“Is it true about the Blue Tongue plague?” asked Bumblewind, looking at Sweetroot. “They won’t spread it?”
“They won’t,” said Sweetroot. “The mares Star healed are still healthy, and no one new has gotten ill since we left the infected area and came here. I believe the sickness is gone.” Sweetroot caught Hazelwind’s eye. “But you must avoid Snow Herd’s territory, and the land where we were staying before coming here. The soil might still hold the plague.”
Hazelwind nodded and then looked at his sire, Thundersky. “This is good-bye,” he said. “We’re leaving now.”
The steeds of River Herd rushed forward to embrace their departing friends. Silverlake and Thundersky had long words with Hazelwind. But Morningleaf still refused to look at her brother.
Star watched his friends kick off into the clouds. He’d hoped Echofrost would say good-bye to him, but she didn’t. Hazelwind and his followers formed one giant V formation, with an older mare in the lead and Hazelwind following behind.
Morningleaf turned to Star. “I thought our troubles were over,” she said, “except for the usual, that is.”
He nuzzled her, feeling sorry for himself. “If Thundersky had executed me like he wanted, you’d all be living safely in Sun Herd right now, and your family wouldn’t be divided.”
Morningleaf jolted and threw her head up in the air. “Stop!” she whinnied, her eyes sizzling. Star’s ears drooped at her harsh tone. Morningleaf blinked, staring far away. “Your life is not a mistake,” she whispered, and then she turned and trotted after her mother.
Star was shocked by her anger, but he knew she was right. He wasn’t a mistake. Too many pegasi had died for him to dishonor their memories by second-guessing himself. They’d fought for him to live, and now he had a purpose: to defeat Nightwing, because the truth was, Nightwing had never left Anok, not really. Fear of him had poisoned the herds for four hundred years. Perhaps it was time Nightwing either reigned or was destroyed forever. And the only pegasus capable of destroying him was Star. His heart tightened at the thought.
He was Anok’s last hope.
15
CLOSE CALL
BEFORE STAR KILLED THE BEAR, AND EVEN BEFORE he reached the Ice Lands, Frostfire and his team had left Mountain Herd’s territory, rooted out the rebel, Darkleaf, and sent her stumbling home with a broken wing and injured leg. That incident was two days ago. Now the team was traveling in the Vein but would soon cross into Snow Herd’s territory, where their journey would become much more dangerous.
Frostfire was in no hurry to find Morningleaf. He had not yet come up with a plan to steal the aqua-feathered filly away from Star, but he was looking forward to finding his kidnapped aunt, Shadepebble. He hoped Rockwing was correct and Snow Herd had quarantined her on her own. She’d be guarded, but not by more than one or two pegasi, he guessed, especially if Snow Herd was short of healthy steeds. He didn’t think it would be too hard to extract her from their enemies.
Frostfire landed his team near a thin river to drink. “Let’s rest a moment while I decide our path,” he said to them. The pegasi drank, grazed, and stretched their wings, their movements awakening small hordes of gnats. Larksong watched Frostfire, as she often did, and her smart black eyes made him nervous. He put his back to her so he could think without her staring at him.
The truth was, he was also looking forward to seeing his mother, but he would never admit that to his team. What grown stallion pined for his dam? Frostfire hated himself for his need of her. She’d tricked his father and traded him for her freedom, leaving him with Rockwing, the sire she despised. And she’d lied to him. Frostfire swallowed as his throat tightened, remembering that day.
He was five moons old and had just weaned. To celebrate, his mother told him he would go on a special flight into the clouds with one of her captains. Frostfire’s heart had soared at her words—he would fly with a warrior and finally touch the fluffy clouds. He’d been thrilled at the idea and thanked his mother. Petalcloud had nuzzled him, and she’d looked happy too—that’s what killed Frostfire. She was happy!
The stallion had escorted Frostfire on his first cloud flight, and it had been magnificent. But after playing in the white mist, the captain led him south and then east until Frostfire became exhausted. “Where are we going?” he’d asked. But the captain ignored him.
When they’d reached the canyons of the Blue Mountains, the captain and Frostfire landed. “Wait here,” he said, then flew away, leaving Frostfire alone. Frostfire’s chest heaved at the memory of himself hiding in the rocks, bleating like a newborn. He’d been terrified; he couldn’t deny it.
