The Guardian Herd: Landfall

by Jennifer Lynn Alvarez

  Star nodded.

  “And Star,” she added, gently touching his shoulder. “Don’t count the dead. Count the living.”

  Star’s eyes widened, and his hooves felt heavy, like the bone breakers he’d been throwing. Bumblewind nuzzled him. “Come on. I’ll be by your side.”

  The three stallions left Springtail and galloped toward the battle. Star’s heart thudded, his pulse rushed between his ears, and his nostrils flared, inhaling deep cold breaths. The thick fog closed around him, choking him and blinding him. Sweat or droplets of mist, he couldn’t be sure, dripped down his forelock. He lifted his wings and flared them, making himself look larger than he was. Next to him Bumblewind clenched his jaw, and Clawfire arched his neck.

  Star closed his eyes and imagined his old friend and mentor, Grasswing. The crippled palomino warrior had been the leader of the walkers when Thundersky was over-stallion of Sun Herd, and he’d accepted Star like a beloved colt. Grasswing had reminded Star over and over again that he was not the root of his herd’s troubles. Now Star heard Grasswing’s voice in his ears as if the old stallion were standing right next to him. “You’re not alone, son,” he said. Star opened his eyes, feeling reassured.

  “There!” Clawfire neighed. He lowered his neck.

  Star saw the clash of bodies ahead, and recognized Redfire and Brackentail and Ashrain. He lowered his neck too, remembering his training and bracing himself so he wouldn’t fall if a stallion slammed him. Bumblewind narrowed his eyes, and Star thought his friend looked much older than a yearling should.

  “Attack before you’re attacked,” Clawfire whinnied. “Don’t wait.” He charged into a Mountain Herd stallion and threw him off his hooves. Bumblewind surprised a muscular gray steed and knocked his head against a tree, propelling him into unconsciousness. Brackentail battled a yearling warrior. The two circled each other, trading kicks and bites.

  Star panted, struggling to breathe, overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of battle.

  A white stallion rammed Bumblewind from behind, and Star’s friend staggered toward Clawfire. When the enemy pegasus reared to deliver a deathblow to Bumblewind, Star whirled and walloped the white stallion in the chest with both hind hooves. The foreign steed rocketed across the battlefield, slid under the fog, and did not get back up.

  Star’s sides heaved, but there was no time to think. Three battle mares approached. They were tall and lean, and their narrowed eyes gleamed with intelligence and violence. They surrounded him.

  Bumblewind and Clawfire attacked their flanks as the mares lunged with teeth bared. Star reared and struck the closest one, slicing her from jaw to shoulder. She snorted, ignoring the pain. Star dropped and lowered his neck, meeting her head-on. When she rushed for his throat, Star dropped lower still and snatched her leg in his jaws. He flipped her over, and she squealed for help. Clawfire charged, quickly ending her life, and then he galloped away to help Brackentail, who was now fighting a full-grown stallion. The brown yearling was large, but his opponent was an experienced warrior.

  Star reeled, backing away. Something had yanked his tail. He pivoted and came face-to-face with a gold dun stallion. The warrior taunted Star, making him spin circles trying to catch him. While Star was focused on the gold dun, another enemy appeared and hovered over him, kicking Star in the head. Two more galloped out of the mist and harassed Star, biting at him and landing blows to his body.

  “Use your power,” urged Clawfire. “Nightwing already knows you’re here.”

  Star shook his head, snapping and kicking at the steeds trying to kill him. His power was for healing. His hooves and teeth were for fighting.

  He feigned an attack, and then spread his wings and jumped off the ground, hovering over his attackers. They hadn’t expected that. He dived onto the first and knocked him onto his back. Star landed and rammed the second, flipping him over and toward Bumblewind, who finished him. The other two attacked Star from the rear, striking his flanks with crippling blows. Star collapsed, rolled onto his back, and kicked at them from the ground. Clawfire killed one, and Star broke the front legs of the other. That stallion dropped, shrieking with pain. Clawfire reared, ready to deliver the deathblow. “Leave him,” Star said, panting.

  Clawfire nodded and landed. The three friends stood in a circle, facing outward, as a throng of fresh warriors charged toward them.

