by John Marco
A slithering noise echoed through the room. Moth squinted, wondering how something so large could stay invisible.
“Don’t try to scare us,” said Fiona. “We’re not afraid of you.”
“Please, Merceron. We can’t see you.”
“Oh,” came the resonant voice again, “but I can see you.”
Moth blinked, and there before his face was a massive, devil-horned head. He jumped back, nearly falling over.
“Moth!” cried Fiona, her arms shooting out for him.
From a dark corner of the chamber came a sudden glow of light, the soft flicker of a newly lit lamp. The light crept through the chamber, slowly revealing their reptilian host.
Merceron reclined on a bed of old, lumpy cushions, a pair of wings tucked beneath him. His spectacled eyes stared adoringly at Lady Esme, perched in his upturned palm. The thin ridges of his long jaws curved in a smile.
“Esme,” he crooned. “My beautiful friend.”
Next to Moth, Fiona stood pale with astonishment. Merceron was just as they had seen in the mirror, both humanlike and mythical, as big as an elephant and refined as a scholar, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses, his body cloaked in a red velvet jacket. Greenish scales covered his hide and a crest of horns ran down his back and along his spiky tail.
“You do know Esme,” said Moth. “Leroux was right.”
“Leroux?” Merceron examined Moth, then Fiona. “Neither of you have the features of his family.” His head coiled forward, sniffing the air. “But you, girl, have the blood of Rendor in you.”
“That’s right,” said Fiona. “How’d you—?”
“Let me see you better,” said the dragon, bringing fire to his free hand with a snap of his claws. His tail came around and plucked the flames from his talons, then bounced like a tentacle around the chamber, lighting a trio of lamps. “Better?”
“Yes,” nodded Moth. The place was gigantic, its smooth walls lined with messy, overstuffed bookcases. Near a cavernous fireplace rested a cupboard and a big, lumpy chair. Merceron’s pipe, the one they’d seen him smoking in the mirror, lay on a rickety table. The dragon stretched his sinewy neck toward the children as Lady Esme hopped to the top of his wrinkled head.
“Esme, come here,” called Fiona.
Merceron laughed. “Don’t be afraid for her. Esme and I have known each other since before you were born, girl.”
“I’m not afraid,” countered Fiona. “I’m not the one who ran away, remember?”
“Hmm, you’re a Rendor, all right,” snorted Merceron. His eyes flicked to Moth. “What are you called?”
“My name’s Moth.” Not knowing how to explain things, Moth reached into his pocket and pulled out the star machine. “Leroux gave me this.”
With a sudden roar the dragon swatted the device from Moth’s hand. A crashing foot ground the thing into the floor.
“Hey!” cried Fiona.
The dragon lifted his foot and peered down at the star machine with a groan of disappointment. Moth scrambled to retrieve it, worried it would be in pieces. Amazingly, not even its mirror was damaged.
“I can’t harm it, boy,” grumbled Merceron, collapsing into his chair. “No one can.”
“What it is?” asked Moth. “Do you know?”
“Of course I do,” said Merceron in an irritated voice. “Everyone in this world knows what is it. Everyone bears its curse.”
Lady Esme hopped down to the arm of his chair, brushing her wing against him. To Moth, she seemed to be comforting him.
“So?” pressed Fiona. “What is it?”
“The Starfinder,” the dragon grumbled. “The indestructible, all-enslaving Starfinder.”
Moth ran his fingertips over the device. “Starfinder . . .” At least now it had a name. “It brought us to you, Merceron. Just like Leroux said it would.”
“What?” The dragon rose, towering over Moth. “You used it?”
“Yes,” said Moth. “It took us right to you.”
Merceron boomed with laughter. “Ha! Leroux did it! He figured it out!”
“Well, no,” said Moth. “Not really.”
Merceron turned to Fiona. “So Rendor helped him?”
“My grandfather?” scoffed Fiona. “Please. He never helped anyone in his life.”
“Grandfather? Ah . . .” Merceron’s grin displayed a mouthful of teeth. “You’re one to be careful of, then—Rendor’s offspring.”
“My name’s Fiona,” she shot back. “And I’m nothing like my grandfather.”
