The Oathbreaker's Shadow Read online

  ‘I’m . . . uh, well . . .’

  ‘Somewhere you definitely shouldn’t be? Come on.’

  Raim’s stomach flipped with dread as she dragged him outside. But to his surprise, she said, ‘Don’t worry, I haven’t come to punish you – although you were doing an incredibly dangerous thing just then. The situations the Prince gets you into.’

  He followed her back towards the city, pausing at a water pump so he could wipe his face. They entered the city through the main gates, and into the jostling market.

  ‘Mhara – how could the sage teach Khareh how to conjure?’

  Mhara scoffed as if she hardly believed the magic to be real. But she had been in the royal yurt and seen it too, with her own eyes. ‘I have no time for legends. No doubt he thinks he is a precious commodity. But to me, his magic is nothing.’

  ‘So you don’t believe he is a sage like in the old stories?’

  ‘No, I am sure they died out long ago. He should have stayed in Lazar, where oathbreakers like him belong.’ Suddenly, she broke out into a rare smile. ‘You know, Raim, you have been my best pupil. There is no doubt that you are the most promising apprentice the Yun has ever had. No need to blush, it is true. Your skills are far beyond your years.’

  Raim beamed back, relieved that his antics hadn’t got him kicked out of the Yun apprenticeship the day before his test. ‘Khareh is already preparing all the celebrations for tomorrow. I tried to tell him that I hadn’t actually won yet, but he wouldn’t listen.’

  Her smile slowly faded. ‘You should be wary of Khareh,’ she said, after a long silence.

  ‘He’s my best friend.’

  ‘I know.’ She seemed to stare straight into his skull. ‘Has he made you his Protector?’

  Raim shook his head and broke away from his mentor’s un comfortable scrutiny. ‘But he will.’ He paused, then added, ‘And I would be honoured.’

  ‘Do you remember when I told you about the Absolute Vow?’

  Of course he remembered. How could he forget? It was the defining moment of his life, when he first realized that his greatest ambition – becoming the Khan’s Protector and leader of the Yun – could actually come true. But it unnerved him to remember it now. Mhara obviously still held reservations about Khareh. Did she still not trust him to make the right decision about his own future?

  The conversation had taken place three years ago, when he was long settled into his Yun apprenticeship. They had been riding together, Raim on Pouri, an old but a temporary settlementmSVnod experienced mare and Mhara on Crear, a magnificent black stallion. They were returning from archery practice. Raim was learning to synchronize the release of his arrow with Pouri’s gallop, so that all her hooves were in the air at the time of the shot. It would improve his aim immensely. And he had succeeded that day, so Mhara was pleased with him. They would’ve continued to train long into the dark, but his ring had broken.

  The ring was vital. He wore it on his thumb. The string on a Yun bow was too taut, the tension too strong, to be maintained by human fingers alone, let alone the fingers of a thirteen-year-old boy. To supplement their strength they used a ring with a curved hook protruding from it, like the talon of a bird of prey, which they wore on the strongest digit – the thumb to pull back the string. His was just made out of crudely sewn strips of leather – a hunter’s ring really, not made for the challenge and rigour of warfare. He eyed Mhara’s ring with envy and excitement. It was made of a precious white metal and richly engraved with symbols from her tribe and the khanate. One day, he would have a ring like that too. But for now, they had to return, so he could mend the leather talon, which had snapped off the circular part of the ring.

  He thought she must have caught him staring at it, for she rotated her ring slowly as they meandered back to camp with their horses. ‘Straighten your back more,’ she said, commenting on his technique. ‘And adjust your feet so your toes are just balancing on the stirrup. You need to be as nimble as a dancer when you shoot.’

  He couldn’t ask for a better teacher. While there may have been one or two Yun who could best Mhara in a sword fight, in archery she had no equal. What she lacked in arm muscle – and she didn’t lack much – she made up for in accuracy and horsemanship. She could see impossibly long distances, finding targets across the miles. She never learned to read or write, and couldn’t stand to look at maps, not even for strategizing. Instead, she would look out over the country side and develop plans with her immense mental and actual vision. Anything close seemed to bother her.

