Third Starlighter

by Bryan Davis

  Regina panted, her scalded tongue protruding with each breath. “I want … to see! … I want … to be healed … by the trees!”

  “Come with me, my dear Starlighter. I will show you complete healing. You will see in ways you cannot imagine, and you will be able to help Adrian and Marcelle in ways you never could before.”

  Adrian took a step closer. “Cassabrie! What are you doing?”

  “Stand back, Adrian,” she commanded, lifting a hand. “There is nothing you can do to help her.”

  Adrian bit his lip hard. Cassabrie knew everything about Starlighters, and he knew nothing. He had no choice but to let her take over.

  Cassabrie set a palm against the star’s floor. “Now, Regina! You must hurry, or it will be too late!”

  His arms trembling, Adrian called out, “Regina! It’s okay, sweetheart! Do what she says. You can trust her.” Even as he uttered the words, doubt rolled in. Although Cassabrie’s plans had worked out before, it seemed that her ideas always balanced on a thread. The slightest mishap could mean tragedy.

  A sparkling aura formed around Regina. Like an animated glove, the aura moved as her tortured body convulsed. Then, like a marionette dropped by its master, she fell to the raft, once again limp.

  Adrian took a hard step toward her, but Wallace held him back. “Wait!” Wallace said, pointing. “Look!”

  The sparkling glove lifted away from the limp form, a perfect replica of Regina, though silvery white and radiant. As she rose, Exodus lifted to give her room. She turned toward Adrian. Flashing a big smile, she shouted, “I can see!”

  Adrian spread out his arms and rushed toward her, but Cassabrie raised a halting hand. “No!”

  He stopped within a few paces. “What’s wrong?”

  “She is in an intermediate stage and is unstable. I have to take her to the Northlands where Alaph will complete her transition. By the time you arrive, she should be ready to interact with you.”

  “Can she be reunited with her body?”

  “It is possible. The same kind of process tore Marcelle from her body, and the energy she absorbed has kept her intact, but it won’t last much longer. Her will to stay alive has been a preserving influence as she has maintained a connection, but this won’t happen with Regina. Her body will soon deteriorate.”

  “Why?”

  “She wants to see,” Cassabrie said, passion spiking in her tone. “She wants to leave her blind shell behind. The Creator has seen fit to allow her departure, so you will have to accept the loss.”

  Adrian nodded. Again, what could he say? Cassabrie knew so much more than he did. He lifted a trembling hand and waved. “I will see you soon, Regina.”

  Her smile grew even wider. “And I’ll see you, too, Adrian Masters!”

  Cassabrie stayed on her knees with her palm on the star’s floor. “Now set your hand against mine, and we’ll be on our way.”

  Regina pressed her palm against Exodus, matching Cassabrie’s outline. The star began to rise, and Regina rose with it. As it lifted higher, Cassabrie looked down, her gaze focused on Adrian. “I also hope to see you again, my love, but I don’t think I will until we are both eternal spirits. I will never forget our time together. I hope your memories of me will someday be stripped of distrust.”

  She turned toward the north, her head low. Then Exodus and Regina’s radiant spirit sailed away.

  “She’s gone!” Shellinda took Adrian’s hand and pressed it against her chest. “They’re both gone!”

  “Yes … they are.” Adrian gazed at Regina’s body as it lay motionless on the raft. The rip in her tunic still displayed her pink, healthy skin. Cassabrie’s stardrop had expelled the disease, but that wasn’t enough. Regina prayed for sight, and the Creator granted her request.

  He turned again to Shellinda. Her arms and face were still clear. “Wallace, check your skin.”

  Wallace lifted his shirt. A pink rash covered his flat stomach. “It doesn’t look good, does it?”

  “Better than Regina’s rash.” Adrian checked his own abdomen. His skin appeared to be normal. “Maybe since we’re stronger, we can make it to the Northlands.”

  Shellinda dropped to her knees next to Marcelle and lifted her shirt, exposing her rippled abdomen and perfectly healthy skin. “Will Cassabrie make stardrops for everyone?” Shellinda asked.

  Adrian took in a long breath. “I have no idea. She seems to have a plan, and she left in a hurry to carry it out, so I guess we’ll just have to trust her.”

