Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4)

by Daniel Arenson

  The students stared at him silently.

  Seeming uncomfortable with the attention, Professor Yovan fumbled with the books, scrolls, and potions on his desk. "Who can tell me," he said, "how to heal the body using magic?"

  It was nice, Madori thought, not to have Lari around to thrust up her hand at once. Hesitantly, glancing at her friends for encouragement, Madori raised her hand.

  "Ah, yes!" said Professor Yovan. "You, little boy. What is your name?"

  A few students giggled across the class.

  Madori placed down her hand. "My name is Madori Greenmoat. And I'm a girl. Remember me from the Trial of Will?" She freed her two strands of long hair from behind her ears, letting them frame her face. With the rest of her hair cropped short and her body scrawny, she was often mistaken for a boy. "And . . . I'm not sure, but I'm guessing it has to do with the Three Basic Principles. Choosing your material—choosing the wound. Claiming your material—gaining control of the broken bone, injured flesh, or diseased tissue. And finally, changing the material—mending the wound."

  Professor Yovan clapped his hands together, his face brightening. "Precisely, little boy!"

  "Girl," she said.

  He nodded emphatically. "You are most correct. However, reality of course is more complex. Any brute can magically shatter flesh. But to heal, ah! That requires the most innate, pure understanding of the body's structures. To injure is as easy as shattering a statue. To heal . . . that is to sculpt." He winked. "I use that metaphor every year. Rather proud of it."

  The professor unrolled scrolls of human anatomy and launched into a lecture, describing the basic humors and energies that flowed throughout all living things. Madori found that, unlike with Professor Atratus, she could actually understand most of these words. Here was real magic, she thought—a force for goodness. Here was why she had come to Teel.

  "Now," said Professor Yovan after an hour of speaking, "you will of course not be able to heal wounds for many months, maybe not for years. The effects of a mistake with such magic can be disastrous. When attempting to mend a bone, you could accidentally shatter every bone in the body. When attempting to withdraw poison from a wound, you could accidentally send the poison into the patient's heart. Many of you, throughout your studies at Teel, will learn to harm. Only the brightest among you will learn to heal. And so I demand from you, students: Do not attempt healing magic until your fourth year!"

  But Madori was already summoning that power inside her—the power that had let her claim the smoky tendrils, let her change them to attack Lari.

  "Madori, what are you doing?" Jitomi whispered at her side. He nudged her with his elbow. "You're not allowed to use magic."

  But she ignored him. She closed her eyes and her lips whispered. Her nostrils flared as she claimed her material—not the welts upon her palm but the uninjured skin around them. Warmth filled her and tingled across her body as she changed her material—allowing her skin to push forward, erasing the wounds, pulling the injured flesh deep into her.

  Gasps sounded around her.

  Madori opened her eyes and stared at her hand.

  The welts from Atratus's ruler were gone, leaving only pale scars.

  Professor Yovan rushed over, eyes so wide Madori saw the white all around his irises.

  "Little boy!" he said. "I told you! You may not practice healing magic. You— Oh my." He took her palm in his and examined the scars. "How old are these scars?"

  "About ten seconds," she replied. "Professor Atratus struck me with his ruler only this morning. And I'm a girl."

  Neekeya twisted in her seat, her necklace of crocodile teeth chinking. "It's true! Madori has magic—real magic!" She rummaged through her pocket and pulled out a lock of hair tied with a ribbon. "I have a magical lock of Healing Hair, and I tried to use it on Madori, but I think it only works on us Daenorians."

  Professor Yovan clucked his tongue and patted Madori's hand. "Little boy—I mean, girl—you must obey me next time, and you must not heal without my permission—not even your own wounds. But . . ." His eyes watered and suddenly he was embracing her. "It's a delight to see such a naturally gifted healer. For sixty years I've been teaching here at Teel, and I've never seen a first year student heal a wound—let alone on her first day! You are a wonder."

  Madori lowered her eyes.