  Even people. She was the first Protector to be a woman in ten generations of Khans. If it had been any other woman, someone could have started slanderous rumours, accusing her of making the Khan unfaithful to the Seer-Queen or of seducing her way into power. But the Khan had been careful in his selection. Mhara had never been known to show affection to anyone. The closest she ever came were displays of pride and almost motherly tenderness towards her favourite apprentice, Raim. And even those moments were few and far between.

  That day had been the first time she had shown him her promise knot to Batar-Khan. Mhara had drawn her curved scimitar out from its sheath and balanced it on top of her knees. The blade itself was deadly and beautiful – Raim had to shield his eyes from the glint. Sealed inside the translucent blade like an insect trapped in an amber tomb was a simple knot; simple, but it represented her Absolute Vow of unconditional fealty to Batar-Khan. The knot was preserved even though the process of being sealed in the mould with searing hot ochir would destroy ordinary thread. And – Sola forbid – if Mhara were to break her vow, the sword would shatter and the knot would burn, marking her like any other oathbreaker.

  Mhara had been amused by his ogling eyes. ‘Raim, even without your close friendship with Khareh, you would be asked by any Khan to be his Protector. Even Batar-Khan would ask you to replace me, should I die or lose my skills to age.’

  ‘N softened. ‘You should n from the

  ‘Raim, why is it that a Yun may make an Absolute Vow to the Khan, but a warlord may not?’

  ‘Because it is not a warlord’s duty to protect the Khan, but to protect the interests of his people. He can’t give his life to the Khan because his life is given to his tribe.’

  ‘That’s right. So you understand an Absolute Vow, then? What it means?’

  Raim remembered puffing out his chest at this, speaking with swollen pride. ‘It means promising to defend your Khan at any cost. Being willing to lay down your life for him, without any hesitation! It means being able to die with honour and glory in the tradition of the Yun – just as you promised to Batar-Khan.’

  But her stern expression was like a needle in his balloon of pride. ‘Yes, I did. But do you know how many times I refused him?’

  Raim shook his head, more out of disbelief than anything else. Mhara had refused the honour?

  ‘Seven times.’

  ‘No!’ he cried out. He couldn’t help himself.

  ‘Yes. Over the course of an entire year, Batar-Khan – then just the Crown Prince himself – asked me seven times to be his Protector. I refused each time, because I wasn’t certain of his character. Eventually, he proved himself to me, and the fact that he was willing to do that – to prove himself to someone of such a lower rank than himself – meant I accepted. Taking an Absolute Vow means giving your life to one person. In every way. There is no backing out. There is no changing your mind. Once the promise is made you are his Protector for life. You break this vow, you don’t get exiled. You die. Is Khareh worth that?’

  Raim swallowed. ‘I know this. And he is. In every way.’

  Mhara nodded but turned her head away. Raim felt a swirl in his stomach, knowing Mhara was trying to tell him something, but he didn’t understand. ‘You remind me too much of your mother,’ she said. The remark was just an aside. Raim didn’t even know if he had heard correctly, or if he remembered it right. Only that she had mentioned his mother. He had thought many times about asking Mhara more about her
, but he dismissed it. Whoever his parents were, it didn’t matter. If she had been important, Mhara would have said something. But Mhara never said another word.

  8

  Raim wasn’t completely sure where Loni and Dharma were in Kharein, so he jogged quickly back to the main gate, sticking to the alleyways as much as possible, and avoiding big crowds of people. He relaxed as soon as Loni and Dharma were in sight.

  ‘Thought we would find you here!’ Loni said with a grin. ‘Didn’t Mhara tell you to come find us?’

  ‘She did, but . . .’

  ‘Hiding out from the wolves baying for your blood, hmm? Well, let’s get moving then – we need to get you your promise string. Then we can hide you away in the yurt, like the other apprentices.’

  There was a merchant class in Darhan that dealt brisk trade in promise string. While in reality a promise could be knotted out of anything – a loose thread on a tunic or a snip of hair, as the young of Darhan were forced to do – it was considered extremely base and disrespectful to do so for anything important. More accepted was to buy two lengths of ready-prepared string from a merchant, which were then folded many times and worn around the waist like a belt.

