THE CHRONICLER’S FACE was creased with fatigue and shadowed with an unkempt beard. His chuba was torn and stained with mud at the hem. He seemed thinner, or perhaps it was only weariness that bent his shoulders and made him a less imposing figure than I remembered. His gaze, though, was clear, and he seemed unhurt.
“Mara!” For a moment, I could get no other words out, I was so astonished. Was he a ghost himself, to have appeared like this in our midst? Then I was on my feet and racing to his side. I grabbed his arm—he was flesh and blood.
“Where is Lusha?” I demanded. “Is she with you? Is she all right? How did you get here? When did you get here? How did you find us?”
He shook off my hand. “Your sister is fine. We noticed your tracks last night, and followed them to your camp in the cave. I volunteered to set out at first light to search for you.”
“But how?” I stared at him, happier to see his haughty profile than I ever could have imagined. “I thought you must have turned back. I thought you could be—could be—”
Could be dead, I wanted to say, but couldn’t. Mara took no notice of my hesitation—he had barely glanced at me. His gaze was fixed on River.
“Mara,” River said, in a quiet voice that nonetheless carried over the wind. “You’ve exceeded my expectations. I doubted you would make it this far.”
“Hello, River.” Mara’s disdainful expression slipped slightly. He raised his chin, as if to compensate. “I’m glad I’m able to surprise you once in a while.”
“You know I don’t like surprises,” River said. His expression was calm, but a darkness lurked beneath it.
“I can see you’re angry—” Mara began.
“Why would I be angry?” River said. “You only stole my supplies, my assistant. You’ve attempted to steal my title.”
I felt a twinge of surprise, and a hurt sort of irritation. Was River still upset about Lusha choosing Mara over him?
“And after this,” he continued, his voice low but eerily carrying, “you have the audacity to survive long enough to find yourself in my presence again.”
Though Mara’s mouth was set in a hard line, I saw it tremble slightly before he mastered himself.
He’s afraid. And with good reason. I recalled the stories of what River did to those who betrayed him. And I didn’t doubt that Mara had seen demonstrations of River’s power.
“You talk of betrayal?” Mara said. “Of loyalty? How am I to remain loyal to someone who has deceived me for so long?”
I stared at him, baffled. River took a step forward, his expression stormy. “How have I deceived you?”
Mara didn’t reply. He watched River as one might watch a dangerous animal. I looked from one to the other. This was ridiculous. They were going to come to blows, here, after all that had happened. After I had just learned that Lusha was safe.
“River,” I said, touching his arm. “I want to see my sister.”
He blinked, and something within him seemed to recede. “Yes. Of course you do. Lead the way, Mara.”
The chronicler gave him a long look. He walked past us, giving River a wide berth. I could have run after him, but River grabbed my arm.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes,” I said. I felt perfectly warm, and though his magic still hummed distractingly against my skin, the sensation was fading. “Your spell—”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Something in his tone made me think again of the ghosts, and the chill water wrapping me in its deathly embrace. Somehow that chill still burrowed inside me, though I felt warm enough on the surface. I looked away.
“I think so.”
River shook his head, dismissing my words. He took my chin gently in his hand, sending a shiver down my spine. Then, just as gently, he brushed my lips with his.
Some of the ice melted.
River turned. “Come, Azar-at.”
I started. I had almost forgotten the fire demon was there, perched by the mouth of the cave, gazing at us. It had surely been watching as River and I kissed, as we almost—what? I shivered, despite River’s spell. Azar-at’s fiery gaze was calm, patient. So like a wolf, and yet so unlike. Even when I turned away, I knew that its eyes were still on me.
“What?” River’s pack was moving. He wrenched it from his back and dropped it in the snow. A horrible growling emanated from somewhere within its depths.
I laughed with surprise. I knew that growl. “Ragtooth! We forgot all about you.”
The pack continued to emit menacing sounds. The fox had woken up in an unfamiliar place, and he was not happy about it. The pack began to roll down the slope, writhing, until I caught it and yanked the creature out. Ragtooth leaped up my back and wound himself around my shoulders, nipping my ear.
River looked into his pack, letting out a cry of dismay. He lifted what looked like a handful of ribbons. “That rabid beast shredded my spare shirt.”
“Sorry,” I said. Ragtooth made a sound that was almost a snort.
