Secrets of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 3) (29 page)

"Where's Pirilin?" Jin
asked in a small voice, seeking her in the night, but he knew the
answer.

You're
with him now,
he thought, eyes stinging.
You're
with Shenlai. He will look after you. He was the greatest being I
ever knew.

"Tianlong, to the city!"
the empress cried.

The black dragon roared and flew
faster, heading toward the black walls. Below them upon the shore,
the first Timandrian troops—thousands of them—leaped from their
rowboats and ran toward the walls . . . toward the last, flickering
life in Eloria.

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE:
THE PATH OF TIME

On the spring equinox, Bailey and
Torin walked toward Cabera Mountain, the broken heart of the world.

"By Idar," Bailey
whispered. She stopped in her tracks and widened her eyes.

The mountain loomed above them,
taller than any mountain she had ever seen. Grass and pines covered
the foothills, giving way to rocky slopes and a cloudy peak. It rose
from the dusk, its western slope gilded with sunlight, its eastern
slope shrouded in indigo shadows. Hills rolled around the mountain,
swaying with grass, rushes, and wild flowers on the sunlit side,
barren and smooth on the night side. High upon the mountainside,
crowned with wisps of cloud, shone a single round jewel, still too
far to see clearly but bright as a star.

Bailey pointed toward the lofty
beacon. "The clock."

Smiling, she turned to look at
Torin. He stood at her side, and seeing him—just looking at him in
open daylight, no more night or rainforest around them—lifted her
spirits just as much as that mountain.

He's
changed,
she thought. Two years ago, when they had left Fairwool-by-Night, he
had been a callow boy, soft of cheeks and timid as a pup. He had
gained strength in the night, donning armor and lifting a sword and
finding his inner conviction. Now he stood beside her like a ragged
doll. His clothes were tattered, his cloak thick with burrs, his
boots almost falling apart around his feet. His hair had lengthened
and hung across his ears, and a beard—grown in the jungle—shaded
his face.

He
looks like a grungy alley cat,
she thought,
but
he's just my little kitten.

She grabbed his hand, squeezed
it, and kissed his cheek. "We're finally here."

But he would not smile or
squeeze her hand in return. He stared ahead and worry veiled his
eyes. When he spoke, his voice was raspy with weariness. "Do you
think the others made it? Cam and Linee and . . . Koyee?"

Bailey narrowed her eyes and
loosened her grip on his hand. She had heard that pause, that longing
in the last name. Sometimes Bailey wondered if he cared about Koyee
more than the fate of the world itself.

"It's the spring equinox,"
she said. "It's when we agreed to meet here. They'll make it."
She nodded. "Cam is quick and clever, and Koyee is . . . Koyee
is . . . well, Koyee had two dojai assassins to help her, and I'm
sure they're well trained." She tugged Torin's arm. "Now
come on, Winky! To the mountain! Stop gaping like a babyfaced country
bumpkin and let's go."

Tugging him along, she walked
through fields of wild grass that rose to her knees. Grasshoppers and
bumblebees bustled around her, and chickadees and blackbirds flew
overhead between scattered ash and birch trees.

This
almost seems like home,
Bailey thought, and suddenly her eyes were watering.
Fairwool-by-Night too loomed by the shadow, forever caught between
day and night. In Fairwool-by-Night, they would run like this through
the fields, Bailey tugging him along. The memories filled her like
dreams: him and her in their innocent youth, chasing fireflies,
racing to the distant carob tree and back, seeking fairy burrows
among the trees, and stealing honeycombs and then fleeing the bees
into the river.

"Soon
it'll be over," she whispered, tears in her eyes, as they ran
toward the mountain. "Soon the world will be healed. Soon we can
go back to joy." She looked at Torin as they raced through the
grass. "Hot apple pies on the windowsill. Our fluffy feather
beds and Grandpapa's stories by the fireplace. Cold ale and hot apple
pie in The Shadowed Firkin. Soon we can go
home
,
Torin."

He nodded but no joy filled him.
"Not yet. Not until the clock is fixed. Not until we know Cam
and Koyee made it here too." Pain filled his eyes. "How do
we know it'll work? How—"

"You worry too much!"
She growled at him, reached to her belt, and patted the brass number
nine she carried there like a sword. "It'll work. I believe."