  "Thank you," she whispered. She could not speak any louder, and suddenly tears filled her eyes. For the first time in many turns, they were not tears of pain but of joy. Somebody appreciated her. Somebody thought she was a wonder. Perhaps Teel University was not the nightmare it had seemed but a place where she could learn, grow, become the woman she dreamed of being. Neekeya saw her tears and pulled Madori into an embrace, and Tam patted her healed hand.

  After Magical Healing came Basic Principles again, followed by Magical History, then finally Magic and Sound—a class Madori had eagerly signed up for, teaching students to produce magical music. When the Teel Bells finally rang the end of the turn, Madori rubbed her shoulders, eager to return to her chamber for a solid sleep. Yet she sighed to remember Professor Atratus's punishment.

  "I still have to report to the kitchens," she said to her friends. "Got to scrub some pots."

  Tam sighed. "At least eat dinner with us first." He cringed. "We have to eat in the dining hall with hundreds of other students. Idar's beard, I'm not looking forward to that. Madori's Motley will stick out like monkeys at a banquet."

  She smiled wanly. "I'm almost glad for my punishment. I think I prefer laboring in the kitchens than sitting in the dining hall. It's like polishing the armor instead of fighting in the battle." She bit her lip. "I'll grab some food to eat while I work, and I'll meet you back at our chamber."

  Leaving her companions, she made her way south of the library and cloister, down a path, and toward the dining hall. The building rose from a grassy sward, its walls columned, stairs leading up to its gates; it seemed a building as fine as the library or towers, topped with statues of birds and beasts. Students were gathering in a courtyard, lining up to enter and eat. Madori spotted Lari standing at their lead, holding a Radian flag; others of her order gathered around her.

  Feeling relief that she had an excuse to skip dinner—her punishment was probably kinder than the meal—Madori skirted the building, leaving the main gates and heading toward a back door. No students stood in this little corner, and only a few geese ambled between the birches.

  A sudden memory flashed through Madori: her mother standing in the window of their cottage at home, calling Madori home for dinner. Madori would be playing outside with Fairwool-by-Night's animals—a few stray dogs, geese like the ones here, maybe a duckling or two—covered in mud, her elbows scraped. Animals had always been her only friends. At first Madori would ignore her mother, but then the smell of the woman's cooking would waft on the wind, filling her nostrils: stewed chanterelle mushrooms, fried lanternfish, and spicy matsutake mushroom cakes—Elorian food, the food Madori loved.

  I miss you so much, Mother, she thought, heading toward the kitchens. I wish I could be eating with you now at home.

  She opened the back door and stepped into the kitchens. She found a hallway lined with several doorways. Through one doorway she saw a chamber full of cooking fires, and the scents of meats, stews, breads, and pies filled her nostrils. Her mouth watered. Cooks dressed in white tended to the meals—mixing stews that bubbled in cauldrons, turning spits of roasting pigs, and pulling bread rolls from ovens. Reluctantly, Madori kept walking until she reached the dish washing room and stepped inside.

  Three walls here were built of bricks. Instead of a fourth wall rose many shelves like oversized window shutters, each shelf topped high with dirty dishes. Between the shelves, Madori could peer into the dining hall where a thousand students were eating. Every moment another student, belly full, stepped forward to place a dirty plate and cutlery upon a shelf. A stone aqueduct ran through the chamber, flowing with water; it was about the size of a horse's trough. Sev
eral students stood around the canal, scrubbing dishes. All seemed dejected, and all bore welts upon their palms—other victims of Atratus's wrath.

  "Another prisoner!" announced one of the workers, a tall boy with a thick Verilish accent. Madori had seen Verilish traders before—burly men from the northern pine forests, thick of beards, clad in fur pelts, warriors who prided themselves on strength. She guessed that for a son of Verilon, scrubbing dishes like a woman was the ultimate insult.

  Madori nodded. "Let's get this over with. I'm tired and want to go back to my chamber."

  Another washer—this one a petite girl with black hair—laughed. She spoke with the accent of Eseer, a desert kingdom far in the south. "There are hundreds of plates still to wash, and hundreds of students are still eating. We'll be lucky to leave before next turn."

