The Tiger-Headed Horseman (14 page)

‘Who's there?’ he said.

‘It's me,’ said Drudger, ‘and I've brought a friend. She needs somewhere to lay low. She arrived today on horseback. Says she's on “business”.’

Lily could tell by the way Drudger spoke that he really hadn't believed her story for a second. Now that they had stopped rushing through the underbelly of Baatarulaan, she also realised that there was no way she could retrace her steps. Lily moved closer to Lucky who reciprocated. They wondered what sort of trouble they had got themselves into.

The larger man came into the yard and headed towards them. He had a troubled face but Lily didn't think he looked
dangerous; certainly not nearly as devious in appearance as Drudger, now that she had a moment to look at him. The men clasped one another as old friends, spoke briefly and then turned towards their quarry.

‘I am Danyal,’ said the large man. He offered Lily his hand. She wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Placing hers next to his, he took it and shook it firmly. Lily thought that this was very off and tried to understand what it represented and where it had come from, particularly the shaking bit. Herders raised their hands to one another until they were close enough friends to embrace. There was never any shaking of body parts.

‘Hello, I'm Lily,’ she said.

‘I believe you are not from around here?’ said Danyal. ‘It is not my place to judge people or show prejudice, so I won't ask you where it is you are from. However, I need to know one thing. Are you a Khadist?’

Lily had absolutely no idea what that meant. She had heard of Khad from the tales Chuluun and the other nomad elders had told her. She knew there was a legend relating to Khad that involved Outsiders but was a little hazy on any further details on the subject. Danyal watched her confused reaction. ‘I shall take that as a no, shall I?’

‘I should say,’ added Drudger. ‘Poor thing doesn't seem to even know what Khadism is!’

‘Not poor at all,’ said Danyal, ‘I'd call her lucky.’ At this Lily's horse raised his head.

‘That's
his
name,’ said Lily. She stroked her steed fondly.

‘It seems as though he is too then,’ said Danyal, ‘having such an honest young lady as you looking after him.’ Lily blushed, she had never been called a lady and, having heard what a lady was, seriously doubted whether she really was one. Lily hated dresses, formal etiquette and even cake. ‘Here, let me.’ Danyal nestled his head close to Lucky's.

‘In some places they call him the man who whispers into the ears of horses,’ said Drudger quietly.

‘Why would people call him that?’ asked Lily.

‘He has a special way with animals,’ replied Drudger.

They watched as Danyal led Lucky away through a door adjacent to the one he had exited. It led to a stable that had been built inside one of the buildings. Lucky seemed happy to be led to his new shelter and was delighted when Danyal offered him a large bucket of leftover food scraps and, more excitingly, a king-sized equine bed of hay. Danyal closed the door as he came back outside and then, to Lily's surprise, pressed a latch that unlocked the top portion of the door. This he swung open, before tying it to the wall. Lucky appeared in the opening, his mouth masticating food that Lily was certain she didn't want to see. He seemed to be content and as a result Lily relaxed. She knew that her horse was a very sound judge of character.

‘You can stay with us,’ said Danyal. ‘It's not much but it's away from the chaos of Baatarulaan. It's warm, we have some food and we have complete privacy. Nobody bothers us here. Please, won't you come inside?’

Danyal ushered his guests, beckoning them to follow him. Lily cast a glance at Lucky who was still munching happily then followed her host indoors. Baatarulaan had not been what she had expected. The people had been rude and seemed to be gruff and unhappy and they lived in buildings that appeared to be more suited to animals. Lily was happy she was a herder. Happy that her home was on the Steppe in the fresh open air. She could see no attraction in living here, yet it remained a place of wonder to be explored further. She also needed to unravel the words on the box and try and find her father. After three days riding across the Steppe, Lily's only thoughts drifted towards getting some sleep and more immediately to the aroma that was flooding downstairs from Danyal's kitchen.

