Nineteen-year-old Tengis frequently thought about Chinggis Khaan and his evil cousin Khad. They had both played out their eternal struggle in Tengis's dream world every night since he had been born. It was Tengis's private joy. The two most famous, most infamous men Tengis had ever read about were somehow linked to him. It was only as he grew older that Tengis began to question why.
Tengis shook the recurring dream from his mind and crept out of bed. Stretching to his full five foot ten inches, Tengis stood proudly in front of the mirror and stared at the moonlit reflection facing him.
‘You're the man,’ he said, pulling his stomach muscles taut and adopting a weightlifter pose. He didn't have much muscle but that didn't stop him loving his appearance. He looked deep into the eyes that stared back at him and knew without any shadow of a doubt that he was Chinggis Khaan. He had to be. It all made sense.
Tengis was taller than any of the other boys his age. He could beat anyone in a fight – mostly by foul means. He could debate more directly, if less diplomatically, than anybody else. He had always been top of his class in every subject. He looked just like the pictures and statues that lined the city avenues . . . or so his mother said. She'd even given him the same surname. He had an unhealthy level of ambition of which everybody was wary. More importantly, his dreams confirmed it. Night after night, between glimpses of the fighting cousins, Tengis dreamed about leading armies across the wide-open Steppe that ran through the heart of Ongolium. He dreamed of taking his armies towards victory through the mountains; about frenetic bloody battles where he was always the victor; about ruling the vastest empire the earth would ever know; about being revered and loved by a billion loyal and fearful subjects. There was also the voice that whispered to him.
Tengis had been born in the centre of the bustling disjointed Baatarulaan (formerly known as Ulaanbaatar), capital city of Ongolium (the country that had once been known as Mongolia). His father had joined the army and set forth on a very important campaign when Tengis had still been a youngster, or so his mother had said. Tengis was still waiting for his father's return fourteen years later and couldn't understand what was keeping him away. As far as he was aware, Ongolium hadn't quarrelled with any other country since the infamous sacking of Baatarulaan eight centuries previously. Why Ongolium even needed an army was beyond Tengis, although he knew it was only proper that it had one. Ongolium had resolutely determined its own course and Outsiders were not wanted in any shape or form.
The voice that whispered was what really confirmed his belief. Before any dream got underway, and after every enemy had been vanquished, the voice of a man spoke quietly to him. It told him to look for his greatness; to remember who he was; to forget all others and be true to himself. Despite being born several hundred years after Chinggis had died, Tengis had all the proof he needed. He was the true Mongol emperor. He just couldn't quite figure out how this could be possible. What Tengis did know was that he was Chinggis and that it surely meant change was coming; though he didn't know exactly what it would look like.
As far as Tengis was concerned, Ongolium had only one truly famous son and one infamous legend.
Chinggis Khaan was that son, although he was now widely known as Genghis Khan much to the chagrin of purist historians. Chinggis had lived at the turn of the thirteenth century and during his sixty-six long years had successfully built an empire stretching from the Strait of Anian, between Asia and North America, to Italy, and from the Arctic Circle to Siam. At the centre of Chinggis's domain was his beloved Mongolia: the land of the eternal blue sky; land of the horse; land of his fathers and their fathers and their fathers and so forth. From Mongolia he ruled his empire with ruthless determination. Key to his success had been the natural abundance of horses in his homeland and the innate ability of his countrymen as expert horsemen. He established the largest, most highly skilled and utterly fearsome cavalry to gallop the globe. As Chinggis was wont to say: ‘Spare the horse, spare the enemy!’ He killed bountifully and showed mercy sparingly but, contrary to many history books, he wasn't all about anger and tempestuousness. He was one of the very first people to see the vast benefits that could be found if one embraced cultural and religious diversity. He allowed his subjects to worship who, or what, they chose and to continue the traditions of their choice so long as they paid him a tax for the privilege. Indeed, Chinggis and his people revelled in the new-found wealth of knowledge that their exploits uncovered. Theirs was a civilisation that surpassed all that had gone before in terms of intellectual accomplishment and was responsible for inventing many of the aspects of life we take for granted today.
The thick fur hats that kept Chinggis's warriors warm on the Steppe were later adapted into portable food stores, with horsemen keeping their meats warm for longer atop their bonces. This invention was later also adapted to keep infused hot water warm. Chinggis's excellent archers all had second jobs as messengers. They would wrap notes and military orders around their arrows and fire them to a post some 200 metres away, where another archer would do likewise until the desired recipient was reached. Chinggis was responsible for inventing many modern sports as well. After beheading his enemies, his men would often throw the vanquished heads to one another and endeavour to wrestle one another to reach a distant line – rugby was born in Mongolia long before any snotty schoolboy picked up a football. When his army were bored of tossing the heads to one another, or when the heads started to go a bit mangy, the soldiers would pitch them to a chosen soldier with a big stick who would try and hit it as high as he could into the air. In one fell swoop baseball, rounders, cricket and, ultimately, racquet sports came about. Eyeballs became golf balls. Teeth became dice.
Fearsome, intelligent warriors they may have been, but Chinggis and his fellows also knew how best to kick up their heels at the end of each campaign. They were often to be seen singing boisterously at the end of battle about the good old days when things were in order, goats were plentiful and there was enough peace and quiet to enjoy a good book with a cup of boiling hot water infused by herbs. It was a delicately balanced dictatorship with a faint aroma of jasmine, but it worked. No one had managed to come anywhere near achieving this feat during the intervening centuries. Mongolia cradled the world in its hands and nurtured its billion or so subjects. Peace held throughout and although there were those who were jealous of Chinggis and did their best to deride him, most people loved him and lived in harmony and happiness.
Chinggis only kept counsel with his three closest allies. His army general Bold ruled the western empire from Italy to Kazakhstan. His childhood friend Khasar ruled the southern Asian region covering China and the spice routes. The northern reaches covering Russia were the domain of his young cousin Khad. Chinggis lived in his beloved Ulaanbaatar in the heart of Mongolia, a city overflowing with tradition, learning and virtue. He had been so forthrightly downright aggressive and angry with those he had encountered as he built his empire that they remained in fear and awe of him for years afterwards. As a result, he could rest happily in his city and idle away his days having fun with his beloved Tsara, a princess from eastern Europe whom he had met in a bar in Budapest. These were happy days for Chinggis, though he tried not to be smug.
Khad, however, wasn't happy; he wasn't happy at all. He didn't like the cold and as a keen gardener Siberia proved useless to him. He was jealous of Bold and Khasar who retained warm, fertile and rich lands. Khad was also an ambitious young man, very ambitious. Full of mischief he arranged a supper with Bold and Khasar under the guise of discussing a surprise birthday present for Chinggis. Shortly after the onion soup had been served he had his friends beheaded. Rather than own up to his wrongdoing he ran to Chinggis declaring that he had uncovered a vile plot to ambush and murder his closest friends as they slept in camp. Khad knew that such news would enrage Chinggis. He knew his cousin would undoubtedly depart immediately to try and save his friends. Khad knew Chinggis would act rashly and set off to wreak revenge without waiting for support from his personal bodyguards. The moment Chinggis had entered Bold and Khasar's ger he was slain instantly. So came to an end the world's greatest emperor, hastily undone by a greedy cousin who didn't like the cold.