Darkness of Dragons Page 6

  “I know,” he said. “Uh, don’t panic?”

  “Too late,” Peril said, watching with bewildered amusement.

  “Why did I let him do that?” she yelped. “I’m the worst school guardian of all time! Three moons, he took Turtle and Anemone! Queen Coral is going to have our heads!”

  “What’s all this hollering about?” Tsunami asked, bustling over from her cave next door.

  “Why did TSUNAMI let him do that?” Sunny shouted. “We promised we wouldn’t let Princess Anemone out of our sight! Tsunami, your sister just flew away with a total stranger!”

  “Who, Darkstalker?” Tsunami said, tilting her head sideways. “He’s not a stranger. He’s your ancestor, remember? Charming, friendly, harmless? He said he’s going to teach her about being an animus. She’ll be back soon.”

  “Here, put this on.” Qibli held out one of the earrings.

  Tsunami snorted. “I have my own jewels, thank you.”

  “You need it,” Sunny said. “Tsunami, trust me.”

  “I doooooo trust you,” Tsunami said hesitantly as Qibli placed the earring in her palm. “About most things. But about fashion … I mean, it’s not like you ever wear the gifts your mother sends you …” She shot a look at a small, locked chest next to Sunny’s blankets.

  “Just try it on for a minute,” Qibli said impatiently. “Why are some dragons SO DIFFICULT.”

  Tsunami flicked her tongue out at him and stuck the earring on her ear. “There,” she said. “Happy? What is this —” She stopped, blinking. “Why — why do I suddenly feel terrible?”

  “Darkstalker has everyone under a spell,” Qibli said in a rush. “He’s enchanted everyone around him to — I’m not sure exactly — to trust him or believe him or like him, something like that.”

  “How did you know?” Sunny asked.

  Because … it’s what I would do, Qibli realized with a twinge of shame. That’s why it had occurred to him so quickly. It’s one of the first spells I thought of. If I’d gotten Darkstalker’s scroll — if I had all that power — first I’d protect my soul, next I’d cast spells to protect everyone I love, and then … I’d do a spell to make everyone like me. Even Winter … even my family.

  Would that be wrong? I wouldn’t abuse it the way Darkstalker has. I wouldn’t be tricking anyone into doing the things I want them to do. I just want other dragons to like me — and some of them won’t, no matter how hard I try. I wouldn’t be making their lives worse in any way.

  But I know it’s wrong when Darkstalker does it.

  And yet I still wish I could do the same spell myself.

  Rrrrrrrrgh. He closed his eyes, trying to shut down the rushing tornado of thoughts going around in his head. Sunny was waiting for an answer.

  “Because everyone was acting so odd,” he said. “Especially Winter, but not just him. Everyone accepted Darkstalker as exactly what he says he is. And I thought, well, maybe we should give him a chance … but I wanted to be sure our minds were free to think it through for ourselves.”

  “Wow,” Sunny said. She touched the dangling amber teardrop in her earring. “I can’t believe I completely missed it.”

  “You want to believe the best in every dragon anyway,” Qibli said. “He probably didn’t need to enchant you for you to give him a chance.”

  “A chance, maybe,” Sunny said. “But six of my students? I’m horrified at myself.”

  “You got Anemone to make these for you?” Tsunami asked. “So she’s wearing one, too? She’s not under his spell?”

  Qibli squirmed. “No,” he said, wondering how to dance around the truth here. “I only had one, for myself … but today I figured out how to make more.”

  Tsunami and Sunny both looked puzzled.

  “I’d rather not say any more than that,” he admitted. “In case it puts someone else in danger.”

  “How do I know this earring isn’t enchanted to mess with my head?” Tsunami demanded. “What if it’s got a spell on it to make us more suspicious of Darkstalker than we should be? Or something else.” She twitched her ear grumpily. “I don’t like wearing animus-touched things. I don’t trust them.”

  “Smart,” Peril offered unexpectedly. “You shouldn’t. They can have other spells hidden inside them.”

  “I’m sure this one doesn’t,” Qibli said. “I can tell you the exact words of the spell: Enchant this earring to make the wearer immune to any spell Darkstalker has cast or will cast, whether past, present, or future. That’s all there is to it, I promise.”

