Star’s herd slowly approached the Hoofbeat Mountains to the east, but Silverlake decided the terrain was too steep and icy to cross by hoof. Since the mountains formed a natural barrier to the interior land, River Herd was forced to travel south, to the end of the massive mountain range. There the herd could turn either east and take a shortcut through the Trap or they could continue south and skirt around the dense and dangerous forest.
Star guessed Silverlake would want to avoid the Trap. The intertwining branches of its trees created an impenetrable ceiling, blocking the sky. It was called the Trap because a pegasi who entered the forest could only escape from it by hoof. And a grounded pegasus was an easy target for bears, wolves, and lions—and those predators were plentiful. On the other hand, the Trap was a shortcut, and traveling through it would trim many days off their journey.
Without warning, Silverlake halted, ears pricked, wings tensed, her every feather standing on end. The River Herd steeds froze behind her, and all eyes scanned the landscape, including Star’s. “There,” Silverlake whispered.
Star followed the direction of her gaze and saw the lumbering white bear. He gasped and stumbled back, remembering Dawnfir. Star’s grief and anger caused the silver fire in his belly to shudder into a biting spark. Star clenched his jaws and resumed walking, trying to ignore the sensations battling inside him.
“She sees us,” said Silverlake. The bear’s belly was round with unborn cubs. She padded across the sparkling snow, her head swinging from side to side.
Star noticed that the bear was keeping an eye on them, but she picked up her pace and kept moving, not interested in tangling with a herd of pegasi.
“We’re safe if we stay together,” Silverlake said calmly, eyeing the foals.
The bear continued on her path without threat, and River Herd did the same.
Morningleaf nickered to Star. “Look at my father.”
Star’s eyes found Thundersky, cantering beside Silverlake with his hooves in a jumble. He fluttered his wings to keep his balance, his expression grouchy. In all his life he’d never traveled this far on land, and they had only just begun.
“Remember when he forbade me to travel by hoof?” whispered Morningleaf.
Star nodded. It was when he was still a dud and his wings dragged on the ground. Just thinking about it caused his shoulder blades to ache. Morningleaf had offered to travel with him, and Thundersky had balked, saying, “I won’t have my filly traveling by hoof like a common horse.” “I remember,” Star said.
“Now look at him,” she whinnied.
Bumblewind grunted. “Grasswing was the best when it came to traveling on the ground.”
Tears sprang to Star’s eyes at the thought of Grasswing.
“I’m sorry,” said Bumblewind, noticing the heavy pause in Star’s breathing.
Star wiped his eyes with his feathers, suddenly realizing why he was sad. With Grasswing and Mossberry dead—and Silverlake confused about his powers—Star had no elders to guide him. “I miss Grasswing,” he said simply. Even with his best friends cantering beside him, Star felt alone.
They continued on, trailed by Brackentail, and Star was lulled by the smooth cadence of Morningleaf’s hoofbeats. They had a long journey ahead of them. It would be at least a moon before they reached the flatlands in the interior.
That evening they settled near a flowing river. “The snow is melting,” said Dewberry, joining them.
The pegasi dug into the tundra with their sharp hooves and feasted on the fragile lichen. The mothers, newborns, and elders lay down in the center of the herd. The rest formed a protective circle around them.
Star watched Brackentail as he pawed the ground, eating listlessly. The herd had become adept at ignoring his presence, and Star remembered how that felt. When a newborn wandered too close to the Betrayer, its dam whinnied a warning, calling her foal away. Star saw that this saddened Brackentail.
Right then Brackentail looked up and caught Star watching him. The two stared at each other for a long time, so long the herd noticed and grew tense. Star huffed, blowing fog from his nose, and then he walked to his oldest enemy and stood in front of him.
Brackentail hunched in Star’s shadow but met his eyes. Feelings like lightning raced between them: distrust, anger, fear, and regret. Brackentail pinned his ears, ready for a fight, but Star did not advance. He just stared at Brackentail, his ears forward, waiting. Brackentail’s ears twisted, and his eyes softened. He lowered his head, looking at Star’s hooves, and exhaled, surrendering to Star in front of the entire herd.
