The boy remained a mystery to her, and a marvel, and like any object of fascination, he was a hazard best left alone.
But there was another way to seek him out: sap-thieves were enormous and she let herself grow, and when her liquid flesh was large enough and mature enough, she sprouted hidden eyes and deep nostrils and too many ears to count. Those eyes absorbed great swaths of the world, and she could test the winds for any hint of scent, and even better were the forests of flowery ears tied into a mind that could pull the important whisper out from the roaring music of the world.
This was what Quest was doing today.
Today the boy was too distant to be seen or heard, and his distinctive farts would die before drifting this far. But tree-walkers were the loudest, most careless monkeys. Thousands of people had seen him with their own little eyes, or they knew people who claimed to know him. Diamond was rumor and story, the outlines of his life as clear as Quest’s own. She had learned quite a lot about his parents and two best friends, his various champions and the humans that he should fear. Just by listening, Quest could measure the relentless, ever-shifting flow of opinion. To some the boy was a wonder. Others considered him a monster, though many of his enemies considered him to be a marvelous monster. There was a second, far more frightening creature living in the District of Districts. Tales about King made Diamond appear small and weak. The local Archon liked to travel throughout her home, singing about this gift, this baby destined to be found by the best people, and within the hoots and proud postures of every citizen were a few simple rules:
Humans were supreme in the Creation.
Tree-walkers were superior to the papio, and the Corona District was blessed by the honor of having Diamond while the other Districts surely were jealous.
Of course the fierce papio had to be watched every moment and without trust. Every average citizen in the forest knew that their close cousins were envious and crafty, and being dangerous brutes, they would do whatever was necessary to serve their interests.
That toxic noise was always in the air.
Quest was thankful for being invisible. Alone, she could move where she wished, relying on nothing but her unparalleled talents, and regardless what rumors swirled around her existence, she felt safe enough and powerful enough to withstand assaults from either one of these half-smart monkeys.
In that fashion, Quest was utterly different from her two famous siblings.
Yet on that particular morning, when the air was damp but clear—when an angry man’s voice might carry a long ways—she heard nothing worrisome.
The tree-walkers seemed unusually happy.
From her hiding perch, Quest sewed together the chattering and the jokes, people fighting about tiny matters and celebrating tiny victories. Meanwhile a troop of magic sloths was climbing unaware down the branch of an old dobdob tree, and she couldn’t ignore them. She was very close to shucking off pieces of her great new body, pulling what lived into a fresh invisible form and racing after this easy meal.
But that’s when a single voice found her.
She felt the voice as much as she heard it. Washed within the ordinary mayhem was a shrill and distant scream, male and very loud. “Now now now,” the man yelled. “We have to get out of here now!”
The screamer didn’t offer any reasons, and the forest took no notice of his warning. Birds and monkeys, always ready for any excuse to panic, remained at peace, and Quest thought that this was a little peculiar, and that’s why she remained where she was. She was curious, hundreds of ears turning slowly toward the mouth that had caught her attentions.
Moments later, a nearer, louder voice found her.
The woman sounded big—a creature of meat and wind—and she was screeching at other people, telling them to hurry and leave those damned things, to get themselves into the air now.
“There’s no more time,” she swore.
Quest tried to guess why time was done, and then a blimp engine roared, wiping away the woman’s voice.
Quest began hunting for a third voice.
There might have been dozens of heart-seared warnings. She never heard them. But with her attention fixed on everything nearby and everything above, Quest noticed a few hard noises almost washed out of existence by distance and the intervening trees. Far overhead, in places where few creatures went, machines of a particular size and character were at work. Maybe they had been at work for a little while, and she hadn’t noticed. Generators were coughed as they fired along, and capacitors hummed with a high keening noise. Measuring directions, estimating distances, Quest made careful counts until she was certain from where each sound was falling. But she still didn’t understand. Experience hadn’t prepared her for this puzzle. Only fear had. The fear that never stopped tugging at Quest was suddenly a vast weight, malicious and sharp, eager to yank her into the oblivion below.
She couldn’t imagine what was happening, and neither could the forest.
The magic sloths continued dancing along their branch, and human babies complained with tears, and a few more aircraft than usual were flying quickly. Then each of the capacitors gave a tone, loud and almost pretty, signaling to someone that they were fully charged. And since fear was a good enough reason, Quest spawned a thousand new arms, grabbing hold of her dobdob branch.
The first explosion was enormous.
But the next detonations made that first blast seem like the dry pop of a cricket rubbing his favorite legs together.
The forest outside her skin was changing its shape.
And the forest inside her terror-stricken mind could only struggle to keep pace.
The monkey bit down on Diamond’s nose, bringing blood, and then Good slapped the boy’s cheek, shouting, “Leave go fast go.”
Every bird in Creation was flying. Save for the frantic beating of wings, there was no sound. The world had turned furious and silent. Every insect, from speck to thunderfly, was flinging itself into the open air. Wild monkeys and bark rats and broad little ribbon snakes abandoned their homes, giving up nests and treasured hiding places, eggs and babies. Thought was left behind. Speech too. Breath fed muscle, nothing else. Consideration and fear were abandoned. What mattered was an instinct riding on thousands of surviving generations—leaping into the air before Doom won.
Having given his warning, Good jumped back to the window, desperately kicking at the screen. The children stared at him. An instant passed when nobody moved. Then the classroom floor began to slowly tilt, the well-loved tree swinging just enough that even stupid humans had to notice.
Diamond was sitting at his desk, bleeding.
Seldom rose slowly, and Elata was already on her feet.
“No,” said Seldom, staring at his feet. As if arguing with the floor, he said it again. “No.”
The other students were finding their feet.
But Master Nissim remained behind his desk. He looked strangely passive—affected but unresponsive. Just from his expression, it was possible to believe that this was an elaborate drill and he already knew about it and he had stubbornly decided not to play along. His hands were spread on top of his desk, flanking the opened book. The Master’s eyes were fixed on the green thunderfly chrysalis. He looked ready to speak to somebody, to give directions or small encouragements. But he said nothing. Then in a subtle way, the man appeared almost angry. That was Diamond’s next thought. Nissim’s morning lesson had been interrupted, and someone would have to be reprimanded.
The boy grabbed hold of his shredded nose, pressing the bloody edges close, trying to make his mind believe that this was nothing but a foolish training exercise.
Above the classroom door was a bell, and the bell began to rattle.
Bits was on his feet, walking rapidly while shouting, “Calm calm calm. We know what to do.”
Good was attacking the screen, trying to reach the open air. His little hands were bleeding, sliced by torn wires, and using incisors, he started yanking at the edges of a tiny useless hole.