The Guardian Herd

by Jennifer Lynn Alvarez

  “Fly straight and find your rest,” repeated Frostfire.

  Star placed Bumblewind in the depression on the hill. His stiff body had already softened into death, and Star was able to shape him as though he were sleeping, curling his head toward his hooves and wrapping his black tail toward his nose. Star scrubbed away the loose dirt that marred Bumblewind’s white-splotched hide. He tucked errant feathers into place and then dropped his muzzle to Bumblewind’s one last time, as though they were exchanging breath. His tears dripped, and white flowers grew between his friend’s hooves. “Good-bye,” he whispered.

  Star spent the rest of the evening in toiled frenzy, diving into the river and feeling for appropriate rocks, trotting them up the hill, and slathering them in clay. Bumblewind’s body had to be completely hidden before sunrise.

  Since it was dark, Frostfire helped Star. If they were caught, a walker would be killed, but Star needed assistance. His heart pounded throughout the night, and he shed black feathers all over the hillside.

  When the first sunrays broke the horizon, Star sat on his haunches. His wings slung to his sides and his hide was white with froth, but he’d done it. Bumblewind was buried.

  “I saved this,” said Frostfire. He held up a long, brown-tipped golden flight feather.

  Star took the feather, holding it gently in his wing. He stared at it and then at the secret grave. Building the tribute for Bumblewind was a small victory, but it was their small victory. Star climbed out of his mad tangle of anger and hurt, and lifted the feather over his head, letting his heart lift with it. “For Bumblewind,” he said.

  “For Bumblewind,” Frostfire repeated.

  23

  STEALTH

  AFTER BUMBLEWIND’S BURIAL, THE DAYS marched past, each the same as the last. Star settled into a pattern of moving stones from the river to the monument while his friends in the forest dug the tunnel.

  Summer brought warm rains and belly-high grass. Star toiled in the middle of the day because the burning sun best illuminated the underwater stones. Next came autumn, which was hotter but drier. The tree leaves exploded with color and then drifted off the branches like molting feathers. Star’s hooves wore down the fading grass, creating many paths from the river to the hill. Frostfire stayed close to him, but the two spoke little. The magnitude of Star’s task became more obvious each day. After three full cycles of the moon, he was still constructing the base of the tribute.

  Winter began with a gentle snowfall that floated from the clouds in fat, soft flakes and flecked the trees. But this mild beginning was a trick, because the wispy snow did not stop falling, nor did it melt. The gray clouds that rolled in had come to stay, and they blocked out the sun. Soon the delicious grasses were covered in deep snow, a vague memory. Buffalo, land horses, moose, and other antlered creatures pressed closer, digging at the buried foliage with their hooves, their hunger consuming their shyness. And the dire wolves grew bolder.

  Star and Frostfire spent the cold nights curled in their separate snow shelters, but Frostfire often inched closer, attracted to the heat that radiated off Star’s hide. Often, by morning, he was snoring in Star’s ear. Star rarely slept, watching instead for predators.

  This particular winter morning, Star yawned as the rising sun turned the sky from soft black to pale orange. It had snowed again, and the fresh white crystals padded the world, making it feel smaller and quieter. Overnight, the clouds had drifted apart, allowing a rare glimpse of sunshine. Star and Frostfire slept on the eastern side of the swells, out of sight of Wind Herd, but if Star listened carefully, he could hear the soft snorts and muffled hoofbeats of the pegasi in the valley.

  The herd had also settled into a familiar pattern. They marched onto the Flatlands each morning and returned to the valley each night. Black pillars of smoke rose each time a steed disobeyed, but those pillars were becoming fewer, especially since the last escape attempt. A group of young stallions and mares, all from Desert Herd, had flown off and raced for the jet streams, hoping to blast away before Nightwing could stop them.

  Star shook his head, hating the memory of what had happened next—the silver fire, the rain of ashes, the screams. They had been free, but only for a moment, and now they were just . . . gone.

