Curse of the Forgotten City Read online

  Also by Alex Aster

  The Emblem Island series

  Curse of the Night Witch

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  Books. Change. Lives.

  Copyright © 2021 by Alex Aster

  Cover and internal design © 2021 by Sourcebooks

  Cover art © Fiona Hsieh/Shannon Associates

  Internal design by Danielle McNaughton/Sourcebooks

  Internal images © Shutterstock

  Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems—except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews—without permission in writing from its publisher, Sourcebooks.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Published by Sourcebooks Young Readers, an imprint of Sourcebooks Kids

  P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410

  (630) 961-3900

  sourcebookskids.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data is on file with the publisher.

  Contents

  Front Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Back Cover

  For my twin sister, Daniella, my first reader and forever friend.

  1

  The Waterbreather

  Tor Luna looked down at the girl in the sand and wondered if she was dead. Just moments before, she had washed ashore, like the torn plank of a shipwreck. Her peculiarly pale skin matched her silver hair, and neither was as strange as the marking on her wrist. A rare symbol that matched Tor’s.

  A fish.

  It was the emblem he had spent almost his entire life wishing for. The one he had finally gotten, under the worst of circumstances. The power to breathe underwater.

  Tor stumbled to the side as his friend Melda pushed past him to get to the girl, who had surprised them all moments earlier with a warning: “They’re coming.”

  Melda flipped the girl onto her side, revealing a deep gash along her rib cage. Blood stained the pearls stitched onto the girl’s dress. Melda looked over her shoulder, eyes wide. “Engle, get help!”

  Engle took off, following her orders without hesitation. Whether he moved with such speed because he had a new respect for Melda after their deadly journey together, or because of the power of her leadership emblem, Tor wasn’t sure.

  “Tor, do something!” Melda said as she firmly pressed the wound. The girl still wasn’t moving.

  If anyone could save her, it was Tor. A month ago he became the most powerful being on Emblem Island after inheriting all of the Night Witch’s abilities. His first new emblem had already sprouted.

  And, if the Night Witch’s dying words were to be believed, more would follow.

  Tor knelt next to Melda on the sand. He placed a shaking hand on the girl’s shoulder. It was ice cold. “I—I don’t know how.”

  Melda ripped the hem of her long skirt off and wrapped it around the girl’s torso, tying it tight. It didn’t take long for the light blue fabric to stain red.

  “Wake up!” Melda cried, and her voice made Tor flinch. Those with leadership emblems had especially loud voices. He would know. Before he had made a wish that had gotten him cursed, he had worn the same purple bands around his wrist, marking him as a future leader.

  Without warning, Melda took off running toward the water. Tor watched, blood pooling beneath his hands, as she grabbed something buried halfway into the sand.

  She was back in an instant and before Tor could cover his ears, Melda put the conch to her lips and blew.

  A sound like a siren pierced the salty air, and the girl’s eyes flew open.

  Behind them, faraway shouts sounded. Tor recognized the three voices. They belonged to Engle, Mrs. Herida, who was the only healer in their village, and Tor’s mother—Chieftess of Estrelle.

  “You’re going to live,” Melda said steadily to the girl. “Now who did this to you? Who is coming?”

  The girl’s green eyes suddenly narrowed. One hand found her wound. She sat up, wincing, her long silvery hair caked in sand and blood.

  Though her fingers shook, her voice was steady.

  “Pirates.”

  The Vicious Sea

  Wherever there is treasure, there are pirates. And wherever there are pirates, there are mermaids.

  And wherever there are mermaids, there is hunger.

  The sea is an endless cauldron, and pirates sit within it, simmering, accepting both the biting salt and starry beauty.

  For any gift the sea gives, it takes back twofold.

  Beware of songs sweet as honey that ring through the darkness.

  Never make a bargain with a pirate that isn’t inked in blood.

  Do not trust cloudless skies, for they are almost certainly followed by a storm.

  And above all, do not stare too carefully into the sea—

  For the sea will begin to stare back.

  2

  The Calavera

  The healer had stopped the bleeding. Tor tried not to look at his hands, stained red right over the lifeline running through his palm. Instead, he eyed the horizon, half expecting ships to appear at any moment.

  “Pirates?” Tor said, turning to watch as Mrs. Herida continued to stitch the wound. Though she had applied some numbing oil from willow bark, the girl bit down on her lip with each poke of the needle.

  She nodded, face remarkably pale. “Not just any pirates.” She whispered the next few words the same way Tor used to say Night Witch. “The Calavera.”

  Tor’s mother, Chieftess Luna, knelt at her side. “You’re sure?”

  She nodded.

  “What’s the Calavera?” Engle said, who was also facing the sea. “I don’t see anything.”

