The Secret History of the Bargas
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Book II, Vol.I - The Great Khan (p.7) - All of Them
Book II - Volume I - The Great Khan - VII
All of Them
How could they heal from these ill-words, Friend? No – this must have been devastating for them; how did the Bargas and Ariq Khan survive their pain?
Indeed, the words were devastating. Temyulen was in her borther’s arms; Ariq Khan embraced her to live the pain with her, and she was still screaming after she delivered those words, until her sound silenced, until her throat bled, until her eyes drowned in red, her head buried on the shoulder of her brother, her shriek deafening the ears of her brother, she was unable to stand any more but supported only by the arms of her brother. I remember, I remember all of them, for I saw the tears of all, I heard the cries of all, I cried with all of them.
Saran was on her knees, trying but failing to keep her tears, yet holding the children altogether. As if she could prevent the screams and cries and shrieks reaching the children, as if she could protect them from the pain, as if she could make them forget what they heard, saw, cried. Her man Degun was behind her, along with Achigh and the Khishigs and the baghaturs beside him, holding and covering the children, standing and frowning on their faces, shaking and hesitating to say any word, they were waiting their khan to react, they were waiting The Seeker to speak.
Tsymzidma was holding the hands of her man Asalup, urging him to give her support but not stop her, yet she was without any words, trying to reach her sister and brother to embrace them, yet she was unable to walk even one step. Speechless, soundless, powerless, he was able to overcome her attempts, thus she began shrieking in whispers, prevented by his arms, supported by his love, they fell down on their knees together.
Sambuu was frozen as the words hit him, Aldar was restless when the words reached him. Sambuu was standing, unable to move, aching to breathe, not giving a single sound. Aldar held his own head, then his hands reached his own hair to pull, to tear them until blood came, to scream by the pain only he could cause onto him, as if he could forget the pain of the words that were out of his hands. Yet he was already crying, thus he reached Sambuu, embracing him by his shoulder, shouting at him to return back, from the darkness he succumbed, begging him to awake, crying at him they would get their revenge, but to no avail for Aldar, the open eyes of Sambuu were wide, they were lost in afar.
Tuyana was the only one, baring the words in her coldest looks, making her silent moves, placing her hand on his brother’s shoulder. She was the only one to reach Temyulen and Ariq Khan, thus she embraced the two altogether. She was squeezing her own eyes as if she could gouge them, then opening them as if she could awake from the nightmare of the words, yet unfortunate for them the nightmare was the life they lived in, the truth they endured, the real they were surrounded with.
Altana was on the ground, as soon as Temyulen uttered those horrible words, fainted into darkness, closed her eyes as if not to open until the end of the day, succumbed to her agony, she was unable to bare. Her man Khermen was frantic, begging and crying, trying to wake her up, screaming to his shaman for help, yelling at the sky, asking Tengri for mercy, holding his beloved, clueless how to bring her back.
Kublai… Kublai Darqan was cast into ice, by those words he was drowned, but able to come back within the flash. He could not take it any more, for he was angry and raging and in the frenzy. He was holding his head at one moment, then he was running back and forth at the other moment. The silence bloated, the words choked his throat, his legs were never to stop. Then he exploded in his yelling, pointing his finger towards his brother Ariq Khan, shouting at him, cursing at him, furious at him.
Why was he, Friend – what was Kublai Darqan yelling at his brother Ariq Khan?
I remember, I remember all of them, for I heard the words of him, cast as the thunders of Ülgen. “You!... You, my brother!... I warned and told and begged, and you did not listen, my brother! I warned you not to listen those words of The Seeker! I told you not to hurry into those meaningless wars! I begged you to return the ordo to the hearth! You did not listen! We did not hear any words from our dear beloved, our blood, our sisters! Now we hear they are dead, and we did not even hear one word from them, not even how and why! You did nothing! You were in the dark! We were blind! You!... They are dead now, they are taken from us forever! Now we can do nothing! What is your purpose, if you cannot protect your kin? For what are you the khan? You!... You are Ariq, you are my brother, but you are the khan of dead kin, the khan of failure! You are the khan of nothing!”
Friend. I… Friend, these words are unacceptable, despite from a brother, and especially from a brother. How could Ariq Khan, let alone any khan, receive such words and not get angered? What did Ariq Khan do when he was accused by his brother Kublai Darqan?
Yes. Those words were unacceptable, but Ariq was not any khan. Yes, those were the words of his brother Kublai Darqan, but their bond was not of any other but of the strongest, although they were the children of different mothers. Yet the death of their sisters was more than enough for Ariq Khan to fly into a mind that could not be seen by anyone, and the hurtful words of Kublai Darqan were not reaching him, at least not as they were intended, at least not as they were perceived, but they were heard also by everyone.
Temyulen was by then on her knees, trying to scream even after her voice was lost to silent growls, silently howling, holding the leg of her brother, now embraced by her sister Tuyana. The words of their sisters’ death were devastating already, but what Kublai Darqan saying to Ariq Khan was heard by them and the others, causing dismay, spurring despair, creating unrelated anger, as if the words would push Ariq Khan into an ice-cast, a fire-realm, a darkened-nothingness. Every step of Kublai Darqan was closing in towards Ariq Khan, every word of him was thundering with more anger, thus he was held by baghaturs, for they would protect their khan no matter what happens, whoever threatens. They held the approaching brother, growling in his agony, lost in his words but only screaming: “Bilduu! Byorte! Where are you, my sisters? Where are my sisters! Tell me my brother Ariq! The khan of nothing! Tell me where my sisters are!”
Then the baghaturs of Kublai Darqan jolted, they backed their darqan, they supported him against the baghaturs of Ariq Khan. The struggle resumed by the arms of the strong, yet the moment was imminent to draw the sword.
Friend, did they…?
No. The bond between the siblings was not of any other, despite their father, or I should say, in spite of their father. That did not matter any more, for it was The Seeker to tell them, they might be the children of The Warrior of The Red, else The Shaman of The White, but they were all the descendants of The Wolf. Yet the bond was reminded not by these words of The Seeker from many suns in the past, but by the roar of Ariq Khan at that moment.
Friend, what did he… What did Ariq Khan say roaring?
