by Jeffrey Hall
“Religion is one of the few things my son has gotten right in this life. I asked him once what god’s fire he thought his mother sat along when he was still a youth, and do you know what he said? He looked at me with his eyes as empty as the darkness itself and told me, ‘Gods. The Darkness. Heavens. Hells. Does any of it really matter? None of them are here.’” He sat down upon the stool by the lone, cracked window and continued staring at his granddaughter. “This Great Bird requires that you fill your belly with my progeny? Why?”
She fumbled through the litany Risa and the others had been feeding her since she’d joined the Nest so many years ago. “As a way to honor his own progeny. So that we may bring life into this world to warm just like they.”
“And once they are warm, what then? The Great Bird will swoop down and take you away from all this?”
Marli nodded.
“A fine plan. I hope it works out for you.”
“You sound like your son,” said Marli. “Or perhaps he sounds like you.”
He peered into the crib. “She looks like him.”
Marli nodded again.
“My son is many things, but he is not a fool.”
“I know he isn’t.”
“Then why do you treat him like one?”
Marli thought for a moment and then sat down on her own bed. “It’s not my intention. It’s one of the many defenses I have tried to use against him.”
“Defenses are only needed against enemies, and in a city full of people constantly making new ones, I assure you he is not one.”
“He is an enemy against my faith.”
“Everything around you is an enemy of your faith. These walls. The jungle. Your own priestess. All of it is a reminder that this Great Bird of yours has not come yet. My son, the father of your daughter, is not your enemy. He is your ally. Your enemies keep you within your walls.”
Marli sat there wordless, hearing exactly the words she was afraid to tell herself. The ones that stewed in the back of her head, always threatening to boil forth should she come across a thread of doubt or frustration. There was a chance the Great Bird would come and take her and her child away from here, but there was a greater chance he wouldn’t and she would reach old age with nothing to show for it but wrinkles and regret and a child stuck in the same trap.There were thousands of years of examples where this Great Bird had never shown. Why would this one be any different?
Wish’s father must have seen the confusion in her face, for he quickly continued. “My intention was not to speak as a heretic, only as the father of a son whose heart has been stolen by a woman who does not know what to do with it.” He leaned over and put a hand on her knee. “He is a good man. Despite his hardheadedness, despite being as skittish as a forest bird. He would be willing to leave the jungle. He just needs a hand strong enough to pull him away.” He raised his own hands. “And look at mine. They surely aren’t the ones to do it.”
“If he’d leave the jungle, would the jungle leave him?”
“Yes,” his father answered without hesitation.
“How do you know?”
“Because of her.” He pointed to her daughter. “I once had a little bit of the jungle in me, believe it or not. But that all changed when he came into my life. Children have a funny way of healing the rends in your soul. Tell him the truth. Tell him that she is his, and that part of him will go running past the mountains and never come back.”
Marli brushed back her hair. Perhaps there was truth in the old man’s words. Perhaps the tender parts of Ati she’d witnessed when they were together were the real him trying to be set free, and all he needed was the right reason to undo the locks long ago tied upon his soul.
“I’ll stay here with you if you’ll have me. It will help him do what he thinks he needs to do and feel better about it. Besides, I refuse to let my wife’s bones lie beneath the sky without a roof. So long as you’ll still have me.”
“Of course I will,” said Marli.
“Good.” He ran his hand over his head. “Just promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?” said Marli.
“You’ll do something while you still can. While you’re still young, with muscles and flesh and bones that will allow you to. Otherwise, you’ll be trapped before you know it. A prisoner without any hope of escaping.” He looked down at her daughter. “A slave to the world, just like me.”
He limped over to the bed and fell onto the mattress, the material crunching beneath him. For a moment Marli stayed seated, watching her daughter sleeping quietly in her crib, breathing in and out, a hypnotic rhythm she had succumbed to on multiple occasions when there was nothing else to do but look out the window and observe life. It was an easy, happy way to spend the time while waiting for the Great Bird. But what did it do for them? How much further did it take them away from their current situation?
“Sit back,” she said suddenly.
The old man grunted, “Huh?”
“I’m going to heal that arm.” And before the man could respond she was off her bed, her state of waiting broken, grabbing cloth and other tools needed to mend his injuries.
Chapter 8
Wish stood before Boz’s doorway, looking over his shoulder. People hurried along the street behind him, some stealing glances, others continuing without interest. He kept waiting for someone to pull a dagger and try to stick him. He had always felt on edge in the city, but now the feeling was unbearable. He felt like a worm beneath a boot, squirming to escape, but knowing it was impossible against the weight bearing down on him.
Up above, Eclectuns noisily swarmed overhead, squawking about some disturbance that ground-dwellers would never understand. He wondered if any of them were Wings, observing him from high above, keeping tabs on their every move. His head hurt. His body even more. Moso was right. He was exhausted and hungry. All he’d sustained himself on over the last few days were the few insects he’d foraged in the forest. It made it difficult to concentrate. It made it difficult to think and process everything flooding his mind. His father’s words kept stumbling in his head.
Why was he doing this? Did he even care?
