All the Wandering Light

by Heather Fawcett

  More shouts, and an arrow flew toward Tem. I opened my mouth to scream, but a shadow darted out, and the arrow went wide. A soldier approached him, sword drawn, but a skein of darkness wrapped around his ankle, and he fell with a clatter of armor. Realization hit like a shock of ice water.

  The shadows belonged to Tem.

  “Seize him!” a woman shouted, her voice hoarse.

  “No,” I said, as chaos erupted on all sides. One of the soldiers had made it through the shadow-cloud to Tem, who seemed to have sagged forward. Lusha was yelling. The soldiers were yelling. Everyone was yelling. Shadows skittered back to the forest.

  “No,” I repeated, louder this time.

  I didn’t know what I was denying—everything, I supposed. Everything was wrong. Well, I wasn’t just going to sit there. I was going to do something about it.

  I dragged myself to my feet, and that was when the world tilted violently, and the ground came swooping up to greet me.

  Nineteen

  HANDS WRENCHED MY shoulder back, pressing something cold against it. I felt a shock of pain, then a spreading numbness that almost made me weep with relief. A voice chanted an incantation. I must have slipped back into unconsciousness, for the next thing I knew, the hands were gone.

  I opened my eyes.

  I lay on my side on the forest floor, a dark figure looming above me. I felt a moment of panic and disorientation. When I raised a hand to my shoulder, I encountered dry bandages, no blood. All I could see, at that angle, were the hooves of a massive horse. When I shifted position, there came a shaft of pain that made me wish I hadn’t opened my eyes.

  “Who did this?” a cold male voice said. “The general said capture, not maim.”

  “Apologies, my lord,” a woman’s voice murmured.

  There came a curse, and then a pair of leather-clad feet landed on the ground not two paces from my head. A man, tall and armored, his face half-hidden by a gleaming helm that covered his eyes and wrapped around the sides of his neck, knelt at my side and passed his hands matter-of-factly over my body. I paid him little heed. My stomach felt as if it had been rearranged by the blow it had taken, and my shoulder throbbed beneath the salve. My breath came in wheezes.

  “Get away from her,” snapped the familiar voice of the person beside me.

  “Lusha,” I managed. It came out as two words. I pushed myself upright with my good arm, then wished I hadn’t, as the world tilted. The knot of soldiers surrounding us visibly tensed. Lusha didn’t look injured. There was a smear of blood across her palm, mixed with earth—she must have fallen.

  “Tem—”

  “He’s alive,” Lusha said. “No thanks to these cowards.”

  “Cowards?” the tall man repeated as a little shiver traveled through the armored figures gathered in the glade. There were six of them, and most had arrows trained on us. “We are soldiers of the emperor’s Fifth.”

  I felt a chill. Each of the emperor’s ten armies was renowned—or notorious—for its own specialization. The First Army was the largest and most powerful, and was often sent out to fight the fearsome barbarian tribes at the farthest reaches of the Empire. The Fifth was smaller—it kept close to the Three Cities, patrolling the forests and plateaus through which the Empire’s major trade routes threaded, searching out the bandits and thieves that preyed upon unwary travelers. Once caught, those bandits were dispatched with casual brutality and left where they had fallen as a warning to others. Father had spoken of the blackened bodies he had seen at the side of the road during his last visit to the Three Cities.

  “I don’t care if you’re the emperor himself,” Lusha replied, her voice icy. “You attacked a group of unarmed travelers without provocation. What is the difference between that and banditry?”

  The air cooled further. I contemplated clamping a hand over Lusha’s mouth. But though her hands on my shoulders shook slightly, her gaze was iron. She knew what she was doing—knew that it wasn’t suicide, as much as it appeared that way. With an almost painful effort, I forced down my objections. Lusha’s gaze was fixed on the man who had examined me for injuries.

  He was silent for a long moment. Then, to my astonishment, he let out a bark of laughter. Instantly, the mood lightened. Soldiers shifted position, their armor clinking.

  “Unarmed travelers?” I sensed rather than saw that the man’s entire focus was on Lusha. “You are witches.”

