STAR THIEF
By Robin Kristoff
Copyright © 2017 by Robin Kristoff.
www.robinkristoff.com
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Printed in the United States of America
First Printing, 2017
ISBN 978-0-9995431-0-8
Cover art by Maxwell Stevens
Acknowledgements
First and foremost, I would like to thank my mother, who’s supported this dream from the very beginning. Through my many rounds of revision, my mom read with full confidence that I would see this novel through to publishing. I can’t thank her enough for her years of support and belief.
I’d also like to thank Emily, best friend, peer editor, and the steady voice in my head pushing me to be better.
Many thanks as well to Cecilia, Casey, Matt, Melati, Willa, Amy, Deb, Anna, Jen, Lauren, and all of my friends and family who supported me through this process, and particularly Pam, who was incredibly generous with both her time and encouragement.
Finally, thank you to Max, who gave so much of his time to designing my cover art.
From the bottom of my heart, thank you all!
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MAP
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHAPTER ONE
From the Book of Creation, Chapter Three, Verse One:
When the Night God first learned of man’s new gift of magic, he was furious.
“You give these bastard children of yours such power, you would have them be gods like us,” he told the Mother. “They will turn on us.”
Though the Mother swore that mankind would never turn on their parents, the Night God was unmoved.
“Your promises mean nothing, you have proven that,” he said. “And who are you to speak for them?” And he raged. And the night skies did darken once more without relief, for in his anger he hid his gifts away from the world.
Men and women wept in the darkness. Children could not be calmed for their fear. They called to the Mother to take back her gift of magic, if it would calm the Night God, and return the moon and the stars to fight the darkness.
The Mother relented, and began to gather her magic from each of her children. From one in ten, then five in ten, then nine in ten, she took her magic. Then she stopped.
“I have made them ten times weaker,” she told the Night God. “Surely they are no threat to us now.”
The Night God looked, and he saw men crying. He heard the footsteps of thieves protected each night by darkness. He watched humanity toiling once more to survive with so little magic, and his heart softened.
“Very well,” he said. He opened his fist, and the stars and the moon returned to the night, more brightly than ever. “Now give me the magic you have gathered.”
The Night God took the magic in both of his hands and threw it as hard as he could. He cast the magic to the end of the earth.
“Now we can be certain that the humans will not find it. Now we can be sure they will not use it against us.”
And he made the Mother swear that she would not seek out the lost magic again.
~~~
The two guardsmen circling each other in the inn yard could have been a drawing straight out of Nolan’s book of legends. Women and children looked to these kinds of sword-wielding, well-muscled men for protection. Other men called on them for help. From one year to the next, Nolan was sure, the province guards’ lives were grander, more heroic, and more interesting than his.
The taller guard sprang forward, bearing down on his opponent with heavy, methodical strokes that left the smaller guard scrambling to find his balance. Nolan stared, riveted, as the shorter guard lowered his blade and ducked away, letting his partner’s momentum carry him forward. The smaller fighter attacked again, but the other guard was ready. Their swords met with a loud crash.
Nolan smiled appreciatively, wishing he had half the skill of either of the guards. He didn’t think he looked so different from them, with his brown hair and round face, but no one would ever think to look to him for help against bandits. His build was only average, and he was a little short for his age. To top it off, Nolan’s father had refused to teach him a thing about fighting, so all he knew were a few tips his friends had shared.
Now that he was leaving River’s End, though, Nolan finally had some hope of changing that.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Nolan’s father barked. The bigger guard’s horse, neatly groomed and saddled, trailed behind him out of the stable. “There’s no brawling allowed on these grounds.”
Nolan felt his face flush. Only his father would look at two guards training with each other and call it a brawl.
The shorter guard’s gelding rubbed his nose on Nolan’s trouser leg, leaving a damp streak. Nolan grimaced, finished buckling the horse’s bridle, and led him out into the yard.
To sign on as a recruit for the province guard, boys had to be at least sixteen by early spring, but Nolan wasn’t going to wait another year for his life to get interesting. By tonight he’d be on his uncle’s ship, the Seaglass, and on his way to Golden Isle and Marayne. He might not learn as much about fighting on a merchant ship, but he’d see more of the world in a few months than the guards might in a lifetime. Every time Nolan thought of it, his heart beat faster.
“We’re practicing,” the bigger guard said to Nolan’s father. “Have to stay sharp when we can.”
“It’s an inn, not a barracks. Someone could’ve been hurt.”
Nolan held the stirrup while the shorter guard, who turned out to be two inches taller than he was, mounted up.
“We’re always in control,” the shorter guard said, flipping a copper into the air towards Nolan. “No one was in any danger.”
The other guard mounted up without another glance at Nolan or his father, and the two trotted out to the road in effortless unison. Nolan watched them for a moment longer, then stole a glance up the road in the other direction. The coach to Brine wouldn’t arrive for another half hour, but he still felt a pang of disappointment at seeing the emptiness to the road’s south.
When Nolan turned back, his father was already at the stable door, his arms crossed over his chest.
