content warning: depictions of the dying process
One week before the siege on Scorpion Den is broken
Shadowhunter
The sky stretches out around us, endless and empty and blue. My wings ache from exertion, Jerboa resting on my back in addition to the weight of all the magical talismans and supplies I could carry. This is what I wanted, for so long–escape. I just didn't think it would look like this.
"How much further? Jerboa groans.
"How are you tired?" I tease her. "You slept, like, half the flight."
She doesn't respond, and I sigh heavily.
Permafrost used to handle the navigation; it's strange to be the one checking my compass to make sure we're not veering off course.
I keep hearing her voice in my head–when we stop, and I'm muttering under my breath while I'm setting up camp. Who are you talking to? she would tease me, nudging me sideways. I would tell her to shut up unless she wanted to help me.
I haven't ever had to miss her before. It's embarrassing, how much of my brain she takes up.
I stare at the blindingly bright sky ahead of us, the hot, dry heat seeming to drag me toward the ground. I still haven't gotten used to it, even after all this time.
I glance down at the compass strung around my neck, shifting directions ever so slightly.
I look at the empty desert all around me, listening to the quiet blue night.
***
There's a beat-up sign at the edge of town, declaring this little town Lacerta. One of the posts is collapsing, the ground beneath it uneven from when the earthquake ripped through it.
"This looks like how our city did, when Polar came through," I remark to Jerboa.
"Hmm?" she murmurs, slowly waking from her slumber.
"I said, look at this place–this is like what Polar did to us. I wonder if he came here too."
"Well, we didn't mess this place up, did we?" Jerboa points out. "So, it must have been him. Unless Sharp-eyes did it, I guess," she murmurs into my shoulder.
This is the part I hadn't fully realized about removing her from the rest of the Gifted: now she can no longer sap their powers, she's growing weaker, rapidly. I have a sack full of enchanted talismans from her followers that should keep her going for a while, but I'm scared to give them to her until she absolutely needs them. Not that I have any proof, but if Permafrost's theory is correct, then Jerboa's old enchantments have a limited window before they become obsolete as soon as they get near her.
I know I had to do it, but I still feel like a monster. She's a dragonet, and she's dying, because of you.
It would have happened anyway, a small voice in my head counters.
I try to shake it off; I can't change it regardless.
"Here, do you wanna walk now?" I ask her.
She shakily climbs off my back, determined to prove herself. She rubs her eyes, looking around the town in shock.
She takes in the scene with wide eyes. The stone buildings are crumbling, shrubs and scraggly trees uprooted and laying on their sides, their leaves dry and dead from months out in the sun. Vultures perch above the ruins, squawking among each other. As we walk by, our talonsteps turning up the rubble, the birds scatter. A little fox meets my eyes, then bolts across the street, out of sight.
"It feels haunted," Jerboa finally admits.
I put my wing over her, drawing her a little closer. "I know, kid. I know."
***
The damage gets worse at the core of the town–massive fault lines splitting buildings in two, the rubble so destroyed I can hardly make out what it used to be. But around the edges of the town, it almost looks normal.
We wander around in the baking hot sun until we find what I think used to be a residential neighbourhood. The buildings are still mostly intact–a roof caved in here, a few pillars cracked there, but I can tell what they used to be.
One of them catches my eye. The front porch has been propped up by a haphazard wooden beam, clearly moved here from elsewhere. The rubble around it has been tidied.
I take a step forward, my heart pounding. The last thing I want to deal with right now is company.
"Hello?" I say, trying to project confidence and authority. You should be scared of me.
Jerboa sighs, stepping forward and throwing open the door.
"Is anyone in here?!" she shouts.
No one responds.
She barges in, shrugging. "Whoever was fixing this place up must have left by now."
Reluctantly, I follow her.
The floors are swept clean, broken glass from the shattered windows nowhere to be found. Like a ghost has been keeping it tidy in its owners absence.
That, or they just haven't come home yet, I think but don't say aloud. Something about this place makes me uneasy.
Maybe it's just how much it looks like my old home. The dining room and living room aren't separated by a wall; different areas of the same space right by the door. A long hallway leads down to three bedrooms and an office that looks like it was hit by a hurricane, a level of messiness that must have proceeded the earthquake. If they moved the furniture around a little, this could be the place I grew up.
Mom's office used to look like this. I smile ever-so-slightly at the memory, brushing my claws over the desk. A nameplate on it reads Governor Summer.
"Shadowhunter?!" Jerboa shouts from the living room.
