“Wow.” She took it carefully. He could tell she was trying not to smile too much at it; that she loved it, but was still trying to look disapproving, which didn’t work at all on her.
“You could have just carved this yourself,” she pointed out.
“I know,” he said, “but then it wouldn’t have turned out so well.”
“I think your carvings are perfect. I still have the beluga.”
Fathom laughed, remembering his first gift to her. “Hello, that was supposed to be a graceful dolphin.”
She snorted. “Well, I like belugas better anyway. The point is, you didn’t need magic to make this.”
“Maybe not,” said Fathom, “but without magic, I couldn’t do this.” He rested one claw on the octopus’s head and whispered, “Now come to life, with the sweetest, most loyal, most agreeable personality of any pet in Pyrrhia.”
The octopus blinked its large, dark eyes at him, and then up at Indigo. She gasped softly, and the octopus wrapped its tentacles around her wrist as if it were hugging her.
“How are you going to hide this from your grandfather?” Indigo demanded.
“Let me worry about that,” Fathom said. “Isn’t it adorable?”
The octopus snuggled in closer, and now Indigo really couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “I can’t believe you magicked me a pet,” she said. “You’re such an idiot.”
Fathom stroked one of the tentacles, which still felt oddly like wood, but malleable and warm. The octopus reached up and poked Fathom’s snout curiously. “What are you going to call it?”
“Obviously Blob,” Indigo said immediately. “He’s clearly a Blob. Aren’t you, Blob?” The octopus moseyed in a dignified curling way up Indigo’s arm to her shoulder, proceeded to climb up her neck, and settled contentedly on top of Indigo’s head, tentacles flopping over her ears on each side.
“Oh dear,” said Indigo. “Please tell me octopus hats are in this year.”
Fathom fell over laughing and got sand up his nose. As he tried to sneeze it out again, he caught a glimpse of Indigo’s delighted face trying to look up at the octopus on her head.
See, Grandfather? Our power can be used for good things. It can make dragons happy.
I won’t make mistakes like you. I can be trusted.
Everything’s going to be just fine.
Clearsight was in the library.
She was always in the library. Her parents often joked that they should have let her egg hatch there instead of on the lunar hatching peak. Of course, if they had, she wouldn’t have been born under a full moon, so she wouldn’t have gotten the gift of prophecy, and then she wouldn’t have needed to spend so much time in the library in the first place. But whenever she pointed this out, her parents always shook their heads and sighed as if she just didn’t understand their spectacular sense of humor.
The librarian had given Clearsight a study room of her own, although she suspected that was because he thought she was insane and he wanted the option to lock her in if necessary.
Partially blank scrolls were unrolled all the way across the five tables around her, and she hurried from one to another, scratching quick notes and trailing ink splatters from her claws.
Would it change anything if she did pretend to be insane? She closed her eyes and tried to see if a future unfolded around that idea. Would she end up in the asylum? Would it save the tribe? Would that life be better than the other options?
It was too unlikely; no one would believe her even if she tried it. There was no path there.
No escape.
Keep searching. She went to the next table and tried to follow the timeline she’d started on that scroll. But it was so muddled. Step one: meet him, step two: chaos along every potential timeline.
A heavy sigh came from the doorway.
“Hello, Father,” she said without looking up. This note — when did she write this? The SeaWing brings death. The SeaWing brings salvation. Don’t let him come. He must come, or all is lost.
Aaaaaargh. Clearsight put her head down on the desk and thumped her tail on the stone floor.
“Clearsight,” her father said. “You are too young to worry this much.”
“I should worry more,” she said, lifting her head and squinting at the SeaWing note again. Something really terrible was going to happen in the Kingdom of the Sea not long from now — something involving a lot of death. The kingdom was so far away, it was hard to be sure of the details. Should she try to warn someone? She wanted to, but she couldn’t see any paths where anyone would believe her. Poor SeaWings. “I mean, what is the point of seeing the future if you can’t fix it? If I just concentrate harder, I can follow all the paths. I can figure this out.”
“All the paths?” her father echoed. “Every future that spirals out of every choice you and every other dragon make for the rest of your life? Can’t you hear yourself? It’s impossible, dearest. That way lies madness.”
“No,” she said absently. “I just checked. No madness in my future, not a viable option.”
“This gift is not supposed to consume your entire life,” he said. He stepped over the scrolls on the floor, narrowly avoided a blue ink puddle, and stretched one of his wings between her and the table. She looked up at him, rubbing her forehead.
“Listen,” he said with infinite gentleness. “I know your power is stronger than any future-teller the NightWings have had in generations. I know it feels like you can see everything ahead of you.”
“It’s not that simple,” she said. “It’s not, ‘here’s your life, that’s the way it will be.’ It’s every possible life, all the things that could happen to me and the tribe, and it all depends on what I do next. But there are so many — I can’t keep track — and the further I look into the future, the more confusing and random it gets …”
“I understand.” He wrapped his wings around her and she leaned into his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. She knew he was trying, but he actually didn’t understand at all. He didn’t have either this power or mind reading. He was sweet and ordinary and not tortured, and his choices made almost no difference to the future. “But Clearsight, even if you could see everything, that doesn’t mean you can control everything. Or anything. Things will happen. Other dragons will change your path and you won’t be able to stop them.”
