Moths to a Flame

by Sarah Ash

  ‘What’s wrong, Laili? I could not come before now. You know I would have come sooner had not court affairs detained me.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, detaching herself from his embrace, wandering over to the edge of the pool.

  ‘Are you angry with me?’

  She shook her head but did not look round. The pool waters were glassy, a mirror of polished amethyst in which their reflections seemed as insubstantial as shadows.

  ‘So what is troubling you?’ He drew closer until his hands rested on her shoulders.

  ‘That – that shameful business in the arena. That butchery. What kind of a god demands the sacrifice of innocents?’ She turned around and stared up into his face. ‘Is this the supreme being who guides your life?’

  His hands dropped away from her shoulders.

  ‘Innocents, lady? Condemned criminals, every man. Each one given the chance to begin a new life – or die a hero’s death in the arena.’

  ‘You made Lai fight. You made him kill. He is a gentle man, a good man. Why did you do this to him?’

  ‘Your brother was already a criminal. He almost killed one of the Zhudiciar’s men, remember.’

  ‘He did it to save me,’ Laili said stubbornly.

  ‘So you would rather he had been executed? Or left to die in the donjon? An interminable, cruel death.’

  ‘There has to be some other way.’

  ‘There is no other way. It is the law. It has always been this way.’

  Laili thought she detected a tone of hopelessness in Melmeth’s words.

  ‘Maybe it is time to change.’

  ‘But the god must be requited.’

  ‘The god, the god, always the god. My lord, are you Arkhan – or do the priests of Mithiel rule?’

  He stared at her, his green eyes hooded.

  Now I have gone too far. Now he will punish me.

  ‘Forgive me. I should not have spoken against your god.’

  ‘No. No.’ He seemed to be struggling with some inner dilemma. ‘Maybe it is time someone spoke out. Maybe—’ His words trailed away into silence. It was so dark in the courtyard now that she could see nothing but the glimmer of his eyes. ‘Lai wants to see you, Laili. He wants to take you home.’

  ‘Home.’ A faint sigh escaped her lips.

  ‘I gave him my word. But now … I do not think I can bear to let you go.’

  Laili turned to him in the darkness; her heart singing. He loved her.

  ‘Then tell Lai I cannot go home. Not while my lord still needs me.’

  It was late when Lai returned to the Tarkhas Memizhon; the moon was already high in the sky and the panelled corridors of the Tarkhas House were dusted with moonshadows. Maybe Ymarys was asleep … or out at one of the pleasure houses of the city.

  Lai knocked softly at Ymarys’s door.

  ‘Come …’

  The room beyond was lit only by the moon. Ymarys was sitting cross-legged on his couch, cloaked in his unbraided hair. A thin wisp of dreamweed smoke rose from the bowl of the glass pipe, pearlescently blue in the moonlight.

  ‘Lai.’ A lazy, drawling laugh, soft as the purr of a wildcat came from the back of Ymarys’s throat. ‘Well, well, well …’

  The wafting fumes were like dark, sweet vanilla, yet with a lingeringly bitter undertone that made Lai’s eyes sting. He hesitated.

  ‘Come in.’ Ymarys gestured with the pipe, a long, languid gesture, drawing Lai closer. ‘Sit. So to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?’

  He seemed half-drowsed on the opiate; Lai was already regretting his decision to come, seeing that Ymarys was unlikely to give him any kind of lucid answer.

  ‘The Torella Sarilla. I saw her greet you last night.’ Lai lowered himself onto the tasselled cushions. ‘Have you ever seen a body slave, a girl with hair my colour in her household?’

  Ymarys slowly blew a thin breath of blue smoke from between his lips.

  ‘I might have done.’

  ‘Come now, Ymarys! Are there that many redheads in the court?’

  Elegant fingers reached out and gently brushed Lai’s hair.

  ‘Moonlight on flames. Frost-dusted autumn leaves.’

  ‘Ymarys—’

  ‘Hair your colour? She is related to you?’

  ‘My sister Laili. Sarilla bought us as a pair. If there were any way you could introduce me to the Torella so that I might—’

  Ymarys let out a disdainful snort. ‘Tcha! Still so naïve, Lai Dhar. You’ve much to learn of the ways of Myn-Dhiel.’

  ‘Is the Torella too exalted then to receive me?’

