Shadows of Moth (18 page)

"Our
real adventure came out quite differently, didn't it, Madori?"
he whispered.

He
looked around him at the room. The chamber was small and stood high
in the pyramid of Eetek. A bed lay in the corner, topped with
tasseled cushions, and murals covered the walls, depicting egrets,
crocodiles, dragonflies, and a hundred kinds of trees. Through the
window, Tam could see the true swamps of Daenor, a land of mist and
water. But instead of exploring and seeking adventures, he was
waiting for war, for the fire to descend upon this wet land and sear
it dry.

He
looked back into the mirror. And he was different too. Where was the
Tam he had been, had dreamed to be? He saw no prince of Arden. He saw
no adventurer. He saw no mage. Instead, he saw a lost man, far from
home, far from his family and friends. He missed them. He did not
know if they still lived, if his home still existed, and the pain
constricted his throat.

The
door to the chamber opened, and in the mirror, he saw Neekeya enter
the room.

He
spun around and lost his breath.

"Hello,"
she whispered, then lowered her eyes and smiled shyly. "I'm
ready."

Some
of his fear washed away. No, he was not alone. He had Neekeya. He had
a wife. He stepped toward her, feeling the pain melt.

"You
look beautiful," he said.

She
smiled demurely. She stood clad in a chemise woven of gossamer; the
garment revealed more than it hid. Her smooth black hair hung down to
her chin, scented of flowers, and her ring encircled her finger. Tam
placed a finger under her chin, and she raised her head. Her eyes
were huge, dark pools, and her full lips parted. He kissed those full
lips, and she kissed him back, a deep kiss, their bodies pressed
together, their arms around each other.

She
took him into her bed; here was the bed of her childhood, now the bed
of her womanhood. They would not stop kissing, even as they
undressed, and they lay together, moving together, sometimes
laughing, sometimes solemn, something staring into each other's eyes,
sometimes closing their eyes and surrendering to the heat. They were
as different as day from night—his skin was pale, hers dusky as the
shadows, a prince from a palace and a warrior from a marshland
pyramid. And he knew that, no matter what the next turn might bring,
he loved her fully, and with her he was complete.

They
made love for what seemed like hours, then lay in each other's arms,
gazing up at the mural of birds upon the ceiling. She nestled close,
her arm and leg slung across him, and playfully bit his chin, then
grinned up at him. He kissed her nose.

"My
husband," she whispered.

"My
wife," he whispered back. "My
latani
."

He
closed his eyes, and though she was warm against him, and the soft
sunlight fell through the window and birds sang outside, he was
afraid, and he was back on that road in Mageria, the Radians swinging
their swords and his friends dying around him.

 
 
CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
THE VIEW IN THE LOCKET

"Slowly tilt to
the left." Old Master Lan Tao demonstrated, swaying his frail
body. "Slowly . . . slowly . . . let your right foot rise until
just your toes touch the earth. Focus your awareness on the movement,
on how your muscles work, on your breath, on—"

"I can't focus
when you talk so much!" Madori wobbled, nearly fell, and glared
at the old teacher.

He sighed. "In
battle, when arrows fly and swords swing, will you tell your enemy
that you cannot focus while they try to kill you? You must be able to
focus even as they attack; you should be able to handle words from an
old man's mouth. Now—tilt! Slowly . . . to the left . . . be aware
of every breath . . ."

She grumbled but
she obeyed. As he had taught her, she cleared her mind of thought,
focusing all her awareness on the movement of her body as she tilted
to the left—the muscles stretching, the weight shifting, her strands
of hair falling free from behind her ears, the feel of the ground
beneath her bare feet, and the air entering and leaving her lungs.
When they swayed to the right, she kept breathing deeply, letting
every thought that entered her mind flow away.

