sky, the camel’s coat; that first night in the yurt, the dinner on an open fire, the sand angels,
rolling down an endless golden dune.
But then it happened. The dream.
It was dark, but I had skipped to the voice. An image, branded in my mind forever, appeared.
It was a young woman, her face contorted in fury, screaming; pale, ghostly, undead.
Temujin shook me awake. He spoke, and I understood. Not the words, but the soul of them. He
pulled me up, out, into the night. People got lost in the desert, wondering off. I was terrified.
The wind picked up, faster and faster until it was like a thousand voices screaming until it
whipped the sand into a frenzy of restless dancing, piercing my skin. I shut my eyes and turned
away from the wind, but it twisted and blew at me, no matter which way I turned. Temujin stood,
strong and proud as the wind threw that sand in circles around him. I dropped to my knees by his
feet and covered my face, sobbing.
The Voice in the Desert screamed with pure rage.
‘I demanded revenge! The Khan killed my family, raped the people, and rampaged through our
proud civilisation! Curses rain down on his name!’
The woman appeared, striding slowly, deliberately towards us. I cowered backwards, but
Temujin stood his ground. It occurred to me that Temujin may have lived this nightmare before.
I looked into her raging eyes, furious, desperate, scared. I saw the power she, and the fear she
hid, and then everything went black.
I woke in a sweat, panting hard.
The memories were too vivid to be drowned, dragged back to the caorners of my mind where
long-lost dreams were buried, and I knew I’d remember the Gobi Desert forever. Even though I
never really went.
