Content warning: descriptions of warfare/violence
Shadowhunter
All we have to do is provide enough cover to get our dragons inside the city walls.
We just have to make it out of this alive.
The ground rumbles beneath us, the desert seeming to split in two. I spring up off the ground. For the most part, every other dragon in the battle does the same–but I watch as a few of Sharp-eyes's soldiers get sucked into the abyss.
I keep picturing my dad. I picture how he'd be fighting if it were me instead of him who was dead. How he'd tear through the enemy lines, how his magic would be strong enough to defeat any foe. How everything would be all right, so long as he was there beside me.
One of the soldiers springs out toward me; I shoot a blast of lightning to keep him at bay. Sheets of rain start to pour from dark, looming clouds, pooling almost instantly on top of the sand. Ember streaks through the sky in the corner of my vision, her whole body surrounded by fire. She breathes a white-hot burst of flame. As soon as she does, her fire sizzles out suddenly. She frantically tries to summon it back again to no avail.
I want to help her, but I'm too busy grappling with my own opponent–impossibly big and impossibly strong, talons slicing into my shoulders. I'm still not used to the vulnerability–when the soldier cuts me, they draw blood. I twist out from under the massive metal dragon, and breathe a bolt of lightning. They freeze, and the moment of blank-eyed shock is all I need to get away.
I turn back, and Ember's fire has returned. Oh, thank the moons.
"Go!" Permafrost shouts, hovering over the battle. I look up for just a second, only spotting the camouflaged netting for a moment before it fades from view. Another group of RainWings is headed for Scorpion Den.
I don't have time to watch, because there are three NightWings coming at me from all sides. They're bigger than me, they're stronger, and when I try to breathe more lightning, all that comes out is a pathetic spark.
Come on, come on...
A sharp gust of wind knocks into the enemy lines, sending black-armoured dragons falling from the sky and tumbling toward the sand.
And my heart is slamming in my chest. I'm thinking: Nothing's ever gonna happen to you. I hear it in my dad's voice. Droves of NightWings charge toward us. We outnumber them, but it doesn't feel like it.
"Go!" Permafrost shouts. She's weaving through the melee, trying to reach the RainWings.
I can feel the slight whoosh of wind as another group of RainWings takes off, or maybe I'm just imagining it.
I shoot a blast of lightning at the soldier I'm fighting, and it hits their eye by coincidence. The electricity skids across their metal armour. It always seems to stun them—which is better than nothing, but I can't tell if it really kills them or not. All around me, vines ensnare the soldiers, pulling them toward the ground.
I stare at the waves upon waves of soldiers, then glance behind us. All the nets of food have been carried away now; the RainWings and a few of the Gifted safely inside the city walls. I can see them if I look closely, a ripple across the clouds.
"Retreat!" I shout.
***
We make it back to camp, exhausted and breathless but alive. A few of the NightWings pursue us, but I get everyone into the city right before they catch up.
I throw my wings around Permafrost as soon as I find her in the square. I can feel my heart hammering in my chest.
"We did it. We made it out of another battle alive," I murmur into her shoulder.
"Course we did, stupid," she replies, her voice so tired it barely comes out as more than a murmur.
As I hold her, I think about all the dragons I've lost along the way, the magnitude of the grief big enough to drown inside.
I imagine her joining their ranks. I imagine how it would kill me, because I need her–far more than I'd like to admit.
But that won't happen, because she's got the earring, I remind myself. Some small part of me's still not convinced.
***
I find Python, the RainWings' leader, over by the hospital. It's busier than usual, but not as horrible as I've seen it before. Of all our battles, this is by far the one with the least casualties. I ask her to walk with me, and I wish I had Aloe there too, because she's so much better at diplomacy than me. But she went over into Scorpion Den during the battle.
We walk through the city streets, quiet for a moment. She's mastered this imposing stare, the kind that feels like it drills down into my soul. She's bleeding in a few places, but like me, she made it out of the battle largely unscathed.
I clear my throat.
"The battle went well. Thank you, for–for, um–helping us out there."
She nods. "I didn't do it as a personal favour."
I can tell she knows I don't have a clue what I'm doing. I kind of respect her for it.
But I need to keep the RainWings on our side. We need as many allies as we can get, even unfriendly and slightly terrifying ones.
"I did it because if I don't do something soon, my home is gonna look a whole lot like yours. It probably will anyways," she discloses, sighing ever-so-slightly. "But at least I can say I tried to fight it."
I nod. "That's all you can do."
She furrows her brow. "You know, it wouldn't be without your brother we joined this fight?"
I blink. You've been here for weeks and you're just telling me this now?
Jerboa's enchanted bowl showed me Way in the Rain Kingdom a couple of times. But I didn't think he was there as an ambassador. My little brother couldn't negotiate for the last piece of dessert, let alone a military alliance. No one would take that sad, pathetic little face seriously... would they?
"Are you.... sure?" I ask. "Have you seen him? Kind of... bedraggled? Looks like he's about to cry every time you speak to him? Are you sure you don't have the wrong dragon? I bet you have the wrong dragon."
She shakes her head. "I hope you don't think so little of me that I would make that mistake. I know Wayfinder was staying at our palace. There was a pair of SeaWings with them too, and this other little dragonet, a NightWing, what was his name? Precocious?"
I sigh. "Yeah, Precocious. Way's pretty obsessed with him. Or, he was, last time we spoke. The SeaWings, do you remember their names?"
"Fathom and... Purple? Violet? No..."
