The Shadow’s Curse (21 page)

‘And then there is this other,’ Raim said. He showed Shen just the edge of it, the tip that crept out of his tunic at the base of his neck. ‘This one is the Absolute Vow I made, that is not broken.’

Shen’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Why is that one dark like a sailor’s tattoo while the other is that hideous red?’

‘Because of this creature.’ Raim pointed up into the sky, where Oyu was delighting in the strange new currents that blew across the water, his enormous wingspan casting a shadow on the deck. ‘My garfalcon. When he consumed my promise-knot to Khareh, he made it even more permanent. Indelible. So that I cannot break the promise even if I wanted to, and Khareh himself cannot remove it from me.’

‘You mean the prince.’

‘Khan.’

‘Oh yes, khan, sorry. A bird that eats men’s promise-knots.’ He rubbed at the beard on his chin, deep in thought. ‘I’ve heard legends of sea creatures that are the same. With you on board, though, my bargain with the Council will be over and I need never come to the blasted North again if I choose not to. And yet, I wonder if the new khan will be interested in my ship? Somehow, I bet he would pay more than the old monks.’

‘You would not want to deal with him, trust me.’

‘Trust you? You’re an oathbreaker, so why would I do that?’

Raim trembled with shame, but Shen put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You know, you Northerners are a strange lot, but I understand you better than any other of my countrymen. I’ll tell you why. You tie knots to bind your promises, and when you break a vow your knot burns. You value honour, I’ll give you that much. Maybe because I’m a man of the sea, I understand. Every day I have to tie knots in my ropes and I entrust that they will keep me safe. Every knot needs to do its duty, to know its role in this process, or else the whole thing will fall apart. I make those knots promise to hold even when the foulest winds blow at them and the rain drenches them and the rats chew on their threads. If one of those knots breaks, it spells disaster on board a ship. So maybe I know a bit more than I let on about their significance.

‘And the significance of someone who willingly breaks one.’

Raim swallowed, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. ‘I did nothing willingly.’

‘And hence the journey.’

‘Hence the journey. By the end, I will be rid of this scar.’

‘As you say.’

There was a loud clap of thunder, and Shen’s attitude changed almost immediately. He shifted from his laid-back stance to a man on high alert, his muscles going from sluggish to tense in an instant. At first, Raim couldn’t tell what was causing the change in the captain’s demeanour, which had shed years from the man just by the alertness in his shoulders. But then he felt the difference himself, a kind of spark in the air that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He looked up at the sky and realized that the sun had been obscured completely by clouds hanging in thick clumps. It looked ominous.

‘Men, jump to it. Raise the anchor. We need to get out of here, and fast.’ Shen turned to Raim. ‘You two’d best get below,’ said the old pirate, gesturing to Tarik. ‘You’ll learn the ropes soon enough, but your first night is not the night to do so. You’ll suffer enough downstairs without getting under my feet all the time.’ Then he spun around, turning his attention back to the crew who had gathered on the deck. He set each of them to work, flinging his arms out in each direction, and men scattered where he pointed. The sea beneath them lifted and swelled, and Raim could see men at the far end struggling with the heavy anchor. He wanted to do something to help, but then Draikh was in front of him.

‘Get below decks,’ said Draikh. ‘It’s a lightning storm. I learned about these in my studies. Once the season for them hits, there will be no going anywhere in this ship. Oyu will be fine,’ he added, seeing Raim’s eyes shoot up to the sky.

‘But I can help—’ protested Raim. Shen overheard. He spun around, and the anger etched on his face was enough to send Raim scurrying below deck. He stumbled against the sides of the ship’s thin corridors until he found an empty berth. There was a hammock of stained hemp rope suspended from the ceiling, which he tumbled into. He felt useless, but he was aware that he could easily be the source of more annoyance than good. He knew nothing about how a ship worked. He had no idea even how they got a ship this size moving. Maybe a great wave would lift them up and smash them against the cliffs – then he would have no hope of reaching the South, no hope of overthrowing Khareh, no hope of returning to Wadi.
Definitely
no hope of being the Khan.

