“Fly!”
Yet he could not. He had reached the end of his strength. With every breath, the dragon flew lower, until his tail skimmed along the riverbanks. Koyee tugged on the saddle as if she could lift him higher. For a moment, it seemed that Shenlai did rise higher again, but then he dipped, and his belly slammed against the earth.
Koyee grimaced, banging her teeth together. She clutched on with all her might as the dragon crashed, drove through rocks and dust, and finally lay still by the water.
Koyee lay for long moments upon the dragon’s back. She blinked weakly, her vision blurry. She tilted her head back and saw the stars. Her hand loosened and slipped off the saddle. She rolled off the dragon and lay upon the ground. Her head fell back, and she could see the last ship sail south, its lanterns growing distant, leaving her behind.
“Koyee…”
She blinked, pushed herself onto her elbows, and turned toward the sound. Was her mother calling her? Was this the voice of the afterworld?
“Koyee…”
She reached out and placed her hand in Shenlai’s beard. The dragon had spoken, his voice barely a whisper. His eyelids were low upon his crystal orbs. Koyee’s body felt wrong, too hurt, too thin, too dry. She crawled and wrapped both arms around the dragon’s head. She whispered into his ear.
“I’m here, dearest dragon. I’m here.”
He blinked, his long lashes brushing against her. “It’s time, Koyee. It’s my time to leave.”
She shook her head, her tears falling upon him. “Don’t leave me.”
The dragon managed a smile, and his scales rubbed against her, smooth and cool. “For thousands of years have I flown across the night, and now I fly to the sky beyond. For thousands of years have I kept my secret. Now I must share these words with you.”
“No…” Her tears flowed, and she howled and shook him and tugged his beard. “No, Shenlai! No. No. Please.” She trembled. “You cannot leave us. You cannot go, dragon of Qaelin, sweet prince of the night.”
“We all must go when our time comes, child. It is only when we leave too early that we may grieve. I have lingered. I have watched too many seasons come and go, too many turns of the moon, too many lives kindled and darkened. Watch over him, Koyee of the night. Watch over Jin … and watch over Eloria.”
She trembled with sobs. She shook her head. “You will watch over us.”
He rolled his head back and gazed at the stars. She lay against him, her cheek against his beard, her arms wrapped around him.
“Always, Koyee. I will always watch over you, my child, even as I fly where you cannot see.”
She held him close. “I’m afraid.”
“So are all in darkness.” His eyes were but glowing, blue slits, his lashes low. “But there is hope.”
Her tears rolled down his scales. She knew it was coming, the words she dreaded, the words that meant he would leave them.
“Speak, dragon of Qaelin,” she whispered, trembling as she held him so tightly.
Shenlai smiled, and suddenly he no longer felt cold but warm and full of comfort. He whispered into her ear, his breath soft against her.
“Fix the clock and the world will turn again.”
Like setting moons, his eyes closed. Their light dimmed and was gone.
Koyee shook silently and held him close. The distant lights of the ships faded over the horizon, and darkness fell upon her.
The story continues in…
SECRETS OF MOTH
The Moth Saga: Book Three
Afterword
Thank you for reading Empires of Moth. I hope you enjoyed this novel.
Keep exploring this world in Secrets of Moth, the third book of The Moth Saga. Click here to grab your copy or search for “Secrets of Moth” at Amazon.
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Thank you again, dear reader, and I hope we meet again between the pages of another book.
—Daniel
* * * * *
BOOKS BY DANIEL ARENSON
THE MOTH SAGA
Moth
Empires of Moth
Secrets of Moth
Daughter of Moth
Shadows of Moth
Legacy of Moth
REQUIEM
Dawn of Dragons‒ Requiem’s first dragons fly.
Requiem’s Song
Requiem’s Hope
Requiem’s Prayer
The Complete Trilogy
Song of Dragons ‒ Can Requiem rise from ruin?
Blood of Requiem
Tears of Requiem
Light of Requiem
The Complete Trilogy
Dragonlore ‒ An enemy of fire invades Requiem.
A Dawn of Dragonfire
A Day of Dragon Blood
A Night of Dragon Wings
The Complete Trilogy
The Dragon War ‒ Civil war engulfs Requiem.
A Legacy of Light
A Birthright of Blood
A Memory of Fire
The Complete Trilogy
OTHER WORLDS
Eye of the Wizard
Wand of the Witch
Firefly Island
The Gods of Dream
Flaming Dove
* * * * *
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HIDDEN
DRAGONLANDS: BOOK ONE
MEGG JENSEN
Copyright © 2013 by 80 Pages, Inc
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used factitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced or transmitted in any form by or any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author or publisher.
1st Edition: December 2013
Cover art by Michael Gauss
http://gaussianeffect.blogspot.com/
Cover design by Steven Novak Illustration
http://www.novakillustration.com
For Luke, sorry I accidentally smacked you in the face with my braid. It certainly inspired quite a story!
