Moth

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: THE DISTANT FIRE

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

THE DISTANT FIRE

The world could be burning, Koyee thought, but inside the Green Geode only light, laughter, and languor would swirl. She stood upon her little stage, barely more than a stone pedestal, playing the beautiful brass flute Nukari had given her. She could barely see through the green smoke that swirled before her, filling this chamber of crystals. All across the floor, the spicers lay sprawled upon mattresses, puffing on their hookahs. Purple hintan bubbled in glass vials, and the smoke formed dragons, warriors, and demons before dispersing into a cloud that forever hid the ceiling. A few men sometimes blinked, seemed to rise from stupor, and tossed a coin her way; most could only lie puffing and drooling.

Perhaps I too am in a land of forgetting here, Koyee thought. She had been here for so long already. She did not know how long. There were no hourglasses here; Nukari forbade them. Time did not flow within the Green Geode, only liquid spice and drool.

But I will soon escape, she thought as she played. Ever so slowly, her coins were piling up. Nukari took from her so much--for her gown, for her new flute, for her meals, and for her bed. Sometimes she thought he charged her for the spice fumes she breathed. Whenever she objected, he threatened to toss her back out into the street. And so she stayed. And so she still stood here, playing the same tune, again and again, coin by coin.

"Madori Mai!" said Lilika, the singer with the golden eyes, when Koyee was done playing. "Madori Mai, come upstairs, it's a full moon. Time for our Silver Festival."

The yezyana smiled. Blue paint coated her eyelids, and she wore a silk dress Koyee would have blushed to wear. She was tall and fair, the fairest of the yezyani, her skin pale and pure as moonlight, her hair dyed a gleaming gold. She wore a tiara shaped as Shenlai, the blue dragon of Qaelin, for she was queen among the yezyani, a beauty like a spirit from ancient tales.

"My name is Koyee," she said to the singer, feeling short and plain beside her, keenly aware of the scars that marred her face.

Lilika shook her head, covered her mouth, and giggled. "That is your outside name. Here you are Madori and I am Lilika. Come, upstairs!"

The other yezyani ran toward her, silks fluttering. Dancers, singers, and professional flirts, they all giggled and grabbed Koyee, tugging her off her stage and onto the stairway.

"Yezyani, yezyani!" shouted Nukari, running around the bar where he was mixing his liquid spice. "Back onto your stages. Move your little backsides!"

They only laughed and waved their hands at him.

"Go dance instead of us, Nukari!" one said, giggling.

The others squealed with joy. "Go, go, you are a beautiful woman!"

"It is the Silver Moon," said Lilika with a smile. "We yezyani celebrate now."

Nukari's face reddened, which only made the young women laugh louder. Confused, Koyee gasped as her fellow yezyani pulled her upstairs in a stream of flashing silks, sparkling jewels, and tinkling laughter.

They pulled her into Lilika's room, the largest of the upstairs chambers, for she was a first among them, and this room was her palace. Strings of crystals hung from the ceiling, and a great bed covered half the floor, large enough for ten people to sleep in. Koyee's heart raced. Why had they brought her here? Did they have some . . . some cruel initiation to inflict upon her? Would they strike her, mock her, or force her to prove her loyalty--to swallow a live spider, shave her hair, or dance like a marionette? Koyee wanted to flee this room, feeling safer in the shroud of smoke downstairs.