Chapter 9
The New Land,
Chapter 38th & 39th Year of Toghon Temur
(NW Alaska, 1368-9)
We had only been in Pyeyek a day when Paula came to get me, frozen tears on her cheeks. Yesui was worse than ever. I went in to see her. She was bundled up warmly, and Mathilde was holding her hand, rubbing it to keep it warm. Padraig was sitting behind her, holding her up to ease her breathing and looking glum. Yesui looked ashen, her breath was labored and shallow. Doqus and Henry came in, the former weeping silently, the latter clearly stricken. Suddenly Yesui opened her eyes, looked at us all and managed a weak smile.
“Do not look so sad, my children,” she whispered. “I am much relieved to die while we are still in the old land. Bury me on the land, not in the sea. Kiss my grandchildren for me, even the ones not yet here and thank Kaidu for not sending me away.”
That little speech seemed to have taken all her strength, and she gave a long sigh and breathed no more. Paula closed her eyes, and Padraig gently lay her down. Mathilde placed her hand under her blanket after kissing it. We all stood silently except for muffled crying from the women, bidding farewell, each in our own way to this marvelous woman who had been such a part of our lives for so long.
Givevneu came in quietly smiling in his gentle way and gave all in turn a comforting touch. He covered Yesui’s head, and ushered us all away from her side. We all sat down a while in silence, then, at last, he spoke.
“Yesui has had her wish,” he began. “She told me when we began this journey that she did not wish to end it. She wanted to die here. I think she only lasted so long because she wanted to ‘train’ Paula and Mathilde. You two gave her much happiness and a reason to live. Doqus, you have been more than a daughter to her, and also gave her much joy and three grandchildren. Henry, she was always so proud of you and your skill, so like your father. She bragged about you constantly. Padraig, you have been like a son to her these last months, always here when needed, tireless and patient. And you, Raven, her joy at your return was immeasurable. The excitement of making you and your bride this yurt, sustained her through a hard winter. And when you insisted she move in with you, she could have burst for happiness. You have all been wonderful to her, and need regret nothing. I know she wants to be buried on land, so we will have to do so in the An’kalym way with a few Mongol touches.”
“What is the An’kalym way?” Henry asked.
“As you have seen,” he replied, “the ground is too frozen to bury anyone in it, so we bury people on it, covering them with bones or stones. We place with the body things dear to the person that should accompany her.”
“I know some things,” Doqus said eagerly. “Her bow, her favorite stew pot, her sewing box—”
“Good, good,” Givevneu interrupted. “You have the idea, but not too many things and only things that are expendable and fairly small. We should bury her tomorrow.”
The next day, we went a short distance from the encampment out on the frozen tundra. We lay her with her head up facing southwest toward the Karamuren. We placed her bow, a few arrows, and her sewing box by her side, put a small packet containing her ongons over her heart, covered her with a mink cloak she had worn since she was young, and then watched as Givevneu and some An’kalym from the village arranged bones and stones around and over her until she disappeared from view. The bitter cold wind did not let up during the “burial” and made it impossible to tarry. So we sadly returned to camp.
When we returned, Padraig took Mathilde to “show her something,” so Paula and I could be alone. She clung to me and cried long and hard. I held her tightly but felt more heaviness than grief. I remembered being surprised that Paula and Mathilde had grown so close to Yesui. She had been, I realized, the mother neither one had had. I comforted her as best I could, mostly just holding on to her. She finally fell asleep, and I cradled her in my arms. She slept a long time, and I dozed a little, but was mostly caught up in my thoughts. Padraig and Mathilde came back in quietly and retired. I could hear Mathilde cry herself to sleep also, while he tried to comfort her. I wondered why I couldn’t grieve. Padraig and Henry had both cried at the “burial,” but I couldn’t. Perhaps it was because I had lost so many loved ones. Perhaps it was because I was too distracted by other events when I should be aggrieved. I was too sick to take notice when most of my family died in the epidemic so long ago. I was sent on an important mission right after I found out my father had died. And I was reunited with my beloved after almost a year when I heard that my grandfather George had died. Now, of course, we were about to cross over into a great adventure, and I had much to do. But that didn’t stop Paula’s grief. Even though she had only known Yesui a few months, even though it was obvious she was getting weak and would soon die, she was devastated by the loss. Maybe I was colder than even Givevneu thought. I started when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“You have picked the perfect wife, Raven.” It was Givevneu. “She is your perfect complement. I rejoice I will not live to see the day when you lose her. On that day you will feel everything you have not let yourself feel. I hope you are strong enough to survive it.”