By the time we arrived back at the cave, it was full morning. In front of it, someone had built a fire, which silhouetted a hunched figure. The sound of our boots made him turn.
He was pale, with a faint sheen of sweat upon his brow. When our eyes met, his face lit up with such unbridled relief and joy that I let out a cry.
“Tem!” I ran to him and threw my arms around his neck. “What are you doing here?” The dragons fluttered out of the cave, wheeling in a circle around us as if they too were delighted by our reunion.
Tem hugged me back, so tightly I could barely breathe. “Kamzin. You’re all right.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I drew back, half laughing, wiping the tears from my eyes.
He touched my face, then drew back, frowning. “Your hair is wet.”
“It’s a long story. Tem, how did you—”
“Lusha and Mara found us,” Tem said. “They were camped on the far side of the glacier. They saw our fire and hiked over. Showed up only a few hours after you left. Dargye just about fell over, he was so startled.”
“Where is Dargye?”
“Back at camp with the yak.” Tem shook his head. “He was in no shape to go any farther, with his injured arm. Lusha, Mara, and I followed your tracks in the snow to the Ngadi face, and I used my magic to help us up.”
“You used your magic.” I gazed at him, amazed yet again by the evidence of my unassuming best friend’s power. “Tem—”
“I know, I know,” he said. “You wanted me to stay behind. But I couldn’t, no matter what it cost me. Not after what Lusha told me.”
“What?” I said. Something flitted by overhead, momentarily blotting out the sun. “What did she say? Where is she?”
Tem’s gaze drifted. The shadow flitted by again, and then a sharp cry shattered the air—
A raven’s call.
“What—” I began, before something black and flapping descended on my head. I waved my arm, stumbling away from Tem, as the raven skimmed my hair with its talons.
“Biter!”
I recognized the raven instantly. The creature darted away from me as a second dark shape floated into view—Lurker, her wings tucked against her body as she dove toward the snow. Toward River.
He was crouched at Azar-at’s side, murmuring something to the fire demon. Lurker let out a sharp call a second before she struck, and when she did, it was no ordinary feint. Her talons raked the side of River’s face, speckling the snow with small drops of blood.
River swore, pressing his hand to his head. A second later, Biter joined the attack, coming away with a strand of River’s hair. River raised his arm to protect his face, and in response, Lurker sank her talons into his hand, spilling more blood.
“Stop it!” I started forward. “Biter, stop!”
But the birds paid me no heed. Again they dove, and again, the snow was dotted with blood. The ravens were large birds, but I had never feared them before. They were quick and merciless, with an eerie focus.
“Enough.”
As Lurker circled back for another dive, River made a motion with his hand. The raven abruptly paused in midattack. Her body shuddered, and she dropped to the ground. She lay there in the snow, one wing half-raised, and was still.
“No,” I whispered. River’s gaze turned to Biter, and I grabbed his shoulder. “No! River, don’t.”
“To me,” a voice cried.
Biter wheeled around with another echoing crrrk. He drifted over the snow, wingbeats scattering the loose flakes, and settled on Lusha’s shoulder.
Lusha.
She strode toward us, her head bent against the chill breeze, her eyes full of fury. She walked with a slight limp that did little to lessen the imposing aura that surrounded her. Like Mara’s, her face was pinched with weariness, her chuba torn. Her normally glossy, flowing hair was a tangle. But somehow, with her height, and the darkness in her gaze, her disheveled appearance only made her more intimidating. She could have been an avenging spirit. I had imagined running to her, and hugging her as I had hugged Tem, but I now had to suppress the urge to run away.
Though the drifts were knee-high in places, Lusha plowed her way through them as if she were made of fire. A few paces from where River and I crouched, she stopped.
“Kamzin, get away from him.” She didn’t look at Lurker’s motionless body. Her voice was quiet, so quiet you almost had to strain to hear it. Lusha didn’t yell when she was truly angry. Her anger condensed inside her to a silent, glittering heat, like a cloud brewing with lightning. “Now.”
I was still holding River’s arm. “What are you talking about?”
Tem went to stand behind her. Mara lurked by the cave, his eyes darting from one person to another.
“Please listen to her,” Tem said. He was holding the kinnika—he must have retrieved them from my pack, which I had left in the cave last night. He held them before him now, as if to be ready to sound them at any moment. The scorched bell rang faintly, for no apparent reason.
