The Guardian Herd: Landfall

by Jennifer Lynn Alvarez

  “I’ll call a council meeting tonight,” said Silverlake. “This is good news, but it will only delay the inevitable. When the armies don’t find Star in the south, they’ll resume their hunt, heading north I’m sure.” She shook her head, looking more dejected, not less.

  Bumblewind nuzzled Star. “Come on, that big red Desert Herd steed is teaching ground fighting. Let’s go learn.”

  Star folded his wings, also feeling dejected. He’d hoped for better news, for a sighting of Morningleaf, something to ease his mind about her.

  “She hasn’t been captured,” Bumblewind said as if reading Star’s thoughts.

  “You’re right. We’d hear about it. Let’s go to the training.”

  Star followed Bumblewind to the training grounds. When they arrived, Redfire was already teaching. Star settled, listening as the leader of the Desert Herd camp lifted his head. “All battles eventually end up on the ground,” Redfire said.

  Star studied Redfire as he spoke. The foreign stallion’s coat shimmered like the veins of copper that streaked through river rocks. He had a large white star on his forehead and his feathers were dark gold. He sported the tiny waist and the deep chest of the Desert Herd pegasi, but he was exceptionally tall, like a long shadow at dusk. His voice projected loudly but with a soft vibration that Star had noticed with all the Desert Herd steeds. “Wings tire before legs,” he said, “and if you don’t know how to fight on land, you won’t prevail. In Desert Herd we ground-train before we sky-train.” Redfire’s confident authority caused all the young steeds to stand a little taller.

  “More herd secrets,” Dewberry whispered.

  Star’s hide prickled. Desert Herd and Jungle Herd steeds were willing to give up their herd secrets to protect him, and Star’s emotions about this bounced between embarrassment and awe.

  Redfire continued, gazing at each one of them. “We learned our ground-fighting techniques by studying the land horses that live in our territory.”

  “Horses?” nickered a yearling.

  Redfire pinned his ears. “Horses aren’t the meek creatures you think they are. They avoid conflict whenever possible, but they will fight, and they do.”

  “I’ve never seen a horse up close,” Dewberry whispered.

  “I have,” Star whispered back. “During my first migration, when I was a weanling and still a dud, a herd of horses joined us when we got trapped in a forest fire. They’re lightning fast.”

  “That was the fire that killed the elder mare Mossberry, right?”

  “Yes,” Star said, his ears drooping. “She wasn’t fast enough.”

  Redfire called Hazelwind over to him but kept his eyes on the trainees. “When you’re standing on the ground, your kicks pack more power than they do when you’re flying because you have leverage,” he explained. “And your strength evolves naturally from your stance. If you’re off balance, you’ll fall—and to fall is to die.”

  Redfire murmured something to Hazelwind. The two walked a few paces apart and then faced each other. “Watch Hazelwind’s legs,” Redfire ordered the trainees. Then he galloped forward and rammed Hazelwind low, in the rib cage, knocking him over. “You see how his stance was narrow?”

  Star and the others nodded, but Star was embarrassed because he hadn’t noticed anything unusual about Hazelwind’s stance. He glanced at Bumblewind with questioning eyes.

  The pinto shrugged. “I didn’t see it either,” he muttered.

  “Pay attention,” Dewberry snapped. “Redfire is the top captain in the Desert Herd army. He’s never lost a battle.” Dewberry sighed, staring at Redfire.

  Bumblewind pinned his ears at her. “How do you know all this?”

  “Because I pay attention to things that matter,” she rasped. “Now stop talking.”

  Bumblewind crossed his wings, sullen. Star focused on the lesson.

  Redfire waited for Hazelwind to stand up, then he continued. “Because his stance was narrow, Hazelwind was easy to knock down. Let’s try again.”

  This time Hazelwind widened his legs and lowered his haunches. Redfire rammed him again in the same place. Hazelwind remained standing. “See the difference?”

  This time Star did see the difference.

