The blurred figures moved silently out of the yurts and collected in front of the monastery.
Batukhan observed the people around him, and decided that the numbers looked about right.
Tough for any latecomers; they had to move while they had the darkness on their side. They could
not risk the fate of the town for a couple of people.
Lead by Batukhan, the town trooped towards the eastern side of the wall, closest to the
mountain. Opening a gate with infinite precaution, Batukhan ushered the people through. Muted
footsteps passed through, until no more figures seemed to add to the huddled bunch of clothing.
Batukhan closed the gate, and, shouldering their past lives, everyone continued out into the desert.
They walked on for what seemed like ages. Suddenly, Batukhan pulled the crowd to a halt, and
pointed to the indistinct hole in the mountainside. The Odval Route.
As the people filed in, Batukhan felt a glimpse of hope. Just the last couple of families and
they would be safe. But something broke his vision. Smashed it and smeared on the floor.
A scream.
It was carried on the winds of the dunes. A scream from their town. Horror was plastered
across Batukhan’s face. So they had left someone behind. A little girl, by the sound of it.
“Hurry up!” Batukhan whispered, through a tight mouth. The people were already shaken;
murmurings flitted through the tunnel. They’re making too much noise! As the last of them
entered he too jumped in, and prayed to whichever God was listening that they would be spared.
The first sound of horse hoof killed whatever noise there was left. The town shrank further
back into the tunnel. Batukhan’s eyes were fixated on the tunnel entrance.
The second had a child whimpering. Fatal mistake. Someone tried to mute her. Whether she
was actually strangled or not was not Batukhan’s concern. It didn’t matter.
It was the third step that had Batukhan on the verge of screaming. There, standing near the
entrance to the tunnel, was a horse and its rider. The Mongol was clad in armour that seemed to
melt seamlessly into the landscape. His heavy brow shadowed most of his face. He stood there,
terrifying, for longer than anyone would dare guess. The image lowered in Batukhan’s mind.
And then, as if in some nightmare, the Mongol turned, and Batukhan saw them.
Those eyes. Those terrible eyes. A cold inferno of malice. Drained of any emotion that had
once occupied them. And then they were gone.
Batukhan stood staring at the empty desert. The sound of horse hoofs was fading. The land
and the people seemed to fade away as he let his head fall against the cold sand. He couldn’t
believe it. He simply couldn’t believe it.
* * *