I groan a little. This is it, for the foreseeable future–until she dies, I guess. Me and her, alone in this town, waiting for the world to end.
"What?" I shout.
"I don't want to sleep in the bedrooms, they look haunted."
I rub my eyes, trudging down the hall. "So? Why do I care?"
"They have blankets and pillows in there. I don't wanna go in, can you get them for me?" Jerboa asks.
"Oh, what–so the vengeful ghosts will kill me first?" I remark. "Thanks for carrying me all the way here, Shadowhunter. Thanks for leaving your girlfriend and your battle and basically your whole life behind for me, Shadowhunter. I hope the ghosts kill you in your sleep!"
"So you do think there's ghosts?" Jerboa challenges, grinning and raising her eyebrows.
The lighting isn't exactly helping things–the sun stains the sky red, the warm glow seeping in through the half-drawn curtains.
"I didn't say that!" I retort.
"You implied it," she reminds me. "You're scared."
"No, I am not scared."
"Oh yeah? So then go and sleep in one of those bedrooms."
"No!" I squawk, perhaps a little too fervently. I feel like a dragonet, more than I ever want to again.
She raises her eyebrows, in that I'm so much better than you way she's mastered of late.
I roll my eyes, stomping down the hallway. "Fine."
I throw open the door to one of the bedrooms. There's a painting of a SandWing family on the wall, their eyes seeming to stare right into my soul. I try to look in the opposite direction as hard as I possibly can, throwing blankets and pillows over my shoulder.
I toss one of the pillows at Jerboa, hitting her in the face, affording the occasion no other words.
***
This house has a cellar, hidden behind a secret trapdoor in the hallway. It's already ben picked pretty clean, but there's still some dried fruit and preserves down here that seems good enough. I'm too tired to go out hunting. Jerboa and I eat dried figs in the living room, trading stories about who these dragons must have been.
"I bet they were wealthy–I mean, they have a cellar that at one point must have been full of food. It's not like they were going hungry," Jerboa speculates.
"I don't know, this house isn't that fancy."
"By Night Kingdom standards," Jerboa retorts. "For a SandWing small town, this is pretty fancy. Did you see any other places that looked like this?"
"Well, no, but half the buildings here are rubble," I point out.
"Well, they're far out from the city centre. that's a status symbol," Jerboa tells me, nodding.
"How do you know that? You've never lived in a town," I point out, squinting
"Just things I've heard," she says with a sigh. "I bet they were government. Or maybe the mafia, or maybe both. If someone's rich in a town this small, that's usually what it is."
"I think they were–I was poking around in the office, at some point a Governor Summer lived here," I say with a shrug.
"Huh," Jerboa says non-committally, snatching the last fig from our bowl.
I scoff, scandalized. "Hey! What if I wanted that?"
"Too late," she says, eating it in one bite.
"You're such a jerk."
"I know," she says, shrugging. "Dragons seem to hang around me anyway, it hasn't been a problem so far."
I sigh. "You get away with murder. You really do."
Jerboa sighs, wrapping her blanket around herself and leaning against the window frame.
"Careful–that glass is broken," I remind her.
"Yeah, no kidding, I can see."
"Sorry I don't want you to cut yourself," I mutter. "Look, you've just got to ask yourself if I'm the dragon you want dealing with your injuries, okay? Because I know how to put on a bandage. That's it. That's where my medical knowledge begins and ends."
"Yeah, yeah," Jerboa sighs. "I know.."
She stares up at the stars, the waning moons. I wonder if Permafrost is looking up, from the Gifted's camp. I wonder if she's thinking about me.
"Can I stay here?" I ask Jerboa, feeling stupid for even asking. The fire in the hearth is burning low, the shadows growing long, the world outside reduced to a void only lit dimly by moonlight.
She looks over at me, smiling a little. "So you admit you're scared of the ghosts."
"I did not say that," I retort, swatting her. "I just..."
She nudges me, grinning her stupid, smug little grin. She reminds me so much of myself for a moment.
"Fine. I'm scared. There, I said it," I mutter.
"I was gonna ask you to stay," Jerboa says, beaming as she wraps one of the blankets around herself. "We can have a sleepover like normal dragons do."
"I stay up all night with you making sure you don't die like, all the time," I point out.
She shakes her head. "Doesn't count. We can, like, tell spooky stories and eat snacks. Dragons really do that, right? They do that in the scrolls."
