All the Wandering Light

by Heather Fawcett

I shook my head. Then I dove into the shadow.

  It was a strange sensation. The shadow flowed over my skin like wind, but something about it was solid, almost tangible. It felt like a thousand wings brushing past my face.

  I wove through the darkness, finding my way to the star. I picked it up, and it was as dull and lifeless as it had been when I first touched it. I plunged back into the darkness, reaching Azar-at’s side just as I heard the cry.

  I turned. River had appeared, as had Esha. They stood at the edge of the spur, framed by the stars. They were at the center of the swirl of shadows, which had slowed to a menacing dance. River was clutching his side. He pulled something out, something that gleaned darkly in the starlight.

  An obsidian dagger.

  “River!” I screamed.

  River sank to his knees. Dark blood spilled over his fingers. He gazed at Esha, his expression filled with a hatred so intense it seemed to vibrate through the air. Esha leaned forward and placed his hand on River’s face—a gesture of affection so utterly incongruous that I started. Then he took the dagger from River’s hand and drove it into him a second time. Esha turned away as River fell.

  I felt oddly disembodied. For a moment, it was as if I could see through River’s eyes, but it wasn’t because of our connection this time—it was a memory. I was back on Raksha, hunched in the snow, watching as River left me behind, broken and defeated on the summit.

  I wasn’t defeated now. I had what I had come here for, and this time, I wasn’t giving it up—no matter what. I choked back the tears that ran down my cheeks and pinged against the rocky ground, already frozen.

  Esha turned to look at me, his head cocked—a brief pause, before he unleashed some merciless spell in my direction. River followed his gaze. For a moment, our eyes met. His face was paler than I had ever seen it, and his eyes seemed to struggle to focus on mine.

  Azar-at settled at my side, the creature’s smoke-fur melting the snow from my boots.

  “Azar-at,” I said as I thought of Lusha and Tem with all my might, “take us to the emperor.”

  Part III

  The Three Cities

  Eighteen

  AZAR-AT GAVE NO warning.

  The mountain vanished, the snow crumbled underfoot, and the stars went out like snuffed candles. All was black and still, the stillness of dead things and snow-cloaked forests. I was dying but unable to die, to breathe, to move. I felt—something. Countless shapes moving, rustling against my bare skin.

  Those were the only impressions I had before I tumbled forward onto the floor of a forest.

  I lay on my back, winded, as if I had fallen from a great height. Had I? I had a strange image of myself falling from the peak of that unnamed mountain in the Ashes, into a forest that didn’t exist that far north. But here, it was day, an ordinary afternoon. The light of an overcast sky spilled through the trees.

  I pushed myself up onto my elbows, head spinning. Lusha groaned a few feet away. Wind played through the leaves, and it was gentle, almost warm, with none of the sharp edges it had in the north. A stream flowed over a bed of moss.

  Where are we?

  I didn’t have time to wonder about it. For in that moment, the world dissolved again, obscured by a veil of agony.

  Someone was screaming, some distant part of me noted. Everything was distant—it was as if, in that moment, I was reduced to a kernel of pain, every other thought, memory, and sensation stripped mercilessly away. It was a pain that was everywhere, and nowhere, and it went on and on.

  Then, without warning, it stopped.

  “Kamzin.” Someone was touching me—a hand on my face, another on my shoulder.

  I blinked, my eyes coming open. Tem knelt over me, his face pale. With his other hand, he grasped at one of the kinnika, as if readying to cast a spell. But there was no spell that could help me.

  The pain was gone, though in its place was a bone-deep weariness. I drew myself half-upright as my vision swam.

  “River—”

  “It’s all right.” Tem’s voice was low. “He’s not here. What happened? We saw you fall . . .” The way he touched me was strange, his hand light and tense, as if he was torn between restraining and comforting me. Mixed with the concern in his face was something harder, like anger.

  I saw River’s face, half in shadow. The blood staining the snow. Something twisted inside me, sharp as a knife. The pain clouded my vision, as sharp one of Azar-at’s spells but somehow deeper.