  Star’s muscles fired at the sight, and hot blood shot through his veins. He saw the warriors in sharp focus: their yellow-stained teeth, each bristled feather, the striations on their hooves, and the bulging veins crisscrossing their chests. He tasted the tang of sweat and noticed small things like the breeze blowing from the south and the distant howl of a wolf. Behind the charging warriors he saw each individual pine needle standing on its branch.

  Excitement lifted his feathers and charged his lungs. His hooves dug into the soil, and his body hummed with the warrior blood of his kind. In the tree he’d been alone, but here on the battleground the excited steeds around him multiplied his energy. Ashrain was right; Star liked the feeling of unity that battle brought, but he regretted its circumstances.

  And, against all odds, his herd was winning the battle.

  37

  THE WOUNDED

  AS THE SUN SIZZLED LOWER, THE FOREST DARKENED, and the fog lifted. The battle was over. Frostfire’s Black Army, what was left of it, had surrendered. Hazelwind trotted into Star’s view, breathing hard and dripping sweat. Frostfire had vanished into the woods, but his defeated army lay wounded on the forest floor. Their grunts, shallow breaths, and loud moans rose into the air. Hazelwind spotted Star and exhaled. “Good. You’re alive.”

  Bumblewind snorted. “You thought he wouldn’t be?”

  Hazelwind narrowed his eyes. “Of course not. He’s injured though.”

  Star glanced down and saw torn flesh across his lower neck and chest where his hide had been sliced open. Bumblewind, Clawfire, Hazelwind, and Brackentail—they were injured too. A deep wound, crusted in dirt, adorned Bumblewind’s head; Hazelwind limped on a swollen leg; Clawfire’s left wing hung crookedly from his shoulder, probably sprained; and Brackentail’s body quaked from the agony of numerous cuts and bruises.

  Sweetroot’s whinny rang through the trees, calling for Star. It was time for him to heal the United Army. Star arched his neck, proud of his power. “Follow me,” he said, “and I’ll erase the day.”

  Star turned and galloped toward Sweetroot’s voice, and the injured warriors followed him. The old medicine mare had a team of nursing mares who’d helped her care for warriors throughout the battle. They’d dragged injured steeds out of the fray and treated them as best they could while they waited for Star.

  Now he was here.

  Strewn throughout the trees were hundreds of pegasi, moaning and grunting. Star looked back the way he had come, thinking about Frostfire’s wounded warriors.

  “They’re in pain, Star,” said Sweetroot, indicating the steeds at his hooves and seeming to wonder at his hesitation.

  “Right!” Star sought the seed of power in his belly and panted, fanning it into a flame. He was getting quicker at drawing the power out and through his body. He spread his wings as heat rushed from his core to his extremities, and his hide sparkled with static as his hooves turned gold.

  The pegasi near him backed away.

  Star huffed faster and harder, swirling his power up into his neck, feeling it warm his throat. He gnashed his teeth, and sparks popped and sprayed onto the ground. The injured warriors of the United Army became silent, watching Star. Some struggled to stand, ready to bolt—unused to Star’s power.

  “Don’t run,” Sweetroot commanded them. “He won’t hurt you.”

  Star narrowed his eyes as light beamed out of them. He stepped toward the nearest stallion, a captain, and blew golden starfire across his body, lifting him off the ground.

  The captain whinnied, but not in fear.

  Star realized that if he healed them one by one, it would take too lo
ng. Petalcloud and her Ice Warriors were expected by nightfall. So he reared and roared his golden fire in a wider arc, pushing the heat from his gut through his body and directing it farther. The injured steeds around him floated off the ground, and then they tumbled in the light, stabbing at the air with their uncertain hooves.

  “Good, Star!” Sweetroot said. Her apprentices pranced beneath the wounded pegasi, their mouths gaping as they watched skin abrasions evaporate, cuts close, swelling disappear, and broken bones straighten. One apprentice touched the golden light with her muzzle, and it swept her off her hooves. She floated into the starfire, nickering with pleasure, and she stretched her wings. Her coat, which was dull from eating nothing besides lichen, turned glossy.

