The Oathbreaker's Shadow (20 page)

Ryopi, however, asked Raim’s question for him: ‘I’m sorry . . . am I supposed to have heard of the Shan?’

Dumas rolled his eyes dramatically. ‘Not only do the Shan govern Lazar, but we are also . . .’ He paused for dramatic effect. ‘. . . sages.’ Raim’s eyes widened in disbelief
and Ryopi let out a spluttering cough. Dumas laughed smugly. ‘That’s right. Just don’t expect to become a sage yourself overnight. It takes most people years to accomplish even the slightest bit of sage magic.’

‘Prove it,’ said Draikh, challenging Dumas and his downcast-looking spirit. ‘Prove you’re a sage.’ He pointed at a chair in the corner of the pagoda. ‘Move that over here and take a seat.’

A red flush began creeping up Dumas’s neck from beneath his tunic. It touched his cheeks as he spun round on his heels. ‘I have nothing to prove to you.’

‘Ask me out l his curiositys Icentered-image from the ioud to move the chair,’ Draikh murmured in Raim’s mind.

‘Move the chair,’ ordered Raim. Draikh swooped over to the chair and pushed it into Dumas’s path so he had to swerve round it to keep walking. Dumas said nothing, but Raim could see the flush on his face had not subsided.

You didn’t have to do that.

‘He’s no sage,’ Draikh said.

Neither am I! And I might need his help if I’m to figure anything out about my scar
. . .

Draikh pouted. ‘You’re no fun any more.’

Dumas led them over another set of stepping stones, leading away from where Puutra took Wadi. They passed through another curtain, and into a long hallway. Raim was immediately struck by the statues that lined the walls.

‘Who are they?’ Raim couldn’t help but stare at them.
They were so lifelike. He thought they were going to jump off the walls and join in the conversation.

‘This room honours the sages of Lazar.’

‘They were real? I thought they were just a story – a legend.’

‘Just a legend in Darhan, maybe. But to us, they are gods. We strive to emulate them. It is the Shan’s ultimate goal.’

‘So these sages – they could levitate, and heal?’

‘Oh, they could do so much more than that. And Lazar was once the centre of it all! Yes,’ he said, in answer to Raim’s sceptical look. ‘Did you think this was always the city of unwanteds? No, some of the world’s greatest men were taught and brought up within these walls. Khans and warlords from all of the world’s corners competed to have the most powerful sage at their right hand. The difference between having a sage and not could mean life and death for a tribe. If only one tribe had a sage, it was virtually a guarantee of victory. But if there was a sage on each side . . . woe betide whoever had the weaker. It must have been so impressive. But that was many hundreds of years ago.’

None of the statues was in perfect condition, but the face of one in particular was completely obliterated.

‘What happened to this statue?’ asked Raim.

Dumas’s face darkened. ‘That is a sage we do not mention. The one who caused Lazar to be cut off from the rest of the world. The last seven saved us from him – but at the cost of their art, their knowledge. At the end of their
battle, an enormous fire engulfed this city, destroying almost all the population and, most tragically, all the great books and journals. They say the fire was the work of the supernatural. That it was soul fire. No one has been able to leave since. It is only thanks to the Alashan that people arrive here at all.

‘When the last of the sages died, Lazar became a place for the exiled. We are not bothered by the outside world, no one will touch us, no one will invade us, no one – except a very few Alashan – can even find us. If they knew of half the riches we possess, they would attempt to conquer us immediately. Instead, we are left alone to uncover the secrets of sage magic. Every new exile is tested as they enter the gates of Lazar. Those who pass the test, like you two, are apprenticed to the Shan.’

‘Pass the test? It feels more like failure to me,’ said Ryopi, eyeing the a temporary settlement tIand grabbfespirit of his father.

‘If you had been forgiven, you could not be Shan. But if a haunt decides to stay . . . if the punishment of arriving in Lazar is not enough, then that person is blessed.’

‘How in Sola’s name can this be a blessing?’

‘Have you not figured it out yet? The haunts are the secret behind a sage’s power. Yes, of course, they hate you at first and will not cooperate with you. But if you can withstand their torment, slowly gain their trust, win them over . . . you could become a sage.’

A glimmer of hope, of possibility, sparked in Ryopi’s eyes but behind them, his father started howling with
laughter, a hollow noise that sounded like it would never cease. ‘Tell him about the catch, the catch – there’s always a catch, isn’t there?’

