Firewing (11 page)

The smell of bile and putrefaction made him retch again and again.

One final suffocating squeeze, and he was spat out into open air. He hit the ground wheezing. Gratefully he pressed his claws and face into the earth. He was still alive—no, not truly alive, of course, but the pain was over. His flesh and fur were miraculously unscathed.

“Thank you,” he exhaled raggedly. “Thank you.”

“Do not think this is an end to your suffering.” Goth jerked up, expecting to see Zotz towering over him. But instead he saw that he was on the narrow ledge of a mountain face. Wind plastered his fur, made him squint. Far below stretched desolate mud-cracked plains. Zotz was nowhere to be seen. Then the rock face shimmered, and Zotz’s enormous eye opened from the mountain itself, gazing down at Goth.

“I have always favoured you, Goth.” Zotz’s voice vibrated in the rock beneath Goth’s claws, pulsed in the tips of his fur. “But you have made me doubt your loyalty. You have much to atone for.”

“I will serve you without fail, Lord Zotz. What is your bidding?”

“You will return to the mines and labour there.” Zotz’s eye never once blinked.

“I will serve you eternally, Lord Zotz.”

Low laughter crumpled the air. “Not an eternity, Goth. Merely thousands of years, until you bore a tunnel to the Upper World.”

Goth was so stunned that for a moment he could say nothing. He’d stupidly assumed the mining was nothing but punishment.

“After the destruction of my temple, I realized a tunnel was the only chance of liberating myself. During an eclipse we will breech the Upper World, and our tunnel will be so vast it will suck the living down by the thousands. And when one hundred have
been sacrificed to me, I will rise and kill the sun. The two worlds of the living and dead will be collapsed into one, and I will reign.” Goth marvelled at the grandeur of the plan: finally Zotz would rule over all creation—and the Vampyrum with him. Perhaps, after all his labour, his god would reward him with a position of great power.

“But you will have no part in my reign,” said Zotz, as if hearing his thoughts. “You squandered your chance in the Upper World. When the tunnel is finished, you will join Voxzaco and the others who have gravely displeased me.”

Goth said nothing, trying to fathom the endless horror of his fate. To labour in those mines for millennia, only to swill around in Zotz’s stomach for an eternity. The idea swelled in his mind, threatening to explode his skull. He clenched his teeth.

“No,” he said.

Zotz’s eye seemed to darken in the mountain face. The silence stretched out, congealing malignantly.

“You dare defy me?” Zotz said darkly, his voice right up against Goth’s ear. “You would prefer to begin your eternity of pain now?”

“Yes!” Goth said savagely. “If that’s all that awaits me in the end. It would be a greater torment to bore your tunnel to the Upper World, to see life again, and then be struck down forever. I will not do it!”

Cracks splintered the mountain, radiating from Zotz’s enormous eye. Shards rained down on Goth. Thunder split the air.

“You speak as if you had a choice, Goth!”

“Devour me, then!” Goth cried wildly, flaring his wings, not caring what happened to him anymore. A strange calm seeped over him, filled him until he felt as black as night, and in that instant an idea came to him.

“Devour me now, Lord Zotz,” he said, “but if you do you will
lose a servant whose talents could glorify your kingdom and liberate you from the Underworld!”

He winced, waiting for something terrible to happen, for jaws to soar from the mountain and devour him. The thunder evaporated, the mountain stilled. The air shimmered with laughter.

“Your arrogance is astounding, Goth. But I no longer find it so appealing. I fear your pride and vanity have outpaced your ability.”

“Send me back to the Upper World,” said Goth. “I will be your mouthpiece. I will win you new followers, more zealous than the last. I will wait for the next eclipse and I will perform the sacrifices and raise you from the Underworld. Do not languish down here for millennia, waiting for the tunnel to be completed. Your triumph is closer at hand than that! Send me back to the Upper World now, and with the next eclipse you will be liberated!”

“An impressive speech,” came Zotz’s voice. “But your plan is flawed. What makes you think I can send you back to the Upper World?”

Goth faltered, surprised but also intrigued. He had always thought Zotz omnipotent.

“Surely, my Lord, there are no limits to your might.”

