The Shadow’s Curse Read online

  The shadow hesitated. But it did as it was told. It did not come any closer. It lingered for an instant, as if studying Wadi, then in a swirl, a rush, it swept through the yurt wall – surely to find Khareh again.

  Wadi let out a breath. And with it came the first of many tears.

  8

  RAIM

  Tarik was running. Raim took off after him like a shot, knowing that he could absorb the shock of seeing his brother after he caught up with him. Draikh, can you help? Raim asked in his mind. Tarik still wasn’t the quickest runner, but on this unfamiliar ground, he had the advantage over Raim.

  ‘Tarik, wait!’ he shouted out. His brother’s head bobbed almost out of sight. Then Raim caught sight of him again, heading upwards, towards the hidden heights of the mountain.

  Draikh, however, had no hindrances. He didn’t have to worry about overturning a rock underfoot, or keeping a sense of direction on unknown ground. He simply flew up to Tarik and held his hand out. Tarik ran chest-first into Draikh’s outstretched palm. He let out an anguished cry, and beat at the air with his hands, but Draikh had disconnected again, so his fists flailed at nothing.

  Raim used those few seconds to scramble up to the same level as Tarik. Still, his brother tried to run from him, but now Raim was able to pick up his pace. He reached out and grabbed his brother by the edge of his tunic. Tarik pulled away, shaking and twisting his body as hard as he could, but Raim didn’t let go and they both tumbled to the ground. Still, Tarik struggled.

  ‘Tarik! It’s me!’

  ‘Raim?’ Tarik stopped struggling. It was as if his eyes had opened and Tarik was seeing him for the first time. ‘But what are you doing here? Last I heard, you had been exiled from Darhan to the desert!’

  Raim studied his brother, still holding him tightly by his tunic. He wasn’t certain he could trust him, not after seeing the way he ran so quickly. Finally, he let out a long sigh and let go. He was going to have to trust Tarik if he was going to get answers. And, in turn, he somehow had to find a way to get Tarik to trust him. ‘I was in the desert, you’re right, but not for the reasons you think. I’m not an oathbreaker.’

  ‘Then what are you?’

  ‘I’m . . .’ Raim hesitated. He hadn’t ever spoken the words out loud before. ‘I’m a sage.’

  Tarik stared. ‘What did you say?’

  The words had barely come out a whisper. Raim cleared his throat, and spoke more loudly. It was the truth, after all. ‘I’m a sage.’

  Raim had expected shock, or at least surprise from Tarik, but all he could see in his brother’s eyes was curiosity. Tarik looked from Raim to the shadow-form of Draikh. ‘That isn’t possible,’ he said.

  ‘It is,’ said Raim. ‘I control this shadow,’ he added, following Tarik’s gaze as it continued to flicker between them.

  ‘That’s not strictly true,’ said Draikh, in Raim’s mind.

  I know, but our situation is too difficult to explain just now. Will you cooperate?

  ‘For you, I suppose,’ the spirit replied.

  ‘Can you prove it?’ asked Tarik, his voice edged with excitement.

  Raim nodded. He made a show of swirling his hands in front of him, and in response, Draikh flew in circles around him, so it looked to Tarik as if Raim were engulfed by shadow. Draikh picked up several shards of rock for effect, so it looked as if Raim were able to levitate the stones. Then Raim raised his hands to the sky, and Draikh flew straight up in the air.

  Sagery.

  Or so it would have looked to Tarik.

  Then, that curiosity turned to something else. Tarik sat up straighter, and stared wide-eyed at Raim. ‘You’ve taken a big risk coming here. Are you alone?’

  Raim nodded. He had no choice but to be completely honest with his brother. ‘I need your help.’

  Tarik shook his head, but there was a small smile on his face. ‘I’m not sure I will be able to help you. I’m just a novice. But if anyone has answers, then Qatir-bar, my master, will have them. I can take you to him.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Raim. ‘It is good to see you, brother.’ He suppressed the urge to pull him into an embrace. Although they had never been close, it still filled Raim’s heart with warmth to see him alive, and looking well.

  But the gulf between them remained wide.