"Oh, Indigo!" Thank the moons, there's a responsible adult making sure Way and Precocious don't get themselves killed. I let out a breath.
"Well, anyhow. From what I heard, Queen Anaconda took your brother under her wing. And eventually, he convinced her to send us out here, and if this goes well, she'll send more soldiers."
"Is he okay?" I blurt. "Way, I mean."
She shrugs. "He seemed to be. He left soon after they struck the deal."
I let out a breath. "Okay. I can live with that."
I feel like I owe it to Mom and Dad to keep an eye out for the kid. Moons know he can't fend for himself.
"I'm sorry you have to do this," Papaya blurts. "You shouldn't."
I shrug. "Someone's got to. May as well be me."
She nods, furrowing her brow. "Do you know... why the powers were behaving so strangely? Back there? I noticed they kept... fizzling out, almost."
"Yeah. I know. Tell me about it. If you've got any brilliant ideas for what's causing it, trust me, I'm all ears."
***
Jerboa tugs at my wing. "Tell me again, Shadowhunter."
We sit in the dim candlelight of her dinner table. It's my turn to watch her, to make sure she doesn't die in her sleep.
I rub my eyes. "Three moons, again?" My mind has been elsewhere all night and she knows it.
"About the battle," she says, grinning.
I sigh. "It didn't work half as well as I thought it would. I feel like you're making this into a bigger deal than–"
"Tell me again, because I'm gonna die and when I do I'm gonna haunt you forever and make you feel terrible about it."
I wince.
"Okay, so, it was all stormy at first," I tell Jerboa. "And I was sorta flying above it? And Permafrost was like, over there, shouting directions, and..."
I let the memory take over as I describe the battle to her as it happened. The storm, the shouting, the lightning, the retreat.
"You know, you're actually pretty cool sometimes," Jerboa says with a shrug.
I squint at her. "Are you implying I'm not cool all the time?"
She fights back a grin. "I didn't say anything."
I stand up, sighing heavily. "All right. I'm done. Go to sleep, you're even more insufferable on less than eight hours." I shove her in the direction of her bedroom, and Jerboa laughs, shoving me back.
"Insufferable?"
"Yes, you totally are!"
She's smiling, and I know she's already gone.
***
I spend hours pacing, trying to stay awake. I keep imagining how it would feel, to carry Permafrost's body out from the battle, keep picturing awful scenarios where her earring came out. Keep imagining how Jerboa's death will unfold, because I know it will eventually. I'm so caught up in my worry, I don't notice Ember had entered the tent until she's tapping at my shoulder.
"Hey, Shadowhunter? Sorry I'm late," Ember says softly, yawning. "Slept in a bit."
I flinch, turning around to face her.
"It's dark in here, moons," she murmurs, searching through the drawers in the kitchen.
"What?" I'm only half-paying attention.
"No, I just... I was gonna light the candle," she mutters. "But I can't. Come on, come on..." she shakes out her wings, groaning. "It's been just like this of late. It cut out for a while during the battle, too."
"I saw that. It's like–it's like what happened with Polar, all over again."
Ember groans under her breath. All of a sudden, the slightest whisper of flame rises from her scales, then immediately dissipates. She leans against the table. "I feel so dizzy," she murmurs. "It wasn't this bad before."
I pull her wing over my shoulder. "I don't know what's going on, but whatever it is, you shouldn't be watching Jerboa if you're this messed up."
"Aloe said it was happening to her too before she left for Scorpion Den," Ember says, furrowing her brow. "I'm not the only one."
"Do you think it means Polar is getting closer?" I blurt.
"Maybe."
If we start to lose our powers completely, we're done for. We're not gonna win this battle without them. I stare out into the black.
Oh, three moons, we're screwed.
***
I take the watch in the early hours of the morning, when the sky is still dark. We have one dragon sitting outside the camp, just in case. All night, some RainWing took the job; I volunteered myself mostly because I need to be alone.
Flurry is the last dragon I expect to corner me by the glowing gate at the edge of the city. He's been wandering free ever since we figured out how useless he was. Any member of the Gifted could overpower him if need be. I still haven't made up my mind if he's a prisoner or a guest.
"Shadowhunter."
I still don't like him, even knowing his side of the story. He's far too close to Snowfox for comfort.
But it's hard to hate someone so pathetic.
"Flurry. What are you doing here?"
"I walk the city every night. Reflecting on life," he says wistfully, the sunrise staining his scales a soft shade of pink.
Case in point.
"I wish you would let me fight. I just want to do my part."
I sigh. "I already told you. You don't have a power, or any experience fighting. If you want to die, just tell me and I'll sentence you to a painless execution or something. I mean–no, sorry, that came out wrong. I don't want you to die. That's what I'm trying to say. It is... objectively very useful to have someone who understands Polar around."
He falls silent, almost pouting.
"You can leave," I say with a shrug. "We won't stop you. But we can't help you, either."
Our eyes meet for a second too long.
"Are you gonna win this war?" He asks, rather than answering.
I shrug. "Probably not."
"Afterward, can you help me find my son?"
His eyes are hollow and sad; a watery shade of grey. Oh, three moons. He was a terrible father, but at least he's trying to change.
I picture my own dad. If he were alive, he'd be tearing apart the whole world trying to find me.
I reach for the gates of the city. "I have my own family to find. I can't promise you that. But I've got a feeling Polar will come back to us, eventually."
***
I stare out at the walls of Scorpion Den as the sun goes down. We've been taking turns on watch, hoping for a message from Scorpion Den. It feels like asking for Sharp-eyes to strike me down–being out here, more-or-less alone. I realize I think of him like a god.
