Shattering of the Nocturnai Box Set

by Carrie Summers

  The big man nodded assent. Though my trip through the barracks strip on the evening of our first meeting had been a dumb idea, I was glad for it now.

  Still, the group milled in the clearing. After a moment, Mother shuffled over. “Go ahead and dismiss us,” she said quietly.

  I felt the blush heat my cheeks. “That’s all,” I said.

  The small group broke up, vanishing into the shadows that cloaked the trail. Soon, only my mother and I were left.

  “I’m proud of you, Lilik,” she said.

  “Do you think they’ll return?”

  “Honestly? Jet’s man and the woman with the knife will. But the others? I think so, but I can’t be sure.”

  I sighed. “Regardless, I meant it when I said that I won’t give up. This is the only way. If we don’t return to Ioene, we’re all doomed.”

  “You say that, Lilik, but are you sure? You talk about this cataclysm, but what if it never happens? The storm season will come to Ioene and solve the issue of Mieshk, with or without us.”

  I glared at her, furious. “That’s the same sort of thinking that’s left us at the mercy of the traders and the Waikert and just wishing things were better. I’m done with that, Mother. Done.”

  I didn’t mention Paono. There was no point; if my mother couldn’t have stayed loyal to her own family, her own flesh and blood, how could she possibly understand my desire to rescue my friend.

  She sighed, an infuriating sound in the dark. “You’re sure you won’t come with me? We could bring your da, too, and Jaret.”

  “How can you even ask that?” I spat, my voice turning shrill.

  “I’m sorry, Lilik. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t try. I can’t remain much longer—the voices are just too strong.”

  I blinked. “Voices?”

  She turned away from me. Silhouetted by the lights of Istanik, she cut a defeated figure, her shoulders slumped in humiliation.

  “Don’t you think I’d have stayed if I could? I would have done anything to remain with you and Jaret. With your father. But I’m weak. There’s something about Istanik—about any city, really. I hear them shrieking at me, all the time. The longer I’m here, the worse it gets.”

  I stepped toward her, shocked. “What do they say, Mother?”

  Watching her in profile now, I saw the anguish on her face, painted in the faint glow from the city below. “Nothing I can make sense of. They cry for help. Beg. Laugh. Moan. It’s—” She turned to look at me. “When you were little, I heard what sounded like a small child drowning, men and women yelling and the crash of the surf. It terrified me. I thought the voices were telling me to hurt you. What if I lost control? Or rather, what if the voices gained control?”

  “Has it always been that way for you?” I asked. My mind was racing. Mother came from the Outer Isles, the closest of the Kiriilt Islands to Ioene. If any of the Vanished had escaped the cataclysm—other than the coven of Mavek’s Hands who had been banished a few years before—they’d likely have landed on Outer Isle shores.

  She sighed. “I wish I could claim it started after you were born—after all, what mother would knowingly bring a child into the world when her grasp on sanity was tenuous. But in the Outer Isles, it had happened so infrequently. I’d convinced myself it was my imagination. Then I met your da. He brought me home to Istanik after our wedding, and that’s when it started.”

  “Does anything else happen to you? Or is it just the voices”

  She cast me a melancholy smile. “Actually, Lilik, you’ve made me feel better about one thing.” When she clasped my wrist, I jumped, startled by the contact. Mother pushed my sleeve up to my elbow and ran gentle fingers down my forearm. “These.”

  “You have scars like these?”

  She shook her head. “Not anymore. Many, many years ago, when I was very little, there was a strange storm in the Outer Isles. Well, not a storm exactly. It was during the darkest time of the year, and for about a week, there were strange lights in the northern sky. Like curtains of blue-green rain.”

  “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 fo
rmed 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 balcony 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 whomeve
r 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.