“It’s true, Merceron,” said Moth. “Nobody helped us. I used the Starfinder on my own.”
“That’s impossible,” said Merceron. “You’re just a boy!”
His disbelief annoyed Moth. “We’re not lying to you. All Leroux said was that he couldn’t get back here to help Esme. Do you know what he meant?”
All the joy left Merceron’s face. “I do. It means we both failed Esme.”
Moth wrapped his hands around his oversized teacup, watching Merceron puff lightly on his pipe. On the table next to them sat the Starfinder. Fiona sipped suspiciously at her tea, considering the dragon over the rim of her cup. Merceron leaned back in his chair, blowing smoke rings from his nostrils.
They had explained everything to Merceron—about Leroux and their journey through the Reach, and how Fiona’s grandfather was searching for the Starfinder. They left out nothing, and while they spoke Merceron listened attentively, never interrupting, not even when they told him about Leroux’s death. Finally, when their tale was done, the dragon grew contemplative.
“Leroux was a good friend,” he said sadly. Scaly lids closed halfway over his eyes. “Such a shame. Your people live such short lives.”
Fiona set down her teacup. “Did you give Leroux the Starfinder?”
“Can it help make Esme human again?” asked Moth.
Merceron exhaled a plume of tobacco smoke. “Leroux kept his secrets, and secrets aren’t easy for humans. Your grandfather, Fiona—now there’s a man of secrets. I bet he never even told you he came here with Leroux.”
“Huh?” choked Fiona. “He came here?”
“Rendor?” gasped Moth.
“Rendor,” nodded Merceron. “Leroux didn’t come here on his own. They came together. Eldrin Knights, they called themselves.”
“Yes,” said Moth, “but Leroux never said anything about Rendor.”
Merceron chuckled. “You see? Secrets! They came through the Reach to see what was here and to spy on the Skylords. They were lucky to get back to your world.”
“So then it’s true about Esme?” asked Moth. “Leroux said she’s not really a bird.”
“Did they love each other?” asked Fiona.
The dragon extended a bony finger, coaxing Esme onto it. “Oh yes,” he sighed, holding the kestrel up to his face. “She was brave and beautiful. It was easy to fall in love with her.”
“Who was she?” asked Moth. “Who did this to her?”
Merceron’s face clouded with shadows. “I suppose Leroux couldn’t tell you the truth. Your grandfather either, Fiona.”
“What truth?” pushed Moth. He’d waited so long for the story he thought he’d burst if he didn’t hear it right now. “Please, Merceron, tell us.”
Merceron’s voice dipped low. “This is the realm of the Skylords. Only they have the power to transform creatures. They’re the ones who made the Starfinder. And until you, Moth, they were the only ones ever able to use it.”
“I tried it myself,” said Fiona. “But I can’t make it work.”
“As did I,” said Merceron. “Leroux, too. Only you can use its powers, Moth, and that’s a mystery to me.” The dragon’s massive shoulders shrugged. “But it’s back now, and it’s a curse to us.”
“Why?” Moth asked. “What’s it do?”
“You’ve already seen what it can do.” Merceron lifted the Starfinder off the table. “It strips away all privacy, all freedom. It gave the Skylords command of the sky.”
Moth felt lost. “All I did was hold it up to the stars. It showed me the constellations like they were alive.”
“Precisely,” said Merceron. “They are alive. In your world the stars just make pictures, but here every constellation is a real being. Like me.”
“That’s impossible,” scoffed Fiona. “How can that be?”
“Because the Skylords made it that way. They weren’t always as they are now. Once they were like you. Afraid. Ignorant. The sky helped them make sense of the world. Imagine seeing a dragon for the first time! Or a centaur! We were like gods to them. So they drew their star maps and put us in the sky. And when they grew up, they gave their constellations different names. It wasn’t just a dragon anymore. It became Merceron.”
“You must be a real important dragon to get your own constellation,” said Fiona.
“I used to be,” replied Merceron. His smile faded. “Not anymore.”
“So the Skylords made the Starfinder to control the rest of you?” asked Moth. “Their enemies?”
