14

CRABWING’S ROCK

CRABWING SQUAWKED, WAKING STAR OUT OF A dreamless sleep. The black foal lifted his head, yawning, and looked outside in time to see the sun split the horizon. Crabwing always woke Star at dawn.

Almost three full cycles of the moon had passed since the day Star discovered the kelp, and he’d spent those days gorging on seaweed, swimming in the bay, and feeding Crabwing. He was mildly concerned about his pet bird. Star hadn’t seen Crabwing fly in days. The little fellow rode on Star’s back or waddled on the ground. Star wondered if it was laziness, or if his friend was too fat to fly. He knew he should feed Crabwing less, but Crabwing pestered him incessantly for more food.

Star emerged from the cave and stretched. Crabwing followed, waddling and pecking at empty shells. The ocean shimmered in the early-morning light. Star extended his wing to the bird, and Crabwing walked up his laddered feathers and settled onto Star’s back. Star trotted toward the bay, with Crabwing squawking encouragement. When they arrived, Crabwing fluttered to the ground, or maybe he fell—it was hard for Star to tell the difference.

Despite the breeze the bay was placid today, and the water was extra clear. Star stared at his reflection in the water. It seemed that all he had done was grow in the last moon. His proportions were evening out, and he looked like a regular pegasus now. The legs and wings that had been so obnoxiously oversize now fit his larger body. His chest was deep, and his neck had developed the proud arch of a stallion. Pleased as he was, he did wish he were smaller. Stallions didn’t like other stallions who were larger than they were, and Star didn’t need to add to his long list of undesirable qualities.

But he was most excited about his wings—he could unfurl them and tuck them at will, and he practiced this every day. It was a basic maneuver that foals mastered by their third moon, but it was new for him. For most of his life his wings had dragged on the ground. He’d been taunted and bullied, and he’d endured endless applications of Sweetroot’s balms to heal his tattered feathers and ease the constant pain between his shoulder blades. Now his feathers were shiny and intact to the ends of his bones. He couldn’t wait for Morningleaf to see him.

Crabwing whistled, breaking Star’s reverie.

“I know, you’re hungry,” Star said to the bird.

Crabwing bobbed his head and hopped from foot to foot, excited.

Star trotted into the bay, swam like a duck for a few minutes adjusting to the icy water, and then dived under. This was his playground. He extended his wings and flapped, propelling himself to great speed. He circled the entire bay once, doing a safety check. Now and then seals or small sharks swam into the brackish water, but today he saw only fish.

Star swam to the oyster reef and snatched half a dozen shells in his teeth. He returned to the shore and dropped them on Crabwing’s rock—the large, flat stone he used every day to feed his bird. He lined up the shells while Crabwing danced in the sand.

“Here you are,” Star said, cracking each one with practiced finesse and then backing away. The oyster bodies oozed out of the broken shells and dripped over the edge of the rock, slimy and white. Crabwing scooped them up, threw back his head, and guzzled the juicy mess, flapping his wings with delight while he ate.

Star nickered, amused. “When you’re finished, I’ll get you some more.”

Star returned to the water; it was his turn to eat. He paddled to a thick bed of floating red kelp and floated into the middle of it, munching the salty plants contentedly.

Suddenly something beneath the surface bumped Star’s hoof, causing his heart to thrum in his chest. He paddled in a circle but couldn’t see through the dense layer of kelp. He could tell that it wasn’t the nudge of a curious fish. It was something much larger. It bumped him again, spinning him around.

Star quickly paddled toward shore, nostrils flared, but he couldn’t smell anything except the sea. His widened eyes scanned the surface as a large wake of ripples appeared. Whatever was under the water was huge. Star tucked his tail, unsure of what to do.

He stopped paddling, but the creature bumped him again, and then three black dorsal fins emerged from the water right in front of him. Star’s stomach flipped at the sight. He turned toward shore, and two more fins rose from the depths. He was surrounded.

Star steeled himself and dived under to face the threat. Six killer whales stared back at him, their eyes bright with intelligence. A chill slid from Star’s ears to his hooves. He had watched this pod hunt and kill a shark not long after he’d arrived at the cave. They were dangerous, but hopefully not hungry. As if answering that question, the six orcas swam past him as though interested in something else.

Afraid to turn his back, Star watched them. Their heavy, shapeless bodies were graceful and powerful underwater. The killer whales swam to the bottom of the bay where the flooring of smooth stones was thickest and took turns swimming upside down over them. Star understood immediately—they were scratching their backs! He’d figured out this same trick himself, only he performed it on the shore. Rolling on smooth, round pebbles provided a comfortable way to reach between his wings. Star lifted his nose out of the water to breathe but kept his eyes trained on the whales. Slowly he paddled backward toward the shore.

The whales made pass after pass over the rocks, taking turns. Then one broke away from the pod and pumped his tail, gliding toward Star, which sent his heart racing again. The whale circled him, curious, and Star’s gut twisted. It was close enough to bite him if it chose. As soon as his hooves touched the sand, he turned and fled onto the beach.