Then Rockwing himself had descended from the ridge. Frostfire trembled with fear. Rockwing examined him, making a face when he noticed Frostfire had one blue eye and one brown. The over-stallion said, “At least you’re a colt, but if you want to live with me, you’d better toughen up.”
“Yes, sir,” Frostfire agreed, remembering that this over-stallion was his grandsire, but his mind had been reeling. I don’t want to live with you, he thought.
“And if I ever see you crying again, I’ll kill you.”
Frostfire wiped his tears. “Yes, sir.”
“Come on then,” neighed Rockwing, and he’d flown up and over several ridges to Canyon Meadow. The next day Mountain Herd migrated to their southern lands, and by the time they arrived, Frostfire could not remember his mother’s face. It was a black splotch in his mind, and no matter how hard he tried, his brain would not reveal her features to him.
Shrugging off his memories, Frostfire lashed his tail, striking his flanks and letting the sharp pain distract him. He didn’t care about Petalcloud, of course he didn’t, but still, he had to see her, to settle his mind.
“So what’s the plan?” questioned Larksong.
Frostfire bristled. Sky herders were independent thinkers—they had to be in order to make snap decisions while herding enemy steeds into well-planned traps. But his warriors had been trained to obey orders instantly, and Larksong’s incessant questioning grated on his nerves. “Why do you want to know?” he snapped. “Are you afraid of Snow Herd?”
As he’d hoped, Larksong shut her mouth.
Frostfire lifted his wing to get the attention of his team. “We’re crossing into Snow Herd’s territory today,” he announced. “Look for signs of trampled snow, broken ice, and hoofprints. We must spot them before they spot us.”
Frostfire’s team murmured, excited to take back what had been stolen from their herd: their over-stallion’s filly, Shadepebble. Only Larksong was impatient for a different reason. She wanted to hurry so the team could move on to the more dangerous half of the mission: capturing Morningleaf. And after Rockwing used her to gain control of the lush territory of Star’s homeland, Larksong and the team would become legends in Mountain Herd for their bravery.
Frostfire glanced at the buckskin mare, admiring her fearlessness. “This is the plan,” he said to them all. “Once we locate Shadepebble, we get in and out. This shouldn’t take too much time if we’re quick.”
Larksong brightened at this news.
“I will take the head wind.” Frostfire kicked off, with his team following him. It was evening, but the moon was bright and lit up the sky. Frostfire soared, traveling northwest, and several hours later, they crossed the border into Snow Herd’s territory.
“Drop,” he neighed, lowering his neck and diving toward land. His team maintained formation and dropped with him. Frostfire flew a winglength above the snow to keep from being spotted.
He decided he liked traveling by night, when fewer sentries were posted. Unlike land horses, pegasi required many consecutive hours of deep sleep. During the day, when the steeds were scattered across their territory, over-stallions kept a vigilant eye on the skies for intruders. They organized patrols and watched the land. But at night the pegasi gathered together and kept a single watch, which was relieved every few hours by fresh pegasi.
“It’s so cold,” nic
kered Larksong, her teeth chattering.
Frostfire ignored her and focused on the landscape, looking for the reflective eyes of predators or the glimmering feathers of enemy pegasi.
Just before dawn, Frostfire and his team crested a small hill and halted, hovering in midair. “Would you look at that,” huffed a stallion.
Below them, all of Snow Herd slept in a shallow valley.
Frostfire quickly fluttered to the ground, followed by the others, and they flattened themselves into the snow. Frostfire examined the area. The landscape was wide-open to the edge of a small forest, which rimmed the valley. He looked up. A clump of clouds had passed over one-half of the moon, somewhat darkening the sky, but the stars were bright. They were downwind of Snow Herd, which was good for Frostfire’s team.
“When the rest of that cloud covers the moon, we’ll trot to those trees, where we can hide,” whispered Frostfire.
They waited a few moments until the wide cloud traveled in front of the moon. “Go.” Frostfire led his steeds through the soft snow, which muffled their hoofbeats. They lowered their wings to shield their quick-moving legs from attracting notice. The small hill blocked the shorter steeds from view.