That is far more true than you know, Father.
Darkstalker’s face flashed in her mind again: the face of a dragon she had yet to meet, but who came with a torrent of visions — joy and love and pain and horror, so mixed-up she couldn’t untangle it, couldn’t even breathe whenever she thought about it.
“I should go away,” she blurted. “Far away. Maybe the rainforest. Maybe the Mud Kingdom. Maybe the lost continent. Oh, that would change everything — it would have to!” She leaned back to look up at his face. His eyes were sad, but she knew they would get much sadder in many, many of her futures.
“I could have a whole different life, Father. I could be an explorer; I could chart the rest of the world. I could be alone, and then I’d be the only dragon who could change my destiny, right?”
If I never meet him … is the darkness lighter? Is everyone safer?
She closed her eyes, trying to follow that path — that weak, trembling thread of a future where she flew off across the ocean tomorrow, all by herself. It wasn’t impossible. It was only nearly impossible. But she didn’t see any success that way … that fog at the end of the path probably meant she died somewhere over the sea. And there was still blood and darkness for the tribe, even with her gone. Maybe worse.
That was the worst part; most of the futures where she avoided him were even more scary. As if knowing her made a difference to his path, but only maybe.
A flash of a silver-and-gold crown, twisted into sharp thorny points, tumbled through her head.
Which timeline was that — oh, table three. She untangled herself from her father, leaned over, and made a note.
“What are you so afraid of, deare
st?” her father asked, taking her claws gently to keep them still. The blue ink smudged his talons like IceWing bloodstains.
Why do I even know that IceWing blood is blue?
Because I’ve seen it, way too much of it, down hundreds of paths.
“I can’t tell you,” she said. “I’m sorry, Father.” In the futures where I tell you his name too early, you end up dead. I can’t see how or exactly why, but that’s where they all go, and that is one thing I can prevent. One choice that will keep someone I love safe.
He sighed again. “Clearsight, your mother and I have been discussing this. We think it’s time for you to go to school. Every other NightWing dragonet started when they were one, and you’re nearly two and a half.”
“No,” Clearsight said, panic rising in her chest. “I can’t. I told you. That’s when everything speeds up — that’s when I lose control. I need more time to plan.” She turned frantically to point at the scroll on table two, which was covered in desperate spiky handwriting. “That’s what happens after I go to school. Look at all the timelines! They just explode! I have to chart them all before I get there. If the teacher puts me in that art group instead of this one, things change. If I sit with these dragons at lunch instead of those dragons, futures ripple in new directions. If I miss a day here or give the wrong answer here or share my scroll with this hapless dragon here, the entire tribe might die.” She stabbed at the scroll, leaving little rips all the way across it, and burst into tears.
“Oh, Clearsight,” her father said with hopeless distress. “It can’t be that bad. One two-year-old dragonet isn’t going to doom the entire tribe to destruction. The worst that can happen is you don’t get into the astronomy program, and maybe your mother will be disappointed, but no one will die. Trust me.” He patted her back sympathetically.
He had no idea, NO IDEA. Maybe most two-year-old dragonets couldn’t affect the future of the whole tribe, but she could.
“Besides,” he said, “we don’t think this is healthy, what you’re doing in here. School might be a good distraction — give you something else to work on, friends to keep your mind off things. Maybe it’ll help you see that we’re not all so doomed after all.” He laughed a little, and she wondered what a mind reader would find in his thoughts. Was he really not worried about her visions of war and bloodshed? She hadn’t told her parents everything she’d seen, but she’d woken up screaming enough nights for them to get the general idea of what the future held.
Probably. Maybe. Unless she could fix it.
She had to fix it. No one else could.
“Please don’t make me go yet,” she said, battling down a sob.
A long, horrible moment passed; futures hung trembling in the balance.
He sighed. “All right, dearest. We’ll wait until you’re three.” He tipped her chin up to look at him. “But then there’s no more delay. The queen wants her seers properly trained, and we’re pushing her patience already with our special requests. So. When you turn three, you’re going to school. Are we in agreement?”
Not a lot of viable paths where she could change this fate. Her mind flicked through them, then gave in.
“Yes, Father. I’d better get back to work, then.” Maybe she should start over with the school scroll. If this was inevitable, maybe she needed to fill all the tables with what-happens-when-I-go-to-school scrolls — yes, with more room for all the possibilities. She’d bought herself some time. She could hide in here for a few more months and figure this out.
“Don’t hurt yourself, Clearsight,” he said, sweeping to the door. “It’s not the end of the world if you let yourself sleep, you know.”
That’s what you think.
She dipped her claws in the inkwell again and missed the moment when her father left.
So I will have to meet him before too long. My Darkstalker, my fate. I always knew the other timelines were unlikely. He has this power, too; he would find me.
