Shadows of Moth (2 page)

And Maniko knew who this was,
knew who this had to be. His eyes narrowed. "Lord Tirus Serin."
He swung his blade through the air. "I do not remember you from
the war; you were just another sunlit fool, one among many. A fool
you are still."

Maniko looked around for his
dagger, and his heart sank to see that Lari had lifted the blade from
the muck. She held the dagger in one hand, her sword in the other.
When Maniko took a step closer to the two, swinging his cane, Serin
raised his palm again. This time no air blew to knock down Maniko.
Instead, Maniko's cane cracked, then shattered into countless shards.
Bits of the wood slammed into Maniko, cutting his skin.

These
ones are no mere soldiers,
he realized.
They
are mages.

Lord Serin drew his sword, a
magnificent blade longer than Maniko's entire body. The steel
glimmered red in the sun as if already bloodied.

"I forged this blade from
the steel of slain nightcrawlers." Serin pointed the blade at
Maniko's neck. "I slew over a hundred in the war. I collected
bits from each—a shard of helmet here, a chip of a sword there—and
had Mageria's greatest smith morph them into this blade. Sunsteel, I
named it. A blade for cutting worms. You should be proud, little one!
You will be the first nightcrawler to die upon it."

Maniko's dagger and cane were
gone. But he still had what had always been his greatest weapon—the
weapon that had served him for decades on the streets of Pahmey, that
had helped him survive through grime and hunger, that had given
strength to Koyee. With trembling fingers, he drew his lute from
across his back. With stiff fingers, he began to play.

Gentle notes rose from the lute,
taking form as he played, soon becoming that same old song he had
first taught Koyee, the song called "Sailing Alone." And as
he played, Maniko was there again, back home on the streets of
Pahmey. The great public fireplace roared across the square, its iron
grill shaped as dragons. The young women of the city's crest strolled
toward the market, clad in fine silk dresses, their sashes
embroidered. Peddlers rode upon bluefeather birds, hawking gemstones,
ointments, charms, and sundry other items from many pouches. Past the
tiled roofs of the city dregs, he could see them them there—the
towers of the upper city, and above them all Minlao Palace, its dome
shaped like the moon. Koyee stood with him again, a scrawny merchant
in a tattered fur tunic, playing her bone flute. Two buskers in a
world of dirt, hunger, fear, and darkness. Two warriors.

I
played this song when we met, Koyee,
he thought, eyes damp.
And
I play it now in farewell to you.
It
was an old song, a song of a girl who sailed alone into a new city.
And now I too
sail alone . . . sail toward the great land beyond the stars.

As the blade thrust into his
belly, Maniko lost only a single note. Even as he fell, even as his
blood spilled into the soil, he played on.

He lay on his back, his
lifeblood draining away, the notes floating around him. He looked up.
The two Timandrians stood above him, mere ghosts in the mist, and
Maniko smiled as they faded away, as the lights of his old city
washed over him, as the lanterns floated toward starlight.

"You
are a natural, Koyee Mai!" he said. "Go and play your
music. Make Little Maniko proud, and perhaps someday we will play
together."

A girl with long silvery hair,
bright lavender eyes, and a warm smile, she kissed his forehead.
"Thank you, Little Maniko."

Koyee tried to give him the
coin, but he brushed it away.

"This money is yours. Now
go! Make beautiful music."

She left him that turn, and she
left him now, a spirit of music and warm light. Little Maniko smiled,
his notes weaker now, shaking like falling leaves in the wind.

Now
go! Make beautiful music.

His tears flowed as she faded,
as he sailed alone upon a shadowy river. One song ended, and then he
heard it—the endless music of starlight, music welcoming him home.

 
 
CHAPTER TWO:
A LEGACY OF STEEL

"I'm
joining the garrison." Madori stamped her feet. "I'm
joining now and you can't stop me. I will wield a sword. I will
fight. I already cut off one of Serin's fingers, and I'll cut the
rest of him to shreds!"

