Even the Darkest Stars

by Heather Fawcett

I flushed. Something in his gaze made my heart speed up and froze my tongue.

  Get a grip, I lectured myself. Did I want River to think I was some delicate child, overcome by a compliment?

  “I’m sure you’ve met girls like me,” I said, keeping my voice light. “You’ve traveled from one end of the Empire to the other.”

  “Yes, I have,” he said, in a tone of quiet wonderment that clearly negated my first statement and deepened the color in my cheeks. We were still holding hands—for safety, I repeated in my head. An impulsive urge to move closer to him battled with an urge to pull away, and ended in a stalemate. I stayed put.

  This is River Shara, I lectured myself. Not some village boy you can flirt with on Kunigai Lookout. It didn’t matter what he looked like. It didn’t matter that I felt strangely comfortable in his presence—more comfortable, in a way, than I did even with Tem. He was the Royal Explorer, and second in power to the emperor himself. I dropped his hand.

  River, to my relief, seemed unaware of my confusion. He leaned against the rock. “Perhaps I shouldn’t be so surprised, given your mother’s reputation. Did you come here with her?”

  I flinched. “No. We—we traveled through the forest.”

  As I said it, a memory flitted through my mind. Lusha and me, racing each other through the trees. I had been all knees and elbows then, tripping over my own feet at every opportunity. Our mother laughing her booming laugh—the mountains seemed alive with it.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “It’s all right.”

  He looked away, his eyes hooded as he gazed over the mountains. “My mother died a year ago.”

  It was the first time I had heard River speak of his family. He spoke of other subjects freely enough, and perhaps that was why I hadn’t noticed.

  “What was she like?” I said. “Noble and elegant, I suppose.”

  For some reason, River laughed at this. He seemed to consider. “She was . . . respected.”

  I examined him. He met my gaze, and the invisible thread that had been forming between us since the night of the banquet gave a thrum. I looked away, feeling almost drunk. I forced myself to focus.

  “River,” I said quietly, “what is this expedition about? And please don’t tell me the emperor commanded you to keep silent. I find it hard to believe you care about following orders.”

  He smiled. “Everyone at court cares about following orders. The emperor doesn’t generally issue requests.”

  “Well, we’re not at court, are we? And the emperor is hundreds of miles away.”

  He seemed to consider me. “What do you know about the witches?”

  “The witches?” I blinked in surprise. “The usual stories. They devour human hearts and steal children from their beds. They cast spells to make crops wither and animals sicken, solely for their own amusement. They move like shadow and are hungry as fire.” Hearts of shadow, eyes of flame, the old rhyme went. None escape who witches claim.

  “I’m not talking about stories,” he said, plucking at stalks of grass. “What do you know to be fact?”

  I frowned. “They attacked Azmiri once—burned half the village to the ground. They attacked other villages too, and summoned floods to the farmlands of the delta. They wanted to starve the emperor’s armies.”

  “Do you know why?”

  “Everyone knows why,” I said, annoyed by his tone—clearly River thought the people of Azmiri knew nothing of the wider world. The witches despised the emperor. He and his ancestors had expanded the Empire far beyond the southern delta, building cities out of villages and villages from barren foothills. The witches, either out of spite or fear, took every chance to attack the emperor’s soldiers. Dozens of patrols disappeared, as if snuffed out in the night, leaving no trace that they had ever been. Terror of the witches spread through the Empire until, finally, the emperor acted. His shamans bound the witches’ powers, trapped them in their human forms, and drove them beyond the Arya Mountains into the dark forests of the Nightwood.

  “A lot of people don’t know,” River said, “that the emperor himself cast the binding spell. He holds great power, though these days he primarily uses it to stave off his own mortality. He recently celebrated his two hundred and thirty-first birthday. Not bad for a man who doesn’t look a day over twenty.”

  I furrowed my brow. “Father says that’s just a tale told to frighten the emperor’s enemies. That all the emperors since Lozong the First have merely taken his name when they assumed power.”

