Third Starlighter

by Bryan Davis

  Now fully ablaze, she rose to her feet, took off the rope she had tied to her waist, and charged at Maelstrom.

  Gasping, he staggered backwards. He raised an arm, but Marcelle threw a loop of the rope around him, tied a hard knot in front, and shoved him to the ground.

  The thwack of a bow sounded, then a man’s scream of anguish. Marcelle spun in place. The Tark had fallen, an arrow protruding from his neck. The cloaked man ran out of hiding. His hood blew back, revealing Professor Dunwoody’s aged head.

  “Water!” her father shouted. “We need water for Marcelle!”

  Professor Dunwoody ran toward her, waving his arms. “Marcelle! Roll on the ground!”

  Her father leaped at her with outstretched arms, but she dodged and staggered toward Dunwoody. Everything in her view elevated, as if her lower body crumbled with each step. She held out her fist and gasped, “Keep the crystal!” Her hand dissolved. The crystal tumbled to the ground and seemed to zoom toward her. Then, sheer whiteness overwhelmed her senses.

  Marcelle rode up and down, bobbing like a raft on a river. She opened her eyes and looked around. Once again, a boy walked in front of them with a girl at his side, but the other child was no longer there. A stream bubbled somewhere to the left, and the two children whispered to one another, though their words were indistinct.

  Marcelle flexed her fingers around Adrian’s wrist. As before, he carried her, but this time out in the open instead of in a dark tunnel. Clouds raced across the sky, and a cold breeze brought a chilling shiver.

  “I’m sorry, Marcelle,” Adrian said. “I know it’s cold, but we lost the deerskin along the way. When we get to the Northlands castle, we’ll find a soft bed and warm blankets.”

  Marcelle gazed at his profile. Sweat trickled from his temple to his jaw, drawing a line down his dirty, bloodstained face. Solarus shone across his beard growth, thick in spots, nearly bare in others. Cuts and scratches marred his cheek and chin, and a bruise dressed his jaw in purple. Every mark, though likely painful, was beautiful to behold. This man was truly heroic, a warrior with a heart of gold.

  As Adrian’s arm tightened around her thighs, she luxuriated in his embrace. It felt so warm and good. Taking in a deep breath, she forced out, “The Northlands?”

  He nodded. “It’s not far. That’s why it’s getting so cold.”

  “Your father … is there. … Waiting … for you.”

  He looked at her and smiled. “It’s good to hear your voice again.”

  She frowned. “Look … for him.”

  “My father?” He glanced ahead before continuing. “Sure, I’ll look for him. I saw him get healed there. I’ll tell you all about it when you recover.”

  Marcelle blinked. Recover? Had she returned fully to her body somehow? What had happened on Major Four?

  Fire blazed in her mind, then the image of Maelstrom’s burning body. Had she succeeded? Did Professor Dunwoody keep the crystal, and could she emerge from it when it cooled? And did he and Daddy escape?

  After taking another breath, she reached for more words. “Have to … go back. … When it’s cool. … Get the soldiers.”

  “When it’s cool?” Adrian laid her on the ground and knelt beside her. The boy and girl stopped and sat in the flower-filled meadow, both with slack shoulders and drooping heads.

  After wiping sweat from his brow, Adrian took Marcelle’s hand and rubbed her fingers. “You’re already cold. You need to warm up, not cool down.”

  She groped with her free hand, using her fingers to climb his tunic until they reached his face. She caressed his cheek and looked into his eyes. “Thank you … for taking care of me.”

  He returned the caress. “I would do anything for you. Just relax and concentrate on getting better.”

  “Can’t … relax. … Too much … to do.”

  “I’ve heard. You’ve been talking about being home on Major Four, something about traveling there in spirit. I don’t know if you’re just dreaming or not, but no matter what happens—”

  “Shhh.” She moved her fingers to his lips. “Just tell me … one thing.”

  He lowered his head closer. “What’s that?”

  “Did you … mean it? … Or was I … dreaming?”

  “Mean what?”

  “Your question.” Closing her eyes for a moment, she took in a deep breath and summoned her reserves. “You asked me to marry you.”

