Cloak of Night

by Evelyn Skye

  “Mama! Papa!” She started sprinting.

  “Spirit, pace yourself,” Broomstick yelled from behind her. “Or at least let me get us some horses to help!” There was still a long way to go up the steep mountainside.

  He had a point. But Sora couldn’t slow down. “I’m sorry, I have to go ahead. Meet me there!” She commanded the ryuu particles to lift her, and they whisked her up the switchbacks, leaving Broomstick behind in the dust.

  Chapter Twenty

  Her parents’ home perched on the cliffs above the glistening sea, serene and so removed from the smoke and noise of the village below it seemed possible that everything would be all right. The air was scented with damp cypress boughs, just as Sora remembered, and the steps leading up to the front door were swept clean. She made her way into the small courtyard, with its wooden path and well-tended garden of ferns and baby maple trees and river-polished pebbles, and paused outside the room to the right, Papa’s pottery studio.

  He sat at his wheel, pumping the pedal steadily to keep the platform turning, oblivious to the fact that anyone was watching. He had clay on his mustache and a smear of paint across his cheek, and those details combined with the soothing rhythm of the pedal filled Sora’s chest with relief. All was well here. She’d been afraid for nothing.

  “Hello, Papa,” Sora said softly.

  His hands faltered at the sound of her voice, and the clay he’d been carefully working wobbled on the wheel, growing lopsided. He snapped up his head and glared at her.

  Sora took a step back. Papa had never looked at her that way before. Both her parents doted on her but Papa more so. He was the one who always insisted on giving her the best bed when she came to visit. Who couldn’t stop smiling proudly at his taiga daughter when she and Daemon did their exercises in the mornings, keeping in shape on school breaks by sparring on the deck and jumping in the trees that clung to the cliffside. Scowling was so unfamiliar it seemed uncomfortable on his face.

  “Look what you’ve done,” Papa said, grabbing the lopsided clay from the wheel and hurling it at the wall. It hit with a loud splat, and Sora jumped. “I suppose you expect that you can just drop in unannounced because you’re a taiga and that your mother will have food on the stove for you and a bath drawn to welcome Your Honor’s return? All hail Luna’s chosen one.”

  Sora cringed at the acidic sarcasm with which he said the moon goddess’s name and the title “Your Honor.” It was the standard honorific for taigas, but she’d always insisted that her parents call her Sora. It had been their choice over the years to address her and Daemon as “Your Honor.” Papa had claimed it was a privilege to be able to do so, because not everyone got to have a child blessed by Luna with taiga magic.

  “I—I’m sorry,” she said. “I happened to be passing through the area, and I wanted to check on you.”

  Papa frowned. He stared at his pottery wheel as if he were deep in thought, then shook his head sharply. “Your Honor,” he said, with reverence this time. “I apologize. I don’t know what came over me. Of course you are welcome home anytime.” He rose, took off his apron, and approached Sora with arms outstretched to give her a hug.

  She let him, but she was tense, not sure if this was real remorse or if he would lash out again.

  It was a genuine embrace, though, and when he released her, Papa smiled in his familiar way, eyes glistening and crinkled at the corners.

  What in the hells is going on? Sora thought.

  He led her through the interior courtyard, into the main house. It was a small structure, but he hollered nevertheless. “Mina! Guess who surprised us with a visit!”

  Mama burst out of her study, pencil still in hand. “Your Honor!” Her eyes brightened, and she bowed deeply.

  Their joy made everything feel normal and right, if only for a moment. But then Sora remembered that she hadn’t seen them since she found out that Hana was still alive, and that she hadn’t been killed as a child during the Blood Rift.

  Should I tell them?

  They had a right to know. And yet, this didn’t seem the proper time. It would mean explaining not only that their younger daughter was alive but also that she was fighting for the wrong side. That Sora had tried to show her the error of following Prince Gin, but that Hana had turned her back and chosen the pursuits of blood and glory and the Evermore instead.