“My kingdom is the dead,” Zotz said, his voice shifting with the wind. “Over them I have absolute power. But I have no authority over the living. I can give life no more than I can take it away. There is only one way for you to regain the Upper World, and that is to steal the life of a living creature.”

“How is that possible?” Goth asked, feeling the power and promise of his plan drain away. “Down here?”

Zotz’s eye stared at him from the mountain, unblinking, stern.

“It is rare, very rare, but from time to time, a fissure opens in the earth and some living creature gets sucked down to my world: a
rat, even a bat occasionally.” Zotz paused. “There is one here now.” “Where?” Goth asked, the word exploding from his mouth. “Let me take it!”

“You are eager, Goth.”

“Eager only to do your bidding, my Lord.”

“Why should I choose you as my missionary?”

“It was my idea. No one else before had envisaged it.”

“True,” said Zotz’s voice, riding the wind, “but perhaps there are others more suitable to the task. Your father, for instance. Other kings before you who might serve me better.”

“They would all be excellent servants, I am sure,” Goth said carefully, “but they have been down here a very long time, and perhaps they have forgotten the Upper World, its ways. Perhaps their earthly appetites have been dulled, but I can still taste life. I know the jungle, and I can find new Vampyrum colonies and make them converts. No one will strive harder than me, for I have the most to lose, and the most to atone for.”

“Most convincing, yes,” said Zotz. “But why should I allow you to take this life for yourself? Should it not be offered up for me?”

Goth considered his words. “Truly, it would be a most suitable sacrifice for you, my Lord, but far less than you deserve. One life, after all, will not liberate you from the Underworld.”

“True, and yet even a single living sacrifice would give me some solace after so long a fast.”

“I would gladly give it to you, my Lord. But is it not better to wait and allow me to bring you all the sacrifices you need from the Upper World?” “Are you bargaining with me, Goth?” Goth looked away from Zotz’s huge, hypnotic eye. “Yes, my Lord, I am.”

Laughter trembled through the rock and air.

“How am I to know you would not take this life for yourself. So you might live again, and thus defy me?”

“I would not do such a thing!”

“Your plan is a bold one, Goth, and I admire it. But first you must prove your discipline and loyalty. Hunt down the living newborn and kill him—but do not take the life that rises from his body. That will be mine to inhale. Do this for me, and when the next living creature enters my kingdom, its life will be yours.” Goth clenched his teeth. How long would that take? Decades, perhaps even centuries?

“Are you ready to make such a sacrifice for your god, Goth?”

“Yes, my Lord, I am ready.”

“Across the desert,” Zotz told him, “there is a forest called Oasis, one of the many places where the newly dead come. A newborn has fallen through a fissure and is there now. I have sensed him. Behold.”

Goth shut his eyes as Zotz sang an image into his mind: a small male, some strange Silverwing-and-Brightwing hybrid perhaps. But what was most interesting was the lightning travelling the membrane of his wings, sparking from the tips of his fur. Goth’s mouth flinched. When alive, it had been meat he wanted; now it was the life that coursed through it. He hungered for that strange glimmering light, could imagine it seeping down his throat, better than any food. He swallowed. It was not to be his. Not yet. Goth opened his eyes.

“I can guide you to him,” said Zotz, “but expect little help from me. I can confuse and frighten the living, but cannot inflict harm in any way. It must be you who makes the sacrifice.”

Goth nodded, puzzling over this weakness in his god. Zotz could not kill. He needed it done for him. Zotz needed him. Goth felt a pulse of pride: he was more useful than he’d imagined.

“I will not fail, my Lord.”

“The living wither quickly in my kingdom. You must reach the newborn before he dies. I will be watching. Here is your path.”

The earth rumbled, and a ridge poked up through the surface, like the spine of some skeletal beast waking after a long dormancy.

“Now go,” said Cama Zotz. “Catch the newborn and summon me, so you may make an offering to your god.”

Never had Shade seen such a desolate landscape. He flew higher, trying to guess when it might give way to something different. With a sudden chill he wondered if this was all the Underworld was—a place where you would be alone eternally, flying over nothingness, calling out for your loved ones.

Again he checked the sky and saw that his circle of stars was about to disappear below the horizon. He hoped it would come back again. In the Upper World, the stars always came back. But this place was clearly different. There wasn’t even a moon or a sun, as far as he could tell.

