The Shadow’s Curse (22 page)

She had seen enough to know what he was capable of.

It was time to remind him of what
she
was capable of.

The soldiers accompanied her back to her yurt, where her chains awaited. They hadn’t chained her feet while walking from the festivities because after all she had
saved
their khan and now they didn’t know how to treat her. A mistake on their part, if they thought she could be trusted. In the dark shadow of her yurt, as one of them released his grip on her arm to find the keys to her chain, she threw all her might up at her other captor, her fists colliding against his jaw. There was so much noise from the surrounding yurts; she hoped no one would notice their satisfying squeals.

There wasn’t much time to savour the victory. The other soldier fumbled the keys, dropping them onto the ground as he charged back at her to secure her. She grabbed the body of the soldier she had smashed in the mouth and threw him hard at his companion, before kicking out at the man’s groin. He crumpled into a heap, his companion on top of him. She grabbed strips of cloth from where they had been drying on the lines securing her yurt, and used them to bind and gag the two soldiers, then she dragged them deep inside so their inert bodies couldn’t be seen, chaining their ankles together as a last-minute idea. It wasn’t subtle, but it might buy her a few extra minutes.

Every single one of her senses was on high alert – but no one came to investigate the noise she had made incapacitating the guards. Everyone was still too focused on the events of the tournament.

But it wouldn’t be long until Khareh came along, and so she needed to be quick. The camp was set up in a long column formation around the lake, so she scurried towards the outer edge, trying to find the narrowest point of exit. It would be hard to run away into the steppes – but as only one woman, she could do it.

She could go anywhere – she could try to find Raim on his journey south – but he would likely be on the ship already. Or she could go to Sola, find her old Alashan tribe, and warn them of Khareh’s plans to invade the desert. She could do anything – as long as it wasn’t staying here any longer and spending any more time under the hypnotic influence of Khareh.

She tried to act as if she belonged – and as she walked past one of the yurts she grabbed a strip of leather that had fallen to the ground. She convinced herself she was just an ordinary woman tasked with repairing some uniforms. She kept her face hidden by a scarf she had thrown over her head. Her dark skin – darker than any natural-born Darhanian – would mark her out in an instant. There weren’t many people of Alashan descent in the tribe.

Luckily, no one looked at her face – barely anyone looked at her at all. There was a strange energy in the air, as word of the attempted assassination spread though the camp. Yet most seemed happy that Khareh had survived. Khareh had two things in his favour: his natural charisma, which gave him ability to inspire despite being despicable – and the desire of the Darhanian people to win. So far, Khareh had yet to lose a battle he had led his armies into. Even the matter of him being a branded oathbreaker was starting to look less important in the light of
victory
.

To beat Khareh – to bring him down – was going to require a leader who possessed everything Khareh did – charisma, the ability to motivate people, the ability to spot talent and use it to his advantage, his sagery – but without Khareh’s cruelty. Wadi hoped that Raim was up to the task. She knew she could help him get there.

Finally finding a suitable place, Wadi burst out of the camp and into the grasslands. She tried to slow her pace despite the fact she wanted to run. The beating of her heart sounded so loud it was like the pounding of a war drum in her ears.
Just act like you have every reason in the world to head away from camp
. She kept her pace even, occasionally stopped to look around, as if she was missing a child – or a friend. Then, when she judged she was far enough from the camp for the lights of the fires to no longer reach her, she dropped down onto her knees. Then she started crawling through the grass, as quickly as she could.

The grass here was long and lush after a wet spring and offered plenty of cover. She just needed to stay low, she just needed to stay quiet, be quick, and move away from here.

She saw no one then but a falcon, wheeling high overhead. The steppes were wide and cold and empty, compared to the desert. But there was plenty of life around: soaring birds, scurrying rodents and grazing animals. But there was only one animal Wadi was interested in: the steppes pony.

One allowed her to approach, curious and unafraid of humans. Wadi spotted the brand on its haunches and knew that it was one of the army ponies, built for stamina over long distances. The horse would be able to survive on little sustenance as well.

