Even the Darkest Stars

by Heather Fawcett

  I stared at him. An ice ax was one of the most important—and personal—things in an explorer’s pack. My mother’s had been beautiful—intricately carved, its bone handle grooved from the pressure of her fingers, and the blade narrowed from years of sharpening. “You lost your—”

  “A yak trampled it on my last expedition. Snapped it in two. Did you hear what I said about choosing your yak carefully?”

  We came to the shed where the men had stored River’s balloon. I could just see the brightly colored fabric buried beneath a heap of what looked at first like rubble, but what I soon realized was the entirety of River’s supplies. Packets of tea and dried foodstuffs, some of which spilled out onto the dirt floor, a jumbled pile of knives and whetstones, a satchel of healing herbs tied in loose bundles, and a dozen mysterious wooden chests of varying sizes stacked in several teetering columns.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” he said. “Let me know what your sister has left us with.”

  “But—”

  He was already walking away. Steeling myself, I called, “I never said I would go with you.”

  He stopped and turned slowly to face me. In the breeze, his cloak floated behind him like a rippling shadow.

  “You never said you wouldn’t.” His gaze was cool again.

  I stared him down. There was a part of me—the far more rational part—that questioned my own sanity for doing so, but I would not let him order me around, or dismiss me as he would some fawning courtier. I wouldn’t let myself be that—no matter what he offered me.

  He held my gaze for another moment, and then, slowly, he began to smile. I breathed a silent sigh of relief.

  “Kamzin,” he said, “will you come with me? Will you show me the way to the mountain?”

  “Yes,” I said, trying to keep my voice even as excitement pulsed through me. “On one condition.”

  He seemed to find this amusing. I realized that he could not be used to people challenging him. “Name it.”

  “I want to know what we’re looking for,” I said. “Why this talisman is so important to the emperor. What properties it has.”

  He looked regretful. “I wish I could tell you, truly I do.”

  “How am I supposed to trust you if you won’t answer any of my questions?”

  “Trust me?” He shook his head, bemused. “You’re worrying about the wrong thing. Trusting me is not something I recommend to anyone.”

  And with that, he was gone.

  I bit my lip, staring at his retreating back. My thoughts seemed to be spinning in a hundred different directions.

  The supplies were a mess. Lusha—or Mara, perhaps—had evidently ransacked them with abandon, and much of the foodstuffs were trampled and ruined. I began piling the crates up, running over the last few days in my mind.

  It made no sense that Lusha would abandon her promise to River and sneak off with a man she had just met—a man who, as evidenced last night, she found about as compelling as our great-grandfather Tashi after his third bowl of wine. Yet as I considered everything, sweat beading on my forehead as I shifted the heavy supplies, surprise was not what I felt—it was anger.

  Anger at Lusha for keeping secrets. Anger at her for risking her life like this. And anger at how, once again, she was the center around which everything, and everyone else, revolved.

  Lusha knew that I wanted to escape Azmiri. She knew that I would have given anything to prove myself to River—and what had she done? Shown up not only me but the Royal Explorer himself. If they beat us to Raksha, and found the talisman, Mara would win the title of Royal Explorer, and become the second-most-powerful man in the Empire. And Lusha would share in the glory.

  If they beat us to Raksha. I stabbed at a teetering pile of crates with my foot, steadying them. As highly as Lusha thought of herself, she was no match for me when it came to applying stupid, brute strength to physical obstacles. She could hunt, and read maps, and hike difficult terrain—but I could navigate an icefall on a moonless night, and stick to mountains like sap. It was the one way I had always bested Lusha. She couldn’t climb Raksha, I knew that in my bones. And she had convinced herself—convinced River, convinced Mara—that she could.

  I kicked at a whetstone so hard it flew into the air. I didn’t know if I wanted to stop my sister from getting herself killed, or kill her myself.

  Ragtooth showed up a few minutes later, nosing around in the box of dried plums. I shooed him out, but he only drew his ears back and hissed at me like a cat.

