Shadows of Moth (9 page)

Because
I've changed,
she thought. She looked down at herself. Her armor, the metal shaped
as crocodile skin, was dented and chipped; the swords of Magerians
had slammed against it. Her limbs were ropier; countless miles on the
road had hardened them. But mostly her soul had changed, she thought.
It too was leaner now, harder, stronger.

Over
a year ago
,
I left this
place a wide-eyed girl, a child who believed in magical rings, in
heroes vanquishing villains, in adventure and wonder . . . a child
who had never fought a battle rougher than a swamp-scuffle with the
frog hunters' boys.
She took a deep breath.
I
return home a woman.

Her father's smile faltered, and
his eyes softened. "Neekeya?"

Her eyes dampened and something
cracked inside her, a chip in the armor she had worn around her heart
for so long. A hint of that old girl, innocent and full of wonder,
leaked through, and Neekeya ran. Her boots thudded against the floor,
and she crossed the distance in several bounds and leaped into her
father's embrace. She held him tight as if she were a child again,
not a warrior all in steel.

"Father." Her tears
fell. "I'm home."

He kissed her forehead, held her
at arm's length, and admired her. "These old eyes have missed
you, Neekeya. Even in these dark times, you fill an old man's heart
with joy."

"You are many years away
from being old, Father." She smiled and wiped her eyes. Her
father had fought many wars for many years, only taking a wife after
returning from his final war, the great War Of Day and Night. The
swamplord was sixty years old now, his body covered with many scars,
and often Neekeya had caught a deep sadness in his eyes, haunting
ghosts of those old battles. He hid that pain from her, she knew;
whenever around her, even now, his eyes filled with warmth and his
lips smiled. Neekeya had never understood those shadows she would see
as a child, that memory in his eyes, those times he wandered the
halls, seeming lost, alone, unable to find rest. Now, returned from
her own war, her sword stained with blood, Neekeya understood
something of old ghosts, and she understood something of the
importance of family, of love, of joy in a dark world.

Kee'an raised his chin and
looked over her shoulder. "And who is your companion?"

Neekeya
turned to look at Tam too. She was about to announce him as the
Prince of Arden, but she hesitated. Would Father only scoff? After
their long journey through war and wilderness—six months had passed
since leaving Teel—Tam looked nothing like a prince. His tunic and
cloak were in tatters. Mud and moss covered him from head to toes,
and stubble grew on his cheeks, thick with grime. Leaves still clung
to him. Indeed, he looked like one of the mythical
heekeni
,
monsters said to rise from the swamp and snatch misbehaving children.

"Father, this is . . ."

Tam stepped forth, leaving muddy
footprints. He knelt before the Lord of Eetek. "My lord, I am
Tamlin Solira, second son of Queen Linee and King Camlin of Arden.
Our noble kingdom, an ally to Daenor, has fallen to the buffaloes of
Mageria. I've come to you for sanctuary and for aid."

Neekeya looked at him, for a
moment dazzled; for the first time perhaps, she saw the true prince
in him. When she turned back toward her father, she felt a twinge in
her heart. There it was—the old pain in Lord Kee'an's eyes, the old
ghosts that lined his face.

"Tales
have reached us in
Denetek
of the war in the east," Kee'an said. "Rise, Prince Tamlin.
You will find sanctuary here, for Arden and Daenor have long been
allies. Memories of my visit to Kingswall nearly twenty years ago
still fill me with warmth; your parents welcomed me kindly, walked
with me through their gardens, and we shared many laughs. I grieved
to hear of Arden's fall, and I pray to Cetela that your parents find
their own sanctuary in the wastelands of war." When the prince
opened his mouth to say more, Lord Kee'an raised his hand to hush
him. "You have many more stories to tell! That I know. But you
are weary from the journey. First you and Neekeya will bathe, and
we'll serve a feast for your return. Over a hot meal, you'll tell me
all your tales."

Servants arrived to escort them
out of the hall, down the pyramid's western flank, and to the public
baths of Eetek. Columns surrounded the complex, each bearing a statue
of another holy animal: not only reptiles but many birds, insects,
and fish forged of bronze. Within the colonnades, wet tiles
surrounded a pool of steaming water fed by a hot spring. Mangroves,
ferns, and hemlocks grew between the columns, forming a green wall.
Egrets flew overhead.

