But now, as he looked at Luna, he felt only shame and dread.
No one had spoken to him yet. There hadn’t been time. In the forest, when all the grown-ups had arrived, his own mother had only looked at him anxiously for a moment and asked, “You’re all right?” When he’d nodded numbly, she had returned to Luna, helping to carry her back to Tree Haven and up to the healer’s roost. Griffin had followed at a distance. As they’d flown up through the trunk, the silence was suffocating. Everyone already seemed to know what had happened. He tried not to look at the hundreds of horrified bats watching as they passed. He didn’t want to look, or be looked at. He didn’t want them to see what he’d done.
Now the other mothers were taking turns blending the leaves and berries in their mouths, mulching them into a thick liquid and spreading it over Luna’s wounds. Watching this made Griffin feel hopeful. He wished they would work even faster, cover all Luna’s angry welts and burns with the dark unguent, cover up her pain, take it away.
When at last they were finished, his mother flew over and roosted beside him. “Griffin, what happened?” she whispered.
He had childishly hoped this moment would never come. His voice shook as he spoke. “We saw some Humans in the forest and they had a fire and … we thought we should take some. I got some fire on a stalk of grass and was flying with it, but it started burning me and I dropped it onto Luna by accident.” He had to choke out the last words, he was sobbing so hard.
He wanted her to be furious with him. He deserved it. He hoped she would shout and punish him and when all that was over, somehow things would be better. Things would be fixed. But his mother looked so far from anger, was so still and mournful, that Griffin felt more frightened than he ever had in his life. “You foolish, foolish children,” she said, so softly Griffin could barely hear her.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said. “I didn’t know she was underneath me, and I was scared I was going to get burned. I tried to help put the flames out, but they wouldn’t go away.”
She wrapped her wings around him and held him tightly, and Griffin didn’t know what to think. She shouldn’t be holding him; this was his fault. He hardly dared breathe, wishing he could vanish.
“You’re so lucky. It could’ve—” His mother cut herself short. “Why did you let them talk you into it?”
He said nothing, feeling as if all the air were being squeezed out of his lungs.
He had to tell her. “It was my idea,” he wheezed.
She looked at him, stunned. “Why?” she managed to ask.
He couldn’t look at her as he spoke. “So we could have some like the owls. And I thought maybe we could use it to stay warm in the winter. So we could stay here, without having to migrate.” And so maybe my father would think I had some courage, he thought, but didn’t say this.
His mother shut her eyes tight, as though not trusting herself to speak. When she did, anger flickered through her voice. “Griffin, we don’t want fire. We don’t need it. Its only use is for war. We couldn’t keep it inside. It would set the tree on fire. Even if it didn’t, we’d still have nothing to eat through the winter. We’d starve.”
He nodded. “It was … a really bad idea,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“You should have come and told us the moment you saw the Humans.”
“I know.”
“You’re sensible, Griffin. Even if the others aren’t. You should have known better. I don’t know what you were thinking, stealing fire. If you’d only thought a bit …” She let her voice trail off, as if unable to summon any more energy. Her eyes drifted back to Luna, and Roma, her mother, nuzzling her gently, talking to her quietly. Luna wasn’t saying anything back.
“When will she be better?” Griffin asked his mother.
“I don’t know.” She paused, then added, “Maybe never.”
“What d’you mean?” He felt panic moving through him like a crazed June bug, wings slashing the air, slamming itself everywhere. Did his mother mean Luna might be crippled her whole life? That she’d never fly again?
“She might die, Griffin.”
He frowned, not understanding, shaking his head. “But you were all spreading potions on her. The elders know how to fix things like that, right?”
“She’s very badly hurt.”
The fur around her eyes was matted with tears. This was all his doing. Griffin knew she was ashamed of him now. He’d disappointed her so badly, how could she ever love him again? And what would his father say?
“What can I do?” he said, his voice sounding unfamiliar to him, thin and breathless. He wanted his mother to tell him to do something hard or painful—anything would be better than just being frozen with his feelings.
