Secrets of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 3) (25 page)

"You will not cure me!
There is no cure. You will see, daughter of men. You will scream with
no mouth. You will morph into my shape. You—"

The sword blazed.

The
light blasted out, falling upon Shalesh again, and she cowered, for
in the light her shame was exposed, her deformity, these strange
arms, this vanished mouth, and inside her she felt it, she felt it
move, she felt
her
.
The child she had been screamed inside her, weeping, trembling, so
afraid, so afraid . . . so ashamed . . . and her name was Sen. And
she begged.

The creature she had become
retreated, slinking like a spider into its secret holes, abdomen
swinging, hands like claws clattering.

"Please . . ." the
creature begged. "Please don't look upon me. Please don't speak
of my shame to the Montai. For I was one of them. For I was born in
that village under the moonlight, and I still remember the worlds.
And their eyes still hurt me. They will not worship me. They will
look upon me in disgust, and I will be naked before them. Please,
daughter of men. I am Sen. I am afraid."

Koyee took a step closer, her
blade reflecting her lamplight, her eyes peering, seeing, eyes like
moons. "If I keep your secret, you must leave this island."

Shalesh took a step back,
cowering, quivering, and she hid her head behind her legs, and she
shrieked. "I have lurked in this cave for thousands of winters.
I have risen from this island, and I have—"

"Then all will know your
shame." Koyee raised her chin. "I will return to the
Montai. And I will travel the night. And I will speak of a child
named Sen, a child diseased, deformed, who betrayed her mother, who
drank forbidden water, who—"

"You would kill us!"
The voices rose from her six hands, but they were no longer the
voices of Shalesh, shrieks like shattering glass, but the whimpers of
a child, high and trembling. "Please, Koyee. Please. I'm in
here. I'm inside her. Please don't tell them what I've become. I've
been a bad girl. Please. I'm ashamed."

Pity filled Koyee's eyes . . .
pity that stabbed like ten thousand swords. "Then run. Flee this
island. Swim across the sea and find another place to dwell, some
barren rock where no children of men can see you. Feast upon fish and
may only the darkness keep you company."

"Who will worship me?"
The child's voice quivered, emerging from five hands; the sixth spoke
as Shalesh.

"I will," Koyee said.
"I will worship that child that you were, a child of moonlight,
of joy, a child whole. I will praise your name, Sen. Always."
Koyee reached out gingerly and placed a hand upon Shalesh's
shoulder—perhaps the shoulder of Sen, a forgotten child not encased
in hard white skin. "I will always see you as you were."

At Shalesh's sides, figures
stirred. The two others—the two children of men clad in black—rose
to their feet, and their lanterns burned too, and their eyes too
gazed upon her, and they knew. They knew her true name.

"Sen," whispered the
daughter Nitomi.

"Qato sees," said her
tall, pale companion.

They stared at her. Six eyes
like her six hands. She stood before them, exposed.

And
so I will flee,
she thought.
And
so I will fade. And so I will become Sen again.

Palms upon the floor, mouths
tasting the water, she scuttled through the cave, escaping their
eyes, their knowledge, cloaking herself again in shadows. A deformed
child with too many arms, unable to scream, she raced through the
tunnels and water and darkness, and she emerged—diseased and
bloated—into the world. The moonlight burned her, and she wept, for
once she had danced beneath this moon and her laughter had rolled
across the hills.

She slunk and scuttled toward
the shore. She entered the water. She swam into darkness, and none in
the island of Montai or in any other realm of night beheld her curse
again.

Koyee sat in the boat, watching
the island of Montai fade into a distant glow.

"Do you think she'll be all
right, Eelani?" she whispered. "Do you think she'll find
peace?"

She spoke too softly for her
companions to hear. Nitomi was busy chattering behind her to Qato,
rattling off tales of six-armed goddesses, floating worlds above
henges, and weaveworms the size of men—as if the towering, pale
assassin had not lived the same adventure. But Koyee, sitting at the
stern, knew that her invisible friend could hear. Eelani was always
there for her.