Tam blushed to see both men and
women sharing the public bath, for the Ardish separated their baths
by gender. But Neekeya only grabbed his hand and helped him undress.
He entered the pool quickly, hiding his nakedness behind ferns and
steam until he was submerged. Neekeya entered the water beside him;
it was piping hot and luxurious, and the steam plumed around her. The
water rose to their shoulders.

Neekeya waded closer to Tam and
wrapped her arms around him. She pressed her nose to his. "We'll
find aid here, Tam. I promise." She kissed his lips. "You'll
see your family again, and we'll see Jitomi and Madori too. This war
cannot last forever. I don't believe that the light of Radian will
forever sear the world."

After
they bathed, servants brought them new outfits to wear: soft
seeken
tunics, a grayish-green fabric woven from lichen and leaves; leather
shoes inlaid with beads; and new suits of armor, polished and freshly
forged. Undressed, Tam stood out in Daenor with his pale skin and
shy, foreign ways. But soon he stood before Neekeya looking like a
true warrior of Daenor; like her armor, his breastplate and helmet
were forged to mimic a crocodile's skin and head, and a
crocodile-claw sword hung from his belt. A green cloak hung across
his shoulders. He could have easily been a prince of Daenor, and
Neekeya felt her cheeks blush to think that, if her father approved
their marriage, he
would
become a prince of the marshlands.

They met her father again in a
courtyard west of the baths. The cobbled expanse lay within the
jungle like a bald patch on a man's head. The marshes surrounded
them—rustlings reeds, twisting mangroves, and ponds green with lily
pads. Monitor lizards lounged in the water, occasionally emerging to
sunbathe upon the cobblestones. Jabiru birds, as tall as men,
wandered about on their long pink legs, pecking for food.

A table was set out, its legs
carved as claws. Lord Kee'an sat at its head, and Tam and Neekeya sat
across from him. Servants brought forth a feast of roasted meats,
stewed vegetables, and steaming stews.

Neekeya drank from a clay mug of
huckleberry juice, the blue liquid filling her with vigor. Bolstered,
she stared at her father over the many steaming plates. "Father,
I've not returned home only to bathe, to feast, and to see you again.
I've come here with a warning. Tirus Serin has seized the throne of
Mageria, as you must have heard. What you might not have heard is
this: He musters many troops east of the mountains. For almost half a
year, Tam and I traveled hidden across the wilderness of both Arden
and Mageria, moving through the forests, surviving by hunting and
gathering when we found no tavern or town. Whenever we stepped onto a
road or visited an inn, we saw them—the Magerian troops. They no
longer raise their old buffalo banners; they now hoist the Radian
sigil, a golden sun hiding the moon. As they've attacked Arden, I
fear they plan to attack Daenor."

Tam was struggling to crack open
a crab leg. He gave up, placed down the claw, and turned toward
Kee'an. "My lord, my kingdom has fallen to the enemy. I've heard
no word from my parents or from my brother, Prince Omry." His
eyes flinched with pain. "But should Arden rise again, and
should her people throw off the yoke of tyranny, I would see Arden
and Daenor aligned against the enemy. I ask that you help fight this
enemy. So long as the eclipse banners rise, no kingdom of Moth is
safe, not in daylight or darkness."

Neekeya swallowed a bite of
spicy snake, the meat hot and springy. "Father, let us muster
the warriors! Let the marshland clans gather, and let us march to
glory. We will pass through the mountains, and we will cut through
the enemy marshaling there, and we will march all the way to Markfir,
capital of Mageria, and stick Serin's head on a pike." She rose
to her feet, passion burning through her. "I will personally cut
off his head. I have seen Serin upon the road. I battled his own
daughter. He is a monster that cannot be tamed, only killed, and he
hates Daenorians as much as he hates Elorians. He calls the nightfolk
worms, and he calls us Daenorians barbarians. If we are barbarians,
then let us show him our strength! He will not look down upon us as
we crush the walls of his capital."

Her chest heaved, and lust for
battle filled her. She had spent many turns on the road, hiding in
forests, in farmlands, sometimes in barns when they could find them.
She craved no more hiding; it was time to march to war, tall and
proud and swinging steel.

