CHAPTER ONE
Brothers in Oath
It has been a long day and Timucin is very tired, but that is unimportant. He looks at the arrow he has just been given and tries to remember if he has ever seen anything as beautiful before.
The arrow is far more decorated than all the others he has seen. And he has seen a lot of arrows. After all, his father is the khan - and not just any khan, but the most powerful and feared for many days' ride. His yurt is full of the most splendid bows and arrows hanging on the walls. Often, other tribes come to visit.
These tribes have beautiful weaponry too. Not just spears, shields and glinting swords, but artfully carved bows and even more exquisite arrows.
So far, he has never seen an arrow like this one. It is longer than his arm, not as long as the arrows the men use, but at least two hands longer than the ones he and the other boys use to practise - and the carvings are so detailed that he is almost afraid to touch it. The arrowhead is not made of iron, but of bronze. This makes it weak and practically useless against anything with even thick fur, let alone against hardened leather or plate armour. Then again, this kind of arrow is not intended to be used like that. The soft metal has been engraved with artful lines and symbols, and the edges have been so carefully polished and sharpened that it could probably split a hair in half.
As he looks at it, Timucin is ashamed.
"It is... it is beautiful," he says. "I've never seen anything so beautiful. You are a true artist."
Chuzir pulls a face as if Timucin has just said something indecent or spoken badly of the gods. He too holds an arrow in his hand, the one that Timucin has given him in return for this stunning work. He is almost convincing as he pretends to admire it, even if there is very little to admire. It is a completely normal arrow, short and not even entirely straight. Timucin has polished the iron head as much as he can and added a few simple carvings with as much skill as his clumsy fingers allow. Chuzir is kind enough not to say anything about it.
"I am no artist," answers Chuzir after a noticeable pause and in an almost offended tone of voice. "Soon, I shall be a warrior," he adds with a sideways glance in Timucin's direction, "although I shall never be a khan, of course." He says these last words reproachfully.
"But this arrow..." says Timucin.
"I did not make it," interrupts Chuzir. "It was old man Schezen who did the carving. In return, I helped him collect firewood and peat for three moons." He looks at Timucin. "Do you not like it?"
"Of course," says Timucin quickly, "it's wonderful. But my own arrow is so..." He stops, embarrassed, but Chuzir just laughs and jabs him in the ribs so hard that Timucin will start crying if he does not stop himself with all the strength he has.
"That's not the point," says Chuzir, laughing, "because you probably needed just as much time to carve it as I spent helping that rip-off merchant Schezen carry wood whilst he sat by the fire keeping himself warm."
Perhaps that is true, thinks Timucin. Nevertheless, he is ashamed of the gift. If this were someone else, he would suspect them of trying to embarrass him by making such an exaggerated gift; but not Chuzir. Chuzir is his best friend, his only friend even - despite the fact that he is the khan's son. Or perhaps it is because he is the khan's son...
"Come on," says Chuzir, jabbing him in the ribs again, "let's go and try them out!"
Just the very idea of shooting this exquisite arrow and perhaps damaging it fills Timucin with horror, but Chuzir has already turned on his heels and run off, so Timucin follows him.
He runs as fast as he can, but he just cannot keep up with Chuzir and will probably lose him. Chuzir sees that his best friend is having trouble and slows down, then stops entirely. Nevertheless, Timucin is completely out of breath when he too gets to the top of the hill. Chuzir does not say anything, but he cannot stop himself from grinning. Not that he tries for one moment, either.
"I bet I get to the trees before you!" Chuzir says. He is not even breathing heavily, while Timucin's lungs are burning like fire and his heart is beating so hard he thinks it might burst.
"What a cheek!" thinks Timucin to himself, and then he turns to Chuzir.
"Why don't you just tell me what I have to do for you?" he asks grumpily. "After all, I shall have to do it anyway when I lose the bet. So I might just as well save my strength."
Chuzir grins and makes as if to jab him in the ribs again, but he just runs around and starts strolling towards the woods. Timucin follows, cursing himself for what he has just said. Of course, Chuzir will never tell anyone anything about it. Timucin is his friend, after all, and they are about to become brothers in oath. Yet if one of the other boys has heard what he has said, then it will just lead to more rumours in the village. And his father will not like that at all! He will have to be more careful about what he says.
The two young warriors reach the trees at the same time. Chuzir takes his bow from his shoulder, loads it with Timucin's arrow and, inspecting it closely, draws it halfway back. There he holds it, waiting until Timucin too has cocked his bow. He nods the signal to shoot and then draws back his bow in a movement as smooth as it is strong.
