“She thinks the rock is going to make a run for it.” I leaned against the mountainside, out of breath from the frenzied descent. Lusha was panting too, and swaying slightly, but that didn’t dim the determination in her eyes.
Tem dug the rock out of Lusha’s satchel and eyed it curiously. He brushed a hand over its surface, murmuring something—an incantation, or perhaps a question.
“That’s it?” Mingma said. His tone changed as Lusha’s gaze turned to him. “It’s—ah, unexpected.”
“It’s a joke,” I said, no longer constrained by any worry for Lusha’s safety. “The star’s gone. After all this searching, all this time, we’ve ended up with nothing. There’s no hope of recasting the binding spell now.”
“Yes, there is.” Lusha’s normally cool gaze was fierce. “This is the star. We have to bind it so that it doesn’t escape.”
Tem glanced up, frowning. “I don’t sense anything. I suppose I could try a spell to search for traces of hidden magic.”
“Lusha, open your eyes,” I said. “What I saw was glowing. That looks like what Aunt Behe uses to grind yerma.”
“What do you know about this, Kamzin?” she said in that now-familiar icy tone. “I’ve read the accounts of fallen stars. I can recognize the signs.”
“You’re seeing what you want to see,” I snapped. “If Tem doesn’t sense anything—”
“I’d like to have a look at the impact site,” Mingma said. “Perhaps some fragment of the star remains.”
Tem was turning the rock over in his hands, looking thoughtful. “Maybe if I tried—”
It was all I heard.
The wind sang, the mountain unfurling below me as I rose out of the shadow of the valley. The sky was a patchwork of stars and clouds, but the fading light didn’t hinder me, for I knew where I was going. I had seen it, though not with my own eyes.
I wrenched back to myself. The others hadn’t noticed—Lusha was opening her mouth to interject something.
“Tem—” I managed, before I was pulled back again.
I let the air currents lift me high above the mountain. They were difficult to make out, at that height—small specks of darkness against the snow. Four figures standing on a ledge, one smaller than the others, unmistakable—
“Kamzin.”
I opened my eyes, which I had unwittingly clenched shut. It hadn’t made a difference—the vision had been painfully clear. Tem peered back at me.
“Did you see—”
“He’s here,” I said. My voice sounded strange.
“What?” Lusha’s hand went to the ax she had slung from her belt.
The chill wind dug into my bones as I tucked my wings in and dove—
Tem was shaking me. “Kamzin.”
“It keeps happening,” I said. I held on to Tem’s arm as if it could anchor me to myself. Was it because River was close? “I can’t—”
Lusha cried out. She pressed me behind her as my focus sharpened on the sound of rustling feathers, faint against the murmur of the wind. We watched, frozen, as the owl alighted on the snow, wings outstretched as it found purchase, and then in one fluid movement dissolved into River.
Seventeen
HE LEANED AGAINST the mountainside, one hand gripping the rock. He shook his head, blinking, as if to clear his vision.
“What—” His eyes found mine. “What did you do?”
Tem reached for the kinnika, which, in his surprise, he had dropped in the snow. But the shadows moved, and suddenly River was there, tossing the kinnika aside and shoving Tem hard against the mountain. The bells sang out as they fell into darkness.
Lusha brandished her ax, but River merely gestured, and a violent gust of wind sent her sprawling, limbs akimbo, across the snow.
I fell back before the look in his eyes, certain he was going to toss me into the air as easily as Lusha, but he stopped barely two paces away. For a moment, I was disoriented—I had looked out from behind his eyes, lived his thoughts, and now he was here in front of me. The world seemed to fracture before sliding back into place, subtly changed.
I stared at him—I could count the freckles on his nose. He was both familiar and unfamiliar—his mismatched eyes were the same; his unruly hair, which had an echo in the owl’s ragged feathers. But the powerful impression he gave off now, of being cut from the night, or perhaps the cold, unfathomable sky, was new and frightening. I could almost see the magic coiling through the air.