He patted me again and then left. I felt a cold chill grip me and shuddered, shivering. Paula moved a little but did not wake up. I had never thought of losing her. I couldn’t think of it now either. Maybe my grief had always been mitigated because there was someone else there for me. There would be no one if she died. I shuddered again and held her more tightly. In time she woke up and was so grateful that I had held on to her while she slept and not gone off to my various duties. She felt much better and got up to fix the morning meal. Mathilde joined her, and the two chatted cheerily again as before. Padraig came up to me quietly.
“Karl,” he began, “I wonder if you would mind if I went back out to Yesui’s grave and played my pipes for her.”
“Pipes?” I repeated, puzzled. “You mean your flute you used to play on our journey to the Ordu?”
“No, no.” He shook his head emphatically. “My pipes. You haven’t seen them, and not many people like them, but they are for formal occasions, and I would deem it an honor to play them for her. I played them last when I buried my father.”
“Of course,” I answered, touched by the sentiment. “We can all go out again as soon as it gets light.
“No, not all,” he said softly. “Only you and Henry and his sons. It is the custom.”
It was strange, but Paula and Mathilde didn’t seem to mind, so I agreed. After our meal, I went to tell Henry and he agreed to come along and bring the boys. I also got one of the villagers to show us the way. I went to Kaidu’s yurt and told him of Yesui’s death and her wish that we thank him for letting her stay. He asked if she had been buried yet and I told him we had done so on land as she wanted according to the An’kalym way. He asked if he might see the grave, and I told him about our pending “ceremony.” To my complete surprise he invited himself along.
As the sun made its brief appearance on the southern horizon, our little group of dogsleds set out from camp. Our guide was in the lead with Henry and the boys aboard, I followed with Padraig huddled up and cradling a mysterious bundle, and Kaidu brought up the rear on a sled handled by Givevneu. We were soon at the site and were blessed with a light breeze, bitter cold, of course, but light. Padraig had us leave the sleds a little distance away, and led us to the “grave.” It looked like a little mound of snow, except that I could still see some of the bones and stones, especially on the leeward side. When we were all gathered around, he explained that the pipes were unusual-sounding instruments, advised us to be prepared, and not be surprised if the dogs howl.
With that he took some wooden things that were attached to something out of his coat, leaving the rest inside, under an arm. His coat swelled up, while there was a whining sound, then suddenly his cheeks puffed out and a haunting sound came from him. It seemed to sum up all the sadness in the world as if the world itself was weeping. The dogs did, indeed, howl, but it was not their usual yelping and yipping howl, but a long low mournful howl. When he finished, his coat whined again as it deflated, and he carefully returned the wooden pieces under his coat, and led us back to the sleds. He thanked me for letting him play for Yesui, and Henry and I thanked him for offering to do so. Kaidu was silent but thoughtful. Givevneu was charmed by the instrument and wanted to see the whole thing sometime. We returned to the camp. On the way I decided I liked the instrument and hoped he would play it again.
