Once we had finished our meager meal, I tucked myself against the boulder on that barren ledge, drew my hood over my face, and was instantly asleep.
I woke to sunlight spilling over the horizon. For one disoriented moment, I was convinced I had sleepwalked out of my bed and up to the snowy heights above Azmiri village. Then I blinked, remembered, and started upright so quickly I hit my head.
It was several minutes before I was able to force down my involuntary panic and think clearly. How long had it been since I had left Azmiri? I thought about three weeks, but my muddled brain couldn’t be more specific. The days blended together like farmers’ fields under a carpet of snow.
Rubbing my temple, I took stock. My hands, which I had stupidly failed to tuck inside my chuba before I fell asleep, were cramped with cold, the blood from my cracked nails frozen and crusted. My arms were so tired I could barely feel them, and there was an ache in my side—the side that had slammed into the mountain—that was worryingly sharp, and could mean a broken rib. My throat ached from the cold and the ice crystals I couldn’t help inhaling; every breath felt like swallowing sandpaper. I had no food left, and very little water, and I was no less exhausted for having slept for an hour—it was too cold, the air too thin, for rest to properly revive me. I had slept not because I had wanted to, but because I had been incapable of maintaining consciousness.
All things considered, my chances of making it to the summit of Raksha were not good. The chances of me making it down the mountain again, however, were almost nonexistent. Descending a mountain was always more dangerous than climbing it, and this had never been more true than it was for me now. I couldn’t even imagine tackling the punishing rock face and its violent weather in my current state.
A wave of sadness welled up in me. It wasn’t sadness for myself. It was sadness for Tem and Lusha, who would have to accept, as the hours passed and I didn’t return to camp, that I was never going to return.
Ragtooth nudged my knee, letting out a squeak.
“You’re right,” I said, wiping my eyes. “Let’s not think about it.”
The fox shook himself, stretching. He was shivering with cold, and moved more slowly than usual, but he trotted ahead before I could put him in my pack, thereby lightening my load.
I followed the ledge cautiously, the path underfoot uneven with ice and pebbles. Looming ahead of me was a long, snowy slope, treacherously steep but still walkable. I readied my ax just in case.
Once I had reached the brow of the slope, however, I froze. The ax slipped from my hand, impaling itself in the snow.
“What is that?” I murmured.
Before me lay a long, jagged ridge of spiny rock that punched up through the snow, which misted off the mountainside in the fierce gale. The entire ridge was barely wide enough for a single person to walk along, and in places, it did not even appear wide enough for that. The ground fell away in a miles-long, snowy arc toward the valley on one side, and the lower slopes of Raksha, pierced with boulders that could have been grains of sand, on the other.
I sank to my knees. I could not stop staring at the ridge; I felt as if I could blink and it would be gone, merely a figment of my imagination. After what I had just endured, I had come to this? The mountain was no less than a series of nightmares, each darker than the last.
I looked at Ragtooth. The fox looked back at me. I groaned, my head sinking into my hands.
“How is it possible?” But even as I said it, I began to notice the telltale signs of another person’s presence. The snow along the ridge was rippled in places, as if by footsteps that had not yet been worn by the wind. Close to where I sat, a few threads of rope fiber were caught on the sharp edge of a rock. Someone had traversed the ridge, perhaps only a few hours ago.
“Thanks a lot,” I muttered, following this with a string of curses that I wished with all my heart River could hear.
Gritting my teeth, I lowered myself onto the ridge. Ragtooth was already creeping along ahead of me, his back hunched, his bushy tail flicking back and forth. The wind was even stronger here than on the rock face, pummeling my body as if its sole desire was to push me to my death. My chuba flapped madly, and my hair loosened from its knot and floated around my face, making my vision flicker.
The first few steps were more terrifying than anything I had experienced. I had no fear of heights, but this was not simply a matter of heights. The terrain was treacherous; mounds of snow concealed slippery, uneven rock, or sometimes nothing but crevices and empty air. Each step required calculation and testing—not an easy thing, in my exhausted state. Biter flew ahead, or rather, tried to—the wind buffeted so fiercely that he was often forced to fly far to the side of the ridge.
