Today we have a special excerpt from
Moth by Daniel Arenson. Daniel is also giving away copies of Moth on Goodreads.
Goodreads giveaway ends November 30th.
Moth (The Moth Saga #1) by Daniel Arenson.
They say the world used to turn. They say that night would follow day in an endless dance. They say that dawn rose, dusk fell, and we worshiped both sun and stars.
That was a long time ago.
My people are the fortunate. We live in daylight, blessed in the warmth of the sun. Yet across the line, the others lurk in eternal night, afraid... and alone in the dark.
I was born in the light. I was sent into darkness. This is my story.
BOOK EXCERPT: MOTH
CHAPTER ONE
A DISCOVERY IN DUSK
They entered the shadows, seeking a missing child.
Torin
swallowed, clutched the hilt of his sword, and gazed around with darting eyes.
The trees still grew densely here--mossy oaks with trunks like melting candles,
pines heavy with needles and cones, and birches with peeling white bark. Yet
this was not the forest Torin had always known. The light was wrong, a strange
ocher that bronzed the trees and kindled floating pollen. The shadows were too
long, and the sun hung low in the sky, hiding behind branches like a shy maiden
peering between her window shutters. Torin had never seen the sun shine from
anywhere but overhead, and this place sent cold sweat trickling down his back.
"This
is wrong," he said. "Why would she come this far?"
Bailey
walked at his side, holding her bow, her quiver of arrows slung across her
back. Her two braids, normally a bright gold, seemed eerily metallic in this
place. The dusk glimmered against her breastplate--not the shine they knew from
home, but a glow like candles in a dungeon.
"I
don't know," she said. "Yana has been strange since her parents died
in the plague. Maybe she thought it would be an adventure."
Despite
himself, Torin shivered. "An adventure? In the dusk? In this cursed place
no sensible person should ever enter?"
Bailey
raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Why not? Aren't you feeling adventurous
now?"
"No."
He shook his head vehemently. "Adventure means sneaking out to Old Garin's
farm to steal beets, mixing rye with ale, or climbing the old maple tree in the
village square." He looked around at the shadowy forest, and his hand felt
clammy around his hilt. "Not this place. Not the dusk."
They kept
walking, heading farther east, deeper into the shadows. Torin knew what the
elders said. Thousands of years ago, the world used to turn. The sun rose and
fell, and night followed day in an endless dance. Men woke at dawn, worked
until the sunset, and slept through the darkness.
Torin
shivered. He didn't know if he believed those stories. In any case, those days
were long gone. The dance had ended. The world had fallen still. Torin was a
child of eternal sunlight, of a day that never ended. Yet now . . . now they
were wandering the borderlands, the dusky strip--a league wide--that was neither
day nor night, claimed by neither his people nor the others . . . those who
dwelled in the dark.
A shadow
darted ahead.
Torin
leaped and drew his sword.
A rabbit
raced across the forest and disappeared into a burrow.
Bailey
stared at his drawn sword, eyes wide, then burst into laughter.
"Protect
me, brave Sir Torin Greenmoat!" she said, doubling over. "Will you
defend me from the evil Bunny of the Night?"
Torin
grumbled and sheathed his blade, cursing himself. He had come of age last
autumn, turning eighteen, and he had joined the Village Guard, yet it seemed
Bailey would forever mock him.
"Hush,"
he said. "It could have been them."
She rolled
her eyes. "They don't walk this far dayside, if they even exist."
"How
do you know?"
Bailey
groaned. "Everybody knows that. It's still too bright here. The nightfolk
only live in the deep darkness." She lowered her voice. "It's dark as
the deepest cave there, Torin. It's darker than the soul of a killer, darker
than toast burnt in dragonfire, darker than the empty spaces inside your skull.
So dark you can't see your own feet. That's where they lurk . . . scuttling,
whispering, sharpening their claws . . ." She inched closer to him and
smiled wickedly, the orange light reflecting in her eyes. "When all light
is gone, that is where they'll . . . leap at you."
She lunged
toward him, clawing the air. Torin muttered and pushed her back.
"This
is no time for your games," he said. "A child is missing. Until we
find Yana, I'm keeping my hand on my sword. And you should nock an arrow."
She blew
out her breath noisily, fluttering her lips. "Yana is thirteen,
rebellious, and wants attention. We'll find her long before we hit the true
darkness. Let's keep walking, and do try not to wet yourself." She winked.
