One Great Year (30 page)

“It is Temujin, daughter, make haste to be ready,” the chief ordered. Borte was stunned and overcome with uncertainty and fear. She grew frantic as she realized the significance of the rider. She clutched her father's arm like a small child.

“Tell him to go away!” she begged, her eyes wide and imploring, her belly churning. Her father's heart raced at the vision of Temujin rising like sacred fire, red and blazing across the landscape. He snapped at his daughter, consumed by his own anxiety.

“Hush, daughter. You know nothing of the world!” he scolded, uncharacteristically harsh. He was unnerved by the image of Temujin rising on the plain, looking more spirit than man.

The chief returned to the calm, controlled voice to which she was accustomed. “He comes to us like a raven on the wind, daughter. Settle yourself; soon he will be here and we will see he is just a man. We must welcome him into our family as we have promised. We will hear his tale and pledge nothing else until he has had his say.”

He placed his hand on his opposite elbow where Borte gripped him uncertainly. Borte's mother and grandmother had joined them outside and he steered his daughter toward them. “Take her inside and make ready, for tonight we share our home.”

Borte was led inside, her pulse and mind racing. Though she had waited many years for Temujin to come, she could not help but wish him away. He was a stranger, after all, and he was coming to them so suddenly. Borte felt a great charge in the air, and she knew that change was certainly upon them.

Once inside she collected herself nervously, and she helped to organize an honorable seat for their guest near the corner that housed their ancient ancestors. Borte said a prayer, requesting guidance and blessing in the night ahead. She was attended by the other women, and they all flitted about their home.

“At last he's come. Our prayers have been answered,” her mother said respectfully, nodding in almost a full bow toward the fire in the center of the room and to the sacred vessel on the northern side of the shelter.

“It is all so sudden, I can barely breathe to be useful. Like smoke this stranger appears and I am to marry him? A boy I met when he was half this age? To see him riding solo toward us is to feel invaded … under siege … but he is to be my husband, not my conqueror,” Borte said aloud, all the while busily placing carpets and furs, and then rebinding her waist-length black hair with laces of well-softened leather.

“It is one and the same,” her mother chimed in, and the older women laughed knowingly.

“Would you wish instead to grow old and sour, forever in your father's care? Do you not want children?” her grandmother admonished, with a wrinkled, gaptoothed smile. Her skin was so aged from the sun, wind, and brutality of life on the plain that she looked well past her fifty years.

I would hope to know love
, Borte thought to herself, but she kept quiet for the remainder of their preparation. Those were thoughts that she would never share with anyone. Silly and impractical, there was no time for such frivolity.

Borte had known since childhood that her duty as a daughter was to become a good wife and the mother of a strong hearty brood to make her parents and husband proud. She would know love through her children, and she would grow to respect her husband if he was gentle and kind. She hoped that he would have smiling eyes like her father that twinkled and spoke to her, and a quick wit like her brothers. She hoped that he would not be severe like some of the men of her clan.

Borte loved to laugh and tease, but as she peeked slyly through the slim opening where the door flap fell closed, she could not imagine the stern, red-faced Temujin doing either one. She saw no smile, no soft kindness in his face. He looked all business. Her father gesticulated, spreading his arms wide to the heavens and then to the earth as they spoke. Borte guessed that their guest was explaining his long absence, and her father was suggesting that it must be the will of the Universe that things be as they were.

Temujin and the chief soon entered the ger, and the curious clan members, who had been feigning disinterest, adjourned to their own chores and homes to speculate in private. Borte confidently came forward to greet Temujin. No longer a skinny child, she had become a sturdy, beautiful woman. She found it hard to suppress a nervous smile and Temujin nodded in return.

Once again Helghul was overwhelmed by Theron's energy. The thick bands of color and the life force that surrounded and flowed from her accosted him at once, dipping in and out of him, dancing with his life soul and sending him spinning. He saw her emanations woven intricately through the ger, flowing in and out of her parents and family. They all looked upon her adoringly, deeply affected by her but oblivious to the corporeal radiant force enveloping them like a cosmic embrace.

