River’s expression faded from stunned to wary. For the first time since I had known him, he seemed at a loss for words. Then his eyes narrowed.
“So,” he said, “you know what I am. But you don’t know everything, Kamzin.”
“I know that you lied to me.” A tear rolled down my face, and I brushed it away angrily.
“I had to. I needed your help.”
“How?” I shook my head, lost. “How did you do it, River? Is that even your name?”
“Yes.” He took another step toward me, but stopped when he saw me flinch. “It is my name. Though Shara is borrowed.”
I searched his eyes. Part of me wanted to take another step back, to put more distance between us. But another, stronger part held me in place.
“How did you deceive the emperor and his court?” I demanded. “Whatever you are, whatever you’ve done, you owe me an explanation, after all we’ve been through.”
“I know.” He ran his hand through his hair, as if pondering how to begin. The gesture, absent and unaffected, was so familiar that I found myself faltering. I had expected to confront a witch, a dark creature who had deceived me since our first meeting. Instead, I had found only River.
“Gaining a place at court wasn’t difficult,” he said. He had to raise his voice to be heard over the wind. “I chose to assume the Shara name for good reason—they are an ancient line, with as many branches as a willow. The family I chose were shy, modest people with few acquaintances at court. With Azar-at’s help, I altered their memories so they would recognize me as their brother and son. It wasn’t difficult, from there, to insert myself into the emperor’s inner circle.”
“And no one guessed what you are? Not even the emperor, not his shamans?”
A faint smile crossed his face. “The emperor is clever, Kamzin, but unless given a good reason, he pays little attention to anyone other than himself. He is an obsessive man—obsessed with his youth, his reputation. I gave him no reason to question me.”
I shook my head. “Why did you do it? To spy on him?”
“Initially. With the binding spell weakening, we knew that the emperor would be searching for a way to repair it.”
“The talisman.” I laughed humorlessly. River’s plan had been flawless. Not only had he learned the entirety of the emperor’s plan, but he had ensured that he would be the one to carry it out. It was as clever as it was chilling.
“Yes. Which is not really a talisman at all, but the bones of an ancient king, my ancestor. The most powerful witch who ever lived.”
I felt a surge of triumph. Now I knew what I was looking for. “Are you’re sure they’re here?”
River closed his eyes briefly. “Yes. I feel something—I think it’s him.”
“But you haven’t found anything yet.”
“I reached the summit last night,” he said. “I had to wait for sunrise to begin my search. After dark, the city has no shape.”
Another shiver traveled through me.
“Kamzin.” He touched me. I shook him off, hating what I still felt when his hand met mine. Hating him.
“I’m not stupid,” I spat. “I know I can’t stop you. But I’m going to try. I’ll die trying, if I have to. Because I can’t let you do this. If the witches get their powers back, they will destroy everything that belongs to the emperor. They’ll destroy Azmiri.”
“You don’t understand.” River ran his hand across his face. I noticed, for the first time, how tired he looked. It was subtle, but it was there—in the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his mouth. He was still beautiful, still the same indomitable River. But even he was weary, after all that had happened. “How could you?”
“Why don’t you explain it, then?” I said, my voice rising. “Stop lying to me, River. I’m so tired of your lies, I can’t—”
“All right.” He grabbed my arm, and this time, I didn’t draw back. He pulled me close; our faces were only inches apart. “You want to know the truth? The real reason that Emperor Lozong took our powers?”
“I already know,” I snapped. “The witches terrorized the Empire. They couldn’t be reasoned with. The emperor wanted to protect us. It was the only right thing to do.”
“Right?” River laughed, but there was little amusement in it. “The emperor stole from us! Took all but the most rudimentary of our magics away. Trapped us in our human forms and banished us to a nightmarish place. Is that right?”
“Then you deny that the witches ever hurt anyone?” I gazed at him incredulously. “You deny that they attacked Azmiri, that they nearly razed it to the ground?”
