The Tiger-Headed Horseman (7 page)

In so doing, another thought came to her that caused her to blush even more. She wondered if Chinggis had any relatives who were alive somewhere in Ongolium and whether they might be about the same age as she was. She stood up and ran from the firelight hiding her face from Lucky as she fought back her embarrassment. She took several deep breaths and began to compose herself. She was horrified that she was even able to entertain such melodramatic, improper and outlandish thoughts. She had always been a sensible, if slightly abnormal, girl. Although she hadn't attended class, she would almost certainly have been top of it in every subject. It was this damned womanhood thing that was changing the way she thought about life. It made her think about things differently. . .

Where a man used to be merely someone who could carry heavier things than her or run faster than her, he was now more besides. Rather than watch the heavy boxes he was carrying, she would admire his muscle definition. Rather than be annoyed that the man had overtaken her running, she would
now marvel at the tone of his thighs and other . . . parts. All the stories had said that Chinggis was more manly than any other. It set her imagination alight. Lily turned red again. She turned her head and looked back at the fire. Lucky was staring at her. She was sure he was mocking her. She returned to her deep breathing exercises – they usually worked.

Presently she had calmed herself enough to return to the fire. Sitting beside the items that now no longer seemed so silly, she shook the dirt from them and delicately placed them in some semblance of order. She examined each in turn repeatedly. Each examination ended with Lily staring longingly at the name Chinggis. She fought back her reddening cheeks. There was something in these items that Lily was not getting. Perhaps she did understand a little about what the words meant. There had to be a deeper meaning that Lily was as yet unable to comprehend. Why had Chinggis written them, though? Had Chinggis even written them at all? It could easily have been someone else – who could possibly know otherwise? The words had been written so long ago, there was no possible record to verify their authenticity. There was no proof and Lily knew that people liked proof. However, somehow Lily
knew
they were Chinggis's words. They had to be. When she had read his name, something had stirred in the depths of her belly. When she had run her fingers across the writing, her entire body had shaken with anticipation. There was something more to the words that the group elders had directed her towards and she needed to know what it was. Chinggis was speaking to her directly, and she, Lily, had a duty to listen. She knew that it was easier to catch an escaped horse than to pluck back an escaped word, but for the time being Chinggis's word had slipped away into the night air.

7

‘Tengis and Odval up a tree,’ chanted their classmates. ‘C-H-I-N-G-I-N-G. First comes love, then baby Ching, then comes the worship of a fallen king!’

The children blew raspberries at Tengis and Odval before running off into the playground. The school day often began like this for Tengis and Odval. It didn't bother either of them. They knew they were far better than the rest of their school mates. Odval, simply because she was; her family was among the wealthiest in Baatarulaan. Tengis because he knew he was Chinggis Khaan; he just hadn't been able to prove it yet. He knew that eventually he would, though, and that then the other children would be sorry, or so he hoped. A small part of him feared that when he did discover the reason he was Chinggis Khaan, he might be wholly ostracised or even banished from the city he knew was rightly his. He was a very confused young man. Still, he was in his final year of school. He would soon be free.

The allure of university didn't appeal. He had little interest in the various sham courses on offer at Baatarulaan University for Khadists and Other Future Reprobates. Tengis could not ascertain what advantage he could gleam from studying for a degree in ‘Banking Irregularities and Financial Fraud’, ‘Home Economics and the Art of Effective Burglary’ or ‘Anthropological Gambling’. Even he, a mere high school pupil, pulled his hair out at the way education in Baatarulaan was heading. The
traditional courses were being overrun by too many students of poor ability. Access to university was a norm, no longer for the exceptional few. The number of people electing to go to university had risen dramatically in recent years. The Khadist bureaucrats supported the rising numbers, since it meant there was less scope for free spirit or entrepreneurism and they could maintain full control over people for longer. The proliferation of new-fangled courses made Tengis nauseous. Surely there was no place for degrees in ‘Celebrity Worship’, ‘Junk Food Cuisine’ or ‘Immoral Politics’. A university education was no longer necessarily a good thing. Tengis wanted to stand out from the crowd not be part of it.

