Starfinder: A Novel of the Skylords (16 page)

Some of the crew glanced at Donnar for reassurance. Donnar just nodded.

“Now,” said Rendor, “here’s what you need to know . . .”

Skyhigh leaned in.

“Three days ago, a thirteen-year-old boy named Moth left Calio and crossed through the Reach. He has an object of great value with him. Our mission is to get it back. We’re going to find him and the object, and we’re not coming home until we do.”

Rendor gestured to Donnar to speak. “Commander.”

“We’ll be traveling low and slow,” Donnar told the crew. “We’ve taken on as much hidrenium as we can carry, but once it’s gone we’ll be stuck. That means no high speed climbs and no wasting fuel. We’ll be traveling in daylight only—no night flying. And there’ll be no friendlies to help us, either.”

Skyhigh couldn’t believe no one had mentioned Fiona yet. He raised his hand.

“Yes?”

“Question,” said Skyhigh. “We’re looking for a girl, too, aren’t we?” His eyes landed on Rendor. “Aren’t we, Governor?”

“Yes,” replied Rendor. His jaw tightened. “My granddaughter Fiona is with the boy. You all know that already.”

Again Skyhigh put up his hand.

“What?” snapped Donnar.

“I’m wondering, sir—just what exactly are we going up against?”

The crew waited anxiously for an answer.

“Things that fly, Captain Coralin,” said Rendor. “Now, all of you—do your job.”

Commander Donnar barked an order for the
Avatar
to depart. Up ahead, the Reach loomed and rolled, looking like it went on forever.

Like it would swallow the
Avatar
alive.

NEEDLES OF WIND PRICKED Moth’s face as he peered down into the valley far below. Fiona huddled next to him, so close that a blade of grass couldn’t grow between them. Strapped down in Merceron’s makeshift saddle, their bodies hunched forward against the dragon’s neck, they scanned the wonderland beneath them, struggling against the onslaught of wind. Moth’s hands ached from clutching the rope looped around Merceron’s chest. The buckles pressing against his legs had torn tiny rents in his pants. His dark coat flew out behind him like the tail of a comet.

The world below raced by in blurs of green and gold. The river they were following snaked through the forests and along flower-strewn hills. Low flying clouds smashed harmlessly against them. Moth could see forever.

He nudged Fiona with his elbow. She turned, and her eyes were bloodshot. All morning and afternoon she’d been talking to herself while they flew, chattering under her breath things that sounded like prayers.

“Look there!” Moth shouted. “How’s that look?”

Fiona looked down. Merceron’s head tilted to see what Moth had found. Throughout the day they’d stopped so the dragon could rest, always in places where no one could see them.

“Yes,” said Fiona, anxious to be on land again. The clearing was close to the river and surrounded by hills. “Down, Merceron, please!”

Merceron tilted his wings, slowing them as they wheeled downward. He had tied his spectacles around his ears to keep them from falling off. His velvet jacket snapped underneath the saddle he’d strapped across his back. Moth heard the dragon sigh with relief.

“We’ll rest now, Merceron,” Moth told him, patting his scaly neck. “You can catch your breath a while.”

Beside them soared Lady Esme, spiraling down, chasing the dragon to the ground. Moth called to her and Esme answered back. They were all tired and in pain, yet Moth couldn’t help but feel delighted. Fiona turned green again.

“Oh, I hate this,” she groaned. “You hear me, Moth? I hate flying!”

Moth’s own head swam as they corkscrewed down. Merceron’s wings shot out as the ground rose up. Moth and Fiona held on as the dragon bounced to earth, the shock of their landing jerking them in the saddle.

“I’m gonna be sick,” croaked Fiona. She began fumbling with her straps. “Moth, help me . . .”

Instead of undoing his own buckles, Moth reached over and undid the one pinning Fiona’s waist to the saddle. Merceron hunched low to the ground, looking over his shoulder.

“As soon as you’re ready, I could use a break.”

“I’m trying!” fumed Fiona.

She managed the final buckle, nearly falling off his back, walking away with a wobbly gait. Moth carefully unbuckled his own straps, holding onto the rope as he lowered himself down. Merceron stood up and stretched with a roar of pleasure.

“Thank the stars! You little trolls are heavier than you look.”

