Sanguine Moon

by Jennifer Foxcroft

  Behind cabin.

  No path.

  Walk down.

  Dad looks at me like I’ve announced the world is flat when I tell him we need to take the path—that isn’t really a path—off the side of the summit. To his credit, he doesn’t say anything, but I have a feeling he’s making mental calculations of our exact location for later when he’s sure I’ll have us both completely lost. I’m convinced the only reason he’s trusting me is because he thinks Dr. Gandy gave me these super secret, special instructions on how to find the bat colony.

  I follow Rocks’ mental directions. Taking a left at this tree, climbing over a moss-covered fallen log, past this boulder or that. Dad follows carrying the ropes we’ll need to get into the cave, and I’m praying he really is remembering how the hell we get back because I certainly won’t have Rocks’ voice in my head as my personal GPS.

  We pass dozens of large boulders overgrown with red lichen. Rocks tells me that some people believe that’s how Blood Mountain got its name. I have to bite my lip from answering him and try to convey my interest with my eyes only. I want to say that the colony is practically advertising their roost location with the design on their paper shopping bag at Sanguine Mountain market.

  Gnarled tree.

  Entrance below.

  I spy the ancient pine. It stands out being one of the only trees in the area that isn’t deciduous. The wind must have battered it in its youth because its wide branches are spread across the mountainside, twisted and irregular. It gives it a stunted appearance rather than the normal straight-as-a-ruler pine that aims to touch the sky. The trunk would take at least four people to circle its circumference with their outstretched arms—it’s enormous.

  When we get closer, I see it’s growing close to a rocky outcrop of grey boulders that it partially shields. One large moss-covered rock stands like a lonely sentinel next to the base. It’s trying to cover the dark, black gash in the mountain behind it.

  “This is the entrance,” I call to Dad, standing next to the tree, a few feet from the gaping hole to the underground cavern. Dad catches up, a slow smile spreading across his features.

  “This’ll be fun. Can’t believe I’ve never heard about it before.” He starts examining the boulder and trunk for a place to secure our lines. Dad is anxious about lowering me—the rappelling beginner—into an unknown cavern. I insist that I need to return the bat before he disturbs them with his sightseeing. He agrees that I can go first so long as he can test the depth of the drop first. A massive coil of rope disappears into the pit. Dad and I both listen to see if it hits the bottom. Nothing.

  Aeronaughts! Aeronaughts! Aeronaughts!

  Aeronaughts! Aeronaughts! Aeronaughts!

  A chorus of alarmed voices rings between my ears. I jump, grabbing my head between both my hands, and Rocks squawks in surprise. Dad turns around and frowns, the silence of the forest making my display even weirder.

  “You okay?”

  I’ll never get used to other peoples’ voices rattling around in my head. I imagine the horror that’s showing across my face. My smile feels plastic so I try to smooth my features and act nonchalant—who am I kidding? I’m standing on the side of a mountain with a bat clinging to my boobs feeling like I’m going to be hung, drawn and quartered by the angry mob dwelling below ground. Yeah, I must look super calm. Dad turns and starts pulling the rope back out of the chasm, grinning widely.

  “Don’t be nervous, sweetheart.” He thinks I’m nervous? Yeah, I’m not so much focused on the ‘dangling off the end of a rope in the dark’ as I would have been. More worried about being let back out of that hole—alive and not bleeding.

  Rockland home.

  Stay calm.

  Everyone flip.

  Now.

  Rocks is communicating with his fellow Camazotz. Feigning nonchalance is hard when there’s a yelling match between your temples about the ethics and consequences of bringing an aeronaught to their highly classified home. Sweat runs down my forehead. I don’t like the fact that more than one voice is mentioning the broken blood oath. Am I handing Rocks over to be sentenced to death at a later date?

  Fudge me!

  “What’s the welcoming committee going to do to me when I get down there?” I ask under my breath, as Dad starts whistling some old Western movie theme.

  You’re safe.

