Moth and Spark

by Anne Leonard

  Joce turned abruptly into a narrow alley. The houses were high and cramped together, looking like cracked and fissured canyon walls in the strange light. If one of them caught, she and Joce would go up like tinder immediately. Her throat was too dry to swallow. Her eyes were starting to swell shut from the smoke.

  The alley opened onto a curving narrow street with few people. They mounted again. Joce turned left, then halted at the sound of a roar and a crash as a stone house collapsed into rubble ahead of him, blocking the way. Tam watched for a moment, stunned by the immensity of it. Dust clouds billowed up orangely. When she turned to the right, she saw several sheets of fire licking at one another and the nearby buildings. They were trapped.

  Frantic, she stared in every direction. The horse’s ears were flat against its head and it was breathing fast. There, between those two buildings, a dark passage. She kicked the beast forward. To her surprise Joce did not try to stop her. The passage was very narrow—she could have touched the walls on either side if she had extended her arms—and the horse went carefully. They came out in a square with houses on three sides and a lane on the fourth. Streetlights shone along it. The horse went that way without urging.

  After that time passed in jerks and starts. She went from one corner to the next without noticing anything in between. Then, finally, they came unharmed onto an empty street that was lined with warehouses on either side. On the right, the road went slowly and straightly downhill, probably to the river. Joce looked at her, then turned left and took them uphill. The horses trotted with what seemed to be relief. The hill was long and high but not steep. When they reached the top Joce halted and passed the water flask to her.

  Tam took one drink, judiciously, then said through thick cracked lips, “Where are we?” Her throat was raw.

  “Drink all you want, my lady, there will be more.”

  She wondered how, but had two more long swallows. The water was still slightly cool, and it was the most wonderful thing she had ever had. She returned the flask to him. He took only a short swallow.

  “We can rest a bit more,” he said. “We’re only a mile from Northgate. We’re almost through.”

  The wind was picking up, and when she looked west she saw light flashing along the sky. She wondered if dragons could fly in a storm, if the wind would spread the fires everywhere before rain could put them out, if she would be out of the city before it struck. There was a very low and distant rumble of thunder, and she realized she had not heard a dragon cry for a while.

  She rubbed her face tiredly. “Let’s go.”

  The warehouse district was large and empty. The few people they saw scurried out of their way. It was dark; there were no fires here, and no streetlights. The buildings loomed against the orange glow of the sky. As they rode, the clop of the horses’ hooves on the empty street began to seem louder and louder, and then even menacing. Tam shivered.

  Warehouses gave way to empty shops. They turned. She saw the pale arch of Northgate not far ahead of them. And then she saw the green-white brightness of the light behind it, and the long shadows of armed men, and the scattered bodies on the street.

  She turned the horse before she realized it, and so did Joce. He led her at a gallop through a maze of streets. She kept looking over her shoulder to see if they were being followed. This was much worse than running from fire. Her hands were slippery with fear-sweat on the reins. She remembered things her father had told her about heads on stakes, women raped with knives.

  The cobbles became dirt, the buildings were smaller. The rain started. Still there was no sign of pursuit, and it was hard to think of anything but the storm. Wind flung stinging raindrops against her skin and whipped the puddles into rippling seas. The air was still full of the acrid scent of smoke. A lightning bolt that would have whitened the air on an ordinary day made it into bright blinding mist. Corin’s cloak was a plain dark wool, suitable for cool mornings or windy evenings, but it was no protection in the downpour. She kept her face lowered and let the horse follow Joce’s.

  Eventually the houses and shops thinned and then gave way to open ground. It was very dark. But by the time the storm moved off, she thought it was becoming lighter. She realized that they were back on a main road. The field birds began to sing in the trees and hedges. The darkness slowly faded into grey and then into the land’s own colors. The sky was clear. Water caught in spiderwebs glimmered.

  They stopped. Tam looked at her legs and noticed as though they belonged to another person that they were trembling. The soaked pants were clinging to her. She released her grip on the horse and let her feet be looser in the stirrups. Her back hurt, she was still wet through, there was a light breeze that was making her cold. On one side of the road was a field, the green shoots only a few inches high in the dark soil. On the other side, between the road and a line of old thick dark trees, was a meadow, its grasses bent over with their own wet heaviness. A few rabbits were sitting up, watching the riders. A hill covered with trees rose behind the meadow.

  Joce turned his horse. The rabbits scattered. Tam followed him. Caithenor was back there, a cloud of heavy brown smoke still hanging over it. Their view of the city itself was cut off by the gentle rolls of the land and by distance. Tam wanted to see the palace, tall on its hill, but could not make out even that, only the smoke. She was very tired.

  “We got out,” she said. Her voice was thin and trembly.

  “We got out. I don’t think they saw us at all.”

  “Who were they?”

  “Sarians,” he said. “Or Myceneans with Sarian weapons.”

  Tam had known that. Otherwise she would not have asked. “They got here too fast. Even with dragons.”

  “Yes. I’m afraid Hadon’s betrayal was much deeper and older than we thought.”

  Tam nodded. It didn’t seem to matter. She took a deep breath and sat up straight. “What now?”

