Shadows of Moth

by Daniel Arenson

  Soon Gehena’s shriek tore across the field. "The traitor has escaped. Find him!"

  Sword clutched in his hand, Torin kept crawling forward. The rye kept him hidden, but the field wouldn't shield him for long; the stalks creaked and bent as he moved. Boots thumped before him and a man leaned down. A cruel face leered.

  "I foun—" the man began

  Torin swung his sword, slamming the blade into the man's face. The Magerian crashed down with a shower of blood. Torin cursed, rose to a crouch, and ran while bent over. Another Magerian raced toward him. Torin swung his sword again, cut the man's hand, then slammed his blade into his neck.

  "Find the traitor and drag him back to me!" The shout rose behind Torin, a typhoon. "Slay the scu—"

  "For Arden!" rose a high voice—a familiar voice. "Slay the enemy!"

  Hooves thundered by. Boots raced. The banner of Arden—a black raven upon a golden field—streamed above. And there Torin saw him, clad in armor, his cloak billowing in the wind.

  "Cam," Torin whispered. He rose to his feet. "Cam!"

  The king rode upon a white courser, a lance in his hand. His armor was dented and bloody, and a bandage covered his arm. Around him, his fellow riders looked scarcely better—their armor was cracked, their weapons were chipped, and their flesh bore both old and fresh wounds. Yet still the Ardishmen charged toward the Magerian convoy. Magic blasted forward. Smoky tendrils tore off a horse's legs, and the beast tumbled, spilling its rider. Swordsmen charged.

  "Torin!" Cam shouted, then turned back toward the battle. His lance drove into a mage, piercing the robed man's chest. Swords, magic, lances, and arrows crashed all around in a storm.

  Torin snarled and ran toward the fight. He was wounded, maybe dying. He was thin, feverish, famished, but still he ran. He would not cower as others fought. He would—

  He swayed. The world spun. The ground seemed to shake.

  Red eyes turned toward him, all consuming. Lord Gehena saw him, and the creature's malice drove into his heart.

  Arrows slammed into the demon.

  More Ardish forces swarmed across the field, several hundred strong. Torin could barely stand upright, but he forced himself to run with them. He swung his sword and slew another man. The Magerians fell, one by one, their blood splattering the field. Hooves trampled over mages, and spears drove into soldiers' chests.

  Torin leaped over bodies and finally stood before Lord Gehena.

  The giant towered above him; Torin's head did not even reach the creature's shoulders. A chill emanated from the mage's black robes, but his stare burned like fire. Arrows and lances pierced the dark mage, and black blood dripped from him. His blades swung.

  Torin parried and thrust.

  His sword drove through the black robes and into flesh.

  With battle cries and bright steel, fellow Ardishmen thrust spears and swords, piercing the demon lord.

  Even as blades cut into him, Gehena stared at Torin. Those red eyes narrowed with malicious mockery. A deep, unearthly voice spoke in Torin's mind, echoing within his skull, scuttling inside him like snakes.

  We will meet again, Torin. And you will meet your daughter. Madori will be mine, and you will watch me break her.

  Torin screamed and swung his sword.

  The blade cut through empty cloth.

  The black robes fell onto the road, no flesh within him. The iron helmet clattered down, empty and colder than winter's heart. Ardish soldiers cursed, kicked at the robes, and stabbed them. Some men laughed and chanted for victory, but Torin knew the dark mage would return.

  He trembled. He knew Madori's name.

  "Torin! By Idar, you look horrible." Cam raced toward him, grabbed Torin's arm, then looked over his shoulder. "Cade! Lale! Fetch a healer!"

  Torin could no longer stay standing. He fell into his friend's arms, and he was only vaguely aware of Cam placing him on the road, holding a wineskin over his lips, and shouting for the healer to hurry. All colors blended together, then went dark.

  CHAPTER NINE:

  YIN SHI

  Madori spoke in a slow, strained voice. "Give me. Back. My sword."

  The Desolation stretched around her. Pillars of stone tilted like the ribs of giants, a hundred feet tall. Boulders like the stone blades of giants rose from the earth. Cracks stretched across craters, full of tar, and the fossilized skulls of ancient reptiles gaped upon cliffs, embedded into the stone. The stars shone above but the moon was gone. Madori had been here almost a moon's cycle now, and still the old master withheld her blade.

