Lusha nodded to Mara. “Fine. Kamzin, you’re not going any farther along this path. Get some rest, and then head back to base camp.”
I stared at her. “You can’t just order me—”
“If I have to get Tem to knock you unconscious and float your body down the mountain, I’ll do it.”
“Tem would never agree to that,” I snapped, though I was only half-convinced of this.
“Then I’ll have to resort to nonmagical means of knocking you unconscious. I can’t say I would mind the challenge.”
I stomped off, neither knowing nor caring which direction I was headed in. Tem called after me, but I ignored him. I knew that I was exhausted, given what I had been through, but I couldn’t feel it. Perhaps it was that I was still charged from the battle with the ghosts, or perhaps it was my anger at Lusha—her infuriating self-assurance, even when it flew in the face of all logic; her ability to bend everyone around her to her will—that drove me on. Either way, I walked for at least a quarter hour, wading through knee-deep snow, heedless of the danger I could be placing myself in by venturing out alone. I finally came to a precarious ledge that faced south, overlooking the undulating, dragonish spine of the Arya mountains. If it weren’t for the haze that still clung to the land, I could have followed with my gaze the route we had taken to reach Raksha, at least from Winding Pass. Mount Azmiri was hidden from view, but it was there, somewhere. I could feel it.
I lowered myself onto the ledge, swinging my legs over the vast expanse. My head whirled with a hundred different thoughts. Most of all, though, I felt lost.
How could Lusha believe what she had seen in the stars? How could she be so convinced—always so convinced—that she was incapable of making a mistake? Perhaps someone had tampered with Mara’s memory—perhaps it had even been River, despite his protests. But that didn’t mean River had some dark plot in mind. He was the Royal Explorer, the emperor’s trusted confidant. He had been sent on a mission to retrieve a talisman that could save the Empire from ruin, and Azmiri with it.
I learned my head against the rock, letting the sunlight soothe my painfully exhausted body. I had been so worried about Lusha, so desperate to see her again. And yet now I wanted only the last few days back, when River and I were alone and everything was simpler.
I must have dozed off, for suddenly I was jolted back to alertness by a dragon landing on my lap. It sniffed at my hands, then turned to regard me hopefully with its luminous golden eyes. I turned my head and found Tem seated behind me, several feet back from the edge.
“Sorry,” he said. “I asked him to wake you. You have no idea how scary that looks.”
I blinked at my surroundings. I was balanced on a narrow ledge thousands of feet above the ground. It would be an odd place for most people to sleep, I supposed.
I glared at him. “Lusha sent you to keep an eye on me, didn’t she?”
Tem’s silence was reply enough. I turned away from him, leaning my head against the rock and pointedly closing my eyes. He let out a small sigh that turned into a cough.
“I know you’re angry,” he said. “But Lusha only wants to protect you.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be protected,” I muttered. “You’re taking her side, just like everyone else always does.”
“I’m not—”
“I almost died,” I said. “River saved my life.”
I saw Mingma’s face again, felt the hungry chill of the water. It would haunt my dreams for many nights to come.
“I didn’t know,” Tem said quietly. He made a sound as if to speak again, but I turned my face away.
There was a long silence. Tem made no move to leave, though he did call the dragon back to his side. I knew I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again, but I kept my eyes closed nevertheless.
It wasn’t long, though, before I began to notice how the rock was digging uncomfortably into my back, and that my stomach was rumbling for breakfast. I snuck a glance at Tem, and was surprised to find that he was leaning his head against his hand, seemingly asleep. As I shifted position, his eyes opened, settling on me. I noticed for the first time how dark the circles under his eyes were. There was a heaviness about his movements, as if his weariness were an invisible pack he carried with him.
“Your cough is worse, isn’t it?” I said.
He rubbed his eyes, which only increased their pinkish hue. “Yes, but that isn’t the problem. I’ve been using magic too often. It’s taking a toll.”