She
stood on the riverbank, panting with rage. The night was peaceful.
The stars shone above, no clouds to hide them. Fishermen trawled up
and down the Inaro in boats constructed of leather stretched over
whale ribs, their lanterns bobbing, and every few moments a glowing
fish emerged like a rising star, caught on the hook. The water sang
softly, and wind chimes played among the clay village huts that rose
behind her. Far beyond the huts, upon the hill, stood Salai Castle,
its lanterns bright, and more music rose there: the song of soldiers
chanting to the stars.

But
one song is forever silenced,
Madori thought, eyes burning.
Little
Maniko will never more play his lute.

Madori's
mother stood beside her. Koyee had shed tears during the funeral, but
now her large lavender eyes were dry. Clad in scale armor, her katana
hanging from her belt, she stared at Madori sternly.

"No,
Madori. You will travel east to Pahmey. I've sent word downriver, and
Lord Xei Kuan will provide you with shelter in the Night Castle,
and—"

"I
will not be shipped away to safety while you stay and fight!"
Madori's eyes burned, and her tears flowed down her cheeks, those
cheeks scarred from Lari's assault at Teel. She pointed at those
scars. "See these? My face is scarred like yours. We both fought
battles. We both bear the marks. I fought Lari and Serin, and I will
fight their army too. Give me a sword! I will fight here in Salai
Castle." She gestured at the pagoda upon the hill. "I will
wear armor and wield a sword, and I will slay the Radians if they
dare invade. I will avenge Maniko."

Madori's
body shook. She had grown up listening to Little Maniko's music. The
little old man—Madori herself was short, and he had stood shorter
than her shoulders—had once performed upon the streets of Pahmey.
After the war, with so much of Eloria in ruin, he had settled here in
Oshy. Madori had spent her summers here, and many of those summer
hours had been idled away in the village square, listening to Maniko
play his lute, pipe, and harp. He would play all the classic tunes of
the night: "Sailing Alone," "Darkness Falls,"
"The Journey Home," "Call of the Clans," and many
others.

Who
will play the night's music now?
Madori thought, gazing at the empty village square where Maniko used
to sit.
Whose songs
will now guide us through the darkness?

She
looked back at her mother. "Please," Madori whispered. "I'm
seventeen already. You were younger when you sailed alone to Pahmey,
when you fought with Maniko, when you saved the darkness. Let me
fight too. I am the daughter of Koyee, the great heroine. How can I
hide in safety when sunfire once more threatens the night?" She
tugged at the two long, black strands of hair that framed her face.
"True, I have dark hair and tanned skin. I'm half Timandrian.
But my father too fought for the night. I don't know if Father is
even alive or dead, and I'm so scared, and I have to fight. I have
to."

Koyee's eyes softened, and she
pulled Madori into an embrace. "My sweet daughter. Don't you
see?" She touched Madori's scarred cheek, and pain filled her
eyes. "I never wanted this for you. Yes, I was younger than you
when I fought a war. And I was afraid then. I was hurt. I was alone
in darkness, scarred, bleeding, so afraid . . . always so afraid.
When I had you, Madori, I swore to the stars of the night, and to the
memory of Xen Qae, and to any god who would listen . . . I swore that
I would give you a better life. That you would never have to face war
like I did. That you would never be alone, scared, bleeding in the
dark. How can I let you fight now? How I can break my vow?"

"It is already broken,"
Madori said. "I already fought, and I was already afraid, and I
already saw death. I watched Lord Serin and his men murder five of my
friends on the road. I lay in the mud, bleeding as his sword drove
into me. I saw the cruelty of sunlight. No, I did not fight a war
like you did, but I'm ready to fight one. Bravely. At your side."
She touched her mother's armor, fine scale armor forged by the master
smiths of Qaelin, their empire of darkness. "Clad me in armor
like the one you wear. Place a sword in my hand. And you will not see
a frightened, bleeding girl but a proud woman of the night. I will
make you proud, Mother. That is my own vow."

For
you, Little Maniko. For you, my friends of Teel who fell on the road.
For all children of darkness.
Her tears no longer fell, and she raised her chin.
I
was born split between day and night. I will find my honor as a pure
warrior of shadow.

A boat sailed by along the
river, its lantern bobbing. Beads of light danced upon the gurgling
water. The old fisherman, his beard long and white, reached over the
hull. When a glowing lanternfish breached the surface, intrigued by
the lamplight, the elder caught the animal in a net. Koyee and Madori
stood in silence for a moment, watching the boat until it sailed by.

