Dark of the Sun

To the north of them, the Tien Shan range rose up, stark and forbidding, the mountains shining gold from the peaks to far down the slopes where the weak sunlight touched them, striking the stinking yellow snow; ahead lay a narrow swath of sere, dust-colored grass where lush green should have been, and only a few clumps of hardy grasses reminded them of what was usually there in profusion. Even the stream they followed gave no comfort, for the waters were cloudy and harsh-tasting and did little to slake the thirst that plagued the Desert Cats clan and their animals as they made their way toward Turfan.

Baru Ksoka was both dismayed and disgusted, for the clan was not making its customary rapid progress, and he was becoming worried, for not only were they behind, but winter was approaching much earlier than ever before. All the hunting that usually kept his clan fed while they traveled had proved disappointing, and as a result, there were many Desert Cats who had begun to mutter about ill-luck, and the danger strangers presented; nothing Baru Ksoka said could stop the insidious whispers, and gradually, he began to listen to the growing complaints. He regarded Zangi-Ragozh, the foreigner in the elaborate black shuba on the cinder-brown pony who had become the nexus of all clan fears, with an emotion compounded of unwilling gratitude and envy as he swung his red pony around to bring him alongside Zangi-Ragozh. "In all your travels, have you seen anything to match this?" Baru Ksoka was a big man with heavily muscled arms and shoulders. His broad, high-cheekboned face was fairly expressionless, but every line of his body revealed strong purpose, and he carried himself in a manner that showed he was used to being obeyed.

"No, Kaigan, I have not." The two spoke an amalgam of Chinese and Jou'an-Jou'an that made their mutual understanding possible. "Not in the West nor in the East."

"Do you think there is going to be an end to it? Is our weather to turn warm again, and our grasslands to flourish, or will it remain cold and arid?" Baru Ksoka asked variations on these questions almost daily, and over the nearly two fortnights that Zangi-Ragozh and Ro-shei had been with the clan, the Kaigan had become more insistent. "How much longer can this continue?"

Zangi-Ragozh paused, thinking back to the hard years of famine he had seen before, in his homeland, in Egypt, in Rome, in Byzantium, in the wild mountains that lay to the southeast. "Anything I ventured would be speculation at best. I am sorry I have nothing more to offer you than this-that every dreadful time I have passed through has eventually ended, and this is probably no different than any other." He did not entirely believe this, having never before seen such unaccountable ruin over so much of the earth, but he kept that bleak thought to himself.

"If it is different, then what is to become of us?" Baru Ksoka asked Zangi-Ragozh.

"That depends on more than you or I can say."

"Do you think it is magic, or the gods contending?"

"As to your gods, I have no understanding of their might, or their dispositions. They may have done this, but so might many other powers beyond our reckoning. Other gods, far away, may be the cause of this, and no appeals to your own will appease them." Zangi-Ragozh looked up at the high, trailing clouds. "Not even the sky reveals what has happened."

"The sun is less than it was, that much is certain," said Baru Ksoka. "I should not be cold at this time of year."

"Yes, the sun has lost its power, and the earth is paying for it. But why it is so, I cannot tell."

"We must find out what we can do to change this, and soon," said Baru Ksoka.

"If there is anything that will bring about a change," said Zangi-Ragozh.

"There must be something," Baru Ksoka said in hard determination. "If Dukkai were stronger, she would attend to it. She must know what we have to do."

"There might not be any means to implement such a change. This wretchedness may be like a flood, which must pass before anything can be done about the damage it has caused," Zangi-Ragozh warned, wondering if he could persuade the Kaigan not to demand human intervention in this catastrophic time; there had been occasions in the past when he had witnessed dreadful natural occurrences that led to appalling attempts at solutions that served no purpose but the worsening of the disaster.

"You spent time with Dukkai, our magician, last night," said Baru Ksoka, the sudden change of subject intended to jar Zangi-Ragozh into betraying any shameful act he might have attempted.

"Her pregnancy is not going well," said Zangi-Ragozh, wholly unflustered. "She asked me to come and provide some ease for her."

"That seems to be true, that she is suffering with her growing baby, although why she should be so much burdened, I cannot say; my other children have all been lively and thriving in the womb," said Baru Ksoka heavily. "I regret that we had to give your wagon over to her use."

