All the Wandering Light

by Heather Fawcett

  I turned to Mara. “Speak to Lusha. She can explain everything.” And then, because I couldn’t resist, “No doubt better than a naïve village girl like me.”

  Mara, having noticed no sarcasm in my words, gave River a ferocious look. “I won’t leave you alone with him.”

  “Mara,” River said, “you’re interrupting us. You can leave by choice, or we can come to some other arrangement.” He had looked more ruffled by Mara’s characterization of me than his account of Jangsa’s destruction.

  “Lusha will want to see you,” I said quickly, as Mara’s expression grew ugly. “She kept wondering when you would arrive. She was worried.”

  Mara blinked. “She was?”

  I nodded, wondering what Lusha would do to make me pay for this later. “She thought the fiangul might have attacked you in the pass. I told her that if anyone could make it back to the Three Cities in one piece, it was you, but I don’t think it helped.”

  Mara seemed to draw himself up straighter. “I kept a careful eye on the weather. I always do.”

  “She’s probably in the observatory,” River interjected, for Mara’s tone implied he was about to elaborate. “I’d check there.”

  Mara gave him a long, cold look. “If I find you’ve tampered with her mind or harmed her in any way—”

  “I doubt Lusha’s mind is as easily tampered with as some,” River said. “In any case, I don’t have that power anymore.”

  “I’ll have my account from her.” Mara turned, his concern over my safety evidently dissipated. Midstep, his brow furrowed and he paused, drawing something from his chuba.

  “Here,” he said, holding out a small item wrapped in oilcloth. “From the Elder of Jangsa.”

  I took it, surprised. “For me?”

  “For Tem.” With one last, dark look at River, Mara swept away.

  River let out a long breath as Mara’s footsteps faded. “Good thinking. I thought he’d never leave.”

  “Lusha won’t thank me.” I unwrapped the parcel. “What is—?”

  I fell silent as a small, crudely carved bell tumbled into my hand.

  “This looks like one of the kinnika,” I murmured. I rang it, and it made a sound so high it was almost inaudible. I examined the bell for images or characters, but there was nothing, only a faint crosshatching along the rim.

  I held it out to River, but after grasping it he quickly dropped it back into my palm, as if singed.

  “What is it?”

  “It’s like ice.” His brow furrowed. “You don’t feel it?”

  “No.” The bell was cool, but warmed against my skin, no different from ordinary metal. “Does the sound hurt you?”

  River shook his head. I rewrapped the kinnika carefully. The elder had sent it to us—no doubt it was important. “Tem will know what it’s for.”

  River led me down the corridor to where it opened onto another hall as wide as a room. He stopped in front of a mighty set of oak doors, which stretched all the way to the ceiling. They were carved with dozens, if not hundreds, of tiny wizened figures, each holding a brush and a scroll. A guard stood on either side, both looking as bored as the others I’d seen, though they drew themselves to attention when they recognized River.

  “What’s this?” I said, certain some fearsome sight awaited me on the other side of the doors—the emperor’s personal receiving room, perhaps, or the royal shamans’ training arena.

  “The libraries,” River said.

  We stepped through, pushing against doors as heavy as boulders.

  I drew in a breath. I had never seen a room so large. At least a dozen stories spiraled up from the cavernous atrium, all lined with shelves upon shelves of scrolls. The polished stone floor was crowded with desks occupied by scholars and shamans, some murmuring quietly together, others sitting in silence, heads bent over tiny writing. The Elder’s library in Azmiri, which Father often boasted was the largest in the Northern Aryas, could fit inside this place hundreds of times. Dragons—wisely, I supposed—seemed to be banned. Lanterns dangled from railings and cast their soft glow across desks—a necessity, for there were few windows, and the place was all golden shadow.

  I turned to River, but he was gone. The enormous doors folded shut with barely a whisper.

  I squared my shoulders, turning back to the room. Given my history with Chirri and her incomprehensible research assignments, libraries were far from my favorite place. Fortunately, I spotted Tem almost immediately, ensconced at a desk against the wall, his nose so close to the scroll he was examining I suspected it would be stained with ink. His hair was uncharacteristically tucked behind his ears, and the lantern light glanced off the sharp planes of his face.

