Shattering of the Nocturnai Box Set

by Carrie Summers

  For the moment, other matters were more pressing. Mieshk still held power on Ioene, endangering the lives of the unfortunate crew who’d fallen under her sway. Worse, if she regained even a fraction of the power the Effigy had given her, she threatened even the Kiriilt Islands.

  And for some of us, it was personal. How could I remain on Stanik while Paono was alone in the dark, the sole defense between Mieshk and cataclysm? How could I let Heiklet’s death be for nothing?

  Today, there would be tearful hellos. Explanations. Dinners with our families.

  Tomorrow our new work would begin.

  “Will you and Islilla visit the Srukolks today?” I asked. Heiklet’s family had planned to remain on Stanik Island during the Nocturnai rather than returning to their home island, Orteshk. I didn’t envy Raav the task of carrying them news of her death. I would have liked to go with him, but for now, the barrier between traders and gutterborn was as strong as ever. My presence would not be appreciated.

  He nodded, face sober. “I’ll tell them what you said about her. Once we explain what we learned about the strands to the Trader Council, I’ll meet with the Srukolks again. With you channeling, we may be able to contact Heiklet once we return to Ioene. They may be able to speak to her. Gain some peace.”

  “And what about Katrikki’s sister?” I asked quietly.

  Raav’s pinky finger wrapped mine. “I don’t know,” he said.

  A dart of cold stabbed my chest. After everything we’d been through, after the new closeness on the voyage home, did he still have feelings for her? What about our plans? Ashkalan was still out there. Waiting to be awakened.

  I jerked my hand away.

  “Wait, Lilik. I’m sorry. I don’t mean it that way.” He hugged me around the shoulders. “I don’t know how she’ll react when I tell her I can’t marry her. We have nothing in common, other than hatred for our respective families. I’ve been worrying about how to explain that without hurting her.”

  “Have you stopped to wonder how much—or how little—we have in common?”

  He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “What if I told you that, in your case, I wouldn’t care if we were direct opposites?”

  I smiled and looked toward the mist-hazed roofline of the city. After a moment, Raav chuckled and lifted my hand from the rail. He rubbed gently at a smudge of ink on the meaty outer edge of my palm. “Looking forward to a real supply of paper?”

  During our voyage home, I’d been recording everything I could remember from Zyri’s time. Unfortunately, paper was worse than scarce. My handwritten words covered the margins of personal books that had somehow survived both the eruption and Mieshk’s war.

  “Almost as much as a basket of fresh fried dough sprinkled with cinnamon.”

  My smile fell away. While recording Zyri’s experiences, I’d revisited so many memories of Tyrak that I couldn’t help thinking of Paono. I missed him so much. The streets of Istanik would be empty without his smile. Fried dough wouldn’t be as delicious without him.

  During the voyage, I’d attempted to make contact with the strands infused into the mainsail. While I could sense their vitality—the same with my pendant, a low hum of life within it—I found no way to speak to the spirits as I had the little girl in Mieshk’s dagger. Maybe I needed to be upon Ioene to open myself wide enough; I hadn’t thought to ask Peldin before we said goodbye. Still, I imagined I’d keep trying, if only to fill the empty spaces left by Paono, Zyri, and the Vanished.

  Raav seemed to sense my melancholy. “We’ll rescue them. Even if no one else will help, I’ll beg Frask for a ship—he’ll probably be glad to be rid of me.”

  A shout went up from the quay when we were spotted. I can’t imagine what the Istanikers thought, seeing the glowing sail pull the ship forward as if the light breeze were a fierce storm. By the time we reached the quay and threw lines to waiting men and women, people stood ten deep waiting to greet us.

  My eyes roved the crowd. Stunned faces. Many worried looks. For every happy reunion, there would be two tearful disappointments. Many people here would not see their beloved sons or daughters or husbands or wives for many months yet. In some cases, never.

  We would go back for the survivors. There was no question. If Stanik and Araok Islands couldn’t stomach it, if Raav’s brother refused to help, I’d search as far as the Outer Isles for people willing to take on Mieshk.

