Genghis: Birth of an Empire Page 14

  In the dawn, it was easier to find a place where the thick mat of needles was damp rather than soaking. Hoelun removed her deel, shivering as she did so. They could all see the dark slick down her side where their sister’s bowels had emptied during the night. The smell wafted over them all, making Khasar put a hand to his face. Hoelun ignored him, her mouth a thin line of irritation. Temujin could see she was barely holding her temper as she spread the deel on the ground. Gently, she placed her daughter on the cloth, the movement startling the tiny little girl into staring around at her brothers with tear-filled eyes. It hurt to see her shivering.

  Bekter grimaced and took a knife from his belt, laying it down. Hoelun tested the blade with her thumb and nodded. She reached around her own waist to untie a heavy cord of braided horsehair. She had hidden it under her deel on the last night, looking for anything that would help them in their ordeal. Its coils were narrow but strong and it joined the blades of the brothers as they put them down in a pile.

  Apart from his own small knife, all Temujin could add was the winding cloth that held his deel to him, though that was long and well woven. He did not doubt Hoelun would find some use for it.

  They all watched in fascination as Hoelun brought a tiny bone box from one of the deep pockets in the deel. It contained a small piece of ridged steel and a good flint, and she laid those aside almost with reverence. The dark yellow box was beautifully carved and she rubbed her thumbs over it in memory while they watched.

  “Your father gave this to me when we were married,” she said, and then she picked up a stone and smashed the box into pieces. Each shard of bone was razor sharp and she sorted them with care, picking the best and holding them up.

  “This one for a fishhook, two more for arrowheads. Khasar? You’ll take the twine and find a good stone to grind the hook. Use a knife to dig for worms and find a sheltered spot. We need your luck today.”

  Khasar gathered his share without a trace of his usual light manner.

  “I understand,” he said, winding the horsehair length around his fist. “Leave me enough to make a snare,” she told him as he stood. “We need gut and tendons for a bow.”

  She turned to Bekter and Temujin, handing a sliver of sharp bone to each boy.

  “You take a knife each and make me a bow from the birch. You’ve seen it done enough times.”

  Bekter pressed the point of the bone into his palm, testing it. “If we had horn, or horsehide for the string…” he began.

  Hoelun grew very still and her stare silenced him. “A single marmot snare won’t keep us alive. I didn’t say I wanted a bow that would make your father proud. Just cut something you can kill with. Or perhaps we should simply lie down in the leaves and wait for cold and hunger to take us?”

  Bekter frowned, irritated at the criticism in front of the others. Without looking at Temujin, he snatched up his knife and strode away, his bone shard held tightly in his fist.

  “I could lash a blade to a stick and make a spear, perhaps for fish,” Kachiun said.

  Hoelun looked gratefully at him and took a deep breath. She picked up the smallest of the knives and passed it into his hands.

  “Good boy,” she said, reaching out to touch his face. “Your father taught you all to hunt. I don’t think he would ever have guessed it would matter this much, but whatever you learned, we need.”

  She looked at the pitifully small number of items left on the cloth and sighed.

  “Temuge? I can light a fire if you find me something dry to burn. Anything.”

  The fat little boy stood up, his mouth quivering. He had not yet begun to recover from the terror of their new situation, nor its hopelessness. The other boys could see Hoelun was on the nervous edge of breaking, but Temuge still saw her as a rock and reached out to be embraced. She allowed him a moment in her arms before she eased him away.

  “Find what you can, Temuge. Your sister can’t take another night without a fire.”

  Temujin winced as the little boy broke into sobbing and, when Hoelun refused to look at him, ran away under the looming trees.

  Temujin reached out clumsily to try to give his mother some comfort. He took her shoulder and, to his pleasure, she tilted her head so that her face briefly touched his hand.

  “Make me a killing bow, Temujin. Find Bekter and help him,” she said, raising her eyes to his.

  He swallowed painfully against his hunger and left her there with the baby, the wailing cry echoing amongst the wet trees.

