“We cannot welcome new comrades without first acknowledging those who came before us,” Temujin says. “Those who fell so we might be.” A hush settles over the group, and Temujin begins reciting one of the oldest legends of the First Gods. A tale I haven’t heard in so long, I’d almost forgotten it entirely. “In the beginning, there was only the Lady of the Sky—blue and vast and boundless. She ruled over all the earth, for there was no mountain She did not crest, no valley She did not sweep. Yet the Lady had no arms to reach down from the clouds, no hands to till the barren wastes below. And so She waited, watching, for someone worthy to bear Her mantle of starlight.
“Eventually there came a handsome youth, named Guzan, with hair that flowed like a river and skin as gold as sand. He was clad in vines of the brightest leaves, and globeflowers sprang up beneath His feet. The Lady of the Sky fell in love with Him on sight, and through their union, She bore flowers and trees, gurgling streams and crystal lakes. And, eventually, people.
“But the Lady of the Sky was never meant to love a being of the land,” Temujin continues, “and as a result, the children She bore had the weight of boulders and were fixed to the earth with deep roots that snaked beneath the soil. Even man, when he perished, was trapped beneath the loamy dirt. Bound forever to their father.
“Father Guzan saw how lonely the Lady of the Sky was, how She tried to reach out to Her children with light and warmth and rain, helping them thrive and grow, so He took pity on Her. He began burning the bodies of the dead, allowing their ashes to float up to the heavens and reunite with their mother. And, in turn, She made them into stars, so they could shine down on their father. The perfect balance.”
Temujin reaches into the black urn, extracts a pinch of ash, and throws it over his shoulder. “Be humble, for you are made of earth. Be noble, for you are made of stars,” he intones reverently.
The rest of the Shoniin repeat the mantra, and the words linger in my ears, familiar somehow. I know I heard them long ago, chanted by a withered voice in my memory, but I’ve heard them recently, too.
“That’s what you yelled from the top of the Sky Palace,” I say with a start, “the day you freed me from the zurig.”
Temujin hops down from the boulder and takes a seat beside me. “It was my mother’s favorite mantra. I thought it would make a good motto for the Shoniin.”
“It does,” I whisper, my voice scratchy. “It’s been years since I thought about how we burned the dead in Verdenet.” In Ashkar, the dead are wrapped in linseed oil cloth and buried in large mass graves, sometimes twenty deep. The last time I saw a funeral pyre was when my grandfather died, the year before our village burned. We danced around the flames for hours, until my skin was coated with soot and the straps of my sandals cut into the backs of my ankles.
The memory makes my heart twinge with nostalgia, but also burn with fire—melting away the skin the Sky King and his empire foisted upon me. Until I can almost feel the girl born of sun and sand underneath. A girl made of flame and smoke and heat.
Temujin steeples his hands and stares into the blaze. “There are many things we’ve been required to forget. Pieces of ourselves we’ve been forced to leave behind. But the Lady and Father’s story is your story too. More than any of ours.”
His words click into place inside of me—like a key sliding into a lock. This is who I am. Who I’ve always been. Before the monster. Before the Kalima. Before any of it.
According to Southern legend, Night Spinners speak for the dead. Our starfire is an embodiment of their wrath—a way to punish the wicked and exact revenge. That’s why I fought so hard to avenge my parents during my time in the Kalima. And that’s why being stripped of my power was such a devastating blow. The stars aren’t just an ability; they’re my family. The only connection I have to my past. If I’m able to carry them with me, I’m not so alone.
Why did I let this slip away? How did I lose sight of this most integral part of me?
“Thank you for this, for making me come,” I say softly.
Temujin clutches his hands to his chest. “Are you admitting I did something right?”
“I don’t know if I’d go that far … but maybe you’re not all bad, deserter.”
“None of us are,” he says, looking me dead in the eye.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE DAYS RUSH AWAY LIKE A RAGING RIVER, TRAPPING ME beneath the current and washing me toward my impending mission. Which, on the one hand, is terrifying; there’s a good chance I’ll drown when I’m forced to wade into the depths of the darkness in Ashkar. But, on the other hand, the sooner I plunge in, the sooner Serik will be released.
