Daughter of Xanadu Read online

  This is a work of fiction. All incidents and dialogue, and all characters with the exception of some well-known historical and public figures, are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Where real-life historical or public figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the fictional nature of the work. In all other respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  Text copyright © 2011 by Dori Jones Yang

  Map copyright © 2011 by Steven Yang

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Delacorte Press, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.

  Delacorte Press is a registered trademark and the colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.

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  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Yang, Dori Jones.

  Daughter of Xanadu / Dori Jones Yang.—1st ed.

  p. cm.

  Summary: Emmajin, the sixteen-year-old eldest granddaughter of Khublai Khan, becomes a warrior and falls in love with explorer Marco Polo in thirteenth-century China.

  eISBN: 978-0-375-89727-6 [1. Soldiers—Fiction. 2. Sex role—Fiction. 3. Love—Fiction. 4. Mongols—Fiction. 5. Kublai Khan, 1216–1294—Fiction. 6. Polo, Marco, 1254–1323?—Fiction. 7. China—History—Yuan dynasty, 1260–1368—Fiction.] I. Title.

  PZ7.Y1933Dau 2011 [Fic]—dc22 2009053652

  Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.

  v3.1

  For Paul,

  who inspired me to try to bridge the gap

  between East and West

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Map

  Emmajin’s Family Tree

  Foreword

  Epigraph

  Part I - In Xanadu

  1 – A Taste of Victory

  2 – A Thirst for Glory

  3 – Shame

  4 – The Archery Contest

  5 – Final Round

  6 – Elephant Ride

  7 – A Tale of Bandits

  8 – Above Xanadu

  9 – Foreign Menace

  10 – In the Garden

  11 – The Khan’s Banquet

  12 – The Grasslands

  13 – Crucial Information

  14 – Overheard

  15 – Betrayal

  16 – Commission

  Part II - Journey to Carajan

  17 – The Army

  18 – Training

  19 – Departure

  20 – Archery Lessons

  21 – Bamboo Fire

  22 – Tibetan Village

  23 – To Carajan

  24 – Dragon Village

  25 – Dragon Hunt

  26 – Fire Rats

  27 – To Battle

  28 – The Battle of Vochan

  29 – The Battle Rages

  30 – After the Battle

  Part III - Return to Khanbalik

  31 – New Possibilities

  32 – Precious Medicine

  33 – Under the New Moon

  34 – News

  35 – Reentry

  36 – At the Monastery

  37 – Chabi’s Wisdom

  38 – The Emperor of China

  39 – Face to Face

  40 – Search for Marco

  41 – The Khan’s Hunting Camp

  42 – Becoming a Legend

  43 – The Khan’s Decision

  44 – At the Ocean

  Glossary

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  FOREWORD

  This is the story of two adventurous hearts from thousands of miles and worlds apart: one from medieval Venice and the other from the royal court of the Mongol Empire. A quirk of destiny brought them together, and their tale is revealed here for the first time.

  To each, the world looked totally different. For Emmajin, life centered on the court of her grandfather Khubilai Khan. Outside the thick walls of the palace lay the streets of the capital city, and beyond that, land after land that her ancestors had conquered, across the grasslands, over mountains, and through deserts to the primitive kingdoms of the Far West, where men had beards and round eyes of strange colors. The vast Mongol Empire, the largest in history, was at the peak of its power; it controlled most of the known world, and her grandfather was determined to conquer the rest.

  Like all Mongolian children, Emmajin had learned to ride horses before she could walk and handled a bow and arrows with ease. She heard stories of brave Mongol women who were her ancestors, brilliant, resourceful, ambitious, and kind. But most of the women at court lived lazy lives of luxury. She preferred action and the outdoors and wanted to gallop off to have adventures like her male cousins, who all expected to join the army.

  Beyond the far western edge of Emmajin’s grandfather’s empire, Marco Polo, at the age of seventeen, left his beloved home in Venice, Italy. It was the High Middle Ages, and many cities in Europe, then called Christendom, were building huge cathedrals. Venice was the richest city in Europe, and its traders brought home merchandise from far lands. But most of Europe was divided into tiny kingdoms that were relatively poor and powerless. When Marco’s father and uncle returned from a long journey and told of a fabulous, wealthy empire in the East, ruled by a wise, powerful emperor, with millions of citizens, huge armies, and rare gems, few believed them.

  Marco joined them on their second journey to the heart of the Mongol Empire. Because of sickness, bandits, icy mountains, and endless deserts, that journey took more than three years. By the time Marco arrived at the Khan’s capital, in AD 1275, he spoke four languages and had many lively stories to tell.

