The Shadow’s Curse (25 page)

Wadi nodded, her throat suddenly dry. She walked slowly towards the tent, and as she did so, more people came out of their yurts to watch her. When she was just outside, four women swept aside the curtained entrance. They were solemn, dressed in long cream tunics trimmed with intricate gold thread detail. More than that though, they all had scarves covering their eyes. They all functioned as if they were blind.

A tiny voice sounded from the dark inside the yurt. ‘Come in, Wadi.’

She entered.

She didn’t know what she had expected, but it wasn’t what she saw. There were almost no furnishings – no cooking stove, no bed, none of the normal accoutrements that would normally fill a home. Instead, there were carpets everywhere, over every surface, dripping from the walls like woven waterfalls, in every colour and style.

And in the centre, looking up from the loom on her lap, there was just a young girl, her long dark hair loose around her shoulders, and a silver scarf over her eyes. Wadi’s heart pounded in her chest.

She recognized that scarf.

It was the same fabric that Raim had wrapped around his wrist, what felt like so long ago.

Khareh’s words pounded in her ears.
I didn’t kill her. I only . . . injured her.
Could this little girl be Raim’s sister? The name slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it. ‘Dharma?’

‘You will address her as the Weaver.’ A gruff voice sounded from behind her. It was an old man, sitting on the floor, his back bent over a small bowl of food.

‘Grandfather, don’t be silly,’ said the girl, who got up from her weaving and ran up to Wadi, embracing her around the waist. Wadi was shocked for a moment, but then came to her senses and dropped her arms around the young girl, bringing her close. ‘This is Wadi. She’s the one we have been waiting here for.’

When their embrace ended, Wadi sheepishly unravelled the headscarf from around her face, and turned to face the man. ‘Are you Loni?’

The man’s expression softened, and he outstretched his arms as well. ‘Wadi? I’m sorry; I thought you were another person asking to buy a vision. So many people come to seek out the Weaver now that her reputation has grown.’

‘So it’s true then? Dharma is a seer?’

Loni looked down at Dharma, reaching out to stroke her hair. ‘It’s more than true. She is the most remarkable creature to walk this earth. Everything that she has seen has come to pass. Including your arrival. We’ve been waiting here for two nights already.’

‘You had trouble,’ Dharma said matter-of-factly.

Wadi nodded, blinking back the tears that rushed to the corners of her eyes. Dharma reached out and took her hand.

‘I just don’t know how to help Raim from here. But I couldn’t stay with Khareh any longer. I had to escape.’

Dharma stroked Wadi’s hand with a tenderness that was almost maternal, even though Wadi was years older than her. ‘I’m sorry, Wadi, but I have some bad news.’

‘What is it?’ said Wadi.

‘You’re going to have to go back to Khareh.’

‘No, no, I can’t.’ Wadi shook her head. ‘I have to find Raim, or go to the desert, or . . . anything but that.’

‘But Raim is already gone from the North, on a journey where you won’t be able to follow him. Instead, you have a different role to play. An important one. Without you, Raim won’t be able to win. He won’t be able to take up his destiny and be the Khan of Darhan.’

Wadi rubbed at the corners of her temples. ‘But how can I help Raim?’

Dharma’s face was turned in Wadi’s direction, as brilliant and round as a full moon and, even though her eyes – or what was left of them – were covered by the silver scarf, Wadi felt as if Dharma was staring into her soul. ‘It is very stuffy in here,’ Dharma said, fanning herself with her hand. ‘Shall we take a walk outside? That way, I can tell you what I have seen, and your part to play in it.’

‘I’d like that very much,’ said Wadi. She found herself oddly formal in Dharma’s presence, even more so than with Khareh-khan and his advisers. Even though she was just such a little thing, so young, still a child, Dharma spoke with the wisdom of someone far beyond her years. When she talked, people listened.

They stepped outside, to the scent of woodsmoke and roasted goat. Dharma skipped in front, and Wadi couldn’t help but laugh. She was glad to still see a playful child buried underneath the wisdom. Her second thought was of worry: there were so many ramshackle yurts, tied down with ropes and weighted with rocks that she had no idea how Dharma could navigate without her vision.

Loni touched her elbow. ‘Everyone in the camp sets up the same way for her, so no matter where we are, she knows where she is going.’

