The Moonburner Cycle

by Claire Luana

  “Okay.”

  “Be still,” he said, squeezing her hand. His hand was warm, his palm calloused. “I will return.”

  “Not like I could go anywhere,” she grumbled, fluttering her arms uselessly in the leather straps.

  When he returned, the black-haired man—she needed a better name for him—filled the tent with horrors. He heated a brazier until the coals were red-hot and placed two pokers in the fire to heat. He rolled out a little leather case with wicked-looking metal implements, whose purpose Rika could hardly even guess. Rika’s heart thundered in her chest as she tried to stay calm. Even knowing that he said he was going to go easy on her, she broke out in a cold sweat at the sight of the torture implements. There were so many ways to hurt a person. She hadn’t known. Her mind spun in panicked circles, cursing her idiotic decision to come here. What a fool she’d been. To think that she could defeat something so evil, an armada of ships bearing monsters that she couldn’t have imagined in her deepest nightmares. To think that she could fight something that not even her father, a seasoned warrior, could stand against. She squeezed her eyes closed, her heart wrenching at the thought of Hiro. The raw ache inside at his absence felt real—physical. She wished he were here now. She would run into his arms, wrapping herself in his embrace of mint and leather. She would bury her face in Ryu’s thick mane, crying until her tears were spent. But those were comforts that were gone from this world. Even if she survived this, she’d never feel them again. What kind of world was it without her father? A dark one indeed.

  The black-haired man pulled a poker from the fire, drawing Rika’s attention. The glowing end of the iron filled her vision as he stepped beside her and a sob escaped her lips. She squirmed, fighting the leather straps. Whatever the man did here, it would hurt…there was no going easy, there was no pretending. He stepped right next to her, so his bulk blocked Master Tato’s sight, and from a pouch on his belt, he pulled a piece of raw meat. He looked at her intently before plunging the poker into the meat. She was so surprised she almost forgot her part in the theatrics, but a wide-eyed look from the man was enough to remind her. She let out a blood-curdling scream, arching her back, thrashing against her restraints. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, making her gag, and she screamed even louder, almost able to believe that the burning flesh was her own.

  He pulled the poker from the beef and slipped the meat back in his pouch before turning to place the poker back in the fire.

  Thus, they commenced what could perhaps be described as the most elaborate ruse ever concocted. Master Tato, who had been squeamish and soft as a historian, had not had his disposition improved by enslavement to an evil soul-sucking race. He sat in the corner, his skin pale and sweaty, trying to avoid looking at what the black-haired man did.

  Rika, for her part, almost started to enjoy herself, screaming out her anger and fear and sorrow while the man pretended to stick needles under her fingernails or pour water over a cloth covering her face. Never did he truly hurt her, and as the hours ticked by, she began to feel a true appreciation for the black-haired man. Whatever he had been when his eyes had glowed green, now, he was her savior.

  As the sun began to set, the man wiped his brow, sitting down heavily in a chair beside Master Tato. Rika watched him, though she pretended to moan and twist with the pain. He took a swig from a flask that he pulled from his belt and offered it to Master Tato, who took it gratefully, taking a large gulp.

  The man clapped Master Tato on the back. “It’s not for everyone,” he said. “No shame in it.”

  Master Tato nodded, and the man stood, stretching. His back popped. Master Tato swayed in his chair, his eyes fluttering. Rika watched with interest as his chin drooped onto his chest. He was out.

  “What…” She cleared her throat. Her voice was croaky from screaming. “What did you give him?”

  “Sedative,” the man said. “He should sleep for a few hours, but be none the wiser. Enough time for us to get out of here.”

  He crossed the room and began to unbuckle the straps holding her to the table. “What’s your name?” she asked.

  “Vikal,” he said.

  “I’m Rika.”

  “Nice to meet you, Rika,” he said, unbuckling the last strap around her chest. He offered her his hand, and she took it, using his strength to pull herself up. Her body groaned in protest from the hours it had been held down on the hard surface. “Are you ready to get the hell out of here?”

