Shattering of the Nocturnai Box Set

by Carrie Summers

I turned sideways to edge around him. “Thanks for cleaning up after me.”

  “I was happy to help.” He pivoted as if to keep the conversation going, but I continued on.

  “Bye, then, Lilik,” he said. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  Was he really, or was he making fun of me? A smile curled his lips, amused but not mocking. The edge of my foot caught a floorboard. I stumbled.

  Idiot. I ducked my head and scurried for the ladder.

  Chapter Nine

  Finally, we grazed the shallows of the northern-most Outer Isle, and our next tack sent us into the open ocean. I looked back at the craggy headland, the last glimpse of home we’d see for months. Home, but only in name. The outer Kiriilt Islands were sharp, rocky, and harsh, entirely foreign compared to the rounded, lush hills of Stanik.

  My mother was somewhere among those crags, returned to her birthplace. The ache of her abandonment throbbed in my heart. To my eyes, choosing this place over Stanik Island was insane. The wind blew harder here, forcing the sparse vegetation to wedge deep in fissures and gullies. Villages crusted the crags’ leeward sides and extended out as floating rafts of shanties connected by narrow plank bridges.

  Yet despite the apparent hardships, the pull here had been so strong that it’d torn her from her children, from the cozy house and soft bed my father had provided.

  But no amount of thinking about it would change what my mother had done. I forced my eyes away and didn't look astern until the Outer Isles had fallen beneath the horizon.

  After we had cleared the Islands, the view lay unchanged, day after day. The open ocean spread to a hazy horizon, broken only by the occasional herd of whitecaps raised when a gust of wind plucked wavelets from the water’s surface. Sometimes, Paono joined me for a few minutes between tasks, and we sat shoulder to shoulder in the sun. Others, I sat alone.

  One afternoon, I’d found a small cubby formed by stacks of crates with a pile of fishing net in the bottom. A perfect spot for a snooze. I’d just shut my eyes when a shout traveled the deck.

  “Captain! Got a stowaway.”

  I’d forgotten about the boy I’d seen hanging onto the seaward ladder. He’d probably been lurking in the lowest hold this whole time, miserable in the dark and the damp.

  I peeked over a crate. Yes, it was the same child. Brown eyes, black hair. Staniker through and through. Two crewmen grabbed him under the arms. They held his toes a good distance above the deck. The boy didn’t struggle.

  Captain Altak had been helming the wheel himself. He handed off control of the ship and marched forward.

  “Rotten tides, boy.”

  Captain Altak smacked him on the side of the head, and I winced. For all his words about Prisak Relat, he was being awfully rough.

  “So you thought you’d see Ioene. Smell her cinders. Watch her lava spill into the cool sea. Your friends will idolize you when we return.”

  The boy nodded, but he didn’t look up.

  “I was like you once,” the captain said. “A common birth if you can believe it.”

  The captain was gutterborn! No wonder he’d been so quick to accept me. The stowaway had raised his head, seeming to take hope from the captain’s words.

  “Except I wasn’t nearly as stupid.”

  The boy recoiled as if slapped.

  “Do you know why we can’t tolerate stowaways? Because you eat. We only bring enough supplies to feed invited voyagers. And when you aren’t eating, you’re planning to pilfer the nightcrafted goods—oh, don’t shake your head at me like that. The sale of one nightforged weapon could feed your family for months.”

  “I wouldn’t . . .” The boy’s lower lip quivered. He wasn't more than eight or nine.

  Captain Altak set his shoulders. His eyes hardened. “I doubt you know how to read, and even if you did, you wouldn’t have studied the charter. But it’s no excuse. The punishment for stowing away on a Nocturnai is death.”

  Wait. What? My stomach bounded into my throat, shoving a strangled cry from my mouth. Captain Altak spun, a flash of shame crossing his face. He couldn’t really intend to murder the stowaway, could he?

  I felt sick. I’d known about the boy. I could have prevented it.

  “Tie him to the main mast,” the captain said. “I need to confer with my leadership.”

  Why had I been so stupid? If I’d just told someone about the boy in the water, he’d have been yelled at and sent home to Istanik’s slums. Now he had a death sentence.

  Perched on a stack of fishing nets, I kept a vigil over him. At least he wouldn’t be alone.

