Shattering of the Nocturnai Box Set

by Carrie Summers

  “Anything else?”

  Silence followed.

  “Good,” I said. “Now, as glad as I am that you’re here, I don’t believe we can meet like this again. We’re too visible in a group this large. Before we leave, I need you to nominate leaders. We’ll meet daily; your leaders will bring you word of our progress and plans. And I hope you’ll also send suggestions back to me.”

  Though I was prepared to select people—the leatherworker was among those I’d picked out from the crowd, I found there was no need. Immediately following my words, people clustered together, putting forth names and suggestions. Within just a few minutes, half a dozen representatives stood before me. But the biggest surprise was a face I thought I’d never see again.

  Moanet Yiltak.

  After the crowd dispersed, only Mother, Moanet, and I remained in the copse of trees. I whirled on her.

  “You told me you were sailing away.”

  She raised a single eyebrow, ever the trader despite the commoner garb she now wore. “If you’d been in my situation, would you have told the truth? I knew nothing about you other than you’d had the guts to undertake the nightcaller trial. And the . . . short-sightedness to lie when you failed.”

  “But what are you doing here?” I asked.

  She glanced at my mother, then back over the itinerant camp. “Might we talk elsewhere?”

  “Yes, fine.” I stepped out, headed back for the slums. Once we’d passed through the camp, she hurried to walk abreast with me. In the wan green light from the light-bearers’ lanterns, I cast surreptitious glances in her direction. Though her hair wasn’t as expertly cut as it had been when she’d lived as the heir to the most powerful trader House in the Kiriilt Islands, the time away from her mother had only accentuated her beauty. From what I could gather, she’d spent the last months living in the gutter slums. The difficult conditions had etched themselves onto her features, lending a hardness that might have diminished others’ looks but only added to hers.

  Mother followed a few steps behind. I considered explaining the situation, but decided to wait until we were somewhere private. Not that I counted the small room above the tailor’s as actual privacy. If anything, the walls—and floor—were thinner than in most buildings. The cobbler worked late most nights. It would be hard to ignore voices filtering down from her rental room.

  Though, I shouldn’t call it her rental room—like all gutterborn, she couldn’t actually own property. Because she had a business establishment in the building, the defense tax collectors came to her for the lien payment.

  In any case, a closed door and drawn curtains would allow her to speak without worry she’d be seen.

  When we reached the derelict stairway that led to my room, I expected Moanet to balk. But she took the steps first, mounting the stairs as if they were the marble flight leading to the front doors of House Yiltak. Before I followed her, I leaned to my mother’s ear.

  “Moanet Yiltak,” I whispered. “I’ll tell you more later.”

  Moanet waited on the balcony while I fiddled with the lock. The door swung open with a light squeak, something I had no desire to fix now that I’d made myself of interest to the trader guardsmen. As the other two followed me into the room, I lit the simple lamp—no colored oil here—shut and barred the door.

  “I can’t offer you melted chocolate,” I said. “Would you like tea?”

  Her smile had a hint of wistfulness. “Tea would be lovely, thank you.”

  Mother, to her credit, asked no questions. The room had two cots—by leaving the family home, I’d earned myself an upgrade from the bedding spread on the floor—a simple table, and only two chairs. Mother laid down on her cot to give us the table. As Moanet pulled out a chair, I kindled the small fire in the hearth and swung the teakettle into the flames.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to tell you the truth,” Moanet said.

  I shrugged. “I’m no stranger to deceit. A few months ago, I’d have been offended, but not now.”

  “Ioene was more of an adventure than you’d anticipated,” she said, blandly.

  “A bit.”

  “When I heard the Nocturnai had returned, I actually went to the quay. As you can imagine, I don’t often leave the slums. I saw you. Your ship. It’s beautiful.”

  “Where did your family get the figurine?” I asked.

  She quirked her mouth, a strange expression. “My mother wouldn’t tell me, actually. Apparently, Yiltak heirs learn the story after the Nocturnai, but never before.” She shrugged. “I found out anyway.”