  Temujin found Bekter by the sound of his blade hacking into a birch sapling. He whistled softly to let his older brother know he was approaching and received a surly glare for his trouble. Without a word, Temujin held the slender trunk steady for his brother’s blade. The knife was a solid piece of edged iron and it bit deeply. Bekter seemed to be taking his anger out on the wood, and it took courage for Temujin to hold his hands still as blow after blow thumped near his fingers.

  It did not take long before Temujin was able to press the sapling down and expose the whitish fibers of the young wood. The bow would be near to useless, he thought glumly. It was hard not to think of the beautiful weapons in every ger of the Wolves. Boiled strips of sheep horn and ground sinew were glued to birch cores and then left for an entire year in dry darkness. Each bow was a marvel of ingenuity, capable of killing over a distance of more than a hundred alds.

  The bow he and his brother sweated to make would be little more than a child’s toy in comparison, and this was the one on which their lives would depend. Temujin snorted in bitter amusement as Bekter closed one eye and finally held up the length of birch, still ragged with its paper bark. He saw Bekter’s jaw clench in response and watched in surprise as his brother brought the length of wood back sharply and broke it over another trunk, throwing the splintered birch to the leaves.

  “This is a waste of time,” Bekter said furiously.

  Temujin eyed the knife he was holding, suddenly aware of how alone they were.

  “How far can they travel in a day?” Bekter demanded. “You can track. We know the guards as well as our brothers. I could get past them.”

  “To do what?” Temujin asked. “Kill Eeluk?” He saw Bekter’s eyes glaze for a moment as he tasted the idea, then shook his head.

  “No. We’d never get to him, but we could steal a bow! Just a single bow and a few arrows and we could eat. Aren’t you hungry?”

  Temujin tried not to think about the ache in his stomach. He had known hunger before, but always there was the thought of a hot meal waiting at the end. Here, it seemed worse and his gut felt sore and painful to the touch. He hoped it was not the first sign of the loose bowels that came from disease or poor meat. In such a place, any weakness would kill him. He knew as well as his mother that they walked a thin edge between survival and a pile of bones come the winter.

  “I am starving,” he said, “but we’d never get into a ger without the alarm being raised. Even if we did, they’d track us back here and Eeluk would not let us go a second time. That broken stick is all we have.”

  Both boys looked at the ruined sapling and Bekter grabbed it in a show of mindless anger, wrenching at the unyielding wood and then throwing it into the undergrowth.

  “All right, let’s start again,” he said grimly. “Though we don’t have a string, we don’t have arrows, and we have no glue. We have as much chance of catching an animal by throwing stones at it!”

  Temujin said nothing, shaken by the outburst. Like all of his father’s sons, he was used to someone knowing what to do. Perhaps they had become too used to that certainty. Ever since he had felt his father’s hand go limp in his own, he had been lost. There were times when he felt the strength he needed begin to kindle in his chest, but he kept expecting it all to end and his old life to come back.

  “We’ll braid strips of cloth for a string. It will hold long enough to take two shots, I should think. We only have two arrowheads, after all.”

  Bekter grunted in reply and reached out t
o another birch sapling, supple and as thick as his thumb.

  “Hold this steady, then, brother,” he said, raising the heavy blade. “I’ll make a bow good for two chances at the kill. After that fails, we’ll eat grass.”

  Kachiun caught up with Khasar high into the cleft between the hills. The figure of his older brother was so still that he almost missed him as he climbed over rocks, but his gaze was drawn to where the stream had widened into a pool and he saw his brother on the edge. Khasar had made himself a simple rod with a long birch twig. Kachiun whistled to let him know he was there and approached as silently as he could, staring down into the clear water.

  “I can see them. Nothing larger than a finger so far,” Khasar whispered. “They don’t seem to want the worms, though.”

  They both stared at the limp scrap of flesh that hung in the water an arm’s length from the bank. Kachiun frowned to himself, thinking.

  “We’re going to need more than one or two if we’re all to eat tonight,” he said.

  Khasar grunted in response. “If you have an idea, then say it. I can’t make them take the hook.”