  “Oh, Marcelle!” He took her hand again and ran his knuckles across her cheek. “If it will help, I’ll ask again.”

  She pressed a fingertip over his lips. “Wait. … Wait until … I return … from Major Four.” Exhaling, she closed her eyes. The darkness behind her lids transformed from gray to black, and it seemed to fly away, replaced by vague light and color. The sound of the nearby stream faded, and only a soft echo reached her ears.

  “Hurry back, my love. I will be waiting.”

  Marcelle opened her eyes. A dresser stood to her right, familiar, yet somehow out of place. She lay in a bed, soft and warm. It, too, seemed familiar. Had Adrian already brought her to the Northlands and laid her in a bed as he had promised?

  She sat up and dangled her legs over the side. No. This was her own room, the one attached to her father’s. The last time she was here, it had been ransacked, but now everything had been picked up and put in order.

  With a quick slide, she dropped to the floor. Her shoes were still on, as were the same trousers and tunic she had been wearing on Major Four, though no longer ripped by her fall in the Enforcement Zone. A chill swept across her skin, forcing her into a hard shiver. Yes, she was back in her bloodless form, a spirit wrapped in a cold shell of dust.

  She turned to the bed. A crystal lay in the sheet folds. She snatched it up and drew it close. It appeared to be the same one she had taken from Maelstrom or at least one very similar to it.

  Male voices drifted in from the adjoining room. She stepped close and peeked around the corner. Her father, Professor Dunwoody, and Captain Reed sat in high-backed leather chairs— Father facing away with his chair close to the bed, and Dunwoody and Reed facing him, their backs to his desk. Beyond all three of them, flames crackled in a fireplace. The logs appeared to be newly set, barely scorched at all. To her right, her sword and scabbard lay perfectly aligned on the neatly made bed.

  She leaned in, then drew back. Hearing their conversation might be beneficial. Perhaps they would be more unguarded in her absence.

  “It was dragon fire,” Dunwoody said, pointing at a book on his lap. “Arxad said he and the crystals could be destroyed with it, so I don’t think Leo is in one of the surviving crystals at all. He has been destroyed. Magnar’s flames were the source for every blaze, so it was dragon fire that burned the stake. Marcelle took on those flames and transferred them to Leo. Earlier, I expressed my doubts to her that dragon fire differs from any other, but it seems that it carries a unique quality I cannot explain.”

  “Your theory has merit,” her father said. “Still …” He slid his chair to the side, grabbed a poker from a rack, and stoked the logs in the fireplace. “I should like to keep this fire going. If our former governor is indeed trapped inside one of the crystals, I want to make sure he stays there.”

  “How many crystals did you throw in?” Dunwoody asked.

  Father raised three fingers. “The rope was incinerated, as were most of the crystals. They were no more than shining dust for the most part.”

  Captain Reed withdrew a folded parchment and spread it out on his lap. “Will the new governor sign the order to invade Dracon?”

  “With pleasure.” Father leaned toward his desk, plucked a pen from an inkwell, and took the parchment. “I assume you found the funds to be satisfactory.”

  “Indeed. We will be well supplied.”

  Father signed the bottom of the parchment. “And the recruits?”

  “Six hundred strong and climbing. It seems that Marcelle’s speech had much more of an effect than we realized.”

  �
��Freedom,” Dunwoody said. “When oppression is lifted, courage soars. Of course, the greatest heroes rise against despots even in the midst of tyranny, but we will not condemn those who are newly born heroes. We all had to start somewhere.”

  Captain Reed nodded sadly. “You speak this truth to my shame. I gave away much information when my sister faced brutality.”

  Dunwoody pointed a gnarled finger at him. “You judge yourself too harshly. You cared for someone else, not yourself. I was too frightened to pick up the crystals at the burning stake. I feared Leo. I put my own hide before Marcelle’s life and hid under the gallows like a whipped dog. I have the greater shame.”

  “And I,” Father said, raising his hand, “resisted Marcelle’s efforts to journey to Dracon. I was more concerned about appearances and our family’s reputation. My heart was broken by tragedy, to be sure, but that is no excuse to harden it to the cries of children who needed her sword.”

