Secrets of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 3) (14 page)

"Death
will come from the sea," Jin said, the wind in his hair. "They
are near."

He
stared at the city walls. Many soldiers guarded them, armed with
arrows, cannons, and catapults. Beyond those walls, the ships of
Eloria patrolled the water, their cannons ready, their lanterns
bright.

But
it will not be enough,
Jin thought and shivered.
Not
when the thousand ships of sunlight arrive.

Empress
Hikari wrapped her arms around him, pressing him close to her chest.
She leaned down and kissed his head. "The night will be
victorious, sweet child."

But
Jin only saw the bloodshed back in his home—his guards, his people,
and his dearest friend Shenlai slain in the onslaught.

"I'm
afraid," he whispered. "Shenlai taught me that it's all
right to be afraid, that you can be afraid and still be brave. But I
don't feel brave. I feel helpless." Tears stung his eyes. "I
wish I had legs to run to battle with. I wish I had arms for wielding
a sword and shield. How can I help our people? I feel so weak without
Shenlai."

Hikari
turned away from the city, leaving the balcony and returning into the
palace.

They
entered the empress's bedchamber. Polished black tiles covered the
floor, and the walls were painted crimson and gold. Swords hung over
a crackling fireplace, and candles burned in iron sconces,
illuminating a granite table, gilded chairs, and a bed topped with
silk blankets. Statues of dragons held crackling embers behind their
iron teeth, and jewels shone upon their scales.

Hikari
pulled shut a sliding door, hiding the city outside, and sat in an
armchair by the hearth. She pulled Jin free from his harness and
cradled him in her lap. He lay, wrapped in silk, gazing up at her
face. She stared into the flames, seeming to be lost in thought.

I
wonder if my mother looked like her,
Jin thought. When he had first seen Hikari, he had feared her. She
had stormed into his city, clad in black armor, her body bristly with
blades and throwing stars. She had ridden into his hall upon a shadow
panther, her eyes blazing, her lips snarling, blood dripping from her
katanas. He had thought Hikari a demon at first—the infamous empress
who ruled Ilar, the southern island that had so often tormented his
own empire.

Yet
now . . . now he saw a softer woman, a hurt woman lost in memory and
pain. The first wrinkles of age or worry spread out from her eyes and
framed her mouth. Her hair cascaded and tickled Jin's face. Her eyes
gleamed orange in the firelight—large Elorian eyes, full of sadness.
She rocked Jin gently. He was already ten years old, too old to be
cradled like a babe, but this felt good. This felt right. He had
never known the comforting touch of a mother.

"I
had a son once," Hikari whispered.

"What
happened to him?"

She
smiled softly. "He was born fighting. He was born two moons
early, a tiny little thing, his spine crooked, red and wrinkled and
so small . . . small enough that he fit into my palm. The masters
said he was weak. They told me to toss him into the sea. They do so
with other weak babes." She returned her eyes to the fire, her
smile sad. "Yet how could he be weak? How could something so
small that clung to life, that fought for every breath, not be a
warrior? He fought against his own body. That is the greatest fight
one can face. And so I kept the babe . . . and nursed him and loved
him and watched him grow. He never learned how to walk; his back was
twisted like a snake. Everyone thought him weak. They told me he
would never be a warrior. But he was strong . . . he was strong in
his own way." She stroked Jin's hair. "He died younger than
you are now, and I burned him in a great flame, and his spirit now
shines in the stars."

Jin
lowered his eyes. "I'm sorry, Hikari."

She
held him close. "We are in Ilar, the land of the Red Flame,
where we worship strength and courage, where warriors are more
esteemed than sages. Yet I loved that small, struggling little boy,
and I refused to believe him weak." She looked into Jin's eyes
and touched his cheek. "Never call yourself weak. You have no
limbs but you have strength. When the enemy lands upon our shores,
we'll need more than swords and arrows. We'll need leaders. We will
lead our people."

Jin
nodded. "I lost Shenlai, my dear dragon. My soldiers are fallen
and my friends are gone into shadow. But we will lead our people.
When the enemy arrives, I cannot fight with sword or bow, but if you
carry me, I will still go to war, and I will try to give courage to
our people." He swallowed. "But . . . as we wait, can I
stay here with you? Can I sleep in your bed and feel safe for one
turn?"

