Starfinder: A Novel of the Skylords

by John Marco

  “Because I want to know.”

  It was her grandfather’s way of telling her their conversation was over. It didn’t matter, though—she would be late for Moth’s party if she didn’t hurry.

  CASTLES

  DOWN IN THE DARK STREETS of Calio, the unseen clock in the clock tower struck its midnight chord. A golden moon hung directly over the Governor’s mansion, lighting the gardens around the house and making shadow puppets out of the blooming flowers. The mansion stood apart from the rest of the city, perched on a small hill in the newer part of town. A five-foot wall of brick circled the mansion and its gardens, covered with crawling ivy. Thick enough for a person to walk across, the wall offered stunning views of the city and the Reach, and Fiona had quickly discovered the best spots for daydreaming.

  Moth enjoyed sitting on the wall. He enjoyed being alone with Fiona, hidden from the mansion’s prying eyes by the tall ash trees of the garden. When he heard the clock chiming in the distance, he realized they’d been sitting and talking for hours.

  “Midnight,” he whispered. He looked over his shoulder back toward the mansion, peering through the garden to see if anyone was waiting there. The mansion was surprisingly quiet. The occasional echo of a voice reached them from the streets, but the city was mostly asleep. “Should you go inside now?” Moth asked Fiona.

  Fiona shook her head. She’d been quiet the whole night, even at Moth’s party. She stared out past the mountain, toward the Reach. The red scarf Mrs. Jilla had made Moth for his birthday clung around her shoulders. Though summer had come to Calio, nights on the mountain were always chilly. Fiona still clutched a small sack in her hands. She had held tight to the sack the entire night. Moth was starting to think it wasn’t a gift for him at all.

  “Good party,” he said, wanting to make Fiona smile. “Good cake.”

  “It was,” said Fiona absently. “Too bad about Leroux.” Her brow drooped a little. “He’ll be all right, you think?”

  “He’s just tired,” Moth assured her. “Once he gets some sleep he’ll be fine again.”

  The party had broken up earlier than expected. Leroux’s coughing fits had forced him to bed. After that no one talked about anything else. They had tried to move the gathering onto the balcony so as not to disturb Leroux, but it was far too tiny even for Moth’s small group of wellwishers, and Mrs. Jilla warned it might collapse.

  So Moth walked Fiona home.

  Turning thirteen wasn’t the event he’d expected. Diggy’s crash had marred the day, and he was worried about Leroux, but there was something else bothering Moth.

  “Thirteen feels a lot like being twelve,” he said suddenly. “Is that how it was for you, too?”

  “I don’t remember,” said Fiona. “I don’t remember much of anything since my parents died.”

  Moth didn’t want her remembering that day anymore. He wanted to save her from it. “I thought I’d be a squire by now, like the other boys my age.”

  “There’s still time,” said Fiona. “You have friends at the aerodrome. They can help you.”

  Moth shook his head. “You have to be highborn for that. Like you.”

  “I’m not so highborn.”

  “Money, then,” said Moth. “The rich boys get to be squires.”

  “Skyhigh’s not rich,” Fiona pointed out.

  “Yeah he is. He must be. He just doesn’t care about it. All he wants to do is fly.”

  “Sometimes that’s the most important thing,” said Fiona. “You have to want something bad enough.”

  Moth laughed. “That’s what Leroux says.”

  He kicked his legs anxiously against the wall. It really was late now, and he was sure Fiona would be in trouble.

  “Won’t they come looking for you?” he asked.

  Fiona smirked. “My grandfather? He’s asleep by now. Or working. He doesn’t care. He only brought me here because there was no one else to take care of me. We had a fight about it over dinner.”

  “Oh,” said Moth, understanding. “That’s why you’re so quiet.”

  Fiona refused to look at him. “At least you have Leroux. He loves you like a real grandfather.” She choked back a laugh. “Crazy old man!”

  Moth chuckled. “Yeah.”

  “And that bird! Where’d he find that thing?”

  “Lady Esme?” Moth thought for a moment. “I don’t rightly know. He never said.”

  “I’ve never seen anything like that bird in all my life. Not even at the zoo. Those weird eyes, the way she looks at folks. And gumdrops? Crazy!”

