The next morning Temujin told his friends that they must hunt through the desert and the mountains for the half dozen warriors and Belgutei who had escaped the Merkit. He and Jamuga would go together through the most dangerous country where the Taijiut ranged, and Subodai and Kasar would go to the north and west, respectively. But first they all hunted for food for the women and children, and when this was supplied, enough for several days, they left on their search for their warriors.
Temujin and Jamuga rode side by side for a long time, only stopping to replenish themselves, and to search each foot of the menacing country. But only the silence of the barrens greeted them, in spite of their ringing shouts when they entered a place of caves and hollow cliffs and sunken valleys. Only the blinding sun and the searing wind met them everywhere, except for the hoarse calling of a few desert birds, and the scurrying of frightened lizards over the hard earth. They avoided oases and streams by day, fearing the Taijiut, and seeking water only at night, and in silence.
By the third day, Jamuga was possessed by stark fear, for it seemed to him that it was not Temujin who rode so silently and inexorably beside him, but an implacable stonelike fury, exhaustless. Temujin spoke less and less, and rode on rapidly when Jamuga was certain that he, himself, would fall from his horse prostrated. His profile, lifted against the burning blue sky, was the profile of a bird of prey, sharp and bronzed and haggard, which could never be turned back, but would go on, pursuing until avenged. Each hour found him leaner, and darker of skin, and grimmer of lip. The two young men no longer conversed with each other, saving their strength for their periodic shouts and calls. And then, as they penetrated deeper and deeper into the Taijiut country, they used their eyes more than their voices, and searched for signs in the gravelly earth. Once, in the violet twilight, they saw the distant orange fires of a camp of the Taijiut, and they drifted far away in a circle, like shadows.
At last Jamuga said: “It is not possible, Temujin, that they have come so far away, into this dangerous country. Let us turn back.”
Temujin did not answer for a long time, and then he said: “It is true. Tonight, if we have not found them, we shall turn back. Yet, I have a premonition that they are not far away from us today.”
They had come onto a vast steppe, and standing knee-deep in the green grass, Temujin looked about him and said: “These are the pastures of my people. I shall seize these places for them.”
“They were once ours,” replied Jamuga, sadly. “The Taijiut do not need all these pastures. Why do men seize more than they need? Surely, there is enough space in all the world for all men.”
Very slowly, Temujin turned his face to him, and the dark contempt on it struck Jamuga like a blow. But Temujin did not speak, but only swung himself up on his horse again, and loped away. I do not understand him any longer, thought Jamuga with deep dejection. But, did I ever understand him, in truth?
Yet, later, when he caught up with Temujin, nothing could have been gentler than the young khan’s smile. They rode side by side in a warm silence, Temujin leaning towards his anda, and resting his hand lightly on his shoulder. To Jamuga, this was peace and happiness, and he thought to himself that he would be content to ride like this into eternity, with Temujin’s hand on his shoulder and the sun in their faces. Surely, surely, he thought, with a sort of passion, there could be nothing sweeter than friendship and trust and love, and men who had them not were men who walked in blindness armed only with hatred, dangerous men whom other men must kill in order to save the world.
They camped that night in a high pine forest, sleeping under one blanket. At least, Temujin slept, but Jamuga did not. Sleep was never a familiar of his, for his thoughts were always too sad and melancholy. But he could marvel at the stern will of Temujin, who could slumber at the very threshold of enemies, and who never allowed himself the miserable luxury of anxiety and despair. He lay on his back, his quiet harsh face upturned to the moon, and Jamuga remembered the colossal and fateful profile which Kurelen had pointed out to him, saying that it was the profile of Temujin. It was true. This sleeping man’s face was the face of the sleeping giant, portentous and full of power of doom. And again, Jamuga’s heart sank into a pit of sadness, and he knew that he had been riding in an illusion, and that he did not know Temujin at all.
He leaned on his elbow, and stared at his anda. And as he did so, his mind became confused, and it seemed to him that all the brightness of the moon had come to a focus in Temujin’s sleeping face, and that beyond it there was nothing but nebulous unreality. He was appalled and fascinated and terrified; he kept shaking his head, as though to rid it of its mounting confusion. And the moon burned brighter with its argent light, and gave a look of wild ferocity to Temujin even while he slept, a fatal look. A lock of his red hair blew softly across his brow. But it did not alter his expression; it might have been a butterfly fluttering over stone.
The next morning Jamuga said: “We must turn back. They are not here in this country.”
Temujin agreed. But there was a curious light in his eye, and Jamuga knew that he was thinking of something else. His eye had the stillness of a gray lake over which his thoughts hovered like clouds, but could not be discerned. At last he said:
“These are wonderful pastures, unknown to us. But I shall have them for my people.”
They stood on a vast green plain filled with quiet radiance. For scores of miles they could see nothing but this immense green flatness, which was like a sea rippling gently in the wind. To the north there was a single white peak, incandescent in the sun, blazing like crystal. The air was as pure as mountain water, and as clear, and the wind was laden in the fresh scents of earth and grass.
When Jamuga did not answer, Temujin turned to him with a smile:
“Thou dost think I am boastful. Thou dost not believe me.”
Jamuga regarded him for a moment in pale silence, then he said bitterly: “I do believe thee!”
And then, overcome with his sad and distracted thoughts, he rode ahead, followed by Temujin’s light and indulgent laughter.
