Shattering of the Nocturnai Box Set

by Carrie Summers

  Tonight, a single lantern burned upon the kitchen table. Only Nan sat; the single armchair beside her rocker stood empty. I figured the others had probably left the seat for me. I chose to stand; this was not a situation to discuss in comfort.

  “Thank you for coming,” I said once everyone had taken a spot along the wall. “You received the details from the messengers I sent, right?”

  Nods confirmed the answer.

  “Are you sure they’ll attack tomorrow?” a woman asked, her face lined with worry. The wife of a fisherman, she ran a side business collecting herbs from the steep hillsides behind Istanik. If I remembered correctly, she had three small children at home. Her husband had been away for two months, only recently returned, which had allowed her the freedom to join the resistance.

  “I’m not sure of anything an Ulstat says,” I responded, “but the safest course is to assume he was telling the truth.”

  “I don’t see much choice but to strike first,” said Nan’s leatherworking friend. When she’d entered the room, I’d finally asked her name. As Aryulki spoke, she pulled a throwing knife from her belt and slotted it into another holster. A nervous habit. “We can send oyster divers. Best swimmers on Stanik Island. Swarm the ships, light the black powder. They’ll sink before they have a chance to begin the attack.”

  And by doing so, they’d take my family to the bottom of the ocean. When I’d sent the messengers, I hadn’t told anyone but Nan and Captain Altak about Da and Jaret. It wouldn’t be fair to my leadership.

  “Anyone else?” I asked, hoping someone—anyone—would have a different plan.

  Jet detached from the wall. “It might work, but I have to ask . . . Why should we fight the Council’s battle for them? I say we protect our boundaries, wait for the traders to wear each other down.”

  “What about the soldiers?” I said. “Trader Ulstat claims they’ve promised him their loyalty. If it’s true, we can expect heavy attacks from the barracks. Working with the House and city guards, we might stand against them. But otherwise . . .”

  Jet clasped his chin, running a thumb over his stubble as he considered.

  “So the choices are to either eliminate the Ulstats before dawn, or ally with the Council and hope we succeed?” Aryulki snarled as she spoke.

  I showed my palms. “There aren’t any good answers. It’s why I’ve brought you here.”

  From behind Captain Altak, Geren stepped forward. “Let me go, Councilor. I’m sneaky, you remember. I can get aboard the ships. The captain told me about your family—”

  Captain Altak silenced him with a heavy hand on the shoulder, but it was too late.

  Jet’s brows raised. “What’s this?”

  My nostrils flared when I sighed. “Trader Ulstat took my da and brother. They’re aboard one of the ships. Probably the flagship.”

  The gathering erupted in angry voices, and I held my hands out, pressing for quiet.

  “Then there’s no choice,” Jet said. “We get men aboard the ships, fight through the holds until we find and free your family, and go for the powder kegs.”

  I shook my head. “We can’t. You know that as well as I do. There’s no hope we’d succeed without losing people. I can’t ask anyone to sacrifice themselves just because the captives happen to be my father and brother.”

  More noise followed, traders and gutterborn both vying to be heard. Geren, his voice lost in the hubbub, climbed atop Nan’s cot and yelled. “Send me, Lilik! I’ll find ‘em.”

  I looked at the boy, tenderness filling my chest. “I can’t, Skink. You know that.”

  He glowered at me, fists clenched. “You’re not my mother.”

  “But she’d say the same thing.”

  Face red, the boy stomped on Nan’s mattress. When Captain Altak noticed, he stepped forward and lifted the boy by the shoulders, setting him back on the battered floorboards.

  Until she stepped forward, I hadn’t noticed Moanet Yiltak among the group. I’d sent her a message regarding the meeting, but had warned her there would be traders in attendance. I hadn’t expected her to come. As it was, her face hid deep in the hood of her cloak. Together with the shadows at the edge of the room and her choice to position herself to the side of the other traders rather than opposite them, they didn’t appear to have noticed her.

  “In any case, we can’t count on sinking the Ulstat fleet,” she said. “The powder might blow holes in the hulls, but it might not. Damaging to the decking will make the ships harder to sail, but that’s all. Our best choice is to stand firm. Defend the barracks strip and wait out the first attacks.”