  “Leroux loves her. They’re always together. He spends half his pension looking after Esme.”

  “Really?” Fiona’s expression grew dreamy. “He’s gentle with you both. You’re lucky, Moth.”

  Moth had never considered himself to be lucky, especially in the shadow of Fiona’s grand home. “You’re right,” he admitted. “I am lucky. I don’t know what I’d do without Leroux.”

  Fiona slipped an arm around his shoulder. “You worried about him?”

  “No,” lied Moth. “That’s not what I mean. I’m gonna have to leave here someday, try to learn flying somewhere else. Won’t do me any good sticking around here if no one lets me squire. We’ll both be on our own then, Leroux and me.”

  “This is where the real flying is, though,” said Fiona. “This is where you belong.” She brightened suddenly, saying, “Hey, listen. There’ll be more airships coming soon, I’ll bet.” Her voice dipped low. “Some governors are coming here to meet with my grandfather.”

  “Governors? Where from?”

  “From all over, I guess. They’re coming to talk about the Skylords. My grandfather’s already getting ready for them.”

  Moth was excited about the airships but perplexed about the meeting. “That doesn’t make sense. What’s the big danger all of a sudden? I don’t get it. Why is your grandfather getting everyone so worked up? Stories about the Skylords have been around forever. Why worry about them now?”

  “ ’Cause he’s wild in the head,” declared Fiona. “He had everyone back in Capital City talking about it. That’s why they sent him here—to protect us from the Skylords.”

  “Leroux once told me the Skylords are beautiful,” said Moth, recalling the tales the old knight told him. He let his gaze linger on the Reach. “I don’t think he’s afraid of them.”

  “Did he ever tell you what they look like?”

  “Once.” It had been years ago, when they’d first met. “He said they look like angels.”

  “See? Crazy.” Fiona watched the distant mists as she spoke. “He never crossed the Reach, Moth. No one has. No one can. It’s too big.”

  “Leroux doesn’t think so,” said Moth. Deep down, he wanted to believe Leroux’s tales. “If no one’s been across the Reach, how do we know what’s there? Dragons, maybe, like Leroux says.”

  “And unicorns and mermaids,” laughed Fiona. “Right.” Yet she couldn’t bring herself to look away from the Reach. “Look how far it stretches,” she whispered. “Sometimes . . .”

  She stopped herself. Moth elbowed her to go on.

  “Tell me.”

  In a joyless voice, Fiona said, “I don’t want to be here anymore. I hate it here. Sometimes I think about just walking off into the Reach and disappearing. I’d walk and walk and just let the mists bewitch me until I was lost. No one would ever find me if they came looking.”

  “What good would that do?” asked Moth. “Besides, that’s not how it works. The Reach doesn’t go on forever, it just looks that way. Leroux says you just have to keep on going. He says if you believe it, you’ll find it—the whole world on the other side.”

  “That’s hooey,” Fiona snorted. “If that was true people would be crossing through it all the time.”

  “Leroux says most people get lost in the Reach because they don’t have faith. Or maybe they’re afraid to go through. Maybe people believe like your grandfather does, that it’s dangerous over there. Anyway, I don’t
want you to go.”

  Fiona’s cheek turned up in a half smile. “No?”

  “Not until you give me my present!”

  Fiona rolled her eyes. At last she unclenched the sack from her hand. “Here,” she said, placing the sack into his waiting palm. “Happy Birthday.”

  The velvet bag felt soft in Moth’s fingers, but inside it was something hard and weighty. He reached eagerly into the sack. When he saw Fiona’s gift his breath caught.

  “Whoa . . .”

  It wasn’t just a knife, but the knife of a Skyknight, with a folding blade and a burl wood handle studded with bronze rivets. Moth held it up to the moonlight. Stamped into the handle was a likeness of a dragonfly. He had seen knives just like it on the belts of every Skyknight at the aerodrome, the only weapons the flyers carried other than the guns of their aircraft. They were precious and they were rare, and Moth couldn’t believe Fiona had gotten him one.

  “To get you started,” she explained. “It’ll remind you of your dream.”

  “How’d you get it?” asked Moth. He grimaced at his friend. “You didn’t steal it, did you?”

