by John Marco
“Tyrin. Okay. And you’re Nessa?”
“Yes.” The centaur smiled.
“And this is Pandera. I remember now. We were running. I fell into the river. Someone was chasing us.”
“Who?”
Fiona glanced away. A dragonfly had chased them. Her grandfather. If Moth wasn’t dead, then surely they’d caught him.
“Moth,” she whispered, trying not to cry.
She felt sick. Her dry throat threatened to retch. Nessa saw this and hurried a nearby bowl to her lips, but Fiona pushed it away.
“I have to go,” she groaned. “Maybe he’s out there somewhere. Maybe he needs me.”
“You have to rest,” Nessa insisted. “A few more days at least.”
“A few more? How long have I been here? What is this place anyway?”
“You’re in the house of Jorian,” said Nessa. “You’ve been here three days.”
Fiona felt panicked again. Merceron had sent her and Moth here, she remembered, so they’d be safe. But three days?
“I have to see him,” said Fiona. “I have to see Jorian.”
“You will,” promised Nessa. “When you’re well enough.”
“No,” said Fiona. “I have to see him right now!”
Nessa shook her mane. “Child, Jorian keeps his own time. Jumping up and down won’t make a difference.” She patted Fiona’s chin. “I should know. I’m his wife.”
When Fiona woke again, the sunshine through her window was gone, replaced by pearly moonlight. Her head was clearer, too. It still ached, but she could remember things better now. She rolled over, comfortable in her bed of straw, expecting to see Nessa watching over her, but the room was empty. Peaceful, too.
Fiona relaxed, unafraid this time. She listened and heard noises coming from outside the home. A sniff brought the scent of cooking fires.
She sat up, combing fingers through her knotted hair and wondering what to do. She needed to find Jorian. She needed to find Moth, too, and hoped the centaurs would help her. But her side ached and her head still throbbed, and she doubted she could get very far.
“Lucky to be alive,” she whispered, remembering Nessa’s words. She tossed aside the blanket, hoisting her long shirt to study the bruises on her legs. The rocks had beaten her up. The river had almost drowned her. “But they didn’t,” she said defiantly. “I beat them.”
Carefully she got to her feet, testing her wobbly legs. The straw and cool stone tickled her naked toes. Nessa had taken her stockings and boots, but Fiona couldn’t spot them anywhere. The noise outside grew to a commotion.
“Nessa?” Fiona called. “Hello?”
The noise and the smell of food lured Fiona toward the doorway. She peered into the connecting chamber. This one was similar to her own, with walls made of fabric and mortared stones. Heavy shelves with tools and cooking utensils stood near a wooden table, where a candle burned in a dish. Fiona saw no chairs, though, supposing that centaurs had no need of them. More importantly, she saw another doorway, this one leading outside. Fiona tiptoed toward it, not wanting to hide but not really wanting to be discovered either. When she reached the threshold she peeked out into the night.
Her eyes grew wide at the sight before her.
A hundred centaurs had gathered in the center of a village, laughing and running, lying and eating around an enormous well of fire. Moonlight flooded the valley, revealing their colorful coats and fine, brocaded clothing. Some had weapons, some were naked, and some were as small as ponies, with little chirping voices that sang out as they played. Some were white like Nessa, others every shade imaginable, from shining onyx to honey gold, all with dancing manes and long, swishing tails. Around the flaming well burned smaller fires used for cooking, where spits of fowl and joints of meat turned slowly and greasily. A big, bare-chested male chugged wine from a jug, splashing it across his bearded chin.
Awestruck, Fiona stepped out into the warm night. In the distance she saw the mountains, towering around the valley. Trees and green hills spotted the landscape. Supple grass yielded beneath her toes. She put a hand to her chest, feeling her racing heart.
Fiona slipped closer to the centaurs, ducking first behind a thatched fence, then a short stone silo. A thunder of hooves suddenly clamored through the village. Two centaurs galloped furiously toward each other, their shoulders tucked like battering rams. Around the flaming well the other centaurs watched, cheering the combatants. Fiona strained for a better look. An enormous crack echoed out as the centaurs collided. The smaller, brownish centaur tumbled backward. The victor, his charcoal skin glistening, beat his chest and howled.
