Moth (15 page)

Koyee tiptoed behind the fat man. On cue, Earwig reached out to the basket.

"What have you here, dear master? Spare me a mushroom?"

As expected, the shopper tugged his basket farther back, bringing it out of Earwig's reach . . . and into Koyee's.

She reached out, grabbed a fluffy maitake mushroom, and pocketed it.

"Move out of my way!" the man demanded. "Move now or I'll summon the city guards."

Earwig only danced with more vigor. "Don't you like my dancing? I can juggle too." He pulled glass balls from his pockets and began to juggle them. "See me juggle. Spare me a coin."

Not daring to breathe, Koyee grabbed two truffles, a puffball mushroom, and a skewer of sea urchins. When she glanced at up Longarm, the young woman was motioning her back. The raid had ended.

Koyee glanced back at the basket, which the man was still holding away from Earwig, unaware of the second thief behind him. A string of plump sausages rested there, and Koyee's mouth watered. She had not eaten meat in so long . . . 

Just one more item,
she told herself.

"Get out of my way, scoundrel!" the man cried and kicked Earwig aside.

Koyee reached out and grabbed a sausage.

The man kept walking down the street.

The sausage tugged on a string of ten of its brethren. They all came free from the basket, tugging its rim and slapping onto the ground.

Koyee caught her breath.

The shopper turned around and his eyes widened.

"Thieves!" he cried.

Koyee knew that she should run with her catch. Longarm had drilled it with her many times.

But her hands thought faster than her mind.

She lashed out and knocked the basket over, spilling its remaining supplies across the street.

The man lunged at her. Koyee jumped back. Mushrooms, truffles, and meats rolled across the cobblestones. As the man chased her, Koyee fled. From the corner of her eyes, she saw the other Dust Face Ghosts leap out. Shy little Whisper, the smallest among them, grabbed pickled eggs and ran off with them, stuffing one into her mouth. The twins shoved mushrooms and fish into their sacks, then fled into the shadows.

The string of sausages still in her hand, Koyee raced into an alley, scuttled up a wall, and ran across the roof. The man below roared and tried to climb in pursuit, but couldn't make it up the wall.

"Thieves!" he shouted. "Guards, catch them!"

In the moonlight, Koyee jumped from roof to roof, sailing over alleyways. Around her she saw five other shadows—the rest of the Dust Face Ghosts—leaping around her. They raced through the night, scampered down into a distant street, and vanished into the shadows.

The distant cries faded. They scurried through the labyrinth of Pahmey's slums, racing over sleeping beggars, rats, and piles of refuse. When they finally reentered the graveyard, their domain, Koyee's heart pounded and her breath burned in her lungs.

She collapsed against a tombstone, letting her catch drop to the ground. The other Dust Face Ghosts gathered around her, adding their prizes to the pile.

Koyee stared and her mouth watered.

"By the moon," she said and licked her lips.

It was enough food to feed them for several turns of the hourglass. The children all reached out grubby hands, snatching the comestibles and stuffing their cheeks. Even shy little Whisper began nibbling. Koyee bit into a mushroom and sighed as the hearty flavors rolled around her tongue.

"Stop."

The cold voice rose ahead, and a shadow stepped toward them.

Longarm loomed above, a tall, slim figure against the full moon.

Little Whisper whimpered and let her morsel drop; she cowered behind a tombstone. The others froze, crumbs on their chests, their cheeks stuffed.

Longarm stepped forward, spear clutched in hand. She pointed the blade at Koyee, keeping it only inches away from her neck.

"You let him see you."

Koyee swallowed the food in her mouth, placed down her truffle, and shoved the spear aside.

"Don't point that at me," she said and rose to her feet. "We have more food than ever now. Your way, we'd be nibbling on crumbs and still hungry. Now we feast."

"Now hundreds of people know we exist!" Longarm said. "We are the Dust Face Ghosts. We slink through shadow. We are unseen, a mere whisper in the night. If you ever pull any of your tricks again, Halfsmile, I will ram this spear into your gut."

Koyee ate the rest of her meal sullenly, glaring at Longarm. The young woman, in turn, sat with her back to them, eating hunched over.

I can't stay here forever,
Koyee thought with a sigh.
I didn't leave Oshy to live in a graveyard.

