Secrets of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 3) (18 page)

Koyee pulled the flute back, and
the weaveworms hissed and mewled. "My flute is not for sale! I
carried this flute through war, through poverty, through—"

"Sell it to us!" the
weaveworms hissed, and though anger twisted their voices, she heard
pleading there too, a longing like the cry of a starving man who'd
forgotten the taste of food. "Forever the Montai mock us,
forging their silverwork, and never do they sell us the precious
metal like moonlight. Crude iron and cold copper and ugly tin they
give us, scraps rusty and coarse, but we long for the silver, the
sweetest of metals, the material of moonlight."

Koyee took a step farther away
and hid her flute behind her back, much to the chagrin of the
weaveworms who howled and beat their wings. "If I give you this
flute, will you give me the gear?"

They squealed and squirmed. "She
tempts us! She knows our craving. We will give you silk, daughter of
men, as much silk as you desire, and we will give you our young, and
we will give you precious wings, bolts of iron, and shards of steel,
and we will give you our own song, our own stories, the very blood
from our hearts. We will give you all this for a flute of silver."

She shook her head. "I
don't want those. I want the Cabera Gear upon your loom."

They screamed. The pool bubbled
with more fervor, and the larvae squirmed within their cocoons. "The
loom is our life! The gear is its heart. Only with this heart can we
weave our silk. We will give you anything, daughter of men, anything
but that. Give us your silver! Give us the precious metal of
moonlight."

She shook her head again. "No.
I will not give you this flute."

"Then we will take it by
force!" They bared their teeth and snarled.

Koyee shouted out, waving her
shield before her. "Take this flute by force and you will have a
shard of silver! But I can bring you more. I can bring you a silver
heart for your loom. A great gear of silver I will bring you, the
same size as your old Cabera Gear of plain iron. It will be a
glimmering, precious thing, a pure metal of moonlight for your silk."

The weaveworms froze. They
breathed raggedly. Their eyes dampened.

"A gear of silver . . . a
silver heart . . ." Their chief tossed back its head and cried
out to the starlight. "We . . . we have no words for such a
blessing. We have no prayer for such holiness." Tears streamed
from the worm's eyes. "Bring us a gear of silver, and we will
not only give you this old gear of iron, but we will name you our
goddess. Forever will Koyee Mai of Qaelin be remembered as a glorious
deity of the weaveworms."

She couldn't help but smile. "I
don't care about that. I just want to make a swap and be on my way. I
will return with a silver gear, lord of weaveworms. I promise this to
you."

As they walked downhill, leaving
the hive of weaveworms and heading back toward the village, Koyee
sighed, for those memories still pounded through her—memories of
loss, hunger, fear—and though she was older and stronger now, a
grown woman who had sailed through fire and rain, her song always
broke a new part of her, revealing a wound of light that perhaps
could never fully heal.

I
lived in hunger,
she thought.
I
slept in alleyways, afraid, alone, hurt. I was an urchin, a busker, a
soldier, and like I still carry the scars on my face and arm, I carry
those scars inside me. Songs are the scars of the heart.

Yet
not all was dark and hopeless, and not all hurt, for in her memories
she also saw a glowing lantern, a warmth in the cold. She saw Torin.
She saw a man she had met in war, a man she loved, a man who guided
her even here, so far from home.
You
are a song inside me too, Torin, but you are not a song of sailing
alone. In the music your memory plays inside me, we sail together.
Her
smile tasted of tears.

"And did you see all the
little ones in their cocoons?" Nitomi was prattling on as they
walked. "At first I thought they're ugly, but they're kind of
cute, in a slimy sort of way at least. Well, not cute like a wolf pup
or a baby bird, maybe sort of like a wet baby fish. Do fish have
babies? I've never seen a baby fish. They must have little ones, I'm
sure, but aren't those just minnows? Do you think you can catch
really big fish or even whales with weaveworms? Are there any fishing
rods big enough? Qato, you used to go fishing." She tugged on
the giant's arm. "What do you think? You'd need a massive hook,
maybe one of those spikes they perch on, and . . ."

Koyee stopped listening, and her
smile grew wider. In the cold of night and rain of memories, it was
good to have friends.

