In Banua, the Khatun slept poorly. She had given birth to a son, but the boy’s father, her husband, the Khan, was gone.
Khatun Narantsetseg knew why her husband had gone. The brave, noble, and handsome Bo-Jing had called upon his allies, the most stalwart and wise, to join him in a quest to confront the evil “Master” on his own throne in his own palace in the middle of his own strange domain.
What she didn’t know why her husband, brave, noble, and handsome, had not returned.
Her servants and advisers did their best to comfort her. “He will prevail. Have courage, have faith. There is none like him. Brave, noble, and handsome, how could he not prevail in achieving whatever objective he pursued?”
The Khatun, in her soft bed, in her warm palace, slept poorly.
There was a stupa that she had visited with her mother when she was a girl, and used to sleeping soundly on a soft goatskin in a warm yurt. Her mother prayed at the stupa, the elaborate mausoleum of a simple holy man, and the young Narantsetseg had watched all the worry and care lift from her mother’s face.
Narantsetseg made inquiries until she could locate a holy man. Altani, a respected hermit sometimes visited Banua, confirmed for her that the stupa she remembered was real and that its soul-healing properties had been famous for centuries. It was easy to find, being on the road to Blue City, less than a day’s ride from Banua! But, there was a problem. Lately, those who had gone to pray there, did not find peace . . .
Narantseteg ordered Batu, her husband’s baghatur to go with Altani to find out what had cursed the holy stupa and to assist in driving away any evil spirits found therein. Batu, flattered by the important mission, but also wary of what forces could threaten the power of a centuries-old holy place, not only recruited four palace guards to assist him, but also persuaded Bo Jing’s friend Narnuteng that this quest was an opportunity for her to win honor and the favor of the Khatun.
The party set out on a chilly, bright morning and reached the stupa at midday. The warriors approached while Altani lingered near the road. As they got closer Batu and his companions were struck down by one curse or another. One lost his sight, another his hearing, while Batu himself was overwhelmed by visions of flames on the edges of his vision. Altani began chanting and, with help from Narnutang, gathered the men to his side and led them away from the stupa to a safe place in the hills. He prayed over them and led them into sleep. The next morning Altani brought the warriors back to the stupa, chanting and burning incense, promising them that the only way to completely break the curse is to face it with courage.
Trusting Altani’s guidance, Batu led his companions toward the circular, columned building capped by a squat dome. Cautious at first, their strides became more purposeful as they drew closer; Altanu and Narnuteng followed close behind them.
The party walked around the stupa, and found it virtually identical The platform, about four feet off the ground, could be reached by the steps, crumbling in places, but generally solid, that ran all the way around it. The platform itself was empty of anything but the columns that supported the dome.
The party clambered up and walked around the platform. Over the centuries, windblown sand had gathered in seams between the paving stones. Except in one section, roughly 10 foot square, next to one of the columns, which, unlike any of the others, was marked with a triangle. The seam around this section had not filled with sand. One of Batu’s men found he could slide his sword into the crack all the way to the hilt. There was something more to the stupa, something beneath it; Narnuteng and Batu agreed that they must be standing on an entrance of some kind.
They spent several hours on the stupa. They felt dizzy, sometimes to the point of nausea. Battu’s men urged each other to “go find some fresh water if you’re feeling so bad” but no one budged. Batu dragged his sword over the stones throwing sparks and cursing. He tried pushing the column marked with the triangle, then pulling it, lifting it up, and pushing it down. He jumped up and down on the platform.
Narnuteng had a suggestion. “I wonder if you could turn the entire column.”
Batu thought that was a stupid idea and to prove how to stupid it was, he tried it. He planted his feet on either side of the marked column, squatted, wrapped his arms around the column and shifted his weight first to one side in an attempt to make the column turn. And it did. Almost imperceptibly at first, but then with a low rumbling far beneath them, with surprising speed and force, a full 90 degrees. The outlined section of the floor trembled and then began to sink, dropping ten beneath below its former level, revealing a pit whose bottom could not be seen. As the sunlight broke into a darkness undisturbed for centuries, hundreds of spiders scurried into the shadows.
The party descended, lowering a rope so that they might Narnuteng might climb into the pit. Even with a brightly burning lantern, the bottom of the pit was shrouded in darkness, deeper than the length of their rope. However several dozen feet down, a tunnel in the side of the pit, seemed to allow access to the stupa’s depths by more gradual descent. One of Batu’s men stayed at the top to secure the rope and guard the entrance. The others climbed down the rope one-by-one to the side tunnel. They lit a second lantern and walked down a narrow tunnel, sending spiders scurrying before them. They reached a domed room that seemed to demand further examination. But even after wiping away centuries of dust, the most notable feature was an uneven brick in the ceiling of the dome, sticking out several inches from its fellows. Climbing on Batu’s shoulders, Narnuteng was able to reach the brick and pull it free—whereupon the ceiling began to collapse. Batu’s men ran for cover, while Batu and Narnuteng instinctively dropped to the floor and ducked their heads, suffering a few stray bricks bouncing g off their armor. Altani, seemingly favored by holy powers, stood unscathed, as the dust, suddenly illuminated by sunlight swirled around them. He chanted a prayer of thanksgiving, rallying the battered warriors and they continued their exploration down a flight of stone stairs.
Another domed room. This one impassable due to thick spider webs. Narnuteng doused the webs nearest her with lamp oil and then , using a strand of rope as a wick took fire from her lamp and set it to the webs. Hot flames eagerly devoured the thick, dusty webs , creating thick clouds of dark smoke. The air became unbreathable and the party dashed back up the stairs to the domed room with the new opening to the sky and fresh air.