  Star thought often of Morningleaf. He hadn’t seen her since summer, and he missed her and Brackentail and Hazelwind. He missed Bumblewind too. Frostfire had saved the pinto’s long flight feather. They kept it tucked in the tribute, out of sight, but Star often pulled it out at night and sniffed it, remembering his friend. Bumblewind had always treated Star like a regular pegasus, but he’d also accepted that Star wasn’t a regular pegasus. The rest of his friends, even Morningleaf, focused too much on his black hide and his golden starfire. But beneath it all, Star was just like Bumblewind: a young stallion who wanted to play, learn to fight, and sleep at night without regrets. But those days were over, and not just for Bumblewind. Today was Star’s birthday. He was two years old, an adult stallion.

  It was Morningleaf’s birthday too. They’d been born on the same night, a full moon earlier than the rest of the Sun Herd foals. Star wanted to visit her, but Petalcloud’s Ice Warriors, led by the big gray named Stormtail, flew the sky day and night, watching for deserters and troublemakers. Star’s black coat contrasted with the snow and the gray sky, making him stand out wherever he went. He dared not use his starfire to turn invisible, but his thoughts traveled to the den each night, just before sleep.

  Star shook off his gloom and stood, rousing Frostfire. The stallion stretched and peered at the sky. “Today is the shortest day of winter,” Frostfire said.

  “I know. It’s my birthday.”

  “You’re a yearling no longer!” whinnied Frostfire.

  Star couldn’t believe twelve moons had passed since he’d received his starfire, and twenty-four moons had passed since he was born. “I’m an adult.”

  Frostfire snorted. “Every two-year-old thinks that. Talk to me about being an adult when you’re ten.”

  Star nickered. “I would be finishing flight school right now.”

  “Yes. And then training for the army.”

  Star swung his thick forelock out of his eyes. “I don’t think I would have chosen the army. Maybe I’d be a scout.”

  Frostfire played along with Star’s imaginings, but they both knew that this idea of a normal life was impossible for the black foal of Anok. “You’re too large to be a scout,” said Frostfire, looking him up and down.

  Star nickered. “But I can disappear.” Just saying the word caused Star to blink out and turn invisible, startling Frostfire.

  “Come back,” the stallion warned.

  Star hadn’t meant to do it, but in a streak of rebellion, he took advantage of it. He scooped a hunk of snow and lobbed it at Frostfire, hitting him on the rump.

  Frostfire whirled. “Not fair, Star.”

  The sun rose higher, casting shadows. Frostfire flicked the snow off his rear with his tail, scooped up a wingful of snow, and tossed it where he’d last seen Star. He missed.

  Suddenly, Star heard wingbeats behind him and turned, his heart racing at unexpected company. Nightwing soared over the tribute and landed next to Frostfire. No, he thought. Nightwing must have felt me use my power. Star cringed but remained invisible, dreading what was coming next.

  “Where’s Star?” Nightwing asked.

  Star froze, holding his breath. He was standing just a winglength away from Nightwing. How did the Destroyer not feel him or sense him? Star waited and watched.

  Frostfire knew how close Star was, and his pulse throbbed in his neck, but he smoothed his expression and lied. “Star is at the river.”

  Nightwing nodded, looking right past Star. Was Nightwing pretending to be unaware of him, or could he really not sense him? Star still wasn’t sure, and he dared not move.

  Nightwing turned and flew up the hill to inspect the tribute. “When will the base be finished?” he asked.

  Frostfire leaped at t
he chance to distract Nightwing. He flew to the black stallion and toured him around the massive stone base, which so far consisted of more than four thousand river rocks. “By spring the base will be finished,” said Frostfire, “and then the tower will rise much faster.” He led Nightwing to the other side of the tribute, gesturing with his wings and explaining the construction.

  When they were out of sight, Star lifted off and flew quickly to the river. He landed on the shore and then reappeared, listening intently and ignoring his surrounding.

  He heard Nightwing’s voice. “Take me to Star.”

  Star relaxed. Nightwing had not been pretending. He really hadn’t sensed Star, and now Star was at the river where he was supposed to be, so Nightwing couldn’t get angry and kill a walker. As Star contemplated this, he became aware of heavy breathing behind him and then a quick, sharp growl.