I felt a stab of anxiety. Too many spells wore a shaman thin, to the point where ordinary methods of restoration—sleep, food, a warm fire—were rendered almost useless. It was as if the magic ate away at the shaman’s ability to protect himself from its effects. Shamans who overused magic were in danger of all sorts of ailments, or even death if they were of sufficient age.
“I helped us reach the top of the ice wall,” he said, rubbing his head as if the memory pained him. “That was a tricky bit of magic, what with Lusha’s ankle and my poor climbing skills. I ended up choosing an incantation I’ve used before with the calves, when I want them to herd together. I modified it from a herding spell to a pushing spell, to help propel us up, step by step.”
I stared at him. “You invented a new spell?”
“I don’t know about ‘invented.’ It was the same spell, at the root. Anyway, that wasn’t what tired me, not really. It was trying to undo the spell that was placed on Mara’s memories. I worked at it for an hour last night, and I’m not sure I made any progress. It’s a strange spell, and strong. And it’s as if it was designed to fight against any shaman that tried to break it.”
“Hmm.” I considered this. Chirri had taught me about memory spells once—she had even placed one on me, causing me to forget what I had eaten for breakfast that morning. She had wanted me to break the spell myself, but, true to form, I only made it worse, and eventually forgot what I had eaten for the past month. “Did you try the wayfarer’s incantation?”
“What’s that?”
“It’s something Chirri recommended for spells of the mind—to retrieve memories, or rescue someone from madness. The shaman forms a connection with the afflicted and helps them recover what they’ve lost.”
Tem looked interested. “Could you teach it to me?”
“I’m not sure.” I bit my lip. “I don’t remember it all.”
Tem gave me a small, tired smile. “That’s all right. Don’t worry about it.”
I shook my head. “I owe you an apology. I’m the reason you’re here, caught up in this mess.”
He shrugged. A faint smile spread across his face. “It’s my own fault for inviting myself along.”
“Yes. Next time, keep in mind how crazy I am before you decide to join in my adventures.”
Tem laughed. I felt myself smiling too. I had missed him. Tem and I might argue, but he was always there for me. It wasn’t something I could say about anyone else.
The kinnika tinkled faintly, making me start. Tem, though, barely seemed to notice.
“They’re still doing that,” I said.
He nodded. “I wish I knew what it meant.”
“Maybe nothing,” I said, even as I felt a familiar shiver of unease. “Maybe it’s just an echo.”
Tem unlooped the string of bells from his neck. He grasped the bell that had sounded, which I recognized—the small, singed one next to the black bell.
“I’ve been trying to work out the character at the base,” he said. “It’s not easy—the metal is warped. But I think it’s ‘shadow-kin.’”
It was an old-fashioned term for witch. I gazed at the bell. It seemed so small, so ordinary. “So what does it mean? Are there witches nearby?” I suppressed the urge to glance over my shoulder—it felt wrong even to speak of witches in a place as unearthly as Raksha.
“If so, it seems odd that we haven’t seen any sign of them.”
“We’ve been lucky.” My voice was more hopeful than I felt.
“Yes,” Tem said. “
Almost too lucky. We’ve been in witch territory for days now. Don’t you think it’s strange?”
“What are you saying?” A cold weight settled in my stomach. “Do you think they’ve been . . . stalking us? Why wouldn’t they have attacked by now?”
“I don’t know.” He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. I’m so tired, Kamzin. Sometimes I—I feel like I can’t separate what I’m afraid of from what’s right in front of me.”
I stretched my arm toward him. My fingertips could just barely reach his knee, but he caught my hand and held it tight.
Back at the cave, I rooted through the remaining supplies, scrounging a cheerless breakfast of churpi, a rock-hard yak cheese, and dried lentils. Lusha and Mara hovered around the fire just outside the cave, debating whether Mara should go ahead to scout out the ridge they had identified, leaving Lusha behind to rest her ankle. Lusha, unsurprisingly, was not happy with this idea, and as their argument went around in circles, I stopped listening. I was past exhausted and probably could have slept in a snowdrift—instead, I retreated into the cave, grateful for the shelter it provided. I would rest for a few minutes, that was it.
