Cavern of Secrets, Page 4

  But they had to try again; Raffa had no other choice.

  “Echo,” he started to say.

  “Echo go,” the bat said.

  “No, don’t leave! Please, we have to try—”

  “Echo go, Echo come.”

  The bat was gone before Raffa had a chance to speak again. Then the light from the plants vanished, and seemed to take most of his hope with it.

  Still, he found that he couldn’t give up. He tried putting his elbows on the lip of rock so he could rest, but they kept slipping off. With grim irony, it occurred to him that drowning in the Everwide might well have been preferable. The icy cold had numbed him into unconsciousness, which wouldn’t happen here in the hot spring. A question he’d never asked himself before: Would he rather drown in cold water or warm? His thoughts were growing bleaker by the moment.

  Think! he shouted at himself. There must be another way. . . . THINK!

  But no plan or idea came to him. He alternated between treading water and floating on his back. Each minute seemed longer than the last.

  How long would he be able to keep this up? Could he stay afloat long enough for Kuma to worry and make her way through the passage to find him?

  Click click chitter.

  Echo was back!

  “Echo!”

  The bat landed on the crag, then squeaked out, “Raffa good?”

  Raffa couldn’t help laughing. He didn’t know why he felt so joyful; there was nothing the bat could do to help. Maybe, he thought, maybe people just don’t like to be alone when they’re in trouble.

  In the next glow of light from the plants, he saw to his surprise that Echo was not alone. At least half a dozen bats had flown into the cavern with him.

  Several more bats arrived. Then more, and still more, and soon the cavern was filled with bats, flapping and squeaking and clicking in what seemed to be pure chaos.

  But Raffa was wrong about that. It wasn’t chaos. In the next few moments, he watched in puzzlement as a large group of bats flew to the crag to join Echo.

  A second group, even bigger than the first, then landed on the crag. They folded their wings and hung upside down, crowding together. More and more followed, dozens, hundreds, until the entire crag was covered with layer upon layer of bats.

  With a burst of utter astonishment, Raffa realized that the first layer of bats were now pinning the rope to the rock with their little claws, and all the other bats were keeping them in place!

  He grabbed the rope and wrapped it around his chest several times until he had taken up almost all the slack. After tying it securely under his armpits, he took hold of it in both hands and gave it a tentative tug.

  Miraculously, the rope held!

  He tugged harder. The bats squealed in protest, but the rope remained firm.

  Hand over hand, Raffa raised himself out of the water. Then he kicked his legs to start the rope swinging.

  On the crag, the mass of bats shifted perilously. The cavern filled with their shrieks of distress. They were such small creatures. . . . There was no way they would be able to hang on long enough. . . .

  One last swing: Using muscles he didn’t know he had, Raffa thrust his feet over the top of the rock and into the cleft—just as he felt the rope give.

  It whipped away from the crag, the bats scattered like autumn leaves in a tempest, and Raffa fell, his face bashing the edge of the rock.

  Never had a split lip felt so good.

  CHAPTER SIX

  AS Raffa sat up, he saw that most of the bats were leaving the cave. A few lingered on the crag near Echo; he could hear their squeaks and clicks.

  How had Echo known how to save him? How had he summoned the other bats? Raffa shook his head in wonder. He’d have to ask Echo later.

  He touched his lip; it was a little swollen, but the bleeding had already stopped. Taking deep breaths, he sat quietly until his pulse calmed. At last he stood and checked the rest of his body parts. His legs felt wobbly after all that time in the water. He had a scrape on his shin and a bruise on his side, but everything moved the way it was supposed to.

  A good thing, because he had work to do.

  He was, after all, an apothecary: Two near-drownings and one impossible rescue were shoved to the back of his mind by the excitement of discovering a new plant!

  Raffa headed up the passage to the boulder. He tied the rope around it securely, then returned to the spring, muttering to himself: He should have thought of using the boulder in the first place. Why did good ideas so often get buried under the bad ones?

