Daughter of Xanadu - Dori Jones Yang [22]
He smiled. “Some people have yellow hair. Some red. Some brown, like mine.”
Yellow hair! I had heard that hair turned yellow only when people were starving.
“Blue eyes are not unheard of in your land, are they?” he said. “I have heard that even your Great Ancestor, Chinggis Khan, had blue eyes and reddish hair.”
This comment took me aback. But I remembered vaguely that I had heard such a thing from Old Master. It had seemed impossible, since everyone I knew in the Golden Family had dark hair and dark eyes. We all worshipped the Great Ancestor, so I had never thought of him as a flesh-and-blood person.
“Now I have a question for you, Emmajin Beki.” Marco lowered his voice. “During my long journey across the lands of the Mongol Empire, I heard that Mongols drink horses’ blood. Yet I have not seen anyone drinking blood at court. Is this true?”
I laughed out loud at the thought of horses’ blood in a goblet at dinner. Then I quickly stopped, lest he feel foolish for asking. “It is sometimes true. On very long journeys, if there is no other food, a Mongol soldier might cut a vein in his horse’s flesh. He allows the blood to spurt into his mouth, just enough to keep him alive.”
Marco’s face showed disgust.
I quickly added, “But soldiers do this only when they are starving and have no other source of food. It shows they are smart and resourceful.”
Marco shook his head, as if trying to absorb this strange fact. He seemed as relieved as I had been to know that his countrymen did not have green hair. What fears we have of foreigners and their strange ways!
He leaned a little closer. “I truly did not mean to offend you after the archery contest. I only wanted to tell you I admired your nobility.”
Conscious of my purple-yellow cheeks, I looked away. For a few moments, I had forgotten my public humiliation.
He persisted. “I have heard that you are an excellent archer.”
An excellent archer! What did he know of archery, this man who could barely ride on a Mongolian saddle? “Who told you this?” I asked harshly.
“At the contest, I heard others speak of you. People thought you would win.”
Win. My face flushed. All the shame of the archery tournament washed over me, as if someone had tossed a bucket of cold water onto my body.
The foreigner continued. “Many praise your archery skills. Can you show me?”
I picked up my bow. After the awkwardness of conversation, it was a relief to feel its smooth surface and familiar weight.
In the sky, a golden eagle was soaring. Without a word, I stood up. I placed an arrow on my bow and pulled back the string until it was as tight as it could be. My hands held perfectly steady as I aimed at a spot just in front of the eagle. I waited until a precise moment before releasing. The arrow arched high and fast.
The eagle soared on, oblivious to my aim. Some arrows would have fallen before reaching that height, but mine did not.
It hit its target. The eagle faltered and fell in an ungainly arc.
Marco let out a breath of admiration. My chest swelled with pride.
The eagle landed with a thud on the ground. A realization pierced me. Hunting in the Khan’s private reserve without his permission was forbidden. I had just broken a rule that was strictly enforced.
I gasped as if wounded. I ran toward the fallen bird. Marco followed me.
The eagle was a beautiful, huge creature, majestic and powerful, as long as my arm. It had light brown wings, a black tail, a golden crown and nape, great curved talons, and piercing orange-brown eyes. This bird of prey was much treasured by hunters. Any man who could bring one back alive would be rewarded.
But this eagle was not alive. Its body was warm, but its heart had stopped. My arrow had broken its wing. The fall had broken its neck.
I rocked back on my heels, in shock. It was too handsome to die from my arrow. I caressed its golden feathers, sorry I had taken its life. I struggled to control my tears.
Marco’s smile had faded.
Quickly, I pulled out my dagger and began digging a hole to bury the eagle.
“It is forbidden,