Her friend was silent as always, but Koyee felt a warm embrace against her cheek, a breath against her ear, a stroke along her hair. Eelani was agreeing, but the spirit was afraid.
“I’m afraid too,” Koyee said. “I fear the light of day. I fear the heat of sunfire. I fear the creatures that dwell there. And I fear being alone.”
She lowered her head, letting the wind whip her hair across her eyes, smooth pale strands like silk. Yes, she was alone now. Her brother, her only other family, had left Oshy ten years ago. He had sailed south along the river, dreaming of becoming a shaikin—a warrior for hire. He had been only sixteen, and Koyee had not seen him since.
The years had gone by, and Koyee herself was sixteen now but still unwed. A few young villagers still courted her, but others shunned her, perhaps fearing her scars. Two years ago, she had gone hunting and a feral nightwolf had attacked her, clawing her face. Three lines now marred her countenance. One scar tugged the corner of her mouth, raising her lips into a 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 lump in her throat.
“The journey east will be long, Eelani,” she said. “We must travel as fast as we can.”
She packed silently, filling a sack with jars of food, her hourglass, and some candles. Into her pouch, she placed all the money she had—a single copper coin.
“It’s not much, and I don’t know if the food will last. But it will have to do. Now say goodbye to our home and don’t cry. You have to be strong, Eelani. You have to be strong like Father was.”
Her katana at her side and her sack slung across her shoulder, she left her home.
As she walked across the village square, the cobblestones cold against her bare feet, the wind pierced her fur tunic, and Koyee shivered.
Past the last few huts, she reached the boardwalk of Oshy, the heart of the village. The river flowed, lit with moonlight, a silver stream that sang a familiar song. Stone docks stretched into the water, black arms in the night. A dozen junk boats sailed here, their hulls built of leather stretched over whale ribs, their battened sails painted with the moonstar of the Qaelin empire. Lanterns hung upon their masts, casting pale light.
Bare-chested men moved along the boat decks, raising nets woven of tendons and hair, pulling in crayfish, clams, and bass. Women knelt beside them, sorting the catches into tin bowls, collecting the valuable creatures and tossing minnows back into the water. The familiar scents filled Koyee’s nostrils—fish and burning tallow and the sweat of labor. It was the smell of home, a smell Koyee loved.
“Koyee Mai,” the fishermen and their wives said. They lowered their heads, and the wind fluttered their hair. “We will pray for you. May the moonlight bless you on your journey.”
Throat tight, she nodded. “I will bring back aid. I swear to you, my friends. I will tell the elders of Pahmey of the demons that dwell here. I will return with help, I promise you.”
Every villager she passed handed her a gift—silver thread, a dried mushroom, a bone hook, a ridged seashell, a jar of fireflies. They were humble gifts. They were the best gifts she had ever received.
She walked along the docks, heading toward the Lodestar, her father’s boat. It was a small vessel, just large enough for one or two, its hull built of leather and bone. Koyee climbed inside and her eyes stung. For sixteen years, she would board Lodestar with her father, sail along the water, and fill nets with crayfish.
“Now I sail alone,” she whispered. “Now I sail with no net in the water. Now I sail farther than I’ve ever gone.”
The people of Oshy gathered along the docks, staring silently, all one hundred of them. They raised their hands to the moon and chanted prayers. Little Linshani, the daughter of the village potter, played old tunes with a bone flute—songs of moonlight and blessings.
Koyee untethered her boat, grabbed an oar, and steered away from the docks. The current caught Lodestar, moving it east along the water.
“Farewell, Koyee Mai!” cried Yinlan, the elderly bead-maker with the stooped back; he had once made Koyee a pair of ill-fitting but warm fur mittens. His eyes watered as he stood upon the docks, watching her leave. “May the constellations bless you. We pray for you, our daugh
ter, our light in the dark.”
She raised her hand, a silent gesture of farewell, and her throat felt too tight for speech. As her boat moved downriver, she remained standing, facing the village and watching it dwindle into the distance, and she kept her hand raised. The villagers of Oshy remained on the docks, singing for her until their song vanished in the distance, and the lights of Oshy sank behind the horizon.
Koyee stood alone in the boat. She heard nothing but the flowing water and cold breeze.
