“I bet that’s where it lives,” Kate said. “I bet that’s its nest! Can we get down there?”
“We’ve got to get back.”
“You know what it is,” she said.
“Yes. I know.”
“It’s the one Grandpa saw,” she said. “It’s the one that fell.”
We couldn’t stop talking, our words piling up one atop another. Talking about the creature, about what we should do next. Kate wanted to keep going, to see if we could find its nest, but the terrain was too steep here, and we were out of time. We had to start back. I was going to be late as it was. As we walked, our words spilled out to fill the humid air.
“He fell and survived somehow,” she said.
“It’s incredible. That the fall didn’t kill him. That he could slow himself down enough to land.”
“But he never learned to fly.”
“I think one of his wings might be deformed,” I said.
“But would that stop him from flying?”
“Or maybe after the fall he just never had the confidence,” I said.
“They never came looking for him.”
“They just left him. The mother abandoned her own baby.”
“Nothing she could have done,” Kate said. “She couldn’t carry him.”
“They can lift big fish out of the water, your grandfather said as much.”
“Maybe they just assumed he’d be dead, or that he was so unfit there was no point of rescuing him—he couldn’t survive if he couldn’t fly.”
“Seems a bit harsh,” I said. “Maybe it just needed some extra time. To heal or to learn. Then it would’ve been a fine flier.”
“They’re animals,” she said. “They don’t think like us. It’s all survival of the fittest with them.”
“Even animals feel love for their offspring,” I objected.
“True,” she said. “I’ve seen chimps much friendlier than my parents.”
We laughed and then walked on in silence for a bit, our minds churning.
Kate spoke slowly, her brow furrowed, thinking things through. “He fell down and landed in a tree or somewhere soft. He had no mother to nurse him. Somehow he stayed alive eating birds and bugs and all sorts of little things here. Berries, fruit. It’s an incredible tale of survival.”
“There was nothing here to hunt him,” I pointed out, wanting to be clever and methodical too. “There was luck thrown into it as well.”
“Yes,” Kate agreed. “But he’s adapted to his environment so well—the way he leaps from tree to tree. Did you see his legs, the way they pushed off from the branches? Very strong. They’d have no need to be that strong in the air. He’s gotten stronger in different ways here, so he can survive.”
“He doesn’t fit in though. His fur, it’s the wrong color for here. He stands out. He’d be easy to catch if there were predators.” I sighed. “He should be flying, not leapfrogging around the forest. He was built to fly.”
“But he wasn’t, not this one. Maybe he has a deformity, like you said. Maybe his wings don’t really work. This is all he’s got.”
I felt sorry for him, landlocked. At least he had never known flight. He had nothing to miss, nothing to yearn for. I wondered if he remembered the terrifying plunge that started his life.
We reached the tree and Kate repacked her camera in its case. I picked up the carpetbag filled with bones.
Kate stopped and looked back. “What if I never see him again?” she said miserably. “We’ll probably be leaving today or tomorrow. The photograph I took won’t come out. I wasn’t even aiming properly. And it moved so quickly. At best it will just be a blur. I need to get closer.”
“You’ve got the bones,” I reminded her. “And the pictures of the skeleton.”
She snorted.
“But you said they’d be enough!” I said. “You said the bones would be conclusive!”
“Oh, the bones are fine,” she said dismissively, “but there’s a living one, right here! If I could get some shots of him up close…” She trailed off, distracted. “Isn’t it funny how we both started calling it him.”
“I didn’t even think about it.”
“We have no way of knowing whether it’s a he or a she. But of course we just call it him. Just another big important male of the species.”
She looked at me angrily, as if this were all my fault somehow.
“Let’s call it she, then,” I suggested.
Her frown disappeared. “All right. Good. She.”
“Did she look the way you imagined?” I asked.
“No. Yes. I’m not sure. She was beautiful, wasn’t she?”
“She was.”
“Beautiful creatures, just like Grandpa said. Oh, Matt, I want to see her again.”
“I do too.”
She looked at me and smiled.
“But we’ve got to leave,” I said. “Maybe it’s just as well. It might be dangerous, trying to get close to her.”
“You think she’d attack?” The thought seemed completely new to her. “They didn’t attack Grandpa.”
“That’s true. Still, she’s a wild animal.”
“She seemed gentle enough to me.”
“Just a nice big pussy cat, was she? You need to take a look at the teeth in here,” I said, holding up the carpetbag.
“Well, I don’t think she’d attack humans.”
“You’ve come face to face with lots of wild animals, then, have you?”
She laughed. “Not really, no…”
“Taking close-ups of pumas, or maybe a Komodo dragon from Indonesia, just for fun?”
“What should we call her?” she said.
“The creature?” I laughed. She was already imagining her name in science books. “I don’t know.”
“She should have a name. And since we’ve discovered her, we need to give it to her.”
“You think of something,” I told her, “something with lots of Latin in it.” But in my head I was thinking: cloud cat. I was afraid to say it aloud though, in case Kate thought it was too simple, too unscientific.
