All the Wandering Light

by Heather Fawcett

  “What did you do?” Tem was pale with shock. “I felt . . .” He didn’t seem able to put in words what he had felt.

  “I’m fine.” Was I? For a moment, I felt a difference, something that didn’t quite fit anymore, like a shutter swinging on a loose hinge. But then it faded.

  I sighed. “Azar-at, you don’t need to hide now.”

  The fire demon stepped out from behind a snow drift that should have been too small to conceal it, and came to my side. It sniffed at Tem’s chuba, then licked my hand before I could draw it away. You are safe. Friends are safe. This is good.

  Lusha stood up. Blood flowed from her scalp where the fiangul had torn at her hair. Her eyes narrowed.

  “Lusha,” I began, “I can—”

  She struck me across the face.

  Seven

  ONLY A FAINT mist lingered as the sun sank behind the mountains. The clouds formed circles over the Aryas, whirlpools shaped by the fierce winds that scoured the peaks. Here, though, the world was calm.

  Too calm.

  We had set up camp under the overhang of an enormous boulder twenty miles south of base camp. Twenty miles closer to Azmiri. It wasn’t enough—we would have to move faster tomorrow. It had been a long, difficult hike over the ice before finally, at midafternoon, we had left Raksha’s glacier behind. As we set foot upon solid ground, I felt a sense of release, as if Raksha’s power had swung shut behind us like a gate. The great mountain was no longer fully visible, its massive bulk hidden behind its crenellated neighbors.

  A streamlet trickled down the mountainside and past our camp, trapped beneath a layer of ice. Lusha was perched, as usual, in front of her telescope, maps and star charts spread about her and weighted with rocks. She hadn’t spoken to me all day. Mara sat next to her, pretending to ignore me. He kept darting glances in my direction, then acting as if he were only scanning the landscape for the hundredth time.

  “Ragtooth?” I stepped outside the firelight. “Dinner.”

  I peered into the shadows, hoping for the familiar spark of green eyes. But nothing stirred.

  “Ragtooth,” I called a little louder, in case he had fallen asleep somewhere.

  Nothing.

  Frowning, I returned to Tem’s side. He handed me a steaming bowl of rabbit stew. Mara’s afternoon hunt had been successful, though the game this far north was scrawny, more fur and bone than meat. I gave Mara a nod of thanks. He looked at me as if I had drawn a weapon on him.

  “I don’t know why he’s so jumpy,” I muttered to Tem. “He spent three years with River, and he never attacked him.”

  “Just ignore him,” Tem said.

  Distracted, I spooned the stew into my mouth so quickly I burned my tongue.

  “Are you all right?” I said. Tem’s eyes were red.

  He didn’t answer right away. “Do you think I killed him?”

  For a moment, I didn’t know what to say. “Tem . . . Norbu was already—”

  “I know.” He swiped at his eyes. “I know. But before, there was a chance. If I killed him—”

  I bit my lip. Tem had spent more time with Norbu than any of us—the shaman had taken him under his wing during the weeks-long journey to Raksha. And though Norbu had ordered Tem about like a servant, the man had also seemed to trust him, in a thoughtless sort of way. I felt a pang as I realized that the consideration Tem had been shown by the stuffy, pompous shaman was more than he received from most of the villagers in Azmiri, including his father.

  Tem stirred his dinner for so long I wondered if he’d forgotten about it. I examined him, taking in the tightness of his mouth, the slight furrow between his eyes. “It’s not just Norbu, is it? You’re angry.”

  “I’m not angry.” He returned my gaze, but there was a shroud over his expression, and I couldn’t read him. When had I not been able to read Tem?

  My eye, already showing the imprint of Lusha’s fist, gave a throb. It had been a while since she had hit me, and neither her aim nor her forcefulness had diminished. “You don’t trust me now.”

  “Did I say that?”

  “You don’t have to.” I set my bowl aside—my appetite had vanished.

  “You saved us,” he said. “I don’t like the decision you made. But I understand why you did it.”

  He sounded, to my ears, as if he was mouthing words he had rehearsed in his head. I wanted to shake him until the mask fell away and he showed me what he really felt.

  “This is my fault,” he murmured.

  I stared. “Your fault?”

  “I should have tried a different spell.” His gaze drifted back to the fire. “I should have reserved my strength for when it really mattered. Then you wouldn’t have had to . . .” He didn’t finish.

  “Tem,” I said quietly, “Azar-at is the only one able to fight the fiangul. You know that.”

  “I could have done better.” He coughed and set his own stew aside. “From now on, I’ll do better. You won’t have to use Azar-at’s power anymore.”

  “How can you make a promise like that?” I said disbelievingly. “The reason I did this was because I knew that none of us has the power to keep Azmiri safe. That’s what we have to focus on: protecting Azmiri.”

  “We don’t know the limits of Azar-at’s power,” Tem said, “and we shouldn’t trust anything a fire demon says. Kamzin, when you cast that spell, when you”—he stumbled over the words— “touched me and gave me Azar-at’s magic, I felt what it was. It’s nothing like shamanic magic. It’s a magic like fire, that burns as it’s expended. It’s dangerous—and wrong. Magic shouldn’t change you; it shouldn’t make you want to use it. No wonder every shaman who joins with a fire demon ends up dead. That sort of power is addictive.”

  “River used Azar-at’s power for years,” I argued. “He ended their contract when he chose.”

  “River isn’t human. It may have been different for him—we can’t know for sure.”

  “So what will we do if the fiangul attack again?”

  “I’ll stop them.” Tem sounded so completely certain that I almost believed him. Almost. But the strain on his face, the grayish tinge of his skin, belied his words. The magic he had used today had cost him dearly. His cough, which had been lessening steadily, had worsened. He was in no position to protect anyone.

