Page 23 of All the Wandering Light

“That’s odd,” I murmured. Shrugging, I popped a piece of the soft bark into my mouth, then ducked inside the tent.

Tem lay in his makeshift bed. He had succeeded in removing only one of his boots before falling asleep, and his blankets were half-trapped underneath him. I removed the other boot and drew the blankets up to his chest. Then, unthinkingly, I smoothed his hair back.

The planes of Tem’s face were sharper now from days with little food. He was even handsomer in sleep than he was awake, when he often used his hair as a shield. He looked like one of the ancient heroes painted on silk scrolls, all broad shoulders, knife-sharp cheekbones, and wind-tousled hair.

I drew back. I wasn’t blind—it was natural that I might occasionally think of Tem that way. But there was nothing underneath it. Even if there had been, I didn’t think it could exist again. That part of me that had felt something for River, something deep-dwelling but full of light, had been irreparably damaged. Broken. I felt it even now, as I drew my blankets up to my chin: a weighted darkness that pulled at my thoughts when I didn’t think of River, and ached like a burn when I did.

Ragtooth nestled against me, making a small noise in his throat. I buried my face in his smoke-scented fur and waited for sleep to take me.

My dreams were strange.

I stood in a dark forest of smoke and rustling branches. Someone was speaking to me, but I was distracted. I wanted to escape—

The scene shifted. Now I was flying, soaring over the forest, which thinned to snowy planes punctured by black trees. I was searching for something. I had searched for it before and been unsuccessful. The sky was a tumult of stars, and I was among them, the wind lifting me higher and higher until I was certain their light would burn me—

I woke with a start.

Snow tapped against the tent like fingertips, a soft, soothing sound. I lay there listening, warm in my blankets. I guessed by the light that it was near dawn. Oddly, the dream didn’t fade as dreams usually did, but hovered in my mind, bright as a new memory.

Someone was rustling around outside, clinking pots and tossing items onto the ground. The yak grunted, and a dragon chittered. I pushed myself up on my hands. I needed to get up, and to wake Tem, who was still snoring in his blankets, so that we could get moving. But I was disoriented. I could still feel the wind buffeting as I soared over those dark trees—

I alighted on a branch. Esha and the others were far behind. None of them had mastered their shape-changing abilities yet, a fact I enjoyed, at least where my brother was concerned. I ruffled my feathers against the wind, my owl eyes scanning the terrain. Then I swooped to the ground and reassumed my human form.

Thorn was the first to catch up. His secondskin was a langur, which could travel almost as quickly as a bird through the trees.

He landed next to me, transforming from langur to man with only the slightest hesitation. Thorn had almost mastered his secondskin, though he hadn’t succeeded in taking on other shapes yet.

“Anything?” he said.

“I can barely make out the Ashes from this distance,” I pointed out. “Let alone a fallen star.”

“It’s a star,” Thorn said. “They’re visible at greater distances than this.”

“Didn’t I tell you how my last star-hunting expedition went? We were eaten alive by insects and half-drowned by rain. And all for nothing.” That frustrating expedition was still vivid in my memory. Mara had been insufferable—the damp kept getting into his scrolls, and every day brought new complaints about the impossibility of working in such conditions. I had eventually tossed his scrolls into a stream, just to quiet him. The chronicler had assumed they’d been swept away by the rains.

“You’ll find it,” Thorn said. “You are, after all, the greatest explorer in the Empire.”

I looked at him but saw nothing mocking in his expression. He returned my gaze calmly.

“You’re better at changing shape than anyone else,” he said. “I’d like to try an owl. You go first, and I’ll watch.”

I shrugged, stepping back. But suddenly, the leaves rustled behind us.

Esha stepped into the clearing. His secondskin was an enormous boar, his hair as ragged as in his human shape. His tusks were long and sharp, his frame heavy—every inch of him conveyed menace. He melted into his human form with none of Thorn’s grace—it was a jerky, uneven transformation, so that he briefly seemed both human and boar, an abomination that reminded me of the fiangul.

His eyes fixed on me, and for a moment I could still see the animal gazing out from behind them. The shadows stirred as the others emerged from the forest, some in animal form, some human, others melting into the darkness itself—

I fell back against my blankets. For a moment, I had no idea where I was, or who. All I could think of was that monstrous boar, the boar that wasn’t a boar, but a witch.

I found my voice and screamed.

Eight

SOMEONE WAS SHAKING me, repeating my name. I pushed them off, terrified that it was the witches holding me down—there had been at least a dozen of them in that forest. The hands tightened again, and I struck out with feet and fists.

“Hit her,” a voice said.

“Don’t you think there’s been enough of that?” replied the person holding me. The first made an irritated sound, and there was a pause. Then a blast of icy water slapped me across the face.