  I chewed my lip, considering. If we neglected to protect the other edges of the gutter district and focused all our efforts on the strip, maybe we could keep the mercenaries at bay. Maybe I’d been too pessimistic.

  “We can manage it if we throw up barricades,” Jet said. “Put archers on those, station fighters at choke points. We’ll evacuate the neighborhood to be safe. Once the Ulstats move, we’ll have a better idea what we need to do. Including making a plan to get the Councilor’s family safe.”

  I nodded, though I knew his words were empty. Without asking other gutterborn to risk their lives, I had no way to save Da and Jaret. But what other choice did I have?

  “All right. It’s settled.” As I spoke, the ice around my heart thickened.

  “Councilor?” Mareti asked. “I’m terribly sorry about your family, but we can’t forget there are other captives.”

  My jaw clenched. No, I couldn’t forget that. When the Ulstats began pummeling the waterfront with more iron balls, Raav would have little chance of surviving.

  “I’ll do it,” Katrikki said.

  My brow knit. “Do what?”

  “The guards will listen to me. I’ll claim I need to retrieve the prisoners on order of the Council.”

  “Your da will disown you!” one of the other traders said.

  Katrikki smirked at her. “What did you think would happen when we started sneaking into the slums to meet with the gutterb—sorry, the commoners?”

  The girl stared, mouth agape. I wondered if she’d only come for the adventure. A story to tell her heirs someday. At the thought, I felt a surge of dismay. By letting the new traders join our meeting, I’d exposed my leaders to retribution by the Council.

  After a moment, the girl’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not stupid, Katrikki. I know what this means. But if you march up there, your da will know which side you’re on. Don’t you think it’s better to stay hidden?”

  My held breath left my lungs in a gust. A quick glance around the room told me that few, if any, of the others had noticed my nervousness. My eyes landed on Moanet, who was watching the exchange between traders with avid interest.

  “It’s too late for that now, unless we want to let Raav die,” Katrikki said.

  Mareti grabbed her sister’s hand. “She’s right. I’ll go with her. If we leave now, we’ll catch the guards unaware. They won’t expect trader heirs to be out—and worse, beyond the boundaries of the trader district—after dark. It will work in our favor, I think.”

  I nodded. “Go. And get the Ulstat boy, too. I don’t want a child to die, and if we hold him hostage, we have leverage with the Ulstats.” With my eyes, I tried to convey my gratitude. As with Da and Jaret, I couldn’t let my personal feelings about Raav get in the way of our plans, but Katriiki had suggested a perfect solution.

  “Where will you go, Councilor?” Jet asked. “We need a guard on you at all times.”

  “No.” I shook my head. “Not tonight. We’ll need everyone who is able down at the edge of the barracks strip. I’ll be there with you, ready to fight.”

  Jet opened his mouth as if to protest.

  The roar of the cannon obliterated his words. Moments later, the island shuddered under the blow.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  OUTSIDE WAS DARKNESS, noise, fire, screams.

  Flames lit the sky above the harbor, the color of Ioene’s wrath, of
blood, of rage.

  Racing beside Jet and my mother, I wanted to tear at my hair, scream the anger from my lungs. Instead, I yelled to rally support. Jet knocked on doors of gutterborn sworn to our cause. Half-clothed, men and women stumbled from their homes, pulling on armor, strapping battered weapons to their bodies.

  “The strip! We stand there!” Jet yelled.

  Feet pounding the cobblestones, we ran to the defense of the only homes we knew. Overhead, the smoke from the quay veiled the moon, the glow from the blazes bloodying its light.

  The attack was supposed to come at dawn, I thought stupidly. Of course. Olev Ulstat told me that precisely so that I’d be caught unawares. If I’d decided to take my news to the Council, they’d have been struck flat-footed as well. Why hadn’t I realized he’d do this?

  Like a flock of spooked birds, my army was a scattered mess, pelting helter-skelter through the streets. At the border with the barracks, we stopped. Jet leaped atop a stool and roared at his sergeants. “Get these people organized!”

