Introduction

The year is 573 and the legend is still remembered, still told by all their clans. Their

ancestors, while fleeing from attack, discovered a hidden passage which led them into the

secret valley of Ergenikon. The fruitful, abundant valley allowed their clans to live in peace

and flourish. When they decided it was time to leave, many generations had passed and the

way back had been forgotten. Wandering around, lost in the canyons, destitute and on the

brink of losing hope they prayed to the Sky God above and the Earth Mother below. Their

prayers were answered when the Gray Wolf Mother appeared and guided them out. Living

a nomadic life and united as the people of the Celestial Turks, they forever revered the wolf.

To the south of the Celestial Turks, in China, the Zhou and Qi Kingdoms are vying

for power. The Zhou Kingdom’s capital, Chang’an, is the original link of the Silk Road. It

connects other states and provides a passage for those who travel from afar.

These are times when alliances are forged and easily broken, and with it kingdoms

can be born or lost. The new ruler of the Celestial Turks, Arslan Tapo Kahn, has for now

switched his alliance from Zhou to Qi. To a young nomadic girl, Eliz, news of the alliance

would bring hope that her father may still be alive and may have returned from battle. Like

her ancestors before her, through her struggles, she too will discover that the wolf deserves

to be revered.

Chapter 1

A group of women walks by talking and laughing. One of them notices me and gestures for

me to join them.

“Come on, Eliz of the Orkhon, we’re going to visit the newborn.”

I point to my rug.

“I’ll go over as soon as I finish this row,” I reply with a smile.

She nods and hurries to join the others. Seven winters ago, I came to live here in the

Baykal Clan. I was only a child of ten when I arrived but a season later I began to collect the

wool to make my rug. The year after, I carded the wool, then bleached it. I later spun it and

colored it. I only sit down to it when all my chores are done and the weather is dry. I like to

work on it with my wolf, Muun, by my side. Muun is my only family apart from my father

who is fighting in battle.

I weave each thread with caution, with precision and with joy. I chose the colors and

the patterns with my father’s preferences in mind. I hope to see the day he comes riding out

from the forest or from across the plains or up our mountain. When he does, I will be

prepared. I will give him this rug and he will sit down upon it. He will stretch out his tired

legs and tell me that he is pleased with its texture, color and patterns. If, however, the thing

I fear the most should happen, then I will keep this rug until I have a child. I will give the

rug to my daughter or son and I will tell my child that this is indeed a very special rug. I

will tell my child that this rug was woven with memories. It was woven with hope and

patience. It was woven with acceptance and, most importantly, woven with love of family.

I finish three more rows and pack it away. I enter the yurt and place the rug, with

the threads, into its own protective bag. Back outside, with Muun by my side, I head toward

the yurt of the newborn baby.

Suddenly, Muun straightens his tail, lifts his ears and curls up his lip to reveal his

canine teeth. With narrowed eyes, he looks in the direction of the path that twists around

the side of our lush green mountain. There is chatter among the clan.

“The people from the desert will pass through and stay with us for three days.”

“I’ve heard they wish to trade a large piece of nephrite for our horses.”

“A piece of nephrite for our horses, huh!”

“Our horses are priceless. We should refuse.”

Muun begins to bark and soon the other clan wolves join in. I try to settle him.

“Hush, Muun, be still. We have been expecting their arrival for some time,” I tell

him.

Chief Ayhan comes out of his yurt. The sound of horses is getting louder and louder.

From around the bend, dust rises into the air. Men in gray ride with their swords hanging

from their sides, cutting through the clouds of dust as the pounding of hooves echoes off the

rocks.

“Eliz of the Orkhon, come stand by me,” calls out Chief Ayhan, gesturing for me to

join him. “You are gifted with many tongues. I may need you to speak and listen for me.”

“Yes, Chief, that I can do,” I reply.

Ready to offer the only gift I have, I wait by his side. I could never fully repay my

debt to the Baykal Clan, but by sharing my gift to speak and hear many tongues, I hope they

may consider me less of a burden.

As the people of the desert ride closer, they reveal themselves to be a group of nine

men. Despite the mild weather, most of the men have long facial hair. They wear white

shirts and pants with long gray robes that flap behind them. From their heads a gray fabric

flows down to their shoulders and is held in place by a pleated fabric band. The bands of all

the men, except for the one in the front center, are black.

Chief and I are in front of the clan and ahead of us is a group of armed men who are

always prepared for the unexpected. Almost thirty men stand ready, holding long swords in

one hand and round shields in the other. Up on the slope of the mountain, behind the rocks,

men with bows and arrows watch with caution.

The people of the desert slowly get off their horses. They take off their swords, which

are short in comparison to the ones we are accustomed to, and place them with the loads

hanging off the backs of their horses. Then they gather the horses around a tree. The man

who rode in the front center gestures for the others to walk toward us. He must be their

leader. They now appear to be completely unarmed. Their slow, careful steps bring them

closer and they scan the area with wary glances.

Their leader has a red band on his head, with a large gemstone secured on his

forehead. Addressing Chief Ayhan, he speaks a tongue I am not familiar with.

“Go on, Eliz, greet him with all the tongues you know,” instructs Chief.

I greet him with the tongue of the Mongolians but he doesn’t respond. I then try the

tongue used by those in the south, spoken by the Zhou and the Qi, the Chinese tongue. To

this he throws me a brief sideways glance and then turns to look back at Chief Ayhan.

“I am Tarsol. I am Chief of the proud Dunghu people,” he says speaking in Chinese.

“I am ruler of the desert lands along the mighty river Hush. I come here with peace and

bring greetings to you and your people.”

I look directly at him and in Chinese I say, “We welcome you, Chief Tarsol, and your

group. On behalf of the Baykal Clan, people of the Celestial Turks, we greet you with peace.

For the duration of your time here, we offer you our friendship and hospitality.”

We enter Chief Ayhan’s tent, and the chief and I sit on the floor in front of a long

wooden table. Tarsol’s glance sweeps around the yurt before he sits on the other side of

Chief Ayhan. As he crosses his legs on the rug, the skirt of his silk robe forms a circle

around him. Women of our clan bring in food and place it on the table. Tarsol sits with his

chin held high. When Chief Ayhan offers him a plate of cheese, he slowly takes a small

piece and begins to chew. He doesn’t seem to be very hungry. He rests one of his hands on

the edge of the table. With his silk sleeves and golden rings, his hand looks out of place

against the coarse wood.

