Starfinder: A Novel of the Skylords

by John Marco

  Moth leaned over the cockpit, about to climb in, when he heard a noise at the other end of the hangar. He held his breath. Finally, the sweet sound of his own name lilted across the darkness.

  “Moth? Where are you?”

  “I’m here,” Moth called, moving toward the voice with his outstretched candle. The light from the flame reached across the hangar, falling on the worried faces of Skyhigh and Fiona.

  “Moth!” Fiona cried. She ran to him with arms out wide, nearly toppling his candle. Melted wax burned his fingers, but he was too happy to care.

  “You’re here,” he sighed.

  She held on to him. “Poor Leroux. Oh, Moth . . .”

  A knot tied itself in Moth’s throat. “Yeah,” he croaked. He didn’t want to cry, not in front of Skyhigh. “I can’t believe it.”

  Skyhigh came out of the darkness with a box in his hands. “We brought food,” he said, holding it out for Moth’s inspection. “You all right so far? Any trouble?”

  “No, nothing,” said Moth. “It’s been quiet.” He looked at them both. “What about you? You hear anything?”

  “Let’s go up to the loft,” said Skyhigh. “You can eat while we talk.”

  He stepped past Moth and headed for the ladder. Fiona looked at Moth helplessly.

  “Moth,” she said, “Skyhigh told me what happened. I want to help.”

  “It’s your grandfather, Fiona. Did he say anything to you?”

  Fiona blanched. “He’s already looking for me.”

  Skyhigh was already halfway up the ladder. “C’mon!”

  Moth and Fiona followed him, climbing the wooden rungs up to the dusty loft. The candle in Moth’s grip nearly went out as he climbed, one-handed, before giving it over to Fiona. As Skyhigh spread out the blanket, Fiona tipped the melted wax out of the candle and onto the ledge. Gently she set the candle into the wax, blowing on it until it hardened.

  “There’s some meat pies, some apples, some cheese . . .” Skyhigh announced each item as he unpacked the box. “And water. Here . . .”

  He handed a battered canteen to Moth, who quickly unscrewed the cap. The one thing he really wanted was a drink. He took a long, thirsty pull of the water, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Together they sat cross-legged on the blanket, staring at each other in the candlelight.

  “Thanks,” said Moth, but he felt embarrassed suddenly, like one of those vagabonds that sometimes crawled off the train from Medona. The pity in Fiona’s face made it even worse. “Are they looking for me?” he asked flatly.

  Skyhigh hesitated, as though he didn’t want to answer. “Some of Rendor’s men came to the aerodrome. They’re asking questions about you, Moth. Hark pointed them in my direction. Idiot.”

  Moth’s stomach somersaulted. “What’d you tell them?”

  “What do you think I told them? I said I haven’t seen you and I don’t know where you’d run off to. Made it sound like I was real worried about you, too.”

  Fiona nodded. “I told my grandfather the same thing. He came looking for me at dinnertime. I don’t think he believed me, though.”

  “He’ll be keeping an eye on Fiona, you can bet on that,” said Skyhigh.

  “You sure you weren’t followed?” asked Moth.

  “I snuck out of the mansion. No way anyone saw me,” Fiona said confidently.

  “Fiona, you shouldn’t have come,” Moth told her, annoyed at the risk she had taken. “Once your grandfather knows you’re gone he’ll be looking for you, too.”

  Skyhigh shot a glare at Fiona. “Yeah, that’s what I told her, but she wouldn’t listen.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’m not going back anyway.”

  Moth reared back in surprise. Skyhigh just rolled his eyes.

  “Fiona, you have to go back,” said Moth. “You can’t stay here with me.”

  “Yes I can,” insisted Fiona. Her face hardened like candy brittle. “My grandfather’s putrid and I’m not going back to him, not after what he’s done.”

  “Stop,” said Skyhigh, putting up his hands. “First we have to figure out what’s been going on.”

  Fiona smouldered at the interruption. “He took Moth’s home, Skyhigh.”

  “But why?” Skyhigh countered. “That’s what really matters here.”

  “Fiona, don’t you have some idea why?” Moth asked pleadingly. “Why would your grandfather be searching our place? Why’s he taking everything?”

