“WHO WON?” TEM said as I approached the campfire the next morning. He had fallen asleep waiting for me—it was long past sunset when River and I returned. Now he was hunched over the stream, washing his socks.
“It was a draw,” I said. And it had been. No matter what I did, no matter how impossible the move or narrow the handhold, River had matched me, fumbling only once or twice before catching himself. He clung to the mountain like a spider. Still, all the agility in the world wouldn’t make up for his natural impatience, which sometimes led him to make thoughtless moves, overextending his reach or forcing himself into awkward positions. I had watched as the muscles in his arms clenched and strained during the final descent, certain that at any moment he would admit defeat. He hadn’t, infuriatingly, but I was certain I could beat him next time. If there was a next time.
We would reach Winding Pass tomorrow.
Tem raised his eyebrows. “That’s a first.”
I toyed with my breakfast, half lost in thought. I had woken at dawn to examine the maps for the hundredth time. I felt better with them spread out before me, the journey ahead reduced to a series of tidy black lines and labeled features. They helped quell my sense of foreboding.
The feeling grew the closer we moved to Winding Pass. Though our campsite that night was pleasant enough—a patch of springy saxifrage sheltered by two glacial boulders—I could not sleep.
I remembered little of the return journey through the pass with my mother’s expedition. We had been caught in a storm; everything was dark and confused. I remembered shouting, Lusha’s hand squeezing mine like a vise. Strange shapes woven through the darkness, reaching for us with spectral limbs. I thought something grabbed my shoulder, its fingers cold and thin and sharp—Lusha had yanked me free. Had it been my imagination? Nothing made sense in that swirling void.
I rolled onto my side, rubbing my shoulder—sometimes, it was as if I could still feel that strangely shaped hand. The others hadn’t made it out of the pass. Their cries, the shamans’ shouted incantations, had faded into the darkness behind us, as my mother half led, half dragged me and Lusha through the storm. Only her iron will and almost superhuman energy had protected us.
The terror I had felt in those moments threatened to envelop me again, but I beat it back—barely. I watched the flap of the tent as it moved in the breeze, gently rustling. My mother was gone. My sister was out there somewhere, but out of reach. This time, there would be no one to protect me if something went wrong. The thought brought with it a surge of loneliness, but also hard determination.
I rolled over again and began going over the maps in my head.
Norbu approached me the next morning, as I washed our breakfast dishes in a half-frozen stream. “This weather won’t hold.”
I followed his gaze, wiping a wet hand across my forehead. To the north, dark clouds were massing among the peaks.
“The last storm swung east,” I said, ignoring a stab of anxiety.
Norbu fingered one of his talismans. “Nevertheless, I should begin the weather chants.”
“Tem can help with—”
“The Royal Explorer trusts me to protect his expeditions,” Norbu said, a cold note entering his voice. “River and I have endured many such storms.”
I’m sure you have. Norbu’s abilities had not become any more impressive over the last few days. After the others had gone to bed, Tem had told me in a low voice how he had broken Norbu’s warding spells simply by waving his hand through them. He had recast them, of course, properly, but it made me shake my head in amazement. How had River survived so long without a proper shaman?
We set off, and I tried to ignore the darkness gathering in the skies ahead. The wind picked up, cooling my sweaty brow. The dragons took flight and coasted above us, riding the gusts and chirruping at each other.
Where is Lusha?
We should have caught up to them by now, given the pace I had set. They must have been traveling into the night, to stay so far ahead.
Or—something had gone wrong. I tried not to think about what that could be—there were any number of possibilities. Surely Lusha would be cautious, and not take any unnecessary risks. But if Mara protested, would she give in?
I had no idea. I had no idea of anything—what had driven her to sneak off with Mara, what she hoped to gain by betraying one of the most powerful men in the Empire.
I still wanted to catch Lusha, to beat her to the mountain. To see her face when I sauntered into her camp, the dawning realization that I had bested her. But as I gazed at the storm, I also felt something else. A nagging worry, hovering at the edge of my thoughts.
The terrain was difficult, uneven and strewn with rubble cast down from the mountain, and there was a risk of turning an ankle at every step. It was a tiring hike, and as the day wore on, we moved more and more slowly. Tem paused every few steps to cough, while Dargye, his large frame not built for balance, had torn a gash in his knee. Even I was out of breath, and frustrated with my own lagging pace.
Soon the wind was too strong for the dragons—they landed on the yak, burrowing in between our gear, their lights flickering chaotically. At my side, Tem began muttering incantations. He held the string of kinnika in his hands, allowing the wind to brush through them. The music they made was gentle but discordant, and formed an eerie backdrop to the worsening weather.