  Now safely tethered, Raffa went back into the water and harvested portions of several more plants. By the time he finished, his rucksack was full. Finally satisfied, he used the rope to haul himself out and stood atop the rock, taking a last look at the wondrous cavern.

  The plants glowed again. In their light, Raffa saw that Echo was still interacting with the other bats. He started to call out, but Echo’s name lodged in his throat.

  Raffa closed his mouth slowly. It was the first time he had seen Echo with other bats, and it looked . . .

  Normal.

  No, that’s not quite the right word—

  Natural. The way bats always were, except for Echo. Raffa heard Kuma’s voice in his head: The way they’re supposed to be.

  Raffa stuck out his chin. “Echo!” he shouted. The cavern multiplied the sound of his shout, making it much louder. “Come on, we have to go.”

  To his relief, Echo flew to the perch at once. Raffa put the bat under his tunic. Then he climbed out of the passage and into the light.

  It felt like he had been gone a long time.

  When Raffa reached the cave, he found it empty, just as Echo had reported. “Kuma?” he called from the ledge outside.

  He jumped a foot in the air when her head popped up from under the ledge, almost right in front of him.

  “I found another cave,” she said. “Not as high as this one. It’s better, closer to the river.”

  Her voice, neither surprised nor concerned, reminded him that she had no way of knowing what had happened in the cavern. Then she looked at the water dripping from his clothes and pooling at his feet. “Why are you so wet again?” she asked.

  “Go on back down. I’ll follow you,” he said. “Faults and fissures, do I have a story to tell!”

  Roo and Twig seemed happy exploring the new cave, so Kuma left them there and met Raffa at the bottom of the cliff. Together they walked over to Garith, who sat up and rubbed his eyes, looking sullen.

  Despite his excitement, Raffa reminded himself to talk slowly and keep his face toward Garith. “You’ll—never—be-lieve—what—hap-pened! There’s— a—huge—cavern—”

  “For quake’s sake!” Garith shouted. “How many times do I have to tell you? When you talk like that, it’s harder for me to read your lips, not easier! I have to get used to people talking at normal speed—I’ve told you and told you, and you never listen!”

  Raffa stood with his mouth gaping in surprise. He snapped it shut, then stammered, “I—I—”

  He didn’t know what to say. It was true that Garith had said this often, and equally true that Raffa had ignored it. But that was because it didn’t make sense to him. He was only trying to help. Couldn’t Garith see that?

  Kuma glanced from one cousin to the other. She touched Garith’s arm so he would look at her. “We’re all tired,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. “We need to eat and rest. Garith, would you gather some firewood?” She picked up a stick on the ground and handed it to him. “Raffa and I will fetch water and do some foraging.”

  Garith’s face did not lose its petulant frown, but he nodded and got to his feet. Kuma took Raffa by the arm and steered him toward the river.

  Now Raffa was annoyed as well as confused. He thought back to the winter months, when he had often returned from doing Garith’s share of the chores to find him patching a basket or making snowshoes. He realized that it must have been Kuma who had assigned him t
hose tasks; Garith wouldn’t have known how to do them if she hadn’t shown him. Raffa wished he could deal with Garith as well as Kuma did.

  His scowl was interrupted by a cry of delight from Kuma.

  “Raffa—cattails!”

  He looked up and saw a large stand of cattails where the river ran through a stretch of swampy ground. There were plenty of shoots, as well as some mature spikes covered with yellow dust.

  “Pollen!” Raffa exclaimed, his glumness lifting instantly.

  It was early in the year for pollen, but the gorge was so sheltered that it was much warmer than the mountains. Cattail pollen could be used like flour. Dinner that night would be a special treat!

  Kuma borrowed a square of linen from Raffa’s rucksack and began collecting the pollen. While Raffa gathered shoots, he told her all about his perilous time in the cavern.

