All across the army, a hundred thousand torches crackled to life, a second sky of lights. Smoke plumed and sparks filled the air. The smell of fire rose in Torin's nostrils, and strangely, it reminded him of his childhood roasting sausages around campfires.
A white horse galloped by, and Torin's spirits sank even deeper. A grimace tugged his face. Atop the stallion sat Ferius, his yellow robes flapping. The monk raised a torch and shrieked, spraying saliva.
"For the light of Timandra! Take their village. Slay the demons of the dark!"
With roars that rang across the land, the army raced forward.
They had crossed the dusk at a quick march, but now they ran and roared for victory.
They raced down the hillside, a swarm of torches, swords, and arrows. Horses galloped ahead. The ground troops raced behind. Chariots trundled and banners flapped and everywhere men shouted. Torin gripped his reins and galloped with the rest of the cavalry. He bounced in the saddle, nearly fell, and clung on. The world rose and fell around him and the roars nearly deafened him.
"Torin!" Bailey shouted. "Don't get ahead, damn you!"
She ran alongside him, jumped up, and tried to grab his saddle.
"Bailey, let go!" he said, appalled. "You're going to get trampled here."
Running between the horses, she growled up at him. Her arms pumped. Torin was forced to slow his gallop to match her stride. The rest of the cavalry thundered all around, raising dust, nearly trampling the young woman.
"Idar's beard!" he cursed, reached down, and grabbed Bailey's arm. He tugged, she leaped, and soon she sat behind him in the saddle.
"I told you!" she shouted as they kept riding, clouds of dust rising around them. "I have to look after you."
"Bailey, you nearly got trampled to death! I'm the one looking after you so far."
She gripped him from behind.
"Now gallop, we're falling behind." She pointed ahead at the rest of the horses. "Ferius is there, and I don't trust him. Go, go!"
Torin leaned forward, dug his heels into the horse, and the beast ran faster. They followed the rest of the cavalry, the lands rising and falling all around. Thousands of troops ran around them, waving their weapons and chanting for blood. The village grew larger ahead, lights like stars; there couldn't have been more than thirty huts. A dozen boats swayed at the docks, their masts topped with lanterns.
As they drew nearer, a horde that covered the landscape, Elorians emerged from their homes. They pointed, shouted, and bustled like ants from a disturbed hive.
"These are not warriors," Torin whispered. "They're holding fishing rods and tools."
Nobody heard him. All around the soldiers roared, swords flashed, and horses thundered. The smoke of torches covered the sky, crimson and black.
"Take their town!" the king cried somewhere ahead. "Archers, take out their defenders."
Torin looked around, grimacing. A thousand archers pulled their bowstrings. A thousand arrows filled the night, their tips lit with the torchlight. Whistles filled the air. Elorians screamed and fell, pierced with the projectiles.
"He's murdering them!" Bailey said, sitting behind Torin in the saddle. She wrapped her arms so tightly around him he could barely breathe. "Those are just . . . just villagers."
Torin gritted his teeth and spurred his horse. Ahead, the first lines of cavalry charged into the village. Knights on horseback roared, swung their swords, and cut Elorians apart. A few of the villagers began to flee. They raced across the landscapes; arrows tore them down.
"Your Highness!" Torin shouted, riding through smoke, seeking the king. Finally he saw the man ahead, his torch reflecting against his raven helmet. Torin tugged the reins, directing his horse toward the monarch. He found himself riding through the village, the huts blurring at his sides. Boats were burning in the river to his right.
"Your Highness, please!" Torin shouted, riding toward the king.
Smoke filled his eyes and mouth. Torin coughed. A scream rose. He waved the smoke aside to see an Elorian racing his way.
Torin tugged the reins and his horse reared. The Elorian screamed ahead, white hair wild, eyes wide. For an instant, Torin thought it might be the Elorian girl he had seen, the one with the scarred face. But no—this Elorian seemed older, a woman with pale skin clutching a humble knife. Children cowered behind her against a hut, weeping. With a scream, the Elorian ran toward Torin, knife slashing.
The horse whinnied. The blade sparked across its armor.