She had been visiting Minlao Palace every turn of her hourglass, but had moved up only several slots. The elders still would not see her; it would take another moon's turn, Koyee guessed. Her eyes burned. Oshy needed her help, and she was stuck here among graves and ghosts, living as a filthy thief.

"But what can we do, Eelani?" she whispered. "Should we go home?"

Her invisible friend tugged her hair, and Koyee blew out her breath. No, she could not go home, not after all this. Not without aid. And besides, what awaited her back in Oshy? An empty house. An empty life. No more father or brother. Nothing but sadness and fire burning in the west.

"Halfsmile?" Whisper tugged her tunic, her eyes huge in her thin face. "Halfsmile, can you tell me a story before bed?"

Koyee nodded. "I'll tell you the best story, the one about the sun and moon."

The child smiled and lowered her eyes. Her true name was Layli, she had whispered once, but no Dust Face Ghost had a true name anymore. She spoke in but a whisper, too timid to let the others hear. "I like that story."

Koyee laid the girl to bed under her tombstone, the one shaped like a seashell, and told her the stories of the olden days—the stories her father would tell. In these tales, the sun rose and fell, daylight followed night, and Timandrians and Elorians were one people. Many scoffed at these stories—Longarm had when first hearing them—but Koyee liked telling them. Perhaps they were only myths, but Koyee liked to imagine a world like that, a world not divided across the dusk, a world where no sunlit demons could murder a man.

When Whisper fell asleep, Koyee lay down beside her, closed her eyes, and let dreams fill her.

Life in the city continued, a life of grime, ghosts, and graves.

Every turn of her hourglass, Koyee returned to the palace, glared at the guards, waved her ribbon, and demanded to enter. Every turn she was cast away, and she returned to the marketplace to steal, to hide, to survive. She became quicker, sneakier, able to cut a purse like a true ghost, to snatch food from a thousand carts, to scuttle over walls and vault across roofs and disappear into a crowd.

"I have become Halfsmile," she whispered to her shoulder spirit in the solitude of her grave. "This is who I am now, no longer a fisherman's daughter, but a ghost in the night. I can barely remember the woman I was. I can barely remember Koyee Mai."

It took the woman with the fish to remind her.

Koyee had spent a moon's turn with the Dust Face Ghosts, and her knees were scraped and her hair black with dirt when they came across the old woman. She hobbled down the road, leaning on a cane, a shawl framing her wrinkly face. She carried a basket, within it a single fish.

If you could call it a fish,
Koyee thought, watching from the roof. It seemed barely larger than a minnow and old too; Koyee could smell it from here. The old woman wore rags, and dirt caked her bare feet. She was only a frail thing, worse off than the scrawniest of thieves.

Koyee looked across the street, seeking her fellow ghosts. The twins stood in an alley, weapons raised. The younger boy, Earwig, knelt behind a barrel. Whisper, the smallest of the bunch, crouched behind a cart, clutching a doll to her chest. Upon another roof, Longarm stood supervising the raid with hard eyes.

The old woman kept hobbling down the street, paused to cough, then continued, every step a struggle.

There was nothing to steal here. Koyee looked across the street to the other roof. She met Longarm's gaze and shook her head.

The one-armed woman stared back, the moon above her. Her eyes blazed. She raised her hand, looked down at the twins, and nodded.

The two boys, the warriors of the gang, lumbered into the alley and raised their clubs.

The old woman only smiled and kept limping forward.

One of the twins trudged forward and shoved the old woman. When she fell, the second twin grabbed her basket and yanked it free.

"Stop it!" Koyee shouted.

Rage exploded through her. Stealing food from wealthy, well-fed merchants was one thing. Knocking down a frail old woman, however . . . Koyee leaped from the roof and landed on the road.

"Stand back!" she said to the twins.

Taller and wider than her, the boys raised their clubs and grunted.

"Halfsmile, back away!" rose Longarm's voice from above.

Koyee turned toward the fallen old woman. When she knelt by her, the twins grabbed Koyee's arms.

She wrenched herself free, shoved them back, and drew her sword. She pointed the blade at them.

"Back!" she said and sliced the air. "Stand back or I'll cut you. Whisper!" She gestured for the little girl to approach. "Help the grandmama stand. Give her back her basket and fish, and give her some mushrooms from your pocket. We'll find food elsewhere."

