He swooped low over a swift, bubbling stream, delighted to see water that wasn’t frozen solid. Outside he’d gotten used to drinking by gobbling snow and wincing in pain as it melted against his teeth. Now he skimmed the stream, dragging his mouth along the water’s surface and letting it spray deliciously down his throat.
And then, pulling up, he noticed the hundreds of bats swirling curiously all around him. Graywings and Brightwings and Silverwings, staring at him intently. There were Small-foots, Fringes, Long-ears, and other kinds of bats he’d never even seen before.
“Welcome!” they called out. “Newcomer, welcome!”
“Was it a long journey?”
“So late in winter!”
“Didn’t expect any more newcomers till spring!”
Then he felt as if he were swept up in their wings and carried higher, back through the dense forest canopy to Marina and Ariel and the others. There were even more bats here—easily thousands—wheeling around them, barraging them with questions. Some, he noticed instantly, were banded, but most were not. They all looked so friendly, and so genuinely glad to see them.
“What is this place?” called out Frieda.
“Paradise.”
The voice came from a Hoary bat, flying up to meet them. She was an older bat, Shade could see, though not nearly as old as Frieda. Her fur was a mottled gray, with rivulets of silver running across her chest and back. She had a short, pale beard that ended in a sharp point, and her black eyes were flecked with white, making her gaze fiercely penetrating. On her left forearm blazed a Human band.
“My name is Arcadia.”
“I am Frieda Silverwing; we’ve come from Hibernaculum, two nights’ journey from the east.”
“We’re so glad you’ve arrived,” said Arcadia. “Now come and roost with me, and let me explain everything.” She led them to a maple with an abundance of interlacing branches, and the Silverwings gathered around Arcadia. Shade landed beside Marina, suppressing a groan as Chinook found a place on her other side.
“I hope this doesn’t take long,” he heard Chinook whisper. “I’m hungry.”
Shade’s eyes were on Arcadia as she rustled her wings and folded them neatly. She turned her head to take them all in, meeting their eyes in turn, and Shade couldn’t suppress a slight tremor when that gaze came to rest on him. They were intelligent, even beautiful, eyes but there was also something hard about them; maybe it was just those flecks of white, like sparks of mica in stone.
“There’s no need to be anxious,” Arcadia said, smiling. “All of us here remember how confusing it was at first. The suddenness of it, the unexpectedness of it. But you can shed all your worries. Your journey is over. As you can see, the Humans have created the perfect home for us. The trees never lose their leaves, the stream never freezes. It’s forever warm as a summer night, with as many insects as you could ever hope to eat.”
“How many are here?” Frieda asked.
“Several thousand at least, from all different colonies.” Shade caught his mother’s eye, and knew what she was thinking. Thousands of bats, and one of them must be Cassiel. He wanted to break from the tree at once and soar across the forest to find him. His claws clenched restlessly in the bark. It was torture knowing his father was here and not being able to go to him at once.
“We came from roosts a million wingbeats apart, from east to west,” Arcadia was saying. “But we had two things in common. We believed in the secret of the bands. And we heard the call.”
“The call,” said Frieda. “You mean the voices outside the building?”
“Yes. To summon us. My group was the first to arrive, some two months ago.” There was a hint of pride in her voice. “The forest was empty, waiting for us, as if Nocturna had just created it.”
Shade frowned. “But where did the voices come from then?” he blurted out. The way Arcadia turned her eyes on him, he could tell she disapproved of such a young bat asking questions. He looked at his claws, uncomfortable. He’d never been very good at holding his tongue. “I mean, if the forest was empty, how could you hear bats?”
“That,” said Arcadia, “is a mystery.” And she said it in such a way that there could be no more discussion of it.
“And there were no other birds or beasts here?” Frieda wanted to know.
Shade was suddenly aware of the sky brightening above them. In any other forest, the dawn meant owls would soon be patrolling the sky, birds rousing themselves in their nests, beasts snuffling for food. But Arcadia didn’t seem at all concerned. She smiled again.
