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The Watchers: The Trekana, #1
The Watchers: The Trekana, #1
The Watchers: The Trekana, #1
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The Watchers: The Trekana, #1

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Watchers can see and track a bird miles away; Listeners can hear a whisper a village away; and Knowers, extinct for 500 years, possessed telepathic powers straight out of a nightmare.

"The novel's world-building is stellar... renders the complex history and culture of Alesea's world with rich, evocative detail... With its deft storytelling, colorful and polished writing, and immensely likable central character, THE WATCHERS by Jo Sisk-Purvis is a captivating opening chapter of a promising new fantasy adventure series." ~ Indie Reader, Edward Sung (4.5 STARS)

16-year-old Alesea thinks her sole extraordinary trait is her musical talent. That changes when foreign Watchers invade her tiny island on the night of her professional debut. She alone escapes, unwittingly using the powers of a Knower.

Alesea must now save her people, but first she must come to grips with her dangerous new identity and her pacifist beliefs... and she has only a traitor to help her.

"Jo Sisk-Purvis weaves a fascinating journey into the fantasy world of The Watchers. When I finish a book and instantly want to start the next in the series, I know the author has succeeded; this author has, and I can highly recommend The Watchers." ~ Readers' Favorite Book Reviews, Grant Leishman (5 STARS)

"A captivating YA fantasy with great character development and strong series potential... YA fantasy fans are going to love The Watchers. This book has adventure, fascinating lore, colorful characters, and a smidge of slow burn romance." ~ Independent Book Review

EVOLVED PUBLISHING PRESENTS the first thrilling installment in "The Trekana" series of other-world, young adult, sci-fi/fantasy adventures. [DRM-Free]

LanguageEnglish
Release dateDec 12, 2022
ISBN9781622530342
The Watchers: The Trekana, #1
Author

Jo Sisk-Purvis

Jo Sisk-Purvis is an eclectic, enthusiastic, jump-in-feet-first creator, which means “scattered,” but sounds more impressive. Her STEM-rich childhood led to a sensible three degrees in flute performance, with sides of composition, piano, and conducting. Jo has been a storyteller since she first learned that “Quack Quack knows that he’s in luck, for he’s a very special duck.” For many years, she told her stories through music, but in 2010 decided that maternity leave was the perfect time to start writing novels (and adopt a puppy), and has been hooked ever since (on writing. Also puppies). Jo’s short stories have been published in Cricket Magazine, and she is excited to share her “Trekana” series through Evolved Publishing. She teaches music at a wonderful Friends school that not only allows, but encourages, her quirky detours (they call them “diverse talents”). She music-directs for several theatre companies in central North Carolina, where she lives with her husband, three children, and a menagerie of pets from Captain the Cockatiel to her two sheep, Phineas and Ferb.

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    The Watchers - Jo Sisk-Purvis

    PART ONE – WATCH

    The path to peace is never passive. It is steep and winding and relentless, and even the most faithful student of the A’lodi may be tempted to take an easier road. But keep faith, for every living being possesses only one undeniable power–the power to control their own thoughts and actions.

    ~ The Book of the A’lodi

    Chapter 1

    Lulla loni

    Lulla laiki rohn

    Lulla loni

    Argh! My fingers tangled like the washed-up seagrass piled on the sand, and I struck an angry, sour chord on the strings of my lele.

    My baby brother Konu looked up from the hole he was digging in the sand. Laysi owie?

    I had to smile at his sincere little face. No, just frustrated.

    Fuhtated. He frowned, then went back to his digging.

    I resisted the urge to play the passage a twelfth time since I’d been playing it perfectly for weeks. Now on the morning of the biggest and most significant performance of my life, it flitted away from me like the golden gull in Uma’s folktales.

    The problem isn’t in your fingers, Alesea. It’s in your mind. That was my mother’s favorite advice for elusive fingerings, cooking disasters, and even messy rooms. Stop practicing, and meditate.

    Fine. I set my lele in its case and closed my eyes, shifting into my meditation posture. Breathe. One, two—

    Laysi! Big boats! Konu was back to his typical style of speech, made entirely of exclamations. Laysi, Laysi!

    Shh, Konu, I need to focus.

    Mmm mmm mmm.

