Legacy of Moth

by Daniel Arenson

  They refilled their gourds in the river, let their elephants drink, and then headed south through the savannah. Neekeya shared a saddle with Princess Adisa. She had never ridden on an animal before, not even a horse, and here upon the elephant she felt powerful as if she too were a princess of Sania.

  They traveled for long hours through the grasslands until finally Neekeya saw the city ahead.

  Forested hills rose in the distance, encircling a great shimmering lake. Mist hovered between the trees, and flocks of birds flew above in great clouds. From the forest rose many stone buildings, grand structures with many arches, thin towers, and steeples. The bricks were painted red and gold, the colors faded as if centuries old. Neekeya had never seen a grander city; this place would dwarf even Kingswall, the largest city she had seen in the mainland of Timandra.

  Princess Adisa, who sat in front of Neekeya in the saddle, twisted around to face her. "Behold Nhon, capital of Sania. My home."

  They rode on, leaving the grasslands and traveling across the forested hills. The trees grew so densely Neekeya didn't see the city walls until they were upon them. Those walls soared above them, craggy and mossy, weeds growing between their bricks. Two massive statues of elephants rose here, hundreds of feet high, robed in lichen and vines. Between these stone sentinels rose an archway that led into the city. The fifty elephants and their riders rode through the gates, entering Nhon.

  They rode down a cobbled boulevard between palisades of baobab trees. Many buildings rose at their sides, constructed of heavy bricks, their arches lofty, their windows tall and thin. Monkeys leaped upon roofs and branches, and parrots flocked overhead, singing. As the procession made its way down the road, the city people came out to cheer for the heroes' return. They wore bright garments of stripes and checkers, and rings of many metals hung around their necks and arms.

  Kota rode his elephant up beside Neekeya. The Prince of Sania—the boy she had known grown into a man—smiled at her. "What do you think of our home, Neekeya?"

  She forced herself to smile back at him. "A place of wonder."

  His smile widened, and pride in his city swelled his chest. But Neekeya's own smile was feigned. This was a city of wonder, it was true; its towers of painted bricks, palisades of trees, and wildlife were things of beauty. Yet as Neekeya rode the elephant through the city, she saw Kingswall fallen to the enemy, its gates smashed. She saw the pyramids of Eetek crumble. She saw the Radian rallies in Teel University, simmering cauldrons of hate that now spilled across Moth. As she looked around her, Neekeya could only imagine this place too crashing to the ground.

  I must find aid here, she thought. I must convince the king of this realm to sail north with me, to fight back . . . or even this distant island will burn.

  A cliff rose ahead, leafy with vines, and a waterfall crashed down the stone facade into the lake. Between stone and water rose the Palace of Sania, built of gray bricks and topped with three silver domes. Many guards stood here, clad in feathers, beads, and bronze-tipped spears. The elephant procession made its way toward the palace gates, and the riders dismounted. The waterfall crashed down at their side, spraying them with mist, and the palace archway loomed above, its keystone carved into the face of an elephant.

  "You will speak with my father," Kota said to Neekeya, suddenly solemn. "We've been fighting the Radians along our coast ever since Eseer and Daenor fell. He would very much like to hear your tale, I believe."

  "And I would very much like to tell it," Neekeya said.

  Princess Adisa clasped Neekeya's hand. The princess gazed at her with soft eyes. "I'm with you, my friend. You're safe here."

  The three entered the palace together—a tall prince, a young princess, and a latani of the northern marshlands. Neekeya found herself in a wide stone hall, its floor a great mosaic depicting many animals of the savannah; she saw lions, zebras, giraffes, and many elephants. Tall narrow windows broke the walls, letting in beams of sunlight. Trees grew inside the hall from stone pots, reaching toward the ceiling, and birds flitted between them. At the back of the hall, upon a stone throne, sat the king.

  King Odiga was a large man, long of limbs and wide of belly, and he wore a lavish tunic of red cloth, a golden elephant upon the chest. Chains of gold hung around his neck and arms, and a crown inlaid with turquoise and sapphire topped his balding head.

  He rose as his children entered the hall. "Kota! Adisa!"

  The tall prince approached his father. He upended a sack, spilling out small metal eclipses—Radian pins.

