The Oathbreaker's Shadow (8 page)

Mhara had been amused by his ogling eyes. ‘Raim, even without your close friendship with Khareh, you would be asked by any Khan to be his Protector. Even Batar-Khan would ask you to replace me, should I die or lose my skills to age.’

‘N softened. ‘You should n from the

‘Raim, why is it that a Yun may make an Absolute Vow to the Khan, but a warlord may not?’

‘Because it is not a warlord’s duty to protect the Khan, but to protect the interests of his people. He can’t give his life to the Khan because his life is given to his tribe.’

‘That’s right. So you understand an Absolute Vow, then? What it means?’

Raim remembered puffing out his chest at this, speaking with swollen pride. ‘It means promising to defend your Khan at any cost. Being willing to lay down your life for
him, without any hesitation! It means being able to die with honour and glory in the tradition of the Yun – just as you promised to Batar-Khan.’

But her stern expression was like a needle in his balloon of pride. ‘Yes, I did. But do you know how many times I refused him?’

Raim shook his head, more out of disbelief than anything else. Mhara had refused the honour?

‘Seven times.’

‘No!’ he cried out. He couldn’t help himself.

‘Yes. Over the course of an entire year, Batar-Khan – then just the Crown Prince himself – asked me seven times to be his Protector. I refused each time, because I wasn’t certain of his character. Eventually, he proved himself to me, and the fact that he was willing to do that – to prove himself to someone of such a lower rank than himself – meant I accepted. Taking an Absolute Vow means giving your life to one person. In every way. There is no backing out. There is no changing your mind. Once the promise is made you are his Protector for life. You break this vow, you don’t get exiled. You die. Is Khareh worth that?’

Raim swallowed. ‘I know this. And he is. In every way.’

Mhara nodded but turned her head away. Raim felt a swirl in his stomach, knowing Mhara was trying to tell him something, but he didn’t understand. ‘You remind me too much of your mother,’ she said. The remark was just an aside. Raim didn’t even know if he had heard correctly, or if he remembered it right. Only that she had mentioned
his mother. He had thought many times about asking Mhara more about her, but he dismissed it. Whoever his parents were, it didn’t matter. If she had been important, Mhara would have said something. But Mhara never said another word.

Raim wasn’t completely sure where Loni and Dharma were in Kharein, so he jogged quickly back to the main gate, sticking to the alleyways as much as possible, and avoiding big crowds of people. He relaxed as soon as Loni and Dharma were in sight.

‘Thought we would find you here!’ Loni said with a grin. ‘Didn’t Mhara tell you to come find us?’

‘She did, but . . .’

‘Hiding out from the wolves baying for your blood, hmm? Well, let’s get moving then – we need to get you your promise string. Then we can hide you away in the yurt, like the other apprentices.’

There was a merchant class in Darhan that dealt brisk trade in promise string. While in reality a promise could be knotted out of anything – a loose thread on a tunic or a snip of hair, as the young of Darhan were forced to do – it was considered extremely base and disrespectful to do so
for anything important. More accepted was to buy two lengths of ready-prepared string from a merchant, which were then folded many times and worn around the waist like a belt.

The stringmongers’ stalls were located on the bank of the Iod, close to the mill. Raim, Loni and Dharma picked their way out of the food stalls and through the rest of the market where merchants were selling coats and boots lined with rabbit-fur for winter, iron pots, tiny greenstone carvings of Sola – the desert goddess – and Naran – the sun goddess – and weapons of all shapes and sizes. Everything was displayed on hastily built stalls that collapsed against the walls at night. Nothing was very secure, or permanent, in Kharein. It was the capital city of nomads – if the need arose, it could be packed up and moved. The few solid structures – the Rentai, the palace, the mill – could be rebuilt somewhere else, if the land required it. The Darhan listened to the land. Respected it. They had moved before.

They reached the first stringmonger’s stall. Bundles of rope dripped from the ceiling, every colour of the rainbow covering the stall’s surface. Raim could barely make out the face of the merchant, as he too was covered in a brightly covered garment with geometric patterns all over. The merchant spotted him and cried out:

‘Honour boy, I have just the string for you!’

Loni grabbed his arm before he could look. ‘No, no, we will go and see Borum.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ said Raim. Tarik had bought his strings from Borum two years prior. ‘His stall was further down the river, right?’

