Starlighter

by Bryan Davis

  “This is what we came for.” Jason touched the sword hilt at his hip. “I’m ready.”

  “No use standing around,” Tibalt said. “A door that opens is bound to close, and this one might slam shut in our faces.”

  Elyssa looked back at the river. “What about Randall? If he comes, he’ll be trapped here.”

  “We can’t afford to wait.” Jason let out a huff. “I feel bad for Randall, but we have to save the Lost Ones. This might be our only chance.” He pointed at the sword brackets. “If he comes, he can grab a sword and wait for us.”

  “I’ll stay,” Tibalt said, shivering as a draft blew in from the new opening. “It looks like I’m the only one who can open this door, so if he shows up, we’ll find you. Randall’s a good tracker.”

  Jason nodded. “And we might need his photo gun.” He grasped Tibalt’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. That’s not cold making my bones shake. I want to delay meeting any dragons for as long as I can. You know what the old song says. When you offer a hand, make sure he’s a friend, or when you draw back your arm, it won’t have an end.”

  Jason nodded at Elyssa. “And what’s causing your shivers? The cold or the prospect of meeting dragons?”

  “Both.” She resisted the urge to grab his hand and march with him into the other world. That’s what would happen anyway, but skipping steps now would be out of line. He needed to make the offer.

  As if reading her thoughts, Jason reached for her. “Let’s find a warmer place in the dragon world.”

  “By all means.” She smiled and took his hand. “Lead the way, warrior.”

  Koren opened her eyes. The light of morning filtered in from the air vent in the ceiling, barely visible in the radiance of the fiery geysers. The egg was there, still black and shiny, with her reflection again staring back at her. Yet much had changed since she first came into this new Assignment only hours ago. The chains lay on the floor nearby, the manacles open. A soft pillow supported her head, and a thick pad cushioned her body; gifts from Zena, who had become far more courteous than before.

  After climbing to her feet, Koren caressed the elbowlength white sleeve on her silky gown. Thin, loose-fitting, and smelling of desert flowers, wearing it felt like bathing in perfumed water. A cloak of dark blue draped her shoulders, the hem of which swept an inch or two above the floor. With a clasp holding it together between her sternum and throat, and a loose hood hanging at the back, it was more like a hooded cape, sleeveless yet royal.

  She touched an embroidered pair of green eyes at the left breast and ran her finger along the raised threads. So this was a Starlighter’s cloak. Had Cassabrie worn it? Did she have it on when she died?

  With her bare foot, she nudged her dirty old shirt lying on the floor next to the open manacles. It was good to shed that smelly old garment, but she had kept her shorts on underneath the dress, just in case she had to run or climb.

  Behind the egg, Zena sat cross-legged on the floor, the goat’s hair bag now in her clutches. A half smile adorned her face, making her seem prettier than usual. “I will dispose of that for you.”

  “Thank you.” Koren picked the shirt up and set it next to Zena. A rumble stirred in her belly. When had she last eaten anything? As she set a hand on her stomach, she offered Zena a polite nod. “Where shall I go for my meals?”

  Picking up the dirty tunic, Zena rose to her feet and adjusted the bag’s strap at her shoulder. “You will dine in the presence of the prince. It is now early morning, so breakfast will be served soon. But the Starlighter slept only a little while. May I suggest another nap?”

  “No. I think I’m fine. But I would like some water.”

  “As you wish.” A hint of sarcasm spiced Zena’s reply. “Perhaps the Starlighter would enjoy a massage to loosen her muscles.”

  Koren tried to read Zena’s expression. That was the first hint that she might be annoyed at the new arrangement. Koren was tempted to say, “Yes, a massage would be wonderful, and a palm branch to fan me, if you please,” but putting more tension on Zena’s already strained civility wouldn’t be a good idea. Instead, she offered a curtsy. “You are very kind, but that won’t be necessary. And I will be glad to help you prepare the meal.”

  Zena’s tone relaxed. “There is no need.”

  Koren looked around at the wall of flaming fountains. It was time to go and search for answers. Natalla was either dead or in shackles, possibly awaiting transfer to the cattle camps. Maybe a record of her capture existed somewhere, a log book for reassigned slaves. “So may I explore the Basilica now?”

