Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4) (8 page)

She stuck out her tongue as she
often did when deep in concentration. She spent a moment trying to
fit the wooden balls through the metal rings, twist the ropes, and
undo the construction. She managed to free one ball, only for the
ropes to tangle through a metal ring, blocking the process.

She sank an inch.

Madori blinked, stared down, and
saw that the bridge had become less substantial beneath her. The
stone suddenly looked like thick smoke; it swallowed the soles of her
boots. She raised one foot after another, then let each sink back
into the bridge. It felt like standing in mud.

Shaking her head, she returned
her attention to the puzzle on the doorknob. After a few juicy
curses, she managed to remove two metal rings, which she tossed
aside.

Her boots sank another inch.
Madori grimaced and looked down. The bridge beneath her seemed like
thin smoke now; she could see the chasm below.

"So there's a time limit,"
she muttered.

She returned to the riddle. She
freed another metal ring. Her boots sank deeper; she was now down
past her ankles. Two wooden balls came free; she tossed them into the
chasm.

She sank down to her knees. Her
feet dangled over the pit.

With a curse, she tugged open a
knot, freeing the last metal ring. The contraption fell off the
doorknob.

The bridge vanished beneath her.

Madori grabbed the doorknob,
clinging as she dangled over the pit. She twisted and tugged, and the
door swung open.

Heart thumping, she climbed
through the doorway. The next segment of the bridge was still solid
stone. She stood upon it, knees shaking.

If
I had failed to solve the riddle, would I have fallen to my death?
She cringed.

A new door stood before her.
Already the bridge beneath her feet, solid stone when she had first
stepped onto it, began to fade. Biting her lip, Madori looked for a
doorknob but found none, only a little hole in the door where a
doorknob should be. Instead, many bits of metal—hooked, curved,
circular, and spiky—lay scattered at her feet. She knelt, lifted the
pieces before they could sink into the vanishing stone, and jangled
them in her palm.

"It's the doorknob,"
she whispered.

She narrowed her eyes. Yes, she
saw a doorknob here—a few round pieces that could snap into its
shell, a few narrow shards that could fit into the door.

Her boot heels sank, the bridge
dissolving beneath her. She cursed, spat, and got to work. Some
pieces refused to connect; others snapped into place, only to block
another piece from entering its proper slot. Her fingers were shaking
and her boots had sunken past her ankles when finally she had
assembled the doorknob. She snapped it into the door an instant
before the bridge vanished beneath her. Once more she dangled. She
swung the door open and climbed onto the next level.

A third door faced her; many
more waited behind it. Madori twisted her lips, sucked in a deep
breath, and got back to work.

One door had no knob at all but
a panel of sliding, metal squares that had to snap into place for the
door to open. Another door was engraved with a great wooden
labyrinth; she had to slide a key through the maze as the bridge
faded beneath her, bringing it to the keyhole fast enough to unlock
the door. Another door lay in pieces, a great wooden jigsaw on the
floor; an invisible field blocked Madori's passage farther along the
bridge, and she could only step through after assembling the broken
door and opening it. Every level the riddles became harder. Every
level more sweat covered her, and she began to think her tooth marks
would forever dent her bottom lip.

Briefly, she wondered where the
other applicants were now. Were they too locked in great, black
chasms, moving along their own bridges? If they fell, where would
they end up? Would they magically appear outside the university, or
would they fall forever into black death? But she had no time to
consider this carefully, only solve puzzle by puzzle, opening door by
door, moving ever closer toward the end of the bridge. Soon she could
see it ahead—the end of the chasm. A brick wall loomed there, a
golden door waiting within it.

Finally, weak and shuddering,
Madori crossed the bridge, reached the great wall, and stood before
the golden door.

She grabbed the knob and twisted
it.

It was locked.

She looked down at the last
segment of bridge, seeking jigsaw puzzles, hidden buttons,
something—she found nothing. She returned her eyes to the door,
looking for a knob, a lock, a maze, some puzzle to solve.

"Nothing," she
whispered.

Musical symbols on the door
glowed, then vanished.

