John Marco - Starfinder

He was in a bed of straw and realized at once it was Jorian’s house. A wave of ease washed over him. He made a contented mewing sound. Fiona appeared from a corner of the room.

“Finally! You know how long you’ve been sleeping? I wanted to wake you but they said not to.”

She was smiling, kneeling down beside him on the straw.

“You washed your face,” noticed Moth.

“Huh? Oh, yeah…” Fiona touched her face where Jorian had drawn the dragon. “Nessa washed yours off, too.”

Moth brushed his cheeks. He’d mostly forgotten his kestrel markings. “Esme?”

Fiona shook her head. “No.”

Moth sat up. “What happened?”

“She’s gone, Moth.” Fiona put her hand on his shoulder. “She didn’t speak to anyone, just me. She carried me to a hill away from the fighting. When it was over she took me back to the village. Then she flew away.”

“What?” Moth tried to make sense of it. “She’s gone? But she didn’t even see me! When did she go? How long?”

“Yesterday. You’ve been asleep since then.”

“I should have come back here!” Moth gasped. “If I hadn’t stayed on the field…”

“No,” said Fiona, shaking her head. “I told you—she just dropped me here and left. She said she knew you’d be safe. That didn’t make much sense to me, but…” She smiled at Moth. “Hey, we’re all still alive! My grandfather, Skyhigh… we made it, Moth.”

“Not everyone made it,” sighed Moth. He slipped back into the straw, despairing as he stared at the ceiling. He wondered how long it would take him to forget what he’d seen. “I can’t believe I missed Esme. Why? Why’d she just fly away?”

Fiona flicked a strand of hair out of her face. “I could tell she was sad about bringing the dragons here. She saw them killing other Skylords. I guess she blamed herself. She said she was an outcast now. A traitor.”

“But she saved us!”

“Yeah.” Fiona nodded. “She knows. I just don’t think it made her feel much better.”

Moth closed his eyes. “After all this. All we went through, and I didn’t even get a chance to see her.”

“Hey,” said Fiona. She gave him a sharp nudge. “Get up. There’s someone you should meet.”

THEY LEFT THE VILLAGE BEHIND, following a light glowing in the field and using the moon to guide them through the grass. Fiona held Moth’s hand, moving excitedly through the night but somehow managing to keep her surprise a secret. Moth peered far ahead, at a giant outline lit by firelight. His fingers tightened around Fiona’s.

The thing in the field looked like Merceron, but of course it wasn’t. It was certainly a dragon, though.

“But she left,” whispered Moth. “With the others. I saw them leave.”

“She came back, Moth,” said Fiona. “When you were sleeping. She came back to see you.”

“Me?” Moth stared at the silent, star-gazing dragon, suddenly afraid. “She knows about Merceron. She must.”

“Esme told her everything. Esme was the one who brought them here.”

“Maybe she blames me,” worried Moth. “For what happened to him. You think?”

“No…”

“Why’s she here, then? What’d she say?”

“She came and spoke to Jorian. She asked permission to stay here till you woke up.” Fiona took another step, waving for Moth to follow. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not, and you remember how I felt about dragons!”

But Moth wasn’t afraid for himself. Dreojen wouldn’t harm him. It was her expression he feared, the pain he knew he’d see in her eyes. He followed Fiona deeper into the field, leaving the village far behind until the noise from the centaurs died away completely, and only the sound of the wind and the crackling of Dreojen’s fire could be heard. They stopped several yards from the dragon, who barely stirred.

“Dreojen?” called Fiona. She gently nudged Moth forward. “This is Moth.”

The dragon finally looked away from the stars. Her horned head turned on her sinewy neck. A bit of flame sparkled in her mouth. Moth looked into her golden eyes, amazed by her. Her bronze scales shone like gemstones, reflecting the firelight, and a mane of colorful feathers flowed like water down her neck. A regal velvet cape blanketed her wings. She pulled at it with her claws to cover herself from the breeze. She lowered herself over Moth for a closer look, her expression curious.

“I was on my way home,” she said at last, “when I realized I had to see you. I had to know what you looked like so I could remember Merceron properly.”

Moth tilted up his face so she could get a good look at him. “I’m really just a kid,” he said awkwardly. “Nothing special. Merceron was special.” He had to swallow to keep from choking up. “He gave his life for me and Esme. I know that’s why you’re here…”

Dreojen brought her head even lower. “Do you know why he did that?”

“No,” Moth answered honestly. “I don’t. He hardly even knew me.” He shrugged. “Like I said, I’m nothing special.”

Dreojen crinkled her heavy brow, as if she knew a secret. She almost decided to speak it, then stopped herself. Her red lips curved in a smile. “Merceron must have thought you were worth it.”

“The Skylords wanted the Starfinder,” Moth explained. “But Merceron wouldn’t give it to them. All he had was himself. Did Lady Esme tell you that?”

“Esme found us in our lair in the White Cliffs,” said Dreojen. “She told me that you were a special child, and she told me how Merceron died. If you’re afraid I am angry, do not be. I am more proud of my mate than I have ever been in my life. And dragons live a very long time!”

She laughed, and her ease made Moth laugh, too. Fiona came closer, and Dreojen looked up at the stars again. Moth finally realized she was looking at the constellation of Merceron.

“I forgot about the stars,” he confessed. Without the Starfinder to bring them to life, they were nothing special, either. “It doesn’t look like him.”

“It never did,” said Dreojen. “At least not to us. Just to the Skylords.”

“Who’ll replace him up there now?” asked Fiona. “In the Starfinder, I mean.”

Dreojen sighed contentedly. “No one. Not as long as your grandfather keeps the Starfinder away from here. The Skylords have no dominion without it.” She glanced down at Fiona. “He will take it home, won’t he?”

“As soon as the Avatar ’s able to leave,” said Fiona. “Maybe a week or two. She took a real beating.”

“What about you?” Moth asked Dreojen. “Where will you go?”

“Back to the White Cliffs,” replied the dragon. “There’s a library there. It’s small, but it’s our job to protect it. Merceron never had the chance to tell you about it, Moth. It’s all left of our culture.”

Moth moved closer to her. “Dreojen, can you take me there?” he asked. “I’d love to see that, just for a little while. The Avatar won’t be ready to go for days. If you could take me there…”

“No,” said Dreojen gently. “You belong here with Jorian and the others. The centaurs will keep you safe until you’re ready to leave.” Her golden eyes filled with sympathy. “But… maybe someday.”

“Yeah,” agreed Moth. “I’ll be back. I know I will. I’m going to see you again, Dreojen. The other dragons too. Someday.”

THREE WEEKS AFTER THE WAR with the Skylords, the Avatar headed for home.

With the help of the centaurs, Fiona’s grandfather and his crew had patched the holes in the airship’s hull and constructed a new fabric covering for her bridge, one much sturdier than the tarp she’d been using. While Bottling worked to straighten the bent blades of her engines, Donnar and the others tested and retested the Avatar ’s systems and made ready for her second trip over Pandera’s treacherous mountains.