  “You may.” Zena slid open the floor panel and turned off the fountains. As the fire died away, she nodded at the egg. “Before you leave, does the prince have anything further to say?”

  As Koren glanced between the egg and Zena, a new realization dawned. Zena’s only means of direct communication with the prince must be through a Starlighter. Earlier, the prince had spoken to Zena through Koren’s lips, and he had given her commands with words that only the dragon or Zena would know, thereby convincing her that the true prince was speaking.

  Koren drilled her stare into the egg. What about now? Could she imitate the prince and issue commands to Zena? Or would that be an improper means of deception?

  The dragon’s voice passed through her lips, again unbidden. “Zena, the Starlighter should be on her way now. When she has departed, I will speak to you in the old manner.”

  “Very well, my prince.” Zena touched the bag hanging at her side. “The old way is much more to my liking.”

  Koren eyed the bag. Obviously Zena carried something within that helped her talk to the dragon. There would be no way to fake a command as long as Zena could learn the truth.

  After giving another curtsy, Koren strode beyond the boundary of the egg’s circular incubator and hurried out of the chamber.

  With sunlight passing through stained-glass windows above and all around, the interior came alive with streams of vibrant colors, painting skewed copies of the designs in the windows—dragons of all shapes and sizes; feasting pedestals covered with slaughtered elk and sheep; and various balls of fiery light, some white and some bright yellow.

  Slowing her pace, she stared at the largest ball of light, a white one in the center of a ceiling window pane. It hovered at the left of the largest of several dining pedestals, as if it were ready to devour the meat set before it. What could it be? A representation of a dead ancestor? A deity? Might the dead animal be a sacrifice?

  Koren stopped at the edge of a precipice. The dragon meeting hall spread out below, and the book still lay open on the pedestal, but now the fire was no longer burning. From her vantage point directly above the stage, the dragons’ seats stretched out in front of her from left to right. Two dragons rested in the back row, one flicking his tail at the design in the window behind him, which depicted a human lugging a cart with two dead goats within.

  Although the window was far away, sunlight outlined the human shape clearly, allowing Koren to study the man’s slavish strife. How old was this window? The Basilica had been constructed centuries ago. The inscription on the cornerstone proved that. Since the wall surrounding this window looked just as old, and the glass itself seemed ancient, the design meant that humans had been slaves here for a very long time.

  Yet the appearance of the young man—Jason—in the egg contradicted this evidence. He knew about the dragon planet, and he had asked if she was one of the Lost Ones.

  She let those words trickle off her tongue. “The Lost Ones.” If the old fables were true, then captured humans would be considered lost by those they left behind. But was he real? Could he have been a dream, a reflection of her hopeful mind? Something the dragon conjured? Might she be just a scupper, a way for this strange egg to leak its desires and have its schemes carried out?

  More dragons filed in, some shuffling, some beating their wings to scoot along the floor. Most were males, their longer spines and glimmering
scales revealing their gender, but a few females dotted the crowd. The females were especially easy to see when they flew around at night. Their glittering yellow pupils looked like fireflies hovering in the darkness.

  As they gathered, the dragons’ low voices sounded like rocks grinding together. Koren picked out a few phrases spoken in the dragon tongue—“unusual trial,” “earliest I can remember,” and “the wicked girl,” but she couldn’t connect them together. Could they be talking about Natalla? Might this trial be about her?

  Koren searched for Arxad, but, unless he somehow stayed hidden behind the other males, he wasn’t there. Without him, Natalla was surely doomed.

  Fourteen

  Soon, Fellina and Xenith came in, both glancing from side to side. They appeared nervous, as if they had not been in this room before.

  As soon as all were seated, a great flurry of wings sounded from above. Magnar glided down through a hole in the ceiling and settled on the stage in front of the pedestal.

  The dragon crowd settled to a hush. Magnar flipped the book’s page and spoke a deep, thunderous command. “Bring the accused to the witness altar.”

