Secrets of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 3) (33 page)

"Linee!" Cam covered
his ears. "By Idar!"

They had been traveling up the
dusk for ages. The last of Linee's jewels had bought them a couple
donkeys, which they had left to graze in the valley below. After
suffering Linee's songs all the way from the desert, Cam was sure the
poor beasts would be making a dash for freedom now. He and Linee had
climbed most of the mountain already, heading toward the clock above.
The missing Cabera Hand hung from Cam's belt like a sword.

"Are you there waiting for
us, Torin and Bailey?" he said softly, but with Linee's racket,
only the wind heard.

Cam sighed and looked down to
the hills and valleys below. Half the land lay in sunlight, green and
rustling and full of flowers. The other half lay in shadow, bare blue
hills rolling toward an indigo horizon. Could they really make this
old world turn again, letting light and darkness forever dance? Had
his friends found the other missing pieces?

Cam thought that more than he
wished to save the world, he wanted to see his friends again: Torin,
wise and somber, the noblest person he knew, but not too noble to
share an ale and laugh with; Koyee, shy and quiet yet a great warrior
of darkness; and Bailey . . . headstrong, temperamental Bailey, the
leader of their gang, whose flashing eyes masked the greatest
kindness he'd known in a person. Would he find them here upon the
mountain?

As he stared below at the
valleys, a strange silence fell across the land, and he realized
that—without him noticing—Linee had stopped singing.

Cam turned to look back up the
mountain and found the exiled queen standing still, her arms hanging
at her sides.

"Linee?" Cam's heart
burst into a gallop, and he raced up toward her. She was pale and her
eyes were wide. "Linee, are you all right?"

She pointed up the mountainside.
Cam looked and felt the blood leave his face. The entire mountain
could have collapsed beneath him, and he would have felt no less
fear.

Behind a pine above, Torin was
kneeling over a bloodied, frozen Bailey. Koyee stood farther back,
her head lowered, her hands clasped together as if she were praying
silently; blood and burn marks stained her armor.

"Bailey . . ." Cam
wanted to run forward, but his legs would not move, and his breath
shuddered. "Oh Idar . . . Bailey?"

Torin raised his head and looked
down toward him. The gardener's eyes were dark and haunted like the
halls of drowned nations.

They buried Bailey upon the
mountain on a small, grassy plateau overlooking valleys of flowers
and mist.

Torin stood above the open
grave, staring down at her. He had cleaned her of blood and removed
the leaves from her hair. Lying below, she seemed peaceful. She
almost looked asleep, and he kept waiting for her to wake up, to leap
out, to pinch his cheek and muss his hair and call him Winky. She lay
in the armor of Eloria, the steel scales polished and bright. A ring
of dandelions crowned her head; Torin had woven it himself, the only
gift a humble gardener knew how to give. Her shield and sword lay
upon her chest, anemones upon them.

Torin looked at his friends who
stood beside him. Cam and Linee, clad in the white tunics of the
desert. Koyee, her armor dented and her eyes solemn.

But
my dearest friend—the closest, oldest friend I ever had—will never
stand with us again.

He looked back at Bailey and his
eyes stung. "You always liked climbing, and you always liked
heights," he said in a choked voice. "This is a good place
for you to rest, Bailey. It's high up the way you like it."

Linee led them in prayer to Idar
and then sang softly, the songs to carry Bailey's soul to the world
beyond. Koyee knew little of Idarism, but she played an old tune of
the night upon her flute, and she whispered prayers in the tongue of
her people. When the grave was covered, the soil soft and crumbly
upon it, they each placed down a single stone and flower, gifts of
the earth. A boulder rose as a tombstone, engraved with her name,
kissed with sunlight.

Torin stood above the grave,
head lowered.

"Goodbye, Bailey," he
whispered. "Goodbye, daughter of sunlight, warrior of moonlight,
child of Moth."

Arms enveloped him—Koyee
holding him close. Cam and Linee joined the embrace, and the four
stood together, tears in their eyes, silent.

I
won't stop, Bailey,
Torin swore silently.
I
will finish what we started, and we will fix this world. For day and
night . . . and for your memory. Goodbye, my foster sister, my best
friend, my love. Goodbye, Bailey.

