The Shadow’s Curse

by Amy McCulloch

  The woman holding the spear against his neck snarled, and she thrust forward with all her might.

  Raim’s eyes were wide open and his heart pounded in his chest. Only one face flashed in his mind’s eye: Wadi. He would never see her again now.

  ‘No!’ There was another scream, another voice. There was a flash of white and Raim saw the woman who’d been about to kill him go down in a crumpled heap. Panic broke out among the other women. A blur of white sped around the circle, disarming the women, twisting their arms until they cried out in pain, and dropped their spears. One brave woman attempted to thrust at him from the side, but the blur of white was there in an instant, jamming the butt of a spear it had stolen into the woman’s stomach. The shadow then sped toward him, picked him up and flew him above the women, so close to the ceiling Raim could almost reach out and touch the rafters. He had been saved.

  Mhara began a loud, slow clap. ‘See? That wasn’t so hard,’ she said.

  ‘How dare you do that? How dare you provoke me!’ said the shadow holding Raim.

  But, it wasn’t a shadow. It was the form of a woman – the woman in white he had spotted on several occasions before, but had never fully seen. The mysterious other shadow he had always known had been there, but who had never appeared to him. He could look into her face now, and he recognized it.

  ‘Tell me, Raim, who do you see?’ asked Mhara from the floor below.

  ‘I know her from Lazar,’ said Raim. ‘They have a statue to her there. Her name is . . . Lady Chabi.’

  Mhara’s expression softened. ‘A statue? How fitting. Well, Raim. That is the woman who gave you your scar.’ She held her hands up to the shadow of Lady Chabi. ‘You can put him down now. I won’t harm him.’

  Raim couldn’t help the frown that appeared on his face. ‘You . . . why?’ Who was this woman who had caused him so much pain and torment when he should be at the pinnacle of his life?

  She turned to him, her face so young and beautiful. The statue had not been able to do her justice. ‘I had to.’

  ‘Raim,’ said Mhara, and he turned his attention reluctantly back to her. ‘Say hello to your mother.’

  PART TWO

  16

  RAIM

  ‘Bar the doors. I want no one from outside the faction to find us here,’ said Aelina.

  The shadow of his mother had brought him down to the ground, where Raim now rested on a single bended knee, his knuckles against the ground. He wanted to pound the stone beneath his fist, cause some kind of scene, but he knew it would do no good.

  Raim looked up at the shadow-woman, the Lady Chabi – his mother. He had waited such a long time for this moment: the moment when he would finally discover what his promise was, and why he had made it.

  But now that he was in front of her, he found himself speechless.

  It was Mhara who spoke first. ‘I’m sorry, Raim, but I knew I had to put your life in real danger for her to appear. It was the only way.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Raim said. ‘All this time, you’ve been here . . . you could have told me what I needed to do.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t,’ said his mother.

  Draikh burst through the wall at that very moment. ‘Raim! Are you hurt?’

  ‘And that is the reason why,’ she said. ‘Not when you have him whispering in your ear, corrupting you every moment!’ She pointed an accusing finger at Draikh.

  ‘Me? As you are perfectly aware, I am the one who has saved Raim on many occasions when you couldn’t be bothered. Remember the behrflies? I am more loyal to Raim than anyone.’

  ‘More loyal than to yourself?’ she spat. ‘I hardly think so.’

  ‘Enough!’ Raim shouted.

  Mhara stared at him in alarm. ‘What is happening?’

  Raim threw his hands up in the air. ‘She says she won’t tell me anything because of Draikh – she doesn’t trust him.’

  Mhara raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, of course she doesn’t.’

  Now it was Raim’s turn to feel surprised. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I think it’s time you heard the entire story, Raim. And Aelina can help me fill in the blanks, as she knew your mother too.’

  ‘You did?’

  Aelina nodded. ‘She was one of us, once.’

  She gestured to a low table in the far corner of the room. Raim didn’t want to sit – he wanted to stand, fight, anything but sit around and listen – but he knew that was vital for him to do. He gritted his teeth and followed Mhara and Aelina to the table.