Tarsol explains that he wishes to trade a bag of nephrite for one of our mares.

“Should the mare prove herself to be resilient, I would like to return at the end of the

coming winter. Then I would like to trade for another mare and a stallion,” he explains.

I don’t waste time speaking Tarsol’s words to Chief Ayhan. I know our mares are

worth much more so I answer on behalf of the entire Baykal Clan and all Turks who respect

themselves and their horses.

“Well of course our mare will be resilient. Our horses are said to be the toughest in

the world, more so than all other kinds,” I snap back.

With one raised brow, Tarsol’s eyes travel over my body and then he turns his head.

Chief looks at me with his lips pressed together. “Eliz, I don’t know what you’ve said

but please try to speak to our guest in a more hospitable tone.” He turns to Tarsol and smiles.

I continue to speak and listen for Chief Ayhan, this time in an amicable manner. I

decide to leave the discussion to Chief Ayhan and only to speak his words rather than my

own. I bite my tongue several times in order to tame it, but I suspect my eyes may be failing

to hide my displeasure.

Our women bring in mare’s milk and plates of fruit and cheese. As Tarsol tries the

food that is on offer, I stare at the bag of nephrite in front of our chief. He lifts it up and

places it in front of me.

“Take a look, Eliz,” he says. I put my hand in and take out a piece. It is creamy green

in color. The quality seems exceptional. New tools can be made and the remaining cuts will

be used for jewels.

“It is a fair deal, Eliz,” Chief says. “These people are unfamiliar with the strength of

our horses. They are strangers to these lands. Never let it be said that a Turk did not offer

hospitality to a guest. They will travel far and they will speak of their time here. We must

send them off with only kindness to remember.”

I glance at Chief Ayhan and see wisdom in his eyes.

“I suppose it would be difficult to travel so far and to have to trust people you have

only just met,” I say. “I hope that they will only remember kindness, even though I may have

offended with my tone.”

Chief Ayhan smiles. “You are young, Eliz. You speak many tongues but you only

know the meaning of the words. You do not understand the people who speak it.”

“What do you mean, Chief? Is it not clear that if I know the meaning of the words,

then I surely understand them? Why do you doubt me?”

Chief Ayhan shakes his head and sighs.

“I do not doubt your skill, Eliz. For your skill, I am grateful. It has been valuable to

me. Now listen to my instructions. Take Tarsol to the yurt we have prepared for him and at

the door, part with him in a polite way. Perhaps he will change his mind and think of you as

a kind person rather than a stubborn, strong headed one.”

After we are done eating, I offer to show Tarsol his yurt. We walk slowly toward it,

side by side. His men follow behind. Their two yurts stand close to the edge of the mountain.

Near the entrance of the yurt, I stop and look at Tarsol, a tall, slender man with a round

belly, whose eyes seem to be vacant of any joy. He appears to have lived around thirty five

winters. His thoughts must be heavy for his face seems to carry a constant look of unease.

Perhaps he would be friendlier among his own people. Perhaps he misses his family back in

the Dunghu Clan.

Holding the door open, I say, “This is the yurt we have prepared for you and your

men. Please enter. Our camp is your camp.”

Tarsol speaks to his men and they go in while he waits outside. I hear them in the

yurt, moving things about and speaking in their own tongue. One of his men pops his head

out and speaks to him. Tarsol enters the yurt without looking back. He forgets his manners.

He forgets to offer me any thanks. I walk away toward my own yurt. I don’t understand

Tarsol. The people of the desert are different to any clan people I have known. Their

presence unsettles my nerves. I walk to my yurt thinking about Tarsol with apprehension

and also a strange sense of pity.

I have spent two days alongside Chief Ayhan. At night I sleep in my own yurt with

my Baykal family. Tomorrow the people of the Dunghu will leave. Their arrival has created

excitement. The event has supplied the women with plenty to talk about for quite some

time. This afternoon Chief thanked me and said I was free to retire and relax for the rest of

the day.

Before the sun parts from the sky, I decide to walk away from the camp and enjoy

some solace by the stream. Muun follows with his tongue hanging out. Secluded among the

trees, I sit on a rock on the edge of the flowing water. I look around me with awe and

humility. Here on the highlands the air is infused with the fragrance of pine trees. The

whispering of winds coming from the rocks above and the forest ahead can only be

understood by the wise ones. The stream plays a simple melody as it flows, trickling over the

pebbles and brushing against branches. It is in harmony with the song of birds. Looking up

I see white clouds resting on the peak but further ahead gray ones are hanging in the sky.

Muun places his paws on my lap and I rub the fur behind his ear. Muun is to me the

only real family I have. Here, among the Baykal Clan, I am liked and treated with kindness.

In some ways I am like the Dunghu people. I too am a guest. I am Eliz of the Orkhon. The

Baykal Clan is my host until I find a man to marry. There are no men here that I can marry,

so I will have to marry out. Destiny has not yet presented me with a man to love, but when

it does, I will become Eliz of a new clan.

I was brought here by my mother’s mother, Narran. She brought me here to live

with the Baykal Clan when I was a young girl. My father is of the Orkhon Clan and that’s

the clan I was born into. My mother had become sick, so my father sent for Narran to

comfort her. When the spirits took my mother away, Narran was devastated. In her despair,

she refused to leave without me, so my father let me go. It would’ve been difficult for my

father to have lost his wife and then to give up the only child he had. However, he had

respect for his elders and put their needs ahead of his own. When Narran and I were about

to leave, he kissed Narran’s hand and placed it on his forehead. He then lifted his head and

looked into her eyes and said, “My respect for you is eternal, Narran. May the gods grant

you good health and a long life.” He then turned to me and said, “Do not cry, Eliz.

Remember that you are the daughter of Kartel, the warrior. Always be proud. Always be

strong.” My father’s words have been etched into my heart. I will never forget him, and I

will always be proud.

When I arrived, every night before I fell asleep I would think of my mother and

father. Narran would lie next to me and wipe my tears. I couldn’t tell her that I wished to go

back. Narran needed me. In time she too was taken by the spirits to join my mother. Our

shaman tells us spirits come to choose the ones they want and take them away. We cannot

die with the ones who have died. Many winters have passed, but my sorrow still follows me

like a shadow.