When we got back, Paula, Mathilde, and Doqus had a hot meal ready for all, and even Kaidu joined us. Padraig showed us the instrument, and explained that in ancient days the “bards” (a kind of poet-shaman) of his people would play them during battles or other solemn occasions. It looked like a goatskin sewn into a bag with some wooden pieces coming out of the skin, including one that looked something like a flute. Henry’s boys wanted to learn the instrument, but Padraig explained it took many years to learn, but if they were serious, he would teach them when we arrived in our new land. Kaidu listened intently and asked if the music of the instrument was always sad. Padraig assured him that the battle music was stirring and had seen his people into and through many a campaign. Of course, the Mongol horses tended to bolt when they heard it, so it was not in great demand. It could sound like a demon from the darkest pit, he insisted. Kaidu asked him if he thought horses could become used to the sound. He was sure they could since his people had long used horses in battle, although not the same way as the Mongols. Kaidu said it would have to be looked into in time. We broke up and went back to getting ready for the great run to the new land.
Naukum had returned with Taukujaa again, and the latter was happy to see me, if somewhat taken aback by the size of my “tribe.” He needed to be reassured that we would not compete with his people, but would continue on to go up the river that flowed north. With that he agreed to go with us, although he strongly recommended that he and I arrive at the various villages ahead of the Ordu to warn them of what was coming and assure them of our intentions. Of course, that was what we had been doing, so I readily agreed. We decided to set off well before sunrise two days hence.
It seemed to me that we would be leaving earlier than we had the year before, because the days were still getting shorter, and Naukum confirmed this. It had been a colder winter this year, and the sooner we crossed the sea the less likely we would encounter ice ridges. Of course, we would need to watch for thin ice, so it would be important for us to spread out in our dogsleds to ensure there were no thin spots. I wondered how they could tell one winter was colder than the other around here, but decided not to ask. We also got a few of the An’kalym villagers to act as outriders around the Ordu, keeping it together and on the right path. This last cost us a few sacks of grain, but was well worth it.
The first leg to Imaklik went quite well, the few ridges we encountered were quite small and only one required a bit of a detour, and it was still fairly light when we came upon it. Once we reached the shore, even with Taukujaa in tow, we had a hard time winning over the village since they could see the size of the approaching Ordu. A few gifts did the trick, however, and we promised to leave the next day. There was little choice, actually, for the shore was more like the slope of a mountain, and we were hard-pressed to find room for the Ordu to camp on the shore especially in the dark. The next morning while the Ordu was getting ready, my dogsled group set out for Inaklik and Taukujaa’s relatives’ village to explain ourselves before the Ordu came into view. A few more gifts and this encounter went more smoothly. Again it was hard to find room for the Ordu, but with light on our side, it was easier than on the other island. We stayed an extra day to rest up the horses while one of the villagers went ahead across to Kytmin to warn and reassure them about us. Again we started the last leg well before light in the same configuration as the first leg. Again we encountered only small ridges but did need to make a small detour north to avoid some thin ice Naukum detected. Finally the hill called Kytmin marking the other land loomed up in the east, and we led the way to the small village, just as the pale light of the rising full moon, a good omen to the Mongols, replaced the last bit of twilight. As the Ordu came up to the village, the new land seemed to be bathed in the silvery sheen of the moonlight, and in the northern sky, the Northern Lights seemed to greet us and point the way east with their shimmering undulating sheets of pale blue-green light. We had made it!
We spent the night near the village and did some trading and resting up the next day, before going on to Taukujaa’s village the following day. Naukum and the An’kalym outriders took their leave, eager to return home. Givevneu and Naukum made their farewells with much grasping and sniffing. Naukum also bid me a fond farewell, wished my “tribe” and me well on our journey, and sent his greeting to Juchi. We watched them disappear to the west, severing our last link with our old land. As our vanguard pulled into Taukujaa’s village a day later, I was much relieved to see Juchi, smiling and waving enthusiastically.
“I knew you’d make it,” he shouted to me.