  After everything I’d learned of Moanet, that didn’t surprise me. “And?”

  “It goes almost all the way back to the first Nocturnai. One of my ancestors found it in a sort of shrine that was buried by lava soon after. There was quite a lot of intrigue surrounding the incident. A few suspicious deaths.”

  I grimaced.

  “Yes, I know. Typical trader. We haven’t changed much over the years.”

  “Is that why you . . . left?”

  “What I said about eloping was true. But obviously I didn’t leave the Islands, or even Istanik.”

  “Your husband’s a commoner?”

  “Gutterborn, yes. He cleans stables.”

  The teakettle whistled. I grabbed a hook and pulled the arm from the fire, then wrapped a towel around the handle before lifting it and pouring a measure into three mugs. Unlike Nan, I had no silver diffuser. Instead, I pinched a generous measure of loose leaves into each cup. By now, Moanet was likely used to straining her tea through her teeth.

  “You must have made quite a few friends to be chosen as a representative,” I said. “Who knows about you?”

  “About my parentage, you mean?”

  I nodded.

  “My husband. You. And . . .” She glanced at the cot.

  “My mother. She recently came back from the Outer Isles. You can trust her—she doesn’t know enough people to let your secret out.”

  Moanet nodded. “I’d trust her regardless.”

  “So you invented a history?”

  Moanet grinned—she seemed genuinely happy with her situation. “Inkirri Stonek, come to Istanik from Orteshk Island.” She mimed a little bow. “I was apprenticed to a bird-keeper there, raising fishing gulls to drive the schools into the nets, but the birds took ill. My master wasn’t able to support my training. I’m learning scribing now—I’ve heard I’m a quick study.”

  I smiled when she winked. Of course she’d learn quickly. Most likely, Moanet’s only difficulty was disguising her skill while pretending to advance in lettering. While I was one of the lucky gutterborn to receive teaching in reading and writing—thanks to my obsession with the Nocturnai logs and the hours I spent begging Da to spend precious coin for lessons—very few gutterborn had more than basic ability to write numbers for sums and to sign their names. Moanet, on the other hand, had been groomed from birth to head a trader House.

  “It doesn’t bother you, everything you left?” I was genuinely curious. After my recent glimpses into trader life, I wondered how anyone could manage to give it up.

  “Not once I understood who suffered for it.”

  As I wrapped my hand around my chipped mug, I looked her in the eye. I’d trusted her twice, and both had ended in problems for me. But seeing her dressed in gutter garb, not bothered by the relative squalor in which I lived, I realized I’d gladly trust her again.

  “So you plan to unseat your mother,” I said.

  She shrugged. “She’s not so bad, as far as traders go. If not for the Council, I suspect she’d be willing to consider new ideas. But when I heard you were leading a rebellion—”

  “Resistance. Ideally, no one gets hurt.”

  “Whatever you call it, the traders will see nothing short of an uprising to be suppressed.”

  “I’m hoping they’re too distracted by the Ulstats to organize against us.”

  From her cot, Mother chimed in: “Right now, though, all they need to do
is eliminate the leader.”

  “She has a point,” Moanet said. “Anyway, if all you need are a few ships and fighters, why not leave Istanik altogether? You’d have to be able to recruit from somewhere.”

  “I thought about it. But Raav is here. My family, too.”

  “Raav . . . I heard about you two. But I think there’s more to it. I think you actually care about changing things here.”

  “I do.”

  “Enough that you didn’t actually make Ioene the first priority. Maybe you needed to make sure the Kiriilt Islands were worth saving before you sailed into the dark to be a hero.”

  A sideways glance at my mother showed her amusement at Moanet’s words. I felt exposed under the former trader’s keen gaze, and dropped my eyes to the table as I fought the urge to cross my arms over my chest as protection.

  “Whatever the reason, this is the path I chose,” I said, knowing it was a weak response.

