Moth (21 page)

She walked on, shivering in the cold, her tunic and hair drenched. She had not stopped shivering for a long time, though when she touched her forehead, it felt warm.

"I'm scared, Eelani," she whispered, walking under an awning and around a few discarded barrels. "I'm scared that we'll turn into that woman, a crazy old thing with three teeth, playing a drum on a street corner fifty years from now." Her eyes stung. "We should never have come to this place. I miss home so much. I miss my father."

Invisible hands tugged her ear, and Koyee tightened her lips.

"Yes, Eelani, you're right. We can't despair. Despair leads to hopelessness. Despair worsens every hardship. It's a pit we would never escape. We will fight on." She raised her chin. "We will not abandon our home or our lives."

She kept walking, passing through a cobbled square where elders sat at stone tables, playing
xin
, a game of seashells and bones. The Library of Pahmey rose to her north, its columns forged of crystal, its steps carved of marble. Its dome gleamed as the moon emerged from the clouds. As Koyee walked by, several women exited the library, walked down the stairs toward the square, then froze when they saw her. They wore fine fabrics, the green and blue silk embroidered with golden wings, and glowing jewels filled with the lights of lanternfish. Staring at Koyee, their faces twisted in disgust, and one pinched her nose shut.

Koyee wanted to shout, to scold them, to hurl insults their way. But she felt too ashamed. She caught her reflection in a crystal column: a half-starved thing, limbs stick-thin, hair bedraggled, her face scarred and twisted. A lump filled her throat.

"Is this who we are, Eelani?" she whispered. "A creature?"

She turned away, eyes stinging, and walked on. She wondered if she was going mad. She wondered if Eelani even existed, or whether the invisible friend was only the product of insanity, a figment of a crazy beggar's fever.

A few streets away from the library, Koyee found a little cobbled square; it was barely larger than her missing boat's deck. A bronze statue of a bird stood here, its beak holding a sign that read: "Bluefeather Corner."

Behind the sign stood the square's namesake: a corral of bluefeathers. Each taller than Koyee, the wingless birds stood chained to posts, tilting their heads. Their eyes blinked, purple eyelids clacking like metal shutters, and their beaks opened as Koyee approached, as if they were hoping for treats. Saddles topped their backs, woven of leather and tin, hourglasses affixed to the horns. The birds' owner sat upon a pedestal, looking bored, an empty mug in his hand.

Koyee looked around the square. She saw only a few other people. One man stood outside a seashell shop, sweeping his patio. A fortune teller sat upon a stone chest, sound asleep, his eyebrows and mustache fluttering with every snore. A tavern nestled into the shadows, its awning displaying the words "The Fat Philosopher"; a fat man stood sweeping outside, looking more like a cook than a sage. A woman walked toward the corral with her daughter, paid a few coins, and rented a bluefeather, promising to return the bird once its hourglass ran out.

"This is as good a place as we'll find," Koyee said. "Bluefeather Corner—our stage."

She positioned herself between the corral, the seashell shop, and the fortune teller. She cleared her throat, dusted off her flute, and began to play.

Her fingers were weak and breathing hurt her throat, but she kept playing. As her notes flowed, she thought back to her friend Maniko, the little man with the large beard.
Make me proud, Koyee,
he had said. And so she played as best she could, though her eyes stung and her notes trembled. She played the song he'd taught her—"Sailing Alone", an old tune she could imagine had been written for her. She had sailed alone to this city, and still she sailed alone through the seas of her loss and fear.

I will make you proud, Maniko. I will make you proud, my father. I am not a filthy creature. I am Koyee Mai of Oshy, the daughter of a warrior. I will live.

An elderly couple walked by, carrying baskets of dried fish. The husband smiled at Koyee, reached into his pocket, and tossed her a copper coin.

Hope leaped in Koyee's chest. She had earned a coin! A true piece of copper without stealing! She almost stopped playing with joy, and tears filled her eyes. She nodded and played on.

She played for a long time.

Few people walked across the square, and most did not spare her a glance, but some did toss coins her way. When the woman and her daughter returned with the bluefeather, they listened for a while, then gave her a coin each.

