Authors: Conn Iggulden
“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 and 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.
CHAPTER 12
T
EMUJIN HELD HIMSELF
very still as he sighted along the line of the shaft. Although the marmots had all scattered at his arrival, they were stupid creatures and it was never long before they returned. With a decent bow and feathered arrows, he would have been confident in taking a fat buck home for his family.
The closest warren to the cleft in the hills was still dangerously exposed. Temujin would have preferred a few small bushes for cover, but instead he had to sit perfectly still and wait for the timid animals to risk coming back. He kept watch on the hills around him at the same time, in case a wanderer came over a crest. Hoelun had fed them with her warnings until they were all fearful of shadows and watched the horizon whenever they left the shelter of the cleft.
The wind blew into Temujin’s face so that his scent would not alarm his prey, but he had to hold the bow half drawn as the slightest movement sent them all diving back into their burrows like brown streaks across the ground. His arms were quivering with fatigue and always there was the little voice in his head telling him that he needed to make the kill this time, spoiling his calm. After four days surviving on tiny scraps and a handful of wild onions, Yesugei’s sons and wife were starving to death. Hoelun had lost her energy and sat listless as her daughter pawed at her and screamed. Only the baby had fed well for the first three days, but then Hoelun’s milk had begun to fail and their mother’s sobbing had been pitiful to the boys.
Kachiun and Khasar had climbed far up the cleft, scouting the land and looking for any animal that might have strayed away from a herd and gone wild. Kachiun had made himself a small bow and three arrows with tips hard and black from the fire. Temujin wished them luck, but he knew he had a better chance of saving them, if he could only make a good strike. He could almost taste the hot meat of the marmot as it sat up twenty paces away. It was a shot a child could have made if the arrows had been flighted. As it was, Temujin was forced to wait while the agony built in his arms. He dared not speak aloud, but in his mind, he called to the nervous creatures, willing them to wander a little farther away from safety, a little closer to him.
He blinked stinging sweat from his eyes as the marmot looked around, sensing there was a predator nearby. Temujin watched as the animal froze, knowing the next movement would be a vanishing scuttle as the alarm went up. He released his breath and loosed the shaft, sick with the expectation of seeing it wasted.
It hit the marmot in the neck. The strike had been without any real force, remaining stuck as the animal struggled in a frenzy, pawing at it. Temujin dropped the bow and leapt to his feet, running toward his kill before it could recover and disappear underground. He saw the lighter belly fur and the legs jerking maniacally as he ran, desperate not to lose his chance.
He fell on the marmot, gripping it frantically. It went berserk and, in his weakened state, he almost lost it as it writhed in his grip. The arrow fell away and blood spattered on the dry ground. Temujin found there were tears of relief in his eyes as he pulled the neck out and twisted it. The marmot still kicked and jerked against his leg as he stood panting, but they would eat. He waited for dizziness to pass, feeling the weight of the animal he’d caught. It was fat and healthy and he knew his mother would have some hot meat and blood that night. The tendons would be ground into a paste and layered with fish glue onto his bow for strength. His next shot would be at a longer range, the kill more certain. He placed his hands on his knees and laughed weakly at his own relief. It was such a small thing, but it meant so much, he could hardly take it in.
Behind his back, he heard a voice he knew.
“What did you get?” Bekter said, walking across the grass toward his brother. He carried his own bow on his shoulder and he did not have the pinched and starving look of the others. It had been Kachiun who first voiced the suspicion that Bekter was not bringing his kills back to the family. He accepted his share readily enough, but in the four days since they had come to that place, he had brought nothing of his own to the fire. Temujin stood straight, uncomfortable with the way Bekter’s eyes drifted over the prey he had taken.
“A marmot,” he said, holding it up.
Bekter leaned closer to see and then snatched at it. Temujin jerked backwards and the limp corpse fell sprawling into the dust. Both boys grabbed for it, kicking and punching wildly at each other. Temujin was too weak to do more than hold Bekter back before he was thrown off and left looking up at the blue sky, his chest heaving.
