09-01-2025, 06:16 AM
The situation in Taragai, as much as no one wanted to admit it, had devolved into a stalemate.
As repeated attempts by the government in Bor-Öndör had demonstrated, its forces alone didn't have sufficient power to defeat the insurgents in the west. Those attempts had resulted in multiple planes and helicopters being shot down, and multiple offensives halted in their tracks. Armed with Xiomeran weapons, the insurgents had done a surprisingly strong job of holding the government's forces back.
But for all that, the insurgents also had not been able to press their own attacks forward. No matter how many pleas and veiled threats came down from Khatun Ebegei and her advisors to the Imperial command in Khongkhortai, the Xiomerans had insisted on incremental gains at best. A few strategic points here and there, but no major offensive yet. The reason for that was simple: the Xiomerans were not especially eager to bring the Mizu more fully into the conflict than they already were. A major Xiomeran-led push to the east would do just that, the advisors to Empress Calhualyana warned. Having fallen into a situation where a wider war was very possible, and with Milintica on her wish list as well, the Empress was not prepared to humor the impatience of her "fellow royal ally" Ebegei. A brief but blunt conversation between those "dear friends" had finally made the Xiomeran position clear to Ebegei - the Xiomerans were determined to wait out the Mizu rather than engage them. Both sides would tire of the stalemate eventually, Tlālacuetztla reasoned, and maintaining the status quo for now was the wisest course.
Without the might of the Imperial army and its CSSC support levies behind them, the insurgents also did not have the force needed to decisively end the issue. So the "civil war" in Taragai seemed destined for the indeterminate future to remain an unsatisfying quagmire of nothing.
But if nature abhors a vacuum, one could say that chaos does also. Something - someone, actually - was about to fill that void.
---
Khünbish is a small, insignificant village in far northwestern Taragai, a few miles from the border. Looking at the vast steppe surrounding it, it seems like a million miles from anywhere. Hundreds of miles from any city of significant size. Khünbish's sole claim to fame was that it was where the revolution of 1931 began. But after that revolution, everyone else promptly forgot about Khünbish. With the end of the communist regime, no one even held celebrations to honor Khünbish's minor role in history anymore.
Given all that, Bodii Kherlen found himself wondering what in the world he was doing there. Kherlen was Taragaian, but had grown up in the capital, far from this dusty place. He had left Taragai for college to study abroad, and had only returned to the country as part of his current role in life as a reporter for DTNS. When the protests for democracy had begun, leading to the elections, Kherlen had provided valuable reporting and insights to DTNS as one of its few reporters who spoke Taragaian and actually knew the country.
He had never imagined, though, that DTNS would send him into the territory controlled by the rebels under Ebegei. Kherlen considered them little better than backwards barbarians, wanting to restore a monarchy that had been deposed for decades. They may have been Taragaian as well, but Kherlen felt no kinship with them.
DTNS had told him that someone in Khünbish had some kind of story lead, though. Something supposedly big, that he would only discuss with a reporter in person. Too much risk to do so any other way, he claimed. Kherlen knew that taking such risks upon himself was part of a journalist's life, but still, it was a little annoying.
With the help of friendly guides, Kherlen had managed to slip past the so-called "border guards" that the Khatun's forces had placed north of Khünbish. That had proven to be a less than challenging task, as they were more interested in bribes than in security. Kherlen was just glad he hadn't run into any Xiomerans. The servants of the Empire had almost no discernable virtues, as far as Kherlen was concerned. But he had to admit, you couldn't really bribe them.
Clad in a simple deel that marked him as a modest everyday person, Kherlen did his best to remember his old-school Taragaian ways as he walked into Khünbish. The locals and the Khatun's forces would notice if he acted too much like a city-dweller.
Kherlen finally made it to the small building near the center of the village that was his destination. The sign on the front proclaimed it The House of the Never Ending Sky. That was a rather grandiose name for what was essentially a small inn and lodging place. The traditional architecture and well-kept surroundings were quite pleasant, though. Kherlen walked inside, booked a room, and carried his single bag to it. He settled in, and waited.
Eventually, a terse message came through on his burner phone. Room 3. Now.
Kherlen went to the room as instructed. Before he could even knock, the door opened. An older Taragaian, with unruly white hair and a wispy mustache, gestured him inside hurriedly. The door was closed and locked behind him as he entered. Kherlen was distinctly nervous at this point, but hid it well behind his journalist's demeanor. "I'm Bodii Kherlen with DTNS. I was told you had something to share with us."
