Even the Darkest Stars

by Heather Fawcett

  “Spirits,” I whispered. I couldn’t stop staring.

  River took my chin in his hand. “Are you all right?”

  I let him help me to my feet. My knees wobbled, and River grabbed me again. “I’m all right.”

  Was I?

  “I thought you were finished when I saw it start to fall,” River said. His expression was strange—he looked almost frightened. I had never known River to be frightened of anything, apart from the yak. He touched my face again, as if to reassure himself. “The spirits are looking out for you.”

  “Are they?” I said faintly, glancing at the serac again. I could still feel its brush against my back, see its shadow envelop me.

  “Let’s keep going,” I said. “I’m fine, really.”

  “Are you sure?”

  I nodded, though my knees still felt weak. I wanted to put as much distance between us and the seracs as possible. But we had not traveled ten paces before there came another tremendous groan from behind us.

  Another serac, perhaps weakened by its neighbor’s fall, crashed to the ground, sending up a plume of snow crystals. Another fell across it, cracking in two. Behind that, three more seracs, one after the other, toppled over with a mighty thud. I felt each impact through my boots.

  River was still holding me. “Well,” he said, as finally the sounds of groaning and splintering melted to echoes, “at least we’re through the seracs.”

  We didn’t speak much after that. By silent agreement, we hiked as rapidly as possible, our breath rising in great clouds around us. As the moments passed, and the terrain opened onto a steep but even meadow of snow, I began to feel like myself again. My hands stopped shaking, and I no longer heard the uncanny groan of the serac echo in my mind. But its shadow did not leave me.

  We moved more cautiously, even after leaving the seracs behind. Our progress slowed further as we made our way up the side of a small cirque, a bowl-shaped depression in the mountainside. Mingma’s map clearly indicated that this was the best route, though it was exhausting—an uphill climb over broken piles of snow and ice. River and I were forced to stop frequently, to navigate the difficult path ahead. My knee throbbed with renewed vigor, slowing my pace and further dampening my mood.

  We didn’t reach the Ngadi face until late afternoon. The shadow of the land had fallen upon it, and clouds obscured the hopefully flat terrain above. If possible, these things only made it more terrifying. The ice rose up, up, up—impossibly high and unforgivingly sheer. It curved around the mountainside, fading into mist and shadow, but what could be seen was monstrous, bigger than any ice wall I had ever faced. It could have been the edge of the world, a great solid barrier preventing entry to the mysteries beyond. The jagged striations reminded me of tear tracks, as if the ice was weeping.

  “I guess this is it.” I swallowed. “There’s no other way up.”

  “Mingma didn’t think so,” River said. “He surveyed this side of the mountain thoroughly, before he disappeared.”

  It began to snow. The wind whistled around us, a thin, billowing sound. I shivered, trying unsuccessfully to shake off the shadow of unease that had stalked me all day. River tapped his ax against the ice wall, seeming to consider.

  “We should make camp,” he said. “It’s only a couple of hours until sunset. We’ll hope for better weather in the morning.”

  I squinted up at the mountain. “Why don’t we give it a try? I bet I can get high enough to see what’s above these clouds.”

  “The winds will only get worse with elevation. And even if we do reach the top, we don’t know what sort of terrain we’ll be facing—Mingma’s notes past this point are unclear. I’m not getting stuck out in this storm.”

  “All right,” I grumbled. River was making sense, and that was what annoyed me. He saw my expression and laughed.

  “I can be patient sometimes,” he said.

  We chose a spot that was as sheltered as possible to pitch our tent. Even still, with the rising wind and blowing snow, the tent flapped and shook so loudly that I doubted I would be getting any sleep that night. I found the bell Tem had used to block the winds in Winding Pass, and muttered the incantation. Nothing happened. I tried again, and the wind seemed to abate for a few seconds—though it may have been coincidence.

  “You can put those away, Kamzin,” River said, smiling slightly. He made a gesture, and a drift of snow settled over the tent like a tea cozy. We dove inside, where it was so dark I could barely see my own hands. After some muttered cursing, River managed to light the lantern, suffusing the tent in a warm glow.

