“The aurora,” I said.
She shrugged. “None of us knew what was happening. That week, I slipped in a tide pool and cut my palm on a group of barnacles. I wasn’t supposed to be outside—my parents weren’t as strict as Istanikers, but they knew better than to let a young child out alone at night. So I couldn’t tell them and ask for help with bandaging. Instead, I wrapped my hand in a rag I stole from the neighbor’s laundry line and went to sleep. In the morning, my hand looked like your arms do.
I lifted her hand, eager for a glimpse, but saw nothing.
“I was terrified that I was sick—you know how children are. But I couldn’t tell anyone without admitting I’d been out. I hid my hand from my parents for two whole years, if you can believe it. The scars faded eventually, and I’d almost decided it was part of my imagination, or just another sign of my mental instability.”
I wasn’t sure what to say. It was obvious to me that Mother was a channeler, just like me. I’d likely inherited the talent from her. In a way, it made me feel closer to her. But the pain of her abandonment still stood between us, a hurt so entrenched that I didn’t know if I’d ever forgive her.
Still, regardless of what I felt for her, I shouldn’t let her continue through life thinking the voices were a sign of her weakness. It simply wasn’t fair.
“How much have you heard about my time on Ioene?” I asked.
She looked at me, confused. “You were chosen as a nightcaller, but your ship sank in an eruption. You led the others home.”
“That’s it?”
“More or less.”
“Follow me, Mother. I have something to show you.”
“I don’t know what to say, Lilik.”
Mother and I stood in the graveyard together. I’d been thinking of returning—as Tyrak had said when I was in the prison with Miva, I was a channeler. It was my duty to offer comfort to the souls of the dead. My ancestors were here, many of them lost and confused and hurting. I could offer solace if I could handle their grief.
“You didn’t know. How could you?”
She lowered herself to the ground, taking a seat amongst tufts of grass that grew wild over the cemetery. After the rainy season, there would be flowers here, too, many from seeds of bouquets left by mourning friends and families of the dead.
As I watched her come to grips with her talent—with the history that had caused her so much grief over the years—I opened myself to the voices. Only a crack, because in truth, I wasn’t strong enough. On Ioene, I’d learned to shut out the Vanished when my anger over Peldin’s casual attitude toward Heiklet’s death had forced me to push him away. My mother had no experience with the voices at all, and in fact had probably been wide open to them all her life. I’d decided to bring her to the graveyard to prove my point. By connecting the greatest congregation of voices to the place we buried our dead, she was much more likely to believe she was hearing the words of spirits rather than the mad ravings of her own mind.
Still, I couldn’t imagine sitting here under a full barrage from the anguished spirits who haunted their graves. My mother was stronger than she thought.
“And it’s like this everywhere? Across the whole world?” she asked.
“I don’t know. The Kiriilti are descended, at least in part, from the Vanished. That seems as good an explanation as any.”
“And you and I come from a line of channelers.”
“In the last days of the cataclysm, many ships sailed from Ioene. At least one must have reached the Islands.”
The gibbous moon had risen, casting a silvery glow across the graveyard. Long shadows stretched from the bases of tombstones. Striding forward, I opened myself farther, allowing more contact with the spirits. Their hurt felt like scalding water against my mind, like the crack of whips against my skin. Wincing, I projected my thoughts.
I’m here—we’re here, I said simply. You’re not alone anymore.
As I’d formed the thoughts, a similar transformation worked in my heart. I wasn’t alone anymore, either. For all her failings, my mother was here. She needed me, and in many ways, I needed her. Knowing what she’d been through, I could accept her as she was.
Eventually, I might even be able to forgive her.
“Mother . . . I mean, Mum?” I asked.
Lifted to the moonlight, her face held so much hope at hearing me call her that, I nearly lost my voice in the emotions rising from my chest.