"I'll tell you a spooky story about a dragonet who wouldn't stop talking and let her friend go to sleep," I mutter.
Jerboa nudges me, beaming. "We're friends?"
I sigh. "Oh, three moons, I shouldn't have said that."
She throws her wings around me. "Oh my gosh, I've never had a friend before."
"Yes, you have. You call everyone in the Gifted your friend. You are like, the most ridiculously social dragon I have ever met."
She's just quiet, and I know what she means without her needing to say it. She's older, now. She knows what they loved her for: her power.
Oh, three moons, am I really the first real friend she's ever had?
"Did you ever have a best friend, when you were my age?" Jerboa asks, and I laugh, glad for any change of subject.
"Oh, yeah. Brightmind. They were pretty much all I had for a while," I admit to the dark.
"How did you meet?" Jerboa asks eagerly, like if she knows enough details about the story she can force her way into my past like she has my present.
"Oh," I say, laughing. "School. We both were always getting in trouble for... disrespecting the teachers, or whatever. So it wasn't long before our paths crossed. We were really mean to each other at first, actually. And then we realized we had more in common than not. I don't know, we kinda just hung out ever since. I was sort of in love with them for a bit, when I was really little. They were probably a little in love with me too. We never talked about it. It would have been a mess, if we had gotten together–I'm glad we didn't. I needed them more than I loved them. It's complicated." I rub my eyes.
I haven't spoken to my friend in almost a year now. If we saw each other now, I wonder if they'd still recognize me.
I wonder what they're doing, trapped in Sharp-eyes's kingdom. Are they still dating Dreamsinger? How's their family doing?
How can someone I used to know like the back of my talon become a stranger?
"What's it like? Having a best friend?" Jerboa asks wonderingly. "I thought that just existed in scrolls."
"Oh, three moons, kid. No. No, you would have been so popular back in school. I'm sure you would have had tons of friends. I'm, um–I'm sorry you didn't. It's... I don't know, it's nice. It's like... having someone to talk to, who has your back."
"And now I never will," she mutters, pulling her blanket tighter around herself.
I want to comfort her, want to tell her sweet lies that will make her feel better. But I respect her too much to do that.
"Yeah. Probably," I admit.
I thought I was the only one who spent this age burning up with bitterness and rage at the world for handing me the cards I'd been dealt. It's jarring to see someone else speaking in the same tone I remember using, thinking I was so alone. I want to explain that to her, but I don't think it'll change anything in the end.
"Can you be my best friend?" Jerboa asks, leaning into my shoulder.
I don't know why the words make me ache so badly.
"Of course I can," I say softly. "Just go to sleep, kid. You must be exhausted."
***
Jerboa doesn't wake until midafternoon. I don't want to wake her, but the eerie silence of this house is giving me the creeps.
The early morning light catches the dust in the air. I pace back and forth, desperately trying to keep busy, exploring every nook and cranny of this house.
The attack on Scorpion Den must really be picking up now.
I wonder how long it'll take them to break the siege. I would be happy with that–if we can't hold the city from Sharp-eyes, the least we could do is give dragons one last chance to escape.
What if Permafrost is hurt?
I know she has the earring, but I still can't help but worry. What if it slipped out in a battle, what if she lost it? What if the spell was somehow broken?
There's a back door at the end of the hallway, partially obscured by rubble. I clear it aside, moving the broken pieces of stone from one area to another.
After no small amount of pushing, I force the door open. The wood splinters into two, and I toss it aside, ignoring the twinge of remorse in my belly. These dragons aren't coming back; it's just stuff. It doesn't really matter.
There's a garden; the outline of one anyway. It's been ruined by the earthquake, but enough time has passed, I can see it's started to recover. The fruit tree has sent out an explosion of new shoots where its branches broke off, despite half its roots sticking out of the ground. The cacti are blooming.
Mom would have known how to fix this, I think, examining the tree on its side. My memories of my mother feel like fiction. It's been so long since I've seen her face.
A breeze blows through the small little plot of land, surrounded by crumbling brickwork, rustling the dry, dead leaves of the old tree out back.
"Are you proud of me, Mom?" I whisper to no one.
"I'm sorry for everything," I add, feeling stupid, because it doesn't matter. She can't hear me. But in my head, she's here, and she's holding me in her wings. She's sheltering me from the world; she tells me what to do and I never listen. I'm still young enough for that, aren't I? I have a few years left before my welcome wears thin.
