Moths to a Flame Read online

  ‘Blind. I am blind, Laili …’

  Dawnlight woke her. She lay still, trying to calm the dreamfear beating like a trapped bird in her breast.

  Ill omen to dream such terrors.

  Every morning Laili went to the highest point of the house, laboriously climbing the stair that wound to the ironwork balcony encircling the silvered dome. There she would stand gazing out across the empty sea-road, her hair streaming about her face like rusted ribbons, shading her eyes against the dazzle of the sun, patiently searching the horizon …

  Lai watched her from a distance.

  Only thirteen days had passed since they arrived. But it seemed, in the absence of news from Myn-Dhiel, as if they had been at the house for an eternity, each day passing more slowly than the one before.

  What could they do but wait? ‘Soon,’ Melmeth had said.

  Ymarys drew close to Lai, gazing up at Laili as she scanned the empty sands.

  ‘Quite frankly, Lai, I’d assumed we’d be on our way back to the city by now.’

  Lai sighed.

  ‘Surely your sister has begun to wonder? It’s already two weeks. Doesn’t it seem a little strange to you?’

  ‘I’m sure there’s a good reason for the delay,’ Lai said staunchly.

  ‘Are you?’ That now-familiar malicious gleam illumined Ymarys’s eyes, lightning over grey water.

  Melmeth opened his eyes. Fingers fumbled for the bandages that covered his face, peeling them away—

  Still dark.

  Grey dark against which vague shadows were etched, no more.

  He felt the tears well against his swollen lids, felt the wetness spill helplessly down his unshaven cheeks.

  In his dreams his sight had been restored. He had been so certain that when he tore away the bandages—

  ‘Is anyone there? Can anyone hear me?’

  His voice echoed in the sealed chamber. It sounded hollow; cold with the resonance of stone, cold as a tomb.

  ‘Where am I?’

  A confusion of voices whispered in his memory …

  For your own safety … Riots … Mausoleum …

  They had entombed him with his ancestors. They had locked him in a chamber of the mausoleum. For all he knew, they might never return and he would die here, a slow, lingering death in the dark, deprived of food and water …

  ‘Let me out!’

  A pang convulsed him; he recognised the symptoms now. The griping emptiness, then the terrible craving that drove all other thoughts from his brain.

  Boskh.

  He dropped to the floor, knees drawn up to his chest, clutching the gnawing pain in.

  ‘Boskh … I must have boskh …’

  Pains griped his belly, blueblack as thunder.

  ‘Please … someone … anyone … help me …’

  The Razhirrakh lay on his bed in the seastained twilight, his head pillowed on his hands, staring into nothing.

  ‘What’s wrong, Ymarys? Are you ill?’ Lai, his sleeves rolled up, stood in the doorway. ‘You haven’t left this room for two days.’

  Ymarys managed a slight shrug of the shoulder.

  ‘What, then?’

  Ymarys slowly stretched out one arm, then the other, yawning.

  ‘It’s so tediously dull here. What is there to do?’

  ‘Plenty!’ Lai said. ‘Why not come and help in the gardens?’

  Ymarys’s lip curled slightly in disdain.

  ‘Me work in the gardens? Have you any idea what gardening does to the hands? All that engrained dirt under the nails—’

  ‘It’s good exercise. The soil’s poor, too sandy. They use a mixture of dried seaweed and seagull droppings to enrich it.’

  ‘So that’s the distinctive odour …’ Ymarys delicately wafted one hand in front of his face, as though fanning away the offending smell. ‘No. I miss the delights of Perysse, plague or no plague.’

  ‘But Sarilla’s left you her estates – you could begin a new life for yourself as a country torellan …’

  One eye opened, fixing Lai with a look of scorn.

  ‘You know my opinions on gardening. Can you imagine me running a country estate? I would wither and die from boredom. I need gaiety, scandal, stimulation!’

  He rose from the bed and went to stare at his reflection in the mirror he had fixed to the lime-washed wall. Through the casement beyond Lai saw that the moon was rising over the sea, silvering a path across the waters … A path that led to Spice Islands and beyond …

  Soft fingers closed about his shoulders, kneading, massaging. And he had not even heard Ymarys move from the mirror.