Star had won the standoff and could drive him off or kill him, but he chose to do neither. He touched muzzles with Brackentail and blew softly into his nostrils, accepting the yearling into River Herd.
“Come with me,” Star said to Brackentail, dismissing the guards with a flick of his tail. The big stallions glanced at Thundersky, who nodded, and then they trotted away. Brackentail’s breath pumped fast as he followed Star through the herd. Star walked with his head high, and the herd made way for him and Brackentail to pass through. When Star reached his friends, he stopped. “There’s untouched lichen here,” he said to Brackentail. The four yearlings who’d been foals together all stared, their hearts racing.
And then Morningleaf nuzzled Brackentail, and so did Bumblewind. The big, brown yearling dropped his head and grazed with them, relief and joy tumbling in his eyes. All River Herd relaxed and prepared for evening.
Star glanced at Morningleaf, and she nodded her approval. The four of them, plus Dewberry, grazed together for the rest of the evening.
Later, as everyone slept, Star stayed awake, staring at the beautiful sky. Suddenly he saw a swirl of bright lights appear against the blackness, twisting and floating in a vibrant display. He nudged Morningleaf awake, and she nudged Bumblewind. Steed by steed, the pegasi woke one another. “It’s the Ancestors!” neighed Sweetroot. “They’re migrating.”
All pegasi knew their Ancestors lived in the stars, but few had ever seen them. Their ethereal bodies were invisible to the living, but their bright feathers left streaks of colorful light that could only be seen in the far north.
“Can they see us?” asked Morningleaf.
“I think they’re aware of us,” nickered Sweetroot.
“Dawnfir is up there,” said Silverlake, and her wings relaxed at her sides as she gazed at the incredible colors.
The iridescent lights reflected off Morningleaf’s eyes, making them shine. “I was with them,” she breathed, “almost.” All eyes jolted to her. Morningleaf’s death was not something the steeds liked to discuss. How she had died and then come back to life confused them, even though they were grateful Star had healed her.
“Grasswing is there too,” Star whispered, “and my mother.” His eyes followed the bright colors drifting over his head. There was pale green—Grasswing—and streaks of silver—Lightfeather—and shimmers of magenta—Mossberry. Star lowered his head, and all around him, the pegasi of River Herd followed his lead, bowing their heads to the Ancestors.
“We’re not alone,” murmured Morningleaf.
“You’re right,” said Star, returning his gaze to the night sky. His mother and Grasswing had died, but they weren’t gone. They lived in the heights and flew through the stars. His heart filled with pleasure. They were on an eternal high flight, past where the blue sky turned black, to where he wanted to fly someday—in space, with the moon as his guide. His mother was there, watching him, swirling above Anok like an evening rainbow, and she was more beautiful than any living thing.
Star gazed beyond the twinkling sky, to the glossy ice and the rugged mountains that stood like sentries in the night. Miles upon miles of glittering white snow surrounded him, and a shallow bubbling creek spoke of the end of winter. Anok and its inhabitants, down to the smallest insect, were magnificent.
Star glared toward the west and folded his wings, resolved in his purpose. He was Nightwing’s rival, and he would have to fight him—soon
er or later. Star was only a yearling and had never been in battle, or even sharpened his hooves; but he had the power from the Hundred Year Star, and he had a destiny—one his mother believed was good. He would learn to use the silver starfire, even though it robbed his mind of light, and he would protect all of Anok from the destruction that was coming.
Or he would die trying.
17
THE VISIT
LATER THAT NIGHT, AFTER THE LIGHTS OF THE Ancestors had faded away, Star fell asleep and was soon sucked into a terrible dream.
Star cantered through a thick cloud, dispersing it. He dived toward Anok and then shot upward, seeking the sun and bucking like a foal. He whinnied, and the sound boomed across the planet. He felt as big as a mountain.