By the time he was sixteen Tengis had already determined that he wanted to make a difference with his life. He was smarter, better-looking, wittier and quicker-witted than any of his peers. He wanted to instigate change. He was not happy with the status quo in his home city. He was appalled that the select few could gorge while the remainder fought over scraps and were reduced to Khem to escape their sorrows. He knew the person closest to him in the world, apart from his mother, was part of that select few. Odval understood him, though. Their relationship transcended class or wealth. The pair had talked long and often about how best to harness his talents. Many a good night's sleep had been lost trying to single-mindedly unstitch Tengis's abilities and weave them into a pattern that would unleash his potential.

During one such discourse they arrived at a conclusion. To make a difference Tengis would have to enter politics. He might abhor the political parties currently at work in his country but he could implement his will once he was
inside
. As for Odval, she had spent the last ten years trying to keep up with Tengis's intellect. She was keen to stay by his side, purely on a platonic basis. Tengis's mother was equally exuberant about her son's
ambition to move into politics. Tengis was a driven young man. He had a vision. He would see Chinggis's power reinstated and he might even throw in a few twists of his own.

Without a university education, however, he would need another means of getting himself into a position whereby he would be deemed credible to work with, for and, secretly, against the Khadists. That means was simple and straightforward. He was Chinggis Khaan – once he could prove that, what more would matter?

Tengis had been learning applied arithmetic all morning. There were only three pupils in the class – Tengis, Odval and Bankher. Bankher paid little attention to the teacher, pupils or just about anything. His parents ran the Khem plant in Baatarulaan. He had a swagger and aplomb unbecoming to a lad almost twenty years old. He also wore clothes beyond his years. Whereas Tengis wore professorial garb, Bankher wore tight black trousers pulled down so hard around his waist that they barely left his modesty intact. He wore colourful canvas shoes, a white T-shirt under a black sleeveless woollen jumper and a hat that would have suited an aged crooning singer had it been properly proportioned; Bankher's version was as small and tight around his head as his trousers were around his bottom. On his fingers Bankher wore a variety of outlandishly gaudy and oafishly expensive rings. No matter how silly he looked – though he thought he was the very model of a modern major-general layabout, he did have an uncanny ability to add, subtract, multiply and divide. This skill was particularly adept when the problems posed related to weights and measures cross-referenced with going market rates, client desperation and causing unhappiness. Despite detesting his classmate, Tengis found it astonishing to watch his mind in action.

Today Bankher was exceedingly addled from a party the previous night; he sat slumped in the corner at the back of the
classroom. Their teacher, Mr Clumphod, was only too painfully aware that his wards had far superior mental agility than he. When the three arrived at class most of the time there would be a note pinned to the blackboard stating that Mr Clumphod had been called away on urgent business to see Principal Ahgresor. The note would ask them to open their books where they had left off last time and continue to work until the class was over. The book in question was over a thousand pages long. They had all finished it long ago, so afraid was Mr Clumphod of attending his own class. It didn't matter to them. Bankher liked to catch up on sleep and it gave Tengis and Odval an opportunity to continue career-counselling one another.

‘I have got to find the link between me and Chinggis,’ said Tengis.

‘Are you sure there is an actual link?’ said Odval. She knew she was stepping into dangerous territory doubting Tengis on matters relating to Chinggis. ‘Do you really
need
there to be a link? You have such a brilliant mind; you will succeed no matter what.’

‘It's not as simple as that,’ said Tengis, ignoring his friend's cynicism about his link to Chinggis. ‘It's not just about me, it's about how other people see me. At the moment they see me as a weirdo. Sure, they see me as a smart guy but I'm not from a well-connected family. I don't have money and influence like you and your family. If I don't have a degree, how am I going to be perceived as professional – even though in my view the degrees they hand out these days aren't worth the paper they're written on. It's degrees that people in business and politics look for. I'm better than their stupid education system. I need another angle. I know how things work. I know what people blindly value. But I am nothing at the moment. No matter how book-smart I am, they'll only ever see some boffin kid. They will never see my potential.’

