Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4) (23 page)

Another student raised his hand.
"Professor Atratus, how can we protect ourselves from the
Elorian menace?"

The professor nodded. "A
good question, my boy." He tapped the pin he wore upon his
lapel, showing a sun eclipsing a moon. "The Radian Order will
protect us. Lari Serin leads the Teel Radian Society; I urge you all
to join, receive your pins, swear allegiance to Lord Serin, and learn
how to protect yourself from nightcrawlers and mongrels."

A third student, this one a
skinny boy with pale cheeks, spoke next. His voice shook, but he
managed to stare steadily at Atratus. "Professor, the
headmistress has said that Radians are dangerous. She says . . ."
He gulped. "She says that Elorians are welcome in the lands of
sunlight, that—"

Professor Atratus shouted so
loudly the boy started and fell back into his seat.

"Headmistress Egeria is a
fool!" Spittle flew from the professor's mouth. His fists shook.
"And you are a fool to believe her! Who is the headmistress? A
frail old woman, coughing and trembling, her one foot in the grave.
Tell me, boy, do you have any siblings?" He trudged forward,
grabbed the student's collar, and twisted it. "Do you?"

The boy—his face wet with
Atratus's flying saliva—nodded silently.

Atratus growled like a rabid
animal. "Do you want Elorians to snatch them from their beds, to
cut them open in their solstice festivals, to feed upon their organs?
Or perhaps you want Elorians breeding with your siblings, producing
foul, mixed-blood offspring that are lower than animals?"

The boy, pale and trembling,
shook his head.

Now,
Madori thought, straining.
Now,
while his back is turned toward me.

Atratus was busy chastising the
boy, railing against all the evils Elorians could perform to his
parents, siblings, and countrymen. With the man deep in his tirade,
Madori sucked in air through her nose, focusing all her effort on
claiming the magical bonds he'd placed around her. She forced herself
to clear her mind from anything else—to ignore Atratus's words, to
ignore her humiliation, to ignore the eyes of the other students.

Choose
your material.

Claim it.

Change it.

She tried but could not, and her
eyes burned. All she had learned here at Teel, all her months of
practice and studying, could not save her from his shackles.

Choose.
Claim. Change.

Yet she could not; his magic was
too strong.

"—and the Elorians will
bring their disease, the Night Plague, into our wells, our farms, our
very beds!" Atratus's words were piercing Madori's
consciousness, rising and fading from her awareness. "I have
jars of the Night Plague in my office, and I have seen its evil, and
. . ."

Madori inhaled slowly through
her nostrils, letting the breath fill her throat and her lungs,
letting it flow to every part of her.

Breath
by breath.

Her eyes stung. It was her
father's voice speaking in her mind. She saw his kind face again, his
wise eyes, his proud smile.

Breath
by breath, Billygoat. That's all you must do to survive.

She exhaled slowly, inhaled
again, savored the calming energy, and this too was like magic, a
magic that cleared her mind. Breath by breath. Healing. Soothing.

Choose.

Claim.

And she had it.

His magic snapped into place in
her awareness. She understood every single particle that comprised
his ropes, saw the links between them, saw the logic that bound the
magic like countless rings in chain mail.

Change.

She tore the links free.

The smoke fled her mouth and she
gasped.

The tendrils tore free from her
wrists and arms.

"He lies!" Madori
shouted, tears in her eyes. "He lies to you! He's nothing but a
liar. Elorians are not monsters, but Professor Atratus might be.
Reject the Radians! Don't listen to their poiso—"

She could not finish her
sentence.

His magic slammed against her
with the might of war hammers.

Vaguely, Madori was aware of
herself flying through the air. Her back slammed against the wall
with a thud, knocking the breath out of her. She slumped down, pain
clutching her chest, squeezing her lungs. She could not breathe.

Something was constricting her.
Not the black smoke this time. She winced and tears ran down her
cheeks, and the skin on her arms tightened, and she realized what
material Atratus had chosen this time—not particles in the air but
her own flesh. He was squeezing her like an orange.