He's going to win. I know it, an awful intuition aching in the back of my mind. Like I know that everyone I love will someday die.
I try to brush it away, but I can't. Oh, three moons, I'm gonna die in battle, I'm gonna leave Way and Eclipse alone–
From the vague shadow of the Scorpion Den skyline, just starting to come into view, I see a soft flash of light.
I blink. I think I must be imagining things, a hallucination driven by exhaustion or maybe just boredom.
But then it happens again. Two flashes close together followed by one long one.
I fumble through my satchel, searching for parchment to write on. When the lights come back, I realize they're flashing the same pattern–over and over and over.
I imagine who it is–some guard, probably, working the late shift. Staring out at the desert, wondering if someone was staring back. Hoping, praying, pleading–not to be alone.
***
We all gather around Jerboa's dining room table in the dark, staring at my notes.
"It's not SandWing code," Permafrost murmurs, rubbing her eyes. Ember and I lean over her shoulder. "Hunter, I'm sorry, I can't read your writing. Can you just..." she looks around the room, passing me a lantern and a mirror after a little bit of rummaging. Jerboa has all sorts of weird stuff lying around here. "Just show me." She thrusts the notes at me, furrowing her brow and muttering as she reads over her scroll. "I don't get why it wouldn't be SandWing code, it's coming from the SandWing military."
"Do we.... know that?" Ember asks, raising her eyebrows. "Like, I mean, yeah, this could be officially sanctioned. But what if it's just... one guy sitting up on that tower, flashing out messages?"
Permafrost and I exchange a glance.
"I can see that—" I start.
"No, there's no way—" my girlfriend says at the same time.
We stare at each other for a moment, not sure what to say.
"Maybe it's NightWing code," I blurt. "Do the NightWings do something similar? Surely we have something on that, right?"
Jerboa's spell, bringing anyone within the city whatever they desire, has been a little less reliable than usual, I've noticed. The pile of scrolls on the table grows a little more.
"See, look," I say, skimming through one of them. "These are similar. I think." The scroll describes how long the light should hold to signal each character. The messages have to be spelled out letter-by-letter, slowly and agonizingly.
Permafrost leans over my shoulder. "I think you're right. Here, you recreate the message from your notes, and I'll translate."
I pick up the lantern and mirror, glancing at my notes–on, held for three seconds, off for two, then on for five–
"Slow down, Permafrost says, as she checks the translation. "This is harder than it looks."
Ember suddenly bursts into flame. She screams, jerking away from the table.
Permafrost flinches away, screaming. "What was that?!" she screeches, eyes wide. She clears her throat. "I–I mean–what was that?"
I flinch, dropping the mirror to the floor.
Ember blinks, leaning against the table. "Oh, I feel awful," she groans. "It's like... like, this woozy, empty feeling..."
Permafrost glances over at Jerboa's room, where the dragonet is sleeping.
"This always happens when you're around her," Permafrost observes.
Ember blinks, rubbing her eyes. "I don't know, does it?"
She tries to summon flame. Only a small, pathetic burst emerges from her talons.
"Something's happening to my powers. There's no way around it," Ember says. "The others are feeling it too. It's not like when Polar came, this is different. Like slowly being drained."
Maybe it's Sharp-eyes. Permafrost and I exchange a glance, and I know she must be thinking the same thing.
"Why don't you go home for the night," Permafrost suggests. "We can talk about this in the morning."
Ember doesn't need to be told twice.
For a moment, Permafrost and I sit there in silence.
"There's not much we can do about it," I say with a shrug. "We don't even know what's happening."
Permafrost looks away, then nods. We get back to translating.
By the time the sun is rising, we've pieced together a message: Who are you really, and what do you want?
***
Permafrost helps me put on my armour. I make a silly face in the mirror. She rolls her eyes, but I can feel her soft giggles in the slight shaking of her talons on my back.
I realize how much I need her.
Oh, three moons, is this how Grandmother felt when she went off to fight?
Is this why she risked it? Is this why she died?
When I look in my eyes, I think I can see her in their shape. Or in the precise slant of my jaw, the shape of my snout. It's been so long, it's hard to hold her face in my mind. Maybe I'm just dreaming; making myself into a memorial like it matters anyway.
What would you think now, if you could see me? I want to ask her. I still don't know how she'd respond.
I don't realize I whisper the words until Permafrost furrows her brow at me. "Hmm?"
I sniff, trying to pull it together. The grief never shrinks. The hole she left in my life just keeps getting bigger with time, if anything.
"I just–I, um–" I can feel myself shaking. I can do this. I can do this.
I have to do this.
"What if we die today?" I ask.
Soon, we'll be out on the battlefield. Soon, I'll lose sight of her. Soon the world will be on fire, soon I could be dead.
Permafrost doesn't know what to say to that, I can tell.
"I'm sorry. I'm scaring you–" I blurt.
"It's war," she says, pulling me into her shoulder. I think it's easier for her to talk to me when she can't meet my eyes. "We're all scared, Hunter."
***
The next attack comes at dawn. This time, Sharp-eyes is ready for us. His dragons strike almost as soon as ours leave the protection of Jerboa's city.
I turn to Python. "Get as many soldiers as you can past the wall."
She nods sharply, and I watch for half a second as she fades into barely a ripple in the air. If it weren't for their massive nets of supplies, I'd think she and her RainWings were simply a mirage–but even the nets quickly disappear behind the cloudcover.
The sky rumbles with thunder, rain pouring over the desert just like before. I look out at the wall; I wonder if the dragon flashing the lights is watching.
