Legacy of Moth Read online

  She lifted a fish hook and scratched a rough map onto the boat floor.

  "The desert of Eseer is to my left, far in the east." She sketched the Eseerian coast. "Daenor is in the northeast, and here in the south, many miles away, lies Sania."

  She drew the island as she remembered it, a great land shaped as a horseshoe. As a child, she had read the book "Sari of Sania" many times; it told the stories of a young Sanian girl and her adventures, describing a world of sprawling savannahs, proud lions, lofty giraffes, and cities of gold and gems and wonder. Neekeya crawled toward the prow, leaned forward, and squinted at the southern horizon, trying to catch a glimpse of that distant land. She saw only blue. Sometimes she wondered if Sania were only a myth, a place from a storybook, no more.

  "I should turn back," she whispered. "I can find a home in Eseer. I speak the language. Or I can even return to Daenor, live hidden in the swamps, feeding on frogs and crayfish, and—"

  She shook her head wildly. No. Both Eseer and Daenor had fallen to the enemy, had been annexed to the Radian Empire.

  "I will never live under Serin's banner," she swore. "I would sail to the end of the earth to escape him. I would rather drown than live under Serin's rule."

  She grabbed the oars. She kept rowing.

  The water stretched on.

  The oars splashed.

  The sun baked her.

  Neekeya did not know how long she rowed. An hourglass was attached to boat's hull, but during her escape from the port, an enemy arrow had smashed it. Madori had once told her that in the darkness of Eloria, there were ways to calculate the passage of time by the movement of the stars, but here in the daylight, with the sun frozen in the same place, there was no way to tell. She could have been rowing for an hour, and she could have been rowing for a whole turn.

  And still she saw no land.

  Finally her arms felt too weak to continue. She gazed at them. Long ago, her arms had been strong and muscular, the arms of a warrior; she had often felt self-conscious about their width. Since leaving Teel University—by Cetela, it had been over a year ago—her body had grown slim and hard like the roots of mangroves. Her arms were now wiry, thin, still strong but growing weaker every turn. Without her armor—it still lay buried in the sand back in Daenor—her entire body seemed too fragile to her, withering away.

  "I need to eat."

  She placed down her oars and pulled her net up from the water; it had been dragging behind her. She sighed. The net had caught only a single panfish; it was no larger than her fist. She lifted the knife she had found on the boat, a gift from its previous owner, and gutted the fish. When she stabbed herself on its fins, she cursed and raised her bleeding finger to her lips. At least sucking the blood dampened her dry mouth.

  She ate the paltry meal. The fish meat was raw and rubbery, and it barely subdued her hunger, but perhaps it would keep her alive for a few more strokes of the oars. What she really craved, more than a thousand panfish, was water—sweet, delicious water to heal her body. Yet until it rained, she had best push that thought out of her mind.

  She placed the net back in the water, and she rowed on.

  The boat rose and fell.

  A distant fish breached the water, then vanished before she could catch it.

  The sun baked her hair and limbs.

  The endless blue stretched into the horizons.

  Finally she could row no more; all the strength the panfish had given her was gone. She needed water. She craved water with every beat of her heart, every dry breath, every sway of the boat. She tugged the net back into the boat, and she found two panfish. She cut one open, drank its sweet blood, and chewed its meat. She saved the second in the tin bucket she had found in the boat.

  She slept then, and in her sleep feverish dreams rose.

  "Tam!" she cried, again and again.

  And he kept falling, plunging into the lava, only to rise, burning and screaming and fall again into the molten rock. She kept trying to save him, but he died endlessly in her dreams, and Neekeya woke weeping.

  "Why did you leave me, Tam?" she whispered. Her lips cracked and she sucked greedily at the blood. "Why?"

  Her arms shook when she tried to grab the oars. When she touched her forehead, it felt so hot, and sweat beaded there. That was bad. She could not afford to lose any more moisture. She collected the sweat on her fingers and licked the droplets.

  "Why did you let me fall?" Tam asked, sitting before her in the boat.

  Neekeya shed tears, losing more moisture. Tam glared at her, his skin burned away, his bones showing through tatters in his muscles.