Torin clung to the saddle. His horse's hooves hit the ground. Torin raised his sword above the Elorian, but couldn't bring himself to land the blow.
She stared at him, eyes wide.
"Run," he said to her. "Run from this village. Take your children and r—"
With a flutter of yellow robes, Ferius rode by. The monk grinned, swung a mace, and clubbed the woman's head.
Torin stared, heart freezing, as the woman fell the ground, her skull caved in. With a flash of armor, knights on horseback thundered by, swords swung, and when Torin could see again, the mother's children lay cut and trampled.
"Winky," Bailey whispered in the saddle and clung to him. "Oh Winky, they're killing them all."
Wincing, Torin led his horse around the corpses. Blood spilled across cobblestones. All around the village the army sprawled like a swarm of insects around a fallen fruit. Torin rode around a hut and saw the king ahead.
"Your Highness!" he shouted hoarsely, smoke in his throat. "These are no soldiers. The village is ours. We cannot butcher humble people. We—"
"They are nothing but creatures," interjected a voice. Ferius came riding between Torin and the king, smiling toothily. "And they are all already dead. There is nothing you can do to save your beloved monsters, boy." He smirked, clutching his bloodied mace. "This village is ours, and light shines in the darkness."
Torin looked around him, panting, and saw nothing but smoke, blood, soldiers, and bodies. The corpses lay everywhere—Elorians of pale skin and large eyes, their bodies pierced with arrows, swords, and spears. The huts and fishing boats burned. Fire lit the night.
A scream sounded behind him.
Bailey leaped from the saddle, ran forward, and lunged at Ferius. She screamed and swung her sword his way.
"Bailey!" Torin shouted.
Grunting, Ferius parried her blow with his mace. The blade rang and chipped.
"Bailey, no!" Torin jumped off his horse and pulled her back. "If you attack him, they'll imprison you again. Bailey, listen to me! They're already dead. We can't save them."
She was screaming and weeping, her face red, her eyes full of tears.
"I will kill you, Ferius!" she screamed as Torin pulled her back. "You will taste this steel!"
Vaguely, he was aware of Cam and Hem running up toward them. Their eyes were wide, their cheeks flushed. Torin still held Bailey. He began to pull her away, smoothing her hair and whispering into her ear.
"Come with me, Bailey. It's too late. Let's get out of this smoke."
He took her out of the village and they walked across the plains. All around them, soldiers chanted in victory. A few scattered bodies of Elorians, those who had fled the village, lay dead upon the rock, arrows in their backs. Torin and Bailey kept walking until they climbed a dark hill, rising from the mass of steel and smoke and fire.
"Oh, Winky," Bailey whispered, embraced him, and buried her face against his shoulder. "How has this happened?"
He stroked her hair, held her close, and stared down the hill. The armies of Timandra sprawled across the plains. Within the horde, like a great campfire, the village of Elorians burned.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:
THE DISTANT FIRE
The world could be burning, Koyee thought, but inside the Green Geode only light, laughter, and languor would swirl. She stood upon her little stage, barely more than a stone pedestal, playing the beautiful brass flute Nukari had given her. She could barely see through the green smoke that swirled before her, fillin
g this chamber of crystals. All across the floor, the spicers lay sprawled upon mattresses, puffing on their hookahs. Purple hintan bubbled in glass vials, and the smoke formed dragons, warriors, and demons before dispersing into a cloud that forever hid the ceiling. A few men sometimes blinked, seemed to rise from stupor, and tossed a coin her way; most could only lie puffing and drooling.
Perhaps I too am in a land of forgetting here, Koyee thought. She had been here for so long already. She did not know how long. There were no hourglasses here; Nukari forbade them. Time did not flow within the Green Geode, only liquid spice and drool.
But I will soon escape, she thought as she played. Ever so slowly, her coins were piling up. Nukari took from her so much—for her gown, for her new flute, for her meals, and for her bed. Sometimes she thought he charged her for the spice fumes she breathed. Whenever she objected, he threatened to toss her back out into the street. And so she stayed. And so she still stood here, playing the same tune, again and again, coin by coin.
"Madori Mai!" said Lilika, the singer with the golden eyes, when Koyee was done playing. "Madori Mai, come upstairs, it's a full moon. Time for our Silver Festival."