  I rushed to the gate when the captain lifted away a section of rail. The crowd on the shore raised a bridge for us to cross.

  When my foot touched the quay’s solid stone, my knees turned to water. I sagged into the arms of strangers, and a knot of people helped me through the crowd. On a bench in the afternoon breeze, I sat fighting tears.

  “Lilik.” His voice was like a warm hearth fire. Like the first embrace of sunlight after months spent above the night line. My father.

  I flew into his arms, crying, sobbing, laughing. Jaret bounced around us like a puppy. I buried myself in my family, hardly able to breathe.

  “What happened to you?” my father asked. “Tides, Lilik. The sail. It’s . . .”

  “It’s the greatest gift that one civilization has ever given another, Da. They sacrificed themselves for us. For me. Because they believed in me. And I won’t let them down.”

  I was a failed nightcaller and a fraud. But I was also a survivor, a leader, a daughter, and a friend. I looked up into the deep blue sky and wondered who I would become next.

  SHADOWBOUND

  Book Two

  Shattering of the Nocturnai

  Carrie Summers

  Chapter One

  I DIPPED MY quill into the ink pot and pulled it out to watch drops of darkness fall from the tip. On the paper before me were one hundred boxes I’d drawn the morning after our return to Istanik. One hundred days, give or take, until Ioene’s storm season would begin. No ship could survive those waves; if I didn’t arrive with soldiers strong enough to defeat Mieshk before the storms lashed the island, everyone we’d left behind was doomed. Including Paono.

  And then, once Paono could no longer shield the nightstrands from her summoning, Mieshk would use their power to unleash a cataclysm.

  I put quill to paper, slashing through the fourth day. Ninety-six remained, and I’d accomplished nothing.

  Disgusted, I slumped against the back of my chair, its rough-carved rails digging into my spine. While sailing into the harbor aboard Zyri’s Promise, her nightwoven sail pulling us as if we ran before a gale, I’d never imagined it would be so difficult to rally support.

  The Trader Council hadn’t even agreed to see me. Captain Altak and Mistress Nyralit were busy explaining the failed Nocturnai to half the city. Raav had disappeared into his trader House to deal with his mother and brother.

  And I sat at home, laying plans with fading hope my efforts could succeed.

  Paono was counting on me. Though they didn’t know it, everyone in the Kiriilt Islands was counting on me.

  Something had to change; I was done being polite.

  But first, I had visits to make.

  Taking a deep breath, I rapped lightly at Paono’s nan’s door. Even though I’d seen her briefly at the waterfront when we'd returned, she hadn’t answered my knock when I’d tried to visit her the next morning. And I’d been so busy in the following days. Still, I felt guilty that I hadn’t tried harder.

  “Come in,” she called, her words followed by an eruption of coughing.

  I flinched—that didn't sound healthy. “Hi, Nan. Are you okay?” I asked as I squeezed the latch and nudged the door open.

  “Lilik!” The old woman’s face lit. Another hacking cough shook her, and she cleared her throat as she waved me in.

  “I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner. It’s been . . .” I trailed off. No excuse was good enough.

  “Sit, child!” She smiled, patting the armchair beside her rocker. Her eyes were still watering from the coughing fit.

  “The cough . . . is this new?�
�� I asked.

  “It’s nothing,” she said, waving away my question. “Just the damp spell we had last week.”

  Despite her attempts to sound forceful, I heard the airy weakness in her voice. I curled my toes inside my shoes. It was just like Nan to pretend nothing was wrong.

  Glancing around the room, I noticed that the lamps were unlit. Sunlight streamed through the single window, lighting a square of threadbare rug. For most people, that would be plenty of light, but not for Nan. As long as I’d known her, she’d burned lamps in dozens of colors, day and night. I used to go home with headaches from the smell of the lamp oils.

  “Hasn't anyone been helping you, Nan? I thought Paono hired someone.”

  I clasped the sea-opal pendant that Captain Altak had refused to accept as collateral for the coin he loaned Paono.

  “A healer and her daughter came every day at first. Checked on me and brought groceries. But I asked them to stop visiting so much. It’s tiring for an old woman to make conversation with strangers.”