    Konu’s excited humming built my curiosity, and I opened one eye to peek at whatever he was seeing. He was right. I leaped to my feet and gaped toward the horizon over the glittering, morning-blue sea.

    There were big boats—huge boats, like nothing I’d ever seen. Something—excitement or fear or both—choked up my throat. C’mon, Konu. I fastened my lele case, swung it over my shoulder, scooped my baby brother onto my hip, and ran for the forest.

    The ships grew impossibly large, dwarfing our little fishing boats tied to a nearby dock. Men swarmed the decks, throwing out anchors in the middle of the harbor, while others swung from the rigging to lower sails that billowed with more cloth than I’d ever seen in my life. I caught glimpses of brightly-colored tunics and long black braids against the white. The word Paav decorated sails and hulls in fancy script. What could it mean?

    The scene unfolded with an eerie silence, even though the ships had come so close that I should have heard the sailors’ shouts as they climbed the masts and threw ropes to secure the sails. I stopped breathing when a man leaned over the deck of the closest ship—gazing, it seemed, straight at our hiding place. His eyes were huge, his head strangely narrow, but it wasn’t until he turned away and revealed the dark stain from hairline to shoulder that I remembered. I’d seen a head like that once before on a shipwrecked foreigner.

    That foreigner had been a Watcher from distant Mata, and the stain was an intricate tattoo that emphasized his missing ears.

    These sailors weren’t being silent for stealth but because they had no voices, just eagle-sharp eyes and a reputation for secrecy.

    I squeezed Konu tight and ran for the village.

    ***

    Itu! I plopped Konu down on the soft earth next to our garden and listened to the blood pound in my ears. Itu, where’s Mama?

    My older brother frowned at me as if I’d dropped from the sky and spoken the wrong language. He closed the book he’d been drawing in and swung his gangly brown legs over the side of his hammock. Alesea, where’ve you been? Mama’s already gone to Kokka to rehearse.

    Of course. Half the adults from our island of Akila were already at the Great Hall of Kokka, preparing for tonight’s Solstice celebration, where I would make my professional debut. A hint of those nerves returned to my stomach.

    I made you this for luck. Itu pulled a loose paper out of his sketchbook and handed it to me.

    Oh, Itu! It was beautiful, maybe one of his best drawings: a sketch of me, sitting in our family’s garden playing my lele, and Konu dancing in the flowers. It’s amazing.

    Itu, come see big boats! Konu clung to my leg.

    Boats, huh? Itu grinned. I think it’s nice to have a break from boats on a holiday. All the fish we need for Solstice are already in the Great Hall kitchens.

    I pulled my attention away from the gift, remembering why we’d come in such a rush. "No, Itu. There are big boats, huge ones—full of Matan Watchers."

    What? Are you sure?

    I nodded. Taller than I’ve ever seen. They anchored at the edge of the harbor. The Watchers could already be coming ashore.

    Itu’s eyes excitedly glowed as he giggled like a boy Konu’s age. His reaction brought the fear back into my belly, where it flopped around like a half-dead fish.

    Itu! Don’t you think—

    Let’s go tell Uma, so that we can welcome them. Come on!

    Wait, I....

    Itu had already run off toward the village square, so I followed him, Konu at my heels yelling, tag. At least he was enjoying himself.

    We didn’t have to run far. Itu had already found Uma, our village’s head elder, sitting on her favorite bench in the flower garden, positioned nearly at the end of the village square.

    I bowed my head in the proper gesture of respect for a wise woman, trying to catch my breath.

    Watchers, Uma! On tall ships, in our harbor! Now Itu talked like Konu—all exclamations.

    I found them! Konu grabbed Uma’s generous leg in a hug.

    I see. Laughter played in the crinkles around the old woman’s eyes. Now tell me everything you saw, Alesea.

    Uma’s laugh lines smoothed to wide-eyed astonishment as I described the boats and the people on them. When I finished, she looked nearly as excited as Itu. Perhaps they’ve come to trade, or they are explorers.

    Three ships with... what... hundreds of people? What do we even have to trade?

    Must be your seagrass mats, sis.

    I glared at Itu’s tease. Why couldn’t they sense the danger I was feeling clear down to my bones? What if they want to live here, or... or steal from us, Uma?