The yezyana smiled. Blue paint coated her eyelids, and she wore a silk dress Koyee would have blushed to wear. She was tall and fair, the fairest of the yezyani, her skin pale and pure as moonlight, her hair dyed a gleaming gold. She wore a tiara shaped as Shenlai, the blue dragon of Qaelin, for she was queen among the yezyani, a beauty like a spirit from ancient tales.
"My name is Koyee," she said to the singer, feeling short and plain beside her, keenly aware of the scars that marred her face.
Lilika shook her head, covered her mouth, and giggled. "That is your outside name. Here you are Madori and I am Lilika. Come, upstairs!"
The other yezyani ran toward her, silks fluttering. Dancers, singers, and professional flirts, they all giggled and grabbed Koyee, tugging her off her stage and onto the stairway.
"Yezyani, yezyani!" shouted Nukari, running around the bar where he was mixing his liquid spice. "Back onto your stages. Move your little backsides!"
They only laughed and waved their hands at him.
"Go dance instead of us, Nukari!" one said, giggling.
The others squealed with joy. "Go, go, you are a beautiful woman!"
"It is the Silver Moon," said Lilika with a smile. "We yezyani celebrate now."
Nukari's face reddened, which only made the young women laugh louder. Confused, Koyee gasped as her fellow yezyani pulled her upstairs in a stream of flashing silks, sparkling jewels, and tinkling laughter.
They pulled her into Lilika's room, the largest of the upstairs chambers, for she was a first among them, and this room was her palace. Strings of crystals hung from the ceiling, and a great bed covered half the floor, large enough for ten people to sleep in. Koyee's heart raced. Why had they brought her here? Did they have some . . . some cruel initiation to inflict upon her? Would they strike her, mock her, or force her to prove her loyalty—to swallow a live spider, shave her hair, or dance like a marionette? Koyee wanted to flee this room, feeling safer in the shroud of smoke downstairs.
Atana, the little puppeteer—an impish girl with large ears and gleaming green eyes—pulled glasses from a drawer. She grinned and filled them with spirits.
"Drink, Madori!" she said, handing her a cup. "Let us drink for the moon."
When Koyee looked outside the window, she could see the moon, full and silver and shining between crystal towers . . . and yet it glowed beyond iron bars. For all its light and laughter, Koyee thought the Green Geode little more than a prison.
When I have enough coins to leave, she thought, staring between the bars, will I even find a way out?
She thought of Oshy, wondering if the people there were gazing upon the same moon this night, celebrating its glow. She missed home.
Queen Lilika raised her glass. "To the moon!" she said. "To new friends. To the yezyani, bringers of joy and warmth in a world of darkness."
She drank solemnly. All around her, the other women fell silent and drank too. The spirits burned down Koyee's throat, pinched her nose, and warmed her belly. She wrinkled her nose and coughed, and the yezyani laughed.
After slamming down their glasses, the yezyani sat upon the great bed, pulled Koyee between them, and laughed and touched her hair.
"You never talk to us, Madori!" said Queen Lilika, playing with her golden hair. "Always you stand on your pedestal alone, then hurry upstairs like a nightwolf is biting your bottom. Always you hide in your little room. Tell us about you."
The other yezyani bounced up and down on the bed.
"Where are you from?" asked Atana. "Your accent is not of Pahmey." The puppeteer imitated Koyee, feigning a village accent. "I am Madori Mai. I play the flute. Leave me alone; I don't like to talk." She winked, grinned, then collapsed onto the bed in a fit of laughter.
Another yezyana reached out toward her cheek, and Koyee recoiled, sure that the girl would mock her scars, but the young dancer only said, "Your skin is so fair! You don't even need white paint."
Koyee's fear began to ease. There was no cruelty here. These yezyani were silly, but they would not torment her the way Longarm had in the graveyard. She smiled hesitantly, and when they poured her more spirits, she drank again.
"I'm from a small village named Oshy," she said. "I'm an orphan and moved to Pahmey after our village was attacked." She looked down into her cup. "Oshy is on the border of the day. A sunlit demon slew my father."
