Night Shine Read online

  The rain forest fell back, trees fewer and farther between, and ferns gave way to moss and low grasses. For several days their way had sloped up, occasionally climbed a rough incline of rocky roots and clinging trees, but now the ground leveled again.

  When they stepped fully out of the rain forest, a shining green field spread before them. The surface rippled and bubbled like liquid, only it was stiff and still as stones. This was the old lava field. Once it had swirled, bulbous with molten earth, and slowly cooled, blackened, and been covered by moss, lichen, and hearty grasses. It was the greenest green Nothing had ever laid eyes on, with tiny white flowers in creases and the occasional trickle of pure, crystal-clear water in the miniature valleys. The field sloped gently up toward the north, toward foothills and sudden jagged bare stone, and there—rising black and silver to consume the whole north of the sky: the Fifth Mountain.

  Nothing stared at it.

  A few splotches of pale green suggested low trees or shelves of scrub bushes, but the sharp cliffs and rough teeth of the peaks were bare of life. It lifted so tall, so daunting, with no suggestion of doorways or gates or turrets for humans.

  It was only a mountain, barren and desolate. It was also the home of a vicious sorceress, and Kirin’s prison. Nothing felt her heartbeat quicken.

  “This way,” Sky said quietly, moving on over the slick moss. He held his hand back for her and Nothing took it.

  They made their way across the beautiful lava field. The climb was difficult for the ground was uneven, with no trees or shelter to steady them against the cold wind. But it smelled delicately of earth and sweet plants: good smells. Sweat prickled down Nothing’s spine despite the chill in the air, and by the time Sky paused, Nothing was breathless.

  He’d stopped to gaze out at the wide expanse of the Selegan River.

  The river cut through the lava field—or rather, it seemed the lava had been thrown back away from the water, almost like a wave of stone and moss. The river ran and rippled, reflecting the blue of the sky and silver light off the clouds. It seemed happy and healthy, and across its expanse the opposite bank was only a strip of mossy lava field before a tree line rose, of alder and juniper and other smallish trees, and the ground cover was livid with flowers! Pastel blue and purple, pinks and white and the occasional poppy red like drops of blood for contrast.

  Wind tore at Nothing’s hair, pulling some of it across her eyes as if to block her from the beauty.

  There was something about the clash of desolation and delighted color, the ribbon of perfect water, the undulating green earth and wild, free wind that filled her with joy.

  Nothing loved this place.

  She sighed happily, despite the looming presence of the Fifth Mountain, and let herself smile. She’d grown to love the palace and the Lily Garden, the between spaces that belonged to none but her and the great demon. She’d grown to love much about the palace, the place itself. But Nothing could recall no incidents of falling immediately in love with a thing or a place. Not like this, not until now. It was a heady feeling, lighthearted and rooted at the same time, as if she could be both deeply invested in the earth, while flying overhead. The intimate details of moss fibers, the veins within the soft pink petals, the gentle lapping at the riverbank were as important as the entire landscape and how massive pieces of it fit together: lava field and river and forest line and sky and clouds all reflecting beauty again and again and again.

  Nothing gasped at the tears that suddenly blurred her sight. She was not used to such strong emotions.

  “Nothing?”

  “I’m all right,” she said, wiping her eyes. “We’re here.”

  “We’re here.” Sky squeezed her hand and led her toward the river. “It’s very near to where Kirin and I were.”

  It was difficult suddenly, remembering Kirin had been taken here, that it had begun here, his imprisonment, his torture, whatever he suffered. A dark thread of fear reminded Nothing it could have been his end. Kirin Dark-Smile might be dead.

  But the river glittered with silver-gold waves, and the blue sky gleamed, and fields of wildflowers bowed in the wind. It was too beautiful for death.

  Nothing shook her head at her fanciful thoughts. She knew death could be anything, especially beautiful.

  And Kirin lived. She knew it as well as she herself lived.

