Firewing (2 page)

He glanced at Luna. She looked genuinely dis appointed. He grit his teeth. He’d already said no once tonight. He couldn’t face two humiliations in a row.

“All right,” he said. “Just a peek, though, okay?”

Below in the clearing, a small fire burned within a ring of stones. Beside it sat two enormous creatures Griffin knew must be Humans. His mother had described them to him, but he’d never seen them himself before now. Luna made for a high branch
overlooking the clearing, and Griffin followed, roosting with the others.

“So that’s what they look like,” said Luna. Griffin knew they shouldn’t be here. His mother had always told him that if he ever saw Humans in the forest, he should tell someone right away. He fought the trembling in his knees as he watched the Humans move things in and out of the fire. Strangely, it was the fire he found most fascinating, and his eyes kept getting drawn back to it, watching its hypnotic upward lapping, little bits of itself shooting off like comets.

“They don’t look so scary,” said Rowan.

“We should tell them back at Tree Haven,” Griffin said.

“There’re just two of them,” said Skye disdainfully.

“Yeah, well, it only took two to catch my mother,” Griffin retorted. “They spread a web across a stream, and caught her and banded her.”

He noticed they were all listening to him. About the only time they ever did was when he talked about his parents.

“But they didn’t hurt her, right?” Luna said.

“Not those ones, no.”

“Yeah,” said Rowan excitedly, turning back to Skye and Falstaff. “But remember those other ones who trapped all the bats and put explosive discs on their bellies and dumped them over the jungle!”

And then all three were talking at once, retelling Shade’s amazing adventures—as if they’d forgotten Griffin was Shade’s son and that he knew all about this, anyway, and better than them. Griffin scowled, feeling they were somehow stealing his stories, treating them like something that belonged to everyone equally. But he supposed they did, in a way. Within the colony’s echo chamber, his father’s stories reverberated within the spherical
walls forever, as part of the history of the Silverwings. Maybe Griffin didn’t have any special claim to those stories.

Especially since he was nothing like his father, anyway. He’d known that almost from the moment he was born. His mother was a hero, but his father was practically a legend. Defeating Goth and the other cannibal bats, making peace with the owls, getting the sun back for the Silverwings. If his father did any more amazing things, the whole echo chamber would explode. When he’d first heard all these stories—from his mother, from the elders, from other newborns sometimes—he’d pictured his father as a giant, with wings that would blot out the moon. Then he’d learned his father was born a runt.

That made everything much, much worse.

A runt, and
still
brave and daring. When he was not much older then Griffin, his father had peeked at the sun, outflown owls, visited the echo chamber, tried to save Tree Haven from burning down, been blasted out to sea in a storm and survived. Griffin had had no adventures, had performed no valiant acts. About the most exciting thing he’d experienced was having a squirrel throw a nut at him, and miss.

In just four more weeks, they’d start their migration south to Hibernaculum, and rendezvous with the males at Stone Hold. He would meet his father for the first time. And what would his father see? A little bat with weird fur. A little bat who wasn’t special in any way, wasn’t brave, or daring, or anything.

“Rotten Humans,” Falstaff was saying. “We should fly down and scare them.” “We should tangle up their hair,” said Rowan. “We should pee on them,” said Skye.

When everyone finished laughing there was a short silence, and then:

“We should steal some fire.”

No one was more surprised by this than Griffin, for it was he who’d spoken the words. He’d never said anything so outrageous in his life, and now everyone was staring at him, Luna with a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth—almost in a look of admiration.

“Steal fire,” she said, as if mulling over an interesting possibility.

“What for?” Falstaff asked.

Griffin’s eyes darted back to the lapping flames, mind churning. Why had he gone and said that?

“Well,” he began uncertainly, “the owls have it; why shouldn’t we?”

A couple of years ago, the owls had used their fire to burn down Tree Haven. That had been his father’s fault. Shade had peeked at the sun, back when it was against the law, and been spotted by sentry owls.

“But what would we do with it?” Skye asked.

“All I’m saying,” Griffin repeated, “is we should have what they have. It’s only fair.”

“But we’re at peace with the birds now.”

“Doesn’t mean we’ll always be at peace,” Griffin pointed out. “And what about the beasts? Or the Humans? What if they want to make war on us? Isn’t it better we have fire, just in case?”