  “No,” Lusha replied, reacting more quickly than I would have thought possible to that incomprehensible statement. “We’re flesh and blood. You’ve seen that for yourself.”

  “And your friend?”

  Lusha was silent. What was the man talking about? It couldn’t be Tem—and yet Tem was the one missing. Where had they taken him?

  “Tem is not a witch,” I said. The very idea was ludicrous.

  The man made a dismissive sound. “I do not doubt what I see with my own eyes. He can control the shadows. Only witches can work such magic.”

  The tangle of memories from those chaotic moments of the attack began to sort themselves into patterns. I remembered the shadows, how strangely they’d behaved. Tem had thought my life was in danger. Somehow, that realization had allowed him to draw on a power I’d never seen him use before.

  “No.” I said it even as I remembered how the shadows had responded to Tem’s commands. How his powers had seemed to grow after the binding spell was broken.

  The spell’s easier than last time.

  I couldn’t accept it—my mind balked. Tem was familiar; Tem was home. I knew everything about him—his expressions and mannerisms, his quirks and habits.

  “Kamzin.” Lusha’s expression held a warning, but there was little of my own disbelief reflected there.

  My thoughts churned. No one knew who Tem’s mother was—no one except his father, Metok, and the ill-tempered man had always refused to speak of her, even to Tem. I had grown so used to thinking of Tem as a boy without a mother, but of course that wasn’t true.

  It was as if the world had shifted, rearranging itself into new patterns.

  “He’s always been good at magic,” Lusha said, so quietly only I could hear. “Too good.”

  Tem had witch blood. Tem. My amazement was dampened by a surge of fear. What had the soldiers done to him?

  “You’re telling me that you didn’t know your friend was a witch?” The man’s voice was flat with disbelief.

  Lusha merely looked at him, as if sizing him up in turn. I knew better, though—the blankness of her expression told me that Lusha was uncharacteristically lost for words. My stomach sank as I realized why. These soldiers had little reason to keep us alive after what they had seen.

  “We are innocent travelers,” Lusha said finally. “If we were witches, your soldiers would have endured more than a few cuts and bruises for attacking us.”

  The grove became quiet.

  The man let out a breath that was not quite a laugh. “Is that a threat?”

  Lusha didn’t waver. “It’s a fact.”

  The man seemed unable to take his gaze off Lusha. “Witch or not, you’re an odd creature to stumble upon in a place like this—a ragged girl with a face like the dawn and eyes as bright as fireflies.”

  “We’re here on the emperor’s business,” Lusha said.

  The man raised his eyebrows at that spectacular statement. “The emperor’s business?”

  Someone was approaching the glade—or rather, multiple someones, mounted and on foot. My heart sank. Were we to be surrounded by the entire Fifth Army?

  A woman in a crested helm came forward, followed by two soldiers who had a chronicler-ish look about them, clothed in leather armor with packs slung over their shoulders. The tip of a scroll peeked out of one.

  “General.” The tall man drew himself to attention with a lazy sort of formality. The woman’s gaze swept the glade.

  “Well?” she said, that small word so crisp with command that it set my heart pounding. She was perhaps forty, with hair of pure
silver cropped at her ears, giving her the appearance of wearing a second helm. Her features were sharp and uneven, as if carved by a rough blade. She was short—about my own height, and more than a head shorter than the man, yet when she spoke, every gaze snapped to her.

  “Three witches claiming to be innocent travelers,” said the man, with a glance at Lusha. “Several dragons, and one confused yak.”

  It took a second for this to sink in. “Azar-at,” I muttered, knowing the fire demon, wherever it had gone, could hear me, “you brought the yak?”

  You said “us,” Kamzin.

  I closed my eyes briefly.

  “Innocent?” The general turned her sharp eyes to me and Lusha. “Two soldiers with broken bones. Gunril is still unconscious.”

