As the sunset spreads its pinks and oranges along the jungle floor, rain begins to fall, drumming and pattering the ground. It dots Mez’s whiskers and glitters on Auriel’s scales.
“Only by returning the eclipse magic contained within us to the Ziggurat of the Sun and Moon can we hope to renew the prison containing the Ant Queen’s evil,” Auriel continues. “It’s up to us, the shadowwalkers.”
The last of the sun’s rays are disappearing under the horizon. If Mez doesn’t get her and Chumba back to Usha’s side soon, they’ll be found out. Exiled.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t go with you,” Mez says. With that, she darts into the den, dragging Chumba along behind her.
MEZ TUGS DESPERATELY on Chumba’s hindquarters, trying to pull her deep into the den. But the warren is so thick with brambles and vines that it’s impossible. Each time she gets one of her sister’s limbs free of an obstacle, another one gets stuck. The whole while Mez keeps an eye on the den’s opening, checking to see whether Auriel is following.
Though the Veil has fallen, the air of the den still bears the hot stifle of day. Usha is asleep on her side, her cubs pressed into her belly for comfort. Mist is stirring. His back is to Mez, but he’s licking his front paws, beginning the day’s work of keeping himself pristine. He’ll move on to the back paws next—and when he does he’ll spot Mez.
Before he can, Mez drops where she is, pretending to sleep.
She hears Mist continue his licking, then pause.
Mez doesn’t move. She lies on the floor of the den, her mind spinning over the fight with the eagle, the fierce buffeting of its wings, the sharp and snapping beak, the feel of its muscle and sinew beneath her teeth, the sight of the daywalking emerald tree boa wrapped around it, her strange conversation with him.
Shadowwalker. Her!
As she lies there, running through her conversation with Auriel, one puzzle presents itself over and over: No daywalker has ever located the den before. And yet, the same day Mez walked out, an eagle found its way in to attack Chumba. What kind of a coincidence was that?
The most likely explanation comes to her, terrible in its simplicity: The eagle knew where the den was because Mez came strolling out of it in the middle of the day. Because she showed that monster precisely where her family was hidden away.
Mez nearly killed her sister. If she didn’t already know there was something terribly wrong with her daywalking, she is sure of it now. “Oh, Chumba,” Mez whispers, licking her sister’s wounded nape. “I’m so sorry.”
Even if Auriel never returns, as soon as Mez has a good opportunity she will tell Chumba everything. This is her fault, and she needs to own up to it.
Mez’s skin grows cold and clammy, and her eyes dart beneath her lids. What if telling the truth gets her exiled? How will Chumba survive without her?
Mez watches through slitted eyes as Mist pushes the still-sleeping triplets out of the way so he’s right in front of his mother’s face. When Usha finally smacks her lips and yawns, he is the first thing she sees, sitting calmly on all fours. “We have a serious situation.”
Aunt Usha looks at Mist steadily, then takes in the dozing cubs, Mez, and finally Chumba groggily shaking her head in the den’s opening, still bleeding from the eagle’s wound. “Round up the little ones.”
Usha slinks out, leaving Mist presiding over the other cubs. Even on a normal night, Mez hates it when Aunt Usha leaves him in charge. But there’s a reason for it—as Usha’s eldest, Mist will somenight be leader of the panthers in the area.
Dread filling her, Mez rises to her paws, but before she can get her sister up and standing, Mist leans over Chumba and bites her on the nub where her paw would be. “How did you get all cut up?” he asks. “And what are you doing sprawled half out of the den? You’re going to get it from Mother.”
Chumba squeals and scurries away from him. “Hey! That hurt! And I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“See for yourself. It looks like you lost a fight with a mouse or something.”
Chumba whirls, but she can’t spot the wound.
“You’ve got a cut,” Mez whispers while she licks the spot. “It’s not too bad.”
“I don’t understand,” Chumba says. “How did it happen?”
Mist scowls at Mez while she continues to lick her sister’s neck. “Once we get outside, you two will have to be the ones to tell my mother that Chumba got injured and doesn’t even know why. You two are total wastes of fur.”
One elegant paw after another, he heads out of the den.
