“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, Yes. 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.
Griffin nodded, pleased he’d impressed his father. “She’s the one who gave me the map and explained everything. She remembered you and Mom.”
Shade smiled. “I wish I’d seen her.”
“She told me the Tree was the only way out.”
“I trust Frieda,” Shade said, “but the crack is right above us now, and I know exactly where it goes. I still think it makes the most sense for us. But we should get going. The stars move fast here and—” He was about to say something more, but seemed to change his mind. “Say goodbye to Luna.”
Griffin just nodded. He wasn’t about to argue with his father. Of course he knew best. He was a hero, everything he did worked out.
“I just want to make sure she makes it to the Tree, that’s all,” he said. “Frieda said there’re bats who might never get there….”
He looked around at the thousands of bats roosting from the ceiling. How long had they been here? Right beside him hung a Brightwing female, her unblinking eyes aglow with the mysterious light. Then he noticed her claws. There was something wrong with them. They were all scaly, as if the stone from the ceiling had seeped down over her talons and started up both ankles. His eyes skittered further along. Almost all the claws he saw were coated with stone, and on some of the bats the stone had reached as far as their abdomens and folded wings. No wonder they were so still! “Dad …” he said with mounting alarm. “Look at them!”
Instantly he lifted his own claws, left then right, to make sure nothing was sticking to them. He checked his father’s, and they too seemed to be free. In horror Griffin caught sight of a nearby male whose entire body was crusted over. He looked dead, like something mummified, but then Griffin saw his bright eyes and gasped when they blinked.
With a brittle clicking sound, the petrified bat cracked away from the roof and plummeted like a stone. The bat made no effort to open his wings—how could he?—and disappeared into the swirling mist. There was no splash of water, no thud of impact on stone. The bat was just gone.
“Luna,” Griffin said in a strangled voice. He dropped from his roost. He couldn’t believe he’d left her alone. Abandoned her. He was such a bad friend. What if she’d already scaled over?
“Where is she?” his father asked at his wingtip.
Millions of bats here, like a carpet of dark moss, and he’d forgotten where he and Luna had been roosting. Another bat fell from the ceiling and whistled past his wingtip.
“Luna!” he called out. “Luna!”
No answer, nothing.
“I think she was over here,” he gasped. In his frenzy the bats were all starting to look the same.
“I see her,” said his father calmly.
And there she was, her body and claws still clear of the dreadful creeping stone. She didn’t stir as Griffin landed beside her.
“Luna, my Dad’s here.”
“That’s great, Griff.” Her voice was drowsy.
“We should get going, don’t you think?”
“Thanks for helping me get back here,” she said. “Thank you so much.”
“No, it’s not true, Luna,” he told her worriedly. “You’re not back. This isn’t the way back.”
“Sure it is, Griff.”
“We’ve got to go!”
“You go on ahead. I’m just fine here. I don’t want to leave her.”
“Who?”
“My mother.” Luna sighed contentedly, and her face had that look newborns got when being groomed. Total comfort, total happiness. How could he take that away from her again? But how could he possibly leave her in this place?
“Luna,” he pleaded, “you’ve got to get to the Tree.”
“I want this,” she said simply.
Griffin turned to his father, who was circling below them. “What do we do?”
“We’d better just grab her and—”
Griffin saw his father’s look of shock the same moment he felt Luna falling past him. Wings furled tight, she plummeted. “Dad!” “I’ll get her! You stay here!”
Shade threw himself into a nose-dive and streaked after Luna. Griffin couldn’t bear it. The sight of them both getting farther and farther away—and him doing nothing. He dropped, too. To overtake Luna his father had opened his wings, was actually beating them to speed his vertical plunge. Griffin was afraid of the speed, kept braking as he crashed through layer after layer of misty light. He was terrified the ground would loom up suddenly and they would all be shattered against it.
He plunged through a final sheet of light, and below him saw a great pool of perfect blackness, so much like a starless night sky that he almost flipped over in confusion. Not blackness, he thought. Darkness. Its surface shimmered like some kind of thick fluid.
A few echoey ripples flitted across it, and it was strangely beautiful. Luna was still dropping headfirst towards it, but he saw his father now pulling alongside her. They were not more than ten wingbeats from the pool, and Griffin watched with amazement as his father dipped beneath her and slowly braked, pulling up out of his dive and lifting Luna with him on his back. “I’ve got you,” he heard his father say.
Luna was so still, wings wrapped tight, and she wasn’t even trying to hold on. Rocking from side to side, she wasn’t at all secure, and Griffin was worried she might roll off, even though his father was flying as level as he could.
Griffin beat hard to catch up.
“I told you to stay back,” his father said.
“I wanted to help.”
Without warning, the jagged shadow of a huge winged creature strafed him and slammed into his father, knocking him over onto his back. Luna came flying off, straight for Griffin, and hit him hard, sending him into a tailspin.
“Dad!” he shouted.
Tumbling backwards, wings buckled, his eyes caught only snatches of things. Luna plunging alongside him. His father falling too, a Vampyrum clutching at his belly, driving him down.
The dark pool, soaring up to meet him.
THE RIVER
Shade instantly recognized the winged fiend riding atop him. Its face was seared forever into his memory, as inescapable as a recurring nightmare. Goth’s body seemed slightly wizened, his grip not quite as piercing as Shade recalled, but there was nothing diminished about the savagery blazing from his eyes. The cannibal’s flesh was searingly cold. Quickly Shade furled his right wing and punched out with his left. The air caught hard beneath it and slammed him around—and Goth with him. Now Shade was on top, and Goth underneath—and coming up fast, the vast pool of darkness.
Goth snapped at him, and Shade tried to push him off and away, but the cannibal’s rear claws were locked in his flesh and fur, and one of his thumbs had pierced his wing.
Shade gulped air, ready to batter Goth with a sonic blast, but before he could open his mouth, Goth had his free thumb claw flexed around his muzzle, clamping it painfully shut. Shade was mute, half blind. Goth’s writhing head lunged forward suddenly, and Shade recoiled, teeth grazing his throat.
Firewing Page 17
