All the Wandering Light

by Heather Fawcett

  Yes, Kamzin, Azar-at murmured. Once I have what you owe, I will leave.

  “That wasn’t what I said. That wasn’t what you promised.” My voice grew louder. “You agreed to leave whenever I asked. No matter what.”

  Azar-at’s tail was no longer wagging. I—

  “No.” I was shaking. “I’ve heard enough. Azar-at, I am telling you to leave.” I stood, though my trembling limbs protested. “Now.”

  The creature let out another guttural growl. It seemed to have grown larger—where before its muzzle had reached my waist, now it reached my chest. Words pressed against my mind, but they were strange and disjointed, unlike Azar-at’s usual smooth murmur. The creature took a step toward me.

  There came the sound of small paws descending the stone stairs. Ragtooth leaped lightly between us, his bushy tail flicking back and forth.

  “Ragtooth, get out of the way,” I cried. I remembered too well what had happened the last time Ragtooth had challenged Azar-at.

  Ragtooth, characteristically, ignored me. Azar-at took a step forward, and Ragtooth’s tan fur stood on end. He lowered his chin to the ground in a threatening posture. Then he darted forward and slashed Azar-at across the muzzle.

  The fire demon let out another strange sound—a yip of pain and surprise. Actual scratches bloomed on its face. After a moment, they faded. Azar-at’s stance held a new wariness.

  I stared at Ragtooth. Azar-at was a creature of smoke and fire, more substance than either but less than an actual wolf. It wasn’t flesh and blood—how had Ragtooth injured a being like that?

  My thoughts flashed back to the ghosts on Raksha—Ragtooth had hurt one of them too, and they were dead. At the time, I had barely given it a thought.

  You see what you want to see, Tem had said.

  Azar-at was shaking—but with rage or fear, I couldn’t tell. To my horror, the fire demon began to grow again. Steam rose from the damp stone beneath it. The claws of pain tightened, and I fell back, gasping.

  As Azar-at grew, a powerful heat wafted off its body. Azar-at had always seemed to possess an internal furnace, as if the creature were flame itself at the core. Now I felt as if I were on an exposed mountain peak at high summer, scorched by the midday sun. Terrified, I moved backward—up the stairs, lifting Lusha by her arms and dragging her with me.

  Soon, the fire demon was twice the size it normally appeared, and it kept growing. It pressed an enormous paw onto the railing, as if it meant to leap up the stairs.

  “Ragtooth!” I cried, my voice breaking. The fox was circling the fire demon’s legs, snapping and snarling, and my heart stopped as I realized that what had happened on Raksha would happen again—only this time, Ragtooth wouldn’t recover. Azar-at loomed over me, though it stood lower on the stairs. I would not have been surprised if sparks flew from its glowing eyes. It stepped closer.

  Ragtooth’s jaw closed on the creature’s heel, tearing out a chunk of fur. Azar-at growled, and he was so large now that the sound send reverberations through the stone stairs. Ragtooth leaped onto the railing, his whiskers waving in the wind.

  For the wind had picked up. I glanced up at the sky, expecting to see a looming storm, but there was nothing above us but a roof of stars. The wind rose, becoming so fierce that my eyes watered, and I feared Ragtooth would be blown off the railing. But he held firm, seeming completely untroubled. Azar-at, to my astonishment, had fallen back. The creature seemed to be having difficulty holding itself together; like the flame in an old campfire, it was fading, shrinking back into itself. It was not as large as it had been, but it was still enormous: easily twice the size of a yak.

  Ragtooth leaped back onto the stairs, and the wind ceased so abruptly I fell backward—I had been bracing myself against the gale without even noticing. Ragtooth snapped at Azar-at, who showed no inclination to challenge him. Some of the heat seemed to have faded from the creature’s coal-like eyes, and I could see the stone through its body.

  Suddenly, River was at my side, his arm around my shoulders. I caught a glimpse of feathers dissolving into black clothing, yellow owl’s eyes melting into River’s two-toned ones.

