by John Marco
“I feel sick,” Moth groaned. He remembered what Fiona had said about Merceron. Maybe she was right. Maybe all he’d ever wanted was the Starfinder. “Now I understand why you want the Starfinder so bad.”
Rendor rose from his chair. “The Starfinder is the ultimate protection against the Skylords, Moth. Ever since I discovered what they truly are, I’ve spent my life preparing for them.”
“Sure,” muttered Moth. “You knew the Skylords didn’t want people flying. You knew building your airships would make them mad, but you stuck your finger in their eyes anyway.”
Suddenly Rendor reached down and grabbed hold of Moth’s collar.
“Hey!”
The old man dragged him off the cot and shoved him toward the porthole. “Look out there!”
Moth wriggled in his grasp. “What?”
“Look at those mountains! We are two thousand feet in the sky.” Rendor released him. “We have every right to be up here,” he said. “Who are the Skylords to tell an eagle not to soar?” He jabbed a finger into Moth’s chest. “Do you want the Skylords to tell you what dreams to have?”
Moth shook his head. “No . . .”
“No,” echoed Rendor. “Because we are free. That’s what the Eldrin Knights fought for—freedom. That’s what it means to be human. And that’s why I want the Starfinder—to stop the Skylords from doing to us what they did to the dragons.”
He took a breath, smoothed down his waistcoat, then turned back toward the door.
“Wait,” said Moth.
Rendor paused as he reached for the door handle.
“I was wondering—how’d you know where to find us?”
“Just think about what I told you,” replied Rendor. “In the morning we’ll look for Fiona.”
Ignoring Moth’s question, he closed the door behind him.
GONE
WHEN RENDOR RETURNED TO THE HANGAR, Alisaundra the Redeemer was waiting for him. Still in chains, she stood impatiently near the hangar’s open doors, her blonde hair askew in the breeze. Four crewmen trained rifles on her, sweating despite the chill. Commander Donnar’s hands were clasped behind his back. He turned expectantly to Rendor as the Governor approached.
“Anything?”
Rendor shook his head. “He’s not talking. What about this one?”
“Nothing more,” said Donnar.
Alisaundra hissed, “Waiting!”
Rendor stuck his face directly into hers.
“Where’s Fiona?”
“Gone,” said the Redeemer. “I cannot feel her.”
“Have you tried? You have to try.”
The creature turned toward the dark mountains. “She has gone.”
Rendor’s insides clenched. “You mean dead?”
Alisaundra concentrated, her snakelike eyes drawing to slits as she scanned the night. “The smell of her . . . it doesn’t remain. I see her no more. Red hair . . . no more.”
“Maybe she’s hurt? Unconscious?”
The Redeemer gazed fiercely at Rendor. “I have given you the boy. The other is gone. Our bargain . . .”
“What about the Starfinder? Why didn’t you tell me Moth didn’t have it?”
“We bargained for the children. Only the children.”
“Now you’re playing games!” thundered Rendor.
“Shoot her,” urged Donnar. “She’ll just bring others if you let her go.”
The Redeemer raised her chin. “Yes, shoot me,” she taunted. “For the glory of the Skylords!”
“Where’s the Starfinder?” demanded Rendor. “Tell me!”
“Never!” raged Alisaundra. She writhed against her chains, teeth clacking, muscles bulging in the metal restraints. “I have delivered my bargain!”
“Don’t release her,” pleaded Donnar. “She’ll go to the Skylords, tell them where we are.”
Rendor could hardly think. The Redeemer’s wails, Fiona’s death . . . it was all too much for him.
“Let me go!” Alisaundra howled. “Or kill me! I cannot be here! I cannot bear it!”
She was pitiful. She disgusted Rendor. Just being with humans tortured her. In her last life she might have had a lover, children of her own. She might have had a beautiful life. Now she was one of them.
“Give me the key,” said Rendor, holding out his hand.
Donnar was aghast. “Governor . . .”