‘They really love her, don’t they?’ Wadi asked. But the question didn’t need answering. It was evident on the face of everyone who came out of their yurt to see her as she passed. Two young women instantly stepped ahead of Dharma, and began to sweep the floor in front of her to keep it clear of debris. Some even laid down mats of twisted grass, as if in offering to the child. They treated her as if she was a little goddess.

Then Wadi spotted another familiar face in the crowd. ‘Vlad?’ she said, her hand flying to her mouth.

‘Oh, you know my father?’ Dharma stopped short and turned around.

‘Yes. I knew him from Lazar,’ she replied. She didn’t mention that the last time she’d heard Vlad, it had been because his screams came through the thin walls of her yurt as he was being tortured.

Vlad’s eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped at the sight of her. ‘Wadi? What are you doing here?’

‘I escaped from Khareh’s camp two nights ago. I couldn’t bear it any more.’

‘Couldn’t bear what? All the trust the Khan put in you? Did you get tired of having to listen to the poor Khan’s stories?’

Wadi felt as if she had been punched in the gut. ‘I don’t know exactly what you went through, Vlad, but I do know that Khareh was terrible to you. I am sorry for that.’

‘Just make sure you are ready to do whatever the Weaver tells you. She will be able to make things right.’

Wadi nodded. ‘I will.’

‘What do you know of Khareh’s plan?’ asked Vlad.

‘Khareh has heard a rumour that the Southern King is amassing an army across the desert. I know Khareh is planning on going to Lazar, and using it as a base to face the Southern King head-on. Maybe strike before he’s ready and use the element of surprise.’

Vlad raised an eyebrow. ‘And how is he planning on crossing the desert?’

‘The pass-stones,’ Wadi said. ‘He’s been obsessing over them. That’s why he wanted me all this time. He wants to hunt down all seven, no matter which cities or how many lives he needs to destroy in the process, and then he will return to Lazar to free the city. Open up the route through the desert, so he can go on and become the Golden Khan.’

‘But he will never have all seven.’

Wadi frowned. ‘I know. I have two of them. Garus has one, and one remains in Lazar still. The other three are lost in Darhan.’

‘Is that what the Khan thinks?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ah,’ Vlad nodded. ‘It makes sense now. Garus, that pathetic old sage, has been feeding your Khan lies. The last thing he wants is to return to Lazar, even as your Khan’s adviser. For one thing, he knows as well as I do that one of the stones is in the South. With the Lady Chabi. So Khareh can never have all seven.’

Wadi’s mind reeled from the revelation. Khareh had been relying on Garus’s information. If he ever found out that he had been lied to . . .

There was a gasp among the people who had been watching them, and all eyes turned to Dharma.

‘Oh no,’ said Vlad, rushing forward – even though Loni got there first. ‘She’s going into one of her visions.’

Dharma was shaking, convulsing on her feet. Her hair swung from side to side and her hands trembled – then began to move in the air in a distinctive pattern.

‘Stand back!’ said Loni, immediately taking control. Several of the women who followed Dharma around stood around her in a protective circle, keeping away curious onlookers – including Wadi. Loni scrambled to find a piece of paper and quill, fumbling in the pouch around his waist.

At an opportune moment, he slipped the quill – already dipped in ink – into Dharma’s hand. He held the paper in front of her, backed by a thin stone tablet. Dharma’s flailing right hand now created a series of characters on the parchment: beautiful, flowing script that didn’t resemble any of the written Darhanian Wadi knew.

Even as her hand moved across the page, she trembled and cried out. She quickly filled up one sheet, and Loni signalled to one of the other members of his tribe to continue holding the parchment for Dharma.

Wadi just wanted to leap forward and wrap the girl up in her arms, but like everyone else she only stopped and stared.

The fit seemed to stop as quickly as it began. Loni was ready this time, and caught the young girl as she slumped into his arms. A reverent silence descended on the crowd. Vlad gave Wadi a small nudge between her shoulder blades, and she stepped into line behind Loni, walking Dharma back to the yurt.

In the warm confines of the dwelling, Loni revived Dharma with a strong, sickly-sweet smelling tea. Gradually colour began to return to her face, and she pushed herself up to a sitting position.

