Moth Read Online Free Page B

approached Ferius.
    The monk led the procession, lamp held high. The light gleamed against his waxy skin. His tongue licked his teeth. He reminded Torin of some diseased snake slithering toward a mouse.
    "Ferius, you've taken them far enough," he said. "Stop this madness. Another mile and we'll emerge from the dusk into Nightside itself."
    The monk turned toward him, and his lips twisted into a grin. He hissed between his teeth.
    "Do you fear the darkness, little child?"
    "I do. And so should you." Torin swallowed. "You didn't see Yana's body. You didn't see her wounds. Ferius, if you take us any deeper into this darkness, you'll be accountable for any other deaths."
    Ferius's grin widened. "Oh, innocent child of daylight. What do you know of death? I will not shy away from the dark. I will not live an ideal, oblivious life in the sunlight, not when evil lurks so near to home." He brandished his lamp. "The followers of Sailith are brave, and we do not fear the shadow. We march to banish it. To bring light." He raised his voice. "We will burn the enemy with the fires of the sun!"
    Torin shook his head. "You're mad."
    Ferius didn't seem to hear him. The monk marched on and the mob followed. Torin tried to speak to them. He tried to turn them back. Yet their souls were swayed; he could not stop them. Orange light still glowed in the west, but in the east, the sky turned a deep indigo like a bruise. The Nighttower rose upon the distant hill, a shard like a stalagmite. The moon emerged above the steeple, casting a silvery ring. Seeing this god of night, the people gasped and pointed, but they did not slow.
    "Do not fear the shadows!" Ferius said. "Our lamps burn bright, and we will find those who hurt us. We will burn them."
    They kept moving. Torin was wondering if he should grab Ferius and pull him back, despite the man's bulky frame, when he saw the figure ahead.
    He froze and stared.
    A lone fisherman stood in the night, his rod held over the river. The moon rose behind him, silhouetting a slender form. Even from this distance, Torin could see the figure's eyes; they shone like two coins.
    Torin's heart leaped into his throat.
    "An Elorian," he whispered.
    At his side, Cam and Hem gave strangled gasps. Steel hissed as the two young men drew their swords. Torin held his own hilt, but he did not draw the blade. The figure ahead seemed peaceful, a graceful being like a heron upon the water. The Elorian stood alone, staring at the approaching crowd.
    The villagers saw him, their step slowed, and they began to mutter, whisper, and point. Torin heard grumbles of "night demon" and "one of them" and even "murderer." More than rage, fear twisted their voices. The fisherman only stood still in the distance, staring at them, perhaps wondering whether they were friend or foe.
    "He's no threat," Torin said softly. "He's only a fisherman who wandered too close the border. He—"
    Before he could finish his sentence, Ferius howled.
    The monk had been howling for hours now, but this sound was different. It was the sound of an enraged beast, a battle cry, the roar of a madman lusting for blood. Ferius raised his lamp overhead, and the light burst out, shooting a glowing ring across the barren landscape. At his sides, his monks raised their own lamps and began to chant. Their song echoed, deep and rumbling.
    "Timandra will rise!" Ferius cried. "Our light will bathe the world. Eloria must fall!" He turned toward his followers. "People of Fairwool-by-Night, do not fear this creature. Seize him so we may judge him in the daylight."
    Emboldened by the light, the villagers quickened their step, surging along the riverbanks toward the lone figure.
    "Ferius, enough of this!" Torin said. He ran toward the monk but could not reach him; the crowd of villagers was too thick. He tried to grab at them instead. "Garin, listen to me, stop this madness—you're a blacksmith, not a warrior. Talina, you're a milkmaid, not a fighter. Return to your home."
    Nobody