  They came to the riverbank. The lava field had eroded into chunks of black rock, lumpy and pocked, and fine black grains that were not quite sand but rough pebbles that crunched and turned to powder under her boots. The bank slipped into the water, visible for several paces because the water was clear and cold. Nothing saw thin slips of fish, silver and flashing green, and a few bright-green grasses clumped in the riverbed that waved thin tendril leaves. It was such welcoming water, clean and tasty looking, and everything smelled so very alive.

  “Hello, Selegan River,” Sky said. He untied the sash holding his bags to his back and let them hit the black beach.

  Nothing knelt at the edge of the water with her knees just at the waterline. She placed her palms flat to the surface. “Hello, Selegan River,” she repeated. “We have come to the foot of the Fifth Mountain to bargain with the Sorceress Who Eats Girls. Will you let us go alongside you? Cross your wide waters and sip from your waves?”

  They waited a moment as the thin fish darted away and the eddies of water swirled against Nothing’s fingers. It was cold but refreshing.

  Then the water was an undulating body, sinuous and scaled. The dragon rose from the river long enough to twine around the top tower of the palace. It had scales like silver and sunlight-on-water, massive blue eyes, and its lipless mouth parted to show Nothing a pink tongue and sickle-sharp teeth. Wide, silver-feathered wings rose in twinned arcs, blotting out the bright sky. It had three slithering tails, four legs that ended in claws gouging the sand and air, and hard white-capped ridges down its back like rolling waves of water. Feathers flared off its eyes and along its neck, continuing down its silver-white stomach in the kind of rainbows that appeared around the sun or in a drop of oil. It hissed and said, “I am Selegan, and I know you.”

  Assuming it remembered Sky, Nothing bowed deeply and kept silent for her companion to speak.

  But Sky cried in shock and said, “You are the dragon that stole Kirin from me!”

  The great blue eyes blinked slowly, and the dragon rippled its scales. Nothing got the distinct impression that was its version of a shrug.

  “I thought you were her demon or familiar, not a river spirit! How can you ally with such a creature?” Sky drew his sword.

  The dragon reared back on its hindquarters, dipping its nose like a disapproving tutor. “She saved me,” it said. Though its size lent a depth and noise to its voice, Nothing thought it spoke softly. Gently, even. “When my waters slowed, cut off from my long bed by the cold lava. I was a trickle, a new, ugly, sucking lake, and soon would have become a demon. But she saved me.”

  Nothing glanced at the place where it seemed the lava field had been shoved back in a frozen, solid wave.

  “And so you deliver princes into her clutches?” Sky demanded. “Do you collect maidens for her, too, hearts ready to be devoured?”

  “Sky,” Nothing murmured, but the bodyguard gripped his sword in both hands and lifted it so that the wide blade caught sunlight. It flared.

  “This human desires to fight me,” the dragon said. “You can never have your prince back.”

  “Why?” Nothing asked.

  “I will have him back!” Sky yelled as he charged.

  His feet splashed heavily in the river, sending up spray that flashed in the sun like his sword, like the dragon’s scales. Nothing shaded her eyes even as she cried his name.

  The dragon reached to pluck him up, but Sky turned, slashing his sword against the dragon’s paw. The blade screeched against the scales, then penetrated: silver-blue blood dripped into the river.

  Sky did not let up, but drove toward the dragon’s feathered belly.


  The dragon leapt into the air, twisting over Sky. It swung a tail and batted Sky downriver; the bodyguard stumbled but dug in his feet and did not go down. Water gushed against his waist, slowing Sky as he yelled wildly at the flying dragon.

  Nothing watched, horrified, but did not think she should stop either of them. It was Sky’s choice, Sky’s burden—though if he died, Kirin would never forgive her.

  Sky fought on, slashing at the dragon, who dipped and darted as much as a creature that size could. Soon it bled from several gashes, and Sky’s shoulder bled too, vivid purple blood that soaked his shirt, vanishing below the quilted outer robe. Sky panted; the dragon’s color flushed silver-gold and mottled blue. Several scales flaked off and dropped into the river, where they became dark water.

  Demon-kissed strength gave Sky more endurance than any regular human, and he caught the dragon’s feather beard in one hand, hauling himself up with a furious cry. He dug his sword into the dragon’s neck. With all his strength he shoved it into the hilt, and the dragon bellowed in surprise, whipping its head.

