One Great Year (37 page)

“Temujin!” she cried.

“Get inside!” Chilger demanded, placing himself between Temujin and Borte. But it was futile, and even in the dimness he knew that Temujin must have seen her.

Borte ignored Chilger's command. “Please, husband, do not hurt him, he did not take me,” Borte begged, running clumsily past Chilger toward Temujin, with her hand slung low under her bulbous middle.

Chilger cringed at hearing her say “husband” to Temujin, and he reeled with alarm. Temujin smirked and Helghul reveled in her words. He still had a hold on her.

“Go inside or the shaman dies,
wife
,” Temujin ordered severely.

Borte stopped short and, glancing at Temujin's hard face, she quickly obeyed. The men were left alone.

“Have you enjoyed
my
wife, Marcus?” Temujin sneered.

“Helghul, we both know that she is my true wife. Your crippled soul doesn't belong near her,” Chilger raged, ready to charge, though he was unarmed.

“There are two choices: she will live a good life as my wife, or she and that child will die in pieces, tortured bit by bit this very day. You decide,” he hissed, making certain that Borte did not hear.

“We don't fear you. We don't fear death! She'll never go with you, she would rather die!” Chilger challenged, certain that they would die together that night.

“Borte!” Temujin called from his horse.

She immediately appeared, her eyes fearful and wet with tears.

“Decide Borte. Die here today with the shaman, or save him and
my
baby.”

She was shocked. She had assumed he would kill them all. “Oh, husband! Oh, generous husband! Spare him!” she begged, falling to her knees. Chilger was horrified and lifted her to her feet, holding her shaking body against him.

“If you come with me, I will care for my child as though you have never been gone, but you must promise never to search for this man. If you agree, I will let the shaman live. If not, all of you will die,” Temujin proposed, stoned-faced.

“I'll do it,” Borte answered without hesitation, stepping away from Chilger. He pulled her back while Temujin watched their dance gleefully. “Chilger let me go! It is the only way to save you,” she squealed, twisting in his arms to free herself. He was forced to release her or risk injuring her.

“You don't understand! He lies! This cannot be your purpose!” Marcus shouted, but as he said it, he knew he was wrong. The truth was flooding over him. In Shambhala, the place where all questions could be answered, he had been unable to ask the question about how to stop Temujin. It was clear: he was not meant to stop Temujin. That is why the question had not been asked and the answer had not come.

Chilger remembered the words of the mysterious snow leopard: “Perhaps he is meant to do as he does, just as you are.” He finally understood why Borte had first been promised to Temujin and not to him, and he knew that Theron's destiny
was
to go with Helghul, just as it had been his to ensure that she arrived safely in Shambhala.

Theron's light had been recharged in Shambhala, though she remembered none of it. Her spirit shone brighter by far than it had only days earlier. The Emissary was a teacher and healer, and she would balance the Adversary Helghul.

“This time was a gift for us. It was always stolen time. Our child will be born. You must let me go. Save yourself,” Borte whispered, taking Chilger's hands in hers.

The tightly bound fur sack moved slightly as Temujin dismounted. He had cautiously drawn his sword and held it loosely in his left hand. He would never again underestimate his fellow Emissaries. He was untying a horse for Borte. He did not interrupt their brief farewell, but instead fed on the despair, rage, and sadness that hovered around them.

After a moment, Temujin called Borte away from Chilger. The shaman did not release her, he could not, but it was not his decision to make. Temujin called again, this time more severely. Chilger's Marcus-brain resisted, but Borte pulled away. He let her go, knowing that he must.

Borte wrapped herself in her warmest layers, and with much assistance she was lifted onto the horse.

“Journey straight out to the south,
wife
. After a brief ride you will come to my clansmen. Tell them they are to take you back to camp immediately. I do not wish to birth a baby myself on these dark plains,” Temujin commanded.

Borte nodded and, realizing that his concern was legitimate, the heartbroken woman obeyed, looking back mournfully as the dark swallowed her up.

Temujin turned on Chilger, his blood-stained weapon in hand. “You will be only one of the many men I will have killed today, but you will be the one I most enjoy.”

“She will never love you,” Chilger said smugly, and Temujin struck him angrily across the thigh with the sword. The shaman crumpled to the ground, clutching the gaping wound. Instead of fear, he found himself fascinated, as if he were watching a theater event.
So this is how I die this time
, he marveled, ready to be gone, resigned to return to the Grid, to the Meadow. He did not wish to continue in a lifetime with no hope of Theron.

Temujin sank stakes in the ground nearby and tied Marcus to them, his limbs outstretched. Chilger's injury was bleeding heavily, and he was feeling weak and knew that he would soon fade away. Once Chilger was securely tied, Temujin retrieved the fur sack from his horse.

“She will love being my wife. The child will be the image of me as a man. They will be mine … body and mind … and I will bend them and shape them to my will,” Temujin mocked, his eyes glowing in evil pleasure. He kicked the helpless prisoner in the abdomen and Chilger grunted reflexively. “And you … you'll be dust … nothing! She might remember you for a while … but eventually she will forget … her tiny slip of time with you will be nothing compared to a lifetime with me,” he taunted.

Chilger did not react; he was deep in meditation and was surrounding himself with the spirits of all nature. As blood continued to leak from his leg wound, he saw the bear, like fog floating up above him, and just beyond it the eagles circled ominously counterclockwise, swooping and diving.

As Temujin prepared to enact his final revenge, he was enraged by Chilger's serenity. He opened the fur sack that he had safeguarded for weeks and tipped its lumpy, jumbled contents onto Chilger's chest.