Feverish with exhaustion, he knew he had to rest for a bit. He spied some boulders strewn across the earth, some heaped up into great mounds. Maybe he could roost down there, and still have a good vantage point from which to keep watch. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen a single Vampyrum yet—or any other creature, for that matter.

He dived down, made a pass, then picked out a massive boulder with a number of outcroppings. He roosted. He hated being still, not doing something.

“Griffin!” he called out. “Griffin!”

Turn
, he told himself, but before he could, something cold and supple and very strong wrapped itself around him, squeezing him into darkness and dragging him off his roost.

The icy grip was so tight he could barely struggle. Or breathe. It was a huge wing that held him, he could tell by its leathery feel and the hard ridges of finger bones gouging into him. Only a Vampyrum had wings this big. Desperately Shade tried to pull his claws free so he might slash his way out.

“I’m going to let you go,” whispered a voice near his head, “but you must be quiet.”

The voice didn’t sound at all like the hoarse bark of a Vampyrum, though Shade couldn’t be sure; it was so muffled through the thick membrane. Slowly the huge wing loosened and unfurled, and he leapt free, flapping hard and nearly smashing his head against the stone ceiling. It seemed he’d been dragged from his roost into some tiny cave within the boulder. Dropping, he clung to the far wall and whirled to look at his captor.

Not a Vampyrum.

Something much, much bigger.

Hanging upside down from the ceiling, this enormous winged creature looked more beast than bat. Her body seemed to take up most of the cave. She was densely furred with long dark hair, and her age was obvious by the abundant streaks of grey. Her face tapered into a long muzzle and a neat pointy nose. Bigger eyes Shade had never seen: dark, round, and penetrating, but surprisingly gentle. Her triangular ears were extremely small—how could you
see
with ears so small? She looked like a fox with wings. And what wings they were! They would easily span five feet when fully extended.

Shade stared warily. He noticed she kept one of her wings
half-flared against the cave wall, blocking the only exit. But she didn’t seem to have any carnivorous designs on him. Was she some kind of bizarre native creature of the Underworld? Before he even had time to speak, a second winged creature scuttled into view from behind the first, smaller but no less unusual looking.

Twice Shade’s size, this new beast had a most peculiar, squashed-looking face. His fleshy upper lip arched in the middle, giving him what seemed to be a permanent snarl. A pair of curved incisors jutted from both upper and lower jaws. He had a tiny two-pronged nose, and his cheeks were very whiskery and bumpy with moles. His eyes, though, seemed less fierce, flashing quick-wittedness and something like mischief. Then Shade’s gaze gravitated towards the huge, wickedly sharp rear claws: they looked as if they were designed for more than simply gripping bark. Nothing fun about those. If this thing was a bat, he thought, it was a species he’d never seen or heard of. Shade’s surprise and confusion only grew when a third creature fluttered out from behind the others. He gasped. A Silverwing.

It was a male, no more than a year or two older than Shade, but his right shoulder and wing looked strangely crumpled, as if injured in some terrible crash. He had a painful, lopsided flight. But what was a
Silverwing
doing down here in the Underworld?

“How did you get here?” Shade asked him, overwhelmed. Had this bat, like Griffin, been sucked down some terrible fissure?

“Why is he glowing?” the misshapen Silverwing hissed to the fox-faced creature, sounding both alarmed and disdainful. “Look at him, Java, he’s some kind of glowing
thing
, and you brought him in here with us?”

“I needed to shush him up,” Java whispered.

“That boy’s got glow enough to cut through fog,” the whiskery-faced creature remarked, looking Shade over curiously.

“Glow?” Shade asked, peering down at himself. “Shh,” hissed the fox-faced Java, drawing back her huge wing a touch to reveal the opening in the cave wall. “They’re coming.”

They? Shade’s heart thudded. Quietly he scuttled towards the gap, wanting to see, but the misshapen Silverwing stopped him with a harsh shake of his head. “You glow!” he whispered. “They’ll see you!”

Shade had no idea what this Silverwing was talking about. Java, he noticed, had sealed the opening once more with her wing, but left a tiny gap at the top. With a twitch of her large head she gestured Shade over. He gave her a grateful nod and, hanging overhead, pressed his face to the sliver of an opening. Just enough to see through.

