The Shadow’s Curse

by Amy McCulloch

  Inside the whirlwind, the friction of the sand in the air set the king’s tent alight, and flames joined the sand and the wind. The heat grew unbearably intense and smoke thickened any air that was left to breathe.

  ‘Just a little more!’ shouted Khareh to Raim.

  Raim squeezed his eyes shut even tighter. The storm that raged in the desert grew even stronger as his spirit summoned even more sand, engulfing the army. They turned and fled, sprinting back across the sand as fast as they could run. ‘Retreat!’ came the cry from further back, but it was unnecessary. Every soldier was abandoning their post, and soon there was nothing left in that stretch of desert but the bent and broken blades of dropped swords and the bodies of the men who had succumbed to the sand.

  ‘They’ve stopped,’ said Khareh, and at that Raim broke his contact and opened his eyes. The wall of sand dropped like the final gasp of a waterfall, and an exhausted – but triumphant – spirit came back to join Raim. Immediately, Raim’s spine straightened and a new light came into his eyes. He had done it. He was a sage – and without a single broken oath in sight.

  Somehow, the king was still on his feet in front of them, his armour beaten and bent, his rich garments ripped to shreds by the sand, his skin blistered and burned. His army had abandoned him; even his generals looked defeated. The Alashan had huddled together, making themselves as small as possible in the storm. Helmets, swords, shields, littered the ground around the broken king.

  Khareh took a step forward. ‘Song, this is the end. Turn over your army and your lands to my command.’

  Raim was drained from raising the sand. His muscles were weak; his spirit exhausted. It took all his concentration merely to remain on his feet. And so he was almost too late to see the knife.

  King Song snarled. ‘Never,’ he said. He whipped back his cloak, where in his hand, he held a sharp silver dagger. He stabbed the blade at Khareh.

  ‘Draikh!’ Raim screamed.

  The spirit burst from Khareh, in time to shove Khareh aside. The blade sliced harmlessly through the air. Draikh and Khareh rejoined, but by now Khareh had had time to draw his own sword, and it plunged into the king’s side.

  Song dropped to his knees. ‘I have failed,’ he said, and those were his final words.

  King Song’s generals were in shock, but when Khareh turned to look at them, they instantly dropped to the ground in the lowest bow they could muster.

  One dared to lift his sword above his head, and he said the words: ‘Our swords belong to you, now. You are our king.’

  68

  WADI

  ‘Raim!’ Wadi couldn’t stand it any more. As soon as she had seen the storm of sand die down, she had rushed out of her place inside the tunnel. She had seen the danger as the king thrust a blade toward Khareh, and she’d seen the exhaustion in Raim as he struggled to prevent it.

  She had never seen a storm rage so fiercely in the desert – not in all her years of living there – and Raim had controlled it. No wonder he was tired.

  She ran up to him and threw her arms around him. She felt his body collapse into hers, and she broke his fall as he slumped onto the ground. She held his body close to hers and buried her face in his hair.

  ‘Wadi, you’re here,’ he said, his voice weak.

  She pushed him away, enough to look into his eyes. ‘You have changed everything now. You have given it all to him.’ She looked up at Khareh and her eyes flashed.

  ‘I’m not a khan, Wadi. I never was. Khareh is, in every way.’

  Wadi grimaced. ‘There will be many you will have to convince. Including me.’

  ‘I know. And that is why I will be at his side, making sure he doesn’t make the same mistakes. But I trust him. I trust Draikh.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ she said.

  ‘Help me stand?’ he asked. She put his arm across her shoulders and together they stood and faced Khareh.

  Khareh came over and clasped Raim’s hand. ‘We’ve done it.’

  Raim nodded. ‘The South is yours now. You are the Golden Khan. You can claim it.’

  ‘Yes. The South is mine. But I have one last thing to do first. Can you stand on your own?’

  Raim nodded again. Wadi unhooked his arm from around her shoulder, but did not move from his side. Her body still tensed in high alert from having Khareh so near. She didn’t know what he was going to do, and she didn’t trust him. Not even Raim’s trust in him could convince her to – not yet.

  Khareh reached out and grasped Raim’s hand. ‘Raimanan, I want to release you from your Absolute Vow to me.’

