Starfinder

THE DOOR IN THE HILLSIDE

RAPHAEL CIROYAN HAD NOT known where to find Merceron, but he had given Moth and Fiona one important piece of advice—there was nothing in the sunken forest that was poisonous. They could eat whatever fruit they found.

For Moth and Fiona, both famished from walking, the news was a gift. They had run out of meat pies and neither of them knew how to hunt, so they gorged themselves on citrus and berries, finding the forest abundant with both. But more amazing still was the darkness that shrouded the sunken world. The pale, ancient trees twisted ever upward, spreading out their widest arms at the very top, making a canopy that even sunlight struggled to penetrate. As Moth trudged along, he peered up at the roof of interwoven limbs, sucking the juice from a sweet, purple fruit.

“How can fruit grow without sunlight?” he mulled. “How can anything grow without light?”

Fiona cradled a handful of blueberries, delighting in their sweetness. Lady Esme, perched on her shoulder, plucked them from her palm. The berries had moist, shining skin, the kind of bright, impossible blue more suited to a bird. A while back they had found a vine full of them. After one taste, Fiona had picked the vine clean.

“Who cares how it got here?” Fiona retorted. “We have food now. And it’s dry here.” She glanced down at her boots, still wet from the bogs. “My toes are cold.”

“They’ll dry overnight,” said Moth, pausing to look around. The forest was mostly quiet, with small mammals and birds moving in the shadows but nothing to threaten them. The trees reminded Moth of corpses, their white bark like bone, white like Leroux’s skin on his deathbed. Near the water the trees had been almost normal. But not anymore. Not here. “It’s because there’s no sun,” he realized.

Fiona kept popping berries into her mouth. “I gotta eat,” she said, disinterested.

“What’s wrong?” Moth asked. “You’ve been like this all day.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. Snappy.”

“Look around, Moth. You see anything to be smiling about? We’re lost.”

“We’re not lost. We’re following the star machine. This is where Merceron lives…” Moth stopped. “Oh…”

“What?” snorted Fiona.

Moth smiled softly. “You’re not mad,” he said. “You’re scared. That’s why you don’t want me to use the star machine again. You don’t want to see Merceron.”

Fiona gave Esme one more berry, then tossed the others away. “So? He’s a dragon, Moth. What do you think he’ll do when he sees us?”

“If he was dangerous, Leroux wouldn’t have told me about him. Raphael wouldn’t have taken us here if—”

“Raphael was a criminal. Maybe he just wanted to get rid of us. Did you ever think of that?”

Moth tossed aside his own fruit, then rummaged through his big pocket for the star machine. So far they had only looked at Merceron once, mostly because Moth knew how frightened the dragon made Fiona. But they were getting closer now. Moth could feel it. There wasn’t time for her to be afraid.

“Look,” he told her, kneeling in the sand. He unwrapped the instrument and laid it down carefully. As if it knew what he wanted, the scope began to turn, pointing in the direction they’d been traveling all day. “Show me Merceron,” ordered Moth.

Fiona gave a sigh of dread. Moth watched, eager to see the dragon-wizard again. The mirror swirled with smoke. Moth bent lower. He saw movement in the mirror, crowded by darkness.

“There,” said Moth, his heart pounding. “I see him.”

A glimpse of tail, a glint of tooth, and all around them trees, bone-white like the ones around them now. Merceron was moving. No longer inside his lair, he stalked the dark forest, almost impossible to see. Long talons cut through stringy vines. The spectacled eyes flashed and disappeared.

“What’s he doing?” Moth wondered. Fiona inched toward him, peering over his shoulder.

“I can barely see him,” she whispered.

Was he hunting? Looking for them? Moth glanced at Lady Esme, hoping for a hint of recognition, but the bird was looking skyward instead, longing to take flight. Suddenly Fiona pointed at the mirror.

“Look at those trees.” She glanced around. “They’re the same ones.”

Moth picked up the star machine. “We’re really close now.” He licked his lips, annoyed that he was feeling afraid too. “We can’t stop now, Fiona.”

Fiona looked like a tall glass of milk. “We came this far,” she agreed. She turned to the kestrel on her shoulder and said, “Lady Esme, stay with me, all right?”

As Moth moved, the star machine turned with him, pointing through the trees. The image of Merceron began to fade.

“If he’s nearby we’ll hear him,” whispered Moth. “I hope.”