Temujin remembered her powerful wind horse from their first meeting, her psychic pull, and as she had aged it had obviously grown exponentially. She had overwhelmed and filled him in every way, and she continued to do so. He knew that she was special, and over the years, with the help of his ancient ancestors—his Helghul-brain—whispering to him constantly, he had come to understand that she was Theron. He sent his energy out to greet her and, like a desperate thirst finally quenched, he drank her in and realized that he had missed her and that he longed for her. Somehow, in her presence he felt whole and balanced.

“I hope your eyes are bright and clear, and your songs are strong and true.” Temujin said respectfully, presenting her with the thick sable fur that he had been holding.

Borte was startled, having assumed that the gift was for her father, and she took the luxurious prize gratefully in her hands. It was the loveliest thing that she had ever felt or seen, and she wrapped it around herself, expressing her simple gratitude as she held it out to her family so that they could feel its softness. It was an extravagant and valuable token, and she was honored.

“You will have many beautiful things when I am a great khan,” Temujin said matter-of-factly, immensely pleased by her obvious pleasure at his offering.

“I am grateful,” she said, searching his face and meeting his eyes. “I need only to live a simple life and to be of use to others, if it pleases the gods,” she added.

Temujin's chemistry exploded as their eyes met, and his entire body boiled under her gaze. Every hair follicle and cell was electrified and tingling. Borte also stirred; she felt the air of something she didn't understand swirling like wind around them.

“I have asked great Tengri and Mother Earth for many years to bring me back here,” Temujin explained, as he was ushered in to sit. He took his place of honor on the floor, surrounded by warm furs and carefully woven carpets and blankets.

He reluctantly shared the story of his family's downfall, starting with the assassination of his father Yesugei Khan but leaving out the most gruesome and murderous details of their life abandoned on the plains. He explained that he now led a tribe of his own, comprising his siblings and their families and others from the old clan that had been glad to join him. He said he had come to honor his promise to Borte and to the gods, if she would still have him. He intentionally mentioned the spirits with a reverent nod to heaven and earth and to the ancestral vessel that sat before him, subtly manipulating her to accept him.

His Helghul-brain was in full motion; it whirred and ticked calculatingly. She belonged with him. He would harness her energy and use it to his benefit. He would use it to lure and control others. She would bear him sons who would become great warriors and generals, and together they would rise up and, as intended, they would unfold the map of their destinies together.

Upon listening to his tale, and surrounded by the expectation of her family, Borte felt absolutely bound to honor her accord with Temujin. It never occurred to her to do otherwise. She was profoundly spiritual and had been brought up to respect commitments and family. She had grown up praying many times a day over her work, her home, and her food. She followed their customs carefully to ensure the best of luck. She thanked Mother Earth for the berries that she collected, she thanked the great birch spirits for the branches she would burn, she sent blessings to the animals that gave their lives to feed and clothe them. She felt absolutely certain that it would please the gods to accept Temujin. She was drawn to him and, in his presence, felt a familiarity and connection that was well beyond their affiliation.

There was no reason to wait. They had waited long enough. The lush oranges and reds of autumn would soon be replaced by the frigid whites and grays of winter. Though Temujin was nearly a stranger to her, Borte prepared to leave her family and join his clan.

Within days the couple were married with ritual offerings. Borte heard the bells, smelled the smoke, and saw the glowing fire that sealed their sacred path onward as one. Still, a nagging, unexplained feeling of angst took seed inside her and tugged at her heart.

Borte took her place as Temujin's wife, and the couple set off to join his tribe. After three days of being jostled on horseback and diverted by tales of his grand plans for the future, they arrived in his camp.