  Wallace pinched Adrian’s sleeve. “I don’t see how we’re going to keep up with them.” With a tear trickling from his eye, he set the sword’s hilt in Adrian’s hand. “The river’s going in its normal direction again.”

  Adrian nodded at the raft. “The two of you can drag the raft to the river. Let’s send it downstream so it’ll go over the falls. It has infected blood on it.”

  While Wallace and Shellinda obeyed, Adrian scanned the area. From the north, gray clouds drifted closer, portending rain or perhaps snow. He stooped next to Marcelle and felt her clothes, dry now due to the presence of the star. “It’s not much farther,” he whispered. “I can already feel a cooler wind. I’ll do my best to keep you warm.”

  Soon, Wallace ran to his side, Shellinda trailing. “We don’t have a cart,” Wallace said. “I can carry Marcelle for a while.”

  Smiling in spite of the burns in his palms, Adrian rose and set a hand on Wallace’s shoulder. “Since she and I aren’t showing any symptoms, I’d better carry her. But first …” He stabbed the ground with the sword. “We have a little girl to bury.”

  * * *

  TWENTY

  * * *

  FLY lower,” Marcelle shouted, “or the guards will see you!”

  Magnar beat his wings, staying high above the treetops.

  “Do you think I fear a few human soldiers? I will make them

  into torches before they can draw an arrow.”

  “It’s not about fear. It’s about stealth. We don’t want Maelstrom to know we’re coming until we arrive.”

  His neck bent, bringing his head close. “I have heard your warnings about his power too many times. If we burst into his abode, we will attack with speed and flames. He will not have time to prepare.”

  “No! You won’t be able to fly once you’re inside the palace. It’s not big and roomy like the Zodiac. You could be trapped.”

  “Then what is our target?”

  “It’s called the Enforcement Zone. It’s near the back. I’ll point it out when we get there.”

  As they closed in on the palace, Evan came into view, again guarding the front gate. He pointed toward the sky and shouted, but his voice was too weak to be heard above the sounds of Magnar’s wings and the whipping wind. He ran toward the front door, slipping once along the way.

  “Do you see that man with the ponytail?” Marcelle called.

  “Ponytail? I see no tail on any man.”

  “His hair. It’s tied in the back. That’s a ponytail.”

  Magnar’s face aimed toward the fleeing guard. “I see him.”

  “He’s going in the front door to sound an alarm. Fly to the opposite side. Hurry!”

  Magnar swung to the right and circled around the huge marble-coated building. Soon a rectangle of red stones and surrounding green shrubs came into view. From the air, the Enforcement Zone looked like a child’s playground, a crudely painted foundation with wooden structures small enough for little ones to climb and swing upon—the burning stake, now clear of embers and ashes; the gallows, still void of a hangman’s noose; and three pillories bearing holes void of captive victims. As small and harmless as the devices seemed from the air, they were as deadly as adders.

  “See the platform with the wooden arm over it?” Marcelle shouted.

  “I do.”

  “That’s your first target. Destroy it, then land, and I’ll tell you … I mean, I’ll make my next request.”

  Magnar’s neck bent toward her again. �
��Is it acceptable to destroy everything in sight?”

  Marcelle nodded. “That sounds good to me.”

  “Then be prepared for a rough ride.” He straightened his neck, pulled his wings in halfway, and angled into a dive.

  After checking the sword at her hip, Marcelle clutched the spine, lowered her head, and stayed quiet. Magnar needed to attack with swiftness and efficiency, thereby striking fear into the hearts of any witnesses. He had proven himself to be an exquisite and powerful flying machine, and his perfectly executed attack on the Tarkton soldiers gave evidence of his intellect, so he probably needed no further instructions.

  As he descended, Magnar blew a barrage of flames at the gallows’ support beam, setting it ablaze. He followed with a ball of fire that splashed across the platform and spilled over the sides, like flaming soup overflowing its pot.

  Zooming down, he crashed through the weakened support arm and sent it flying across the yard. Fiery wooden shards flew in every direction. Sparks and splinters rained on Marcelle’s hair and tunic, but she quickly brushed them away.

