Nightforged (Shattering of the Nocturnai Book 1)

by Carrie Summers

  The crew of the sunken ship nodded, grim.

  “Later,” Captain Altak continued, “we’ll take steps to dismantle the ship. With the wood, we’ll build rafts to sail us off this island.”

  A murmur followed these words. I shivered again. Even if the rafts were seaworthy, I wouldn’t be among those returning home. I was a traitor.

  “For now,” he said, “anyone not assigned a task should try to sleep. Share your spare clothing so that those who are resting stay warm enough to sleep comfortably. Once the village has cooled, we’ll reconvene.”

  At this he walked off alone to stand on the shoreline. He faced south as if counting off the long months until silver light of the approaching dawn would wash the stars from the horizon. The coming sun would wake the buds on the day-season plants and paint the island’s rough edges with dawn light. But day would bring the storms. Once the wicked maelstroms pounded the northern sea, there would be no hope of sailing for home until the seasons circled again and the next Nocturnai ventured north.

  Closer, I heard the crunch of feet. Mistress Nyralit strolled along the beach, and Heiklet rushed to catch up with her.

  “Is it hopeless?” Heiklet kept her voice low.

  “I don’t think so. We’ll find a way home.”

  “Lilik didn’t do this. Mieshk has been trying to hurt her since the first day.”

  My chin quivered. Paono was right; she did like me.

  Mistress Nyralit dug at the beach with the toe of a slippered foot. “You would be wise to keep that opinion quiet. No one is particularly fond of Mieshk, but they respect House Ulstat. Even the captain and I must be careful.”

  A school of jellyfish drifted close to shore, green-blue glow beneath the wavelets. A few crewmen took up a game of rock-throwing, attempting to chase them off. I wondered if they knew that the creatures were edible. Early expeditions had lived off them.

  “Why are we relying on Mieshk’s word over Lilik’s?” Heiklet asked.

  Mistress Nyralit was silent for some time. “You weren’t near the beach when we found her, were you? Even I saw the strands that swarmed around her, and I’m decades past the proper age to sense them. No one knows what harm might come from summoning too many because we never do it.” She put a hand on Heiklet’s shoulder. “So I understand Mieshk’s position. But I’m with you. I don't think Lilik would deliberately endanger us. And she didn’t call them—no reliquary, no trance. The strands came to her by some means we’ve never seen. It’s possible she didn’t even know they were there—though how a nightcaller with a talent as strong as hers wouldn’t notice, I can’t say.”

  The captain approached while Mistress Nyralit was speaking. He inhaled deeply. “I suppose we’ll have to go after her once we’ve established a temporary encampment.”

  “I suppose so,” Mistress Nyralit said.

  My heart sped, and I shrank deeper into my refuge. I should have fled already, but the island’s dark lurked behind me. The thought of living in exile for years—maybe for the rest of my life—pressed down like a black wave.

  “Tides,” Captain Altak cursed. A flurry of movement at the gathering spot had grabbed his attention.

  My swallow caught in my throat. Inside a circle of spectators, Paono faced off with a trio of oarsmen. His knees were bent, fists cocked but low. When one of the oarsmen sprang, Paono missed with a wide punch, and the oarsman landed a jab to his gut. Paono went down into the gravel. He rolled over, forearms protecting his face. The oarsman kicked him in the ribs.

  “Voyagers!” the captain roared. “There will be no fights. Anyone who ignores the orders of myself or the strandmistress will lose a day of rations. This is not up for debate.”

  When Paono stood, I saw bruises along his jaw. This wasn’t the first time someone had attacked him.

  “Won’t happen again, Captain,” he said.

  The oarsman kicked a spray of gravel onto Paono’s lower legs. “Fool claims we ought to beg his traitor friend for help rather than drag her back for justice, Captain. Says she knows how to survive here. ‘Cept he’s forgetting she’s the whole reason we’re marooned.”

  Oh, Paono. Why did he have to open his big mouth?

  “Are you done, or do we need to find someone to eat your rations?” Captain Altak stalked over to the oarsman. Though he was shorter than the big man by a hand’s span, his glare made the oarsman shrink.

  The oarsman looked aside. “Sorry, Captain.”