  Can’t say that I feel it after hearing the aggression in their tone, but deep down I know Rocks would never willingly put me in any danger. Then I remind myself that I’m the one that insisted on this harebrained scheme. I take a deep breath and go to my father. He helps me with the harness, careful not to disturb Rocks, and places the ugliest helmet on my head. Awesome. I’m going to trespass on sacred Camazotz soil looking like the world’s biggest loser.

  Dad’s safety lecture ensues. I thought the one in the car was bad, but that was before he saw the chasm. The worst part is the start. That involves me stepping backward off the entrance boulder into thin freaking air and trusting the ropes to hold. My hands shake, and if it weren’t for the fact that I can see my legs, I’d be convinced I left them in the car—they’ve gone completely numb from fear. The last thing Dad does is click the helmet lamp on and rap his knuckle twice on my helmet.

  “It’s about 150 feet from what I can measure. You’re going to be blown away.” He grins. I swallow, staring at the red coils of rope by his feet. “Have fun.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” His laughter doesn’t help as I step back onto nothing.

  I’m doing this for Rocks.

  I’m doing this for Rocks.

  It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the instant darkness. The entrance is barely five feet wide and maybe six foot across at its deepest part. Not much light follows me below the surface. My harnessed body slowly spins in the void and what I see takes my breath away.

  “Holy sugarplums will you look at that.”

  5. Suits

  The silence is overwhelming.

  After the yelling match that just took place in my head, the Camazotz are suddenly dumbstruck. It’s undoubtedly the helmet. Then again, they’re all probably soaking up the details of the device that’s allowing me to breach their sanctuary. The cave entrance is perfect to protect the colony from nature’s enemies, but not from pesky, rappelling aeronaughts.

  The warmer air in the cave caresses my chilled cheeks. Dad had explained that cave temperatures rarely fluctuate all year since they aren’t affected by surface temperatures. Now that it’s winter, the cave is warm. Making it the perfect winter hideaway for the colony.

  Now that I trust the ropes and Dad up above, I’m stunned by the vast nothingness that surrounds me. My helmet lamp illuminates a mere fraction of the cave. I can sense their eyes tracking my descent, and the beam of light catches the odd Camazotz winging itself to safety.

  I use my senses like Rocks has taught me. Taking a deep breath, I get a whiff of strange scents. “Is that smoke?”

  I look around behind me, which causes my whole body to slowly rotate on the dangling ropes. In the far corner of the cave is a glowing brazier. It’s abandoned, but the ground is littered with small objects, proving it wasn’t deserted a moment ago.

  The section of ceiling I can see above is completely covered in bats—Camazotz—Rocks’ colony and family. Distinct groups can be seen huddling together, no doubt each wing. The sheer number of them amazes me. I wonder where the Land wing is and what they’re thinking now. Suddenly my feet touch loose gravel—my ride is over. I stare up at the crack of light filtering through the entrance and feel tiny in the vastness of the chasm. Dad instructed that I had fifteen minutes to find a spot for Rocks and then signal to be pulled to the surface.

  “This is amazing,” I say to Rocks as I unlock the blue carabiner and detach from the lines. “Shit!” My hand flies up to protect Rocks on instinct.

  Three men have flipped almost on top of me in the darkness. My heart is beating double-time, which Rocks can probably feel. Stri
ckland, Cypress, and Ash are my not-so-welcoming committee. Ash and his fang tattoos are mere inches from my face.

  “You’re dead, naught!” he growls.

  Rocks starts squawking and wriggling around inside my jacket. The sound echoes off the hard, limestone walls.

  “Silence,” Strickland commands, gripping Ash’s elbow. I angle my headlamp straight up so I don’t blind them all, as I look from face-to-face in quick succession.

  “Who the hell is on sentinel duty?” Strickland sneers, looking at Cypress. I swallow the lump of dread, praying it wasn’t an aeronaught-friendly bat that’s now in trouble.