  Emmajin and Marco met in Xanadu, the Khan’s summer capital, then called Shangdu. Outside the gleaming marble palace stretched a glorious garden, a paradise of brooks and ponds, pavilions and pagodas, winding paths and blossoming trees. It was a land of myth and mystery, where the unthinkable could happen.

  Years later, when Marco Polo returned to Europe, he wrote a book about what he had seen in this marvelous land. Some dismissed Marco’s book as falsehood, accusing him of exaggerating. But his writing fired European imaginations for centuries; five hundred years later it inspired a famous poem that begins “In Xanadu did Kubla Khan …” Most famously, Marco’s book motivated Christopher Columbus to set sail across the ocean to the West, hoping to find the treasures of the East.

  The distant land that Marco Polo “discovered” had long been known to the people who lived there. Khubilai’s capital was in China, which had developed an advanced civilization with poetry, calligraphy, silk, and jade, and a written history of thousands of years. Khubilai’s people, the Mongols, had roamed for centuries across the grasslands of Asia as herdsmen and warriors, living in round tents they called gers, known to us as yurts. Some people called the Mongols barbarians because they had no written language, buildings, or even houses. But they perfected mounted archery and conceived brilliant military tactics that allowed them to quickly conquer much more advanced countries. Two generations earlier, Khubilai’s grandfather, Chinggis Khan, and his fierce horsemen had swept across northern China and central Asia, defeating land after land, reaching as far as Russia, Poland, and Hungary in present-day eastern Europe.

  By the time Marco Polo arrived, the Mongols had conquered most of
the known world. They had abandoned their nomadic lifestyle and were living in Chinese-style palaces, wearing silks and brocades and eating sumptuous banquets in their capital city of Khanbalik, now known as Beijing. Khubilai Khan loved entertaining foreign visitors and debating with them about the merits of their customs and religions. Admired for his wisdom, he remained determined to fulfill the mandate from his grandfather: to conquer the rest of the world, including Europe.

  The young woman in these pages, Khubilai Khan’s eldest granddaughter, Emmajin, is purely fictional. But the details about the place and time and events are as accurate as possible, based on historical accounts. Many other people in these pages were real; I have imagined their personalities.

  Like a lot of girls today, Emmajin dreamed big dreams. In her culture, the only way to achieve greatness was to prove your military skills on the battlefield. So that was what she set out to do. That is, until Marco Polo came along.

  In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

  A stately pleasure-dome decree:

  Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

  Through caverns measureless to man

  Down to a sunless sea.

  So twice five miles of fertile ground

  With walls and towers were girdled round:

  And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills,

  Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;

  And here were forests ancient as the hills,

  Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.…

  —“Kubla Khan,”

  by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

  And when you have ridden three days from the city last mentioned, between north-east and north, you come to a city called Chandu, which was built by the Kaan now reigning. There is at this place a very fine marble Palace, the rooms of which are all gilt and painted with figures of men and beasts and birds, and with a variety of trees and flowers, all executed with such exquisite art that you regard them with delight and astonishment.

  Round this Palace a wall is built, inclosing a compass of 16 miles, and inside the Park there are fountains and rivers and brooks, and beautiful meadows …

  —The Travels of Marco Polo,

  by Marco Polo and Rustichello of Pisa, circa 1299,

  from The Complete Yule-Cordier Edition, Volume I

  The fierce Mongol army was riding straight at us.

  My cousin Suren and I stood on the balcony of the palace gate, scanning the horizon, our hands on the marble balustrade. In the far distance, on the plain outside the city’s south gate, a massive cloud of dust hid the mighty force, advancing toward the city. The sky shone vivid blue on this late-spring day. A cool wind whipped the loose hairs around my face but could not lift the heavy braids on my back.

  I leaned over the marble barrier and squinted.

  The Mongol army was about to enter my home city, Khanbalik—not to attack us, but for a grand victory parade. I was fifteen, nearly sixteen, the eldest granddaughter of the powerful emperor Khubilai Khan. My blood pounded in my ears, and I could barely stand still.

  Finally, my sharp eyes detected the glint of metal armor and the first few horses of the parade as they emerged from the dark arch of the city’s south gate. “Look! Is that the general?” I said to my cousin. Suren was the Khan’s eldest grandson and my closest friend. His thick neck stretched out like a turtle’s as he strained to see, too.

  A huge roar of approval rose from the crowds lining the streets, confirming my guess. Shouts of joy echoed from the rest of the royal family, surrounding me on the palace balcony. “Hooray! Hooray!”

  I cheered more loudly than anyone else. Victory tasted sweet.

  Suren raised his fist high as he yelled. His wide face with its high cheekbones glowed with happiness. In his veins, Suren had a drop of my blood, and I had a drop of his flowing inside me. At the age of ten, we had decided to become anda, cutting our fingers and mingling our blood, promising lifelong loyalty, like blood brothers. Now, five years later, we were inseparable.

