Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
After Eve had been kidnapped—knocked off her feet, bound, and gagged—she had been brought directly to the yurt of the first wife of the man who would marry her, a man named Bataar.
He had three other wives: two older than Eve, and one who looked much too young to be married.
The girl was scared and timid like a sable mouse, but Eve quickly detected the angry restlessness about her.
It made Eve’s stomach clench in dread. The wives took over, preparing Eve for the wedding—she was stripped, bathed, and dressed in a wedding deel.
There was no time for Eve to process what had happened and what her new life would be.
She had no time for regret. She had no time for tears.
The older wives worked with a serious intensity, ignoring Eve in unison when she asked question after question.
Does Bataar seek counsel in his wives? Are there women among your tribal elders?
Is he kind to your children? The youngest wife followed in the steps of the older two but with a defiant lack of luster, making every effort, it seemed, to be invisible.
When Eve caught the young woman’s eye, the only reaction Eve got from the girl was an apologetic frown.
Despite Eve’s own distress, Eve’s heart hurt for the girl.
These were the things that she disliked about her people.
That there were still tribes that would force a marriage on a woman, and in this case, a very young one, who clearly didn’t want to be in it.
The wives finished their ministrations and hustled Eve to the ceremonial grounds.
The tribe had gathered and Eve was jostled to stand next to the man who would be her husband.
Just her height, Bataar had long hair, mostly silver, tied back for the wedding.
He looked much older than her. In fact, as their marriage was spoken into existence, she realized he had sons looking on that were near her age.
Bataar did not have a pleasant presence.
He seemed to have no desire to soothe her fear.
Despite her calm exterior, she was terrified and mournful.
She glanced at him, trying to understand this man who would be her husband.
He did not look at her as the tribe elder spoke words to form their union.
After the ceremony, a small feast had been put together by the wives.
It was no great celebration. She was a fourth wife.
This was no reason to inconvenience anyone.
No one seemed to care much that a woman’s life had ended.
She was led to a table and seated beside her new husband.
He did not speak or talk to her, but before she sat, he squeezed her bottom roughly, letting her know his intentions. Inside, Eve cried.
Time held no meaning for her. The next thing Eve knew, she was sitting on the bed in the dark in the marital yurt that she would share with her new husband for the night.
The yurt was filled with plush cushions and blankets and trunks containing other plush things, she assumed, whatever a new couple wanted to be cozy.
Eve just stared at the door. She wondered if she would have any more opportunities in her life after this.
A wife could be lauded, respected in the clan.
She could become a tribal leader. She could advise the il-khan.
She could help protect other women from this same scenario.
All her options would depend on this new husband.
Those thoughts had woven themselves into a pattern in her mind when her new husband entered the yurt.
He flung back the flap and entered with a swagger steeped in drunkenness.
Eve, frightened, jumped up. For a second, she hoped he would calm her, to make some kind of connection.
All he did was grunt once and say, “Turn.”
Eve, still in a daze, didn’t know what he meant. She turned in a circle to face him once more. The gruff man responded by chuckling low, then grabbing her arm and pulling her into a sour kiss.
“No,” she hissed. She planted her feet and pushed him off. This couldn’t be what the ancestors wanted for her, for any woman. If this man were to be her husband, he would learn to respect her now.
He came toward her, and she pushed him back again. “You will take more care with me,” she insisted.
He grabbed her again and flung her around, dismissing her demand.
She fell onto the bedding, struggling against him as he lifted her skirts, cursing this man and this union.
Her mind went wild, combing for tactics to get away, but the rustling sound of him opening his pants and the smell of beer coming off him dulled her courage.
That’s when she heard the sound of flesh snapping. The gurgle of blood.
Eve flew around to see the youngest wife behind her husband with a blade buried in his neck.
She must have crawled out of a trunk and then climbed on top to carve into his skin while he was focused on Eve.
The young woman jerked and thrust the blade in the same way she would bleed a goat, causing Bataar’s blood to spurt and splatter.
He reached forward to grab at Eve, but she jerked back, still not sure what she was watching.
The girl leaned and pressed the blade in as deeply as she could, her face wild and unflinching. Baatar fell to his knees with a thud.
Blood poured in a dark river from his lips, his neck, and his nose as he fell facedown. The girl stepped back. She made eye contact with Eve and held her finger to her lips.
Eve’s first reaction was a pure stream of relief. But she quickly realized that the tribe would see the girl’s attack as an injustice, rather than a punishment.
“What have you done?” Eve whispered harshly to the girl as she found her words. She was shaken and upset and unable to understand the many crimes of the day. “What does this accomplish?”
“I could not bear to be with this man for another second,” the girl whispered back, equally as harsh. “Him taking you was my chance to get away. You must help me.”
“What do you wish to do, little sister?” Eve said, still careful of her volume. “How can you expect to escape this crime?”
The young woman looked up to Eve. “I plan to blame it on you.”
“Me?” Eve asked. “But why?”
