Firewing (4 page)

He woke to an enormous weight of stone crushing down on him. The stench of seared rock and dust clogged his nostrils. Sluggishly at first, and then with increasing panic, he dredged his mind for memories. He could not remember what he was, or whether he had a name. He tried to lift a shoulder, dig in with a hind leg.

Push
.

Exhausted by the effort, he wheezed, coughing dust from his mouth and nostrils.

What happened?

Who am I?

Fight
, he told himself.
Fight this
.

Shoulders hunched, claws digging in, he pulled. His legs found purchase and he felt the leaden weight above him shift, allow him a few precious inches. His head was molten with pain, fire raging in all his joints. His left wing was still extended, pinned flat by stone. He tried to pull it in, feeling as though he were dragging it inch by inch through serrated jaws. He bellowed with all his might to dull the pain, and finally had his wing folded tight against him.

Shuddering, he took a few moments to recover. He made the mistake of trying to open his eyes, only to have silt pour into them. Shutting them tight, he cracked open his mouth and sang out sound. Almost instantly his echoes were slammed back to him, painting an unintelligible silver din in his mind’s eye.

Buried alive.

He had a sudden image of himself, hundreds of feet below the earth, unable to reach the surface, the air slowly being forced from his lungs. Roaring with terror and rage, he flexed and thrashed, shoulders and back buckling against the stone. He felt it give, tumble down around him. Again and again he heaved himself upwards, rear claws pushing against anything they touched.

Slashing up through the rubble like a blade, his snout broke the surface first. Greedily sucking air, he pushed out the rest of his head. He opened his eyes slowly, ablur with tears and dust, and saw before him in the gloom a barren plain stretching to all horizons. He heard no trees or vegetation or life of any kind. Just earth and sky—and a gritty wind that assumed its own ghostly silver shape in his echo vision.

Is this normal?

No, he was expecting something else—but what?

Think
, he urged himself
. Remember
.

He hauled the rest of his body free, and shivered, wings drawn tight, chin pressed into his chest. His mind throbbed, trying to unlock itself. And then a few images flared in his mind’s eye.

Trees that soared to the sky and formed a canopy.

Below, a world of lush vegetation. Creepers and vines and mosses and flowers.

A pyramid of stone, with other creatures like him, swirling around it.

Home
.

He looked round at the rubble strewn in all directions. This
was not home. Then, how had he come to be here? Again he thought of that stone pyramid, stared at it in his memory.

A flash of light. The premonition of some cataclysmic noise—nothing more.

An explosion? Some kind of disaster? And this—was this all there was left, everything flattened to this rocky plain? Tilting his aching neck, he squinted up at the heavens and saw, through the swirling dust, stars glimmering. They reminded him of nothing.

Instinctively he spread his wings to fly, but the earth would not release him. He felt immeasurably heavy and tired.
Rest
, he told himself.
After a rest, you will be able to fly
. Instead, he began a slow crawl, moving with the wind, opening his wings a little and angling them so he was shoved along by it.

He didn’t know where he was going, but sooner or later he would have to meet another living thing who could tell him.

Then he stopped. His nose twitched as if trying to catch a scent. Hunching forward, head cocked, he listened. Something was wrong. Not outside, but inside. Deep inside him, something was all wrong.

He tried to breathe calmly, to listen, to think.

Then it came to him.

His heart wasn’t beating.

In a panic, he coughed and thrashed about, hoping to force his heart into action. He pounded his chest against the rocky ground. Beat!
Beat!
Desperate for air, his vision flared and swam—then suddenly cleared.

And he realized he wasn’t dying.

He was already dead.

At the same moment, his name came surging back to him. He opened his mouth to speak it and his voice sounded alien to him, saturated with grime and exhaustion. “Goth.”

Inside Tree Haven, Griffin watched as they placed Luna on a soft bed of moss. With their noses they gently nudged out her wounded wings. His mother was among the helpers, as was his grandmother, Ariel. In niches carved from the bark were small mounds of different berries and dried leaves and strips of bark. Ariel took some of these things into her mouth, chewing not swallowing. Then she roosted above Luna and proceeded to drizzle the potion from her mouth onto the patches of raw, burned skin.

