greedy."
She raised a mushroom to her shoulder and let Eelani eat. Sometimes she almost believed that Eelani truly nibbled, that the morsels grew smaller. Other times she thought she was crazy. She smiled, placed the mushroom in her mouth, and chewed slowly.
The last grain of sand in the hourglass faded into night. Koyee yawned and stretched.
"Will you watch over the boat, Eelani?" she asked. "I'm sleepy."
She could not be sure, but she thought she felt a weight lift from her shoulder, and the moonlight—for just an instant—seemed to catch a figure leaping onto the prow. Koyee smiled, flipped the hourglass over, and curled up on the boat floor.
She slept.
She woke and she slept again.
The hourglass turned and turned, a dance like the old days of the world.
The eternal night stretched on, as it had for thousands of years. The hourglass danced, its days following nights, and still Koyee sailed east upon the water, and still she saw no city lights.
One day they flowed through a field of crystals that covered the land, gleaming in the moonlight, a carpet of diamonds. The stars reflected in each one, and Koyee could barely tell sky from land. She felt as if the Lodestar floated along a stream of starlight, lost in an endless night sky.
Another day the river led her between towering cliffs, revealing only a strip of sky that mirrored the river. Coiling silkworms nestled upon the stone walls, each as large as Koyee, glowing blue and white and blinking lavender eyes. They crawled across the cliffs, weaving curtains of their silk that swayed and shimmered like ghosts, brushing against Koyee as she sailed by.
A third day and jagged boulders rose on the riverbanks, carved with faces, the eyes gleaming with emeralds. Each face rose larger than her boat, watching as she sailed by. Koyee did not know who had carved these sentinels, but they seemed ancient, their features smoothed with years of rain and wind. Nighthawks nested upon them, hundreds of black birds with silver eyes. As her boat sailed by, the flocks took flight, shrieked, and circled the moon before landing upon the faces again.
A fourth day and the river widened, and life bustled in the waters. Snakes with purple scales swam around her, coiling and uncoiling, and shimmering whales with translucent skin breached for air, their bones and organs alight. Blue fish leaped from the waters, trilling songs more beautiful than flutes and harps. One fish jumped into her boat; Koyee and Eelani blessed its gift and fed upon it.
She kept sailing and still the hourglass turned. And still the sand moved from day to night, and still they saw no city lights.
Sometimes Koyee wondered if Oshy was the lone settlement in Eloria, a humble village on the edge of dusk, and the rest of her realm was only plains of darkness and legends of light. Other times, Koyee feared that she had passed the city of Pahmey while she slept, and that Eelani—cursed, silent Eelani—had not woken her. Most times, Koyee simply stood at the prow, staring ahead into the darkness, and remembered.
So many memories floated here in the dark. She remembered the time her brother had left them, a youth with angry eyes, out to seek his fortune—much like Koyee now. She remembered the times playing xin with her father, a game of moving shells upon a bone. And she remembered burying his own bones. And she remembered the Timandrian who had returned them, the young demon with one green eye, one black—eyes like the world.
"He stared right at me," she whispered to the river. "He stared at me, and I thought he would attack me, but he only stared. He only left the bones and returned to his land of sunfire." She lowered her head. "I wonder, Eelani, if more are attacking our village as we sail here. I wonder if we will bring aid fast enough."
The days stretched on, some days alight with crystals and fish, others dark and silent and long, days of flowing through endless darkness that even Koyee's large eyes could not
She raised a mushroom to her shoulder and let Eelani eat. Sometimes she almost believed that Eelani truly nibbled, that the morsels grew smaller. Other times she thought she was crazy. She smiled, placed the mushroom in her mouth, and chewed slowly.
The last grain of sand in the hourglass faded into night. Koyee yawned and stretched.
"Will you watch over the boat, Eelani?" she asked. "I'm sleepy."
She could not be sure, but she thought she felt a weight lift from her shoulder, and the moonlight—for just an instant—seemed to catch a figure leaping onto the prow. Koyee smiled, flipped the hourglass over, and curled up on the boat floor.
She slept.
She woke and she slept again.
The hourglass turned and turned, a dance like the old days of the world.
The eternal night stretched on, as it had for thousands of years. The hourglass danced, its days following nights, and still Koyee sailed east upon the water, and still she saw no city lights.
One day they flowed through a field of crystals that covered the land, gleaming in the moonlight, a carpet of diamonds. The stars reflected in each one, and Koyee could barely tell sky from land. She felt as if the Lodestar floated along a stream of starlight, lost in an endless night sky.
Another day the river led her between towering cliffs, revealing only a strip of sky that mirrored the river. Coiling silkworms nestled upon the stone walls, each as large as Koyee, glowing blue and white and blinking lavender eyes. They crawled across the cliffs, weaving curtains of their silk that swayed and shimmered like ghosts, brushing against Koyee as she sailed by.
A third day and jagged boulders rose on the riverbanks, carved with faces, the eyes gleaming with emeralds. Each face rose larger than her boat, watching as she sailed by. Koyee did not know who had carved these sentinels, but they seemed ancient, their features smoothed with years of rain and wind. Nighthawks nested upon them, hundreds of black birds with silver eyes. As her boat sailed by, the flocks took flight, shrieked, and circled the moon before landing upon the faces again.
A fourth day and the river widened, and life bustled in the waters. Snakes with purple scales swam around her, coiling and uncoiling, and shimmering whales with translucent skin breached for air, their bones and organs alight. Blue fish leaped from the waters, trilling songs more beautiful than flutes and harps. One fish jumped into her boat; Koyee and Eelani blessed its gift and fed upon it.
She kept sailing and still the hourglass turned. And still the sand moved from day to night, and still they saw no city lights.
Sometimes Koyee wondered if Oshy was the lone settlement in Eloria, a humble village on the edge of dusk, and the rest of her realm was only plains of darkness and legends of light. Other times, Koyee feared that she had passed the city of Pahmey while she slept, and that Eelani—cursed, silent Eelani—had not woken her. Most times, Koyee simply stood at the prow, staring ahead into the darkness, and remembered.
So many memories floated here in the dark. She remembered the time her brother had left them, a youth with angry eyes, out to seek his fortune—much like Koyee now. She remembered the times playing xin with her father, a game of moving shells upon a bone. And she remembered burying his own bones. And she remembered the Timandrian who had returned them, the young demon with one green eye, one black—eyes like the world.
"He stared right at me," she whispered to the river. "He stared at me, and I thought he would attack me, but he only stared. He only left the bones and returned to his land of sunfire." She lowered her head. "I wonder, Eelani, if more are attacking our village as we sail here. I wonder if we will bring aid fast enough."
The days stretched on, some days alight with crystals and fish, others dark and silent and long, days of flowing through endless darkness that even Koyee's large eyes could not
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