Daughter of Xanadu - Dori Jones Yang [9]
Aju’s eyebrows rose halfway up his forehead. I wanted to hear his answers, but he said nothing. My mother started toward me, as if trying to stop me.
The questions kept spilling out of my mouth. “This machine—will it be used in future battles? And did the rocks actually kill enemies, or just scare them?”
Aju put his airag bowl on a side table and stared at me until I went silent. Then he looked at my father. “She sounds more like a soldier than a wife,” he said. He rose.
My father looked chagrined. The betrothal talks had ended. He had lost.
As my father escorted Aju and his scrawny son to the door, Mama hissed at me, “Now we’ll never find you a husband!” I hoped that was true. But I felt a pang when I saw Drolma’s pale face twisted with distress.
My father returned, sat down, and called me to him. His thick eyebrows formed a solid line. “You have failed four times now. I don’t know what to do with you.”
Suddenly, I didn’t care what he thought of me. I remembered the feelings of joy, at the parade, and pride, after the victory story. That was what I wanted in my life, not these dreadful betrothal talks. I planted my feet firmly and lifted my chin.
“Here’s what you can do with me,” I said. “Permit me to join the army.”
My mother gasped, and my father’s eyebrows shot up. “The Khan would never agree to that. Can you imagine, a mere girl fighting on the battlefield?”
I had imagined it many times. “I can do anything Suren can do,” I said.
My father readjusted his body. “That will never happen. It is wrong to kill even an insect, let alone a human being. Our goal should be compassion, not conquest. Here.”
He reached inside his cloth sash and pulled out a small square of silver. On one side was a tiny picture, painted on cloth. I took it from him reluctantly. The picture was of a young woman, seated in the lotus position, with a halo of light around her.
“It is Tara, the Great Protectress,” he said. “I had hoped to give it to you on the day of your betrothal. It should remind you of good behavior and right thinking.”
Although I did not know much about his religion, Buddhism, the idea of not killing even an insect seemed ridiculous—especially for Mongols, who loved meat. How could our ancestors have conquered the world without warfare? The old religion, revering Tengri, Eternal Heaven, had worked well for them. Tengri had decreed that the Mongols should rule the entire world. Why switch to a new religion?
My father’s handing me this Tara amulet when I had asked to join the army seemed a mockery. I wanted to drop it on the floor, but he had never given me a gift before.
“I know you wish you had a son,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “Let me be that son. I will go to war, and if I fight well, it will bring you honor.”
His face darkened. “If you fought in a battle, it would bring me shame.”
What more could I say? When he dismissed me, I bowed in deference and rushed to my room to change. If I hurried, I would have time to make it to the archery tournament by noon.
I left the Tara amulet on the floor near my bed, spurned and forgotten.
The tournament took place in the front courtyard of the palace, a plain of flat gray flagstones between the front gate and the massive main audience hall, with its yellow tiled roof that curved up at the corners. Servants moved a wide thronelike chair out of the hall so the Khan could watch the tournament from the top of a flight of marble stairs.
Each contestant arrived holding a bow, with a quiver of arrows at his back. The high voices of children and the deep voices of men mingled in the cool air, under a cloudy sky. Although this area lay inside the palace wall, it was open to any man with a permit to enter, including selected foreigners.
My mother’s objection still rang in my ears, but my father had just shrugged when I had left my family’s quarters with my favorite quiver and my bow tucked into my leather belt. I wanted to be the