  She stared at him, her eyes wide. “Oh, no,” she said. “We climbed down and I let Twig drink, and we were coming back up when I found the other cave. So we stayed there for a while. I wanted them to get used to it. And Echo couldn’t see me because I was inside it. I should never have left—”

  “Maybe not,” Raffa said, “but I was the one who said I’d be a while. We’ll just have to watch out for each other better from now on.”

  Then he gave Echo a gentle pat. “Echo, how did you know to fetch all the other bats? What made you think of it?”

  The little bat blinked. He seemed confused by the question.

  “Raffa want rope stay,” he said. “Echo one, rope not stay. Bats many, rope stay.”

  Kuma nudged him. “Yah, Raffa,” she said. “What’s the matter with you—it’s as simple as that!”

  And she laughed so hard that Raffa had to join in.

  Garith had a fire going by the time they got back. Kuma added water to the cattail pollen to make a thick dough. She rolled the dough into a snake, divided it into three pieces, and wrapped each piece around a green stick of mountain ash. They roasted the dough spirals over the fire.

  Raffa was so eager to sample his that he burned the roof of his mouth. The cattail bread was fire-blackened outside, heavy and pasty within. But after an entirely breadless winter, it tasted wonderful. He only wished they’d had salt to season the dough.

  Garith said little during the meal. The trio finished eating and cleaning up, then put down leafy boughs for beds. As Raffa warmed his hands at the fire, Garith came and stood next to him.

  “I’m leaving in the morning,” he said. “I’m going back to Gilden.”

  “To Gilden?” Raffa frowned. “We can’t—”

  Garith held up his hand to stop him. “It’s dark, with just the fire,” he said. “It’s hard for me to see your lips.”

  Raffa turned to face Garith directly. “We can’t go to Gilden; we’d be arrested as soon as we got anywhere near the Commons.” As a gesture for “arrested,” he held his hands out, wrists together as if they were shackled.

  “I saw you say ‘we,’” Garith said. “Not we, just me. I’m going on my own. It’s got nothing to do with you.”

  I can’t let him go alone, Raffa thought. Anything could happen. . . . What if he doesn’t hear something that might hurt him?

  He cleared his throat. “Garith, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  Garith stared at him for a moment. “I didn’t ask what you think.”

  “Come on, Garith,” Raffa said. He tried to lighten the mood by clasping his hands and shaking them in a mock plea. “When I get home and you’re not with me, Mam won’t even let me in the house.”

  No laugh. Not even a smile.

  But Garith did look a little wistful at the mention of Salima. She was Garith’s aunt, and she had always treated him as her own child.

  Then he shook his head. “I have to see my da.”

  Raffa reached out and patted Garith’s arm. “You will, Garith. Soon. I promise.”

  Garith shook off Raffa’s hand and turned on him, his eyes blazing. “Are you—you—” he sputtered in anger. “There you go again, treating me like a baby!”

  “No, that’s not what I—”

  Garith strode past, shouldering Raffa out of the way. Raffa staggered back a step and caught himself. Fists clenched, he shouted at Garith’s back.

  “Don’t you walk away from me like that!”

  But, of course, Garith didn’t hear him.

  Raffa stamped his foot and started after Garith. Kuma caught his tunic sleeve and held it. “Let him go,” she said quietly.

  “Why are you always interfering?” Raffa snapped.

  Kuma drew back with a scowl. “Always? That’s not fair, and you know it.”

  She was right, but Raffa was too far gone in anger now. “Just stay out of it!” he shouted.

  He saw the hurt in her eyes and immediately regretted his outburst. “Kuma—”

  She too spun away, and went to sit with Roo and Twig beneath a nearby tree.

  Raffa’s anger dissolved into bewilderment. What had just happened? All he was trying to do was get them home safely, and neither Garith nor Kuma seemed to appreciate that. Was this what being a leader was like? Clearly, he wasn’t very good at it. How did you get better? Was it just a matter of trying?

  Maybe it’s like apothecary, trying different combinations. Only instead of botanicals, combinations of words, and—and how I say things, and what I do.