Her father listened quietly,
sipping from a mug and nibbling fried frog legs, stewed greens, and
honeyed flamingo breast. He sighed and spoke in a low voice, and
Neekeya heard the old weariness in him. "The Magerians have
often looked down upon us Daernorians, it is true. All of Timandra
has; even our northern brethren, Daenorians who live in the open
plains, look upon us southerners with scorn, ashamed of their
swamp-dwelling kin." He gripped his knife as if gripping a
sword. "Yet if they march into our marshlands, the bogs will be
their graves. We will fight them, Neekeya."

She placed her fists upon the
tabletop and leaned toward him. "It's not enough to defend our
borders. We must march into their lands. We must join the other
pyramids. We must enlist the aid of the Northern Daenorians; they
have horses, chariots, great siege engines of war. We must attack."

Before her father would reply, a
smooth voice spoke between the trees. "Yet none will join you,
lord and lady of the swamp. You are alone in this world."

Neekeya spun toward the voice.
She growled.

A man emerged from the brush and
stepped onto the courtyard. He wore fine silvery armor, and a jeweled
crocodile appeared upon his shield. A saber hung from his belt, the
hilt bright with gems. The man's light brown skin was perfumed;
Neekeya would smell it even over the feast. She remembered the man
she had encountered in the marshlands on her way here.

"Felsar," she said,
not bothering to mask the disgust in her voice.

He
nodded, a thin smile on his lips. "
Prince
Felsar.
Your
prince." He looked around him, lip curled in distaste. "I
was told that the southern lords lived in palaces, finding some
splendor even in the marshlands. I see only a decrepit pyramid—it
should be torn down—and a courtyard of craggy bricks barely finer
than a slaughterhouse floor." His gaze turned toward Lord
Kee'an. "Ah, and here he is! The great Swamp Lord, Master of
Mud." He turned toward Tam. "And the Hatchling of Arden, a
baby raven who fled war in his homeland, forsaking his own kingdom to
the buffaloes. A coward in the company of barbarians—what a feast
this is!"

A glint caught Neekeya's eyes;
the prince's Radian pin. She spat toward him. "You wear the
Radian eclipse upon your cloak, proudly displaying your treachery."
She drew her sword. "I will have your head for this."

The prince sneered and drew his
saber. "I will teach you manners, girl."

She scoffed. "With that
needle you call a sword? I clean my teeth with larger toothpicks."
She swung her own blade—a wide, doubled-edged weapon. "Come
closer, prince, and I'll show you how we treat traitors in the
marsh—"

"Enough!"
Lord Kee'an's cry rang across the courtyard. "Neekeya, sheathe
your blade. Prince Felsar, I ask you the same. We are all
Deneteki
despite our differences. We will resolve these differences over a
meal, not over spilled blood. Sit, Prince Felsar. Eat. Drink. And we
will talk."

The prince glared at Neekeya,
hatred simmering in his eyes. His lip trembled with hatred. Finally
he nodded, sheathed his blade, and walked toward the table but did
not sit. He lifted a skewer of grilled scorpions, sniffed, and tossed
it aside. A monitor lizard scuttled toward the meal and crunched the
scorpions between its powerful jaws.

"I
will not eat this vermin you pass off as food," said the prince.
"And I do not have many words to say to you, Master of Mud. I
will speak simply so you may understand. You are an embarrassment.
For centuries, we true Daenorians of the north had to suffer the
swamps, the way a noble man would suffer the embarrassment of some
twisted, parasitic twin growing from his torso. Yet we have found a
way to join the true light of Timandra, to become an equal nation
among the other kingdoms of sunlight. You say
Deneteki
?
That is an old word, a word for barbarians, the word we used before
we could read, write, forge metal, and live like proper men."
Felsar's eyes flared. "Under the Radian banners, all are equal.
All who serve Tirus Serin, the Lord of Light, will find grace in his
court. I've come to these bogs to convey the order of my father, your
king: Daenor will raise the Radian banners, and we will join Serin's
empire in conquest of the night. A new order rises. All those who
oppose it will perish. Daenor will not perish; we will join
Radianism's great light."

"Join?
You mean
serve
the light." Neekeya shook her head sadly. "You truly think
Serin will see you as equal, Felsar? He loathes Daenorians. He sees
us as lower than worms—even you, oh mighty northern prince. Do you
truly think you can join him? No. You can at most serve him as a
slave, a useful tool, a trained animal for him to sic upon his
enemies. But I will never join Serin. I will fight him, and if you
stand in my way, I will fight you too."