14

With Odval by his side, Tengis's confidence knew no bounds. Baatarulaan had always been his home but never a home he was particularly proud about. For almost a decade he and Odval had discussed how they would change the world for the better; change the world for the good of other people. In the space of a few weeks Tengis had begun to do just that. Guided by his intellect and logic; counselled by the voice in his head, and buoyed by his special friend Odval, Tengis felt he was winning considerable support for his Ten Recommendations as well as his aesthetically pleasing colour schemes. However, in reality he knew that it was really the shining sunny metal that people had fallen in love with. He had to ensure there was a plentiful supply so that he could leave tokens of his faith with the appropriate townsmen who could curry favour in his direction. He didn't view this as corruption; he was merely helping to spread the faith. People seemingly worshipped the metal and, if he could strategically place quantities of it more widely, then the people's faith had more to focus upon. Odval approved of his scheme. She hadn't quite understood the subtleties or implications of his actions. She firmly believed that Tengis was doing good and doing it in a good way.

‘You know,’ said Odval, ‘politics and religion are not so very different. Both encourage people to have faith.’

‘Absolutely!’ said Tengis. ‘Perhaps people don't really know what it is they have faith in but they seem keen on having faith
all the same. Also, both politics and religion encourage faith with the same promise of some future reward, which again people are largely uncertain of but equally enthusiastic to worship.’

‘Don't be so sarcastic,’ said Odval. She sometimes wondered whether Tengis was serious when he said things like that. Tengis was a good man but he did have his secrets.

Despite forging a strong relationship with one another, Tengis had decided to keep all details relating to the source of the shimmering material from Odval. He told himself that this was to keep her safe but knew that he simply didn't trust her enough. He didn't trust
anyone
enough. He had also seen the effect the substance had had on erstwhile sound minds. Mr Enkh had been someone whom Tengis had always looked up to and yet even he had fallen for the allure of Tengis's metal. Tengis worried what effect it might have on Mr Enkh's daughter and really didn't want to tempt fate by finding out. He kept the exact location of the intimidating metallic substance close to his chest (in a small leather pouch with a cat on it that his mother had given him for his eleventh birthday). It was easy to keep a secret from her. Odval was a busy woman. Being part of an important family came with certain social commitments, even in a city as far removed from civility as Baatarulaan.

Tengis had succeeded in winning an important ally and friend. With Odval on side he felt he would be able to do anything. So far everything had gone well.

‘Have some fun,’ said a voice suddenly from inside Tengis's head. ‘You've earned it. You have done everything so well. The people are with you. Go and have some fun.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Tengis. ‘I don't have time for fun. Anyway, fun is what I am trying to stop. Fun is a Khadist trait. I am Chinggis, I am certainly no Khadist.’

‘There must be some people that have annoyed you,’ said the
voice. ‘There must be those that made your life difficult before you unearthed the shimmering promise and mined the Ten Recommendations?’

Tengis thought for a moment. There certainly had been a group of people who had never treated him with the respect he had always known he was due. There were those that had always kept him, and Odval, on the outside. A group of people that were more Khadist in their sheepishness than any other Tengis had encountered. He headed for his school, a spiteful smile spreading across his face. He rubbed his hands together to warm them against the cold, pulled up the collar on his coat and trudged purposefully through the snow.

‘Hi,’ said a former schoolmate.

Tengis shouldered his way past him into the playground. There were a dozen or so young men and women milling around. They were all the same age as Tengis but his new sense of function set him above the others.

‘Whatcha!’ said another former schoolmate. ‘How you doing, weir– Tengis?’ He looked embarrassed at his near mistake.

‘I am very well,’ said Tengis, ‘exceedingly well now that you ask. What about all of you; what have you been up to over the past few weeks?’ He spotted that a few of the former school mates were wearing blue, white and black badges that declared ‘What counts is what works’ and ‘Our objectives are radical’. Others had long cheaply knitted woollen scarves that read: ‘Our means are modern’. The remainder had scrawled graffiti on to their school bags citing: ‘Change is good’. All of them had a silken pendant of sorts in the same colour as his mystical metal. Tengis knew that these same people were the ones that for years had tried to run him out of school. Now that he had gone it seemed as though they were suddenly enormous fans of his. He smirked satisfactorily. His former classmates shuffled
about uneasily. Age counted for little. Tengis was their superior. Of that there was no mistake.

‘We've . . .’ said one of the girls. ‘We've missed you.’

‘I bet you have,’ replied Tengis. He remembered the same girl having thrown his school books into the river a few months previously. ‘I bet you have.’

‘We love what you are doing,’ said the same girl. ‘You are an inspiration to all of us. You always have been. Your words are amazing; and as for that wonderful metal . . . Where did you discover it? It's truly awesome!’