  "Ten of the enemy's ships assaulted the port of Atan Nor," Kota said. "A thousand men emerged from them, bearing the Radian banners. The commanders were Magerians, but most of the fighters were from Eseer and Naya. The city's defenses stood."

  King Odiga's laughter rolled across the hall, and he clasped his son's shoulders. "We have repelled the enemy!"

  Kota's eyes remained dark. "They struck with a thousand men. Perhaps they underestimated the strength of Sania. Perhaps they were testing that strength. But . . . father, many more gather in Eseer and Daenor. With me is Neekeya, daughter of Kee'an, who fled the devastation in Daenor. She speaks of great armies that muster there." He turned toward Neekeya. "Step forth, friend, and speak of what you saw."

  Adisa squeezed Neekeya's hand. The princess whispered, "Be strong. I'm with you."

  The two women stepped forward—a swamp warrior and a savannah princess. King Odiga approached Neekeya and examined her with narrowed eyes.

  "Neekeya," he said. "I've not seen you in many years. Your father is a dear friend of mine. Hunting with him in the savannah and visiting his northern pyramids are among my dearest memories. I grieved to hear of Daenor's fall. Your father, is he . . ."

  "Fallen as well," Neekeya said.

  Odiga lowered his head. "I mourn him. Across the city, we will lower the banners of Sania in his memory, and I will host a vigil in his honor."

  "I thank you, my king, and you deeply honor my father," Neekeya said, "but we have little time for ceremony, little time for grief. Sania is not safe, despite one assault repelled. Many thousands of Radians invaded my land, and I saw many of their ships mustering in our fallen port. I fear that more will sail here, a great armada, an army far larger than the one you've repelled. I've come here to bring you these tidings and to seek aid."

  The corpulent king nodded. "You will find aid here, Neekeya, my friend. We will shelter you in this palace, and I will treat you as a daughter." He turned toward his son. "Kota, we must further defend the coast. I will send you back with a thousand men, and we will raise more among the southern tribes. I'll send masons and builders too; we will raise walls. Our island will not fall."

  Neekeya took a deep breath and raised her head. "My king, when I warned my father about the Radian menace, I urged him to attack Markfir, capital of the Radian Empire. My father chose to stay in the marshlands, hoping Teeket Mountains defend us. Our land fell, and Teeket is greater than any wall. I would urge you to do what my father would not. Sail north! I will lead you through the swamps of Daenor and to the mountain pass. Fall upon Markfir and besiege its walls! Strike the snake's head rather than build walls and hope he does not slither over them."

  The king's eyes darkened. "A sea guards a realm better than a mountain. Serin might have a mighty army on land, but his fleet is weak; men speak of the Elorians smashing many of his ships in the darkness of night. Neekeya, your father was a dear friend, and I mourn him, but I will not allow you to speak of war in my hall. War is a game for men, too harsh for women to play."

  Princess Adisa snorted and spoke for the first time. "Yet you've sent me to war, Father, and I return to you a champion. I slew a dozen Radians upon the coast, and women fight among them too. Neekeya is wise. And you would be wise to listen to her."

  King Odiga's face twisted, and a spark of rage filled his eyes. "What have I done to have my command questioned in my own hall! I offered Neekeya shelter. I could have easily sold her to Serin; he would pay gre
atly to possess the daughter of his marshland enemy. I could sell her still."

  Neekeya gasped. She had thought to find shelter here, thought the king was wise and kind, yet now she saw a beast, a man who'd sell her for coin. She balled up her fists, prepared to fight, but Adisa placed a hand on her shoulder. The princess stared at Neekeya as if to say, Leave him to me.

  "If you speak of such matters again, Father," Adisa said, turning back toward the king, "I would leave your hall and never more return. So would my brother." She turned toward Kota. "Wouldn't you?"

  The tall warrior nodded, face stern. "I would. Neekeya is a friend of ours. Father, show her respect, I urge you. And I urge you to heed to her counsel."

  Odiga roared, spraying saliva. "Heed her counsel? Sail north with an army, bog ourselves down in a swamp, die upon the mountains? For what, to save the mainland? When has Timandra's mainland ever cared about us?" He pointed a shaky finger at Neekeya. "Forever have the northern lands, the left wing of the world's moth, gazed down upon Sania in contempt. An island. A benighted wasteland, they think us. Why should I not let that mainland burn?"

