Starfinder

A FRIENDLY FACE

BY THE TIME MOTH AND SKYHIGH had trudged back to the battlefield, the fighting was done. The dragons had chased off the two remaining ogilorns with the help of the Avatar, and Artaios’ leaderless army scattered like birds after a gunshot. Moth stopped at the edge of the field, horror-stricken by the sight. Centaurs and Skylords lay dead atop each other, frozen in combat, their bent limbs intertwined. Redeemers and fairies lay among them, wings twitching as they tried to reach the sky. Lost feathers tumbled across the grass.

Overhead, he watched the Skylords flocking back to Mount Oronor. The dragons broke off from the ogilorns. The trio circled high above the battlefield but did not descend.

“Why don’t they come down?” Moth wondered.

Skyhigh watched them with a shrug. “Dragons and centaurs don’t like each other much,” he said. He gestured out toward the middle of the field. “Look.”

Amid the carnage stood Jorian. He too stared up at the dragons. But he did not wave at them or call to them or blow his horn in thanks, and that baffled Moth. Jorian merely watched them, looking bemused. Finally, the dragons made one more circuit over the valley, then headed off the way they’d come.

“Oh…”

Moth felt himself deflate. He wanted to cry out to them, to beg them to come back.

“We should help,” said Skyhigh. He gazed exhaustedly at the bloody field. Moth straightened, determined not to be sick. He was a man now, surely. Facing so much misery, there was no way he could ever be a kid again.

Throughout the day Moth worked with the centaurs, bringing water to the thirsty and dragging the wounded away from the dead. Moth went where Jorian directed him, even offering aid to the Redeemers and fairies, all of whom rejected him. Those that could manage it pulled themselves from the field, beginning the long walk home to the Skylords, while others simply closed their eyes and died. Their sick devotion frightened Moth, because he knew the Skylords had abandoned them.

The Avatar limped back toward the village and did not return. As for Fiona, there were rumors that Lady Esme had returned, and that she had taken Fiona to safety. Moth worried about her but did not stop working, determined to remain on the field. He worked through the afternoon without a break, then into nightfall. Then, when he could barely stand any longer, he went to Jorian again. The Chieftain stood at the edge of the field. Moonlight blanketed the numerous dead.

“What else?” asked Moth as he slumped toward Jorian. His eyes were heavy, his back aching.

Jorian studied him. His stern face nodded. “On to me.”

“Huh?”

“We’re going,” said Jorian. “You have done a centaur’s work today, boy.”

He reached down his hand. Reluctantly, Moth took it and let Jorian pull him onto his back. As the Chieftain headed back toward the village, the rocking of his gait lulled Moth to sleep.

It might have been an hour or two or a day or two—Moth couldn’t say how long he’d slept. He awoke with the kind of heaviness that comes after being very ill, or very, very tired. He remembered riding on Jorian’s back. He remembered the battlefield and dreaming about all the dead. He dreamed about Artaios, too, but when he opened his eyes, the dream disappeared.

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.”