  Tears streamed down my face. They didn’t freeze here, but fell against the grass like rain. Tem held me. It seemed impossible that River could be dead. He had defied death so many times as Royal Explorer—how could be be defeated by a shard of glass? My palms tingled, as if remembering the fire River had summoned days ago.

  “Can you stand?” Tem asked when I had calmed.

  “I don’t know.” The world tilted again as exhaustion rolled over me like heavy fog.

  Branches rustled as Lusha strode into the glade. There were leaves tangled in her hair and a smear of dirt on her cheek. Her chin was stained with drying blood. Yet despite her disheveled appearance, she radiated a self-righteous fury that put me in mind of the warriors depicted on my father’s tapestries. I cringed away in spite of myself.

  “What happened?” Her voice was quiet, which was never a good sign.

  I recounted it all, speaking rapidly—Lusha’s gaze was like a carpet of hot coals I wanted to escape as quickly as possible. She showed no reaction as I described River’s part.

  “Next question,” she said. “Where are we?”

  I looked around. “Azar-at?”

  The fire demon appeared, a tendril of smoke unfurling from the greenery. I suppressed a shudder of revulsion. The creature was as calm as ever, watching me with its patient, fiery gaze.

  I have done as you asked, Kamzin.

  “I asked you to take us to the emperor.” My voice shook. Had what I just endured been for nothing? “And you’ve done what? Returned us to his lands? That isn’t the same thing. We should be in the Three Cities right now.”

  The Three Cities are close. The creature’s tail began to wag. Shall I take you there?

  “No.” I felt dizzy with anger and betrayal, and horror at what I had done. I had sacrificed part of my soul, and abandoned River—and for what? Azar-at had deceived me. How had I not suspected it? I thought of how accustomed I had become to the creature’s power, all the small spells I had cast. It had made me trust it.

  The rage that had been building flickered and died, leaving something cold in its place. I tried to grasp at the anger, to summon it again. But it slipped through my fingers—just as River had said.

  “You were right,” I murmured, leaning into Tem’s shoulder.

  He didn’t need to ask what I meant. Hatred blazed in his eyes as he looked at Azar-at, as if this was all its fault—but, of course, that wasn’t true.

  Lusha pressed her hand against her eyes. “What were you thinking, Kamzin?”

  I swallowed against the nausea rising in my throat. “I was thinking that I would save our lives.”

  “And this is how you chose to do it?”

  “I wanted to take us to the emperor,” I said, my voice rising. “To bring him the star, so that he could recast the binding spell. Why is that hard to understand?”

  “Perhaps because neither the emperor nor his shamans seem to be nearby. And there’s one other small problem with your plan.” Lusha’s voice still held that threatening calm.

  I gazed at her blankly. When I recognized the meaning behind her words, I started so violently I elbowed Tem in the chest. I rooted around on the forest floor, my hands catching at stones, earth, leaves—but not the star. It was gone.

  I cursed. “How is this possible? I had it—”

  “And now you don’t.” Her voice was vicious. An almost tangible heat flared between us, melting Lusha’s icy demeanor. “You didn’t think to specify that Azar-at should bring the star along?”

&nb
sp; “I—”

  “You didn’t think,” Lusha repeated, turning away. “You never do.”

  I stared. “I never think?”

  “It was all for nothing.” She paced back and forth, kicking at stray pebbles and roots in an uncharacteristic display of frustration. “All we’ve been working for since we left Raksha—you’ve thrown it away with another reckless decision.”

  I felt as if she had slapped me. “Another reckless decision? How have I been reckless?”

  “Do you really need me to say it?” Lusha stopped. “You made a contract with Azar-at, didn’t you? As a result, River was able to track us to the star.”

  “I didn’t know—”

  “You didn’t know. Because you didn’t think. Just like you didn’t think before you trusted River. And we’ve seen how that turned out.”

  I flushed. For a moment, I couldn’t speak. The pain in my chest seemed to twist, several knives instead of one, as River’s face rose before me again. Did the pain mean that I still loved him, after everything? I didn’t know. But I knew I couldn’t bear to think of the possibility—the likelihood—of his death.

