Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) (2 page)

Jin looked down upon his home,
the Eternal Palace. Inside that labyrinth of stone, he often felt
like a queen ant trapped in a hive, never aware of the outside world,
barely able to move. But here in the sky . . . from here his palace
seemed a place of wonders—a walled complex of a hundred halls,
towers, and courtyards. The buildings lay like blocks, each topped
with slanting roofs of red tiles, their edges upturned like curling
parchment. Here were barracks, temples, libraries, and armories, a
city within a city. Cobbled roads spread between the structures, and
countless guards marched back and forth, bedecked in scales and
bearing spears and swords. In the center rose the Heavenly
Hall—Jin's home—a great pagoda with seven tiers of roofs, their
tiles red, their tips holding dragon statues.

"Thousand of soldiers live
within the Eternal Palace," Jin said. "And yet a man
entered my chamber. Perhaps there is no safety in the world."

Shenlai coiled beneath him,
wingless, moving across the sky like a snake upon water. "There
is always danger in the world, and even the greatest army cannot
fight every shadow in the night."

They rose higher. The wind
fluttered Shenlai's beard, sending it back to tickle Jin in his
saddle. The dragon's blue scales clanked and shimmered. As they
soared, Jin saw his city sprawl beyond the palace walls.

"Yintao," he
whispered. "The wonder of the night."

Capital of Qaelin, the city was
the greatest in his empire—perhaps the greatest in all Eloria, the
dark half of this world men called Moth. It grew around the Eternal
Palace like a field of mushrooms around a lake. A million people
lived in Yintao—it was a city to dwarf all others, even the great
Pahmey in the west. Seven layers of walls rose here, squares within
squares. Between each level of fortifications, brick houses lined
cobbled streets as neatly as soldiers, their roofs tiled with adobe.
Lanterns rose every twenty yards, a painting of light and shadow.
They said the western cities were tangled hives, towers and homes and
temples all jumbled together, but not this place. The capital of
Jin's empire was as meticulous as a tapestry. From up here, it seemed
to him a clockwork, a city like an army, a wonder of light and life.

"Fly faster!" Jin
cried upon the dragon's back. "Fly into the wilderness of
night."

The dragon flew faster, his
serpentine body undulating. Smoke puffed out from his mouth, and his
beard and eyebrows fluttered like banners. The city streamed below
and Jin laughed, for here was freedom greater than any in the palace.
Here a limbless, frightened boy who had grown up in stone halls could
feel the wind, taste the clouds, and be mightier and faster than any
hero.

They flew over the city's
seventh wall, the outer layer, and emerged into the open night.

The wilderness of Eloria spread
out below, black plains that rolled into the horizon. Only the Sage's
Road broke the darkness, a line of lights heading westward, small
mushroom farms and trading posts rising alongside; it stretched for
many miles, all the way to Pahmey in the west. Everywhere else Jin
looked he saw nothing but the night, rocky and black and empty. The
lights below grew smaller, and the stars brightened above, an endless
world of shine and shadow. Jin often wished they could fly to those
distant stars. He wondered if cities spread among them too and if
other dragons flew there; only three dragons remained in Eloria, the
dark half of the world, and only one in his empire of Qaelin.

"There is only you here,
Shenlai," he said, the wind swallowing his words. "You are
very old and very precious. You are my dearest friend." He
blinked tears from his eyes. "I'm so glad you're still alive."

Flying through the night,
leaving the city far behind, Shenlai turned his head and looked back
at Jin. Sadness filled his eyes and he spoke in a low voice.

"We defeated danger in the
palace, yet a greater danger rises in the west. A peril looms that
could burn all the lands of night."

Jin shivered, suddenly feeling
less safe in his harness. He looked around, seeking enemies. The city
of Yintao lay upon the eastern horizon, a glowing smudge fading into
the darkness. The Sage's Road sprawled beneath him, a mere thread
from up here, its lights flickering upon each milestone. All else lay
in shadow, for few people ventured far into the cold, dark wilderness
of Eloria.

"What is the danger?"
Jin asked in a small voice, scanning the darkness, seeking monsters
or demons of the afterworld.

Shenlai's tufted eyebrows
bunched together. His scales clattered.