  “What?” Fiona erupted. “What a brainless question! Of course not!”

  “All right, I’m sorry,” offered Moth. “But how?”

  “It belonged to one of the flyers that died. It was for sale in one of the shops down in the square. Cost me a pretty penny, too. But if you don’t want it . . .”

  Fiona reached for the knife but Moth whipped it away.

  “I didn’t say that,” he said, grinning. He studied it, then bit his lip. “Whose was it? No, don’t tell me! It’s better I don’t know.”

  “They didn’t have a sheath for it, but maybe you can find one.”

  “Leroux can make me one,” said Moth. He pulled open the blade, admiring its shine, then snapped it closed. He didn’t know how to thank Fiona. Instead of words, he leaned over and kissed her.

  “You’re welcome,” said Fiona softly.

  Moth slipped the knife into his pocket. “It’s late. I should go now, see how Leroux is doing.”

  Disappointed, Fiona nodded. “See you tomorrow, maybe?”

  “After my job. Come around for supper if you want.” Moth slipped down from the wall, landing on the side away from the mansion. He looked up at Fiona, who lingered there as if she didn’t want to go. “Fiona?”

  “Yeah?”

  “About what you said before. It won’t work, you know. You can’t just run and hide. You can’t just go live in a castle somewhere far away.”

  Fiona thought about that but didn’t answer. She swung her legs over the other side of the wall. “Good night, Moth,” she whispered, then dropped down out of sight.

  LEROUX’S GIFT

  MOTH RETURNED HOME nearly an hour past midnight, climbing the creaky steps of the building and nudging open the apartment door. Leroux remained asleep inside his bedroom, snoring comfortably. Outside on the balcony, Lady Esme rested in her makeshift nest of sticks and straw, stirring as Moth entered. He put a finger to his lips to keep her quiet as he tip-toed inside. The glass door to the balcony had been left open a crack, giving the kestrel entry to the apartment. Empty bowls and cups lay strewn across the small living space, the remnants of Moth’s party. He would clean up in the morning, he decided; he was far too tired to do it now.

  There had never been enough money to buy Moth a proper bed, and the apartment was too tiny for another anyway. Moth cleared the debris from the small sofa and found his pillow and blanket in the chest they used for a table. He kicked off his shoes and fell into the lumpy cushions, exhausted. With a twinge of sadness he realized his birthday was over. Closing his eyes, he remembered his flight in Skyhigh’s dragonfly. If he was lucky he would dream about it . . .

  Instead he dreamed of Fiona. She had run into the Reach and he was chasing her and telling her not to be afraid. He heard his name being called and thought it was Fiona’s grandfather, but when his eyes fluttered open he saw Leroux looming over him.

  “Moth? You awake?” asked the old man. His gray nightshirt looked ghostly in the moonlight. His bony head hovered above Moth’s face.

  “Leroux . . . ?” Moth sputtered. “It’s nighttime . . .”

  “I have to tell you something,” said Leroux. His eyes were wild, his body shaky. Moth sat up in alarm.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The story!”

  “What?”

  “The story I have for you. Remember?”

  Leroux’s complexion glowed a sickly white. Moth reached out to feel his clammy forehead.

  “You’re hot . . .”

  Leroux batted his hand away. “Don’t mother me, boy. It’s time to tell you.”

  “You’re sick.” Moth blinked hard to clear his sleepy mind. “I should get the doctor. What time is it?”

  “Are you listening to me? You have to listen, Moth.”

  Leroux seemed desperate, completely unlike himself. Moth studied his face, wondering if he was sleepwalking. “All right,” said Moth calmly. “Just go back to sleep and tell me in the morning. You can tell me in the morning, all right?”

  “Now,” Leroux insisted. He came in close enough for Moth to feel his breath and whispered, “Lady Esme isn’t a kestrel.”

  Moth sat up. Leroux was frightening him now. He’d never seen the old man so badly off. “I think we should both go back to sleep,” he said gently.

  “Listen to me!” Leroux shrieked. “It’s time to tell you the story! Lady Esme isn’t a kestrel. She’s a person, not a bird! Do you hear?”

  “A person.” Moth nodded. “Okay.”