  “We all make choices. Some are just more difficult than others,” she said quietly. I knew she was thinking of everything she abandoned when she eloped.

  “I agree with you about your mother,” I said. “She seemed willing to consider what I had to say about Ioene. But with the new situation . . . What happens if you have to choose between fighting House Yiltak or betraying the gutterborn?”

  Moanet’s eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t that be clear based on where I am?”

  “I need to hear you say it,” I said. “Too many people are depending on me.”

  “Fine. Yes. If I have to fight my mother, I will. But you’re missing an advantage, Lilik. When the time comes, you should use me. I’m one of the few things House Yiltak and the Council will never expect. Anyway, if we win this thing, the rules about commoners and traders won’t matter anymore. I can have it all. My House and my love.”

  “Your House won’t be the same after this. Everyone will bear the burden of defending the Islands. There won’t be a Trader Council dictating Kiriilti laws.”

  She shrugged a single shoulder. “I gave it away once. I’m not afraid to lose what I no longer have.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  AS THE ULSTAT siege dragged on, everyone in the city grew restless, eager to quarrel as a means to diffuse the constant, simmering fear of the cannons. Five days after I reunited with Moanet, a squad of drunken barracks soldiers pushed into the slum, pounding on doors and demanding cash, favors, or just to laugh at the expense of the poor. More than one boy thought he’d defend his family and came away with bruises.

  Jet’s wardens responded, sending the soldiers back with heavy injuries. In less than an hour, a cadre of House guard marched on the slums, demanding Jet’s fighters disarm and desist. A sword slash to the face of the Council sergeant sent them scurrying.

  That night, House guards accompanied the light-bearers. With speaking horns raised, they declared a curfew. Any commoner seen in the streets more than an hour after dark would be locked in the prison.

  My people refused. Standing on the balcony, I watched as they flooded the streets, a sea of heads beneath the glow of the moon and the light-bearers’ lanterns.

  A runner brought word to my home. Within the first hours of the night, the traders had arrested fifty gutterborn. Patrols sent by the Council were pulling people at random from the crowd, battering any resisters, then dragging them off to a holding area outside the prison. Meanwhile, the gutterborn chanted and raised torches and continued to mass. Small squads of elite guardsmen had been spotted asking for my whereabouts—apparently, the Council had decided the easiest way to disable the resistance was to eliminate its figurehead. Jet and the rest of my leadership advised me to stay inside. They said they’d come to me.

  But I wouldn’t hide, not while my people were risking arrest in defense of our cause. I snatched a cloak from the pile at the foot of my bed, tucked my head into the hood, and hurried to fountain square.

  The water had been turned off and pooled, motionless, at the base. Was this an attempt by the traders to take away our pride since they couldn’t control our actions? I could only guess. But the dry tiers of carved granite gave me an idea. With a running leap, I snatched the rim of the lowest one, pulled up and threw a leg over. The other tiers were an easy reach, and within minutes I stood on the top of the fountain.

  I threw off my cloak, pulled up the sleeves of my jacket, and showed the crowd my scars.

  A hush settled over the mob as people noticed me, pointing and whispering. After a moment, those closest took up a cheer. I gave them a moment, not because I wanted the adulation, but because I knew they needed the chance to celebrate. After more than a hundred years, we were taking our city, island, and nation back.

  “No more defense tax,” I yelled.

  “No more defense tax!” they echoed.

  “We choose our own leaders!”

  “We choose our own leaders!”

  “No more barracks army!”

  “No more barracks army!”

  One by one, I cried out our changes, and the gathered crowd echoed them. After, I patted the air, calling for quiet. Stillness crept over the crowd, and they watched me, rapt.

  I slid Tyrak from his sheath and held the dagger aloft.