  Neekeya steeled herself. Perhaps this king was too brazen to fear a Radian invasion, but if she judged him right, she could tempt him with treasures.

  "You wanted to sell me for coins," Neekeya said, meeting and holding his gaze. "Perhaps treasure is what you care for. So I will give you treasure." She looked toward Kota, and her eyes stung, and her belly twisted, but she knew she must do this. She looked back at the king. "Sail north with me, liberate my land . . . and I will give you that land. I will marry your son, so that your family rules the marshlands with me."

  For a moment silence filled the hall. Prince Kota stared at her with wide eyes. Princess Adisa covered her mouth. King Odiga, meanwhile, narrowed his eyes shrewdly and tapped his chin.

  Finally the king spoke, "You are not only a warrior and survivor, Neekeya. You are also a stateswoman."

  She nodded. "Many suitors knocked on my father's door. I turned them all back. But I would wed now, and I would share the marshlands with your family, with your heir. But first you must reclaim those marshlands from the enemy. You spoke of the mainland scorning you." She smiled shakily. "So claim a piece of that mainland."

  To her surprise, Kota knelt before her, and he held her hands. "Latani, you are wise, beautiful, and strong. But would you not ask me first how I feel about this marriage?"

  "I don't have to," she whispered. "I saw how you gazed at me on our journey here."

  Kota smiled, a smile blending embarrassment and mirth. "Then if my father approves, I vow to you: I will fight for you. I will reclaim your homeland from the enemy, and I will cross the mountains and attack that enemy at his doorstep."

  They all looked at the king. Odiga stepped toward them and placed his hand on Neekeya's shoulder. "I told you that I would shelter you as a daughter, but now you will become a true daughter of Sania. We will form an alliance, Neekeya of Daenor, and we will celebrate the betrothal with a great feast. And then we will march to war."

  Kota cried out in approval, and even Princess Adisa nodded and grinned. But Neekeya only closed her eyes, feeling the tears gather, and her chest shook.

  Forgive me, Tam, she thought. Forgive me. I love you and I'm sorry.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

  THE MARCH OF GIANTS

  In her dreams, even so many years later, Koyee still walked along the streets of Pahmey.

  As she lay in her hammock in the belly of an Ilari ship, she found herself standing in Bluefeather Corner, covered in grime. She wore only a tattered old tunic of nightwolf fur, and she played a flute of bone. Ahead of her, the towering bluefeathers stood in their corral, clacking their beaks and beating their eyelids. The old soothsayer slumbered in the corner, while the delicious scents of mushroom soup wafted from the Fat Philosopher tavern. The city folk walked by as Koyee played her music: young women in silk dresses, their sashes embroidered, their jewels trapping the light of angler fish; urchin children in rags, racing along the cobblestones and laughing, clutching stolen fish and spiced bat wings from the city markets; weavers, glass-makers, chandlers, and other workers trudging toward their homes after long turns of labor; and even a wealthy merchant upon a palanquin, hands folded across his wide belly. Some people tossed coins her way. Others ignored her. She played on, and she slept in the alleyway, and she fought thieves with her katana, and she fought poverty with her flute.

  In other dreams Koyee sat upon the sloping roof of a pagoda, gazing up at the sky as ten thousand lanterns floated toward the moon. The great wooden doll of Xen Qae moved down the street, taller than three men, its operators hidden within its robes, and fireworks rose to burst across the sky. Koyee watched and wept for the beauty, an invisible urchin who glimpsed the light of a nation, the hope of a people.

  A people now gone.

  Koyee grimaced, the pain clutching at her. She had fought in this city. She had stood upon its walls, firing arrows at the sunlit demons who invaded from the daylight. She had vaulted from roof to roof, firing down at the enemy, and she had lived in an occupied city, a yezyana in a mask, hiding in the Green Geode as the enemy forces drank wine and reached to grab at her.

  And she had watched that city fall into darkness.

  She had stood with Serin, his captive, chained and beaten, watching cracks and sinkholes greedily swallow her city, guzzling down its towers, shops, streets, homes, her memories, all those she loved and had fought for. Madori would perhaps never fully understand, nor would any of the Ilari she sailed with. But to Koyee this was not merely the loss of life, the loss of a great city; it was the loss of her youth, of her very soul.