"Hold on tight, little
one," he said, an old joke of theirs. "We will fly faster
than ever. I will show you."

Jin's heart sank. He didn't want
to fly anywhere near danger.

"Are you sure, Shen—"
he began, then gasped when Shenlai's body straightened and he flew
faster than an arrow.

The lands blurred below. The
stars trailed above. The wind whipped them and soon it seemed as if
the earth below vanished, the hills and plains all falling into
shadow, as if Eloria faded away, a mere bad dream like the ones that
sometimes plagued him. All creation was but the stars above, the
soothing blackness, and the dragon beneath him. And it felt right. It
felt like truth. As they flew and as the distance blurred, even
dragon and rider seemed to fade, washing away until Jin was no longer
a boy upon a dragon, until there was no more boy—he was thought
itself. Then thought vanished too, leaving him only
being
,
only
existing
,
only consciousness among sky and darkness and stars and light and
shadow. He was as a duskmoth. He was an ancient world, frozen in a
cosmic ocean, one half light, one half dark, broken. Needing healing.
There was fear here, deep and dark and sticky and cold, but also hope
that stung, joy that would whisper if he could only find it.

The world had stopped like a
dead heart. He—the world itself, the sky, the mind flowing through
it—would have to fix it. He would have to uncover the shard inside
and draw out the poison.

The world slowed.

The wind died.

He blinked and found himself
within his body again, a small and limbless body in a harness, flying
upon a dragon, gazing toward a horizon of fire.

"See them, Jin," said
Shenlai. "See those who march from the sun."

They flew closer, and a gasp
fled Jin's lips.

An army covered the horizon.

"An army of fire," he
whispered.

A hundred thousand troops or
more stood upon the edge of the night. They swarmed across the barren
landscapes. They marched through a city of crystal towers. They
raised banners and beat drums and howled for war.

"Who are they?" Jin
whispered.

"They come from the land of
sunlight," said Shenlai, voice soft. The dragon hovered, facing
the distant light. "They come here to burn, to conquer, to
destroy. The city you see is Pahmey, the western jewel of your
empire; it has fallen to their fire."

Jin's eyes stung. He had never
seen Pahmey before, but he had read about this city in books and
scrolls. Its hundred towers rose gleaming from the inferno of sunlit
soldiers. The banners of the day—sunbursts upon white fields—rose
from their crests.

"Timandrians," Jin
whispered. "They're real."

He had read about Timandrians
too, but he had always thought them legends, creatures no more real
than cave spirits or river wisps. Many of his teachers claimed that
Timandra, the sunlit half of Moth, was only a myth. Others claimed it
was real but that no life could exist in a land of such heat and
fire.

"This enemy will march
across your empire, Jin," said Shenlai. "They will travel
east. They will seek the capital and our palace. They will seek you
too."

Jin stared, eyes wide and
stinging, and his heart thudded. "Can you stop them, Shenlai?
Can you stop them like you stopped the assassin in the palace?"

Shenlai lowered his head. "No,
for I am but a teacher, not a warrior, not a leader. You will stop
them." He turned his head toward Jin, his orbs gleaming with
tears. "You will need all your strength and courage and wisdom.
With them you can fight this enemy."

"But . . ." Jin
swallowed and felt tears on his cheeks. "But I'm weak. I have no
arms or legs. I was born crippled. The masters say I'm cursed because
my parents were siblings, and now I must suffer for their sin. How
can I fight this army?"

Shenlai moved his head closer,
and the breath from his nostrils warmed Jin. "True strength is
not of the body but of the soul. And your soul is strong. It is
strong as mountains, as flowing rivers, as the night itself."

"I don't feel strong."
Jin lowered his head. "Will you fight with me? Will you always
stay near? Some whisper that you're very old; I hear them. They say
you'll die soon and reveal your secret." Jin's tears streamed.
"Please don't die, Shenlai. Please always stay with me."

Shenlai smiled softly, the wind
fluttering his beard and mustache. "I am very old, Jin. It's
true. And yes, my time will soon come." Jin's tears flowed, but
Shenlai kept speaking, his voice soothing. "Someday soon my soul
will fly to the stars, leaving my body behind. And you'll have to
carry on without me. You'll have to use all your strength and all the
wisdom that I see in you."