  When I tapped him on the shoulder, he leaped in the air.

  “Did you sleep at all, Tem? Or have you been here since yesterday?”

  He gave me a rueful smile. He was dressed in a dark, knitted tunic and trousers of a finer material than I had ever seen him wear. The bruise on his cheek seemed to be fading, and while still drawn and thin, he looked rested for the first time in weeks. “Not quite. But after what I discovered yesterday, I couldn’t stay away.” He paused, blinking at me. “You look—”

  “Terrible. I know.”

  “No. Kamzin, you look better.” He stared in astonishment. “I’m covered in bruises, and when I stand up, I feel as if I’ll faint. You look as if you never left Azmiri.”

  I took stock of myself. I was still tired, perhaps, and though my muscles had been soothed by the hot bath, my legs ached slightly. But overall, Tem was right—I felt almost like my old self.

  “Only you could climb the highest mountain in the Empire, hunt down a fallen star, and escape the Fifth Army without a scrape,” Tem said, shaking his head.

  “None you can see,” I said lightly. “Where’s Lusha?”

  “I’m not sure—she was here a while ago. She’s been trying to get an audience with the emperor without River finding out, but apparently he won’t be returning before the banquet.”

  Something stirred in my memory. “Tem, River said that he closed his mind to Azar-at. Do you know what he meant?”

  Tem gave me a sharp look. “Why do you ask?”

  “I had a dream last night. It was—well, unusual. It reminded me of the visions I had. I’m sure it was only a dream,” I hastened to add. “But I just wondered.”

  Tem looked thoughtful. “There is a technique used by shamans to block spells of the mind—memory spells, spells to induce madness or love. I don’t know how it’s done—I believe training involves meditation. You have to have a very focused mind. But this isn’t a spell—I’m not sure you can compare it.”

  “Focused,” I repeated. “So, this technique might not work if you were distracted. Or asleep?”

  He nodded slowly. “That would make sense.”

  I swallowed. If I had shared River’s dreams, it meant he had been right—we were still connected.

  “If I end my contract with Azar-at,” I said, “does that mean the visions will stop?”

  “I don’t know.” Tem’s voice was quiet. “River experiences them, though he isn’t bound to Azar-at anymore.”

  I glanced down at the scrolls on the desk. Suddenly, I wanted to change the subject. “What did you discover?”

  “A few things.” An oddly nervous look passed over Tem’s face. “Where’s Ragtooth?”

  “Ragtooth?” The question brought me up short. “Asleep on my bed. Why?”

  Tem was already nodding. “Of course. He always turns up.”

  I blinked. “Why are we talking about Ragtooth? Did you come here to research familiars, or the star?”

  “The star, obviously. But then River told me about Ragtooth, and so . . .” He made an overwhelmed gesture at the scrolls piled before him.

  For a moment, I was so surprised that Tem and River had spoken without killing each other that I didn’t take in what he had said. “He told you—”

  “He’s seen Ragtooth a lot over the
last few days,” Tem said. “Always when Ragtooth should have been miles away, with us.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “It isn’t,” Tem said. “Not even the most powerful shamans have the ability to travel from place to place like that.” He paused. “Fire demons do—Azar-at brought us here.”

  I shook my head. “This is ridiculous. River must have imagined what he saw. You know as well as I do that Ragtooth’s sole power is stealing food.”

  Tem gave me a long look. “Kamzin. You’ve never been reasonable when it comes to Ragtooth. You see what you want to see, and you push aside any questions about what he is.”

  I was taken aback. Something about the conversation felt wrong, somehow. “He’s mine. He’s always been mine. Why would I question that?”

  Tem riffled through the papers on the desk. His expression was animated, though what was exciting about a pile of yellowed scrolls eluded me. He had looked the same whenever he solved one of Chirri’s impossible assignments. “Did you read the scrolls about familiars in your father’s library?”

