Talons of Power

by Tui T. Sutherland

  “I don’t know — I don’t see why — it should —” Turtle’s gaze fell from the gathering clouds to his sister, and he was hit by a sinking realization. “The seaweed!” he cried. He leaped forward and sliced through the wrapping of seaweed around Anemone’s arm. “It didn’t work because your magic was blocked!” There seemed to be infinite thick sticky layers of seaweed and they wouldn’t come off fast enough, no matter how he stabbed and peeled at them.

  “You do the spell!” Anemone shouted, but the wind was now screaming along with the sound and sand was blowing fiercely in their faces like the entire beach was rising up to attack them. Turtle clasped his sister’s talons, folded his wings around her, and held on tight.

  Suddenly there was a bending, warping feeling to the universe, and Turtle heard Darkstalker’s voice as clearly as if he were standing right next to them.

  “Bring them here,” Darkstalker growled. “Every animus dragon in all the seven tribes. Bring them here to my throne room right now.”

  The world collapsed inward, into darkness, and unfolded again into pale sunlight streaming through tall narrow windows across a vast black marble hall.

  Outside the windows: the mountains of the Night Kingdom.

  Inside the hall, staring down at them: Darkstalker, wearing a crown made of twisted metal with sharp points.

  Turtle gave a startled gasp and glanced around. All the way across the continent. He just summoned us like a tray of shrimp.

  There were still cracks of darkness in the air, like it was a scroll that had been folded and wrinkled too many times. The cracks hissed and sparked, spitting out Turtle, Anemone, Stonemover, and right behind Darkstalker, an unfamiliar SandWing.

  The SandWing met Turtle’s eyes, her face a mask of startled terror, and then she vanished again in less than a heartbeat. She was gone so quickly that Turtle thought he might have hallucinated her — that perhaps she was a double image accidentally reflected by the teleporting cracks. Especially since no one else acted as if they’d seen her, too.

  Was that real? He sat down, rubbing his eyes. A splitting headache was trying to splinter his skull into small pieces.

  “I enchant this room so that no one can cast any spells while they’re in here except me,” Darkstalker growled. He loomed over Anemone. “Where is your neckband?” he asked.

  “I lost it,” she said. “I’ll make another one, don’t worry.”

  “Someone gave you skyfire, I see,” he said, tapping the top of her skull. “Did you kill your mother?” Turtle guessed from his tone that he already knew the answer.

  “No,” Anemone said, lifting her chin defiantly. “What do you care anyway? Why’d you drag me back here after you just ordered me to go away?”

  Darkstalker hissed. “Who were you fighting, Anemone?” he asked. Turtle flinched guiltily. A scratch behind her ear was bleeding and there were scratches along her sides from Turtle’s claws.

  “No one important,” she said. “I was winning until you interrupted, though, by the way.”

  “Those were battling animus spells,” Darkstalker said. “And every animus in Pyrrhia should be here. Which means …” He whipped his head toward Stonemover. The NightWing lay awkwardly on his side, still encased in stone, but looking very odd without his cave around him. His talons twitched feebly as though he might be trying to right himself.

  “Stonemover,” Darkstalker said. He tipped Stonemover onto his talons and leaned over to hiss in his ear. “Tell me the truth. How many dragons are in this room right now?”

  Turtle tried to wave frantically, to get his attention, to hold up three claws or mime to keep his secret or something, but he wasn’t fast enough, or Stonemover was too slow.

  “Four,” Stonemover said, sounding puzzled.

  “I knew it,” Darkstalker cried. “There’s another one. There’s someone hiding from me!” He seized a sword that was hanging on the wall. “Bring me a dragon our hidden animus cares about very much. Alive, for now.”

  “No!” Turtle cried, but the sword was already whipping out the door. What can I do? I can’t cast any spells in here. Do I have anything I can use? He scrabbled open his pouch, all banged up and covered with sand, and searched inside, trying to think. The coral finder. The slate. The healing stone. His hiding stick.

  The slate — Qibli! He pulled it out and wrote as quickly as he could.

  As soon as he’d written it, he erased it. He couldn’t risk Darkstalker finding out he’d sent a message. Please see it soon, Qibli, he prayed.

  “Hidden?” Stonemover coughed, bewildered.