  “He doesn’t want everything you have, Moth,” said Skyhigh. “Just something in particular.”

  “But we don’t have anything! You’ve seen our place. All Leroux had was that stupid bird, and now she’s gone too.”

  Skyhigh took one of the meat pies and broke it in half, handing part of it to Moth. He chomped down on the other half, saying, “And what about that bird, huh? Why’s he looking for her?”

  Moth had asked himself the same question a thousand times. “I don’t know. Maybe . . .” He stopped himself.

  Skyhigh kept on chewing. “What?”

  “It’s stupid. Just something Leroux told me last night. But it’s crazy.”

  “Go on and say it,” urged Fiona.

  “It was just one of his stories. And it was the middle of the night. He woke me up to tell me that Lady Esme isn’t really a bird. He said she’s really a woman from across the Reach.”

  Skyhigh took a hard swallow of pie. “That really is a story!”

  “See? It’s dumb.” Moth finally bit into his food. “He was feverish. I should have run out to get the doctor but I didn’t. Maybe if I had he’d still be alive.”

  “Forget that,” said Skyhigh sharply. “Leroux was old. No one could have helped him. Go on with what you were saying—Lady Esme?”

  “Leroux said he had a gift for me. I thought his silly story was the gift, but now I’m not sure what he meant. He wanted me to help Lady Esme get back to normal.” Retelling the tale frustrated Moth. “He said he met her over in the Reach and that they fell in love, but then she got turned into a bird.”

  “Sounds to me like he knew he was going to die,” said Fiona. “See, Moth? You couldn’t have saved him.”

  Skyhigh steered the conversation back again. “What else did he say? What else about the gift?”

  “Nothing! That’s the worst part. He said it was all some secret that he couldn’t tell me.”

  Skyhigh smirked. “I’ve heard Leroux tell stories. He was never shy about giving details. That was one long-winded old man. If he said he couldn’t tell you something, he probably meant it.”

  “But none of it makes sense,” said Moth.

  Fiona’s face scrunched up as she recalled, “Last night when I had dinner with my grandfather, he asked about Leroux. He must have heard he was sick. He wanted to know how he was feeling.”

  “He asked you that?” said Moth. “Why?”

  “It’s all the same thing,” Skyhigh surmised. “He wants something. That gift, whatever it is. The kestrel, too. It’s all tied up together. Fiona, did Rendor ever ask you about Leroux before last night? Did he ever mention him?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Fiona. She twirled her red hair around a finger as she thought. “But my grandfather was an Eldrin Knight. Maybe they knew each other.”

  Moth gasped. “When your grandfather was at my house—he said that! He told me that Leroux was a great man. I forgot that until now.”

  “And Leroux never mentioned Rendor to you?” asked Skyhigh. “Ever talk about him coming to Calio, becoming Governor, anything like that?”

  Moth’s mind was a jumble, difficult to untangle. “He talked so much it’s hard to remember. He might have said something about Rendor once, I dunno.”

  “We can sneak back to your apartment,” said Fiona. “See what’s left there. Maybe Lady Esme came back.”

  “Too risky,” said Skyhigh. “If he really wants the bird he’ll have thought of that. He’ll have someone waiting there already. Besides, Moth has to stay put.”

  “What, here?
I can’t live here forever, Skyhigh . . .”

  “Not forever. Just until I figure out this mess.” The Skyknight rubbed his hands together, partly in thought, partly to warm himself. “We need to know what Rendor’s looking for.”

  “If he found it, it’ll be back at the mansion,” said Fiona. Her pale face darkened. “Maybe I should have stayed there,” she admitted.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Skyhigh gently. “If he found what he was looking for then he’s got it hidden somewhere safe. You wouldn’t be able to find it, Fiona.”

  “But it belongs to Moth,” Fiona fumed. “My grandfather stole it!”

  “We don’t even know he has it!” grumbled Skyhigh.

  Moth decided to get between them. “Fiona, I lost the knife you gave me,” he confessed. “It was at the apartment.”

  “Sure, they probably stole that, too!” hissed Fiona.

  Skyhigh took a drink from the canteen. Moth could tell he was worried.

