Moon Rising (22 page)

“Can I see it?” Ostrich whispered.

Onyx turned the amulet between her claws for a moment, then lifted it off her neck. “Just for a moment,” she said. “I think it came from the comet — you remember the one in the sky when the war ended? The false brightest night? It was up there when the rock fell. So I call it skyfire.”

She dropped the amulet into Ostrich’s talons.

And suddenly, out of the blue, there was a new voice in Moon’s head.

That’s right, admire me, fear me, wonder about me. You all have no idea who I am or what I’ll be one day. One day soon. No more hiding, Mother. I make the decisions now.

At the same moment, Ostrich’s thoughts vanished; the only thing Moon could hear from the little SandWing was that quiet, shimmering hum.

Moon stared at Onyx, then at the amulet, which lay open in Ostrich’s talons. The black rock glittered at her like the dark heart of a faraway star.

That was it.

That was why she couldn’t read Onyx.

It was the skyfire.

Moon had no time to react before Darkstalker was there in her mind, louder and fiercer than he’d ever been before.

Do not tell anyone about this. You understand? A stone from the sky that can block a mind reader’s powers? If other dragons find out, we’ll be ruined. Everyone will get one, and then we’ll be deaf, Moon, do you understand? If this gets out, it’ll be like ripping our claws off. Promise me you won’t tell anyone.

We wouldn’t be deaf,
she thought back.
We’d be no worse off than all the normal dragons out there.

If you could give up this gift so easily, then you shouldn’t be allowed to have it.

Moon was flustered by his intensity.
Shush for a minute, will you? This is my one chance to hear what Onyx is thinking.

Darkstalker subsided, muttering. Ostrich was still holding the amulet, all her thoughts fuzzed out as she gently poked the rock inside. If they wanted to find out whether Onyx had set the bomb, they had to make her think about it right now.

Of course, Qibli had no way of knowing that. He was busy contemplating Onyx’s dragonethood with her mother and trying to figure out why she was here. He didn’t even look up when Moon subtly tried to catch his attention. She’d have to do this herself.

“Um,” Moon blurted. “What do — who do — have you, uh —”

The SandWings all swiveled their heads to stare at her.

What is she trying to say?

Weird crazy NightWing.

I heard that she can barely form sentences; guess that’s true.

She tried not to listen; she tried not to think about running away. And then the right question came to her.

“How’s Tamarin?” she managed at last. “Have — have — have you been to see her?”

“Oh, my poor little clawmate,” Onyx said with a sigh. At the same time, her mind went:
I don’t see why I have to care about dragons from other tribes, but it seems to be expected, for some reason. At least Tamarin was a quiet, agreeable dragon to share a cave with; she didn’t snore like Mother or tell weepy stories and expect me to care — like Mother. Uch, I hope they don’t give me another clawmate. Perhaps if I act totally shattered, they’ll let me keep the cave all to myself.
“It’s absolutely devastating,” she said. “I’m just devastated.”

She reached to take the amulet from Ostrich.
But I haven’t heard anything useful yet!
Moon thought.

“Um,” she said quickly. “Can I see it?”

Onyx looked as if she wanted to say no, but Ostrich was already passing the amulet into Moon’s talons.

“D-do you, um …”

Moon froze in shock.

The world had gone silent. Not the outside world; her inner world. The constantly seething, twittering background noise of all the minds around her had abruptly vanished. It felt as though she’d just been plunged into the deepest trench in the sea.

Darkstalker?
she called, staring down at the skyfire between her claws.

There was no answer. He was gone. Everyone was gone.

It was
worse
than going underwater; it was like being yanked from a three-dimensional world into a two-dimensional one. The dragons around her might as well have been pictures in a scroll, flat and empty and unknowable.

Terrified, Moon thrust the amulet into Qibli’s talons and jumped back.

“Hey, careful with that,” Onyx snapped.

Everyone’s minds came rushing back at once, and Moon, who had always thought she wanted more silence, found herself unbelievably glad to hear them — even the ones who were thinking she was extremely peculiar.

MOON!
Darkstalker was yelling.
MOON!

I’m here,
she said.

Three moons, you scared me,
he said.
You vanished so completely. I thought you were dead.

“What am I —” Qibli began, bewildered.

“It’s really cool, look at it,” Moon said. She wanted to close her eyes and settle into the noise around her; she needed a moment to calm down. But Onyx was full of irritable thoughts about her amulet and not thinking about the bomb at all. In a minute she would demand it back. Moon didn’t have time to recover — she needed to get an answer right now.

“Onyx, do you think they’ll catch the dragon who set the fire?” she asked her. Too direct, but the only thing she could do.

Does she suspect
me
?
Onyx thought.
How odd.
“Of course,” the SandWing said aloud. “They’re the great ‘dragonets of destiny’ after all.”
By all the serpents, I hope they do catch whoever did it so we can stop blithering about it
.
This a tiresome distraction from my plans. Perhaps I should go back to the desert and try another approach. Or …
She tipped her head and gave Qibli a speculative look.
They say this one is practically Thorn’s third wing. If I —

Her train of thought abruptly cut off as Onyx snatched the amulet out of Qibli’s claws. “That’s enough ogling,” she said.

Moon wished she could hear what Onyx’s mysterious plans were, and how they involved Qibli, but at least she knew one thing: Onyx was not the one who set the fire.

So who did?

She sat thoughtfully, staring at her talons, as Qibli chatted with the other SandWings and occasionally shot more probing questions at Onyx.

Pike, Icicle, Flame, Onyx … if it wasn’t one of them, who could it be?

Had she misinterpreted one of the minds she’d read? Was it really one of them after all? Or who else could she be forgetting?

