Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4) (11 page)

"Two hundred of you have
passed the trials. Now you stand here before me in your uniforms,
your books in your packs. You may think the hard part is behind you,
that your education is now guaranteed.
But!
"
The headmistress pointed to the sky, her sleeve rolling down to
reveal a knobby arm. "You are mistaken. You are not yet safe.
Many of you—perhaps most of you—will still return home. It is not
uncommon for only half our students to successfully complete their
first year. Many more flunk during their second, third, and fourth
years." Egeria narrowed her eyes, staring from one student to
another. "If more than fifty of you become true mages, I would
be very surprised.
Now!
"
She cleared her throat. "You will spend your first year in
groups of four. Your quartet will be your most basic, important unit
of university life. You will sleep four students to a room. You will
sit four students to a table. Every quartet will have a name, a
symbol, a leader, and a sense of pride. Perhaps more than any other
decision you will make at the university—or in life!—will be who to
choose for your quartet. No time is better than now to decide. And
so, students—please, arrange yourselves to groups of four!"

Madori cringed. Choose three
other students—others who'd be her constant companions for years?

She glanced around her. "Idar's
bottom, I don't even want to spend four years with you, Tam, let
alone any of these strangers."

He grabbed her arm and tugged
her close. "Too bad, because you're stuck with me . . . and two
others, if we can find them." He looked around him. "Say,
Billygoat, you know anyone else here?"

She nodded. "I know Lari.
Fancy inviting her to join us?"

"Oh, certainly! I'd also
like to stick my head into a crocodile's mouth."

Near the elm tree, Lari had
found three friends—twin girls and a tall golden-haired boy, all
sporting the Radian brooches. A second quartet of Radians joined
together beside them. Slowly other quartets were forming—four Ardish
students here, four Verilish ones there, four Elorians in the
shadows, and others.

Grouped
by nations,
Madori
thought, her heart sinking.
But
who'd join a half-breed like me?

A voice spoke beside her, soft
and dangerous as flames about to spread.

"Madori?"

She recognized that accent—it
was the accent of Ilar, an Elorian nation south of her own moonlit
homeland of Qaelin. She spun around to see the Elorian boy with the
nose ring and intense eyes. His dragon tattoo stretched up his neck
and coiled over his eye; it seemed to stare at her too. His white
hair fell across his brow, and his hood and cloak were pulled tightly
around him.

She turned away from him. "I
don't join Elorians."

His voice was soft but still
carried a hint of danger. "You are Elorian."

She spun back toward him,
glaring. "I'm mixed. You know that." She tugged her two
strands of hair. "You see my black hair, don't you? Go join your
fellow Elorians, the pure ones."

He glanced toward where other
Elorians were forming quartets, then looked back at her. He shook his
head. "No. I did not travel into sunlight to stay in shadows. In
this school, who you know matters. That is how you survive. I cannot
stay in darkness." He looked at Tam. "He is Timandrian. He
is with you. I will be too. I will learn your ways, Madori the
half-Timandrian." He bowed his head toward her. "I am
Jitomi of Ilar."

Tam raised his eyebrows and
thrust out his bottom lip. "Might as well," he said to
Madori. "It's not like we've got too many options left."

Madori grumbled. The young
prince was right. Most other students had already formed quartets;
many seemed to have known one another from before the trials.

She cursed and jabbed a finger
against Jitomi's chest. "Fine! But you remember something,
Jitomi the Ilari. I am half Qaelish. I have nothing to do with your
island of Ilar, even if both our empires lie in the darkness. And I
won't speak to you about anything Elorian—not the old foods of the
night, not the starlight, not anything. We'll be quartet-members, but
we will not be friends."

He nodded and spoke with his
thick accent. "I join you, Madori, because you are of sunlight,
not because you are of darkness too."

She sighed. "Lovely trio of
misfits we've got here so far. But we need one more."

She looked around her, biting
her lip. Only a handful of students were still unsorted. One among
them caught Madori's eye. She squinted and tilted her head.

