The Shadow’s Curse (12 page)

‘Yes, being able to make your first real oath would mean you had to come of age. I would have been able to explain everything . . .’

‘So explain now!’ shouted Raim. ‘What does it mean? That I’m some descendant of Hao?’

Aelina interrupted then. ‘No, Raim. Not some descendant of Hao.
The
descendant. The only one. The rightful Khan of Darhan.’

‘What?’ Raim was momentarily speechless. But then the anger built again as the news sank in. ‘But I’m an oath-breaker!’ Raim yelled, his rage exploding out of him like a volcano spitting fire, all directed at the woman who had caused this pain. The woman who had forced him into exile, who had played with his life and expected him to just fall into line with a promise he never even knew he made. He jabbed the sleeve of his tunic up over his elbow, revealing the twisted red scar. He held it in front of the spirit’s face. ‘This is what you have left me with. No Darhanian in their right mind will follow me while I have this!’

‘I know that,’ she said, her voice calm and smooth as a lake at dawn. ‘And that is why I will tell you one thing: how to rid yourself of that scar.’

‘How?’ Raim said, his voice still shaking with anger, his face wet with tears he couldn’t control.

‘You must make the vow again, to me.’

‘And how do I do that?’

‘You must come to the South, seek out the Council women there and find me in Aqben,’ she said. ‘I am waiting for you.’ And then she disappeared.

The weight of two pass-stones now hung around her neck.

Khareh had forced her to keep the one they had taken from the temple. ‘You will wear this, Wadi, and take the curse upon yourself, to add to the one you already own.’

‘Why not give it to Garus? He is your adviser,’ Wadi said.

‘No, I don’t trust him with this,’ he admitted.

‘And yet you trust me?’

‘I can keep you under my control,’ said Khareh, with a shrug. ‘But also, my shadow trusts you. That’s good enough for me.’

Wadi stared at the swirling shadow, and the hair rose on the back of her neck. She half believed she could see the shadow staring back – but then cursed herself for getting carried away by her imagination.

She wondered, not for the first time, if Khareh missed Raim as much as she did. His reliance on his haunt companion overshadowed all his other relationships. Even Erdene, who was his queen, hardly spent any time with him.

Maybe Khareh knew that Raim would come for her one day. She wished she could get a message to him.
Stay safe. Stay strong
. Coming to rescue her would be a suicide mission. She hoped he was not that stupid, but she also knew how stubborn he could be.

In the meantime, while Khareh was keen to keep her close, she would learn all she could. Even if she was only bait to draw Raim out of hiding, at least she could be useful bait.

Like now, for instance. She was standing, chained, in the shadow of a tall pillar in Mermaden’s former throne room. She tried to melt into the darkness so that they would forget her presence and perhaps reveal a secret worth knowing.

Khareh and Altan were in the middle of an argument.

‘You must spend the night in the city, my Khan. Your new subjects will expect it,’ said Altan, his voice cool and calm.

‘Fine. One night.’ Khareh threw his hands up in the air and slumped down on what had previously been Mermaden’s throne.

Wadi was bemused that Khareh wanted to run back to the yurt when he had worked so hard to take the city. She had assumed he’d want to stay in it at least one night. But then, he had what he wanted – the pass-stone, and the allegiance of the city – so maybe that was enough and he was just going to storm off, leaving this city leaderless and bloodied, before heading to whatever his next conquest would be.

‘But no feast!’ Khareh added, as Altan opened his mouth to continue. ‘I won’t celebrate while Mermaden is still alive. Besides, I think the people of Samar have had enough of rulers who celebrate every minor event with a feast, drowning their spirits in drink while they go hungry. Did you see the state of the city outside? This is why warlords like Mermaden are fools and need to be removed from their post. Leadership is earned on the steppes, not bestowed. It’s time the people were reminded of that.’

There was a crash from the hallway outside the throne room, and several shards of pottery came dancing through the open door and across the tiled floor. Erdene was by Khareh’s side in a flash, her Yun sword drawn, but when the culprit emerged, her sword-arm dropped.

It was Garus. Under his arms, he carried two barrels, and he swayed from side to side under their weight. ‘Rago wine, my Khan. Of the finest quality.’

‘Are you drunk?’ Khareh asked, his face screwed up in disgust.