  “Wonder who's going to starve before we reach port. Gutter scum deserves whatever he gets.” An oarsman stomped by with Makal, the cabin boy, tagging at his heels.

  “I’ll do him myself!” Makal said, bouncing.

  I glared at them, disgusted.

  The stowaway's chin rested on his chest. Fat tears soaked his face and ran down his neck. Because his arms were bound, he couldn't even wipe away the damp.

  The idea arrived in a flash, like a jolt of static. Breathless, I scrambled to my feet and ran for the captain’s cabin, a square room built upon the forward deck.

  Captain Altak’s sun-lined face was drawn and heavy when he answered my knock. Thick canvas blinds shrouded the cabin’s windows, hiding the occupants. “I’m busy, nightcaller.” He started to close the door.

  “Wait—” I stuck my elbow in the gap. “—please.”

  Nearby deckhands had stopped their work to watch me. The captain waved them off.

  “We have weeks of sailing left—your issue can wait. A boy’s life is being decided.”

  “Captain, I—it’s about the boy. Please, I’ll be quick.”

  “Oh, let her in, Vidyul,” Mistress Nyralit said from within the cabin.

  Captain Altak’s nostrils flared, but he motioned me in, shutting the door behind me.

  Three more pairs of eyes bored into me as I inhaled the stuffy cabin air. When my vision adjusted to the dim light, I picked out the faces of the first and second mates at the table with Mistress Nyralit.

  “Speak, girl, and be gone," said Brik, the first mate. The man was as unpleasant as his son, Makal.

  I returned my eyes to the captain. “I volunteer to feed the stowaway out of my ration.”

  Captain Altak’s face softened. “If you were a glass-blower or a deckhand or anything else, we'd consider your offer, Lilik. But if you’re too weak to call the strands, our whole voyage is crippled. So no.”

  He laid his hand on the door.

  “Wait—I’ve studied the Nocturnai logs for years. Early voyages didn’t even bring rations for the time they were ashore on Ioene. Once we’re on land, I'll forage. ”

  His eyebrows lifted as if surprised I’d offered him an escape from his predicament.

  Tkira, the second mate, sneered. A long scar sliced across her cheek—the expression caused her face to twist around the old injury. “Sure. Put food in the little thief’s belly so he has the strength to rob us on the way home. You can’t be soft, Captain. You know the dangers of the long-night . . . Makes savages of us. Ship's crew are rough to begin with—only fear keeps them in line when we’re deep in the darkness.”

  Resolve turned the captain’s eyes stony. “She's right, Lilik. Leniency breeds mutiny.”

  True, most sailors were born into life at sea. A childhood spent away from civilization made for coarse morals—I only needed to look at Makal to see that. But I still couldn’t believe the captain would kill a boy to keep his crew in line.

  “What if I put my share of the profits up against the boy’s honesty? If he steals something, repay it from my earnings.”

  The captain shook his head. “If we do that, half the crew will pilfer the hold and expect the boy to be blamed. The laws exist because the Nocturnai is more important than any one person, Lilik.”

  Desperate, I switched my attention to Mistress Nyralit. “Mistress . . .”

  She wouldn’t meet my gaz
e. “Go now, Lilik. Thank you for your offers. We’ll make the boy’s death as merciful as possible.”

  Incoherent pleas stumbled off my tongue while the captain opened the door. Brik stood and grabbed me, his hands steel around my upper arms. As if I weighed nothing, he deposited me back out on the deck.

  The sun hung low in the sky. I squinted into the red glare. The captive boy was a shadow against the base of the mast. Small. So helpless.

  Not caring what the crew thought, I squatted before him and wrapped my arms around his thin shoulders. He was younger than Jaret. I remembered when my brother's body felt like this, greenstick bones under a scrawny chicken’s body. The boy’s face was still wet, but he’d stopped crying.

  “What’s your name?” I asked.

  “Geren. But my ma calls me Skink because I’m sneaky.” The boy huddled at my feet, curling upon himself as best as the ropes allowed.

  Anger vibrated through my body. How could the captain and strandmistress do this? How could they live with the decision?

  A hand touched my shoulder, heavy and reassuring. I expected to see Paono, but Raav stood behind me.

