Moth Read Online Free Page A

wobbled, and steadied himself with a ruckus of banging iron. "Well, I'm only following because Tor insisted we do." He stared at Torin. "Why are we following again?"
    As he walked along the darkening riverbanks, the grass and rushes fading down to a rocky path, Torin asked himself the same question. If the people wanted to follow Ferius, perhaps he should let them. Why was it his concern? If they all wanted to march into darkness and die, why should he stop them?
    He looked ahead at the group—four monks and fifty raging villagers. He sighed.
    "Twenty years ago, my father came home from the war with Verilon. You've heard stories of that war, haven't you?" When his friends nodded, Torin continued. "He lived in the capital at first. He was a broken man then, scarred, haunted, one of his legs gone to a Verilish blade. Many doubted he would live much longer; he drank to drown his demons. When he moved to Fairwool-by-Night, he found new life. He met my mother in our village; they were happy here. My parents died in Fairwool, but they died together—peacefully." Torin looked behind him at the dwindling light of his home. "I owe this village a debt. I'll do my best to protect its people. Even if I have to follow them into the very darkness of Eloria."
    Hem mewled. "Please don't say that name. Just . . . just call it Nightside like honest folk do. Not . . . not its real name." He shuddered. "They say its real name is cursed."
    Torin was about to reply when movement caught his eye. He looked up to see a speck flutter near his head. He started, sure it was a steel throwing star, a weapon like the one he'd found buried in Yana's neck. A heartbeat later, a grin spread across Torin's face. He reached out and closed his hand around his quarry.
    Hem mewled and stepped back, but Cam leaned forward, squinting.
    "What is it?" the shepherd asked.
    Torin loosened his grip to reveal a moth, one of its wings white, the other black. He kept it trapped between his fingers. The moth seemed to regard him, moving its feathery antennae.
    "It's a duskmoth. They only live here in the dusk. See its wings?" Torin smiled. "I never knew they were real. I thought they were only a legendary creature, meant to symbolize our world. Look, it's even shaped like Mythimna. Its left wing is white like Timandra. Its right wing is black like Eloria." He opened his fingers, letting it fly away.
    Torin had seen maps of the world. The shape of its landforms reminded him of a moth, two great wings of earth stretching out into the sea, one drenched in eternal light, the other dark in endless night. The old books called the world Mythimna , an ancient name. Now most folk simply called it Moth, the proper title all but forgotten.
    He watched the released moth flutter into the distance. With his mismatched eyes, Torin felt linked to this animal with mismatched wings. Perhaps the entire world was like that small, insignificant creature, torn in two, floating through some vast sky, one wing light and one dark.
    "It's pretty," Hem said, watching the moth flutter away.
    Cam rolled his eyes. "Merciful Idar, you're a man of the Village Guard, and you're about as big as an ox. You shouldn't think butterflies are pretty."
    The lumbering baker thrust out his bottom lip. "It's a moth , not a butterfly. And you're about as small as a moth yourself, so be quiet."
    Torin stood watching until the moth disappeared into the distance, then tightened his lips. The villagers had gone farther east along the river, and he rushed to catch up. Cam and Hem hurried at his side, their swords clanking and their boots thumping.
    Soon the last grass and bushes faded. The sun touched the horizon behind them, an orange disk, casting long shadows. Another mile and the sun would disappear, and they would reach Eloria itself. Torin had seen that land from the hilltop, and the memory still haunted him. He had no wish to actually set foot in the night. He raced ahead, whipping around the villagers, and