In the heat of the day, the denizens were gone from the road. The flies buzzed and the skinny dogs lay in the shadows, napping next to the children who had also run themselves ragged. We made our way largely unnoticed. I imagine this was the Indian’s design.
A ways outside of town, we sat against a low mud wall with our backs to the village and the sun. The Indian fixed a blanket upon two sticks and weighted the other end to the top of the wall with stones so that it formed a small tent above us. We waited in the shade. I tried to communicate in both English and a very broken sort of Spanish.
Even though the need to be quiet was no longer pressing, the Indian still did not speak. He seemed to prefer silence, and in the end I was able to communicate via gesture. I had come down for food and water. I also needed several coils of rope, some wire, and a kerosene lamp. This lamp and oil was hardest to translate, but the Indian sat patiently until all was clear between us. He then took my canteen, my sack, and the last of my money, and went back toward the village.
I was there against the wall for the rest of the afternoon. I dozed off, woken occasionally by black flies landing on my face. I was much in need of rest as I hadn’t had any since the night before last. I have been sleeping poorly due no doubt to the taxing conditions of this trip. The cave requires a nocturnal sleep pattern.
When I woke, the sun had just set and the dusk was filled with the cries of coyotes. It occurred to me that the Indian may not ever return. I watched a herd of starved cattle being driven back toward the town. The rancheros were driving them on the far side and the light was low, so they did not see me motionless beneath the blanket.
After they passed, I was startled by a great bat. He landed on the edge of the makeshift tent and hung upside down, facing me. How long he had been there I could not say, but I took his appearance as an omen, and drew him properly to pass the time. He could be the first entry in my field guide to the bats of the Republic of Texas.
Eventually, the Indian did return with all the things I had asked for. I tried to give him the leftover money and he refused, instead taking his spot against the wall next to me. He rested, and then handed me a small card of paper inscribed with Spanish. I translate it roughly as:
The river enters the desert valley lightly because
it flows downward easily. The folks take death lightly because
they are living in the (red?) of life.
I do not know if my translation is true, as I think it is meant as some sort of prayer. It has stayed with me now and all the way back to my camp. As has the Indian. I don’t know why. On our way back, we stayed away from the road, for I have begun to know my way and the mountains make for good markers. The moonlight was strong tonight, and I could see about me quite clearly. As dawn approached I was able to spy the returning caravan of bats tracing across the sky. They led us back to the cave that has become the answer to all my worries.
My Love’s Purpose Renewed, Zadock
FAM. CERVIDAE
GEN. IDIONYCTERIS
29.9.43, 20:15, 70 deg., 30 knots, no clouds, windy
Dry hills with low shrubs and few trees outside Mexican village
Large bat. Gray. Little fur. Outsize tattered ears. Certainly an unknown species. I thought at first he was dead, then realized he couldn’t have kept his grip on the tent were this the case. He did seem disturbed in some way. Perhaps very old or sick, or maybe terribly weary from winding his way through a lifetime of labyrinthine dark. I named him the Stag-Ear Bat, for his great ragged ears have the brave character of a buck’s antlers.
1/10/43
Task list for Publication of field guide.
“Bats of the Republic”
Explore the entirety of Texas,
(the underground especially)
Document all bat species therein
Complete First draft
Finalize plate engravings,
24 total in the initial collection
Mock-up for prospective publishers
Sign Publishing contract
Complementary display installation at Zoological Garden?
(Rather than Museum of Flying)
Draft sales pitch for subscribers
Public lecture and Book release (Invite Grays)
Book Reviews
Send C.V. to European Institutes
1/10/43
Example cover for
“Bats of the Republic”
Yesterday’s quarter moon donated enough light that I was able to ink this concept for the visual part of my field guide to bats.
Each bat should be given a full folio, not unlike the birds of Audubon’s book. But this small chart could serve as a quick guide to their facial features, taxonomic names, and distinguishing characteristics.
After a few hours of drawing, I was so awed by the stars that I could not help but include them as well.
