Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4) (27 page)

Madori thrust her arms out,
palms facing toward the mob of Radians. Air blasted them, knocking
them down. Standing a dozen feet away from him, Madori stretched out
one finger, supporting Jitomi with a funnel of air. She gently
lowered him to the ground.

A gurgling gasp sounded behind
her.

Her strands of hair rising like
seaweed in the water, crackling with energy, Madori turned around to
see Lari.

The new Princess of Mageria
stared, her own hair wild, her fingers curled up at her sides.

Madori smiled crookedly and took
a step toward her.

With a strangled yelp, Lari spun
on her heel and fled.

Madori wanted to chase the girl,
to hurt her, maybe even to kill her, but her friends needed her. With
the Radians all unconscious or fled, Madori released her magic,
letting go of the awareness that connected her with all materials
around her. She raced toward Jitomi and knelt above him.

Cuts covered him and blood
dripped from his mouth. He was still breathing but that breath was
shallow. Madori closed her eyes, trying to summon more magic, to heal
his wounds, but she was too weary. Her body shook, and she found
herself slumped next to him.

Footsteps thudded down the hall.

With a flutter of robes,
Professor Fen burst into the hallway. The bald, mustached man gasped
and sputtered.

"What— What—"

More feet shuffled, and old
Professor Yovan raced from between two columns, nearly tripping over
his beard. Madori tried to explain. She tried to tell them it wasn't
her fault, but only slurred words left her mouth, barely words at
all, merely sounds.

She tilted and Fen caught her
head before it could slam against the floor. The last thing she saw
was his concerned face, and then his eyes became blue oceans that she
drowned in.

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE:
CAGED

Madori stood above his bed, her
head lowered.

"I'm sorry, Jitomi."
She tasted tears on her lips. "I'm so sorry."

He slept in the infirmary bed,
breathing softly. Several other beds were occupied: some with other
Elorian students, pulled from their rooms and beaten in the cloister,
and other beds with Radians, many of whom Madori's magic had
battered. Only by miracle had nobody died that turn.

But
you came close to dying, Jitomi,
she thought.

He seemed so peaceful, sleeping
there. The dragon tattoo seemed to be sleeping too, its tail coiling
along his neck, its head resting above his eye. Madori stroked the
boy's hair. It was soft, smooth, and white as purest silk, the same
hair her mother had, that all Elorians had. She leaned down and
kissed his forehead.

"I'm sorry, Jitomi."
Her tears splashed against him, and on a whim, not even realizing
what she was doing, she kissed his lips.

He stirred and moaned. Madori
pulled back, shocked at herself, raising her fingers to her mouth.
She had kissed him! He was lying here sleeping, and . . . and . . .

She had never kissed a boy. One
time back at her village, not long before leaving to Teel University,
the brewer's boy had kissed her cheek and almost her mouth, a quick
peck which had made her cheeks flush. But this—this had felt real, a
kiss of compassion and excitement.

His eyes opened and he blinked a
few times, struggling to bring her into focus.

"Madori," he
whispered. "Why? Why are you sorry?"

She lowered her head and clasped
his hand. "I'm sorry for Timandra, for the pain you experienced
here. I'm half Timandrian. This is half my home. And . . . you came
here, to our lands, seeking knowledge and magic. And this happened."

He smiled. "If you kiss me
again, I will think it worth it."

She felt her cheeks flush and
cursed herself. But she kissed him again. And it felt just as right.

Yet suddenly her eyes were damp,
and a lump filled her throat, and she thought of the song she had
sung—"The Journey Home." For a long time, Madori had
thought that song meaningless to her, thought that her home lay
hidden, a place she still had to find. But perhaps her home had
always lain behind her old village, beyond the dusk, in the shadows
of Eloria. Perhaps she had had to travel into sunlight to realize her
home lay in moonlight.

"Someday, when we're mages,
we'll return home," she whispered. "Our home lies in
shadows . . . to the darkness we return."

She sat on his bed, then lay
down beside him, placing her head against his shoulder. She laid her
hand on his chest, and he stroked her hair—the stubble on the back
and sides and the long, silky strands that framed her face.

"Do you remember just lying
on a hill, watching the moon?" he said. "Did you ever
imagine faces on it, dream of mountains and valleys?"