  “Yes.” Leroux grew calmer. “A woman. Not a regular woman, Moth. She’s a woman that I loved . . . from over the Reach.”

  A grin of relief broke over Moth’s face. It really was just one of his mad tales. “So the women across the Reach are birds?”

  Leroux frowned. “What? No! She’s not a bird at all. She’s a woman, Moth. The Skylords changed her into a bird. And you have to help me change her back.”

  “Who is she?” Moth asked, playing along.

  “I can’t tell you that.” Leroux put a finger to his lips. “Secret things.”

  “Oh.”

  “If I could tell you everything, I would. How I wish I could! But now you know the truth about Esme, and that’s what’s most important. She needs your help, Moth, to get back.”

  “Uh huh.” Moth turned to sit upright on the sofa. “You sit down,” he urged Leroux. “Tell me.”

  Leroux sat beside Moth, his shoulders slumped from his mad burden. “I’ve tried for years to change her back, but I could never figure out how. It’s the Reach, you see? It’s damnable once you cross over. I’d be lost.” He shook his head, looking sick with grief. “My poor Esme. I’m too old to help her now. But I tried, Moth. I did try.”

  His story made no sense at all, yet Moth pretended to understand. “You’ll feel better in the morning. Just sleep.”

  “No,” Leroux whispered. “It’s too late.” He turned, staring intensely. “Moth, I have to hand this all to you now. You have to save her. You have to take her back across the Reach. Find Merceron. He’ll help you.”

  Afraid of the answer, Moth asked, “Who’s Merceron?”

  “A friend. A wizard. He knows about Esme. By now he’s figured out how to help her.” He licked his dried lips. “Yes, surely by now. Otherwise she’ll be like this forever. . . .”

  Out on the balcony, Lady Esme had fallen back asleep, paying them no attention at all. It seemed to Moth that the bird had more sense than its master.

  “Esme looks fine to me, Leroux. She’s happy! Why don’t we just leave her the way she is? She’s gets everything she needs. Gumdrops . . .”

  “No! I promised her I’d save her, Moth. She’s been like that so long she’s probably forgotten what it’s like to be real! You have to help her.”

  “But how? If you couldn’t do it, how can I? Maybe it’s better this way, really.”


  “But there is a way,” said Leroux carefully. “My gift to you. It will help you find Merceron. I’ve spent my whole life trying to figure it out. Now you must try, Moth.”

  “I thought this story was your gift. Now there’s another? Where is it?”

  Leroux grimaced. “I can’t tell you. But it’s yours, Moth. I’m giving it to you.”

  Finally Moth was too frustrated to hear any more. “All right,” he said firmly, “I get it. I understand. Thanks.”

  “Will you help Lady Esme?” asked Leroux. “Promise me you will, Moth. You must promise me.”

  “I will, Leroux, I promise. I’ll help Lady Esme. I’ll figure out the gift and I’ll go find the wizard Moralon.”

  “Merceron, Moth. His name is Merceron.”

  “Merceron. Right. I won’t forget.” Moth stood up, taking Leroux’s frail hand. “But I can’t do this if I’m tired. It’ll be a lot of work. I have to get some sleep first.”

  Leroux nodded. “Yes, yes. All right.”

  “You sleep too,” said Moth, directing the old man back to his bedroom. “We’ll talk all about it in the morning.”

  Leroux stopped at the doorway of his room. “I can’t tell you any more,” he said. “My story is finished now.”

  Moth was past caring. “Fine. I got it all anyway. I’ll take care of everything.” He turned away, desperate to get back to sleep. “Good night.”

  There was no sound as Leroux went back into his bedroom. Finally, everything was quiet.

  Morning came too quickly for Moth. Bright sunlight poured in from the balcony, beckoning him awake. He turned his face away with a groan. As his brain came to life, he remembered the ridiculous conversation he’d had with Leroux just hours ago. He stirred, angry about what had happened but worried, too.

  “Dr. Trik,” he moaned to himself, hoping the doctor could help him. Moth doubted he could go through the whole thing again tonight. He sat up, listening for Leroux. “Leroux?”

  Lady Esme flapped overhead suddenly, startling him. The kestrel landed at his feet, calling madly in her high-pitched shriek.

  “Quiet!” Moth snapped, cupping his ears.