"I'm sorry I wasn't much of a daughter. Or a big sister. I'm trying, so hard—to win this war, to be a better dragon. To be an adult. And it's hard. I don't know what I'm doing. And this kid looks up to me and I don't know how to help her, but I want to, so bad. And now, I'm standing in a garden... talking to no one, feeling crazy but I'm not crazy I'm just–"
I let out a breath.
"I'm just really confused, Mom. I miss you. I miss Dad. I think I'm more like you than I thought."
I laugh a little, wiping a tear off my cheek.
"We're both so angry, all the time. We both try to look after dragons and just drive them further away. We both worry ourselves sick. I think it's why I hated you so much growing up. I just looked at you and saw all the things about myself I couldn't stand. I'm sorry for that, too. You didn't deserve it. I promise."
And then I realize, slowly, I have nothing left to say that has not already been spoken.
I let out a breath.
***
I go out hunting, and roast the small fox I caught over the fire. When Jerboa wakes up, I share it with her, encouraging her to eat.
Insects chirp all through the day, calling out to one another. The vultures return, squawking at each other as they hop around the dust. The air shimmers with heat. I wonder how that's possible—Permafrost would know.
I look back at Jerboa.
She's fading. She looks so tired and subdued, all of the bitter rebellion gone from her eyes.
"Just a little more–you need to keep your strength up, okay?"
She finishes what I gave her, then tosses the bones out the window into the yard. "There? Happy?"
She pulls her blankets around herself, shivering.
"Shadowhunter?" Jerboa croaks weakly. "What was your life like, before you met me?"
I blink. In all the hours I've spent with her, she's never asked me much about myself.
I take her talon in mine. "Do you really wanna know?"
"You're my best friend. I should know things about you," Jerboa says.
I bury my face in my talons, sighing heavily. "Where do you want me to start?"
"Why did you leave the Night Kingdom?"
I grab one of her pillows, holding it to my chest.
"That's a long story."
"Well, I've got nothing better to do," she mumbles.
I remember who I was back then in flashes, violent and bright as they rush over me. I see the faces of the dragons I hurt; I see the faces of those who hurt me even worse.
"No," I snap. I sound just like my father. "I'm too tired to explain this right now. Whatever. I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."
"But–"
"I will tell you. Just... can we wait for another time?"
***
I don't want to think about my family anymore. I want to exorcise them from my mind; if only to ease my guilty conscience.
I stare out at the sky, tapping my tail furiously. I haven't slept well for weeks now, too scared to let go for fear of Jerboa being dead when I wake.
I look over at her body, just a little too still. I watch her intently for a moment, waiting to see her belly rise and fall.
The sun has started to rise, soft shades of pink and orange dancing across the room.
Oh, three moons--I'm sitting in the middle of nowhere, in a stranger's house, while my girlfriend fights a war. While my parents are almost certainly dead, and my siblings probably think I met the same fate.
I'm sitting here, watching the dragonet who kidnapped me die.
I'm getting older, and it's happening too fast. I can see it in my reflection. My horns have grown taller, my eyes a little sharper, my muscles stronger.
It all seems so much clearer through my mental haze, even if only just for a moment.
I look back at Jerboa again, nestled up comfortably in the blankets. From a distance, everything is normal and fine.
Please. Just one more day.
For some reason, I hear the plea in my grandmother's voice. My sister's, my father's, my mother's, maybe even my brother's.
I did this to her. I took her away from the Gifted, knowing it would kill her, so we could win our battle. I'm going to kill her to take down Sharp-eyes.
She told me she loved me, she trusted me like a wounded animal. And I'm going to kill her.
***
I take Jerboa for a walk through the rubble toward the oasis, and I can see how bad she's shaking, every step taking all of her effort to complete.
"Do you want me to carry you?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "I'm fine. It's just a little further."
This heat is making me dizzy, pressing in against me on all sides. When we finally reach the oasis, I almost collapse.
The waters of the oasis lap against our scales as we stand at the edge of the small pool. The palm trees have been uprooted from the earthquake, but beyond that, the oasis is still fairly usable–more than the rest of the city is, anyway. I imagine how it must have looked back when dragons still lived here–buzzing with traffic as dragons came and went, filling up buckets with water, talking among each other.
"Oh, three moons, this weather is disgusting," I mutter. "It's so hot." It feels like the sun is personally trying to enact its vengeance upon me.
Jerboa wades into the pool a little, and I follow her, the cool water brushing against my belly. I yelp a little, not expecting the chill, and Jerboa laughs.
"You were complaining about the heat, weren't you?"
