Moth by Daniel Arenson Read Free Book Online Page B

permanent, crooked smile. The other ran below her eye, and the third crossed her forehead, halving an eyebrow. Koyee didn't care. She saw little value in physical beauty, and she had never desired marriage. She was happier hunting on the starlit plains, even after her injury, than entertaining suitors. And so when men courted her, she turned them back, and when men shunned her, she felt no shame.
    She loved Oshy but she'd always dreamed of leaving too, of following her brother downriver. She was destined for more than trawling for crayfish, yet she had never dared leave her father. And so she had stayed here, year after year, fishing the river, and dreaming of someday sailing away—of finding the crystal city, of seeing the silver caves where thousands lived underground, or discovering the Chanku Crater where men rode tamed nightwolves.
    "We always dreamed of leaving on an adventure, Eelani," she said. "Yet now we must leave on a quest. Now we must find swords and men to wield them, or I fear the daylight will burn us all."
    Koyee sheathed her blade. The scabbard, its black leather inlaid with silver fish, lay against her thigh. She left the tower top, descending the path that coiled around the stone steeple like a trail around a mountain.
    When she reached the hill below, she approached her father's grave. She had buried the bones herself and piled a cairn of river stones upon them. Her father had always loved the river. Koyee knelt by the grave and whispered a prayer.
    "Watch over me, Father. Protect me on my journey. You died defending our home. I will walk in your path. Your light will forever guard me." A tear streamed to her lips. "Goodbye."
    She left the grave, heading across the plain of stones, dust, and boulders. The stars gleamed above. The river flowed ahead. To her east stretched the endless night, and to her west the dusk glowed, a scar across the land, a burn mark that would forever sear her soul.
    She reached the village of Oshy, the only home she'd ever known. She walked between its clay huts. Silver moonstars, the runes of Qaelin—one of Eloria's empires—glowed upon round doors. Bat houses hung from roofs, their denizens staring from within. Lanterns swung upon poles, their tin shaped into faces of nightwolves, snakes, and other beasts, tallow burning behind their staring eyes.
    Her fellow villagers gazed upon her too. Slender people clad in fur, their white hair billowed in the wind. Strings of shells clinked around their necks. As Koyee walked among them, they whispered prayers and blessed her.
    "Koyee Mai," they said, reaching out toward her, speaking her new title—"mai", a woman with no father or husband. "We pray for him, Koyee Mai. We pray for you."
    She nodded, throat tight. "The moonlight blesses him now. I pray that it blesses us all."
    As she walked among them, they shed tears and sang softly, hands raised to the sky.
    "Everyone loved my father, Eelani," Koyee whispered. "Do you see how they loved him? He was the guiding star of our village. He was the guiding star of my life."
    She thought words she dared not speak. But we will need more than blessings now. Timandrians are real, and they thirst for blood. Now we need not only prayers, but steel and armor.
    She approached her home, the round hut where she'd been born. The door, built of leather stretched over bone, creaked as she opened it. Koyee stepped inside.
    Embers glowed in a brazier, heating a pot of crayfish stew. Alcoves filled the walls, holding candles, pottery, river stones, jars of mushrooms, and bundles of dried fish. Three beds stood at the back, fur blankets topping their bone frames. One bed had belonged to her brother; it had stood here empty and cold for ten years. Another had belonged to her father; it too would remain barren.
    Koyee forced herself to look away. She could not surrender to tears now. Not if Timandrians existed, not if more could attack. She raised her chin, tightened her fist around her hilt, and swallowed a