‘We’ll be in this together, little one,’ she said to it, in her most soothing tone. She stroked its velvety soft muzzle, allowing it to become accustomed to her scent. She was grateful that she would smell like the smoke and incense of Khareh’s camp. She was not unfamiliar.

When the moment felt right, she took a fistful of its mane and hoisted herself up onto its back. She clicked with the back of her tongue, and dug her heels into its side until it sprang into action.

She was going to regret the lack of saddle by the end of this journey, that was for certain. But, as she glanced back over her shoulder at the camp, an eerie calm came over her. She was free.

And she would accept any pain in the world as a price for that freedom.

Wadi rode until her fingers cramped from gripping the pony’s matted mane, until her thighs ached, and foam rose on her pony’s back, but to her relief, no one pursued her. She rode until she came across a braided river, twists of it running through the steppes like the plaits in her hair.

She dismounted and fell, knees first, into the river. The water was shallow – only a few inches deep – and icy cold, but she didn’t care. While the horse drank upstream, she lay in the river and let the water rush over her, cleansing her body and clothes of the dust and sweat of her journey.

In the vast wilderness, completely alone, she let herself break down. Her tears joined the river with the dust. She didn’t know where she was going, or how she was going to find Raim. Her stomach rumbled with intense hunger; she hadn’t eaten since long before the Yun tournament.

‘Help me,’ she whispered to the river, hoping the words would somehow find their way down to the sea and get carried to Raim’s ear on a rogue wave.

She snapped back to her senses, cursing herself for being so foolish, and began to clean her legs where riding had caused blisters to swell and burst. She took long draughts of the clean, fresh water, then washed her hair and re-braided the long dark strands. The practical things she could think about. Small steps.

Survival first. Plan second.

Eventually, Wadi dragged herself from the river and sat on an island of crushed rock, silt, and mud in the middle of the water. Her mount still drank happily, and she needed a moment to reassess.

She needed food, and a safe place to rest, but she could not hope to seek hospitality from the local tribes. She was too unusual, too different, too strange, and in a time when ‘war’ was on everyone’s lips, hosting an obvious foreigner was a risk few would be willing to take. Without the generosity of the nomads, though, she did not know how she was going to find the help she needed.

A deep pit opened in her stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. Maybe this had all been a big mistake. She could have stayed with Khareh. Now she had truly lost any trust he might have had in her, despite the fact that she had just saved his life.

The sound of laughter drifting out over the water chilled Wadi to the core. She scrambled backwards into the river, but there was not enough water to cover her. She was helpless to whoever was approaching.

The laughter stopped abruptly. It was a young girl, approaching the edge of the river with a pail made of animal skin. She didn’t look older than ten; her hair tied back in two plaits that framed her face, her skin burnished bronze by the sun. She stared at Wadi, the strange woman in the water who had interrupted her game. But she was alone.

They stared at each other for what felt like an age, and Wadi could see the girl analysing her, as if Wadi was a wild animal she was judging whether dangerous. Then the girl shrugged her shoulders and kept approaching the water, leaving Wadi relieved – but bedraggled – still sitting in the river. She now had a choice: to run away, in case the presence of the girl meant that others were nearby too. Or she could approach.

‘Hello?’ Wadi said.

The girl perked her head up, like a rabbit about to flee. Wadi couldn’t stop herself now that she had started: ‘Wait, please, do you understand me? My name is Wadi. What’s your name?’

There was a slight hesitation, but to Wadi’s surprise, the girl didn’t have any fear in her eyes. This was a daughter of the steppes, a nomad child who fiercely protected her animals against all dangers. She could be miles from her home now – but her parents wouldn’t fear for her.

‘Shanna.’

‘Shanna, can you help me? Do you have any food?’

The girl didn’t reply, but she didn’t run away either. Wadi stood up and moved closer to her, trying to keep her movements slow and non-threatening, so as not to spook her. ‘I’m a long way from my tribe,’ Wadi said. ‘I haven’t eaten for a long time.’

The girl’s eyes opened wide. ‘I have some dried meat.’

