Bones Of the Hills

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

It was another three days before Genghis summoned his sons to the audience chamber of the palace in Samarkand. On his orders, Kachiun, Khasar and Jelme had returned with their tumans, leaving cities in ruins behind them.

The day had been hot and the smell of flames, sweat and grease was strong in the confined space. Temuge too had been ordered to attend and with him almost seven hundred senior officers filled the echoing hall as they waited for Genghis. Yao Shu was among them, perhaps the only man there who did not command others. The shaman, Kokchu, crouched at the foot of the throne facing the crowd, his empty stare fixed on the floor.

As the sun set and torches were lit on the walls, Genghis entered without fanfare or retinue, his eyes passing across the crowd and noting the faces of his brothers and his children, from Jochi, Chagatai, Ogedai and Tolui down to the youngest girl his wife Chakahai had borne for him. The smallest ones stood with their mother and Borte, awed at the high ceiling. They had not seen a city before and they looked up nervously, wondering what prevented it from falling on their heads. One of Chakahai’s boys began to bawl, but it was Borte who picked him up and crooned to him. Other wives of senior men were also in attendance, though Genghis’ mother Hoelun was missing, still isolated in her grief for a lost daughter. Since Temulun had died, Hoelun had withdrawn from the affairs of the tribes and both Chakahai and Borte felt the loss of her wisdom keenly.

The khan wore no armour that day. Instead, he had dressed in the simple clothes of one of his herdsmen. A deel robe covered tunic and leggings over soft leather boots. His skin was clean and gleaming with fresh mutton fat. His hair was tied back under a square hat, barely marked with decorative stitching. As the hall filled with yellow light, those closest to him could see grey at his temples, but he looked vital and alert, his presence enough to still the slightest movement in the crowd. Only Tsubodai and Jebe were missing, with all their minghaan and jagun officers. Genghis might have waited for them, but there was no word of the hunt for the shah and matters pressed upon him, each more urgent than the next.

As he stood with the throne at his back, he met the eyes of Jochi and Chagatai, standing to the fore of the silent crowd. Both bore marks of the battle they had fought. Chagatai leaned heavily on a stick to favour his splinted leg and sweated visibly. Jochi’s face was badly bruised and he too limped when he moved, his cuts barely staunched and beginning to form scabs. They could read nothing from their father. He had adopted the cold face and even those who knew him well could not judge his mood or guess why he had called them. As Genghis watched, Jochi raised his head, his expression a match for his father’s. He at least did not expect the gathering to turn out well, but he refused to show fear. He had spent three days waiting for some kind of summons. Now it had come, it was almost a relief.

Genghis let the silence grow as he faced them. He knew many of the men and women in the hall. Even those who were strangers were still his people. He knew their faults and weaknesses as well as his own, or better. He had brought them from the hills of home, taken the paths of their lives in his hands and wrenched them together. They were no longer tribes as they waited for the khan to speak. They were his, down to the last child. When he spoke at last, his voice filled the hall, his tone calmer than anyone there expected.

‘Tonight I will name my heir,’ he said.

The spell held and no one moved, though Chagatai and Jochi exchanged a silent flicker of a glance, both very aware of the other.

‘I will not live for ever,’ Genghis went on. ‘I am old enough to remember when each tribe was at the throat of the rest. I would not see those days return when I am gone. In this room, I have called every man and woman of power in the nation, barring the ones with Tsubodai and Jebe. I will speak to those separately when they come home. You have all pledged your lives and honour to me. You will do the same for my son.’

He paused, but no one dared to move. In the stifling air, some even held their breath. Genghis nodded to himself.

‘I give thanks in front of you to my brother Kachiun, who took the burden of being my heir while my sons grew to manhood.’ He sought his brother out and caught Kachiun’s fractional nod.

‘Your children will not rule the nation, Kachiun,’ Genghis said, knowing his brother understood the need to speak the words aloud. ‘They may come to rule other peoples and other lands, but the Great Khan will come from my choice and my seed alone. You will be the first to give an oath to my son, then my brothers Khasar and Temuge and every other man and woman here.’