I let out a disbelieving laugh. “Have you all gone insane? Tem, are you going to cast a spell on River?”
“Only if I have to.” His face was grim.
“You really don’t have to,” River muttered, his expression a grimace of pain. I turned away from the others to examine him. His hand was bleeding freely, as were the three deep scratches that had just missed his eye. His ear was bleeding again too, the one that Ragtooth had bitten. I scooped up a chunk of snow and pressed it against his forehead. The blood had already trickled onto his chuba.
“Kamzin.” Tem’s voice had a plea in it.
“Mara, I have some bandages in my pack,” I said, pressing more snow against the wound. “Can you fetch them?”
“If you’d just listen to me,” Lusha snapped, “for once in your life.”
“You’ve gone mad, Lusha,” River said. He drew himself to his full height. “You may be in the habit of setting your ridiculous pets on people you don’t like, but you’ve gone too far this time. You know who I am.”
“That’s the problem,” Lusha said. “I don’t.”
“What are you talking about?” I said. I took the bundle of cloth Mara handed me, and used it to bind River’s hand.
“There is no River Shara,” Lusha said. “He doesn’t exist.”
I stared at her. Then I let out a sharp laugh.
“He’s right here,” I said. “Are you saying he’s a ghost?”
“No,” she said calmly. “I’m saying there is no River Shara. Not according to the stars.”
“Spirits,” I muttered. River was right. She had gone mad.
“She may need more of an explanation than that,” Mara said. He moved closer to the fire—which also happened to be farther from River—and rubbed his hands over the flames.
Lusha sighed, rubbing her eyes. The weariness I had seen in her face seemed, for a moment, to overtake her. But then she straightened, forcing her shoulders back. “As you know, Kamzin, or you should know, the stars can’t predict every event. Not everyone’s birth can be read in the patterns of the constellations and the paths of shooting stars. But many can—the Sharas, for example, are an ancient and powerful family. Their births are always foretold—you can see them. It isn’t easy to read the past in the stars, much harder than it is to read the future, but I managed it. I found the story of every Shara since the Empire’s founding—their births, their lives, and in many cases, their deaths. All but one. River. He simply isn’t there.”
Biter croaked, and Lusha, in an absent gesture, touched her finger to his beak. “I don’t know who he is,” she said, “but he isn’t the emperor’s cousin. I puzzled over it for days before River came to Azmiri, but it wasn’t until I met Mara that I knew I had to take matters into my own hands.”
“Mara?” I stared at him. “What does he have to do with this?”
“Once I realized that there was something strange about River, I began searching the stars for those who I knew were close to him,” she said. She paced before us—three steps one way, three steps the other. “Mara, for example. I studied the events of his life. After speaking with him, I discovered that he had no memory of things that are written about him in the stars.”
“Like what?”
“The time he drowned in Nageni Lake, for one. And another occasion, when he was taken prisoner by witches in the Nightwood.”
My head was spinning. “Why would he have lost his memories?”
“The only explanation I could come up with,” Lusha said, “is that someone took them. Someone with an extraordinary magical gift.”
Everyone, suddenly, was staring at River. He gave a short laugh.
“I can assure you that Azar-at and I have better things to do than muddle around in Mara’s head.”
“Lusha.” My voice was low. “You’re wrong. You read the stars wrong.”
“No.”
“Of course you did.” My anger was rising. “Did that possibility never occur to you?”
“Yonden verified my findings,” she snapped. “I’m not wrong.”
“No,” I muttered. “You never are, are you?”
Lusha’s expression closed, but not before I saw a flash of pain. My words echoed with an old argument, sharp and bitter as bile. I had shouted something similar at her after our mother died. When I had been angry at everyone, but especially Lusha. For she should have known. She could read the future in the stars. How could she not have known? How could she not have prevented what had happened?
But the simple truth, as I had finally realized when my anger faded and was replaced by cold grief, was that Lusha could not see everything. The messages woven in the stars were imperfect, flawed.
And so was my sister.
I turned to Tem. “And you believe this?”
“Some of Mara’s memories have been stolen,” Tem said quietly. “At some point, he was enspelled. I used the finder’s incantation—there are traces of magic all over him, like cobwebs. I don’t know the spell that was used, but I’m trying to find out.”
I threw my hands up. “And you assume it was River?”