  River let out a short laugh. “Azmiri is a very long way from the Three Cities, isn’t it? I assure you, it’s the truth—I was at the party.”

  “So what?” I said, disliking the reminder of how little I knew about River’s world. “What do the witches have to do with any of this?”

  “Everything. Many centuries ago, long before the Empire, the witches lived in a great city that they built in the sky. A beautiful and terrible place, inaccessible to ordinary people. No one knows exactly where this city was—it’s possible even the witches have forgotten.”

  My heart thudded in my ears as I understood the significance of his words.

  “Raksha,” I whispered. “You think it’s on Raksha.”

  River rolled several pebbles in his hand, tossing them one after another over the edge. “I believe so. I’ve looked everywhere else. It’s said that this city is where the witches left a powerful talisman. The emperor needs that talisman.”

  “Why?”

  He tossed another pebble. Far below, I saw a branch shiver. “Because the binding spell has begun to weaken.”

  “To weaken?” My voice trailed off as I thought back to my lessons with Chirri. There was one truth about magic that formed the foundation of everything she taught me, so fundamental that it was rarely mentioned, rarely thought about. Like everything else in the world, magic decayed. It was why Chirri had to recast the spells holding up the stone fences on the south side of Azmiri every few years. I had never thought about the binding spell that way—like an old fence that would crumble if ignored.

  River nodded. He rubbed a hand absently through his hair, which only exaggerated the part that was always sticking out. “All spells weaken. Even the most powerful. And if the binding spell fails—”

  He didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to. The witches had terrorized Azmiri and the other villages for years before the emperor put a stop to it. What revenge would they take when they regained their powers?

  “So the emperor wants this talisman to repair the spell?” I said. “Do the witches know?”

  River shrugged. “They may know of the talisman’s existence, but they would have no way of knowing the emperor’s plans.”

  “They must realize he would do anything to prevent them from getting their powers back,” I said. “If they find us—if they capture us—”

  “They won’t.”

  “We’re walking straight into their lands,” I said. “How can you be so certain we’ll be safe?”

  “I didn’t say I was certain.” River looked at me. “I’m never certain of anything.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but stopped myself. I was shaking—the sweat from the climb had dried on my skin, and in the twilight shadow of the mountain, the chill was sharp. I watched the tents far below, the flickering glow of the fire Dargye and Aimo had built. Was it safe for us to keep the fire going? I wondered suddenly. We weren’t in the witches’ lands yet, but that didn’t mean they weren’t watching from the shadows, or some hidden ledge high above.

  “Should I not have told you the truth?” River said.

  I drew my chuba tighter around me. “Yes. I—I’m glad I know.”

  But as the sky darkened and the wind began to moan over the peaks, I wasn’t so sure. What River had said was almost too big to comprehend. Could the safety of the Empire—its very existence—truly hinge on this expedition? And if so, that meant that Azmiri would also be in grave danger if we didn’t succeed.

  M
y fear grew, deepening like the shadow that surrounded us. Yet within the fear was a flicker of something else. A fierce determination. I wouldn’t let the witches threaten Azmiri. If I could help River reach the summit, I could save the village, and the Empire with it.

  My heart began to pound. I saw myself returning triumphant, and telling Father what I had done. I pictured his face—along with the faces of all my relatives—when they realized that I had helped the Royal Explorer defeat the greatest threat they had ever known.

  “You understand, now, why this mission is so important,” River said. “More important than glory. More important than a title.”

  His words brought me back to the present. “Then you don’t care if Mara reaches Raksha first?”

  River launched another pebble. For a moment, I thought he wasn’t going to answer.

  “Mara won’t get there first,” he said. “I will.”

  I didn’t know what to make of this. For a long moment, we sat in silence. I knew that we should go—soon it would be too dark to see. But I made no move to rise, and neither did River.

  “Can I ask you a question?” he said.

