Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4)

by Daniel Arenson

  He grinned and mussed her hair. "Same thing you are. Trying out for Teel. Remember how we'd talk about becoming mages someday?"

  She tilted her head. "I also remember talking about slaying dragons, forming a juggling troupe, and training elephants to play oversized musical instruments." She punched his chest. "For pity's sake! Why would you come here? I need to gain some power. You're already powerful. You're a damn prince and—"

  "Billygoat, hush!" When she punched his chest again, he grimaced. "All right, all right—Madori." He rubbed his chest, wincing. "Look, my father is worried about you. There's been talk of . . . enemies. And, well, I couldn't let you come here alone. So here I am." He gave a little bow. "Your protector."

  She rolled her eyes and snorted. "Last time we met, I was the one protecting you from the evil bumblebees."

  "Those little buggers were nasty, and there's worse than bumblebees here." He leaned in close, whispering. "There's this fellow, a lord, his name is—"

  "Serin!" The voice boomed across the crowd of applicants, interrupting Tam. "Lari Serin!"

  Madori craned her neck, peering around Tam. The professor on the stage was still summoning applicants; Madori had blocked out most of the names, but this one sent shivers down her spine.

  Lari—the girl who had called her a mongrel.

  Serin—the name of the cruel lord on the road, her father's cousin.

  The two names, in tandem, felt like mixing poison with flame.

  She's a Serin. Madori almost gagged. She's a relative.

  Her chin raised, the sunlight gleaming upon her golden hair, Lari Serin strutted through the crowd, spreading smiles every which way. Other applicants clapped as she passed by; some even bowed. Obviously the girl was noble among nobles. Madori's belly soured and she gritted her teeth.

  Lari caught her eyes, and the girl's grin widened. While walking toward Ostrinia Tower, she made a point of passing by Madori.

  "Good luck at the trials, mongrel," she said and patted Madori's cheek. "Maybe they'll teach you to sit like a good little dog."

  Madori growled, slapped Lari's hand aside, and leaped forward, intending to give the young lady two black eyes and a bloody nose. But Tam—damn the boy—grabbed her and held her back.

  "Madori, no!" he said, dragging her away from Lari. "Let her go."

  Lari laughed. "Keep her on a leash, boy! She's a wild one."

  With a wink, Lari left them, heading across the cloister and into the tower.

  Madori struggled and kicked in Tam's grasp. "Let go of me."

  He refused and Madori cursed her small size; she didn't have the physical strength to free herself from his grasp, another reason why she had to learn magic, to gain power.

  "Madori, listen to me," he hissed into her ear. "Do you know who that is?"

  "A pretty little cockroach I'm about to stomp on."

  "A pretty little cockroach who's the daughter of a very big, powerful cockroach. Her father is Lord Tirus Serin, the wealthiest man in Mageria—possibly in all eight sunlit kingdoms of Timandra." Tam sounded grim. "Not a person you want on your bad side."

  Madori grumbled. "I think it might be a little too late for that."

  Her fists were still clenched, but inside she trembled. The encounter on the road returned to her, and her eyes burned. She had fled the ignorance of villagers; now she found the same hatred even among the lords and ladies of sunlight.

  Did I make a mistake leaving home? she thought, blinking away sudden tears. Is there any home for me here—a girl of mixed blood, my Elorian eyes forever marking me a foreigner?

  Tam released his grip and she turned toward him, still held in his arms. She looked into his brown eyes and saw the same fear in them.

  "What kind of place have we come to?" she whispered.

  Before her friend could answer, the professor's voice boomed across the cloister again.

  "Madori Greenmoat!"

  She started. She wasn't sure how her name had ended up on the list—was magic at work here?—but she pulled away from Tam's arms.

  "Good luck, Billygoat." A smile broke through the fear on Tam's face like sunlight through rain.

  She nodded. "You too."

  Leaving him, she walked through the crowd, heading toward the tower. As other applicants had walked this walk, their friends had clapped, cheered, patted them on the shoulders. As Madori walked, silence fell across the cloister, and thousands of eyes stared at her. She felt like a freak on show. She raised her chin high and squared her shoulders, forcing herself to walk with pride.

