‘I’d like that very much,’ said Wadi. She found herself oddly formal in Dharma’s presence, even more so than with Khareh-khan and his advisers. Even though she was just such a little thing, so young, still a child, Dharma spoke with the wisdom of someone far beyond her years. When she talked, people listened.
They stepped outside, to the scent of woodsmoke and roasted goat. Dharma skipped in front, and Wadi couldn’t help but laugh. She was glad to still see a playful child buried underneath the wisdom. Her second thought was of worry: there were so many ramshackle yurts, tied down with ropes and weighted with rocks that she had no idea how Dharma could navigate without her vision.
Loni touched her elbow. ‘Everyone in the camp sets up the same way for her, so no matter where we are, she knows where she is going.’
‘They really love her, don’t they?’ Wadi asked. But the question didn’t need answering. It was evident on the face of everyone who came out of their yurt to see her as she passed. Two young women instantly stepped ahead of Dharma, and began to sweep the floor in front of her to keep it clear of debris. Some even laid down mats of twisted grass, as if in offering to the child. They treated her as if she was a little goddess.
Then Wadi spotted another familiar face in the crowd. ‘Vlad?’ she said, her hand flying to her mouth.
‘Oh, you know my father?’ Dharma stopped short and turned around.
‘Yes. I knew him from Lazar,’ she replied. She didn’t mention that the last time she’d heard Vlad, it had been because his screams came through the thin walls of her yurt as he was being tortured.
Vlad’s eyes opened wide and his jaw dropped at the sight of her. ‘Wadi? What are you doing here?’
‘I escaped from Khareh’s camp two nights ago. I couldn’t bear it any more.’
‘Couldn’t bear what? All the trust the Khan put in you? Did you get tired of having to listen to the poor Khan’s stories?’
Wadi felt as if she had been punched in the gut. ‘I don’t know exactly what you went through, Vlad, but I do know that Khareh was terrible to you. I am sorry for that.’
‘Just make sure you are ready to do whatever the Weaver tells you. She will be able to make things right.’
Wadi nodded. ‘I will.’
‘What do you know of Khareh’s plan?’ asked Vlad.
‘Khareh has heard a rumour that the Southern King is amassing an army across the desert. I know Khareh is planning on going to Lazar, and using it as a base to face the Southern King head-on. Maybe strike before he’s ready and use the element of surprise.’
Vlad raised an eyebrow. ‘And how is he planning on crossing the desert?’
‘The pass-stones,’ Wadi said. ‘He’s been obsessing over them. That’s why he wanted me all this time. He wants to hunt down all seven, no matter which cities or how many lives he needs to destroy in the process, and then he will return to Lazar to free the city. Open up the route through the desert, so he can go on and become the Golden Khan.’
‘But he will never have all seven.’
Wadi frowned. ‘I know. I have two of them. Garus has one, and one remains in Lazar still. The other three are lost in Darhan.’
‘Is that what the Khan thinks?’
‘Yes.’
‘Ah,’ Vlad nodded. ‘It makes sense now. Garus, that pathetic old sage, has been feeding your Khan lies. The last thing he wants is to return to Lazar, even as your Khan’s adviser. For one thing, he knows as well as I do that one of the stones is in the South. With the Lady Chabi. So Khareh can never have all seven.’
Wadi’s mind reeled from the revelation. Khareh had been relying on Garus’s information. If he ever found out that he had been lied to . . .
There was a gasp among the people who had been watching them, and all eyes turned to Dharma.
‘Oh no,’ said Vlad, rushing forward – even though Loni got there first. ‘She’s going into one of her visions.’
Dharma was shaking, convulsing on her feet. Her hair swung from side to side and her hands trembled – then began to move in the air in a distinctive pattern.
‘Stand back!’ said Loni, immediately taking control. Several of the women who followed Dharma around stood around her in a protective circle, keeping away curious onlookers – including Wadi. Loni scrambled to find a piece of paper and quill, fumbling in the pouch around his waist.
