Chapter 40
Assassins, 20-1 K
(TX, LA, MS. TN, KY, IL, MN, ND, MT, 1388-9)
Since it was early winter when I arrived back at the Pelican Ordu, I thought it best to wait until late winter to start back to my family. I wrote a report of my efforts in the south and sent it on to Kuyuk. I explained that I would be checking up on the treatment program in the south and east this winter, but I should be at the Antelope Ordu in the spring, and he could send me a message there regarding my exile destination. Then I went east. I stopped at any village or town that I saw and made sure that all had received the treatment. Occasionally, I would find someone who had missed it and prevail on him to accept it now. A description of the course of the disease was usually enough to turn the trick. I eventually reached the Taunika and treated a few of them. They told me that the Natchez had been offered the treatment but had refused. I thought that imprudent of them and went to visit them. Since they were well aware that we surrounded them and far outnumbered them, they readily, if not enthusiastically acquiesced to my visit. I went to the “Great Sun” himself and asked him why they had refused the treatment we had generously offered to share with them.
“The generosity of one’s enemies is always suspect.”
“I didn’t think we were enemies, but merely neighbors.”
“Our gods warned us that your ‘treatment’ would make us impious, like you, and they would be forced to withhold their favor.”
“All the treatment does is keep you from contracting a horrible disease that either disfigures or kills. Other than that it in no way changes you.”
“There is no such disease, unless you brought it with you from whatever evil place that spawned you.”
“I merely offer you life. I will not force it on you. Wherever the disease came from, it is here and has killed and disfigured many in the west. If it strikes here also, you will almost all die, and I would regret the disappearance of your people.”
“You would? Why?”
“Who knows what wisdom you have or what lessons you can teach about the land, the river, the stars, whatever. We have learned much from each of those who have joined us. We have also taught them much. It is always regrettable to waste knowledge.”
“How can the impious love the land? You confuse me.”
“Perhaps I am not really impious.”
“I will send you a group of people to treat. If they suffer no untoward consequences, the rest of us will also submit.”
“A wise precaution. I agree to your conditions.”
I treated about fifty of them, explained what would happen, and sent them on their way. I went on to visit the Pigeon Ordu and the Pansfalaya. I explained about the Natchez trial of our treatment and told them to treat the rest of the tribe should they agree to be treated. The Pigeons had returned from their occupation duties and wanted to hear about the rest of my campaign. We traded stories for a few days, and then I moved on to Nanih Waiya. I didn’t really know why I went there, and I really didn’t set out to go there, but I seemed inexorably drawn to the place. It was deserted when I arrived, and I climbed up the mound and sat at its summit. I neither felt nor heard anything special, but it was a peaceful place. I went back down the mound and camped for the night near its base. That night I had no dreams that I could remember. When I awakened, I found an incredibly old, wrinkled dark-skinned man sitting watching me. I rose and greeted him, stirring up the fire against the morning chill. He didn’t speak, but fixed me with his dark luminous eyes. Then it occurred to me that he was Kiliahote, the same shaman who had spoken for all the Pansfalaya shaman when they agreed to join us many years before.
“It is remarkable that you have lived to such an old age,” I said to him.
“No, not remarkable. Interesting, perhaps, but not remarkable.”
“Do you come here to dream dreams?”
“No, do you?”
“I don’t usually remember my dreams. I don’t know why I came here, but I was drawn here.”
“It is a good place. Perhaps it wants to tell you something.”
“I heard nothing, but I did find it most peaceful.”
“Then perhaps it is peace you need. It is coming, you know. The great death is coming.”
“But we have stopped the epidemic. It was indeed a great death in the west, but not here.”
“You did stop that death, but it was not the great death. The great death follows, and you will not be able to stop it. But never fear, it will not hurt you, and you were not meant to stop it.”
“When will it come?”
“Soon. And when it arrives, it will solve many of your problems.”
“Solve problems. How?”
“You will see.”
“Will you also live to see it?”
“No.”