  “There’s a village up ahead, a few miles. Can you ride that far, my lady?”

  “I’ll have to,” she said. “But I’m no lady now, or where we’re going. Call me by my name.”

  “As you say. But in that case you will need a different pin for your cloak.”

  She had put the cloak on without examining it. Now she saw that the design was the crowned eagle of the royal house. She hoped she had not gone off with Corin’s only royal brooch, leaving him as undecorated as any commoner. Well, nothing could be done about it. She wondered if Aram had noticed.

  Suddenly it struck her as funny, and she laughed. There was an edge of panic in the laughter, and she stopped immediately. At least she still had that much control. She looked down at her hand for the first time. The ring fit well. The band was an engraved gold, the stone a large emerald. It was obviously a betrothal ring, one that had been given to Mari by her husband, who was dead now. And Mari had given it to Corin to give to her. She was married to him.

  She wept soundlessly, not trying to stop it, and Joce did not try to comfort her. After a few minutes she was done. I won’t cry again, she thought. “I’m ready.”

  The sun was well up when they reached the village. They stopped at an inn, to rest and water the horses. Joce left Tam in the common room, where she waited nervously until he returned with a sack of food for them and clothes for her. She took them into a room to change. The shirt was too large, and the pants too long, and both were stained and worn, but they were clean and dry. She rolled up sleeves and trouser legs, tightened the rope belt, and found Joce readying the horses. They set off again, carrying their breakfast.

  Twice in the morning they saw a circling dragon shining high up against the blue sky. Otherwise there was no evidence of war.

  They took the country roads, not the main highway, avoiding towns. Fields and pastures and woodland-covered hillsides, goats and streams and ancient oaks. Here and there a shrine with a bit of food, some feathers, a woven hex. Villages that wer
e only a few huts on rutted roads with dogs yelping and children staring, fascinated. It became a blur for Tam. Whenever she thought of Corin she raised her head and stared along the line of road as far as she could see, and after a while the thoughts vanished in the warmth of sun on her bare forearms and the breeze bending the grasses on the verge.

  By midday it was quite hot. They stopped to rest on a tree-shaded riverbank, not far below a mill. They could hear the mill working and the water roaring through it, though they could not see it for the trees. After they ate, Tam sat motionless in the lassitude of heat and watched the sunlight twining through the branches. Even the birds were still.

  She was thinking it was time to go when she heard the shrill cry of a dragon, close. She shuddered. The horses stomped nervously. Quick as a cat Joce was squatting beside her, one hand on her shoulder. His skin was fever-hot.

  She squirmed and looked at him. He raised a finger to his lips and then released her. He rose lightly and went to the horses, caught each one’s reins in a hand. They were trembling and sweating, ears back and nostrils flared, but they stayed under his control.

  Tam felt it then, the dragon presence, searching. It was a cold sharp needle in her mind. They won’t hurt me, she thought. They won’t hurt me. Not if they want Corin to help them. But she could not help remembering the things the dragons had done under Hadon’s command. Bodies on a roof, fire in the sky. If they were slaves she was not safe.

  She stared at the ripples on the water, the sun glancing off in silver, and emptied her mind of everything else. Images came to her. Black lava flows. The stone was rough and full of pocks. A waterfall spilling down a tall mountainside, and a river with a scattering of huts beside it. A throne with dragons carved on the arms. A bloodstained sword lying on granite. A man whose skin was the waxy white of death and whose lips and fingernails had turned blue, with steam curling around him. A black moth, circling a candle flame.

  The dragon was speaking to her, but she did not understand it. They had done it once before, telling her they meant to free Tai, but she had only understood because she was already in their space. She thought of colored sand on a silver tray and wondered if they had spoken to her then as well. It made her shiver.

  The pain in her mind vanished. The dragon cried again, higher and farther away. It was leaving. Joce released the horses, which bent to grazing as if nothing had happened. He looked at her and she was frozen by his gaze. It was gone in less than a second. He had to have some sort of power, not just knowledge of it. It was strange how readily she accepted that now. Aram had known, which was why he had put them together. She wondered if Joce knew about the dragons and Corin’s task.

  She stood and asked the question she had been trying not to think. “What if the king didn’t get out?”

  “That we will hear news of. I am certain he did, though. There were plans in place. Better you know nothing of them.”

  “But if he didn’t . . .”

  “If he is dead, you are the queen,” he said. “And nowhere will be safe. We will probably have to hide in the Fells. It will be hard.”

  You are the queen. The food she had just eaten felt heavy in her stomach. What had she done? “They’ll come looking for me,” she said.

  “I am afraid so.”

  “Can we go through the woods and fields?”

  “Not on horse. I would prefer not to turn loose the horses until we must, they are too useful.”

  “They’re too good,” she said. “No one will recognize me if we walk. I’ll cut my hair.”

  “They will be watching your home,” he said. “We can’t go there.”

  “My parents—” she said, frantic. If Cina had not escaped, or Jenet, or others, they could have been tortured to tell everything they knew about Tam. Alina might have talked before she died. When Tam opened the door, Alina’s black blind face had been in front of her, swinging slightly. The rope squeaked as it moved against the bar. One of her shoes dragged on the floor, scraping. She felt sick.

