Page 42 of All the Wandering Light

The elder said it mildly, as if remarking on the weather. The healer handed him a glass of some dark liquid, and he smiled at her, his gaze leaving Mara at last. Shaken, the chronicler left the room.

Mara walked a short distance, finally pausing beside a shrine that leaned into a patch of singed hillside. One of the music bowls hummed gently in the wind.

Mara thought of the letter from Azmiri. The attack in the Southern Aryas, the emperor sending the Ninth Army to investigate. The Ninth Army was usually stationed close to the Three Cities.

You came to regard the witches as little more than myths, the elder had said. He had been right. Mara doubted that the emperor viewed the witches as creatures who could think and plan. Intelligent enough to lure his armies away, one by one, and leave his capital defenseless.

Mara’s fists tightened. It was up to him. He had to warn the emperor—not just of River’s betrayal, but of the witches’ plot. The Empire’s security rested on his shoulders. Mara turned, intending to seek out fresh provisions. He was unsurprised to see one of the Elder’s attendants hurrying down the hill toward him.

“He says to give this to Kamzin’s young friend,” the attendant said without preamble, shoving something into Mara’s hand. Then he kept walking, clearly on some business elsewhere in the village.

Mara stared. It was a talisman—a small bronze bell like the kinnika, engraved with an intricate pattern of flowing lines that reminded Mara of water. “Wait,” he called. “What is this?”

“A talisman,” the man replied, as if he genuinely believed Mara to need this clarification. “For the dark fire. It’s how we put it out.”

“Don’t you need it?”

“We have several. They’re very old. Be careful with it—Elder expects it to be returned one day.”

Mara shook the bell. It made no sound—none that he could hear. Giving Mara a patient look, the man took the bell. When he shook it, it sang out with a clear, high tone. He handed it back to Mara. The bell, vibrating with its own echoes, stilled instantly against his skin.

“It responds to blood,” the man said. “It won’t obey you. It’s for the boy—should he and Kamzin have need of it.”

This made little sense—how did Tem’s blood have any connection to the people of Jangsa? Mara tucked the bell into his pack, reddening at the realization that he was being asked to deliver a gift to a yak herder from a village most people in the Three Cities hadn’t even heard of.

“Very well,” he said. “If I survive the journey back to the emperor’s court, I will do my best to see that Tem gets it. There are no guarantees. The terrain between here and the Three Cities is treacherous.”

The man gave him a blank look. “No guarantees,” he agreed politely. “The elder thinks it likely you will perish in Winding Pass. He hopes this is not the case, and wishes you luck on your journey.” Then, with the air of someone doing something he has never done before, but knows is expected, he clapped Mara on the shoulder and strode away.

Fourteen

I STABBED MY ax into the ice, reaching back with my other hand to help Tem up the slope. The narrow ridge fell away on either side, two clean sheets of snow that faded into shadowed valleys punctured by spurs of rock. It was a world of sharp peaks, deep caverns, and unnaturally long nights.

We had reached the Ashes.

After leaving our camp between the boulders, we had hiked all day—with Mingma’s unerring directions, we had quickly located the shortcut through the foothills. The valley had been blanketed with a dense snowpack that covered any treacherous scree, and we made rapid progress, despite our exhaustion. I felt, at times, like I was sleepwalking.

The unnamed peak we scaled jabbed out of the earth like a fang. Lusha was certain—she said she was certain—that the star had fallen here. But the moon was behind the mountains, and the shadows were thick.

“Kamzin!”

I looked up. Lusha perched on a fluted shelf tucked into the mountainside, only visible by the cobalt light of the dragon on her shoulder. We each had one, though mine kept trying to burrow into my chuba, rendering its light useless.

I gritted my teeth and urged my feet to move. It took an age to climb that short slope, as I had to pause to help Tem every few steps. He stopped to cough into his hood, and I gripped his shoulder until the fit subsided, afraid he would pitch over the side.

When we finally made it to the shelf, Lusha and Mingma had already set up the tent.

“I’ll keep watch,” the ghost said, and promptly disappeared. For a moment, I simply stared at the place where he had been. I didn’t think I would ever get used to him doing that. I supposed I should have been grateful for Mingma’s presence—without him, it would have been impossible to reach our destination so quickly, giving us a chance at beating the witches to the star—but I still felt uneasy around him.

Tem and I dove inside, and Lusha handed us a flask of water and some dried yak meat. We wouldn’t be making a fire tonight—the wind whipped violently over the mountainside, and it would be impossible to get anything burning. The walls of our tent flapped so loudly I had to shout into Tem’s ear.

We should have been on top of the star right now, if Lusha’s calculations were correct. But either Lusha’s calculations weren’t correct, or we had missed it in the darkness. Or, worse, the star had already returned to the sky.

Lusha’s head was bent over one of her star charts. Her dragon rested on her lap.

I raised my hood, trying unsuccessfully to block out the noise. I had no idea how Lusha could concentrate through that racket, but she gave no sign of being troubled by it. Tem said something in her ear, and she shook her head once, without taking her eyes from the chart.

The frown between Lusha’s eyes had deepened since yesterday. She had barely spoken in hours. I could tell that Tem was nervous and confused by her behavior. But I understood.