  “Yes,” said Darkstalker. “One of the dragons you can see is a coward. Planning against me in secret.”

  “I think he’s smart,” Anemone said sharply. “He knew right away not to trust you. He knew there was something seriously wrong with you. You think everything you do is right. You think you’re so perfect that you don’t even care about the dragons around you. You’re the only one who gets to decide what happens to everyone else.”

  “By all the MOONS,” Darkstalker growled. He pointed at Anemone. “Enchant this dragon to obey my every command. Now shut up,” he barked at her.

  Anemone’s mouth snapped closed. She touched her snout, looking startled and outraged and terrified all at once.

  No! Turtle felt the cold marble hall pressing in on him. That’s the same spell he put on his father. He can make Anemone do anything he wants now.

  “That’s better,” Darkstalker said. He paced around her slowly. “You know, I’ve always had so many questions about animus power. Maybe now, with you and Stonemover both under my control, I can test out some of my theories. For instance, is there a limit to how many spells one can cast in a day? What happens when two animus dragons try to enchant something at the same time? And of course … how many spells does it take for a dragon to turn evil?” He stopped in front of Anemone, smiling down at her. “For you, my dear, I’m guessing it won’t be very many more.”

  Turtle was transfixed with horror. This was exactly what he’d been trying to save Anemone from. It hadn’t even occurred to him that Stonemover was one of Darkstalker’s puppets already. Maybe that’s what he meant when he said his talons weren’t his own — maybe he sensed Darkstalker taking them over.

  Oh, Anemone. How can I save you?

  A clattering sound came from the hall outside and they all could hear a voice coming closer.

  “This better be important! Summoning a dragon with a sword in the middle of suntime, I mean, someone has the manners of an orangutan! I am MOVING, quit pointing that — yourself at me!”

  Oh no, Turtle thought. Despair poured over him like wet sand.

  Kinkajou bounded into the throne room with the sword hovering menacingly in the air behind her. She was indignantly tangerine from horns to tail, and Turtle’s heart leaped at the sight of her.

  “Hello, King Bossy,” she said to Darkstalker, flicking her wings back. “You could have sent a dragon to ask me nicely. It’s pretty rude to wake someone up with sharp weapons, I have to say.”

  Darkstalker slid over and stared at her thoughtfully for a moment. “Really?” he said. “Somebody cares about this dragon?”

  “Hey!” Kinkajou squeaked. “That’s so unnecessary!”

  “All right,” Darkstalker said with a shrug. “Cowardly animus,” he said, raising his voice. “You see that I have your … unimpressive little RainWing.” Kinkajou scowled at him. “So now would be a good time to reveal yourself, unless you want to see her sliced to pieces.” He hooked the sword out of the air and swept it around to point at Kinkajou’s throat in one graceful move.

  “No!” Turtle shouted, taking a step toward her.

  “Don’t do it,” Kinkajou said. She closed her eyes. “Stay hidden. You can stop him — you have to stop him.”

  “Not by myself,” Turtle said. “Not without you.”

  “Yes, without me,” she said. “I know you can. Oh, monkey brains — does this mean I’m the hapless sidekic
k? Blorg, that is so lame. Better than the wailing victim who needs rescuing, though. Make sure nobody writes me that way when this story becomes an epic poem, all right? And I would definitely like to be the hero next time, please.” She glanced down at the sword and shivered slightly. “I mean … in my next life, I guess.”

  “Kinkajou.” Turtle couldn’t breathe. Was this what drowning felt like for other dragons? “The story doesn’t make sense without you. You’re the whole point of it, for me.”

  “Do please stop talking,” Darkstalker said to her. “Last chance, animus. In ten seconds, this babbling dragonet dies.”

  Turtle took his hiding stick out of his pouch. It was so ordinary. Unremarkable, boring, nothing anyone would ever notice. Kind of like him.

  But it held some of the most powerful magic in this room.

  And it was the only thing that might still be able to save the world.

  This wasn’t the heroic story he’d dreamed of as a dragonet. He wasn’t standing at the gates to the palace fighting off attacking hordes with a spear. He wasn’t defending his kingdom with valiant strength, and he might still be the idiot who died while the real heroes saved the day.