Borum was out in front of his stall, finishing up a deal with a girl and her grandmother. His mouth spread into a wide grin as he saw them approach and gold winked from every other tooth.

‘Loni! Raim! I wondered when I would be seeing you. And delightful Dharma – I pray you have been putting your threads to good use.’

‘Of course, Uncle Borum,’ said Dharma, with an enthusiastic nod that made her black curls bounce against her shoulder. She had purchased ordinary thread – not promise string – from him in order to continue her weaving. ‘I have just been to visit with the Una – they feel I might be ready to join them one day, if I keep on practising.’

‘I don’t doubt it, little star of Sola. And when you do, I will commission many rugs from you to decorate my home.’ He turned to Raim. ‘It’s your turn at last! It must feel like an age to you – and just in time.’

‘You have no idea!’ Raim had never been more grateful to be born just before the start of the Festival season. If he had been born a day later, he would have had to wait another year before being able to take his Yun test.

‘You must be very proud of your boy, Loni. Do you know, he will be my first ever Yun string-bearer, Sola willing?’ He ushered them all closer to the stall and he
disappeared round the back. Raim ran his hands over the different strings, each made of a different material. There were emerald-coloured strings of silk and maroon cotton threads. Some were so coarse they pricked his fingers and others were so delicate he was afraid they would disintegrate with a touch from his calloused hands.

‘Perhaps, since you will hold such an important post in the future, you might be interested in something to reflect the stature of Yun.’ Borum reached beneath his stall and produced a large rectangular box about the length of Raim’s arm and as shallow as his palm. It was made of soft black leather, and he laid it out carefully in front of the trio. He clicked the lock and opened it. Raim’s breath caught in the back of his throat.

Inside were a hundred strings of the finest quality, laid out side by side. Even to his untrained eye, Raim knew someone had laboured for many years to find them – and also that they would cost vast amounts of money. They were expensive because of the risk involved in procuring them. The stringmongers would pay special gatherers huge sums of money to track down supplies from the most difficult of places: the finest kork wool from under the chin of a goat that only thrived on the frozen caps of the Amarapura mountains, or strands of silk from glowworms hidden in the deepest caves of Zalinzar.

They were all dazzlingly beautiful. One thread in particular caught his eye; a rich indigo with flecks of gold interwoven in the thread. It looked ablaze with fire.

‘You have good taste,’ said Borum, following Raim’s eyes. ‘You won’t find anything finer. Would you like to try—’

But Loni interrupted before Raim had the chance to touch the beautiful thread. ‘Borum, this is all wonderful but I’m afraid we will have to set our sights on something more modest.’

The old merchant’s eyebrows rose, creating deep lines in his brow. He looked about to protest, but seeing the determination on Loni’s face, he snapped the case shut. ‘All right then. Tell me what you are looking for and we will go from there. Something similar to your brother, perhaps?’ Borum perked up as he remembered Tarik had purchased promise string that was of much better quality than average. He motioned towards the fine silk strands spread over the left side of his stall.

‘Hmm, well . . .’ Loni pulled a small pouch out of his tunic pocket and emptied the contents out onto the stall. A few bronze coins and a smattering of silver spilled out. ‘he Western Eye of Shebaets nostrils feThis is all I have.’

It was barely enough to buy threads of the most common variety, let alone anything interesting. Raim reached into his pockets and added whatever else he had to the pile. The total was still in significant. Suddenly, spending money on the tyrfish didn’t seem that wise at all and made him feel sick to his stomach. He didn’t understand. How could Loni have neglected to save for his promise string? He had saved for Tarik, and Raim had seen the pile
of money that Loni added to every month for Dharma. Where was his?

Borum’s nostrils flared as he stared down at the pile of rust on his stall. ‘I . . . see. Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to go to my caravan to find something suitable. Nothing on display here is in that range. Forgive me.’

Once Borum’s heavy form had lumbered away, Loni answered Raim’s unasked question.

‘I’m sorry, Raim, but I had to give your money to Yasmin for the memory tea. You know her services are very much in demand . . .’

‘But she’s my GRANDMOTHER. She took all the money saved for my promise string for what? So that I could have ten seconds of a fuzzy dream? I’m going to be the laughing stock of the Yun with some tatty bit of string to represent me!’

