Nightforged (Shattering of the Nocturnai Book 1)

by Carrie Summers

  The trader stood, tall and thin with hard angles ready to cut anyone who crossed her. Her eyes were granite-gray and unforgiving.

  “Mieshk Ulstat,” she said, “of House Ulstat on the island of Araok.”

  I knew House Ulstat by reputation, a hard family who guarded the shores of a brutal hunk of land. In the last century or so, two Ulstats had been raised as ancestor-gods when they died. But the family had also birthed the monster-heir, the madman who had ruled by executing his opponents and haphazardly flinging his armies upon distant shores while savages battered our home coasts.

  “Next,” the captain prompted.

  “Katrikki Korpit, of House Korpit. Istanik, Stanik Island.” Katrikki tossed her silver-blonde hair over her shoulder. No one could miss her in a crowd—almost everyone else in the Islands had hair like mine: thin, black, and limp.

  The next girl jumped to her feet beside Katrikki. The two smiled at each other and hunched their shoulders as if they shared a secret.

  The captain cleared his throat. “Friendships that extend beyond Nocturnai interests shall not conflict with our duties.”

  The trader dropped her gaze. “Avilet Majkut. House Majkut of Istanik.”

  The final girl appeared reluctant to stand. Large eyes peered from beneath a thick fringe of hair, and she hugged her arms across her body. She couldn’t be more than twelve.

  “Go ahead,” the captain said.

  She hopped up, quick like a songbird. “Heiklet Srukolk, of House Srukolk. Orteshk Island.”

  When Heiklet curtsied, Avilet giggled. Heiklet looked up, wide eyes uncertain.

  “House Srukolk is newly elevated to trader status,” the captain said. “She brings great honor and increased wealth to her family by being here.” He paused. “You can sit down now, Heiklet.”

  She folded in on herself, tiny body tucking back into the solid corners of her chair.

  Captain Altak turned his gaze to me. My breath left my lungs in a gust.

  “Lilik Boket of . . . of the egg-selling Bokets. Istanik slums.” I raised my chin, daring them to laugh.

  The captain’s smile was amused. “Thank you, Lilik. Now then. In a few moments, we’ll make our way to the stage and present you to the crowd.”

  The stage stood in courthouse square. Crewmen from the Evaeni marched at our side, defending us from curious spectators. The sailor nearest me smelled of tar and sweat and the sea.

  Approaching the platform, I remembered the last presentation ceremony, eight long years ago. I’d ridden on my father’s shoulders, watching the excited crowd from above. Even then, I imagined being selected for the voyage.

  Captain Altak called a halt at the base of the stairs. He jogged up the steps, turned, and hefted his speaking horn. My heart sped.

  “Citizens of Istanik. Travelers from distant ports.” Captain Altak’s voice boomed, echoing off the stonework of the courthouse. In response, the crowd hushed, babble draining away through the sewer grates.

  “Welcome to the presentation ceremony for the Nocturnai, setting out three days hence on the Evaeni.”

  A cheer erupted, roaring in my ears like the crash of storm seas. I shoved my trembling hands into my pockets.

  Captain Altak quieted the crowd with a raised hand. “It’s been eight years since the last Nocturnai. On Ioene, the sun’s rhythms are unnatural. Since we left, the island has endured the battering of the storm season, a time when the sun came and went erratically, raising violent maelstroms from the sea. Ioene has basked in a year-long day that scorched all life from her flanks. She has enjoyed an autumn where the sea teemed and plants strangled her rocky slopes. And now the long-night has fallen. The strands gather. Lava pumps through the ducts beneath forges built by the ancients.”

  When Captain Altak paused, a few shouts rose from the square’s far edge. His raised index finger stilled them.

  “But no Nocturnai is successful without its nightcallers. To these girls—” He swept his arm toward us. “—each a breath away from adulthood, we entrust everything. These girls will summon the nightstrands and carry them to our blacksmiths, who will forge hope for our soldiers and success for our ships.”

  His voice had dropped, low and dramatic.

  “Look upon your future.”

  Captain Altak stepped aside with a flourish of the speaking horn, bowing to Mieshk at the head of our small line. The others climbed the stairs, wading through the crowd’s applause. Too soon, I was alone on the square’s cobbles.

