Page 39 of All the Wandering Light

River was still in the forest, crouched on the bank of a lightless stream. He looked down at the water, and I let out a silent gasp at the sight of River’s reflection gazing back at me.

At least, I thought it was silent. River glanced up, his brow furrowing. After a moment, he shrugged and returned to the water.

He was older—fourteen or fifteen, perhaps. It wouldn’t be long before he joined the emperor’s court. Was he thinking about it now? I didn’t know. His mind was like a lightless well. I only knew that he was wrestling with something dark.

Shall we discuss the plan, River? a voice said, and I bit back a scream.

Azar-at stepped out from the shadows, as if it had been there all along, and I felt a moment of déjà vu. River didn’t turn his head, nor did he speak.

You are doubtful, Azar-at said after a pause. There was a question in the creature’s voice that surprised me. I hadn’t thought it capable of uncertainty.

River let the silence drag on another moment. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “I wouldn’t have traveled to the farthest reaches of the Nightwood in search of your kind, Azar-at, if I had any doubts.”

No doubts. The fire demon’s tail wagged. Looking at Azar-at was eerie. I had just been speaking to the creature on the shore of a northern spring. Fear, then. Fear is strong. I am stronger.

“No.” River launched a pebble into the water, shattering his reflection.

Anger. You are angry.

“Is this part of our contract?” River said. “You will badger me until I confess my every thought? I don’t recall that clause.”

Azar-at cocked its head. Definitely anger.

River let out a short laugh. His mood lightened so abruptly I felt dizzy. “I’m beginning to suspect you have a sense of humor, you strange little monster. That’s something, I suppose.”

He watched the ripples settle on the water. “Do you really want to know what I was thinking?”

Yes, River.

He tossed another pebble. “I don’t want to leave.”

Why? The fire demon’s usually remote tone held an unexpected note of curiosity.

River stood, sliding the remaining pebbles from one hand to the other. “Because I’m not sure what will happen to them without me.”

You will make things right, the creature said. You will help family.

River’s eyes drifted away from Azar-at. Curious, I tried to peer into his thoughts, but they were too unsettled; it was like trying to pick out a face in a crowd viewed through dirty glass. I wondered if even he could make sense of them.

Something crashed in the distance. River was on his feet before the first echo died, scanning the forest. Then he plunged into the trees.

Branches slapped his face. River was light on his feet and navigated the twisted woods as skilfully as a deer, seeming to intuit the position of rocks and roots a step in advance. He was soon bursting into a clearing, which was cast in a lurid glow.

A woman crouched in the center of the clearing. She looked up, revealing a thin face framed by graying hair. Her eyes were River’s eyes—one dark, one light, and her skin was heavily freckled. Even if I hadn’t read it in River’s thoughts, I would have known she was his mother.

Around her, the forest was burning. It wasn’t witch fire, but it burned just as fiercely—as River watched, a branch broke from a tree and fell to the ground in an explosion of sparks. Several struck his mother, singeing her hair. Yet she made no move to shield herself. Instead, to my astonishment, she rolled onto her side and lay motionless among the sparks and blown embers.

River darted forward, dodging another branch. The woman looked at him, and in her eyes there was no recognition whatsoever. River dragged her to her feet and swept her up in his arms. She was taller than him, but she weighed as much as a child, being little more than skin and bone.

“Azar-at,” River said, lifting his hand. Obligingly, the fire leaped out of the way, forming a path to safety. River plunged along it, a stray spark striking his temple. I felt it as clearly as if it had struck my own face, heat sharp as a needle. It was soon joined by a familiar pain, difficult to locate but no less sharp, as Azar-at took what it was owed—

I let out a cry. It was not my face that had been burned, it was my hand. I had fallen forward, my palm plunging into the heated water of the spring. I leaped back, burying my hand in the snow.

My head spun. I touched my face, my hair. I was myself again. River was gone—the reflection gazing back at me was my own.

“What was that?” I searched for Azar-at, and found it, unsurprisingly, sitting behind me, slightly too close. My heart was thudding. “You showed me River’s memories?”

I gave you what you asked for, Kamzin. The creature’s voice was unperturbed. As I always do.