  We ate our dinner in silence, cross-legged on our blankets. Once I had finished, and no longer had my hunger to occupy my thoughts, I began to feel awkward. I had known, when we made our plans, that River and I would be sharing his tent—it was impractical to bring two, given the limited weight we could carry. But only now was the realization of what that meant beginning to sink in.

  River, for his part, did not seem awkward at all. He unearthed a small comb from his pack and started brushing Azar-at’s smoke fur, which had grown tangled during the day’s climb. He murmured to the fire demon periodically—I only caught the odd word over the howl of the wind. I suspected that Azar-at was replying, though the creature did not include me in the conversation.

  “What are you talking about?” I said, yawning. The warmth of the tent was making me sleepy. Ragtooth had already dozed off in my lap. I scratched his belly, making his back foot twitch.

  “Oh, this and that,” River said. “Azar-at thinks you climbed well today.”

  “How nice,” I muttered.

  River was quiet for a moment. “I’m glad you’re here, Kamzin. It’s selfish of me—but I’m glad.”

  I smiled. “Well, someone has to be there to stop you from tumbling off a cliff because you’re paying more attention to the path ahead than you are to your feet.”

  River laughed. It was a welcome sound, a contrast to the lonely moan of the wind. “I can be headstrong, it’s true. My brother Sky used to tease me about it. He said I wanted to run before I could walk. I was constantly driving our mother mad. Quite a few of my scars are from those days.”

  The image of River Shara as a clumsy child, bumbling into things, made me laugh too. I lay down, drawing my blankets around me. “Are you close to your brothers?”

  “Closer these days than we were. They’re much older than me—the youngest of the three is eight years my elder. I think that, for the most part, they saw me as more of a nuisance than a brother when we were growing up.”

  I scratched Ragtooth’s chin. I could certainly understand that.

  “I was desperate to win their approval,” River went on. “I followed them everywhere, particularly Sky. He was the most tolerant of me. To a point.”

  “Did you fight often?”

  “My brothers fought. They still do, though it’s not so innocent anymore. They are great men, but they care for little other than power.”

  I tried to make out his expression in the darkness. It seemed to be a vague sort of grimace. Tem’s words came back to me. “And you don’t? Care about power, I mean.”

  He gazed at me. “As a means to an end, it’s useful. But power for the sake of power is meaningless—empty air. I’ve never understood the appeal.”

  We were quiet again. The falling snow tapped against the oilcloth like a visitor requesting entrance. My eyelids felt very heavy. I hovered at the edge of sleep, unwilling or unable to let it take me.

  “I’m worried about Lusha,” I said quietly.

  River shifted position. “Well, Mara’s never been the determined sort, though he’d claim otherwise. My guess is they encountered some difficulty and turned around.”

  “That’s what Tem said.”

  “Tem is probably right.”

  “Aimo—” I faltered. “It was so quick. I can’t stop thinking about that. One minute she was behind me, and then—” I swallowed. “What if something like that happened to Lusha? What if
she’s gone, and I never even had a chance to say good-bye?”

  “It’s possible,” River said. “But either way, there’s nothing you can do now.”

  Somehow, his calm acknowledgment brought me comfort, more than if he had denied my fears.

  “Is there something else?” he said.

  “I don’t know.” I couldn’t put my feelings into words. I only knew that, when I thought of Lusha, I felt fear, and worry, and anger at myself. There was something I was missing, I was sure of it.

  River moved again. I couldn’t see him—it was too dark now, beneath our blanket of snow. Then he pressed his palm against the back of my hand, and we threaded our fingers together. My heart sped up, but I was tired, so tired. I turned on my side, trying to make out his outline in the darkness, even as my eyes drifted shut. As I fell asleep, my last memory was of a warm feeling of safety, the likes of which I hadn’t felt since leaving Azmiri.

  NINETEEN

  MY BREATH ROSE around me in billowing clouds, and my nose ran constantly. My hands were like claws clutching at my tools. I couldn’t feel my face.