  ‘Heavens, no! She adopted me as her protégé some years ago. She adores the attentions of comely, well-made young men.’

  ‘Then what’s the problem?’

  Ymarys drew in on the pipe; the burning weed glowed in the bowl of the pipe, a firefly in the darkened room.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do tonight. Here, have some dreamweed …’ He took the pipe from his mouth and placed it to Lai’s lips; Lai pushed it away.

  ‘Go on. You look so driven, so haunted, Lai. Take the smoke in, let the fumes release you …’

  ‘I don’t want dreamweed. I want answers!’ Lai rose to his feet and went towards the door.

  ‘Stay a while,’ Ymarys said, pleadingly. He placed the pipe down on a metal tray tarnished with a thin layer of weed ash. ‘Don’t go. I could help you. It’s just that …’ He paused delicately. ‘Do you remember I once hinted to you that Melmeth has a secret mistress, one he keeps hidden away?’

  ‘No. Oh no.’

  ‘Hush. I’ve said more than I should have said.’

  ‘Laili.’ The realisation pierced like a violent stab in the stomach. Lai doubled up, clutching the pain in.

  ‘It’s an honour. To be the chosen mistress of the Arkhan. If you can survive long enough, that is, to enjoy the privilege.’

  ‘But why this secrecy? Why can’t I see her?’

  ‘Bide your time. Be patient. He’s bound to tire of her, he usually does if Clodolë doesn’t get to her first—’

  ‘If she’s in danger—’

  ‘She’s safe in Sarilla’s keeping. The Torella is experienced in these matters. She was Sardion’s mistress and heaven knows, enough rivals tried to poison her in her time.’

  Suddenly the sickly sweet fumes of the dreamweed seemed to be stifling; desperate for clean air, Lai went to the window and pushed the shutters open, leaning out into the night.

  ‘Laili. Melmeth’s mistress.’

  The moon suddenly shone full over the rooftops.

  And from the darkness of the moonhaunted night came a distant silvershimmer of sound.

  Lai raised his head, listening.

  ‘What’s that?’ Ymarys whispered.

  ‘Ymarys!’ Yet as Lai leaned forwards, straining to catch the echo of the elusive sound-source – it began again. Thin silver music wreathing dreamily over the sleeping city, distant, high, fluting …

  ‘I don’t believe it. It’s not possible.’

  ‘What is it?’ Ymarys came to stand close behind him.

  Thread after silver thread of intricate moonspun sound unravelled. A sound to ravish the heart. To make the heart ache almost to breaking.

  ‘Hai … so beautiful … Where is that music coming from, Lai?’

  Lai could not answer. The words had choked in his throat; if he spoke, he would weep aloud.

  Down they came, drifting from the moonblue sky like flakes of snow.

  ‘What are they?’ Ymarys said. His drug-haunted eyes seemed transfigured in the moonlight.

  Lai struggled to find the words to tell him.

  ‘Moonmoths. Sacred to our Goddess.’

  ‘Moonmoths?’ Ymarys repeated. They both gazed out into the night, mesmerised by the swooping, glittering flight of the frail-winged insects. The dark air sparkled with the iridescent dust from their bodies.

  ‘Moonmoths,’ Lai said again mechanically. ‘They sing … just one night, the night of the sprin
g moon … then they mate, lay their eggs and die.’

  ‘I’ve never seen these moonmoths of yours before.’

  He hardly heard Ymarys, he was listening to that insistent, persistent music so pure, so liquid it had flowed through his consciousness like a crystal stream of clearwater. It was a struggle to wrench his mind to focus on what Ymarys was saying. Far below he could hear delighted cries from the courtyard; other casements were opening, tarkhastars and servitors were leaning out to stare, to gaze at the wonder.

  Is this a sign to your servants, Goddess? A sign of forgiveness? Or a call, summoning us home to the Grove?

  ‘How can I bring her home now?’ he cried aloud to the bland face of the moon.

  He stopped, realising that Ymarys was staring at him in utter incomprehension.

  CHAPTER 10

  ‘It’s such a beautiful night.’ Melmeth took Laili’s hand between his own. ‘Come, walk with me in the gardens.’

  Laili’s heart quickened; it was such an ordinary thing to do, to walk hand-in-hand with a lover in the moonlight – and yet he had never before asked her to accompany him beyond the confines of her tower room.

  ‘But if someone should see us?’