    Uma gazed into the distance as if she could see clear through the trees to the harbor. We will give them a proper friendly greeting, of course. She smiled. And on the Solstice, too, a fortuitous date.

    But Uma—

    It’s not like you to be so suspicious, Alesea. Why would you feel that way?

    Because—

    "We have no reason to assume bad intentions. Remember, ’Not even the foreigner from a most distant land is truly a stranger, for the spark of A’lodi resides in every human soul.’ "

    There was nothing more to say to an elder who quoted from the Book of the A’lodi. My gut twisted into a painful knot.

    Alesea. Uma’s voice was as hard as dried clay. It is the only way.

    ***

    An hour later, I trailed behind a small procession to the fishing harbor because no one had said I could come along, but no one had said I couldn’t, either. At first, I held Konu’s hand, then carried him when he started to drag.

    The elders sang as we walked as if we were heading toward the shallow water rafts that would carry us to the Solstice feast that afternoon. Konu sang into my ear with gibberish words. Despite my nerves, I couldn’t keep silent, and my voice rose on the high harmony:

    Mother wind and Father sea

    Fairest Lords of fairer land,

    Greet the Sun with song and feast

    That she may keep the Light at hand.

    Itu gave me an approving glance over his shoulder.

    Ah, Maia! Papi, the oldest of the wise elders, sighed. He must have seen at least eighty years, yet had a spry gait and bright eyes. Your gift blesses us all.

    I smiled, unsure if I should correct him, but Itu did it for me. It’s Alesea, Papi. Maia’s daughter, remember?

    Papi waited for me to catch up to his side and touched my arm, his hand wrinkled as a capeo leaf. Why yes, it is, with a voice as pure and sweet as your mama’s and those same wise brown eyes. When did you grow so tall, girl?

    I ignored Itu’s snort—we both knew I was smaller than some of the eleven-year-olds still in First School—and bowed my head to the elder. Thank you, Papi.

    Uma’s resonant voice called us to a halt. They’re here.

    We stood where the wide path from the village opened onto the sandy beach, and, as usual, I could hardly see, stuck behind a wall of tall adults.

    Itu!

    He didn’t respond to my whisper. Instead, his eyes fixed on the giant ships.

    I pushed in front of him, poking him in the stomach as I passed. Big, huh?

    Itu whistled softly through his teeth in reply.

    Narrow-headed men climbed onto our docks from the rafts and small boats they’d used to cross our harbor. Their tunics were bright as Uma’s flower garden, in colors more vivid than the Village Islands’ most expensive dyes. They wore flowing white pants and braids in their long, dark hair, and were utterly silent.

    Uma turned to face us. I will speak for all of us, for now. Keep your mouths closed.

    I thought her unusually rude until Papi covered his mouth with his hand, and I realized she’d meant it literally—keep our mouths closed. I remembered then that our open mouths disgusted last summer’s shipwrecked Matan, Sinon. He’d even eaten with his lips pulled over his teeth, never letting us see inside. The Island Watchers seemed just as confused by his behavior as we were—they opened their mouths just like anybody else.

    Some of the other elders covered their mouths as Uma led us onto the soft sand to meet the first group of strangers walking up from the docks.

    Konu, play the quiet game, okay? I hid my whisper with his head. For real, until we go back into the woods.

    He clasped a chubby hand over his mouth in response.

    I tweaked his nose, but I didn’t cover my face. Why should I worry about offending these people, who’d come to our home uninvited? Shouldn’t they be worried about offending us?

    Uma spread her arms wide in the universal gesture of greeting, then bowed deeply toward the five men approaching our group.

    Their tattoos were repulsive—geometrical patterns that made them look like a bunch of two-legged snakes. I wished they would cover those before they met me.

    I fought the childish urge to stick out my tongue, then nearly lost my balance, dizzy with a rush of angry emotions that seemed to bombard me from all directions. I steadied myself with long breaths, and Konu patted my shoulder, his lips squeezed shut tight.

    A red-clad man in the center of the Watchers bowed his head ever so slightly, and the realization hit me with a shock that he was the same man from last summer, Sinon—now well-dressed and puffed up with pride. His fingers flew like twigs in a storm as he signed to Uma. Though I’d learned Watcher-speak in First School, like any Double, I could only pick out a few words in the flurry: friend, visit, talk, Mata.

