A Wing and a Prayer (The John Morano Eco-Adventure Series Book 1)

by John Morano

  He wasn’t sure where it came from, but he guessed that something hurt the sea and the deadly black oozed to the surface, as if the planet itself was wounded and bleeding. But what Lupé didn’t understand was why this muck killed the birds and the fish. Why did it kill those who loved the sea the most?

  He wondered if the deadly slime was a warning from Pettr. Lupé imagined the Creator saying, “Those who pretend to love the sea should protect the sea. If you allow it to become barren, it is you who will become barren. So goes the sea, so goes you.” The petrel believed this was the message behind the black death, but he did not know what he should protect the ocean from or how to do it. Maybe Pettr would tell him.

  For now, there was no black death floating on the ocean. Lupé was encouraged. He hoped the sea had stopped bleeding, that Pettr had realized the birds were not to blame, and that whatever caused the ocean’s pain had gone away.

  For some strange reason, Lupé’s thoughts glided to “dirt.” And then from there, his ruminations landed on Zomis. Was the rat-bird teaching its chick to flap its wings or to snivel and scurry in search of scraps? Knowing Zomis as he did, the petrel envisioned the pigeon stuffing the hole in the wall with a mountain of tasty morsels, eating until all parent and chick could do was lie there, smile at each other, and peep an occasional burp.

  It had almost slipped Lupé’s mind, but thinking about his portly friend made him realize something—he was hungry. Lupé guessed that his hunger might be one of the reasons for his chest pains. He wasn’t really sure, because he hadn’t felt hunger pains for quite some time. The petrel had always eaten well when he was free. And if the man-flock did anything, they provided plenty of food. Now that Lupé was free again, it was time for him to feed himself. He looked forward to performing the ritual.

  However, Lupé was now flying over a different ocean. This was the Smaller Ocean, a huge body of water, but not his home, the larger Ocean of Peace. Judging from the problems he was having with flying, Lupé worried that his fishing skills might also need work. But it was time to feed, so Lupé laughed off his concerns and began to search for the little fishes in the deep green below. He was so anxious to feed that his beak dripped and his belly bellowed as he scanned the rolling water.

  After what felt like a migration, Lupé spotted a welcome sight. A shoal of anchovies popped through the surface. He took a deep breath and smiled to himself. This was what he had waited for, what he had envisioned while he was held. Lupé hovered above the swimming fish and prepared to gather his meal. Then he dove.

  As Lupé approached the surface of the sea, he slowed up, skimmed his beak across the water, and was immediately rewarded with sustenance. It tasted just as he remembered. The petrel swallowed the fish whole and prepared for another pass. When he was ready to dive again, Lupé realized he had a problem. The little fish had disappeared deep below the sea.

  Lupé glided, floated, and waited. Then they reappeared. Lupé flew to them, skimmed out a single anchovy, swallowed it, and realized the school was gone again.

  The petrel decided to employ a different strategy. He would hover only a few inches above the sea. When the little fish surfaced, Lupé would be closer to them and might be able to catch a few more before they moved away.

  While Lupé waited with his beak poised, he felt an itch under his wing. Well, any hatchling knows that it’s almost impossible to fly and scratch at the same time, but without thinking, Lupé stretched his beak under his wing and scratched at the source of irritation. Immediately, he felt better, and immediately, he plummeted into the sea.

  Completely caught by surprise, Lupé shook the water from his feathers while he floated on the ocean. Never before had this happened to him. Never before had he been “dipped,” as the petrels called it. Only the most awkward, clumsy adolescents allowed themselves to be dipped. Lupé was thoroughly embarrassed.

  Shaking water from the oily feathers on his head, the petrel caught himself searching the sky to see if any other birds had witnessed his complete incompetence. He realized he was alone on the sea, and now he was glad of it. It made it easier for him to laugh at his foolishness.

  It dawned on Lupé that he had another problem. Migration required a lot of food, and Lupé, besides being out of shape, had not eaten nearly enough before he had escaped the man-flock to prepare for such a journey. Following Zomis’s example might not have been such a bad idea.

