The speed of the line slowed dramatically. A long stone bridge jutted halfway into the shaft. As each bat in the chain neared it, he roosted for a moment, and a Vampyrum guard stationed at the edge would shove something into the worker’s mouth. A rock, Goth realized as he drew closer. The worker bats would take the rock between their jaws so only the tip was protruding.
Goth flew past the ledge, refusing to roost.
“Take it!” the guard roared at him, but Goth would not have a rock shoved into his mouth. The guard did not pursue him, as Goth had expected, but simply shook his head with a grim laugh. Finally the tunnel dead-ended, and as Goth approached he could see the thousands of worker bats scattered across the ceiling, still tethered together. Goth flipped over and made an awkward landing, hanging upside down. All the others had swung their bodies up flat with the rock, using their thumbs and rear claws to hold tight. With the rocks in their mouths, they were already busily chipping away at the stone. A constant drizzle of shards and grit rained down from the ceiling, down the shaft, down to the earth below.
They were miners, digging this shaft deeper and deeper. Or was it higher and higher? How could they endure this forced labour, the indignity of using their heads as tools?
“Where’s your rock?” Phoenix demanded, roosting beside him.
“I don’t have one,” Goth told her haughtily. “What is the purpose of this labour?”
“No rock? Then, you must use your teeth!” She slammed her body against Goth’s, forcing his head towards the ceiling, and pushing his muzzle against the stone.
“Now! Dig!”
Goth had no choice. Baring his upper canines, he reared back and brought his teeth forward to chip at the stone. It was very dense, and each blow sent a flash of pain through the roots of his teeth into his skull. His mouth filled with grit and rubble, and he spit it out.
“Next time, you’ll take a rock,” Phoenix said. Over her shoulder she said, “I’m watching you.”
All around him, the bats worked in grim silence, the staccato click of rock on rock echoing through the shaft. The repetitive labour sent his mind into a reverie. How long had they been working to create this shaft? Where was it meant to go? All the way to the Upper World? Surely it would take millions of years to get any distance, even with thousands of bats ceaselessly working. He lost all track of time, and then felt a tug on his ankle. His mining team was beginning its descent. It was exquisitely painful to release his grip on the ceiling; his claws had been clenched for so long. He coughed grit from his mouth.
As the chain passed the long stone bridge, each bat spat out his mining rock. When Goth limped past, the guard gave him a mocking smile.
The descent was, if anything, worse than the ascent. He was even more tired now, and the fierce gravity of the Underworld made it necessary to flap hard simply to slow his fall, wings billowing. Halfway down, they passed another crew returning for its shift. A spasm of panic, almost like a clattering heartbeat, racked Goth’s chest. Was this the afterlife that awaited him—this mindless scrabbling, repeated eternally?
INTO THE UNDERWORLD
It wasn’t like falling.
It was like being inhaled by some colossal beast. Shade hurtled through the narrow tunnel, scalded by the rock, the smell of his singed fur sharp in his nostrils. Far, far below, he caught a small ragged patch of light. He was accelerating towards it, could barely snatch air through his nostrils. Ears pinned flat, he shut his eyes for fear the wind would pluck them from his head. He furled his wings, folded his body small, and steeled himself for what awaited him.
Land of the dead.
Would he die the moment he passed the threshold?
Would there be air?
Frantic images flashed before his mind’s eye. A cave teeming with millions of cannibal bats. Cama Zotz coiling his shadowy presence towards him. And somewhere down there, his son—
Out.
Shade knew it instantly, the gut sensation of space and sound opening around him. He was still alive, still breathing: there was air. One legend wrong. Slowly he stretched his wings, fighting the monstrous downward pull. He felt as if he were carrying a large stone in each claw.
Levelling off and circling, he peered down, and his stomach lurched. This was no cave. Far below him was an entire world, revolving like a small planet deep within the earth.
How will I ever find him?