  “When on land, always be ready for a strike,” Redfire neighed. “You’re weakest when you’re off guard. Most warriors will pause to survey a battle. When your enemy’s head rises, his stance narrows, and this is the time to strike him. If you need to survey the battle yourself, do it from the air. Every moment on the ground, unless you’re fighting, keep your necks low and legs wide. And don’t forget—when you see a warrior with his head up, ram him. As soon as he falls, break his neck or his skull quickly. To fall is to die, that goes for your enemy too. Clawfire will teach deathblows tomorrow.”

  Star’s heart raced as he imagined himself on a battlefield, surrounded by his foes and friends.

  Redfire continued. “We’ll practice the stance in a minute, but first I want to show you how to kick.” Redfire pranced, and his trainees circled him, their attention tight and focused. “I’m going to use this tree as my enemy.” Redfire pointed to a medium-sized fir tree. “This kick I’m about to throw would kill Hazelwind, and I don’t want to do that, at least not today.” He said this with a flash of teeth, reminding everyone that this truce in the Trap was temporary.

  “He is awesome,” Dewberry simpered, and Bumblewind huffed.

  Redfire faced the tree; it was old and dry and had few branches on its lower half. “Don’t blink,” he said to the trainees.

  In a flurry of golden feathers, Redfire whirled, slammed the tree with both back hooves, and snapped the trunk in half. The tree tumbled over, almost crushing a young mare who scurried out of its way.

  “Did that hurt your hooves?” Dewberry asked, trotting boldly forward to inspect the damage.

  “Nope, but I can’t speak for the tree.”

  Star exhaled. He was larger than most steeds, and he wondered if he could break a tree in half. “I want to try,” he said.

  Redfire swiveled his head. “You will. You all will. This is a kick we rarely use in the sky, but on the ground it’s quite effective. Done correctly, it can stop a heart, fracture legs, and snap ribs. Or you can use it to toss steeds out of your way or into other steeds. But it’s dangerous too because it involves putting your back to your opponent. You can’t miss. To miss is to die.”

  Star noticed the rounded eyes of the yearling students, especially the fillies. They seemed in awe of the glossy stallion with the brilliant gold feathers.

  “Just don’t try this kick in battle unless you know you won’t miss,” he reiterated. “Now let’s practice it. Everyone find a tree.”

  Star turned in a circle, scanning the area looking for a suitable tree. A second later he was thrown off his hooves, and he toppled onto the ground with a grunt.

  “Your neck was up,” Hazelwind said with an amused nicker.

  Star spit out dirt and mud and glared at the buckskin stallion who trotted away and rammed another unsuspecting yearling. Star watched Redfire ram Bumblewind. Dewberry slammed into a Jungle Herd filly, sending her sprawling across the pine needles. “Hey,” the filly snapped.

  “To fall is to die,” Dewberry jeered, and she tore off to knock down another steed.

  “We’re supposed to be practicing the kick,” a young stallion complained.

  Redfire whinnied over the confusion. “I told all of you to watch your stance when on the ground. Your attackers aren’t going to warn you they’re coming.”

  “But we’re not in a battle,” complained the Jungle Herd filly, spitting dirt.

  Redfire narrowed his eyes. “That’s the final lesson for today, warriors: you are always in battle.”

  The pegasi spread out and continued to practice ramming and kicking.

  Star kicked the same tree over and over until his hooves were too sore to continue. He couldn’t break it in half, not yet, but he left severe dents in the bark. As he practiced, h
e remained watchful of his stance on the ground because Bumblewind, Redfire, and Dewberry playfully rammed him several more times—but each time Star stayed upright.

  Eventually Redfire announced a break. “Spread out and graze,” he whinnied.

  Star stretched his wings and considered taking a nap. He wasn’t tired or hungry, but his hooves ached. He glanced down at them and noticed he’d chipped the sharp edge off his left hind hoof. “Blasted tree,” he grumbled.

  Suddenly, a gray figure trotted into his line of vision and halted in front of him. It was Silverlake, and she nickered for Star to follow her. Bumblewind and Dewberry were arguing nearby, paying no attention to him. Curious, Star followed the gray mare into the woods.

  26

  ADVICE

  STAR FOLLOWED SILVERLAKE FOR SEVERAL MINUTES before she halted and turned around. He cantered to her quickly, closing the distance between them and burying his muzzle in her mane.