He said no more, but closed his eyes, and began a sort of low chant. I walked a short distance away to get some water, and when I returned, he was gone. I looked around for him thinking to share some breakfast with him, but he was nowhere to be seen. I thought about what he had said, wondering what other disease would follow us here. There were many of them in the old land, far more than in this one. Not all of them were serious, but there was the epidemic that was reported along the southern coast of the old Khanate. It had seemed to be endemic in a few of the port cities, but it hadn’t spread far inland. I couldn’t remember the name of it, but it caused painful swelling in the lymph glands and usually resulted in death. I tried to recall what I had read so long ago about diseases, but couldn’t think of any other serious one that spread like the barbarian pox. It was also the only one that could be prevented. Whatever the disease would be, I still wished that I could mitigate it. I knew I would try.
I decided to turn north and visit Murenbalikh. On the way, I visited some more villages, not only of the Pansfalaya, but also the Tsoyaha, the Chikasha and the displaced Iyehyeh elites. I noticed that almost all of the locals had changed a little. While the head deformation was still common, fewer of the youngest children showed it. Tattooing was also lessening, as were face painting and bizarre hairstyles. Still, feathers and jewelry were quite prominent, and land cultivation had increased to feed the horses. I also noticed that the people looked healthier, since they had adequate food in their diet. All had experienced a crop failure over the last several years from flooding, late frost, local draught, or whatever, and had received all the grain they needed from their neighbors through the nearby Ordu. Also, the horse enabled them to get meat, especially that of the plains oxen, far more easily. The advantages of being with us were not lost on them. Even the recent war in the south had helped morale, since it was a matter of pride among them to have fought successfully in battles. All this had done much to dispel any lingering hostility among the Chikasha and the exiles. I recognized several of them from the campaign, and they greeted me like an old friend. Only the oldest among them were still a bit distant.
I crossed the Wazhazhe River below the falls and passed the site of the town we had destroyed during the Hotcangara wars. It was hard to detect except for the obvious second growth, mostly evergreens, along the river where their fields had been. The town was hard to find without close inspection. We had not left any of it standing, and the burned wood had long since been reduced into the soil. Still, it was easy to distinguish the site on the bluff overlooking the river, and I thought back on that campaign, when I was younger and life was simpler. I just caught the motion in the trees out of the corner of my eye and dropped to the ground in time to miss the arrow aimed at me. I rolled over into a slight depression and readied an arrow of my own as I scanned the woods carefully. Again a motion alerted me in time to avoid another arrow. I could see the slightest movement in the brush as my assailant moved surreptitiously to the right to get closer to me. I followed the movement for a moment, then let fly an arrow at where I was sure he would be crouching. I heard a cry of pain and rushed forward with my sword drawn.
Doubled up in pain with my arrow deep in his side was an old Hotcangara warrior. He wore the old face paint even though he was dressed for winter hunting. I could see he was mortally wounded, for there was the blank look of death in his eyes beneath the pain and the hate. Even so he wielded a knife at me, although every movement further darkened the light snow on the ground with his blood. I approached him and kicked the knife from his hand with a sudden move. He looked at me for a moment, then put both his hands on my arrow and pulled it out with a strong jerk. Blood shot out of the wound, and he tried to stop it long enough to spit his defiance at me.
“So long you keep your hate, what a waste of your life.” I shook my head. “You could have done so much more with yourself.”
“Had I killed you,” he gasped, “my entire life would have been vindicated. The gods put you in my power and I failed. I curse my fate, and welcome my death.”
“Who are you?”
“Theenjaaykay-ea, Tayhah nea’s brother,” he almost whispered. “I knew you would be here today alone, and I had to try and avenge my people. I curse you with my last breath.”
Blood followed his last breath out of his mouth, and soon he was still. I followed his footprints in the snow to see if he was accompanied, but they led to a small campsite. He didn’t seem to have a horse, but had come on foot alone. Tayhah nea had been the old Hotcangara war chief we had defeated and killed long ago when we took Murenbalikh. I had assumed his family would have fought alongside and died with him―a rash assumption. I wondered why he had focused his hatred on me and how he had known I would be coming by here alone today. I hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, but he had been camping overnight waiting for me. I decided to follow his tracks back to his village to see if there was another hotbed of revolt in the area. I tied his body on one of my horses and brought it along with me.
