Moth

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: FIRE ON THE WATER

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

FIRE ON THE WATER

Once back aboard the River Raven, Torin couldn't help himself. He lunged toward Ferius, grabbed the man's robes, and shook him wildly.

"Next time shoot yourself and rid the world of your idiocy!" he said.

Torin had never been quick to anger, yet now his rage pulsed through him, shaking his arms. Ferius only smiled thinly, eyes full of amusement.

"Are all gardeners so violent?" he asked, clutched in Torin's grip. "My my, aren't you a feisty one. Save your fury for the enemy, boy, not for a humble monk."

Torin gripped tighter, thrust his face close, and glared at Ferius. The two's faces were but inches apart.

"Oh, but you are my enemy, Ferius," he said. "And I am no gardener here, but a soldier clad in armor, bearing a sword. You wear simple robes of wool. Anger me again, and you will not find me so meek."

Ferius raised his eyebrows, but his smile remained mocking. "But I only seek to serve my king. I believed him threatened. I believed that the demons, those creatures you love, meant to harm him. I slew them. I rid the world of their darkness. You sought to bring their darkness aboard our ship."

Torin twisted the man's collar. He snarled, surprised at how much hatred filled him. "I tire of your lies, Ferius. Have you ever spoken a word of truth? You might fool the king but not me."

With a smirk, Ferius leaned close, and his voice dropped to a whisper. His breath fluttered against Torin's ear.

"Truth, gardener? You want to hear the truth?" Ferius said. "Here is the truth for your ears only. I will slay every man, woman, and child in this city of darkness. I will slay every last Elorian in the dark side of the world. And you will watch, Torin Greenmoat. You will watch them burn."

Iciness flooded Torin, and for a moment he could only stand frozen, clutching the monk's robes. The slaughter in the village still haunted him. To slay an entire people . . . Torin felt sick. He gave the man's robes another twist. He was about to shake him again, to shout, even to toss him overboard. A hand on his shoulder jolted him. He turned to see the king.

"Torin, leave him!" said Ceranor. "Let him be. Look off the prow. The city is near and another ship approaches."

With a grumble, Torin tossed the monk free. Hunched over, Ferius sneered and snapped his teeth at Torin, but all the while, his smile stretched across his face. Torin forced himself to turn toward the eastern waters, resisting the urge to attack the monk again.

Since entering the darkness, Torin had begun to notice that he could see farther and clearer than others. It had taken him several hourglass turns to realize that his wounded eye, the one with the permanently dilated pupil, worked perfectly in the darkness. Back in Timandra, that eye saw only smudges, nearly blinded by the influx of light. Here in Eloria, it was his good eye that felt blind. As Torin stared ahead, he knew that he could see the distant city better than anyone on his ship.

Pahmey loomed ahead, only four or five miles away now. While before it had seemed like a cluster of distant crystals, now Torin could make out individual buildings. A hundred towers soared here. Smaller buildings rose between them, their walls glimmering as if made of glass, their roofs green and silver. Domes reflected the moonlight. Bridges ran from tower to tower, and streets snaked across a hill like cobwebs. Black walls surrounded Pahmey, silver where the moonlight touched them. Outside the walls, a hundred ships were moored along docks.