  “Hmmph,” Tsunami said, twitching her ear again.

  “It sounds all right to me,” Sunny said.

  “Then Anemone needs one of those earrings,” said Tsunami. “She’s in more danger than anyone.”

  “Her and Father,” said Sunny, then stopped with a stricken expression. “But I can’t give one to Stonemover — Darkstalker saved his life with his magic. If I make him immune to all of Darkstalker’s spells, it’ll erase that one … and then Father will die.”

  “I’m not sure Flame will accept one either, even if it shows he’s innocent,” Qibli said. Sunny blinked at him. “I mean, I think Darkstalker might have enchanted Flame to kill Stonemover. It would make sense to get rid of any other animus dragons, considering what Fathom did to him.”

  Sunny covered her mouth with a small gasp. “But … he saved him,” she said. “He didn’t let Stonemover die.”

  “Maybe he changed his mind,” said Qibli. “Or maybe it was a performance to make you trust him even more. Or maybe he needed an excuse to cast a spell on Stonemover — a control spell hidden inside a healing spell. Maybe all of those things.”

  “You have a very complicated brain,” said Peril thoughtfully.

  Darkstalker said something like that, too, Qibli remembered.

  “He just doesn’t seem that sinister to me,” Peril added with a shrug.

  “Because I can’t take the spell off you,” he pointed out. “Not yet, anyway. I’ll figure out a way.”

  “We have to get one of these earrings to Glory, too,” Sunny said, touching the bowl lightly with one of her wings. “If only we could convince all the NightWings to wear them.”

  “They won’t, not if they know what it is,” Qibli said. “It would mean giving up all the powers he’s given them. None of them will agree to that.” But Moon … Moon should have one.

  “I could fly to the rainforest,” he said. “Right now. I can take earrings to Glory and Moon …” He trailed off, remembering Ostrich.

  “Someone else can go to the rainforest,” Sunny said, putting one of her talons over his. “You have to go after Ostrich.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “I found her with the dreamvisitor, although she was too shaken to hear me. But I could see that there were dragons in black hoods all around her, and she kept dreaming about their leader — a really tall SandWing with a hooked snout and tattoos of dragon skulls all down his neck.”

  “Tattoos of dragon skulls,” Qibli said slowly. “Like … lots of them?”

  “Too many to count,” Sunny answered. “The whole place gave me this dark, crowded, trapped feeling, and it had a smell I remember. I think she might be in the Scorpion Den.”

  Qibli rubbed his neck as though he could feel the stab of the tattoo needle on himself. “She is,” he said. “And I know who has her.”

  They all turned to stare at him. “Who?” Tsunami asked.

  He took a deep breath, trying to speak past the claws that were closing around his throat.

  “My grandfather.”

  “I’m going back to the Scorpion Den, Clay!” Qibli said. “The most dangerous city in Pyrrhia! To save one of your students! And this is all you have?”

  “Sorry,” said Clay. “I told you, it’s not exactly a weapons cave.”

  “No. I would call that a weapons box,” said Qibli, pacing in a circle around the box that sat in the middle of the stone floor. “With hardly anything in it.”

  �
��This is a school, you know,” Clay pointed out. “Sunny and I thought perhaps an entire cave full of sharp objects might not be the best idea. We thought maybe, hey, something that locks instead.”

  “So to defend this entire school,” Qibli said, “you’ve got … three knives, one sword, and a big stick. In a locked box.”

  “Hey, that stick is very heavy,” Clay protested. “You wouldn’t want to get whacked with that thing. Also, we have Tsunami! And now Peril. That’s better than a couple of swords.”

  Qibli sat down and covered his face with his wings. “I can’t face him with nothing.” He felt as if his heart was trying to jitter its way down his arms and out through his claws. Breathing was much, much harder than it was supposed to be. “If I go to him with no weapons, I might as well cut my own throat and hang my corpse from the alley wall.”

  “Yeesh,” said Clay. “Are we still talking about your grandfather?”

  Qibli nodded. He didn’t trust himself to stand up while the floor was doing the weird tilting thing it apparently had to do right now.

