Oakhaven was just a bunch of beat-up shacks clinging to the Crying Cliffs like they were stuck there. People had lived there for ages, following a messed-up rule: to keep the land from flooding, they had to sacrifice someone to the water.
Lyra was standing at the edge of the cliff, the wind whipping her thin, white robe around her legs. It was silk – the fanciest thing she'd ever felt – but it just felt like she was already dead. The Tide Guardians were beside her, guys with faces all worn out from the sea and from pretending not to see the awful stuff they did to stay alive. They were holding torches that were trying to stay lit in the heavy, wet night.
The air's getting thicker, High Priestess Valerga whispered. She was behind Lyra, her voice low and steady like the sound of the waves. The Moon's strong tonight, Lyra. It's hungry. Don't make it wait, or it'll come get what it wants itself.
Lyra didn't turn around. She stared at the horizon, where the huge, silver Moon, Lunaris, was hanging low and fat. It was the night of the Nineteen-Year Surge. Every nineteen years, the moon's pull got so strong that the tides didn't just rise – they went nuts. They flooded the low parts, drowned the animals, and stayed there for months unless they sent someone to be a Tributary into the middle of the storm to calm things down.
Why me? Lyra asked, but the wind just swallowed her words.
Because the Moon wants the purest, Valerga said, but they both knew it wasn't true. Lyra was picked because she was an orphan. No one would fight to protect her, and no mom would cry for her at the temple. She was something easy to get rid of.
Lyra looked down. Far below, the ocean was all messed up, a bright, swirling pool of something like liquid metal. It didn't look like water; it looked like glowing light, spinning around with a hungry glow. That was the Silver Maw, a place where the moon's energy made the sea crazy. The villagers thought it was a god. Lyra just thought it was her grave.
Step to the edge, the Priestess told her.
Lyra did what she was told. Her toes curled over the edge of the wet rock. She felt the sea spray on her face – cold, sharp, and smelling ancient.
Then, something changed. The air pressure dropped so fast Lyra's ears popped. The Guardians' torches went out all at once, not from the wind, but like the light itself had been sucked away. All that was left was the silver glow from above and below.
Now's the time! Valerga shouted, her voice getting all worked up. Give your life to the deep, Lyra Van-Heal! Save our shores!
Lyra felt a hand push her hard in the back.
She didn't scream as she fell. The air rushed past her, making her tears freeze. The distance seemed to last forever. She saw the glowing pool coming up to meet her, a mouth of swirling silver light.
CRACK.
Hitting the water felt like hitting rock. The cold was so intense it felt like fire. It burned her skin, her muscles, all the way to her bones. The current grabbed her, spinning her around and dragging her down into the dark depths of the Maw.
Lyra's lungs were burning. She wanted to fight, to kick, to get to the surface. But the weight of the water was too much. It went into her mouth, filling her with a salty, metallic taste.
So this is it, she thought, her mind starting to fade. I die so others can grow food. I die so Valerga can stay in charge. I die for nothing.
But as the darkness took over, a weird feeling grew in her chest.
Deep inside Lyra, there was always a cold spot – a little, frozen seed that nothing could warm. Her mom used to say she was a child of winter, born during the coldest time Oakhaven had ever seen. Now, as the moon-charged water filled her, that seed didn't break. It opened up.
The silver energy in the water wasn't trying to kill her anymore. It was being pulled to that seed. It flowed into her, not like something trying to hurt her, but like a lost part of herself coming home.
Her eyes snapped open underwater.
She was at the bottom of the whirlpool, surrounded by a scary kind of beauty. Streams of pure moon power floated around like glowing snakes. She could see perfectly. Her lungs, which should have been about to burst, felt fine. The water wasn't her enemy anymore; it was like part of her own body.
I'm not drowning, she realized, her mind clear and sharp. I'm getting stronger.
She reached out her hand. The water around her fingers froze into a sharp blade, then broke into glowing dust. She felt a surge of power so strong it felt like she could reach up and pull the Moon out of the sky.
The Priests had been saying for years that the Moon wanted a life. They were wrong. The Moon was looking for someone to use.
Lyra stood on the bottom of the ocean. She looked up through the tower of spinning water. Above, she could see the dark shapes of the villagers on the cliff, waiting for her to die.
You wanted a sacrifice, Lyra whispered. The words didn't come out as bubbles; they shook the water, made louder by the energy of the moon. But you gave me a throne.
She didn't swim, she just pushed off the bottom.
The whole Silver Maw exploded. A huge column of water, three hundred feet tall, shot up like a waterfall in reverse. At the top of that column, standing on solid ice that she had made, was Lyra.
The villagers on the cliff fell back in fear. High Priestess Valerga crawled away, her mouth hanging open.
Lyra came down from the pillar, her white robe now glowing with a soft, blue light. Her hair, once brown, was now silver and shiny. When her feet touched the grass on the cliff, it froze into diamonds.
The Tide Guardians pulled out their rusty swords, their hands shaking. Demon! one of them yelled, his voice cracking. It's a monster from the sea! Kill it!
Two men ran toward her. Lyra didn't even blink. She just breathed out.
A wave of freezing cold air rolled out from her. The men didn't even get to scream. They turned into statues of ice, their swords frozen in the air.
Lyra walked past them, staring at Valerga. The Priestess was shaking so hard her teeth were chattering.
The Moon is happy, Lyra said, her voice
sounding like ice rubbing together. But I'm not.
She looked at the village below – the shacks, the temple, the people who had watched her being led to her death. the very first time, she didn't feel helpless. She felt dangerous.
Oakhaven is mine, Lyra said.
She waved her hand, and the Great Hearth in the middle of the village – the fire that had burned for a hundred years – went out. In its place, a spire of blue ice started to grow, reaching up toward the sky.
The time of the Sun was over for Oakhaven. The Silver Night had started. And Lyra Van-Heal had just started her life.