  Wadi saw Raim’s hand tighten around Khareh’s, felt his shock as the words hit home. She placed her other hand on his upper arm, steadying him as he took a shaky step forward. ‘What?’ he said.

  Khareh bit his lip, a moment of hesitation, before continuing. ‘You must agree, of course. But I don’t want you to protect me any more.’ He held his hand up to stop Raim from interrupting. ‘Only if, in exchange, you agree to knot your allegiance to me as Khan of Darhan in my place, instead.’ He lifted his crown from atop his head and held it out to Raim, gripping it by one of its jaguar fangs.

  Raim’s eyes grew wide. He didn’t reach out to take the crown. ‘I . . . I don’t understand.’

  Khareh gestured to his new generals. ‘I have a new land to rule now. And if what you say is true about the slaves, then I have a lot of work to do to change things there. And I have so much to learn about the South – knowledge that can help improve life in Darhan. You know it’s always been my dream to visit Aqben. If I want to be the true Golden Khan, then I have to rule equally over the South as the North. And to do that, I have to go there and understand the people.’

  Raim seemed lost for words. ‘But, I’m not ready. I’m not a khan.’

  Khareh raised an eyebrow. ‘There’s a part of me that says different.’

  For a moment, Khareh’s face flickered, and Wadi caught a smile on his face that she had never seen before. It was kind and mischievous all at once.

  Raim seemed to recognize this other side of Khareh.

  ‘Draikh?’ Raim said. The tension seemed to leave his body and a smile appeared on his face too. ‘You’ll love it in the South. Get them to show you their boats – they’re so different from the ones on Lake Oudo – although I don’t suggest a long journey on one.’

  ‘I will. And don’t worry about leadership. You will have Wadi with you. I don’t think you could ask for a better person to help you remember what’s most important.’

  Wadi raised her eyebrows at Khareh’s praise, and he laughed. Then he flicked his eyes back to Raim. ‘So . . . do you accept?’

  Raim swallowed hard. ‘I do.’ He reached behind his neck and lifted the knotted promise over his head.

  ‘Raimanan of the Moloti tribe, I release you from your Absolute Vow to me,’ said Khareh, holding onto one side of the necklace.

  ‘Khareh-khan, by your will and yours alone, I am no longer your Protector.’

  The knot began to smoke and dissolve in front of Wadi’s eyes. There was nothing left except the piece of promise string and the strand of Raim’s hair. They tied them together again in a loose knot, and spoke the new words.

  ‘Now, Raimanan of the Moloti tribe, will you make a vow of fealty to me, your Golden Khan, as the Khan of Darhan, to be my honoured vassal, and to watch over the homeland of my birth in my stead?’

  ‘I vow that I will, and that you will always have my loyalty, Khareh-khan, the Golden Khan, leader of the known world.’ Raim’s voice was steady as he spoke, and Wadi squeezed his shoulder in encouragement. They pulled the knot tight.

  ‘With you looking after Darhan for me, I know my homeland will be safe. In a year, you must come back here to Lazar to meet with me again and I will share with you everything I’ve learned from the South! We’ll make Darhan great,’ said Khareh.

  ‘We will,’ said Raim. He finally reached out and took the crown from Khareh’s hands.

  Wadi felt he
r heart soar. This was what Raim was destined for. When Raim had pledged his Absolute Vow again to Khareh, she thought all her hard work had been for naught. She thought she had failed Dharma – and failed Darhan. But Raim was Khan now, and Khareh was heading to the South.

  A groan came from one of the Alashan, and Wadi remembered herself. She rushed forward, sliding a knife out from the sheath at her belt, and sliced it through their bindings. When she reached Old-maa, she hugged the old woman tightly. She felt her stiffen at the affection at first, but then she relaxed. Wadi smiled until her cheeks burned. She had missed her old tribe so much.

  Raim turned to Mesan. ‘Are you all right?’

  Mesan nodded. ‘The king did not take too kindly to me helping you escape. But that doesn’t matter now. That was quite the storm. I don’t know how you did it, but I have never seen anything like that in all my time in Sola’s grasp.’ Wadi helped to interpret his rush of language.