I spend almost every waking hour practicing in the temple, accompanied by Temujin, who shouts reassurances and prods me when I fail.
“Stop holding back,” he says when I lose control of the starfire for what feels like the millionth time. “Kalima powers are like any unstable emotion: sadness, anger, fear. You’re more volatile when you keep it coiled inside. You have to release the pressure or you’ll explode. Rather than focusing on the danger, think of Orbai’s near-fatal injuries, think of the abandoned shepherds, think of our people suffering in Verdenet, and unleash your fury and frustration. Embrace the darkness and let it burn through you. Discover the depth of your power so you will know the limits of your control.”
I stare at Temujin for a long moment. No one has ever dared me to face the monster head-on—that’s a battle they assumed I would lose. But maybe he’s right. I will never win if I’m too afraid to fight. I will never resurrect Enebish the Warrior unless I bury Enebish the Destroyer—for good.
I bring my hands to my chest and focus inward, on the monster thrashing beneath my skin. But instead of singing it to sleep like I always do, I bellow a war cry and hurl a sledgehammer into the iron bars of its cage.
The spools of night leap back into motion, so fast and feverish that they feel like barbed wire slashing across my skin. I throw my arms wide, catch hold of a distant star, and slam my fists to the ground. Then I do it again. And again. Never worrying about my accuracy, trusting my hands know what to do. Heat pulsates through my skin in waves and my throat burns. I can’t tell if I’m laughing or screaming or crying. I feel wild. Terrified. Rapturous.
When my power eventually peters out, my legs crumple as if my bones have turned to liquid, and I lie there gasping, exactly as I did after my first attempt to wield the night. Only this time, everything is tingly and swimming and there’s a glorious stillness in my mind. It lasts less than a minute, but for that blessed minute, there’s no monster. No shame. Not even a fragment of the nightmare that’s plagued me ever since I cut out the moonstone.
Just me.
A delirious laugh sputters from my lips. Why didn’t I try this ages ago? Why did Ghoa never consider that using my power would be the most effective form of controlling it? It seems so obvious now. Like the wolves that long ago stalked the shepherds’ flocks across the grasslands. When our ancestors tried to run them off, their attacks grew more frequent and violent. But as soon as they began capturing the wolves and training them, allowing them to hunt our enemies on the war front, they became an immeasurable advantage. Dangerous, but one of the greatest strengths of the Ashkarian army.
As I could have been.
Temujin drops to his knees at my side, practically vibrating with excitement. “That was incredible. We’re going to change the face of this entire war.” He continues babbling, but the smile has already dropped off my face. Because this is about so much more than wielding the night in the safety of a temple. I have to do it out there. In Ashkar. For deserters.
Go. Before you do something you can’t take back.
“I think you’re ready for a different sort of training,” Temujin says after three days of flawless night spinning.
I assumed this meant I’d join Inkar and the other Shoniin in the sparring rings, but Temujin leads me to his tent in the center of the encampment. It’s a towering purple structure w
ith little golden elephants embroidered across the silk walls. I rub one tenderly, and it whisks me back to my childhood in Verdenet, where the massive beasts are used to haul goods to and from the markets. They can’t survive this far north, and I wonder if Temujin picked this fabric on purpose. If the sight of them stirs something in his chest too.
He reverently touches the elephant beside mine. “A little piece of home. A reminder of what we’re fighting for.”
That’s how all of the Shoniin describe the rebellion. They’re not fighting against the Sky King or anyone else. They’re fighting for the refugees, for the exploited warriors, and for the Protected Territories.
Temujin gallantly lifts the tent flap and I duck inside—straight into a war zone. The floor is littered with balls of crumpled parchment and inkpots are tipped on their sides, oozing black puddles. Clothes are strewn everywhere, and his cot in the corner looks more like the nest of a wild beast than a bed.
I gape at the mess for a full minute. The chaos is so incongruent with the perfectly poised and confident leader he plays for the rest of the Shoniin. “How … lovely. Though you didn’t need to clean for my sake.”