He looked up again at them all, his yellow eyes seeming to strip them bare.

‘We are nothing but the oath we give. If you cannot bend a knee to my son, you may leave and take your lives before sunrise. That is the only choice I will allow.’

He paused again, closing his eyes for an instant when grief and anger threatened to break through.

‘Step forward, Ogedai, my heir,’ he said.

All eyes turned to the sixteen-year-old warrior. He had grown almost to his father’s height in their time in Arab lands. The slim boy who had returned from a Chin city with Kachiun was barely visible in the hard planes of his face, but he looked very young, rocked by his father’s words. His eyes were as pale as the khan’s, wide and unblinking. He did not move and Borte had to nudge him forward so that he stepped through the packed room, older men making way. Only she and Chakahai had known it was coming. Both women had advised Genghis over the previous days and, for once, he had listened. Tears of pride brimmed in them both.

Genghis ignored the hot eyes of Chagatai and Jochi as he turned his stunned third son to face them.

‘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 honour 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 honour 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 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 return to teaching 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 grey 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 that night, in a city on a hill. Under the eye of the great khan, even Jochi 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 towards 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, 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 already up and about 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 drily.

‘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 grey 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 towards the door so that it ran outside, still barking.

‘Leave the dog alone,’ Hoelun said irritably.

As she sat up and realised 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,’ Genghis said.

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 until a small flame puffed in his hand.

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,’ Hoelun 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 grey 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’ 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.

Kokchu was sweating profusely and drank more than Genghis and Khasar together. He too was not used to riding broken ground, but he did not complain while Hoelun remained silent, knowing it could only shame him in the eyes of the khan. He had no idea why he had been called to attend Genghis, though as he looked up and saw the snowline of the peaks, he knew the spirits were strong in high places. The Mongols were never truly content in hot lands, where flies and sweat and strange rashes assailed them and rotted clean flesh. In the clean air of the mountains, Kokchu knew they would feel more at home. Perhaps he had been called to intercede for Genghis there.

They climbed a ridge until the sun hung low in the west, casting long shadows before them as if they walked on darkness. The going was hard, but the horses walked with sure steps, following Genghis on the spine of the ridge. It was rarely steep enough to force them to dismount. They had led the horses only twice that day and the grim silence seemed to have seeped into them all, so that their throats and dry lips would find it hard to speak again.

The dark mood did not survive reaching the snowline, at least for Temuge, Khasar and Kachiun. They had not seen snow since leaving the mountains of their home and they sucked in the cold air, enjoying the way it bit deeply into them.

Genghis did not seem to feel it, or hear the way the hoof sounds changed to the muted trudge of snow. The peak of the ridge was still ahead. He fixed his gaze on it and did not even look down to the vast lands revealed from that height.

The long, tiring day was ending as he reined in at last. The sun was half hidden on the western horizon and the golden light struggled with shadows, so that they had to squint as they dismounted. Khasar helped his mother down and passed a skin of airag to her, which she accepted gratefully. The hard spirit brought a little life back to her exhausted face, but she shivered as she stood there, looking around in bewilderment. They could see the smudge of Samarkand across the farmland and, even further, to a bright line of the lakes in the north. It seemed as if she might see all the way to home and the thought brought tears to her eyes.

Genghis drew his sword and the sibilant sound had every eye on him. He too felt the comfort of the snow. In the high places, it was easier to feel the breath of the sky father and the whispering presence of spirits. Even in such a distant land, he felt them on his skin. Though the feeling eased him, it hardly touched the hard lump of rage in his chest that had ached for many days.

‘Stand before me, Kokchu,’ he said, watching the shaman closely as he approached. Kokchu’s expression was wary and a line of sweat shone on his high scalp, but Genghis could see the gleam of something else in his eyes. The wind grew suddenly as the brothers gathered with their mother around Genghis, scattering a dusting of snow across them.