What do we want? The guard's question reverberates through my mind.
Water starts to pool in the valley as rain spatters to the ground. A soldier springs toward me, claws out, fire roaring, smoke pouring out of the vents between his scales. It's hard to comprehend the mass of this army, both incredibly small and insurmountably large. I wonder if Permafrost is right that these really used to be regular dragons and realize that I couldn't care less.
"Jasper, keep them distracted!" I shout to the SkyWing, whose suggestibility works even on the automatons. We found him a necklace, designed to help amplify Jerboa's voice when she was giving speeches. It works well enough for these purposes though, too.
"I think you want to stay still for a while," Jasper says. I think he must be completely off his rocker, because I can hear in his voice he's smiling. So long as he keeps helping us, I couldn't care less. His voice booms over the battlefield, and slowly, the soldiers begin to freeze, mesmerized. I can see them resisting; I know it won't last for long. But while they're immobilized, Permafrost gives the signal, and the first group takes off. The RainWings spread their wings out wide to help camouflage the Gifted who are going into the city. I think about the guard who was flashing the code last night; I wonder what he thinks of all of this.
"Pyre!" I shout. "A little help here!"
A crack splits through the earth, in the centre of the battlefield. Dragons scramble over each other, clawing their way out of the widening chasm. Most of our dragons were spared, but I can see a few of them, clambering and clawing their way out of the chaos. They're going to die because I told them to, and because they believed me more than they cared about survival.
Nothing can touch me nothing can touch me--
Vines crawl out of the earth, darkness sliding up from the void like condensation, crawling across the battlefield. It spreads across the sky, slowly blotting out the dragons above. Clouds of shadow obscure the battle from view. I charge through it all, lightning and thunder and sharp claws. The desert is starting to look more like a lake, water brushing against my belly.
My lightning crackles across the water. I watch as the soldiers fall to the ground, or freeze in place.
That's right, some small, ugly voice I thought I'd buried whispers. That's what you deserve.
We're fighting right against the wall surrounding the city now. It's covered in graffiti. I could swear for a moment, I glimpse the words, Lightning Flash, then something else I don't have time to decipher. I must be making things up.
The soldiers don't hurt me. Even without my earring, I'm invincible. Sharp-eyes cowers before me; he's scared. I know he is. I imagine the ghosts of my family looking down on me--my Grandmother's strength, my mother's fury, my father's cunning.
I imagine myself a god.
And then slowly, all of it stops. The vines start to wither, no longer strong enough to keep the soldiers back.
The fault line stops growing. It starts to collapse in on itself, the chasm gaping like a wound. Soldiers pour out of the crevasse, crawling back up onto the battlefield.
The clouds start to fade. I can't tell where the RainWings are, but if they're still up in the sky, they're damn near invisible.
Is this Sharp-eyes? Is this how he kills us? The realization sinks over me like a chill.
I stun one of the NightWings with my lightning–at least that's still working, right before the soldier can attack Permafrost. But with weakened powers, they're stronger and faster and we don't stand a chance against the horde of black metal crawling toward us.
If we don't get out now, we're all going to die.
It's as close to a prophecy as I'm ever gonna get.
"Run!" I shout.
***
I can't calm down, can't stop thinking about it. I play through the battle again and again, my heart racing. I'm bleeding, but I don't feel it. I wander through the hospital, I listen to Permafrost talk and don't say a word. Somehow, I end up back in Jerboa's tent after sundown.
"Something is going on with these powers," I say. Ember, Jerboa, Permafrost and I are all gathered around the dining table. We've waited long enough to talk about this. "They're unreliable at best, and every battle they're getting weaker."
Ember stands in the corner of the room, tapping her tail against the floor.
"Mine haven't worked normally since... Polar attacked and Jerboa woke up," she admits quietly.
"Tons of dragons come into the hospital freaking out about it," Permafrost admits. "And at the school, lots of the dragonets bring it up. Dragons know what's happening."
The truth is, I spend most of my time I'm not in battle or taking care of Jerboa passed out, trying desperately to sleep. Apart from the death counts, I have no idea what's going on in this city anymore. It all feels so irrelevant.
I wish Aloe weren't in Scorpion Den–as much as I dislike her, it was useful to have someone keeping tabs on the city.
"Look, it has to be Sharp-eyes," I say with a sigh. "Why else would this be happening, right as we were attacking? The timing is weird, yeah, but–you know what, it's probably just because he was too busy planning world domination to care about us until we basically dared him to annihilate us."
"But your dad could never touch the Gifted with his magic, and Sharp-eyes's power shouldn't be any different from his," Permafrost counters. "Based on everything we've observed about animus magic, he shouldn't be able to do that."
"Do you have a better explanation?"
Jerboa looks more tired than ever, her scales a little pale. I've hardly seen her since the fighting started–or if I have, I haven't been paying much attention.
"You okay, J?" I ask absently.
"You look like you've got something to say," Ember says, nudging Jerboa. "Come on." Ember has softened to Jerboa over the past few months–just like the rest of us have. "Spit it out."
Jerboa looks away, mumbling, "Maybe it's my fault for waking up."
I shake my head. "J, don't be ridiculous. You couldn't be messing up the powers of everyone in this city without even knowing it."
I look over at Permafrost. I can see in her eyes, she's not convinced. But she doesn't say a word.
I remember the battle–the screaming, the blood, the chasm through the desert, the dark clouds fading to a clear blue sky. I'm invincible. No one can touch me. I'm gonna live forever. I'm gonna die I'm gonna die I'm gonna–
***
I haven't been sleeping much. I lie awake beside Permafrost, listening to the howl of the wind, bracing for the next battle.