  Professor Dunwoody lowered his head, nodding. “So there is only one hero among us, the only one willing to sacrifice herself without question, without regard for herself or her reputation.”

  “Marcelle!” Her father rose to his feet. “I didn’t see you there!”

  Dunwoody and Captain Reed rose as well. “Excellent!” Dunwoody said with a grin as he laid the book on his chair. “It worked. The crystal cooled, and you emerged in the comfort of your own bed, just as I had hoped.”

  Walking in, Marcelle held out the crystal in her palm. “But if dragon fire destroys these crystals, how did this one survive?”

  “Oh, yes!” Dunwoody stooped and retrieved a palm-sized leather bag from under his chair. As he walked toward Marcelle, he untied the drawstrings at the top and withdrew the scale Arxad had given her. “This covered it,” he said as he laid the scale over the crystal. “If not for this protective shield, perhaps you and it would have been destroyed.”

  Marcelle stared at the scale. Her covenant with Arxad had saved her spirit from death. A dragon’s sacrifice, a dragon’s love, had preserved a human life.

  “Oh!” Marcelle looked at the window, but the drapes blocked her view. “Where is Magnar? Is he all right?”

  “See for yourself.” Father slid between the bed and the wall and pulled a drape to the side. “He is as bad tempered as ever, but I think Captain Reed has found the perfect job for him.”

  The scale and crystal still in hand, Marcelle jumped on the bed, knocking the scabbard into a spin, and slid to the opposite edge. Outside, Magnar stood in the Enforcement Zone, the area now wiped clean of debris. Lined up in dozens of rows, hundreds of men faced him as he spoke, his head swaying from side to side.

  “He is providing them with the history of Starlight,” Father explained, “and informing them of what they will face when they arrive. He has already briefed us, and Captain Reed thought it fitting that the soldiers be aware of what they risk.”

  Marcelle pulled the other drape to the side and watched the expressive dragon. With every swing of his head, sparks and smoke flew from his nostrils, making the men in the front row lean back. “Did Magnar mention the disease?”

  “What disease?” Father asked.

  “Magnar and Arxad talked to Randall about it.” Marcelle turned toward Dunwoody. “It’s the same disease they were protecting the humans from when they sent the embryos here inside the eggs.”

  “Embryos? Eggs?” Father squinted at her. “What are you talking about?”

  Dunwoody grabbed the book from his chair. “She’s talking about a disease that killed every human on Dracon!” He lifted his brow. “Is it spreading there?”

  “Not that I know of,” Marcelle said, “but the dragons thought it could happen. They have a usurper on their world who might unleash it.” She looked out the window again. Magnar spread his wings as if ready to fly while an officer marched the troops out of the Enforcement Zone. “I think it’s time to go. We can tell Father and Captain Reed about the disease on our way to meet Magnar, and we’ll have to discuss how to protect our soldiers in case it’s been unleashed.”

  Professor Dunwoody rubbed a finger along the journal’s cover. “If this book is true, no amount of protection will halt the disease. We will have to let the men know the risks.”

  “That might decrease our numbers,” Captain Reed said.

  Marcelle tucked the scale and crystal into the bag and tied it to her belt. “Tell them anyway.” As she strode to the door, she grabbed the scabbard and sword from the bed and sheathed the blade. “I prefer sixty valiant men over six hundred with weak spines. We might face dangers far worse than a disease.”

  Dunwoody laughed. “Marcelle, you might scare away more men than a dragon or a disease ever could. In the company of your courage, their own courage will feel like fear.”

  “My men will be inspired.” Captain Reed bowed toward her. “And I am inspired as well.”

  “Mutual respect won’t defeat a dragon.” Marcelle fastened the scabbard to her belt and opened the door. “Lead the way.”

  “I prefer you at my side.” Captain Reed marched to the door, stopped next to her, and guided her against the wall. “I think the new governor should precede us, don’t you?”

  Marcelle grinned. “By all means.”

  “Then, Governor Stafford, if you will.” Captain Reed swept his arm toward the doorway. “A good bodyguard always walks behind his governor.”

