Nightsister: What Comes Next

“Keep walking,” said a voice behind her.

Liora stopped.

The alley ran empty in both directions. A chain creaked above her, stirring in the wind. She let her fingers rest on the knife hilt.

“Was that an order?”

“No.” The voice came from the dark beneath a bridge. “A warning.”

A boy stepped into the salt light. He could not have been more than sixteen, though the gray at his temples made him seem older. A strip of red cloth covered one eye. His other eye fixed on Liora’s coat.

“You’re being followed,” he said.

“By whom?”

“People who don’t like maps.”

Liora turned her head without moving her shoulders. At the far end of the alley, a figure passed beneath a lamp. Another appeared on the roofline, brief as a torn scrap of night.

The boy reached for her sleeve.

She caught his wrist and twisted until he hissed.

“Touch me again,” she said, “and you’ll lose the hand.”

His mouth tightened, but he did not pull away. “Then lose the hand and stay here. They’ll take the map from your bones.”

She released him.

“What do you know about it?”

“Enough to know that Varrin Quay has streets the city refuses to admit exist.” He rubbed his wrist. “You’re walking toward one.”

“That is where I need to go.”

“Then you need to turn around.”

The pursuer at the end of the alley stopped. A second shape joined them. Neither wore the blue sash of the harbor watch.

Liora drew her knife.

The boy looked at the blade, then at her face. “You’re a NightSister.”

“Not loudly.”

“You have the eyes.”

“Most people have eyes.”

“Yours are looking for exits.”

A stone struck the wall beside Liora’s head.

She moved.

The boy darted beneath the bridge, and Liora followed as another stone cracked against the lamp cage. Glass burst. The alley plunged into darkness, leaving only the faint blue glow from the map beneath her coat.

“Left,” the boy whispered.

Liora went left.

The passage narrowed until her shoulders scraped damp brick. Behind her, boots splashed into the alley. She heard one pursuer curse, then another call, “Cut them off at the fish stairs!”

The boy slipped through a gap between two buildings. Liora followed and found herself on a steep stairway descending toward black water. The steps were slick with salt and algae. Below, a row of abandoned stalls leaned over the canal, their awnings stiff with dried spray.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“Renn.”

“Renn what?”

“Just Renn.”

“That name will make grieving your death difficult.”

He glanced back. “You planning to let them kill me?”

“I’m considering it.”

“Consider faster.”

They reached the bottom. The canal lay to their right, narrow and dark, with ropes of seaweed floating beneath the surface. Ahead stood a gate made of iron ribs. Beyond it, the street disappeared into a wall of fog.

Liora pulled out the map.

The parchment shivered in her hands.

The route she had memorized was gone.

Ink crawled across the page, sliding like minnows beneath clear water. The line toward the drowned market twisted sharply, crossed itself, and pointed through the iron gate.

Renn swore.

“What?” Liora asked.

“That gate wasn’t there yesterday.”

“Then it has excellent timing.”

The map drew another line. It passed beneath the gate and ended at a small black circle. Around the circle, new words surfaced.

THE BELL WITHOUT A TONGUE LIES BELOW SAINT ORRA’S.

Liora stared at the name.

“Saint Orra’s chapel,” Renn said. “That’s not in the lower market.”

“You know it?”

“Everyone knows it. No one goes there.”

“Why?”

“Because the streets around it move.”

Behind them, boots struck the stairs.

Liora folded the map. “Open the gate.”

Renn laughed once, without humor. “You heard me say no one goes there?”

“I heard you say the streets move. The gate is still a gate.”

“It’s warded.”

“Everything is warded until someone makes a mistake.”

“Then make yours somewhere else.”

A crossbow bolt punched through the fog and buried itself in the iron beside Liora’s hand.

She kicked the gate.

The metal rang. A second bolt clattered off the steps.

“Open it,” she said.

Renn stared at her for one breath, then seized a rusted wheel fixed to the wall. He hauled it down. Gears groaned beneath the stones. The gate lifted by inches.

Liora crouched and slid beneath.

The moment her boots touched the street beyond, the world shifted.

Not visibly. Not at first.

The fog thickened around her ankles. The walls leaned closer. Somewhere far below, a bell gave a single hollow knock, though no sound came from any tongue or clapper.

Renn crawled through after her. “Don’t look back.”

