The Shadow’s Curse (30 page)

Draikh flew up to get a better view. ‘This place is bigger than the entire city of Kharein,’ he said. That got Raim’s attention. He was only seeing a very tiny part of it. ‘If it doesn’t work out, we’ll get out of here – whatever your proposed destiny.’

Raim’s heart rate calmed. Draikh was right. Destiny or not, he would make his own decisions. That much he had learned.

After they were let through the side gate, they rode through a beautiful bamboo grove, which seemed so at odds with the hustle and bustle of the city. It was an oasis of calm. At the far end of the grove, there was a low building, and it was there that Mei asked him to dismount. Raim did so, all the while craning his neck to take in his surroundings.

The building had the familiar curved roof he had been seeing everywhere in the South, but this was adorned with little carved stone animals, creeping along the edge of the roof’s wing. There was a sequence of animals – a tiger, a horse, a rat, a dragon – who were all working together to pull a cart.

In the cart lay the stone figure of a woman.

‘Come inside, Raim.’

He hesitated at the threshold. This was it. He had wanted answers, and everyone had told him that this was where he would find them.

He was ready to find them.

He stepped into the house.

Draikh was the most agitated that Raim had ever seen him. As they passed over the threshold and into the dark hallway, he swirled around him like a mist. Raim raised an eyebrow in his direction.

‘This place is creepy,’ said Draikh.

Raim nodded.
I agree.
The stillness was unsettling.

The hallway was short, and led into a big, open room, sparsely furnished. In the corner there was a small bench of dark wood so rich and thickly lacquered it looked like solid oil. It was topped with a bright red cushion.

A large picture of a beautiful waterfall hung on the wall, a wash of delicate colour. Raim had never seen its like before. It was even more intricate than the most perfect woven carpet he had ever seen. It looked like a window into another world.

Mei walked ahead. ‘She is in another room, across the garden.’

The garden reminded him immediately of the water pagoda in Lazar, but much larger, and with even more features. There was a pagoda here too, but it was perched high above the lake on a rock, which was cracked and full of holes like a sponge.

The pools of water here were perfectly still, and covered in water lilies. It was serene.

Mei registered his awe. ‘If you think this is impressive, you should see the king’s garden.’

‘It’s bigger than this?’

‘It’s his pride and joy. That, and his army, of course.’

As they circled the perimeter of the garden, they passed by several rooms, all which had an opening onto the pond. The garden was the fourth wall for the entire building – it was like it had been built with a large hole carved in the centre. Most of the rooms were empty, and all were sparsely furnished – though everything in them looked as if it would cost a vast amount of gold.

As they continued to walk through the garden, Raim noticed people watching him. They were all women, all dressed in the dark black robes, even though it was blazing hot. They looked at him wide-eyed, and when he caught their gaze, they turned away as if embarrassed to be seen looking at him. Some of them even bowed their heads. Others nodded in a seeming show of support.

‘They’ve been waiting for you,’ said Mei. ‘We all have. You’re the one we have all been searching for.’

Raim could feel the growing tension, the fact that they were getting closer. For one, there seemed to be ever more women – more attendants – as they drew closer to where the
real
Lady Chabi must be.

They approached the far side of the garden – and there was a broad outdoor staircase, leading to a second level he hadn’t been able to see from the other side. Women in the dark robes lined both sides of the staircase, and they all turned their heads to stare at Raim as he ascended.

When he reached the top step, he was made to stop by a black curtain, thick as night. Two women stepped forward to draw the curtain aside.

There, lying in state, was the Lady Chabi.

Raim almost didn’t recognize her. She was older than the woman he had seen in spirit-form, her face lined with wrinkles. But of course she would be. The promise had been made sixteen years before. Sixteen years she had been lying like that, barely alive.

He approached the bed, but every step was heavy. When he was close enough to reach down and touch her if he wanted, he stopped. He turned to Draikh.
I don’t know what to do
, he thought. He looked back down at the woman who was his mother. He didn’t know what to feel. This was the woman whose decision had changed the entire course of his life.

