A Wing and a Prayer (The John Morano Eco-Adventure Series Book 1) Read online

  Lupé viewed the prospect of facing a rat in the evening as an opportunity to avenge Barau’s death, but deep down, he knew the death of a rodent would not give his brother final rest. Barau’s death could only be avenged by birth, not by more killing. The only fitting tribute for Barau and the others who had been killed by the rodents would be the continuance of the flock. Nevertheless, Lupé readied himself for whatever the night delivered.

  The petrel gazed through the opening. Beyond the robin’s nest, he saw a bright full moon watching over him, and he felt he was not alone. On nights of the full moon, Pettr extended his watch over the planet. This night would be blessed with the light of the moon and would enable Lupé to clearly see his foe. He believed Pettr would protect him tonight and deliver his flock from extinction by helping him survive. He just didn’t know how any of that was going to happen.

  Looking back at the moon, Lupé imagined that if there was a female for him out there somewhere and she was looking up at this very moment, she would see the same moon. Although they hadn’t found each other, Lupé was comforted by the thought that they could share this vision. Then he said to himself, “Tonight, the moon is a female, a beautiful female feathered in white and gray, just like me. She is not of my flock, but she is pure, and we have found each other. Tonight, the moon will be my mate, my love, my dream.” Lupé thanked Pettr for the vision and fell fast asleep, pretending, at least for a moment, that he had found what he was looking for.

  A sound whipped the petrel from his sleep. In an instant, he knew that shuffling, smelly rat was about. He sensed the rodent more clearly tonight. He imagined the teeth and the small, sharp claws. He remembered what they were capable of. He remembered the sight of Barau and readied himself. He puffed his feathers. It made him look larger than he was. He coiled his neck, lowered his beak, and waited. There was no telltale sniffling or squeaking, but there was that incessant rustling, the disgusting shuffle of dirty feet that never left the ground. And they were coming closer.

  Lupé had come across a few birds who believed that one died because it was one’s time. Somewhat resigned to their “fate,” they might do less to challenge their demise. He thought, If they are correct, my best efforts won’t save me… but if they are wrong, my best efforts just might save me. He decided that he would never assume it was his time to die. He would always fight to force Pettr to prove that it was time for him to fly to the sun.

  Suddenly, a shadow moved along a wall lit by the moon. The figure had a rigid, thin tail trailing behind it. Its middle was thick, even for a rat. The neck was long and slender, with a small, pointed snout at the tip. The rodent seemed to waddle as it scurried between the shadows of the night. Lupé wondered if it was old or had injured a leg. No matter; it moved with stealth and cunning. This was dangerous. A large rat that could move like this was something to be feared, especially when one was trapped in the silver web of the man-flock.

  Before Lupé could move a muscle, the rodent poked its head through the hard web and grabbed a small chunk of fish. There was only one creature on the face of the Earth Lupé would not share his food with: this one. The petrel waited for the rodent to go after another morsel. He knew from experience that rats do not stop eating when they are full: they eat until there is no food left, so this rodent would return. Lupé decided that the next time the rat exposed its tiny, smelly head, he would drive his beak into the scavenger’s neck or skull and then twist with all his might.

  Now the rodent was behind Lupé, grabbing another scrap. When the scraps are gone, will I be next? the petrel wondered. Not waiting for an answer, Lupé turned and attacked. He threw himself at the dark shadow behind him. The silver web deflected the bird’s beak with a clank, and the rodent scurried back into the night.

  Lupé thought for a moment, then pushed a larger piece of shrimp halfway through the web to tempt his target. When the rat stepped up and began to tear at it, Lupé shot a stream of sticky, hot oil in the thief’s face, just as he had done when the man-flock had tried to clip his wings. The rodent screamed and ran.

  The scream puzzled the petrel. It was a scream unlike any noise he had ever heard a rodent make. And where the piece of shrimp was left, small, gray feathers remained. There were several, all very short and covered with dirt. Lupé wondered if the rodent had killed a hatchling earlier in the evening. The man-flock had many to choose from. The thought of the rodent slaughtering chicks only made the petrel more intent on punishing the vermin.

