“Hush,” Mez says. “You remember what Auriel said. We are three night animals, walking by day. We need to be as quiet as possible.” It might not be the exact reason she wants Rumi to stop talking, but it’ll do.
The small voices on Mez’s back silence. She slinks along the furrows of deepest shadow between the trees, stepping only where the broad leaves provide most darkness.
Becoming invisible: it’s always been her greatest instinct. Once, when she was a nursling and got distracted chasing a moth and found herself suddenly alone outside the den, even then she knew to set her ears back and narrow her eyes to slits and lower her head to the ground, making herself as inconspicuous as possible until she got home. Her family hadn’t even spotted her coming in, Chumba falling right over in surprise when Mez materialized in front of her.
Instincts set Mez’s body the same way now. Only this time there is no den to escape back to. There is no Aunt Usha for protection. There’s not even Auriel.
Mez frequently looks back, and whenever she does she finds that same tamarind monkey has followed them through the canopy, is lounging on a sunlit branch and swinging its tail. It doesn’t move while Mez is looking at it, except for its eyes: those are always staring right at the three unnatural night animals walking by day. Mez shivers and presses forward. As soon as they’re out of view of that monkey, as soon as they’re in a new section of jungle where not every creature around has witnessed their conversation with a mystical constrictor, Mez pulls off to one side, making herself as small as possible in the mossy shadows of a fig tree. “Auriel’s right, it’s too dangerous to travel during the brightest part of the day. We’ll stand guard here,” she announces. “You two rest first, then I’ll wake you up, Lima, so I can rest a bit. Then Lima, you can wake Rumi. How does that sound? Guys?”
From her back, the sounds of two snoring creatures. “Okay, terrific,” Mez says, settling her head down on her paws. “Just terrific.”
As her companions doze, Mez watches the dayworld and tries to learn as much as she can. She grew up in a world of shapes, of the faint glimmers that her darkvision can pick up around the edges of anything that moves. In the dayworld there is so much light that shapes are less useful; instead it is color that rules. The yellow-orange beak of a songbird against the blue-black of its body, the blue-gray of the sky behind it; the alluring purple vee of a fly-eating plant; the shock of green mealy parrots against slick brown bark. She doesn’t know how daywalkers can do it, survive under the onslaught of information. The world Mez knows is one where information is sought out, not simply received.
The ants are the one constant thing, streaming toward their queen. But even though Mez is familiar with them from the nightworld, they’re becoming the most mysterious creatures of all. If they are loyal to the Ant Queen, wouldn’t they be more careful about who gets to hear about her preparing to emerge? Maybe the ants have no idea that Auriel can eavesdrop on them. But surely they’re reporting back about the eclipse-born coming together, which means the Ant Queen’s minions might be plotting their own counterattack.
Mez stays alert as best she can to any incoming dangers. It’s exhausting work, figuring out what’s important and what’s not, and she’s relieved when she feels Rumi stir on her back. “I’m afraid this active mind of mine has woken me early,” he says softly. “Once it starts spinning, there’s no going back to sleep. So let me take my turn now.”
“Yes, that’s fine,” Mez says sleepily. “I’d love . . . to close my eyes . . . for a bit.” With that, she shuts out the strange world of color.
She dreams of snuggling next to Chumba, feeling her sister’s soft fur alongside her. Then she wakes to screaming, to something leathery slapping her face. “—Mez Mez Mez!”
“Lima? What is it?” Mez asks, getting to all fours and whirling about. Sudden daylight fills her eyes and sets her mind to spinning. There are moving shapes, but Mez can’t quite make them out. Lima’s screaming continues, her constant wail further fracturing Mez’s thoughts.
Then her vision clears enough to see what’s got Lima upset: In front of them are three monkeys—not elegant golden tamarinds like the one she saw earlier, but hulking howler monkeys, muscular and long-toothed. Their black mouths open wide as they scream at Lima, who is darting in their faces, doing her best to keep them off-balance. They paw at her, sharp nails outstretched, but she’s able to dart away from each strike just in time. As Mez watches, still too groggy and stunned to act, one of the howler monkeys lunges at Lima mouth-first, jaws open wide. Lima dodges, but the movement brings her right into the clutches of the next howler monkey, who swipes at her, sending the little bat hurtling into a nearby trunk. She hits it with a thump, then slides to the ground.
