The Silk Tree (33 page)

‘Osh! Did you hear that, Ah Lai? We’re going to Osh!’

‘Now, don’t get too excited, Ying Mei,’ Nicander cautioned. ‘Yulduz told me it’s going to be the worst journey we’ll ever take and he can’t do much about it. And there’s not long to get the gear he said we’ll need.’

‘Why can’t I be excited? We’re saved!’

‘How do you know? Where’s this Osh anyway? – I’ve never heard of it,’ Marius rumbled.

But there was no suppressing the general optimism.

They quickly arranged to purchase new kit – mainly warm clothing; leather boots, a double-thickness padded coat and a peculiar felt pyramid that wrapped around the body. With a pair of fur-lined leather gloves and their existing sheepskins, they were ready.

Yulduz met them with a gap-toothed grin. ‘Which one’s the princess?’

Ying Mei froze him with a glance.

The smile disappeared and he gave a clumsy bow. ‘Is Your Highness ready to depart, M’ Lady?’

Their mounts were led out to barely stifled gasps of dismay. They looked like runts; donkey-coloured, they had bushy manes and long tails. Nicander heaved himself up on one, which didn’t appear to be troubled by the burden.

Their baggage went on a pack mule and with the other ponies, five drivers and Yulduz they got under way.

As they skirted the base of the mountains, they were overawed by their dark bulk thrusting vertically to arrogant heights. The limitless immensity of the desert floor stretched out to the other side.

After an hour or so a river valley opened up and they entered the world of the mountain.

Bare, forbidding grey cliffs dropped precipitously down to the narrow valley floor and a small jade-coloured river.

On each side the cliffs began closing in and before long they were threading their way along an uneven rocky track by the side of the river. Ahead through the winding defile Nicander caught breathtaking glimpses of snowy peaks.

A constant cool wind funnelling down from the uplands through the ravines obliged them to find warmer clothes. As they wound ever deeper into the mountain fastness it turned to a sun-bright cold that was piercing.

Sure-footed, their ponies made their way forward on the rough terrain, delicately, like cats. It was now obvious why these were used in preference to the big-boned horses of the plains.

By the end of the day their track was appreciably steeper. They stopped at a flat area, a saddle between two valleys. It had spectacular views of the interior, the soaring peaks now tinged with a delicate rose as the lower areas shadowed before nightfall.

On this caravan there were no crew to take care of the domestics and while Nicander and Marius set about rigging a heavy black tent Tai Yi and Ying Mei took their pot to where a tiny cooking fire crackled.

Quite swiftly the mountains turned purple and then all disappeared into the shadows of night.

With no campfire, no entertainments and no fellow travellers there was nothing for it but to retire. To reduce the load, a single communal tent had been brought – and sleeping arrangements agreed. The ladies would enter first and when decency allowed, call out, on their honour to face away as the men did likewise.

The tent was roomy but stuffy with a strong odour of animal. Nicander threw the door flaps wide but the night air was frigid, feeling far colder than the desert and with a humid edge to it, much more cutting. He quickly laced them up again.

They lay back in the dark and after a round of stilted ‘good nights’ each was left alone with their thoughts.

Across the saddle they descended to another valley floor trending in a different direction. It widened and after a while they took a steep path that led out on to a sparse meadow. The ponies were given their head to crop the grass.

Without any warning a squall came up and fat drops of rain began falling, icy cold. It passed as quickly, leaving the grass wet and glittering and the sun beaming in warmth.

Suddenly Ying Mei pointed to the sky. A pair of great eagles circled high up. ‘Wild creatures!’

They were the first such they had seen after months in the dead heart of the desert.

‘And there.’ Marius’s keen eyes spotted a montane sheep perilously picking its way along the side of the far mountain.

They spied more and the time passed agreeably until they found themselves entering some kind of upland kingdom between the crags and peaks. Pleasant
grassy sward, trickling crystal brooks and here and there the tiny dash of colour of a wildflower.

Then a settlement came into view with blue smoke spiralling up from squat stone huts, flocks of sheep and a cluster of gaily decorated round tents off to one side.

Their arrival brought out children in ribboned pigtails and little black trousers screaming in delight and women eager to see what goods had been brought.

But they did not stay long. Yulduz chivvied on the proceedings, glancing repeatedly at the sky.

Soon they had left the grassland. Their track took on a marked upward gradient and the animals strained at their loads.

They passed through a towering canyon, a dismal place of cold dankness and shadow, and out into a broader valley where they continued their ascent.

The ponies were now making heavy weather of it, panting. Yulduz got off his mount and led it, ordering Nicander and the others to do so too. Puffing and wheezing with the high altitude they tramped over the stony path, now littered with boulders and treacherously wet.

