The Shadow’s Curse

by Amy McCulloch

  ‘Keep going!’ shouted Khareh. ‘There’s no reason to stop – he’s not going to die from that!’

  But when the wounded Yun pulled the face mask off; it was Erdene. Khareh bit back a protest of annoyance, and waved her off. She left the field, her head hanging in shame.

  Khareh wasn’t the same after that, and no longer enjoyed the contest the way that he had been previously. Good, thought Wadi.

  The other Yun were unsure how to proceed now Erdene was not there to lead them. They didn’t want to continue fighting each other if they didn’t have to.

  Then one Yun stepped forward. Wadi wasn’t sure whether it was man or woman, but whoever it was, they were bold. They pointed their sword straight at Khareh.

  Wadi tilted her head to one side and tried to guess. The Yun looked the same height as Imal, the Samar general and stood with the same easy confidence.

  ‘Khareh-khan, would you agree to a duel?’ The mask distorted the Yun’s voice, so that Wadi still couldn’t be sure.

  A stunned silence descended once again, as all eyes turned to Khareh. There was a cry of protest from Erdene to break the moment, but Khareh stood up, a smile on his face. ‘I think I will.’ He removed some of the more elaborate rings from around his fingers and dropped them in the basket next to the knives he’d been given.

  Wadi rolled her eyes. As if any of the Yun would be stupid enough to offer up a real fight against the Khan. And then there was the matter of Khareh’s shadow. His haunt – the main source of his sage power – would not let him come to any harm, and besides, could heal him instantly if he did.

  The haunt must have caught her staring, because he drifted over in her direction. The closer the shadow came, the more she felt like there was a hand constricting her heart. She knew the shadow was part of Raim, but she couldn’t fully understand it. In the prison cell, a moment of madness had possessed her to ask him to make her a promise so that she could break it, and have a piece of him with her.

  She thought maybe she would have done it, even if it meant becoming an oathbreaker, but time had slipped away from them.

  The haunt was in front of her now, the grey shadow swirling before her eyes. She held her nerve and looked at it, wondering if she looked hard enough whether she could see the outline of Raim’s face in the nebulous cloud, the broad set of his shoulders, the delicate slant of his eyes.

  Behind the shadow, Khareh descended the wooden steps from his platform towards the makeshift arena. He had yet to even draw his sword. Erdene had been bundled off to one side, while her arm was being bandaged. The rest of the Yun had melted back into the crowd. Even Khareh’s other guards seemed distracted.

  And his haunt was distracted by Wadi and did not follow Khareh down into the arena. The shadow seemed to reach out to her, like a ghostly hand outstretched. She braced herself as the shadow touched the skin of her cheek.

  ‘Raim?’ she whispered.

  The Yun who had challenged Khareh reached up and pulled off the mask, throwing it down onto the ground.

  ‘I have been searching for you, boy.’

  Wadi’s eyes opened wide. It was a woman. Not just any woman; but the woman she had seen in the Baril line-up. The woman who had looked at her with so much hatred. But her shock didn’t even come close to mirroring the shock on every single other face around the arena – including Khareh’s. In fact, Khareh looked more horrified than shocked. His mouth dropped open, his sword-tip nearly scraping the ground before he remembered himself.

  ‘Mhara?’

  ‘That’s right, Khareh. I have come for vengeance.’

  Khareh spun around, searching for his spirit. ‘Not possible . . .’ he said, looking every bit as young as his eighteen years. The other Yun – Imal, Erdene, even with her injured arm – had started moving, rushing toward them, but the distance was too great. Khareh’s shadow, the spirit-Raim, flew away from Wadi then too.

  Mhara had a snarl on her face that was more wolf than person. Her cheeks were hollow, her skin deathly pale, her eyes fierce and fixed on one goal. She thrust the sword in Khareh’s direction.

  And nothing, not even Raim’s spirit, could have come between Mhara’s blade and Khareh’s heart at that moment, except that Wadi had launched herself toward the box of throwing knives and snatched one out of its casing.

