Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4)

by Daniel Arenson

  He held her for a moment longer, never wanting to break apart from her warmth, from her goodness. Cruelty raged across the land, war loomed, his best friend was wounded, and the bodies of five more friends lay underground—but there was some hope in the world, there was some goodness in the pain. There was Neekeya.

  They donned cloaks and hoods, hiding their faces. They climbed onto the cart, replacing its fallen driver. The horses began to move. They would not stay on the road for long, only until Madori was well enough to walk; then they would travel through the forest, hidden until they could reach the border.

  For now the wagon trundled, and the road stretched ahead between the trees, leading east into lands of water, light, and unknown shadows.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT:

  THE JOURNEY HOME

  They walked up the hill, stood between two oaks, and gazed down at the dead heart of Arden.

  Madori's eyes stung. She reached out and clasped Tam's hand.

  "So it's true," she whispered. "Kingswall has fallen."

  Tam drew his dagger, his face twisted, and he seemed ready to charge downhill, cross the fields, and attack the city walls himself. Instead he fell to his knees, lowered his head, and shook. Madori knelt beside him, pulled him close, and held him tightly. She gazed south with him, the pain like claws digging inside her.

  Radian banners rose above the city of Kingswall, replacing the old raven banners. Magerian troops manned the walls, clad in black steel, and marched in the fields. The Magerian fleet sailed upon the Sern River, and more Radian banners rose upon Mudwater Bridge.

  "The city's people live," Madori whispered to Tam, squeezing him, trembling with him. "Mageria conquered but did not destroy. Our families are alive."

  He turned toward her, his eyes red. "My mother was in that city. My brother." His voice was hoarse. "Your father too."

  She dug her fingers into him, baring her teeth. "Your mother is Queen, and your brother the heir of Arden. My father is a war hero. Serin will keep them alive. They're worthless to him dead. They're worth a fortune while they breathe."

  The others walked uphill too and stood around them. Neekeya knelt on Tam's other side, stroked his hair, and whispered into his ear. Jitomi knelt by Madori and touched her arm, speaking of Torin being strong and wise, clever enough to escape. The other Elorians, outcast students from Teel, simply stood silently, hoods and robes protecting their skin from the Timandrian sun.

  Madori wanted to say more. But her voice caught in her throat, and tears filled her eyes. For long turns, they had traveled through the wilderness, staying off the roads and rivers, hiding in forests and wild grasslands. All over Arden they had seen the remnants of battle: smoldering farms, ravaged towns, and castles now hoisting the enemy standards. For all these turns, Madori had told herself that Kingswall—fabled, ancient city of Ardish might—would withstand the Radian fire. Now she found it too overrun. Now her hope for aid—from Queen Linee, from Price Omry, from her own father—crashed like so many toppled forts.

  "Come, friends," she said. "Further back. Behind the trees. We're exposed here."

  They stepped back and huddled in a copse between elms, oaks, and pine trees. An ancient mosaic and three fallen columns peeked from the grass, hints of a lost world, remnants of the ancient Riyonan Empire which had ruled here a thousand years ago. Madori wondered if her own kingdom would join the ghosts of Riyona. Tam sat on a fallen column and placed his head in his hands; Neekeya sat beside him, stroking his hair and whispering soft comforts to him. The Elorians huddled together; they had hoped to find rest and aid here on their way back home to the night.

  Back home to the night, Madori thought, staring south. The wind played with her hair, scented of old fire and blood. We come from darkness . . . to the night we return.

  She had thought to find sanctuary behind these sunlit walls, but perhaps her home lay—had always lain—in the darkness.

  "Now we must choose our paths," she said. "We fled the lands of Mageria only to find the snake crawling upon Ardish soil too. This land—the river, the city, these plains—is the road to the night. Lord Serin will send his troops into the darkness." She turned to look at the Elorians. "He will send them after your families . . . after my mother. Now we must choose whether we hide or fight, whether we dig hideouts or lift swords and make our stand."

  * * * * *

  For a long time, Teel's outcasts sat in the grove, whispering, praying, huddling together as the world crumbled around them.