"I promise you, no bunnies will hurt you, Babyface."
He sighed.
She knew he hated that name. Even at eighteen, Torin still stood a little
shorter than Bailey, and people often said he looked young for his age, his
eyes too large, his cheeks too soft, and his chest too smooth. Torin had hoped
that joining the Village Guard would make Bailey see him as a man, not a callow
boy, but so far his hopes had been dashed. Standing almost six feet tall,
preferring leggings and boots to gowns and slippers, Bailey wasn't easy to
impress. Jumping at rabbits wasn't helping either.
They walked
on. Torin didn't wet himself, but with every step, his heart raced faster and
more sweat trickled. As they headed farther east, the sun sank lower behind
them. The shadows deepened, stretching across the forest floor like slender men
in black robes.
The forest
began to thin out. Back in Timandra, in the full light of day, the trees grew
thick and lush and rich with birds. Here in the dusk, they faded like receding
hair on an aging man's scalp. The verdant woods dwindled into a few scattered
trees, stunted and bent, their leaves gray. The soil lost its rich brown hue,
darkening into charcoal thick with black stones. Another mile and the sun
actually touched the horizon behind them, casting red beams between the last
trees. The air grew colder and Torin hugged himself.
"We
should go back," he said, hating that his voice sounded so choked.
"We've come too far. We're almost at the night."
A lump
filled his throat like a boiled egg, too large to swallow. Torin had seen the
night before. Like everyone in the Village Guard, he had climbed the Watchtower
upon the hill. He had gazed across the dusk, this withered no man's land, and
beheld the great shadow in the east. But that had been different. In the safety
of the Watchtower, the daylight upon him and the forest rustling below, it was
easy to be brave. Now he walked toward the very lair of the beasts.
"Scared?"
Bailey asked, smiling crookedly.
Torin
nodded. "Yes and you should be too. They live near here." He took a
shuddering breath. "The people of the night. Elorians." The word
tasted like ash.
Bailey
snickered and kept walking, her braids swinging. "If you ask me, 'lorians
are just a myth." She trudged up a hillside strewn with boulders.
"People who live in eternal night, their eyes large as an owl's, their
skin milk white, their souls pitch black?" She snorted. "It's just a
myth to keep children away from the darkness."
Torin
followed reluctantly, though every beat of his heart screamed to turn around,
to head back west, to return to the eternal daylight of his home. Bailey could
snicker at the stories, but Torin wasn't so dismissive. If the world indeed
used to turn, and day and night would cycle like summer and winter, would
people not have lived here once? When the world had frozen, leaving Timandra in
light and Eloria in darkness, would the people here not wither into twisted
demons, hateful of the light, thirsty for the blood of honest folk?
"Torin!"
Bailey looked over her shoulder at him. The low sun painted her a bloody red.
"Are you following, or will you run back to safety while I go
looking?"
He grumbled
and trudged uphill after her. "If I turn back now, I'd never hear the end
of it."
She grinned
and winked. "That's the spirit, Winky."
He sighed.
It was another name he hated. Years ago, while wrestling with Bailey, he had
fallen upon a stone and scratched his left eye. Since then his pupil had
remained fully dilated, hiding most of the iris. He could see only smudges from
that eye now, a blurred world like a melted painting. Folks joked that his eyes
were like the world's halves, one green and good, the other black and dead. To
Bailey, he had simply become Winky.
Since his
parents had died in the plague ten years ago--a pestilence many claimed the
Elorians had spread--Torin had been living with Bailey and her grandfather. The
young woman, a year his senior, could always draw him into trouble. Whenever
Bailey climbed the Old Maple, she would challenge him to climb too, then laugh
as he dangled and fell. Whenever she ran across the fields, she'd challenge him
to a race, then tease him relentlessly for losing. Torin had always been a
little slower, a little clumsier, a little meeker, and even here and now--old
enough to serve in the Village Guard, tracking a missing child through the
shadows--she could goad him.
He shook
his head as he walked uphill. Sometimes he loved Bailey like a true sister.
Sometimes he thought her beautiful, brave, and his best friend. And sometimes,
like now, he thought her the most stubborn, reckless soul this side of
darkness.
Several
feet ahead of him, she reached the hilltop, froze, and gasped.