For long moons now,
she had been training with Master Lan Tao, and still he did not
allowed her to swing her sword. Sometimes, he had her sit still all
turn, focusing her awareness on each part of her body in turn—her
toes for what seemed like hours, then finally her feet, then her
legs, then her hips, gradually moving up to her head as the turn
ended. Other turns, he had her focus her awareness on sounds she
heard: the wind in the canyons of the Desolation, the creaks of
rocks, the snorts of her nightwolf, the scuttling of animals and
bats, and a thousand other sounds she had never imagined could exist
in this wilderness. Other turns Lan Tao insisted that she simply
breathed, monitoring her mind for thoughts: memories, planning,
fears, or sometimes just random daydreams . . . allowing all thoughts
to flow away, to disperse like clouds, letting her awareness return
to her breath again and again, a rebirth every time she inhaled.

When they were
finally done, Madori rubbed her shoulders. She asked the same
question she asked every turn. "Master Lan Tao, when will you
teach me how to fight?"

And he gave her the
same answer he always did. "I already am, my student. With every
breath."

"But I want to
learn with the sword!" she countered as always.

He would only shake
his head. "First you must learn to fight with your awareness,
with your soul, with your body. Once you have mastered Yin Shi, then,
child, you may lift your sword and let the blade be a part of you."

Madori sighed. She
had been here for three moons now, and she had spent all that time
training in Yin Shi. She couldn't wait much longer for battle.
Whenever she gazed into her locket, she saw new Elorian forces
mustering at the dusk. One time, Koyee had stood upon the roof of
Salai Castle, held the locket up, and let Madori see the tips of
distant enemy towers—siege engines prepared for war. Any turn now,
Madori knew, the invasion of Eloria would begin.

"And I'll be
stuck here," she muttered. "Without even a sword."

With their training
done for the turn, Master Lan Tao prepared their usual dinner—a
bland paste of mushed mushrooms sprinkled with dried eel flakes. As
always, the old man sat perched on a hilltop, staring into the
distance as he chewed slowly, mouthful after mouthful. Madori had
stared at that landscape so many times—she had memorized every nook
and cranny in the Desolation, and she could have drawn from memory
the jagged boulders, snaking canyons, the cracks in the craters, and
the scree upon the hillsides. This turn, instead of eating with her
master, she simply grabbed her bowl of food, stomped toward the cave
where she slept, and entered the shadows. Barely any moonlight filled
this place, which suited Madori. She sat cross legged, took a
spoonful of food, and grimaced at the taste. Forcing herself to
swallow, she pulled her locket from her shirt.

"I miss you,
Mother," she whispered. A lump filled her throat, and it was not
from the stew. "I'm so worried. I'm so scared for you and Father
and everyone else."

She peeked outside,
waiting for the moon to reach its zenith, the time she and Koyee had
agreed to open their lockets in tandem. Her bowl of stew was empty
and her eyes were drooping when the time came. With a deep breath,
she opened her locket, expecting to see her mother smile at her.

Madori gasped.

She dropped the
locket.

Her eyes burned.

By
the stars . . .

Trembling, she
lifted the locket again and stared into it. She grimaced. Instead of
Koyee's smiling face, she saw fire burning. Magerian troops marching.
Enemy warships in the water. The land rose and fell, and the vision
spun madly, sometimes vanishing, sometimes appearing at odd angles.
It took a moment for Madori to understand; her mother was running,
the locket bouncing and spinning upon her chest, sometimes clattering
shut, sometimes knocked open.

"The invasion
is here," Madori whispered. She gripped the locket. Her voice
rose to a shout. "Mother! Mother!"

But the locket
could convey no sound. Madori watched, clutching it so tightly it
nearly snapped. Koyee's locket swayed madly, and for a moment Madori
saw only steaks of color and light. When the image settled, she
realized that Koyee had leaped into a boat and had begun to sail
downriver. Arrows flew overhead. When the locket spun west, Madori
caught a glimpse of Salai Castle. It crumbled before her eyes, its
roofs collapsing, its walls cracking. Beyond the castle spread an
army of thousands, its Radian banners held high.

"Mother!"
Madori cried again.

The
locket spun—Koyee turning back eastward. Several other Qaelish
soldiers sat in the boat with Koyee, faces grim and bleeding, their
armor cracked. One soldier was shouting something. Madori could read
his lips:
Oar
faster! Retreat!

"Mother, can
you hear me?" Madori shouted into the locket. "Mother, are
you all right? Mother!"

A voice rose from
the cave's entrance. "Calm yourself, Madori. Breathe. Like I
taught you."