  That old master now stood before her, calm, his arms crossed and his hands tucked neatly into his sleeves. His long white mustache and beard fluttered in the wind.

  "First you must learn how to breathe," he said. "Then I will return your sword to you."

  Madori's rage exploded out of her. "I've been breathing for a moon now! Stars damn it, I've been breathing all my life. If I didn't know how to breathe, I'd be dead. I—"

  "If you knew how to breathe properly, you would do so now instead of shouting," he replied calmly. "You are learning the breathing of Yin Shi, an ancient wisdom, not those snorts and huffs you call breathing. Now—again like we practiced."

  Madori growled. It was intolerable! Only a turn after arriving here, the old man had snatched her blade away and hidden it somewhere in the Desolation. She had searched every cave and cranny but hadn't found it.

  Huffing, she turned toward her gray nightwolf. She patted the beast's thick fur; she had cut off the charred bits and it was growing back nicely. "Come on, Grayhem, sniff. Use your nose and find the sword."

  Grayhem only sniffed her fingers. She had given him that name a few turns ago, combining his color and the name of the statue inside The Shadowed Firkin tavern back home—Hem, the hero baker of the war. However, it didn't seem the nightwolf even understood the concept of names. He began to sniff at her pockets, seeking mushrooms.

  "Go on. Grayhem! Sniff for the sword."

  The towering canine, large as a horse, only snorted and slumped down.

  Lan Tao stroked the animal and stared at Madori. "It is time, my student. Your Yin Shi lessons."

  She gripped her head and shouted at the sky. "I came here to learn how to fight! You promised to teach me swordplay. How can I learn fighting without a sword?"

  "That is the only way to learn," Lan Tao replied. "I've been teaching you swordplay from the moment you entered this place. With every breath, you learn to swing the blade. Now sit down. And we will breathe."

  Grumbling, she sat down, crossed her legs, and closed her eyes. She heard pebbles creak as Lan Tao sat down before her.

  "A deep breath," he said, voice calm. "In . . . slowly . . ."

  She dutifully inhaled, letting the air fill her from the bottom of her lungs to the top.

  "Good," he said. "Focus your awareness on the air in your lungs. Let it flow to your feet. Let it fill your fingers, your head, all your body. And . . . exhale."

  She exhaled slowly, trying to focus all her awareness on the air leaving her lungs. Yet her mind kept racing. She thought back to Teel University and how the Elorians had died on the road. She thought of Jitomi, who had traveled alone into Ilar, and she wondered if he was safe. She thought of her father, who had gone missing in the battle,

  and of Tam and Neekeya who were seeking aid in Daenor, and—

  The air whistled and pain slapped against her arm. She opened her eyes to see Lan Tao holding his katana; he had slammed the flat side against her, as he had so many times.

  "Ow!" She glared and rubbed the red mark.

  "You are not focusing. I can practically hear your thoughts. Your mind is a storm, but the Yin Shi mind must be a clear pond. Now—try again. Every time a thought comes into your mind, let it go. Let it be as a cloud in the sky, floating away. Let it be as a ripple on a pond. As every thought enters, gaze upon it curiously, like gazing at a passing light . . . then let it leave you. Keep returning your awareness to nothing but the air,
nothing but the breath entering and leaving your body. No thinking. No remembering. Simply being."

  "Can't I even think of swordplay?" she asked.

  He raised his katana again. "You will do as you're told. Now again—we breathe."

  She muttered but she closed her eyes. She breathed again. A slow breath in, letting it fill her slowly, letting the air flow to every part of her: her toes, her legs, her torso, her head, her fingertips. She held the breath, and at once those damn fears returned to her, anxiousness for her friends, for her family, for Serin's armies mustering. She had to stop them! She had to learn to fight. She—

  Let your thoughts be a cloud. Watch them float away.

  She tugged her awareness back toward her breath, exhaling slowly. She let those thoughts flow away with the air.