Liora looked back.

The gate had vanished.

In its place stood a blank brick wall, wet with seawater.

Renn rose slowly. “That’s why.”

The street ahead sloped between houses with sealed windows. Salt lamps hung at uneven heights, their flames burning green. Doors faced the wrong direction. One had been built into the side of a chimney. Another opened onto a wall.

Liora unfolded the map again.

The ink had changed a second time. The line to Saint Orra’s chapel now ran behind them, then curved through the street in front of her. As she watched, it moved again.

“Your map is leading us in circles,” Renn said.

“It’s leading me somewhere.”

“It led the last three people I knew into a courtyard with no way out.”

“Are they dead?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“Then they may have found the bell.”

Renn caught her arm. “Listen to me. The map isn’t showing roads. It’s choosing them.”

Liora looked down at his hand.

He let go.

A soft tapping began along the walls.

One tap. Then another. Then dozens, traveling from house to house.

The green lamps flickered.

Renn’s face lost what little color it had. “They know we’re here.”

“Who?”

The answer came from above.

Figures stood along the rooftops, wrapped in dark harbor coats. Their faces were hidden behind white masks painted with narrow black mouths. One raised a lantern. Its flame burned the same green as the street lamps.

“Map-bearer,” the figure called. “Lay the parchment on the stones.”

Liora slid the map into her sleeve.

Renn whispered, “Give it to them.”

“No.”

“They’ll kill us.”

“They may do that after they take it.”

The masked figure tilted its head. “NightSister, the path does not belong to you.”

Liora stepped forward. “Then come down and claim it.”

A bell rang beneath the street.

The stones split.

Liora leaped aside as a line of black water burst through the pavement. Renn stumbled, and she caught the back of his coat before he fell into the opening. Cold surged around her boots. The street buckled, dividing into three narrow lanes.

The masked figures moved along the roofs.

“Run!” Renn shouted.

Liora pulled him into the center lane.

The map burned against her ribs.

She tore it free. New ink flooded across the parchment, not forming a route but a circle around the lane they occupied.

A trap.

The walls slammed inward.

Renn shoved Liora against a door. “Open it!”

“It’s painted shut.”

“Then unpaint it!”

He struck the door with his shoulder. Wood cracked but held. Behind them, the masked pursuers dropped from the roofs. Their boots hit the stones one after another, measured and calm.

Liora pressed her palm to the door.

The NightSister mark beneath her glove answered with a faint silver heat. The lock clicked.

She threw the door open.

A room waited beyond, narrow and empty except for a stone basin. The basin was filled with ash. In its center lay a brass bell with no clapper.

The map jerked toward it.

Liora crossed the threshold.

The door slammed behind her.

Renn hit it from the other side. “Liora!”

She spun. The room had no other exit. The walls were close enough to touch with both hands. Ash whispered in the basin though there was no wind.

The bell rang.

Not loudly. Not even clearly.

The sound moved through her bones.

Letters appeared across the map.

SAINT ORRA’S CHAPEL. LOWER VAULT. EASTERN SEA WALL.

Then the parchment tore itself in two.

Liora caught the half bearing the words. The other piece fell into the ash. Before she could reach for it, the basin opened like a mouth and swallowed the scrap.

The floor lurched.

Outside, Renn shouted her name again.

Liora tucked the remaining half inside her coat and drove her shoulder into the door. It opened at once.

Renn fell backward into the street.

The masked pursuers were gone. So were the three lanes. The wall behind them had split, revealing a steep stairway descending beneath the city. Water streamed down the steps toward a darkness lit by distant green lamps.

Renn scrambled upright. “Where did they go?”

Liora looked at the map.

A fresh mark had appeared beneath the coordinates: a small black eye.

It blinked once.

Then every lamp in the forbidden street turned toward her.

Not the flames. The lanterns themselves twisted on their hooks, glass faces angling in her direction. From behind the sealed windows came the scrape of many hands.

Renn backed toward the stair. “Liora.”

She folded the map, but the black eye remained visible through the parchment.

“What is it?” he asked.

She heard footsteps above them, below them, inside the walls.

“The route found me,” she said.

The first masked figure appeared at the top of the stair.

This time, it carried no weapon. It carried a second map.

And on that map, Liora saw her own position marked in red.

End of chapter one. 9 more chapters in the full book.