  "Tam!"

  "Why did you leave me in the lava?" he said. "I came back to you. I'm back. You let me burn." He pointed at her with a charred finger. "Why did you let me burn?"

  "No!" she screamed. "You're not real."

  She raised her sword, her only remnant from home, and swung the blade at him, weeping.

  The sword cut through air.

  He was gone.

  Neekeya curled up on the boat floor, trembling.

  "Visions," she whispered. "Visions of a feverish mind."

  She was ill. Perhaps the raw fish had given her this fever, perhaps only her thirst and exhaustion. With shaky fingers, she reached for her waterskin, the old vessel she had carried with her through this past year of war. Empty again. Empty every time. Perhaps if she tried again later, she would find a forgotten drop. She checked the old tin bucket the fisherman had left in the boat, hoping for some rain water. Dry as a bone. Again.

  The deep, mournful keen of her heart sounded across the sea.

  It was the sound of a shattering soul. She was surprised she could emit a sound so sad.

  Arms wobbling, she pushed herself onto her elbows and gazed off the starboard side. And there she saw him. A white creature, larger than her, a scar along his snout. His eye stared at her, large and round and wise, and water blasted from his spout, a fountain soaring, and he sang again. A beautiful dirge. A dolphin song.

  "A spirit of the sea," she whispered. "A god of the blue." She smiled tremulously and reached out to it. "Thank you for blessing me."

  She had heard of dolphins before; they were blessed, holy creatures in the lore of her land. And this one was special, pure white like an Elorian, an albino or perhaps a deity of the sea. Neekeya took her last remaining fish from her bucket. She did not know if she'd catch another, but this god of the water had blessed her with its presence. She would give him an offering.

  She tossed the fish into his mouth. The albino dolphin accepted the meal, gave her a last look, then sank into the water.

  And finally it began to rain.

  Neekeya laughed. "Thank you, King Dolphin." She did not know why she thought him a king, but now he seemed a great king to her, wise and all powerful. "Thank you."

  The rain fell, and she lay on her back, mouth open, drinking drop by drop.

  The rain grew stronger.

  The drops pattered against her, and the wind shrieked. The waves tossed the boat up and down. Lightning flashed and thunder boomed.

  Neekeya clung to the boat. The rain drenched her and now sea water splashed into the boat too. The vessel rose and fell, and one oar spilled overboard. She managed to grab it just before it could sink, then stuffed both oars under the seat.

  A great wave tossed the boat clear into the air. It crashed down with a clatter of fishing gear. Her bucket of rainwater overturned. The net tore free and sailed into the wind. The storm roared and the rain kept falling.

  Neekeya clung to the boat. "Please, Cetela," she whispered. "Don't let me drown here. Let the rain stop."

  The boat rose and fell again. Her knife and sword slid across the floor. The bucket rolled overboard and sank. Why had she ever come here? She had been a fool. The rain crashed down and lightning rent the sky, a demon of light.

  Neekeya closed her eyes, trying to imagine she was back home in Daenor, snug in her bed, a storm raging harmlessly outside her window ont
o the marshlands.

  The wind rose to a deafening shriek, and thunder boomed so loudly it shook the boat. A great wave tossed Neekeya into the air. The boat overturned beneath her. She crashed down into the water.

  She sank. Salty water filled her mouth and stung through her nostrils. She floundered, feeling too weak to swim. The water tugged her down, yanked her sideways, and she kicked madly and thrashed and her face emerged over the surface. She gulped down air and swallowed water.

  "Dolphin!" she shouted, knowing the animal was gone, knowing she would drown here.

  The water tugged her back down.

  She sank into the darkness.

  All was shadows and mottles of fading light.

  It seemed to her, as the darkness swirled and tugged at her feet, that was back in the dungeons under Eetek pyramid. She was fleeing the Magerians again through the mines, with Tam who had fallen. Again she saw him plunge into the pit, leaving her so soon after their wedding.

  I cannot fall too.

  She kicked.

  She rose in the water.

  Be like the dolphin.

  She swam upwards, breached the surface, and gulped down air. She stayed afloat.