Fiona stepped out from her hiding place. The dark centaur was Jorian. Somehow, she was sure of it.
“Males,” scoffed a voice from behind. “Such show-offs.”
Fiona jumped. There was Nessa, shaking her head with mock disapproval.
“You move quietly for someone so big,” said Fiona. “You following me?”
“I saw you leave the house,” said Nessa. “You needn’t hide. I told you—you’re safe here.” She looked Fiona up and down with a motherly eye. “Your color’s better than before. You’re well enough to skulk around at least.”
Fiona could tell she wasn’t really mad. She turned back toward the center of the village. “That’s Jorian, right?”
“My husband,” said Nessa with a grin. The younger centaur had gotten up again, grappling with Jorian. The bigger centaur tossed him aside.
“Why are they fighting?” asked Fiona.
“Because there are females around,” joked Nessa. “Don’t human males show off?”
Fiona had to laugh. “Yes!”
Nessa put her hand on Fiona’s shoulder. “Come on,” she said. “He’ll want to see you.”
The moment they stepped out of the shadows together, the other centaurs fell silent. Jorian turned from his opponent, rearing back like a stallion when he noticed Fiona.
“The child!” he bellowed.
The centaur chieftain galloped toward them, stopping short of Fiona, towering over her with the moon behind his wild outline. His human skin was the color of ash, his animal coat a lustrous charcoal. He wore no shirt, only silver bands around his upper arms and the remnant of scars across his downy chest. His eyes were like Nessa’s eyes, as sparkly as diamonds, and a long jet mane ran down his back like the fin of a sea monster. With the grace of a savage king, he bowed.
“I am Jorian.”
All Fiona wanted was to touch him. She could barely stay her hand. Jorian was the dream she’d had, the very vision of the constellation twinkling now above her head. Like Merceron he seemed godlike, as though he’d lived forever, as though nothing could harm him, not sword, nor arrow, nor Skylord.
“Fiona’s my name,” replied Fiona. “From Capital City. I . . . we . . . my friend Moth and me. We came to find you.”
Nessa said to her husband, “The one I told you about. The one that was with her.”
The Chieftain nodded. “Your friend is gone,” he said, not unkindly.
“What?”
“Jorian knows what you told me about the boy, Fiona,” said Nessa. “He sent scouts looking for him past the mountains.”
“Your friend. The one named Moth,” explained Jorian. “My scouts searched the river where Tyrin found you. The shoals too. There was no one else.”
Fiona couldn’t breathe. “Then they got him.”
Nessa’s hand remained on her shoulder. “Who, child? Tell us who was chasing you.”
“Tell us all,” said Jorian. He moved aside so that Fiona could join the rest of them. “You have a story everyone wants to hear.”
LITTLE QUEEN
FIONA SAT ON A SMALL WOODEN box near the fire, seeing the awe she felt reflected back in the eyes of the centaurs. Jorian gathered his people around the well, calling to the smaller ones who were playing to come and see the human child. A female hurried a plate of food into Fiona’s lap, and a gigantic mug of wine was set at her feet. Ness
a stood beside Fiona, hovering in her maternal way while the other centaurs made a circle around them. The younger, honey-skinned centaur who’d been wrestling Jorian muscled his way to the front.
“This is Tyrin,” announced Jorian. “The one who found you.”
Tyrin might have been a teenager, or he might have been a hundred years old. It was impossible for Fiona to know. His sharp features beamed as he lowered to face Fiona.
“Nessa said you would be all right,” he said. “I’m glad to see you, Fiona of Capital City.”
A few chortled good-naturedly at her name. Fiona grinned, feeling stupid.
“Uhm, thank you,” she said. “Thank you for saving me.”
“Eat,” said Jorian. “And tell us your story.”
“She can’t eat that,” said Nessa, taking away Fiona’s plate. “She’s been sick.” The plate was piled high with meat, and Fiona was glad to have it gone. “I can bring you bread. Would you like bread?”