  “Don’t even think about stowing away,” I warned. “You’re not coming.”

  Once I set my mind to the task, it didn’t take me long. I wrapped the spring hooks, pitons, and the rest of the climbing gear carefully in oilcloth to prevent rust, and I counted and measured every length of rope I could find. Everything else I organized into piles and tucked away in packs, tallying the items that were missing and would need to be borrowed or bought from the villagers.

  “Kamzin?”

  It was Tem. He looked paler than usual, and I could just make out the line of the cut through his hair, but he seemed otherwise recovered from last night. His trousers were muddy, and strands of yak hair clung to his chuba. His father must have commanded him to tend to the herds that morning, in spite of his injury. Or, knowing Metok, because of it.

  “What are you doing?” he said. “Did Lusha—?”

  “Lusha’s gone.” I explained quickly. Tem’s expression grew more and more confused.

  “But that doesn’t make any sense,” he said. “Why would she betray River Shara? She wouldn’t care about a rivalry between two rich nobles.”

  “River thinks it was gold.”

  Tem made a skeptical noise. “You believe that?”

  “I don’t know.” Lusha certainly wasn’t interested in profit for her own sake. But for the village?

  Though she wasn’t the elder yet, Lusha had always seen herself in that light, much to my annoyance. She cared more for Azmiri than she did for her own life. And the village, isolated as it was and far from the trading routes, was certainly not wealthy. If Mara had offered enough gold to make us prosperous, to make medicine shortages and lean winters a thing of the past, would Lusha have accepted?

  I shook my head. “Tem, do you still have your grandfather’s ice ax? River needs one, and I don’t think any of Elder’s will suit his grip.”

  “You’re going with him.” Tem’s voice was flat.

  I looked at him. “Are you surprised?”

  “No. You’ve always been completely mad.”

  I turned back to the crates. “You made your opinion clear yesterday. Please, let’s not argue anymore. I don’t want it to be the last thing we do.”

  “Neither do I.” Tem sighed. “That’s why I’m coming with you.”

  I dropped the crate I was lifting, spilling tea leaves across the floor. “What? You are not!”

  “I’m your friend. And I’m not letting you do this by yourself.”

  “River will never allow it.”

  “I bet he will, if you ask him.”

  I let out a snort of laughter. “Right. The Royal Explorer will do exactly as I say.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Tem’s voice shook slightly, but his gaze was firm. “I’ll follow alone if I have to.”

  “Your father will never forgive you.” My voice was low.

  He looked away. “Well, that’s nothing new, is it?”

  I felt a familiar stab of sympathy. Tem’s father was as cruel as he was handsome—and this had been even more true in his youth. Metok traveled frequently to other villages to trade his animals, often leaving heartbroken young women in his wake. After one gave birth to a child, she had been so ashamed that she had traveled to Azmiri and abandoned him on Metok’s doorstep. Metok claimed he didn’t know her name, and given his reputation most villagers took him at his word. He had decided to raise Tem himself, instead of surrendering him to the emperor’s army, the most common destination for unwanted orphans, only b
ecause he thought it would be useful to have a son to help with his herds—a fact he hadn’t kept secret from anyone, including Tem.

  “Tem, I—”

  “Don’t.” He looked awkward again. “Just tell me what you need.”

  I studied him. I knew I would never change his mind—Tem was impossibly stubborn. He would follow me, unless I tied him up or placed a spell on him. And, knowing Tem, it would take him all of five seconds to break any spell of mine.

  I let out a long sigh. “All right. Let’s start by finding that ax.”

  SIX

  THE OBSERVATORY FELT even colder than usual. Though the candles had been put out, their presence hung in the air, a taste like tears. The village below shone against the dark mountainside, lit by dragonlight that wavered and traveled, revealing glimpses of color from the drawn shutters. I felt closer to the sky at this lofty height than I did to the human realm. The square hole in the roof framed cloudy gatherings of stars, occasionally disturbed by the trail of a comet.