“It doesn’t matter, Erich. The Skylords already know we’re here. And she’ll never help us find the Starfinder. For God’s sake, look at her.”
Alisaundra stopped her raving. Threads of spittle hung from her chin. Donnar placed the key in Rendor’s palm.
“Back up,” Rendor told the riflemen, “and be ready. If she does anything but head for those doors, shoot her.” He twirled his finger at the creature. “Turn around.”
Three stout padlocks dangled between her wings. Rendor unlocked the first one, then the second. As he stuck the key into the third he whispered, “You’re wrong, monster. Fiona’s not dead. Maybe you can’t feel her, but I can.”
He turned the key and stepped back. Alisaundra flexed, and the chains and locks fell clanging to the floor. Her wings shot out; a crewman gasped. Rendor wasn’t afraid. He didn’t feel anything at all.
“Go,” he ordered.
Alisaundra didn’t turn or say a word. She walked toward the open doors, paused like a diver at the edge of the hangar, then flung herself into the night.
Moth lay quietly in Rendor’s cot, studying the darkened room. A single gaslight glowed over the door, giving the chamber a ghostly bluish hue. The food still sat untouched on the table.
Sleep evaded Moth. Every time he closed his eyes he heard Fiona’s voice. No matter how long he lived—even if he lived forever—he’d always remember the way she sounded, calling to him as she plunged into the river.
“Hold on till the morning,” he whispered. “We’ll find you.”
Maybe Fiona could hear his prayer. Or maybe it was just a lie, and they’d never find her. It made Moth feel better to think she was out there, waiting for him. Most of all, he wanted desperately to do something.
He thought about Skyhigh, and how he’d hurt his friend. He needed to apologize. Yes, he’d tell Skyhigh, I was stupid. Yes, we shouldn’t have run. Yes, I killed Fiona.
“Stupid . . .”
He sat up, his heart galloping in his chest. Why was he keeping secrets? Was Fiona really better off with the centaurs? He shouldn’t have let her come. They’d have to wait until morning to search for her, but there was something he could do right now.
He tossed his feet over the side of the cot and headed for the door. He didn’t know the airship’s layout, but he supposed Rendor was on the bridge.
Two thousand feet below, Alisaundra gazed up at the Avatar from a forest of oak trees. The great airship hung motionless in the sky, somehow defying the winds. It was easy to admire the ship, but not so easy for Alisaundra to understand it. How did it float like a boat on water? How had humans made so much progress? She had questions but no answers, and no one in her world to help her figure out these things.
Alisaundra felt the boy named Moth aboard the ship. After trying to sleep, he was moving again. The sense of him was strong, easy to follow.
The old man Rendor was right. Others would find the airship soon. They would wonder how humans had entered their realm, and how Alisaundra had let them get so far. There were no secrets from the Skylords. Alisaundra knew she had to save herself.
She glanced around. There were many fallen trees to choose from, some of them rotted, some of them still leaning against other, living trees. After a moment she spotted the perfect choice, a young oak with a ball of upturned roots and small, broken branches.
The Masters had given Alisaundra many gifts. Eyes like an eagle, a nose like a cat, claws for tearing and a mouth full of pointed teeth for frightening prey. And one thing more—the strength of a furious bull. Alisaundra squatted down next to the fallen oak. She slipped her hands beneath it,
cradling it like a baby. With a flurry of her powerful wings, she carried the tree into the sky.
Moth expected the Avatar to be crowded with crewmen, but instead found himself alone in the corridor, making his way toward the front of the ship. He’d already descended two ladders, because he knew the bridge hung low on the superstructure. The gentle thrum of the airship’s engines made the metal floor and walls vibrant with a peculiar music. He wondered if Skyhigh had gone to bed yet.
Voices echoed up ahead. Moth followed the corridor, halting when he saw the bridge. A panoramic window looked out over what seemed like the entire world. Rendor stood in front of the glass, studying the moonlit mountains. Crews manned control consoles, keeping watch over the dials and levers. A man dressed in a dark uniform paced across the bridge, his hands behind his back. He caught a glimpse of Moth from the corner of his eye.
