Genre: Historical Fiction
Plot: A spy in the court of Genghis Kahn
Words to use: mongol, invader, burn, expand, horde, gold, treasure, fear, lie, tribe, poison, magic, spirit, horses, warrior.
The dry wind, as if fire, blew across the dry grass, spreading their seeds out beyond his sight. He sat on his horse and gazed out across the steppe. Batujin, his mouth covered in his silk and woolen scarf, whispered his loyalty into it, swiftly nudging the horse forward. His gaze transfixed forward, fear beneath the surface of his skin, tingling and quaking.
Once, as Khaser al-Din, he had a family, a tribe, people he held dear…until the hordes came, taking it all away. Fire spread in his heart, fire of hatred and revenge. The horde had been seeking gold, a treasure beyond man’s desire. They found it around the necks of each woman and child. They took everything and out of the fire arose Batujin. Through tears and heartbreak, he gathered supplies and made his way east, from where they came one night filled with stars that fell from the sky as tears upon the dust. He joined their ranks, a lie upon his tongue, a man hidden amongst the many, an invader within the mongol.
Genghis Kahn, protected, a warrior with no equal, sat untouchable on his throne of power, feared by all. His goal — to expand his power beyond the steppe. His thirst…insatiable.
The nights were long, in metal scepters fire danced along the perimeter. Men in dark robes and swords paced, remaining vigilant. Tent flaps waved in the wind. Batujin took his nightly spot as well. He watched the darkness, the stars moved positions in the sky night after night. He took out the golden medallion that hung on leather around his neck. The same medallion his wife once wore, before he removed it from her lifeless body. He remembered his promise he swore to her as her spirit left her, a tear welled in his eye, unseen in the dark. It was a promise, and he didn’t lie.
An announcement went through camp, they were moving west in two days time. The horse. The poison rested against his chest in an inside pocket of his tunic, waiting patiently. He watched the mongol laugh, gulping wine, surrounded by warriors of immense size. He’d watched as a girl refilled his cup, she winced at her captor’s attention. It would take an act of magic to get close to him. But he had to settle for strategy.
As she weaved her way through the throngs of drunken men, dodging hands and mouths, she made her way out of the banquet tent. He followed her. She entered a tent, almost colliding with another servant. He looked back, everyone was busy with either chores or celebrating. Soon they would be heading west, eager eyes to watch the world burn before them.
He lingered by the tent, waiting for her to come out, the shadows safely hiding him for the moment. He hoped it wouldn’t be too long and drew attention. His heart jumped as she exited the tent, holding a bowl, heading to the horses.
“I have something special for you,” she whispered to the horse who snorted in anticipation.
“Excuse me,” he said. He stood near the tree and could see her jump at the sound of his voice. “Don’t be frightened. I am not going to hurt you. You look like my daughter.” His voice hitched with the mention of his daughter, a fresh wound. He removed his scarf, his beard greyer, eyes sadder. “I need your help.”
Her eyes softened, “What do you need me to do?”
“How do you feel about your master?” he asked.
The girl’s gaze darted around, thinking about how to respond. “He’s a monster,” she whispered into the horse’s ear.
“I agree,” he launched into his story, he kept his voice low but venomous, and she listened, never taking her eyes off the horses. She understood everything he said and her agreement came quickly after he proposed the question.
“I will do as you ask, and we will run,” she replied.
He nodded his downturn head and handed the tiny bag he had retrieved from an inner pocket of his tunic. “Add this to his wine, and it will be over. We will flee and the world safe. And a monster will be gone.”
“I will do as you ask, even if it means my own life,” she replied, slipping it in her pocket.
Batujin disappeared into the shadows, and waited. Waited for the call of treason and uproar of their master’s demise.
It did come. And swiftly, the call with swords and vows of vengeance. But they were gone, heading west on Batujin’s horse, night and day, riding to safety, and with pride and clarity of a moral right to correct many wrongs.
He left her with her people, a tribe of nomads who welcomed her warmly. He continued west and found a new life in peace and memories.
Thanks for reading. To read more stories, head to my main pagehttps://storytimebyrk.com/.
