Daughter of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 4)

by Daniel Arenson

  A contraption of ropes, wooden circles, and metallic rings hung upon the door. The jumble was connected to the doorknob, blocking Madori from twisting it. She jangled the hodgepodge, listening to the metallic rings clink and the wooden circles knock together.

  "A riddle," she said. "An elaborate knot."

  So, she realized, the Trial of Wit involved opening door by door—each one posing a riddle. At a summer festival once in Kingswall, Madori had seen a trained parrot that could solve elaborate puzzles, opening doors to get a treat. It seemed that now she would have to play parrot.

  She stuck out her tongue as she often did when deep in concentration. She spent a moment trying to fit the wooden balls through the metal rings, twist the ropes, and undo the construction. She managed to free one ball, only for the ropes to tangle through a metal ring, blocking the process.

  She sank an inch.

  Madori blinked, stared down, and saw that the bridge had become less substantial beneath her. The stone suddenly looked like thick smoke; it swallowed the soles of her boots. She raised one foot after another, then let each sink back into the bridge. It felt like standing in mud.

  Shaking her head, she returned her attention to the puzzle on the doorknob. After a few juicy curses, she managed to remove two metal rings, which she tossed aside.

  Her boots sank another inch. Madori grimaced and looked down. The bridge beneath her seemed like thin smoke now; she could see the chasm below.

  "So there's a time limit," she muttered.

  She returned to the riddle. She freed another metal ring. Her boots sank deeper; she was now down past her ankles. Two wooden balls came free; she tossed them into the chasm.

  She sank down to her knees. Her feet dangled over the pit.

  With a curse, she tugged open a knot, freeing the last metal ring. The contraption fell off the doorknob.

  The bridge vanished beneath her.

  Madori grabbed the doorknob, clinging as she dangled over the pit. She twisted and tugged, and the door swung open.

  Heart thumping, she climbed through the doorway. The next segment of the bridge was still solid stone. She stood upon it, knees shaking.

  If I had failed to solve the riddle, would I have fallen to my death? She cringed.

  A new door stood before her. Already the bridge beneath her feet, solid stone when she had first stepped onto it, began to fade. Biting her lip, Madori looked for a doorknob but found none, only a little hole in the door where a doorknob should be. Instead, many bits of metal—hooked, curved, circular, and spiky—lay scattered at her feet. She knelt, lifted the pieces before they could sink into the vanishing stone, and jangled them in her palm.

  "It's the doorknob," she whispered.

  She narrowed her eyes. Yes, she saw a doorknob here—a few round pieces that could snap into its shell, a few narrow shards that could fit into the door.

  Her boot heels sank, the bridge dissolving beneath her. She cursed, spat, and got to work. Some pieces refused to connect; others snapped into place, only to block another piece from entering its proper slot. Her fingers were shaking and her boots had sunken past her ankles when finally she had assembled the doorknob. She snapped it into the door an instant before the bridge vanished beneath her. Once more she dangled. She swung the door open and climbed onto the next level.

  A third door faced her; many more waited behind it. Madori twisted her lips, sucked in a deep breath, and got back to work.

  One door had no knob at all but a panel of sliding, metal squares that had to snap into place for the door to open. Another door was engraved with a great wooden labyrinth; she had to slide a key through the maze as the bridge faded beneath her, bringing it to the keyhole fast enough to unlock the door. Another door lay in pieces, a great wooden jigsaw on the floor; an invisible field blocked Madori's passage farther along the bridge, and she could only step through after assembling the broken door and opening it. Every level the riddles became harder. Every level more sweat covered her, and she began to think her tooth marks would forever dent her bottom lip.

  Briefly, she wondered where the other applicants were now. Were they too locked in great, black chasms, moving along their own bridges? If they fell, where would they end up? Would they magically appear outside the university, or would they fall forever into black death? But she had no time to consider this carefully, only solve puzzle by puzzle, opening door by door, moving ever closer toward the end of the bridge. Soon she could see it ahead—the end of the chasm. A brick wall loomed there, a golden door waiting within it.

  Finally, weak and shuddering, Madori crossed the bridge, reached the great wall, and stood before the golden door.

