Eye of Flame (26 page)

By then, it was time for Yesugei to meet with the leaders of clans and tribes that often joined him for the annual great hunt. Jarchiudai, an Uriangkhai chief and comrade of Yesugei’s, arrived with his men and announced that he would join the Bahadur for the hunt before returning to his lands north of the Kentei Mountains. A Jajirat chief rode there soon afterward, and Seche Beki brought men of his Jurkin clan, but Khokakhchin saw that fewer men would be hunting with Yesugei this year. Men unwilling to hunt with him this season might later refuse to fight under his command.

The men gathered to make a sacrifice for luck during the hunt and began arguing almost immediately. Orbey Khatun’s grandson Targhutai openly demanded command over more men of his Taychiut clan, and Daritai took Targhutai’s side. Yesugei and Daritai nearly came to blows before Nekun-taisi interceded, begging his two brothers not to fight. Bughu then read the bones of a sacrificed sheep and predicted a hard winter.

The men left the camp to fan out in two wings and gradually encircle their prey; the women took down the tents again and followed with the children in their carts. By the time they had caught up with the men and had finished skinning the carcasses of the deer that littered the ground, a snowstorm struck. The women dried as much of the meat as they could, cutting it into strips and hanging it up to dry before the howling winds and the sharp lashing of the snow forced them to stay inside their yurts and huddle by their hearth fires.

They made their winter camp near the southern slopes of the Gurelgu Mountains, not far from the Senggur River. The mountain cliffs offered protection from the fiercest winds, but Khokakhchin knew that this winter would be harder than many; the rivers had hardened into ice early. Bughu, whatever his failings in other respects, had read the bones correctly.

More snow came, a thick blanket that covered the ground. The women and children had to uncover the snow with brooms and sticks so that the sheep and cattle could graze, while the smaller lambs had to be fed by hand. Soon, even Orbey Khatun, who usually left the harder work to her servants, was leaving her tent with Sokhatai Khatun, Ambaghai Khan’s other widow, to help with the sheep and goats.

In spite of these efforts, too many animals died. The women butchered the carcasses and dressed the hides with salted milk, fearing that not enough lambs would be born that spring and summer to make up for the losses. Yesugei and his brothers, who were often away from the camp either to hunt or to guard the horses grazing near the mountains, returned with stories of wolf packs attacking stray horses and of tiger tracks in the snow.

A tiger soon struck near the camp, killing a stray lamb. Three nights later, the tiger came near Daritai’s yurt, killed a dog, and dragged off another lamb. Esugei, Daritai’s wife, had heard the bleating of frightened sheep, the howls of other dogs, and the snarling of the tiger, but had not dared to go outside.

Yesugei returned to the camp with Daritai, then sent for Bughu. The shaman arrived with his apprentice Jali-gulug. Khokakhchin poured broth for the visitors while Hoelun set out jugs of kumiss, then sat down next to her husband, Khachigun’s cradle at her side. Temujin and Khasar sprawled by the hearth, playing knucklebone dice; Khokakhchin sat with them, close enough to hear what would be said in the back of the tent.

“Is that tiger only a tiger,” Yesugei was saying, “or is it a spirit in the guise of a cat?”

“It isn’t a ghost,” Bughu replied in his high soft voice. “I’m sure of that. If we set out a poisoned carcass, we’ll rid ourselves of the beast. I’ll prepare the poison tonight.”

Jali-gulug said, “This tiger won’t take the poison.”

Khokakhchin lifted her head. Hoelun was staring at the young man, eyes wide with surprise; Yesugei frowned. Bughu’s dark eyes had narrowed into slits.

“Can you be so certain?” Yesugei said. “Bughu served my father as a shaman. You’ve only begun to learn what he knows.”

“That is so.” Jali-gulug’s voice was firm. “But I think setting out a carcass filled with poison will only waste good meat. This tiger killed one of Daritai’s dogs and carried off a lamb without the other dogs attacking it. I don’t think it will be foolish enough to eat poison.”

Bughu was struggling to restrain himself. His mustache twitched; Khokakhchin saw his left hand tremble. She was suddenly relieved that Sochigil was in her own tent with her sons. Had Yesugei’s second wife witnessed this, talk of the apprentice’s challenge to his master would have flown around the camp, shaming Bughu. Yesugei and Hoelun would at least have the wit to keep silent, knowing that even a weak shaman could be a dangerous enemy.

