Rumi's Riddle

by Eliot Schrefer

  “Very good. We will use the feather to follow you on your journey, Mez.” Sky caws proudly. “My magic has improved so much that all the senses will be involved now, not just vision. I’m working on being able to send you messages through the directive. Stay open to it—you might have me unexpectedly in your mind.”

  “Lovely,” Mez says.

  “It is lovely!” Rumi protests. “Sharing synapses, how marvelous.”

  “Well, we’re off,” Mez says. “I’m sure Chumba and Yerlo would say good-bye if they could.”

  “Travel safely,” Gogi says. The companions take turns giving Mez hugs. Even Sky joins, wrapping his wings awkwardly around Mez for a moment before hurriedly releasing her. Banu gives her a hug, then he sighs and appears to fall asleep, his curved claws wrapped neatly around Mez’s ribs.

  “Um, Banu, excuse me,” Mez says, gently removing the sloth’s claws. The moment she’s got one up, Banu returns another one to her.

  “Oh . . . sorry,” he says sleepily as he releases himself to the ground. “You’d make . . . a good branch.”

  “Great, thanks. Good-bye, everyone!”

  “Yep, bye, guys!” Lima adds.

  Mez takes up the litter, and with a few ferocious pushes, she and Lima are gone from view.

  “Well, gentlemen,” Gogi says, hands on his furry hips. “Looks like it’s just us boys now.”

  “To the ocean!” Rumi says. “Wait until you see it in person, Gogi. It’s a fascinating place.”

  “I tend to like drier places more than wetter ones, but I’m willing to suspend judgment until we get there.”

  Without Chumba, the companions are able to travel on both sides of the Veil. Which is good, since Rumi is reminded all over again that Banu is, um, slow. Rumi knows he would be just as slow—frog legs are made for quick hops to catch prey or avoid death, not for journeying through the rainforest—but of course he can ride on his companions whenever he needs to, which Banu is too big to manage. They tried briefly to see what would happen if Banu rode on Gogi’s back. Banu enjoyed it. Gogi, not as much.

  During their frequent breaks Gogi experiments with new fire tricks, while Auriel finds the nearest patch of sunlight and soaks it in. In those quieter moments, he seems to grow right in front of Rumi’s eyes. When they start a break, Rumi memorizes precisely where Auriel’s head is, remembering that it’s right alongside the brownish curling piece of grass or what have you, and when they’re ready to move on from their rest, it will be two more blades of grass over.

  When he’s not gauging Auriel’s development, Rumi is deep in deliberations with Sky. While he and Sky strategize, Rumi will lie on top of Sky’s claws, and it feels like he’s finally found a true friend, one who gets and accepts him in all ways.

  “So, Rumi,” Sky says, “I was scouting out pathways to the ocean, and the most direct one takes us right through a large swamp, devastated a couple of years ago but regrowing. Some of the saplings that emerged from the fallen giants are quite high now.”

  “How interesting,” Rumi says. “We’ll go through that swamp. Gogi doesn’t mind them as much anymore.”

  “Yes, well, hrm, this precise swamp . . .”

  “Yes?” Rumi asks brightly.

  “It’s . . . well, it’s your old swamp, Rumi.”

  “Oh,” Rumi says, gulping. “I see.”

  “I could find another route,” Sky offers, “but anything I picked would make our journey longer.”

  “No,” Rumi says flatly, “we’ll go through my old swamp.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “One hundred percent. Moving on. Let’s talk about the ark.”

  It’s storming up above, but the canopy siphons away most all of the falling water. Sky leans over a puddle, the surface vibrating and rippling whenever a droplet hits it. He picks up a stick with his beak and drops it onto the surface. “Wood floats, clearly,” Sky says. “We all know that. But we don’t need a craft just to float. We need it to hold as many land animals as possible.”

  “That’s just about all of us,” Rumi says. “I remember what that salty water felt like on my skin when we were near it before. I couldn’t swim in the ocean for long.”

  “Right,” Sky says. “So that’s why we need to build something that will not only float, but can house animals in dry quarters for what might be a very long time.”

  “Not just housing. We’ll need to pack food for the herbivores . . .” Rumi’s voice trails off, as he realizes the implications of what he was about to say next.