  Sky was thrown against the shore. He hit hard, grunting, and then gasped openmouthed for air. Nothing flung herself to her knees beside him, crying his name. Blood made his teeth purple as he grimaced.

  The sword remained lodged in the dragon’s neck. It crouched on the opposite bank and pulled the sword carefully out. Then it tossed the sword into the river. It seethed through its teeth, dripping silver-blue blood. Tendrils of hot breath curled around its fangs and lifted like spirits into the air.

  Sky coughed and cried in pain. “Nothing, something is—is broken inside me.”

  “Be still. Be still and let me bargain,” she said, trying not to sound desperate. “It is my turn.”

  “If he’s—if Kirin is—”

  “Stop,” she hissed, touching his mouth.

  Sky closed his eyes and a tear fell down his temple. Just a tear, clear as water, though a part of Nothing expected it to be as purple as his blood.

  “Do better than I did,” he said.

  Nothing stood and looked across the river to the dragon.

  It stared back at her—no, not at her, at Sky.

  Suddenly the dragon was smaller, and it dove into the water, flicking all three tails for momentum, and it crawled out, encircling them both.

  “Do not try to eat him or kill him,” Nothing commanded.

  The dragon said, “He is becoming water.”

  Nothing swallowed fear. She took a deep breath. “Selegan, I don’t want him to die. What can I bargain for his life?”

  But the dragon leaned nearer to Sky. Now its head was the size of a plains horse’s head, long and broad, and its mane of feathers and scales glimmered like oil rainbows.

  Sky turned his face to it, grimacing in pain, and said, “I will not curse you for my death, but if Kirin is dead, I will haunt you for all time, dragon.”

  “He is not dead,” the dragon replied. Its crystalline-blue eyes stared at Sky’s cheek. “May I have a taste of your water?”

  When Sky frowned, Nothing thought of her tiny dragon-lily spirit and its fondness for her tears.

  “If he allows it, will you heal him?” she asked.

  “If he allows it, I will forgive his trespass into my waters and the wounds to my flesh.”

  Sky managed to whisper, “There will be plenty more of my tears to come, I think.”

  The dragon flicked its tongue, bright pink and skinny as a garden snake. It touched Sky’s face, licking his temple and cheek, and the dragon shivered. The sound vibrating from it was like the purr of a very large cat.

  Nothing crouched, lifting her hand to touch the silver-gold scales that rippled against the dragon’s long neck.

  But the dragon said, “Mistress,” and the sky turned black.

  Turning, Nothing saw tendrils of perfect darkness spreading like a cold wind, bright eyes—one green, one white—and a smile that curved crimson over sharp, jagged teeth. She saw lava fields coursing in hot rivers, crystals cut into knives, and she heard a single heartbeat so loud it cracked her skull.

  And Nothing fell asleep.

  THIRTEEN

  IN THE HEART OF the Fifth Mountain, the Sorceress Who Eats Girls smiled down at the sleeping body of the most beautiful maiden in the empire. He curled upon a grass-woven pallet in the remnants of his lovely silk dress, rather like a pile of expensive rags. His ribs lifted slowly, calmly, and in sleep his black lashes were ink stains against his pallid face. Even his lips were colorless. Kirin Dark-Smile was drained to stark, sick whiteness, a dreary reflection of the moon against the hard black of his hair and all those bold rainbow silk tatters. The sorceress wondered if his mother and her court would approve of this dramatic contrast brought on by Kirin’s weakness.

  “Kirin,” she said.

  His breathing paused, his lashes twitched, and he opened his eyes, looking directly at her. He did not move.

  “You told me the truth,” the sorceress continued.

  That got him up. He trembled as he drew himself onto his knees. “Nothing.”

  The sorceress smiled and knelt before him, the long teeth of his obsidian cage striping between them. Her dresses billowed out like perfect petals, arranging in waves of crimson and teal, luscious pink edging, and silver embroidery. As she faced him, her skin dripped off its delicate copper color until it matched his exactly, except she glowed with health, a warm pearl instead of a watery moon. Her terrible eyes—one green and one white, slit-pupiled—shaped themselves into his: vivid honey-gold flecks emerging in her irises like clovers pushing up in the springtime.