"I'm just surprised," I mutter, splashing her with my tail.
She shrieks. "Hey!" She uses her wings to send a wave in my direction, splashing in my face. For a moment, I just stand there, gasping.
"You little sh–"
"Your face right now!" Jerboa giggles. Her eyes sparkle with life for the first time in weeks. She wades out a little deeper, diving in the water, then coming up to surface.
"You have no idea how to swim, do you?"
"I grew up in the desert–why would I know how to swim?" she asks, incredulous.
"Well, my dad taught me when I was little. We'd go to the lake, or the ocean, and practise for hours. It was my favourite thing, growing up. Do you want me to teach you?"
She nods, and I show her how to paddle through the water with her wings, and within an hour or two she's gotten the hang of it, diving through the water all around me, giggling and smiling and acting her age, for once.
"I love you, Shadowhunter," she says, smiling over at me.
For a moment, I'm stunned silent. The words hit me like a slap in the face.
I force myself to smile, patting her on the back. "Love you too, kiddo."
When she starts to tire, we stumble out of the water, and I notice her shaking again, her eyes dull and distant.
"Hey, you all right?" I ask, shaking the water off of her scales. Before she can answer, she collapses into the ground. I lunge to catch her. "Jerboa, are you okay? Jerboa?"
She doesn't answer. I can't tell if she's sleeping, or just passed out in my wings. I can feel her heartbeat racing, her breathing quick.
This is the start of the end, isn't it?
***
I lay Jerboa down in her blankets, watching her breathe, knowing there's nothing I can do.
So this is how it feels watching someone destroy themselves.
I pace back and forth. I make dinner, and feel stupid, watching her plate get cold before finally I just finish it myself. I dig through the office, looking for something to read in a desperate attempt to distract myself. I read through the letters they have lying around, from the governor of this or that province, about some missing daughter, about running to Scorpion Den. If he can't tell me how to win this war, how to dig my claws into Sharp-eyes's scales and make him bleed like he has made me hurt then I don't care about any of it.
I think about what I'd do if I got my magic back. I would destroy Sharp-eyes's empire from the ground up. I'd make him feel the pain of all of the dragons he's killed. I would make him beg for mercy and never grant it.
I stare over at Jerboa–lying there, unmoving. I tell myself she's sleeping, that she'll wake up soon. I never wanted responsibility for anyone's fate but my own.
What if I never make it out of here?
No. I have to make it out of here, so I can kill the dragon who made her this way.
Sharp-eyes deserves it. Vigilance deserved it too. I don't regret killing her, not even a bit. If I didn't do it, no one else would have ever had the courage. Someone has to get their talons bloody and it may as well be me.
I'm never going to change, I think. I'm going to be this way forever.
I hope Dad is gone. I hope I never get my magic back, some small part of me whispers. I don't believe it, but I wish I did.
Jerboa stirs, rolling over. I rush to her.
"Hey–are you all right?"
She blinks tired brown eyes at me, rolling over and grunting something indistinguishable.
"Fine," she finally manages to get out. "Tired. That's all."
She's fading.
It's wrong–that I feel like a dragonet, that I don't want her to go. But I need someone, anyone. For all my bravado, I wasn't meant to go it alone.
"Is there anything I can get you?"
She shakes her head numbly. "Where am I? What were we doing? We were... we were at the ocean, weren't we?"
I wince. "Don't worry about it. It's not important."
She nods, pulling the blankets around herself, shivering despite the furious heat.
"Tell me a story. I'm bored, and I'm dying, so you have to, otherwise you're a monster. Tell me about your old life," Jerboa wheedles.
"Why do you want to know?"
"Cause we're friends," she reminds me. "Come on, Hunter. Please?"
I rub my eyes. "You're such a jerk."
"I know," she murmurs, closing her eyes.
I lean against the wall, listening to humming of insects, the whistling of wind through the broken buildings. This place is so strange; I don't know how to mark the passing of time. I think back home, if things were normal, the leaves would just be starting to turn gold.
"I set the city on fire, once. Literally. I let the whole place burn, and the dragons I wanted to hurt didn't even care. They were fine. It was everyone else who suffered. I don't know, I mean–someone needed to do something, to say that what was going on wasn't all right. These things are hard. I don't think there was really ever a right answer. I wasn't thinking. That's why I can't cast spells anymore–you know that, don't you? Because I messed up so bad that my dad took my power away. I didn't even feel guilty. Honestly, I still don't."
