“The tribe prefers not to be surprised,” Glory said, indicating the sea of black dragons below them. “But as you can see, despite your prediction, no one has run away. They chose to be brave, to stand together and face you.”
That wasn’t entirely accurate; Turtle had seen a few dragons bolt into the forest as Darkstalker flew down. But he didn’t blame them, considering Darkstalker had been the tribe’s worst nightmare for the last two thousand years. He was amazed so many of them were able to hold their ground. He wondered what Queen Glory had said to them to give them that strength.
Darkstalker smiled his dazzling smile. “There’s no need to be brave,” he said. “I’m no monster. The history you’ve been fed is all a pack of lies.” He opened his talons palm up toward the tribe, as if revealing all his secrets to them. “They told you I was evil, that I was about to do terrible things, and that I was locked away to protect you. None of that is true, my fellow NightWings.
“I had a majestic future planned for our tribe. Power and security and wealth and peace for every dragon. No running, no hiding, no lying or starving or living in fear. But there were dragons who didn’t trust my vision for us. They feared what our tribe could become.”
He swept one wing open in an arc as though he were flinging diamond dust over the entire crowd. Turtle wondered how much Darkstalker had rehearsed this speech, alone in the dark, deep under layers of rock.
“I was betrayed on the brink of changing everything.” Darkstalker took a breath, as if he could feel daggers stabbing into his back. “Dragons I thought I could trust trapped me underground, where I’ve been asleep against my will for the last two thousand years. Meanwhile, our tribe fell apart — lost its power, its home, its position in Pyrrhia. And history scrolls were written about me by deceitful dragons who feared my powers.
“Am I evil? No. Murderous? Not even remotely. Dangerous? Not to my own tribe, or to my friends.”
His eyes went to Moon, and a few other NightWings turned to look at her as well.
“Here’s the real truth. I love our tribe.” Darkstalker looked alive in a way Turtle hadn’t seen yet. He looked … happy. “The NightWings were once the most powerful, most respected and creative tribe in Pyrrhia. And I can show you the way to become that tribe again.”
He paused, perhaps expecting applause, but the only sound was the wind in the trees and a jaguar roar in the distance.
“These dragons have been working hard to build their new home,” Glory said, her calm voice carrying across the clearing. “They have security and peace here. They are smart, fierce, determined, and full of surprising ideas. They don’t need any help to become a great tribe — they already are one.”
Now there was a reaction — a rustling as several NightWings stood up straighter, tipped their wings back, lifted their chins.
“I’m sure they are,” said Darkstalker. “But I know what they could be. I can see the shining future ahead, if everyone follows me.”
“Follows you?” Deathbringer jumped in. Glory gave him a quelling look, but he barreled on. “Follows you where?”
“Back to our old kingdom, of course,” said Darkstalker. He gazed down at Glory, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“Queen Glory,” he said, and there was a lilt to his voice that hinted at how amusing he found that phrase. “I’m here to challenge you for the throne of the NightWing tribe.”
Turtle wasn’t sure why he was so shocked — after all, wanting to become king of the NightWings certainly fit in with everything else Darkstalker had done so far. But it still hadn’t occurred to him. No tribe had ever had a king in the history of Pyrrhia, as far as Turtle knew. He never could have imagined this scene, or how Queen Glory could suddenly look as though she were made of spun glass.
If he could be king, then I could be a king, too.
Where did that thought come from? Turtle would never want to be king in a million years — and he would never be able to do what it took to become one.
Even after what I did to Chameleon?
He frowned down at his twitching talons. That was not the real him. These thoughts were not the real him, either.
Moon broke away from her mother and started pushing forward through the crowd.
“You can’t do that,” Deathbringer spat at Darkstalker. Glory didn’t stop him; she was staring at Darkstalker as though he’d upended eighty million words on her head and she was trying to put them in the right order to make a scroll.
“Why not?” Darkstalker asked.