“Can I help?” I said. “Chirri taught me all the weather spells.”
Tem glanced up. It took him a moment to focus on me.
“That’s all right,” he said carefully. “You have enough to do.”
I smothered a sigh.
“Kamzin?” River called. “Are you sure this is right?”
I stopped, brushing the hair from my sweaty face. The landscape of broken scree sloped up and up to the snow-streaked mountains, which hovered in the sky like locked doors. There was no sign whatsoever of a way through. And yet, somehow, I knew it was there.
“I’m sure of it,” I said, meeting his gaze. I didn’t know how to make him believe me. I didn’t know if I believed myself.
“What does Mingma’s map say?” Dargye said.
“It doesn’t,” I replied. Mingma’s only note about Winding Pass was “inadvisable.” By now, I was becoming used to the dead explorer’s dry understatements. He had similarly labeled a cluster of caves inhabited by ravenous bears as “nuisance—avoid.”
“You can trust her,” Tem said. “Kamzin’s the best navigator in the village. She sees past the obvious, notices details that others miss.”
“We should turn back, dyonpo,” Dargye said, and I had to resist the now-familiar urge to smack him. “We passed the mouth of a valley, I’m sure of it—”
“No,” I said. “That’s a dead end. Look, everyone thought my mother was lost when she led us here, but she wasn’t. There’s something about this place—it’s like you can only find it if you already know the way.”
“Some strange magic at work?” Norbu said. “Yet I sense nothing unusual in the air.”
Tem and I exchanged looks.
“Kamzin,” River said with a slight smile, as if this were a debate over dinner settings, “lead the way.”
I swallowed. The others gazed at me with varying degrees of skepticism and worry on their faces.
All right, I thought. I can do this.
The landscape rose steadily, alternating between short, steep slopes and gradual inclines. The terrain offered a buffer from the wind, which was still rising. Another hour’s walk brought us to a crest of land, and suddenly there was Winding Pass, right in front of us—a narrow channel of snowy terrain that flowed like a river, broken with jagged boulders that reared up out of the ice, between two towering mountains. Songri’s twin peaks gleamed in the sunlight, framed by blue sky and a few tendrils of cloud. But Mount Zerza was lost in the storm.
“Oh,” I murmured.
Lightning darted from the swelling darkness like the flick of a viper’s tongue. The clouds did not seem to be advancing so much as roiling, like shapeless entities engaged in a violent dance.
“Good job, Kamzin,” River said as he caught up to me. “You were right—some magic conceals this place from anyone who doesn’t already know the way. As you stepped over that rise, I saw it blink into existence. I could never have found my way without your help.”
“River—” I began, but he was already walking away.
“Guess I owe you an apology,” Dargye said.
“What?”
“About the pass,” he said slowly, as if I were stupid.
I was barely listening to him. “We need to turn around.”
“Why?” He glanced at the sky. “It’s just a summer storm. We can take shelter if it moves our way.”
“It’s not just a storm,” I murmured. “I’ve seen this before.”
Dargye gave me an odd look and tugged the yak’s lead. I let him, Norbu, and Aimo pass me, and waited for Tem. He had been lagging behind all day, red-faced and breathing hard. He smiled when he saw me waiting, but I could see that behind it, he was hurting. I felt a pang of guilt for the punishing pace I was setting.
“Can you do anything about the storm?” I said, my voice low.
“I was trying. Norbu ordered me to stop. He said I was disrupting his incantations.”
“Forget about Norbu,” I said. “Keep trying. Please, Tem. And keep an eye on that black bell. If it so much as whispers . . .”
He gazed at me, my own thoughts reflected in his eyes. If Chirri was right, the black bell would only sound in the presence of someone who wished to harm us. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”
I swallowed. I heard my mother shouting at me through the chaos of the storm, heard the shamans’ screams, felt the scratch of inhuman fingers against my shoulder. “I don’t know.”
Tem reached into his pocket and pulled out the kinnika. “I’ll do my best.”
As we neared the pass, it began to snow. Lightly at first—small flakes that eddied around us like insects. The wind picked up, blasting us with a chill that took my breath away. River, walking ahead, held his arm up to block the onslaught.
“Tem?” I said.
“I’m shielding us as much as I can,” he replied, his voice low and distant. “But there’s something strange about this storm. It’s like it’s—fighting me. I’ve never felt anything like this.”
He removed one of the bells and rang it sharply four times. The sound, deep as a gong, echoed off the mountains. The snow lessened, and the wind dropped. I could still hear it howling, but it was as if it was separated from us by a wall.
Tem folded forward, pressing his hands against his knees as another coughing fit overtook him. “I don’t know,” he said between coughs, “how much longer I can do this.”