They all had their eyes on him, and he thought:
I love this
.
They’re listening to me
. And the words just kept coming. From where, he didn’t know. Then again, this is what he did in his mind, anyway. Imagine things. Sure, they were usually colossal doomsday scenarios, but wasn’t it all really the same? Seeing something, and imagining what might, just
might
happen with it.

“There’s something else, too,” he said, and allowed himself a dramatic pause.

“What?” Rowan asked, almost in a whisper.

“We could use it to keep warm.” They all looked at one another, not sure about this.

“Oh, sure, the weather’s warm
now
,” Griffin hurried on. “But before long it’ll get cold, so cold we have to leave here or
freeze to death!
”

The other newborns jerked in surprise.

“But that’s why we migrate,” Luna reminded him.

“Exactly. But that’s the whole problem. I’ve been thinking about the migration, and I think it’s really a bad idea.”

“We’ve been doing it for millions of years!” exclaimed Skye.

“I know. It’s ridiculous,” said Griffin with a sad shake of his head. “We’ve got Tree Haven right here, this amazing roost, and every fall we have to leave and fly over a million wingbeats to Hibernaculum, sleep away the winter, and then next spring, fly all the way back here. Doesn’t it seem like a bit of a waste of time? But, we get some fire, keep it burning in the base of Tree Haven all winter, and we don’t need to bother migrating anymore!”

“But I want to migrate,” said Luna, smiling. “It’s going to be fun.”

“Yeah,” Rowan, Skye, and Falstaff agreed simultaneously but without, Griffin noticed, wholehearted enthusiasm.

“Fun?” Griffin said, puffing out his breath thoughtfully. “I don’t know if I’d call it
fun
. It’s an awfully long journey. You’ve got storms, high winds, lightning, hail, freezing cold. Every year there’s some who don’t make it. I mean, look at some of those older females in the colony. They’re pretty weak; they can hardly hunt for themselves anymore! And what about
us?
We’ve never done it before. Who says we’re strong enough to make it?”

“We’ll make it,” said Skye, looking at the others for reassurance.

“Look what happened to my father,” Griffin reminded them. “Caught in a storm, swept out to sea.”

This stopped them for a moment.

“But he
made
it,” Luna said.

“He was lucky. Just imagine yourself flying along the coast and a storm kicks up and you get blasted out over the ocean, the waves churning, the rain and hail smashing down so you can’t see or hear—and then
wham,
right into the water! It’s up your nose and soaking your wings and making you so heavy and freezing that you can only sink down and down and down to the ocean’s depths!”

Falstaff swallowed. Rowan’s wings gave a
creak
as he shifted anxiously from claw to claw. They were all staring, riveted, at Griffin, and he almost smiled.

“I’m not saying that’s going to happen to any of us,” he went on. “But don’t you think we should at least get to
choose
whether we migrate or stay at Tree Haven? We steal some fire, we have a choice.” He took a deep breath, revving himself up. “A
choice!
So the weak need not fear, nor the elderly and infirm! So we need not be victims of the elements, but
control
them and so become
masters of our destiny!
”

He was out of words and breath. He looked at the newborns, who stared back at him, mouths ajar. Probably he’d overdone it a bit with that destiny stuff.

“I think it’s a good idea,” said Luna, and all heads swivelled to her.

“You do?” Griffin asked, startled.

“Absolutely. Me, personally, I’m going to migrate, but I think you’re right. Why shouldn’t we be able to stay here all winter. Why not? Let’s get ourselves some fire!”

Griffin nodded weakly, glancing back at the fire. Somehow he hadn’t expected it to go this far. He’d just talked and talked, and the words had spun out of him like some dazzling, chaotic spiderweb.

“Maybe we should ask the elders first,” Griffin said, feeling queasy.

Luna shook her head, eyes flashing with mischievous delight. “No, I think we should just go ahead and surprise them. So, how’re we going to do this, Griff?”

Normally, Griffin liked it when she called him Griff. She was the only one who did, and it made him feel special. Not only was he her friend, but he was a friend deserving of a nickname. He didn’t want to let her down now.

“Well,” he said, thinking fast, “a tall stalk of grass, maybe. We could shove it into the flames until it catches fire, and then … fly it back to the roost and put it in a little nest like theirs, with some dry twigs and leaves at the bottom. Somewhere near Tree Haven, close to the stream, maybe. Someone’ll have to go on ahead and get that ready.”