His trail led me north for most of the day passing up the nearby villages. It was crossed by other hunters’ trails, but his gait was distinct, enough to easily follow. He must have had a kind of a limp. Near dusk, his trail veered to the west and led me to a small encampment. It consisted of a single winter hut and a sweathouse. The remnants of a summer hut could be seen to one side, collapsed under some snow. There was a small stream meandering through the site. A little patch of smoke drifted out of the hut’s smoke hole, so I knew someone was there. I kept watch for a while, and finally, just before the light failed, an old woman came out of the hut and looked up the trail in my direction. I rose up and approached her. She looked searchingly at me focusing her old eyes. Finally seeing who I was she slumped to her knees and began keening a sort of chant. I approached within a few feet of her, alert for any movement from the hut, and waited for her to finish.
“Are you Theenjaaykay -ea’s woman?” I asked.
“I am Doecheeinggah, wife of Theenjaaykay-ea. Are you his killer?”
“I am. Will you also attack me?”
“No. I will not die with the foreign metal in me. I will die this night from the cold sleep. I bid you leave me in peace, for I would die alone in the company of my ancestors.”
“Is this a burial ground?”
“It is.”
“I have his body with me. Would you wish to bury it here?”
“You did not leave him for the beasts?”
“No. I will bring it up for you.”
When I got back with the body, she was standing quietly. She took the body off the horse, eschewing any help from me, and, indeed, not needing any. She took him into the hut, then came back out and looked at me for a moment. Her face changed from that of a tired old woman to that of strong vigorous warrior. She fixed her dark eyes on mine.
“For this kindness, I remove his curse on you. You will die of age like me instead of violence like him. When you leave here, go west to the river, then north to the city. Do not come again alone to this land. There are many here who wish you ill. Go now, and do not camp near here.”
I knew better than to talk to people when they had that look about them, so I mounted up and rode out of the encampment to the west. There was a full moon giving its eerie light to the leafless forest, so I didn’t stop until it dropped below the treetops in front of me. It was well after dawn when I awoke. The weather was still clear and the bright sunlight belied the cold morning air. I continued on to Murenbalikh without further incident, only occasionally meeting lone hunters along my way. They were surprised to see me, but showed no hostility. I reached the city after a few days and found it a bevy of activity. Since all the harvesting and hunting were done, the people were busily engaged in contests of skill and strength or various crafts. I was greeted in a modestly friendly manner as I went through the city to the governor’s residence. Tatanka Ska Koda had died a few years before, and the current governor of the city was Patheske, a Hotcangara who had worked his way up through the ranks. I told him about the incident with Theenjaaykay-ea.
“I greatly regret the attack,” he said. “I have heard of him, but we thought he had died since he disappeared long ago after his brother was killed. He must have been living alone in the woods all this time, just biding his time. He was something of a shaman in his day and perhaps saw you coming in a vision, but his excitement blurred the vision and he didn’t see what would happen to him.”
“Do you think that’s how he knew I was coming that day, a vision?”
“Yes. It is quite common among our shaman. I can ask one of them to look into your future for you if you wish.”
“No, thank you. I prefer to leave the future in the future.”
“As you wish. But the good ones can save you a lot of trouble.”
“But Theenjaaykay-ea’s woman said there were many here who wished me ill. Can that be true? Are many of your people still full of hate?”
“Love and hate are strong emotions. They are not easily given nor are they easily withdrawn. Your people killed many of mine, far more than seemed necessary, and you left many people hating you for it. I would say more of us do not hate you anymore. But those that still do, still do.”
“The woman gave me the impression the hostility was directed at me in particular.”
“One of our shaman insisted that you, because of your strange looks, were the evil influence that made the Mongols so ruthless. For a while, that view was quite popular, and it was thought if you were to be killed, the Mongols would be more kind to us.”