  “You attacked us,” Lusha said, her voice low. “We had no idea who you were, or—”

  “I am Jinsang, General of the Fifth Army,” the woman said. Her voice rasped, as if she spent a great deal of time shouting, but it carried. She spoke with the air of one who routinely announced her title to people on their knees, and had grown bored with it. “This is my captain, Elin. You will state your names and purpose here, or he will cut you down.”

  At that, the tall man removed his helm. He was younger than I had guessed from his voice, twenty-five at most, with a face so handsome my breath momentarily caught in my throat. At least, “handsome” was my first impression, taking in the sleek hair that slanted like lashes of ink across his forehead, the sharp line of his jaw, his height and powerful build. But his full lips had a twist of cruelty, an aspect that was hard and faintly mocking, confirming my earlier suspicion. His black eyes were framed by thick brows, which were now drawn together in thought and mild annoyance. While his armor was impressive, my gaze was drawn to his boots—faded leather stained an unmistakable reddish brown.

  I stared. At some point in recent days, this man had walked through blood—and not a small quantity of it.

  “We come from the village of Azmiri,” Lusha said, her face impassive beneath the heavy weight of Jinsang’s gaze. “We seek a private audience with the emperor.”

  The soldiers began to mutter. The captain fixed Lusha with a look of blank astonishment.

  “The emperor does not give audiences to witches,” the general said. “You will answer my questions, and then I will determine your fate.”

  I tried desperately to catch Lusha’s eye. We had to tell the general everything—River’s expedition, our journey to the Ashes. Perhaps if we showed the general the star, she would believe us. But Lusha, sensing my gaze, shook her head once, almost imperceptibly.

  “We answer questions from the emperor alone,” she said.

  It was madness. The general would not haul a group of suspected witches before the emperor. Again I tried to catch Lusha’s eye, and again I was ignored.

  The general silenced the soldiers’ muttering with a flick of her hand. She turned back to Lusha, perplexity lessening the steel in her gaze. “What message would a witch have for the emperor?”

  “We are not witches.” Lusha’s voice was like a lash.

  “Yet you travel in the company of one.” She made a dismissive gesture. “Have it your way. You will come with us.” A soldier brought forward two mares, which huffed and stamped at the ground. They were still uneasy after the shadow-magic they had witnessed.

  “Where?” Lusha demanded.

  “The boy must be taken to the prison on the outskirts of the Three Cities for interrogation and execution,” Jinsang said, each word sending a shaft of ice through my heart. “The rest of you may meet the same fate, or you may not, depending on your answers.” The general turned and began snapping orders.

  Prison. Execution. Tem. “Lusha—” I whispered.

  “Be quiet, Kamzin,” she snapped. “I’m trying to keep us alive.”

  Realization came in a blinding flash—Lusha didn’t answer the general’s questions because she knew doing so would be pointless. The general would take one look at the “star” she carried, and hear her allegations against the famed River Shara, and accuse her of lying and slander—perhaps even kill her then and there for wasting the army’s time. Our story was simply too strange to be accepted readily, and Lusha had sized up the cold, mercenary general and determined that our safest course was to stay silent. I recalled how her hand had trembled against my shoulder as she returned the general’s gaze. At least this way, we were still alive. For now.

  “What have you gotten us into, Kamzin?” Lusha muttered.

  I couldn’t reply. All I could think about was Tem.

  What were we going to do?

  I felt the captain’s attention on us, though he was busying himself with his horse’s saddle. For a moment, I thought I would pass out again. The lingering sensation of Azar-at’s spell was disorienting. I pressed my hand to my chest. Though the pain had gone, the memory hadn’t—it lingered like cold sweat.

  If I used the fire demon’s magic again, would it help us? Or would it only throw us into a different peril? I knew even as the thought occurred to me that it didn’t matter.

  I couldn’t use Azar-at’s magic again. I couldn’t trust it. And I couldn’t trust myself.

  Lusha’s hand tightened on my arm. But then one of the soldiers brusquely helped me to my feet and indicated that I should follow her.

  Twenty

  NIGHT FELL BEFORE we stopped. We were close to the main trade road from the east, and the trees were thin, so the soldiers led us into a sheltered ravine to make camp.