“Just a little longer—please.” We were in the pass now, but I hadn’t seen any sign of the caves indicated on the maps. I clambered up an enormous boulder, squinting into the distance. But I could barely see twenty yards away—beyond that point, Tem’s shield weakened, and the world was hail and wind and darkness.
“Kamzin?” It was River. He stood at the base of the boulder, his expression inscrutable. His tahrskin chuba was white today, and he could have been part of the snow. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for somewhere we can wait out this storm.” I almost had to shout to be heard over the wind.
“We’re not stopping.” He held out a hand. “Come down.”
There was something in his tone that forbade argument. I took his hand and let him help me off the rock. But I gripped it, hard, when he moved away.
“River, please listen to me,” I said, meeting his eyes. His face was only inches from mine; I could count the snowflakes tangled in his lashes. “This is no ordinary storm—I’ve seen it before. We have to turn back.”
“That would give Mara the advantage,” he said. “They already have a head start.”
I stared at him. I couldn’t believe that he was worrying about Mara at a time like this. “River, please listen to me.”
River held my gaze. I couldn’t tell if he was considering what I had said or lost in his own thoughts. Then he stepped away, pulling up his hood so that his face was shrouded. He turned and strode back into the snow. Norbu followed, and then Dargye and Aimo with the yak.
I felt close to tears. Biting them back, I turned to Tem. His shoulders shook with another fit. “Are you all right?”
He nodded tersely, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. His lips moved silently through the incantations, his hand clutching the kinnika. I looped my arm through his, and led him on.
We continued for an indeterminate time—it was still day, but the pass was so dark and turbulent that it was impossible to guess the hour. Tem grew quieter and quieter, his mouth barely moving as he murmured the incantations. We followed the dragonlight. The others were barely visible.
My legs burned. I realized, suddenly, that Tem and I were climbing. The dragons’ lights were off to the left, now, and we were moving up a steep incline. How had that happened?
“Wait,” I cried, confused. I pulled Tem to a stop, but as I did, I felt his footing slip.
“Tem!” I shouted, grabbing at his arm. But I couldn’t find my footing on the icy rock. Tem’s weight propelled me after him, into the void.
I fell face-first into a mound of snow, and surfaced coughing but unhurt. We had fallen into the lee side of an enormous granite slab, which had been half-submerged in snow. We must have been climbing up the snow-covered side without even realizing it.
I helped Tem to his feet. “All right?”
He nodded, coughing. He fumbled around in the snow, finally unearthing the kinnika.
“River!” I shouted. The wind took my voice and tossed it away. I squinted into the darkness. The dragons’ lights were gone.
I pushed my hood back, feeling for the direction of the wind. But it was constantly shifting, and I couldn’t be certain which direction we were facing now. Or in which direction the others had gone.
“River!” I shouted again. “Norbu! Dargye!”
There was no response save for the howl of the storm.
How had I not noticed we were climbing up the side of a boulder? How had the others advanced so far ahead of us? I shook my head as if to clear it. The storm was fierce, disorienting. But there was more going on than that, I was certain of it.
“This is just how it happened before,” I murmured.
One by one, we had been separated from each other. One by one, the others had faded into the storm, until only my mother and Lusha were left.
Oh, Spirits.
“We should wait here,” Tem said, raising his voice to be heard. “They’ll double back once they realize we’re missing.”
“No,” I said. No, I wasn’t going to wait there like a sitting duck. Surveying the vague terrain, I took Tem’s arm and began to walk.
“Kamzin,” he protested, “you don’t know where you’re going.”
“Oh yes, I do.” I had not spent hours poring over the maps of this part of the Aryas for nothing. I had been counting every boulder we passed, as well as every step I took. I knew where we were, roughly, in spite of the wind’s games. I just needed confirmation.
A moment later, I had it. A towering pinnacle of rock, eroding into a mound of broken stone shaped like jagged teeth, loomed before us. I let out a whoop. I had my bearings now. Gripping Tem’s hand, I led him slowly but confidently in the right direction, the direction that—I hoped—the others had also taken.
And then—something began to chime. Not the bell in Tem’s hand, which he used to battle the storm.
The small, black one that hung next to his heart.
We froze, staring at each other. The bell was silent for a long moment.
Then it jangled again. A small, shrill sound that cut through the moan of the wind.
“Are you moving it?” I said.
“It wouldn’t matter if I was.” In spite of the cold, Tem’s face was dewed with sweat. “That’s not how it works.”
Tem and I stood still, breathless, waiting. The black bell did not sound again.
