Firewing (19 page)

“That one was with my father!” he said excitedly. “In the cave. I saw her! She’s a Foxwing!”

“You’re sure?” Luna said uncertainly.

“Her name’s Java. She’s a Pilgrim.” He squinted at the smaller bats again, beating their way towards him.

A Silverwing!

There was definitely a Silverwing among them!

“Hey!” Griffin cried out, surging ahead with a pulse of newfound energy. “Dad!” Then his wingbeats faltered. Even from this distance he could tell—the profile, the strange limping gait—this wasn’t his father. Just another dead bat.

“Griffin!” he heard Java call out.

And it was then that he really did see the Vampyrum. It must have been flying directly behind Java, cloaked by the billowy sweep of her massive wings.

“Behind you!” Griffin bellowed. “Look out!”

Java whirled, accidentally smacking the cannibal in the head.

“Hey!” barked the Vampyrum.

“Oh, sorry,” said Java. She turned back to Griffin. “That’s just Murk,” she called out. “It’s all right. He’s with us.”

“He is?”

Griffin held back, taking another look at Murk, and caught an unsettling flash of chiselled black teeth. He definitely wasn’t the cannibal from the cactus. Still, how could they trust him? His father hadn’t mentioned anything about a Vampyrum Pilgrim! But his father had trusted Java, so he too would have to trust her.

“Where’s my father?” Griffin asked.

The Foxwing’s hesitation made him feel sick.

“I saw him fight with the other Vampyrum,” Java said. “Murk knocked him into the black pool. Your father was all right at first. But then something fell from the ceiling and hit him, hard—very
hard I think—and he went into the pool.” Java’s eyes were huge. “He did not come up. I watched for him, a long time, but he did not come up.”

“Well, he might’ve come out along the river,” said Griffin, fighting for control of his voice.

“We’ve been flying over the river,” said Java, “and seen no sign of him.”

“I got out,” Griffin said. “If I can get out, he can. I mean, he’s way stronger than me, and I was pulling Luna, too!”

“Your father was not conscious when he fell,” Murk said. “His body was limp. He may already have been dead.”

“Was he still glowing?” Luna demanded. “You know, that light in his fur? If he died, it would come away from his body.”

Murk squinted, trying to remember. “So much light was swirling there above the pool, I couldn’t tell.”

“We were on our way back to find him,” Griffin said.

“Travel with us now,” said Java. “To the Tree.” Despairingly Griffin looked down the stretch of black canyon. “But what if he comes out somewhere, and keeps looking for me?”

“Your father can track you with sound,” Java said. “He would want you to go to the Tree. Not waste time searching for him.”

Would he?
Griffin wondered. Shade had gone back for Cassiel, his own father. Why wouldn’t he expect the same of his son? And what would Griffin tell his mother, if he ever did get home?
I left my father. I got out myself, but left him there
.

“You must come with us,” said the misshapen Silverwing impatiently. “There’s nothing more to be done about it.” Griffin stared at this grumpy bat with dislike.

“Please,” said Java softly, “both of you, come with us. We will watch for your father along the river. But there is no point going back to the cave or lingering here. None at all.”

“She’s right, Griff,” said Luna. “I guess” was all he could say.

Luna nudged him gently, turning him around in the direction of the Tree.

Dead.

What else could this be, Shade thought, all this silence? All this darkness. It was so total that he felt short of breath—was there air here? His only sensation was that of floating, somehow moving without any effort. He forced himself to be still, until he felt his limbs, his wings, and deep within himself the beating of his heart. A heartbeat meant
alive
. So did the pain all across his shoulders and left flank. Memory came with it. Something must have hit him … one of those petrified bats from the cave. He must’ve been knocked unconscious, and now he was just waking up.

In the pool.