The village was all out at the sight of the looming mass of the Ordu, and Taukujaa and I reassured them at length that all was well. The biggest fear was that we were attacking, the second that the village would have to feed the mass, the third that we would stay a while and the last that we wouldn’t move on, far away. It may seem inhospitable, but when one realizes that the largest villages had perhaps four hundred people, and the Ordu had over five thousand warriors, it makes perfect sense. We went through this in every Inuit village, although as time went on and we kept moving on, the word began to precede us and our reception became more cordial. Still, the first sight of the Ordu was frightening to all we encountered. I wondered what they would think of Khanbalikh, where our entire Ordu’s approach would likely go unmarked.
Juchi was bursting with news, but I prevailed on him to save it for his grandfather so he wouldn’t have to repeat it all again. Once the Ordu was encamped, Kaidu sent for us. Givevneu was the only other one with him when we arrived. Kaidu first embraced his grandson, and then bid him report.
“It is better than we could have dreamed,” Juchi began. “I got all the way to the north-flowing river and followed it south for a while. There is supposed to be a huge endless steppe stretching south beyond the source of the river. I didn’t get that far south, but all the natives in the south talk about it. No one really lives there, but some tribes do hunt there for the southern ox. There is game everywhere. The native tribes are scattered in small encampments, although they are larger than those of the Inuit. Still, imagine, they have no steel, no iron. The only metal I’ve seen them use is copper. A bigger, surprise, they have no horses. There are no horses anywhere around. The only animal they have tamed is the dog. They have no flocks or herds at all. They spoke of larger tribes in the south, but there is nothing like an empire or Khanate. It is much like the situation in Mongolia when the great Chingis united the scattered tribes. I passed myself off as an Inuit since I was with a group of them, so no one knows anything about us or our approach. Also, the path east is fairly easy and best made in the winter. We can cut across to the great river that flows west, follow it upstream to another river, follow that river to the mountains we must cross, and then we’ll be at the river that flows north. The natives call that river the Dehcho.”
“You have done well,” Kaidu beamed. “I knew you were the best man for this mission, and you have borne me out. You are a credit to your father and your Ordu. I am very proud of you. I don’t suppose you have made maps?”
“Well,” Juchi smiled, “yes, I have. But after following the Raven’s maps you may find mine crude in the extreme. But I have made Inuit friends in many villages not far out of the way, and they will happily guide us.”
“True enough,” Kaidu shrugged. “They will no doubt be very happy to guide us out of their country and upon their enemies. Speaking of which, are the others, the non-Inuits friendly? What is it they are called?”
“It depends”—Juchi laughed—“on whom you ask. The Inuit call them Itqilit, which means ‘lousy.’ The nearby ones call themselves Kutchin as a whole, but there are several tribes among them. They call the Inuit, ‘Esquimantsic,’ which means ‘eaters of raw fish.’ They are not very friendly, although they do trade with the Inuit. The nearby groups seem to adopt many Inuit ways. Still, to be fair, it is the Inuit who attack the Kutchin so one could not expect them to be friendly. Of course, as long as we stay together, no one will dare to bother us. We are far larger than any group ever seen around here. I think we will only encounter deserted villages on our way—at least among the Kutchin. The next group, along the Dehcho, call themselves the Tinneh as a whole, but again has several individual tribal names. They are more peaceful and also more timid. We will have to send out a small vanguard if we want to deal with them.”
“I see,” Kaidu nodded. “Yes we will use the guides, but I still want maps. Give what you have to Raven; he can fix them up for us as we go along. And put in these names of theirs, Dehcho and what is this nearby river called?”
“Again, it depends,” Juchi shrugged. “The Inuit call it the Kvikhpak and the Kutchin call it the Yukanah.”
“Humph,” Kaidu scowled. “Which group controls most of the river?”
“The Kutchin,” Juchi replied. “They fish and hunt all along it except for the mouth of the river, a few days south of here, where the Inuit hold sway.”
“So be it,” Kaidu said. “We will call it the Yukanah. We need to put names on these rivers and try to note the territories of the various tribes we encounter and the name they call themselves. We will only attack those who make themselves our enemies. If they let us pass in peace, we will do so. But I want to know this new land, who lives in it, and where he lives. They have no horses? What kind of game do they have?”
