Yesi, in her extreme terror, spoke to her husband.
“That man, that Turk, is evil,” she said. “He doth speak words of reason and understanding and nobility. Nevertheless, he hath them not in his heart. He desires thy help because he is afraid, and not because the welfare of men is dear to him.” Jamuga, who had been white and distraught for many days, was forced to admit the wisdom of his wife’s words. He looked into her clear blue eyes, so innocent, so full of anguish for him, and he felt a pang of almost unendurable love for her.
“Thou dost speak the truth, beloved,” he answered gently. “Nevertheless, though he hath no goodness in his soul, yet his words are true. The tiger is at large; we must cage or destroy him.”
Yesi said quietly: “This tiger is thine anda.”
A look of torment flashed over Jamuga’s thin face. “I know!” he cried. He wrung his hands. “I know! But he is also a tiger.”
“He hath been good to thee, my lord.”
“I know! But nevertheless, he is a monster.” He took his wife by the hand, imploringly. “Yesi, my sweet, wouldst thou have me join him in his crusade against the world?”
She suddenly pressed herself against him in the extremity of her fear. “Nay, my lord! I must confess I think only of thee: if Temujin doth hear of this, he will kill thee at once.”
He put his arms about her tenderly. His expression was both sorrowful and dark. “I know this. I have only two choices: to join the ravager, or to help stop him. Thou knowest which I must choose. Everything else must be forgotten.” He sighed. “Would I that I had never known thee, and that thou hadst not borne my children! Now, I must be haunted by fears of thy fate, if I am overcome.”
She saw his suffering, and now had only one desire, to ease it. She smiled at him with passionate love. “Surely, thou shalt not be overcome! God is in His heaven, still, and surely He will not allow goodness and sweetness and peace to pass away from the earth. Thou shalt conquer, my dearest one; thou shalt overcome the evil.”
He nodded his head. “I must have faith in this.”
He took his horse and rode away to an open space near the river. And as he rode, he was conscious again of the old painful loneliness and bitter longing. For years he had, riding like this, imagined Temujin beside him, and speaking, as they had always ridden and spoken in their youth, understanding each through the medium of a word, and sometimes by only a touch or a glance. These years of solitary riding had not been empty, for now he could speak in his mind to his anda, and all the old misunderstanding had vanished, and only the love and friendship remained. He would return, satisfied and at peace, like one who has conversed with a beloved brother, and knew he would see him tomorrow again.
But today he rode alone indeed, and there was no shadowy companion with him. And he knew that never had he been so alone, so solitary. Some psychic amputation in him bled and ached. The mournful realization came over him that a death had taken place, some beloved had died, and that he would henceforth be unutterably lonely and lost.
Now he was no longer enraged against Temujin. The suffused features of the monster had disappeared, and only the face of his anda was left, young and gay, violent and turbulent, vehement and generous. He thought of Temujin as one thinks of the dead. The creature which had taken his place was an enemy, as much Temujin’s enemy as his own.
His heart shook with his anguish. His eyes gazed blindly at the green and flowing river, and the golden grain.
O Temujin! he cried silently, where art thou? Why hast thou left me, abandoned and alone, never again to see thee nor to hear thy voice? Never again shall we sleep under the same blanket under the stars. Never again shalt thou smile at me, and call me friend! Thou hast died. The world is as empty as a broken cup. It is a desert where no thing grows.
And then he was still, thinking only of the things which he must do. Some prescience told him that death would be his reward, and that all that he had done must fall into ruins.
But surely, he thought with sudden strength and courage, the things of hope and peace and love shall not die, nay, though the darkness and fury shall come, they shall live! It is in the nature of the world that though the storm cometh and the forest is broken, that though the volcano pour its lava over the vineyards, that though the winter blacken the pastures, there is a spring of the earth and the soul, and all things shall rise and bloom again.
This must be my faith. This must be the faith of all men.
Otherwise, the earth and all the peoples must forever die, and God Himself must pass as a shadow.