  When my foot touched the stairs, the crowd roared. Each step higher brought a louder cheer. By the time I reached the stage, I had to resist the urge to clamp my hands over my ears. None of these people knew I was a liar. A cheat. If not for Moanet’s carving, they might have come to watch a hanging instead of a presentation.

  Below me, the crowd was an undulating sea, arms waving, children jumping. Miraculously, my eyes found my father. Da’s bruises were fading already. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. Jaret jumped up and down at his side, pumping his fist.

  Captain Altak pinned sigils to each of the traders’ shirts. My ears grew numb to the crowd’s roar, and I felt I was encased in glass. Separate, floating.

  For better or for worse, I was going to Ioene.

  Chapter Six

  THE CAPTAIN RELEASED us to mingle while entertainers took the stage. I descended the stairs and swam through the mass of bodies, seeking my family.

  My breath caught when I saw Paono standing next to my father. What should I say? I understood that he was hurt. Jealous. But he should have trusted me. And I really needed a friend right now.

  My father swept me into a big, spinning hug, saving me from greeting Paono. When he set me down, my friend’s eyes were on the knife juggler who’d taken the stage.

  “Where have you been, Paono?” I hoped my family didn’t notice the edge in my voice.

  He avoided my eyes, watched as a back-flipping dancer joined the juggler. “The usual. Work.”

  “At night? I thought I’d see you at the fountain, at least.”

  Paono pushed his hair off his forehead. “The crabs are following the evening tides.”

  Oblivious to the tension, Da clapped his hand on Paono’s shoulder and fished out a quarter-crescent. “You two should grab some food,” he said, handing me the coin.

  Paono kicked a toe against the cobbles. Like me, he had no desire to argue in front of my father.

  “Come on,” I said. “I heard Merti is frying dough.”

  Once we were beyond my family’s hearing, Paono stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t think you’d show up. And the crabs were in.”

  “I said I’d be there.”

  His nostrils flared when he sighed.

  “So . . . what did Moanet say?”

  “She wished me a good voyage.” I couldn’t tell him anything else. Bad enough that I’d put myself in this position.

  “You know what I mean,” he said, rolling his eyes.

  “I didn’t ask her to be my sentinel, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

  Paono straightened, finally making eye contact. “What then?”

  “Her family has a lot of experience with Ioene.”

  “If you say so. I doubt anyone knows as much about the Nocturnai as you do.”

  The compliment brought a smile to my face. “Who cares about the dancers? Let's take our food back to your Nan’s.”

  He shrugged. “I’m not really in the mood to celebrate anyway.”

  The awkwardness in his voice told me he knew I was hiding something. At least we’d avoided the sentinel discussion for now. I’d lain awake thinking about it most of the previous night. I trusted Paono more than anyone. But with us both gone, who would care for Nan? And what if Moanet’s carving didn’t work? I couldn’t let him risk himself.

  After grabbing some cinnamon-dusted dough pockets, a ten-minute walk brought us to his grandmother’s door. Nan rented a small home and a tiny garden behind a jeweler’s. This
time of the evening, taller buildings cast deep shadows over her cottage.

  Paono pushed the door open, and a wash of multicolored light spilled onto the doorstep. “I’m back, Nan. Lilik’s here, too.”

  When I entered the cottage, the dazzle of lamps in half a dozen different colors made my eye sockets ache. Nan’s vision had been failing for years, and she filled her world with wild hues to compensate. The air smelled of scented oils that fed the lamps’ wicks.

  The old woman smiled. “Here she is, our official nightcaller. With you aboard, things will finally get better for the Islands. I know it.”

  Yeah, well, they shouldn’t count their blessings yet. Considering my reliance on Moanet’s figurine, I’d be an average caller at best. Still, I smiled at her. Paono’s nan was the kindest person I knew, except maybe my father.

  “Thanks, Nan,” I said.

  “And with Paono as your sentinel—”

  Paono jerked. “Nan, she hasn’t asked me.”

  “But she will, right?” Her skin crinkled around the corners of her eyes. “Who else would she take? Some trader?”

  “We can’t both leave you, Nan,” I said.

  I watched Paono’s reaction. His face was unreadable.

