Starfinder: A Novel of the Skylords

by John Marco

  Moth made to follow her, pausing to consider his strange new friend. “Is there anything else you can tell us?”

  Raphael smiled sadly. “Yeah,” he said. “Move fast.” He pointed to the top of the forest, which was so thick it formed a roof of leaves and branches. “That’ll hide you,” he said. “Just keep your mind clear. Forget about me. Don’t even think about me. Don’t think of home, don’t think of anything. Just keep on moving.”

  Moth nodded, as confused as ever. “Thanks,” he said, and reached out to shake Raphael’s hand. “And don’t worry—I’ll keep my promise. I won’t tell anyone about you.”

  “Does that go for you too, little gal?” Raphael asked Fiona.

  “Promise,” said Fiona. She added wistfully, “I wish you could stay with us.”

  “Can’t,” said Raphael. “But you don’t need me. You got each other, and you got each other this far. Just remember what I told you—keep moving and don’t think about anything.”

  Moth grabbed his coat, felt the bulge of the star machine in its pocket, and leaped out of the boat. Together he and Fiona trudged to shore with Lady Esme, then watched as Raphael Ciroyan shoved off with his oars, heading back to his mermaids.

  THE BLACK HERON

  SERANA RETURNED TO HER ROCK the next day, happy to be alone once again. She was worried about Raphael but not too worried; he would find his way back to the lagoon, she was sure. And they had done the right thing, helping the human children. Serana was sure of that, too. She reclined lazily on her rock, her tail gently swishing the water, and closed her eyes against the hot sun. The warmth felt good on her skin and scales. Her family’s waters extended only a few miles, but they were wonderfully quiet waters, and except for Raphael Ciroyan no other humans had ever disturbed them until the children arrived.

  Forget them, Serana told herself.

  It wasn’t helpful to think about them. Thoughts like that could only bring trouble. And it was such a beautiful day . . .

  Serana wasn’t like her sisters, who preferred the deep waters of their caves and never went exploring. They were musical, while she was quiet. They were sound, but she was dreamy. Someday, she would even explore the sunken forest itself.

  “Someday,” she vowed softly.

  A group of egrets floated nearby, picking at insects with their long beaks. Serana watched them with mild interest, until she noticed another bird near them, wading close to shore. Her lips pursed with surprise. Slowly, silently, she slid down the rock into the water.

  The black heron was the first she’d seen all season. A rare bird for Shelian waters, they were omens of good fortune— particularly to the first maid who saw one. Serana moved toward the creature, her finned tail turning slowly, propelling her forward. Sharklike, her eyes just above the surface, she watched the bird track the marshy shore. Black herons were easily startled, she knew, and impossible to catch. Her sister Danre had tried to catch one once, bounding after it like a seal and coming home with her hair in tangles. Serana didn’t want to catch it, though. All she wanted was a really close look. Close, so that she could remember it.

  But it was easy to get too close. In a sudden, feathery splash, the heron leaped and flew over Serana’s head.

  “Oh, wait!” she cried, darting up from the water and watching the heron flap down on the other side of the lagoon, where it floated near a shallow tributary filled with cattails. Determined, Serana swam for it, pushing swiftly through the emerald water. The sandy bottom of the lagoon brushed her belly. When she peeked up her head, the heron was just a few yards away.

  “Beautiful bird,” she crooned. “Look at you—a treasure.”

  The bird ignored her, as if it knew a mermaid could never catch a heron. Floating away, it followed the narrow rivulet into the grass and disappeared. Serana smiled, suddenly enjoying the chase. The powerful muscles of her tail could propel her easily in the shallow waters. Arms outstretched, she swam after the heron, pushing aside the reeds to reveal the long, thin waterway snaking through the forest.

  “Where are you?” she asked sweetly. “Just let Serana see you.”

  She spied the trees as she swam, watching them for movement. The water continued to get more shallow, forcing her to use her arms more.

  “Treasure?” she called.

  She went a few more yards, but all she saw were another pair of egrets. Dragonflies buzzed through the reeds. The sun burning her naked skin, Serana decided to turn back.

  “Looking for this?”