As the sun sinks further down, I get up and walk back. When I get to the camp, I

realize that most of the families have already entered their yurts. Most have their fires

burning. The smoke twirling up out of the roofs is forming curls in the air. I hear the

clanking of pots and jugs. I smell the aroma of stews cooking. I hear the coughing of an old

man from one of the larger yurts.

When I get closer to Tarsol’s yurt, I notice him standing at the entrance, watching

me walk by. He holds his gaze on me for about two blinks, then looks away. He could have

made a greeting gesture but he rudely turned his head. I should be the one offended by his

behavior, yet Chief Ayhan reprimands me for my tone. I will be glad when they leave. I keep

walking.

Before I reach the entrance of my yurt, I stop. Is he still standing outside? Is he still

watching me? I turn around to look and see that he is trying to talk to our chief. It appears

that he might be trying to tell Chief Ayhan something using hand gestures. Tarsol points to

a bag he is holding. Chief nods as though he has understood. They pause for a moment and

then at the same time turn their heads to look at me. Tarsol quickly looks away when he

realizes I’m staring back. Chief seems amused and walks over to me with a grin.

“Eliz of the Orkhon, I believe Tarsol has just made us another offer,” says Chief. “I

understand that he wishes to take not only the mare but also you.”

I stare at our chief, trying to understand what he is telling me.

“You see, Eliz of the Orkhon, your attributes have been noticed. He wants you as a

wife.”

“I do not want to offend you, Chief, but in what tongue did he speak?”

“He knows a few words of ours. He said, ‘Me take Eliz wife,’ and then he pointed to a

bag of nephrite. It is obvious he wants to take you back as his wife.”

“A bag of nephrite is what I’m worth! He offered you a bag for the mare also and

you accepted. Are you suggesting I am equal in value to the mare?”

“No, Eliz, no, this is only what he has offered for now. You must not take offense. If

you agree, you will become a chief’s wife. You will have a family of your own and we, the

Baykal Clan, will become allies with the Dunghu.”

“Perhaps I should speak to him myself,” I say.

I head toward Tarsol with Chief Ayhan by my side. Tarsol avoids my eyes as I

approach.

“I need to speak to you, Chief Tarsol, about an offer you have made to my chief.

Could you please repeat the offer?”

“Tell your chief that I offer him another bag of nephrite stone if he will agree to give

you to me as a wife. I will leave tomorrow with the mare only. I will return when the snow

of the coming winter melts. On my return I will take you. If the first mare proves to be

resilient, I will then also take another mare and a stallion.”

He is standing in front of me looking into the distance. He seems uncomfortable in

my presence. He begins to stroke his beard.

I turn to Chief Ayhan as I try to gather my thoughts.

“You are right, my chief. You understood him.”

Chief Ayhan looks at me as though he can see the thoughts in my mind.

“Think about it, Eliz of the Orkhon. He is a man of position and authority. He can

provide a life of comfort for you and your children. Destiny presents paths we may have

least expected. You are older than most of the unmarried girls and with each winter that

passes, it will become harder for you to find a husband. Perhaps your time has come.” He

places his hand on my arm. “Do not reply now, you have all night to decide.”

Tarsol clears his throat. “Tell your chief that I will leave behind one of my people to

teach you the tongue of the Dunghu.”

I think to explain to him that I have not yet given my consent, but I change my mind.

Perhaps it’s best I wait. I need to rest and I need to think. I will leave it for the morning. In

the morning I will know if this man, Chief Tarsol of the Dunghu people, ruler of the desert

lands along the river Hush, is to be the man I marry.

Chapter 2 I lie in my fur sack waiting for the sun to return. I can’t sleep and I have no idea how much

longer I will have to wait before I can get up and find Tarsol. With the fading glow of the

amber fire, I can barely see the silhouettes of my Baykal host family. Uncle Ozan and Aunty

Tulay lie side by side. Isil is asleep with his arms wrapped around his favorite small blanket.

He is a boy of ten but he still insists on taking his special blanket into his sleeping furs. It is

our little family secret that Isil needs it to aid him to sleep. Funda lies quietly close to me. I

am only one winter older than her and yet she looks up to me as an older sister. She is a

beautiful girl who has had many admirers come from other clans but she has never wished

to leave with them. All the young men of the Baykal Clan have been betrothed to girls from

other clans—all but one. Genghis is the only young man left in the clan who has not yet

been betrothed and I suspect that it is Genghis who Funda hopes for. As she sleeps serenely

beside me, perhaps she is dreaming of Genghis and how handsome he is.

Many a night I have dreamt about having a family like this. I could not grow up

with my mother and father. I could not have the life that Funda and Isil have had. However,

I can try to be like the mother Aunty Tulay is and I can try to ensure that one day when I

have children they will always be safe.

When the sun returns to the sky, I will tell my Baykal family of my decision. I will

then go out to find Tarsol. With Tarsol, the children I bear will be secure in their clan. They

will be well taken care of. I will have a cuddly baby to love. I will kiss my baby on the

cheeks a hundred times a day, for the cheeks of a child can only be kissed by the mother’s

lips. I will have a family of my own.

I open my eyes to see the dim light of morn seeping through the roof of our yurt. The

wooden frame holding up the felt skin of the yurt is barely visible. Gradually, a warm glow

illuminates our dome as I lie like an unborn inside the skeleton of a mother being. Brighter

and brighter it becomes. The shadow of a sparrow resting on the roof sways with the

breeze. The sparrow begins to chirp, only it’s not loud enough to wake everyone up.

Squawk like a falcon, little sparrow, squawk as loud as you can. Let everyone know that I

too will be married, that I too will have a home of my own, a family to care for, a clan to

belong to and children to nurture. Fly to my father, sparrow, and tell him the news, ask him

to return to me. He must be tired and older now; tell him that I will take care of him.

I toss and turn but time does not pass. Perhaps if I go out and milk the mare, when I

get back they’ll all be up. I slowly wriggle out of my sleeping fur. I roll it up and shove it

into its bag. I slip on my moccasins and fur vest, then slowly tippy-toe toward the door. I

carefully step around the sleeping bodies stretched out across the floor. As I reach out to

open the door, I accidentally knock over the empty iron jug that was hanging off the frame.

It crashes into the iron dish and, like a loud gong, the sound penetrates the silence of the

sleepy morning.

