The Shadow’s Curse (8 page)

Yes
, Wadi thought.
If any of them could read or write.
She kept her mouth shut.

The inside of this yurt was plusher even than Khareh’s. Silks trimmed with sparkling cloth of gold draped the walls, soft furs covered the ground and the seating areas. A blazing fire warmed the whole tent from the centre of the yurt. Wood, at least, was plentiful in Yelak.

‘Oh, come on. I know you’re not mute.’ Erdene threw herself down on one of the fur-covered, cushioned surfaces, letting her arm drape across her forehead. Melodrama she must have learned from Khareh – unless it came naturally.

Wadi snapped back before she could think: ‘I didn’t think you’d want to talk with . . . what was it? Khareh’s Pet Project.’

‘He’s the Khan to you. Or His Excellence.’ To Wadi’s surprise, Erdene then laughed. ‘Plus, you are one of many projects Khareh has ongoing. Even I might be one of them.’

Then, like a flash of lightning, her expression turned more sombre. ‘I should be out there with him.’

Wadi raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m no stranger to a fight, but all-out war . . . that’s something different.’

Erdene shrugged. ‘It’s what I trained my whole life for!’ Then she slumped. ‘But he doesn’t need me now he has his sage powers.’ She held up her knotted necklace. ‘He could have had any of the older, more experienced Yun as his Protector – once he’d proven his strength to them, of course. But he picked me. I don’t think this Protector role means anything to him any more, not since Raimanan disappeared.’

She noticed that Wadi visibly stiffened at Raim’s name.

‘You knew Raimanan, didn’t you?’ Erdene’s eyes narrowed.

Wadi tried not to answer, but her pained expression gave her away.

‘You did!’ Erdene laughed. ‘Oh, you liked him? Don’t try to deny it, I can tell. How funny.’

Wadi didn’t smile.

‘I could have had Raim if I wanted,’ Erdene said, staring at her fingernails, although she sneaked a glance at Wadi, who tried her best to remain impassive. ‘He used to run around after me like a little puppy. It was sweet, really. But why have the bodyguard, when you can have the Khan? Seems like Raim has resorted to picking up scraps in the desert instead.’

Wadi couldn’t believe that Raim had ever liked such a horrible person, but then his former best friend was Khareh. Maybe he didn’t have the greatest judgement of character when he was growing up.

Silence filled the air between them, Wadi biting down on her tongue so as not to respond to Erdene’s barbs. Wadi sensed that Erdene was on edge. She didn’t want to antagonize her, but her curiosity was too strong.

‘What does Khareh want with me, if I’m just a scrap of the desert? Why not just kill me?’

Erdene shrugged. ‘He doesn’t tell me much. All I know is that I’m to bring you to the temple in the city once they have conquered it.’

‘So, we could be here a while.’ Wadi had overheard enough of Altan’s lectures on sieges to understand that you didn’t just walk into a city and take over. There were strategies. Tactics. And the city always had the upper hand over the invading army.

For a moment, it was as if Erdene’s dark-brown eyes drained of colour, like a cloud passed over them. She was blinking back tears. When she spoke, her voice was low, barely a whisper. ‘No. Not if he unleashes the shadows.’

The thought sent shivers up and down Wadi’s spine. Although she hadn’t grown up in the North – where the stigma against oathbreakers was strongest – she could still vividly remember the Chauk she had travelled with in the desert, and how terrible their shadows had seemed to her.

She could imagine the terror of the people of Samar when they saw an army of haunts bearing down on them. Khareh would seem invincible.

She thought of the Camp of Shadows, and what Khareh had asked of those people. ‘All those broken oaths. How can you follow him?’

‘He has all these plans. He rants and raves all night about everything that’s wrong with Darhan. The fact that our cities are so small – but who needs big cities when we are travelling all the time? He hates that no one can read and write. He hates that about me, you know that? He hates that I am Yun-trained, skilled with sword and bow-and-arrow, but I can’t read any of his damn papers. That’s probably why he likes you best.’ At that, Wadi grimaced. Erdene rolled her eyes. ‘Well, why he prefers your company. He says even the savages teach their youth to read – what does that say about us?’

‘You don’t agree with him?’

‘I don’t see what’s wrong with our society. It’s been functioning fine for so long. The Baril preserve our history. That is enough for me.’

‘You have to admit, some of the Darhanian traditions are more than a little strange. What about this Seer-Queen stuff? Are you a seer?’

