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.”
THE WAY HOME
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.
Dreojen had left the valley the same night she introduced herself to Moth, and Lady Esme had never returned. Moth supposed she was in hiding from the other Skylords, much the same as Merceron had been for all those lonely years. He thought about Esme often during those weeks in Pandera, and now he thought of her again as the Avatar passed over the river from the sunken forest, the very river Raphael Ciroyan had used to ferry them to safety. Just like Esme, they had never seen Ciroyan again either.
“I bet he’s down there somewhere,” said Moth as he leaned out over the observation deck. The water of the river churned slowly below them, reminding him of their first happy days in this world.
“Who?” asked Fiona. Lost in her own thoughts, her eyes had hardly left the direction of Pandera.
“Raphael,” Moth whispered. “I bet he’s looking up at us right now.”
“I bet he’s getting a massage from some mermaid,” quipped Fiona. But she no longer seemed jealous. Her eyes shone with a pride that hadn’t been there when they’d left Calio, before she’d become Jorian’s “Little Queen.” The wind on the platform stirred her orange hair. Fiona let it blow across her face.
“Maybe we’ll see him again someday. Maybe one day he’ll come back to Calio.”
“I don’t think so, Moth,” said Fiona. “Too cold there for him. And too dangerous.”
Moth was about to speak when he noticed Fiona’s grandfather coming up behind them. The old man was digging into his frock coat for his pocket watch.
“Who are you talking about?” he asked, only half interested. He popped open the watch and studied its face. Moth and Fiona looked at each other with a secretive grin.
“No one,” Fiona answered. She turned from the railing. “Grandfather, do you think there are other humans here?”
Rendor snapped his watch shut. “Others? Not likely. You saw how many Redeemers the Skylords have made.” He stepped up to the railing. “The Skylords know everything here. No human can hide from them for long.”
“Yeah,” nodded Fiona. “I guess you’re right.”
“What about the Skylords?” asked Moth. “Do you think they’ll come after us?”
“Not us,” said Rendor. “The Starfinder.” He put his arms around them both, gathering them close. Together they gazed out over the beautiful, magical landscape. “The Skylords won’t stop,” he sighed. “Even if Artaios is dead. All we did is bloody their noses and make them mad. They’ll be back.”
Moth stood tall, reassured by Rendor’s embrace. “And we’ll be ready for them.”
Raves for John Marco:
“Finely crafted, fluid writing and fully realized characters… Marco can hold his own as a writer with other major fantasists, including Stephen Donaldson and Terry Brooks”
“Fantasy readers should keep a close eye on John Marco.”
“The Eyes of God isn’t just about warfare, magic, and monsters, although it’s got all of those: it’s about the terrible burden of making choices, and the way the seeds of victory are in every failure, and tragedy’s beginnings are in every triumph.”