He angled his wings, beating hard for the place he knew Ariel and Marina liked to roost. He felt strangely sluggish, his mouth dry and sour-tasting. A dull pain pulsed in the base of his skull.
“Gone … gone … gone.” The word echoed through the trees, mingled with the sound of sobbing.
“What’s going on?” he asked a frantic Graywing who was flapping toward him.
“Have you seen my Ursa?” she demanded.
“No, I—”
“I can’t find her anywhere,” moaned the Graywing mother. “She’s gone, just like the others.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’re all gone!” And she flew on, calling out her daughter’s name in her cracked voice.
Shade veered through the branches now, smashing through leaves, and darted out over a clearing. How stupid he’d been, staying away from them, quarreling with Marina. All the angry thoughts he’d had about both of them now seemed so childish and cruel.
“Marina? Mom?”
This was the place they usually slept—where were they? He called out again, but there were so many other bats calling out names, it was hopeless, just a haze of noise. Nearly choking with breathlessness, he flew up through the forest canopy. A large, swirling crowd of bats had gathered above the tree line, and he could see Arcadia at its center.
“Shade!”
He turned and almost cried out in relief when he saw Marina and his mother flying toward him. “We were looking for you!”
“So was I.”
They embraced briefly in midair, the three of them. Then Shade pulled back. “Frieda?”
“She’s fine, but there’re others missing. Icarus. Plato and Isis and …” His mother faltered.
“Chinook?” Shade said softly, and saw his mother nod. His head throbbed, and he felt sick—and guilty. He’d spent so much time wishing Chinook would just vanish, he couldn’t help the crazy feeling he’d had something to do with it.
“How?” he said in confusion, his head still feeling muddy.
“What’s happening?” the bats in the crowd were calling out in anguish. “Where have they all gone?”
“We do not know yet!” shouted Arcadia. “We must all of us be calm!”
“There’re hundreds missing!” a Pallid bat cried out. “Where could they go?”
Shade suddenly understood. “The Humans,” he whispered, then louder: “The Humans!”
His voice only made it halfway into the crowd, but those closest to him heard and turned.
“The Humans took them?” they said, scowling in disbelief, but quickly this idea spread through the crowd until the words were on everyone’s tongue.
“Are you sure?” Marina asked him.
“Who says this?” demanded Arcadia. “Who saw the Humans take the bats?”
A heavy silence fell over the crowd.
Shade swallowed. “They came while we slept,” he said. “I saw them. At first I thought I was dreaming, but it makes sense. There were lots of them, moving among the trees and they were reaching up into the branches….”
“Why did no one else see this?” snapped Arcadia. For a few moments there was nothing but silence, then a few mumbled replies:
“Maybe I did … “
“I’m not sure … “
“Thought it was just a dream … “
“It was like I was drugged with a sleeping potion,” Shade went on, remembering the berries Zephyr had crushed into his mouth once. “I couldn’t keep my eyes open.” More came back to him. “That smell! Did anyone else notice it?”
“Sweet,” came a voice, “yes, I smelled that too. I thought it was part of the dream.”
A few others muttered halfhearted agreement.
“They put us to sleep so they could take some of us,” Shade said. He wondered if that explained the pulsing pain in his skull, the bad taste in his mouth.
Questions erupted from the crowd:
“Will they bring them back?”
“We have to find out where they’ve gone!”
“I want my children back!”
Shade watched as Arcadia pulled thoughtfully at her beard with a clawed thumb, her eyes coolly sweeping the bats’ faces. He felt reassured by the sorrow around him, the confusion—he wanted their help in finding a way out of this place. He wanted answers.
But when Arcadia spoke, her powerful voice seemed to squash the others. “If the Humans did indeed come, and take some of us, it must be part of the plan.”
“But what kind of plan is it?” Shade said, his heart beating furiously. “Nobody knows. We should try to find out!”
“Silence!” shouted Arcadia.
“You can’t silence him, or anyone else,” said Frieda calmly, and Shade turned gratefully to see her flying up from behind. “We all have a right to ask questions. Hundreds of bats have been plucked from the forest—it’s right that we should worry about what’s happened to them.”
“No,” said Arcadia with an icy smile. “We must trust in the Humans. They have taken care of us so far, and they will continue to do so. Perhaps we aren’t intended to stay here forever.”
“But I thought this was supposed to be our Paradise!” said Shade.
“Maybe these bats will return soon. Or maybe this place is just the first stage, to prepare us for something more. Something even more wonderful.”
“Don’t know how much more wonderful I can take,” Shade muttered to himself.
“I don’t know what the next stage is,” Arcadia continued, “but I, for one, am willing to put my faith in Nocturna, and the Humans! If they’ve taken us somewhere, it is a place of miracles!”
“Yes! They’ve treated us well so far!” said a Fringed bat in the crowd.
“They know what’s best for us!” said another. “Yes!” said a Long-ear with growing conviction. “They’ll take care of us.”
Shade watched, amazed at how quickly the bats could move from crying over their lost mates and children to this excited fervor. “The Humans will take care of us!”