  “Maybe we institute a no-hunting rule for the carnivores onboard?” Sky says.

  Rumi shudders. “But they can’t starve, either. Meat eaters make everything so complicated.”

  “Maybe we could persuade them how good leaves and insects taste,” Sky says.

  “You try convincing Mez,” Rumi says. “I’d like to see how that goes over.”

  Sky uses his beak to drop two more sticks next to the first. “If we could attach tree trunks together, we could make a raft.”

  Rumi shakes his head. “Did you see the waves out on the ocean? I think everyone would get knocked off. We need something that could contain us inside it.”

  Sky cocks his head. “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  Grateful for the distraction from the thought of facing his home swamp, and his reduced wind power, Rumi takes some grasses in his fingers and weaves them together with pliable twigs. It makes a crude sphere. “Something like this!”

  Sky lets out an admiring caw. “We’d have to weave the grasses tight enough so no water got in.”

  “I think I could manage that,” Gogi says, looking over from where he was braiding fire in the air. Rumi hadn’t realized he was listening.

  Rumi nods. “You do have agile fingers, Gogi. I’m thinking we could line the inside with marsh grasses, which would provide a water-impermeable layer, and then we’d slather mud inside those. The bits of mud that were on the exterior might stay moist, but then the inside mud layer should dry, so we could rest against it.”

  Sky’s beak clacks excitedly. “We would need to use a variety of woods and grasses. The smaller liana vines will be plentiful, but what kind of wood can withstand so much dousing and drying and more dousing?”

  “I . . . might be able to help . . .” Banu says. Rumi startles—he was sure the sloth was asleep. Apparently all his friends are more interested in the deliberations than they let on. “The adult mangrove . . . tree . . . is very bendy. . . . I learned that the hard way . . . when I once . . . chose the wrong place to nap.”

  “I know just where we’ll pass by mangroves,” Rumi says darkly.

  Sky lays a comforting wing over his friend’s back. “We should find them along the waterways that lead to the ocean,” he says. “Harder will be the straight pieces we’ll use for the main structure. I’m thinking that ironwood would be best, but that won’t be near where the mangroves are.”

  “Ironwood is very heavy,” Gogi says, “and we don’t have any muscular panther sisters with us now.”

  “We can . . . use them,” Banu says. He nods his head in a certain direction. It takes Rumi a few seconds to figure out which direction that is, because, well, sloth nods are quite slow. When he does see what Banu is referring to, though, he hops right into the air.

  The daywalker groupies.

  “Oh, wow,” Gogi says, getting to his feet. “They keep creeping right up on us, don’t they?”

  The friends work their way through the jungle greenery until they can see better. While they do, Gogi plucks Rumi up from the ground and brings him to his mouth, so he can whisper in the frog’s ear. “I saw how you reacted when the mangroves came up.”

  “You noticed that?” Rumi cheeps in surprise.

  “Of course I did. Noticing feelings is my thing. Have out with whatever you have to tell us. It will feel better after, I promise.”

  Rumi nods. “I’ll tell you on the way.”

  A tapir perks up as the shadowwalkers
approach. “Hello there. I hope you don’t mind that we eavesdropped. We didn’t want to interrupt.”

  They’re sitting in a polite semicircle, a hodgepodge of animals, three tapirs in the center and an assortment of rats and lizards and songbirds around them. Not the most majestic assortment, but their expressions are full of hope and cheer.

  “That’s a candle of tapirs,” Rumi says. “I’ve been waiting to have a chance to use that word.”

  “Hello there,” Gogi says. “I am Gogi, Monkey of Fire.”

  “That’s nice,” says the tapir.

  A songbird chirps at her. “Do you see him?”

  “I’m right here,” Gogi says, running a hand through his hair.

  “Not you. Him. The Elemental of Light.”

  Gogi thumbs in Auriel’s direction. “Oh, you mean that guy?”

  “It’s truly he,” the tapir says. “The legends are true!”

  Gogi rolls his eyes.

  As the glowing snake basks in the sun, the daywalker pilgrims approach. They sit in a circle around him, watching his every movement, oohing and aahing if Auriel so much as wriggles his tail.

  “Hey,” Gogi calls over to them. “We’ll let you spend time basking in his glow, but on one condition.”

