“You’re following in your mother’s footsteps, I see,” he said. “And traveling with the Royal Explorer himself.”
“Yes,” I said, “but this is no mapmaking expedition. The emperor has sent us to find something very important to him. To the Empire.”
“I see.” He nodded, as if this vague explanation made all the sense in the world. “It’s a dangerous path you’re following.”
I gave a short laugh. “There are no safe ones, where we’re going.”
He gave me another look. “But that doesn’t trouble you, does it?”
“I—” My voice faltered. He smiled at me.
“Forgive me, child,” he said. “I don’t mean to put you on the spot. When you get to be as old as me, you start to recognize certain kinds of people.”
“Kinds of people?” I repeated, nonplussed. “What kind of person am I?”
“The kind that seeks out danger.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “The kind that laughs at it. Your mother was just the same, or so your father told me. I’m sorry to say I never met her.”
I stared at the back of his head. I could not think of a response to this. I felt suddenly exposed—as if in the space of a few seconds, this strange man had seen right through me.
We wound our way through the village along roads that were little more than dirt tracks, in some places washed by the rains to a precarious thinness, passing villagers bearing lanterns. A shaman paced back and forth across a square, his head bowed over a censer of incense. Anticipation hung thick in the air.
“What’s going on?” I said, eager to turn the conversation away from myself.
“The Ghost March,” the elder replied. “We’re just beginning the preparations. Tonight there will be dancing and music. You’re welcome to attend, if you wish.”
“The Ghost March?” I stared at him. “But that was weeks ago. You celebrate it now?”
“We celebrate it every month, on the ninth day,” the man said. He seemed to notice my surprise, and added, “we have more spirits to appease than you southerners, you see.”
We passed a row of ruins, tall and skeletal, and a shiver traveled down my spine as their shadows fell across me.
“Your ancestors suffered greatly because of the witches,” I said.
“Our ancestors were foolish,” the elder said, in the same offhand way in which he had appraised my motivations. He caught my stunned expression and gave a small shrug. “It’s true. Yes, the witches stole from us, and worked their dark magic on those who crossed them. But it was the Elder of Jangsa at the time who turned all this into a war. He ordered us to shoot upon sight any witch or wild creature who strayed near our village. The witches retaliated, of course. Our village was very nearly destroyed.”
“By the witches,” I said, emphasizing the last word. “They were the ones who tried to destroy you—you can’t possibly believe that was your elder’s fault? For protecting you?”
The man laughed shortly. “Protecting us? Yes, I suppose he was protecting us. You can see the results for yourself. Violence leads to one thing only, and that is more violence.”
We passed a temple—little more than the foundation and part of a wall, with an array of talismans draped across it.
“But it must be better,” I persisted, “now that the witches have lost their powers.”
“In a way,” he said musingly, and again I couldn’t help staring at him. I had never met anyone who didn’t speak reverently of the spell that had bound the witches’ powers.
“It is easier, of course,” the elder added. “Though there are few among us who do not gaze out at that forest and wonder. The witches are not entirely powerless. Nor are their memories short.”
I swallowed. Glancing over my shoulder, I could see the outskirts of the dark forest looming on the horizon.
The rain was letting up, a few sunbeams shafting through the clouds. At last, we arrived at the elder’s house, which was long and squat, huddled against the mountain. Though it looked in need of repairs, like all the houses in the village, the shutters had been painted in bright reds and blues, and there was a well-tended garden along one side. The door was an even brighter red, with a colorful tassel dangling from the handle.
We left the yak to graze on a patch of grass, and followed the elder inside. Beyond the doors was a small reception room—a fire burned in the hearth, and woven mats had been laid on the floor for guests. Everything was finely made—from the mats to the painted scenes on the walls to the row of wooden spirit wheels, but also worn and faded, as if belonging to another era. A woman greeted us as we entered. The elder spoke to her in a low voice.
“We will send for our healer,” the elder said, turning back to me. “While she sees to your companion, you and the others are welcome to rest and eat, as my guests.”
“Thank you,” I said. My stomach rumbled at the mention of food—real food, not our tasteless rations. Perhaps Ragtooth sensed a meal too, for he poked his head out of my pack and sniffed the air. The woman started.
“It’s all right,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to stuff Ragtooth back into the pack, and receiving a bloody thumb for my troubles. “He’s harmless. Mostly.”
“You have a familiar?” the elder said, his eyebrows disappearing beneath his hair.
“Yes.” I stopped wrestling with Ragtooth and allowed him to hop onto the ground. He wandered to a sunbeam and began to groom himself. The elder and the woman stared at me, and I began to feel uncomfortable. I was so used to Ragtooth’s presence that I often forgot how rare familiars were.
“Where’s River?” Dargye said suddenly.
I turned. Norbu, his face sweaty and pale, was being helped by Aimo and Tem onto a low bench. Dargye stood by the door, as if hesitant to proceed farther. River was nowhere to be seen.
“Some kids surrounded him on the road,” Tem said. “All begging for stories of his legendary adventures and grabbing at his chuba. I guess news that River Shara is in town travels fast.”
I snorted at the image of River being swarmed by runny-nosed children. “And you didn’t think to help him, Tem?”
Tem gave an exaggerated shrug. “For some reason, it didn’t occur to me.”
The healer arrived soon after, a slight, older woman with a guarded smile, who took one look at Norbu and murmured something to the elder. He nodded. Two men appeared and helped Norbu to his feet. They disappeared through another doorway.
“Will Norbu be all right?” I said.
The elder gave me another sharp look. “You didn’t tell us about the fiangul.”
“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
“No matter.” The elder waved his hand, though his brow was furrowed. “You shouldn’t have taken Winding Pass. We avoid the place. The fiangul grow stronger, and venture farther afield, with each passing winter. And they are not the only dark things stirring in the mountains again.”
“I thought those were just rumors,” I said, recalling what Mara had told us about the fiangul sightings in Lhotang.