She stared at him. “The Lords of the Earth are demanding. It is because the sun is so weak.”
“But the sun is getting stronger; it is slight now, but over time, it will become apparent,” he said.
“How can you say this?” She rounded on him, her temper in tatters. “The world is dark, the earth is parched, there is not enough grass, the seasons are too cold. Yet you say the sun is stronger. How is it possible?” She stood panting, her mouth square with fury, her hands hooked into claws. “Tell me, foreigner.”
Ragoczy Franciscus waited a short moment until he was certain she would listen; then he said, “Those of my blood are, as you have said, allied with the earth. Because we are, we have a keen awareness of the sun, as well, just as the earth does. I know the sun is not as … as veiled as it was.” He remained where he was, very still, the whole of his concentration upon her. “Believe this.”
Her face went blank, and she sank to the ground. “Lords of the Earth,” she muttered; she gestured to him to keep back as she stretched out on the ground, listening intently. Finally she raised her head. “There is a sickness in the earth. The Lords of the Earth are engulfed in a plague for lack of the sun.” She pushed herself up on her elbow. “You know this. You must know this.”
“All things in nature are bound to the sun, as all things in nature are drawn by the moon.” He sought for some means to comfort her. “I have lived a long time, Dukkai, and I have seen hard years and bountiful years, wars, plagues, and calamities of all sorts, and the one thing I have learned from it all is that eventually it all comes to an end—the good times and the bad ones never last.”
She began to chant, softly, her face turned away from him. Finally she got to her feet and brushed her hands on her long goat-hair robe. “You mean well,” she said distantly. “I thank you for that. But these hard years will not be over next spring, or the next, or the next.”
He saw she was caught at the edge of a trance once again. “Dukkai. Do not—”
She held up her hand. “If you have something for the ponies, I will thank you for it, and so will all the clan.” Her eyes sharpened and she took a few uncertain steps toward him. “Is there anything you can provide to help our ponies?”
“I will have to see them for myself,” said Ragoczy Franciscus. “Not tonight: tomorrow. I will come early in the morning, to see how they eat and how they are behaving.”
Her countenance showed no emotion of any kind. “That is good of you, Zangi-Ragozh. I am grateful to you for doing so much.” Her voice was flat, lending no credibility to her words.
“Will you join me in the morning?” he asked.
“I will have to. None of Imgalas’ family will let you near the ponies without me.” She tossed her head and without a backward glance walked away from him.
When he was sure she was not going to return, Ragoczy Franciscus swung up into the saddle and turned his horse toward the gates of Sarai. He watched the path ahead, but his thoughts were elsewhere: what had Dukkai experienced in reading the smoke that had so much aggrieved her that she was unable to speak of it directly? As he reached the gate, the guard who had let him out challenged him.
“It is three coppers to enter,” he called out through the small, high opening in the gate.
Ragoczy Franciscus had expected something like this, and so he said, “I have that. Open the gates and you will be paid.”
“Hand the coins in, and I will,” the guard countered.
“Oh, no,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, “You must admit me. Otherwise you will demand another three coppers, and another, and I will not get inside the walls.”
The guard barked a laugh, and then the bolt scraped open and the gate swung back. “Enter,” he said.
Ragoczy Franciscus rode into Sarai, handing three copper coins to the guard as he did. “Thank you,” he said, and continued on toward the Foreigners’ Quarter, where he made his way to his house. He found Rojeh waiting for him in the rear yard where the small paddock was. “You did not have to remain up,” he said as he dismounted.
“I thought it might be wise,” said Rojeh, lifting his oil-lamp high to allow its small puddle of light to spread as far as possible.
“In case I was delayed overlong?” Ragoczy Franciscus guessed as he led the blue roan toward the small stable. “Did you expect me to be detained?”
“That had occurred to me,” said Rojeh.
