Petalcloud was young to lead a herd, only seventeen. She was thought to be the most beautiful mare in Anok, although not everyone agreed about that. Star certainly didn’t think so, but her beauty was all the more startling since she came from Mountain Herd, the territory where the mares were usually quite plain.
Petalcloud spoke first, gazing at Star, her eyes bright. “The black foal, in the flesh,” she nickered, flicking her silky tail at him. Her voice was throaty, with a lilting vibration like the purr of a great cat.
Star shifted uncomfortably, and behind him he heard Morningleaf snort. Petalcloud stepped forward until she was face-to-face with Star. He saw none of the veiled fear in her eyes that most steeds, even some from his own herd, harbored for him. She touched her muzzle to his and breathed softly into his nose, greeting him as though they were old friends. As her guest, Star tolerated it, but he did not trust her.
Twistwing stamped his hoof and spoke to Star. “You’re trespassing. Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now?”
Irritated, Star threw his head up, displaying his full height, and Petalcloud backed away from him. “I’ve come to heal your sick pegasi, to rid your herd of Blue Tongue.”
Some members of Snow Herd overheard Star, and they passed the message along in excited whispers. Petalcloud swiveled her ears, listening, then she gave Twistwing an almost imperceptible shake of her head. He stared at his mate for a long while, and it was like they spoke without words, but the mare’s tense body revealed her feelings. She was hostile to the idea.
Twistwing broke the silence, speaking to Star. “We’re recovering from Blue Tongue. We don’t need your help.”
Dewberry huffed, glancing around the valley. “Recovering? I count six hundred of you right now with advanced symptoms: rapid breathing, cloudy eyes, and lost weight.” She nodded toward a group of pegasi lying on their sides. “And those two hundred over there will be dead by morning. The rest of you have been exposed. You aren’t recovering from it; you’re succumbing to it.”
“Are you a medicine mare?” asked Petalcloud, her voice sharp.
“No,” admitted Dewberry, “but my mother was.”
“Enough of us are immune to survive this.”
Dewberry pinned her ears, pointing her wing at a group of mares. “Half those foals will be born dead. Star can save them.” She spoke loud enough for all the Snow Herd steeds to hear her.
Petalcloud swished her tail. “Foals are born dead all the time.”
“Maybe yours and your father’s, but not most,” quipped Dewberry.
Petalcloud squealed sharply and lunged at Dewberry. Star shoved his way between the mares, taking their bites to his own flesh and pushing them apart with his great wings.
“Enough!” roared Twistwing. Petalcloud backed away, making a hissing noise in the back of her throat, her neck and ears flat, and her tail lashing violently.
Star pushed Dewberry into Bumblewind. “Hold her,” he said. Bumblewind wrapped his wings around the battle mare’s chest, and Morningleaf positioned herself in front. Dewberry pawed the snow but stayed.
Twistwing and Star faced each other. Star pricked his ears, taking in all of Snow Herd. He believed Dewberry and Petalcloud were both correct. Snow Herd had succumbed to Blue Tongue, but they would survive it in the end. There were enough immune pegasi to rebuild the herd, but they would be weakened by their losses for many years to come. If they accepted his help, they would be better off.
Twistwing sighed and then spoke. “Since you’re not a raiding party, you may leave without harm, if you go right now.”
Star arched his neck, stunned. “But I can help you. I can save the foals and stop the threat of the plague spreading to the other herds.”
“No. You will leave.”
Behind Twistwing, Snow Herd grumbled.
“Let him stay.”
“He’s the healer.”
“He brought the blue-winged filly back from the dead. He can help us.”
“I don’t understand. You would let your steeds die?” Star asked, perplexed.
Twistwing pinned his ears. “Rather than take help from the black foal? Yes.”
A pregnant mare whinnied in anger and charged Twistwing. His stallions blocked her, biting the top of her neck until she squealed in pain and submitted to them. Twistwing turned around, baring his teeth, and addressed his confused and frightened herd. “Do you know what it means to accept his help?” he asked, his words carrying far across the frozen land, silencing everyone. “Who of you would stand against him if he chose to conquer us, to take over Snow Herd? We will owe him—forever. He will heal us, but inflict a direr wound upon us: servitude to his whims.”
