Third Starlighter

by Bryan Davis

  Marcelle huffed. “Magnar? Impossible. He’s the cruelest among them. Arxad isn’t much better. I haven’t figured him out yet, but he was going to allow both Adrian and me to die at a cooking stake, so I’m counting him on the enemies list.”

  “Very interesting.” Dunwoody laid the shell back in its place. “My hope is that the journal Lady Moulraine sent will shed more light on these mysteries.”

  “Right. It’s over here.” She hustled to the lantern and picked up the book. “I read some of it.”

  “You left it on the ground?” Dunwoody shuffled over and set his lantern next to Marcelle’s. “Couldn’t you have at least put it in the trunk? If someone had tipped the lantern over, it might have burned.”

  Marcelle rolled her eyes. “As if this tunnel were a thoroughfare.”

  “An animal, then. Or bugs. They might do damage to such an old tome.”

  Marcelle sighed. It was better to let him rant. Explaining her exit from the tunnel seemed impossible anyway. “You’re right, Professor. I apologize.”

  “You do?” His brow arched. “Have those words ever escaped your lips before?”

  “Cut the comedy. We have work to do.”

  “As you wish.” He took the journal and sat facing the lanterns. “Join me. Let’s see if these entries verify my theories.”

  Marcelle retrieved her mother’s mirror from the floor and slid it into her pocket, then sat at his side and watched as he leafed through the early pages. “I read a section near the end about Starlighters,” she said. “I think Leo is one.”

  “Is that so?” He turned to a page that displayed a crude drawing of a dragon sitting on its haunches, simple outlines, as if sketched by a child. “Tell me more.”

  “It said a male Starlighter can absorb energy, but he can do it only with one person at a time, and he has to be looking at the person. Not only that, he can be destroyed by dragon fire.”

  “Not other fire?” Dunwoody asked.

  “It didn’t say.”

  “How strange. I fail to see why dragon fire differs from other flames. Fire is fire.”

  She shrugged. “I’m just telling you what I read.”

  “Fair enough.” He dipped his head toward the book and turned a page.

  Marcelle leaned over. As she tried to read, the scribbled text blurred.

  “Ah! Look at this!” Dunwoody pointed at a messy line of text near the top of the third page. “Arxad traveled here with the eggs, and each had an embryo with a specially prepared genetic arrangement, but he doesn’t say what that arrangement is.”

  She blinked at the handwriting, or rather claw-writing, spotting the malformed genetic, but little else.

  “Let’s see if I can find a clue …” He ran his finger down the page. “Ah!” His brow lifted for a moment before settling into a knitted scowl.

  “What is it?”

  “I thought perhaps the dragons were trying to spawn humans of great strength and durability so they could come back and harvest them for slavery.”

  “Through genetic manipulation?”

  “Exactly.” He thumped his finger on the page. “This proves me wrong.”

  Marcelle tried again to read the text, but disease was the only legible word. “Something about a disease?”

  “Precisely! The purpose of the genetic manipulation was to ensure that the two hatchlings were free of a disease that had spread on Dracon. Arxad brought them here to rescue the species from annihilation.” He laid his palm on the page and looked at Marcelle. “The plaque honoring the dragons isn’t propaganda. It’s the truth. If not for Arxad and Magnar, neither you nor I would exist!”

  Marcelle shook her head. “If you could have seen what I saw on Dracon, you wouldn’t want to honor them.”

  “Very well. Tell me.”

  She rose to her feet and gazed at Dunwoody. He returned her stare, an expectant look on his face. He was a ready audience, a soul hoping to absorb truth, and it seemed that his willing aspect pulled at her, like a sponge drawing water. An urge rose within her, a longing to deliver what he begged to learn.

  Then, mimicking a valve releasing pressure, she spread out her arms and voiced the words flowing from within. “I see children who are barely more than skeletons, either half-naked or completely naked, with oozing welts on their backs, burn marks on their faces, and fungus and lesions rotting their skin. They carry pails filled with heavy stones, their feet bloody as they march along a stream where rafts float, rafts that could carry their loads, but the dragons force them to do useless labor, trying to weed out the weak.”