The eyes of Ariq Khan were fixed on an unknown place, to an unknown day, for an unknown mind. He was succumbing deeper to the sight that he was looking at, known to no one but only to him. Every word hurled from his brother Kublai Darqan was as what you said, unacceptable, but for Ariq Khan, it affected different, and no one could predict it. His eyes were lost in that sight, his mind was in the place unbeknownst to no one, his vision was never to be seen by anyone. When the baghaturs acted to hold Kublai Darqan, and his baghaturs acted to protect him, Ariq Khan roared: “Release my brother!”
Did they listen to him, Friend?
You are naïve, Rhomaios. When a khan orders, baghaturs do it. There is no question, for there is no greater honour for them to have. Yet this order was not from a khan, but from Ariq Khan. He was the khan of the Bargas, son of The Warrior, descendant of The Fox and The Owl, he was the blood of The Wolf. Thus did his roar stop all the screams, all the shrieks, all the cries. Temyulen was breathing slowly, still embraced by Tuyana. Sambuu would return from his own ice-cast, even Aldar would be shaken. Altana would wake up from her faint, her man Khermen was holding her in silence. Saran would jump to her feet, still holding the children with her man Degun. Tsymzidma stood up decisively, holding on her man Asalup, still on his knees. Kublai Darqan was released at that moment, leaving him into agonising growls in the silent. The roar of Ariq Khan was of thunder, his eyes were of lightning. He said nothing more, but looked at The Seeker one more. She slowly gathered her voice, and called upon the Shaman of Mongolia.
Thus reached Iturgen Shaman, shrieking through his throat, filling the sky with his chant, silencing the mourning steppes, calling Tengri The Eternal Blue, ordering his disciples to bring the woods, calling for the khöömis, preparing the greatest fire ever seen until that day. The sisters Bilduu and Byorte were taken from them, they were lying in a faraway land, but the cords from their birth were always with the shamans of the hearth, for they are the keepers of tales, they are the healers of minds, and they are the bringers of newborns.
The flames erupted before them on that day in Tunka lands, the smoke covered the sky, from the fire through the smoke the ashes reached Tengri. Iturgen Shaman threw the cords of the sisters, helping them to be one with the fire, leave their remains, rise up to join The Eternal Blue. The flames danced until the deepest night, the khöömis sang until the stars conquered the sky, the Bargas cut their faces for the blood to flow into the flames, they stayed until the dawn arrived. The forty riders would prepare their horses, the forty would trot seven times led by Ariq Khan around the fire, the forty would unite the earth and the sky with their screams, the forty would ride on the remains of the fire until the light of Kün Ana would be chased by the light of Ay Ata. Ariq Khan was riding his horse with the lightnings in his eyes, fixed on an unknown place, to an unknown day, for an unknown mind, but he was riding as if to reach the sky with the rising ashes, as if to touch the sky by the flames, as if to embrace his sisters Bilduu and Byorte, now in The Eternal Blue.
By the light of Kün Ana, the khöömis were joined by the uzans and the kaichis, their sound joined the throats of all, their morin khuurs were joined by the igils, the topshuurs, and the doshpuluurs. The mourning was screamed into songs, the Bargas mourned their sisters, for they could not be with them any more but in The Eternal Blue, they could never see them any more but through The Countless Stars, they were taken from them forever but they hoped the children of their sisters would survive until they could reunite, and only then they could say their farewell. The earth turned blue, the sky turned red, the flames rose with the lament to resound by all.
Only the light of Kün Ana would wake them from their mourning, thus the orders were given. In the light of the day, the forty would ride into the black, carrying the remains of the fire, with the earth under the sky, back into the grounds near Baikal, to bury them in Buryat lands, but the ordo with Ariq Khan would return to the hearth in Borchigin lands, save for the forty riders.
Friend, if the ordo of Ariq Khan returned to the hearth after the funeral, what did the other Bargas do?
They rode with him to gather again but in the hearth.
Who, Friend, which sibling of Ariq Khan did ride with him back to the hearth?
All of them.
Note on the link the lament to resound by all: Huun Huur Tu - Orphan's Lament - from the album with the same name - 1994; newer recording also in 2008
Publishers'-Edit 10.12.2021: Corrected major publication mistakes.
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Some will face the inevitable consequences, that is certain.
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Book II, Vol.I - The Great Khan (p.8) - Never to Cease
Book II - Volume I - The Great Khan - VIII
Never to Cease
I understand, it must have been very difficult times, Friend. After such losses, the surviving family turning on each other; was this what happened to the Bargas, Friend, by forcing a kurultai?
Difficult times. Such words are meaningless, for I will never understand their intention when they are uttered. Irrelevant thoughts of the empty-minds, futile attempts of the ill-knowings, worthless sayings of the unable-beings. Every day is difficult, if one looks at the life itself, but with every rise of the sun is brought another day, ending the former. Those in the blind would curse on the day they live in, yearning for their days of the youth as if they were pure golden, yet the coming days are always forgotten. I would expect better from a mind as yours, Rhomaios.
I understand, Friend, but it is hard to follow your steps, for your experience is vastly immense compared to my short life, and as your words are now diving into hurtful judgements, I would also expect better from a mind as yours, to show me the wisdom of yours.
…
Friend, I may have the words of an irrelevant thought, talking in a futile attempt, failing due to my unable-being, but I would still assume it must have been very difficult for anyone surviving their losses, while accusing each other. For the Bargas, for the siblings, for Ariq Khan, after their meeting in Tunka, those must have been the most difficult days of their lives, riding in agony, only to reach their lands but to clash with their words. I speak true as my mind, Friend, but you are smiling with your piercing eyes looking at me. Is this the limit of your patience?
No.
Friend?
I know you, Rhomaios.
Friend, I assure you, for my intention is truly –
No, you do not need to further elaborate your intention. Amazing. I am amazed by the words of your inquiry, that is the only explanation for my hesitation. You are right, as you would say Rhomaios. I am in the joy to smile, but for it is truly the greatest decision I have ever made, choosing you to deliver the words of mine for the coming ages. You are right Rhomaios, and I shall keep my promise to bestow my patience at your service. However pointless and ambiguous it is to declare days as difficult times, however I despise such sentiments, however I condemn your words be it truly else unfairly, for those days after the funeral it was the extreme weight of a burden one could barely carry.
Then Friend, I shall continue to ask, for my thirst for your tales is endless, thus I am still and more curious.
