Firewing (12 page)

“What about these Oases you mentioned. How many are there?” Java inhaled deeply. “Hundreds at least, all across the Underworld, and between them, stretches of badlands like this one.”

Shade felt the breath leak out of him. Hundreds. He could search for months.

“We can’t help you look,” Yorick said sharply. “We’ve got to get to the Tree.”

“What is that?” asked Shade, hopeful. Maybe it was because it sounded like Tree Haven, or maybe it was just the simple image of a tree, a living thing that could only be good, give shelter. Was this a place Griffin might try to reach?

“We’re Pilgrims,” Java explained. “The three of us came from different Oases, on different sides of this world, but we all share the same journey, and that’s how we met. We’re not supposed to stay here. Once we accept our deaths, we’re meant to travel to the Tree. It’s the only way out for us.”

“Where does it go?” Shade asked urgently. Java shook her head. “A new world, better than this. All we’re told is that we must enter the Tree to begin our new lives.”

“Who told you this?”

“The messenger Pilgrims. They fly over all the Oases with their message, and mostly they get ignored by everyone—me included, for the longest time. But it was this latest Pilgrim that finally broke through to me. A Silverwing, actually. Frieda.” Shade choked. “Frieda? Frieda Silverwing?”

“You know her?”

“She was my elder back home, before she died. Where do I find her?”

“She travels the Underworld,” Java explained, “urging bats to begin their journey and giving them maps to the Tree. I don’t know where she is right now.”

“And it doesn’t matter,” said Yorick. “We must go.”

“The journey’s not what you’d call clear sailing,” Nemo explained to Shade. “There’s the voyage itself, which is long, and the land can change on you, and then you’ve got to wait around for more Pilgrims to get a new map. There’s the pain, too. Once you’ve figured out you’re dead, you start feeling pain again—whatever you had in the Upper World, only worse. So there’s that
to carry with you. And we’ve also got these cannibal bats stirred into things. So far we’ve managed to slip past them. But if we get caught, our voyage is over, like that.”

Shade was silent, trying to fathom this huge depth of new information. All the dead, here. Silverwings and Brightwings and Vampyrum all swirled together. A journey to some Tree that would take the dead to a new world. But would his son know about the Tree? Would Griffin naturally fly for it—and was that even the right thing for the living? Maybe it was only for the dead. He longed to talk to Frieda. Wishing was useless. He needed a plan, something to keep his mind focused. Seconds were streaming past.

“I don’t know where to start looking,” Shade admitted.

“Maybe you feel like travelling with us for a bit,” Java offered kindly.

Yorick’s ears nearly shot off his head. “Honestly, Java, all those years eating fruit have made your brain mushy! Hasn’t anyone been listening to me? He’s going to attract all sorts of attention to us, the worst kind! He’ll make bats curious, he’ll make bats angry; they’ll talk, and talk travels! And let’s not forget you can see him coming a hundred wingbeats away! The cannibals will have us in a second!”

“I might be useful to have along,” said Shade.

Yorick snorted.

“I say let him come if he chooses,” Java said firmly.

“This is my voyage,” Yorick said coldly. “I’ve got the map, I lead the way. I’ve been down here five hundred years, and I’m not going to risk getting caught because of a stranger with a tragic tale to tell!”

“Nemo, what do you think?” said Java.

“He has my welcome,” Nemo said, giving Shade a wink.

“That’s it, I’ll go solo,” blustered Yorick.

“All right,” said Java solemnly. “If you must, you must.”

“I don’t need you all slowing me down.”

“Good sailing, my boy,” said Nemo fondly. “May you have favourable winds.”

Yorick looked defiantly from Nemo to Java, then glanced out the cave opening. His battered wings fluttered nervously.

“If he comes,” Yorick said sternly, “he does what I say, he keeps his mouth firmly closed, and he flies close to you, Java. If we see anything coming, you wrap him up tight so he’s not like a beacon.”

Shade smiled. “Seems fair,” he said.

“Our route takes us over an Oasis soon,” Yorick told Shade, more kindly. “Maybe someone there will have seen your son.”

“Thank you.” Shade’s wings twitched impatiently. One Oasis out of hundreds. What were the chances? It was the best he had right now, though.

“Good, good,” muttered Yorick, “then, let’s depart.”

Java gave a yelp and pulled back her wing as if she’d been nipped. A dark muscular shape thrust itself through the exposed cave opening and then enlarged into a Vampyrum Spectrum, jagged wings spread wide, blocking their only exit.

Finding Luna was harder than he’d thought.

He went back to where he’d first seen her, and flew out in an ever-widening spiral. Streaking through the trees, he called her name. The other bats flashed out of his way in alarm. Oasis was huge. It could take him nights and nights to sweep its entire area. And he was running out of time—that was the thing that nagged at him like a burr on his cheek. With every wingbeat he was getting weaker, using up the energy he was supposed to be saving for his journey to the Tree.

