The Shadow’s Curse (10 page)

But this was different. The scale of this death made her feel detached. Removed. Soldiers’ bodies lay bent and broken over the city walls, from where they had been tasked with pouring burning pitch on Khareh’s army – only to be at the forefront of the attack by the shadows. Some had fallen to their deaths, blood staining the grey stone in dark pools. Flies buzzed in thick swarms around the dead; no one had yet come out to move their bodies.

There would be many graves to dig around the city soon.

The tips of her fingers turned cold, even though the air was warm. Her body was shutting down from the pain of – from the pain of what? Of witnessing? Of understanding?

She stole a glance at Erdene’s face.
She was trained for this
, Wadi reminded herself. Or at least, trained not to look bothered by it. Erdene could remain stoical and unaffected in the wake of the death and disaster. Well, maybe Erdene didn’t look so happy about it after all. Her skin had turned a sickly grey and a sheen of sweat lay on her skin; her mouth was set in a firm line. But she looked determined not to show fear. It made Wadi feel ashamed at her more visceral response. Had she really been so sheltered by a life in the desert? She’d always assumed that in Darhan life was better than life in the desert. But if life in Darhan only meant more war, then maybe she had been lucky, after all.

She centred herself.

Khareh did this. Remember that.
Maybe she could remind Erdene of that fact too. The Seer-Queen could turn into a powerful ally.

Or a worse enemy.

They rode through the city’s narrow stone streets towards the temple, where Khareh would be waiting for them.

Despite being surrounded by lush forests, there was not much by way of greenery in the city. Not like Lazar. In fact, Wadi’s main impression was one of poverty and disarray – at least, in this part of the city.

There was hardly anybody in the streets, although she could see a few pairs of eyes staring out at them from windows and doorways, and down one alleyway she spied a young girl, clothes ragged, covered head-to-toe in dirt, her thumb propped listlessly between her lips. A woman – her mother, presumably – stepped out of a nearby doorway and grabbed the girl brusquely by the upper arm, dragging her indoors. Wadi thought she heard the girl squeal, and it made her wince.

But at least it meant that Khareh hadn’t killed everybody. It was a small comfort.

The streets opened up as they headed toward what Wadi assumed was the temple – the only place that looked as if it had been built with any degree of care and attention. They passed underneath the temple gates, which were intricately carved and the only thing of beauty Wadi had yet seen in the city. Inlaid into the stone arch were tiles of bright blue and green. A large metal disc of concentric circles hung in the very centre of the gate – the symbol of Samar.

Khareh was waiting on foot, just inside. They dismounted and walked towards him. ‘Is the city ours?’ Erdene asked as she approached.

The Khan nodded. ‘Except for Mermaden himself.’ He spat into the ground. ‘The supposedly great ruler is a coward, after all. He escaped with some of his generals before we could reach his palace. I lost my horse from an arrow – one of Mermaden’s men making a passing shot. It would have crushed my leg if my shadow guard hadn’t returned to protect me.’

There was a long rectangular clearing behind the gates, dominated by a shallow pool of water. The temple itself was at the far end of the pool. It was almost too picturesque for the shabbiness of the rest of the city, built of stone and covered in mosaic patterns – which even spread onto the floor. The mosaics made the large, square walls beautiful. Some of the tiles spelled out words – prayers to the gods, predominantly Sola. It calmed Wadi to know that she was in Sola’s presence – even here, so far away from the desert itself. It was good to know that even from afar the desert goddess was feared and awed.

Wadi was glad despite herself when they moved inside. Anything to get away from the sight of the city, and the stench.

Khareh’s guard met them just inside the temple doors, and guided them through several hallways until they reached what must have been the temple’s main room. The floor was polished until it shone, and Wadi had to watch her footing after she almost slipped on the slick surface.

Unfortunately, Khareh didn’t miss anything. ‘Be careful,’ he said to her. ‘I know you think I’m heartless. But if I’m right, then there is another pass-stone kept within these walls. Doesn’t that intrigue you just a little bit?’

It did. Reluctantly, Wadi followed Khareh out of the large room and down a set of stone steps, which led far beneath the temple.