 
 
CHAPTER THIRTY:
THE GUARDIAN OF TIME

Koyee and Torin walked into the
mountain, past the orrery, and through a small bronze door. They
found themselves entering a room of gears, springs, and pulleys, the
machinery rising high above their heads. Upon one wall, they saw the
inner dial of the clock, ten feet wide. The gears were silent and
still; the clock was frozen.

Koyee tilted her head back,
gaping at the towering machine. So many pieces comprised the
clockwork that she didn't know where to begin. Despite her
wounds—her finger blazed where the mace had struck it, and a bandage
covered her ear—awe and joy spread through her.

"This won't be easy to
fix," Torin said. He stood beside her and chewed his lip. "My
head hurts to look at it. Sort of like looking at those Qaelish runes
you force me to learn."

He tried to sound lighthearted,
but she saw the pain that still filled him—the pain of his wounds
and of his loss. Bandages wrapped around his thigh, and he walked
with a limp, but worse was the hurt in his eyes, a hurt Koyee knew
might forever fill him. She wanted to embrace him, to comfort him,
but now the fate of the night depended on them. Now they had to fix
this clock . . . or all those deaths had been in vain. Cam and Linee
were outside upon the mountainside, trying to climb onto the dial and
reattach the number and hand. Here inside the mountain, Torin and
Koyee held the gear between them. They would have to make that clock
hand move again.

"Well, we just have to find
a missing spoke." Koyee walked deeper into the chamber. "Or
. . . rod. Or . . . sprocket? Whatever a gear fits onto. What does a
gear fit onto, Torin?"

He sighed. "We should have
read some books about clocks."

"Well, we're already here,
and I'm not traveling all the way back to Asharo Library." Koyee
ran her hands along the metal parts around her, walking among them.
She felt like an ant trapped inside the winding innards of a metal
conch.

She was walking near the inner
dial when creaks sounded at her side. A voice rose, old and soft like
a beloved, well-worn garment of silk.

"I believe I can fix this
clock for you, daughter of men." A shadow stirred behind the
machinery. "After so long, I will place this gear into its
proper place."

Koyee and Torin spun toward the
source of the voice. The strangest creature Koyee had ever seen
emerged from behind springs and gears, stepping toward her. She
recognized the creature drawn in the old book.

A little smaller than a
nightwolf, the animal sported thick golden fur. He walked upon six
legs, and two arms stretched out under his neck. His snout was long,
his eyes large and amber; they seemed sad eyes to Koyee, damp and
full of memory. She did not know why, for she saw no white hairs or
wrinkles upon this creature, but Koyee thought him very old, more
ancient than the wisest elders she had seen in the night.

"Hello," she said
hesitantly, still holding the gear. "I'm Koyee. With me is
Torin."

The creature nodded, and it
almost seemed to Koyee that he smiled. "I am First of Four, a
Clockwork Cleric. Welcome to Cabera Clock. Welcome to the heart of
the world."

Torin leaned toward Koyee and
whispered from the corner of his mouth, "It's talking! A giant
spider-bear creature . . . is talking. Are you seeing this too or am
I dreaming?" He rubbed his eyes. "This high mountain air."

First of Four gestured toward a
gear that thrust out like a bench. Koyee and Torin sat, and the old
cleric spoke for a long time.

He spoke of many years long ago,
an era when mankind had been young, when Mythimna had spun around its
axis and night followed day. He spoke of war, of hatred, of three
ancient empires soaking the world in blood. He told them of breaking
the clock, hiding a piece in each old empire, so that the children of
men would lay down arms, join together, and heal the world.

First of Four gazed upon them
with his sad amber eyes. "Is the world healed, children of men?
Have you brought all the missing pieces . . . and have you brought
peace?"

Koyee sighed and lowered her
head. Peace? The world was drenched in more blood than ever. How
could they fix the clock now, the hope of the clerics unfulfilled?

She glanced at Torin and saw the
same pain in his face. She looked back at First of Four.

