Footsteps snap somewhere close by me in the fog.
“H-hello?” I manage. I reach through the curtain of cold mist … thinking maybe someone’s hand will touch mine.
And I take a step.
One more.
Reach … a little … farther …
Oof!
I trip on a tree root, staggering forward. Arms stretched long to brace myself, I slam into the wet, slimy bark of a tall tree. The trunk is cold and rough, but I rest my forehead against it anyway. Like it’s a gentle giant, there to protect me.
I curl into it, try to make myself small against it.
Surely we’re not catching monsters.
But what if we are?
What if it sees me before I see it?
How can I catch anything in a place where the step in front of me is barely visible?
I think of my father, how he always walks with his hands out, reaching, unfamiliar with the world he used to know so well. And then I picture Denver in the mines, trembling as he crawls deeper down.
Every muscle in my body wants to run. But if I run … I’ll never make enough Feathersworth to save him.
I can save him.
Remember Denver, I tell myself.
He’s always been my brave little burst of light, even when my heart was in a dark place. Sadness suffocates me sometimes. It presses against my heart and lungs and makes it hard to breathe. But Denver always lifts me out of that place, reminds me to choose joy. To fight for it, if it comes to that.
“Denver.” I speak his name, because it gives me courage.
I imagine the feel of his dandelion hair against my chin when I hug him.
The warmth of him when I tuck him against me and read him stories.
I stand, my boots squishing a little in the thick mud around the tree.
I have no clue which direction to walk. But I know who I am walking for, and that’s enough to push me deeper.
“Denver …” I say bravely.
And then that sound again—
Pop.
Crack.
And swissssssh across the leaves.
Maybe even a slither?
All the air feels forced from my lungs. My knees buckle, and I nearly tumble.
Footfalls, again, moving toward me.
I run—or I try to run, at least. One long stride, and I’m slammed by a wall of Dust so thick my eyes burn. My throat aches. I push my way to better air, clawing through the Dust, but the grit of it is sticky on my face.
I’ll never get out. I’m alone in here. I’m lost, doomed. I’ll be forgotten. Those thoughts are weights on my head, on my heart. I fling my arms to shoo the Dust away. The thoughts are worse in Dustclouds like this. Finally, it lifts, and I fall to my knees on the ground and breathe in the wet, musty air of the woods.
“Hello?” I squint through the fog ahead.
Nobody answers.
The movement continues, but now someone, or something, moves in a wide circle around me.
A slow stride.
A dragging step.
Swish …
Please let it be one of the boys, I think. Just someone dragging his foot behind him. Someone injured in the fall.
“Adam?” I say, knowing it’s definitely not Adam. Adam would already know it’s me. He would call out if he was close.
“Who’s there?” I demand, my breath disappearing into a cough.
This time, I get an answer … but it is not the one I want. The response to my question is a long, slow hisssss of delight.
And I run. I jump over tree roots and brambles.
Branches snap.
Boots stomp.
Muscles burn.
I slide, skidding downhill, scrambling to get away from whatever is tracking me through these cursed woods. I feel my Popsnap come loose and roll away—no! It’s the best one I have, but I can’t stop to find it. I race—into a deep grove of trees, where the fog is so thick that it clings to me, sticking like cobwebs against my face. I jump for a low branch, to climb a tree, but the bark is too slick and I can’t grip it one-handed. I slam back against the ground with a hard thud. I let out a word that is not gentle. Mama wouldn’t approve.
Too tired to run now, I jump up tall and hold my rope up high so the monster will see it.
As if a little rope will scare a monster, much less catch one. But it’s all I can think to do.
Footfalls again … something circles me once more, stalking me from the thick of the mist where I can’t see.
But … if I don’t blink, I see something: a pale yellow fog swirling close to the ground.
Something is breathing … or slithering … just … there. There in that thick haze of Dust.
Ssssss … the hiss fills me with dread. It’s snakelike, and close to me.