“Who’s there, what’s wrong?” mumbles Uncle Ozan.

Aunty Tulay sits up and rubs her eyes.

“Eliz, why are you up so soon? Do you need to relieve yourself?” she asks.

“I just thought I’d milk the mare, so sorry,” I reply.

Funda, still lying down, turns to me. “Don’t go alone. It’s deserted out there and

remember, the Dunghu men are here, you just never know.” She idly turns to Isil. “Go on,

Isil, you be a man, you take her.”

“He’s just a boy,” Aunty Tulay intervenes. She turns to her husband and nudges him.

“Get up, Ozan, you go,” she says.

He grumbles, turns away from her and covers his head with his sleeping fur. Aunty

Tulay nudges him again. “Get up, Ozan.”

He pokes his head out of the fur and with a grunt says, “What’s the hurry, the mare

won’t burst. I can’t hear anyone else outside, let’s just all go back to sleep,” and then he flips

the sleeping furs back over his head again.

Aunty Tulay shakes her head. “Really, Ozan, you can be so lazy sometimes.” She

turns to me. “I’ll go with you. My hands ache but I can still help carry the jug of milk back.”

She gets up and begins to roll out her sleeping fur. Outside, Muun, clearly awake

now, begins to circle the yurt, panting and whining for me to go out. As he stands waiting

near the door, his wagging tail taps repeatedly against the felt.

Uncle Ozan throws off the sleeping fur and sits up.

“Oh, what’s the point of trying to sleep,” he says. “Leave it to me, I’ll go later. Might

as well start the fire and get the tea boiling. Best we warm up our insides before we start the

day.”

He slowly gets out of his sleeping sack and rolls up the furs. I scoop out the ash from

the fire hole and step outside to pour it into the ash pile. Muun runs around me with his tail

shaking with vigor, so I stop and pat him for a while. Uncle Ozan also steps out to fill the

iron jug with water from the water barrel.

When we re-enter, Aunty Tulay already has the fire started. She moves closer to me

and asks in a soft voice, “What’s this gossip about the desert chief having his eye on you?”

Uncle Ozan puts down the jug, Funda sits up and pushes her hair out of her face

and Isil, lying in his place, reaches out to hold his special blanket.

Aunty Tulay examines my face. “It’s true isn’t it, he wants you as his wife.”

I nod. She pokes my arm. “Come on then, don’t keep us wondering, tell us more.

Have you accepted?”

I look at them and wonder if they will miss me as much as I’ll miss them. I’m not

blood, I’m not of kin, but I’ve been their guest for seven winters. Now they can be a family

of four again, without the burden of my presence.

“I will accept,” I reply with a smile.

Aunty Tulay’s face drops. A sheer glistening curtain falls over her eyes. She blinks it

away and pushes up a smile.

“Good for you, Eliz,” she says. “You deserve a chief, and he’s a fortunate man to have

found you.”

Uncle Ozan nods. “May the gods bless your unity, good child.”

“I can’t bear the thought of never seeing you again,” Funda says, “but I always knew

this day would come.”

I walk over to hug her. When I let go of Funda, I turn around and notice Isil sitting

with his back to me, clutching his special blanket. I walk behind him, hold his cheeks

between my palms and kiss the top of his head. He continues to look down at his blanket as

he rubs the fabric between his fingers.

We spend the morning quietly drinking tea and eating. Eventually, more noise is

heard outside, the sound of pouring water, a lady humming a tune, little feet running

around, giggles, and the tapping of a small hammer. When we are done eating and tidying

up, we all step outside. In the distance we see one of the desert men come out of their yurt

and place a chair under the shade of a tree. He goes back in and escorts Tarsol to the chair,

then bows and walks away. As Tarsol sits on the chair, the other men begin to pack their

supplies and load up the horses.

“It must be a comfortable life being the chief of the Dunghu,” Uncle Ozan says,

watching Tarsol discreetly.

Aunty Tulay huffs and shakes her head. “It sure looks that way,” she says.

Isil steps forward and points directly at Tarsol.

“That man’s got a long beard but he’s wearing a dress and he’s got a round belly like

a pregnant woman.”

Aunty Tulay lowers her eyebrows and pushes his hand down.

“Don’t be rude, son.”

“I’m not being rude. I’m just saying that he looks like a woman with his dress and

shiny rings.”

“It’s a long robe. He has pants under it,” Aunty Tulay says.

Isil shrugs his shoulders.

“Don’t care, he still looks like a woman. He’s got skinny arms. I could beat him up if I

wanted to.”

Tulay sighs and looks away.

I try to imagine Tarsol without the robe, without his jewelry and without the long

beard. He’s not an ugly man, he’s just different—I could get used to his appearance. Perhaps

in his own clan he may not look so cold and serious. Perhaps there he would be at ease.

I walk toward him. As I get closer he notices me approaching, looks at me briefly

and then looks away. The skirts of his robe flutter in the breeze. He holds his chin up and

stares out into the distance. I reach him and stop but he continues to ignore my presence.

“Good morning, Tarsol, I hope you have slept well,” I say.

He slowly turns to face me. “I have,” he replies and looks away. He is watching his

men as they continue loading the horses.

“I have considered your offer of marriage,” I say. As he keeps watching his men, I

notice his profile more clearly from up close. I think he would look more appealing without

the beard. His nose is thin and long, his lips small and narrow, and his chin seems oval in

shape. “I have decided to accept,” I add.

He turns his head to me. He nods. I stand in front of him waiting for him to express

happiness or pleasure, to say something nice. The silence continues.

“I believe you will be a good provider,” I say, “and I will be a loving mother to our

children.” Again he nods and stares. I keep trying to fill the silence. “In time we may grow to

care for each other as deeply as some couples do.”

He nods again and then stands up. “I intend to return when the snow of the coming

winter melts. I want to come back and take a stallion and another mare. Be ready then,” he

says.

He faces his men and calls out in his own tongue, signaling for the young one to

come. The young man looks as though he would be only a few winters older than me. Tarsol

speaks to him as he listens keenly. As I watch them, I wonder if perhaps I should leave now.

I guess that was all he had to say to me. Perhaps I should let them talk among themselves. I

turn to walk away.

“This boy, his name is Ferih,” I hear Tarsol say in the Chinese tongue.

When I turn back around, they are both staring at me.

“This boy, Ferih, will stay back and teach you our tongue, the Dunghu tongue,” says

Tarsol.