  River and I had just started up the ice wall. It was painfully slow going. I didn’t like using ropes, which I viewed as unnecessary interruptions to the rhythm of climbing, but River had insisted on it. I had to admit, grudgingly, that I was relieved. The Ngadi face wasn’t like anything I had faced before. I was beginning to wonder if it had an end—if so, I couldn’t see it through the clouds. Perhaps River and I would keep climbing until we hit the moon.

  The weather was not much better than yesterday. It had stopped snowing, but the wind had lessened only slightly, and the clouds were low and threatening. River and I had debated waiting an hour or two to see if conditions improved, but had eventually decided to push on. When we set off, I shoved Ragtooth in my pack, despite his desire to stay wrapped around my shoulders like a smelly shawl—I couldn’t be distracted by him. Azar-at we left at the bottom, gazing up at us.

  “He’ll meet us at the top,” was all River said.

  We had decided to use a running belay—not the safest technique, but certainly the fastest. River and I were tied securely to either end of a long rope attached to fixed anchors along the way. I went first, to hammer the anchors into the ice, and River followed, retrieving them as he climbed. I was not pleased to be going first—not because it was more strenuous work, but because the best climber never went first using this method. River, however, had been unyielding, and despite my misgivings, I now found myself fifty feet above him, hammering pitons into the ice.

  I hauled myself up another foot, kicking my toes against the wall until the iron crampons I had attached to my boots found purchase, then stopped to secure another anchor with the hammer end of my ice ax. My axes were sturdy but light, attached to each wrist with a loop of rope to reduce the odds of dropping them. The piton would only go in partway—that would have to do. Carefully, mindful of my aching fingers, I threaded a spring hook through the hole in the piton, then attached it to our rope. I looked down, and River, yards below, gave me a thumbs-up. His face was flushed and speckled with frost, but he did not seem distressed. On the contrary, he seemed to be whistling. I caught snatches of it on the wind, twisted and intermingled with its wild howl. Strangely, the sounds seemed to complement each other, to match in some indefinable way.

  Time passed. I couldn’t have said how much—all I knew was the steady pattern of motion. Reach up with my ax, pound away until I found a good hold, step up, stab the toe of my boot into the wall, then do the same with the other foot. Reach, pound, step, step, reach. Below me, I could hear River doing the same, matching my movements and speed. Ragtooth poked his snout out every once in a while, sniffing the air, but stopped as the wind picked up and the chill deepened. I heard him snuffling around in my pack, turning in circles as he always did before settling in for a nap.

  Sometimes, I envied Ragtooth.

  As we climbed, I kept watch on the clouds. A thick mass gathered above us, though it was hard to tell precisely how far away in this world of soft grays and whites.

  The wind gusted, and this time it brought with it a dusting of snow. I looked up again. The clouds were closer now—much closer. We were not only moving toward them—they were moving toward us. Fast.

  “River!” I shouted. He glanced up, a question forming on his lips. I didn’t get to hear it, because at that moment, the squall descended. An icy wind struck me with the force of a hammer, and it was only by chance that I managed to keep my hold on my axes. I pressed my face into the ice, hoping it would let up. After a few breathless minutes, it did, but only slightly.

  “River!”

  There was no answer. Most likely, he couldn’t hear me over the gale. Snow was falling—or rather, striking, sharp crystals pummeling every exposed inch of my skin.

  I knew there was nothing to do but carry on. Surely—surely—we would reach the top soon. I could continue; at least I thought I could—it wouldn’t be my first time climbing blind in bad weather. But would River be all right?

  I gave the rope three sharp tugs. After a long, agonizing moment, I felt three tugs in reply.

  Setting my jaw, I kept climbing. Despite my thick sheepskin gloves, my fingers were stiff with cold. I was having a hard time managing the ropes and the anchors, and was beginning to wish again that I could climb without them. I felt certain I could be at the top in half the time.

  I couldn’t tell how much time passed—perhaps five minutes, perhaps an hour. Finally, the clouds parted, revealing the top of the ice wall, only a few dozen yards away.

  I let out a cry of relief. The clouds swallowed the view again, but they were thinning now, and the snow had all but stopped. I looked down. River was too far away—at some point during the squall, he had fallen behind.