  Tam paced between the trees, his boots stepping on pine needles, rich brown soil, and the remnants of the ancient mosaic. The head of a statue rose from the earth, a woman's haloed head. Tam lowered his own head, the pain too great to bear.

  My father—trapped fighting a losing battle in the north. My mother and brother—trapped in conquered Kingswall, perhaps dead. My kingdom—in ruins.

  He was a prince of Arden, the younger of the twins, never an heir, never one who mattered to the throne. He had fled this realm—to be with Madori, the only one who understood feeling torn, forgotten, afraid. And now . . . now as his kingdom burned, what path did he have? Did he travel with Madori into the darkness, abandoning his home to the buffaloes of Mageria?

  The others were huddling together, the Elorians speaking in their language, Madori staring south in silence, the wind in her hair. Tam did not approach them. He needed to walk here, alone, to grieve, to pray. He wore only a tattered tunic and cloak, stubble covered his cheeks, and burrs filled his hair, yet he was still a prince of this land. He had to fight for it—to join his father in the northwestern battles, to sneak into the city, to find aid outside these borders, to lead rebels from the wilderness, to do something—anything—for his home. He had always relied on others for guidance—his parents, his professors, Madori's advice—and now he felt lost, trapped like in his recurring nightmare of racing through a labyrinth, desperate to escape but finding no exit.

  Pine needles crunched behind him, and Tam turned to see Neekeya approaching him, her eyes soft, her crocodile helmet tucked under her arm.

  Seeing her soothed him. The breeze played with her black, chin-length hair, and the sunlight gleamed upon her dusky skin and scale armor. When she reached him, the tall swamp dweller took his hands in hers. Her grip was warm, the fingers long, the palms soft.

  "I don't know what to do, Neekeya," he whispered. "Those we passed in the wilderness say my father still fights in the northwest, but none can say where. Even if I find him, he lies behind enemy lines. Do I seek him, Neekeya? And if I do, will you come with me?"

  She touched his cheek, and her eyes dampened. "No. I return to Daenor, to the swamplands of my home. I will speak to my father; he's a great lord. I will tell him of the Radian menace. I will entreat him to send soldiers across the mountains, to strike at Mageria from the west. We will summon a great council of swamp lords in our pyramid. We are strong in Daenor. We will fight the tyrant."

  He lowered his head. "I don't want you to leave me."

  She took a shuddering breath and embraced him. Her tears fell. She cupped his cheek in her hand, and she kissed him—a deep kiss, warm and desperate and mingling with her tears. Her lips trembled against his, and their bodies pressed together—his clad in old cotton, hers in steel scales.

  Finally their lips parted, and she stroked his hair. "Nor do I. Travel west with me, Tam. Travel into the swamps with me, then return to your land with an army behind you. Return here as a true prince, a true conqueror."

  He wanted to laugh, but only a weak breath left his throat. "How would I be a prince among you? In Daenor I would be only an exile, a coward fled from his kingdom as the enemy marched across it. How princely would I seem then, returning here with the hosts of other men?"

  She squeezed his hand. "Be my prince then! Wed me in the swamps. Be my husband, and you will not return as an exile but as a liberator. Let us forge an alliance between Daenor and Arden." She smiled through her tears. "When we return here, we will return together
—husband and wife, strong, our houses joined, our armies roaring."

  He looked into her large, earnest eyes. He stroked her cheek, trailing his fingers down to her chin. She was beautiful. She was strong. She was a woman Tam loved more than life.

  "I don't want to wed you for power," he said. "Nor for armies. I will wed you for love. I love you, Neekeya."

  She held him close and laid her head against his shoulder. "I love you too—always. Since I first saw you."

  They stood together upon the old mosaic on the hill. The leaves glided around them, and in the south the enemy chanted and its horns blew for victory.

  * * * * *

  Madori walked alone, leaving the others in the grove. Upon the hill, she found the remnant of an old brick wall, only three feet tall, most of it long fallen or perhaps buried underground—a relic of Riyona, an empire lost to time. She climbed onto the wall fragment and stared at the four directions of the wind.