With a jerk, he raised his
hands. She rose into the air, her very skin tugging her body upward.
She gasped, sputtered, struggling for breath.

"You will pay for your
insolence, mongrel," he sneered, holding her suspended in the
air. "You have hereby failed Magical History. I banish you from
this class, and at the end of this turn, you will report to my office
for thirty lashes, then go work in the kitchens for two straight
turns."

He tugged the door open from a
distance, then swung his arms. She flew outside like a discarded bit
of cloth and landed in the snow. The door slammed shut, sealing her
outside, bruised and struggling for breath.

"You have to go to
Headmistress Egeria." Tam stood before her, staring at Madori
sternly. "He can't do this to you!"

Sitting on her bed, Madori
looked down at her throbbing palm. Professor Atratus had forbade her
to heal the welts from his latest lashing, vowing to inspect the
wounds every turn. Scrubbing pots for half-a-turn hadn't helped her
hand feel any better.

"What could Egeria do?"
Madori said softly. "She has no important family, no wealth, no
influence . . . only a title. Lord Serin is the most powerful man in
Mageria, possibly in all Timandra, and Professor Atratus is his pet."

Neekeya sat at Madori's side,
wringing her hands. "But there's got to be something Egeria can
do! Madori, please. Let's all go speak to her together."

Jitomi nodded. "We all go."
His pale cheeks flushed, and the dragon tattoo twitched on his neck
as he clenched his jaw. "We will demand she do something about
this Atratus."

Madori
lowered her head, her two strands of hair drooping. "No. I will
go alone. Students are forbidden from entering her tower, and if
Atratus catches us—if
any
professor catches us—I will not have you punished for my sake."

Her friends glanced at one
another. Before they could argue, and before Madori could lose her
courage, she rose to her feet and left the chamber, closing the door
behind her.

The sun was bright and the hour
was late; Atratus would be sleeping in his chamber, and if he caught
her outside after hours, well, he had already punished so much there
wasn't much more Madori feared.

She thanked both Idar, the god
of her father, and Xen Qae, the wise philosopher her mother
worshiped, when she reached Cosmia Tower without encountering any
professor. When she creaked open the door and stepped inside—the
place where Atratus had once caught her—she breathed in relief. This
hall too was empty.

She climbed the spiraling
stairs, looking out every window she passed, seeing more and more of
the land as she ascended: the university grounds, with their columned
halls and domes and gardens; the town of Teelshire beyond, its roofs
tiled, its streets cobbled; and the fields and plains of Mageria. The
road she had taken here snaked across the land, and a lump filled
Madori's throat to remember the journey with her father. She had
groaned at Torin's jokes, called him the dullest man in Moth, and
couldn't wait to reach this university. Now she wanted nothing more
than to see her father again, run toward him, hug him tightly, and
never let go.

If
you were here, Father, you wouldn't let any of this happen.
You'd fight them
all—like you fought the monk Ferius and his armies. I'm so sorry,
Father.
She
stared at the road and the mist beyond.
I'm
so sorry I never told you how much I truly love you.

She knuckled her eyes dry. A few
more steps, and she reached a door and knocked.

As if reacting to her touch, the
door unlocked and slowly swung open.

The tower's top chamber was
large and round, its brick walls covered with shelves. There were as
many artifacts here as in Professor Rushavel's workshop. Madori saw
animal statuettes with blinking crystal eyes; counter-square boards
whose pieces—soldiers, horses, and elephants—moved as if locked in
true battle; model ships whose sails billowed with air and whose oars
stroked; toy soldiers with ticking hearts; books whose voices filled
her head when she read their spines; little pewter dragons who
blasted out sparks of true fire; and many more. An oak desk rose in
the room's center, its top hidden under piles of codices,
hourglasses, and scrolls. Behind the desk, in a great armchair that
nearly swallowed her, sat the headmistress.

Madori expected Egeria to rail,
to punish her, to shout that Madori was insolent for bursting in here
uninvited and after hours. But the little old woman, barely larger
than a child, simply smiled kindly, her face creasing into a map of
wrinkles.