Altan sensed that this might send Khareh over the edge – and back to his camp again. ‘One night, my Khan.’

Khareh hesitated. ‘But I should be back with my men, my horses – ready to pursue Mermaden in the morning.’

‘You will still be ready to pursue him, but you must secure the city first.’

Khareh sighed and rubbed his temples. ‘Just get
him
out of here.’ He gestured to Garus.

This was a battle that Wadi wished Khareh had won. She didn’t want to stay in the palace any more than he did. But she and Erdene were forced to stay wherever the Khan stayed. Wadi yearned for the warmth of the yurt – for the comfort of a rug at her feet, the smell of incense mingling with sheep’s wool. Even though she was a captive there, it was better than this cold stone palace that reeked of blood and ashes. The hall they were in – Mermaden’s old throne room – was bare and empty of almost any decoration, except for six decorated stone pillars.

‘Did the men do as I asked? Did they secure the engineers, the men of letters, the artisans?’

‘Yes, my Khan,’ said Altan.

‘Bring one of them to me. Take Erdene too, so there isn’t trouble.’

Erdene straightened, and immediately protested. As if in response, the shadow swirled to Khareh’s side. Erdene threw a scowl in the shadow’s direction. Wadi was impressed. At least she was no longer appearing scared of it. Erdene turned on her heel and followed Altan out of the room.

Wadi was now alone with Khareh. And his shadow, of course.

‘I’m surprised at you,’ said Wadi.

‘What do you mean?’ Khareh feigned insult.

‘You saved those people.’

‘Of course – without the engineers, who will help me transform Kharein?’ he said, and his face had such an expression of earnest wonder on it that Wadi found herself momentarily speechless.

‘And the artists?’ Khareh continued. ‘Have you seen some of the stonework in here? We have nothing like this in Kharein.’

Wadi raised an eyebrow, and found her voice. ‘I didn’t take you for someone who appreciated fine art.’

‘I appreciate genius,’ said Khareh.

There was something of genius about it. The pillars of the great hall were engraved with beautiful flowing Darhanian script. It must have taken some skill to carve those rounded letters, the delicate links between words. She tried to read it, but it was difficult as the script was old, worn away in places, and written in archaic language. It wasn’t worn in the same way as the scripts of Lazar might have been – artificially, so as to destroy any of its beauty before it even had a chance to be called beautiful. This was just the telltale decay of age.

The script told of the history of the city, that much was clear. As Wadi’s eyes travelled from the ceiling to the floor, the script became much clearer, as if the words towards the bottom were much newer than those above it. Suddenly, Wadi laughed.

‘Something funny?’ said Khareh.

‘You don’t want the artisans for the beauty of their work. This bit here tells the story of Mermaden ‘the Great’. It’s just exaggerating his conquests – and from what you’ve told me yourself, they weren’t that great at all. You said he’s just a drunkard and a braggart, not a mighty warrior. This is just his ego carved into stone, and now you want something like this for yourself. You only want the artists so that they can write of your genius, not so you can use theirs.’

‘History will remember what it remembers. We need works like this in Kharein to immortalize our history.’

Wadi scowled. ‘
Your
history, you mean. But you can’t just rewrite everything. There will be those who remember the truth.’

‘Like who? Please, tell me of them. I will be sure to put them on my list of people to kill.’

‘You are despicable.’

Khareh just laughed. A series of sharp knocks on the door made them both jump – although Khareh concealed it better than Wadi. He replaced the crown on his head, wobbling slightly as he adjusted it, until it settled – the two fangs of the jaguar skull on either side of his eyes. It was ridiculous. But ironically, it was an impressive sight too. That much was impossible to deny.

‘Enter!’ said Khareh, putting on his most khan-like voice.

A man in the sky-blue turban of a messenger entered. Dust covered his boots and dirt marred his face in thick streaks. His legs were shaking slightly as he stood, and Wadi knew that meant he had been riding hard for several days. Darhanian men – bred from birth to ride – never felt the discomfort of the saddle.

‘I have ridden seven horses to get here as fast as possible.’

‘Where have you come from, messenger?’ asked Khareh. There was a bench in the centre of the room, which the man could sit on if Khareh gave him permission. Wadi saw the man glance sidelong at it. Khareh did not give him permission.