As furious as I was with River, I couldn’t help marveling at his gumption in even attempting a route like this. River had Azar-at, though. I had nothing but a fox and a raven.
The sun rose higher, and the shadows shrank. As I walked, I didn’t look ahead. I didn’t want to be discouraged by how far I had to go. In some places, the ridge was so thin that it was like walking along a branch. I had to wait for a break between gusts before even attempting these sections, and then dash across them as quickly as I could. This took time—not because of the wind, but because I kept losing my nerve at the last moment, and having to spend several minutes sitting in the snow with my head between my knees.
I had just crossed one of these rock branches, and stood breathing heavily on the other side, when the snow gave way beneath me.
I fell with it—over the side of the ridge.
I swung my ice ax desperately and somehow, somehow, managed to wedge it into a crevice. I hung there, my feet scrabbling uselessly at the snow-blanketed wall of the ridge, as far below me clouds drifted over the landscape.
I found my voice and screamed. I gripped the ax with both hands, my entire body shaking. I dared not look down again. I could not breathe or think. I could feel the distance below me, the skeletal nature of the air at this height.
The wind whistled past my ears. In my delirium, it sounded like Lusha’s voice, low and disapproving. There will be no one around to fix your mistakes, she had said. You’ll have to stop making them.
Somehow, the memory brought me back to my senses. Ragtooth poked his head over the side of the ridge, staring down at me. He was close, so close. I unhooked the smaller ax from my pack, and swung it up over the edge of the ridge. It caught, and I hauled myself up a foot. Enough to dig my hand into the rock, and hook my leg up over the side. I pulled myself back onto the ridge and lay there, facedown, my feet dangling off either side. Ragtooth licked the top of my head, but I did not move. My breath hissed against the snow, and my forehead began to numb. I stayed there for perhaps a quarter hour before I trusted myself to sit up. Biter settled on my shoulder, croaking softly in my ear.
As much as I wanted to remain there, to simply sit reveling in the sound of my heartbeat pounding in my ears, I knew I could not. After a few deep breaths and a sip from my lightening flask of water, I set off again.
The sun was sinking below the horizon by the time I finally reached the end of the ridge and set foot on solid ground again. I squinted at the darkening sky, dazed. I hadn’t even noticed the hours passing, so focused had I been on each step I took.
I thought about continuing, but the terrain was treacherous here—steep and still uncomfortably narrow in places. I didn’t trust myself in the darkness, given the state I was in. As I carried no shelter with me, I had only one option: to make a snow cave.
I chose a spot behind a low ridge of rock and began to pile the snow up against it. Once the pile was large enough, I hollowed it out and clambered inside with my blanket. I didn’t have the energy to build a proper cave, and this one was big enough to accommodate me only if I curled my legs up. I didn’t mind this, however. It was a relief to be sheltered from the vengeful wind and the great and terrible distances, and I was asleep as soon as my eyes closed.
Ragtooth woke me at moonrise
. I gazed up at the low roof of my shelter, icy from the melting caused by my breath. I didn’t want to move. My head throbbed. Every inch of my body hurt.
I forced myself to leave the cave. I was so tired that the thought of donning my pack made me want to cry. I placed the kinnika around my neck and tucked them into my chuba. I didn’t know why I bothered. I just knew I couldn’t leave them behind.
Though sunrise was a long way off, the moon was near half-full, and provided enough light for me to see my way. Even the darkest stars shone here, so far from the earth, and their brighter cousins gleamed like tiny suns. I did not hurry. I was too weary for that, so weary that I no longer felt the pain in my feet or the chill in the wind. Biter, balanced on my shoulder now, nipped at my ear whenever I took a careless step or let my focus drift. Finally, I reached the edge of the ridge, with its jagged projections and pitted mounds, and I could see the summit before me. The slope that led to it was gentle, broad, and snowy. Compared to what had preceded it, it was almost a joke. I stepped forward warily, half expecting a chasm to open beneath my feet.