“Let’s keep going,” I said, pushing against the rising panic. We began walking again, clutching each other’s arms. The black bell gave a shiver of a chime every now and again, but that was all.
Something moved out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head, blinking against the snowflakes. And screamed.
It was a human figure, tall and skeletal. But in place of a human head, it had that of a bird, with the curved beak of a vulture. Its shoulders hunched, and below the rags it wore its bony legs bent the wrong way.
And then it was gone, as if it had never been. But I knew the truth—I knew what I had seen, knew it with a certainty that chilled me to the marrow of my bones.
“What is it?” Tem gripped my shoulders. The black bell began to chime loudly—a sharp, dolorous sound. “What did you see?”
“They’re here,” I cried. “They’ve come for us!”
“What? What’s come for us?”
The fiangul. My mouth formed the words, but I couldn’t get them out. I seized Tem’s hand and began to run.
“River!” I shouted. “Norbu! Dargye!”
I was running so fast, my head lowered against the snow and wind, that I didn’t see the shape looming before me.
“Ah!” I cried, as my head hit something warm and soft. I bounced and fell backward into a snowdrift. The yak let out a startled grunt, turning to look at what had collided with her rear end.
Tem helped me to my feet. Aimo was close behind. She brushed the snow from my hood and back, and then wrapped me in a hug.
“Thank you,” I gasped. Aimo’s lips moved, but I couldn’t make out her reply amidst the chaos of the storm. She rested her hand on my arm, an absently sympathetic gesture. I was so relieved to see them that I could have cried.
“What happened to you two?” Dargye said. “I thought you were right behind me.”
“Where’s River?” Norbu said. “He went to search for you.”
“Oh no.” It was possible that we had passed River in the blizzard—likely, in fact, given the chaos around us.
I seized one of the dragons, which were huddled beneath a blanket for warmth. “I’ll find him.”
“Kamzin.” Tem’s grip on my hand was suddenly very firm. Ching, ching, ching, went the black bell.
I turned. Looming out of the swirling darkness were three figures—tall, painfully thin. Little else about them could be made out. But there was clearly a wrongness there, something that chilled me deep inside, as if a frost was creeping over my heart.
Norbu held up his hand. In the other he grasped one of his talismans. He took a step toward the creatures, muttering an incantation.
“Norbu, don’t.” I lunged after him, but Tem dragged me back. He fumbled with one of the bells, a small one with intricate carvings, and sounded it slowly. He began to chant, and a warmth emanated from the place where he stood. The snow falling around us turned to gentle rain.
Norbu was still moving toward the creatures, his arm outstretched as if to banish them back. His outline blurred as the snow grew thicker. The incantation became garbled and broken, and I thought I heard a cry. The snow swirled between us, and Norbu and the creatures were gone.
“Norbu!” I shouted. Suddenly, something passed through the air overhead with a terrible scream, half human and half other. Tem and I dove, but the creature circled back, its beak clicking hungrily. Its eyes were the round, black dots of a bird, shimmering white with reflected snow.
Tem raised his hand, and something like heat haze pulsed toward the creature. It jerked back as if struck, and screamed again.
“Stay down,” Tem said, shoving me to the ground.
“Let me help you!” I struggled to my feet. Tem did not look at me; he muttered a word, and some invisible force knocked me back again.
Another creature dove toward us, veering off at the last second. Tem rang and rang the bell, almost shouting the incantation now. It was as if the sound of the bell and his voice were gaining form and weight; a glowing mist took shape around us, and spread outward. It reminded me of a cloud of fireflies.
“Spirits protect us!” Dargye cried, diving behind the yak. I didn’t blame him—I had never seen Tem work a spell like this. It was at once beautiful and terrifying.
Just beyond the range of Tem’s shield, one of the fiangul drifted slowly to the ground. There it seemed to multiply, other dark shapes coalescing from the swirl of snow and darkness.
There are too many of them. I struggled to stand, but Tem’s spell still had me pinned to the ground. I shouted at him, but he ignored me. His eyes were narrowed, his jaw set. His self-consciousness had melted away, leaving behind a person I barely recognized.
Tem lifted his hand again, and the shimmering mist darted toward the fiangul. They screamed and fell back. But they were also fanning out, forming a ring around us that tightened, tightened. How long could Tem hold them back?
“Damn you, Tem,” I cried. I flailed my arms helplessly like a beetle on its back. “Let me help!”
Suddenly, the fiangul fell silent. A shudder seemed to pass through them, and they cocked their heads, as if listening for something. And then—
A few yards from where I lay, the snow began to move. Something was rising out of it, something with an enormous belly, round head, and an absence of limbs.
A snowman.
