God Within Us

When morning arose over the Baskord plains, the day was cold and bleak - the ashes had ceased to fall, but the sun’s face remained hidden from the world behind thick gray clouds.

And when the Baskords brought Yesugei out into the chill morning air, it was the girl shaman who came for him with two of Böri-khan’s keshiks - one to support each arm as the bound his hands and marched him through the camp to the sound of the tribe’s jeering. A small procession grew behind him and the keshiks, but the shouting mob did not dare to lay a finger upon their khan’s Qarakesek captive.

His sleep had been fitful and absent of any dreams, but Yesugei was surprised at his own strength as he walked without stumbling towards his doom - his bandage-wrapped leg felt light and strong, and each step no longer came with the dread of buckling to his knees for the crowd’s mockery. For all that had happened the night before, the shaman’s healing had worked - but Yesugei saw no trace of the man himself as he glanced about the ulus.

“Where is your father?” he asked Aysen’s daughter as they drew nearer to the khan’s tent. She did not reply - giving him only sullen silence in return.

“Aysen can’t save you now, Qarakesek scum,” laughed the keshik at his right. “It’s the spirits you face, not their caller.”

The grass outside the khan’s yurt was hurriedly cleared since last night’s roaring festivities, and a ring of blazing braziers filled the grounds with light and warmth to ward the cold away from the great crowd that poured in from all corners of the ulus to watch their Qarakesek captive bleed.

When the crowd parted to give the keshiks way Yesugei saw the Baskord khan seated on a stool opposite him, his fiery orange robe a splash of color amidst the leather and iron armor of his noyans who stood by his side. Aysen’s daughter sliced the ropes free from his wrists, and then Böri’s keshiks shoved him forward.

He stumbled into the ring of warriors and tribesmen with their laughter and spiteful howling all around him, but then it came to a hushed stop as Böri rose from his seat and dropped a hand to the pommel of his saber.

“I take all that have gathered here as witnesses…” boomed the khan’s voice over the crowd. “...that I have challenged Yesugei, son of Tsaagandai, prince of the Qarakesek horde, to a duel for his freedom.”

Yesugei must have looked a sight compared to the Baskord khan, standing tall and proud as a leader should, while he himself shivered slightly from the chill breeze - clad in his ruined silken rags and worn boots. Whispers came from about the gathered crowd, but none had any doubt in their hearts of what was to come - for the tribe, this was a spectacle, a way to mark the beginning of the war to come with the blood of their most ancient foe.

Murmurs of assent rang from the gathered tribesmen and armored warriors who stood innermost within the ring, and Böri continued, “If the spirits judge him kindly and grant him life, I have promised the princeling I will let him leave as his father allowed us - with horse and supplies enough for him to leave our lands, and without obstacle from any of those gathered here!

“Now, all of you, swear by the gods!” The khan raised his sheathed sword, and the warriors gathered within the circle pulled their own blades and axes free, saluting them to the sky. The khan led his warriors in a strange oath, one before the Eternal Sky and the tengri, but also before the Lightning Lord, and the justice of the Klyazmite gods.

The Eternal Sky is silent and hidden from us all today, Yesugei thought bitterly as the warriors lowered their weapons. And the Lightning Lord…if his justice were real, then why do they let their followers’ lands burn so?

“Come forth, son of the Qarakesek,” Böri spoke, and one of the keshiks handed Yesugei a blade of his own. He slashed the saber through the air to test its weight, then scoffed at the Baskord khan, swallowing his fear in hopes he could loosen its terrified grip around his silent heart.

As he stepped forward, one of the noyans called out to three bowmen that stood off to the side. “If he tries to cut his way free, or flee the khan’s justice, fill him with arrows like the wretched dog he is.”

“The only wretched dogs are the ones that stand around me,” huffed Yesugei. “Look at you all, slavering for blood and flesh.”

Look at you all, clamoring for more blood to be spilt on this earth while the Apostles sleep.