  From the door on the left side, a dragon walked in, shuffling on its hind legs while using his front claw to push a dirty little girl. With her hands bound at her waist and a heavy chain connecting iron fetters around her ankles, she could barely walk.

  Koren leaned forward to get a better look. It was Natalla.

  When they arrived at a bench at the side of the pedestal,

  the dragon shoved Natalla to her knees and unlocked the fetters. She folded her hands and set them on the bench, weeping.

  The bell rope dangled about thirty steps to Koren’s right, and for a moment she considered climbing down and trying to help Natalla. No—it would be better to watch and wait for the results. There was no sense in revealing her presence now.

  Magnar boomed again. “One of our priests requested to act as counsel for the accused, as is the right of his office. Let him come now and stand at her side.”

  Another dragon entered, but this one came from a door at the right end.

  “Arxad,” Koren whispered. He’ll help Natalla.

  The crowd murmured. New phrases punctuated the hushed voices—“doomsayer,” “human lover,” and “speaks his mind.” But soon the buzz died away.

  Glancing between Magnar and the gathered dragons, Arxad approached the pedestal and bowed.

  “Have you had sufficient time to prepare the escapee’s defense?” Magnar asked.

  Arxad blinked. “I have. The case is quite simple.”

  “Indeed. I know.” Magnar spread out a wing and gestured toward the crowd. “As we all know. But these noble dragons have joined us as witnesses, I suspect, not to see the routine execution of an escaped slave, but to learn why a priest would risk his reputation to defend her.”

  Arxad nodded at the book. “You know the law as well as I. Having counsel is her right, and it is my obligation to offer it.”

  Magnar touched the open page with the tip of his wing. “It is safe to dispense with details when the end result will always be the same. An escaped slave is an escaped slave. No counsel can alter this fact, and you have not answered this obligation in all your years as priest.”

  A scowl formed on Arxad’s face. “While he lay burning to death at her side, her brother begged me to fulfill my duty. I do this because of my office, great Magnar, not because I have any fondness for humans. The law commands that I honor the request, and I must obey the law.” He lowered his head and his voice with it. “You know I am not like most priests.”

  As another murmur arose, Magnar chuckled. “That you are not, Arxad. About the uniqueness of your character, we can agree. You are both dependable and annoying.”

  Arxad kept his head low. “Since we are in agreement, may we now proceed?”

  Koren swallowed through a lump. Stephan really was dead! And Natalla would be next. What could her former master do to stop her execution? He didn’t sound enthused about his counselor role at all. Would he just go through the motions out of duty and watch her die at the stake?

  “The case is simple,” Magnar said, now addressing the crowd. “This slave, assigned to Arxad as a housekeeper, fled into the wilderness with the aid of her brother. It seems that she learned about an upcoming Promotion, and, not wanting to leave her soft position and fearing the unknown, she opted to escape. My guard, the honorable Reeloft, found them while patrolling the perimeter. When the brother drew a sword, Reeloft killed him, as any guard must do when faced with such a weapon. Because of the escapee’s unprovoked attack, Reeloft turned to slay the girl as well, as is allowed by law.”

  Magnar gave Arxad a sideways glance before continuing. “For reasons unknown to this court, Arxad arrived on the scene and prevented the summary execution, appealing to section fourteen, which gives a priest the right to intercede and request a formal trial.

  “Reeloft, of course, acquiesced, and that is why we are all gathered here.” Magnar looked at Arxad again, this time keeping his stare in place. “Wasting the time of the court and all who are present.” After taking a deep breath, Magnar nodded. “You may proceed with your defense, and I trust that it will be a quick one.”

  Natalla looked up at Arxad. She smiled weakly through her streaming tears, but Arxad didn’t bother to make eye contact. He simply returned Magnar’s nod and spoke in an even tone. “Great Magnar, as a priest who takes his obligations seriously, I not only offer my counsel to this wretched slave, I do so without prejudice and without heeding the pressures that befall someone who undertakes an unpopular task. Although the rigor that I employ and the thoroughness with which I will defend this creature will likely bring ridicule and persecution, I cannot simply offer a pretense of counsel, for that would be worse than not giving counsel at all. It would be a sham, a black mark on my integrity. It would be a hypocritical hoax to this girl who clings to her last shred of hope—a tenuous hope that a dragon, a member of a race that enslaved her, roasted her brother before her very eyes, and now threatens to apply the same fiery breath to her, might stoop so low as to stand in front of others of his kind and speak for her cause.”