River lay on his stomach, his blankets forming a haphazard cocoon around him. He muttered something as I settled beside him, a crease forming between his eyes. Something was troubling him—a fragment of a dream, perhaps. The blood from the ravens’ talons had run down the side of his face before it dried. He flinched as I wiped it off, gently. Given the depth of the marks, there was little doubt he would have a scar there. Shaking my head, I lay down and was soon fast asleep.
When I opened my eyes, all was quiet. River breathed softly a few feet away. The wind moaned over the mountainside. Something had woken me—but what?
My dreams had been filled with ghosts—or rather, ghostly hands, seizing at my chuba and dragging me toward the brink of an abyss. Mingma was there, watching from a distance, the remorse on his face as sharp as broken glass.
I rubbed my eyes. Now I had new monsters to haunt my sleep, as if the fiangul weren’t enough.
Ragtooth stood near the mouth of the cave, his back to me, fur standing on end. Tension was written in every line of his body. I called to him, but he didn’t move a muscle. The back of my neck prickled.
Then the rumbling started. The entire cave shook, bits of loose rock twitching across the ground like insects. River started, his head jerking up.
“Where is it?” he said nonsensically. His cheek showed the imprint of his blanket.
The rumbling began to subside. I loosened my grip on my knees. I had been squeezing them so tight my fingernails would have left marks.
“That was an avalanche,” I said faintly. “And it was close.”
“Too close.” River was fully alert now. He tossed his blankets back and yanked on his boots.
I followed him outside. A towering cloud of ice crystals had descended on our little camp, dusting the tent Mara and Lusha had erected against the rock face. Lusha was only half-visible, standing at the edge of the camp and squinting out into the chaos.
“Lusha!” I shouted. There came another rumble, quieter than the last. Lusha saw me, and came hurrying back.
“Mara went to scout out the route to the north face,” she said. A net of snow covered her hair, and her expression was stern, pinched. It was a look I had seen only rarely—Lusha was frightened.
I felt cold. “Mara is out there?”
“Yes. He took Tem with him.”
“What?” I started forward, but River grabbed my arm.
“Hold on,” he said, turning back to Lusha. “How long have they been gone?”
“Half an hour—maybe more. They were heading for the ridge.”
“This should clear quickly, with the wind.” River squinted up at the mountain’s peak, which was invisible through the cloud. “But there may be another one coming.”
Tem. Panic rose inside me like a clawed thing. “We have to go after them.”
“We will,” Lusha said, her tone reassuring. Her expression, though, was still pinched, pale.
River whistled. “Azar-at, bring my pack.”
Lusha opened her mouth as if to protest, but I grabbed her shoulder and shook her. “Lusha, there’s no time! We need his help.”
Her mouth closed in a tight line. She glanced up at the mountain, seeming to fight with something inside herself. After a moment, narrowing her eyes at River, she gave a jerky nod.
“We’ll have to use snowshoes,” River said. “It won’t be—”
Another distant rumble. The panic that had been rising overwhelmed me—I could hardly think. I threw off River’s arm and ran. The ice crystals hanging in the air stung my face, my throat, my eyes. I didn’t care—I ran on.
Up ahead, the snow cloud was beginning to settle. I could see now that the avalanche had slid right past us, tumbling down the snowy slope beside the rock face and down the mountain. It was probably still falling toward the valley floor.
Suddenly, I stumbled over something warm and soft, with the texture of dandelion seeds. I landed facedown in a snowdrift and surfaced coughing on a lungful of ice.
You must wait, brave one, Azar-at said. The fire demon’s ears were pricked, alert. Not safe to wander alone.
“I don’t care.” I stumbled to my feet, ready to set off again. But suddenly, River and Lusha were there, roped together, both wearing snowshoes.
