The Shadow’s Curse

by Amy McCulloch

  ‘I haven’t even been able to write anything. Every time I get the quill out, I end up feeling sick again.’

  As if their conversation had conjured him, Shen loomed over them, snapping them both from their reverie. ‘Boys, this is the easiest part of this journey. Trust me, if the seas were like this more than they were not, you’d see plenty more ships venturing out onto these waters. Maybe even King Song himself would send his fleet rather than attempt to cross the Red desert to get north. There, boy, that should give you an indication of just how dangerous this crossing is! The king would rather cross the desert than the sea, and he owns the finest fleet in the world.’

  Why in Sola’s name did we agree to this? It’s a suicide mission! thought Raim to Draikh.

  ‘At least one of us is enjoying it,’ he replied. As if on cue, Oyu dived into the water and came back with a fat, juicy fish in his beak.

  ‘Is that normal behaviour for a garfalcon?’ asked Tarik, although he knew no one could answer his question. He slipped his scroll of paper out of his tunic pocket and began to scribble down notes while observing Oyu.

  Raim laughed. Tarik could squeeze learning out of any situation.

  ‘The sea spares us because we bring nothing back from the cursed North,’ said a voice. It sounded as if it was coming from above them. Raim looked up to see a man swinging from the rigging like a monkey. He jumped down next to the captain, landing with a dull thud. He might’ve been the thinnest man that Raim had ever seen; his skin was the same wind-burnt, leathery brown as Shen’s, but without the prodigious beard he just looked shrivelled like an old prune. The man’s eyes were set so far back into his skull, they might as well be gone completely.

  ‘This is Bayan,’ said Shen. ‘He is my first mate, and a superstitious old sod if I ever knew one.’

  ‘They shouldn’t be here,’ said Bayan. He drew out the ‘sh’ in ‘shouldn’t’ like the rattle of a snake’s tail. ‘The gods allow us passage to bring things north – not south, not to bring these twisted spies to our shores, to contaminate our lands and our peoples!’

  Shen laughed. ‘We bring nothing south except gold, don’t forget. The northern monks give us just enough of that to make this journey worthwhile. And now they’ve given me more gold than I know what to do with, all just to guarantee the safe passage of these two souls and one hideous shadow to Aqben. Who am I to argue? I can’t guarantee anyone safe passage over these waters, but I will guard against anything in man’s control. Including you, Bayan. Now, to your duties, man.’

  ‘They shouldn’t be here,’ Bayan repeated. He threw one sharp look at Raim, before shuffling off and disappearing below deck.

  We’ll need to keep a watch on that one, Raim thought, reaching out to Draikh.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Draikh. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone shiftier in my life.’

  But where is everyone else? There was just a skeleton crew on board, but they scurried through the ship like rats – and avoided him and Tarik as if they might carry the plague.

  There was still one other thing Shen had said which caught Raim’s attention.

  ‘The Southern King . . .’

  ‘King Song.’

  ‘He has been building an army?’

  ‘Yes, the biggest army the South has ever seen. Some of the men on this boat, they joined me just to avoid being conscripted into the army. Though why he cares about the North is beyond me. The North keeps my wife in silks and me out of her bed – that’s why she keeps sending me up here when I could just be doing easy sailing trips to the Jewel Isles, filling my boat with rich spices, relaxing on sand beaches, staring at beautiful women . . .’

  ‘The Council must have warned him that I am coming. I will need that army to become the rightful Khan of Darhan, as my promise-knot foretold,’ said Raim. Even as he spoke, he couldn’t stop doubt from creeping in.

  Shen narrowed one of his eyes at him, in a way that came off more curious than threatening. ‘I don’t know what you and your monks believe, but you’ll have trouble wrestling away that army from King Song.’

  ‘But I must,’ said Raim. ‘It is my destiny.’

  ‘Hmm, so you have been told. It’s just I wouldn’t be surprised if others had different beliefs about their supposed “destiny”, King Song included. But come on then,’ Shen said to Raim and Tarik. ‘No use having you both lazing around all day. If you’re feeling seasick, I know a good cure for it: hard work and exhaustion. I’ve heard some pretty fantastical stories about you – especially you,’ he said, looking directly at Raim. ‘Let’s see what you’re truly made of, then.’

