by John Marco
“Whew,” whistled Moth. “What’s it going to be?”
Merceron sighed in annoyance. “If you can’t sleep, just watch quietly, all right?”
“All right,” Moth agreed, but knew he couldn’t. After a minute he said, “We’ll be going tomorrow. Can you tell us anything more to help us? I was hoping you could maybe tell us about some other wizard. You know, point us in the right direction.”
“A wizard?”
“Yeah. Even just a name, so I can use the Starfinder. Someone whose picture’s in the sky, like you.”
“You have to be a scholar of the sky to use the Starfinder properly, boy.” The dragon dropped down onto his tail with a huff. “Like the Skylords.” He lifted his face, his view obscured by the trees. “Even if I gave you a name it wouldn’t help.”
“But I have to try,” Moth argued. “Leroux would want me to.”
“Is he the one who told you I was a wizard?”
“Aren’t you?”
Merceron smiled faintly. “I suppose I must have seemed like one to him. All dragons can do things that look magical, but I’m no wizard. More of a sage, really. A keeper of knowledge.”
“What? Like a librarian?” Moth recalled the hundreds of books in the lair. “Leroux must have thought a lot of you, or else he wouldn’t have sent me to you.”
“He must have thought a lot of you too, Moth.” The dragon set aside his work. “If only you could have seen Esme the way she used to be. She was like a goddess once. And she wasn’t like the other Skylords, either. Esme knew the difference between right and wrong.”
“Leroux told me the Skylords are like angels,” said Moth. “But you make them sound like monsters.”
Merceron smiled. “To Leroux, Esme really was an angel.”
“Why didn’t they just kill her? I mean, after what you say she did to them.”
“The Skylords would never kill one of their own. That’s their idea of being civilized, I suppose. Besides, what they did to her was far worse. Imagine being stuck as a mindless bird.”
“A bird.” Moth thought about that, about all the times he’d looked up at birds and wished he were one of them. “At least she can fly. That’s more than most of us ever get to do.” He took notice of Merceron’s wings, neatly tucked close to his velvet jacket. “You could fly too, if you wanted. If you weren’t so afraid.”
“Flying . . .” Merceron’s expression filled with longing. “It’s been a very long time.”
“I have a friend back in Calio named Skyhigh,” said Moth. “He flies all the time. He’s a Skyknight.”
“Skyknight?” puffed Merceron. “What’s that?”
“They’re like regular knights, only they fly dragonflies and airships. The ones Governor Rendor invented.”
“What about the Eldrin Knights?”
“Oh, they’ve been gone for years,” said Moth. “Leroux was probably the last of them. Besides Rendor, I guess. Fiona says her grandfather always wanted to fly. She says that’s why he hates the Skylords, because they don’t want humans polluting the sky. He thinks it’s man’s destiny.”
“Rendor’s a grand thinker,” said Merceron. “Brave, though. And smart like a dragon.” He turned to Moth curiously. “Have you ever been up in one of his machines?”
“Skyhigh took me up a few times,” said Moth, breaking into a smile. “I love thinking about it, daydreaming. It’s amazing being up there.”
“Someday maybe you’ll be a Skyknight too, eh?”
“Maybe.” Moth kicked at the dirt. “Probably not.”
Merceron brought his tail around and lightly poked Moth with it. “Why not? You seem like a bright boy. Can’t you get yourself one of those dragonfly things?”
“It doesn’t work like that,” said Moth. “They’re not for sale, and even if they were I wouldn’t have the money. But I’ll fly one day. I might never be a Skyknight, but I’ll fly.” He looked up, wanting to see the sky, his view blocked by the canopy. “These trees hide you from the Skylords. That’s it, isn’t it? Why you don’t fly anymore, I mean.”
“The Skylords, yes,” the dragon drawled. “And . . . others.” Immediately he went back to work, this time grabbing up a wide, fat piece of animal hide. “Got to keep at it.”
“Uh, Merceron?”
“Uhm?”
“Will the Skylords come after us? Raphael Ciroyan was hiding from them, I think, but he wouldn’t tell us why. What will happen to us if they find us?”