But how could he leave without her? “Luna!” he called. “Come on, Luna, I need to talk to you! Luna!”

She had either gone to a completely different part of Oasis, or was avoiding him.

His mouth felt stale; he wanted water. He wanted food. He wanted to see the horizon brightening. His wings hurt. He roosted on a freaky-looking tree, trying to quell his growing panic. “Why’re you looking for me?”

He jumped and looked along the branch to see Luna, wrapped up tightly, her eyes watching him over her wings.

“You’ve been here all along?” he exclaimed.

“I’ve been following you.”

“Following me?”

“Trying to decide if you’re crazy or not. Why’d you fly away from me like that? Like you were scared of me.” He tried to say it. Couldn’t. She did it for him.

“You think I’m dead.”

“Well,” he said, letting out a big breath of relief. “So you know.”

“Yeah. That I’m
not
dead. I mean, come on, look at me!” She sprang from the branch, did a somersault, then nimbly flipped upside down in mid-air and roosted beside him. “Not bad for a dead bat, huh?”

“Look,” he said, “all I know is—”

“Plenty of bats here think
you’re
dead, though,” Luna told him good-naturedly.

“Yes, I know.”

“The whole glowing thing, the way you fell out of the sky. It’s pretty suspicious.”

“Okay, but—”

“Do
you
feel dead?”

Griffin couldn’t help chuckling in frustration. “I am not dead. All right?” He stopped laughing. “But you are.” She sniffed.

“It’s not just you,” Griffin told her. “You’re … well, you’re all dead. I’m sorry, it’s not a very polite thing to say, but you are. And I’m not the only one who thinks so.”

“I saw you talking to one of the Pilgrims.” Griffin nodded. “Her name’s Frieda. My parents knew her. She was the elder of our colony.”

“Hmm,” said Luna dubiously. “And I suppose she’s dead, too, right?” “Uh-huh.”

“She seemed nice,” Luna said with a trace of sadness. “She didn’t seem crazy or anything.” “I don’t think she is.” Luna looked at him hard. “So prove it.”

Griffin sucked in a big breath. “This place is not the real world. It’s … totally different, and it’s all wrong. The trees—take a good look.”

Luna stared at the trees around her, unimpressed. “So?” “They’re all mixed up. Pine needles, oak leaves, maple leaves, all on the same branch. That doesn’t seem weird to you?”

She flicked her wingtips carelessly. “No. That’s what I’m used to. Maybe the trees where you come from are just different.” Griffin sighed. This might be harder than he’d thought. “Eating,” he said. “Those bugs don’t taste like anything. Because they
aren’t
anything. They’re just sound or something; they just disappear when you chew them. And where’s the sun, Luna? Where’s the moon?” “What are those?”

“The sun?” he said in disbelief, “that big bright ball in the sky. Feels warm on your fur. And the moon …”

For a moment he wondered if he was the crazy one, spouting gibberish. Obviously he needed a better strategy. “So how long have you lived here at Oasis?” he asked casually. She shrugged. “Always.” “Since you were born?”

Her face clouded for a moment, and almost defiantly she said, “Yeah.” “Where’s your nursery roost?”

She waved her wing vaguely. “Over there.”

“Who’s your mother?”

“What’s the point of all these questions?”

“Do you know?”

“Of course I know who my mother is!”

“So what’s her name?”

“This is stupid.” But for the first time, Luna looked uneasy. “Um … it’s Serena.”

“No.”

“I think I know the name of my own mother,” she insisted, indignant.

“Frieda said the dead don’t remember anything. The memories are there, but you just have trouble seeing them—or don’t want to.”

“This is all just talk.”

“You have no heartbeat,” he said sadly. “And you’re cold. Living things are warm. That’s why I … I got scared and flew away. I’m sorry.”

“A heartbeat?” she said, as if the idea was unfamiliar to her.

“Come closer. Put your head here, you can hear it.” Hesitantly she shifted along the branch and pressed her ear to the centre of his chest.

“Loud,” she said, pulling back.

“Yeah, well, it gets louder and faster when you’re scared.” She folded some of her wing against her own chest, attentive, listening.

“Maybe some bats just don’t have one,” she said.

“Look at your wings.” He hated doing this. “Tell me how it happened.”

She frowned at the scars, seemed about to speak, then gave a little shake of her head. “I think I just was born that way.” But she said it without much conviction.

He watched her, waiting.

“
You
know—is that what you’re saying?” she demanded.

“I know.”

She shrugged, then a moment later said, “So let’s hear your story. I’m not saying I believe it or anything.”