‘Look,’ said Odval, ‘don't look for bad things in the good that you do.’

‘That's the problem,’ replied Tengis, ‘you're the
only
person who sees, let alone understands, the good I do now and could do for the whole of Ongolium. I need to prove that I am linked to Chinggis.’

‘Forgive me,’ said Odval, ‘but are you really sure that is the wisest thing to do? What makes you so certain there
is
a connection?’

‘You have to trust me on this,’ said Tengis, trying hard not to get annoyed. ‘There have been too many signs, too many dreams, too many coincidences! It started as an occasional vision where I would be embroiled in some fantastic situation whereby the country depended on my courage and ability. The dreams became more frequent and a voice started to guide me through the dreams, explaining things . . .’

‘This is what I mean,’ Odval interrupted. ‘You have no real evidence.’

‘Let me finish!’ snapped Tengis. ‘The voice visits me more often now. Almost every night I hear him and sometimes even during the day when I am thinking hard. It is encouraging me to follow my instinct and unleash myself on the world. It says that I have the ability to become emperor.’

‘Tengis!’ shouted Odval. ‘That's crazy talk.’

‘It's so easy for you,’ said Tengis sarcastically, ‘you were born privileged. I have had nothing and now that I have an opportunity to do something good, something big, you try and take away my hopes and aspirations. How very typical of
your lot
.’ Tengis waved his hand dismissively in Odval's general direction.

‘How can you say that?’ said Odval. She was deeply offended. ‘I have always been here for you. I have always been devoted to you and admired your confidence and capacity for thought.’

Tengis calmed himself. ‘I will find evidence.’ He pulled some
documents from his bag. Bankher stirred in the corner, then returned to snoring. ‘Here, help me with these.’

Odval helped him open several large sheets of paper. They spread them out over their desks.

‘What on earth is this?’ asked Odval.

‘I have been doing some digging,’ said Tengis. ‘This here is my family tree going back in time. This paper here shows Chinggis's family tree down through the generations. I drew it up myself.’

‘It is so complicated,’ said Odval.

‘Chinggis had many children,’ said Tengis. ‘By my reckoning he fathered thousands as he built his empire across the world. That is why I must be related to him. Some of the children must have been in Ongolium. One of them must have had a child who had children and grandchildren of whom one was my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandfather. I just have to find the link.’

Tengis stared hard at the papers in front of him. The family tree for Chinggis measured four metres wide, and Tengis's writing was so small as to be barely legible. He pored through the names, sporadically shifting focus to his own more modest tree.

‘Have you found anything?’ asked Odval. She was a little concerned that Tengis was taking his link with Chinggis too seriously. She knew that the chances of finding a link were slim at best; she knew that finding proof that he was a reincarnation of Chinggis was utterly impossible, wasn't it?

‘There is nothing on my mother's side,’ said Tengis. He excitedly explained the maternal family history. It dated back to the correct epoch but there was little grandiose about it. ‘The voice insists that the connection is on my father's side.’ Tengis had not even met his father, yet he ardently awaited his return. Until then there would be no means of finding any information
that could shed any light on his claim. Tengis frantically searched the papers looking for clues, his hands moving from entry to entry on the page.

‘Tengis,’ said Odval, ‘are you sure about this? Have you been working too hard or something? I'm a little concerned – shall we go back to your mother?’

‘Shut up!’ barked Tengis, suddenly losing his cool. ‘Stupid little rich girl. I have never been more sure of anything in my life. It is plain and simple. I am Chinggis Khaan. The voice in my head has told me so.
I am Chinggis!
’

‘I want to help,’ said Odval. Tears began to fill her eyes. She had never had reason to doubt her friend. She knew that he was not being logical and he had always been logical. Tengis's actions and apparent delusion bore no logic whatsoever. Odval wanted him to stop. ‘Please, let me take you home and we can talk about it there.’