Where was the witch city?
I wondered if it would simply appear in my midst, the world parting like a sheet of fog. I forced my feet to keep moving. I felt half in a dream.
It was a strange feeling, setting off on the last leg of my journey. I had doubted I could come this far under any circumstances, let alone the strange ones I found myself entangled in. I walked on, my boots slicing easily through the dry snow, as the horizon turned from black to indigo to gray. And then I came to a place where the mountain stopped. Where there was nowhere else to go.
I had reached the summit of Raksha.
TWENTY-EIGHT
I BLINKED. STANDING there, I thought I would have felt joy, or astonishment, or even terror, gazing down at the world so far away. Instead I felt a weary relief, like that which followed putting your feet up after a long day, or completing a chore. I was left with only the feeling that something had ended.
The world was still dark, save for the first pale sunbeams that spilled over the horizon. Mountains unfolded across the landscape—the Arya range to the south and west, and the mysterious Ashes to the north. I could see everything in every direction. It was too much to take in, as if I were gazing into a spirit realm that had been shaped by beings far greater and wiser than myself. The summit was a ghost floating in midair, deep shadows beneath it. I gazed around me, taking in the uneven terrain, which dipped toward a lower ridge that was jagged and worn like old teeth. Suddenly, I froze.
The ridge below, which sloped gradually toward the shadowed west, was lined with strangely formed pagodas and towers of what must have been stone, though they had a formless, shifting quality. Some had steps leading up them, while others, perched on precarious outcroppings, seemed made for creatures who could leap great distances or sprout wings and fly. The stone was dark, almost black, and the structures were guarded by tall, carved figures of animals rendered indistinct by the constant buffeting of the wind. Their position allowed for sweeping views to the north and west, while a narrow path—I could make out the line of it through the snow—led to the summit, where I stood.
I had found it—the witches’ sky city.
I gazed at it, transfixed by awe and fear. How was it possible that something like this could exist? I closed my eyes, wondering if I had stumbled into a dream. But when I opened them, the city was still there, as incomprehensible as it had been at first sight.
Swallowing, I began making my way cautiously down the stone path. It was steep, each stone uneven and several times the height of an ordinary stair. It was as if the witches had hewn the steps out of the mountainside itself.
I didn’t see any sign of River as I approached—the shadows were too thick. Nor was there any trace of his footsteps in the snow. With the high winds, though, I was not surprised. I had to crouch to the ground every few steps, gripping the stone, to avoid being buffeted over the side of the mountain. Biter didn’t attempt to fly—he burrowed into my hood, making himself as small as possible. Ragtooth, lower to the ground, did not appear bothered by the wind, though the tufts on his ears flapped madly.
As we approached the city, the first rays of the rising sun struck the towers. I gasped. Small crystals in the stone seemed to catch fire, and the entire city shone like a dark river against the snowy mountain. It was beautiful, though not an inviting sort of beauty. In that land of sky and fading stars, with its strange, enchanted stone, the city was forbidding. More than forbidding—I had an overpowering sense of being unwanted, as if a thousand pairs of angry eyes were boring into my back. The feeling was so strong I swayed, almost losing balance.
Ragtooth, oblivious to my distress, charged ahead, nose to the ground. Gritting my teeth, I stepped off the uneven stairs and followed. My boots crunched through the snow, deafeningly loud, it seemed, in that empty place. The snow was crusted and hard, the wind having swept away any loose powder. I thought—I thought—I could just make out the suggestion of someone else’s trail.
I surveyed the landscape, the scoured pinnacles and craggy ridges, the city tucked against a half-moon-shaped hollow in the mountainside. I had a strange urge to shout River’s name. A ludicrous instinct—River was my enemy. He had used me, and when I was no longer of value to him, he had tossed me aside.
