Secrets of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 3) (11 page)

Hikari
turned from side to side, affording Jin a view of the wall they stood
on. It stretched along the coast, topped with battlements and guard
towers. Countless soldiers stood here, clad in plates of black,
lacquered steel, their helmets shaped as snarling faces with fur
mustaches. They held bows and torches, and tasseled katanas hung from
their belts. The banners of Ilar thudded among them, showing and
hiding red flames—symbols of this southern island—upon black
fields. Out in the sea, more lights blazed; the navy of Ilar
patrolled the coast, its ships like towering fortresses, their decks
lined with cannons and topped with pagodas. When the empress turned
her back to the water, Jin—slung across her chest—saw the city of
Asharo, the capital of Ilar. More walls rose here, bristling with
more men, and behind them rose the dark towers, barracks, and
minarets of the city, a bristly heap that covered the hills. Crowning
the city, dwarfing all other buildings, rose a black pagoda of six
tiers—the palace of the empire. Upon its roof blazed an eternal red
flame taller than a man, the sigil of Ilar brought to horrible life.

"Here
is safety," said the empress. "In wall, tower, and blade.
In might. Not in a secret quest in the shadows, but in the flame of
many warriors who will die to defend the night."

Jin
closed his eyes. "Who will die to defend the night . . ."
The images of the dead back in his own empire, in his beloved fallen
land of Qaelin, still danced behind his eyelids. "We stood upon
walls in the city of Yintao. Many soldiers fought there too. And they
died, Hikari." He opened his eyes, tilted back his head, and
stared up at her pale face. "They died and I still hear their
screams. He will come here too . . . Ferius, Lord of Light, and he
will lead a great host, a host to dwarf our own. And we will die
here."

Hikari
snarled and drew her katana. She held the blade high; it gleamed red
in the torchlight as if already bloodied. "Not so long as I draw
breath, as I hold steel, as I stand in the night."

Jin
thought back to the great warriors of his empire. His palace guards.
His soldiers. The brave Okado and Suntai, leaders of wolves. They had
raised swords, they had vowed to always fight . . . and they had
died.

And
yet I survived—weak, limbless, afraid.
He let his chin fall to his chest.
And
Koyee survived . . . and the four children of night who had joined
us. The young. The frightened.

"Shenlai
told her a secret. He was the wisest soul I know. You say he's still
looking after me, Hikari, and I believe he is—through Koyee and
through her friends."

Hikari
stiffened and seemed ready to say more when a roar pierced the night.

They
spun back toward the sea and Jin gasped. Around them, the soldiers
muttered, clanked, and tightened their grips on their bows.

A
fleet sailed ahead, rising from the horizon—two hundred ships or
more, their lanterns bright, their sails and banners white. At first
Jin was certain that the war had come, that Ferius sailed here with
his army. But when he squinted, he saw the sigils upon the banners
and sails—great diamonds painted onto the silk.

"Leen,"
he whispered. "The empire of Leen sails to us."

The
roar sounded again, distant across the sea, and Jin finally saw its
source. A dragon flew above the distant fleet, silvery like a strand
of moonlight. Here flew Pirilin, the guardian of the north, sister to
Shenlai, one of only two dragons who still lived in the night.

Hikari
placed an arm across Jin and clutched him tightly. He heard the smile
in her voice. "Leen brings aid! Leen sends an army to fight
alongside ours."

Across
the walls, the soldiers cheered and waved their swords, but no hope
filled Jin. His heart sank and ice seemed to fill his belly.

"That
is no army," he whispered. "They do not bring us aid . . .
but seek it."

He
could smell the blood on the wind. He could hear the prayers and
whimpers. Jin led a camp of refugees, thousands of wounded,
frightened souls exiled to this island. Here ahead in the sea, he
sensed the same desperation.

When
the fleet sailed nearer, his fears were confirmed. The people of Leen
stood upon the ships, not soldiers but women, children, elders. Their
eyes were haunted, their bodies bandaged. Burns stretched across the
hulls of ships, and holes filled the sails. Several men lay in carts,
missing limbs—wounded soldiers whose pain Jin knew too well.

"The
island of Ilar!" the people cried upon the decks, pointing and
weeping and praising the stars. "Safety!"

