“She will have to find that out in her own time.”
“But she needs to get to the Tree, right? Could she get out if I took her with me? To the Upper World?” Frieda shook her head.
“She’s barely dead, though,” Griffin hurried on anxiously. “Maybe a night or two at most. And she shouldn’t be here—”
“She is dead, Griffin, and nothing can change that.”
“Nothing?” Frieda looked troubled.
“So there is a way?” Griffin persisted.
“Listen to me, Griffin, I did not intend to tell you this, but it affects you very much. Your life glows around you like a haze. The dead can see it; most may not know what it means, but some will. They will want it. They may do anything to get it.”
“What can they do? I mean, they’re dead.”
“Dead or not, they can still kill you. They still have bodies, and weight, and strength, and if they have the will, they can steal your life away.”
Griffin felt his insides start to churn coldly.
“How?” he heard himself ask.
“If they kill you, your life springs from your body like a kind of current, like an echo, and they can suck it into themselves. I have never seen it happen, but I have heard of such things, and it is terrible. And so this is an answer to your earlier question about your friend. The only way the dead can live again is to steal the life of a living thing. So you must be especially wary on your journey. Stay away from all others. Your trip truly is one that must be made alone. Even those who seem friendly may attack you out of fear or desperation.”
Griffin nodded, looked to the horizon. “It’s just that, it shouldn’t have happened,” he blurted out, needing to tell someone. “It was really stupid the way she died, an accident and … it was because of me.”
Frieda exhaled sadly. “Death never seems just, Griffin. I’m sorry. And I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”
“It was, though,” he said. “And”—he heaved in a big breath—
“I can’t just leave her. Even if I can’t bring her back to life, I could at least get her away from here and all the freaky trees and bad bugs.” The idea of her here, thinking this was real, so confused— he just couldn’t bear it.
“She may slow you down,” Frieda warned him.
“Well, she used to wait around for me back at Tree Haven.” Frieda looked at him and nodded. “You are a good friend. Do what you must. And good luck.” She opened her wings.
“Wait. Um, I just wanted to know …”
“Yes?”
“Do I look like them?” he asked, not knowing why. “My parents.”
“Yes. You look like both of them.”
“I’m not like them, though, really.”
“No,” said Frieda. “But that doesn’t matter.” He’d wanted her to disagree, he supposed. Say he was as valiant as his father and smart as his mother. But that would be lying. He wondered why she said it didn’t matter. It must matter if you were a coward.
“Goodbye, Griffin,” Frieda said, looking straight into his eyes. “Whether you travel with your friend or not, you must depart now.”
“Where are you going?”
“To another colony, across the Underworld.”
“Well, ‘bye, then,” he said. How did you say goodbye to someone in the land of the dead? The thought he might never see her again made him gloomy. “Thank you!” he called after her, as she sailed out over the desert along a different route from his. He stared, feeling a terrible squeeze in his stomach when finally she disappeared.
He should be leaving too now. Precious time.
Along the mud-cracked plains, he found the pattern that would lead him on his journey.
Then he turned back to Oasis, and went to find Luna.
COMA ZOTZ
Goth clung to a vine, exhausted after his descent from the mines. All his limbs trembled, and he detested this weakness in himself. He detested too that he was tethered to these other inferior bats. To his surprise, the sight of them filled him with no hunger for meat. His only hunger now was for freedom—and life.
Through the weave of vines, Goth caught sight of another Vampyrum staring at him.
“I know you,” Goth whispered to himself. The other cannibal bat flinched and hurriedly turned, scuttling as far away as his tether would allow. Goth crawled after him. Since he was the last in the chain, he had more flexibility, but he still had to drag a few pulpy little bats off their roosts to get closer.
“I know you,” he said again.
“No,” said the other bat, not turning to face him.
“Throbb!” said Goth, surprising himself. How was it he had effortlessly summoned up this bat’s name, when he’d had such difficulty remembering his own?
“Names are discouraged here,” mumbled the other bat. “We don’t really have names.” He tried to scramble further away, but there was no slack left in his line.
