Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) (33 page)

My
womb is barren, and I have given no babes to my mate,
she thought.
Let
these ones be as my children. I will keep leading them. We will keep
moving until we freeze, starve, die . . . or find life.

"Up, Cam!"
she said. "Up. Get Linee onto her wolf. We move."

Cam looked at her,
face pale, and whispered, "Can we just warm ourselves for a
little lon—"

"No!" She
glared. "We move. On your feet."

We
cannot linger,
she thought.
Lingering
is slow death.

She
mounted her wolf—the animal was thinner and wearier than Suntai had
ever known her—and rode on, moving between the towering crystals.
They had left the coast far behind—so far Suntai did not know if
they would ever see it again. Silently, the two Timandrians mounted
their own wolf, holding each other for warmth.

They kept
traveling, moving north every turn. The crystals here grew taller
than at the coast, obelisks like soaring towers, shining with inner
light. The moon and stars moved above.

Wait
for me, my mate, my Okado,
Suntai
thought.
I
will not forget you.

She
rode for a long time among the crystal landscape, riding up and down
hills, along bridges of glowing stones, and under natural archways
carved by wind and rivers. She remembered riding with Okado and the
pack, and she remembered her parents whom Yorashi had slain, and
Suntai began to believe that her home was lost to her. She would
remain here, frozen in the wild. She wondered if these crystals had
once been travelers like her, lost and frozen, awaiting more lost
pilgrims. As she rode, it seemed to Suntai that the crystals became
people, men and women wandering the hinterlands, clad in white robes,
their souls shining within translucent skin—the people of Leen
rising from the earth.

Snow began to fall,
coating her hair and cloak. When she looked over her shoulder, she
saw Cam and Linee riding behind, their hair and clothes icy, their
breath frosting. They held each other for warmth, but they were
fading fast.

"We are like
snowflakes ourselves," Suntai whispered, "buried under a
storm."

She turned forward
again. She gripped the reins with numb fingers. She kept riding. She
was alpha, and she was a leader of a pack, even if her pack was now
only them. She would lead them onward—to hope or into the great
realms of afterlife.

The snow was
burying her wolf's paws when Suntai saw the woman ahead.

At first Suntai
thought the figure another one of the crystals, slender and snowy, an
apparition from a feverish dream. The woman stared at her, eyes large
and violet, pearly hair flowing down to her waist. She wore robes of
pale silk and held a silver lantern. A diamond necklace shone around
her neck.

"Welcome,
travelers of foreign lands, to snow and ice, to crystal and silver,
to wisdom and riddle." The woman nodded, a small smile on her
lips. "I have seen your ship upon our sea, and I have followed
your journey through the lights."

Suntai blinked,
still not sure she was seeing a true person—the woman ahead seemed
little more solid than a daydream. But when she heard Cam and Linee
gasp, she realized that the woman truly stood before her.

"Who are you?"
Suntai said, clutching her sword's hilt. "Why did you let us
travel alone, lost and cold and hungry?"

The woman bowed her
head. "I am a greeter. I am snow upon stone. I am young and not
yet wise. I was sent to see, to learn." Her eyes darkened. "Many
have attacked our lands, beings like those behind you." Her eyes
turned toward Cam and Linee, and pain filled the violet orbs. "I
danced upon the stone and watched from darkness, my dagger in my
hand, until wisdom grew within me. You are friends. You may follow,
and I will lead you to halls of light and questions."

With
that, the woman turned and began to walk north—or
flow
north, Suntai thought, for she heard or saw no footfalls in the snow.
The woman seemed to float like breeze.

"A ghost,"
Linee whispered.

Suntai stared at
the spectral figure. "We follow."

They rode for a
long time through the snow, following the robed woman. They crossed a
bridge over a frozen river. Frosted hills bristly with stone obelisks
rolled at their sides, and mountains soared ahead, their surfaces
gleaming with ice.

Through snowy wind,
Suntai saw a great archway rising ahead, carved of glass or perhaps
ice. It soared hundreds of feet tall; Suntai gasped to see it. She
thought that the great structure could arch across the entire fallen
city of Pahmey, never touching even its loftiest towers. They
traveled through this gateway—a ghostly woman and two wolves bearing
their riders, tiny figures in a land of giants.