Fury brings Mez lunging at the howler monkeys, claws outstretched. She bowls into the one who swatted Lima from the air and rolls with it, holding on to the monkey’s shoulders with her front claws while her rear legs rake its soft flesh. The moment they come to rest Mez lunges off the monkey and whirls on the remaining two.
“Unnaturals!” the one nearest shouts. “We won’t let you destroy Caldera.”
Mez rears back in surprise, as if she’s been splashed with water. “What?!”
“Look!” says the other one. “She doesn’t deny it!”
The monkey that Mez mauled isn’t getting up anytime soon. All the same, Mez knows that, as an ambush hunter, a panther’s odds of succeeding in a fight get lower the longer it goes. These monkeys are nearly as big as she is, and there are two of them flanking her. Mez takes a step backward, though she can already feel the trees close behind. There’s not much room left to maneuver. “Rumi?” she says. “Are you there?”
“Yes,” comes a trembling voice at Mez’s back.
“Okay, hold on!” The one thing Mez knows she has going for her is speed. She leaps, not away from the monkeys, but toward them—right over their heads. The howlers are caught off guard, falling into defensive positions as Mez whips through the air, twisting a full rotation to land elegantly on four paws behind them.
The monkeys whirl, but by then Mez has reached Lima’s still body—stunned or dead, she doesn’t know. Mez tries to pick Lima up by her scruff, but the little bat is too delicate. Instead Mez shovels Lima’s whole body into her mouth, keeping her jaws ajar so as not to accidently chew her new friend. Then, the deafening hoots of the enraged howler monkeys behind her, Mez takes to the air again, leaping into nearby brambles, dry berries scattering as she hurtles her way through vines and thorns.
“Keef tholding on, Rumi!” she says as best as she can around Lima’s body. The words come out a garble, but she can feel tugs on her hackles where Rumi’s fingers grip.
Mez scrambles her way forward, claws digging into thorns and mushrooms and small scurrying insects. She’s blinded by the dense vegetation, but she knows that darkness is an ally of hers and not the daywalker monkeys, so she presses deeper into the undergrowth, until there is no light anymore. Finally, she allows herself to pause. “Rumi, shoo okay?” she mumbles around Lima.
“Yes. A little scratched, but yes.”
“Think itsh safe enough?”
“Safe enough to what?”
Phteww. Mez opens her mouth and spits Lima to the ground, like she would a furball. The bat is curled up and motionless, impossibly tiny, and covered in panther slobber.
“Oh, now I see what you meant,” Rumi says. He hops down beside Lima. “I didn’t realize that’s how you were carrying her body,” he says. “Alas, poor Lima. You can’t blame yourself, Mez, you tried your best. If anyone could have saved her life, it would have been you.”
The bat stirs.
Her little round ears start wiggling first, then her fingers. Finally she unfurls her long wings and her eyes open, inky glimmers in the dark undergrowth. She shakes off some of Mez’s slobber. “What. Just. Happened. To. Me.”
“Well, um, maybe I . . .” Mez waffles.
“She carried you in her mouth. But at least she didn�
�t swallow you!” Rumi says matter-of-factly.
“Oh my gosh,” Lima says, staring at her saliva-wet wings. She pauses for a long moment. “How cool!”
Just what Chumba would have said, Mez thinks. She shakes her head to clear it. They’re going to need to make a plan, and fast. “Quiet, you two,” Mez says, ears cocked as best she can in the tight thicket of thorny vines. “I’m trying to listen and make sure those howler monkeys have gone.”
“Why would they do that to us?” Lima asks, indignant. “What did we ever do to them?”
“I think it’s not so much what we do as who we are,” Rumi explains. “You know, since the ants are the only other shadowwalkers and their queen once almost destroyed Caldera. Even so, it seems a little overboard to chase us down and murder us.”
“It’s so rude,” Lima sniffs.