Goth was now close enough to poke at him with the tip of his wing. With a defeated sigh, Throbb turned. Goth’s mouth split into a smile. The mere sight of Throbb’s face triggered a flood of images from the past: an artificial jungle, Human captors, an escape, flying south with Throbb, trying to get back to the real jungle. And—
“You were hit by lightning!” said Goth, delighted by these new memories. “You were turned to ash.”
“I really don’t see any point talking about it,” Throbb said petulantly.
Goth grunted with satisfaction. He’d never thought he would be glad to see Throbb again—a whining, cowardly creature, he now recalled—but in current circumstances, he was glad of anything that linked him to the world of the living. And Throbb might prove useful, as he had long ago.
“Surely you don’t blame me for the lightning,” Goth said pleasantly.
“No, that was bad luck,” said Throbb. “But there were other things. The spinning blade you made me go through first, the cold, the freezing rain, the snow, the blizzards, the frostbite, the hunger, the humiliations. I’ll say one thing about being dead—it got me away from you.”
“There was a bat we were chasing,” Goth said with a frown.
“Shade, a Silverwing from the northern forests. You wanted to—”
“Follow him to Hibernaculum, where his entire colony was sleeping through the winter,” Goth cut in, for already another cataract of memory was spilling into his mind. Shade. That little northern runt had defied him, had led him into a lightning storm and nearly killed him. But that was not the end of the story with Shade. There was more, and it had to do with his homeland, the stone pyramid, that flash of light and noise that was cut off forever.
“Why can’t I remember everything?” Goth asked.
“Everyone’s like that at first. It takes a while.” Goth grunted; he didn’t like the fact Throbb was in a position to tell him anything, but he needed more information.
“Why are we set to work with these underlings?”
“Well,” said Throbb uncomfortably, “we’ve both displeased Zotz. Not that I’m complaining. No, no, I toil willingly. Happily. I love my work.”
“You’re a slave,” Goth said with contempt.
“It’s really not so bad. It’s very peaceful here. And there’s no hunger, no pain—as long as we serve Zotz.”
Goth could understand Throbb being punished. But himself? What had he done to deserve this?
“Who was I?” Goth demanded.
“Best to forget all that. Not important. Work, work, work, that’s all we need to think about now.” Throbb tried to make a cheerful laugh, but it came out like a demented squawk.
“Tell me,” snapped Goth.
“It won’t make you any happier, I’m just warning you,” said Throbb.
Goth snorted impatiently.
“Well, when I knew you, you were a prince.” Goth looked away, blinking as images from his past flickered before his mind’s eye. A prince of the royal family Vampyrum Spectrum, favoured by Zotz himself …
“But then you got t
o be King,” Throbb prattled on. “I wasn’t around for that, of course, on account of being sizzled by lightning. But congratulations, I guess. Of course, you weren’t King for very long, but it’s more than most of us get….”
Rage reduced Goth’s voice to a slow, pungent whisper. “I should not be here. A terrible injustice has been committed against me.”
“You hear a lot of that down here,” Throbb said.
“I must speak to Cama Zotz.”
“Probably not a good idea.”
“Where is he?” Goth demanded.
“He’s anywhere. Everywhere. But he only appears when he wants.”
“You’ve seen him, then?” Throbb’s eyes flicked away. “Just once.”
“I want to see him,” said Goth. “There’s been a mistake.”
“Well, there’s plenty of stories about you, actually,” said Throbb, unable to hide his pleasure.
“Stories?” Goth growled. If he hadn’t been restrained he would have closed his teeth around Throbb’s neck.
“About the things you did in the Upper World. You’re famous really—in a bad sort of way.”
“Speak, then!”
“If you must know,” said Throbb with a vindictive smile, “you’re the reason we’re all here. This mine didn’t exist until after what happened at the pyramid, you know, the sacred temple. Not that I was alive to see it, but things get around down here. You don’t know? You really don’t know?”
“Tell me, Throbb, or I will—”
“No talking!” roared Phoenix, crashing down upon them.