  “Now get some rest, those of you who can. Sailors come with me. We’ll set to work on the salvage.”

  Rest. My eyelids were heavy, but I was so cold—chilled deep in my bones. While the group on the beach dispersed, I rose to a crouch, stretching the aches from cramped muscles. Up the hill, I found a pile of dry leaves shed from a tangle of day-season foilwood. Scooping them together, I lay down and then piled another layer over my body. The moon tracked across the sky while I shivered, stomach rumbling.

  I woke after the moon set. My stomach was an empty hole, aching with hunger. Though I’d discovered a small freshwater trickle in the boulders, each long hour without food sapped my strength. I knew about Ioene’s edible plants and sea life from the Nocturnai logs, but earlier voyagers had used tools and torchlight. I had only my bare hands and the clothes I was wearing. Pitted against a benighted island, I wouldn’t make it without more resources. Food. Protection from the cold.

  Headache pounding, I slipped closer to the beach.

  Captain Altak was on the gravel, examining the collected stacks of supplies. I doubted he’d slept since the eruption. As if confirming my suspicion, he rubbed his eyes and slapped his cheeks. After jotting a couple notes on a tally sheet, he swiped a hand across a bale of jerky, cleaning off a layer of ash. His face was grim.

  A train of oarsmen walked back and forth from the village, ferrying casks of food. Other crewmen carried blacksmithing tools and freshwater casks. Near the edge of the flickering torchlight, a small collection of fishing spear guns had been gathered. If anyone had studied the logs, they’d know there were fish in the deeper currents beyond the harbor. Not the sweet-fleshed sort that swam in daylight, but they were edible.

  At the thought, my stomach growled, insistent and cramping.

  Mistress Nyralit approached with Heiklet.

  “Vidyul.” The strandmistress inclined her head.

  “Hello, Nyralit.”

  “Heiklet tells me that the group is whispering against you. They suggest that you're doing too little.”

  Heiklet kept her eyes on the ground.

  “What would they have me change, then?” he asked.

  Mistress Nyralit nudged the girl.

  “Everyone is hungry,” Heiklet said. “They want to know how we’ll get home.”

  “Did I not address that in the meeting?”

  “And they want Lilik punished.”

  “I told them we’ll deal with her once we see to our own safety.”

  “Vidyul.” Nyralit stepped close and laid a hand on his arm. “It’s not enough. They’re afraid, and they aren’t thinking clearly. You need to act to keep control.”

  He sighed. “Call them together. Everyone who’s not on watch that is. We need to keep spotters on the volcano.”

  Once the group had once again assembled on the beach, Captain Altak cleared his throat. “All right, voyagers. I understand there are concerns regarding the caller, Lilik.”

  “She should hang!” The voice came from a clot of oarsmen gathered at the crowd’s fringe.

  The fire-lit faces were stark, harsh, contorted into monstrous expressions. I cringed.

  “Lilik’s punishment will suit her transgressions. We’ll commence a hunt as soon as our supplies are inventoried.”

  The last bit of air left my lungs. Though Captain Altak had tried to leave open the possibility of my innocence, the crew members would only remember his mention of punishment.

  Returning from watch duty, a deckhand sauntered up from the tide line. His approach brought h
im behind Captain Altak. Something in the man’s demeanor caught my attention—he looked stiff, almost suspicious.

  “Captain?” he said.

  Captain Altak glanced at the newcomer. “Yes?”

  The rest happened so fast. A click brought the captain’s attention back to the group. The barbed iron of a fishing spear quivered a finger’s width from his chest. Holding the spear gun in two hands, Mieshk’s sentinel, Laiska, snarled. Her bony arms shook, and the firelight highlighted cheek bones that slashed her face like welts. Mieshk stood at her sentinel’s shoulder, face wooden.

  “What’s this?” Captain Altak hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and adopted a relaxed stance. Showing fear would be like throwing his authority overboard.

  Laiska said nothing. She touched the spear’s point to his breastbone. It must have been sharp because the captain shifted back a fraction.

  “Submit your wrists,” Mieshk said.

  She pulled a bundle of twine from the pocket of her heavy cloak. Captain Altak laughed. I wondered about the cloak. The air was cool—too cool to be clothed like I was in a thin layer of linen—but she had to be sweating under that fur wrap.

