Firewing (14 page)

“Just lucky, I guess,” said Shade.

Murk said nothing more, but Shade noticed that every so often he’d look over at him, and his nostrils would flare as if taking a sniff. Perhaps this cannibal didn’t need food anymore, but Shade wondered if a lifetime of instinct could be dulled so easily.

Luna kept looking back over her wing, and even Griffin felt a tug of regret when he saw the treetops of Oasis finally dissolve into the distant gloom. He returned his gaze to the terrible mud-cracked plain stretching endlessly before him. No wonder so few bats wanted to leave for the Tree. You’d have to be pretty determined to launch yourself out over this. Oasis was starting to look very appealing, even if it was filled with freaky trees and bats who tried to strangle the life out of him.

“It’s okay,” he said to Luna, hoping he sounded reassuring. Maybe she didn’t need reassurance. She never had back home. Personally, he wanted plenty of reassurance. He looked at her off his left wingtip and felt better. They were together, so how bad could it be?

Bad, he thought. It could always be bad.

He felt tired and weak, and they’d only been flying a couple of hours, following the deep straight gouge that Frieda had illuminated in her sound map. What amazed him was that, somehow, he was faster than Luna. His wing strokes kept pulling him into
the lead. Back home, she used to be an amazing flyer, stronger and faster than him. Now, Griffin was purposely slowing down so she could keep up. He didn’t want her to notice and feel bad. But it also started him worrying.
She may slow you down
, Frieda had warned him.

“So, we were friends, right?” Luna asked.

“Yeah. You had lots of other friends, too. You were very popular.”

“Really?” She seemed pleased. “Why?”

“You were cheerful and brave and … just a lot of fun to be around.”

“I like what I’m hearing,” she said with a grin. “You can keep talking.”

“Everyone wanted to be your friend. You always had good ideas. Well,
exciting
ideas, anyway; I wasn’t always sure they were
good
ideas, because they were obviously reckless and highly dangerous.”

“You’re not making this up?”

“Nope.” She laughed. “So what sort of things did I do?”

“Well, the owl game for starters …” and he told her all about it, and plenty of the other things she’d done back at Tree Haven.

“That sounds like fun,” she said, and suddenly fell silent.

“You okay?” he asked, worried he’d done or said something wrong.

“Just the way you tell it. Like it’s over and done with. And I can’t even remember myself in it.”

“You will.”

“Yeah?” She looked at him with such yearning that he felt his heart clench.

“Absolutely,” he said, hoping he wasn’t lying. “The more we talk about it, the more you’ll think about it. It’ll all come back.”

“That’d be good,” she said with a nod. “If I could remember, it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“I’ll be your memory for now. Anything you want to know, just ask me.”

“The fire,” she said. “How did it happen?”

The sight of her scarred wings still made Griffin wince, and though he tried to avoid looking, he often found his eyes dragged back to them. He’d just promised her … but what was the use of telling the truth? Wouldn’t do a bit of good. It would just make her hate him. And he needed her to be his friend down here. He wanted to help her get out of here—to make things right after the terrible thing he’d done. But that was only part of it. The truth was, he was too afraid to fly for the Tree alone. He wanted companionship, and right now he could think of no better companion than Luna.

“Well,” he began, unable to look at her. “There was a storm, and lightning hit the tree you were roosting on, and a branch fell and knocked you out, and you caught fire.”

“No one else died, did they? Like my mother?”

“Just you.”

“Tell me her name.”

“Roma.”

“Yeah,” she said. “That sounds right.” She closed her eyes as she flew, and Griffin could only guess that she was trying hard to summon up an image of her mother. He watched, wondering what it was like to be her, what she must be feeling—and simply could not imagine. It made his mind lurch. Dead. Not alive ever again. Everything taken away.

Eyes opening, Luna sighed with disappointment.

“I just hope you’re telling me the truth,” she muttered, then smiled. “You could be telling me anything, and how would I know?”

Uneasily he smiled back.

“I can’t believe how well you’re taking all this,” he said with admiration. “Being dead, I mean. If it were me, I’d be completely stressed out.”

“Well, doesn’t seem there’s much I can do about it, does there.” He laughed. “No. I guess not.” Suddenly she winced.

“What’s wrong?” Griffin asked worriedly.

“My wings.”

“They hurt?”