  Serena spun at the voice. A figure stood in the stream, its boots covered in mud and bits of grass, its body concealed within a dark, dragging cloak. A shadowy hood hid its unseen face. Serana froze, amazed and terrified. Despite its shape, the thing wasn’t human. It held the heron in its bone-white hands, spidery fingers clutched around the bird’s neck.

  Serana stared at the thing. She had never seen one before, but knew what it was. She wanted to flee, but the figure blocked her way. She sank as far as she could into the water, exposed and vulnerable.

  “It’s good luck to catch a black heron,” said the thing, its voice sugary sweet. “Or should I just eat it? It looks delicious!”

  The appalling question sickened Serana. “Let it go. Please. . . .”

  She could sense the creature’s smile beneath its inky hood. Invisible eyes moved over Serana covetously. “Mermaid, mermaid, with hair of grass,” the creature sang. “Mermaid, mermaid, sad little lass.”

  The voice chilled Serana. A woman’s voice?

  “Silly song!” it crowed. “From a place I once knew. Why do I remember it?” It paused, cocking its cowled head. “Your hair isn’t grass.”

  It watched Serana, the dying heron completely forgotten. Serana knew it hadn’t come just for the bird. Why did it stare so?

  “Are you lost?” she asked, trying not to sound afraid. “Maybe I can help you.”

  “Yesss,” replied the figure, drawing out the word like the hiss of a snake. “You can help me, child. We have heard a rumor of humans here.” It lifted its head, sniffing deeply in a great inhalation, revealing hints of its hideous face. “We smell them!”

  “Humans?” gasped Serana. “No, not here,” she lied. “Not ever here . . .”

  The thing splashed forward, frightening her. “They come! Have you seen them?”

  “No,” said Serana, clasping her hands to her breast. “Never a human!”

  The figure mocked her alarm. “Oh!” it mimicked, laughing again. “Why are you afraid? The loyal should never be afraid. Are you loyal to the Skylords, child?”

  “Yes, always,” said Serana. “But we are quiet maids here. There’s never trouble here, no reason for you to come.”

  “Quiet maids,” the thing repeated. “Pretty maids.”

  It came closer still, bending down to look at Serana, its breath thick. Its features were slight, womanly. With a jerk of its wrist it killed the half-dead heron, then extended it out toward Serana.

  “A gift, pretty one.”

  Tamping down her revulsion, Serana reached out her shaking hand, refusing to look directly at the creature. Instead she looked at the silver chain around its waist, the stout, unbreakable symbol of its bondage. The cold brush of its fingers against her own shocked Serana.

  “Will you eat it?”

  Serana shook her head. Again the thing laughed.

  “What do mermaids eat?” it asked. “Seaweed and cockles!” It stood, clapping loudly. “Seaweed and cockles and hair of grass! Sirens who make men breathe their last!”

  At last it turned to go, singing its horrible song as it left her. For a long time Serana was unable to move. She held the dead bird—her beautiful heron. The touch of the creature had sickened her.

  But she was alive. Even after lying to the creature. Now, Serana knew, she had to flee.

  Dropping the heron, she raced from the shallows toward her green lagoon, diving for the deep, deep waters of home.

  THE DOOR IN THE HILLSIDE

  RAPHAEL
CIROYAN HAD NOT known where to find Merceron, but he had given Moth and Fiona one important piece of advice—there was nothing in the sunken forest that was poisonous. They could eat whatever fruit they found.

  For Moth and Fiona, both famished from walking, the news was a gift. They had run out of meat pies and neither of them knew how to hunt, so they gorged themselves on citrus and berries, finding the forest abundant with both. But more amazing still was the darkness that shrouded the sunken world. The pale, ancient trees twisted ever upward, spreading out their widest arms at the very top, making a canopy that even sunlight struggled to penetrate. As Moth trudged along, he peered up at the roof of interwoven limbs, sucking the juice from a sweet, purple fruit.

  “How can fruit grow without sunlight?” he mulled. “How can anything grow without light?”

  Fiona cradled a handful of blueberries, delighting in their sweetness. Lady Esme, perched on her shoulder, plucked them from her palm. The berries had moist, shining skin, the kind of bright, impossible blue more suited to a bird. A while back they had found a vine full of them. After one taste, Fiona had picked the vine clean.