He made a frustrated sound. “I don’t know. It’s true that some of my kind are brutal, thoughtless creatures, delighting in cruelty and trickery. I understand that better than most—after the time I spent among humans, I can see my family, myself even, more clearly than they’re able to see themselves.”
I shook my head. “And yet you still wonder why the emperor bound the witches’ powers?”
“He didn’t bind them. As I said—he stole them.”
I blinked, uncomprehending. “What are you talking about?”
River’s gaze drifted over me. “Where are your bells?”
I was momentarily thrown. “I don’t have them,” I lied, even as I felt one rustle traitorously against my collarbone. “There was no point.”
River smiled sadly at that. “Yes. You are as hopeless at magic, Kamzin, as you are spectacularly adept at other things. A fact for which I’m grateful—I’m glad I don’t have to fight you.”
I swallowed against a lump in my throat. “What do the kinnika have to do with stolen magic?”
“Everything,” he said. “They are stolen magic. So is every other talisman used by shamans.”
I stared.
“You’re mad,” I said finally. “The shamans have their own power.”
River gave a short laugh. “Some do—a trivial, rudimentary power, nothing compared to ours. In the old days, the shamans would heal animals, tame dragons, brew potions to ward off illness—small magics, the extent of their abilities. Now that they’ve come to rely on talismans, their power is much greater. But not because their own gifts have grown.”
I shook my head. I couldn’t comprehend it. “Magic needs talismans to harness and direct the flow of power from the shaman. That’s always been true. Chirri called them ‘the cardinal links.’”
“Forget about what you learned from Chirri. What I’m telling you is the truth: the emperor stole our powers and trapped them within commonplace objects. Objects that could be sold, or traded, or distributed at his discretion. These are the talismans you speak of so highly. It’s true that talismans existed, in some form, before they were imbued with our magic, but these were mere objects of superstition peddled by charlatans. The emperor attacked the witches not because of our supposedly evil deeds, but because he wanted our power. As his empire grew, he became increasingly fearful of us. He had his armies, his powerful weaponry, his great cities, but we had an ancient magic he could not understand. And so he stole it.”
I did step back then, because it was too much. I couldn’t process it. I thought of the talismans I had used—fumbling, unsure—in my lessons with Chirri. I thought of the kinnika. Could this be true? Could they be vessels of dark magic, and not mere tools to channel a shaman’s own power? I had certainly never felt any power stir within me, but then I had always assumed that was because I had as much talent for magic as a badger had for flight.
“I’m not asking you to believe me,” River said. “Because I know you will, eventually. But do you understand?”
“But does this mean—” I couldn’t speak. “It means the emperor’s shamans will be defenseless if the spell breaks? We’ll all be defenseless?”
River gazed at me for a long moment.
“I’m sorry, Kamzin,” he said.
“River, please.” I was close to tears now. “I don’t understand this, or what the emperor did all those years ago. But
let me help you. Tem can give you your powers back—I’m sure he could, if he tried. Just you—not the others. I know that you don’t want to hurt anyone. Please, let me help you.”
He brushed a strand of hair back from my face. “I wish you could. But there is only one way for me to be free.”
I shook my head, unable to look away from him. “Please don’t do this.”
His expression was dark. The amusement was gone, replaced by something flat and cold. “You shouldn’t have followed me here, Kamzin.”
A sharp cry overhead. Biter fluttered into view, his wings beating madly at the thin air. River and I both looked up as the raven circled, then darted away, flying toward a wind-scoured cliff just below the summit of the mountain.
“Biter!” I shouted, horrified. He was going to show River where the talisman was. “To me, to me!”
But the wind snatched my voice from my lips. Biter flapped up the cliff and came to rest on a narrow ridge crowned by a single tower, which tilted to one side. The light hadn’t hit it yet—a pillar of shadow, even blacker than the blackness that surrounded it.
“Well.” River gazed at me, a calculating look on his face. “It seems these pets of yours do have their uses.”
I stared back, uncertain, as the seconds stretched out. River knew where the dead king’s remains were now. Why didn’t he do something? Use his power to cut a path through the snow, or split the mountainside open and retrieve the witch’s bones. But he only stood there, watching me, as if trying to glean my thoughts.