  Suren pointed to the parade. “Emmajin!” he said. “Is that an elephant?”

  I leaned forward and focused on the distant archway. Sure enough, a massive gray creature was entering the city, the carriage on its back nearly hitting the top of the arch. We had heard of these beasts but never seen one. “It’s twice as tall as a horse!” I said.

  “No, three times as tall!”

  The general led the army up the broad main avenue of Khanbalik, the Khan’s capital, a city known to the local Chinese as Dadu, or the Great Capital. The soldiers rode in neat formation directly toward the palace gate where we stood. I felt the tromp of their horses’ hooves vibrating in my body, and I smelled the grit and the sweat in the wind.

  These brave soldiers had broken the long siege of a large city in the South, finally conquering it. This victory opened the way for our armies to march toward Kinsay, the capital of southern China. Many battles lay ahead, but now it seemed inevitable that the great Mongol army would eventually control all of China. No one could stop us now.

  This general, the famous Bayan, was returning to his Emperor, the Great Khan Khubilai, to get his reward for breaking the siege and winning this historic victory.

  Not far from Suren and me, just beyond a clutch of princes and wives and retainers, the Khan of all Khans sat on a raised platform. His massive body was draped in white brocade edged with the finest furs, white with black spots, from snow leopards. His face, wide and normally impassive, seemed to glow in the late-afternoon sunlight. His feet rested on thick embroidered cushions.

  On that day, we all wore white, the color of good luck and victory. I had borrowed a silk robe from my mother, because I had grown taller since the last big celebration. I craned my neck until I caught sight of my father, Prince Dorji. As the Great Khan’s eldest son, he stood by his side, the first in a row of many sons of the Khan’s four official wives. I felt a pang of joy. My father seldom claimed his rightful place at the Khan’s side.

  Although my father was the eldest, the Khan bestowed his favor on his second son, Chimkin, Suren’s father. Chimkin had led armies, fought in battles, and won the respect of all at court. Instead of fighting, my father had run away to a Buddhist monastery. He walked with a limp, dragging one foot. Some of my cousins mocked him.

  Suddenly, I felt like running. “Let’s go!” I said to Suren. I pulled back from the balustrade and pushed my way through the crowd of onlookers.

  “Wait! Slow down!” Though no longer pudgy, as he had been as a boy, Suren was broad-shouldered and sturdy, not able to slip through the crowd as quickly as I could.

  I headed for the steps and raced down them two by two. From the high balcony platform above the gate, the staircase curved around down the inside of a stone tower. Suren stumbled after me, his voice echoing in the empty tower. “Emmajin! Where are you going?” Unlike me, Suren never acted on impulse.

  Across the courtyard and through the thick tunnel that was a front gate of the palace compound, I ran. I had always loved the most physical of activities: running fast, racing on horseback, practicing archery for hours on end until my arm muscles bulged. Even though I was a girl, I had built up my skills at all three Mongolian “manly arts”: horseracing, archery, and even wrestling, the one sport reserved for men only. I loved to compete with Suren and my other boy cousins, the young princes.

  In the square in front of the Khan’s palace, crowds were jostling, and soldiers rammed them back, to keep the center of the square clear. With Suren trailing behind me, I dashed across the square toward the main avenue. Onlookers buzzed with jubilation, shouting and pointing as the horses, elephants, and soldiers advanced down the avenue toward us. Elation filled my body. I felt I could fly.

  With his long legs, Suren caught up to me as I reached the parade route. “You can’t see as well from down here. We’re supposed to watch from—”

  Just then a large man put his elbow in my face, pushing me back into the crowd. Out here, on the streets, royal grandchildren enjoyed no
protection. I ducked my head to avoid getting a black eye. A look of consternation crossed Suren’s face.

  I laughed. “Don’t you want to see the elephants close-up?”

  I pressed my way south along the avenue, toward the parade. Drums and cymbals grew louder, mixing with the shouts. Guards pushed back small boys who ventured onto the street, trying to keep everyone behind a line of trees on either side. The tramp of hooves intensified. People around me began jumping, trying to get into position to see.

  Finally, I found a good viewing spot, and Suren caught up. He flashed me a look of shared mischief, and I smiled. Only I could bring out the more playful side of Suren.

  A single rider, richly dressed in silks and furs, led the parade, bearing a tall pole with the white horse-tail standard of the Mongols. Then two riders, and four, and finally eight riders abreast. Thousands of warriors streamed into the city.

  My heart beat faster as I saw a strange bulk marching behind the horsemen. The elephant lumbered forward, gray and wrinkled, ten times the size of a horse or a camel, with legs as thick as huge tree trunks and a nose like a long snake hanging from between its tiny eyes. Two menacing white tusks stuck out from the sides of its mouth.