Even the Darkest Stars

by Heather Fawcett

  I stared at it, hardly daring to move. Inside were the bones of an ancient witch king. How could I think about touching them? How could I even think about opening his coffin?

  As I sat there, the wind seemed to whisper in my ears. The shadow tower—had it moved? Was it closer to me now?

  I shook off my fears. I was here, at long last, and I had to do this. Still, a strange sorrow tugged at me, at the notion of disturbing the rest of an ancient king, witch or no. River’s ancestor.

  “Forgive me,” I whispered, and wrenched the heavy lid back.

  It skidded sideways, landing in the snow with a dull thud. Swallowing, I gazed down at the skeleton.

  It was paler than moonlight, and so fragile it looked liable to turn to dust if touched. Any clothes it had worn had long since disintegrated. The bones had a faint sheen, a glow that seemed to emanate from within.

  Apart from this, there was nothing to identify it as a witch. The skeleton could have belonged to an ordinary man, if ordinary men received burials in shadow cities thousands of feet in the sky.

  I was pondering what to do next when I heard the black bell sound. I turned slowly, my heart heavy with dread.

  Behind me, close enough I could reach out to touch its smoke fur, stood Azar-at, tail wagging, a doggish grin on its face. Clutched in its jaws was the string of kinnika. The black bell swayed back and forth, though there was no wind to move it.

  Ching, ching, ching.

  “Azar-at,” I said hoarsely, “give those to me.”

  Should not abandon power, brave one, the fire demon said. Should keep it close, keep it safe, or others will come and claim.

  I lunged after the creature, but it retreated toward the mountainside—with every step, just out of my reach. I finally stopped, gasping, my ankle throbbing.

  Suddenly, Ragtooth was there, a growling, spitting bundle of fur. He launched himself at the fire demon. Azar-at, startled by his ferocity, fell back a step, dropping the kinnika in the snow. The fox nipped at the creature’s toes, forcing it back another step.

  “Ragtooth!” I shouted. “Get back!”

  But Ragtooth was impervious to my commands. And Azar-at, to my horror, seemed to be quite over its surprise at the attack. Its form wavered, dissolving, and for a moment it became a smoke cloud with only the hint of a hideous, grinning face.

  Ragtooth darted toward the kinnika, ignoring my shouts. They were inches from his grasp when the fire demon shifted position again, appearing at the fox’s side. Ragtooth reared, teeth bared, but Azar-at was faster. The creature snatched Ragtooth in its mouth, shaking him from side to side like a ragdoll. Then it threw him against the mountainside, so hard a piece of rock shattered into a cloud of dust. The fox tumbled into the snow, his back bent at a strange angle, and was still.

  Ragtooth.

  It was impossible to comprehend it. I fell to my knees. Any moment now, Ragtooth would sit up and shake himself. He was hurt, that was all. He would rise again, and everything would be fine.

  But he didn’t move.

  A guttural sound tore from my throat. Something was choking me, something inside me that clawed its way to my chest. I couldn’t look away from Ragtooth’s motionless form. In some distant corner of my awareness, I knew that Azar-at had taken up the kinnika again, and was gliding away, toward some dark shape that appeared at the edge of my sight.

  “We’ll take it from here, Kamzin,” River said.

  I whirled around and screamed.

  River was an image from a nightmare. Blood soaked one side of his head, running in rivulets down his face. His right arm was angled oddly. The bone stuck out above his elbow, piercing his chuba. I felt sick.

  “River—” I choked out.

  “Concerned?” Despite his state, his expression was still eerily cold. “Don’t worry, I’ll heal soon enough. As soon as I have my rightful powers—which won’t be long now. Ah—thank you, Azar-at.”

  The fire demon dropped the kinnika into his hand. Wincing as the witch bell sang out, River turned and flung them over the side of the mountain.

  I let out a wordless cry. River didn’t even pause. He bent over the bones of the witch king.

  Shakily, my ankle screaming in protest, I took a step. Then another. Then, suddenly, I was running headlong across the ground, which sloped downward, toward the terrifying drop. I plowed into him, knocking him over.