  Magnar landed on the run, his wings beating madly. His neck snapping like a viper’s, he shot a fireball at one of the three pillories, then shifted to the next and the next. Each flaming sphere seemed bigger and brighter than the one before.

  Shouts erupted from the palace. A bell gonged. Yet, no one ran from the rear entry.

  The dungeon trapdoor flew open. Soldiers dressed in Tarkton uniforms spilled out. Carrying spears and bows, they formed a line at least twenty men across. Several shot arrows that clinked off Magnar’s armor, and one threw a spear that glanced off his scales and fell harmlessly to the ground. Then, shouting at the top of their lungs, they charged.

  Magnar swung his tail, knocking five men off their feet. With another viper strike, he launched a wave of fire that rolled over three bowmen and engulfed them in flames.

  As the one-sided battle continued, Marcelle flattened herself on Magnar’s back and watched the soldiers continue their futile attempts. It didn’t make sense. Why were there so many waiting in the dungeon? Why were they armed and ready when she and Magnar arrived? And why were they lobbing harmless projectiles that couldn’t possibly injure an armored beast of his size? Even if they were trying to tire him out, it would take hundreds of soldiers to drain his energy.

  “Drain his energy?” She scanned the Enforcement Zone. At the far end, shielding himself behind the burning stake, Maelstrom extended an arm, his palm out and his eyes fixed on the rampaging dragon.

  “Magnar!” she shouted, pointing. “Look that way! Blast him!”

  Still spewing flames, Magnar showed no sign of heeding her call. Between his own roars and the shouts of the soldiers, he probably didn’t hear.

  With the rain of arrows and spears diminishing as the Tarks burned, Marcelle slid down Magnar’s scales and sprinted toward the stake. As she neared, she slowed to draw her sword.

  Maelstrom heaved the stake out of the ground and hurled it at Marcelle’s feet. She leaped but misjudged its speed. Her toe caught on the rolling stake’s side, sending her flying headlong. She landed on her stomach and slid across the red stones, ripping her tunic. Arxad’s scale pressed painfully against her chest.

  She flipped to her back, jumped up, and set her feet in battle stance. Maelstrom stalked slowly toward her, his own sword drawn and his red hair hanging at an angle across his eyes.

  “It is time we finished our battle,” he said with a nonchalant air. “You don’t have Orion to help you now.”

  Marcelle studied his face and posture. Even after pulling up that heavy stake and throwing it, he showed no reaction to the effort. He neither sweated nor breathed heavily, even in the sun-drenched humidity. The dragon’s power had made him strong, indeed.

  She glanced at Magnar. He lay on his side, his neck reeled out over the red stones and his head motionless. Although he had been drained of energy, every soldier lay broken or burning around him, so he was safe for the time being. Three Tarks sprawled close by, their burning clothes warming her chilled skin. The stake had rolled next to one of the bodies, and it, too, burned with the dragon’s fire.

  Maelstrom lunged with his sword. Marcelle jumped to the side and swung her blade at his throat. As fast as lightning, he blocked her stroke. Then, with a powerful twist of his wrist, he wrenched her sword from her grasp and slung it away.

  As he drew back his sword to strike again, Marcelle dove for hers, scooping it up as she slid. She jumped to her feet and backed away, resisting the urge to flinch. Such power and speed! How could she possibly defeat him?

  Maelstrom continued a slow march, his sword pointed at her. “You seem surprised. Did you really think you could defeat me in a fair fight?”

  “Fair?” Marcelle scanned the flaming debris, then the palace’s rear door. Someone skulked out, but his cloak and hood hid his identity. “You call this ambush fair?”

  “Ambush?” He stopped and pointed the sword at Magnar. “I was merely protecting my domain from this beast.”

  Marcelle stopped as well. Her shoe crunched on something. With a quick glance down, she spotted a rope fragment, part of the remains of the execution. “How did you know we were coming?”

  “The torture of his sister did wonders to loosen the captain’s lips.”

  Marcelle scowled but held back the insult that begged to be shouted. “Where is he now?”

  “Reed is in custody along with all the disloyal officers and your father.”