“And how do you mean to rid us of the tiger?” Bughu pointed his chin at Jali-gulug. “By hunting it? I’ve never seen you bring down anything larger than a hare.”

Khokakhchin tensed. Young Temujin glanced up from his dice, clearly aware of the shaman’s anger.

Yesugei held up a hand. “Enough. Bughu has served me well for some time. We’ll do as he advises, and set out the carcass.” He turned to Jali-gulug. “If the tiger doesn’t take the bait, you’ll get your chance at it. Until then, you’ll follow Bughu’s instructions.”

Khokakhchin did not look at Bughu and Jali-gulug as they left. Jali-gulug should have known better than to disagree with the shaman in front of their chief; better to have taken Bughu aside later and spoken to him alone. But Jali-gulug was barely more than a boy, still learning. Bughu, old enough to have learned some forbearance, had only made matters worse by insulting him in Yesugei’s presence. She wondered if the shaman was still blind to Jali-gulug’s growing abilities.

The shaman set out the poisoned carcass of a lamb. Sochigil claimed to have heard that Bughu had mixed the poison alone, refusing to show Jali-gulug how to prepare it.

For four nights, the carcass lay just outside the camp, untouched. On the fifth night, the tiger killed a ewe outside Charakha’s tent. Charakha’s son Munglik had awakened to the sound of howling dogs, and left his tent to find a large white cat feeding on the dead animal. He had never seen such a tiger before, white and without stripes. He had not dared to move, afraid the tiger might leap at his throat, and had waited until the beast slipped away over the snow.

Charakha rode with his son to Yesugei’s camping circle. The Bahadur listened to Munglik’s tale, then sent Charakha and Munglik to fetch Bughu and his apprentice. Jali-gulug arrived alone, but Bughu was accompanied by Targhutai. Khokakhchin saw the Bahadur scowl as Bughu explained that Targhutai had come here to volunteer to hunt the tiger. She did not believe it. Targhutai was here so that he could later tell his grandmother Orbey Khatun what had been said.

Khokakhchin served jugs of kumiss, then seated herself with Hoelun and the children on Yesugei’s left. “Munglik,” Yesugei said, “have you told the shaman your story?”

Munglik nodded. “Never have I been so frightened.” He was a good-looking, sturdily built lad of thirteen, not the sort to admit easily to being afraid. “Even our dogs were cowering.” Munglik drew his brows together. “The more I think about that tiger, the more I wonder if it was a tiger at all.”

“Maybe it was a shape-changer,” Charakha muttered, making a sign against evil.

“If it’s a tiger, it can be brought down,” Targhutai said. “I’m willing to lead the hunt. If it isn’t a tiger, but something else, then it means a curse may lie upon us here. Perhaps the spirits don’t want us grazing these lands.”

Khokakhchin studied Targhutai’s chubby, petulant face. How obvious the young Taychiut man was. If by some miracle he captured the tiger, more of the men would view him as a possible new chief, and Yesugei’s position would be weakened. If the tiger escaped him, but continued to prey on their flocks and herds, more would come to believe that this land was under a curse. Yesugei would be blamed for that, since he had chosen the site. Some of his men might even desert him for another chief.

“There will be no tiger hunt,” Yesugei said. “I won’t put men at such risk until we’ve tried everything else. You know how dangerous and treacherous a tiger can be.”

Jali-gulug leaned forward. “Bahadur,” he said softly, “I ask for my chance at this tiger.”

Bughu shot him a glance. Yesugei stroked his long mustaches, looking thoughtful. “I’ll need Bughu’s help,” Jali-gulug continued. “He will have to cast a spell to protect the camp from evil spirits and ghosts. I will go outside the camp and wait for the tiger there.” Bughu looked relieved that his apprentice had acknowledged needing his aid.

Targhutai snorted. “Wait for the tiger? Do you think it’ll just walk up to you so you’ll have an easy shot?”

“That is my plan. I can say no more about it.”

“Very well,” Yesugei said. “Bughu will cast his spell, and you’ll wait for the tiger. If you have no luck, Targhutai can lead his hunt.”