Fiona shook her head. “No, ma’am, not now,” she said politely, wanting only to be back in her bed of straw. A small female centaur went from staring intensely to finally reaching out her hand. Fiona grimaced as the creature fingered her hair.
“Look!” declared the girl centaur. “Such a color!”
The others nodded, and for the first time Fiona noticed that none of them—despite their rainbow of colors—were red-haired. She blushed as the centaur combed her fingers through her tangled locks. The girl, whose own hair was wonderfully golden, sighed.
“So pretty,” she chirped. “Like summer.”
“Thanks,” said Fiona stiffly.
“Tell us your story now,” said Jorian. “We’re listening.”
They were more than just listening. They were rapt. Fiona shifted as the centaur girl continued combing her hair. How could she begin, when there was so much she didn’t understand?
“Go on,” Nessa urged her gently.
Jorian knelt down on one of his forelegs. “Who was chasing you? The Redeemers?”
“Yes,” said Fiona. “And others, too. I was with my friend, Moth. We came through the Reach together.”
“Why?” asked Jorian. He seemed genuinely perplexed, as if the news of the Starfinder hadn’t reached Pandera.
“Moth brought something important with him,” said Fiona. “Something some other people wanted.” She bit her lip, then asked, “Lord Jorian, do you know about the Starfinder?”
The centaurs gave a collective gasp. The girl stopped combing Fiona’s hair.
“The boy—your friend—he has the Starfinder?” asked Jorian.
“No,” said Fiona. “Not anymore. He did, but . . . Oh, it’s hard to explain!” she snorted. “He had the Starfinder when we left Calio. That’s the city across the Reach where we come from. The Starfinder was there. A man named Leroux gave it to Moth. He—”
“Leroux,” rumbled Jorian, glancing darkly at his fellow centaurs. “We know Leroux, girl. The dragon lover.”
“Huh?”
“He came during the Skylords’ war with the dragons. The dragons gladly took the help of a human, but wouldn’t dirty their hands making friends with a centaur.” Jorian’s chest puffed out. “You know this man Leroux? Was he chasing you as well?”
“Leroux’s dead,” said Fiona. “And he was a good man. He gave Moth the Starfinder so that he could help Lady Esme.”
“Esme? The Skylord?” thundered Jorian.
“Let her finish,” scolded Nessa. “You’re scaring her.”
“I’m not scared,” said Fiona. She hopped off her little box to face Jorian. “Your pardon, Lord Jorian, but you don’t know what you’re talking about. Leroux loved Esme. All either of them wanted was to help the dragons.”
“Don’t tell us our history, girl,” Jorian warned.
“Someone has to, ’cause you got it all wrong. I know you hate the Skylords, but Lady Esme isn’t like the rest of them. She’s the one that stole the Starfinder, just so everyone could be free.” Fiona stood her ground. “Centaurs, too.”
The gathered faces looked on, waiting for Jorian to erupt. The Chieftain bristled as he spoke.
“Before Lady Esme ever stole the Starfinder, before your friend Leroux even set foot here, we centaurs offered our help,” he said. “But we weren’t good enough for the dragons. We couldn’t fly. We weren’t as pure or beautiful or wise as them, they said. And do you know what happened to them?”
“Yes,” said Fiona sadly.
“They were driven from their city. But not us, girl. We’re still safe here in our valley.”
The circle of centaurs nodded. Jorian himself grew pensive. He gestured to the makeshift chair.
“Sit,” he told Fiona.
Fiona did as he asked. In the light of the moon and the crackling fire, she looked at the proud faces of her hosts. Merceron had said the centaurs were brave. He didn’t much like them, but he’d spoken the truth about them. Fiona decided to tell the truth too.
“Me and Moth came here because a dragon told us to,” she said. “A dragon named Merceron. He said we’d be safe here. He’s the one who has the Starfinder now.”
“You gave the Starfinder to Merceron?” asked Nessa.
“He’s still alive?” chimed Tyrin. “He must be older than time by now!”
“Merceron was Leroux’s friend,” grumbled Jorian. “And a friend to that other one, too.”
Fiona blanched. “Other one?”
Nessa thought for a moment. “Rendor!” she recalled.
“Rendor,” Jorian muttered.