  Silverlake exhaled, exchanging breath with him and drinking in his scent. They hadn’t spent much time together since he’d lost the battle with Nightwing a moon ago. “I know you’re practicing, but may I speak with you?” she asked.

  “Of course, we’re taking a break anyway.” He nodded toward the training ground. “Let’s walk and talk.”

  Silverlake led the way, and Star followed closely. Her strong flanks rocked back and forth as she moved, and her beautiful silver feathers, still shiny and bright in spite of her age, reflected the thin rays of sunshine that pierced the overhanging branches. Star felt like a foal again, following his mother, trusting her, and feeling safe with her. His grief for her lost mate, Thundersky, and his intense love for her crashed through him, and he was shocked when his eyes suddenly filled with tears.

  Silverlake flicked her ears, listening to Star cry, letting him do this without comment, and she walked on, patiently waiting for him to finish.

  When his sniffling subsided, Silverlake halted and wiped his face dry with her wing. She said nothing at first, and in her presence, Star’s pent-up feelings overwhelmed him. “I miss Morningleaf,” he said, his breath hitching. “And I’m scared,” he admitted. “But not for me, for all of you.”

  “Don’t be afraid for me,” Silverlake said gently. “When I die, I’ll be with Thundersky and my friends.”

  Star choked on his gasping breath, remembering what she didn’t know, that Thundersky’s soul was trapped in the Beyond along with the other steeds Nightwing had murdered.

  “What is it?” Silverlake asked him.

  “Nothing . . . everything,” Star said, hating to withhold the truth from her. Thousands of steeds were stuck in the Beyond and would remain there until Nightwing was vanquished. But Star could not tell her that. The golden meadow was the solace of every living pegasi. Knowing that they would reunite with their friends and live in peace was what made death bearable to them all.

  Star took a deep breath. “What did you want to speak to me about?”

  Silverlake resumed walking, but now she turned her head and looked at Star. Her eyes were also wet with tears. “You’re growing up, Star, and your stallion blood is coursing through your veins. Can you feel it?”

  Star nodded. He’d noticed new desires developing—his sudden interest in battle and a calling to return home, to his birthland. “The feelings are powerful,” he admitted.

  “It’s normal, Star. It’s all part of growing up.” Silverlake swished at the mosquitos troubling her. They were nearing a shallow creek where the annoying bugs thrived in large colonies. “And I’ve been watching you train. I think you’re well suited for battle.”

  Star pricked his ears, and his chest puffed with pride.

  “But I don’t think you should attempt it.”

  Star’s ears drooped. “Why?”

  “For three reasons. First, I don’t think you’ll like it. It’s not the thrilling thing the warriors pretend it is.”

  “Thrilling?” Star huffed. “No one pretends that.” But the truth was, the yearlings were all excited and scared, which was kind of thrilling, and Star was one of them.

  Silverlake ignored his comment. “Second, you might be tempted, or forced, to use your starfire—and then Nightwing will know exactly where you are.”

  Star tossed his long forelock out of his eyes. “No. I won’t use it.”

  Silverlake narrowed her eyes. “You can’t promise that. In the heat of battle, warriors react; they don’t think.”

  Star grunted, but he couldn’t argue, having never been in a battle.

  “Third, if we lose, you’ll be delivered to Nightwing, and the winning steed will make a pact with him.”

  “I won’t let them turn me in,” Star whinnied, thinking of his head and knowing what they planned to do with it. “I’ll blast any steed who tries it.”

  Silverlake exhaled. “See, that just proves my point. If you use your starfire, then we’re back to reason number two: Nightwing will be able to locate you, and you’ll undo everything Morningleaf has done to keep you safe. You’ll end up captured. But my point is, you can’t be captured if you’re gone.”

  “Gone? What do you mean?”

  “I think you must leave Anok.”

  “What?” Star’s taut wings collapsed at his sides. “Leave Anok?”

  Silverlake nodded.

  “No. I can’t do that. I’ve been training. I know how to fight.”

  Silverlake walked close to him and pressed her forehead against his. Star leaned into her, smelling her long-familiar scent.