“Most of the same as we have,” Juchi answered. “Except that their reindeer are much larger than ours, and they don’t herd them. Also, their deer and bears are larger, and there is a large animal that looks like a wooly ox in the north and a less wooly one in the south. I saw the northern one, but only a skin of the southern one. The Tinneh were the ones who told me about them. It seems that there are huge herds of them in the south not only on the endless plain but also in the forest surrounding it. There are wild goats in the mountains to the north and wild sheep in those to the south. And the mass of waterfowl rivals what we saw in the lakes of the tundra on our side. We will not want for meat.”
“Good.” Kaidu got a glint in his eye. “Larger bears you say. Any tigers or leopards?”
“No one talks of them,” Juchi shook his head. “They have lynx and wildcat and some other larger cat in the mountains, but it is tan, no spots or stripes.”
“Well, we’ll find out soon enough.” Kaidu smiled. “We must get started soon.”
We looked at Juchi’s maps, trying to get a feel for the distances involved, but it was too hard to tell. He did not have a keen grasp of perspective, and his drawing was a bit shaky. Still from what he told us it would be quite a long trip, although not nearly as long as the one we had just completed. Kaidu decided to start after one day’s rest, so he could properly thank Taukujaa and his village for all their assistance to Juchi.
When we set off finally, the general pattern was that one guide would lead Juchi and me on dogsleds first and another would lead the Ordu after us. The winter solstice had just passed so there was ever increasing amounts of twilight in the south. Depending on whether we went north or south we would see more or less of the sun along with the twilight. The guides thought it best to get us to the river we were calling Yukanah as soon as possible. No doubt to make sure we were well out of their territory. To that end we bypassed some villages to cut across the tundra in a fairly straight line almost due east. We did pass some low hills, but most of the way was quite flat. Six days later, we were back on the coast at an Inuit village. At least we were told it was the coast, as there was nothing to distinguish it. We kept moving with a new set of guides the next day continuing east. We stayed along the coast for almost two days before turning inland. This time it was obvious because we were going between rows of hills directly north and some distance to the south. Then we plunged through some low hills to a large valley beyond, where we came to another Inuit village. This run was seven days from the last village. On leaving this village, we exchanged guides and turned south, skirted around some hills; then we came upon a frozen river. We spent the “night” at a deserted village of wooden structures with sod roofs, on the bank of the river. It belonged to a group of Kutchin called the Kaiuhkhotana. It was a permanent winter camp, but our guides speculated that they saw us coming and expecting the worse, fled. No longer would we allow our vanguard to get much ahead of the Ordu.
We continued south along, or rather beside, this very winding river for two more days finally arriving at a much larger river. So large in fact that we thought it might be a bay of the sea again. This was the Yukanah. This time we had a fairly large deserted village at our disposal. Kaidu insisted that we not enter the homes or in any way disturb the camp, much to our guides’ disappointment. They particularly wanted to destroy the camp because it belonged to another group of Kutchins, the Koyukukhotana, a fierce group they considered dangerous enemies. Kaidu was adamant, however, and since he was paying them for their time, they couldn’t really argue, but they did grumble.
We followed the Yukanah eastward, staying a little north of it in the flat country or on it when there were hills. After eight days, we came to major fork in the river where our guides led us on the more northerly or left fork. We seemed to be going northeasterly and perhaps a bit uphill after this fork. After five days, the river seemed to get very wide and less sinuous, although there appeared to be many islands and, therefore, many channels. Five days later, we had lost the sun completely, but there was a long twilight. This slowed us down a bit since even our guides were hesitant to go very far with the moon only a sliver. The next day, we came to a spot where the river turns southeast, but we followed a channel to the northeast, and there on the bank was a large village with a group of natives in front armed and ready for battle.