The Shadow’s Curse

by Amy McCulloch

  Raim looked up at Draikh, who shrugged. ‘You don’t have much choice.’

  And so, Raim followed.

  He looked down at his knee. One of the cuts that had been there was gone.

  He had done it.

  41

  RAIM

  Raim followed the old man inland, away from the sea and the shore. His eyes opened steadily wider as they walked, taking in the new surroundings.

  Green, green hills spread for miles around. There was vegetation everywhere, but it didn’t seem natural – not to Raim’s eyes. The plants grew along neatly ordered, dead-straight lines, as if they had been planted along the edge of a sword blade.

  There were so many rows, a seemingly endless stretch of them, heading into the distance as far as his eyes could see. The pattern they created was hypnotic; Raim couldn’t tear his eyes away.

  These are farms, Raim realized. This is how they live.

  It was then that Raim had all the confirmation he needed. He was in the South. This was the place where he would find his mother – and make himself whole again.

  He snapped from his thoughts and turned back to the old man – who had meandered a fair distance in front of him. Raim’s legs were suddenly full of energy, and he broke into a run to catch up. But his muscles were still weak from his ordeal and began to cramp up, so he slowed back to a walk. The old man disappeared over the crest of yet another hill.

  When Raim reached the top, he pulled up short. He had reached his first village of Southerners. He could see the old man waiting at the door of the outermost house. It had a ramshackle appearance – broken boards crudely nailed together, a roof of dried grasses, and it was surrounded by weeds. The rest of the village was eerily quiet.

  He swallowed down his fear and forced his feet to move down into the village. He had no shoes, but his feet felt like they were encased in lead.

  Once he reached the man’s home, he was finally able to get a good look at him. He was younger than Raim had first thought, and had the bright spark of intelligence in his eyes.

  The man pushed open the door and gestured Raim inside.

  The salty tang of meat – cooked meat – wafted out of the door, and Raim’s mouth filled instantly with saliva. His stomach growled. Draikh urged him in. ‘What are you waiting for?’ he said.

  But Raim wasn’t sure. ‘Where are we?’ he said to the man, and he stood rooted to the spot.

  The man stared back at him blankly.

  ‘Where are we?’ Raim repeated, and tried to swallow down the desperation in his voice. ‘Is this the South?’

  The man did finally reply – in a torrent of words in a lyrical but fast-moving jumble of sound that Raim could not understand. But he understood something: urgency.

  A noise from one of the other houses grabbed his attention. He craned his neck to look, but the old man sprang forward, grabbed his collar, and dragged him into the house.

  The door slammed shut behind them.

  42

  WADI

  The flames cast a warm glow inside the yurt, and Wadi snuggled underneath the furs. Dharma lay with her head in Wadi’s lap, and Wadi ran her fingers through the young girl’s soft hair. ‘Does it hurt?’ Wadi asked. ‘The seeing, I mean.’ What she had witnessed today had shaken Wadi to the core. She had become – dare she say it? – used to Khareh and Raim and their sage powers. But neither of them, as far as Wadi knew, could see into the future, nor inspire the same kind of fierce, loyal passion that Dharma could.

  ‘Sometimes. But only when I see things I don’t like that I cannot change.’ They lay in comfortable silence for a few moments. ‘I see Raim often.’

  ‘I saw him too,’ said Wadi. ‘Although not in the same way as you. I saw him in Pennar. He was chasing the originator of his promise-knot. He will be far across the sea by now. I hope he is safe.’

  ‘He would have taken you with him, if he could. I know that was written in his heart, even if it wasn’t what was written in his destiny.’

  Wadi pulled Dharma closer to her. ‘Thank you for that. I wish I could do more to help him.’

  ‘What you are doing will help.’ The little girl sat up. ‘I have seen what happens to the South if Khareh succeeds.’ She traced a pattern on the rug with her finger. ‘There’s a field, swaying with green, and water – so much water – soaking into the ground. The green is in rows, like the wefts on my loom. So neat. It’s . . . it’s beautiful. There are animals there, little goats and sheep and fat pigs, all kept in pens surrounded by fences. There are oxen, but they’re working out in the fields, dragging big blades behind them.’