  “Yes, but you’ll grow even stronger in time,” she said. “And then you can return, but for now I think you should go.”

  Star reared away from her, his heart thudding. His starfire flared deep inside him, and he spun in a circle, outrage searing his veins. She was suggesting he abandon the herds. His hide sparkled, and Silverlake’s eyes rounded.

  “Please calm down,” she whispered, trying to soothe him. “This is only to protect you.”

  Star opened his mouth to speak and a spark fell to the soil, sizzling a dry pine needle.

  “Please,” Silverlake nickered, waving her wings and speaking to him as she would speak to a terrified foal, only she was the one who was terrified. Her eyes drifted to the flash of clear sky visible overhead, as if Nightwing were already on his way from the Blue Mountains.

  Star closed his mouth and his eyes. His body trembled, and the starfire shot through his veins like liquid lightning. He wanted to explode the trees. He squeezed his eyes tighter and focused on his breathing. He had to quell the fire before it gave him away, but Silverlake had caught him off guard with her request. She meant well. He knew that. He took deep breaths and cajoled the starfire back into his gut, folding it into that ever-ready ember that burned day and night. He shook his mane, opened his eyes, and stared into Silverlake’s. He folded his wings and said, “I won’t go. Don’t ask me again.”

  “Star,” she gasped.

  “I’ve heard you,” he said. “But I won’t abandon the herds to Nightwing.”

  “But—”

  Star held up his wing. “I understand what you’re saying. That I should stay away and grow up and practice with the starfire, maybe become stronger than Nightwing, and then return—but that would take, what, a hundred years or more? And by then you’ll all be dead.”

  “It’s about saving the future pegasi of Anok, not about saving us.”

  Star flattened his ears. “You are the future, Silverlake. Tell me this: What will I find if I return in a hundred years or more?”

  She clenched her jaw, not answering.

  “I’ll tell you what. I’ll find a herd of dull beasts, slaves of Nightwing, pegasi afraid of their own shadows. You’ll be turned into a herd of horses—mindlessly following one stallion.”

  Silverlake ruffled her feathers, listening, saying nothing.

  “I won’t go.”

  “But how will you defeat him? You can’t help us if you’re dead.”

  Star reeled at the truth o
f her words and then narrowed his eyes. “I have the Ancestors on my side. He’s afraid of them. I—” Star paused. “I can’t promise you anything, Silverlake, but I won’t leave. Your fate is my fate. I’ll . . . I’ll submit myself to him, if I have to. If he enslaves you, he enslaves me.”

  They stared at each other for a long time. Her dark eyes were sad and hollow. She’d risked her position as lead mare to hide him, her filly’s life to nurse him, and she’d lost her mate when he woke the Destroyer. Star respected her and her advice, but she was wrong, and he was hurt that she’d suggested it to him, as if he would consider abandoning his herd.

  Silverlake blinked slowly and then exhaled, her back sagging under her folded wings. “All right,” she said. “I have to trust you.”

  He turned to leave.

  “Star?”

  “What?”

  “Do you at least believe me about the starfire? You must learn to control it.”

  “I believe you,” he said, and trotted through the forest, back toward Redfire and the others.

  27

  MISSING

  TEN DAYS HAD PASSED SINCE ECHOFROST HAD brought news from the spies that both armies—the Ice Warriors and the Black Army—had left the north. The short spring season had quickly erupted into summer. Long hours of daylight were followed by short nights, and the pegasi were exhausted. Star trained, rested, and worried about Morningleaf. One morning he returned from the drinking creek and noticed his friends were not in River Herd’s camp. “Where are the other yearlings?” Star asked Sweetroot, who was sorting herbs nearby.

  The medicine mare swiveled her head, peering through the trees. “Maybe they’re at warrior training,” she said as she worked. Sweetroot spent hours gathering, tasting, and testing foreign plants for their medicinal qualities—assisting the United Army in her own way.

  “No,” Star said. “That’s not until later.”

  “Umm,” Sweetroot mumbled. She was gingerly chewing and spitting out a selection of leaves and making all sorts of sour faces as she did so.