Mez quivers in anger. Getting in a fight with Usha’s son won’t help matters any, though, so she forces herself to hold back.
“Are you in pain, Chum?” Mez asks her sister.
“It’s not too bad,” she says. “I’m confused more than anything else.”
“At least there’s that to make us feel better,” Mez says, pointing her paw at Mist’s departing tail. A big gooey yellow slug is suckered to his white fur.
“Should we tell him?” Chumba asks as Mez gives her wounded neck one last lick.
“Not a chance,” Mez says. “Ready to go?”
“I’m always ready to go,” Chumba says. “As long as I’ve got you.”
Mez nods solemnly. “Okay. Let’s get the triplets up.”
The calico sisters poke around the den, prodding the other cubs awake with gentle taps of their noses. The little ones yawn, then once they have their minds about them look around fearfully for Mist. When they don’t see him, they let out sighs of relief. Though Mez and Chumba get the worst of it, the triplets have often been nipped by their big brother.
“Time to go,” Mez says softly. “Aunt Usha’s waiting for us.”
When they emerge, Mist is pacing in front of the den’s exit. He turns on them, extending and retracting his claws. “You’re late. Mother must have gotten frustrated with us and gone ahead.”
“You might have helped us wake the little ones, you know,” Mez says.
Mist looks back at her balefully.
“Never mind, forget I asked. After you, fearless leader,” Mez adds dryly.
Mist stalks away along the jungle floor, but goes only a few feet before he stops short. “Feathers!” he exclaims.
It’s the dead eagle. It doesn’t look as fearsome at night, but here are the powerful wings, the cub-killing beak. The bones are at twisted angles, pale birdflesh visible where the emerald boa’s muscular coils yanked out the feathers. Even more mysterious: Auriel might have killed the eagle, but he left without eating it! What a strange snake.
Neither Yerlo, Jerlo, nor Derli seems to want to look at the bird’s corpse, instead peering around nervously for Usha. Chumba seems just as confused, nose bobbing as she investigates the dead eagle. “What happened to it?” she asks, ears pressed back in confusion and wonder.
“One daywalker killed another,” Mist says. “We’ve seen their corpses before. Small loss. Come, we need to catch up to Mother.”
“It’s no easy thing to take down a bird this big,” Chumba says.
“I would agree,” comes Usha’s voice. Mez looks up to see her aunt emerging from the tree line, ears back and eyes wary. “Come, little ones. To my side.”
Is that fear in Usha’s voice? Mez and Chumba pad to Usha’s flank, keeping the three tiny triplets protected at the center.
“It was just a daywalker killing another daywalker, right, Mother?” Mist asks, not sounding nearly so certain anymore.
“Mist, if you are to lead this family somenight, I expect more from you. Those are panther claw marks on the eagle’s throat. The scent of pantherfear is all over its feathers.”
Mist’s ears go flat with shame.
“I thought I smelled pantherfear!” Chumba says.
“Shh,” Mez whispers. She knows her sister is only trying to help Usha figure out what’s going on, but she can see the fury rippling the fur along Mist’s back.
“We are the only panthers anywhere near here,�
�� Usha says. “So it had to be one of us who killed this eagle.”
“But Mother,” Mist says slowly, “if one of us killed the eagle, then one of us was daywalking. And a panther who daywalks—”
“—is unnatural,” Usha finishes.
“And an unnatural panther must be exiled,” Mist says. He points his nose at Chumba. Usha follows his focus, and sees the wound on the cub’s neck for the first time.
MEZ LOOKS AT her aunt, then at Mist and Chumba, waiting for one to speak up. “What’s happening?” Chumba asks, confused. “Why are you all staring at me?”
The nursling triplets whimper. Despite her fear of what might be about to happen, Mez senses their confusion and forces her ears forward, so the nurslings won’t be too frightened.
Aunt Usha paces around the eagle’s body, examining it, but not touching the evidence. Mez can sense her calculating what to do next. Panthers who are unfit are killed or cast out. Crossing the Veil is deeply against the natural order. But Usha, like Mez, probably always assumed that such a wrong could never actually happen.