After an hour of walking, they
reached the foothills and began to climb the grassy slopes. A faded
path seemed to coil up the mountain, overrun with weeds and rocks,
leading up toward the distant, gleaming disk.

"Race you," Bailey
said.

Torin groaned. "Not
everything needs to be a ra—"

She did not let him finish his
sentence. With a grin, she burst into a run, kicking dust onto him.
She heard him moan behind her but follow.

Sweat dripped down her back, and
after traveling the rainforest for two months, she was weary and
thin, but she wouldn't stop running. The clock was so near—just
there above!—and this war could end. And so she kept racing, even as
she panted and her legs ached.

And yet . . . as she ran up the
mountain path, fear filled her along with her hope. For many turns,
she'd been alone with Torin—just her and him in the rainforest. Her
heart leaped to remember their kiss under the waterfall, their bodies
pressed together under blankets, and just the presence of him—all
hers. Would that end now? When they reunited with the others, would
he forget about her, would he run to Koyee and her time with him
would be over?

"You are mine, Torin
Greenmoat," she whispered as she ran up the mountainside. "You
were always mine. We've always been together and we always will.
Never forget that."

She looked over her shoulder to
see if he'd heard, but he was running a dozen feet behind her.

"Bailey, slow down!"
he said.

She shook her head and ran
faster. They left the valleys and hills far below. The path zigzagged
up the slope, soon becoming so thin and steep Bailey had to climb on
hands and knees.

Soon
it'll be over,
she thought, tears in her eyes.
Soon
we'll go back to our old, thatch-roof cottage, and Torin will tend to
his gardens, and things will be good again . . . away from this war
and away from Koyee.

The path rose steeply, and she
saw it above—the great dial of the ancient clock. From afar it had
shone like a star, but here she saw a great sun, a disk so large she
could have stood in its center, stretched out her limbs, and not
reached its circumference. It was thousands of years old, but time
had not touched it; she saw no rust, no pocks, no cracks. The dial's
hand was missing, as was the number nine. Beneath this glimmering
brass disk, a doorway was set into the mountainside.

Standing outside the doors,
watching them approach, she stood.

Koyee.

Bailey froze, stared at the
young woman, and her dreams of a home with Torin crashed down around
her.

For the past turn, Bailey had
kept talking of returning home, but Torin found less hope inside him.

As he climbed the mountain
behind her, heading toward the clock, worry gnawed on him. What if
the others hadn't found the missing clock pieces . . . or what if
they hadn't survived? So close to the clock—this place that could
heal the world—more pain than ever clawed through Torin.

Even
if we do return home, we lost a friend. We lost Hem.
Returning
to Fairwool-by-Night without his friend, that gentle giant of a
baker, would feel like a pale victory. How would songs in the tavern,
fishing off the docks, and harvest festivals ever be the same?

As he mourned Hem, the fear of
losing more friends tore through Torin.

Will
you meet us here, Cam?
he thought, dropping to hands and knees to climb the steep slope. He
longed to see the small, sharp-featured shepherd with his quick smile
and quicker wit.

And
I miss you too, Linee,
he thought, remembering the young queen's bright eyes, easy laughter,
and kind heart.

And
most of all I miss you, Koyee,
he thought, a lump growing in his throat.

He paused from climbing for a
moment, closed his eyes, and thought of all the hours he'd spent in
Koyee's chamber, laughing with her, reading books together, and
speaking of their distant village homes. He remembered kissing her
lips, making love to her, stroking her pale cheek and snowy hair. And
he remembered her courage—the quiet, dignified strength in her eyes,
the steel of her heart shining through. He had first seen her two
years ago, a hurt young girl, a precious doll to protect, and he had
watched her grow into a warrior who led armies.

The sound of Bailey climbing
ahead died.

Torin opened his eyes, looked
up, and saw Bailey staring ahead . . . at Koyee.

The young Elorian wore the armor
of Ilar, the black plates dented and scratched, and several fallen
birch leaves filled her white hair. Her sword hung from her left hip.
Against her opposite hip leaned a large iron gear.

