Shadows of Moth (8 page)

"Old Master Lan Tao!"
she shouted. Her voice echoed across the landscape. A boulder tilted.
Pebbles raced under her feet. She winced, expecting an avalanche, and
kept walking gingerly, navigating between fallen stones. She dared
shout no more.

A tilted black mountain, shaped
like a wilting sail, loomed ahead. She walked along a ragged path,
pebbles creaking under her boots. She barely dared to breathe. A
shelf of stone loomed above her, and boulders perched like dragon
eggs at her side. She thought that if she sneezed, she'd set the
whole structure tumbling. Below stretched a valley, perhaps a crater,
strewn with many boulders. A stream flowed through it, reflecting the
moonlight. The mountains, boulders, and canyons spread as far as
Madori could see. For the first time in her life, she was thankful
for her Elorian eyes, eyes that had branded her a foreigner in
Timandra. Here they collected even the softest of lights, guiding her
way.

"Where are you, Lan Tao?"
she whispered. Her mother had only told her he lived in a cave.
Madori saw dozens of caves here. If she shouted his name again, she
was likely to send boulders tumbling. If she began to enter each cave
in search of him, she was likely to encounter some slumbering
nightwolf or other beast.

Have
I been a fool to come here? Have I traveled all this way to find only
rock and water?

She was walking across a cracked
valley, boulders rising around her like columns, when she heard the
growl.

At once she paused and spun
around. Her heart leaped into her mouth.

Yellow eyes gleamed above upon a
mountainside, but the creature itself remained hidden in shadow. She
saw only those eyes and long, sharp fangs.

Madori dared not move.

If
you run, he'll see you as a prey.
She forced herself to remain calm.
If
he smells your fear, he'll pounce. Stand your ground, Madori.

The growl rose again, loud and
coarse as boulders rolling down a mountain. The creature padded
forward, emerging into the moonlight. A nightwolf.

Madori sucked in her breath. She
had heard of nightwolves before—her Uncle Okado and Aunt Suntai,
fallen heroes of the night, had ridden them in the war—but Madori
had never seen the beasts. She had always imagined them the size of
Timandrian wolves, animals no larger than sheepdogs, but this
creature could dwarf most horses. Its thick gray fur bristled. Its
body was wide but graceful, made for leaping, and its claws were
long, made for tearing flesh off bone. Madori remembered the scars
that marred her mother's face; they had come from such claws.

She met the nightwolf's gaze.
Its eyes were even larger than hers. Wise, deep eyes. This was no
mindless hunter; this was a sentient being. And it was hungry. She
saw the hunger in those eyes, in those bared fangs, in its lanky
body. Yes, its fur was thick, but that pelt hung over a thinned
frame. Its every movement spoke of hunger, the need for meat. Most
nightwolves hunted in packs; if this one was alone, it must have been
a wild beast, an animal too unpredictable, too proud to serve a
master. It must have wandered the wilderness for many turns, far from
the plains where its brethren claimed territory and hunted. It must
not have eaten in as long, and Madori knew how she appeared to it.

Like
a feast.

The
animal took one more step forward. Madori stared upward. A good fifty
feet separated the two, but Madori knew he could easily jump the
length. Yes, she thought of the wolf as a
he
now, no longer an
it
;
she saw his story in his eyes, and he became almost a companion to
her, a fellow wandering, hungry, lonely creature.

Slowly, Madori chose the air
between them.

The nightwolf snarled.

She claimed the air.

The wolf leaped.

She changed the air, forming a
thick shield, pressing the material close together like bunching silk
into a thick rug. The nightwolf slammed into the force field and
yowled, shocked at the impact. But the beast was too powerful to stop
completely—he weighed several times more than a man—and he tore
through the air like a diver through water.

The nightwolf slammed into
Madori.

She fell beneath him.

His weight nearly crushed her. A
thick, soupy layer of air still lay between them, remnants of her
shield. The wolf's teeth drove down, and Madori winced and funneled
the air upward, knocking the wolf's head aside. His claws scratched
along her arm, and she cried out in pain. Her blood spilled. He
leaned in again to bite, and the pain of her wounds drove her magic
away.

Focus.
Think. Fight him!

She chose his fur. She claimed
it. She changed it.