Luna hunched her shoulders, fluttered her wingtips, as if trying to shake the pain loose. “They never hurt before,” she muttered.

“Is it bad?” Griffin asked.

“Not so bad.” She forced a smile, but it didn’t erase the furrow in her forehead. “So where are we headed exactly?”

“Well, we’re supposed to follow this gully until we reach a kind of short, fat tree with prickles all over it. It’s called a cactus. That’s the first landmark, and it should tell us the way to the next one.”

They flew on in silence. Griffin reminded himself to keep sweeping the horizons, watching for Vampyrum. At least there wasn’t much chance of being crept up on out here. Mostly he kept an eye on Luna, searching her face for signs of pain. Why had it started all of a sudden like that? Maybe that’s what happened when the bats left Oasis. Or maybe it was something to do with him, reminding her of the accident. Now her body was starting to remember, too.

“Home doesn’t look like this, does it?” Luna asked suddenly.

“No.”

“That’s good. Because I may not remember much, but this is one sorry-looking place. Not even bugs live out here!”

“Wasn’t like they were real, anyway,” Griffin said.

“I guess dead bats don’t need food.” Luna frowned. “But what about you?
You
must be hungry.”

“I could sure use a few caterpillars right now,” he said, and regretted it. He didn’t really want to start thinking about food.

“How long to the Tree?” Luna asked.

“Frieda said a couple nights at most. Not long. You tired?”

“No. You?”

“Getting there.” He wondered how long he could keep up the pace, with no food or water. All this dark was making him tired, too. He craved moonlight, the horizon’s glow at sunset or sunrise. He craved sleep.

A change in the air made him sniff, but it wasn’t a smell that set off his inner alarm; it was the
texture
of the air, a thickening that billowed from the fractured earth like the sun’s heat. He looked down and saw the ground flinch, as if it were taut skin. Then, as Griffin watched in horror, it liquefied.

Gone was the earth below them, gone was the gully they had been following, all melted into a black sea. At first it sloshed thickly back and forth, but then it started to crest, as though whipped by a strong wind. And indeed, a wind did kick up, buffeting them as they flew.

“The map!” Griffin cried. Dissolved. Gone. He looked around in horror, not quite able to believe this. “You’re seeing this, right? It’s not just me.”

“I’m seeing it,” muttered Luna.

“Does this happen a lot here?”

“Not that I’ve seen.”

“Because just in case you’re wondering,” Griffin shouted, “this is
not normal!
”

Big fat bubbles formed on the surface and popped, boiling up everywhere. Instinctively Griffin flew higher with Luna. How were they supposed to find their way now? Frieda had said the
landscape could change, but he hadn’t expected it so soon, or so drastically. Fighting the wind, he tried to steer a straight course. A headache pounded at his temple in sync with his heartbeat. The whole desert was molten, a million black mouths, puckering open, slapping shut, eager to swallow him down.

“Luna,” he said anxiously, “there’s nowhere to roost now.”

“We’ll just have to keep flying, Griff.”

She even remembered his nickname. It cheered him up somehow, and despite the burn in his chest, he grit his teeth and concentrated on his wing strokes. Ten minutes ago he hadn’t needed to roost—now it was all he could think of.

“This has got to clear up soon, right?” he panted.

“Absolutely,” said Luna.

“Absolutely,” he echoed, trying to believe it. “But, if it doesn’t clear up, we’ll still have to land eventually, and I don’t know about you but I’m not crazy about the idea of crash-landing in that goo down there. It looks like a bog kind of situation. That really oozy mud that will just suck you right down and clog up your nose and mouth and—”

“Is that a tree!” Luna interrupted. “Over there?” On the horizon, an odd, fat tree jutted crookedly from the earth.

“That’s it!” Griffin cried in relief. “The cactus!”

As they flapped closer, he saw that it grew from a small hillock and somehow hadn’t toppled into the boiling morass that slapped against its base. It had a number of smooth chubby arms, and amidst the wickedly sharp thorns bloomed strange flowers. Luna was already making for its spiny branches, but Griffin held back.

“You think it’s safe?” he said. “I mean,
structurally
. There’s quite a tilt on that thing.”

Luna looked back over her wing in amazement. “Griff, do you see any other trees around here?”