"Hush, Nitomi. We're almost
at the village. It's time to hire a silversmith."

 
 
CHAPTER SIXTEEN:
IMPURE

Ferius
walked through the ruins of Yintao toward his brother's grave.

The
city was silent around him. He had invaded this place, perhaps the
greatest city of the night, with shouting soldiers, booming drums,
roaring beasts, and the screams of the dying. The hiss of dust, the
thud of banners, and the caws of crows; it was the only song
remaining.

Where
once a million souls had lived, now only ghosts and shadows remained.
Shattered blades, cloven shields, and burnt bones lay across the
road's cobblestones. Homes, shops, and temples crumbled on the road
sides, crushed by catapults, dark magic, and the flames of war. A
burnt scrap of banner tore free from the roof of a fallen pagoda,
scuttled along the street like a demon, and wrapped around Ferius's
legs. It showed the moonstar upon its silk, sigil of the fallen
empire. Ferius tore it free and watched it fly on. The banner
fluttered over a cracked cannon, raced along blood-stained bricks,
and finally draped across a skeleton.

An
Elorian skeleton,
Ferius thought, staring at it. The eye sockets were twice the usual
size—eyes for seeing in the dark. The eyes he lacked. The eyes they
had tormented him for.

Suddenly
Ferius no longer stood in Yintao, the ruins of the capital. Once more
he stood in Oshy, a humble village of the night, his home by the glow
of dusk.

He
was in a round clay hut, a mere child of ten years, his small, weak
eyes blinking in the shadows, his dark hair oily, a creature in a
land of fair, large-eyed Elorians with pale skin and hair like white
silk.

"Meet
your little brother," Mother said, smiling weakly in her bed and
holding out the babe. "Meet little Okado."

Ferius
stared at the small, pale creature. His mother had married an Elorian
man only a year ago, a decade after Ferius's father—a Timandrian
from across the dusk—had returned to the lands of light.

Ferius
had inherited his father's small, dark eyes, but this babe had large
blue eyes. Ferius had dark hair; this babe had milky white strands. A
pure-blooded child.

A
child to replace me,
Ferius thought, trembling.
Mother
replaced her husband only last winter . . . and already she replaces
me too.

"Say
hello to him!" Mother said, holding out the babe. "Would
you like to hold him? Say hello to your brother."

Ferius
balled his fists at his sides. The walls of their hut seemed to close
in around him. The babe whimpered and his eyes closed.

"My
half-
brother,"
Ferius said, speaking through clenched teeth. "A son you will
not be ashamed of." His eyes stung with tears. "A pure
child."

Mother's
eyes softened. "I will always love you, Ferius. You are pure to
me. You are—"

Ferius
reached out and snatched the babe from her arms. "I am a freak!"
His voice echoed in the hut, and his tears streamed. "That's
what the other children call me. They say I'm a monster. They say you
bedded a demon." Baby Okado woke and screamed in his grip.
"Don't lie to me. You want to replace me!"

He
turned, kicked the door open, and ran outside, still holding the
babe.

"Ferius!"
his mother cried behind him. The baby screamed. Okado ran.

He
raced through the village square. A few lanterns rose upon poles,
casting enough light for large Elorian eyes, but Ferius stumbled and
nearly fell. He righted himself and kept racing, the baby screaming
in his arms.

"She
thinks you're better than me," Ferius said to it, grinding his
teeth, digging his fingers into the creature. Its skin was red now,
no longer pure white Elorian skin, and its large eyes narrowed into
ugly slits. "She thinks you can replace me. I won't let you. I
won't . . ."

Tears
flowed over his voice. He ran on. He heard his mother crying behind
him; she was chasing him. Villagers gasped around him, and one
man—that fool Finian, the bead-maker who sometimes brought fish soup
to their hut—tried to grab him. Ferius barreled past him, shoving
the old man onto the cobblestones. He kept running until he reached
the river.

He
raced onto the boardwalk. The Inaro gushed before him, a flowing
torrent, a mile wide and silver in the moonlight. To the west blazed
the dusk, the orange light that forever burned upon their horizon,
leading to Timandra, the realm of demons, the realm whence Ferius's
father had emerged. To the east spread the black lands of endless
night; the water would take the babe there.