  But this was his chance — a chance to be a different kind of hero. One who stood in the way; one who got noticed, so that someone else could live. Heroes don’t have to stab the bad guy in the heart or save the whole world. Maybe it was enough — more than enough — to save his sister and Kinkajou.

  All he had to do was stop hiding.

  “Anemone,” he said urgently. “I don’t know if this will work, but if it does — get out of here as fast as you can. Go find Qibli and make him help you.” He closed his claws around the stick and took a deep breath. “I’m not going to leave you in danger anymore while I hide. But it means you have to be the hero now.”

  Turtle glanced down at the stick again; his heart was pounding and his insides were threatening to dissolve into sand. But he couldn’t hide anymore. For Kinkajou, for Anemone, for everyone.

  He tossed the stick through the air to his sister.

  For a moment, as it was airborne, Darkstalker’s head snapped up. Perhaps a thousand new futures were crowding into his mind; perhaps he knew for a moment what was about to happen, and he saw what he was about to lose, and where it might lead.

  But then Anemone caught the stick in her front talons.

  And then Darkstalker saw Turtle, and whatever future he had been looking at was forgotten as his eyes flashed with fury.

  “Fathom!” he snarled. A blast of flame shot out of his mouth and enveloped Turtle in fire.

  Blistering heat scorched over Turtle. He threw himself to the ground with his wings over his head. “I’m not Fathom!” he shouted. “I’m Turtle!”

  Kinkajou screamed and leaped at Darkstalker’s head. Her talons wrapped around his snout, her wings beat at his ears, and she reared back, opening her mouth wide. Jets of black venom shot from her fangs and landed splat sizzle ssss across Darkstalker’s face and in one of his eyes.

  Darkstalker roared and threw her off. Kinkajou landed on the floor and skidded halfway across the room.

  “OW! MOONFIRE AND STAR VOMIT!” Darkstalker shouted, clutching his face. “HEAL, by all the snakes!” He lifted his talons away and Turtle saw that his scales were undamaged, but there was a black hole where his eyeball had been. A moment later it filmed over, and a new eye started to grow into the spot.

  My accidental invulnerability spell worked, too, Turtle realized, stretching out his wings. The fire had not burned him. He was unharmed.

  He stood up and looked around frantically.

  Anemone was gone.

  She’d escaped in the chaos, small enough to fit out one of the narrow windows. He hoped she was on her way to Jade Mountain right now, clutching his stick, erased from Darkstalker’s memory. He hoped it would keep her safe. If Darkstalker didn’t know she existed, he couldn’t control her. As long as she stayed hidden, she could still be free.

  He also hoped he could trust her. Would she do the right thing, now that she was free? Would she know what the right thing was?

  He darted over to Kinkajou, who was struggling back to her feet. “Are you all right?” he asked, trying to help her up.

  “Oh, you’re not a pile of ash!” she said. She collapsed to the floor again. “That is such a relief. I’m going to lie here and be relieved for a minute. Don’t mind me.”

  “I wish you would stop getting yourself hurt,” Turtle whispered.

  “Me too!” she said. “Talk to the bad guys! Tell them to stop hurting me!” She tried to move one of her wings and winced. “Ow ow ow.”

  “Here,” Turtle said, giving her the healing rock. “This might help.” He glanced over his shoulder, saw that Darkstalker was still holding his eye shut, and pressed the entire pouch into her talons. “Pretend this is yours,” he whispered. “Maybe something in here can help.”

  “I’m scared for you,” she whispered back.

  “Just making sure you get to be more than the dead sidekick,” he said. “You’re a lot more than that to me.”

  “I love you, Turtle,” she whispered, softer than ripples in a still pool.

  “You don’t really,” he said, feeling his heart break a little more. “Anemone put a spell on you to love me. I’m so sorry.”

  “Oh,” she said. “That’s … not cool. But I feel like I love you, and I’m afraid this is our tragic good-bye, so don’t argue with me.”

  “My apologies, Kinkajou,” Darkstalker rumbled behind Turtle. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Although, in my defense, you did melt my eyeball.”

  Turtle turned and found himself face-to-face with Darkstalker. Those black eyes were seeing him for the first time since Darkstalker swarmed out of the mountain.