“My grandfather,” said Fiona.
All the centaurs gaped at her.
“I guess you know him,” said Fiona sheepishly.
Jorian looked astonished. “Rendor is your grandfather?” he asked. “Rendor is the one who came here with Leroux to help the dragons fight the Skylords.”
“No,” said Fiona. “That’s not true. They came to spy on the Skylords, that’s all. They came because they wanted to know what was here on the other side of the Reach. They didn’t mean to get caught up in the war. It just happened.”
Jorian scoffed. “It doesn’t matter. Your grandfather, your friend Leroux—they were outlaws. If the Skylords had found them, they would now be Redeemers.”
“Lord Jorian, it’s my grandfather who’s chasing us,” said Fiona. “It’s not just the Redeemers. My grandfather wants the Starfinder too. He’s come with an airship. I think he has my friend Moth.”
“Why?” asked Jorian. “And why did you give the Starfinder to Merceron?”
“Moth knows how to use the Starfinder,” said Fiona. “Nobody else can make it work, just Moth and the Skylords. If my grandfather finds that out . . .”
Jorian swished his tail in agitation. “And Merceron?”
“A friend,” said Fiona. “The Redeemers were after us. He led them away. He told Moth and me that you’d protect us from them.”
The big centaur sniffed at the compliment, but Fiona could tell he was pleased. “Dragons are cowards, and if the Skylords catch that old bone-bag Merceron they’ll blow him out of the sky. But . . .” Jorian sighed. “He did the right thing sending you to us.”
“What about the Starfinder?” asked another of the centaurs, a dignified male with a greenish-white mane and a chain of office around his neck. “Why does Merceron have it? Did he steal it?”
“No,” disagreed Fiona. “He took it so that he could find a way to destroy it. He took it to find the other dragons.”
“There is no way to destroy the Starfinder,” said Jorian. He looked pensive as he rubbed a clenched fist. “Merceron is wasting his time. And if the Skylords find him first . . .”
His voice trailed off. The centaur with the greenish-white mane took the hint and shooed the others away.
“Go,” he told them. “Let us think.”
After some grumbling the centaurs broke their circle, leaving only Jorian, Nessa, and their strange green advisor around the fire well. The girl who’d been toying
with Fiona’s hair giggled a good-bye into her ear, and young Tyrin smiled as he trotted off, winking at Fiona before going. Weak and exhausted, Fiona rose from her seat.
“I think I should rest some more,” she said wearily. “I don’t feel too good.”
Nessa’s hand went to her shoulder again. “Wait.”
Fiona looked at each of them. “What’s wrong?”
Jorian’s brow thickened into a ridge. He turned to the other male. “Kyros?”
“They’ll come for her,” said Kyros without hesitation. “First they’ll take Merceron and the Starfinder, then the boy, then her.”
“The Skylords?” asked Fiona.
“Don’t worry,” said Jorian. “We’ll protect you.”
“What about my grandfather?”
“Rendor?” Jorian frowned. “What of him? The Skylords will deal with him, too.”
Fiona almost laughed. “You don’t know him, Lord Jorian. He’s smart. And he’s got a ship with him, a flying ship with guns, weapons. He won’t give up. He’s a powerful man where I came from, a Governor.”
“What’s a Governor?” asked Nessa. “Some sort of ruler?”
“Like a king?” asked Kyros.
“Well . . .”
“That would make you a princess,” said Jorian with a smile. “You look like a princess.”
“I do?”
“Like a queen,” said Nessa. “A little queen.”
Fiona was baffled. With stitches in her head and her hair in tangles, she felt more like a beggar than a queen. “I’m just a girl,” she told them. “And I don’t think you understand what I’m saying. My grandfather will find me. Maybe before the Skylords do, maybe not, but either way there’s gonna be trouble for you all.”
“Child, we do understand,” said Kyros calmly.
“But we are centaurs!” said Jorian. “The Skylords have more sense than to come attack us, and if your grandfather is dumb enough to try, we will fight him.” The Chieftain of Pandera folded his arms over his battle-scarred chest.
“No one will take you, Little Queen. As long as you are our guest, you are safe.”