Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Borjigin Khan, emperor of the Chagatai Khanate, direct descendant of Genghis Khan, vector of control for all the western tribes, smoldered as he sat in his throne room.
His daughter had gone missing. His brash, irreverent, beautiful daughter, who could move a man with her smile and a mountain with her wit, had disappeared.
His only daughter.
Six sons and then her. Three generations of only boys and then her. A joy beyond comparison. Her given name was Enebish, but everyone called her Eve because, as his mother had noted, she was their first.
For some decades, it was seen as a gift, the blessing of so many boys.
His family, the ruling family of all tribes in the horde, always had fearsome warriors.
Eventually, though, the people started to wonder when there would be a girl.
Had there been dark dealings? Had there been some kind of curse?
It made alliances difficult because there were no jewels to offer the sons of other powerful tribes.
Mostly, though, after the fleet of brothers, uncles, and sons, it made everyone wonder: when would they be blessed with a girl?
Then, when his wife fell pregnant the seventh time, Borjigin knew before anyone else.
He felt his daughter’s spirit come into the room while he lay in bed with his sleeping wife.
He smelled citrus and honey and heard the tinkling of bells.
He knew this was his daughter. He announced to his people that his wife was carrying a girl.
He never once considered that he was wrong.
When she was born, Borjigin held her in awe. The golden hair that he had, the mottled eyes that he had. None of his boys had the same complexion as him, but when he held his daughter in his arms, he beheld his own image.
He watched down the corridor of the throne room, across the stones that had been smoothed by thousands of feet, and out the massive doors, three stories high, as he waited for his leader of guards, Khuyag, to return with information.
It was from this position that Borjigin did most of the business as Khan, where his family and clan had watched him carry out decisions, deliver justice, and enact executions.
Though nothing else—no decision made, no war begun—had ever weighed on him like the worry he felt for his daughter.
The girl had never stopped amazing him. Everything she did was with joy, poise, and intelligence.
She excelled at women’s tasks. She commanded as confidently as any khan or il-khan he had ever known.
She read every book in their home, so finally, Borjigin had to agree to let her study with scholars in the nearby cities.
Had she been born a boy, Borjigin knew she would be the only one of his children to rival his oldest son for succession as leader of the khanate.
Borjigin had known this early about his daughter: despite her gender, she needed to conquer. The calling flowed like her blood.
Then the unthinkable happened. She was kidnapped by a lesser tribe, ambushed in the fields.
The kidnapping had not been realized for several hours, and it took additional time to determine which tribe had taken her.
Borjigin’s first instinct was to bring war to that tribe.
However, he knew they would have wasted no time and that Eve would have already been wed to the man who claimed her, so it was futile.
A marriage was sacred by the Yassa, no matter how it came about.
Besides, stealing a bride was a tolerated practice while destroying a clan to take a man’s wife was not.
In fact, she could already be with his child, Borjigin thought in his darkest place. That, too, would need to be given special consideration.
Borjigin, tormented by the customs, wept for his beautiful daughter, who had never shown interest in marriage, who could have been a leader of men if Borjigin had just found the right match for her.
Despair clawed at him and did not abate until Borjigin’s wife reminded him that hope could remain.
A wife could be in a powerful position. Now that the issue had been forced for their child, perhaps her influence would help the young tribe flourish.
Borjigin’s hope grew wings inside him, fighting the animal of despair.
Perhaps his daughter could find solace in leading once more.
He called on the ancestors in prayer, offering tea and milk.
He touched his forehead and spoke to the spirits of the land and the eternal sky.
He asked them all to help this marriage be happy, because if it wasn’t, he would storm the tribe and take her home despite the customs. Marriage should bring joy, like his own had for nearly forty years.
Though Borjigin wanted to strip the flesh from the man who took her, he would be patient and swallow the warring beasts inside him.
Perhaps the ancestors had chosen this path for Eve and knew what was good for her better than he did.
But he soon learned that joy was not to be. Through circumstances he did not understand, his precious daughter had disappeared. The man she had married had been murdered. The clans were in an uproar.
For the first time in his life, Borjigin had no idea what had happened, and it involved someone he loved so deeply.
Borjigin thrummed his fingers impatiently against the arm of the high-backed chair.
His throne faced high doors that opened to the south, which, to his people, represented the beginning of the world.
To his left was the East, considered the feminine world.
But Eve had not gone East, where they had searched at first. He should have known his daughter better. She went West, like the conquerors had.
Coming from the hallway leading into the great hall, he heard persistent footsteps approaching.
It would be Khuyag, his head guard, advisor, and trusted friend of many years.
The man approached and held his arms out.
Borjigin placed his arms over Khuyag’s, and they held the traditional greeting. “I bring you news,” Khuyag said.
“Speak now.”
“You were correct to send lookouts to the West.”
“They have seen her?”
“No, but there’s been word of a light-colored tribal woman as far West as
Turkmenabat.”
“We must send our fastest riders.”
Khuyag dropped his head. “There has been another sighting, Khan.”
Borjigin tensed. “Who seeks her?”
Khuyag paused, his head lowered to the ground. “It is Ganbold.”
Borjigin bellowed into the room. His cries echoed against the walls and the finery. All of it meant nothing if he could not protect his precious child.
Ganbold. A punishment sent to the earth by the Gods. It was Ganbold who pursued Borjigin’s precious daughter?
“Launch the guards. Launch the ships. I will flay anyone who touches her,” Borjigin said, choking his words through his rage.
“It is done, Borjigin Khan,” Khuyag said, running out of the room.
Borjigin bellowed again. He hoped the ancestors heard him because he would burn down heaven and take them each prisoner to find her.