And then I see it! Close to the ground, I see yellow eyes … two beady, bright yellow eyes with black slits in the center. The eyes are fixed on me. And they tilt, just slightly, as if the face belonging to those eyes is smiling. Delightedly.
I back up against the tree and slink to the ground. Cold sweat trickles down my face. My whole body shakes, fiercely.
I will never make it out of here. I’ll never get out of the West Woods. I’ll never get to tell Mama, Papa, and Denver how much I love them. Not to their faces, anyway.
“I love you Denver,” I whisper. Fear has flattened most of my voice, but I had to get those words out. And I hope they float to him like a dream, like a Starpatch, one he can keep forever to think about me.
Suddenly, the air above me is shattered by wild flapping, a sound like like quilts snapping against the wind. Huge quilts.
Boom.
Something lands on the ground, shaking the earth all around me.
There is the unmistakable sound of a horse neighing wildly.
In my right mind, this might hit me as miraculous. But this minute, I’m so thrilled at the prospect of not being eaten by some giant fog-snake that I curl my knees close to my chest and watch.
Glimpses of the horse shine through the fog: the muscles on its hips flexing, moving, shimmering. The horse is black, sleek. Its gray hooves are larger than my head, snapping down with skull-splitting force against the ground.
The horse is trying to stomp that … thing.
I can see the thing, too; pieces of it, at least. Its tail whips around through the fog, sinister-looking, covered in sharp scales—the monster has to be nearly as big as the horse.
And the horse is big.
The monster screams.
I cover my ears. I press my body hard against the ground.
The horse rears back, then slams its front hooves down on the ground. It makes a screech of its own—a mighty roar of sound.
The monster runs away, slithering through the woods, the slimy tail whipping around, nearly grazing my ankle as it skids past.
The woods go quiet.
But I lie trembling.
I feel the horse watching me, even though I can’t see its face. But I can see more of its shape now—more of its massive, muscular body.
“Thank you,” I whisper, closing my eyes, wiping the mess of tears and snot off my face. The horse steps toward me, but this time its steps don’t sound like an earthquake. They sound like soft, gentle thunder.
Very slowly, the horse lifts its hoof … and taps my hand, which is still clutching the rope. I fling the rope away from me. I’d been holding it so tightly that it burned my hand, caused a long line of blisters right inside my palm. I press my hand flat against the cold mud. I know dirt’s not good for a cut, but I’m desperate for some relief.
I flinch as I feel the horse’s cold, soft muzzle touch the side of my face.
Get up now, it seems to gesture. You’re all right.
My hand trembles as I reach to touch the horse’s muzzle—its face is soft. Velvety as a blanket. I’ve never seen a horse this big or this gentle. I sit up, slowly, still mesmerized.
“Thank you for saving me.”
; The horse taps my forehead with its muzzle, like a quick kiss. Then it takes a few steps back, jerking its head—follow me—and trots off down the hill.
That’s got to be my ride; the thought hits me like lightning. It makes sense, at least. Riding a wild horse up some dangerous mountain will be easier than riding a monster. I hope.
I follow the path the horse took and find it standing in a circle of bare trees nibbling grass.
As I move closer, fog rises from the ground like a curtain, catching in the treetops, finally giving me a full view of the creature who rescued me. The gray hooves. The shiny black coat with starry white spots on the hips and …
A shocked sound—like a low scream—that I’m sure I’ve never made before escapes from my lungs. I shut my eyes tight. I must be dreaming this. All of this.
I open one eye … then the other. Joy, so full and wide that it’s nearly suffocating, overwhelms me. Because this is no ordinary horse.
It has wings.
Wings! The wings are black, resting against its body.
This is a Starbird, just like the ones in the stories. For a moment, I wonder if I want this to be true so badly that I’m seeing things. We’ve been told they were gone. That they haven’t been back in years. That they can’t live here anymore, not beneath this Dust.
I step closer. Blink again. The wings don’t disappear.
Another step.
The horse stops chewing. Regards me warily.
“May I?” I ask.
The horse remains still. I reach out and touch a feather on the wing—it feels like a leather fringe.
I am touching a flying horse.