He remembered the slaughter he had seen in the Devil Woods - and the terrible silence that had reigned there. The more they fought, the more the smell of death and suffering would rise to the heavens, and the more they would be roused from their sleep. Would princely blood rouse Aysen’s Dreamers more than that of a commoner’s?

No, he thought to himself as he raised his sword and drew closer, turning sideways to present only his guarded flank to Böri. The Baskord khan drew his own steel, and threw the scabbard to the side.

We are all just meat. So much meat.

He took a half-step towards the khan, and then Böri threw himself forward with a cry, his sword a silver blur as it arced through the air. The khan's sword skidded off Yesugei's hasty guard, but no sooner had he turned away the first blow a second, a third, a fourth came raining down on him from above and below in an iron dance.

He took one step back, then another, and then it was all he could do to not trip over his own feet as he gave and gave ground to Böri's clash. Their swords never stopped in their dance, leaping high and low to meet at each turn. The Baskord khan's attack was relentless and blindingly fast, never giving him the centre, never giving him a chance to counter attack, and striking from every which way, each cut powerful enough to cleave him in two. Soon Yesugei’s wrist was ringing from the jarring strikes that ran through the spine of his blade - and the khan looked nowhere near tired.

Böri pressed on with a mighty roar as though he could kill him with noise and fury alone - bringing his sword around in a mighty blow that would have sliced him from hip to shoulder…if Yesugei did not jerk aside from the building heat at his back. The khan had pushed him back all the way to the edge of the dueling ground, and his sword scraped loudly against one of the iron braziers, sending sparks flying.

Yesugei fell onto his singing back, then threw all his weight behind a kick at the base of the brazier as Böri glowered at him. In an instant, a hundred burning coals spilled free from the scratched iron bowl, and in a shower of embers the khan’s orange silks were aflame.

The khan gave a hoarse shout of surprise and then agony as he wildly thrashed about, his sleeves trailing long, orange tongues through the air. The flames might have looked a part of his robes, had the silk not burned black. The khan’s sword seemed to take a life of its own as he madly slashed it through the air, and then Yesugei saw his opening.

As the khan ripped free of his burning silks and hurled them in Yesugei’s face he rushed close and low - the burning robe flew overhead, and his blade cut a silver blur into the khan’s side. The slash sent a cry through the crowd, and sent the Baskord khan reeling back as blood sprayed onto the grass.

When Böri staggered back to his feet his breathing was ragged and panicked - though his flesh remained unburnt by the flames, his right side dripped with blood where Yesugei’s blade traced a thin red line that nearly opened his guts. A terrible fear smothered the crowd’s raucous joy. Fate had granted first blood to the Baskords’ enemy - and before Böri could regain his footing proper, Yesugei took his turn to rush forward in their steel dance. Then it was the Baskord khan's turn to give ground as Yesugei pressed to attack, and fear over the crowd was hammered ever deeper with every ring of their blades.

Yesugei threw himself bodily into the attack, his sword a silver blur as he cut high for the khan’s head, cut low for his legs, and pushed ever onwards, nearly forcing the khan into the crowd of onlookers Yet he felt his fortunes beginning to turn the longer he gave his dance - for even with the Baskord khan injured, Yesugei could not find an opening in his defense. And pressed as he was, the Baskord khan was quickly regaining his footing, and Yesugei was tiring.

Soon, the steel in his hand felt as though it were turning to lead, and his lungs were burning from the effort of his blows and from gulping down the frigid morning air. His cuts began to come slower and slower, and when Böri sidestepped his final strike, Yesugei did not see the thrust to his face before it was too late to ward it aside.

He closed his eyes, jerked his head aside on what instinct he could summon, and felt his temple explode with pain and bloody warmth as the steel raked across the side of his head. Blood ran bright and crimson across his face and eyes, and the crowd roared their joy once more.

Yesugei was vaguely aware of a cry escaping his lips as he staggered back clutching the gushing wound, but through the pounding of his head he heard the crowd chanting, Death, death, death!

