THE EVENING WAS a haze after that. I couldn’t be absent from a dinner of such importance, and so I sat at the table, green with nausea, as the dishes were passed around. Everything was of the finest quality, but I didn’t touch a morsel. Lusha sat on my right, her legs crossed gracefully beneath her, while Father knelt beside her. Mara sat across from Lusha, a smile hovering on his lips. He looked as if he couldn’t believe his luck.
River did not come to dinner. His absence was a tremendous slight, and consequently no one even spoke his name. The expedition to Raksha, though, was the main topic of conversation, which led to awkward pauses and veiled hints as guests struggled not to speak about the man who was the reason for the party.
“Well, Mara,” Father said, “I imagine you’ve seen a lot, as chronicler to the Royal Explorer.”
“You could say that.” Mara tried to catch Lusha’s eye. She was feeding her ravens scraps of balep from her plate.
Lusha glanced at him, possibly for the first time since they had been introduced, her expression cool and appraising. Mara, taking this as a sign of encouragement, launched into an animated story about a narrow escape from a pack of silver jackals. Given that he was sitting before us, quite alive and with all his limbs, I found it difficult to stay interested, and sank back into my private misery. Lusha’s attention seemed to wander too, and she went back to feeding Biter.
“Lusha, I understand you’ve discovered two new stars in the dragon catcher’s net,” Mara said, naming one of the constellations that hung low over the mountains in summer. “I would be interested in seeing your sketches.”
I stifled a groan. How Mara had learned of my sister’s sketches, I didn’t know, and I didn’t care to.
Lusha smiled at him. It lit her eyes and made her bony face less severe. “Perhaps you will. Why not tomorrow?”
Mara smiled back. He was completely under the spell of Lusha’s charm, and, like most men, assumed it was conjured specifically for him. I knew, though, that Lusha would forget her offer by morning. “I would like that. If you won’t be too busy?”
Father stiffened at the oblique reference to River. “Mara, were you fortunate enough to stop in Lhotang on your way here? The elder is an old friend of mine.” Father was friends with everyone. He could name every village elder, along with their wife or husband and all their children, from here to the Three Cities.
“We did,” Mara said. “A charming village—I would have been sorry to miss it. Though I heard some disturbing tales from the villagers. They spoke of powerful storms brewing in the North, and sightings of the fiangul.”
“The fiangul?” Father frowned. Those sitting nearby looked up at the word, and I felt my body tense. The fiangul, or bird people, appeared sporadically in the history of Azmiri. They were human—or at least, they had once been—travelers who became lost in a blizzard or squall while traversing the Aryas, and were possessed by the winged spirits who haunted the snows. They were slowly driven mad, and transformed into terrifying monsters. Their only goal was to lead others to the same fate they had suffered. Or, failing that, to kill them.
“I find that difficult to believe,” Father said. “The fiangul have never been known to stray this far south. I doubt such talk is more than rumor.”
The conversation shifted to a discussion of Lhotang’s weavers, and I stopped paying attention. My drunkenness was wearing off, leaving only shame and a pounding headache in its wake. It was all I could do not to lean over and rest my forehead against the cool stone of the table.
“Drink, you idiot,” Lusha muttered at me. She filled my bowl with tea, her smile in place the whole while. “You’ll feel better.”
“Liar.”
Slowly, the bowls and platters emptied. My aunt Behe passed around a cup of spiced beer, so dark and thick that it had to be scooped with a spoon. I pretended to drink, gagging at the smell, and then handed the cup to Lusha. Once the cup was emptied four times, it would signal the end of the meal, and I would be able to crawl away to bed. I watched each of the guests as they drank, silently cursing those who took dainty mouthfuls.
Raised voices from one of the back rooms cut through the murmur of conversation. The red-and-blue curtain was pushed aside, and Tem’s father, Metok, strode in. His breath was ragged, his beard speckled with snow. Though it was summer, snow was not unusual in Azmiri, nor was it strange that Metok would be out in it. During calving season, Metok and the other herdsmen were busy at all hours of the day and night.
