“I can’t make Paono do anything,” I said. Still, I pleaded with him. “Stay. You know how important you are.”
He nodded. “The Vanished say I can heal the island. So what? Ioene matters to them. Protecting you and Katrikki matters to me.”
“We both go, then.”
No! That’s the worst—
I slammed my walls up, slicing off Peldin’s protest as I marched past Paono, daring my friend to argue. Paono shrugged; he’d known me long enough to sense when to stop arguing. He gathered Katrikki into his arms, whispered in her ear. After a moment, she drew back and nodded, face tear-streaked.
“Bring him back,” she said, eyes on me.
“I will.”
Paono ducked under the lintel, joining me in the hail of pumice and gusts of hot ash. He yelled to the others who were dashing up from the harbor, pointed to the door where Katrikki and Mistress Nyralit waited. I scanned the approaching group for Raav but didn’t see him. He’d wait until the last moment to seek shelter—he was stubborn that way. Thoughts of Zyri and Tyrak surfaced. In the days after his death, she’d wished over and over that he’d said goodbye before leaving.
“Don’t worry. You’ll see him again,” Paono said. “I promise.”
Together, we marched up to the city’s exit to face Mieshk.
Chapter Thirty-Four
BLOWING ASH RASPED against my face. Ioene’s glow painted the world the color of old blood. Squinting into the nightmare beyond the protection of the city’s narrow entrance, I groped for Paono’s hand. He clasped mine firmly, reassuring.
“It’s slowing,” he said.
He was right. The hail of pumice had lessened. Beyond the gap in the cliff, the air smelled of cinders and damp. A short distance along the coast, a steam cloud billowed where a fresh lava flow met the sea.
Knowing that Mieshk had to concentrate to feed Ioene, we’d guessed she’d pause her approach each time she condemned another nightstrand. The volcano would flare, only to taper off while Mieshk and her guard advanced along the trail marked by her scouts. With her trader’s upbringing, she’d have little experience trekking across a rubbled landscape. It gave us time and a respite for Paono to focus his bond-sense.
Abruptly, he jerked.
“I feel her,” he whispered, face twisting in a disgusted grimace. “Though I wish I didn’t have to.”
“And?”
“She’s close. Closer than we hoped.”
“How long?”
“Half an hour. Maybe less.”
I closed my eyes, letting the warm mist envelop me. Half an hour to come up with a plan to get the figurine away from Mieshk and her guards, and all we had was each other. I looked over at Paono and saw my fear reflected in his face. Noticing my attention, he forced a brave expression.
“We’ve changed so much,” I said. “I never imagined we’d become so distant. Ever since the night crossing . . .”
Paono’s jaw clenched with emotion. “I don’t know why we stopped talking, Lilik. It’s strange being so separate from you when for the first time in our lives I know what’s in your heart.”
His bond-sense. I flushed at the reminder.
“Don’t be embarrassed. Please, Lilik. I would never judge you.”
“How can you tell what I’m feeling? You’re supposed to be focusing on Mieshk.”
“I am. But I know you. You say we’ve changed—I disagree. Nothing will change who we are . . .” He squeezed my hand. “Or what we mean to each other.”
My eyes teared. I couldn’t respond. After a few seconds, Paono cleared his throat.
“Mieshk has four guards with her,” he said. “Her most loyal. She’s constantly checking their positions, assuring they’re surrounding her. She’s surprisingly cautious, but blind, too. There’s no doubt in her mind about her guardsmen. If we could turn one . . .”
“How?”
He shook his head. “Too difficult. We’d need to get one alone and somehow convince him.”
“We can’t fight four men plus Mieshk.”
“No,” he said. “But there must be some way to use our advantages. Any ideas?”
Our advantages . . . Breathing deep, I fell into Zyri’s memories.
“Actually . . . Yes.”
Less than a half-hour later, we were ready.
“How close now?” I whispered.
Raising a finger to his lips, Paono held up four fingers on his other hand, then extended his thumb. Four or five minutes.