"The camels carry the chests and crates well enough." He thought of his hidden gold and jewels now in chests carried by camels.

"To have our magician miscarry at such a time would be a dire omen, and all the clan knows it."

Zangi-Ragozh appreciated the warning he heard in the remark, and so he offered a conciliatory answer. "If there is any way to preserve her and her infant, I will do it, to the full limit of my skills. She is in her eighth fortnight, and she should be more accommodated to the pregnancy. If all goes well, she should be over the worst of her weakness in another fortnight, and assuming she is able to sate her hunger, she ought to be able to travel with the rest without more than the usual difficulties of pregnancy."

Baru Ksoka's laugh had no mirth in it. "You speak as carefully as a man facing the Underworld Judge."

"I want to be precise in what I say, so that we understand each other," said Zangi-Ragozh.

"A very commendable intention." Baru Ksoka lowered his head in deep thought. "At Turfan, you will have to decide if you are to continue with us or go your own way. We should not take too much longer to get there, even at our current slow pace. I give it five days, unless we have another mishap." He referred to the hunt of two days ago when one of the men had fallen from his pony at the gallop and broken his shoulder and smashed his ankle. "You were very helpful with Dur Moksal."

"I am not sure I have done that much for him, yet," said Zangi-Ragozh. "He is badly hurt."

"He is alive, and that is more than any of us expected him to be," said Baru Ksoka with finality.

"At Turfan, you and I will decide," said Zangi-Ragozh.

"Yes," he agreed, then tapped his pony's sides with his heels and rode back to the van of the Desert Cats, leaving Zangi-Ragozh to continue on in isolation, for only three of the clan other than the Kaigan and Dukkai ever spoke to him: Imgalas, who supervised the animals; Gotsada, Dukkai's cousin, who had been assigned the task of looking after her; and Jekan Madassi, who was in charge of all cooking when the clan camped, and who had come to Zangi-Ragozh for spices. The rest of the Desert Cats made a point of avoiding contact with the two foreigners, a reserve that was increasing as they traveled.

By nightfall they had reached a small spring surrounded by trees with long, drooping leaves; these were turning as pale yellow as the snow on the mountains, preparing to be shed for the season. The spring was wonderfully fresh, lacking the harsh taste of sulfur that had become common in streams and rivers throughout the region. Most of the women spent the evening filling casks and skins from the spring, and the animals drank deeply of it. Around the central fire, most of the Desert Cats gathered, and a few tried to bring a little jollity to the occasion by getting out their pipes and drums. But very shortly the merry tunes fell flat, and soon the music was abandoned as the clan waited for the side of wild goat to finish cooking over the flames.

"This is not going well," Ro-shei said to Zangi-Ragozh from the tethered camels as he unloaded a small sack of chopped hay he had bought in Kumul from the nearest pack-saddle.

"No, it is not," Zangi-Ragozh agreed; they spoke in Imperial Latin, keeping their voices low.

"I make it mid- to late October, in the Western calendar," said Ro-shei. "It feels nearer mid-December."

"I would say the third week in October, or perhaps the last," said Zangi-Ragozh.

"And winter already under way" said Ro-shei, a hard shine to his faded-blue eyes. "There was snow on the ground at sunrise, two mornings ago."

"With travel going more slowly because of it," Zangi-Ragozh agreed.

Ro-shei spoke into the silence that had fallen between them. "Have you decided what we are to do in Turfan? Do you plan to winter there?"

"I believe it may be decided for us, and without any reference to our sentiments, or the weather," said Zangi-Ragozh.

"Do you think the Desert Cats might winter there?" Ro-shei persisted.

"I have no notion, but for us, I think it would not be wise, no matter how many foreigners may seek shelter there. I believe foreigners will be unwelcome this winter, for the sun is growing weaker and the cold is spreading, and everyone must look to his own during such perilous times. I have never experienced anything to equal this." Zangi-Ragozh took a long, deep breath. "From what Baru Ksoka said earlier, as soon as we reach Turfan, he will want us gone."

"Unless Dukkai is worse," said Ro-shei. "Or there are more injuries. Or another miscarriage."

