Firewing Read online

  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.

  With a forward thrust of his shoulders, he drove the stalk deep into the embers, saw the tip flare, and pulled back. At first he thought he’d lost the fire, but then saw a glint from the tip and a ghost of smoke curl up from it.

  Got it!

  Carefully he transferred the stalk to his rear claws. Wings churning, he took flight, climbing away from the ground, the Humans, and their fire, up towards the pine where he knew Luna was waiting. He took a quick backwards glance. If the Humans even noticed, they weren’t doing anything about it. They were still sitting there like mountainous blobs, staring at the fire and grunting their slow, low words to one another.

  “You did it!” Luna cried out, swirling around him in amazement.

  “Is it still lit?” he asked. It was awkward holding the fire stick, and he had to fly carefully, afraid his downstrokes might accidentally blow out the flame, or even knock the stalk right out of his claws.

  “Yeah, it’s fine!” said Luna. “Griffin, I can’t believe you did it!”

  “I did it,” he said, feeling her excitement fuel his own. “Yeah, I did it!”

  “Fire!” she said. “You’ve got fire! Come on, let’s get it to the nest!”

  They talked giddily as they flew, Luna swirling around him and underneath him to check on the flame and make sure it was still burning. She was giggling. Griffin was giggling. It was contagious, and almost impossible to stop. This was amazing! He wanted his father to see him, right now, bearing stolen fire from witless Humans. Sitting right there at the campfire, and they didn’t even know it was gone. And he’d done it. Him. He’d had this great idea, and he’d seen it through!

  Through the forest they flew, back towards Tree Haven and the stone nest the others were building. Griffin ducked his head down to look, and was surprised at how quickly the flame was eating up the stalk, the intense bead of liquid light sliding towards his claws.

  “Almost there,” said Luna, seeing his frown. “You’ll make it, Griff.”

  He flapped harder, but saw the flame gutter with too much wind against it. He slowed down. Still the flame continued its hungry advance. He could feel its heat now, along his left flank, in his foot. His mind began to dance with worry. He couldn’t help it. He wished he hadn’t done this. He wanted to get rid of the stalk, but he couldn’t just drop it. What if it started a fire, and the fire spread and got out of control and burned down Tree Haven all over again? What a stupid idea this was.

  “Luna,” he said, “it’s burning too fast!”

  “No, we’re almost there, don’t worry, you’ll make it.” No, she was wrong. There was still a long way to go. He looked and couldn’t even see the tip of the stalk anymore, it had burned down so close to his body. Heat lashed his fur and claws. He remembered the scalding force of the Humans’ fire, imagined himself alight, spiralling to the ground in flames.

  “Luna! I’m not gonna make it!”

  “Wait, wait, I’ll check, hang on.”

  Luna swooped below him again, and almost at the same moment Griffin felt a searing pain in his left claw. He cried out, and before he could check himself he let go of the fire stick.

  “Look out!” he yelled but—

  He heard her grunt of surprise, tilted sharply, and looked down.

  Luna was on fire, her back dancing with flame. The stick had bounced off, leaving its burning tip embedded in her fur.

  “Griffin!” she cried, flying round and round, flapping desperately but only fanning the flames.

  “Land!” Griffin shouted to her, but she was panicking now, as the flames leapt nimbly towards her shoulders, licking out across her wings. Griffin whirled round her, slapping at the fire, but it was no good, Luna was moving too much, and the flames seemed to have burrowed deep into her fur. She was crying, a high, piercing wail.

  “Land!” he shouted at her again in despair. “Land and I can put it out!”

  Luna was tilting earthwards, though it didn’t seem of her own doing. She slewed through the air at a reckless angle, gathering speed, too much, and slammed into a mound of hardened mud and leaves. She didn’t move.

  Griffin crashed down beside her, scrambled up, and started sweeping mud and earth onto her with his claws and wings, trying to smother the flames. Suddenly he was shoved back out of the way and there was his mother, Marina, and Luna’s mother, and a dozen other mothers, landing around the smoking newborn, throwing themselves on her to extinguish the fire.
It took them only a few seconds, but still Luna didn’t move. Her fur, Griffin saw, was terribly burned, patches of inflamed skin showing through. Her wings were seared and melted in places.

  Griffin couldn’t tear his eyes from her, and he realized he was moaning, a low, toneless cry that he couldn’t stop.

  “She’s alive,” he heard one of the mothers say. “Let’s take her back to Tree Haven.”

  STONE HOLD

  Shade stirred restlessly, frowning as he woke. He opened one eye, then the other, and looked around at the thousands of Silverwing males hanging from the cave’s ridged walls and ceiling. Wrapped tightly in their wings, they were all still fast asleep. He held his breath, listening. He couldn’t tell if it was a sound or a vibration through the stone that had brought him out of sleep. Maybe it was just Chinook, snoring beside him. Or Cassiel, his father, muttering in his dreams.

  Shade glanced at the long vertical gash that was the cave’s opening, and judged from the light it was still an hour or so till sunset. At midnight, he knew that Orion, the chief male elder, would be choosing five messengers to make the journey to Tree Haven. Shade wanted to be one of them.

  He wanted to see his son.

  Griffin. The name was pretty much all Shade knew about him, and that he’d been born healthy in the spring. How could anyone be satisfied with just that? But this was the way it had been done for millions of years. Every spring the females roosted at Tree Haven and gave birth, and the males spent the summer at Stone Hold, a hundred thousand wingbeats to the southeast. None of the males seemed to want to visit their mates and newborns; they were perfectly happy to be apart until the fall, knowing nothing except the news the messengers brought back periodically after the birthing season. But that was months ago now! How could they stand it? It was too bizarre. He was desperate to see Marina again—and to meet his son for the very first time.

  Shade sighed. Well, he was awake now. For just a moment, he thought he felt the slightest of vibrations through his claws, as if something immensely powerful within the earth were stirring, testing its strength. Then the sensation was gone. Probably just the wind off the ocean, or the great ceaseless stirring of the sea itself—or his own nervousness about tonight.