At an opportune moment, he slipped the quill – already dipped in ink – into Dharma’s hand. He held the paper in front of her, backed by a thin stone tablet. Dharma’s flailing right hand now created a series of characters on the parchment: beautiful, flowing script that didn’t resemble any of the written Darhanian Wadi knew.
Even as her hand moved across the page, she trembled and cried out. She quickly filled up one sheet, and Loni signalled to one of the other members of his tribe to continue holding the parchment for Dharma.
Wadi just wanted to leap forward and wrap the girl up in her arms, but like everyone else she only stopped and stared.
The fit seemed to stop as quickly as it began. Loni was ready this time, and caught the young girl as she slumped into his arms. A reverent silence descended on the crowd. Vlad gave Wadi a small nudge between her shoulder blades, and she stepped into line behind Loni, walking Dharma back to the yurt.
In the warm confines of the dwelling, Loni revived Dharma with a strong, sickly-sweet smelling tea. Gradually colour began to return to her face, and she pushed herself up to a sitting position.
She turned her face to Wadi. ‘With you being here, my visions changed again,’ she said, her voice quiet. ‘Grandfather, may I see the text?’
Loni nodded, and handed her the piece of paper she had written on. ‘Do you recognize this language?’ he asked. Dharma showed the paper to Wadi, who shook her head. ‘It’s the language of knots.’
‘This is the weavers’ language?’ asked Wadi, staring at the parchment.
Loni nodded. ‘Used by the weaving clans, to make their carpets. This is how the Weaver transcribes her visions.’
‘What does it say?’
‘It says what I’ve been scared of,’ said Dharma. ‘That because you are here, the future has changed. Khareh is looking for you; he’s angry that you are gone. But he is also determined to go to Lazar. If he gets there, he will meet the Southern King – who will also be heading for Lazar as soon as he can.’
‘What about Raim? Do you see Raim?’
‘Of course I do. He will soon be with the Southern King, as the Council had planned it. But even with Raim there, if you are not with Khareh, then they will fail.’
‘But, I don’t understand. Why will they fail?’
‘Because only you will make sure that Khareh enters the city of Lazar through the main gates.’
‘But he will kill me if I go back! He will never trust me again,’ said Wadi.
‘You must trust me,’ said Dharma, her face solemn.
Wadi stared at Dharma for a second, her eyes flicking from her, to Vlad to Loni. Then she nodded, although her head dropped into her hands. ‘I will return,’ she said, although it came out as barely a whisper.
‘Go tomorrow,’ said Loni. ‘For now, just rest.’
39
RAIM
His lungs heaved and burned.
Salt water stung his eyes, and he tried to lift his arms to wipe them. He couldn’t. He couldn’t feel his arms.
With a wrench of his back, he twisted, and with a hideous squelching sound one of his arms came loose from the mud.
At the same time, his legs felt like they were plunged in the ice from the mountains, as water rushed up his body towards his chest, threatening to engulf him. He was so weak, he felt his body lift in time with the water, and then the seductive pull of it as it rushed backwards.
He coughed, spluttered, and urged his body forwards, trying to get away from the water line. The beach was covered in tiny rocks, over which Raim proceeded to cough up his lungs. When the convulsions subsided, he rolled onto his back. Naran’s rays seemed
especially bright to him then, and he just about had the energy to shut his eyes to block them out.
He lay there, trying to remember.
The creature.
And the storm.
There had been a storm, unlike anything he had ever experienced. His heart pounded in his chest, just thinking about it. He remembered Tarik and the crew, looking to him like he could save them. He remembered clinging onto the rail for his life, he remembered letting go, his body plunging into the water, and then . . . And then nothing.
Tarik. The captain. The rest of the crew. What had happened to them all? And Draikh, where was he?
No, really. He opened his eyes. His breath quickened, his fingers tightened over the rocks. Where was he? He was never far from him. He reached out with his mind. Draikh?
No answer.
Draikh? Answer me, damn it!
Nothing.
Panic set in. He had to get moving. He had to see if anyone else survived. As he had, then the chances were good. He wasn’t about to get stuck in the South all by himself. But he was just so tired. Maybe he could just rest there a little bit longer . . .