Looking past this, though, I could see that there were smudges under his eyes, and the line of his jaw seemed sharper, as if he hadn’t rested in days. He still smelled the same—a stark, clean smell like the wildflowers that grew above the snow line in Azmiri, mixed with something close to campfire smoke. It wasn’t a human smell, and now I knew why.
River’s gaze hadn’t left my face—it roved from eyes to mouth to chin and back again, as if he was trying to locate something he’d lost.
“What,” he repeated, “did you do? You cast a spell, didn’t you? Something that’s causing these—these visions.”
Realization struck. A moment ago, I had felt like I was crumbling. As if I couldn’t hold myself together, so rapidly had I shifted back and forth from River’s mind. I felt whole again—now—but the sense of displacement remained. “You felt it too, didn’t you?”
He made no reply.
His words hit, and I let out a breath of laughter. “I cast a spell on you? Is that what you think? I’m incapable of magic.”
A flicker of a smile crossed his face, startling me. River’s moods shifted as easily as the wind. “Kamzin. You’re not incapable of anything. If someone dared you to climb the mountains of the moon, you’d find a way.”
I flushed, and for a moment I was confused. Then bitterness rose again. Everything I had done to reach this point had come to nothing. River would never let us continue searching for the star. The sense of loss ached in my chest. “How did you know we were here?”
“You know how. It was your spell that connected us.” He glanced over his shoulder to where Tem stood murmuring over a bronze talisman he must have dug out of his pocket. “Or was it Tem’s?” He made a careless gesture, and a tendril of shadow wrapped itself around his mouth, silencing the incantation. Tem pulled at it, but his fingers passed right through.
“I know you sent your familiar to spy on me,” River said, turning back to me. “You can’t deny that.”
I stared at him, nonplussed. He thought I had sent Ragtooth to spy on him? Was he mad?
“Well?” he said. I recoiled. The shadows around us seemed alive—they swayed and undulated like branches in the wind.
That was when the kinnika rang out.
River fell back, his face a mask of pain. Mingma stepped out of the shadows, sounding a single bell—the bell marked shadow-kin, an old term for witch.
“Kamzin,” Mingma said, but before I could run to his side, River fixed him with a murderous look and uttered a single word—
“Stop.”
The bell fell silent. Mingma stood as if frozen, his knuckles white as he gripped the kinnika.
I looked from Mingma to River in disbelief. Lusha, who had drawn herself to her feet and now leaned heavily against the mountainside a few yards away, looked as baffled as I felt.
“Surprised?” River said. “Don’t be. He still carries traces of the witches’ spell that tied him to Raksha. His will hasn’t been fully his own for fifty years. It still isn’t. I’ll take those.” Mingma handed him the kinnika, hesitating only briefly. His gaze, fixed on River, was as bitter as it had been on Raksha. He was trapped, just as he had been there.
River grimaced, holding the kinnika between his thumb and forefinger, as if they were something he’d fished out of a swamp.
“Shamanic magic,” he said, “has a terrible smell. Like something left out to rot. I’ve always been amazed how humans don’t notice it. Oh well.” He placed the kinnika around his neck. The witch bell let out a shiver, and he grimaced. “I’ll have to
hold on to these. I don’t relish the prospect of you sending me over a cliff again, Kamzin. And as for you . . .”
He turned to Mingma, his expression dark. “I’m growing rather tired of running into you. Were you not already dead, this would be much more entertaining. Fortunately, though, that old spell provides an alternative.”
“River, don’t—” I began.
“Begone.” River slashed out his hand. Mingma was flung back, or so it appeared—a gust of wind seemed to lift him, and winnow him like grain. His outline seemed frozen in midair, and then it too dissolved, and was gone.
I stared at the place where Mingma had been. “What did you do to him?”
“I sent him away. He won’t bother us anymore.”
“Where?”
“Where?” River could not have sounded less concerned. “Far away, I hope.”
“How could you do that?” My voice was shaking. “Hasn’t Mingma been through enough?”
River gave me a look of frank disbelief. “Do you truly feel for him? He tried to kill you.”
