Contents
* * *
Title Page
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Map of the Sea of Magdalen
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Acknowledgments
Sample Chapter from A DEATH-STRUCK YEAR
Buy the Book
More Books from HMH Teen
About the Author
Connect with HMH on Social Media
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Makiia Lucier
Map illustrations copyright © 2019 by Leo Hartas
All rights reserved. For information about permission to reproduce selections from this book, write to [email protected] or to Permissions, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company, 3 Park Avenue, 19th Floor, New York, New York 10016.
hmhbooks.com
Cover illustration © 2019 by Matt Griffin
Cover design by Sharismar Rodriguez
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Lucier, Makiia, author.
Title: Song of the abyss / Makiia Lucier.
Description: Boston ; New York : Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, [2019] | Series: Tower of winds | Companion to: Isle of blood and stone. | Summary: When men start vanishing at sea without a trace, seventeen-year-old Reyna, a Master Explorer, must travel to a country shrouded in secrets to solve the mystery before it is too late.
Identifiers: LCCN 2018052136 | ISBN 9780544968585 (hardback) | ISBN 9780544968615 (e-book)
Subjects: | CYAC: Explorers—Fiction. | Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. | Kings, queens, rulers, etc.—Fiction. | Missing persons—Fiction. | Fantasy.
Classification: LCC PZ7.L9715 Son 2019 | DDC [Fic]—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018052136
v1.0819
For Reyna
There is no foreign land; it is the traveler only that is foreign.
—Robert Louis Stevenson
One
THEY CAME IN THE NIGHT as she dreamt, in her berth, on a ship sailing home to del Mar.
After, they would be all Reyna thought about: two carracks painted scorpion black. No emblem on either forecastle, no pennant flying above the mainmast to hint at a kingdom of origin.
Never a good sign.
She had not meant to fall asleep. Her cabin was the size of a leading stone, her berth within the only comfortable spot. She had taken a chart to study there and had dozed by the light of a candle. A rough shaking woke her. In that dazed state between sleep and wakefulness loomed a face, inches from her own.
“Quiet,” Gunnel ordered before Reyna could scream. The gruffness of her voice suggested she too had just woken. But Gunnel wore her sword on her back and two daggers in her belt, something she hadn’t done since they had boarded this ship seven days ago. “Good, you’re dressed. Up, up. Quickly, Reyna!”
Reyna rolled from her berth and dropped lightly onto bare feet. From overhead, so peculiar she thought she must still be dreaming, came the sound of a man singing. A gentle, soothing tune, soft as a child’s lullaby. “What is that?” she said.
“Sea raiders.”
Reyna’s grogginess vanished, replaced by a deep, thrumming fear. “Where is the captain?”
“Captured.” Gunnel pointed directly upward. “With the others.”
Reyna crossed the cabin in two steps and threw open her sea chest. There were rules that must be followed, for an occasion such as this. The top half of the trunk was filled with maps and portolans, each rolled and secured with twine. She crushed an armful to her chest and spun around. Gunnel, a sea captain’s daughter long before she’d become Reyna’s guard, had anticipated her next move. The older woman shoved open the window so that the maps could be flung into the darkness and open sea.
It’s fine, Reyna told herself. Fine. Those had been copies of copies, the originals safe on del Mar. Better she lose them than let their trade routes be known to the enemy. Whoever the enemy was. As they emptied the chest, the light from the candle cast shadows onto the walls. Gunnel explained what she knew; it turned out to be very little.
“There are two ships to our west. Both much larger than ours.”
“We had no warning?” There were lookouts aboard the Simona. How had anyone managed to come so close without setting off the alarms?
“None.”
Reyna’s map carrier lay on the table, a leather tube three feet in length. She uncapped it, glanced inside, and felt her heart spasm in protest. These maps were not copies, but the result of twelve months of labor. A year of her life. And she was expected to destroy them. What would Uncle Ginés do? Or Lord Elias? She knew the answer, which only made her decision more agonizing. Above, the strange humming continued. An eternity passed before she replaced the cap and slung the strap over her head. The carrier lay against her back.
Gunnel looked down at her with a disapproving expression. Quite a ways down, for she stood a good three inches above six feet, unnaturally tall even among her people. She indicated Reyna’s carrier. “It’s a bad idea,” she said.
“Yes. I realize.”
If Lord Braga learned she had kept these maps, and they were stolen as a result, he would suffer a seizure. He would banish her from the Tower of Winds. He would string her up by her feet and toss her over the cliffs at Alfonse to die slowly, her eyeballs pecked away by the gulls. And she would deserve it all. There were rules that must be followed, for an occasion such as this.
She left the carrier where it was.
Gunnel shrugged as if to say, It’s your bed, before pitching the last of the charts out the window. “Listen to me,” she said. “There’s something wrong with the men.”
Reyna shoved her father’s dagger in her belt. “They’re injured?”
