The bats drank in turn.
Tink watched each one. She knew Rani so well—the brightness of her glow in the rain, her sniffle before reaching for a leafkerchief, her embarrassed smile while her eyes were brimming with tears. Tink was convinced all that couldn’t be concealed by bat fur.
She didn’t see the slightest trace of Raniness in any of the bats. Neither did Prilla. The hawk saw no hint of fairy.
Not a single bat lingered over the water. Not one showed any particular interest in the visitors.
Prilla kept trying to think of ways to turn a bat back into a fairy. She couldn’t think of a thing, and she wondered whether it might be better to leave Rani where she was if they couldn’t help her. But maybe she’d be happier with fairies, and how would they know?
The last bat drank and returned to bed. Beck signaled that they could leave, although she hated to go. They might be leaving Rani behind forever. “Farewell, esteemed bats.”
Tears streaming, Pah rushed to Soop’s desk. On Soop’s sand slate she scratched, I hate yooo! She rubbed out yooo! and wrote you! Soop was crying, too. She raised the wand and waved it. “I wish that you will no longer know how to write.”
The sun was setting.
Beck, Tink, Prilla, and the golden hawk entered the second cave just as the bats began to wake up. The bats were too polite to refuse the fairies’ water, but their minds were on the night ahead: where to meet their teammates and how to coordinate schedules—hunt moths at eight, hunt spiders at nine forty-five, take their first break at eleven, hunt fireflies at eleven twenty-five, present their progress reports at midnight.
The fairies and the hawk found not a whiff of Rani.
Pah threw herself facedown on Soop’s bed, shoulders heaving. Soop lay next to her, weeping, too.
Half an hour passed as they cried themselves to sleep.
Night fell. Bat rush hour arrived.
Never Land’s nocturnal bats streamed out of their caves and tree hollows. They wore no suits and carried no briefcases, but they were as businesslike as Clumsy efficiency experts.
For a while, Rani was almost happy. The rhythm of flight was familiar and comforting. The cool night air was delicious.
She tried to figure out where she was and where they were going. She couldn’t identify any landmarks. Fairy Haven could be miles away or just over the next hill.
Oh, if only it were over the next hill! If only she could see the Home Tree! The Home Tree would light up her half-blind eyes.
Although she’d been inside a bat for half a day, she didn’t understand bats at all. Rani-bat’s eyes were open, and Rani could look through them, although shapes were blurry. But Rani-bat didn’t use her eyes much. She never moved them, never turned her head, just stared straight ahead.
Why didn’t she bump into things? And why was she singing?
It was the most monotonous one-note song Rani had ever heard. Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep. No variation. Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep.
Wait! It broke off and started up. B—p. Rani-bat veered around a narrow tree trunk. The song changed again. Bep-bep-bep-bep-bep. Rani-bat flew through a clump of leaves.
That’s funny, Rani thought. Although the note always felt the same in Rani-bat’s throat, it didn’t always sound the same.
Bee-ee-eep. Rani-bat flew up over a boulder.
Rani grasped what was happening. Rani-bat was finding her way by listening. She always sang the same beeping song. When it sounded different she knew something was nearby, and she knew exactly where and exactly what size.
Bat! Rani shouted. Bat, you have a talent! A talent!
Rani-bat barely heard.
Rani wished she could tell Tink or Beck. Tink, who loved to know how things worked, and Beck, who loved animals, would be captivated.
But she’d never tell them anything ever again.
B-b-b-b-b-eep!
Rani-bat put on a burst of speed. She thrust her head forward. Her teeth snapped. She chewed once and swallowed the first insect of the night, a moth.
Ugh! Ugh! Ugh! Rani wanted to throw up. If she’d had her own stomach she would have. Ick! She was beside herself. How could you? she screamed. I’m in here, too. The pinprick that she was writhed and shuddered.
Rani-bat nabbed another moth.
N I N E T E E N
BECK HOVERED above the balloon carrier, still parked on the bank of the Wough River. “We might as well sleep. There’s nowhere to look until morning.” She landed and stretched out under the broad leaf of a Never cabbage. Prilla joined her. Tink curled up under a large toadstool.