  He sprang into the sky just as sharp claws raked down his flank and became entangled in his tail, yanking Star down onto the icy mud. He smelled wolf, and then one landed on his head. The long claws cut his flesh, and sharp fangs pierced his neck. Two more wolves ripped at his wings, and one pounced on his flank, latching his jaws into the meat of his leg. Star kicked wildly, his vision blurred.

  They dragged him through the snow.

  Star bit into a wolf’s paw. The wolf snarled and snapped at him, biting his muzzle. Star squealed, the pain as hot as blood, but the wolf let go.

  The others pulled harder, sliding him down the muddy shore and into the river. Star’s blood streamed, mixing with the water.

  A black wolf clamped his jaws on Star’s neck and shook him hard, shoving his head under the water. Star’s jaw smacked against the rocks at the river bottom. He twisted as another wolf bit into his neck and yet another snatched his tail and yanked on it.

  Star dug his hooves into the mud and pushed himself up, flinging the wolf off his neck. It splashed into the water. Star spun in a circle. He was surrounded.

  Then a giant white she-wolf, the one whose attack had killed Bumblewind, launched out of the water and onto Star’s back. Her claws dug into him; her snarls filled his ears. She crawled up his neck, her jaws snapping.

  He bucked and spread his wings, but her pack mates snatched his feathers and held him down. Star blinked and saw the she-wolf’s huge white fangs driving toward his throat—a killing bite.

  Star clenched his muscles and let his starfire explode. But instead of fire, out came noise—a loud, blaring alarm that rose from his throat—and bright flashes of gold light sprang from his eyes and hooves.

  The wolves whined and blinked rapidly, letting go of him. The alarm pulsed in a steady rhythm, and the pack shrank farther away from him, their tails tucked between their legs.

  Star faced them, bleeding in a dark gush. The wolves licked their muzzles and paced, wanting more of him. He heard the whoosh of wings and turned to see who was coming. The wolves leaped at him again. Star ejected more golden light and loud noise, a supernatural scream of alarm, and the wolves backed off, whimpering in frustration. Nightwing and Frostfire crested the hill, and the wolves saw them and then galloped away.

  Star crawled to shore and flopped on its slick bank, gasping for air. Far away in the valley, he heard the concerned whinnies of the Wind Herd pegasi, who must have heard the awful alarm.

  Nightwing and Frostfire glided to Star’s side and landed. Frostfire saw the bites. “Dire wolves?” he asked, his eyes scanning the woods.

  Star nodded, his sides heaving.

  Nightwing’s nostrils widened, drinking in the scent of Star’s blood. He pranced with excitement, and his hooves turned silver. Star lurched upright and leaned into Frostfire, ready to protect them both if Nightwing attacked.

  “You used your power,” said the ancient black stallion.

  Star froze, wondering if he was referring to the invisibility or to the noise.

  “You look surprised,” continued Nightwing. “You didn’t know you had an alarm, did you?”

  “I didn’t,” admitted Star. “It just came out of me.”

  Nightwing huffed. “Your golden starfire is weak, Star. It’s for healing—it’s not for killing, yet you continue to rely on it. Why scare the wolves off with an alarm when you could have killed them?”

  Star met the Destroyer’s gaze. What answer could he give that Nightwing would understand? None.

  Nightwing snorted at him and lifted off the shore. “I want my tribute finished. Heal your wounds and get back to work.” He hovered a moment, shaking his head in disgust. “And the next time you’re attacked by wolves, don’t let them get away. They stalk my foals, you know. You couldn’t protect a herd if you had one, Star. You can barely protect yourself.” Nightwing took off and flew back to the valley.

  Star dragged himself out of the water and collapsed with a groan, his red blood vibrant against the white snow. “Hurry,” Frostfire urged him. “Or you might bleed out.”

  Star closed his eyes and sent his golden healing fire through his injured body. He was out of practice, but he knew to heal his worst wounds first, then the bruises and the scrapes from the claws. When he was finished, he stood.

  Frostfire whistled. “That’s amazing.”

  Star stood with his wings dragging and his head low. “Yeah, but he’s right. An over-stallion, or any stallion, would have killed the wolves so they wouldn’t turn and hunt the herd. I only protected myself, and not very well.”

