The Guardian Herd

by Jennifer Lynn Alvarez

  Her nostrils flared, and her eyes opened. She yawned and nudged Sweetroot. “I dreamed that Star was here.”

  Star greeted Sweetroot, and she gasped. “He is here.”

  “Shh,” said Star. “Follow me.”

  Sweetroot and Silverlake gaped at each other. “How come we can’t see you?” asked Silverlake.

  Star didn’t want to talk with them near other mares. “Let’s go to the pond,” he whispered. “No one is there right now.”

  Silverlake trotted to the lead Ice Warrior guarding her group and requested permission to drink, then returned. “Okay, let’s go,” she said.

  Star followed the mares to the pond, and they did their best to look bored and depressed, but Star noticed their excited panting breaths.

  When they reached the pond, they halted. Sweetroot and Silverlake stood on each side of him and lowered their heads to drink. Star nuzzled Silverlake, inhaling her familiar scent. She was Dawn Meadow to him, the place where he’d been born. She was sweet milk, lazy days, and cool nights under the blinking stars. But when he opened his eyes, he saw that she was bone thin and weak of muscle, and her once thumping heartbeat now limped in her chest. Star held back his tears, grateful to have good news for her. “Morningleaf and Hazelwind are alive.”

  Silverlake’s head flew skyward.

  Across the snow, only a mile away, Petalcloud craned her neck and stared at them, attracted by the sudden movement.

  “Don’t react to anything Star says,” whispered Sweetroot.

  Star held his breath as Petalcloud squinted at them, but then she resumed her preening of Nightwing’s feathers.

  “I’m sorry,” said Silverlake. She dunked her nose in the pond again, then lifted it, letting the water stream off her muzzle. “Where are they?” she asked, her voice trembling with excitement.

  “They’re hiding in the southern woodlands with Brackentail and Dewberry. They wanted to tell you, but your sadness helped convince Nightwing that Morningleaf was truly gone, and that has helped keep her safe. You must continue to act sad.”

  “I will.”

  Star watched the mares make a show of drinking the water. They had little time and he had lots to say. “Morningleaf and the others are digging an underground tunnel from the forest to the valley. They’re going to smuggle out a group of pegasi to cross the Dark Water and start a new herd on a new continent.”

  “How many?” asked Sweetroot.

  “I don’t know yet, but it has to be a number that Nightwing won’t notice. We need to spread our kind out of Anok . . . in case I fail.”

  Silverlake ruffled her plumage, looking concerned.

  Star continued. “The tunnel will reach this pond soon, by late spring before the coming newborns are weaned. Be ready. Morningleaf will need help choosing the steeds who go.”

  “Does Frostfire know about this plan?” asked Silverlake. “I don’t trust him.”

  “Yes, he knows the plan.”

  “He lied to us once before,” Silverlake reminded Star.

  “I can’t explain now, but I’ve grown to trust him, and I think he’s starting to trust me.” Star glanced at Nightwing and Petalcloud. The gray mare was looking their way again. His voice quickened. “Listen closely—I need Wind Herd to know that I’m not building that tribute for Nightwing.”

  Silverlake turned her eyes to the hills where Star had constructed the base. “For who then?” she asked.

  Star tensed as Petalcloud stood and stretched, scanning the valley for anything amiss, then her black eyes settled again on the two mares.

  “Start walking back,” Star urged.

  They turned and he followed them, continuing in a low whisper. “The tribute is for Bumblewind.”

  Silverlake spread her wings to balance herself as she wobbled across the bumpy terrain. “For Bumblewind? Why? What happened to him?”

  “He made it to the interior, but then he lost a fight with wolves. He’s in the golden meadow now,” said Star, his breath hitching.

  Silverlake faltered, almost falling over, and Star saw her eyes brim with tears.

  “I’m sorry to tell you that,” Star said. “We buried him beneath the base. But with each stone, know that I honor Bumblewind, not Nightwing. Spread the word. The tribute belongs to us.”

  Sweetroot’s chest swelled, and her eyes watered as she gazed at the four thousand stones he’d already moved. “Thank you, Star. Wind Herd needs this, something of our own. Nightwing’s taken . . . everything else from us.”