  Walking beside his brother, Raim looked at him more closely. His head was shaved, but he still didn’t have the signature flattened-forehead of the Baril, said to be formed by hours of intensive prayer. Tarik was the most pious person Raim had ever known, so it surprised him that he hadn’t spent every second he’d been in the Baril with his head bowed to the floor.

  Maybe he was too busy running chores to pray. Raim bit at the edge of his fingernail as they walked. Tarik looked the same as the brother he had known but there was something different about him. In the tribe, Tarik had been the most intelligent one – the one who could read and write, the one who was destined to be a Baril master. Ordinary tribespeople both feared and were in awe of the Baril. The secretive monks spent their days devoted to exploring life’s mysteries, while most tribespeople were too busy simply living to spend much time pondering.

  His intelligence meant he had often segregated himself from the tribe, but it also gave him an edge – an authority. He used to walk with his head held high. But all signs of that quiet authority were gone now, replaced with a curved slump of his shoulders that suggested something else: servitude, maybe. He looked defeated. Something must have happened in the few months to affect the change, but Raim couldn’t think what.

  Raim had never been in awe of the Baril, but as they climbed his awe increased of the place they chose to live. On the horizon, Raim could see a line of mountains so huge their snow-covered caps were visible above the clouds. The air was sharp and crisp, every breath searing his lungs and sending shivers running down his spine.

  There was a clatter of stones nearby, which attracted Raim’s attention. He looked up the sheer cliff on their right-hand side and spotted a scrawny goat making its sure-footed way across the rock face. Beneath its chin, the goat had a soft beard, something considered very precious in Darhan – it could be spun into high-quality promise string. Such goats were supposed to be quite rare. Raim wondered if the people here hunted the goats for their hair. Even as he was thinking this, a bit further along the mountainside, he caught sight of a young Baril woman edging her way towards the goat.

  He imagined that would be a pretty good source of income for the Baril.

  ‘Watch out,’ said Draikh, a moment too late to be useful. Tarik stopped, and Raim ran straight into his back.

  Raim was expecting a temple to appear ahead of them, but as of yet as far as his eye could see, there was nothing more than the same craggy boulders they had been crossing. Despite their proposed pledge to lead simple lives, he could imagine a lot of Baril needing a little bit more luxury than the inside of a cave.

  ‘This part is a bit tricky,’ said Tarik. ‘You might need my help.’

  Raim almost laughed – the Tarik he had known would have never offered help to Raim. But then he saw what Tarik meant. At the base of the cliff face, a very steep set of steps had been cut into the rock, with iron handholds bolted in at some of the trickier junctions where the steps switched directions. Even as he marvelled at the workmanship, he dreaded the prospect of the climb. But seeing his brother scale them as easily as if they were the big, wide steps up to the palace in Kharein filled him with confidence. Or, at least, if not confidence then the desire to prove that he could do anything his brother did.

  Do you think they get avalanches here? Raim thought to Draikh. Rockslides? Raim craned his neck and looked up at the mountains around them. They were tall and silent; it did not look like they were in any danger of dumping a load of snow on the stairs.

  Raim’s thick winter boots didn’t provide him with the right grip, and he wished for a second that he could take them off and go barefoot, where he could at least feel the surface with his toe
s. But as he pressed his cheek against the stone, the coldness of it almost froze his skin – his toes wouldn’t have stood a chance.

  His brother looked down at him, ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Fine!’ said Raim, with more confidence than he felt. At a difficult switchback, Tarik waited for him, and guided him round it as he held on to an iron bar. ‘Thanks,’ Raim said.

  ‘No problem. Just keep your head up in about ten steps time. You’re not going to want to miss this.’

  His feet felt like they were inches from slipping, and each step narrower than the last – too well worn by the passing of hundreds of Baril to really be safe. But he kept his eyes on where Tarik had disappeared over a ledge, and to what he assumed would be the destination.

  When he finally reached the last of the steps, he gripped the handhold and practically ran up the last few. And he wasn’t disappointed. At first, he could only see cloud, but then the mist dissipated enough to show a flash of gold. The cloud continued to part like a curtain, unveiling the roof then the terrace, then the walls, then the windows, then the steps leading up to the enormous temple.

  Now this was more like what he expected of a great Baril dwelling.