“I agree!” Rumi says, nodding. “I want to keep an open mind, but it just confirms all the worst stereotypes about daywalkers.”
“Quiet!” Mez says, listening. There are constant rustles in the thicket, and she keeps getting sharp pains along her tail—there’s probably a stream of ants crossing over her body, biting her as they go. But at least there are no signs of any more howler monkey vigilantes.
“Do you think any nightwalkers would band together and try to kill us?” Lima presses. “I can’t imagine it. It’s not a very nightwalker thing to do. I’m not trying to say we’re better than the daywalkers, but . . . I guess I’m trying to say we’re better.”
“Mez,” Rumi says, “I think it’s past dusk, so the Veil is down. I bet those monkeys are asleep by now.”
Mez nods. “Good. We have a lot of ground to cover. Let’s get moving.”
WHAT A JOY to travel at nighttime, when travel should happen! With the daywalkers all at rest, Mez feels her hackles lower, her ears perk, her fur go smooth and flat along her back. The mood of her companions improves too: Lima spends long periods in flight, plucking gnats from the air, making sounds of bat glee as she darts across Mez’s view; Rumi can’t leave Mez’s back, as he would soon fall behind on his small legs, but takes advantage of the ride to shoot his tongue out to catch any flying bugs he spots as they go. Mez can’t see any of it, of course, and only knows when he’s caught a bug because of the cry of delight he makes.
“I’ve been thinking. How come we name flies for what they do, but not other insects?” Rumi asks.
“Hmm,” Mez says. “I’ve never thought about it.”
“I mean, we could call a beetle a ‘walk,’ but we don’t, do we?”
“We should call flies ‘tasties’ instead,” Lima says, hovering before Mez and Rumi with a mouthful of gnats. “Oh look, caviar!”
Lima points out a mat of mosquito eggs floating in the watery hollow of a stump, glinting in the moonlight. She takes a mouthful, and Rumi shoots out his tongue to take some of his own. “You should try these,” Lima says. “They’re so good.”
“Why not?” Mez says, and takes a good lick of the black quivering eggs. They burst across her teeth. “I think I’ll stick to meat, but it’s not bad,” she admits, before taking another lick. “Mmm. Salty aftertaste.”
“What’s tonight’s course, Lima?” Rumi asks between snaps of his tongue.
“Well, we’ve already had the fresh gnat snack, then the appetizer of mosquito eggs. Perhaps an entrée of moonlit figs, and for dessert a mousse of flying termites.”
“Not that kind of ‘course.’ Our route.”
“Oh, sorry! Yes. See where the moon rose? We’re heading for that smudge between it and the tallest tree. The ants are still heading there too, like Auriel said they would.”
“You’ve got the best view from up there,” Mez says. “Just let me know if I ever need to shift direction.”
“Will do, OOH!” Lima says, her words lost as she makes a gleeful swoop. “Twenty-two in one blow!” she says around a full mouth.
“That’s the most fascinating thing about bats,” Rumi says. “They can count gnats in the dark, in an instant. They make us frogs seem imprecise by comparison.”
The night is moist and heavy, the air liquidy and dark. Mez slinks as she goes, eyes alert to the creatures all around her. Virtually everywhere she looks are the glowing red discs of nightwalker eyes reflecting back at her. Most are unaware of her presence, but a few look right at her, swiveling to follow as she moves along. Owls. It seems even a panther can’t move quietly enough to avoid their notice. They make no move toward the group, only watch, but Mez is on edge after the howler monkey attack.
“Rumi, are you watching behind in case we’re followed?”
Rumi makes an affirmative croak. “Yes. I’m looking out for one unusually large cane toad in particular, as you can imagine.”
“No enemies up ahead,” Mez says quietly, though her gaze keeps returning to the owls above, the red orbs of their eyes blurring slightly whenever they shift on their perches.
The companions have been tracing the edge of the ant stream, and as the night continues Mez uses the moonlight glinting on insect bodies to catch a few meals. The anteaters scurrying along the ant column are too appealing. “Hey,” she says, mouth full, “I tried the bug eggs. Now it’s your turn. Anyone want to try some anteater? I saved you the brains and eyes, best parts.”