A tall Daenorian girl was
walking around the courtyard, looking from side to side, trying to
join different groups only for them to snicker and move away. She was
the only Daenorian here and seemed to stick out just as badly as
Madori. The girl wore a necklace of animal teeth, and beneath her
green robes, she wore armor molded to look like crocodile hide. Under
her arm, she held a steel helmet shaped like a crocodile's head,
complete with a toothy visor. A sword hung at her side, its pommel
shaped as another one of the reptiles. The girl had dark skin and
smooth, black hair that hung down to her chin. Her lips were full,
her eyes bright and eager, and Madori thought her very
pretty—certainly pretty enough that Madori herself felt plain,
scrawny, and homely as a true billy goat.

And yet, despite the Daenorian
girl's beauty and bright smile, every other student she approached
quickly moved aside, laughed, scoffed, or even cursed the girl.

"They're real crocodile
teeth," the Daenorian said, showing her necklace to a group of
Ardish girls with blue eyes and golden hair. "If you let me join
you, I'll give you some teeth."

The girls grimaced and turned
away.

Never losing the brightness in
her eyes, the tall Daenorian turned toward another group, this one of
local Magerian boys. "Do you like my sword?" she asked. "My
father said it has magical powers. Do you think magical swords
exist?"

The boys only rolled their eyes
and turned away from her.

"Foreign freak," one
muttered.

Madori sighed. She looked at
Tam. "You did say you'd like to stick your head into a
crocodile's mouth. I think I found the next best thing."

Her heavy boots clanking, Madori
walked across the courtyard toward the Daenorian.

"Oi! Crocodile girl!"

The Daenorian spun toward her,
and her eyes widened in delight. Her mouth opened into a bright
smile. "Oh, aren't you tiny and cute! Do you like toffy? I have
some toffy somewhere in my pocket, though it's a bit squished. You
can have some if you let me join you."

The girl reached into her
pocket, fished around, and produced something flat, dusty, and
covered in lint. She held it out toward Madori.

Madori struggled not to cringe.
"There's no need for that. I'm Madori. Who are you?"

The girl's grin widened. "I'm
Neekeya! I'm from South Daenor. Remember that.
South
Daenor. Not the north part where people live in castles, wear
ribbons, and pretend they're all proper and fancy. I'm from the
swamps. We're real warriors there. My father says I'm the best
warrior in the kingdom, and he gave me this sword, and it has magical
powers. Do you believe in magical swords?"

Madori bit her lip. "I
suppose so. Would you like to join our quartet?"

Neekeya gasped and tears budded
in her eyes. She leaned down and pulled Madori into an embrace. She
stood quite a bit taller than Madori, and her embrace was warm, and
though the girl was odd—her armor strange, her accent heavy—there
was kindness and comfort and goodness to her.

"Thank you!" Neekeya
breathed. "I'd love to. You're very kind. Would you like a
crocodile tooth?"

Madori shook her head. "No
thank you."

The four stood together: A girl
torn between night and day, her eyes too large, her hair cropped
short except for two long strands; a prince in disguise, a son of
privilege masquerading as a commoner; a son of darkness, tattooed and
pierced, in a land of light; and a swamp dweller of strange armor,
eager eyes, and a smile that it seemed no darkness could crush.

"The headmistress said
every quartet needs a name, a symbol, and leader," Madori said.
"So what are they?"

Tam grinned. "That's
obvious. You're our leader, little one. And our symbol is a duskmoth,
like the one inked onto your wrist; after all, we're of both daylight
and darkness here. As for our name? We will be known as Madori's
Motley."

"No, Tam," Madori
said.

But Neekeya grinned and hopped
excitedly. "Madori's Motley! I like it. I like toffy too. Do you
want some toffy, Tam?" She offered him a piece.

Jitomi too nodded. "Madori's
Motley. I accept this name."

Madori only sighed. She had come
here seeking acceptance in Timandrian society; now she found herself
among a group of outcasts and misfits.

I
suppose,
she thought,
this is where I belong.

With all the students in groups
of four, Headmistress Egeria spun on her heel and led them toward a
tower. Quartet by quartet, the students of Teel followed, beginning
their life at the university.