On the contrary to what you would assume, they reached the hearth faster than their ordo of riders, for it was of utmost importance, to clash with the words to decide upon at the kurultai. For your question though, the answer is bright as the snow on the steppes in winter. Those were the most difficult days and nights, that return was, for I remember, I remember all of them.
What do you remember, Friend, of those days and nights?
Phongma would stay and ride by the side of Ariq by the lights of the days, for it was her decision to support her man, to show him strong, to declare him defiant, but in the shadows of the nights they would remain silent. I remember the smile of Ariq, whenever his children would climb to his lap, playing with their father, asking for the reason of the light from the candles, else the source of fire in the hearth, smiling and laughing with him to share their joy, for they were in the young. Ariq Khan would only smile back, but he was without any words. His eyes were still flashing in the lightnings even while smiling, I remember, I remember those lightnings in the eyes of Ariq Khan, I remember the silence of Phongma Khanum.
Children are quick to live the pain, leaving the sorrow within the day, Friend, for they are in the young. I understand.
No, not all of them are as you say, Rhomaios. You must have forgotten the younger days of yours, else you never had such young days, and I would further question you, if you ever had any children of yours.
No, Friend. No, I was not blessed with such happiness.
I have lost my patience again, yes, now I notice it. I will not ask for forgiveness though, for the cruelty I have just caused on you, I must remain responsible without escaping by words, begging for mercy.
Friend, that is far greater than an apology I can expect as my humble being before your presence, and I am truly in awe of your wisdom despite the pain caused by your question.
Do not indulge such words again, Rhomaios. Ask in your mind, and I will tell all I remember, for I have to tell all of them for all to remember.
As you wish, Friend. I wish to know the reason behind the silence of the nights in the yurt of Ariq and Phongma, while they were returning after the funeral.
The return would take three days and nights for the Bargas, with the ordo of the riders behind but slower than them. They were in the Mongolian steppes, travelling safe with no one to challenge them, but they were carrying their losses in their minds after the funeral. Phongma Khanum would remain silent towards Ariq Khan for two nights, but only to speak on the third night. Her look was iron, her words were sharp, but her voice was mild, for she would consider the innocent sleep of their children, as if to protect them from the crashing lightnings in the rain.
“And listen to my words, Ariq: I did not leave you, for I will never abandon your side, even as I do not need you, but my love is eternal for you. For two days, I have watched your silence, for I understand you, but your children do not know you as I do. I watched your smile for them, for your joyous calm I am grateful, yet I saw the shining in your eyes, from that mind everyone is forsaken but I. I know you Ariq, you are my man but belong to no one else, and I shall remind you, should you have forgotten, you are not as your father.”
That word was enough to bring back Ariq Khan from the unknown place he was looking at, from the unknown day he was living in, from the unknown mind he was thinking of since the scream of Temyulen. Ariq Khan was awaken, and he was waiting for the hesitation of her, after she saw how her words affected him, but she was Phongma Khanum of Mongolia, and she was never to fear, even of Ariq, let alone a Barga.
“You are not your father, Ariq, but however you decide, however the kurultai ends, however the path is chosen by you to follow, do not ever think that you can be your father, for I heard of him, of his rage, of the fear of him. Do not ever think that you can turn into your father, and you can do to your children as your father did to his: To raise them in his beastly rage, to shape them in absolute fear of him. Do not ever think that you can do anything to your children for your path, for I am Phongma, and I will protect them from whomever threatening their life, their happiness, their coming days. Do not ever forget, they are my children. Mine!”
Her words were uttered in a mild sound, they were spoken through an iron look, they were piercing ears as sharp arrows. Ariq Khan was looking at Phongma the Bear, for he awoke from the deepest sleep, the gloom-cast by the loss one could say, but it was more than such spells, known to no one. He gathered all his vigour to speak, for it was his first since days. His words were uttered in a gentle sound, they were spoken through a lightning look, they were blasting ears as shrieking arrows.
“Phongma. It is your right to lead the children, for they are your children, but do not ever forget: They are our children, and no one can dare to say I would do anything to harm them, and no one can even claim I would raise them in almost Erlik-wise villainy as my father raised his children; I and my siblings. No one! Not even you!”
They looked at each other for the longest while in the eyes of a child, for their love was incomprehensible to those in the young. I remember, I remember that look, but it always ended in the warmest embrace of minds. That time it ended in the passion of hesitation, slowly closing to each other, falling in the arms of each other, culminating in the kisses forging them into one, their night ended in the lust for each other, but to heal their wounds before the troubles they expected to happen.
Friend, this is a sincere tale warming the heart, but I am not sure if you truly want these words to be delivered for the coming ages, for they are telling the intimacy sacred for Ariq Khan and Phongma Khanum.
Silence. Every sound of every word of every tale I tell, they are of the truth, and it is necessary to know them, to show the results of them, however they are to be interpreted, for that is the responsibility of those who listen to them. Ask in your mind, for I will tell you only the truth.
As you wish, Friend. Did Ariq Khan hold his promise to Phongma Khanum, was he true to his words?
…
Friend?
I know you, Rhomaios, and I know what you are trying to learn but in the shortest possible way, for you are still thinking the rain is the only reason for the leaves to get wet. Unfortunate for you, the tale of the khan is longer than you can expect. Yes. He was true to his words, Ariq Khan held his promise to Phongma Khanum, he obeyed her ruling, the children would be raised not by the fury of the past, but by the love of their parents, by the kindness for their kin, by the teachings of The Seeker.
Friend, did the children of Ariq Khan – were they –
Enough. I know you, Rhomaios, and what you would ask, had I not stopped you. That would be another tale… but the children always surprise their parents, for it is Tengri creates the world of one, for it is the parents shape their children, for it is the nature bestows the fortune else curses, yet the children forge their own paths to follow.
I understand, Friend, I will not try your patience any more on that matter, but I shall ask you about the kurultai, for it was the trouble you told of the Bargas would face when they returned.
It was the second kurultai ever to assemble during a reign, thus it was shocking for most of all. It was the first kurultai ever to assemble but only with the siblings of a khan, thus it was troubling for all. Yet it was the shortest kurultai, and it would not be the last one for the reign of Ariq Khan.
How could it happen, Friend? A kurultai of the khanate for the second time while a khan is still ruling, and yet during the reign of Ariq Khan, to be also the shortest, and not the last one?