He didn’t feel much like a leader of anything sitting in that tiny room that stank of mildew and salt and sweat and fear. He cowered in the hammock, letting the rope dig into his skin, not even bothering to move to find a blanket or anything that would make him more comfortable. The ship seemed to lurch, and so did his stomach. He reached over the side of the hammock and retched into the bucket that had been provided just for that purpose.

Now the smell of sour acid and old water added to the mix.

All he could do was wait out the night, and see if he was still alive in the morning. There was no going back now.

The initial storm passed quickly, and when he felt well again, Raim clambered back out onto the deck. That first moment of seeing the open sea in its entirety was a sight that would never leave him for the rest of his life. There was no sign of land on the horizon, just mile after mile of dark blue water, crested here and there by the white caps of sea foam on the waves. It was only matched by the feeling of looking out over the desert for the first time. In fact, if the waves stayed stationary, they could be sand dunes. But these sands dunes rolled, rose and dipped, and this boat was no more master of the waves than he had been of the dunes. And while sandworms and garfalcons and great snakes lived in the sands, Raim was terrified to think of what must lurk beneath the waves.

Raim’s stomach heaved. He swung back to face the mast and sunk to his knees.

Another man burst out of the cabins below – Tarik. He spotted Raim and stumbled across the deck to get to him. Together they both sat, their backs against the wooden railing of the ship, their heads between their hands.

‘How much more of this do we have to go?’ Tarik said, his voice shaking.

‘Too long,’ said Raim. The captain had been vague about certain details – like the time he thought the journey would take.

‘I haven’t even been able to write anything. Every time I get the quill out, I end up feeling sick again.’

As if their conversation had conjured him, Shen loomed over them, snapping them both from their reverie. ‘Boys, this is the easiest part of this journey. Trust me, if the seas were like this more than they were not, you’d see plenty more ships venturing out onto these waters. Maybe even King Song himself would send his fleet rather than attempt to cross the Red desert to get north. There, boy, that should give you an indication of just how dangerous this crossing is! The king would rather cross the desert than the sea, and he owns the finest fleet in the world.’

Why in Sola’s name did we agree to this? It’s a suicide mission!
thought Raim to Draikh.

‘At least one of us is enjoying it,’ he replied. As if on cue, Oyu dived into the water and came back with a fat, juicy fish in his beak.

‘Is that normal behaviour for a garfalcon?’ asked Tarik, although he knew no one could answer his question. He slipped his scroll of paper out of his tunic pocket and began to scribble down notes while observing Oyu.

Raim laughed. Tarik could squeeze learning out of any situation.

‘The sea spares us because we bring nothing back from the cursed North,’ said a voice. It sounded as if it was coming from above them. Raim looked up to see a man swinging from the rigging like a monkey. He jumped down next to the captain, landing with a dull thud. He might’ve been the thinnest man that Raim had ever seen; his skin was the same wind-burnt, leathery brown as Shen’s, but without the prodigious beard he just looked shrivelled like an old prune. The man’s eyes were set so far back into his skull, they might as well be gone completely.

‘This is Bayan,’ said Shen. ‘He is my first mate, and a superstitious old sod if I ever knew one.’

‘They shouldn’t be here,’ said Bayan. He drew out the ‘sh’ in ‘shouldn’t’ like the rattle of a snake’s tail. ‘The gods allow us passage to bring things north – not south, not to bring these twisted spies to our shores, to contaminate our lands and our peoples!’

Shen laughed. ‘We bring nothing south except gold, don’t forget. The northern monks give us just enough of that to make this journey worthwhile. And now they’ve given me more gold than I know what to do with, all just to guarantee the safe passage of these two souls and one hideous shadow to Aqben. Who am I to argue? I can’t guarantee anyone safe passage over these waters, but I will guard against anything in man’s control. Including you, Bayan. Now, to your duties, man.’

‘They shouldn’t be here,’ Bayan repeated. He threw one sharp look at Raim, before shuffling off and disappearing below deck.

We’ll need to keep a watch on that one
, Raim thought, reaching out to Draikh.

‘Absolutely,’ said Draikh. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone shiftier in my life.’