Often the sun was obscured by clouds streaming over the peaks, instantly sending the temperature down to a numbing cold.

Further on they came to their first snow, scattered slush that made it hard to see what they were stepping into and in their bulky sheepskins difficult and slippery going.

They passed over the rise and a wide upland area opened out before them. On it many long-haired beasts were grazing peacefully on the slopes before a small village. Yulduz gestured towards it with a smile. As they headed there the first flakes of a light snow came whirling down.

They stopped at the largest house, a wooden two-storey structure with lean-to stables and animal pens.

‘My son’s house!’ Yulduz said proudly.

Inside, aglow with the ruddy glare of a fire, it stank richly of animals.

After he was greeted by a succession of sun-browned relatives, Yulduz
introduced a shy woman in filigreed headgear and voluminous dress as his son’s wife.

Then came a number of wide-eyed children to greet them and a deeply wrinkled old woman. ‘Her mother.’

The travellers were greatly relieved to be in the warm, and with no shared language, but with Yulduz translating, chatted happily to the family.

A frothy concoction of tea, salt and butter was served. This was followed by a delicious feast of many dishes – horse-meat sausages, sheep’s liver, a spicy rice dish of chicken and fried shredded carrots in a huge cauldron.

After everyone could eat no more, Yulduz commanded, ‘We sleep!’ A rickety ladder led up to the open second floor with beds and tables in one communal area.

In the morning they all helped in the main task: transferring the goods and baggage to the yaks. Yulduz explained that at the higher regions where they were headed the ponies could not stand the altitude.

The yaks were of impressive bulk: even Marius could barely see over their humped shoulders, and with a dense and hairy undercoat they looked well fitted for the cold. Their horns were a yard across but the huge beasts were imperturbably docile, taking their saddle-frame without pausing as they cropped the snow-littered grass.

The yak train was sizeable – thirty-five of the shaggy monoliths in all, laden down with salt from the plains, worked silver goods, carpets, baubles from Kashgar’s bazaars.

Nicander and the others were helped into the saddle by giggling boys. The massive beasts stood unmoving, firm as a rock. Nicander flashed a nervous grin at Marius and the ladies.

There were no ropes stringing the yaks together as with a camel train. When shrill shouts announced the start of the trail, each animal obediently followed the one in front. The lead yak, which did not carry any load, walked forward and placidly turned to left and right on command as they wound across the upland plain.

They were easy to ride, reassuringly steady with none of the airy sway – or the goaty smell – of a camel. Yaks were almost scented, even with their slightly oily hair, which hung down below their bellies.

Ahead, Ying Mei twisted round to wave an assurance to Nicander.

The plain contracted and then they began following a narrow, stony track around the steep bare flank of a precipice. Nicander saw to the right the mountainside falling away in an awesome drop to a river below. All it needed was a misplaced hoof and …

The yaks were seemingly unconcerned, plodding forward, one behind the other.

Before they made the next pass the snow began again, whipping about spitefully in the hard wind. They were all now shuddering with cold. Still the big beasts walked on, their only concession to the bluster being to lower their heads.

At one point they forded a river in a perilous stumble. On the other side, they picked up another narrow track that led to open upland again, not agreeable meadows but a rocky wilderness.

Yulduz pointed to the end where a solid white mass half a mile across filled the valley from side to side. ‘Ice river.’

They traversed the stone-strewn slope, the rounded hoofs of the yaks clicking and knocking as they went. The snow returned, swirling ever thicker it made it impossible to look up and they had to trust to the yaks to follow on after the bell of the one in front.

Nicander was becoming more and more breathless. The gasping strain gave him a pounding head.

The chill began a remorseless clamping in. A trial of endurance.

Still the yak train wound on, past a craggy outcrop that suddenly loomed out of the snow squalls and up to another level.

Nicander could just see Ying Mei, a dark hump ahead in the swirling snow. She was no doubt suffering as much as him. Was it worth it? Was this really the way to Constantinople and home? In the misery of the unrelenting cold he sank back into his enduring, head hung.

The yaks came to a stop. Looking up Nicander saw that they were halted in the lee of a bluff which cut off the wind like a knife.

Frozen and torpid he fell off his yak into a few inches of snow, vaguely sensing someone leading away his mount.

‘This snow, I not like!’ Yulduz grunted, squinting up at the heavy grey sky. ‘We have to make Terek very soon or we in trouble!’

Nevertheless it was decreed that the night be spent there. Miraculously there was a fire: one of the drivers had been tasked to carry a pottery bowl under his cloak with precious embers of charcoal which were blown into life. Dried yak dung was added to make a small blaze.