Legs
trembling, Ferius stepped forward and held his baby brother over the
river.

"Ferius!"
rose his mother's hoarse cry behind him.

"Stand
back!" he shouted. "Stand back or I drop him."

Villagers
were gathering on the boardwalk behind him, daring not approach,
staring with those large eyes he lacked, those large eyes that made
them feel superior. The babe screamed in his arms.

"I'll
toss you into the water, Okado," he whispered. "You'll
drown. Your body will float away. Nobody will ever say you're better
than me, that you're pure and I'm broken."

The
babe stopped crying. Its lips twisted as if trying to form words. It
blinked as if trying to bring Ferius into focus, and its tiny, pale
fingers reached out, and it seemed to Ferius that the babe smiled.

He's
beautiful,
Ferius
thought, and his tears streamed down his cheeks.
He's
everything I'm not.
He
gritted his teeth and trembled and took short, shaky breaths.

"And
so you must die."

The
lights went out.

The
three lanterns on the boardwalk died, and darkness cloaked Ferius, so
thick he could no longer see the baby in his arms, the boardwalk
beneath his feet, or the water ahead. Only the glow of dusk lit the
night, a dim orange scar, a single faded line.

Ferius
gasped. Sweat coated him and he stared at that western line, that
great mouth of flame. The distant fire seemed to whisper to him,
calling him home.

Shadows
scuttled around him.

Hands
grabbed him.

Ferius
opened his arms, letting the baby drop.

Okado
squealed, and a shadow darted away, and the sound of crying moved
back toward the village. Lights flared—lanterns crackling to life.
Ferius spun around, blinking, to see the villagers staring at him,
holding tin lamps. All the village of Oshy had come to stare at him,
a hundred souls, their eyes condemning, their mouths frowning, their
faces cruel.

"You
mock me!" Ferius screamed. "I will kill you all!"
Saliva sprayed from his mouth. "And I will kill you, Okado. You
will burn in my fire!"

They
just stared at him, all of them, all those Elorians, all those
perfect creatures. His mother stood among them, and one of the
villagers—a young fisherman named Tien—placed her babe back in her
arms. She stared at Ferius, weeping.

"I
swear to you!" Ferius howled. "I swear I will kill your
child!"

He
clenched his fists, opened his eyes, and took a shuddering breath.

He
was standing back in the ruins of Yintao, almost thirty years since
that turn, no longer a frightened boy but a great leader of sunlight.
And still that pain dug through him, an eternal shard cutting the
flesh of his memory.

"I
kept my promise," he said softly. "I killed you, my perfect
half-brother." He licked his lips, walked around a shattered
column, and beheld the grave.

The
tombstone rose in a cobbled square, taller than a man, carved of
white stone. A golden sunburst blazed upon it, and braziers burned
around the grave. At first Ferius had wanted to toss Okado's corpse
into the river, to hang it from chains until it rotted, or perhaps to
send it to Koyee in her southern exile. But no. Okado would remain
here, crushed under the stone of Ferius's victory, forever sleeping
with the sun above him.

Ferius
walked over the grave, rubbed his muddy boots upon it, and touched
the tombstone. A thin smile twitched across his lips.

"You
were a perfect son. You were a perfect warrior of the night. You were
a husband, a leader, a hero." He spat. "And I spit upon
your grave. I was a freak thing, half Elorian, half Timandrian, a
monster to you. But now . . . now I am a god. Now all the savages of
the night will burn in my fire . . . like you burned."

 
 
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
LABYRINTHS

As soon as they stepped through
the archway into the ziggurat, the desert sunlight vanished. Cam spun
around, frowning. The archway still loomed wide open—only a foot
away—and he could see the land outside: blue sky, bright sun, and
golden dunes rolling toward the distant green haze of an oasis city.
And yet no light fell upon him. He couldn't see his own hands when he
raised them, and he could only hear Linee breathing beside him but
not see her.

"Why doesn't the light
enter?" she whispered, and he felt her hand grab his arm.

"I don't know. But we still
have our lanterns from Eloria. They're in my pack."