“I will take this one back to our mother. You would only have stolen it and eaten it yourself,” Bekter said, smiling down at Temujin.
It was galling to have Kachiun’s own suspicion thrown in his face and Temujin tried to struggle up. Bekter held him down with a foot and he could not fight him. His strength seemed to have vanished.
“Catch yourself another, Temujin. Don’t come back until you do.”
Bekter laughed then and snatched up the limp marmot, jogging away down the hillside to where the greenery became dark and thick. Temujin watched him go, so angry he thought his heart would burst. It fluttered in his chest and he wondered with a pang of terror if hunger could have weakened it. He could not die while Eeluk ruled the Wolves, or while Bekter had not been punished.
By the time he sat up, he had mastered himself once more. The foolish marmots had returned while he lay there, though they scattered as soon as he rose. Grimly, he returned to his arrow and notched it into the braided string, settling back into the stillness of the hunter. His muscles ached and his legs threatened to cramp under the strain, but his heart slowed to beat with force and need.
There was only one marmot to feed the family that night. Hoelun revived as Bekter brought it to her, and made a larger fire to heat stones. Though her hands shook, she nicked the belly neatly and scooped out the guts and organs, filling the space with pebbles hot enough to crack. She kept her deel wrapped around her hands, but twice she winced as the heat stung her fingers. The meat was seared from the inside and then the bloated skin rolled in the embers, charring it to crisp deliciousness. The heart too was roasted in the ashes until it sizzled. Nothing would be wasted.
The smell alone seemed to put a little color in Hoelun’s cheeks, and she hugged Bekter, her relief turning to tears she did not seem to feel. Temujin said nothing of what had happened. She needed them to work together and it would have been cruelty to accuse his smiling brother when she was so weak.
Bekter basked in the attention, his gleaming gaze falling on Temujin at regular intervals. Temujin stared darkly back when his mother was not looking. Kachiun noticed as the evening faded to night, and he jogged his brother with an elbow.
“What’s wrong?” the little boy whispered as they settled down to eat.
Temujin shook his head, unwilling to share his hatred. He could hardly think of anything else except the steaming scraps of meat pressed into his hands by Bekter, who chose the portions like a khan feeding his men. Temujin saw he kept the shoulder, the best piece, for himself.
None of them had ever tasted anything as fine as that meat. The family became a little happier, a little more hopeful, as it warmed them. One shot with the bow had brought about the changes, though Kachiun had added another three small fish and a few crickets to the fire. It was a feast that ached and burned inside them as the younger boys forced the morsels down too quickly and had to drink water against the heat. Temujin might have forgiven the theft if his brothers had not been so generous in their praise. Bekter accepted it as his due, his small eyes filled with an inner amusement only Temujin understood.
There was no rain that night and the boys slept in the second of the rough shelters they had constructed, a tiny part of their hunger laid to rest. It was still there, hurting, but they could hold it back once more and show the cold face to discomfort as they retreated from a ragged edge where no control was possible.
Temujin did not sleep. He rose on silent feet and padded out into the darkness, looking up at the moon and shivering. The summer would not last much longer, he realized as he walked. The winter was coming and it would kill them as surely as a knife in the chest. The marmots slept in their burrows in the cold months, far underground, where they could not be reached. The birds flew south and could not be trapped. Winter was hard enough for families in warm gers, surrounded by cattle and horses. It would be murder for the family of Yesugei.
As he stood and emptied his bladder onto the ground, he could not help thinking of the Olkhun’ut and the night he had crept out after Koke. He had been a child then, with nothing better to do than settle scores with other boys. He ached for the innocence of that night and wished Borte were there to hold. He snorted to himself at that thought, knowing Borte was warm and well fed, while his bones were showing.
Temujin sensed a presence behind him and spun, dropping low and ready to lunge or run.
“You must have good ears, brother,” Kachiun’s voice came. “I am like a silent breeze at night.”
Temujin smiled at his brother, relaxing. “Why are you awake?”
Kachiun shrugged. “Hungry. I’d stopped feeling it all day yesterday, then Bekter brings in a handful of marmot meat and my stomach has woken up again.”