  “That isn’t fair, Lusha,” Tem said quietly.

  “I’m not really concerned with fairness at the moment.” She began pacing again. “We could have used the star to save the Empire—and Azmiri.”

  “Are you saying I don’t care about Azmiri?” My shock was slowly giving way to fury. “How can you—what gives you the right—”

  “Because it’s my responsibility.” Lusha’s voice was like a lash. “It always has been. You wouldn’t understand that, because you’ve never taken your responsibilities seriously. Who else is going to protect the village, if not me? Father has no way of dealing with the witches now that their powers are unbound. I went to Raksha to save Azmiri. Now I’m here in some spiritsforsaken forest, hundreds of miles from the one thing that could have helped us. The village is defenseless, and I can’t protect it. I can’t protect it.” She came to a stumbling halt. Her face was flushed, and she was breathing heavily. With her chuba askew and the dirt on her face, she suddenly looked very young.

  My own anger had crumbled. For a long moment, we stood in silence, the twittering of the birds the only sound.

  “No one expects you to save Azmiri alone,” I said finally, but I heard the emptiness in my own words. Everyone in Azmiri looked up to Lusha, in the same way they looked up to Father. Though only nineteen, she was seen as more than an elder-in-waiting; she had already taken on many of the elder’s duties. And the first and most important duty of any elder was protecting the village.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice trembling. “You’re right, Lusha—I don’t always think. I know I’ve made a mess of things.”

  Lusha let out a quiet laugh. She leaned against a tree, looking even more exhausted than before. “We both have, haven’t we?”

  I shook my head. “No. You’ve been right from the beginning. You tried to stop River.”

  “I tried.” Lusha gave me a rueful look. “But I couldn’t have followed River to that peak. Even if my ankle wasn’t broken. You’re the only one who could have done that, Kamzin.”

  I shook my head. “But it was for nothing. If I hadn’t trusted him—”

  “I shouldn’t have said that.” Lusha’s voice was quiet. “I should have told you what I read in the stars. I just—” She shook her head slightly, as if marveling at her own words. “I didn’t really think you’d follow me.”

  I didn’t know what to say. The silence stretched out. Lusha seemed to have returned to herself, the color leaving her cheeks and her expression calming. Her gaze, as she regarded me, was not exactly warm, but it no longer held the chill of the last few days. I thought of Father, and Azmiri, and felt a surge of despair. How were we going to protect the village now?

  Tem grasped my arm—hard. “Kamzin.”

  Ragtooth trotted out of the bushes. He moved with an oddly lumbering gait, as if off balance. He was carrying something in his mouth.

  The star.

  Lusha let out a strangled sound. The fox dropped the star into my hand without protest—covered in drool, naturally—but he did protest when I gathered him tightly into my arms. He nipped my ear, and I let him leap to the ground.

  “Where did he come from?” Tem said. He eyed Ragtooth with an oddly suspicious expression.

  “Azar-at must have brought him with us,” I said. “Thankfully.” The thought of Ragtooth being stranded in that bleak place made me ill.

  Tem’s brow was furrowed. “Kamzin . . . Ragtooth wasn’t with us on the mountain.”

  “What are you talking about? Of course he was.”

  “No, he wasn’t. The last time I saw him was on the glacier.”

  “He was obviously following us.”

  Tem shook his head slightly. “Did you hear what River said? He thought Ragtooth was following him. Why would he think that?”

  I didn’t want to talk about anything River had said—the thought of him was like a knife twisting inside me. “River also thought the yak was scheming against him,” I said roughly. “Here—it still looks like a rock to me.” I handed Lusha the star, drool and all. I felt lighter immediately. That fragment of rock was responsible for what had happened to River. I didn’t want anything to do with it.

  Without replying, Lusha marched into the forest. She plucked a branch out of the deadfall.

  “Tem, can you light this?” she asked.

  He dragged his gaze from Ragtooth, who was calmly washing between his toes. “Why?”

  “Just do it.”

  Tem gave her a puzzled look. He selected one of the kinnika, and murmured a word. The leaves at the end of the branch flickered with flame. Lusha settled the star on a rock and pressed the makeshift torch against it.