“Of course not,” she replied. “The Humans made a perfect haven for us. There are no owls, or any other bird, for that matter. Nor are there beasts. Only bats.”
The words were out of Shade’s mouth before he could stop himself. “But why?” he asked. “Why have they built this place for us?”
“To fulfill Nocturna’s Promise,” said Arcadia simply. “Come and see.”
Arcadia led the way to the topmost branches of the tree, and there Shade could see the sky paling, and a stronger band of light across the eastern horizon. As if drawn, the other bats of the forest were sailing up through the foliage to gather near the roof, some finding roosts on high trees, others circling excitedly, watching. The thrum and creak of wings filled the air. “Watch!” they whispered in fevered anticipation. “Look!”
It was the dawn. Shade stared, transfixed, as a bright sliver of sun curved above the distant horizon. And his thoughts flew back, months ago, to the northern forests, when he was just a newborn, and he’d risked his life for such a sight. The memory of the owl that had tried to hunt him down—the smell and sound of it—fluttered so strongly through his head that he couldn’t help glancing over his shoulder, just to make sure he was safe. He could see the same mixture of anxiety and awe on the faces of the other bats from his colony, even Frieda’s.
Millions of years without the sun, and now they were watching it rise with regal grace, trailing streams of mist from the horizon. Shade had once flown in the full blaze of day, but he’d never seen the sun break free from the horizon. The bats had fallen into a silent reverie as the sun assumed its full glory, a blazing disc of light in the sky.
Shade looked around at all the ecstatic, upturned faces, their fur bathed in the sun’s light, their eyes sparkling. And he sensed that this must be a ritual for them, gathering to see the dawn.
He looked at Marina, and it was as if he were seeing her for the first time, her fur so luminous. And so soft. Every sleek hair glittered. She seemed like some new kind of creature, spun out of light. She turned her bright eyes on him, a miniature sun in each one, and smiled, and he smiled weakly back and looked away, surprised and awkward.
The sun seemed to transform everything, to pick out details he’d never noticed: the veins of leaves, the shadows in the bark. He wanted to touch everything all over again. The world seemed more. He looked back at the sun itself and was surprised to realize he was only squinting a little. He frowned. “It’s brighter than that,” he muttered to Marina.
She nodded. “I remember.”
When they’d flown under its full glare to escape Goth and Throbb, he couldn’t even turn his gaze on it fully without powerful twin stabs of pain through his eye sockets.
“The roof must dull it somehow,” he said, and he remembered its dark sheen from the outside.
Arcadia rose into the air and circled above them, eyes gleaming with light. “You see,” she said. “The Promise has been fulfilled! Here is the sun! And we’re able to look at it. We’re able to fly in its light, and fear nothing. There are no owls, no beasts to hunt us. Do you see? The sun is ours again! Our banishment is over!”
Always Shade had thought there would be a war with the owls. How else to end their banishment, to win the right to fly in the sun? Never had he imagined it would be like this—a perfect world created for them by Humans.
“And the bands?” said Frieda. “What is their significance?”
�
�After I was banded I wondered about that a great deal,” said Arcadia, “as many of us have, I’m sure. But these bands aren’t magical objects in themselves. They don’t single out good bats from bad. We share no common language with the Humans, so they are a way of linking us. They are a sign of friendship, a symbol of the Promise. They tell us that Humans have a part to play in the coming of the day. Nocturna made the Promise; the Humans have delivered it!”
Across the treetops Shade met his mother’s eyes and smiled.
“Let’s go find your father,” she called to him. His heart pounded. Somewhere in this vast forest was his father, he could feel it.
“We’ve come looking for someone,” Ariel said to Arcadia. “A banded Silverwing named Cassiel.”
Arcadia settled on a branch and looked thoughtful. “Cassiel. So many have come, let me try to …” She raised her voice and called out across the treetops: “Is there a Cassiel Silverwing among us? Send out the word!”
