Legacy of Moth

by Daniel Arenson

  "There will be aid there for me," she whispered. "There will be hope."

  She struggled to her feet, weak with hunger, and took several steps along the sand toward the sea. Five distant ships sailed northward on the horizon, and when Neekeya squinted, she could see great scorpions painted on their sails. Here were Eseerian ships from the southeastern desert—followers of the Radian Order. They would be sailing north toward the pyramids of Eetek, pouring more soldiers into Neekeya's homeland.

  She turned in the sand and gazed at the marshlands. Mangroves rose here, their roots nearly as tall as her, leading to shadows. Mist floated between the branches, and herons waded through a delta. Neekeya clenched her fists and lowered her head.

  "Daenor," she whispered. "My home. I will return. I will not forget you, Denetek." Tears stung her eyes. "And I will not forget you either, Tam."

  The loss of her husband clawed inside her, nearly too great to bear. She had traveled into these marshlands with him, to wed him here, to rule this land alongside him. Now she stumbled out from the swamps, a widow, both her home and her husband fallen to the enemy.

  "I cannot bring you back, Tam," she whispered. "But I can keep fighting. I will stay alive for you. For your memory. I will keep fighting the enemy so long as breath fills my lungs."

  She caressed her wedding ring, which Tam had forged himself with magic—a strand of gold containing one of her hairs, a strand of silver containing one of his. She turned away and walked along the beach, and she did not look back to the marshes.

  She walked southward for several hours, perhaps a full turn, until she saw the port ahead. Here lay the city of Keten, the Gates of the Sea. For centuries, Keten had connected Daenor to its neighbors, the desert realm of Eseer and the more distant, southern island of Sania. For centuries, the ships of those realms—their people sharing old bonds of kinship, language, and gods with Daenor—had found safe harbor here, bringing spices, wines, jewels, fabrics, and even pets from exotic lands. In her old chambers in the pyramid, Neekeya had owned jeweled rings, bottles of colored sand, scarves of silks inlaid with coins, richly illuminated books, and many other treasures brought into Daenor through this port. This turn she would welcome no treasure here from distant lands; she herself would sail away to find those lands of her childhood dreams.

  She had fuzzy memories of the port from her childhood: the ringing of bells on ships, the smells of fish and oil, the creaking of ropes, the swaying of ships, the song of sailors and the caws of gulls. She remembered a place of warmth and wonder.

  This turn she saw a nightmare.

  Radian banners rose from the stone towers of Keten and draped across the columns of its temple. A great statue of Cetela had once stood here upon a breakwater, gazing at the sea, a man with the head of a crocodile. The head had been knocked off; it lay at the statue's feet like a bloated whale, its eyes shattered. The enemy ships filled the port—the long, narrow boats of Eseer, scorpions painted onto their sails. Radian soldiers from many lands stood on the walls and patrolled the piers. Neekeya saw Magerians in black plate steel, their hair golden and their eyes blue, their swords wide and long; Eseerians in white robes, desert warriors armed with scimitars fashioned as scorpion tails; and even Nayan warriors of the northern rainforest, tiger pelts hanging around their shoulders, their long red beards strewn with bones and beads. All these troops now hoisted the Radian banners. All served Lord Serin.

  "But I will never serve you," Neekeya whispered. "Though you crushed my home, I still live, a latani of Eetek, a princess of the marshlands. And I will still fight you with every breath, Serin." She clutched the hilt of her sword. "Your people slew my husband. And I will avenge him. I will avenge Tam."

  Standing in the sand outside the city, Neekeya could almost see Tam again. She imagined that he stood beside her, and her eyes dampened. She gazed upon his apparition: a young man of nineteen years, the same age as her, his hair brown, his skin tanned gold, his eyes bright and warm. A memory shot through her: Tam racing across the bridge toward Felsar in the underground, then crashing down into the lava, giving his life to save hers.

  She tightened her lips and raised her chin. Dwelling on her pain would not bring him back, would not liberate her fallen homeland. The desert of Eseer had joined the Radian Order. So had the rainforest of Naya. But Sania, the southern savannah, still stood tall and free; she had seen none of its soldiers in the swamps, and none of its ships sailed here. In Sania she would find allies. She would find a hope to fight again.