He panted and shook the water out of his eyes, his legs quaking. “Did you see that, Crabwing?”

Star looked up and found himself face-to-face with five strange pegasi stallions standing on the shore. They were adults and warriors, as evidenced by their extensive battle scars. And since all five had feathers in varying shades of green, yellow, and brown, Star knew they had come from Jungle Herd.

Star blinked at them, stunned.

He was taller than four of them, and the warriors took a step back, their eyes wide with surprise. “He’s big,” whispered one.

Star’s heart sank; he’d been found.

“The black foal of Anok,” the leader said, appraising Star’s frame. He was the eldest of the five. They raked their eyes over Star’s body, nostrils dilated, wings flared. Star realized that most pegasi lived their whole lives without ever seeing a black foal.

“He’s a weanling?” asked another.

The leader stamped his hoof in rebuke. “He’s nothing.” He gazed at Star with cold hatred in his eyes. “I’m Snakewing, over-stallion of Jungle Herd. You will come with us, black foal.”

“No. I won’t go with you,” Star said. “I’m not afraid of you.” But Star was afraid, and he didn’t know what to do. He was still a weanling, and he couldn’t fly.

Snakewing looked straight at Crabwing, who had trotted across the sand when he saw Star. “We’ve been watching you two all morning,” he said.

Star’s spine tingled.

“Squawk!” It was as if Crabwing knew they were talking about him. He danced on his flat rock, cocking his head. Star wished his bird would fly away.

Snakewing bared his teeth. “You will come with us now. You have no choice.” With a lightning-fast strike, Snakewing clubbed Crabwing with his hoof, spilling the gull’s guts across the stone.

“No! Crabwing!” Star thrust his body between the bird and the over-stallion, but he was too late. Snakewing’s hoof had crushed the bird. Crabwing was dead, stretched across the rock, his bright eyes now as gray as the sky.

Rage sent fire through Star’s muscles. He wheeled around and kicked Snakewing in the chest, sending the stallion flying across the sand. Snakewing recovered and whinnied the call to attack. The five Jungle Herd stallions unfolded their wings and charged.

Star bolted, galloping up the shore to the sand dunes. Images of Crabwing, split open and bleeding, blinded him, but his instincts and familiarity with the land guided him.

He was fast on land, but the warriors caught him easily by air. A brown stallion with pale-yellow feathers kicked Star’s flank, causing him to cry out. A second warrior joined in, and they pummeled Star’s back and neck with sharp blows. Star spread his wings, shielding his spine, and raced across the dunes.

The warriors took turns dropping on him and striking him, trying to reach his head. Star pinned his ears and ran faster through the dunes, his breath loud in his ears, with no thought as to where he was heading. He dodged most of their kicks, but he couldn’t focus, and he couldn’t fight back unless they landed and faced him. And even then there were five of them and one of him. He had to get away.

Star raced down the coast alongside the high cliffs. The ocean raged far below on his right, and the foothills rose on his left. He’d exited the dunes and was now galloping on hard ground. He picked up speed, his legs a blur. All the days spent trotting through deep sand and swimming had made him strong and efficient. He felt he could run all day, and it looked like he would have to, because the five warriors were equally tireless in the air.

Without speaking, the five of them suddenly veered and flew high above him. Star switched course and galloped to the foothills, where he hoped he would find cover. The stallions regrouped, and three of them landed in front of him.

Star dropped his haunches and slid to a halt, just avoiding them. He whirled around and ran back the way he’d come, with the warriors chasing him on land. The other two flew beside him. They left only one path open. They took turns biting his rear. Star lashed at them with his thick tail.

With his ears pinned, his neck stretched flat out, and his legs hitting the ground in almost one beat, Star couldn’t run a hair faster. He thundered across the plateau, and, too late, he realized they were herding him in the direction they wanted him to run. He racked his brain for a reason why. Perhaps there was an ambush ahead, a gang of Jungle Herd warriors waiting to tear him to shreds.

Fury cleared his mind and wiped away the horror of Crabwing so he could think again. The ground ahead was clear of large trees, rocks, and hills—there was no place for a pegasus, let alone a gang of them, to hide. They were herding him up the side of a small hill; the ambush was probably over the crest of it where he couldn’t see. But there was nowhere left to go, so Star decided to keep running. He would meet his fate head-on.

The bites on his rear let up a bit when the stallions realized he was going toward the trap. Star prepared for battle. If nothing else, he wouldn’t be the only pegasus to die today. He crested the hill, and what he saw sucked the air out of his lungs. Instead of charging into a mob of angry pegasi, he galloped over the edge of a cliff into thin, cool air.

Star fell, head over tail, weightless and helpless. He saw the warriors leaning over the edge of the cliff nickering in amusement, and then his somersaulting body showed him a view of the beach as it raced to greet him. Star envisioned Brackentail’s hateful smirk. It’s just like what happened in the canyon run, he thought. I fell for it again. Star closed his eyes. So this is how it ends. Then a vision of a beautiful white mare, Lightfeather, sprang into his mind. She bit his ear hard. “Fly!” she whinnied.