  A second later, a kind face appears out of the gloom—Decker. Rocks’ half brother and his sire, Judge—with the puckered scar that runs the length of his face—have flipped and joined the group. Decker muscles his way between me and Ash, standing his ground. The boys are chest-to-chest and stare each other down in a way that makes my blood run cold.

  “Leave her alone,” he snarls. Looking across to Strickland, he adds, “She has saved your son.”

  Even I can sense the venom in his words. Decker should not be challenging the colony Sire on my account, considering I just crashed their slumber party.

  “I know I’m not supposed to be here, but what else was I going to do? I couldn’t let him die.” I unzip my jacket and gently lift Rocks from my torso, holding him toward Strickland. “His wing will heal. Trust me. You can feed him, right?”

  I look around the circle of faces—three murderous and two grateful. All of them are focused on his bandaged wing and the two small wooden splints sticking out the top of the bandage. I’d give up my cell phone for a whole month to know what’s going through their minds.

  Decker steps in and takes Rocks from me. “Yes, we can feed him. Will it really heal?”

  I nod. “Will take time though. Since this is a first, I think he should wait the human healing time rather than the bat.”

  “I owe you,” he replies softly. I wonder if he’s thinking about the blood oath he broke, and the fact that all present think it was Rocks.

  She saved me.

  Thank her.

  Father.

  Strickland’s eyes go wide. Even in the darkness of the cave, I can clearly see he’s livid.

  “Do not tell me what to do when you have broken our highest law. You brought an aeronaught to our place of refuge,” he spits between gritted teeth. “Do our blood oaths mean nothing to you now?”

  I need to do something. Rocks was in no condition to argue with me when I thought of this plan. Strickland will never believe how much of a fight he put up. Or that he was willing to risk dying.

  “Rocks told me his life would be forfeited if he disclosed this location to an aeronaught. Well, the way I saw it, his life would be lost if he didn’t tell me. I pressured him to do it. I believe, and so does the veterinarian—the special doctor—that he can survive this. His life is in your hands. And I swear to you on the lives of my family, I will not tell a soul.”

  Cypress—the Fold member with the violent tattoos inked over his bare torso that depict humans gushing blood from puncture wounds—bares his teeth in an angry grimace. I look to Judge, hoping for support.

  “She’s trying to save your son’s life, Strickland,” Judge says in a voice that calms me.

  “I know you blame me for what happened, and believe me I feel responsible, but just so you know, it was a bat that crushed his wing.”

  Five sets of eyes are suddenly on me. “Explain,” Strickland commands. Strickland’s personality reminds me of cold steel, such a contrast to his warm-hearted son.

  “When Rocks came to rescue me, there was a Camazotz involved. A Camazotz did this to him. Find that bat!”

  “She’s lying. How on earth would one of us be involved in aeronaught business?” Cypress sneers.

  It’s true.

  “It’s irrelevant. What matters is—” Strickland says.

  “Irrelevant?” I gasp. “It’s irrelevant who tried to murder your son?” Judge takes a step closer. I sense I should not be taunting the Sire on his turf. Strickland’s eyes narrow, and I instinctively add to the distance between us. “I’m sorry. I should go.”

  “Do not return to this place or you will pay,” Ash growls. The three of them turn their backs on me as though they’re about to flip.

  “Um … ah … you see …” Oh crabapples. They’re going to kill me when they hear this. “Strickland, sir?”

  The Sire half turns, not even bothering to look at me over his shoulder. I swallow the lump of lead that’s lodged in my throat. “My dad is about to come down here for a … quick look … um, everybody better flip.”

  Curse words that I won’t repeat are uttered from the three not-so-aeronaught-friendly members. I stammer and stutter, trying to explain that the only way my dad would agree to this trip was if he got to explore the cave for a few minutes. If looks could kill …

  Strickland starts issuing orders resulting in Cypress and Ash flipping instantly and disappearing into the gloom. I’m trying to process what he’s talking about. Rocks’ good wing is hanging over Decker’s shoulder, so he’s resting sideways on his chest. His eyes never leave mine.