She nodded, smiling to herself,
remembering her summers in Oshy. "Always. And do you remember
the stars? I had a book of constellations, and I'd try to see them
all in the sky. I used to imagine that the stars were distant worlds,
millions of them, so far away I could never reach them. I imagined
that I had a ship that could sail through the sky, and I visited
every world, meeting dragons and clockwork soldiers and wise elders
with long white beards."

"In Ilar we believe that
the stars are great, distant flames, each borne by a great warrior."
Jitomi smiled wryly. "In Ilar, most of our tales are of
warriors, assassins, swordsmen, spies. Imagine me there—a thin boy
who prefers to read books over swinging blades. My father thought me
weak—no better than a girl, he said. You can imagine why I wanted to
explore the lands of sunlight."

Madori thought back to her own
kingdom of the night, the great land named Qaelin, a sprawling empire
of crystal towers, pagodas as large as all of Teel University, and a
little village by a starlit river. She nestled against Jitomi. "So
when we graduate, come with me to Qaelin. Forget about Ilar if your
people don't respect you. Forget about this land of sunlight. We'll
both go to Qaelin, two mages. We can live by the river, imagine faces
on the moon, and seek the constellations."

Robes fluttered and Professor
Yovan shuffled toward them, clucking his tongue.

"Now now, little boy,"
said the professor, pointing at Madori. "You must let young
Master Jitomi get his rest." The old man tossed his beard across
his shoulder and rolled up his sleeves. "I've healed most of his
wounds, but he's still weak, and he still needs more healing."
He touched the scars on her cheeks, the ones Lari had given her. "Did
you heal these wounds yourself, little one?"

Madori nodded. "I did."

The old healer beamed.
"Excellent work! Since the first lesson I taught you, I knew you
were a great healer, little boy."

"Girl," she said.

He snorted, fluttering his lips.
"Same difference. Now get off that bed and let me do my magic."

Professor Yovan was rolling his
sleeves back down, and Jitomi had fallen back asleep, when the Horns
of Teel blew again.

When Madori stepped back into the
cloister, answering the bells' call, she found the place transformed
into a nightmare.

General Woodworth, the great elm
tree, had been cut down. Where it had grown now rose an iron statue,
twenty feet tall, depicting Lord Serin clad in armor. The tyrant was
facing east toward the distant lands of night, his fist against his
heart, his second hand holding his sword. From the galleries—four
rows of columns that surrounded the courtyard, leading toward the
dormitories—hung great banners of Radianism, depicting the sun
eclipsing the Elorian moon. The old wooden stage was draped with more
banners, and a podium rose upon it, displaying the sigil in gold and
silver. Worst of all, soldiers surrounded the expanse, clad in black
steel, holding pikes and shields.

For a moment Madori thought she
had entered the wrong place. This seemed less like a university and
more like a military camp.

When all the students stood in
rows, the horns fell silent and Professor Atratus stepped onto the
pulpit. He no longer wore his ratty old robes, the ones with the
fraying hems. His new robes were darker than the night, hemmed in
gold. Lari rose to stand at his side, wearing a golden tiara and
holding a scepter, its head shaped as the eclipse of Radianism.

Across the cloister, everyone
stared—other professors, Timandrian students with Radian brooches,
and Elorian students with their snake pins. After a long moment,
Atratus spoke, his voice so loud—magically amplified—that Madori
started.

"Students of Teel. Fellow
professors. I have some news that may upset—or delight—you.
Headmistress Egeria has been accused of a terrible crime."
Atratus sneered. "We all witnessed it at this very place only
last turn. She stood upon this stage, vowing to defend Elorians—our
enemy, the enemy of every pure-blooded Timandrian. Treason!" He
pounded his fist into his palm, and students jeered across the
cloister. "For her treachery, the illustrious Lord Serin, God of
Sunlight, has sent forth his troops to protect us. Egeria has been
sent to the capital in chains to stand trial for her crime."
Some students gasped at this; others cheered. Grinning like a wolf
over its prey, Atratus continued. "My great lord has named me,
his humble servant, new Headmaster of Teel."

Madori could barely remain
standing. Her head spun and Tam had to grab her lest she fell.

