Moth (6 page)

Torin wondered if he should approach, seek her, and try to make amends with this kingdom across the dusk.

What would I say to her? How do I fix this? How would I let her know I'm not her enemy?

He didn't know.

He turned back toward the day, leaving the wheelbarrow and the bones behind.

He returned to Timandra, found Bailey upon the hill, and pulled her into an embrace. He stood with her for a long time, his eyes closed, holding her.

 
 
CHAPTER FIVE:
KOYEE

She stood upon the Nighttower, the wind billowing her hair, the moon gleaming against her blade. She stared across the plains of darkness—hills and valleys rolling black and lifeless toward the orange horizon, the dusk where the sunlit demons dwelled. She was Koyee Mai, a daughter of the night . . . and a daughter in mourning.

"They killed him, Eelani," she said, holding her father's sword. "They killed my father, then slunk back into the fire. They will kill us all if they can."

Her friend was silent, as she always was. Many claimed that
jatashi
—shoulder spirits—did not exist. Many taunted Koyee for inventing an invisible friend. But Koyee could feel the warmth on her right shoulder, the soft breath against her cheek, the comforting presence of her friend. She held out her hand, letting Eelani crawl from her shoulder onto her palm, a tingle that raised goose bumps along her arm.

"Timandrians," Koyee said, and the word raised goose bumps over the rest of her. "Demons of sunlight. Murderers. I saw one, Eelani. I saw one with my own eyes."

The doubtful also claimed that Timandrians were myths. They claimed that nothing could possibly live in the sunlit half of the world, that the light would burn all flesh.

"But I know what I saw." Koyee tightened her hand around the hilt of her father's sword. "I saw a sunlit demon. He emerged from the dusk."

She herself had smooth white hair, but the demon had sported a head of dark curls like nightwolf fur. She had milky skin, but the creature had a countenance of bronze. Strangest of all had been his eyes—beady eyes half the size of hers, one green and the other black.

"I stared into his eyes, Eelani, and I saw evil." Cold wind moaned, ruffling her tunic of nightwolf fur. "He will return. He will shed more blood."

Koyee had vowed not to cry, yet she felt her eyes dampen. The pain still pulsed through her, fresh and chilling like ice cut from a frozen river. She looked down from the Nighttower to the border of dusk, the place where stone gave way to twisted brambles. She had gone seeking her father, only to find his blade upon the plains, stained with the foul blood of demons. When she had lifted the sword, she had seen the demon emerge from the light, wheeling his cart of bones.

"My father's bones," she whispered, still smelling the smoky scent. "Eelani, I miss him."

She could see his grave below. For many years, her father had stood here upon this very tower, gazing into the dusk, guarding their village that lay below. Some had not believed there was any threat to guard against. Some had called her father a fool, a fisherman who could not forget his old life as a soldier. Now those people mourned him. He had fallen defending this tower, and Koyee had buried him at its base.

"May your spirit continue to watch over me, Father," she whispered, tasting a salty tear. "Goodbye."

She gazed upon Sheytusung, his katana, now her blade to bear. Smiths had forged this sword in the distant city of Pahmey, a mythical realm of crystal towers. They had folded the curved blade a dozen times, hammering it into an edge that remained sharp through the years. Mottles and lines coiled along the steel like the Inaro River that flowed below. Blue silk wrapped around the hilt, soft and warm in her hand. Twenty winters ago, her father had carried this sword to the great southern war against the Ilari nation; since returning home, he had worn it every day until his last.

"I promise you, Father, I will bear your blade proudly. I will protect our people and I will avenge your death." She whispered the old words of her people. "We are the night."

The wind in her hair, she looked south of the Nighttower toward the village that nestled below, hugging the river.

Oshy. My home.

Twenty round clay huts rose around a cobbled square. Docks spread into the river like fingers, holding a dozen boats. Lanterns swung above the water, casting dapples of light. Only a hundred souls dwelled here, for few in Eloria dared live in the light of dusk, that glow forever in their west. Yet where twilight fell the crayfish bred and thrived, and so the village of Oshy thrived too. Boats sailed down the river, bearing the delicacy to distant lands, returning with pottery, silk, and fur.