  "And to reach Sania, I need a ship," she said.

  She could not wander into the port looking like she did, she knew. She still wore her crocodile armor—the breastplate shaped like crocodile skin, the helmet sharp with iron teeth—clearly denoting her a warrior of Daenor. Even should she doff her armor, her deep brown skin marked her a South Daenorian, an enemy to the Radian Order. Yet perhaps, entering the city as a simple marshlands girl come seeking a meal, the Radians would let her live. Serin sought to slay all Elorians; with Daenorians, at least, he sought only subjugation, not yet genocide.

  For the first time in many turns, she removed her armor—the armor she had worn at Teel University, in the wastelands of Arden, and throughout the war in Daenor—the armor that had protected her body and soul for years. Like her home and husband, it too would leave her. She buried it in the sand and rolled a boulder atop it, vowing to return. She could not bear to part from her sword. She used the blade to cut down a thick bamboo stalk along the border of the marshes. She split the stem down the middle, hid her sword within it, then reattached the halved stem with vines. She hid the protruding crossguard within a garland of leaves and vines. She walked on, holding her makeshift he'tak—the holy staff of a Cetela priestess, a ring upon a rod. He'taki were items of divinity and healing; hers hid her sting within.

  She walked along the sand toward the town, the mangroves to her left, the sea whispering to her right. Finally she reached the northern gates of Keten. The city walls rose above her, built of tan bricks. Flowering weeds grew between the cracks, and an eclipse banner hung from the battlements. Eseerians archers stood above, arrows knocked in their bows. More of the desert warriors stood guarding the gates, their scimitars—shaped as scorpion stingers—drawn and gleaming.

  "Turn back, swamp dweller!" said one of the guards, a tall man with olive skin and dark eyes. "This city is forbidden to your kind."

  Neekeya stepped closer. She spoke the language of Eseer; it was similar to her own tongue, for the two peoples—of the southern desert and the northern marshlands—shared a common ancestry.

  "I'm a daughter of this city," she said, speaking in flawless Eseerian. "My father was an Eseerian sailor; my mother is a child of Daenor." She knew that, with her darker skin, she could not pass for a pure Eseerian, but perhaps they would believe her to be mixed like Madori. "I've heard that Eseer captured this city, and . . ." She allowed tears to fill her eyes. "I've come seeking my father. Please, sir. Allow me to enter the city, so that I may seek him. I've not seen him in many years, not since he sailed back to the desert, leaving me in the marshlands with my Daenorian mother. Please let me find him. My mother is dead."

  She let tears stream down her cheeks. It didn't take much effort; she simply had to think of her true father, the fallen Lord Kee'an, for her eyes to water. For extra effect she added a wobble to her lips and a heave to her breasts.

  The guard's eyes softened. He spoke gently. "My father too left me as a child. He too was a sailor." He glanced around him, then back at Neekeya. "What's your name?"

  "Asai," she said, using the name of an Eseerian lady who had visited Daenor years ago and had been Neekeya's friend for a summer.

  "I am Jatef," the guard said. "My emperor perhaps hates Daenorians; you'll find that few of his soldiers do. If you don't find your father, seek me at the gates or the tavern by the docks, the one with two chimneys. I'll buy you a bottle of wine and shelter you for the night in a warm bed."

  She nodded, wonder
ing if he cared less for her safety and more for her company in said bed. "I will seek you," she lied. "Thank you, Jatef."

  Leaving him at the gates, Neekeya—now Asai the bastard daughter—entered the city of Keten.

  The lively streets and markets were gone. No more children ran upon the cobblestones, spinning metal hoops. No more peddlers shouted out their wares. No more sailors swayed between the taverns and pleasure houses, seeking games of dice, bottles of wine, or women to warm their beds. That old city of sound and sin had died; a military camp awaited Neekeya here. Soldiers of the enemy stood everywhere: Eseerian archers upon the roofs, Magerians in dark steel at every street corner, and Nayan warriors along the docks. Some Daenorians still lived here, but they were frightened, meek; she saw their eyes peering from within boarded windows, a people conquered.

  And she saw the dead.