  ‘What will they see? Two moon phantoms haunting the Grove of Blue Terebinth.’

  Outside the dark air was deliciously fresh, the grass still wet underfoot. The last high tatters of cloud drifted away and the moon suddenly shone full over the gardens.

  And from the moonshadowed Grove of Blue Terebinth a distant shimmer of sound rose to greet the moon.

  ‘What is that?’ Melmeth stopped, his hand clutching hers.

  ‘I – I don’t know,’ Laili said in a whisper, head raised, listening.

  Down they came, drifting from the moonblue sky like flakes of snow. And the summer night was filled with the beat of their soft wings, their febrile silvered song.

  ‘Look, Laili!’ Melmeth, delight trembling in his voice, showed her his cupped hands; as he slowly opened them she saw the delicate creature trapped inside, its velvet wings dusted with scented spangles, its dark eyes huge beneath white wisps of antennae.

  ‘Moths. Moonmoths,’ she said wonderingly.

  ‘Have you ever seen the like before?’

  She nodded.

  ‘What can have brought them to our shores? Where have they come from?’

  ‘Ael Lahi …’ The name was just a whisper. A whisper of longing. A sudden aching homesickness.

  ‘Ael Lahi! They are far from home. Just like you, my Laili—’ He suddenly shook the moth away; it fluttered weakly to the ground as he clapped his hand to his mouth.

  ‘What is it? Let me see!’

  ‘It stung me.’

  ‘Surely not!’ Laughing, she prised his hand from his lips to examine what damage had been done. ‘I can’t even see the—’

  ‘So sweet on the tongue,’ he said, puzzled, his goldgreen eyes softening.

  There was a tiny mark, a puncture-mark, no bigger than the end of a pin below his thumb; even as she looked at it, it closed over, leaving the skin smooth. ‘There’s – nothing here.’

  ‘The taste. Taste, Laili. Sweeter than dreamweed …’

  She drew away from his outstretched hand, from the dust still glimmering on his palm.

  ‘You must not taste it. Not unless you seek to invoke the Goddess—’

  ‘You are not in Ael Lahi now, Laili.’

  No. And these were not, perhaps, the same moonmoths that had haunted the Sacred Grove, though the adepts had always believed them to be unique. There was something indefinably different about them, something that made her feel uneasy …

  Laili gazed out of her window. The moths were everywhere now, in the moonlit gardens, swirling like snow about the tower. Melmeth had not come. Perhaps something she had said last night had displeased him … he had seemed abstracted.

  ‘Laili!’

  The Torella stood in the doorway. Her eyes were huge and dark, swimming with secrets.

  ‘Sweet child! You’re unhappy. You must have some dust!’ Her steps wavered drunkenly as she crossed the room. A strange scent clung to her hair, her warm breath as she embraced Laili. Laili drew back, shaking her head.

  ‘But it’s wonderful! I knew you’d be alone tonight. I said to myself, poor little neglected Laili, I must go and cheer her up.’

  ‘You know where he is?’ Laili seized hold of her hand. ‘Why hasn’t he come?’

  ‘Ssh,’ she said, pressing one wavering finger to Laili’s lips. ‘He’s the Arkhan. He can do as he pleases.’

  ‘Who is he with, Sarilla? Is it Clodolë?’

  ‘Clodolë!’ She began to giggle. ‘He hasn’t bedded her in a year.’

  ‘Another mistress?’

  ‘O, is my little protégée jealous? And only a few months ago you wouldn’t let my lord even touch your little finger. Listen, sweeting, my lord has always been … how shall I say …? catholic in his tastes. Sometimes he tires of female company …’

  Laili stared at her blankly.

  ‘Forget him! Take some boskh.’ She opened the stone on her ring, pushing it under Laili’s nose. ‘I almost killed to get this. It cost me a pair of ruby earrings. One taste of this and you’ll forget your heartache.’

  The spiced sweetness wreathed upwards from the glittering cavity beneath the ringstone. Just the scent of it evoked the moonblue sands, the silvered sea of Ael Lahi. But Laili could see only Sarilla’s drug-hazed eyes staring enticingly back.

  ‘No. No thank you.’

  ‘You’re turning down a glimpse of heaven … Yskhysse. Ecstasy that goes on and on …’

  ‘People are using the dust? Eating it?’