She smiled softly, a warm
sadness in her eyes.

"Hello,
Bailey," she said, then looked at Torin. Her voice dropped to a
whisper as if she were struggling not to cry. "
Sen
sen
,
Torin."

For a moment, Torin stood
frozen, only able to stare.

Several feet ahead, standing
upon the path, Bailey spun around toward him. Pain filled her eyes;
damp and hurt and wide, they seemed almost as large as Elorian eyes.

Torin wanted to run forward, to
embrace Koyee, even to weep, but he could only stand upon the
mountain, staring at them both, the two women of his life.

Bailey lowered her head and
stepped off the path. "Go to her, you babyface," she
whispered and managed a trembling smile, and he thought he saw a tear
in her eye.

He looked back at Koyee and she
smiled too, the shy smile he remembered, her old scar tugging up one
corner of her mouth, twisting her lips into that crooked shape that
melted his heart. And finally he could move. He stepped up toward
her, and the sunlight fell upon her, gleaming like fireflies. She was
a pillar of white light, the beacon he'd fought for all these years.

He reached out, meaning to hold
her hand in his, and her fingers grazed his arm, and then—he wasn't
even sure who initiated it—they were embracing desperately, arms
wrapped around each other, and her face burrowed against his neck,
her tears warm.

"Torin," she
whispered. "Torin . . . I missed you."

He touched her hair, and she
lifted her head and smiled, a huge smile that showed her teeth, and a
tear sparkled on the tip of her nose.

I
missed you too,
he wanted to say.

I
love you,
he almost whispered.

Marry
me,
his
mouth ached to utter.

"And hello to you too,
Eelani," he found himself saying, looking at the empty space
above Koyee's shoulder.

Koyee snorted, then laughed,
then squeezed him tighter. "You silly thing."

An uncomfortable clearing of the
throat sounded behind them.

"Well, isn't this a lovely
reunion," Bailey said, "but we have only two pieces here.
The number nine and the gear." She whipped her head from side to
side, braids swinging. "We still need the hand. Where are those
woolheads Cam and Linee?"

Still holding Koyee in his arms,
Torin turned his head to scan the mountain. The clock dial stood
above him, embedded into the rock. The doorway in the mountainside
stood closed. The hills and valleys sprawled out below into misty
horizons—lush and green on one side, lifeless and dark on the other.

"Where are you?" Torin
whispered, the wind in his air.

Footfalls sounded to his side.

He spun around and his eyes
widened. Two figures were trudging up toward him. They must had taken
a different path, hidden behind boulders and pines. A short man
walked there, a woman beside him. Both were clad in heavy cloaks,
hoods hiding their faces.

Torin grinned, the weight
instantly lifting off his shoulders.

"Cam, old boy!" he
cried to the climbing figures. "Linee! You made it. Come on,
hurry up, will you?"

They two kept climbing, still
hidden in their cloaks and hoods, and Torin frowned. Koyee took a
step back, reaching for her sword, and Bailey tilted her head.

With a roar, a tiger leaped from
behind a boulder, a great striped beast of fangs, fevered eyes, and
claws like daggers. Before Torin could even react, the two figures
raised their heads, pulled back their hoods, and smiled thinly.

Torin drew his sword, feeling
the blood drain from his face. His words barely left his stiff lips.

"Ferius and Ishel."

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX:
AN OLD SONG

The enemy slammed against the
city walls like a wave of lava.

They spread across the coast,
holding torches and blades, their armor blazing red in the firelight.
Their banners, sporting the sigil of Sailith, rose like a thousand
suns. Upon the beaches, catapults fired flaming barrels, ballistae
shot bolts of iron the size of men, and trebuchets slung boulders
spiky with metal shards. And still the troops kept surging. Every
moment another boat reached the sand, and more Timandrians emerged,
roaring for victory, and ran toward the walls. Battering rams swung
on chains, trumpets blared, and arrows filled the sky.

Jin sat upon a tower's
battlements, gazing down onto the battle, and whispered feverishly,
his voice all but lost under the din.