  “For Bumblewind,” whispered Silverlake, also gazing at the tribute.

  The beating of wings interrupted them, and Petalcloud landed in front of the mares. Silverlake and Sweetroot halted and dropped their heads. Star froze, holding his breath. “What are you two talking about?” she asked.

  “The coming foals,” Sweetroot answered quickly.

  Three of Petalcloud’s Ice Warriors glided toward her and landed next to Petalcloud. They were hairy and muscle-bound and fat with grass. Next to them, Petalcloud sparkled like a beautiful crystal, exquisite to look at, but also hard and cold. They stood out in the herd of pegasi who were dull coated and thin. Petalcloud peered at the old pinto medicine mare. “What about the coming foals?”

  Sweetroot glanced at Nightwing, who watched them from a distance. “Is he going to take them too?”

  Petalcloud snorted. “It’s not your concern. You’re both too old for newborns.”

  Silverlake set her jaw and lifted her chin, looking exactly like her filly, Morningleaf, and Star’s heart ached for them being split apart. “I was once lead mare of Sun Herd,” Silverlake said. “What you’re doing is wrong.”

  Star, who was still invisible, tensed. Don’t press her too hard, he thought, staring at his adoptive mother.

  Petalcloud huffed. “Is it wrong to save them?” She lashed her shining tail, and her swollen belly glowed in the moonlight. “Because that’s what I’m doing. Come next winter, you’ll all be dead. But the foals, and me, we’ll live on, because we know how to cooperate. If you had any sense, Silverlake, you’d have executed Star yourself when he was born. He woke the Destroyer. He brought destruction to Anok. Don’t blame me for making the best of it.” Petalcloud turned to her warriors. “Let’s go!” She lifted off and soared over their heads, kicking snow off her hooves that fell on Silverlake’s ears.

  Star saw the fury in Silverlake’s eyes, but she flung off the snow and folded her silver wings across her back, walking with her neck held high.

  “Stay calm,” Star warned her.

  “She’ll be fine,” said Sweetroot. “You’ve given her hope, and her family is alive. We’ll endure what we must as long as you and Morningleaf and Hazelwind stay committed. Build that tribute for us, Star, and I’ll make sure every steed knows that it’s for Bumblewind. When you finish, it will mark the end of the reign of Nightwing. Forever.”

  Star huffed. “I didn’t promise that.”

  “No, you didn’t. I did.”

  “But how can you?”

  Sweetroot’s eyes filled with tears. “Because we have a plan of our own.”

  Star’s blood chilled at her words. “What plan?”

  “Remember when your friends ate the death berries in the Trap?”

  Star nodded. How could he forget? The toxic berries had poisoned them instantly. They’d be dead if Star hadn’t healed them.

  Sweetroot nodded toward the flat grassland. “I found a grove of them. Enough for all of us.”

  Star reeled. “No, please, you can’t do that.”

  She stared toward his voice and through his invisible body, spreading her wings. “You heard Petalcloud. Once the next batch of foals is born and weaned, he’s going to get rid of the adults. This isn’t living, Star. This is waiting to die, but it will be on our terms, not his.”

  Star turned in a circle, taking in the herd of twelve thousand pegasi who stood under the drifting evening clouds. They weren’t allowed to fly, their families were ripped apart, and t
hey were guarded night and day. They had no future, no hope except for him . . . and the death berries. “I understand,” he said. “But please don’t eat the berries. Wait until the tunnel is finished, and wait for me. Let me try to defeat Nightwing.”

  They reached the group of elder mares. “We’ll wait for you, Star, but if you fail—we’ll eat the berries. One way or another, we’ll be free. Now go,” said Sweetroot.

  Star rose into the sky and flew back to Frostfire with renewed energy and determination. He would not let his cousin Starfrost be stolen by Nightwing, and he would not let Sweetroot feed Wind Herd the death berries.