  River’s eyes flicked over the scene—Lusha’s motionless body, Esha on the stairs below. Ragtooth with his fur still standing on end, crouched between me and Azar-at, who towered over us.

  “Azar-at.” River’s voice was quiet. “It’s over. Go.”

  For the space of a heartbeat, the creature seemed to freeze. You do not command me, River.

  “I’m not commanding,” he said. He held the fire demon’s gaze. “We were friends once. Or have you forgotten?”

  I forget nothing.

  They looked at each other for a long moment. I felt afraid to move, or even to breathe.

  Azar-at stood. Suddenly, somehow, it was wolf-sized again. I blinked, astonished, for I couldn’t recall the precise moment it had happened. Its tail wagged once, slowly. River held out his hand, and I thought for a moment he was casting a spell, but then Azar-at came forward and brushed its snout against his palm. I fell back, repulsed. Then the creature was simply gone.

  The pain within me subsided, like a muscle unknotting itself. I sagged against River. I felt a strange sense of confusion, of lostness. I searched for the source of the feeling, and found none. Then I realized.

  I couldn’t sense Azar-at anymore.

  “It’s done,” I murmured.

  River’s grip on me tightened. I buried my face in the crook of his neck, so filled with relief and exhaustion I didn’t think I would be able to stand.

  Lusha murmured something. Her eyes were opening, and almost at the same time she began pushing herself up on one elbow.

  “Lusha!” I threw my arms around her neck. “Not so fast—you were hurt.”

  She gave me a look so sharp and familiar that I almost began to cry again. She sat up straight, pushing me away. “What happened?”

  I shook my head. “I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  “Esha is dead.” River’s voice was wondering. “The Fifth Army has arrived, and the witches are retreating. That’s as good a place as any.”

  Ragtooth settled beside me, and I wrapped him in my arms. He struggled, but halfheartedly.

  “Kamzin.” River’s grip tightened. “Look.”

  I followed his gaze. Through my tear-hazed vision, the sky seemed bright—too bright. The stars were dancing. My head ached as I tried to take it in—the battle we had fought, the city smoking below me, all the wandering light in the sky above.

  “What is that?”

  River smiled. “Shooting stars.”

  Thirty-Three

  THE SKY WAS darkening. The golden glow of sunset was hidden by the trees that surrounded our small campsite, a few hundred yards off the main road to the Arya Mountains.

  I shivered—my back, turned toward the campfire, was warm; the rest of me was chilled. I looked forward to leaving the forest behind and returning to the expansive views and blazing stars of Azmiri, perched halfway into the sky. After a week in the palace, I’d had enough of feeling confined. The novelty of servants and fine clothes had quickly worn off, and I had often found myself pulling on my worn, familiar boots and escaping to the emperor’s gardens, where you could at least see the sky. I turned, yearning for Tem’s familiar presence.

  But Tem wasn’t there. Tem was with the two royal shamans in our escort, setting up the wards for the night. And after taking us through Sasani Forest, he would return to the Three Cities.

  It hurt to think that I was leaving Tem behind. I wondered if it would ever stop hurting.

  The Shamans’ Council had offered to admit him as a novice. It was a lowly position, junior even to the apprentices, and said more about the snobbishness of the royal shamans toward someone of Tem’s upbringing than it did about his abilities. But, in a year, Tem would be able to take the Trials, and after that, there was no doubt in my mind that he would progress rapidly through his studies.

  Tem seemed happy. And it wasn�
��t that we weren’t going to see each other again—of course we would. But I would no longer see him every day, no longer lie next to him in the grass as the stars appeared, his clothes smelling of rope and yak wool. He wouldn’t bend his head over some dreaded assignment from Chirri, explaining the theory in his quiet voice. He wouldn’t open the door of his father’s hut when I knocked, his face breaking into a broad smile, as if my presence, after all our years of friendship, was still unexpected.

  As if drawn by my thoughts, Tem stepped out of the trees. The kinnika were looped around his wrist, and he wore the plain brown chuba of a novice shaman.

  “Need some help?” I said, keeping my voice bland.

  “Um . . .” Tem paused, and then he noticed I was smiling. He chuckled, saying, “You could hold the light.”