  “Come, Issachar,” Dunwoody said as he hurried from the room, “we still have to prepare notification to the king. He will want to know that we followed all the rules of succession before he officially designates you as governor.”

  “Very well.” Father walked in his wake but stopped in front of Marcelle. He took her hand and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. When he drew back, tears welled in his eyes. “I was wrong, my dear, very wrong. If you want to wear trousers and carry a warrior’s weapons, I will learn to accept it. I never should have tried to discourage you from being a mistress of the sword. I wanted to mold you in the image of your mother, and that was a great mistake. I hope you will forgive me.”

  “Oh, Daddy!” She threw her arms around his waist and pulled him close, her cheek on his shoulder. “Of course I forgive you! I forgive you with all my heart!”

  He patted her on the back. “I wish your mother were here to—”

  “Mother!” She jerked away. “I found him!”

  “Found him? Who?”

  She grabbed his wrists. “The man who killed Mother! It was Drexel!”

  “Drexel? How do you know?”

  “I have so much to tell you and so little time.” She hooked her arm around his and walked with him out the door. “But first, I want to ask you a favor. Can you look into getting something made for me?”

  “Certainly. A new sword? A shield? I will ask the royal blacksmith to—”

  “No.” She stopped and faced him. Letting a smile break through, she looked into his eyes. “Ask the royal seamstress. I think she already knows my size. I need a bridal gown.”

  * * *

  TWENTY-ONE

  * * *

  FREDERICK skulked toward the line of trees, his body bent low and a sword at his side. Hacking and grunting sounded from within the glade, masking his approach. As he drew within a few steps, the noises suddenly ceased. He froze in place, listening.

  “Finally!” someone said.

  Walking on tiptoes, Frederick edged closer and peered between two trunks. Near the center of the glade, Drexel dropped an axe and fell to his seat in the midst of piles and piles of broken branches. He looked up. “I hope you’re satisfied! After endless hours of backbreaking work, you’re finally free!”

  Frederick followed Drexel’s line of sight. Three dragons sat on sawed-off limbs, one at the south side of the ring of trees, one to the east, and one to the west, looking like huge snowy owls perched on the edge of a roof. Their heads moving all around, they appeared to be inspecting the holes where the branches had once impaled their bodies. With so many branches m
issing, light pouring through the gaps between the trunks made the glade brighter than usual.

  “What are you waiting for?” Drexel shouted. “You’re free!”

  One of the dragons shifted, as if ready to reply. Frederick studied its face. This was Beth, one of the females. He had talked to her once several weeks ago while exploring the trees. Lowering his head, Frederick squeezed between the trunks. Secretly listening in on their conversation might be of great benefit.

  Once inside the glade, he crawled closer, using the fallen branches as shields. When he drew within a few paces, he sat in the shadow of one of the piles and leaned around the edge, his sword in his lap and his grip tight on the hilt.

  “We are free,” Beth said, a groan underlying her rasping voice as she balanced on the southern limb, “but we are not healed. We will not be able to leave this place until we are well enough to fly.”

  Drexel spread out his arms. “How long will that take?”

  “You are eager, human, far too eager. The Code instructs us to be patient. Only the patient heart is rewarded with its desires.”

  Drexel let out a huff. “How dare you lecture me about patience! I have worked like a slave to set you free. I could have left you here and taken my chances with the portal.”

  “And your faith in us will be rewarded, as I swore to you. Once we punish the dragons of the Southlands and restore our rightful rule over Starlight, we will send you back to your world with the power you need to rule.”

  “Will you now reveal that secret power to me?”

  Frederick slid a bit closer. The answer to Drexel’s question might be too crucial to miss.

  Beth bent her neck toward the dragon on the eastern limb. “Tell him, Gamal. You are the prophet among us.”

  Gamal extended his neck and stared at Drexel, his eyes shining blue. “There is a prophecy that the world of Starlight can have only three Starlighters at one time. As we speak, we have two in the world, girls by the name of Cassabrie and Koren. A third Starlighter, who once inhabited Exodus, has left this world, which allowed for the coming of another.” He looked at the dragon on the western limb. “Dalath, what was the name of the departing Starlighter?”