  I breathed into my hands. My heart was still beating too quickly. “All right.”

  “Who is Tem?”

  It was such an unexpected question that I was startled into silence. I gazed at him, but his expression revealed only mild curiosity. “What do you mean? You know who he is.”

  “He seems very important to you.”

  “Well . . .” I was strangely tongue-tied. “He’s my best friend.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes.” I paused. “I mean—yes. Why do you want to know?”

  He wasn’t looking at me. “I don’t. I was just curious.”

  His voice was light, but something in it belied his words. I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I looked away too, and we both stared at opposite ends of the mountain.

  “We should go,” I said, as the silence continued to hover awkwardly between us. “It’s getting dark.”

  It felt strange taking River’s hand again, but there wasn’t much choice. Ice was forming on the rocks, and it was difficult to see the way back. I wished we had thought to bring one of the dragons. They were too far away to hear my whistle.

  We came to the ledge where we had jumped. The gap seemed narrower from this side, less intimidating, but perhaps that was only a trick of the light. River’s hand tightened around mine, his knuckles brushing my hip. He was close enough that I could smell the campfire smoke on his skin, entwined with his own clean scent, which reminded me of a forest plant I couldn’t place—something that bloomed after nightfall, when the rest of the world slumbered. For some reason, I said, “We were.”

  “What?”

  “Tem and I. We were. We tried being—together, for a while. It didn’t work.”

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t really know the answer—or at least, I didn’t know how to put it into words. I never had. “We’re just better this way. As friends.”

  River gazed into the chasm. He may have been calculating the distance, or lost in thought—in the darkness, I couldn’t see his face. He released my hand, and I saw his smile flash like a spark.

  “Your turn,” he said.

  NINE

  “WHO WON?” TEM said as I approached the campfire the next morning. He had fallen asleep waiting for me—it was long past sunset when River and I returned. Now he was hunched over the stream, washing his socks.

  “It was a draw,” I said. And it had been. No matter what I did, no matter how impossible the move or narrow the handhold, River had matched me, fumbling only once or twice before catching himself. He clung to the mountain like a spider. Still, all the agility in the world wouldn’t make up for his natural impatience, which sometimes led him to make thoughtless moves, overextending his reach or forcing himself into awkward positions. I had watched as the muscles in his arms clenched and strained during the final descent, certain that at any moment he would admit defeat. He hadn’t, infuriatingly, but I was certain I could beat him next time. If there was a next time.

  We would reach Winding Pass tomorrow.

  Tem raised his eyebrows. “That’s a first.”

  I toyed with my breakfast, half lost in thought. I had woken at dawn to examine the maps for the hundredth time. I felt better with them spread out before me, the journey ahead reduced to a series of tidy black lines and labeled features. They helped quell my sense of foreboding.

  The feeling grew the closer we moved to Winding Pass. Though our campsite that night was pleasant enough—a patch of springy saxifrage sheltered by two glacial boulders—I could not sleep.

  I remembered little of the return journey through the pass with my mother’s expedition. We had been caught in a storm; everything was dark and confused. I remembered shouting, Lusha’s hand squeezing mine like a vise. Strange shapes woven through the darkness, reaching for us with spectral limbs. I thought something grabbed my shoulder, its fingers cold and thin and sharp—Lusha had yanked me free. Had it been my imagination? Nothing made sense in that swirling void.

  I rolled onto my side, rubbing my shoulder—sometimes, it was as if I could still feel that strangely shaped hand. The others hadn’t made it out of the pass. Their cries, the shamans’ shouted incantations, had faded into the darkness behind us, as my mother half led, half dragged me and Lusha through the storm. Only her iron will and almost superhuman energy had protected us.

  The terror I had felt in those moments threatened to envelop me again, but I beat it back—barely. I watched the flap of the tent as it moved in the breeze, gently rustling. My mother was gone. My sister was out there somewhere, but out of reach. This time, there would be no one to protect me if something went wrong. The thought brought with it a surge of loneliness, but also hard determination.

