Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4)

by Daniel Arenson

  Only Madori and Lari were now still competing.

  "Give up, mongrel!" Lari shouted, tears streaming down her cheeks, her face a rabid mask.

  The wishbone emitted a whistle like steam from a kettle. Welts rose along Madori's arm.

  "You can do it, Lari!" Madori shouted. "Hold on longer! I love seeing you suffer."

  The other youths all gathered around them, forming a ring around their table. They were pounding fists into palms, cheering, chanting.

  "Lari, Lari!" most cried out.

  "Let the mongrel burn!" somebody shouted.

  "Hold on, Lari!" another youth cried. "Hold on and watch her burn!"

  Madori was weeping, trembling, screaming, but she held on. The iron wishbone burned red, trembling in her grip. The pain was a crashing sea.

  A single voice cried out from the crowd—Tam's voice.

  "Madori! Madori!"

  A few other voices joined his, and now some in the crowd were chanting for her. Madori could now see only smudges, but she thought she saw the Elorians cheering for her.

  Her hand slipped.

  She nearly dropped the wishbone.

  It was too much. Too much pain. Too much agony. It was lightning, it was fire, but it was also the pain of her mixed blood, of her childhood, of endless taunts, endless doubt. It the pain of a girl torn between day and night, and she wept.

  I have to let go.

  Before her, Lari was snarling, teeth bared, face red.

  She won't let go. I have to. I have to.

  She ground her teeth.

  No.

  She screamed and tightened her grip.

  No. I will hold on. No matter how much it hurts. Because I know pain. I was born into pain. What is more agony? Pain has always been my companion.

  Lari was shaking, her hair standing on her head.

  "Enough!" Professor Yovan shouted. "Girls, enough! Let go!"

  But Madori would not. Lari would not. They clung on and the wishbone burst into fire . . . then shattered in their grip.

  Madori fell back, her chair flipping over. She slammed down onto her back. She clutched half the wishbone in her smoking, seared hand. It still crackled in her palm, driving fire through her. She would not release it.

  She blinked.

  Did I win?

  She raised her head.

  She saw Lari still holding her own half of the wishbone. The girl struggled to her feet, then came leaping down onto Madori.

  "Feel this pain drive into your heart," Lari hissed, shoving her half of the wishbone against Madori's chest.

  Pain exploded like thunder.

  Madori screamed.

  The agony drove through her chest, coiling around her ribs, wrapping her heart in fire, and she kicked and thrashed and—

  The pain vanished.

  I'm dead. She trembled. I died. The pain is gone and I float now in the afterlife.

  "Madori!" The voice seemed to echo from miles away, from a different world. "Madori, can you hear me?"

  She opened her eyes. Through a veil of mist, she saw a wrinkled, bearded face gaze down upon her.

  Is this Idar, god of the sun?

  She pushed herself onto her elbows.

  "Madori!" A wrinkled hand touched her cheek. "Child, can you speak?"

  It was Professor Yovan, she realized. When Madori sat up, her legs shaking, she saw the greybeard holding Lari back with one hand. Both wishbone halves lay on the floor, the heat and lightning gone.

  "What happened?" Madori whispered. "Did I drop it?"

  Professor Yovan wiped tears from his eyes. "In the name of sanity! I've never seen anything like this. I had to cast a spell. I had to stop the magic. You two would have died, my children. Oh dear . . ."

  Madori rose to her feet, trembling. Sweat soaked her clothes, and her hand was blackened and swollen. When she looked around her, she saw the other applicants gazing in shocked silence. Tam stood among them, eyes wide and mouth wide open.

  When Madori looked over to Lari, she found something new in the girl's eyes—not scorn, not pain, but unadulterated hatred, a rage as pure as the pain of the iron wishbone. Welts ran up Lari's arm, and her hair stood in a tangled mess, but she never removed her glare from Madori.

  Professor Yovan, shaking his head in wonder, raised the broken wishbone halves and placed them back onto the table. He wiped his brow.

  "For the first time in Teel University history," he said, his voice shaking, "we have a Trial of Will tie. Both Lari Serin and Madori Greenmoat shall attend Teel!"