But this was also the woman who believed in him enough to give up her soul to make sure his destiny came to pass.

‘You must wake her,’ said Mei.

‘I . . . I don’t know how.’

Mei was silent.

Draikh floated next to him, and placed his spirit-hand on Raim’s wrist. ‘This,’ he said.

Raim nodded. He unwrapped the strip of cloth around it, revealing the crimson scar to the room. The women in the room recoiled. He could feel their visceral reaction, even if he didn’t turn around to witness it; he heard their sharp hisses and it made him wince. It looked disgusting, even to a culture who didn’t knot their promises.

He closed his eyes for a brief second, and when he opened them again, the spirit of Lady Chabi was in front of him, floating above her unconscious body. ‘You have to remake your promise to me. You have come so far. This is the final step.’

He looked from her to Draikh.
Are you sure I should do this?

He smiled. ‘What have we come all this way for?’

Mei, held out a length of promise rope, and Raim gasped. It was the same thin indigo thread that he had worn around his wrist. The same thread that had burned to form the crimson scar. ‘This came with Lady Chabi, to be used for this very moment.’

Raim had nothing of his own to promise with – at least, none of his own promise-string. So instead he plucked a hair from his head – crude, but effective.
This will have to do
, he thought.

He reached down and took her hand, and it wasn’t as cold as he expected. In fact, it grew warmer under his touch. He held the piece of cord in a loose loop around his wrist, and then wrapped the hair beneath the string. He took a deep breath. ‘I . . .’ He stopped, the words choking in the back of his throat. He looked up at Draikh, who gave him a firm nod. ‘I am Raimanan, descendant of Hao, the last true Khan of Darhan. I promise I will stop at nothing until I take my rightful place on the throne of Darhan and all the lands under Naran, as the Golden Khan. I promise that I will pursue this goal with single-minded intensity until I have fulfilled my destiny. I promise this, with all my heart.’ With each sentence, he pulled the knot tighter, and at each pull, his conviction grew. He
would
do this.

There was a flash of light, so bright it filled the tiny room and blinded Raim. He moved to pull his hand away from his mother’s, but her grip suddenly tightened on his like a vice.

He stared down at his wrist, in utter disbelief.

The scar was gone.

In its place, the knot that held the new promise of his destiny.

Raim shook. He shook with relief and shock. His body was wracked with sobs, his muscles collapsed so that he slumped into a heap on the bed as the immensity of the weight
removed
from him suddenly hit him. He was free of the taboo. He had the chance to make everything right again.

Now, with this bracelet of honour as opposed to the scar of fear, he could be a leader of people.

Maybe he was starting to believe it.

Raim was no longer an oathbreaker.

She closed her eyes and let the heat wash over her.

She had missed this.

Oh, how she had missed this. How could she have forgotten?

When she breathed in deeply, the heat hit her in the back of her throat and the sand cleansed her nostrils. Even here, on the edge of the cliffs – not yet fully out into the desert – she could feel its power.

This was her home. When she had lived here, she hadn’t known it. But now that she had been away, she could tell by the feeling in her bones. She felt settled. Her muscles were relaxed. Her breathing slowed. She recognized her feelings as the same ones that had shown on Raim’s face when they had reached Darhan from Lazar.

That air had been his. This air was hers.

Khareh came up to stand beside her, on the edge of the cliff. Wadi half expected him to say something dismissive, but instead his eyes widened at the sight.

‘Sola’s great desert. Everyone told me it would be impossible to cross. But now, here we are.’ He passed her a drawstring sack, filled with things she had asked for: water skins, dried meats, shelter, and a cloak similar to the ones used by the Alashan. She slung the sack over her shoulder.

The pass-stones had led her to this place. She had cast her mind out to reach the spirits concealed within the stones, and they had led her to this place – not far from where she and Raim had arrived. Close enough that her chest ached from the ghost of her wound. Somewhere, along these cliffs, was a new entrance to Lazar. But Khareh wanted to experience one night in the desert first, and Wadi was happy to oblige. It meant fewer people might follow them, because – for now – they had the entire army with them.