The Snow Herd pegasi trembled, unsure.
“That’s not true! I don’t want Snow Herd,” whinnied Star. He exchanged a disbelieving look with Morningleaf. She shrugged her wings, as baffled as he.
“You say that now,” said Twistwing, rearing and flapping his olive-green wings. “I won’t make a pact with the black foal.”
Star clenched his jaw. By using the word pact, Twistwing purposefully reminded his herdmates of Nightwing. Desert Herd had sought to make a pact with the Destroyer four hundred years ago—but the result was the near extinction of all pegasi when Nightwing refused the deal.
“He’s come to conquer us!” whinnied a yearling colt, and the healthiest steeds in the herd stampeded into the gray sky, away from Star. Petalcloud arched her neck and stared him down, looking fearless and triumphant both at once.
Twistwing’s warriors rushed to his side, and they all faced Star. “Leave us,” the over-stallion commanded.
“Come on. Let’s go,” said Morningleaf, nudging Star. “There’s nothing we can do for this herd.”
Still baffled, Star nodded and kicked off, flying out of the valley. His friends followed, riding his wake, all of them silent. Star cruised across the foothills to an open expanse of land consisting of miles and miles of snow. There were no trees or rocks, and only the occasional lake. Star oriented himself using the movement of the sun as his guide and traveled northeast, toward the Ice Lands of Anok, where River Herd waited for him.
“I don’t understand it,” Star said to Morningleaf, who flew next to him. “Why won’t they let me help them?”
She sighed. “They don’t trust you.”
“But I didn’t bring an army to threaten them.” He gazed at his wounds. “It was the opposite. They attacked me.”
Morningleaf flattened her neck against the biting wind. “You don’t need an army to kill pegasi, Star. You’re the black foal.”
“But I told them I wouldn’t hurt them, and I didn’t use my starfire.”
Morningleaf glanced at him, her amber eyes flat and sad. “I know, and they heard you, but they weren’t really listening.”
A hard lump formed in Star’s throat, and he dropped the conversation.
At dusk they landed for the night. “I’ll take the first watch,” said Star.
“No. You’re injured. I’ll do it,” insisted Bumblewind.
Star nickered, amused. “I’ll be as good as new in a few minutes.” Star called up his starfire and sent it racing through his body, healing his wounds from the inside out. The cuts and bites vanished almost instantly. He blasted Morningleaf’s swollen leg, restoring it, and also Bumblewind’s torn and bruised feathers.
“Thanks, Star!” said Bumblewind, inspecting his wings.
“I’m hungry,” complained Dewberry, munching on snow.
Since his birthday, Star didn’t feel hunger or thirst like he used to. The starfire supplied energy, renewed him, and fed his muscles. If the elders were correct about his power, he was immortal. He wouldn’t age or die. He could be killed only if his body was destroyed beyond his ability to repair it, but otherwise he would live forever. Star avoided thinking about that. His friends were not immortal, and they felt hunger and grew weary, and so he let them rest.
But to find food in this harsh environment, the four of t
hem had to scrape at the snow with their hooves until they found a layer of green lichen. They grazed on the tasteless moss until the last rays of the sun disappeared and the pale glow of the moon cast the only light.
“What was Snow Herd’s problem today?” asked Dewberry as she and the others dug into the snow to sleep. “Don’t they want to live?”
Morningleaf grimaced. “That was fear.”
“Fear of what? Survival?” Dewberry folded her wings around her body.
“That was stupidity,” said Bumblewind.
Dewberry nodded. “They deserve to die.”
Bumblewind nickered, “For once I agree with you.”
Dewberry snorted. “For once! You always agree with me.”
“I do not,” he whinnied.
“Do too.”
Star watched over his friends as they bickered with each other before falling asleep. What good was his power if the pegasi of Anok wouldn’t accept it? Feeling useless, he focused on what he could do: protect his friends on this cold night and attempt to sharpen his hooves. He found a flat rock and imitated the motions of the warriors. He’d watched them do it a hundred times, but after many long minutes of rubbing his hooves on the rock, they were smoother, not sharper. He would have to learn the secret when he returned to River Herd.