“My position and authority were never that strong. I merely obeyed orders.”
“Yes, but the Mongols do not appear that different to us while you do. Of course, I never believed that. Years ago I met a man from an eastern tribe. He said that he had seen men like you almost every year. They fished in large boats and occasionally came ashore for water. His people did not bother them, and they, in turn, seemed to pose no threat.”
“You say people that look like me fish off the eastern coast?”
“That is what the man said.”
I stayed a few days visiting various acquaintances and trying to find out more about my fishing “relatives.” No one knew any more about them, and I toyed with the idea of looking for them, but I wanted to get back to my family before Kuyuk moved against us. I crossed the river to visit the Falcon Ordu. Borgurchi was still the commander, and he welcomed me warmly. We talked about the southern campaign, especially the Tya Nuu portion in which they had taken part. I mentioned my visit with the Pheasants in Huexotzinco and asked about his stint as occupying governor of the Tya Nuu. He said it was an unpleasant business. The people had resigned themselves, and there was no armed resistance, but they were not cooperative. He and the rest of the Ordu had been quite pleased when they were replaced by the Quetzals last year and could finally return. Then, to my surprise, he freely expressed his displeasure with Kuyuk. He had been one of Kaidu’s minghan commanders in the original Ordu, and while he revered Kaidu, he felt his son was worse than worthless. He assured me that the only good thing Kuyuk had ever done was to father Juchi. I asked if such opinions were widely held, and he insisted that they were. None of the original Ordu had any respect for Kuyuk, and I should be careful of him since he would likely turn on me one day. I didn’t tell him that that day had already come, but rather assured him that I would be careful.
I took the yam system north along the river eventually crossing over to visit my old Ordu, the Wolves. Temur was still in command of them, and he also greeted me warmly. We talked about the southern campaign and especially his part in the campaign against the Ben Zah. It had also been a hard struggle, and they were glad they didn’t have to remain on occupation duty. Although he assured me that the Ben Zah women were the most beautiful in the south. I had never seen any of them that I was aware, although I had been fairly close to their land when I was in Tlapan. He told me he could take care of that loss right away and called over an attendant. The man ran out and returned with a woman. She was fairly tall and slim with light skin for a Southerner, like burnished copper, almost translucent. She had large bright eyes, a straight nose and full lips. I had to admit that she was a beauty, perhaps second only to Paula. She fixed a rather puzzled look on me.
“Do you speak the Nahual language?” I asked.
“Yes,” she answered in a halting, musical version of that language. “But you cannot be a Mexica.”
“No, I am a Mongol.”
“The strangest I have yet seen. Are there more like you?”
“Yes, a few. How did you come to be here?”
“I was a slave of the Tya Nuu. I was freed by your forces and tried to return home. When I arrived, my family and my village were all dead also at the hand of your forces. Teghur, the son of Temur, looked on me with favor and brought me back with him. Since I had nowhere else to go, it was a kindness.”
“You do not hate those who killed your family?”
“It will not restore them to me, and I cannot help them by joining them in death. Teghur has been a good husband to me, and I have been well received by his family. This is my new home.”
“I congratulate you on your wisdom and Teghur on his good fortune in finding you.”
“I thank you.” She bowed and left.
Since Temur did not speak Nahual very well, I repeated the gist of our conversation for him. He listened intently and smiled.
“My son has chosen quite well for himself. She speaks Mongol quite well now, but it was interesting hearing that strange tongue and trying to catch the words. You should hear their language. They call it Loochi, and it is a very strange, musical language. They convey more meaning with how they speak than which words they use.”
“You were right about their beauty, or is she an exception?”
“No, I would say she would be average. They are quite a beautiful people. However, it is no surprise, they allow any deformed infants to die, and their elderly kill themselves rather than grow ugly or senile with age. It is, I suppose, pragmatic, but ruthless.”