I look out at the dark sky, the cool breeze on my face. It sounds so bad, fessing up to it now, but really, who is she to judge?
"Why did you set it on fire, though?" Jerboa presses, and I resist the urge to strangle her.
"Because–my dad was gone, and my mom and I.... didn't always get along great, and because my kingdom was falling apart, and I was so angry. And..." I hesitate, fidgeting with my claws. "I think I just needed to get it out, so it wouldn't destroy me. I thought if I got it out, it would... go away, but it just fed the fire if anything."
Jerboa fidgets with her blanket. "But... your family helped, right? You all loved each other, and it was perfect?"
I clear my throat. The last thing I want to do is talk about my family tonight.
"You know I killed the queen, right? I got pretty close to taking me down with her. It all seemed so romantic, back then–suffering for a cause." The words Peacemaker said to me echo through my mind. I think I'll be hearing them play through my brain from now until forever. "It's not. It's really, really not, Jerboa. But I killed her, 'cause someone had to, and then I was covered in her blood with my whole family watching, and I realized what I'd done, and gave the crown to my parents, because I couldn't even deal with the consequences of my actions. And I couldn't leave the castle because I killed the damn queen and everything was weird with my family, and then there was this prophecy, about some random NightWing princess who had something to do with the end of everything, apparently, and it seemed like as good an excuse as any to skip town. There was nothing left for me there."
I listen to the creaks and groans of this old, crumbling house, wondering if one day it'll just cave in.
"I wanna be like you someday, Shadowhunter," Jerboa says. "I wanna just leave, just like that, and see the world. You're so fearless."
I feel a little nauseous.
"Three moons, Jerboa–I just told you I set my city on fire and killed the queen and ruined my life just to build it back up again, and you think that's something you want to emulate?"
I'm a monster.
I'm not someone you should look up to.
I trail off. "Nevermind. It's late, Jerboa. I know you're tired. A lot of these stories I wish I never lived through. You've got enough to carry, okay?"
She says nothing, crossing her talons over her chest. Her eyes hang heavy, her wings slumping to the floor. She's so much older than she was when I met her.
I rest my talon on her back. I try not to think about what happens next, because if I do, I'm going to be sick. I'm going to run away while she's sleeping, just so I don't have to see the end. I'm my father's daughter–I haven't changed at all, in the end.
And it does have to end. Everything I love is going to die–it's just a matter of when.
Jerboa. Mom and Dad. Eclipse and Way.
Permafrost.
I just don't want to be the one who's left behind. Not again.
***
I can't sleep, so I stay up pacing. I wonder what happened to these dragons who used to call this place their home.
I wonder if they wanted to leave, or if they had to be dragged away from this town kicking and screaming. I wonder if they're still alive; if they knew when it was the last time they'd see their home.
I wonder if they love each other. What does it even matter, in the end?
I lean against the door of one of the bedrooms, staring up at the ceiling, still not tired after all this time.
I wish I still had Jerboa's enchanted bowl; it was reassuring to be able to check in on my family, even from afar. I wonder where Way and Eclipse have ended up now. I wonder how they're doing, fending for themselves out there. At least Way has Fathom and Indigo to lean on.
I remember that conversation with my little sister, almost a year ago now, right after Mom and Dad took the throne.
I told her, Look, I know I haven't been the best big sister. Or... much of a big sister at all, actually. But... whatever happens, I'll do my best to keep you and Way safe, if Mom and Dad can't for some reason. It's the least I can do.
I remember how she curled up close to me, how she believed me–heart and soul.
I bury my face in my talons.
I thought this was what I wanted until I had to stare it down.
I think of my vision, where my magic burned the world to nothing, where I killed the dragons I loved most entirely by accident. I think about my promise to Permafrost about staying in control of my power, and how I'm not sure I'll be able to keep it. How there's something wrong with me, that's never going to go away.
Oh, three moons, what if I'm alone?
***
"Boa, come on," I say, nudging her. "We can go down to the oasis again. It'll be nice. Just get up, I promise, I'll carry you the whole way there."
Just please, pretend you're okay for me.
You can't just leave me with this mess.
Jerboa rolls over her, eyes barely opening. I glance over at the satchel full of magical talismans. I still haven't put them on her yet. I'm scared that once I do, there's only so long they'll be effective–not that I have any idea how this works.
"Come on, at least eat something."
She grimaces.
"Just leave me alone. I'm tired," she says, her voice foggy with sleep.
But I need to take care of you! I need someone to talk to!