  I nodded, whistling for one of the dragons. I placed the beast on my shoulder, and we splashed across the stream. Tem paused and murmured the incantation. After he finished, we moved on.

  “I thought you were assisting Dechen?” I said, naming the petite shaman wreathed in so many glittering pendants she clinked when she walked.

  Tem sighed. “She was using a silver talisman to set the wards. When I suggested plain bronze, she sent me to tend to the fire.”

  “The quality of the Three Cities shamans never ceases to surprise me,” I said.

  “They’re not all like that. But too many are.” Tem let out a long breath. “All they’ve known is peace. What do you need with protection spells when you live in the Three Cities, surrounded by the emperor’s soldiers? Jewels and flashy tricks will win you more esteem. They’ll have to get used to doing things differently now that the witches’ powers are unbound.”

  We moved downstream, stopping by a ring of boulders. There Tem set another anchor for the spell, murmuring the shamanic words with careless ease.

  “You can help with that,” I said. “You know better than anyone what they’re facing.”

  “I’m not sure they’ll listen to me. I’m only a novice. And”—he paused—“I have to be careful.”

  I didn’t need to ask what he meant. Tem’s position was a dangerous one. Though the emperor had granted permission for him to train with his shamans, Tem was under strict orders not to reveal his parentage. There were those who would try to kill him if they found out. Witches were even more hated and feared among ordinary citizens of the Empire than they had been before. Even if there were no more attacks, that was unlikely to change any time soon.

  “Has he spoken to you?” I said.

  “The emperor?” Tem looked surprised. “I don’t think he’s even looked at me.” He paused. “I hope it stays that way.”

  I nodded. I hadn’t told Tem about my own private interview with Emperor Lozong—I was still trying to work out how I felt about it.

  “All right,” Tem said, after setting another anchor. “That should hold.”

  “Guess I’ll be the one doing this tomorrow,” I said. It wasn’t easy keeping my voice light.

  “You won’t need warding spells tomorrow. The soldiers will be ample protection once you’re through the forest.” His voice held the same careful lightness as mine. “All the same . . .”

  He reached into his pocket and drew out a leather cord strung with two of the kinnika. The black bell, and the tarnished one, marked shadow-kin. When he placed them in my hand, they made no sound at all. The black bell hadn’t sounded since Azar-at had left.

  Thinking about the fire demon sent a shiver down my spine, and for a moment, I imagined I saw a flash of his fiery eyes from the shadows. But Azar-at was gone—neither River nor I had seen him since the night of the fires. “I can’t take these,” I said. “You’ll need them.”

  “Something tells me you’ll need them more than me,” he said, smiling. “I would give you the one I used during the fires, but Mara said I have to return that to the Elder of Jangsa.”

  “Mara.” I shook my head. The chronicler had left the Three Cities for his family home in a huff, not bothering to say good-bye to any of us. I suspected that Lusha’s frequent visits with the emperor had something to do with it.

  “According to the royal librarians, those two kinnika date from long before the binding spell was cast,” Tem said. They’re not tainted with the witches’ magic, so you won’t have to worry about their power failing.”

  “But those—” I looked at the string of kinnika around Tem’s neck, which looked strange now, incomplete. “Those will fail?”

  “Eventually.” His gaze grew distant. “There are hundreds of ancient talismans kept in sealed rooms beneath the libraries. They’re faded and crude, and they don’t have the same power as the talismans imbued with the witches’ magic. But some of the royal shamans are beginning to talk seriously about repurposing them. About resurrecting the forgotten magics that the shamans didn’t need to learn when they could rely on stolen power. For instance, I’ve read several scrolls describing the combined power of fire and ravensbone . . .”

  I couldn’t help smiling, listening to him talk. Tem caught my expression and blushed. “I mean—I won’t be spending all my time in the libraries.”

  “Of course not,” I said in a mock-serious tone. “Just that part of the day that falls between dawn and dusk.” I paused. “They’re lucky to have you.”