"Frost?" I whisper into the dark, shaking. The vision Polar gave me feels so close to coming true. I can't take this. I can't handle having power. It breaks something in me.
"Hmm?" she looks up from her scroll. Her eyes meet mine, and I want her so bad it hurts: her future and her present, her heart and her mind.
"I think there's something wrong with me." I don't feel in control of myself, even all these hours later. "I don't think it's the magic. I think it's me."
Permafrost is quiet. "Yeah. I know," she finally says to me, rolling over. She sets down her scroll. Our eyes meet, and a chill shoots through my veins. It still scares me, far more than I'd like to admit–being this close to her, saying the first thing that comes across my mind. I've never done this with anyone before. I don't know how it's going to end.
And it will end, a quiet, awful whisper says in the back of my mind. I push it down, because I can't handle that thought right now. I can't picture my life without her, and why am I even worrying about that when everything is fine right now?
"I think that I'm not built to have power, Frost. Like, it breaks me. It makes me lose my mind."
She doesn't disagree. At least she's being honest. Somehow, that feels like a relief.
"This won't last forever," she promises, and I can tell she doesn't have a clue what to say.
But someday, I might get my power back. I can't let the continent burn, knowing there's something I could have done to save it. If I ever see Dad again, I'm going to have to take off the bracelet. I'm going to have to learn how to live with myself.
"You have to promise, you'll tell me," I blurt. "The truth. Even if it hurts. If I turn into a monster again."
"Is that what you think of me?" Permafrost doesn't sound angry exactly, but definitely not overjoyed. I never know what she's thinking, even after all this time. "Do you think I would lie, to spare your feelings?"
"No. But I'm scared you would anyways. And I'm sorry to put that on you, I know that's an awful thing to have to shoulder—"
Permafrost shushes me, shaking her head. "I will. I swear on my life. If you swear you'll never make me have to."
My mouth hangs open, my heart racing.
"If you promise that to me, you won't let it happen," she says matter-of-factly. "So swear it to me, Shadowhunter of the NightWings. Look into my eyes, and tell me that you're not gonna turn into the dragon you were a year ago."
What am I supposed to say?
"I promise."
"I swear," she chides.
I roll my eyes. I can't decide whether to be infuriated with her or to love her a little more for her stubbornness. "I swear. On the graves of my ancestors, on my love for you, on everything I've ever cared for."
Even as I say it, I'm scared it's not a promise I'll be able to keep.
Permafrost nods. "Good. That's that, then. I'm going to sleep." She blows out the light by the bed, and I lie awake beside her for a long time, listening to her breathe.
***
When she nods off, I stare into space for a long time, and find myself by the mirror Permafrost uses to get ready in the morning. I've gotten taller, a little stronger.
There's no glory in this, I think, as I meet my eyes. I am bloody and dirty and bruised, my eyes wide, my heart palpitating. I don't know how I got here. I can still feel the battle all around me, the raw power coursing through my veins. I can't remember what happened. I haven't felt this far out of my body since I lost my powers, since a damn lifetime ago.
I want to crawl out of my scales, I want to turn off my brain. I can't bear to listen to the ebb and flow of my mind. I can't bear to think about the battle, about how no one could touch me, about how it felt just like the vision that came to me when Polar attacked. I feel like my old self again.
I glimpse the outside through the flap of our tent, blowing in the wind. I sneak away from my love, into the black.
***
I stand on top of the dune below the starlight. I wonder if it's the same guard, or a different one on duty tonight.
I take a deep breath, looking at my message, and the translation chart Permafrost did up for me. I read over it one more time.
Okay. Here goes nothing. I pick up a lantern and a mirror. The mirror feels familiar--it takes me a moment to realize it's the same one I used to use to talk with Mom and Dad back in the day.
I flash out, We're the Gifted. We're here to fight against Sharp-eyes. No ulterior motive, we just hate the guy.
I imagine the guard sitting there, decoding my message letter by letter.
I sit there, waiting in the cold night, watching my breath turn to steam.
Where is Princess Shadowhunter? they reply. It takes me an absurd amount of time to check my translation, then check it again, because surely that can't be their first question.
Who would even know I was travelling with the Gifted?
Doesn't the Kingdom of Sand have bigger problems right now?
I consider revealing myself for a moment. But I can't take that risk. I don't know who I'm talking to; I don't want to add another layer of complication to this situation.
She's not here anymore, I flash, holding up my lantern against the mirror.
Where did she go? the other dragon asks. I imagine them shouting it, really getting in my face, the visual only making me more irritated.
I don't know. I didn't know her well, I reply, rolling my eyes.
Well, can you get me through to someone who does?
Why do you care so much about the Princess? This is totally creepy. Why is this dragon is so obsessed with me?
The guard goes quiet for a long time.
Well? I ask, my tail lashing against the sand. We have far more important things to discuss than my whereabouts. Finally, thank the moons, the guard drops it.
In terms of supplies, we're running low on food and water. I'm not in charge of distributing this stuff so I don't know the details but I can find someone who does. Is there any chance of getting medical supplies across? I can get you a specific list of things our hospitals need tomorrow if that is possible.
I flash back, reluctantly, Yes. Give me the list. I'll see what I can do. We have enchantments that present us with whatever we do desire, that's where we've been getting all the grain and preserves and stuff we've been sending you so far. How much of that made it across?