  ‘All this time . . . what does she want from me?’ he asked, slumping onto the bench. His head fell into his hands.

  ‘The woman you know as Lady Chabi – the spirit behind your scar – was born into our Baril faction known as the Council,’ began Aelina. ‘The Council was formed for a single purpose: to restore the rightful leader of Darhan to the khanate.’

  Raim lifted his eyes to Draikh, who looked uncomfortable, his mouth set in a firm line. ‘But Khareh is the rightful heir of Darhan,’ said Raim. ‘He was chosen by all the warlords.’

  With surprising swiftness, Aelina stabbed the tip of her dagger into the wooden table. The spirit of Lady Chabi glared at Draikh, her eyes saying far more than words could. ‘No. That is what Darhanians have been led to believe, but it is not true. The last true Khan of Darhan was also the last true sage – Hao.’

  That name rang a loud bell in Raim’s brain. Puutra-bar had told him about Hao in Lazar: he was one of the final sages to use his own spirit to provide his sage powers, not relying on a broken oath. ‘He was the one who sealed Lazar with the pass-stones,’ said Raim, rubbing his chin.

  ‘Yes. After the great battle in Lazar, which saw it burn to the ground and the passage through the mountains sealed by magic, Hao returned to Darhan. That’s when he discovered someone else had risen to take his place. Oghul-khan. The great-great grandfather of Batar-khan. He lay in wait to ambush Hao when he emerged from the tunnels, and Hao was killed. His people never knew what happened to him, and no one was able to avenge his death.

  ‘The Council was formed at the moment by Hao’s former Protector, a great Yun warrior. She knew a great secret that not many knew: that Hao had a child, and that his bloodline had to be protected at any cost, until the moment when he could take back what was rightfully his.’

  ‘There was a problem though. Hao’s Protector did not know where the child was, and she died before she could find him. But before she died, she passed the knowledge of Hao’s secret child down to another woman in the form of a promise-knot. The Protector’s vow became the next woman’s oath, and so the generational promise was born.

  ‘Ever since that moment, one woman has been chosen to guard that generational promise and to continue to search for Hao’s bloodline. And we, the Council, have grown up around that woman to support and protect her from harm.’

  Raim stood up quickly from the bench, the sound of wood grating against stone echoing in the large, cavernous hall. ‘If I can accept this – and I’m not sure I do – I still don’t understand what this has to do with me.’

  Mhara jumped up too. ‘Your mother, she was the last woman to bear this promise.’

  ‘And she was the one who carried the promise when we thought we had found the bloodline,’ said Aelina. ‘Generations of searching were finally coming to an end. But the only way we could really know we had found the right blood was if we also found the stone: the pass-stone that Hao had with him when he left Lazar. Your mother entered the tribe we had identified as holding the bloodline, befriended them, and found the stone.

  ‘That was where she found your father.’

  ‘My father?’

  ‘Yes. If Sola had ordained it, he might be the Khan right now. But we were unaware that Batar-khan’s people were tracking us the entire time. They hatched a plot to slaughter the tribe.’

  ‘I was able to get a warning to your mother before it happened,’ said Mhara. ‘She had once been my friend. I owed her that.’<
br />
  ‘The rest of the tribe was not so lucky,’ said Aelina. ‘The last blood of Hao was wiped out in an instant. Or so we thought. But your mother knew better.’

  ‘You cannot hear this, Raim,’ Lady Chabi spoke then, and his eyes darted to her face. Aelina noticed him staring at the shadow and stopped talking.

  ‘I have to hear this – this is answer I’ve been searching for!’

  ‘No, you don’t understand. He cannot hear this!’ She pointed at Draikh. ‘He will kill you if he finds out the truth. He’s treacherous and ruthless, just like the rest of his kind.’

  ‘My kind? How many times have I saved Raim’s life? I am the one who has been keeping him safe!’

  ‘Wrong! Twice I have had to save him when you could not or did not. You keep trying to get him killed!’

  ‘Enough!’ cried out Raim, tired of being caught between the two bickering haunts. Whatever his blood was, it boiled with rage at the woman’s accusations of Draikh. He turned to her. ‘If you had appeared to me in the first place and told me what to do, this never would have happened!’

