He walked away from the king, and the army. He walked until he could almost imagine that he was alone. All the while, he talked to Draikh.
Do you trust him?
‘The king? Not at all.’
He doesn’t want to make me Khan.
‘Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t,’ said Draikh. ‘He wants to make you a vassal at best, like one of Khareh’s warlords, or to kill you at worst. To kill you would be my guess.’
Raim stopped in his tracks. ‘Then why—’ He cut himself off, remembering how far sound travelled in the desert. Why are we helping him?
‘We’re not. He’s helping us. Let him bring his army, let him believe that he can get the better of you, but we know the truth. We are ten steps ahead of him.’
Raim dropped to the ground. ‘Here. This is as good a place as any.’
He dug his hands into the sand, running rivers of it through his fingers. He pushed at the sand, digging deeper until he had created a crater for himself. In the crater, he drummed out a rhythm with the flat of his hand, in the closest pattern he could remember to the one that Wadi had taught him.
The Alashan read the vibrations in the sand and interpreted them. That’s how they found Chauk wandering through the desert – from their uneven rhythms, their staggered footsteps, they could tell the presence of someone unfamiliar, scared and desperate. He knew they would have felt the king’s army, even though they were camped at the very edge of the desert. The sound of all those heavy footsteps would carry miles on the sand. He only hoped that over their roar, his little message would get through.
He sat there, drumming and repeating all night, until the sky lightened. Then he stopped and hurried back to the camp. He was not prepared to wait the daylight hours in the sight of Naran if he didn’t have to.
His mother was the one waiting for him at the edge of the camp. ‘Did you manage it?’
Raim shrugged. ‘We will find out soon enough.’
Lady Chabi’s eyes followed Oyu as he swooped and hovered in the sky. She reached out and grabbed Raim’s arm. ‘You must not tell the Southern King about your Absolute Vow, and who your shadow is. He will not trust you if he finds out.’
‘I won’t,’ said Raim.
‘Does the spirit hear all your thoughts?’ asked his mother.
‘I know how to block him, if I choose. He taught me that trick.’
‘I see.’
Draikh swooped down, sending Lady Chabi stumbling back a step. ‘The question is, does she trust you?’ Draikh asked Raim.
Raim didn’t know the answer to that.
They didn’t have to wait long for the Alashan. Raim was eating in the small tent the king had given to him as a temporary home, when Draikh burst through the walls, buzzing with excitement. Raim followed the spirit outside, and that’s when he saw several figures silhouetted against Naran’s dying rays. They were moving quickly, in the method they used when they hunted Chauk.
‘Is that them?’ the king asked, striding over to Raim.
‘I think so.’
‘Then let us get started!’ The king turned to his generals. ‘Get the troops ready to move. Remember, every man is to carry his own water, and if he forgets, it is his life that is forfeit.’
They bowed and hurried off.
‘Wait,’ said Raim. ‘The Alashan will ask for a trade in order to take us to Lazar.’
‘A trade? How about, in exchange, I won’t enslave them? They should be honoured I am sparing their lives after what they did – or should I say didn’t – do for my father’s army!’
‘If you do not offer some kind of trade they won’t help you. They will just disappear into the desert and your dreams of reaching Lazar will quickly come to an end.’
‘Fine. What do you suggest?’
‘Give them something they find hard to get here. Give them bolts of fabric that you use to make your tents and robes. Give them weapons. Tools. All the things they have to trade with Lazar for.’
The king snapped his fingers, and one of his generals hurried off. ‘Done. Is there anything else before I head off to speak to the savages?’
Raim grimaced. ‘I would avoid calling them that to their faces.’
But the king had already stomped out of earshot.
57
RAIM
Maybe Sola had been hearing Raim’s prayers after all. The Alashan that had arrived were his old tribe, led by Old-maa. He would have recognized that old, wizened face anywhere.