Erdene studied Wadi for a moment. Then, there was a moment – a crack in Erdene’s veneer. ‘You are a savage,’ she said. Wadi was about to protest, but Erdene continued without noting the other girl’s shock. ‘So I suppose that means I can tell you. I don’t know what a seer is. I thought they were legends. There hasn’t been a true seer for an age. If there has ever been one . . . a person who can see the future? It’s impossible.’

‘Although they said the same thing about sages,’ said Wadi, filled with caution.

Erdene paused, mulling that thought over in her mind. ‘That they did.’ She let out a long breath. ‘Well, if there are seers out there, I’m not one of them. But I’m strong in other ways. I can help Khareh. He will see that in time. He never used to be like this, you know? Raim’s betrayal broke him. Changed him. He became . . .’ She didn’t finish the sentence, but her eyes passed over Wadi’s form, and turned hard.

The slight warming Wadi was beginning to feel towards the girl froze in an instant. Now, there was ice between them. For a person born and bred of the desert, it was not a pleasant sensation. ‘Khareh is a monster.’ Wadi shuddered.

‘Yes,’ said Erdene. She dragged the tip over her tongue over her top lip. ‘But he is my monster.’

He was on his knees on a hard wooden floor. The man who stood over him had a nose like a beak, and a flattened forehead so pronounced he could have balanced an entire tea set without spilling a drop.

‘Is this the oathbreaker?’ the man said.

Raim recognized him. Even through the sting of the bruises that were rising all over his body from the handling of the monks, his mind was clear. This was Qatir-bar, the head of the Baril, the man who had married Tarik to his wife, Solongal, so long ago, before Raim’s exile. All around him, other Baril monks were gathered to watch the spectacle.

Tarik rushed forward and prostrated himself at the man’s feet, bowing as low as he could without burying his head in the floor.

‘Oh, great and wondrous Qatir-bar. This is the one, Raim, who possesses the shadow. In my previous lowly life, he was my brother under Loni, my guardian in the Moloti tribe. As soon as I saw him, I knew to bring him to you.’

Qatir raised an eyebrow. ‘And who are you?’

‘Tarik, my lord. One of your humble novices.’ He spoke into the ground, still not daring to look up.

A visible shudder ran through Qatir’s body. ‘A novice? So you are the one responsible for bringing this dirty oath-breaker to our lands? I should cast you out of the Baril for this!’

‘No, please, Qatir-bar. He says he is not an oathbreaker. He says he is a sage. I have seen his powers with my own eyes.’

Qatir turned his attention back to Raim. ‘A sage?’

Raim remembered what Vlad had said. He had to appeal to the Baril’s greatest strength and greatest weakness: their thirst for knowledge. That was his only opportunity. ‘Qatir-bar,’ he said. ‘I know all you see in front of you is the shadow, and only oathbreakers are haunted by shadows. But sages also control shadows.’

Qatir stroked the bottom of his chin. ‘Why have you come here?’

‘I need help,’ Raim said.

‘And why should we help you?’

‘Because if you can help me, I will teach you everything I know about sages, and promise-magic.’

‘If we refuse?’

‘If you refuse, or you can’t help me, then I will leave here and find someone who can.’ He wiped his hand across his brow, feeling a lump rise where one of the Baril monks had hit him across the head. He had not fought back. If the Baril refused to help, he would fight back with all his might – and they would not stand a chance.

A long moment of silence followed during which Raim refused to look at the floor. Instead, he stared straight at Qatir-bar, allowing the man’s piercing gaze to wash over him. He had been in worse positions before. No one could scare him after Khareh. And he had nothing to lose.

There was a large commotion from behind another door to the temple. The door swung open, clattering against the wood and disturbing the otherwise peaceful scene. A woman, dressed in black, with long, dark hair strode in. ‘What is this, Qatir? Something you are hiding from us?’

The Baril who had gathered around Raim all moved so they stood between him and the woman in black. ‘The boy and his shadow were found by one of my novices,’ snapped Qatir. ‘He is mine to deal with. Get back in your hovel.’

The woman managed to catch Raim’s eye through the crowd of people, and he felt her stare burn into the deepest recesses of his soul. He squirmed – uncomfortable under her scrutiny. He wondered who it was that could cause Qatir to become so flustered. ‘As you will, Qatir. But why don’t you ask your new prize what he’s hiding under that fabric around his wrist.’ She left without any sign of a bow in his direction.

The colour drained from Raim’s face.
Draikh?

The shadow drew closer to Raim, ready to defend at any moment.