Temujin spat on the ground. “
My
marmot. I killed it; he was just the one who took it from me.”
Kachiun’s face was difficult to read in the moonlight, but Temujin could see he was troubled.
“I guessed it. I don’t think the others noticed.”
He fell silent, a tiny grim figure standing in the dark. Temujin saw he had a bulge in his tunic, and he prodded it with a finger.
“What’s that?” Temujin asked, curious.
Kachiun looked nervously back toward the camp before he pulled something out and held it for Temujin to see. It was another marmot carcass. Temujin took it, felt the bones in his hand, already angry. They were split exactly as a hungry man would break them to get at tiny scraps of marrow. Bekter hadn’t risked a fire. The bones were raw, no more than a day old.
“I found it over where Bekter has been hunting,” Kachiun said, his voice troubled.
Temujin turned the fragile little bones over in his hands, running his fingers along the skull. Bekter had left the skin on there, though the eyes were gone. He had killed it on a day when there was nothing else to eat in the camp for any of them.
Temujin knelt and searched for any small scrap of flesh. There was a smell of rot on the bones, but it would not have spoiled too much in a single day. Kachiun knelt with him and they sucked each of the broken bones again, teasing out even a whisper of flavor. It did not take long.
“What will you do?” Kachiun asked when they were done.
Temujin made up his mind and felt no regrets.
“Have you ever seen a tick on a horse, Kachiun?”
“Of course,” his brother replied. They had both seen the fat parasites as large as the last joint on their thumbs. When they were pulled free, they left a trail of blood that took an age to clot.
“A tick is a dangerous thing when a horse is weak,” Temujin said softly. “Do you know what you must do when you find one?”
“Kill it,” Kachiun whispered.
When Bekter left the camp the following dawn, Temujin and Kachiun slipped out after him. They knew where he preferred to hunt and let him get far ahead, where he would not sense he was being watched.
Kachiun shot worried glances at Temujin as they crept along between the trees. Temujin saw the fear and wondered that he felt none of it himself. His hunger was a constant pain in his gut, and twice he had to stop and strain greenish liquid from his bowels, wiping himself with wet leaves. He felt light-headed and weak, but the starvation had burnt any sense of pity out of him. He thought he might have a light fever, but he forced himself on, though his heart bumped and fluttered weakly. This was what it was to be a wolf, he realized. No fear or regret, just a single drive to rid themselves of an enemy.
It was not hard to track Bekter on the muddy ground. He had not tried to conceal his path, and the only danger was that they would stumble across him when he had settled to watch for prey. Temujin and Kachiun padded silently behind, every sense straining. When they saw a pair of larks in a tree ahead, Kachiun touched his brother lightly on the arm in warning, and they walked a circle around the spot rather than have the birds cry an alarm.
Kachiun stopped and Temujin turned to him, wincing at the way his brother’s skull was perfectly visible beneath the stretched skin. It hurt to see it and Temujin assumed he too looked as close to death. If he shut his eyes, it seemed to rob him of balance, so that he swayed and had to fight dizziness. It required an effort of will to take a long, slow breath and lower his heart’s frantic pounding.
Kachiun raised an arm to point and Temujin stared ahead, freezing as he saw that Bekter had taken position a hundred paces farther on, overlooking the stream. It was hard not to be frightened of the figure kneeling like a statue in the bushes. They had all felt the force of Bekter’s fists and his weight on them in childish games. Temujin watched Bekter, wondering how to get close enough to take a shot. There was no doubt in his mind. His vision seemed bright and slightly blurred and his thoughts were cold, slow-moving things, but his path was set.
Kachiun and Temujin jerked as Bekter loosed an arrow into the water from where he hid. Both boys stepped back into cover as they heard a flurry of wings and panic and saw three ducks take off wildly, calling their warnings too late.
Bekter jumped up and waded into the stream. He was lost to sight then behind a tree, but when he came back to the bank, they saw he held the limp body of a red duck.
Temujin peered through a tangle of branches and thorns.
“We’ll wait here,” he murmured. “Find a spot on the other side of this path. We’ll take him on his way back.”