“No, something is wrong here.” Gunnel tapped the side of her head impatiently. “I heard footsteps outside my cabin, and when I opened the door, they were shuffling past. Like cattle. And their faces . . .” Her brows, unkempt, sprouting everywhere, drew together. “There was nothing there.”
Gunnel was not making sense. “They had no faces?” Reyna asked.
“Of course they had faces!” Gunnel hissed. “Don’t be an idiot. They looked like . . . like your parchment before you begin painting.”
Blank, Reyna realized. That was what Gunnel meant. “But how? And why were we missed? And who is that man singing?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care to find out. Not a sound from you.” Gunnel reached for the door just as Reyna snuffed the candle with pinched fingertips, plunging them into darkness.
Luck was on their side. The door hinges, well oiled and silent, did not give them away. Reyna followed Gunnel down the narrow, stifling passageway. They crept along the edges like mice. Ahead, torchlight trickled in through the open h
atchway. The humming had stopped. A man spoke in a language she thought was Coronad at first, until she realized she could only make out a smattering of words: Yes. Lame. No. The inflection was guttural, like Coronad, but not. A dialect? From her shipmates she heard nothing. No begging or threats. Not a word of protest. Were they dead already? Killed while she slept in her berth? As they tiptoed beneath the hatchway, a man stepped into view on the deck. Reyna and Gunnel moved as one, flattening their backs against the wall.
Don’t look down. Please do not see us. Sweat trickled between Reyna’s shoulder blades. After a minute, she chanced a glance upward, long enough for her to see a man caught half in shadow, half in light. Younger than she’d expected, bigger than she wished. His face, wide, with sharp cheekbones, bore the toughness of a Coronad and was heavily pocked. A knot of hair, perfectly rounded, perched atop his head, a feminine style that contrasted sharply with the assortment of weapons hanging from his vest and belt. Axe, whip, daggers for every occasion. Perhaps strangest of all were the ear covers draped around his neck. The night was warm and pleasant. Why would anyone need to keep their ears covered in such temperatures? He exchanged words with someone out of sight, then reached up and sliced a finger across his throat, an ominous gesture that needed no interpretation. At least one shipman would lose his life tonight.
Gunnel touched her hand lightly. A sign to move on. Swallowing the sickness that crawled up her throat, Reyna followed her to the captain’s quarters, which took up the entire width of the stern. The room was far more richly appointed than hers. The massive oak bed could sleep six captains. A wire-fronted bookcase held years’ worth of charts and logs. She started there, clearing the shelves and throwing everything into the water. Working fast. With every armful, she ran by the desk, where a taper flickered cheerfully beside an untouched supper and a full glass of red wine. The captain had not had time to eat.
Outside, it was as Gunnel had described. Two ships dwarfed their own, nearly impossible to distinguish in the night.
Gunnel beckoned Reyna over to another window. “Do you know where we are?” She moved aside so that Reyna could see.
Reyna tipped the last of the charts overboard before peering out. The lights of a city glimmered in the distance. A large city, and to its west . . . Oh. So that’s where we are. She could not fail to recognize that particular lighthouse. It was the brightest beam in the known world.
“That’s Selene.” Capital city of the kingdom of Lunes. They were only a four-day journey from del Mar.
Gunnel nodded, eyes traveling upward as the sea raider’s voice rose. He issued what sounded like a command. Another man answered.
Reyna asked, “Do you recognize them?”
Gunnel listened a bit more. She looked confounded. “I don’t believe it. I think they’re—” A loud thump from the deck. The sound of a man falling. Whatever Gunnel might have said remained unspoken. “Never mind that now. Pay attention. Ginés says you’re a fine swimmer. A strong one?”
Reyna met her eyes and understood what was intended for her. Gunnel had not led her to the captain’s quarters to destroy his maps. Gunnel was a Coronad; she would not care too deeply about protecting del Marian trade routes. Unlike the other cabins, this one had windows large enough for a person to climb through. Reyna stuck her head out one of them and looked down. It was good it was so dark, for if there were sea monsters below, she could not see them. And if she happened upon one, well. Too late to do anything about it then. She would have lived a short life, but an interesting one. At least the water would be warm.
Reyna pulled her head back in. “I can swim,” she answered quietly. Jaime had taught her. “What about you?”
“I never learned,” Gunnel said. Deep lines bracketed her mouth. “We both know what’s in these waters. I think you’re safer out there than in here. But it’s your life. Your choice.”
Reyna was a young female on a captured ship. It was not really a choice.
“I’ll go.” Before she could change her mind, she swung onto the ledge, arms braced by her sides, bare feet dangling over nothing. Her heart thundered in her chest. She looked back at Gunnel. They had known each other weeks only, but in that time Reyna had come to consider this woman her friend. “And I’ll bring help. I swear it.”
“Use the worms if you can.” Grim-faced, Gunnel checked the seal on Reyna’s carrier. “Best to avoid the castle if you want to keep those maps.”