I remembered voices luring me from the safety of the cave on Mount Raksha. Cold hands dragging me beneath colder water. But that thought was subsumed by the image of Mingma sitting by the fire, easy and smiling. For the first time in fifty years, he had been happy.
“He didn’t have a choice,” I said quietly.
River shrugged, his mood shifting again. “You’re very forgiving. That’s good. It will make this easier.”
“We’re not giving you the star.” My voice was fierce with determination.
“I thought it was a rock?” He picked it up from where it had landed in the snow. “I was here for part of that argument. Lusha? You said you knew the signs. Are you still convinced?”
Lusha let out such a vicious string of insults that I half expected the snow to melt between them.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” River held the rock up to the sky, his brow furrowing. “I’ve never seen one before, so I’ll have to trust your judgment.”
I met Lusha’s gaze. Her hand was pressed against her shoulder where it had struck the stony ground, and there was a jagged cut on her chin. Through the pain, her expression was fierce, almost pleading. And suddenly, I realized why.
Lusha was utterly convinced that we had found the star. If we had, and it was now in River’s possession—
I swallowed. Lusha was pleading with me to trust her. Because I was now the only one with the power to help us. It would be big magic, costly magic—but what choice did we have?
“Azar-at,” I murmured.
The fire demon moved to my side, emerging from some unseen place behind me. Hello, River.
River started. “What in the name of the spirits are you doing here?”
“Azar-at is with me,” I said. “And I can’t think of a better use for its power than blasting you back to the Nightwood.”
River stared at Azar-at. His gaze went from shock to amazement. Then, to my astonishment, he began to laugh—so hard he had to lean against the rock for support.
“I should have known you would convince him to help you,” he said, once he had caught his breath. “You’re nothing if not resourceful, Kamzin.”
“Azar-at isn’t difficult to convince,” I said grimly.
“Ah, but that’s not quite true.” River eyed the fire demon. “Is it, my friend? Azar-at only helps those he deems worthy of his attention.”
I shook my head. I wasn’t going to let him distract me. I pictured the clouds descending, swirling over that exposed crag, dragging River into the air. “Now, Azar-at.”
The fire demon whined low in its throat. Its glittering gaze was fixed on River.
I stared at it. “What are you waiting for? I said, now.”
Not right, Kamzin, the fire demon said. Not good. You forget my promise.
“What are you talking about?” My voice was shaking again, fury rearing back up. “You’re always so eager for me to use your magic.”
You made me promise, on Raksha. I do not forget promises. The fire demon settled back on its haunches, tail stroking the snow. You cannot use magic against friends.
I felt like screaming. “River is not a friend.”
“Don’t bother trying to make sense of it,” River said. “I gave up long ago. Fire demons follow their own laws.”
He turned the star over in his hands. Lusha was staring at me so hard her eyes could bore holes in my skin. I met her gaze. She reached into her chuba and drew out a rock.
Not a rock. The star.
The breath left my body. Lusha had somehow, in the few seconds before River appeared, snatched up a stone of similar size to the star, then pretended to drop it. Lusha moved to my side, limping. She was either a very convincing actor or was genuinely hurt. River paid her no heed. She wrapped her arm around me, as if to comfort me. Then she slipped the star into my pocket. I froze, my heart thudding in my ears.
River’s expression was distant. “The magics contained in fallen stars belong to neither witches nor shamans. But I should be able to sense something. Maybe you were right, Kamzin. Maybe Lusha is imagining things.”
My heart was in my throat. Lusha murmured something, but it was too low for me to hear. “Tem couldn’t sense anything either,” I said, my voice even.
River’s eyes swung to me, and instantly I knew I had made a mistake. River could read me too well. I kept my expression carefully blank, but it was too late—his eyes were narrowing, and he was turning to Lusha—
Who had drawn her bow and fired an obsidian arrow.
I let out a cry—of surprise, or fear, I didn’t know. River, who must have reacted to the sound of the arrow leaving the bow, had moved more quickly than I could follow. He pressed his hand against the arm of his chuba, then drew it back. There was no blood. The arrow had cut fabric, not skin.