  “I’m holding a nightforged weapon,” I called. “With it, I can defend myself, repel an attacker, even take a life.” Slowly and deliberately, I replaced the blade in its sheath. “I am prepared to do what I must to protect those I love. But using my weapon on someone will always be my last resort. Over the next few days, your nominated leaders and I will be attempting to speak with the Trader Council. We will present our demands and ask for a peaceable resolution. I see you, eager and ready to fight. With our numbers, we could take the city by force. We could swarm the Ulstat warships. But I’m asking for your patience. Return to your homes now, as a gesture of respect to the old order. Keep the curfew. If the collectors come, bar your doors against them, but do not fight unless you have no other choice. You will hear from me soon. The resistance will not be stopped. Have faith and remain strong.”

  A roar erupted from the crowd. Though a few, mostly young men, showed anger at the idea of delaying action, the older people in the crowd laid restraining hands on their shoulders.

  You did well, Tyrak said.

  I hope so. I am still afraid that people will get hurt.

  Not as many as if you did nothing.

  I nodded agreement. The crowd had begun to disperse, and as I crouched to begin climbing down from the fountain, I heard the clang of steel from the far side of the square.

  A dozen Yiltak House guards burst from one alley, while a contingent from a mid-level House, the Majkuts, marched from another side street, swords bared. Growling, they swung at nearby commoners, not aiming to hit, but slicing flesh all the same. People shrieked and chaos erupted. From the rear of the Majkut contingent, an arrow streaked across the square, whizzing by my ear with a hiss. My heart leaped in my chest. As I jumped down to the lower tier, the archer reloaded. The next arrow glanced off the stone less than a hand’s span from my neck.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  ACROSS FOUNTAIN SQUARE, blades slashed at helpless citizens. A baker defended herself with a rolling pin, catching the thrust of a sword on its wooden roller. The guard wielding the sword snarled and yanked his weapon free, then sent the flat of the blade into her shoulder. She dropped the pin, crying out until a fist smashed her jaw and she crumpled.

  Torches fell to the damp cobbles, sputtering and dying. As more and more people flooded the square, pushing the light-bearers into alleys and around corners, darkness fell over the area. Grunts and screams and roars of anger rolled through the air, echoing off buildings. More gutterborn fell beneath swords and cudgels, others stumbled and went down in the chaos of the melee.

  In the pool beneath the fountain, a boy not much older than twelve lay bleeding from a slash to his thigh. He looked up at me with dazed eyes as I crouched, trying to use the low rim of the exposed fountain tier as a shield a
gainst more arrows.

  It was all happening so fast. As my hand whipped to Tyrak’s hilt, I spotted a group of Jet’s wardens forcing their way into the square. Voice booming, Jet ordered the defenseless gutterborn away from the fighting. Guarded by the swords of his wardens, he stooped to help a wounded woman to her feet before handing her off to a fleeing pair of commoners.

  Swords flashed as the wardens formed up in the space left by retreating citizens. The House guards outnumbered the wardens at least three to one. I shook my head at the odds. No matter how well Jet’s men fought, it wouldn’t be enough.

  I pulled Tyrak free and bunched my legs to stand.

  No, he said. Wait. Listen.

  From behind came the sound of organized footfalls. Mercenaries? More House guards? I sidled around the fountain to get a glimpse. My breath caught when I saw a contingent of city guardsmen near the entrance to the square.

  Which side were they on? Jet had mentioned allies among the city guard, but had he succeeded in turning the whole force against the Council?

  When the city guardsmen stepped into the open square, the small skirmishes along the front lines of the opposing forces halted. Jet’s wardens backed off a few paces to protect their flank from the newcomers. The leader of the Yiltak contingent grinned, teeth shining in the glow from one of the abandoned torches that still burned.

  In the sudden stillness, his gaze arrowed to mine.

  “Nightcaller Boket,” he called. “My employer has been looking for you.”

  Though I knew I risked exposing myself to the archer who’d nearly skewered me twice, I stood tall.

  “It’s Councilor Boket,” I responded. “And I’d be glad to speak with Trader Yiltak and the other trader representatives as soon as is convenient. With the rescinding of the defense bargain, there are many details to work out.”