He opened his left eye, and through the blood saw Böri raising his sword to finish him off - and his own wretchedly-heavy sword refused to rise, damn it all!

The saber reached its zenith with a pale sheen playing across its polished blade, but before Böri's sword could whistle down, Yesugei let his own sword fall from his hands, then he threw himself towards the khan, driving his shoulder into his stomach. He felt the bigger man grunt like an ox as the blow took the wind from his chest, swaying him off balance. Then Yesugei swept the khan’s legs out from under him, and both Khormchaks toppled to the ground in a tangle of limbs. The Baskord cried out in pain as he landed on his wounded side, and his sword clattered to the ground free from his grasp.

Sword…sword…sword! He rolled off the groaning khan and jumped for the blade on the ground. The moment his fingers grasped around the precious ivory handle however, he felt the khan's hand grab around his ankle.

A powerful jerk brought Yesugei to the ground once more, but the sword was in his hand, and that was all that mattered. He twisted to land on his back as he fell, and as the larger Baskord climbed on top of him he thrust the edge of the blade upwards to plant it against the khan’s throat.

Yield, he would say. The real enemy grows stronger the more we shed each others’ blood. Yield, and let us both live.

He pushed the sword to the khan’s throat - and then felt his stomach drop as he saw Böri’s fingers wrapped around the honed steel, grasping it firmly from his neck. The harder Yesugei pushed into the khan’s hand, the larger the crimson droplets along the blade welled up until they fell free onto his face, blinding him further. But the khan's grip did not falter.

No…no…no…

The steel blade began to flex, and Böri gave a loud hiss as his hand trembled from the blade biting into his flesh. Then suddenly, Yesugei felt the blade rip free from his hands, and the khan threw the bloodied sword far across the grounds, hopelessly out of reach. Before he could bring his hands up to protect himself, the khan threw a punch that sent his world spinning and shook his teeth loose in his skull.

“Kill him!” came the shouts from all around. The crowd’s cheering was exhausted, desperate, even. “Finish him!”

The second punch filled Yesugei's mouth with the taste of blood, and his vision cleared enough to see the khan raising his fist for another blow.

No…no…I swore an oath…I cannot die…

“Kill him, Böri!” the crowd roared, and the Baskord khan brought both hands high in the air to finish it all.

No…no…yes! Yesugei's own hand darted in a final, spiteful strike into Böri's wounded side - he dug his thumb deep into the bleeding cut. Immediately the Baskord khan howled in agony, and his weight shifted just enough for Yesugei to roll free from beneath his crushing bulk, grabbing for the khan's fallen sword once more.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the khan reaching for Yesugei’s own saber, and then they both rose to their feet, circling one another like injured, trembling wolves. Yesugei's breathing rattled in his ears as he struggled to even keep the sword aloft and pointed at the khan. Every muscle in his tired, beaten body screamed for rest, and the agonized pounding in his head threatened to drop him to the ground all on its own.

The khan himself stood tired and feeble - his easy prey exacting a heavy toll for each blow. In the khan's bloodshot eyes Yesugei saw rage, fear, and…surprise?

The crowd had fallen deathly quiet - so quiet that the only sounds to be heard were crackling of the fires, the whispers of the grasses, and the creak of a bow being drawn tight.

Böri’s eyes widened. “No, no-”

“Stop!” another voice cried, high and feminine. Familiar.

The bowstring twanged loudly from behind Yesugei, and a moment later the arrow brushed just barely past his side. The brightly-feathered shaft stuck in the ground between himself and the khan, and an enraged shout came up from the crowd. The bowman who loosed his shot into the duel collapsed to the ground clutching his head, and over him stood Aysen's daughter with a horsewhip.

“Idiot!” Roared Böri as he crouched to pull the arrow from the ground. “Have you lost all respect for our ways? Is this what my warriors have come to?!”

