Secrets of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 3) (8 page)

She shoved him. She shoved him
so hard he slipped in the mud, let go of her wrist, and reached down
to catch his fall. Before he could even hit the ground, Bailey
pounced onto him, growling like a rabid animal. She shoved a knee
into his belly and he grunted. He tried to knock her off, but she
pinned his arms to the ground, knelt above him, and sneered.

"Don't ever talk to me like
that again." She glared down at him, her face a mask of rage.
"Don't ever grab my wrist like that. You're . . . you're just a
ba—"

"A babyface, yes."
Torin stared up at her. He could barely breathe with her knee in his
belly, but he wouldn't tear his gaze away. "I've heard it a
million times. Only I'm not. I've got scruff on my cheeks now. And
I've fought in battles and I've killed men. And you will stop
treating me like a child. Do you understand?"

He expected her to scream, to
slap him, to storm off into the wilderness without him. Instead she
lowered her head, and her cheek pressed against his, and her eyes
closed.

"I don't want you to be
that person," she whispered. She removed her knee from his
belly, and suddenly instead of pinning him down, she was lying atop
him, holding him in an embrace. "I don't want you to be anything
but a boy."

He sighed and wrapped his arms
around her. She nuzzled his cheek.

"Why?" he asked.

She shrugged and buried her face
against his neck. He felt her warm tears. "Because I don't want
things to change. I don't want you to be some warrior, some . . .
some soldier who loves Koyee, who fights in wars, who doesn't need me
anymore." She raised her head, her eyes red, and cupped his
cheek in her palm. "Because I miss the old times. Do you
remember them? I miss Fairwool-by-Night. I miss you being a scared
little orphan, younger and shorter and slower than me. You were a
precious child and you needed me. And I protected you. You were mine.
Not Koyee's. Not the night's. Not even your own man. You were my
little babyface and nobody else's, and I miss that. That was home to
me."

Torin spoke in a soft voice.
"I've grown."

"I don't want you to grow
up. I don't want anyone to."

He held her in his arms. "I
miss home too. I miss those times. And more than anything, I want us
to return home. I want us to live together again in your grandpapa's
cottage. I want us to climb Old Maple, run through the fields, and
fish in the Sern River. But to do that, we have to fight this war.
And we have to change. We have to grow."

She nodded, eyes damp, still
lying atop him. "I know. I'm sorry, Torin. I'm sorry that I . .
. that I goad you on like this, that I mock you sometimes, that I tug
you and twist your arm. You're the best person I know and I love
you." Tears filled her eyes, and her voice became only a choked
whisper. "I love you so much."

He held her, and she kissed his
cheek, and they lay together in the grass and leaves.

"I love you too," he
whispered, and he meant it, though he didn't know how he loved her.
As a friend? As a foster brother? As a man loves a woman?

As they lay together, he thought
of Koyee: her large lavender eyes, her smile, her hand in his, and
the battles they had fought together. Like this world of Moth, he was
torn . . . torn between a woman of daylight and a daughter of the
night.

Bailey caressed his cheek and
kissed his lips, then sprang off him and rose to her feet. She
adjusted the pack, bow, and quiver that hung across her back, then
reached down her hand.

"See? I'm not tugging now."
She wiped her eyes. "Hold my hand and I'll help you stand, and
we'll keep walking together."

He took her hand. They kept
walking through the rainforest, and she did not release her grip.

 
 
CHAPTER SEVEN:
SUNLIGHT

"Aaand . . . the flowers and
the bees and the singers and the trees, and they all went hopping
awayyy . . . Aaand—"

"Linee!"
Cam scowled at her. "Please! For Idar's sake,
please
stop singing."

She opened her mouth wide,
prepared to sing another verse, then closed it. She tilted her head
and stared at him quizzically. "You don't like my singing?"

Walking along the beach under
the moon, Cam glowered. "I told you a million times, Linee. I
hate your singing. The fish hate your singing. The crabs hate your
singing. The damn stars above hate your singing by now. Please can
you be quiet?"

She thought for a moment,
tapping her cheek. "Let me think. Uhh . . . no." She
cleared her throat, tossed back her head, and sang with new vigor.
"And the puppies and the cats and the birds and the bats, and
they all went hopping awayyy . . . And—"

"Linee!" Cam stopped
walking, turned toward her, and grabbed her arms. "Please. I'm
begging you. We've been traveling for almost a month, and you're
still singing the same song. I can't take it. Can you at least sing
another song?"