  Nodding, jaws set, the squad leaders grabbed men and women, planted them in a defensive line along the boundary of the slums—no time for barricades now. Behind, those few men and women who owned ranged weapons dragged out stools and barrels to stand atop. Armed with bows, cross-bows, throwing daggers, and slings, they scanned the shadows for enemies. As ready as we could be, the gutterborn waited for the soldiers.

  Another salvo from the cannon erupted from the direction of the harbor. The cannon balls whistled as they sailed for Istanik. Tremors shook the earth when the heavy spheres collided with the quay. Behind me, a lantern fell from its bracket. Lamp oil spilled and a tongue of flame raced for the splintered timber of the wall. Frantic, I whipped off my jacket and beat at the flames.

  “Here, let me,” a gutterborn fighter ran over, bucket clutched in his hand. He doused the flame, then spread a wet cloak over the top.

  “Councilor,” another of my fighters yelled over the roar of the blazes on the quay. “Get to safety.”

  Shaking my head, I pulled Tyrak free. At one point, I might have retreated to keep myself safe. Not anymore. Now it was time to fight. Each of us.

  I peered into the barracks. Within the dark rows of buildings, shadows moved. Soldiers, preparing for action. I rolled Tyrak’s hilt in my hand. If they came this way, I’d be ready.

  Glancing to my left, I glimpsed the very end of the quay. Even from here, I could see the gaping holes, whole sections of the carefully-mortared stone obliterated. A ship heeled sharply, fixed by a single mooring line to a pillar that had once been part of the wharf. As I stared, fire hissed and steam billowed. The ship’s mast leaned over the quay and the street beyond. As the vessel sank, the mast came down on the remains of the quay, splintering under the weight.

  I couldn’t see the wagon or the prisoners’ cages. But with so much damage to stonework that had stood for centuries, how could a flimsy wood platform possibly survive? What good would the narrow iron bars of a cage be for captives exposed to a hail of cannon balls that weighed as much as a human child?

  Bile rose in my throat. I wanted to sprint for the quay. If there was a chance that he was still alive, I owed it to Raav to try to save him. I should never have left his life in the hands of others.

  What good do you think you’d do? Lilik, I know how this hurts, but you have to trust the Korpits.

  But what if . . . what if he’s gone already? Tyrak, I don’t know if I can handle this. Da, Jaret, now Raav.

  You must go on. Lilik . . . this is hard for me to talk about. I felt Zyri’s pain when she lost me. It was liquid anguish poured into her body. Even now . . . His voice cracked as he spoke. No matter how I feel, I hope for your sake that he is alive. No one should have to hurt like she did.

  I swallowed, hating myself for the image that arose. With Raav gone, at least I’d have Tyrak for comfort. I imagined him holding me like he did Zyri. But to even think of that disrespected her memory. Tyrak was hers, not mine.

  As if in answer to my questions about Raav, I spotted Katrikki’s ice-blonde hair flying as she sprinted along the street in search of me. I jumped out and nearly tackled her in my desperation for news.

  “And?”

  Katrikki shook her head.

  My knees buckled.

  “Wait, no—” Katrikki caught me before I collapsed. “—he’s alive. They moved the prisoners immediately after the first round of cannon fire. Or rather . . . they moved Raav and the Ulstat boy. They were afraid the Ulstats might manage to free them in the chaos at the waterfront.”

  “Praviili?”

  “A metal shard. Debris. Through her throat.”

  I swallowed hard. I had no reason to love Raav’s mother, but her death hurt all the same. If Raav survived the night, he’d be devastated.

  “You couldn’t free him, though?”

  She shook her head. “They built a gallows, Lilik. Trader Yiltak is waiting until dawn. She wants Frask and the Ulstats to see their loved ones die.” Katrikki made a face. “Not that I expect it will have much effect on Frask.”

  I clenched my jaw. There was time, but not much.

  From farther down the street, I heard the sound of steel clashing. Grunts and shrieks echoed. The soldiers were coming.

  “We’ll talk later,” I said to Katrikki. “For now, get somewhere safe.”

  I turned to face the oncoming soldiers as she ran off.

  The nearest group of mercenaries emerged from half a block away, striding from a gap between buildings.

  “Ready!” I yelled, only to be immediately shouldered aside by my own army.