Of course I do. He is my father, he answered.
Then why did he spend so little time with him? Why did he run to the jungle like it was his parent? Because the jungle never criticizes me. But he was his father, and he loved him. He was the man that had worked hours upon hours to put a roof over his head and food on the table, as meager as they both were. He was the one who’d stepped into the role of his mother when the fever took her, and offered him an affection rarely given by most men to their children. And yet this is how he repaid him, shoveling lunars at his feet in order to keep him quiet and out of sight. Perhaps his father was right. What kind of son was he? What kind of person? Perhaps he was no longer either. Perhaps he had become the animal that he had always been called.
But what other choice did he have? They needed the lunars now, nothing was going to change that. Maybe after the job was complete he could try being the son he was supposed to be.
He took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind from the worry, and pushed aside the door, thankful for the shadows that reached out to engulf him and protect him from what lurked at his back.
But that feeling was quickly erased as his eyes adjusted to the lack of light and he stared at the gory scene at the back of the store.
Boz lay upon the ground, his eyes closed, his long black tongue lolling out of his snout and onto the ground like a spill of ink. A stream of blood flowed out from his neck, winding around his hut’s floorboards, seeping into the cracks, where it pooled like rivers swollen with rainwater.
And above him, sitting upon the dead Kodo’s desk with his legs dangling over the body, was Rive, the Fangkind jungle-diver that had saved his life back at the Lavender Light.
“Ah, the Djinn of Larmii, it is good to see you again.”
Wish went for his short spear, but Rive held up his claws and rotated them back and f
orth. There was no blood on them. “I know what you think, but I assure you I am not the culprit here. I came here only minutes before you and found him sleeping in his own blood.”
Wish eyed the jungle-diver, but kept his hand on his machete. “What are you doing here?”
“I assume the same thing you are doing here, following the jungle’s demands.”
Wish glanced from the jungle-diver down to Boz’s body. He had considered Boz to be a friend, but now he lay in his own blood. An employer he would never work for again. One of the few in this godforsaken city that gave him and Moso any respect. He collected his thoughts and said, “What does the jungle demand?”
Rive stepped off the table, careful not to put his boots in the blood of the dead shop owner. “At the moment, boxes.”
Wish chewed his lip. “How do you know about the boxes?”
Rive shrugged. “This city scurries with secrets like termites inside a tree, does it not? I think it might be one of the reasons why it’s turning to dust before our eyes. There are many who seek the boxes, and they have offered exceptional rewards for finding it.” Rive slapped one of the pouches along his belt. “I couldn’t care less about the moons. I care more about fulfilling the jungle’s desires. And right now, the entire jungle cries out, demanding that these boxes be found. You hear it, don’t you?”
Wish thought he knew what he meant. It seemed the entire world revolved around the boxes. It was all-consuming. Perhaps it really was what the jungle wanted.
“Then let us help each other in finding them.”
Wish thought for a moment, then shook his head. “A third partner doesn’t figure into my employer’s equation.”
“Fuck our employers,” snarled the Fangkind. “The jungle calls for us to join together on this race. To reach its end, we need to help each other. Once we’re there we can decide who will cross the finish line.”
Wish’s hand still hadn’t left the spear on his back. “What are you doing here?” he repeated, still unsure of why he was at Boz’s.
The smile on Rive’s face fell away. He turned serious. “What did I say about secrets? They poison this place. Whispers slipped through my ears that the great Djinn of Larmii had been seen bringing a box to an experimenter near the Gold Row. I came here in hopes of catching your tail only to find it had already been clipped.”
Wish swallowed. The hammerwings still hanging on the door slapped angrily against their jar prison. “Who did this if not you?”
Rive shrugged. “I do not know. I have found no sign of anyone else here besides the wounds in the Kodo’s chest. I am sure the culprit will reveal themselves along the path to these boxes.”
Wish’s throat felt dry as he continued to look at Boz.
“Let me help you,” said Rive.
Wish searched the Fangkind’s eyes, looking for any falsehood in them. They were wild, full things, large enough to hide truths for certain, but what he said next tore away his distrust for good.
“I saved your life.”
It was true. If not for him Wish would have had a dagger in his back and be just like Boz. If the Fangkind really did mean him illwill, then he would have let it happen.
Wish removed his hands from the spear and reluctantly nodded. “You-you’re right.”
Rive smiled.“And I will save it again if it comes to that. We creatures of the jungle must stick together if we are to obey its mission.”
Sensing no threat, he let his attention turn back to Boz. He raised his body and found four stab wounds in the man’s chest. They were not deep. Wish stepped away, shaking his head.
“Who could have done this?” he said.
“Another who wants the boxes. Maybe to send a message. Maybe to stop you from coming back, for whatever reason you would.” Rive licked his lips. “What reason were you coming back?”
Wish unveiled the tracing of the next riddle from inside his pocket. “In hopes he could translate Swallow.”
“Go golp bog glum?”said Rive.
For a moment Wish thought he had misheard him, but then he realized he had just spoken in a different language than Lowman’s tongue. “You speak Swallow?”