  Sober and thoughtful, he lay down on his makeshift pallet, reached for his rucksack, and pulled it under his head for a pillow. As if matching his mood, the rucksack was utterly uncomfortable. It was too high, being stuffed full of the cavern plant.

  Raffa sat up in one abrupt motion.

  The cavern plant.

  He remembered the moment he had learned of Garith’s deafness and the vow he’d made then and there: He had sworn to himself that he would try to invent an antidote, and that he would never give up trying.

  His face flamed with shame. Months had passed during which he had done less than nothing toward that goal. There were reasons, of course, and they were good ones. In the Suddens, he had had very few botanicals, almost no equipment, and, most important of all, no time. The struggle for food and warmth had taken up nearly every minute of every day.

  But he hadn’t even tried. No, it was worse than that: He had barely given it a thought! Garith had every reason to be angry at him; indeed, Raffa was angry at himself. It was clear to him now that he hadn’t wanted to think of it.

  Because he was fully aware that deafness had never been cured by an infusion, and he was afraid of failing.

  He lay down again, his thoughts churning. What if . . . what if I could pretend—even for a little while—that there’s a cure out there and I just have to find it?

  To his surprise, it wasn’t hard to pretend. Instead of thinking about Garith’s deafness, he began considering combinations of botanicals, especially the mysterious cavern plant. Like the scarlet vine, the cavern plant might well have healing and curing properties. Was it possible . . . Could he use the plant to create a cure for Garith’s deafness?

  The first image that came to his mind was, of all things, a cork. A cork being inserted into the bung of a barrel to stop liquid from flowing out. Raffa lay very still and let his thoughts float freely, rather than forcing them in any particular direction. And in a few moments, the barrel had transformed into the vague outlines of a human face—with the cork stuck up one nostril!

  Congestion! Raffa twitched with excitement, but then he made himself relax again.

  When people’s noses are congested, their ears sometimes get stopped up, too. The infusion for that . . . appletip vinegar combined with mint leaf and marjo oil. I’ll make that combination—in all different strengths and add the cavern plant— No, first I have to make a bunch of poultices, to make sure it’s safe. . . .

  Experimenting with botanicals was Raffa’s favorite part of apothecary work. After a day of too much peril and confusion, it was both exciting and soothing to think on. He fell
asleep with his mind full of leaves, petals, roots, and stems, all swirling in patterns and colors both beautiful and strange.

  He began to dream almost immediately. The colorful swirls were receding, moving away from him. No, no—don’t go! He reached for them, but whenever his hand closed around one, it faded into grayness. He wanted them so badly! Every muscle and nerve in his body strained toward them, wishing, aching, yearning. . . .

  Raffa opened his eyes. Wide awake, he understood at once what his dream meant.

  Yearnings.

  Yearnings were desires that could not be treated by apothecary. Often they were foolish wishes: great wealth, the ability to fly, control over another person. Raffa’s parents, especially his father, Mohan, worked hard to make sure that their patients understood the capabilities and limitations of apothecary.

  But there were other kinds of yearnings. Salima had once spoken about the desperate need to create cures for illnesses considered incurable. Those sorts of yearnings were worthy of an apothecary’s attention. The problem was that no one knew which diseases and conditions might one day prove treatable.

  Raffa’s dream was telling him what he already knew, as dreams so often did: Hard work and time and creativity would not make success a certainty. Even if he vanquished his fear of failure, it was still a very real possibility. A thousand experiments might not produce a cure for Garith.

  Raffa pressed his lips together and scowled in determination.

  It didn’t matter. He still had to try.

  When he woke the next morning, it was just past daybirth, still shadowy in the gorge. He rubbed his eyes clear of sleep-blur, then turned to look beyond the fire toward the other pallets.

  He rose to his knees, frowning.

  Kuma was asleep across from him. But the third pile of boughs was empty.

  Garith was gone.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  RAFFA leapt to his feet. He circled the campsite in a panic, searching wildly for signs of Garith’s trail, before his common sense asserted itself.