“I
like
it!” Luna said, turning to the other newborns. “So, who’s going to steal the fire?”

Skye, Rowan, and Falstaff shifted uncomfortably on the branch, then looked at one another expectantly, all talking at once. “Probably best if you—” “You’re stronger—” “Need someone really fast—” Griffin noticed they didn’t even glance his way. “Me,” he blurted out. “I’ll do it.” They all turned to him, incredulous. “You?” Skye said.

Griffin nodded slowly, as if trying to balance a heavy stone on his head. “Sure. Why not?”

Maybe this was the way you did it, he thought. He wasn’t brave. But maybe if he faked it,
pretended
to be brave enough
times, it would get easier. And then it would come naturally. And he’d be truly brave.

“I don’t know,” Rowan said uncertainly, “maybe Luna should do it.”

“Not me,” said Luna. “It was Griffin’s idea. He’s the one we need.” She looked straight at Griffin as she said this, smiling, as if to say she knew all along he’d volunteer, and that he could do it. Then she turned to the others. “You three go on and make the nest.”

“Come on,” said Falstaff with a laugh. “He’s not really going to do it.”

“Just make sure that nest is ready,” Griffin said, and before he could give himself time to start thinking, he dropped from the branch, unfurled his wings, and dived.

In the deep shadows at the edge of the clearing he sighted a clump of tall grass. He came in low, spraying out sound to check for predators, then touched down. It was not a graceful landing. He skidded on his rear claws, then pitched forward, his face in the mud. Scrambling up, he twitched dirt from his fur. He hated being on the ground.
Hated
it. Bats were made for flight, not for scuttling around. Laboriously he moved towards the grass, dragging himself forwards with his thumb claws and elbows. He pushed with his legs, but they were too weak to be of much use. Anything could be lurking in that grass. Rats, snakes, a crazed skunk.

The first stalks he examined were too wet to catch fire easily. Further in, beneath the shade of a large oak, he found some drier grass and peered up to pick out the tallest stalk. For a moment he felt as if he were circling overhead from some safe distance, watching himself. He was crazy! What was he doing down there? His heart began to race, and his teeth started chattering, even
though he didn’t feel cold. He forced himself to pay attention to what he was doing.

He started chewing at the base of the stalk of grass, spitting out its sour tang. He bit through, and the stalk fell flat. Awkwardly he took it in his rear claws, lengthwise beneath his body. Then, flapping furiously, he managed to get airborne.

Hidden in shadow he made a full circle of the clearing, then came in low so he wouldn’t be seen. He made sure to approach the fire on the far side from the two Humans, and when he was about twenty wingbeats away, he made another clumsy landing on his chin. He dragged himself forward, the stalk of grass still clutched in his rear claws. He looked up at the Humans, their torsos and heads towering above the flames. They were still sitting, and they hadn’t noticed him. He wondered if he’d be able to take flight fast enough if they tried to catch him.

Griffin hesitated, glancing up at the pines, hoping Luna was seeing all this. He wanted her to be able to tell the colony all about this amazing thing he’d done. This amazing,
dangerous
thing. He grimaced.
My father better be impressed by this
, he thought.

He dragged himself closer, until the fire’s heat lapped angrily against his face.

He watched the flames doing their hot jittery dance down amongst the glowing sticks and rocks, and he felt as if they were urging him onward, closer, closer. Deep in the fire something popped, and Griffin flinched, nearly taking flight. Luna should’ve done this. He’d tried to fake it, but he wasn’t fearless. He was
all
fear, heart blasting, mouth dry, a terrible weakness seeping through his limbs. His wings felt mushy. But he thought of Luna watching—thought of his father—and knew he couldn’t quit now.

Crouched right up against one of the big rocks, he felt a bit of relief from the heat. Griffin took the end of the stalk in his
teeth. He knew he’d have to be quick—the longer he took, the more chance there was of being seen. With his thumb claws, he pulled himself up onto the stone. Scalding heat poured over him, wilting his fur, making water stream from his eyes. Squinting, he tried to swing the stalk into the flames, but it deflected off a big block of wood at the fire’s edge. The stalk of grass was unwieldy, and he managed to pull it back a bit with his claw, so less was protruding from his jaws.