Hikari
laughed softly and kissed his forehead. "Of course."

He
slept in her arms that night, feeling safe and warm. The fire
crackled in the hearth, and Jin dreamed of flames blazing over walls,
homes, and the children of night.

 
 
CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
BLOOD AND WATER

Bailey
snickered. "Please, Winky, I'm a much better warrior than you. I
fought
through all seven layers of Yintao, and you just sailed past four or
five of them." She swung her sword, lashing vines. "I'm
faster than you, stronger than you, much deadlier, and much more
experienced. You can pretend to be some fighter now, but you're just
a gardener."

They had been walking through
the jungle for what seemed like eras. Every turn, whenever Torin
swung his sword to lash through the brush, Bailey would laugh and
mock him for pretending to be some fighter—it didn't matter that he
was only fighting vegetation now, not Sailith monks.

"Yes, Bailey, I've heard it
all before." He rolled his eyes.

"Good. Because you need to
learn this, or you'll just get yourself killed." She looked at
him, brown eyes narrowed. "Do you hear me? If Ferius and his
gang show up in this jungle, you step back and let me fight. Do you
understand?"

A frog hopped between his legs,
and a macaw fluttered above, its parti-colored tail nearly brushing
his head. "Sort of how you fought Ferius in the gardens of
Kingswall, ended up in his dungeon, and I had to come save you?"

She
gave an enraged roar. "You know nothing! I only ended up in
prison because I didn't want to kill them outside the palace. But I
could have. I could have
easily
killed Ferius and his men."

Torin blew out his breath and
slapped a bug that landed on his leg. "So far, Bailey old beast,
two people have drawn Ferius's blood. I scarred his cheek and back,
and Koyee wounded his leg. You, meanwhile . . ." He tapped his
cheek, feigning deep thought. "Well, I suppose you annoyed him a
few times, but then again, you annoy most people you meet. And please
keep your voice down. We don't know that Sailith isn't tracking us
through this jungle, and when you shout, you—"

She shouted again. She shouted
so loudly a hundred birds fled from the trees. Tossing down her
sword, she leaped, slammed into him, and knocked him down. She began
to wrestle him, struggling to pin his arms down.

"You apologize!" She
snapped her teeth at him, narrowly missing his nose. "Apologize
now or I'll make you wish you only had a wounded cheek, back, and
leg."

"Bailey, get off!" He
tried to shove her off, but she wouldn't budge. "You can't keep
doing this when—"

Something whistled above.

A shaft flew over them—an
instant blur.

An arrow slammed into a tree
trunk a foot away.

Bailey and Torin froze. They
both looked up, seeing nothing but the brush.

As slow as dripping honey,
Bailey—still lying atop Torin—reached toward her discarded sword.

Another arrow whooshed and
slammed into the ground between her fingers.

Laughter rose between the trees,
and a voice called out, "Silly children! You make more noise
than boars in heat. And you are the heroes who are to save the
world?"

The brush parted. A woman
emerged and came to stand before them. She wore tiger pelts and a
breastplate. A mane of red curls cascaded across her shoulders, and
tattoos of jungle beasts coiled up her arms like sleeves. Her eyes
were green, her lips mocking, and she held a bow, its nocked arrow
pointing at them. A spear hung across her back, and a sword hung from
her side. Behind her growled a tiger, its leash running from its
collar to the woman's belt.

"Who are you?" Torin
asked. Still lying under Bailey, he reached for his sword.

"She's a dead woman, that's
who!" Bailey said, glaring up at the woman. "Are you going
to shoot us? Because you have time to shoot one of us. Before you can
nock another arrow, the other will run you through."

The woman laughed again. "Arrows
are for battle, but this . . . this here is not a battle. This is
entertainment. I heard you two boasting of your prowess for miles."

"Who are you?" Torin
repeated, his voice lower, his eyes narrowed. He probably would have
felt more dangerous with Bailey off him and a sword in his hand, but
he made do with what he had.

The woman shot her arrow into a
tree, slung her bow across her back, and drew her sword—a wide
scimitar engraved with Nayan runes. With her other hand, she attached
her tiger's chain to a branch.