As if to encourage him to move, water rushed up his legs again, covering his bare feet in foam. Absurdly, he wondered where his shoes had gone. He scrambled backwards, then tried to pull himself into sitting position. He shouldn’t have worried about his boots. The lower half of his clothing was completely shredded, and his legs were covered in shallow gashes, oozing blood – which was why they burned like they were engulfed in fire.
He forced himself to look around. He was in a small cove, on a rocky beach that ran all the way up the shore until it became dunes covered in long, tall grasses. The beach was deserted.
Almost. He heard a caw directly behind him. He craned his neck around and saw Oyu, standing over Draikh’s head. Draikh was so transparent Raim could see pebbles through his weakened form. In fact, Raim had pulled himself backwards so far that he was actually in Draikh’s feet.
He immediately rolled to one side, then crawled forward on his forearms, ignoring the pain as the pebbles scraped his raw, salty skin. The thought of standing just yet was impossible.
‘Draikh, can you hear me?’ he said, once he was level with Draikh’s head.
Draikh moaned in reply. ‘Are we alive?’ he said.
Raim would have laughed, but he felt more like crying – with relief. ‘Thought you’d left me.’
‘I seem . . .’ it took Draikh time to form every word, ‘to remember . . . you were the one encouraging me to stay away from you.’
Raim had forgotten that, but then it all came back to him. Draikh had tried to control the wind, to divert the storm away from the ship. But he hadn’t been strong enough, or he hadn’t had enough practice. Whatever the cause, they’d lost the ship.
Oyu hopped over and Raim stroked his head. The garfalcon’s black feathers were tinged white with dried salt. They all needed to get away from the wretched sea.
‘So what you’re saying is: you disobeyed me, and stopped trying to conjure the wind.’
‘And in doing so, rescued you from drowning. You’re welcome, by the way.’
‘I was joking.’
‘I know. I’m just a bit too weary to joke. I couldn’t control that storm anyway.’
Raim pressed his fingers hard against his temple. ‘The creature?’
‘It wanted your promise-knot. Just like those behrflies.’
‘What about the ship?’
‘The ship is lost.’
Raim pounded his fists into the rocks, only managing to make his sore arms feel even worse.
He hoisted himself to his feet and waited for his balance to return by placing his hands on his knees. It didn’t come quickly. He swayed like a man drunk, like he was still on the ship. He scoured the beach with his eyes again, and there was no sign of Tarik. Or Shen. Or of anybody, not even the ship. There was no flotsam, no stray planks of wood drifting on the surface. Nothing to indicate there had been a wreck close to the shore.
‘Can you move, do you think?’ Raim looked down at Draikh. It didn’t look likely, and Draikh was barely trying. ‘We should get off the beach and try to find cover. Anyone who comes by here will see us, and they might not be friendly.’
And then what? said a voice in his head – his own voice of doubt, this time.
One thing at a time: first, cover. Then . . . work out a new plan.
Draikh wasn’t moving anywhere.
‘Do you think you have enough strength to become, you know, solid?’ Raim asked.
‘Maybe,’ Draikh said, after a moment. Raim knew he had done it once the pebbles beneath Draikh’s body shifted under his newly solid form.
Raim stooped, put his arms beneath Draikh’s form, and lifted. He wasn’t heavy.
Then he turned, and aimed for the dunes.
40
RAIM
He stood up on the hill, looking down along the coastline. A cry from above him turned his head to the sky; his heart leaped to see Oyu making wide circles among the clouds.
There was still a chance of finding other survivors. It wasn’t only an altruistic decision. He selfishly hoped that someone else had survived. He had no idea what he was going to do if it turned out he was alone.
The ship could have sailed a thousand miles or a hundred; how close he was to Darhan, to the South, or even to the desert was beyond his knowledge. He knew nothing, and that was terrifying. The thought had driven him all the way to the top of the hill, even though his legs were weak and raw and painful. His head hurt and his lips were split and cracking. He was dehydrated, which was ironic considering he had spent so long essentially marinating in water. Just the wrong kind of water.