  We rolled together. I knew that the empty air was close, so close, but I was heedless of the danger. I had to stop him. Somehow, I had to. When finally the motion ceased, I was on top of him, pressing his shoulders to the ground.

  “Kamzin,” he said.

  I realized I was crying again. I couldn’t look at him. I fell sideways, and he rose, his fingers brushing my hair. I couldn’t stop him—I couldn’t even lift my head.

  “For what it’s worth,” he murmured in my ear, “I’m sorry.”

  “River, please—” But he was already turning away. He bent over the bones and seemed to run his hand over the skull without touching it. Something unreadable flitted across his face. Then he turned to Azar-at.

  “Let’s end this.” He raised a hand over the bones and closed his eyes.

  The bones seemed to flicker, small shadows flitting over them like birds. Then, to my horror, they began to move. The dead king seemed to raise himself into a half-sitting position, one arm darting out as if for balance. River raised his hand again, and the flickering, rippling apparition intensified. The shadow spread over River and the king, then spilled up into the sky, where it pooled and pulsed like a spreading wound.

  The world shattered.

  The ground heaved, pitching me sideways. I would have tumbled right off the cliff if my instincts hadn’t kicked in, causing me to slam my hand into the earth like the blade of an ax. The lid of the coffin slid down the slope and into the abyss of sky. The rumbling grew. Boulders shook loose from the mountain and tumbled into the sky, or rolled through the witch city, tearing its towers apart. My vision flickered; shadows darted everywhere, or perhaps the world had turned to shadow, I didn’t know. There came the distant roar of avalanche after avalanche. It was as if the mountain was tearing itself apart, and all I could do was wait for it to fall out from beneath me, and leave me adrift in the clouds.

  Then, after what could have been seconds or hours, the mountain stopped roiling, and the shadows cleared enough for me to see. River was crouched on the snow, his hands pressed against his head.

  He seemed to be muttering something, but the words were garbled and unintelligible. The air rippled around him, as if the shadows were descending upon his body, consuming him. He let out a cry of agony, and then another. I pressed my hands against my ears—even after the mountain’s terrible roar, this sound was so raw, so agonized, that I could not bear it.

  Finally, River was silent, his breath hissing against the snow. Azar-at approached him and sniffed his head. He sat up slowly.

  Are you all right?

  “Yes.” River sounded dazed. The strange rippling was gone. He stared down at his hands, as if seeing them for the first time. He began to laugh. It was his old laugh—and yet it was different, a darker version of the same color.

  You smell of the wilds now, Azar-at said. Of forests and lakes and open skies. Of rock and earth and valley.

  “Thank you, my friend.” Though River sounded exhausted, he was smiling. I could no longer see any sign of injury—no blood or broken bone. He stroked the fire demon’s muzzle. “According to the terms we agreed to, our contract is dissolved. I have my rightful powers now. And so do the others.”

  Azar-at nuzzled his hand. I will miss you.

  “Strangely enough, given how you have gnawed away at my soul, I feel the same.” He gave the fire demon’s ears one last scratch. “Good-bye.”

  Good-bye, my friend.

  River stood. He seemed to have changed in a way that was impossible for me to describe. There was a lightness about him—a grace and otherness. Though he still looked the s
ame, it was somehow starkly clear, in a way that had not been quite visible before, that he was not human.

  “River?” The tears were drying on my face. I felt hollowed out, a frozen, empty vessel.

  He looked at me only once. Then his gaze drifted past, and his eyes closed, his expression flooded with what could only be described as joy, pure as sunlight or rain. It happened suddenly, too sudden for human eyes to follow. One moment, River was there; the next, a black leopard stood in his place, its long fur ruffled in the wind, half shadow and half flesh.

  The leopard shook itself. The sunlight made its coat gleam with fire and copper. It stretched, then set off at a run, heading toward the cliff’s edge. As if delighted by the sensation, it ran even faster. It leaped down the side of the mountain, its claws gripping effortlessly at the nearly sheer slopes. I followed it as far as I could, until it rounded the curve of the mountainside. Then, in a moment shorter than a breath, it was gone.