  Paono’s grandmother smacked her lips. Few of her teeth remained, and the holes reminded me of all the people who'd vanished from our lives. My mother, Paono’s parents.

  The old woman lifted a pouch from beside her chair. She loosened the drawstring. “I’ve been saving this for you, Paono. It’s your birthright. Yours to keep or pawn or sell.” When she shook the bag, a length of nightforged steel chain slithered into her palm. Another little shake, and a pendant as big as a pigeon’s egg plopped into her hand. Within the stone, the colors swirled—no doubt the pendant was nightcrafted as well.

  I stared, wide-eyed. Paono mumbled something unintelligible.

  A serious expression replaced Nan’s grin. “Now listen. This will pay someone to care for me for longer than I’ll live. Or, Paono, you could set yourself up with a business in the city, free yourself from the crab pots. The amulet came from my grandmother. Handed to her by a relative so old no one remembers her name—”

  “I can’t sell something like that,” Paono said. “Nan!”

  Nan rolled her eyes. “Pawn it, then. That Captain Altak eats gold for breakfast. Bet you a horse’s apple he’ll loan you the money with this as collateral. You’re guaranteed to come back rich from the voyage.”

  Guaranteed if Moanet’s figurine works, I thought. I couldn’t let Paono trade away his family treasure. Especially not when my lie might doom us.

  I stared at the necklace. The stone, another sea opal, was huge. “Listen, Paono. There are plenty of people I can ask to be my sentinel. Joyenk. Cailik. They’re strong. Honest, too.”

  Paono’s cheeks went dark red, obvious even in the stew of yellow and purple and green light that swam on his face. We stood close, almost shoulder to shoulder. Well, shoulder to armpit—he’d outgrown me a couple of years ago. Anger radiated from him.

  “At least Nan lets me make up my own mind. Why should it be your choice? Because you’re a nightcaller now? Well, too bad.”

  Paono cupped one hand under his grandmother’s frail one while he lifted the amulet. “I’ll make sure that my pay includes a lamp with nightblown glass, Nan. Only the finest for you.”

  She patted his arm. “The best thing you can bring me is a story. I’ll want to know how Ioene’s cinders smell.”

  I stared, horrified. I hadn’t actually asked him, yet somehow he was coming anyway. I should protest. I could ruin their lives. But instead, I stood frozen, too scared to face Ioene and my deception alone.

  An hour later, we stood inside the captain’s chambers.

  “I wouldn’t even think about it,” Captain Altak said, laughing in response to Paono’s request to offer the pendant as collateral for a loan. “Consider your nan’s care as part of your pay. Tell the clerk I sent you.”

  All but shooing us out the door, he shut it with a thud.

  Standing on carpet that felt ankle-deep, I ran eyes over the gilt-edged mirrors and paintings, the velvet-upholstered chairs lining the walls. All this for a hallway.

  “Lilik?” Paono asked, still holding the necklace in his palm.

  “Yeah?”

  “Will you wear it?”

  My eyes widened in shock. Paono let the chain slip through his fingers, then held the necklace up as if to drape it over my head.

  “I can’t. It’s your family’s.”

  “But what good does it do hidden in a bag? I can’t wear it. Well, I could, but . . .”

  “It’s made for a woman.”

  He nodded. “Will you? Until we return, at least? That way, whenever I look at you, I’ll remember Nan. Home.”

  My lips pressed together over the protests rising in my throat. After a moment, I nodded. Paono slipped the necklace over my head and slipped his fingers along my neck to pull my hair free from the chain. The pendant rested against my breastbone, heavy with things unsaid.

  Chapter Seven

  AFTER THREE DAYS of frantic packing and goodbyes, the day of our departure arrived. The musicians started playing at dawn, lining the street from the central square all the way to the quay. Food-sellers set up at every corner, and the smell of fried treats hung in the air. I wore my finest clothing, still simple, but newly made, a thin linen shift beneath a belted tunic with small buttons of abalone shell. For once, my pants reached all the way to my ankles. I’d donned sandals—made by an actual cobbler—for the departure, but I had two pairs of honest, closed-toe shoes in my trunk.