“Just can’t wait to be off on that grand adventure you think this is, can you?”
Nolan fought to keep a smile off his face. A few weeks from now he’d be standing on the shore of Golden Isle. He didn’t ‘think’ he was leaving for an adventure; he knew he was. But to his father, whose life revolved around oiling leather, making bran mashes, and talking incessantly about the weather, anyone who wanted to do anything else was crazy.
“Just making sure those two got off safely,” Nolan said casually. “The chestnut got reshod yesterday.”
His father’s scowl deepened the lines that years of working in the sun had drawn across his face. “You saw the scars on those men? Sword fights, knife fights, probably all for some man who doesn’t know their names. Is that the kind of life you want?”
“They’re heroes. They’re protecting people.”
“Fighting and killing until they can’t fig
ht any more,” Nolan’s father retorted. “Being cut down to bits for healer-witches to stitch back together. That’s all the ‘glory’ they’re talking about in those legends of yours.” He shook his head. “And you’re off to—what? Let Richard Walker drag you to some barbarian island? Get yourself thrown overboard?”
Nolan sighed. “Nobody’s getting thrown overboard. I’ll be traveling and hauling cargo. Seeing the world. Doing something new, for a change.” He’d also be seeing new countries, facing down storms, and probably defending the Seaglass from pirates—finally having a life with some excitement to it—but Nolan kept those thoughts to himself.
“Smart men know how to appreciate what they have. They don’t need to go haring around the world looking for more.”
Nolan glowered. “Just because you’ve never—”
“Is it me, or have you two already had this conversation a few dozen times?” Nolan’s mother asked mildly. “Peter, you agreed. It’s best for him to try this now and see how it fits.”
“What you said was this would keep him from sneaking off later, for something more dangerous,” Nolan’s father said, his grumpy expression turning wry and his eyes, as always, softening as he looked at his wife. “And I said, ‘Maybe.’”
Nolan’s mother ignored him and passed Nolan his pack. “You forgot your heavier coat, so I tucked it in.”
Nolan shouldered the bag, forcing a small smile. “You know I’ll be back by the end of the summer, right?”
His mother smiled back, but the smile didn’t touch her usually cheerful eyes. Today her eyes were her witch’s eyes, with the same somber calculation as when she was preparing a poultice.
“It might get cold on the ship when the wind picks up,” she said simply. “Take the coat.”
He raised an eyebrow at her. “What did you do to it?”
“I gave it a new collar and cuffs.”
“You know what I mean.”
She patted his cheek lightly. “My own son, so suspicious.”
“You take what your mother gives you and be thankful,” his father said. “With any luck it’s a charm for common sense.”
Nolan scowled at him. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t—”
“Don’t start up again,” his mother cut in. “It might be useful, Nolan, that’s all.”
A half hour later, when matched hoof beats signaled that the coach was only moments away, Nolan’s heart started pounding again. His mother cupped his face with both hands, and he bent dutifully to let her kiss his brow.
She was blinking hard when she released him. “Make sure you take care of yourself, whatever the men are doing on that ship. Eat your vegetables. Listen to your Uncle Richard. Try not to do anything too dangerous, please.”
Nolan kissed her cheek. “I’ll keep myself in one piece. I promise.”
The coach halted a few feet away from the Travel Peace’s doorway. A boy Nolan’s age took his bag and heaved it on top of the coach. Nolan’s skin prickled with anticipation. On to Golden Isle, to Marayne, to months of sea voyage. This was it.
His father turned from paying the driver, glanced at Nolan, and dropped his gaze to the ground. “Watch yourself around the other hands. And that uncle of yours. Too easy to have accidents on a ship.”
As if he would know. Nolan knew for a fact that his father had never set foot on a ship in his life, or been farther from River’s End than Brine. But that minor handicap hadn’t stopped him from voicing a steady monologue of advice over the last week on being polite to foreigners, directions on tipping the coach driver to Brine, being polite to his uncle and the other workers on the ship, keeping a sharp eye on the weather, being unusually polite when he met any witch that wasn’t his mother, and keeping a dry pair of socks on hand at all times. Only his mother’s gentle but persistent requests for patience had kept Nolan quiet—for most of it.
“I’ll be fine.” Nolan hesitated, wondering if there was anything left to say.
His mother nudged her husband hard on the shoulder, and the older man put his hand out. Nolan shook it, smiling slightly at his mother while his father scowled at the dirt.
“Have a good summer then,” Nolan said. “Goodbye.”
His father nodded grimly. Nolan took a deep breath, looked one last time at his mother, and hoisted himself into the coach.
Richard Walker was a broad-barreled, powerfully built man whose black hair was just starting to compete with a few white hairs at his temples. At the coach stand in Brine, Walker was dressed semi-formally in brown trousers, a matching coat he’d left unbuttoned, and a starched white shirt. Even amid the thick crowd of people greeting each other and hailing coaches, he was easy to find. He glanced up from his pocket watch as Nolan stepped nearer, looked his nephew over appraisingly, and nodded.