  ‘Tsk! All tense, knotted up. The curse of too much gardening. You need to relax …’

  Ymarys’s breath, sweet with fennel, warmed his cheek. Lai felt his eyes closing, felt Ymarys’s lips brush the back of his neck, his caress lulling him into a sensual daze …

  ‘Ymarys.’ He stilled the roving hands and turned around to face him. ‘Ymarys. Stop. This won’t work.’

  ‘Why not?’ Ymarys’s voice, no more than a grating whisper.

  ‘My vows.’

  ‘You broke them with my lady Arkhys enough times. What’s one time more?’

  Lai shook his head.

  ‘After Clodolë I made a vow not to let myself get involved again. With anyone.’

  ‘You don’t find me attractive.’

  Lai shivered. On the contrary – he found himself drawn to Ymarys in a way he had never imagined possible. That veiled, catlike sensuality excited him, that sense of sheathed claws in velvet pads, claws that could rend him to his very soul—

  ‘I do find you attractive. Disturbingly attractive,’ he heard himself saying. ‘But you’re also my friend. My closest friend. I don’t want to spoil that friendship.’

  ‘Why do you get such satisfaction in denying yourself? We’re talking an hour or two’s pleasure here, Lai sweeting, not a lifetime’s commitment.’

  ‘Look – you’re bored, you’ve admitted as much. You relish a challenge. Why not seduce the Aelahim, it’ll make the hours pass more swiftly …’

  ‘A game? Is that how you think I meant it, Lai?’ Ymarys’s eyes held Lai’s a moment, grey and unfathomable as mistwater in the twilight. Then the wild glint of malice returned and he laughed. ‘Yes, of course it was a game.’ But the laughter sounded false, forced, to Lai’s ears.

  ‘I’d better go.’

  ‘Yes, go.’

  Ymarys was not looking at him, he was staring at his reflection in the mirror. He tugged back his long hair from off his face and twisted it into a severe knot, stabbing it secure with one black thorn-pin.

  Lai paused in the doorway.

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Just go.’

  Suddenly Ymarys savagely tore out the pin, letting his hair tumble back about his shoulders, a silkfall of moonstained ashsilver.

  ‘Forget it ever happened.’

  * * * * *

  The royal barque moored at the quay in the heart of Perysse. Crowds had gathered to see the Arkhys make her triumphal re-entry into the city. Tarkhastars of both Tarkhas Houses lined the quay, a chequered pattern of crimson and blue.

  Jhafir and Ophar waited at the quayside to greet the Arkhys.

  Clodolë appeared on the deck of the barque, Rho Jhan at her side. Instantly a deafening cheer arose from the crowd. As she made her way towards the waiting palanquin, she was showered with rose petals. Smiling, she turned to wave to the cheering crowd, before stepping into the palanquin.

  Jhafir, somewhat piqued at being granted little less than a nod of the head, leaned towards the High Priest as the palanquin was lifted high onto the shoulders of the bearers.

  ‘I shouldn’t say this … but don’t you think her exile has put years on her? Her hair … faded almost white. And her eyes—’

  ‘It seems quite understandable in the circumstances,’ Ophar said. The Arkhan treated her most cruelly. She was driven to distraction by Melmeth’s endless affairs. I’m surprised
she didn’t retaliate sooner.’

  ‘Isn’t this a little unconventional, Ophar? The House of Memizhon ruled by a consort?’

  ‘If we regard the Arkhan and Arkhys as one flesh joined in the sight of the god … then it is the logical way to proceed in the Arkhan’s absence. In my opinion, the Arkhys will prove an excellent substitute for her consort. We need a strong leader to see us through this time of troubles.’

  ‘My first allegiance is to Melmeth,’ Jhafir said. ‘You speak as if he had already abdicated. As if he were dead.’

  Melmeth shuffled his way around the narrow chamber in which they had confined him. He had learned its dimensions by counting paces, so many to the right, so many to the left …

  How long had he been in hiding? He had lost days in fever and delirium; he was not even sure when day gave way to night.

  They had told him he must remain here until the mobs in the city were subdued; it was for his own safety. But now he began to suspect he was being kept prisoner; the door was always locked.

