The Spirit Banner (25 page)

"What about my companion?" she asked, casting a fearful look at Davenport who stood still flanked by several guards.
"You have my word he will not be injured."
Oddly enough, Annja trusted him, despite his having just tried to kill her.
Annja reclaimed her sword and handed it to Holuin. She knew he would never allow her to take it into the tent with her. Besides, it wouldn't help her in any way once she was inside. If any harm befell their leader, the Mongols would never let her leave. Nor could she just make the weapon vanish in front of everyone without being branded a witch or worse. So she handed it over without concern, knowing she could make it vanish back into the otherwhere at any time.
So with what could only be described as a sense of utter surrealism, Annja crossed to the base of the platform with Holuin at her side and then climbed the steps.
At the top of the platform she cast one last glance at Davenport, gave him a shrug and then stepped forward into the Wolf's den.

Annja cautiously entered the
ger
, remembering to step across the threshold with her right foot first as was the custom, not wanting to insult the Wolf before she knew what he wanted.
What she saw took her breath away.
The interior was richly decorated with all types of artifacts—from Chinese teak cabinets to Ming vases, from a complete suit of Japanese armor to what looked to be the hood ornament of a Mercedes hanging on the wall in a glass case. There was a Greek statue of Aphrodite standing in front of a Monet painting hanging on the wall. A ship's astrolabe sat next to an ancient text that she could see was written in Latin and included hand-drawn images in the margins. The variety in the objects themselves and the places they came from was astounding and she had a hard time taking it all in on first glance. She was reminded of how both Garin and Roux collected objects in a similar fashion. What was it about such things that made men hoard them so?
A light, crisp scent filled the air, though she couldn't find the incense burner amid all the other items that occupied every square inch of display space in the
ger
.
The man who had invited her to join him stood in the middle of the
ger
, on the far side of the little table that formed the traditional eating area.
"Sain Bainu uu,"
he said to her.
"Minii nerig Temujin."
She shook her head. She'd only understood one word.
Temujin.
Genghis Khan's birth name.
Not all that surprising, she reasoned. Who better to name a male child after than the man who had put their culture on the map?
Aloud she said, "I'm sorry. I don't speak Mongolian." She said it in English, without much hope that he would understand her.
Much to her surprise, he replied in kind.
"Well, then, we will talk in the language of your fathers instead of mine. Please, sit." He indicated the pile of cushions arranged on the opposite side of the table from where he stood.
Seeing no reason why she shouldn't, Annja did.
Once she was seated, he followed suit.
They studied each other for a few minutes, neither of them saying anything.
He was one of those people whose age she had a hard time determining; he could have been forty just as easily as seventy. He looked fit and healthy, though his skin had that leathery look common to those who spend so much time in the wind and sun. His face was creased with age lines but there was a light in his eyes that suggested a personality that had yet to be weighted down by the demands of the world. His hair had probably once been dark, but now it was gray-white and worn long, as was the thin mustache that drooped down either side of his lips.
Yet he felt far older than he looked. That was the only way Annja could describe it to herself. He had an air of age about him, a sense that he had seen it all and heard it all, that he had been around since the world was young. She felt the way she had on her first dig, when ruins that hadn't seen the light of day for thousands of years had been unearthed. Just being in the same room with him made her feel that same air of wonder and awe.
It was a strange reaction to have to an individual and it made her uncomfortable.
She kept looking at him, trying to put her finger on what caused her to feel that way but with no luck.
He watched her watching him and smiled in response. She was reminded of a hawk, the keen eyes missing nothing.
"Would you like some tea?" he asked.
"No, thank you."
"Perhaps some
airag
instead?"
She'd heard of the drink made from fermented camel's milk and decided that having anything alcoholic at this point was not a good idea. Politely, she declined, but did accept a glass of water.
"You fought well. Like a true Mongol. Your clan must value you highly."
For a moment the comment stung. Having been raised in a Catholic orphanage in New Orleans, Annja didn't have a clan to be proud of her. The Wolf had no way of knowing that, however, and so she knew it was not meant as an insult.
"Thank you," she said.
He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts, and then smiled at her. "Tell me. Do you know how the camel lost his tail and his antlers?"
The question caught her off guard. She'd been expecting questions about why she was here or what her expedition had hoped to find, and instead she's asked about a camel's antlers?
"Camels don't have antlers," she said, before her brain caught up with her mouth.
"Not after losing them, they don't. But do you know how they lost them?"
Annja shook her head.
"It's quite an interesting tale. You see, long ago the camel had a magnificent pair of antlers, as well as a lush, gorgeous tail. The camel was known as a generous animal and sometimes others took advantage of him."
Temujin paused to refill his cup of
airag
from the cloth bag hanging nearby.
