Talons of Power

by Tui T. Sutherland

  “Well,” said Moon, “watching a dragon disembowel himself probably has kind of a traumatizing effect on one’s memory.”

  “Wait, WHAT?” said Tsunami. “Disem-what now?”

  “Did you really do that?” Anemone said, looking up at Darkstalker. But Turtle didn’t like her expression. There wasn’t nearly enough disgust or horror there. He didn’t like it at all.

  “Did I say disembowel?” Darkstalker waved one talon. “I was exaggerating. It was a simple honor suicide. Even he knew he deserved it.”

  Moon crossed her front talons, arching her brows at him skeptically.

  “Wow,” said Darkstalker. “Are we sure Clearsight didn’t have dragonets after I was gone? Because you do an uncanny impression of my true love’s disapproving face.”

  “I’m only trying to make sure you don’t overuse your power, go crazy, and hurt someone,” Moon said.

  “Moon,” Darkstalker said reproachfully. “I can see the future, remember? I know how to stop myself from doing that. Do you want me to show you where our paths are going?” He held out one of his talons to her. “I can take you along the whole timeline for the next hundred years, if you like.” His tail nudged her mischievously. “Want to see which one of them you should choose? I can show you what the future looks like with both options. Although, frankly, I think neither of them are good enough for you.”

  “No, no, no, thank you,” Moon said quickly, covering her ears. “I don’t want to hear it. I have no idea who you’re talking about — I mean, what you’re talking about — stop thinking about them! LA LA LA ignoring you.”

  “Hey, what about me?” Anemone interjected. “I want to see the future! Will you show me what’s going to happen to me?”

  Tsunami looked from her sister to Darkstalker, her expression wavering between concern and curiosity.

  A vision could show us that Anemone turns out all right, Turtle thought. We wouldn’t have to worry about her soul anymore if we saw a peaceful future ahead for her.

  “Anything you want,” Darkstalker said, expanding his wings to their full width. “You both have so many possible amazing futures. And now that I’m here, if you trust me, we can make sure you get exactly the right future for you.”

  Anemone’s eyes were shining like the skyfire comet. Even Turtle couldn’t help thinking It would be nice to know my future … to have someone who could tell me the right steps to follow to make sure my life turns out all right. Which spells are safe to cast, how to protect myself and my soul. What I’m here for.

  Darkstalker raised one of his talons and Turtle nearly ducked behind the gong again, out of sight. But he managed to stay put, sinking into a crouch, and so he was watching as Darkstalker lifted a claw to gently touch the earring in his ear, pale against the black scales.

  An earring …

  Had that been there before? Turtle tried to think back, to remember what Darkstalker had looked like when he rose from the earth. He thought he remembered no jewelry … and didn’t Darkstalker just say that nothing had survived the two thousand years underground with him?

  But now he was wearing an earring — a plain white half-loop stabbed through his earlobe.

  Turtle squinted at it. It looked as though it was made of bone.

  Like a bone one might get from one’s prey after hunting.

  Could Darkstalker have made the bone earring and enchanted it today, while Turtle was flying to Jade Mountain to warn the school?

  And more important: If it was animus-touched … what was the spell?

  A short while later, Tsunami and Moon went off to separate parts of the school. Turtle crouched in the shadows, watching them leave. He felt like stalagmites were growing through his talons, pinning him to the floor. He didn’t want to be left alone here, the only one keeping an eye on Darkstalker.

  Who would ever think that was a good idea? He couldn’t be trusted to do anything right.

  Maybe I need to enchant someone else to be hidden with me. Someone who could be a better observer, a better spy. A real hero.

  He thought about that while Anemone brought Darkstalker several pieces of treasure from her travel chest. Turtle remembered that chest, because he’d had to help carry it here from the Kingdom of the Sea, and it was ridiculously heavy. Now, seeing the ropes of pearls, bulky silver neckbands, and sapphire-laden tiaras she laid out on the cave floor, Turtle could understand why.