"Hello, my dear," the
headmistress said.

Madori flinched, for an
instant—a single heartbeat—sure that the headmistress was hurtling
insults at her, was reaching for a ruler to strike her like Atratus.
When the kind tone sank in, Madori realized that this kindness hurt
her more than a ruler or insults could. Tears filled her eyes and
streamed down her cheeks, but it was a good kind of pain, the pain of
a scab peeling off.

"Child!" said Egeria,
eyes softening.

The headmistress rose to her
feet, rushed toward Madori, and embraced her. Madori was used to
being the smallest person at Teel, but the headmistress was just the
same size, her arms so warm.

"I'm sorry," Madori
whispered. "I'm sorry I came here after hours, and I'm so sorry
for everything. I had to see you. I had to tell you. I . . ."

She took a deep breath, and she
told her.

She spoke of Lari and her
quartet vandalizing her room, threatening her, attacking her. She
spoke of Atratus binding her in front of the class, striking her palm
almost every turn, and sending her to scrub pots after classes so
that she could not study. She spoke of all her fear and pain, the
nightmare that had been the past few months.

"I'm frightened," she
finally said. "I'm frightened of the Radians and I don't know
what to do."

She stared expectantly at the
headmistress, waiting for soothing words, a promise of protection,
some wise advice or at least another embrace.

Instead, the headmistress
lowered her head and spoke in a soft voice. "I'm frightened
too."

Madori gasped. "But . . .
you're a great mage! You're powerful. You're—"

". . . the daughter of a
shoemaker," the old woman said. "An old woman. A teacher
who loves her students. That is all." She stepped toward the
window and stared at the university grounds. "And I love Teel
more than anything. For a thousand years the headmasters and
mistresses have watched over our school from this tower. We defended
Teel even through the great wars with Arden and the kingdoms of
Eloria. We were a beacon of knowledge and light, and now . . . now I
fear that a great light rises, a light to blind, to burn us all, a
light that will sear Mythimna. The light of Radian." Her voice
dropped. "They do more in Teel than write pamphlets, chant
slogans, and spread hatred. Madori, I have sad news to share with
you. Professor Maleen has died."

Madori gasped and covered her
mouth. Her eyes stung anew. "Died?"

Egeria placed her hand upon a
book of herbalism. "Poisoned. The Night Plague—a disease some
claim comes from Eloria, a disease Professor Atratus has been
studying. I myself have fallen ill with it; for ten turns I writhed
in pain before finding the magic within me to vanquish the illness."

A
growl fled Madori's throat, and she clenched her fists. "Atratus!
He poisoned you! He— He murdered Maleen!" She clutched the
headmistress's hands. "How can you let him still teach here?
Can't you dismiss him or . . . or fight him? Or do
something
?"

Egeria seemed to age and wither
before Madori's eyes. "I could do all these things, and then his
master would come to avenge his wounded pet. You have met his
master." Egeria's voice twisted in disgust. "You have met
Lord Tirus Serin."

Madori nodded. "Lari's
father."

She thought back to her
encounter on the road. How she wished she could return to that turn!
She would have stabbed the snake in the throat had she known the full
extent of his evil.

The headmistress looked at a
parchment map that hung upon the wall. She tapped a drawing of a
northern fort. "In Sunmotte Citadel he musters an army, and many
more of his forces spread across our kingdom. His pets bark in all
centers of power: Professor Atratus here at Teel and other, even
crueler men in our great cities. His servants whisper in the ears of
our king, guiding all his actions. And his arm reaches beyond
Mageria. In all kingdoms of the daylight his men work. Already Radian
chapters rise in Arden to our east, Verilon to our north, and Naya to
our south."

Madori spoke in a small voice.
"So what do we do?"

The headmistress turned toward
her and held her hands. "We must be brave. We must fight them at
every turn. You will stay at Teel, Madori, and you will learn magic.
I am old and I am fading; you and your friends must pick up this
fight. We need mages like you—not warriors but healers."

Madori glanced down at her hand;
welts still rose upon it. "Atratus said I'm not to heal my
wounds anymore."