Ferih is shorter than Tarsol. He doesn’t have a beard, so I can see the frame of his

jaw and his lips. He has an oval face like Tarsol but his eyes are bigger. He smiles shyly and

then looks down.

“Do you speak the Chinese tongue?” I ask.

Tarsol speaks, “He only knows his mother tongue. He’ll be accommodated in your

chief’s yurt, and then will return before you all migrate to the steppes.”

I study the shy man named Ferih. He lifts his eyes to glance at me, smiles briefly and

then looks back down again. Tarsol walks away toward his horse. He looks through his load,

finds a small pouch and walks back to me. Stretching out his arm, he holds out the pouch

for me to take. I untie the string to find it full of nephrite clusters.

Tarsol watches my reaction. Unsure of how to respond, I say, “Thank you for the

gift.”

He nods and walks away with Ferih following him. They head toward our chief’s

yurt.

I’m not sure what kind of a reaction I had expected from Tarsol, but it was nothing

like this— brief and blunt. And there is so much I wanted to ask him, things I wanted to

know. Are there mountains and trees in the desert, do the winds howl at night, does the

snow fall in winter? Do the flowers blossom in spring, do the birds chirp in the morning?

Do the Dunghu live in yurts like us? Do they follow the seasons of Earth Mother Goddess,

and does Sky God Tanri watch over them? Do they have clan gatherings every fourth

spring? Do they race their horses and hunt with arrows? Do they revere the wolf? And

what about Tarsol himself, does he have his mother and father with him, and sisters,

brothers, aunts and uncles? When did he first become a chief? Has he ever loved a woman

before, and if so, where is she now? Could he love me?

At noon we all regroup in front of the chief’s yurt to farewell the men of the desert.

Ferih and I stand side by side close to Chief. The desert men ride off with their robes

fluttering in the air behind them, the dust rising beneath the hooves of their horses. Tarsol

rides front center where he controls the pace of his group. They speed up and as I wait from

him to turn around and take one last look at me, they gradually fade into the distance.

When I eventually look away, I realize that everyone around me has already walked off;

everyone except Ferih. He stands beside me and smiles his shy smile. He bends down to

touch the ground, he then stands up and stretches his arms out into the distance. With his

hands open and palms facing up, he releases some soil, which blows away with the breeze.

“Muh bar-ak al tap hayt,” he says.

I don’t know what he means but I try to repeat it. He giggles.

“Muh bar-ak al tap hayt,” he repeats.

I try again, but this time he bursts into laughter.

So I say to him, “I don’t understand.” I shake my head.

He regains control of his giggling and nods. He walks up to a log and sits down,

signaling for me to follow. I sit beside him and watch as he puts his hand on his chest and

says, “Cip in ofin Ferih.”

I know from the gesture what he means, so I do the same—I place my hand on my

chest and say that my name is Eliz in the Dunghu tongue, “Cip in ofin Eliz.”

He smiles and nods. That is it, I got it right, my first words in my new tongue. The

door is now open for me to learn the rest. I smile back and repeat it again. He then points to

a butterfly that flutters past.

“Lemfel,” he says, so I repeat,“Lemfel.” He shakes his head. He points to his throat and

says, “Leeemfeeel,” emphasizing the e sound. I try again. This time, tightening the muscles in

my throat, I say, “Lemfel.” He nods his approval.

He points to new things, naming them one by one. He forms sentences. He stands up,

he jumps around and he runs, naming each action as he does it. He draws pictures in the

dirt. Then he sits again, and so we go on until the sun begins to fall to the earth. I am feeling

a little overwhelmed by all I have learned, but I crave to learn more. Ferih begins to yawn

and stands up. He points in the direction of the yurts. So I stand up too, nod and say thank

you.

He points to me and says, “Tep.” I know it means “you”. He continues to say, “Tep

Dunghu mu Eliz tip.”

He has called me Eliz of the Dunghu. It feels strange, yet I’m excited by the

possibilities it represents. I have been welcomed and accepted by my first friend from the

Dunghu, my new clan. I feel overwhelmed, so I stretch out my arms and hug him. I squeeze

him tight but I feel his tense back as his arms stay stuck to his sides. When I let him go, he

looks flushed and drops his gaze to the ground. Perhaps I should be more sensitive next

time. I need to learn the Dunghu ways. I want to tell him I consider him a friend, but I don’t

know the word for it.

He looks up and smiles. “Izi hedemez, Eliz,” he says.

I nod back and repeat goodbye by saying, “Izi hedemez, Ferih.”

As he walks away toward the chief’s yurt, I realize that I need to be cautious while

learning, I need to rein in my impulses and think carefully about how I conduct myself

from now on. I will become the wife of a chief. I will probably have eyes on me more often.

In a new land with new people, I will need to observe their habits and learn their customs.

Each day as we near the end of summer the seasonal trees lose more and more of

their leaves. The breeze brings with it a sharp bite. Bit by bit people begin to gather and

pack up the belongings they can do without until we reach the steppes. Ferih is packed and

ready to leave after having spent a season teaching me all he can. He was patient, persistent

and often burst into laughter. I could hear the pride he had in his mother tongue. He taught

me with enthusiasm and we became good friends.

As I began to understand the meaning of words, I was able to ask Ferih questions

about the Dunghu Clan and Tarsol. Ferih referred to Tarsol as a strong chief. He said

Tarsol’s mother and father were no longer alive. He spoke of the Dunghu Clan being

positioned in a secluded ravine, beneath a desert that glows like gold. I made him promise

to be my friend when I go there. Ferih laughed and told me that I should consider all of the

Dunghu people to be my friends. I could see the love he felt for his land and people, and it

put my mind at ease a little. Eventually, I developed a reasonable grasp of the Dunghu

tongue. I realized that Ferih was sounding more and more homesick each day. We agreed

that the time had come for him to return to his people.

Last night we had a feast in his honor and today we gather to bid him farewell.

People had warmed to Ferih and those who were interested also picked up a few words here

and there. Standing beside his horse, he bends forward to touch the soil, he then stands up

and opens his palms allowing the soil to fall back to the ground. His load secure to both

sides of his horse, he skillfully mounts.

Facing the crowd, he says, “Muh bar-ak al tap hayt,” meaning, “May safe soil rest

beneath your feet.”

