Daughter of Xanadu - Dori Jones Yang [15]
Four giant elephants stood at the center of the courtyard. They were lashed together, and one ornate pavilion was strapped on the backs of all four. The Great Khan had decided to try a new mode of travel, inside this pavilion on the backs of four elephants that had arrived with the victorious army. Riding on one elephant would be hard enough; I could not fathom how a pavilion could stay steady on the backs of four such creatures, or how they could possibly walk in unison over such a long distance.
As I approached them, the elephants loomed, ever more massive. What would I say to the Khan during this long day’s ride, the first of our three-day trip to Xanadu? What would he say to me, after my humiliating defeat? I began to sweat, even though the dawn air was still crisp and cool.
The early-morning sunlight glinted on the elaborate woven designs of the silk tapestries, trimmed with golden fringe, that hung on the elephants’ sides. Each creature had legs thicker than the red columns of the throne room, with rounded toenails bigger than my hand. Standing next to one elephant, I looked up its massive side and saw a turbaned man sitting astride its wide neck. Two huge sharp white tusks jutted out from near its mouth, each tipped with a brass fitting. The creature stood still, as if gentle.
“This way, Little Sister.” One of the Khan’s attendants gestured to a brightly painted wooden staircase at the side of the creature. As I climbed, my legs shook and jostled the ladder. My mother’s del felt too tight to move in. She had insisted I wear one of her most beautiful dels, the one she had worn as a young bride. The creature turned its head toward me, and its huge round eye seemed hostile.
At the top of the steps, I paused to catch my breath. I rubbed my fingers over the stiff striped tiger skin adorning the wooden side of the pavilion. Above me, the roof had curved eaves in the Chinese style. The four pillars holding it up were painted with creatures of the hunt. Embroidered, tasseled cloths were draped from the sides.
Inside the pavilion, the sun slanted straight into the eyes of the Great Khan, clad in a white ermine cloak. Next to him sat a short, round lady, the Empress Chabi, his chief wife, my grandmother, whose title was khatun, “empress.”
The pavilion was surprisingly spacious, with two long benches, but too small for a full-body kowtow. So I fell to my knees and bowed, facedown. My forehead nearly touched the cushions where the Khan’s feet rested. I noticed that his feet were so swollen that they bulged out of his slippers.
The Great Khan bade me to rise. When I straightened up, eyes still down, I could sense him examining my face. The Empress gasped at the sight. My mother had used heavy powder to disguise the purple lines under my eyes as well as the glaring scab on my upper nose. Just the day before, I had scorned my beauty, but now I felt ugly.
“A Mongol always keeps control of his horse,” the Khan said.
I nodded, feeling miserable and stupid.
“Especially a soldier.”
I swallowed hard. Why had I made a fool of myself in front of everyone I knew by making such a request? I had to fight back tears.
“You are no ordinary maiden. I have long known this.”
I dared to look up at him. Beside him, the Empress had a tiny smile in the middle of her wide, moon-round face.
“I have an assignment for you. Are you willing to serve the Khan of all Khans?”
My heart turned over. “Yes, Your Majesty!”
“Then sit here, and keep silent.” He indicated the spot to the left of Empress Chabi, on a tiger skin–covered couch. My grandmother nodded her assent, and I sat down next to her. An assignment from the Khan sounded like a chance to redeem myself.
My bottom sank into a soft cushion filled with down. The view from the Khan’s perch stunned me. Lines