  My parents are war heroes, she thought. I am strong, wise, and determined. I am not a creature. I will pass these trials.

  She reached the tower. Jaw clenched, she stepped through its doorway and into the shadows.

  CHAPTER FIVE:

  TRIAL OF WISDOM

  Madori stepped into a round chamber, probably the oddest applicant Teel University had ever seen.

  My clothes are strange and my hair is stranger, she thought. My mixed blood is a curiosity. She raised her chin and stared at the professors who sat ahead. But I will pass this trial.

  They sat at a table upon a dais—three professors in robes, all staring at her. She could barely see them in the shadows; they seemed like hulking vultures looming above prey. A beam of light fell from a window, illuminating a circle on the floor. Madori stepped into the light, blinked, and stared up at the professors, feeling like a prisoner at a trial.

  One professor, a little old man with a bald head and white mustache, cleared his throat.

  "Hello. I am Elixior Fen, Professor of Basic Magical Principles." He thumbed through a booklet. "You are . . . Madori Billy Greenmoat, yes?" His voice was scratchy and high-pitched. "From Fairwool-by-Night, in the kingdom of Arden. Daughter of . . ." He adjusted his half-moon glasses, peering into the book. "Daughter of Sir Torin Greenmoat, son of Sir Teramin Greenmoat. Oh my." He raised his eyes in surprise and peered down at her. "Your father is something of a legend in these parts—I wager, in all parts of Moth."

  Madori raised her chin, pride in her father swelling in her. But another professor spoke, quickly crushing her rising spirits.

  "Torin Greenmoat is a fool, not a true noble. I remember him from the war. I do believe we fought in the same battle once; of course, he was fighting for the wrong side. He is an insult to the purity of highborn blood."

  Madori turned to look at this new speaker. Seeing him, her innards crumpled like old parchment.

  This professor not only loomed like a vulture but looked like one too. His neck was long and scraggly, his nose was hooked like a beak, and his eyes were dark and glittering. His scalp was bald, and strands of oily, dark hair hung from his head in a ring like putrid feathers. He wore the black robes of warfare, the cloth dusty and tattered, and upon them gleamed a brooch of gold and silver—the Radian sigil.

  A dark magician, Madori thought, anger bubbling inside her. The kind father fought in the war. And a Radian to boot.

  "My father," she said, chin raised, "killed mages like you in the war."

  The hooked-nosed Radian leaped to his feet, sneering. His fists clenched upon the tabletop.

  "I would watch my tongue if I were you, mongrel. Your father spat upon the pure blood of Timandra, mixing it with Elorian filth." He snorted. "We see the result before us—an impudent, feral little—"

  "Professor Atratus!" said Professor Fen, slamming his book shut. His white mustache bristled, and lines creased his bald head. The little old man seemed barely larger than Madori, but he spoke with authority. "Please, Atratus. We've not invited Madori here to discuss her parentage. Whatever happened between you and Sir Greenmoat during the war ended many years ago. We're here to judge young Madori, not any supposed crimes her father may or may not have committed." The diminutive professor cleared his throat and pushed his spectacles up his nose. "Now then, Professor Atratus, would you reoccupy your seat so we may begin?"

  Never removing his withering stare from Madori, Atratus
sat back down. His fists remained balled, and his lip curled.

  The third professor, who had remained silent so far, finally cleared her throat. Clad in blue robes, she was younger than her companions—not much older than Madori's parents—with a head of bushy brown hair and olive-toned skin. A milky film covered her eyes; those eyes stared blankly over Madori's head.

  She's blind, Madori realized.

  "My name is Elina Maleen, Professor of Magical History," the woman said. "I will quiz you first, followed by my two colleagues. We desire for only the most learned youths to attend our university. Our questions will determine whether you are proficiently educated." The blind professor smoothed her robes. "You must answer all three questions correctly to pass to the next trial."