He glanced back up at the stone ceiling, vast as the sky. It was scattered with large deposits of glowing rock, casting a light more powerful than real stars. Shade flew closer, knowing he had to find the hole he’d come through.
His way in. His only way out.
He bombarded the stone with sound. All that rock above him, all that weight just massed there, hanging, waiting to crush him like a midge. In his echo vision, a small crack of darkness appeared in the blazing silver of the sky. With effort, he flew for it, flipped upside down, and sank his claws deep, flanks heaving.
The unearthly light from a clump of phosphorescent minerals washed over him, turning his fur ghostly white. He peered back up the crack. The wind shrieked down at him, nearly blasting his head off. Far, far up and away was Marina, Tree Haven, his world. It seemed impossible there was a passageway between here and his home.
He needed to mark the crack somehow, so he could find it again when he had Griffin. He coughed to cleanse his throat, closed his eyes, and shouted at the rim of the tunnel entrance. The sound hit the stone at the proper angle, and bounced between the two sides, but the raging wind instantly sucked the echoes away.
Discouraged, he let himself fall away from the rock, taking a good look. The clumps of minerals really did look like stars once you moved further back. So use them like stars. He found his crack and memorized the little constellation around it—seven stars arranged in a rough circle. Remember that. How they would claw their way back up that shaft was another question, one he didn’t want to think about right now.
Griffin.
He flared his ears and listened for his son. Moving backwards in time through the bright haze of silence until—
He caught just a ghostly trace of movement, a shape that could be wings, a head, a pair of panicked, outstretched claws hurtling through the crack. But then the image dissolved like mist dispersed by a breeze.
“No …” Shade muttered as he swerved and dipped after the scattered little shards of sound. The last sparkling sonic motes dissolved. Shade circled, despairing, looking down at the world far below.
Where do I begin?
Just begin.
He tried to imagine his newborn son, spat out into this strange world, weak with terror—and felt his own muscles weaken sympathetically as he spiralled down, fighting the earth’s pull. Would Griffin have been able to make a proper landing? He might have crash-landed somewhere, and was now injured, unconscious … dead. Shade peered down, trying to find a likely spot: forest, caves, trees, anything that would beckon a frightened bat. Shade was still too high to use sound, and with his eyes could only make out shades of darkness below.
You’ve only got two nights.
Lower still, and now he saw an arid, pockmarked plain spreading before him. No trees, little vegetation, and no kind of creature on the ground. Quickly he scanned the skies for Vampyrum, but saw nothing, not even the sonic flare of a mosquito. This place was so inhospitable, perhaps it had never known inhabitants. But where were they, he wondered uneasily, all the inhabitants of the Underworld? Where were the billions of Zotz’s dead?
And where was his son? Griffin wouldn’t stay here. He’d fly on, try to find somewhere with food, shelter, trees where he could roost. Or hide. Would he hide somewhere and just wait … for what, though? He would try to get out. Perhaps he’d already tried to make it back to the ceiling, but wasn’t strong enough.
“Griffin!” he called out, flinching at the noise, half expecting to see a thundercloud of cannibal bats boiling towards him. He didn’t like the idea of drawing attention to himself, but what
else could he do? “Griffin Silverwing!”
His voice echoed back at him from the flat earth and evaporated. Over his wing he peered upwards and found his circle of stars, marking the escape route. It seemed to have slid further across the sky, and he realized that either the earth was revolving, or the sky was. His heart sank. That meant Griffin hadn’t necessarily come down around here. He might very well be on the opposite side of the world.
Doesn’t matter. Keep going.
This wasn’t a good plan. This was barely a plan at all. But he was afraid to stop and think, afraid of wasting more precious time. He wished Marina were with him now, to help him—to advise him. “Griffin! Griffin!”
He called out his son’s name so many times that the sound became a part of him, like a heartbeat, or a breath. He would not stop until he heard his son’s return cry.