Merceron’s fingers worked without any obvious purpose. “It’s the Starfinder they want, not you,” he said, but his tone was unconvincing. “You just make sure you take care of each other, you hear? Youngsters! Running around, always getting hurt.” He tore a great rent in the hide, then cursed his imprecision. “Got to watch what I’m doing. Why don’t you go inside? Make sure your friend’s all right.”
“I told you, she’s fine . . .”
“She’s not fine!” bawled Merceron. “Someone who loses her loved ones is never fine! You’re not fine, are you? If you were fine you’d have had the sense to stay home!”
Moth stumbled back, stunned. Merceron lowered the piece of hide with an exasperated breath.
“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he said in a halting voice. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe you can get help somewhere else.”
“Yeah?” said Moth cautiously.
Merceron nodded. “There are other dragons who might be able to help you,” he said. “It’s been decades since the war ended. Maybe they’ve learned something since then about Skylord magic.”
“You mean how to turn Esme back to normal?”
“I said maybe. I don’t know. It’s just a thought.”
“Where are they?” asked Moth. “Are they far?”
“In Taurnoken,” said Merceron. “And yes, it’s far. You won’t have the cover of the forest, either.” The ridges over his eyes came down in a fretful frown. “There’s a lot of open terrain between here and there.”
Moth felt a spark of hope. “Can you tell us how to get there?”
Merceron lifted the piece of hide he’d been working on. “How’s this look to you?”
“I don’t know. What is it?”
“Nothing yet. When I’m done it’ll be a saddle.”
“A saddle?” chuckled Moth. “For the biggest horse in the world, maybe!”
Merceron looked right at Moth, his expression dreary. “Do I look like a horse?”
Moth’s mouth dropped open. “Merceron . . . you?”
“You want to fly, don’t you?” The dragon glanced around at the materials scattered at his feet. “There’s not much time. You should probably give me a hand.”
UNDERWAY
SKYHIGH STOOD ON THE Avatar’s carriage deck, last in a line of forty crewmen. Chest out, his helmet tucked under his arm, he kept his eyes fixed on his commander at the window, and upon the Reach dead ahead.
Promptly at dawn, the Avatar had risen five hundred feet above Calio. Untethered from her giant mooring post, she had levitated soundlessly into the air, so gently that Skyhigh would never have known they were moving if he hadn’t been looking out a window. Now he could see dragonflies flapping noisily around the city, patrolling the skies.
Throughout the night Skyhigh had waited aboard the airship, watching workmen load her holds with crates marked DANGER and fill her billowing envelope with lifting gas. They fueled her engines, oiled her guns, polished her brass, and tightened the millions of bolts in her superstructure, yet her mission remained a mystery.
Commander Erich Donnar stood before his crew, outlined by the morning light against the window. He held his hands clasped behind him, slapping his gloves together as he paced, his blue eyes as calm as the sea. The first man ever to captain an airship, Donnar was more than just Rendor’s friend; he was the perfect choice to command the Avatar. With one eyebrow cocked higher than the other, he searched the sky until Rendor strode across the deck.
“Attention!” he called, bringing t
he crew back to life.
Skyhigh stared straight ahead, watching Rendor from the corner of his eye.
“The Avatar stands ready, sir,” Donnar reported. “Prepared to depart on your order.”
Rendor nodded at the news. “At ease, everyone.”
At last Skyhigh looked directly at him. In his dark coat, his silver hair slicked back, he was much the same as he’d been in his office—determined and supremely confident. The chain of his watch dangled across his belly. He had even placed a snow-white flower in his lapel.
“Good morning,” he said to the men. “We’re about to embark on the mission of a lifetime. Most men never get a chance like this, so consider yourselves lucky. We’re going to do something that’s been forbidden to humanity since the start of time. We’re going there . . .” He pointed toward the misty horizon. “Through the Reach.”
A murmur stirred through the crew. Skyhigh’s stomach did a somersault.