  Qibli’s first memory of his grandfather was of hundreds of eyes: the eyes of all the tattooed skulls staring at him with the same cold, calculating look his grandfather wore. The skulls were there to greet him the day he struggled out of his egg, and they returned, like malevolent clockwork, every three days — as they would have for the rest of his life if he hadn’t been lifted out of his family.

  A later memory: the hiss of snakes, their writhing scales covering the floor as he beat his wings to stay above them, while his grandfather timed how long Qibli and his siblings could last before collapsing. He remembered the sharp sting of the snakebites as less painful than the disapproval on his grandfather’s face.

  Vulture was a large, terrifying presence that loomed over every corner of Qibli’s early life. Qibli was convinced that Grandfather would have killed off all three of Cobra’s dragonets if it were up to him. This was Qibli’s biggest clue that his mother really loved him — because, he reasoned, Cobra must be protecting them from Grandfather, risking his wrath to keep them alive. Which meant she must love Qibli in some way, after all, even if it was a deeply hidden way.

  Qibli’s plan for a long life boiled down to one essential element: never see Grandfather again.

  But if Grandfather had Ostrich, there was no choice.

  “You really have to be armed to visit your grandfather?” Clay said.

  “Definitely. True when I was a dragonet, more true now. He never liked me,” said Qibli, giving breathing another try. Nope. Still impossible. “I haven’t gone back to see him since I joined the Outclaws. He made it clear he was pretty unhappy about that, though.”

  “Angry letters?” Clay asked sympathetically.

  “Sort of,” said Qibli. “More like a hundred dead rats. Spread out over a couple of years, and always in new unexpected places.” Like inside my blankets when I went to sleep at night. Buried and decaying in a vat of grain I was supposed to be guarding. Lying by the shores of the oasis pool with their throats slit. He knew they must be from his grandfather, but he’d never told Thorn. He didn’t want her to worry about him, or worse, try to do something about Qibli’s grandfather that might get her killed.

  “Do you have any poison?” he asked hopefully. “I could dip one of these knives into it and have a poisoned dagger! Oh, I’d feel a lot safer with a poisoned dagger. In a very sturdy sheath, I mean.”

  “Of course we don’t have poison,” Clay said. “Remember the whole ‘this is a school’ thing? Our plan is to teach these dragonets peace, not more violence. My training sessions are only about self-defense.”

  “That’s all I want to do!” Qibli said. “Defend myself! With a poisoned dagger and a couple of swords and maybe some throwing stars and a mace would be nice.”

  “You don’t need that stuff,” said a gruff voice from the doorway. “You’ll have me.” Winter slouched handsomely against the cave wall, wearing one of his most heroic scowls.

  “Oh, will I?” said Qibli.

  “I’m coming with you,” Winter said. “To rescue your little SandWing friend or whatever.”

  “Really?” said Qibli, genuinely surprised. “Why? Because you adore me and can’t bear to see me leave?” What’s his real reason? Is he worried about the IceWings finding out he’s still alive, so he’s decided to get out of here? Or maybe Darkstalker has enchanted him to keep an eye on me, in addition to whatever other spells he has on Winter …

  “Because I owe you for helping me find Hailstorm,” said Winter, “and if we’re even, maybe you’ll stop bothering me all the time. And also because it’ll be funny to be the one annoying your tail for once.”

  “So, basically because you adore me,” Qibli said with a grin.

  “This is already backfiring,” Winter muttered.

  “Well, tragically,” said Qibli, “I’m afraid you cannot come.”

  “I seem to recall saying something similar to you once,” said Winter. “With equally unsuccessful results, just so you’re prepared.”

  “No, you really can’t,” said Qibli. “I mean, I’m basically walking into a den of killer scorpions.”

  “I’m not afraid of the Scorpion Den,” Winter said, bristling.

  “I’m not talking about the city,” said Qibli. “I’m talking about my family.”

  “They can’t be as bad as mine,” Winter said. He flicked a wing dismissively.

  “Actually, they’re exactly like yours,” Qibli said, rubbing his eyes. “Except they don’t bother pretending to be civil, they don’t know which fork is for salad because in their minds all forks are for impaling their enemies, and they’ll stab me from every direction at once, not just in the back.”