  She grabbed the knob and twisted it.

  It was locked.

  She looked down at the last segment of bridge, seeking jigsaw puzzles, hidden buttons, something—she found nothing. She returned her eyes to the door, looking for a knob, a lock, a maze, some puzzle to solve.

  "Nothing," she whispered.

  Musical symbols on the door glowed, then vanished.

  Madori tilted her head.

  "Do it again!" she said.

  Again little musical notes glowed upon the golden door—different ones this time—vanishing as soon as she stopped speaking.

  "Is there a password?" she said. Her voice made other notes glow, but the door would not open.

  The bridge began to fade beneath her. She sank down to her ankles and winced.

  A password . . . no. Not a word. Notes denoted a song. Music. But what music?

  "What do I sing?" she said. Notes glowed and vanished.

  Madori tugged the two strands of hair that framed her face. Music, music . . . she thought back to the lessons her mother had given her; she could still read notes. But what song could she possibly sing here to open this door? All she knew were old Qaelish tunes.

  Her boots sank another inch.

  She grimaced and began to sing softly, an old song villagers would sing back in Oshy across the dusk. A few notes glowed again, soon fading, and Madori tilted her head.

  Wait! she thought. Some of the notes were glowing gold, but others shone a bright blue.

  She sang the tune again. Again—some notes glowed gold, others blue.

  "I have to sing the blue notes?" she asked the door.

  A few golden notes glowed, their light softer. The blue notes were brighter, larger; it seemed those were the ones to sing.

  Her boots sank down to the ankles.

  "Damn it!" she shouted. Golden notes glowed.

  She cursed and began to sing the practice scales her mother had taught her, rising from a deep baritone to a high soprano. A gold note. Another. Another. A blue note! Gold. Gold. Blue again. She tried to memorize each note, but how could she possibly read this music like this? She had trouble enough reading the sheets her mother would give her.

  Think, Madori. Concentrate. Save the blue notes in your mind. Ignore the gold ones. Write them down inside your thoughts.

  She took a deep breath, blocking out everything, and sang the scale again. She ignored the golden notes. They didn't exist. They were nothing. She forced herself to see only blue, to write down the score in her mind. After singing a few more scales, she had it.

  "It's the song 'Darkness Falls,'" she whispered.

  She knew that tune. She knew it! Her mother had taught her to sing this song.

  The bridge faded to mere mud. She sank down to her knees.

  Wincing, Madori sang her song.

  It was a sad tune, an old tune of darkness covering the land of Eloria, of hope fading, of a distant ray of light shining to guide lost souls home. As Madori sang, the blue notes glowed upon the door, one after the other, no golden notes between them. In Madori's mind, she was a child again, back home, singing with her mother.

  She sang the last note—a sad, soft sound.

  All the blue notes began to glow together, the song 'Darkness Falls' etched in light.

  The last door swung open.
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br />   The bridge vanished beneath Madori.

  She leaped through the doorway and into shadows and light.

  CHAPTER SEVEN:

  TRIAL OF WILL

  Her legs still trembling and her mind foggy with exhaustion, Madori stepped into a towering hall, ready to face her final and greatest challenge.

  "The Trial of Will," she whispered.

  After the bridge, she had expected something fantastical—a dragon to tame, an ogre to slay, maybe a gauntlet full of spinning blades and swinging pendulums to knock her into rivers of lava. But she simply saw a columned hall—roughly the size of a large barn—full of other applicants.

  An elderly professor stood at a podium across the hall. He wore red robes, and his white beard flowed down to his feet. His nose was so long and curved, it drooped past his upper lip.

  "Welcome, Madori Greenmoat!" the elder called out. "The last applicant to emerge from the Trial of Wit. I am Professor Yovan. Welcome, Madori, to the Trial of Will."

  Madori blinked, rubbed her eyes, and took a closer look, sure that dragons and ogres would still leap out at her. The chamber was simple but well built—the columns carved of solid limestone, the ceiling vaulted and painted deep blue. Many tables stood in neat rows, and upon each lay a strange device; it looked like a wishbone carved of iron. Two chairs stood at each table.

