“Bahlochchur,” he said.
Bahlochchur, one of the youngest of the warriors, grinned as I tried to pronounce his name, forcing the sound out of my throat to get the guttural sound just right.
“Bahlochchur,” I said.
“Bahlochchur,” Nalinbaatar corrected.
I tried again. “Bahlochchur.”
Chuluun, who was sitting next to me, shook his head. “No. Bah. .”
“Bah. .”
“Lou-ak. .”
“Loo-ak. .”
Bahlochchur waved me off, feigning disgust. “Oyuun ukhaan nandin.”
Chuluun laughed. “He says you make baby talk.”
I nodded and gave up. “Chuluun, your name is easy. You’ll speak for me then.”
Chuluun shook his head. “Not now. Now we eat.”
It was another of their Bogati rules, I learned later: no talk of war or business over meals. Meals were sacred, Chuluun explained. I liked that. Eating their spicy food and laughing at jokes I didn’t understand made me forget, and forgetting was the one thing I wanted more than anything. They fed me generously, like the desert folk of Ganjor, never letting my cup get dry or my plate too light. I ate as they did, using my knife to push my food from my plate to my mouth, the way men always eat when women aren’t around.
And Chuluun was protective of me, almost jealous of my attention. When questions came my way he let only the most benign ones through, translating for his comrades their inquiries about my horse and the places I’d been and about my family and the children I didn’t have. Never once did they ask me about my sword or how my eye had grown back or about my Akari, and I knew that was because Chuluun wouldn’t let them. They were intensely curious about Isowon and what they would find there, but they didn’t seem at all afraid, and I wasn’t sure how much of what I answered actually got back to them, or how much Chuluun kept to himself.
Finally, when it was long past sundown and all of us had eaten and gotten drunk enough to sleep, Chuluun pulled gently at my sleeve. I had already fallen half asleep against him, my head lolling onto his shoulder. His voice whispered in my ear.
“Lukien, walk with me.”
He got up, tiptoeing past his comrades toward the tent flap. I shook off my grogginess and followed. Bahlochchur opened one eye to watch me but didn’t say a thing as he tracked my leaving, following Chuluun outside. The night air struck my face. It was fabulously dark, with only a few stars poking through the murky skies. The tribesmen who were still on guard looked at Chuluun from their places in the darkness. Chuluun nodded at them and whispered, and the two men gratefully retreated into the kurelt.
Was it our turn to stand guard? All I wanted was to sleep but didn’t moan about it. Plainly Chuluun wanted to talk. He moved away from the kurelt, just out of earshot of his comrades inside. The darkness made his expression even more serious. He scratched at the scraggy hair that bearded his neck, kicked at the dirt, then dug into the pocket of his jacket. I expected a pipe to appear, or just some tobacco for chewing, so when I saw the silk scarf I was surprised.
“This is for you,” he said. He turned to face me. “Put out your hands, please. Both please.”
I did as he asked. “Why?”
“I know you are ignorant so I will teach you. This is a hahlag. .” He placed the scarf into my palms. “For Zurans, it is a gift of respect and friendship. I brought this with me for you, Lukien, to ask your permission to fight with you.”
I took the gift, not really understanding. It was soft and expensive looking, and blue from what I could tell. But it wasn’t womanly, at least it didn’t seem so coming from Chuluun. It obviously meant something, too, so I bowed to him, holding the scarf carefully, and smiled.
“A hahlag,” I repeated. “What does that mean?”
“It means person,” said Chuluun. “A person. A man. .” He shrugged. “A friend. One of the tribe.”
“Ah, thank you,” I said. “So I am a Bogati now?”
Chuluun took the scarf and began tying it around my neck. “When Zurans see this, they will know you are one of us,” he said. “There will be other Zurans in Isowon. More will come to fight. I can hear them.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they are stirred,” said Chuluun. He spun me around to look at the hahlag, approving of its appearance. “By you, Lukien.”
“Chuluun, why are we speaking out here alone? Why do you keep the others from speaking with me? We rode all day, and I know so little. I have questions. Your men have questions.”
“I speak for them all,” said Chuluun. “They must see no doubt in me. They must hear no fear.”
“What were they asking me? What do they want to know? Tell me. I’ll answer all their questions. And yours, my friend.”
Chuluun smiled. He looked drunk. He gazed up at the stars. “The gods sleep, except for a few. .” He pointed to the handful of visible stars, poking at them one by one. “They watch us.”
I looked up and smiled, pretending to agree, not having the heart to tell him that there were no gods hiding behind the starlight.
“They chose you,” said Chuluun. “Why?”
I thought about that. I’d always thought about that. Bad luck was the only answer I’d ever come up with. “I don’t know,” I confessed.
Chuluun looked down at the sword, my constant companion, belted to my waist. “The god that keeps you alive-what is its name?”
“Malator,” I replied.
“Malator.” Chuluun squatted down for a closer look. “Malator,” he whispered, speaking to the blade.
“Do you want to see him?” I asked.
Chuluun’s narrow eyes turned as round as walnuts. “You can see him?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “He will show himself if I ask it. If you want me to I will.”
The temptation made Chuluun shiver. He stood up and shook his head. “No,” he said softly. “You have been kissed by heaven, Lukien. Not I. I have been chosen to follow you.”
“Tell me about that.” I took a few more paces away from the kurelt, giving Chuluun space to speak freely. He stayed beside me as we pretended to study the dark forest. “Tell me why you’ve come to fight Diriel. Many men wouldn’t. Many have already fled. Why do you have it in your heart to make this fight?”
“Because Zuran men fight,” said Chuluun with a little shrug. “We are born to it. In Zura there is too little war these days. Too many men like Anton Fallon. Rich men. You see? Bogati ways are old ways. Simple ways. Our hearts never change. I do not know if I can make you see.”
“I understand fighting,” I replied. “All my life has been fighting. But I want to stop. I want peace now.”
“No,” said Chuluun. “I do not see that in you.”
“You barely know me.”
“But I see clearly,” he insisted. “Your eyes do not hide the truth. There is no peace in your eyes, Lukien. Only vengeance.”
I laughed. “Oh, indeed there’s that! I’ve been wronged, and I will have justice. My vengeance will be a rain of knives. I mean to kill them all, Chuluun, for what they’ve done. But when it’s over. .” I had to steady myself against the rage. “When it’s over, I’m going home. I’ll have my revenge, and then I’ll have peace.”
Chuluun sighed like he didn’t believe me. “All right,” he said. “Or, you can accept what you are and find true peace. Tell me: Why did you come here? You are Liirian. Liiria is far, far from here. No one would come to this place without reason. Why would you leave the home you say you must return to?”
I didn’t like the way the conversation had turned. “Because I was restless,” I admitted. “Because I was looking for answers. You asked me why I was chosen to live forever. But I don’t know. That’s why I came here-to find out. To try and do some good.”
“With a sword,” Chuluun pointed out. “Why not a spoon?”
“What?”
“Why not carry a spoon instead of a sword?”
“Because the sword keeps me alive.”
“Huh.” Chuluun smiled. “So it’s not a spoon that keeps you alive.”