"Oh, I do," the other man said with a long laugh that sounded exceptionally self-satisfied to Kherlen. "But first, introductions require reply. I am Ankhbayar Jirgal. Does that name mean anything to you?" Kherlen shook his head. "Of course, you would not know. I doubt you have ever set foot in this town before, whereas I have spent my whole life here. Tell me, young one, what is Khünbish known for? Other than being the place where the filthy communists started their revolution, of course?"
Kherlen sat upright, racking his brain. What is this town known for? Being the biggest producer of dust and yak crap in Taragai? How should I know? Something finally came to him. "Isn't this the place where they kept the corpse of the last Khan after the revolution, like some morbid wax museum tourist trap?"
"The body of Medekhgüi Qoriqacha is not a tourist trap! He is not a wax figure! He is the last of the line of Khans who made Taragai what it is!" Jirgal shouted, lurching to his feet.
Kherlen gulped. Great, a monarchist true believer. I should've expected that, here of all places. "I meant no disrespect," Kherlen said carefully, keeping his gaze lowered until Jirgal calmed down. "I should not get angry with you. No one has truly taught you young ones of the glories of ancient Taragai, especially with the nonsense and lies the communist schools indoctrinated people with." Jirgal sighed. "I can make up for my anger by giving you something, though. A story that will make your name, if you can get it to the world."
Kherlen's ears perked up and he nodded politely. Jirgal sat back down. "So, you know as well as anyone that Ebegei Qoriqacha is leading the revolt here, as a new Khatun ready to restore the Khanate of old. How has she explained her emergence, after so many years of the Qoriqacha being hunted by the communists and then disappearing?"
Kherlen looked at his notes. "She said that some of the last Keshig escorted the daughter of Medekhgüi, Khanbala, to safety in the wake of the Khan's fall from power. She said that the leader of those Keshig helped father a line of the Qoriqacha in exile, in the wild lands to the north of Taragai. That she was raised there, waiting for the day that her family could return to power and lead Taragai back to greatness. That's her story."
"And it's bullshit," Jirgal snapped. "What would you say, reporter, if I told you that Ebegei 'Qoriqacha' is not the descendant of Medekhgüi or any other of his line? That she's not a Qoriqacha at all? Or even noble?"
Kherlen paused for a very long time. "I would say, that if you want me to tell the world that, you had best have some pretty good proof."
"There are two things that will undo Ebegei's lies. One, the genealogical records of the Qoriqacha lineage that are housed there in his tomb. Two, the great Khan's body itself. Ancient truths and modern lies alike can be disproven by your modern wonder known as DNA. I can provide samples of both," Jirgal said.
"How did you manage to get all that?" Kherlen said with his eyes wide.
"You never asked why my name matters in this town. Well....it used to, anyway." Jirgal sighed. "I used to be the caretaker and guardian of the great Khan's tomb. For decades, I made sure that his body was preserved, along with his story. The communists mostly left me alone, because it was a good 'tourist trap' as you put it and kept the people of Khünbish pacified." Jirgal's face grew stiff as he continued. "When the communists fell, it was like a dream come true. I felt that I could finally elevate the tomb of Medekhgüi to its rightful place. But Ebegei forced me out. She said I was 'too old' to protect it anymore. Too old! I'll show that usurping witch who is too old!" A series of vile curses in Taragaian followed.
Kherlen wisely waited until Jirgal calmed down again. "There is one other piece of evidence to complete the puzzle that will seal Ebegei's fate. If you, or someone else, can acquire something that has her DNA on it, it can be compared to Medekhgüi's. That will prove without a doubt she is a liar."
Get the DNA of probably the most closely guarded woman in all of Taragai, surrounded by mad rebels and Xiomerans. Sure. Easy. Kherlen was, though, strangely excited. "Can I record you saying this? For more proof?" Jirgal nodded. "I would have it no other way. Let my words also doom the woman who took my mission from me."
As Kherlen prepared to record, he looked up at Jirgal. "So....as far as you know, did any of the Qoriqacha actually survive the purges?"
"No," Jirgal said sadly. "The communists were inept at almost everything they did. But when it came to ending the line of Khans, they were quite efficient. There are no Qoriqacha left. More's the pity," he sighed. Kherlen knew a great picture when he saw one, so he began recording on the image of Jirgal as he sighed. An old man, clad in his own simple deel, regretting the loss of a past that could never be restored.