Three Vampyrum streaked past, and his breath snagged. Not more than fifty wingbeats distant, their heads swivelled methodically, screeching out sound. Searching. No wonder Fox-face had dragged him off his roost. He’d been stupidly shouting his head off, leading the cannibal bats right to them. Shade was about to draw back when he caught sight of another bat, not a Vampyrum this time, but—

A Brightwing, by the size and silhouette of her. And she wasn’t alone, either. A stream of bats fluttered across the sky, one close after the other in single file. Shade squinted. They were actually tethered together, leg to leg, by some kind of luminous vine. Now he saw more Vampyrum on the flanks, shouting at the smaller bats to keep flying, occasionally veering in and snapping at one of them. Anger seeped into Shade’s astonishment as he stared at the hundreds of prisoners, most of them species he’d known from the northern forests. His eyes and echo vision lingered on each one, making sure it was not his son. Only when the last bat in this terrible chain had disappeared did Shade turn away, sickened.

“Lucky they didn’t find us, with him squawking out there,” said the misshapen Silverwing, with a sour glance at Shade.

Java said peaceably, “They’ve passed, and we’re fine.” She looked apologetically at Shade. “Sorry about the wing grab, but you can see why now. I had to get you inside fast.”

Shade nodded. He liked Java’s voice. It had a gentle, mellifluous sound that reminded him of a lazy wind. “Where are they taking them?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Back to their city, I figure,” said Whiskery-face with a grimace.

“What for?” Shade asked, fearing the reply.

“That we don’t know,” Java told him.

“And we don’t plan to find out,” snapped the grouchy Silverwing. “It was very diverting meeting you. You’re very sparkly. But we’ve got a long way to go, and you’re a liability. You’re loud. You glow. You’re fortunate we saved your twinkly skin. Now if you’d be so kind as to flutter off, we’d all appreciate it.”

“I’m not glowing,” said Shade, getting irritated. His mind was already seething with questions and he didn’t want any more distractions.

“Sorry, my boy, but you are,” said Whiskery-face. “You’d scare fish out of water.”

Shade looked at Java, somehow trusting her most of all of them. She nodded.

“All right, so I glow,” said Shade impatiently. “I don’t know
why
I glow, but it’s not important.” He took a breath, tried to focus. “All those bats, those prisoners out there, where did they come from?”

Java looked at him strangely. “Surely you know about the raids. The cannibals have been attacking the Oases, and capturing all the Pilgrims they can.”

Shade shook his head, uncomprehending. Oases? Pilgrims?

“He doesn’t know,” the misshapen Silverwing muttered to the others in annoyance. “He hasn’t figured it out yet. He’s not a Pilgrim.”

“What’s a Pilgrim?” Shade asked.

“If our little shooting star here ain’t a Pilgrim,” Whiskery-face commented, “what’s he doing so far from an Oasis?”

“Look, what’re you talking about?” Shade demanded. Java sighed. “Oh, I do hate doing this. There’s no easy way to tell you, Silverwing. You’re dead. We’re dead. All of us.”

Stunned, Shade looked slowly at each of them in turn. So this was what the dead looked like. He’d expected different—something ghostly, wispy white as vapour on an autumn pond. These creatures had bodies, a solid shape in his echo vision. The Silverwing didn’t even look that old! Java’s fur was greyed with age, but she still seemed strong and healthy. Then he remembered the preternatural cold of her wings around him, and felt a sympathetic chill seep from his own marrow. He shivered.

“I know, it’s a shock, isn’t it, to hear that?” Java said kindly. “We all had to go through it, believe me. With a little time you won’t find it so dreadful. Trust me.”

“Um, well, I’m not dead, actually,” said Shade.

“Denial,” said the misshapen Silverwing in a bored voice. “Classic reaction.”

“This is perfectly normal,” Java told Shade in a soothing tone. “You just need some time with it.”

“No, really, I can see why there’d be a misunderstanding,” Shade said. “But I’m not dead. There was an earthquake and—”

“This is all very poignant,” said the misshapen Silverwing, “but do you think we could hurry it along.”