  THIRTY-ONE

  I SCRAMBLED BACK down the rock below the witch king’s grave, my knees wobbly, my breathing uneven. I was traveling too quickly; as I lifted my foot, my boot caught, and I lost my grip. I slid down the last few feet, scraping my palms, not even bothering to arrest my fall. I came to a stop finally, and lay there on my side. I had no desire to get up again. I turned my face into the snow, my shoulders heaving with my sobs.

  I had gathered Ragtooth’s small body into my pack, unable to bear the thought of leaving him in that forsaken place. Now I clutched the pack to my chest, howling. My tears were for Ragtooth, but they were also for Lusha. For Tem. For my father. For myself. I had failed. And now we were all lost.

  Finally, there were no tears left. My breath came in ragged pants as I stared blindly at the sky. I felt as if I could lie there until the snow and ice covered me, as it had covered Mingma’s broken body. Biter alighted on a rock nearby, croaking, but I paid him no notice.

  Then something warm brushed the top of my head. Something with a long snout that seemed to exhale pure heat, almost too hot to bear. Slowly, I sat up and turned to face Azar-at.

  The fire demon cocked its head at me. No help for sorrow, brave one, it said. Best to carry on. This is not a place for lingering.

  I recoiled, my disgust so strong it was like a living thing twisting in my stomach. “Go away.”

  It is over, the fire demon murmured. Nothing more to do here. Best to leave, help friends. Friends are waiting for you—

  “Go away!” I screamed. My voice echoed off the mountainside, and came back to me in broken fragments.

  Azar-at fell silent, but it did not leave my side. Warmth radiated from its body. I felt myself shivering as the feeling returned to my hands and face. I hadn’t noticed how chilled I was.

  “Why are you here?” I said, every inch of me despising the creature. I wasn’t afraid anymore—let it kill me, see if I cared. Let it snatch me up in its jaws and break me as it had broken Ragtooth. “Did you stay to gloat?”

  Gloat?

  “The spell is broken,” I said. “The witches are free. Free to destroy the Empire, and everything in their path. Your plan worked.”

  Not my plan. The fire demon tilted its snout back to sniff the air. River’s plan. I care nothing for spells and schemes. I merely help my friends.

  I laughed, a cold, empty sound. “Yes, I’ve seen where your help leads. People will die because of what you’ve done. Does that make you happy?”

  Death is a human notion, Azar-at said. I do not understand your question.

  I made a frustrated noise. “Of course not. Fire demons don’t answer questions, do they? They share power, not wisdom. That’s what the stories say.”

  Azar-at only cocked its head at me, tail wagging gently, looking for all the world like a dog eager to please. I shoved my fingers into my hair, digging them into my scalp so hard I could feel the strands tear. Think, I commanded. Think.

  What’s wrong, brave one?

  “What’s wrong?” I let out another dead laugh. “What’s wrong is that I have to do something. But I can’t. I can’t even get myself off this mountain, let alone—”

  Let alone? What must you do?

  “I don’t know,” I cried. “I have to stop this somehow. What if the witches attack Azmiri? What if they hurt my family?”

  Azar-at whined. That would be sad. Witches must not harm them.

  My eyes narrowed. “Why do you care? In case you don’t remember, you’ve already murdered someone I love.”

  For River. To help my friend. I care about you. You are my friend too.

  At those words, Yonden’s warning echoed through my thoughts. A cold shiver traced its way down my back.

  “I would rather die.” My voice was flat.

  You need me. Something changed in the fire demon’s tone. It became low, soft. You need a friend, Kamzin.

  I turned away, wishing I could block that strange, silken voice from my mind. “No.”

  Think about it. I could grant you power—power greater, perhaps, than what I granted River. For even though we forged a mighty partnership, he is a witch, and fire demons clash with witches as smoke does with shadow. But you—you could be great. You could save your friends down below. You could fight witches, protect your village, protect the emperor himself. You could do whatever you wished.

  “And you would help me?” I gazed at Azar-at, disbelief mingling with my disgust. “Even if what I asked went against what River would want? We’re not on the same side, you know.”

  The fire demon’s tail stopped wagging briefly, then started again.

  I do not understand sides, it said. I help my friends.

  “I can’t believe I’m even talking about this.” I rubbed my hands over my face and stood. “I will not make a contract with a fire demon. I’m not as mad as River. Biter—come.”