He tucked the thing back into his pocket, stalking forward, leading Fiona and Lady Esme. Their feet crunched against the roots and fallen branches. Moth ducked low, watching the trees grow ever whiter, the sunlight ever more dim. Sweat dripped down his face, but his mouth was cottony dry.

Then, a noise.

Moth and Fiona peered hard through the forest. A glimpse of movement flashed up ahead, just like in the mirror. Fiona froze, her eyes widening to saucers. Moth tried hard to see, but the trees blocked his way. He put a finger to his lips, then took Fiona’s hand. Together they tiptoed closer, closer, until at last they saw it.

There in the shadows it hunched among the trees, its claws scraping a tree branch it held. To Moth it looked like the dragon was… whittling?

“What now?” whispered Fiona. Her mouth was right up against Moth’s ear, yet he could barely hear her. He sucked his lower lip.

“We can’t just hide,” he decided. “We have to face him.” He looked into Fiona’s eyes for strength. “Okay?”

Fiona hesitated. “What? Just walk over and say hi?”

“Yeah.”

He stood up, surprising even himself, and readied to face the dragon. Fiona managed to stand as well, and with Lady Esme on her shoulder, remained at Moth’s side as they took their first bold step.

“Hello!” Moth called. “Merceron?”

Utter silence. The world just froze. Moth and Fiona continued one more step, then another. Then…

Trees cracked and vines snapped. Movement exploded before them. Moth and Fiona jumped back. The shadowy mass ripped through the forest. Moth held up his hands, his mouth opening to shout, then realized the thing was not coming toward them at all.

“What…?”

“He’s running!” cried Fiona. “Moth, he’s running away!”

Moth shook off his terror and bolted after him.

“Hurry!”

Fiona followed, Lady Esme leaping from her shoulder to take the lead. Moth didn’t need the star machine anymore—Merceron left a gaping trail to follow. Even in the dark they could see his massive outline, but the dragon moved so quickly it was like chasing a leopard through the trees. Trees collapsed as the creature muscled them aside, his four thick limbs speeding him through the forest. Moth and Fiona kept up as best they could, vaulting over the fallen trees. Already they were losing sight of Merceron.

“No!” cried Moth. “Merceron, wait!”

The darkness swallowed the dragon whole. A ground-shaking noise followed, like the gate of a castle slamming shut. Moth stopped running, putting his hands on his knees and panting.

“Where’s Esme?” asked Fiona as she skidded up beside him.

From somewhere up ahead, the kestrel answered her call.

“She’s all right,” gasped Moth.

“But Merceron’s gone! We lost him!”

Again Lady Esme gave her throaty cry, this time sounding farther away. They rushed after her, over the trampled grass and past cracked, dangling branches, finally coming to an enormous hillside. Rows of white trees surrounded the hill; mud-colored moss clung to its rocks. At its foot was Esme, hopping impatiently in front of a gigantic slab of metal nearly invisible in the gloom, its surface grimy and drooping with vines.

“Merceron’s lair,” Moth whispered. “This door—that’s what we heard. He’s inside.”

Lady Esme flew back to him, landing on his shoulder while he pondered the door.

“He’s hiding?” erupted Fiona suddenly. “From us? That’s ridiculous!”

Moth couldn’t remember ever seeing her so exasperated. “We can wait,” he suggested. “Maybe he’ll come back out.”

“What? Uh-uh.” Fiona pulled off her coat and tossed it to the ground. “I didn’t come all this way to have him slam a door in my face.”

“Fiona…”

“I’m sick of waiting!” she fumed. Her eyes flashed as she turned toward the door. “And I’m sick of running. No more!”

Red hair askew, Fiona marched, rolling up her shirt sleeves as if spoiling for a fight. The door in the hillside loomed above her, and when she pounded against it her fist made no sound at all.

“Hey, dragon!” she bellowed. “You’re running away? Are you kidding me? We’re just kids!” She pounded again. “Do you have any idea how far we’ve come? Huh? You don’t even know who we are!”

Moth slipped from the tree cover, glimpsing Fiona’s desperate face. It wasn’t anger he saw anymore, but anguish.

“Please,” she cried. “I know you’re listening to me. We need your help. Lady Esme needs your help.”

Fiona put her head against the giant portal as if listening for something. Her whole body seemed to collapse. The hillside was silent. Fiona peeled herself away, her eyes rimmed with frustration. She looked at Moth hopelessly.

“It’s all right,” Moth told her. “We’ll find another way.”

Behind Fiona the door creaked open, revealing a sliver of perfect darkness. From inside the hill issued a resonant, velvety voice.

“Esme.”