Rive nodded. “Swallow. Scamper. Holler. Squawk... just to name a few.” And when Wish continued to look at him with his mouth open, Rive continued speaking. “It’s amazing what different parts of the jungle will teach you.”
“Can you translate this?” Wish handed over the tracing.
Rive held it close and started to read.
“Where a mother lost her child,
There is a pond that has been defiled...”
It didn’t take long for Wish to understand what was being said. “Poor Mother’s Pond.”
Rive glanced up from the tracing. “Eh?”
Wish sighed, hating to describe one of the most despicable places in all of Fanglara. “Only a few miles west of the city there is a cesspool said to be spawned by Welkin magic. It is said that a chatokin mother dropped her newborn child from high up in the canopy.”
“A chatokin?” said Rive.
“Perhaps you know them as limb walkers?”
Rive nodded. “The wingless beasts of the high canopy who make avenues by way of the branches. The jungle has only shown me a few.”
Wish glanced back at Boz’s body, wondering who he should tell and how he would want his death commemorated. His eyes did not leave the dead experimenter as he said, “They are bashful, fearsome creatures. They prefer to be solitary for the most part, except for their families.”
“Her heart must have broken to lose her one form of companionship.”
Wish nodded. “She tried to bring it back to life. She tried to feed it. But when it wouldn’t rise, she was so overcome with grief and disbelief the pond rose from her. As a memorial, as a way to nourish the child that would no longer take its food, so at least the story goes.” He ran a hand over his head. “Any good jungle-diver knows to stay away from there,” said Wish.
“Why is that?”
“Because it’s made of the mother’s milk. One big, festering, spoiled pool of it. It’s one giant attraction for millions of insects looking to glean something from the nutrients that still bubble forth even today. No reason to go there unless you want to be chewed apart... Or if you want to catch some frogs.”
“I think that’s what this next part is referring to,” said Rive. “Feed her new brood, a desired, four-legged food.”
Wish leaned in closer as the man spoke.
“One of the red rain, one with unrivaled pain.”
Wish scratched his chin. “I wonder if she means a splatter frog and a spider back. A splatter frog uses its own blood to spit at bugs that hang from low-hanging branches, and a spider back’s poison creates a rash equal to the worst bite of any arachnid in Chilongua.”
Rive nodded. “There’s more.” He cleared his throat, but just as he went to speak there was a sudden groan above the roof.
They glanced up, wondering if an Eclectun had fallen from the sky. For a moment, there was only silence. Rive opened his mouth to speak, but a tearing sound interrupted him. Suddenly they were drenched in the light of the great fire.
The roof was gone.
Wish stumbled back, falling upon the sticky, blood-ridden ground beside Rive. A throng of vines cascaded over the side of the walls and into the workshop like an army of worms plunging into a hole. Rive dropped the tracing and reached for the axe hanging on his hip. Wish unveiled his own machete, but before he could bring it up a vine had wrapped around his wrist.
Rive snarled beside him, hacking into the flood of vines, but it was no use. They slithered over Wish’s arms and tied him tighter, stretching him, ensuring that there was not a single muscle that could squirm away from their grip. Wish scanned his surroundings, hoping for some salvation to present itself. But the only thing he could see amongst the strangling vines was the lone piece of paper that held the next box’s location. He reached out with his fingers and grabbed hold of it. The next thi
ng he knew, descending down from the sky like a lost star forgotten from the night was a yellow flower. It curled within inches of Wish’s face. It smelled of fire and smoke. Wish had just enough time to wonder if he was dreaming before it squirted a gust of pollen at his face.
The fire roared in Wish’s eyes. It went up his nose and into the back of his throat, burning. His sight blurred. Tears streamed down his face. He was barely aware of the sensation of being pulled free from Boz’s floor.
Rive’s roaring was the only other thing he could comprehend before the fire consumed him completely and everything went dark.
When Wish awoke it hurt to even blink. His eyes burned. The back of his throat felt as if a thousand bees had stung it. It was a feeling of pain even greater than the dull one that still resounded from the wounds upon his fingers. Darkness surrounded him. Only the phosphorescent light of a glow-blossom illuminated the stone floor. Other than that there was nothing.
He tried to move, but couldn’t. A rope, or perhaps a vine, had been tied around his arms and legs. He tried to break free, pushing out with his arms and feet, but his bindings barely budged. Where was the tracing he had clutched so tightly in his hand? He cleared his throat and spoke, but when his voice came out it sounded hoarse, a lesser, crackled version of itself. “What do you want?”
He waited for a response, but when there was none he forced himself to speak louder, despite the stress it put on his throat. “Why am I here?”
And to his surprise, there was a response. “Do you need to ask that?”
The voice that answered was female. Hard. Impatient. There was no room for nonsense in it. A figure hovered beside the light of the glow-blossom. The only thing he could see of it was the shape of a hood rising over her head to eliminate any hope of seeing any features of who the voice belonged to.
“Where are the other boxes?” the voice asked.
“What…what?” Wish’s head still swam.
“Where is Dathi?”
“Wha-what is Dathi?” Wish had never heard the name.