Hotula Khan, once the bondsman of Yesugei Khan was a happy man. He had made the Borjigin stronger than they had ever been under Yesugei, that weakling. Their numbers had grown in the days since he had taken over and they had prospered through the discovery of the lands to the south. So why was it that his eyes filled with tears every time he remembered Yesugei, why was it that he wished he could go back to being just a bondsman? Yesugei had always treated him as an equal, he had treated all the tribespeople as equals. That wasn’t a mistake Hotula would make, Hotula knew himself to be better than his warriors. He was the strongest, the bravest, the most worthy of the position of Khan. So why wasn’t he happy? Why was he filled with fear every time he saw the dark eyes of Yesugei’s oldest brat. Where had it all gone wrong?
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Temujin Khan, of all the people to run into, I managed to meet him even when I’d decided to take it easy. I headed back to camp, in a melancholic mood. I was greeted by my father and the other Khan’s by the campfire. As a direct relative of the Khan of the Kerait, I was well known by the other Khan’s and had met them before on many occasions, “ Tsubodai, I’ve heard so much about your archery, put on a good show tomorrow for us all.” Said Chanai Khan of the Naiman Tribe as he vigorously slapped my back. I was given all sorts of similar encouragement from the rest of them and after saying my obligatory piece and flattering all of them I slipped away to take a somewhat secluded spot by the fire. Soon the khoomei singers had begun to sing with their morin khuur. The khoomei were throat singers, a form of singing which tried to imitate and harmonize with the sounds of nature and thus communicate with nature, while the morin khuur was a string instrument made from goat and sheep sinew. It was an acquired taste, but had its own beauty. The flames from the campfire danced ever higher as the khoomei singers voices raised in tandem with the flames. The dancers began to dance to the tune of the tsuur as it started to sound alongside the morin khuur and the rhythm swept up the rest of the night.
I was up before the break of dawn, while I may have come across as unconcerned last night when I spoke to Temujin, I couldn’t lie to my own body. I’d woken up nervous and tense and hadn’t been able to go back to sleep. I was an absolute wreck. “……….HAHAHA” my father laughed raucously when he walked into my ger to see if I was ready for the competition later today. “ Yes, it must be very amusing to see your son about to embarrass himself.”, I responded tersely, annoyed that my father was finding this amusing. I took my bow and the wood arrows that were used for the competition and headed out to get some final practice and breakfast before the competition. It was noon before long and there I was assembled alongside the other competitors, each tribe had three participants. Khutlugh and Ajai were the other two participants from my tribe and stood on either side of me. The only person from the other tribes I recognized was from the Olkhunut, Kachuin the younger brother of Temujin. He was believed to be the best archer of the three brothers while Khasar the other brother was a masterful saber wielder.
These were only rumors, however, and there was no way to verify them as the three brothers had lived away from the tribes for years now. This was the stage Temujin had set up for his brothers to prove themselves. The competition started with the blowing of the Tsagaan buree, a white shell that made a loud piercing noise. The distances started from around 100 paces, all the archers lined up at the path, began to run and when they felt they had reached the correct point, fired at the target. Whoever hit the target would move on to the next distance. Accuracy would only come into play if people missed the next target and there was a need to separate placements. At 100 paces, there wasn’t much difficulty involved in judging the shot because the composite recurve bow stored incredible tension and it was easier to hit a target at a short distance if one was a competent archer. I took a deep breath as I started my run, and closed my eyes for a second to focus on the target as I nocked the arrow. I aimed at the target and once again focused trying to get a sense of how much to adjust for the wind and finally after all that I took one last look at the target before breathing out as I let the arrow go. I’d come pretty close to missing if I was being honest, as I’d clipped the edge of the target which was a hollow piece of wood on a stand. It gave me some confidence, however, knowing that I hadn’t just absolutely been wrecked. A lot of the archers were in similar positions, but all of them manage to hit the target. The best performance had come from a veteran Olkhunut participant who had stated that this would be his last competition. After which was Kachuin’s shot, he had managed to hit the target just slightly higher than the midpoint of the target which was a marvelous first shot considering this was his first competition. The targets were moved further back and as we finished the 200 pace mark, we were already down to 5 people. 225 paces for any archer was a special mark, it was the mark that separated the average and the good archers, all the archers that hit that mark had historically been the greatest of that generation. Over the years the number of people that hit that mark had increased, and now 5 archers were trying for the mark. Now for those of you wondering what all the running was about? Centaurs were a people that constantly moved around, they were half horse after all and would usually prance back and forth while doing nothing unless they were sitting. So, the centaurs had always practiced archery while, moving and often against moving targets while hunting. It was in the truest sense of the word horse archery. Coming back to the point, however, there were 5 of us left. Three from the Olkhunut to no one’s surprise, one from the Naimans and finally there was me. As we lined up at the 225 pace mark, the tension was palpable. Two of the Olkhunut participants including Kachuin were new to the competition and had a lot of expectations riding on them, whereas the Naiman boy, Murakh and I carried the hope of the others that we would end the domination of the Olkhunut. The title of khujaa was given to those that hit the target at 225 paces and the Olhunut veteran had already earned the title once before. Previously it had been given to people at the 200 pace mark, but that had changed almost a decade ago when 8 archers managed to cross that mark. Since then the distance had been raised to 225 paces and the title was given to only those that proved themselves to be the best amongst the tribes. I was 3rd in line after the veteran Olkhunut as well as Murakh before me. As the run started, I watched the veteran begin the run, close his eyes and in one smooth motion after he opened his eyes draw, aim and fire the arrow. Sure enough, the veteran didn’t miss and all the pressure was now on the two of us that weren’t of the Olkhunut Tribe. Murakh after taking a shaky breath began his run as well, he seemed completely lost and I was quite sure he would miss. To no one’s surprise, as it turned out, he did miss and broke int tears as he was led out of the competition area. It was finally my turn to shoot and an opportunity to gain some measure of influence over the tribes.
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