  He snapped his fingers and Bayan came back with two mops and pails. He dropped the mop handles, and they landed with a clatter at Raim’s feet. ‘There you go. Swab the decks, if you must do something.’

  Raim picked up his mop, then looked up at Draikh, who was floating around the mast. Well, are you going to help me? Show Shen what we can do?

  Draikh raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re joking? You’re on your own for this one. I’m not cleaning up for you.’

  Raim sighed, and with Tarik next to him, dragged the mop across the wooden deck.

  It was going to be a long passage.

  33

  WADI

  She had been aiming for Khareh.

  She tried to convince herself of that fact. Hadn’t she?

  The memory of it flashed before her eyes. She had lunged for the knife. She had seen the target in her eyes. She had thrown it.

  It had hit the woman square in the chest.

  She had been aiming for Khareh.

  No, she hadn’t. If she had aimed for Khareh, she would have hit Khareh. Instead, he had been in danger and she had saved him.

  There had been chaos in the moments after. Erdene had ripped herself free from the healers, and had thrown herself to Khareh’s side. Imal was there too, his sword drawn, standing over the crumpled form of Mhara, who was lying dead – there was no mistaking it this time – on the packed dirt of the makeshift arena. Blood from the open wound dripped down into the dirt, turning it into mud, albeit crimson-tinted. The bone handle of the knife Wadi had thrown still remained embedded in Mhara’s chest.

  She had thrown that knife with deadly accuracy. To save Khareh’s life. She left that thought hanging in her mind. How could I have done that? I didn’t want that. I wanted him dead.

  I wanted him dead, she repeated, trying to get herself to believe it. But she hadn’t. She had wanted to save him, even from Mhara. Wadi knew that name. She had been Raim’s former mentor, the one he thought he had killed. The one he had tortured himself with guilt over. Wadi had killed her now.

  She had been turned to Khareh’s side. Khareh had won.

  With great reluctance, she lifted her head. She found Khareh’s eyes just where she expected them to be: boring a hole deep into her skull with their piercing gaze, so deep she swore he was finding out things about her that she didn’t even know about herself. He didn’t break eye contact even while Erdene fussed over him, even when she called out to Altan for help, even once a healer wrapped the wound he had received in falling to the ground. He just stared at Wadi.

  Then, with a gesture, he ordered her back to the yurt, and she knew that at any moment he would follow her back and thank her. Thank her for saving him.

  Her mind raced and her palms began to sweat as two ordinary soldiers began to lead her away. Wary of her skill, they kicked away the other knives and knocked over the basket, a shiny object rolling out and catching her attention. It was one of Khareh’s rings that he’d removed before his duel. Wadi palmed it and slipped it in her pocket.

  She had seen enough to know what he was capable of.

  It was time to remind him of what she was capable of.

  The soldiers accompanied her back to her yurt, where her chains awaited. They hadn’t chained her feet while walking from the festivities because after all she had saved their khan and now they didn’t know how to treat her. A mistake on thei
r part, if they thought she could be trusted. In the dark shadow of her yurt, as one of them released his grip on her arm to find the keys to her chain, she threw all her might up at her other captor, her fists colliding against his jaw. There was so much noise from the surrounding yurts; she hoped no one would notice their satisfying squeals.

  There wasn’t much time to savour the victory. The other soldier fumbled the keys, dropping them onto the ground as he charged back at her to secure her. She grabbed the body of the soldier she had smashed in the mouth and threw him hard at his companion, before kicking out at the man’s groin. He crumpled into a heap, his companion on top of him. She grabbed strips of cloth from where they had been drying on the lines securing her yurt, and used them to bind and gag the two soldiers, then she dragged them deep inside so their inert bodies couldn’t be seen, chaining their ankles together as a last-minute idea. It wasn’t subtle, but it might buy her a few extra minutes.

