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 betrayed?”
“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.”