  In the west her enemy mustered new power—the forces of Mageria and its corrupt ideology, the cruel Radian Order. When she turned to look north, she saw plains leading to dark forests; beyond them lay the realm of Verilon, a cold land of snow, ice, and pine trees, a realm she did not know, a realm she feared. In the south the capital of her home lay fallen, overrun with the tyrant's forces; even as she stood here, Madori heard the distant chanting of the enemy.

  "Are you trapped within those walls, Father?" she whispered, eyes stinging. "Are you chained like I was chained, and are you thinking of me too? Or did you escape into shadows?"

  Finally Madori turned to look east. The Sern River stretched across the land, the Ardish plains rolling to its north, the Nayan rainforest sprawling to its south. Mist and light covered the horizon, but beyond them, Madori knew—many leagues away—lay the shadows of Eloria, and that too was her home. There stretched her path, she knew—The Journey Home, like the old song, a journey into darkness.

  She returned to the grove and saw the others standing, their packs slung across their shoulders, their eyes somber, staring at her.

  Madori spoke softly. "I return to the darkness of night—the village of Oshy in the empire of Qaelin. That land is in danger now; the front line will move to the dusk. There I will make my stand. There I will fight with sword and magic against the tyrant—not in sunlight but in shadows." Her breath shook. "For many years, I thought that I could be a child of sunlight—like my friend Tam, like my fellow villagers, like my father." Her eyes stung. "For many years, I felt the pain of that sun and its people. I sought acceptance at Teel and still bear the scars—on my body, in my heart. Perhaps I've always been only a child of darkness; perhaps in the night will I find my home. My friends, join me there."

  Jitomi came to stand by her side. He took her hand in his and squeezed it. The other Elorians, twenty in all, came to stand behind her, robed and hooded. Only Tam and Neekeya, the two Timandrians of their group, did not join her. They remained standing ahead under a pine tree, holding hands.

  "We go to Daenor," Tam said softly. "Here our path forks. Here our quartet breaks."

  He spoke some more—of forging an alliance with the western realm, of marrying Neekeya in her pyramid, of returning to Arden with a great host of men—but Madori heard little of it. As he spoke, she could only think of losing her friends.

  She stepped toward them, her eyes damp, and embraced Neekeya—a crushing embrace, a cocoon of warmth she never wanted to be released from.

  "Goodbye, Neekeya," she whispered and kissed the girl's cheek. "Goodbye, my sweet friend."

  The swamp dweller smiled, tears in her eyes, and kissed Madori's forehead. "You're my dearest friend, Madori, now and always. We will meet again."

  Her cheeks wet, Madori turned to look at Tam, and for a moment she hesitated. How could she part from him—her dearest and only friend for most of her life? The boy she had spent every summer with, had run through fields and gardens with, had daydreamed together with so many times? All her life, Tam had been the beacon of her soul. Now he was traveling away from her, an exiled prince, a man she might never see again.

  He pulled her into his arms, and she laid her head against his chest, and she wept in his embrace. He kissed her tears away, and she never wanted to leave him, and when he finally walked downhill, Neekeya at his side, Madori stood for a long time, silent, a hole inside her. She stood there among the trees, watching her friends walk westward until they were only specks in the distance . . . and then were gone from her. Perhaps for years. Perhaps forever. And Madori knew that losing them was a wound greater than any her enemies had given her.

  After a long time, she turned back toward the others. They stood silently, wrapped in their cloaks, their eyes—large Elorian eyes like hers—gleaming in the shadows of their hoods.

  "It will be a long journey to the night," she said. "And danger crawls upon this land. We hoped to find safety behind brick walls; we will seek it in the shadows. Our road to darkness begins."

  She began to walk, leading the way across the hills and valleys, for they dared not travel by road or boat behind enemy lines. Jitomi walked behind her, and the others trailed behind him in single file, slim figures in hoods and robes, outcasts, far from home.

  They traveled as the moon waxed and waned, buying food in farms, hunting with magic, gathering mushrooms and berries. Every town they passed displayed the banners of Radianism, and every road they came across bore the soldiers of the enemy. They kept walking, hiding between trees, living off the gifts of the forest. Whenever they rested, Madori thought of those she loved—of her parents, of Tam and Neekeya, of Headmistress Egeria, and sometimes the pain was so cold inside her she couldn't breathe. Jitomi would hold her at those times, stroke her hair, and kiss her forehead, until she slept in his arms.