Fiona bent over, hands on her knees over a patch of daisies. “Can’t you fly any better then that?”

Moth stood between them. “I thought it was amazing!”

Fiona parted her hair to glare at him. “Flying is crazy. It’s irrational!” She put her hand over her mouth. Moth looked away.

“Uh, let’s camp over there,” he suggested, pointing to a spot far from Fiona’s mess.

Merceron winced as he reached back to rub his aching muscles. “And what was that you were muttering the whole time, girl? It was like a cricket crawled into my ear.”

Fiona was too busy retching to answer.

“That’s a game she plays,” said Moth. “When she’s scared, she thinks about all the best times in her life. It works, too. I tried it.”

Merceron seemed intrigued. “I like that. I will try it, too.”

“Why?” asked Moth. “Are you scared, Merceron?”

Throughout the day Merceron had told them almost nothing, not about the Skylords or Taurnoken or about whatever dangers lay ahead.

“Water,” Merceron sighed. His wings drooped behind him. “I’m going to the river. Look after her, Moth, will you?”

Moth watched him go, slipping quietly through the trees toward the riverbank.

“He’s hiding something,” Moth whispered. Fiona stumbled past him, her skin a little less green now. “You all right?”

“I’m great, Moth,” she groaned. She dropped into the grass, scrunching up and using her hands for a pillow. “Just great . . .”

Moth sat down cross-legged next to her. Lady Esme hopped closer to him. He checked nervously for the Starfinder, feeling it in his coat pocket.

“Is this something or what?” he chuckled. “We were really flying!”

“I feel like I’m going to die.”

“That’ll pass. Happens to Skyknights all the time. You’re airsick.”

Through the trees, he could just make out Merceron by the river. The dragon looked repeatedly over his shoulder as he drank from the running water. His body dragged against the ground, about to collapse.

“Look at him,” said Moth. “He can’t go on anymore. Not today. We should stop here for the night.”

Fiona barely nodded. “Excellent idea.”

“We can start clearing away some of these branches.”

“I need a minute.”

Moth smiled. Despite her complaining, he was proud of Fiona. Not many people could fly a dragon all day. They were probably the only two ever to do so.

“He’s not telling us much, huh?” said Moth.

Fiona finally managed to lift herself onto an elbow. She studied Merceron through the trees. “He’s afraid of the Skylords.”

“I guess so,” said Moth, but they hadn’t seen even a hint of the Skylords yet.

“I don’t trust him.” Fiona’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe we should go on by ourselves.”

“That’s stupid. We don’t even know where to go.”

“We’ve got the Starfinder.”

“What, walk?” Moth shook his head “Stupid.”

“How do we know where he’s taking us? Just where is Taurnoken anyway?”

Moth couldn’t answer. Only Merceron had answers. He got up and brushed the dirt from his backside. “Stay here with Esme, all right?”

Fiona waved as he headed for Merceron. The river bubbled musically over the rocks. He found Merceron lying on its pebbly shore, his long snout partially in the water. The dragon could barely lift his head. He rolled an eye toward Moth.

“Just a little longer,” he said. “We’ll get going again soon.”

When he was up in the air, Merceron looked masterful. But down on the ground he just looked old.

“I think we’ll stay here for the night,” said Moth. “Look at you—you can’t go any further. And Fiona . . .” He turned to see up through the trees, where Fiona was sprawled on the ground. “She’s not much good for anything right now.”

“She doesn’t like me much, does she?” remarked Merceron.

Moth didn’t want to lie or hurt the dragon’s feelings. “She just doesn’t know you, that’s all.”

“She doesn’t trust me. That’s what happens when children are abandoned. They stop trusting.”

“I trust you,” said Moth.

“Why?”

“Because Leroux told me to.”

The answer made the dragon smile. “What about Rendor? Was he cruel to Fiona?”

“No, not really,” said Moth honestly. “He just kind of ignores her. That’s what hurts her most. He just doesn’t care about her.”

“Wrong. All parents love their children, and their children’s children.”

Moth examined the dragon. “Why don’t you come away from the water? We’ll make a place for the night.”

“I can’t,” groaned Merceron. “Not yet. I ache, boy. My bones . . .”

“Just like Leroux. He used to get all achy that way, too. That’s rheumatism. Everyone gets it when they’re old. You gotta keep moving, keep the joints from grinding to a halt.”