When she got to the bottom step, she stopped in shock. There were twenty girls down there, in a long line, each with a veil over her face and wearing a pendant identical to Wadi’s around her neck.

Khareh walked right to the end of the line of girls. A trembling priestess stood there already, held between two of Khareh’s guards. A cold chill descended Wadi’s spine, until fear rooted her to the floor. Under her tunic, her pendant burned. The two sensations made her feel like she was suffering from a fever, and sweat broke out on her forehead. Something here was deeply wrong.

‘We will never tell you who wears the rightful stone,’ the priestess said, tossing her hair back and holding her head up high. She had rows of braids wrapped in concentric circles around her head, but they were in complete disarray.

‘I could just take all of them, you know. That doesn’t matter much to me. But let’s do this the easy way, shall we?

‘Wadi?’ he gestured her forward. ‘Which of these is the real stone?’

The chill came, because the answer stood out to her plain as day. But to Khareh, she tried to control the shake in her voice and said, ‘Why should I help you?’

Khareh rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t put us through this, Wadi. By force or by pain, I won’t leave this room without it, so you might as well tell me.’

‘That just makes me want to give it to you less. At least tell me what you want with it!’

Khareh clicked his fingers while staring at Erdene. Immediately Erdene drew a dagger from her side. Despite herself, Wadi flinched. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for something she could use as a weapon. But there was nothing but the smooth stone walls and the terrified girls. Maybe if she could disarm Erdene, but she was well-trained . . .

To her utter distress, Khareh just laughed as he stepped forward to take the dagger from Erdene.

‘Don’t be stupid. I’m not going to torture you. I need you.’ He spun around on his heel, reached out and grabbed the arm of one of the girls, making her stumble. He slipped the knife up against her trembling neck. ‘No, but I can torture every single one of these girls, until either they break – or you do.’ The girl let out a piercing scream, amplified within the enclosed space. Khareh pushed the blade against her skin, splitting it, drawing blood. ‘Don’t you think they’ve suffered enough?’

‘Fine!’ shouted Wadi, as the girl’s screams increased. ‘You are a monster, Khareh.’

The knife pulled away; the screaming stopped, to be replaced by quick, panicked breaths.

‘It’s none of them,’ she mumbled.

‘What?’ said Khareh.

‘I said, it’s none of them.’

Khareh was deadly still. ‘Then where is it?’

Wadi gritted her teeth. Then she walked slowly through the line of girls, through the gap Khareh had created, and began running her hands along the wall.

There was another sharp cry from the girl behind.

‘Come on, Wadi. I know you know exactly where it is. Why are you insisting on wasting my time? Unless you just enjoy causing this girl pain.’

Wadi grimaced, then placed her hands more firmly against the wall. One stone shifted beneath her palms. She pulled it out and there, buried deep within the wall, was another pendant.

Wadi reached in and prised it out. Once in her hand, it grew warm, as if it burned with an inner fire. She looked back at Khareh, and raised an eyebrow. ‘What do you want with this? Owning one of these stones can only mean one thing.’

‘And what’s that?’ Khareh asked.

‘It is a curse. Whoever holds this stone is cursed to return to Lazar. But most would rather pass the burden on to their descendants than go back there. The legend of the “Undying Women” – it makes sense now. It’s just a lie to explain when these poor young “chosen women” die unnaturally early deaths, desperate to leave their city, to pursue a destiny they never chose for themselves. Why would you want it?’

Khareh stepped through the line of girls, who parted quickly as he passed. He stood in front of Wadi, so close to her she could smell the remnants of crushed mint leaves on his breath.

‘Wadi, all this time you’ve spent with me, and still you misunderstand me. I want to go to Lazar. No – more than that. I want to go to Lazar, and then I want to go South, to Aqben. I want Darhan to be the greatest empire under Naran’s great sky. And he who owns Lazar owns the desert. And he who owns the desert owns the world.’

The Baril. Layers within layers within mysteries. Was there anything simple about these people? There was certainly nothing simple about their temple. As they slipped through the narrow passageways, Raim was shocked by how much he could hear from the other side of the temple walls. At some point, the stone of the walls seemed thinner than paper, and the occasional pinprick of light belied the position of tiny peepholes into what Raim presumed were private rooms. The Baril, protectors of culture? More like liars and spies and manipulators – a web of factions that waged war with words. The politics here were more complicated than between the warlords and the khans. At least those battles were won with the sword – not with the mind.