Without hesitation, Goth lunged, and with his teeth tore fur from her shoulder. Phoenix punched Goth back with a furled wing, bared her obsidian fangs, and plunged at his throat. Instantly Goth kicked out with both rear claws, pushing the vine tethering them between Phoenix’s jaws. Instinctively she bit, severing the vine with a crack of light. Goth rolled free.
He opened his wings and flew, Phoenix at his tail. He cleared the jungle of vines and dived down the pyramid’s far side, away from the plaza, away from the great Vampyrum city. Out over the rainforest, Phoenix and her guards pursued him, but could not overtake him, so powerful were his wing strokes, fuelled by rage and determination. He had once been King and he would not be defeated! He soared clear of the island’s coast, and was over the lake now. When he glanced back, Phoenix and her guards were circling, as if afraid to cross the water’s threshold. Cowards.
Beyond the lake stretched more of the same terrible desert he had seen on his awakening. He balked at the notion of flying deeper into it, but what else could he do? That glorious city could only be a prison to him now; he was an enemy to his own kind. But how? What were these terrible things he had done?
“Zotz!” he shouted to the wind. “Zotz, it is your servant, Goth. Please hear me!”
At first Goth thought it was only the fatigued trembling of his limbs, but then he realized the air itself was shaking. Even the stars overhead seemed to flicker. Below, the mud-cracked plain shimmered like a windswept pond. A mist of dancing stone rose from the earth as the tremors deepened. Goth felt the shuddering in the bones of his feet and legs, coursing along his spine and into his jaws and teeth. He was terrified, but felt a dark rush of anticipation, too. Circling, he fixed his eyes on the epicentre of the earthquake.
Show me, he thought. Show yourself.
With a thunderous crack that reverberated against the stone heavens, two massive spikes erupted from the earth, soaring up past him. As Goth shook his head, cleared the silt from his eyes, he saw that these spikes were not stone, but folded wings, now unfurling. Electricity crackled along their dark membranes as they shook dust and rock from the creases. The simple act of those wings extending to their full length—hundreds of feet, Goth guessed—created a shock wave of searing wind that blasted him backwards.
In a titanic convulsion, the ground between the wings heaved up, and Goth saw a darkly furred back rising from the rubble, two powerful legs pushing clear, massive shoulders hunching to lift a long, leathery neck. Goth swallowed, nearly gagging, for his throat was so dry. Finally the head came into view. It was white, hairless, gaunt as a skull. From the back a long knobbly crest jutted high into the air. The jaws themselves were thrice the length of Goth’s entire body, and when they split apart, he saw endless rows of jagged teeth. Eyes, set far back in the skull, blinked the dust clear, then turned to gaze straight at him.
Goth stared back, unable to look away. Despite his terror, his heart exalted. Finally he beheld Zotz. He had never seen any creature so massive—Zotz was as big as a mountain. In his imagination, he had always pictured Zotz as a giant, but one who would look essentially like the other Vampyrum. But there was something altogether more bestial about him, and slightly reptilian. His thumbs had developed into a kind of paw, so that he stood on four feet, like a beast, his wings spiking up high. His skin had a scaly look, especially around the furless face. He looked like something unspeakably ancient.
Zotz’s head plunged down towards Goth, the wind shrieking through the serrated crest, like some bird of prey. His words came out like a scalding gale.
“I have heard you, Goth. Now behold me, and know that I am very displeased.”
“My Lord,” Goth said, struggling to keep his voice strong, “I do not know what I have done.”
Zotz’s head stopped, wingbeats from Goth, and hovered. From the god’s parted jaws, welling from the depths of his throat, Goth heard a faraway chorus of screams.
“When you were injured,” said Zotz, “I healed your wings.” Goth remembered instantly. “Yes, Lord Zotz.”
“And did I not make you King as I promised?”
“You did, Lord Zotz.”
“Did I not favour you with visions? Did I not make you my mouthpiece? All I asked was for you to do my bidding. You had only to sacrifice one hundred hearts while the sun was eclipsed—and so liberate me from the Underworld.”