"You wouldn't know it to look at them today, but the deer was born with a bald head and the horse had only a thin, raggedy tail. One day at the watering hole, the deer asked to borrow the camel's antlers for the day, claiming he was going to a big celebration that night and didn't want to be ashamed of his bald head."
Annja was sure there was a lesson in this story, just as there is in most folktales, but at the moment she didn't have a clue where he was going with it.
"Being the kind soul that he was, the camel said yes, on the condition that the deer return them the next day. As the deer went on his way, holding his head up high to show off the new set of antlers he had gained, he ran into the horse and explained what had happened.
"The horse decided this would be an excellent time to get something for himself, so he, too, went to see the camel and asked to borrow his tail, using the same story as the deer.
"The next morning the camel returned to the watering hole, expecting to get back his antlers and his tail, but neither the deer nor the horse ever showed up. To this day, whenever the camel takes a drink, he will look out over the steppes, hoping to catch sight of the deer and the horse, but he never does."
Temujin watched her face for a moment and then asked, "A sad story, is it not?"
"Only for the camel," Annja replied.
"What lesson do you think the camel learned?"
He asked the question casually, but Annja's instincts were suddenly on high alert. There was a message here, one she would do well to understand.
"The camel learned that being too generous is not always a good thing." She watched his eyes for a reaction, but he gave nothing away.
"So which animal are you? The camel, the deer or the horse?"
There it was. The trap she'd been expecting. If she claimed to be either the deer or the horse, she would have a problem, because stealing was against the Mongol code. While neither she nor Davenport had been in possession of the Great Yasa or the Khan's
suldes
when they were captured, the Wolf's men had probably informed him that the artifacts had been removed from their prior locations. In effect, they had been stolen, just like the camel's antlers and tail.
Claiming to be the camel wouldn't help her, either, because he had been too generous and had been taken advantage of; she did not want to make herself look like a fool for saving Holuin's life, despite the fact that she knew it was the right thing to do.
She pondered the problem for several long moments, searching desperately for an answer that wouldn't get her in worse trouble than she was already in.
It wasn't until she sensed that he was getting impatient that she figured it out.
Taking a deep breath, knowing her life could quite possibly hinge on her saying the right thing in the next few moments, she replied, "I'm neither the camel, the deer, nor the horse. I am the Wolf, who rules the steppes and who, in his wisdom, spares the lives of the other animals at the watering hole."
Silence filled the
ger
.
Temujin stared at her, expressionless.
Then he giggled.
The giggle turned into a laugh, which, in turn, became a full-fledged cackle. He laughed so hard that he fell over backward, spilling his
airag
all over the floor.
Annja didn't know what to do. She hadn't meant her answer to be funny, never mind hysterically so.
She decided the best course of action was to wait for him to get himself together again, which he eventually did, wiping the tears from his eyes as he sat up again.
"The Wolf indeed!" he cried, which almost resulted in another laughing fit, but he managed to control himself in time. "A most excellent answer, Annja Creed."
The realization that he knew exactly who she was did not sit well with her. How had he found out? What else did he know?
Somehow, she knew the answers to those questions would not be forthcoming.
Once he had calmed down, the Wolf turned serious again.
"You won the match with Holuin and, like the camel, you gave away something of value—your freedom. After all, the rules were simple. In order to gain your freedom, only one of you could leave the circle alive. Yet when given the chance, you chose not to kill him. Why is that?"
She didn't even have to think about that one. "Because it wouldn't have been right," she answered hotly. "He'd been defeated. What use would taking his life have served?"
"A wise answer, for one so young. You have the wisdom of the ages about you."
Not knowing what to say to that, Annja chose to remain silent.
"But wisdom is not alone. Destiny has her claws in you, as well, I think."
Annja was too surprised to answer. She wondered if all conversations with Temujin were like this—jumping from subject to subject, knowing there was a pattern beneath it all but being unable to see it until he'd surprised you with something else.
He didn't appear to notice her consternation. "Yes, destiny has claimed you as her own. A harsh mistress she is, but one that cannot be easily ignored." He smiled. "Trust me, I know. So what are we to do with you, Annja Creed?"
She didn't hesitate. "Let us go. The men you punished were criminals in your world as well as mine. They will not be missed, nor will we mention what happened to them if we are asked. When we leave here I give you my word that we will not return."
"Even if the answers you seek can be found here and nowhere else?"
Davenport would be disappointed, but she was convinced even he would recognize the necessity of agreeing with the Wolf's request. Besides, there was more than one way to skin a cat.
"Even then," she replied.
He gazed into her eyes and Annja was overcome with the feeling that he was not just looking at the surface of her flesh, but looking deeper, somehow seeing into the depths of her very soul, searching it for a sign that she was being less than sincere.