“Yorick,” said Java, for the first time sounding testy, “surely a little patience wouldn’t kill you.”

“It did kill me, actually,” snapped Yorick. “And now that I’m dead, I find myself exceedingly
impatient
to get out of here!”

Shade looked from one to the other, dazed. “So those other bats I saw outside, they all came down here when they died?”

“Quick learner,” muttered Yorick.

“Every bat from every part of the world comes here when they die,” Java told him.

Shade couldn’t speak, he was so shaken. This hideous netherworld was where Nocturna sent her own favoured creatures? Nocturna was supposed to look after them when they died! Send them someplace wonderful!

“All bats come here,” he muttered, dazed. “But my elders … the legends say the Underworld is only for the Vampyrum.”

“Wrong!” said Whiskery-face cheerfully.

“Can’t be right …”

“It’s true,” Java told him gently. “You saw for yourself just now.”

Shade snorted angrily. “This really spikes my fur up,” he said. “They tell you things and you’re supposed to believe it because they’re elders, and it’s some dusty old legend that’s been staggering around the echo chamber for thousands of years….” The others were all staring at him in astonishment, and he trailed off. “Sorry, I just hate not knowing things. You, for instance,” he said to Java and Whiskery-face, “no one ever told me about creatures like you. Never.”

“I’m a Foxwing,” she said. “A bat, but a fruit-eater, from the other side of the ocean from you, I think. My name’s Java.”

“Shade,” he said. “From the northern forests. Are you all so … big? Your species?”

“Bigger. I’m a runt.”

“Really?” said Shade, ears pricking in surprise. “So am I.”

“And I’m Nemo,” said Whiskery-face, “from the coastal waters way down south. We’re fish-eaters.” Now Shade understood the wickedly elongated claws. He could imagine Nemo strafing streams and oceans, snatching food from the water. His eyesight and powers of echolocation must be extraordinary.

“And the grouchy Silverwing here,” said Java, “is Yorick.”

“Do you know my colony?” Shade asked, trying to place him. “Tree Haven?”

“Never heard of your colony, never heard of you.”

“Not surprising,” said Nemo, his eyes flashing mischief, “since Yorick’s probably been down here five hundred years or so.”

Shade stared. Yorick looked the youngest of them all, yet he was five hundred years old? Five hundred years
down here?

“Not such a quick learner yourself, are you, Yorick?” Java said with gentle mockery. “Took you some time to figure things out.”

“I had some adjustment difficulties, if that’s what you’re referring to,” Yorick said primly. “But I think I’ve made up for those now. You two wouldn’t have gotten far without me as leader.”

“Leader, is it?” Nemo said, amused. “My boy, we tolerate you because you’ve got the map and you won’t share it with us. It’s not your charisma that keeps us bobbing alongside, believe me!”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me
my boy
,” Yorick replied tartly. “I’m approximately four hundred and fifty-two years your elder, by my calculation. And now, we really should be moving on.”

“Where?” Shade asked.

“The Tree,” Java told him. “The dead need to travel there. All of us.”

“Really, I’m
not
dead.” He sighed. “I have a heartbeat and everything. Come and listen.”

Java looked sadly at the others.

“Humour him,” Yorick said. “If it helps speed the grieving process …”

Java walked across the ceiling towards him. Her face was almost the same size as his entire torso and she had a hard time bending one of her triangular ears to his chest. Her cool ear had barely touched him when she jerked back in shock.

“It’s beating,” she yelped. “His heart
beats
.”

“You’re sure?” Yorick snapped.

“Listen for yourself.” Java stared at Shade with such intense curiosity and awe that he looked away, self-conscious. “You’re warm, too. But how?”

“I came through a crack in the stone sky,” Shade told them. “From the Upper World.”

“Why?” Yorick demanded, incredulous.

“To find my son.”

“Is he dead?” Java asked.

“Alive. There was an earthquake and a crack opened up and sucked him down.” Shade felt all his frantic impatience seep back. “Do you know where he might go? He’s a newborn. I tried to track him, but lost the trail, and I don’t know where he would’ve landed.” Java, Yorick, and Nemo all looked at him, mute, then turned to one another helplessly. Shade’s anxiety felt amplified in their silence.