  “Get out of there,” Sweetroot scolded her. But the mare was trapped in Star’s healing light, and she seemed thrilled about it.

  Star walked forward, lifting up more injured battle steeds, including his closest friends, until all of them were floating around him. Droplets of sweat erupted on his neck and chest, and dripped down his hide. He concentrated heavily on two things: encouraging the fire in his gut, and expelling it far and wide. He briefly thought, This isn’t possible, but when he did that, the steeds began to fall. He quickly vacated his mind and directed his attention to his starfire only.

  Sweetroot cantered below the floating warriors, inspecting them. When she was satisfied that they were all healed, she nickered. “You can put them down now.”

  Star reduced the force of the golden fire, and the pegasi drifted toward the soil, landing on their hooves. When they were safe, he closed his mouth. The wounded pegasi were better than healed—they were vibrant.

  No one spoke.

  Star closed his wings and staggered, falling to the ground.

  “Star!” Sweetroot whinnied. She galloped to his side.

  “I’m okay,” he said. “Just tired.”

  “Rest now,” Sweetroot commanded.

  Star heard the pounding of hoofbeats. He flicked his ears, sensing trouble. The steeds near him tensed. Then Morningleaf, Echofrost, and Shadepebble skidded to a halt in front of Star.

  When Morningleaf saw Star lying on the ground, she choked on her words. “Wh-what happened?” She pushed through his protectors and dropped next to him.

  Star tried to stand.

  “He saved them,” Sweetroot explained, indicating the once-injured army that was now healed.

  Morningleaf gasped. “All of them?”

  “Yes.” Sweetroot was beaming.

  Morningleaf flipped her head toward Star and leaned into him, sniffing his mane and inspecting his injuries. She glowered at Sweetroot. “He should have healed himself first, them second.”

  Sweetroot’s jaw dropped. “I—I . . . didn’t think of that.”

  “Star, please lie down,” Morningleaf urged. “You need the starfire too.”

  Star dropped back into the moss, grateful to rest. He stretched out and closed his eyes. The starfire, far from being exhausted, was roaring inside of him, waiting. He released it through his body and healed his injuries.

  Meanwhile, Morningleaf gave her report, her sides heaving. “The Ice Warriors have landed at Antler Lake,” she said.

  “What are they doing?” asked Hazelwind.

  “Drinking and resting right now.”

  “Frostfire abandoned his army. Do the spies have news of him?”

  Morningleaf shook her head. “I don’t know. I saw him and Larksong before the battle but not since.”

  “Everyone rest,” Hazelwind ordered. “Petalcloud is close. She’ll either march on the Trap tonight, using the cover of darkness, or she’ll let her warriors rest until morning. Either way, we don’t have much time.” He gazed at Star. “Thank you for healing my army, Starwing.”

  Star nodded to him, accepting the honor of the title. Hazelwind looked more like his sire Thundersky than ever, but he was changing. He was fueled less by anger and more by responsibility. He was a protector, like his sire, and he was growing wiser.

  Star stood, his body still crackling with sparks. “I need to walk, to stretch my legs.” He felt agitated, and he didn’t know why. He stepped away from his friends and into the fog. On his way, he bumped into a white mare. “Hello?” he whinnied, surprised. She hadn’t been there a moment ago.

  The mare tossed her head, flicking her shiny white mane. Her hide glowed bright even in the blur of the mist, and Star closed his mouth. This was his mother.

  Lightfeather moved closer and lowered her head, pressing her brow against Star’s, but she was translucent like the mist. The scent of warm grass and milk wafted into his nostrils. He bleated softly.

  She gazed into his eyes, and he saw that hers were as deep and as endless as space. He wanted to fly into them, to see what she saw. She placed her wing over his heart. “Remember what I told you the day you were born,” she said. Then the image of his mother evaporated and twirled around him before drifting into the sky, but her last words lingered like the tail end of a dream. “Heal them.”

  Star exhaled, his legs shaking.

  Morningleaf trotted to his side and pushed her muzzle into his thick mane. “You saw something, didn’t you?” she asked. “Was it a vision? Was it Nightwing?”