  ‘It wasn’t supposed to happen!’ The anger she felt agitated the entire room, and even Mhara and Aelina shied away from the shadow. The spirit closed her eyes, and when she spoke again, her voice was calmer. Softer. ‘Your first oath, when you came of Honour Age, could have been to anyone else and all would have been fine. But you chose Khareh.’

  Raim gritted his teeth, his fingers curled into tight fists. ‘So you always meant to make me an oathbreaker.’

  ‘Yes, being able to make your first real oath would mean you had to come of age. I would have been able to explain everything . . .’

  ‘So explain now!’ shouted Raim. ‘What does it mean? That I’m some descendant of Hao?’

  Aelina interrupted then. ‘No, Raim. Not some descendant of Hao. The descendant. The only one. The rightful Khan of Darhan.’

  ‘What?’ Raim was momentarily speechless. But then the anger built again as the news sank in. ‘But I’m an oath-breaker!’ Raim yelled, his rage exploding out of him like a volcano spitting fire, all directed at the woman who had caused this pain. The woman who had forced him into exile, who had played with his life and expected him to just fall into line with a promise he never even knew he made. He jabbed the sleeve of his tunic up over his elbow, revealing the twisted red scar. He held it in front of the spirit’s face. ‘This is what you have left me with. No Darhanian in their right mind will follow me while I have this!’

  ‘I know that,’ she said, her voice calm and smooth as a lake at dawn. ‘And that is why I will tell you one thing: how to rid yourself of that scar.’

  ‘How?’ Raim said, his voice still shaking with anger, his face wet with tears he couldn’t control.

  ‘You must make the vow again, to me.’

  ‘And how do I do that?’

  ‘You must come to the South, seek out the Council women there and find me in Aqben,’ she said. ‘I am waiting for you.’ And then she disappeared.

  17

  WADI

  The weight of two pass-stones now hung around her neck.

  Khareh had forced her to keep the one they had taken from the temple. ‘You will wear this, Wadi, and take the curse upon yourself, to add to the one you already own.’

  ‘Why not give it to Garus? He is your adviser,’ Wadi said.

  ‘No, I don’t trust him with this,’ he admitted.

  ‘And yet you trust me?’

  ‘I can keep you under my control,’ said Khareh, with a shrug. ‘But also, my shadow trusts you. That’s good enough for me.’

  Wadi stared at the swirling shadow, and the hair rose on the back of her neck. She half believed she could see the shadow staring back – but then cursed herself for getting carried away by her imagination.

  She wondered, not for the first time, if Khareh missed Raim as much as she did. His reliance on his haunt companion overshadowed all his other relationships. Even Erdene, who was his queen, hardly spent any time with him.

  Maybe Khareh knew that Raim would come for her one day. She wished she could get a message to him. Stay safe. Stay strong. Coming to rescue her would be a suicide mission. She hoped he was not that stupid, but she also knew how stubborn he could be.

  In the meantime, while Khareh was keen to keep her close, she would learn all she could. Even if she was only bait to draw Raim out of hiding, at least she could be useful bait.

  Like now, for instance. She was standing, chained, in the shadow of a tall pillar in Mermaden’s former throne room. She tried to melt into the darkness so that they would forget her presence and perhaps reveal a secret worth knowing.

  Khareh and Altan were in the middle of an argument.

  ‘You must spend the night in the city, my Khan. Your new subjects will expect it,’ said Altan, his voice cool and calm.

  ‘Fine. One night.’ Khareh threw his hands up in the air and slumped down on what had previously been Mermaden’s throne.

  Wadi was bemused that Khareh wanted to run back to the yurt when he had worked so hard to take the city. She had assumed he’d want to stay in it at least one night. But then, he had what he wanted – the pass-stone, and the allegiance of the city – so maybe that was enough and he was just going to storm off, leaving this city leaderless and bloodied, before heading to whatever his next conquest would be.