"But I don't know any other
songs!" Tears welled up in her eyes. "And I'm so bored
here. It's so quiet and lonely on this beach, and it's so dark, and
singing makes me happy, and . . . " She sniffled, covered her
eyes, and sat down in the sand. She wept into her palms, mumbling
between sobs. "I miss home, and you're so mean to me, and it's
not fair, and if I were still a queen—"

Cam groaned and began stomping
away. "Fine! Stay here. I'm walking back to sunlight, and if you
want to be alone in the dark, singing your song, that's fine with
me."

She wailed behind him. Her feet
padded in the sand, and she leaped onto his back, nearly knocking him
down. "All right, all right! I'm here and I'll be quiet."

He struggled to pry her off.
"Get down."

She clung to him. "I want a
piggyback ride."

He cried out in frustration,
tugged her arms off, and sent her falling into the sand. "No
piggyback rides! Just walk quietly like an adult. Merciful Idar,
you're three years older than me, but you act like a baby."

She stuck her tongue out at him.
"Well, if I'm a baby, you're a grumpy old man, Grumpy." She
danced and pirouetted at his side. "If I can't sing, I'm going
to dance as I walk."

"Fine! So long as you dance
silently."

Last month, they had left Ilar
upon an oared ship bearing the Red Flame banners. That ship had
taken them north to the coast of Qaelin, the dark empire Ferius had
crushed, and then west until they saw the glow of dusk. Beyond that
orange horizon lay Timandra, the land of sunlight. The Ilari sailors,
though brave and strong, had dared sail no farther.

"Our journey takes us to
Eseer," Cam had told them. "A desert kingdom in the
sunlight."

The sailors, however, had
refused to sail into the light, and Cam could not blame them; if the
Timandrians saw an Elorian vessel in their waters, they would likely
sink it. And so, a few hours ago, Cam and Linee had climbed onto the
shore, the dusk gleaming on the horizon. They had been walking toward
the light since.

"It's so beautiful,"
Linee said, pointing at the dusk. "Oh Camlin, I missed the
sunlight."

With every step, they came
closer to the light, and Cam found himself agreeing. He had spent
over a year in the darkness. The sight of sunlight brought back
memories so powerful he nearly stopped breathing. He could hear songs
in the tavern, taste beer, smell flowers, and remember his carefree
days with his friends and family.

"I wish you were here to
see this too, Hem," he said softly.

Patches of pink, blue, and
bronze rose ahead like a watercolor painting. Beads of light
glimmered upon the waves to his left, and gold seemed to coat the
sand beneath his feet. To his right, hills rolled into the horizon,
and for the first time in many turns, Cam saw grass—real green
rustling grass that filled his nostrils with its scent. After walking
for another mile or two, he saw the sun itself rise from the horizon,
a burnished disk casting rays between thin clouds.

"Home," Linee
whispered and held his hand. "I missed it so much, but . . . "
She stopped walking. "But I'm scared now."

Cam raised his eyebrows.
"Scared? What are you talking about? You've spent the past year
blabbering on about butterflies, flowers, hummingbirds, and
strawberries, complaining how cold and bleak and dark the night is.
And now you're scared of the sunlight?"

She nodded. Her voice was soft.
"I am. Because I'm not the same person anymore. A queen lived in
sunlight long ago, enjoying those flowers and butterflies. But I
don't know who I am now. I'm not a queen anymore, not since Ferius
killed my husband and took over my kingdom. I'm just . . . maybe I'm
just a girl of the night now. Maybe there is no more home for me
here. I know, Camlin, I know I've spent all this time talking about
Dayside, but . . . strangely, I don't want to go there anymore."

Cam sighed and turned toward her
in the sand. "None of us are the same. I left the daylight a
boy, just a shepherd following Bailey on one of her adventures. I
come back now as . . . I don't know who. But we have to go on. You
know that, right?"

She nodded, head lowered, then
took his hands and looked into his eyes. "Can we rest for a bit
first? Maybe sleep for a while, then go into the sunlight next turn?"