Tears
stung Jin's eyes.

Pirilin
the dragon flew toward him, gliding wingless upon the wind like a
snake upon water. Her white scales gleamed in the moonlight, and her
violet eyes shone like two lanterns. Leaving the ships behind, the
dragon coiled down toward the walls, dived over Hikari and Jin, and
landed behind them upon a cobbled expanse. Her tongue lolled as she
panted, cracks filled her scales, and one of her horns ended in a
chipped nub.

"Pirilin!"
Jin cried.

She
blinked, her eyelashes—each as long as a human arm—fanning him, and
the pain of a dying empire filled her eyes.

"We
are fallen," whispered the northern dragon. "They came on a
thousand ships. They swarmed into our city." Tears rolled down
her cheeks, freezing and clinking onto the cobblestones. "The
white towers of Taenori, Jewel of North, fell like shattered icicles.
The fires of the enemy melted the snow until a sea rolled through our
halls. Our homes are vanished, gone underwater like the fabled
islands of old. All our soldiers, brave souls of the north, burned in
fire and drowned in water. All our darkness is lit." Pirilin
tossed back her head and cried out, a great keen, louder than armies,
a mourning wail that rolled across the sea. "Leen is fallen!"

Empress
Hikari breathed in with a hiss, stepped closer to the dragon, and
placed a hand on Pirilin's cheek. As the empress leaned forward,
Jin—hanging from his harness upon her chest—found himself staring
into one of the dragon's great, purple eyes.

"Pirilin!"
said the empress. "Where is he? Where is Ferius?"

The
dragon did not remove her eye from Jin. She spoke in a low voice,
answering the empress . . . but speaking to Jin.

"With
a thousand ships. With more soldiers than hearts beat in the night."
In her eye, Jin could see it—the battle of the north, the thousands
falling to the fire and water. Pirilin's voice dropped to but a
whisper, but her words filled him with the power of beating war
drums. "He is coming here."

 
 
CHAPTER TEN:
VALLEY OF THE TITANS

They walked upon moss, ferns
swaying around them, when they crested the hill and beheld the valley
of titans.

Bailey had spent the past few
hours cursing, spitting, and grumbling about Ferius, about the fools
who followed him, and—just as vigorously—about how slow Torin
walked. Standing here, the wind in her hair, she gasped and her eyes
dampened. She reached out and held Torin's hand.

"Look," she whispered.
"Oh, Torin. Look."

He stood at her side, caked in
mud, his clothes tattered and his sword green with the juice of
leaves. His eyes dampened and a soft smile spread across his face.

"It's beautiful." He
squeezed her hand. "It's . . . the most beautiful thing I've
seen."

She grinned and pinched his
cheek. "You gardener boys." She hopped and began racing
downhill, tugging him with her. "Now come on, tree lover! Let's
go explore."

The valley sprawled below the
Nayan Escarpment like a courtyard below a wall, full of mist, ferns,
and grass. A grove of giants rose here, the trees hundreds of feet
tall. Bailey had seen the castles of Kingswall, the towers of Pahmey,
and the palaces of both Yintao and Asharo, capitals of night. She
thought these trees rose taller than them all.

The temple she sought—the ruins
of Til Natay—lay farther west along the escarpment, but Bailey could
not miss a chance to explore this place. She ran downhill between
ferns, laughing. She felt like she had as a child, tugging Torin with
her to hill and meadow, chasing grasshoppers and butterflies and new
flowers for their parents. Before these towering trees, she felt as
small as that scrawny girl with bee stings and scraped knees, and
still she tugged Torin with her.

When they reached the valley and
the first titans, she froze, gasped, and tilted back her head. Her
grin stretched so wide it hurt her cheeks. The roots of these trees
rose taller than her, and their boles were wider than her home back
in Fairwool-by-Night. When she craned her neck back, she saw the
trunks soaring, higher and higher, rising through mist and into
cloud, their boughs swaying and rustling their leaves in the cold
heights.

She tugged Torin's hand,
laughing. "Come on, let's find the biggest one."

She expected him to laugh too,
to run with her, to race around the grove, but he only stood with his
feet planted firmly in the moss. He shook his head, and his voice was
soft.