  Every single one of her senses was on high alert – but no one came to investigate the noise she had made incapacitating the guards. Everyone was still too focused on the events of the tournament.

  But it wouldn’t be long until Khareh came along, and so she needed to be quick. The camp was set up in a long column formation around the lake, so she scurried towards the outer edge, trying to find the narrowest point of exit. It would be hard to run away into the steppes – but as only one woman, she could do it.

  She could go anywhere – she could try to find Raim on his journey south – but he would likely be on the ship already. Or she could go to Sola, find her old Alashan tribe, and warn them of Khareh’s plans to invade the desert. She could do anything – as long as it wasn’t staying here any longer and spending any more time under the hypnotic influence of Khareh.

  She tried to act as if she belonged – and as she walked past one of the yurts she grabbed a strip of leather that had fallen to the ground. She convinced herself she was just an ordinary woman tasked with repairing some uniforms. She kept her face hidden by a scarf she had thrown over her head. Her dark skin – darker than any natural-born Darhanian – would mark her out in an instant. There weren’t many people of Alashan descent in the tribe.

  Luckily, no one looked at her face – barely anyone looked at her at all. There was a strange energy in the air, as word of the attempted assassination spread though the camp. Yet most seemed happy that Khareh had survived. Khareh had two things in his favour: his natural charisma, which gave him ability to inspire despite being despicable – and the desire of the Darhanian people to win. So far, Khareh had yet to lose a battle he had led his armies into. Even the matter of him being a branded oathbreaker was starting to look less important in the light of victory.

  To beat Khareh – to bring him down – was going to require a leader who possessed everything Khareh did – charisma, the ability to motivate people, the ability to spot talent and use it to his advantage, his sagery – but without Khareh’s cruelty. Wadi hoped that Raim was up to the task. She knew she could help him get there.

  Finally finding a suitable place, Wadi burst out of the camp and into the grasslands. She tried to slow her pace despite the fact she wanted to run. The beating of her heart sounded so loud it was like the pounding of a war drum in her ears. Just act like you have every reason in the world to head away from camp. She kept her pace even, occasionally stopped to look around, as if she was missing a child – or a friend. Then, when she judged she was far enough from the camp for the lights of the fires to no longer reach her, she dropped down onto her knees. Then she started crawling through the grass, as quickly as she could.

  The grass here was long and lush after a wet spring and offered plenty of cover. She just needed to stay low, she just needed to stay quiet, be quick, and move away from here.

  She saw no one then but a falcon, wheeling high overhead. The steppes were wide and cold and empty, compared to the desert. But there was plenty of life around: soaring birds, scurrying rodents and grazing animals. But there was only one animal Wadi was interested in: the steppes pony.

  One allowed her to approach, curious and unafraid of humans. Wadi spotted the brand on its haunches and knew that it was one of the army ponies, built for stamina over long distances. The horse would be able to survive on little sustenance as well.

  ‘We’ll be in this together, little one,’ she said to it, in her most soothing tone. She stroked its velvety soft muzzle, allowing it to become accustomed to her scent. She was grateful that she would smell like the smoke and incense of Khareh’s camp. She was not unfamiliar.

  When the moment felt right, she took a fistful of its mane and hoisted herself up onto its back. She clicked with the back of her tongue, and dug her heels into its side until it sprang into action.

  She was going to regret the lack of saddle by the end of this journey, that was for certain. But, as she glanced back over her shoulder at the camp, an eerie calm came over her. She was free.

  And she would accept any pain in the world as a price for that freedom.

  34

  WADI

  Wadi rode until her fingers cramped from gripping the pony’s matted mane, until her thighs ached, and foam rose on her pony’s back, but to her relief, no one pursued her. She rode until she came across a braided river, twists of it running through the steppes like the plaits in her hair.

  She dismounted and fell, knees first, into the river. The water was shallow – only a few inches deep – and icy cold, but she didn’t care. While the horse drank upstream, she lay in the river and let the water rush over her, cleansing her body and clothes of the dust and sweat of her journey.