  Without even waiting a beat for rational thought to take over, she let her instincts guide her and flung one of the knives in Khareh’s direction. It flew over Khareh’s shoulder and stuck into the Yun woman’s heart.

  Mhara’s sword clattered onto the ground and she dropped down onto her knees. ‘I’m sorry,’ were her final words, until the light left her eyes and she slumped to the dirt floor.

  Erdene came to a screeching halt, ‘My Khan, are you all right?’ she cried. But then she followed Khareh’s gaze up to the source of the thrown knife – to where Wadi trembled by the platform, wondering what in Sola’s name she had done.

  31

  RAIM

  The boat anchored out to sea was vast and hideous.

  Raim thought back to the last time he had seen a boat, when he and Khareh had spent time lounging on the shores of Lake Oudo. The memory brought a smile to his face, until he caught himself.

  Raim thought how much Khareh would have loved the journey he was on. Raim had seen so much – from how to find water in the desert, to the tunnels in Lazar, the Baril mountains and now a great vessel that could cross the ocean between the North and the South. Khareh would have known exactly what questions to ask to understand everything that he saw. Raim just felt like tumbleweed being blown around by strong winds – the twisting tornado of exile, and now, the hurricane of his supposed destiny.

  They would never have those moments again. They were on opposite sides now, and Raim could not fulfil his destiny and be friends with Khareh at the same time.

  At least he had Draikh, who let out a low whistle. His shadow-friend was staring out across the waves, watching as the boat gently rose and fell with the swell of the tide. The ship had three tall masts, with enormous sails like bat wings. Lit up by the dying sun, they appeared a burnished red against the darkening sky. It didn’t look right that something so enormous should be able to stay afloat.

  How is that possible? Raim thought.

  ‘They must have some wondrous ship-builders in the South,’ said Draikh. ‘Far more sophisticated than anything we have.’

  Raim shuddered. I’m surprised anyone would want to experiment out over the salt water. I only hope I don’t have to swim.

  Even though Mhara and Aelina reassured him several times that this boat – and only this boat – had made the passage to the South and back several times, he wasn’t filled with confidence. It was easy for them to say – they weren’t the ones who had to clamber on board and survive the journey. He was comforted to look over and see that Tarik had turned a sickly shade of green and he had covered his mouth with his hands.

  But now, so much more made sense. He had always heard Khareh talk about the South with a kind of reverential tone – and he had been convinced that there was far more to the South than met the eye. Had Khareh ever seen the true extent of the power they had there? If they could make ships as big as a temple float – what else could they do? They were like sages themselves . . .

  But if these items existed in the South, why were they not in the North? Why didn’t the rest of the Darhanian population have access to them? He could imagine the tribes along the Zalinzar river trading much more briskly with ships like these, but not even the richest warlord had one. Not even Khareh-khan.

  Once they reached the beach, not made up of sand but of millions of crushed shells, the priestess of the Temple of Bones introduced him to the captain of the ship, a grizzled old man with blackened stubble on his face. His face was lined with wrinkles, his hands calloused with rope burns, his skin weather-beaten and leathery.

  ‘Raim, meet Shen-quo, captain of the Zuan,’ said the priestess.

  ‘To be honest, we t
hought you would never come.’

  ‘We came as fast as we could – far more quickly than I wanted,’ replied Raim. His knees still felt shaky from the steep walk down the narrow cliffside path. At some points, he had felt like a strong breeze would have easily blown him over the edge to a rocky death on the beach below. Even Tarik was more sure-footed than him, but then he guessed that he had had more practice in the mountainous Amarapura region.

  ‘Aye, and I stayed already a day longer than I had intended. Does that make us even?’ The old sailor spat a wad of chewing tobacco on the ground. ‘I come to this godsforsaken North only once a year. That’s all the Council can afford, plus, I wouldn’t brave the passage across this sea at any other time of the year. I’m the only man mad enough to do it at all, so you’d have been a long time waiting for anyone else. Until next year!’ He chuckled, although it sounded more like a gag. He eyed up their meagre possessions. ‘Get in the rowboat. We leave as soon as you’re aboard.’

