River nodded as I spoke, peering down at the map. A strand of unkempt hair fell across his forehead. “All right. What are you thinking?”
“We’ll travel through the Azmiri foothills. Avoid Bengarek Forest, given how dense the undergrowth can be in summer. It’s a thirty-mile hike to Mount Imja—we’ll camp beneath it tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll push on across the plains toward Winding Pass. I expect we’ll catch up to Lusha and Mara there, if not before. They’re carrying all their supplies on their backs, after all, and won’t be able to move as quickly as us.” I unrolled Mingma’s map. “It isn’t safe to linger in the pass, so we’ll have to avoid getting stuck there after dark. Once we’re through, we’ll be in the Nightwood—the borderlands, anyway.” I tried to keep my voice even, as if traveling through the witch lands was something sane people did regularly. “From there, we’ll hike north to Raksha.”
Dargye, standing behind me, made a small noise.
“Yes?” River glanced at him. “Did you have something to say, ah—”
“Dargye, dyonpo,” he said. He too seemed nervous, being addressed by River directly. “I can’t help wondering why we would avoid Bengarek Forest. The undergrowth isn’t as bad as she says, and it’s flat ground, unlike the foothills.”
“And unlike the foothills, we would have a good chance of being attacked by red-toothed bears,” I said, glaring at Dargye. He had agreed to my plan before, when River wasn’t there. “Bengarek Forest is infested with them.”
Dargye barely seemed to be listening to me. He addressed River again, more confidently this time. “I believe the forest is the wisest choice, dyonpo.”
River furrowed his brow. “Kamzin, you didn’t tell me that Dargye knew the way to Raksha.”
“What?” I said. “He doesn’t.”
“I see.” He handed the map back to me, and dumped his pack unceremoniously in Dargye’s arms. “All right, everyone, let’s make for the foothills.”
I couldn’t suppress a smile of triumph. Dargye glowered. I thought I saw River wink at me, but he turned away quickly, and I couldn’t be certain.
The road that led from the village down to the valley sliced back and forth along the flank of the mountain, following the edge of the terraces. The sun wouldn’t touch us for an hour at least, and despite the exertion I was shivering in the chill breeze. It was a crisp, clear day, with only the faintest mist hovering among the forest far below. Despite the early hour, I was full of energy. My feet wanted to move more quickly, and I had to remind myself to take measured steps, to conserve my strength for the long road before me.
River and Norbu walked ahead, their voices occasionally floating back to us, garbled by the wind. I found myself examining River—the profile of his face, as he gestured at something; the stirring of his chuba as he strode easily along the path. I still found it hard to reconcile the young man in front of me with my image of River Shara, the man who, in the three short years he had held the title of Royal Explorer, had mapped half the Empire and established himself as one of the emperor’s closest confidants. Who fought and killed savage barbarian lords and doomed those who betrayed him to slow, lonely deaths in the wilderness.
I recalled how he had seemed to change suddenly, out on the spur, his capricious manner subsumed by something cold, calculating. I shook my head, feeling oddly out of my depth. I was used to the plain-spoken villagers of Azmiri, whose desires were simple and whose lives were small. River was as different from what I knew as a hawk from a sparrow.
Tem and I walked in the middle of the company, followed by Dargye and Aimo with the yak. Tem was fiddling with a strange talisman—a leather cord strung with bells of different shapes and sizes.
“What’s that?” I said.
“Oh—Chirri gave them to me.” He blushed. “They’re kinnika—they help ward off misfortune. This one”—he pointed to a small, black bell—“will alert me to the presence of any creature who means to harm us. It won’t sound for any other reason. See?” He shook the bell. It made no noise whatsoever. “These two will keep a dark spirit at bay while I speak the incantation. This one—” His brow creased as he gazed at the largest bell, bronze with a reddish patina. “I don’t remember what it’s for. I wrote it down, though.”
“That was good of Chirri,” I said. “Something tells me we’re going to need all the help we can get.”
Tem looked guilty. “She should have given them to you. You’re her apprentice.”
“Tsh. You know me. I would have lost them already, or mixed them up so badly I’d be trying to put out a fire with the bell for banishing ghosts. Chirri chose right.”
I had visited Chirri yesterday, to tell her I was leaving. She would have known already, but I had felt it was only right to say good-bye. The old woman’s hut, I had been pleased to discover, was still overrun with baby dragons, which had swarmed me like bees when I entered. Chirri herself had seemed irritated by my visit, muttering something about being woken from a particularly sound nap. Her only comment about the expedition was that I should have left long ago, which made little sense. Rather than leaving her hut with words of wisdom or a useful talisman, I had been unceremoniously shooed out with one of the teething dragons, who now perched on the yak’s neck, gnawing at her lead.
“I’m glad she trusted you,” I added. “I didn’t think she knew—about how powerful you are, I mean.”
“I wouldn’t put it like that.” Tem was the color of an apple now.
“Father would be angry, if he found out she was favoring you,” I said, sighing. “He still thinks I’m going to take over from Chirri when she dies. I suppose if I die first, I won’t have to worry about it. That’s something.”
Tem was quiet for a long moment. “Don’t joke about that, Kamzin.”
“All right, all right.” I gave him a playful shove. “Lighten up. I never said I’d die tomorrow. And you know Chirri’s going to make it to two hundred, at least.”
Tem didn’t reply. He stopped to remove a rock in his boot. But he didn’t catch up to me again.
When the sunlight oozed over the peak of Azmiri, it grew hot. I removed my chuba and looped it through the straps of my pack. The frost on the grasses and rhododendrons was melting fast, a steady drip-drip-drip that mingled with the honks of the bar-headed geese passing overhead and the whistling wind. Small creatures stirred among the foliage—warblers searching out their breakfast, or foxes on their way to the village to spy on the chicken coops. I tried to focus on these sounds, and the steady rhythm of my boots against the path, but found it impossible. We caught occasional glimpses of Imja, its snowy, pinnacled summit painted orange by the rising sun. Beyond it, far beyond, was Mount Raksha.
I shivered with mingled excitement and fear. It was as if I could feel the mountain out there in the mingled shadow and sunlight of the morning. Now that my feet were set firmly on the path, and moving toward my destination, I realized just how mad my decision was. I had never climbed Mount Raksha.