Even if it's you, you idiot.
"I'll tell you a story," I say, taking her talon in mine.
She looks over, her eyes meeting mine.
"Tell me about your family," she asks. "I still don't understand why you left."
"I told you. I wanted to run from my responsibilities, Jerboa–or maybe I just wanted to be someone else." I rub my eyes. "I don't know, it's complicated."
"You're still not answering me," the dragonet pouts.
I groan. I'm exhausted, and she's dying, and the day's hardly just begun.
"Fine. I had–I have–a brother, and a sister. Way and Eclipse." I groan, staring up at the ceiling. "This is stupid, Boa, it doesn't matter."
Jerboa grabs my talon firmly. "No. I want to know about your life. You are going to tell me this, Shadowhunter of the NightWings."
I meet her eyes, sighing heavily.
After a long pause, I continue, "They hatched together, two years younger than me. I never wanted to be a big sister, I never wanted to have to share my parents with anyone else. I was so mad at them about it." I laugh a little. "Siblings are horrible, Jerboa, you're lucky you don't have them. Anyway–so... they grew up a little, and Dad got sent off to fight in the war. No choice about it–he was just gone, just like that. And that was when everything kind of went downhill. Eclipse just retreated. I don't know, she made herself small so Way and I could make ourselves big, because there wasn't room for all three of us to fall apart, or that was how it felt back then."
I can still remember those days, the memory imprinted on me like an instinct, or maybe just a grudge. I remember how small and soft my sister always seemed, how my brother and I would fight our stupid wars screaming across the house. How hard Mom tried, to mask her exhaustion, to hold us together despite our fault lines. Over those two years, the cracks between us grew bigger and bigger until it hardly felt like we were related anymore.
"My brother, he took the queen's side. He was friends with all the nobility, he went to their stupid parties, he fell for all their propaganda. We fought a lot. We still don't get along great, to be honest."
"But he changed, right?" Jerboa asks.
"He... came around. Eventually. He had to hurt a lot of dragons to get there, though."
I wince.
"He used to hurt my sister. Or, tell her to do things that would hurt herself, sometimes–and she'd just do it. Just to not cause a fight, or–I don't know. I don't understand her. Sometimes it feels like we can't possibly be related," I admit.
"But you fixed it, right? Like you fix everything?" Jerboa asks, her eyes eager. What little energy she has left, she's using it to hope that I'm a better dragon than I ever will be.
I hesitate.
"I...." I'm quiet for a long time.
"I couldn't have saved them if I tried, but I wish I had anyway. I owed them that much." My eyes sting, and I grit my teeth. I don't want to cry in front of her. "Honestly, I was too busy drowning in my own life to care that my sister was shrinking into herself, and my brother was turning into a monster. No, I did care, I just didn't want to. And I keep thinking, I should have taken Eclipse with me. I shouldn't have let myself get separated from Way, even if I hate him. Three moons, my parents, they adopted this kid right around when I left, Nebula. The queen's grandson, my sister's friend. I don't even know if he's still alive." I laugh up at the ceiling. "I told my sister, right before I left, that if anything happened to Mom and Dad, I'd keep her safe. I promised her and she believed me because that's the kind of dragon she is, and now she's in the Ice Kingdom, and I'm nowhere to be found. If I ever owed my family anything, I've failed to pay it back so bad it's not funny."
Jerboa is silent for a long time.
"I wanted to save you," I admit, unable to hide my tears. "I wanted to make you better. I know that's stupid, I know I didn't stand a chance, but it was what I wanted and I'm sorry that I can't give you that."
"This isn't a bad way to die," Jerboa says softly. "I won't feel anything when it happens."
And I'm crying. "No, stupid. You don't get to give up that easily after all the messed up stuff you've done. I'm not letting you out of jail, just like that. You don't get to never grow just because of some stupid spell."
"I'm just gonna go under for a while," she murmurs. "Like last time. And you'll find a way to fix it, I know you will. You're gonna win this war, Shadowhunter. You have to promise me that you won't stay here, waiting for me to die. You know I can't be near that battle, and you know that it's where you need to be."
"Three moons, Jerboa, you don't know what you're talking about," I say though tears. "I'm not a good dragon. I'm not who you think I am. I'm a dragonet, and I'm lost, and I'm scared, and confused. And I have hurt so many dragons in the pursuit of..." In hindsight, I don't even know what I was chasing after.