  ‘Blades like swords?’ Wadi winced at interrupting her. But so far Dharma was describing the traditional Darhanian view of the South: that they worked the land like a slave, as if it could belong to them any more than could the wind, or a droplet of water, or a tongue of fire. They did not respect what their animals could do for them – they didn’t believe in taking care of them, in finding the best pastures. They believed that animals and the land worked only for them.

  Dharma continued: ‘Not blades like swords. Bigger. Stronger. When the oxen pull them, it breaks up the ground, and the man can plant things in its wake. He grows food for his family, and has happy, healthy children. But that isn’t what I see if Khareh wins. If Khareh is allowed to take over the South, he will do everything in his power to destroy their way of life. I see fires. I see those same green fields burning. I see animals slaughtered, to feed his growing army. I see the people running from their homes, forced to leave everything they know, running towards their death. Men, women, children – he won’t discriminate. To him, there is no life in the South that is equal to the North.’

  ‘And if the South wins?’

  Dharma paused. ‘Does Khareh know much about the Southern King?’ she asked, after a moment.

  Wadi shrugged, but then realized that Dharma wouldn’t be able to see her body language. ‘I’m not certain. He knows that he doesn’t want to have any Southern pretender invading his lands.’

  ‘The Southern King – King Song – is mad, from what I can tell in my visions. And mad men are often the most dangerous. His family was disgraced a long time ago, and he is looking for a way to restore his family’s pride. He has slaves, and he misuses them ruthlessly.’

  ‘So he is no better than Khareh.’

  ‘No,’ said Dharma. ‘But that is why Raim must rule. He must not only be the Khan, but the Golden Khan, ruling over all the lands Naran touches and the world will be right again.’

  ‘He will do it,’ Wadi said, although her mind couldn’t help but worry at about the difficult journey Raim had to take. He was the key to all this – but he had no one to help him, except Draikh.

  ‘He has to,’ whispered Dharma.

  Wadi woke up to the sound of squeals. It took a moment for her to orient herself. Where was she? Nothing was familiar, there were none of the sounds that she had grown used to, and her leg felt too light without its chain . . .

  But beside her, there was the cry again – louder this time – and Wadi rolled over to see the curled-up form of a little girl, limbs writhing in what seemed like great pain. She remembered where she was.

  ‘Dharma?’ She reached out and placed a tentative hand on the girl’s shoulder. She was like a kettle about to reach boiling point.

  The tent door flapped open and Loni stumbled in, concern etched on his face. He carried with him a small bowl filled with water, and a rag. He knelt by Dharma and dabbed the cool, damp rag against her forehead. Her writhing body calmed, flailing limbs turned still. She still cried out, though, and Loni muttered soothing words until it subsided.

  A chill ran through Wadi’s body, goosebumps raised on her arms. The night air was warm; it was the sight of the girl in pain – the girl who saw the future in her dreams, in pain – that caused her to shiver.

  ‘It’s been like this every night . . .’ said Loni in a quiet whisper, once the girl had settled back into a more restful slum
ber. ‘Every night since Raim left for Amarapura.’

  ‘What does she see?’

  ‘She sees too much . . . but what causes these night terrors? She won’t tell me what makes her cry at night. It distresses her too much to look too far ahead, when the future becomes more and more uncertain.’

  Wadi looked down into Dharma’s angelic face. ‘The poor girl.’

  ‘She is stubborn. I sometimes wonder if she sees things that she won’t tell us.’

  ‘Like Raim failing on his journey?’ Wadi’s mouth went dry.

  Loni’s eyes bore holes into her skull. ‘Maybe. But that’s why she was adamant about waiting for you here. She knew we had to be here to turn you back around. To send you back to Khareh. Raim is going to need all the help he can get, and you are going to have to be there.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Wadi. ‘I won’t let her down.’

  43

  WADI

  They equipped her with a horse, a long sword and a short dagger, just in case, and plenty of food for the return journey. She hadn’t worked out quite what she would say when she saw Khareh again – she would have to cross that bridge when she came to it. Her brief stay with Dharma had confirmed it: she had to win back Khareh’s trust and accompany him on his journey to Lazar.

