Firewing (17 page)

“See?” Luna said.

“This really isn’t a good idea.”

“Well, I’m going in. Wait out here if you want.”

She flew for the entrance, and was quickly swallowed up in the luminous fog. Griffin waited a second, heart pounding, then went after her. He couldn’t let her go in there alone. And, frankly, he didn’t want to be out
here
alone. The light enveloped him like a warm mist, and immediately he felt calmer. There was something so soothing about it, and he flew on, blind, until he cleared the mist and found himself within an enormous cavern, its walls and ceiling awash with flickering light. Millions of bats roosted here, staring intently at the cave floor.

Griffin looked. It was an immense lake of sound and light, pulsing gently. From its surface lifted skinny tendrils of luminosity as well as thick radiant columns, towering up to the ceiling. Hanging in the air, misty gossamer sheets chimed softly, marbled with light.

Up ahead he saw Luna and flapped to catch up. “What is all this?” he asked in a hushed voice, gazing down.

She just shook her head. Together they circled the cavern, looking for somewhere to roost. It wasn’t easy, but eventually they found a spot and hung side by side. He didn’t want to stay long. He glanced at all the bats densely clustered around them. Occasionally some of them would laugh or make a happy exclamation, or mutter cheerfully—whether to themselves or each other, he didn’t know. Mostly the bats were incredibly still and silent, hardly a wing twitching, just staring at the pool of light. It was very pretty down here, but Griffin didn’t entirely understand their rapt attention. “Oh,” he heard Luna breathe.

He looked over and saw her staring down, the marvellous light reflected in her eyes.

“What?” he asked, “what is it?”

“Can’t you see it, Griff?”

“Yeah, I see the light.”

“No,” she whispered. “
Home
.”

He peered back down, squinting. “Um, no, I’m not getting that. I see some nice fluffy shapes—that one looks kind of like a bear, maybe—but it’s a bit like looking at clouds. All lit up by the moon on a windy night. Scudding along. Changing all the time. But I’m not seeing anything, really….”

Maybe he had a bad spot. Back home he was always getting the bad spot, and couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. He should move, but Luna seemed happy with her roost, and, anyway, he didn’t want to get separated from her in this crowd.

“What exactly do you see?” he asked in frustration.

“Tree Haven,” Luna whispered with a contented sigh, her eyes not straying from the lake of light. “The sun’s just gone down and we’re all heading out to hunt.” A smile swept her face. “And there’s that tree you’re always feeding at, Griff. The sugar maple with all the tent caterpillars. I can’t believe you eat so many of those….”

He smiled too, and for just a second, it was as if the vaporous light below shaped itself into an image of his beloved forest: trees, and bats flooding the skies. Then it dissolved. Just light.

“Oh, Griffin,” Luna murmured, “this is really good. I’m so glad we came to see all this. It’s exactly the way you told it to me. But it’s so much better than just remembering. And the pain’s gone. My wings don’t hurt anymore.”

“That’s great,” he said, confused.

Her face was so tranquil and happy, he felt a sharp thrust of guilt. He’d taken everything away from her; how could he ask her to hurry up and get out of here?

“Hey, look, there’s Falstaff and Skye and Rowan,” Luna said now. “Hey, guys.” She laughed, then nodded her head, listening to a conversation Griffin couldn’t hear. He stared down hard at the sea of light and felt a creeping of unease beneath his fur. “Luna,” he said, “I’m not getting any of this.” “Just look,” she said absently, her gaze fixed on the lake, unwavering. “You’ll see it. It’s clear as anything. It’s like”—her voice was so soft he could barely hear now—”I’m already there….”

He looked at her, alarmed. Whatever she was seeing, she must know it was just pictures, some kind of echo mirage.

He jostled her. “Luna?” “Shh.”

He glanced around at the countless other bats. Surely they weren’t all seeing the same thing. Yet they all gazed with the same desperate longing, as if they beheld the things they most loved. Perhaps this swirling pool of light and sound showed everyone what they most wanted to see.

Except him.

Alive
, he thought.
It’s because you’re alive
.

Maybe here, only the dead could see things. Their past, their homes, the things they’d lost forever.