  A painful glimmer flooded the forest. Instinctively, I turned my face away. The light was white-hot, radiating in a way that reminded me of a pulse. Lusha drew the branch away. As it cooled, the star dimmed, until it looked like an ordinary gray rock again.

  I blinked away the spots that floated across my vision.

  “Do you believe me now?” Lusha said.

  Tem gingerly lifted the star. “Kamzin’s right. We have to take this to the emperor’s shamans. It’s the safest place for it.”

  “Azar-at,” I said, my voice cold, “where are we? If you’ll be so good as to share that small detail.”

  Sasani Forest, the creature replied calmly.

  “That’s only two or three days north of the Three Cities,” Lusha said. She reached for her pack, which was lying on the forest floor—all our things were there, scattered around the glade at random intervals, even our tents. “I have a map.”

  She bent her head over it. I became aware, suddenly, of how quiet the forest was, how still. The only sound came from Tem as he sorted through the kinnika, muttering about a wayfinding spell. The gentle tinkling of the bells seemed painfully loud.

  The hair on my neck stood up. Slowly, I reached out and stilled Tem’s hand. I turned around.

  The trees were broad-chested here, dark-needled pines mixed with birches and oaks. The forest was dense enough to dim the light, but not extinguish it—I could see well enough between the trunks. Something stirred at my back, and then, soft as the rustle of a leaf, came the sound of an exhaled breath.

  My mind leaped to witches—Esha, stepping out from the trees, his eyes alight with menace. Had he somehow followed us here?

  “Run!” I shouted, grabbing Tem’s hand. Lusha looked up just as chaos erupted.

  Horses’ hooves thundered, voices shouted, arrows flew. People dressed in scaled armor and glittering silver helms charged us from what seemed like all sides. Tem and I dodged a man coming at us with the butt of his sword raised—Tem stumbled, but I caught him and dragged him on, still staggering.

  “Lusha!” I yelled. She turned toward me, our eyes locking across the distance, and I realized she was surrounded by a ring of soldiers. She raised a ha
nd.

  It was covered in blood.

  I let out a wordless cry. Then there were hands on my shoulders, shoving me into a tree so hard my vision blackened briefly. Other hands seized Tem, striking him across the face as he opened his mouth to shout something. I clawed ferociously at the person restraining me, earning the satisfaction of a muffled curse. The butt of a sword was driven into my stomach, and I stumbled, gasping and choking. I couldn’t breathe—

  And then there was an arrow in my shoulder.

  I stared at it. I was aware, distantly, that someone was shouting something, that soldiers were pouring into view, surrounding us with drawn bows, that Tem was staring at me with a look of horror I had never seen on his face.

  He pulled me down just as another arrow sailed by overhead. That was when I felt the pain blossoming in my shoulder.

  The arrow made it hard to focus on anything. So I reached up and pulled it out.

  The cry caught in my throat and came out as a broken groan. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt—but not as much, it seemed, as the spells I had cast with Azar-at, nor was the pain as deep. I would be fine. Though those spells had not been accompanied by this strange floating feeling.

  “Don’t worry,” I muttered. “I barely felt it.”

  Tem, crouched at my side, was saying something. He was pressing against my shoulder. His hands were red.

  “That’s a lot of blood,” I told him. It seemed important that he know this.

  One of the soldiers pulled him away from me, but Tem, seemingly oblivious to the weaponry pointed our way, made a gesture that blasted him backward.

  A man shouted something in a carrying, commanding voice, and another soldier moved to Tem’s side. And beyond them, everything was growing dark.

  “River?” I murmured. My mind was a haze. The thought of River brought a surge of relief. It meant he wasn’t dead, wasn’t lying in a snowy wasteland where I could never talk to him, or kiss him, or curse him, ever again.

  Shadows gathered over the stream. In the forest, more shadows stirred, sliding onto the bank like animals seeking a drink. The soldiers gazed about, wide-eyed. For some reason, they had fallen back from Tem, who stood alone at the center of a swirl of shadow.