“What happened here?” Tem said.
I shivered. “The witches. Father said they used to raid the village for livestock, or sometimes just for amusement. They laid curses on the houses of those who fought them—most had to be destroyed. When Father visited Jangsa years ago, he said they still hadn’t recovered from those times. I guess that hasn’t changed.”
“They say some of the villagers have witch blood themselves.” Tem cast a nervous glance at a woman lurking in the shadows of another hut, who darted back inside as their eyes met. “I wonder if there’s any truth to it?”
“I don’t know. But I won’t be sorry if we don’t linger here.”
The dirt path broadened as we entered the village. The stone houses lining the streets were unpainted and weathered with age. They had the appearance of dissolving back into the mountainside, returning to the earth from which they had been hewn. As we climbed, villagers stopped what they were doing, emerging from their homes to watch our progress. A small crowd formed ahead, enough to stop us from advancing farther. Their expressions were not friendly.
River was suddenly at my side. “Perhaps this would be a good time to introduce yourself,” he muttered in my ear.
I turned to the villagers. “I’m Kamzin of Azmiri, daughter of Elder Thaken. I’m here to ask for your help.”
Silence. The villagers regarded me as if I had spoken a different language. I swallowed, unable to read past their blank stares.
“We don’t want to intrude,” I said, “but our friend is injured. We are on an expedition to Mount Raksha, but we were ambushed in Winding Pass. This is River Shara. He—”
There was muttering at that. River groaned under his breath.
“What?” I hissed at him.
River only rolled his eyes. A woman approached suddenly and wrapped a welcoming scarf around River’s neck. She was followed by another, and another. Soon River was engulfed in so much fabric he appeared to be drowning in it.
He waved another woman back, yanking away the white squares. “Thank you, thank you. That’s not necessary—really.”
I shook my head in astonishment. Even in a place as isolated as this, people had heard of River Shara.
A man stepped forward. He was tall, nearing middle age, and dressed in a green-and-blue chuba that formed a stark contrast to the villagers’ plain clothes. Apart from this, though, he wore no signs of rank or ornamentation.
“I am Chonjor, the Elder of Jangsa,” the man said. “You are truly the Royal Explorer?”
River extricated himself from another scarf and gave me a look. “Yes.”
The man took half a step forward. A strange look flitted across his face, something more potent than the amazement that shone in the villagers’ eyes. But it was gone too quickly to identify.
“You honor us with your visit,” the elder said, bowing.
River beckoned Norbu forward. The shaman, leaning heavily on Aimo’s arm, looked even paler than he had yesterday. “Can your healers attend to my friend?”
The elder bowed his head. “Of course, dyonpo. Follow me.”
The crowd parted, and we fell into step behind the man. River stayed back to help Aimo with Norbu. I suspected, however, that he was merely trying to use the shaman to shield him from the curious villagers. Many made warding gestures as they caught sight of Norbu, and seemed little inclined to go anywhere near him.
“Kamzin,” the elder said as we mounted a steep path that cut across the mountainside, “you must forgive us for not giving you a warmer welcome. Jangsa rarely receives visitors, and as you probably know, we prefer it that way. But a daughter of Thaken is always welcome here. I have heard of your sister Lusha—I didn’t know Thaken had other children.”
I suppressed a sigh. “That’s all right.”
He gave me a sharp look, a smile tugging at his lips. Despite his stern mouth and hawkish features, he had warm eyes, bright and keen. I sensed a quick intelligence behind them, that of a man who observed more than he let on.
“You’re following in your mother’s footsteps, I see,” he said. “And traveling with the Royal Explorer himself.”
“Yes,” I said, “but this is no mapmaking expedition. The emperor has sent us to find something very important to him. To the Empire.”
“I see.” He nodded, as if this vague explanation made all the sense in the world. “It’s a dangerous path you’re following.”
I gave a short laugh. “There are no safe ones, where we’re going.”
He gave me another look. “But that doesn’t trouble you, does it?”