PART TWO
PILGRIMS
Near the edge of Oasis, where the forest met the great cracked plains of mud, Griffin picked a tree shrouded with hanging moss, and roosted hidden against the trunk. He hadn’t wanted to return at all, but where else could he go?
Alive, he kept telling himself. You’re alive. But he didn’t feel very good. Trembling, his joints felt as if they might snap apart, his muscle and sinew pulpy. His stomach gulped. He tried to concentrate. He needed a plan.
“Okay, how’s this,” he muttered to himself. “You take a little rest, then fly back up to the stone sky and keep looking for the crack. That’s a plan. Pretty big sky, though, and I can only stay up there ten, fifteen minutes at a time before I get sucked back. I could keep going up for years and not find it, and, anyway, I wouldn’t have the energy to keep going back because there’s nothing for me to eat down here. I’d just get more and more worn out and—”
He stopped himself. Sometimes the words didn’t do what they were supposed to. They were supposed to make him think more clearly. Right now they were just scaring his fur out by the roots. He decided to try once more.
“Forget the crack in the sky. Maybe there’s another way out. I leave Oasis and … fly out over that terrifying desert. Oh yeah, that’s great, very promising. But it can’t go on forever, can it? And maybe I’d meet someone who could help me. Someone friendlier than the bats here—wouldn’t be hard. But what kind of crazies would live out there in that desert, anyway?”
He rustled his wings anxiously, gripping and regripping the branch. He wasn’t good at this. Every time he thought of a plan, he just kept coming up with all the drawbacks. And look what happened with his last plan, anyway. Steal some fire—what a great idea! And now Luna was down here and it was all his fault. Guiltily he thought of her confused, startled look as he’d leapt away from her in terror, wings churning to escape. Leaving her behind.
What would your father do?
His father? Oh, well, if his father were here, he’d do something amazing like blast a hole in the sky, or bring all the bats back to life and deliver them into the sunlight. Give him a couple of hours and Shade could probably solve everyone’s problems. Then there would be a big celebration, and they’d have to sing his praises to the echo chamber again, and the echo chamber would be so full it would blow up and blast little bits of Shade’s heroics all over the northern forests so every living thing could hear them!
Griffin’s heart raced with anger. Then, as his pulse slowed, he felt his energy and hope leave him like an exhalation. How he wished his father were here. He squeezed shut his eyes.
Do something, he told himself.
Go find Luna.
The thought surged into his head, and he wasn’t quite sure why. He was terrified of seeing her again. Nothing he could do would help her. And what was he supposed to say? “Oh, by the way, you’re dead. Just thought I’d let you know.” But she was his best friend, whether she knew it or not, and he needed her right now. Maybe she would help him. Maybe she could make a plan.
He set off at once, hoping he could remember the place where he’d met her. This was good; this was doing something. He was aware of the Oasis bats flapping clear as he approached. Just me, the fabulous glowing bat! Despite himself, he smiled.
When he saw the stream, he felt even more cheered up. He swallowed in anticipation, mouth parched. The surface sparkled in the starlight—if you could still call it starlight. He was too thirsty to be cautious now, so he strafed the stream, mouth open to catch the water—
And veered up, coughing violently at the gritty swirl that poured down his throat. Not water at all, just a kind of dusty nothing disguised as water. Like the bugs, the water wasn’t even there. “Gah!” he exclaimed angrily. “I hate this place!”
A new worry pounced into his head now. He remembered his mother telling him once that you could survive longer without food than water. So how long would he last? “Join us! Join us! Come with us to the Tree!”
Griffin peered up through the branches and saw a tight group of bats streak past, maybe three dozen, all different species, flying low over the forest. “Join us!” the lead bat called out again.
Griffin flew after them, keeping just below the treeline for cover.
“Pilgrims …” he could hear some of the Oasis bats muttering around him, “the Pilgrims are back….”