  He soared over the tribute and landed next to it. When it was finished, the tunnel would also be finished. Hazelwind and Echofrost would free enough pegasi to cross the Dark Water and establish a new herd on another continent, in case Star failed. And on that day he would stand on top of the tribute, raise Bumblewind’s feather into the sky, and trumpet an over-stallion’s challenge to Nightwing. It was Star’s right to request a battle to the death. It was how leadership changed hands in every herd except Desert Herd, where leadership was inherited. Nightwing would be forced to attack Star with all his strength, and then Star would learn if Frostfire was correct, if Star’s defensive powers would react with greater strength. If Star failed, the Wind Herd steeds would consume the poison berries. One way or another, it would be the last day of his friends’ captivity in the valley.

  27

  THE NEWBORNS

  SPRING ARRIVED QUICKLY IN THE FLATLANDS. The snow turned to slush and then to mud. The plains grasses reached for the sun, succulent and sweet, and warm rains shed from the clouds. Like Star’s tears, the raindrops caused bright flowers to spring from the soil. The insect population erupted, filling the sky with black hordes of swarming bloodsuckers, and the first of the newborn pegasi buzzed over their dams like fattened bees. Otherwise, the shallow sky was empty. The rest of Wind Herd—having no territories to defend, no predators to kill, and no wars to fight—had no purpose at all, except to watch Star build the tribute.

  A few mothers were still round with foal, and one of those was Petalcloud, but the rest had dropped their young. Star studied Petalcloud as he worked on his tribute. She was acting strangely today, pacing and gripping her belly with her wings, her expression twisted with pain. “Something’s wrong with Petalcloud,” Star said.

  Frostfire trotted to Star’s side and watched, looking curious.

  A shadow passed over them, and Star saw Nightwing soaring overhead, but when he noticed Petalcloud on the ground, he landed beside her. She halted, and they whispered together. Then she leaned against him, and Nightwing brayed for Sweetroot, who was known for her vast birthing skills.

  Sweetroot immediately galloped to the groaning mare, and they retreated to the shade tree where Petalcloud and Nightwing often slept. Star could no longer see them.

  “Is Petalcloud going to be all right?” Star asked.

  Frostfire flattened his neck. “How should I know?” he grumbled, and walked away.

  His own colt had been born two days earlier, and Frostfire was beside himself with desire to see him up close. From a distance, Starfrost was a fine foal, compact and muscular, pure white with pale-yellow, white-edged feathers, and a short, curly tail. He flew just moments after his birth, and Frostfire had gasped with pride. Star too felt the pull in his heart for his young cousin.

  Star lifted the stone he’d put down and returned to work. Silverlake and Echofrost had spread the word that the tribute was for Bumblewind, and a seed of hope had bloomed in the hearts of the pegasi. Star saw them watching him from the distant grassland, encouraging him with their eyes, and he worked harder, faster.

  But as the monument rose, it became more difficult and tiresome to build. Morningleaf had woven a large basket over the winter, which Star used to carry stones to the top of the monument. But lifting and setting the flat rocks and wiping the clay while trying to balance on the tribute—it all took a heavy toll on Star’s legs and wings. His end feathers had eroded into bloody nubs; his flying muscles often seized, causing him to crash; and his back ached between his shoulder blades. It hurt him to fold his long wings when resting, so he let them drag on the ground. When Star looked at his reflection in the river, it was like traveling back in time, to when he was a dud foal in Dawn Meadow.

  But Star was not that foal any longer, and he was not discouraged. He’d asked permission to heal his wings several times so he could work faster, but Nightwing had refused. The sight of Star’s low-slung head, exhausted body, and sagging wings delighted the Destroyer. He often pointed at Star and whinnied to Wind Herd, “Look at your black foal now. He’s nothing but a broken-down horse.”

  So Star threw his energy into building the tribute, while his friends built the tunnel, knowing these were the two things keeping the steeds’ hearts aflame. And both were almost finished. Star had become adept at counting, and today when he made his tally, he was pleased to note there were only seventy stones left to move.

  Several hours passed, and the spring sun rose, glinting off Star’s black hide. He dripped sweat but kept working.

  “What’s that?” neighed Frostfire.

  Star lifted his head. He heard it too: a wild roaring sound that filled the sky like whistling winds. It was coming from the shade trees where Sweetroot had gone with Petalcloud and Nightwing. He looked in time to see Sweetroot limping out of the shade with a huge welt on her right leg. Someone had kicked her! Star lunged forward, his heart racing. From across the valley, Sweetroot caught sight of his sudden movement and shook her head. She stumbled back to Silverlake, and all the mares gathered around to hear what had happened.

