‘You don’t deserve your water, scum.’
Raim jumped at the sound of Ryopi and his haunt’s voices – he hadn’t realized the man had come so close. Several of the Alashan noticed, though, and they hissed at Ryopi to move away. He cowered and crept backward until the protests died down.
Curiosity got the better of Raim, and he knew the only way he would get an explanation was by swallowing his pride and standing with Ryopi. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Ever wondered how the Alashan find water in the desert? Well, you’re about to find out. That’s the Old-maa right there; she’s the Alashan’s leader. She might look like an old crone, but don’t let appearances fool you.’
Raim couldn’t believe it. The ground here was as dry as the sand dunes – Wadi had said as much when she told him to abandon all hope. Gods, Khareh would have done anything to be here, witnessing this. It was one of the greatest mysteries surrounding the Alashan and the great barrier to crossing the desert itself: how do you find water?
The Old-maa detached a brown bag from around her waist and placed it on the ground next to her. She reached inside and pulled out a worm about as long as Raim’s hand and as thin as his little finger. The woman held the wriggling thing by the tail and dangled it over a tiny cup of water. Raim gasped as the worm opened its mouth to display rows upon rows of teeth, which it gnashr, just out of its reach. All the Alashan, except the woman holding the worm, dropped their foreheads to the sand in a low bow. Raim quickly followed suit. In unison they spoke a brief prayer, which Ryopi translated for him:
Sita, find your way,
Sita bring us life,
Sita run thy course.
Then Old-maa whipped the cup away and dropped the worm into the tiny hole she had been digging, and plunged the long straw the other man had carried in behind it.
The tube disappeared into the hole, the straw unfolding and unfolding many times over, until there was only an inch of grass visible. The woman lowered her mouth over the opening and drew in a deep breath. The effort pulled the skin even tighter around her gaunt face so that her cheeks almost disappeared beneath the shadows from her brow. When she lifted her head up again she held the worm delicately between her teeth and the opening of the tube was pinched tightly shut between her fingers. The worm’s shape had changed drastically. The first of its previously thin and wrinkled segments was now fat and bulbous and it seemed more energetic, thrashing its body around in an effort to break free of the woman’s grasp. Deftly, she dropped the worm back into its bag.
Beside Raim, Ryopi let out a long, admiring whistle. He wasn’t the only one – the Alashan looked especially impressed, and Raim saw Wadi clasp her hands together in delight. ‘Only one segment, she truly is one of the best,’ Ryopi whispered. Raim didn’t quite understand, but the action wasn’t over around Old-maa.
The man who had previously held the tubing moved first. He unlatched his water skin from around his neck and held it just above the woman’s pinched fingers. Old-maa let go and water spouted out of the tubing and into the bottle. Not a drop was lost. In turn all the other Alashan filled up their bottles, the water gushing as if it would never run out. No water ever touched the sand, though. They were far too careful. Raim felt a rush of relief and happiness overwhelm him. He thought he would never have the taste of fresh water again, especially not here, in the desert. The Alashan were miracle workers. He didn’t know how the worm found the water, or how the tubing worked, but at that point he couldn’t have cared any less. All he wanted was a drink and soon he was going to get it.
After the Alashan had each had some water, Old-maa’s piercing gaze turned to the Chauk. Raim stared back at her openly, but Ryopi tugged on his arm and hissed, ‘Keep your eyes down. You don’t want to miss out on a drink, do you?’
Raim shook his head violently, and cast his eyes to the sand. He got in line behind Ryopi, but the other Chauk kept pushing him out of the way until he was the very last in the line-up. He was the new exile, and even amongst this group that made him the lowest of the low.
And when he shuffled forward for his turn, Old-maa deftly tied the end of the straw and passed it back to her helper to pull out of the hole. She barked at Raim in their strange language, snapped her fingers twice right in his face and then turned to shout at the rest of the tribe. For a moment, Raim was speechless. But thirst drove him to action. ‘Please, I need water.’