Mist follows behind his mother, mimicking her solemn air as he prods the eagle corpse with his nose. “There are other scents here, Mother,” he says. “Something acidic, like ant—”
“Something helped a panther kill this eagle,” Usha says, stopping up short. Mist isn’t able to halt in time and bumps into her, the thick fur of Usha’s tail bushing over his face. He hisses, sidesteps, and immediately starts grooming his fur back into place with a forepaw.
Mist shoots a dark look at Chumba as she struggles to contain a giggle. “That’s right, Mother,” Mist says once he’s recovered himself. “Why don’t we let Chumba explain who helped her?”
Chumba stops giggling. “Me? What are you talking about? I told you I have no idea about any of this!”
“Your wound is from an eagle’s beak. How do you explain that?” Mist presses.
“I woke up with this after daycoma. It doesn’t hurt too much, by the way, thanks for your concern.” Chumba’s words might sound daring, but Mez knows her sister too well, can see the fear bringing her haunches low, drooping the ends of her whiskers.
While she waits in dread to hear the word “exile,” Mez clenches her mouth tight. Biting down so hard brings out the taste of blood in her mouth—her struggle to stay clamped down on the flailing eagle must have gashed her gums.
Usha’s expression becomes unknowable as she scrutinizes Chumba. “You should know that I’m of two minds. That daywalking raptor could easily have taken one of the triplets. Defeating that bird was an act of bravery, even if daywalking is an act of shame.”
Mez’s heart races. Is Usha setting a trap? Confess and then the real punishment comes down? Mez wouldn’t put that past her. She opens her mouth. Whatever happens, it will be a relief to tell what she knows, and bear the consequences.
But Mez clamps her mouth shut, because Mist speaks before she can. “Mother,” he says. “I can hold the truth back no longer. It was me! I killed the eagle that was hunting our cubs.”
Mez stares at him, mouth falling back open.
Usha’s eyes narrow. This was clearly not the panther she was expecting to hear confess.
“I will one night be leader around here,” Mist says, looking humbly down at the ground. “I need to learn how to protect all the panthers around me.”
Usha looks at Mist with something like worry in her eyes. “Mist. I know my eldest son is not a daywalker. So tell me, how did you accomplish this?”
“No, of course I can’t daywalk. What happened was, um, what happened was this. I’ve been working to train myself to be the first to wake up when the Veil drops, the moment that sunset comes,” Mist says. “I . . . noticed Chumba was missing, so I peeked outside the den, and found her daywalking! Even worse, she had led an eagle right back to the den’s entrance, where it attacked her. I jumped in, and—and killed it, and . . . as soon as we got back to the den Chumba started pretending like nothing had happened. It all happened right when the Veil was lifting, before you’d even gotten up; it was over so fast, Mother!”
Chumba and Mez stare at their cousin, dumbfounded.
“I—I don’t know what to say,” Chumba stammers.
“It’s not true!” Mez says.
“How do you know?” Usha asks, cocking her head at Mez. “Were you there too?”
Mez would be happy to let Mist take credit for killing the eagle if it meant taking the heat off Chumba. But not if it meant Usha would suspect Chumba of daywalking. Not if it meant Chumba would be banished.
Mez looks at Usha’s expression to see if she’s caught on to Mist’s terrible lying, but her aunt’s gaze is trained only on Chumba. “Even though you were missing your paw and were therefore unfit, I took you and Mez in as a last favor to my sister,” she continues. “But the rules of the panthers are clear: If you are daywalking, you are unnatural. And if you are unnatural, you must be exiled.”
AUNT USHA EXTENDS her claws and tugs at them with her teeth to sharpen them. Usha knows exactly the message she’s sending by doing so now.
As if an invisible paw has pushed them down, the triplets nestle beside their mother, mewling as they nurse for comfort. Chumba is next to sit, plopping right where she is behind Usha and the triplets, wonder and fascination on her face as she waits to see what will happen next. It’s like she hasn’t pieced together that she’s going to have to leave—she just knows that she wasn’t daywalking, so she assumes the truth will release her. Heart quaking, Mez positions herself carefully so she’s blocking her smaller sister from Usha’s view.