Prilla was asleep as soon as her eyes closed. Sara Quirtle paddled a canoe through the ocean. Prilla sat on the prow. Mermaid hands appeared on the sides of the canoe and began to pull it under. Sara Quirtle hit the hands with her paddle. Prilla pried a finger away. More hands appeared. The boat capsized. Prilla’s wings took on water. She was drowning!
She sat up. She’d never been in a nightmare before. But if Sara Quirtle was having such a lively nightmare, she was still complete. Prilla fell asleep again, entering calmer Clumsy dreams.
When she was sure the others were sleeping, Tink flew out from under the toadstool. After half an hour she reached the forest above Peter’s underground home. She descended through Peter’s tree and hovered, unseen, her glow lost in the fireplace’s flickering light.
The Lost Boys sprawled on the big bed, watching Peter, who flew above them.
Tink’s wings fluttered in double time. She remembered a hundred scenes just like this one.
“There are many clamshells,” Peter said, holding out a clamshell, “but I chose this one.”
“It is a superior clamshell,” the Lost Boy Slightly said. “I saw that immediately.”
Tink pulled her bangs. Slightly had always irritated her.
“It whispers secrets in my ear.” Peter held it to his ear.
The Lost Boy Tootles said, “Might I listen?”
Peter held it to Tootles’s ear.
“I don’t hear anything, Peter.”
“It speaks only to me. It says the most extraordinary things.”
Tink flew up Peter’s tree and back toward Prilla and Beck. Peter would be more likely to hear the clamshell reciting love songs to him than the other way around. She should have known.
Terence was different. Better.
Inside Rani-bat, Rani gave up screaming and suffered in silence. She couldn’t decide if the worst aspect of the bug banquet was the insects that tasted bad or the insects that tasted good. Spiders were disgusting. Their legs were sharp and hurt going down. She kept expecting to choke to death. Their soft middles were mushy and tasted like putrid cheese. Rani-bat seemed to like the spiders, though. She ate a whole dozen.
Wasps, on the other hand, which you’d expect to be dry and bitter, were sweet and juicy. Rani could have eaten a hundred. Of course, it didn’t matter what she wanted. Either Rani-bat didn’t like them, or they were hard to catch. She ate only two.
Moths reminded Rani of acorn chips. Fireflies were sour. Ladybugs tickled the roof of Rani-bat’s mouth. Midges were bursts of pepper. Yummy or yucky, however, eating bugs was more embarrassing than anything Rani could imagine.
She tried to distract herself with pleasant thoughts, but they all turned unpleasant. She thought of her talent—she’d never use it again. She thought of Soop—she had failed to tell her about the permanence of a wish. She thought of Tink and Prilla—they must miss her dreadfully, and she missed them dreadfully. She thought of Mother Dove, and that was the worst of all. Never again to hear Mother Dove’s coos or be folded into her soft feathers. Why, she might as well dissolve into the bat.
Rani thought that not one Never fairy wand wish had been either sensible or harmless. The only good the quest might have done was to end the flood. She wished she knew it had ended.
That was a harmless wish—just to know—wasn’t it?
She couldn’t tell. She wasn’t sure if wishes were bad or wands were bad, or o
nly sleeping wands, or only irreversible wishes. If she’d had her own head, she’d have had a headache.
Worn out, miserable, drier than wing powder, Rani fell asleep.
In Fairy Haven, Mother Dove yearned to visit every matriarch bat, one after the other, and beg, mother-to-mother, for help. They’d understand. They’d locate the bat that used to be Rani. When Mother Dove had her, she’d find a way, somehow, to change her back.
She’d also fly to Marooners’ Rock and get a message to Soop. She’d persuade her to return the wand. Then she’d fly it to the mainland and make Tutupia reverse each wish.
Instead, she had to stay on the egg, eternally on the egg, while her fairies were in danger.
Shortly before dawn, the golden hawk pecked Beck’s arm. Beck sat up. She woke Tink and Prilla.
“Rani’s bat may have found a home closer to the shore,” she said. “We’ll fly toward the lagoon.”
Along with the rest of her colony, Rani-bat began the flight back to the cherry tree. She’d had a good night. She’d eaten eighty insects in seven categories and had been complimented by her team leader.