  “We’re almost there,” I called.

  He glanced up. His face was pinched, and he looked exhausted. Still, he managed a weary wave of acknowledgment. Turning my face back to the wall, I took another step.

  A tremendous crack split the air. I whipped around, just in time to see the section of ice supporting River give way.

  I screamed. River was falling—and he was no longer attached to anything. As he fell, for some unfathomable reason, he reached out and drove the blade of his ax into the rope, severing it instantly.

  He cut the rope.

  Somehow, just before he disappeared into the cloud below, River managed to ram his ax into the lip of an overhang. He hung suspended, his legs dangling over a void. His second ax went spinning into the clouds below and was swallowed up. The clouds billowed over him, swallowing him too.

  “River!” I shouted. I didn’t even think. I just started descending as fast as I could. But would I get there in time?

  I made a decision. An awful, stupid decision I knew I would regret, even as I made it. I shuffled across the ice, glancing down to judge my positioning. Then, gritting my teeth, my heart hammering in my throat, I sank the smaller ax I carried into the ice—a shallow thrust, with none of my usual force. Then I lifted my other ax free of the ice, and kicked my feet out from the wall.

  Immediately, I began to fall. Or rather, to slide—fast, much faster than I had anticipated. I dug my feet back into the ice, but this did little to arrest my descent. My crampons made a terrible grinding, squealing noise as they skidded down the ice. I choked on a scream. At the last minute, as I neared River’s position, I rammed my second ax back into the ice wall.

  Not deep enough. The ax stuck for a bare second before the ice gave way. A shower of ice rained down on my face, a chunk the size of my fist striking me on the chin.

  Again, a small, desperate voice in my head commanded. Do it again.

  Gathering all my strength, I drew my arm back and pounded the ax into the ice. It stuck this time, and I was wrenched to a painful halt. Shaking, I dug my crampons deep into the ice, securing myself properly. I had come to a stop above River, but only just. It was the work of a few seconds to reach him.
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  “Kamzin!” he shouted. His expression was dazed. “How did you—”

  “Shut up,” I said shortly. “I’m going to get you out of this.” He said something in reply, but I couldn’t hear it over the wind. He seemed to be laughing, though it was not his usual laugh. It was an eerie, broken sound that sent a shiver down my spine. Had he well and truly lost his mind?

  “Ragtooth,” I said. The fox was certainly not sleeping now. He emerged from my pack, the spare ax already clutched in his teeth. He clambered across my shoulders and hopped down onto River’s head. River took the ax, though he seemed to have trouble maintaining his hold on it. Finally, he pounded it into the ice, and managed to haul himself up to a place where his feet could grip. He leaned against the ice, still laughing. Tears slid down his cheeks.

  “Stop that,” I said. “We have to keep going, River.”

  Still the laughter went on, even as I clipped him back into the rope. Even as the clouds floated around us again, even as the ice gave another ominous, groaning creak.

  “All right, that’s it,” I said. “Ragtooth?”

  The fox gazed at me with glittering eyes. Then he leaped back onto River’s shoulder. Once there, he sank his teeth into his ear.

  River shouted in pain. He flailed at Ragtooth, but the fox was already in my pack again. To River’s credit, he soon calmed down, and pressed his forehead against the ice. He seemed to be breathing hard.

  “Are you going to be all right?” I said.

  He looked at me. His face was pale, but he seemed mostly sane again. “Yes.”

  “Let’s go, then.”

  I helped him retrieve the spare ax in his pack, and then attached the now-shortened rope to his harness again with a crow’s-eye knot. We reached the top of the Ngadi face soon after, having made exceptional time over the remaining distance. It was as if the wind was pushing us up, we were so eager to be off the ice. As I hauled myself over the edge, I found myself facing a narrow ridge of snowy ground, too narrow for two people to stand abreast. Ahead was a small indentation in the rock face that would provide some shelter against the wind. River and I dragged ourselves there, and collapsed. Ragtooth emerged from my pack and huddled against my chest. I folded him into my chuba, grateful for the warmth and the steady beat of his little heart. River lay on his back, his arm folded over his eyes.