  My father and Jaret had left early to stake out a vantage point near the gangway to the Evaeni’s deck. Paono had arrived about an hour later with a borrowed handcart. With our sea trunks nestled in the cart’s belly, we tugged at the handle together, pulling the creaking wheels over the cobbles. Paono gave off the clean scent of sandalwood and honey. He always smelled nice.

  We didn’t talk much. Sometimes, our hours together were like that, an easy friendship that needed no empty words. But our silence today was different. The quiet expressed our nervousness and anticipation in a way words couldn't.

  Pennants streamed from the Evaeni’s masts, black silk sparkling with silver stars. At the quay’s edge, the crowd stood ten bodies deep already. People laughed and ate whipped cream dusted with shaved chocolate. Children riding on shoulders pointed when we neared. An aisle opened, leaving us a path to the ship.

  Ahead, the gangway looked too narrow, and the rope railing too flimsy. I halted, abruptly afraid. Paono grabbed my hand and squeezed. He seemed so confident, but when I looked, his face was as pale as the Evaeni’s furled sails.

  A crewmember with shoulders like mountains stomped down the gangway as if it were wide as a street and not bouncing wildly with each step. He hefted our sea trunks, one under each massive arm and headed back up to the ship without a word.

  This was it, then.

  Paono wheeled the cart back across the harbor street, leaving it as arranged. Wrapped in the crowd’s noise, I watched the gulls fly overhead. Istanikers smiled at me, waving small flags with the Evaeni’s sigil. I noticed that some of them, ridiculously, clutched eggs in their hands. I was a gutter hero.

  I spotted my family. Nan stood with them, and my father had a hand cupped under her elbow.

  We’d said our goodbyes earlier, in private, because voyagers were supposed to move straight onto the ship to prove our resolve. But just before Paono and I filed onto the gangway, Jaret shouted. “Wait!”

  My heart cartwheeled in my chest as he sprinted toward us. Jaret had grown so much in the last year. His eyes were nearly level with mine despite our five-year age difference.

  “I have to go, rat-bait.”

  “But what if you . . . what about the Nocturnais that failed?”

  I forced a brave expression. “They weren’t prepared. We can handle spoiled food.” Eighty-some years ago, rot got
into the food casks of a previous ship, the Istari. A third of the voyagers starved on the way home. That wouldn’t happen to us. Even during the long-night, edible plants grew upon Ioene. Dormant shellfish could still be harvested and cooked. I could teach the expedition how to forage.

  “I don’t mean that,” Jaret said. “There might be storms. What about the Niveli? Not a single person returned from that voyage.”

  I wrapped my arms around my brother and rested my chin on his shoulder. He always feared the worst, no doubt due to our mother’s abandonment.

  “Don’t worry, Jaret,” I whispered. “I’ll come back to you.”

  His arms were a vise around me, trembling. “Bye . . . I love you.”

  “Love you, too. Take care of Da, okay?” I said.

  I pried his arms off of me. Turning away from him was one of the hardest things I’d ever done.

  Paono had watched the exchange, waiting patiently. I followed him up the gangway. The bridge bounced and swayed, and I clutched the railings with white knuckles, but at least I didn’t stumble on the way up to the deck.

  From the deck, the crowd looked small. I set my palms on the polished rail. Through the warm, slick wood, I felt the vibration of wavelets slapping the ship's hull.

  I caught my father’s eye and saw something new there. He regarded me as a different person, now. Equal to equal. Abruptly the emotions were too much for me, and I shuffled to the seaward rail to collect myself.

  Motion in the water grabbed my attention. A small head bobbed low to the waves, hair plastered to the scalp. Thin arms reached from the water and grabbed a rope ladder that hung over the ship’s side. The boy got his feet looped through rungs that dangled beneath the harbor’s surface. Then he lowered himself until only his hands and the top half of his head peeked out from the water.

  He glanced up and noticed me watching. His eyes widened like a startled rabbit’s. He shook his head as if pleading with me.

  A stowaway. If only I'd been so brave when I was younger. I couldn’t help thinking of Captain Altak’s story about Prisak Relat, the last gutterborn caller, taking control of her destiny by doing the same thing. A small, scrawny kid, the boy would probably have no problem staying hidden. I slid away from the rail to avoid drawing attention.