  Although he still wasn’t entirely clear on why she needed any of this for history lessons and math classes.

  Together, Darkstalker and Anemone picked through the jewels, discussing the merits of each. It was difficult to find anything that fit Darkstalker’s enormous size, but they eventually settled on a piece that was supposed to be a metal breastplate for Anemone, fitting around her entire chest to protect her from attacks. It clicked neatly around one of Darkstalker’s wrists.

  “Mother is always giving me ridiculous things like that,” Anemone said. “As if I need armor to protect me when I have magic like ours.”

  “She has no idea what it’s like to be an animus,” Darkstalker said sympathetically. He passed Anemone a necklace. “Maybe this one for you? If you think you’d be happy wearing it all the time.”

  “Oh … sure,” said Anemone, taking the heavy silver band in her talons. “I mean, I never liked it before, but if you think it would work, then I like it, too.”

  “It’s up to you,” said Darkstalker. “It should be something you love.”

  “I love this,” Anemone said emphatically. She snapped it around her neck with a sound like eggs cracking. Turtle’s stomach twisted as though it were full of rotten shrimp.

  “Now the enchantment,” Darkstalker said. He touched his wristband with one claw, gazing thoughtfully up at the vines draped between the stalactites. In a slightly deeper voice, he intoned, “I enchant this bracelet to protect my soul from the effects of animus magic forever.”

  There was a pause.

  “Is that it?” Anemone asked. “Seriously? It’s that simple?”

  Surely not, thought Turtle. It can’t be.

  “I don’t know.” Darkstalker twitched his wings back and held out his arm to study the bracelet. “I guess we’ll have to see if it works.” He squinted. “My visions of the future seem to indicate that it does. Yup. Yup. I’m still a pretty awesome dragon fifty years from now.”

  “All right,” said Anemone with a giggle. “Well, three moons, I can do that! I could have done that months ago. Why hasn’t every animus done something like this?”

  “They haven’t always known to worry about these things,” Darkstalker observed. “Or perhaps they did have objects like this, and we just don’t know about them.”

  “Hmm.” Anemone touched her necklace with one claw, mirroring Darkstalker’s movement.

  “Wait,” said Darkstalker. “My soul is safe now. Let me use my magic to enchant yours, so you don’t have to waste any more of your soul.”

  No! Turtle thought. Don’t let him! Anemone, don’t trust him!

  “Great idea!” Anemone said happily.

  Should he stop this? Could he stop this? What can I do? I have to do something, don’t I? Like what? I need more time to think!

  But Turtle couldn’t think of anything he could do without Darkstalker noticing, and it was already too late.

  “I enchant this necklace to protect Anemone’s soul from the effects of animus magic forever,” said Darkstalker, tapping the silver collar lightly with his claws.

  It sounded safe. It sounded exactly like the spell on Darkstalker’s own talisman. But Turtle knew all too well that spells could be cast without speaking. Had Darkstalker added anything to the spell with his mind?

  Oh, Anemone. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

  “This is so cool,” said Anemone. “Now we can do anything we want!”

  “That,” said Darkstalker with a grin, “is the whole idea.”

  Darkstalker spent the rest of the day in the main entrance cave, reading
through scrolls and talking to any students who were brave enough to approach him. By the middle of the day, it began to feel quietly normal to have him there. He didn’t do anything sinister. He didn’t use any magic. He acted like a friendly visitor who just needed to use the library on his way through the mountains.

  Anemone sat beside him with her chin lifted, looking as royal as she did when she sat beside Mother at council meetings. Every once in a while Darkstalker would pass her a scroll and ask her to read it out loud to him, or to check it for references to Fathom, and she would do so, beaming.

  The school gradually returned to its usual activities. From his spot, hidden behind the bronze gong, Turtle saw MudWings pass through on the way to the art room; he saw SandWings carrying musical instruments; he saw RainWings with baskets heading out to pick berries.

  There was no sign of the IceWings. Turtle wondered if they were hiding somewhere.