The party collapsed to rest and catch their breath, but as the smoke cleared, they heard the sound of a rapid click-click scuttling and tapping on the stairs. Batu ordered his men to flank the entryway with their spears ready while he and Narnuteng readied their bows. As soon as the dark, hairy form of the first spider appeared at the top of the stairs, Batu and Narnuteng loosed their arrows. One arrow bounced off its thick shell and the other did little to slow its charge. Khuyag, one of Batu’s men gored it with his spear. It shook violently in its death throes, nearly pulling the spear out of its wielders strng grip. More spiders behind the first ran up the walls and across the ceiling. Batu and Narnuteng drew their swords. Batu’s men pointed their spears toward the ceiling, driving the spiders onward until they dropped on Batu and Narnuteng, who trusted their fine armor to protect them from the spiders’ venomous fangs. The spiders’ size and strength, comparable to wolves, was nearly enough to overcome the powerful warriors but the Batu and Narnuteng each lent their strength to other when it was needed most and so kept solid footing and with courage and fine blades were able to defend themselves from the disgusting vermin. Batu’s men took advantage of their long spears and following their brave order’s advice, skewered the spider so that one by one they could be dispatched by a sword.
And yet, whether by instinct or chance, the spiders deployed a similar tactic. One more spider, smaller than the others, was the last up the stairs. Khuyag, distracted by the melee and lacking the metal armor that protected his master, was an easy target. He screamed in pain as the spider climbed up his back and sunk its teeth into his shoulder. His comrades came to his aid. One stabbed the spider with a dagger while another took hold of its legs and slammed it against the wall, cracking its shell and sending it running.
As the last of the larges spiders lay quivering and dying, Khuyag slumped to the floor. Altai rushed to his aid, applying a poultice and chanting a prayer that divine favor be shown to this brave man. Khuyag slowly stood, smiling weakly. The humble Altai acknowledged he had no right to demand a miracle and none had been granted. If they gave up their mission and brought him back to Banua, they might save his life.
If re-telling this story, Khuyag’s favorite moment was this one. “Without wasting a breath, my master gave the order, ‘Now, we go.’”
And so, Khuyag’s life was saved, but Narantsetseg’s heart continued to suffer. She summoned Batu to her audience chamber and demanded his thoughts on why master had tarried for so long. When he couldn’t find words to give her peace, she demanded that he resume his quest to make the stupa safe for her to visit.
In Banua, they had met a wise woman who had sold them an antidote for Khuyag. After a few days of rest, he was strong and hale. During those days, Batu drew additional gold from his master’s treasury and purchased bows for each of his men. Altani performed the appropriate rituals and they returned to the stupa.
Rather than climb on to the stupa platform and descend into the pit, Batu and Narnuteng agreed to enter by way of the collapsed ceiling they had “made” during their last visit. They also decided that having one more warrior with them was more important than leaving a guard. So they tied a rope securely to one of the pillars and each made the relatively easy entrance into the collapsed dome room. They passed through there into the room of burnt webs and, finding no evidence of new arach-tivity, pressed onward and again, downward by way of another pit.
This pit was lined with rungs making descent easier. Again, there was a side tunnel, though this one was sealed by a metal door. The door, with subtle manipulation by Narnuteng, was opened; the round tunnel behind it led to another domed room, this one with five statutes, and a single ancient rune on the floor which Altani translated to mean “pray.” Batu stepped onto the rune and pronounced his prayer for the Khatun—and immediately vanished. The others followed suit and immediately joined Batu. . .
They found themselves standing at the bottom of another pit—one that opened moments after they had pronounced their prayers. . . the skeleton of the exalted shaman was there—minus the head. The beatific skull was rolling on the floor, among a throng of rat-sized spiders.
Altani began to sing in a low sonorous tone and the walls of burial chamber resonated with his chanting. Shaking off the horror of what they were witnessing, Batu and his followers along with Narnutang attacked the spiders, burning them, slicing them, smashing them, driving them back into the cracks in the wall. Not all of the spiders gave up their prize so easily. The largest and most vicious charged at their attackers, climbing up their legs to drop into the top of a man’s boots or finding a open space in his armor to drive venomous fangs through his clothing. Batu’s soldier Gan fought through the pain, using the opportunity of a spider pumping poison into his forearm to seize its head and crush it in his fist.
When the spiders had been killed or driven away, Altani replaced the skull to it s proper resting place and chanted a prayer of rest. The walls resonated in a lower, comforting register and all breathed a sigh of deep relief.
Altani tended to the wounds of the warriors, applying poultices to the discolored skin. Except Gan. Knowing he was mortally wounded, he refused any treatment and pledged to remain in the tomb, praying that his spirit would stand guard over the holy man for 99 years.
Batu mourned the loss of his companion and released him from service. The rest of the party returned to the surface and to Banua.
Batu shared the news of his success with Narantsetseg, with Altani affirming that every word was true and recording it exactly as it has been written here.
The next day, Naransetseg rose early, and choosing only a small retinue to accompany her, went to visit the stupa.
She remained the whole day and her spirits were settled. Those who prayed with her also experienced the deep serenity for which the stupa had long been famous. But as night approached, Narantsetseg announced that she would spend the night there. She commanded Batu and his men to return to Banua, explaining she only wanted the company of one woman and one holy man, that being Narnutang and Altani. Before Batu departed, Narantsetseg handed him a letter, commanding him not to open it until the new moon.
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