“I’m planning to rent a room. Above a cobbler’s. Da needs to keep Jaret safe and out of this, so I’ve asked him to stay elsewhere for the time being. But where I’m planning to go . . . there’d be space for a jewelcrafter’s bench.”
Tears fell over her arched cheekbones as she nodded.
“I’d love to, Lilik.”
Chapter Twenty
THE FOLLOWING DAY, I visited a blacksmith and commissioned a few, simple short swords plus bucklers for the other hand. The smith showed discretion, asking no questions. But he seemed to grasp my purpose, and made some suggestions. Light ringmail vests would fit easily under Istaniker tunics. And the fletcher down the alley had a good price on arrows.
After jotting the estimates on a scrap of paper, I hurried to my rented room and counted out the coin. Mother was away for the day, collecting supplies—and probably spending some time adjusting to my revelations. I was glad. Even though I’d asked her to stay with me, I wasn’t ready to show her the coin pouch I’d stashed in the rafters. The last few months had made me wary. Distrustful, even.
Someday, you’ll have peace, Tyrak said, as if reading my thoughts.
Do you think so? Over the last few days, I’d started to doubt that. The situation made me sad, but at least it hadn’t ruined my determination.
If I can do anything for you, I hope it’s that, he said.
As I laid my hand on the dagger’s hilt, I felt him extend beyond the weapon’s bounds, once again materializing behind me as he’d done at the fountain. His arms were warm along mine, hands wrapping my own. I could almost feel his breath on the crown of my head.
A lesson? I asked. I’d expected to hurry down to deliver the coin to Jet so that he could work directly with the smith.
Tyrak guided me into a quick shuffle. I felt his chest flex as he offered subtle clues.
Do they teach you to dance in the Kiriilt Islands? he asked.
“Not like this,” I whispered.
It’s not so different from fighting. You can think of your adversary as a partner. When you engage, it’s all about the rhythm of the clash. The give and take. And dancing can be as much a contest as a sword fight is, a trial to see how well-matched you are.
Pulling the dagger from its sheath, I traced the blade with a finger. As badly as I wanted to be swept up by him, carried through his dance as he called it, I couldn’t allow myself.
“Tyrak,” I said, voice choked. “I’m not Zyri.”
My chest ached at the admission, because truly, in that moment, I wished I were.
Silence followed, his body losing the fluidity with which he’d guided me. His touch on my wrists and against the backs of my legs became practical. An instructor nudging a pupil.
No, you aren’t her, he said. But she’s part of you. Zyri and I will never be reunited. At best, I may be able to speak to her through you. Sometimes I think . . . wouldn’t it be better to have part of her than nothing at all? And then I realize, maybe it’s not just Zyri that I want.
I swallowed. Hard. Abruptly, memories of Tyrak filled my heart. His breath on my neck, hands buried in my hair, tugging my head back while he kissed the line of my jaw.
Of Zyri’s jaw, I reminded myself.
My head was spinning. I couldn’t do this.
Desperate to escape the room, I staggered for the door and threw it open, remembering only at the last minute to dash back to my bed and scoop up the coins. Duty. As long as I focused on that, I could keep hold of myself.
A wobbly staircase led from the ground up to the rickety balcon
y outside my rented room. Hurrying down it, I headed for the barracks strip.
All the while, I felt Tyrak with me.
Chapter Twenty-One
TWO DAYS LATER, Mother and I spread the word among our sparse contacts. Another resistance meeting, this time at the edge of the itinerant tents—though there’d been no sighting of House guards at the beach, we felt the precaution of determining a location just prior to the meeting was still wise. As dusk fell, she and I arrived with a few minutes to spare.
Jet joined us first, and with him came almost a dozen men. He’d sent me an update via a messenger, claiming he’d done better recruiting this time, but I hadn’t expected quite so many. Three of his wardens were armed with the swords and bucklers I’d supplied. The others carried their own weapons. Nodding at him, I made a mental note of the additional coin I’d want to deliver the following day, enough to order more weapons from the first blacksmith, plus extra to help Jet find another capable smith. We’d need multiple people working on outfitting our troops if the resistance kept growing.
