I blinked at the view. It was the clearest night I had ever seen. The clouds were gone, chased away by the wind that scraped its chilly fingers over the mountain. The stars were so bright and so close I felt as if I were standing among them. I could reach out and catch one, trapping it between my palms like a firefly.
Ragtooth growled quietly. As soon as I had emerged from the cave, he had trotted down the slope, heading north. He was stopped now, looking over his shoulder at me.
I followed him.
But I had only traveled a short distance when I heard someone clear their throat. I started, whirling around. Lusha stood only a few steps behind me.
“Where are you going?” she said.
“I don’t know.” Lusha was a dark, ominous figure above me, her arms crossed and her long hair entwined with the breeze. “Ragtooth wants to show me something.”
“And you thought you’d bring your pack?” Lusha limped forward into the starlight. Her expression was almost wry.
My startled brain tried to come up with a response. “I—”
“You think he’s going to lead you to River, don’t you?”
I said nothing. I looked away, glad that the darkness would hide the flush creeping up my face.
“I can’t stop you,” she said quietly. “And I can’t follow you. None of us can. Do you know what that means? If you keep going, you’ll be on your own.”
I swallowed. “I know.”
She gazed at me. “You might think you know what it’s like to be alone in a place like this, but you don’t. There will be no one around to fix your mistakes. You’ll have to stop making them.”
I stared at her. “So you’re not going to argue with me?”
She let out a long sigh. “I’m tired of arguing. Aren’t you?”
I didn’t trust myself to reply. Instead, I simply stepped forward and wrapped Lusha in a hug.
She stiffened at first, likely out of surprise more than anything. Lusha and I did not hug—the last time had probably been when we were both too young to remember it, and no doubt at Father’s urging. But, after a little pause, she hugged me back, patting me awkwardly.
She pulled back and lifted her hand. A ribbon of darkness fluttered toward us—Biter. Lusha transferred him onto my shoulder. The raven gave her finger a gentle peck.
“He’ll go with you,” she said. “At the very least, if you lose your way and want to come back, he’ll lead you right.”
“Thank you,” I murmured.
Lusha paused. “You can’t stop River. He’s powerful, and he’s determined to get his way.”
“I know.” I shook my head. “But I have to try. This is my responsibility. I brought him here, didn’t I? If it wasn’t for me, he never would have come this far. If the Empire falls, if Azmiri—” I couldn’t finish the sentence.
I wouldn’t have made it without you, Kamzin. For a moment I felt like screaming, or collapsing again into sobs. But I forced it down, down, until the fury and pain condensed into a weight deep inside me, small but impossibly heavy.
Lusha touched my face briefly. “None of this is your fault.” She stepped back. “Good luck.”
My eyes stung, but I nodded and turned to follow Ragtooth. Biter took to the air, weaving back and forth through the wind like a dark needle.
I turned back only once. Lusha was still standing where I had left her, arms folded, watching me. I could not make out her expression. She looked small from that distance. A childlike figure suspended between the immensities of sky and mountain. I turned away and hurried after Ragtooth.
TWENTY-SEVEN
THE NIGHT WAS eerily quiet.
After enduring the wrath of the wind for so many days, it was liberating to be free of it, at least temporarily—though the still air was heavy with foreboding. It was as if the great mountain had drawn a deep breath, and this was the moment before the exhalation. The sound of my feet crunching through the dry snow was all there was.
Ragtooth, ahead of me, was silent as a ghost. He did not slow or pause, but led me along the ridge Lusha, River, and I had traversed the previous day. I felt a shiver of fear as I spied the disturbed ground. With all the snow that had fallen since, it was difficult to make out the exact path of the avalanche that had trapped Tem and Mara.
“Are you sure this is right?” I said. Ragtooth, of course, made no reply, nor did he pause even to glance back at me. Gritting my teeth, I followed him. I was limping now; the pain radiating up my legs intensified with each step. The simple act of breaking a path through the loose snow seemed to demand more energy than I had left. In spite of everything, I couldn’t help fantasizing about the warm cave I had left behind, the feel of blankets piled around me. There was a small noise behind me, and I jumped, my thoughts immediately leaping to Mingma and the other ghosts. But it was only the snow settling. We were moving up the mountain now, away from their tunnels. That, at least, was some small comfort.
Past the ridge was a rocky outcropping that melted into the upper spine of the mountain. Ragtooth led me alongside it for a while, beside a ledge that narrowed and narrowed until I was hugging the rock, and then he stopped.
“What?” I stared. “He went this way?”
The fox lifted his leg and begin licking his foot.
The rock face staring back at me was pale, brittle limestone, perhaps two hundred feet high. Past the halfway point, it seemed oddly free of snow and ice. It was not the snow or ice, however, that concerned me—it was the gradual backward arch of the rock, which continued toward a bulge where the snow disappeared altogether. From this bulge I would be suspended, nearly horizontal to the ground thousands of feet below, and travel perhaps fifteen feet in that position until the rock bent back again, after which it seemed to be a reasonable climb to the top of the face.
I sat down, hard.
Ragtooth placed his front paws on my knee, nosing my chuba. I barely noticed. I stared at the rock—ordinary rock, grainy and fragmented. I removed my glove and ran my hand over it to feel its texture. I tilted my head back, back, gazing up at the mountainside.
“This is ridiculous,” I finally muttered. Sitting there wasn’t going to solve anything. I stood up, ready to launch my attempt—
Then promptly fell to my knees and threw up.
This pattern repeated itself over the course of an hour, until I had nothing left in my stomach. I leaned against the rock, gazing at the clouds sweeping over the landscape below, while I swished a lump of snow around in my mouth. Ragtooth had barely moved throughout my convulsions—he merely crouched on a ledge, his tail folded under his chin. Waiting.
I had two options—continue or turn back. The thought of continuing made my stomach churn again. But turning back?