When Koyee finally finished playing, a smile trembling on her lips, she had fourteen copper pieces.

It was more money than she'd ever owned.

Delicately, she placed the bone flute into her pocket; it was now her most precious possession.

"We'll have to save this money," she said to Eelani. "We can only buy a humble meal for now, then rest and come back and play some more."

She stepped toward The Fat Philosopher, the rickety tavern. It was too poor an establishment for glass bricks; its walls were humble clay. But Koyee wasn't picky, not after so many meals scrounged from trash. She brushed her tunic, raised her head, and stepped inside.

A shadowy chamber awaited her. Lanterns hung from the ceiling, their tin shaped as fat, smiling faces. Skewers of sea urchins, spiders, and mushrooms lay upon a counter. Five bone tables stood here, only one empty; diners sat at the others, eating from clay bowls. Dust and grime covered the floor, but the scents of delicious foods rose from the kitchen. Koyee's mouth watered and her belly growled like a cornered wolf.

"Remember, Eelani," she said, sitting down at the empty table. "Only a few nibbles. We have to save our money."

The corpulent cook greeted her, clad in green silks, and bowed his head. His cheeks were plump and pink.

Oh, to the sunlight with frugality,
Koyee thought.

She slammed all fourteen coins onto the tabletop.

"I want the best meal this can buy and a bed for a turn," she said. "I want to spend every last one of these coins, so make this a feast."

She could swear she felt Eelani sigh against her cheek. Koyee only smiled tremulously.

The cook took her money and soon returned with a tray laden with food. Slices of roast fowl steamed in a lacquerware bowl, doused in gravy and topped with spiced milkcaps. Fried lanternfish filled a second bowl, and steamed clams filled a third. Wine glimmered in a pewter mug, a golden liquid from fermented matsutake mushrooms.

"Will this be to your liking, young mistress?" asked the cook.

Her mouth watered so much she could barely reply.

"Yes," she whispered, nearly fainting. "Yes, this will be fine."

She surrendered to the food.

Her eyes rolled back with the first bite.

It was heavenly. It was the best thing she had ever eaten. Her entire body shook as the energy flowed through her, filling her with warmth and nourishment and healing. The roast meat melted in her mouth, flavored with sliced truffles. The dried fish
crunched
. The wine swirled and fizzed. She had needed this so badly that tears filled her eyes.

After her meal the cook showed her upstairs, where Koyee found a warm bed topped with fur blankets. After sleeping for two moons in graveyards and alleys, this humble mattress felt better than the bed of an emperor.

For the first time since arriving in Pahmey, Koyee slept soundly. She slept for what felt like two hourglass turns.

Fed and rested and feeling better than she had since her father's death, she returned to Bluefeather Corner. She placed the flute between her lips and played some more.

Her notes floated through the night air.

Silks swaying, the people of Pahmey walked back and forth.

Coins gleamed in the moonlight at Koyee's feet. She played on.

I will see my home again,
she swore as she played. She closed her eyes and let her soul float with the music. On its wings, she could imagine that she was back home, back in Oshy with her father and brother. She played a song of moonlight on the great plains, a song of stars reflected in the river, a song of family and childhood. It was no longer the song Maniko had taught her. Here in the dark, eyes closed and hair billowing in the wind, she played the song of Koyee Mai—a song of a girl far from her village, a woman alone in the dark, a light that would guide her home.

She did not know how long passed as she played. She learned to guess time by the movements around her: the stars that wheeled above, the moon that spun, and the coming and going of bluefeathers from their corral. She had eleven copper coins before she lowered her flute.

When she returned to the Fat Philosopher and sat at her table, she gave the cook only one coin.

"I need no bed this night," she said. "I need only what food this can buy me."

She ate only mushroom stew that visit, and it left her still hungry, but she would not spend more.

"I know you're hungry, but we need to save our money, Eelani," she admonished her friend. "If we save enough, we can buy a warm cloak, sturdy boots, a fishing rod, and enough food to last the moon's walk back home."

As she left the tavern, she reached into her pocket and felt her ten remaining coins. They were not just money; they were a step to Oshy.