"But we need no more pottery, silk, and fur," Koyee said to her invisible friend. "We need more swords. We need soldiers. I bear the only blade in our village, and if Timandra attacks again, I cannot defend this village alone. Eelani, we must travel down the river. We must find the distant city of Pahmey, the place where this sword was forged, where brave souls train for war." Her throat tightened. "We must tell them Timandrians are real, and we must return with aid."

Her friend was silent as always, but Koyee felt a warm embrace against her cheek, a breath against her ear, a stroke along her hair. Eelani was agreeing, but the spirit was afraid.

"I'm afraid too," Koyee said. "I fear the light of day. I fear the heat of sunfire. I fear the creatures that dwell there. And I fear being alone."

She lowered her head, letting the wind whip her hair across her eyes, smooth pale strands like silk. Yes, she was alone now. Her brother, her only other family, had left Oshy ten years ago. He had sailed south along the river, dreaming of becoming a
shaikin
—a warrior for hire. He had been only sixteen, and Koyee had not seen him since.

The years had gone by, and Koyee herself was sixteen now but still unwed. A few young villagers still courted her, but others shunned her, perhaps fearing her scars. Two years ago, she had gone hunting and a feral nightwolf had attacked her, clawing her face. Three lines now marred her countenance. One scar tugged the corner of her mouth, raising her lips into a permanent, crooked smile. The other ran below her eye, and the third crossed her forehead, halving an eyebrow. Koyee didn't care. She saw little value in physical beauty, and she had never desired marriage. She was happier hunting on the starlit plains, even after her injury, than entertaining suitors. And so when men courted her, she turned them back, and when men shunned her, she felt no shame.

She loved Oshy but she'd always dreamed of leaving too, of following her brother downriver. She was destined for more than trawling for crayfish, yet she had never dared leave her father. And so she had stayed here, year after year, fishing the river, and dreaming of someday sailing away—of finding the crystal city, of seeing the silver caves where thousands lived underground, or discovering the Chanku Crater where men rode tamed nightwolves.

"We always dreamed of leaving on an adventure, Eelani," she said. "Yet now we must leave on a quest. Now we must find swords and men to wield them, or I fear the daylight will burn us all."

Koyee sheathed her blade. The scabbard, its black leather inlaid with silver fish, lay against her thigh. She left the tower top, descending the path that coiled around the stone steeple like a trail around a mountain.

When she reached the hill below, she approached her father's grave. She had buried the bones herself and piled a cairn of river stones upon them. Her father had always loved the river. Koyee knelt by the grave and whispered a prayer.

"Watch over me, Father. Protect me on my journey. You died defending our home. I will walk in your path. Your light will forever guard me." A tear streamed to her lips. "Goodbye."

She left the grave, heading across the plain of stones, dust, and boulders. The stars gleamed above. The river flowed ahead. To her east stretched the endless night, and to her west the dusk glowed, a scar across the land, a burn mark that would forever sear her soul.

She reached the village of Oshy, the only home she'd ever known. She walked between its clay huts. Silver moonstars, the runes of Qaelin—one of Eloria's empires—glowed upon round doors. Bat houses hung from roofs, their denizens staring from within. Lanterns swung upon poles, their tin shaped into faces of nightwolves, snakes, and other beasts, tallow burning behind their staring eyes.

Her fellow villagers gazed upon her too. Slender people clad in fur, their white hair billowed in the wind. Strings of shells clinked around their necks. As Koyee walked among them, they whispered prayers and blessed her.

"Koyee Mai," they said, reaching out toward her, speaking her new title—"mai", a woman with no father or husband. "We pray for him, Koyee Mai. We pray for you."

She nodded, throat tight. "The moonlight blesses him now. I pray that it blesses us all."

As she walked among them, they shed tears and sang softly, hands raised to the sky.

"Everyone loved my father, Eelani," Koyee whispered. "Do you see how they loved him? He was the guiding star of our village. He was the guiding star of my life."

She thought words she dared not speak.
But we will need more than blessings now. Timandrians are real, and they thirst for blood. Now we need not only prayers, but steel and armor.

She approached her home, the round hut where she'd been born. The door, built of leather stretched over bone, creaked as she opened it. Koyee stepped inside.