All of it. That's been a huge help. But on the topic of hospitals: we have a plague going on right now.
I freeze. I don't know much about plagues, but what I have heard scares the daylights out of me. Give me an enemy I can fight against; not one I can't even see.
How on earth did that happen?
You think I know? My new friend flashes back. I just got out of the hospital, I could have died of it. I'm not a doctor, I'm just... some random soldier who used to be important.
I sigh. There's something about this dragon that feels familiar, and how can that be possible when I don't even know what he looks like?
He keeps going. Sending that dragon, Marigold, over helped, but she's exhausted herself now and I don't think she's healing anyone else for a while. I heard her powers have been having issues. That's what my wife says. You don't happen to have another healer, do you?
No. I wish I had my magic; I wish there was something more I could offer.
Marigold's powers have been having issues too?
It's Sharp-eyes, it has to be Sharp-eyes. I try to ignore the pit in my stomach, postponing worrying over this to a later date.
When are you planning to attack next?
Tomorrrow, I reply. We want to overwhelm them before Sharp-eyes has a chance to redesign his soldiers to make them resist our powers.
That's smart, my mysterious friend says. You remind me of my daughter. I'm a dad to four dragonets, but I haven't seen any of them for months.
I roll my eyes. Oh, three moons, he's gonna give me his whole sob story now. If there's one thing I don't have the energy for, it's that.
But he doesn't. He's quiet for a long time; I imagine his shift must have finished. Imagine him going home to his wife, who works at the hospital. I wonder if they always lived in Scorpion Den, or if they came from somewhere else.
Used to know? I ask, against my better judgment.
She's long gone now, he replies. I'll probably die before I see her again.
I lost my parents, I confess, without thinking. I think they're dead. I think I'm never gonna see them again.
I'm sorry.
Me too.
I stare out into the night. I want to keep talking, but I can't think of anything to say.
***
He comes back the next night and gives me a long list of supplies Scorpion Den is in need of.
Is this the same dragon as last night? I ask.
Yes, he replies quickly. I'm the only one who knows about this.
I roll my eyes. Oh, great, he's one of those strong, stoic, suffer-in-silence types.
My name's Peacemaker, by the way.
I blink, trying to remember where I've heard that name before. Must just be a fluke.
Nice to meet you. I'm Fierceclaws. Dad thought about naming me that, didn't he? Or maybe that was another dragonet, I can't remember–but it's the first name that comes to mind.
I've always liked that name. So you're a NightWing too?
Yeah. When did you leave?
I fled with my wife when Sharp-eyes took over, he replies. He had our son prisoner, we couldn't get him out. He's still in there, and there's not a day it doesn't drive me crazy. The rest of our kids scattered before that.
I'm sorry, I reply.
Me too.
I'm only six, I admit.
Six years old and you're fighting in this war?
I wrap my wings around myself, the wind slamming into my back.
I have this power, I might as well use it for some kind of good.
You have to promise me you'll be careful, he says. Whoever, wherever your parents are, I'm sure they didn't want this for you. I just don't want to watch anyone else lose a kid.
To my surprise, I tell him I will be. Careful. Me.
I've been fighting in the war, and my wife doesn't know, Peacemaker admits to me. I'm scared for my marriage. We've pushed through everything we've been through, but I just feel like I see the forest for the trees now. Everything we've argued about since we met really just boils down to one or two issues we never seem to be able to resolve. I'm scared if she sees me for what I really am, she's not going to be able to look me in the eyes again. There's so much I haven't said to her, and I don't know how to get it out. I think we're both just so glad I'm not dead and so exhausted from fighting, we don't have it in us to talk about anything that could lead to an argument.
I soften a bit. Maybe we're not so different after all.
Have you tried... just talking to her?
He's quiet for a long time. I stare out at the dark sky, counting the number of constellations I can find. It all seems so peaceful, the ugly remains of the battle hidden from view.
She'll forgive me for what I did, and it'll absolutely kill her, Peacemaker tells me. No. Talking about it is only gonna rub salt in the wound.
I want to give him some advice, then remember that he has significantly more life experience than I do, and I don't care that much about his love life anyways.
He starts to pour out his heart to me. I want to cut him short, but somehow I can't. I think I must be talking to some kind of warped-alternate dimension version of myself. He tells me, how his dragonets are gone; how he's scared he'll never find them. He tells me how he loves his wife more than anything, and he's scared she doesn't know him as well as she thinks she does. He tells me that they haven't been talking like they used to, just living in parallel to each other, and how it makes him want to set the world on fire. How all he ever wanted was a family that wasn't like the one he grew up in. It feels familiar to me, like I've lived this in another life.
I admit to him, quietly, I'm scared I'm not capable of being close to anyone. With my girlfriend, it's like–like some part of me is always a little anxious. I never know what she's gonna do next. And I know how these things end. I don't know, why am I even worrying? I'm probably going to die in battle soon.
That's not funny, Peacemaker responds quickly.
You're not my dad, I didn't ask your opinion. I can say whatever I want, I reply, rolling my eyes.
He tells me something about how it'll all work out, how everything is hard when you're young. Regardless of if he's right or wrong, I'm still not listening.
***
The world all around me spins into chaos. The wind lashes through the desert, sending sand flying in my face.
We're losing.
I stand at the forefront of it all. I can hear a group of RainWings flying by above us, even though I can't see them.
Ember grapples with a NightWing twice her size, while two more close in on her. She can't seem to summon more than a spark.
Permafrost and Jasper are facing down a group of NightWings in the air; surrounded on all sides.