  “Skyhigh? Are you gonna be in trouble for all this?” asked Moth. “ ’Cause if so . . .”

  “Hey, forget that,” said Skyhigh. He reached out and playfully tapped Moth’s cheek. “Skyhigh Coralin’s not afraid of anything. What can they do, bust me down to dishwasher? Their best pilot?” He turned back to Fiona. “That meeting tomorrow—you know anything about it?”

  “Just what my grandfather told me. He says it’s to talk about the Skylord problem.”

  Skyhigh laughed. “Might as well be talking about the weather,” he scoffed. “Skylords! Your grandfather just wants to make trouble. He’s become a big man by making everyone afraid. Now he wants to show off that monstrosity he’s built, the Avatar.”

  “That’s not it,” said Fiona. “He believes what he says about the Skylords. A lot of old people like him do.”

  Moth nodded. “Leroux did.”

  There was silence for a moment. The grin melted from Skyhigh’s face. “I don’t know what’s beyond the Reach. Maybe it’s full of women that turn into birds. Or maybe there’s just nothing there. And you know what? It doesn’t really matter. It’s just nice and quiet in the Reach, the way things ought to be. People like Rendor just stir the pot.” He gave Fiona a sideways glance. “No disrespect.”

  Fiona grimaced. “I don’t care about him. All I want is to help Moth.” She folded her arms across her chest. “And I’m not going back.”

  Moth gave her a sad smile. “It doesn’t matter, Fiona. Now that Leroux’s gone I need to think about getting on the train, getting away from here.”

  “Not yet,” said Skyhigh. “Give me a couple of days first. Maybe things’ll blow over by then. If not . . . well, just stay put, all right?”

  The thought of being alone was dreadful to Moth. Suddenly he was grateful Fiona had come. “I’ll stay put. Can’t really show my face around here anyway.”

  “Good.” Skyhigh stood up and brushed the crumbs from his uniform. “I’ll be back as soon as I can get away. Might not be until tomorrow night. You think you’ll be okay until then?”

  “Sure,” said Moth, though he really wasn’t. “I’ll be fine.”

  Skyhigh smiled as he looked at Moth and Fiona, sitting together in the candlelight. “Kind of romantic here,” he joked. “Like I said, stay out of trouble.”

  THE STAR-THINGY

  MOTH HAD FORGOTTEN about the wizard until that night, when he dreamed of Leroux.

  In the silence of the old hangar, he lay asleep in the loft near Fiona. Too exhausted to force himself awake, he looked upon Leroux’s face in the dream and was happy. They were together on a train, then suddenly in an airship, and Leroux seemed young again. He spoke clearly, without his cough, his eyes bright and free of cataracts. Until that point Moth hadn’t remembered what Leroux had said about Merceron.

  “Are you embarrassed to tell them?” Leroux asked. “Do I embarrass you, Moth?”

  “No!” Moth insisted. Now they were no longer in the sky, but had somehow dropped into a thick, merciless fog. “I don’t care what people say, Leroux. They can laugh; it’s okay.”

  When he looked again, Leroux was dressed as an Eldrin Knight. “Merceron,” he said.

  Moth felt lost in the mists. “I don’t want to talk about this. I want to go home, Leroux. With you.”

  He sat up, breathing hard, relieved the dream was over. But he wasn’t at home or in the mists or on a train. He was in the darkness of the hangar. Fiona remained asleep beside him. At first he thought the dream had woken him, but then he heard an interminable scratching on the metal roof, like an animal trying to claw its way inside. Moth sat very still, listening for voices that never came. He heard the wind, smelled the must of the hangar. The scratching continued.

  Long hours had passed since he’d last been outside. In the cover of night he was sure he wouldn’t be seen. The nub of a candle still burned on the ledge. As he reached for it, Fiona stirred.

  “Moth?” Her voice was soft, half asleep. She blinked uncertainly. “What’s wrong?”

  “Probably nothing,” Moth said gently. “I heard something, that’s all.”

  The scratching came again. Fiona sat up and looked at the roof. “That?”

  Moth started backing down the ladder. “I’ll check it out. Go back to sleep.”

  “How can I?” Fiona scrambled out of her blanket. “I’m coming too.”