  Neither spoke. Tam wondered if Joce was waiting for her to give him an order. A coldness moved across her skin, like wind. Nothing stirred in the leaves. She swallowed.

  “The dragon,” she said. “It spoke to me. I didn’t understand it.”

  He did not respond to that either. His face was not its usual unreadable mask. He seemed troubled, perplexed. It was uncharacteristic of him. He took a step toward her. Suddenly she was frightened. Did he mean to leave her, or to force her with him?

  He took her left hand and kissed Mari’s ring, gently released it. His skin was still hot. His face smoothed. “My lady,” he said. “I need to tell you something so you can choose well. But I am breaking my word to several people, including the king. It is rightly he who should tell you, not I. Can I have your promise of silence?”

  “Does Corin know?” She did not want to keep secrets from him.

  “Yes.”

  “Then tell me, and I will keep confidence.”

  “I can get you into Dalrinia unseen. Even into your home.”

  “With power.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “What kind of power, Joce?”

  “Wizardry,” he said.

  Tam understood things then. His hot skin, his silver eyes, his freezing gaze. The stories said wizard-power was within, not power that one reached for. She understood too what a terrible secret it was.

  “But I’m not one,” she said hesitantly.

  “No.”

  “Did you tell the king I had it?”

  He shook his head. “I had no knowledge of you earlier than you had of me. My lord has no power either, but he has made enough study of it to see it when it chances to awake.”

  It was almost too much. She said, “What do I do?”

  He took what seemed years to give her an answer. “You have to know your power,” he said at last. “I can teach you that through the knife.”

  “Then do it.” She realized it was her first command. She took a deep breath and drew her knife.

  He said, “First stillness. Turn your blade up and watch it. Hold with both hands if you must. You have to be the blade.”

  She obeyed. The knife was straight and silver. The sharpness of the edges gleamed in the sun. She stared. Time slipped away into nothingness. Elbows bent, she held the knife still and upright, a line between her hands and the sky. Her legs were a line too, pinning her feet to the earth. She was utterly still and the rest of the world moved around her. The knife was radiance. She had not thought that light had weight. But everything did. Souls were moths and love was butterflies. The true world was out there, where the carousel horses had run, and if she raised the knife she would pierce through the shell surrounding her and enter it again. Her breath was slow and even. Silver light spilled down her arms like water. It had felt much like this when Liko put her into trance.

  “Stillness, and speed. Swing the knife.”

  A crow cawed in one of the trees. It echoed in her head. It would speak words to her if she let it. She moved her arm in the motions he had taught her. She was surprised at how much easier it seemed; the weight of the knife balanced her. Quiet, like the standing had been. She swung her arm out once more and felt that connection, the light going through her. Once more, over and over.

  “Enough,” he finally said. He sounded pleased. She was surprised at the disappointment in her. It felt extraordinarily natural, the knife a part of her body. She had not wanted to stop. He must have sensed that, because he said, “Don’t try the knife practice alone. You’ll wear yourself out or get into a bad habit.”

  “Yes. All right.” She sheathed the blade and looked at the river again. The water moved slowly and steadily, covered with green reflections and light-tipped ripples.

  In Illyria there was a place called the Lake of the Dead. She had been to it years ago, before Tyrekh, when she an
d her brother accompanied her father on the first part of his second trip to Sarium. The story was that there had been a town there once, centuries ago, and then rains came, and then an earthquake. The quake shook the weakened earth and threw rocks down into the flooded river, damming it. The waters rose and filled the valley, drowning the people and buildings. On certain moonlit nights the town was said to stir again, the fully fleshed dead moving through the water as if it were air. It was a beautiful place, with high wooded hills on either side and water the deepest blue Tam had ever seen. There were no dead, she knew that, but it was, or had been, a gateway. She saw that now with astonishing clarity. Memories of power lingered and became stories.

  There was power in Caithenor. Lines spreading and branching like roots, some frail tendrils and some thick knots that would sprout again like witch-grass if you broke them. It was a knot under the palace. That was what had enabled her to See, and Aram to see her.

  Black moths. Corin on the steps, staring inhumanly outward. Aram’s hands on her shoulders. Horses riding over blackness, the scrape of claws and rush of wings. The crow cawed again. She found it, a darkness in the thick shadows of a tree’s branches. Hidden in the sunlight. She could do that.

  “Even if it’s safe, I can’t risk something happening to my parents. I’m going to have to go back to Caithenor,” she said.

  “We dare not. It’s very dangerous,” Joce said. “As much from random acts as from anyone looking for you. There’s no safe place to hide, not with Sarians there. We need to go to Pell. It’s large. You will be well hidden. I can find the king’s agents.”

  Agents. He meant spies. If they were loyal she would be safe.

  “Not back to Caithenor yet,” she said. “We’ll let things settle a little. Find barns and clearings and root cellars to hide. I’ll practice. But if you have the power to sneak me home unseen, even where they will be waiting for me, I trust you have the power to slip us back into Caithenor unnoticed when they have stopped searching.”