Luna was shivering. Why was she shivering, Griffin wondered, when she’d just been on fire? She said nothing, made no sound, just stared straight ahead, eyes wide and unblinking. She didn’t look like herself. It was as if the things that made her Luna had gone away, or were deep in hiding somewhere. She just gazed right through things. Maybe she was concentrating, using all her energy to get better.

Griffin had always found Tree Haven immensely comforting. He loved the reassuring thickness of its great trunk, and the geography of its craggy grey bark, knotted and gouged with valleys
deep enough to hide in. Most of all he loved the inside, hollowed out by the Silverwings into a series of interconnected roosts, radiating from the trunk into the larger branches, all the way up to the elders’ roost at the summit. At sunset the entire colony would burst through the central knothole into the night with the sound of a torrential river. But his favourite time of all was sunrise, when everyone would return from the night’s hunting, find their roosts, and talk while combing the dust and grit from their fur and licking their wings clean. Then all the mothers and newborns, roosting snugly side by side, would sleep.

But now, as he looked at Luna, he felt only shame and dread.

No one had spoken to him yet. There hadn’t been time. In the forest, when all the grown-ups had arrived, his own mother had only looked at him anxiously for a moment and asked, “You’re all right?” When he’d nodded numbly, she had returned to Luna, helping to carry her back to Tree Haven and up to the healer’s roost. Griffin had followed at a distance. As they’d flown up through the trunk, the silence was suffocating. Everyone already seemed to know what had happened. He tried not to look at the hundreds of horrified bats watching as they passed. He didn’t want to look, or be looked at. He didn’t want them to see what he’d done.

Now the other mothers were taking turns blending the leaves and berries in their mouths, mulching them into a thick liquid and spreading it over Luna’s wounds. Watching this made Griffin feel hopeful. He wished they would work even faster, cover all Luna’s angry welts and burns with the dark unguent, cover up her pain, take it away.

When at last they were finished, his mother flew over and roosted beside him. “Griffin, what happened?” she whispered.

He had childishly hoped this moment would never come. His voice shook as he spoke. “We saw some Humans in the forest and
they had a fire and … we thought we should take some. I got some fire on a stalk of grass and was flying with it, but it started burning me and I dropped it onto Luna by accident.” He had to choke out the last words, he was sobbing so hard.

He wanted her to be furious with him. He deserved it. He hoped she would shout and punish him and when all that was over, somehow things would be better. Things would be fixed. But his mother looked so far from anger, was so still and mournful, that Griffin felt more frightened than he ever had in his life. “You foolish, foolish children,” she said, so softly Griffin could barely hear her.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said. “I didn’t know she was underneath me, and I was scared I was going to get burned. I tried to help put the flames out, but they wouldn’t go away.”

She wrapped her wings around him and held him tightly, and Griffin didn’t know what to think. She shouldn’t be holding him; this was his fault. He hardly dared breathe, wishing he could vanish.

“You’re so lucky. It could’ve—” His mother cut herself short. “Why did you let them talk you into it?”

He said nothing, feeling as if all the air were being squeezed out of his lungs.

He had to tell her. “It was my idea,” he wheezed.

She looked at him, stunned. “Why?” she managed to ask.

He couldn’t look at her as he spoke. “So we could have some like the owls. And I thought maybe we could use it to stay warm in the winter. So we could stay here, without having to migrate.”
And so maybe my father would think I had some courage
, he thought, but didn’t say this.

His mother shut her eyes tight, as though not trusting herself
to speak. When she did, anger flickered through her voice. “Griffin, we don’t want fire. We don’t
need
it. Its only use is for war. We couldn’t keep it inside. It would set the tree on fire. Even if it didn’t, we’d still have nothing to eat through the winter. We’d starve.”

He nodded. “It was … a really bad idea,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“You should have come and told us the moment you saw the Humans.”

“I know.”

