Anna Horn is always looking over her shoulder.
We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from Sisters of the Lost Nation by Nick Medina, out from Berkley on April 18.
Anna Horn is always looking over her shoulder. For the bullies who torment her, for the entitled visitors at the reservation’s casino… and for the nameless, disembodied entity that stalks her every step—an ancient tribal myth come-to-life, one that’s intent on devouring her whole.
With strange and sinister happenings occurring around the casino, Anna starts to suspect that not all the horrors on the reservation are old. As girls begin to go missing and the tribe scrambles to find answers, Anna struggles with her place on the rez, desperately searching for the key she’s sure lies in the legends of her tribe’s past.
When Anna’s own little sister also disappears, she’ll do anything to bring Grace home. But the demons plaguing the reservation—both ancient and new—are strong, and sometimes, it’s the stories that never get told that are the most important.
Day 1
4:18 p.m.
Her classmates had bowed before her in the cafeteria, shouting All hail the king!
King was marginally kinder than the assumptive and vile labels Anna was used to, but the smirks on her classmates’ faces had stripped it of any majesty the title might have possessed. Anna had wanted to say something biting in return, but she knew an ireful “fuck off” wouldn’t slay them all, so she clenched her cinnamon gum between her teeth and said nothing instead, which was precisely what they wanted. For her to shut up and take it so they could laugh and laugh.
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Sisters of the Lost Nation
She dragged her feet through the dirt after the dismissal bell and told herself not to think about it. Or them. They weren’t worth it. Eight months stood between her and commencement day, after which she’d never have to see her bullies again. Maybe then she wouldn’t be so silent.
The steady beep of a reversing truck and the grumble of heavy machinery carried on the air from across the Takoda Indian reservation. The noxious scent of hot asphalt came with it. The road beneath Anna’s feet was hard-packed dirt, but it wouldn’t be for long. A construction crew contracted by the Takoda Tribe, to which Anna belonged, had begun paving over the reservation’s dirt roads a month earlier. Soon the reservation would be linked by smooth, black streets like the ones in town, and gone would be the days when shoes got covered in dust from trampling over uneven dirt roads. It was just one more change made possible by the Grand Nacre Casino and Resort on the rez, which had triumphantly opened its doors two years earlier.
Anna stalled where the dirt road met one of the black streets. She recognized the need for change and the pride that came with being able to afford it, but the dark green and purple smear on the asphalt ahead gave her pause. It was the second such smear she’d seen that week; the thirteenth since the construction crew started paving the dirt roads. There’d been plenty of roadkill—opossums, raccoons, armadillos—over the years, but never had there been so many small purple smears.
It wasn’t just the asphalt’s fault. The cooling weather, as summer turned to fall, drove frogs to search for spots where they could keep their little bodies warm. The black streets retained heat after the sun set far better than the dirt roads ever had.
The purple smear grew as Anna approached until it was wider than the bottom of her boot. It was the largest casualty yet, a bullfrog easily a pound and a half in size. Hindlegs and webbed feet jutted out from the smear, indicating that the poor thing had been run down mid-hop. Anna’s insides quivered at the sight—sick and sad, though she knew those very legs would be deemed good eatin’ if they were battered and fried in any kitchen throughout the state, from Shreveport down to New Orleans. This king of frogs had thrived and survived through the most dangerous stages of its life—egg, tadpole, young adult—escaping threats posed by insects, fish, crayfish, birds, snakes, raccoons and the froggers who hunted in the bayous and swamps. It’d beaten the odds over and over, only to end up as a wasted smear. Had it hopped a few inches to the left or a few to the right, it would still be the king of frogs, but by some twist of fate, it’d aligned itself for death.
Anna raised her gaze as an old car slowed and swerved around her. It rattled away through the trees on the far east side of the reservation where few went and even fewer resided. She could see her destination in the distance, set within an overgrown field that encompassed it and its lone neighbor nearly a football field away. She carried forth to the mouth of the dirt driveway that led to the abandoned trailer. Despite having been inside a dozen times or more, the sight of it made her feel like she’d just swallowed something slippery and swampy, something like the dead frog, especially when the sun was sinking. Her stomach churned. She always took a deep breath before running down the drive and up the trailer’s rickety steps. And she always looked over both shoulders before going inside.
