Moth

CHAPTER FIVE: KOYEE

CHAPTER FIVE

KOYEE

She stood upon the Nighttower, the wind billowing her hair, the moon gleaming against her blade. She stared across the plains of darkness--hills and valleys rolling black and lifeless toward the orange horizon, the dusk where the sunlit demons dwelled. She was Koyee Mai, a daughter of the night . . . and a daughter in mourning.

"They killed him, Eelani," she said, holding her father's sword. "They killed my father, then slunk back into the fire. They will kill us all if they can."

Her friend was silent, as she always was. Many claimed that jatashi--shoulder spirits--did not exist. Many taunted Koyee for inventing an invisible friend. But Koyee could feel the warmth on her right shoulder, the soft breath against her cheek, the comforting presence of her friend. She held out her hand, letting Eelani crawl from her shoulder onto her palm, a tingle that raised goose bumps along her arm.

"Timandrians," Koyee said, and the word raised goose bumps over the rest of her. "Demons of sunlight. Murderers. I saw one, Eelani. I saw one with my own eyes."

The doubtful also claimed that Timandrians were myths. They claimed that nothing could possibly live in the sunlit half of the world, that the light would burn all flesh.

"But I know what I saw." Koyee tightened her hand around the hilt of her father's sword. "I saw a sunlit demon. He emerged from the dusk."

She herself had smooth white hair, but the demon had sported a head of dark curls like nightwolf fur. She had milky skin, but the creature had a countenance of bronze. Strangest of all had been his eyes--beady eyes half the size of hers, one green and the other black.

"I stared into his eyes, Eelani, and I saw evil." Cold wind moaned, ruffling her tunic of nightwolf fur. "He will return. He will shed more blood."

Koyee had vowed not to cry, yet she felt her eyes dampen. The pain still pulsed through her, fresh and chilling like ice cut from a frozen river. She looked down from the Nighttower to the border of dusk, the place where stone gave way to twisted brambles. She had gone seeking her father, only to find his blade upon the plains, stained with the foul blood of demons. When she had lifted the sword, she had seen the demon emerge from the light, wheeling his cart of bones.

"My father's bones," she whispered, still smelling the smoky scent. "Eelani, I miss him."

She could see his grave below. For many years, her father had stood here upon this very tower, gazing into the dusk, guarding their village that lay below. Some had not believed there was any threat to guard against. Some had called her father a fool, a fisherman who could not forget his old life as a soldier. Now those people mourned him. He had fallen defending this tower, and Koyee had buried him at its base.

"May your spirit continue to watch over me, Father," she whispered, tasting a salty tear. "Goodbye."

She gazed upon Sheytusung, his katana, now her blade to bear. Smiths had forged this sword in the distant city of Pahmey, a mythical realm of crystal towers. They had folded the curved blade a dozen times, hammering it into an edge that remained sharp through the years. Mottles and lines coiled along the steel like the Inaro River that flowed below. Blue silk wrapped around the hilt, soft and warm in her hand. Twenty winters ago, her father had carried this sword to the great southern war against the Ilari nation; since returning home, he had worn it every day until his last.

"I promise you, Father, I will bear your blade proudly. I will protect our people and I will avenge your death." She whispered the old words of her people. "We are the night."