‘She came to you as a healer, not your grandmother. If you want to use the skills of a healer, you must pay.’

‘That’s just it! I didn’t want to use her skill for something so unimportant. She came to us, remember? So why do I have to pay for it?’

Before Loni could respond, Borum returned. ‘You have two choices, Raim. Brown or brown?’ He chuckled. ‘I can’t face giving my first Yun the worst of my stock. So take this – it is good quality wool from a yak that I haven’t had a chance to dye yet. It’s not luxury but it is not a disgrace either.’

Raim took the two pieces of rope in his hands and held up the ends. Immediately a warmth spread through his palms. These ropes would tie together the pieces of his soul. And suddenly it didn’t matter that it was coarse and undyed; it was his to own. The next day, he would reach Honour Age and be able to pledge himself to the Yun. These would be the threads to do it. He opened his mouth to say thank you, but the words wouldn’t come out.

Borum chuckled. ‘You are welcome, Raim-en-Yun! And good luck in your duel tomorrow. Although rumour has it that you won’t need it.’ He winked.

Raim blushed a deep crimson.

Raim was still admiring the length of promise string when they were back at home. Loni had left him with his sister, so he could join in a tournament of a complex tile game with the other elders. He gave them strict instructions not to stay up too long after darkness fell.

There was a steady hum of noise from the thousands of people who were camped around them, but sitting next to Dharma inside their yurt, the low fire warming their hands, Raim felt comfortably alone.

Dharma was weaving again, and the flickering light from the flames illuminated the delicacy of her work in more detail, making it come alive. Dharma was a life-weaver. Instead of using geometric patterns to represent events, she wove people and the scenery itself into her
designs. There was no doubt with this kind of work that she would one day be part of the Una tribe of weavers. Raim traced his fingers over the stitches to speakbl whole d of the mountains. Intricate weavings of Tarik and his bride stood stiffly beneath them.

‘Do you miss him?’ she asked, continuing her work.

He shrugged. ‘We all have our duties. We all have to leave sometime.’

‘I’ll miss you,’ she said. ‘When you’re Yun.’ She bit her lip. ‘Look.’ She pulled out another loom Raim had never seen before. Somehow she had managed to conceal it from him within her own little saddlebag. She peeled away the thin cotton she had wrapped around it as carefully as if it were made of glass. There were four squares, each a scene that could be added to a carpet. The detail was vivid and lifelike.

‘It’s a bit early,’ she said, eyes sparkling with accomplishment. ‘But I wanted to be able to add the squares right away to the present I’m making you, so you can take it with you when you become Yun and you can always remember us. Look, this is you before the fight, in your apprentice clothes. Then here is you defeating Lars.’ Sure enough there he was, knee bent and sword lifted in victory stance. The next square was the crowd waiting with baited breath outside the Rentai, while the final, secret test took place inside. It was the one part of the process that Raim didn’t understand. No one was allowed to prepare for this test in any way, but also no one in the history of the Yun had ever failed. Still, he didn’t want to be the first. The
final square depicted the induction ceremony. His new Yun sword leaped off the fabric, Dharma had woven it so beautifully. Somehow she had managed to capture its translucent quality exactly.

‘How did you . . .?’

Dharma reached back inside her leather pouch and pulled out a headscarf made of glittering silver material. Raim recognized it as the only object left to Dharma of her old family. Loni hadn’t had the heart to take it from her. There was a tiny ridge running through the otherwise perfectly smoothe fabric, where a thread had been removed. Raim felt the blood rush to his face when he realized what the young girl had done.

‘Dharmaat you are doi

When Raim awoke, his body struggled against the ropes while his mind fought to remember how he came to be bound in the first place. The Yun must have drugged the sack they used to carry him from the yurt. He could see nothing, the sack was still covering his head, and the surface he was lying on was hard beneath his spine. He let his muscles relax.

He had only a few moments to collect his thoughts before the sack was brusquely removed. He was lying on a short, low bench, staring directly into the face of Lars, his future opponent. The bonds were cut and Raim sat up, rubbing his wrists to encourage the circulation. Three other boys were recovering from their bondage in much the same manner. Their attention snapped to the three Yun soldiers standing in the centre of the room as one of them spoke: ‘Fetch the others.’