“For one thing, you’re male,” said Deathbringer. “And for another, you’re not royalty, so you have no right to the throne.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed, she’s not exactly of royal NightWing blood either,” Darkstalker said, flicking his tail at Glory. “And just because we’ve never had a king before doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have one now.”
“Pyrrhia has only had queens for the entirety of dragon history,” said Deathbringer. “Male dragons cannot rule their tribes. That’s just the way it is.”
“Things can change,” Darkstalker said airily. “We’re dragons, not ants. We can do things differently if we choose to.”
Turtle had a flash of déjà vu and touched his claws to his head. Where had he heard that before? From one of the teachers at Jade Mountain?
“Darkstalker!” Moon hissed from the front of the crowd, and he looked down at her. “What are you doing? You promised not to hurt my friends!”
“Feel free to check on your friends,” said Darkstalker in an unsettlingly gentle voice. “I’m sure you’ll find that they’re all safe and perfectly unharmed.”
“But Glory’s my friend, too,” Moon said, her voice wobbling. “I don’t want you to kill her.”
Was that real sympathy in Darkstalker’s eyes? “Oh, Moon,” he said. “The truth is you don’t want me to kill anybody. And neither do I … but we are dragons. There’s a way these things have to be done.”
“I cannot accept your challenge,” Glory said, and Darkstalker turned back to her, leaving Moon with her talons helplessly outstretched. “The RainWings need me, too. If I fought you, I’d be putting their tribe and throne at risk.”
“Maybe I could be king of both tribes!” Darkstalker said. “Ha ha, just a joke. I have no interest in ruling a bunch of snoozy colorful vegetarians.”
Turtle wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but he thought a few of the NightWings actually looked a bit offended by that comment.
“There’s another alternative,” Darkstalker went on. “You could just give me the NightWing throne.” He shot a glance at Moon, as if to say, Look, I’m making an effort! Now do you approve?
“That would not be fair to the dragons here who swore loyalty to me,” said Glory.
“Well,” said Darkstalker, “let’s all remember that they had a volcano pointed at their heads at the time. You’re certainly more appealing than death by lava, but if there were a charming, handsome, superpowered NightWing as an option instead …”
Queen Glory looked out at the gathered NightWings.
What are they thinking? Turtle wondered. Would they rather be ruled by a RainWing or by a legendary monster?
He remembered the stories he’d read about Albatross, the SeaWing animus who massacred most of his family. If Albatross somehow came back to life, and he acted like a sane, friendly dragon, and Turtle had to choose between him or, say, Queen Glacier to rule the Kingdom of the Sea … who would he pick?
“Oh,” said Darkstalker, nodding at Glory. “Very interesting idea, Your Majesty.”
Glory looked at him sharply.
“Let the NightWings choose for themselves,” he said. “Indeed. I could agree to that.”
“I haven’t offered it to you yet,” said Glory. “In this time period, it’s considered bad manners to read another dragon’s thoughts.”
“My apologies. But you had such a good idea. A peaceful transition of power — maybe dragons have evolved in the last two thous
and years after all! What do you think?” Darkstalker said to the assembled NightWings. “Shall we put it to a vote, like some enormous sprawling mess of a council? King Darkstalker or Queen RainWing?”
“No,” Queen Glory said, stepping forward into a bar of sunlight that lit up every brilliant scale. “Not a vote. I don’t want my tr — any NightWing to be forced to live somewhere or under someone they are unhappy with.” She studied the ebony dragons below her. “Those who wish to stay in the rainforest with me, in the village you’ve built with your own talons, are welcome here forever. Those who would rather follow Darkstalker to the old kingdom are free to go.”
Darkstalker looked down at the crowd, too, from a considerably greater distance, and he did not look pleased with what he saw — or what he was hearing in their minds, Turtle realized.
“But you don’t have to decide right now,” Darkstalker said quickly, slippery-smooth. “You should get to know me first! I presume Queen Glory won’t mind if I spend a day or two in the rainforest, reacquainting myself with my tribe.”