Wadi could have cried. ‘Really? Will you let me have some?’

‘You’re not from here,’ the little girl said, and Wadi’s heart stopped in her chest. ‘The Weaver told me you would be from the great golden ocean, but I didn’t believe her.
No one
can be from Sola.’

‘The Weaver? Who is that?’

‘My grandmother says she is a seer. A true seer, like the ones in the old stories. Well, are you from Sola or not?’

If she hadn’t been so terrified by the girl’s words, Wadi would have laughed at her boldness. ‘I am from Sola. But how would your Weaver know that?’

The girl pointed downriver. ‘She says if I find you, I’m to bring you to her straight away. Are you coming?’

Wadi hesitated. It could be a trap. But what choice did she have?

The girl took Wadi to where she had set up her own little camp to watch her goats. They slept out under the stars, on a beautiful carpet woven in unusual shades of blue and grey – so different from the normal bright reds and oranges that made up most tribal carpets. But as Wadi looked even closer, she saw that the blue formed streaks of a river, and in that river was a dark-skinned girl sitting there.

‘Who . . . who gave this to you?’

A little frown appeared on the girl’s forehead. ‘The Weaver gave it to me. That’s why I knew not to be afraid of you. I knew I would meet you eventually.’

The Weaver had seen Wadi coming.

‘Ready!’

Raim drew back the bow, his shoulder blades squeezing tightly together, his eyes both open and staring at the tip of the arrowhead. He leaned to the side, his body bending into almost a triangle, his feet firmly planted on the deck. Shen had been right. He had found his sea legs, and now he was putting them to the test with old weapons Shen had dug up from one of the multitude of watertight storerooms beneath the deck.

‘Aim!’

The world reduced for him to the tip of that arrowhead. He felt the muscles in his thighs adjust to the motion of the boat; even after only a week on board he felt his body adjust to the new sensations. He hadn’t used a bow and arrow properly in too long. He could feel his fingertips tremble against his ear, the uncharacteristic shake in his arms. So slight, but also so big that it could make the difference between striking the target dead-on and missing it completely. He took a deep breath to steady himself. This was why he was doing this. So he could be ready.

‘Now!’

A sailor hurled a shard of broken plate into the air. Raim aimed ahead of it along its trajectory and released the bowstring, the familiar twang vibrating through his entire body. He had attracted a crowd again, and he heard their collective gasp as the arrow struck its target and the shard smashed against the backdrop of a clear blue sky.

‘Again! And make it more difficult for him.’

Raim grinned as several more shards flew out over the water, this time flung from different parts of the ship – some from the prow, some from the rigging, some from the very top of the mast. He thought a word –
Draikh
– and wasted no more time. He drew the arrows rapidly, firing as fast as he could draw. Draikh flew about in the air too, smashing any plates Raim missed, and between them they broke every bit of pottery before they smacked the water.

Tarik stood next to Shen, a few feet behind Raim, marking down every time Raim hit a target. His eyes bulged in his head; he clearly could not believe what he was seeing, despite knowing what Raim could do.

‘No wonder the Khan is afraid of you. I’m surprised you’re not dead already,’ Shen commented.

Raim smiled. ‘I’m surprised myself, most of the time.’

‘You might have a chance with King Song after all – even he won’t fail to be impressed by your abilities. Maybe I should just keep you on board and take you to someone who will pay even more for you. You might be a sage, but I know you can’t swim,’ he winked.

Tarik looked up from his tally then. ‘We had your word you would bring us safely to the South!’

Shen raised an eyebrow. ‘Aye, and soon you will see why I could never live in the North, with your magic-imbued morals. I thank our gods every living hour of the day that it is only your cursed place that binds oaths with magic.’ He shivered. ‘A man should be free. That means free to break his oaths as well as keep them.

‘Oh, but before you open your gobs to protest too much, I’m not going to tell anyone about you. I need that gold, and I want to keep relations sweet with those northern monks. Your passage is safe with me.’ Shen cast his eyes up to the sky, and furrowed his brow. ‘Well, as safe as I can make it.’