FAM. MYOTIS
GEN. VELIFER
4.10.43, 6:15, 60 deg., 10 knots, no clouds
Near desert cave
Cave bat with moth. Seeing this resourceful young bat devour a moth nearly its size gave me a thought on how bats came to fly. If they are in the habit of making meals of moths, then perhaps by hunting them they grew more and more bold in leaping into the air after them and, by that and observation, learned to fly themselves. A mammal certainly couldn’t grow wings for no purpose. I posit they began as shrew-like cave critters and then emerged into the air, miracles of their own invention.
7/10/43
THE CAVERN, TEXAS
Dearest Elswyth,
I am still stalled at my camp at the mouth of the cave. Though at least I continue to work on my guide. A few days hence I gestured to the cave, and asked the Indian if he could guide me to the exit.
He did not respond. We watched the bats and he seemed unafraid of their swarming emergence. He peered down into the dark mouth of the cave for a long time, and whether his emotions were fearful or contemplative, I cannot say. I prepared myself for the exploration.
I used my sabre to cut the stalks of nearby yucca, and with rope and wire fashioned a rope ladder, using the stalks for steps.
Afterward, the Indian gave me another curious prayer card, fixing his pink and black eyes on mine. I do not know why he carries such a supply, and I was surprised at this one. It was again in Spanish, which I have not heard him speak.
The dark is a vacancy that can be used forever.
I do not know who birthed it. It precedes the desert valley.
After this, I somehow understood that he was willing to go with me into the cavern. We took the kerosene lamp, canteen, and a small sack of provisions. I brought my paper and charcoal, though I couldn’t draw much by lamplight, and for the most part I preferred to use the lamp to look for new paths.
We climbed down the ladder into the cave, and it felt a surer means of getting out as well. This time I was prepared—I used a length of twine to trace our path and a series of broken stalagmites to point back toward the entrance. Being lost in the great darkness was not an experience I wished to replicate. Though he remained silent, having the Indian there gave me a measure of comfort in the cave.
At first he moved hesitantly about the rocks, trying his footing like an animal on a cliff. Eventually something in his constitution settled, like mine, and we grew quite accustomed to the underground environment and our place in it.
The kerosene lamp served the purpose a good deal better than the lantern I had taken earlier. They cast enough light that we could make regular forward progress.
We spent two days searching the depths, seeing all manner of things you would simply marvel at, my dearest. We crept like desert foxes across precipitous ledges, and tested depths by the soundings of thrown stones. I sat for a while and drew a map and some of the more picturesque formations. Though I feel my skill in rendering an animal alive on the page is now improved, the monuments of this labyrinth are another beast altogether. Seeing what I have outlined in charcoal in the light of day is disa
ppointing and comes in no way close to representing what is in my mind’s eye, remembered from the cave.
We hunted for a new way out. Our minor thrills and trials will have to wait for a larger volume, as I plan to set the whole adventure down in great detail as the preface to my guide to bats. My letters to you will help me remember. It is sufficient to say that exaggeration would be impossible with regards to the magnificence beneath this desert.
However, I will recount one particular thrill. During the second day, I was resting in one of the largest cavern rooms and casting the lamp about me when out of the darkness rose the skull of a man. It gave me a start, staring at me in the gloom like a ghoul. I brought the lamp over and saw that it was indeed a whole skeleton intact. It was a surprising thing to behold so deep underground.
Even more unusual was the size of the skeleton, perhaps twice as large as an average man. I began to imagine a prehistoric race of giants, and thought of the Aztecs that Rodriguez spoke of with reverence at the abandoned pueblo. I picked up a femur and it wetly crumbled in my hand. All at once, I understood that the mineral water dripping all around it had softened the bones. For years they had been saturated with lime, and had become swollen and monstrous.
I remember discovering a collection of bones in Aunt Anne’s cottage, among her curious objects in glass jars. She said bones are a carriage for the soul. The Nightway will follow the bone map, whether a creature still lives or not. I had hope for my escape.
There were bits of cloth about this skeleton, but not enough to make out what sort of attire the man had perished in. I posited to myself that he might be some lost Indian, unusually brave. But I have discovered no other traces of Indian folk inside the caves, despite some fire pits on the surface. There I can tell they cooked their food using the bats’ droppings, which make good fuel for a fire.