  “They would be luckier if the emperor had never cast the binding spell in the first place,” Tem said. “It didn’t just weaken the witches. Shamans have forgotten things they never should have forgotten. Now that the witches are free, they’re starting to remember. Now there’s . . .”

  “What?” I said. “Balance?”

  He shook his head slightly. “There is no balance between shamans and witches. Witches have magic in their bones. But that’s the way it should be.” He gestured to the kinnika. “Please take them, Kamzin.”

  I swallowed. I placed the kinnika around my neck, and knew I would never take them off. Not while Tem wore the others.

  “I’m sorry,” Tem said suddenly.

  I gazed at him. “For what?”

  “I know I made things difficult,” Tem said. His face was flushed, and he didn’t meet my gaze. “When it ended between us, part of me always believed we’d have another chance. It was stupid. I always knew it would end up like this.”

  An ache blossomed in my chest. “End up like what?”

  Tem smiled faintly. “With you charging off on some adventure. And me staying behind. Though I never guessed it would be in the emperor’s court. You’re like the wind—you’re meant to be out there, among the mountains and the stars, fighting storms and monsters and anything else foolish enough to get in your way. And I’m . . . well, I’m not.”

  “Tem.” I had to pause, to steady my voice. “You know I’ll always love you. Even if it isn’t—”

  “I know,” he said. “You’re the most important person in the world to me, Kamzin. I—” He broke off. “I’ll always be there for you. Whenever you need me.”

  I wrapped him in a hug. Above us, the stars brightened.

  “I should check on Dechen’s wards,” Tem said, pulling back. His eyes were moist, but he seemed calmer. “I don’t like leaving it to chance.”

  I nodded, forcing a smile. “Go.”

  He went.

  Emperor Lozong came to me the day after the Three Cities burned.

  I hadn’t expected it. After the witches had been routed from the city, the emperor and his entourage had returned to the palace, despite the lingering presence of the sky city. In the banquet hall, a tower of shadow still stood, while apparently the libraries were haunted by a dark doorway that each hour appeared in a different place. Lusha had been summoned before the emperor and his council, where she had remained into the morning. Meanwhile, shamans roamed the Three Cities, putting out fires and hunting for any witches foolish enough to remain behind.

  So with no one looking for me, and nothing in particular to do, I had returned to the palace rooms River had chosen for me.

&nbs
p; For several moments, I simply sat on the bed, staring at nothing. The beautiful dress that had been made for the banquet was torn and stained, my hands and face streaked with soot. I knew I should do something—wash, perhaps, or tend to the burn on my face that throbbed quietly—but still I sat there. Finally, I rose, and opened one of the windows, though the night was chilly. Then I lay down and slept.

  I awoke as I had the previous morning: to a glimmer of light through the shutters, and the sound of birds in the courtyard. I blinked, and for a moment it was as if none of it had happened—the banquet, the mad dash through the Three Cities, the battle with Esha. Everything had changed, and it seemed the world should acknowledge it somehow. A raven croaked in a tree.

  “Good morning,” said a familiar voice.

  I pushed myself up on my elbows. I was only half surprised to see River seated in a chair, his feet propped against one of the bedposts. At some point, he had changed out of the glittering black chuba and gloves, but he hadn’t returned to his regular courtier’s dress. He was clothed as he had been on the journey to Raksha, in a simple gray tunic and worn leather boots. He was not wearing his tahrskin chuba.

  “Is it?” I leaned against the headboard. Something ached inside me—I couldn’t place where.

  River stood and threw open the shutters, ignoring my groans of protest. “I suppose it’s relative,” he said. “The fires have destroyed a third of the city, and the emperor wasn’t pleased to learn that another fallen star had escaped his grasp. But he’s alive, the Empire stands, and he seems enamored with your sister. I peeked into the council chamber an hour ago. They’re still talking. I didn’t stay long; it was quite dull. They seem well matched in that respect.”

  I stared at him. “You didn’t let them see you?”

  “No.” He laughed. “The emperor has put a price on my head—literally. Rather a large one. It’s flattering.”

  “How did you hide, then?” My voice was stern. “If the emperor spots any owls perched on his balcony, goggling at him—”