  Then the sorceress was the prince’s mirror: a study in contrast, beautiful, elegant, and girlish.

  Kirin huffed, annoyed. He wiped under his eyes, though his makeup was weeks gone.

  She smiled, and it was half-cocked, dark, and a good imitation of what his had been once. “Do you think she will do well?”

  “Do well to what?” Kirin asked, voice rough. He was thirsty, hungry, frustrated with imprisonment.

  The sorceress removed a flask from the folds of her outer dress and passed it through the obsidian bars to set it upon the ground before him. “Wine. Selegan will be down with a meal soon, the same that will be served to your Nothing.”

  Kirin drank, though the wine was sharp and soured in his empty stomach. “Do well to what?”

  “She did not come alone.”

  Silence.

  The sorceress shrugged. “But the warrior picked a fight with the Selegan and may not survive.”

  The prince set the flask of wine onto the stone with a click. He remained silent.

  “I see. You don’t care. Then I suppose I shall let him die.”

  Kirin surged to his feet, and she lifted her chin to peer calmly up at him. He gripped the bars, looming over her, jaw clenched.

  “Yes?” She did not smile now, pretending a lack of concern.

  “Save him.”

  Kirin’s words were soft, hovering between command and plea.

  The sorceress slithered to her feet. She was exactly as tall as him now, looking into his eyes like looking into a mirror. “What will you bargain for his life?”

  He tightened his hands around the warm obsidian bars. “What do I have left?”

  Silence again as they stared at each other. The still air of the cavern whispered into her ear, news from higher in the mountain brought by the voices of dawn sprites. She needed to wrap this up, and so the sorceress said, “You bargained well for your own life. Can you not do as well for your lover?”

  Kirin swallowed a surge of panic that tasted like acid and sour wine. “Save him.”

  “Your heart beats so vividly,” the sorceress murmured.

  “I will do anything.”

  She grinned then, and her teeth had become rows of jagged shark’s teeth.

  FOURTEEN

  NOTHING WOKE SLOWLY.

  She shifted a little, rustling silky sheets, and drew a breath as loud as a gust of win
d. It was the only sound. When she opened her eyes, she saw a gleaming obsidian ceiling. Its peaks were sharp, its valleys curved like a moon, and lines of black on black rippled in bluish light.

  A chandelier dripped from the ceiling, made with a hundred tiny silver-black bones. Blue flames burned from its thin black candles, casting the eerie light.

  As she stared, the light brightened to illuminate the entire chamber. It was carved of solid obsidian and the walls hung with dozens of mirrors in every shape and size. The door was stained black with red and pink lacquered flowers. A set of trunks with similar red and pink flowers waited across from her, their tops open and spilling vividly dyed robes and embroidered gowns, slippers, veils, strings of pearls, and crystal beads. There was an armchair carved with feathers and scales, and a narrow red desk set with pots of paint and powder. Beside it a tall round table stood on legs of ivory, holding a shallow bowl of water.

  “Hello?” Nothing called, sitting up among frilly pillows and sheets. The bed swayed as if it floated in the air, and Nothing clutched at the smooth wooden edge. It was like a nest made of a giant walnut shell.

  Carefully she climbed free and walked across the cold stone floor to the water bowl, wondering if she should risk drinking it. She touched the surface, setting off little ripples that obscured the painted flowers in the bottom of the bowl.

  Oh well, she thought, and lifted the bowl to sip at the water: it tasted bright with minerals and clean as rain. She drank until she had to breathe.

  Refreshed, Nothing turned a full circle. She was hungry and needed to relieve her bladder, but most important, she needed to find Sky. She made for the door. Its knob was a carved flower: like a rose with pointed petals. She brushed her fingers against it, finding it familiar, and then the knob turned and the red-and-pink door swung open. Nothing leapt back, hands in fists, but the opening revealed a girl her own age, brown eyes wide, with sweet pink flowers woven into her black hair.

  “Oh,” the girl said. She smiled prettily. “You’re awake.”