I stopped suddenly. The road had ended—before me was another ruin, dark against the night sky. A shrine.
A long row of stone steps, cracked with age and patchy with moss, led to a jumble of broken stone. Only one of the columns still stood; the other three lay on their sides, together with what little remained of the roof. Tall statues leaned sideways, human figures—former elders? I wondered—who were now faceless and handless, their arms stretched out toward a world they could neither see nor touch. A family of birds had made a nest in one, in the crook between neck and shoulder.
I sat down on the steps, letting myself catch my breath at last. It was as if the dizziness I should have felt during my dance with River had finally caught up to me—I felt almost nauseous, and too hot. I gazed out over the village as the lanterns drifted into the sky. Most caught fire and fell, but there was one that survived, pulled up and along the mountainside by the wind. I watched until it grew so small it seemed to disappear.
“Kamzin? Is everything all right?” a voice asked.
I started. But it was only the elder, who had come silently up the road behind me. He held a spirit mask in his hand.
“I’m fine,” I said. “The music is lovely, but I just needed to get away.”
The man nodded. “I understand. Our customs can be . . . unnerving for outsiders.”
He took a seat on the steps, and though he left several feet of space between us, I still felt like moving farther away. It wasn’t just the way he looked at me with that odd smile—as if he already had the measure of me, and it was a measure that amused him. It was something else, something I couldn’t put my finger on.
“The emperor set River Shara a cruel task,” he said. “Even if you succeed in climbing Raksha, you may meet with any number of dangers at the summit. The witches may have abandoned the place, but their presence lingers.”
I stared at him. “You spoke to River.”
“No.” He smiled. “You think we don’t know about the sky city? It’s said that a great many magical objects were left behind when the witches abandoned it. It only makes sense that the emperor would seek them.”
I thought this over. “Has anyone ever seen it?”
“Oh no. No human has set foot there. The witches are shape-shifters—or at least they were, before they lost their powers. They can make their homes anywhere. The canopy of a forest, a cave deep beneath the earth. The summit of the highest mountain, which even the birds fear to fly over. We mortals are not so fortunate.”
I peered at him through the darkness. “Are you a seer?”
“No.” He motioned absently at the sky, as if to pay his respect. “There are those to whom the stars reveal their secrets, but I am not one of them. I have never had the talent for hearing their voices.”
“That’s too bad,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “I was hoping you could tell me whether we’ll succeed.”
“Ah.” He nodded. “I don’t need the stars to answer that. I believe you will succeed, Kamzin, because that’s who you are. Though I wonder if it will be in the way you expect.”
The elder’s gaze was mellow but unwavering. He had not looked away from me since he sat down, not even to glance at the lanterns that floated by.
“What did you mean before?” I said suddenly. “You said the fiangul are growing stronger every year, and that other dark creatures are stirring. Did you mean the witches?”
His gaze, for the first time, flickered from mine. “I would not be the first to draw a connection between the two.”
“What do you mean? Are they allies?”
“No,” he said, “and yes. In Jangsa, there is a tale that tells of how the witches created the fiangul. That once, many generations ago, there was a village in Winding Pass whose inhabitants offended the witches. As punishment, they lay a curse upon them, which transformed them into the creatures you met in the storm.”
“I’ve never heard that.”
“It’s a very old story,” the elder said. “Possibly much twisted with time. There certainly was a village—many of the foundations remain, great stone slabs hidden beneath the drifts. But why it was destroyed, and what became of its people, that is anyone’s guess.”
I swallowed. “Then if the witches were to regain their powers—the fiangul would only grow stronger. Wouldn’t they?”
“The world is a dark place,” the elder said, as if this were an answer. “It has always been such.”
I suppressed a shiver. Again I saw the black eyes of the fiangul, boring into mine, felt the brush of air stirred by their wingbeats. I didn’t want to be there anymore, pinned under the elder’s gaze and contemplating such terrifying possibilities.
“I should get some sleep,” I said, rising. “We’re leaving in the morning, if Norbu is better.”
“I’m sure he will be,” the elder said placidly. “Good night, Thaken’s daughter.”
I forced a smile and walked away. I had taken only a few steps when the elder called, “Kamzin?”
I turned.
“You are always welcome here.” Another lantern drifted past, briefly illuminating the broken shrine. “It’s something I would say to few outsiders.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
He smiled. “You remind me of your father in some ways, and I’ve always respected him. He has an unusual way of looking at the world. He does not divide everything into tidy halves the way most people do. Right and wrong, good and evil—he sees beyond absolutes, like all great leaders.”
I opened and then closed my mouth. The elder seemed to take no notice of my confusion, and finally turned to gaze out over the village. Murmuring a good night, I walked hastily away, and even though I knew he was no longer looking at me, I felt his gaze burning into the back of my head.
TWELVE
“I WON’T FORGET that any time soon,” Tem said.
We were setting up our tent for the night, having traveled through the day after leaving Jangsa at first light. Norbu seemed stronger for the healer’s ministrations, and barely lagged at all, though I noticed he still glanced over his shoulder sometimes, a puzzled frown on his face. River, anxious to close the distance with Mara, stopped often to hurry us. The delay seemed to have put him on edge; he looked repeatedly at the sun as its movement counted down the hours of daylight.
But if River was eager to be moving again, so was I. We found no new evidence of Lusha and Mara—had they taken a different route, or were they now so far ahead that the elements had erased the telltale signs of their presence? I found myself stamping out my own frustration whenever Tem fell behind. After a punishing hike of fifty miles, we were all relieved to have stopped by a grove of chir trees as dusk neared. The light from the campfire and the gamboling dragons played against their trunks.
“Won’t forget what?” I said innocently. “Jangsa? Or dancing with that girl?”