Having practiced it, I believe I can say it correctly, but I hear the others’ attempts

and realize that they are instead saying, “Mu ber-ek el tep heyt,” which instead means, “May

a camel kick you in the teeth.” To this Ferih grins, he turns his horse around and rides off.

From the distance, ever so faintly, I can hear the sound of his laughter.

Chapter 3

Aunty Tulay enters the yurt holding a basket of greens.

“I found some dragon herbs,” she says. “They’re hard to find this time of year.”

“Will you dry them out before we leave?” I ask.

“We’ll cook them tonight. I haven’t time to dry anything and I’ve already packed

away my drying bowls and herb satchels.”

She places the basket down and tries to open the roof flap to allow fresh air and

sunlight in. Her twisted fingers fail to push the flap with enough strength and after each

attempt the flap falls back in and closes the roof hole shut. She huffs in frustration. I could

offer her help, but as always, her pride will refuse to accept it. She looks around and finds

the fire poking stick. She takes it and with all the strength in her arms gives the flap a hard

nudge, finally pushing it out. Sunrays beam in and reveal dust particles floating about. A

cool breeze comes through the roof, twists around my neck and escapes through my hair.

I’m reminded that here on the highlands winters can be harsh and unforgiving. Tomorrow

morning we will be packing up our yurts to commence our journey to the steppe grasslands

where winters are milder. The journey could take up to five days. We’ll burden our horses

with possessions and the children on horseback will follow herding the sheep.

From outside I hear horse hooves approaching.

“Mother … Eliz …” calls Funda.

I follow Aunty Tulay out the door. Funda, radiant and glowing, looks down at us

from her horse.

“Genghis has finally challenged me to a race!” she exclaims.

“Well, so he should, if he wants you before someone else better comes along,” says

Aunty Tulay.

Funda smiles back, then turns her horse away from us. “People are beginning to

gather around. Let’s go, Mother, let’s not keep him waiting,” she says.

“Get off that horse now, child,” says Aunty Tulay shaking her head. “Don’t race off to

him as though he is the only offer you’ve ever had. Make him wait. Let him fret a little.”

Funda dismounts and secures her horse.

“Are you sure, Mother, that he won’t get annoyed and change his mind?”

“If he does, then you’re better off without him. In any case, remember there are other

girls and their mothers in this clan. We need to show them why Genghis chose you. First of

all wash your hands and face and then we’ll get you out of your dirty daily dress,” she

instructs.

Funda starts to clean up with the water in the washing bowl. I follow Aunty Tulay as

she enters the yurt. She walks to her pile of packed bags and begins to pull out the contents.

Halfway through, she finds a silk pink tunic, lifts it up and shakes it out. It has white flowers

embroidered along the hem and along the edges of the long, loose sleeves. With it she also

holds out a scarf made of the same fabric, with the same floral embroidery stitched onto the

four corners.

“It’s the most beautiful tunic I’ve ever seen,” I say.

Aunty Tulay smiles. “It has been passed on from my mother and hopefully one day, if

Funda has a daughter, she will pass it on to her.”

Funda walks in to see us admiring the tunic and scarf.

“Oh, Mother, it’s too special to wear today. I should save it for the wedding

ceremony.”

Aunty Tulay shakes her head. “You can wear it then as well, but we can make it look

even better. On the day of your ceremony, I’ll give you the necklace and I’ll weave ribbons

into your hair. You will look more wonderful than you do today,” she says with a smile as

she helps Funda to take off her daily dress.

I step back and watch as mother and daughter enter their magical sphere, drifting

off and leaving our world behind them. Others can only watch in silence or choose to walk

away quietly. Unable to pull myself away, I stay and watch, to learn, to envy, to dream. The

magical energy that strengthens our spirit and empowers our will to live is so potent I can

almost see it glowing in the space between them.

Aunty Tulay steps back to admire Funda as she turns around to show the tunic on

her proud figure. Aunty Tulay goes back to the pile of packed bags and brings out white

sheepskin boots and a white leather belt. She gives them to Funda to put on.

“Tuck the scarf firmly in your belt so that it doesn’t fly away as you ride, but let it

hang down long enough so that he can reach for it while he rides beside you.”

Aunty Tulay pushes the corner of the scarf into Funda’s belt. She then dips her finger

in the pile of ash and smudges two lines into Funda’s eyebrows to make them look darker.

She guides Funda to sit on the rug and kneels down beside her to braid the front strands of

her hair. Aunty Tulay’s forehead wrinkles above her eyes as she endures the pain of

bending her crooked fingers to form each plait.

Funda senses her mother’s agony.

“I don’t care so much about my hair, Mother. Leave it as it is,” she says.

“I only have one daughter. Pain or no pain, I will plait your hair.”

“One plait is enough. Let the rest fall loose.”

Aunty Tulay completes one strand and ties it at the end with a piece of thread. She

begins a second strand but halfway through her hand cramps up. Reluctantly, she drops the

partly plaited hair. Her face scrunched up, she holds her wrist as her hand freezes like a

raven’s claw. Funda takes Aunty Tulay’s hand and slowly rubs and massages it. Her eyes

well up at the sight of her mother’s suffering. She bends over to kiss her mother’s hands.

“It’ll be fine, my baby girl, it will loosen up soon.”

“Oh, Mother, I don’t care for a husband, I don’t care for anyone else but my family. I

have all I need here. I can’t tell a lie, I do like Genghis, I like him very much. But I don’t

want to leave you.” She is clinging to her mother’s hands and looking into her eyes. “Why

should I have to go to another yurt? Why should I have to sleep away from you each night?”

Aunty Tulay bends forward and kisses her cheek. “I was once like you, my darling,

but each day we get older. I wish I could live to be your mother forever, but it can’t be so.”

She glances briefly at the roof. “Still we are fortunate. The dark spirits took seven of my

babies. Some went quietly in their sleep, while others died coughing. But you, my darling,

you and Isil were spared. You were left alone to grow beside me. Nevertheless, as I get older

the dark spirits will begin to watch me, and as I get weaker the closer they will hover.”

“No, Mother … no, don’t even say it. I can’t even bear to think about it.”

“My darling, you mustn’t cry for me. I have been blessed in my life and it would be

ungrateful of me to complain when the end is near,” Aunty Tulay says. “But my only

concern will be leaving you and Isil behind. Even though I try to be strong, even though I

will try to fight the spirits off for as long as I can, in the end, none of us can live forever. My

only pain will be losing my children, having to leave you behind. So I hope that when it

does happen, you know that I tried with all my strength to stay, I hope you know I would

never leave willingly, I hope that you can forgive my weakness.”