River touched my shoulder. “It’s all right.”
“No, it’s not,” I said, shaking him off. “How can you say that?”
“I don’t see the point in arguing with them.”
“Of course he doesn’t,” Lusha snapped. “He wants us to step aside and let him continue to the summit. That isn’t going to happen.”
River’s expression became flat and cold. “Isn’t it?”
“No.”
They stared at each other, and I was surprised that the snowdrifts surrounding us didn’t melt into vapor. Hastily, I stepped between them. I wasn’t certain whose safety I was more concerned for, but it didn’t matter. This was ridiculous.
“Lusha,” I said, “why did you come here with Mara? What do you want?”
“The witches’ talisman, of course,” she said. “Or rather, to stop River from taking it. Whoever he is, I can’t allow something so powerful to fall into his hands. It was Yonden who worked it out—when River wrote to me, asking my help in guiding him to Raksha, but refusing to reveal any details about his intentions, we decided to search the stars for the truth. Many of the signs surrounding the expedition were strange and contradictory, but there was enough for Yonden to make the connection between Raksha and the tales of the witches’ sky city, and the power hidden there. At first I planned to lead River’s expedition to Raksha, as I promised, and then steal the talisman once we located it—destroy it, if I could. But once I discovered how River had altered Mara’s memories, I knew that course was too risky—he is too powerful. I decided I would beat him to the talisman, to prevent him from ever touching it. It was then that I enlisted Mara’s help—he may not be the Royal Explorer, but he has led many expeditions in his lifetime. I also hoped to break the spell on his memories, to unlock the secret of who River is, and what he wants.”
“Lusha, Lusha,” River said, “this is ludicrous. Think about what you’re doing. You know that by threatening me, you’re threatening the emperor himself.”
“Then I am threatening the emperor himself.” Lusha’s voice was ice.
“Lusha—” I said, horrified.
River exhaled slowly. “You have no idea what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying.”
“Stop, please,” I said, as fire crackled between them again. “Both of you.”
There was a painful silence. Lusha and River looked daggers at each other. Tem’s eyes flicked back and forth, his hand clenched tight around the kinnika. Mara leaned against the rock, his face pale. Azar-at moved quietly to River’s side.
River’s laugh cut through the silence. I drew a small sigh of relief, though the others did not seem comforted by the sound. They watched River with wary expressions.
“All right,” he said, waving a hand wearily. “You can stand down, Tem. I won’t fight you. Nor will I argue with the stars—there are far too many of them. But a thousand voices can be as wrong as one, and if I were you, Lusha, I wouldn’t put so much faith in the stories they tell.” He yawned. “I’m going to get some sleep. I had a very tiring night, and this certainly hasn’t helped. Azar-at, come.”
The fire demon slid across the snow toward River, following him into the cave. Mara leaped out of their way as quickly as if something had bitten him.
“What are you doing?” I said to Lusha. “Did you just threaten the emperor? I thought you cared about Azmiri’s safety.”
Lusha shook her head. Now that River was gone, she seemed to have deflated, as if he had taken some of her energy with him. She reached down to rub her calf, wincing. “That’s all I care about. If you’d only open your eyes, you’d see that.”
My eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong with your ankle?”
“Nothing. I tripped back in the icefall. Tem healed me.”
“It doesn’t look healed. Why don’t you let River—”
“No.” Lusha’s voice was like a lash. “I’ll be fine.”
“I think you’d refuse help if you were dying. Let me see it, then.”
“I’d have to be dead before I let you use your unfortunate magic on me, Kamzin. Leave me alone.”
“I did what I could,” Tem said, coming to Lusha’s side. He looked relieved to have a reason to join the conversation. “But I’m not at full strength, and the healing charm wore off too quickly. I may have done more harm than good.”
“You did fine,” Lusha said. “I just need to rest it for an hour or so, then I’ll be as good as new.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, right. Like you were ‘good as new’ after a cup of Aunt Behe’s tea the night you fell asleep stargazing. You lost a toe to frostbite, all because you were too proud to complain.”
Lusha gave me a look of dignified disdain. “I won’t get into old arguments with you.”
“Let’s take another look at Mingma’s maps,” Mara said, touching her arm. “He hinted there might be an easier route to the summit beyond that ridge.” As he watched my sister, his gaze was filled with concern. Concern—and something more than that. I had to suppress a bitter laugh. I had seen enough men direct similar gazes at Lusha to know what they meant. He was in love with her—or at least, he thought he was.