  "Good . . ." said Master Lan Tao. "Very good. The Yin Shi mind lets all thoughts ripple away. The Yin Shi mind is a clear, still pond. And breathe in . . ."

  She breathed in again, held the air, released it slowly.

  "Remember, child, the mind of a Yin Shi warrior is pure, focused only on existing. Never on the past. Never on the future. Only in the present. Only on what you are feeling right now, where you stand or sit, where you breathe, where you exist." He inhaled deeply. "Feel the air. Feel the wind around you, the starlight above, the cold stone beneath you. Only sensing. Never thinking."

  She kept breathing slowly, trying to do as he taught, to only be. She pretended that she were some mollusk in a shell, clinging to stone, unable to think, to remember, to plan, only to exist in the present moment. Yet her thoughts kept rising. Every breath or two, the damn fears returned to her. She saw the dead. She saw the enemy soldiers. She—

  She breathed.

  Let the thoughts flow away.

  She breathed in. She breathed out. Only being. Never thinking. Never remembering. Slowly, breath by breath, her mind cleared.

  They sat like that for hours most turns, simply breathing, never thinking.

  His voice flowed across the night. "Become like a stone, like a river, like a beam of light, part of the world, always in the present, always here."

  When finally their session was done, he allowed her to eat. They sat together, three souls—Madori, Master Lan Tao, and Grayhem—gathered around a fire. They ate from an iron pot, a simple meal of stewed mushrooms and wild shahani—furry black animals who lived in the burrows of the Desolation, the size of Timandra's hares. After so long in silence, Madori kept speaking between mouthfuls.

  "When will I get to swing my sword? When will I learn how to parry and thrust?" She gulped down a piece of the fatty meat. "Will you teach me how to pierce armor?" She bit into a greasy mushroom. "I want to learn how to fire arrows too, so I can fight from the walls of Salai Castle. Do you know how to fire arrows, Master Lan Tao?"

  He simply stared over his bowl, smiling thinly. "You are learning all these things already."

  She licked the bottom of her bowl. "Nonsense." She snorted. "I only learned boring breathing so far. I want to learn how to fight, Master." She jumped to her feet and snarled across the campfire at him. She swung an imaginary sword. "To slice! To cut! To kill my enemies! To—"

  He vaulted over the flames so quickly she barely saw him move. His palm connected with her cheek with a flare of white light. The pain blinded her.

  "Why did you not see this blow?" he said. He slapped her again, harder this time. "Why don't you defend yourself?"

  She gasped, the pain blazing. She gulped and raised her arms defensively, then felt pain on her ankle—his foot slamming into her leg. She fell.

  He loomed above her, his face no longer calm but a cold, hard mask. The firelight painted him red, and he no longer seemed an old man but a demon. His sheathed sword flashed, and the scabbard hit her shoulder.

  "Go on, fight! You wanted to learn violence?" He snorted. "You wanted to learn to defeat an enemy? I am your enemy! Defend yourself. Defeat me!"

  She growled and leaped to her feet. When his hand lashed toward her again, she blocked the blow. She claimed the air like she had learned at Teel. She sucked in the smoke from the campfire, particles of ash and dust, forming a ball to hurtle against him, to—

  His hand thrust again, slapping her face a third time. Her magic dispersed.

  "You have no time for magic." Another slap. "You must defeat me now—within the space between heartbeats. Fight!"

  She tried to block his blows. She howled, lunged toward him, and attacked. He blocked every fist, every kick, and his blows kept landing upon her. The pain throbbed. She knew that bruises would cover her. Ahead she saw all her enemies. He became Emperor Serin, Professor Atratus, Princess Lari, a million soldiers of Mageria. She had to stop him! Surely she could defeat him, but the pain was too strong, and he was too fast, and her fear flooded her. Another blow from him sent her sprawling to the ground.

  He leaned above her. He grabbed her collar.

  "Why do you not fight?"

  "I am fighting!" she shouted, blood in her mouth. "You're too fast."

  He laughed. "Fast? I'm an old man. I'm over eighty years old; you're not yet twenty. You're faster, stronger, lither. Why then do I defeat you?"

  She growled and tried to rise, but he pinned her down. "I don't know!"