Star’s eyes sprang open. He immediately opened his wings, and they caught the air seconds before he hit the beach. His speed caused him to rocket over the waves. He careened from side to side, straining to hold the bend in his wings. He wasn’t exactly flying, but he wasn’t exactly falling either. He was gliding!

Star whooped, causing a minor shift in his feathers that sent him tilting sideways. He curled his wings over the current and pushed down, righting himself. Behind him, the Jungle Herd steeds glided down from the cliff, following him.

Star flapped harder while trying to keep his path stable. Flying was a lot like swimming. He angled his wings like he did underwater and turned toward shore. His control was shaky, but he soared to the beach, landed with a stumble, and gathered his bearings. The Jungle Herd stallions dropped gracefully next to him.

“Why did you run if you could fly?” asked a dark bay captain with emerald feathers.

Star folded his wings, silent, refusing to answer to his enemies.

Snakewing snorted. “Because he didn’t know he could.” The over-stallion lashed his tail. “Congratulations, warriors, we just taught the black foal how to fly.”

The group shifted uneasily. The balance of power between them had just tilted toward the black foal.

Even Star understood the significance of Snakewing’s words: he was bigger, faster, and maybe stronger than most warriors, and now he could also fly. Star exhaled. It was hard to believe that the enormous wings he’d been dragging around since he was born had, in seconds, become his greatest asset. Now that he could fly, he could probably evade capture until after his birthday. He could be safe—unless Snakewing did something immediately to stop him.

Snakewing must have had the same thought. The over-stallion reared, and Star ducked at the same time. Snakewing’s sharpened hoof came down, just missing Star’s head but striking a hard blow to Star’s shoulder, crippling him with pain. The other four warriors surged forward and rained blows on Star from all directions.

The strike to his shoulder stung so badly that he couldn’t lift his wing, so Star used his teeth to attack. Snakewing rammed him. If Star went down, he’d be trampled. He splayed his legs and swung in a circle, surrounded and overwhelmed.

Snakewing landed a clean strike to Star’s flank, slicing open the skin. Star collapsed and covered his head. The warriors went in for the kill, but Star rolled, knocking one down, and regained his hooves. He saw Snakewing’s vicious expression, and without planning it, Star reared and struck Snakewing with an over-stallion’s deathblow. The resounding smack ricocheted off the cliff wall and echoed over the open ocean.

The attack on Star stopped. He uncovered his face and saw Snakewing gasping at the water’s edge. He had nailed the stallion right between his eyes and split open his skull. Blood poured from the wound and colored the surf red. “Did I do that?” Star asked out loud.

The Jungle Herd stallions backed away, perplexed. Their over-stallion was bleeding to death, and Star had delivered the deathblow.

When a stallion killed an over-stallion, it meant he could take over that stallion’s herd and command his warriors. But Star was just a weanling, too young to become an over-stallion. The Jungle Herd warriors stared at Star, unsure how to proceed with their leader dying and without anyone to take charge.

“Help me,” rasped Snakewing.

Star stared at the dying stallion. The excitement and fear of battle drained from him, leaving only the painful throb of his wounds that sent chills through his body. He didn’t like seeing his enemy defeated this way.

A rush of sound fractured the silence, and one of the under-stallions screamed. Star saw the movement just in time to stumble out of its path. A killer whale, the largest from this morning, charged the beach. It slid up the shallow waves, mouth open. Star glimpsed its white teeth, gleaming like sharpened pearls, and then it seized Snakewing in its jaws.

“No!” the warriors screamed as Star looked on in horror.

The over-stallion bucked inside its mouth, bleating like a colt. The orca contracted its muscles and used the downward slope of the sand to inch its way to deeper water. When it could, it turned and swam away, with Snakewing clenched firmly in its teeth. The last thing Star saw were his dark eyes, glazed over from terror and the loss of blood, before he vanished under the waves. Bubbles burst the surface, and then a wide ring of blood appeared.

Star sat on his haunches, shaking violently.

The youngest Jungle Herd stallion turned in fear and pointed his wing at Star. “Did you see that?” he said to his friends. “He controls the beasts in the sea. He’s the destroyer.”

The other three nodded, and all four backed away from Star, not daring to take their eyes off him. Star caught his breath, unable to comprehend the impact of the day’s events.

When the four stallions reached a safe distance from Star, they fled up the face of the cliff and disappeared over the edge.

Star sat in the sand until all the blood began to make him feel ill. “What has happened?” he whispered to himself.

He limped home to his cave, lay down on his bed of seaweed, and cried silently in the dark—for Crabwing, for his mother, for the captured weanlings, for Mossberry, and even for Snakewing.

The destruction in his wake was undeniable. Star had to wonder about his true nature. His birthday was only seven days away, and then he would know.

It was time to leave the cave in spite of Silvercloud’s orders to stay put. The Jungle Herd pegasi would report his hiding spot when they returned. He wasn’t safe here anymore.