I nodded and crept away, glancing at our preparations. Before the troublesome coven of Mavek’s Hands were formally exiled from Ioene during Zyri’s time, their leader, Mavek, separated them, cloistering each in a bare-walled meditation cell. For two months or more, the girls were fed nothing but boiled grains and spring water. Built specifically for the purpose of regaining control over the young prodigies, the meditation house perched on the edge of a high cliff overlooking the ocean. Guards watched over the entrances to the cell blocks, but the greatest defense was a cadre of channelers who surrounded the building, offering sanctuary to any souls who might be tempted by the Hands’ powers of compulsion.
Ultimately, the attempt at control failed. The young Hands were no more contrite after the seclusion period. But much of the meditation house still stood, narrow stone hallways and chambers with the wooden roofs long since rotted away.
Working quickly, Paono and I had removed the scouts’ final trail markings—stone cairns and scraps of linen tied around branches—and redirected the trail to the ruins of the meditation house. Ignorant of the true location of Ashkalan, Mieshk would mistake the house’s entrance hall for the narrow cleft her scouts would have reported as the city entrance.
Or so we hoped.
The glow of torches and crunch of footsteps announced Mieshk’s arrival. I tensed. Guessing she’d be too focused on gaining the city to look up, we’d climbed atop the walls to perch where long-gone rafters once rested. Wary of the glow from my palms and forearms, I pulled my sleeves down over my clenched fists.
When Mieshk’s party reached the entrance to the house, I struggled not to gasp. Indeed, her eyes glowed, smoldering red irises within black orbs. Her skin looked infused with Ioene’s fire, taking on notes of deep russet laced with vermillion. If not for her severe angles, I wouldn’t have recognized her.
Curling her lip, she peered down the hallway. I shrank down to hide my silhouette.
“Brik. Forward and report,” she said. “I want to know if they’re still alive.”
The former first mate grunted and detached from the group. Hand on a spear gun, he advanced down the hallway. I shot a panicked look to Paono, who balanced next to the lintel above the door. The heavy stone that bridged the door frame was loose; part of our plan to separate Mieshk from her guards hinged on the narrow hall forcing them to move single-file. Toppling the lintel stone would break their line.
“Nothing here,” Brik called.
Mieshk’s eyes flared. “What?”
“No city.”
“We should be there by now.”
Another of the guards edged into the hall. With a shrug, Paono braced himself and shoved the lintel stone with his feet. The massive block teetered, then tumbled, glancing against the guard’s shoulder and knocking him flat. My stomach turned when I saw the man’s leg smashed beneath. He screamed.
Nearly as thick as the hallway was wide, the stone stuffed the corridor, preventing Brik and the pinned guard from reaching Mieshk.
Two guards down. Two to go. We’d hoped to completely isolate Mieshk from her defenders, but we’d have to improvise.
I ran along the top of the wall with a rock in each hand. Standing, Paono palmed another two. He threw, and the grunt told me he’d connected before I reached the edge of the ruin and looked down.
One of the remaining guards rolled on the ground, hand to his head. Backpedaling, Mieshk stared up at Paono with hate-filled eyes.
I aimed, hurled my first rock. It fell short and ro
lled to her feet. Abruptly, Mieshk laughed.
“Gutterborn fool,” she said.
Paono leaped from the wall with a yell. He ran to the fallen guard and delivered a kick to the man’s face. The guard spit blood, pushed up to hands and knees, and collapsed when Paono stomped on his spine. A kick to the ribs, and he went limp. Intent on the first enemy, Paono didn’t notice the remaining guard circling behind him.
“Paono!” I yelled, throwing my other rock. It sailed over the man’s head but caught Paono’s attention. My friend spun, threw a punch toward the man’s gut. The guard sidestepped easily, grabbed Paono’s outstretched arm and brought an elbow down hard on his back. Paono wheezed when the air left his lungs.
Rot. With our advantage of surprise gone, we had to win this fight outright. Neither Paono nor I were brawlers. It didn’t look good.
The guard landed a fist in Paono’s belly, and I leaped down from the wall, shrieking. My knees buckled as one of my ankles folded under, and I tumbled, smacking my shoulder against the dirt. My arm went numb, shocked by the blow. Flailing, I rolled away just as Mieshk’s foot stomped down where my throat had been. She snarled, a sound like a rabid dog, and fell upon me.