When I look over the scene, I see endless rows of metal soldiers, forming a chain around the city. They're pushing us back at a rapid pace--we can't get through them and we can't go over them. So many of our dragons are lying on the ground, either dead or dying.
I soar through the air, dodging spears and fire. I barrel into a NightWing soldier, who digs claws into my shoulders. The cut feels like it goes right down to the bone. We twist through the sky, plummeting toward the ground.
With all my strength, I summon another blast of lightning. As soon as it hits them, they freeze, falling from the sky. I quickly right myself, trying not to look at the wound on my shoulder. I can't feel a thing, but I know the pain will hit me later.
"A little help over here!" Ember shouts from down below, her eyes meeting mine. She's pinned to the ground, trying to wrestle a spear out of her opponent's talons, and she's losing the battle. I dive toward her frantically. I don't notice what's behind me until Permafrost is screaming, "Shadowhunter!", barrelling through the sky toward me, her eyes wide.
I look over my shoulder, trying to see what's freaking her out.
Right as I see, a NightWing knocks into me and drives a spear through my back and into my chest.
I think bad things don't happen to dragons like me.
I think I've got the earring, I'll be fine.
But I don't. I stare down at myself as I plummet from the sky, the spear sticking out of my chest. It doesn't hurt for just a moment.
I wonder what Grandmother would think of all this.
***
"We need to get Marigold back here right now," I hear a shrill voice demand. "I don't care if they're dying of plague, I don't care if the whole city's burning down!"
"Permafrost, get ahold of yourself," a closer voice says in a tone of quiet exasperation. "I doubt Marigold's power would even work right now."
I jolt awake, fully aware now. I'm covered in blood–my own, presumably. The spear is gone, and in its place is a heap of gauze, stained red.
"Oh, that's not good," I murmur. Everything is foggy at the edges. Permafrost leans over my chest, pressing her talons against the wound. The bright light burns my eyes a little as the room comes into view. All the beds in the hospital are full, dragons coughing and crying and calling out.
"I'm sorry," Permafrost winces. She blinks, turning toward me. "Wait–you're awake. You're all right! You idiot, I was shouting at you not to–why are you always getting injured? Would it kill you to be careful for once?"
I just shrug, then wince as I realize I can't even make that small movement without excruciating pain. "I don't know. It's a battle. It comes with the territory."
I feel dizzy and lightheaded. There's so much blood all around me--stuck onto my scales, smeared on Permafrost's talons, all over the cot.
"I'm gonna be fine, right?"
Permafrost nods reluctantly. "Yeah. But you shouldn't be fighting for a really long time, it's gonna take ages for these muscles to heal. You'll probably be limping for a while, because–"
I shush her. "Got it. Limping for a while, until Marigold gets back."
"You lost a lot of blood," Permafrost says softly. "You could have died if we hadn't stopped the bleeding."
it takes a moment for the gravity of her words to set in.
I've never been more glad I gave Permafrost the earring.
I close my eyes, groaning.
"Are you all right? I mean, besides the obvious," my girlfriend asks, taking my talon in hers.
I murmur, "What happened at the battle after I got knocked out?"
Permafrost hesitates.
"Everyone's powers stopped. I mean, not that they were working well before, but like... completely."
I look around me. The hospital is full of dragons, almost all of whom I recognize. Jasper got a spear to the chest like me; Pyre's right talon is wrapped up in white bandages, Ember is covered in thousands of deep gashes all across her body.
I try to scramble out of the bed. I need to get up, I need to fix this, I need–
Permafrost holds me down.
"Hunter. You need to rest."
"How many dragons died?"
"We can't tell that yet. We–we don't know. A lot," Permafrost admits. "We just had to run. Without our powers, we didn't stand a chance, Shadowhunter."
I realize she's been crying–her voice a little hoarse, the whites of her eyes a little bloodshot. I can tell how hard she's fighting to keep it together.
"Shadowhunter?" a familiar high-pitched voice says from the other side of the room. I shift, almost crying out at the sudden pain.
"Jerboa, I'm okay," I say, forcing a smile. I know it looks more like a grimace.
As she comes closer to me, the room goes quiet. Everyone is looking at her. I can tell how hard Jerboa is fighting to pay them no mind. All of the magical talismans she's wearing jingle with her every step, audible in the silence. She looks weak, so much more than yesterday. With every step she takes, she seems to tremble a little bit more.
"Jerboa–" Permafrost blurts. "I don't think you should come any closer."
"What? Why? What's going on?"
Everyone in the room seems to shrink into themselves, grimacing as she does as though they have a sudden headache.
The dragonet looks down at her talons, horror dawning in her eyes for reasons I still can't piece together.
I stumble out of bed, ignoring the stabbing, screaming ache in my side.
"What's happening? Frost?"
"Shadowhunter, I think I'm hurting them."
I look back at all the other dragons. Their talismans are all glowing, tugging off the bodies of their owners as though magnetically attracted to Jerboa.
Oh.
"Shadowhunter, I don't feel good," Jerboa says, woozy now.
Jerboa crumples to the ground. I can feel her heartbeat racing, her scales flushed. She looks this close to disappearing.
Oh, three moons, not again.
I look around. "Permafrost?! What's happening?"
Permafrost furrows her brow, stepping closer.
"I think... I think Jerboa is draining them. It's what she did to Polar–just being near that amount of her old magic was enough to jolt her awake for a little while. But now she needs more, or she's gonna black out again. She's probably gonna die," Permafrost says. "I've had a theory about it for a long time now. Everything around us was made from a piece of her soul. Her magic. I think–in some desperate attempt to survive, some part of her is reaching for it. Trying to take her back."