  “Your wrists. Now!” Laiska shoved the spear tip into Captain Altak.

  “Just wait a—” As the captain stepped back, he batted the spear with his forearm. The tip tore his shirt and fell into the pumice. Taking advantage of the opening, he shouldered into Laiska, knocking her off balance. She squeezed the trigger on the spear gun, and the iron spike sliced through the gravel.

  “Crewmen, grab these girls!” Captain Altak drew himself up to his full height. He balled his fists and clenched the muscles of his shoulders, advancing on Laiska and her empty spear gun.

  Mieshk cocked her head to the side. “Maybe you don’t understand.” The girl shrugged a shoulder out of her cloak. Beneath, she wore the finely embroidered tunic of a prime trader.

  Captain Altak laughed, a low boom. “So it’s Trader Ulstat now? I wonder what your father would have to say about that.” He glared at the gathered voyagers, demanding they obey his command to seize the renegade girls. A crewman stepped forward, but his mates laid restraining hands on his shoulders.

  Rot. This was bad. The crew was waiting to see who won the standoff. No one wanted to sacrifice their future by siding with the loser. Mistress Nyralit had been right. The leaders’ hold over the Nocturnai was weak.

  “Mieshk Ulstat,” Captain Altak said. “Take a moment to reconsider your actions. Like everyone here—” He turned in a slow circle, deliberately putting his back to Laiska now that her spear gun was empty. “—you signed an agreement that bound you to my authority for the duration of our expedition. I will force your House to cast you out.”

  Mieshk sneered while she unhooked the clasp at her collar. The heavy cloak fell away and puddled on the beach.

  I stared, astonished. Was the girl crazy? She clasped an iron scepter. And not just any scepter, the rod of an ancestor-god. The scepter had been recently nightforged—the lines where the strands had infused the metal were still black. I wasn’t the only liar on Ioene; someone, probably Mieshk herself, had called enough strands for the scepter’s crafting.

  The scepter was a twisted thing, lumpy and whorled, and at the top, woven ribs of metal formed a basket. Ordinarily, a blown glass globe would be cradled there. Shortly after a powerful trader died, the hand of the deceased would be removed and cremated, and the ashes would be placed inside the globe. Once the globe was inserted into the scepter, the rod would be buried with the trader, clasped in the body’s remaining hand. According to custom, this process allowed the god’s spirit to exit the body and crypt at will.

  Mieshk had proclaimed herself ready for deification as if she were almost a god already. The notion was so ridiculous that I expected the crowd to laugh. Back in the Kiriilt Islands, not even the head of a trader House would be so arrogant. The process of elevating a trader to god status usually began with speculation amongst the House staff. From there it spread to administrators who conducted quiet reviews of the accounts and ledgers that tracked the trader’s accomplishments. Hints were dropped in perfumed gardens. Whispers filled cloisters where neophytes were trained. Finally, usually just after the trader passed away, a brave young priest or priestess would declare intent to construct a sanctum honoring the deceased. With luck, others would join. Otherwise, the devotee could expect a long life of laying stones.

  No one would even think of elevating an adolescent trader years away from her inheritance. Yet here she stood, holding the scepter as if it were her birthright.

  Someone had forged it for her. I scanned the crowd. Couldn’t they see she’d betrayed the Nocturnai not only by lying, but by spending time crafting that scepter while the others struggled to recover from the eruption?

  “I see from your face you understand what this is,” Mieshk said to Captain Altak.

  “I can’t see any purpose in you carrying that thing, no. Unless . . . your great-grandfather was the Ulstat monster-heir, as I recall. Perhaps you want to remind us of him?”

  Mieshk’s nostrils flared. She nodded toward the crowd. Captain Altak whirled, in time to glimpse Brik’s face as the first mate bludgeoned his captain with a pair of blacksmithing tongs.

  Captain Altak crumpled. I closed my eyes, mourning the expedition. With Captain Altak’s fall, there was no hope left.