“Mother, I love you, I will always love you.” Funda wraps her arms around her

mother, burying her head in her chest. They sit together in silence for a while. I sit beside

them, not knowing whether to go or stay. Aunty Tulay lifts her hands up and slowly

stretches out her fingers. She bends them back and forth from the wrist and then rotates

them around. Funda watches her mother as the movements become more and more flexible.

“My hands are feeling better already. I’ll do one more plait and then we’ll go.”

Funda smiles. “Mother, I’ll do it myself, you just watch and tell me if it’s straight.”

As Funda begins to plait her hair I get up to go. “I’ll meet you both at the camp

center.” “If they ask, tell them we’ll be there soon,” Aunty Tulay says.

I nod and leave. As I get closer to the center of the camp, I realize that most people

have already gathered and are waiting. Some are sitting on the grass, others are standing in

groups talking. I find Uncle Ozan and Isil sitting under a tree, so I walk over and crouch

next to them.

Uncle Ozan looks at me and we smile at each other. He sighs deeply and then looks

out into the distance. Isil has little pebbles lined up and is playing the flicking game. In the

crowd I see Genghis with his long hair tied back, standing with his black stallion, encircled

by his friends. One of them is talking while the others listen. Genghis nods but at every

opportunity glances away in the direction of our yurt.

I see Aunty Tulay and I wave to her. She nods and walks in our direction. Genghis

looks away from his friend again, only this time a wide grin lights up his face. In the

distance I see Funda riding her white mare with her hair flowing behind her, the pink silk

tunic shimmering in the golden sunlight. She looks amazing and as people notice her

coming they all make way for her. Genghis mounts his horse and rides to meet her. Side by

side they ride to the starting point where Chief Ayhan waits.

Genghis, on his black stallion, and Funda, on her white mare, wait with anticipation.

Chief gives the signal and they ride off. Genghis slows down to give Funda an advantage.

They race off into the distance and the chase gets close to the trees of the forest. Funda

makes a gradual turn, now racing back toward us with Genghis riding just behind her. He

soon reaches her side and they continue at the same high speed. His body tilts toward her,

his eyes intensely focused on her waist, and his hand reaches out in an attempt to seize her

scarf. She taunts him with a quick glance. Her silk scarf, partially tucked under her belt and

flapping fiercely in the air, is blatantly teasing him and daring him to touch. With a swift

swing of his arm he grabs it.

They both return to the clan. Genghis wipes his face on the scarf with Chief and the

entire clan as his witness. Holding it out to her he pleads, “Forgive me, Funda. I hope you do

not begrudge me for I have needed your scarf.”

“I do not begrudge you for it,” she replies simply.

This time with more confidence in his voice, he says, “Would you grant me the scarf

so that I can keep it as a sweet memory of you?” To this familiar courting line the clan

giggles with delight.

Funda casually flicks her hair back over one shoulder.

“You may keep it,” she replies.

The courting is complete. The men gather around Genghis as the women walk off

with Funda. She has a lot to learn and the women will all share in the task of counseling

her.

I head back to the yurt to complete the packing. I wrap pieces of dry cheese with

fabric and make small piles of them. Then I place them in the food bag, near the dry meat.

Funda and Genghis will live and die with their birth clan. They will never know the pain of

separation. Here in the Baykal Clan, even as a married woman, Funda will always be Aunty

Tulay and Uncle Ozan’s daughter. When she gives birth, she will have the support of family

to guide her and help her. She will raise her children with the confidence that comes from

knowing you are surrounded by kin. How will my life be in the Dunghu Clan? When I

asked Ferih with the words he taught me, I understood that we would live in a property

with many servants, women and children. I understood that we would always remain on

the same property and would never travel with the change of the seasons. I believe my

children will be safe, they will be well cared for and they will be happy. What more could I

ask for? I wonder how Tarsol will act among his own people. Will his eyes look into mine?

Will I see warmth and tenderness? Will Tarsol love me? Would it be fair to ask it of him

when I am not even sure that I could love him just the same?

Alone in the yurt I hear footsteps outside. I recognize the pace and heaviness of each

step. Uncle Ozan enters the yurt and approaches me, holding up fish he has caught from

the mountain stream.

“We need to eat well tonight,” he says. “Funda and Tulay are still with the other

women, talking away. I hope Isil doesn’t take too long to return, my stomach feels empty.”

“I can go get him,” I say. “Most of the children are herding in the eastern meadows,

close to the scouts along the blue rocks. Isil should be there too. I’ll help him herd our sheep

back.” “Thank you, Eliz. I will start to cut up the fish.”

As I ride my horse, Muun follows with his tongue hanging out and tail wagging. We

find Isil in the meadow idly lying in the grass. Together we herd the sheep back as the sun

gradually lowers leaving a trail of crimson across the sky.

As we enter our yurt, the smell of the tea boiling away and the fish mixed with wild

herbs make my mouth water. Funda has learned from Aunty Tulay how to prepare and

cook for a family. The fish combined with the various herbs is delicious and together we

enjoy the meal. With our appetites satisfied, we sit around the amber light of the fire and sip

our tea.

Uncle Ozan, looking at his daughter with pride, says, “You rode well today. Genghis

was lucky to catch you.”

“Thank you, Father,” she replies.

“Chief Ayhan spoke to me after your race. He told me they will formally propose

when we’ve settled in the steppe grasslands. I’ve decided the wedding ceremony will take

place after the snow melts. This will give his family time to prepare a new yurt for you and

Genghis.”

“That would be wise,” Aunty Tulay nods in agreement. “I remember, as soon as you

took my scarf, my father started nagging you to build our yurt. I felt it was all very rushed.”

“I would have rushed it even if he did not nag me.” Uncle Ozan places his hand on

hers. “You’re too beautiful. It would have been foolish for me to challenge my luck by

delaying our union.”