    Uma, though, betrayed no confusion. When Sinon signaled an end to his speech by resting both hands on his belly, she bowed again and responded. She signed slower, more straightforward, and communicated in ways I understood better, as fluid as the dance of fish around my ankles in the shallows. Welcome back. Home, A’lodi, feast, join us. Gratitude.

    Gratitude? That had to be a joke because I was sure Sinon had been sneering through his closed mouth. He radiated pride and superiority. Even the other Watchers kept a few feet away from him as his hands flew back into action. I suddenly wished I hadn’t come with Konu.

    As if he heard my thoughts, Konu struggled to get down with one hand still clasped over his mouth. I let him slide to the ground and reached for his other hand to avoid wrestling, but he slipped out of my grasp and took off toward the Watchers.

    Konu, no! I lunged for him.

    Sinon froze, all five Watchers stared at me, and I realized what I’d done. I’d opened my mouth—wide, right next to the Wise Elder of our village. My face burned as I dropped my head in a bow. Fortunately, I remembered the Watcher-speak for forgive me.

    I raised my head, but no one looked at me anymore. Konu had gone right up to Sinon. He used his free hand to wave up at the tall man, who gave him a closed-mouth smile that looked more frightening than the sneer.

    I gasped as a flash of light spread down Sinon’s body, from his thin lips to his stomach, just as the emotion of desire hit me like a tsunami. Somehow, I knew it had come from the direction of Sinon. Had I read his ugly mind? I had to get my brother away from him.

    I wanted to scream out that he couldn’t have Konu and make these men leave my home, but Uma stared at me, eyes firm with a warning to stay silent. Surely, she could see the Watcher glowing.

    Uma raised her eyebrows. I kept my mouth clamped shut like an obedient child, but my mind raged on for Sinon to leave my brother alone.

    Sinon lurched backward as if my thought had been a thrown weapon. His four companions all leaped to steady him, even though he’d regained his balance almost immediately. He picked up a shell near his foot, frowned at it as if it was the cause of his stumble, and hurled it toward the ocean. The glow was gone.

    Konu skipped back to me.

    I picked him up and squeezed him too hard, relief flooding my heart. I’d seen enough. I pushed past Itu to take my little brother back to the village.

    Chapter 2

    By the time Konu and I headed for the shallow harbor, I hadn’t seen the elders or Itu again. We stood, waiting for a raft to the island of Kokka and the Solstice feast, dressed in matching yellow outfits and representing the sun. Konu’s was a simple tunic with pants; mine was similar but with fancy embroidery around the edges. I’d braided and twisted my coal-black hair into the most elegant style I could manage. Someone called from behind.

    Alesea!

    I turned to see my best friend, Sarai, jogging down the path to catch up with me.

    Rye! Konu scuttled back up the hill to throw himself into her arms. I yellow!

    Sarai wore a blue tunic to represent the ocean, her braided black hair like mine. The similarity ended there—everybody agreed Sarai was one of the most beautiful girls in the Village Islands.

    I was next to hug her, standing on my toes to squeeze her shoulders. "I thought you were already on Kokka! Did you hear about our visitors?" I spat out the last word as if it were a sour berry.

    What? No, I was on Kokka all morning. Mama forgot some spices, so I came back for them. She gestured to the bag slung over her shoulder.

    I hooked her arm into mine as we walked the rest of the way to the docks.

    Tell me.

    I told Sarai about the terrible Watchers in their impossibly tall ships. I told her about Sinon, the sneering man in red, and how eerie the silence was around him and his companions. But then I embarrassed myself, Uma, and everybody else, because Konu went up to them, and I shouted for him to come back.

    Sarai’s laugh burst out like a spray of flower petals. And did the poor Watcher die of disgust, seeing your horrible opened mouth? She opened her mouth wide and crossed her eyes.

    I stuck out my tongue at her, causing her to gasp and cover her eyes in mock horror. Sarai could make the worst moment feel like a party.

    I wish. I left with Konu. I didn’t want to see any more of their lies.

    Lies? How do you know?

    I don’t know, I just.... I just have a feeling. I couldn’t tell her about the strange light and emotions, or she’d think I’d gone mad.