Temujin's mother, Hoelun, was the first to greet her, and Borte was quiet and composed, as a daughter-in-law should be. She graciously accepted her gifts and well wishes, and Temujin watched proudly as her glow washed over his people. He was certain they all felt the mysterious attraction and euphoria that sprang from her, and he was aware that his once notoriously beautiful mother was resentful. He would have to watch her carefully. He knew that, if permitted, she would make life difficult for his new wife.

The settlement was larger than Borte had anticipated. There were ten gers in all and a good assortment of sheep, goats, and yaks, all herded in for the night to protect them from wolves and other predators. She remained quiet, however, unable to shake the sadness that she felt at leaving her family. Despite her melancholy, her beauty was unparalleled, and curious clan members offered gifts and congratulations to please their chief and to get a glimpse of her.

Temujin's ger was near the outer, northern tip of the nomad camp. He had welcomed Borte to her new home, and she settled into the eastern quarter, making it her own.

On the first morning, Borte took her place among the other village women. Her duties included: collecting berries, roots, and fuel; curing and drying skins; and preparing the daily meal. The terracotta grasses blew in waves as a warmly bundled Borte helped to tend the sheep that were being led out to graze. They had been gated tightly together in their pen of birch branches to preserve their body heat through the cold night, and they sang to her a myriad of pleased and annoyed bleats as they enjoyed the thawed water she offered them.

Borte scanned the horizon and took in the beauty of the snowcapped mountains, purple and blue around her and farther in the distance. There were stories about the great mountains, legends of a magical mythical place hidden within and the extraordinary people who resided there.

Temujin had not touched her since their marriage, but he spoke clearly of his plans to build their family and extend his clan. She knew that it was only a matter of time until he would come to her in the night as a husband, and she was both nervous and curious. She had heard whispers of what it meant, old ladies crudely poking and pinching, but she didn't know what to expect. She knew that sometimes her father had joined with her mother, and that it seemed to make them both happy and sleep well. She knew that it was the way that babies were implanted if the gods wished it, and she longed for a child of her own to adore. Her mother had briefly warned her that it might hurt and that there might be blood as there was on her moon cycle, but she had smiled and soothed her when Borte had become concerned.

On their fourth night in the ger, Temujin announced that the first snowfall would soon come and before then he would leave on a hunt. It was on that night that he first took his husband-place beside Borte. She heard him moving and breathing in the dim light, and he silently lay down next to her. He was not rough—he moved carefully and said nothing as he slowly peeled away the layers of her clothing and exposed her naked body.

She was soft and round and more enticing than he had imagined. He studied the curves of her breasts in the firelight and her cold, erect nipples fascinated him. His rough, calloused hands explored her, and she sucked in her breath as he moved his hand from one hip bone to the other. Gooseflesh erupted over her body.

At the sound of her gasp, his arousal heightened and his breath quickened in response. He ran his hand from her hips to between her thighs, and he felt a warm place there—a soft, wooly patch that guided his way.

Borte realized how rigidly she was holding herself and she tried to relax under his hand, swallowing the lump that had formed in her throat. Her thighs opened slightly and he sought the deeper, warmer place within her. Her eyes remained tightly closed. He was not harsh or rushed, but after a few minutes of discovery and temptation he shed his lower coverings and moved overtop of her. She didn't see his naked flesh but she felt it, hard and urgent, pushing against her. She felt confused and slightly nauseated.

Temujin, now on top of her, breathed loudly in her ear, flesh to flesh. She let herself be maneuvered as he opened her legs to him. He entered her, more urgently now, and she let out an involuntary cry of pain. She felt a warm trickle as her hymen was ruptured, and she was uncertain what to do and was afraid to move. The pain did not last long, and Temujin quickly became more rigid between her thighs and then, grunting, he arched and rolled away. He was done and Borte had a new understanding of the business of men and women.

Borte covered herself and rolled over to sleep, crying silently in the darkness, though she was not sure why. She felt embarrassed by the wet stickiness between her legs and, for the first time in her life, felt disconnected from her own body. Temujin was unable to sleep and, having heard her weeping, he restlessly resisted the desire to mount her again for the remainder of the night.