  “Hey!” I hurried forward as a throwing dagger streaked across the street, skewering the throat of an oncoming soldier. Heartened, the gutter wardens leaped on the attackers. I sidestepped, seeking an opening.

  Wait.

  And let them stand alone?

  Yes. Wait.

  I bounced on my toes, frustrated, as our soldiers engaged the Ulstat mercenaries. Enjoying the combat, the mercenaries grinned and roared, fighting with the confidence of years of experience. A woman screamed when a short sword bit into her arm, opening a gash to the bone. She fell back, eyes wide, as her weapon, a wood-handled kitchen knife, fell from her hand.

  Her attacker followed, teeth bared, eyes gleaming.

  Now. Tyrak said.

  I sprang, a shriek on my lips. My strike arrowed toward the man, only to glance off the leather spaulders he wore over his shoulders. Overbalancing, I stumbled forward, nearly colliding with a pair of men grappling hand to hand. Behind, I heard the mercenary laugh.

  Anger rushed to my face and my limbs seized. My first fight, and I’d missed my mark—his heart—by the length of my arm. The reality of my situation sank in. These were hardened combatants, while I was nothing but a gutterborn novice. I raised my weapon arm. My hand shook.

  Sliding around me like warm water, Tyrak was there. He grasped my wrist, steadying my hand. At a nudge from his thumb, I adjusted my grip on the weapon. His feet bracketed mine. A shift of his hips suggested I step to the side. Suddenly nimble, as if dancing in his arms, I shuffled left. The soldier sprang, his sword coming down in a high arc that slashed nothing but air. Sparks flew from the cobbles when the sword tip gashed the street.

  Good, Tyrak whispered in my ear. His voice was like a hot wind. Now counter.

  Crouching for the attack, I readied my strike. At the last instant, Tyrak scooped me from beneath to add height to my leap. I flew through the air and brought my dagger down on the man’s back. Left of the spine, slotted between the ribs.

  A wet gasp, and he fell to his knees, fumbling the sword up in a pathetic attempt at defense.

  He’s done. Now, look for your next threat.

  The woman with the slashed arm had managed to crawl out of the street and now huddled on the doorstep of the nearest building. Her hand wrapped the arm, blood welling from between her fingers. If she didn’t stop the bleeding, she wouldn’t survive.

&
nbsp; “Go!” I yelled. “Bind the arm. Tight! Healers will meet you at fountain square.”

  The whoosh of metal through the air alerted me just in time. As I danced backward, the sword slash narrowly missed the front of my throat. Eyes locking the new attacker’s, I curled my lip. He simply smiled in response, glancing left and right as if to suggest I do the same.

  Despite myself, I surveyed the rest of the scene as I quick-stepped back. Horror-struck, I stopped breathing.

  On the cobbles before me lay the man I’d stabbed. Beside him, two more bodies piled: gutterborn. The only fighters left standing were me and the mercenaries. Sick to my stomach, I raised my blade.

  “Fall back!” From down the street, I heard Jet’s cry. Blocked by my attackers—they were attempting to circle me now—I couldn’t see how well we’d fared, but it couldn’t be good. Not with Jet calling for retreat. Backing away, I glanced at the doorway. The woman had vanished.

  You can’t win this one, Tyrak said.

  Nodding, I trotted backward, assuring myself I was out of range, before sprinting from the street. From behind, I heard Jet barking more orders.

  “Door to door! Get everyone from their homes. Property doesn’t matter, but lives do!”

  Following Jet’s cry, I thought I heard one of my attackers laugh. Risking a glance back, I nearly tripped. Rather than giving chase, they stood at the mouth of the street, watching me go. One strode to the front wall of a building along the side street and pulled down a lantern. Pulling the glass chimney off the flame, he threw the lamp. Oil sprayed from the base, igniting as it contacted the wick. Within moments, the wall was ablaze, hungry fire gobbling the ancient timbers.

  Helpless, I turned. As I sprinted for fountain square, I pounded on doors, screamed up at windows. Behind me, the slums burned.

  Gutterborn massed in fountain square, a sea of wounded, scared, and homeless. Their shocked looks conveyed bewilderment, horror.