Brave Story - Miyuki Miyabe [55]
As if in answer, the monster’s entire corkscrewed head inflated and burst, pointed straight at Wataru. The inner part of the screw was a disgustingly moist, red thing, filled with pulsating membranes and surrounded by an array of sharp fangs.
Wataru yelped and began to run. He took three steps away when he realized that a new vortex was forming in front of him. He dodged to the left, right toward another screw-head that came leaping from a sand cone he hadn’t seen before. It howled and pounced, instantly closing the distance between them.
Somebody help! I’m surrounded by screw-headed monsters!
Wataru covered his face with his hands, and felt something clamp down on the back of his neck. With a sickening lurch, his body flew up into the air. Peeking through his fingers, he realized that he was flying again. He wasn’t up high—it was like being on a ski lift. The only thing different was that his arms and legs were flailing in the air.
Five of the screw-headed dogs ran across the sand below him, howling and jumping up to snap at Wataru’s dangling feet. New vortices were forming beneath him as he passed.
They must live below the desert surface, coming up to catch their prey as it passes above them.
“Are you out of your mind?” a shrill voice asked from above Wataru’s head. “Jumping down into the middle of a pack of gimblewolves like that. If I hadn’t happened by just then, you’d be stewing in stomach juices right now!”
Whatever was carrying Wataru had him by the back of his collar, so he was unable to look up and see the source of the voice—doubtlessly the one who had saved his life. For now.
“Thank you,” Wataru managed through the rush of desert wind. “You saved my skin back there.”
“Of course I did, of course I did,” the voice answered with accelerating pitch. It seemed to appreciate the gratitude. “You’re a lucky one. I flew by right in the nick of time.”
Another gust of wind caught them, and they dipped suddenly, making Wataru’s stomach lurch. “You know,” he shouted, “I think we’re clear of those screw-wolf-things. Maybe we should go on foot for a bit?”
The thing carrying him snorted through its nose. “Nonsense! I do not slither and crawl upon the dirty ground! I fly, and I only fly! Got it, kid?”
It occurred to Wataru that if the creature became angry, it might just let go, so he refrained from making any further protests. He was being carried along at a leisurely pace, about the speed of a bicycle, albeit one pedaling at the height of a two-story house above the ground. They were still surrounded by desert on all sides, but Wataru could see a rough field of large rocky outcroppings a little to the left of their trajectory ahead.
“Hey kid, just where did you come from?” the shrill voice asked. “You’re not some kind of runaway, are you?”
Wataru didn’t know what to say. How could he explain the situation when he didn’t fully understand it himself? And the word runaway gave him pause. What if I am a runaway?
“Whatever you are, you sure are heavy.” Wataru could hear the sound of his rescuer’s wings beating out a slightly irregular pattern. Maybe it wasn’t as large a bird as he had first imagined. “Rest break on those rocks,” it squawked, and their heading shifted to the left. Their altitude dropped over the rocks and Wataru was let—or rather, tossed—down.
“Hey! Watch out!” Wataru landed on his rear on the rocky shelf at running speed and almost bounced over the far edge. Something grabbed the back of his collar.
“Poor reflexes, kid!”
With much fluttering and flapping, a huge scarlet bird landed in front of Wataru, who was now standing, rubbing his sore behind. The red of its feathers was so pure they seemed to have been dyed crimson. Its wingspan was only about six feet and it had a slender body, but the claws on its legs looked strong and sharp, big enough to easily clamp down on Wataru’s head. Just imagining those claws on his collar, brushing up against his neck, sent an involuntary shudder down his spine.
The bird folded its wings, slightly cocked its head, and looked Wataru over.