  In the vast wilderness, completely alone, she let herself break down. Her tears joined the river with the dust. She didn’t know where she was going, or how she was going to find Raim. Her stomach rumbled with intense hunger; she hadn’t eaten since long before the Yun tournament.

  ‘Help me,’ she whispered to the river, hoping the words would somehow find their way down to the sea and get carried to Raim’s ear on a rogue wave.

  She snapped back to her senses, cursing herself for being so foolish, and began to clean her legs where riding had caused blisters to swell and burst. She took long draughts of the clean, fresh water, then washed her hair and re-braided the long dark strands. The practical things she could think about. Small steps.

  Survival first. Plan second.

  Eventually, Wadi dragged herself from the river and sat on an island of crushed rock, silt, and mud in the middle of the water. Her mount still drank happily, and she needed a moment to reassess.

  She needed food, and a safe place to rest, but she could not hope to seek hospitality from the local tribes. She was too unusual, too different, too strange, and in a time when ‘war’ was on everyone’s lips, hosting an obvious foreigner was a risk few would be willing to take. Without the generosity of the nomads, though, she did not know how she was going to find the help she needed.

  A deep pit opened in her stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. Maybe this had all been a big mistake. She could have stayed with Khareh. Now she had truly lost any trust he might have had in her, despite the fact that she had just saved his life.

  The sound of laughter drifting out over the water chilled Wadi to the core. She scrambled backwards into the river, but there was not enough water to cover her. She was helpless to whoever was approaching.

  The laughter stopped abruptly. It was a young girl, approaching the edge of the river with a pail made of animal skin. She didn’t look older than ten; her hair tied back in two plaits that framed her face, her skin burnished bronze by the sun. She stared at Wadi, the strange woman in the water who had interrupted her game. But she was alone.

  They stared at each other for what felt like an age, and Wadi could see the girl analysing her, as if Wadi was a wild animal she was judging whether dangerous. Then the girl shrugged her shoulders and kept approaching the water, leaving Wadi relieved – but bedraggled – still sitting in the ri
ver. She now had a choice: to run away, in case the presence of the girl meant that others were nearby too. Or she could approach.

  ‘Hello?’ Wadi said.

  The girl perked her head up, like a rabbit about to flee. Wadi couldn’t stop herself now that she had started: ‘Wait, please, do you understand me? My name is Wadi. What’s your name?’

  There was a slight hesitation, but to Wadi’s surprise, the girl didn’t have any fear in her eyes. This was a daughter of the steppes, a nomad child who fiercely protected her animals against all dangers. She could be miles from her home now – but her parents wouldn’t fear for her.

  ‘Shanna.’

  ‘Shanna, can you help me? Do you have any food?’

  The girl didn’t reply, but she didn’t run away either. Wadi stood up and moved closer to her, trying to keep her movements slow and non-threatening, so as not to spook her. ‘I’m a long way from my tribe,’ Wadi said. ‘I haven’t eaten for a long time.’

  The girl’s eyes opened wide. ‘I have some dried meat.’

  Wadi could have cried. ‘Really? Will you let me have some?’

  ‘You’re not from here,’ the little girl said, and Wadi’s heart stopped in her chest. ‘The Weaver told me you would be from the great golden ocean, but I didn’t believe her. No one can be from Sola.’

  ‘The Weaver? Who is that?’

  ‘My grandmother says she is a seer. A true seer, like the ones in the old stories. Well, are you from Sola or not?’

  If she hadn’t been so terrified by the girl’s words, Wadi would have laughed at her boldness. ‘I am from Sola. But how would your Weaver know that?’

  The girl pointed downriver. ‘She says if I find you, I’m to bring you to her straight away. Are you coming?’

  Wadi hesitated. It could be a trap. But what choice did she have?

  The girl took Wadi to where she had set up her own little camp to watch her goats. They slept out under the stars, on a beautiful carpet woven in unusual shades of blue and grey – so different from the normal bright reds and oranges that made up most tribal carpets. But as Wadi looked even closer, she saw that the blue formed streaks of a river, and in that river was a dark-skinned girl sitting there.