  I limped off, moving only slightly more steadily than before. My muscles were straw, my head ached with pain and dehydration, my ankle was a red-hot mass. I had no food, no water, no medicine. There was no way, the logical part of my brain knew, that I could make it back down the mountain, no way I could rescue Lusha and Tem.

  But the logical part of my brain was not in control now. I kept walking, feeling as if I had been hollowed out.

  The fire demon fell into step beside me. You saw how my contract with River ended, it said. It is not a trick. We could end our agreement at any time. You would have only to say the words, and I will be gone.

  I forced a dismissive laugh. It sounded false to my own ears. My heart was thudding again, and my thoughts had begun to race.

  What Azar-at said was true. River had ended the contract when he no longer needed it. Was it truly that easy?

  How will you help your friends, Kamzin?

  Tem’s face rose in my mind, creased with weariness and pain. I saw Lusha hunched over her broken ankle. I shivered and stopped walking. Biter croaked softly.

  “I’ve never been good at anything,” I murmured. I wasn’t sure if I was speaking to Azar-at or myself. “Except this. Climbing. Mapping. Exploring. But I have to be good at more than that, if I’m going to be any use to Lusha or Tem. Or anyone.”

  The fire demon’s tail wagged faster. Then you agree to the contract.

  “I haven’t agreed to anything,” I snapped. “If I was even going to consider this, you would have to accept my conditions. You might not want anything to do with me, after you hear them.”

  Please, Azar-at said, tell me.

  “One, you will not lie to me,” I said. “If I ask you a question—any question—you will answer honestly. Is that clear?”

  I would never lie to my friends.

  “Is that clear?” I said, emphasizing each word.

  The fire demon paused. Yes.

  “Two, you will leave when I ask you to,” I said. “No matter when that happens. No matter how it happens. Our contract will end when I wish it to end.”

  I said that—

  “I know what you said, and I also know that yo
u like to twist words,” I said. “So I’m straightening them out for you. Do you agree?”

  Yes, Kamzin.

  “Three,” I went on, “you must not hurt anyone I care about. Not even if I ask you to.”

  You would never hurt your friends.

  “I might.” I swallowed, recalling how River had looked, the chill in his gaze. “If I give you enough of my soul, I might stop caring about the things I care about now. I don’t know for certain. But I won’t let you turn me into a monster. That will never happen.”

  The fire demon was silent for a long moment. I agree to your conditions.

  I glanced at Biter. The raven croaked, his tail feathers twitching. “I know,” I said to him. “But I can’t think of anything else to do.” Hopelessness threatened to overwhelm me. But it was a reckless sort of hopelessness, a feeling that skittered inside me like a captive insect, and made the blood thrum in my veins. “I won’t be powerless. I won’t feel the way I felt back there with River, not ever again.”

  The raven cocked his head, regarding me.

  I began to pace. If I accepted Azar-at’s power, I could save Lusha and Tem. Not only that—I could return to Azmiri, and battle the witches myself. For I didn’t doubt there would be a battle. Even if the witches didn’t strike Azmiri, Father would never allow them to pass through the Amarin Valley into the Empire. He would stand between them and their path to the Three Cities. Without great power on his side, he would die.

  And as for my soul—

  I saw black fire sweeping the village, heard the anguished screams. What use would I have for a soul, if everyone I loved was dead?

  I turned back to the fire demon. “Azar-at, I accept your offer.”

  Immediately, I felt a strange tugging sensation somewhere around my navel. Or heart—it was hard to be certain. I gasped, stumbling forward. In the same moment, the fire demon disappeared, melting into a column of liquid flame that crackled and sparked. I bit back a cry as the cloud drifted toward me. Little bolts shivered off, striking the snow, which melted with a sizzle. I thought, for a moment, that I saw a terrible, grinning face at the center of the column, with a gaping mouth of fangs and eyes as black as emptiness. But then it was gone, and the cloud had enveloped me. The tugging sensation dissolved into wrenching pain—but before I could even draw breath to scream, it was gone, leaving me half in doubt that it had ever been. When the light faded, I found myself hunched over in the snow, my hand pressed against my chest. Azar-at sat in the same place, tail still wagging, as if nothing had happened.