The Silk Road Saga: Part I - Silkworm

1 - Erhi (1220 AD)

A branch snapped beneath her foot. The deer looked up. Erhi mouthed a silent curse. Her mother always said that she had been a clumsy child. That she was forever getting in the way of the palace servants, knocking over cups of fragrant tea and tearing holes in delicate paper screens. A terror feared by teahouses across Zhongdu. None of that mattered anymore. Her childhood in Zhongdu, with its beautiful teahouses and royal palaces, was nothing but a distant memory. All that mattered now was survival.

Erhi pulled back the string on her bow, steadying her hand with a series of deep breaths. White plumes of condensation wreathed out of her mouth. It was cold, colder than yesterday. In fact, it had been cold ever since they had crossed those blasted mountains. She ignored the growl of hunger from her stomach and focused all her energy on the startled deer. Its wide eyes reflected the full moon. It hunched its shoulders, the muscles along its neck straining for flight. Erhi knew that it was now or never.

She mouthed a prayer to Tengri, the great god of the sky, and let loose her arrow. It flew straight and true, slicing through the still night air with a faint whistle. But despite Erhi being downwind, the deer was alert to her presence and fled. It bucked through the snow, throwing up a screen of powder. The arrow pierced the deer's rear flank. The animal let out a gasp and staggered forwards, its front legs pawing at the ground.

Erhi slung her bow over her back and reached for the hunting knife sheathed inside her boot. She caught a glimpse of her face on the blade. Her cheeks were drawn with hunger and her lips were chaffed raw by the bitter wind blowing of the Tien Shan mountains. She looked nothing like the plump child that had spent hours admiring her reflection in the palace mirrors. She was a stranger to herself and despite the hunger and the cold this thought pleased her. A frightened and spoilt child was becoming a warrior.

Erhi snapped her attention back to the task at hand. Soon she would be in Samarkand, where she would feast like a Shah, but now the only meal for miles around was trying to escape. The deer thrust forward, its head thrashing through low hanging branches. Erhi darted after her prey, following its bloodied tracks. Branches scratched her face and roots tripped her ankles, but she continued her pursuit with a single-minded determination. The deer began to slow, exhaustion and blood loss taking its toll. Erhi leapt forward, landing on its wounded hind leg. They both tumbled to the ground, girl and beast locked in a mad scramble for survival. One of its short horns grazed Erhi beneath the ribs and she bit back a cry, determined not to let the animal beat her. She grabbed its horn and pulled back its head, exposing the soft underside of its neck.

The animal mewled as she gazed at its neck, suddenly transfixed by how soft and vulnerable it appeared. The deer kicked against her, trying to free itself. She hardened her heart. She was no longer a girl. In one swift movement she swiped her blade across its jugular, letting a thick curtain of blood fall across the snow. The deer bucked beneath the weight of her body, a spasm of death rather than flight, and Erhi said a prayer of thanks to Tengri.

She lay on top of the dead deer, exhausted but elated. Her hair was matted with its blood, but that mattered little. Mongols were born in blood and they died in blood. Life was a battle and today she had been victorious.