THE GHOST MARCH began at the doorstep of the elder’s house, and then moved on—or, rather, spread—from there. I had often attended the Ghost Marches in Azmiri, where a small, orderly procession of villagers bearing food offerings for visiting spirits wove its way through the streets of the village, coming to a stop in the square, where minstrels serenaded them—and any ghosts in attendance—with drums and bells and kangling. An hour or two would pass, and then the villagers would go home to bed, leaving the food and the instruments in the square for the spirits to enjoy. Through the night, the wind would move over them, giving the illusion—if illusion it was—of ghostly hands tugging at the strings.
Jangsa’s Ghost March was nothing like that.
Bonfires burned at street corners, contorting the shadows of those who passed. Ghosts feared light, so the fires were kept low, providing barely enough to see by, and your eyes played strange tricks with the shifting darkness. Food of every description sat untouched upon offering tables, so much of it that I no longer wondered why the people of Jangsa seemed so thin. People danced in the square just below the elder’s house, weaving intricate patterns that I couldn’t follow. Some hid their faces behind enormous, skeletal masks. Drummers improvised melodies that bled together, then clashed, then bled together again. Lanterns floated through the air, makeshift and flimsy. Some caught fire as they drifted into the sky, their ascent slowing, slowing, until finally it stopped, and they fell like tiny stars.
“Are you coming?” Tem said.
I turned away from the view out the window. “No.”
“Kamzin, how many chances will we have to attend a Ghost March in Jangsa?”
“I’m not sure I care for the living inhabitants of this place, Tem. Now you want me to go dancing with the dead ones?”
“We don’t have to dance. We can just watch.”
I looked back at the window, indecisive. “I should check on Norbu.”
“He’s asleep,” Tem said. “His wound looks better. The healer cleaned it with some sort of salve—I don’t know what it was, but it smelled awful—and then I helped her with a purification chant. She says all he needs now is rest. Besides, River said he would look in on him.”
“Who knows if that’s true,” I muttered. When the elder had invited River to attend the Ghost March, he had merely muttered something about disliking crowds, and disappeared in the direction of the rooms we had been given for the night. I had not seen him since. I wondered if he put as much effort into avoiding gatherings back in the Three Cities.
“What about you?” I said. “Did you tell the healer about your cough?”
“I didn’t think of it.”
“Tem.”
“I’ll speak with her later, promise.” He tugged at my hand. “Come on.”
I gazed at him. His chin-length hair, which normally shielded half his face, was damp from washing. It was brushed back, framing the angular planes of his face and his dark amber eyes, which had an ebony ring around the irises. It was unusual to see him that way, and not for the first time I noticed how handsome he had become. Tem had been short and plump as a boy, with a round, doll-like face, but all that had changed in the last year or two. He was well on his way to becoming a near mirror image of his tall, broad-shouldered father—who, despite being widely disliked, was privately acknowledged by the women of Azmiri as the most attractive man in the village. Though I would never tell Tem any of this—he didn’t take kindly to being compared to his father in any respect.
“I really don’t think it’s a wise idea,” I said.
“You don’t think something is a wise idea?” He smiled again, and I felt something inside me relax. With a sigh, I allowed him to lead me out into the night.
I regretted it almost immediately. The square was a chaotic swirl of dancers—some masked and whirling in tight circles around the fire, so rapidly I was amazed they didn’t fall over from dizziness, others dressed in plain clothes with only a few rows of bone beads around their necks. The masked dancers wielded curved swords that flashed as they sliced through the air. Children danced too, on the outskirts of the square. Though there were tables piled with food and drink, none of the villagers touched a morsel. The smell of incense and souring yak milk mingled with the smoke.
“Oh,” Tem said. I followed his gaze, and stopped short.
