The Curse of Zohreh Page 19

  Adi’s joy at this honour had been tempered by the kris-smith’s strange insistence that he not tell anyone where they were going. If he must tell his family something, he should tell them they were going over the sea to Balian Besakih, to consult with a kris-smith over there. Adi could not understand this deceit but he trusted his master so did as he was told. After all, Empu Wesiagi had given him the coveted apprenticeship in his workshop, and had over the last couple of years proven to be a good and kind master. Yes, Empu Wesiagi must have his reasons.

  As he must have his reasons for choosing to go to Kotabunga by these winding and out-of-the-way paths. It didn’t help, though, when you felt tired and dirty and uncomfortable, when the road seemed to stretch interminably in front of …

  ‘Stop!’ Empu Wesiagi’s voice jolted Adi out of his rebellious thoughts. ‘Adi, can you hear anything?’

  Adi stared at his master, who had stopped stock still in the middle of the path. The old man’s face was pinched and drawn. He looked unwell, thought Adi, dismayed.

  ‘Hear anything, sir?’ he said carefully. There was nothing of note to be heard, just the usual sounds of the countryside – the breeze swishing in the paddy fields to either side of the road, the shushing sound of wind in the forest beyond, bird calls, distant engine noises. He looked around. Night was beginning to fall, shadows were creeping in over the fields, it would soon be time to stop and … In the next instant, Adi got the shock of his life, for his beloved master sprang on him with such ferocity that he fell over backwards onto the muddy road. Before he had time to react, Empu Wesiagi pulled him with extraordinary force deep into the paddy. ‘Stay here!’ he ordered. Dazed, baffled, Adi tried to scramble to his feet. With a swift movement, the kris-maker unsheathed the kris – the beautiful new weapon that was a gift to the Sultan – and pointed it threateningly at his apprentice, who fell back. ‘Stay here. Don’t even try to argue. Whatever you see, whatever you hear, whatever happens, don’t move, or you will die.’

  Adi could well believe it. His master’s eyes shone with a red light; the kris’s beautifully made, sinuous, wickedly sharp blade was pointed right at Adi’s throat.

  ‘Do you understand me, Adi?’

  Adi swallowed. He nodded. Empu Wesiagi’s eyes narrowed. He reached into his clothes and took out two lengths of rope and a large handkerchief. ‘I have to do this, Adi. You cannot follow me.’ Kneeling down, he swiftly tied Adi’s hands together, and then his feet. But before he could gag the boy with the cloth, Adi suddenly found his voice. ‘Master, why are you doing this? What have I done wrong?’

  ‘Forgive me,’ said Empu Wesiagi, tying the gag around Adi’s mouth. ‘It is for your own safety. The hantumu must not know you are with me.’

  The engine noise was getting louder. No, not one engine, but several motorbike engines. An ordinary sound – so why did the hair rise on the back of Adi’s head, why did his spine feel like ice? He could not speak, but he could still think, and in his mind, two words spoken by the kris-maker echoed. The hantumu. He shot a look at his master. Was the great Empu Wesiagi in league with the hantumu?

  Empu Wesiagi whispered, ‘Adi, there is no time. But do not forget this. I brought you with me because you are the very best apprentice I have ever had. And that is why I cannot afford to let the hantumu know you are with me. Adi. You must get to Kotabunga.’

  Adi closed his eyes. His heart pounded, his bound hands were clammy. He was in a dream. A nightmare. None of this was happening. When he opened his eyes again, his master had vanished. He heard the swishing sounds the paddy grass made as the old kris-maker ran swiftly back to the road. The motorbike engines got louder and louder. Sweat ran down his face, trickled down his neck, soaked his clothes. Images filled his mind, images cobbled together from overheard stories. The hantumu. Dark forces, figures of whispered legend, of bad dream, and yet now roaming the land once more. The hantumu were eyeless, some said; they dressed all in black and were mounted on black motorbikes, huge swords by their sides. They were assassins but no-one knew where they came from, why they did what they did – murders, kidnappings, the torching of houses, of sacred places. So many things like that had happened in Jayangan in the last few years. No-one had been able to catch them for they always vanished as mysteriously as they had come.

  The noise of their engines was so loud now Adi knew they must be only a short distance away; they must be nearly at the spot where he and his master … Then suddenly, Empu Wesiagi shouted, ‘I am here, you scum. Here, if you can take me! Ah, you thought I would be afraid!’

  The motorbikes revved, then were quiet. A cold voice that sent shivers down Adi’s spine answered, ‘It is nothing to us if you are afraid or not, old man. You come to our master alive or you come to him dead – that is of little importance.’

  Adi’s heart swelled. His master was most definitely not a traitor.

  ‘You won’t take me easily, scum of the devil!’ Empu Wesiagi’s voice rang out, then a clash of steel. Adi could imagine the old man standing on guard, surrounded by the evil hantumu. He could imagine him whirling around, attacking them with the new kris he’d made. Empu Wesiagi was a good fighter, as well as a good smith. He would not give up easily.

  The battle raged for longer than one would have thought possible knowing that an old man, though strong and broad and big and wily, was gravely outnumbered by evil assassins armed to the teeth. Clash of steel, shouts, screams, bloodcurdling shrieks filled the air for quite some minutes. Bound, gagged, Adi raged against his helplessness, wishing with all his heart he could break his bonds and go and help his master, no matter what he had said. But the rope was tied tightly, the gag too. There was nothing he could do but listen helplessly. His eyes filled with angry tears. Finally came the sound of a motorbike starting up, and another, and another, and another. Four of them. There had been four of them. Adi could hear nothing now except the roar of the machines. An icy hand gripped his heart. Was his master dead, or wounded? Would they come looking for him? No, they did not know he was here. His master had sacrificed himself so they would not know.

  The engines rose to a crescendo, then began to fade. Night had fallen. There was no moon. Adi could see nothing. The paddy grass closed in around him, prison and refuge. He had to do as Empu Wesiagi wanted and get to Kotabunga. Yet he was bound and gagged. His master had taken the kris; he could not even cut his bonds. How could he get away?

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  Version 1.0

  The Curse of Zohreh

  9781742747859

  Published by Random House Australia 2012

  Text copyright © Sophie Masson 2005

  Illustrations copyright © Xavier Masson-Leach 2005

  The moral right of the author has been asserted.

  A Random House Australia book

  Published by Random House Australia Pty Ltd

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  www.randomhouse.com.au

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  First published by Random House Australia in 2005

  National Library of Australia

  Cataloguing-in-Publication Entry

  Masson, Sophie, 1959–.

  The curse of Zohreh.

  For secondary students.

  ISBN 1 74166 072 6.

  I. Title.

  A823.3

  Cover and in
ternal illustrations by Xavier Masson-Leach

  Cover and internal design by Sandra Nobes

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