At noon, Temujin said: “Thou art right. We must turn back now.”
They swung their horses about, and rode away from the great white peak, which had seemed to approach no nearer to them. They left the steppe towards evening, and rose over a swelling terrace. And then stricken with fear, they stood for a moment, immobile. For advancing towards them was a detachment of horsemen, the Taijiut.
At length Jamuga uttered a low cry. “The Taijiut! They have seen us! Let us flee!”
But the horsemen had already seen them. They were led by Targoutai, Temujin’s old enemy, and instantly he recognized the young man by his fiery red hair and the straight tall way he sat his horse. He gave vent to a shrill and triumphant shout, and, followed by his men, he galloped towards Temujin, brandishing his lance.
“Come,” said Temujin in a low voice, and they turned their horses about and rushed away with the fleetness of shadows. They heard singing sounds, and saw arrows flying past them. The horsemen were gaining on them, filling the sunlit air with hoarse shouts, for their horses were fresh and Temujin’s and Jamuga’s were already tired. Temujin reined in his horse. He looked at Jamuga fiercely.
“Go on, Jamuga, and I will try to halt them for a moment, to give thee time.”
Jamuga looked into his eyes, and replied steadfastly: “Nay. I will stand with thee, and if thou diest, then I shall die by thy side.”
“Thou fool!” exclaimed Temujin, but even then he could smile at his anda.
He pulled on his reins, and his horse reared on his hind legs, swung about. Temujin balanced his lance in his hand, and Jamuga fitted an arrow to his bow. They stood against the blue sky, ready and unmoved.
The Taijiut, surprised at this unexpected stand, reined in their horses and slowed their speed. But Targoutai, who wished only to kill Temujin, came on, thinking his men still at his heels. Temujin narrowed his eyes, lifted his lance, measured the narrowing distance between himself and his old enemy. Targoutai came on like an avenging shadow, racing over the green grass. And then Temujin lifted his lance, pointed it, and let it fly forward with all the power of his young strength behind it. A second later it buried its head in Targoutai’s thigh, and another second later, Jamuga’s arrow had hurled itself into the neck of Targoutai’s horse.
The horse, with a scream of agony, reared upwards, and Targoutai, with a shriek of pain, grasped futilely at the reins, fell backwards, and rolled off the horse, crashing heavily on the ground. The horse lost his balance and fell also, his shoulder striking Targoutai in the belly. The horsemen, coming up at an accelerated pace, swerved, but two of them stumbled over the fallen man and his horse, and were flung headlong. The air was filled with the cries of men and horses.
“Come!” said Temujin, and again he and Jamuga fled. The fear of death spurred them on, and they struck at their horses viciously. They galloped at a furious speed, leaning forward and standing in their stirrups, not caring about direction but only hoping to outrun their enemies. And their horses, imbued with their own terror, forgot their weariness and raced onwards, bellies almost level with the grass.
Temujin glanced back over his shoulder. What he saw made him laugh with exultation. For the Taijiut had fallen far behind. Only three were following now, and without much enthusiasm, swinging their lariats half-heartedly, and pursuing the two young men with hoarse threats. Only a short time later Temujin had lost his pursuers. He and Jamuga were running now over the lower level of the valley towards the incandescent white peak, the mountain Burkan.
Temujin fixed his eyes steadily on the peak. There lay comparative safety for a time at least. The horses were panting; their hides were covered with foam. But still they spurred them on, anxiously scanning the sky, hoping for the swift twilight of the steppes.
It came, a purple curtain dropping over the earth. Now the white peak had turned to a glowing rose against the amethyst sky. The wind mounted to a deep and thundering sound like the voice of a tremendous drum. Over the mountain appeared the tremulous face of the moon, brightening momentarily. They were alone on the earth, slackening their pace. The horses panted heavily. To rest them for a while, the young men dismounted, and led them by the bridles.
The ground was no longer grassy, but broken by boulders and low stones. And then the earth dipped and rose in steep hollows. In the shelter of a shelf of mingled earth and stone, the two young men stopped for the night, not daring to build a fire though the air had become as cold as ice. They wrapped themselves in their cloaks, huddled together under their blankets. And instantly, they were asleep from exhaustion, even Jamuga whose mind was always a battlefield for distressful thoughts. Above them towered the mountain Burkan, like a gigantic protection, black and silver against the milky heavens.
The dawn came, all pearl and blue and gold. Temujin said: “The mountain hath saved my life. Unto the end of my days I shall make sacrifice here, and command my children to the least one to do it also, in my name.”
He folded his arms on his breast, and bowed deeply, three times, before the mountain, which the morning had turned to white flame. And then he bowed to the sun, and called upon the eternal Blue Sky to guard him forevermore.
A little later, having drunk of a cold mountain stream and swallowed a handful of dried millet, they circled about and cautiously began the journey homeward, avoiding as much as possible any open stretches of land during the day, and riding across them only at night.
It took them several days to reach the little river Tungel again, and the Mongol camp. And there, to their great joy, they discovered that Belgutei and the others had been found, and had returned.
Kurelen was out of danger, now, and listened with eager attention to Temujin’s account of his flight from the Taijiut, and that night the Shaman, after a short hint from Temujin, made sacrifice to the Blue Sky because of the young khan’s escape.
Two nights later Chepe Noyon arrived, triumphant, and followed by a large and formidable detachment of Karait warriors, sent to aid Temujin, by Toghrul Khan.