  And then there was Prince Gin’s promise—that the next time Sora and Hana met, one of them would end up dead.

  It was definitely better not to tell Mama and Papa about Hana now.

  A second later, Mama whacked Papa with her pencil. “What kind of host are you? Have you offered our daughter something to drink? A place to sit? She must be exhausted.”

  “How is this my fault?” he said. “You’re the rude one, holed up in your office and not greeting her properly.”

  “I didn’t even know she was here!”

  “Maybe if you paid better attention—”

  “Whoa whoa whoa,” Sora said, horrified. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. Everything’s fine.”

  Except it wasn’t. There was something wrong with her parents, just like something had been wrong with Mr. Zaki in the village. As if the sunlight that usually shone on their lives had been replaced with putrid green rot.

  Sora gasped. Or like Sola’s brightness on our kingdom has been overshadowed by Zomuri’s selfish pettiness.

  Could this be what that conversation Fairy overheard in the Citadel was about? Something about how Zomuri being the kingdom’s new patron god was influencing people? It certainly seemed as if his cruelty were dripping into Kichona, like a sickness falling over the people and the land.

  Sora looked at Mama and Papa casting daggers of blame over an imagined problem. Their fury sliced into Sora, too, but in a different way—it pained her to see them like this.

  This has to be stopped. Sora couldn’t let Mama and Papa stay this way forever.

  For now, though, she needed to distract them from their argument. “Papa, I want to bring a gift back to my teachers,” she lied. “Would you be able to pick a sake set from your collection for me? They are always so impressed with your artistry. And Mama,” she said, “I have a mythology project for my literature class that involves the Lake of Nightmares. But I have no idea where to start. Have you come across this lake in your work, maybe in your research for the Kichonan Tales?”

  They both blinked.

  Papa nodded happily. “I would be honored to give a sake set to your teachers. I’ll look for something right away.” He hurried out of the house toward his studio, almost skipping as he went.

  Mama, however, frowned. “You said your project was on the Lake of Nightmares? What an esoteric legend. There really isn’t much about it.”

  “But you’ve heard of it?” Sora asked.

  “Oh yes, of course I’ve come across it. Legend has it that Zomuri buried his treasure deep inside ice caverns, at the bottom of a lake enchanted to give anyone who touched its waters horrible nightmares. Those greedy enough to try to break into the god’s vault will see visions of the worst versions of themselves. The hallucinations are so vivid, people either drown as they get lost in them or drown themselves out of despair for who they think they’ll become in the future.”

  A chill ran down Sora’s spine. So Liga had been wrong about the vault not being protected against mortals.

  “Do you think those stories are true?” Sora asked.

  “Perhaps.” Mama shrugged as they walked into her study. “I believe that mythology stems from a combination of truth and fantasy. Most storytellers are not so creative that they can invent tales from whole cloth. They begin with reality, then embellish it.”

  Sora chewed on her lip as she thought about that.

  Mama climbed a short ladder so she could reach her top bookshelf. She coughed as she retrieved a dusty box.

  “There might be something in here,” she said, setting the box on her desk. Mama began to flip through the notebooks and papers inside.r />
  Sora gave her space to work. Soon enough, Mama pulled out a small journal the size of her palm. “This is what I was looking for. I used to carry it in my pocket when I was a university student. That was the only time I did any research around the topic of the Lake of Nightmares.” She handed the journal to Sora.

  Inside, Mama’s neat cursive filled the pages. There were notes on all sorts of random things, like a snapshot of her young mind and its many interests before she found her calling in retelling Kichonan legends. There were a few pages on imperial coronation fashion through the ages, a section with doodles of griffins and an idea for a short story, and a page with her monthly budget as a student. Sora smiled at this insight into Mama’s life.

  Then Sora found what she was looking for. On a tea-stained page, Mama had jotted some notes about a single historical account from a man who had purportedly found the Lake of Nightmares and returned to tell about it.

  - Party of 10 went in; all died but 1.

  - Magnetic fields in the ice tunnels. Party split up, and half got lost, never heard from again.