 
 
CHAPTER NINE:
CASTLE AND SCROLL

She
stood by the grave of her father, staring up at the fortress that
bore his name.

Salai
Castle rose upon the hill, a pagoda three tiers high, its roofs tiled
blue. A bronze dragon statue stood upon the top roof, the full moon
haloing its roaring head. The stars gleamed above, and the darkness
of Eloria spread to the east, blanketing the hills, valleys, and
river. In the west, the dusk glowed like a palisade of lanterns, the
borderland dividing day and night. The orange light gleamed against
the black bricks of the castle, and its windows forever gazed upon
the gloaming, eyes to guard the lands of darkness.

"You
died defending this border, Father." Koyee looked down at the
grave. "Now a great castle bearing your name guards this land.
Eloria will never fall again."

She
closed her eyes, the memories like ice in her veins. It had been many
years since her father had died, and Koyee herself was a parent now,
but the pain never left her. She still felt very young, very alone,
very afraid.

"I
miss you, Father," she whispered.

She
opened her eyes.

But
no, I am no longer a youth,
she thought.
I am
thirty-six years old, and I have a child of my own, and I will
forever defend this home so many died for.

She
raised her chin, clutched the hilt of her katana—the blade her
father had once wielded—and climbed the twisting path up the hill.
The wind billowed her silken black cloak, making its embroidered blue
dragons dance. Her hair streamed across her eyes, a white curtain,
and she tucked it behind her ears. Her shirt of scales chinked, the
armor she always wore here, the armor she would not remove even so
long after the war.

Once
you've seen war, you're always a soldier.

She
reached the gates of Salai Castle. Two dragon statues flanked its
gates, large as mules, roaring silently. Embers crackled within their
mouths. The doors stood closed before Koyee, forged of bronze that
reflected the dusk behind her. When she craned her head back, the
castle seemed to soar forever, reaching the stars. Once this had been
a simple steeple, a place called the Nighttower. Once she had stood
here alone, gazing into the light of Timandra. For ten years, workers
had labored here, turning a tower into a great castle. Koyee placed
her hands against the doors. She paused for a moment, savoring the
cold feel of them, letting that iciness flow along her arms. Then,
with a nod, she shoved the doors with all her strength. They swung
open upon oiled hinges.

She stepped into a tiled hall,
columns holding its ceiling. Braziers shaped as fish, wolves, and
birds stood in rows, their embers casting orange light. A table of
polished granite stood in the center of the room, its surface
engraved with a map of Mythimna, showing two continents like the
wings of a moth—one continent painted white, the other black.
Eternal day and endless night.

Three hundred men and women
stood in the hall, clad in scale armor, silvery helmets upon their
heads. As Koyee entered, they drew their katanas as one and raised
the blades in salute. Their large Elorian eyes gleamed blue and
lavender as they stared at her.

Koyee raised her own katana—the
sword Sheytusung, a blade of legend, the blade she had fought with in
the great war many years ago.

"Under this moon, we
dedicate Salai Castle!" she announced, her voice echoing in the
hall. "A fortress rises. Eloria will never more fall. We are the
night!"

Three hundred voices called out
together. "We are the night!"

Here were the greatest soldiers
in Qaelin, this empire of the night. Koyee had chosen every one
herself, the brightest stars of the darkness. They stood strong,
brave, clad in steel, and they would defend their homeland.

Koyee lifted a goblet from the
table. She raised it high. "Nearly twenty years ago, an enemy
sailed down the river and rode upon the plains, and only a single
tower stood here, its only guardian fallen. We have forged peace
since then. And I pray to Xen Qae, our wise master in the stars, that
this peace lasts ten thousand years. But if ever the fire burns
again, if ever the light falls upon Eloria . . . we will be ready.
Drink, children of darkness. May wine warm your bellies. The night is
eternal; so is our strength. Our watch begins."

They drank. The wine poured down
Koyee's throat, warming her belly.

Wine
fermented from grapes grown across our border,
she thought.
A
drink of sunlight for soldiers of the night.