Shattering of the Nocturnai Box Set

by Carrie Summers

  Next, food. Spinning, I plowed into a warm body. We both fell.

  I scrambled to my feet, panicking.

  “Lilik?” Heiklet. Relief flooded me. Her eyes were saucers. “Go! She’s coming back. She’ll kill you!”

  “I am. Just need—”

  “Go! Now!” She stuffed a chunk of hard bread into my hands, hooked her knapsack over my neck, and shoved me toward the beach’s upper edge. I jogged backward, meeting her eyes, wanting to say something. She waved me on, frantic jabbing motions.

  “Thanks,” I whispered. As I turned and plunged into the wild, I saw Mieshk outlined against the torches. My breath shook. If not for Heiklet, I’d have been caught.

  I ran through the harsh night with the cloak bundled under my arm until the jabbing pain in my side brought me to my knees. While catching my breath, I opened Heiklet’s knapsack. Inside, I found a dull knife and water skin with a couple swallows worth sloshing inside. Bundling the bread in the cloak, I stuffed everything into the pack.

  The waning moon provided little light, but out to sea, the glints off the wavelets provided a cold comfort. I thought of evenings spent on the quay with Paono, watching the torches atop the harbor guardstones shine off distant waves. I’d probably never see him again, I realized. An outcast, I’d either live or die here, but no matter the fate, I’d meet it alone.

  Hiking rather than running now, I wiggled through a gap between boulders where choking vines draped the rocks like curtains, black-leafed and oily and smelling like turpentine. I pinched a leaf, trying to identify the plant. Eikkas tresses—that was the vine's name. Early expeditions had written about them: inedible, irritating to the skin.

  As if to confirm, my hands started to itch. A line of fire seared my face where a tendril had brushed it. Cringing, I sidled around the patch. After clearing the gap between the rocks, I stopped, feeling abruptly defeated. What was I doing out here? Yes, I’d read the Nocturnai logs, but they hadn’t saved me from crashing through the first clump of tresses I found.

  Exhausted, starving, and alone, I slumped to the ground. My head ached from hunger and exertion. In my sleep-deprived weakness, I wondered if I’d earned this with my deceit. Maybe I had been responsible for the Evaeni’s sinking after all.

  If so, did I deserve to be hunted like a criminal? Maybe. But even criminals had the right to a trial.

  Alone in the island-dark, I had to be my own judge and jury. Only I could decide if I were guilty. And until I knew the answer, I needed to move forward.

  I snatched a handful of clean, sandy soil. The sea mists had condensed on Ioene’s flanks, dampening the earth. I rubbed it over my hands and face to dull the burning itch.

  I looked out to sea. So what now? Now that the moon was up, search parties would douse their torches, making their progress harder to track. I’d need to be cautious, too—in the brighter light, I’d be easier to spot, and they’d make fewer loud blunders into dry brush. A small group might surprise me.

  I needed shelter and water. On Ioene, fresh water most often seeped out near the tide line. A cave near a spring would be best, but in a few short months, the storm season would slam the island. Waves would pound the shore while flash floods roared down from above, stripping Ioene bare and pummeling the lower elevations with mud and boulders. I’d be safest tucked into a cliff well above the shore.

  Before I stood, I rubbed away the marks my fingers had left in the soil. My feet left faint imprints, enough for a skilled tracker, but I couldn’t erase my trail entirely. Best to just wipe away obvious sign.

  Ahead, a stand of ivory-trunked foilwood shrubs fringed the open scree slope. Ducking beneath the low branches, I followed tunnels carpeted with crunching leaves. While crawling, I pawed away the fallen foliage in search of nuts. An early account told of foragers grinding flour from the nutmeat. I found three, hardly enough to bake a single bite of flatbread, but it was a start.

  Outside the thicket, the terrain fell away, giving a wide view of the folds and hazards on the volcano’s slopes. I’d climbed higher than I thought, so I planned a route that would bring me back near the tide line. From there, I could search for water and a cave to hide in.

  After maybe an hour’s hard travel, I reached the beach. I’d finished the few swallows in the water skin early on, and my throat rasped when I swallowed. Heiklet’s bread was far too dry without something to wash it down. The three foilwood nuts couldn’t be eaten without first grinding them and leaching the flour with baths of fresh water to pull out the astringents. Not if I wanted to avoid vomiting, at least.