  I rolled over again and began going over the maps in my head.

  Norbu approached me the next morning, as I washed our breakfast dishes in a half-frozen stream. “This weather won’t hold.”

  I followed his gaze, wiping a wet hand across my forehead. To the north, dark clouds were massing among the peaks.

  “The last storm swung east,” I said, ignoring a stab of anxiety.

  Norbu fingered one of his talismans. “Nevertheless, I should begin the weather chants.”

  “Tem can help with—”

  “The Royal Explorer trusts me to protect his expeditions,” Norbu said, a cold note entering his voice. “River and I have endured many such storms.”

  I’m sure you have. Norbu’s abilities had not become any more impressive over the last few days. After the others had gone to bed, Tem had told me in a low voice how he had broken Norbu’s warding spells simply by waving his hand through them. He had recast them, of course, properly, but it made me shake my head in amazement. How had River survived so long without a proper shaman?

  We set off, and I tried to ignore the darkness gathering in the skies ahead. The wind picked up, cooling my sweaty brow. The dragons took flight and coasted above us, riding the gusts and chirruping at each other.

  Where is Lusha?

  We should have caught up to them by now, given the pace I had set. They must have been traveling into the night, to stay so far ahead.

  Or—something had gone wrong. I tried not to think about what that could be—there were any number of possibilities. Surely Lusha would be cautious, and not take any unnecessary risks. But if Mara protested, would she give in?

  I had no idea. I had no idea of anything—what had driven her to sneak off with Mara, what she hoped to gain by betraying one of the most powerful men in the Empire.

  I still wanted to catch Lusha, to beat her to the mountain. To see her face when I sauntered into her camp, the dawning realization that I had bested her. But as I gazed at the storm, I also felt something else. A nagging worry, hovering at the edge of my thoughts.

  The terrain was difficult, uneven and strewn with rubble
cast down from the mountain, and there was a risk of turning an ankle at every step. It was a tiring hike, and as the day wore on, we moved more and more slowly. Tem paused every few steps to cough, while Dargye, his large frame not built for balance, had torn a gash in his knee. Even I was out of breath, and frustrated with my own lagging pace.

  Soon the wind was too strong for the dragons—they landed on the yak, burrowing in between our gear, their lights flickering chaotically. At my side, Tem began muttering incantations. He held the string of kinnika in his hands, allowing the wind to brush through them. The music they made was gentle but discordant, and formed an eerie backdrop to the worsening weather.

  “Can I help?” I said. “Chirri taught me all the weather spells.”

  Tem glanced up. It took him a moment to focus on me.

  “That’s all right,” he said carefully. “You have enough to do.”

  I smothered a sigh.

  “Kamzin?” River called. “Are you sure this is right?”

  I stopped, brushing the hair from my sweaty face. The landscape of broken scree sloped up and up to the snow-streaked mountains, which hovered in the sky like locked doors. There was no sign whatsoever of a way through. And yet, somehow, I knew it was there.

  “I’m sure of it,” I said, meeting his gaze. I didn’t know how to make him believe me. I didn’t know if I believed myself.

  “What does Mingma’s map say?” Dargye said.

  “It doesn’t,” I replied. Mingma’s only note about Winding Pass was “inadvisable.” By now, I was becoming used to the dead explorer’s dry understatements. He had similarly labeled a cluster of caves inhabited by ravenous bears as “nuisance—avoid.”

  “You can trust her,” Tem said. “Kamzin’s the best navigator in the village. She sees past the obvious, notices details that others miss.”

  “We should turn back, dyonpo,” Dargye said, and I had to resist the now-familiar urge to smack him. “We passed the mouth of a valley, I’m sure of it—”

  “No,” I said. “That’s a dead end. Look, everyone thought my mother was lost when she led us here, but she wasn’t. There’s something about this place—it’s like you can only find it if you already know the way.”