“I’ve been moving all day,” sneered Merceron. “What else you got?”

Moth climbed up the dragon’s side. “I used to give Leroux rubdowns when he was achy. Where does it hurt? Here?”

Gently he dug his palms against the scaly flesh, running them along the muscles of the creature’s wing.

“Oh!” Merceron cried. “Oh . . .”

Merceron’s whole body deflated. He moaned contentedly.

“Yeah, this’ll help you,” said Moth, remembering all the times he’d done the same for Leroux. A flood of memories came at him suddenly. He’d been there for Leroux when he could, hadn’t he?

“You know, you could help Fiona trust you if you talked a bit more,” Moth suggested. “We hardly know anything about you. And what about Taurnoken? You never tell us anything about your home.”

“You can’t tell a human about Taurnoken. It’s too beautiful for words.”

“Will we be there soon?”

“We’ll follow the river from here,” said Merceron. “That feels wonderful, Moth. Don’t stop . . .”

Moth’s hands moved along the dragon’s spine. “I’m sure the other dragons will help us when we get there,” he said. “They’ll remember you and want to help.”

“They’ll remember me, all right.”

“They’ll probably celebrate! Didn’t you talk to anyone while you were hiding?”

“Not dragons,” said Merceron.

“No family? No one?”

Merceron tensed. “Are you hungry? Maybe we should eat.”

“You don’t want to talk about this, do you?”

“Bright boy.”

Moth worked quietly, asking no more questions. He rubbed and rubbed the dragon’s aching muscles. Within minutes, Merceron was sleeping.

AS THE SUN WENT DOWN in the valley, so did the temperature. Moth and Fiona cleared a place amid the grass, using the sticks and branches they’d gathered to build what looked like a nest around them. Merceron lit a fire with his fingers, then surprised the others by making the flames dance into the forms of animals. Soon the moon came out, and then the stars. Moth fed Lady Esme from the supplies they’d brought from Merceron’s lair. Together they huddled in the light of the fire, munching on strips of dried meat while the dragon entertained them. Each of them had napped, and now, as midnight came, they were all wide awake.

Fiona remained quiet, but managed to smile at the bird Merceron made from the fire. Using his claws, he drew in the air to let the bird take flight before disappearing. Lady Esme watched the thing, fascinated. Moth gently scratched her feathered head.

The Starfinder sat on the grass in front of him, its mirror blank, its levers and scope unmoving. Moth gazed up as he bit into an apple, marveling at a sky absolutely pregnant with stars. Being on the run had given him precious little time for stargazing. He picked up the Starfinder, noting the patterns etched into its gleaming metal, trying to match them to the ones twinkling overhead.

“Merceron,” he said softly, “do you know all the constellations?”

Merceron took his pipe from his pocket. “Most of them,” he said as he emptied the dottle onto the ground. Moth liked watching Merceron light his pipe, because he always made a show of it. Carefully the dragon packed the bowl with fresh tobacco, then produced a flame at the tip of a long fingernail. He moved the flame in a circular motion around the bowl, puffing gently. Then he let out a long, relaxed breath and leaned back. “Point one out to me,” he said. “I’ll tell you what it’s called.”

Moth had already chosen one, a constellation he had seen engraved on the Starfinder. “There,” he said. “That one looks like an airship to me.”

“Close. That’s the Gothrol, the ship of dreams.” Smoke drifted lazily out of Merceron’s nose. “A ship that can travel anywhere—seas, mountaintops, deserts. They say if you fall asleep aboard Gothrol, you’ll wake up in whatever place you dreamed of going.”

“Come on,” squawked Fiona. She put her palms up to the fire. “There’s a lot of crazy things here, I know, but who could make something like that?”

“The seafolk of Lorn. They’re all dead now, but once they traveled all over the world, probably when the Skylords were young.”

“Does the Gothrol still exist?” asked Moth.

“Of course,” said Merceron. “I told you—every constellation is something or someone that exists in the Realm. The Starfinder can find all of them. Go on, pick another.” Merceron nudged Fiona with his tail. “You try this time.”

Fiona looked up without much interest. Her eyes moved over the stars, stopping suddenly on a group right above their heads. “There,” she pointed. “With that bright star.”