Page 18 of All the Wandering Light

The fiangul came like pillars of dark fog. They did not walk—the wind swept them toward us, hovering over the snow. Their wings were open but motionless, like hawks riding the thermals. All-black eyes fixed upon us, in faces that were half vulture, half human—something grotesquely wrong, but impossible to look away from.

“Spirits,” Lusha murmured. “The stories are true.” Mara’s eyes were as round as full moons.

“Kamzin,” Tem said, his head still bent over the kinnika.

“Sorry.” I loosened my grip on his arm. “Do you see them?”

“I don’t need to. I can feel them.” He raised his head and shouted a single word in the shamanic language, sounding the bell rapidly before silencing it against his hand.

A warm breeze played through my hair. I felt, rather than saw, Tem’s shield spread out to surround Lusha and Mara where they stood a few steps away. It shimmered, a gentle flickering that had, the last time we fought the fiangul, reminded me of fireflies, but now made me think of a wall of glass—not fragile, but heavy and thick. The fiangul, only yards from us now, began to shriek. My hands flew to my ears in a vain attempt to block out the sound, which was at once hateful and wretched, a desolation so complete it made my bones shudder. Lusha, with an incoherent shout, loosed an arrow at the closest creature. It passed through Tem’s shield, but missed its mark—the fiangul darted aside with a motion as light as a sparrow’s.

“Don’t.” Tem’s voice was quiet but commanding. “It weakens the barrier.”

Lusha shifted position, helplessly craning her head to watch the fiangul circle Tem’s shield. They didn’t attempt to throw themselves at it—they merely prowled its perimeter, black eyes searching for a way in. When their wing tips brushed against the shield, they chittered sharply and fell back as if it pained them.

“They’re stronger,” Tem murmured. “I can feel it.”

“Stronger? How is that possible?”

“I don’t know—could be the binding spell. Maybe they had some connection to it, through the witches. They’re said to be allies.”

I closed my eyes briefly. “Can you hold them off alone?”

He met my eyes. The barest hint of a smile tugged at his mouth. “I think so—the spell’s easier than last time. I don’t understand it.”

I fell silent. Whether it was easier or not, the strain on Tem’s face as he muttered the incantation was obvious. I exchanged a look with Lusha. She seized my hand.

Time passed. It was difficult to gauge how much. We huddled close together, aching with cold as the snow billowed and the fiangul circled like the contorted specters of a fever dream. I began to feel trapped in a cage. How long would the storm last? Minutes? Hours? Tem’s face grew paler, though his voice never faltered as he chanted the spell. Somehow, impossibly, the spell held. Hope began to blossom inside me. The winds were dropping, and the snow no longer blew sideways.

“Mara!” Lusha shouted. “What are you doing?”

I whirled. Mara was outside Tem’s shield, moving with a strange, unsteady gait toward the nearest fiangul.

“Mara, get back here!” I cried. What was wrong with him?

“I can’t.” Mara’s voice was faint. “They— I can hear—”

Ignoring Lusha’s shout, I surged forward. Tem’s spell, as I crossed it, brushed against my skin like insect wings—a soft, harmless thing that somehow held back the fiangul with the strength of iron.

Mara was on his back now, sliding across the snow. I couldn’t make sense of it—then there came a gust of wind, and the snow parted, revealing the grotesquely thin, hunched figure that dragged him roughly by the hem of his chuba.

“Mara, fight!” The chronicler was barely struggling, though his chuba, as the creature dragged him along, was so taut against his neck that he seemed to be choking. It didn’t make sense.

In that moment, I was overwhelmed by a cacophony—not the fiangul’s birdlike cries, but voices. Rasping, contorted whispers that filled my ears and crowded out all thought.

We will guide you safe, they said, a hundred voices repeating the same words, like the drone of bees. Safe. Guide you. You are safe.

I stopped, wondering suddenly why I was worrying about Mara. The fiangul hovered calmly, their black eyes fixed on me. Did they truly mean to harm us? Or were they here to guide us through the storm?

Safe now. Come, we guide you.

“Kamzin, don’t listen to them!” Tem shouted. Somehow, he was maintaining the spell, even as he gripped Lusha by the arm. A dozen yards separated us—enough that the swirling snow blurred his outline. If I had gone any farther, I wouldn’t have been able to see him at all.

His voice cut through the din of the fiangul’s murmurs, returning me to my senses. I reeled, and saw Mara react in the same moment—he gave a hoarse shout and struggled against the creature’s grip. The whispers surged again, but Mara’s steady stream of bellowed threats drowned them out. I dashed toward him. As I neared, I saw something spill from the folds of the creature’s torn chuba.

Talismans. Worn around the fiangul’s neck, they winked in the faint light—some made of gold, others encrusted with gems. A sickening realization overwhelmed me.

“Norbu!” I screamed. “Norbu, stop, please—”