“You’re sensible, Griffin. Even if the others aren’t.
You
should have known better. I don’t know what you were thinking, stealing fire. If you’d only thought a bit …” She let her voice trail off, as if unable to summon any more energy. Her eyes drifted back to Luna, and Roma, her mother, nuzzling her gently, talking to her quietly. Luna wasn’t saying anything back.

“When will she be better?” Griffin asked his mother.

“I don’t know.” She paused, then added, “Maybe never.”

“What d’you mean?” He felt panic moving through him like a crazed June bug, wings slashing the air, slamming itself everywhere. Did his mother mean Luna might be crippled her whole life? That she’d never fly again?

“She might die, Griffin.”

He frowned, not understanding, shaking his head. “But you were all spreading potions on her. The elders know how to fix things like that, right?”

“She’s very badly hurt.”

The fur around her eyes was matted with tears. This was all his doing. Griffin knew she was ashamed of him now. He’d disappointed her so badly, how could she ever love him again? And what would his father say?

“What can I do?” he said, his voice sounding unfamiliar to
him, thin and breathless. He wanted his mother to tell him to do something hard or painful—anything would be better than just being frozen with his feelings.

“There’s nothing we can do,” his mother said. “We just have to wait.”

He looked around this place he’d loved so much his whole life, and felt like he had no right to be here. All the other mothers were looking at him—hating him, he was sure. And Luna’s mother—she would hate him most of all, and forever. The tree seemed to echo with his own shame and grief. He couldn’t stand it.

Griffin flew. Down away from the healer’s roost, all the way down the trunk to Tree Haven’s base where myriad passageways twisted into the ground amongst the maple’s roots. He didn’t know where he was going, and didn’t care. He just wanted to go down, and down, far away from everything.

But his thoughts came with him.
Shut up
, he screamed inwardly. The tunnel was narrowing, and he was glad when it scraped against his face and back, when dirt got driven up his nostrils and against his teeth. He clawed his way along until the passage was blocked by a large slab of stone. It was totally dark, and he shut his eyes and his mouth, letting no sound light the world for him. If only he could make his mind this dark. Stop seeing Luna’s burning wings spinning earthwards. Stop hearing that scream she made as she fell.

Unless the wind turned against them, Shade knew they’d make Tree Haven before sunrise.

He’d been chosen as one of the five messengers. Maybe the chief elder had sensed, just by looking at his eyes, that he was going whether chosen or not. Still, it had taken Shade so
completely by surprise that he couldn’t help smiling. Orion had probably thought it was better to have him part of a group (where the others could keep an eye on him) than have him flapping off on his own.

They’d set off immediately. Around him flew the four other Silverwing males: Cirrus, Laertes, Urriel, and Vikram. They were faster than him; they knew it, and so did he. And he also knew he was slowing them down. But rather than streaking on ahead and circling back impatiently for him every once in a while, they let
him
set the pace, and never showed any signs of restlessness. Shade was grateful. He hadn’t known them particularly well at Stone Hold, and none of them were big talkers, but he enjoyed their company. When they did talk, it was to remember Tree Haven, and wonder about their mates and their newborns, and trade stories about when they themselves were young.

Sometimes Cirrus or Laertes would awkwardly ask him questions about the jungle, or Goth and the Vampyrum Spectrum, or the rat kingdoms. Shade had told these stories enough times now that they hardly seemed things that had actually happened to him. Still, he liked telling them, and never tired of the stunned amazement in the faces of his listeners.

The weather had been so warm and the winds so fair that he was almost able to forget the fears which had urged him on this journey: the earthquake, the hissing crack in the earth, and the horrible presence he’d sensed down there. When Shade departed two nights ago, Chinook and his father were busily assembling a team of males to go and block the opening. As he’d said goodbye to his father, Shade felt a peculiar clutching at his heart. He knew he’d be back in a matter of nights, but he still didn’t like leaving his father, especially when it was not so long ago they’d first met. Cassiel had told him to have a safe trip, and that he loved him.