“It’s a cactus, actually. And no, I don’t. But—”

“Come on, what’s the worst that can happen?”

Griffin smiled.

“What’s funny?” she asked.

“You used to say that to me back home; it was sort of a joke we had because … well, I always thought the worst would happen.”

“So what
is
the worst?”

“The worst? We land and the cactus falls over and takes us down with it into the boiling muck.”

“We’d fly off if it started to fall.”

“Good. Good plan.”

“Anything else?”

“It’s a weird-looking thing. Not exactly inviting, you know what I mean? All those pointy bits and … oh, forget it,” he said, exhausted. “You’re right. Let’s land.” Wary of the thorns, he came in and grabbed the slippery bark, flipping upside down. Seemed solid enough. Didn’t make sense that it was still standing, a little island in a churning sea. At least the waves didn’t seem to be getting any worse.

“I guess this happens here all the time,” he said, looking at the pitching horizon. Frieda had told him not to linger anywhere, to keep moving. But no way was he setting off again if there was no place to land. It would be like launching yourself out over the ocean—hoping for an island or a passing ship for refuge. He thought of his father, how he’d once nearly drowned in the sea during a storm. He’d survived. His father would survive anything.

“First landmark,” said Luna.

“Yeah,” said Griffin in surprise. In all the panic, he’d forgotten. He felt a small flicker of pride. He’d made it this far. Their trail had melted, but that didn’t matter now. The cactus would give them their new route. He looked up and found the round hole in the centre of the branch.

“See that?” he told Luna. “We look through there and that’s our new course.”

He would do it later. Right now, he was too tired to move.

“Aren’t you wiped out?” he asked Luna.

“I don’t know,” she replied thoughtfully. “I don’t really feel any different than before.”

“Well, I’m completely shattered. I’m finding this all very unsettling. I don’t know how bats live down here, long-term. I couldn’t do it. I’ve only been down here a night or so and I’m already a nervous wreck.”

“You’re always a nervous wreck,” said Luna.

“True,” Griffin said with a laugh. “Very true.” He felt better now, and gave a yawn that stretched every inch of his body.

“Why don’t you get some sleep,” Luna said. “We’re not going anywhere until this calms down.”

“You don’t mind?” Griffin could think of nothing he wanted more right now. “But shouldn’t someone—”

“I’ll keep watch,” Luna told him. “Just in case the goo rises or the tree tips.”

“Or if you see anything coming,” he added, remembering the Vampyrum.

“I’ll wake you instantly.”

“Thank you.”

“Just one thing …”

“What?”

“Would you mind telling me more,” Luna said, “about home and everything.”

“Of course.” He was glad she asked. He wanted to think about it, describe it, and paint it into life with words—as if that would make it easier to reach again. Roosting from the highest branch, away from the hissing and bubbling earth, they drew close to
one another. Her body was cold, and still unsettling to him, but nonetheless comforting. He was so glad to have her with him.

He began with Tree Haven itself, the first place in the world he remembered, describing it as clearly as he could. Then the forest outside, the different trees, the stream, the sugar maple he loved. He told her about the other newborns, Rowan, Skye, Falstaff, and how good it was at the end of the night to go back to Tree Haven where they would all roost together.

“I see her,” Luna said suddenly. Her voice made him jerk, she hadn’t spoken in so long.

“My mother,” Luna said. “I remember her.” Quietly she began to cry. “I saw her, I really saw her. Oh, Griffin. I don’t know what’s worse. Seeing, or not seeing.”

He met her gaze, transfixed by the grief in her eyes, not knowing what to say. She was sobbing, but she had no tears.

“Keep going,” she said hoarsely. “Keep telling it.”

“You sure?”

“I don’t think I really believed it before now,” she said, “being dead. It just didn’t seem like it could be true. But when I saw her, when I remembered, I knew it was. I really know now. But don’t stop, please.”

Haltingly he continued. Her crying settled into a kind of shuddering, and he could feel her sorrow transmitted through his own fur and flesh, and sometimes he cried, too. He lost track of how long he’d been talking. It made him feel safe, all the talking. As if, through all these words, he was controlling things, making things right. He glanced over at Luna, but she had her face turned away from him, so it was hard to tell if she was even awake. Sometimes he would pause, and after a second she would say, “I’m listening.” And so he would continue, as the earth hissed and boiled around them.