“You?” The man cleared his throat. “Governor? Someone’s here to see you.”
Surprised, Rendor turned from the window. Moth stepped onto the bridge.
“I need to talk to you,” said Moth. “It’s important . . .”
A sudden crash rocked the airship, knocking Moth to the floor. Outside the window the world began to spin.
“Engine out!” someone cried. Rendor shouted. The Avatar lurched sideways, spilling Moth across the deck.
“Port engine!”
“Shut it down!”
“Leveling out . . .”
Moth struggled to rise. He saw Rendor holding onto a rail. The men at the consoles threw switches and cursed. Slowly, Moth felt the giant airship righting itself, but the engine noise was different now, and he had no idea what had happened.
“Moth!” yelled Rendor. “Get hold of something!”
Moth scrambled for a nearby steam pipe. The floor had leveled, yet the Avatar kept spinning. Just as Moth pulled himself up, the giant window burst. Glass and metal showered the bridge. Wind howled through the gaping cavity. Moth wrapped his arms around the pipe, shocked to see something coming through the window. The screeching shadow fell on him in a frenzy of beating wings. Scaly, powerful arms swept him from the bridge.
Moth screamed. He felt the rush of wind, saw the blur of horrified faces. A second later he was weightless with the stars above his head. In disbelief he watched the Avatar drifting away.
“Get us down!” Donnar cried. His voice cracked over the wind. Rendor held tight to the rail, staring at the blown-open window. Around him the crew worked to steady the Avatar.
Alisaundra had vanished. Rendor searched the sky but knew they’d never catch her. His ship was going down. Somehow Alisaundra had knocked out an engine, but Rendor almost didn’t care. His blue eyes softened, sick at the fate that awaited the boy.
Just like Fiona, Moth was gone.
ALIVE
DROWNING.
First there was panic. The clutching for the sky, lungs burning, throat filled with frigid water. She remembered tumbling and the rocks beating her. The bottomless river pulling at her coat. Feet kicking, mouth screaming without sound. Bobbing up for precious gulps of air.
Dying.
How long did it take to die?
Fiona’s head lay on the rocks. Was it night? She couldn’t tell. Maybe she was blind.
She heard the water, very nearby. She had swum to the rocks. Or maybe the river had spit her out. Her cold legs were still, useless. She shivered and couldn’t stop herself. If her eyes were open, she saw nothing. But there were things she remembered, a jumble of things that didn’t belong together yet somehow held hands through her brain. She saw Moth with her mother and father, together on an airship sailing to Medona. She saw the great blackness of the Avatar chasing her. She smelled cinnamon. She was a little girl again.
Seeing herself made Fiona happy.
Pain stabbed her skull. Fiona thought about crying but couldn’t find the strength, so the little girl in her mind began to weep.
Sleep, Fiona told herself. Or just die. Whichever.
The sun shone brightly on her face. Fiona hadn’t seen it rise. Its gentle warmth baked her body.
I am a ghost now. In heaven.
Fiona didn’t move. Her mind floated as she gazed up. The sun was a yellow flower in the sky. Her fingernails scraped the sand beneath her. When her head began to throb, she knew she wasn’t dead.
Soon . . .
An animal might come and eat her. She might starve. Or she might just sleep forever. Fearlessly, Fiona closed her eyes. Her parents were in heaven, waiting there for her. Sunlight burst with colors on her eyelids. Her body felt like it was falling.
A shadow dropped across her face, blocking the sun. Annoyed, Fiona willed her eyes open. A hazy face hovered over her. Long, brown hair fell from the head and down its back like the mane of a lion. Its enormous, muscular body bent down on its two front legs to examine her. Fiona nearly smiled. She had seen this beast before.
“Are you Jorian?”
A hand came down to touch her forehead. It swept gently over her eyes, closing them. Immediately Fiona felt sleep tugging at her. And something else lifting her. Her body felt limp and out of her control. Fiona surrendered, drooping in the arms that carried her and drifting off to sleep.