“I—” My voice faltered. He smiled at me.
“Forgive me, child,” he said. “I don’t mean to put you on the spot. When you get to be as old as me, you start to recognize certain kinds of people.”
“Kinds of people?” I repeated, nonplussed. “What kind of person am I?”
“The kind that seeks out danger.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “The kind that laughs at it. Your mother was just the same, or so your father told me. I’m sorry to say I never met her.”
I stared at the back of his head. I could not think of a response to this. I felt suddenly exposed—as if in the space of a few seconds, this strange man had seen right through me.
We wound our way through the village along roads that were little more than dirt tracks, in some places washed by the rains to a precarious thinness, passing villagers bearing lanterns. A shaman paced back and forth across a square, his head bowed over a censer of incense. Anticipation hung thick in the air.
“What’s going on?” I said, eager to turn the conversation away from myself.
“The Ghost March,” the elder replied. “We’re just beginning the preparations. Tonight there will be dancing and music. You’re welcome to attend, if you wish.”
“The Ghost March?” I stared at him. “But that was weeks ago. You celebrate it now?”
“We celebrate it every month, on the ninth day,” the man said. He seemed to notice my surprise, and added, “we have more spirits to appease than you southerners, you see.”
We passed a row of ruins, tall and skeletal, and a shiver traveled down my spine as their shadows fell across me.
“Your ancestors suffered greatly because of the witches,” I said.
“Our ancestors were foolish,” the elder said, in the same offhand way in which he had appraised my motivations. He caught my stunned expression and gave a small shrug. “It’s true. Yes, the witches stole from us, and worked their dark magic on those who crossed them. But it was the Elder of Jangsa at the time who turned all this into a war. He ordered us to shoot upon sight any witch or wild creature who strayed near our village. The witches retaliated, of course. Our village was very nearly destroyed.”
“By the witches,” I said, emphasizing the last word. “They were the ones who tried to destroy you—you can’t possibly believe that was your elder’s fault? For protecting you?”
The man laughed shortly. “Protecting us? Yes, I suppose he was protecting us. You can see the results for yourself. Violence leads to one thing only, and that is more violence.”
We passed a temple—little more than the foundation and part of a wall, with an array of talismans draped across it.
“But it must be better,” I persisted, “now that the witches have lost their powers.”
“In a way,” he said musingly, and again I couldn’t help staring at him. I had never met anyone who didn’t speak reverently of the spell that had bound the witches’ powers.
“It is easier, of course,” the elder added. “Though there are few among us who do not gaze out at that forest and wonder. The witches are not entirely powerless. Nor are their memories short.”
I swallowed. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see the outskirts of the dark forest looming on the horizon.
The rain was letting up, a few sunbeams shafting through the clouds. At last, we arrived at the elder’s house, which was long and squat, huddled against the mountain. Though
it looked in need of repairs, like all the houses in the village, the shutters had been painted in bright reds and blues, and there was a well-tended garden along one side. The door was an even brighter red, with a colorful tassel dangling from the handle.
We left the yak to graze on a patch of grass, and followed the elder inside. Beyond the doors was a small reception room—a fire burned in the hearth, and woven mats had been laid on the floor for guests. Everything was finely made—from the mats to the painted scenes on the walls to the row of wooden spirit wheels, but also worn and faded, as if belonging to another era. A woman greeted us as we entered. The elder spoke to her in a low voice.
“We will send for our healer,” the elder said, turning back to me. “While she sees to your companion, you and the others are welcome to rest and eat, as my guests.”
“Thank you,” I said. My stomach rumbled at the mention of food—real food, not our tasteless rations. Perhaps Ragtooth sensed a meal too, for he poked his head out of my pack and sniffed the air. The woman started.
“It’s all right,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to stuff Ragtooth back into the pack, and receiving a bloody thumb for my troubles. “He’s harmless. Mostly.”
“You have a familiar?” the elder said, his eyebrows disappearing beneath his hair.