  “What’s that?” the tapir asks. “We’ll do anything!”

  “Okay. How much can you tapirs carry? And have you ever been to the beach?”

  THE TAPIRS ARE a cheerful lot, nodding and grunting in acceptance of everything Rumi proposes, even when it means hefting lumber over bumpy terrain. Then the group is off. They’ll head toward the mangroves, ironwood trees, and finally the beach—passing through Rumi’s home on the way.

  Rumi’s in his now-customary position on top of Sky’s claws, looking down at the land below as the macaw scouts. “I want to check in with Mez using your feathers to link to the one you gave her,” Rumi says. “Can I do that now?”

  “Of course,” Sky caws back. “Just hold on to one and send your thoughts to her. Let me know how all the new senses I’ve been able to work into my magic go. I think you’ll find it a more immersive experience than last time.”

  “I will give you a complete report,” Rumi says. “Sky, before I go. I’ve been thinking. I want to tell Gogi and Banu what you found out in the Cave of Riddles before we get to my home swamp. I need them to understand why I’ll be so upset.”

  “Yes, my friend. I was waiting for you to suggest that. If you’re still following Mez through the directive when we’re nearing your old home, I’ll extract you from the vision.”

  “Thank you, Sky,” Rumi says. “Okay, I’m going in.”

  Rumi pulls one of Sky’s crimson feathers closer to him, careful not to damage the sensitive spot where it enters the macaw’s skin. He closes his eyes and thinks of Mez.

  Instantly he’s there. Really there, much more vividly than Sky’s magic was ever able to achieve before. There’s a slight haze to the scene, but even that could be from volcano smoke instead of any side effect of the magic. Rumi watches through the directive while Yerlo draws the panther sisters up short. “This is where I last saw them,” he says.

  The panthers go still, sniffing around the broken fronds of a fern that must have once housed a den. From her position hanging upside down from Mez’s neck, Lima wriggles her nose. “I don’t smell any panthers.”

  “I do,” Chumba says. “This way.”

  Yerlo gives an impressed yowl as he follows. “Chumba’s tracking skills have always been the best in the family,” Mez says as they slink off, slow and silent through the undergrowth.

  Picking up on the sisters’ unease, even Lima goes quiet, riding the air currents so her wing beats can’t reveal their location.

  Chumba brings them up a tree, claws digging deep into wet and mossy wood. It’s a giant fig, so tall that its branches are as large as normal-sized trees, interlocking to form what feels like a copy of the jungle floor. There are fish in pools up there, tadpoles waiting to turn into frogs, all a good hundred panther-lengths over the ground.

  “Aunt Usha?” Chumba whispers.

  Panthers don’t generally make dens in the trees, but here is Usha’s voice, and the voice of a young panther, coming from a leafy corner of the canopy. “Chumba? Is that you?”

  A breeze crops up, swaying the tree. Chumba, Mez, and Yerlo lower their ears in deference, casting their chins toward the branches. Even Lima joins them, bowing her little bat head, ears flopping and fluttering in the night breeze.

  There’s a shift in the blacks of night, and what Rumi had thought was a starless patch of sky reveals it to be a panther slinking along a branch. When it turns, green eyes glitter.

  “Usha,” Mez breathes. Rumi watches from the vantage point of the feather strapped to her as she slinks forward, sniffing Usha’s tail. Up closer, he can see what has bothered Mez. The regal panther, though still large and strong, has patches of missing fur, revealing deep scars along her body. One ear is ragged and torn. Her fur sticks out at rough angles, unlike the sleek lines of a healthy panther.

  Rumi knows how much intimidation is mixed into the panthers’ love for their aunt, how she was a model of strength for them. To see her this way must be awful.

  Another panther noses along after Usha. Like Yerlo, this one has lost the puffball look of the youngest panthers, but still makes her way along awkwardly, on oversized paws. She has a scar running over her nose, splitting it nearly in two. “Jerlo,” Chumba cries, nuzzling her cousin. “What happened to you?”

  “The Elemental of Darkness,” Jerlo says miserably. “The Elemental of Darkness happened to us.”

  Usha winces as she lowers her body to the branch. “You will need to face the enemy, so I should tell you what happened. Maybe you can learn from us, and have a chance to stop him. I don’t think it’s likely that any of us will succeed, but you have to try.”