  Eating one or two small fish would certainly not sustain him, especially if he had to work hard to conquer wind or weather. Getting dipped only proved to him that his feeding skills were not what they once had been. Even at their sharpest, petrels were not meant to feed alone. It usually took several birds to spot and track schools of fish. Alone, with rusty skills on an unfamiliar ocean, Lupé was in trouble. He had to fly to feed himself and to get home, but the more he flew, the hungrier he would get.

  Lupé stopped his panic from going any further. He reminded himself that he was free. Succeed or perish, it was all that mattered. It was the only truth. He swore that he would not dwell on the obstacles. Everything would be fine; he was a very lucky bird. So he thanked Pettr for the modest meal and continued his trek.

  No matter what he swore to himself, subconsciously, Lupé still tried to find a way to feed. The longer he flew, the emptier his belly felt. He had no idea whether the pain that pulsed through his body stemmed from hunger, a strained heart, or from wings too long contained in the silver web. Perhaps it was all three.

  By the end of his third consecutive day of flight, Lupé gave serious consideration to whether he should head toward shore to rest. It was something he hoped he could avoid. It would mean delay and danger. On Peace, he knew every island, atoll, and predator, but the Smaller Ocean was unfamiliar. As his wings pushed forward, reaching for more sky, Lupé had the feeling it was time to pray.

  He closed his eyes and climbed high into the blue, allowing the wind to steer for him. Surrounded by nothing but sky, the struggling bird called to Pettr. He asked for a sign. Should he press on, or should he take the risk and rest?

  The wind remained silent, and Lupé heard no voice from within. He stayed high in the clouds and flapped blindly on, waiting for an answer. His injured wing began to drag against the cool air, but Lupé pressed on, meditating as he flew.

  It slowly dawned on the petrel that his course had changed. He believed that the uneven stroke of his weaker wing must have altered his path. Actually, it was the wind that had changed his course. He was being carried somewhere he hadn’t planned on going. Then the petrel was reminded of the silver web.

  “You will be carried to the Islands of Life,” the wind had told him. Was that where he was headed? He was worried, but he had learned long ago from Kurah that it was usually much better to move with the rhythms of the planet than to challenge them. So Lupé continued his awkward stroke, surrendered to the breeze, and hoped for the best.

  He had covered a great distance when he spotted something below: a tiny brown speck rising from the shadow of the sea. The wind ceased abruptly, and Lupé tumbled from the current in the sky.

  When he finally steadied himself, Lupé noticed that there were other specks in the sea, but they were still very distant and difficult to identify. It looked like the wind had felt his pain and carried him to vast schools of little fish.

  Since it seemed the will of the wind, the petrel decided to investigate. Forgetting his aches, and rested from the benevolent breeze, he closed the gap on what he hoped would be a wonderful meal.

  As he flew closer, he realized he was approaching a single school of fish, not several. However, one school—even a small one—would still be welcome. But the closer he came, the less likely it seemed this would be a small school. It looked huge…

  Still closer, his hopes of feasting were dashed when he realized what he pursued was not an enormous school of little fish; rather, it was a little school of enormous fish—whales, actually. For some reason, the wind had carried the starving bird to a pod
of giant whales.

  Although he was disappointed, Lupé laughed at the thought of trying to skim one of these monsters into his beak. They were now directly beneath him. He hovered a safe distance above the giants and wondered what the wind and Pettr intended. Why was he starved, blown off course, and then delivered to whales? There was nothing here to eat and no other birds to help him fish.

  Lupé thought, As long as I am here, I might as well follow the whales. Pettr must have some reason for all this.

  While the whales flew through the water below, Lupé swam in the sky above. His mind began to drift. The petrel was famished and exhausted. It was difficult to concentrate.

  Again, his thoughts returned to his youth, to the islands and to the open sea. He remembered how his father had come home one day with a scratchy old sea gull. Lupé recalled the gull’s name was Jopi and that Kurah loved to chat with him. The gull became a frequent visitor to the nest.