"Forever," he says.
"Forever," echoes Timucin.
Their arrows fly off with a twin crack. Despite being too short, bent and warped, Timucin's arrow, sped by Chuzir's bowstring, flies almost twice as far as the richly decorated work of art that he himself has shot off. It must have flown at least two hundred paces, perhaps even three hundred, before burrowing into the ground halfway between the trees and the riverbank.
"Forever", says Chuzir once again; and this time, too, Timucin echoes him.
Chuzir is beaming. A warm feeling comes over Timucin, accompanied nevertheless by a strange feeling of emptiness, almost of disappointment. So now they are brothers in oath. They have been talking about it since last summer and have made preparations accordingly, and somehow, he expected it to be... well, more dramatic. Taking an oath together is more than being brothers by birth; it means being bound together forever, being two parts of a whole who just happen to live in two different bodies. From this day forth, he will be willing to give his life to protect his brother if need be, and he expects this thought to be somehow... elevating. Shouldn't the earthquake and the heavens open? Shouldn't there at least be a thunderclap and a few flashes of lightning?
Yet there is nothing, of course. Chuzir embraces him briefly and then turns away brusquely. "Let's go and get the arrows."
They do not run this time, but Chuzir has almost twice as much ground to cover as Timucin to reach his arrow and, for some reason, Timucin does not want to follow him.
He pulls the precious arrow from the ground and wipes it down carefully. Suddenly he has an intense feeling of being watched. Perhaps the other young warriors had found out what they were doing?
Timucin turns round and stiffens. His hunch is true. Except that he is not just being watched, he is being stalked.
It's a dog, almost as big as a foal, but far heavier. It is a shaggy-coated monstrosity with huge teeth, dripping with yellow slaver. And it is standing about ten paces behind him at the edge of the forest, staring at him.
Timucin can feel his heart faltering. He hates dogs and is afraid of them more than anything else in the world. He grips the arrow tighter, but, although his life might now depend on it, something seems to be stopping him from drawing the bowstring. The dog might kill him. Perhaps it does not want to, but it can - and this thought is more than he can bear.
"Timucin, shoot!" cries Chuzir at almost the same moment as he releases his bowstring. The arrow whizzes past Timucin's cheek, stroking him with its feathers. As the arrow hits the ground just over a man's length away from the dog, it lets out a frightened yelp and runs off with its tail between its legs.
"Timucin, shoot!" shouts Chuzir again, "What are you waiting for?" Timucin hears Chuzir's steps and sees the huge dog bolting like a hare towards the trees and disappearing into the undergrowth. Chuzir reaches him, tears the arrow from his fingers and, faster than Timucin's eyes can follow, loads it into his bow. He draws the string back behind his ear and then... He lets out a moan as he drops the bow. The dog is gone.
"Why did you do that?" he asks angrily. "Why didn't you shoot?"
"Because, er, because the arrow..." stutters Timucin. Chuzir looks at him with a frown and Timucin continues to speak, with a nervous smile.
"I was afraid of breaking it, as it is so valuable..."
This only makes Chuzir angrier, but he says nothing more, pressing his lips together out of rage and stomping off past him to fetch his dart.
Timucin knows what will happen in the night. The dragon will come to him and show him what he has missed.
CHAPTER SIX
The Prophecy
...
"Now, did I promise too much?" asks Sarantuya. She is in a cheerful mood - well, as cheerful as a dragon the size of ten oxen can appear, at least. There is a glint of mischief in her eyes, and her long, SCALY tail seems to THUMP on the floor to the rhythm of some silent music.
"Wasn't that an exciting day? Well? Wasn't it?"
"Yes," admits Timucin. Then he pulls a face. "Well, at least it was for some of us here."
"Oh, don't be like that about it!" answers the dragon in a JOVIAL tone, which Timucin just does not understand.
"Come on! Every man in the village would give his eye teeth to share his yurt with the daughter of such of a mighty khan!"
"Yes, but she is a pain in the neck!" says Timucin.
"Pain in the neck? We have heard those words spoken before about the son of certain khan in your village..." The dragon lays her head sideways.
"So why is she such a pain? Because she says the truth?"
Timucin is OFFENDED, but does not say anything; he knows there is no use. When Sarantuya has decided to talk about a certain topic, then she talks about it - and that is that.
"Yes, but she laughed at me," he says after some time, "and insulted my father."
"No, she didn't," says Sarantuya, shaking her head so that he does not start to contradict her. Her smile disappears and her face looks worried, QUIZZICAL.