Metok came to Father’s side and murmured in his ear. Elder stiffened, but did not reply. He merely nodded, dismissing Metok. The herdsman’s face was a strange, pale hue, and his hands shook as he left the hall. I had never known Tem’s father to be anything but brusque and unpleasant. My confusion was heightened when Father stood, bowed to Mara, and departed. Lusha followed close behind. What was going on?
It was some time before I found out. Finally, the cup was emptied for the fourth time, and the guests began to trickle out of the hall. Aunt Behe swept in to pester Mara with more tea and sweet cakes. He politely refused.
“What was that about with Metok?” I said to no one in particular.
Mara gave me a penetrating, dismissive stare, which might have been upsetting if I were in a different mood. I wished I could dislike him, because it would ease my humiliation, but I still found him intimidating and far too handsome. “Something I’m sure Elder and Lusha will have no trouble resolving,” he said.
“Oh, give it a rest,” I grumbled. “Lusha can’t hear you. And she’s not interested, by the way. Don’t flatter yourself.”
Mara’s expression hardened. He stood. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Fine.” I rubbed my head. I knew I would get in trouble if I was caught speaking this way to a guest, but fortunately there were no nosy relatives within earshot. “Did you hear what Metok said or not?”
Mara was turning to leave, but he stopped. His ego was too large for him to resist the urge to be the bigger person. “Someone took a tumble off the rocks, trying to recover a calf. The herdsman’s son.”
I flew to my feet. “What?”
The remaining guests stared at me. Biter, who had been left to peck at the scraps in Lusha’s bowl, took fright and sailed out the window. I followed by a more circuitous route, through the kitchen and out the back door that led to Aunt Behe’s house. I turned right, off the path and onto the open mountainside.
I soon slowed. I didn’t know where Tem was, and I wasn’t wearing my chuba or heavy boots. Snowflakes, sparse and fragile, swirled around me, but there was a chill in the wind that hinted at worse to come.
An echoing caw in the distance. Ignoring my lurching stomach, I ran toward the sound, skirting the stone wall that lined the farmer’s fields at the edge of the village. As I rounded the western flank of the mountain and began running uphill, the wind hit me in the face. It was bitterly cold, and sent me staggering back a step. I thought about retreating home, at least to retrieve my chuba.
Tem.
I lowered my head and ran on. Three ravens flew past, heading for home. Lusha, Metok, and Father were not far behind. A group of house dragons trotted alongside them, their lights throwing misshapen shadows everywhere. Father shouted and grabbed my shoulder.
“Kamzin! What are you doing here?”
I wrenched away. “Where’s Tem?”
“Metok saw him fall from Kunigai Spur, but he can’t find the spot again in this weather.”
“We’re going to the village to gather a search party,” Lusha shouted in my ear.
“What?” I stared at her. “You can’t leave Tem alone out here!”
Lusha made an angry noise. “Don’t be ridiculous. This storm is—”
“Leave the dragons,” I said. “Leave them and go. I’ll keep looking.”
Metok and Father were already retreating, assuming, as any sane person would, that Lusha and I would follow. A wisp of cloud fluttered over us like a wet sheet. I grabbed two dragons by the scruffs of their necks as they ran past me.
“Go!” I yelled at Lusha. “Bring help. I’m not leaving him.”
Lusha’s face was a dark fury, but she didn’t argue with me further. With one smooth motion, she swept off her fur-lined chuba and settled it on my shoulders.
“Lurker will stay with you,” she said. The raven alighted on a rock by my feet. “She’ll lead us back to you, if anything happens.”
I nodded. “Thank—”
But Lusha was already gone, leaping lightly down the slope.
I shrugged on the chuba, immediately grateful for its warmth. Only my face was still cold. I tugged the collar up and carried on, whistling for the dragons. I didn’t pay Lurker any heed—she would track me more easily than I could track her.
It was only a short climb to Kunigai Spur, which jutted out over the valley separating the village from Nalash, one of the mountain’s lower peaks. Only my own knowledge of the terrain told me that, however; Nalash was completely obscured by the clouds. Beyond the spur, the ground fell away steeply, a curve of slippery rock that ended in a sheer drop to the valley floor.