  "Billygoat!" The voice rose from the crowd of other applicants. "I mean—Madori! Thank Idar."

  Tam wormed his way through the crowd, coming to stand beside her. He grabbed her hands and smiled shakily.

  "Tam, what's going on here?" she said.

  He brushed back a strand of her hair which fell across her left eye. "I thought you wouldn't make it this far. You're the last one through."

  She bristled. "Of course I made it!" She looked around her at the other applicants. "Idar's bottom, those last two trials weeded out quite a few."

  From two thousand applicants, she doubted that more than four hundred remained. They stood clustered between the columns, talking amongst themselves, laughing nervously and discussing their ordeals. Most were Magerians, but there were some foreigners too, even a few Elorians. The latter stood in the shadows far from the windows—their natural habitat—and spoke amongst themselves in low voices. Madori saw that the strange boy with the dragon tattoo stood among them. Again he was staring at her, his eyes intense, boring into her as if peeling back the layers of her soul.

  A chill running down her spine, Madori tore her eyes away from him. But as she kept scanning the crowd, her heart sank deeper. She cursed to see that Lari Serin—looking as pretty, prim, and proper as always—had made her way to this last trial. She stood among several other youths with Radian brooches, basking in sunbeams that fell through a window, laughing as if these trials were no more challenging than a garden stroll. When Lari noticed Madori, her eyes widened. She smiled and waved, her face oozing honeyed poison. It was the face a sweet-talking traitor gives his master before thrusting the blade.

  Bearded Professor Yovan cleared his throat—a squeaking sound—and raised his arms, letting his sleeves roll down to his shoulders. He spoke again.

  "I shall now divide you into pairs! As I call each name, step forth and sit down upon the glowing chair."

  Madori narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, seeing no glowing seats. The other applicants all turned to face the professor, their conversation dying. The old man unrolled a scroll, leaned toward it, and called out the first name:

  "Tam Shepherd!"

  Tam—going by his father's old commoner’s name, rather than his secret royal styling—gave Madori a little smile and pat on the shoulder.

  "Good luck, Billygoat," he whispered and stepped toward the professor.

  A seat began to glow, and Tam approached it and sat at the small table. When the professor read another name, the seat across from Tam glowed too, and another applicant approached to fill it.

  Professor Yovan kept reading names from the scroll, and slowly tables were filled—two applicants at each. Upon every tabletop lay the iron wishbone.

  "Madori Greenmoat!"

  She stepped forward dutifully, made her way toward the next glowing seat, and sat down. The table was small, just large enough for two chairs. She stared at the item on the tabletop, finally getting a good look at it. The metal wishbone was as large as a lyre, its surface craggy; she couldn't guess its purpose. The seat across from her was still empty.

  "Lari Serin!"

  The seat across from Madori glowed.

  Oh wormy sheep hooves.

  Madori had not thought this turn could have gotten any worse. When Lari approached, a small smile on her lips, Madori's heart sank down to her hips. Lord Serin and her father were cousins; Madori felt ill to think that she and Lari shared blood.

  Her hair a perfect fountain of golden locks, Lari neatly swept her skirt under her legs and sat down, knees pressed together, her back straight. She smiled sweetly at Madori.

  "Hello, mongrel," she said, voice pleasant.

  Madori leaped to her feet, clenching her fists. "I don't know how you made it this far, but you're failing this trial. You—"

  A sharp clearing of the throat interrupted her. Professor Yovan came shuffling forward, nearly tripping over his beard.

  "Is there a problem, Madori Greenmoat and Lari Serin?" he said, brow furrowing.

  Lari blinked innocently, a sweet smile on her lips. "Not at all, Professor. I was simply telling Madori what a pleasure it was to meet one with such . . . famous parents." She gave Madori a little wink. "I see she's inherited much from them."

  The professor seemed to miss the implied scorn. He tossed his white beard across his shoulder. "Very well then. But please, girls, you can be friends later. Now the trial is about to begin." He hopped back toward his podium and raised his hands. "Applicants! The Trial of Will begins. Please, every pair grab your iron wishbone, each applicant holding one side."