  “It’s all coming back to me,” Darkstalker rumbled. “Turtle. Yes. Moon’s friend. Fathom’s descendant. You look exactly like him. I believe I had a whole plan for you, before you muddled it up by hiding like that.” He tapped Turtle lightly on the nose. “Surprisingly clever, especially for you. I would never have guessed you had it in you.”

  “Whatever you’re going to do to me,” Turtle said, “please let Kinkajou go.”

  Darkstalker chuckled. “I would never hurt a ball of fluff like her.”

  “Ball of fluff!” Kinkajou protested. “I just melted your eye! I’m totally terrifying!”

  “Kinkajou, shhh,” Turtle said, nudging her sharply.

  “No, I promised Moon I wouldn’t hurt her friends,” Darkstalker said thoughtfully, “and she’s very fond of both of you. Of course, she doesn’t know where you are,” he said to Turtle, “so, for the time being, let’s stick you in the dungeon, until I decide how you can be useful.”

  Darkstalker bent down and took Kinkajou’s chin in his talons, looking into her eyes. “As for you: I enchant you to forget about everything that happened in this throne room today. You’ll wake up from your suntime in an hour and carry on with your day as though everything is normal and Turtle is not here.”

  Kinkajou went very still. Her eyes flicked from Darkstalker to Turtle.

  His spells don’t work on her, Turtle remembered. This might be the one thing he’d done right.

  She nodded slowly and took a step back. Her expression was full of questions, but Turtle knew she couldn’t ask any of them without giving away that Darkstalker’s spell hadn’t worked.

  “Go on now,” Darkstalker said. “Turtle and I need to have a little talk.”

  Kinkajou gave Turtle an agonized look, bowed her head, and flew away. She still had Turtle’s pouch. Maybe something in there would help her, if she could figure out what any of it did.

  “It’s unfortunate for you,” Darkstalker said to Turtle, “that you look so much like Fathom.” He spread one wing around Turtle and steered him toward one of the side doors. “I have very good reasons to hate him, you know. It’s going to make it hard to look at you. Although I suppose if you’re locked away deep in my darkest d
ungeon, we can avoid that problem.”

  When we leave the room I can cast a spell, Turtle thought. But what? Something to help me escape … His mind raced.

  But just before they reached the exit, Darkstalker paused and regarded Turtle pensively for a moment. “I wouldn’t normally do this,” he said. “I always think an animus could be useful in some way, if handled correctly. But you managed to trick me once, and that makes me a bit nervous about you, so, I’m sorry.”

  Darkstalker cupped his talons around Turtle’s face. “Enchant this dragon to lose all his animus power right now,” he said, “so that he shall never be able to cast a spell again.”

  Turtle caught his breath, and caught it again, gasping with disbelief. A strange sensation scraped over his scales, like a powerful scrubbing brush scouring him clean.

  It was gone. The faint tingling in his claws that had been there from the second he hatched. He’d never even known what it was — never guessed that it was a sign of animus magic. And now it had vanished forever.

  He’d always thought he was ordinary, but he’d never been completely ordinary until this moment.

  “Don’t be too sad,” Darkstalker said. “To be the most powerful animus in the world, you have to be the smartest — and that was never going to be you anyway, was it? Now all the pressure is off. You don’t have to come up with something brilliant to stop me. Isn’t that a bit of a relief, really?”

  Turtle’s tail dragged on the floor as two NightWing guards led him away to the dungeon.

  Caught by Darkstalker. Imprisoned, just as he had feared his story would end for so long. And worst of all, stripped of his magic as well.

  But Anemone was safe. Turtle had finally atoned for the Talons of Power curse he gave her on the beach.

  And Kinkajou was safe. And Qibli was out there, ready to help.

  Between the three of them, maybe they could stop Darkstalker.

  He had to cling to the thin hope that they could, because if they didn’t … there was no one else.

  In the Kingdom of Sand, three explosions rocked the markets at three different oases, timed to go off simultaneously. Dragons wearing black hoods and gold medallions stamped with a bird symbol were spotted fleeing the scenes. In the streets and tents and towns of the kingdom, SandWings muttered and growled to one another. Who is doing this? Why isn’t Queen Thorn keeping us safe?