  “Who cares how it got here?” Fiona retorted. “We have food now. And it’s dry here.” She glanced down at her boots, still wet from the bogs. “My toes are cold.”

  “They’ll dry overnight,” said Moth, pausing to look around. The forest was mostly quiet, with small mammals and birds moving in the shadows but nothing to threaten them. The trees reminded Moth of corpses, their white bark like bone, white like Leroux’s skin on his deathbed. Near the water the trees had been almost normal. But not anymore. Not here. “It’s because there’s no sun,” he realized.

  Fiona kept popping berries into her mouth. “I gotta eat,” she said, disinterested.

  “What’s wrong?” Moth asked. “You’ve been like this all day.”

  “Like what?”

  “I dunno. Snappy.”

  “Look around, Moth. You see anything to be smiling about? We’re lost.”

  “We’re not lost. We’re following the star machine. This is where Merceron lives . . .” Moth stopped. “Oh . . .”

  “What?” snorted Fiona.

  Moth smiled softly. “You’re not mad,” he said. “You’re scared. That’s why you don’t want me to use the star machine again. You don’t want to see Merceron.”

  Fiona gave Esme one more berry, then tossed the others away. “So? He’s a dragon, Moth. What do you think he’ll do when he sees us?”

  “If he was dangerous, Leroux wouldn’t have told me about him. Raphael wouldn’t have taken us here if—”

  “Raphael was a criminal. Maybe he just wanted to get rid of us. Did you ever think of that?”

  Moth tossed aside his own fruit, then rummaged through his big pocket for the star machine. So far they had only looked at Merceron once, mostly because Moth knew how frightened the dragon made Fiona. But they were getting closer now. Moth could feel it. There wasn’t time for her to be afraid.

  “Look,” he told her, kneeling in the sand. He unwrapped the instrument and laid it down carefully. As if it knew what he wanted, the scope began to turn, pointing in the direction they’d been traveling all day. “Show me Merceron,” ordered Moth.

  Fiona gave a sigh of dread. Moth watched, eager to see the dragon-wizard again. The mirror swirled with smoke. Moth bent lower. He saw movement in the mirror, crowded by darkness.

  “There,” said Moth, his heart pounding. “I see him.”

  A glimpse of tail, a glint of tooth, and all around them trees, bone-white like the ones around them now. Merceron was moving. No longer inside his lair, he stalked the dark forest, almost impossible to see. Long talons cut through stringy vines. The spectacled eyes flashed and disappeared.

  “What’s he doing?” Moth wondered. Fiona inched toward him, peering over his shoulder.

  “I can barely see him,” she whispered.

  Was he hunting? Looking for them? Moth glanced at Lady Esme, hoping for a hint of recognition, but the bird was looking skyward instead, longing to take flight. Suddenly Fiona pointed at the mirror.

  “Look at those trees.” She glanced around. “They’re the same ones.”

  Moth picked up the star machine. “We’re really close now.” He licked his lips, annoyed that he was feeling afraid too. “We can’t stop now, Fiona.”

  Fiona looked like a tall glass of milk. “We came this far,” she agreed. She turned to the kestrel on her shoulder and said, “Lady Esme, stay with me, all right?”

  As Moth moved, the star machine turned with him, pointing through the trees. The image of Merceron began to fade.

  “If he’s nearby we’ll hear him,” whispered Moth. “I hope.”

  He tucked the thing back into his pocket, stalking forward, leading Fiona and Lady Esme. Their feet crunched against the roots and fallen branches. Moth ducked low, watching the trees grow ever whiter, the sunlight ever more dim. Sweat dripped down his face, but his mouth was cottony dry.

  Then, a noise.

  Moth and Fiona peered hard through the forest. A glimpse of movement flashed up ahead, just like in the mirror. Fiona froze, her eyes widening to saucers. Moth tried hard to see, but the trees blocked his way. He put a finger to his lips, then took Fiona’s hand. Together they tiptoed closer, closer, until at last they saw it.

  There in the shadows it hunched among the trees, its claws scraping a tree branch it held. To Moth it looked like the dragon was . . . whittling?

  “What now?” whispered Fiona. Her mouth was right up against Moth’s ear, yet he could barely hear her. He sucked his lower lip.