  I whistled for the dragon I had brought with me. He hopped onto the table, preening. I scratched his chin absently while I examined the sheaves of paper that Lusha, in her haste, had left scattered over the drawing table. The wind that whispered through the observatory had stolen several pages; I had found two snagged in the grass outside.

  I flipped through the papers. Most were careful maps of the constellations with calculations of azimuths and meridians. I was soon completely lost. I had never liked astronomy; there was too much fiddly detail and guesswork in it for me. Although Lusha had successfully predicted several events in our village, such as an early birthing season for Elder’s yaks and an avalanche that had destroyed one of the buckwheat terraces, there were many things neither she nor the seer had foreseen. There seemed to be little rhyme or reason to it.

  I squinted at her notes, which were nearly illegible, interspersed with sketches of the constellations.

  I’m trying to work something out, Lusha had said yesterday.

  The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if she had seen something in the stars. Something that had driven her to abandon her promise to River and throw her lot in with his rival.

  “Where is it, Lusha?” I muttered into the table.

  But I could make out only a few words, and these were of little help—mostly astronomical babble like “apogee,” “nadir,” and “lunation.” My name was there in three places, underlined, but I also saw Father’s name, and other family members’. Even “Tem” appeared once. Everything was such a jumble, and some of the sheaves were dated months ago. I couldn’t be sure if they had any relevance to what I was looking for.

  I froze. At the very bottom of a pile of star charts, almost as if it had been buried there on purpose, was a page titled “Shara.”

  I moved the page closer to the dragon’s light. It showed a long list of names, together with notations indicating specific stars. I recognized several—River was not the only famous member of his famous family, which had included another Royal Explorer, several Generals of the First Army, a shaman who had single-handedly defeated an entire barbarian army, and the architect who had built the emperor’s palace.

  I frowned, puzzled. What interest could Lusha have in River’s family tree?

  “Looking for something?”

  I jumped, dropping the scroll. But it was only the seer, Yonden, who stood in the doorway.

  “Yes.” I glanced back at the papers. “But I don’t seem to be having any luck.”

  Yonden was silent. He may have been thinking over what I said, or waiting for me to speak again—it was often impossible to tell with him. Yonden was young to be village seer—only a few years older than Lusha, his apprentice. But his talent was such that people from other villages would travel all the way to Azmiri to consult with him. Thin and already balding, he was not impressive to look at. His gaze, however, was intelligent, and warmed by the slight smile he always seemed to wear.

  He was not smiling tonight, however. His face was drawn and serious. There was an indefinable emotion in his gaze, almost as if he had been expecting—or hoping—to find someone else there.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “You came here to work—I’m interrupting.”

  “Not at all.” He stepped inside, his expression relaxing into its usual gentle smile. “Lusha thought you might come here.” He tucked his hands into his sleeves, studying me. Yonden did not look at people so much as peer at them, as if they were spread across a distance like a mountain range.

  “You spoke to her before she left?” I said.

  “Yes.” Yonden’s tone became opaque. I thought I could guess why. Lusha hadn’t bothered with good-byes—except, it seemed, for Yonden.

  I regarded him curiously. I had always suspected there was something going on between him and Lusha, though I had never fully believed it. Yonden was the most talented seer Azmiri had seen in generations; he would be risking his livelihood by entertaining a relationship with anyone. It was forbidden for seers to marry—even friendships were frowned upon. Their abilities, it was believed, were diminished by associating too much with other people. Good seers were like the stars themselves—pure, cold, and removed from earthly concerns.

  “What else did she say?” I asked. “Yonden—I know Lusha saw something in the stars. Something about the expedition to Raksha. Do you know what it was?”

  Yonden gave me a long, thoughtful look, and I smothered a sigh. Seers were impossible. They were free to speak about some things they read in the stars, but not others. Lusha had said once that it depended on whether a coming event was fixed or unstable, whatever that meant.

