Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4) (34 page)

Neekeya clasped his hand. "And
I go with you."

He tucked a loose strand of her
hair behind her ear. "But your home lies in the west, Neekeya,
in the swamps of Daenor."

She nodded. "And I will
return there someday, but not yet. I will not leave you." She
embraced him. "The Elorians need us; in the endless day, they
are afraid, and they are weak, and they are alone. I will not abandon
them any sooner than you would." She kissed him. "And I
will not leave you. We'll drive this cart east. We'll bring them to
safety."

He held her for a moment longer,
never wanting to break apart from her warmth, from her goodness.
Cruelty raged across the land, war loomed, his best friend was
wounded, and the bodies of five more friends lay underground—but
there was some hope in the world, there was some goodness in the
pain. There was Neekeya.

They donned cloaks and hoods,
hiding their faces. They climbed onto the cart, replacing its fallen
driver. The horses began to move. They would not stay on the road for
long, only until Madori was well enough to walk; then they would
travel through the forest, hidden until they could reach the border.

For now the wagon trundled, and
the road stretched ahead between the trees, leading east into lands
of water, light, and unknown shadows.

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT:
THE JOURNEY HOME

They walked up the hill, stood
between two oaks, and gazed down at the dead heart of Arden.

Madori's eyes stung. She reached
out and clasped Tam's hand.

"So it's true," she
whispered. "Kingswall has fallen."

Tam drew his dagger, his face
twisted, and he seemed ready to charge downhill, cross the fields,
and attack the city walls himself. Instead he fell to his knees,
lowered his head, and shook. Madori knelt beside him, pulled him
close, and held him tightly. She gazed south with him, the pain like
claws digging inside her.

Radian banners rose above the
city of Kingswall, replacing the old raven banners. Magerian troops
manned the walls, clad in black steel, and marched in the fields. The
Magerian fleet sailed upon the Sern River, and more Radian banners
rose upon Mudwater Bridge.

"The city's people live,"
Madori whispered to Tam, squeezing him, trembling with him. "Mageria
conquered but did not destroy. Our families are alive."

He turned toward her, his eyes
red. "My mother was in that city. My brother." His voice
was hoarse. "Your father too."

She dug her fingers into him,
baring her teeth. "Your mother is Queen, and your brother the
heir of Arden. My father is a war hero. Serin will keep them alive.
They're worthless to him dead. They're worth a fortune while they
breathe."

The others walked uphill too and
stood around them. Neekeya knelt on Tam's other side, stroked his
hair, and whispered into his ear. Jitomi knelt by Madori and touched
her arm, speaking of Torin being strong and wise, clever enough to
escape. The other Elorians, outcast students from Teel, simply stood
silently, hoods and robes protecting their skin from the Timandrian
sun.

Madori wanted to say more. But
her voice caught in her throat, and tears filled her eyes. For long
turns, they had traveled through the wilderness, staying off the
roads and rivers, hiding in forests and wild grasslands. All over
Arden they had seen the remnants of battle: smoldering farms, ravaged
towns, and castles now hoisting the enemy standards. For all these
turns, Madori had told herself that Kingswall—fabled, ancient city
of Ardish might—would withstand the Radian fire. Now she found it
too overrun. Now her hope for aid—from Queen Linee, from Price Omry,
from her own father—crashed like so many toppled forts.

"Come, friends," she
said. "Further back. Behind the trees. We're exposed here."

They stepped back and huddled in
a copse between elms, oaks, and pine trees. An ancient mosaic and
three fallen columns peeked from the grass, hints of a lost world,
remnants of the ancient Riyonan Empire which had ruled here a
thousand years ago. Madori wondered if her own kingdom would join the
ghosts of Riyona. Tam sat on a fallen column and placed his head in
his hands; Neekeya sat beside him, stroking his hair and whispering
soft comforts to him. The Elorians huddled together; they had hoped
to find rest and aid here on their way back home to the night.

Back
home to the night,
Madori thought, staring south. The wind played with her hair, scented
of old fire and blood.
We
come from darkness . . . to the night we return.