  Raim clasped his shoulder. ‘Will you help Khareh return safely through Sola to the borders in the South? Then you and the rest of the tribe will be free to travel as you choose.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Mesan. ‘It is the least we can do for you both.’

  Wadi stepped up and embraced Mesan too. ‘Thank you.’

  Khareh turned to Wadi, his deep black eyes boring into hers. ‘Look after Raim for me, won’t you?’

  ‘Always.’

  Wadi hooked her arm through Raim’s, and they watched as the Alashan led Khareh and his new generals back across the dunes, to find the remnants of King Song’s army and claim his place on the Southern King’s throne.

  69

  RAIM

  The city of Lazar welcomed Raim and Wadi with open arms once they returned from the desert. Puutra-bar came rushing out to greet them through the main gates, the eyes of the citizens of Lazar still peering down from every angle. This time, Raim felt no fear or trepidation.

  This time, Raim was no oathbreaker. He was a khan.

  ‘We could hear the sand storm from everywhere in the city,’ the old man said, his voice trembling. ‘We thought Sola had taken you all.’

  ‘No,’ said Wadi. ‘It was Raim who summoned it. Or should I say, the Khan of Darhan did.’

  ‘What’s this?’ asked Puutra, one eyebrow rising.

  The crown felt heavy in Raim’s hands, but he gripped it tighter. He would strip it of its jaguar skull once he got to Darhan, but the emerald green he would take on as his colour. ‘It’s true. Khareh has given me Darhan to lead while he heads to the South to establish his rule there.’

  Puutra placed a hand on Raim’s shoulder. ‘You will be a good ruler, Raim. You were born for this too. You are a sage, and now . . . you are a khan too.’

  Raim fought back tears that pricked behind his eyes. ‘Thank you, Puutra-bar.’

  ‘I suppose you will be returning to your homeland,’ he said. ‘The people of Lazar thank you for saving us from the Southern King. We will lead you to the tunnels. Of course, you will need a pass-stone.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Raim. ‘I almost forgot.’ Underneath his tunic, where once his promise-knot to Khareh had sat, he now bore the pass-stone that Lady Chabi had given him. ‘This belongs to Lazar.’

  At the sight, Puutra’s eyes lit up and Wadi gasped in shock. A feverish murmur spread like wildfire through the crowd above them. ‘Where did you get this?’ Wadi asked, helping him remove it over his head.

  ‘A final gift from Lady Chabi,’ Raim said. ‘Maybe the only useful thing she has ever given me.’ He levelled his gaze at Wadi. ‘I feel like things aren’t over with her. She will be back.’

  ‘I know,’ said Wadi, in a voice that was barely a whisper. Then she revealed the two pass-stones she had in her possession, in addition to the one she had carried since birth. ‘That brings our total up to four,’ she said. ‘Three more out there. Three more, and then the route from Darhan to Lazar can be opened for good.’

  Raim nodded. ‘When we reach Darhan, I will make it my priority to hunt down the remaining three stones. But for now, I have my first declaration to make as Khan.’ He raised his voice and tilted his head back, so that it was clear he was addressing the entire population of Lazar. ‘Anyone who wishes may accompany Wadi and me back to Darhan, to return to your tribes. Sola knows, you have earned it. Or, you may stay, under the continued leadership of Puutra-bar and the Shan, and help rebuild this city to its former glory.’

  Some chose to stay. But a large majority decided to make the journey with Raim and Wadi, and Raim was glad. He remembered the rush of relief and comfort he had felt after arriving back in Darhan. He could imagine the others feeling the same way.

  Seeing the people of Lazar gathering their humble possessions to join them, Raim brimmed with pride. Wadi smiled at him too, a bright, beaming grin he hadn’t seen on her face since they had spent time together in the desert. ‘And you thought no one would want to follow you. But look at them now.’

  He turned and stared. These were the people who were no longer oathbreakers, just like he was no longer an oath-breaker. They were all going home. Wadi took Raim’s hand in hers and squeezed it tight.

  ‘Let’s go home,’ said Raim. ‘We have a nation to rule.’

