Even the Darkest Stars

by Heather Fawcett

  “Dyonpo, let’s return to the house,” Lusha said smoothly. “Perhaps you would like some butter tea?”

  They strode on ahead, leaving me and one of the men to assist Tem. I felt an odd pang as I gazed at their retreating silhouettes—tall and graceful, striding confidently down the uneven mountainside. There was a sort of symmetry between them. Lusha turned her head to speak to River, and then the clouds swallowed them up.

  Father glowered at me. “I don’t know what you were thinking,” he said, pushing me ahead of him. “Going after Tem by yourself. You and I will have a talk when we get home.”

  I would have started shouting then and there, had not Tem grabbed my arm on the pretext of supporting himself. Moving slowly, we followed the others down the mountainside.

  “Thanks for defending me,” I muttered.

  Tem looked at me, surprised. “I thought all you cared about was impressing River.”

  “No.” My anger drained away, leaving behind exhaustion and little else. I was cold, and wet, and my head was pounding again. “I don’t care about impressing anyone.”

  We were on the lee side of the mountain now, and the wind dropped to a murmur. The storm was clearing—clouds snagged against Azmiri and began to fray, revealing little patches of starry sky. I tightened my hold on Tem and guided him toward the lights of the village.

  FIVE

  I AWOKE WITH a weight pressing against my chest. Ragtooth was curled on top of me, his bushy tail tickling my chin.

  “Get off, you hairy lump.” I pushed at the fox, but he only nipped my hand. “Ouch! Why do I even let you in here?”

  Ragtooth stretched and yawned, treating me to a good view of his long, sharp teeth. Then he hopped onto the floor.

  Sunlight streamed through the cracks in the shutters. It seemed brighter than usual, and only intensified the pounding in my head. I let out a long groan. Judging by the direction of the light, it was nearing midday, which meant I had missed my morning lesson with Chirri. Why had no one come to wake me?

  After a few halfhearted attempts, I dragged myself out of bed. As usual, my room was a mess. My toe collided painfully with an ornate sheepskin drum Chirri had given me to practice incantations—it was buried under a pile of robes, and smelled funny from the wine I had spilled on it months ago. My shelves were crowded with other shamanic talismans, all in similar states—some merely gathering dust, others broken and then hidden behind something else in the hopes that Chirri wouldn’t ask after them. Much more interesting objects lined my windowsills—colored stones, feathers, and pressed flowers I had collected when I went with Father to visit other villages, or explored the neighboring mountains with Tem. I liked having a souvenir from each place I traveled to. I could remember the origin of each item, down to the precise mountain shelf or streambank.

  I stumbled over another pile of clothes, cursing. The state of my room had only deteriorated since Lusha and I stopped sharing several years ago, but I certainly had no wish to go back to that arrangement. Few people knew how terrible Lusha’s temper was on the rare occasions she became angry, and she had been a tyrant when it came to my mess. One day, after repeated lectures had failed to have any effect on me, I had woken to find our room virtually empty. All my belongings were gone. Lusha serenely refused to answer any questions about their whereabouts. Days later, I found them—scattered across the ground below the nearest cliff.

  I poured water into the stone basin on my dressing table. It was cold, and the cold felt good against my aching head. I plunged my face into the water, shivering from both the chill and the relief it brought.

  Once I was washed and dressed, I made my way to Lusha’s room. The heavy door, ornately carved with intricate knots and openmouthed skulls, was closed. I considered knocking but decided against it.

  “Lusha?” I said, stepping inside.

  My sister wasn’t there, though her presence—strong enough to draw all eyes in a crowded room—lingered like scent. The blue shutters were drawn back and neatly tied to the walls. Lusha’s bed was made, and the scrolls and star charts that usually cluttered the low table by the window were rolled up and sorted into their shelves. Her room always felt empty; Lusha had few nonfunctional possessions, apart from two that had belonged to our mother—an ornate jade comb, and a chipped cosmetics box inlaid with gold. But today it felt especially barren.