  He pressed my hand between his own. “Promise me you won’t use Azar-at’s power again.”

  Tem’s mouth was a hard line. He was angry, I realized, but not with me—with himself. As ridiculous as it was, he blamed himself for what had happened. And so he had decided that it was his responsibility to fix it, even if it killed him.

  I felt my own anger rise. I looked at Tem, his face pale with concern, and wanted to run away. I knew he was right about Azar-at, and the decision I had made—that wasn’t the point. I was angry because it had been my decision. And now he was taking that away from me and making it his.

  I pulled my hand free. “I won’t promise anything. If I need to use Azar-at to protect myself, or anyone I care about, I will.”

  Tem’s expression clouded. “How can you say that? You haven’t read the stories of what happens to shamans who abuse a fire demon’s magic.”

  I laughed humorlessly. I knew exactly what the magic did to shamans. I had felt it—twice. Suddenly, my anger went out like a snuffed flame. Lusha wasn’t speaking to me. Mara looked at me like I was liable to curse his head off at any moment. And now Tem—his gaze was hard. The anger that had been turned inward was now directed at me. Something in that made me feel oddly satisfied.

  Because he should be angry with me. Hadn’t I been the cause of all this? Our lives were in danger because of me and the decisions I’d made. Didn’t he realize that I deserved the fate I had chosen?

  I turned away. I liked this cold, empty feeling. I didn’t need to be hurt by what Tem thought, or anything else for that matter. “I made my decision. It was necessary—I had no other choice.”

  Tem gave me a strange look. “You sound like River.�
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  I blinked. “What?”

  “That’s how he used to talk,” Tem said. “Necessary. No other choice.”

  “Fine,” I said, my voice cold. “Then I sound like River.”

  Tem was staring at me. “It’s already changing you. Since when do you give up so easily on an argument?”

  I faltered. I thought about what River had said about Azar-at making it more difficult to feel. Was this strange coldness what he had meant?

  Tem stood. His expression was closed again. “All right. We’ll talk about this later.”

  “Now you sound like Lusha,” I muttered. I turned away, pretending to occupy myself with the fire, which was blazing healthily. Tem let out his breath, and he seemed about to speak again. But then his footsteps moved away.

  I forced myself to eat, keeping my gaze on the fire. Lusha drifted off to her tent, followed by Mara. I wondered idly who that arrangement was more uncomfortable for. It would have made more sense for Lusha and me to share a tent—but then, to suggest that, I’d have to talk to her. My eye gave another throb.

  In order to reach Azmiri in a fortnight, we would have to cover twice as much ground as we had today, which meant finding every possible shortcut and avoiding bad terrain whenever possible. As the most skilled navigator, I would be the one choosing our path, and scouting for water and safe campsites. A shiver of loneliness traced its way down my back.

  With a start, I realized that I missed River. Not the person he had turned out to be, but the person I had thought he was. The River who used to sit with me as our campfire died down, helping me plan our next adventure. The River who would challenge me to a game of Shadow, and then laugh with pure delight when I beat him. The River who had been my friend. Not just because I had thought I loved him—even before that. I had always felt like an outsider in Azmiri. Traveling with River had been the first time I’d felt like I belonged somewhere. I wondered if I would ever feel that way again.

  I drew my chuba up to my chin and inched closer to the fire. Its warmth did little to dislodge the chill inside me. An idea occurred. Hesitantly, I held out my hand to the flames.

  Give form to the magic, Azar-at had said.

  I pictured the fire growing larger, hotter. Almost as soon as I had the thought, the flames leaped into the air, their warmth expanding.

  I felt a whisper of pain, gone in a flash—I barely had time to wince.

  I loosened my chuba. I was much warmer now, and pleased that I hadn’t needed to use more of our firewood. Tem would be upset, but I was still angry enough to find satisfaction in that. Compared to what I had done to the fiangul, surely a minor spell like that was nothing.

  A small shape crept out of the shadows and sniffed at my bowl. Finding it empty, the creature let out a growl.

  “Ragtooth!” Relieved, I scooped the fox up, holding him beneath his front legs so that his plump tail hung to the ground and his green eyes were level with mine. “Where have you been?”

  Ragtooth consented to be held for only a few seconds before starting to squirm. I stood, tucking him under my arm. “No more skulking around for you. It’s time for bed.”

  To my surprise, the fox allowed me to carry him. He seemed tired, and his fur smelled smoky, as if he’d been sleeping next to the campfire.

  I paused next to our jumble of supplies, hoping to find some ruhanna bark to lessen the throbbing in my eye. I remembered using most of the healing herb on Raksha to treat Tem’s injuries, and so was surprised to see an entire satchel of it, full to the brim.

  “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.

  It was so unexpected, and so painfully cold, that I screamed again.

  “Helpful, Lusha,” the nearest voice said.

  My eyes flew open. Tem’s face, drawn with worry, gazed down at me. Lusha was behind him, crouched at the foot of my bed. She looked more wary than concerned. In her hand was a bowl, empty now.

  “What happened?” I demanded, gazing around desperately. I was back in the tent, but how? Was I safe? Was I me?

  “You had a nightmare,” Lusha said. “You attacked Tem when he tried to wake you, so I did it myself.”

  I stared at her. “How?”

  “Would you like another demonstration? I can get more water.”

  “No, how did I get back here?” I stood quickly, and just as quickly fell over as my vision swam. “I was in the Nightwood.”

  “Kamzin—” Tem began, but I was already pulling on my boots. I staggered out of the tent.

  Dawn drenched the scattered clouds in oranges and pinks. Fat snowflakes drifted down, catching the light like flakes of gold.

  My relief was overwhelming. I was where I was supposed to be. And yet I knew with an awful certainty that I had just been somewhere else.