She had thought to find
sanctuary behind these sunlit walls, but perhaps her home lay—had
always lain—in the darkness.

"Now we must choose our
paths," she said. "We fled the lands of Mageria only to
find the snake crawling upon Ardish soil too. This land—the river,
the city, these plains—is the road to the night. Lord Serin will
send his troops into the darkness." She turned to look at the
Elorians. "He will send them after your families . . . after my
mother. Now we must choose whether we hide or fight, whether we dig
hideouts or lift swords and make our stand."

For a long time, Teel's outcasts
sat in the grove, whispering, praying, huddling together as the world
crumbled around them.

Tam paced between the trees, his
boots stepping on pine needles, rich brown soil, and the remnants of
the ancient mosaic. The head of a statue rose from the earth, a
woman's haloed head. Tam lowered his own head, the pain too great to
bear.

My
father—trapped fighting a losing battle in the north. My mother and
brother—trapped in conquered Kingswall, perhaps dead. My kingdom—in
ruins.

He was a prince of Arden, the
younger of the twins, never an heir, never one who mattered to the
throne. He had fled this realm—to be with Madori, the only one who
understood feeling torn, forgotten, afraid. And now . . . now as his
kingdom burned, what path did he have? Did he travel with Madori into
the darkness, abandoning his home to the buffaloes of Mageria?

The others were huddling
together, the Elorians speaking in their language, Madori staring
south in silence, the wind in her hair. Tam did not approach them. He
needed to walk here, alone, to grieve, to pray. He wore only a
tattered tunic and cloak, stubble covered his cheeks, and burrs
filled his hair, yet he was still a prince of this land. He had to
fight for it—to join his father in the northwestern battles, to
sneak into the city, to find aid outside these borders, to lead
rebels from the wilderness, to do something—anything—for his home.
He had always relied on others for guidance—his parents, his
professors, Madori's advice—and now he felt lost, trapped like in
his recurring nightmare of racing through a labyrinth, desperate to
escape but finding no exit.

Pine needles crunched behind
him, and Tam turned to see Neekeya approaching him, her eyes soft,
her crocodile helmet tucked under her arm.

Seeing her soothed him. The
breeze played with her black, chin-length hair, and the sunlight
gleamed upon her dusky skin and scale armor. When she reached him,
the tall swamp dweller took his hands in hers. Her grip was warm, the
fingers long, the palms soft.

"I don't know what to do,
Neekeya," he whispered. "Those we passed in the wilderness
say my father still fights in the northwest, but none can say where.
Even if I find him, he lies behind enemy lines. Do I seek him,
Neekeya? And if I do, will you come with me?"

She touched his cheek, and her
eyes dampened. "No. I return to Daenor, to the swamplands of my
home. I will speak to my father; he's a great lord. I will tell him
of the Radian menace. I will entreat him to send soldiers across the
mountains, to strike at Mageria from the west. We will summon a great
council of swamp lords in our pyramid. We are strong in Daenor. We
will fight the tyrant."

He lowered his head. "I
don't want you to leave me."

She took a shuddering breath and
embraced him. Her tears fell. She cupped his cheek in her hand, and
she kissed him—a deep kiss, warm and desperate and mingling with her
tears. Her lips trembled against his, and their bodies pressed
together—his clad in old cotton, hers in steel scales.

Finally their lips parted, and
she stroked his hair. "Nor do I. Travel west with me, Tam.
Travel into the swamps with me, then return to your land with an army
behind you. Return here as a true prince, a true conqueror."

He wanted to laugh, but only a
weak breath left his throat. "How would I be a prince among you?
In Daenor I would be only an exile, a coward fled from his kingdom as
the enemy marched across it. How princely would I seem then,
returning here with the hosts of other men?"

She squeezed his hand. "Be
my prince then! Wed me in the swamps. Be my husband, and you will not
return as an exile but as a liberator. Let us forge an alliance
between Daenor and Arden." She smiled through her tears. "When
we return here, we will return together—husband and wife, strong,
our houses joined, our armies roaring."

He looked into her large,
earnest eyes. He stroked her cheek, trailing his fingers down to her
chin. She was beautiful. She was strong. She was a woman Tam loved
more than life.

