Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Borjigin marched across the camp of the tribe that had taken his daughter.
His two eldest sons and his advisor, Khuyag, were behind him.
Borjigin hated this tribe. They were petty and difficult, clinging to the old traditions with an obsession that threatened the existence of his people.
Of all the far-reaching tribes Borjigin commanded as Khan, this one angered him the most.
But before war, one must yell.
They followed a short man who scampered, seeming to fear upsetting the Khan as he took them to the il-khan’s yurt.
This tribe was still fully nomadic, but their camp had settled for the spring.
Borjigin noted the family yurts and the center camp area where they would have gathered for the fated wedding celebration that caused his daughter’s disappearance.
Borjigin could hardly control the simmering anger he felt at her treatment.
When they reached the yurt at the center of the camp, the short man called out to the leader inside. Once he was acknowledged, the man held the heavy felt door for Borjigin.
“Nokhoi khori,” he said, spitting out the traditional formality of calling off the dogs when entering a home. Borjigin alone entered, thinking he would love it if the il-khan set dogs on him. It would give him the opportunity to release his violent energy.
“Borjigin Khan, I am honored to have you in my ger,” Timicin, the tribe’s il-kahn, said, his words carefully reverent.
Borjigin allowed the traditional greeting as they gripped each other’s forearms.
“You’ve come far. Sit. Drink,” Timicin said. He offered suutei tsai tea with both hands.
Borjigin glared at the man as he accepted the cup and took a small sip out of tradition, though he wanted to spit on the floor. He had known Timicin most of his life. He was a vicious leader with a sharp tongue, but he knew his place.
“I am sorry we must meet under these circumstances,” Timicin said. He stroked his long, black and silver beard as he sat down. “I had hoped to meet again in celebration of the connection between our tribes.”
“You have caused my daughter to go missing,” Borjigin said, taking his seat. His voice even, body still. The only way he could control himself was to control everything.
He held out his hands, as if to hold Borjigin’s anger at bay. “Your daughter has killed the man who was her husband. A warrior of my tribe. By the Yassa, I could attack rather than sit with you in my yurt.”
“You attack me? After taking my daughter and letting her become lost?” Borjigin glowered. “Do so, Timicin. I beg you to give me respite.”
Timicin dropped his gaze. Borjigin knew Timicin would bark like a small, angry dog, but when challenged with real power, would always back down.
Borjigin breathed in and released, letting his nostrils flare, letting the act settle him. He spoke, “The ancestors did not support her kidnapping, or she would be here now.”
“Your daughter was alone in the field, a clear signal she was available to be taken,” Timicin said, barking again.
“Are you saying this is her fault?”
“My Bataar has led hundreds of raids against the Kazakhs. He saw her in a display of availability and decided she would be his wife. How can it be that your daughter does not know these ways? That she was not taught to acquiesce in the presence of a warrior?”
“My daughter has been taught to never kneel to someone beneath her. A thousand Bataars do not equal one of her,” he said through his teeth.
“He was my greatest fighter,” Timicin said with affront. “This was meant to be an incredible union. Your influence with my power. Our tribes aligned. Our people as one. We could conquer anyone.” He shook his head. “Bataar’s other wives and children are beside themselves with grief.”
Borjigin, brows furrowed, conceded on this point. “I am sorry for them,” he said. “Does he have a brother?”
“Two. They have taken on the wives.” Timicin shifted.
“You must understand, Borjigin, your daughter pierced him with a knife and disappeared. We believe that she took his life while he put his spirit inside her. You must understand,” he repeated, the dog exposing his belly, “as il-khan I cannot ignore this crime.” He shook his head.
“What a terrible thing to do to a warrior. A husband.”
Borjigin gritted his teeth at the thought of the scenario.
“For taking his life, you must pay me reparations,” Timicin said. “On her behalf.”
The violent energy crested inside Borjigin. He released it with a powerful burst, allowing one fist to pound down on the table. The earth shook at his anger. Perhaps the heavens, too.
Timicin weathered it, looking down.
Borjigin calmed himself. He was a father, but he still was the Khan, bound to many laws and even more people, all of whom relied on his judgment. “I will discuss that when she has been found.”
Timicin nodded. “I understand.”
“Tell me this, Timicin,” Borjigin continued. “What of Ganbold?”
“Ganbold was thrown from the tribe months ago,” Timicin continued. “I did not send Ganbold after her. I would never.”
“Why is he trailing her? Does he want her for his bride?”
“No. Ganbold is single-minded.” He sighed and sat back down.
“He had been obsessed with a daughter of our tribe. He bungled an attempt to get to her while she was sleeping and badly injured the girl. He is too dangerous when it comes to women.” Timicin brought his hands together, looking contrite.
“I believe Ganbold is looking for your daughter to win his way back into the tribe, as a tribute. But he is not wise, Borjigin,” he said, his voice supplicant.
“He is not efficient. I don’t believe he will get very far. ”
The men sat quietly for a moment. Then Timicin spoke, “I am a father too. Every daughter I marry to another tribe is difficult in its own way. This situation.” He paused.
“It is beyond comprehension. I put out the word immediately that she should not be harmed. The tribes will respect her. They know she is your daughter.”
Borjigin smoldered and breathed heavily through his nose. He had no solace from this meeting. “If by some chance you locate her before I do, by hellfire Timicin, bring her directly to me or I will flatten you, the ancestors,” he breathed in deeply, “and everyone in between.”