“Rope,” River said. Lusha handed him a coil unquestioningly. He looped it around my waist and secured it to the rope he wore. Lusha, meanwhile, attached a pair of snowshoes to my feet, her hands moving so quickly I could barely distinguish each motion. Within seconds, they were both done.
“Lead,” Lusha said, and River nodded. She set out first, followed by River and Azar-at. I was left to trot along behind them like an obedient child.
“Why can’t I lead?” I demanded. They both ignored me.
We strode on at a punishing pace in our heavy snowshoes. I was soon panting, and only through sheer force of will was I able to leave any slack between myself and River. The last few days had taken a toll on me, and lack of sleep didn’t help. We trekked up a steep snowbank River and I had investigated the day before, and along the ridge Lusha had indicated. The land fell away on our left, breathtakingly steep. With every minute that passed I felt my panic increase.
It doesn’t matter, I told myself over and over. He could still be alive. I had been buried by an avalanche once, spending several long minutes in an air pocket beneath the snow before Lusha found me. Tem could be in the same situation. He could even now be counting each breath he took, rationing the air in the hopes that someone would find him in time.
I clung to that image, shoved the terror down until it was a heavy weight at the pit of my stomach, and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.
One breath. Another.
The snow was treacherous—loose and slippery, clinging precariously to the slope of the mountain. I wasn’t afraid of heights, but even I tried to avoid looking down more than was necessary. The slope here was sharp, and if anyone put a foot wrong, there was absolutely nothing to stop them from tumbling down and down the mountainside, except the ground. This was far enough away to be separated from us by wispy clouds.
Lusha and River paused several times to confer about the route. They didn’t bother to include me in the conversation, and as much as I resented it, I couldn’t blame them. I had little experience with avalanches, at least on this side of them. Lusha, on the other hand, had taken part in several rescue missions on Azmiri with Father—as the future elder, she needed to know how to respond to emergencies.
“Hurry up,” I nearly screamed as they paused for what felt like the hundredth time. Every moment was precious. Didn’t they understand that?
River glanced my way. He muttered something to Lusha, and they set off again, moving faster despite the risk.
Azar-at trotted ahead of us, nosing the ground. He paused suddenly, burying his entire head in the snow
.
“What is it?” I demanded. “Does he sense something?”
River gazed at the snow, his lips pursed. He cocked his head to one side, as if listening to something. The seconds went by. The sight of our breath, rising in clouds, was a torment to me.
“River!” I grabbed his arm.
“This way,” he said. Azar-at was already moving, uphill this time. The incline was punishing, and we leaned forward onto our hands to maintain our hold on the mountainside. Occasionally, there were rocks and boulders mixed in with the snow. I tried not to focus on these.
Another breath. Then another.
Abruptly, Azar-at came to a halt. He nosed at the loose snow next to a boulder, only the tip of which was visible. The fire demon’s tail wagged frantically.
“Is it Tem?” I surged forward. Wordlessly, Lusha unslung the small shovel from her back and began to dig. River was already digging. I didn’t have a shovel, but I knelt anyway, trying to shift the snow with my hands. Lusha grabbed me by the shoulder and shoved me away.
“That’s not helping,” she said shortly, lifting the chunk of snow I had been scrabbling at with her shovel. “Stay out of the way.”
I sat there, helpless and ragged. Lusha and River did not speak a word. Their shovels slicing through the snow was the only sound. My breaths rose in the air, vanishing one after the other.
Suddenly, a hand poked up through the snow.
River tossed his shovel aside. He and Lusha reached out as one and dragged the hand’s owner out into the light.
It was Mara. I suppressed a sob as the explorer fell forward onto the ground. With my disappointment came guilt, but I barely noticed it. Where was Tem?
The chronicler doubled over, coughing. Lusha handed him a flask. “Here.” Mara took a sip, and the coughing subsided somewhat.
Even the Darkest Stars Page 26