  The boat was gone, and the waves tossed her up and down, and her head kept sinking, but she kept swimming. She laughed because the hosts of Serin could not kill her, and neither would this storm. She would stay alive for Tam. She would keep fighting. Even if all others fell, and the Radian fires burned all across the world, she would live.

  I'm in the water and I'm safe from the fire.

  When the storm died down, she floated on the salty water. She was alone in an ocean, the water stretching to the horizons. She had lost everything—her armor, her sword, her boat, her husband, her father. But she was still alive.

  The rain had died to a drizzle when she saw the first shark fin.

  Fresh fear filled her.

  The shark swam closer, circling her. Two more emerged from the depths. Each was as large as her missing boat.

  "Oh Cetela," she whispered.

  Desperately, she scanned the sea for her boat and could not find it. The sharks circled nearer, and panic began to flood Neekeya. She panted and her limbs shook. A wave rose, Neekeya bobbed higher in the sea, and she saw it there. Her boat, overturned, still floated. It seemed about a mile away, a mere speck in the distance.

  A shark drew so close it brushed against her.

  Neekeya began to swim. I'll never make it, she thought. Oh by the gods of sea and swamp, I'll never make it. Please, if there is any goodness to you, Idar, Cetela, and any other gods who might listen, save me this turn.

  She swam, grimacing, as the sharks drove in toward her.

  With a song that brought tears to her eyes, a dolphin leaped from the water—an albino dolphin with a scarred snout—and slammed into one of the sharks.

  An instant later, a dozen more dolphins emerged.

  Their long noses slammed into the sharks. The dolphins were smaller, but they fought in a fury. The sharks swam away, turned back once toward Neekeya, seemed to decide her lanky frame more trouble than it was worth, and finally turned to flee.

  The dolphin with the scarred nose, the one she had fed, swam up beneath her, gently lifting her from the water. She wrapped her arms around him.

  "Thank you, friend." She kissed him. "Thank you."

  The dolphins swam, returning her to her boat. When she struggled to turn it upright, the dolphins helped her push, and it seemed to her that they were as wise as men, perhaps wiser, surely kinder. When she had finally righted the boat and climbed back in, they swam alongside her, leaping from the water.

  She had lost her oars and her sword. She leaned over the side and rowed with her hand. She could only move a few inches at a time this way, and she had to keep alternating sides. But she kept moving.

  Her chin was raised, her lips tightened, when she saw land ahead.

  CHAPTER EIGHT:

  REBORN

  Tirus Serin, Sovereign of the Radian Empire, stood in his bedchamber, building a new daughter.

  "Excellent," he said, strapping on her last piece of armor. He caressed the girl's cheek. "You are Lari Serin. You are returned to me."

  She stood trembling before him, a young woman, perhaps twenty years old. Her hair was long and golden, her eyes blue, her face fair and soft. He had found her on the city streets, a milkmaid in the dregs of Markfir, a poor peasant girl with a little brother at her heels. A woman who looked like Lari. A woman who was Lari now.

  Serin had torn off and burned her old clothes, a humble woolen skirt, apron, and kerchief. He had torn off her brother too and tossed the screaming urchin into the dungeon. Now she stood before him, clad in gilded armor, a sword at her waist. Now his daughter had returned from the dead.

  You killed her, Serin thought. You killed her, Madori. I will find you. I will break you. I will shatter every segment of your spine and keep you alive in a box, broken and screaming and begging for death.

  He found himself trembling with rage. The new Lari recoiled, and her lip wobbled.

  "Please, my lord," the girl whispered. A tear streamed down her cheek. "Please let me see my brother."

  Serin snarled and grabbed her shoulders. "You have no brother. I never had a son. You are Lari Serin, returned from the dead." He raised his fist. "Do you understand?"

  She flinched. "Yes, my lord. But . . . the boy who was with me, is he—"

  "Stop flinching! Lari is strong. Lari is a soldier, heir to an empire." He grabbed her arm, dragged her across the chamber, and stood her by the window. "Look! Look out the tower, Lari. Look at your domain."