‘From the steppes between the river Tyr and the Amarapura mountains, my great Khan. Your men were transporting the captive to the prison at Genar to be tortured. They were ambushed in the steppes by—’ The man rasped a dry cough.

‘By whom?’ said Khareh, stamping his foot impatiently.

‘Please, my Khan, if I could just have some water . . .’

‘By whom?’ Khareh repeated, louder.

‘A band of old men from a Cheren.’

Khareh burst out into laughter. ‘You are saying a group of wrinkled grandfathers ambushed a wagon of mine? That my soldiers couldn’t handle some decrepit old men?’

‘One of the men had a spirit-companion.’

At that, Khareh stopped laughing. ‘He was an oath-breaker? Why hadn’t he been rounded up to my camp?’

‘No, my Khan. He was no old man – and no ordinary oathbreaker. He . . . controlled his spirit. He managed to free the captive. We think he was a sage, my Khan.’

‘There is no sage in Darhan but me!’ Khareh exploded, and the man cowered in response.

There were several moments of tense silence, until Khareh spoke again, in quiet anger. ‘How many of my guards survived?’

‘One, my Khan.’

‘And where is he now?’

‘I . . . I believe he is receiving care with a tribe in the east.’

‘No, no, no. He should have been brought straight here. That is not good.’ He said the last words to the ground, as if more to himself than to the room. He looked up at the messenger, finally remembering himself. ‘Wadi, bring this man a cup of water.’

Wadi could only just reach the man within the confines of her rope. Her hands were trembling.
Raim. It has to be Raim
. He was not only still alive, but he was still fighting. She tried to stop herself from sloshing the water everywhere as she took it over to the man. Before she handed it over, Khareh asked another question of the messenger. ‘Who did you tell about this on your way here?’

‘No one, my Khan. I travelled from tribe to tribe, collecting horses in your name, stopping nowhere, to reach you as soon as possible with this news.’

‘That is good. That is very good indeed. Wadi?’ He gestured to her, and she handed the man the cup. He immediately took a long draught.

‘Your lordship is most graci—’ But before he could finish the final few words, there was a knife buried deep in his chest.

Wadi screamed in shock, then spun around to stare at Khareh. ‘There is no other sage in Darhan,’ he said, his eyes wide, his hand shaking.

‘You’re just scared! You’re scared of Raim because you know he is a good man who can inspire the people! Because he is a better man than you could ever be!’

Khareh’s face didn’t change. ‘There is no other sage in Darhan but me.’

‘She’s gone,’ Raim said, his voice cracked. He looked all around the room, but there was no sign of her.

Can you see her?
he asked Draikh.

‘No,’ the spirit replied. ‘She won’t come back while I’m here. She doesn’t trust me. But it doesn’t matter. I’m not going anywhere.’

I don’t want you to. I’d rather have you than her, anyway.

‘What?’ said Mhara, a confused frown on her face. ‘What did she say? Tell us everything.’

‘I need to get out of here,’ said Raim.

Mhara and Aelina recoiled.

‘No, not to escape,’ he added. ‘I just need some air. Please.’ Even though the hall was large and cavernous, Raim felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on his back – the expectation of the Council, Mhara, Draikh.

Mhara studied him for a few moments, then pointed to the far end of the room. ‘The door there will lead you outside.’ Raim had to breathe deeply to keep from bursting into a sprint.

He was used to making his decisions under the great clear sky – whether it was here, in the mountains, or before, in the vast desert. If there was ever a time that he needed clarity, it was now.

He had an answer to a question he had long asked: what was the promise sealed within his vow? He was promised to fulfil his destiny as rightful Khan of Darhan. Now he knew, but he felt even further from the truth than ever before. Every answer seemed to pose a hundred more questions. Knots within knots. Promises within promises. Secrets within secrets. What was it that Zu had said to him once? That he was a maze of mysteries. That was what it felt like: he had been dropped in the centre of a maze with no points of reference, no sense of direction. Every corner he turned required yet another choice. Choices he wasn’t sure he wanted to make.

For a moment he let himself yearn for the simpler time, the simpler vow. There was a time when he thought his life would revolve around a single knot: a vow to protect his best friend with his life. No ambiguity. No questions.