The skull had not been under the corrosive drip and remained in perfectly hard condition, though it still seemed quite a bit larger than any human skull I had ever seen. It was a prize worthy of study. Quite used to specimens, I brushed the dust from its face, picked it up, and secured it in my sack. The Indian seemed unhappy at this and gave a panicky kind of snort. It was the only noise he made in the cave throughout the entirety of the two days we were underground, and it resonated through the air with an ominous gravity.
After an unpleasant march across a subterranean field of bat droppings, I realized we had come too far and must turn back. It was disappointing, to say the least. But I could not risk running out of fuel again. We made our way back to the entrance following the twine into the dead heat of day. The light, I must admit, was jarring to my senses. We again built up our little tent and slept exhausted until eventide. I dreamt of you. The fluttering roar of the great bat cloud awoke me.
Though my goal is finding a way through, I am becoming accustomed to this cave. It is cool inside, night or day. That pleasant refuge from the desert heat makes it an ideal place to conduct my study of the creatures who have lived here for countless generations. I hope that Aunt Anne’s prophecy holds true, and they will teach me the way home. Already I have spotted two more species of bat, as those depths serve as perfect shelter from the harsh desert sun. The discovery and documentation of all these new creatures, to say nothing of their entirely magnificent habitat, will surely bring great accolades. The book will only be the start of it. I shall have to have my own display, perhaps a hall dedicated to me in the museum. Your father cannot but embrace such a discovery, and I will be able to spend my days with you in the great comfort of success.
I will now send the Indian back to the town for more fuel and supplies. The search for the cavern’s hidden exit will continue. The Indian doesn’t know the way through, but his companionship serves for safety. We have done some hunting in the surrounding desert, and he is very good at catching rabbits. Though it would disgust Chicago society, I must admit some pride in my dinner tonight. I stuck three desert mice on a stick and cooked them without butter, salt, or anything else. Even this hardly gives me pause now.
Our sleeping habits have also changed to suit our environment. It is best to sleep during the day, and we are both up through the night. As the moon rose tonight, the Indian handed me another curious card.
You must be without desire in order to observe
the dark and even darker.
I do not know how his words seem to find my inner thoughts, but this particular card made me feel as though I have missed something essential in the caverns. I plan to stay on this very spot until my way is found. Perhaps I’ll send the Indian on with Irion’s letter. I will draw and capture as many bat species as I can in the meantime. There are many passageways that my lantern could not find the end of. One leads home. By the end of this journey, I shall have a field guide singular in its subject and of a quality to rival any. It will be dedicated to you.
Yours Beneath a Starry Sky, Zadock
FAM. VESPERTILIONIDAE
GEN. EUGNORISMA
8.10.43, 11:15, 85 deg., no wind, no clouds
Desert country, daytime
Another new species: the Autumnal Mottled Moth-Bat. Diminutive with large mottled white-and-black wings, delicate and beautiful. This bat hides its unusual hindwings under the cryptic forewings when resting. Antenna-like ears, attracted to the light of day. Diet consists of pollen and honeysuckle. The species overwinters as an egg. You would adore him, surely.
∧∧ Zeke and Raisin ran for a long time. They found the ladder and crawled out of the hatch door. The watchposts loomed above them, ominous shadows shifting along the platforms. ∧∧ “It’ll take two of us to flee, according to this.” Raisin studied the pamphlet’s instructions for crossing the steammoat. Zeke brushed dust off the hatch door. The symbol of the wolf with the moon in its mouth was gone. Had they come out of another exit? ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ A silhouette slid into the light of the watchpost. It was Eliza. Zeke’s chest flooded with relief. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ She quickly made the hand signal for escape. Shrieking Law whistles filled the air. She ran.