    Well, I’ve learned to trust your feelings, certainly more than some foreign Watcher’s sign-speak.

    Thanks. My feelings usually involved things like who liked Sarai’s pudding cake the best or which boy had his eye on her. This time, they spoke of impending disaster I’d never had reason to imagine. I squeezed my eyes shut and hoped to the A’lodi I was wrong.

    ***

    Our raftsman, Roni, lifted Konu aboard first, then gave me a sympathetic grin when I stumbled as I stepped onto the raft’s polished wood. Not much older than me, Roni was a friend of Itu’s who used to bring me handfuls of sweet wild berries every time he came to our house. He was an Island Watcher, with ears that looked like a Double’s, not any foreign pureblood.

    His mouth opened when he smiled, like any Islander. He blushed when I met his eyes, then stared at beautiful Sarai for longer than was proper as more villagers piled onto his raft.

    He’s staring. I didn’t move my lips. Most of the Island Watchers could understand Double-speak by watching our mouths.

    Shush! Sarai kept her mouth still, too. Her perfect copper cheeks faintly flushed as she gave Roni a shy smile.

    Konu! Don’t dangle your feet in the water. You’ll get your special pants all wet.

    Konu pouted, but he pulled his legs onto the raft and sat cross-legged at the edge. I want to!

    Look, KoKo. I distracted him by pointing at our destination. Summer Solstice was no time for Konu to get into one of his toddler moods. It’s so clear you can see the Great Hall.

    Oh. So perfect.

    I sighed along with Sarai because she was right: It was perfect. The Shallows, the sound between Akila and Kokka, was named that because you could practically walk between the two islands at low tide. Today, the water was so transparent you could see fish flitting about the sandy bottom. There was no sign of the fog that so often blanketed the north shore of Kokka. Instead, we had an excellent view of their matching Shallow Harbor and the stone road twisting steeply up to the heart of Port Kokka, the largest village in the Islands. Uma had said the whole island had over thirty thousand people now, a number so impossibly large, I couldn’t even imagine it—and in just a few hours, I would be performing for many of them.

    Sarai and I sat cross-legged next to Konu, leaving the benches for the older villagers. Soon the raft was full, so Roni untied it from the dock. I held my lele in my lap, protecting it from splashes and stumbling feet, then turned my face toward the sun, letting the gentle rocking of the raft and the salty summer breeze calm my nerves.

    Watchers from Mata, I heard. Coming to our feast!

    The woman next to him, one of our village healers, snorted at the man’s excited whisper.

    I glanced back to see them shielding their mouths with their hands, probably to keep Roni from seeing, not that he was paying attention.

    Sweat collected on his forehead, dripping into his eyes as he rowed hard. His eyes were on Kokka—and occasionally me and Sarai.

    They think they’re better than anyone else, the healer said to her companion. I hear they control Mata now.

    Control? I thought half the houses were headed by Doubles!

    Do you know Ren? Her supposed hushed voice was undoubtedly loud enough that every listening ear on the raft caught her response. He heard it from traders in Ana. Just got back yesterday.

    But... how?

    Force, he said. They’ve taken over their farms and indentured the workers. The Listeners have gone into hiding, and some of the Doubles, too.

    Force?

    A collective gasp betrayed all the eavesdroppers aboard the raft. Sarai and I looked at each other with wide eyes. Violence was a thing of the past, or so we had been taught in our history books. We’d lived in peace for at least five hundred years, ever since the A’lodi spread into the world after the horrible devastation of the Great War.

    Konu trailed a finger in the clear water, oblivious.

    I turned to address the healer directly. So, why do you think the Watchers are here? And why does Uma think they won’t hurt us?

    The woman frowned, the wrinkles in her forehead growing deeper. "Uma would never go against the A’lodi, that’s why."

    The man beside her added, "And the A’lodi teaches that any visitor must be treated as an honored guest, as precious as one’s own child."

    Even if they want to hurt us.

    Even if they want to hurt us. Sarai echoed my conclusion in a whisper, and I was sorry I had said the words out loud.

    Now the sun felt too bright, too hot. I shaded my face and looked back toward Akila. The south forest of my home island was as dark as the thoughts swarming in my mind.