Wadi stepped forward, and Raim felt relieved. She had helped him with the jarumba root; she knew he needed water desperately. But his relief turned to fear when he looked into her eyes and they had lost all trace of their previous warmth. ‘Our leader, Old-maa, has decreed that you have not yet earned your water. She is asking if any are willing to do battle with you. It works like this: you fight one of us and if you survive then you are worthy of help. Since there is debate among us as to your status, and you yourself insist right hand. They far awayfe that you are not fully Chauk, you must prove yourself.’ Then, she said in both languages: ‘I will do it.’
She unbuttoned the clasp at the nape of her neck and let her cloak drop to the ground. She wore loose indigo trousers and a similar-coloured top that wrapped around her torso and her neck, accentuating her broad shoulders. Also around her neck was a pale sand-coloured pendant, the size of Raim’s palm. She tucked it beneath the folds of the cloth.
‘Don’t think because I speak your language that I am any less Alashan,’ she said, the challenge in her tone increasing. She pointed to one of the men and signalled an order with her hands. He dis appeared for a moment, and then brought back a case with two short daggers in it. Wadi picked them up and spun them in her palms. The moonlight reflected off the metal edges. She thumbed the edges of the blades, then turned and threw one of them at Raim’s feet. ‘We are seeking an honest fight.’ She seemed to repeat the words in her language, as they all nodded slowly in response. ‘I am expecting a good one, what with that other knot you showed me.’
Mesan stepped forward, and Raim understood that he was going to adjudicate the fight. He made a motion with his hands that was easy for Raim to interpret. He wanted Raim to remove his shirt and cloak, so that he could battle in proper Alashan style.
Raim hesitated for a moment, but there was more insistent sign language, so he dropped his cloak to the floor and tore off the remnants of his shirt. All of his clothes were ripped and filthy, the complete opposite of the neat Alashan garments.
The only thing left was his Absolute Vow, hanging around his neck, and Dharma’s scarf, which was still wrapped tightly around his wrist, covering the scar.
‘You can hide it, but we all know what you are.’ Wadi’s entire face was wrinkled in disgust.
And Raim’s inner Yun warrior jumped at this moment of weakness in his opponent and in a single swift movement he scooped up the blade and lunged for Wadi, narrowly missing her chest with his swipe. Surprising the enemy was always an asset. He could sense training in Wadi too, as her reflexes threw her backward and she quickly recovered her composure. She tried for intimidation. ‘You are exiled from Darhan, but you are not Chauk. The Alashan will never accept you – you will never become one of us. You belong nowhere, you are nothing.’
He was unfazed. Mhara had said much worse to him, and he had been much more in awe of her than of Wadi. ‘If I am nothing, then I have nothing to lose.’
Old-maa stopped the talk with an impatient snap, and they began again. Raim began to sidestep in a circle in the same counterclockwise direction as Wadi. As he sunk into his training, his steps grew springy and agile. The circle grew tighter. When they clashed, Raim knew he was in his element.
She was strong. The combat was much more physical than Raim was used to. There were no swords here, no great stretches of distance between them. Their blades were each neutralized by the body ced at the wate
17
There was a scream.
Raim thought it might have been his own voice. He had never felt so doomed in his entire life.
But another scream followed the first, and Raim knew it wasn’t him that time. It took him a couple of seconds to realize that the blade against his throat had disappeared. He sat up to the sight of Wadi sprinting back to her hut and clambering inside. The circle was completely abandoned, with Alashan everywhere tossing their possessions and food a temporary settlement"> return transportseco out of their huts and into the sand to make room for more people.
He felt someone grab his arm. It was Mesan.
Mesan shouted, pulled him again. More indecipherable language. Raim sensed the urgency and scrambled along the sand back to Mesan’s hut. There were already five people inside when Mesan crammed himself in and Raim had no idea how they expected him to fit as well. Mesan was pointing at the sky but Raim could see nothing.
Then he heard it. The droning, he realized, had been there all along, but he and the others had been so involved in the fight that they had missed the first telltale sign. Raim pushed inside, crouching against the edge of the makeshift door – just a length of fabric thrown against the open entrance. The others were huddled under their grey cloaks, pulling the thick material so it covered every inch of their bare skin. There was one young child in the hut with them and his guardian was anxiously tying a scarf around the boy’s face and sealing the sleeves shut with a piece of string. Raim looked down at his own, uncovered body and started to panic.