Frostfire peeked over the ridge and noticed that the Snow Herd steeds were gathered into awkward groups, in various states of quarantine, just as Rockwing had predicted. Frostfire hadn’t meant to land so near them, and he feared exposing his team to Blue Tongue. Most plagues affected the very young or the very old, and his team was healthy, so he shook thoughts of illness from his mind.
Frostfire recognized the olive-green feathers of Twistwing, the new over-stallion of Snow Herd. Twistwing dozed while his sentries kept an apathetic watch. Frostfire scanned the herd for Shadepebble and Petalcloud. His belly flipped at the thought of his mother. While he liked to imagine her as ugly, with shallow, beady eyes, he’d heard stories about her exotic beauty his entire life, and he’d soon learn if they were true.
One of his stallions tensed, catching his breath. Frostfire and the others followed his gaze, and there she was, his mother, standing under a beam of moonlight. Frostfire let out a short, hard breath, and agony wrung his heart.
Petalcloud was exquisite, nothing like he’d imagined. The lines of her compact body curved with graceful, powerful precision. Her delicate muzzle widened into a broad, proud nose, and her large eyes angled into soft slants. Her coat, thick from winter, was sleek, unlike the fuzzy Snow Herd steeds, and the color was that of dark smoke. Her silver mane and tail were the same shade as the moon itself. She folded and unfolded her wings, preening her violet feathers.
“That’s your dam, right?” asked Larksong in a low nicker.
Frostfire nodded, unable to speak. Her face brought shocking, long-buried memories of his foalhood rushing back to him. He’d been happy living with her! His mother had played chase with him and slept with her wing over his back, and she’d nipped the yearlings who’d made fun of his one blue eye.
Frostfire took a deep, ragged breath, understanding finally why his anger had always been buried under a mountain of sadness. Petalcloud had loved him, but in the end she’d loved herself more, and when she’d given him away, it was like she’d died. The mother who’d licked his ears and told him stories had been murdered by the mother who’d wanted to rule a herd. He dragged his sharpened hoof through the ice decisively. He wanted nothing to do with the mare she’d become.
As if sensing his presence, Petalcloud suddenly lifted her head and stared in his direction. Frostfire and his team held their breaths, not moving.
Seconds passed, which felt like hours, and Petalcloud tucked her wings and closed her eyes. Frostfire exhaled. She hadn’t seen them, but he’d seen her. It was enough. He’d looked into her eyes; and what he’d noticed, besides the beautiful shape of them, was the coldness there, like a lake that had frozen all the way to the bottom.
“Look,” whispered Larksong, pointing to a cluster of foreign pegasi. “They’ve stolen weanlings and yearlings from Desert Herd and Jungle Herd—but I don’t see any from Mountain Herd.”
Frostfire studied the group of terrified young pegasi. The weanlings’ eyes were swollen from crying. The older yearlings rattled their feathers at the guards, looking fierce. They were separated from Snow Herd but not out of sight, and eighteen powerful warriors guarded them.
“What now?” asked Larksong. “Shadepebble isn’t here.”
Frostfire took a final look at the Snow Herd steeds, also seeing no sign of his aunt. “We go,” he whispered. He led his team to the trees where they were safe for the moment, and they were lucky they hadn’t been spotted, because there wasn’t much cover in the north. Once the sun rose, their luck would run out.
Frostfire peered east and saw a bright stripe appear on the horizon. “The sun is coming up. We have to get out of here quickly.” He pointed at the rising light. “Fly straight into the sunrise. It will hurt your eyes, but it will blind them to us if they look our way. It’s now or never.”
Frostfire glanced at each one of his teammates. Their pulses raced, and their wings vibrated. They nodded, trusting him. In that second he finally bonded with them. They would live or die together. He faced the yellow dawn. “Fly.”
Frostfire erupted from the trees, with his steeds following. They didn’t look back as they flew low and fast, skimming the snow with their hooves. Frostfire’s breath came quick and hot. He felt his blood rushing through his wings. If the group was spotted, Twistwing would send warriors without hesitation. As sick as Snow Herd was, the stallions appeared healthy enough to fight.
They flew for hours before landing on a rounded hill. It was full morning now. His team gasped for air. Frostfire looked back and saw an empty sky. “We made it.”