The
fur rustled madly, crackling like Madori's hair when she dragged her
feet across a rug. Several sparks flew across the wolf, little bolts
of electricity. The animal yowled, and Madori kicked, pulled herself
out from under him, and jumped to her feet. She snarled, nurtured the
sparks upon the animal, and with a single
puff
,
the fur burst into flame.

The nightwolf whimpered, turned
tail, and ran a few steps. Then he fell to the ground and rolled,
struggling to extinguish the fire. The smell of burning fur filled
Madori's nostrils.

She doffed her cloak. She raced
toward the animal, tossed the cloak over him, and patted out the
flames. The nightwolf didn't attack, only lay and whimpered as she
worked. Finally the fire was extinguished.

"There you go," Madori
said. "Just singed a bit. Didn't burn the flesh."

The wolf lay before her. He
rolled onto his belly, legs splayed out, a mark of surrender. When
Madori patted his snout, he licked her with a tongue as large as her
hand.

"Good boy." She
rummaged through her pack, produced a dried lanternfish—her last
one—and held it out. Still lying on his back, the wolf ate the
paltry meal. "It's all I can give you, friend."

Her own belly grumbled. She had
only a single jar of mushrooms left, barely enough food for another
turn. Then she too would have to wander the wilderness, desperately
seeking bats, fish, or moles. Perhaps she would turn into something
like this wolf, a wandering, feral thing, slowly dying of starvation.
She slumped beside the animal and stroked his fur.

"What are we doing here,
boy?" She sighed. "We're both lost."

A voice rose from a hilltop
behind her, an ancient voice like crumpling parchment.

"Why didn't you kill it?"

She spun around, drawing her
sword in a single, fluid movement.

He stood on the mountainside
upon an outcrop of stone. He was an old man—ancient—his face
wrinkled, his beard long and white, his head bald. And yet he stood
straight, his shoulders still squared, his eyes still sharp. He wore
blue robes and a silver sash, and he kept his hands tucked within his
wide sleeves. A katana hung at his side.

"He was hungry,"
Madori said, staring at the stranger.

The old man nodded. "An
invader is hungry for your soil. A thief is hungry for your treasure.
A murderer is hungry for your blood. Would you not deal death to
them?"

She glared up at the elder.
"That's different. Those are humans. Humans are cruel. Animals
are kind."

He raised an eyebrow. "This
kind animal almost ripped out your throat." The man hopped off
the outcrop, and Madori winced, sure he would smash down into the
valley, snapping every bone in his body. Yet the elder effortlessly
glided down a good ten feet, landed neatly, and knelt to absorb the
impact. He straightened and walked toward her. "A great
nightwolf attacked you, and you did not draw your blade. You could
have sliced out its throat before it reached you. Instead you fought
with clumsy, crude magic like a Timandrian. Now you see a frail old
man and draw your steel." He shook his head sadly. "A fool
has come to see me."

She sneered. "I told you."
She stepped closer to the old man, her blade drawn. "I don't
like people. I like animals. Stand back or this blade will cut your
throat." At her side, the wolf stood up and growled at the man.

He came to a halt a few feet
away from her. His long white beard and flowing mustache fluttered in
the wind. His gaze was haughty, she thought, and the hint of mockery
twisted his lips.

"Kill it," he said.
"Kill the nightwolf. It is hungry. So are you. You won the
fight. Slay the beast and eat its flesh."

Madori pointed her katana at the
man. "I'd rather kill you and feed you to him. He won't be
hungry and I'll be rid of your prattling."

"And soon after you would
die of hunger." He shook his head sadly. "You are foolish.
You are rash and angry. Slay the animal. Prove yourself strong and I
will train you. Otherwise turn and leave. I have no patience for
fools."

Madori grumbled. "And I
have no patience for cruel masters, Lan Tao. That is your name, is it
not?" She spat at his feet. "I had a cruel master at Teel
University. One was enough."

The old hermit smiled thinly.
"Did that cruel sunlit master teach you to fight with magic?
Perhaps he saved your life. If not for him, that wolf would now be
digesting your flesh. Perhaps a cruel master is exactly what you
need, for a great wolf of sunfire rises in the west. Yes, I have seen
it, even from here—a great light mustering along the dusk. If you
show the enemies any mercy, as you've shown your adversary here, they
will cut through you and all those you love." He stepped closer,
and his eyes narrowed. "Now kill the wolf."