When he reached the highest heights, he coasted on a jet stream. Below him he saw eight continents and a large grouping of islands. Anok was only a small part of the world, and he’d thought the land of the pegasi was so large.
He wondered where his friends were.
A small white mare was suddenly at his side. “Follow me,” she said, veering off toward the sea. Star flew behind her, soothed by her presence. They glided over the waves for many days, toward the Territory of the Landwalkers. Finally she landed on a beach. It was foggy and cold. Star landed beside her.
“You’ve grown,” she said.
He looked at her face. “Mother?”
She leaned into him. It was Lightfeather! Star buried his nose in her mane. “I miss you.”
Her dark eyes were thoughtful, happy, and sad, all at once. “I miss you too,” she nickered.
Star’s tears fell freely onto the sand, and white flowers sprang between the coarse grains. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Mother.”
Lightfeather whispered, “Do any of us? We do our best.”
“What if that’s not good enough?”
“It has to be.”
Star nodded, pausing before he said, “Nightwing is coming back. I can feel him.”
“I know.”
Star stared east, toward Anok. “I’m afraid. Not for myself, but for my friends. For the herds. What if I can’t defeat him? What if he’s stronger?”
Lightfeather swept her wing over his cheek. “Maybe you’re not stronger, but you’re better, Star. Follow your love, not your fear.” Lightfeather turned transparent. He could see a dark cave carved in the cliff behind her.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
But before she could answer, Lightfeather’s image evaporated, and Star faced the mouth of the cave alone. He heard a rhythmic thudding and realized it was his heart beating. A set of eyes, glowing silver, appeared in the dark maw of the cave, watching him.
“Who’s there?” asked Star.
A midnight-black stallion slowly emerged from the dark. He blinked at the vibrant sun and stretched his wings. His coat was covered in dust and rat droppings. Star backed away. The stallion cocked his head, looking surprised to see Star standing on his beach. He recovered quickly, narrowing his eyes. “You survived to your birthday,” he said, coughing puffs of smoke.
Every muscle in Star tensed.
The black stallion nickered, as if amused. “You’re going to regret that.” The words dripped off his lips.
Star shook his mane, the beat of his heart pulsing between his ears.
The stallion dipped his head. “And who is your friend?” Nightwing pranced closer, his eyes bright with interest.
Stunned, Star turned and noticed a pegasus standing next to him, and his heart sank when he recognized her: Morningleaf.
Before he could stop her, she reared, baring her teeth. “I’m Morningleaf!” she snapped.
Star leaped in front of her, but too late to stop Nightwing from scorching her with fire. She exploded, littering the beach with her blue feathers.
“No!” Star screamed, waking up. Sweat rolled down his hide, and he was out of breath.
“What’s wrong?”
He turned to find Morningleaf, yawning and stretching her wings. Star watched her blink the sleep out of her eyes. She was curled in a shallow depression she’d carved out of the snow and was bleary-eyed like a foal.
Star shook off the nightmare. He was safe. Morningleaf was safe. “Nothing,” he said. “Just a dream.” But he knew it was more than that. Nightwing sometimes used dreams to visit Star, and so did Star’s mother. He figured they were both trying to tell him something, but visions were confusing.
Star closed his eyes. In the dream, his mother had flown him to the Territory of the Landwalkers, showing him the cave where Nightwing lived. And Lightfeather had confirmed that the Destroyer was returning to Anok. Star could no longer deny the inevitable. The experience had felt so real; Star could still smell the dark stallion’s breath. And Nightwing had not been happy to see him.
Star inhaled sharply, realizing that his visit to Nightwing had surprised the stallion, which meant Nightwing hadn’t initiated the visit—Lightfeather had! Chills ran down his feathers, standing them on end. Star had shown up at the Destroyer’s domain unexpectedly and seen his hiding place. Of course Nightwing would feel threatened by that.
But what about Morningleaf? Had Star brought her with him, or had she tagged along through her own dream? He didn’t like that Nightwing had seen her face. Star shuddered. He would speak to Silverlake about the strange visit later.
