“If she’s even scratched by Viper’s tail, she could die,” Starflight said to Morrowseer. “Maybe not right away, but the infection —” He’d watched the wound Blister had given to Webs for days as it got worse and worse. Only a particular cactus from the Kingdom of Sand could reverse the effects, and there certainly wasn’t any of it on this island.
“If you’re so worried, jump in yourself,” Morrowseer said. He was studying the fight intently. “SkyWing, has nobody ever taught you how to hold in your fire until it’s at maximum temperature? Like this.” He shot a bolt of flames over their heads. “By the moons, Fatespeaker, stop rolling around and use your claws.”
“Starflight, help me!” Fatespeaker yelped.
He had no choice. It was beyond terrifying to think of facing Viper’s tail and Flame’s talons, but he couldn’t leave her to fight alone. He knew what his friends would do, if they were here. He closed his eyes, braced his legs, and vaulted off the boulder onto Flame’s back.
The SkyWing roared and twisted, sending Starflight tumbling across the black rocks. Sharp stone edges slashed his scales and the membranes of his wings. He struggled up, bleeding from several small cuts, and saw Viper knock Fatespeaker to the ground and loom over her with her tail raised. Morrowseer watched, his claws tapping thoughtfully.
“Stop!” Starflight cried, running at Viper. “Leave her alone!”
“This is your fault,” Viper hissed at Fatespeaker. “I could be back at camp with my parents if it weren’t for your stupid tribe.”
Starflight smashed into Viper just as her tail jabbed down toward Fatespeaker’s neck. A sharp smell of venom filled his nose and his head collided with one of her wings. As she staggered back, her tail flew out for balance and sliced neatly across Flame’s face.
Flame roared with agony, clawed frantically at his snout, and slammed his body forward into Viper’s side. The force of the blow sent her reeling away.
Starflight watched in horror as Viper teetered on the edge, and then fell with an ear-splitting shriek right into the lava river.
“No!” Morrowseer roared, leaping forward. But he wasn’t reaching for Viper — he seized Flame’s head between his talons and glared at the wound she had inflicted. “SkyWing! Don’t move! Can you see?”
Flame’s only response was a keening, guttural sound of agony.
“Viper!” Fatespeaker cried. Starflight followed her to the edge of the river, but the SandWing had vanished below the lava. “Viper!” Fatespeaker screamed.
Through his horror, Starflight’s brain flashed him a message, and he whirled around. “Ochre, you can go get her,” he yelled. “Maybe we can save her if you pull her out right away.”
Ochre blinked slow, painfully dull eyes at him. “What in the three moons are you talking about?”
“Your scales.” Starflight grabbed Ochre’s forearm and tried to drag him toward the lava. The MudWing sat down firmly, as heavy as an entire fortress. “Ochre, please! You have fireproof scales — you can go into the lava without getting hurt! You can find her and drag her out. Please, please, just try!”
“Fireproof scales?” Fatespeaker said.
“Because he was born from a red egg,” Starflight said, “like it says in the prophecy, and that means fireproof scales come on why aren’t you moving?”
“Let go of me,” Ochre growled, planting all his limbs even more solidly on the ground. “I have no idea if my egg was red or whether my scales are fireproof and I am CERTAINLY NOT JUMPING INTO A PIT OF LAVA TO FIND OUT.”
“But —” Starflight protested. “But if you’re in the prophecy — if you could be the MudWing — then you must have been born from a blood-red egg, just like Clay.” His heart wasn’t in it anymore. He turned to look back at the lava, knowing it was already too late. Viper hadn’t even come up to the surface once. She was gone.
“Prophecy shmophecy,” said Ochre. “I wasn’t hatched on the brightest night either, so I’m not going to base any life-or-death decisions on some old words in a scroll.”
Starflight pivoted slowly to stare at the MudWing.
“You weren’t hatched on the brightest night?” he echoed.
Ochre shrugged. “Neither was he. We had the same hatching day, a few weeks before the brightest night.” He nodded at Flame, who was curled on the ground now, still making that horrible sound of pain with his talons pressed to his face. Morrowseer stood over him, lashing his tail furiously.
“But —” Starflight’s words failed him.
Suddenly everything seemed a lot clearer … and yet more confusing at the same time.
The alternate dragonets weren’t real. They couldn’t be the dragonets in the prophecy. They were entirely false, an illusion Morrowseer was trying to create.
The giant NightWing wasn’t just tinkering with fate — he was trying to rewrite it entirely.
Fatespeaker was crumpled in a ball by the lava river with her wings over her head, weeping.
Viper and Squid were horrible to her, from what I saw, Starflight thought. Viper was trying to kill her just a moment ago. And yet she’s still devastated by losing them.
Because she’s not a heartless monster, like some dragons.
“Get up,” Morrowseer snarled at Flame. “You are not expendable.”