Goth slunk closer, belly to the ceiling, working his way around the clusters of roosting bats. They scarcely seemed to notice him, so intent were they on the lights below. Earlier he had made the mistake of looking too, and was transfixed by the image of the royal pyramid in the jungle, and all the Vampyrum circling him and calling out his name, “King Goth, King Goth!” It had taken all his might to tear away his gaze, and now he focused on only one thing:

The Silverwing newborn, aglow.

He was close, so close that Goth was starting to salivate, except he had no saliva. But the sensation was the same, that almost painful tingling in the hinges of his jaws and the involuntary grinding of his teeth.

So this was Shade Silverwing’s son. Not as runty as his father, but with ridiculous swaths of bright fur across his shoulders and back. Goth continued to approach from behind. The newborn wouldn’t even know what hit him. Within seconds, Goth would have his jaws around his throat, clenching, and all that radiant life would come spilling out and—

Be inhaled by Zotz.

Not him, but Zotz.

Goth faltered, not knowing if he could bear it. To kill the newborn, to see its life sucked away and squandered when it could have given him life, instead. It was greedy of his god, cruel, to do this to him. But there was nothing he could do. He must obey Zotz. Unless …

What if he took the newborn’s life? Took it quickly and became alive again. Zotz could do nothing. Zotz had no power over the living; he would be unable to punish Goth. Goth felt himself tremble at the idea. To defy one’s god was a terrible thing. Even if it was for Zotz’s own good. At first, Cama Zotz would be furious, but once Goth returned to the Upper World and began to gather new followers, to work towards liberating their god from the Underworld, surely Zotz would forgive him—and see that Goth’s actions had been noble and right.

He wanted life. How could he wait when it was right before him?

Only wingbeats away.

“Griffin! Griffin Silverwing!”

His ears twitched higher at the sound of his name—and there was something strangely familiar in the voice itself, though he was sure he’d never heard it. Who else knew his name down here? Luna, silent beside him, and Frieda. But it certainly wasn’t her voice. “Griffin!”

The call was so urgent, so beseeching that he almost replied, but hesitated, thinking of the Vampyrum. “It’s your father! Griffin! Where are you?”

Griffin’s skin prickled as the words echoed faintly through the cave. His father? It couldn’t be true. His father was back at Stone Hold with the other males; he wouldn’t even know about the earthquake at Tree Haven.

“Luna?” Griffin whispered. “Are you hearing this?” But she didn’t reply; she was still staring down, oblivious.

Griffin gazed all around, seeing nothing. Must be hearing things himself now. Then, from the misty sheets of light, a Silverwing male emerged, soaring across the cavern. He was still quite far away, flying towards the ceiling to look at all the roosting bats, calling out Griffin’s name again and again.

Searching for me.

Griffin remembered to breathe. It was just a mirage. Just seeing what he wanted, like Luna. He watched as the Silverwing male drew closer, closer, then veered away to look in another direction. Going away from him. Griffin’s heart clenched. He couldn’t stop himself. He dropped from his roost and fluttered cautiously after, still not calling out. Just looking.

After a minute, the Silverwing male banked suddenly and saw him. He stared at Griffin, missed a wing stroke, and then streaked towards him with such speed that Griffin braked sharply, pulling away in a wary circle.

“Griffin, what’s wrong?” Griffin kept his distance. “Are you real?”

“I’m your father!”

Griffin glanced at all the mesmerized bats roosting from the ceiling. “Everyone’s seeing things here. Maybe I’m seeing things, too. And how would I know what you look like, anyway? I’ve never met you.”

“Well … that’s true.” He seemed flustered. “But your mother must’ve told you about me!”

Circling, not letting himself get too close, Griffin looked for signs of himself in this older bat. He’d seen his own reflection in the stream, in droplets of water, and he had a vague idea what he looked like. But he wasn’t sure he saw any hint of it in this other bat—or mirage, he still wasn’t sure which.

“I thought Shade was bigger,” Griffin said suspiciously. He knew his father was a runt, but in his own mind, Shade was always a formidable presence, almost a giant. This bat before him could have been anyone.

“No, this is the right size for me,” the older Silverwing said with a chuckle.

“Prove it’s you!” Griffin demanded.

“Who else would come down here to rescue you!”

“There’s some pretty weird stuff down here,” Griffin insisted. “If it’s really you, you’ll know everything about Shade.”