  ‘But no feast!’ Khareh added, as Altan opened his mouth to continue. ‘I won’t celebrate while Mermaden is still alive. Besides, I think the people of Samar have had enough of rulers who celebrate every minor event with a feast, drowning their spirits in drink while they go hungry. Did you see the state of the city outside? This is why warlords like Mermaden are fools and need to be removed from their post. Leadership is earned on the steppes, not bestowed. It’s time the people were reminded of that.’

  There was a crash from the hallway outside the throne room, and several shards of pottery came dancing through the open door and across the tiled floor. Erdene was by Khareh’s side in a flash, her Yun sword drawn, but when the culprit emerged, her sword-arm dropped.

  It was Garus. Under his arms, he carried two barrels, and he swayed from side to side under their weight. ‘Rago wine, my Khan. Of the finest quality.’

  ‘Are you drunk?’ Khareh asked, his face screwed up in disgust.

  Altan sensed that this might send Khareh over the edge – and back to his camp again. ‘One night, my Khan.’

  Khareh hesitated. ‘But I should be back with my men, my horses – ready to pursue Mermaden in the morning.’

  ‘You will still be ready to pursue him, but you must secure the city first.’

  Khareh sighed and rubbed his temples. ‘Just get him out of here.’ He gestured to Garus.

  This was a battle that Wadi wished Khareh had won. She didn’t want to stay in the palace any more than he did. But she and Erdene were forced to stay wherever the Khan stayed. Wadi yearned for the warmth of the yurt – for the comfort of a rug at her feet, the smell of incense mingling with sheep’s wool. Even though she was a captive there, it was better than this cold stone palace that reeked of blood and ashes. The hall they were in – Mermaden’s old throne room – was bare and empty of almost any decoration, except for six decorated stone pillars.

  ‘Did the men do as I asked? Did they secure the engineers, the men of letters, the artisans?’

  ‘Yes, my Khan,’ said Altan.

  ‘Bring one of them to me. Take Erdene too, so there isn’t trouble.’

  Erdene straightened, and immediately protested. As if in response, the shadow swirled to Khareh’s side. Erdene threw a scowl in the shadow’s direction. Wadi was impressed. At least she was no longer appearing scared of it. Erdene turned on her heel and followed Altan out of the room.

  Wadi was now alone with Khareh. And his shadow, of course.

  ‘I’m surprised at you,’ said Wadi.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Khareh feigned insult.

  ‘You saved those people.’


  ‘Of course – without the engineers, who will help me transform Kharein?’ he said, and his face had such an expression of earnest wonder on it that Wadi found herself momentarily speechless.

  ‘And the artists?’ Khareh continued. ‘Have you seen some of the stonework in here? We have nothing like this in Kharein.’

  Wadi raised an eyebrow, and found her voice. ‘I didn’t take you for someone who appreciated fine art.’

  ‘I appreciate genius,’ said Khareh.

  There was something of genius about it. The pillars of the great hall were engraved with beautiful flowing Darhanian script. It must have taken some skill to carve those rounded letters, the delicate links between words. She tried to read it, but it was difficult as the script was old, worn away in places, and written in archaic language. It wasn’t worn in the same way as the scripts of Lazar might have been – artificially, so as to destroy any of its beauty before it even had a chance to be called beautiful. This was just the telltale decay of age.

  The script told of the history of the city, that much was clear. As Wadi’s eyes travelled from the ceiling to the floor, the script became much clearer, as if the words towards the bottom were much newer than those above it. Suddenly, Wadi laughed.

  ‘Something funny?’ said Khareh.

  ‘You don’t want the artisans for the beauty of their work. This bit here tells the story of Mermaden ‘the Great’. It’s just exaggerating his conquests – and from what you’ve told me yourself, they weren’t that great at all. You said he’s just a drunkard and a braggart, not a mighty warrior. This is just his ego carved into stone, and now you want something like this for yourself. You only want the artists so that they can write of your genius, not so you can use theirs.’

  ‘History will remember what it remembers. We need works like this in Kharein to immortalize our history.’

  Wadi scowled. ‘Your history, you mean. But you can’t just rewrite everything. There will be those who remember the truth.’

  ‘Like who? Please, tell me of them. I will be sure to put them on my list of people to kill.’