Mist is the only one who does not sit, instead glowering at his mother’s side, ready to spring into action once she passes judgment.
Usha speaks. “Chumba. This is your last chance to come clean and defend yourself. Tell me now: How did this eagle die?”
Despite her best effort to hold quiet and still, Mez lets out a groan of fear and brings her body low to the ground, nervous claws scraping through mushrooms and leaves. The scent of her own pantherfear rises around her.
Somewhere out of view, a tree splits with a sharp and wet cracking sound. As one, the startled panthers get to their paws, wheeling and staring, tails low and teeth bared. Even Usha loses her usual composure, fear revealing the whites around her eyes. “Show yourself!” she calls.
There is no answer.
Of course, none of the panthers suspects what Mez suspects—that Auriel is somewhere out there, watching.
One by one, the panthers sit back down. It’s Chumba who speaks first. “Why would it be so terrible if one of us were daywalking?”
Aunt Usha gives her a scathing look, like Chumba has just admitted guilt. Usha hasn’t noticed what Mez has—that Chumba’s telltale right ear keeps flicking in Mez’s direction. Does Chumba know her secret?
“You have seen the constellation of the Ant Queen above,” Usha says. “Legends tell that she was awake during night and day alike, and once ran amok over Caldera, enslaving the other animals and feeding those who resisted to her minions. Even now her ants can cross the Veil at will, a constant reminder of the danger their queen once presented.”
“That . . . Ant Scene was powerful enough to conquer all of Caldera?” Chumba says in awe, looking up at the night sky.
“Ant Queen,” Mez whispers, shivering and huddling tighter against her sister’s side.
“But . . . you raised me, Aunt Usha,” Chumba says. “You would really exile me for daywalking?”
“I would,” Usha says flatly. “As if I needed any more proof that crossing the Veil is dangerous, your mother, my sister . . . gave birth to you during the eclipse, during the moment of wakefulness that resulted. But panthers are not meant to be awake during the day, much less give birth, and her labor went wrong. She went feral, her eyes rolled back, she lost control of her body. Most of her litter didn’t survive. Only you two.”
“And one of you was . . . ruined,” Mist adds. “Mother, you should have known tha
t Chumba would turn out to be the unnatural one. And with their patchy colors, too—it’s time we winnowed out the unfit.”
Mez shrinks in horror at the thought that their births had caused her mother’s death. Usha’s words continue to drive into her, warbling her darkvision and weakening her legs. Mez knew that her mother died soon after she was born. But she didn’t know it had been because of the eclipse, because of the strange power from the sun and moon beaming down from the sky, and that there had been other newborns in her litter who hadn’t survived. Usha had always refused to talk about it, claiming that what was past was past.
Surprisingly, Usha whirls on Mist. “Watch your tongue. Some panthers prefer a cat with some color to it. Male cubs can’t even produce such a diverse range of colors. Only females are ever calico.”
“Only female cubs are ever ugly, you mean,” Mist grumbles.
“You’re just insecure about your white fur,” Mez says hotly. “If Usha wasn’t your mother, we might be talking about how that white fur of yours could make you the unfit one.”
All the panthers, even the triplets, stare at Mez. Ears flattened and heat flooding her cheeks, she studies the grass.
“Chumba, I’m still waiting for an explanation,” Usha says. “The eagle was killed during the sunset border time. Mist rescued you from it. But what were you doing out there in the first place?”
Mist doesn’t flinch. Apparently he’s sticking to his story.
For a moment, Mez keeps her eyes down on the greenery and the black loamy soil. A bright yellow caterpillar climbs a leaf. “It wasn’t Chumba who was daywalking,” she finally says.
Before Aunt Usha can respond, Mist cries out, “Of course it was Chumba! It has to be Chumba!”
“Mist!” Aunt Usha scolds. But she doesn’t move to protect Chumba. She will let this power play work out on its own—that is the panther way.
Mez’s mind races. If she lets Chumba go into exile, they’ll be separated. If she tells the truth about her daywalking, they’ll be separated. There is no way out—she’s going to lose her sister either way.
The Lost Rainforest Page 3