At one point, Raim heard his name being shouted from a hidden room beyond. He didn’t recognize the voice, he couldn’t quite make out all the words, but the intention was clear: they were searching for him.

Did any of the Baril trust each other? So far, not the different factions, not husband and wife, not leader and follower . . . no one possessed a modicum of trust in another.

Raim was glad when the passage finally widened because carrying Tarik, even with Draikh’s support, was becoming increasingly difficult.

‘We’re almost there,’ murmured Aelina, still keeping her voice low.

The muscles in Raim’s shoulders twitched – from supporting the dead weight of Tarik, but also from the tension. Could he trust this woman? It didn’t seem like a good idea. The only thing that kept him following her was the thought that Mhara was somewhere close by. Mhara had been his mentor – a person he would have trusted with his life. Just like Wadi.

The muscles of his jaw tightened as he thought about Wadi. The more time he spent with the Baril, the longer she remained Khareh’s captive. Vlad might have been convinced Khareh was not torturing her, but what was to prevent the Khan changing his mind? Even though Raim had reluctantly agreed to Vlad’s plan, he would never forget his real aim: to rescue Wadi from Khareh.

Aelina stopped ahead of him, and began tapping on the wall in a deliberate pattern. After a few moments, the wall opened, and Aelina stepped through.

Raim followed, but just as he did, Tarik stirred in his arms.

‘Come on, brother,’ said Raim as Draikh dropped Tarik’s legs to the ground. Tarik’s feet just about caught his weight, and he wobbled slowly to standing, groaning loudly. ‘Let’s enter this mess together.’

Raim pulled Tarik’s arm over his shoulder, while Draikh supported him the other side, and the three of them stepped into a cavernous room, full of women standing in a semicircle. And at its centre: Mhara.

She was really there.

And she looked . . . surprisingly well for a woman Raim had assumed was dead. She was not dressed as he had left her, in her Yun army gear, but in a long, almost floor-length tunic, more typical of the Baril. More shocking was that her long, dark hair had been shorn close to her head. All Yun wore their hair long, and so to see her like this – like an apprentice not long finished their final test – took some getting used to.

Down one side of her face, she now bore a raw jagged scar – not a mark of a broken promise, but the result of a brutal, painful trauma.

Like plummeting hundreds of feet from a cliff.

‘Mhara . . . what? How?’ Raim left Tarik propped up against the door, and stepped towards her.

‘Raim – it is really you,’ she said.

‘Mhara, I don’t know how I can tell you this but – I am so sorry.’ Tears welled up behind his eyes. Ever since that encounter on the cliff, he had believed that Mhara was dead. That he had killed her. He had borne that weight and had tried to honour her memory with his actions. But now he didn’t have to mourn his mentor. She was standing right in front of him. ‘How . . . how come you are here?’ He wanted to know everything. It must have been a miracle that allowed her to come back alive – and well.

She waved off his question. ‘It is good to see you. I will tell you all, I promise. But from what I hear, you are in a lot of trouble. It seems you attract it . . .’

Raim nodded and raised the arm that bore his scar. ‘It is the same problem.’

Mhara unleashed a string of curses from her mouth that shocked Raim into stunned silence. ‘You still don’t know who you made the promise to?’

Raim shook his head.

‘And that shadow that follows you – that is not the shadow from this broken vow?’

‘No – the shadow is different. The shadow is Khareh,’ Raim said. ‘But I call him Draikh. I thought he was a dream at first. Dream-Khareh . . .’ His voice trailed off.

Mhara exchanged a look with Aelina, who stood behind him. Then the tall Baril woman moved so she stood next to Mhara. ‘What do you know about the person who you made this promise to?’

Raim’s forehead crinkled into a frown.
Can I trust her?

‘I don’t know,’ said Draikh. ‘But do you have any choice?’

‘Raim, this woman might be able to help you,’ said Mhara. ‘Tell her what you know.’

Raim took a deep breath. ‘Not much. There have been several times that I thought I had seen her.’