  He shook her. "Because I am aware. That is why. In battle, I am only in the present. I sense every movement. Every tension in your muscles and in mind. Every flick of your eyes. Every twitch of your legs or arms. But you . . ." He shook his head in disgust. "Your mind is a storm. You think of the past and future." He snorted. "You think of your enemies—how they wronged you, how you crave revenge, how you hurt from their blows. A warrior of Yin Shi cares not for revenge, not for the past, not for the future, not for the faces of foes. A warrior of Yin Shi does not think, does not feel; only senses. A warrior of Yin Shi lives the air, the starlight, the dance. Ah, yes, it is a dance. It is the same as breathing, that is all—the breath of battle, the air coming and going."

  She blinked up at him, tasting blood in her mouth. "How is breathing anything like this? Breathing is simple."

  He nodded. "Laying one brick upon another is simple, yet that is how you build a palace. The turning of a gear is simple, yet attach enough gears together and you can build a great clock. To fight is to be aware. The way you are aware of your breathing, focusing all your consciousness on the air coming and going, thus you can be aware of a battle. The sluggard thinks while she fights. The coward fears, the brute hates. The wise Yin Shi warrior never thinks, never feels; she is simply aware. Do you understand?"

  She nodded. "I do."

  He grunted. "You lie. There is no understanding in Yin Shi; understanding is a thing of thoughts. There is only awareness. You will know this wisdom when you experience it, not when you claim to understand my words. Words are thoughts. Words are the invention of the mind. Yin Shi is not about the mind. You are not your mind, no more than you are your foot or hand. You are not your thoughts. You are your soul. Only when you become your soul, removing your thoughts from your essence, will you become Yin Shi."

  She nodded slowly. She rose to her feet. She took a deep breath, and she felt the air around her. She let the starlight fill her eyes. She let her awareness spread through her.

  "Good . . ." he said. "Let the awareness spread like roots. Let it flow through your body and into the stone beneath you, to the canyon walls, to the wind, to the sky above. Hold it all in your awareness. Be part of it. You are not Madori, a trapped mind in a skull. You are the world around you."

  She nodded, took another deep breath, and let that awareness spread. She gasped. Suddenly she was no longer trapped in her body; he was right. She was one with the Desolation.

  "It's like magic," she whispered.

  With magic, she had to choose her material, then claim it, and finally change it. Yin Shi is the same! she realized. Yin Shi is simply another application of the same principles! She had to choose not just one material but the universe and herself
in it—the air in her lungs, the landscape around her, all other souls . . . and claim them all, hold them all in awareness the way she held materials in her magic. But instead of changing them, she simply experienced them, become . . . aware.

  She was one with the night.

  Lan Tao's muscle twitched.

  Madori raised her arm.

  Before his palm could strike her, she blocked the blow. At once she saw the subtle tension in his leg, knew he would kick her. She hopped back, and his foot passed through air. She blocked another blow. She thrust her hand, and her fist drove into his chest.

  Master Lan Tao fell.

  Madori gasped.

  "Master!"

  At once she dropped her Yin Shi awareness. It felt like waking from a dream. She knelt above the fallen old man and touched his cheek.

  "Master, I'm sorry! Are you all right?"

  Lying on the ground, he smiled up at her. "Finally," he whispered. "Finally you learn."

  She helped him stand, and suddenly she realized how frail he was; he weighed no more than she did, maybe even less. She supported him, and they climbed the craggy hill together. Grayhem walked at their side, eyes bright in the darkness. They entered their cave, and Madori helped the old man lie down upon his bed—a simple stone alcove in the wall.

  Once Lan Tao was sleeping, Madori tiptoed toward the cave opening. Grayhem stood at her side, and she placed her hand in his fur. She stood for a long time, looking out into the night. She knew that Lan Tao did not like her thinking, remembering, planning, yet as she stood here, she imagined fighting Serin with her new skill, and she smiled.

  CHAPTER TEN:

  THE RAVENS IN THE NORTH

  Five hundred Ardish soldiers rode through the snowy forest, bearing the treasures of their raid: two hundred Radian swords and shields, three coffers of the enemy's gold, and one freed prisoner.