  “What about Jaret?”

  She smiled. “A sweet boy. He visits sometimes. But I remember what it was like to be twelve. I only let him in when the weather’s too foul for play.”

  Or work, more like it. Jaret would never run off with friends when he could help Da with the business.

  I grabbed Nan’s hand. Her skin was tissue-thin over the bones. “Would you like me to light your lamps?”

  Nan’s lip quivered as she shook her head. “I’ve had them put out. It just doesn’t seem right for me to be surrounded with light while Paono is . . . while he’s up there in the long-night.”

  “Oh, Nan. I’m so sorry.” On the waterfront, I’d told her about Paono’s sacrifice. She understood—or, at least, she claimed to understand. But the situation was still my responsibility.

  She patted my hand. “It’s not your fault, Lilik.”

  “I’m going back for him, I swear. I’ve sat outside Trader Council Hall every day since we returned.”

  “I know. Katrikki told me.”

  Cold flooded my chest. “She was here?”

  Nan nodded, a hint of a smile on her lips. “Paono and a trader girl . . . I was surprised to learn he’d snared her. All these years, I thought the two of you would end up together someday. But, anyway . . . she seemed kind. Pretty.”

  I couldn’t believe it. How horrible was I? I’d taken her grandson from her, abandoned him leagues and leagues from home, and then I’d let a trader be the first to visit her.

  “It’s okay, Lilik. You’re busy. Katrikki said the Trader Council has been trapped in the hall well past their usual time to retire because the alternative is confronting you. They wait until you go home to cook for your da.”

  “It’s no excuse,” I said. “I’ve been too wrapped up in my problems.”

  Retaking Ioene was critical, but I still should have come here first. Nan deserved better.

  “You asked Paono to bring back stories about the Nocturnai,” I said. “Would you like to hear any?”

  “It will have to wait until tomorrow,” she said, stifling a cough. “I’ve already sat up longer than I should have—been napping in the mornings lately.”

  My brows drew together. Nan had never complained about being tired before. In fact, Paono and I used to wonder how she managed. She never seemed to stop moving. Mending. Knitting. Reading. I’d often wondered whether Nan would ever slow down.

  “I’ll come right after dinner,” I said. “I swear it.”

  Abruptly, she fixed me with a gaze so intent that a shiver crawled across my skin.

  “Lilik, if you don’t get results from the traders, have you ever considered . . .”

  “Considered what?”

  “You have more friends than you realize among the gutterborn. Your success at the nightcaller trial got people thinking. There are many who now believe we ought to stop asking for trader permission to get what we want.”

  “But I need ships, Nan. Soldiers. Enough to deal with Mieshk’s followers while we go after her.”

  The coughs finally escaped her chest, rattling like a lid on a boiling kettle. While Nan bent over her knees, I rushed across the room and ladled a tin cupful of water from her ewer. Once the coughing stopped, she nodded thanks and accepted the drink.

  She cleared her throat. “Ships and soldiers. Yes, well, that’s true. And both those things belong to the traders. I certainly wouldn’t suggest that you consider the fairness of that arrangement . . .”

  “What are you saying?”

  She waved away my question. “I’ll see you tomorrow, child. After dinner. And good luck with the traders.”

  Chapter Two

  AFTER CHECKING THE position of the sun—I had time—I hurried through the streets to Captain Altak’s shore quarters. His rooms filled most of the second story of the building; I jogged up a narrow staircase to the hall outside his door.

  “Enter!” The captain answered my knock without hesitation, his low voice vibrating the wood inside the walls. When I stepped through the door, I stopped short upon seeing Raav reclining on one of the benches. At the sight of his full lips and dark eyes, all my insecurities about our differences came thundering back. My words of greeting deserted me.

  Raav nodded acknowledgment of my arrival, face unreadable. I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t indifference. Did that mean I was right to worry? Had he realized what an idiot he’d been during his brief attraction to a gutterborn?