One could wonder why the Ben Zah did such things. Of course, the Hanjen would often leave baby daughters to die, and the more primitive tribes that lived in harsh land would do the same as the Ben Zah. Still, it was an odd practice for such a settled civilized people. I didn’t stay long among the Wolves, but continued on my way north using the yam system. I was within a day’s ride of the old training site near Lake Ocheti, when a blizzard kept me trapped in a yam for almost a week. I didn’t mind, since the Ocheti shakowin family that ran the yam was wonderful company, and we swapped stories much like I had in that first trip over to the new land.
When the wind finally died down, the snow was a few feet deep and very powdery. I regretted not having my dogsled with me, but the horses were well rested, and I would not have trouble finding the next yam. I set out early and soon found the going quite difficult. We had to high step through the snow, which slowed down both the horses and me and tired us out. I kept changing horses, but we had not gone far when I could see they were all exhausted. I looked about for shelter, but this was a rather flat land; there were few hills and no caves. Quite by chance, I saw an old hut. It was in a screen of pines and was almost invisible, but I had lost my footing and happened to look in its direction as I got up. The hut was not in the best repair, but it was made of wood, and its roof seemed fairly intact. There was enough room in it for the horses, and the door was just high enough to admit them, so I brought them in first and fed and watered them for the night. Since they were in the hut, I could not have a fire, so I ate my dry meal and wrapped myself up for the night.
I woke early the next morning, and after eating got started back on the way to Lake Ocheti. It was again a day of very slow progress. But I did just make it to the yam at dusk. The attendant took my horses from me and shooed me into his yurt. I warmed myself at his fire and was quickly served a bowl of hot broth and some of the mondamin grain. An Anishinabe family attended this yam. They had seen me many years before during my travels here and were glad to see me again. They suggested that I wait a few days until the messenger with the dogsled came back this way. He would then be returning to the Hawk Ordu. He had been headed to one of the Anishinabe villages on Lake Gichigami and should be on his way back soon. Since I wanted to go to the Hawk Ordu, it seemed like a good idea. Actually my own dogsled and team were at the Hawk Ordu with my brother and his family.
Two days later, the messenger came in the late afternoon. He turned out to be my old friend Nitsiza. I had not seen him for some years. It happened that he had been running a yam station north of the Hawk Ordu and had missed the campaign in the south. He had returned to the Ordu as a messenger this winter since their messenger had been killed in an accident. He would return to his station and his family in the spring, however. He did not regret missing the southern campaign, he told me, since he thought it would be too warm there for him, and he didn’t want to be so far away from his family. He was delighted to have me along with him. We started out the next day. He gradually brushed me up on my sledding skills during the runs, and we caught up on our past few years each evening at the yams. The passage took two weeks including a day’s layover during a freak blizzard.
When we reached the Hawk Ordu, Nitsiza took me right to Henry’s yurt. He was glad to see me. I spent a few days with him, and he showed me all that had been going on among his metal workers. More and more of the men seemed to be engaged in making ornaments. Still, enough were making the arrowheads, helmets, swords, and knives. Migizi was still working on making smaller cannon. He had made one with a two-inch muzzle, and it had worked fairly well, except that it was hard to control. He was sure he could make them even smaller, like the one I had given him years before. He had made some just like it, but they had exploded when fired, so he thought he’d work down to that size. He was experimenting with different alloys now. I wished him luck and told him he could keep my small cannon. Henry gave me two raw-silk shirts like those we used to all have when we first came into this land. They were now available again because of the Koryo trade, and he wanted me to have some. I remembered how one had saved me from more serious damage during the Iyehyeh campaign and gratefully put one on before I left. I looked over my sled and made a few minor repairs on it. I rounded up most of the dogs, wrestled them into their harnesses and took a few days turning them back into a cohesive team. I set off again once the team was ready enough.