  Madori gulped. Proficiently educated? She had grown up in a village, surrounded by farms. She had never gone to any school. All she knew was what she had read about in the village library. There were hundreds of books in that library, all donated by Queen Linee of Arden; Madori had mostly just read the books of epic tales and ancient deeds of valor. How would those help her at a school for magic? She wanted to object to this entire test. She wanted to tell Professor Maleen that she had come here to become educated. But before words could leave her mouth, the young, bushy-haired professor spoke again.

  "Now, child, please tell me: What is the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter?"

  Madori blinked.

  What? she wanted to blurt out. How did that have anything to do with magic? Circumference? Daiameter? Only masons and shipwrights knew such things; she was from a village of shepherds and farmers!

  She opened her mouth to object, to demand another question, but Professor Maleen leaned forward expectantly, and for a moment Madori lost her breath.

  I don't know, she thought. Cold sweat trickled down her back. I came here ill-prepared. I'll be among the ninety percent of applicants going home this turn.

  She froze. Wait! spoke a voice inside her. Percentages—she knew about those. She had just thought about them! Where had she learned about percentages?

  She racked her mind, thinking back to Fairwool Library. When she closed her eyes, she imagined herself walking through that library again, passing by shelves of many books. In her memory, she reached out to one particular book, a dusty old tome with blue leather binding. She had loved its illustrations of stars, moons, and many graphs and geometric shapes.

  A book of mathematics. Yes. She had read this book!

  She opened her eyes, took a deep breath, and blurted out from memory, "It's a number that cannot be expressed in words or digits. It's roughly . . ." She mumbled under her breath for a moment, struggling to remember. "About twenty-two divided by seven. Three and a little bit." She nodded, hoping that was close enough. "Old Master Loranor, a mathematician from Eseer, referred to it as The Cosmic Number."

  She took a deep breath, staring at the professor, and her heart pounded. For a long moment Professor Maleen was silent, and Madori barely dared to breathe.

  Finally Maleen nodded. "Very good! Very good, child. You are correct."

  Madori breathed out a sigh of relief. She managed a shaky grin and even gave a little curtsy.

  Before she could catch her breath, however, Professor Fen rose to his feet. He was so short he actually dropped in height once sliding off his chair. He straightened his half-moon glasses, stroked his mustache, and passed a hand across his large, bald head.

  "Now then . . ." he said, thumbing through his little book. "A question, a question . . . ah! Here we go. A very good question indeed, this one is." He smiled at Madori. "Listen carefully, child. Many years ago, both halves of Mythimna experienced both day and night, an alternating dance. Why is one half of Mythimna now always in daylight, the other always dark?"

  Madori blinked. "Well, that's easy! It's because . . ."

  She trailed off, frowning. Why was one half Mythimna—this world men called Moth—always in sunlight, the other always dark? She had always assumed that was simply the way of the world, that there wasn't any particular reason to it. This was like asking why the sky was blue, why mountains were taller than valleys, or why trees grew upward instead of down. She tilted her head.

  "Well, it's . . ." she began, tapping her chin.

  "Yes?" Professor Fen asked.

  She chewed her lip, thinking back to the stories of the war. Her parents had told her this story! They had told her the story a thousand times, but Madori had always blocked it out, upset about her mother's latest lecture or her father's latest bad pun. Yet now she clawed at the memory. Her parents had been to Cabera Mountain, the heart of the broken world, and seen why Moth no longer . . . no longer . . .

  "Because Moth no longer turns!" she blurted out, remembering. She nodded vigorously. "My parents told me that. Moth—well, Mythima is the world's real name—is round. A big sphere that floats in the sky, circling round and round the sun. And, well, Moth once used to turn around its axis—many years ago—letting day and night cycle." She did a little pirouette, mimicking the world. "But the world stopped spinning around itself." She stood still, facing the professors again. "So one side now always faces the sun, the other faces the darkness. Were the world to spin again . . ." She gave another spin. ". . . day and night would cycle again."

  Professor Fen smiled and slammed his book shut. "Correct! Very good, young Lady Greenmoat."

  I did it! Joy spread through Madori. She had answered another question correctly! She grinned and rocked on her heels. "Thank you, Professor."

