The Shadow’s Curse (31 page)

Even Wadi cowered as the spirits flew overhead. In a flash, Khareh was down from the elephant’s back, sliding down the ladders with unnatural ease, and he was by her side. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked, a twinkle in his eye.

Ready to enter the desert? She was born ready. She imagined it would take them a day – possibly more – to find a route down to the desert from the cliff. She shrugged a response to Khareh, who took that as affirmation.

He spun round to face the desert, on the very edge of the cliff. He stretched out his arms, holding out one hand to Wadi. ‘Shall we go?’

She didn’t take his outstretched hand.

He took two steps forward anyway. And jumped.

The air thickened all around her as a steady stream of spirits whipped past, the entire army. They swept over her, around her, above her. She had to follow that? She grabbed her original pendant with her hand, held it tightly, thought of Lazar and the mission that Dharma had given her.

Then she walked to the edge of the cliff, and continued walking.

It was hard to imagine that somewhere across the vast, golden ocean, there was an equally vast army massing against Darhan. Wadi stared across the enormous dunes and half imagined that she could see the glint of sunlight off armour, spears shaking in the air, horses pawing the ground. It was exactly what Wadi had warned Khareh against. No army could survive the desert, surely? But what about an army that had been preparing for this journey far, far longer than Khareh’s army had? What if they had provisions, plans, access to water, and unlimited numbers of soldiers?

What if all they needed to do was take Lazar? Then it would be an easier journey into Darhan.

The Darhanian army, for all their training, wouldn’t have a chance.

If a single army scout from the South came and looked at them now, what would they see?

The two of them, standing on the top of the dune – Khareh still in his ridiculous crown, his intricately woven cloak wrapped over his shoulders, Wadi in her simple indigo tunic of the Alashan. And behind them, a dark swarm of shadows, as far as the eye could see. Would the shadows look threatening to them?

‘The desert. We are here at last. I feel like the gods have brought me here to this moment.’

Wadi turned away, staring at the sand beneath her feet. ‘Let’s get on with finding the tunnel.’

Wadi took him only as far as they could go while still in sight of the dark line that marked the cliffs of Darhan. They continued to walk in the morning light, since while Darhan was still visible the sun was not at its full strength, and while they still had food and water in their bellies, they were strong.

Wadi felt the sun warm her bones, and relished the delicious burn of her muscles working hard to fight the sand.

To his credit, Khareh refused to show much discomfort, even though he must have been feeling it. The only concession he made was to remove his crown, which he passed to his shadow to carry for him. Sweat soaked his hairline, making his dark hair seem slick with oil. As he struggled just to put one foot in front of the other, he seemed to lose the hardness that defined his character in Darhan – the boy trying so hard to hold onto his newly won power. Even with the spirit-army behind him, Wadi saw the true meaning of Khareh’s journey. He was travelling all this way, on his own, to prove his worth.

There was something to admire in that.

When Sola reached its peak, Wadi said: ‘Stop. We will rest here before it gets too hot.’

Khareh, however, kept on moving, plodding one foot in front of the other.

‘I said stop!’ Wadi repeated.

He spoke without turning his head back to look at her. ‘If you ask me to stop now and I obey, I won’t be able to move again today. Or possibly tomorrow.’

‘That’s the plan.’

‘Oh, good.’ Just like that, Khareh’s legs gave out from under him, and he collapsed to the ground in a heap.

‘Not so easy, is it?’

‘I could curl up in the sand here and die, if my entire country wasn’t on the line . . .’

Wadi chuckled, but then sobered. She was silent for a moment, then she ran her hands over the sand.

Khareh leaned forward. ‘What is it?’

‘Can you feel that?’

He spread his palms next to hers. ‘Feel what?’

Wadi was silent for a moment. ‘There! That.’

‘What?’

‘Water.’ Wadi’s eyes shone. ‘Deep below the surface. If we had a sandworm, we could access it.’ She breathed a deep sigh of relief because she could still remember how to read the desert, as easily as words on a page. Even more easily, maybe. The desert didn’t betray her, didn’t carry secrets, didn’t try to deceive or confuse her. It told her the truth.