The reasons to give would be repeating what I have told you so far, for the boulder does not fall just by a kick, for the barley is not shaken by only a wind, for the leaves do not get wet by only rains. Those are the tales we know of, we see, we hear, we taste, we smell, we feel, but many more may be there before our eyes, ears, tongue, nose, and hands, but we have not yet discovered. Yet the days we reduce to a single moment, we sum the tales only to reach a single point, for it is the serenity we seek when we face the giant of life itself, to overcome the burden of the incomprehensible, thus to swim in the sea of the simplicity. Sharper mind than the most you have, but still desiring the simplest words for the questions you have. So be it. I shall provide my patience for you, I shall name the kurultai for you, for it was the first one to divine the coming days, to spark the coming suns, to call for another but the great one, and to rise the…
To rise what, Friend? What did it give way to rise?
The wind. To rise the wind over the ashes, to hurl the boulders and to shake the grass and to bring the rains, to ride the wind to become the storm. All shall kneel before, the storm never to cease.
Note on the link to ride the wind to become the storm: Godspeed You! Black Emperor - The Sad Mafioso... - from the album F♯ A♯ ∞ - 1998
Publishers'-Edit 13.02.2023: Corrected major publication mistakes. Corrected the image locations.
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Congrats! Catching up and I can see why. Very well written, with that epic feel and strong characterization. I will certainly be following this one!
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Some truly magnificent character moments and action in the last three chapters, @filcat.
The deaths of Bilduu and Byorte you handled exceptionally - one can definitely feel the range of emotions for those fighting a hopeless battle. And the dialogue between Ariq and Phongma--whew! I wish I could write an old married couple like that, where even the silences are suffused with meaning, and what is left unsaid is as important as what is said between them, even though they fear to hold back nothing from each other. I think I may just be lacking the experience.
Seriously, as an astute reader once most kindly remarked on my own work: "Kudos"!
The deaths of Bilduu and Byorte you handled exceptionally - one can definitely feel the range of emotions for those fighting a hopeless battle. And the dialogue between Ariq and Phongma--whew! I wish I could write an old married couple like that, where even the silences are suffused with meaning, and what is left unsaid is as important as what is said between them, even though they fear to hold back nothing from each other. I think I may just be lacking the experience.
Seriously, as an astute reader once most kindly remarked on my own work: "Kudos"!
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Oh, by the way. You are probably as familiar with it as I am if not more, but I just wanted to plug it in any case:
There are parts of your Book II that remind me starkly of the epic film The Fall of Otrar (Отырардың күйреуі) directed by Kazakh New Wave filmmaker Ardak Ámirqulov. There is the same psychedelic quality to the writing, feeling as though one is viewing the history through a seething mist. It has that same sense of slow-burn, the same sense of carefully-built foreboding, as though the crushing weight of a great world-historical force is descending upon you with an inexorable force.
There are parts of your Book II that remind me starkly of the epic film The Fall of Otrar (Отырардың күйреуі) directed by Kazakh New Wave filmmaker Ardak Ámirqulov. There is the same psychedelic quality to the writing, feeling as though one is viewing the history through a seething mist. It has that same sense of slow-burn, the same sense of carefully-built foreboding, as though the crushing weight of a great world-historical force is descending upon you with an inexorable force.
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[Sincere apologies for the extremely late reply.]
Duke of Midnightshire,
Avlonya, Albania, Ottoman Empire
Sir - it is my pleasure to inform you that I have established new friendships in the hinterland of China Proper. I successfully gathered a team of archeologists and notable historians, who have recently joined our Society, for another trip to resume the excavations. I will guide them to the sites, whereas I will remain behind. I will take the road to the far ends of Manchuria, so that I am hopeful to find more on the now discredited chronicles known as The Secret History of the Bargas.
After heated debates at the Society, I concurred with the consensus that the documents we found are completely fictitious, and the tome is a fabrication. However, there are many more missing sections regarding the volumes on Kitai lands. I am not hopeful on finding any of them, but my newest friends in China Proper have informed me that they have found more of the volumes writing about the rest of this fabricated chronicle on Mongols. I have sent them my works that I have succeeded so far, as well as the reports on our debates at the Society. The trip will allow us to reunite to compare our findings.
My friends also wrote me that they are inclined to accept the fabricated nature of the tome; however, according to them the volumes are consistent with each other. They informed me that the volumes about the Great Khan are truly between two different characters, and they are genuine only to the fiction of the tome. They do not have any connections to any of the real personae we know by now.
I and my team will board Earl of Abergavenny to-morrow, 1st of February. She will take us to Bengal, and then she will be bound for China. I am hopeful to meet my new friends in China Proper. I will write as soon as we reach our destination.
Publishers'-Edit: This letter has been found independent of the tome The Secret History of the Bargas. Its language and the correspondent names in it suggest that it is fictional as the tome is. 'Duke of Midnightshire' and 'Filliam Catberton' names are observed to be completely fictional, but 'Earl of Abergavenny' was an actual ship, and it sank on her last voyage on 5 February 1805.
The source of the letter remains unclear.
On the other hand, it does have curious details on the tome, as it confirms that the conversation of Friend and Rhomaios is between the two characters depicted in the fictional lore of the tome. As of current publication (part 8 of The Great Khan, Vol.I of Book II), their identities are not disclosed, but their names are observed only at the end of the Vol.II of this book.
31 January 1805
Portsmouth, Great Britain
Portsmouth, Great Britain
Duke of Midnightshire,
Avlonya, Albania, Ottoman Empire
Sir - it is my pleasure to inform you that I have established new friendships in the hinterland of China Proper. I successfully gathered a team of archeologists and notable historians, who have recently joined our Society, for another trip to resume the excavations. I will guide them to the sites, whereas I will remain behind. I will take the road to the far ends of Manchuria, so that I am hopeful to find more on the now discredited chronicles known as The Secret History of the Bargas.
After heated debates at the Society, I concurred with the consensus that the documents we found are completely fictitious, and the tome is a fabrication. However, there are many more missing sections regarding the volumes on Kitai lands. I am not hopeful on finding any of them, but my newest friends in China Proper have informed me that they have found more of the volumes writing about the rest of this fabricated chronicle on Mongols. I have sent them my works that I have succeeded so far, as well as the reports on our debates at the Society. The trip will allow us to reunite to compare our findings.