  As Lupé tried to plan his next course of action, he heard a low crying. It wasn’t the wail of physical pain; rather, it was the soft cooing of hurt feelings. Is this a trick or another victim of the rat? he wondered. All he could do was ready himself for the next encounter.

  Out of the shadows and into the moonlight waddled a chubby, dirty, sobbing pigeon. The pigeon rubbed its eyes with a twisted wing. Foul-smelling orange oil dripped from its head and tiny beak. Beneath the tears, the pigeon was muttering something. It said, “I’m sorry… I really am… If you wanted your food, why didn’t you eat it? To offer me such a nice piece and then cover me with hot oil, that’s not very friendly.”

  “Shhh,” Lupé said. “Be quiet. There’s a rat loose tonight, and I cannot help you from in here.”

  “Very funny,” the filthy pigeon replied. “Now you’re going to insult me just because I happen to be a rat.”

  It dawned on the petrel that for some reason this… pigeon believed it was a rat. Not only did it look, smell, and act like one, but it even spoke like a rat. It mumbled and squeaked its words so fast, Lupé had to strain to understand it. Finally, Lupé realized he was dealing with a pigeon that had a few loose feathers.

  “I apologize if I hurt you,” the petrel said, “but I didn’t know you were of the feather and the wing…”

  “You’re making fun of me again!” the chubby pigeon shouted. “I am as fine a rodent as ever scurried across the flesh of this planet. I thank my maker every day that I am not some web-footed, feather-covered failure like you… Now, are we going to be friends or not? I will not be insulted again.”

  This bird’s out of its tree, Lupé thought. But he decided that having a friend on the outside, even a loony one, would not be such a terrible thing. He asked, “What is your name, strange… rodent?”

  The rat-bird replied, “My name is Zomis. And what is your name?”

  “I am Lupé.”

  All this time, Zomis barely even looked at Lupé. Its stare was fixed upon the scraps at the feet of the new acquaintance.

  The petrel got the message immediately and shoved a few chunks of squid in the direction of Zomis, who began to eat them even before they were through the silver web.

  Like most rodents, Zomis conversed while chewing—pecking, actually. “I’ve never seen a bird like you. Are you some type of gull?”

  “I am a petrel.”

  Zomis continued, “But you are rare. You are here because you have very few cousins, yes?”

  Lupé nodded. He decided he would not tell Zomis anything he did not have to until he was sure Zomis could be relied upon. The petrel realized that for a bird baffled by its own identity, Zomis could be very sharp about other things. This could be a danger, but if Lupé was careful, it might be something he could use to escape.

  It was obvious having been held by the man-flock earlier in its life had a strange effect on Zomis. The portion of the pigeon’s character that was still bird and not rat explained to Lupé that many of its kind—it claimed a single flock could number more than a billion birds—had also been killed by rodents but pointed out that the flock had mainly been eliminated by humans.

  Lupé didn’t doubt that the man-flock could eradicate the species, but he had a hard time imagining a single flock of a billion pigeons. He would have to be careful processing information from Zomis.

  Ultimately, rather than feel the hatred of rodents that Lupé felt, Zomis had chosen to become one.

  At first, it wasn’t very easy for Lupé to asso
ciate with the rat-bird. There was too much about the creature that reminded Lupé of real rodents, but it had been a long time since he had had someone to talk to. Once he managed to ignore Zomis’s rat-like qualities, he actually enjoyed chatting the night away with his new friend. He suspected that beneath all the blubber and grime, Zomis was nothing more than a pleasant, mixed-up pigeon. Lupé even began eating better, now that feeding had become more of a social event.

  “I was also captured by the man-flock, probably for the same reason they took you,” Zomis explained. “But I slipped away, and they forgot about me. They have no interest in rats.”

  The petrel wondered whether the pigeon was telling the truth. More importantly, he wondered just how his new friend managed to “slip away.”

  Zomis looked so much like a rat, it was tough to tell just what flock the pigeon belonged to. Even its gender was a mystery. Under the grime, there seemed to be delicate feathers of slate and gray with touches of blue. The short, sharp beak was black, as were Zomis’s eyes. The coloring of the stout rat-bird was not all that different from Lupé himself. Still, the petrel couldn’t tell whether Zomis was an ordinary pigeon or a vital part of a rare breed. Either way, it really didn’t matter to Lupé; he had problems of his own to work out.