“I’m sure,” Arcadia said, her voice swelling with confidence, filling the forest, “that we will soon be reunited with those who were taken. Don’t fear for those who have been taken. They are the lucky ones. They have gone on to an even better place. They have been chosen, as you will be chosen in time!”
“Chosen!” said the bats, and it became a chant. “Chosen! Chosen! The lucky ones! Chosen!”
“We must not allow ourselves to despair,” said Arcadia, and Shade saw her turn her powerful eyes on him, “or let ourselves be troubled by those few who are afraid of Nocturna’s will.”
You’ll listen your way out of here.
That’s what Frieda had told him. It seemed not very useful advice at the time. After all, hadn’t he already scoured the roof and the walls for fissures and openings that might be a way out?
It was a few hours into daylight, and the forest was asleep. Hanging from his roost, he closed his eyes and swiveled his ears. He tried to breathe smoothly. He made his mind black, casting out no sound.
He listened.
What am I hearing? Everything. Too much. Insect wings, leaves rustling, bats breathing.
He tried to pick just one thing at a time, listen, discard it, and move on.
What good is this doing?
He opened his eyes. This was pointless. Listening wouldn’t get him out of here. All he was doing was wasting time. He should be flying, looking with his eyes and ears.
Just one more try.
He listened again.
The spill of water.
That was the background of every other sound in the forest, the trickle of that stream over its rocky bed. His eyes snapped open. Of course: the stream.
That was the way out.
Wing tips grazing water, Shade followed the stream as it snaked through the forest. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? The stream came from somewhere, so it must go somewhere. He skimmed the water, dipping beneath foliage and long, whippy br
anches that blocked his path. Almost there.
The forest ended in a sheer, stony wall, and the stream narrowed and flowed right into it at the base. Shade flared his wings, braking, and settled on a low ledge for a closer look. The water disappeared into a smooth tunnel gouged into the stone, with only a sliver of air overhead. He wasn’t even sure if it was enough space to breathe.
If he were to swim …
But if it was the only way, he would do it. He’d keep his nose high to catch whatever air was there, and hope the tunnel brought him out somewhere soon. Bats didn’t do a lot of swimming. With a shudder, he remembered paddling clumsily in the sewers with Marina, vainly trying to escape rats. You couldn’t really swim with wings.
He flew down to the bank of the stream and stared at the swift water, steeling himself.
“What’re you doing?”
He looked up in surprise to see Marina fluttering down beside him.
“Just a little trip downstream,” Shade replied.
“You’re crazy! You can’t even swim that well, and there’s nothing to breathe!”
“It’ll come out somewhere; it’s got to.”
“Sure, but when? You could drown before then.”
“I’ve got the current,” Shade reminded her.
“That’s good going out, but what if you want to come back?” Shade let out a big breath. He hadn’t thought of that. He felt a twinge of fear, but irritation too. Poking holes in his plan, as usual.
“I’m not asking you to come,” he said sharply.
“I wouldn’t go, even if you begged,” she returned, just as sharply. “I didn’t come this far to drown.”
“You’re just like the others,” Shade said. “Why don’t you just go roost near one of those bug holes and keep your mouth open so you can eat without having to hunt. What a great way to spend the rest of your life!”
“At least I’d have one. Going down there, yours is going to be pretty short.”
He almost smiled—and was that a twitch of laughter at the corner of her mouth? He was amazingly glad to see her, and be arguing with her again, just like they used to.
“There’s more than this inside the building,” he insisted.
“You don’t know that.”
“Remember how big it was from the outside? It’s bigger than this forest, that’s for sure. So what else is in here?”
“Maybe we’ll find out if we wait.”
“Like the bats who got taken today? How do you know it’s a good thing, what happened to them? Wouldn’t you rather know before it happens to you?”
She was shaking her head. “Shade … “
“Don’t you miss Chinook?” he asked tauntingly, and saw her ears flatten in anger.
“Of course I do,” she said coolly. “He’s my friend. Yours too, whether you like it or not.”
He grunted. “Well, let’s see, he’s tormented me my entire life. Stolen my food, made fun of me. He used to call me ‘Runt’ all the time, did you know that?” He let out a deep breath. “I miss him too. Don’t you want to make sure he’s all right?”
He watched her carefully for her reaction. Just how friendly were they?
“Who says he’s in danger?”
“So you believe Arcadia?” He was incredulous.
“Yes!” she said, a little too loudly.
“All right,” said Shade, “that’s fine. But I want to know why the Humans are doing this, why they built this place, what’s it all for. Because I don’t trust them. I don’t think this is what’s supposed to happen.”
“You must really hate those bugs, huh?”
For a moment, Shade chuckled with her. “Remember what Zephyr said about hearing the stars if only you listened hard enough?”
Marina nodded.
“Well, we’ll never hear the stars if we stay in here. We’re cut off. We can’t hear out, nobody can hear in. There’re walls all around us. No sound gets through.” She said nothing.
