The Oathbreaker's Shadow (9 page)

It was impossible to tell who was speaking; the Yun still
wore their masks of bronzed metal. Yun masks were said to be cast from the face of Malog, the first Yun. The cowardly southern Khan, so the legend went, had mutilated Malog’s features but left him alive. After fighting his way back to Darhan, he had commissioned a fierce mask to prove to the world he could never be broken. Whenever he greeted the Khan or attended special functions, he wore the mask. Modern Yun continued this long-standing tradition.

The door opened, and three girls walked into the room, followed by two more Yun. Raim sat up a little straighter as he saw Erdene amongst them.

The Yun removed their masks. All had long hair that fell out of the masks in greasy clumps. The leader’s hair was braided, and she was instantly recognizable to Raim as Mhara, his personal mentor, and to the others as the Khan’s sworn Protector.

‘Apprentices,’ she began. ‘You are inside the Rentai, where you will spend your last night before the duels begin.’ Raim felt her eyes wash over him as she assessed each apprentice in turn. The next Yun stepped forward, a tall, broad man called Silas.

‘At this time tomorrow, only four of you will be Yun. And Jendo’ – the boy opposite Raim quivered as his name was mentioned – ‘this is your third attempt.’

Nothing more needed to be said. Raim glanced over at Erdene. He knew even before yesterday how much she wanted to be Yun; they all did. Her mouth was set in a
small, firm line. Jendo’s life was Jendo’s problem. No mercy would be granted. Still, Raim couldn’t help but feel disturbed by Jendo’s rapidly paling features. But there was no turning back now.

‘Your individual rooms are through the door ahead. Take this time to meditate, compose yourselves, prepare,’ Mhara said. ‘Just know it will do you no good. If your training is incomplete, or if your opponent has prepared more than you, your fate has already been sealed.’

When the Yun left, Raim thought he could almost open his mouth and taste the tension left behind.

‘I’m not staying in here, I’m going to sleep,’ said Grinda, the girl Raim knew the least about. She lived softened. ‘You should ebl">

‘Cooped up the night before the fight,’ Lars said, as if
this were the first time he had gone through this. Raim tried to catch his eye, but Lars avoided him. ‘Could be your last night ever, right, Jendo?’

‘Shut it, Lars.’ Raim jumped to his feet.

‘Don’t get your tunic in a twist, Raim. I hope you’ve been practising. We wouldn’t want to see Mhara’s prodigy get the beating of his life in front of all of Darhan.’ He gestured to the two other boys and they followed him out of the door. He paused for a moment. ‘Besides, what do you care about old Jendo? Everyone knows you love Erdene.’ He rolled his eyes as he said it and disappeared out of the door.

‘I don’t need your pity,’ Jendo said when they were alone. ‘Especially not from someone who has no chance of losing. You could smell Lars’s fear; he’s going to be me next year. But not you. You’ll probably be Chief Yun one day. Heck, you’re probably already Prince Khareh’s Protector and you’re not even in the Yun yet.’

‘I was just trying to help.’

‘Whatever.’ He stormed out.

Raim was alone. He debated heading to his room but couldn’t bear the thought of being cooped up in one of the cell-like private rooms of the Rentai. So instead, he lay back down on the hard wooden bench and waited for sleep to take him.

It wouldn’t that night.

The roar deafened. It reminded Raim of when the wind
picked up over the steppes, churning and spinning into a fearsome tornado. But this was worse. He had never been close to one on the steppes and now his mind was a piece of debris, spinning and shaking, trapped in the centre of the whirlwind.

Raim paced the small room where the apprentices were being kept. He couldn’t keep his feet still; excitement, fear, anxiety all coursed through his veins with an icy chill. One moment, he could barely feel his heartbeat, as if his heart had exited his body completely and was waiting to rejoin him after the duel . . . The next moment, his heart was all he could hear, the sound of it hammering in his ears, not allowing him to sit immobile and relaxed, as Mhara had told him to do.

There was an enormous cheer and Raim swung round towards the door, trying to envisage the scene outside. Thirty minutes before, Jendo had sat in the room beside Raim. Now he was out there, battling his fate. Was the cheer for Jendo, or Erdene? Who had won? Was it over? Even more importantly . . . after all this waiting, was it finally Raim’s time?