“Nolan. You’ve grown the last few years; I almost wouldn’t have known you,” he said, shaking Nolan’s hand. “I hope you’ve come ready to work.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you for—”
“Very good. Follow me.”
Walker started walking without another glance back. Nolan gamely hoisted his bag and followed his uncle through the busy streets of Brine to the harbor. Nolan’s father always said that Walker was a man who counted people in silver instead of flesh and blood. But watching his uncle’s broad back and purposeful stride—‘a commanding stride,’ Nolan thought—Nolan liked him already. Here was someone who wouldn’t waste his time talking about the weather unless there was good reason for it.
“You’re just a green hand, you understand,” Walker said as they wove through the crowd. “I’ll have you answering to Nut—he’s a steady man. You’ll treat his word as law.”
“Yes, sir.”
“While you’re a hand, you’ll reflect on me. I’ll be highly disappointed if I find you shirking your watch, or in any kind of gambling trouble. And what goes for the crew—no drinking on the watch, no lateness, no sloppiness—goes double for you.”
“I understand. You don’t have to worry, Uncle, I won’t—”
Walker turned on his heel to face Nolan. His deep brown eyes were flinty. “Your father handles things with a soft hand. I don’t. These rules keep us alive. I’ll not spare you from the consequences.”
Nolan nodded. “I won’t be any trouble, Uncle.”
“So we understand each other. And don’t ever call me that again. It’s ‘Captain’ or ‘sir’.” Walker turned again and kept walking. “You don’t have any of my sister’s magic in you, is that right?”
“No, I don’t. Sir.”
“That’s just as well. Magic makes for enemies you don’t need, especially around a ship. And I don’t like putting my faith in it. Potions to keep you afloat and blessings from the priests of the three gods make men lazy. You put your faith in good rigging, regular repairs, and a steady watch. Understand that, too.”
“Yes, sir. Captain.”
Brine’s harbor was humming with activity. A throng of dock workers, laymen, merchants, and sailors flowed between dozens of ships and the docks. The ships’ sails shone brightly in the sunlight, and the wood of their hulls gleamed. Nolan drank in the sight of the ships, then looked beyond them and felt a grin spread across his face.
He’d heard of the Emerald Sea’s color—how the water was really more green than blue. The green gradually faded to white as it neared the horizon, and the morning sun made the horizon shine as one inviting, eye-smarting line of light. Nolan couldn’t wait to get closer. Even the foul odor of fish, salt, and tar that hung over the harbor didn’t mar the effect.
His uncle’s ship, the Seaglass, was impressive as well: a three-masted, square-rigged fluyt that beckoned to Nolan with a promise of adventure. A string of sailors in loose-fitting shirts and trousers carried barrels and crates up a gangway into the ship. They were tanned and muscled as Nolan had expected, though he didn’t see the tattoos he’d heard about.
“Don’t just stare, boy, keep moving.”
Walker led him up the gangway to where a handf
ul of men were mopping the deck and busying themselves with ropes and grease. They all stood as Walker stepped on board, touching their caps respectfully before returning to work.
“James,” Walker beckoned, and a sandy-haired sailor who looked only a few years older than Nolan set down his mop and touched his cap again.
“Captain?”
“Show Nolan his cot and set him to help load. Nolan, stay with James until we cast off. Then I’ll get you started with Nut.”
“Yes, sir.”
Walker clapped Nolan on the shoulder and left to talk with another sailor. James nodded to Nolan and smiled. The ring through his left ear glinted in the sunlight.
“First time at sea then?” He asked as he led Nolan away.
“Yes.”
The young man smiled. “Another couple of weeks and this life’ll be in your blood. I’d never even seen a ship ‘til my brother and I came east.” With the ease of long practice, James swung himself down onto a narrow ladder. “One look and that was it for us.”
Nolan followed James down the ladder clumsily, overbalanced by his pack. The room it led to reminded him of a large horse stall lined with hammocks.
“That one’s free,” James pointed. “Keep your pack with you up on it unless there’s a storm—save the floor space. Just don’t let it fall on anyone’s head.”
Nolan nodded and swung his pack up where James pointed. The hemp in the hammock smelled like tar and salt. Nolan’s thoughts flicked to the rose-soap his mother used on his linens at home. He pushed the thought away roughly. He’d wanted a change. He didn’t need any of his mother’s old books to tell him this much: the heroes from the legends didn’t have their mothers along washing their sheets.
Nolan spent the next hour hauling crates and barrels into the ship’s hold. The Seaglass’s launch when everything was loaded made every sweaty, splinter-filled minute of it worth it. Nolan stood out of the way, grinning, as the rest of the crew unfurled sails and rolled in the chain of the anchor. He heard the wind catch in the sails, and then, gently, the ship rocked away from the dock. He was heading towards open horizon, leaving Suria behind for the first time in his life. He stared at the growing expanse of water between the ship and the harbor until he heard the chuckles around him. Very conscious of the larger, worldlier men watching him from across the deck, Nolan casually leaned back against the rail and restrained himself to a happy sigh.
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