Moth and Spark

by Anne Leonard

  “Well?” he asked, hoping for a bit of news that would serve as a distraction. He adjusted his thinking.

  “I’ve been speaking with a rider in Caithenor. You’ll like this. Tyrekh’s dead.”

  He felt a savage, pleasant sense of triumph. “How?”

  “One of his own men threw a knife into his throat. They have not caught the soldier yet. He completely disappeared.”

  “I’ll bet he did,” said Tam, and Corin knew she had come to the same conclusion he had. He almost smiled. He realized that they were past the hardest part. They had decided to get on with it.

  “I can try to find him if you’d like,” said Kelvan.

  “That won’t be necessary. He’ll have gone to Aram. What else?”

  “The dragons are restless. Some are abandoning Hadon and coming north. And someone, I don’t know who or how, has got the Myceneans to start to drive the Sarians out. It’s easier now that Tyrekh’s dead.” He paused. “There have been a lot of deaths, on both sides, it’s not pretty.”

  Corin took that to mean they were slaughtering one another. There were probably Caithenians dying too. He doubted his father was behind it directly, but the king was no doubt privy to it and consenting. With any luck it would be over soon.

  “Any word of my sister?” he asked.

  “The rider who took her has reappeared, but he won’t say anything other than that she is safe.”

  “He probably doesn’t know where she is,” Corin said. “If he got her to the right man in Dele, she’s someplace where even I couldn’t find her by now. How is Hadon taking all this?”

  “I only have rumor for that. But the rumor is that he’s locked himself in his apartments with a fire weapon and won’t let anyone in.”

  “So we’re winning.”

  “It appears that way, aye.”

  He could not let this chance slip by. He had to take control of things before the battles became leaderless chaos, before the riders decided to do as they pleased. The dragons were using him, he would demand this as his price. He would make the devil’s bargain after all.

  “I need the dragons,” he said. “And the riders. Can I gather them through your dragon?”

  “You can summon them,” Kelvan said. “I don’t know that you can convince them. They’re men, they’ll want to see you, to measure you against Hadon. Especially considering all they have to lose if the dragons go. They’ll have to see you’re worth it.”

  Oh hell. He knew Kelvan was right, but the last thing he wanted to do now was make speeches or have debates. Politics was what it came down to, though. He looked at the mountains. All he could see was unmarked blackness rising into the starry sky.

  “I can’t do that here,” he said. “And I’m certainly not going back to Caithenor or to Mycene.”

  “No,” Kelvan said. “I think you should bring them as far north as you can, though.”

  It would have to be east and farther south. He did not want them too close to the valley and he was already at the northward limit. He turned the pages of mental map books and decided on a place. “Tower Peak,” he said. It was remote, with a craggy ridge at the top that looked like battlements. He could not have a palace to speak from, but he could give a reminder of a fortress. Tomorrow was too soon, he would not have time to prepare, but the next morning, after sunrise.

  “Good,” said Kelvan.

  “I’ll be there shortly, then, thank you.”

  “You’re going to do it now?” Tam asked as soon as Kelvan had retreated.

  “Just the summons. Nothing else.”

  A quiet pause of relief. “Corin, this is terrible wine, why are we drinking it?”

  “Give me my cup,” he said. When she did, he gulped it down and put the mug on the ground. “Finish yours.”

  She made a noise of disgust but drank. She let her mug drop. It made a soft thud on the grass but did not break. Corin faced her, took her left hand with his right and raised it, slipped his arm around her waist.

  “We’re dancing,” she said, not quite a question.

  “Yes, my love,” he said, moving his foot.

  “I’m not very good without the music.”

  “Neither am I. We’ll do it anyway. We never finished that one at the ball. Don’t count.”

  She let him lead her, and they danced awkwardly along the riverside. The ground was uneven, their course blocked by bushes or thickets of grass. At times when she stepped her foot into the inside of his, they stumbled, or banged ankles or knees together. He watched her the best he could with only starlight to see by. They were both quiet. A chorus of frogs started, one side of the river to the other and back, strophe and antistrophe. He tried to let nothing in but this time, this moment, her dark figure swirling.

  They stopped, and held each other, and kissed hard.

  Their arms dropped simultaneously. “Good luck,” she said.

  “This may take a while. Don’t worry.”

  “I’ll bring the cups in.”

  “Thank you.” He kissed her quickly once and then strode to the dragon.

  As Corin approached it he realized he had to ride. Kelvan was standing near. “Are the straps ready?” he asked.

  “Aye, my lord.”

  He got on without help and tightened the straps. He put the helmet on. There seemed to be nothing to say. He nodded once at Kelvan, then prodded the dragon’s mind. It leaped.

  He had the dragon hover and let the wind take it. There was no sea scent, just wind. It stung his eyes. He feared that if he left the valley the wizard’s barrier might keep him from returning. Then he decided that if that happened he could land the dragon somewhere nearby and send it to Kelvan to get him. So he turned it north and east, over the mountains, and urged it forward with a driving desperate passion.