  The moon had started its descent toward the sea, and jagged boulders cast long shadows across the small arc of beach gravel. Out here, beyond the protective arms of the village’s natural harbor, waves rumpled the sea’s surface and crashed against the shore, smooth faces shining red in the glow from Ioene’s burning crown.

  At the water line, I dipped fingers into the sea. I regretted it immediately. Even gutterborn knew not to drink seawater, but the cold wetness made my tongue ache in longing. Standing, I dried my hand on my pants and examined my surroundings.

  At the far end of the beach, a cliff band reached down from high on the volcano’s flanks, slicing across the beach into the open sea where waves bashed the end. I squinted at the outcrop, considering. The more barriers between me and the encampment the better, but I didn’t want to swim around it. The sea was cold; my limbs would tire quickly. Plus, I wasn’t a very good swimmer to begin with. I was a good climber, though. Back home, I’d scaled trees and walls that Paono wouldn’t even attempt.

  As I weighed my options, a racket rose behind me, a clatter of stones followed by a crash of brush snapping and a loud curse.

  Rot. I sprang for the edge of the beach, diving into the thicket with my breath caught in my lungs. The searchers must have traveled close to the shore, a more direct route than I’d taken by going up and then back down. I didn’t think they’d seen me; there’d been no cry of alarm, no running feet. But I couldn’t backtrack. They had me pinned against the escarpment, and the only way out was over.

  Crouched low, I wound through the brush, ears alert for pursuit. When I’d nearly reached the cliff, I poked my head out and peered down the beach. Four figures sat in the pumice, shadowy in the wan moonlight. It looked like they were eating before continuing on. Ducking back into cover, I hurried across the final few paces before the cliff.

  My thirst made thinking difficult, and my head spun when I examined the cliff, but features emerged under my hands. Sharp edges the width of a finger felt as if they’d make good handholds, but I didn’t think they’d be large enough to stand on. If I slipped, I’d slam down on the jumble of rocks at the cliff’s base. A few paces uphill, a potential route caught my eye, a series of wider ledges trending up and right like a crooked ladder. I swallowed saliva gone tacky with thirst and fear—it would have to work.

  Sharp stone bit my hands while ridges pressed through the thick leather soles of my boots. As I moved higher, a light breeze cooled the nervous sweat at my hairline. I climbed a body length. Two, then three, glancing at the beach to make sure I wasn’t observed. My arms began to shake with fatigue, and I realized I’d been gripping too tightly. I settled my weight onto my feet.

  With a crunch, a foothold crumbled. My falling body slammed into my shoulder sockets, ripping the flesh of my palms when my hands skidded, then stopped. I hung, legs pedaling, toes desperate for purchase to take the weight from my shredded palms. Below, the stone that had given way crashed onto the broken rubble at the cliff’s base, clattering as it came to rest.

  The leather of my shoe hooked a tiny rail. I edged my foot onto the narrow ledge and pressed up off my big toe. Tiny serrations in the stone bit into the sole of my boot and kept my foot in place. With my cheek pressed against the cool rock, I paddled my other leg up and down the cliff face until my foot caught on another small hold. I coughed the terror from my lungs and looked toward the searchers. One scanned the island in my di
rection, then shrugged and continued eating.

  Breath shaky, I reached with a blood-slick hand for the next highest handhold. One painful step after another, I inched toward the top. Finally, I snatched the escarpment’s lip with both hands. I belly-flopped onto the flat top and rolled onto my back, staying flat to avoid being seen.

  Ioene’s ash cloud was a soft red cape pulled across the starlit sky. The moon had slipped behind the ash, lighting the cloud’s edge a brilliant, pinkish white. I lay, shaking, teeth chattering in the aftermath of fear until I noticed the moist air, the hiss that rose from the sea on the other side of the rock ridge.

  Bleeding hands tucked against my belly, I rolled onto my side. A rush of warm air puffed into my face, rising from the lava flow that oozed into the sea a hundred paces from the base of the ridge. Clouds of steam billowed from the boiling seawater, hazing the view. But just beyond the river of molten rock, I spied the red glint where fresh water pools reflected Ioene’s fires.