She spun toward the
cave entrance, her eyes damp, her chest heaving. "Master Lan
Tao! Timandra invades! Armies flow into the night and—"

"Let your
thoughts leave you," he said. "Calm yourself. Breathe. In .
. . slowly . . . feel the breath—"

"This is no
time for a lesson!" Madori shouted. She shoved herself past him.
"Where is my sword? War! I have no time for your Yin Shi
breathing now. War is h—"

It
was his turn to interrupt. "This is
precisely
the time for breathing. When the sky is falling, that is when we must
remain most calm. Breathe. Slowly." He inhaled deeply as if to
demonstrate. "Hold the breath . . . and release." When she
opened her mouth to object, he silenced her with a glare. "Do
it."

Her insides
trembled, and her mind was a storm, but she forced herself to obey.
She took a deep, slow breath, yet still her mind raged. Her mother
was in danger! The enemy attacked! Perhaps her mother was dead
already. She needed to look into the locket again, she—

"Focus all
your awareness on your breath," said Lan Tao, voice soothing.
"Let all your thoughts leave you."

She wanted to
object. How could he force her to train now?

This
is not training,
she realized.
This
is mastery of Yin Shi in a true storm.

She let all
thoughts flow away. She exhaled. She inhaled again. Her mind cleared,
becoming like a still pond. After a few more breaths, she looked back
into her locket.

It had fallen dark.

Madori looked back
up at her master. "My mother is fleeing down the Inaro River.
She will be heading to the great city of Pahmey where more soldiers
await. I must join her, Master. I must fight at her side."

Suddenly Master Lan
Tao seemed very old. He had always seemed old to her but vigorous
too; now he truly showed his age, his wrinkles deep, his eyes sad.

"Your training
is incomplete," he said, and she heard the pain in his voice.

"Perhaps we're
never ready for a storm," Madori said. "But I've learned so
much. I cannot linger here, safe while my mother flees and fights,
while our people need me. Return my sword, Master. Please. I will
wield that blade proudly—as my grandfather did, as my mother did. I
will make you proud, Master, and I will not forget all that you
taught me."

He lowered his
head. For a moment his shoulders stooped. But then he straightened,
raised his chin, and turned to walk down the hillside.

Madori bounded
outside of the cave and ran after him. "Master Lan Tao! Will you
let me leave? Will you return my sword?"

He kept walking,
not turning back toward her. Madori ran behind him, panting. Grayhem
raced up toward her and loped at her side.

The old master
walked toward a crater full of still, silver water that reflected the
moonlight. Kneeling, he reached into the water and pulled out
Sheytusung, the blade of legend. The moonlight reflected against it.
The Yin Shi master turned back toward Madori and held out the katana.

"It
has been blessed with moonlight and with water," he said. "And
now it truly passes to other hands, to a student of Yin Shi. It no
longer shall be named Sheytusung, for that was its name in other
hands, a name that means the light of the river, a name of brightness
and swiftness. Now I name it
Min
Tey
,
the glow of the water, a name of calm and stillness."

Madori took the
blade reverently, and it felt warm in her hand, and the light and
water still clung to it.

I
will make you proud, Grandfather, Mother, Master,
she thought. She hung the sword across her back and climbed onto
Grayhem.
I
will remember all that I learned.

She rode out of the
Desolation, her sword upon her back and her locket hanging around her
neck. She stared into the southern, dark emptiness, and she traveled
by the starlight, heading to Pahmey, heading to war.

 
 
CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
THE RAVEN AND THE BEAR

The limestone bear
rose from the forest, craggy and frosted, a sentinel taller than any
tree. Snow gathered around its feet, and eras of wind and hail had
beaten its form. Perhaps once every strand of its fur had been
lovingly carved, every fang and claw detailed, but now the statue
looked like molten rock, barely more than abstract. Torin had to
crane his neck all the way back to see its roaring face high above;
the statue must have loomed three hundred feet tall.

"A statue of
Gashdov," Torin said. His horse nickered beneath him, breath
frosting. "The fabled Guardian Bear of Verilon, a god of the
north. They say the true Gashdov isn't much smaller than this statue,
a beast to dwarf all others."