  “So you need me,” said Winter. “Perfect. Ready when you are.”

  Qibli thought for a moment. If Winter was under some kind of Darkstalker-induced spying spell, there wasn’t anything Qibli could do to stop him. Except …

  “If I let you come with me,” said Qibli brightly, “will you put on my earring?”

  “Absolutely not,” said Winter. His gaze fell on Clay’s ear, where an earring exactly like Qibli’s now glittered. Winter’s frown went slightly deeper and more puzzled.

  “Everyone’s wearing them,” Clay said cheerfully. He touched the amber teardrop so it wobbled for a moment. “Very fashionable.”

  “Qibli, what are you up to?” Winter demanded. “This is a startling new level of weird, even for you.”

  “Our animus friend enchanted them to protect us from evil spells,” Qibli said, glancing sideways at Clay, who mercifully had not asked a ton of questions about where the earrings came from. “Come on, Winter, don’t be a burrowing shrew. Just put one on and you’ll understand. If I’m right, and you’re under a spell right now, it’ll release you. And if I’m wrong, you’ll be exactly the same, but safe from any future spells, and isn’t that a good thing?”

  “I’m NOT UNDER A SPELL,” Winter said. “And I don’t want to be! I remember what Hailstorm’s spell felt like and it was awful! You keep your enchanted geegaws away from me.”

  “Geegaws,” Qibli echoed. “How can you call me weird and then use ancient old worm words like that?”

  “I’m coming with you, and I’m not wearing any stupid earring,” Winter said firmly. “I thought this was an emergency. Why are you still here?”

  “I know, I know,” Qibli said, clutching his head. “I have to go, I know I need to go right now, but facing my grandfather — I’m not ready. I don’t know how to get ready. Did Sunny tell you about the tattoos?”

  “No,” Winter said in a bored voice.

  “He has a dragon-skull tattoo for every dragon he’s ever killed,” said Qibli. “He’s covered in them.”

  “Sounds a bit obvious.” Winter yawned. “Why not just tattoo ‘I’M TOTALLY MENACING’ on his forehead.”

  Qibli laughed. He’d never ever laughed about his grandfather before. The tight claws digging into his lungs eased
back slightly.

  It would feel better to have an ally, even an enchanted, sarcastic one who pretends to hate me. And if I keep him close, I’ll find a way to get that earring on him.

  “All right, you can come,” he said. “As long as you listen to me. Like, if I say, Quick, dive into that barrel of scarab beetles! you have to do it right away, no arguing.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” Winter said. “I intend to be just as helpful and obedient as you were on my quest.”

  Qibli picked up one of the daggers. “I guess I’ll take this one,” he said to Clay. “If that’s all right.”

  “Sure,” Clay said with a shrug, reaching to close the box.

  I wish I had something else. One dagger and a bowl that doubles anything you put into it. That’s all I’m taking to face the king of the Scorpion Den underworld?

  If only I had Darkstalker’s scroll!

  It was Winter’s fault that Peril had burned the scroll. Winter was the one who’d refused to let Qibli have it; the one who’d turned a perfectly reasonable discussion into a fight, which Peril felt she had to stop by destroying Qibli’s one chance at having magic.

  But he couldn’t be furious at Winter right now, not the way he wanted to be. As long as he was under Darkstalker’s spell, Winter was basically not himself. Qibli had to give Winter back his mind.

  And then he could be furious at him.

  “Let’s go,” he said to Winter.

  “I’ve been ready forever,” Winter said with another yawn.

  Qibli led the way through the school to the main hall, where Sunny, Starflight, and Peril were waiting for them. Night had fallen quickly outside and the cave was full of fluttering echoes, like the whispers of tiny dragon wings, as bats stirred and woke and took flight. Peril saw Clay enter the cave behind Qibli and gave a little sideways jump, then made a face like she jumped sideways all the time, no big deal, totally normal behavior, followed by an “is everyone looking at me? stop looking at me!” face.

  (Qibli suspected he could spend hours tracking the emotions on Peril’s face and never get bored.)