River was dancing with one of the village girls. She had flashing eyes and hair like spun silk, and was almost painfully beautiful. Tem and I were not the only ones watching them—a knot of girls hovered at the edge of the dance, some smiling, others wearing envious frowns. River’s expression was difficult to make out. He and the girl wove in and out of the dancers like fish in a stream, appearing and disappearing amidst the swirl of light and shadow, as if they belonged to it. I felt an unexpected twinge of anger.
“What’s he doing?” I said.
“You have to ask?” Tem was gazing at the girl in River’s arms with a look that only increased my irritation. He shook his head slightly and turned back to me. “Are you all right?”
“Of course I am,” I said, a little too quickly. “I just don’t understand him, that’s all. I don’t trust these people, and I thought he didn’t either.”
Tem’s gaze drifted to the girl again. I could see he didn’t share my feelings where she was concerned.
“Let’s dance,” I said, gripping his hand.
“I thought you—”
“I changed my mind.”
I dragged him into the square. The dancers followed no discernible pattern, clusters of twos or threes or fours weaving together and stamping their feet in time to the music. The only constant was the gaps they left between each other, which were supposed to be for any ghosts who wished to take part. Tem grasped my arms and we spun around, folding ourselves into the dance.
Almost immediately, I let out a yelp. He had crushed my toes beneath his boot. “Tem!”
“Sorry,” he said, his face red. “I didn’t know you were going to go that way.”
“You’re still a terrible dancer,” I grumbled, trying to avoid his feet. Staring at the ground meant that I was no longer able to watch where I was going, and it began to seem that every few seconds I was bumping into somebody. Tem tried to lead me along the same looping path that other dancers followed, but we always seemed out of sync somehow—which was saying something, given the random nature of the dance.
Suddenly, we were moving very fast. Tem had drawn me into orbit around the masked dancers at the bonfire. He spun me around, drew me close, and then spun me away, the movements almost too intricate for me to see. I felt like a leaf caught in a storm.
“Tem!” I gasped, reaching out to grasp his shoulders. “What are you—?”
The question died on my lips. River gazed back at me, a smile on his face.
I stared at him. I hadn’t even felt Tem pull away from me. “How did you—?”
My question dissolved into a yelp as River spun us around so swiftly that the fire seemed to be surrounding us on all sides.
“Stop that,” I said, half gasping and half laughing. “Where’s Tem?”
“It doesn’t matter.” River drew me close, so close I could feel the warmth of his body against mine, and spoke in my ear. “I thought you could use a break from being stepped on.”
“You saw that?” I felt my irritation return, even as my heart thudded at his nearness. “I thought your attention was somewhere else.”
River laughed softly. “Well, I’ve learned to see past the obvious—to the details others miss.”
I flushed as I recognized Tem’s words. To take the focus off me, I said, “Are you calling that girl obvious?”
“I guess so—I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“No, why would you?” I grumbled. “I’m sure wherever you go, beautiful girls are throwing themselves at you.”
“Yes, and it’s a terrible burden.”
I couldn’t help laughing. River drew back, his eyes sparkling. Shadow played across the planes of his handsome face. “Watch this,” he said.
I shrieked as River lifted me into the air and spun me around, simultaneously drawing us deeper into the ring of masked dancers. They swirled around us—the swish of their chubas and the whistle of their swords through the air made me shudder. Behind their masks, the dancers’ eyes were wild.
“They say the people of Jangsa have witch blood,” I said. “I’m starting to believe it.”
“You’re not afraid, are you?”
“Of course not,” I lied. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you hated crowds.”
“I do. But I like dancing.” We spun in a circle, so fast that I shrieked again, gripping River’s arms with all my strength. He laughed. My eyes were shut tight—I was certain we would collide with the other dancers, or their swords, or trip and stumble into the fire. But somehow, River darted expertly through the crowd, finding gaps that looked too narrow to fit through, barely brushing even the other dancers’ chubas. He could have been a ghost himself. As he pulled me close again, I wrapped my arms around his neck to steady myself. I could feel his breath against my ear, warm and soft.