Larksong shoved her nose into the snow and ate mouthfuls of it, her sides heaving and dripping sweat.
“Let’s walk awhile,” said Frostfire, “give our wings a rest.” He led his group to an icy lake, and beyond it was another forest, so dense the sunlight couldn’t penetrate it.
“That’s the Trap,” said a gray stallion, pointing to the thick woods.
“Yes. The southern end of it,” Frostfire replied. “If Rockwing’s scouts are correct, Star and his herd are just north of here.”
“Was that all of the Snow Herd steeds back there?” asked Larksong.
“I think it was,” said Frostfire. “I saw Twistwing and Petalcloud and many stallions but few mares, weanlings, or elders. They wouldn’t leave their weakest steeds by themselves, so they must be dead.”
“The Blue Tongue plague is wiping them out,” Larksong said, looking pleased. “Snow Herd is vulnerable. It would be a good time for Mountain Herd to attack them.”
Frostfire nodded. “We should inform Rockwing of their losses. They are worse off than I ever imagined. But where is Shadepebble?”
“Maybe she got the plague and died,” said Larksong.
Frostfire bristled at the harshness of Larksong’s words because he was fond of Shadepebble. It could be true that she had died, but he didn’t think so. Most illnesses incubated first and then killed slowly. Of course this was a plague and not most illnesses.
The image of his mother’s cold eyes surfaced. He would not be surprised if Petalcloud had murdered her sister. She could claim Shadepebble had died of the plague, and Rockwing would never know the truth.
But Rockwing could still blame Snow Herd for Shadepebble’s death, for exposing her to the illness. He could still start a war with them. So where was she? Frostfire glanced at Larksong, thinking to discuss it with her, but he stopped himself. He didn’t want her to know he felt confused.
Shaking his head to clear it, Frostfire spoke to his team. “Two of you will return home. Tell Rockwing about Snow Herd’s condition and that his filly is not with them.” He didn’t wait for volunteers, knowing none of his steeds would want the task of giving Rockwing bad news about his filly. Frostfire picked out the two youngest stallions. “Stay safe and follow the Vein to
our territory.”
“Yes, sir.” The stallions lifted off and flew south.
Frostfire had five steeds left: four warriors and Larksong. They flew north along the edge of the Trap until dark, then he landed them. “Rockwing’s scouts last spotted River Herd traveling to the Ice Lands to avoid the Blue Tongue plague. Hopefully they are still there and haven’t moved.”
“There’s nothing to eat in the Ice Lands,” complained a stallion.
“There has to be,” argued Larksong. “Animals live there. Big animals,” she added.
“He makes a good point though,” said Frostfire. “Star’s herd could be on the move to avoid starvation. We’ll shelter in the woods for the night, but we’ll keep watch. Star and Morningleaf could be anywhere.”
Frostfire led his mare and stallions to a lake. They chopped at the ice with their hooves and then drank the cold water slowly. He glanced at the snow clouds developing overhead. “After this storm passes, we’ll fly to the Ice Lands and begin our search for Morningleaf.”
Frostfire kept watch while his team fell asleep in the thick forest that was as dark and foreboding as the black foal himself.
16
ACCEPTANCE
STAR AND HIS HERD MARCHED SOUTHEAST, beginning their journey toward the interior of Anok. The River Herd pegasi were grateful to be on the move, even though no one was sure the lush and windy flatlands truly existed. Anywhere was better than the frozen north.
They traveled by hoof because the newborns weren’t ready to fly higher than the trees, the still-pregnant mares were too close to giving birth to fly, and one filly couldn’t fly at all—her bright-blue wings were too small to lift her off the ground.
The quarantined mares had rejoined the herd and still showed no signs of the Blue Tongue plague. Their unborn foals grew steadily in their bellies.
Star, Morningleaf, Bumblewind, and Brackentail followed at the rear of the herd, and Silverlake chose their path. Now that Echofrost was gone, Brackentail sought their company more often, in spite of the awkwardness between them. His guards kept near, but since Brackentail hadn’t caused any trouble since joining River Herd, they didn’t watch him too closely.
The Guardian Herd: Stormbound Page 9