Ryopi stuttered: ‘Wh-what is the catch?’

‘Most of the time, a Shan apprentice will never move past the first stage. For them, life is . . . difficult.’ He eyed Ryopi’s haunt nervously, and Raim could tell he thought Ryopi would be one of those. Dumas swiftly moved on. ‘Puutra is our teacher and leader, and I am his youngest – but most advanced – disciple.’ The pride in Dumas’s voice was strong but it faltered as he trained his eye on Draikh. ‘Anyway, our plan is to one day restore the art of the sages to the world.’

R

He watched the sun set from his window, the sensation of being indoors making him feel cooped up and uncomfortable. He knew Wadi must be feeling the same way, if not even worse. When the sun had disappeared completely, he found his way back to the water-pagoda to wait for her as they had agreed. Eventually, one of the Shan entered the pagoda and demanded he leave at once. He tried to protest, but the man grabbed his upper arm and started dragging him towards the door. Raim shrugged him off but understood the message. He stumbled back to his room. The book Dumas had given him lay abandoned on the bed. None of the characters were recogniz right handebl for long. secoable to him and at that point he was too tired and frustrated to feign any interest. Eventually, exhausted and hungry, he fell asleep.

The next morning, while Raim was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Dumas arrived at his doorway and thrust a
lukewarm bowl of mushy rice into his hands. ‘Eat this on the way,’ he said.

Obediently, Raim followed Dumas, shovelling mounds of food into his mouth with chopsticks as they walked, and trying to shake the cobwebs from his mind. Dumas led him to a large room with a smooth stone floor, which he called the meditation room. There were four other disciples already there, along with Puutra, who was sitting in the lotus position in front of them all. Dumas’s claim to be the most advanced of the apprentices turned out to be true. It also seemed that since the story of Raim and Draikh taking on a slew of Chauk guards had reached Dumas – making Raim the closest thing to a sage in Lazar – he was much less inclined to help Raim in any way.

Dumas went straight up to Puutra and bowed. ‘Puutra, today I am nearing a breakthrough, I can feel it. I must train. I cannot waste my time showing some boy around.’

Raim felt his muscles tense at the word ‘boy’. He took a closer look at Dumas’s spirit: a woman, staring at her nails whilst floating behind Dumas. Slowly he was beginning to recognize all the other spirits. Remarkably, two of the Chauk seemed to have
the same spirit
. These haunts were so docile that it was hard to pick them out at once. Even Draikh – who wasn’t a true haunt – was never that quiet and still.
But maybe that’s just you
.

‘Fine,’ said Puutra. ‘However, you will be training without me. I will be working with Raim today.’ Dumas bowed stiffly and then stormed out of the room.

Raim shifted his weight from foot to foot as Puutra studied him with his small dark eyes. The pause went on for longer than Raim felt comfortable with. Then, Puutra clicked his fingers twice. The two Shan who had the same spirit stood up and introduced themselves as Vlad and Zu, husband and wife. They both had thick, dark hair, almost the same length. When Raim saw Zu, he almost stumbled into a bow on instinct. She looked almost identical to the Seer-Queen, Batar-Khan’s wife.

She laughed at his confusion. ‘I see you must have met my sister in Darhan? The more . . . privileged twin.’ Standing at almost a foot shorter than her husband, Zu exuded intelligence, which was different from the Seer-Queen, who had only ever looked bored or sneering in Raim’s presence. Together, Vlad and Zu made for an intimidating pair. Raim, by contrast, felt small, uneducated, and unworthy in their presence.

‘So how do you do it?’ The question gushed out of Vlad like water out of a torn flask.

Raim frowned. ‘Do what?’

‘Your haunt!’ Vlad was staring at Draikh with wide eyes. ‘We were in the square yesterday, watching the induction. We have to know, how did you fight together?’

Raim bit his lip. ‘Um, well. I don’t know really. I suppose it just seemed natural.’

Vlad was eyeing him, and he squirmed under his scrutiny. ‘Perhaps, since it came to you instinctively, you are unable to tell us your process. When you have some
education in the stages of becoming a sage, I’m sure you will tell us how you have managed to achieve so much in such little time. occasionalblkyd’

‘Start at the beginning,’ said Puutra. ‘When did you break your vow to Khareh to cause his spirit to appear?’

‘Never,’ said Raim, practically spitting the word.