  They stood in the tallest tower of Solgrad Castle, pinnacle of Markfir. The chamber was lavish. Tapestries hung across the walls, depicting proud, golden-haired Radians slaying twisted nightcrawlers. Suits of filigreed armor stood at the room's corners, and many jeweled swords rose on stands, Radian eclipses upon their pommels. A great eclipse six feet in diameter, worked in gold and silver, hung above a plush bed. Serin's greatest treasure—his collection of Elorian skulls—stood upon shelves. Hundreds of the skulls stood here, all those he had personally slain. Upon each forehead he had engraved an eclipse, a symbol of his dominion. Countless more skulls—the victims of his soldiers—lay buried and burnt across the night; they too were his legacy.

  When Serin had first moved into the capital, this chamber had been bare of any such trophies. Mageria's old, drunken king had lived here before Professor Atratus had slipped poison into his mug. Now this was a home to Serin, a great emperor, a slayer of nightcrawlers. From this tower, he could gaze over the city of Markfir and the landscape beyond.

  Markfir, ancient capital of Mageria and now capital of the Radian Empire, was among the largest cities in the world, home to half a million souls. It rose across the foothills of Markshade Mountains—which in foreign lands men still called Teekat—sloping downward toward the plains. Solgrad Castle rose upon the city crest, perched like an eagle overlooking its territory. Avenues flared out from the palace grounds like rays from a sunburst, lined with buildings: homes of wood and clay with tiled roofs, stone barracks topped with Radian banners, Idarith temples whose domes sported the half-sun of their faith, and many inns, workshops, and silos of brick.

  Three layers of walls spread out in three semi-circles from the mountains. The first contained the Old City, home to many historic buildings—some of them thousands of years old—the place where Mageria's very first people had lived. The city's oldest, richest families lived within this inner shell, some tracing their ancestry millennia back.

  Since those ancient years, the city had expanded, and a second layer of wall contained newer buildings, these ones several hundred years old. Within this second layer lived wealthy merchants and tradesmen. Their family names were not as ancient, not as noble, but their coffers were deep, their manors large, their blood newer but still pure.

  The third wall had been raised only recently to contain the city's expanding w
aistline. Within the past twenty years, many undesirables had clogged this third layer: peasants who thought they could live as city folk, travelers from Arden and Naya and other foreign kingdoms, and even Elorians who had moved to Mageria to seek a new life after the first great war. Those undesirables were gone now; Serin could still see the mounds of their mass graves outside the wall. Now his soldiers, many brought here all the way from Sunmotte Citadel in the north, occupied the third layer of Markfir: myriads of troops in steel, armed with swords, pikes, and bows. They stood on the walls. They mustered in the courtyards. They manned the turrets and gatehouses. They were waiting. Waiting for Madori to arrive.

  "Look at the plains beyond the walls," Serin said, gripping Lari's arm. "The grasslands spread into the east, fabled for their herds of buffalo. The old banner of our kingdom displayed a buffalo, did you know? The buffaloes are nearly gone now, perhaps already extinct, hunted into nothingness . . . and this too will be the fate of the nightcrawlers. Beyond those plains, she's approaching. Madori. The woman who slew you before I resurrected you. She's coming here with a great army of nightcrawlers." Serin laughed. "I've allowed them to sail into the daylight; I left only a few hundred men at Fairwool-by-Night, knowing the nightcrawlers could make it through. Do you know why, Lari?"

  The girl—his new daughter—shook her head silently. A fresh tear streamed down her cheek.

  "I let Madori enter the daylight because I want her to come here. I want to watch it myself from this tower—the extinction of their race. And you will watch it with me. Thousands of nightcrawlers will have to crawl across the plains, weak in the sunlight, as my forces plague them along every mile. Madori will finally make it here with her ragtag army . . . and then, Lari, she will see our glory. Then her army will smash against our walls, and I will ride out to capture her myself." His breath quickened. "And it will be glorious."

  "But . . . my lord, they say these Elorians are from Ilar, a cruel empire of bloodthirsty warriors." Lari shuddered. "They say they flay their enemies and drink blood from their skulls. They say . . ." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "They say that a dragon flies above them, the black beast Tianlong, that he can fly above walls and lay cities to waste."