The clouds parted,
the snow curtains cleared, and the moon gleamed above. Suntai beheld
a city in a valley below. She halted her wolf and stared, eyes
dampening. Cam and Linee rode up to her side, stared down, and
whispered prayers.

"It's
beautiful," Linee said, eyes gleaming with tears.

Suntai smiled
softly. "It's hope. We stand before Taenori, the fabled Light of
the North."

The city of snow
and glass sprawled for miles. Pahmey had been a place of color, but
here lay a painting all in silver and white. Roads curled like
filigree, lined with houses of pale bricks and frosted glass. The
roofs of pagodas glittered with snow. Across the valley, a castle
rose upon a hill, its towers white, a palace that seemed carved out
of the mountain itself, a place of smooth stone, icy paths, and
coiling bridges, as natural and flowing as snow upon rock. Thousands
of lanterns glowed below; light filled the valley like a second moon.

The robed woman led
them through the city, and Suntai saw many other silent figures,
their hair as pale and flowing as their robes. They passed by many
houses, icicles hanging from their roofs; halls lined with columns,
sages burning incense and chanting prayers within; and great braziers
that crackled with blue flame and heat, melting the snow around them.
Suntai and her companions moved silently, for Taenori was a city of
song—a song of fire, of harps in temples, of wind in gardens of
hanging gems. Even the nightwolves did not grunt or drool in this
place; they gazed around with large, gleaming eyes.

Snow coating their
hair and cloaks, they climbed the hill toward the castle. Guards
stood at the gatehouse, silver breastplates clasped atop their white
robes. Curved helms topped their heads, and they held spears and tall
shields emblazoned with a painted diamond, sigil of Leen. Their
alabaster hair spilled across their shoulders like frozen waterfalls.

The robed woman
bowed and spoke softly in her tongue, a language like wind on water
and melting ice in summer, and the castle gates opened. A hall loomed
beyond, lit with silver light.

"I will take
your wolves to a warm house," said the robed woman. "It is
a place where we feed snowy bears and other beasts in need. They will
be tended to. There is food and rest for you here too, travelers from
distant lands, but first you may enter the hall of our king. We have
sensed great need in you, and he much desires to hear your tidings."
The woman bowed her head. "Pirilin too will speak with you, for
she is wisest in our land."

Suntai hesitated,
for she rarely parted from Misama; her dear nightwolf was as a part
of her. When she dismounted, she held Misama's head, kissed her brow,
and whispered to her in the wordless language they shared.

They entered the
hall of Leen, three travelers weary and thin: a tall rider in steel
scales, bow and blades across her back; a young, exiled queen, her
cheeks pink and her golden hair tangled and dusted with snow; and a
shepherd of sunlight joined to the night, slim and quick and staring
with wide, dark eyes. Suntai thought they must have been the
strangest trio to have ever entered this hall of majesty.

Marble
columns stood in rows, supporting a vaulted ceiling painted with
stars and moons. Many guards stood here, pale and frozen as statues,
their eyes large and blue, their spears long and their shields
bright. A ticking echoed across the chamber, a repeated chant like a
tiny metal drum.
Tick.
Tock. Tick. Tock.
A sound like a beating heart.

Across a tiled
floor rose a throne of twisting silver strands, and here sat an old
king, his hair flowing into his hoary beard, his ivory robes
embroidered with silver strands. Wrinkles lined his face, spots
marred his hands, and his fingernails curled like tails. His eyes
were closed; he seemed asleep. At his feet coiled a great beast that
sent Suntai's heart into a gallop.

"Pirilin,"
she whispered. "The fabled dragon of Leen."

The beast raised
her head and blinked at her, violet eyes sad. Silvery scales chinked
across her long body, gleaming like mother-of-pearl; as the dragon
moved, the scales turned purple, green, blue, and finally white
again. Seeing the dragon, Cam emitted a shocked, strangled sound, and
Linee whispered in awe. Their eyes widened further when the dragon
spoke.

"Three
travelers come before you, my king," said Pirilin, speaking to
the ancient man upon the throne. The dragon's voice was high and
feminine and clear, sounding both youthful and ancient. She spoke in
Qaelish, perhaps for Suntai's benefit, or perhaps some magic in this
hall translated the dragon's words. "Here stands Suntai, a rider
of wolves, a warrior of the night. With her enter Linee of House
Solira, a usurped queen of sunlight, and her soldier, Camlin
Shepherd." The white dragon blinked and her maw seemed to twist
into a smile, revealing her fangs. "They come to you, my lord,
with great need and weariness, for sunlight rises upon their lands."