  The petrel had seen birds fly with different flocks. Indeed, it was common. He remembered quite a few pelican and gull friends who had mingled with his flock. Some of the more feather-brained occasionally forgot what flock they belonged to. Lupé smiled at the memory of a pelican named Pinny who believed he was of the woodpecker flock.

  It was quite a sight to see, the enormous pelican flying with birds only a fraction of his size. His beak alone was as big as an entire woodpecker. Landing on a small branch with the rest of his adopted flock, Pinny would slip and slide as he tried to grip the tiny stick with his webbed feet. But the funniest sight of all was seeing the confused bird peck at the tree with his massive, dull beak. The pelican never managed to attain the staccato rapping the other woodpeckers performed quite effortlessly. But that’s not to suggest that Pinny didn’t possess talent and determination.

  Without even seeing him, you knew when Pinny was working on a tree. Half the island would echo with the distinctive whap, whap, whap of the pelican’s blunt beak slamming against a tree trunk. Pinny usually managed only three or four blasts before he became dizzy and slipped completely off the branch.

  Even though Pinny’s mind was as slow as the tide, after a few shattering headaches and one or two crash landings, the pelican realized he would be better off with his own flock, although he did remain very friendly with the woodpeckers. So, never in his life had Lupé met a bird that actually forgot it was a bird—not until Zomis, that is. For Lupé, the idea of denying one’s identity as a bird was unthinkable.

  All things considered, Zomis had done a remarkable job of concealing the fact that it was a bird. There was, however, one thing that Zomis could not hide no matter how hard it tried—its weight. Zomis was large. In fact, the rat-bird was so plump that Lupé could not imagine the dirty pigeon being physically able to fly. This upset Lupé. He was taught to believe that the most sacred endowment Pettr could bestow upon a creature was the ability to fly. To reject this gift was to say no to God.

  One morning, as the first rays of sunlight penetrated the opening and fell upon the two birds, Zomis gobbled up a piece of dried shrimp it was pecking at and quickly waddled toward its hole in the wall. The rat-bird’s feathers, slick with dirt, shook in unison with the layers of flab beneath them.

  Zomis turned to Lupé and said, “I’ll see you tonight. You know, for a bird, you’re not half bad… And don’t forget to save me some scallops.” Then the petrel's friend muttered, “I love the scallops. They’re sooo tasty. Ah, but that squid is good too. Oh, and those shrimp…”

  Lupé laughed at what a sponge his pal could be as the sputtering Zomis disappeared into the hole in the wall. The petrel amused himself with the thought that either the hole would have to get bigger or Zomis would have to get smaller. He knew the odds were with the hole.

  Soon after Zomis’s exit, the long, thin sun that never warmed or moved flashed its white light. Then the dead wind began to blow. It meant the man-flock had arrived. Another day had begun. Lupé watched several of the man-flock as they gathered in a corner, drawn to a strange bouncing light in a burrow. Like most things that had to do with the man-flock, Lupé didn’t understand the strange light or their fascination with it. Deep inside the dark square, there was light, movement, and sound.

  The man-flock listened very carefully to the voices from the burrow. Lupé believed it must be part of their religion, if they had any. He wondered if the noisy light helped them speak to their God the way the wind and the sea helped him speak to Pettr. The power it seemed to hold over his captors frightened him. Lupé considered whether the light in the burrow could command the man-flock to release him. When they were not around, Lupé would try to speak to the strange light, to reason with it. It might be smarter than the man-flock.

  No matter how bleak things appeared, Lupé devoted himself to three ideas: hope that he would escape, faith in Pettr, and love for the female he knew he would find one day. On the islands of his youth, it was very easy to pray. The wind and the ocean were still very much alive. Sincere prayers were carried to Pettr, and sometimes the Creator’s own words were returned. To the more devoted birds of pray—the savns—the wind, the sea, and the Earth revealed the secrets of the planet, the secrets of life and death.