  ‘But yes, my dear.’ She fluttered her eyelashes mockingly. ‘What did you imagine they were doing? It really is the most exquisite experience …’ She began to giggle again. ‘Don’t conceive for a moment that my lord hasn’t tried it too. It won’t be long before he invites you to share in his glimpse of heaven … They say it increases a man’s virility sevenfold! My dear – just think!’

  It was a warm summer’s night and yet Laili suddenly felt chilled to the bone. The moon’s cold light illuminated the madly skittering mothflight, specks of darkness flitting across her silver face.

  And in the stillness came a curious, dry rustling, sere as the fall of withered magnolia petals.

  A single moonmoth had strayed into the room, drawn to the pale flame of the lucerna. Laili reached up her hands and caught it as, singed, it dropped towards the heart of the flame.

  ‘So far from home,’ she murmured, feeling its last shudders beating against her enfolding hands.

  Laili tried to settle to sleep … but the silken sheets seemed to stick to her skin in the sultry heat. She kept imagining Melmeth embraced in another’s arms, naked, whispering those endearments she had thought were hers alone …

  And her lord’s absence was not the only worry preventing her from sleep.

  She lay counting days on her fingers in the darkness. At length she could bear it no longer.

  She rose, wrapping a thin gown, purple and gold, embroidered with heartsease petals, about her naked body. Her thick hair was sticky with sweat, she tied it back with an opalescent gauze scarf, one of his first gifts to her. She lit the lucerna, sat at her desk and scribbled down a record of the days that had passed since … since she had last bled.

  The waning moonlight faded from the chamber wall. She should have started to bleed two mooncycles ago. But when they first captured her, she had ceased bleeding for several cycles; then, a gap had meant nothing.

  Her loose gown gaped open as she wrote. Her breasts were swollen, the translucent veins blue as iris petals. They burned. If her fears were correct she must be at least twelve weeks with child …

  And no concubine of Melmeth’s had ever produced a living child, Sarilla had told her so. Clodolë had seen to it. Most miscarried. One died. Clodolë was Arkhys of Ar-Khendye. She would not tolerate any rival.

  How lon
g could she keep it a secret?

  The Arkhan will see no one else today.’

  ‘Fhedryn … please—’

  ‘I can’t make any exceptions – not even for you, Lai Dhar.’ Fhedryn, the Arkhan’s chamberlain, barred Lai’s way with his ebony staff. ‘He’s not to be disturbed. You’ll have to come back tomorrow and wait your turn like the rest of the petitioners.’

  Lai went striding angrily away from the audience chamber.

  ‘Psst! Zhan Razhirrakh!’

  A dhamzel was beckoning him to follow her. Plump Lerillys, Clodolë’s favourite and confidante.

  Lai glanced about him uneasily, wondering if she truly meant him. There was no one else in sight.

  ‘Come,’ she called softly. ‘My mistress is awaiting you.’

  Clodolë was sitting, one leg curled beneath her, on a cushion-strewn couch, feeding sweetmeats to a snuffling lapdog.

  ‘Have you missed me, Lai? I’ve missed you,’ she said, smiling up at him.

  ‘You promised me,’ he said, determined not to be diverted this time. ‘You promised me for news of my sister. You promised me you would speak with the Arkhan. Every time I try to see him, I am sent away.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘You’re so impatient …’

  ‘He said she would be freed if I won in the arena!’

  ‘To hear you rant one would suspect something more than a fraternal relationship between you and your beloved Laili … Do I detect a whiff of incest, dearest Lai?’

  ‘Incest!’ Lai cried. ‘You twist everything around, don’t you, you see the whole world through your own warped vision. I don’t have to stay here listening to your insinuations!’

  ‘Stop!’ She rose to her feet, the dish of sweetmeats sliding to the floor; the little dog greedily pursued the remaining sweets as they rolled under the couch. ‘How dare you go before I have dismissed you?’

  ‘I am not your pet lapdog,’ said Lai coldly and made for the door.

  She reached the door before him, blocking the way out, arms spread wide.

  ‘Oh, no! To leave you must first remove me. And if you lay a finger on me, one finger, I shall scream for the tarkhastars on duty. What will Melmeth say when I tell him you tried to force me?’ She tore open the front of her goldgauze gown, the filmy fabric ripping, baring her breasts. Her voice rose hysterically. ‘There. Explain your wav out of that!’