Her eyes watered, and when she blinked them, she saw the other yezyani's smiles vanish. They stared at her, eyes wide. Little Atana, barely larger than a child, covered her mouth. Tall and fair Lilika, wearing her dragon tiara, tilted her head and raised her eyebrows. They all stared silently.
"So it really exists?" whispered Atana, her mischievous smile gone. "A land covered in firelight, a realm where a great star burns in the sky, large as the moon and bright as lightning?" She trembled and covered her eyes.
Lilika pulled the petite puppeteer into an embrace. "Of course it's not real, Atana. There's no such place." She looked at Koyee as if admonishing her for frightening the girl. "Isn't that right, Madori?"
Koyee frowned and leaped off the bed, sending the others bouncing and falling over.
"Of course it's a real place!" Rage flared in her. "I lived right beside it. The demons of sunlight killed my father. As far as I know, they've killed more people since I left Oshy. There is a land that lies always in daylight, like in the old stories, and demons live there, demons of cruel eyes and . . ."
She let her words trail off. The yezyani were all staring at her, some afraid, a couple weeping, others shaking their heads in disbelief.
"I hope you never believe me," Koyee said. "I hope you always think it's just a legend. That means you are safe. Because if you ever learn the truth, if the Timandrians ever reach this city . . . we will burn in their fire."
Atana whimpered, but the others only rolled their eyes. One dancer, a smirking little thing with emerald eyes, mumbled something about Koyee being wrong in the head.
They are fools, Koyee thought, eyes burning and fists clenched. This whole city is full of fools.
With a huff, she left the chamber and stomped downstairs into the common room. She was too upset to sleep or eat; she would play her flute for more coins. The faster she earned money, the sooner she could buy enough food and supplies to leave Pahmey, to return to Oshy and defend it.
She stepped onto her pedestal, began to play her flute, and paused when the front door swung open. A gust of cold wind blew, fluttering the smoke. The spicers barely flinched, but Koyee shivered in the cold and stared. A man she did not recognize hobbled into the Green Geode. Bald and gaunt, he wore a merchant's blue silks, and even through the smoke of hintan, Koyee scented a faint hint of the river. She would recognize the scent of the Inaro River anywhere.
"Nukari!" the man shouted out. "Bring me a lot of spice. I'm shaken and nee
d to forget. Oh by the moonlight . . ." He trembled, covered his eyes with his hand, and paced the room.
Koyee had seen many lost souls in the Green Geode—spurned lovers, grieving widowers, and failed gamblers. Most shuffled in, heads lowered and shoulders stooped. This man paced and trembled and wrung his hands. He was not dejected. He was afraid.
Already on edge from her conversation upstairs, Koyee sucked in her breath, and a single thought leaped into her mind: He saw a Timandrian.
Koyee had trembled the same way when she had seen one.
She lowered her flute, jumped off her pedestal, and made her way between the beds of hookah smokers. When she reached the man, he barely seemed to notice her. He was mumbling under his breath, and his fists clenched and unclenched.
"Are you hurt?" she asked him.
He looked her way, didn't seem to register her for a moment, then blinked. In addition to the river, she detected the faint scent of smoke, different from the smoke of the spice; this smelled like fire.
"It burned," he whispered, lips trembling and eyes wild. "The whole village burned, and . . . merciful moonlight, so many creatures around it, an army of light, and . . . I need my spice." He raised his voice and turned to the bar. "Nukari, bring me spice—"
Koyee grabbed his shoulders, spun him back toward her, and glared.
"What village?" she said. "What army?"
But she already knew the answer.
It pounded through her, shook her limbs, and constricted her throat.
"I sailed to Oshy with silks," he whispered. "Silks to trade for crayfish, that is all." He covered his eyes. "An army of sunfire, spilling from Dayside, so many they covered the world. I am mad. I think I am mad! Too much spice, too much spice, too many waking dreams . . ."
Oshy burns.
Koyee trembled.
My home. I couldn't save you. I'm so sorry.
"They will march here too," she whispered, knees shaking. "They will burn us. I must—"
A hand grabbed her arm, and a voice hissed into her ear. "You must play your flute, Madori Mai. You must never speak to our patrons."
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