“Ugh,” Rumi says. “Are you kidding? Even the smell is setting off my stomach.”
“Yeah. Eating anteaters? Seriously gross, Mez,” Lima calls down from above. Then: “Ooh, a scorpion!” Crunching sounds from above as Lima chows down, followed by a rain of arachnid legs.
Once the clatter of Lima’s scorpion-eating dies down, Mez hears a distant rumble. “What is that?”
“That? There’s a waterfall up ahead,” Lima says. “Didn’t I mention that?”
“No,” Mez says. “You did not mention that.”
“Waterfalls are no problem, of course,” Lima says. “You just fly right over—ooh. Right.”
“Maybe someone else should take over navigation duties,” Rumi says dryly.
“It’s not my fault!” Lima says. “I spent my whole life around bats until yesternight. It’s taking me a while to catch up, okay?”
“Is there any way around?” Mez asks.
Lima soars out of sight, then returns. “Not really, I’m afraid. We’re much higher than the land ahead, and there are cliffs on either side of the waterfall. Finding another way around would take us many nights out of our way.”
“Auriel is expecting us much sooner than that,” Mez says. “We could be far away when the Ant Queen finally breaks out and overruns Caldera.”
“Being away for that moment doesn’t sound like the worst thing in the world,” Lima says. “But I see what you mean.”
“Can you swim, Mez?” Rumi asks.
“Yes, I can swim,” Mez says. “It’s the sheer drop I’m worried about.”
“Yeah,” Lima says. “This is not a training waterfall. Not that training waterfalls are a thing.”
They pass alongside a stream that joins with another, and then another, widening into a river as the roaring sound up ahead increases. Wary of falling in now that the waterfall is near, Mez steers Lima and Rumi deeper into the brush near the edge. The ground becomes rocky and the trees farther between, until the companions find themselves on a promontory overlooking the waterfall.
As she looks down, Mez’s stomach drops away. The dense jungle opens into a wide nighttime expanse, hot winds—the sole remnants of the day—gusting up from vast open space. As she scouts, Lima is dragged high into the sky, her little winged body disappearing for long moments before it’s outlined by the moon. She arrows down to alight on Mez’s shoulder. Down below—way down below—is a lagoon, its surface a mirror beneath the silver moonlight.
Mez watches a floating branch go over the edge. It tumbles for many seconds of freefall before striking the lagoon below.
“So, any ideas?” Mez asks.
“I’ve got nothing,” Lima says sadly. “I wish I was bigger, I’d
carry you guys.”
“I might have a possible plan,” Rumi says, leaping into the brush before calling back: “Hold tight for a few minutes. And, um, come rescue me if you hear any screaming.”
Mez and Lima stare into the froth and spray of the waterfall. Now that she knows she’s not going to be instantly bounding into it, Mez is calmer about the tumbling water. She enjoys its nighttime beauty, the warm mist wetting her nose.
Perched on the rock beside Mez, Lima has her mouth open, echolocating. She does a slow turn around, then faces forward, stock-still. “Hey, Mez,” she whispers. “Don’t look now, but there’s something a little unusual back there, that—”
Mez looks back. The owls from earlier have lined up on a low-hanging branch. A half dozen of them, staring right at Mez and Lima.
“I said don’t look now!” Lima squeaks.
“Yes, it’s eerie,” Mez says. “But don’t worry, I won’t let them hunt you.”
“Over here, guys!” Rumi calls excitedly from within the bushes. “I think I have it figured out!”
“Coming!” Mez says, relieved to get off the exposed stretch of cliff. She tucks Lima safely under her chin as she goes.
Mez wades through a cluster of water lilies by the river’s edge to find Rumi perched in the center of a wide fallen log. He’s a bright yellow dot right in the middle of sodden wood, and looking very proud of himself. “What is it?” Mez asks.
“A log!”
“I can see that. What do you want me to do with it?”
Rumi gets up on his back legs and mimes surfing the log, teetering, little arms out for balance, holding his nose and waving his frog fingers to mimic sprays of water.
The Lost Rainforest Page 7