  “Haven’t seen you in a while, Raav,” I said, my tone sharper than I intended. But maybe I had a right to be upset. After all, we’d been back for four days, and he’d made no effort to find me. Then again, it had taken this long for me to look in on Nan . . .

  He flinched, and I immediately regretted my tone.

  “Can we talk later?” he asked.

  Without meeting his eyes, I nodded then smiled a greeting at Mistress Nyralit. Elegant as always, she lounged on another couch.

  “So, how fares the hero of the Nocturnai?” Captain Altak said, his eyes teasing. I could tell he sensed the awkwardness between me and Raav and was trying to lighten the mood. It didn’t work.

  Sagging into an upholstered armchair, I sighed. “The traders are avoiding me.”

  “The Council is stubborn,” Mistress Nyralit said. Nyralit, I reminded myself. She’d asked to drop the title of strandmistress during our voyage home. I assumed the change was because of what we’d learned about nightforging. By training generations of nightcallers, she’d helped condemn thousands of souls to eternal imprisonment. I didn’t blame her for wanting to forget.

  As if sensing my thoughts, her fingers wandered to the nightforged chain that coiled around her wrist. Imbued with the magic of a nightstrand, the iridescent bracelet remained fixed to her without the help of a clasp.

  Unable to resist, I lowered my walls, extended a thread of perception toward the chain. As with Paono’s pendant and the sails aboard Zyri’s Promise, I sensed vitality in the bracelet but couldn’t speak directly with the soul. As I withdrew, the emptiness in my head was a reminder of everything—everyone—I’d left behind on Ioene.

  I thought about the spirit bound within the chain. Nyralit's nightcalling talent meant that she was a descendant of the Vanished. The imprisoned soul could take comfort in that bond, at least.

  “Paono is alone up there,” I said. “And the storms are coming.”

  “We know,” Captain Altak said. Where Nyralit and Raav lounged on cushioned benches, he sat in a stiff-backed chair, carved with ornate symbols relating to the sea. Ever a captain, even when quartered in his chambers in Istanik.

  “Frankly, Lilik, it’s worse than you realize,” he said. “The Council is considering forming a new Nocturnai. They insist that we can’t possibly survive without replenishing the nightforged weapons.”

  “What?” I sprang to my feet. “Don’t they understand what nightforging does?”

  As I spoke, I felt a scratching at my mental barr
iers. Faint, but insistent. Startled, I ran my eyes over the room. Since leaving Ioene, I’d had no contact from the aether, but I’d kept the walls up around my mind anyway. Better to feel as if the lonely silence were my choice.

  The scratching came again, a sensation so like Peldin’s attempts to contact me that my breath hitched.

  Tentatively, I lowered my walls. Above the mantle, a pair of nightforged daggers were mounted in a velvet-backed frame. Forged during the centuries when the Nocturnai produced more art than weapons, the blades were made of nightforged steel, folded and pounded so that the layering highlighted the iridescence in the metal. Gold wire wrapped the hilts, and the silver-wrought guards ended in graceful filigrees. One blade was longer than the other, around the length of my forearm, whereas the shorter could slip into a boot holster.

  The longer of the daggers seized my attention, compelling me to move closer.

  “Lilik?” Nyralit asked as I shuffled forward. “What is it?”

  “The dagger . . . It’s . . .”

  Before I could finish, I heard a male voice in my mind.

  Zyri? Zyri! You’re here!

  “Who . . .?” I whispered. Something about the voice was so familiar.

  But you’re different. What happened to you, Zyri?

  My knees buckled when I realized why I recognized the voice. The boy had lived in my dreams for weeks. I staggered back into the cushioned chair, staring at the dagger that held the soul of Zyri’s lover, Tyrak.

  “Tides,” I mumbled.

  What? Zyri? Are you okay?

  Raav slipped to my side, kneeling so close that I felt the warmth of his body. Memories of Tyrak mixed with the sensation of Raav’s nearness, and abruptly I felt as if I were spinning. I planted my hands and slammed my walls into place, hating to shut Tyrak out but unable to deal with the storm of emotions pounding me.

  “Your dagger spoke to me,” I whispered as I looked at Captain Altak.

  “What?” he asked.