  If there was one word that described Jopi, it was crusty. He was like a raspy piece of coral that washed up on shore: sharp, salty, and hard. Like coral that breaks free from the reef, Jopi had broken free from his flock. He was a loner. His friends were few in number but deep in devotion. Perhaps his closest friend was Kurah.

  Lupé liked the gull, because Jopi always managed to drop a small fish at Lupé’s tiny, webbed feet. The ritual led to an unspoken bond, a special trust between the two birds.

  At that time, Lupé was a little too young to eat solid food. Jopi knew this, but he always managed to leave the treat without Kurah or Raza noticing. Although tiny Lupé often choked on the fish and didn’t really enjoy the taste, he would never pass up a chance to gobble down Jopi’s gift. Eating the same food as the adults made Lupé feel grown up and powerful. He also loved the idea of having a secret from his parents, something only he and the old gull knew about.

  Like a flash, it hit him. Lupé knew exactly what Pettr and the wind intended. He remembered the conversation as if it had happened only moments ago. One night, Jopi had told Kurah of an experience he had had on the open sea, over the deep water. The black tide had covered the water where Jopi usually fished. For a long time, there was nothing to eat. When the little fish finally reappeared, those who ate them became sick. Many died.

  Jopi decided to leave his flock to search for clean water and safe food. Like Lupé, he was very hungry and thought he might not find a meal in time. He told Kurah he came upon a group of whales. The gull knew that as big as they were, the cetaceans ate the same food as him, just a lot more of it. So he decided to tag along with the whales, who seemed very well fed. When they found their next meal, Jopi would join them… carefully.

  It wasn’t long before the whales came across what they were looking for. As they began to eat, Jopi hovered above the water and picked out the little fish that fled from the mammoth feeders. Jopi followed the giants for several days, eating with them at every opportunity.

  When the gull was done with the story, he turned toward the tiny petrel, who hid his head beneath his wing, pretending to be fast asleep, and said, “So you like to hear about the whales? Well, maybe someday, I’ll take you to the deep water to feed with them.”

  Following the whales now as Jopi once did, Lupé wondered if the old gull, who had probably passed through the sun long ago, was somehow managing to keep the promise he had made to a very young petrel.

  Suddenly, Lupé was soaked with salt water and slapped high into the sky. He was flying so close to the whales below, he was blasted with spray from a blowhole. Jopi was washed from the petrel’s mind as he strained his wet wings to stay aloft. What he saw before him amazed and thrilled him. It was something Jopi had never mentioned in his account of the whales.

  The behemoths below formed a wide circle around a dense shoal of the little fish. When the meal was surrounded, the fish raced from one end of the circle to the other. Too frightened to pass through the barrier of whales, they dove below. But a single whale waited beneath the school. He swam a relaxed circle, releasing air bubbles. The bubbles floated up to the surface, extending the impression of a wall under the whales. This made the little fish so confused, they were afraid to pass through the barrier of bubbles. As the whale from below rose to the surface, so did the meal.

  Lupé had never seen so many fish gathered in one place at one time. The ocean foamed and churned with panic. Then the whales approached with open mouths. Some ate in one pass what Lupé might eat in a year. The petrel was astounded at how well they worked together to feed each other.

  Lupé decided it would be wise to join the feast before the meal disappeared. He knew these hulking mammals would never miss what a starving bird might take. The sea burst with snorting blowholes, gaping jaws, and the slapping of immense tail fins. Occasionally, one of the giants would breach and then slam its bulk against the sea. Even with all the activity, the whales seemed to know Lupé had joined them and took care to allow the petrel to share their feast. Lupé also took care not to get crushed by his new associates.

  The petrel hopped nervously atop the water, filling his beak with fleeing fish. It was so easy and Lupé was so hungry, he ate and ate and ate and ate. He didn’t know if an opportunity like this would ever come again, so he decided to take full advantage. With one good feeding, the petrel believed he might have enough strength to finish his journey to Peace, so he continued to consume.