He didn’t want to be doing this, but maybe if he could start her remembering, there’d be a landslide. But did he really want her remembering this particular thing? Carefully he chose his words, voice hoarse.

“There was a fire in our forest. And you got burned. The elders tried to heal you. Everyone was taking care of you, but you were too badly hurt. You died.”

“But I don’t
feel
dead.”

“This is the Underworld, Luna.”

“You seem to know everything,” she said angrily. “All about me, too.”

“We grew up together.”

“News to me.”

“When you first saw me down here, you flew right over, even though I was glowing! All the other bats are terrified of me. They just scatter. Not you. You came
right over
. Because you remembered me!”

She stared at him, then looked away. “I don’t remember you. I don’t remember anything.”

“Well, I remember you,” Griffin said. “And I’ll tell you everything you want to know. If you come with me.”

“Where?”

“The Tree.”

Suddenly, he was aware of the other bats, dozens of them hanging in the branches, staring balefully.

“Out!” Corona shouted, darting from her branch and swirling
angrily around Griffin. “You’re poisoning this colony!”

“Spreading lies!” another bat cried, and then they were all shouting at him, the air suddenly jagged with their wings.

“Bad as the Pilgrims!”

“Won’t stand for these lies!”

“Out! Out!”

“Get him out!”

“Hey!” shouted Luna. “We were just talking!” Griffin clung to his branch, paralyzed. They seemed so angry, and there were so many of them he doubted he could break past. Then they attacked, battering him with their wings.

“Out! Out!”

“Lies!”

“Trying to destroy us!”

At first Griffin tried to fend them off, but there were too many, and they were relentless. He wrapped himself up in his wings, making himself small against the blows pelting down on him.

“What’re you doing?” he heard Luna cry above the din of their shouting.

They were clambering all over him now, crowding in from the sides and above, trying to wrench his feet from the roost. He felt their terrible, cold bodies, oddly light but still strong, gripping him with their claws. They were dead, so how could they hurt him? But they were! Could they kill him?

“Stop!” he cried out. “Stop it!”

His feet were dragged from the bark, and he fell, dozens of bats still riding on his back and chest. He landed hard on another branch, and more bats piled on.

“Leave him alone!” he could hear Luna’s voice cry out, as if from far away. “Get off him! You’ll crush him!”

They were clutching at his throat, stamping on his chest, and
he was having trouble breathing. Tried to swallow, couldn’t, and now he was choking.
No air, no air. Please, get off!
His vision blurred, pulsed, began to darken around the edges.

And then he saw it.

He
was
glowing. Light was lifting off his body like tendrils of mist, from his nostrils, from his mouth. He could see it rising up into the air and … singing. Yes, singing. The light had a sound unlike any he’d ever heard. It was like a song. It was like a scream. A single note, pure and mesmerizing, but insistent and painfully shrill. It was beautiful and terrifying both.

The other bats must have seen and heard it too, because they pulled away with shrieks of fear, their ears pinned flat. At once, he felt the terrible, icy weight of the dead bats leave him, and he coughed and gagged air into his battered chest.

And with the air, he saw the light being sucked back into him too, reuniting itself with him. The wail faded and stopped. The light vanished. He could no longer see his glow. He blinked, wondering if it had all been a hallucination. But then why had all the dead bats left? He’d seen the looks of terror on their faces. Whatever the light and sound was, he needed it inside him, as much as blood and breath. He clenched his chest muscles, worried the light might fly out of him again.

When another bat landed suddenly beside him, he flinched. It was Luna. “You okay?”

“You were right,” he grunted. “I glow.”

“I can’t believe they did that,” she said, furious. “It’s disgusting! I’m really sorry. I had no idea they’d get so angry, really I didn’t, Griffin.”

“Not your fault,” he said, then stared at her in amazement. “Hey! You called me Griffin.”

She looked confused. “That
is
your name, right?”

“Yeah, but I never told you!” Griffin exclaimed excitedly.

“You must’ve—”

“No, I didn’t! But you knew it, anyway.”

“So this proves what?”

“That you remember me from when you were alive!” he said, beaming. “That I’m telling the truth. That I’m
right!
”

“That I’m dead, you mean.”

He stopped smiling, crestfallen. “Yeah.”

“Griffin,” she said, and looked at him intently. In her eyes, he thought he saw a translucence, a clear view into the past, as if she’d somehow caught a glimpse of it. Then her face clouded. “I still don’t remember you. Or being dead, or anything.”

He nuzzled his cheek against her cold fur. “You will. But you’ve got to come with me.”

She sniffed, looking around the forest. “I can’t believe what they did to you. They’re crazy. You think the Pilgrims are right, that we’re supposed to go to this Tree?”

He nodded fervently.

“And you’ll tell me things, everything I want to know? You’ll tell me about myself?”

“I promise.”

“Then, I’m coming with you,” she said.