38

WINDBORN

“YOU DID IT, STAR,” CRIED SWEETROOT. “IT’S OVER.”

The pegasi folded their wings and sobbed, overwhelmed.

Silver sparks crackled in Nightwing’s black ashes, spooking the pegasi. Then his dust caught fire and vanished in a puff of smoke. And just like that, the Destroyer was gone, borne off by the wind.

Star stared at the singed grass, at the toppled monument, and at the pegasi who sagged with relief. It was over, not just for him, but also for them. “You’re free,” he said, and he collapsed, out of breath.

Quick movement caught Star’s eye. Morningleaf and Brackentail dropped out of the sky and landed beside him.

Morningleaf sank to her knees, stroking his smoking back and staring into his eyes. “You beat him. I knew you would.” She threw her wings around his neck. Star stifled a moan.

“I’m sorry; you’re hurt!” she cried, stepping back.

Star’s hide was burned, his chest bruised and bitten, his back leg broken. “Just a little,” he said. He drew on his power and then paused, remembering it was gone.

Sweetroot galloped to him. “Your power?” she asked, sensing the problem.

Star shrugged one wing. “I guess I used it all,” he said.

Sweetroot’s eyes flew wide open. “Oh no!”

Star turned his mind inward, feeling into his gut, which was empty of the golden embers that had burned there since he’d turned one and received his power from the Hundred Year Star. Without the embers, he couldn’t produce new starfire. He felt heavy and cold, and hungry too. He felt like a normal pegasus.

“Maybe it will return,” said Sweetroot, looking hopeful.

“Maybe,” said Star. “Or maybe it’s gone forever.” Forever, there was that word again. What did it mean? He’d been immortal, and now he was not.

Suddenly the sky lit up with color, and all the pegasi lifted their heads. Beautiful lights burst down from the blackness of space and rushed toward them. “It’s the Ancestors,” whinnied Sweetroot. The living pegasi couldn’t see their ethereal bodies, but the streaks of color from the Ancestors’ feathers whirled and twisted around them as if they were celebrating.

But it wasn’t just the Ancestors. The Beyond was destroyed with the death of Nightwing, and the pegasi who’d been stuck there were released. Some had been trapped for four hundred years, and now they sailed with their herdmates from the golden meadow, reunited and free, and finally at peace.

But Star could see their translucent spirit bodies clearly, perhaps because they’d visited him before when he’d been thrown into hibernation by Nightwing during their first battle, many moons ago. Star saw Hollyblaze, the ancient Ancestor filly whose weanling army had protected Star in the past. Her eyes glimmered at him with pleasure and approval. And Bumblewind glided overhead, streaking the sky in shades of gold and brown, joyful that his friends were safe. And Star’s adoptive mother, Silverlake, played with a crimson-winged stallion: her mate, Thundersky.

“Those are my parents,” said Morningleaf, in a choked breath, recognizing the colors of her parents’ feathers.

Her body shook as she burst into tears, and Star wrapped his wing over her back. They curled together on the grass, watching the Wind Herd steeds lift off and fly with the Ancestors. Beautiful lights illuminated the clouds in every hue of color found in Anok. The spirits of the dead danced higher and higher and then disappeared.

Then pegasi all over the Flatlands met in groups, reunited. The grieving dams found their kidnapped newborns and weanlings, and happy nickers filled the valley.

Star glanced around him, and he saw how his huge herd was really made up of thousands of tiny herds called families. And he thought about his birth mother, Lightfeather. When she’d died, he’d felt alone, but now thinking back, he’d never been alone. Family wasn’t just who made you; it was who loved you. It was who raised you, protected you, and believed in you. And Star had been greatly, deeply loved by Silverlake, Sweetroot, Grasswing, Bumblewind, Echofrost, Brackentail, Morningleaf, and finally, his guardian herd. As he gazed about him, he realized that he’d had all along what he’d wanted since he was a dud foal in Dawn Meadow: a family.

Then Star caught sight of Frostfire sneaking away with Larksong and their colt, Starfrost. Disappointment reared within him. They had unfinished business. Star had one broken leg, but his wings were fine, so he scooted away from Morningleaf, lifted off, and flew to Frostfire, landing three-legged in front of him.

The white stallion froze, and the two faced each other.

“I told you I’d rescue your mare, and I did,” said Star, his hide still steaming where Nightwing had burned him. “All of you are truly free.”

Larksong cringed, and Frostfire just stared, speechless.

Star lowered his muzzle to their young colt. Starfrost trotted bravely closer, exchanging breath with Star and flicking his short, curly tail. Star looked into his light-green eyes, which were shining with curiosity, and his heart opened wide to the colt. “You’re my cousin,” he said.

Starfrost bleated and lifted off, hovering over Star like a bumblebee. He tugged gently at Star’s mane with his small teeth, enticing him to play. Star’s throat closed. He wanted to play with Starfrost, teach him to fly, and watch him grow up, but Frostfire was taking the colt away. He looked at his uncle and understood that he couldn’t force Frostfire to accept him any more than he could force Nightwing. He had to want it, and he didn’t. “Take good care of him,” Star said to Frostfire and Larksong.

The buckskin mare reached out to Star with her dark-blue wings and burst into tears. “We will. Thank you.”

Frostfire opened his mouth to say something, but at the last moment he turned away. “Come, Starfrost,” he said to his son. And Star watched his uncle walk out of the valley with his family, and he doubted he would ever see Frostfire again.

