Or worse.
I glanced at Tem. He seemed more alert this morning, scanning the terrain, his hand absently brushing the bells looped through his belt. After Winding Pass, he seemed changed in some indefinable way. Was it only my perception? While I had always known of Tem’s power, it had never been tested in Azmiri—as a lowly herdsman’s son, he had never had much reason to use it, except to keep his animals healthy. The spell he had cast in Winding Pass went beyond what I suspected even Chirri was capable of—though I could tell that, in his thoughtless modesty, Tem was untroubled by any reflections of this nature.
I kicked at a pebble, watching it skitter over snow and grass before tumbling over a ridge and vanishing from sight. Who would Tem be, when our journey was over? Who would I be?
River walked behind us, his strange eyes narrowed as he scanned the landscape. He too was quieter this morning, whether from weariness or concern for his friend, or something else entirely. We had sat together by the fire that morning, our knees touching as we bent our heads over Mingma’s map. Despite Tem’s warnings and my own disquiet, when River and I were alone I often found myself forgetting everything beyond the tenor of his voice and the movement of his strong, sun-darkened hands as he traced the lines of the map.
By midafternoon we had reached the terraced farms that stretched out from Jangsa. The landscape was lush but rocky, boulders jutting up from the dark green grasses, painted with moss. Drizzle began to fall as we passed a spirit shrine cut into the slope of the mountainside. Dozens of bronze music bowls lined the roughly built shelves. The rain pooled inside them, creating a strange, watery melody that seeped through the air, and could be heard long after we left the shrine behind.
Soon we began passing people. A man drawing two yaks behind him; a child watching from the hillside; a woman with a jug of water strapped to her back. Each stared at us as we went by. Tem called out greetings at first, but soon stopped. The villagers’ clothing was composed of simple shifts and trousers, mostly undyed. They were all thin, even the children, and pale, and there was a hardness in their expressions that made me shrink instinctively from their eyes.
Norbu, trailing behind with Aimo, stumbled and nearly fell. Two men watching us made a warding gesture, pressing the tips of their fingers together, and retreated into one of the huts. Their door did not open again.
Finally, the hills parted to reveal the village, which crept along the base of Mount Zerza. It was an eerie sight. Easily half the stone structures were little more than ruins. These lay mostly against the lower slopes of the village, but there were some higher up, closer to what was certainly the elder’s walled home, that were roofless and crumbling, overgrown with vegetation.
“What happened here?” Tem said.
I shivered. “The witches. Father said they used to raid the village for livestock, or sometimes just for amusement. They laid curses on the houses of those who fought them—most had to be destroyed. When Father visited Jangsa years ago, he said they still hadn’t recovered from those times. I guess that hasn’t changed.”
“They say some of the villagers have witch blood themselves.” Tem cast a nervous glance at a woman lurking in the shadows of another hut, who darted back inside as their eyes met. “I wonder if there’s any truth to it?”
“I don’t know. But I won’t be sorry if we don’t linger here.”
The dirt path broadened as we entered the village. The stone houses lining the streets were unpainted and weathered with age. They had the appearance of dissolving back into the mountainside, returning to the earth from which they had been hewn. As we climbed, villagers stopped what they were doing, emerging from their homes to watch our progress. A small crowd formed ahead, enough to stop us from advancing farther. Their expressions were not friendly.
River was suddenly at my side. “Perhaps this would be a good time to introduce yourself,” he muttered in my ear.
I turned to the villagers. “I’m Kamzin of Azmiri, daughter of Elder Thaken. I’m here to ask for your help.”
Silence. The villagers regarded me as if I had spoken a different language. I swallowed, unable to read past their blank stares.
“We don’t want to intrude,” I said, “but our friend is injured. We are on an expedition to Mount Raksha, but we were ambushed in Winding Pass. This is River Shara. He—”
There was muttering at that. River groaned under his breath.
“What?” I hissed at him.
River only rolled his eyes. A woman approached suddenly and wrapped a welcoming scarf around River’s neck. She was followed by another, and another. Soon River was engulfed in so much fabric he appeared to be drowning in it.
He waved another woman back, yanking away the white squares. “Thank you, thank you. That’s not necessary—really.”
I shook my head in astonishment. Even in a place as isolated as this, people had heard of River Shara.
A man stepped forward. He was tall, nearing middle age, and dressed in a green-and-blue chuba that formed a stark contrast to the villagers’ plain clothes. Apart from this, though, he wore no signs of rank or ornamentation.
“I am Chonjor, the Elder of Jangsa,” the man said. “You are truly the Royal Explorer?”
River extricated himself from another scarf and gave me a look. “Yes.”
The man took half a step forward. A strange look flitted across his face, something more potent than the amazement that shone in the villagers’ eyes. But it was gone too quickly to identify.
“You honor us with your visit,” the elder said, bowing.
River beckoned Norbu forward. The shaman, leaning heavily on Aimo’s arm, looked even paler than he had yesterday. “Can your healers attend to my friend?”
The elder bowed his head. “Of course, dyonpo. Follow me.”
The crowd parted, and we fell into step behind the man. River stayed back to help Aimo with Norbu. I suspected, however, that he was merely trying to use the shaman to shield him from the curious villagers. Many made warding gestures as they caught sight of Norbu, and seemed little inclined to go anywhere near him.
“Kamzin,” the elder said as we mounted a steep path that cut across the mountainside, “you must forgive us for not giving you a warmer welcome. Jangsa rarely receives visitors, and as you probably know, we prefer it that way. But a daughter of Thaken is always welcome here. I have heard of your sister Lusha—I didn’t know Thaken had other children.”
I suppressed a sigh. “That’s all right.”
He gave me a sharp look, a smile tugging at his lips. Despite his stern mouth and hawkish features, he had warm eyes, bright and keen. I sensed a quick intelligence behind them, that of a man who observed more than he let on.