  He also wondered why nobody came to make Anemone go to whichever class she was supposed to be in. Pike stalked through a few times, eyeing Darkstalker suspiciously, but didn’t try talking to him.

  At one point, around midday, Turtle watched Clay gather the SkyWings to hear Peril’s story of the duel between Queen Scarlet and Queen Ruby. Soon they came back through the cave, all of them with relieved expressions, knowing that Scarlet was dead and Ruby was safely their queen for certain now.

  One of them paused not far from Darkstalker and gazed enviously at the treasure Anemone had swept into a messy pile. He was the one with the badly scarred face, from the Gold Winglet. He had a black leather pouch around his neck, like most of the students, but no other accessories — nothing like Anemone’s confections of sparkles from the sea. Turtle couldn’t remember speaking to him; the SkyWing always looked as if he was in a murderous mood.

  “Hello, Flame,” Darkstalker said politely. He put a rock down on the scroll he’d been reading to hold his place.

  “Stay out of my head,” Flame snarled at him.

  “With pleasure,” said Darkstalker.

  “I know you were poking around in my mind before.” Flame lashed his tail and glared up at the NightWing. “I felt it. I hated it.”

  “Yes,” Darkstalker said thoughtfully. “Indeed. It’s quite dark in there.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Flame demanded.

  “Like, evil-dark?” Anemone asked curiously. “Or there’s-nothing-going-on-inside dark?”

  Flame hissed at her and Darkstalker gently stepped between them.

  “You know, I have an idea, Flame,” he said. “I could fix your face.”

  The SkyWing dragonet started back and touched his venom-slashed snout, scowling. “Don’t lie to me,” he said. “I already asked an animus to do that, and he said he wouldn’t. Or couldn’t. Slithering toadstool worm.”

  “You mean Stonemover?” Darkstalker said with a surprised expression. “I wonder why he said no. It wouldn’t be that hard, or take very much out of him.”

  “Really?” Flame looked even more furious. “He moaned and griped and acted like it would kill him. He said he couldn’t cure all the wounded dragons in Pyrrhia, so why even start. Festering rotted lungfish!”

  “Oh, dear,” said Darkstalker, shaking his head. “Well, I’m sure he has his reasons. But I could certainly do it … if you want.”

  Flame hesitated. Turtle could see his talons trembling slightly, although his face was fixed in a state of permanent rage. Finally he said, “Why would you do that for me? What do you want in return?”

  “Nothing at all.” Darkstalker caught a deep indigo flower that was drifting down from one of the banners overhead and cupped it in his claws. He took a step toward Flame, who held his ground. “I am currently trying to prove to certain dragons that I’m not the villain they think I am. I can be trusted. I’m here to help others. So why shouldn’t you be one of the ones I help?”

  “No strings attached?” Flame said. “Ha. I don’t buy it.”

  “I have a lot to make up for,” Darkstalker said. “What’s that word … oh, I’m atoning. I need M — everyone to see that.”

  “I don’t need your pity and I don’t want to be your experiment,” Flame growled.

  “It’s a simple good deed, Flame. There’s no need to be so suspicious.” Darkstalker stopped in front of him, his head nearly brushing the fire globes on the ceiling. Flame stared up at him as though he was frozen in place, paralyzed by wanting something and not believing he could truly have it. “I’ve seen in your mind how badly you need this. Just accept it.”

  Darkstalker reached out and brushed the flower across Flame’s face, tracing the scar from one end to the other. “I enchant this flower to heal Flame the SkyWing, without pain, erasing his scars and returning his face to the way it was before the accident with the SandWing.”

  He lifted the flower away and Flame jerked back. Turtle watched, awestruck, as Flame’s scales writhed and rippled over his snout like snakes suddenly rising up and shaking off their skins. Flame let out a yell, clapped his talons over his eyes, and wrapped his wings around his head.

  In the ensuing silence, Darkstalker quietly plucked the petals off the flower and let them drift down to the stone floor.

  Finally Flame folded back his wings and lifted his face toward the light.

