Raim sat in the crook of an old, cracked tree, one leg dangling in the breeze, his head leaning back against the trunk. Long, needle-like leaves shaded him from the oppressive heat and hid him from the view of his grandfather, in case he was looking to assign Raim yet another chore. He just wanted a moment to himself. From his vantage point he could see his clan’s settlement of yurts, the dome-like tents that made up his home, and watched as smoke lifted lazily out of the circular holes in the centre of the roofs.
A rustling at the base of the tree distracted him. He looked down and spied two of the younger clan boys, Lousha and Nem, huddled around a small parcel wrapped in white paper.
‘Do you swear you’ll guard this for me?’ Nem whispered to Lousha, while keeping one chubby brown hand on the goods.
‘Yes!’ said Lousha.
‘Cross your heart?’
‘Yup.’
‘Suffer like a traitor in Lazar?’
The other boy shuddered, but nodded.
‘Will you make a knot for it?’
‘A knot?’ There was a moment’s hesitation as Lousha chewed on his lower lip. ‘Fine, let’s do it.’
They scrabbled around for something to tie it with. Lousha ripped a loose thread from his tunic while Nem plucked a long, dark hair from his head. Then, with solemn determination etched on their faces, they folded one thread on top of the other and held them in a loose loop.
‘Do you promise me you’ll guard this until I return, and will you seal your vow with this knot?’ said Nem.
‘I promise, and I seal it with this knot,’ said Lousha, and then they both pulled until the two threads became one. Nem nodded before jumping up and disappearing into the village of yurts beyond.
A corner of the paper lifted in the breeze, and a hint of sticky sweet honey aroma wafted into the air. Honey cake. A Darhanian delicacy, it was baked only for special occasions, like this afternoon’s ceremonies. The scent tantalized Raim’s nostrils, as if he could taste the pastry already, sense the flakes crumbling and melting in the heat of his mouth – and he knew the boy below was feeling the same temptation. Lousha waited until he was sure his friend had gone. Then he inched forward for a closer sniff, putting his nose right down next to the ground and taking a deep breath. One finger, and then another hesitantly stretched in the pastry’s direction.
Don’t do it, thought Raim. Almost as if he had spoken the words aloud, something seemed to hold the boy back. He stared down at the tatty piece of knotted hair and thread in his hand. He bit his lip. Raim bit his lip too, and dropped to a lower branch, sending showers of needles to the ground.
Lousha snatched the parcel and held it protectively to his chest and craned his neck to look around, brow furrowed in suspicion. Look up, Raim silently pleaded. If Lousha knew he had an observer he wouldn’t be so quick to break his promise. But with the cake now in his grasp, so tantalizingly close to his mouth . . . the boy flicked the thread as far as he could. Then he ripped the paper off as fast as his little fingers could manage and stuffed the cake into his mouth.
Raim sighed and began counting inside his head: One, two . . .
The discarded knot began to fizzle. A flame sparked to life, then quickly dissolved into a puff of black smoke.
. . . three.
Before the first of the honey cake crumbs had dissolved on his tongue, the smoke blew back over Lousha’s hand and seared a bright red mark into his palm.
The boy screamed in pain and clamped his hand into a fist. Then he screamed in fear as the smoke refused to leave him alone. He tried to beat it away with his hands but it wouldn’t budge. He got up and started running in circles from it, but the smoke followed him like a swarm of angry bees.
The noise attracted the attention of the nearest yurts’ residents. A small crowd gathered around, laughing at the sight. Unable to help himself, Raim started laughing too. The boys were still at an age when a scar from a broken promise meant nothing except for an hour’s nuisance.
Lousha spotted his grandmother in the crowd and tried to run to her, wishing to hide from the shadow by ducking behind the long folds of the woman’s dress. But she backed away from him, unable to let him near, her nose wrinkled in disgust. She let her voice be heard, though, as she herded the boy back to their yurt with her angry shouts.
‘What’s going on here?’ A familiar voice carried over the laughter of the crowd. It was Khareh, Raim’s best friend – and the heir to the Khanate.
‘Your pardon, Prince Khareh.’ The boy’s grandmother bowed low. ‘My grandson here has broken a vow and must be punished.’
An amused smile played on Khareh’s face. ‘Is that so? Come here, little boy.’ Lousha took a few sheepish steps forward. ‘Who did you make this vow to?’
‘To Nem.’
‘And where is Nem?’
The boy shrugged.
‘Nem?’ said Khareh, louder. ‘Are you here, Nem?’
The crowd parted, and the other little boy appeared. Tears streaked down his face. ‘Lousha ate my cake! He promised he wouldn’t!’
‘Lousha, are you sorry for what you have done?’
Lousha nodded.
‘And Nem, can you forgive him?’
‘No!’
At that, the shadow swirled more violently around Lousha and he let out a cry of distress. The smile still didn’t leave Khareh’s face. ‘I suppose you really wanted that cake, hmm?’
Nem nodded.
‘But I’m afraid you can’t let your friend endure this torture any longer. A cake is just a cake, and someday your vows will be worth more than that.’
Nem scowled a little, but as Khareh’s smile slipped from his face, even the little boy understood the danger. He looked over at Lousha. ‘I forgive you.’
At that, Lousha’s shadow swirled into the air, and his scar faded to nothing. Lousha’s grandmother ran up to Khareh, dragging Lousha with her, and fell to her knees. ‘Thank you, Prince. You are most magnanimous.’
Raim could barely suppress a laugh. Khareh could hardly lecture on forgiveness. Just a few years ago, that little boy would’ve been Raim. He and Khareh used to constantly push each other to see who could endure the most scar torture. Khareh would force Raim to promise to score a goal during a game of gutball and they would tie the knotted piece of string around his neck. If the other team saw the knot, they would hound him, doing whatever they could to prevent him from scoring. If he failed, if he ‘broke’ his promise, then the curse would descend upon him. He would scream in pain as the scar appeared and a dark shadow would haunt him, just as had happened to Lousha. For an hour or so he would be a repulsive figure, unable to make contact with anyone. Then, once the curse had subsided enough for his grandfather, Loni, to take him home, he would be scolded, and punished hard – first for accepting such a useless promise, and then again for breaking it. Khareh would also be punished for forcing a promise upon him and making him endure the torture that followed – but Khareh would never forgive. But then the elders would stop scolding and smile a little to themselves, for they knew it was important for young children to test the consequences of their actions, so that they knew what to do when they were ready to make real promises.
It wouldn’t be until they reached the Honour Age – sixteen – that a true promise could be made. And a true promise had serious consequences. Breaking a knotted promise meant excommunication to the desert in Lazar, with the community of exiled oathbreakers known as the Chauk.
There was no escaping this fate. If it was just a scar you could hide it, as Raim had watched Lousha do, clenching his palm tight. But it was the shadow that you could not escape. It was the shadow that others saw, judged and sentenced the oathbreaker to exile. It was the shadow that followed you all the way to Lazar and made sure you stayed there. Just the thought of it made Raim shudder.
Thank you for reading the first part of this exclusive excerpt from THE OATHBREAKER'S SHADOW! I'll be posting more every Tuesday and Friday in the runup to the publication of the paperback on the 22nd of May. You can buy also the book now in hardback and ebook editions - check the Introduction for details.
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