“I am in love with Bataar’s brother. Now I will be able to marry him. They will think it is you who killed Bataar. I will be free of this terrible man.”
“What of me? What am I to do?”
“You can return to your family,” the girl pleaded.
Her silken black hair flowed over her deel, which hung off her small frame, making her look innocent despite her crime.
She came down from the chair and took careful steps around the growing pool of blood.
“You are from the white bone tribe, the daughter of Borjigin Khan. He will protect you.”
“Little sister,” Eve rasped, shaking her head in shock as the moist smell of blood filled the air, filled her nose.
“You have just caused a war. My father will be expected to return me here. If he does not, our tribes will fight. My brothers will have to fight. The man you want to be your husband will have to fight. Only the ancestors know who among them will perish.”
“How does it feel,” the girl spat, “that killing a warrior will start a war, but stealing a woman is celebrated?”
“It has been done for centuries,” Eve trailed off, confused and not sure what to argue.
“You must run away, and all will be well. Please,” the girl begged. “Please allow me this happiness.”
“What are you asking of me?” Eve asked. Disbelief still made it hard to think, to understand. “You want me to take the blame for this murder?”
“If they think I did it, I will be killed.” She shuddered, and her eyes grew bigger than the moon.
“You have protection, elder sister. You are the daughter of the great Borjigin. You have nothing to fear.” She grabbed Eve’s hands and sank to the ground.
“Please,” she heaved and wept. “Please, you must.” She put her face in Eve’s hands.
“Please, he tried every day to put a child in me, but I threw myself onto the rocks to kill any life that grew inside me.” Still on her knees, she pulled up her deel, exposing her skin, revealing the heavy pattern of bruising across her legs and torso.
“He didn’t see the difference between the bruises he gave me and the ones I gave myself.
” She looked up at Eve. “I was stolen too. I have saved you. I have saved you from this man. You did not want to marry him, did you?”
“Of course not.” Eve dropped to her knees, taking the girl’s hands once more. “It is terrible to be forced to marry, but sometimes the ancestors decide such things.”
“No, it can’t be.” The girl sobbed, dropping her head.
“The ancestors don’t want this unhappiness.
I did this for you, too,” she cried. “You don’t know what it is like to be married.
It is a terrible thing if you do not love the man.
” She looked up again, her eyes glistening.
“But I do love a man! I love Bataar’s brother!
He is gentle when we make love. All that needs to happen is you must escape, and I will be given to him. That is all!”
“Shhh,” said Eve. “Hush, girl.” She pulled the quietly sobbing girl into her arms and stroked her hair, working everything out in her mind.
Perhaps this was the best course of action, what was meant to happen.
Perhaps this terrible situation had been designed by the ancestors, and this silly girl who thought only of herself had been given divine guidance all to force something from Eve. “I will go,” Eve said finally.
“You will?” the girl whimpered.
“Yes,” Eve affirmed, standing up quickly, looking around for whatever she could take with her that would help her journey.
“I have this for you,” the girl said, her tears ceasing.
She handed Eve a sack of supplies. “And your clothing.” The girl produced the deel Eve had been wearing that morning.
Eve looked at it, knowing which of her loved ones and kin had stitched each thread as she realized she would never have a chance to see them again.
It was all brought on by her own pride. She had always been too good to take a husband, too good to sit and mend.
Now her punishment was to be torn from her tribe, a thread thrashed from its tapestry.
If she returned and claimed the murder to protect the girl, there would be war.
If she returned and blamed the girl, the girl would be executed, and Eve would still be expected to marry the brother of Bataar, or there would be war. Eve knew no way out.
“How can I escape?” she asked as she stripped the wedding deel and put on her own garment.
“I have cut a strip in the fabric of the yurt and broken the lattice. It is how I entered. You can follow the moon east.”
“I will go west.” Eve looked down at the man.
She felt for his pulse. It was no longer beating.
She placed the wedding deel over him, then she said the prayer of her people, to send his spirit to those of his lineage who loved him.
It was terrible to lose a life, any life, especially that of a warrior.
But she felt little remorse for this man who did not honor his wives.
When she completed the prayer, she reached down and ripped the knife from his neck, sprouting a new, weaker fount of blood.
She wiped her bloodied hand on the marriage deel that covered him.
“Go,” said Eve to the girl. “Get home safely. I provide you no more assistance.”
The girl nodded and slipped through the slice in the fabric of the yurt.
Eve exited after her. The cold air of the night came as a shock after the wet heat of the blood-soaked air in the yurt.
The wind acted as her ally and blew strongly enough to cover her sounds.
Eve had tears in her eyes, but she was too angry and mournful of her previous life to let them fall.
That silly girl, Eve thought. Eve did not know if the girl was full of darkness or full of light, but perhaps she was an instrument to bring balance to that tribe.
With nothing left to do, and her own war inside, Eve ran, leaving the young tribe to their own turmoil.
She ran, with only the moon and the night to comfort her.