The composed prisoner immediately howled in response, his composure shattered by the electric sting of the hideous Mongolian death worm. The worm was a fabled creature that was rarely ever seen but that all of the nomads knew existed. It resembled a pile of red, lumpy internal organs and was as long and thick as Chilger's leg. It continued to sting him, and the smell of sizzling flesh was unmistakable. The victim writhed in excruciating pain.

Temujin stood nearby, rejoicing in the misery. He narrowly missed being clipped by an angry wing when Chilger's eagle and her mate swooped down to attack the worm and rescue their companion. Temujin, however, was a skilled adversary, and as the birds tried to pluck off the creature, they were thwarted. Temujin had loaded his bow in seconds, and the whistle of two rapidly fired arrows screeched ominously as they tore into the birds. The eagles both dropped near Chilger with a thud.

The worm continued to torture its nearly unconscious prey, moving on to its next sinister phase. Chilger would be eaten, but the worm would first regurgitate a ferocious burning acid onto him, liquefying his flesh on contact so that it could be easily ingested.

Staring at the familiar starry sky that he and Borte had known so well, Chilger understood that suffering was part of life. He welcomed death, ready to transform yet again, and found peace in the final moments before his final breath.

Borte was waiting anxiously for Temujin when he returned to his clan, though he took his time circulating in camp before returning to his ger. “Did you let him go?” she cried as he entered, fresh tears on her face.

“He will live on,” Temujin grunted roughly.

Borte was relieved and leaned back in the furs and skins on the ground where she had been lying.

Borte's child, Jochi, was born four days later, with the help of the clans-women. Hoelun attended her delivery and glared at her through the entire painful ordeal. As was the tradition, Borte was sequestered with her child after the birth because, as a recent portal for new souls, she was believed to be slightly dangerous.

The child Jochi grew and thrived and had the dark hair of his mother, or perhaps of Chilger.

Summer had barely finished, and fall was proving to be bitterly cold. Borte worked tirelessly to prepare their ger for winter. The torn felt needed repair in spots, and she mended it using an ingenious bone needle and fine leather strips.

She crouched in front of the sacred fire at mealtime while her young baby suckled hungrily at her breast. Temujin had been gone a few days, hunting, and she hadn't bothered to eat since he had left. She was surprised by how little appetite she had.

What if I never ate again?
she wondered.
What if I let this dry, dusty seed stuck in my throat grow into a bulb and then take root? What if I welcome this despair and let it envelop me? Finish me from the inside out?

You are stronger than that
, she heard in her head.
Your son needs you. Jochi needs you.

Putting a sleeping Jochi down, she pressed her forehead flat to the ground. She crouched with her knees pulled in underneath her as tightly as her bulky wardrobe allowed, and she prayed. She understood that to exist was to be a part of the gods, but she could not find it in her. She had fallen so far into her desolation in the past months that she worried she could not pull herself out and fulfill the role ahead of her. She must begin to speak out, to heal, to teach, but she was tired and it seemed so hard.

Maybe I don't want to be so strong!
her mind cried out, but there was no time for selfishness. She was from a strong, hearty clan. It took determination and grit to survive the winter and it was upon survival that she needed to concentrate. Loneliness, heartbreak, and self-pity had no place in her world.

Borte spent hours reinforcing the protective skin of the ger, reinforcing her own protective skin. Once she was wrung out, empty of tears, empty, empty … she knew that it was enough. It was enough, and there was the knowledge that we are all One and, as difficult as it can be, there is meaning to our lives.

She took a bite of bread and a sip of tea. Perhaps she had something to offer the world … but not today. Today she would immerse herself in her chores and survive as her people had done for centuries. Today she would be nonphilosophical and unthinking. She would not consider what might have been or should have been. She would think of the work that was yet to be finished—the child to be cared for, the fuel to be collected, the animals to be tended, the furs to be cured, the grains to be packed and dried. She would leave no room for her heartache and for thoughts of Chilger. Was he somewhere in the world thinking of her? Someday she would become a great teacher and healer and empress, today she would simply take a bite of food and choke it down.

Temujin continued to show great skill and ingenuity and was soon khan to a rapidly expanding tribe. His relationship with his blood brother, Jamuka, became strained. Upon defeating and murdering his former ally, Temujin assumed his leadership and his property. Despite his absolute assertions that Jochi was his son, doubt and gossip would batter the boy throughout his life.

Before Jochi's second birthday, his first brother was born. Borte was a good wife and a fertile mother, though she often wondered about Chilger and imagined him happily living as a shaman and healer somewhere on the plains. She never forgot him, and her heart ached for the soul that had reached inside and affected her so deeply.

Borte searched for him in each passing caravan, at each market, in the face of every male stranger or rider who passed her, though she never saw him again. She continued to share the understanding and healing that she had learned in her time with him and, though she loved all of her children, Jochi held a special place in her heart.

Upon hearing Borte's tales of searching for Shambhala, Temujin spent the first ten years of their life together obsessed with the idea of finding the sacred land. Though he searched, he was never able to unlock its secrets. He was never called to enter and the city remained hidden, somewhere on another level or dimension, out of Temujin's grasp.

By Jochi's fifteenth year, there was little in the world that remained out of Temujin's reach. Temujin had become a feared and celebrated leader and was given the honored title of “Genghis,” meaning “right or true.”
²⁸
Genghis Khan continued to battle ruthlessly for decades to come, and he conquered and decimated a huge territory stretching from China to Persia and Turkey, amassing one of the largest empires ever created.