  The crowd erupted into cheers.

  Madori swayed, nearly collapsing, but managed to grin.

  "I passed," she whispered and rubbed tears from her eyes. "I'm a student of Teel."

  Professor Yovan, still pale and trembling, opened the doors to the hall. It was like opening a floodgate. Hundreds of concerned parents spilled into the room, calling out for their children. Mothers embraced proud young students. Fathers patted sons on their shoulders. A few flunked applicants still lingered in the hall; their parents scolded, embraced, or awkwardly tried to comfort their embarrassed offspring.

  When she saw her father, Madori gave him a shaky smile. Torin's eyes widened and his face paled. He rushed toward her.

  "I passed," she whispered. "I passed, Papa. I'm a student of Teel."

  Torin grabbed her wrist and examined her burnt hand. Ignoring her words, he spun toward Professor Yovan.

  "What is the meaning of this?" the gardener said, voice harsh. "What kind of institution are you running here? I sent my daughter to trials; you return her to me with a burnt hand?"

  Madori winced, feeling her cheeks flush. Several other students were snickering.

  "Father, please!" she whispered. "You're embarrassing me."

  Torin seemed not to hear her. He grabbed the professor's shoulders, demanding answers. Old Yovan mumbled something about how he'd never seen anything like this, and how their wishbone must have been faulty, and how he would send Madori straight to the infirmary and deliver a honey roasted ham to Torin's tavern of choice.

  A tall figure moved through the crowd. A smooth, genteel voice interrupted the conversation.

  "Ah, and so the humble gardener, the man who slew so many of his own countrymen, cannot bear to see a scratch mar the flesh of his little mongrel."

  Madori growled, hackles rising. She looked up to see the man from the road.

  "Lord Tirus Serin," she muttered.

  He turned toward her, raising both chin and eyebrows, and stared down his nose at her. He had replaced his armor with a rich, cotton doublet and a jeweled belt. A samite cloak framed him, the fabric shimmering with golden thread and gemstones. A Radian amulet hung around his neck, a golden sun eclipsing a silver moon. His golden hair shone almost as bright, scented of rose oil.

  "We meet again, little one," the lord said, and something new filled his eyes, something not only scornful but hungry, lustful. "I hear you've been accepted into Teel." He reached out, grabbed her wounded hand, and squeezed so powerfully she winced. "Allow me to congratulate you. I'm sure my daughter will give you the proper attention."

  Madori tugged her hand free, glaring at the man. "I'm sure we'll be inseparable."

  Lari walked up toward them, slung her arm around her father, and gave Madori a smile full of sweetness, innocence, and the promise of vengeance. "I'm sure we will be, dear cousin . . . I'm sure we will be."

  CHAPTER EIGHT:

  TRIAL OF MISFITS

  Torin sat in The Dancing Wolf tavern, staring at his daughter over his gift of a roast ham.

  He forced himself to swallow the bite he had just taken. Professor Yovan's gift—as if any gift could undo the welts on Madori's hand—tasted like ash.

  My daughter is wounded, Torin thought. Radians rise across the sunlight. My king wants me to leave my home and fight them. And I'm supposed to feel good about a honeyed ham.

  If Madori shared any of his concerns, she was displaying none of them. The young woman—b
y Idar, she had been only a baby last time Torin had checked—was digging into the meat, trying to speak while chewing lustfully.

  "And would you believe Tam's here?" she said, stuffing another bite into her mouth. "The boy somehow passed his trials but—" She paused to swallow. "—but if you ask me, he had to cheat or something, because he's a bigger woolhead than you. Oh, and—" She gulped down cider and wiped her mouth. "—and I saw magic! Real magic. Lots of it. Magical bridges and doors and glowing seats. I'm going learn to make our chair at home glow." She grinned and bit off a chunk of ham so large a wolf would choke on it. She spoke as she chewed. "Would you like a glowing chair for home? I wonder if it'll work on animals too. Or even people. I could make our rabbits glow."

  Torin said nothing, only sighed.

  I have to break my daughter's heart, he realized. I have to place her in danger or shatter her soul.