“Yes.” I stopped wrestling with Ragtooth and allowed him to hop onto the ground. He wandered to a sunbeam and began to groom himself. The elder and the woman stared at me, and I began to feel uncomfortable. I was so used to Ragtooth’s presence that I often forgot how rare familiars were.
“Where’s River?” Dargye said suddenly.
I turned. Norbu, his face sweaty and pale, was being helped by Aimo and Tem onto a low bench. Dargye stood by the door, as if hesitant to proceed farther. River was nowhere to be seen.
“Some kids surrounded him on the road,” Tem said. “All begging for stories of his legendary adventures and grabbing at his chuba. I guess news that River Shara is in town travels fast.”
I snorted at the image of River being swarmed by runny-nosed children. “And you didn’t think to help him, Tem?”
Tem gave an exaggerated shrug. “For some reason, it didn’t occur to me.”
The healer arrived soon after, a slight, older woman with a guarded smile, who took one look at Norbu and murmured something to the elder. He nodded. Two men appeared and helped Norbu to his feet. They disappeared through another doorway.
“Will Norbu be all right?” I said.
The elder gave me another sharp look. “You didn’t tell us about the fiangul.”
“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“No matter.” The elder waved his hand, though his brow was furrowed. “You shouldn’t have taken Winding Pass. We avoid the place. The fiangul grow stronger, and venture farther afield, with each passing winter. And they are not the only dark things stirring in the mountains again.”
“I thought those were just rumors,” I said, recalling what Mara had told us about the fiangul sightings in Lhotang.
The man turned back to Norbu. “It’s fortunate you brought him to us. The healer believes we have caught it in time.”
“Caught what in time?” Tem said. But the elder was speaking quietly to the healer, who disappeared after Norbu.
“Do you know how long this will take?” I said, suddenly nervous at the thought of being delayed here for long. The elder was kind, if a little odd, and the people were not as unfriendly as I had feared. But still, there was something about Jangsa—its brokenness, perhaps, or its atmosphere of decay frozen in time—that repelled me.
“Don’t worry, Thaken’s daughter.” The elder’s sharp features relaxed into a smile. “There’s no healer wiser than Yachen. Now you must eat. You will be hungry, after journeying all the way from Azmiri.”
I glanced at Tem. He gave an almost imperceptible shrug.
Smothering my anxiety, I nodded and followed the elder into the house.
ELEVEN
THE GHOST MARCH began at the doorstep of the elder’s house, and then moved on—or, rather, spread—from there. I had often attended the Ghost Marches in Azmiri, where a small, orderly procession of villagers bearing food offerings for visiting spirits wove its way through the streets of the village, coming to a stop in the square, where minstrels serenaded them—and any ghosts in attendance—with drums and bells and kangling. An hour or two would pass, and then the villagers would go home to bed, leaving the food and the instruments in the square for the spirits to enjoy. Through the night, the wind would move over them, giving the illusion—if illusion it was—of ghostly hands tugging at the strings.
Jangsa’s Ghost March was nothing like that.
Bonfires burned at street corners, contorting the shadows of those who passed. Ghosts feared light, so the fires were kept low, providing barely enough to see by, and your eyes played strange tricks with the shifting darkness. Food of every description sat untouched upon offering tables, so much of it that I no longer wondered why the people of Jangsa seemed so thin. People danced in the square just below the elder’s house, weaving intricate patterns that I couldn’t follow. Some hid their faces behind enormous, skeletal masks. Drummers improvised melodies that bled together, then clashed, then bled together again. Lanterns floated through the air, makeshift and flimsy. Some caught fire as they drifted into the sky, their ascent slowing, slowing, until finally it stopped, and they fell like tiny stars.
“Are you coming?” Tem said.
I turned away from the view out the window. “No.”
“Kamzin, how many chances will we have to attend a Ghost March in Jangsa?”
“I’m not sure I care for the living inhabitants of this place, Tem. Now you want me to go dancing with the dead ones?”