I paused and blinked. I felt the weather change in my skin and looked up with a start. Up through the forest canopy I could see a big swath of sky, and it was no longer blue. When had this happened? It was like nothing I’d ever seen, the weather changing so fast. Twenty minutes ago pure blue, and now the sky was stacked high with dark-bellied clouds that looked like the vaults of Hell. I hadn’t even noticed until now. A fine lookout I was. Weather watcher. Ship’s eyes.
“We’ve got to hurry,” I said. “Come on!”
We started running. I could already hear the wind coming, and all I could think was—
—my ship.
And then the weather was upon us.
12
SHIPWRECKED
The wind and the rain hit at the same moment, bending trees, blasting us along, trying to knock our feet from under us.
I summoned the Aurora before my mind’s eye, tried to count her mooring lines. I felt them strain against their anchor spikes deep in the sand, felt them chafe hotly around the palm trunks. All those taut lines were moaning and wailing like an infernal stringed orchestra. I could hear the first crack, and then the next, as the lines started to break and the ship slewed. I could think of nothing else as we lurched through the forest.
Kate stumbled, and I took her hand, slippery as an eel. Bent double, we staggered on, weighed down by the camera case and carpetbag, stumbling whichever way the wind let us. A snapped tree suddenly fell not ten feet before us, and its impact bounced us off our feet. I hadn’t even heard it falling above the smashing rain and banshee wail of the wind. I could barely see through the slits of my eyes.
It got worse. Branches spewed water like gargoyles’ jaws. Waterfalls crashed down tree trunks. The wind shook heaven and earth. I hardly knew what we were doing or where we were going. We moved as best we could, heavy with rain, our clothing clinging to us, making us clumsy and slow. Branches saile
d through the air. We would come to harm soon.
Through the gray veil of solid rain I saw a shadow and moved toward it. There was a dense tangle of undergrowth and a dark opening below a hump of earth and rock. I dragged Kate toward it and pushed her through the flowering vines that covered the entrance. It was a small cave, just big enough for us to sit side by side. How far back it went I didn’t know, for it was very dark, and I had no yearning to poke about. It was more or less dry inside and gave us quite a lot of shelter from the wind and lashing rain. Kate fussed over her camera case and the carpetbag full of bones, checking to make sure the contents weren’t drenched, pushing them behind us so they wouldn’t get any wetter. I stared back over my shoulder, letting my eyes adjust to the darkness of the cave. I could see a little farther in now, enough to realize it went back quite a ways.
We sat together, saying nothing for a while, wiping water from our faces, plucking at our sodden clothes, and staring in awe at the fury of the storm.
“The ship’ll be hurt.” I could barely hear my own voice above the wind and rain.
“It’ll be all right.”
I shook my head. There was no doubt in my mind; it was just a question of how badly. If they had managed to get her head into the wind in time, the damage might be small; if the wind broadsided her, she’d act like a giant sail and pull herself off her moorings. And if she got torn, we would lose the little hydrium we had left. Without hydrium, the Aurora was just a crumpled hull.
The wind had a voice, and it was howling and cursing. Whenever it died down for a moment I would pray that it was finished, that it had spent itself, but then the rain would crash down with renewed hatred, and the wind would shriek again as if all the heavens were its bellows, aimed at our island.
I felt in my pocket for my compass. It was a point of pride to me that I rarely needed to consult it. After so long aloft, I always knew which way we were headed. Sometimes, when I felt the ship shift in the night, I would test myself by plotting our new heading then checking the compass. Mostly I was right on the nose. But I needed it now. Before we’d taken shelter we’d been so swirled about by the wind I’d lost all sense of direction.
I looked at it now, the needle shimmering with the rumble of earth and air. My mind’s compass set itself, and I knew the way back to the lagoon and the ship. Kate was looking at the compass. I held it out to her, and she took it in her palm.
“It always points north, doesn’t it?”
She had to talk right into my ear to make herself heard.
“Yes.”
“Which way is the tree?” Her breath was warm against my face.
“South southwest.”
“And the bluff,” she asked, “where we last saw the creature?”
“Almost due southwest from here, I reckon.”
I wondered if she was trying to cheer me up, finally taking an interest in her whereabouts. We were side by side, our shoulders touching. Even in the midst of the storm the air was perfumed heat. I think some of it came from Kate’s hair and clothes. The smell of mangoes was strong here too, and it made me crave the sweet fruit. I’d seen plenty of mango trees around, and I was both thirsty and hungry after the labors of the long morning.
I looked out, desperate to get going. I felt claustrophobic in the cave, beside Kate, in this suffocating forest. I wanted some space around me. I wanted to be on the beach again, to be near the ship, and know how she was. I covered my face with my hands, feeling ill.
“It’ll be all right,” I heard Kate say.
I didn’t answer. She knew nothing.
“You’ll see. It’ll all turn out fine.”
“No,” I moaned. “No.” It was worse than being back at my mother’s in Lionsgate City, the sleepless bedroom wrapping itself around me and crushing me.
“Tell me why you’re so frightened,” Kate said, a long way away.