  - Ghost faces and snow monster.

  - Lake will keep you if you step foot in it.

  Sora flipped to the next page. There were a bit of poetry and another griffin doodle but nothing more about Naimo Ice Caves or the Lake of Nightmares.

  “Is this all you have?” Sora asked.

  “Yes,” Mama said. “That’s why I never bothered to write a story about the lake. There’s not enough information out there.”

  Papa barreled into the study then, carrying a tray of small blue cups and a sake carafe in his right hand and a box with orange cups and matching carafe in his left. “Do you think your teachers would like blue or orange better?” he asked.

  “You stupid man!” Mama said, snatching both the tray and box away from him. “The Society is too important and busy to care about your pottery. Can’t you see that our daughter was just trying to give you something to do so you’d feel important while she took care of the real reason for her visit—discussing her school project with me?”

  “Your arrogance is out of control!” Papa shouted. “Ever since you were awarded that prize for literature, you think you’re the greatest living mind in the kingdom!”

  “You’re lucky I deigned to marry a pea brain like you!”

  “I seem to recall you admired me when we first met. My family have been master potters for centuries—”

  Sora watched sadly. “I’m sorry I can’t help you right now,” she said, even though they couldn’t hear her over their own yelling. “But I’m going to stop this madness as soon as I can. Everything will be better then. I promise.”

  Her parents didn’t even notice when she ducked out the door and left the house.

  Half a mile down the road, she met Broomstick, who had somehow procured horses for them and just turned the final bend in the switchback. He was covered in dust and sweat, and he looked like he could have used a good meal and bath at her parents’ house.

  But one look at the way Sora’s shoulders drooped and he offered her a horse and turned them around, heading away from food and rest, going back down the mountain.

  “Were they like the dumpling maker?” Broomstick asked.

  Sora nodded, lips pressed tightly together. She’d held her emotions together in front of her parents, but now that she’d left them, it began to sink in how bad the situation was. How her parents’ goodness was being eaten away, like a worm nibbling through an apple. If the worm got to the core, would Mama and Papa rot for good? Sora stifled a sob.

  “With Kichona dedicated to Zomuri,” Sora said, “I think the kingdom will only get darker. We have to get that soul and kill Prince Gin before it’s too late. Kichona needs Empress Aki and Sola.”

  Sora wiped away the tears threatening to overflow. She wouldn’t cry. Not yet. She was a fighter. A warrior. The last of the protectors of Kichona. She would not let her parents succumb to Zomuri and the Dragon Prince’s rule.

  She pulled her shoulders back. “No more stops,” she said. Partly because she couldn’t bear to see other people influenced like Mama, Papa, and Mr. Zaki and partly because she wanted to get to Naimo Ice Caves as quickly as possible.

  “We’re going to find Prince Gin’s soul,” Sora said. “And we’re going to destroy him, no matter what the cost.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Fairy held tightly to one of the ridges on Liga’s back as they flew through the moon-shadowed sky. She’d thought sitting on an alligator would be a lot less comfortable, but because Liga was in constellation form—albeit with his sparks dimmed to keep them concealed—his hide was strangely ethereal, buttery smooth yet light as stardust. Combined with the fact that Wolf was pressed warmly behind her, Fairy was quite content as they glided toward their nightly mission to keep tabs on Prince Gin and look for any clues about Empress Aki’s whereabouts.

  “How do we engage in subversion?” Liga asked in his typical awkward way as they approached the Citadel. He’d offered to come not only because it would be easier for Fairy and Wolf if he flew them but also because he was fascinated by the human conflict unfolding before him.

  Wolf spoke up to answer Liga’s question. “We sneak very quietly, make sure we don’t get caught, and throw wrenches in the ryuu’s gears.”

  “I didn’t bring any wrenches,” Liga said.

  “Not literal wrenches,” Fairy said. “It’s just a saying—”

  But Liga wasn’t listening, because at the same time he said, “Ah, but I can conjure them when you need them!”

  She just let that one go.