  Praying in the silver web was difficult. Lupé didn’t understand the language of the strange dead wind, but it was all he had. So the petrel stood on one leg—a prayer posture he had learned from Pakeet—faced into the queer breeze, and began to pray for the survival of his race, hoping all the while that Pettr would hear him through the web.

  While Lupé communed, water began to flow from the hollow silver branch near the ledge where the petrel was contained. Water always seemed to flow and light always seemed to shine when the man-flock needed it.

  Several words, very faint, echoed in the distant burrows of Lupé’s mind. The petrel slammed his eyes shut and tried to transport himself back to the islands. He repeated the first word of the savns’s mantra over and over, just the way his grandmother showed him so long ago: “Sea… sea… sea… sea.” The other words grew louder, but still he could not hear them clearly.

  He begged Pettr to speak to him, and suddenly, Lupé knew there were four words to the mantra of the birds of pray, four words that would unlock the mysteries of Pettr’s Earth. And Lupé already knew one of these words. More than that, he knew that something had heard his prayers—the wind, the sea… possibly Pettr himself.

  Lupé felt dizzy, as if he were tumbling out of control in a violent headwind. He tried to resist, but a gusty breath deep within told him not to fight the gale, to tumble with it. The unfamiliar voice instructed Lupé to steady himself and allow the wind to carry him where it would. It was the wind speaking to Lupé: Pettr’s wind. The petrel understood the instructions and surrendered to the vision. His awareness soared into a flock of clouds that hovered high above a small group of islands. The petrel drifted through cool, crisp air that had never touched the inside of a lung before. He savored every second of the revelation.

  Below, eighteen tiny islands dotted the sea, an isolated archipelago. He believed he might have seen these islands before. He was sure they were real.

  When the wind spoke again, Lupé heard, “Do not accept the terms of the man-flock. Ready yourself, and you will be carried to the Islands of Life. Remember what they look like. This is the kingdom where you will…”

  The wind disappeared, and the message went with it. Lupé awoke in the silver web, dizzy and scared. Gone was the vision of his prayers. Now shining in his mind’s eye was the image of the old butterfly sitting on the robins’ egg, still grinning at him. The petrel was confused.

  As the image slowly faded, Lupé’s attention was drawn
to the flowers sitting atop the noisy light in the burrow. Lupé noticed that two petals had fallen from the flowers. When they refused to settle on the ground, he realized that they were attached. They were moving together in a synchronized, fluttering rhythm, coming toward him. It looked like a flying flower of bright orange and black touched with wisps of white. As it drew closer, the petrel couldn’t believe what he saw. It was the butterfly that approached, his slippery friend from the nest outside.

  Lupé wondered, How did he get in here… and why would he want to?

  The butterfly flew nearer. Lupé noticed that his path would bring him very close to a strange, dangerous man-flock device that glowed an inviting purple, the color of the dragonfly’s tail. At times, it made a sharp zapping noise. Other insects had entered the device and never come out. Whatever this thing was, it meant death.

  Again, Lupé found himself trying to warn his little friend, and again, the butterfly ignored the warning. Actually, he seemed quite interested in the unique creation that hung in the air. Lupé had heard that butterflies had well developed vision, that they could even see in the ultraviolet spectrum. There was no way the creature could miss the contraption.

  Just as the other insects had done, he flew directly at the beguiling glow. Lupé couldn’t believe the stupidity of the butterfly as he landed and entered the deadly device. The former egg-sitter paid no attention to the piles of crisp, lifeless insects that surrounded the scary light. The butterfly carefully stepped around their empty bodies, and then he went out of sight. Violent zapping ensued. Lupé cringed with the thought that the butterfly’s ancient soul was being burned from his body.

  The pale light began to shake and rattle. It zapped louder than it ever had before. It started to swing back and forth. Then it stopped. The butterfly emerged through a veil of fine smoke, a little dizzy, yet unharmed. He smiled at Lupé and prepared to continue his flight toward him. As soon as the butterfly popped into the air, the defeated light plummeted to the ground and smashed into pieces. Lupé was amazed at the luck of this little creature. The quiet visitor landed atop the silver web, looked down at the petrel, and smiled.