I squinted, trying to see through both the darkness and the pain of my pounding headache. My stomach roiled as if trying to compete with the fury of the wind. I swallowed, forcing myself to ignore the sensation, to focus on the only thing that mattered.
Normally, there were sentries stationed nearby, but I wasn’t surprised they had decided to seek shelter indoors. On clear nights, this side of the mountain afforded a good view of the darkly forested lands to the east—the edge of the Nightwood, the witches’ forest. It had been a long time since the witches had attacked Azmiri, but nevertheless, Elder liked to keep a watch out, particularly given the village’s position. If the witches invaded the Empire, they would almost surely travel through the Amarin Valley between Azmiri and its neighboring mountain, Biru. At one time, the emperor had stationed soldiers here to maintain a constant watch on the enemy. But the witches were broken and beaten, and those soldiers had more important tasks now.
I passed the crumbling half walls that the sentries used as lookouts. These had been proper structures once, destroyed by the dark, unnatural fire that swept the village more than two centuries ago. It had been witches who had set that fire. They had always hated us—or rather, they hated the emperor and his ever-expanding territory. They had sought to destroy the village, and very nearly succeeded. The stone the fire touched remained warm to this day, steam ghosting off its surface as the snow melted.
Shouting Tem’s name, I walked the length of the cliff. The snow was falling heavily now, and soon my feet were soaked in my flimsy sandals.
I let out a cry of frustration. I wasn’t going to find Tem this way. No, the only option was to climb down that sheer face to see if Tem had come to rest on a ledge. I didn’t think about the other possibility—that he was resting far below in that dark valley, beyond anyone’s aid.
Just below the spur was a shallow depression that folded into the cliffside. I lowered myself into it, digging my fingers into the rocky soil. The dragons chirped at me, wondering if they should follow. The wind was too strong for them to fly safely, and though they were stout climbers, I didn’t want to take the chance that they would fall and leave me completely in the dark.
“Stay there,” I said, shooing them away from the edge.
I crabbed sideways over a boulder that stuck out from the slope like a knuckle. I could just make out the tips of the pine trees that crowned the lower slopes of Azmiri—trees that eventually, many miles away, darkened and deepened, and became the witches’ forest.
The height didn’t bother me, but the visibility did. My eyes and nose were streaming, and snowflakes kept collecting on my lashes, blotting my view. I wiped my face on the sleeve of Lusha’s chuba and lowered myself down the cliff, one foothold at a time. Once I was out of the shadow of the overhang, I paused. Numerous ledges jutted out from the mountainside, and here and there a gnarled tree that Tem could have caught hold of. But it was so dark—I couldn’t tell a rock from a motionless body.
“Tem!” I hollered.
My voice echoed back at me. I strained my ears trying to hear over the howl of the wind. I thought I heard someone reply, but I couldn’t be certain.
“Tem!”
“Need a hand?”
I started, casting my gaze around for the source of the voice. It came to rest on none other than River Shara.
He crouched on the ledge above me, looking perfectly at ease. One of the dragons was sitting on his head. Its blue glow only intensified the color of his hair—it was as if his whole head was alight.
I let out an incoherent noise. He smiled, seeming pleased by my shock.
“Now, Kamzin,” he said, “you don’t really plan to climb down there without a belay, do you?”
“Yes, I do,” I said, once I had recovered myself. “I’ve climbed this peak before. I don’t need a belay.”
“On a night like this, you do.” He reached behind him, gathering up a length of rope. Attached to one end was a leather harness. “Come on, Elder’s daughter. I may be half-mad or more, as your father put it, but you have to admit, you’re not acting particularly sane yourself at the moment.”
My already red face grew even redder. Rather than reply, I snatched up the harness when he lowered it to me. It was awkward pulling it on at that angle, but I managed it, sliding first one leg through the loop, then the other.
“There we go.” He drew an iron nail from his pocket and pounded it into the side of the mountain with a rock, then looped the rope through it. Finally, he tied the end of the rope around his waist using a rat’s-eye knot. He did all this within a few seconds, moving with practiced ease. I couldn’t help staring.