  “We can’t just hide,” he decided. “We have to face him.” He looked into Fiona’s eyes for strength. “Okay?”

  Fiona hesitated. “What? Just walk over and say hi?”

  “Yeah.”

  He stood up, surprising even himself, and readied to face the dragon. Fiona managed to stand as well, and with Lady Esme on her shoulder, remained at Moth’s side as they took their first bold step.

  “Hello!” Moth called. “Merceron?”

  Utter silence. The world just froze. Moth and Fiona continued one more step, then another. Then . . .

  Trees cracked and vines snapped. Movement exploded before them. Moth and Fiona jumped back. The shadowy mass ripped through the forest. Moth held up his hands, his mouth opening to shout, then realized the thing was not coming toward them at all.

  “What . . . ?”

  “He’s running!” cried Fiona. “Moth, he’s running away!”

  Moth shook off his terror and bolted after him.

  “Hurry!”

  Fiona followed, Lady Esme leaping from her shoulder to take the lead. Moth didn’t need the star machine anymore—Merceron left a gaping trail to follow. Even in the dark they could see his massive outline, but the dragon moved so quickly it was like chasing a leopard through the trees. Trees collapsed as the creature muscled them aside, his four thick limbs speeding him through the forest. Moth and Fiona kept up as best they could, vaulting over the fallen trees. Already they were losing sight of Merceron.

  “No!” cried Moth. “Merceron, wait!”

  The darkness swallowed the dragon whole. A ground-shaking noise followed, like the gate of a castle slamming shut. Moth stopped running, putting his hands on his knees and panting.

  “Where’s Esme?” asked Fiona as she skidded up beside him.

  From somewhere up ahead, the kestrel answered her call.

  “She’s all right,” gasped Moth.

  “But Merceron’s gone! We lost him!”

  Again Lady Esme gave her throaty cry, this time sounding farther away. They rushed after her, over the trampled grass and past cracked, dangling branches, finally coming to an enormous hillside. Rows of white trees surrounded the hill; mud-colored moss clung to its rocks. At its foot was Esme, hopping impatiently in front of a gigantic slab of metal nearly invisible in the gloom, its surface grimy and drooping with vines.

  “Merceron�
��s lair,” Moth whispered. “This door—that’s what we heard. He’s inside.”

  Lady Esme flew back to him, landing on his shoulder while he pondered the door.

  “He’s hiding?” erupted Fiona suddenly. “From us? That’s ridiculous!”

  Moth couldn’t remember ever seeing her so exasperated. “We can wait,” he suggested. “Maybe he’ll come back out.”

  “What? Uh-uh.” Fiona pulled off her coat and tossed it to the ground. “I didn’t come all this way to have him slam a door in my face.”

  “Fiona . . .”

  “I’m sick of waiting!” she fumed. Her eyes flashed as she turned toward the door. “And I’m sick of running. No more!”

  Red hair askew, Fiona marched, rolling up her shirt sleeves as if spoiling for a fight. The door in the hillside loomed above her, and when she pounded against it her fist made no sound at all.

  “Hey, dragon!” she bellowed. “You’re running away? Are you kidding me? We’re just kids!” She pounded again. “Do you have any idea how far we’ve come? Huh? You don’t even know who we are!”

  Moth slipped from the tree cover, glimpsing Fiona’s desperate face. It wasn’t anger he saw anymore, but anguish.

  “Please,” she cried. “I know you’re listening to me. We need your help. Lady Esme needs your help.”

  Fiona put her head against the giant portal as if listening for something. Her whole body seemed to collapse. The hillside was silent. Fiona peeled herself away, her eyes rimmed with frustration. She looked at Moth hopelessly.

  “It’s all right,” Moth told her. “We’ll find another way.”

  Behind Fiona the door creaked open, revealing a sliver of perfect darkness. From inside the hill issued a resonant, velvety voice.

  “Esme.”

  THE PACT

  ONCE THE DOOR CLOSED behind them, all was darkness. Moth could feel Merceron in the giant chamber, the dragon’s breathing swelling like some great machine.

  “Merceron?” called Moth. “We’re here. We have Lady Esme.” He paused, holding on to Fiona. “We know you’re here. Please speak to us.”