“Be our guest.” Glory rested her quiet gaze on him for a moment — just a moment, while something puzzled flickered behind her eyes. Then she turned to Deathbringer, and the two of them hopped down from the stage to walk among the NightWings.
A hubbub of voices rose, hushed and panicked at the same time. Who would stay? Who would go? What would become of them?
Darkstalker’s eyes went to Moon. “See?” he said softly. “I knew I wouldn’t really have to kill Glory. But I had to present myself as a strong leader, Moon. That’s what dragons understand.”
Moon gave him a wounded look and turned away, back toward her mother’s wings.
Turtle watched Darkstalker watching her go.
I think I’ve found one true thing about Darkstalker, he thought. He actually cares about Moon.
But how does she feel? She’s the one who’s been helping him so far — will she follow him to the Night Kingdom? Or will she choose Queen Glory … and if she does, how is he going to react?
Queen Glory stayed in the NightWing village until midafternoon, answering questions and talking with any dragon who approached her. Darkstalker installed himself on a flat boulder by the river and did the same, while Anemone splashed and swam in the fish-flickering water.
It all seemed very peaceful. Entirely open. Nothing suspicious or underhanded. Turtle wrote a quick note on his slate to Qibli:
Then he wiped it clean and tried not to fall asleep while Darkstalker droned on about parliamentary procedures in the ancient Night Kingdom.
But then Glory left, flying back to check on her RainWings. Darkstalker saw her go. He waited a few minutes, swirling his tail in the river as he listened to a sly-looking dragon named Obsidian complain about rainforest insects.
Finally Darkstalker said, “That does sound dreadful. You know, the Night Kingdom doesn’t have any mosquitoes.” He sat up and called “Mindreader!” touching his head as though summoning her by telepathy as well.
A few moments later, the dragonet came scampering through the village with an older, significantly more reluctant-looking NightWing limping behind her.
“Here!” she said breathlessly, skidding to a stop below Darkstalker. “Come on, Father, you have to meet him. He’s got amazing powers.”
“So I hear,” Mindreader’s father said gruffly.
“But don’t you understand that he’s sharing them?” she said. “If you could have any power in the world, what would you want, Father?”
He snorted. “To be an animus, of course. Is there anything more powerful?”
Mindreader turned to Darkstalker with shining eyes, but Darkstalker was shaking his head with a regretful expression. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That is the one gift which is beyond my abilities to grant. An animus dragon cannot make other animus dragons.”
Huh, thought Turtle. He knew that was a lie. Does Darkstalker know he’s lying, or does he believe that?
“That’s not the only thing Father wants,” Mindreader said quickly. “I can hear it in his head! He wants the ability to heal instantly from any wound. Not just new wounds, but all the old aches and weak bones and clouded lungs he got from living on the volcano. Aw, Father, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were always in pain like that.” She twined her tail around his, and Turtle found himself liking her for the first time.
“You’re not supposed to know these things,” her father said with a wince. “I’m not sure it’s going to be good for you, little one, hearing everyone’s thoughts this way. Dragons like to keep their secrets.”
“I know, it’s incredible how many secrets there are,” Mindreader said, her eyes widening. “If I were a blackmailing sort of dragon, I could get so much treasure! But I’m not, of course; of course I’m not, and I wouldn’t.” She let out a little laugh. “Enough about me! Darkstalker?”
“I’m not sure about this,” said her father, edging away as Darkstalker reached toward him. “I don’t trust anyone to put a spell on me.”
“So we’ll use something temporary,” Darkstalker said winningly. He sliced a vine off the tree branch overhead and wove it into a simple loop, which he dropped over the other dragon’s neck. “I’ll enchant this to heal you, and when it rots away, come back and let me know if you liked it and want something more permanent.” He hooked one claw in the vine necklace and muttered something under his breath.