  “I brought him something,” he said.

  At Raav's feet, a heel of bread lay beside a pail of water. He stooped and gently ladled water into the stowaway’s mouth.

  “I saw you visit the captain’s cabin,” he said.

  Crouching, I tore off a bite of bread and fed it to the boy. “I hoped that I could . . .” I trailed off, realizing that Geren needed no more reminders of his fate.

  “Many of us feel as you do,” Raav said. “No matter what the captain decides, remember that.”

  I continued doling out pieces of bread. Shoulder to shoulder with Raav, I realized I no longer thought of him as a trader, not after this kindness. Raav wasn’t like them. He cared about more than his family fortune and his social status.

  “This is Geren,” I said, a belated introduction.

  “Geren. A good, tough name.” Raav crouched lower, placing his face before the child’s. “You are strong, you know. Brave enough to meet this.”

  The boy’s lip trembled when Raav squeezed his shoulders, but he seemed to gather strength from the contact. Once the meal was finished, Raav stood, solemn, and backed away. I sidestepped to him, putting myself out of Geren’s earshot.

  “Maybe you could talk to the captain,” I said. “He might listen to a trader.”

  A strange look, guarded almost, crossed Raav’s face. “It’s too late for that, I’m afraid. I’ve seen enough shipboard punishments to know.”

  As he regarded the boy, Raav’s jaw worked in contained frustration. Growing up in a trader House, he must have had a lot of practice controlling his emotions. Back home, I’d never seen an Istaniker trader show anything but cool disdain while out in public. But Raav, at least, was more complicated than he let on.

  “You’re strong, too, Lilik. Don’t forget that.”

  As Raav stalked away, he stared long and hard at the gawking crew, daring them to challenge him. After he’d vanished, I settled down beside Geren. Deckhands and oarsmen hovered near. I couldn’t defend the boy against a determined assault, but they’d be less inclined to violence if someone were watching.

  “Thank you,” the boy whispered.

  “You’re welcome, Skink.”

  After some time, the sun dipped below the horizon. My legs had fallen asleep when the cabin door opened. The leaders filed out and headed astern. Shortly afterward, a pair of deckhands came and stood before me.

  “Captain said that you’re to head to the galley for supper, nightcaller.”

  My jaw trembled. “Are you taking him now?”

  “Captain sent us to protect him. He’ll be guarded through the night. Whatever his punishment, it won’t be at the hands of a vigilante.”

  Bitter saliva flooded my mouth. I’m sorry, I wanted to tell Geren. I’m so sorry.

  “Go on, nightcaller.” The man’s voice remained gentle, but he’d be firmer if he had to ask again.

  I shuffled for the ladder, my chest filled with black.

  I lay awake through the night. This was no game. The boy would die in the morning. And I couldn’t forget my own predicament. I’d failed the nightcaller test and dragged my best friend into my lie. Paono’s life could be forfeit just like the poor boy’s.

  I finally dozed off as the sky began to pale. In my dream, my father and brother stood on the gallows. Trader Yiltak, Moanet's mother, held the lever that would drop the platform.

  “Just tell the truth!” she yelled at me.

  “I am!”

  “Liar!”

  The crowd shoved me forward while Moanet’s mother dropped the floor from beneath my family. The crack of their necks echoed across Istanik’s central square.

  I jolted awake, sweat stinging as it leaked into my eyes.

  Most mornings, the other callers left the cabin early. But today, Mieshk lazed on her bunk, glaring at me. Heiklet sat with knees curled to her chest. Her sentinel, Islilla, lay upon Heiklet’s bunk.

  I ran my hand through my hair.

  “The boy?” I asked. “Is he alive?”

  “Escaped,” Heiklet said.

  My pulse fluttered. “What? Gone?”

  “You act so surprised, Lilik,” Mieshk said with obvious suspicion.

  I was too relieved to speak. Instead, I rubbed my face, trying to clear away the fatigue.

  Heiklet straightened her legs. “She couldn’t have helped him escape, Mieshk. She's been here all night.”

  “It doesn’t matter, anyway.” Mieshk rolled her eyes. “What are the chances that an eight-year-old rows back to the Islands before he capsizes or starves?”

  “I feel sorry for him,” Islilla said.