  They landed in the Citadel in the middle of the outdoor amphitheater with its broad black stage and rows of benches set into the grass, where the apprentices had watched many years of graduation ceremonies before them. After a quick pass, they confirmed there was nothing suspicious there.

  Next was the sparring arena, where they’d spent countless hours with the taiga weapons master throwing knives, dueling with swords, and fighting with bare hands. Like when Broomstick had last been here, there were a few ryuu practicing their skills, even this late at night. Fairy refused to look into the center of the arena; she didn’t want to see if any of the girls from her dormitory or other classmates were there. And it seemed like business as usual—at least, business of the ryuu variety—so she, Wolf, and Liga quickly moved on.

  They snuck through the warrior enclave, a neighborhood of black wood-framed homes for Councilmembers, teachers, and other taiga warriors who lived at the Citadel. Then the apprentice portion of the campus, with its dorms and the tall building where they had classes. Fairy could almost smell the chalk and hear their teachers’ voices. Seeing all this at once—and knowing what was going on inside these fortress walls—was even harder than the last time she’d spied here.

  “Perhaps we should take to the air again,” Liga said after they’d almost been caught several times.

  “Agreed,” Fairy said. “It’ll be good to get a bird’s-eye view to see if there’s any unusual activity.”

  “You mean an alligator’s-eye view,” Liga said.

  Fairy groaned.

  “I understand that is what mortals call a joke.”

  Wolf chuckled under his breath, although Fairy was pretty sure he was mostly laughing at his brother, not with him.

  They climbed onto Liga’s back again, and he soared upward, doing an aerial pass over the Citadel.

  Near the far edge of the fortress, Liga made a guttural noise in his throat. “I may not know much about humans, but I’d wager that qualifies as ‘unusual activity’?” He pointed his snout toward what were usually fields for sports and other games.

  They weren’t empty lawns anymore.

  Fairy leaned forward. “Are those ships?”

  Wolf pressed against her to get a better look. “Good gods. They’ve turned our athletic fields into a shipyard.”

  Indeed, there were dozens of war vessels in various stages of construction.
Fairy shook her head in disbelief. “How did they build that many so quickly?”

  “If I may posit a theory,” Liga said, “perhaps it is the doing of their so-called ryuu magic. If they possess the ability to work with wood, metal, and other such elements, it is possible to draw the conclusion that they could construct entire naval fleets much more rapidly than ordinary humans.”

  “Translating for my brother,” Wolf said, “the ryuu are evil, magical shipbuilders.”

  “And from the looks of it, it won’t be long until they’re ready to attack one of the mainland kingdoms,” Fairy said.

  “They’ll probably hit Thoma first,” Wolf said, shaking his head sadly.

  Fairy cursed. Thoma was a small island just off the coast of the continent. It wasn’t technically part of the mainland, but it used to be part of Xerlinis until an earthquake broke it off a couple centuries ago. That’s why, to this day, whenever anyone talked about the “mainland kingdoms,” those still included Thoma.

  “You’re right,” Fairy said. “With these ships and that ryuu who controls the water, they could overwhelm Thoma before their forces had a chance to fight back.”

  “We need to stop their progress,” Wolf said. “I think this calls for some sabotage, don’t you?”

  “I do love a bit of intrigue,” Liga said. “Just tell me what to do.”

  Fairy turned to consult with Wolf. “Ideas?”

  He took in the shipyard below. “Setting it all on fire would probably be too obvious.”

  “Agreed. We want to hurt them without letting them know we’re around. Otherwise we won’t be able to come back, and we have to be able to do that so we can keep searching for Empress Aki.”

  Wolf rubbed at the stubble along his jaw. “We could punch holes in the bottoms of the ships.”

  Fairy smiled. “And if we made the holes small enough, they wouldn’t notice until they were ready to launch.”

  “Too bad we don’t have any tools on us.”

  “What sort of tools do you need?” Liga asked. “What about these?” A leather sheath full of needle-tipped awls appeared from thin air.