  Lowering her head, she narrowed her eyes. “All the while, a dragon bearing a whip watches over them like a hungry hawk. If any child should falter or fall, the dragon pounces on her like a mad dog, ripping her flesh with a brutal whip. The other children look on, emotionless, their empathy torn from their hearts by the repetition of such cruelty day after day after day.”

  She rubbed her fingers together as if sprinkling something onto the ground. “And as Solarus lowers herself to the horizon, a dragon drops an inadequate supply of stale bread and a bricklike wafer of fish. Like starving rats, the children swarm for the food, clawing, shoving, biting, just to get enough morsels to ease the gnawing hunger so they can survive through the night in their glorified anthill of a home.”

  She hugged herself, shivering. “There the sick lie naked and starving because bigger children steal their clothes, and the few with more sensitive hearts can only share a crumb or two and clean up the vomit and feces of the invalid waifs, what little their starved bellies can produce.”

  Finally, she took a deep breath. The pressure began to ease, but more words remained. Before she could rest, they had to come out. Dunwoody sat wide eyed, tears flowing. Her story was definitely working as designed.

  With a flourish, she pointed a shaking finger at the trunk. “And for one hundred years, our heroes, Magnar and Arxad, have allowed this to go on, knowing that children’s backs are being flayed, their dead bodies tossed away like garbage, and their memories wiped off the face of the planet.” She kicked the book closed and whispered through clenched teeth. “They weren’t trying to preserve a species. They weren’t protecting poor, suffering waifs. They just needed healthy slaves!”

  Dunwoody stared, tears dripping from his chin. “Remarkable,” he murmured. “Simply remarkable.”

  “What’s remarkable?” Marcelle turned in a circle. “What are you staring at?”

  “Nothing now.” He climbed to his feet, the book in hand. “How long have you been able to do that?”

  “Do what? Tell a story?”

  He nodded. “We can start there.”

  “I’ve told stories from a young age. Not so much lately, though. I’ve had more important things to focus on.”

  “I dare say you haven’t. This ability is crucial. If you can repeat what you have done here, you will be able to call up a formidable army without even hinting at conscription.” He balled his hand into a fist. “Yes, with your ability, you can summon a legion and smash those foul beasts. The passion you ignite will foment a blaze that will be terrible to behold.”

  Marcelle grabbed his sleeve. “Will you just get to the point? What have I done here? How can I call up an army?”

  Dunwoody stroked his chin and gave her a skeptical stare. “You really don’t know, do you?”

  She hissed out her reply. “Know what?”

  “Marcelle …” He clasped her shoulder. “While you told the story, every detail came to life around you, like misty images, ghosts really. I saw the pitiful children. I saw the evil dragon. I saw the anthill, as you called it, though I think a burial mound is a more accurate word to describe it. In any case, if you could tell this story again in front of a group of sympathetic men, the sight of these poor children would set their hearts on fire. You wouldn’t be able to stop them from taking up arms and marching to Dracon.”

  Laughing under her breath, Marcelle backed away. “Wait a minute. This is al
l getting out of hand.”

  “What do you mean? Is there a flaw in my thinking?”

  “No, it’s just that in all the excitement, I forgot what was going on. I can’t call up ghosts while I tell a story. Only a Starlighter can do that.”

  “A Starlighter? I thought you said they absorb energy.”

  She nodded. “The males do, but females tell stories that come to life, and the people who listen become hypnotized. Cassabrie can do it, but explaining who she is would take too long. The point is that this is all just a dream. I must have been hoping to be able to do something like that, so I’m dreaming about being a Starlighter.”

  Dunwoody waved a hand. “Marcelle, I felt the hypnosis about which you speak, and I had to fight it to stay alert. I assure you, you are not dreaming. Your sickness is—”

  “Of course I’m dreaming.” She touched her cheek. “I’m as pale as snow and just as cold. I don’t have a heartbeat. I don’t sweat or bleed. If I’m not dreaming, then how do you explain all that?”