"Nevertheless, I feel RESENTMENT in you, my young friend. What went wrong?"
At first, Timucin wants to deny everything, but that would be pointless. Even if Timucin tries to hide things, Sarantuya can read his thoughts and he knows it. Nevertheless, she always insists on him saying them out loud.
"Chuzir," he admits.
"Your friend or, I beg your pardon, your brother in oath now. That makes him more than just a friend, doesn't it?"
"Some brother in oath!" says Timucin. "He told everyone about it!"
"About what?" asks the dragon, pretending not to know.
"About the thing with the dog," he answers angrily. "Now everyone in the village knows that I am afraid of dogs. Not just my father, but all of them."
"And what is so bad about that? I know that you know this already, but I shall say it again: even the heart of the bravest warrior is not free of fear. Only the most stupid people have no fear of anything, and these people do not live very long. But that is beside the point. Even we dragons know fear."
"Fear of what?"
"You would not understand it," answers Sarantuya mysteriously. "And this is not what we are talking about. Now, tell me, what is so bad about everyone knowing you are afraid of something?"
"Not just something," answers Timucin, "but dogs! Mangy little mutts! Everyone will laugh at me." Well, to be precise, they are already laughing, he thinks.
"No one will laugh at you when you are khan," says Sarantuya. "And what takes more courage? To face the scorn of your tribesmen because of who you are, or to fight with - what did you call it - a mangy little mutt? You could have beaten it to death if you had wanted. You are strong." "No, I am a coward," says Timucin bitterly.
"No, you are not!" says Sarantuya, almost angrily. "You were afraid of this dog, but you were even more afraid of people finding this out and laughing at you. A real coward kills what he fears, so that no one finds out about his fear."
Timucin thinks about the mighty teeth and the wild look in the dog's eyes. He doubts whether the animal really was all that harmless, but does not say anything for the moment.
"I still don't understand why he did it, though!" he continues. "He is supposed to be my best friend, and he betrayed me! Why?"
"Because, unlike you, in the depths of his heart he really is a coward!" answers Sarantuya quietly. "And he is furious."
"Furious? At me? But why me? I have never done anything to him!" "He missed the dog. For the first time ever he missed a target, and he blames you. And he is not entirely wrong, if you think about it a moment."
"Why? Because my arrow was bent?" says Timucin.
"Well, that is certainly what he thinks," says Sarantuya, winking conspiratorially, "but you and I both know why he really missed."
Timucin keeps quiet. What Sarantuya says does not make anything better. In any case, it is unimportant why he is to blame for Chuzir's failure.
"He is already regretting having told everyone," says Sarantuya, "so don't be angry with him. You are friends after all, right?"
"Well, that's what I thought until now, yes," says Timucin, upset.
"Friendship also means forgiving," says Sarantuya. "In fact, that is what it means above all."
Timucin is about to make a nasty comment when he notices movement in the corner of his eye and turns round, frightened. Something rushes away. It is big, scaly and snake-like, and disappears so quickly that he cannot make it out. Was it perhaps a...?
Surprised, he turns back to Sarantuya, who answers his question before he has asked it.
"Don't ask, my little friend. I can't answer, and he won't talk to you either. We only talk to the people we belong to."
It takes a moment for Timucin to understand what she means.
"So... you mean that somebody else here is speaking to a dragon right now?" he MURMURS. A moment ago, he would never have believed that dragons could grin. But Sarantuya can, and she grins almost shamelessly.
"Yes. For some time, too!"
It takes Timucin even longer to understand, then he turns around half-terrified to Arbesa. She is not there, of course, because this is just a dream. Sarantuya giggles.
"Arbesa?" he murmurs skeptically. "You mean... she too has a dragon?"
"Well, actually it's us dragons who have you and not you us," says Sarantuya, a little offended, "but yes, she does."
"Oh," says Timucin.
"Oh. Yes 'oh' indeed" says Sarantuya, making fun of his tone of voice.
"So you thought you were the only one?"
"If I'm honest, yes I did." In fact, if he is completely honest, he is not even sure whether Sarantuya actually exists at all.
"Well, in that case, I'm going to have to disappoint you," says Sarantuya, TEASING him, "you're not as special as all that, my little Khan!"
"But why did Arbesa not say anything about it?" mumbles Timucin.
"Why should she? She doesn't know you at all." Timucin thinks back: in fact, she did say something about it.
"Anyway, it's nothing special to her. Almost everyone in her tribe has a dragon-friend."
"The whole tribe?" says Timucin, ASTONISHED.