Griffin saw that the leader was a Silverwing female, and an old one at that. Her fur was mostly grey, and sparse in places, showing patches of wrinkled skin. Her whole body conveyed age and weariness. As she flew, her shoulders were hunched, her long fingers disfigured by swollen joints, her wings saggy and blistered. Her gnarled thumb claws looked ancient, like turned-up roots. Nonetheless, she was an arresting figure, and her still-strong voice commanded attention. Griffin couldn’t help but feel hopeful at the sight of her, but then again, he’d been disappointed by the last Silverwing female he’d thought was an elder.
“You must not remain here!” the lead Pilgrim called out. “This is not your final destination. Come with us.”
As the Pilgrims circled overhead, a huge number of the Oasis Silverwings gathered in the higher branches, peering up curiously, muttering amongst themselves. None dared go closer. Griffin hurriedly looked for Luna, but couldn’t find her anywhere in the crowd.
“Go away!” someone called out to the Pilgrims, and Griffin recognized the voice as Corona’s. “You’re not wanted here!”
From the trees, other bats started shouting now.
“You’re crazy!”
“Clear off!”
“We’re happy where we are!”
“Stop bothering us!”
“Go! Go! Go!”
It became a chant, a horrible din that sounded like the hoarse bark of ravens, trying to drown out the old Pilgrim. But Griffin thought there was more than just derision in their voices; there was an edge of desperation, too. Their hardened faces held a frightened intensity. Even as their shouts and cries echoed through the forest, somehow the aged Pilgrim’s voice could still be heard.
“We are no longer of the living!” she cried out as she flew. “You must accept that. You—are—all—dead!”
Griffin gasped, feeling a huge rush of surprise and relief. This Silverwing knew! How come she knew, and all the others didn’t?
“This is the Underworld,” the Pilgrim cried out. “Every one of you is dead.”
“I’m feeling fine, thanks very much!” a mocking voice cried from the trees. Harsh laughter echoed all round.
“We were not meant to stay here eternally,” the Pilgrim persisted, the power of her voice undiminished. “In our lifetimes we undertook many journeys. There is one last journey you must make.”
“You go on ahead!” someone else shouted.
“You all believe yourselves to be alive, but it is a delusion. Death has clouded your memories of your past life, but you must try hard to remember. Do not deny the truth. This is a dead place, but there is life to come. You need not stay here forever. We can help set you on your way, but the journey must be yours. You must travel to the Tree.”
The Tre
e? Griffin remembered the shock on Corona’s face when she’d mistakenly thought the Tree was his home. Where was this Tree, and what was so special—and terrifying—about it?
“We’ve heard all about the Tree!” said Corona, breaking through the forest canopy and swirling around the Pilgrim. “It is a place of torment. Anyone who goes into the Tree never comes out! It burns you up, eats you up! It kills you!”
“No,” said the Pilgrim forcefully. “It does the opposite. This pathetic imitation of a forest is death. These are not true trees. Look at them. These are not the leaves we have known! And where is the sun, the moon? All these things we once had? Think back! Think what came before this place.”
“You are the one who is deluded,” said Corona. “Listen to yourself! How can we be dead? We fly, we hunt, we think, we speak. I pity you, but you are not welcome here, spreading fear and lies!”
“Nocturna gave us the Tree as a way to a new life. We were meant only to pass through this place, on our way to the Tree.” Griffin nodded eagerly to himself, reassured by the mention of Nocturna. His mother had told him a little about her, and her promise that bats would regain the light of day. That had come true.
“Those who want to come, join us!”
Griffin looked as two Oasis Silverwings flew out to join the Pilgrims. They looked bewildered, and more than a little afraid.
“Come back!” Corona called after them. “You fools, they’re leading you to your death!”
The two bats faltered, but did not turn back. A third Silverwing flew out into the open, followed by another, until perhaps a dozen had joined the circling Pilgrims.
“Welcome, welcome,” the lead Pilgrim greeted them warmly. Turning her gaze back to Corona and the others skulking in the treetops, she said, “Think on what I have told you. I will come again to speak more to you.”
Firewing Page 8