  “I see your point.” He crossed his arms over the book. “I will have to come up with solid proof that you aren’t dreaming, won’t I?”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible. Anything can happen in a dream.”

  “True. This will be a difficult task.” Dunwoody scanned the room, his eyes narrowing. “Ah! Maybe that will suffice!” He pointed at the trunk. “How do you explain learning something about the dragons that you couldn’t possibly imagine? Did you think humans could hatch from eggs? That dragons could preserve genetically altered humans that were protected from disease?”

  She stared at the trunk. Could she have imagined such a wild tale?

  “And look at this.” He opened the book to a page near the back. “I saw this when I glanced at it earlier. It didn’t register then, but it makes perfect sense now.”

  Marcelle looked on while Dunwoody read out loud. “The children are old enough to learn about the genetic code so that they can work to prevent any disease-susceptible recessive genes from manifesting. After they fully understand the genome, I will suggest that mating be allowed between males and females who cannot produce children who might contract the disease. Of course, such a policy would demand strict control of mating practices, which they never followed while on Starlight, but in a new society, perhaps it will be perceived as normal.”

  “But that never happened,” Marcelle said. “As controlling as the government is, no one is told whom to marry.”

  “Which pulls another stone out of your silly dream theory. You wouldn’t have come up with this idea on your own. You have never heard of government-arranged marriages.” He pointed farther down the page. “Now allow me to read this.”

  She looked on again as he continued. “I trust that Magnar will never read this journal, so I will express my feelings for the sake of any humans who might care about the motivations of a dragon. Since I will be leaving soon, only visiting from time to time in order to check on your progress, I will not have an opportunity to express my thoughts. Although Magnar acquiesced to this plan reluctantly, I pursued it with vigor. He hoped for a world without humans, so he is pleased that the outcome of this plan keeps your kind away from Starlight. Since humans enslaved us and treated us so brutally, I cannot find guilt in his pleasure at the thought of a world without your species.

  “Yet, I believe in new beginnings. I have read your holy book, the Code, so I know that your people worship the same Creator I do, and I know that if you follow that book, you will never return to cruelty. You will never be slave masters again. You will learn what I have learned, that the way you would have others treat you is the way you should treat them, whether human or dragon. That is the way of the Creator. So I provided you, my surrogate children, with the Code and warned you to keep it safe at all costs, and, above all, to remember the deity who inspired the words. If you fail to honor the source of the words, you will eventually fail to honor the words themselves, and calamity will result.

  “So I now must leave you. I have grown to love you beyond any affection I believed possible. If someday I meet your descendants, I hope I will be able to help them in any way I can without, of course, revealing my role in their survival. For, as the Code says, it is most blessed to give to those who are blind to their benefactors, for kindness that is never repaid is the sweetest to the soul.”

  Dunwoody slowly closed the book and rubbed the back cover with his palm. “Tell me, Marcelle, is it possible that your dragon-despising mind could have imagined such a heartfelt exhibition of affection for humans? Did I just read something that, even in a dream, your heart could not possibly envisage?”

  “I …” She bit her lip. Of course anything could happen in a dream, even the most bizarre ideas, but this one was almost too difficult to believe. If not for the more objective evidence of her bodily functions, or lack thereof, this journal entry would be conclusive. “I don’t know what to say. For the sake of argument, I suppose I can pretend this isn’t a dream.”

  “I will accept that.” He tucked the book under his arm. “So now we have to get you in front of a large group of potential soldiers.”

  “How should we do that?”

  “Why, surrender to Maelstrom, of course.”

  “What? Are you crazy? He’ll tie me to that stake and …” She let her voice trail away. Even as the words spilled out, the image of the execution came to mind—hundreds of people gathering at the stake to witness her burning.

  Lowering her head, she whispered, “I see what you mean.”