Embers glowed in a brazier, heating a pot of crayfish stew. Alcoves filled the walls, holding candles, pottery, river stones, jars of mushrooms, and bundles of dried fish. Three beds stood at the back, fur blankets topping their bone frames. One bed had belonged to her brother; it had stood here empty and cold for ten years. Another had belonged to her father; it too would remain barren.

Koyee forced herself to look away. She could not surrender to tears now. Not if Timandrians existed, not if more could attack. She raised her chin, tightened her fist around her hilt, and swallowed a lump in her throat.

"The journey east will be long, Eelani," she said. "We must travel as fast as we can."

She packed silently, filling a sack with jars of food, her hourglass, and some candles. Into her pouch, she placed all the money she had—a single copper coin.

"It's not much, and I don't know if the food will last. But it will have to do. Now say goodbye to our home and don't cry. You have to be strong, Eelani. You have to be strong like Father was."

Her katana at her side and her sack slung across her shoulder, she left her home.

As she walked across the village square, the cobblestones cold against her bare feet, the wind pierced her fur tunic, and Koyee shivered.

Past the last few huts, she reached the boardwalk of Oshy, the heart of the village. The river flowed, lit with moonlight, a silver stream that sang a familiar song. Stone docks stretched into the water, black arms in the night. A dozen junk boats sailed here, their hulls built of leather stretched over whale ribs, their battened sails painted with the moonstar of the Qaelin empire. Lanterns hung upon their masts, casting pale light.

Bare-chested men moved along the boat decks, raising nets woven of tendons and hair, pulling in crayfish, clams, and bass. Women knelt beside them, sorting the catches into tin bowls, collecting the valuable creatures and tossing minnows back into the water. The familiar scents filled Koyee's nostrils—fish and burning tallow and the sweat of labor. It was the smell of home, a smell Koyee loved.

"Koyee Mai," the fishermen and their wives said. They lowered their heads, and the wind fluttered their hair. "We will pray for you. May the moonlight bless you on your journey."

Throat tight, she nodded. "I will bring back aid. I swear to you, my friends. I will tell the elders of Pahmey of the demons that dwell here. I will return with help, I promise you."

Every villager she passed handed her a gift—silver thread, a dried mushroom, a bone hook, a ridged seashell, a jar of fireflies. They were humble gifts. They were the best gifts she had ever received.

She walked along the docks, heading toward the
Lodestar
, her father's boat. It was a small vessel, just large enough for one or two, its hull built of leather and bone. Koyee climbed inside and her eyes stung. For sixteen years, she would board
Lodestar
with her father, sail along the water, and fill nets with crayfish.

"Now I sail alone," she whispered. "Now I sail with no net in the water. Now I sail farther than I've ever gone."

The people of Oshy gathered along the docks, staring silently, all one hundred of them. They raised their hands to the moon and chanted prayers. Little Linshani, the daughter of the village potter, played old tunes with a bone flute—songs of moonlight and blessings.

Koyee untethered her boat, grabbed an oar, and steered away from the docks. The current caught
Lodestar
, moving it east along the water.

"Farewell, Koyee Mai!" cried Yinlan, the elderly bead-maker with the stooped back; he had once made Koyee a pair of ill-fitting but warm fur mittens. His eyes watered as he stood upon the docks, watching her leave. "May the constellations bless you. We pray for you, our daughter, our light in the dark."

She raised her hand, a silent gesture of farewell, and her throat felt too tight for speech. As her boat moved downriver, she remained standing, facing the village and watching it dwindle into the distance, and she kept her hand raised. The villagers of Oshy remained on the docks, singing for her until their song vanished in the distance, and the lights of Oshy sank behind the horizon.

Koyee stood alone in the boat. She heard nothing but the flowing water and cold breeze.

For the first time in her life, she did not see the dusk. No more orange glow filled the west, for the Inaro River took her into the great night, the black lands of Eloria. The stars and moon shone above, and the plains of her homeland spread all around her, dark and cold and barren.

"But you're with me, Eelani," she whispered and felt her invisible friend upon her shoulder. "And my father's sword is with me. We will not fail. We will save our village."