They huddled over the life-giving warmth, the flames lurid and golden against the bleak grey of the stony landscape in the falling night. Yak-butter tea was doled out and for a brief time spirits rose.

There was no question of erecting a tent on the loose scree. The crew wrapped their felt pyramids close about them, pulling the ‘hood’ over their heads then hunching down, clutching their knees to their chests.

Marius made sure he and the others had their own felt protections on and made use of the tent against the bitter winds that flapped and blustered through the long night. It was opened up and laid over them, held down from the inside. The shelter was suffocating and odorous, but the alternative was worse.

There was a blizzard in the morning but Yulduz was insistent they start. ‘I worry the Terek!’ he muttered.

The snow eased but there was a new hazard. The yaks could not see the track under the fresh snowfall and slipped and staggered as they missed their foothold.

‘Not far now, Terek Davan!’ Yulduz said.

Unexpectedly the snow ceased abruptly and the sun glared unbearably bright in a deep-blue sky.

As the little train continued on around the side of the mountain they squinted against the dazzling white. Before them was the broad snow-covered saddle between the buttresses of two cloud-torn ranges – the long-sought Terek Davan Pass.

But only two miles below it the snow began again, squally flurries and then solid, driving flakes that blinded and choked and lay a chill deadness thickly on ground and beast.

It was impossible to go on – blundering over a precipice was a real possibility.

The train stopped and the yaks quickly came together in a huddle. Forcing their way inside, the humans took refuge from the icy wind in the steamy mass as snow steadily built on the hairy backs. Nicander caught a glimpse of Ying Mei’s pinched but expressionless face; holding on, enduring.

The snow continued remorselessly.

It was so unfair – only another couple of miles and …

Nicander tried to ask Yulduz their chances but in reply only got an ill-tempered gabbling and the man turned away.

With the pass so close would he wait for the weather to clear and make a desperate attempt to transit, or return to the village and wait for spring?

The fearful cold made it difficult to think. The yaks could probably wade through a couple of feet of snow but who could tell if conditions the other side of the pass were better or worse? They couldn’t stay where they were indefinitely. The longer they delayed returning, the deeper the snow behind them, and he remembered more than one patch that …

Had they left it too late either way?

Nicander felt a swelling dread.

Time passed and he slipped into a reverie of images and impressions.

He was abruptly brought back to the present by hurried movement out of the huddle – the snow had stopped!

Yulduz stared at the grey sky. Then he bent and picked up some snow and let it fall to the ground, watching it closely. His gaze returned to the line of the summit.

‘We go!’ he snapped.

There was a fevered scurry of activity. This time there would be no riding; each would walk beside his yak.

They set out for the distant top of the pass, stomping the soft snow with every pace and knowing the stakes if they failed.

The sun came and went. Everyone periodically glanced warily at the sky, dreading what they would see.

Yulduz was ahead, testing the way and calling out shrill commands to the lead yak.

The crest drew nearer and, praise be, they were atop it – a slope led gently away on the other side into the same grand panorama of great mountains and far valleys. Yulduz took a wide, sweeping zigzag down, going as fast as he could get the yaks to follow.

Nicander, like the others, was numbed and exhausted and it wasn’t until
they stopped at a sheltered crag that he realised they were safe.

Yulduz, now in fine spirits, handed out a ration of
chhurpi
, a bar of dry yak cheese that took hours to chew.

‘Not so bad, now. I don’t think they come after you here, M’ Lady!’ he added with a cackle.

Nicander found himself smiling. They were through the mountain barrier and were on the road to the west!

Yulduz gave the order to remount, their way now was a continual downward winding track along the wide flank of a mountain to where green peeped through the snow on the uplands.

In two days they left the snowline and reached the lower foothills whose terrain made for fast going. Later, wide river plains led through increasingly fertile regions with nomad tents and flocks dotted on the slopes.

They stopped at tiny settlements for fresh provisions and news and to exchange their trinkets for furs and handworked trifles and then passed on to a majestic river valley.

‘To Osh,’ Yulduz said proudly. ‘He goes to my town!’

They followed him up a steep track littered with sharp stones. It wound around then through a cleft – and they caught their breath. Below was an immense plain ending in a blue-grey haze at the horizon. They could see every detail, the glittering meander of a river, the dots of trees, the smudge of forests and the far-distant sprawl of a city.

The travellers beamed at each other. The landscape was alive and green, even roads could be picked out. They had left Chang An for a desert of sand, then from Kashgar endured a desert of snow and rock. Now they had won through to what could only be – the Western Lands.