The Lost Rainforest #2

by Eliot Schrefer

  “I’m grateful for that bat slobber. Thank you,” Gogi says, testing his limbs. They feel great. Better than great. Whole and sun-warmed. Who needs lyre sap when the sun has warmed his arms and legs, and his friend has healed him? Who could ask for more than he has right now?

  “The proper term is ‘bat saliva,’” Lima corrects primly. “Don’t call it ‘slobber.’” She pauses, then breaks out laughing. “Only panthers slobber.”

  “Excuse me!” Mez says, playfire in her eyes. She makes as if she’s going to pounce on Lima, but then she looks at her dozing sister. “You’re lucky that I don’t want to wake Chumba.”

  “Oh please,” Lima scoffs. “She’s in full daycoma. Even a tree falling on us wouldn’t wake her up. You’re just scared you’ll get beaten up by a bat.”

  “I see you guys are in fine form,” Gogi says, rubbing his ears and yawning. “As a policy, let’s not generally go wishing any trees down onto our heads, okay?”

  “Okay, okay,” Lima says. “So, Gogi, we have to talk about the Dismal Bog.”

  The memory of what happened hits him in a rush. The nightmarish body of Alzo, the vision of his mother—maybe she was real!—leading him through the bog, telling him she loved him. Mez and Chumba and Lima huddled and small and so very still. The two pieces of rotten wood he fished out of a slimy trunk. “Oh my gosh, the sticks!” he cries.

  “You mean these?” Mez asks, pointing at two small, mildewed sticks lying beside Gogi’s bag. The woven sack has been folded, its cord wrapped neatly around it, the twelve pebbles lumping the bottom. “Sorry to go through your things, but we didn’t know whether you’d succeeded in finding anything out. We sure didn’t. What are these? Souvenirs?”

  “I don’t really know what they are,” he says, eyes wide. “But this is our only lead to go on, and it’s because of me? Well. Would you look at that! Monkey brain is good for something after all.”

  “Even more than that,” Lima says, “it’s your monkey-ness that saved us.”

  “What do you mean?” Gogi asks, scratching an armpit. It feels weird having everyone’s attention on him like this. Well, everyone except Chumba, who’s snoring away.

  “Remember when we were riding the monguba seeds down toward the Dismal Bog?” Mez asks. “I wasn’t there, but apparently Lima scolded you for eating some sap early. I would have scolded you too, if I’d seen it. But that’s what saved the day. Chumba and I started dreaming about . . . about horrible things, while we were still above the swamp, and we were totally paralyzed with sadness by the time we landed.”

  “Did you dream about the triplets?” Gogi asks. “I think I heard Chumba say something about one of them.”

  Mez scrunches her eyes closed.

  “I don’t think she’s ready to talk about it yet, Gogi,” Lima says, laying a leathery wing on his shoulder.

  “Sorry,” Gogi says. “In that case, can we go back to talking about how I saved the day?”

  “Yes,” Mez says. “I know you were kidding just now, but you really did, Gogi. You ate the lyre sap while you were in the air. I think the mists of the Dismal Bog must rise above it, so you were already protected from its worst effects once it hit. The rest of us were taken down before we could even prepare. You’d think the boto might have warned us that could happen, by the way.”

  “Indeed!” Lima sniffs.

  “In her defense, she didn’t pretend to know much about the bog,” Gogi says, feeling protective of the boto now that he’s the grand hero who saved the day. “She was passing along what she’d heard.”

  “In any case, yes, Gogi, it was your monkey brain that saved us,” Mez says.

  “Shoo-ee!” Gogi says, cracking his knuckles. “Looks like impulse control isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be.”

  “Okay, okay,” Lima says, rolling her eyes. “Let’s not get carried away.”

  “He did save our lives,” Mez says. “We can let him get carried away. You go ahead and bask in your glory, Gogi.”

  “I think you mean Gogi the Great.”

  “Okay, never mind, I take it back.”

  Gogi smiles. “Just kidding. You know I’m always a seventeen in my heart. Even if I’m a twelve in real life.” An unsettling image from the dream returns: Alzo’s body, shrouded in mist. If the rest of my family is even alive. He considers telling his friends how he saw his mother appear to him, that it was something about her memory inside him that brought him to the verge of figuring out how the bog was safe from ants, but he decides to hold that close for now. It can stay his private time with his mother.