‘What do you make of my
words
?’ asked Tengis. The voice in his head whispered silently to focus on the words and not the metal.

‘Err,’ said the girl.

‘Umm,’ said another boy.

‘They're brilliant,’ said a different girl. ‘The Ten Reconciliations are just what we need. The metal stuff too, though; that really is quite breathtaking. Do you have any with you?’

‘I'm glad you like the TEN RECOMMENDATIONS,’ said Tengis. ‘Now, which of them would be your favourite?’

‘Err,’ said the girl.

‘Umm,’ said another boy.

‘I have a favourite one,’ said a smaller boy who was standing behind the others. Tengis remembered it was this runny-nosed rich young man who had been responsible for making up so many amusing songs and ditties about Tengis and Odval. ‘I think there is one about not killing people?’ It was a question as much as a statement. He looked for Tengis's affirmation. Tengis nodded slightly. Much to the small young man's delight he continued. ‘Not killing people is a good thing. Killing people would be bad, very bad. Wouldn't it?’ Again he sought Tengis's response.

‘What about you?’ said Tengis. He pointed to the largest
boy – a boy who on more than one occasion had taken delight in slapping Tengis's head or shoving him very hard in the back. ‘Which of these words do you believe in, big man?’

‘There, there's one about children, isn't there?’ said the large young man. He was quite obviously frightened of the newly empowered Tengis but wanted to state his mind. ‘I believe in that one.’

‘Why?’ asked Tengis. He was surprised that his former school mate knew any of the Recommendations and was particularly surprised that he would select that one.

‘I, I, I,’ said the young man, ‘I never knew my parents. I had to live with an aunt and uncle who were horrible to me. It's not my fault I'm stupid. It's not my fault I'm in trouble all the time.’ The young man turned and ran into the school. A couple of his friends laughed but were quickly called to task by the others.

‘What is his name?’ asked Tengis.

‘Tchoo,’ said the others.

‘Interesting,’ said Tengis, ‘very interesting.’ He mused over what he had heard. ‘What about the rest of you? Are you with me? Are you willing to stand up against the Khadist bureaucrats? Are you willing to make a stand for all that our country once stood for?’ The group stood staring at Tengis with a befuddled look upon their faces.

‘What?’ said the shorter boy. ‘What are you talking about? We just like your shimmering shiny stuff. We'll do whatever you want if you have that. I don't know about the others but I haven't a clue what you're talking about with all that Khadist bureaucracy, what-our-country-once-stood-for stuff?’

Tengis was shocked. Then the penny dropped. All education in Baatarulaan was geared around the advancement of bad behaviour and ill repute. People knew about Khadism but they didn't really know what it was. They believed whatever they
were told and always had done. Now that they were being presented with something more tangible to think about it was almost too much. However, it also played to Tengis's advantage. He had seen what power he had when he wielded the sunny substance. So long as people believed in that he had their attention, he had their support, he had their faith. Tengis walked back towards the city centre feeling that this had been one school reunion he would remember for a long time.

‘How easy is this?’ asked a voice in Tengis's head. ‘I really had no idea people these days would be so simple to bring on side. If I'd known how strong the lust for wealth and mystery had become, I would have tried this again centuries ago!’

‘What do you mean?’ replied Tengis. ‘I am Chinggis. How could anybody else have achieved what I am achieving in so short a space of time?’

‘Calm down, relax,’ said the voice. ‘You
are
a marvel in your own way. You are far more scholarly than I ever could have been and your reputation as a bookworm appears to be making your claims sound ever more plausible. We are a wonderful combination, you and I!’

Tengis reached the square that had long marked the centre of Baatarulaan. Around its edges flapped large flags in support of New Chinggism. People sat huddling from the snow around fires. All were in deep conversation, or at least as deeply in conversation as people in Baatarulaan were capable. As Tengis walked among them, only a few recognised him. It was his words and more importantly the shimmering yellow-orange that were the hallmarks of New Chinggism. Those that did know his face turned immediately away and whispered to their co-conspirators, who would in turn peek a look at the leader of their movement. Occasionally Tengis would pass a sheltering group of people and hear a cry of ‘Change is good!’ or ‘All hail the shimmering shiny metal!’