  If only I could fly.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE FRESH WATER was so close I imagined I could smell it, yet I’d have to cross a river of lava to reach it. Demoralized, I rubbed my face only to realize I’d smeared drying blood from my torn palms across my cheeks. I yearned for someone to hug me around the shoulders and tell me it would be okay. Tears welled.

  Angry, I swiped them away and peered down the cliff I’d ascended. With the moon veiled by the ash cloud, I couldn’t make out the narrow ledges and crevices I’d used to clamber my way up. I’d been lucky to find the path, and now part of it had crumbled away. At least it would be hard for the searchers to follow me, assuming I found a way down from here.

  Above me, the rock ridge shot uphill through jumbled stone and copses of brush, stretching into the darkness. The crest never dipped close enough to the ground for a safe jump, and large, vertical gashes and up thrust blocks cluttered the top, making progress treacherous.

  In the seaward direction, spray from the larger waves misted the cliff top. The ridge ended beyond the boiling cauldron where molten rock spilled into the sea. Watching the steam billow, I wondered: near the roiling end of the lava river, but not too close, would the water be warm enough to swim? It wasn’t a bad idea, actually, provided I could get past the waves.

  I checked that Heiklet’s knapsack was secure against my body and slithered along the skinny rock rib, staying as low to the ridge as possible. To either side, the dark void lapped, threatening to pull me over. Mist condensed on my skin and cooling steam pooled in little potholes in the stone. I sucked up swallows of the water to clear the stale taste from my mouth.

  When the rock thinned to a ridge no wider than my hand, I straddled it and scooted, stomach flat against the stone, to the farthest point. Beyond, the sea spread like rippling black silk out to the horizon. Stars glimmered at the edge of the world. Where the swells slapped the stone beneath me, faint curls of phosphorescence swirled in the turbulence.

  On the beach, the searchers were preparing to move, standing and stretching. Soon they’d be paying more attention. A large wave smashed against the cliff, vibrating the stone beneath me. But as I’d hoped, the spray was warm. I waited, watching the next swell. When it slammed the escarpment, I crouched and, giving a little yelp, jumped. Just before I hit the water, I sucked in a deep breath, pointed my toes and clamped my arms to my side.

  The ocean knocked the breath from my body as the retreating wave sucked me away from the cliff. I gasped and wheezed and panted, struggling against the currents.

  Swim. I had to swim.

  Dark waves lifted me. At each crest, I glimpsed the red glow of billowing steam. Keeping it to my right, I thrashed toward the promise of safety. Seawater poured into my mouth when a wave slapped my face. I swallowed the mouthful and fought the urge to retch. Still I paddled, desperate to get past the lava. With each kick, each frantic wave of an arm, fatigue settled into my limbs, heavy. I slowed, then slowed some more.

  When my strength finally failed, the dark sea tugged me down. In my mind, Da watched me sink. Jaret screamed, furious at me for dying. Paono shook his head, resigned.

  I floated beneath the sea, no longer tired, only numb.

  A tendril of heat caressed my leg, slid up my body, and wrapped my belly and chest. The warmth lent comfort to my slide into the depths. My head pillowed on a pocket of heat, I rested while the warm currents tugged me to and fro. Soon, I would breathe the warm sea into my lungs.

  All at once, a gouging pain in my thigh jarred me from my quiet death. I opened my eyes, blinked at the blurry shadows dancing in the sea water. Lit from behind by the smoldering lava, tentacles of darkness swirled like smoke. Confused, I searched for the source, only to discover that the shadows flowed from my leg.

  My pants were torn, and blood streamed from a deep scrape on my thigh. As it dispersed into the water, the blood looked black in the faint light.

  But I was still alive.

  Wakened from paralysis, I kicked and spun to orient. A few feet away, a dagger of hardened lava thrust up from the seabed. I’d been tossed into it by the currents.

  Abruptly desperate for air, I swam for the surface. Blood eddied in my wake, but already the flow had slowed. Warm mist landed on my face when I broke free of the waves.

  My breath steadied while my strokes lengthened and smoothed. When I was young, my mother had forced me to swim through the surf, to use my arms and legs together like a sea creature. After she’d left, I was too busy surviving to swim. But my mother’s lessons lurked deep within me, jarred loose by the lava spear. I headed for the safety of the beach beyond the flow.