Hearing Aunty Tulay chuckle, Uncle Ozan glows with delight. Despite their age, it’s

clear to see in their childlike smiles that they haven’t lost the innocence of youth. Over time

I’ve come to rely on Uncle Ozan. He makes it easy for me to forget that I’m not his real child

and that my father is still alive somewhere. He gets up and returns again with Funda’s

sword. It has been carved with her symbol to read Funda of the Baykal. We all take a good

look at the craftsmanship of the engraving. Funda’s place in the clan will be secured by her

marriage to Genghis, and so her sword is complete. Isil runs his fingers across the carving.

Uncle Ozan passes it to him.

“Here, son, go hang your sister’s sword beside yours,” he instructs.

Five swords now hang off the wooden frame of the yurt. Four are engraved with the

symbols Tulay of the Baykal, Ozan of the Baykal, Funda of the Baykal and Isil of the Baykal.

Mine is the only one left with a smooth surface that reflects the flames of the burning fire. It

is so precious to me, as it was a gift from Uncle Ozan. He taught Funda and me how to fight

with it. When Funda would complain that she was getting too hot and tired, I would

persevere. She was always content to swing it around a few times and then walk off, while I

kept trying harder and harder. It was the look in Uncle Ozan’s eyes that drove me to better

myself. I remember when I peaked at my mastery of the sword. He looked at me as though I

were a warrior to be respected, as though I were someone important. All the aching

muscles, all the heat and exhaustion, it was worth it. I have earned my sword and it too will

be engraved. When I safely arrive in my new home, when I am wed, and when my people

have accepted me. When the time is right it shall be done. My symbol will be carved into

the steel of my sword.

Uncle Ozan looks at me and says, “I’ll make sure Tarsol doesn’t take you before

Funda and Genghis have their ceremony. It won’t be a happy occasion if you can’t share it

with us.”

“I most certainly will be there. A ceremony for a marriage of love will be a beautiful

one and I want to see it.”

Uncle Ozan shakes his head, sighing softly.

“When you first came to our clan, you were just a child. Tulay and I felt fortunate to

have you join our yurt. You’re a part of us and even when you leave, you’ll still be a part of

us. One day you will be a chief’s wife, a woman of status. We will all miss you. I try to

console myself knowing that the position you’ll gain is one that you’re more than worthy

of.”

“I will miss every one of you also. It will be difficult to drink tea without any of you

by my side,” I say.

Uncle Ozan takes a sip from his cup and then slowly puts it down.

“I know of a verse that is sung by those who feel the ache of separation and by those

who sometimes feel alone,” he says. “If you like it, then it is yours to keep. When you miss us,

recite this verse and it will feel as though we are near.

“The moon above is our token

Of a bond that can’t be broken,

The moon shines only in night skies

As you appear behind closed eyes.”

I feel like throwing myself into Uncle Ozan’s arms and telling him how much I have

appreciated all he has done for me. I want to, but I don’t. I know he would feel embarrassed

by my childish display of affection.

“I like the verse very much. Thank you, Uncle Ozan, I will keep it forever. I will

never forget it.”

Before we lie down in our fur sacks we all express our gratitude to Earth Mother

Goddess and ask the celestial gods to give us strength for the journey ahead.

Aunty Tulay kisses Funda’s and Isil’s cheeks, the place for a mother’s lips, as she does

every night. She comes to me and kisses my forehead so as not to offend my mother who is

in the spirit world. Lying in my fur sack, I look at the faces of my Baykal Clan family. Funda

is sound asleep. Her face looks serene. Across from me I see Isil, half asleep, his hands

feeling around in search of his little blanket. Just as Aunty Tulay notices, Isil manages to find

it. He snuggles up to it, the blanket held against his chest. Content with his position, he

settles into slumber. Aunty Tulay lies down next to Uncle Ozan. Muun is outside in his own

shelter adjacent to our yurt. In summer he sheds his fur so we don’t let him in. Once we

move to the steppes, he will be sleeping inside next to me again.

I toss and turn, struggling to sleep. A breeze sways the felt roof of the yurt. The

flames in the fire flicker. A baby cries a hunger cry while the mother’s soothing voice is

muffled through the walls of their yurt. Eventually, the crying stops and the empty silence

returns to the night. Warm in my fur sack, my eyes become veiled with heavy lids and my

body begins to feel numb. My thoughts drift gradually, taking me into the world of dreams.

I think about my father and wish he could be with me. I think about the rug that I will give

him when he comes to visit me in the Dunghu Clan. I hope that he will like it and

appreciate the colors and patterns. Seeing as I am the only family he has, I hope that he will

choose to live with me once the battle is over. I want him to settle down in his old age, I

want to take care of him and I want him to be proud of me. Sleep takes over my body and

soon I feel as though I am drifting away.

I enter into the realm of sleep where my body does not exist. Time passes at a

different speed and all earthly things appear only as images that drift away.

I see the back of a man’s head. I recognize the gray robe—it is Tarsol. “Tarsol,” I call

out to him but he does not turn around to look at me. “Tarsol, it is me, Eliz,” I say, and still he

stands frozen with his back to me. “Husband,” I say. His head moves slightly to one side. I see

his profile. His long facial hair is now visible under his sharp nose. He waits awhile and

then turns around to face me. He looks at me but it is not in the way I would have hoped.

His eyes squint and his mouth is stern. He gives me a cold, hard stare and then disappears.

There is nothing now but the sky, a blue sky with white clouds. Through the clouds a small

speck emerges. As it grows, it changes into an eagle flying toward me, getting closer and

closer. Her eyes greet me for she is my totem. She has come to escort me. As I feel the gentle

feathers of her wings stroke my face, I am reminded again of my human form.

The sensation of the draft and sunlight coming through the opening in the roof

wakes me from sleep. I notice that all the contents of our yurt have been taken out. Only the

fire in the center has been left and it’s still amber. Sitting up in my fur sack, I can hear the

distant voices of my clan. I need to get up and help the others. Our journey begins today.

Isil, holding open the door, looks at me. “Eliz of the Orkhon, you must’ve been tired.

Mother tried to wake you earlier but you resisted. You were in too deep. Father said it

wasn’t safe to force you to return from your dreams.”

Trying to look more alert, I say, “I feel much better.”

Our yurt is disassembled and packed. Before we begin to travel down our mountain

I turn to look at the area we inhabited this summer. I notice an eagle circling above,

watching us as we leave. I ask the wind to carry my prayer to her.

“Eagle, with freedom you soar between earth and sky while I walk beneath you in

search of meaning. Courage is required to find what we seek. As you fly, may some of your

courage fall upon me.”