  The stringmongers’ stalls were located on the bank of the Iod, close to the mill. Raim, Loni and Dharma picked their way out of the food stalls and through the rest of the market where merchants were selling coats and boots lined with rabbit-fur for winter, iron pots, tiny greenstone carvings of Sola – the desert goddess – and Naran – the sun goddess – and weapons of all shapes and sizes. Everything was displayed on hastily built stalls that collapsed against the walls at night. Nothing was very secure, or permanent, in Kharein. It was the capital city of nomads – if the need arose, it could be packed up and moved. The few solid structures – the Rentai, the palace, the mill – could be rebuilt somewhere else, if the land required it. The Darhan listened to the land. Respected it. They had moved before.

  They reached the first stringmonger’s stall. Bundles of rope dripped from the ceiling, every colour of the rainbow covering the stall’s surface. Raim could barely make out the face of the merchant, as he too was covered in a brightly covered garment with geometric patterns all over. The merchant spotted him and cried out:

  ‘Honour boy, I have just the string for you!’

  Loni grabbed his arm before he could look. ‘No, no, we will go and see Borum.’

  ‘Yeah, I know,’ said Raim. Tarik had bought his strings from Borum two years prior. ‘His stall was further down the river, right?’

  Borum was out in front of his stall, finishing up a deal with a girl and her grandmother. His mouth spread into a wide grin as he saw them approach and gold winked from every other tooth.

  ‘Loni! Raim! I wondered when I would be seeing you. And delightful Dharma – I pray you have been putting your threads to good use.’

  ‘Of course, Uncle Borum,’ said Dharma, with an enthusiastic nod that made her black curls bounce against her shoulder. She had purchased ordinary thread – not promise string – from him in order to continue her weaving. ‘I have just been to visit with the Una – they feel I might be ready to join them one day, if I keep on practising.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it, little star of Sola. And when you do, I will commission many rugs from you to decorate my home.’ He turned to Raim. ‘It’s your turn at last! It must feel like an age to you – and just in time.’

  ‘You have no idea!’ Raim had never been more grateful to be born just before the start of the Festival season. If he had been born a day later, he would have had to wait another year before being able to take his Yun test.

  ‘You must be very proud of your boy, Loni. Do you know, he will be my first ever Yun string-bearer, Sola willing?’ He ushered them all closer to the stall and he disappeared round the back. Raim ran his hands over the different strings, each made of a different material. There were emerald-coloured strings of silk and maroon cotton threads. Some were so coarse they pricked his fingers and others were so delicate he was afraid they would disintegrate with a touch from his calloused hands.

  ‘Perhaps, since you will hold such an important post in the future, you might be interested in something to reflect the stature of Yun.’ Borum reached beneath his stall and produced a large rectangular box about the length of Raim’s arm and as shallow as his palm. It was made of soft black leather, and he laid it out carefully in front of the trio. He clicked the lock and opened it. Raim’s breath caught in the back of his throat.

  Inside were a hundred strings of the finest quality, laid out side by side. Even to his untrained eye, Raim knew someone had laboured for many years to find them – and also that they would cost vast amounts of money. They were expensive because of the risk involved in procuring them. The stringmongers would pay special gatherers huge sums of money to track down supplies from the most difficult of places: the finest kork wool from under the chin of a goat that only thrived on the frozen caps of the Amarapura mountains, or strands of silk from glowworms hidden in the deepest caves of Zalinzar.

  They were all dazzlingly beautiful. One thread in particular caught his eye; a rich indigo with flecks of gold interwoven in the thread. It looked ablaze with fire.

  ‘You have good taste,’ said Borum, following Raim’s eyes. ‘You won’t find anything finer. Would you like to try—’

  But Loni interrupted before Raim had the chance to touch the beautiful thread. ‘Borum, this is all wonderful but I’m afraid we will have to set our sights on something more modest.’