She stroked the animal. "Here
is Durga, King of Tigers, the greatest of the Nayan beasts. And I am
Ishel Who Cuts Bones with Iron, Princess of Naya, and we share a
mutual friend. Ferius sent me to find you. He thinks highly of you,
but I see only weaklings. Stand up, children, and dance with me."

Bailey leaped up, grabbed her
sword, and lunged at the jungle warrior before Torin could take
another breath.

Longsword crashed against
scimitar, and the leashed tiger growled.

Torin jumped to his feet,
reached for his sword, and found that his belt had moved around
during his wrestle with Bailey. Cursing, he reached behind his back,
found the hilt, and drew his blade.

The two women were
dueling—Bailey screaming, Ishel only smirking. When Torin jumped
into the fray, hoping to skewer Ishel while she fought, the jungle
warrior raised her spear with her free hand. Still dueling Bailey and
not even sparing him a glance, she drove the spear Torin's way.

With a grunt, Torin tried to
parry. He knocked the spear aside, but its head still lashed his arm,
tearing through his tunic and nicking his flesh. He tried to swing
his sword again, but again the spear thrust, forcing him back, its
range longer than his blade. As Ishel drove the weapon toward him
with one hand, she kept her eyes on Bailey, dueling the young woman.
Their two swords clanged and sparked.

"Torin, get out of the
way!" Bailey shouted as she fought, swinging her sword with both
hands, trying to find an opening. "I'm better at fighting than
you."

"Not everything is a
competition!" he shouted back, then lunged sideways as the spear
thrust. It sliced a line across his shoulder.

He pulled back out of the
spear's range, abandoning hope of reaching past it. Instead he ran
around a cottonwood, hoping to attack Ishel's other side. Yet when he
skirted the tree, he found Durga growling at him; the tiger stood
leashed to the bole, protecting his mistress.

"Torin, stop playing with
that cat!" Bailey shouted.

He groaned and ran back to
Ishel's left side, only to find the spear thrusting at him again.
When Bailey yelped, he looked up to see blood on her thigh; Ishel's
scimitar had sliced off some skin, but Bailey still fought, screaming
with rage.

"Scream for me, children!"
Ishel said and laughed. "This is more fun that I thought. Ferius
was so worried about you, but you're only little pups."

Torin stepped back, reached
down, and grabbed Ishel's arrow from the ground—the arrow she had
shot between Bailey's fingers.

"I might not be a great
warrior like Bailey," he said. "But unlike you, Ishel, I'm
willing to fight dirty."

He tossed the arrow toward her.

Ishel's eyes flicked his way.

She raised her spear, diverting
the arrow away from her neck. The projectile changed course and flew
upward, grazing Ishel's cheek and spurting blood.

With a howl, Bailey slammed the
scimitar aside and thrust her longsword. Ishel leaped back, avoiding
a wound to her chest, but the blade still sliced her arm.

Blood sprayed and Ishel gasped,
eyes widening.

Torin slammed her spear aside
and thrust his sword.

Ishel jumped away.

With a single, fluid moment, the
jungle princess jumped onto her tiger's back and tugged its chain
free. The beast burst into a run.

Bailey and Torin began to run in
pursuit.

"Come back here!"
Bailey shouted. "Coward! Come face us!"

Vines tangled around them.
Branches slapped them. Grass rose around their feet. They ran,
following specks of blood. They hurdled over fallen logs, mossy
boulders, and brambles. Parrots fled before them, squawking madly.

Torin's side was aching when
they reached a wall of trees, shoulder-high grass, and vines that
grew along boulders. He paused, panting and holding his side. His
wounds dripped. Mist floated and he heard crashing water somewhere
nearby.

"She's gone, Bailey."
Sweat dripped into his eyes. "We can't expect to catch a tiger
in its natural habitat."

She ignored him, attempting to
scale the wall of stone and brush, only to fall back down. "Push
me up! I'm going to catch her and finish the job."

Torin winced. One wound on his
arm and another on his shoulder blazed and dripped. Bailey too had
suffered a cut along her hip; her leggings were torn, revealing
blood. And yet she ignored the wound, grabbed a vine, and tried to
keep climbing.

"We have to find her,
Torin. We have to. She'll return with reinforcements. Now push me
up!"