  By whatever means possible.

  She cantered across the steppes, the yurts of Dharma’s clan fast disappearing into the horizon. But she hadn’t gone far when she thought she could hear the pounding of a second set of hooves, coming up behind her. Had she forgotten something back at the camp? Was there another message for her? Wadi’s mind raced. What if Dharma had seen another vision that changed everything?

  She glanced over her shoulder, but to her surprise she saw a young woman blazing toward her, a bright sword raised high above her head.

  ‘Oh gods,’ Wadi said, and attempted to spur her mount on faster. Her fingers grew slick with sweat around the reigns. Erdene. She looked over again, and saw that she was catching her up.

  ‘Stop!’ The word reached Wadi’s ears, but she felt no inclination to stop, even if to ignore the command was futile.

  A whistle sounded in the air, and Wadi’s blood turned ice-cold in her veins. Something hit her shoulder, hard, and Wadi cried out in pain. Her horse whinnied loudly, rearing up and throwing Wadi from its back. She rolled on the ground, clutching her shoulder, as the horse fled.

  The arrow had hit her shoulder, but luckily she’d been wearing her thick leathers, and a silk shirt underneath, so the arrowhead had not penetrated her skin. If she survived the night, she knew would have a deep indigo bruise there, to match her clothing.

  She heard Erdene’s horse slow down as she approached. Wadi looked up at the other girl, trying to keep her expression neutral. ‘Erdene? What are you doing here?’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘It is my duty protect the Khan. And I don’t know what you’re up to, but whatever it is . . . I know it’s not in the Khan’s interest.’ She drew her Yun sword, the metallic twang of it slicing through the air.

  ‘No, Khareh sent me away,’ Wadi said, hoping that the nervous energy rushing through her would help to mask the lie. ‘See?’ She struggled to her feet and fumbled in her pocket for the ring she had taken from Khareh. ‘He gave this to me as a token to prove that I was really one of his messengers.’

  Erdene squinted at it, then grunted dismissively. ‘As if I would believe you. You are a dirty, ignorant, useless savage. As soon as I heard you were gone after what happened in the arena, I knew you were up to good! And now I find you here, dealing with one of the few tribes that has not pledged tribute to the Khan!’

  Wadi waited for a few heart-stopping moments for Erdene to mention a seer, or the rumours of one living in the camp. But she did not.

  ‘Why would he give this to me if I wasn’t doing his bidding?’ asked Wadi.

  Erdene hesitated for a moment, but then a dark look descended on her face. ‘Even if he did give it to you freely, he shouldn’t have. I should be the only one he trusts.’

  Wadi’s eyes opened wide with fear, staring at the drawn sword. ‘Erdene . . . please. Don’t do this. I . . . I don’t mean Khareh any harm. I saved his life, remember?’

  Erdene threw her head back and laughed, but it was tinged with bitterness. ‘You saved his life, but you have humiliated him by escaping. He might pretend to be your friend, but I know the truth. I know what he wanted me to do: he wanted me to find you if you left. Find you and kill you.’

  Wadi swallowed, hard. ‘Khareh ordered you to come after me and kill me if I left?’

  ‘Khareh-khan didn’t have to order me to do anything! I know what I have to do. Why are you sneaking around here, anyway? I thought your home was in the desert? Whatever you are doing, I know you’re trying to bring Khareh down. And I am not going to let you do it.’

  Wadi looked up at Erdene. She loomed a fearsome figure on the horse, her Yun sword held high. Wadi felt like a bug the Yun girl was about to crush beneath her boot. Wadi had the sword that the tribespeople had given her, but didn’t have the skill to use it. She should have asked for throwing knives instead.

  Raim had taught her the basics of how to use a sword, and Silas too. She’d had Yun trainers, but she was not Yun. Erdene – for all her love of fine things, for all her complicated feelings for Khareh – was Yun. She was one of the best.