  Usha places most of her attention on Chumba. Rumi knows from Mez that though the panther sister is missing a front paw, she has proven a scrappy and resourceful fighter, and is next in line to lead the panther family.

  “We have heard some from Yerlo,” Mez says. “He says that there is a being some animals call the Elemental of Darkness. It sent minions after us.”

  Usha chuckles darkly. “It’s true. I will never call him the Elemental of anything, but he is happy to call himself that. I will bring you to see the Elemental of Darkness so you can see the truth for yourselves. You’re our only hope that his foul goals will not be achieved.”

  “Foul goals?” Lima squeaks.

  “Follow me,” Usha says darkly. “It’s simpler for you to see what I’m talking about for yourselves.”

  Despite the evident pain in her limbs, Usha makes her way along the branch and slinks to one lower, then another. Jerlo follows after, quickly joined by Yerlo and the panther sisters, Lima back to riding tucked under Mez’s chin.

  “After we cross the marshy stream up ahead, we keep absolute silence,” Usha intones. “No one must hear us.”

  Mez is almost ready to cross the stream, but stops short. She looks back at Yerlo, Jerlo, Usha. Yerlo, Jerlo, Usha. She sucks in her breath. “Aunt Usha . . . where’s Derli?”

  Jerlo and Yerlo close their eyes and look away, tails sinking. Usha’s eyes narrow, and her scarred ribs quiver with her rapid breathing. “I cannot say the words,” she says, her voice husky with emotion. “Besides, the words will not change what’s happened. You will see the truth for yourselves soon enough. Now, silence.”

  Usha has stepped across the marshy stream. Rumi follows along as the panthers drop into hunting posture, tails low and ears back, eyes alert to any sign of prey or danger. The reek of pantherfear wafts up through the thick jungle air.

  Lima alights on Mez’s back, right in front of the feather. Rumi gets a very close-up view of her backside. Bats don’t really have butts to speak of, he realizes. As if she’s aware that Rumi’s there watching through the feather, Lima turns around and gives it a tender pat. She’s
saying hello, across the vast distance between them. Lima gives him a wink and a wing thumbs-up. The gesture brings tears to Rumi’s eyes.

  For a while the panthers pass through the jungle in perfect silence. Then Mez hisses, and Lima’s attention whips forward.

  “I don’t understand. How can this be?” Mez whispers.

  Unfortunately, Lima’s backside is covering Rumi’s view. He can’t tell what Mez is talking about until she jumps to the next tree over—which is when he can see, in a straight line along the ground, perfectly spaced hirsuta trees. Their exact alignment goes against every rule of the chaotic jumble of the rainforest.

  Far more ominous, though, is the fact that the trees are on fire. The flames are small licks, just enough to cast a ruddy glow in the moist night air, but it adds even more ominous layers to the scene. While they watch, unnerved, giant moths and click beetles buzz into the fires, flaring out and falling smoldering to the ground.

  “The blazes are perfectly controlled,” Chumba says, her surprise making her forget Usha’s orders not to speak. “Who’s making that happen?”

  “Someone with a magical ability to control fire,” Mez spits.

  “But that’s silly,” Lima whispers. “Gogi is the only one we know who can do that, and he wouldn’t make this creepy scene. Also, he’s not even here.” Having worked herself up into a righteous fit, she slaps a nearby trunk. “Ouch. That’s definitely real fire. Just so you ladies know.”

  Yerlo raises his sensitive nose. “Do you scent that?”

  Usha nods. “He’s not too near, but in the area. Be silent, everyone.”

  They follow as she slinks around the edge of the hirsutas. The trees unnerve Rumi, even far away, because of the firelight upon them. But their orderliness doesn’t bother him as much as it seems to bother his friends. They break the chaotic nature of the rainforest for a perfectly natural reason: hirsuta trees are the homes of lemon ants—the two species have a relationship, where the ants get to use the tree as their home, and in return they kill off any competing plants and ants. That’s why the clearing is so sparse, why there are no other trees blocking their view, why the firelight is able to cast such eerie shadows on the open space. But his friends probably don’t know such things. Their surreal surroundings must be extra terrifying to them.