  The sight of the gold-painted temple surrounded by majestic mountains was something he thought he would never see in his lifetime. In fact, ordinary people just never came here. Only Baril.

  Raim rubbed his palms against his tunic. He was glad there was no one else around. He could feel little beads of sweat accumulating around his hairline.

  ‘Nervous much?’ asked Draikh.

  You have no idea.

  ‘Come on,’ said Tarik. ‘I will take you to see Qatir-bar.’

  The temple doors burst open, and out came a stream of Baril monks – but different from any Baril monks Raim had ever seen before. These men had muscles bigger than most Yun, with expressions that made Raim believe he was about to be pummelled into the ground. There was no escaping it either – behind them were only the sheer steps, and Raim didn’t fancy going down them in a hurry.

  One of the biggest monks stopped and pointed a finger at Raim. ‘There! There is the oathbreaker. Take him!’

  ‘Raim, what do you want to do?’ asked Draikh.

  I don’t know – we’ve come so close . . . I can’t go back now.

  Raim turned in desperation to Tarik, who held up his hands. ‘I’m sorry, Raim – I thought I could avoid this. I will speak to Qatir-bar and explain everything.’

  Raim’s only choice was to trust his brother, as the burly Baril monks grabbed him roughly by the arms and dragged him towards the temple.

  9

  WADI

  The night passed without incident, which meant that Khareh’s plan had worked. Early scout reports told that Mermaden’s men were holed up behind their city walls and would not attempt a night-time raid. Khareh sent his generals to negotiate a settlement with Mermaden, as the next step. As they waited for the emissaries to return, Wadi spent the night listening in as Khareh learned about the great fortress city of Samar. It would be the young khan’s first proper test. He and his army had overrun the numerous other villages and small towns leading up through Yelak, but none of them had the sophistication of Samar’s defences.

  Yet Khareh didn’t seem to care much for Altan’s lessons on siege engines and warcraft. He was far more concerned with two other things: the infrastructure of the city’s water supply – which Wadi was having trouble wrapping her head around – and something Garus mentioned, called the ‘Temple of the Undying Women’, which sounded far more interesting to her. Although her eyelids felt heavy, she didn’t want to sleep while Khareh and his advisers were talking strategy. Any snippets of information she could garner might one day prove extremely useful.

  ‘And that’s where I will find it?’ asked Khareh, rubbing his eyes. None of them had slept a wink.

  Garus nodded, his eyelids drooping.

  ‘So that will bring our total to three out of seven.’

  ‘Yes, my Khan.’ His words slurred into each other, and his chin slumped against his chest. He jumped with a start.

  Khareh rolled his eyes. ‘Go back to your yurt, Garus. All of you, clear out and get some rest. Tomorrow will be a big day. Tomorrow, I conquer my last enemy in the North.’

  At his words, the yurt emptied of everyone except Khareh, his shadow and Wadi.

  ‘The palace in Samar has water that runs through the walls, can you believe that? We could use that technology in Kharein. I don’t know why my uncle never insisted on Mermaden sharing his knowledge.’

  Wadi couldn’t be sure if Khareh was talking to her, or thinking out loud. When she hesitated in replying, he levelled his gaze straight at her.

  Wadi swallowed, but refused to back down under his scrutiny. ‘I met a few people from Yelak in the desert. From what I heard, Mermaden has never pledged allegiance to a Darhanian khan. He proclaims Samar a free city.’

  ‘You’re right there. He won’t even pledge to me, and you know well enough the rumours people spread about me,’ said Khareh. ‘He was one of the warlords my uncle never dared to put pressure on. Unfortunately for Mermaden, I do dare.’

  ‘Samar has held against many sieges. It’s thwarted many armies, some bigger than yours. That’s why Batar-khan didn’t try.’

  ‘I am not my uncle.’

  ‘That’s for sure. You are far worse.’

  Khareh studied her for a few unnerving moments. ‘That’s why I like our little chats, Wadi. You’re never afraid to tell it to me straight.’

  She narrowed her eyes, but in a way, she didn’t want to lose Khareh’s misplaced sense of trust in her. She needed to learn. She changed the subject. ‘What is the Temple of the Undying Women?’

  ‘Ah, now that is interesting. It’s the real reason I’m going after Mermaden now. Otherwise I might wait . . .’