“I thank you for your concern, old friend, but I was as safe as we ever were while we were with the Desert Cats. Dukkai is not apt to summon me and then turn that against me.” He pulled the horse up at a grooming hook, secured the reins, then went to unfasten the girth.
“Are you certain of that?” Rojeh asked.
“Because she commands the clan’s magic, do you mean, and might read some omen that would link bad cess with me?” Ragoczy Franciscus laid the girth on top of the saddle, swung them off the horse, and put them on the simple rack at his elbow. He reached for the box of brushes and began to groom the glossy neck.
“Dukkai may not be as trustworthy as you assume she is,” Rojeh warned.
“Meaning you have reservations about her,” said Ragoczy Franciscus. “I am not wholly … sanguine about her state of mind.” He paused, then added, “I am going back to their camp in the morning.”
“Why?” Rojeh asked.
“Dukkai is worried about their ponies. Something may be ailing them. She has asked me to help,” he said, keeping on with his brushing.
Rojeh thought for a long moment. “Is there anything you can do?”
“I cannot tell, not until I have seen the ponies. They are hardy creatures, but they have had poor fodder for so long, it may have taken a toll on them.” Ragoczy Franciscus was working over the rump now, and down past the stifle.
“Can you improve their food?” Rojeh inquired skeptically.
“How, when there is no good fodder to be had?” Ragoczy Franciscus sounded dubious as he began on the off-side of the blue roan.
“Do you think they will take your suggestions to heart?” Rojeh waited for Ragoczy Franciscus’ answer.
He stood very still. “She sacrificed a goat—cut its throat.”
“And that troubles you?” Rojeh knew it did, but kept his awareness to himself.
“It does,” Ragoczy Franciscus admitted. “Most rites demand blood in some form, but I find I cannot—” He stopped talking.
“You find you cannot watch killing—even ritual killing—as you once did.” Rojeh wondered if Ragoczy Franciscus would be angered by these observations and steeled himself for his employer’s wrath.
Ragoczy Franciscus gave Rojeh’s comments quiet attention and said levelly., “Perhaps you are right.” He added nothing more as he combed the blue roan’s mane, then changed the roan’s bridle for the halter. “Is there any grain left?”
“Very little,” said Rojeh. “I have tried to find more, but without success. If the Volgamen come soon, they may bring some—I understand they did the last time.”
“Very good; I will speak with Emrach Sarai’af to arrange for purchasing priority; I am sure he will consent to letting us have a high position on his list if I give him a gold bar or two,” said Ragoczy Franciscus, going to one of the barrels standing against the far wall. He scooped out a handful of the mixed grain and brought this back to the roan, holding it under the horse’s nose, waiting while the soft tongue licked up the last of the treat. “We may need to open that cask of gold yet,” he said as he wiped his palm on a rough cloth.
“To buy feed?” Rojeh sounded worried. “Or to pay bribes to the Master of Foreigners?”
“It is all part of keeping our animals sound,” Ragoczy Franciscus pointed out.
“And Emrach Sarai’af knows it,” Rojeh protested, adding sadly, “Since you will not do more than visit women in dreams, and that very rarely, you must depend on the animals.”
“This is hardly the time to seek out a lover,” said Ragoczy Franciscus.
“It may be just the time,” said Rojeh. “That Constantinopolitan widow would be glad of someone to protect her and her children. She would not begrudge you what you require.”
“Are you so certain of that?” Ragoczy Franciscus asked in dismay.
“She has spoken to me on three occasions. I know she would like to speak with you, but has no acceptable reason to do so.” Rojeh folded his arms. “You will do nothing with Dukkai, will you?” He allowed no time for an answer. “Then think about Thetis Krisanthemenis. She may well prove to be precisely what you seek.”
“I seek more than blood,” Ragoczy Franciscus reminded him. “I seek acceptance. I seek the touch of intimacy. Do you think the widow is willing to provide that?”
“I cannot say,” Rojeh replied. “And neither can you until you try.”