Puutra, Vlad and Zu were deathly still with shock.

Zu was first to break. ‘What do you mean,
never?
You have a haunt; you must have broken your oath . . .’

‘Look,’ Raim said abruptly, holding up his hand to keep Zu from continuing. ‘My vow to Khareh is still intact. I can prove it.’ He showed the three Shan the ink-black mark of permanence on his chest.

‘Scorching Sola be cursed,’ said Puutra. Vlad began frantically flicking through his book, but his wife stopped him with a touch.

‘You know there is nothing in there to explain this,’ she said, still unable to take her eyes from Draikh.

‘But Draikh is not my problem. My vow to Khareh – this mark – that’s not the problem either,’ Raim said, desperation creeping into his voice. ‘
This
is the problem.’ He showed them his wrist, the blood-red scar there in all its terrible glory, which they all stared at in silence. He searched their faces but they were revealing nothing. ‘This is why I came to Lazar. This is the scar without a shadow that sent me into exile – and I need to know its origins. Can you help me figure it out?’

The ensuing silence seemed to put a stop to Raim’s
heart, and when Puutra stepped forward to put a hand on his shoulder, the breath he had been holding blew out of him in one swift sigh of relief. ‘Of course we will help,’ said Puutra, his eyes sparkling with warmth. He turned and looked at the couple. ‘Vlad and Zu are former Baril priests,’ Puutra explained. ‘If anyone will be able to help you, they will. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some other matters to attend to . . .’

Raim’s eyes widened involuntarily. Baril – just like his brother.

Vlad nodded, and smiled benevolently at Raim. ‘Yes, I’m sure we can help you solve your mystery. But first, it would help us if we went over your relationship with your haunt.’

‘It would?’ asked Raim. He looked over at Draikh, who shrugged.

‘Have you discussed with your haunt what he remembers when he first appeared?’ pressed on Zu.

‘My name is Draikh, not “haunt”,’ Draikh said, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘And we’ve been over it many times. I remember seeing Raim writhing on the ground, being attacked by those pesky flies. I decided that I couldn’t just let him die, so I helped him out a little.’ Draikh shrugged. ‘And then I thought I might as well stick around, since he always seems in need of my help. Then Raim let the bird – the garfalcon – swallow the knot so he chose to have me stick around here, for ever.’

Vlad narrowed his eyes slightly. ‘There was nothing
else? No trigger – no inciting event – on the other end, when you were still as one with Khareh?’

Draikh hesitated, then said: ‘No.’

Raim could feel Draikh’s frustration mounting as Vlad continued to study him carefully, and so he tried to bring the focus back to his scar: ‘My grandm occasionalblkydother was a shaman, a healer. A few days before my Honour Age, she used memory tea on me to try to get me to remember the promise behind this scar. I saw a woman with me, in a tent near the desert . . . but the vision ended before I could find out what the vow was. I was told that I might be able to find answers here . . .’

Zu tapped a finger on her bottom lip. ‘Well, we have no memory tea here.’ She reached out towards his wrist. ‘May I?’

Raim hesitated. It was the first time anyone had looked at the scar on his wrist without shying away in horror or staring at it in disgust. Finally, he nodded, and let her take his hand. She ran a finger over the scar. ‘A promise made, unremembered . . . a vow so bold, it breaks even under the weight of an Absolute. You are a maze of mysteries, do you know that, young Raim? A puzzle to be solved. Luckily, we specialize in mysteries here . . .’

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them away. He wanted so badly to be normal and unmysterious. Now he felt relieved and even – for the first time – glad that he had followed Mhara’s advice. ‘So tell me, why were you exiled?’ Raim asked, changing the subject.

Vlad glanced sidelong at his wife, and she lowered her chin. ‘Amongst the Baril our speciality was history.’

It was then he saw it. He wondered how he hadn’t noticed immediately. The most noticeable characteristic of a Baril priest, a flat area about the size of a palm on the forehead. It was said to be formed by the many hours of intensive meditative prayer Baril undertook each day with their heads touching the ground. There were other rumours, though, that involved a harsher degree of self-mutilation where men and women would spend their days grinding their foreheads into rock or sleeping with huge weights balanced on their heads until the right shape was formed. He remembered asking Tarik what he had thought of a life like that. Tarik had, of course, gone on and on about how he would be honoured to have the opportunity to prove his piety . . . on that subject, you could never shut him up.