  She was probably in the observatory. Or, more likely, with River, helping to organize their supplies for the journey. The thought made my stomach twist, but not as much as I would have expected.

  As I was turning to go, however, something caught my eye. Lusha’s shrine.

  It was a finely carved wooden chest painted in bright reds and blues, lined with niches for ceramic statues representing generations of ancestors. Most of the little doors were closed, but one was ajar, revealing an empty shelf.

  I knelt before the shrine and opened the first door, my fingers brushing against the patterns of overlapping knots carved into the wood. The statue behind it was old—so old that the clay was discolored and crumbling. The statues were not made to be recognizable, however; they were always rough, only vaguely human in shape, and meant to decay over time. I traced the character carved into the base—my great-great-grandmother’s name. I carefully returned the statue to its niche and examined the other shelves.

  The statue that was missing was my mother’s.

  A shiver traveled down my back. I checked the table, the floor, though I didn’t believe for one second that Lusha would have been clumsy with the statue. Frowning, I closed the little door.

  I examined the room more closely, trying to determine if anything else was gone. An empty spot on the far wall gave me pause. It took me a moment to remember (I didn’t often visit Lusha’s room, and when I did I was generally ordered out again)—Lusha’s bow, and her quiver of arrows. The bow was common enough—most households had at least one, to guard against the snow leopards that made nightly forays into the village. But Lusha’s arrows were the most expensive kind—tipped with obsidian, the only material that could kill a witch. Back in the days when the witches had threatened the village, all arrows had been made this way. Witches were shape-shifters, capable of assuming the form of any animal they chose, which meant they could be anywhere, at any time—among the flock of choughs circling the fields, behind the eyes of the marmot creeping through the grass. The arrows were a poor defense against creatures of such power, but they were better than none at all.

  Ragtooth brushed his mangy back against my leg. He knew that when I got out of bed, breakfast would follow, and he would pester me until he got it. Shaking off my apprehension, I followed him from Lusha’s room.

  When we didn’t have guests, my family ate in a small nook next to the kitchen, which faced the farmers’ terraces that stepped down Mount Azmiri on its southern and western slopes. From there, I could see the place where River’s balloon had landed.

  The memory made me uneasy. So did the breakfast dishes that hadn’t been cleared away, and the empty kitchen. Where was everyone? My appetite fading, I picked at someone’s half-eaten bowl of buttered balep and stewed apples, while Ragtooth nibbled at some sweet curds. The house was too silent. When Aunt Behe entered the room, I felt like leaping over the table and hugging her.

  “Kamzin! I didn’t expect to find you here.”

  “What’s going on?” I said. “Where’s Lusha?”

  Aunt Behe stared at me. “Did you sleep through all that commotion, child? Lusha’s gone.”

  I stared at her.

  “Such a mess she’s made.” Aunt Behe pushed her sleeves back over her shoulders and began stacking up the bowls and plates, her movements methodical and unhurried. I had often thought that Lusha had inherited a good deal from Aunt Behe. “The entire village will talk of nothing else for months. I’m sure the Royal Explorer is furious. He can’t have expected this betrayal.”

  “Betrayal?” The nagging fear I had felt in Lusha’s room was back. “How was he betra
yed?”

  “Oh, child.” Aunt Behe set the plates down and looked at me properly for the first time. “You did sleep through everything, didn’t you? Lusha left this morning, long before anyone was stirring, with one of River Shara’s men. That tall, smiling one—the storyteller.”

  “What?”

  “A merchant saw them heading north—toward Winding Pass. They made off with the better part of River Shara’s supplies—rope, tools, blankets. It seems they may be planning to beat him to that mountain.”

  I gazed out the window without seeing anything. My head still pounded insistently, but I no longer noticed it. This made no sense. None at all.

  “Has anyone gone after her?”

  “Your father has had men scouring the foothills since Mara was discovered missing. But by the time they learned which direction she had taken, it was too late. Your sister can move like the wind when she wants to, and she had a head start.”