It was almost calming, accepting that. She didn’t have to worry now about the futures where he was alone and it made him angry and callous. She didn’t have to worry about the flimsy paths where he found someone else (with no powers and no backbone, she thought with a really annoying flare of jealousy). As those timelines dropped away, she saw how bad they would have been — for both of them.
But what was left was such a daunting tangle. Two dragons who could see the future, each trying to stay on a particular path.
Start at the beginning. Follow one thread at a time.
Her claws scratched across the paper, spilling her visions into cluttered mountains of words that she’d have to puzzle out later.
Just keep trying. It’s for the sake of the tribe.
I must have this gift for a reason.
If I can see all our possible destinies — surely I can make sure we get the right one.
He could hear his parents’ voices echoing off the cliffs as he swooped down to the landing outside their home. They were arguing again, and as usual, he could see their neighbors peeking avidly out of their own windows, ears pricked. Everyone in the tribe was interested in every detail of the disintegration of the Night Kingdom’s most famous couple.
At least a few of them had the decency to duck back inside when they saw him coming. He shot a cold look at the two across the ravine. One didn’t even notice him; the other was only pretending not to as she fussed unnecessarily with her doorway vines. Stupid — everyone knew he could read minds. Maybe she thought a three-year-old’s skills wouldn’t be that advanced yet.
She doesn’t believe the rumors about me. He chuckled softly, but the smile dropped off his face as he touched down into the wave of fury and bitterness that was rolling out of his home.
“I’m not going to help her fight my own tribe, Foeslayer! I would never do that!”
“They’re not your tribe anymore — we are! And you could work for her some other way!” Foeslayer shouted back. “You don’t have to join the army, but you can’t keep saying no to the queen! She’s offering you a position at the castle! You love stupid castles and hanging out with royalty and all of that! You could stick your nose in the air all day long and fit in just fine!”
“She’s not doing me an honor,” Arctic growled. “You know what she wants. She wants my power. The gift I should have given the IceWings — she wants it for your tribe.”
“This is your tribe now, too,” Foeslayer insisted again. “No one is trying to use you. We’re just trying to give you something to do so you’ll stop slithering around the house complaining and moping and getting on my nerves all the time.”
Darkstalker stepped through the archway into their small, cramped living room and dropped the three hawks he’d caught by the door. His parents were in one of the back rooms — maybe his mother had been listening the last time he’d asked her to make their discord more private, although they were so loud it didn’t really help.
But his sister was huddled on the floor by the fireplace, wings over her head.
Don’t they know she’s here? he thought with a flash of anger. How dare they fight like this in front of her?
His father always behaved as though Whiteout was his only dragonet, his precious snowflake of a daughter, but he was completely careless of her feelings. He brought her special fish and paraded her around the tribe, and then they got home and he acted like she was a necklace he could hang in the corner until he needed her again.
“Hey,” Darkstalker said softly, crouching beside his sister. He spread one of his wings over her. “How long have they been doing this?”
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“Well, if you’re SO MISERABLE HERE,” Foeslayer yelled, “why don’t you go BACK TO THE STUPID ICE KINGDOM ALREADY?”
“Oh, there it is,” Darkstalker said. Their mother’s favorite line, and the one that usually signaled they’d run out of breath for the moment. “That means it’ll be over soon.”
Whiteout nodded, but kept her talons over her ear
s.
Darkstalker had heard the whispers (and the thoughts — all the millions of thoughts) about his sister, so he knew he wasn’t the only one who thought she was the most beautiful dragon in Pyrrhia. Her scales along her body were black with hints of dark sapphire blue, but her wings were an icy bluish-white, as were the spikes all along her back and her sharp, curving claws. Instead of silver starlike scales under her wings, she had a scattering of black scales that gleamed like jet against the snowy white. Her head was narrow and elegant like an IceWing’s, and she had their father’s startling blue eyes.
It was easy to tell with just one look at her that she was an IceWing-NightWing hybrid. The other things that were different about her were harder to see, unless you were a mind reader.
Darkstalker had been in Whiteout’s mind often, but he still couldn’t figure it out. It was different from other brains, as if she thought in colors and waves instead of in words. He could sometimes guess what she was feeling, but he almost never knew what she was thinking. He’d assume it was so quiet in there that she must not be paying attention, and then she’d make an observation that he never would have thought of. She was the only dragon he knew who could surprise him.
Would that be different if she’d been moonborn? he wondered. If I had helped her out of her egg sooner, would she be more like other dragons?
He shook off the guilt. It didn’t matter. He wouldn’t want her to be like other dragons. She was perfect the way she was.
Whiteout leaned into his shoulder and he twined his tail around hers.
“Maybe I should go home,” Arctic spat, his words crawling like frost centipedes across the walls and into their ears. “I’ve been offered amnesty. My mother says she’ll end the war and take me back — on one condition.”
There was a clattering sound, like a metal tablet being tossed onto the table.
“How did you get a message from Queen Diamond?” Foeslayer asked sharply. “This could be considered treason, Arctic.”
“Just read it,” he said.
A long pause followed. Darkstalker closed his eyes, tracking the thoughts of both his parents.
Darkstalker Page 5