He grumbles something about not having time as he shucks off his boots and tosses them in the corner. “Sit wherever you can find space.”
I make an exaggerated show of lifting a sock off a nearby stool before perching on it. “Why am I here? Clearly not for the traditional reasons a boy might bring a girl to his tent.” Temujin rolls his eyes and roots around on the floor until he finds a roll of parchment. “I need you to help me compose a letter to your sister. You know her best, and we need to lay out the terms of our offer in a way she and the Sky King won’t be able to refuse.”
He looks so hopeful and earnest, I decide not to tell him that the only letter Ghoa will accept is one of surrender, and spend the next several hours drafting the perfect missive. If Zemya continues advancing, perhaps she will get desperate enough to accept the Shoniin’s help.
I spin her silver-and-onyx feather bracelet around my wrist. Some days it feels like a manacle, locked around my hand so she can always drag me back. But other times it feels like an anchor, the weight that keeps me grounded and guides me safely home. Either way, I can’t bring myself to take it off.
“Do you think I’m ready?” I don’t know why I bother asking Temujin. My week is up tomorrow and he’ll be sending me on a mission whether I’m ready or not. And the sooner I go, the sooner Serik will be released. The sooner we’ll know the truth. So I have no reason to delay. But a pit yawns open in my belly every time I think of wielding the night without the temple’s protection. When I think of what I’ll be doing: committing the biggest form of treason imaginable.
“All of the arrangements are nearly in place,” Temujin says. “Inkar is securing a horse for you to borrow, and Kartok, our associate at the war front, is memorizing the guard rotation.”
“Good,” I say, even though nothing about this mission sounds good.
“You look like a prisoner who just learned the date of their execution,” Temujin says with a snort.
“That may not be far from the truth….”
He gently tugs the end of my braid. “Stop doubting. You’re ready.”
I don lamellar armor for the first time since my banishment. I assumed I’d wear a gray Shoniin tunic, but Temujin wants me to blend in with the imperial warriors—in case arrows start flying. I’m grateful for the added protection. And even more grateful for the confidence it lends me. As I fasten the buckles and tighten the straps, it feels like I’m settling into a familiar embrace. With deft strokes, I swipe pine ink over my cheeks to conceal my traitor’s mark. Then I stride across Inkar’s tent to look in the little mirror on the desk.
“What do you think?” I ask Orbai, who’s perched on her branch behind me. She screeches and flaps her wings at the door, desperate to get out of the tent. I know she’s angry that she hasn’t been able to accompany me to the temple for training; I won’t let her anywhere near my starfire. Nor can she join me tonight. A bird as grand as Orbai doesn’t fly free across the grasslands. The imperial warriors will know she belongs to someone. And they’ll come looking for the owner. Or kill her to send said owner a message.
“I’m only trying to protect you,” I tell her, but she beats her wings again, holding even more of a grudge than usual. “Well, I think I look fierce. Like a warrior.”
I almost feel like a warrior too, despite the fact that I have no army to fight for. I’m not a Kalima warrior or a Shoniin warrior. Just myself. Enebish the Warrior. A lone mercenary for hire. Which, on the one hand, is terrifying, but on the other hand is somewhat freeing.
The moment I duck out into the sunlight, Orbai rockets into the sky without so much as a screech of goodbye. “Thanks for the vote of confidence!” I yell after her, making a mental note to set aside time just for her after this mission. I’ve been busy training, but I didn’t think she minded. She’s always off spiraling through the sunshine and badgering the hoopoes.
I’m still watching her shadow grow smaller and smaller when Temujin arrives with Inkar and Chanar.
“Kartok will be waiting for you in the Boneyard,” Temujin reminds me for the hundredth time as he leads us through camp and across the globeflower field.
“And I secured the fastest horse in the grazing lands for you. It’s tied to the large maple near the eastern border,” Inkar says.
“And if there’s a delay, you can access rations in the outskirts of Baimur. Or you could always just do what you do best and burn the Imperial Army encampment to cinders.” Chanar claps me hard on the back.
I wheeze as if I’ve been punched.
