was. Perhaps they had found the trail he had made across the clay. Perhaps they had recognized it as the mark a man would make if he dragged himself on his belly like a beast. He did not care any longer. The cold seemed to have reached inside him and clutched at his heart, slowing it with a terrible force. He could feel each beat as a burst of warmth in his chest, but it was growing weaker with every passing moment.

The yelping of the dogs grew quieter after a time, though he remained where he was. In the end, it was not a conscious decision that made him move, more the impulse of flesh that did not want to die. He almost drowned as a wave of weakness struck and he struggled to keep his head above the water. Slowly, he pushed himself out into the deeper water, sitting in it with limbs so heavy he could barely move them.

He pushed himself to the far bank and lay on the dark clay again, scoring its perfect smoothness as he pulled himself up under the overhanging grass and passed out at last.

When he woke, it was still light, but there was no sound near him but the river itself, rushing past with snow melt from the mountains. Pain had woken him as the blood moved in his limbs, weeping into the water from his torn skin. He flopped one arm over and dragged himself a little farther from the water, almost sobbing at the pain of his awakening flesh. He managed to raise himself enough to peer through the trees and saw no one close.

Eeluk would not give up, Temujin was certain. If the first hunt failed, he would send the entire tribe out to search for him, covering the land for a day’s ride around the camp. They knew he could not have gone farther, and they would certainly find him eventually. He lay staring up at the sky and realized there was only one place to go.

* * *

A
s the sun set, Temujin staggered to his feet, shivering so powerfully it felt as if he would shake himself apart. When his legs failed him, he crawled for a time across the grass. The torches of the camp could be seen from far away, and he realized he had not come such a great distance in his weakened state. Most of the hunters had probably taken a wider path to search for him.