  EPILOGUE

  DHARMA

  She could not see him, but she recognized the pattern of his steps, the weight of his presence, just outside the tent walls. But, of course, she had seen this moment coming in her dreams. She just hadn’t known exactly when. She tightened her fist around the piece of cloth she had been mending, and bit her lip in anticipation.

  Light fell on her face, the warmth of it tingling her cheek, as the curtain to the yurt swung open.

  No words were spoken. He simply rushed in, all muffled cries and swift-moving air, and gathered her up in his arms. She allowed herself to collapse against him and threw her own arms around his neck. He smelled like sand and fierce heat, overlaid with grass and rain. He wasn’t long from the desert.

  They broke apart, and she could sense him smile at her. She lifted her hands to his face and traced the line of his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. Then she remembered herself. She bowed her head. ‘My Khan,’ she said.

  He laughed. ‘Dharma, it’s just me. Your brother.’

  She wrinkled her nose. ‘I know who you are, silly. You’ve come with a task for me.’

  He hesitated.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘It’s no burden. In fact, it’s almost done.’

  She dropped her hand from his face to his shoulder, then drifted down his arm until she found his hand. She took it and indicated they both should go outside. She led him around the back of the yurt, and she could feel the footsteps of many others following them – their grandfather, Loni, and the girl, Wadi. She knew this place so well, she walked as confidently as if she had full use of her vision.

  ‘Let me see the knot,’ she said, holding out her other hand.

  ‘Here you are,’ he said, after a moment. He leaned forward so she could feel the weight of the knot in her hand. She could feel the importance of the vow: Raim’s pledge of allegiance to Khareh, the Golden Khan – not as his Protector, but from one khan to another. Then, she snapped her fingers.

  At her command, two of her best weavers stepped forward, carrying between them the project that she had been working on for a long time – a secret project that not even Loni had known about. She could tell by their shocked silences that they had seen what she had done, and were taking it all in.

  ‘This is the story of your vow,’ she said. ‘It’s all woven in there. All that was needed was this final piece.’ She stepped up to the intricately woven rug and ran her hands over the fine webs of fibres, finding the space in the very centre where she had left a hole for the promise-knot itself. The whole story would now centre around that knot, each scene depicted as she had seen it in her visions.

  ‘Dharma . . .’ Raim’s voice broke with emotion. ‘It’s perfect.’

  Dharma knew what he was lookin
g at. She knew every knot in the carpet off by heart, as well as she knew the ridges on the backs of her hands and the comfort of her grandfather’s embrace. Still holding Raim’s hand, she brought it up to touch the first panel, the first part of the story, which she could see so clearly in her mind’s eye.

  There, woven in threads of browns, golds and greens, the colours of the earth, was Raim. He was sitting in the crook of an old, cracked tree, one leg dangling in the breeze, his head leaning back against the trunk.

  Acknowledgements

  Second books are tough, and I couldn’t have reached this point without support from all corners. Many thanks are due to my agent, Juliet Mushens, for her friendship, care and attention. The team at Random House Children’s Books, especially my editor, Lauren Buckland, copyeditor Julia Bruce, and publicist, Harriet Venn, have been absolute rock stars. In Canada, thanks go to Amy Black, Pamela Osti and Lindsey Reeder for creating such an amazing reception for these books over there.

  Thanks are also long overdue to Tanya Byrne, Kim Curran, James Dawson, Will Hill, Laura Lam, Tom Pollock, James Smythe, Team Mushens and the Lucky 13s, for understanding in ways that only other people on this mad journey can. To my family and friends – and everyone who came out to support my first book – your support means the world to me, and I am the luckiest girl in the world because of it.

  But the biggest thanks of all goes to Lofty, who shares in all my mad adventures – both fictional and real.

  About the Author

  Amy McCulloch is a Canadian living in London, who fits writing around work as an Editorial Director at one of the UK’s leading children’s publishers. She was bitten by the travel bug at an early age while accompanying her parents on buying trips around the world for their oriental carpet business. It was this love of travel that inspired her to set a novel in a hot, desert location (moving to freezing Ottawa, Canada, where her first winter hit -40˚C, might do with that too). She studied Medieval and Old English literature at the University of Toronto.