When our flesh touched, both Mieshk and I screamed in agony. Her skin was so hot against mine that I smelled charred flesh. Where my hand landed on her arm, she sizzled like water poured over a hot pan. Gagging, she scrambled backward. For a moment, I could do nothing but lie there and cough.
My hand seared. Where I’d touched her, Mieshk’s flesh was blackened.
Mieshk stood, a red-eyed skeleton backlit by the volcano’s fire. My hand print stood out on her upper arm, looking like hardened lava upon her dusky red skin. What had happened to us?
I had little time to wonder. With a growl, Mieshk turned for Paono and her guard. Paono had one hand around the man’s windpipe, but the guard surprised him with an uppercut that sent Paono stumbling back.
Right into Mieshk.
Screeching in victory, Mieshk’s eyes flared while she drew a nightforged dagger and held it to my friend’s throat. Blood, black in the red glow from the mountain, welled and dripped down Paono’s neck.
The guard he’d been fighting laughed, while the man on the ground began to stir.
“Well, gutterscamp,” Mieshk said, sneering. “It was a nice try. I see you’ve brought me a collection of strands.” She looked me up and down.
In response to her words, I expected Peldin to attack my mental defenses but I felt nothing. Maybe he was devoting all his energy to resisting Mieshk’s pull. I immediately dropped my walls, realizing that without me as sanctuary, the strands had little hope.
I scanned her clothing, looking for a telltale lump showing the location of the figurine.
“Ralver, I require your assistance,” Mieshk said.
Bowing his head, the uninjured guard hurried to her side. From across the fallen lintel stone, I heard Brik’s shout. He’d find a way around the ruins of the house soon enough. Pawing the ground beside me, I searched for something—anything—I might use in our defense.
Clutching Paono’s upper arm—unlike with me, her grasp didn’t burn my friend—Mieshk handed off the dagger to her henchman. The man wrapped an arm around Paono’s chest and pressed the blade to his throat. Eyes wide, Paono said nothing.
“Your nightstrands fight me, Lilik,” Mieshk said. “But it won’t last. They hunger for Ioene as much as I do.”
She slipped a hand into the pocket of her tunic and pulled out my figurine.
“I see you recognize it,” she said with a cruel smile.
I glared, still searching for a stone shard. A handful of gravel. Something. Eying the fallen guard, I scooted toward him. A knife of some sort was sheathed at his belt.
“Any closer and your friend dies now,” Mieshk snapped.
Paono inhaled sharply as the dagger bit into his throat. I froze.
As if from far, far away, I heard Peldin’s voice.
Channel, Lilik.
“What? How?”
You must open wider.
Wider? I didn’t understand.
Caressing the figurine, Mieshk grinned. “Talking to your pets? I see them swirling when you speak.”
Wider. I slapped my palms against Ioene’s soil, recalling my first experiences with the strands, the tingle followed by the voices in my mind. I willed myself to feel them, to allow them deeper into my mind.
The flask. It’s no different.
What flask? Then I remembered. The burning boat. One of the strands had allowed Heiklet to imprison her in the flask of lamp oil. Once bound to an object, a soul could not escape without choosing nonexistence and shattering the prison.
“Alavie,” I whispered.
Yes. She could not have done it without drawing from your strength.
I focused on the nightforged dagger at Paono’s throat. Judging by the ornamentation on the hilt, it had been forged back when the Nocturnai created more art than weapons. An Ulstat family heirloom, most likely.
I wondered if the dagger had been present during the monster-heir’s reign. What horrors had the imprisoned soul been forced to witness?
Remembering the stories I’d heard, the monster-heir’s torture chambers, his twisted rituals requiring dancers to perform on shards of broken glass, my chest ached for the trapped spirit. I reached out with my mind, willing my sympathy and support to replace the hard steel that bound them.
It hurts. The voice, a young girl, was so weak I could scarcely sense her.
“I know,” I said. “You can stop if you want.”