  This was it. The moment Raim stepped on the deck of the ship, he would be on his way south and there would be no turning back.

  As if sensing his hesitation, Draikh said: ‘What are you waiting for?’

  This is it.

  ‘Yes. And?’

  I don’t know if it’s the right thing.

  ‘What do you think is best for Darhan?’ asked Draikh.

  ‘Not to have Khareh in charge,’ Raim said, although it came out like barely a whisper.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Draikh. ‘And with his spirit-army, he is unstoppable. But there is one person who can stop him.’

  Me.

  Draikh raised an eyebrow.

  Me, but without a scar.

  ‘You, without a scar, and with an army. That is your answer.’

  Raim nodded, and turned back around to face the rowboat. The captain was there, looking at him strangely.

  ‘The shadow that surrounds you . . . I have never seen anything like it. Do you control it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Raim, as he stepped into the boat. ‘I am a sage.’

  The captain’s eyes widened, but he said no more. Once they reached the ship, they climbed up a shaky hemp-rope ladder to reach the deck.

  This would be Raim’s home for the foreseeable future.

  Straightaway, his stomach churned, and his first few steps forward sent him swaying across the deck. He threw himself against the rails and gripped tightly.

  Draikh laughed at him, as did the other sailors.

  Luckily, Tarik was exactly the same.

  ‘You Northerners will get your sea legs soon. Either that, or this will be a very long journey for you all.’ The captain’s steps were sturdy, his legs adjusting to the ship’s every movement. He appeared like an extension of the ship, rather than a passenger on it. ‘Boy?’ Shen gestured to Raim. ‘Let’s see it then. On board ship, there can be no secrets.’

  Raim swallowed hard, and balled his hands into fists. He wanted to be strong, but the motion of the boat kept threatening to take his legs from under him.

  ‘Come on. Don’t be shy. We were informed that one day we would carry a dirty Northern oathbreaker to the South. We must see the scar.’

  All eyes on the ship were turned toward him, and the back of Raim’s neck burned. Even the sailors that were previously engaged in fixing the sails or swabbing the deck turned to look at him.

  Finally, he could bare the scrutiny no longer. He pulled up the sleeve of his tunic so that it revealed his twisted red scar in all its cruelty. It was enough to make Shen shudder.

  ‘And then there is this other,’ Raim said. He showed Shen just the edge of it, the tip that crept out of his tunic at the base of his neck. ‘This one is the Absolute Vow I made, that is not broken.’

  Shen’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Why is that one dark like a sailor’s tattoo while the other is that hideous red?’

  ‘Because of this creature.’ Raim pointed up into the sky, where Oyu was delighting in the strange new currents that blew across the water, his enormous wingspan casting a shadow on the deck. ‘My garfalcon. When he consumed my promise-knot to Khareh, he made it even more permanent. Indelible. So that I cannot break the promise even if I wanted to, and Khareh himself cannot remove it from me.’

  ‘You mean the prince.’

  ‘Khan.’

  ‘Oh yes, khan, sorry. A bird that eats men’s promise-knots.’ He rubbed at the beard on his chin, deep in thought. ‘I’ve heard legends of sea creatures that are the same. With you on board, though, my bargain with the Council will be over and I need never come to the blasted North again if I choose not to. And yet, I wonder if the new khan will be interested in my ship? Somehow, I bet he would pay more than the old monks.’

  ‘You would not want to deal with him, trust me.’

  ‘Trust you? You’re an oathbreaker, so why would I do that?’

  Raim trembled with shame, but Shen put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You know, you Northerners are a strange lot, but I understand you better than any other of my countrymen. I’ll tell you why. You tie knots to bind your promises, and when you break a vow your knot burns. You value honour, I’ll give you that much. Maybe because I’m a man of the sea, I understand. Every day I have to tie knots in my ropes and I entrust that they will keep me safe. Every knot needs to do its duty, to know its role in this process, or else the whole thing will fall apart. I make those knots promise to hold even when the foulest winds blow at them and the rain drenches them and the rats chew on their threads. If one of those knots breaks, it spells disaster on board a ship. So maybe I know a bit more than I let on about their significance.