Are you sure you can’t help me?
she asked Darkstalker.

Seems like the same question I’ve been asking you,
he said quietly.

She hooked her claws into a crevice in the rock and started digging out some embedded moss.
Does that mean you’ll tell me who did it if I agree to free you?

No,
he said.
Because then you’ll resent me and then you’ll start thinking I’m manipulating you and then you won’t trust me and then you’ll decide you’ll never free me.
He sighed.
You don’t realize how badly I need you, Moon. It’s harder than you can imagine, figuring out what I should say to you and trying to help without getting you killed.

Moon felt guilty. She’d been focusing on the fire and her friends and all the problems that came with being a secret mind reader. And meanwhile the only dragon who accepted her completely this way was trapped in a stone prison, desperately clinging to the one hope he had: that she would take pity on him and find a way to set him free.

Tell me more about your talisman,
she suggested.

A pause.
Really?
he asked.

Well. If I
do
decide to search for it, I need to know what it looks like, don’t I?

He hesitated again.

Finally:
Can I trust you, Moon?

She found a tiny green caterpillar inching through the crack in the boulder. Carefully she let it crawl onto her claw and then lifted it safely to the ground, away from the dragons.
You tell me,
she said to him.
You can see every single one of my thoughts. You must know more about me than any other dragon in the world. So … do you trust me?

After another moment, Darkstalker suddenly barked a laugh that echoed in her skull.
I guess I don’t have any choice, do I?

You could wait for the next NightWing mind reader,
she pointed out.
Now that they’re living in the rainforest, having eggs under the moons again, there will probably be more, right?

On the one talon, it was reassuring to think there would be others — she didn’t have to bear
all
the responsibility of being Darkstalker’s
only
hope forever. On the other talon, thinking about another mind reader making friends with Darkstalker and being the one to rescue him … it gave her a strange protective feeling that she couldn’t even explain.

But on the third talon, maybe somebody else would have a better chance of figuring out how to rescue him. And then she wouldn’t be blamed if it all went horribly wrong.

But then on the fourth talon, she liked the idea of being somebody’s hero, doing something brave and dangerous and changing the world.

All right, all right,
Darkstalker said.
I can’t listen to you think in circles about it anymore. But Moon, this is the most important thing: You must never forget that my talisman is the most dangerous animus-touched object in all of Pyrrhia. If it fell into the wrong claws, it would be a disaster like you can’t imagine. You need to promise me: If it looks even for a moment like someone else might take it — someone like Flame, for instance — you’ll have to destroy it.

Destroy it?
Moon thought back.
But then you’d be trapped forever.

Yes, probably. I can’t bear to think about it. But even that would be better than the alternative: a weapon of that kind of power in dangerous talons. I’m very serious, do you understand?

I do,
Moon thought.
I promise.

All right,
he said slowly.
It’s a scroll.

A picture came into her head of a scroll wrapped in a black leather casing. The casing opened and the scroll unrolled. A pen appeared, writing words that blazed for a moment like fire before sinking into the page and turning into dark purple ink.

As with all animus-touched objects, it can be used by any dragon who comes across it,
Darkstalker said.
You simply write your command — for instance, “Give this necklace the power to make me invisible when I wear it.” Or “Enchant this mirror to spy on whichever dragons I choose.” You must be as specific as possible, or the magic is liable to go awry and reinterpret your request in some odd way.

Are you sure it still exists?
Moon asked, studying the scroll in her mind. It looked like it was made of thicker paper than most scrolls, but still, scrolls could burn so easily.
If it’s out there somewhere, why hasn’t anyone figured out its power and used it in the last two thousand years? Or what if the NightWings took it with them when they ran away and it was destroyed in the volcano?

I don’t know,
Darkstalker said in a half-choked voice.
If no one knew what it was — and I carefully kept its power a secret from everyone but Clearsight — then I don’t think anyone would guess how to use it. It’s true, though, that I don’t know if it has survived all this time. But I have to believe that it has, or else all hope for me is lost.

Moon sighed, and Qibli looked across at her curiously.

Even if I do find it,
she thought,
how could I possibly get it to you? Neither of us know where you are. Maybe we should figure that out first. Maybe it would be easier to dig you out than to find one lost scroll in all of Pyrrhia — and then what, stuff it through ten layers of rock?

I suspect it’s not a matter of a little digging,
Darkstalker said.
But there is a small hole near me, which must reach through all the way to the open air, because every once in a while I can smell a breeze, and sometimes, even more rarely, a mouse or insect blunders into it and I get to eat.

Moon hadn’t even thought of that.
You’re surviving on just the occasional clumsy mouse? How can you live without eating?

My own foolish enchantment was designed to keep me alive through anything,
he said ruefully.
Not starvation, nor cold, nor old age, nor stabbing or fire or frostbreath can kill me. I can still feel hungry, though. Extremely, enormously hungry. Turns out it is quite the curse I’ve put on myself.
He made a semiamused noise, as if trying to brush aside any self-pity.

And … there’s no way to undo it?
Moon asked.
I mean, whatever you enchanted to make you immortal — it’s not, like, a necklace you can take off?

You mean if I decide I want to die?
Darkstalker thought for a moment.
No. It’s not a necklace. I don’t think I could undo this enchantment, not unless I had my talisman back. In any case, I have not quite reached that level of despair yet. I still — I would like to see the sun, at least once more, for instance.

Moon looked up at the sun, shining brightly over the mountain landscape, and thought how easily she took it for granted. Over the mountains to the north she could see heavy gray storm clouds gathering, but on Jade Mountain it was still a beautiful day. Sort of an unfairly beautiful day, if you thought about Carnelian and Bigtail and Tamarin.