WE EMERGED FROM Winding Pass just as the sun was setting behind the mountains, stepping into the early twilight. The clouds that clung to the horizon, dark and threatening, had split like ice into smaller fragments, which were stained now with orange and gold.
I gazed across the landscape before us. I had never been east of the Arya Mountains—there were few who had. It was a world of foothills and valleys, dark and impenetrable, and beyond that the unexplored lowlands, where there lurked a vast expanse of trees as dark as pitch.
The Nightwood.
I shuddered. Even here, miles away, the witches’ forest stretched its tendrils toward the mountains. Rue pines, stout at this altitude, jabbed up from the rocky ground. I brushed my hand against a bough, coming away with a handful of needles. Though they looked black at a distance, they were in fact darkest green—a green that seemed to drink in the growing shadows around it.
“Kamzin,” River called, “we need to set up camp.”
I looked around. We were still at a considerable elevation, almost at the snow line, and the terrain around us was uneven with till and knifelike grasses. I recognized the place—at least, I thought I did.
“Just a little farther,” I said, even though my entire body ached with weariness. “There should be a stream up ahead.”
Sure enough, we soon came upon a hollow where a stream trickled down from a waterfall. We removed our packs and dropped them on the bank. Dargye and Aimo helped Norbu down from the yak, while Tem fetched water. Norbu was barely conscious. I spoke to him quietly, but he seemed unable to focus on me, and muttered something about the cold. Blood trickled from a wound above his collarbone, a sharp, circular tear with a bluish cast. Even after I cleaned it with snow, and bandaged it, the wound continued to ooze. I had never seen anything like it.
“Can you set the warding spells?” I murmured to Tem. I hated asking, for he looked so exhausted. His palms, I noticed, were riddled with cuts from gripping the sharp-edged kinnika so tightly. But he only nodded silently, took out the bells, and set to work.
When dinner was ready, Aimo helped Norbu with his food. A cup of tea and an hour next to a warm fire had given the shaman some of his strength back, though he still seemed out of sorts. He kept glancing over his shoulder, a puzzled look on his face, as if concerned someone was sneaking about in the shadows.
“He’s still cold,” Aimo said. Dargye seemed to edge back slightly, as if she had said he was contagious. The big man seemed nervous around Norbu, and kept wandering off to gather more firewood, though we had a healthy pile already. Whenever he looked at him, his hand returned to the single talisman he wore around his neck, a copper pendant of a type popular in Azmiri. His sister, by contrast, quietly kept Norbu’s tea brimming and hot, and even periodically attempted to rub feeling into his hands. I couldn’t help admiring Aimo’s fearlessness.
I touched the shaman’s arm, and found that Aimo was right. Despite the blazing fire and the blankets, he was trembling.
“Tem, try that spell you used on me that time I fell through the ice in Gau Lake. Remember?”
Tem shook his head, his forehead creased in a worried frown. “I don’t think it would help.”
“How is he?” River said, and we all started, as if a stranger had appeared in our midst. Sweeping his chuba out of the way, he crouched before the shaman and took his hand. “Norbu? Can you hear me?”
“He’s barely spoken since we left the pass,” I said. “And his wound is still weeping.”
“Perhaps you know a spell that could help him, River,” Tem said in an odd, quiet sort of voice.
“I’m afraid not,” River said, unnervingly calm. Several fiangul feathers were tangled in his hair. The wind caught one and sent it tumbling away.
“We can’t carry on with Norbu like this,” I said.
“Well, we can’t linger here,” Dargye said, combing his beard nervously. “This is witch territory. The edge of the Nightwood. I can see that foul forest from here.”
“It’s witch territory from here to Raksha,” Tem said. “We’re no safer carrying on than we are staying put.”
“How can you be certain of that?” Dargye snapped.
“There’s no way to be certain of anything,” River said. “Least of all witches. But we must push on. Mara is too far ahead. At this rate, he’ll beat us to the mountain for sure.”
I stared at him. Did he truly care more about besting his rival than the life of his traveling companion? I opened my mouth to retort, but fortunately, Tem cut in.
“Norbu needs rest,” he said. “We all do.” Dargye murmured agreement. His knee was bleeding again after another bad stumble while fleeing the pass, and the wound would need to be spelled with healing charms to prevent infection. With a soft gasp of pain, Aimo removed one of her boots, revealing skin covered in blisters and ugly, dark bruises.
“What Norbu needs is a proper healer,” I said. “We should go to Jangsa.”
The others stared at me.
“Jangsa?” Aimo’s brow knitted. “I heard it was abandoned.”
I shook my head. “My father knows the elder—he met him once, years ago, when they were both boys. They still exchange letters sometimes, using Lusha’s ravens. Father says he’s a good man, if a little odd. I think he would help us.”
Dargye made a skeptical noise. I didn’t blame him—Jangsa, the northernmost village in the Aryas, was situated in the foothills of Mount Zerza at the edge of the witch lands. The inhabitants were a mistrustful, superstitious people who never strayed from their village or sought contact with outsiders. While the southern villages were ruled by the emperor, Jangsa was outside his domain—protected by its isolation, the village stood alone, for better or for worse. Because of this, or perhaps some flinty quality they were born with, the villagers were known for a self-reliance that bordered on fanatical.
“We have no idea what will happen,” Dargye said. His hand was at his talisman again, as if merely speaking of Jangsa required warding magic. “They might capture us. Kill us. The people of Jangsa obey no emperor or lord. They answer to no one.”
“It’s our only option.”
Dargye opened his mouth again, but Aimo put her hand on his arm. To my surprise, he heaved a sigh, then fell silent.
“I can adjust our route to compensate for lost time,” I said.
River was quiet for a long moment. He gazed at Norbu, his brow furrowed. The shaman’s eyes remained fixed on a spot just beyond his shoulder.
“How far to the mountain?” he said.
“We’re on schedule,” I said. “It took five days to reach Winding Pass. It’s another ten to Raksha, twelve at most.”
“Not good enough,” River said, standing. “With this delay we’ll have to move faster. We’ll draw up a plan tomorrow.”