  Star halted, his pulse thumping in his neck. The wailing continued, and Star recognized the sound as grief. But it wasn’t Petalcloud’s voice. It was Nightwing’s. Frostfire flew across the grass and hovered near Star, his eyes round and wild. “Who died?” he asked, also recognizing the sound of mourning.

  “I don’t know.” Star watched the darkened area under the trees, then a black figure emerged—the Destroyer, carrying a newborn pegasus in his wings. Nightwing was shedding feathers and trembling violently. The colt looked asleep, but no newborn pegasus was born sleeping. The colt’s hide was black, and his long wings hung limply to the ground. Star staggered, and tears sprang to his eyes. It was like looking at himself, except this foal had a wide blaze and violet feathers, just like his dam.

  “Born dead,” said Frostfire, shaking his head. “It’s Petalcloud’s curse that she inherited from Rockwing. All his colts were stillborn and so are hers. I’m the only living male in her line, and now another colt is lost.”

  “No,” said Star. “You’re not the only male. Now there’s also Starfrost.”

  Frostfire grunted, looking pleased but also concerned. “You’re right.”

  Nightwing placed his son in the grass and reared, throwing back his head. Silver starfire crackled across his glossy hide, and every pegasus in Wind Herd stared at him, their eyes round.

  “Get back,” Star whispered to Frostfire, even though they weren’t anywhere near the ancient stallion, but Star saw what was coming.

  Nightwing swiveled his head and locked his eyes on the Wind Herd steeds. “Are you laughing at me?” he brayed. “At my son?” He lifted off, tucked his wings, and hurtled toward them, panting starfire. Sparks flowed off his hooves.

  Star leaped into the sky and soared toward the pegasi in the valley. “Run!” he screamed to them.

  The Wind Herd steeds bolted, galloping in every direction. Nightwing shot starfire in random bursts. He aimed at anything that moved, and several pegasi exploded into flames. Star brayed new instructions. “Hold still!”

  Then Petalcloud stepped out of the shade with a tiny piebald filly nursing at her side, flying like a hummingbird. Star cocked his head. “They had twins,” he said to himself.

  Petalcloud halted near her stillborn colt’s body that was curled in the grass and whispered a
few words over him, and then she turned her back, returning to the shade with her healthy filly.

  Nightwing dived toward his colt as the Wind Herd pegasi collected and stood shivering, afraid and confused. The Destroyer landed and pulled the limp foal into his wings. Black flowers sprang out of the soil around them.

  Star pricked his ears, stunned. The Destroyer was crying.

  Then Nightwing inhaled deeply and attempted to heal his son, coughing golden starfire on him. He did this repeatedly, but the starfire swirled in weak bursts. The colt didn’t move. Nightwing didn’t have enough experience with healing to help him.

  Without thinking, Star glided across the valley and landed next to the pair. He understood that Nightwing’s dark thoughts were stifling his healing power, but Star was well practiced with it. “I can save him,” he said. “Let me try.”

  Nightwing didn’t move, didn’t seem to hear Star at all.

  “Please, let me help.”

  Nightwing inhaled again, taking a long, slow breath. Star moved closer, expecting agreement. Nightwing drew his face level with Star’s, and their eyes connected. Star was bigger, taller. He looked down at Nightwing and was overcome by sympathy for him. Hope rose in his chest. Maybe if he healed the son, he could befriend the father—or at least soften his heart.

  Nightwing blinked, and his eyes darkened.

  Too late, Star saw his intention. The Destroyer hissed like a snake and shot quills of silver light at Star. They punctured his hide in a dozen places. Star cried out in shock. Nightwing let loose more deadly quills, and Star threw up his shield, protecting himself from the second attack. “Go,” roared Nightwing. “Leave us.”

  Confused, Star lurched across the valley. Halfway, he collapsed, unable to breathe. The light quills had punctured his lungs and his legs, and pierced his gut. Star quickly pushed starfire throughout his body, healing himself. He glanced back at Nightwing, but the Destroyer ignored him, too lost in his grief.