A lid was placed on the sound, shutting it out. Suddenly, the silence terrified him more than the noise. He
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div.shading-50-whiteorcentered-imageCC fexchanged glances with the two other apprentices who were confined with him.

A masked Yun entered with a flourish. With two quick snaps, the Yun sent the other apprentices from the room, so only Raim was left. The Yun then stepped back,
holding open the heavy curtain. Another strode in, cradling a bundle wrapped in coarse linen and tied at both ends.

‘Mhara?’ Raim couldn’t contain his surprise when his mentor removed her mask.

‘I couldn’t very well let your Honour Age pass without giving you your gift. Come here.’

Raim quickly moved over to Mhara as she placed the bundle down on a wooden table.

‘Give me your shield arm.’

Puzzled, he reached out and leaned his arm against the table. Mhara began to untie the bindings that fastened a thick slab of knife-dented leather to his arm. The band was supposed to serve as a kind of shield. ‘This arm band will do you no good in your bout,’ she said after she had removed it. He rubbed his forearm, clammy from sweat trapped beneath the band. Uncomfortable as it had been, he felt naked. He had never fought without it.

‘This is more appropriate,’ she said.

Raim gasped as she revealed his new shield. It was leather again, but of a much finer quality – thicker, tougher; it would sustain more blows. It covered all the way up to his shoulder and was jointed to allow complete freedom of movement. But most impressive were curved hooks of metal that protruded like eagle talons from the forearm piece. The metal claws allowed for more tactics in close combat – blows glanced off and the hooks ensnared skin.

Mhara began to lash the shield to his shoulder. He felt his body warm to it, the leather moulding to his muscle. It felt good. And now he was on a level playing field with Lars, who had also received one on reaching his Honour Age the year before.

When she was finished, she clapped him on his newly leather-bound shoulder and left without saying a word.

He was alone again.

He ran his fingers through his cropped black hair. He would grow it long once he became Yun. He caught sight of the only splash of colour on him: the indigo thread he wore around his wrist. Suddenly unease gripped him and he clasped his hand over the knot. It felt warm to him – too warm, almost burning. He snapped his hand back. It looked normal. He chastised himself for being so foolish. How could it mean anything?

In fact, it was time he lost the bracelet. He had reached his Honour Age now, and whatever the knot’s promise had been, it wouldn’t matter. His slate was wiped clean. Only now would vows have consequences.

He picked up his sword from the table and slipped the point underneath the thin piece of thread.

But before he could attempt to slice it away, a voice thundered from outside. ‘Raim versus Lars.’

Raim swept away the curtain. ‘What happened in the Erdene-Jendo match?’

‘Erdene will take the final test.’

Raim’s heart lifted and dropped at the same time.
He forced himself to remember: Jendo knew the risks.

Within a matter of moments, he was led into the arena. He felt his training take over his mind and body. He clenched and unclenched his fingers in rhythm, loosening the muscles in his arms. T the other apprenticesghcentered-imageCC fhere was no more practice, no room for thoughts other than this fight.

As he stepped out into the ring, Naran shining brightly in the sky, all the rabid cheers seemed for him alone. The crowd was twenty-deep all around, kept out of the ring by an enormous circle of young Yun apprentices standing solemnly, hand on hip. Men, women and children hung out over every balcony, every window of the five-storeys-high Palace. He briefly scanned the crowd looking for Loni or Dharma, but it was impossible to make out a single face. The only thing he could identify was the royal box, where he spotted Khareh taking in all the action. The rest was simply a sea of people spread before him, masses of fists pumped in the air. He drank it in; responded with a fist pump of his own.

Lars came out from the opposite end, taller than Raim with features that seemed carved with a sword. His style echoed Khareh’s: aggressive and quick. But Raim was ready.

There was no bow or approach. When they entered the match circle, it was time, mimicking real battle. No handshake, just charge.

From behind him, a gong resounded, signalling the start.

Lars charged with his sword low to the ground, holding it with both hands. Both their left arms hung heavily under the weight of their Yun shields, but although Raim hadn’t had any practice with it, movement came naturally to him.