  Kachiun was silent for a long time, and both boys would have enjoyed the peace if it had not been for the ache in their bellies. At last, Kachiun stood and began to unwind the orange waist cloth from his deel. It was three alds long, stretching as far as three men lying head to toe. He might not have thought to use it if Temujin had not added his own to Hoelun’s pile. Khasar glanced up at him, a smile touching his mouth.

  “Going for a swim?” he said.

  Kachiun shook his head. “A net would be better than a hook. We could get them all then. I thought I might try to dam the stream with the cloth.”

  Khasar pulled his bedraggled worm out of the water, laying the precious hook down.

  “It might work,” he said. “I’ll go farther upstream and beat the water with a stick as I come back down. If you can close off the stream with the cloth, you might be able to scoop a few onto the bank.”

  Both boys looked at the freezing water reluctantly. Kachiun sighed to himself, winding the cloth around his arms.

  “All right; it’s better than waiting,” he said, shuddering as he stepped into the pool.

  The cold made them gasp and wince, but both boys worked quickly to tie the length of cloth across the path of the stream. A tree root made a perfect anchor point on one side, and Kachiun heaved a rock onto the other as he doubled the cloth and brought it back on itself. There was more than enough, and he forgot his chill for a time when he saw small fish touch the orange barrier and dart backwards. He saw Khasar cut a strip from the cloth and bind a knife to a stick to make a short stabbing spear.

  “Pray to the sky father for some big ones,” Khasar said. “We need to get this right.”

  Kachiun remained in the water, struggling not to shiver too violently as his brother walked away and was lost to sight. He did not need to be told.

  Temujin tried to take the bow from his brother’s hands, and Bekter rapped his knuckles with the handle of his knife.

  “I have it,” Bekter said, irritably.

  Temujin watched as the older boy bent the birch to fit the loop of braided string over the other end. He winced in anticipation of the crack that would be the ruin of their third attempt. From the beginning, he had resented Bekter’s bad-tempered approach to making the weapon, as if the wood and the string were enemies to be crushed into obedience. Whenever Temujin tried to help, he was roughly rebuffed, and only when Bekter failed again and again did he suffer his brother to hold the wood still as they bent it. The second bow had snapped and their first two strings had lasted just long enough to come under tension before they too gave way. The sun had moved over their heads and their tempers frayed as failure piled upon failure.

  The new string was braided from three thin strips cut from Temujin’s own waist cloth. It was childishly thick and bulky, vibrating visibly as Bekter eased the bow back from its bent position, wincing in anticipation. It did not snap and both boys breathed a sigh of relief. Bekter touched his thumb to the taut cord, making a deep twanging sound.

  “Have you finished the arrows?” he said to Temujin.

  “Just one,” Temujin replied, showing him the straight birch twig with a needle of bone set firmly into the wood. It had taken forever to grind the shard into a shape he could bind, leaving a delicate tang that fitted between the split wood. He had held his breath for part of the process, knowing that if he snapped the head, there could be no replacement.

  “Give it to me, then,” Bekter said, holding out his hand.

  Temujin shook his head. “Make your own,” he replied, holding it out of reach. “This is mine.”

  He saw rage in Bekter’s eyes then and thought the older boy might use the new bow to strike him. Perhaps the time they had spent on it prevented him from doing so, but Bekter nodded at last.

  “I should have expected that, from you.”

  Bekter made a show of placing the bow out of Temujin’s reach while he found a stone to grind his own arrowhead. Temujin stood stiffly watching, irritated at having to cooperate with a fool.

  “The Olkhun’ut do not speak well of you, Bekter, did you know that?” he said.

  Bekter snorted, spitting on the stone and working the bone sliver back and forth.

  “I don’t care what they think of me, my brother,” he replied grimly. “If I had become khan, I would have raided them the first winter. I would have shown them the price of their pride.”

  “Be sure to tell our mother that, when we go back,” Temujin said. “She will be pleased to hear what you were planning.”

  Bekter looked up at Temujin, his small dark eyes murderous.