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.
“Thank the spirits,” he said, his voice a tremor. “I had just about given up—”
“Where’s Tem?” I demanded. “Was he ahead of you?”
Mara blinked repeatedly. His expression was dazed, and he seemed to make an effort to focus. “Last I saw. Perhaps twenty yards.”
River motioned to the fire demon, who darted forward, snout to the ground. I watched, frantic, as the seconds passed. Azar-at paced back and forth, his nostrils snuffling against the snow. But still he did not give any sign.
“He may be buried too deep for Azar-at to smell him out,” River said, his brow furrowed.
“Can’t you do anything?” I said, desperate.
“That’s not a good idea.” Lusha gave River a dark look. “The slope isn’t stable. If he uses magic—”
“We’ll have to deal with the consequences,” River said. It had the air of an announcement. “Lusha, take Mara back to camp.”
Scowling, Lusha knelt over Mara, helping him to his feet. She supported him as they made their way back along the path of our footprints. Even through my panic, I couldn’t help feeling a grudging admiration for my sister. She knew what to do in the face of danger, knew that pausing to argue—even if you were in the right—could make the difference between life and death. She wasn’t going to sway River. So she didn’t bother to try.
“Thank you,” I said.
River only shook his head, giving me a faint smile. Then he turned away.
“All right, Azar-at,” he said. “Let’s find our shaman.”
He raised his hand, and it was as if the air began to hum. My teeth chattered; my skin tingled. I was suddenly very aware of my heartbeat, the feeling of my breath in my throat. And another sound—a strange, distant thudding. Slow but steady. It was a heartbeat. From beneath the snow, some yards upslope.
“Tem,” I breathed. “Is that him?”
River made no reply. He closed his eyes briefly.
A crack appeared in the snow. It widened into a crevasse that branched outward, splitting enormous chunks of snow and rock. The crevasse was deep—I couldn’t even see the bottom. Startled, I took a step back, though I was in no danger—the crevasse did not extend to where we were standing. River raised his hand again, his brow furrowed in concentration. The heartbeat grew louder as a limp figure rose out of the tear in the mountainside. It was Tem.
He floated toward us before coming to rest gently at my feet. I knelt beside him, checking to see if he was breathing. His eyes fluttered as I touched his face.
“Tem!” I dashed away the tears that trickled down my cheeks. “Tem, can you hear me?”
He opened his eyes. They wandered for a few seconds before focusing on my face. His mouth moved. Kamzin.
“We have to get him back to camp,” I said. “Lusha will know a healing charm.”
River made no reply. He had fallen onto the snow, and sat with his head bowed and his hand over his eyes. Azar-at, standing at his side, licked his arm.
“River?”
“I’m all right.” His voice was distant. “Just give me a minute.”
But as if in response, the mountain gave an ominous rumble. It was even louder than the first. The ground shook so violently I stumbled and almost fell. Tem moaned, muttering something that sounded like not again.
I looked up and choked on a scream.
A wall of snow swept toward us—so fast, faster than anything I had ever seen, monstrous in size and utterly unforgiving.
River dragged himself to his feet, and stepped forward to meet it.
“River!” I screamed.
River stopped, raising his hands toward the wall of snow. I stood frozen, unable to speak or even breathe. I was about to die. We were all about to die.
Then the avalanche struck . . . something. It seemed to collide with an invisible place just beyond River’s outstretched hands, as if we were a rock in a stream—the snow surged past on either side. The sound was that of a ferocious wave pounding against solid rock—a terrible roaring, as if the mountain were placing its will against River’s. He staggered back a step, but did not fall. Azar-at stood still as a stone at his side. I sensed, rather than saw, the connection between them—like a rope stretched taught. I stared at the snow pouring past, only a scant few yards from where I knelt next to Tem. It was like the landscape was being pulled out from underneath me, while I sat motionless, a mere observer. Even after the mountain grew still again, I could only sit there, staring, as the snow cloud swirled and settled around us in thin sheets.
We were still there when Lusha returned. Tem was awake, though dazed and groaning in pain. I was certain his leg was broken, and possibly several ribs. River, who had collapsed once the mountain had fallen silent again, was alive, though he didn’t wake no matter how loudly I called his name. Azar-at was silent, watchful, thinking his impenetrable thoughts. He alone was not dusted with snow—anything that touched his fur melted almost immediately.