A Starbird!
“You,” I breathe, “are wonderwow.” This, I realize, is not even a word. I wanted to say wow and I wanted to say wonderful and the words got smooshed together because I’m so happy. But it fits. This horse deserves his own word. A tingly, calm feeling rushes over me, followed by a nervous excitement that makes me want to squeal. Or sing. Or run. I can’t wait to tell my family: The Starbirds are back!
This could mean all sorts of things, couldn’t it?
If the horses are back, what if the light comes back, too? What if the Dust blows away somehow? What if we could get everyone out of the mines for good? As if to show off, the horse raises its head and stretches its wings out wide, just for me to see. The span is mighty.
I take a step back, trip on a tree root, and flop down on the ground.
The horse neighs … and it almost sounds like a laugh.
This has to be the way to the top that Mortimer was talking about. How did he know they’re back? How did he find them with all these monsters crawling through the woods?
“I’m Mallie Ramble,” I whisper.
The horse sizes me up with its big brown eyes.
And then it bows its face to me, an introduction. So … I stand. And curtsy. Then I lean closer, pressing my face to his. I’m not sure why I do this. I’ve never been around horses before. It’s just instinct, I guess.
“I need your help,” I tell it, softly. “I know we just met. And this is asking a lot. But I think you can help me if you’ll”—I gulp—“come with me?”
The horse doesn’t balk as I rest my left hand against its mane, lightly. Steady, I think. And I don’t know if I’m thinking it for myself or for the horse.
“This way?” I ask.
The horse begins to walk beside me, slowly. Pace for pace. Just like friends are supposed to.
The woods seem quieter than normal but not in a scary way. In a reverent way. Like all the birds in these woods, all the creatures in the trees know this is a rare and magical creature walking.
We’re near the clearing now; it felt so far away only a few minutes ago. But I hear a commotion up ahead, voices shouting. Horses neighing. My horse’s muscles ripple under my hand as we move, and I feel bold.
Just as we’re about to emerge into Mortimer’s clearing, I pause in a shadow of trees. So does the horse. Instinct tells me to scope out the present situation before I burst in, so I take in the commotion ahead. The crowd from earlier has whittled down considerably. Since Mortimer offered us all a chance to go, boys have been leaving. More of them must have run for home as soon as they were dropped in the woods.
My eyes catch Adam’s immediately, and my chest fills with relief. He’s standing beside a tan, silver-winged horse. Adam’s cut and banged up, but he looks okay otherwise. He didn’t even lose his hat or scarf. Same with his friends—Nico, Connor, Wilder. None of them are on their horses, but their horses are all calm like mine. Nico made a bridle of the rope, which the horse doesn’t seem to mind. Adam glances around frantically at the woods. Looking for me. The rest of the boys—including Honor Tumbrel—are trying to keep their horses from stomping them to bits. There are about twenty of us left, and we all have wild Starbirds.
The boys can’t stop staring at the creatures. Neither can the men. I watch Connor reach out, gently, to touch his horse’s gray-white wing. The horse bobs its head up and down, like it’s saying yes. “Wow,” the boy whispers. One of the Guardians sees this, too, and steps closer, trying to reach out and feel the wing the same way. But the horse snarls low, stomps its hoof, and scares the man away.
The little boy with the glasses—Greer—walks out of the woods nearest me with a horse in tow. He’s not used a rope, either; his hand rests gently against the horse’s leg. His Starbird is white, with gray spots. It towers over the boy protectively.
“Well done, lad!” Mortimer calls out to him.
My horse bangs his hoof against the ground, causing a boom of sound. He leads me out of the darkness, into the midst of the clearing. I follow, staying close to his side.
Everyone falls quiet—and so do the horses. They stare at my horse and me, eyes wide. Mouths agape.
“Dear Lord.” One of the Guardians stumbles toward me. “She’s caught a big one …”
“What?!” Honor Tremble shouts as he tries to reel in his horse. “Did you say she?! This isn’t a job for girls.”
