He drew something from his pocket: a bunched-up piece of soiled wool. He shook it out, revealing—
“A sock?” I said. “Thanks, Tem. You shouldn’t have.”
“It’s not mine,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I found it this afternoon, when we passed through that boulder field.”
My heart sped up. Gingerly, I took the sock, pinching as little of the fabric as possible between my thumb and forefinger. “Well, it isn’t Lusha’s, but—”
“But it looks about the right size for Mara.” Tem was smiling. I felt myself smile back. I tossed the sock aside and wrapped Tem in a hug.
“Thanks,” I whispered. I had been hunting almost constantly for signs of Lusha’s presence, with little success. River believed we were still on their trail, but I was beginning to panic. The terror that had accompanied our encounter with the fiangul had faded, but in its wake was a dark dread. I no longer fantasized about beating Lusha to Raksha—now, when I pictured her face, all I felt was fear.
I had never considered—really considered—what would happen if I didn’t find Lusha before they reached the mountain. But that possibility had become more likely with each passing day. They could easily be there already—setting up their base camp, or perhaps even starting the ascent.
Lusha can’t do this.
My sister had a talent for many things, but climbing wasn’t one of them. That wasn’t what frightened me, though—not exactly. I knew Lusha, and I knew that “can’t” wasn’t a word she understood. It was a quality I found equally frustrating and enviable, and it would serve her well when she became Elder—it already did. Lusha thought nothing of inserting herself into heated disputes between villagers, leading hunting expeditions, or devising complex building projects. She never doubted herself, because she had never failed before. If she met an obstacle on Raksha that was beyond her, would she have the sense to turn back? If she came face-to-face with her own limitations for the first time in her life, would she even recognize them?
Raksha wasn’t the real danger. Lusha was.
I lay awake long after Tem fell asleep, tossing restlessly. A rock dug into my back, which already throbbed where the straps of my heavy pack had pressed against it. I had been fantasizing about sleep for much of the day, and yet now that it presented itself, I found myself completely unable to relax. There were no owls here, no frogs or crickets. The ordinary nighttime noises had been bleached to lifelessness, like the landscape. All that remained was the sound of the wind sweeping, sweeping. Unease plagued me, and not just because we were at the edge of the Nightwood. I brushed my hand against the kinnika draped over Tem’s pack, stroking the edge of a skinny one with a tiny, unreadable symbol scratched into the side. It shivered under my touch. The black bell was silent.
That was when I heard it.
A snuffling, scratching sound. Soft at first, then louder. Its owner crept along the side of the tent, pausing every few steps, as if to sniff its way.
I sat up slowly. My heart was pounding, my throat tight. Tem, as usual, did not stir an inch, even as the noises grew closer. Ragtooth wasn’t there, having disappeared sometime after dinner, to hunt or prowl or whatever it was he did when he wasn’t at my side.
The noises passed the front of the tent just as I drew myself to my feet. For a second, I hesitated.
Then I reached into the pocket of my chuba, which lay across my blankets, and drew out my knife.
The witches are not entirely powerless, the Elder of Jangsa had said. Nor are their memories short. Was that what was out there? Was that what had been stalking us? I glanced at Tem, thinking about waking him. But no—I didn’t want to scare the creature away. I wanted to catch it myself.
Fingers tightening around the knife, I drew back the tent flap and stepped outside.
At first, I saw nothing. The moon had not yet risen, and the rubbly landscape teemed with shadows. But then I saw it—something moved through the darkness.
A loping, four-legged something, about the size of a dog. It crept from rock to rock, its nose to the ground. I snuck along behind it, my heart in my throat and my knife clenched tight in my hand. If I could only get close enough to see what it was—
The beast paused. It had passed Dargye and Aimo’s tent, and was now just outside River’s. As it tilted its head back, sniffing the air, a shiver crawled down my back. It was a wolf, and yet not a wolf. It seemed ill-defined, as if made from shadow or smoke. Only its pointed snout was sharp, sharp as the tip of the crescent moon. It sniffed the air a moment longer, then trotted into River’s tent.
River.
I broke into a sprint, heedless of stealth now. The creature’s shaggy tail disappeared behind the tent flap. Any moment, I expected to hear shouting, or screaming, as River woke to discover a monster gnawing at his limbs.
“River!” I yelled.
I shoved back the tent flap and charged in, wielding my dagger. River’s tent was large enough for several people. Within, there was light—a single dragon crouched in the corner, worrying a piece of yak meat. River himself sat cross-legged, fully dressed, on his blankets in the other corner. Crouched at his feet was the wolf.
Which was not a wolf at all, but a fire demon.
I knew it was a fire demon the second I laid eyes on it. Its body was half substance and half smoke, like all of its kind, and its eyes were the color of fire, as if a furnace burned inside its skull. Though it was wolflike in shape, with a soft gray coat, a plump tail as long again as its body, and tufted paws, its gaze held a strange, hungry intelligence.
“Kamzin?” River rose to his feet, holding one hand out slightly as if I were a wary animal. “It’s all right. Azar-at doesn’t mean any harm.”
Can I taste her, River? The fire demon’s voice was low as a whisper, and slithered in and out of my thoughts. Just one lick. I’ll be good.
“Be quiet, you bag of fleas,” River hissed. “Do you think that’s helpful?”
I staggered backward one step, then another, slowly emerging from the tent. I tripped over a rock and landed hard on my backside. It knocked the wind out of me, shocking me back to my senses.
River emerged from the tent and reached down to help me. I shoved his hands away, pulling myself shakily to my feet.
“What kind of game are you playing?” I was half shouting. “That was—that was a—”
“Calm down, Kamzin.”
“Calm down? It’s a fire demon!”
“Well, I can explain that.” River looked vaguely uncomfortable. “It’s mine.”
“Yours?”
“What’s going on?” Tem emerged from our tent, his chuba draped over his shoulders and his hair sticking straight up. “I heard yelling.”
“That’s just Kamzin, being dramatic.” River tapped a finger against his lips. “I’d rather not wake everybody else, so please keep it down—”
“I’m not going to keep it down,” I bellowed. “There is a fire demon in our camp. In your tent!”
Dargye leaned his head out. “Is everything all right, dyonpo?”