  “Crew will probably riot over the captain letting the little rat escape,” Avilet said as she marched into the cabin, tiny blotches of color high on her cheeks.

  Katrikki followed her friend into the room and flopped down on her bunk. The traders fell into speculation about who'd pulled sacks over the guards’ heads and lowered the boy’s boat over the rail.

  I curled and uncurled my toes, thinking. Raav had said that I wasn’t alone in wanting the boy spared. Had he been involved in the escape? That would explain his reluctance to approach the captain; he wouldn’t have wanted to draw added attention.

  “Anyone want to wager on the number of days until he starves?” Avilet asked. “Not that we’d have a way to decide who takes the pot.”

  Disgusted, I threw off my covers and left the cabin. Above decks, I spotted Paono and joined him near the forward rail.

  “Haven’t seen you much lately,” he said.

  “Busy, I guess.”

  “Yeah.” Paono looked tired. His eyes were glassy.

  “How are you, Paono?” I asked. “Holding up to the deckhands' abuse?”

  His brows drew together, a strained expression that reminded me of the first months after his parents’ deaths.

  “This voyage isn’t what I expected,” he said.

  Regret crushed the air from my chest. “No, it’s not.”

  We fell silent at the thought. Rigging creaked under the light breeze. Perched on the rail of the crow’s nest, a pair of seagulls squabbled.

  “Who do you think freed the boy?” I asked after a while.

  Guilt flashed across Paono’s face. “I—good question. Maybe the captain arranged it to avoid executing him.”

  Ah. I should have suspected Paono had something to do with it. I kicked my heels against the deck. “The traders don’t think he’ll live long enough to reach land.”

  “I heard about a small island chain,” he said. “Not Kiriilti. Isolated tribal ports—they’re just over the western horizon. I bet he knew about them.” Paono's lips twitched in a smile. He may have been the worst liar I’d ever met.

  It made sense for Paono and Raav to work together; they shared a room. Until now, though, I’d kept them far apart in my mind. I liked them that way. Sep
arate. Paono was my anchor, solid and comforting. And Raav . . . that was more complicated. A trader who defied my opinions of the class, he’d been so kind to the boy last night, not to mention, courteous to me. I wanted to understand him.

  I stood. “I better get breakfast. I couldn’t eat last night.”

  “Good to see you for once, Lil.”

  “Paono . . .” I waited until he met my eyes. “Don’t talk to anyone about the boy. I mean it. You’re far too pleased with his escape.”

  He blushed. We wouldn’t have to talk about it again.

  Chapter Ten

  TWENTY-THREE DAYS after leaving port, we plunged into the long-night.

  When the sun was a sliver at the edge of the sea, and the last rays glinted off wavelets already dark with the night, we gathered on the deck. No one spoke while we faced the dying light. After this, we wouldn't see the sun for months. In the boat’s wake, a fish jumped and flopped into the sea with a splash. Only the rigging's constant creak and the slap of water against the hull accompanied our silence.

  Paono and I stood together, facing into the night. Catching his eyes, I smiled. Whatever else happened, we’d made it to the night crossing together, something neither of us imagined a year ago. I wanted to grab his hand but thought better of it. What if he jerked away?

  When the sun winked out, extinguished, I shivered. The night was liquid shadow poured over the ship. Stars shone brighter over the endless, ink-black ocean. Near the bow, someone chuckled, a tight and nervous laugh. Feet shuffled against the deck planks while a low murmur rose. Voices whispered of the night-madness, the mysterious sickness of the mind that struck voyagers mercilessly and by surprise.

  With a crackle, the first torch was kindled, spitting drops of light onto the deck. Red. Only red and orange flames were permitted now. The colors of Ioene.

  “Thank you, Lilik,” Paono said. “I won’t forget this. Not ever.”

  Neither would I.

  Over Paono's shoulder, I spied Raav watching me from atop a pile of rigging. Blood rushed to my face. We'd hardly spoken since we fed the stowaway together, but I'd caught him looking at me often. Now, as before, his eyes held a strange mix of warmth and respect. He was a mystery: defender of helpless stowaways yet sentinel to Katrikki Korpit. How had she—a stinking puddle of self-absorption—convinced him to come with her?