Text of a dispatch from Hsai Wilung at Khotan to Ogulijen the Ax at An-Hsi; carried by personal courier and delivered five fortnights after it was written.
To the most estimable warlord Ogulijen the Ax, the greetings of Hsai Wilung, who, with his private company of soldiers, has arrived at Khotan at the foot of the Kunlun Range, according to the instructions issued by the great warlord Ogulijen, whose name is revered by all Mongols, as well as by all who hear of his deeds.
I am assuming that your scribe, Manun-Tsuj, will read this for you and send any answer you may wish to give us, your contracted men, in this far place where we have found so much despair and suffering that very little fighting was required to claim this place in your name. Not many others have succeeded in coming here since the Yellow Snows began because there have been avalanches on both sides of the town that have cut it off from the commerce that has kept it thriving for so many decades. We managed to make our way around the slides, and thus we have arrived here, according to your orders, and are now in possession of the town, although it is not much of a victory we have achieved.
We are low on food, and I am sending my men out in search of wandering clans who still have flocks and herds so that we may have food enough for the soldiers and those in the town willing to help us. I was able to lay my hands on a few pigs, but they were very thin and their meat had little savor, being tough and tasteless, and they did not last long. We must find a better source of food, or we will have to eat our horses, which is not to be thought of. There have been some fish in the streams, of course, and some birds as well, which will hold us until we can find more substantial food. It is unfortunate that there is so little grass growing here, for there is hardly any grazing possible, and that puts a fresh burden on us all, as food that we might well use must be given to our horses.
The town has had many disasters befall it, including Swine Fever and Gray Cough, and there has been almost no one here who is able to treat these diseases. We have seen houses left empty by the deaths of all the families who lived within them. Already I have lost two men to Wet Lungs, and I do not want to lose more. It has been a time of starvation, as you know, but also of sickness, and that is troubling my men, for they fear that the fevers are not ended and that they may succumb to them. I have ordered them all to drink strengthening herbs, if we can find them, and to eat grasshoppers if there are any to be caught. That may help to keep them well while we establish our control of the town and the region.
This being the time of year when there would usually be a harvest, the Fortnight of the White Dew, we have tried to find fields that we could reap, but in this place such farms as there are do not have a great deal of planting in good years, and in this year, not even the beans are doing well. I have sent men up the slopes of the mountains to see what they might find for us. They have killed mountain goats and sheep, and some spotted deer as well, but their hunting has exposed them to danger from other raiders, some of whom are of your people, judging by their clothes. In a good year, I would capture them and hold them for slaves, but since slaves must be fed if they are to work, my men have wanted to kill them instead.
There has been some difficulty regarding the women in the town. My men, being men, are eager to have women, but very few of the women here are willing to give themselves to them, so I must condone their selecting the women they want and permitting them to force the women into concubinage. I regret that we could come to no other arrangement with the people of the town, and I know they will complain of it to you when you finally come here, but I have no other solution to propose, and the men cannot be expected to go without the solace of female flesh, as you know. I have established a heavy fine for any murder committed on an unwilling woman, and that appears to have lessened the deaths that were occurring too often when we first entered the town.
I have worked to establish a customs center to tax the caravans that must eventually return. to this place. I have talked with the two remaining leaders of the town to discover how much they had charged in the past, and I have increased. those rates by half again as much, a quarter of which will go to repairing and securing the town and paying my men, the rest of which will be yours. According to the people here, the last caravan coming through this town was here more than three fortnights ago, when summer—such as it was—was still present. Now that autumn is beginning, I have been told that it is unlikely that we will see any more merchants before spring, and that is not what you had hoped for. If there had been no avalanche on the Chanchi-Lah Pass, men might come from the Land of Snows, but with the pass blocked, we cannot expect those traders, either. In the spring, I will send part of my company to help clear the pass if I deem it safe enough to do, or if you order us to do it.