  Frostfire pinned his ears. “So what? They weren’t threatening anyone else. I’m not wrong about you, Star, and that wolf attack brought out a new power.”

  Star folded his wings. “Yes, and did you notice that Nightwing couldn’t sense my presence when I was invisible?”

  “I did,” said Frostfire. “But how is that possible? Don’t you and he have the same powers?”

  “We do, but now I know that the invisibility power goes beyond mere disappearance,” said Star. “It’s . . . how do I explain? It’s like an inversion of power, not a projection. The shield and the alarm and the healing light—they blast out of me—but this power closes around me. It hides me completely—and Nightwing can’t feel it. It’s . . . privacy, I guess. And you saw how well it worked.”

  “So Nightwing can use it too?”

  “I’m sure he can, but why would he? He’s got no reason to hide.” Star’s eyes brightened. “But I do.”

  “That’s good news, Star—you can walk among the pegasi now, the ultimate spy.” Frostfire glanced at the sky where the Hundred Year Star had transferred its power to Star exactly one year earlier. “Happy birthday.”

  Star glanced at the forest in the south, toward the den. “And now I can visit my friends.”

  24

  THE VISIT

  STAR DECIDED TO VISIT THE DEN THAT VERY EVENING. “You keep watch while I’m gone,” he said to Frostfire. “But we’ll need a signal in case Nightwing comes and I need to return quickly.”

  “What sort of signal?”

  “The call of a hawk will work well.”

  Frostfire snorted. “Do I look like a hawk?”

  Star explained. “When I was in the Trap, the Desert Herd captain named Redfire taught my army how to imitate bird calls. Just think about how a hawk screeches and copy it. It’s like whistling.”

  Redfire’s system of animal calls was complicated, but Star and Frostfire had simpler needs than an army. They required one sound, one alarm that would call Star back, and they spent the afternoon perfecting it while Star worked on the tribute.

  Star repeated the same steps over and over again. He crushed the thin river ice with his hooves, sorted through the rocks until he found a flat one, loosened it from the cold mud, and dragged it out of the river. Then he carried it up the hill to the tribute, leaning forward with the stone cradled in his wings. The base was taller than his shoulders now and it spread across the entire top of the hill, consisting of over four thousand river rocks, but it wasn’t finished. The base needed one more full layer, according to Frostfire,
before Star could build it higher.

  Star lifted the stone over his head and then set it in place. He flew to the river for clay, returned, and wiped the clay around the new rock. Frostfire followed him, making horrible sounds, none of which sounded like a hawk. “More like a whistle,” Star reminded him.

  Star returned to the river. He’d worked his way farther and farther east of the hill because he didn’t want to strip the riverbed of rocks completely. As he kept moving upstream—farther away from the tribute—each trip took longer. Soon he would be harvesting rocks from miles away.

  Frostfire watched Star lift the stone as high as he could and set it down. “How are you going to build this thing once it’s taller than you?” he asked.

  Star had wondered the same, but he had an idea. “I’ll ask Morningleaf to weave me a basket.”

  “She doesn’t know how,” said Frostfire. “That’s a Mountain Herd secret.”

  Star explained to Frostfire how Morningleaf had taught herself to weave by taking apart a basket in the Trap, while the herds were living together. Star marveled at the things his friends had learned from the other herds: weaving, animal calls, rock throwing, riding jet streams, sky herding, and egg hunting.

  The herd of Star’s birth had lived in a territory that had a mild climate and plentiful grass and water. Because of the rich grasslands there, the Sun Herd army was the largest in Anok when Star was born. The other four herds faced harsh challenges from stronger enemies, vicious predators, long droughts, and voracious overgrazing, but Star now understood how their challenges made them smarter, more inventive.

  Frostfire halted and screeched, sounding somewhat like a hawk.

  “I think that’s good enough for our purposes,” said Star. “As soon as it’s dark, I’ll go.”

  Star finished his work at dusk and pranced next to Frostfire, waiting for the orange glow of the sunset to fade.

  “What if I call and you don’t hear me?” asked Frostfire.