  Professor Atratus, clad in his flowing black robes, rose to his feet. His glare shot daggers at Madori.

  "Do not be so quick to grin, girl." He sneered, upper lip twitching. "It is my turn to ask you a question." Fists upon the tabletop, he leaned forward like a bird of prey about to tear into her flesh. "My colleagues asked you simple questions of basic mathematics and cosmology, the answers to which any half-wit child would know. But I ask you a question of . . . zoology." He leaned even further forward, bones creaking. "List three examples of how the Elorian race—that subhuman species of darkness—is inferior to the purity of Timandrian blood."

  The other two professors tsked their tongues.

  "Professor Atratus," Fen ventured, his mustache twitching, "perhaps a different ques—"

  "She will answer that question," Atratus said firmly, straightening and squaring his shoulders. He stared down his beaked nose at her. "Answer me, Madori." He made her name—an Elorian name—sound like an insult. "Speak—or are you ignorant?"

  Rage flared in Madori. She sneered right back up at him.

  "Very well," she said. "I will list why Elorians are, as you say, inferior. First of all, Elorians are less talented at warfare. They have a lower penchant for violence, leaving them inferior at killing, looting, and conquering." The professors sucked in their breath at this, but Madori plowed on. "Secondly, Elorians are less proud of their heritage. They do not claim to be superior to others. Their humbleness, their lack of hubris, is probably why they remain in darkness rather than invade other lands." She spoke louder. "Thirdly, Elorians are inferior to you, Professor Atratus, because they lack your marvelous buzzard's beak of a nose which you thrust proudly in all directions."

  She stood panting, her heart thumping so loudly she thought it could crack her ribs.

  For a long moment, only silent shock filled the chamber.

  Professor Atratus began to tremble. His face turned red. With a sudden jerk, he pounded the tabletop and screamed.

  "Impudent little maggot! Your words are folly, but they show to all the answer to my question. Your insolence, your lack of respect, and your crass effrontery to science prove you are inferior! Your very presence here shows the baseness of your Elorian blood, of—"

  "So I answered the question correctly," Madori said, smiling thinly. "You just admitted it."

  Atratus sputtered, for a moment lost for words.

  Professor Fen cleared his throat and stroked his mustache. "O
h my, Professor Atratus, I do believe she is right. You did just confess that she answered correctly. Did you hear it too, Professor Maleen?"

  The blind woman nodded, a thin smile on her lips. "Yes indeed, Professor Fen. I do believe young Madori has answered all our questions correctly."

  Professor Atratus looked ready to burst. He pounded the table again, cracking it. "This is rubbish! This subhuman mongrel is not fit for a fine academic institution such as this. She—"

  "She has passed this trial," Professor Fen said firmly, his mustache drooping with his frown. "Or do you wish me to summon Headmistress Egeria to judge?"

  Professor Atratus froze in mid-sentence, his mouth hanging open like some wall-mounted fish. The other two professors merely looked at him, blinking, eyebrows raised. Atratus sputtered, unable to speak, spraying saliva. He pointed a shaky finger at Madori, his cheeks red, then spun around. Robes fluttering, he stormed out of the chamber.

  Madori exhaled a shaky breath of relief. "I passed the trial," she whispered.

  The two remaining professors nodded, smiling warmly.

  "You have passed the Trial of Wisdom," said Professor Fen, his mustache rising with his smile. "Step through that back door, child. It will take you to a new place where you will partake in the second trial—a Trial of Wit."

  Madori suddenly couldn't stop trembling.

  I passed. I passed the first trial.

  Tears budded in her eyes.

  "Thank you," she whispered, curtsied, and ran through the backdoor.

  CHAPTER SIX:

  TRIAL OF WIT

  When Madori stepped through the back door, she expected to find another chamber or cloister. Instead she found herself in another world.

  Blackness spread all around her; she felt as if she floated in the night sky. She stood on a stone bridge that spread over the chasm. A door stood before her—not encased in a wall but simply standing on its own. When Madori leaned sideways, she could peer around it. Many more doors rose along the bridge like battlements along a castle wall.