‘How did she know?’ Draikh’s anxious voice rang in his skull.

I have no idea! What should I do?

Qatir looked back down at Raim, then with a sharp gesture of his head, signalled for two of his guards to grab Raim by the wrists. One of them held his arm aloft, while the other took a knife and sliced the fabric that was wrapped around his wrist. The pieces fluttered to the ground, revealing the crimson scar to the entire room.

There was a sharp intake of breath, and the man holding his arm released it as if it had burst into flames.

‘You lied to me,’ said Qatir-bar. ‘You
are
an oath-breaker.’

‘No, I’m not – let me explain . . .’

‘The time for explanations are over! The evidence is clear. And you,’ he turned to Tarik. ‘You brought this oath-breaker into our midst. How dare you!’

‘I didn’t know!’ whimpered Tarik.

‘I’ll deal with you later,’ said Qatir, his voice as cold as the snow on the mountains. ‘Take the oathbreaker to the cells.’

The cell was little more than an empty room with thick stone walls and a bolted wooden door. In the freezing darkness, Raim shivered on the floor, tucked in close to the far wall, beneath a thin blanket – the only comfort he’d been offered. His sleep was fitful, interrupted by nightmares of creeping red rope entwining itself around his body and threatening to strangle him. When his nightmares scared him awake, all he could see was the crimson of his scar around his wrist, as bright as if it glowed in the dark, still tormenting him with the fact that he was an oathbreaker. What was he thinking, coming here? Why would the Baril wait for him to give an explanation?

When he closed his eyes again, he tried to put the thoughts out of his mind. Nothing would be accomplished by dwelling on his predicament. He needed all the rest he could get.

‘Raim.’

He wasn’t even sure if the word had been spoken aloud, or whether Draikh had just spoken deep in his subconscious. It didn’t matter either way: in an instant, he was wide awake. The urgency in Draikh’s tone meant he had no choice.

‘Lie still. They think you are asleep.’

Raim had tensed under blanket, but apart from that he made no other movements. He tried to keep his breathing even, as if he were still in deep sleep.

How many?
he asked Draikh silently. He could hear them slipping across the floor, despite the fact that they were obviously trying to be silent as ghosts. The air around him had changed too, it was warmer – the sudden influx of bodies and the smell of nervous sweat was something even the quietest attacker could not hide. But Raim had Draikh – and that was an advantage no one could compete with.

‘Three, with two more outside the door,’ the spirit answered.

The door?

‘They’ve unlocked it, but you won’t be able to get past. Oh, gods, no time. Go!’

Raim pushed off from the wall, rolling across the floor, just as the air above his head was sliced by a cudgel wielded by one of the attackers. Wood smacked against stone, missing him by inches, the sound only mildly dulled by the rough straw bedding he’d been lying on.

The Baril swore loudly. Raim stopped rolling as soon as he felt the edge of the man’s boots. He threw a numbing chop at his ankles. The man yelped in pain, and as he fell to the ground, Raim pushed him hard against the far wall.

The room was suddenly a swirl of motion. Raim’s eyes rapidly adjusted to the darkness, but he remained crouched low. He heard one of the attackers go down behind him – Draikh working fast. But there was still one Baril left, plus the two who were coming through the door – and they would no longer have the element of surprise on their hands.

If Raim thought that the Baril monks were all muscle and no finesse, he was wrong. This became increasingly clear as the other Baril gathered his senses and leaped for Raim.

Raim didn’t react in time, and the monk slammed him back into the ground, one hand on his throat, the other keeping him pinned down. Raim scrambled and squirmed beneath him, but the man was strong. His face was covered by a mask. Raim could only see the man’s eyes, which were dark and full of hatred for him.

Raim reached out with one hand, scrabbling across the stone tiles, coming up with only fistfuls of straw and blanket – not helpful in this situation. His lungs burned in his chest as the monk pressed down, then he slammed his elbow down onto Raim’s stomach, knocking the air from him. The blow caused Raim’s arm to jerk to his side, dragging with it the remnants of his blanket. But in doing so, he found what he was looking for tangled in the blanket – the cudgel the first Baril had tried to use to smash his head in. Raim grabbed it and smashed it across at the man on top of him. It was too long for the man to receive the full force of it, but it was enough for the man to release his grip as he tried to block the blow. This was all the encouragement Raim needed. He took a lungful of breath, then brought the cudgel back down, this time with both hands. It cracked in two across the man’s back, sending him shuddering to the ground, one half of the stick flying across the room.