    ***

    Konu weaved among our legs, babbling and laughing, as we walked up Kokka’s stone path to the Great Hall. I scooped him up to keep him from joining a game of chase with the dozens of children running about in every direction. People laughed and sang, others already sloshed from the Solstice wine. Artists and craftspeople sold their creations at little tables, and there was even a booth full of colorful clothing and rare spices from faraway Ana. I gazed longingly at my favorite table—that of the luthier who’d made the precious lele I’d received for my Coming-of-Age day that Spring—even though my mother was expecting me in the Great Hall.

    Sarai and I said our temporary goodbyes before I headed for the broad front steps of the Great Hall with Konu and Sarai, the kitchens in the back. Her mother, the best cook in the Islands, headed up the preparations for the Solstice feast. My own mother was the most famous musician.

    Mama! Konu wriggled from my arms as soon as I’d opened the heavy wooden door to the main hall.

    I always felt disoriented by the size of the place, which could swallow up my whole village. My eyes widened at the room’s transformation. A thousand yellow Solstice ribbons hung from the high ceiling, flowers decorated every table, and rose petals adorned the front of the stage, where my mother and the other musicians would perform.

    Where I would perform.

    Ah, Konu. My mother’s famous voice filled the entire hall, even before she began singing. She swung him up in an embrace, and he giggled wildly. You finally made it. Alesea, how does it look?

    Beautiful, Mama. Sorry I wasn’t here sooner to help. I approached the stage, heart fluttering as I imagined myself upon it in front of the largest audience the Islands ever saw.

    How are you feeling?

    Nervous and excited. Also worried. There was no point in lying to Mama.

    Perhaps you should go out in the market to get your mind off things.

    I shook my head. Too noisy, and I might run into... Mama, do you know about the Watchers?

    Mama cocked her head. "The Watchers? I know Roni and Ashu—"

    From Mata. In the Akila harbor, with Sinon from last summer.

    What? Surprise filled her eyes, highlighted with ocean blue for her performance.

    I recounted the morning’s events for the second time in an hour. I cast my eyes down as I told my mother of my shameful mistake, but she only let out an anxious laugh.

    Ah, Alesea. You always wind up in the thick of things, don’t you?

    I don’t mean to. It just... happens.

    Mama sat on a chair on the stage and picked up her lele. She absently tuned it as she spoke. And it will happen more after tonight, little flower. Once they hear you sing, the people will be so hungry for more they will invite you permanently into the thick of things. Like me.

    My insides felt heavy. It was proper and exciting for me to join Mama at the first Feast after my Coming-of-Age. Still, I hadn’t thought much about all I could lose—quiet hours teaching Konu to climb trees in the forest, sunny mornings splashing about in the shallows, long afternoons practicing my lele all alone in my secret forest clearing. Were those moments now things of the past? Mama lifted my chin with one slender finger, and the weight in my chest lifted.

    Don’t worry, my flower. You won’t have to do anything you don’t want to, not for now.

    I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was dreadfully wrong.

    Chapter 3

    An hour later, the Great Hall doors opened to anyone who had paid the season’s Community Contribution. Hundreds of people from all the Village Islands burst into the enormous room, light-heartedly jostling one another in a contest for the best seats.

    I sat back in my own chair at the performers’ table near the stage, closed my eyes, and pretended I could still hear the ceaseless pounding of the ocean’s waves. I only opened them when Mama said my name and placed my first-ever glass of Sol wine on the table—the real thing, not the colored juice given to children. The burgundy liquid didn’t fill more than an inch of the tall glass, but it was an honor, anyway. I took a tiny sip and nearly spat it right back out, shocked by the bitter taste and wondering what possessed me to want to wait sixteen years in anticipation for this moment.

    Mama smiled. You’ll get used to it, but not too quickly, I hope.

    Across from me, the portly, bearded lele player gulped from his full glass. That you will, dearie, especially in your mother’s line of work.

    Oh, please, Mama smiled despite her exasperated voice. It’s just you who wants me to drink too much Sol wine, Ben.