“Just a dream?” asked Morningleaf, looking doubtful.
He nodded, glad that she appeared to have no memory of it herself. Star thought of Nightwing setting her on fire, and his heart trilled, forcing a rush of blood through his veins.
Morningleaf folded her wings and faced him, sensing his mood. “What are you not telling me, Star?”
He blinked at her, fighting for words. He wanted to hide her, to surround her with an army—to protect her from what was coming. But how could he tell her that? He sighed. The truth was, he couldn’t. She would have none of it.
Morningleaf snorted and returned to preening her feathers. “You know you’ll tell me eventually.”
Star guessed he probably would. He rotated his ears, picking up the sounds of River Herd wakening. Morningleaf smoothed the aqua feathers that had shifted out of place during the night, looking lazy and content. “I wish we could fly the rest of the way to the interior,” she said.
“I agree, but at least cutting through the Trap will shorten our travel time.” The council had made the decision to walk through the huge forest instead of around it because of the pregnant mares and newborns.
“I don’t care how long it takes us to get there,” said Morningleaf. “I just want to fly.”
“Me too.” Star looked at the River Herd steeds stretching in the snow; at the newborns flitting over the ice, nickering at their reflections; at the elders huddled together to stay warm; and at the fierce mares and stallions who’d sacrificed safety and comfort to be with him. With overwhelming awe, he realized they were his new guardian herd.
These pegasi weren’t just following Star, they were protecting him. He knew that, whatever happened, River Herd would be there for him. Bolstered by this knowledge, Star shook off his gloom. He whimsically scooped up a ball of snow with his wing and threw it at Bumblewind, who was just trotting by.
“Hey!” Bumblewind nickered. He scooped up a huge pile of snow and tossed it onto Star and Morningleaf. She squealed and lurched to her hooves. Star joined her, and they chased Bumblewind by air, flying low and scooping up snow between wingbeats. Several mares and stallions joined in, nickering and bombing each other while the dams shielded their faces. Even Brackentail joined in the fun after Morningleaf’s well-aimed shot exploded against his chest.
With a focus usually reserved for battle, Dewberry scooped up a clump of hard ice and pitched it at a stallion so forcibly, she knocked him to his knees. Surprised but not offended, the stallion whinnied and charged her, playfully smashing a wingful of wet snow down her neck.
Star landed, his sides heaving and his heart a bit lighte
r from the game. The sun was brilliant this morning, and more buds had appeared on the trees. Birds chirped deep in the Trap, and he saw that some light rays broke through the heavy ceiling of branches. Maybe their journey through the dark forest would be more pleasant than he’d anticipated.
“You all are starting to sweat,” warned Sweetroot. The playing steeds landed, dropped their wingfuls of snow, and fanned their feathers to dry themselves. It was dangerous to be wet for too long in the freezing north.
Silverlake whistled for the herd to move out after breakfast. They traveled companionably now; their tension over Hazelwind leaving had eased as the days passed. Brackentail kept close to Star and Morningleaf, but the big brown yearling didn’t speak much to either of them. He kept pace and listened attentively to the steeds around him. His wounds had healed into pink scars that were beginning to grow hair.
The day was blustery, but the sky was blue and the sun was warm, and Star was as content as he could be.
River Herd had exited the Ice Lands, and they were at the southern end of the Hoofbeat Mountains. The Trap was visible, but they hadn’t reached it yet. After miles upon miles of open, flat land bordered by stark, steep mountains, the impassive forest faced Star and his herd like an army, daring them to enter. Walking together through the Trap would be impossible; the trees were too close together. They would have to divide into small groups of four or five pegasi.
“Look there!” neighed Iceriver, suddenly alarmed.
Star tensed and followed Iceriver’s gaze. In the distance, the head of a struggling horse popped out of an icy pond. The horse was wild eyed and drowning. Star kicked off and flew toward her, followed by his herdmates. Star reached the pond first.
Beneath the water he saw pink feathers. It wasn’t a horse; it was a pegasus!
The Guardian Herd: Stormbound Page 10