  Sighing, Madori turned to look at the shelves of plates. Indeed, students kept walking by, adding more dishes to the piles; it looks like many hours of work. When she returned her eyes to the aqueduct, she realized that all the scrubbers—punished students—were foreigners. It seemed Atratus was loath to punish his fellow Magerians.

  Madori bit her lip and got to work.

  She dunked dish after dish into the flowing water, scrubbing it with a rag and soap. But soon the shelves threatened to collapse; at first only the fastest eaters had left their plates to clean, but now hundreds of plates were rising in a sticky, dirty mess.

  "If we break one, Atratus will know," said the tall boy. "He's got magical eyes all over the place. My brother broke a dish here last year; Atratus nearly tore off his hand, he beat him so hard with his ruler."

  Madori winced, scanning the chamber for magical eyes, imagining eyeballs moving in the walls themselves. She saw nothing but she wouldn't put such magic past Atratus; she winced to remember how his smoky ropes had bound her. She scrubbed faster, rushing back and forth between the shelves and the water. Before long, with hundreds of students placing down their dishes, Madori no longer bothered scrubbing one at a time. She rushed back and forth, towers of dishes in her arms, placing the clean ones upon trays for another student to whisk outside.

  "Got to go faster!" said the boy. "Shelves running out of space."

  Madori glanced at the shelves to see a pile of plates tilt. She rushed forward and caught three plates just as they fell. Wincing, she ran with them to the aqueduct, then back again. When she hurried to the water with yet another pile of plates, she slipped in a puddle, wobbled for a second, thought she could steady the structure . . . then saw one plate fall toward the ground.

  The Eseerian girl leaped forward and caught it before it could shatter.

  "Be more careful!" the girl whispered, face pale and eyes wide. "He'll know. By the great god Amaran, he'll know. He is a demon."

  Heart lashing, Madori kept working. Her eyes stung, and soap bubbles filled the air, and she kept moving faster and faster, and she knew she couldn't keep up. They were only several dish washers, and the mountain of plates kept growing.

  She forced herself to sing as she scrubbed, her voice low, her lips tight, her eyes burning. She sang "Darkness Falls," the song from her trials, a song of home—a song to remember a better place, a place of peace, of love. It was a song her mother used to sing her—a mother Madori had always fought with, a mother Madori could not wait to hug and kiss again.

  I'm so sorry, Mother. I'm so sorry I always yelled at you for making me wash dishes at home. She laughed through her tears. What I wouldn't give to be washing dishes at home now!

  She turned back toward the shelves, intending to grab another batch, when she saw two pretty blue eyes staring from the dining hall beyond.

  "Lari," she hissed.

  Past the stacks of plates, Madori couldn't see more than her enemy's eyes, but those eyes were smiling.

  With a clatter, mountains of plates—a hundred or more—tilted on the shelves. Madori glimpsed Lari's hands shoving them forward, and she heard a cold laugh, before the plates all came crashing down.

  Madori winced and leaped back, knowing that Atratus would know, that he'd lash her in a fury.

  She waited for the crash of a hundred breaking plates but heard no sound. She realized she had closed her eyes, and she peeked . . . and gasped.

  The plates were hovering in midair.

  "Leave this place, Lari Serin!" rose a voice from behind Madori. "Leave or these plates will drive into your face."

  With the plates hovering off the shelf, Madori now had a full view of Lari, who stood with her friends in the dining hall. The girl sneered but spun on her heel and marched off.

  Madori too spun around—toward the back of the kitchen. Jitomi stood at the doorway, holding his hands forward, sweat on his brow. He managed to give Madori a tight smile.

  "I think," he said, "I finally figure out levitation."

  If she weren't worried about the plates crashing down, she'd have leaped toward the Elorian boy and kissed him.

  Two more students stepped into the room—Tam and Neekeya—both grinning.

  "We came to help!" said Neekeya. She looked around at all the dishes and winced. "I wish I had my magical dish scrubber here. My parents had one back at home. It would wash all the dishes itself, floating in the air; you just had to very lightly hold the handle to guide it."

  Tam rolled his eyes and stepped around the Daenorian girl. "Well, we don't have magical scrubbers, but we have a bunch of hands and about a million dishes to wash." He reached toward the floating ones which Jitomi still kept magically suspended. "Now let's help the little billy goat."