I look down at the dragonet. I want to collapse with her. I want to be anyone but myself right now.
***
Permafrost and I stay up late that night talking as the sun goes down, by the edge of the oasis. It reflects the sunset like a mirror, and I watch the palm trees sway ever-so-slightly in the breeze. You'd never know there was a war going on out there. I try to stay still; it feels like I'm being stabbed again with every slight motion.
"Jerboa can't be near the battle," I say quietly, leaning into her shoulder. We both know it's true, no matter how terrifying it is to say aloud. "We'll never win, so long as she's there. We're both thinking it."
"Couldn't someone else take her?" Permafrost asks softly, meeting my eyes. She needs as much as I need her.
"I can't do that to her. She doesn't trust anyone else."
"Why do you care so much about her?" Permafrost asks. "We don't owe her anything."
I sigh, meeting her eyes. "You know the answer to that, Frost. She's–she's four, and she's scared, and she's a total nightmare, and..."
"You see yourself in her, don't you?" Permafrost interrupts.
"Her magic has her messed up beyond even what I had to go through. And she's going to die. And she's a kid, Permafrost." I wince.
"I never thought I'd see you be so... softhearted," Permafrost admits, and she's smiling a bit.
"Well, she grows on you. Like a goddamn infection." I shake my head. "I don't know. She gave us all this, even if she did kind of... ruin our lives, too. I feel like I owe her dignity in dying, at least. I feel like I have to stick this one out."
"Where would you take her? It's not like we have a safehouse," Permafrost says, furrowing her brow, looking away.
"Somewhere Sharp-eyes has already demolished. Some little town that's so far off his radar, he won't touch it until he deals with the mess in Scorpion Den."
"That's not very specific. I want to know where you are–otherwise, we'll never stand a chance of finding each other."
I nod, slowly, putting the pieces together.
"I heard, when we passed through, um–what was that town? Escobaria? That a little north of there, there was this other place that got hit by earthquakes. Probably Polar, now I think about it. They said the whole town was abandoned. You could go there. That's far enough away from the battle, there's no way Jerboa would have any effect on dragons' powers." Permafrost hesitates. "But, Hunter, what if my theory is all wrong? What if you leave with Jerboa and it doesn't help?"
"Permafrost."
I cup her face in my talons, staring into her eyes.
"It's not wrong. Come on."
"No, really. I haven't put it through rigorous testing, I haven't done any kind of formal study. All I have is a correlation–not even that, it's just observation really. I could be wrong. That's entirely within the realm of possibility."
"But it's true–you can sense it, right? You have that gut feeling?"
She goes quiet.
"Yeah. I do."
"Then I believe you. It makes sense. Even if it doesn't, no one wants Jerboa to be here when this battle really starts getting ugly. I've done the most I can, with the lightning–any minute now, Sharp-eyes is going to figure out how to make his soldiers resist it and the trick will stop working anyway. I don't want to leave, and it's gonna kill me to be sitting there alone with her in some small town, wondering what you're doing. But I think it's the best thing I can do."
My voice gets thick. Permafrost looks away, blinking back tears. She adjusts her posture. Even now, she's still trying to be strong.
"Who'll lead, if you go?"
"We're talking about, like–a week, maybe two here. It's not like it'll last forever. And Permafrost, there's no one I trust to do this more than you."
"It's too much," she says softly. "You gave me the earring and now–what–you're giving me an army?"
"You're better at it than I am," I point out, grinning.
"You trust me too much, Shadowhunter."
I roll my eyes, shoving her. "Oh, come on Frost. We both know that's not true."
***
Before I leave, I go up to the hill, holding up my lantern to my mirror. Sunset stains the valley red, the wreckage of the battle still visible. It's a cold night, the wind making the sand skitter around my talons.
I couldn't leave Peacemaker without saying goodbye.
I have to leave, I flash out into the dark sky. I'm sorry. I don't know if I'll ever see you again.
The sky is dark for a long time. I get this close to writing him off and leaving before the faintest flash appears from the same guard tower as always.
You've barely just started, and you're just going to run? Abandon Scorpion Den to Sharp-eyes?
I roll my eyes. Of course that's the first conclusion he would jump to. It's the first conclusion I would jump to.
No. I'm just leaving—only me. Our leader is sick, someone needs to get her out of the battle scene. Someone had to do it, may as well be me.
He's quiet for a long time.
Oh, don't be so dramatic, I reply, rolling my eyes. He's so difficult, and maybe it bothers me so much because I know I'm the same. I'm not dying.
I know I don't know you, but you're someone's daughter, he says after a long pause. Someone out there is waiting on you to come back. Someone out there is waiting up for you, praying you'll be safe. You know that, don't you?
I'm quiet for a long time. I know it's true, and I wish it wasn't in some stupid, tiny part of me.
Yeah. I do.
Promise me that whoever that is, you'll make it home in one piece for them. There's no glory in dying young. There's no honour in burning yourself down to ash. Be selfish. Be cowardly. If you were my daughter, that's all I would want.
I don't even realize I've dropped the mirror to the ground, weeping. Ugly, pathetic sobs slip out of me with no one to bear witness to my grief. Is this what it means to get older? To look around at your life, and see the empty spaces where the dead and the gone should have been?
I can't carry more loss than this.
I'm sorry you lost your family, I say, my talons shaking as I flash out the words. I'm glad I'm alone. I don't want anyone else to see me like this.
I'm sorry you lost yours. Be safe out there, kid.