  Tears rolled from Star’s eyes and dropped onto the soil, where white flowers sprang to life. “It was my mother.”

  Morningleaf inhaled and then breathed out with a soft exclamation of wonder. “Did she speak to you?”

  “Yes.” “Heal them,” she’d said, and his spine tingled as he realized instantly what it all meant.

  Behind him, Hazelwind spoke to his warriors, and his voice interrupted Star’s thoughts. “Come on, let’s finish off the survivors.”

  “No!” Star neighed. It was pegasi custom to execute the survivors of a fallen army that refused to surrender. And with Frostfire gone, the Black Army was confused. They didn’t have a leader to tell them what to do, and Hazelwind couldn’t afford to wait, not with the Ice Warriors fast approaching. “Please,” Star said, “I have a better idea.”

  Star reared and cantered away from his herd toward his enemy. His mind and heart brimmed with an unexpected emotion, a feeling stronger and better than the starfire or the unity he’d experienced in battle. It was his desire to fulfill his mother’s last command.

  When she’d given birth to him, her herd had become her enemy. They’d promised to kill Star before he turned one year old, and Lightfeather had been heartbroken, but she’d responded by whispering secrets into Star’s ears, most of which he didn’t remember, but one had stood out on the night of his birth, and again on the night he received his power, and now again on this day. “Heal them,” she’d said. And she’d meant this not just for Star’s friends, but also for his enemies.

  Star’s heart filled up with the love his mother had poured into him that night—her love for her colt and her love for the pegasi of Anok. She’d died, but she’d left Star behind as her gift to them, instructing her son to heal them. Star would not disappoint her.

  38

  HEALER

  STAR GALLOPED TO THE BATTLEFIELD AND SLID to a halt. Frostfire’s fallen army lay groaning and dying, or were already dead. The setting sun was so low its rays crept between the trees and turned the fog orange. Star cajoled his power into an inferno and blasted the warriors with starfire.

  Screams erupted from them as they hid their faces in their wings.

  “It’s the Destroyer,” they cried.

  This amused Star. It was just like the pegasi to fight their own salvation. His starfire lifted the warriors off the ground. The gold light mixed with the orange sunset, and Star felt grateful, like he had when he’d saved his friends from the poisonous berries. His starfire was a gift, not a curse.

  “Star! Stop!” neighed Hazelwind, who had followed him along with some others. “You’re healing our enemy.”

  “Please,” Redfire whinnied. “Listen to Hazelwind.”

  Bumblewind and Dewberry stared a
t the floating army with dropped jaws.

  Bumblewind edged closer to Star, his voice shaky. “What are you doing?” he asked, prodding Star’s shoulder.

  Star ignored them all. They were afraid. He was not.

  Ashrain brayed and called forth the United Army. They appeared between the trees and surrounded the enemy pegasi, who were tumbling head over tail, drenched in starfire, but none moved to stop Star from what he was doing.

  After several long minutes Star guided the Black Army back down to the forest floor. The warriors blinked at him like newborn foals. Slowly, they stretched their wings and glanced at their bodies; the injuries that had plagued them moments before had vanished.

  The United Army tensed at the sight of their foes upright and healthy. Hazelwind lifted his wing, commanding his warriors to hold steady, but no one was in the mood to fight again.

  Star gazed at his enemies. “You’re free to stay or to leave,” he neighed at them, his strong voice vibrating his chest.

  The Black Army peered at Hazelwind’s army. Many of the steeds knew one another and had once lived in the same herds. In the warm glow of the sunset, they were not anonymous warriors. They were family and friends reunited.

  A captain, a blue roan with dark-green feathers, approached Star. He was short and thick, a Mountain Herd steed. When he reached Star, he halted. Bumblewind tensed, ready to protect Star even though Star could protect himself.

  The stallion’s expression was baffled and yet hopeful. He kept a short distance between himself and Star’s body, which was humming with the leftover current of his power. The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Is this a pact?”

  Star understood why the stallion was suspicious of his army’s sudden good fortune in being healed. Star would have to allay the captain’s doubts. He glanced at Morningleaf, who had followed him to the battlefield, and she nodded her head, encouraging him as though she could read his thoughts.