  Marcelle nodded. He didn’t mention Professor Dunwoody. Apparently he hadn’t been apprehended. “What are you going to do with them?”

  “I see no need to tell you. The only reason I have deigned to provide any information is so that I can issue an ultimatum.”

  “And that is?”

  “Watch and see.” He clapped his hands and turned toward the dungeon entrance.

  Marcelle spun that way. Her father climbed slowly out, followed by a Tark with a dagger at his back. The Tark also carried a pair of fireplace tongs. She swallowed back another shout. She had to stay calm. Defeating this madman would require a clear head.

  “With the dragon’s energy coursing within me,” Maelstrom continued, “I have the power to slice you into pieces, but you would merely crumble, and your spirit would escape, just as Cassabrie’s did when I tried to capture her. Yet, with your father’s life as leverage, I can ensure that your destruction is complete.” He opened his left hand, displaying a crystal in his palm. “This is the same kind of crystal that I embedded in the rope. When it is heated, it absorbs the spirit of a bodiless witch. My plan was to return to the stake and collect the crystals that absorbed you, but it seems that I waited too long, and my delay allowed you to escape. Now, if you want your father to live, we will reenact the execution without the usual pageantry. You will hold this crystal and set yourself aflame with one of the many sources of fire here. Once you are absorbed, you will be trapped and out of my way. Then I will release your father.”

  “Two questions,” Marcelle said, raising a pair of fingers. “First, how do you plan to keep me in the crystal? It will eventually cool off.”

  Maelstrom’s lips bent into a twisted smile. “You will be a decoration in my fireplace, a jewel in the midst of perpetual flames. As I sit and enjoy the warmth, I will know that you are suffering inside, tormented day after day in a crystalline prison. My hope is that you will be able to look out into my quarters and watch me enjoy the fruits of my labors. The more you suffer, the more I will relish the pleasure.”

  “So you’re a greedy, sadistic narcissist. I get that.” With another furtive glance, she spotted the cloaked skulker as he circled the Enforcement Zone, apparently undetected by the Tark holding her father. “But how do I know you’ll let my father live?”

  “Watch as I speak.” Maelstrom took a step closer and spoke toward the crystal. “If Marcelle Stafford sacrifices herself in flames and is absorbed, I will release her father and allow him to live in comfort fo
r all his natural days.”

  Marcelle eyed the crystal. It shone brightly without a shade of gray.

  “You see?” He nodded at his palm. “Perfectly clear.”

  Scowling, she spoke toward his palm. “Leo is a wise, benevolent man.” The crystal instantly turned black.

  As it slowly regained its clarity, Maelstrom shook his head. “Your attempts at humor are quite entertaining.”

  Maelstrom quickly closed his fingers around the crystal, but Marcelle caught a glimpse of it before it disappeared. It had stayed clear in spite of his obvious lie. Did a male Starlighter have the ability to lie without detection?

  She laid her sword down and extended her hand. “Give it to me. I will set myself on fire.”

  Bending his brow into a skeptical arch, he opened his hand again, revealing the crystal, still as clear as ever. “You’re telling the truth.”

  “Of course I am.” She snatched it out of his hand. “I’ll do anything to save my father.” She stealthily glanced again at the cloaked man. He had made his way around to the side. With an arrow set to a bow, he crouched behind a shrub. The Tark was easily in range of an expert archer, but who could tell if this man had enough skill? Even if not, her plan had to proceed.

  She pointed at the burning stake, which lay only three paces to her left. “That source of fire should suffice.”

  “I assume so. Just get on with it before the dragon recovers.”

  As she stepped toward the stake, she glanced once again at the archer. He raised the bow and stretched the string. He was ready.

  “Marcelle!” her father called. “No!”

  She swiveled toward him and gave him a weak smile. “Trust me, Daddy. It’s the only way.”

  He shook his head hard. “I am old. It’s better that you live and I die. Fight him! I know you can defeat the likes of him.”

  She let her smile wilt. “Thank you, but there is too much for you to do. You will see.” She knelt next to the stake, grimacing at the heat, laid herself over the burning wood, and hugged it with both arms. Heat raged from head to toe. Pain ripped through every nerve. It seemed that her core had exploded into a furnace.