Lusha nocked a second arrow, but a wave of shadow crashed at her feet and spilled up her body. She was flung back against the mountainside and pinned there.
River paced toward Lusha, his expression stormy. She stood immobile, trapped by shadow. She didn’t flinch, merely leveled him with a cold look.
“No!” I cried, surging to my feet. But River merely plucked the bow from her hand and turned back to me. He seemed to notice my expression.
“I wasn’t going to hurt her,” he said.
I stared at him. Given the tumult inside me, I hadn’t thought I was capable of surprise as well. “Why?”
“Why?” River looked puzzled, as if he had only just considered the question, and the answer was as much a mystery to him. When he spoke again, he sounded uncharacteristically hesitant. “She’s your sister.”
“I don’t believe you,” I said. “You’re capable of anything. You want to use the star to destroy the world.”
“Is this world worth saving? Perhaps for you. It wasn’t for us.”
He stood there in that familiar chuba, gazing at me with those familiar, mismatched eyes, and all I wanted to do was run at him, pound my fists against him. I wanted to lift my ax from where it lay in the snow and drive it into his chest. I withdrew the star from my pocket.
River’s eyes narrowed. He seemed to guess what I was thinking. If I threw the star off the mountain, could he find it? His powers hadn’t helped him find the star before. There was no longer any possibility that we could escape with it—the least I could do was keep it out of the witches’ hands.
My hand, suddenly, was hot. The star was burning; I felt it through the wool of my glove. What was happening? Startled, I stumbled back—onto the talon of ice at the edge of the spur.
Which promptly gave way.
Shouts followed me through the air. Acting on pure instinct, I lifted my ax and drove it into the mountain. It arrested my descent, and I swung my body onto a narrow ledge. It held for a moment, then crumbled beneath my feet. Gasping, I slid down the mountain, which curved outward slightly, before landing in a heap on an outcropping several yards below. I was on my feet in an ins
tant.
Through my fear and fury rose a sudden, desperate hope. The clouds swirled around me in thick sheets. Could I somehow conceal myself and the star from River? Could I lure him on a wild-goose chase, then make my way back to Lusha and Tem, and escape?
It seemed impossible. And yet I had to try.
I leaped again. The rock wasn’t quite sheer, and I slid at a terrifying speed before catching hold of a crevice in the mountainside. My wrist wrenched painfully, but I didn’t pause. From there, I lowered myself rapidly to a spur of rock we had passed hours earlier—it had taken that long to climb the area I had just descended. The mountainside fell into shadowed mist beyond the spur, tinged with silver and gold from the setting sun. It was a dreamlike sight that took my breath away. Yet I knew the mist hid certain death—I was thousands of feet above the ground. Beneath the spur there was only air.
I hurried along the rock to the cave I knew was tucked within a fold in the mountainside. The clouds swirled around me, cold and damp. Ice crystals formed around my eyes and nose, but I didn’t care—the clouds were my cloak.
I reached the cave, which was difficult to spot at first, for it was as if a light shone inside it, erasing every crack and crevice. No, not a light.
The cave had no shadows.
I stumbled back. Around me, the shadows were being pulled back like a retreating tide. Clouds swirled over a landscape that was harsh and jagged, almost painful to look upon. I turned, drawing the dagger from my chuba. I couldn’t see River, but I could see where the shadows were gathering—at the edge of the cliff, where it seemed a figure stood shrouded in darkness.
Anger beat in my veins. River had found me. River had access to power I couldn’t imagine. It was unfair, and I hated it.
I threw the dagger.
The shadows gave a shudder. I had no time to see if my desperate shot had hit the mark, however—I turned and ran, making for a rubbly ledge of ice. The ground shook strangely beneath my pounding boots. The rubble seemed to dissolve, and I realized that beneath it was nothing but air.
“Kamzin!” River shouted. His voice was distant. I was falling.
Chunks of snow and rock struck my face as I tumbled with them through the air. My ax was gone, spinning from my hand and into the shadows. The shadows—
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