Ten feet tall at least, with the girth of several men, the snowman was lopsided and faceless, a nightmare brought to life. It leaped on the nearest fiangul, or rather rolled, gathering snow and height as it went. Other snowmen rose up out of the drifts that surrounded us. The fiangul squawked and began their counterattack, rending the snowmen with beaks and talons. But as soon as one fell, another took its place. Feathers floated through the air.
I screamed as the snow rose up beside me, but it fell apart almost as quickly, and River stepped out from the broken mound. I stared at him, stupefied.
“That’s all right, Tem,” he said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I can take it from here.”
“River!” I shouted. One of the fiangul had made it past both Tem’s shield and the snowmen, which stood like guards before us. It glided closer, its nightmarish eyes fixed on mine.
“No, you don’t, you overgrown vulture,” River cried, summoning another snowman and sending it careening in the creature’s direction. “Back to the wastes with you! Or rather, back to a different waste. This one’s taken.”
The snowman collided with the creature and broke apart, burying it. The wind lifted the loose flakes into the air, and all that remained of the fiangul was a few feathers.
The rest of the creatures vanished, melting back into the blizzard. The remaining snowmen glided forward a few feet before coming to a halt, lifeless.
Tem sank to the ground. The mist subsided, and the weight that had been pressing me down vanished. River was there in a heartbeat, hauling me to my feet.
“What are you doing here, Kamzin?” His eyes, to my amazement, were sparkling with laughter. “I thought surely I would have to dig you out of a snowbank a mile away, and yet here you are, exactly where you’re supposed to be. You’re full of surprises.”
“What did you do?” I demanded shakily, pushing him off. “I’ve never seen magic like that before.”
River shrugged. “I’ve picked up a few tricks during my travels. Tem!” He pulled him up as well. “Nicely done. I wish there were shamans like you in the Three Cities, rather than these useless mumblers. Speaking of which, where is Norbu?”
“They got him.” Tem looked close to collapsing again. “He was trying to protect us.”
“Fool. He should know better than to try to protect anyone,” River said. He brushed at the snow that still clung to his chuba, looking completely composed. “Dargye? Aimo?”
Two heads poked out from beneath the yak. They were red-faced and covered in snow, but seemed unharmed.
“Dyonpo, we were just—”
“Doing the sensible thing, and staying out of the way,” River said. “Good for you. All right, I’ll fetch Norbu.” With that, he strode off into the maelstrom.
Tem sagged against the yak’s flank, coughing. The beast grunted. Her back was covered with snow mixed with feathers. I brushed it off, only half-conscious of what I was doing. My hands were shaking.
“It’s a miracle she didn’t run,” I said. My voice was too high.
Tem made a vague gesture. “I placed a sleep charm on her. My spell would only protect us if we all stayed within the circle. I didn’t realize I could—”
His voice grew muffled as I wrapped him in a hug.
“Kamzin?” He struggled against my grip. “I can’t breathe.”
“Sorry.” I released him, stepping back. His face was pale—the long, straight eyebrows I had always admired were like slashes of ink against his skin. I brushed his hair back from his face and kissed his cheek. “Thank you.”
That brought the color back. He pushed me away, hiding behind his hair again. “Don’t be stupid.”
“Found him!” River strode back into our midst, somewhat out of breath. He was dragging something behind him—something wearing a gray chuba, with long, snow-coated hair.
I rushed to Norbu’s side. He was breathing, and did not appear hurt, though his skin was as cold as the snow falling around us. His eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t wake.
“Is he all right?” I said.
River gazed down at Norbu, frowning. “I think so. He didn’t get far.”
There came a distant rumble, like thunder but deeper, and the ground trembled. It came from Songri, or possibly Zerza. It was impossible to tell in that echoing valley.
“Oh.” River squinted at the mountainside. “I may have destabilized something with my spell. I always forget to be careful of that.”
“You may have what?” I shouted.
There was another ominous rumble. River lifted Norbu and tossed him over the yak like a bag of grain.
“Come on, come on,” he said, beckoning. “Keep up this time, will you? Let’s have no more dramatics until we’re clear of this forsaken place.”
“Dramatics?”
“What about the fiangul?” Tem said. “Will they follow us?”
“I doubt it. Not after being so badly beaten.” He shrugged. “Mind you, they do have terribly short memories. Kamzin?”
I shook my head. “This way!” My arm threaded firmly through Tem’s, we half stumbled, half ran through the snow, leading the others. The blizzard roared around us, and the mountains trembled, but they did not cast their snowy blankets down upon us. And then, so gradually that I didn’t notice at first, the storm grew quieter and quieter, the snow less and less, until finally it stopped altogether.