Goth winced, desperately dragging memories from his mind’s vault. He could see it now—the temple filled with sacrificial offerings, the sun at its zenith, being swallowed by the moon.
“I tried—”
“Did you?” Zotz’s angry voice reverberated over the plains. “You gathered the sacrificial offerings, yes. But you let yourself become distracted by your hatred of Shade Silverwing. You had only seven minutes during the eclipse, but you put your own bloodlust ahead of your duty to your god. And you missed your chance.”
Images cascaded before his mind’s eye, making him grunt with surprise. Yes. Shade, the young runt, had been in the temple, and he had brought rats and owls as allies and attacked during the sacrifices. And he, Goth—he winced in shame now as he recalled it—had left his place at the sacrificial altar and tried to kill Shade Silverwing.
“I beg your forgiveness, my Lord.” He dared not meet the eyes of his god.
“There is worse. I have waited thousands of years. But now there is no purpose in waiting. There can be no other opportunity for sacrifice.”
Goth looked up in shock. “I don’t understand.” “The prophetic Stone was destroyed, Goth. The royal pyramid was destroyed, and with it, the last of my priesthood. They alone knew how to liberate me. There are other Vampyrum Spectrum, but they do not know me—and without blood sacrifice, my powers to project myself to the Upper World are vanquished. You have imprisoned me in my own kingdom!”
A terrible weakness swept through Goth’s limbs as he tried to understand. He remembered Shade escaping the temple, and then—
A flash of light, the beginnings of some cataclysmic noise, then nothing more. “How did this happen?” Goth asked.
Zotz’s head swayed from side to side, like that of some enormous cobra before it strikes. “The high priest, Voxzaco, do you remember him? He dropped one of the Human’s explosive discs on the temple, thinking he might this way fulfill the sacrifices. A daring plan, and I might have rewarded him, had he not been too late. The eclipse had already ended, and Voxzaco succeeded on
ly in turning the royal pyramid into a tomb for the Vampyrum Spectrum. Perhaps you are thinking, Goth, that Voxzaco is to blame. Rest assured, he will spend his eternity in a place of suffering. But so shall you.”
It happened so quickly Goth scarcely had time to flinch. Zotz’s jaws snapped wider and plunged around him. He was in total darkness, casting about with his sonic eye, glimpsing the vast array of jagged incisors, each as big as himself. Beneath him pitched a great black river of tongue. It leapt high, knocking him deeper into the mouth, back towards the cavernous entrance to Zotz’s throat.
And from that opening—it was unmistakable now—emanated the most terrible cacophony of screams and cries and strangled pleas Goth had ever heard. “No!” Goth shrieked. “Please, no!”
The tongue pitched once more and, with a terrible wet constriction, he was squeezed down into the throat. Pummelled and punched by the spasms of Zotz’s gullet, he tumbled head over wing in darkness.
With a splash he landed in a churning pool.
And started screaming in pain.
It was not water, but acid, and he was in Zotz’s stomach, roaring in agony as he felt his fur and flesh being scorched from every inch of his body. He thrashed in vain, trying to claw his way out, but he was being swirled around and round too quickly. With his frenzied echo vision he caught jagged silver glimpses of other bats, hundreds of them, spinning in this whirlpool of acid, faceless, screaming in torment. And he was screaming too—there was no stopping it—adding to the hellish din.
Swirling and swirling at great speed, yet time had stopped.
He was here forever and no time at all, for the pain was so intense it was all he could comprehend. This was forever. Forever had already happened and was yet to come. This maelstrom of acid and spray and noise and pain. He wished for oblivion. “Zotz!” he roared. “Forgive me! Let me serve you again!”
He was tugged violently under the surface, acid searing his nostrils, gushing down his throat. Eaten away, from within and without. Caught in a powerful undertow he was sucked through the liquid, away from the whirlpool’s eternal grasp, and agonizingly squeezed down the undulating tunnels of Zotz’s bowels.