  “Voyagers,” Mieshk said imperiously. “The priorities have changed. Foremost, we will organize into search parties. The group that apprehends the traitor, Lilik, will receive double rations and berths on the first raft that sails for the Kiriilt Islands. The second priority is that raft. We will build it and take only the strongest sailors in addition to Lilik’s captors. Those remaining will wait for rescue or build their own vessel.”

  So there’d be a competition to hunt me down, with a return voyage as the prize. Mieshk hadn’t prioritized food or shelter or organization. Without those things, those voyagers left behind had little hope of surviving. Just another way to sweeten the prize pot.

  My stomach clenched as she stalked away from the beach. She’d nearly moved out of sight when I glimpsed it. I’d been so dumbfounded by the scepter in her right hand I hadn’t noticed the other.

  The glints and curves of obsidian were unmistakable. In her left hand, Mieshk held my lost figurine.

  Chapter Sixteen

  LEGS TENSE, I crouched at the very edge of the beach. Behind and to my right, I heard the crash of a search party floundering through the brush. Torches high, voices raised, there was no way they’d sneak up on me. But I was exhausted, weak from hunger. I couldn’t remain here.

  Unconscious and chained to a boulder, Captain Altak lay in a heap on the sand. After gathering her closest sycophants, Mieshk had paraded toward the forges with instructions that the others await her commands regarding the hunt for me. The rest of the group had fragmented and wandered off.

  Mieshk had assigned a deckhand to watch the beach, but he’d sauntered away, either looking for a bush to water or someone to take over his job.

  If I wanted supplies, I needed to act now.

  With an indrawn breath, I crashed through the thicket of dry brush that fringed the beach. Pounding across the open gravel to the supply cache, I was a rat crossing an open kitchen floor. Any moment, a cook’s cleaver would chop me in two. I darted through the shadows between stacked crates and sprinted across a gap to snatch the heavy cloak still warm from Mieshk’s body.

  Next, food. Spinning, I plowed into a warm body. We both fell.

  I scrambled to my feet, panicking.

  “Lilik?” Heiklet. Relief flooded me. Her eyes were saucers. “Go! She’s coming back. She’ll kill you!”

  “I am. Just need—”

  “Go! Now!” She stuffed a chunk of hard bread into my hands, hooked her knapsack over my neck, and shoved me toward the beach’s upper edge. I jogged backward, meeting her eyes, wanting to say something. She waved me on, frantic jabbing motions.
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br />   “Thanks,” I whispered. As I turned and plunged into the wild, I saw Mieshk outlined against the torches. My breath shook. If not for Heiklet, I’d have been caught.

  I ran through the harsh night with the cloak bundled under my arm until the jabbing pain in my side brought me to my knees. While catching my breath, I opened Heiklet’s knapsack. Inside, I found a dull knife and water skin with a couple swallows worth sloshing inside. Bundling the bread in the cloak, I stuffed everything into the pack.

  The waning moon provided little light, but out to sea, the glints off the wavelets provided a cold comfort. I thought of evenings spent on the quay with Paono, watching the torches atop the harbor guardstones shine off distant waves. I’d probably never see him again, I realized. An outcast, I’d either live or die here, but no matter the fate, I’d meet it alone.

  Hiking rather than running now, I wiggled through a gap between boulders where choking vines draped the rocks like curtains, black-leafed and oily and smelling like turpentine. I pinched a leaf, trying to identify the plant. Eikkas tresses—that was the vine's name. Early expeditions had written about them: inedible, irritating to the skin.

  As if to confirm, my hands started to itch. A line of fire seared my face where a tendril had brushed it. Cringing, I sidled around the patch. After clearing the gap between the rocks, I stopped, feeling abruptly defeated. What was I doing out here? Yes, I’d read the Nocturnai logs, but they hadn’t saved me from crashing through the first clump of tresses I found.

  Exhausted, starving, and alone, I slumped to the ground. My head ached from hunger and exertion. In my sleep-deprived weakness, I wondered if I’d earned this with my deceit. Maybe I had been responsible for the Evaeni’s sinking after all.

  If so, did I deserve to be hunted like a criminal? Maybe. But even criminals had the right to a trial.

  Alone in the island-dark, I had to be my own judge and jury. Only I could decide if I were guilty. And until I knew the answer, I needed to move forward.