She slept in an alley beneath a refuse bin, trying to ignore the cockroaches she heard squeaking in the dark. She arose shivering in the cold, wet with rain and covered in mud, but light filled her heart. She had ten coins. Hope lived within her.

She returned to her corner and she played some more.

The stars turned.

The moon waned to a sliver, then disappeared, and darkness covered the city.

Koyee played on and on, eating little, sleeping less, collecting whatever coins people tossed her way. As she played, she thought of home, remembering her family, her hut, and the lights on the river. Sometimes when people walked by, Koyee looked up, imagining that one would be Okado, her long-lost brother. In her daydreams, he was a wealthy merchant or powerful soldier, and he always recognized her, even though ten years had gone by, and he always saved her from this life.

Yet it was never him . . . only a stranger, only somebody to walk by, to ignore her, to sometimes toss her a copper. And so she played on.

She made her music, shrinking into a skinny and weary thing, until fifty coins finally jangled in her pocket.

"We have enough," she whispered, running her fingers among them and listening to the jingle. "One more song and we can go home."

Tears stung her eyes, and she was about to say more when a yawn stretched across her. She stretched, shedding dust. When she lay down in the alley to sleep, curling up beneath the trash bin, she smiled softly; this would be her last sleep in Pahmey.

A beetle scuttled by, and Koyee didn't even reach out to grab it; her belly was still warm with mushroom stew. Rain pattered down, and the stench of refuse wafted, but Koyee could already smell the cooking crayfish, crackling fires, and fur beds of her home.

"We survived, Eelani," she whispered, her cheek on her palms, lying on her side upon the cobblestones. "We are survivors."

Sleep took her and she dreamed.

She was fishing again in the river, the lights of Oshy on the water, her father with her in the boat. She was clean and warm and her belly was full, and she felt safe and happy.

"Pull in the net!" her father said and smiled. "It's heavy with crayfish. We will feast."

She smiled back at him . . . then gasped.

Suddenly he was not her father, only a pile of smoking bones, bits of charred flesh still clinging to them. She no longer sat in her boat, but in a wheelbarrow in the light of dusk.

"Koyee Mai . . ." whispered a voice.

She spun around and her heart froze. She saw him there.

The Timandrian.

"Koyee," he said, one eye green, the other black. "We are hungry. Your coins are mine. We must feed!"

He reached into her pocket with a sun-bronzed hand, rummaging, seeking, tugging her coins free. They spilled across the floor.

"Let go!" she said and writhed, pushing his hand away, but he kept digging in her pocket. "Stop!"

She opened her eyes.

In the shadows, two large Elorian eyes gleamed, bright blue and narrowed.

A child hissed, baring crooked teeth, and turned away. Coins spilled from his grip. Rags fluttering in the wind, the child ran.

Koyee leaped to her feet. She gasped. She was back in the alley in Pahmey, dirty and hungry. When she reached into her pocket, she found her coins gone.

"Thief!" she shouted.

Koyee ran.

She burst out of the alley. In the wide street, a shadow darted around the bluefeather corral, the tavern, and the slumbering soothsayer.

"Thief, come back!" Koyee cried and ran in pursuit.

She had not left Bluefeather Corner in almost a moon's turn, but now she ran across the streets. The shadow raced between two shops, scurried up a wall, and darted across the roof. Koyee followed, grabbed the wall, and began to climb, sticking her fingers between the bricks. She had not climbed in a long time, and she fell hard, banging her hip. With a curse, she rose and climbed again.

When she reached the rooftop, she saw the figure running down the opposite street. Koyee tottered across the tiles, leaped, and thudded onto an awning. She rolled down to the street, landed on the cobblestones, and ran again.

"Come back!" she shouted.

The thief raced ahead, a child half her size, clad in only a sack. A single coin fell from his grip. Koyee didn't even kneel to grab it; she had to save the rest of her treasure, a gleaming hoard of fifty coins, enough to bring her home.

She raced, panting, her chest aching. The long moons in Pahmey had weakened her, but she ran on. People bustled about, and she shoved her way between them. She had always been a huntress; she would hunt here too. The child vanished around a corner, and she followed.

She grinned as she ran. She was getting closer.