  Madori had expected to spend at least half a turn here, nearly going mad, but with her quartet's help, they were able to finish scrubbing everything within a couple hours. When their work was finally done, Madori didn't even want to return to her chamber; she wanted to plop down right here in the kitchens and sleep for turns on end. After staying up studying last half-turn, she was wearier than she'd ever been. Her friends had to practically drag her out of the kitchens, across the cloister, and toward the first years' dormitory.

  The arcade—a colonnade on one side, a wall of doors on the other—was empty. The bedroom doors were all closed. Madori shuffled her feet, barely able to keep her eyes open, walking among her quartet. When they reached their door, she yawned and stepped inside, ready to collapse.

  Instead she froze and stared.

  At her side, Neekeya yelped and dropped the books she held.

  "What—" the swamp girl muttered. "What happened—?"

  "Lari happened," Madori said.

  Their books all lay torn on the floor, the pages scattered like autumn leaves. Their mementos from home—figurines, dolls, paintings—lay smashed. Somebody had drawn a large Radian symbol upon the wall in blood, and more blood stained Madori's bed; the coppery smell invaded her nostrils. The smell of rotten meat wafted too, and Madori nearly gagged.

  A note lay upon her pillow. Moving carefully between the broken books and figurines, she approached her bed and lifted the note. Upon it appeared in neat handwriting the words: "Radian rises. Mongrels will be butchered like pigs."

  Neekeya came to stand beside her. She grimaced and covered her mouth. "It stinks." She doubled over as if about to gag, then gasped and scampered backwards. Eyes wide, she yelped and pointed under the bed.

  Madori lowered her gaze. When she knelt, she saw it too. She reached under the bed and pulled it out: a severed pig's head.

  Tam made a queasy sound and turned green, and even Jitomi looked ill.

  Madori placed down the head, turned around, and walked outside into the hallway.

  "Madori, where are you going?" Tam said, hurrying after her. "The bells have rung. We're not allowed outside our chambers."

  She kept walking, not turning to look back. "Stay behind. Stay safe and lock the door."

  Neekeya raced up beside her, eyes wide. "You're not going to confront Lari, are you? Because if you are, I'm going with you. I'll fight at your side."

  "No." Madori sh
ook her head. "I will not fight Lari. That's what she wants. That's what she's waiting for—to lure us into a battle, maybe a trap. I'm going straight to Headmistress Egeria and putting an end to this." She turned around to face her friends; the hallway was empty around them, all the other students asleep in their chambers. "Go back. Clean up. Do not go outside into the hall; it's dangerous."

  She left them there, heading between two columns into the courtyard.

  Clouds hid the never-sinking sun of Timandra, and a drizzle fell. Madori's two strands of long, black hair stuck to her cheeks, while the cropped hair on her back and sides caught the raindrops like cobwebs catching dew. She made her way under the elm tree, across the grass, and toward the southeastern tower—the home of the headmistress. She found herself facing a brick archway, its keystone engraved with two scrolls, the sigil of Teel University. When she tried the towering oak doors, she found them unlocked; they slid open on oiled hinges.

  I will find the headmistress, and I will tell her everything, Madori thought, stepping inside. She felt too hollow for emotion; no fear or rage filled her, unless these emotions lurked too deep for her to feel. She was hurt too badly, she had suffered too much; all she felt now was detached determination. I will talk about my famous parents if I must, or I will talk about my friendship with King Camlin and Queen Linee. Lari isn't the only student here with lofty connections. She walked down a hall, her clothes dripping, and tightened her lips. I will end this.

  She rounded a corner, intending to stomp up the tower staircase, and found herself face-to-face with Professor Atratus.

  Madori froze.

  At once she raised her hands, sucking in breath, prepared to defend herself. Her heart leaped into a gallop.

  He stared at her, looming like a vulture over prey, a foot taller than her. His eyes blazed and his nostrils flared, the hairs inside twitching. He bared his teeth.

  "What," he spoke in a strained voice, "are you doing outside of your chamber after hours, mongrel?"