“I will.” She would find a del Marian ship. In a harbor of that size, there was bound to be one.
Gunnel’s gnarled hand covered Reyna’s own. She squeezed hard. “I promised Ginés I’d keep you safe. Do not dare make a liar out of—”
A shout. A dark figure stood on the hatch steps, looking beyond the passageway directly at them. He scrambled down the rest of the way, yelling. From above came the sound of many running feet.
Reyna said, “Gunnel!”
Gunnel shoved her. Reyna pointed her toes downward and tucked her arms in tight, making herself small, and when she entered the water, it was without a whisper; it was without a sound.
Two
DEAR PAPA,
Greetings from Caffa. I hope this letter finds you well and in fair spirits. You will be pleased to know I am in good health, wholly devoted to study, and ever mindful of Carpus: “If a man neglects his education, he walks lame to the end of his life.” The university is near the great libraries where I have spent many hours in diligent scholarship. You will tell Levi this? I know my dear brother has his doubts. Perhaps you will also tell him he would not find fault with the friends I have made here. There is not a loafer or drunkard among them. These are men of noble virtue, equally devoted to learning and upholding their families’ good names.
I send my affections, as always, to Vashti and Sara. The enclosed drawing is for Sara. The parrot belongs to a friend. It is a prickly, ill-mannered beast, but I have taught it how to say, “Princess Sara is a lovely girl, the loveliest in the land.” I hope it pleases her.
Regretfully, Papa, the matter of money stands in the way of my studies. Caffa is expensive and makes continuous demands on my purse. Lord Kish has severely underestimated the costs extorted by the parchment sellers and the booksellers, as well as numerous other places I cannot now specify. Please do not blame him, for few could comprehend the speed at which prices rise here. The truth is, I have not a penny to my name, and I respectfully beg your paternity and discretion in this matter. You will not share this portion with Levi?
The message bearer has been instructed to await a response. Please send with all possible haste sufficient coin as well as the items I have listed below. I fear any delay will lead to me being tossed from my chambers or mistaken for a beggar. Levi will claim I exaggerate, but truly, I say this in all seriousness.
I remain your devoted son and servant,
Asher
(From Asher, third child of Lunes, to his father, Lamech, king of Lunes)
Asher,
I write this letter with great sorrow, knowing it will break your heart, as it does mine. I will say it plain—Papa is dead. He was found at his desk this morning. The physicians blame his heart. It was a quiet passing, a peaceful one. But that offers no comfort, does it? We are orphans, you and I and Vashti, and though we are no longer children, his loss is as bitterly felt as Mother’s.
The councilors swarm around Vashti now, demanding father’s funeral take place without delay as tradition dictates. We cannot fight them on this, Asher, though I deeply regret you will not be here to bid him farewell.
Master Hiram accompanies this letter. He has arranged for your passage home and will settle your debts. “Do not tell Levi” indeed. But we will speak of it later. With fair winds behind you, you should arrive in time for Vashti to accept her crown. It is the one beacon in this darkness. I will be glad to have you near.
Sail home swiftly, brother.
Levi
(From Levi, second child of Lunes, to his younger brother, Asher)
* * *
Instinct drove Reyna deep beneath the surface, trying to outswim the arrows that chased her to the sea floor. She felt them rather than saw them, deadly bolts of iron slicing past her arms, legs, and head. None pierced her. A miracle. The water was warm, the silence heavy. She swam toward shore, blinded by nightfall and seawater, surfacing only when her lungs could no longer bear the strain.
The raiders did not see her or hear her gasping breaths. By then she was well out of arrow shot. Torchlight roamed the deck of the Simona as they searched, pacing to and fro along the rails. Their features were indistinct, shadow puppets against open flame. But sound carried over water: great snarling voices raised in anger and frustration. One voice louder and angrier than the rest. There was no more singing.
A quick inspection assured her that the map carrier’s seal had held. A heartbeat later, a sharp squeak erupted by her ear. Reyna flailed in a panic, then remembered abruptly that sea serpents did not squeak.
“Hello there,” she said as a sea worm—no, two worms—nudged against her, curious and playful. “You gave me a fright. The pair of you.”
There were more friendly peeps in response. She treaded water and considered them. The stars were bright enough for her to see that both worms were infants, roughly fifteen feet long, their width spindly as a child’s arm. Skin a pinkish gray, lidless eyes bright as polished onyx. One had been recently injured: a crusty scab ran a third of its length. The wound explained the creature’s movements, slower, more tentative than its companion’s.
She grabbed the end of the uninjured sea worm with both hands. Irked, it flicked its tail in an attempt to shake her off. When she tightened her grip, the worm spun in a circle, once, twice, then shot off, thankfully toward Lunes and not away from it. The sea spray blinded her momentarily. She looked back to see the three ships growing smaller. In no time at all, the shouting faded. All that remained was the water rushing past and the fear drumming deep in her heart.
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