He coughed in panic, silently thrashing his wings, then realized he was not in the least wet. Not immersed in water at all. He paused; it wasn’t a sound he heard, but a vibration, a vague shimmering in every part of his body. The vibration intensified. He was trembling. The current was obvious now, and he had difficulty rowing against it. He was being sucked somewhere, and he did not want to go. He flapped, flying blind, trying to gain
altitude. No sound or light to guide him, only a frail instinct of which way was up.

His head broke the surface, and he was nearly blinded by starlight. The dark river was sticky, did not want to release him. It clung as he pulled, clutching at his ankles and tail. Suddenly he was free, soaring over this strange river which—

Was no longer a river.

In a split second, it had tipped over a broad cliff and was now pouring down into a narrow chasm, down and down, all the more dreadful because it made not the slightest noise as it fell.

That could have been me
, Shade thought numbly. A few more seconds was all it would have taken.

Then he thought:
Griffin
. He circled as close to the cataract as he dared—he did not want to be swept into its pull. Not even the blazing starlight could illuminate its full depth, and when Shade sang out sound, no echoes came back. His entire being quailed at the thought of going lower. Down there, no rescue was possible. For a long time he circled hopelessly, unable to wrench his gaze away.

He lifted his eyes to the stone sky. His circle of stars was still there. His route home. This would almost surely be his last chance to take it before it was blocked off at Tree Haven.

Griffin and Luna might have pulled themselves free of the river. He would fly back over it, scouring the sky for their echo signals. If he lost his escape route, he would try for the Tree. He cursed himself for not forcing Yorick to sing the map to him. Stupid, prissy old bat.

He fervently hoped that if Griffin was alive he’d carry on to the Tree, not go back to the cave. His son wasn’t foolhardy enough to go back, was he? Shade turned and flapped upstream, scanning the sky for the sound of any winged creature.

If his son was alive, Shade would find him.

Goth heaved himself from the darkness, choking with rage.

He cast around wildly, but the cave was gone, as were the bats. Below him, a black, silent river ran between steep canyon walls. Spreading out all around, more interminable desert. He had no idea where he was, but he was too consumed with anger to care much.

He’d had his claws into Shade Silverwing until that other bat had knocked him off—a Vampyrum, one of his own kind! He should have had Shade’s life by now.

The earth rumbled ominously, and Zotz spoke.

“You were to attack the newborn, not Shade Silverwing.”

“Why did you not tell me he was here?” said Goth, unable to hide his indignation.

“His presence has nothing to do with the task I set you.”

“No, my Lord, but—” Dust rose from the desert. “But what, Goth?”

“I merely thought that if I first took Shade’s life, I would be all the stronger to catch the newborn and sacrifice him to you, my Lord.”

“I wonder, Goth, if your desire for life is more important to you than me.”

“No, my Lord!” Goth said, shouting to cloak his guilt. Could Zotz know that before Shade had appeared, his plan had been to steal the newborn’s life? “I very nearly had the newborn, but his father called to him. I knew that if I attacked the son, I would also be fighting the father. So I decided to kill Shade first.”

A long silence settled over the desert, but Goth felt Zotz’s presence all around him, studying him, boring into him with invisible eyes. Could Zotz know of his temptation in the cave? He tried to keep his breathing calm.

“Follow the river to the horns,” said Zotz, his voice swirling around Goth like a tornado. “Fly between the tips. The newborn is travelling with a group of Pilgrims. They will soon reach the Tree.”

“And Shade Silverwing?”

“He is not your concern, Goth. First the newborn.”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Do not fail me a third time.”

At the stone horns, Griffin hesitated. Below, the river gouged its eerie liquid path across the Underworld. He looked to the horizons, still hoping.

“Call out to your father,” Java told him. “Leave your trace. If he’s alive, he will hear your echoes when he passes.”

“Dad!” Griffin shouted with all his might. “It’s me, Griffin!” He saw Yorick wince at all this noise, look around fretfully.

“We’re going to the Tree!”