The khan snapped the arrow in two, and cast it aside in disgust. The warriors, the noyans, and the gathered crowd stood in sheepish silence at the khan's sudden rage - and only the whistling of the breeze broke the quiet. Then the khan lowered his sword, and planted the tip into the ashen ground with a sigh. Relief flooded over Yesugei as he lowered his own blade. It was over. For better or worse, it was over.

“Who am I to speak of honor, when my own men resort to shooting our enemies in the back?” The Baskord khan laughed, then gritted his teeth as his bleeding side gushed anew. Yesugei saw it took all of the khan's effort to remain standing, but Böri's voice did not waver. “The spirits must look kindly upon you to give me such a fight, Yesugei-mirza. And for that, you may leave our lands, as I have promised.”

Hushed whispers abounded around them. The longbeard noyan pushed his way through the circle, his face beet-red. “My khan, you had said-”

“-that Yesugei-mirza may leave if the spirits grant him life, not victory,” shot back Böri to the noyan and the crowd. “Surely our people know the difference, Toktar-noyan. We who lost, but still live to fight and suffer for another day.”

Böri gave him a grim nod. “Such was your father's mercy, Yesugei-mirza. One which I shall only extend once.”

To the girl-shaman who stood over the groaning archer, Böri commanded, “Tuyaara, you will escort our Qarakesek guest to the spring pastures and let him fly. See that he has a horse, arms, and food enough to leave our lands for the High Road, but no more.”

Tuyaara bristled at the task, but begrudgingly nodded before sticking her horse whip back into her belt.

“And for the rest of you,” called Böri to the sullen crowd. “The spirits have shown our war will be hard, and our war will be bloody. But I promise that I will bleed for you all first, and set my sword down last should you follow me!”

The khan pulled his sword from the ground and raised it to the sky, the dark heavens above. “These ashes that have sullied our new lands blow from the east, where the dogs that have stolen our real homes now fight among themselves as Aysen-guai’s Sight has shown! The spirit-caller has already moved to follow the summons of the Black Heavens, and I intend to bring our ulus in his wake - for united, the Qarakesek were unstoppable, but torn apart…they are nothing but starving dogs once more."

From the east…? The khan’s words rang with a terrible dread in Yesugei’s mind. A terrible fear.

Black for the east…the Khurvan…the kurultai…

The ashes…how long they had fallen upon the earth? Whether wood or silk or flesh, all of it burned the same - all of it turned to ash.

Suddenly, the black ashes that covered the grasses spoke their own truth - he knelt to the ground and scooped a handful of the dust into his bloody hands, feeling the coarseness along his fingers as he had not before. Within the tiny grains felt as though he could see things as his brother Nariman had - visions, terrible and so real he felt as though he were there, where the ashes had first risen from the earth. Within the grains he saw the fires, the Valley of Milk aflame, the whole world aflame - and then a quiet whisper, carried by the winds which blew far from home.

Fire. Fire everywhere. So, so much fire.

The khan’s voice echoed in his ears as Yesugei’s world grew small and dark. “...for those who will ride with me, for those whose hearts yearn for the native land, strike your yurts and snuff out your fires now, for by noon we march east, towards the rising sun once more, towards our home once more! That is where our real war lies. And if we are to die, let it be on our native land once more!"

No…no…no...

A cheer rose up from the Baskords, and the ninth son of Tsaagandai pressed his ash-covered hands to his face. His eyes were hidden from the world, but he still saw the faces swirling in his mind - too many to count, too many agonies driven into his silent heart. Nariman, Gulsezim, Talgat, Erasyl…everyone was gone: his brothers, his sisters, his father, his home, all swallowed by the flames.

Bones and ruin, ash and death. Where there were twelve…now there was only one. One lonesome son.

How could he have been so blind?

How could he have been so foolish?

How could the spirits have allowed him to live and let them die?

My blood…my spirit…and my love…

It felt as though a hand had wrapped around his throat, choking down the scream his silent heart wished to set free.

But even if he could weep…who was there to listen?

Who was there to hear the cry of the last son of Tsaagandai-khan?