  A few hundred paces past the hot zone, I veered for shore. My toe scuffed the stone reef, and I whooped in relief. I’d made it.

  Water sluiced off my sodden clothing while I trudged up the beach. The gashes on my hands and thigh oozed blood, their edges puckered and pale.

  When I reached the first freshwater pool, I dropped to my elbows and knees and leaned over the water to suck it down. With my last reserves of energy, I tucked into an alcove upon the rocky shelf. It wouldn’t hide me from a determined search party, but I expected they'd check easier locations before going over the escarpment.

  Gingerly pulling a few branches off a nearby snarebush, recognizable by its wicked, recurve spines, I camouflaged my little niche. It would have to do.

  After spreading the cloak out to dry, I lay down and let the heat from the lava flow wash me while I listened to the slap of waves on the shore.

  The moon hung a few fingers above the sea when I woke. I jerked upright, momentarily confused. My hands ached, and I had to bend and unbend my knee a few times to get blood flow back into my injured leg.

  I thought back. When I’d fallen asleep, the moon had only recently set behind Ioene—I’d slept for a long time.

  Rubbing my eyes, I looked around. To one side, the lava smoldered and oozed down to the shore. On the other, the island arced away in a wide slope of rubble and patchy vegetation, some gray and dormant, some dark and alive. Scattered ridges and solid stone towers thrust up from the mountainside.

  My head spun when I stood. As the world blurred and doubled, the ground rushed up and pounded my face. Rolling, I groaned.

  Slow, Lilik.

  Chin and cheekbone aching from the impact, I eased onto hands and knees and then crouched. When I straightened my legs, the woozy feeling swam up from my belly, but I stayed upright this time.

  I needed to eat. Now that I had fresh water, I considered digging out Heiklet’s bread but decided to try foraging while I had the ridge and lava flow standing between my hunters and me. If I needed to hide later, I’d be glad I saved the bread.

  A handful of large boulders stood like stone sentinels in the tidal zone. Tucked into hollows on the undersides, clusters of akal mussels bristled, dormant and clamped shut for the long-night, but edible. I used a fold of the cloak to protect my damaged palms while I yanked the shellfish from their niches. Even with the paddi
ng, I expected the work to hurt more than it did. Hunger must have been dulling the pain.

  I returned to the pool with an armful of the dark-shelled creatures. On one side of the shelf, a stand of snarebush spilled onto the rock. I dumped the shellfish in a rocky, water-filled dish and built a small heap of thorny snarebush twigs over the top. Next, I edged as close to the lava as possible without searing off my eyebrows and extended a series of sticks lashed together with my leather bootlaces. When the end of my pole began to smolder, I dashed back to the pool, begging the little flame to keep burning until I got the fire lit.

  The tinder smoked to life. Once the flames crackled pleasantly, I leaned back against a boulder, satisfied with my cleverness. The water hissed when bits of fire and coals dribbled into the makeshift pot, and after a while, the smell of cooking mussels wafted out.

  My mouth watered in anticipation. After so many weeks of gluey rations aboard the Evaeni, fresh food would be divine. I wondered why the Nocturnais had forgotten so much of what Ioene offered. Fear, maybe. We’d become so focused on weapon-crafting, we’d lost our senses.

  I set aside my fire poker. Before eating, I needed to clean my wounds to prevent infection. Rubbing my hands together in a pool, I peered down at my palms.

  Perplexed, I squinted and rotated my hands so that the moonlight shone directly on my damaged skin.

  No wonder harvesting the mussels hadn’t hurt. The gashes had already started to close, leaving pale lines behind. I ran a fingertip over a fresh, ridged scar. An examination of my thigh showed the same thing.

  Perhaps it was the quick dousing in salt water. My mother used to claim that a half-hour soak in stinging seawater kept the raw skin from festering. Wisdom from the Outer Isles.

  Of course, soon after that, she’d vanished on the outgoing tide. Washed clean away, and leaving a sting far more terrible than a skinned knee. I wondered what she’d think of me now, fending for myself on the wilds of Ioene, finally putting her swimming lessons to use. At the thought, old hurt panged in my chest, the dull ache of long-ago abandonment. It didn’t bother me much, though. Sometimes the pain felt like a part of me.