  Cages hung from trees and walls, and within languished the bones of dead Daenorians. She knew they were her people; the skeletons still wore the armor of Daenor, and strings of crocodile teeth hung around their necks. Neekeya covered her mouth and nose; the stench spun her head.

  I'm in danger here, she thought. Even without her armor, even with her sword hidden. Already she saw soldiers staring at her, eyes cruel.

  "Off the streets, swamp rat!" shouted one man, a Magerian brute with sandy stubble on his cheeks. "We don't let you vermin scamper about anymore. Run home to your mama, or I'll stick my sword in your gut."

  Neekeya nodded and shuffled along. Walking like this, her dusky Daenorian countenance revealed to all, would not get her past this block, let alone to the piers where she could hope to book passage on a ship. A plan began to formulate in her mind. She hurried down the road until she spotted a fabric shop, rolls of cotton and canvas and wool hanging in its windows. She stepped into the dusty brick house, finding herself surrounded by reels of fabric, cloaks on hangers, and many scarves. An elderly Daenorian woman sat here on a wooden chair, wrapped in a cloak and tasseled scarves.

  "Priestess of Cetela," the woman whispered in awe, gazing at her bamboo he'tak.

  Neekeya was no true priestess, but perhaps this turn Daenor needed blessings more than warriors or mages. She nodded at the fabric merchant.

  "May Cetela bless you, Wise Mother." Neekeya reached into her pocket and produced an emerald ring, one of her last mementos from home. She had once thought this ring enchanted; these turns it was hard to believe in enchanted jewels. "I have no coin to give you, but would you accept this ring for a cloak and scarf?"

  "I would not," said the merchant. "All coins and jewels have lost their meaning; all that matters now is our people, our memory of freedom. Take what cloak and scarf you need, and let them be gifts to you, as your blessing is a gift to me."

  As Neekeya donned a heavy woolen cloak and a seeken scarf, guilt filled her, for she was only a priestess in disguise. As she left the shop, she secretly placed the ring onto the windowsill. Neekeya would need no ring in the open sea, but perhaps this woman would still find use for it—a bribe for a soldier or perhaps just a thing of beauty, a memory of kinship.

  Wrapped in her white cloak and hood, a scarf hiding her face, Neekeya walked back onto the street. Only her eyes were now uncovered, and though she still held her bamboo staff, she doubted that the Radian invaders would know its significance to Daenor—or what she hid inside it. Cloaked and hidden in white, she hoped she looked like an Eseerian woman, perhaps a camp follower, the wife of a soldier, a healer, or peddler come to hawk charms to the soldiers.

  She walked along the street, head bowed low. She passed by a temple to Cetela. The statues of the crocodile god had been smashed, and the banners of the enemy draped across the walls. She walked down a narrow, sloping street between brick houses and palm trees until she reached the port.

  Several stone towers rose here, airy and pierced with narrow windows, weeds and flowers growing between their bricks. Two breakwaters stretched into the harbor, lined with columns, and a hundred vessels nestled within their embrace—fishermen's boats, merchant cogs, and the warships of the invaders.

  Neekeya paused and closed her eyes, thinking back to the memory of the great mural in Eetek Pyramid, showing this southern port. She had spent much of her childhood standing before that mural, admiring the details of merchants bringing in cages of parrots, leashed tigers, exotic spices, and baskets of jewels from distant lands, and she had often wished she could step into the painting and sail off herself on adventures. The port she faced now was no place of magic, for enemy soldiers stood upon its boardwalk, and the ships of a cruel empire filled its cove.

  She walked toward the boardwalk, trying to formulate a plan as she approached. Could she book passage on a ship, paying with her labor, scrubbing the deck and peeling potatoes? She doubted that many merchant ships would be sailing back and forth during the war, and what Radian warship would hire a Daenorian? Did she dare, then, to steal one of the Radians' rowboats, to try and make her way to Sania alone? That seemed just as impossible. Could such a small vessel, built for navigating between the boardwalk and the towering brigantines with their many sails, truly cross the open sea?

  As a child, Neekeya had read stories of sailors abandoned at sea, building rafts, and finding their way home. If those castaways had survived on rafts, surely she could survive in an actual boat . . . couldn't she? Neekeya sighed. Perhaps not. Perhaps death awaited her in the sea. But death lay on the land too; maybe only on the water could she find a sliver of hope.

