The skittering grew louder. Again I heard something breathing in rough, animal pants. It seemed to be right outside the tent now. Terror froze me in place. Behind me, Ragtooth was equally motionless. We waited, barely breathing, until the thing moved away. The noises grew fainter and fainter, and then they were gone.
I fell back against my blankets, cold sweat bathing my brow. Tem gave a snort and rolled onto his side.
“Some comfort you are,” I muttered. Ragtooth nosed up to me and licked my forehead. I pulled him to my chest. His heartbeat was faint but steady, and he still gave no sign of fear, though his ears remained pricked long after the sounds died away.
I lay awake for another hour at least, straining to hear. But all was still and quiet, apart from the trickle of the spring and the wind brushing through the trees. Finally, I fell asleep, the fox a warm, soft weight against my chest.
EIGHT
I WOKE AT first light. A crow was squawking somewhere in the distance, fracturing the peace of the morning. I had been dreaming of one of Chirri’s lessons—I was hunched over an enormous basket, separating ripe winterberries from green ones. The task would have been easier had I been able to master the spell Chirri had given me—the ripe berries should have risen to the top of the basket, but instead, they flew up and pelted me in the face. While I wiped the stinging juice from my eyes, Chirri harangued me for my incompetence, her voice growing sharper and sharper until it made my ears ache.
As my eyes adjusted to my surroundings, I remembered that Chirri was miles away, and I had no lessons to attend. Muttering a prayer of thankfulness, I staggered to my feet, stripping off my old clothes and swapping them for clean ones from my pack. I moved as quickly and quietly as I could, trying to ignore the feeling of awkwardness. I was used to having Tem nearby when I slept—during his father’s drinking bouts, he would often spend the night on a pile of mats in my bedroom. But sharing a small shelter in the wilderness, with no privacy to be sought anywhere, was an entirely different experience, and I found myself wishing we had been able to bring separate tents.
Ragtooth was gone, which didn’t surprise me. He always appeared and disappeared at will. He would no doubt follow us when he felt like it, though I half hoped, for his sake, that he had gone home to Azmiri.
There were no sounds of movement from the others. I breathed a small sigh of relief—I wanted to be the first to rise. I had decided that I would make every effort, every day, to impress River with my skill and determination. I would be the first to wake and the last to bed. I would not complain, even if my shoulders burned from the weight of my pack and my feet felt ready to fall off. I would be the image of a daring explorer. I would be formidable.
My head nodded as I bent over my boots. Cursing, I forced myself to stand, dashing the sleep from my eyes. This part of my plan would take some getting used to. I was not accustomed to getting up early.
My hair was hopelessly knotted again, but I didn’t bother to wrestle with it. Tossing my chuba over my shoulders, I stepped out into the chill morning air.
There I froze. In the faint light of dawn, I could make out a line of tracks leading from the scraggly brush at the base of Mount Imja past my tent.
I bent down, brushing my fingers over the markings. They were like nothing I had seen before. It was as if their maker had half stepped, half glided through our camp. My heart in my throat, I followed the trail past Norbu’s tent, and over a little rise in the ground, where it stopped.
Directly outside River’s tent.
“River?” I called quietly. No response. “River!”
The tent parted, and River poked his head out. His hair stuck up like an angry cat’s. “What?”
I let out a sigh of relief. “I thought the bear had eaten you.”
“What bear?” Dargye shuffled out of his tent, looking nervous. “When did you see a bear?”
“I heard it, last night.”
“Don’t worry, Dargye,” River said. “There was no bear. Norbu cast his warding spells carefully.”
“I certainly did.” Norbu emerged from his own tent. He was still tying his chuba, but was otherwise fully dressed. “I have never before allowed such a creature to enter our camp. Any bear that came within smelling distance of us would have become disoriented and turned around.”
“Then it was something else,” I persisted. “What do you make of these tracks?”
Norbu and Dargye bent to examine them. River had disappeared back into his tent.
“Curious.” The lines in Norbu’s brow deepened. “It looks like the trail of a snake.”
“It was definitely not a snake. I heard it.”
“River and I have encountered beasts of all shapes and sizes in our travels,” Norbu said. “As the personal shaman of the Royal Explorer, I have some experience—”
“I heard it snuffling,” I said slowly. “Was it a snake with a cold?”
The shaman shrugged, seeming to lose interest. His gaze wandered to the fire Aimo was waking from the embers. “As I said, my warding spells have never failed. I’m sure it was nothing to worry about.” He moved away, Dargye trailing in his wake. I stared after him, speechless.
River emerged, running a hand through his hair. The green of his tunic made his gold-brown eye gleam, while the other seemed blacker by comparison.
“I have all my toes,” he announced. “I counted. Nothing took a nibble in the night.”
“Is Norbu really the greatest shaman in the Three Cities?” I said.
“Well . . .” River paused. “Why do you ask?”
“For one, Tem said he was having trouble with a basic wayfinding spell yesterday. And those talismans he wears are ridiculous. Gilded monkey teeth? Polished emeralds? They’re useless.”
River was gazing up at the sky, hands in his pockets, as if checking the weather. “Are they?”
“Yes.” My voice hardened. “Chirri taught me that much.” Shamanic magic required talismans, which channeled the shaman’s power into spells. Most shamans brought a supply of talismans wherever they went, as different talismans were conducive to different spells. Bone talismans tended to suit healing spells, while copper and iron were for warding or protective spells. Talismans carved from wood could influence or even control the elements—some could summon fire, for example. Not all talismans were equal in strength, though, and all weakened with age. Some were fakes—sold by unscrupulous merchants to wealthy villagers for appearances rather than power. These were usually made of gold or precious stones, which seemed to make up the bulk of Norbu’s supply.
“Greatness is overrated,” River said. “Norbu is one of my oldest friends. He’s a trustworthy man.”
“As in we can trust him to protect us, or we can trust him to lead us over a cliff?”
River let out a short laugh. “Shall we leave cliff navigation to your shaman, Kamzin?”
“I’m going to get Tem to look at these tracks,” I said, turning. “He’ll know a spell that can identify them.”
“What tracks?” River said, and then, before I could stop him, scuffed them rapidly with his boot.