His throat hurt, and he had no more words inside him. How long would his echoes live down here, before the Underworld sucked them away? Like it sucked away everything else, including his life. He thought of those terrible, petrified bats in the cave, imagined the blow they’d deliver if they hit you. He squeezed his eyes shut, gave his head a fierce shake, trying to jar loose the image of his father, unconscious, drifting forever down that river.

“Where does it go?” he asked, but no one knew.

“That’s one river I’ll be glad to part company with,” Nemo said, shuddering. “Bodies of water have a way of whispering to you, and this one has nothing good to say.”

Griffin was getting to know the Pilgrims now, and already was most attached to Java. It was hard not to be won over by those
huge, soulful eyes, her expressive face, and gentle voice. When he had questions, she was the one he asked; he stuck close to her. Yorick seemed grumpy; and Nemo had those claws, which he found unsettling, though Griffin did like his eyes and his friendly way of winking. Murk, he stayed clear of altogether. Just looking at him made his stomach clench.

“You ready, Griffin?” Java said, looking at him sympathetically. “On to the Tree?”

He nodded. With Luna at his side, he followed Yorick between the tips of the horns. “Your Dad’ll find you,” Luna told him quietly.

Griffin tried to smile, but his mouth and face felt taut, as if his skin might crack like splintered ice. He looked back, opened his mouth to spray out sound and check for his father, but stopped—he couldn’t bear the disappointment again.

His hunger was gone now. Mostly he was glad, but it was an ominous sign, as if his body were starting to give up on him. His thirst was not so easily vanquished. He saw water everywhere, little oases sparkling in the hard rock, glimmering on the arid horizon. He hadn’t had a pee for a long time, either. That was a bad sign, he was sure of it.

Labouring through the air, he wondered how something that had once seemed so effortless, as easy as breathing, could now be such a torment.
Home
, he thought,
I want to be home
.

“I’m sorry,” he said when he couldn’t endure the pain coursing through his exhausted body any longer. “I’ve got to take a little break. Just a couple minutes. I’m really sorry.”

He avoided glancing at Yorick, but heard his grunt of impatience.

Java turned her large eyes on Griffin. “Hop on,” she said. “That way we won’t have to stop.”

“Really?” he asked, gazing longingly at her soft, broad back. There was more than enough room for him up there.

“Just hold on tight. Try not to pinch me with your claws, mind.” She dipped below him and held her wings straight out, gliding for a moment, while he flapped into position, braked, and dropped clumsily onto her back. Between her wings, he sank down on all fours, clenching her long fur. Before, he’d found the chill of the dead unsettling; now the cool of her body was soothing against his fevered face and chest.

“Am I heavy?” he asked.

“Not at all. Just rest now, child.”

“Thank you very much. Just for a minute.”

When he woke up, he saw that the landscape had changed. The sandy desert plains had given way to arid hills and shallow valleys, not much vegetation, and no sign of bats. He wrinkled his nostrils, trying to identify the smell that lingered there. Something unfamiliar, but unmistakably from the real world. It had a freshness and vitality that reminded him of the wind, with a salty edge to it. Expectation pulsed through him. Still, he didn’t mention it, in case it turned out to be just a residue from a dream.

“How long have I slept?” he asked Java.

“Not so long,” she said. “Tell you the truth, I don’t much bother keeping track of time anymore down here.”

He felt spoiled and a bit embarrassed letting Java do the flying for him, but it was so wonderful to rest, and he wasn’t quite ready to launch himself back into the air.

“Feeling better?” Luna called out, coming in close, then darting away so she wouldn’t get clobbered by Java’s mighty wings.

“If you want to talk, best you hop up, too,” the Foxwing told her. “I don’t want to knock you out.”

So Luna came in from behind and tumbled down on Java’s back beside Griffin.

“Never offered me a ride,” Yorick grumbled, “and, not that anyone cared to notice, but my wings are obviously disabled.”