Jin's chin pressed against his
chest. "I don't want you to leave me. I love you, Shenlai."

The dragon's head moved closer,
and his snout nuzzled Jin, tickling him with that bristly mustache.

"Death cannot kill love.
Death cannot erase the joy of life. Good memories and love always
stay inside you, a fire that burns forever and warms you even in the
coldest, darkest night. That is why we have memories; they are a
treasure loss cannot claim."

With that, Shenlai turned in the
sky and began flying back east, back toward the distant capital of
Yintao. They flew for a long time over the plains and under the
stars, leaving the fires of war behind . . . fires Jin knew would
spread. They flew until they saw the lights of Yintao on the horizon,
the city he ruled.

"Shenlai, I don't want to
return home." Jin lowered his head. "There is too much pain
there . . . too many bad dreams. Can we sleep outside the city under
the stars? I'm frightened and the starlight will soothe me."

Shenlai laughed softly, coiling
upon the wind. "You are the emperor."

"I don't feel like one. I
only feel like a boy. Not even a real boy. Please, Shenlai, let's
sleep outside and I can lie upon your scales."

Shenlai began spiraling down.
The wind whistled around them. Hills rolled below, smooth like
polished onyx, and Shenlai descended onto a hilltop. With gentle
teeth, he pulled Jin out of his saddle and placed him upon his warm
scales. The scales were hard as tiles but felt soothing to Jin, more
so than his silken bed at home. Shenlai coiled up, enveloping Jin
with warmth. The dragon's snowy beard draped over Jin like a blanket.
His eyes, large orbs like crystal balls, gleamed as they watched him.

"Many people in the palace
will worry about you and miss you," Shenlai said, "but you
can fall asleep here, and when you are sleeping, I will carry you
home."

Jin wiggled until he was
comfortable and warm, but he did not feel safe. He was afraid of more
assassins. He was afraid of the sunlit army in the west. And mostly
he was afraid of his dearest friend dying.

"I hope you never die,"
he whispered. "And if you do, you don't have to tell me your
secret. You don't have to tell anyone. I'll miss you when you're
gone, Shenlai, but I promise to be strong and wise like you taught
me. I love you."

His eyes closed and he slept,
dreaming that he could fly on his own, a new dragon of the night, and
reach the sun and the moon.

 
 
CHAPTER TWO:
THE SUN AND MOON

"He's my half-brother."

Koyee stared into the mirror,
the horror dancing in her eyes like yezyani upon a pleasure den's
stage.

"Eelani . . . Ferius is my
half-brother."

Several moons ago, Torin had
taken her hand, stroked her hair, and revealed the secret to her,
translating the words Ferius had spoken in Bluefeather Corner as she
had lain wounded at his feet. She had laughed then, had shoved Torin
back, had refused to believe . . . and every turn since, she had
stood here in her chamber, staring at her reflection, those ghosts
dancing.

"The demon of sunlight.
Ferius the Cruel. The monk who nearly slew us in Bluefeather Corner.
Eelani . . . he was born of my mother."

Her shoulder spirit was silent,
and Koyee could barely feel the usual warmth on her shoulder, the
weight—light as a feather—of her invisible friend. Since the
battle, Eelani had been so quiet, so still, barely more than the hint
of a whisper. Sometimes Koyee wondered if the spirit was crushed
under the pain of this war.

And
what of myself?
Koyee stared at her reflection, seeking tears, pain, even a wince or
grimace. Yet her face remained blank. A triangular face, her forehead
too wide, her chin too small. Three scars—one across her brow, one
along her cheek, and one tugging her lip into a half-smile. Long,
smooth hair the color of snow. Her mother had died years ago, and
many said that Koyee shared her features.

He
has them too,
she realized. Ferius too had the wide brow, the small chin. Her eyes
were large and lavender, and Ferius had beady eyes—a relic of his
Timandrian father—but Koyee had seen her mother in his face.

"His shame drives him,"
Torin had told her. "He's so ashamed of his mixed blood, of what
he calls impurity, that now he seeks to slay all Elorians—a
vengeance against your mother and what he believes was her sin."