  Autumn leaves rustled in the forests when Madori and her companions reached the dusk.

  The village of Fairwool-by-Night lay to their south, Radian banners rising from the library roof. Madori stood between the trees, squeezing Jitomi's hand, staring upon her fallen home. A Magerian warship stood tethered at the docks, and enemy troops marched in the village square, clad in black armor. Madori's own home, the cottage where she'd been born and raised, stood enclosed in a new iron fence, its gardens burnt, its roof displaying an eclipse standard.

  Eyes burning, Madori turned away. She stared east at the great, glowing line of dusk, the border between day and night.

  "Into the darkness," she whispered, not trusting herself to speak any louder without weeping. "Quickly."

  She walked between the trees, heading into that orange glow. The Elorians walked behind her, silent and grim. Only Jitomi walked at her side, holding her hand tight, and in his eyes Madori saw his compassion; he knew this was her home, and he knew her pain.

  The sun dipped behind them as they walked, and shadows stretched across the forest, dark and tall like ghostly soldiers. With every step the light dimmed, turning a deep gold, then orange, then bronze. Their eyes glowed in the darkness, blue lanterns, eyes for seeing in the dark. The trees withered, thinning out, becoming stunted and weak. Soon the sun vanished beneath the horizon and they left the last trees behind. Only sparse grass and moss covered the hills here. Duskmoths rose to flutter around them, tiny dancers, their left wings white, their right wings black, creatures torn like the world. One landed on Madori's hand, and she remembered the duskmoth that had visited her at Teel University, and she wondered if this was the same one, a guardian, a soul that cared for her.

  They walked on through the shadows, crested a hill, and there they saw it. The companions froze and stared.

  "The night," Madori whispered. "Eloria."

  The land of her mother rolled before them, cloaked in shadows. Lifeless black hills rolled into the distance, and the Inaro River snaked between them, a silver thread. The moon shone above, a silver crescent, and starlight fell upon Madori for the first time in a year.

  "Eloria," Jitomi whispered. "Our home."

  Your home, she thought,
looking at him. Your home, she thought, looking at the other Elorians. Yet what home is mine? Will I find any more of a home in darkness than I did in the sunlight?

  She kept walking.

  They traveled across a valley and climbed a hill, and there above it loomed: Salai Castle, a pagoda with three tiers of blue, tiled roofs, the fortress named after Madori's grandfather. A golden dragon statue stood upon its topmost roof, and guards stood clad in scale armor at the gates, katanas at their sides. Their long white hair flowed in the wind, and their blue eyes gleamed. Below the hill nestled the village of Oshy, its lanterns bright as the stars, its junk boats floating in the river.

  "We'll be safe here, friends," Madori said, turning toward her companions who stood upon the hill. "This is where we make our stand. In the darkness. War will come here too, and the cruelty of Serin will pour into these lands." She clenched her fists. "And we will fight it."

  The castle doors creaked open. A gasp sounded. Madori spun around to see a slim figure emerge from within.

  "Madori!"

  Koyee rushed toward her, her white hair streaming, her lavender eyes filling with tears.

  Madori's own tears fell, and suddenly she was trembling, and all the strength she thought she had—of a warrior, a leader, a mage—vanished like rain into a river, leaving her only a girl, so afraid, so hurt.

  "Mother!"

  She ran toward her mother, and they crashed together in an embrace. Their tears mingled.

  "I'm home, Mother," Madori whispered. "I'm home."

  * * * * *

  They rode into the village in the chill of autumn, their horse's hooves scattering fallen leaves. Upon his mount, Lord Serin stared around in disgust and spat.

  "A backwater," he said. "A sty. Barely worth the trouble."

  His daughter sat beside him upon a white courser, a furred hood shielding her head from the wind. "Her home. A place that was dear to her." Lari sneered, turned her head around, and shouted toward their men. "Burn it! Burn it all down."