The door was gone. The trailer was dim. Just over ten years had passed since electricity powered the lamps. It was, in fact, ten years to the day that Anna had sat across the fire from her uncle, listening with horror and fascination as he voiced his theory about what might have happened to the trailer’s owner. A sick anniversary only Anna bothered to remember.
Ten years to the day since her fear had been born.
Failing sunlight filtered through the filthy windows and disheveled blinds, casting a dull brown glow on the deflated couch. Anna never sat on it. Never would. She only came for the books. Two large bookcases lined the far wall, each loaded with a collection that had taken the trailer’s owner a lifetime to amass. Anna had only begun browsing the collection a few months earlier, back in July after Erica Landry and Amber Bloom—best friends, both nineteen—vanished into thin air, leaving their families wondering and worrying on the rez. She hadn’t been daring enough to enter the trailer before then. The sensation of eyes upon her put her on edge within the trailer’s walls, making her suspect that she’d be punished if she got caught. But the books and the wisdom they held, wisdom that might just make her feel safer at night, were worth the risk. The books were everything.
Anna lowered the bag from her back and unzipped it. She pulled three moldy books from within and reinserted them on the top shelf of the bookcase from which they came, proceeding to grab the next three in line, each equally moldy and topped with a layer of dust that turned into a sticky paste when she tried to brush it away. Anna crammed the books into her bag, zipped it, and headed back to the doorway to return to the road where she could pretend she hadn’t invaded the trailer at all. A flash of movement through the window made her pause. She squinted through the filth, then jumped back, startled, when a ladybug fluttered past her face and crash-landed against her chest. Its translucent wings folded beneath its red-and-black shell as Anna ushered the bug onto her palm, wondering what made such small insects so bold.
The movement outside the window continued, and Anna realized it was only a cloud passing over the trailer, casting a shadow that crawled across the windowpane. When her gaze moved up, she saw herself reflected in the dirtiest part of the glass. The rusted metal of the window frame created the illusion of a ragged crown upon her head.
She hadn’t done anything wrong in the cafeteria earlier, yet it was she who ended up feeling sorry. And it was her whom Principal Markham had called to his office, where she sat across from the balding man, staring into his expectant eyes, refusing to say anything more than They did this.
Anna slung the backpack onto her shoulders and stepped away from the window and the rusted crown. Outside, she blew the ladybug from her palm and dashed down the dirt drive to the slick, new street. The purple smear added to the slimy sensation in her stomach. She stepped over it, coaxing her eyes to remain on the horizon, but the memory of what she’d seen when she inspected the smear earlier brought her to a stop. The frog had certainly been run over, but Anna couldn’t recall seeing tread marks stamped into the remains. She only assumed a tire had done the damage because the frog was in the road.
Reluctantly turning, she bent to inspect the former king of frogs once more. No marks. Something other than a tire had apparently squashed it. Something softer. Something smoother. Anna shivered. She tried to cast the thought aside, but suppressing it wasn’t any easier than casting aside the incident at school.
All hail the king!
Her eyes darted back toward the condemned trailer, seeking a place to hide.
“Shit,” she said, when she spotted something dark and round, slightly larger than a bowling ball, shifting from side to side beneath the trailer’s rotting steps. It was the very thing she feared, the very thing that must have flattened the frog, the thing that might have made Amber and Erica disappear.
Anna turned toward home, only for her head to reel around on her neck. The round form was gone from beneath the trailer’s steps. Vanished. Her flesh prickled as though swarmed by biting mites. Something moved in the overgrown grass along the edge of the dirt drive. The tall brown blades shimmied. Whatever had slipped inside the undergrowth was moving in her direction, picking up speed the closer it got.
Anna gasped and ran. The books in her bag thumped against her back all the way home.
Excerpted from Sisters of the Lost Nation by Nick Medina Copyright © 2023 by Nick Medina. Excerpted by permission of Berkley. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