"There is no peace in this
world," she said. "Hatred and war rage across Moth.
Daylight and night clash. But we fight for peace." Never
removing her eyes from the Clockwork Cleric, she clasped Torin's
hand. "I am a daughter of the night, and Torin is a son of the
day. Our people hate, fear, and fight . . . but we stand together. We
fight too but not for blood or victory. We fight to join our people,
to fix the clock, to show the world that all men and women are one."

As she spoke, tears filled First
of Four's eyes. They dampened the golden fur on his cheeks and
dripped onto the floor. He lowered his head.

"Then it was in vain,"
said the cleric. "I sought to bring peace, yet I brought more
pain and war. I sought to let the children of men stand together, and
yet across the border I made, they stood apart."

"We stand together!"
Koyee said firmly, rising from the gear she sat on. "Our union
will be a beacon for others. We can show this world that Timandrians
and Elorians are one people. But we cannot do it alone. We need the
world to turn again. When sun rises in the night and darkness falls
upon day, they will see." She held out the reclaimed gear. "Fix
the clock, wise cleric, and we will bring peace to this weeping
world."

The old cleric raised his head,
blinked those gleaming eyes, and took the gear from her hands.

They sat in the valley, the grass
soft beneath them, four friends . . . four hurt, weary souls.
Wildflowers rustled in the western light. Shadows spread in the east
and a distant star shone. Linee had bought several honeycakes from a
farm along the road, and Torin had picked wild apples from a tree.
They shared the meal now, listening to the birds and watching the
sky.

"Do you think there are
fluffy unicorns above the clouds?" Linee asked. She sighed and
smiled. "I think there are."

At her side, Cam rolled his
eyes. "The only fluff is between your ears." And yet there
was a softness to his words, and there was love in his eyes when he
looked at her.

Linee chewed her meal slowly,
seeming lost in thought. She stared at Koyee, blinked shyly, and
said, "Koyee, there's something I always wanted to know. It's an
important question . . . to me at least, and . . . I never had the
courage to ask. Maybe with all our secrets revealed now—about the
clock, about Ferius's mother, and everything else—it's time to
answer one more question."

Koyee nodded. "What is it?"

Linee bit her lip. "Do
Elorians have eyelids?"

"Oh wormy sheep hooves!"
Cam cried, raising his hands to the heavens in indignation.

"What?" Linee kicked
the grass. "Their eyes are really big and I want to know!"

But Koyee only laughed. "Yes,
Linee, Elorians have eyelids." She blinked. "Do you see?"

Linee nodded and grinned.

They sat for a long time,
watching as the sun set. The twilight cast red and orange mottles
across the sky like watercolor stains. Beams of light burst through
the clouds, columns in a celestial temple, and the sun seemed to sway
and melt as it touched the horizon. Soon it was only a semicircle the
shape of Idar's sigil . . . then only a glowing crest upon a distant
hill . . . and then it was gone.

"The first sunset in ten
thousand years," Koyee whispered, and a smile stretched across
her face. "Are we supposed to go to bed now?"

Linee yawned, stretching out her
limbs. "Yes! I'm so tired I can sleep for the next ten thousand
years." She lay down in the grass and tugged Cam down beside
her. "You'll warm me up at night, Camlin, and don't steal our
blanket this time."

Koyee watched them curl up
together on the grass and pull a blanket over them. She smiled
softly, then looked at Torin. He wrapped an arm around her, and she
leaned against him and kissed his cheek. Both were wounded and
bandaged. Both had lost so much. Pain still filled them; perhaps it
always would. But now, for a short while, they were at peace. They
watched the sky, silent, holding each other for warmth and comfort.
The moon glowed and a shooting star shot overhead.

"Fluffy
baby unicorns . . . no . . ." Linee mumbled at their side,
shifting in her sleep. "You can't eat
all
the cupcakes."

A yawn stretched across Koyee,
and she lay down and Torin lay beside her. She cuddled against him,
kissed his lips, and slept with his arms around her.

If dreams filled her sleep, she
did not remember them, for which she was thankful.

She awoke with soft light upon
her, opened her eyes, and gasped. The sun was rising in the east,
spreading pink, feathery fingers across the sky. Birds chirped.
Flowers bloomed. The others woke around her, and they sat and watched
the light.

"Are you all right?"
Torin asked softly, holding Koyee's hand.