    Silence blanketed the room back to front as Medor, the head elder of Kokka, entered, followed by a small crowd of men and women in long elder robes. Medor managed a stately march through the dense crowd even as he stepped over feet jutting out into the aisle and dodged running children. The other elders walked with considerably less grace but more friendliness as they greeted people and patted the errant children on their heads. I grinned to see Uma leading the small group of Akilan elders among the delegations from the other islands.

    Exclamations of surprise rang through the room after the last of the elders passed through the great doors. Those elders should have been the end of the procession, but one more group followed on their heels. Wearing colorful robes and long black braids, with tattoos on their heads and necks, a dozen men entered the hall in a solemn, single file. Their eyes remained fixed on the stage, mouths closed and unsmiling.

    The nerves I’d barely kept under control flared to the surface—the last thing I needed, and not here, not now, and especially not for my first song.

    Sinon led them all. He wore a long robe of blood red, the same shade as the tunic he’d been wearing on my island.

    My heart pounded with each of his steps, and the urgency to protect my baby brother from Sinon’s strange desire overcame me—that flash of emotion as tangible as the awkwardly long nose on his face.

    Konu stayed in Mama’s lap as Sinon stared straight ahead at the back of the last Island elder.

    Then, Sinon’s eyes shifted slightly and met mine.

    My fear returned with a vengeance, eating up my insides and rising into my throat. It wasn’t fair! Who did these people think they were, taking over our feast, our celebration, our lives? I pushed the fear down and replaced it with burning defiance.

    Sinon averted his eyes, but his high brown cheekbones flushed to the shade of the kreo wood that grew only on Akila. Perhaps this man was made of wood, come to join his own.

    The absurd thought pushed an unexpected snort of laughter out of my nose, which I covered with a cough.

    Mama raised an eyebrow in my direction but didn’t comment.

    The Watchers followed the elders to tables on the opposite side of the stage from the performers. Medor stood on the stage, waiting for the last of the guests to be seated.

    The final Matan was the only woman in their group. Unlike the men, she wore a white band of cloth over her hair, hiding whether or not she had ears. Her clothes were a cheerful yellow, like mine, but her pale face was a mask of misery. Instead of joining her group at the tables, she stepped onto the stage and stood a few paces from Medor.

    Did I imagine the look of loathing she shot him before she turned to the audience?

    Welcome to Kokka on the holiest evening of our celestial year!

    The woman faced the Watchers, her hands flitting about animatedly translating Medor’s announcement. That explained her role—she was their translator and a Double like me.

    "In the name of the A’lodi, which binds us together, please extend a warm welcome to our honored guests from Mata."

    While a smattering of applause broke out across the room, other Islanders, taken aback by our sudden honored guests, shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

    Medor glanced at the Watchers and cleared his throat. "To greet the Solstice with the first cycle of songs of the A’lodi, representing the sun, please welcome Maia of Akila."

    Much louder applause filled the Great Hall as my mother made her way to the stage. She and Medor gave each other a formal bow, then Medor joined the other elders as Mama touched up the tuning on her lele.

    Then she began to sing, and I felt like myself for the first time that day.

    Mama’s voice poured out like medicine, soaking into my concealed sore and empty places until I floated on the gentle waves of the shallows, face to the sun. All seemed well with the world. Around the hall, people smiled and sighed, taking each other’s hands.

    The cycle ended much too soon, and unfamiliar anxiety overwhelmed me. A plethora of what ifs ran through my head, wondering if everyone would expect me to be as talented as my mother, my voice would crack, and I’d forget the lele countermelodies.

    Have another sip of your Sol wine, Laysi. Somehow, Mama had returned to her seat while my panic rose.

    I blinked at her since developing a taste for Sol wine was the last thing on my mind. But it’s so... uh....

    She smiled. It will help with your nerves.

    I tried to smile back. Am I that obvious?

    Only to me.

    I did as Mama suggested and finished off the small bit of wine in my glass. I did feel more relaxed—and a little dizzy—as a hundred waiters clad in white delivered the first course of the Feast. Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to eat more than a bite of the steamed sea vegetables or a spoonful of the exquisite shellfish chowder.

    All too soon, the waiters came back to clear our places. Medor returned to the stage, and my heart pounded a little harder with each of his dreadfully formal steps. He again cleared his throat, and silence as thick as my uneaten soup fell over the hall.

    "The second song cycle of the A’lodi represents the moons. This cycle is

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