She shook her head and sheathed
her sword. "No. If I kill without reason, I'm no different from
the sunlit demons. You cannot fight a monster by becoming one
yourself. If you do, you've already lost. Salai of Oshy, my
grandfather, was a noble man. He would scoff at your words." She
turned to leave.

His voice rose behind her. "Did
you know your grandfather, child?"

She froze. She looked over her
shoulder back at Lan Tao. "I heard tales of his great deeds."

"Tales turn killers into
heroes. Tales turn monsters into men of valor. Legendary men were
rarely honorable; the poets of later generations ennobled them."
Lan Tao nodded. "You bear his sword, Sheytusung. A sword I
taught him to wield. A sword he slew many with. How many widows did
your grandfather create, how many orphans? How many did your own
mother slay with this blade? Most were not murderers, not criminals,
not bloodthirsty beasts. They were boys and girls like you, caught in
a war. They were souls like that wolf, simply hungry and lost,
seeking a meal or a coin. And your grandfather killed them. He killed
dozens of them. He did not let his morals get in the way. He did not
pause to ponder the nature of life or death. He slew his enemy
because that is all the world is, child. Enemies to slay. You kill or
you are killed. That is all."

"The world is not black and
white!" she insisted.

He nodded. "The world is
infinite shades of gray. But not to a soldier. Not to a soldier who
wants to survive. In war, a soldier must see the world in black and
white, must destroy his or her enemy. We leave philosophy to the
philosophers. We soldiers deal in steel."

With that, he drew his own
steel. His katana arched down toward her. Madori parried. The two
blades clanged together.

"You are slow," said
Lan Tao. "I could have slain you a dozen times by the time you
parried."

She summoned her magic. She
chose his sword and began to heat the hilt. He replied by slamming
the flat of his blade against her cheek, and she yowled in pain.

"Magic is slow." He
slapped her again, a blow to her arm. "A blade is fast as
lightning, sharper than a dragon's claws, and as elegant as a
nighthawk across the moon."

Her wolf growled and leaped
forward, placing himself between Madori and Lan Tao. The animal's fur
bristled, and he bared his fangs at the old man, protecting Madori,
shielding her with his body.

Madori stared over the wolf at
Lan Tao. "I won't kill my nightwolf. He is mine now. I showed
him mercy and I earned his loyalty. Now he defends me." She
smiled crookedly. "You call my mercy weak, but it just saved me
from another swipe of your blade. Perhaps I have a thing or two to
teach you as well."

The old man stared at the
nightwolf, then back at her. He nodded. "I will let you keep
this companion, but I will not let you keep your pride. If you stay
here, I will break you. I will shatter your impudent soul until, like
the wolf you tamed, you are subservient. You will surrender your will
to me . . . and I will forge your soul into a weapon harder than
steel."

She placed her hand upon her
nightwolf. "Teach me, Master Lan Tao." She sucked in breath
and grinned savagely. "I could not defeat Serin with magic, but
I cut off his finger with steel. Teach me how to cut out his heart."

 
 
CHAPTER SIX:
THE STONES OF EETEK

Neekeya raced across the hall,
tears in her eyes.

"Father!"

Kee'an, Lord of Eetek Pyramid,
sat on an obsidian throne which rose upon a limestone dais. He was a
tall man, powerfully built, his dark skin deeply lined. A string of
gilded crocodile teeth and feathers hung around his neck, and nine
gemstones—each as large as an egg—gleamed upon his silvery
breastplate, symbolizing the Wise Mothers, founders of Daenor. His
arms were bare and wide, and a headdress of golden claws topped his
bald head. Two crocodiles lay guarding his throne, mouths open, their
collars and leashes golden.

The lord rose to his sandaled
feet, climbed down his dais, and stretched out his arms. "Daughter!"

For a moment she paused, staring
into the hall, for the place had changed.

Gilded archways rose along the
walls, affording views of the swamplands—miles of mist, mangroves,
and mossy water leading to distant haze. Statues of men with
crocodile heads—idols of Cetela, god of the marshes—stood in neat
rows. Soldiers clad in feathers and iron stood holding spears and
swords. The Hall of Eetek was as she had left it. She knew all its
imperfections like the lines on her palms. The same scratches marred
the floor, the same scars marked the guards, and the same patches of
moss grew between the archways. Down to the last nick, the place was
the same, and yet it could not have seemed more different to her.