  He took a deep breath. He could no longer listen to her words; every one stabbed him.

  "Madori," he said softly.

  ". . . and did you see how long Professor Yovan's beard is? Idar! Down to his feet! I wish I could grow a beard. Maybe I can grow a magical one. Why don't you grow your beard too? I—"

  "Madori," he said again, "I can't let you stay here. You have to go into Eloria with your mother."

  ". . . and they asked me about mathematics, and—" She paused and tilted her head. Very slowly, she placed down her fork. She spoke even slower. "I . . . what?"

  Torin figured the best approach was to blurt it all out at once. "It's too dangerous. Radians are rising across the land. There's a Radian professor here at Teel—one Atratus—and Lord Serin holds sway; apparently he built a good chunk of the university. It's too dangerous for you here. It's too dangerous for you anywhere in Timandra right now. I'm moving to Kingswall to help Cam deal with this threat. You will go to Eloria with your mother."

  Madori leaped to her feet, letting her chair crash backwards. Across the tavern, patrons froze over their meals and stared.

  "Like the Abyss I am!" she shouted. "Are you crazy, Father? Are you absolutely mad? Go home—now? After all this?"

  He reached out to her. "Madori, please. Hush. Sit. Listen."

  "I will not!" Tears budded in her eyes. "You always do this to me, Father! You always let me . . . let me build up my hopes, and then you destroy them. It's like when you told me we'd go visit the desert, and you changed your mind at the last minute, and we went on a damn fishing trip instead." The tears were now streaming down her cheeks. "I can't believe you. I can't! I wish Mother had taken me here instead. I'm going to Teel and you can't stop me."

  She turned and ran, making a beeline for the door.

  Torin cursed. He slammed coins onto the tabletop and made to run after her. He stumbled over a chair, cursed again, and steadied himself in time to see Madori bolt outside. When Torin finally made it to the door and stepped onto the street, she was gone.

  "Madori!" he cried out, seeking her.

  People on the street—shoppers, villagers, students and their families—turned to stare at him.

  "Madori!" he shouted again, but she didn't answer. He couldn't see her anywhere.

  Well, that went splendidly, he thought.

  He began to trudge down the street, peering into shop windows, seeking the damn girl. Why did she have to make things so difficult?

  "You used to be easy to be around," he muttered.

  What had happened? Madori used to be his best friend—the girl he'd rock on his knee, tickle, laugh with, spend so many wonderful hours fishing, playing, and reading with. And now? Now Madori always found some other reason to think him the most horrible troll this side of darkness. He only wanted to protect her. How could she not see that?

  He kept walking down the streets of Teelshire, seeking her. Where would the damn girl go? Would she have run into the university grounds? Perhaps into another tavern, or maybe she hid in an alleyway somewhere?

  He groaned. Of course. She went where she always goes when she's angry at me, he thought. To read.

  While Torin found comfort in gardening and Koyee in music, Madori's escape was reading. She spent many hours in Fairwool Library, delving into hundreds of books. Torin enjoyed reading books on botany on occasion, and Koyee enjoyed old tales of Qaelish lore, but Madori consumed books of adventure so quickly she had to order more from Queen Linee every year.

  Torin spun around and walked toward the town's bookshop—an old little building whose sign bore the words, "The Bookworm's Banquet." He stepped inside, entering a dusty, crowded chamber chock-full of books. The leather-bound volumes stood upon shelves, rested on tables, and rose in tilting towers. Beams of light fell through stained-glass windows, gleaming with dust.

  Madori sat between two bookshelves, her knees pulled to her chest, her head lowered.

  Joints creaking, Torin sat down beside her. She would not budge.

  He took a deep breath and spoke softly. "You know, I lost my parents when I was only a child."

  She said nothing. She wouldn't raise her head.

  He kept speaking. "I remember my father's last words to me. As he lay dying, he spoke not of himself, not of fearing death. He spoke of me. He was afraid, he said, that he wouldn't be here to look after me. When I had you, I finally understood his words." He smiled wistfully. "When you're a parent, you never stop worrying for your child. Being a parent is to always worry. Even when you're afraid for yourself, it's because you're afraid of abandoning your child."