“We don’t have to dance. We can just watch.”
I looked back at the window, indecisive. “I should check on Norbu.”
“He’s asleep,” Tem said. “His wound looks better. The healer cleaned it with some sort of salve—I don’t know what it was, but it smelled awful—and then I helped her with a purification chant. She says all he needs now is rest. Besides, River said he would look in on him.”
“Who knows if that’s true,” I muttered. When the elder had invited River to attend the Ghost March, he had merely muttered something about disliking crowds, and disappeared in the direction of the rooms we had been given for the night. I had not seen him since. I wondered if he put as much effort into avoiding gatherings back in the Three Cities.
“What about you?” I said. “Did you tell the healer about your cough?”
“I didn’t think of it.”
“Tem.”
“I’ll speak with her later, promise.” He tugged at my hand. “Come on.”
I gazed at him. His chin-length hair, which normally shielded half his face, was damp from washing. It was brushed back, framing the angular planes of his face and his dark amber eyes, which had an ebony ring around the irises. It was unusual to see him that way, and not for the first time I noticed how handsome he had become. Tem had been short and plump as a boy, with a round, doll-like face, but all that had changed in the last year or two. He was well on his way to becoming a near mirror image of his tall, broad-shouldered father—who, despite being widely disliked, was privately acknowledged by the women of Azmiri as the most attractive man in the village. Though I would never tell Tem any of this—he didn’t take kindly to being compared to his father in any respect.
“I really don’t think it’s a wise idea,” I said.
“You don’t think something is a wise idea?” He smiled again, and I felt something inside me relax. With a sigh, I allowed him to lead me out into the night.
I regretted it almost immediately. The square was a chaotic swirl of dancers—some masked and whirling in tight circles around the fire, so rapidly I was amazed they didn’t fall over from dizziness, others dressed in plain clothes with only a few rows of bone beads around their necks. The masked dancers wielded curved
swords that flashed as they sliced through the air. Children danced too, on the outskirts of the square. Though there were tables piled with food and drink, none of the villagers touched a morsel. The smell of incense and souring yak milk mingled with the smoke.
“Oh,” Tem said. I followed his gaze, and stopped short.
River was dancing with one of the village girls. She had flashing eyes and hair like spun silk, and was almost painfully beautiful. Tem and I were not the only ones watching them—a knot of girls hovered at the edge of the dance, some smiling, others wearing envious frowns. River’s expression was difficult to make out. He and the girl wove in and out of the dancers like fish in a stream, appearing and disappearing amidst the swirl of light and shadow, as if they belonged to it. I felt an unexpected twinge of anger.
“What’s he doing?” I said.
“You have to ask?” Tem was gazing at the girl in River’s arms with a look that only increased my irritation. He shook his head slightly and turned back to me. “Are you all right?”
“Of course I am,” I said, a little too quickly. “I just don’t understand him, that’s all. I don’t trust these people, and I thought he didn’t either.”
Tem’s gaze drifted to the girl again. I could see he didn’t share my feelings where she was concerned.
“Let’s dance,” I said, gripping his hand.
“I thought you—”
“I changed my mind.”
I dragged him into the square. The dancers followed no discernible pattern, clusters of twos or threes or fours weaving together and stamping their feet in time to the music. The only constant was the gaps they left between each other, which were supposed to be for any ghosts who wished to take part. Tem grasped my arms and we spun around, folding ourselves into the dance.
Almost immediately, I let out a yelp. He had crushed my toes beneath his boot. “Tem!”
“Sorry,” he said, his face red. “I didn’t know you were going to go that way.”
“You’re still a terrible dancer,” I grumbled, trying to avoid his feet. Staring at the ground meant that I was no longer able to watch where I was going, and it began to seem that every few seconds I was bumping into somebody. Tem tried to lead me along the same looping path that other dancers followed, but we always seemed out of sync somehow—which was saying something, given the random nature of the dance.
Even the Darkest Stars Page 13