  “Why?” My voice was almost a whisper. “Why would she do this?”

  My aunt gave me a long look. Shaking her head, she said, “If you don’t know the answer to that, Kamzin, then it’s doubtful anyone else would.”

  I found River at the edge of the village, bartering with one of the farmers. His hair stood out a mile away, a blueberry splotch against the muted greens and grays. The fog was thinning, but its ghost still clung to Azmiri’s lower slopes, so that the world below seemed to fade slowly into nothingness.

  “What’s going on?” I demanded as soon as I reached him. “What did you say to Lusha? Did you frighten her somehow, or threaten her? Because if you did, I don’t care if you are the Royal Explorer, I’ll—”

  “Good morning, Kamzin.” River barely glanced up from the basket of sampa he was examining. “You seem recovered from last night—though do keep your voice down, please; I have a nasty headache.” He was dressed all in black, and seemed taller, somehow, than he had before. His fog-thin cloak, embroidered with a complex, whorled pattern, was tossed casually over one shoulder. It was the most expensive garment I had ever seen, yet he wore it with the carelessness of someone who had a hundred more.

  He brushed the barley grains from his hands and nodded at the farmer, who was gazing at me in horror. “Yes, this looks satisfactory. We’ll need a full crate from your stores, if you can spare it.”

  “Yes, dyonpo,” the man said, bowing low, and almost ran away.

  “What happened?” I said, as he turned to face me. “Lusha wouldn’t do this without a good reason.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” River said. “She seemed a mulish sort of person. But I know as much as you do, Kamzin. Less, probably.”

  I shook my head. “Yet you don’t seem surprised.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” River’s expression darkened. “Though I’ve always known Mara had it in him to do something like this.”

  “But why?” I said. “What would he gain?”

  “The title of Royal Explorer, of course.”

  I blinked. “But—”

  “Yes.” He waved a hand. “I hold the title. But the emperor has been displeased with me lately. These past months, he has become obsessed with discovering the location of a rare talisman. He has sent me from one end of the Empire to the other in search of it. As I’ve not been successful, he has announced that whoever discovers the talisman will be named Royal Explorer.”

  “A contest,” I said, feeling an odd shiver of excitement.

  “Of a sort. A dozen explorers are already scattering throughout the Empire, searching other locations. Little good it will do them.”

  “Then you believe this talisman is on Raksha?”

  “There is nowhere else it could be. I’ve ruled out the other possibilities.”

  “But what is it?” I said. What sort of talisman would be hidden in such a remote place?

  “I can’t tell you that,” he said. “I’m sorry. The emperor has ordered me to secrecy.”

  “Mara knows.”

  “Of course.” River sighed. “Mara should have been first in line for the title of Royal Explorer when I won it three years ago. He has resented me ever since.”

  “Why was Mara passed over?”

  “Because I was better,” River said simply. “Because he makes mistakes. The emperor doesn’t much trouble himself over loss of life, but Mara’s mistakes added up to something even he couldn’t ignore. The man doesn’t think, and people die because of it. I’ve seen it myself—I lost two assistants because of him. One fell from a rope he neglected to secure, and the other was swept away while we forded a river—all because Mara ordered her to swim after a scroll he dropped.”

  An image of Mara’s wolfish smile flashed through my mind. I felt cold imagining my sister traveling with a man like that. “None of this explains why Lusha would agree to help him.”

  “Mara comes from a very wealthy family. He has more gold than most of the nobility. I’m sure he was convincing.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t know Lusha at all if you think she would be motivated by gold. It doesn’t matter to her.”

  “You’re right. I don’t know your sister.” River shrugged. “But I do know that even the noblest souls can be swayed by material considerations.”

  “And you?” I crossed my arms.

  He smiled. “I have many motivations.”

  I gave him a long look. In the morning light, I could see the faint dusting of freckles across his nose, making him look even younger than last night. What sort of man was he, I wondered, that he had accomplished so much already? Conquered so many dangers?