That was when it hit me.
I may have destabilized something. River had said it in Winding Pass, after his spell had defeated the fiangul. I remembered the second avalanche that had been triggered when he rescued Tem. River would be afraid to use Azar-at’s magic here—if he did, there could be consequences. Consequences that could destroy the witch king’s grave. A fierce hope rose within me.
I met River’s eyes, narrowed now, and realized we were having the same thought.
Perhaps all was not lost after all.
“Kamzin—” he began.
I didn’t hear the rest. I was running, faster than I ever had run before.
If I can get there first, I thought. If I can get my hands on even one of those bones, if I can give it to Biter, if he can take it to Tem—
I couldn’t hear River pursuing me. I had no idea if I had outpaced him, or if he was there, drifting like a dark cloud at my heels. I ran, exhaustion making the motion feel dreamlike—my feet, churning up the snows, could have belonged to someone else. I reached the cliff, which was bracketed by a pointed ridge that formed a small canyon. Snow piled in deep drifts at its base. I stumbled, letting out a shout that echoed oddly off the rock. Every sound was amplified in the canyon—the clatter of loose rock as it slipped under my feet, the rasp of my breath. It was as if the mountain mocked my efforts.
I began to climb, my hands trembling against the icy stone. My fingers, chafed by the climb up the rock face where Mingma had died, burned from the effort, the skin tearing again. Still I forced myself up. I could make it. I had strength left.
But then—
A strong hand wrapped around my boot, and I was airborne. I landed in a drift of snow with an oof, the wind knocked out of me. I lay still, too surprised to move, one leg folded awkwardly beneath me. River, barely pausing, began to climb, moving as smoothly up the rock as a shadow. Ragtooth scrabbled after him with a ferocious growl.
“Ragtooth, no!” I remembered all too well what River had done to Lurker. But River only glanced once at Ragtooth, then kept going, and the fox soon slipped down the rock. Already River was almost halfway up the cliff, his chuba whipped by the wind.
I stood, and a red-hot bolt of pain darted up my leg. I sagged against the rock as spots flickered across my vision. My ankle was twisted—badly.
I took a slow, deep breath, counting silently to three. It’s nothing, I told myself, as the pain seared and pulsed. It’s nothing. You’re fine. I forced those thoughts to flood my mind, forced back the pain.
I started climbing again.
River was well ahead of me, but I moved like a possessed thing, and soon closed the distance. It was a twisted version of our old game—the memory of it, of the laughter we had shared, made me burn with fury. He glanced down, an amazed look on his face.
“It’s no use,” he called, and the mountain echoed his words, twisted strangely by the wind. “You won’t make it, Kamzin.”
“Maybe not.” I met his gaze, knowing my face was contorted with pain and fury. “But neither will you.” I reached into my chuba and drew the kinnika out. They were warm from pressing against my skin, or perhaps from the magic that ran through the metal.
River stared at me. Then he began to laugh, so hard he had to lean into the rock for support. The mountain echoed the sound, sharing his amusement.
“Kamzin, Kamzin,” he said, “you couldn’t bespell a mouse, let alone a witch.”
I flushed. It was true: my gesture had been an empty threat, a distraction. But as I glared at him, the pain raging in my leg, one of the bells twitched.
Not the black one—that was still, quiescent. The one beside it, the scorched bell carved with the symbol for “witch.” It had sounded before, many times, for no apparent reason.
But always, I realized with a chilling certainty, when River was near.
I looked back at River—almost too slowly to catch the grimace that flickered across his face. It was gone in a heartbeat. If I hadn’t been looking for it, I never would have noticed.
“It hurts you,” I breathed.
“Kamzin.” River’s voice was low, warning. Its echo was a whisper, thin as thread. “Don’t—”
I yanked on the bell, and it broke from the chain. Gripping the tiny thing in my palm, I sounded it as hard as I could.