For the first time in her life, she did not see the dusk. No more orange glow filled the west, for the Inaro River took her into the great night, the black lands of Eloria. The stars and moon shone above, and the plains of her homeland spread all around her, dark and cold and barren.
“But you’re with me, Eelani,” she whispered and felt her invisible friend upon her shoulder. “And my father’s sword is with me. We will not fail. We will save our village.”
She turned toward the prow. The river stretched ahead of her, a single strand of silver in endless blackness. Koyee stood, holding her hilt, watching the stars and moon. In the darkness, she could still see the eyes of the demon, one green and one black, small and staring.
CHAPTER SIX
THE TOWERS OF PAHMEY
She thought the wilderness would never end.
Koyee stood upon her boat’s prow, watching the darkness of Eloria spread all around. She had spent her life in Oshy upon the border, the glow of the day always to her west, but here full night engulfed every horizon. The moon shone overhead, casting its light upon the Inaro River and rocky plains. Distant black hills rolled to her south, silver limning their facades. Ahead, in the east, she saw only shadows.
The great constellations shone above: the dragon, the snake, the wolf, and many others. Koyee looked up at those stars and sought her constellation, the stars of the leaping fish. Most people worshiped the bright constellations of noble beasts. The fish was smaller and dimmer, but Koyee had chosen it long ago, not only because she was the daughter of a fisherman, but also because she felt sorry for the stars nobody prayed to. And so they had become her stars, and she prayed to them now.
“Protect me on my journey, Sky Fish. Look after me, and look after the spirit of my father.”
She returned her eyes to the landscape, seeking the lights of a distant city, of the great Pahmey. She had heard so many tales of the place. They said that hundreds of thousands of people lived there. Koyee had spent her life in Oshy among a hundred souls; she could not imagine a thousand, let alone hundreds of thousands. They said the towers of that city touched the stars themselves, and that a million lamps glowed in windows and upon walls. Surely a city like that would shine like the moon itself, casting its glow for miles.
And yet, as Lodestar flowed downriver, Koyee saw no lights. Once she passed another boat, a dinghy with a lamp, two fishermen, and a single sail. The men waved at her and rowed on. She saw no more life.
Leaving the prow, she checked her hourglass, which she had placed upon the deck. Its bottom bulb was painted with a moon, the top with a sun. A few years ago, a peddler had sold her this trifle for five copper coins. The crazy old man had claimed that millennia ago the world would turn, night following day in an endless dance.
“The sand will flow from moon to sun for the length of an ancient day,” he had said, presenting her with the hourglass. “The world has fallen still, but with this masterwork, you can measure the passage of stilled time. It’s how they tell time in the big, eastern cities.”
Koyee had laughed, thinking him a fool, but bought the hourglass, for its paintings were pretty and its sand glittered like gold. Of course the man had spoken only legends, but Koyee liked to pretend. Since that day years ago, she often let her hourglass run from day to night, then flipped it over again, pretending that the world still spun like in the stories, that the day of Timandra would shine upon Eloria, then retreat again. Often Koyee found it comforting to sleep throughout the night of her hourglass, waking as the sand filled its sunny bulb.
She gazed at the timepiece now. When first sailing out, she had set it sunny-side up, and now the sand was almost drained into its night half. Koyee yawned and her stomach rumbled. She rummaged through her pack and produced a jar of matsutakes—long pale mushrooms she favored. She ate them slowly, savoring each one, letting the earthy flavor spread across her tongue.
“We’ll have to ration this food, Eelani,” she said to her shoulder spirit. “It’s only enough for several days, and I don’t know where we’ll find more, so don’t be greedy.”
She raised a mushroom to her shoulder and let Eelani eat. Sometimes she almost believed that Eelani truly nibbled, that the morsels grew smaller. Other times she thought she was crazy. She smiled, placed the mushroom in her mouth, and chewed slowly.
The last grain of sand in the hourglass faded into night. Koyee yawned and stretched.
“Will you watch over the boat, Eelani?” she asked. “I’m sleepy.”
She could not be sure, but she thought she felt a weight lift from her shoulder, and the moonlight—for just an instant—seemed to catch a figure leaping onto the prow. Koyee smiled, flipped the hourglass over, and curled up on the boat floor.