Targhutai’s cheeks grew even rounder as he grinned. The men talked for a while, finished their kumiss, then made their farewells. Khokakhchin went to the entrance to roll up the flap for the men. Charakha and Munglik were to ride out and relieve some of the men guarding the horses, and Targhutai would probably ride directly to his grandmother’s yurt.

“I will cast a powerful spell,” Bughu said as he got to his feet. “Perhaps my spell alone will be enough to rid us of that tiger.”

Jali-gulug stood up slowly. “I have one more request, Bahadur.”

“And what is that?” Yesugei asked.

“Someone else must wait for the tiger with me. A dream has told me this. The one called Old Woman Khokakhchin must come with me.”

Startled, Khokakhchin let go of the rope, letting the flap at the entrance fall. Bughu, in the middle of pulling on his long sable coat, turned toward his apprentice. “That old woman? Of what use can she be?”

“A dream came to me,” Jali-gulug replied, “and you know well that the spirits speak through dreams. A dream told me that Khokakhchin must wait with me if I am to succeed.”

“I have something to say about this,” Hoelun said. “Khokakhchin is my servant, a good woman who has helped me in childbirth, done her work without complaint, looked out for my sons, and earned my trust. We would all grieve if any harm came to her.” Khokakhchin warmed at her mistress’s words, pleased and surprised that Hoelun thought so much of her.

“I can’t promise that she won’t be harmed,” Jali-gulug said. “I can only swear to do what I can to protect her. She must come with me—my dream said it.”

“This is madness,” Bughu muttered. “Yesugei, are you going to listen to—”

“Silence!” Yesugei raised a hand; his pale eyes glittered, as they always did when he was about to lose his temper. “You had your chance. I promised the boy he would have his.” He rested his hands on his knees. “You’ll cast your spell, Bughu. Jali-gulug will take Khokakhchin and go where he must to await the tiger.” Hoelun seemed about to protest, but one angry look from her husband kept her silent.

“I will come here tomorrow for the old woman,” Jali-gulug said. “I’ll need two horses, a boiled lamb, a small tent for shelter, and a cart. The rest I can provide for myself.”

“If this works,” Yesugei said, “you’ll both be richly rewarded, you for your efforts and Bughu for his spell.”

Bughu looked mollified as he left. If Jali-gulug failed, the shaman could not be blamed; if the young man succeeded, Bughu was likely to claim part of the credit. Khokakhchin lowered the flap after Jali-gulug, went outside, tied it shut, then moved toward the hearth. “If this works,” Hoelun said to Yesugei, “Khokakhchin will deserve a reward as well. I insist upon that.”

Someone tugged at Khokakhchin’s sleeve. She looked down into Temujin’s small face. “You’ll be brave,” the boy said. “I know you will.”

She knelt to embrace the child, fearing for herself.

Jali-gulug came for her just after dawn, as she was sipping her morning broth. Hoelun helped her load the felt panels and willow framework of a small yurt into the two-wheeled cart, then handed her two oxhide jugs of kumiss. “Take care,” Hoelun whispered through the woolen scarf that covered most of her face. “I’ll pray for you, old woman.”

Jali-gulug mounted his horse and began to trot north. Another of Yesugei’s horses had been hitched to the cart. Khokakhchin climbed up to the seat and picked up the reins.

The air was cold, dry, and still; the wind that had been howling through their camp for days had died. Khokakhchin followed Jali-gulug across the icy white plain toward the cliffs looming in the distance. To the west, the horses grazing away from the camp were small dark specks against the whiteness.

They rode until they came to a finger of rock that pointed out from the nearest cliff, then halted. Khokakhchin raised the yurt, tying the felt panels to the frame, while Jali-gulug unsaddled the horses and set out some of the boiled lamb. It was cold inside the small yurt; in winter, at least three layers of felt were needed against the cold, and this tent had only one. Khokakhchin longed for a fire, but the flames would keep the tiger away.

It was growing dark when Jali-gulug came inside the tent and sat down at her right to face the entrance. “How long will we have to wait here?” she asked.

“As long as we must.”

He was so calm. Did he lack the wit to be as frightened as he should be?

“I am afraid,” he said then, as if hearing her thoughts, “but it will do no good to give in to my fear.” He handed her a piece of lamb.