  Moth didn’t argue. Together they climbed down the ladder, then tiptoed across the hard floor of the hangar, Moth leading the way toward the west side doors.

  “Hold this,” he said, handing the candle to Fiona.

  Encrusted with rust, the doors rattled as he jerked them apart.

  “Shh!” hushed Fiona. “Not so loud.”

  “It’s not me,” Moth argued. “They’re old.”

  He slid the doors apart as quietly as he could, just wide enough for them to squeeze through. Cool mountain air struck their faces, blowing out Fiona’s candle. A full moon gazed down brightly on the city.

  Moth realized quickly that the noise had stopped. Fiona noticed, too.

  “Maybe we scared it away,” she suggested. “Whatever it was.”

  Moth stepped out to look around the building, careful to stay within the shadows. “I don’t see any—”

  Something came rushing from the sky. Moth leaped back. A flutter of outstretched wings brushed against him. In the light of the moon Moth saw the bird fluttering toward him.

  “Esme!”

  Lady Esme landed at his feet. Astonished, Moth and Fiona both knelt to greet her.

  “How’d she find you?” asked Fiona.

  “She must have been watching me!” said Moth. “She probably followed me all day!”

  The bird called insistently, then leaped skyward and flew off. Moth jumped up to stop her.

  “No!”

  She winged her way over the hangar and out of sight. Moth and Fiona dashed around the building. Frustrated, Moth gazed up at the stars, wanting to scream.

  “She’s gone!”

  “Moth, quiet . . .”

  Moth scanned the sky, desperate to find her. Then, as quickly as she had flown off, Lady Esme reappeared. This time, something large and silvery glinted in her talons. With effort the kestrel carried the object toward them, beating her wings and setting it on the grass.

  “What is it?” asked Fiona, bending down to look.

  Moth knelt and picked it up. “Some kind of instrument. Like for a ship.”

  It looked like a sextant, a tool seamen used to navigate the oceans. At the top of the thing was a long tube with glass lenses, like a small telescope, attached to a wheel with pinpoint markings along its side. There were all manner of levers on the thing, engraved with symbols Moth didn’t understand. Near the bottom of the device a spotless mirror shone. As Moth lifted the object to look at it more closely, the mirror reflected his curious face. Fiona leaned over him, studying the thing. She reached out and pointed at the pinpoints on the wheel.

  “They look like stars,” she observed.


  “They do,” Moth agreed. “Like constellations.”

  He pointed the instrument skyward and peered through the scope. A crystal clear image of stars exploded into view.

  “Whoa, powerful . . .”

  There was no distortion at all, as though he could just reach up and touch the heavens. He handed the strange object to Fiona, who did the same—and with the same awestruck reaction.

  “Amazing. I’ve never seen anything so clear before!” She put her face close to the mirror, watching the reflection of her own, huge eyeball. “What’s this part for?”

  Moth shrugged. “I don’t know. Sextants don’t have mirrors. And that writing on it—that’s not normal either.”

  Lady Esme waited on the grass beside them. Moth’s eyes met Fiona’s, sharing the same impossible thought.

  “This is Leroux’s gift,” Moth whispered. Suddenly he felt the chill of the mountain air. Lady Esme stared at them, her strange eyes full of intelligence. “Either you’re a very smart bird,” said Moth, “or you’re not a bird at all.”

  Fiona kept her voice low. “That’s the thing my grandfather’s looking for,” she said. “It must be.”

  “It’s from across the Reach,” said Moth. “That’s why he wants it. It’s probably something powerful. Magical, even.”

  “But why would Leroux have it? And how would my grandfather know about it?”

  There were too many questions and not enough answers. “This thing, whatever it’s called—this is what Leroux wanted me to use to help Lady Esme.” He leaned forward, studying the kestrel, looking for something—anything—to reveal the truth inside her. “Fiona, your grandfather wanted Esme because he knew she might have this thing. He probably knows she’s not really a bird.”

  Fiona grimaced. “Moth, I don’t know . . .”

  “I do know,” Moth insisted. “I believe it, Fiona. Before he died Leroux made me promise I’d help Esme. I told him I would. I didn’t believe it then, but now I do. It’s all true.”