Free Sunwing by Kenneth Oppel Page B

be tricked by you.”
    “We don’t have any tricks right now,” said Shade. “We’re as confused as you, believe me.”
    The owl swiveled his head to look at the huge trees and lush plants. “What is this place?”
    Shade shook his head, listening. He heard nothing but the
drip-drip
of water from the leaves, and the occasional chirrup of some strange insect. It was disturbingly quiet.
    “Has to be something inside,” he said, “doesn’t there?”
    “Maybe they’re waiting to fill it,” said Marina. “What kind of creature would fill a place like this?” the owl asked.
    Fear tingled along Shade’s bones. There was something terribly familiar about this place. Had he seen it in one of his dreams, maybe? Or had somebody described it to him, drawing it in words.
    A vine rustled.
    There was something watching them. Shade knew it with utter certainty. He tilted his head and peered with sound into the shadows of a fleshy tree. A narrow, spiky leaf shuddered, dislodging a rivulet of water.
    It wasn’t a leaf.
    It was a nose, a high-flared nose that curved into a sharp, ridged point—and beneath the nose, a long, houndlike set of jaws that was splitting open to reveal twin rows of incisors. Shade saw the two huge, black, unblinking eyes; the high, pointed ears, the crest of bristly black fur between them.
    He knew what it was.
    In his mind, he said its name.
    Goth.

T HE P LACE OF M IRACLES
    He’d always known.
    He’d seen Goth ablaze with lightning, spiraling lifelessly down through the clouds—and somehow never doubted he’d survive. All those times he’d argued with Marina and insisted Goth was dead, he secretly knew he was lying. His dreams had known the truth all along.
    “What is that?” he heard the owl say, in a choked voice.
    “It’s him,” was all Shade managed.
    With a violent snap, Goth unfurled himself, three feet of wing punching leaves. He plunged like something jagged torn from the night sky, and in the few seconds before he was upon them, Shade’s mind blazed. Where were the metal bands that once festooned Goth’s forearms? And how was it that his wings looked so undamaged? They were taut and strong, completely unscarred. Had the Humans healed him somehow?
    Shade flipped out of the way, but the stunned owl was not so quick. Goth knocked him over onto his back, pinning him with both rear claws. The owl beat at him with his wings, but Gothwithstood the blows, head darting, waiting for an opening to tear in with his teeth. “Let’s go!” Shade heard Marina hiss.
    But he couldn’t rip his eyes away, transfixed by the fear in the owl’s face; the sheer, unbelieving terror. It was too awful. Goth reared, his long snout opening.
    Shade soared in front of Goth and threw an echo picture in his face—a skeletal Human hurtling toward him, face hooded, eye slits ablaze.
    Goth reared back with a cry, and lost his grip on the owl. “Fly now!” Shade screamed at the bird.
    The owl needed no prompting: He was away in a feathery explosion of wings. Shade slammed air, veering over Goth’s head as his sound illusion evaporated. He saw Marina in the distance, disappearing into a thick screen of leaves, and hunched his shoulders, beating furiously to catch up.
    Behind him, he could hear Goth’s roar of anger, but didn’t turn to look. He burst through the thicket, and Marina was waiting on the other side. Wordlessly they buried themselves deeper in the luxuriant fronds, and finally roosted behind giant leaves with curved edges, hiding themselves almost entirely. “More of them?” Marina whispered to him.
    It was a horrifying thought—more creatures like Goth collected here, just as the owls and bats had been collected in the other forests. If the Humans had captured Goth and Throbb in their jungle, maybe they’d caught others, and brought them back. Right now, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see Throbb too, all his charred ashes reassembled. If they could heal Goth’s wings, what