“Carry on,” he said, making an elaborate motion with his arm.
Shaking my head, I lowered myself down another foot. There were plenty of handholds in the cliff face, though many were deceptive—large rocks that seemed solid, but were dry and cracked from the cold, and would fragment under too much weight. I chose each movement carefully, sometimes pausing for as long as a minute to select my next step.
I could hear River’s voice as I went—fragments of it, jumbled by the wind. It sounded like half a conversation, but who could he be talking to? Himself, I supposed. Wasn’t that what mad people did? The sound died as I put more distance between us. Now I could no longer see the glow of the dragons.
“Tem!”
I heard something in response, again from my right. It didn’t sound like a voice, exactly—I wasn’t sure what it was. I craned my neck, trying to see. It was then that the rock I was standing on gave way.
Immediately, I punched my feet back into the crumbly mountainside. One of my hands slipped, but I held on with the other. The cliffside was impenetrable; I couldn’t find a spot to wedge my feet in. Grunting, I slowly, shakily, lowered myself down the cliff, supporting myself with only my arms. Finally, I found a solid crevice to rest on.
My entire body shook. Suddenly I was immensely grateful for the harness River had given me.
A flutter of movement out of the corner of my eye. There—a narrow ledge with a broken tree leaning over it. Beneath the tree was a dark shape, motionless. At the lip of the ledge, a small, pale blot paced back and forth, shaking the snow from its coat. A yak.
Fighting the urge to hurry, I inched myself down to the ledge. Once I had tested it with my weight, I released my handholds and scrambled over to the body that lay crumpled against the cliff face.
The yak, which couldn’t have been more than a month old, nosed up to me as I crouched by Tem’s side, seeking warmth or food or some combination of both. I ignored it, and examined my best friend.
He was alive—I almost cried with relief. From the branches crushed under his body, I guessed that the tree had broken his fall.
I ran my hands over his body, but I couldn’t find any sign of broken bones. When I placed my hand on his face, he muttered something, half opening his eyes.
“Tem,” I said, fighting back tears. “It’s all right, I’m here.”
There was a gash on his head—my hand came away sticky with blood—but I couldn’t tell how bad it was. I pulled off my harness and slid it up his body.
I gave the rope three short yanks, wondering if River would know what that meant. If he didn’t, I was going to have to haul Tem up the mountainside myself, and I didn’t like my odds with that. But, after a moment, the rope tensed three times in quick succession, and then there was one longer tug. Tem slowly began to rise up the cliff. River was a few yards away horizontally, so there was some awkward bumping and jostling as Tem’s body drifted slowly sideways as it ascended. I grimaced as his shoulder hit a rock jutting out of the cliff.
I watched until Tem was out of sight. I didn’t like the idea of following him up that dark slope after my near-fall but I didn’t have much choice.
The calf grunted. I turned and found it watching me with large brown eyes.
“No,” I said sternly. “I’m sorry, but no.”
The calf grunted again. The wind gusted over the ledge, and the beast pressed itself against the shelter of the mountainside, shivering.
With a ferocious curse, I snatched up the calf—more anxious grunting—and slung it over my shoulders. The animal didn’t weigh much, but it was enough to throw me off balance. I pressed my face and chest into the mountain as I climbed. If I leaned even slightly in the wrong direction, the calf’s weight would pull me inexorably into the vast emptiness at my back.
Fortunately, the calf didn’t struggle. It was exhausted, and content to simply enjoy the warmth of my body. The yak’s long hair soon had me blinking sweat in addition to melting snow from my eyes. My shoulders burned.
Of course, climbing blind is always a dangerous last resort, and I was soon confronted by a problem: a sharp overhang in the rock directly above me. I could have scaled it alone, but as it was, I would have to find a route around. I made my way sideways for a while, over a slick wall of granite with few handholds, before starting up again. After a few desperate minutes of scrabbling up a wet, grassy slope more treacherous than anything before it, I found myself standing on solid ground, at the crest of Kunigai Spur.