  It was difficult. Wind tossed the dragon with sudden drops and turns, and there was something almost terrifying about the darkness below. He remembered looking out over the garden with Tam that first night. This was different. It was hard and immense and threw no light back. Even closer to the high mountains with their white tips visible in the starlight there was no softening.

  His cheeks and fingers went numb with cold. There were little sparkles of frost on the outside of his breeches.

  Higher, he thought, higher, and urged the beast upward until he was gasping for breath and thought frostbite was beginning in his fingertips. The ache in his lungs pleased him. Then he turned it down, hard, plummeting toward earth. The air whistled around him. The stars were streaks of light above. I might die, he thought as he looked down into the darkness. He could not tell how fast it was approaching. He watched himself bend like a horserider to hold the straps tighter and keep the wind off his face. He watched the dragon extend its wings and catch the air. It spun and rocked before it got its balance.

  He let it take its own path, sliding through the cold air while he lay on its back, empty and exhausted. Its heat seeped slowly into him. He listened to the beat of blood in his ears and closed his eyes. It rocked him from side to side. For a long time he thought of nothing.

  Then he returned to himself and sat up. He directed the dragon back to the cottage. The air warmed, he could see the texture of the ocean, his eyes watered and his skin burned.

  The dragon landed easily, almost lightly. He worked at the straps with numb fingers until the knots were free, then slid down. He took the helmet off and was surrounded by noise. He blew on his hands. When he tried to take a step forward he stumbled as the motion brought blood painfully back to his legs. He bent over, stretched, stomped his feet a little.

  Now I’m ready, he thought. He felt as though he had been scoured inside and out. All that there was of him was his blood and his skin and his brain.

  Kelvan was waiting in the same spot, as though he had not moved. Corin said with a dry mouth, “Have you any water
?” He coughed with the effort. His chest still hurt.

  “Here,” Kelvan said, offering him a full cup. There was a bucket beside him.

  Corin drank three full glasses. It tasted like stone. It was very good.

  “Has Tam gone in?” he asked.

  “Aye. You were up about an hour.”

  It had not felt that long, but he could never keep track of time when he was dragonback. He stretched again and went to the dragon’s head. He knelt beside it.

  There was no point in delaying. He looked over his shoulder at Kelvan and said, “If something goes wrong, pull me out. If something goes really wrong, get Tam and then Rois. I’m starting.” He put both hands on the dragon’s head and let his mind brush against the dragon’s.

  First there was just a jumble of images and colors. A mossy pool in a forest stream, a massive oak with a few tattered leaves still hanging on it, a spade leaning against a low sunlit wall. Then he saw only blackness. It was soft and velvety, without sheen or glitter. He heard the hums of dragonspeech. They ran through calls like a mockingbird, struck a slow deep minor chord, whistled like a carnival organ. He pulled for them everywhere, drew the hums to himself one by one. He sensed the dragons, a small silvery one and a bold young green one and a tired ancient red one. They were there, scaled and clawed, and they were the darkness without bound.

  He pulled, and where he could not reach the dragons pulled for him, and the hums made blue lines in the dark that pulsed in rhythm. They cut across one another, longer and faster, making a net of light and sound. His bones hummed. His body vibrated.

  Words came. You danced, he said to them. You used to dance.

  He saw it, the loops and curves of dragons circling, sun or moon hitting their wings, their breath meeting to make a rushing pillar of fire, sparks falling earthward.

  I know how to free you. I don’t know if I can do it.

  The hums deepened to a bell tone. Long and sonorous and echoing. It was the dark crimson of cooling lead, the rough darkness of charred wood.

  Caithen was taken when the dragons were taken. I will go into the darkness for you and die, but Caithen must be freed too. If you will not help me, will you help my people?

  Hums again, wordless, not quite song.

  Give me your word.

  A single clear chime, and then a birdlike trill, beautiful.

  The net of light extended from him. He straightened.

  I need also your riders. Call them. Even if they are not with you, call them. Tell them I must speak with them.

  Presences began to gather, little flecks of color in the darkness. He sensed puzzlement, glee, anger, patience. He waited until the dragons hummed again.

  He said, Riders, I summon you. You know what the dragons want. You know what you must do. Come, and hear me.

  The bell, deep gongs, threatening. He felt his words affirmed. He reached to the sky for fire and let it flow from his fingertips. He found an image of Tower Peak in his mind, and pictured the angle of the sun he wanted, and fed it to the dragons.

  There, he said. Two mornings hence. You are sworn to the Empire, and I am a prince of the Empire, and the dragons and I speak as one. You are summoned.

  The dragon sounds rose in volume. The presences flicked out. He heard a cascade of hums. The bell once more. A flash of color. Images of the sea.

  Silence, and a convulsive jolt.

  He was lying on his back beside the dragon. His whole body ached. He felt as though he had been twisted and wrung and then thrown off a cliff onto sharp rocks.

  There was torchlight. And moonlight. The moon wasn’t supposed to be up yet. Someone was leaning over him. Tam. Kelvan stood a few feet behind her.