  “You are just a child,” he said, after a time. “You could never have led the Wolves.”

  Temujin felt anger flare, though he showed nothing.

  “We won’t know now, will we?” he said.

  Bekter ignored him, grinding the bone into a neat shape for the shaft.

  “Instead of just standing there, why don’t you do something useful, like finding a marmot burrow?”

  Temujin did not bother to reply. He turned his back on his brother and walked away.

  The meal that night was a pitiful affair. Hoelun had nursed a flame into life, though the damp leaves smoked and spat. Another night in the cold might have killed them, but she was terrified the light would be seen. The cleft in the hills should have hidden their position, but still she made them cluster around the flame, blocking its light with their bodies. They were all weak with hunger and Temuge was green around the mouth where he had tried wild herbs and vomited.

  Two fish were the product of their day’s labors, both of them captured more by luck than skill in the river trap. As small as they were, the crisping black fingers of flesh drew the eyes of all the boys.

  Temujin and Bekter were silently furious with each other after an afternoon of frustration. When Temujin had found a marmot hole, Bekter had refused to hand over the bow and Temujin had flown at him in a rage, rolling together over and over in the wet. One of the arrows had snapped under them, the sound interrupting their fight. Bekter had tried to snatch at the other, but Temujin had been faster. He had already decided to borrow Kachiun’s knife and make his own bow for the next day.

  Hoelun shivered, feeling ill as she held the twigs in the flames and wondered who would starve amongst her sons. Kachiun and Khasar deserved at least a taste of the flesh, but she knew her own strength was the most important thing they had. If she began to faint from hunger, or even died, the rest of them would perish. She set her jaw in anger as her gaze fell on the two older boys. Both of them bore fresh bruises and she wanted to take a stick to them for their stupidity. They did not understand that there would be no rescue, no respite. Their lives were in two tiny fish on the flames, barely enough for a mouthful.

  Hoelun prodded at the black flesh with a nail, trying not to give in to despair. Clear liquid ran down a finger as she squeezed it an
d she pressed her mouth to the drip, closing her eyes in something like ecstasy. She ignored her complaining stomach and broke the fish into two pieces, handing one each to Kachiun and Khasar.

  Kachiun shook his head. “You first,” he said, making tears start in her eyes.

  Khasar heard him and paused as he raised the fish to his mouth. He could smell the cooked meat and Hoelun saw saliva was making his lips wet.

  “I can last a little longer than you, Kachiun,” she said. “I will eat tomorrow.”

  It was enough for Khasar, who closed his mouth on the scrap and sucked noisily at the bones. Kachiun’s eyes were dark with pain from his hunger, but he shook his head.

  “You first,” he said again. He held out the head of the fish and Hoelun took it gently from him.

  “Do you think I can take food from you, Kachiun? My darling son?” Her voice hardened. “Eat it, or I will throw it back on the fire.”

  He winced at the thought and took it from her at once. They could all hear the bones breaking as he crunched it into a paste in his mouth, savoring every last drop of nourishment.

  “Now you,” Temujin said to his mother. He reached out for the second fish, intending to pass it to her. Bekter slapped his arm away and Temujin almost went for him again in a sudden rage.

  “I do not need to eat tonight,” Temujin said, controlling his anger. “Neither does Bekter. Share the last one with Temuge.”

  He could not bear the hungry eyes all round the fire and suddenly stood, preferring not to watch. He swayed slightly, feeling faint, but then Bekter reached out and took the fish, breaking it in two. He put the larger half in his mouth and held out the rest to his mother, unable to look her in the eye.

  Hoelun hid her irritation, sick of the pettiness that hunger had brought to her family. They all sensed death was close and it was hard to remain strong. She forgave Bekter, but the last piece of fish went to Temuge, who sucked busily at it, looking round for more. Temujin spat on the ground, deliberately catching the edge of Bekter’s deel with the clot of phlegm. Before his older brother could rise to his feet, Temujin had vanished into the darkness. The damp air cooled quickly without the sun, and they prepared themselves for another freezing night.