  Servitors brought food and drink twice a day; he guessed they were hierophants by their soft, deferential voices.

  ‘What’s happening? I demand to know what’s happening.’

  ‘You have been very ill, my lord, you must not excite yourself.’

  ‘I want to see Jhafir! Send him to me at once!’

  Hands gently took hold of him, restraining hands, coaxing him back onto the bed.

  ‘You must rest, zhan.’

  ‘Where is Khaldar? What has become of Khaldar?’

  ‘He is being cared for.’

  ‘And my personal physician? Dr Azhrel? Bring Azhrel to me.’

  But no one obeyed his commands, no one listened.

  Dream memories … A woman bent over him, her hair brushing his forehead … He raised one hand to caress her cheek and saw the intense seablue of her eyes awash with tears.

  Why have you betrayed me, Melmeth? Why have you left me here to give birth to our child in shame and silence?

  He woke whispering her name.

  ‘Laili …’

  And with his memory came the realisation that she must believe that he had abandoned her. What could he do? If he sent word to her, he would betray her whereabouts. Yet if he sent no word, she would believe herself forgotten. There must be something—

  He lurched to his feet and stumbled towards the door, feeling his way, hand over hand along the rough, cold stone of the wall.

  When his hands touched wood, he began to pound with his fists, shouting.

  No one came. No one even answered. He hammered until his hands were bruised and sore.

  He might as well be dead.

  The Razhirrakh sat hunched on the sand, disconsolately skimming pebbles across the grey waves.

  ‘Ymarys!’ Lai hailed him, slithering down over the dunes towards him. He had put on the loose bleached robes worn by the community; his feet were bare.

  Ymarys turned and, when he saw what Lai was wearing, his plucked eyebrows arched in amazement.

  ‘This is just for convenience’s sake. It doesn’t mean anything.’

  ‘You look,’ Ymarys said pointedly, ‘as though you belong here.’

  ‘And you look as if you wish you were anywhere else but.’

  ‘I’m bored, Lai. So desperately, utterly bored. What is there to do here but stare at the sea? Besides – doesn’t it give you the slightest twinge of concern?’

  ‘What?’

  The lack of “news” from Perysse.’

  Lai glanced over his shoulder, almost as if he feared Laili might be listening.

  ‘Maybe the plague’s out of control.’

  ‘Or maybe our fickle Arkhan has found another interest. Women do lose their charms when they’re so grossly pregnant …’

  ‘What are you suggesting?’

  ‘You want news. Laili wants news. And I’m bored. Why don’t I return to the city and find out what’s going on?’

  Lai considered for a moment or two.

  ‘Very well. What have we got to lose? But if you’re questioned, where will you say you’ve been all this time?’

  ‘Sarilla’s estates. I left the royal barque at the estuary, having satisfactorily discharged my escort duty. As far as I knew, you both were planning to go back to Ael Lahi.’

  ‘It sounds credible.’

  ‘My dear, Sarilla’s estates are so far to the west, no one would even consider going to check if my story was true!’ Ymarys’s eyes, seasilvered in the morning light, seemed to glitter again at the prospect of returning to Perysse.

  ‘So your mind is made up?’

  ‘If I stay here amongst these good scholars a moment longer, I swear I’ll die from tedium. To have to listen to another absorbing discourse on the forty different types of sea holly – or the migration habits of the terns—’

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ Lai said.

  ‘Will you?’ Ymarys said. He reached out and brushed Lai’s cheek with his fingertips.

  Clodolë pensively fingered the gilded arms of the porphyry throne of Memizhon, savouring how it felt to be sitting in Melmeth’s place.

  ‘Are we alone, Ophar?’

  ‘For a few moments.’ The High Priest glanced warily about him. ‘But even here one can never be too discreet.’

  ‘Then tell me what you can. Where is he, how is he?’

  ‘He is blind. And with the blindness a kind of madness has afflicted him. It appears he had become dependent upon the dust and, in some drugged fit, believed he had gained godlike powers.’

  ‘And is he still in the grip of this … madness?’ Clodolë asked carefully.

  ‘We have confined him. For his own safety, of course, you understand, Arkhys.’

  ‘Oh, yes. I understand,’ she said. ‘And were many killed in the riots?’