  Groaning, he sat. His bones seemed to wobble and bend. She supported him, then offered him a cup. He took it carefully, with both hands. Water. He drank it empty.

  He said, and was surprised to hear his own voice, “How long did that take?”

  “Three hours. You hardly moved. We poked you occasionally to make sure you were still alive.”

  Between that and the ride, it was small wonder that he felt like hell. No one was going to draw him a hot bath, either. He stood, wincing and swearing, and shook himself lightly to try to get the stiffness out. Astoundingly, his legs did not collapse.

  “Did it work?” she asked.

  He had to remind himself of what had passed. “Yes. I think so. I have the dragons’ promise. They won’t leave until Caithen is free.” I won’t die for nothing, he thought. But he would not say that, it would hurt her for no reason.

  “And the riders, will they come?”

  “Not all of them. But most.” He did not expect to have them all. Hadon had not lost their loyalty yet. But some would come because they sided with Corin, and some would come to challenge him, and some would come because they were curious. It would be enough. “It was an order, not a discussion. They’ll obey the summons and oppose me at the gathering if they intend to.” Then he could not endure any more. Exhaustion struck him, hard.

  He took Tam’s outstretched hand and let her guide him back into the cottage. The moonlight was eerie and beautiful on the granite peaks and shone bright on the ground. The shadows were very dark. He stumbled several times.

  As they entered, he said, “I’m afraid I’m not going to be much of a husband tonight.” His voice was thin and tired.

  “It’s all right.” She pushed open the door to their room. He did not even have the mental strength to light the candle. Tam took it to the hearth while he sat down wearily on the pallet.

  She came back in, the candle lit, the fire beautiful on her face. He wanted to desire her but could not. She put the candle back on the floor and sat beside him. Her hands moved up and down his back, soothing.

  She said, “If the wine were any good I would give you some, but I don’t think it will help.”

  “I’d rather suffer,” he said. The pain was fading, or he was becoming accustomed to it, but the fatigue would not be shaken off.

  Breeze fluttered the cloth over the window. Tam stiffened.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Something just gave me the shivers.”

  “You had a very hard day,” he said. The summoning of the dragons and the riders had been nothing compared with what she saw, what she held in her mind. He looked at the wall where he had seen the shadowthings and saw only a dark moth a few inches under the window.

  Tam looked that way too. “Get it out of here,” she said, “kill it, make it leave.”

  “It’s just a moth,” he said.

  “It’s not,” she said, sounding on the verge of panic.

  He could not help being irritated. He suppressed it, forced himself up without bothering to hide the discomfort, and carried the candle toward the window. He set it on the narrow sill and tried to cup the moth with his hands.

  It flew away and circled the flame. The light twisted and contorted with the draft. The moth kept circling. It tipped its wings like a dragon. It was colored with dozens of bands of inky black and dark grey and deep deep blue, with small silvery-grey spots at the ends of the wings. The wings were delicate and feathery with edges scalloped like the trim on a lady’s gown.

  “Corin,” Tam said anxiously.

  Another moth came. They moved around the candle opposite each other, round and round, himself and Tam in the ballroom. The heart of the flame was nearly white.

  He held the candle out the window to draw them back outside. One flew too close and went up in a crackle of smoke before the breeze blew out the flame.

  He pulled the shutter closed and fastened the cloth across the gap. The moonlight was not coming in directly but it cast enough brightness for him to see by. He put the candle down and went back to the pallet.

  She clutched at him. “What was that about?” he asked.
/>   “Cade.”

  Of course. What a fool he was not to remember. His annoyance faded. “Tam,” he said, “those were the moths no one else could See. These were ordinary.”

  “I know. But things are different here.”

  That was true enough. There was nothing he could say back. He pulled his shirt over his head. He did not think he could stay upright any longer. His boots took some doing to get off. He flopped onto the pallet. “I love you,” he said.

  She kissed him and wriggled out of her clothing. They settled down together in the darkness. He shifted to lie face to face with her and put his arm over her shoulders. There was very little room for her on the bed. Her warm body against his was soft and smooth but he could barely keep his eyes open.

  Tam murmured his name. Her breath was warm.

  “Mmm?”

  “I’m coming with you,” she said.

  “We can’t put three people on a dragon,” he mumbled. It took a while for his sluggish mind to put the words together. It was not so much the weight as it was the havoc it could cause in wind, and the difficulty in arranging straps over that much of a dragon’s body.

  “It’s time you had a dragon of your own.”

  Yes, he thought. They could give him that much too. Let him be a real rider, even if only for a day. He touched their minds and gave them the wish. A faint whistle sounded in his head. Then the dragons were silent.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Tam was shaking him. Corin opened his eyes slowly. His head hurt. The room was light, it must be well past dawn. He sat up groggily and ran his hands through his hair.

  “That’s not an improvement,” Tam said. She was fully dressed and her own hair was pulled back and braided. “Wake up. The dragon came.”

  “I feel like I drank an entire cask of wine,” he muttered. His mouth was dry and foul-tasting, and his back ached. He dressed as quickly as he could and splashed some water on his face. Tam waited patiently, then led him out of the hut.