"I'm really bad sister, and daughter, and probably friend too," I admit quietly. It's something I used to pride myself in. But now it doesn't feel like a joke–now I'm all my family has left, and I've got to figure out this war on my own. "I'm not good at getting close to anyone."
And now I'm crying, and that shouldn't be her problem.
I bury my face in her chest.
"Oh, three moons, I'm sorry. I'm sorry your mother failed you. I'm sorry you've never been to a normal school, and had normal friends. I'm sorry you've been an adult since way too young. I'm sorry you have this power. It's wrong, it's all wrong, Jerboa, and I'm not anyone to tell you how to fix it. But you don't get to just die without changing. I'm gonna take Sharp-eyes down for you, you understand? I'm gonna kill him, for you, and for my sister, for my mom and my dad and my brother. I'm gonna kill him because I care, and I wish I didn't."
I look up at her, and I realize that she's crying too, trembling as sobs wrack through her.
"And three moons, at least I owe it to you to be better. I know you need me. I know, kid. I can't just run off on you."
"I don't want you to stay here with me after I fall asleep," she says, using what little effort she can muster to take my talon in hers. "You have to promise."
"Even if I'm a monster?" I can't see her through my tears. I hate her, for making me care so much. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her.
"It's okay," she says softly. "I'm a monster too."
***
I stay beside Jerboa for hours, watching her drift off into sleep. I hold on tight to her talon, and she holds onto mine. I soothe her as best I can, sing her stupid songs I haven't heard since I was little. I'm sure that this time, she'll be out for good, like she was before Polar snapped her out of it. I remind myself how long that lasted.
I try not to show my fear, because if I'm scared then she'll be scared, and I don't want her to be scared.
"I'll come back for you," I say. "I promise."
"Just win this stupid war, and go find your siblings, okay?" she murmurs.
Her eyes slip shut. After a moment, I'm sure she's asleep.
I sit beside her for a long time, scared to move.
Then I get up, and put all the magical talismans on her that I can fit on her body. The metal hangs heavy around her neck, her wrists. I watch the soft, shaky death rattle of her breaths.
I can't leave her in the living room–where any stranger would see her if they stumbled into the house, and she'd be defenceless.
I need to put her somewhere no one will find her, until someone can come back for her.
I carry her as gently as I can into the cellar; a cool, dark room lined with shelves that's almost completely empty now. I drag down pillows and blankets and lay her down among them, like she's going to wake up any moment now.
She will wake up. I'll find a way to save her. I have to. The bracelets will keep her alive for a while. I can fix this. I have to fix this.
She looks so peaceful in the dim, flickering torchlight.
This is what she wanted.
But when I look at her, all I see is another dragon who needed me desperately, who I left to rot.
I hear her voice in my head. You're gonna win this war, Shadowhunter. You have to promise me that you won't stay here, waiting for me to die.
But what if I can't do that either?
No. You're not gonna break down, you're not gonna think about everything you've lost, I remind myself. Be strong. You have to be strong for her. I hear the thought in my grandmother's voice.
I look up toward the stairway, illuminated by the daylight from above.
"I'll see you later, kid," I whisper, my voice hoarse from crying. "I promise, I won't be long."
***
I stand at the edge of town, bracing myself for what's to come. I hold my bag over my shoulder, the silence all around me feeling almost suffocating. I stand alone as the sun crawls toward the edge of the horizon, the sunrise visible only at the edge of the horizon.
It feels strange, to be getting ready to fly without anyone else there with me. I haven't truly been alone in so long. My family is gone; Jerboa is gone; Permafrost is gone. It's only me now.
My eyes catch on a sign up ahead. The lettering is only visible to dragons leaving, or it would have been, before weather and years of neglect eroded the original message.
I don't care about what used to be there. At the base of the post, a message carved into the wood reads: See you in Scorpion Den, Lightning Flash.
I blink, walking toward it. I'm sure I must be dreaming. I run my talons along the carving, expecting to disappear with touch, but it's there. Clear as day.
There's only two dragons in the world who know that nickname. It brings back memories I thought I'd forgotten long ago–when I was a little dragonet playing with toys, imagining myself a superhero. When Mom and Dad were my whole world.
The letters are crudely carved into the wood. I imagine my mom, hacking the message into the wood with her knife in the vain hope that I might see it. It hasn't yet been worn down by the weather; it can't have been done more than a month ago.
I don't want to speak it, don't even want to think it for fear of false hope. But there's no one else who knows that nickname.
If they were here, they made it out of the Night Kingdom.
My parents are alive.