"That may yet be attributed to my presence and not the impact of hunger that is at the heart of Dukkai's troubles, and the misery of all the rest. Most of these people are just beginning to grasp what lies ahead next spring. I am particularly worried about Dukkai: she needs better food, and more of it, but there is none to be had." Zangi-Ragozh pressed his lips together.

"Is it, at root, the fault of the child?" Ro-shei looked surprised.

"Perhaps indirectly, because it is as hungry as she is." He held up his hand as Ro-shei began to speak. "Yes, I know. I, too, am hungry. Everyone is hungry."

"You do not need me to remind you, I am certain, that you must feed," said Ro-shei.

"I will continue to take small amounts of blood from the ponies late at night; they can spare it, and it does not weaken them as it would any of the Desert Cats; it may not be very much, but for now, it must suffice," Zangi-Ragozh said with a swift, sardonic smile; he took the sack from Ro-shei, holding it easily as if its weight meant nothing to him. "I will present this to Baru Ksoka, so he may keep his animals in little better fettle than he has been able to."

"And once we are on our own, what then for our ponies and camels? You will have to use them more often, and that will take a toll on them. They will need extra rations, yet you are giving this sack to the Desert Cats. What will we feed the animals if we find nothing for them to graze upon?" Ro-shei did not make this a challenge to him, but let the question remain between them, raw in its impact.

"There are still the hidden sacks under the wagon-floor, grain and chopped hay; six of them, and they appear on no inventory. Assuming no one finds them, and we are permitted to take the wagon contents, we will manage well enough. What we have stored away should give us two more fortnights of food for travel before we have to make our ponies and camels live on scrub brush." He stared over at the clan members, all of them caught up in the smell of the cooking goat. "This is wearing on all of them."

"And on you," said Ro-shei. "At least I have been able to find enough to eat, although the game is becoming scrawny."

"What was it today?" Zangi-Ragozh asked.

"A bird, about the size of a large hen, stringy and tough, but enough to sustain me," said Ro-shei.

Zangi-Ragozh glanced over his shoulder. "At least we are sharing with them, which makes us less strange."

"With their animals, more to the point," said Ro-shei.

"And, with their magician doing poorly, they are glad of my medicaments," said Zangi-Ragozh, as he shouldered the sack of chopped hay. "I will stop to see how Dukkai is doing before I return."

"And what of Dur Moksal? Will you see him, too?"

"If his women permit it," said Zangi-Ragozh. "They are being very protective of him just now and do not want me to taint him any further."

"Then I hope they do not make him worse," said Ro-shei. "These Jou'an-Jou'an do not trust you."

"That, old friend, has occurred to me," said Zangi-Ragozh as he left Ro-shei to go in search of Baru Ksoka; his passage through the camp attracted little attention, for everyone was waiting for the signal for the meal to begin. He found the Kaigan with Imgalas on the far side of the cooking fire, and he stopped at a respectful distance and ducked his head. "Baru Ksoka?"

"What is it?" the Kaigan snapped as he turned to Zangi-Ragozh.

"I have a sack of chopped hay that my companion and I have decided we can spare for you." He swung the sack off his shoulder. "If you would accept this as a gesture of my gratitude for allowing us to accompany you on your travels?"

Baru Ksoka stared at Zangi-Ragozh. "This is ... most unexpected."

"But still useful, I trust," said Zangi-Ragozh. "Your herds and flocks are on short rations."

"Why are you doing this?" Imgalas demanded after a single look in Baru Ksoka's direction.

"Because you need more food for your animals-" Zangi-Ragozh began.

Imgalas interrupted him, "Your animals need food, as well. Why should you give up any for us, and ours?"

"Imgalas," Baru Ksoka warned. "You overstep yourself."

Imgalas rounded on the Kaigan. "You must want to know, too," he said bluntly.

"I do," said Baru Ksoka. "But I think it is for Zangi-Ragozh to tell us if he wishes. In the meantime, I thank you, foreigner, for your gift. It means much to us."

"That's his intention, isn't it?" Imgalas asked the air. "To make us so indebted to him that we are forced to keep him with us no matter where we go."

"I have no such intention," said Zangi-Ragozh.