  She nodded, adrenaline singing through her veins. Her father’s sword leaned against the chair Tato slumped in, its hilt decorated with a golden dragon with red ruby eyes. Tato must have removed it from the other tent. She grabbed it, buckling the scabbard securely around her narrow waist. “Now I’m ready. Lead the way.”

  CHAPTER 9

  THE SOUTHERN SKY was painted with the navy and gold of a dying sunset—the low light turning the sea of black tents and ebony-lacquered ships burnished bronze. Rika stood outside the corner of the tent, flighty as a wild thing. She was too exposed. Vikal bent down and retrieved a black bundle from beneath the corner of the tent before shaking it out and wrapping it around her. A cloak. He fastened the garment beneath her chin and pulled up the hood, as if she were a child unable to dress herself. Though if she were being honest with herself, she wasn’t sure her hands wouldn’t shake too much to fasten the clasp on her own.

  He looked down at her and her breath caught at the nearness of him. Who was this man? “Stay close behind me. Let me do the talking if we encounter anyone. Any…thing.”

  She nodded. “Did my brother escape?”

  “Yes,” he said. “His steed was fast as the wind. My… The soul-eater’s scouts could not catch him.”

  Some small bit of tension uncoiled from her spine. Thank the gods. Koji had escaped. Which meant that he would warn their mother about the creatures. Give her time to prepare for war.

  “Can you swim?” he asked.

  Another nod.

  “Good. We are stealing a boat.”

  She opened her mouth to question him further, but he was already striding across the grass-covered dunes towards the ocean. She hurried after him, falling into step behind him like a shadow. The camp was strangely silent. There were men who wore the same black leather as Vikal, who walked about the camp on business for the soul-eaters, but the creatures themselves were nowhere to be seen. The number of ships was staggering, however. Even if there were only a few men and soul-eaters per ship, the invading force had to be in the thousands. Her parents…no, she thought with a choking correction, her mother had perhaps one hundred sun and moonburners, if you included those in training. Only a dozen of those had seishen. The gift of burning was rare, after all. Perhaps five thousand soldiers, if the reserves were called up. After twenty years of peace, much of their military apparatus had been dismantled. There was simply no way Kitina could withstand this force if it was brought to bear.

  A man in leather was approaching them, walking up from the undulating line of surf. Rika tensed. “Bak!” Vikal called, raising a hand. He repeated the word, and then began conversing with the man in a foreign tongue. It was not the clicking, scratching language of the soul-eaters; it was melodious and lilting, almost like song. In the low twilight, the other man’s green eyes glowed like twin campfires. Did he see that Vikal’s eyes no longer glowed? Would he notice? The moment stretched on for what felt like an eternity, and Rika was forced to take a shuddering breath, able to hold it no longer. Finally, Vikal grunted an affirmation and the man nodded in deference, trudging on through the soft sand.

  “What language is that?” she whispered.

  “Later,” he hissed.

  She bristled at the reprimand but fell silent, following along behind him, quiet as a ghost.

  They reached the water’s edge and he removed his boots, tucking them securely in his belt. He began wading into the water. “What are you doing?”

  “You said you could swim.”

  “I can, but
that doesn’t mean I want to.”

  “We are taking that boat,” he said, pointing to one bobbing a few hundred yards out to sea, a glowing green light at its prow. “Taking one of the rowboats off the beach would be too obvious though. So we swim. Or you can stay here.”

  Rika glanced over her shoulder at the city of black that polluted Kitina’s sugary sand. No way in hell she was staying. She sighed and waded in after him, her skin goose pebbling at the cold of the water. It wasn’t frigid, but it certainly wasn’t bathwater. She tried to judge the distance to the boat, shoving down her trepidation. She didn’t think she had ever swum so far. She looked back at the beach and caught sight of an armor-plated soul-eater moving in the distance. Determination flared in her. She would swim halfway around the world to get away from those things.