"Well, almost all of them," answers Sarantuya, "because they are a very peaceful people, and dragons love peaceful people."
"What? Dragons, of all creatures!" he says. He regrets this immediately, but of course, Sarantuya would have heard these words even if he had just thought them. She looks offended, upset and ever so slightly angry.
"You think that, just because we are big and strong, we are dangerous?" she asks. Timucin discovers that it is possible to blush in a dream too. He keeps silent.
"We are big and very strong," continues Sarantuya, sounding suddenly very serious and still slightly angry, "so no one can be of any danger to us, but why should this make us into beasts? We are not like you people!"
Timucin wants to say something, but Sarantuya motions him to keep quiet with an astonishingly human movement of her right paw.
"I know what people say about us. You all think we are monsters, horrible monsters who eat people and animals and burn land with our breath of fire." She winks at him before continuing. "That's about the size of it, right?"
"Hm," says Timucin.
"But that is not the way it is. We are just as big and strong as you think, even stronger - just one of us could wipe your tribe off the face of the earth. But why would we do that? No dragon has ever killed a person, and we never shall, as long as you are in existence."
"I'm sorry," murmurs Timucin, "I didn't mean to hurt you."
"I know," says Sarantuya in her usual, softer tones. Suddenly, she starts giggling.
"Did I just mishear something, or did you just say sorry to me, son of the khan?"
Timucin is silent and Sarantuya is serious again.
"Well, you would have asked that question at some point, and I've just answered it. Perhaps this was the right moment, now that you have met your wife."
"We are not married yet!" objects Timucin, but Sarantuya shakes her head, her scales jingling lightly as she does.
"She will be your wife, young Khan. You will live a long and happy life together, even though you will betray her one day."
"Me? Never!" says Timucin, outraged.
"Yes, yes, you will," says Sarantuya softly, "but don't worry - she will forgive you."
"You can see into the future?" says Timucin, eyes wide open.
"Not everything," says Sarantuya, "We dragons do not see into the future, not in the way you think."
"Well, you did predict that I was going to meet somebody who would be of great importance to me."
"That wasn't the future, my little friend that was just one day. But we do see a lot, that is true. Some of the paths into the future are clear and wide, some thin and blurred, or even forked. I can tell you that Arbesa will become your wife and that you will live long and happily together. What you do in that time is up to you. I can't see that."
"And even if you could see it, you wouldn't tell me," says Timucin.
"That's true," answers Sarantuya cheerfully, "but you will find the right way in any case. I'm almost sure!"
"Almost?"
"Almost," insists Sarantuya, "because even we dragons don't know everything. We have neither the right nor the power to get involved in your lives. But you have a good heart and I believe in you. Otherwise I wouldn't have chosen you1."
"Chosen?" repeats Timucin.
"We dragons choose the people to whom we wish to offer our friendship, and we choose very carefully. Only those who are pure of heart and who do not go the way of the sword will ever know us." Sarantuya hesitates for a moment, as if she is not sure if she should continue talking or not, but she does.
"You have never spoken of me to your father, am I right?"
Timucin answers with a shake of his head, and Sarantuya continues.
"And perhaps you shouldn't. Did you know that he too once had a dragon companion?" Timucin's eyes open wide.
"What? My father? The khan?"
"Before he was khan," answers Sarantuya, "at about your age." She laughs good-temperedly. "I shouldn't tell you of course... but... but he too was afraid."
"Of dogs?"
"No, of horses!" CHORTLED Sarantuya.
"Of horses?" gasps Timucin. "My father the khan was afraid of horses?!"
"He was not khan back then," answers Sarantuya, "and he faced and conquered his fear." Timucin needs a while to get used to this idea.
"And? What happened then?" he asks.
"He went the wrong way," answers Sarantuya in a way that makes it clear to Timucin that it is pointless to ask any further questions. She changes the subject.
"Back then, many of us had friends in your tribe. There was even a time when all of you had dragons. Why else do you think that so many of your tribe can remember us, without ever having seen us?"
"What happened?" asks Timucin.
"The same thing as almost always," answers Sarantuya sadly, "too many of you chose the wrong path." Timucin can feel the dragon's sorrow and he realizes that he has hit upon a subject that she does not want to talk about. Nevertheless, he asks another question, quietly.
"And which path is the wrong path, exactly?"
"Later," answers Sarantuya, clearing her throat loudly, "perhaps I've already told you enough for one day. Just be patient, my little Khan. We will have plenty of opportunities to talk again,) perhaps your whole life long. But that is your decision."
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