‘My cloak!’ he said to Mesan, who only stared at him with wide eyes. Raim frantically pointed outside, miming wrapping a cloak around his shoulders. ‘I need it.’ Raim pulled back the fabric that surrounded the door and peeked outside. The droning was so much louder now. The air was thick with sound. He spied his cloak lying in a crumpled heap about ten feet away from them. Mesan put his hand on Raim’s shoulder. But Raim didn’t look back. Instead, he bolted forward.
The whole camp was deserted. Everybody was hiding inside the huts and all the entrances were closed off. He sped towards the cloak, picked it up and swung it over his shoulders. He pivoted round, trying to get back to the hut, so agonizingly close.
When the first one hit him in the small of his back, he felt like a stone had struck him. He stumbled. Another collided with the back of his head. He covered his face with his hands and flopped to the ground as they rained down on him, thousands of furry black pebbles. Then the biting started. He felt the first one sure enough from one of the monsters that had landed on the bare skin on the back of his calf. The pain was immense and his flesh burned as if he was being branded with a hot poker. But after that he could feel no other individual bites. His body felt like it was immersed in fire, the flesh melting in thick strips. Some of the flies crept into his ears, biting at his face and seemingly at his mind. The buzzing consumed his thoughts; the flies were all around him, on every inch of skin. He could feel their legs and pincers prise his lips, trying to get at the soft, moist flesh inside his mouth.
Thought stopped as a bolt of pain cascaded through him, searing agony unlike anything he had ever endured before. There was a tearing, a ripping. It felt like part of his soul was being wrenched away from him and he would never get it back.
And then: a sudden relief around his head. He removed his hands from his eyes and rolled over so he was looking up at the sky. There was a thick swarm around his face. They dived towards him, ugly, angry flying devils, but they were repelled by an invisible force. They couldn’t get through. From the neck up he was protected. He thought he saw someone; a face, a body, standing over him, slapping the bugs away. He wondered if he had passed out. Maybe he was dreaming or hallucinating: he must be, as the person he saw above him was Khareh.
He opened his mouth, but the dream-Khareh spoke first.
‘Don set in a firm lineorZCC f’t try to speak, or you will die from the effort. Stay still, Raimanan. Your body is working hard enough already. Just think what you want to say, and I will understand.’
First of all, Raim thought, Thank you.
‘You’re welcome.’
Raim felt his mind start and stop as if he were drifting in and out of consciousness. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, dream-Khareh was still there. He thought, Are you a dream?
A chuckle from above him. ‘You’ll have to figure that one out by yourself.’
The world slowed, the flies floating down and around him like black snowflakes in a buzzing blizzard. His eyes rolled into the back of his head and he saw colours dance before them: greens, blues, reds.
Khareh’s voice drifted into the back of his mind and Raim both heard it and felt it, like the sound of his subconscious. ‘Hang in there, Raimanan . . .’
Finally, darkness.
When he awoke he was inside a tent, lying flat on his back. The flickering light of a lantern burned his eyes and he quickly shut them again. He ached all over. There was no part of his body that wasn’t in pain. He opened his eyes again to a squint, as someone placed a damp cloth on his forehead.
It was Wadi.
He groaned. It was the only sound he could make. His cheeks and tongue were so swollen they seemed to engulf his mouth.
‘Don’t try to speak,’ Wadi said. Raim was instantly reminded of his strange dream. Why had he dreamed of Khareh as his saviour, of all people?
Wadi continued. ‘You’re even more stupid than I thought . . . stupid, but stubborn. I thought you were dead. We all did. The flies were all over you. The amount of poison that must be in your system . . . The tribe has decided you are Sola blessed, and if Sola wishes to keep you alive, who are we to argue?’ She made a clucking sound in the back of her throat. ‘Now, drink this.’ She forced open his mouth and held his tongue down with her finger. Then she emptied the liquid into his mouth. It burned all the way down his throat, and the added pain caused him to descend once again into oblivion.