  Madori lifted the wishbone, holding one side. The iron was rough and cold in her palm. Lari grabbed the other side, then suddenly yanked the wishbone toward her, tugging Madori forward in her seat, forcing her to lean across the table. Madori found herself only inches away from Lari; the two's noses nearly touched.

  "You're going home soon, half-breed," Lari said, all the sweetness gone from her voice. There was nothing but malice in her eyes now.

  Madori sneered, clutching the wishbone. "Tell me, my lady, when you inform your father you've failed the trials, will you cry?"

  "Next time I see my father," Lari said, "I'll tell him how I made a little mongrel child burst into tears. I think he'll enjoy that story."

  Professor Yovan was still speaking from the podium. "Four hundred of you are holding onto two hundred wishbones. You may not rise from your seat. You may not kick, punch, bite, or do anything but sit neatly, holding the iron. Whoever drops his or her wishbone first shall return home. Whoever remains holding the wishbone . . . will become a student at Teel University."

  Madori blinked. Was that it? That was all she had to do? Hold onto the wishbone? She tilted her head. That seemed too easy. Were there no puzzles here, no questions, no challenges at all?

  "Get ready to scream, little one." Lari smiled wickedly. She leaned forward in her seat, her fist tight around her side of the wishbone. "I'll enjoy hearing it."

  "I bet you'll scream when you fail," Madori said. "I bet—"

  She bit down on her words, frowning. The wishbone was tingling in her hand—a strange, tickling heat like a thousand tiny jabs.

  Lari gave a mocking pout. "What's wrong, mongrel? Does your widdle hand huwt?"

  Her hand did hurt. The tingling intensified, becoming a prickly heat. Madori ached to drop the wishbone but only gritted her teeth and tightened her grip. When she looked around the chamber, she saw other applicants wince, curse, and one girl even yelped.

  "My hand feels fine," Madori said, returning her eyes to Lari. "You look a little pale, though."

  Madori was lying; her ha
nd did not feel fine, not at all. It was as far from fine as wine from poison. The pain intensified, almost intolerable, and Madori took deep, ragged breaths. She tightened her grip. The iron began to crackle, and little sparks like lightning raced across it.

  At the table beside Madori, a boy yelped and dropped his half of the wishbone. His opponent whooped in triumph, the wishbone glowing in his hand. He raised the metal instrument like a trophy. At another table, a girl burst into the tears and dropped her wishbone; her opponent laughed, her admittance to Teel won.

  Madori returned her eyes to Lari and glared. Lari stared back, a single bead of sweat upon her brow, the only sign of any pain she might be feeling. Madori's hand was trembling now around the wishbone. The pain blazed, racing up her arm to her shoulder. Her very teeth buzzed and shook in her jaw. Years ago, Madori had read a book about the charred victim of a lightning strike; she imagined that this felt similar. Her hair crackled, her hackles rose, and goosebumps appeared upon her arm. Her very clothes seemed to burn.

  All across the hall, applicants were crying out and releasing their grips. One by one, failed applicants trudged dejectedly out of the room while victors stepped toward Professor Yovan, rubbing their sore hands.

  "You look like a dying rat," Lari said, sneering now. More sweat beaded on her brow. "Will you squeal before the end?"

  Madori's entire arm shook as she clutched the wishbone. She whispered through a clenched jaw, the pain nearly blinding her. "I won't let go. I—"

  The pain burst out, doubling in intensity. She gasped and nearly dropped the wishbone. She saw the same look of surprise on Lari's face; the girl's eyes widened, showing white all around the irises, and she emitted a little cry. Across the hall, dozens of applicants screamed or whimpered, dropping wishbones.

  Madori gritted her teeth, tears in her eyes, and held on. Lari sneered like a wild animal, clinging to her end.

  "I won't let go," Madori hissed, barely able to speak, barely able to remain conscious. "I'll hold on even if my hand falls off. I—"

  The pain flared again, growing even stronger, so strong Madori thought her skull could crack and her jaw could spill her teeth. Lari screamed but clung on. Lightning crackled along the wishbone and raced up Madori's arm, raising smoke. Sweat and tears mingled in her eyes. Through the veil, she saw the last few applicants drop their wishbones.