"That remains to be seen," said Baru Ksoka pointedly.

"that do you think-that the clan will tolerate strangers among us?" Imgalas glared in Zangi-Ragozh's direction, his expression combining disdain, contempt, and awakening fury.

"They have helped our wounded and shared their food," the Kaigan said, making this bear more weight by speaking with loud authority.

"Only to earn our gratitude," Imgalas said, spitting for emphasis.

"This man is helping us! You will not despise him!" Baru Ksoka barked out his commands, his face flushing to the color of Damascus leather.

"Do not shout," said Imgalas, relenting for the present. "I meant nothing to his discredit." The necessary lie received an automatic nod.

"Take the sack and distribute the chopped hay to the ponies and goats; be sure that all of them have some," said Baru Ksoka, now sounding more tired than angry.

Imgalas frowned as if wanting to say more, then hefted the sack and trudged away toward the large pen of driven posts and heavy rope where the ponies and goats were nominally confined.

"That was a generous act," said Baru Ksoka as soon as Imgalas was beyond hearing range.

"It is also a practical one. Neither your clan nor my companion and I wish to prolong our journey any more than we must." He gave a small, single nod.

Baru Ksoka considered this. "You are correct in that."

"It is not a question of being correct, Kaigan, it is a question of living," said Zangi-Ragozh, and took a step back. "I want to be sure that Jekan Madassi has put aside meat for Dukkai."

"Of course she has," said Baru Ksoka. "She wants no curse on her family."

"I should think not; she is a most sensible woman, and worthy to be the head of her family," said Zangi-Ragozh, and nodded to Baru Ksoka again before turning away and striding off toward the cooking fire again, where he slipped through the crowd of Desert Cats to Jekan Madassi's side, near the spit where the spitted goat turned, and next to the large cauldron in which a stew of dried squashes, herbs, mushrooms, and garlic simmered. "You are fortunate that those markhor are so large."

"For that, the gods have been good to us in hard times," said Jekan Madassi, a short, robust woman with bright blue eyes and deeply marked features. "Though I could wish for another markhor or two, and a serow as well. I would rejoice in having so much as a single animal for my spit: I prefer them good-sized and meaty."

"May your gods give you what you seek," said Zangi-Ragozh.

"They have been reluctant or unable to do so," Jekan Madassi complained, her voice dropping as if to keep from being overheard.

"It is not for you to deprecate the gods," Baru Ksoka warned her.

"Then order the foreigner to make our magician well, and they might grant us their protection again," Jekan Madassi said, adding to Zangi-Ragozh, "I will send meat to her shortly."

"There are some who say her child is stealing her magic, which is what makes her ill." Jekan Madassi gave him a sidelong stare.

"All the more reason to think that the child will be a powerful magician when it is born," said Zangi-Ragozh.

"It may seem so," said Jekan Madassi. "But in such hard times, there are those who will not believe a child can flourish while the mother declines."

Zangi-Ragozh concealed his alarm at this cold-blooded remark. "Once you get beyond the afflicted region, you may find that she, and her infant, will thrive."

"If such a place still exists, and if we do not have to fight too many foes to claim it," said Jekan Madassi.

"May it be so," said Zangi-Ragozh, and made his way through the crowd once more, this time going toward his wagon, which Baru Ksoka had commandeered for Dukkai's use. As he approached, he saw Gotsada climb down from the rear platform and raised his hand in greeting. "How does your cousin today?"

"She is improved, I think," said Gotsada, his voice more hopeful than certain.

"That is encouraging," said Zangi-Ragozh. "Is she awake?"

"Oh, yes; and fretful. She dislikes her confinement." Gotsada tried to maintain an air of friendliness, but anxiety gave his manner a sharp edge.

Zangi-Ragozh nodded toward the rear platform. "I will tend to her for now. You go get your supper."

"I will be back when I have finished," said Gotsada. "I will bring Dukkai her supper so that she may be well and strong again."

"Very good," said Zangi-Ragozh, determined not to be put off by Gotsada's ill-concealed hostility; he watched Gotsada go and then, quickly and lightly, sprang onto the platform and stepped through the heavy silk-canvas cover into the interior of the wagon. He saw Dukkai lying on her back on the hanging cot, her body supported by folded bear-skins, her face lit unsteadily by a small butterlamp set in the bracket on one of the cover supports. He had to stand slightly stooped to keep from brushing the roof of the cover with his head. "How do I find you, Dukkai?" he asked, nodding to her.