  ‘It was difficult to obtain precise figures of casualties amongst the populace. Jhafir lost ten men, the Tarkhas Memizhon eight. There are still mutterings, of course, but we are putting those down with all severity.’

  ‘And these rumours of plague?’

  ‘Not rumours. Whether the infection is carried by the moonmoths or is mere coincidence, no one can be certain. But it is rife amongst all circles of the city from the street marshes to the palace itself. Jhafir’s edicts have had very little effect. Quite frankly, we are at a loss as to how to control it.’

  Clodolë walked slowly towards the balcony.

  ‘You remember what I told you about the Aelahim woman summoning the moonmoths?’

  ‘What are you implying, Arkhys?’

  ‘If she summoned them … then she must know how to lift the curse.’

  ‘But no one knows what has become of her – or her brother. They disappeared some while ago. Melmeth had that preening popinjay Ymarys escort them to the coast. The word was they had returned to Ael Lahi.’

  ‘And you believe that?’

  ‘In the absence of other information—’

  ‘She is carrying Melmeth’s child!’ Clodolë said in a cracked whisper. ‘Do you really believe he would have sent her back home? No. He’s hidden her somewhere. And someone must know where she is. Find out who was on that barque – and interrogate them. Even if it was only a single word overheard it might give us the clue we need.’

  The barque-maistre was blunt with Ymarys when he took the Razhirrakh on board at Phaeros.

  ‘Can’t think why you should want to go to Perysse. Haven’t you heard? There’s plague there. I’m only going to deliver these casks of berindë – I’m not setting foot on shore. Trade’s trade – but I’m taking no risks.’

  There were tarkhastars of the Tarkhas Zhudiciar on the quays of the city. They were checking papers. It seemed to Ymarys as he watched from the deck of the barque, that no one was being allowed beyond the quay without a permit.

  He would have to wait for nightfall.

  At sunset the tarkenhorns blew and the tarkhastars departed. Ymarys slipped ashore in the gathering twilight.

  T
he quay was almost dark now. If he shut his eyes, he could see it as it used to be, the waterside taverns gaudy with jewelled paper lanterns, strains of music and rowdy laughter gusting from open doorways.

  All the taverns were boarded up, their lights long since extinguished.

  He wandered along the empty quay, staring up at the blank shutters in the dwindling light, silently whispering the names of the wine shops, the pleasure houses: ‘The Medlar Tree. At the Sign of the Blue Asfodyl. The Pleasure House of Black Khassia …’

  On each door was pinned the same notice: Closed by order of the Haute Zhudiciar.

  ‘… The Pleasure House of Ysmodai.’

  Ymarys stopped a moment, remembering that last soft-balmed night, the interwreathing dancers, the alluring dark perfume of sweet vanilla on warm, young breath …

  Where had they gone, the whores and the painted dancers? Had they succumbed to the plague? Had they all faded into the darkness?

  Help me …

  ‘Who’s there?’

  A sudden breeze off the Yssil set the tavern signs swinging and creaking above his head. Ymarys’s skin had gone chill and cold.

  Please help me …

  The herbs in the Hearkenor’s walled garden had been blighted by the first frost. Lai knelt on the rough stone path, cutting away the dead seedpods, his breath clouding the dank, dark air.

  ‘You have been taking such good care of my garden.’

  He turned to see Pherindyn behind him, well-muffled against the damp.

  ‘I had to do something useful with my time, mhaestyr.’

  ‘Such a short time you have been here … and already you seem like one of us. Why should that be, I wonder?’

  Lai saw that Pherindyn was regarding him warmly, his rough, windburnt face crinkled into a smile.

  ‘Come, walk with me. Tell me about yourself. I’d like to know more about you. You are no stranger to a community such as ours, are you, Lai?’

  The kindness in Pherindyn’s voice almost melted Lai’s reserve.

  ‘I do feel at home here,’ he said, the words awkward, half-formed. ‘Once – before I was enslaved – I—’

  ‘I had guessed as much.’ Pherindyn nodded his head. ‘And if you wish to stay with us, we can offer you time to think, time to rediscover your original path … But you must put aside the accoutrements of your profession.’