Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Ganbold. Warrior. Hunter. Ganbold. Warrior. Hunter.
Ganbold repeated the meditation chant in deep throaty tones as he crushed over the twigs and rocks in the dirt. Far from his mountains, he was on the hunt for the missing woman with light hair. She had disappeared from the edges of his tribe, just as she had become a part of it.
When he had learned of her crimes against his people, he had set out immediately.
He did not wait for the Il-Khan or the elders to make any decisions, to organize or plan how they would bring her back.
He was not interested in what Borjigin Khan—the leader of all the Il-Khans and their tribes—thought about his daughter disappearing.
He hated the planning that went into journeys.
When she ran away, Ganbold was the first one after her, determined to find her and be the one to return her.
It would be his way back into the tribe.
As the daughter of the Khan, the woman coming into Ganbold’s tribe was an enormous celebration for Ganbold’s people.
Her marriage to Ganbold’s kinsman would create the alliance his tribe needed to be respected, to connect themselves with the tribe that ruled them all, and to get better wives for his people.
But Ganbold did not like her, did not like her tribe. Ganbold did not want the alliance.
Hundreds of years ago, during the rule of the great Genghis Khan, the woman’s tribe and Ganbold’s tribe were one.
They were of the conquerors that pushed furthest west, swallowing up towns and cities in brutal glory, the people who looked like him and the people who looked like her.
They had been the fiercest warriors the land had ever seen, their voices and songs alone enough to cause people to tremble.
These were the ancestors of Ganbold. He knew he had come directly from those men who fought with fire in their fists.
He was proud to come from these warriors.
But the ancestors divided, and there came a distinction between the tribes.
The children who grew into the woman’s tribe began to settle.
They spent less time following the herds.
They built monuments and palaces. They liked the soft touches of the Europeans they had conquered.
Ganbold hated these changes. His people were put on the earth as warriors, and it angered the ancestors to see them become soft.
Ganbold did not want this filthy influence in his tribe, the influence of the light-haired woman.
Then she arrived. He watched as his tribe celebrated the woman—a woman who would fool his tribe, attack his tribe, and then run away.
Ganbold would find the woman and bring her back to stand for her crimes.
Ganbold. Warrior. Hunter.
He had been searching for close to three weeks.
He went from the small villages that bordered the tribal territory to the larger cities beyond them.
But with each step west, Ganbold struggled more to communicate, the tones of the many languages no longer making sense.
It made the path to find the woman blurry.
That is, until his ancestors guided him to a man who not only spoke his language but had seen a merchant hauling her off to a faraway city called Merv.
Before he had left this man, Ganbold had him write the words merchant and light-haired woman in all the languages he knew on a parchment.
Armed with this parchment, his own intimidating stature, and a direction, Ganbold was able to track the merchant all the way to Merv.
Ganbold knew not to attack him in the city.
He needed to have him alone on the road, where no one would see Ganbold take the girl, and where she couldn’t get away and find someone else to hide her.
Now, just outside of Merv, Ganbold waited.
He had stalked the merchant leading his donkey and cart to an isolated section of road that wouldn’t be disturbed.
Ganbold got ahead of the merchant on a bend in the road.
Ganbold thanked his ancestors, the fiercest ones, because only they would guide him.
He would honor them by cutting a strip of her light hair from her head and wearing it like a pelt.
The clanging of the donkey’s bell and the whistling of the merchant came up the road before Ganbold saw him.
He stood waiting, eager. He knew how to make himself even more terrifying, like the ancestors had.
He was tall, the largest in his clan, his black hair pulled up high in a warrior braid, his moustache full, and his beard long. He bared his teeth.
Like Ganbold expected, the merchant froze when he saw him. The whistling and clanging stopped.
The merchant spoke words that Ganbold did not understand. He waved his hands in what Ganbold thought was a greeting. He said a few more words, then tried the only language Ganbold understood.
“You speak a dialect of the Issyk Kul. You are far from your home, friend,” the man said with a nervous cheer. “Are you seeking wares?”
“Woman,” Ganbold ground out “With you.” He pointed to the cart. “I want her.”
The merchant squirmed. “She is not with me.”
Irritation prickled. “Why not.”
“I—I—,” the man stuttered. “She was for the whorehouse. A man bought her outside the whorehouse.”
Anger flashed through his body. Into his hands. “What man?”
“I do not know his name,” the merchant said, his eyes big. “A Frenchman!” he said, like he just remembered. “Uh, he was tall.” He raised his hand to show his height. “And French. He had dark hair.”
“A Frenchman,” Ganbold snarled. He did not like the woman, but he was enraged that a Frenchman would dare to buy one of his people. “Where do they go?”
“East is all I know,” said the merchant. “Hey, you and me,” he pointed to Ganbold’s beard and then plucked at his own. “My mother was from the Issyk Kul. We are of the same lineage.”
“We are not of the same lineage,” Ganbold stated bluntly. “My kin don’t sell a woman to a foreigner. The ancestors—they do not approve.” Then he reached forward to take the man’s neck.
Ganbold liked a stronger match. But the merchant’s helpless gurgling as Ganbold dug in with angry hands was enough to pay his ancestors for their assistance, for now.
Ganbold. Warrior. Hunter.