"She was like me once,
Eelani." Koyee's whisper floated on the wind. "The goddess
Shalesh was once but a girl . . . lost in the dark, far from home. I
wonder if she, like I did, cowered in shadows, begged for food,
survived year after year . . . growing cold, dark, twisted." She
thought back to the streets of Pahmey—the spice, the thieves, the
rats and trash and endless fear. "I wonder sometimes if you're
real, Eelani, or just my imaginary friend. I know not all believe you
truly exist. But maybe . . . maybe our dreams are real. Maybe our
imaginations manifest, mist rising into ghosts. Hers was a disease, a
dark dream that made her a tortured goddess." She thought she
felt a little warmth on her shoulder, a small figure nuzzling her
cheek, comforting her, and Koyee smiled. "I'm glad you're with
me, Eelani."

Koyee
thought of the children found in Shalesh's cave—children infected
with the disease, deformed into the goddess's image. Koyee had
returned them home to their village, yet still she grieved for them.
There is no cure
for their illness,
she thought and lowered her head.
But
perhaps their souls can now heal.

She reached down and caressed
the great, iron gear that lay at her feet. It was old beyond
reckoning—forged before the keeping of books or the memories of
songs. It had turned inside the clock of the world. It had woven silk
that clothed the night. And now it lay here, black iron without a
dent, scratch, or speck of rust, smooth and pure as if freshly
forged. She had taken a silver gear, made by the masters of Montai,
to the weaveworms. She had swapped the precious metal, the greatest
joy of the worms, for this artifact. She had climbed mountains,
crawled through caves, and fought a goddess for this gear. Perhaps
all her hardships, since sailing alone upon the Inaro to Pahmey two
years ago, had been to find this ring of metal.

"Have you found the number
nine, Torin?" she whispered to the waves as the island faded
over the horizon. "Have you found the hand, Cam?"

Nitomi's voice rose louder
behind her, and the boat rocked as the diminutive assassin bounced
around. "And I struck her with my dagger, but her skin was like
armor! And then . . . and then she hit me, and I flew through the
air, and I crashed into the water, and I think I blacked out a
little, but then I was up again, but Koyee was taming her somehow!
And then . . . and then . . . " She had to pause for breath.
"And then we went back to the weaveworms, and gave them the
gear, and—"

Qato
groaned as his companion ran in rings around him. "Qato
knows
."

Nitomi seemed not to hear him.
"Oh, and the weaveworms boiled their babies! Isn't that
disgusting? And . . . and . . . and I saw giant worlds in the henge,
and—"

"Qato tired," said the
giant. He covered his ears, lay down, and tried to sleep as Nitomi
tugged at him, struggling to rouse him as she regaled him with more
tales.

Koyee looked at her two new
friends, and she smiled.

Yes,
Eelani, I think she will find peace. I pray that we all will.

Their boat sailed through the
endless night . . . a night that might soon fade under the rising
sun.

 
 
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO:
ENTOMBED

Light and sound.

Color and whispers.

Wind blew and tinkly laughter
echoed, and all around floated shards of reflection like lost stars.

He had no body. He had no
thought. With only a wisp of being, a consciousness broken and
reforming like beads of water, he reached out and grabbed her.

They tumbled through shadows and
moonlight inside the mirror, flowed down tunnels of darkness, and
thumped onto cold stone.

For a long moment, Cam merely
sat, groaned, and blinked.

"I want to go again,"
Linee said at his side. She tugged his arm. "Please can we jump
through the mirror again?"

Ignoring her, Cam struggled to
his feet. The world was blurred. His lamp lay fallen at his feet,
flickering. He lifted it, shining a light ahead. He stood in a
towering tomb, the floors tiled, the walls covered with runes and
paintings of men bowing to a great, towering king upon a throne.
Scraps of metal, bolts, blades, and springs lay across the floor,
spreading into shadows.

Many feet above, Cam saw a round
hole in the wall; it was no larger than his fist. A ray of light
shone through the hole, dancing with dust, and fell upon a
sarcophagus in the chamber's center. The stone coffin was shaped as
the king painted on the walls. It stood upright, stern and staring,
seven feet tall. Engraved upon the lid was the king's bearded
likeness. His stone hands clutched a sword, and stone snakes coiled
around his feet.