And then he whirls around and sees me. His face flames red with anger. Eyes flicker with rage. “Especially that girl.”
My gaze locks with Adam’s, and I see more fear in his eyes than I’ve seen all day. He’s afraid I’ll get booted now. I am, too. He’s looking at my hair, the telltale proof I haven’t followed the rules of the flyer.
I hadn’t realized it till now; my hat is gone. Lost somewhere in the woods. My hair has come loose from the braid, and it’s falling long, dark, and frazzled all around me. The boys all stare at me, some with disgust, because I’m a girl and I’m here. Some with curiosity—because my right arm doesn’t have a Popsnap attached. As if that’s a bigger deal than a flying horse. And some boys—like Honor—level me with a cold glare.
“That’s Mallie Ramble.” Honor spits my name. “She’s a maid in the valley. She’s a filthy mountain girl. Get rid of her! That’s against the rules.”
“The flyer says young fellers only!” shouts one of Honor’s cocky friends.
“Everyone calm down.” Mortimer’s voice is steel, closer behind me than I realized. The hair on my neck rises. My horse and I swerve to look at him.
Mortimer stares at me, and I wonder if he’s sizing me up. Deciding. I can’t tell if it’s delight or fury in his eyes.
“She’s no wiry young feller,” Mortimer says finally. “But she certainly looks brave.”
I turn loose a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Mortimer doesn’t glance at my right arm. Not once. And he doesn’t look at my long hair. I feel like he’s seeing me—the heart of me—and deeming every part of me capable. A kind, wide grin stretches over his face. “This is my plan, after all. What I say goes. And I say … welcome, Mallie Ramble.”
And I know in my heart, as sure as I’ve known anything, that this is the beginning of something grand.
“Everyone try to stay calm,” Mortimer tells us. “Starbirds are surely like any other horse; the
y sense your feelings. If you’re scared, they’ll be scared.”
Calm. How is it possible to be calm in a situation like this? The boys around me must all feel the same way. Their chests are heaving with excited breaths.
“I still don’t think it’s fair,” Honor mumbles.
“Actually, this is more fair, isn’t it?” Mortimer asks Honor. “Here’s one of your first great life lessons, young men. And woman.” He nods to me. “The person who makes the rules can change the rules. I made this rule. I choose to change it. And let’s be honest now. The flyer said orphans were preferred. How many of you are orphans?”
Silence.
The boys all glance at each other. Only a few raise their hands. I narrow my eyes at Honor, waiting to see if he’ll lie his way into a spot. But he only stands up straighter, sword clutched, jaw clenched, glaring at me. I feel sorry for his horse.
Mortimer smiles. “I asked for orphans because these missions are so dangerous. I thought orphans would be the most fearless, with nothing to lose. I suppose I underestimated how brave you boys can be.” He turns to me, again. “And clearly, I underestimated what young women on Forgotten Mountain are capable of doing.”
Pride roars inside me again. I wish Mama and Papa could see this. I wish Denver could see this.
Mortimer walks to Greer’s horse, pats the animal’s spotted hip. I notice my horse snorts as Mortimer passes us.
My horse. Already, I want this creature in my life. Need him. Already, he belongs to me. Which means I need to give him a name other than horse.
“So many people believed all the Starbirds were gone forever,” Mortimer says, running his fingers down the horse’s muzzle. “But I’d heard rumors that some remained. That some were trapped here in the woods.”
He circles back to the center and speaks to all of us. “Most of the Starbirds left when the Dust came, barred forever by that wretched wall of Dust. That’s true. But there’ve been sightings off and on ever since. And as our resources grew scarce, I thought about how wonderful it would be if those stories were true—if some of the horses remained. They helped us years ago, when we needed them. Perhaps they’d help us again. The Guardians have searched the woods for years, but Starbirds are elusive creatures. And then it occurred to me—we weren’t sending the right people to look. These horses love children. And I asked myself: What if, when the children all left to go into the mines and into the valleys, that’s why Starbirds became so scarce? If children braved the monster woods to find them, would they come for you?”
Over the Moon Page 5