  As she took another step closer, five Magerian soldiers on the boardwalk turned toward her. One drew his sword.

  "Halt!" the man said. "The boardwalk is closed. Leave this place now or the fish will feed on your body."

  Neekeya kept hobbling forward, wrapped in her cloak, hood, and scarf and leaning on her staff. She coughed. "Please, kind sirs! I was told to come here." She reached the soldiers on the boardwalk, coughed again, and stooped over. "I was told to leave the city."

  The soldiers muttered. "Did you hear me, rat? The port is—"

  Neekeya coughed wildly and spoke in a hoarse voice. "But the city guards! They said that Keten is closed to lepers. They said that before I infect anyone else, I'm to get on a boat, to—"

  "Idar damn it!" one soldier shouted. The men stepped back, eyes wide, and covered their mouths and noses.

  Neekeya took two more steps toward them, coughing violently. "Dear sirs, a boat. Is there a boat for me? I need to leave. I already made three men sick, and—"

  The soldiers turned tail and fled across the boardwalk, cursing. Neekeya smiled behind her veil and walked onto a pier that stretched into the water. A rowboat was tethered here, a humble fishing vessel; a net, a bucket, and a fishing rod lay within it. Neekeya guessed that it had belonged to a Daenorian, a fisherman banished from the port, perhaps killed. She climbed inside, untied the rope off its peg, and grabbed the oars. She began to navigate away from the pier and across the cove.

  Raised voices sounded behind her on the boardwalk. Neekeya turned her head to see the soldiers—those who had stopped her—exchanging heated words with a Magerian knight, his golden pauldrons denoting his nobility. One soldier pointed at Neekeya, and the knight cursed.

  "Stop that boat!" shouted the knight and waved his sword.

  Neekeya grimaced and rowed with more vigor.

  Upon the walls and towers that surrounded the port, soldiers raised their bows. Neekeya ducked as arrows sailed down toward her. Most sank into the water. Two pierced the hull of the boat, and one scraped across Neekeya's arm. She kept rowing, her belly tight, navigating her boat between two towering brigantines. The massive vessels, each the size of a castle, shielded her from the barrage of arrows. A handful of sailors stood upon them, pointing down at her and shouting.

  "Stop the boat!" rose the knight's voice. "I'll be damned if I let a filthy leper steal one of the empire's vessels."

  When Neekeya looked over her shoulder, she saw several rowboats following her, soldiers within them.
She rowed with all the strength in her arms, emerging from between the brigantines. She had nearly reached the edge of the cove. The breakwaters ended ahead of her, curving inward like embracing arms, leaving only a small exit to the open sea. An archer stood upon the tip of each breakwater.

  Neekeya grabbed the fishing rod and swung it. The string sailed through the air and the hook grabbed one archer's bow, yanking it free. The second archer fired, and Neekeya ducked; the arrow sailed over her head and sank into the water. With a few more strokes of the oars, she cleared the breakwaters and shot into the open sea.

  Men shouted behind her and more arrows flew, sinking into the water. The waves were rough here outside the cove, tossing her boat up and down.

  "You fool!" shouted the knight from his boat, still within the port. "A rowboat can't survive in the open sea."

  Neekeya ignored him and kept rowing, leaving the port behind, heading into the deep waters. The soldiers in the other boats cursed and turned back toward the boardwalk. She heard them muttering about how no damn leper was worth this much trouble. Then she heard nothing but the waves and the gulls above.

  As the port grew distant behind her, a chill flooded Neekeya, and suddenly she felt trapped within this small vessel. She had felt no fear during the chase, only cold determination, but now the fear filled her. When she leaned over the boat, the water seemed endlessly deep, the waves endlessly powerful; she was a mere insect on a leaf, floating in an ocean.

  She squared her shoulders.

  "I will survive here," she whispered to herself. "I survived traveling for months across occupied Arden and the Magerian plains. I survived war in the marshlands. I will survive the sea, and I will make it to Sania. I have a net. I have a rod and hooks. I will live. I will see you again some turn, Tam, but not yet. Not yet."

  She rowed on, leaving her homeland of Daenor . . . and heading into the endless blue.