  ‘Maybe Khareh will never want me. But I know he’d want me to do this.’ Erdene then surprised Wadi by dismounting. She’d had her hair tied back in a long braid, and she was dressed in her finest Yun fighting gear. She had long boots that reached up to her knees, and a leather striped tunic that acted as lightweight armour. She also had a strip of toughened leather on her arm – a shield like the one Raim had used.

  She swung her Yun sword in the air in slashes of figure eights, and the sword dazzled as the light caught it in the air.

  Wadi drew her own sword, but it looked blunt and battered in comparison.

  Erdene charged at her then, with the fury of a person who was defending the one she loved. Wadi blocked the blow, and recovered as quickly as she could – with all the conviction of someone who was fighting for their life. Fighting to survive.

  That was stronger.

  Or so she hoped. Erdene slashed at her again, and again Wadi was only just able to parry the strike in time. The blow had Erdene’s sword right up against Wadi’s neck, the only thing preventing it from slicing her head clean off being the pressure of her own blade back against it. She could feel her skin stiffen, stretch and then split beneath the weight. Her breaths quickened, her eyes stretched wide. With a mighty grunt, she shifted all her weight back onto Erdene, giving herself a split second to spin away from the sword.

  Blood trickled down her neck. She could feel it running under her tunic; she could smell it in her nostrils.

  Fear ignited in her bones now, a fire lit by the scent of her own blood. She unleashed a scream of anger, and began going on the attack against Erdene. She was satisfied to see the sheen of sweat appear on the other girl’s face, even as she dripped sweat like she had emerged from a lake of exertion.

  Then Erdene seemed to drop her right hand, rolling her wrist in a manner that suggested pain. Wadi was like a fear-soaked animal. She didn’t think about whether she had hit Erdene on that side. She only saw an opportunity.

  She didn’t see the feint.

  Erdene retaliated with a blow that knocked the sword clean from Wadi’s hands. There was a moment of shock – of panic – a moment that Wadi could not afford. While she scrambled to find her sword again, Erdene put her boot on Wadi’s back and kicked her into the dust. With another kick, she spun the sword away from Wadi’s grasp. Wadi flipped onto her back, prepared to face her opponent and meet her end head-on.

  Erdene didn’t take a moment to reflect or brag. She struck down again, with a blow as hard and as accurate as she could manage. Erdene would show no mercy for being her companion for so long. No mercy for the moments they had spent t
ogether. No mercy at all. Not so long as Wadi was on the side opposite Erdene – the side opposite Khareh.

  Wadi’s reflexes had rarely failed her, and she rolled to avoid the blow. It rang against the dusty ground as if it had struck metal. Wadi couldn’t imagine how any ordinary blade ever stood a chance.

  She didn’t know then if it was because she was Sola’s child, or whether it was just dumb luck – but the sun came out from behind the clouds just then, striking the sword as Erdene was lifting it. The brightness of the flash scared them both, but Wadi was used to moving with the sun in her eyes. Her hands scrambled against her body, finding the dagger that she had tied around her thigh. She yanked it out, drawing blood along her leg as she did so, but in the heat of the moment, fighting for her life, she didn’t notice the pain.

  The flash of sunlight on her sword blinded Erdene for no more than a second. But a second was all Wadi needed. In that moment she moved swiftly up, and close to Erdene. So close . . . her hand suddenly grew warm, warm and wet.

  Erdene’s mouth opened, then shut again, her throat trembling as she spoke. ‘Don’t . . . Don’t let . . .’

  But before she could finish, the light went out in her eyes, and Erdene dropped to her knees, then to the ground, Wadi’s dagger stuck in her side.

  44

  RAIM

  ‘I’m sorry about that,’ said the man, in surprisingly good Darhanian.

  The inside of the man’s house was lit only by the light from a small bamboo stove. Shadows seemed to inhabit every corner, and as Raim’s eyes adjusted to the poor light, he saw how simply furnished it was. Heat emanated from the stove, which sat on a table in the corner. On top, there was a small iron kettle, brewing leaves. The smell reminded Raim of his grandmother’s favourite tea.

  The man pulled a bowl down from the shelf, a deep crack running through the orange-red pottery. ‘I’ve been waiting for you.’ He poured a watery-looking substance into the bowl and passed it to Raim.