Morningleaf trotted to his side. “Someday he’ll come around,” she said.

Star nodded, but he didn’t think so. He turned to Morningleaf, wincing at the pain in his leg and the burns across his black hide, but noticed also her bent wing. “I would heal the two of us, but my starfire is gone,” he whispered.

Morningleaf stared at him. “You mean you’re not immortal anymore?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“And you can’t fly around in tornadoes?”

“No.” He noticed her amber eyes shining mischievously.

“And you can’t go days and nights without eating or sleeping?”

“I don’t think so,” said Star.

Morningleaf dropped her wings, looking relieved. “Good. Because it was getting really hard to keep up with you.”

Star nickered with relief, because he thought she’d be disappointed. “I don’t think I’ll be going anywhere for a while.” He stared at his broken leg, which throbbed, making him feel sick, and at the burns on his black hide that would leave scars. It would take time to heal.

“Well, you know what this means, don’t you?” she asked.

“What?”

“Now we can be best friends forever.”

“For our forever,” he clarified, because he was mortal now, and he would one day die. A tear rolled down his cheek and mixed with the burned soil.

He and Morningleaf stared at the ground. Not a single flower appeared. “My power is really gone,” he said, finding it difficult to believe.

“But you’re not.”

Star exhaled. “No, I’m not.”

Brackentail joined them, and Star saw how happy Morningleaf was to see him. “The future is ours to create,” said the brown stallion.

“It is,” Morningleaf agreed, and she leaned toward Brackentail, and Star noticed how they’d grown together, like two trees sharing the same light. And he realized that he was that light, and for once he was pleased instead of jealous.

“What about Echofrost and Hazelwind and the one hundred and forty pegasi?” Star asked his friends. “We need to find them and bring them back.”

Morningleaf shook her head. “They won’t come back. We talked about this in the den and decided that, win or lose, we need to spread our kind out of Anok. The pegasi who left are excited; they want to explore and find a new home. But I—I decided not to leave,” said Morningleaf. “I love it here.”

Brackentail gazed at her. “Me too.”

The tip of a loose feather flapped in the breeze, catching their attention. It was trapped under the remains of the tribute—golden in color, with a brown tip. Morningleaf pulled it loose. “This is Bumblewind’s feather, isn’t it?” she whispered.

A hush fell over the pegasi in the valley when they saw Morningleaf holding the special feather. Star watched her face brighten. “I have an idea.” She galloped away, leaving Star and Brackentail standing in her dust.

Morningleaf flew to the hill where the tribute had stood, and she lifted the feather over her head, waiting for everyone’s full attention. “We’re going to rebuild the tribute,” she neighed, her voice ringing clear across the Flatlands. “To mark the day of our freedom.”

The pegasi murmured, staring at the stones strewn across the valley. “Each able adult will take a stone,” she continued. “We’ll build our new tribute in the west, at Crabwing’s Bay, where the birds don’t fly.” She glanced at Star, and he nodded. She was referring to Star’s bird friend who’d died there—Crabwing the seagull—and Star was glad she remembered him. Morningleaf continued, her voice quaking. “The monument will stand for Bumblewind, my mother, my sire, and for all the pegasi who gave their lives to free us.”

“But we can’t fly if we’re carrying stones,” said Sweetroot.

“We should walk anyway,” said Morningleaf, “so we can stay together. I don’t want the walkers migrating alone. We’ll leave as soon as our injuries are healed.”

After their long captivity in the valley, the pegasi leaped on the idea of returning to Western Anok, where the wolves were smaller and the wind gentler.

They spent the following moon strengthening their flying muscles and eating their fill. Sweetroot dug for herbs and healed the pegasi, doing what she did best. And Star enjoyed letting her care for him. She set his leg with a straight branch and fed him yarrow for his pain, and he marveled at her knowledge.

“You kept me out of work for a long time,” she said to him, nickering.

On the last day of spring, the nearly twelve thousand pegasi each lifted a stone in their wings, and they trotted out of the Flatlands, the place of their enslavement, that very day.

Star wasn’t blind to the group of steeds who refused to join them, mostly Ice Warriors and some weanlings who’d grown to adore Nightwing when he was alive. Stormtail led this herd, and he kept Nightwing’s and Petalcloud’s orphaned filly, Riversun, close to his side, protecting her as he’d once protected her mother.

“Do you think Riversun has the starfire?” Morningleaf had asked him. “Since her sire is Nightwing.”

“I guess it’s possible,” he’d answered.

“That could be a problem.”

Star sighed. “Let’s not worry about what might be.” Then he’d watched as Stormtail’s forces, defeated and angry, traveled north, heading back to the cold region.

Some pegasi wanted to stop them, but Star argued against it. “Freedom isn’t just for my followers,” he explained. “It’s for everyone.” Since his birth in Dawn Meadow, Star had learned that no pegasus could be forced to accept a leader—they followed who they chose, and Anok was big enough for all of them. It was when pegasi forced their will on others that Anok became too small.

As they traveled through the fractured grasslands, walking like horses, Star watched Morningleaf with sidelong glances, and noticed how the herd quieted when she was near, how they listened to her, and how they loved her. The vision he’d had of her in the Trap had come true: she was a legend, a living one.

Star walked at her right flank and Brackentail walked at her left, and for the first time in many moons, Star relaxed and enjoyed the shining sun, feeling content. He was just a regular pegasus, he belonged to a giant herd, and his best friend was leading him home.