“Like I’ve been run over by a yak,” he murmured, accepting the sip of water I offered him. He coughed, grimacing. “Make that a herd.”
“Do you think you’re up to this?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But you’re right, Kamzin. Mara’s memories could help us work out River’s intentions. I don’t want to rely on a guess.”
“A guess?” I stared at him. “Do you know what River’s planning?”
Tem seemed to be having trouble looking at me. “I have a theory,” he said quietly.
“A theory?”
“It would explain what Lusha read in the stars about River.” Tem seemed to speak half to himself. “Or rather, what she didn’t read. I can’t think of any other reason why River’s life, given all he’s accomplished as Royal Explorer, wouldn’t be written there. And I just have this feeling that I can’t shake—”
“If you know something, now’s the time,” Lusha said.
Tem flushed. “I—I don’t.” Again, he seemed to be avoiding my eyes. “Not for certain. Let’s just focus on the spell.”
“Let’s,” Mara said, rubbing his brow. “I’d rather not have these headaches anymore.”
Tem took my hand. “Kamzin?”
I recited the incantation, as much of it as I could remember. Tem grew thoughtful as he listened.
“Of course,” he murmured. “It’s not a healing spell at all—that’s where I went wrong before. It’s a curse spell, at the root.”
“A curse spell?” Mara’s face paled.
“Not all curses are bad,” Tem said. “Sometimes they’re the only way to break through another, more powerful spell. They attack the magic, not the person. How fascinating. Why didn’t I think of it?”
“Tem?” I said.
“Right, sorry.” He pulled himself upright, his face a grimace. “Where are the bells?”
I handed him the kinnika. “Can you do this? I don’t remember all the words.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tem said. “I can work out the rest.”
I fell silent. Tem’s other persona was in charge now—calm, confident, decisive. He brushed his hand across the bells, sounding them gently.
“Are you sure about this?” Mara said. “I don’t like the sound of curses, particularly when they’re directed at my head.”
“Don’t talk,” Tem said, not even looking at him. He closed his eyes and began to mutter the incantation, much more fluently than I had, weaving it into another spell I didn’t recognize. He sounded the bells again, then two in alternation—one plain and smaller than my thumbnail, the other broad and inlaid with intricate carvings. The sound seemed to rise to a crescendo, and then, abruptly, the bells fell silent.
Mara blinked. “Is that it?”
“It may take a moment,” Tem said. Sweat stood out on his forehead. “Unless I didn’t use the correct bell.”
“Or the incantation is wrong,” I said, feeling a stab of guilt.
Mara eyed the kinnika warily. “It’s good to know you’re all so confident about this.”
“Let me try again.” Tem shook the kinnika, tilting his head like a musician tuning his instrument. He removed several from the chain, then sounded the remaining bells. He began the incantation again, matching his voice to the cadence of the kinnika. I held his arm, but it was as if Tem was no longer fully there—part of him was lost in the spell he was weaving in that tiny cave, as the wind raged outside. It made me uneasy, and I fought back an urge to shake him, to anchor him back to Earth, and to me.
After another minute or so, Tem stopped abruptly. He opened his eyes, blinking, as if uncertain of his surroundings.
“Are you all right?” I said.
“Think so.” He blinked again. “Did it work?”
Mara’s brow was furrowed. He hadn’t moved since Tem started chanting, and his eyes had a glazed appearance. “No, I—Spirits protect us!”
“Mara?” Lusha touched him.
The man lurched forward, pressing his hands against the side of his head. He let out a cry of pain that reverberated through the cave, guttural and chilling.
“Tem!” Lusha said, grabbing Mara’s shoulders as he spasmed back. “What’s happening?”
Tem had fallen back against the cave wall, looking gray. “It will pass—he just has to endure it. Memory spells are never pleasant when broken.”
“I remember,” Mara muttered, his eyes still shut tight. “I remember.” He repeated it again and again, as if it were a chant.
“You remember what?” Lusha shook him. “Mara, tell us.”
The chronicler didn’t reply. His mouth moved silently, still repeating the words. I wanted to edge away from him—Mara’s expression was wild, and he pressed his fingers so hard against his head that I saw tiny drops of blood form under the nails. The blood was dark, almost black, and seemed to disperse into the air like shadow. I blinked, and the illusion—had it been an illusion?—vanished.
“Mara,” Lusha said, raising her voice. “What do you remember?”
Mara finally opened his eyes. “The expedition. The witches. I remember.”
“What expedition—” I began, but Mara rambled on.
“Everything that he tried to hide from me, it’s all back.”
My heart was pounding now, in slow, heavy thuds. “So River did alter your memories?”
“Yes, him and that creature. And they had good reason to do it—Spirits protect us!” He pressed his head into his hands again.
Lusha’s brow was furrowed. “Why did River do it? What was he trying to hide?”
“He’s—” Mara’s face contorted, and he let out a groan. Lusha motioned to me, and I brought him a flask of water.
“Thank you.” Mara sipped from the flask. As he did, his expression cleared. “The pain is lessening.”
“It will take time,” Tem said. “It was a powerful spell, cleverly cast.”
“Mara,” Lusha said slowly, “what was River hiding?”
“He’s not human, Lusha.” His face was blank with shock. “He’s a witch.”
TWENTY-FIVE
I COULDN’T MOVE, or think. Shock enveloped me like layers of snow. I felt buried, trapped. Lusha said something, but I couldn’t hear it. It was several moments before my senses returned.
“—explains the contradictory portents,” Lusha was saying. “A witch’s plans can’t be read in the stars—they’re shaped by wild magic, chaos itself. The stars can’t make sense of witches; that’s what Yonden once told me.”
“River is not a witch,” I said. Why was she even entertaining this? “It’s not possible.”
“It’s the truth,” Mara said. “I don’t know how he did it, or what his true name might be.”
This is madness. The spell had destroyed Mara’s reasoning. “How can you—”
“Be quiet, Kamzin,” Lusha said. I fell into a mutinous silence, my mind whirling. Lusha touched Mara’s shoulder. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”
Mara scrubbed his hand over his face. His face was dark, furrowed with pain. “Where is the beginning? I feel I can’t trust my own mind—it’s as if my thoughts have been woven with falsehoods.”