  Finally she raised her head. She looked at him, her eyes rimmed with red, tears spiking her lashes.

  "Well, maybe you have to finally let me grow up." She wiped her eyes. "I'm sixteen, Father. Mother was my age when she sailed off to war. I think I can handle a university."

  Torin sighed. If it were only handling a university, he thought. But war again threatens to engulf Moth.

  "If I let you stay here," he said slowly, "you must promise me you won't pick fights with Serin's daughter."

  "I never pick fights."

  Torin snorted. "I've seen you beat up Kay Chandler's boy a dozen times back home."

  She bristled. "He keeps touching the library books with greasy fingers!"

  "And if I let you stay," he continued, "you must promise you'll stay near Tam at all times. At all times. He'll look after you, and I will talk to him, making it clear that if anything dangerous happens, he's to take you to Kingswall at once."

  "Father!" She rolled her eyes. "I'm not a damn child."

  "You are. You always will be. To me at least." He glared at her. "Promise me, Madori Billy Greenmoat. You make a promise now, or I swear I will enroll at Teel University myself so I can watch over you."

  "Father!"

  He pointed at her sternly. "Promise me. If you think your mother is the evil parent, you haven't seen me in action. Promise or you will."

  She groaned so loudly she blew back both strands of her hair. "Fine! I promise. I promise I'll stay away from that pretty little toad. I promise I'll stay near Tam. I promise I'll hide away in the corner and barely squeak so that no trouble can find me."

  "And . . ."

  She rolled her eyes. "And I promise that if any trouble does find me, Tam and I will join you at Kingswall. Fine? Now will you please stop latching onto me? I swear someday you're going to sprout an umbilical cord and try to lasso me with it."

  He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. She objected at first but gradually relaxed in his embrace.

  "I don't need a lasso," he said. "I just need to hug you."

  She leaned her head against his shoulder. She spoke softly, a tear on her cheek. "I love you, Papa."

  He kissed the top of her head. "I love you too, Billygoat. No matter what happens, I always will, and your mother and I are always somewhere out there for you—even if we're half a world away."

  She nodded and her voice was choked. "I know."

  He closed his eyes.

  And so I leave her in a viper's nest. And so I will a
lways worry. Perhaps that's the price of letting your children fly. He sighed. Cam will call me a fool, but haven't we always been foolish?

  He rose to his feet. "Now come on, let's go buy you some school uniforms. You can't walk into class dressed like a purple scarecrow."

  They left the bookshop together, his arm around her.

  * * * * *

  Madori stood under the tree, gazing at the road that wound south through grassy valleys, heading toward misty plains. She waved, watching the cart roll into the distance.

  "Goodbye, Father," she whispered. "Goodbye, Hayseed. I'll miss you."

  She thought she could see Torin twisting in his seat to face the town, waving at her too. But with every wave he grew smaller, and soon the cart, horse, and rider were but a speck upon the horizon, and then they faded into the mist.

  Madori blinked, her eyes damp. She had always thought her father infuriating, but now she missed him already, and her throat tightened. She longed to race down the road, to hug him one last time, to pat Hayseed, to beg them to stay, maybe even to go home with them.

  She rubbed her eyes. But I won't do that. I'll stay. I'll become a mage. She nodded. I'll be strong and I'll be amazing.

  She turned away, facing the town again and the university that loomed above it. A gust of wind blew, whipping back her two strands of hair and fluttering her robes. She looked down at her new garments. Instead of her old leggings and shirt—items she had sewn herself—she now wore flowing green robes. It was a color she detested—she detested all colors other than black and purple—but all first years were required to wear the green. At least she kept her boots; the leather creaked as she walked, and the many buckles jingled. Her pack hung upon one shoulder, full of the scrolls and books her father had bought her along with her new robes. She wasn't sure how Torin had been able to afford all this; a gardener, he had never been a rich man, and parchment cost a small fortune. She suspected that Tam's father—King Camlin himself, come in disguise to see off his son—had footed Madori's bill.