She could feel the water surging through the sand, far below the surface, every granule beneath her legs vibrating the message. But then something jolted her out of her reminiscing. Khareh moved his hand so that it was over hers.

She looked up at him in alarm. But he wasn’t looking back at her with desire – at least, not that kind of desire.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘For showing this to me.’

She snatched her hand away like it had been plunged in ice water, and set about preparing her shelter for the day. Khareh watched her with his dark eyes, copying her every movement.

They rested through the heat of the day, and at night they started walking again. Wadi followed her instincts, guided by the stones, which brought them back towards the cliffs. Far above their heads, she could see a dark spot – the entrance to a tunnel.

Her hand moved to her pendant. She wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but it seemed like the stone pulsed with heat.
Yes, this is the place
.

‘Is that the entrance?’ Khareh asked.

Wadi nodded.

‘Then let’s go.’

‘My child, my son. You have made it to me.’

Lady Chabi awoke, her eyelids fluttering, the words coming out as barely a whisper. The Council women behind him, including Mei, all made cries of astonishment as Lady Chabi shifted in the bed, trying to pull herself up to a sitting position.

Mei rushed forward and moved a well-stuffed cushion behind her mistress’s back. ‘Lady Chabi of the Council, do you remember me? I am Mei. I have been your loyal servant ever since—’

‘Ever since I had to leave Darhan.’ Chabi placed her other hand on the woman’s cheek, although the movement made her wince. ‘Of course I remember you. So, have I made it to the South? Did you do everything I instructed?’

‘Of course, my lady.’

Relief washed over Lady Chabi’s features. ‘Then we don’t have a moment to lose. Get me out of this bed.’

The long years lying still while her spirit accompanied Raim had atrophied the muscles in Lady Chabi’s legs, even though the Council had tried their hardest to keep her moving and comfortable.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to rest longer, Lady Chabi?’ In truth, Raim wanted to ask her some of the myriad questions he had on the tip of his tongue.

‘Call me “mother”,’ she replied, her smile sweet.

Raim hesitated. He knew that his mother was originally Baril, but Loni and the other elders had raised him as a child of the steppes. The concept of ‘mother’ and ‘father’ rang hollow for him. He had been taught that his destiny was his own to carve out, and he felt far more affection to Loni and even his mysterious grandmother Yasmin than he could towards this woman he had only just met.

Obviously he had been wrong about his destiny . . .

He still left out the word ‘mother’. It didn’t feel right. ‘I just have so many questions.’

‘My spirit will heal me quickly now that it has returned,’ she said. She inhaled deeply. ‘I will be strong soon; I can feel it. There will be time for questions later.’

‘Our most important duty now is to retrieve the pass-stone,’ said Mei. ‘Once we have that, we can join the king with his army at the edge of the desert. He has been waiting for you, Raim.’

Raim nodded, swallowing hard. He stole glances down at his wrist as the Council women fussed over Lady Chabi. He couldn’t believe the scar had gone, just like that.

In order to move from the bed, Lady Chabi had to be lifted into a palanquin – a bamboo chair supported by poles, and carried by two of the Council women. Raim chose to walk alongside her – and even offered to carry one of the poles, but his mother refused.

They crossed an enormous courtyard paved in grey stone to reach the main room of the palace – a single-storey red-painted building that was the widest single building he had ever seen. The contrast between the red and grey made the palace appear like a boat in the centre of a dark grey sea: isolated, huge and imposing. The roof of the building was tiled in gold – so much gold Raim’s jaw dropped at the sight. It glinted under Naran’s rays, almost blinding Raim as they crossed.

Raim always believed that the khans of Darhan were rich, with access to all the wealth they could want in the world. But compared to the king’s palace in Aqben, they looked like paupers.

All around in the courtyard, Raim could see other men and women being carried in similar chairs to his mother, but the men who carried them wore nothing but a strip of cloth around their waists. He couldn’t help but stare. ‘Are there many in Aqben unable to walk?’ Raim asked Mei.

‘No, they are just rich.’

‘Why would the other men carry them if they can walk? Or ride a horse?’

The woman frowned. ‘They don’t have a choice. They are slaves.’

‘Oh – are they oathbreakers?’ Raim asked.

She shook her head. ‘They are property. Slaves. They do their master’s bidding.’