  "Pahmey," she whispered, unable to breathe, unable to stop those memories. Little Maniko, kind and gentle, teaching her to play "Sailing Alone" on the flute—fallen. Minlao Palace, the great Glow of the Moon, a crest of hope and light in a dark city—gone. Bluefeather Corner, her home in the shadows; the Green Geode, home to the yezyani who had become her sisters; the old graveyard, haven for the Dust Face Ghosts—all gone into shadows. The light of lanterns. The smells of the market. The laughter of children and the heat of the great public fireplaces. Forever silenced, forever darkened.

  The pain was too great. Koyee thrashed in her hammock, feeling trapped in the web of some great spider. Finally she could bear it no longer. She stepped onto the floor. The ship's belly was a dark place, its windows curtained to keep out the searing, eternal light of Timandra. Several more hammocks hung in the shadows, their occupants deep in slumber.

  Koyee padded toward the hammock at the back, the one where Madori lay sleeping.

  She stood for a moment, looking down at her daughter, and some comfort filled Koyee but a new fear too.

  Madori is the most precious thing in my life, she thought. A beautiful child. Madori had inherited Koyee's large eyes, delicate frame, and gentle features, but she had Torin's dark hair and tanned skin. A precious child. So fragile.

  And I'm so scared, Koyee thought. She reached out and caressed Madori's short black hair. I'm so scared for your father. I'm so scared that my sweet Torin is gone from us. And I'm so scared to lose you. I'm so scared for you to lose others, for you to feel pain like I feel, to never sleep without nightmares, to never know true peace because the pain can never fully heal.

  Madori mumbled in her sleep, roused by Koyee's touch, and opened her eyes to glowing, lavender slits. "Mother? Why are you crying?

  Because you are pure and they hurt you, Koyee thought. Because I cannot bear the thought of you suffering like I suffer.

  Madori was small, the hammock large, and Koyee climbed inside and lay beside her daughter. Madori's eyes closed again and she nestled close to Koyee, arms wrapped around her, as if she were again very young, a little girl scared of monsters in the closet and seeking the comfort of her mother.

  Only now it's me, the mother, who is scared, who seeks comfort, Koyee thought.

  She held her daughter close and kissed her
forehead.

  "You were so small when you were born," Koyee whispered. "You were born early, did you know? And I promised then to protect you. To make this world safe for you, a better world than the one I grew up in. I'm sorry, Billygoat. I'm sorry I failed you."

  Madori mumbled in her half-sleep, wriggling and cuddling closer. "We'll win, Mother. We'll win."

  Koyee closed her eyes, her daughter in her arms, and she knew something that Madori was too young to understand. There is no victory in war. Even should you slay your enemy, you have not won. The memories of war will forever scar you. The pain of loss and the lingering terror will forever fill your sleep.

  But I can still fight, she thought. For more times like this, holding my daughter close. For the hope of seeing Torin again. For the dream that some turn we all sit together in a garden, a family united, and find shapes in the clouds or the stars, seek brief moments of joy in a world of so much pain. For that I will fight on. Always.

  Finally sleep found her, and with her daughter held close, Koyee did not dream.

  * * * * *

  As in the years of old, the jotnar—giants of the arctic—walked onto the island of Orida.

  They had swum through the sea like icebergs, and they emerged onto the shores like early winter sending up shards of frost. Beasts of stone and ice, of frosted beards and cold blue eyes, of beating hearts deep within crystallized rib cages, they lumbered across the rocky slopes, between the pines, and into the city of Grenstad. They moved between houses of clay and thatched roofs, long mead halls with beams carved as orcas, and between stone temples to the old gods. Lumbering beasts risen from myth, their jagged heads rose above roofs, and their feet sent fingers of frost across cobblestones.

  Eris walked at their lead, clad in armor and fur, holding his horn high. Yiun Yee walked at his side, a princess in white silk, her skin pale, her eyes large and glowing. The people of the city gazed in awe, and many knelt, and many sang old songs. Soldiers raced toward them, sent from the palace to slay the outcast prince, but they too bowed and laid down their weapons, for here before them it seemed that Orin himself had returned from the ancient years, risen from legend to lead them again and restore their land to glory.