Conn Iggulden - Genghis, Birth of an Empire

Temujin felt tears prickle his eyes as his morning’s dreams were trampled. His father seemed oblivious to his anger and despair as he called Eeluk over.

To Temujin’s eye, Eeluk’s smile was sly and unpleasant as he came to stand by them.

“You have been my first warrior,” Yesugei said to the man. “The red bird is yours.”

Eeluk’s eyes widened with awe. He took the bird reverently, the boys forgotten. “You honor me,” he said, bowing his head.

Yesugei laughed aloud. “Your service honors me,” he replied. “We will hunt with them together. Tonight we will have music for two eagles come to the Wolves.” He turned to Temujin. “You will have to tell old Chagatai all about the climb, so that he can write the words for a great song.”

Temujin did not reply, unable to stand and watch Eeluk holding the red bird any longer. He and Bekter ducked through the low doorway of the ger to see Hoelun and their new sister, surrounded by their brothers. The boys could hear their father outside, shouting to the men to see what his sons had brought him. There would be a feast that night and yet, somehow, they were uncomfortable as they met each other’s eyes. Their father’s pleasure meant a lot to all of them, but the red bird was Temujin’s.

That evening, the tribe burned the dry dung of sheep and goats and roasted mutton in the flames and great bubbling pots. The bard, Chagatai, sang of finding two eagles on a red hill, his voice an eerie combination of high and low pitch. The young men and women of the tribe cheered the verses, and Yesugei was pressed into showing the birds again and again while they called piteously for their lost nest.

The boys who had climbed the red hill accepted cup after cup of black airag as they sat around the fires in the darkness. Khasar went pale and silent after the second drink, and after a third, Kachiun gave a low snort and fell slowly backwards, his cup tumbling onto the grass. Temujin stared into the flames, making himself night-blind. He did not hear his father approach and he would not have cared if he had. The airag had heated his blood with strange colors that he could feel coursing through him.

Yesugei sat down by his sons, drawing his powerful legs up into a crouch. He wore a deel robe lined with fur against the night cold, but underneath, his chest was bare. The black airag gave him enough heat and he had always claimed a khan’s immunity from the cold.

“Do not drink too much, Temujin,” he said. “You have shown you are ready to be treated as a man. I will complete my father’s duty to you tomorrow and take you to the Olkhun’ut, your mother’s people.” He saw Temujin look up and completely missed the significance of the pale golden gaze. “We will see their most beautiful daughters and find one to warm your bed when her blood comes.” He clapped Temujin on the shoulder.

“And I will stay with them while Eeluk raises the red bird,” Temujin replied, his voice flat and cold. Some of the tone seeped through Yesugei’s drunkenness and he frowned.

“You will do as you are told by your father,” he said. He struck Temujin hard on the side of his head, perhaps harder than he had meant to. Temujin rocked forward, then came erect once again, staring back at his father. Yesugei had already lost interest, looking away to cheer as Chagatai stirred his old bones in a dance, his arms cutting the air like an eagle’s wings. After a time, Yesugei saw that Temujin was still watching him.

“I will miss the gathering of tribes, the races,” Temujin said, as their eyes met, fighting angry tears.

Yesugei regarded him, his face unreadable. “The Olkhun’ut will travel to the gathering, just as we will. You will have Whitefoot. Perhaps they will let you race him against your brothers.”

“I would rather stay here,” Temujin said, ready for another blow.

Yesugei didn’t seem to hear him. “You will live a year with them,” he said, “as Bekter did. It will be hard on you, but there will be many good memories. I need not say that you will take note of their strength, their weapons, their numbers.”

“We have no quarrel with the Olkhun’ut,” Temujin said.

His father shrugged. “The winter is long,” he replied.

TEMUJIN’S HEAD THROBBED in the weak dawn light as his father and Eeluk loaded the ponies with food and blankets. Hoelun was moving around outside, her baby daughter suckling inside her coat. She and Yesugei talked in low voices and, after a time, he bent down to her, pressing his face into the crook of her neck. It was a rare moment of intimacy that did nothing to dispel Temujin’s black mood. That morning, he hated Yesugei with all the steady force a twelve-year-old boy can muster.

In grim silence, Temujin continued to grease his reins and check every last strap and knot on the halter and stirrups. He would not give his father an excuse to criticize him in front of his younger brothers. Not that they were anywhere to be seen. The ger was very quiet after the drinking the night before. The golden eagle chick could be heard calling for food, and it was Hoelun who ducked through the door to feed it a scrap of bloody flesh. The task would be hers while Yesugei was away, but it hardly distracted her from making sure her husband was content and had all he needed for the trip.

The ponies snorted and called to each other, welcoming another day. It was a peaceful scene and Temujin stood in the middle like a sullen growth, looking for the smallest excuse to lash out. He did not want to find himself some cow-like wife. He wanted to raise stallions and ride with the red bird, known and feared. It felt like a punishment to be sent away, for all he knew that Bekter had gone before and come back. By the time Temujin returned, Bekter’s betrothed could well be in a ger with her new husband and his brother would be a man to the warriors.

The problem of Bekter was part of the reason for Temujin’s sour mood. It had become his habit to prod the older boy’s pride and see to it that he did not become too clearly their father’s favorite. In his absence, Temujin knew Bekter would be treated as the heir. After a year had passed, his own right to inherit might be almost forgotten.

Yet what else could he do? He knew Yesugei’s views on disobedient sons. If he refused to travel, he would be certain of a beating, and if he continued to be stubborn, he could find himself thrown out of the tribe. Yesugei often threatened such a thing when the brothers were too noisy or fought too roughly with each other. He never smiled when he made his threats, and they did not think he was bluffing. Temujin shuddered at the thought. To be a nameless wanderer was a hard fate. No one to watch the herds while you slept, or to help you climb a hill. On his own, he would starve, he was almost certain, or more likely be killed raiding a tribe for supplies.

His earliest memories were of cheerful shoving and bickering with his brothers in the gers. His people were never alone and it was difficult even to imagine what that would be like. Temujin shook his head a fraction as he watched his father load the mounts. He knew better than to show anything but the cold face. He listened as Eeluk and Yesugei grunted in rhythm, pulling the ropes as tight as they could possibly get. It was not a heavy load for just the two of them.

Temujin watched as the men finished, then stepped past Eeluk and checked each knot on his own pony one last time. His father’s bondsman seemed to stiffen, but Temujin did not care about his hurt feelings. Yesugei had told him often enough that a man must not depend on the skill of lesser men. Even then, Temujin did not dare to check Yesugei’s knots. His father’s temper was too uncertain. He might find it amusing, or simply knock his son flat for his impudence.