  Before he knew it, Lupé was straining to swallow, forcing the food down into his full belly. He had ignored the rule that Raza had taught him long ago, a rule that petrels were expected to live by: “Take only what you need, and what you need will always be there to take.”

  Lupé was still picking out small fish when the whales moved on. They knew when they had had enough. Strangely, even after this enormous feeding, the water was still thick with little fish. The power of great size was matched by the power of great numbers. Both survived, and neither was dangerously diminished. It was Pettr’s balance. Now it was time for Lupé to continue his trek, to ensure that the Gwattas would remain part of that balance.

  Well after the whales had gone, the little fish dispersed and returned to doing whatever it is the little fish do. Lupé stuffed down a final bite and thanked Pettr for the bounty of the ocean. Then he settled down to float and digest. Lupé laughed when he thought how proud Zomis would have been of his display. He pictured the gluttonous rat-bird drowning itself for the chance to consume such a magnificent meal. He was tickled by the idea that the whales would have turned Zomis away because the pigeon looked capable of eating more than they were.

  Amazed that his own bloated belly didn’t drag him to the ocean floor, the petrel began to notice something: the sea was getting restless. Maybe the feeding whales were not the only reason the water was so lively before. They were gone now, but the dark sea continued to churn and surge as it gradually grew more intense. The waves were becoming a problem.

  Lupé looked up at the sky. The sun was covered. The horizon grew dull and disheartening. Floating on the rollers, the petrel knew a sizeable storm was thundering in. The wind that had purred invitingly a short time ago now breathed heavily. Soon, it might roar.

  Lupé was upset with himself. Had he not been in captivity for so long, he would have heard or possibly smelt the storm in plenty of time to avoid it, but his senses were dulled. Only a fool would allow himself to get caught in the deep water at the mercy of a foul wind and an angry sea.

  There was also another problem, one that Lupé could only blame himself for. In his present stuffed condition, flight might be very difficult, or worse yet, impossible. The stomach cramps he felt now could not be attributed to hunger; they came from excess.

  The flash-crack of thunder filled the sky as the storm drew near. It wouldn’t be long before the full force of the tempest was upon him. As the rain began to fall, again Lupé wondered why Pettr would deliver him from the man-flock and starvation only to end his journey unfulfilled on the open sea.

  It was time to fly. Lupé use
d the momentum of a cresting swell to toss himself into flight and knew immediately that he would not be strong enough to lift his bloated body above the torrent. He hoped that the wind would not be nearly as harsh a few feet above the ocean. But even at that low altitude, the wind could still be a gusty, unpredictable problem.

  Lupé had trouble orienting himself. Pettr’s eye had closed, and the brilliant stars that should have lit the way were hidden behind heavy clouds. The petrel could not decide which direction would put the shearing, turbulent wind predominately at his back. With a little luck, he thought, the storm might actually carry him in the direction he wanted to go. But if what was happening all around him was any indication, Lupé would not be lucky. Realistically, he didn’t care how far he was blown off course—he just wanted to survive the storm.

  As the foul weather raged on into the night, faint puffs of starlight cut through the pitch sky and feathered the horizon. Lupé was pleased. Like all birds, he knew the stars as well as he knew the webbing on the top of his feet. Now he might be able to plot some type of course.

  The petrel knew that most storms like this flowed up from the warm water. So he fixed his gaze on a familiar star and prepared to fly deeper into the tempest. As Lupé fought on, the weather began to calm. Soon he found himself in the center of the storm. Still far from safe, Lupé believed the worst was over. He picked up speed and moved easily through the supple air. Rather than rest on the relatively calm sea and wait for the other half of the storm to approach, Lupé hurried through the center. He didn’t grasp that he was passing up an opportunity to renew himself as he raced toward trouble.

  The wind began to nudge. Lupé lowered himself until he was just a splash from the gray-green ocean. With little resistance he continued to pump along. But as the wind found the ocean, water soaked him. The rain from above and the spray from below made his wings, which were not as well-oiled as they should have been, wet and heavy. And so, flight required even more effort. Knowing he would never be able to lift himself above the turbulence, he did the only thing he could do: he stayed low and pressed on.