"Let's walk slowly. This
place seems . . . holy. We shouldn't run here." He began to
walk, holding her hand, his grip soft and warm. "These trees are
ancient and wise. They are guardians of the forest, old priests of
the world."

Bailey bit her lip. "Wanna
climb one?"

"No. They're not for
climbing, I don't think. They feel almost like the columns of
temples. I was never a religious man. I never prayed much to Idar or
any other god. But now I feel in the presence of wisdom that's very
old, that's very real." He smiled, head tilted back, and inhaled
deeply. "Let's just walk and sense them."

Bailey mussed his hair. "You
really mean it, don't you? Oh, you're still such a babyface. All
right. I'll walk with you nice and proper-like for a bit."

Sighing, Bailey let him set the
pace. They walked between the trunks, each one wider and taller than
the towers of men's cities. Birds, marmosets, and insects made their
homes in the trees, peering down from branches and holes. The aroma
of leaves, wood, and grass filled Bailey's nostrils, and mist floated
around her. At every tree they passed, Torin placed his hand against
the trunk, smiled softly, and whispered under his breath, perhaps
prayers to the titans.

At the fifth tree, Bailey let
out a groan.

"Oh, Winky, this is
boring." She placed down her pack and weapons, then grabbed a
tree trunk. "I'm climbing this bad boy, and you're climbing with
me." She pulled herself a foot up, driving her fingers between
coils in the trunk. "We need a good look to scout the land; I
bet we can see the temple from up there. I'll race you."

"Bailey!" He stared up
at her. "That tree must be hundreds of feet tall. This isn't
like Old Maple back home."

She gave him a crooked smile and
a wink. "Scared?" She stuck her tongue out at him and kept
climbing. "Chase me!"

He crossed his arms. "I'm
not climbing."

She shook her leg, spraying mud
off her boot onto him. "Then I'm going to keep pinching your
cheek for the rest of the journey, and when we sleep, I'm going to
snore right into your ear and drool right onto your neck."

"You do those things
anyway!"

"We'll, I'll do more of
them. Now come on, scaredy cat. Climb with me." She smiled down
at him. "Like we used to. Like we climbed as children. We need
to be children for a while."

As he stared up at her, his eyes
softened, and he sighed—a sigh of resignation and of memory. He
reached into his pack, rummaged around, and produced a rope that
ended with a fist-sized grapple. "It's a good thing I brought
this with me." He began to unwind the rope.

Clinging to the tree, Bailey
gave a swift kick, knocking the grapple from his hand. "That's
cheating. No grapple! Climb like me—hands and feet only."

He groaned but he grabbed the
trunk and began to climb.

Full of grooves, holes, and
branches, the tree was massively wide and tall but easy for climbing.
Bailey inhaled deeply, a smile on her lips, savoring the earthy
scents. Parakeets sang around her, and marmosets fled into holes in
the bole. Torin climbed several feet below, and with a grin Bailey
climbed faster, determined to leave him far below.

Yet as she climbed, Bailey found
that tears stung her eyes, and she wiped them with the back of her
hand. It was just pollen in her eyes, she told herself, or maybe the
mist that floated everywhere in Naya. She kept climbing, lips tight.
She had ascended thirty feet, maybe more, when she paused for breath
and looked around her. The rainforest spread into the horizons, the
titan grove rising like towers over the lesser trees. In the north,
she could make out a stream carving its way through the foliage, and
she pretended that it was the Sern, the river that flowed along
Fairwool-by-Night. When she looked down at Torin, she imagined that
they were climbing Old Maple, the tree that grew from the village
square.

After
we climb, we'll go home and sit by the fireplace,
she told herself.
He'll
sit in his armchair, reading a book, and I'll wriggle in beside him
and pinch his cheek if he complains. And we'll play a board game and
drink mulled wine and laugh, then fall asleep in each other's arms.
Often they had slept together like that, curled up in the oversized
armchair, a quilt pulled over them, their limbs all tangled together
and their breath warm against each other's cheeks.

And there they were again—her
tears, stinging her eyes and flowing down to her lips. Because she
missed those days. And she missed that girl. She hadn't yet killed
men then. She hadn't seen thousands die. No nightmares of burning
children had filled her. She could laugh freely in those years, tease
Torin, and be a girl, be happier than she was now, so far from home.