“The Avatar is the greatest, most powerful airship ever built,” Rendor continued. “You’ve all had time to study her; you all know what she can do. But the things on the other side of that fog out there are going to put her and you to the test!” The Governor glowered at the men, then broke into a mysterious grin. “And if you’re thinking I’m just some crazy old man, just you wait.”
Some of the crew glanced at Donnar for reassurance. Donnar just nodded.
“Now,” said Rendor, “here’s what you need to know . . .”
Skyhigh leaned in.
“Three days ago, a thirteen-year-old boy named Moth left Calio and crossed through the Reach. He has an object of great value with him. Our mission is to get it back. We’re going to find him and the object, and we’re not coming home until we do.”
Rendor gestured to Donnar to speak. “Commander.”
“We’ll be traveling low and slow,” Donnar told the crew. “We’ve taken on as much hidrenium as we can carry, but once it’s gone we’ll be stuck. That means no high speed climbs and no wasting fuel. We’ll be traveling in daylight only—no night flying. And there’ll be no friendlies to help us, either.”
Skyhigh couldn’t believe no one had mentioned Fiona yet. He raised his hand.
“Yes?”
“Question,” said Skyhigh. “We’re looking for a girl, too, aren’t we?” His eyes landed on Rendor. “Aren’t we, Governor?”
“Yes,” replied Rendor. His jaw tightened. “My granddaughter Fiona is with the boy. You all know that already.”
Again Skyhigh put up his hand.
“What?” snapped Donnar.
“I’m wondering, sir—just what exactly are we going up against?”
The crew waited anxiously for an answer.
“Things that fly, Captain Coralin,” said Rendor. “Now, all of you—do your job.”
Commander Donnar barked an order for the Avatar to depart. Up ahead, the Reach loomed and rolled, looking like it went on forever.
Like it would swallow the Avatar alive.
FOLLOWING THE RIVER
NEEDLES OF WIND PRICKED Moth’s face as he peered down into the valley far below. Fiona huddled next to him, so close that a blade of grass couldn’t grow between them. Strapped down in Merceron’s makeshift saddle, their bodies hunched forward against the dragon’s neck, they scanned the wonderland beneath them, struggling against the onslaught of wind. Moth’s hands ached from clutching the rope looped around Merceron’s chest. The buckles pressing against his legs had torn tiny rents in his pants. His dark coat flew out behind him like the tail of a comet.
The world below raced by in blurs of green and gold. The river they were following snaked through the forests and along flower-strewn hills. Low flying clouds smashed harmlessly against them. Moth could see forever.
He nudged Fiona with his elbow. She turned, and her eyes were bloodshot. All morning and afternoon she’d been talking to herself while they flew, chattering under her breath things that sounded like prayers.
“Look there!” Moth shouted. “How’s that look?”
Fiona looked down. Merceron’s head tilted to see what Moth had found. Throughout the day they’d stopped so the dragon could rest, always in places where no one could see them.
“Yes,” said Fiona, anxious to be on land again. The clearing was close to the river and surrounded by hills. “Down, Merceron, please!”
Merceron tilted his wings, slowing them as they wheeled downward. He had tied his spectacles around his ears to keep them from falling off. His velvet jacket snapped underneath the saddle he’d strapped across his back. Moth heard the dragon sigh with relief.
“We’ll rest now, Merceron,” Moth told him, patting his scaly neck. “You can catch your breath a while.”
Beside them soared Lady Esme, spiraling down, chasing the dragon to the ground. Moth called to her and Esme answered back. They were all tired and in pain, yet Moth couldn’t help but feel delighted. Fiona turned green again.
“Oh, I hate this,” she groaned. “You hear me, Moth? I hate flying!”
Moth’s own head swam as they corkscrewed down. Merceron’s wings shot out as the ground rose up. Moth and Fiona held on as the dragon bounced to earth, the shock of their landing jerking them in the saddle.
“I’m gonna be sick,” croaked Fiona. She began fumbling with her straps. “Moth, help me . . .”
Instead of undoing his own buckles, Moth reached over and undid the one pinning Fiona’s waist to the saddle. Merceron hunched low to the ground, looking over his shoulder.
