Read Online Empires of Moth (The Moth Saga, Book 2) by Daniel Arenson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Daniel Arenson
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bolted outside.
"Friend!" rose his
voice behind.
Linee ran. She leaped onto a
stairway. She raced downstairs, heart thudding.
I
have to find Sir Ogworth! I have to find his soldiers. I—
Across a hallway, she found
herself entering the main hall of the Night Castle, the place where
only moments ago, she had seen Ceranor meet his nobles.
Those nobles, all the dozens of
them, lay dead in the hall, piled up upon the granite table. Their
necks were split from ear to ear. Above their bodies hunched a host
of Sailith monks, their yellow robes stained red. All raised their
heads together to regard her, a flock of vultures turning from a
carcass.
Tears filled Linee's eyes.
She turned away from the hall.
Through a labyrinth of stone and
fire, Queen Linee of Arden ran, her heart pounding and blood staining
the hem of her gown.
CHAPTER FIVE:
DANCE OF DEATH AND LIFE
Koyee entered the Hall of Dying
dressed like a vulture of metal, leather, and glass.
Her outfit creaked and clanked
as she walked, hiding every part of her. Leather robes draped across
her, stiff as armor, brushing the floor. A belt heavy with buckles
and purses jangled around her waist, holding vials and spoons and
scalpels. A wide-brimmed hat topped her head, and gloves encased her
hands, ending with steel fingertips like thimbles. Worst of all was
her mask; it wrapped around her head, laced up at the back. Its beak
flared out, full of spices to stifle the miasma of disease. Even her
eyes hid behind glass lenses that turned the world into a smoky,
wavering dreamscape.
When she passed by a candlelit
window, she gazed upon her reflection. She didn't see a girl; she
didn't even look human. A gangly, creaking bird stared back, a
creature of both nightmare and mercy.
"For I am a Sister of
Harmony," she whispered, her voice muffled inside her beak. "I
am here to guide souls into death."
And
what of my own soul? she wondered. Hiding here from the monks of Sailith, would she scar
whatever purity and hope remained inside her?
As if to answer her thoughts,
the anguished screams of the dying echoed down the hall. Koyee tore
herself away from the window and shuffled onward, her boots thumping
and her outfit creaking and clanking. She made her way toward the
doors, stepped into the Hall of Dying, and beheld a nightmare she
knew would forever haunt her.
The hall was as large as a
temple. Hundreds of beds stood in rows, and upon them lay the
devastation of the Sunlit Curse. Elorian men, women, and children lay
writhing and moaning, their faces gray with fever, their bodies
covered in oozing boils. Their teeth had fallen from bleeding gums,
and their fingers had shriveled into black twigs. The plague had come
upon the Timandrian ships, hidden inside rats, cats, and scurrying
cockroaches; it had devastated Timandra ten years ago, the soldiers
said, killing all those susceptible to its whispers. Now it tore
through Pahmey, striking everywhere—from the towers of the wealthy
to the huts of the poor.
"Sister," whispered
the dying, hands reaching out toward her. "Mercy, sister.
Prayer."
Koyee stood for a few breaths at
the doorway, frozen. Several patients were no longer moving. The
others were only moments from death, so frail they seemed like
skeletons draped with skin. As strange as her costume appeared to
her, the Sunlit Curse twisted these people into shapes far stranger,
living death of pus and blood.
Koyee sucked in air, inhaling
the scents of spices inside her beak, a thick and tangy breath that
would protect her from the curse.
Yet
they are no monsters, she
thought. They
are my brothers and sisters, and they need me. The true monsters are
those tall, fair Timandrians with their shining armor and endless
cruelty.
She stepped into the hall and
walked among the beds. The hands of the dying reached out. Their
fingernails, blackened with disease, scraped against her robes. Their
bleeding mouths opened and closed, begging for prayer, and their
boils oozed. At
"Friend!" rose his
voice behind.
Linee ran. She leaped onto a
stairway. She raced downstairs, heart thudding.
I
have to find Sir Ogworth! I have to find his soldiers. I—
Across a hallway, she found
herself entering the main hall of the Night Castle, the place where
only moments ago, she had seen Ceranor meet his nobles.
Those nobles, all the dozens of
them, lay dead in the hall, piled up upon the granite table. Their
necks were split from ear to ear. Above their bodies hunched a host
of Sailith monks, their yellow robes stained red. All raised their
heads together to regard her, a flock of vultures turning from a
carcass.
Tears filled Linee's eyes.
She turned away from the hall.
Through a labyrinth of stone and
fire, Queen Linee of Arden ran, her heart pounding and blood staining
the hem of her gown.
CHAPTER FIVE:
DANCE OF DEATH AND LIFE
Koyee entered the Hall of Dying
dressed like a vulture of metal, leather, and glass.
Her outfit creaked and clanked
as she walked, hiding every part of her. Leather robes draped across
her, stiff as armor, brushing the floor. A belt heavy with buckles
and purses jangled around her waist, holding vials and spoons and
scalpels. A wide-brimmed hat topped her head, and gloves encased her
hands, ending with steel fingertips like thimbles. Worst of all was
her mask; it wrapped around her head, laced up at the back. Its beak
flared out, full of spices to stifle the miasma of disease. Even her
eyes hid behind glass lenses that turned the world into a smoky,
wavering dreamscape.
When she passed by a candlelit
window, she gazed upon her reflection. She didn't see a girl; she
didn't even look human. A gangly, creaking bird stared back, a
creature of both nightmare and mercy.
"For I am a Sister of
Harmony," she whispered, her voice muffled inside her beak. "I
am here to guide souls into death."
And
what of my own soul? she wondered. Hiding here from the monks of Sailith, would she scar
whatever purity and hope remained inside her?
As if to answer her thoughts,
the anguished screams of the dying echoed down the hall. Koyee tore
herself away from the window and shuffled onward, her boots thumping
and her outfit creaking and clanking. She made her way toward the
doors, stepped into the Hall of Dying, and beheld a nightmare she
knew would forever haunt her.
The hall was as large as a
temple. Hundreds of beds stood in rows, and upon them lay the
devastation of the Sunlit Curse. Elorian men, women, and children lay
writhing and moaning, their faces gray with fever, their bodies
covered in oozing boils. Their teeth had fallen from bleeding gums,
and their fingers had shriveled into black twigs. The plague had come
upon the Timandrian ships, hidden inside rats, cats, and scurrying
cockroaches; it had devastated Timandra ten years ago, the soldiers
said, killing all those susceptible to its whispers. Now it tore
through Pahmey, striking everywhere—from the towers of the wealthy
to the huts of the poor.
"Sister," whispered
the dying, hands reaching out toward her. "Mercy, sister.
Prayer."
Koyee stood for a few breaths at
the doorway, frozen. Several patients were no longer moving. The
others were only moments from death, so frail they seemed like
skeletons draped with skin. As strange as her costume appeared to
her, the Sunlit Curse twisted these people into shapes far stranger,
living death of pus and blood.
Koyee sucked in air, inhaling
the scents of spices inside her beak, a thick and tangy breath that
would protect her from the curse.
Yet
they are no monsters, she
thought. They
are my brothers and sisters, and they need me. The true monsters are
those tall, fair Timandrians with their shining armor and endless
cruelty.
She stepped into the hall and
walked among the beds. The hands of the dying reached out. Their
fingernails, blackened with disease, scraped against her robes. Their
bleeding mouths opened and closed, begging for prayer, and their
boils oozed. At
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