Madori tilted her head.

"Do it again!" she
said.

Again little musical notes
glowed upon the golden door—different ones this time—vanishing as
soon as she stopped speaking.

"Is there a password?"
she said. Her voice made other notes glow, but the door would not
open.

The bridge began to fade beneath
her. She sank down to her ankles and winced.

A password . . . no. Not a word.
Notes denoted a song. Music. But what music?

"What do I sing?" she
said. Notes glowed and vanished.

Madori tugged the two strands of
hair that framed her face. Music, music . . . she thought back to the
lessons her mother had given her; she could still read notes. But
what song could she possibly sing here to open this door? All she
knew were old Qaelish tunes.

Her boots sank another inch.

She grimaced and began to sing
softly, an old song villagers would sing back in Oshy across the
dusk. A few notes glowed again, soon fading, and Madori tilted her
head.

Wait!
she thought. Some of
the notes were glowing gold, but others shone a bright blue.

She sang the tune again.
Again—some notes glowed gold, others blue.

"I have to sing the blue
notes?" she asked the door.

A few golden notes glowed, their
light softer. The blue notes were brighter, larger; it seemed those
were the ones to sing.

Her boots sank down to the
ankles.

"Damn it!" she
shouted. Golden notes glowed.

She cursed and began to sing the
practice scales her mother had taught her, rising from a deep
baritone to a high soprano. A gold note. Another. Another. A blue
note! Gold. Gold. Blue again. She tried to memorize each note, but
how could she possibly read this music like this? She had trouble
enough reading the sheets her mother would give her.

Think,
Madori. Concentrate. Save the blue notes in your mind. Ignore the
gold ones. Write them down inside your thoughts.

She took a deep breath, blocking
out everything, and sang the scale again. She ignored the golden
notes. They didn't exist. They were nothing. She forced herself to
see only blue, to write down the score in her mind. After singing a
few more scales, she had it.

"It's the song 'Darkness
Falls,'" she whispered.

She knew that tune. She knew it!
Her mother had taught her to sing this song.

The bridge faded to mere mud.
She sank down to her knees.

Wincing, Madori sang her song.

It was a sad tune, an old tune
of darkness covering the land of Eloria, of hope fading, of a distant
ray of light shining to guide lost souls home. As Madori sang, the
blue notes glowed upon the door, one after the other, no golden notes
between them. In Madori's mind, she was a child again, back home,
singing with her mother.

She sang the last note—a sad,
soft sound.

All the blue notes began to glow
together, the song 'Darkness Falls' etched in light.

The last door swung open.

The bridge vanished beneath
Madori.

She leaped through the doorway
and into shadows and light.

 
 
CHAPTER SEVEN:
TRIAL OF WILL

Her legs still trembling and her
mind foggy with exhaustion, Madori stepped into a towering hall,
ready to face her final and greatest challenge.

"The Trial of Will,"
she whispered.

After the bridge, she had
expected something fantastical—a dragon to tame, an ogre to slay,
maybe a gauntlet full of spinning blades and swinging pendulums to
knock her into rivers of lava. But she simply saw a columned
hall—roughly the size of a large barn—full of other applicants.

An elderly professor stood at a
podium across the hall. He wore red robes, and his white beard flowed
down to his feet. His nose was so long and curved, it drooped past
his upper lip.

"Welcome, Madori
Greenmoat!" the elder called out. "The last applicant to
emerge from the Trial of Wit. I am Professor Yovan. Welcome, Madori,
to the Trial of Will."

Madori blinked, rubbed her eyes,
and took a closer look, sure that dragons and ogres would still leap
out at her. The chamber was simple but well built—the columns carved
of solid limestone, the ceiling vaulted and painted deep blue. Many
tables stood in neat rows, and upon each lay a strange device; it
looked like a wishbone carved of iron. Two chairs stood at each
table.

"Billygoat!" The voice
rose from the crowd of other applicants. "I mean—Madori! Thank
Idar."

Tam wormed his way through the
crowd, coming to stand beside her. He grabbed her hands and smiled
shakily.