Inkar swats her brother. “You’re the worst. Pay him no mind, Enebish. He’s just pouting because he used to be the one scheming in Temujin’s tent.”
“I don’t want to do any of this, if that helps?” I tell Chanar with a self-deprecating laugh.
He doesn’t crack a smile. “That actually makes it worse.”
“You’ll be brilliant.” Inkar buries me in a hug, squeezing me tight through my armor. “The Bone Reader said the universe confirmed it.”
Temujin holds out his palm, on which sit two cerulean stones. They’re the precise color of the bonfire and they pulsate with the same strange glow.
“What are those?” I ask.
“Portal stones. They allow you to travel between the Ram’s Head and the Eternal Blue without me. All you have to do is throw a stone at the barrier.”
I stare hungrily at the little blue rocks. It takes all of my restraint not to snatch them from Temujin’s hands and sprint for the prison shack. They’re my and Serik’s ticket to freedom. All I have to do is steal more later.
Temujin coughs, and I force myself to look away. If he didn’t already suspect my intentions, he certainly does now. I was about as subtle as an avalanche. “I didn’t know it was possible to transfer power from the Goddess-touched into objects.”
Chanar scoffs but Temujin humors me. “Ranaz—an old royal scholar who was also a prophetess of the First Gods—defected when the Sky King denounced the old religion. She found a way to infuse stones from this realm with the power of the Goddess-touched, allowing others to access the gateway. Before that, I would have had to physically go on every mission, which would result in far fewer.”
Never in my life have I heard of the prophetess Ranaz or the ability to infuse stones with power from the Goddess-touched. But then, I was only eight years old when I was taken in by Ashkarians. And Verdenet had already been part of the Protected Territories for several years. Such things were not discussed.
Temujin places the portal stones in my palm. His fingertips linger for the briefest moment. “You can do this,” he says. “Remember all that’s at stake.” His amber eyes are fierce with conviction—and warning.
I blow out a breath and glance up once more at Orbai. She followed us all the way from the encampment, but every time I whistled for her, she climbed h
igher into the blue.
“It’s time,” Inkar says softly. “You don’t want the recruits to think you’re not coming.”
I drop one portal stone into my pocket, and the other I toss in a high arc. When it reaches the apex, it vanishes and a gateway crackles into existence, sparking yellow and white.
Serik’s desperate plea chases me through the portal, but I shrug it off and mutter one last prayer to the Lady of the Sky. Then I slip into Sagaan.
To spin the night.
And weaken the army I swore to serve.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
AS SOON AS I EMERGE THROUGH THE TAVERN DOOR, THE tendrils of darkness slam me against the building like a great black wave. Pain explodes across the side of my face and panic grips my throat. The monster kneads my belly with its claws.
I want to scream, but I can’t catch my breath.
I want to run back to the realm of the Eternal Blue, but my feet are limp and boneless.
My breath comes in short, shallow gulps and the monster senses my weakness.
No.
I brace my hand against the filthy wall and close my eyes. I imagine jade columns surrounding me, the cool mosaic of jewels beneath my feet. I imagine emptiness. Quiet. Control. When I reopen my eyes, the night still rages like a whirlwind, but I swat the most persistent ribbons away, collect a handful of threads in my palm, and use them to weave a cloak of shadow around me.
At the eastern edge of the grazing lands, a small brown horse waits beneath a willow tree, as Inkar promised. I mount, throw a blanket of darkness over us both, and dig my heels into her flanks, hoping to outrun the sound of phantom hoofbeats.
I ride for two hours without stopping. The bone-chilling cold of late fall in Ashkar batters me like a snow squall, made more acute by spending so much time in the realm of the Eternal Blue. When I finally reach the boulder field at the base of the Ondor Mountains, my nose is numb and my good and bad legs are howling in unison. Subzero temperatures and saddle sores are not a pleasant combination. The poor horse is lathered in sweat, so I dismount and walk her the rest of the way. Stones the size of houses litter the grasslands this far north—a result of avalanches and rockslides—and the loamy smells of damp earth and silt remind me of a cave.
Night Spinner Page 18