The longer he stared out from the top of that hill, though, the more it became clear: no one else had survived the storm. At least, not along the coastline that Raim could see. He had hoped that the ship was simply in another cove, tucked away. But as far as his eye could see, there was nothing. The ocean dared to sparkle, as if it were made of the same material as Yun blades. And just like Yun blades it was beautiful – but could quickly turn deadly.
The shock of this realization on his heart was almost too much to bear. He had brought his brother into this. He had been living – fine, not well, but at least in safety with the Baril. Raim had his own protectors, after all. Spirits who were desperate to save his life – and who cared for no one else’s. Tarik had no such luck. Raim was supposed to be the one who took care of the people he loved. And again, he had failed.
He clearly wasn’t the protector he thought he was.
He fell to his knees, and stayed there.
‘You were right, you know, we need to keep moving,’ said Draikh, after a while. Already, the spirit was looking stronger. More solid.
‘Did my mother help you?’
‘What do you mean?’ said Draikh, but he pulled on his lower lip with his teeth. He was feigning innocence.
‘So, she did help you. She came to my rescue once again.’
‘I couldn’t have done it in the condition I was in.’
‘Then maybe I should have died in the sea with all the rest!’ shouted Raim into the wind. Anger – irrational anger – surged up inside him. ‘I’m tired of being saved all the time – if Sola wants me dead, then let me die!’
Draikh’s voice was surprisingly calm. ‘If Sola wanted you dead, you’d be dead.’
‘Tell me where to go! Where are you, Lady Chabi?’
There was no reply. In defiance, Raim sat down cross-legged, looking out at the ocean. He wasn’t going to miss any movement, any potential survivor, any wreckage or proof that the ship really did go down. So far, he had seen nothing. Surely something would wash up on one of these godsforsaken beaches eventually.
He sat there for what seemed hours. It had been a fruitless watch. But he couldn’t stop looking. His body felt shattered, but his eyes and mind were alert. A moment of dropped focus and he might miss something. Miss his only c
hance.
He looked down at the cuts on his legs, knowing that Draikh was in no condition to heal them. But he didn’t want to rely on anyone but himself any more. The moment on the ship when he had almost released his own spirit had shown him what was possible. He knew he could do it.
He focused on the cuts, on the pain. He channelled his thoughts into feeling the hurt and fixing it, knitting the edges together in his mind. His skin warmed, the tingling sensation returning. Heal, he told himself. Heal. He felt his spirit rise to the surface. He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, trying to force the spirit out. Almost . . . almost . . .
‘Raim,’ said Draikh, interrupting his thoughts.
The moment disappeared, just as he thought he’d grasped it. ‘What?’ he snapped, unable to hide his frustration.
‘You need to see this.’
‘I’m not turning around. I know your tricks.’ He’d almost done it again. Externalized his spirit.
‘No, I’m serious. There’s someone coming this way.’
That got Raim’s attention. He spun round, instinct driving him low to the ground. He peered through the tall grass, and tried to see what Draikh was seeing. It took a few seconds, and then he placed it: a small figure, hunched over a cane, moving in slow trundle up the hill. ‘It’s an old man,’ whispered Raim.
‘Could be a young man pretending to be an old man.’
Whoever he was, he was moving straight towards where Raim lay crouched on the ground. When it became clear that the old man knew he was there, Raim stood up and brushed his knees with his hands.
He had to pray the old man was friendly. Raim had no weapons, no shield – no defence except his strength, which had been sapped by the storm. While he was still confident in his abilities, if the man could wield that cane, Raim was doomed.
The old man climbed the hill toward him, stopping a few feet away. Raim half expected a bow and arrow, or a spear to appear from behind the man’s back, but instead, he just stood there looking him up and down. Then, in a flash that belied his previously slow movements, he spun around and started heading back the way he’d come. He made no attempt to speak to Raim, but gestured with one arm for Raim to follow.
The Shadow’s Curse Page 20