"Tam, what's going on
here?" she said.

He brushed back a strand of her
hair which fell across her left eye. "I thought you wouldn't
make it this far. You're the last one through."

She bristled. "Of course I
made it!" She looked around her at the other applicants. "Idar's
bottom, those last two trials weeded out quite a few."

From two thousand applicants,
she doubted that more than four hundred remained. They stood
clustered between the columns, talking amongst themselves, laughing
nervously and discussing their ordeals. Most were Magerians, but
there were some foreigners too, even a few Elorians. The latter stood
in the shadows far from the windows—their natural habitat—and spoke
amongst themselves in low voices. Madori saw that the strange boy
with the dragon tattoo stood among them. Again he was staring at her,
his eyes intense, boring into her as if peeling back the layers of
her soul.

A chill running down her spine,
Madori tore her eyes away from him. But as she kept scanning the
crowd, her heart sank deeper. She cursed to see that Lari
Serin—looking as pretty, prim, and proper as always—had made her
way to this last trial. She stood among several other youths with
Radian brooches, basking in sunbeams that fell through a window,
laughing as if these trials were no more challenging than a garden
stroll. When Lari noticed Madori, her eyes widened. She smiled and
waved, her face oozing honeyed poison. It was the face a
sweet-talking traitor gives his master before thrusting the blade.

Bearded Professor Yovan cleared
his throat—a squeaking sound—and raised his arms, letting his
sleeves roll down to his shoulders. He spoke again.

"I shall now divide you
into pairs! As I call each name, step forth and sit down upon the
glowing chair."

Madori narrowed her eyes and
tilted her head, seeing no glowing seats. The other applicants all
turned to face the professor, their conversation dying. The old man
unrolled a scroll, leaned toward it, and called out the first name:

"Tam Shepherd!"

Tam—going by his father's old
commoner’s name, rather than his secret royal styling—gave
Madori a little smile and pat on the shoulder.

"Good luck, Billygoat,"
he whispered and stepped toward the professor.

A seat began to glow, and Tam
approached it and sat at the small table. When the professor read
another name, the seat across from Tam glowed too, and another
applicant approached to fill it.

Professor Yovan kept reading
names from the scroll, and slowly tables were filled—two applicants
at each. Upon every tabletop lay the iron wishbone.

"Madori Greenmoat!"

She stepped forward dutifully,
made her way toward the next glowing seat, and sat down. The table
was small, just large enough for two chairs. She stared at the item
on the tabletop, finally getting a good look at it. The metal
wishbone was as large as a lyre, its surface craggy; she couldn't
guess its purpose. The seat across from her was still empty.

"Lari Serin!"

The seat across from Madori
glowed.

Oh
wormy sheep hooves.

Madori had not thought this turn
could have gotten any worse. When Lari approached, a small smile on
her lips, Madori's heart sank down to her hips. Lord Serin and her
father were cousins; Madori felt ill to think that she and Lari
shared blood.

Her hair a perfect fountain of
golden locks, Lari neatly swept her skirt under her legs and sat
down, knees pressed together, her back straight. She smiled sweetly
at Madori.

"Hello, mongrel," she
said, voice pleasant.

Madori leaped to her feet,
clenching her fists. "I don't know how you made it this far, but
you're failing this trial. You—"

A sharp clearing of the throat
interrupted her. Professor Yovan came shuffling forward, nearly
tripping over his beard.

"Is there a problem, Madori
Greenmoat and Lari Serin?" he said, brow furrowing.

Lari blinked innocently, a sweet
smile on her lips. "Not at all, Professor. I was simply telling
Madori what a pleasure it was to meet one with such . . . famous
parents." She gave Madori a little wink. "I see she's
inherited much from them."

The professor seemed to miss the
implied scorn. He tossed his white beard across his shoulder. "Very
well then. But please, girls, you can be friends later. Now the trial
is about to begin." He hopped back toward his podium and raised
his hands. "Applicants! The Trial of Will begins. Please, every
pair grab your iron wishbone, each applicant holding one side."