Khareh turned to Wadi.

‘The tunnel entrance is nearby?’

She nodded.

‘Then let’s get started. I don’t want to waste any more time.’

Khareh moved towards their horses, his own still bearing the immense embroidered saddle that he loved to ride on. The beast held its head high – it was taller than any of the other horses in Darhan, ponies bred for stamina not speed.

Wadi had to stifle a laugh.

For all his intelligence, he really thought that he could bring that horse through the tunnels? That he could just ride out onto the sand and conquer Sola like he had conquered Yelak? Maybe Khareh was just the human version of that horse – too ornamental, too big, too needy for the desert. The desert took everything you were, ground it up, and spat it back out again. The more there was to grind, the harder it tried. Khareh was a feast in the eyes of the desert. Wadi was barely a bite. She had grown up being tested, ground down, hardened and shaped by the desert. She was like a piece of sand glass – sharp and smooth at the same time, a part of the desert, one of its creations – it couldn’t touch her, it could only make her better.

‘Stop!’ she said, finally. ‘You can’t. You can’t go through the tunnels on that animal – you’ll kill it.’

Khareh looked set to protest. Loudly. But instead he threw his head back and laughed. ‘Of course not! See, this is why I need you, Wadi. This is neither the time nor the place for you, Brundi.’ He patted the horse on its dark neck. Then he turned back to the group. ‘In fact, this is not the place for any of you.

‘Lars – I place you in charge of my army. Should I fail to return, you must guard Darhan against the Southern King – but it is not my intention that he shall ever reach these borders.’

Lars bowed in response. ‘The army will be ready and waiting for your triumphant return, my Khan.’

‘Good. Tell all your generals – I will be addressing the army in a few minutes.’

He outstretched his arms and his shadow flew him to the top of the army’s largest elephant, who stood at the front of the ranks at the edge of the cliff, the desert spreading out behind them. All the Darhanian soldiers were in front, thousands of men standing in silence, and behind them – yurts filled with women and children too young to fight, but old enough to help the war effort.

Their fearless leader was about to set off to save them. And if he couldn’t, then they would have to save themselves.

And even further back, Wadi knew, were the Chauk. The ones whose souls were being used to fuel Khareh’s spirit army.

Who was going to save
them
?

Wadi stood by one of the elephant’s great feet, dangerously close to the edge. She enjoyed it because she could feel the heat on her back, warming her.

Khareh stood, his feet wide apart, his arms on his hips, balancing adroitly on the top of the howdah. Wadi looked up at him. This was when Khareh was in his element. He shone here. And high up, on the back of that elephant, he looked like the Golden Khan. He quite literally had the desert at his feet.

Were it not for everything he had done, he could be a leader the people could believe in.

His voice boomed out across the crowd as he cried out: ‘Soldiers of Darhan!’ His words were echoed by generals, relaying his message out across the masses. ‘Thank you for your bravery! We have united the North; we have conquered Yelak and brought down the traitor Mermaden. Now we are facing another threat to our borders. The King of the South is coming! The heathens are coming to Darhan to take our land and enslave our people. But I will not let them. I am your Khan. I am your Golden Khan. And when I return, Darhan will not only be free, but the most powerful nation on this earth!’

A cheer rose up from in front of Khareh, so strong that it almost knocked Wadi back off the ledge. As word spread down the field, more shouts rose up, until it felt like the entire North was cheering for Khareh.

Wadi swallowed hard, more determined now than ever. She had to do something drastic if Raim was going to have a chance. Otherwise . . .

Something on the horizon caught her eye. At first she thought it might just have been light glinting off the helmets, or dust raised by the crowd beating their boots into the dusty ground. But it was neither of those things.

It was shadows.

It was the spirit-army.

As the spirit-army passed over the heads of the soldiers, she watched them cringe, bend their knees and even keel over, in an attempt to get away from the taboo. They cheered for Khareh, but they were also afraid of him. Afraid of the power he wrought through the shadows. Afraid of the scar that cut across his hand – and in a thousand other places beside that they could not see.