Genghis did not take his gaze off the shaman as he spoke to his brothers and Hoelun.

‘This is the man who killed Temulun, not one of the shah’s guards. He is the one.’

Kokchu might have leapt back had Khasar not been standing behind him.

‘That is a lie!’ the shaman spat. ‘You know it is.’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Genghis said. He was ready for Kokchu to attack or flee, with every nerve straining as he spoke. ‘My sister’s body wasn’t found until dark and that man came straight to me. Yet you were seen coming out of her ger long before that.’

‘More lies! My lord khan, someone is trying to destroy me. There are those who think you show me too much trust, that you favour me too openly. I have many enemies, lord, please

Temuge spoke suddenly and Kokchu turned to him in desperate hope.

‘He could be right, brother,’ Temuge said. ‘Who can say which ger they saw him at when the fires were burning in the camp?’

Kokchu fell to his knees, his clawlike hands shaking as they grabbed handfuls of snow.

‘It is true what he says, lord. I have given you everything, gers, horses, salt and blood, everything. This is all wrong.’

‘No,’ Genghis muttered. ‘It is not.’

The shaman turned up his face in terror as he saw the khan’s sword lift into the air.

‘You may not shed the blood of a shaman, lord. It is forbidden!’

He did not turn in time to see Hoelun smash her hand across his face. The blow was weak, but Kokchu cried out as he fell backwards in the snow. As he came up against Khasar’s feet, the general lashed out without thought, kicking him hard in the ribs.

Genghis stood very still and his family turned to him ques-tioningly as he let the sword fall at his side.

‘You cannot let him live, Temujin,’ Hoelun said, her eyes brighter than he had seen them that day. Some of her old vitality had returned at the sight of the shaman struggling on that cold peak and she did not seem to feel the wind any longer. Genghis handed her the sword and held her wrist when he thought she might lash out with it.

He flexed his empty hands for a moment and Kokchu cowered before him, trapped between the legs of the family he had served. His mind spun crazily as he looked for fresh words. Temuge’s foolish face was full of doubt and weakness and even the khan had put aside his sword. There was still hope.

‘I have done nothing, lord. Whoever told you made a mistake and it must not cost me my life, or my service to you. If I die here, ill luck will follow you to the end of your days. You know I speak the truth.’

Genghis reached down and took him by the shoulders in a terrible grip. For an instant, Kokchu thought he was being raised to his feet and gasped in relief. Then he felt Genghis shift his grip to a bony leg, the hard fingers cupping his knee and digging into the flesh. The shaman struggled wildly as Genghis lifted him with a grunt.

‘Please, my lord, I am innocent!’ Kokchu yelled.

Genghis lifted the shaman higher, then dropped him, falling to one knee as he did so. Kokchu struck the khan’s outstretched thigh cleanly. They all heard the spine crack and Kokchu’s mouth opened soundlessly. His legs fell limp and his hands scrabbled in the snow and the sun’s fading light. Temuge turned away then, sickened, but Kachiun and Khasar stared as if they were determined to remember every detail.

Genghis knelt at the shaman’s side, speaking softly.

‘There are wolves in these mountains,’ he said. ‘Some of my men have hunted them for skins. They will find you here tonight and at first they will only watch. As the cold makes you weak, they will come closer and begin to nuzzle your legs and hands. They’ll scatter when you call out and move, but they won’t go far and they’ll come back with more courage. When they start to tear your flesh, when the smell of blood excites them, think of me then.’

He stood and the shaman’s wild eyes followed his movement, blurred in tears. His mouth hung open, revealing brown teeth. He saw Hoelun put an arm around Genghis and squeeze his shoulder as they turned back to the horses. Kokchu could not hear the words the family exchanged. He had never known such pain and all the tricks and rituals he knew crumbled before the flame that lanced through him.

The darkness came quickly after that and he moaned as he found his legs were useless. Once, he pushed himself almost to a sitting position, but the wave of fresh agony stole his senses away. When he awoke again, the moon was up and he could hear the soft crunch of paws on the snow.