“All right. Ask me a question, then!”

“Okay, let me think. In the Human City, Shade got chased by pigeons. How many pigeons were there?”

“It was … um, six, I think.”

“I heard it was nine!”

“Well, it happened a long time ago, but I’m pretty sure it was just six.”

“All the other newborns said it was nine,” Griffin insisted stubbornly.

“I was there!”

“
Were
you?” Griffin said. “I
wonder
. How about this. In the southern jungle, what was the first kind of creature Shade fought with?”

“Would you stop talking about me like I’m not here!”

“So you don’t know the answer?” Griffin said.

“A giant bug, about a foot long, with jagged pincers.”

“Okay, that’s right,” said Griffin. “I’ll give you that one. But how many bugs were there?”

“Just one.”

“Wrong! There were five! And Shade killed all of them with Chinook’s help.”

“No. There was just one,” the other bat said with a sigh.

“If you’re Shade, how come you don’t know?
I
know.
I
know all the stories—they’re practically all the newborns talk about. Shade this, Shade that.”

“And it was actually Chinook who killed the bug, not me. These stories get exaggerated.”

“Tell me how Shade met Marina,” Griffin said doggedly.

“And I thought
I
was suspicious!”

“Down here you can never be too careful,” said Griffin. “Go on.”

“I met her on an island, after I was blasted out to sea in the storm. Your mom was roosting right beside me on a branch, all wrapped up in her wings, and I didn’t even notice her because she looked exactly like a bright autumn leaf.”

Griffin couldn’t help smiling. “That’s right.” He frowned. “But anyone could know that story.”

“Griffin!”

“Last question. What were you going to call me if I was a female?”

“Well, I’d wanted to call you Aurora …” Griffin stiffened.

“… but your mother had her heart set on Celeste. So it was going to be Celeste.”

Griffin felt his entire body unclench. Cautiously he drew closer and, for the first time since arriving in this place, his nostrils filled with the scent of another living creature. His heart was beating so quickly it was hard to breathe. He grabbed hold of his father in mid-air, and just for a moment buried his face in the fur of his neck. It was the smell of family, the smell of himself. A wonderful warmth—not the terrible seeping chill of the dead—caressed him, and through it he sensed the strong beat of his father’s heart. He felt his father’s wing thrown across his shoulder and he thought, Y
es. Home
. He didn’t want to let go. He was crying with relief and happiness. He was all right now. His father was here. The hero Shade Silverwing. Nothing could harm him.

“Oh,” he said. “This is good. This is really, really good.”

“I was worried I wouldn’t find you,” his father said. “Worried I’d never know you.”

They found space to roost together on the wall. His father chuckled.

“
‘Prove it’s you
,’” Shade said, imitating his son. “Your mother will love that.”

Griffin just smiled, basking in the warmth of his father’s body against him. For the first time in ages, his mind was unrippled as a glassy summer pond. It was all too brief.

“We’ve got to go,” Shade said. “The tunnel you fell down, it’s right overhead now. We can climb back out.”

“You think we can make it?” He remembered how hard it had been just to reach the stone sky. “And there’s that wind.”

“We’ll be back in Tree Haven with your mother before the next nightfall.”

Griffin nodded, then stopped. “Luna,” he said.

“Your friend. I know what happened.”

Griffin looked away, ashamed. “I can’t leave her.”

“She can’t come with us, Griffin.”

“Why not?”

“The moment she reached the surface she’d dissolve and get sucked back down. It would be too cruel. She has to go to the Tree.”

“But I can’t just let her go on all by herself.”

“She won’t have to. I’ve met a group of Pilgrims. I trust them. She can carry on with them. See, that’s one of them … Java.”

Griffin followed his father’s gaze and jerked in surprise. Circling near the mouth of the cave was the biggest winged creature he’d ever seen.

“That’s a
bat?
”

“A Foxwing. Huge, isn’t she?”

“Huge,” he muttered.

“Luna can reach the Tree with them.”

Griffin said nothing. It felt as if he were abandoning her.

“She’ll be fine, Griffin,” his father said. “There’s nothing else we can do.”

“Frieda said I could get out through the Tree, too.”

“You met her?” Shade asked in surprise.