Shade’s fur lifted in excitement as he heard his father’s name racing out through the forest like a ripple through water. He couldn’t keep still; he had to be aloft. Up to the very rooftop he flew, listening.
“Cassiel! Cassiel Silverwing! Is he here? Cassiel … Cassiel … Cassiel …” until the voices became softer and softer, fading away into silence. Shade felt the blood booming in his ears. He sought out his mother, her face so still, her ears pricked hopefully, waiting for the return call.
It didn’t come.
After a few agonizing moments, Arcadia said gently, “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you,” Ariel said, her ears slowly folding back against her head.
Shade heard sympathetic voices around him, telling him and his mother they were sorry, so sorry, but they were just noise to him. He looked at Arcadia.
“No, he’s got to be here,” he insisted, and his own voice sounded deafening to him. “He came here late last spring. He knew about this place! He must have come here—before anyone else, even. He’s here!”
“When my group arrived, we were the first,” said Arcadia firmly. “There were no other bats in the forest, and I don’t remember a banded Silverwing by that name. I’m sorry to have to tell you unhappy news. But you must try to be grateful for the Paradise you have found here.”
Shade looked at her angrily and flew off, his eyes blinded with tears. He hurtled himself deep into the branches, roosted, and tried to think clearly. He would not cry, would not. He’d scour the forest himself to make sure. That stupid bearded bat didn’t know everything. She probably wasn’t even an elder, just some self-important old crone….
When his mother came to roost beside him, he couldn’t turn to look at her. If he saw her eyes reflecting back his own sorrow, he knew he would sob.
“He’s alive,” Shade said through gritted teeth. “Zephyr said so.”
“Maybe Zephyr was wrong. We can’t spend our lives looking for him.”
“Why not?”
“You’re so restless, so like him,” she said. “Every journey has to end somewhere, Shade.”
“You’re giving up?” he asked, amazed.
“Giving up.” She sighed. “Is that what it is? Plenty of us have lost mates. It’s one of those cruel things that’s unavoidable.”
He hated how sensible she sounded. How could she think so sensibly?
“I’m not so unlucky,” she said. “I’ve got you. And I’m not too old to have more newborns.”
Shade stared at her, shocked. “You can’t.” She laughed gently, but Shade felt his face burn beneath his fur, as if he were a child again and had just said something ridiculous.
“How do you know your father’s not done the same, somewhere else?”
“He wouldn’t.”
His mother said nothing. She’s right, he thought miserably. What do I know? I don’t know anything about my father, really. Never met him. Maybe never will. And suddenly he was angry.
“He’s always just a little bit ahead of me. Why doesn’t he slow down and help a little, give us a sign, leave us a message! A million wingbeats I’ve come for this, and he can’t even … “
He trailed off, knowing he wasn’t making sense, but he couldn’t hold back the frustration and disappointment inside him any longer. If he knew his father was dead he could try to get over it, and at least there would be a sense of finishing with something, nothing more to be done, no more work or worry. He wondered if his father even wanted to be found. Too selfish to even think about his mate and son? Doesn’t he want to find me? he thought in despair.
“He might never have reached this place,” Ariel pointed out. “The owls might have caught him on the way; he might have gone”—she sighed and looked away—”elsewhere.”
“I just don’t see how you can give up,” he said.
“I think it’s time to get on with other things now.” She looked at him. “You’ve got to take care of Marina, you know.”
He snorted bitterly. “Oh, I think she’s pretty good at taking care of herself. She’s already more popular than me. You should see the way Chinook hangs around—” He looked at his mother, startled. “What do you mean, I’ve got to take care of her? I don’t think she even likes me half the time.”
“It’s hard for her. She’s not a Silverwing, and I don’t want her to feel like an outsider with us. She doesn’t have anyone else.”