My friends also wrote me that they are inclined to accept the fabricated nature of the tome; however, according to them the volumes are consistent with each other. They informed me that the volumes about the Great Khan are truly between two different characters, and they are genuine only to the fiction of the tome. They do not have any connections to any of the real personae we know by now.
I and my team will board Earl of Abergavenny to-morrow, 1st of February. She will take us to Bengal, and then she will be bound for China. I am hopeful to meet my new friends in China Proper. I will write as soon as we reach our destination.
Yours Respecfully,
Filliam Catberton
Filliam Catberton
Publishers'-Edit: This letter has been found independent of the tome The Secret History of the Bargas. Its language and the correspondent names in it suggest that it is fictional as the tome is. 'Duke of Midnightshire' and 'Filliam Catberton' names are observed to be completely fictional, but 'Earl of Abergavenny' was an actual ship, and it sank on her last voyage on 5 February 1805.
The source of the letter remains unclear.
On the other hand, it does have curious details on the tome, as it confirms that the conversation of Friend and Rhomaios is between the two characters depicted in the fictional lore of the tome. As of current publication (part 8 of The Great Khan, Vol.I of Book II), their identities are not disclosed, but their names are observed only at the end of the Vol.II of this book.
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Extremely glad and incredibly grateful for the praise, @Peter Ebbesen, thank you!
Sincerely thankful for the kind words, and hopefully the remaining story (it is long - classic filcat) can match the enthusiasm. Will resume the regular updates soon, cheers! (but first have to go another round of clean-up for grammatical errors - once again)
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As eloquent and as elegant as ever: Sincerely grateful for the high praise @Revan86, thank you!
Correct on finding out one of the influences: Bullseye!
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Correct.
Attempted to reply from a perspective to diffuse the question into the world built in the AAR. The recursive nature of it certainly introduces another encumbrance to the confusion it can create as it fails to satisfy the readAAR, that is true. So yes, it is a bit meta.
But it also incredibly frees the writing, it allows possibilities for enormous joy of discovering horizons that is not achievable otherwise, and it is deliriously fun, thus will continue to write as such.
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Mr. Catberton: Thank you for the letter. I hope to host you in Avlonya upon your return from China. Duke of Midnightshire
One small personal note, I did live as a toddler in Portsmouth (VA not England). I hoped that you learned not to give cheap wine to pilots before they complete their work.
How much history is the interpretation and manufacture of the historians? Is interpreting with your biases any better than manufacturing to support your findings?
One small personal note, I did live as a toddler in Portsmouth (VA not England). I hoped that you learned not to give cheap wine to pilots before they complete their work.
How much history is the interpretation and manufacture of the historians? Is interpreting with your biases any better than manufacturing to support your findings?
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The randomness of coincidences is a pathway of infinite surprises that some consider to be unnatural.
Cannot dare to answer the question, as it would be unethical, since not even sharing the same campus with the history department would give the power to pontificate on what history, historical method, and historiography are.
Can only provide what scientific method is, which would be a generalist point of view, but it is inescapably certain, leaving no room for any doubts. Neither interpretation with bias, nor manufacturing to support the results has any place in the process of scientific method to obtain knowledge from the material.
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Book II, Vol.I - The Great Khan (p.9) - Kurultai of the Wind
Book II - Volume I - The Great Khan - IX
Kurultai of the Wind
Of the kurultai the wind rose from, Friend, I heard the name in the lands I travelled.
I know you, Rhomaios. You heard about it, you speak true as you ask to confirm it. You are here for it, however you wished for it to be a hopeful tale for you and your people. You still have the futile hope of it be the favourable as opposed to what you dread.
Friend?
I have told you countless times by now. I know who you are, Rhomaios. You do not want to face the truth of yours, of the mirror you avoid your being, for the words you want to hunt you keep your mind hidden, only to trust in the ambivalent nature of my patience, but I have told you, I already know it.
Friend, your words are crushing the sanctuary I have been bestowed as I am before you, for now I must beg you to stop further accusing me of the past that I left in the life I abandoned. I have told you that my soul is salvaged through the path of the All-Mighty, even though you may not accept it.
Your guilt is not the old days of yours, that you wish it to be cleansed of your existence, Rhomaios. Your guilt is not the salvation that you dare to speak of, and I tell the futility of embracing such a path achieved not by yourself but bestowed by the others. You have it, so be it. Your guilt is not even the conflicting nature of your convictions, seeing your God to create you as you are, but you run towards the light in order to free yourself, while arguing and disagreeing what I say, the ability of us mortals to change our path by ourselves.
Friend! I am free of my guilt! I suffered the punishment for it, and All-Merciful God heard my plea!
Your guilt is not the deliverance you achieved after your confession, Rhomaios. I do not accuse you of the path you took, to free yourself from the guilt you had, to live the day without the burden of the remorse, to see the coming days in the company of the serenity.
Friend! I have been asking and hearing and speaking for your words to carry them for the coming days, as you wish! There is no need to repeat what I had done, my burdens do not belong in your tales! I beg for mercy! You do not know who I am!
On the contrary, Rhomaios, it is the guilt of false admission to this, it is the guilt of yours to even think you could persuade me that you are no one in the tales of others. I know how you heard about Tsymzidma the Wise Karsak, for you wanted to learn the sacred mountains she ruled upon. I know how you heard about The Seeker, for you wanted to learn The Shaman of the White, thus you found out about her son Kublai Darqan. I know how you heard about Phongma the Bear, for you heard about the blessing of others for the wind becoming the storm, thus you learnt the legacy of the storm never to cease. You may be no one, you may claim living only to hear the tales, but you know who you are looking for, and you are afraid to find another one. You wished for a hopeful tale, that is true, a tale of hope to fulfil more than what you would provide, to seek an answer for the inevitable storm from the plains of the unknown that your people dread, but you kept the shadow-cast to conceal yourself in the words you have chosen to ask, to define your being, to redeem your suffering, as if you could persuade me to trust them. I know you, Rhomaios.
Friend!
You were already living by the words of others, to hear them before the others, to carry them for others, that are your masters, whoever they would be. Then your deeds did not satisfy them, and you were tasked with another, you thought you could face with its consequences, but your mind failed under its weight.
Friend!