“And what about the bats who don’t come here, or don’t find their way, or get lost? What happens to them? Are we supposed to forget about everyone else and just have our happy little lives? What about all the Silverwings back in Hibernaculum? What about your own colony of Brightwings?” He regretted saying it right away. Stupid. “They had no trouble leaving me behind,” she said with a snort. “Why should I worry about them now? I like it here, Shade. Banded, unbanded, everyone who comes is welcome. You don’t get shunned, or praised, because of some piece of metal on your forearm. That means something to me. Anyway, maybe the Humans built lots of places like this, enough for everybody.” Shade considered it. “Maybe, but we don’t know that.”
“You can’t know everything,” said Marina angrily. “What makes you think you’re so special!”
His face burned with indignation. “You know what?” he said. “It’s not easy being special! I’d just love to be like Chinook. I really would. I’d love to let someone else do all the thinking, and take care of things for a while!”
Marina stared at him and burst out laughing. “What?” he snapped.
She was still breathless with laughter, wheezing out the words.
“The idea … of you … letting someone else … take care of things. That’s … I’m sorry, Shade, but … that’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in ages.” There were tears in her eyes. “You couldn’t. It’s impossible for you.”
“You’re the same,” he said softly. “You always wanted to know as much as me. That was part of why you came with me from the very start. To find out what the bands really meant.”
“Maybe I’m happy with the answer.”
“Are you really?”
For a few moments neither of them said anything. “There’s something else too,” he said. He’d been almost afraid to mention it, in case by speaking it aloud, the idea evaporated like mist. “If the Humans are taking bats away, maybe my father was here. Even before Arcadia and all the other bats. Maybe my father was here with lots of bats, and they took him away. So what’s happened to him, Marina? Where is he now?”
Marina shook her head and stared at the stream disappearing into the cliff.
“I just can’t believe you were going to do this alone. Without telling anyone. What about your mother? What about me!”
“You said you loved it here!”
“But if you’re going somewhere …” She trailed off. “Listen, you’ll just mess things up by yourself. I’m coming with you.”
DOWNSTREAM
Shade looked again at the fast water and, before he could change his mind, dropped into it, shuddering as it took hold of him and seeped through his fur. Marina splashed in beside him, and together they shot toward the mouth of the tunnel.
It was much worse than he expected. There was scarcely a whisker of air overhead, and it was almost impossible to get at it, nose scraping against the tunnel roof, desperately sucking in more water than air. “No good,” Marina spluttered, “turn around.” But without warning, the air was gone. Shade tried to find the surface, and there was no surface, only solid water. Submerged, he whipped around, eyes wide, seeing nothing but dark smudges. Was that Marina? He tried singing out, but his echoes bounced back sluggishly to his clogged ears, painting a senseless, tarry ooze in his head. Water streamed down his throat, and he clamped his mouth shut.
He didn’t even know which way was up anymore.
He was blind, with only the current to guide him. He forced himself to stay still a moment and wait for the water’s tug. This way. He didn’t have much breath left, and all he could do was hope the current would bring him out somewhere soon. And that Marina was still close by.
His chest felt as if it might explode. He wanted air. He tried to row with his wings, but it was slowing him down more than helping. He felt his body start to panic. Air. He knocked his nose against the roof of the tunnel, hoping for a breath. His thoughts splintered and danced in his head. Air. Which way? Can’t. Hurry, hurry, please.
Suddenly he was gaspi
ng and choking, his head above water. Rivulets streamed down his face, his fur plastered against his body. He turned clumsily, blinking water from his eyes, to see Marina splash up nearby, spluttering and sucking air hungrily.
“Another great idea from the master,” she said sarcastically when she’d caught her breath. “Thank you, Shade.”
They had spread their wings to keep themselves afloat and were drifting down a stream lined with willows. They were in another forest—so familiar-looking that for a moment, Shade wondered if by some trick the tunnel had simply returned them to the same place. Spreading around them was the same lush mix of conifers and leafy trees; far overhead the same glass roof, the same sun. They drifted lazily down the stream.
“Maybe this is where they take the bats,” whispered Marina excitedly.
Impulsively Shade drew in breath to call out his father’s name, but Marina smacked a wet wing across his mouth. “Are you crazy? We don’t even know what’s in here yet!”
Shade scowled, but nodded. Cautiously, he swept the trees with sound, searching beneath branches for the telltale shape of roosting bats. Nothing so far … just leaves … more leaves … and then something moved, something much larger than what he’d been looking for. He’d been searching only for bats, his focus tight, but now he pulled back in alarm and saw a huge, feathered head with horned ears.
Heart hammering, his echo vision skittered along the branch, and then into nearby trees.
The forest was teeming with owls.
“Marina …” he breathed.
“I see them. Good thing you didn’t call out.” He’d never seen so many owls in one place before, and he doubted any bat had, since the rebellion of fifteen years ago. He’d already counted three dozen. They were all sleeping, it seemed, and Shade wanted to keep it that way. But what were they doing here—in an identical forest right beside their own?
“We’re going back,” Marina said in a tight voice. Shade nodded, but with a shock realized how far they’d already drifted down the stream. The tunnel mouth was out of sight around a bend. Stupid! He’d forgotten how fast the current was. He clumsily paddled with his wings, but wasn’t doing much more than treading water.
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