  Turtle stifled a gasp. He’d expected it to work, but it was shocking to see the smooth, unblemished ruby scales and the perfect shape of Flame’s face. The SkyWing dragonet looked years younger and infinitely more innocent. Turtle wondered with a stab of shame whether he had judged Flame by his damaged looks, assuming he was a scarier dragonet than he truly was.

  Flame’s claws touched his snout, brushing over the new scales with disbelieving care, as though they were made of the thinnest ice and might shatter at any moment.

  “Wow!” Anemone blurted. “You look totally different! Darkstalker, that’s amazing!”

  Flame glanced up at Darkstalker, then turned and bolted from the cave.

  “Oh, right, don’t bother saying thank you!” Anemone called after him. “Some dragons,” she said to Darkstalker, shaking her head. “You know, I offered to cure Starflight’s blindness once, but Tsunami said no, my soul was too valuable, whatever whatever.” She touched her neckband. “But now I can! Or you can! One of us can. Won’t Starflight be excited?”

  “I’m not sure,” Darkstalker said kindly. “It’s a generous idea, but in my visions, he’s reluctant to accept a magic cure from us. Maybe if we give him a little time to get used to the idea.”

  “Reluctant? Why?” Anemone demanded. “We can fix everybody now!”

  Darkstalker didn’t respond. His eyes were on a tunnel across the cave, where, a moment later, Moon emerged, leading the other three NightWing students.

  “Well, this is exciting,” said Darkstalker with a smile.

  “I thought a better introduction might be in order,” Moon said. She glanced at the other NightWings anxiously. “All right? Everyone, this is Darkstalker. He promises he’s not as bad as all the stories say he is. Darkstalker, this is Mightyclaws, Mindreader, and Fearless.”

  “I know,” Darkstalker said. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you all face-to-face. It seems like the NightWing tribe has changed a lot since I was around.”

  Fearless was the first to speak. Turtle peeked out and saw her claws nervously picking at the rock below her. “What was it like in your day?” she asked.

  “Amazing,” said Darkstalker. “We were without question the most powerful and sophisticated tribe. Our kingdom had a remarkable library, a huge training arena where we hosted all the tribes for tournaments, a museum with the most beautiful art in Pyrrhia, and a new music festival every full moon. It was glorious.”

  “It was?” said Mindreader wistfully.

  “I can’t believe it’s all gone,” Darkstalker said, shaking his head. He touched the scroll beside him as though all his memories had vanished into it.

  “Do you know where we’ve been living
all these years?” Mightyclaws asked. Turtle noticed that he was the only one with a note of hostility in his voice.

  “I can see it in your memories,” said Darkstalker. “The island, the volcano — it looks terrible.”

  “It was terrible,” Mightyclaws said accusingly.

  “In a place of such darkness and danger,” Darkstalker mused, “the NightWings who are left must have been very strong to survive.”

  The dragonets hesitated, glancing at one another. The sound of the rain pouring down outside filled in the silence. It sounded like claws running overhead, like the waterfalls in the Summer Palace, like hurricanes closing in as the waters rise.

  “I guess,” Mightyclaws said thoughtfully. “But we live in the rainforest now.”

  “That’s much better,” Mindreader interjected. “Now we’re not starving or sick anymore, and we can breathe.”

  “I’m sure,” said Darkstalker, “although … now you don’t have a queen.”

  “We do!” said Moon. “We have Queen Glory.”

  The other three nodded — Mindreader first, Turtle noticed, and the other two more slowly.

  Darkstalker’s eyebrows twitched, but he didn’t say anything for a moment. “And I understand no one in the tribe has powers anymore,” he observed.

  “Were those really real?” Fearless asked. “Could NightWings really do all those things, once?”

  “Some of them could,” he said. “If they hatched at the right time. We had mind reading and prophecy classes for the gifted in my school.”

  “Oh, wow,” Mindreader breathed. “Not just classes on pretending to read minds and how to make up believable prophecies?”