  I sank to my knees before the shallow stream that trickled down the hillside. It was choked with leaves, but I was too thirsty to care. I drank deeply, then cupped the cool water between my palms and splashed it over my face and neck. The warmth of the air was strange—I had grown used to the bone-deep cold of the north. The breeze played with the thin sleeves of my tunic.

  My reflection gazed back at me, drawn and ragged. Tem’s absence was like a missing limb. We had been separated before, but not like this—not with a wall of swords and grim faces between us. Had they injured him? I had caught only an occasional glimpse of him all day—his head had been bent, and the soldiers had stripped him of his chuba and, undoubtedly, his talismans. His guards had hung back from the main troupe, no doubt to prevent us from communicating.

  I pressed my face into my hands. I was tired and hungry, and I couldn’t think. My mind circled endlessly back to the Ashes, and to River. For some reason, my palm still tingled, off and on, from the memory of River’s magic. I had hoped to ignore the pain, to bury it deep and deal with it when I had space to sort out my feelings. But it had only worsened.

  Lusha settled on a rock nearby. As usual, she seemed mostly unaffected by the day’s rough hiking, her hair sleek again, her chuba casually threaded through the straps of her pack. She calmly brushed a leaf from her boot.

  Captain Elin’s manner throughout the day had been strange. He’d alternated between ignoring us entirely, striding along with his cool gaze turned inward, and attempting—with little success—to engage Lusha in casual conversation. After she had refused his offer of a horse, he seemed to have decided to travel on foot as well, often positioning himself at Lusha’s side. She paid little more attention to him than she did to the trees we passed—which, unfortunately, he seemed to take not as a rejection but a challenge. My face almost hurt from the effort of preventing myself from rolling my eyes. The captain was certainly harder to put off than most of Lusha’s suitors, but I had no doubt that his interest would wane after a few more icy comments. Or, I mused, with a sense of despair that grew ever nearer to hysteria, once we were all publicly executed.

  “What I don’t understand,” the captain said now, kneeling on the other side of the stream, the moonlight sharpening the already sharp line of his cheekbone, “is how the boy was able to attack us. The witches’ powers have been bound for centuries, though there have recently been rumors to the contrary. How do you explain it?”

  I stiffened, di
sliking the captain’s proximity. There was a stillness about him, present even when he was in motion, that I mistrusted, for it put me in mind of a stalking hunter. The dark circles under his eyes lent his handsome face a weary elegance, but what was he wearied from? The soldiers of the Fifth were professional killers, and I had no doubt, returning that cool gaze, that this man had seen death many times over. It was a gaze that was too knowing for his young face. Part of me wished we were still dealing with Jinsang, but the general had already departed, taking two men and heading back to the main force of her army. We would be escorted to the prison by Captain Elin and a group of about a dozen soldiers.

  Lusha studied him. “You expect a witch to answer that? You’re either very stupid, or you doubt your general’s conclusions—in which case, you are a callous monster for handing us to the warden for execution. Which is it?”

  The captain smiled, as if appreciating this speech. “You showed more courage before the general than I’ve seen from grown soldiers. You turn aside my questions as if your survival didn’t hinge on my opinion of you. Are you truly as fearless as you appear?”

  “Perhaps I just don’t find you very frightening.” Lusha stood as she said it, dabbing her hands dry with her chuba. “I don’t much care for the opinions of men who threaten unarmed captives.”

  “It wasn’t a threat,” he said, seeming to take pleasure in throwing Lusha’s words back at her. “Merely a statement of facts. I still haven’t decided whether or not you’re witches.”

  “Do we look like witches?”

  “A meaningless question, given that they are masters of disguise.”

  “Captain Elin,” one of the soldiers said. “We’ve set up the night watch. Standard rotations.”

  “Thank you,” the captain replied calmly. The soldier bowed and departed. I hoped the captain would follow, but he stayed where he was.

  “Elin is an unusual name,” I said, to prevent his gaze from wandering to Lusha again. “It’s the word for ‘poppy’ in the shamanic language.”