If my mother were here, everything would be different.
My mother had rarely taken the dangers she faced seriously, dismissing them with her booming, infectious laugh. She had been big—not merely in terms of size, but everything about her. She had always seemed like the sort of person no amount of space could contain. In the end, though, it had been a small thing that had taken her. A fever that hadn’t seemed out of the ordinary—little more than an inconvenience—until it suddenly took a turn for the worse. In the space of a night, she was simply gone.
“Kamzin.” Father took my hand and drew me in front of him, so that I was looking down into his lined eyes. “You must promise me that you will turn around at the first sign of danger. Don’t let River convince you to do something that doesn’t feel right. I don’t care who he is—your life is more important than the emperor’s displeasure.”
“Papa, I—”
“No.” He was gripping my hands so tightly that I felt my bones creak. “Promise me.”
I swallowed. “I promise.”
I had felt guilty as I said it. Now, in the cold light of the morning, I felt even worse. Because I didn’t think I could keep my promise.
I didn’t think I wanted to.
I gazed over the valley and the misty landscape beyond, the towering mountains and sweeping expanses. I felt a familiar pull—to dive into the wilderness, digging my boots into soil no one else had touched. Now, for the first time, I didn’t have to ignore that pull. I could let it take me.
The two assistants I had hired, Dargye and Aimo, waited patiently by our yak. They had already proven their competence that morning—the yak was loaded comfortably but securely with the bulk of our gear, and they had consulted the maps I had brought and provided sound suggestions. Dargye was a heavy man with moody eyes beneath a single brow. He was a low-ranking member of the village council, and his size and strength had made him an obvious asset for an expedition this dangerous. Rumor had it he could fell mountain birches without the help of an ax. Looking at the enormous biceps battling the seams of his shirtsleeves, I didn’t doubt it.
I didn’t know much about Aimo, a young woman in her early twenties. A year ago, her daughter had escaped her grandparents’ care, tottering down the mountain and into the Nightwood. Aimo’s husband had followed in search of her. Neither had returned, and no one doubted that they had met a grisly end. It was said that the witches devoured human souls, leaving behind empty bodies that they kept as slaves, or drained of blood for their mysterious spells. After the period of mourning, Aimo had carried on running the family’s large farm by herself. With her stoic temperament and reputation for generosity toward her poorer neighbors, she was widely respected in Azmiri.
“Thank you,” I said as she repositioned one of my satchels on the animal’s back. She nodded, her smile transforming her plain face. It was no wonder, I thought, that she had received three marriage proposals since her husband’s death.
“Is everyone ready?” It was Norbu. With him was a slim, handsome boy with a large pack slung over his shoulders.
“We are,” I said as they moved to check the yak’s load. “Where’s River?”
The boy looked up from the strap he was examining. He wore a slight smile that seemed familiar. “Honestly, Kamzin, will I need to introduce myself each time we see each other?”
My jaw dropped. Tem made a low noise that sounded like woo. River laughed.
“Come now,” he said, making a sweeping motion with his arm. “Surely I don’t look that different.”
But he did. The young man standing before me was as far as possible from the elegant noble I had met at the banquet. His hair was an ordinary dark brown, and while still bird’s-nest messy, was cropped shorter than it had been, and no longer woven with expensive charms. The rings and jewels were gone, as were the fine clothes—his trousers and tunic were a plain gray in a weave suited to walking, and his scuffed leather boots looked as if they had traveled many miles in their lifetime. His eyes were the same, though, unsettlingly mismatched in a way that was even more apparent in the morning light, and full of laughter.
“I, um—” I came to a stuttering halt, uncertain how I should address this unfamiliar person. River took little notice. He shook out the chuba folded over his arm, then swept it over his shoulders. I had to suppress a gasp. It was the finest tahrskin chuba I had ever seen, far finer than my mother’s, though made in the customary way—two-sided, one dark and one pale. River’s somehow made him seem taller, more sharply defined, and it fit as if it had been made for him. The short black fur gleamed in the sunlight.
“Dyonpo, we should make haste,” Norbu said. He scanned the horizon, where a line of clouds was gathering. “We should be off the mountain before the rain reaches us.”
“I can help with that,” Tem piped up. He looked immediately regretful when all eyes trained upon him, but he pushed on. “I’ve been studying weather spells. I think I could delay the rain, at least for a while.”
Norbu stared at him blankly, as if Tem were a species of animal he had never seen before. River grimaced. “What is he doing here?”
I bristled at his tone but managed to keep my temper. “He asked to join the expedition as Norbu’s assistant, if that’s all right with you. He has a talent for shamanism.”
“Does he?” River gave Tem a skeptical look. “I’ve observed his talent for falling off things, which doesn’t exactly recommend him for an expedition like this. And he’ll be a nuisance to Norbu.”
“I wouldn’t mind, dyonpo,” Norbu said. “I’ve been missing my assistant.”
I held my breath, but River only shrugged. “Kamzin, the map?”
I started. Feeling unexpectedly nervous, I fumbled around in my pack until I extricated the map of the Samyar Plains.
I had sketched out the route to Raksha in charcoal, carefully calculating distances and noting streams and potential campsites. It would take a traveler of average abilities a month or more to reach the mountain from Azmiri—but in a month, summer would be over and the weather on the highest peaks would be unpredictable. My goal, therefore, was to reach it within fifteen days.
I didn’t know if it was possible. But we would have to try.
“We can make it to Winding Pass in five days, Riv—um, dyonpo,” I said, holding the map open so he could see the route. “If we keep up a good pace.”
“Five days to the pass?” River said. “Is that the best we can do? I want to close as much distance as possible between us and Mara. He and Lusha have a full day’s head start.”
“I know this part of the Aryas like I know my own hands,” I said. “The other routes may be faster, but they’re more dangerous, which could slow us down in unexpected ways.”