PROLOGUE
Sophia woke to the sharp piercing cry of an infant. She pulled the rough blanket over her ears, hiding from the noise. Its screams cut through the otherwise silent air.
“Is someone going to take care of that baby?” Sophia asked from under the covers. She peeked out. Her parents weren’t in their bed. It didn’t even look like it had been slept in.
Sophia inched the covers down and sat up. “Momma?” She hadn’t used that word since she was a little girl. At thirteen, she was nearly a grownup. The only answer came from the crying baby.
She tossed off her covers, slipped into her shoes, and laid a housecoat over her shoulders. She pulled the door open, stepping out into the damp morning chill. A heavy cloud of fog hung in the air, thinner in spots than others, but Sophia couldn’t see to the edge of the village to her left. She hadn’t ever seen a fog t
hat dense.
The people of Hutton’s Bridge were strangely quiet. By this time of morning, adults were always up and about their jobs. Some preparing for a long day of blacksmithing or hawking their wares to the travellers who came from far and wide to buy their honey. Hutton’s Bridge had the reputation for the sweetest honey, and it was rumored their honey had healed many an affliction. Even the royal family in The Sands claimed it saved the king during a particularly bad bout of stomach distress.
Yet this morning, no one was about. Sophia’s slow gait picked up. Something prodded inside, whispering that none of this was right. She pinched her arm, to reassure herself she wasn’t trapped within a dream.
The crying grew louder. It had to be the Connell baby, born just a month ago. Her mother was always so attentive, but today it seemed all of the adults were busy with something else. Maybe they were in the meeting hall?
Sophia knocked on the door to the Connell cottage, sure now that the crying definitely was their baby girl, Kimma. The door swung open silently and Sophia crept into the dark cottage. She glanced to the bed the Connells shared, but just like her cottage, the sheets were unwrinkled. Not slept in.
The baby squirmed in its blanket; the swaddling had come loose. Sophia hurried over to the infant, lying on the floor. Who left their babies on the floor? Her hands cupped under the baby’s armpits, the tips of her fingertips holding the bobbling head steady.
“Shh,” she cooed in Kimma’s tiny ear. “It’s okay.” Sophia rocked back and forth on her heels, hoping to calm the baby and herself. With each passing moment, fear and panic rose inside her like bile after eating a bad mushroom.
Sophia crept out of the cottage, holding Kimma tightly to her chest. “Where is everyone?”
Kimma cooed in response, her crying over now that she was being held.
Slowly, doors to cottages opened all down the street. A head here, a pair of eyes there. Small hands grasping the wooden frames. Tiny slippered feet shuffling out of doorways.
Not one adult in sight.
Another door opened wide. Sophia smiled in spite of the situation. It was Tomas, the boy she’d recently developed a crush on. “Where are your parents?” he asked Sophia pointedly.
“I don’t know. I heard Kimma crying and went to find her. Her parents aren’t here either. It looks like none of the beds have been slept in.” She stroked Kimma’s little tuft of black hair.
“It’s the same in my cottage. Where are they?” Tomas turned around, yelling over his shoulder, “Michael, Scott, come out here and run through the village. See if you can figure out where they are.” He turned back to Sophia. “Take Kimma back to your cottage and wait, just in case there’s something sinister going on here. I don’t want you getting hurt.”
Sophia nodded, fear streaking through her blood like ice on a cold winter’s night. She tried not to bounce too much, she’d heard a baby could die if shaken too hard, as she ran back to her cottage. Closing the door behind her, she finally took a deep breath.
“It’s going to be okay,” she said to Kimma, even though she knew she was really talking to herself.
Sophia waited.
Outside her cottage, children cried, calling for their mothers. Some begging for their fathers. Their calls went unanswered.
Finally a knock came on her door. “Sophia?”
“Come in, Tomas.”
The door swung open and closed behind him just as fast. His chest rose and fell, his breathing erratic.
“What is it? Did you find them?”
Tomas shook his head.
It was then she noticed what was in his trembling hands. Flesh. Blood.
A hand.
She held the baby tighter and backed away from Tomas. “What is that?”
“Joseph’s hand. He ran into the fog and a moment later, this flew back through.” Tears streamed down Tomas’ cheeks, over his blubbering lips, and onto his nightshirt.
Sophia had never seen him cry. He had always been the bravest boy she knew.
“And the adults?” she asked.
He shook his head. “They’re all gone. We’re alone.”
CHAPTER ONE
Death lurked in the air that afternoon. Tressa sat by Granna’s bedside, clasping hands with the woman who, at ninety-three, had outlived her entire generation.
“You are leaving tomorrow, yes?” Granna’s liver-spotted hands shook. The rough-hewn walls seemed to close in. Tressa knew Granna didn’t have much time left. She wanted to squeeze out every moment she could with her. Nineteen years wasn’t enough time.