You murdered one, Rhomaios. You took the life of one, on the orders of your masters, you ended the life of one, before minding what that would bring upon you. So were you in remorse, eternally damning yourself without seeing the light ever again. So began your path of salvation, as you said in your words. The priests you sought refuge, they provided your redemption, however you want to believe in, so be it. Thus were you tasked at the end of it, to hear the words of the lands beyond your realms, to see the realms of us, the barbarians riding their horses as your people see us, to learn the tales of the khans they have been receiving from the blue. A spy on the run, for the light he is searching, seeking the tales of the desperate hopes.
ENOUGH! ENOUGH OF YOUR WORDS! ENOUGH OF YOU ROTTEN CURSED MAN!
…
Friend! I… I apologise, I beg for mercy, I could not hold my tongue, I am at your service until the end of days, please save me from your wrath, I cannot believe my words, I do not know what I am speaking of, please Friend, I am begging you, I am only a foolish servant, no one for you, irrelevant to you, worthless to be before you! Please Friend, I –
No, Rhomaios. You do not need to apologise. Clean up your face, dash away the tears you pour.
Friend? Thank you Friend, I am at your service until the end of days, Friend. I am your humble servant until the Heaven arrives.
You do not need to pledge with such words, Rhomaios. I know the pain I have caused, but it had to be done, as now you should understand the meaning of this.
What, Friend, what is it?
Sharper mind than the most, but modest. Humbled by the burden you carry yourself, despite the salvation you had as you claim. The words I have to speak of, you will listen to, as I count on you. You do not need to hide behind your words, and this is my patience for your lies. I know you, Rhomaios.
Yes Friend, then yes, I was a keeper of the words, conveyor of the hidden thoughts, listener of the unheard whispers. I… Then I did a terrible sin. I assure you, my soul is saved by the mercy of God All-Mighty. This was my penance, as I was travelling your lands to learn the tales of the dreadful khans that we heard about, but I assure you, for I am truly enchanted in these lands as I heard of you and I learnt of your magnificence. When I was captured by your Khishigs, I was certain to meet your sublime presence, to see your benevolence, to receive your patience, so was I brought to your ordo. When you ordered me to listen to your words, I was delighted to be of your service, to carry on this duty but as you wished, to provide my humble skills for your needs. I am not hunting for the tales of wrathful rulers of the steppes, for those are the words the people of my realm are looking, but I am truly honoured to be serving you, keeping the words of your people, to deliver the stories of great khans untold to us for the coming days.
Finally, you speak the truth of your mind, Rhomaios. Even though you do not realise the reason, although you hope for tales of a contender to meet the horrors all your people dread, I will still reward your words. I have been telling those you sought, for whatever purpose you convince yourself, but I am only an ailing old man, but nothing more, waiting to rest in the eternal sky, enduring the days and the nights in pain, although a great khan for my people as you have attempted to address. That is another tale but much later to be told than the one I have been speaking of. Ariq Khan was… He was the greatest. These words shall be delivered to the coming days exactly as I say, as you hear now, and if you wish to learn for more, do ask exactly in this way.
I am eternally grateful for your mercy, Friend. I am at the patience of your great presence, Friend. I apologise for my being, unable to show the respect that your highness deserves, Friend. I shall once again attempt to repeat, as I am truly in awe of your tales, eager to learn more, ready to hear more, for I trust the tale of your people is the hopeful one for the sake of the others. I shall continue as you wish, for I am asking you the kurultai of the wind, for I only heard of it, never knew how it proceeded.
You want to trust in the hope you have, so be it. It was the most worrying for it to ever assemble, and it would not be the last one. Bargas of the Falcon, Bargas of the Dove, and Bargas of the other lines were not there, thus it was shocking. Not even the irgens of other clans, and not even The Elders were there, thus it was troubling. All siblings of the khan were there to speak, together with their children but for them only to listen. It was therefore The Seeker first to speak, for it was the horror of the old she desired to prevent before it would reoccur in their age.
“You the one who was bestowed the kut of Tengri, you the one who rules over the realm, you the one who hears the words of wisdom, son of the khans, Khan of the Bargas, Ariq Khan of Mongolia, I beg you to listen my humble words, for I can only hope you hear my mind. It is the most vile act, it is the most villainous end, it is the most dreadful words we heard of, the demise of your sisters now remains in the old, for we heard them as delivered by Temyulen the Black Tiger, and she heard by that brave rider from the red. I beg you to listen my humble words, for I can only hope you remember the tales I told. The words of the old, they would be forgotten if not told, yet they are living with us, for all I have told. Now that you shall decide what is your right, for you are the true khan, but I beg you to listen my humble words, for I can only hope you do not repeat the mistakes of before, to open the wounds that were healed, to doom the coming days yet again. It is my duty to remind you, should you listen, for this is the age of Ariq Khan, and I can only wish you a glorious reign, but be free of the beast of rage, not be deceived in the bliss of happiness, never remain in the silence of fury, rule without being estranged to your kin.” The reticence followed the words of The Seeker, but before she could continue, it was cut with the words of Ariq Khan, surprising her, shocking everyone.
What did Ariq Khan say, Friend?
His words were ever to match whomever he would speak, for he was Ariq Khan, and his was the sharpest mind, of the silver-tongue, of the golden words. This was already apparent since his youth, and yet it was still astonishing for the ones that heard him on that day, for it was the first time Ariq Khan interfered while The Seeker was talking, for it was the first time he would take the wind risen from her, but to ride it himself alone. At that moment, Ariq Khan was the one the Bargas were listening to, regardless they were the followers of The Seeker’s teachings, else despising even her being.
How did Ariq Khan continue after that, Friend?
He stood up after those words, not even a whisper was heard, I remember, I remember the fear of the unknowing endured by all on that day. He decisively walked towards his brother Kublai Darqan, and he drew his sword. The baghaturs afar gasped, the Four Khishigs froze, unable to move, hesitating to act, drowned in the unknown what they should do.
Friend, did they – did Ariq Khan – Friend, what did –
…
Friend, your eyes – your look is frightening, I feel the ache deep in my soul.
And that was the look as Ariq Khan had for all, telling them with his eyes to stand still, for it was the matter between the khan and the irgen. He then turned his eyes towards his brother, their eyes met in the clash of thunderous looks, thus it became the matter between the two brothers, they were at that moment only Ariq and Kublai, just as they were in their young. Ariq threw his sword before the feet of Kublai however, the blade hit the ground, the siblings shrieked silently, the birds flew into the sky. He spoke with the words freezing the light of the day: “We heard the scream of Temyulen, we suffered the demise of our sisters Bilduu and Byorte, but all heard your words of the anger. Take the sword, if I am the khan of dead kin, rise up Kublai, if I am the khan of failure, say again if I am the khan of nothing.”