She was suddenly thankful that she hadn't lied.
He would have known; she didn't doubt it for a moment.
This time his smile didn't hold any frivolity but was more the smile of one resigned to something that could not be avoided and trying to show a brave face. "Fate has much in store for you, Annja Creed. And those who choose to argue with fate never win. I shall not set myself on that road."
He clapped his hands suddenly, startling her.
"So be it. I shall have my men escort you to the edge of the Ikh Khorig, with the understanding that you will be killed on sight should you cross into our territory again in the future."
Annja felt the weight on her chest lift and she breathed easily for the first time in days.
She stood and gave a quick bow. "Thank you. For my life and the life of my companion."
Assuming the audience was over, she turned and made her way back to the door. As she reached out to move the thin curtain aside, the Wolf spoke once more.
"What you are looking for cannot be found, Annja Creed. It does not exist in the way that you think. Chinggis is at rest. The Eternal Blue Heaven wishes that it remain that way and so it does. Do you understand what I am saying to you?"
She glanced back at him, looking for hidden meaning in his words but seeing nothing but that wily smile and the stark intelligence in his eyes.
"I understand," she said, though, in truth, she did not.
She knew he was aware of that, as well.
He nodded and then turned away, which she took as her cue to leave.
She wasted no more time before doing so.

Holuin and a squad of six Mongol warriors escorted them down the mountainside shortly thereafter. Annja and Davenport had each been given a horse to ride, with instructions to set them free once they reached the edge of the steppes; the horses would find their own way home or return to the wild, as the eternal blue heaven saw fit.
They left the mountain by a different route than the one they had used on the ascent. This time it was easier for Annja to note landmarks along the way. By the time they reached the foot of Burkhan Khaldun she was all but certain she could have retraced her way right back to the door of the Wolf's den.
It didn't matter, though. Somehow she knew that if they ever managed to find their way back to that particular canyon again they would find it empty, all trace of the clan having vanished into thin air as if they had never been.
The Wolf was too wily to remain where his enemies could find him so easily.
As they rode, she found herself thinking about the legend of the Darkhats and comparing it to what she knew of the Wolf and his people. Clearly they had some contact with the outside world; both the Wolf and Holuin spoke near-perfect English. In fact, it was good enough that she knew they must have either been trained by a native speaker or spent significant time in an English-speaking country. And the range and variety of the artifacts in the Wolf's
ger
suggested someone who had traveled rather extensively.
But if your job was to protect the tomb of your nation's greatest leader from any and all who came looking for it, wouldn't it behoove you to understand just what the outside world was like? What the people who lived in it were capable of? To pay attention to the growing tide of interest in Genghis Khan and the tomb itself as Mongolia came out from under the Communist thumb?
Of course it would.
But then there was the comment the Wolf had made just before she took her leave of him. "What you are looking for cannot be found," he'd said. Did that mean that the exact location of the tomb had been lost through the ages? Or that the tomb didn't exist at all, which had been her original belief?
She didn't know and probably never would.
Just one more puzzle in a life full of mystery.
It was close to sunset when they reached the place where the river split into three separate waterways and where the voice in the earth had led them to the map. It was there that Holuin and his men intended to leave them. The trucks the expedition had driven in from Ulaanbaatar weren't far from this point and Annja was certain she could find her way without difficulty.
The distant cry of a gold eagle, rare in these days even in Mongolia, reached them and, looking up, they saw a lone rider sitting atop a horse high on a nearby bluff. In his hand was a white
sulde
and Annja could see the horsehair blowing in the wind, gathering power for the standard bearer and determining his destiny.
The rider's face was in shadow, but she didn't need to see it in order to know it was the Wolf.
For whatever reason, he'd come to see her off.
His voice echoed in her mind.
Destiny has claimed you as her own. A harsh mistress she is, but one that cannot be easily ignored. Trust me, I know.
And just like that the pieces fell together in her mind like dominoes, the pattern revealed as the fog of confusion rolled away.
The missing page from the journal containing the final clue.
The lack of a body in the Tomb of the Virgins.
The use of the Wolf moniker, which was clearly a reference to the Mongolian folktale that their people were descended from the gray wolf of the steppes. As well as the name of the clan from which their greatest hero had descended.
And finally, the name.
Temujin.
It was outrageous to even think it, but so was the idea that a broken sword could repair itself or that both Garin and Roux had been alive since the time of Joan of Arc, yet she knew both of those things were true.
One thing she had learned since becoming the bearer of the sword was that, sometimes, life is stranger than fiction.
She stared up at the rider and felt his eyes upon her, as well.
Someday I will return, she told him silently, and we'll have that talk about destiny.
Yours and mine.
But for now, farewell.
Genghis Khan.