  ‘And the significance of someone who willingly breaks one.’

  Raim swallowed, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. ‘I did nothing willingly.’

  ‘And hence the journey.’

  ‘Hence the journey. By the end, I will be rid of this scar.’

  ‘As you say.’

  There was a loud clap of thunder, and Shen’s attitude changed almost immediately. He shifted from his laid-back stance to a man on high alert, his muscles going from sluggish to tense in an instant. At first, Raim couldn’t tell what was causing the change in the captain’s demeanour, which had shed years from the man just by the alertness in his shoulders. But then he felt the difference himself, a kind of spark in the air that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. He looked up at the sky and realized that the sun had been obscured completely by clouds hanging in thick clumps. It looked ominous.

  ‘Men, jump to it. Raise the anchor. We need to get out of here, and fast.’ Shen turned to Raim. ‘You two’d best get below,’ said the old pirate, gesturing to Tarik. ‘You’ll learn the ropes soon enough, but your first night is not the night to do so. You’ll suffer enough downstairs without getting under my feet all the time.’ Then he spun around, turning his attention back to the crew who had gathered on the deck. He set each of them to work, flinging his arms out in each direction, and men scattered where he pointed. The sea beneath them lifted and swelled, and Raim could see men at the far end struggling with the heavy anchor. He wanted to do something to help, but then Draikh was in front of him.

  ‘Get below decks,’ said Draikh. ‘It’s a lightning storm. I learned about these in my studies. Once the season for them hits, there will be no going anywhere in this ship. Oyu will be fine,’ he added, seeing Raim’s eyes shoot up to the sky.

  ‘But I can help—’ protested Raim. Shen overheard. He spun around, and the anger etched on his face was enough to send Raim scurrying below deck. He stumbled against the sides of the ship’s thin corridors until he found an empty berth. There was a hammock of stained hemp rope suspended from the ceiling, which he tumbled into. He felt useless, but he was aware that he could easily be the source of more annoyance than good. He knew nothing about how a ship worked. He had no idea even how they got a ship this size moving. Maybe a great wave would lift them up and smash them against the cliffs – then he would have no hope of reaching th
e South, no hope of overthrowing Khareh, no hope of returning to Wadi. Definitely no hope of being the Khan.

  He didn’t feel much like a leader of anything sitting in that tiny room that stank of mildew and salt and sweat and fear. He cowered in the hammock, letting the rope dig into his skin, not even bothering to move to find a blanket or anything that would make him more comfortable. The ship seemed to lurch, and so did his stomach. He reached over the side of the hammock and retched into the bucket that had been provided just for that purpose.

  Now the smell of sour acid and old water added to the mix.

  All he could do was wait out the night, and see if he was still alive in the morning. There was no going back now.

  32

  RAIM

  The initial storm passed quickly, and when he felt well again, Raim clambered back out onto the deck. That first moment of seeing the open sea in its entirety was a sight that would never leave him for the rest of his life. There was no sign of land on the horizon, just mile after mile of dark blue water, crested here and there by the white caps of sea foam on the waves. It was only matched by the feeling of looking out over the desert for the first time. In fact, if the waves stayed stationary, they could be sand dunes. But these sands dunes rolled, rose and dipped, and this boat was no more master of the waves than he had been of the dunes. And while sandworms and garfalcons and great snakes lived in the sands, Raim was terrified to think of what must lurk beneath the waves.

  Raim’s stomach heaved. He swung back to face the mast and sunk to his knees.

  Another man burst out of the cabins below – Tarik. He spotted Raim and stumbled across the deck to get to him. Together they both sat, their backs against the wooden railing of the ship, their heads between their hands.

  ‘How much more of this do we have to go?’ Tarik said, his voice shaking.

  ‘Too long,’ said Raim. The captain had been vague about certain details – like the time he thought the journey would take.