  The old merchant’s eyebrows rose, creating deep lines in his brow. He looked about to protest, but seeing the determination on Loni’s face, he snapped the case shut. ‘All right then. Tell me what you are looking for and we will go from there. Something similar to your brother, perhaps?’ Borum perked up as he remembered Tarik had purchased promise string that was of much better quality than average. He motioned towards the fine silk strands spread over the left side of his stall.

  ‘Hmm, well . . .’ Loni pulled a small pouch out of his tunic pocket and emptied the contents out onto the stall. A few bronze coins and a smattering of silver spilled out. ‘he Western Eye of Shebaets nostrils feThis is all I have.’

  It was barely enough to buy threads of the most common variety, let alone anything interesting. Raim reached into his pockets and added whatever else he had to the pile. The total was still in significant. Suddenly, spending money on the tyrfish didn’t seem that wise at all and made him feel sick to his stomach. He didn’t understand. How could Loni have neglected to save for his promise string? He had saved for Tarik, and Raim had seen the pile of money that Loni added to every month for Dharma. Where was his?

  Borum’s nostrils flared as he stared down at the pile of rust on his stall. ‘I . . . see. Well, I’m afraid I’ll have to go to my caravan to find something suitable. Nothing on display here is in that range. Forgive me.’

  Once Borum’s heavy form had lumbered away, Loni answered Raim’s unasked question.

  ‘I’m sorry, Raim, but I had to give your money to Yasmin for the memory tea. You know her services are very much in demand . . .’

  ‘But she’s my GRANDMOTHER. She took all the money saved for my promise string for what? So that I could have ten seconds of a fuzzy dream? I’m going to be the laughing stock of the Yun with some tatty bit of string to represent me!’

  ‘She came to you as a healer, not your grandmother. If you want to use the skills of a healer, you must pay.’

  ‘That’s just it! I didn’t want to use her skill for something so unimportant. She came to us, remember? So why do I have to pay for it?’

  Before Loni could respond, Borum returned. ‘You have two choices, Raim. Brown or brown?’ He chuckled. ‘I can’t face giving my first Yun the worst of my stock. So take this – it is good quality wool from a yak that I haven’t had a chance to dye yet. It’s not luxury but it is not a disgrace either.’

  Raim took the two pieces of rope in his hands and held u
p the ends. Immediately a warmth spread through his palms. These ropes would tie together the pieces of his soul. And suddenly it didn’t matter that it was coarse and undyed; it was his to own. The next day, he would reach Honour Age and be able to pledge himself to the Yun. These would be the threads to do it. He opened his mouth to say thank you, but the words wouldn’t come out.

  Borum chuckled. ‘You are welcome, Raim-en-Yun! And good luck in your duel tomorrow. Although rumour has it that you won’t need it.’ He winked.

  Raim blushed a deep crimson.

  Raim was still admiring the length of promise string when they were back at home. Loni had left him with his sister, so he could join in a tournament of a complex tile game with the other elders. He gave them strict instructions not to stay up too long after darkness fell.

  There was a steady hum of noise from the thousands of people who were camped around them, but sitting next to Dharma inside their yurt, the low fire warming their hands, Raim felt comfortably alone.

  Dharma was weaving again, and the flickering light from the flames illuminated the delicacy of her work in more detail, making it come alive. Dharma was a life-weaver. Instead of using geometric patterns to represent events, she wove people and the scenery itself into her designs. There was no doubt with this kind of work that she would one day be part of the Una tribe of weavers. Raim traced his fingers over the stitches to speakbl whole d of the mountains. Intricate weavings of Tarik and his bride stood stiffly beneath them.

  ‘Do you miss him?’ she asked, continuing her work.

  He shrugged. ‘We all have our duties. We all have to leave sometime.’

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ she said. ‘When you’re Yun.’ She bit her lip. ‘Look.’ She pulled out another loom Raim had never seen before. Somehow she had managed to conceal it from him within her own little saddlebag. She peeled away the thin cotton she had wrapped around it as carefully as if it were made of glass. There were four squares, each a scene that could be added to a carpet. The detail was vivid and lifelike.