"I don't want to wed you
for power," he said. "Nor for armies. I will wed you for
love. I love you, Neekeya."

She held him close and laid her
head against his shoulder. "I love you too—always. Since I
first saw you."

They stood together upon the old
mosaic on the hill. The leaves glided around them, and in the south
the enemy chanted and its horns blew for victory.

Madori walked alone, leaving the
others in the grove. Upon the hill, she found the remnant of an old
brick wall, only three feet tall, most of it long fallen or perhaps
buried underground—a relic of Riyona, an empire lost to time. She
climbed onto the wall fragment and stared at the four directions of
the wind.

In the west her enemy mustered
new power—the forces of Mageria and its corrupt ideology, the cruel
Radian Order. When she turned to look north, she saw plains leading
to dark forests; beyond them lay the realm of Verilon, a cold land of
snow, ice, and pine trees, a realm she did not know, a realm she
feared. In the south the capital of her home lay fallen, overrun with
the tyrant's forces; even as she stood here, Madori heard the distant
chanting of the enemy.

"Are you trapped within
those walls, Father?" she whispered, eyes stinging. "Are
you chained like I was chained, and are you thinking of me too? Or
did you escape into shadows?"

Finally Madori turned to look
east. The Sern River stretched across the land, the Ardish plains
rolling to its north, the Nayan rainforest sprawling to its south.
Mist and light covered the horizon, but beyond them, Madori
knew—many leagues away—lay the shadows of Eloria, and that too was
her home. There stretched her path, she knew—The Journey Home, like
the old song, a journey into darkness.

She returned to the grove and
saw the others standing, their packs slung across their shoulders,
their eyes somber, staring at her.

Madori spoke softly. "I
return to the darkness of night—the village of Oshy in the empire of
Qaelin. That land is in danger now; the front line will move to the
dusk. There I will make my stand. There I will fight with sword and
magic against the tyrant—not in sunlight but in shadows." Her
breath shook. "For many years, I thought that I could be a child
of sunlight—like my friend Tam, like my fellow villagers, like my
father." Her eyes stung. "For many years, I felt the pain
of that sun and its people. I sought acceptance at Teel and still
bear the scars—on my body, in my heart. Perhaps I've always been
only a child of darkness; perhaps in the night will I find my home.
My friends, join me there."

Jitomi came to stand by her
side. He took her hand in his and squeezed it. The other Elorians,
twenty in all, came to stand behind her, robed and hooded. Only Tam
and Neekeya, the two Timandrians of their group, did not join her.
They remained standing ahead under a pine tree, holding hands.

"We go to Daenor," Tam
said softly. "Here our path forks. Here our quartet breaks."

He spoke some more—of forging
an alliance with the western realm, of marrying Neekeya in her
pyramid, of returning to Arden with a great host of men—but Madori
heard little of it. As he spoke, she could only think of losing her
friends.

She stepped toward them, her
eyes damp, and embraced Neekeya—a crushing embrace, a cocoon of
warmth she never wanted to be released from.

"Goodbye, Neekeya,"
she whispered and kissed the girl's cheek. "Goodbye, my sweet
friend."

The swamp dweller smiled, tears
in her eyes, and kissed Madori's forehead. "You're my dearest
friend, Madori, now and always. We will meet again."

Her cheeks wet, Madori turned to
look at Tam, and for a moment she hesitated. How could she part from
him—her dearest and only friend for most of her life? The boy she
had spent every summer with, had run through fields and gardens with,
had daydreamed together with so many times? All her life, Tam had
been the beacon of her soul. Now he was traveling away from her, an
exiled prince, a man she might never see again.

He pulled her into his arms, and
she laid her head against his chest, and she wept in his embrace. He
kissed her tears away, and she never wanted to leave him, and when he
finally walked downhill, Neekeya at his side, Madori stood for a long
time, silent, a hole inside her. She stood there among the trees,
watching her friends walk westward until they were only specks in the
distance . . . and then were gone from her. Perhaps for years.
Perhaps forever. And Madori knew that losing them was a wound greater
than any her enemies had given her.