“You’re small,” said the Redeemer. She cupped her hands over her ears. “But loud. Softly, speak.”
“Huh?” Moth took a breath. “Okay, listen. I want to get out of here. Do you understand?” He opened his mouth wide to make the “O” sound. “Out…”
“Noooo,” mimicked the creature.
“Why?” cried Moth. “I’m nothing! You can let me go, I won’t tell anyone. The Skylords won’t even know I was here.”
“The Masters know already,” said the Redeemer. “You are the Starfinder boy.”
Moth’s heart sank. If the Skylords knew that, they’d be coming for him.
“Is that why you snatched me? For the Starfinder?” Quickly he turned out the pockets of his coat. “Look! I don’t have it, see? I don’t know where it is.”
“The dragon Merceron has the Starfinder.” The Redeemer’s smile frightened Moth. “I can feel it.”
“Merceron? Do you know where he is?”
“He is with the feathered Master. They run. But soon we’ll find them.”
“And then what? You’re just gonna hand the Starfinder back to the Skylords? Let them make slaves of everyone?” Moth sneered, “Slave. That’s you!”
The Redeemer brushed her filthy fingernails over her silver chain. “Soon you will have one of these, too,” she said. “Then you will serve the Skylords. Or, if you wish, you will die. The Masters are generous.”
“C’mon, you were human once,” said Moth desperately. “You’re still human, I bet, right? You can let me go. You can just open the door and—”
The Redeemer turned and began walking away.
“Wait!” cried Moth. “If the Skylords come they’ll kill me!”
She paused.
“Please,” said Moth. “If you let me go, maybe I can help you. Maybe Merceron can figure out a way to change you back to normal.”
The Redeemer hesitated. Moth could see her struggling. If he could just nudge her a little more…
“You’re a person,” he said. He pressed himself against the door, making that little square of his face look as sincere as possible. “No matter what the Skylords did to you, you’re still human. Just do the right thing. All you have to do is make a choice.”
For just a second, Moth thought he had her. For just a flash, her face seemed human again. But too soon it vanished.
“I made a choice, a long, long time ago,” she said. “I belong to the Skylords now.”
As the Redeemer walked off into the shadows, Moth sank from the door. Outside his window he heard the wind again. He imagined the sound was a dragonfly, coming to rescue him.
Moth guessed it was midnight by the way the moon hung in the sky. He had passed the hours by counting the bricks in the wall, watching a spider weave a web, picking at a scab, and tossing pebbles out the window. His stomach ached with hunger. Once he’d read a book about a prisoner who’d gone mad thinking about food. He slumped against the wall beneath the window, wondering which would kill him first—lack of food or the Skylords.
His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark, adjusting to the little bit of moonlight slanting through the bars. His mind wandered to his warm bed in Leroux’s apartment. Suddenly, the moonlight faded. Moth stood and peered through the window, guessing a storm was coming. Instead he saw what looked like an enormous silver cloud passing overhead. He craned his neck for a better look, astonished to see wisps of fire breaking off the cloud, flashing as they died away. A noise like the braying of some giant beast rumbled from the sky.
It wasn’t an airship or a storm cloud, but whatever it was stopped somewhere above the tower. Moth twisted for a better look, finally stopping when he heard the door to his cell creaking open.
“Come,” said the Redeemer. She entered quickly, pulling Moth away from the window.
“Huh…?”
The Redeemer shoved him toward the door. “Hurry. He’s waiting.”
Moth spun on her. “Who’s waiting?” He pointed toward the roof. “That thing up there?”
The Redeemer grabbed his wrist and pulled him from the cell. Moth stumbled after her, trying to keep from falling. “What is it?” he asked. “A Skylord?”
Out in the dark hallway, the creature released him. “Artaios,” she said. She pointed toward the winding stairwell. “It’s time now. Move.”
Moth couldn’t make himself obey. “No,” he refused. “I won’t go.”
“It’s time,” she repeated.
“No!”
“Artaios is waiting!” Her claws snapped out and grabbed Moth’s coat. “Go or I will drag you!”
Moth knew she could do it—she had flown with him all the way to the island. He decided not to plead or beg. Inside he was panicking, but outside he put on his bravest face.
“Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll finally get to see one of these monsters for myself!”
The Redeemer followed him up the dark staircase, urging him to hurry. Up and up the steps spiraled, the slimy walls the only way for Moth to keep his balance. The higher he climbed, the louder the noise grew from above, something like the crackling of fire.
Light crept over the top of the stairs, a silver light that popped and glistened, hissed and brayed, flooding down upon the tower. Moth stepped out onto the roof. He stared up at the enormous cloud-thing in bewilderment. The Redeemer’s cold claw gripped his shoulder.
“Look!” she said, her voice dripping with awe. “Artaios comes!”
Finally, Moth could see the whole thing clearly. The clouds were creatures, horselike things with vapors for tails and long, smoky limbs that pawed at the air. Sparks shot from their nostrils and fire from their hooves, yet they looked so insubstantial that a strong wind might blow them away. There were four of the beasts, and behind them a vessel, tethered to the horses by golden ropes.
A chariot, realized Moth, peering through the haze. The translucent carriage had no wheels—at least none that Moth could see. Smoke swirled around it, revealing hints of bronze and inlaid jewels. Slowly the thing floated down toward the roof. The horses—if they were horses—appeared and disappeared in the mists. The chariot hovered at the edge of the roof, wrapping the tower in vaporous tendrils.
“Down,” the Redeemer commanded. She fell to her knees, pulling Moth with her. “Do not look at him,” she said, “not until he speaks to you.”
Moth still didn’t know who or what had come for him, and keeping his eyes down was impossible. He lifted his chin just as a figure stepped from the mists.
It was a man, and yet not a man, dressed in white linen with one bare shoulder and naked, muscular arms. Gold piping trimmed his tunic and the lacings of his sandals snaked around his calves. Light surrounded him, pouring from his chariot—or was it he himself that gave the light? His hair was a golden waterfall, his skin like polished bronze. A blade gleamed at his side, a long sword of pulsing metal.
The being stepped from the mists, pausing a few feet from where Moth knelt with the Redeemer. As if to explain what he really was, two gigantic wings fanned out behind him. The wings folded gently forward, encasing the man in downy feathers. His sparkling eyes beguiled Moth.
This is what Esme must look like, he thought. But he refused to cower. Defying the Redeemer’s order, he stood up.
“Great Artaios,” stammered the Redeemer. “Here is the boy I promised you. A stupid boy! He hasn’t even the sense to kneel!”
“Artaios,” said Moth. “That’s your name?”
“Silence!” shrieked the Redeemer. “Don’t you dare speak!”
Moth ignored her. If he was going to die, he’d do it like a man. “You’re a Skylord, huh? I heard Skylords were beautiful. Someone I once knew told me that.” He put out his chin. “I’m not afraid of you.”