The sky was clear, and he could see his breath blowing from his nostrils and rising toward the stars. The utter silence of the north amplified the smaller noises: the sharp chortles from the animals, the snapping of twigs, and the sudden dumping of snow off overburdened branches. Star’s ears flicked as he listened to the sounds and kept watch.
In the morning, Star and his group flew several more hours until they spotted River Herd resting at the base of the Hoofbeat Mountains in the northernmost lands of Anok. Their hides were dusted with fresh white powder, and their coats had thickened in just the few days since they’d arrived. Star landed, and the steeds greeted him with joy. In this foreign, icy land Star relaxed, for with River Herd he was home.
8
CAPTURE
AS RIVER HERD SCROUNGED FOR FOOD IN THE ICE Lands, Mountain Herd faced starvation. They had overgrown their territory, and the extra steeds Rockwing had brought into the herd after the battle in Sky Meadow had made matters worse.
Since Star received his power, Mountain Herd was on edge, wondering what his next move would be. Surely the black foal would not be content leading a tiny homeless herd. Rockwing was sure Star would reclaim Sun Herd’s territory, or worse, all of Anok. The worried over-stallion increased his patrols of the land and sky and waited, working on a plan to gain control of the black foal so he could take Sun Herd’s land and feed Mountain Herd.
Presently, Rockwing’s grandson, Frostfire, was standing by Circle Lake thinking and preening his feathers, watching for intruders. It was late winter in the eastern mountains of his territory, and the low sun sparkled on the fresh snow, turning the top layer to slush. The pine needles dripped melted ice that would freeze again during the night, and the rocky creek was frozen dry.
Frostfire startled when a sudden fluttering of feathers in the nearby woods caught his attention. He narrowed his eyes and saw a pegasus watching him from the trees. Frostfire flexed his wings while his mind raced. He’d left his platoon grazing in the lower valley after their ambush drills. Now here he was, alone and possibly being ambushed himself.
Frostfire swiveled his ears, detecting the shifting of many hooves. The pegasus in the forest was not alone. Frostfire was sure the group of steeds had already spotted him. Circle Lake was located in an area void of trees, so he was standing in the open with no protection. He huffed in frustration. He knew better than to leave himself exposed like this. With that thought, Frostfire made up his mind to confront the intruders rather than seek help and admit he’d been caught with his wings down.
“You there!” he whinnied. “Show yourself.” Frostfire kicked off and flew toward the woods. As he approached the band of pegasi, they retreated. He quickly realized they were hiding from him, not stalking him. Feeling bold, he landed and arched his neck. “I said, show yourself.” His deep voice brimmed with the confidence of his birth father, Iceriver, and the ferocity of his mother, Petalcloud.
Frostfire peered through the branches. A bay stallion with gray feathers emerged with his head bowed. Frostfire was shocked to recognize the under-stallion. He wasn’t an intruder; he was Mountain Herd’s flight school instructor, Hedgewind. Hedgewind’s yearling students stood trembling behind him. Frostfire’s young aunt, Shadepebble, was one of the students, but he didn’t see her. “Explain yourself,” he commanded Hedgewind.
The bay stallion’s lip quivered, and tears formed in his eyes.
Frostfire swallowed his disgust. “Answer me or I’ll kill you right here.”
Hedgewind’s words came out in a whisper. “We were raided by Snow Herd stallions.”
Frostfire flared his wings. “What? Where?”
“Over the mountains in the western Vein, near the old Sun Herd lands.”
“You left our territory?” Frostfire flattened his ears. More and more, steeds were sneaking off to graze in the Vein where there was still long grass.
Hedgewind stammered. “Rockwing gave his permission.”
“Then why are you hiding here by Circle Lake?”
Hedgewind glanced at the clouds floating in the blue sky above them, trying to gather his words.
“Look at me when you speak,” ordered Frostfire.
Hedgewind met Frostfire’s eyes, and the words tumbled out of his mouth. “There were seven of them. They took Shadepebble.”
Frostfire choked on the spittle that had collected in the back of his throat. Snow Herd stallions had stolen Rockwing’s filly! It was unthinkable. “When!” he demanded in a roar.
“This morning.”