As repeated attempts by the government in Bor-Öndör had demonstrated, its forces alone didn't have sufficient power to defeat the insurgents in the west. Those attempts had resulted in multiple planes and helicopters being shot down, and multiple offensives halted in their tracks. Armed with Xiomeran weapons, the insurgents had done a surprisingly strong job of holding the government's forces back.
But for all that, the insurgents also had not been able to press their own attacks forward. No matter how many pleas and veiled threats came down from Khatun Ebegei and her advisors to the Imperial command in Khongkhortai, the Xiomerans had insisted on incremental gains at best. A few strategic points here and there, but no major offensive yet. The reason for that was simple: the Xiomerans were not especially eager to bring the Mizu more fully into the conflict than they already were. A major Xiomeran-led push to the east would do just that, the advisors to Empress Calhualyana warned. Having fallen into a situation where a wider war was very possible, and with Milintica on her wish list as well, the Empress was not prepared to humor the impatience of her "fellow royal ally" Ebegei. A brief but blunt conversation between those "dear friends" had finally made the Xiomeran position clear to Ebegei - the Xiomerans were determined to wait out the Mizu rather than engage them. Both sides would tire of the stalemate eventually, Tlālacuetztla reasoned, and maintaining the status quo for now was the wisest course.
Without the might of the Imperial army and its CSSC support levies behind them, the insurgents also did not have the force needed to decisively end the issue. So the "civil war" in Taragai seemed destined for the indeterminate future to remain an unsatisfying quagmire of nothing.
But if nature abhors a vacuum, one could say that chaos does also. Something - someone, actually - was about to fill that void.
---
Khünbish is a small, insignificant village in far northwestern Taragai, a few miles from the border. Looking at the vast steppe surrounding it, it seems like a million miles from anywhere. Hundreds of miles from any city of significant size. Khünbish's sole claim to fame was that it was where the revolution of 1931 began. But after that revolution, everyone else promptly forgot about Khünbish. With the end of the communist regime, no one even held celebrations to honor Khünbish's minor role in history anymore.
Given all that, Bodii Kherlen found himself wondering what in the world he was doing there. Kherlen was Taragaian, but had grown up in the capital, far from this dusty place. He had left Taragai for college to study abroad, and had only returned to the country as part of his current role in life as a reporter for DTNS. When the protests for democracy had begun, leading to the elections, Kherlen had provided valuable reporting and insights to DTNS as one of its few reporters who spoke Taragaian and actually knew the country.
He had never imagined, though, that DTNS would send him into the territory controlled by the rebels under Ebegei. Kherlen considered them little better than backwards barbarians, wanting to restore a monarchy that had been deposed for decades. They may have been Taragaian as well, but Kherlen felt no kinship with them.
DTNS had told him that someone in Khünbish had some kind of story lead, though. Something supposedly big, that he would only discuss with a reporter in person. Too much risk to do so any other way, he claimed. Kherlen knew that taking such risks upon himself was part of a journalist's life, but still, it was a little annoying.
With the help of friendly guides, Kherlen had managed to slip past the so-called "border guards" that the Khatun's forces had placed north of Khünbish. That had proven to be a less than challenging task, as they were more interested in bribes than in security. Kherlen was just glad he hadn't run into any Xiomerans. The servants of the Empire had almost no discernable virtues, as far as Kherlen was concerned. But he had to admit, you couldn't really bribe them.
Clad in a simple deel that marked him as a modest everyday person, Kherlen did his best to remember his old-school Taragaian ways as he walked into Khünbish. The locals and the Khatun's forces would notice if he acted too much like a city-dweller.
Kherlen finally made it to the small building near the center of the village that was his destination. The sign on the front proclaimed it The House of the Never Ending Sky. That was a rather grandiose name for what was essentially a small inn and lodging place. The traditional architecture and well-kept surroundings were quite pleasant, though. Kherlen walked inside, booked a room, and carried his single bag to it. He settled in, and waited.
Eventually, a terse message came through on his burner phone. Room 3. Now.
Kherlen went to the room as instructed. Before he could even knock, the door opened. An older Taragaian, with unruly white hair and a wispy mustache, gestured him inside hurriedly. The door was closed and locked behind him as he entered. Kherlen was distinctly nervous at this point, but hid it well behind his journalist's demeanor. "I'm Bodii Kherlen with DTNS. I was told you had something to share with us."