The first days went smoothly. Since the river was still frozen hard, I had decided to use it with the dogsled so the way would be a lot easier than the constant climbing in and out of ravines up on the plateau. I made quite good time, enabling me to have more time to find the yams in the afternoons, since they were not readily apparent from the river. On the fourth day, I noticed the junction with the Absaroke River and turned into the latter. It was late winter by now, and there was some melting during the day that would refreeze at night. I had to be careful not to set the sled on any wet spot overnight, or I would have to chip it out in the morning. On the sixth day, not long after I left a yam and got back on the river, I was moving along at a good pace when suddenly I felt an impact on my back. At first I felt only surprise, but it was followed by pain. I crouched down and urged the dogs onward as fast as was safe. Another arrow whizzed by my head. A bend in the river came up just in time to save me from another, which shot by just as I turned. I stopped the sled a little farther along and turned it over on its side. Using some of my spare clothes, I made it look like I was dead under the sled. Then I pulled the arrow out of my back and placed it in the dummy. Finally, I took cover nearby under the riverbank overhang behind some rocks. I first readied my bow and some arrows, then felt the wound. The cold did much to minimize the bleeding, and it wasn’t a deep wound thanks to all the clothing I was wearing. My raw silk shirt neatly sheathed the arrow in my flesh keeping it from catching when I pulled it out. I stuffed some clean cotton into the wound and crouched down to catch my assailant. I did not have long to wait.
Since he was on horseback, it took him awhile to reach me. He was up on the bluff opposite my position, and seeing my sled, he jumped off and climbed down to the river surface. He approached the sled with his sword drawn, circling behind to avoid the snarling dogs. As soon as he was in range, I shot an arrow into him. I was a little above and to his right, and since he was intent on my decoy, he was taken by surprise. The arrow went deep into his chest, for my range was only about fifty feet. He staggered back from the wound, dropped his sword, and fell down. I rose up, drew my sword, and approached him. It was one of Kuyuk’s guards, Macoegee, a Hotcangara. He was mortally wounded and merely looked at me as I drew near.
“Did Kuyuk send you?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. Who can tell?”
“You wouldn’t be here without Kuyuk’s permission. Why do you shield him now? You must know you will die.”
“So will you.”
With an amazing move for one with such a wound, he lunged at me with a knife. My reflexes did not fail me, and I jumped back in time to miss his thrust. There would be no more from him, however. He landed on his chest and likely forced the arrow deeper, for when I kicked him over with my foot, his lifeless eyes stared ahead. I checked him for any dispatches, but he had none. I went up to his horses. They also bore no dispatch, only food and clothing. I had to think there would be others and that this was done at Kuyuk’s bidding, but I had to wonder why. He could easily order me back to the Eagle Ordu and have me slain or order one of the Ordu commanders along the way to arrest me and either kill me on the spot or return me to him. It didn’t make sense. I brought the horses down on the river.
I dragged Macoegee into the hiding place I had used and made some hoof coverings for the horses from his clothes. I brought them along with me to the next yam. I asked the attendant about them, claiming to have found them wandering along the river. He said that they were not from his yam, but perhaps from the next one down. I turned them over to him and stayed the night. I was very much on my guard now, so I stayed with the dogs, claiming one of them didn’t look well. Nothing happened that night, and I started off early the next morning. That evening, I reached the Antelope Ordu. I went in to see the commander as soon as I arrived. I was surprised to see Padraig. He was obviously troubled, but at the same time most relieved to see me.
“You can’t imagine what a relief it is to see you.”
“Why are you back here? Have you heard from Kuyuk?”
“I have. I was ordered to return here this winter. If you had not arrived before the spring thaw, I was to kill Paula and the children. If I failed to do so, my whole family would be killed instead. I was sure you would make it, but it is still quite a relief. Why does he hate you so?”
“I don’t really know, except that he blames me for the loss of his son. I think it’s quite obvious now who sent that assassin to ambush me. Kuyuk wanted me not to reach here so you would have to pick between my family and yours. He hoped you would not be able to kill my family―then he could freely move against both of us. He seems to have fixated his hatred on Ferengi.”
“He would have won, then. I could not have harmed your family.”
“Does he tell you to where I am to be exiled?”
“You won’t believe it.” He shook his head in disgust. “He has ordered me to take you to the Salmon Order. There you and your family will be placed on the first Koryo ship that comes to trade and returned to the old land.”