Genre Fiction
![Nick Medina - [object Object] author](https://res.cloudinary.com/readsomnia/image/upload/authors/a_B0C213NJG9.jpg)
Sisters of the Lost Nation
A young Native girl's hunt for answers about the women mysteriously disappearing from her tribe's reservation leads her to delve into the myths and stories of her people, all while being haunted herself, in this atmospheric and stunningly poignant debut.
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.
Part gripping thriller and part mythological horror, author Nick Medina spins an incisive and timely novel of life as an outcast, the cost of forgetting tradition, and the courage it takes to become who you were always meant to be.
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.
Part gripping thriller and part mythological horror, author Nick Medina spins an incisive and timely novel of life as an outcast, the cost of forgetting tradition, and the courage it takes to become who you were always meant to be.
Editorial Reviews
"With the excellent Sisters of the Lost Nation, Nick Medina expertly balances Native mythology, a grounded coming of age story, and a modern, all too real and terrible mystery of Native girls going missing. Gripping, heartbreaking, and vital, this is a novel you won't soon forget, and Anna Horn will no doubt become one of your most cherished fictional characters."
-Paul Tremblay, national bestselling author of A Head Full of Ghosts and The Pallbearers Club
"Sisters of the Lost Nation weaves Native folklore with truths that we feel in our bones to create a story that is as beautiful as it is sad, as powerful as it is frightening, as familiar as it is otherworldly."
-Alma Katsu, author of The Fervor and The Hunger
"Nick Medina's Sisters of the Lost Nation is a powerful debut novel that drops you in a unique world filled with horrors, both real and mythological. It grips you from the start, engages you to the finish and stays with you after."
-Iris Yamashita, author of City Under One Roof
"A pulse-pounding horror thriller with a riveting central mystery, Medina's debut is a masterclass in suspense. It's also a moving portrayal of the painful rift between past and present, and an urgent reminder of the profound importance of storytelling, of being heard, seen, and remembered."
-Rachel Harrison, author of Such Sharp Teeth and Cackle
"Sisters of the Lost Nation is a dark and excruciatingly timely debut about the very real horror of Native girls going missing. Medina's decisive authorial voice and unforgettable characters made for an incredibly powerful read."
-Alexis Henderson, author of The Year of the Witching
"Nick Medina's debut is a marvelous fusion of the thrilling, the dark, and the uncanny. Nothing in this novel was exactly as I expected it to be; its many denizens behave as real people do, with heartbreaking and sometimes hair-raising unpredictability-and&nbs...
-Paul Tremblay, national bestselling author of A Head Full of Ghosts and The Pallbearers Club
"Sisters of the Lost Nation weaves Native folklore with truths that we feel in our bones to create a story that is as beautiful as it is sad, as powerful as it is frightening, as familiar as it is otherworldly."
-Alma Katsu, author of The Fervor and The Hunger
"Nick Medina's Sisters of the Lost Nation is a powerful debut novel that drops you in a unique world filled with horrors, both real and mythological. It grips you from the start, engages you to the finish and stays with you after."
-Iris Yamashita, author of City Under One Roof
"A pulse-pounding horror thriller with a riveting central mystery, Medina's debut is a masterclass in suspense. It's also a moving portrayal of the painful rift between past and present, and an urgent reminder of the profound importance of storytelling, of being heard, seen, and remembered."
-Rachel Harrison, author of Such Sharp Teeth and Cackle
"Sisters of the Lost Nation is a dark and excruciatingly timely debut about the very real horror of Native girls going missing. Medina's decisive authorial voice and unforgettable characters made for an incredibly powerful read."
-Alexis Henderson, author of The Year of the Witching
"Nick Medina's debut is a marvelous fusion of the thrilling, the dark, and the uncanny. Nothing in this novel was exactly as I expected it to be; its many denizens behave as real people do, with heartbreaking and sometimes hair-raising unpredictability-and&nbs...
Short Excerpt Teaser
Day 36
7:21 p.m.
70 Hours Gone
Guided by fear and the muted moonlight, Anna stepped toward the trees, and then she was passing through them, leaving her old reality behind for the one unraveling before her. Black bark to her sides and ash beneath her feet, she smelled the earthy odors of dirt, mud, burnt wood, and something so vile her stomach turned. It was the same smell the wind had wafted her way on the nights she'd been chased. Only the odor was stronger now. Inescapable.
Anna's lowered gaze slowly passed over the ground to the brush surrounding her. The tall grass bore brown-red stains, streaked from the rain. The bushes did too.
Her little brother's voice sounded in the distance, moving farther away. It faded until it was gone, reinforcing that Anna was alone. And though she didn't feel safe pressing forth, she knew she wouldn't feel any better if she turned back.
She couldn't. Not until she knew.
Eyes closed, she coaxed her legs to carry her deeper into the field. The few steps they took might as well have been arduous miles. Reluctant as her legs had been, her eyelids were far more inflexible. When Anna eventually lifted them again, her eyes were like strangers to the darkness, unable to make sense of what was before them, but maybe they just didn't want to. A moment passed and then the horror set in.
Distressing sounds floated toward Anna from a few feet away. A lifeless eye observed her. A dead girl lay rotting on the ground.
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.
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. Hind legs 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 ...
7:21 p.m.
70 Hours Gone
Guided by fear and the muted moonlight, Anna stepped toward the trees, and then she was passing through them, leaving her old reality behind for the one unraveling before her. Black bark to her sides and ash beneath her feet, she smelled the earthy odors of dirt, mud, burnt wood, and something so vile her stomach turned. It was the same smell the wind had wafted her way on the nights she'd been chased. Only the odor was stronger now. Inescapable.
Anna's lowered gaze slowly passed over the ground to the brush surrounding her. The tall grass bore brown-red stains, streaked from the rain. The bushes did too.
Her little brother's voice sounded in the distance, moving farther away. It faded until it was gone, reinforcing that Anna was alone. And though she didn't feel safe pressing forth, she knew she wouldn't feel any better if she turned back.
She couldn't. Not until she knew.
Eyes closed, she coaxed her legs to carry her deeper into the field. The few steps they took might as well have been arduous miles. Reluctant as her legs had been, her eyelids were far more inflexible. When Anna eventually lifted them again, her eyes were like strangers to the darkness, unable to make sense of what was before them, but maybe they just didn't want to. A moment passed and then the horror set in.
Distressing sounds floated toward Anna from a few feet away. A lifeless eye observed her. A dead girl lay rotting on the ground.
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.
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. Hind legs 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 ...