Kublai was in the ice-cast by then, his look at Ariq was darkened, his mind was paralysed, but he slowly gained his ezens for his mind, yet he was still hesitating. Then came the roar of Ariq: “Take the sword! Rise and say again if I am the khan of nothing!” Kublai took the sword, jumped to his feet, pointed at Ariq.
What did Kublai do, Friend? What did he decide to do?
He stopped. The sword was touching Ariq, but it was not moving. Kublai was looking at Ariq in the eyes, but he was not moving. I remember, I remember the fear of the uncertain heartbeats endured by all on that day. Yet the arm started to shake lightly, then the sword was lowered slowly, then the blade fell on the ground abruptly.
Friend, I must say it is inconceivable to my knowledge, a subject be it kin, let a sibling, otherwise not bound by blood, to challenge its ruler without severe punishment. As in the tale you speak of now, it is incredible for me to even think of drawing a blade. Did Ariq Khan forgive his brother, Friend?
To your knowledge, yes, a severe punishment. But for us, drawing the blade to challenge a khan means certain death, from whomever it comes. Yet it was not any other kurultai, neither it was any other challenge, nor it was any khan. Ariq took one step towards Kublai, he embraced his brother, for Kublai was violently shaking by then. The words of Ariq resounded again in the steppes on that day: “You heard on that day the death of our two sisters but many suns now in the old, Kublai. We suffer together, for they were our sisters, our beloved, our blood, but I am not going to be the khan losing also a brother on this day.”
Then followed the silent tears of Kublai, for it was the first he let them free, since the demise of their sisters heard by them. Kublai conceded, but it was to be decided, should Ariq be the khan of all.
Truly the bond between the siblings was victorious on that day, Friend.
You may think as such, but I will never understand why Kublai hesitated on that day, why he stopped to drive the sword, why he conceded from the clash, for it was still his right, as a khan was challenged at a kurultai. Alas, I never had the chance to ask the truth of Kublai’s mind, and I will never know the reason behind. But of the khan… Much later I understood what the khan did achieve. It was not any other kurultai, neither it was any other challenge, nor it was any khan. His name was Ariq Khan, and after he released his arms, the khan turned his eyes away from his brother towards his siblings, his family, his children.
Phongma Khanum was holding the children together with Pekşen of the Kutays, but one hand was at her dagger, only to unclench when Ariq Khan looked back. Tuyana was the only sibling to stand up when the sword was first drawn, and she did not stop her threatening looks until it hit the ground once again. Tuyana the Moon Sable was on her path of the shadows, for she would act upon any madness had Kublai Darqan attempted, but she was still aware of her sister Temyulen, as she was waiting for her to move, as she was the only one who could take her attention upon, as she was in the hate of her, and only her, even on such a day. Temyulen the Black Tiger was silent, ready to utter the words, holding the order for her baghaturs to act, but only to stop her sister, had she moved one more step.
I understand, Friend. The kurultai after the tragedy brought the troubles in the minds altogether. The bond was strong, but tested under heavy circumstances. But they did listen to the call, did they not, Friend?
Altana the Silent Seal shrieked to announce the decision, for it was the embracing brothers after the fall of the sword. Saran the Restless Heron agreed by shaking her head, Sambuu and Aldar confirmed by holding each other’s shoulders. Tsymzidma the Wise Karsak accepted by releasing her breath. Tuyana the Moon Sable was in the shadows, and Temyulen the Black Tiger was ever eager to shed blood by taking the order to bring her down, no matter what the tradition forbids. Ariq Khan, on other hand, was still looking towards his siblings, his family, his children, in silence, and only to speak after knowing their stance, only to bewilder them yet again, only to break the sky into winds. Your words are true, but what Ariq Khan did was entirely different as you understand.
What was it, Friend? How did he break the silence of the kurultai?
It was the unknown of his mind, seeking the unknown place, longing for an unknown day. He realised who would be with him, had it dared to be the question, despite the shriek of Altana. He spoke ominously, his words were confusing, his eyes were in the deepest sky: “I am the khan of the Bargas, but after those words were said, after that sword was drawn, I am the khan of the dead kin. Our sisters are in the eternal sky, and I could not save them. The words of my brother are true, and how could I be Ariq Khan of Mongolia, if I cannot reach my siblings when they need, if I cannot save my irgens when they need help, if I cannot bring the justice when the others commit such villainy?”
Friend? Did he not assert his reign? What did his siblings say upon his words?
The Seeker spoke before everyone else, for hers was the greatest fear, as the words of Ariq Khan indicated one path, and the most dreaded one it was. The justice to meet the crime, the vengeance to satisfy the rage, the violence she tirelessly endeavoured to avoid, it was the blue sun and the white doom, it was to bring the forever-night upon people innocent of the crime, and hers was the vow to prevent it happening ever again. Hers was the most innocent intention, the most noble purpose, the most respectful position. She could not predict what it would cause, for it was the khanate of the Bargas, and he was Ariq Khan.
Friend?
From hesitating sound to assertive presence, The Seeker spoke: “Noble Khan, blood of The Wolf, hear my words! If the path you seek is of vengeance, but not justice, if it is for the ones who are innocent of this crime, but not for the villains, then it is the path of destruction, the end of your mind, the damnation of the sky for the Bargas! Wise Khan, hear my words! Your father was the one to disrespect the tales, to forsake them from everyone, to cleanse them without mercy, thus it is the pain now we live in! Fair Khan, hear my words! Know the truth of your old days! Bring the virtue to the coming days! Be the khan greater than your blood!”
These words are the grace of nobility, the wisdom of mercy, the honour of fairness, Friend. How could these words cause an ominous path that you claim?
Every word of The Seeker were as you said, Rhomaios, I agree. I remember, I remember the serenity of hearing them, as if it was yesterday. But it was Ariq Khan they were addressed, and he was already determined what to say, for he was certain to hear them. He agreed upon those words, but not as you would expect: “That is the trouble we have, The Seeker of the unknown tales, since the beginning. I seek your guidance, I hear your words, and I accept the path of your wisdom shows us, but the trouble is to hear the tales. I agree that if I ride to the red as my father did, I would not satisfy our hunger for the justice, but only to fool ourselves with the blood for vengeance to the coming days.”