“We were all their enemies once they took to the sky,” said Merceron. He laid his pipe down on the table. “Skylords are a jealous people. They think the sky belongs to them. The whole sky, mind you, in every world, and if they knew your grandfather had made machines for humans to fly . . .”
“Even the birds,” whispered Moth. “That’s why they don’t fly here, isn’t it? They’re scared of the Skylords.”
Merceron lowered himself from his chair, almost kneeling. “Come here,” he said. As Moth and Fiona left their seats, he wrapped his tail around them gently. “When Leroux and Rendor came across the Reach,” he told them, “dragons were at war with the Skylords. We battled them for our right to the sky. Then they created the Starfinder. The gryphons, the eagles . . . all were forced to bow to them. That’s what the Skylords did to my dragons.”
“But you got away,” said Fiona. “Did you run?”
“Not at first. At first I tried to rally my kin, but they were weary of fighting. Eventually they turned on me. But I still plotted. And I wasn’t completely alone. I still had friends willing to help me.”
“Leroux?” asked Moth excitedly.
“Yes. And someone else.” The great eyes of the dragon fell again on Esme. “She was the one who stole the Starfinder. By then she and Leroux were already in love. I hid them here, in this hideaway. But the Skylords knew what Esme had done. They punished her, did . . . that to her.”
Moth was beginning to understand. “That’s when you gave Leroux the Starfinder.”
Merceron nodded. “We made a pact. We knew the Skylords would never enter the human world. I promised Leroux I’d find a way to return Esme to normal. And Leroux made a vow to return here one day with Esme. But he never did, because he never figured out how to use the Starfinder.”
“What about my grandfather?” asked Fiona. “Was he part of the pact too?”
“Your grandfather knew what we’d found, Fiona, but he couldn’t speak of it. It was forbidden for him to come across the Reach, and even though he wanted the Starfinder it wasn’t his to claim. He and Leroux both promised never to speak of it to anyone. Leroux would try to unlock its secrets, but if he died before doing so . . .”
“The Starfinder would be Rendor’s,” said Moth.
“No!” Fiona protested. “We can’t let him have it. He hates the Skylords. If he has the Starfinder he’ll just use it to invade here.”
“Merceron, all I want is to help Esme,” said Moth. “Can the Starfinder change her back? After that . . . well, I don’t know. But Esme needs our help.”
Merceron’s eyes swelled with sympathy. “Only the Skylords can change her back. The Starfinder can’t help you with that.”
“So what do we do?” asked Fiona.
“Nothing.” Merceron dropped back into his chair. “I’m afraid you’ve wasted your time coming here.”
“What do you mean?” asked Moth.
“I’ve told you my story. That’s all I can do.”
“What? No! You have to help us. Leroux said you would.”
“He was wrong. I told you, there’s no way to save Esme. It’s impossible.” Merceron picked up his pipe again. “I’ve done all that I can.”
Fiona stepped forward, her face thunderous. “You told us you owe Esme. Is this how you’re going to repay her? She’ll be a bird forever if you don’t help us!”
Merceron ground his teeth. “I’m stuck here, don’t you see? An outcast! If the Skylords find me they’ll kill me for sure.”
“But we can’t go home,” said Moth. “If we do, Rendor will get the Starfinder.”
The dragon lit his pipe with a flick of his claws. “You may stay here for a day. Only for a day. The Skylords will find you if you remain any longer.”
“You mean they’ll find you,” sneered Fiona. “Some dragon you turned out to be! I thought dragons were supposed to be fierce. But you know what? You’re just a coward.”
“Fiona, stop . . .”
Merceron wouldn’t look at either of them. Bristling at his disregard, Fiona stormed off into a connecting chamber.
“She’s like her grandfather,” sniffed the dragon. “He had a head like granite, too.”
Unsure what to do or say, Moth took Lady Esme onto his shoulder, then started after Fiona.
“Moth?”
Moth paused. “Yeah?”
“Have you figured it out yet?”
“What?”
“About Esme. Have you figured it out yet?”
Moth bit his lip. “Uhm, I don’t think so . . .”