“As soon as you’re ready, I could use a break.”
“I’m trying!” fumed Fiona.
She managed the final buckle, nearly falling off his back, walking away with a wobbly gait. Moth carefully unbuckled his own straps, holding onto the rope as he lowered himself down. Merceron stood up and stretched with a roar of pleasure.
“Thank the stars! You little trolls are heavier than you look.”
Fiona bent over, hands on her knees over a patch of daisies. “Can’t you fly any better then that?”
Moth stood between them. “I thought it was amazing!”
Fiona parted her hair to glare at him. “Flying is crazy. It’s irrational!” She put her hand over her mouth. Moth looked away.
“Uh, let’s camp over there,” he suggested, pointing to a spot far from Fiona’s mess.
Merceron winced as he reached back to rub his aching muscles. “And what was that you were muttering the whole time, girl? It was like a cricket crawled into my ear.”
Fiona was too busy retching to answer.
“That’s a game she plays,” said Moth. “When she’s scared, she thinks about all the best times in her life. It works, too. I tried it.”
Merceron seemed intrigued. “I like that. I will try it, too.”
“Why?” asked Moth. “Are you scared, Merceron?”
Throughout the day Merceron had told them almost nothing, not about the Skylords or Taurnoken or about whatever dangers lay ahead.
“Water,” Merceron sighed. His wings drooped behind him. “I’m going to the river. Look after her, Moth, will you?”
Moth watched him go, slipping quietly through the trees toward the riverbank.
“He’s hiding something,” Moth whispered. Fiona stumbled past him, her skin a little less green now. “You all right?”
“I’m great, Moth,” she groaned. She dropped into the grass, scrunching up and using her hands for a pillow. “Just great . . .”
Moth sat down cross-legged next to her. Lady Esme hopped closer to him. He checked nervously for the Starfinder, feeling it in his coat pocket.
“Is this something or what?” he chuckled. “We were really flying!”
“I feel like I’m going to die.”
“That’ll pass. Happens to Skyknights all the time. You’re airsick.”
Through the trees, he could just make out Merceron by the river. The dragon looked repeatedly over his shoulder as he drank from the running water. His body dragged against the g
round, about to collapse.
“Look at him,” said Moth. “He can’t go on anymore. Not today. We should stop here for the night.”
Fiona barely nodded. “Excellent idea.”
“We can start clearing away some of these branches.”
“I need a minute.”
Moth smiled. Despite her complaining, he was proud of Fiona. Not many people could fly a dragon all day. They were probably the only two ever to do so.
“He’s not telling us much, huh?” said Moth.
Fiona finally managed to lift herself onto an elbow. She studied Merceron through the trees. “He’s afraid of the Skylords.”
“I guess so,” said Moth, but they hadn’t seen even a hint of the Skylords yet.
“I don’t trust him.” Fiona’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe we should go on by ourselves.”
“That’s stupid. We don’t even know where to go.”
“We’ve got the Starfinder.”
“What, walk?” Moth shook his head “Stupid.”
“How do we know where he’s taking us? Just where is Taurnoken anyway?”
Moth couldn’t answer. Only Merceron had answers. He got up and brushed the dirt from his backside. “Stay here with Esme, all right?”
Fiona waved as he headed for Merceron. The river bubbled musically over the rocks. He found Merceron lying on its pebbly shore, his long snout partially in the water. The dragon could barely lift his head. He rolled an eye toward Moth.
“Just a little longer,” he said. “We’ll get going again soon.”
When he was up in the air, Merceron looked masterful. But down on the ground he just looked old.
“I think we’ll stay here for the night,” said Moth. “Look at you—you can’t go any further. And Fiona . . .” He turned to see up through the trees, where Fiona was sprawled on the ground. “She’s not much good for anything right now.”
“She doesn’t like me much, does she?” remarked Merceron.
Moth didn’t want to lie or hurt the dragon’s feelings. “She just doesn’t know you, that’s all.”
“She doesn’t trust me. That’s what happens when children are abandoned. They stop trusting.”
“I trust you,” said Moth.