  “I thought you wrote that essay.”

  Tem gave me a long-suffering look. “I did. Azmiri doesn’t have much information—old stories, mostly, about ancient heroes whose familiars are mentioned only in passing. They always choose heroes—that much is clear.”

  “They?” I repeated.

  “Wind demons,” Tem said. He unearthed a smaller scroll, and handed it to me. “Beings like the fire demons, but of a different race, you could say. Elemental spirits drawn to mountaintops and wild places, and the sorts of people who roam them. As I said—heroes.”

  I gazed at the scroll without seeing it. “Tem . . .”

  “I know it’s hard for you to accept,” he said quickly. “But it all fits. The ancient scholars use the words ‘familiar’ and ‘wind demon’ interchangeably. They can take on any form. Like fire demons—like witches, to a certain extent, though witches have a unique lineage. But they usually choose the form that best suits their master. Some can appear and disappear at will, but no matter what, they always return to the person they have chosen to serve.”

  This was mad. The idea that Ragtooth was anything other than the spoiled, cantankerous fox who had been at my side since I was a baby was impossible to process. “So you’re saying Ragtooth has his own magic? Like Azar-at?”

  “Not quite like Azar-at,” Tem said. “Like fire, Azar-at’s magic devours. It requires sustenance to exist—that is its defining characteristic. I don’t know precisely what powers the wind demons have, but it seems they’re a kind of protector spirit.”

  I thought back to Raksha. “Ragtooth was hurt. He nearly died.”

  “They’re not invulnerable,” Tem said. “Neither are fire demons. They can be hurt. Even killed.”

  I bit my lip. The scroll Tem had handed me showed an ink sketch of a man with long hair and a fierce expression, holding a bow. At his side was a small creature that resembled a fox. The way its head was tilted—

  I put the scroll aside. “Tem, Ragtooth is Ragtooth. If he had any special powers, don’t you think I would know?”

  “All right.” Tem held up his hands in a gesture of resignation. “I won’t say any more—for now. But just think about it, Kamzin. The signs are there, if you’d only notice them.”

  I frowned. I wasn’t sure why I was reacting this way. I should have been laughing at Tem’s suggestion that Ragtooth was some sort of mythical beast. Yet the notion bothered me on some fundamental level. It made me feel off balance—I didn’t even want to consider it. I wished Ragtooth were here now, so I could gather his warm, familiar weight into my arms.

  “I did come here to investigate the star,” Tem said. “It sounds like they were widely sought after in ancient times—before the Empire, when this region was just a collection of warring villages. Shamans managed to catch several of them.”

  “Really?” I pictured Norbu trying to track down a star, waving his useless talismans about. Tem heard the skepticism in my voice.

  “The shamans that lived centuries ago weren’t like the shamans of today,” he said. “They were stronger. Not as strong as the witches, it’s true, but they had their own magic.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “The conflict with the witches,” Tem said. “I read in the scrolls that the strongest shamans had witch blood—but as the Empire formed, and the emperors increasingly treated witches as the enemy, our bloodlines no longer mingled. Most shamans now have no witch blood at all, or if they do, it’s very distant.”

  “That makes sense,” I said carefully. Tem spoke in an even tone, but there was a tension in his body. “River said something similar. And if witches carry magic in their blood, any shaman related to them would have an advantage.”

  There was a small silence. Tem said, his voice distant, “It’s strange. The Empire has nearly hunted them to extinction. The binding spell was a part of that. No doubt the emperor thought it would make us stronger—but in a way, it’s also made us weak.”

  I frowned. “What are you saying—that the spell shouldn’t be recast? That the emperor shouldn’t have cast it in the first place?”

  “No.” Tem shook himself. “I guess I’m saying it would have been better if he’d never had to.”

  I thought about it. Until recently, I would have argued with him—like every other child in the Empire, I had been raised with fireside stories of witches lurking in the shadows, monsters ready to burn our village to the ground or devour children. But now?