SITTING DUCKS
JUST FOUR THIN LINES TETHERED the gigantic Avatar to the earth. Every time the wind blew, the ropes groaned and pulled at their spikes. Crews manned the guns jutting from the airship’s envelope and atop her observation deck, scanning the horizon for trouble. The thousand bits of glass had been swept from her bridge, but the gaping hole left by the shattered window remained.
Rendor watched as Bottling descended a metal ladder hanging from the airship’s superstructure. The engineer had spent nearly an hour inspecting the damaged engine. Amazingly, Alisaundra had managed to break off one of the engine’s four propeller blades, unbalancing the Avatar and forcing an emergency landing. The crew had spent the night staking the airship down and cleaning up what damage they could. While they worked, Skyhigh began searching for Fiona. The Skyknight had returned a short time ago—empty-handed.
“Well?” Rendor called.
Bottling shook his head. “Not good.” He jumped from the ladder, landing close to the Governor. “All the other blades have fractures.”
Rendor took a handkerchief from his vest and handed it to Bottling. “How big?”
“Big enough,” said Bottling as he wiped his grimy hands. “We could push it, but there’s a good chance they’ll snap off at speed.”
Commander Donnar, who’d been directing the repair efforts, overheard Bottling’s assessment. “The prop is useless that way anyway,” he said. “Three blades? We’re better off shutting it down.”
“One engine,” groaned Rendor.
“She can fly with one,” Donnar pointed out.
“Sure,” said Bottling. “Or we could walk home. Be just as quick.”
None of them smiled at the joke.
“Balance it out,” said Rendor. “Saw off the middle blade. We’ll adjust the thrust from the bridge.”
Bottling nodded as if he already knew Rendor’s decision. “Can do.” His face went into an unhappy smirk. “Speaking about the bridge . . .”
“I know.”
The three men moved toward the front of the Avatar, where the real damage waited. Creating such a large span of glass had taken scientific wizardry, and there was no way they could replace the glass without returning home. Although the Avatar could fly with an open bridge, it would make steering her vastly more difficult in strong winds, and high altitudes would require heavy clothing. And, of course, there was foul weather to consider.
“Ideas?” asked Rendor.
“A tarp,” said Donnar. “That’s all we can do for now.”
“We need to be able to see where we’re going,” said Rendor.
“We’ll use netting,” Bottling suggested. “Instead of just cutting holes in the tarp, we’ll sew it with squares of netting. Not too big—just enough to see through.”
“All right, Bottling, get started on the prop. And form a detail to start on the tarp. I’ll start thinking about how to mount it.”
The engineer handed Rendor his now-filthy handkerchief back and went to work. When he’d gone, Rendor said softly, “Erich, let’s post some patrols around the ship. Until we’re aloft again, we’re sitting ducks.”
Donnar checked the sky. “How long before they come, do you think?”
Rendor shrugged. “A few days. Maybe less. First they’ll watch us for a while, try to figure out how strong we are.”
“We should get Skyhigh into the air, too,” suggested Donnar. “Have him run some patrols to the south.”
“Find him for me, will you, Erich? I want to talk to him.”
As the commander departed, Rendor allowed himself an unguarded moment. Since the attack, there hadn’t been time to think about Fiona or Moth. Rendor liked being busy. It kept him from feeling afraid. Now that it was quiet, all his fears rushed at him.
Across the field, Skyhigh’s dragonfly glistened in the sun. Rendor smiled, remembering the thrill of seeing his invention take flight for the first time. He crossed the tall grass and went to the craft, sad to see its battered fuselage and hastily repaired wings. Still, it was beautiful to Rendor. He ran his hands over it as though it were his child.
“Governor?”
Skyhigh’s voice carried across the field. The young man, handsome and blond, wore a scarf around his neck, his leather flight jacket as beat-up as his dragonfly. He pulled on his gloves as though readying for takeoff.