Raim hung back while the king negotiated his trade, and the Alashan agreed to lead his army through the desert. Two of the Alashan were to take an advance group to prepare the water stations for the rest of the army. The advance group used camels to carry quantities of large empty pots. Once the Alashan found an underground spring, they would use it to fill the pots, burying them deep underground so the water inside would not evaporate in the searing heat.
From the moment the advance party left, the king was insatiable. The sun was setting, and he didn’t want to waste a single second. Horns blared out from the front lines, echoing further back as other trumpeters relayed the signal. Raim took the moment to rush out to greet his former tribemates.
Mesan grinned widely to see him, and they embraced. Mesan had been Raim’s second in his fight to join the Alashan – a hand-to-hand duel against Wadi. It was a duel Raim would have lost, were it not for the interruption of the horrendous behrflies. He and Mesan had been close ever since. ‘What are you doing here?’ The Alashan language came out clumsily in his mouth. He supplemented the words with hand gestures, so that anyone listening in would have trouble following them.
‘Old-maa could not bear to travel our old routes, not after losing Wadi and the disaster we faced after bringing the Chauk to Darhan. Old-maa took the tribe to the southernmost part of the desert. There are no Chauk here, but we had enough waterworms to sustain us.
‘Still not all of us in the tribe were happy with Old-maa’s decision to abandon you and Wadi. Many of us wanted to return to the North. That was why, when we heard the call we had taught you, we knew we had to respond.’
‘I thank you for that,’ replied Raim.
The army began to move, an enormous centipede crawling the earth. They followed the Alashan through the dead of night, not stopping until the barest streaks of dawn appeared on the horizon.
Raim knew how to spot the signs now, so he wasn’t surprised when one of the Alashan stopped in his tracks and sounded out a high-pitched whistle. The noise was picked up by the army lookout nearby, and he raised a trumpet to his lips and blew hard, the sound echoing out of the desert.
‘What? Already?’ The king clambered down from the camel he had been riding. ‘How can it be time for us to stop? We’ve only just started moving – and it is still dark! We are never going to get to Lazar at this pace.’ He walked up to Raim and jabbed a finger at him. ‘You! Tell them we need to move more quickly! We can’t just stop and start. There must be hours of night left.’
Raim stared up at the sky. ‘Not hours. But enough time for the entire camp to prepare their rest for the day, just as you must.’
The king threw his arms up in the air. ‘Ridiculous. How many more days?’
Raim raised an eyebrow to Mesan, and did some subtle signing with his hands. Once he got the response, he turned back to the king. ‘Mesan says it will take a week.’
‘Not good enough. Tell him we don’t stop until there is light on the horizon. Or I will send slaves ahead to prepare the way, so help me gods.’ He spun on his heel, and walked back towards his tent. The king, at least, had shelter carried for him wherever he went.
Raim’s eyes stayed on the king as Lady Chabi rushed out to talk with the Southern ruler, their heads close, hands gesturing across the dunes.
‘You like this king?’ asked Mesan.
Raim shrugged. ‘We share a mutual goal.’
‘And you are certain about that?’
‘He can’t get rid of me until we reach Lazar.
And neither can I, for that matter. For now, I have to work with him. I need his army.’
Raim walked with Mesan to reach the Alashan camp, set aside from the rest of the army. It was the only place where Raim felt truly accepted. Even with his mother he felt uncomfortable. He wondered if that was normal.
Old-maa, who had once revelled in his departure, allowed him into their circle – as much warmth of feeling as he had ever received from her. As they set up their homes in the traditional way, laying bolts of cloth on top of a semicircle of rattan walls, he relished the routine. They welcomed him as part of their tribe. Realizing this both comforted and terrified him.
‘Behind you,’ said Mesan, and then he walked away.
Raim turned his head, and saw his mother heading in his direction. He looked up at the sky and saw that he had a while before needed to be under his shelter.
‘Raim, you should come and stay in the king’s tent. He has servants on rotation who will be using fans to keep us cool.’
‘Slaves, you mean.’
She levelled her gaze. ‘For now, we must abide by the king’s rules. When you are king, you can make your own rules and abolish slavery if you would like. But anyway, there are documents you should read to prepare you for your throne . . .’