“There’s nothing we can do,” his mother said. “We just have to wait.”
He looked around this place he’d loved so much his whole life, and felt like he had no right to be here. All the other mothers were looking at him—hating him, he was sure. And Luna’s mother—she would hate him most of all, and forever. The tree seemed to echo with his own shame and grief. He couldn’t stand it.
Griffin flew. Down away from the healer’s roost, all the way down the trunk to Tree Haven’s base where myriad passageways twisted into the ground amongst the maple’s roots. He didn’t know where he was going, and didn’t care. He just wanted to go down, and down, far away from everything.
But his thoughts came with him. Shut up, he screamed inwardly. The tunnel was narrowing, and he was glad when it scraped against his face and back, when dirt got driven up his nostrils and against his teeth. He clawed his way along until the passage was blocked by a large slab of stone. It was totally dark, and he shut his eyes and his mouth, letting no sound light the world for him. If only he could make his mind this dark. Stop seeing Luna’s burning wings spinning earthwards. Stop hearing that scream she made as she fell.
Unless the wind turned against them, Shade knew they’d make Tree Haven before sunrise.
He’d been chosen as one of the five messengers. Maybe the chief elder had sensed, just by looking at his eyes, that he was going whether chosen or not. Still, it had taken Shade so completely by surprise that he couldn’t help smiling. Orion had probably thought it was better to have him part of a group (where the others could keep an eye on him) than have him flapping off on his own.
They’d set off immediately. Around him flew the four other Silverwing males: Cirrus, Laertes, Urriel, and Vikram. They were faster than him; they knew it, and so did he. And he also knew he was slowing them down. But rather than streaking on ahead and circling back impatiently for him every once in a while, they let him set the pace, and never showed any signs of restlessness. Shade was grateful. He hadn’t known them particularly well at Stone Hold, and none of them were big talkers, but he enjoyed their company. When they did talk, it was to remember Tree Haven, and wonder about their mates and their newborns, and trade stories about when they themselves were young.
Sometimes Cirrus or Laertes would awkwardly ask him questions about the jungle, or Goth and the Vampyrum Spectrum, or the rat kingdoms. Shade had told these stories enough times now that they hardly seemed things that had actually happened to him. Still, he liked telling them, and never tired of the stunned amazement in the faces of his listeners.
The weather had been so warm and the winds so fair that he was almost able to forget the fears which had urged him on this journey: the earthquake, the hissing crack in the earth, and the horrible presence he’d sensed down there. When Shade departed two nights ago, Chinook and his father were busily assembling a team of males to go and block the opening. As he’d said goodbye to his father, Shade felt a peculiar clutching at his heart. He knew he’d be back in a matter of nights, but he still didn’t like leaving his father, especially when it was not so long ago they’d first met. Cassiel had told him to have a safe trip, and that he loved him.
Soaring over the dense forest, Shade’s pulse quickened as he recognized the familiar landmarks t
hat told him Tree Haven was near. A few hours ago they’d passed over the derelict barn where he and his colony had roosted on his very first migration. Now the Human roads faded into deep forest, winding rivers. The sky began to brighten to the east. The sparse birdsong they’d been hearing for the past half hour was building into a dawn chorus. Shade’s thoughts leapt ahead to his arrival. The fast ride down into the valley, skimming over pines and firs and hardwoods towards the silver maple they had chosen for the new Tree Haven. Once they crested the next ridge, maybe they’d even meet some of the Silverwings out hunting. Maybe he’d cross paths with his mother, or Marina. Maybe even his son! He wondered if he would recognize Griffin. “Listen,” he said suddenly.
And there was nothing to listen to. No frogs, no crickets chirruping, not even the sound of insects’ wings. For a moment even the light breeze evaporated, and then the air thickened ominously as though foreshadowing a lightning storm. Yet the sky overhead was almost entirely clear.