“How does that work, anyway?” I said, trying to conceal the pounding of my heart. I was certain River could hear it. “You can’t very well avoid crowds in the Three Cities.”
He seemed to think for a moment. “I didn’t grow up in the Three Cities. The Shara estate is deep in the countryside to the south. It’s a beautiful land—high, grassy plains dotted with countless rivers and turquoise lakes—but isolated. My family rarely ventured as far as the emperor’s court. The feasting, the parades, the endless parties—I didn’t have any of it as a child. It was a different life.”
I considered this. “Do you miss them?” I said. “Your family, I mean.”
He was quiet. “Yes,” he said finally.
“Me too,” I murmured. A sword slashed past my head, but I barely heard it. I was thinking of Father. He would be making his customary nighttime rounds now, striding through the dragonlit village with his long chuba trailing behind him, on the lookout for intruders both animal and human. Unlike some village elders, Father took his responsibilities as protector of his people seriously. Sometimes too seriously. I could remember many nights when I had stayed up late, hoping he would come to my room to tell one of his stories, only to fall asleep disappointed. Sometimes, when we weren’t fighting, I would curl up with Lusha in her bed, and she would open her window and tell me the story of whatever constellation was framed between the shutters. I still did sometimes, though the times when we weren’t fighting were much fewer and further between.
If I became one of the emperor’s explorers, I would spend long periods away from Lusha and Father—and Azmiri. The thought brought with it a stab of sadness—but little regret. As much as I loved Azmiri, I didn’t fit there. I never had. Life in the village was small and quiet and contained, while I craved noise and excitement and wide-open spaces stretched out before me like a blank scroll upon which I could write my own stories.
Perhaps the Elder of Jangsa had been right. After what I had just been through—the grueling trek, the storm, the fiangul—I should have been desperate to return home. But I wasn’t. My thoughts were already racing ahead to the next part of our journey, to Raksha. If I could prove myself to River, I wouldn’t have to worry about my life back in Azmiri. I could have the life I had always dreamed of but never knew how to achieve.
River spun me around again, interrupting my thoughts. We passed between two masked dancers as one drew his sword back and the other slashed his down behind us, through the air we had just occupied.
I laughed. River lifted me into the air, then took my hand and whirled me in a series of intricate circles, so many that I lost count. Finally I grabbed him, laughing and breathless. He laughed too, his eyes alight, and for one breathless moment, I was certain he was going to kiss me. Only then did I notice that the musicians had fallen silent—had perhaps been silent for a while.
I looked around. River and I were the only ones standing by the fire. The others had fallen back and stared at us from the edge of the square. Even the masked dancers had stopped, and stood with their swords at their side. Some had removed their masks, revealing flushed faces. Tem stood with the girl who had been dancing with River, gaping at me. The girl was staring too, her forehead creased with a frown.
River nodded to me, then turned and melted into the shadows. I stood there a moment longer, blinking back at the staring faces. Then I all but ran from the square.
I didn’t return to the elder’s house—instead, I fled away from the crowd, along a road I didn’t recall passing when we first entered Jangsa. It was little more than a footpath, hugging the mountainside over terrain that undulated and twisted. A lantern floated past, but I ignored it.
I stopped suddenly. The road had ended—before me was another ruin, dark against the night sky. A shrine.
A long row of stone steps, cracked with age and patchy with moss, led to a jumble of broken stone. Only one of the columns still stood; the other three lay on their sides, together with what little remained of the roof. Tall statues leaned sideways, human figures—former elders? I wondered—who were now faceless and handless, their arms stretched out toward a world they could neither see nor touch. A family of birds had made a nest in one, in the crook between neck and shoulder.
I sat down on the steps, letting myself catch my breath at last. It was as if the dizziness I should have felt during my dance with River had finally caught up to me—I felt almost nauseous, and too hot. I gazed out over the village as the lanterns drifted into the sky. Most caught fire and fell, but there was one that survived, pulled up and along the mountainside by the wind. I watched until it grew so small it seemed to disappear.