“Oh, you must have,” said Merceron. “Think! Why didn’t the Skylords kill Esme? She stole the Starfinder, conspired against them. She even fell in love with a human. Why do you think they’d ever let someone like that go free?” Before Moth could answer, the dragon swung his big head around. “Because she’s one of them, Moth. Lady Esme is a Skylord.”
TINKERING
INSIDE MERCERON’S LAIR, night and day felt precisely the same. There were no windows to the outside world, and no clocks among the clutter lining the shelves. Moth only knew it was bedtime because he was so tired, yet sleep somehow evaded him. Beneath his threadbare blanket he gazed into the crackling hearth, remembering how the dragon had lit it for them with a snort of fiery breath. Fiona lay beside him, staring up at the dark ceiling, a roof so high it was almost like being outside.
Throughout the night she had barely said a word. Even the news about Lady Esme garnered only a cynical shake of her head. She had gone off to explore the lair alone, finding a treasure trove of handmade objects, including an enormous pianolike instrument carved from a giant tree trunk.
Moth rolled onto his back to gaze up at the ceiling with Fiona. The way the firelight twinkled on the stone made him think of the Starfinder, and then about Esme. He stole a sideways glance at Fiona, trying to think of something—anything—to wrest her from her mood.
“I’ve never been swimming,” he whispered. “My mother told me she used to swim in a lake at night when she was a little girl back in—”
“Why are you telling me this?” Fiona interrupted.
“Just thinking.” Moth’s eyes scanned the walls, picking out the shadowy knickknacks on the shelves. “Look at all these things he’s made. Must help him pass the time.”
“Sure. He’s got nothing better to do.”
“Look, I know you’re angry,” said Moth, “but we’ll figure this out. Remember what Raphael said? We got each other, and we got each other this far.”
“Yeah, he was a big help,” grumbled Fiona. “Just like Merceron. Just another person willing to walk out on us.” Her face bunched up in a grimace. “Just like everyone else.”
Moth sat up and leaned on his elbow. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe the Starfinder can locate someone else who can help Esme. Maybe there’s another wizard we can ask.”
“We don’t even know what the constellations are here, Moth. We only found Merceron ’cause Lero
ux told you to.”
“Yeah, but Merceron would know. He could tell us that, at least.”
“Fine,” said Fiona. “You go ask him.”
She rolled onto her side, turning her back on him. Undeterred, Moth tossed off his blanket and quietly left the chamber. He hadn’t seen Merceron since going to bed, but he supposed the dragon was sleeping, too. But when he reached the main chamber it was empty, with only a puny fire sputtering in the gigantic hearth. Across the cavern a sliver of light crept in from the big metal door.
“Merceron?”
Moth went to the door and peered outside. Just beyond the threshold he caught a glimpse of Merceron in the strangled moonlight. The dragon was down on his haunches, concentrating on a long ribbon that looked like leather or bark, pulling it tightly in his claws and stripping it down with his teeth. Around him was scattered all manner of bric-a-brac—huge squares of animal skins, bent metal rods, tree branches, shavings of wood. There were tools, too, punches and chisels and needles, but mostly Merceron worked with his teeth and claws. All alone beneath the protective canopy, he stripped down the supple ribbon, bending it occasionally to test it.
“Come closer if you want to see,” said Merceron suddenly. “Your staring makes me nervous.”
“Sorry,” said Moth, stepping closer. “What are you doing?”
“Keeping busy. Where’s your friend? Sleeping?”
“Kind of,” said Moth, running his eyes over the dragon’s pile of material. “She’s kind of upset.”
Merceron kept on working, punching holes in the long ribbon with his pinky claw. “And Esme?”
“She’s all right. She’s with Fiona. One thing about old Esme, she could sleep through anything. Even Leroux’s snoring.”
Merceron laughed. “Oh, I will miss him.” His voice trailed off with a kind of shrug. “I always thought I’d see him again.”
It was still hard for Moth to think of Leroux. He blew into his cheeks, wanting to change the subject. “So what’s all this stuff? You making something?”
“Tinkering helps me think.” Merceron picked up a rod of metal, poked it through one of the holes he’d made, and bent it effortlessly into a ring.