Mindreader’s father let out a startled gasp. He stretched his wings and tail; he turned his head from side to side. He looked forty years younger just from the way he was suddenly standing and the way his eyes were shining.
“Oh,” he said. “Three moons! I couldn’t even remember what it was like to feel this way!”
“I’m here to help,” said Darkstalker with his charming grin. “Now … go tell all your friends.”
Uh-oh, thought Turtle.
Uh-oh was right. The first trickle of curious NightWings became a waterfall once word spread that Darkstalker was handing out superpowers.
The ability to catch any prey — done.
Flight speed faster than any SkyWing, or indeed, any other dragon on Pyrrhia — done.
Camouflage scales like the RainWings — Darkstalker chuckled and talked that dragon out of his choice. “Why would you want to blur the lines of what you really are? Be a NightWing and proud of it. If I give you advanced warrior skills, you’ll never need to hide again anyway.”
Advanced warrior skills — done.
The ability to go for days without sleep — done.
And then Darkstalker announced that powering up five dragons per day was his limit. “But this way you can think about it overnight,” he said. “What do you each really want? What would be the best possible power for you? I promise you, I’ll share my gift with five more dragons tomorrow — on the way to the old Night Kingdom.”
Wow, Turtle thought. He’s not messing around. Follow me, and I’ll make you special. Or stay here … and remain your own ordinary self.
What dragon could resist an offer like that?
What chance does Glory have, when that’s the alternative?
He pulled out his slate and thought for a moment, then wrote to Qibli:
Turtle could feel the tides shifting in the village: dragons whispering about another side to Darkstalker, about how the history scrolls could have been wrong, about how NightWings should stick with their own and stop mingling with lazy vegetarians.
I should tell Glory. Shouldn’t I? She has no idea who I am. But she’d want to know what Darkstalker is doing. Wouldn’t she?
He worried for a while, watching Darkstalker tell stories of the old days to a rapt audience of dragons. Finally he scooted back along his branch and set off in the direction Glory had gone.
A short distance beyond the NightWing village, all the trees began to look the same.
Not long after that, Turtle realized he didn’t exactly know where he was going. He stopped, hovering in midair, and glanced around at the
dense, never-ending greenery. Lost in the rainforest — that sounded exactly like what would happen to the Turtle character in a story. While the heroic heroes battled onward, wondering vaguely where he’d gone.
Except in this case, there were no heroic heroes battling, because they were all too busy making friends with the potential supervillain.
Turtle sighed. So I can’t be lost in the rainforest, he thought. I can’t be the inept best friend right now. I have to be someone else — the messenger, perhaps, who warns the heroes of the danger and then fades back into the background.
What would a successful, determined messenger do about being lost in the rainforest?
He found a very fat tree with comfortable wide branches to sit on. All around him the bright red flowers danced, the leaves twitched, the shadows and sunlight darted and glimmered as wind pushed the treetops around.
“Hello?” he said. “Any chance I’m being followed?”
If he was, no one answered.
He tried again. “I have an urgent message for Queen Glory. She’ll want to hear it, I promise. But … I don’t know how to find her.”
More silence. More trees flapping their leaves at him dismissively.
So. That didn’t work. He wasn’t quite lucky enough to have any camouflaged RainWings spying on him right now.
His immediate instinct was to use his magic. That would be the easiest solution. That was always the easiest solution. Whenever he felt a little sick or too tired for anatomy class or needed help finding something, he’d reach for a magical solution — as long as it was small enough for no one to notice.
But he couldn’t do that now, because Darkstalker would notice any spell, no matter how small.
His talons went to his pouch. Wait … maybe he already had what he needed.
He slipped the pouch open with careful claws, tipping it so his animus-touched treasures clicked and tumbled together.
Near the bottom, wrapped in leaves to protect it, was the piece of coral. It was shaped like a small, lacy red tree with little bubbles all along its branches. Turtle remembered the night he’d enchanted it — the night he’d realized he was an animus.