  Arxad turned toward Natalla and set the tip of his wing under her chin. She smiled again, but he offered no smile in return. “She is human, to be sure. Most see her execution as nothing more than the slaughter of a goat. You see her body as just another carcass that can be butchered and sold for consumption. Yet, as her intercessor, I see her as a creature with an immortal soul.”

  As the loudest buzz yet drowned out Arxad’s voice, Magnar shouted, “You go too far, Arxad! With that statement, you violate the law yourself. You risk arrest and prosecution.”

  Louder murmurs sounded. Fellina cried out, “Arxad, no!”

  Arxad turned away from Natalla, and his voice rose above the others, loud and commanding. “Section three, article seven, states that a counselor for the defense must take the role of the defendant, and as such I am merely stating her beliefs and the beliefs of every human on this planet. The words you hear are not my own, but the cries of every slave that toils under the burden of our collective fiery breath. ‘We have souls! We were not created to be enslaved to anyone but our maker. We have the right to be free!’”

  “Arxad!” Magnar shouted. “You speak blasphemy! The fire spirit endows only dragons with that right.”

  “Be that as it may,” Arxad continued in a loud voice, “as a counselor for a human, I speak as a human would, so I am not bound to the laws concerning the speech of a dragon. I offer her defense in her words, not my own. When I step back into my office as priest, then you may examine my words however you wish and prosecute me accordingly.”

  Magnar scowled. “Take care, priest. I might just grant that request.”

  As the murmur died away again, Arxad turned to the crowd. “This slave, Natalla by name, learned that she received the honor of a Promotion. As you might have heard, rumors have been rampant among th
e humans as to what Promotion entails. Some believe that promoted humans are eaten by dragons because they are a delicacy that we love but are unwilling to consume frequently due to their value as slaves. We cull the herd of the less bright and able, thereby maintaining a healthier genetic pool, while at the same time enabling us to serve a favorite meal to a privileged few.”

  Chuckles erupted from the seated dragons. Koren searched for the source. Smiles appeared on many of the younger dragons, but the older ones wore dour expressions.

  Arxad mirrored the smiles. “Yes, yes, I know how absurd that sounds, but a girl barely into her pubescent years cannot discern between such fairy tales and reality. Natalla’s flight was not the result of rebellion against dragon sovereignty; it was because of fear, fear that the creatures who threatened to scourge her back because of any perceived lack of skill or effort were now ready to devour her flesh.

  “You see, Natalla had just scored poorly on exams, and news of her Promotion came in the wake of that disappointment. The fairy tales haunted her. She would soon appear on a dragon’s dinner pedestal, and the thought of being ground to pulp by a dragon’s teeth drove her to the brink of insanity. Again, hers was not a crime of rebellion; it was an instinctive response to a stimulus.

  “The law states that a human escapee is to be tried for rebellion, and the punishment is death. On the justice of this law, we can all agree. But the law says nothing regarding the fate of a girl who has merely flown in fear of death. She is clearly not a rebel. If you examine her service record, you will find it free of any formal reprimands. Her conduct has been exemplary. She is a model slave.”

  Arxad again lifted Natalla’s chin. This time he gave her a smile. “If you believe Natalla is nothing more than a beast of burden, then you must acquit, for as a beast, she merely responded to instinct and ran from those she perceived to be butchers.”

  Releasing her again, he turned back to the watching dragons. “Yet, if you believe that this little girl is something more than a beast, you still must acquit, for as a creature who bears a soul, she deserves more than the status of a stupid beast whose death no one will remember. If, however, you find her guilty and proceed to melt her skin, roast her body, and cast her blackened bones to the forsaken valley, you will confirm in every human mind in this land that dragons are cruel and heartless, that dragons are bestial, that dragons are without the slightest shred of compassion…” He turned to Magnar and looked straight at him. “And that we are the ones without souls.”