“Kamzin? Is everything all right?” a voice asked.
I started. But it was only the elder, who had come silently up the road behind me. He held a spirit mask in his hand.
“I’m fine,” I said. “The music is lovely, but I just needed to get away.”
The man nodded. “I understand. Our customs can be . . . unnerving for outsiders.”
He took a seat on the steps, and though he left several feet of space between us, I still felt like moving farther away. It wasn’t just the way he looked at me with that odd smile—as if he already had the measure of me, and it was a measure that amused him. It was something else, something I couldn’t put my finger on.
“The emperor set River Shara a cruel task,” he said. “Even if you succeed in climbing Raksha, you may meet with any number of dangers at the summit. The witches may have abandoned the place, but their presence lingers.”
I stared at him. “You spoke to River.”
“No.” He smiled. “You think we don’t know about the sky city? It’s said that a great many magical objects were left behind when the witches abandoned it. It only makes sense that the emperor would seek them.”
I thought this over. “Has anyone ever seen it?”
“Oh no. No human has set foot there. The witches are shape-shifters—or at least they were, before they lost their powers. They can make their homes anywhere. The canopy of a forest, a cave deep beneath the earth. The summit of the highest mountain, which even the birds fear to fly over. We mortals are not so fortunate.”
I peered at him through the darkness. “Are you a seer?”
“No.” He motioned absently at the sky, as if to pay his respect. “There are those to whom the stars reveal their secrets, but I am not one of them. I have never had the talent for hearing their voices.”
“That’s too bad,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “I was hoping you could tell me whether we’ll succeed.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “I don’t need the stars to answer that. I believe you will succeed, Kamzin, because that’s who you are. Though I wonder if it will be in the way you expect.”
The elder’s gaze was mellow but unwavering. He had not looked away from me since he sat down, not even to glance at the lanterns that floated by.
“What did you mean before?” I said suddenly. “You said the fiangul are growing stronger every year, and that other dark creatures are stirring. Did you mean the witches?”
His gaze, for the first time, flickered from mine. “I would not be the first to draw a connection between the two.”
“What do you mean? Are they allies?”
“No,” he said, “and yes. In Jangsa, there is a tale that tells of how the witches created the fiangul. That once, many generations ago, there was a village in Winding Pass whose inhabitants offended the witches. As punishment, they lay a curse upon them, which transformed them into the creatures you met in the storm.”
“I’ve never heard that.”
“It’s a very old story,” the elder said. “Possibly much twisted with time. There certainly was a village—many of the foundations remain, great stone slabs hidden beneath the drifts. But why it was destroyed, and what became of its people, that is anyone’s guess.”
I swallowed. “Then if the witches were to regain their powers—the fiangul would only grow stronger. Wouldn’t they?”
“The world is a dark place,” the elder said, as if this were an answer. “It has always been such.”
I suppressed a shiver. Again I saw the black eyes of the fiangul, boring into mine, felt the brush of air stirred by their wingbeats. I didn’t want to be there anymore, pinned under the elder’s gaze and contemplating such terrifying possibilities.
“I should get some sleep,” I said, rising. “We’re leaving in the morning, if Norbu is better.”
“I’m sure he will be,” the elder said placidly. “Good night, Thaken’s daughter.”
I forced a smile and walked away. I had taken only a few steps when the elder called, “Kamzin?”
I turned.
“You are always welcome here.” Another lantern drifted past, briefly illuminating the broken shrine. “It’s something I would say to few outsiders.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
He smiled. “You remind me of your father in some ways, and I’ve always respected him. He has an unusual way of looking at the world. He does not divide everything into tidy halves the way most people do. Right and wrong, good and evil—he sees beyond absolutes, like all great leaders.”
I opened and then closed my mouth. The elder seemed to take no notice of my confusion, and finally turned to gaze out over the village. Murmuring a good night, I walked hastily away, and even though I knew he was no longer looking at me, I felt his gaze burning into the back of my head.