  He is afraid, Wadi realized with a shock. Mermaden was not some lowly warlord of a tribe of fifty people, a few felt yurts and a herd of goats – he had ruled over a fortified city for more than thirty years. Khareh’s loyalty was newly won through fear. Mermaden’s rule was sealed by fear too, but it had also withstood the test of time. He had experience, and Khareh was little more than a boy. A boy with a spirit-army, but a boy nonetheless.

  She only hoped that Mermaden didn’t underestimate the boy-khan. Then maybe he would stand a chance.

  ‘The Temple of the Undying Women is run by a weird sub sect of the Baril – maybe the only sect not under Qatir-bar’s control,’ continued Khareh. ‘They call themselves “The Council”. Every generation, the Council selects a woman to become “the Undying”. Of course, these women do die – often while they are still young, as if they are struck by some kind of mysterious illness – and when that happens they just choose another to take her place. What links them is a special stone necklace that is passed down to each new Undying Woman. I used to beg my old tutor to tell me about them.’

  ‘You probably hoped the story was a key to immortality,’ said Wadi.

  Khareh shrugged. ‘Probably. But it wasn’t until I interrogated Garus that I understood what it truly could be. You see, I just couldn’t understand how Garus had escaped Lazar without crossing the desert. And that was when he told me about the tunnels – and how they were sealed by seven pass-stones, only two of which were left in Lazar. Or one, I suppose, after he stole the other. The rest were lost out in the world . . .’

  Wadi gripped her own stone, and Khareh nodded. ‘Yes, exactly like yours. When I heard the story of the Undying Women again, something clicked. Maybe the necklace that the Undying Woman must wear is a pass-stone too? If I’m right, that will bring me one step closer to owning all the stones – and unlocking the underground path to Lazar for good.’

  Wadi’s mind exploded with questions, but she was unable to ask them. There was a loud commotion outside the yurt, and a mud-streaked hand pulled open the curtain that barred the entrance. It was Lars, the Yun who Raim had beaten in a duel. But Wad
i had learned that since Raim had been exiled as an oathbreaker, Lars had been given a place with the Yun instead. ‘The general has returned, Your Excellence.’ He looked pale, as if he had seen a ghost.

  ‘One general? I sent three?’ Khareh stood up.

  ‘Yes, my Khan.’ He pulled aside the curtain.

  Wadi screamed. She couldn’t help herself. Even Khareh staggered backwards against the desk. The general stepped into the yurt, but around his neck were the heads of the other two emissaries, tied together by their long hair.

  ‘Mermaden did this?’

  ‘He said he would never accept a settlement with you, my Khan.’ The general trembled with every word.

  ‘Lars, get those wretched things off the man’s neck and get him some help, for Sola’s sake. Are the troops ready?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Lars.

  ‘Then we will move as soon as possible.’ Khareh balled his hands into fists. ‘Mermaden will not get away with this.’

  The yurt filled with movement, dozens of servants materializing seemingly from nowhere to dress and ready Khareh. Wadi remained in her corner, watching everything with careful eyes. She didn’t know what would be asked of her now that they were preparing for battle. She wouldn’t fight, although Khareh knew she was more than capable of it. He wouldn’t be foolish enough to give her a weapon. She knew exactly where she would use it.

  Khareh was going fully-fledged into battle – his ridiculous crown on, his two Yun swords, their curved edges twisted outwards, at his side. The blades were hung that way just for show – Khareh could never use them practically in battle. If it wasn’t so horrific, Wadi might even find it funny. Instead, it just demonstrated the extent of Khareh’s tyranny and power – that he could be as ostentatious as he wished, and no one dared to challenge him.

  Wadi’s hand went to the pendant around her neck, and her fingers absent-mindedly ran over the lines engraved into the stone. From what she had been able to glean, Khareh had not been so evil and terrifying when Raim knew him. Suddenly he had gone from Crown Prince – a spoiled brat, yes, but not a tyrant – to ultimate ruler, with no limits to his power and ambition. That was not a transformation that he could have undergone overnight. Or had Raim been right? Had Khareh lost the only part of his soul that had been reasonable in Draikh, and all that was left was the power-hungry, tyrannical ruler Khareh-khan?