  Turning in a circle, I look to the brazier and that’s when I notice a hay bail. An instant later, four Camazotz flip and start clearing away their little campfire set up.

  Decker says narrow passageways and tunnels run deep into the mountain off the main cavern. They keep a couple of animals for feeding if extreme winter weather descends on their mountain, making it too cold to venture out to feed. I watch two of the men slide a wooden beam between the bars of the brazier and carry it away.

  Now that Ash and Cypress have left, my heart rate slows. Since I’m not in fight-or-flight mode, I take a few steps into the darkness, exploring another part of Rocks’ life. The cavern is enormous. The beam from my headlamp runs out before it reaches the far wall. To my right, I notice a reflection. There’s an underground stream running along the sidewall. The gentle trickle of water adding to the ambience of the cave.

  Show her.

  Decker immediately steps closer and takes my hand. He leads me a short distance toward the running water that suddenly disappears underground. We round a massive chunk of rock, but as I look up I see it’s a giant stalagmite. It stretches up toward the roof of the cave and must have taken centuries to form.

  “Crouch down and shine your light in there,” Decker says in my ear, as he angles my headlamp at a black hole at ankle level.

  Kneeling down, the beam of light illuminates a magical scene. “Oh my God.”

  Decker chuckles. “Impressive, huh?”

  Near ground level, there’s an open fissure in the cave wall, and when I peer inside, it takes my breath away. There’s a round, glowing pool of deep, blue water, but that’s not the impressive part. The low ceiling of this little alcove is covered in hundreds of shiny, stalactites. Hanging down, they remind me of some creepy dinosaur’s mouth—one that has rows and rows of razor sharp teeth one behind the other. The occasional drips from the tips of the tiny mounds sends a ripple over the still water.

  When Decker leads me back to Strickland, the hay is gone—all evidence erased. “If your father returns here ever again, he will pay a blood price.” The Sire has spoken. I nod and return to the ropes hanging from the ceiling.

  “Wait.” Decker says, and the Sire stops. “We need to get Rocks up on one of the ledges. Maybe Connie should do it so we don’t mess this up.” He points to the small wooden splints poking out the top of the bandage on Rocks’ wing.

  A discussion between Strickland and Decker takes place. He’s more respectful than he was earlier and that allows my heart rate to stay low. Decker explains it would be best to place Rocks on one of the small ledges high off the ground. If he’s going to be in the cast for two months, it will get tiresome handing him off from person to person down here. If he’s on a ledge, he’ll be safe and more independent.

  I hook int
o the harness once more as Decker places Rocks inside my jacket. Giving the signal to Dad, I’m slowly pulled off the ground. When I’m half way up, a dozen Camazotz appear, take hold of the rope and pull me into the darkness on my right. I must weigh more than they expected because Decker’s voice sounds inside my head asking for twice that many bats to help. I lose count of how many respond to tug me toward the side of the cavern. Dad’s probably wondering what the hell I’m doing as the rope becomes taut.

  A second later, Decker flips on a ledge that’s barely wide enough for him to sit on. He digs his heels into the rock and leans over to grab my hand, anchoring me to the wall. The Camazotz holding the rope fly off, and with my free hand, I unzip my jacket.

  Handing Rocks over leaves me with a sense of foreboding. I have to have faith that the fascination of whether he really can survive a broken wing will prevent the Fold from doing anything drastic.

  Be careful.

  “Get better,” I say, looking at Rocks. Decker has placed him on the tiny ledge. I want to touch him one last time, but I can feel Dad yanking on the ropes above. Decker lets go of my hand and I swing freely across the open cavern.

  Back in the parking lot, Dad is on a rappelling high. He’s always super agreeable whenever he returns from his adventures, and finally I understand why. It’s usually a great time to ask for extra nail polish money because he often says yes without thinking.

  “That cavern is one of the most amazing places I’ve seen,” he says, stowing the gear in the trunk.

  Fudge. He cannot under any circumstances bring his buddies here. “You promised me you wouldn’t come back here, remember?”