  Mez seems to have seen the thoughts racing through Gogi’s mind. She nods soberly. “While you were recovering, Chumba and Lima and I decided to take the day to rest too.”

  Gogi nods. “So, have you figured out what these two sticks are about?”

  Mez’s jaw drops. “You mean you don’t know?”

  “No, not exactly,” Gogi says, feeling a little defensive. “But my vision did lead me to them.”

  “They’re pretty gross,” Lima says, leaning over the sticks. She backs away. “They smell a little like nose rot. I can’t believe you put them with me in the sack!”

  “Yeah, sorry, I didn’t have too many options,” Gogi says.

  “Yes, these sticks are definitely covered by some sort of fungus,” Mez says, nosing them cautiously.

  “Is the fungus what caused our hallucinations?” Gogi asks.

  “Well, we’re not hallucinating now, so . . .” Mez lets her voice trail off.

  “Right, right,” Gogi says.

  “But I think we’ll have to assume this fungus is what we’re meant to use against the ants. If Gogi’s vision is correct.”

  “Of course Gogi’s vision is correct—” Lima says.

  “Thanks, Lima.”

  “—but maybe he’s not the best one to figure out what to do next.”

  “Lima!”

  Lima squeaks. “I’m just saying that Rumi tends to have the best strategies. I’m sorry, but it’s true!”

  “Then maybe we should talk to Rumi,” Mez says, eyes glinting.

  “How would we do that?” Gogi asks. His eyes go wide. “Sweet tree mold, I nearly forgot about the tail feather!”

  “I didn’t,” Mez says. “But I’m still not totally sure we should use the directive. Rumi is with Sky, and I don’t trust Sky. I don’t want to give them any more information than necessary.”

  “But if they’re flying over Caldera, don’t you think they might know where the best place is to take this fungus?” Gogi says.

  “And what it might do?” Lima adds.

  “Yes,” Mez says wearily. “Of course we should ask them. I just . . . I don’t feel good about that macaw. I don’t know how else to say it.”

  “I hear you,” Gogi says. “We’ll keep our wits about us.” He rummages through his woven sack, his twelve pebbles clinking until his fingers hit the tail feather Sky left them. He pulls it out. With the Veil lifted, the iridescent reds of the tail feather glint in the sunlight.

  “So, how does it work again?” Lima says.

  “From what I remember,” Gogi says, “you hold on to it, remember the exact scene when Sky plucked it out, as best you can, and send your thoughts to him.”

  “Oh right, totally forgot,” Lima says. “I’m just a bat.”

  “You made an echomap,” Mez says. “Remember?”

  “A what?” Lima asks. “I’m pretty sure that’s not a thing.”

  “That’s what you called it!” Mez says.

  “Oh, an echomap!”

  “What did you think I said?”

  “A ‘gecko trap.’”

  “Why would I say that?”

  “I don’t know, why did you?” Lima taps her ear. “I think I’m still a little clogged by bog gunk.”

  “Hey, my friends,” Gogi says, “we have a directive to use.”

  “Who are you calling ‘dead ends’? And you can use your own invective, thank you very much.”
/>   Gogi sighs.

  “Can we all put our paws on it at once, or does that ruin the magic?” Mez asks.

  “Or wings,” Lima says.

  “Or hands,” Gogi adds. “I guess so. I’m realizing that we should have asked Sky more questions about how all this works.”

  Gogi holds the glimmering plume out and closes his fingers around the middle. Mez places her paw under the tip. Lima stands under the quill and raises her wings so they’re touching the bottom. “Ready?” she says. “I’m going to call up the echomap—”

  Suddenly Gogi’s mind fills with sound and light. There’s a rushing in his eardrums, and blue and white whipping by. I’m flying, he realizes.

  There’s the smell of feathers and oil, then his vision shifts from clouds and sky to red feathers. He’s looking through Sky’s eyes, back over his shoulder, then—it’s Rumi!