  She slipped into the water and began stroking her way towards the boat in smooth, easy motions. She paused for a moment to unbuckle the cloak at her throat, letting the water bear its heavy weight away. The clothes she wore were heavy, but the sword scabbard was the real weight, pulling at her middle, arresting her progress. She didn’t care. It was all she had of her father now. She would drown before she abandoned it to the depths of the sea. At that moment, a bit of brackish seawater slopped into her mouth, making her cough and splutter. Perhaps it would come to that.

  Vikal’s lungs burned like fire and his muscles felt like lead weights when he finally reached the boat. He had been too long in the soul-eaters’ captivity, standing about like a mute automaton. Who was he kidding? One moment enslaved to those leeches was too long. But now he was free. Thanks to that tiny girl.

  He ruffled his hand through his thick hair, shaking out the water. She was approaching the stern of the vessel, paddling slowly, struggling to keep her head above water. There was a ladder on the back, and she hung on the bottom rung for a moment, heaving in a breath. He watched all this from the corner of his eye as he began to unfurl the sails. He had looked back at her a hundred times during their swim, making sure she wasn’t struggling too much. Though he didn’t want to coddle her, he couldn’t risk losing her. He had meant what he said. She was precious.

  He unwrapped the mainsail as with a little sob of effort, the girl rallied her strength and heaved herself over the rail. She collapsed in a puddle of seawater on the deck.

  “You brought that sword?” Vikal asked, pausing. “Foolish girl. It is a miracle you did not drown.” What had she been thinking? There was no room for sentiment here.

  “I’m not”—Rika gasped—”a foolish girl. I saved your sorry self from being enslaved to those monsters. And this is my father’s sword. It’s all that’s left of him, besides ash and memories. I wasn’t going to leave it behind.”

  Rika’s eyes gleamed in the moonlight as they stared each other down.

  “Very well,” he said. She had made it. It wasn’t worth fighting about now. He caught sight of a wisp of a form floating against the starboard rail. When he turned his head to look at it, it was gone. Ever since he had been freed yesterday, he could swear he was seeing things. Seeing Sarya. A side effect of the compulsion perhaps. Creeping madness.

  Rika did unbuckle the scabbard, though, and tucked it under one of the benches in the stern of the boat. She rose, stumbling against the rail. “Can I help?”

  “We must haul up the anchor,” he said. “I pull, you coil the rope?”

  She nodded and fell into position behind him. He grunted as he hauled the dripping anchor up from the sea-floor, hand over hand. The closer the anchor got, the more his spirits rose. This was going to work. They were actually going to escape.

  “Have you sailed before?” he asked.

  “A little,” she replied. “As a kid.” A memory seemed to flash across her gray eyes wreathed by thick, black lashes. She was as thin and willowy as a palm frond, with an ethereal beauty to her oval face, petite nose, and smooth, tan skin. Her coloring was lighter than his own or that of any Nuan, set off by her thick, ebony hair. She was short as well, shorter than most Nuan women, only coming up to his chest. If not for the freckles across her nose and the playful gap between her teeth, he would think her a sky spirit. And perhaps she was, given the incredible power she’d displayed last night.

  “What?” she asked. Vikal fought his embarrassment. He had been staring. “Take the wheel,” he said. “I will hoist the sails.”

  She followed his instructions, making her way to the stern to where the wheel stood. Vikal hoisted the main sail, and it unfurled dark as night against the first pinpricks of stars. He was struck by a moment of surprising gratitude for these black sails. White would be conspicuous, even from the shore.

  The sails luffed and snapped in a gust of wind and he winced, looking back at shore. Had anyone heard the sound? But Rika sensed what to do, turning the ship to the southeast—the best angle for the wind to catch the sail. She pulled in the mainsheet, tightening the sail.

  Vikal finished unfurling the jib, the second sail on the bow of the boat, and the girl tightened it, tying off the rope on a nearby cleat.

  Vikal made his way back to the stern and took the wheel from her. “Not bad,” he said. She hadn’t been lying—she did know something about sailing.