Finally Koyee spoke, her voice
low and careful. "I will allow you to fight with me, daughter,
but only if you train."

Madori's heart leaped. "Yes!
I will train in the fortress. I will swing every sword you have, I
will—"

"No." Koyee shook her
head. "The soldiers in Salai Castle are hardened and grim,
prepared for war. They don't need a pup scuttling between their feet.
You will seek Old Master Lan Tao in the darkness. He trained your
grandfather in swordplay. He will teach you to become a swordswoman,
ready for battle, solemn and steady with the blade, not a rash youth.
Only when he says you're prepared will I let you fight in this fort."

Madori wanted to shout again.
Training? To be sent off into the darkness? The battle was near!
Maniko had only been buried this turn, and—

And yet her rage faded as
quickly as it had risen. To train with Old Master Lan Tao . . . the
man who had taught Grandfather . . .

Madori had never met her
mother's father, the wise warrior Salai, but she had heard many tales
of his bravery. Salai had been the first Elorian soldier to face the
attacking Timandrians in the Great War, perhaps the first Elorian to
ever see a Timandrian. They said he had killed many of the sunlit
demons before Ferius, the Lord of Light, had murdered him.
Grandfather Salai lay buried below the fortress that bore his name.
In Madori's mind, Salai had always been old—even older than Little
Maniko had been. She could barely imagine him as a young man, let
alone that his teacher—who surely was even older!—could still live.

"He must be right old,"
she blurted out.

Koyee laughed softly. "Old
Master Lan Tao is well into his eighties, but he's still quick of
mind and blade. I myself only met him a year ago. I traveled into the
Desolation, the craggy wastelands in the northern darkness. I found
him in his cave, and I begged him to come to Salai Castle, to train
my men. He refused. He said that after my father died, he swore to
never train another soldier. He loved my father. He mourned his
death. Now, Master Lan Tao claimed, he lives to meditate, to gaze
upon the stars, and to breathe. Mostly to breathe, he said, though
I'm still not sure of his meaning."

Madori bit his lip. "So why
would he agree to train me?"

A gust of wind fluttered Koyee's
long white hair and silken cloak. Koyee—the Girl in the Black Dress,
the Heroine of Moth—solemnly met her daughter's gaze. They both had
the same eyes, large and purple and deep as starlit skies.
Wordlessly, Koyee unhooked her katana from her belt—the legendary
Sheytusung. She held it out toward Madori.

Madori stared at the sword,
hesitant. "You . . . want me to take it?"

Her mother stared at her, eyes
unflinching. "Master smiths forged this blade in Pahmey under
the light of its towers. My father fought with this sword in the
great southern war against Ilar, then against the Timandrians in the
dusk. I fought with this blade against the hordes of sunlight in
Pahmey, in Yintao, and at Cabera Mountain. This blade has defended
the night for two generations. Now it must pass to a third. Take this
sword, Madori. Take it into the darkness, and learn how to wield it.
I was never trained with the katana, but you will study with the
master who first taught our family how to swing it. Master Lan Tao
will not have forgotten Sheytusung." Koyee smiled thinly. "When
he sees the granddaughter of Salai, bearing this sword of legend, he
will train you."

Madori still hesitated. She had
grown up hearing many tales of this blade, had grown up seeing this
blade hanging upon their wall, a relic she was forbidden to touch.
The sword that had killed so many Timandrians, that had defended
Eloria, that had traveled with her grandfather to Ilar, that had been
with her mother in her most desperate hours—on the streets of
Pahmey, in the gauntlet of Yintao, in the carnage at Sinyong and
Asharo, and finally at the great battle atop Cabera Mountain.

And
now this sword comes to me.
Madori took a deep, shaky breath.
Now
a torch of starlight passes into my hand, my burden to bear. Now I
shall become a protector of darkness.

With a single, swift movement,
she grabbed the katana and drew the blade. The folded steal gleamed,
and she raised it above her head. It was light as silk and as deadly
as dragon claws, and a chill ran through Madori.

She thought of Lari's mocking
smile. She thought of Professor Atratus's sneer. She thought of Lord
Serin's cruel eyes.