They ran after her. ∧∧ ∧∧ “Where are we going?” Raisin shouted in the blur of confusion. ∧∧ “Hurry up,” Eliza shouted over her shoulder. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ She ducked down a narrow street with old plankways. It was not well lit by the phosphor lamps. She stopped running and began to move quickly along the sides of the units, sticking to the shadows. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “It’s an all-quadrant alert. Recorders in all the watchposts, no dead zones. I’m guessing it’s for you,” she spoke quietly. “The Auspices wouldn’t let you out through their tunnel, would they?” ∧∧ ∧∧ “How do you know about—” Raisin started to ask. ∧∧ “Wait.” As they emerged from the narrow street, Eliza held the hand signal up to Raisin and pulled Zeke into the half-light, just out of earshot. Her eyes were bright, and she studied Zeke’s face carefully. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ He felt so thankful to see her, that it didn’t even seem to matter that he was up top, in the open. She looked beautiful, the gentle glow of phosphor light soft on her skin. ∧∧ ∧∧ “Zeke, I have something to tell you.” Worry lines formed at the edges of her eyes. “I took the letter.” ∧∧ Zeke held his breath. ∧∧ “I was worried and I wanted to make sure you’d be safe. It was a mistake. I lost it, and made a false trail through the Vault. I don’t know where it is now.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “Your note—” Zeke began. ∧∧ “After I delivered Leeya to the Auspicium, I went back to the Vault. I wanted to find the letter. I found my father instead. ” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke took her hands and held them. Strands of hair bisected her face in the sharp wind, a strand sticking to her softened lips. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “You didn’t know what was involved in that letter. Neither did I. You will always be my blood.” ∧∧ ∧∧ Almost before he was done speaking Eliza had grabbed his torso tightly and squeezed with all her strength. And then they were kissing, desperately, passionately. It felt as though they hadn’t had this kind of kiss in years. Grateful and sad and wild. It contained all the thankfulness of being reunited
and the fear of what was to come. Zeke wrapped his arms around her. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ They were spotlighted. Law flashers, from the nearest watchpost. ∧∧ “Run!” Raisin loped toward them, panicked. ∧∧ ∧∧ Eliza pulled something from her pocket and slammed it to the ground. In a blink they were enveloped in a cloud of chalky white dust. The light scattered, and Zeke couldn’t see anything. ∧∧ ∧∧ He felt Eliza grab his hand and pull him away. Moments later they were running down another side street. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “What was that?” Raisin coughed. ∧∧ “Dustbomb,” Eliza said. ∧∧ Raisin gave Zeke a look of astonishment as they scurried down the streets. Eliza made a sharp right turn, and they stopped to crouch in the doorway of the fountry. ∧∧ It was closed at night, and the archway provided just enough cover to keep them out of the light. The smell of the fount-water was strong. Raisin was winded. ∧∧ “We have to”—his words came slowly—“rescue Leeya”—in bursts of steam—“Auspices…murder—” ∧∧ Eliza interrupted him. “She’s safe with them. They shelter girls who are pregnant. She won’t really join. She’s just hiding out.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “Could have…” Raisin’s breathing was still labored, “…fooled me.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “With the murderer still on the loose, she shouldn’t be up top. There’s a man in the tunnels called the Nightman…” ∧∧ ∧∧ “It’s not him!” Raisin’s shout caused another coughing fit. ∧∧ ∧∧ “Keep your voice down,” Eliza hissed. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Zeke finally interjected. “The Nightman is with the Deserters. He’s strange, but he’s not the murderer. He was trying to help us escape the city-state…” ∧∧ ∧∧ Raisin nodded vigorously, holding up the pamphlet. “…in a way.” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “Too dangerous. And open conflict would be bad for everyone. My father”—Eliza began to blink rapidly—“attacked Daxon. He was trying to find the letter. He’s Queer, they banned him from talking to me. But…our meeting was recorded. They’re after him. And I haven’t seen him for so long.” She looked at Zeke as though she might cry. ∧∧ ∧∧ A carrier slid by slowly. They froze. Its flashing lights briefly illuminated the doorway of the fountry, but it didn’t stop. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “We need to get off the plankways,” Zeke said. ∧∧ ∧∧ “Let’s go to Leeya’s unit. That’s where my father is.” Eliza stepped out into the light. ∧∧ ∧∧ “Now.” ∧∧ ∧∧ They followed her through a labyrinth of small winding streets. She seemed to know where to go to avoid the watchposts. They were in the singles’ quadrant, the southeast. Raisin struggled to keep up. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ They turned a corner and she pulled them into Leeya’s unit. The shades were drawn. A trickle of light from outside illuminated the room. Dark shapes slowly formed into furniture. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ Raisin was winded again. He looked upset about all the running. “How did you know about that hatch?” ∧∧ “Investigating the animal rumor. The Recorders have a high incidence of spotting them in that quadrant,” Eliza said. ∧∧ ∧∧ “That can’t be real,” Zeke said. ∧∧ ∧∧ “According to the thread, a loose animal is an official suspect in the case. All the murders coincide with animal sightings. A little too neatly. The Major likes to claim there’s a connection, but…” ∧∧ “…records can easily be falsified.” Henry Bartle stepped into the room. “Thank the fates you all made it.” He embraced his daughter and put a warm hand on Zeke’s shoulder. “We’re on the verge.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “This is the man who tried to rob your place?” Raisin sneered. ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “That’s my father, Raisin.” Eliza seemed almost shy to say it aloud. Raisin closed his mouth. ∧∧ ∧∧ “Zeke, I want you to understand what’s at stake, and I fear time is short.” Bartle blinked. He didn’t have his glasses. ∧∧ ∧∧ “I don’t quite know how to put this…” ∧∧ “You’re being framed,” Eliza said. “I went through everything. There’s plenty against you in the records.” ∧∧ Her eyes held his gaze. Now that they were next to each other, he could see—they were exactly like her father’s. ∧∧ ∧∧ “Eliza picked up Daxon’s trail through the records,” Bartle said. “I was trying to break into his office at the Vault, to get the letter. And I got caught.” ∧∧ ∧∧ Eliza’s spine straightened. Zeke could tell that the thought made her nervous. ∧∧ “Bic was there. He caught me as I was collecting Daxon’s blood and confronted me. I managed to get away, but they’re hunting me. Daxon means to keep you from the Senate. He’s trying to pin the murders on you.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “Figures,” Raisin said. “We’re getting out of this city-state anyway, before the Republic locks us up.” ∧∧ ∧∧ “How are you going to do that?” Bartle gave Raisin a considered look. ∧∧ “We’re going to go over the barrier. We have a pamphlet, I mean, a plan.” ∧∧ “Zeke, is this true?” ∧∧ ∧∧ Raisin spoke for him. “We’re going to a Deserter hideout. We know someone on the outside. Spree, he’s a—” ∧∧ “He’s a little mad,” Bartle said. “But I wouldn’t say that’s the worst plan. There’s not much choice. Spree might know what to do about that letter. Better him than the Republic, certainly. We can’t leave it behind, Zeke. I still think the letter is in Daxon’s office. The only way to get in is with a drop of his blood. I have a phial full, but they’re after me now. We hardly have any time left. Bic can’t be trusted. He’s in with Daxon somehow.” ∧∧ “I want out.” ∧∧ “Let’s all just flee,” Raisin said. “Why won’t anyone listen to me?” ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ ∧∧ “There’s a whole city full of folks here. Zeke is their steward. That’s what a Khrysalis is.” Bartle fumbled in his pocket. ∧∧ “This is not a government I want to be a part of.” ∧∧ “None of us have a choice,” Eliza said. ∧∧ Raisin crossed his arms. ∧∧ “The best way to save yourself, and my daughter, is to find that letter,” Bartle said. “Daxon must be exposed. Zeke, I have something for you.” He wheeled out a records cabinet. It was locked with steel clockwork. He keyed in a code. A drawer slid open. He produced an old leather-bound volume tied with string. It was the bundle of Zadock Thomas’s letters, with Bartle’s notes attached. ∧∧ “It may be of use, if you can keep it secret and manage to read it all,” Bartle said. “The records in the Vault have been altered. The Republic trades in lies. They are hiding something out in the storm country, something big. Everything in this file is an original.” ∧∧ “You can tell because in the carbons they took out the bats,” Eliza said. ∧∧ “The bats?” Zeke asked. ∧∧ “You’ll get to that part.” She smiled. He wanted to kiss her again. ∧∧ He slipped the bundle of papers into his sack. ∧∧ “Zadock was a great—” Bartle’s words were cut short by shrill steam whistles. Bright white light poured through the windows, flooding the room. Law flashers from outside. An amplifying tube sounded above the whistles. ∧∧
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