  The little yellow tree frog is holding on for dear life, blinking rapidly into the wind as he rides on Sky’s back. When he sees Sky’s eye—or what Gogi assumes is Sky’s eye—his eyes widen in surprise. “Gogi? Lima? Mez? Is that you in there?” Rumi yells over the howling wind. “I never would have thought it was really possible!”

  “Seems so!”

  “Sorry?” Rumi yells, “I couldn’t hear you! Oh, hi, Mez! Wait, who is this now? Lima? I’m so confused.”

  Next time, maybe we shouldn’t all use the directive at the same time, Gogi thinks.

  “Can’t understand anyone, all at once—Gogi, just you go.”

  “Okay,” Gogi yells, hoping that his words continue to be transmitted through Sky’s eye. “We have some fungus-y branches from the Dismal Bog.”

  “You’re cutting in and out. But I heard ‘fungus’ and ‘bog.’ That’s good—ants are very susceptible to mold and fungus!”

  “Good to know!” Gogi says. But Lima must have said something at the same time, because Rumi nods and says, “Yes, just like bats!”

  Rumi squints. “The wind is too much, or maybe we’re too high; the magic is cutting out. We’re only halfway there. But I’ll tell you this—we’ve seen the full army, and the ants always come from the east. Like we thought—the direction the marmosets were in relation to your home, Gogi. Head east for the queen!”

  “East is a big direction!” Gogi cries. “Where, east?”

  “I can’t hear you!” Rumi cries back. “But deduction tells me that you’ve likely just asked me where in the east. I don’t know! Go as far as you can, until the ant armies get denser and denser!”

  “Is there anything else?” Gogi asks.

  “I miss you all so much,” Rumi says. “We shouldn’t have separated.”

  “Are you in trouble?” Gogi asks.

  With that, the vision of Rumi on Sky’s back blips out.

  They’re suddenly back in the clearing, staring at one another. “That was the wildest thing I’ve ever been through,” Mez says.

  “You’re telling me,” Gogi says. “And we just got through the Dismal Bog!”

  “I think we’ll have to try to catch them when they’re not flying next time,” Mez says, looking a little green around the gums. “That was unpleasant.”

  “Not for me!” Lima says. “But then again . . .” She lifts her wings and shrugs.

  “So, what happens now?” Gogi asks. He suspects he knows the answer, and he doesn’t like it—but maybe his friends will surprise him.

  Lima furls up her wings so they look like little fists, and begins boxing the air. “We go find ourselves some ants, is what we do!”

  “Yes, but we have only a small amount of the fungus,” Mez says. “We should deploy it where it will do the most damage to the Ant Queen and her minions.”

  “For some reason, I don’t love the sound of where this is going,” Gogi says, sighing.

  “Where did you think we were going to be taking the fungus?” Mez asks.

  “I don’t know, I didn’t think that far!”

  “Well, now you know. Once night falls, we’re heading as far east as we can go, deep into enemy territory.”

  Gogi sighs. “Yep. That’s exactly what I was worried you were going to say.”

  Four Nights Until the Eclipse

  AS THEY TRAVEL, the four friends fall into a rhythm. Lima scouts, flying between the highest treetops, using her echolocation to hunt for enemies. Mez and Chumba slink through the nighttime undergrowth, keeping to the shadows. Gogi keeps up his trick of making a ring of light, though when his spine begins to ache with the constant magic use he lets it drop, instead looping his tail around Mez’s so that he can keep track of where the panthers are going.

  It feels a little like he’s a baby monkey, back when his mother would hold fast to the end of his tail so he couldn’t wander off. He thinks of her now—she’s been gone for so long that he’d forgotten her face, but now he has that vision to keep him company, the memory of her soft touch on his fur, of her calm and wide-set eyes. Whether it was real or not, it’s a comfort. He sings a lullaby to himself, a soft and wordless monkey song that he thought he’d forgotten.

  Not having more to do makes him feel useless at first, so he sometimes creates a little fire in his palm, so he can help navigate. But, each time, Mez and finally even Chumba snap at him for drawing attention, so he stops and follows along obediently instead.

  He comes to like it. Mez and Lima are doing a great job, he thinks. I can obey orders! It’s a relief, actually. Not everyone needs to be in charge. Somebody’s got to be number twelve.