He nodded. "We've been
awake for a long time. We can do that."

They lay a blanket upon the
sand, sat down, and ate a meal of cold mushrooms, sausages, and
salted fish. The waves whispered before them, blue and gold, casting
foam onto the sand. Countless seashells gleamed. When Cam lay on his
back to sleep, Linee cuddled at his side and tossed an arm and leg
over him. He wanted to shift away—how could he sleep with her
holding him?—but when he looked at her, he sighed.

Her eyes were closed, her cheek
soft and pale in the light. Her hair cascaded, golden like the sand.
Her breathing deepened. When awake, Linee was the most annoying
creature Cam had ever met—singing discordantly, tugging his arm when
bored, and, worst of all, crying far too often. When she slept,
however, she seemed a different sort of woman—a vulnerable, hurt
woman, a widow grieving, a lost soul. And so he placed a hand on her
thigh, letting her nestle closer to him. He closed his eyes. They
slept in each other's arms.

When they woke and stepped into
the sunlight, they beheld a desert of golden dunes, rustling palm
trees, and a river thick with white sails.

"Timandra," Linee
whispered, gazing in wonder. "The land of daylight."

Cam nodded. "Specifically,
the kingdom of Eseer, a southern realm in Timandra—and probably the
most inhospitable one. It's mostly sand and rock." He smiled
wryly. "You won't see many butterflies and strawberries here."

"Oh yes I will." She
pointed. "See that green stain in the northwest? That's an
oasis. They have butterflies and strawberries in oases. I read it in
a book."

Cam hitched up his belt. "It's
also quite a long walk." He took out his map, unrolled the
parchment, and showed it to Linee. "That green patch must be
Kahtef, an oasis city in south Eseer on the Kae river. According to
Koyee's book, somewhere around here, we need to find the 'Ziggurat of
Ferisi.' The missing clock hand will be there."

"A ziga-what-now?"
Linee blinked.

"A ziggurat."

She frowned. "What's that
then? Some kind of rodent?"

"Not a rodent! Why would
the clock hand be in a rodent? You know . . . a ziggurat!" Cam
gestured with his hand. "That sort of . . . zigs."

"You don't know either, do
you?"

He sighed. "No, but the
people of Eseer will know, and we'll ask them. Now come, enough
stalling. Let's keep walking."

They hefted the packs across
their shoulders and walked on through the sand.

The night had been cold, the
dusk cool. Here in full sunlight, heat bathed them and sweat soaked
them. It had been hard to keep track of seasons in the night, but as
far as Cam knew, it was winter. And yet here on the southern coast,
the sun beat down, as hot as any summer back in Arden. As they walked
and his sweat trickled, Cam almost missed the night already, and he
removed his heavy clock and stuffed it into his pack.

After an hour or two of walking
along the coast, they reached a delta. The Kae River—the artery of
the Eseerian desert—split here into a dozen rivulets that flowed
into the sea. Rushes, palm trees, and mangroves grew between the
streams, lush and green and fluttering with birds. Dozens of vessels
sailed here: humble reed dinghies, long boats with many oars, and
great ships with wide canvas sails. Scorpions were painted onto hulls
and banners—the sigil of Eseer.

When they reached the first
rivulet, they found a pebbly path that ran along the water. They left
the sea behind, walking north through the delta. Storks, seagulls,
and cranes flew above, and grasshoppers hopped among the rushes. As
ships sailed by, Cam watched their sailors. The Eseerians were a
tall, slender people, their skin bronzed by the sun. Some of
them—perhaps wealthy merchants—wore rich white robes with golden
hems, and canopies rose upon their ships' decks. Others seemed to be
humble fishermen, rowing reed boats, clad in nothing but loincloths,
their faces browned and wrinkled.

When one fisherman saw them and
came rowing their way, Linee squealed with fright and ducked among
the rushes. Cam pulled her back up.

"He seems friendly."
He waved to the man. "I think he wants to give us a lift."

Moments later, they sat in the
fisherman's reed boat between baskets of tilapia. The man wore a
white cloak and hood, protecting him from the blazing sun, and a
scorpion bracelet circled his wrist. He chattered as he rowed them
north toward the city, but Cam could not understand the language.

"Daenor?" the man
asked. "Sania? Naya?"