"It's him," whispered
Linee. "The tomb of King Kaeorin the Conqueror, Son of Asharpel,
Blessed King of Ancient Eseer. My old books had paintings of him. Do
you think . . ." She gulped. "Do you think his body is in
there?"

Cam drew his sword. "I
don't know, but I'm not looking for the corpse. Do you remember the
mechanical animals we fought?"

Linee nodded. "I do."

"The automatons were
protectors of the dead, shaped like the mummies they guarded. The
painting in the tavern showed a king of metal; he wore the Cabera
Hand as an arm." He took a slow step forward, sword held before
him. "We don't need the body. We need to find its mechanical
guardian."

Linee gulped and raised her own
lantern, but the light only spread out several feet. Aside from the
sun ray falling upon the sarcophagus ahead, shadows cloaked the
chamber. "Where is the guardian?"

Cam took a deep breath. "He's
here with us."

Linee gasped and stared from
side to side. "Where? I see nothing."

Cam winced and sucked in a slow
breath. "He's here. He's everywhere. He's in the shadows
watching us. Do you see him, Linee?"

Her voice shook. "No!"
She spun around, but only a wall now rose behind them, the mirror
gone. "I'm scared. What do you see? Where's the automaton?"

Cam nodded slowly. He took a
step closer to the sarcophagus. "We don't seek to hurt you!"
he called out, his voice echoing. "We seek only the clock hand
that belongs to all Mythimna. Surrender the hand, Guardian of
Kaeorin, and we will leave in peace."

A laughter sounded across the
tomb, deep as thunder, high-pitched as steam, echoing, crashing
against the walls, aching against Cam's ribs. The room shook, and the
metal debris across the floor—bolts, nuts, springs, and rings of
metal—bounced and clattered.

Linee mewled and swung her lamp
from side to side. "Where is he, Camlin? I can't see him."

"He's everywhere."
Camlin nodded a took a step closer. "He's in a thousand pieces.
Look for the clock hand. Grab it before—"

But it was too late.

The scraps of metal moved toward
one another, bunching and clattering together. Springs leaped onto
bolts. Screws drove into rings of steel. A skeleton of metal rose,
coalescing, taking the shape of a man. Two bronze circles opened,
forming eyes, blazing with red light. Hoops like the rings of barrels
formed ribs, and chains formed veins and tendons. An iron bear trap
snapped, a rusty mouth. From the ray of light it descended, three
feet long, a shard of polished brass—the Cabera Hand, alight like
the sun. The ancient relic connected with the creature and rose in
condemnation, a limb of metal, pointing at Cam.

The automaton spoke, its voice
like grinding gears and breaking bones. "You have done well,
Camlin Shepherd of Arden, and you have come far. You have traveled
through fire and darkness to enter your tomb."

Cam shook his head. "This
is the tomb of Kaeorin."

"And of all who enter
here." The automaton took a step forward, shedding rust. "For
many years I lay shattered, screaming silently, waiting for one to
wake me. You have ended my long desolation. Now you too will lie in
pieces, but yours will rot and fester, and your bones will fade into
dust."

Cam snarled and sliced the air
with his sword. The blade whistled. "Your pets lie in shattered
pieces, Guard of Kaeorin. This blade shattered them. Come and taste
it."

The automaton raised his second
arm, this one formed of chains, and flexed fingers formed of daggers.
The mechanical king shrieked, the sound shaking the chamber, and
sprang forward.

Cam swung his sword.

The automaton flew through the
air. Cam's blade drove through it, crashing through ropes and tin,
cleaving the machine in two with a rain of rust and bolts.

The automaton's halves crashed
to the floor, flailing.

Cam breathed in relief and Linee
gasped.

"You killed it, Camlin,"
she said. "Oh Idar, you killed it."

The king's halves twitched. Its
legs kicked. Its mouth worked silently, and its eyes spun. Its rust
covered the floor like blood. It seemed almost a pathetic creature,
too hurt to scream, dying in the shadows. Wincing in disgust, Cam
reached down toward the Cabera Hand, hoping to tug it free.

Before he could grab the hand,
the broken half jerked across the floor. Cam started. The king's
bottom half scuttled and connected with the upper half, snapping into
place. With more rust and creaks, the automaton stood again,
shrieked, and leaped toward him.