Rani woke up and was shocked again when she realized where she was. She noticed how full her bat stomach felt. Ugh!
Soop was facing away from Pah when she awoke. The light in the lagoon never changed much, so she listened to see if it was morning. Yes, mermaid servants were moving about in the kitchen. She sat up and saw Pah.
Memories flooded in. Where was the wand? Ah. She saw saw it, half-hidden by her scarf. She picked it up and settled back into her pillows.
Pah is so pretty, Soop thought. No one else had such fine hair or as long a tail. She loved the trusting way Pah’s hand curled in her sleep. Soop decided she’d reverse the spells as soon as Pah opened her eyes. They’d make up, and then they could play a game of Sirens Sink Ships, if Pah wanted to.
The three fairies and the hawk soared over a stretch of scrubland halfway to the lagoon. As they flew, they observed the destinations of colony after colony of homeward-bound bats. Prilla marveled at how careful the bats were. They stayed within one another’s wingspans, but they never collided and never missed a wing stroke.
Shortly before her colony reached home, Rani-bat and the fairies passed each other, flying not four feet apart.
Even with her terrible bat vision, Rani saw the balloon carrier. Was it her carrier? The one she had gone to the mainland in?
A fairy had to be pulling it, but what she saw looked like two splotches. Another splotch flew nearby. Who were they? Was it a coincidence? Or were the fairies looking for her?
She tried to cry out. Hey! It’s me, Rani! Look! I’m not a bat! She tried so hard she made Rani-bat’s eyes protrude the tiniest bit.
Beck made note of the swarm entering the cherry tree. It was a sizable bunch, worth investigating later. She flew on. Prilla and Tink followed.
A bigger swarm flew into the hollow under a fallen hemlock. Beck made another note. The three of them could spend years bringing water to bats. Years, and they might never find Rani.
T W E N T Y
PAH WOKE UP and smiled at Soop. She mouthed good morning and was surprised for a moment when no sound emerged.
Soop said, “Make Pah able to speak again so that everyone can hear her, including me. Make her know how to write.” She waved the wand. “Good morning, Pah.”
Good morning.
Soop frowned. Pah looked frightened.
“Reverse my commands about Pah speaking and writing.” Soop waved the wand.
Can yooo hear me?
The fairies and the hawk spent the morning in three bat residences and found not the slightest suggestion of Rani. At noon they entered the cherry tree where Rani-bat was sleeping and where Rani was awake and bored.
Rani heard the coconut shell thunk down on the rotting floor of the residence. She wondered what was happening, but Rani-bat’s eyes were closed, and they wouldn’t help much anyway. Then she heard Beck.
“Pardon me, esteemed bats. So sorry…”
Rani started screaming. Wake up! There are fairies here! Wake up! Beck’s here! Wake up!
It was that firefly again! Rani-bat pushed the annoying voice away.
“…to disturb your rest. We know we should have a letter of introduction. Furthermore, we should have petitioned…”
Rani screamed Wake up! three more times and then stopped to hear what Beck was saying.
“…we should have made an appointment, but we happened to be nearby, and we wanted to pay our respects.”
Rani-bat woke up. Someone had come in and was speaking reasonably. The someone’s voice sounded like the firefly’s voice. Rani-bat raised her head.
The golden hawk, who could spot movement better than anyone, saw Rani-bat’s head bob.
“Please accept this water as proof of our good wishes.” Beck stepped away from the coconut shell.
The matriarch bat spread her wings. “Welcome, Never fairies. Thank you for bringing us water.” She flew to the shell and drank. Then she returned to her sleep station.
Beck said, “Bats of every rank, please accept our gift. Please honor us by drinking.”
The other bats awoke. In their calm, unruffled way, they lined up in size order. Rani-bat was two-thirds down the line.
Rani spoke softly to the bat surrounding her, imitating Beck. Pardon me, esteemed bat. She felt she was betraying the fairy way, but she went on. We haven’t been introduced, but I beg the favor of your attention.
The firefly had learned manners! Rani-bat listened.