‘Let me stop you right there,’ said Raim. ‘I can’t read. Not well, anyway.’
Lady Chabi’s hand flew to her lips. ‘What? You are my son, you are son of the Baril, you should’ve—’
‘I was raised on the steppes just like anyone else. When you abandoned me, no one knew who I was. My grandfather took me in, but why would he teach me to read? He made sure I knew how to fight, how to hunt, how to mend my bow. Important things. Wadi was beginning to teach me to read, but we ran out of time.’
‘Oh, Raim.’ Her eyes filled with pain and disappointment. It was not a welcome look.
‘I need to set up for morning, and so should you. I’m staying here.’ He turned his back on her. He felt the sands shift beneath his feet as she walked away.
Did you see that, Draikh?
‘I saw.’
That look in her eyes. She knows I’m no Khan. No matter what Mhara and Aelina said about my destiny. You can’t just go from soldier to Khan overnight.
He stilled his mind. He would need all his concentration if he was to survive the day.
58
RAIM
They continued for another night and day, until the third sunrise when they came to the first watering hole, marked with bright flags. It was a welcome sight, as Raim’s water-skin was running dry. He imagined it was the same for the others, and worse for those who hadn’t rationed their sips.
The advance party had filled enough clay pots to refill the skins of most of the army. The storage points stretched across several dunes, and soldiers were instructed to dig them up from underneath the sand. Mesan and three of the other Alashan used their waterworms to open up more channels for those that were unable to fill from the buried pots.
Raim was glad they had been trained to move on little water, and on rations of jarumba root. They would need as much stamina as possible to reach Lazar, if Khareh was there.
Each night seemed longer than the next, as King Song pushed them to the very edge of their limits. The king and his mother had avoided him since his admission that he couldn’t read. He wondered if Song knew. Likely it only confirmed the king’s suspicions about him: that he was not ready to be a leader.
‘We’ll have to be careful,’ said Draikh. ‘If he doesn’t see you as a necessity, he might see you as a threat. Something to be rid of as soon as possible.’
You know so much more about this political stuff than me, thought Raim.
‘As long as I’m telling you, what does it matter? You learn quickly and I can tell you everything you need to know.’
A loud cry disturbed Raim just as he was ready to settle beneath his Alashan cloak. Draikh hissed in his ear. ‘Quickly.’
What is it?
Draikh didn’t even have to reply. A sharp crack filled the air, followed by a scream.
Raim jumped to his feet and ran toward the noise.
A young boy, not wearing a cloak to shield him from the sun, cowered in front of the king, red lines striped across his back. The king wasn’t holding the whip, but one of his guards was, sweat dripping from his forehead. A dark stain was spreading across the sand – a tipped-over waterskin leaking its contents.
Already the heat was rising in the air, sapping Raim’s strength, but with everything he had, he flung himself in front of the boy. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Move aside, boy. He is nothing.’
‘If he is nothing then why are you beating him?’
‘He is my slave. I can do as I please with him.’
Lady Chabi rushed forward, grabbing Raim by the arm, then turned to face the king. ‘Your Highness, he doesn’t understand. They don’t have slaves in Darhan.’
‘That’s right, we don’t need to enslave children to hold our power.’ Raim drew back into fighting stance. ‘Now stop beating him.’
In response, several of the king’s guards jumped up and drew their swords, pointing them at Raim.
‘You think you can fight me barehanded, boy?’ said the king, and he threw his head back to laugh.
He didn’t laugh long. Within a flash, Draikh swirled against two of the guards, disarming them and giving one of the swords to Raim, keeping the other himself. ‘Let the boy go,’ Raim said, his voice like gravel.
‘Raim, don’t do this,’ said his mother, her voice pleading.
‘Listen to her, Raim. I know you might be a sage, but I am a king – and a king is always prepared.’ He snapped his fingers, and two of the soldiers emerged from the king’s tent. Raim held his sword firm, even as the pit in his stomach opened as wide as a gorge.