Raim stopped moving at this point, forcing the entire group to come to a halt. ‘Why do they accept it?’

‘They have no choice, Raim,’ said Lady Chabi. ‘Life is different here. You are in Darhan no longer.’ She signalled for her litter to start moving again, and Raim picked up his pace. But he kept glancing at the slaves carrying their masters around, and shook his head slowly. They didn’t have slavery in Darhan. They had strict laws about oaths, they had exile, prisons, execution – but they didn’t own people. They didn’t own land, either. Raim could hardly be surprised that a people who enslaved their land did the same to their inhabitants. It sent a shiver down his spine. Maybe someone from the North would be a better ruler here.

He climbed the wide set of stairs up to the main building. Two carved beasts marked the entrance, one with a ball under its foot, covered in curious markings. The other had a knot around its neck. Both the ball and the knot were made of gold. King Song certainly had cause to be called the Golden King if this display of wealth was anything to go by.

The inside was dramatic – open flames in carved-bone lanterns suspended from the far walls lit the enormous throne-room, Richly painted murals depicting great battles in colours brighter than he had ever seen before covered the walls. Incense smoke from golden burners hanging underneath the lanterns assaulted his senses, and he had only just walked in the door.

Hundreds of men in long red robes milled around, but in among them was something even more surprisingly – dozens of birds, flapping across the vaulted roof from post to post. Raim grimaced as he stepped in something white, soft and squishy – it wasn’t hard to guess where that had come from. Mei grabbed at his sleeve and pulled him back before he could step on any more bird droppings.

More than just the birds in the air, there were birds on the ground – enormous birds of midnight blue, with long trails of green and purple feathers that fanned out behind them like cloaks. One of the birds hissed at him as he passed, and raised his ‘cloak’ so it opened like a fan behind his back. The feathers seemed to have several hundred eyes on it, all judging him. Raim backed away several paces.

‘The king has an obsession with birds of all kinds,’ whispered Mei, to both Lady Chabi and Raim. She raised an eyebrow, and turned her nose up in disgust.

When Lady Chabi’s palanquin dropped on the ground and she lowered her veil, the noise of hundreds of men chattering stopped at once. They all turned to stare at the woman, and then their gaze turned from her to Raim.

Then, heedless of the droppings on the floor, all the men dropped onto their knees. The first to rise was one of the fattest men Raim had ever seen.

‘Dear gods,’ said Draikh. ‘Three Darhanian men could fit in that man’s robe.’

He wasn’t far wrong.

‘Lady Chabi, it moves me beyond my wildest imaginings to see you awake and in good health.’

‘This is Yuzi, my lady,’ said Mei. ‘He is one of the king’s trusted advisers.’

Yuzi turned his steady gaze to Raim. ‘And you are our saviour from the North.’ Raim thought he caught a hint of derision in the man’s voice. Suddenly he wished he had taken Draikh’s advice after all, and dressed in equal finery to this man.

‘Be strong and announce yourself,’ said Draikh. ‘Take charge. These men will form your court one day.’

‘I am Raimanan of Darhan,’ Raim said, trying to insert as much confidence in his voice as possible.
I’m never going to convince them I’m anyone with my words
, he thought.

‘So what, then, a demonstration?’ replied Draikh.

Yes, let’s do it. Something small, first. Let’s see them sneer at this.

Raim closed his eyes.

The adviser coughed, impatient, and though his eyes were closed Raim could feel the weight of the man’s gaze upon him. But then he was the one with the power here. He felt the strength deep in his bones, as if it was about to burst out of his fingertips at any moment.

He stretched out his arms and thought of Oyu, who was more magnificent than any of the birds in the room. Draikh lifted him just a few inches off the ground.

He lowered him.

Raim opened his eyes.

The king’s adviser snorted. ‘What was that? That was sagery?’

Raim stared at him. ‘No.
This
is sagery.’

Raim reached out his arms, and as he did so, Draikh flew toward the flames in the lanterns lining the throne room. Draikh reached out to the essence of the flame, linking with it as he had done with the wind, and brought it close. It happened so quickly Yuzi had to duck to get out of the way, but not before the acrid stench of burnt hair caught on the air and a finger of smoke rose from the top of the man’s head.