The air began to sing, a low, unbroken tone that he felt in every hair of his body. The tone gathered force, buffeting the underside of his wings, numbing his face. Without warning, the trees heaved up towards him, spiky branches almost impaling him as he veered wildly, flapping desperately against the leaden air. He cast around anxiously to make sure Cirrus and the others were all right. They all circled together, gazing down in horror. Below he saw the earth heave and grind, whole swaths of forest buckling up and crumpling against one another. He flattened his ears against the colossal noise, as if the earth’s very bones were being smashed together, snapped and crushed. The air churned, hard as water, and Shade slewed about, as if he were no more than a seed pod.
The sky was aswirl with birds, woken by the earth’s violent shaking. They’d taken wing in terror, their poor night vision making them careen dangerously. On the lurching forest floor Shade could see moose and bears and lynx baying and roaring as they ran headlong, trying to escape the thrashing of the ground beneath them. The sight made him gasp in pity: unlike himself, they had no easy escape, no flinging themselves safe and high into the air. They were locked to the earth, their home that had in a second become their enemy. The river that meandered through the forest was frothing, water leaping over its banks. Dust erupted across the land.
Then, impossibly, it was over. With a great groaning of rock and wood, the earth slowly exhaled and lay still. Shrieks of pain and dismay rose up from the birds and beasts as they returned to their ruined roosts and dens. Shade stared down at the wreckage of the forest, his mouth dry, heart throbbing against his ribs.
Marina, he thought. Griffin.
Griffin must have fallen asleep.
Waking, there were a few merciful seconds when everything was forgotten. He wondered where he was, and why his body felt so heavy, as if he’d just finished a long night’s hunting. Then everything came back to him, and he wished he’d never woken up. Up in Tree Haven, Luna was suffering, maybe even dying. All because of his idea—his stupid, pointless idea. He wagged his head, trying to shake out the pictures flooding his head. He should go back up, help them, do something useful….
How could he face them all? Feel their eyes on him, hating him?
Especially his mother. She would try to be kind, and try to forgive him—but how could she, after what he’d done?
He tried not to cry. Then he stopped abruptly. What he’d thought was his body shaking was actually the ground beneath his belly. The shuddering intensified so his vision sang with sound, the very air throbbing with light. The tunnel was so tight it took him a moment to turn around. Scrambling forwards, spraying out sound, he heard the low grinding of rock against rock, and was suddenly shoved hard against the wall as a great fist of stone punched through the tunnel ahead of him. Griffin lurched back, cowering beneath his wings as a choking cascade of debris rained down upon him. The earth shivered violently for a moment, and then was still. Griffin waited, listening to the patter of settling grit.
“Okay,” he panted, trying to rein in his panic. “Okay. No more shaking. That’s good. That’s excellent.”
He lifted his wing to take a look and was immediately seized by a coughing fit, eyes and nostrils streaming. After a minute or so he managed to croak out a few tendrils of sound, and saw what he had most feared. The passage was blocked. Carefully he probed the wall of debris with his echo vision, but found no gaps. He stared for a few moments, numb, still half expecting something to happen: the wall to crumble away and reveal a passage, or someone to call him from the other side.
“All right,” he said, needing to talk. Talking aloud made things better, somehow. If he could control his words, maybe he could control other things, too. “What we have here is a cave-in kind of situation. Perfectly straightforward. The earthquake just shook loose a bunch of rock and dirt and dumped it here in my tunnel, so all I need to do is, um … move some of that rock and dirt so I can squeeze by. That really sums it all up. So. Let’s just do that.”
He scuttled towards the wall of debris. Clawing at it, butting it with his head and shoulders, he managed to dislodge some smaller bits of rubble, but mostly just churned up more dust. He prised out a larger rock, and an ominous tremor moved through the wall; the roof of the tunnel wobbled and sent down a meteor shower of dirt.
“Not too good,” he muttered, taking little sips of air to avoid coughing. “I keep digging and I might trigger another cave-in. If I don’t dig, I don’t get out. So we’ve got a bit of a dilemma here. But if I just sit around, another earthquake might bury me, anyway, and I really have no idea how much air is left down here….”