Shade nodded uncomfortably. “I know, I know.” When he’d first met Marina, she was living all by herself, expelled from her own colony because she’d been banded. They thought the bands were evil, and would bring bad luck on all of them. Even her own parents had shunned her—something Shade found unbelievably painful. After reaching Hibernaculum together, she’d thought about going back to her own colony, now that her band had been ripped off. But she hadn’t. Shade smiled, remembering how glad he’d been when Marina had accepted Frieda’s invitation to stay with them. Then he frowned.
“She’s fitting in just fine,” he muttered. Ariel treated her like her own daughter, and he could tell Marina liked the attention—the way she practically purred when she was combed. Chinook liked her, and she seemed to return the favor. And Shade hadn’t missed the way some of the other young males looked at her admiringly—probably all that superior Brightwing fur, he thought with a sniff. True, the young females didn’t seem that thrilled to have her in the colony, but so what? She didn’t seem to be suffering.
“She’s good at hiding things,” said Ariel, as if reading his thoughts. “Look out for her, that’s all I mean.”
“Yeah. Sure,” he said. She was making him feel like an ignorant newborn again, and he didn’t like it. He didn’t even know why they were talking about Marina right now. He wanted to talk about his father.
Ariel touched his cheek with her wing. “So restless,” she said. “Be proud of the things you’ve done, Shade. Without you, we probably wouldn’t have made it to this place. You brought us the sun, just like you wanted.”
He nodded, remembering the promise he’d made himself long ago, but his heart felt leaden.
“We have to tell the others back at Hibernaculum,” Frieda was saying. “They have a right to know what we’ve found here. My only concern is when. Do we go now, or wait until the spring?”
“By then the owls might’ve already attacked,” Icarus pointed out grimly.
Shade roosted near the burbling stream with Marina and the other Silverwings from his colony, listening. But he was watching Arcadia’s eyes; they were so unlike Frieda’s. You could tell that Arcadia didn’t want you asking questions; and she didn’t want you answering back.
“I’m afraid it won’t be possible for you to return to Hibernaculum,” Arcadia said simply.
Shade felt a slap of indignation. Who was she to be telling them what they could or couldn’t do?
“I don’t understand,” said Frieda calmly.
“The rest of your colony has already made its choice. They decided not to come with you.”
“But when they h
ear about this place,” Frieda said, “they may change their minds.”
“I believe this place was meant for those who had the faith and courage to seek it.”
“Do you think that’s a bit severe?” Frieda’s voice was still calm, but Shade could tell, by the sudden ripple of her folded wings, that she was annoyed.
“This was the way Nocturna wanted it. And it’s already been decided for us. The door only opens one way.”
“We’re trapped?” Shade blurted out.
Arcadia looked at him mockingly. “One cannot be trapped in Paradise. This is your final destination. Come to accept that, young bat.”
Shade bristled. Young bat. I’ve probably seen more things than you have, Beard Breath. But already he could hear a warning shrill of panic in his mind. The rest of his life, here in this one place? Forever? The notion was too big to even get a grip on. He’d never even liked the idea of hibernating, and that was only three months. How could he stay here—anywhere—forever?
“Got to be a way out,” he muttered, impulsively flying from the tree, back toward the roof. He soon found the opening and dug into the metal flap with his claws. It didn’t budge, even when he slammed his shoulder against it. He scratched at the surrounding stone and metal without dislodging even a speck of dust.
“Marina, Chinook,” he called out, “give me some help over here!”
“That’s enough!” snapped Arcadia sternly, flying toward him. “Only Humans open those doors. I’m shocked at this appallingly ungrateful behavior. Look around you. What do you see? Forest as generous as any you could ever find. Who flees Paradise?”
“If it’s Paradise, why isn’t there a way out?” he demanded, his voice shaking.
“The door was designed to keep us safe, to keep out our enemies.” Shade could see Ariel and Marina and Frieda behind Arcadia now, and tried to read their faces. His mother, he thought, looked concerned, but did she share his fears, or think he was behaving poorly? Marina couldn’t even meet his eye. Ashamed of him? Did she think he was cowardly, childish for wanting a way out?
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