I fought back the swell of fury and grief. I couldn’t lose control, not now, after coming so far. I squinted into the brightening sunlight. Where was he?
It doesn’t matter, a small voice inside me said. If River had already found the talisman, all was lost. But if he hadn’t—
Then I might.
“Biter,” I called. Lusha’s raven settled on my outstretched arm. “Do you know what we have to do?”
The bird gazed at me with emotionless black eyes. I had never cared for Lusha’s ravens, and they, for all I could tell, had never cared for me. But now I felt a strange kinship, as if the creature carried part of my sister inside itself. Biter croaked softly, cocking his head. Then he took off, soaring above the towers of the witch city, where he was lost to sight.
“All right, Ragtooth,” I said. “Biter will search from the skies. That leaves us to search from the ground.”
We set off, Ragtooth leaping through the drifts, his tail flicking back and forth. My tired, aching body protested as I forced it up a small rise, toward a squat tower with windows but no visible door. It was still hidden from the sun by the shadow of the land.
Something about the strange black stone mesmerized me. It was like no material I had ever seen—the smoothness of obsidian and the density of coal. Everything about it said stay away. The tower was not for human eyes. I was not meant to be here. And yet, in spite of this, or perhaps because of it, I felt compelled to touch it. I reached out.
My fingers passed through the stone.
I leaped back as if stung. The tower shuddered, wavering slightly before settling back into shape. There were four windows now, where before there had been five.
A slow shudder traveled from my neck to the base of my spine. The tower was made of shadow. It was impossible. Apparently, that didn’t matter in this impossible place.
I took a step back as another shudder raised the hair on my neck. The entire city was like this, its tiered pagodas and open-walled observatories, and unidentifiable beasts guarding it all. Was it truly a shadow city, or were my human eyes unable to comprehend the truth of it—like a monster in a dream that lurked always at the edge of sight? Every instinct screamed at me to turn back. Stay away. The angry eyes seemed to bore deeper.
Ragtooth let out a fierce growl. I whirled, following his gaze.
Standing on a raised promontory, his tahrskin chuba streaming behind him like a dark banner, was River.
TWENTY-NINE
I DOVE BEHIND the tower before I realized how ridiculous that was—taking shelter behind an apparition. Nevertheless, I poked my head around cautiously. River had not seen me—he stood with his back to me, gazing over
the city. I could make out only a sliver of his profile. His arms were crossed, his chin propped in one hand, as if lost in thought.
My mind worked frantically. What did I do now? I couldn’t very well search the mountain with River standing guard. Besides that, I had no idea what I was looking for. River had—purposely, no doubt—refused to give any of us even the most basic description of the talisman.
An idea blossomed.
Slowly, I stood up, ignoring Ragtooth’s growls. The fox tangled himself in my legs as I walked, trying to trip me.
“Stop that,” I hissed. “Trust me, Ragtooth. I have a plan.”
The fox gave my boot a spiteful nip, but he allowed me to pass.
River could see me now, if he turned his head. Every instinct in my body screamed at me to hide. I silenced those instincts, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other, on taking calm, even strides. I could have been out for a stroll in Aunt Behe’s goji patch. Only the shaking of my hands belied my act.
No big deal, I thought. I just climbed the world’s tallest mountain on a mission to stop you from destroying the Empire. What’s new with you, River?
A mad giggle threatened to escape me. I scanned the area for Azar-at, but to my infinite relief, the fire demon was nowhere to be seen. As I drew near, River cocked his head, as if listening to something. His hearing had always been unnaturally sensitive—why had I never wondered at that? Or any of the other small things that hinted that he was something more—or less—than human? He turned, and his gaze met mine.
“Kamzin!”
Even at a distance, I could see the shock on his face. He stood there a moment, staring. Then he leaped from the rock—a drop of perhaps twenty feet—and strode toward me without pausing. I forced myself to stand still, unflinching.
“Kamzin, how did you—”
“I know what you are,” I said. “We broke the memory spell. Mara told us everything.”
Even the Darkest Stars Page 30