I wouldn’t ask her to erase herself. That wasn’t for me to decide. Even if Mieshk would unleash a new cataclysm upon the world, the soul’s fate was hers alone.
I’m not strong enough.
“You can take whatever you need from me.”
Closing my eyes, I relaxed into openness, my heart bared to the girl who’d been a prisoner of the Ulstats for so long. I imagined I felt her soul joined with mine, just for an instant. Silence fell over me, the only gift I could give the brave child.
With a squeal of metal, the dagger crumpled. Flecks of metal exploded outward, glittering red in the night, while the rest dropped to the ground, a useless hunk of metal.
Stunned, the guard let out a garbled cry. Paono dropped beneath the encircling arm, whirling so that he came up facing his attacker. A hard right cross connected with the guard’s cheek, and the man dropped. Paono sprang for Mieshk, who stared, paralyzed, at the ruined dagger.
“Lilik! Run!” he yelled.
Behind me, someone crashed through foliage. Brik. As I scrambled to my feet, Paono snatched the figurine from Mieshk. Raising it high, he hurled it at the hard stone wall of the ruin. The statuette shattered. Mieshk shrieked.
As I raced away from the clearing, sudden joy nearly knocked me from my feet. Grand, buoyant elation. I could scarcely breathe. I wanted to jump and dance and scream. The strands, finally free from the figurine’s pull, were celebrating.
Turning, I scanned the landscape for my friend.
“Paono!” I called.
I heard a grunt, more crashes. “I’ll catch you,” he yelled. “Go!”
“I’m not leaving you!”
Lilik! Stop shouting! He can sense Mieshk, remember. He’s leading them off, but it’s not easy with you trumpeting like a stuck donkey.
“I can’t abandon him, Peldin.”
You can. The others need you. Paono will be okay. Listen: Mieshk still has many, many strands under her thrall. Not all have been given to the fire. You’re still in grave danger.
Backing slowly up the hill, I searched the dark terrain for a glimpse of my friend. “If she's still that powerful, what did Paono accomplish by smashing the Effigy?”
If she’d kept the figurine, there’d have been a cataclysm as devastating as our last. If she feeds them to Ioene together, the eruption could bury Ashkalan and steal your only chance at escape. You must get off the island.
“We can’t leave,” I said. “No sails, remember?”
A moment, Lilik. We’re conferring.
While I waited, another emotion bled into the strands’ joy, a strange resignation mixed with pride.
“What’s going on, Peldin?”
You saved us, and now we will save you. Bring everyone to the ship.
Chapter Thirty-Five
WE LINED THE dock where the ship floated, moored as she’d been for one thousand years.
“She needs a name,” I said.
“What about Evaeni’s Daughter?” Islilla said.
Both Captain Altak and Mistress Nyralit smiled sadly.
“It’s bad luck, child,” the captain said. “Names of doomed vessels aren’t to be reused. If we make it home, I’ll have a small plaque forged for the Evaeni. It will hang in the sailor’s hall alongside the names of other ships that have sunk.”
“Oh.” Islilla’s chin bobbed in a little nod.
“In Zyri’s time, they named the ships after heroes and ancestors,” I said. “What would you think of calling her Zyri’s Promise?”
It’s perfect. For once, Peldin’s tone lost its sarcastic edge.
The captain nodded. “Zyri’s Promise it is.”
“What do you intend, Peldin?” I asked.
In gratitude for your sacrifices, we offer our own. The Vanished and the living will work together to heal the sails on Zyri’s Promise. Get Katrikki aboard and into the calling trance.
“How long will it take? We need to wait for Paono,” I said.
He gave you the chance to escape. Don’t waste it, Lilik. One of you must stay, remember. We wanted it to be you, but all we can do now is help him survive. As soon as you are beyond Ioene’s reach, he can take shelter.
Everything was happening too fast. “I—”
Lilik! Peldin roared in my mind. If you don’t listen, Paono will be captured before we can do this. He’s exhausted and has only run this long because he cares for you so much.
I winced, my head aching from Peldin’s screaming. “Katrikki . . .” I gestured at the gangway, unable to force any other words out.
Nightforged (Shattering of the Nocturnai Book 1) Page 24