Soaring over the dense forest, Shade’s pulse quickened as he recognized the familiar landmarks that told him Tree Haven was near. A few hours ago they’d passed over the derelict barn where he and his colony had roosted on his very first migration. Now the Human roads faded into deep forest, winding rivers. The sky began to brighten to the east. The sparse birdsong they’d been hearing for the past half hour was building into a dawn chorus. Shade’s thoughts leapt ahead to his arrival. The fast ride down into the valley, skimming over pines and firs and hardwoods towards the silver maple they had chosen for the new Tree Haven. Once they crested the next ridge, maybe they’d even meet some of the Silverwings out hunting. Maybe he’d cross paths with his mother, or Marina. Maybe even his son! He wondered if he would recognize Griffin. “Listen,” he said suddenly.

And there was nothing to listen to. No frogs, no crickets chirruping, not even the sound of insects’ wings. For a moment even the light breeze evaporated, and then the air thickened ominously as though foreshadowing a lightning storm. Yet the sky overhead was almost entirely clear.

The air began to sing, a low, unbroken tone that he felt in every hair of his body. The tone gathered force, buffeting the underside of his wings, numbing his face. Without warning, the trees heaved up towards him, spiky branches almost impaling him as he veered wildly, flapping desperately against the leaden air. He cast around anxiously to make sure Cirrus and the others were all right. They all circled together, gazing down in horror. Below he saw the earth heave and grind, whole swaths of forest buckling up and crumpling against one another. He flattened his ears against the colossal noise, as if the earth’s very bones were being smashed together, snapped and crushed. The air churned,
hard as water, and Shade slewed about, as if he were no more than a seed pod.

The sky was aswirl with birds, woken by the earth’s violent shaking. They’d taken wing in terror, their poor night vision making them careen dangerously. On the lurching forest floor Shade could see moose and bears and lynx baying and roaring as they ran headlong, trying to escape the thrashing of the ground beneath them. The sight made him gasp in pity: unlike himself, they had no easy escape, no flinging themselves safe and high into the air. They were locked to the earth, their home that had in a second become their enemy. The river that meandered through the forest was frothing, water leaping over its banks. Dust erupted across the land.

Then, impossibly, it was over. With a great groaning of rock and wood, the earth slowly exhaled and lay still. Shrieks of pain and dismay rose up from the birds and beasts as they returned to their ruined roosts and dens. Shade stared down at the wreckage of the forest, his mouth dry, heart throbbing against his ribs.

Marina
, he thought.
Griffin
.

Griffin must have fallen asleep.

Waking, there were a few merciful seconds when everything was forgotten. He wondered where he was, and why his body felt so heavy, as if he’d just finished a long night’s hunting. Then everything came back to him, and he wished he’d never woken up. Up in Tree Haven, Luna was suffering, maybe even dying. All because of his idea—his stupid, pointless idea. He wagged his head, trying to shake out the pictures flooding his head. He should go back up, help them, do something useful….

How could he face them all? Feel their eyes on him, hating him?

Especially his mother. She would try to be kind, and try to forgive him—but how could she, after what he’d done?

He tried not to cry. Then he stopped abruptly. What he’d thought was his body shaking was actually the ground beneath his belly. The shuddering intensified so his vision sang with sound, the very air throbbing with light. The tunnel was so tight it took him a moment to turn around. Scrambling forwards, spraying out sound, he heard the low grinding of rock against rock, and was suddenly shoved hard against the wall as a great fist of stone punched through the tunnel ahead of him. Griffin lurched back, cowering beneath his wings as a choking cascade of debris rained down upon him. The earth shivered violently for a moment, and then was still. Griffin waited, listening to the patter of settling grit.

“Okay,” he panted, trying to rein in his panic. “Okay. No more shaking. That’s good. That’s excellent.”

He lifted his wing to take a look and was immediately seized by a coughing fit, eyes and nostrils streaming. After a minute or so he managed to croak out a few tendrils of sound, and saw what he had most feared. The passage was blocked. Carefully he probed the wall of debris with his echo vision, but found no gaps. He stared for a few moments, numb, still half expecting something to happen: the wall to crumble away and reveal a passage, or someone to call him from the other side.