Terrifyingly malignant words, Friend, what Aldar Noyan said.
He was indeed Aldar the Tempest, yet only in the words during the kurultai, but I have to tell you, as those were nothing when you would know what their father would do. I have to add it, for he would never give away his rage in the words, but he would rather execute it, in the ever beastlier way possible. The Seeker would feel fortunate, for it was the age of Ariq Khan, and the father of the siblings was no more.
Was she right, Friend? Did it end as she would hope for?
No.
But Friend – ?
I have told you countless times, Rhomaios. He was Ariq Khan, and not any other one. He agreed with The Seeker as opposed to what Aldar Noyan screamed, and it was exactly abiding his mind, to reach the place known only to him, to seize the day known only by him. “Aldar my brother, calm your words, for you are chasing the path of the days in the old, and they failed over us just as The Seeker prophesied. She foresaw the vengeance by the raid, however we would succeed, no matter how many tümens we would ride with, and as she warned now we suffer the consequences. What we will achieve, when we cast the forever-night upon those lands again, it will not satisfy the justice, nor it will bring back our beloved back to us from the eternal sky.”
Ariq Khan was calmer, for his eyes were not in the deepest sky but narrowed, nor his words were confusing but simple, not even he spoke ominous any more but brief: “I will not ride anywhere to bring a false justice, only to return back, leaving all the turmoil for the coming days to face them again, Kublai my brother.” Thus rose the wind, silenced were all, and no one was able to stop him.
How, Friend? How did Ariq Khan rise over his lands as the wind, without anyone to prevent?
His words were pouring as hails, convincing every faction in the kurultai, thus was his wind unstoppable: “It is pointless to battle our enemies, whoever they are, only to return as they are left still reigning over their realms. We will still be ruling Mongolia, but we will not be able to reach our irgens when they are so faraway, in need of our help. But I will ride, Kublai my brother, I will ride with the tümen I inherited, for I have to show who I am, instead of only claiming who I am. The kurultai twelve suns before chose me the khan, but now I am the khan with two sisters in the eternal sky, for you contested it as I would be the khan of nothing. This kurultai shows it is uncertain if I am the khan, but wishes for it. I say no, if we do not even know who took the lives of our sisters, if we cannot decide upon how to bring the justice for them, if we cannot send even one rider to deliver words when our örtöös are in danger, even within our realm. Riding to red to face the unknown enemies is foolish, and it will bring the white doom upon us, not them, for The Seeker warned us, and her words are of the truth.
“But I will ride, Kublai my brother, but not into the red for the nameless enemies, but into the blue, for they are the Yelü clan of Khitan, and the Song clan of Han, and I will be sending my riders as I establish örtöös from Karakorum to Nanjing. I will show that, as The Seeker pleas, our tales can travel from the farthest lands back to the hearth in Borchigin lands, without casting the forever-night, but by bringing the serene-peace. I will ride not to rage over lands, but to bring their tales back to our ordo. I will ride to bind the tales, of ours and of others, with only one tümen by the share of my inheritance. The rest is yours until I arrive, for you are the Darqan of the Bargas. If you think you can rule in my stead, without breaking the sacred kurultai of the line, so beware, ride wise, and rule fair, for you are still weak in this kurultai of us, Bargas of The Wolf.
“And you will not rule alone, Kublai my brother, for you will have my ordo, and the support of our siblings. I declare hereby, Tsymzidma our sister will hold the sacred mountains of Tavan Bogd; Aldar and Sambuu will hold the passes of Altais to the white. Altana will hold our ancestral lands to the black; Saran will protect our children, the reason we live for. Temyulen will reign over the Borchigin hearth, and Tuyana will bring the words of the enemies we have to face, to bring the justice sparing the innocents. I will ride, Kublai my brother, as I send my riders by the safe örtöös from the sea to the sea. When I return, I will see you, and we will assemble the kurultai once again, but for everyone to decide upon who I am.”
What did Ariq Khan mean by everyone, Friend? How did Kublai Darqan respond to his khan’s decree?
His look was the coldest, but ready of the moment. He knelt before his khan, as the tradition of kurultai demanded, but his was the question that was bothering: “Ariq my brother, now that you entrust the lands, the ordo, the hearth to my being, then I have to accept, for your words are sharper than the arrow. I will respect your rule, but I will rule while you are faraway. I will protect your ordo, and Phongma Khanum along with your children will be safe. I have to ask, in that case, what The Seeker will do, as I do not respect her, nor I need any of her teachings.” It was the moment of the wind. Kublai Darqan could not predict it, The Seeker could not anticipate it, no one could. No one. You ask for who everyone is. It was in the reply of Ariq Khan to his brother’s question.
What was the reply of Ariq Khan, Friend?
…
Friend?
His reply was the soaring wind: “You cannot protect Phongma, for she does not need it, for it is her wish to ride as she deems, and no one can dare to question her. But The Seeker will ride, for that is her duty since the days of our father. You will not oppose her, however you despise her. The Seeker will ride to all corners of our realm, for this is her wish, but for this time, she will bring the tale of this kurultai, and she will call upon everyone to bring their tales with them, to meet when I return from the blue. Every darqan and noyan will hear this call, to bring the tales and bind them together, thus everyone will decide, if they want to relive their tales until they are conquered by their enemies, else they want their children, and their children to hear them, without fearing their enemies, but riding in the peace to last for ages, until the end of days. The peace of ours. The peace of uls, bound by the tales, against the enemies who want to unleash the fire upon all tales.”
Did The Seeker accept this duty from Ariq Khan, Friend?
You still have the hope. Unfortunate for you, for the others, and for everyone, she gladly accepted it, unknowing its consequences. Yes, she accepted the mind of Ariq Khan with gratitude. Thus the rising wind soared, and Ariq Khan rode the wind. Unfortunate for you, Rhomaios, you are still unaware of the wind.
Wh – What was it, Friend? What is the wind you are speaking of, Friend?
Mongols.
Note on the link Mongols: Khusugtun - Mongol - from the album Khusugtun - 2009
Publishers'-Edit: 13.02.2023: Corrected publication mistakes.
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