Adrenaline surged through Raim’s muscles and all his senses were heightened. He could feel the tension in his arms, as taut as the string on his bow, ready to spring into action in an instant. This was what he was made to do. He was born a warrior. In that moment, he was intensely focused on his opponent and every second seemed extended in startling clarity. The roar of the crowd, the ringing of the gong, all unnecessary sound died away. He was left with the beating of his heart and the crunch of gravel underfoot as they ran towards each other. The outline of Lars’s sword became more defined in his eyes, and Raim noticed a slight tremor in his grip. There was a bead of sweat rolling off his opponent’s brow, and the salty tang of fear grew stronger in Raim’s nostrils as Lars drew closer. Confidence swelled through Raim’s veins to replace the adrenaline. It wasn’t arrogance; it was a kind of certainty. A line from one of Mhara’s lectures wafted through his mind. ‘Duels are won before the first blow is struck,’ she had said to him once. He had never understood until now: he knew he was going to win.

Lars swiped upwards, aiming for Raim’s stomach. Raim knew the move; it was an attempt at disarmament. He dropped down his shield-arm as Lars’s sword lifted and the
blade jarred against two of the talons. They held against the force. Raim brought his own sword up against his shield, trapping Lars’s blade and then shifted his arm so the sword was locked and Lars’s shoulder was twisted awkwardly. Now, it was a battle of strength. Raim bent his knees and anchored into the ground. He had the upper hand.

Lars’s face belied the exertion, turning bright red. But it was too much. Raim felt Lars’s grip slacken. It was the moment he was waiting for. He immediately dropped his hand, snatching the hilt of Lars’s sword as it fell. Now he had both.

Lars fell to his knees and placed his forehead to the ground, arms outstretched, the sign for surrender. Raim stood motionless, swords limp in his hands. He looked down at Lars, his mind racing to catch up with the events that had just unfolded. He raised his eyes skyward, to thank the gods, and in doing so he caught sight of Khareh in the royal balcony, his arms outstretched to speakbl knowingd like he could reach down and hug Raim. Khareh’s face lit up into a huge smile and he raised a fist in exultation. Finally joy and relief hit Raim like a tidal wave of emotion, and he found himself grinning back, as wide a grin as he had ever smiled. Then he lifted both swords to the crowd, crossing them like an X above his head, and let the cheers wash over him. Just like that, he had won. He was going to be Yun.

In the upper reaches of the stadium, the echoes from the starting gong were still ringing in the crowd’s
ears. The duel was over, scarcely before it had even begun.

The party vibrated. Drums and dancers, flutes and flags, chaotic mayhem surrounded the victorious apprentices. Young boys scurried up the long tall poles that lined the streets, the market stalls normally attached to them folded back for the celebration. They used leather straps to tie large bowls to the posts, filled them with dried and tarred grasses and set them alight. Their faces flickered in the firelight, delighting in the warmth, before they jumped back down into the crowd.

Raim picked Dharma up and twirled her around. She beamed, her smile so infectious Raim felt his own smile stretch from ear to ear. She lightly slapped his shoulder.

‘Now I have to take more thread from the scarf to make two swords!’ she shouted over the noise. She had the scarf wrapped around her long brown hair. She untied it and threw it around Raim’s neck. ‘There! You look pretty!’

‘Pretty?’ Raim scrunched his nose in mock-disgust. ‘I’m supposed to be a warrior, not look pretty!’ He tickled Dharma’s stomach until they both descended into fits of giggles.

‘May I take over?’

Raim looked over Dharma’s shoulder to see Loni. ‘Of course,’ he said, and passed her across to him.

As they leaned towards each other, Loni dropped his voice and spoke in a rushed whisper. ‘Raim, I have to talk to you about the bracelet. It’s urgent.’

Raim felt like rolling his eyes – was it really necessary to discuss the bracelet now, in the middle of a party being thrown in his honour? But the look on his grandfather’s face stopped him. Worry – and something deeper than that, something terrifyingly close to fear – was etched all over his features. ‘Really?’ Raim’s voice came out as a whisper too. ‘Now?’

‘Yes. Come quickly. Yasmin is at the yurt and . . .’ Suddenly Loni raised his voice. ‘Ah, Prince Khareh, looking for Raim, are you?’