He awoke to silence. He raised his tongue gingerly up and down in his mouth and was relieved to find that he could actually move it this time. He sat up. The pain in his palms as he put pressure on them was intense. He looked down at his hands. The ends of his fingers were tied together with thick strips of cloth that were soaked red with blood. His palms were covered in huge, pus-filled boils. The skin was raw and peeling. He tried to close his fingers into a fist, but the swollen bites prevented much movement. It was the same for the rest of his body.
‘Sorry about the bandages.’ Wadi entered the hut from the outside. ‘We had to tie your fingers up to stop you from scratching. You will have a difficult night tonight. Now that you are conscious, your body will want to rid itself of the poison. You are lucky it did not get to your brain. If they had attacked your face more, you would be dead or mind-lost now. Sola protect you.’ She unwrapped his fingers, then offered him a sip of water from her skin.
‘So.’ The word came out with great difficulty. His throat was so dry. He allowed her to give him more to drink before he continued. ‘I guess I earned my water. But I thought I wasn’?’ asked Raim.bl clearly dt allowed in the Alashan camp?’
Wadi shrugged. ‘As I said before, you are Sola-blessed. The tribe convened, and they agreed that despite your scar, you are not fully Chauk. So until we reach Lazar, you may stay within our camp.’
‘What were those things?’
‘Behrflies. You’ve heard of them?’
Raim nodded, and winced at the effort. ‘I’ve never seen them before . . . only what was left of someone after an attack.’ He paused, feeling lucky to be alive. He didn’t want to think about those flies now. ‘How did you learn to fight like that?’ he asked as he tentatively leaned back against the bundle of rags that was acting as his pillow.
18
In a matter of seconds, he was drenched with sweat.
Mesan picked Raim up and cradled him in his arms. Raim’s skin was so slick Mesan had to hold onto his clothing to maintain a grip. Wadi led them away from the tent, picking her way through the maze of shelters to the edge of the Alashan camp, out past even where the Chauk’s dwellings were set up. Ryopi was the only Chauk who
stirred, standing with his arms folded across his chest and his mouth in a firm line. Wadi sped past him until they reached the edge of the Eye, where the stone turned back to sand. She pointed at a nearby sand dune and spoke a few quick words to Mesan. She repeated them for Raim’s benefit.
‘He’s taking you to the sand, so it can absorb the poison in your sweat. Come back to the camp when your skin is dry and your legs can support your weight again.’
Mesan walked slowly onto the sand and placed him down on the very top of a small dune, then backed away.
Raim rolled over so he faced away from them and he shivered, although the sand boiled beneath him. Tremors wracked his body; his spine kept stiffening and relaxing, his arms flailing out of control. He was slowly losing control of his body. While he still could, he lay down onto his back and dug his head and shoulders into the sand. He knew the sense of stability was false, but it made him feel better anyway.
Still, poisoned liquid poured off him, collecting in the crook of his elbow and in the palms of his hands. It felt thicker than water, more like honey, and he had to fight his tongue from reaching out and tasting it. He tried to focus on the sky. There were millions of stars and a bright round moon above him. As he stared they seemed to blur and blend into one, the poison swilling behind his eyes until he wasn’t sure whether he was seeing reality or dreams. He saw Mhara, Dharma, his grandfather Loni – even a brief glimpse of his brother Tarik as he disappeared down the tunnel into the mountain.
But above all those faces, dominating them all, he saw Khareh.
Khareh, who would now be thinking of him as a traitor, and a murderer.
Khareh, who would now be without a Protector.
Khareh, who had promised to protect Dharma from danger.
It pained him so much to be away from his best friend. He would have followed Khareh to the end – but after Mhara, what choice did he have? He had to find answers, and if the only place for that was Lazar then he owed it to Khareh too. And yet . . . he couldn’t forget that Khareh had made a promise to him in those last moments together. They were bound to each other now. Still he wondered if he would ever gain hi the other apprenticesat felt intensitysecos full forgiveness.
The Oathbreaker's Shadow Page 12