  I thought of River, who had betrayed me thoughtlessly, but who had also saved my life more than once. I looked at Tem and felt something inside me soften. Tem wasn’t a monster. And yet he was one of them—his powers proved it.

  I shook my head. The fireside stories didn’t make sense anymore.

  “Here,” Tem said. “This account isn’t entirely about fallen stars—but it does reference spells of resurrection.”

  Dubiously, I took up the papers Tem pressed into my hands. He rose to hunt down yet more scrolls, though the pile of papers on his desk was already teetering. We remained there for what might have been an hour, but which felt like much longer. As Tem handed me yet another scroll, murmuring excitedly over the notes he was accumulating, I thought back to all the time we had spent together in Father’s library, poring over Chirri’s assignments. The more abstruse the topic, the more delighted Tem became, and it was no different now. Most of the lore about fallen stars was written by seers, and thus tangled up in prevarications and theories so vague and meandering you became lost in them. For my part, I was beginning to wish I had never left the comforts of my rooms when a man approached us.

  “The Royal Explorer has sent for you,” the man said. His voice, though pitched at an ordinary volume, caused several nearby scholars to shoot him poisonous glares. “He says it’s urgent.”

  “What’s happened?” I demanded. Had the emperor returned? Had someone discovered River’s identity?

  The man only shook his head. “Please come with me.”

  “Urgent,” Tem muttered. He didn’t appear pleased at the prospect of being dragged away from his scrolls at River’s behest. I wondered again what they had spoken of when I was asleep.

  I gave him a warning look—it wouldn’t do to disrespect the second most powerful man in the Empire, a man who, while he might intimidate the palace guards, clearly also had their respect. Tem caught my look and squelched any protest he had been considering. Setting aside our scrolls, we rose and followed the man outside.

  Twenty-Seven

  I DIDN’T KNOW what to expect from a royal banquet. I had pictured layers of luxury, tables piled high with wine and delicacies, dragons lounging everywhere in a spectacular display of wealth, courtiers in exquisite dress.

  What I found surpassed anything I could imagine.

  The banquet hall was enormous—it could have spanned the entire length of Azmiri. Its ceiling was held aloft by square pillars painted in intrica
te patterns of alternating colors, often woven with yellow poppies. It opened onto grand balconies on two sides, admitting the night air and glimpses of the gleaming city below. Fires roared in massive, gilded fireplaces. Hundreds of palace dragons crouched on brackets in the pillars, or fluttered to and from perches that hung from the lofty ceiling. Their lights were not only the expected blue and green—some glowed a deep violet or crimson I had never seen in a dragon before. I wondered if they had been bred that way, or if their color was the result of a spell. If so, it seemed a wasteful sort of magic. The light flickered and changed continually, throwing strange shadows in every direction.

  Every noble in the Three Cities, it seemed, had showed up to welcome the emperor home. Some wore long, close-fitting chubas sequined with jewels across the shoulders and back, paired with the same ridiculously thin boots River had worn. The women wore dresses woven from silk so vibrantly colored I was tempted to squint, their ears weighted with enormous jeweled earrings, their shoulders and throats draped with necklaces. Gloves were clearly in fashion—almost everyone wore them, men and women, gloves of a glistening silk dyed in a variety of colors, the most common of which seemed to be a pure white that struck me as a strange choice for a dinner. The common trait of all Three Cities dress, I thought with some disdain, seemed to be its unsuitability for anything beyond lounging about indoors.

  At my side, Tem was silent. He gazed around the hall with an expression that was more blank than amazed, as if he was not even certain where to look first.

  I took his arm as two women passed, their gazes sliding over him. Tem looked startlingly handsome, the image of a young nobleman at his first royal party. His chuba was the deep blue of twilight, cut in a way that emphasized his height and broad shoulders. His hair, which normally curtained his face, was swept back, highlighting the sharp lines of his brow and jaw. River’s tailors had certainly done their job, I thought, as I noticed my own gaze being drawn to Tem more frequently than usual. I turned back to adjusting my dress. A dragon scurried over my feet, making me start. Clearly, dragons were indulged here in a way they never were in Azmiri.