Frostfire whirled and walloped the instructor with his back hooves. Hedgewind ducked, but Frostfire’s blow didn’t miss. The bay under-stallion sailed backward, tumbled over his wings, and then crashed into the snow. The flight school yearlings galloped toward the clouds, their eyes round and wild. “Come down,” Frostfire snapped at them. They landed and waited, shivering with fear.
Hedgewind coughed blood, splattering the snow in red droplets. It was high noon. Frostfire guessed the Snow Herd stallions were many hours away with their prize by now.
“I don’t think they know who she is,” sputtered Hedgewind. “They just took her because she . . . she couldn’t keep up with us.”
Frostfire exhaled, furious. Shadepebble had been born a dud with mismatched wings. Unable to fly the first five moons of her life, she exercised her muscles each day until she could lift off over the grass. After many more days of practice, she flew to the lowest clouds and back, and then Rockwing had allowed her to attend flight school. Today was only her second lesson. “You didn’t go after her?” asked Frostfire.
“No, sir. I was protecting the others.”
“Protecting them, or yourself?” Frostfire advanced on the quivering stallion, ears pinned, teeth flashing. “You abandoned Shadepebble and hid like a coward. Do you think you will get away with this?”
“I—I made a mistake,” said Hedgewind, humble and trembling.
Frostfire felt nothing but disgust for the old warrior. Hedgewind had lost his taste for battle years ago and had been reassigned to teach flight school. Why Rockwing let him take a flock of yearlings to the Vein alone was beyond Frostfire, but he knew Rockwing would place all the blame on Hedgewind.
Frostfire kicked off. “All of you—follow me.” The yearlings and their instructor followed him back to Canyon Meadow, where Frostfire knew Rockwing would not be pleased to hear the news that his last remaining filly had been stolen.
9
THE MISSION
FROSTFIRE FOUND HIS GRANDSIRE, ROCKWING, standing on the outcropping of rock where he’d attempted to execute Star just over a moon ago. The over-stallion was dozing in the sun.
Frostfire settled the yearl
ings in the valley, and then he and Hedgewind landed next to Rockwing, waking him.
“Speak,” said the heavily spotted silver over-stallion.
Frostfire swallowed, hesitating. He knew his words would shatter his grandsire. “I have bad news,” Frostfire said. “Shadepebble’s been captured by Snow Herd. It happened during flight school.”
Rockwing turned his head, slow like a hunting cat, and gazed intensely at Hedgewind. The instructor stood behind Frostfire, quivering and shedding feathers in fear of Rockwing’s silence. Then, without a word, Rockwing trumpeted for his personal warriors, and the sound ripped through Frostfire’s brain, making his head hurt. Immediately, twelve warriors jetted from the clouds and landed on the rock.
“Seize him,” Rockwing ordered, nodding toward Hedgewind.
“No!” Hedgewind neighed as the stallions clutched his wings in their powerful jaws and swiftly dragged him out of sight.
Frostfire exhaled and refolded his ruffled violet-tipped feathers.
Birchcloud, the lead mare of Mountain Herd, dropped from the sky and landed next to them, out of breath. “What has Hedgewind done?” she asked, her voice cracking. She must have heard Rockwing’s urgent call for his warriors. Her eyes scanned each of the flight school yearlings, who stood trembling in the grass. “Where’s Shadepebble?”
Rockwing stared into the distance, his eyes unfocused, and said nothing. Frostfire answered, “She was kidnapped this morning in the Vein by Snow Herd stallions.”
Birchcloud rocked back on her haunches, stunned. Snow Herd had both of her fillies now, one by choice and one by force. “It must be a mistake,” she said. “Surely Petalcloud will return Shadepebble to me?”
Rockwing snorted, the only sign he was listening. Frostfire knew the over-stallion was already plotting how to get his filly back.
Frostfire nodded to Birchcloud, feeling her fright and sadness. The lead mare had raised him like her own colt and had always been kind to him. “Hedgewind also believes it was a mistake,” he said, trying to reassure Birchcloud. “They weren’t targeting Shadepebble, just stealing yearlings. But Shadepebble was the easiest to catch.”
The Guardian Herd: Stormbound Page 5
