CHAPTER 2
Two Anniversaries
Balasagun
The morning of the 21st of July 1338 in the Year of the Tiger
When Karia awoke, the light and early warmth of the day intruded through the crown of her ger. Poking her nose outside, she breathed in the fresh air of the steppes, and her eyes were drawn to the unusual sight of purple skies at dawn. They had appeared for the first time a few days ago. Even Ayana had never seen them before.
The purple skies dusted the distant mountains in a brilliant hue. Today, the Tian Shen, the Heavenly Mountains, were as silent as the steps of a snow leopard. The gods of the wind had blown elsewhere to sweep the air clean, perhaps to the Gobi Desert or the Altai Mountains. In her mind’s eye, along the quietness of the Chuy Valley, she could see the waters of the seven rivers sparkling with a natural effervescence as they drained into Lake Issyk Kul. The raucous cries of an eagle circling over the slopes broke the silence. In Balasagun, the remnants of its towering minarets and elegant church spires reached into the purple-tinted skies.
Today was a day of anniversaries, not one, but two, and both were tinged with sadness and regret. Karia picked up the small leather pouch she kept by her bedside. Her grandmother Emee, with whom she shared the ger, asked her what was in it.
“Here, you’ll recognise them straight away,” Karia said, opening the pouch and showing her a silver engagement ring and a gold marriage band.
“Yes, of course I do,” Emee said softly.
Remembering the occasion, Karia welled up with emotion and said through her tears, “Yes, Mother gave them to me before she died. It’s a treasured memory.”
“And a sad one too, because today is the first anniversary of her death,” Emee said, with a touch of rue. “You lost a mother, and I lost a daughter.”
“Of all the ways to leave this world, to die of a bee sting,” Karia said, wiping away a tear. “How could God take her away from us like that? It’s just not fair.”
“It was strange,” Emee said. “Because my mother died in the same way.”
“It’s more than strange. It’s tragic,” Karia said, recalling the incident as if she watched it re-enacted in the Mirror of Fate. One year ago, the family had gathered to savour life’s joys in the beauty of the rose garden at Sanmaq and Bačaq’s dwelling in Balasagun. In the distance rose the mysterious Burana Tower that seemed to peer down on the family gathering.
Sanmaq, then Bačaq’s husband of twenty-one months, strolled into their garden with his customary Danko swagger. On the spur of the moment, he plucked a red rose, got down on one knee, and offered it to Maryam. An insect flew out of it, landed on her hand and stung her. She’d scratched the sting, which quickly swelled into a nasty red boil. She coughed, then choked, and soon grasped her throat, gasping for God’s air. Helpless, the family watched her face contort in pain until Ayana, with Karia’s help, applied some healing herbs to their mother’s wound. All to no avail because, soon after, Maryam let out a long, weary sigh, and her spirit ascended to Heaven. Not only the manner, but the suddenness of her death still cast a dark shadow over the Turgut clan.
Her mother’s death had devastated Karia. After Karia’s father had given Karia the Burul nickname, Maryam was one of the few who rebuked him and tried to protect and comfort her. On that day one year ago, Karia lost more than a mother; she had lost her stability and her safety. Now that Maryam was gone, Karia escaped her grief and anger by spending long hours riding her mare across the vast open steppes and along the shores of Lake Issyk Kul.