THE OBSERVATORY FELT even colder than usual. Though the candles had been put out, their presence hung in the air, a taste like tears. The village below shone against the dark mountainside, lit by dragonlight that wavered and traveled, revealing glimpses of color from the drawn shutters. I felt closer to the sky at this lofty height than I did to the human realm. The square hole in the roof framed cloudy gatherings of stars, occasionally disturbed by the trail of a comet.
I whistled for the dragon I had brought with me. He hopped onto the table, preening. I scratched his chin absently while I examined the sheaves of paper that Lusha, in her haste, had left scattered over the drawing table. The wind that whispered through the observatory had stolen several pages; I had found two snagged in the grass outside.
I flipped through the papers. Most were careful maps of the constellations with calculations of azimuths and meridians. I was soon completely lost. I had never liked astronomy; there was too much fiddly detail and guesswork in it for me. Although Lusha had successfully predicted several events in our village, such as an early birthing season for Elder’s yaks and an avalanche that had destroyed one of the buckwheat terraces, there were many things neither she nor the seer had foreseen. There seemed to be little rhyme or reason to it.
I squinted at her notes, which were nearly illegible, interspersed with sketches of the constellations.
I’m trying to work something out, Lusha had said yesterday.
The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if she had seen something in the stars. Something that had driven her to abandon her promise to River and throw her lot in with his rival.
“Where is it, Lusha?” I muttered into the table.
But I could make out only a few words, and these were of little help—mostly astronomical babble like “apogee,” “nadir,” and “lunation.” My name was there in three places, underlined, but I also saw Father’s name, and other family members’. Even “Tem” appeared once. Everything was such a jumble, and some of the sheaves were dated months ago. I couldn’t be sure if they had any relevance to what I was looking for.
I froze. At the very bottom of a pile of star charts, almost as if it had been buried there on purpose, was a page titled “Shara.”
I moved the page closer to the dragon’s light. It showed a long list of names, together with notations indicating specific stars. I recognized several—River was not the only famous member of his famous family, which had included another Royal Explorer, several Generals of the First Army, a shaman who had single-handedly defeated an entire barbarian army, and the architect who had built the emperor’s palace.
I frowned, puzzled. What interest could Lusha have in River’s family tree?
“Looking for something?”
I jumped, dropping the scroll. But it was only the seer, Yonden, who stood in the doorway.
“Yes.” I glanced back at the papers. “But I don’t seem to be having any luck.”
Yonden was silent. He may have been thinking over what I said, or waiting for me to speak again—it was often impossible to tell with him. Yonden was young to be village seer—only a few years older than Lusha, his apprentice. But his talent was such that people from other villages would travel all the way to Azmiri to consult with him. Thin and already balding, he was not impressive to look at. His gaze, however, was intelligent, and warmed by the slight smile he always seemed to wear.
He was not smiling tonight, however. His face was drawn and serious. There was an indefinable emotion in his gaze, almost as if he had been expecting—or hoping—to find someone else there.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “You came here to work—I’m interrupting.”
“Not at all.” He stepped inside, his expression relaxing into its usual gentle smile. “Lusha thought you might come here.” He tucked his hands into his sleeves, studying me. Yonden did not look at people so much as peer at them, as if they were spread across a distance like a mountain range.
“You spoke to her before she left?” I said.
“Yes.” Yonden’s tone became opaque. I thought I could guess why. Lusha hadn’t bothered with good-byes—except, it seemed, for Yonden.
I regarded him curiously. I had always suspected there was something going on between him and Lusha, though I had never fully believed it. Yonden was the most talented seer Azmiri had seen in generations; he would be risking his livelihood by entertaining a relationship with anyone. It was forbidden for seers to marry—even friendships were frowned upon. Their abilities, it was believed, were diminished by associating too much with other people. Good seers were like the stars themselves—pure, cold, and removed from earthly concerns.
“What else did she say?” I asked. “Yonden—I know Lusha saw something in the stars. Something about the expedition to Raksha. Do you know what it was?”
Yonden gave me a long, thoughtful look, and I smothered a sigh. Seers were impossible. They were free to speak about some things they read in the stars, but not others. Lusha had said once that it depended on whether a coming event was fixed or unstable, whatever that meant.
After a moment, Yonden said, “We see many things. Truths, possibilities, events both past and future. Some things cannot be read, for they are always shrouded, or in endless motion.”
I bit back my frustration. “But is there anything you can tell me?”
Yonden paused again. “I can say that there is great instability surrounding this expedition. Almost all the signs are contradictory. Some are very, very strange.”
It was like talking to a wall of mist. “So that’s it?”
Yonden turned to one of the windows and adjusted the telescope. “There is the matter of the fire demon.”
I froze. “The what?”
“You will meet a fire demon on your journey. I advise you not to befriend it.”
“Why would I befriend a fire demon?”
“Others have done so, or tried. Nevertheless, you should keep your distance.”
My heart had begun to pound. A fire demon. This was terrible news. Worse than being told that I would be caught in a rock slide, or confronted by a family of hungry bears. Fire demons were strange creatures—ancient, elemental spirits who mostly avoided humans, and about whom little was known. But of that little, none was positive. Shamans summoned them, sometimes, to work difficult spells, but only at great cost. A fire demon did not grant favors or forgive debts. They were greedy, hungry things. I had never seen one myself—few people had—and I hoped I never would.
Yonden shuffled across the room and bent over a stone in the floor. It lifted easily, revealing a dark cavity that I had never seen before. I heard papers rustling, and a few mysterious clink-clink sounds, before he finally retrieved a single scroll, which was gray with age.
“Here,” he said, passing it to me. “Handle it with care. It’s very old.”
I stared. I was gazing at a topographical map of an enormous mountain—but not just any mountain. I recognized its sharp, distinctive contours, how the ridge leading to its summit jutted like a protruding spine. I unfurled the map more, revealing different angles of the same subject, along with detailed drawings of key features.
Raksha.
I whistled for the dragon, and he flew to my shoulder. The map was indeed old and faded, but still legible.
“I didn’t know it had been mapped,” I breathed. There were even notes along the side, written in a firm, spiky hand.
“It’s Mingma’s,” Yonden said. “The survivors of his expedition managed to retrieve it and bring it back to the emperor. Your mother borrowed it before her own journey north. It’s not complete—Mingma never had a chance to finish it.”
I nodded. Mingma was a legendary figure, one of the first to hold the title of Royal Explorer. No one knew if he had actually made it to the summit of Raksha fifty years ago. If he had, he had not lived to tell of it.
“Lusha has a copy,” he said. “She wanted me to keep the original safe. But I think you can make more use of it than I.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
Yonden smiled. Retrieving a drawing board and a sheaf of paper, he sank to the ground before the telescope. His pencil scratched against the wood. I was clearly not expected to stay any longer.
“Is there anything else you can tell me?” My voice seemed very small, suddenly.
Yonden’s pencil paused, but he did not speak for a long moment.
“Yes,” he said finally, pinning me with one last, deep gaze. There was a shadow on his face, but it didn’t conceal the quiet sadness there. “Look out for your sister. But do not forget to look out for yourself.”