I kept my face even as more people filtered into the small clearing—we’d chosen a copse of trees between the nearest farm and the trampled area of the tents. But inside, I felt a flare of hope. I wanted to fall on my knees in relief. But I couldn’t let them know I’d worried I would fail.
The crowd in the clearing swelled to at least twenty-five, and it wasn’t yet time to start. I hid my smile when the Outer Islander who’d slipped away from the first meeting stalked into the clearing with a group of her fellow refugees. As the crowd grew, I revised my estimate on costs yet again. Between paying for weapons and the rent on the new rooms for my family, the first coin pouch would be flat within a day. I’d need to fetch another from a stash outside the city.
The leatherworker from the first meeting approached me.
“All right, Councilor Boket. We’re giving you a chance. It’s time you prove your worth.”
I swallowed as she walked away. Though I had no intent of letting her down, of course I had my doubts. I couldn’t let them show, though. As the final stragglers slipped into the clearing, I hopped onto a stump. The size of the crowd and the gathering shadows kept me from seeing all the faces. My heart thumped when I considered how easy it would be for a trader spy to blend in.
“Thank you for coming,” I said. “We’ll keep this short, because a gathering this size will draw attention. First of all, I’d like Jet to give a report on the barracks situation.”
My general joined me. Head and shoulders taller than I was, he needed no stump to command attention.
“Thanks to the Councilor and the weapons she supplied, we’ve had few harassment incidents. But we’ve had some troubling news. One of my men saw a House guardsman chased from the barracks for attempting to order the soldiers into action against the Ulstats.”
At the thought, my heart sped. It seemed Mareti had been right about the soldiers refusing orders. It wasn’t that surprising, but it was a problem. If the traders couldn’t control their mercenaries, things would only get worse for the gutterborn.
Some of the others didn’t seem to grasp the implications. Near the back of the crowd, a few people cheered.
Clearly unused to speaking in front of a crowd, Jet straightened his shoulders. I sensed he was getting ready to deliver a scolding, and quickly stepped in before he embarrassed anyone.
“And we should follow their example. No more trader rule. Soon, we will have organized enough wardens that we can stop paying the defense tax without fear. For now, though, I believe Jet has some concerns regarding this new development.”
Jet cleared his throat. “Yes, well, here’s the worry. Until about ten days ago, the Ulstats were the second-largest contributor to soldier stipends. With their House now opposing the Trader Council, the soldiers’ pay will be severely reduced. Some will be forced to find work elsewhere. That’s the problem with mercenary soldiers. They work for whomever can pay them. So right now, most of them are sitting around getting drunk and waiting to see who wins. They’re bored, knee-deep in liquor bottles, and refusing to listen to the people who brought them here. Not a good situation for their neighbors.”
A murmur traveled the crowd. I nodded at Jet, who stepped away and rejoined the audience.
“To start, we’ll be increasing our defense in the barracks strip and along the boundary with the central district. Jet is in charge of recruitment. The extra security is bound to be noticed. We may expect some light retaliation from the traders.”
“I’ve put out word with a few trusted city guardsmen,” Jet added. “If it comes to it, I think most of them will choose us over the Council.”
“Questions?” I asked.
Half a dozen people spoke at once.
“When are you taking us to the volcano?” someone asked, louder than the others.
In response, the others quieted. I wondered how many in the group had been wondering the same thing. Had I said something to give the impression that we’d be able to settle Ioene immediately?
I chewed my lip, considering. “No one can live there now. The first step is defeating Mieshk Ulstat. I’ll bring a group of men and women who are ready to fight, but no more than we need to assure victory. The Vanished say will be able to heal the island afterward, make it like it was during their time.”
“So after you heal it, you’ll take us?” the same man asked. “I want to get my family away from the traders for good.”