Torin's
heart raced. He clutched his hilt and drew a foot of steel. For an instant, he
was sure the Elorians were swarming toward her. He raced uphill, boots
scattering pebbles, and came to stand beside her.
His hand
loosened around his hilt, letting his sword slide back into its scabbard.
Bailey
turned toward him, her eyes damp, and smiled tremulously. "It's beautiful,
Torin. It's so beautiful."
He looked
ahead, saw the land of Eloria, and could barely breathe.
Beautiful?
he thought. It looked about as beautiful as the black heart of a viper.
From the
Watchtower back home, the night seemed a mere smudge of ink, a blackness that
spread into the horizon. But standing here upon the edge of dusk, he beheld a
new world. Lifeless black hills rolled into the distance. Beyond them,
mountains rose against a deep indigo sky. Wind moaned, scattering dust and
invading Torin's clothes with icy fingers. No plants grew here; he saw no
grass, no trees, no life at all.
Upon one
hill, several miles away, rose the black obelisk men called the Nighttower, a
twin to the Watchtower back home. Torin had seen it before from the safety of daylight,
a needle in the distance. Seeing the edifice so close chilled him, a strange
feeling like seeing one's profile between two mirrors, a vision familiar yet
uncomfortably different. The Nighttower rose like a stalagmite from the
hilltop, black and craggy. Some men claimed it was a natural structure, carved
by wind and rain; others claimed the Elorians had built their own tower to
observe Timandra. Even standing here, Torin could not decide, but he had no
desire to get any closer.
Above all
else, even more than the barren stone and looming tower, it was the sky that
spun Torin's head. Countless small, glowing dots covered the firmaments like
holes punched through a black blanket. An orb floated among them, as large as
the sun back home, glowing silver. It took Torin a moment to realize--it was
the moon. He had seen the moon before from the dayside, a wisp like a mote of
dust, but here it shone like a great lantern.
"The
stars and the moon," Bailey whispered. "I've heard of them. The
lights of the night."
He grabbed
her arm. "Bailey, this is enough. We've crossed the dusk; this is Eloria
itself ahead. This land is forbidden." He tried to tug her back downhill.
"We go home. Now."
She refused
to budge. "Wait. Look, Winky. Down there."
He followed
her gaze, staring toward the distant land of darkness. A lump lay below upon
the eastern hillside.
"A
boulder," he said.
Bailey
shook her head, braids swaying. "All the other boulders here are tall and
jagged. This one's smooth."
She pulled
her arm free and walked downhill, heading deeper into the darkness. Torin
cursed and looked behind him. Back in the west, the sun still shone and trees
still grew; they were gray and twisted nearby, green and lush farther back. Far
above them, he could see the top of the Watchtower and the blue sky of Timandra
behind it.
Home.
Safety.
He turned
away, muttering curses, and began walking downhill after Bailey.
"She
always does this to me," he grumbled.
Thanks to
her taunts, he had fallen from trees, almost drowned swimming after her in the
river, and nearly gagged during a pie eating contest. And now this--walking
into the land of darkness itself.
He drew his
sword and held the blade before him. He had never swung it in battle; he
wondered if that would change now. As he moved nightward, his boots scattering
pebbles, he kept glancing around, seeking them. He had seen countless statues,
paintings, and effigies of Elorians, and now those visions returned to him,
mocking him with oversized eyes, sharp teeth, and claws. He sucked in his
breath and held it.
Bailey
knelt ahead over the lump. She looked up at him, and the last beams of sunlight
filled her eyes. They gleamed, two orange lanterns.
"Torin,"
she whispered, voice choked.
He crossed
the last few steps toward her. He knelt at her side, looked at the shadow
below, and lowered his head.
We found
her.
Yana lay on
her back, eyes glassy and staring. Her skin was pale gray, and her hands were
still balled into fists. Three gashes gaped open across her chest, and blood
soaked her tunic, deep crimson in the night. A steel star, its points serrated,
pierced her neck.
Bailey's
hand shook as she closed the girl's eyes.
"I
think we should leave now," she whispered.
Torin
nodded and they lifted the girl. All the way here, they had taunted each other,
laughing and groaning. They walked home in silence, leaving the darkness and
returning to a day that seemed less bright.
Want to immerse yourself in the world of Moth? Check out
The Music of Moth by Ekaterina here.
