But why was I comparing him to Tem? River’s gaze met mine, and a smile flickered on his face. I looked away so quickly my neck hurt.
I unrolled Mingma’s map of the Northern Aryas, tucking one edge beneath the tail of a sleeping dragon. The explorer had been an accomplished artist—though the mountains were drawn with quick, almost careless strokes, they were more accurate than most other maps I had seen. Raksha—featured among the Arya range and then, in a series of separate panels, by itself—was particularly vivid. I could almost feel the chill of the wind that roared across its slopes, the great and terrible shadow it cast.
I traced the lines of it, picturing Mingma’s pen flying gracefully over the canvas, his head bent over his work. He had been young when he died, I knew. I wondered again what had happened to him.
Gathering my chuba around my legs, I let my gaze drift to the mountains. Their white peaks were knife-sharp against the darkening sky. Though the western slopes of the Aryas were less treacherous than the east, given the risk of witches, places like this were far from safe. The red-toothed bears of Bengarek Forest were aggressive, and there were also snow leopards and wolf packs to contend with. We would have to cast our warding spells carefully every night, and assign a lookout during the day.
While part of me made note of these things carefully, another, larger part could hardly believe my situation. I was really here. Marching into the wilderness with the Royal Explorer, staring down unknown dangers. My hated lessons with Chirri, the weight of my family’s disappointment—it was all gone. And if I did well on the expedition, well enough to impress River, it could be gone forever.
A shiver of excitement traced its way down my spine.
I wondered if we would come across any evidence of Lusha and Mara tomorrow. We had passed the remains of a small campfire a few miles back, but there was no way to be certain it was theirs. Hunting parties from Azmiri sometimes ventured this far afield.
I gazed at the rising moon—Lusha could be looking at it too, also with a pile of maps unfurled before her. She couldn’t be far away. We would catch up to her—I knew we would.
Suddenly, something was on my shoulder, digging sharp claws into my skin. Something hairy, with a cold, wet nose that brushed against my cheek. I yelped.
“Kamzin, what—” Tem stopped. He let out a disbelieving laugh. “What is he doing here?”
I yanked Ragtooth off me. “You little rat! I told you not to follow me!”
Ragtooth bared his teeth, looking all too pleased with himself. When I released him, he gave a large yawn, stretched his back, and began to groom himself, as if he were settling into his customary place by the hearth back home. I couldn’t help laughing.
“What is that?” River said. He was propped up on his elbows, staring.
“He’s Kamzin’s familiar,” Tem said.
“I gathered that. I mean, what is he?”
“What do you think he is?” I lifted Ragtooth around his pudgy belly and transferred him to my lap. “A fox.”
“Are you sure? Looks more like a hairball with teeth.”
“He has some mange,” I said with dignity. “There’s no need to be rude about it.”
River and Norbu exchanged a look. The shaman appeared baffled. “Is it some form of weasel?”
“How many weasels have fangs like that?” River said.
“Stop it,” I said. “You’re being ridiculous.”
“Don’t get her started,” Tem said to River. “She won’t listen to reason about that creature. He’s been hovering around her since she was a baby. Her father tried chasing him away, but he came back every time. He gives everybody the creeps.”
River looked bemused. “Why couldn’t you have ravens, Kamzin, like your sister? Much more useful than—well, whatever that is.”
“Still,” Norbu said somewhat dubiously, “it is interesting that the girl should have a familiar. I understand it’s a rare honor.”
“It is,” Tem said, while I stewed. “Some say they’re sent by the spirit world to watch over those they favor.”
“Then these familiars have special abilities?” Norbu said.
“Well, not exactly,” Tem said, with an apologetic glance at me. “They’re ordinary animals, though the bond they share with their master can be quite useful.”
“It’s said that the shaman Bansi had a hawk.” The look on Norbu’s face indicated how I ranked in comparison to the shaman Bansi. I smothered a sigh. Most people reacted with disbelief when they discovered I had a familiar—I was used to it by now. Lusha and I were the only ones in Azmiri to have them, though the elder of a neighboring village had a monkey. Familiars were common among shamans and great heroes, the kinds of people that stories were written about—people like Lusha. Not like me. Clearly, as I had often said to Tem, even the spirits could make mistakes.
Ragtooth bared his teeth at Norbu, and the shaman inched away.
“Drop it,” I muttered, poking him. The fox snapped at my finger.
River shook his head. “The spirits have an interesting sense of humor, don’t they?”
“Ragtooth and I are going to bed,” I said, raising my chin. As obnoxious as the fox could be, I would not sit there and let them insult him. “Good night.”
Lifting the beast by the scruff of the neck, I walked over to my tent and pulled the flaps securely shut behind us.
“Don’t listen to them,” I whispered. “You can’t help it if you were born a little different.”
The fox gazed at me with his green eyes, which gleamed like polished jade. I tossed my boots on the ground, then—after glancing at Tem’s neatly arranged belongings—picked them up again guiltily and tucked them into the corner of the tent. I settled into my blankets, shivering at their cold touch, and Ragtooth curled his body into a pillow of warmth against my head.
I must have slept for two hours, maybe three—when I woke, it was deep night, a darkness that could only exist in the valleys between great mountains. Tem snored on the other side of the tent.
I shifted restlessly. Something had woken me, I was sure of it. As I lay there, listening, the noise came again.
A skittering, snuffling sound.
It was coming from somewhere outside the tent. It seemed to rise and fall, as if whatever was making the noise was moving closer, then away, then closer again.
“Ragtooth?” I whispered. I looked around the tent and met the fox’s glittering gaze. Ragtooth’s ears were pricked, and though he didn’t appear fearful, there was a watchfulness about him.
I lifted myself up onto my elbows. I could see no blue glow through the walls of the tent, and in any case, it didn’t sound like a dragon. It was too large.
My heart began to pound, and my mind leaped to an image of a snow leopard, creeping through the darkness on enormous paws, drawn by the scent of human flesh.