“Well, freedom from the traders is something I’m promising, even here in Istanik. Actually, I can’t promise it because I can’t be sure we’ll win. But I won’t give up either. They’ll have to kill me to end the resistance. And yes, once it’s safe, I’ll lead anyone there who wants to go.”
Faint grumblings rose from the crowd, but only a couple people left the clearing. Watching them go, I knew I’d taken a risk. Someone would report this to the Trader Council, likely in hopes of a reward. My heart thudded hard, but I’d known the risks from the beginning. Chin raised, I stared at the remaining gutterborn.
“Anything else?”
Silence followed.
“Good,” I said. “Now, as glad as I am that you’re here, I don’t believe we can meet like this again. We’re too visible in a group this large. Before we leave, I need you to nominate leaders. We’ll meet daily; your leaders will bring you word of our progress and plans. And I hope you’ll also send suggestions back to me.”
Though I was prepared to select people—the leatherworker was among those I’d picked out from the crowd, I found there was no need. Immediately following my words, people clustered together, putting forth names and suggestions. Within just a few minutes, half a dozen representatives stood before me. But the biggest surprise was a face I thought I’d never see again.
Moanet Yiltak.
After the crowd dispersed, only Mother, Moanet, and I remained in the copse of trees. I whirled on her.
“You told me you were sailing away.”
She raised a single eyebrow, ever the trader despite the commoner garb she now wore. “If you’d been in my situation, would you have told the truth? I knew nothing about you other than you’d had the guts to undertake the nightcaller trial. And the . . . short-sightedness to lie when you failed.”
“But what are you doing here?” I asked.
She glanced at my mother, then back over the itinerant camp. “Might we talk elsewhere?”
“Yes, fine.” I stepped out, headed back for the slums. Once we’d passed through the camp, she hurried to walk abreast with me. In the wan green light from the light-bearers’ lanterns, I cast surreptitious glances in her direction. Though her hair wasn’t as expertly cut as it had been when she’d lived as the heir to the most powerful trader House in the Kiriilt Islands, the time away from her mother had only accentuated her beauty. From what I could gather, she’d spent the last months living in the gutter slums. The difficult conditions had etched themselves onto her features, lending a hardness that migh
t have diminished others’ looks but only added to hers.
Mother followed a few steps behind. I considered explaining the situation, but decided to wait until we were somewhere private. Not that I counted the small room above the tailor’s as actual privacy. If anything, the walls—and floor—were thinner than in most buildings. The cobbler worked late most nights. It would be hard to ignore voices filtering down from her rental room.
Though, I shouldn’t call it her rental room—like all gutterborn, she couldn’t actually own property. Because she had a business establishment in the building, the defense tax collectors came to her for the lien payment.
In any case, a closed door and drawn curtains would allow her to speak without worry she’d be seen.
When we reached the derelict stairway that led to my room, I expected Moanet to balk. But she took the steps first, mounting the stairs as if they were the marble flight leading to the front doors of House Yiltak. Before I followed her, I leaned to my mother’s ear.
“Moanet Yiltak,” I whispered. “I’ll tell you more later.”
Moanet waited on the balcony while I fiddled with the lock. The door swung open with a light squeak, something I had no desire to fix now that I’d made myself of interest to the trader guardsmen. As the other two followed me into the room, I lit the simple lamp—no colored oil here—shut and barred the door.
“I can’t offer you melted chocolate,” I said. “Would you like tea?”
Her smile had a hint of wistfulness. “Tea would be lovely, thank you.”
Mother, to her credit, asked no questions. The room had two cots—by leaving the family home, I’d earned myself an upgrade from the bedding spread on the floor—a simple table, and only two chairs. Mother laid down on her cot to give us the table. As Moanet pulled out a chair, I kindled the small fire in the hearth and swung the teakettle into the flames.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you the truth,” Moanet said.
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