‘It’s bad. I can’t do anything to stop it,’ said Draikh. ‘Not without killing everyone.’
Then Raim saw what Draikh meant. The two guards dragged behind them a prisoner, a dagger at the prisoner’s throat. It took everything in Raim’s power not to throw down his sword at the sight. It was Tarik.
‘Yes, Mother Sea brings me many gifts. Now if you or your blasted shadow move even an inch with those swords, I will slice his throat.’
The point of Raim’s sword quivered, and then lowered.
‘Better. And I will have none of that when I am the Golden King. You can rule your pitiful lands in the North but you will always answer to me. Do you hear me, Raimanan?’
I hear you. But I will not listen.
Aloud, he said: ‘Give me Tarik.’
‘I don’t think so,’ said the king. ‘I think I’ll keep this one as a little collateral. Take the boy if you want him, he’s nothing to me. But this one,’ he gestured at Tarik, ‘stays with me until we reach Lazar.’
Oyu screeched and circled overhead, externalizing the frustration that Raim felt. The king looked up sharply at the sound, his eyes following the garfalcon’s movements. Then he looked back at Raim.
‘What is that?’ The king spoke each word slowly and deliberately. His eyes were focused not on Raim’s face but lower, at his chest. Beside him, Lady Chabi’s face had drained of colour.
Raim grit his teeth and looked down. In the commotion, the ties of his robe had come undone, revealing the tip of the black scar of permanence representing his Absolute Vow to Khareh.
I don’t care what the king thinks of me, he realized, with a shock. I’m going to be the Khan. I don’t need his permission. He grabbed at his tunic and ripped it open, baring the scar in all its glory. Oyu let out another screech, but this time it didn’t sound pained – it sounded triumphant.
‘This is the source of my power,’ he said.
The king’s jaw dropped. ‘Is it an oath?’
‘An unbroken vow. The strongest kind. This is the vow that will make me the Khan. Don’t you forget the bargain you made with the Council, or I will make you pay for your treachery.’ He
spun round, grabbed the slave boy by the tunic and – without waiting for the king to protest – headed back to the Alashan.
Lady Chabi moved to follow, but the king stopped her. Raim thought that she would follow anyway, but instead she stayed back with the king. She even placed a hand on his arm and moved him away.
What is her plan? Raim asked Draikh.
‘I don’t know. But I don’t like it, whatever it is.’
59
WADI
They rested at opposite ends of the cavernous storeroom, facing each other. Wadi shut her eyes, but her heart beat so loudly in her ears that she couldn’t sleep. She didn’t know if she had the guts to do what Dharma wanted her to do.
If Khareh predicted her plan, he would not be merciful with her.
She must have fallen asleep at some point, because in what felt like barely a second later, Khareh was gently shaking her shoulder.
‘Come on, Wadi. We’ve rested for long enough.’
She sat up, embarrassed that she’d slept for so long and that Khareh had been forced to wake her. She wiped the sleep from her eyes and shook her head quickly to awaken her senses.
‘We don’t have much further to go,’ she said, leading Khareh into the main tunnel. Her stomach turned, and she had to grip the wall next to her.
‘Wadi?’ Khareh’s voice was filled with concern.
‘Sorry,’ she said, between gasps of air. ‘It’s the shadows. The haunts. I have never been so close to so many of them.’ The tunnel was so thick with shadow the torches she and Khareh carried were barely able to cast any light in front of them.
‘Do you know what I see when I look at them?’ asked Khareh. ‘I see faces. Hundreds of faces. Faces that will help me to victory.’
Wadi couldn’t look.
She steadied herself. Then she gestured for him to follow, and they headed down the tunnel. They came to the next doorway quickly, and with the turn of her pass-stone, Wadi let them through.
‘You can get rid of those stones soon,’ said Khareh.
Wadi let herself smile. ‘Yes, only two more turns left. But I was rid of it once before, and somehow it still comes back to me. My destiny is tied to these stones, I fear.’
The Shadow’s Curse Page 27