Lusha lifted Tem, staggering slightly under the weight, and hurried away, leaving me to drag River along. When we finally staggered back to camp, we found that Mara already had a fire going. Apart from a reddish bruise darkening the side of his face, he seemed to be the most mobile of all of us. Lusha collapsed next to the fire, holding her ankle, her face a grimace of pain.
I chafed River’s arms and hands. His face was pale; the scattering of freckles across his nose stood out in stark relief. He seemed to be barely breathing.
“Mara, help me bring him closer to the fire,” I said.
He is unhurt, Azar-at said. He requires only rest.
I glared at it. “Unhurt? How can you say that, after all you’ve done to him?”
His choice. Always his choice.
I turned my back on Azar-at. “River? Can you hear me?”
But River neither moved nor opened his eyes. In the end, Mara dragged him into the cave, where I removed his boots and covered him with blankets. I didn’t like leaving him alone, so still and pale he resembled a corpse more than a living person, but I had no choice.
Outside, Lusha, her face pinched with pain, was preparing a concoction of healing herbs and berries in a pot over the fire. Though she knew the basic healing spells, she was by no means as talented as Tem, and it took us the better part of the day to make him comfortable. Mara assisted when he could, holding Tem’s shoulders while Lusha set and bound his broken leg, melting snow to clean the cuts on his face. Even Ragtooth seemed inclined to be helpful, curling himself up against Tem’s head to warm him.
As the sunlight faded, I remembered that I hadn’t eaten all day. Mara was preparing a stew, which was more broth than substance, but about as good as we could expect given our meager supplies. I helped Tem prop himself up so that he could drink.
Lusha sat beside me. “How are you, Tem?”
“Better, I think.” His voice was faint. He blinked a few times before focusing on Lusha. We had given him herbs for the pain, and a side effect was disorientation. “Kamzin, are you there? You keep fading.”
“I’m here,” I said, taking his hand. “You’re going to be all right.”
“He won’t be, without a proper shaman,” Mara muttered.
“That’s not helpful,” Lusha said. Our eyes met. There was no need for me to ask if my sister was thinking what I was—I already knew it. Mara was right—Tem wouldn’t soon recover from such injuries without the attention of a healer. But we were stranded. Lusha’s injury alone would make descending the mountain a hazardous feat—Tem’s condition made it impossible. Both our firewood and food were low, and we wouldn’t be able to stay where we were for much longer. To add to our predicament, clouds were massing against the peak of Raksha, and thickening and swirling their way toward us. The chill wind warned of a brewing storm.
Our prospects were suddenly very grim.
The others took shelter in the tent that night, but I wanted to be close to River. He was still asleep, still barely breathing, but at least he no longer seemed as pale as death. There was nothing I could do except make sure that he was warm. I adjusted the blankets around him and brushed the damp hair gently off his forehead.
I turned my attention to my feet. They had been aching for days, on and off, but something had changed after that day’s frantic trek in my heavy, cumbersome snowshoes. I drew my boots and socks off carefully, wincing.
The blisters on my heels had burst, and blood stained my socks. Two of my toenails were blackened and broken, and would surely fall away soon. But what worried me most were my toes—the two smallest ones were bent oddly and had a grayish tinge. Could it be frostbite? I massaged my feet. It was as if they were swathed in thick blankets, diminishing their ability to feel anything.
Next I examined my knee. The swelling had gone down somewhat, though my recent exertions and lack of rest had prevented it from healing properly. Even now, whenever I took a step, a shard of pain stabbed into the bone.
I lay down, forcing my thoughts away from my injuries. Ragtooth nestled against my head, his tail folded over my neck. Sleep took me as soon as I closed my eyes.
Some time later, I was jolted awake by crashing thunder and pounding hail. I lay there, listening, for what could have been a minute or an hour. I felt even more the strangeness of being there, stranded in the sky so far from home. As the storm crashed and the wind raged, it was easy to imagine that the mountain was trying to shake us off, as a yak would shake off a mosquito. I wished that I could hear River’s steady breathing in the darkness, but such sounds were lost among the clamor of the storm. I gathered my blankets around myself, shivering, praying that morning wasn’t far off.