She swung her blade again, holding the twins back as Whisper ran forward. Terror filled the girl's eyes, but she obeyed, helping the old woman rise.

"Back!" Koyee said, spinning to stop the other Dust Face Ghosts from approaching. The thieves surrounded her now, staring with cold eyes, their weapons raised. "I'm stopping this raid. Back off now or I'll cut you all."

She panted, spinning from side to side. She did not recognize this part of herself. Koyee had never felt such fury; perhaps it was fear and hunger that fueled her anger.

A shadow leaped down.

Longarm landed before her, spear in hand, and growled.

Not removing her eyes from her foe, Koyee said, "Whisper! Take the grandmama to safety. Go."

From the corner of her eye, she saw the young girl lead the elderly woman away. Koyee remained in place, pointing her blade at Longarm.

The leader of the Dust Face Ghosts was perhaps missing one arm, but the rest of her body was tall, strong, and lithe. She was the oldest among them, even older than Koyee, and the cruelest.

"You have been causing too much trouble, Halfsmile," she said and spat at Koyee's feet. "You cost us a fish."

Koyee raised her sword higher. "The old woman needed it more than us."

"I don't care." Longarm stepped closer. "You do not lead this group of survivors, girl. You do not make these choices. You serve
me
. Now go after that crone, bring me her fish, and I might forgive you."

Koyee stared at the young woman for a moment longer. The two glared at each other silently.

Finally Koyee broke the stare.

With a grunt, she sheathed her sword and walked down the street, approaching the old woman. She felt the other Dust Face Ghosts watching from behind.

The elderly woman recoiled at the sight of Koyee and her sword. Blood trailed down her leg.

"Please, my child, don't hurt me," she whispered. "I have nothing of value, please."

Koyee reached into her pocket, took out seven copper coins, three plump chanterelles, and a sausage—all the money and food she had. She placed them into the woman's basket, keeping only a single coin.

"Now you do, Grandmama," she said. "These are yours. Go and may the moonlight bless you."

She escorted the elder out the alley and into a wide, crowded street, then turned to look back. Her eyes fell upon the Dust Face Ghosts. Whisper had run back to join them; she now hid behind Earwig's legs. They all stared at her, eyes wide, silent, awaiting her next move.

Koyee sighed.

"This is not our life, Eelani," she said softly. "This is not our home. This is not who we are. We've been alone, just you and I, for a long time. We can survive on our own again."

She gave the Dust Face Ghosts a last nod. She met Whisper's eyes, smiled, and raised her hand in farewell.

She turned and left them behind.

 
 
CHAPTER ELEVEN:
A COUNCIL OF KINGS

Ceranor the First, King of Arden, stared outside his tower and his frown deepened. He could not remember the last time the frown had left his face; men liked to joke that should he ever smile, mirrors would shatter and babes would die of fright. Yet Ceranor had never found much reason to smile. He had been a soldier, a savior, a usurper, and now a king; his was a life of worry.

"But my shoulders are still broad," he said, staring out the window at the city of Kingswall. "And my mind is still as sharp as my blade. I will survive this fire too."

Despite twenty years of sitting upon his throne, he was still a soldier at heart. A good soldier always fought. A good soldier never fled.

Below in the city, the fires spread, smoke rose, and rage simmered. Tens of thousands marched along the streets, chanting for war. The commoners—filthy, dressed in tatters, their bellies tight—pounded the air, burned effigies, and stomped upon the flames. Sailith monks led the processions, preaching of the Elorian evil, of the terrors that lurked in the night. With every word, the people howled louder, demanding blood, demanding death to Eloria.

"Yet so easily, this rage can turn," Ceranor said softly. "This hourglass turn they blame drought, disease, and despair on Eloria. This turn this fire is contained. Next turn it can spread . . . and come to this palace."

A high voice, distorted with a yawn, rose behind him.

"Cery! Let's take a little nap."

Ceranor turned from the window. Upon his bed, his wife sat crossed-legged. Dressed in an oversized azure tunic, she yawned magnificently, a yawn that raised her arms, splayed out her toes, and twisted her face like clay. When her yawn ended, she grinned at him.

"I'm sleepy," she said.