Master of None: A Wings of Fire fanfiction

25.

content warning: depictions of the dying process

One week before the siege on Scorpion Den is broken

Shadowhunter

The sky stretches out around us, endless and empty and blue. My wings ache from exertion, Jerboa resting on my back in addition to the weight of all the magical talismans and supplies I could carry. This is what I wanted, for so long–escape. I just didn't think it would look like this.

"How much further? Jerboa groans.

"How are you tired?" I tease her. "You slept, like, half the flight."

She doesn't respond, and I sigh heavily.

Permafrost used to handle the navigation; it's strange to be the one checking my compass to make sure we're not veering off course.

I keep hearing her voice in my head–when we stop, and I'm muttering under my breath while I'm setting up camp. Who are you talking to? she would tease me, nudging me sideways. I would tell her to shut up unless she wanted to help me.

I haven't ever had to miss her before. It's embarrassing, how much of my brain she takes up.

I stare at the blindingly bright sky ahead of us, the hot, dry heat seeming to drag me toward the ground. I still haven't gotten used to it, even after all this time.

I glance down at the compass strung around my neck, shifting directions ever so slightly.

I look at the empty desert all around me, listening to the quiet blue night.

***

There's a beat-up sign at the edge of town, declaring this little town Lacerta. One of the posts is collapsing, the ground beneath it uneven from when the earthquake ripped through it.

"This looks like how our city did, when Polar came through," I remark to Jerboa.

"Hmm?" she murmurs, slowly waking from her slumber.

"I said, look at this place–this is like what Polar did to us. I wonder if he came here too."

"Well, we didn't mess this place up, did we?" Jerboa points out. "So, it must have been him. Unless Sharp-eyes did it, I guess," she murmurs into my shoulder.

This is the part I hadn't fully realized about removing her from the rest of the Gifted: now she can no longer sap their powers, she's growing weaker, rapidly. I have a sack full of enchanted talismans from her followers that should keep her going for a while, but I'm scared to give them to her until she absolutely needs them. Not that I have any proof, but if Permafrost's theory is correct, then Jerboa's old enchantments have a limited window before they become obsolete as soon as they get near her.

I know I had to do it, but I still feel like a monster. She's a dragonet, and she's dying, because of you.

It would have happened anyway, a small voice in my head counters.

I try to shake it off; I can't change it regardless.

"Here, do you wanna walk now?" I ask her.

She shakily climbs off my back, determined to prove herself. She rubs her eyes, looking around the town in shock.

She takes in the scene with wide eyes. The stone buildings are crumbling, shrubs and scraggly trees uprooted and laying on their sides, their leaves dry and dead from months out in the sun. Vultures perch above the ruins, squawking among each other. As we walk by, our talonsteps turning up the rubble, the birds scatter. A little fox meets my eyes, then bolts across the street, out of sight.