Words were no longer helping, and he started gasping, panic squeezing at his lungs. He couldn’t stave off the terrible truth any longer. He was trapped, and there was nothing he could do about it, and no one even knew he was here!
“Help!” he called hoarsely. “Help!” But now the fear in his voice just upset him more, and he stopped. He tried to calm his breathing. He would have to think of something. He felt cold, very cold, especially at his tail and legs, and then realized there was a gentle breeze nudging past him.
With difficulty he turned himself around again, and fixed his sonic gaze towards the dead end.
It wasn’t a dead end anymore.
In what had once been a solid slab of stone was a broad gash, big enough for him to fit through. He hurried towards it, sniffing. The breeze wasn’t coming from the hole, it was going into the hole with a faint shushing sound.
“This is good,” wheezed Griffin. “This is really good. A breeze. That means air. That means outside. That means we’ve got an escape kind of situation here….”
He hurried to the opening, but when he sang sound into it, his returning echoes showed him that the passageway angled down, deeper beneath the earth. He didn’t like that. All that earth and stone above him, and what if there was another quake?
He took a look back over his shoulder at the cave-in. He could still try to claw through, but how long would that take? This other tunnel must lead back to the surface, or there wouldn’t be a breeze. “Nice fresh little breeze,” he said. That decided it.
Cautiously, he squeezed into the crack. It was as if the earthquake had effortlessly opened a long fissure through solid rock. His claws clicked against the stone. The breeze was getting stronger, gently tugging the fur on his face and shoulders. After another minute, he paused, troubled that the passageway was still sloping downwards. He’d go on a little further, and then, if it didn’t angle up, he’d …
What?
Turn back? Return to the cave-in, and wait around until all the air was sucked out of the tunnel and he suffocated?
“It’s okay,” he said to himself. “Air comes from the sky. This has got to take me back to the sky.” It would just take a little longer than he’d thought. But he was far from reassured, and for just a moment his mother hovered before his mind’s eye and he felt like crying. It was fear that stopped his crying—a sudden attack of breathlessness in the cramped
tunnel, deep beneath the earth. Don’t, he told himself. Don’t think about it.
He hurried on, trying to outrun his terror. At least the breeze was getting stronger now, a steady low moan, with the occasional sharp whistling edge, which reminded him of high winds in a summer storm. Little bits of stone were skittering across the tunnel, dragged by the wind, and Griffin could actually feel it speeding him along whenever his thumbs or feet left the ground—almost pulling him off balance.
For a sickening moment, he thought he’d hit a dead end, but then saw it was just a sharp upward bend in the tunnel. “Here we go!” he said happily.
He hurried up and around, and then there was another sharp turn to the left and—
The wind wrenched Griffin around the corner, flaring his wings open from behind, and thrust him headlong down the tunnel. With a cry he tried to furl his wings, dig in with his rear claws, but the wind was too powerful. His wrists buckled and he fell against the ground hard on his chin, stunning himself, the wind blasting him along.
Desperately casting out sound, he saw that the slope of the tunnel was slowly but surely curving into a sheer vertical shaft, and he was careening helplessly towards it. The pull was overwhelming now, and his thumbs and rear claws cut furrows into the rock. Heaving his body to one side, he managed to lever himself sideways across the tunnel. He lasted only a few seconds before the shrieking wind smacked him loose. Now he was falling, picking up speed, the stone searing his flesh whenever he tried to open his wings to slow down.
Free fall.
Down and down. Nose over tail, and suddenly—
Stars blazing overhead.
Falling from a hole in the sky.
He’d been plunging down into the earth, and now he was in the sky, plunging fast. Even when he managed to wrench his wings out, his speed seemed scarcely diminished.
Gulping air, he saw below him the entire world like an immense ball of dark stone, slowly revolving, so far away. He couldn’t believe he was this high, almost level with the stars but descending fast, dragged down towards the surface as if his wings were weighted. Wind screaming at his face, he spiralled in tight circles, blinking frantically to clear his streaming eyes.