"You find me bored," she said, offering him a wan smile.

"A very good sign," he approved, ignoring her disbelieving snort.

"I don't want to have to live this way until my child is born," she informed him.

"It would trouble me if you did, for it would mean you were losing strength," he said, and went to her side. "Is your cousin giving you good care?"

"Gotsada?" She sighed. "He is doing the best he knows to do."

"You are not satisfied with his efforts?" Zangi-Ragozh asked, dropping down onto his knees beside the cot.

She shook her head. "I know that what he has made is his best effort, too obviously. I tried to explain at first that he didn't need to strive so hard, but it only made him fussier." She waited while he moved his hand from her forehead to her throat, to test the pulse there. "What do you think, Zangi-Ragozh?"

"I think you are a little better, but I also think you need to continue to be careful," he told her. "You are not fully recovered, and you will not be for a while yet."

"A while yet," she repeated.

"I cannot anticipate how well you will do. If your infant is growing rapidly, that may cause you to be tired. If it is not growing quickly enough, it could still become dislodged."

"My limbs are feeling stiff," she said.

"Then work them gently, while you lie in bed. Stretch, and flex your arms and legs. I wouldn't recommend you rising yet, except as you must. But stay in the wagon for a while longer. You are not up to walking about, no matter how much you long to do it."

She looked at him, a long, thoughtful scrutiny. "What do you think is wrong?"

There was a loud shout from outside, and a general scuffle as Jekan Madassi decreed that the markhor was done and that all could eat.

"I told you before-your child is not well-fitted in your womb, and until it is larger, it may be easily dislodged, and that would be a problem for you." He took her hand, holding it gently, sensing her strained vitality.

"You mean I would lose the child?" She shook her head. "That must not happen."

"Then you must remain where you are and keep yourself rested and still for another fortnight, at least." He put his other hand over hers. "It is hard, I know, but you are sensible, and you have self-discipline to serve you." He reached for a small crate and drew it nearer so he could use it as a stool. "It is a pity that you should be pregnant at such a time as we have to endure now."

"There are three other women in the clan who are pregnant," she pointed out. "They are not as weak as I have become."

"Only two are pregnant now. Boksalli lost hers yesterday. And Meudan's young son died the day before." He had not been allowed to tend Boksalli, but had prepared an infusion for her to drink, and a poultice, to speed the purging of the womb lining. For Meudan he could offer no consolation, not with her loss so agonizingly recent; it would be many days before her grief would allow her to accept the commiseration of her family and clan.

"Poor women," said Dukkai, surprised to feel tears well in her eyes.

"If the infant could not live within her, it certainly could not live outside her; and Meudan's son had been coughing for a fortnight," said Zangi-Ragozh as kindly as he could.

"Could they have been saved?" she asked him. "I would have done my utmost when they asked for my magic to protect them, but as it is, I cannot serve my people as they deserve."

"No, not just now," he said, holding out his hand again.

"Will I regain my strength when my child is born?" There was worry in her ice-blue eyes, and she touched him again as if for reassurance.

"If the weather is better, and you eat well, you should not continue to suffer."

She studied his face again. "Hunger is hurting our clan, isn't it?"

"That, and the cold," said Zangi-Ragozh.

"If it continues, we will lose more than infants, won't we?" Her eyes again filled with tears.

"It is likely," he said gently.

"Then I have failed them." Dukkai swallowed against a fresh bout of weeping. "My magic is needed, and I am a burden instead of a help, lying here in this hanging cot, unable to do more than sit up to piss." She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. "I wish I could keep from crying. It seems so ... so fragile a thing to do."

"Women with child often weep readily," said Zangi-Ragozh. "It is no weakness."

She managed a single laugh. "You may think that, but I know my Desert Cats, and I am certain they have a poor opinion of me for it. Their women may cry, but not their magician."

"Even if that magician is a woman," Zangi-Ragozh suggested.