The king still did
not wake. Suntai narrowed her eyes, staring at the old man. He lay
slumped, nearly falling from his seat, his shoulders stooped.

By
the stars of the night . . .

Suntai covered her
mouth.

"He's dead,"
she whispered. "The King of Leen, he's . . . embalmed."

The
king was not just pale; he was lacquered and gleaming, frozen like a
creature caught in ice. Finally Suntai saw the source of the ticking.
At first, from the distance, she had mistaken it for an embroidered
sigil. Now she saw that a hole filled the king's chest, larger than
her fist. A mechanical heart filled the cavity, made of bronze gears,
springs, and sprockets. The gears turned, ticking with a metallic
heartbeat.
Tick.
Tock. Tick. Tock.
Yet
still the king slept, his chin resting against his chest, his limbs
splayed.
Tick
tock,
beat his heart, a rhythm like pattering rain and the life of dreams.

"The King of
Leen cannot die, child of night," said Pirilin the dragon. "His
sons have fallen; all heirs lie beneath the sea. I have given him
life, crafting a device of all my cunning. For five hundred winters
has the king sat upon his throne, and my gift of a heart still beats
within him. I guard him still."

Suntai slowly
exhaled, staring at this lingering mockery of life, this creature
half-machine and half-man. She returned her eyes to the dragon.

"It is
Pirilin, then, whom I must speak to. It is Pirilin whom I will ask
for aid. Timandra attacks!" Suntai gestured at the two she had
brought with her. "I bring before you two Timandrians, two
who've joined the darkness of night. An army of their kind crawls
across the Qaelish plains. Join us in this fight."

Pirilin blinked,
her great lashes—each as long as a human arm—fanning the air. She
shook her body, letting her scales clatter and gleam.

"These are not
the first Timandrians I've seen." Her voice was low like cold
wind over pebbles. "The sunlit sailors have brought their fire,
their swords, and their arrows to our lands. From the island of Orida
they sail, a sunlit twin to Leen, and they bring death. Our ports
burned. Our fleet battled theirs and sunk their ships. We cast the
enemy back, yet already more of their galleys sail toward us. I have
seen them upon the wind."

Behind her, Suntai
heard Cam translating the words into Ardish for Linee, his voice
hushed. Suntai stepped away from the two, moving closer to the
dragon, so close that she could feel the beast's hot breath against
her.

"Then you have
seen the terror in Qaelin," she said to the dragon. "Half a
million Timandrians now crawl across the plains toward Yintao. The
demon Ferius leads them, and he seeks to burn all the lands of
night—our empire and yours. I have come, Pirilin, to unite our
strength. If your king sleeps and you speak for him, speak the words
of war. Fight with me!"

She stared at that
sleeping king and his ticking heart. Her chest rose and fell, and her
fingers tingled. More than the warmth of a bed, the taste of meat, or
the sweetness of wine, she longed for songs of war, for spears
banging against shields, for drums and horns and thudding boots. She
was Suntai of Chanku, raised to crave the glory of blood, yet here in
this hall she craved no glory—only the strength to protect her
people.

"Our soldiers
are strong and wise," said Pirilin. "Yet never have we
meddled in the affairs of Qaelin or Ilar. For thousands of years, we
in Leen have remained upon our island, gazing at the stars, studying
the wisdom of the skies." She shook her scaly head. "The
night is large and dark, and we have built a city of light."

Suntai sneered,
resisting the urge to draw her sword. Her voice echoed across the
hall. "You cannot stay on your island forever! You cannot ignore
the world beyond your shores. That world came to you in ships—enemy
galleys that burned your western coast . . . and a southern caravel
bearing a warning." Her fists shook. "If Ferius the Demon
conquers Yintao, he will set his sights on Leen next. He
distinguishes not between Elorian to Elorian; we are all equal
kindling for his fire. For thousands of years you lingered here, yet
you cannot ignore this fire. Sail south with me, Pirilin! Face the
enemy upon the mainland! Do not speak of Orida, Leen, or Qaelin;
those are old names, and this is a new war. This is a war between day
and night."