The smell of tonic and medicine hung in the dark room. When the curtains were drawn, Granna’s eyes watered. Adam, the village healer, said sunlight would help Granna recover, but Tressa knew the truth. Granna would leave her soon, leave the village, taking the only first-hand knowledge of the outside world with her. It was a place no one in Hutton’s Bridge had seen since Granna was just a child, not since the impenetrable fog had descended at the borders of their village. They weren’t even sure anymore if it was real or part of Granna’s imagination.
“Yes, Granna. You chose me, remember?” Tressa stroked Granna’s hair with her free hand. The silver strands were still long, and luxurious like a newly spun piece of cloth. “Me, Geoff, and Connor.”
Granna nodded. “Yes, yes, I remember now.” A gasp preceded each breath, struggling against the inevitable finality of life. “I am the only one you will leave behind. It is easier that way.”
Tressa’s eyes dropped to the floor strewn with straw, the hem of her long, cotton dress sweeping it every time she moved. After three years of coupling, she had not one baby to show for it. Not even a failed pregnancy. Tressa had felt the cold whiff of death breathing down her neck every time she didn’t conceive, knowing she was likely to be chosen over any woman who had children.
“Tressa, it is your destiny to leave the village.”
She held back a sigh. Granna was about to die. Why would she want her only great grandchild, the only family she had left, to follow her in death? No one who ever entered the fog returned to the village. It was as much of a death sentence as Granna’s failing health.
Tressa’s palms began sweating. A tremble skipped up her arms to her chest where her heart pounded out an irregular, nervous beat.
Granna took another deep breath. Without looking at Tressa, she said, “The fog. You must leave.”
Tressa managed to force out a small laugh. Granna’s grave expression didn’t fool. “Granna, don’t you want me to live a long life, like you have?”
Granna shook her head. “Beyond the fog there is a life for you. I have seen it.”
No one had the gift of sight in her village. Granna claimed once there was magic before the fog descended. It was one element of her stories that made the outside world seem so desirable. Tressa would give anything for a magical potion to save her great grandmother. Instead, they could only rely on Adam’s knowledge of healing.
“But I was supposed to live to watch you leave. I saw it. I believed it would happen.” She took another breath, shallower this time. “I don’t know if I can hold on until tomorrow.” Granna’s eyes flashed with anger. She held out one frail hand. An owl flew through the window, landing on Granna’s fingers.
“That’s my Nerak.”
The little owl hooted in response.
“You take care of Tressa, Nerak. Help her to see the truth.”
The owl’s head bobbed, then it flew out the window and sat in the tree. The fog’s undulating fingers caressed the owl’s ruffled wings. Granna’s cottage stood on the town’s border, next to the curtain of fog.
Granna always said the downy owl had magic. Tressa had never seen it do anything different from the other trained birds in the village. Tressa leaned down, kissing Granna on the forehead. Granna was cold, too cold. Her skin paled into a gray pallor. Her blue eyes lost focus, gazing somewhere over Tressa’s shoulder.
“I love you, Granna,” Tressa said.
&nbs
p; “I love you too, my sweet Tressa.” Her voice rattled. Granna’s eyelids fluttered, then closed with a finality only accompanied by death. One last breath expelled.
Tressa laid Granna’s hand on her stomach. Taking a step back, she ventured one last glance at the woman who had loved her every moment of her life. Tressa’s mother died in childbirth and her father had left through the fog. Like all of the others, three a year for the last sixty-seven years, none of them returned. Two hundred and one souls lost to the unforgiving fog, looking for a way out of the misty prison that had held Hutton’s Bridge for eighty years.
Tressa was next.
CHAPTER TWO
Tressa stepped out into the dappled light of mid-morning, closing the door behind her. A crowd had gathered outside the modest cottage, waiting for word. The wisps of fog kissed her cheeks, not letting Tressa forget it was her turn to disappear into it the next day.
“She’s gone.” Tressa pushed through the crowd, ignoring their keening. Granna’s death meant the end of an era. Without her first-hand stories of the day the fog fell, Hutton’s Bridge would never be the same. Without Granna, there was no solid proof. There were only legends and fears and the possibility that nothing was left outside the fog.
It was as if Granna’s death would leave them all orphans in a world that had forgotten them, had trapped them inside a barrier they couldn’t obliterate. Granna was their anchor, but the rope holding them to her had just been severed.
For Tressa it meant so much more. Granna was the only family she had left.
A hand caught Tressa’s arm. She looked up into Bastian Mercer’s emerald eyes. A shock of bright red hair stood straight up, sweat drenched his shirt. She shrugged off his hand, and continued through the crowd. She knew what was coming next and wouldn’t waste even a moment on grief when Granna’s entire legacy was about to be destroyed.
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