The yak had fallen asleep. It started awake when I placed it on the ground, then followed at my heels.
A green light bobbed ahead. I whistled, and the dragon trotted toward me. It was snowing only lightly now, but a chill cloud had descended on the mountain. I couldn’t see past a few feet, and so when I stumbled upon Tem and River, I was so startled that I yelped.
Tem was sitting up, drinking from a flask that River must have given him. The blood running down the side of his head seemed to be drying, and apart from that, he looked unhurt. He let out a joyous cry at the sight of me.
“Kamzin! River was about to climb down for you. We both thought—”
“I’m all right,” I assured him. “I was carrying some extra weight. Slowed me down.”
Tem rubbed the calf’s ears. “Look at this idiot. I almost killed myself running after him when he escaped his pen, and now he thinks he’s going to get a treat.”
“How do you feel?” I examined his head in the wavering light.
He brushed my question aside, gazing at me as if we hadn’t seen each other in months. “Kamzin, you never should have gone after me alone.”
I made a dismissive noise. “Come on. Kunigai is no match for me, even in this weather. There was never any danger.”
He gave me an exasperated look. “I’m just glad River was here.”
“Tsh. We would have been fine.” It was, of course, a blatant lie. Looking back, I was astonished at my own foolishness. What would have happened if River hadn’t shown up? I would still be on that ledge with Tem, both of us growing colder and wetter by the minute, with no way of getting him back up the mountain, or even signaling for help.
I stood and found River staring at me. For once, there was no amusement in his gaze. His eyes were narrowed, coolly scrutinizing.
“How did you do that?” he said.
“Do what?”
He made no reply. He took a step toward me, and I had to resist the urge to move back. He seemed to have become a different person.
I glanced down at the calf, just for an excuse to break eye contact. “He wasn’t very heavy. And I’ve climbed this part of the mountain before.”
River just stared at me, as if at any moment he expected me to sprout feathers or burst into flames.
“Kamzin!” It was a disembodied cry, carried on the wind. Lurker soared into view, then circled us, cawing. Several dark shapes were approaching, which soon solidified into Lusha, Father, and three men from the village.
“What happened?” Lusha demanded. Her eyes drifted to River, who turned away slightly, as if to gaze at the view.
“We’re fine, thanks,” I said. One of the men helped Tem to his feet; another roped the calf and dragged it off toward my father’s pens.
Father turned to River. “Was this your doing?”
River made an elegant gesture. “There’s no need to thank me. It was nothing.”
Elder glanced down at the leather harness. “You’ve rescued not only one of my best herdsmen, but my daughter as well. If you hadn’t been here, I’m sure she would have done something foolish.”
I opened my mouth, but River cut in smoothly, “It was my pleasure. Please don’t be too hard on Kamzin. She was a great help.”
I stared at him, so outraged I couldn’t speak.
“Dyonpo, let’s return to the house,” Lusha said smoothly. “Perhaps you would like some butter tea?”
They strode on ahead, leaving me and one of the men to assist Tem. I felt an odd pang as I gazed at their retreating silhouettes—tall and graceful, striding confidently down the uneven mountainside. There was a sort of symmetry between them. Lusha turned her head to speak to River, and then the clouds swallowed them up.
Father glowered at me. “I don’t know what you were thinking,” he said, pushing me ahead of him. “Going after Tem by yourself. You and I will have a talk when we get home.”
I would have started shouting then and there, had not Tem grabbed my arm on the pretext of supporting himself. Moving slowly, we followed the others down the mountainside.
“Thanks for defending me,” I muttered.
Tem looked at me, surprised. “I thought all you cared about was impressing River.”
“No.” My anger drained away, leaving behind exhaustion and little else. I was cold, and wet, and my head was pounding again. “I don’t care about impressing anyone.”
We were on the lee side of the mountain now, and the wind dropped to a murmur. The storm was clearing—clouds snagged against Azmiri and began to fray, revealing little patches of starry sky. I tightened my hold on Tem and guided him toward the lights of the village.