"Oh, I do," the other man said with a long laugh that sounded exceptionally self-satisfied to Kherlen. "But first, introductions require reply. I am Ankhbayar Jirgal. Does that name mean anything to you?" Kherlen shook his head. "Of course, you would not know. I doubt you have ever set foot in this town before, whereas I have spent my whole life here. Tell me, young one, what is Khünbish known for? Other than being the place where the filthy communists started their revolution, of course?"
Kherlen sat upright, racking his brain. What is this town known for? Being the biggest producer of dust and yak crap in Taragai? How should I know? Something finally came to him. "Isn't this the place where they kept the corpse of the last Khan after the revolution, like some morbid wax museum tourist trap?"
"The body of Medekhgüi Qoriqacha is not a tourist trap! He is not a wax figure! He is the last of the line of Khans who made Taragai what it is!" Jirgal shouted, lurching to his feet.
Kherlen gulped. Great, a monarchist true believer. I should've expected that, here of all places. "I meant no disrespect," Kherlen said carefully, keeping his gaze lowered until Jirgal calmed down. "I should not get angry with you. No one has truly taught you young ones of the glories of ancient Taragai, especially with the nonsense and lies the communist schools indoctrinated people with." Jirgal sighed. "I can make up for my anger by giving you something, though. A story that will make your name, if you can get it to the world."
Kherlen's ears perked up and he nodded politely. Jirgal sat back down. "So, you know as well as anyone that Ebegei Qoriqacha is leading the revolt here, as a new Khatun ready to restore the Khanate of old. How has she explained her emergence, after so many years of the Qoriqacha being hunted by the communists and then disappearing?"
Kherlen looked at his notes. "She said that some of the last Keshig escorted the daughter of Medekhgüi, Khanbala, to safety in the wake of the Khan's fall from power. She said that the leader of those Keshig helped father a line of the Qoriqacha in exile, in the wild lands to the north of Taragai. That she was raised there, waiting for the day that her family could return to power and lead Taragai back to greatness. That's her story."
"And it's bullshit," Jirgal snapped. "What would you say, reporter, if I told you that Ebegei 'Qoriqacha' is not the descendant of Medekhgüi or any other of his line? That she's not a Qoriqacha at all? Or even noble?"
Kherlen paused for a very long time. "I would say, that if you want me to tell the world that, you had best have some pretty good proof."
"There are two things that will undo Ebegei's lies. One, the genealogical records of the Qoriqacha lineage that are housed there in his tomb. Two, the great Khan's body itself. Ancient truths and modern lies alike can be disproven by your modern wonder known as DNA. I can provide samples of both," Jirgal said.
"How did you manage to get all that?" Kherlen said with his eyes wide.
"You never asked why my name matters in this town. Well....it used to, anyway." Jirgal sighed. "I used to be the caretaker and guardian of the great Khan's tomb. For decades, I made sure that his body was preserved, along with his story. The communists mostly left me alone, because it was a good 'tourist trap' as you put it and kept the people of Khünbish pacified." Jirgal's face grew stiff as he continued. "When the communists fell, it was like a dream come true. I felt that I could finally elevate the tomb of Medekhgüi to its rightful place. But Ebegei forced me out. She said I was 'too old' to protect it anymore. Too old! I'll show that usurping witch who is too old!" A series of vile curses in Taragaian followed.
Kherlen wisely waited until Jirgal calmed down again. "There is one other piece of evidence to complete the puzzle that will seal Ebegei's fate. If you, or someone else, can acquire something that has her DNA on it, it can be compared to Medekhgüi's. That will prove without a doubt she is a liar."
Get the DNA of probably the most closely guarded woman in all of Taragai, surrounded by mad rebels and Xiomerans. Sure. Easy. Kherlen was, though, strangely excited. "Can I record you saying this? For more proof?" Jirgal nodded. "I would have it no other way. Let my words also doom the woman who took my mission from me."
As Kherlen prepared to record, he looked up at Jirgal. "So....as far as you know, did any of the Qoriqacha actually survive the purges?"
"No," Jirgal said sadly. "The communists were inept at almost everything they did. But when it came to ending the line of Khans, they were quite efficient. There are no Qoriqacha left. More's the pity," he sighed. Kherlen knew a great picture when he saw one, so he began recording on the image of Jirgal as he sighed. An old man, clad in his own simple deel, regretting the loss of a past that could never be restored.
<t></t>