  “Where are we going?” she asked. “There are some islands that way. We could hide out in them for a day or two before regrouping and heading to Yoshai. That’s our capital. My mother and brother will be there. Readying our people for war.”

  “Do you have weapons more advanced than what I saw yesterday?”

  She crossed her arms. “You mean when you helped them murder my father?”

  He winced, keeping his eyes on the dark sea before them. “Though I know it is little consolation, I was under their compulsion. I had no control over my actions.” He had known it would come to this. He had just hoped they would be gone from here before it did.

  “Convenient excuse,” she muttered.

  “Call it an excuse, but it is the truth. Believe me. Whatever disdain you feel for me, I have for myself a thousand-fold. The things I have done… They will haunt my dreams as long as I live.”

  “You…knew?” She softened. “You were in there…aware…when your body was doing what they commanded?”

  He nodded, the muscles in his jaw working. He wished he could forget—though he knew that the sentiment was cowardice. There was no redemption for the things he had done. He didn’t deserve the blessed relief of amnesia. A king who murdered his own people—

  “I’m sorry,” she said softly.

  Their eyes met, and the pity in hers was too much to bear. He didn’t deserve it. He had helped the leeches kill her father. Her king. He turned to watch the shore of this foreign land slip away, its hive of green lights burning in the darkness. One light seemed closer, farther out to sea than the rest of the anchored ships. He squinted, crouching down a bit to examine the angle. The light was most definitely closer. Gods, no.

  “We are being followed.” His voice was flat.

  She ran to the rail to look, sending off a stream of curses. “What do we do?” she asked.

  “We cannot outrun them,” he said. “This ship is sturdy, but not fast. They will catch us.”

  “So we fight? If they board us, you take any humans, and I’ll…I’ll try to figure out how I managed to kill that other soul-eater.”

  He weighed this option. “Even if you could figure out how to use it in time, your power is too bright in the darkness. It will be a beacon announcing us to all the other soul-eaters. We will be overrun before we have gone a league.”

  She grimaced. “Then what? Take the rowboat, hope they can’t find us in the darkness?”

  “That will only help us until morning. When they will easily find us and pick us up.”

  “How about you stop shooting down my ideas and come up with one of your own?” she snapped.

  There was one play they could make. She wouldn’t like it…but they didn’t have a choice. It was the only way. “I have an idea. Hold the whe
el.”

  He hurried to the middle of the cockpit and pulled the wooden top off the pillar that was affixed there. Rika’s eyes widened as he set the wooden piece on the ground. It revealed what looked like a compass at first glance—eerie green dials and needles swinging beneath the surface of the shiny glass orb. In truth, it was so much more than that.

  “What is that?”

  “It is the leeches’ astrolabe. Each vessel has one. How do you think they got here so fast?”

  “It’s used to…”

  “Travel across vast distances. In an instant.”

  “And you know how to use it?”

  “I have…observed it in use. I understand the concept.” He had watched the spinning of the dials as the soul-eater had jumped them from his home, Nua, to this strange land. He could reverse the process. Hopefully.

  “Great. You’re going to astrolabe us into the center of a mountain,” she said.

  “Would you rather have your soul sucked out?” he snapped back, pointing behind her. The ship following them was only a few hundred yards away.

  He twisted the dials on the base of the astrolabe, setting the coordinates for Nua.

  “We can’t leave here,” she protested. “We need to help my mother. Help Yoshai. Where would we even go?”

  “Home,” he said, the green light from the astrolabe beginning to pulse. The light flared so brightly that he was forced to close his eyes, to shield his face from the brilliance. Then the world went wrong, and Vikal lost all orientation. Up was down, sideways was inside. And then…nothing.

  INTERLUDE

  KAI PACED ACROSS the armory floor, sweat pouring off of her. Though she and Emi had just finished an intense sparring round, the physical activity had done little to calm her ragged nerves. Her steps carried a limp, her hip smarting from a particularly deft move of Emi’s that had landed her hard on the ground. She rubbed it, wincing. “You didn’t need to go all ‘Armsmistress Emi’ on me. I could have broken my hip!”