  “So it’s settled.” Dunwoody rubbed his hands together. “And I thought using my smoke balls and sneezing powder to get you out of the courtroom was exciting. This will be an adventure to top them all.”

  “An adventure? What do you mean?”

  “I am assuming, of course, that the people will be so aroused by your story that they will halt the execution by sheer force of public outcry, but I will have to come up with an escape plan, just in case.”

  “Just in case.” Marcelle shook her head, laughing under her breath. “This is my life we’re talking about. If the crowd doesn’t come around, and I get cooked, there won’t be anyone left to summon an army. I’m willing to die to free the slaves, but I’m not willing to die for a crazy scheme.”

  Dunwoody shrugged. “It’s up to you. If this is a dream, you don’t have anything to worry about. If it’s not, then you’ll have to summon an army some other way, but your appearance will make that task improbable, if not impossible. And if you show your face in public, Maelstrom will hear about it. Either way, you will likely end up facing the fire.”

  Marcelle laid her palms on her cheeks. He was right. With Maelstrom on the rampage against sorcery, everyone would think her a witch at first glance, especially after news of the trial spreads. Most would be glad to turn in a sorceress for whatever favors Maelstrom might offer.

  “Okay,” she said, nodding. “If we can come up with a good escape plan, I’ll do it.”

  After leading Regina back from the healing spring, a quiet journey because of her weariness, Adrian stopped within sight of the cabin, and hid with her behind a hefty tree. “Something’s wrong,” he whispered.

  She blinked, her gaze again aimless. “What?”

  “I’m not sure.” He peered at the cabin’s small rear window. No sounds came from within. “Do you normally nap in the afternoon?”

  “Sometimes, but never all of us at once. Someone is always on guard.”

  “That’s what I guessed. It’s too quiet.”

  “I know. You told everyone to make noise while we were gone.”

  “That’s why I’m concerned.” He set her hands against the trunk. “Stay hidden. I’m going to have a look.”

  She ducked behind the tree. “Okay.”

  Drawing his sword, Adrian bent over and skulked to the rear of the cabin. He stood on tiptoes and peeked inside. The bed the children had made for Frederick and Marcelle still lay near one side, but neither the
y nor the children were anywhere in sight.

  After hurrying back to Regina and leading her to the cabin’s front door, they entered and looked around. Except for two potatoes under the table against the wall, every scrap of food had been taken. Only the deerskin and the bedding remained on the floor. “It looks like everyone packed up and left. Everything is gone.”

  “Everything?” Feeling her way along the wall, Regina walked to the back of the cabin. She reached under the table and felt the potatoes. “There are two potatoes.”

  “I saw them. I guess they missed those.”

  Regina shook her head. “It’s a signal. Frederick told us if we ever came back from working in the garden or anything else, and everyone was gone, to check for the potatoes. One means to run into the woods and hide. Two means to stay until they come back. It shouldn’t take more than a few hours. Three means to wait one day. If no one comes back, then something awful happened, so go to the mines and try to join a family. The other food isn’t missing. It’s just hidden. I know where to find it.”

  “I assume Frederick invented the system,” Adrian said. “It sounds like something he’d come up with.”

  “He did.” She brought the potatoes to Adrian. “Can you read any markings on them? Frederick said he would try to leave a message on them if he could.”

  He picked one up and examined it. Someone had scratched letters in the peel that spelled out HEAL MARCELLE. He grabbed the second and read the words TRAP DREXEL. Nodding, he stooped next to Regina. “It seems,” he whispered, “that my brother has recovered enough to go to the healing trees with Marcelle, and he hopes to set a trap for Drexel.”

  “Oh, good!” she said, clapping her hands. “I hope the water works for them.”

  “I hope so, too.” He rose and looked out the window. Nothing stirred in the quiet forest. “Do you know what kind of trap Frederick might use?”

  She nodded. “A rope trap. If Drexel steps in it, the rope will jerk him up by his foot.” As if watching the sight in her mind, she rolled her eyes upward and laughed. “And he’ll hang there like a rotten fruit!”