“Not your mouth, though,” said Nemo. “Which is a pity.” Griffin couldn’t help giggling as he and Luna hunkered down together. In any other time and place, this would have been the most fabulous fun, sailing through the air on the back of this splendid creature. Even now he couldn’t deny the giddy pleasure he felt. It felt so strange to be flying without doing any work.

“How are your wings?” he asked Luna.

“Worse,” she said, “but I’m okay.”

“How can you be so brave?”

“You’re in pain, too,” she pointed out. “I don’t hear you complaining.”

“Yeah, but I’m the one who needs rest. Doesn’t rest help you at all?”

“I don’t think it makes a difference. Anyway, Yorick said it’s not so far now. All we have to do is keep on course and we’ll end up right at the Tree. Do you think it’s like Tree Haven?”

Griffin remembered the image from his sound map. “It’s not like a normal tree,” he said. “It’s really big.” He didn’t want to tell her how it looked like pure flame; he didn’t want to frighten her, or get her thinking about the last fire she’d seen.

“But after we go
inside
,” Luna said quietly. “What happens then?”

“I don’t know.”

“You of all people should have an idea!” Luna said with a grin. “I never knew anyone who talked more about dying.”

“You remember that stuff?”

“Yeah,” she said, surprised, “I guess I do. You were always scared of things.”

“Nothing’s changed, I can tell you.”

Back at Tree Haven he used to worry constantly about getting hurt or killed. And in the colony there was often talk of death. Newborns who weren’t strong enough to live. Careless bats who got eaten by skunks, or racoons, or wildcats. And the migration was dangerous too, everyone knew that. There would be plenty of bats who wouldn’t make it. Death was everywhere, lurking around every leaf and pebble practically! But even he had never really imagined what it would be like in the afterlife.

“Our mothers said Nocturna would take care of us when we died,” Griffin said.

“Somewhere nice, though,” Luna added. “It was always supposed to be somewhere nice. Come on, Griff, imagine it for me. You were always good at imagining things. No one’s better at words than you.”

Words. For a moment he was at a loss. But for Luna’s sake, he shut his eyes, tried to concentrate.

“It would be a forest,” Griffin told her, trying to sound confident. Luna gave a satisfied grunt: good start. Her eyes were closed, brow creased, and he was reminded of how she had looked after they brought her back to Tree Haven. Her burns looked worse now somehow, like they’d be hot just to touch. She was in great pain, he could tell, trying hard to float free from it. Words were something he could give her.

“Always summer and never winter,” he continued. “Lots of bugs, fresh water, no beasts or birds to bother us. No gypsy moth caterpillars to eat the leaves,” he added, remembering his favourite sugar maple.

Luna gave a quiet chuckle. “I like the other animals, though,” she said, “to look at. It makes it more interesting.”

“Okay, then, there should be animals, you’re right. But they
don’t need to eat you anymore. Maybe they don’t need to eat at all.”

He hesitated. It was sounding a bit too much like down here. No need to eat. Nothing to hunt you. It confused him for a moment. This couldn’t be a kind of paradise, could it? No, the thought was too creepy.

“A sun,” he went on with more passion, getting warmed up. This wasn’t really so different from his usual worst-case scenario imaginings—just in a happier direction. “There would have to be light, and maybe lots of moons for the night, different-shaped ones so you could look up into the sky and see round ones and crescent ones and star-shaped ones all at once.”

“I like that,” Luna murmured. “What else?”

“Everyone around you,” Griffin said. “Everyone you love, everyone who loves you.”

“That’s good. What if they’re still alive?”

“Maybe that doesn’t matter.”

“You can’t be both places at once,” she said reasonably.

“Well, maybe once you go through the Tree, time’s different, and it goes by so quickly it’s like you hardly have to wait at all.”

“Hmm.”

“Look, I’m doing my best here,” Griffin said.

“No, it’s really good,” she said. “I can see it in my head now. Friends, too. Skye and Rowan and Falstaff.”

“Well, okay, if you really want those little hairballs hanging around,” Griffin said. “Frankly, I always found them a bit irritating.”