Page 45 of All the Wandering Light

I hadn’t known anyone to speak this way about witches—they were unfeeling and without mercy, in the stories. Darkness in human form. Something inside me shifted ever so slightly as I considered Mingma’s words. “Can they feel love?”

Mingma was silent. When I glanced up, he was giving me a sympathetic look I wanted no part of.

“I think so,” he said. “In their way.”

My thoughts were a tangle. I needed to move, to leave the heat of the fire, which now felt suffocating. And I was suddenly very aware of the darkness, and the thought of the witches prowling the mountains, drawing ever nearer to the star. I stood. “I’m going to look around—we don’t have any time to waste. Can you keep watch here?”

Mingma nodded. He leaned back, looking for all the world as if he were relaxing on a shaded bench in the emperor’s gardens, not sheltered on a precarious slope high in the sky.

I moved cautiously over the uneven ground, glancing up at the sky to orient myself. Few constellations were familiar here, though I found one, the ancient hero Khana-rok, her bow drawn to slay the ice demon. I followed the direction of the bow, which always pointed west.

I didn’t know what to make of what Mingma had told me. I had thought—foolishly, it turned out—that River had been the only witch to have any contact with the Empire. Were there other explorers besides Mingma who had dealt with them? Who had been shown something other than cruelty? I thought of the way Mingma’s gaze had clouded as he spoke of the witch who had guided him. Something in his face, a trace of longing, had stopped me from questioning him about her.

I caught a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye, the flicker of glowing eyes, but when I turned, there was nothing there. I wondered, not for the first time, if Azar-at would be able to locate the star. I suspected so—the creature’s powers weren’t constrained by any limits that I could see.

Azar-at hadn’t shown itself since our encounter by the lake. At first I had appreciated this, but now I found myself wishing I knew precisely where the creature was. The notion that I might turn my head at any moment and find its ember eyes fixed on me produced a faint but constant dread.

My thoughts drifted. Now that we had reached the Ashes, the temptation to use Azar-at’s magic had been strong. I knew that it could lead me to the star—but I also knew that it would be big magic, bigger than warming my hands or repairing a tear in my chuba.

And yet.

I had only to put my will behind the thought, and Azar-at could lift the star from whatever valley or snowbank concealed it, and place it in my hand. I could tell the others I had stumbled upon it. Why wouldn’t they believe me?

But would Azar-at even give me what I wanted? I thought of the jarring visions of River’s memories. But if I phrased it clearly enough, and left no room for interpretation—

Snow crunched behind me. Tem staggered into view, clutching his ax in one hand and a sleepy-looking dragon in the other.

“Tem, what are you doing?” I grabbed his arm as soon as he was in reach—the ground wasn’t stable.

“Pairs, remember?” He frowned. “You’re not going off on your own, are you?”

“I thought I’d have a look beyond that ridge.”

“I’ll come along,” Tem said. He lifted the kinnika by way of explanation.

I refrained from pointing out that Tem was likelier to need magic to save himself than me. By coming along, he was giving me an additional variable to worry about. The thought surprised me, and brought about a twinge of guilt. I nodded, and we set off.

“Are you sure you should be using those so often?” I said, gesturing to the kinnika. “Remember what happened last time. You wore yourself out.”

“I’m fine,” Tem said.

I gave him an assessing look. His face was pale, but he was clearly in better shape than he had been on Raksha—and he had used his magic more often, on the journey to the Ashes. “The magic doesn’t seem to tire you the way it used to.”

“No.”

“What do you think that means?”

Tem gave a weary shrug. I could tell from his expression that it was a question he had asked himself, likely more than once.

Once we made it to the ridge, the wind dropped. I tapped my ax against the ice, considering. The ridge was almost sheer, but I knew I could climb it easily, and hopefully find a vantage point. I examined the jagged silhouette of the mountain. If Lusha’s calculations were off even slightly, we could be a great distance from the star.

“Don’t move while I’m gone,” I warned. The snow beneath our feet was solid ice.

Tem nodded. I readied my ax and began to climb. As I went higher, the wind quieted to a whisper. I glanced down at Tem, who had his head bent, murmuring to the kinnika.

It didn’t take me long to reach the top—without Tem to worry about, I moved as easily as a shadow. Treading carefully, I moved to the lip of the ridge, hoping against hope that I would see a sign—any sign—of the star.

My heart sank.