She turned her face to Wadi. ‘With you being here, my visions changed again,’ she said, her voice quiet. ‘Grandfather, may I see the text?’

Loni nodded, and handed her the piece of paper she had written on. ‘Do you recognize this language?’ he asked. Dharma showed the paper to Wadi, who shook her head. ‘It’s the language of knots.’

‘This is the weavers’ language?’ asked Wadi, staring at the parchment.

Loni nodded. ‘Used by the weaving clans, to make their carpets. This is how the Weaver transcribes her visions.’

‘What does it say?’

‘It says what I’ve been scared of,’ said Dharma. ‘That because you are here, the future has changed. Khareh is looking for you; he’s angry that you are gone. But he is also determined to go to Lazar. If he gets there, he will meet the Southern King – who will also be heading for Lazar as soon as he can.’

‘What about Raim? Do you see Raim?’

‘Of course I do. He will soon be with the Southern King, as the Council had planned it. But even with Raim there, if you are not with Khareh, then they will fail.’

‘But, I don’t understand. Why will they fail?’

‘Because only you will make sure that Khareh enters the city of Lazar through the main gates.’

‘But he will kill me if I go back! He will never trust me again,’ said Wadi.

‘You must trust me,’ said Dharma, her face solemn.

Wadi stared at Dharma for a second, her eyes flicking from her, to Vlad to Loni. Then she nodded, although her head dropped into her hands. ‘I will return,’ she said, although it came out as barely a whisper.

‘Go tomorrow,’ said Loni. ‘For now, just rest.’

His lungs heaved and burned.

Salt water stung his eyes, and he tried to lift his arms to wipe them. He couldn’t. He couldn’t feel his arms.

With a wrench of his back, he twisted, and with a hideous squelching sound one of his arms came loose from the mud.

At the same time, his legs felt like they were plunged in the ice from the mountains, as water rushed up his body towards his chest, threatening to engulf him. He was so weak, he felt his body lift in time with the water, and then the seductive pull of it as it rushed backwards.

He coughed, spluttered, and urged his body forwards, trying to get away from the water line. The beach was covered in tiny rocks, over which Raim proceeded to cough up his lungs. When the convulsions subsided, he rolled onto his back. Naran’s rays seemed especially bright to him then, and he just about had the energy to shut his eyes to block them out.

He lay there, trying to remember.

The creature.

And the storm.

There had been a storm, unlike anything he had ever experienced. His heart pounded in his chest, just thinking about it. He remembered Tarik and the crew, looking to him like he could save them. He remembered clinging onto the rail for his life, he remembered letting go, his body plunging into the water, and then . . . And then nothing.

Tarik. The captain. The rest of the crew. What had happened to them all? And Draikh, where was he?

No, really. He opened his eyes. His breath quickened, his fingers tightened over the rocks. Where was he? He was never far from him. He reached out with his mind.
Draikh?

No answer.

Draikh? Answer me, damn it!

Nothing.

Panic set in. He had to get moving. He had to see if anyone else survived. As he had, then the chances were good. He wasn’t about to get stuck in the South all by himself. But he was just so tired. Maybe he could just rest there a little bit longer . . .

As if to encourage him to move, water rushed up his legs again, covering his bare feet in foam. Absurdly, he wondered where his shoes had gone. He scrambled backwards, then tried to pull himself into sitting position. He shouldn’t have worried about his boots. The lower half of his clothing was completely shredded, and his legs were covered in shallow gashes, oozing blood – which was why they burned like they were engulfed in fire.

He forced himself to look around. He was in a small cove, on a rocky beach that ran all the way up the shore until it became dunes covered in long, tall grasses. The beach was deserted.

Almost. He heard a caw directly behind him. He craned his neck around and saw Oyu, standing over Draikh’s head. Draikh was so transparent Raim could see pebbles through his weakened form. In fact, Raim had pulled himself backwards so far that he was actually
in
Draikh’s feet.

He immediately rolled to one side, then crawled forward on his forearms, ignoring the pain as the pebbles scraped his raw, salty skin. The thought of standing just yet was impossible.

‘Draikh, can you hear me?’ he said, once he was level with Draikh’s head.

Draikh moaned in reply. ‘Are we alive?’ he said.

Raim would have laughed, but he felt more like crying – with relief. ‘Thought you’d left me.’