  Tor felt a bit better. If Engle, with a sightseeing emblem that allowed him to see incredibly far distances, couldn’t spot the pirates, then they were still miles away. He wondered how long it had taken the girl with the waterbreathing marking to reach shore. Where had she come from?

  Chieftess Luna shook her head. “They’re a myth. A group of pirates cursed by the Night Witch to sail forever just short of shore, never to make landfall.”

  “But now there is no Night Witch,” Melda said stormily.

  Tor swallowed. “Which
means their curse could have died with her.”

  All of her curses had probably been broken that day, not just Tor’s. He remembered the Night Witch’s last words.

  Make no mistake, Tor Luna, darkness has already set its sights on your village.

  The girl hissed as Mrs. Herida put her finger to the stitches, silently speeding their healing process. Then, she turned to Tor. “They took my grandmother. And everyone else.” She eyed the fish emblem on his arm, visible. “You can help me, I know it.”

  Tor hurried to pull his sleeve down. Mrs. Herida was rummaging through her pack for something, distracted. He didn’t think she’d seen the new marking he’d been keeping hidden, but he had to be more careful. No one other than his friends and their parents knew what had happened to his old emblem.

  When he turned back to face the girl, she wore a serpentine smile, as if she had gleaned his secret and was deciding how to leverage that information.

  Melda glared at her. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

  The girl leveled a cold look back at her. “I’m Vesper. And I’m from a settlement of waterbreathers called Swordscale.”

  Chieftess Luna stood, tanned knees caked in sand. “So, it’s real, then? The forgotten city of Swordscale?”

  Vesper nodded. “As real as the Night Witch and the Calavera.” She gritted her teeth as Mrs. Herida applied a salve to her now scabbed-over wound. “One of our own betrayed us. He led the Calavera to our city and got them through the enchantments.”

  Tor massaged his temples, a massive headache taking form. “Why did they attack? What are they after?”

  Vesper took a lock of her strange silver hair between her fingers. “What any good pirate is after. Control of the seas.” She glanced at the ocean, foamy waves reaching toward her legs with every push, closer and closer still, as if the sea was trying to pull her back. “They seek the Pirate’s Pearl.”

  Chieftess Luna’s nostrils flared. Tor turned to his mother. “You’ve heard of it?” It seemed the Chieftess of Estrelle knew much more about the sea than she had ever told Tor.

  Her hand formed a fist, the purple leadership emblem vibrant on her wrist. “There is a book. Passed through the family line, written long ago. It speaks of…all of this.”

  Vesper grimaced. “Good that someone wrote it all down. Swordscales are too superstitious to put those myths to paper. The Calavera came in search of the pearl. It had been entrusted with my people for centuries—but little did they know, it had already been stolen a long time ago.”

  “By who?” Tor asked.

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. But the Calavera won’t stop until they find it. The pearl controls the sea. If they get their hands on it, they could flood all of Emblem Island, if they wish. They could drain the ocean dry.” Vesper took a deep breath. “They’re coming. Here. They can’t be far behind me. You need to hurry. They plan to take Estrelle and make it their base as they search for the pearl. They’ll burn the entire village down to get control. Or they’ll burn it just because they feel like it. Now that the curse has been broken, they’re desperate to step onto land—and wreak havoc.”

  Havoc. On Estrelle.

  The healer applied a final ointment that smelled of honey and mint. With a nod signaling her work was done, she walked briskly back to the village, no doubt to warn her family of the impending danger.

  Chieftess Luna straightened. Tor imagined plans were already being formed in her mind, on how to evacuate the village, where to lead its inhabitants to safety. But there might not be enough time. There were too many people, and they wouldn’t be able to get far enough. Not if the pirates’ appetite for pillaging was as great as Vesper claimed, and if she was right about how soon to expect them.

  Tor and Melda shared a look. She closed her eyes for a moment, and Tor knew she felt the same way he did. That they had both had enough of adventure to last a lifetime. That they were both tired. Even Engle, always up for an adventure, looked wary.

  When Melda opened those still shockingly gray eyes, a reminder of how wrong their last adventure had gone, her expression was steady. “The Night Witch cursed the Calavera. She might have had something that could stop them.” Engle whirled to face her as Melda pulled a coin from her pocket and held it between her fingers.

  It was the telecorp’s coin, the one that had been enchanted to take them home once their journey to the Night Witch was over. It glimmered in the sunlight, like it still held power.

  Engle stared at it. “You think it can still teleport us between Estrelle and her castle?”

  Melda nodded.

  Tor never wanted to return to that place. It was there that he had been forced to replace the Night Witch, after she had deemed herself too sinister to fight the evil she promised had its eyes set on Emblem Island.