  After a moment, Yonden said, “We see many things. Truths, possibilities, events both past and future. Some things cannot be read, for they are always shrouded, or in endless motion.”

  I bit back my frustration. “But is there anything you can tell me?”

  Yonden paused again. “I can say that there is great instability surrounding this expedition. Almost all the signs are contradictory. Some are very, very strange.”

  It was like talking to a wall of mist. “So that’s it?”

  Yonden turned to one of the windows and adjusted the telescope. “There is the matter of the fire demon.”

  I froze. “The what?”

  “You will meet a fire demon on your journey. I advise you not to befriend it.”

  “Why would I befriend a fire demon?”

  “Others have done so, or tried. Nevertheless, you should keep your distance.”

  My heart had begun to pound. A fire demon. This was terrible news. Worse than being told that I would be caught in a rock slide, or confronted by a family of hungry bears. Fire demons were strange creatures—ancient, elemental spirits who mostly avoided humans, and about whom little was known. But of that little, none was positive. Shamans summoned them, sometimes, to work difficult spells, but only at great cost. A fire demon did not grant favors or forgive debts. They were greedy, hungry things. I had never seen one myself—few people had—and I hoped I never would.

  Yonden shuffled across the room and bent over a stone in the floor. It lifted easily, revealing a dark cavity that I had never seen before. I heard papers rustling, and a few mysterious clink-clink sounds, before he finally retrieved a single scroll, which was gray with age.

  “Here,” he said, passing it to me. “Handle it with care. It’s very old.”

  I stared. I was gazing at a topographical map of an enormous mountain—but not just any mountain. I recognized its sharp, distinctive contours, how the ridge leading to its summit jutted like a protruding spine. I unfurled the map more, revealing different angles of the same subject, along with detailed drawings of key features.

  Raksha.

  I whistled for the dragon, and he flew to my shoulder. The map was indeed old and faded, but still legible.

  “I didn’t know it had been mapped,” I breathed. There were even notes along the side, written in a firm, spiky hand.

&nb
sp; “It’s Mingma’s,” Yonden said. “The survivors of his expedition managed to retrieve it and bring it back to the emperor. Your mother borrowed it before her own journey north. It’s not complete—Mingma never had a chance to finish it.”

  I nodded. Mingma was a legendary figure, one of the first to hold the title of Royal Explorer. No one knew if he had actually made it to the summit of Raksha fifty years ago. If he had, he had not lived to tell of it.

  “Lusha has a copy,” he said. “She wanted me to keep the original safe. But I think you can make more use of it than I.”

  “Thank you,” I murmured.

  Yonden smiled. Retrieving a drawing board and a sheaf of paper, he sank to the ground before the telescope. His pencil scratched against the wood. I was clearly not expected to stay any longer.

  “Is there anything else you can tell me?” My voice seemed very small, suddenly.

  Yonden’s pencil paused, but he did not speak for a long moment.

  “Yes,” he said finally, pinning me with one last, deep gaze. There was a shadow on his face, but it didn’t conceal the quiet sadness there. “Look out for your sister. But do not forget to look out for yourself.”

  PART II

  WINDING PASS

  SEVEN

  WE LEFT AT dawn.

  Or we would have, if River had been on time.

  “Probably fixing his hair,” Tem said. He stood erect beneath the weight of his pack, resting his arm calmly on his walking stick. Too erect. Too calm. He was doing his best to appear untroubled—and would have succeeded, had I not known him as well as I did. Based on the stiffness of his mouth and the faint tremor in his hands, I guessed he wasn’t far from throwing up.

  I said nothing, too preoccupied with a dream from last night. I had been running from a fire demon, who stalked me through dark woods. A beautiful woman appeared, half shadow and half flesh—even though I had never seen a witch, I knew she was one. But before she could lay a curse, the fire demon stretched its mouth to a terrifying size and swallowed her whole—then it turned toward me.