  With so little to see, so little to think about beyond avoiding whatever obstacles loom in the darkness, Gogi turns meditative. He gauges the size of the moon, watches as it approaches fullness—the time of the upcoming eclipse. Four nights away now. He counts his breaths, observes the feeling of cool night air on his nose, and thinks about what their plan should be once they find the ant-occupied zone.

  They’ll take the fungus out and . . . put it in the ants’ nest somehow . . . and what? Will it destroy them all? Is it wrong to infect the ants with something that will kill them? Do ants have feelings? It seems an awful sort of magic, that the fungus-ridden sticks in his bag, so harmless to him and his friends, might spread and take down an entire species.

  But under their queen, the ants are ravaging all of Caldera. To hold back now might mean losing all of the rainforest to the horde. No, there’s simply no other solution. Decimating the ants is worth it if it means saving the rest of the animals.

  One evening, when Gogi, Mez, and Chumba are making their way along a dark canyon, Lima soaring high above, Gogi comes across something that makes him stop in his tracks. A splash of color on the jungle floor.

  Usually nightwalkers don’t have the bright colors that daywalkers have, since it’s best to blend into the darkness. But Gogi’s circle of firelight illuminates three small shapes on the ground, striking yellows and greens and oranges. Toucans. They’re lying on the jungle floor, right out in the open in full nightcoma, vulnerable to any predator that comes by. Mez and Chumba stop short next to the slumbering bodies. “Yum,” Mez says.

  “Stop it right there,” Gogi says. “There’s no reason these toucans would let themselves fall into nightcoma right here. They hide away in trees before the Veil drops.”

  “They probably got caught unawares, and fell asleep while they were still flying,” Chumba says. “Poor little delicious birds.”

  “They’re on the run,” Gogi says. “They’re fleeing their home, and got caught out. We aren’t eating them. They’re victims of the Ant Queen.” He gently picks one up. “I’m finding them a tree hiding space, before some nasty predator comes along and takes advantage of their plight.” He gives Mez a pointed look.

  She rolls her eyes in return. “I can’t believe I’m going along with this.” She delicately lifts one of the birds in her mouth and starts climbing the nearest tree, claws digging into the bark.

  Chumba gets another, and Gogi is last up the tree, nestling the smallest toucan with the others in the crook wh
ere three branches meet. “Be more careful tomorrow,” he whispers to the sleeping bird. “I hope you find a new home soon.”

  Mez and Chumba watch him quietly, and then follow him back down the tree. “It was so hard not to bite down,” Mez says once they start moving again.

  “Totally hard,” Chumba agrees.

  Gogi shakes his head. Carnivores.

  As the night wears on, the group of toucan refugees sticks in Gogi’s mind. All the animals of Caldera are affected by the Ant Queen’s menace, not just the shadowwalkers. As they travel farther east into the affected territory, they’ll probably see more and more animals displaced by the ant horde, made vulnerable and alone because they’ve lost their homeland. How odd that he, a low-ranked member of an average capuchin troop, would happen to be born during the eclipse, get a magical power as a result, and come to this point, so far from his own homeland, saving the day by rescuing a precious weapon from the Dismal Bog (he did save the day, he did!), and now crossing the land and heading right into the worst kind of danger. Who would have predicted that? If only his mother could see him now. He strokes the woven fibers of his sack, with the special fungus within it, and marvels at the unexpected largeness of his life, of the solemn task he’s been charged with.

  Then he hears a song. It comes from Lima, somewhere above, warbling at the top of her voice. “Liiiima, the Healing Bat! Ferocious-er than a piranha! Scarier than a cat!”

  “Lima!” Gogi calls up. “What are you singing?”

  The song cuts off. He hears Lima cough. “I’m, um, trying out songs. I feel like every superhero bat should have her own signature song.”

  “It’s a good one,” Gogi says diplomatically. “I think it’s a great start.”

  “Really?” Lima squeaks. “Oh, that’s so nice to hear. I wasn’t sure if it was the right melody.”

  Gogi hadn’t realized there was a melody. “Oh yeah, that’s a really good melody you chose there.”

  As she flies above, Lima recommences her song, even louder than before. “Liiiiiiiiiima, the Healing Bat!”