  River held my gaze, the smile hovering around his mouth. He seemed to be scrutinizing me in turn. Whatever conclusion he was forming, though, was impossible to decipher.

  A dark thought occurred to me. “What will you do if you catch Mara?” I said. “Take off his clothes and leave him tied to a tree?”

  River stared, then burst out laughing.

  “That’s an unappealing thought,” he said. “The first part, anyway. What made you think of it?”

  “It’s a story I heard,” I said. “People say that’s what you did to a man who betrayed you.”

  “People say a lot of things about me. I didn’t take the man’s clothes. I only took his cloak.”

  I stared at him. “Is there a difference?”

  “I suppose not,” he said, in an absent tone that sent another shiver down my back. What was I doing, speaking to River Shara this way? Last night, I had felt strangely at ease in his presence. And I still did, in a way—but now it was as if there was a second version of him, overlaying the first like shadow. I wasn’t sure which was real and which was air.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, after a small silence. “Lusha made you a promise, and she broke it.”

  He waved a hand. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

  “All the same, if there’s anything I can do—”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  I stopped. His strange eyes glinted in the sunlight.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I must get to Raksha, and quickly,” he said. “It won’t be long until the snows arrive, and this is not a mission that can be put off for another year. To have any real chance of success, I need a guide, a skilled one. I have it on good authority that Lusha isn’t the only one who knows the way.”

  It took me a moment to process what he was saying. “I—”

  “Ah—Norbu,” River’s gaze slid past me. I turned, and found a very tall, very skinny man approaching along the path. He was perhaps fifty, and dignified in a tired, worn-out way, as if he had not merely aged but weathered, like a rock face subjected to too many storms. His hair was almost entirely white, with only a few black strands here and there, and he wore an old sheepskin chuba, which, while not cut in the mountain style, was at least a recognizably practical piece of clothing.

  The man bowed to me. It was an odd thing to do, given the disapproval on his face, but he managed it. I
knew I didn’t look at all deferential in the presence of the Royal Explorer, standing there with my arms crossed, frowning at River, in the stained chuba I usually wore to my lessons with Chirri.

  “Kamzin, this is Norbu,” River said. “My personal shaman, and one of the greatest in the Three Cities. Norbu, this is the Kamzin I told you about.”

  Norbu’s disapproval faded slightly, and he nodded to me. I didn’t nod back—I was still looking at River. Who was the Kamzin he had told Norbu about? The drunken Kamzin, who had embarrassed herself in front of the entire village? The Kamzin known only as Insia’s other daughter? The Kamzin who had, with River’s help, rescued her best friend from almost certain death?

  “Dyonpo, the village shaman has been uncooperative,” Norbu said. “No matter what I offer, she refuses to part with any of her healing herbs.”

  I snorted. “Chirri is always uncooperative. And she only trades with people she knows.”

  They both looked at me, Norbu with a sort of confused surprise, as if a dragon had spoken, River with a smile.

  “Norbu,” he said, “it sounds like Kamzin is offering to assist. You can leave this matter to her.”

  “What? I didn’t—”

  But before I could get another word out, River seized my arm and began pulling me along the path. “That’s enough talking. We have a lot to do.”

  “We?”

  “I’m putting you in charge of the supplies,” he said. “That was Mara’s job—he was hopeless at it, so don’t be too concerned about my expectations.”

  “River—”

  “And I’d like you to speak to the herdsman about borrowing another yak. I don’t like the looks of the one your father offered. The way it stares at me, it’s as if it’s plotting something. I don’t travel with plotters. Thieves, liars, cheats, that’s all right, but I can’t stand plotters. What else?” He snapped his fingers. “Oh yes. I’ll need you to hire two stout-hearted villagers to assist us at camp.”

  “But, I—wait. Two? You’d need at least four, for—”

  “No. Two. I travel light. That goes for supplies and assistants. Finally, see if you can find me a good ice ax. I lost mine.”