“I need the ship,” I said. “If it’s wrecked, nothing’s good anymore. I can’t stand still. I’ve got to keep flying.” I was babbling like a child, fighting tears, but I couldn’t help myself. Knees drawn up, arms wrapped around, holding on tight, for I knew that if I let go I’d run out into the typhoon like a madman, frantic to get away from myself.
“Why do you need to fly so much?” she asked.
“If I don’t, it’ll catch up with me.” The words just came out.
“What will?”
I took my hands from my face, panting. I stared out at the storm.
“Unhappiness.”
Kate looked at me, waiting.
“When my dad died, I was afraid I’d never ever be happy again. But I was. Once I started working on the Aurora. I loved it. It’s the world I was born into. It’s all my father’s stories. I dream about him up there, and I never do on land. It feels like home aloft. But on the ground, it all catches up with me. So I’ve got to keep flying, do you see?”
“Everyone has to land sometimes,” Kate said.
“Not them.”
“The creatures?”
I nodded.
“We’re different,” she said, a bit sadly. “You can’t fly forever. Anyway, do you really think you can outrun unhappiness?”
“Maybe until it runs out.”
“Well, perhaps you’re right,” she said. “I miss my grandpa too. At home I was happiest when I was thinking about him and his trips and what he saw. Planning my own adventures.”
“See, you like to keep moving too. On the ground, at night, I can’t sleep,” I told her. “I get all—”
I stopped myself. I’d told her too much already. All this babbling and panic wasn’t dignified. It wasn’t manly. At least I hadn’t bawled.
“We’ll be all right,” she said. “I just can’t believe things could ever be too bad, not with you around.”
“But I’m not around,” I said miserably. “Not where it counts anyway. The ship, that’s where I should be. Not gallivanting around the forest, playing scientist and wrapping up bones in your knickers! I’ve never seen so much underwear!”
“Some of it belongs to Miss Simpkins, I’ll have you know!” she retorted angrily.
We looked at each other in surprise and started laughing.
“You took her underwear too?” I asked.
“I needed padding.” Kate giggled. “What else was I to do?”
“Listen,” I said. “It’s a bit quieter.”
I peered out into the forest and could see farther than before. The wind had settled to a constant moan, and the trees seemed to be shuddering less. We’d get drenched again and blasted about, and there might be more to come at any moment, but I wondered if we should make a run for it anyway. We were already soaked to the skin.
There was a hissing sound behind us.
Was this new? Or was I just hearing it for the first time, now that the storm was a bit quieter? I jerked round and peered into the darkness of the cave.
Sssssssssssss.
There was something back there.
“Get out!” I shouted to Kate. I snatched the carpetbag and camera case and we lurched out of the cave. The raindrops were big as hailstones, but at least we weren’t blown off our feet. When we were some distance from the cave I turned and looked back. I saw nothing emerge.
“It sounded like a snake,” Kate said.
“Just another friendly little snake on your snake-less island.” I felt all out of sorts, tired and embarrassed. It was hard to look her in the eyes, now that she’d seen me all laid low and whiny in the cave.
“The other one didn’t hiss like that,” she pointed out.
I shrugged. “Maybe it was some new kind of flying snake. Nothing would surprise me on this island anymore.”
The smell of mangoes was still strong in the air, and I looked up into the trees, trying to spot some of the bright red-and-green fruit. I thought maybe I could shimmy up quickly and snatch a few. But I couldn’t see any fruit. It was just as well. We needed to get going. I needed to get back to the Aurora.
I
gulped when I saw her, so deflated she looked like some emaciated animal, ribs sticking out piteously. She was slumped on the beach, scraping sand again, only worse than before. There was a great gash in her flank. Flaps of flayed skin hung off her. Her lower fin was terribly bashed up again. She looked sunk.
“Oh,” I whispered. “Oh.” I stood there gaping stupidly.
The ship was listing slightly to starboard, and the crew were all around her on the beach, pulling lines and trying to bring her upright. Mr. Grantham and Mr. Torbay glanced over at me, but they were too busy to stare long at a stupid cabin boy. Then I saw the captain; and his head turned, and I knew he was looking at me. Me, standing there beside Kate, a camera case slung over one shoulder, a pink floral carpetbag in my hand, like I’d just returned from a picnic. Before he turned away I caught the look on his face: not anger, but a weary disappointment.
Burning with shame, I swallowed and turned to Kate. “Could you take these, please,” I murmured, putting down the camera case and carpetbag.
“Yes, of course.”
I wanted to run back into the forest, but I forced my steps toward the ship. At least she was here. She had not blown away; she had not been rent in two. I picked up my feet and tried to run, but my clothes were still soaking, tight against my legs, and I fell and was instantly coated with sand. I scrambled up and hurried on.
It was raining and still blowing a bit, and the passengers were all huddled beneath the palms for shelter, watching the crew. I looked away, not wanting to see Miss Simpkins. Things could not have gone worse. Our return was meant to be invisible. Early this morning, with the ship healed and everyone on board again, I’d thought it would be simple for Kate and me to slip back inside and go our separate ways. A more conspicuous entrance than this I could not imagine.
Off the ship’s port side I spotted Baz. I took hold of his line with him.