The Girl Who Drank the Moon(71)

“Caw,” said the crow. “I am very, very tired.”

“Caw,” he continued. “Also, it is nighttime and crows are not nocturnal.”

“Here,” Luna said, holding out the hood of her cloak. “Ride in here. I’m not tired at all.”

And it was true. She felt as though her bones were transforming into light. She felt as though she would never be tired again. The crow landed on her shoulder and climbed into her hood.

When Luna was little, her grandmother taught her about magnets and compasses. She showed her that a magnet operates within a field, increasing in strength the closer one comes to its poles. Luna learned that a magnet will attract some things and ignore others. But she learned that the world is a magnet as well, and that a compass, with its tiny needle in a pool of water, will always wish to align itself with the pull of the magnetic earth. And Luna knew this and understood it, but now she felt that there was another magnetic field and another compass that her grandmother had never told her about.

Luna’s heart was pulled to her grandmother’s heart. Was love a compass?

Luna’s mind was pulled to her grandmother’s mind. Was knowledge a magnet?

And there was something else, too. This surging feeling in her bones. This clicking inside her head. This feeling as though she had an invisible gear inside her, pushing her, inch by inch, toward . . . something.

Her whole life, she never knew what.

Magic, her bones said.



“Glerk,” Fyrian said. “Glerk, Glerk, Glerk. I don’t seem to be fitting on your back anymore. Are you shrinking?”

“No, my friend,” Glerk said. “Quite the opposite. You seem to be growing.”

And it was true. Fyrian was growing. Glerk didn’t believe it at first, but with each step they took, Fyrian grew a little bit more. Not evenly. His nose enlarged like a tremendous melon at the tip of his snout. Then one eye expanded to twice the size of the other. Then his wings. Then his feet. Then one foot. Bit after bit grew, then slowed, then grew, and then slowed.

“Growing? You mean I’ll be more enormous?” Fyrian said. “How can a dragon be more enormous than Simply Enormous?”

Glerk hesitated. “Well, you know your auntie. She always saw your potential, even though you weren’t there quite yet. Do you see what I’m saying to you?”

“No,” Fyrian said.

Glerk sighed. This was going to be tricky.

“Sometimes, being Simply Enormous actually isn’t just about size.”

“It isn’t?” Fyrian thought about this as his left ear started to sprout and expand. “Xan never said so.”

“Well, you know Xan,” Glerk said, grasping a bit. “She’s delicate.” Glerk paused. “Size is a spectrum. Like a rainbow. On the spectrum of enormity, you were on, well, the low end. And that is completely, well . . .” He paused again. Sucked his lips. “Sometimes the truth, er, bends. Like light.” He was floundering and he knew it.

“It does?”

“Your heart was always enormous,” Glerk said. “And it always will be.”

“Glerk,” Fyrian said gravely. His lips had grown to the size of tree branches and hung off his jaws in a floppy mess. One of his teeth was larger than the others. And one arm was growing rapidly, before Glerk’s very eyes. “Do I look strange to you? Please be honest.”

He was such an earnest little thing. Odd, of course. And lacking in self-awareness. But earnest all the same. Best be earnest back, Glerk decided.

“Listen, Fyrian. I confess that I do not entirely understand your situation. And you know what? Neither did Xan. That’s all right, really. You are growing. My guess is that you are on your way to being Simply Enormous like your mother. She died, Fyrian. Five hundred years ago. Most drangonlings do not stay in their babyhood for that long. Indeed, I cannot think of a single other example. But for some reason you did. Maybe Xan did it. Maybe it was because you stayed too close to where your mother died. Maybe you couldn’t bear to grow. In any case, you’re growing now. I had thought you would stay a Perfectly Tiny Dragon forever. But I was wrong.”

“But . . .” Fyrian tripped on his growing wings, tumbling forward and falling down so hard he shook the ground. “But you’re a giant, Glerk.”

Glerk shook his head. “No, my friend. No, I am not. I am large, and I am old, but I am not a giant.”

Fyrian’s toes swelled to twice their normal size. “And Xan. And Luna.”

“Also not giants. They are regular-sized. And you are so small you could fit in their pockets. Or you were.”

“And now I am not.”

“No, my friend. Now you are not.”

“But what does that mean, Glerk?” Fyrian’s eyes were wet. His tears erupted in bubbling pools and clouds of steam.

“I don’t know, my dear Fyrian. What I do know is that I am here with you. I do know that the gaps in our knowledge will soon be revealed and filled in, and that’s a good thing. I do know that you are my friend and that I will stay by your side through every transition and trial. No matter how—” Fyrian’s rump suddenly doubled in size, its weight so extreme that his back legs buckled and he sat down with a tremendous crash. “Ahem. No matter how indelicate,” Glerk finished.

“Thank you, Glerk,” Fyrian sniffed.