  Tor suddenly realized that even back then she knew the Calavera would come. She had to have known what her death would mean, that curses would break and chaos would ensue. Still, she died and left it all to him, her heir.

  He hated her, even more than before.

  But Estrelle was in trouble. Tor saw it in the lines of his mother’s face as she mentally worked out how they might escape. So, he stepped forward and put a hand over Melda’s. Engle did the same.

  “We’ll be back soon, Mom.” His mother looked like she might object, mouth widening—but then she nodded. Likely grateful her son was getting away from the coast.

  But before they could spirit away, Vesper spoke. “Wait! I can help.”

  Melda raised an eyebrow at her, looking doubtful.

  Vesper groaned as she stood. Tor’s mother reached an arm out to help her up. She moved her silver hair, revealing a marking on her neck, right below her ear. That of a gem.

  An emblem.

  Tor gaped at her. “You have two?”

  On Emblem Island, having more than one emblem was considered wicked. It was why the Night Witch was so feared and why Tor had gone to great lengths to hide his new marking. No one was meant to have more than one; it was too much power to wield responsibly.

  Vesper nodded. “In Swordscale, everyone has two.”

  Tor’s shoulders shifted slightly forward, as if some of the weight had been taken away. Maybe he wasn’t so alone. So wicked.

  He didn’t know what the gem emblem stood for, but if she said she could help them stop the pirates from attacking Estrelle, he would trust her. Even if Melda was giving him a look that showed she clearly didn’t.

  Vesper placed her hand on top of Tor’s. And then, the four of them were gone.

  The Calavera’s Curse

  On a still sea, on a full moon, at midnight, it is said that a ship born of smoke and bone can be spotted on the horizon.

  It never stops, not for a moment. It doesn’t have an anchor. It simply sails on forever, toward villages it cannot pillage. Toward ports with no harbor. Toward land it cannot reach.

  The Calavera made their ships from the bones of their victims—and there were many. Once upon another time, there had been a code of honor that ruled the waters. But the Calavera did not just want treasure, they wanted power. So they made their own rules. They sunk each vessel that dared sail their way, vowing to be the last ships on the sea. And the killings did not stop when they reached land. They docked only to wreak havoc.

  They had to be stopped.

  A brave young pirate offered his blood to the ocean, begging for the Calavera’s reign of the seas to be ended. Far away, but always close by, the Night Witch heard the man’s plea. She decided the Calavera had become too strong, threatening even her own dark power.

  So, she spun a curse as lethal and cruel as a spider’s web. It trapped the Calavera on their ships, sinking them to the seafloor. Only the lead ship, the biggest vessel, named Tiburon, stayed afloat. And it was cursed to sail forevermore without ever reaching shore.

  3r />
  The Night Witch’s Ship

  Wind hissed in Tor’s ears as they touched down. His legs felt too stiff, like the bones had been snapped apart and glued back together in the moments it took to travel. Seconds longer than it had taken last time. Tor wondered if the coin’s power was dwindling with each use.

  They had landed in a small field, atop the cliff Tor had scaled a month prior. The grass was pale, no color within it, except for the occasional black spot. A thick mist smeared the sky and sun away. Tor shivered. It was cold as winter.

  The Lake of the Lost stretched before them, hundreds of feet below, gray as Melda’s eyes and eerily calm. Engle went still beside Tor. His eyes squeezed shut, jaw set tensely. Melda found Engle’s hand. Then Tor’s. And gripped them for just a second. Remembering. Vesper watched them from a few feet away.

  A moment later, Engle smiled and said, “Let’s hope the witch kept her fridge stocked. I haven’t had breakfast.”

  Tor returned his grin. Then he turned and stilled.

  The Night Witch’s castle sprawled across the mountain, an endless stretch of silver bricks, arched windows, and dozens of towers spiraling into the sky, each topped with a different stone creature, eyes fixed on Tor as he took a step forward.

  He wanted to hate it, but something at his core clicked into place, a puzzle he hadn’t realized he was putting together.

  Tor could almost hear, somewhere deep in his mind, the Night Witch cackling.

  “We have to hurry,” he said, shaking the feeling away. He made his way to the glinting front doors, made of pure metal.

  They had no handle.

  But Tor knew what to do. He pressed a palm against the cold iron, and the doors swung open, revealing a room so large and a ceiling of glass so clear, it was as if they were still outside.

  “What are we looking for?” Engle asked, his all-seeing eyes already whirling back and forth as he took in every detail of the room.

  “I…don’t know,” Tor said. He turned to Melda.

  She shrugged. “Anything having to do with the sea, I guess.”