But where is everyone else?
There was just a skeleton crew on board, but they scurried through the ship like rats – and avoided him and Tarik as if they might carry the plague.

There was still one other thing Shen had said which caught Raim’s attention.

‘The Southern King . . .’

‘King Song.’

‘He has been building an army?’

‘Yes, the biggest army the South has ever seen. Some of the men on this boat, they joined me just to avoid being conscripted into the army. Though why he cares about the North is beyond me. The North keeps my wife in silks and me out of her bed – that’s why she keeps sending me up here when I could just be doing easy sailing trips to the Jewel Isles, filling my boat with rich spices, relaxing on sand beaches, staring at beautiful women . . .’

‘The Council must have warned him that I am coming. I will need that army to become the rightful Khan of Darhan, as my promise-knot foretold,’ said Raim. Even as he spoke, he couldn’t stop doubt from creeping in.

Shen narrowed one of his eyes at him, in a way that came off more curious than threatening. ‘I don’t know what you and your monks believe, but you’ll have trouble wrestling away that army from King Song.’

‘But I must,’ said Raim. ‘It is my destiny.’

‘Hmm, so you have been told. It’s just I wouldn’t be surprised if others had different beliefs about their supposed “destiny”, King Song included. But come on then,’ Shen said to Raim and Tarik. ‘No use having you both lazing around all day. If you’re feeling seasick, I know a good cure for it: hard work and exhaustion. I’ve heard some pretty fantastical stories about you – especially you,’ he said, looking directly at Raim. ‘Let’s see what you’re truly made of, then.’

He snapped his fingers and Bayan came back with two mops and pails. He dropped the mop handles, and they landed with a clatter at Raim’s feet. ‘There you go. Swab the decks, if you must do something.’

Raim picked up his mop, then looked up at Draikh, who was floating around the mast.
Well, are you going to help me? Show Shen what we can do?

Draikh raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re joking? You’re on your own for this one. I’m not cleaning up for you.’

Raim sighed, and with Tarik next to him, dragged the mop across the wooden deck.

It was going to be a long passage.

She had been aiming for Khareh.

She tried to convince herself of that fact.
Hadn’t she?

The memory of it flashed before her eyes. She had lunged for the knife. She had seen the target in her eyes. She had thrown it.

It had hit the woman square in the chest.

She had been aiming for Khareh.

No, she hadn’t. If she had aimed for Khareh, she would have hit Khareh. Instead, he had been in danger and she had saved him.

There had been chaos in the moments after. Erdene had ripped herself free from the healers, and had thrown herself to Khareh’s side. Imal was there too, his sword drawn, standing over the crumpled form of Mhara, who was lying dead – there was no mistaking it this time – on the packed dirt of the makeshift arena. Blood from the open wound dripped down into the dirt, turning it into mud, albeit crimson-tinted. The bone handle of the knife Wadi had thrown still remained embedded in Mhara’s chest.

She had thrown that knife with deadly accuracy.
To save Khareh’s life
. She left that thought hanging in her mind.
How could I have done that? I didn’t want that. I wanted him dead.

I wanted him dead
, she repeated, trying to get herself to believe it. But she hadn’t. She had wanted to save him, even from Mhara. Wadi knew that name. She had been Raim’s former mentor, the one he thought he had killed. The one he had tortured himself with guilt over. Wadi had killed her now.

She had been turned to Khareh’s side. Khareh had won.

With great reluctance, she lifted her head. She found Khareh’s eyes just where she expected them to be: boring a hole deep into her skull with their piercing gaze, so deep she swore he was finding out things about her that she didn’t even know about herself. He didn’t break eye contact even while Erdene fussed over him, even when she called out to Altan for help, even once a healer wrapped the wound he had received in falling to the ground. He just stared at Wadi.

Then, with a gesture, he ordered her back to the yurt, and she knew that at any moment he would follow her back and thank her.
Thank her for saving him.

Her mind raced and her palms began to sweat as two ordinary soldiers began to lead her away. Wary of her skill, they kicked away the other knives and knocked over the basket, a shiny object rolling out and catching her attention. It was one of Khareh’s rings that he’d removed before his duel. Wadi palmed it and slipped it in her pocket.