Rani felt the bat’s attention. I am Rani, honored bat, a water-talent fairy. Yesterday I turned into you when a mermaid—
Preposterous! The firefly was only pretending to have manners. Rani-bat turned her mind away.
Rani felt the change, but she continued to speak in the new polite fashion. She hoped something was getting through.
A bit was. Politeness appeals powerfully to bats.
Soop worded her commands to the wand in dozens of ways to try and reverse what she’d done to Pah. Pah twisted her scarf in her hands and tried to speak and write after every attempt.
It occurred to Soop that Pah might be the only one able to reverse the commands. Soop still didn’t want to give up the wand, but she couldn’t bear Pah’s distress, or her own, any longer.
She held out the wand. “You try it. Maybe the one who’s been wished on can reverse the wishes.”
How can I command the wand when I can’t speak?
Soop couldn’t read lips, but she guessed what Pah had asked. “Maybe you only have to think the command, or maybe it will work if you mouth the words.”
Pah decided to try a different wish first, to see if her commands would be obeyed: send breakfast for Sooop and me.
A breakfast tray floated through Soop’s door. Pah hardly paid attention to what was on it: scrambled roe, toasted flatfish bread, clam juice, and two mugs of hot squid ink—Pah’s black, seal milk in Soop’s. The tray settled on Soop’s walk-the-plank dining table.
Make everyone able tooo hear me, and make me able tooo write. Pah waved the wand. Can yooo hear me?
“I can’t hear you.”
T W E N T Y - O N E
IT WAS RANI-BAT’S turn to drink from the coconut shell. The bat felt Rani’s keen pleasure in the water and took three more sips than any other bat had. Both Tink and the golden hawk noticed. Tink nudged Prilla, who nudged Beck.
Rani-bat started back to bed.
Rani spoke softly, squelching her desire to shout. Esteemed bat, please don’t return to your sleeping place so quickly. I love water. Before I made your esteemed acquaintance, I had an ability with water.…She thought of how to say what she wanted: I cannot write a petition. I don’t know how to make a formal entreaty, but I beg you most humbly to return for a few more sips. Wondering if she was overdoing the politeness, Rani repeated most humbly.…
Rani-bat slowed.
That was enough for the golden hawk. Mustering
his courage, he flew to Rani-bat and perched on her head.
Rani-bat jerked her head back and snapped.
The hawk whirred to the residence entrance and hovered there with a gash in his leg that bled onto the wood floor.
Tink drew her knife, in case the bat came after the hawk. Then she sheathed it. The bat might be Rani.
Beck flew to him, and he let her look at his wound and pat fairy dust on it. Then she flew to Rani-bat, who had returned to the coconut shell.
“Esteemed bat, my friends and I…”
Friends? Rani thought. Tink? Prilla? Were they here, too? Oh! Oh!
“…are searching for a particular bat. Pardon the unexpectedness of my request, but might we have a conversation?”
Rani-bat turned her head toward the matriarch, wondering if she’d mind.
The matriarch was asleep.
“Esteemed fairy, I suppose it will be all right,” Rani-bat said.
Beck led Rani-bat and Tink and Prilla to a corner of the residence. As Rani-bat followed Beck, Rani said, Esteemed bat, these are my friends. I hope you’ll like them, too.
Like and dislike matter little to Never bats.
“Esteemed bat…” Beck took a deep breath and hoped her strategy would work. “I am Beck of the animal-talent Never fairies. This is Tinker Bell of the pots-and-pans talent, and this is Prilla of the clapping and mainland-blinking talent. May I have the honor of knowing your name?”
“I am pleased to make your acquaintance. My name is—” Rani-bat stopped, as Beck hoped she would. Rani-bat realized for the first time she didn’t know her own name.
Rani said, Esteemed bat, you are welcome to use my name. My name is Rani.
“Esteemed Beck, my name may be Rani.”
Tink wanted to turn one of Prilla’s cartwheels. Prilla, afraid of startling the bat, confined herself to jumping two inches into the air.
“I look forward to flying with you, esteemed Rani,” Beck said.
“I look forward to flying with you, esteemed Rani,” Prilla echoed, forgetting that Beck had told her not to speak.
Fairy Haven and the Quest for the Wand Page 7