"Especially then," she said. "They want me to be stronger than any of them, so they know my magic has power in it." Dukkai shook her head. "I worry about that, too."

"That you are losing your magic," he said.

"That, and that I am failing my clan." Her tears were falling in earnest now, and she did not bother to wipe them away. "I feel a complete ruin."

"You are not that," Zangi-Ragozh promised her, leaning forward, his dark eyes fixed compellingly on hers. "You are not failing your people. You are providing an example for all of your Desert Cats, an assurance that this appalling time may be survived, and that you and your clan have something to live for, a good reason to do all you can to survive."

Dukkai sniffed and thought about what he said. "It would please me to think this," she said at last.

"You would not deceive yourself if you did," he said, and touched her forehead with his lips.

"That strange Western salute again," she said, fingering the place his mouth had brushed.

"Yes," he said.

"You told me it is a token of honor," she said.

"And affection. The old Romans would call it piety-loyal, fond devotion."

She considered this. "Apostle Lazarus said that piety meant devotion to his God, and the God's Son."

"So his sect uses the word, but the Romans applied it more generally," said Zangi-Ragozh. "I prefer the old definition."

"And you feel this for me? loyal, fond devotion? Piety?" There was more longing in her question than she knew, so she was startled at the warmth of his answer.

"Were you not the woman of Baru Ksoka, and not pregnant, I would want you to be my woman, for as long as it suited you to be."

Staring up at him, she could think of nothing to say to him, and so she shoved herself up and kissed his forehead. "Token for token." She reached for his arm and pulled him down beside her, wrapping her arms around his waist. After a moment she blinked. "I can't hear your heartbeat."

"Never mind," he said, his voice low and melodic as she once again snuggled close to him. "It does not matter."

Text of a letter from Chu Sung-Neong, the Undersecretary of the Prefecture of Holin-Gol, to Minister K'an Shao-Shou, at the Wen Emperor's capital at Chang'an; carried by a courier but never delivered.

To the most worthy Minister K'an Shao-Shou at the Wen Emperor's capital of Chang'an, the greetings of Chu Sung-Neong, Undersecretary of the Prefecture of Holin-Gol, on the behest of the Prefect Ting Yu-Huan, with utmost regard for the Wen Emperor and his Minister:

Regretfully, I am charged with the task of informing Your Excellency that we cannot support the company of two hundred soldiers you have dispatched to this city to detain refugees from Chang'an; we are hardly able to provide for our own garrison, which is loyal to the Northern Wei Dynasty, no matter who wields the vermilion Brush in Da-Tong. Our soldiers here will be willing to apprehend those refugees summoned by your courts to answer criminal charges, but not to keep them as prisoners.

Unfortunately, your soldiers have taken certain matters into their own hands, and that has led to most unwelcome incidents in this town. Five of the suspects seized, including two women, were pulled apart by four oxen, three were subjected to the execution of the bell, and the rest were mutilated and beheaded. None of this is acceptable to the Prefecture, and the new Magistrate, Ngo Hai-Ming, has dispatched his own condemnation of this flouting of law and social order, and his request that the troops be withdrawn at once.

It is my sad duty to inform you that Holin-Gol is very low on civic provisions. We are halving difficulty feeding our own people, and the addition of your two hundred soldiers is imposing an intolerable burden on us. Dreadful acts of theft and other outrages have been perpetrated, and the new Magistrate has ordered our local militia to remove your soldiers from the town and not to admit them again, upon pain of death.

Here in our town there has been a very cold summer, and now that the year its closing in to the dark, we are already seeing snow two days out of three. The snow its yellow and it bears an odor that is most offensive. This would be hard enough, but in a time when there have been almost no crops harvested, our Merchants' Council has declared that many businesses in Holin-Gol will not survive the winter without some relief granted them by the Prefecture, which arrangement we are even now attempting to arrange. Another hard year lies ahead, and if we are not to collapse into anarchy, you must exercise prudence and call your soldiers back to Chang'an before something truly disastrous occurs.

Sent this day by courier, the sixth day of the Fortnight of the Dying-Autumn Lanterns, at the order of the Prefecture of Holin-Gol.

Chu Sung-Neong

Undersecretary of the Prefecture of Holin-Gol

(his chop)