She slept.
She woke and she slept again.
The hourglass turned and turned, a dance like the old days of the world.
The eternal night stretched on, as it had for thousands of years. The hourglass danced, its days following nights, and still Koyee sailed east upon the water, and still she saw no city lights.
One day they flowed through a field of crystals that covered the land, gleaming in the moonlight, a carpet of diamonds. The stars reflected in each one, and Koyee could barely tell sky from land. She felt as if theLodestar floated along a stream of starlight, lost in an endless night sky.
Another day the river led her between towering cliffs, revealing only a strip of sky that mirrored the river. Coiling silkworms nestled upon the stone walls, each as large as Koyee, glowing blue and white and blinking lavender eyes. They crawled across the cliffs, weaving curtains of their silk that swayed and shimmered like ghosts, brushing against Koyee as she sailed by.
A third day and jagged boulders rose on the riverbanks, carved with faces, the eyes gleaming with emeralds. Each face rose larger than her boat, watching as she sailed by. Koyee did not know who had carved these sentinels, but they seemed ancient, their features smoothed with years of rain and wind. Nighthawks nested upon them, hundreds of black birds with silver eyes. As her boat sailed by, the flocks took flight, shrieked, and circled the moon before landing upon the faces again.
A fourth day and the river widened, and life bustled in the waters. Snakes with purple scales swam around her, coiling and uncoiling, and shimmering whales with translucent skin breached for air, their bones and organs alight. Blue fish leaped from the waters, trilling songs more beautiful than flutes and harps. One fish jumped into her boat; Koyee and Eelani blessed its gift and fed upon it.
She kept sailing and still the hourglass turned. And still the sand moved from day to night, and still they saw no city lights.
Sometimes Koyee wondered if Oshy was the lone settlement in Eloria, a humble village on the edge of dusk, and the rest of her realm was only plains of darkness and legends of light. Other times, Koyee feared that she had passed the city of Pahmey while she slept, and that Eelani—cursed, silent Eelani—had not woken her. Most times, Koyee simply stood at the prow, staring ahead into the darkness, and remembered.
So many memories floated here in the dark. She remembered the time her brother had left them, a youth with angry eyes, out to seek his fortune—much like Koyee now. She remembered the times playing xin with her father, a game of moving shells upon a bone. And she remembered burying his own bones. And she remembered the Timandrian who had returned them, the young demon with one green eye, one black—eyes like the world.
“He stared right at me,” she whispered to the river. “He stared at
me, and I thought he would attack me, but he only stared. He only left the bones and returned to his land of sunfire.” She lowered her head. “I wonder, Eelani, if more are attacking our village as we sail here. I wonder if we will bring aid fast enough.”
The days stretched on, some days alight with crystals and fish, others dark and silent and long, days of flowing through endless darkness that even Koyee’s large eyes could not pierce. Her jars of preserves dwindled, and she lifted her rod and fished as she sailed. Here in the deep dark, far from the dusk, the fish were different—bulbs of light tipped their spines, some carried fleshy lanterns upon stalks, and others glowed with inner lights. They were beautiful things of blue and purple scales, and their flesh was white and tender. They lit Koyee’s way and filled her stomach. She sailed on through the night.
On the tenth hourglass turn, nibbling on fish bones, Koyee saw the lights ahead and lost her breath.
* * * * *
She propped herself onto wobbly elbows, leaned forward, and squinted. At first she thought these were more crystals reflecting the moonlight, or perhaps only an illusion of her lonely mind. The lights gleamed miles away, rising from the horizon, a cluster that glowed blue and green and silver.
“Do you see them too, Eelani?” she asked. The spirit hopped upon her shoulder, and Koyee could swear she felt her invisible friend tug her hair.
She rose to her feet, teetered toward the prow with arms extended for balance, and stared into the distance. Cold wind ruffled her hair, scented of spices and sweetness. The clump of lights grew larger, emerging from the horizon to reveal soaring, thin towers. Lights gleamed within them in all colors, brighter than the stars.
“It’s a city,” Koyee whispered and her eyes dampened. “It’s a great city of glass and light. We will find aid here.”
Gods & Dragons: 8 Fantasy Novels Page 5