It's
over,
she realized.
My
dream to become a mage, my hope of surviving here—gone.

A drum beat and the sound of
hooves rose from behind. Madori spun around to see two burly black
horses—each twice the size of Hayseed—pull a wagon into the
courtyard. The driver seemed almost as beefy as the horses, his
frayed robe stretching tightly across his board shoulders, his hood
revealing only a stubbly chin and thin lips. Upon the wagon rose an
iron cage roughly the size of the Motley's bedchamber.

Atratus spoke again, restrained
glee twisting his voice. "All subhuman undesirables, those
wearing the serpent pin of shame, are henceforth banished from Teel
University. You will step onto this wagon, which will transport you
to the border of Mageria. There you may go where you will, so long as
you never more set foot upon the lands of glorious Radianism."

The cloister burst into chaos.

Students gasped. Some cheered.
At once the soldiers stepped forth, marching among the rows of
students, shouting out the names of Elorians.

"Shen Quelon!"

"Heetan Doromi!"

"Danong Fan!"

A few of the Elorian students
glanced around nervously, then followed the soldiers toward the
wagon. Other Elorians were too slow to budge; the soldiers grabbed
their arms, manhandling them toward the cage. The names kept ringing
across the university.

"Keshuan Hatan!"

"Maen Hao!"

"Jitomi Hashido!"

Standing beside Madori, the
tattooed Elorian boy glanced at her.

"Don't go," Madori
whispered to him.

Jitomi touched her cheek. Fear
filled his large blue eyes—but courage too. "It will be all
right. I—"

Soldiers grabbed him, tugging
him away from her. Madori shouted. She tried to tug him back. She
leaped onto one soldier, only for the brute to shove her down. She
landed hard on the cobblestones.

"Jitomi!" she shouted,
a soldier's boot on her chest, pinning her down.

Jitomi looked at her, a sad
smile on his lips, as the soldiers tugged him toward the wagon.
Already they were shoving Elorians into the cage. One girl moved too
slowly; a soldier backhanded her, spraying blood, and shoved her into
the cage, slamming her against the bars. Jitomi climbed in solemnly,
refusing to be shoved, holding his head high. He stood tall, staring
at Madori between the bars, his face expressionless.

Finally twenty-five Elorians
filled the cage, pressing against one another—the entire Elorian
population of Teel. Madori still lay on the cobblestones, the soldier
pinning her down, his boot nearly cracking her ribs.

It was Atratus himself who
called her name, shouting it out like a curse. "Madori
Greenmoat!"

The soldier lifted his foot off
her chest and leaned down to grab her.

With a snarl, Madori hurtled a
ball of air against him. With a clank of armor, the man fell.

"No!" Madori shouted.

Several more soldiers advanced
toward her. She hissed and chose their armor, claimed the metal, and
heated it. The metal turned red hot, and the soldiers screamed,
pawing at the straps, trying to tear off the plates.

"I will not leave!"
Madori shouted. She chose the air beneath her and shoved herself
several feet above ground. She hovered, gazing at the crowd. "I
am the daughter of Torin Greenmoat, a hero of Timandra, a warrior of
sunlight. This sunlight flows through my veins. I will stay at Teel.
I will become a great mage." She stared at Atratus across the
crowd. "You cannot deny my Timandrian blood. I stay."

Atratus grinned—a horrible grin
that seemed to split his face in two, stretching from ear to ear,
revealing all his crooked teeth. He thrust out his palm, driving a
ball of smoke and dust her way. The projectile took the form of a
snake, hissing, fanged, its eyes blazing white. Madori tried to block
the attack, but the snake tore through her defenses and wrapped
around her.

She crashed down, writhing, the
smoky serpent crushing her. Its fangs drove into her leg, and she
cried out in pain.

"Chain her!" Atratus
shouted, voice rising like steam, his amusement and hatred coiling
together. "Chain her and toss her in with the others."

The soldiers tugged her to her
feet. A fist drove into her cheek, and she saw nothing but darkness.
Her chin tilted forward, and the magical serpent still wrapped around
her torso, hissing, licking her with an icy tongue. She tried to
struggle. She screamed, kicked, blasted out magic. But she was only
one girl; she could not resist them all.