There was no mockery in the mountain’s voice now. The bell’s ringing flooded the canyon, notes clashing with their own echoes, a terrible cacophony that hurt my ears. The wind howled as the sound spilled across the mountainside, as if it too was in pain.
River pressed his forehead against the rock face, his shoulders shaking. I couldn’t make out his expression, but it seemed like every muscle in his body had grown taut, as if he fought an invisible attacker.
He turned to me, his face a grimace of pain, and for one heart-wrenching second, I faltered.
What was I doing? This was River—I had saved his life. He had saved mine. We had faced death so many times, relying on each other with that pure and total trust that was fundamental to survival in a place like this, and in that moment, some animal instinct rebelled against hurting him.
Father. Aunt Behe. Chirri.
Their faces crowded my mind, along with those of every aunt and uncle, cousin and acquaintance in Azmiri. I saw my home, its tidy, whitewashed walls hung with the familiar tapestries. The well that Tem and I used to race to, the orchard where we stole apples every fall—those apples would be almost ripe now, the farmers pacing among the trees at dawn, tallying the harvest. I saw black flame consuming them, consuming everything I had ever known.
I sounded the bell again.
The wind howled. River slipped another foot as the bell’s piercing tongue sang out, and the echoes answered tenfold. It was as if the entire mountain was keening. My head pounded and my eyes watered. I rang the bell again, and River slipped another foot.
“Kamzin,” River murmured. He was almost level with me. Our eyes met, and his gaze was not cold anymore—it was desperate, a desperation tinged with sorrow. He was terribly pale, the freckles standing out in stark relief. For one agonizing second, I felt my heart stop.
No.
I sounded the bell with all my strength.
River fell. He struck an overhang, which broke free with a terrible crack. And then he was gone, tumbling into shadow and out of sight.
THIRTY
A SOB ESCAPED me. I pressed my face into the mountain. My cheeks were wet with tears that dripp
ed from my chin and onto the rock, where they froze instantly, glistening.
Keep going, some small part of me said. You’re not finished. But I couldn’t keep going. I could barely breathe.
My foot slipped, and the pain in my ankle wrenched me back to myself. I remembered where I was—at the summit of Mount Raksha, in a city of shadow.
Stay calm, the voice said. Just a little longer. Then you can fall apart. Then you can rest.
The tears didn’t stop, but they slowed—enough for me to see my way. Because of my ankle, I was forced to climb with a sort of hopping motion, as dangerous as it was tiring. The rock was nowhere near as high as anything I had recently climbed—if it had been back in Azmiri, I would have laughed at it. But by the time I reached the top, I was so exhausted I could barely stand.
I wiped my face—the tears had partially frozen, covering my cheeks in a lacework of ice. I reattached the witch bell to the string of kinnika and dropped them in the snow. I couldn’t look at them—I couldn’t think about what I had done.
River was gone, but that didn’t mean the danger was past. The binding spell would break, if not today, then tomorrow, or a year from now. It made no difference. When it broke, the Empire would surely fall, and Azmiri with it.
I had to find the witch king’s bones.
The shadow tower loomed before me, wavering ever so slightly in the breeze. It was hard to believe it had ever had a practical function, even when it wasn’t terrifyingly shapeless—it was windowless, and barely broad enough for a person to stand in. Perhaps a monument?
But a monument to what? I scanned the ledge. In front of me, it sloped down, toward a sheer drop of thousands of feet. I could see Raksha’s neighboring mountain, which River and I had named Aimo, ensconced in cloud—it was higher than Azmiri, but below where I stood now. The land fell away, crumbling, its decay hastened by endless cycles of wind and snow. Jutting out from the rocky earth was the edge of a box.
A coffin.
I staggered forward, ignoring the dangerous slope and the expanse beyond it. I tried to pull on it—the wood was so ancient that it seemed to splinter in my hands, and the box remained stubbornly stuck in the mountainside. Changing tacks, I scrabbled at the frozen ground, managing to pry up a sheet of ice that held the box locked in place. Finally, the soil shifted, and I pulled the coffin free.
Even the Darkest Stars Page 31