He didn’t even know if this would work. Would landing on Chinook trigger his own explosive? Couldn’t. It had been banging against the container floor, and against his own body as he fell from the plane. It must need something harder, like stone, metal, a good crack. Or maybe he was just being hopeful.
He swung out from Chinook and then came in fast from an angle, as if about to roost. He could see Chinook brace himself.
“Furl your wings!” he shouted.
Chinook pulled his wings tight, and in that split second, Shade braked and, with all claws, grabbed hold, trying to avoid knocking against the metal disc dangling from Chinook’s stomach. He flattened himself against Chinook’s right flank, and ducked as his wings snapped out over him. Nobody blew up. They slowed, Chinook rocking crazily as he tried to balance himself. Through Chinook’s fur, Shade could feel his chest muscles straining.
“How’d you get so heavy, Shade?” he grunted. “You used to be nice and small.”
“But you’re big and strong, Chinook,” said Shade encouragingly. “Shouldn’t be a problem, for you.”
“No problem.”
They were falling quite rapidly, and he knew he didn’t have much time. At least the stud in his ear had finally stopped singing. He shifted down toward Chinook’s stomach, craning his neck toward the chain that held the disc. He tested it with his teeth, grinding with his incisors. It showed no signs of fraying. He’d never get through it in time. He looked at the metal loop sewn into Chinook’s belly. “I’m going to have to rip out the whole thing.”
“What?”
“The stitches; I’ll rip them out.”
“You sure?”
He didn’t waste time on reassurances. He sank his teeth into Chinook’s skin, trying to hook out the careful loops of Human thread. He felt one give, then another. He could taste the saltiness of Chinook’s blood, and feel the pain singing through his tense muscles. I’m sorry, he thought, sorry. But it was the only way. Three stitches he’d worked out. His muzzle was spattered with blood. Almost done. The last loop of thread ripped out with the weight of metal, and Shade watched as the disc plunged away from them.
“It’s gone!” he shouted, and he tumbled off Chinook, spreading his own wings. Below them, a fountain of flame shot up with a crumpling roar from a Human road. Shade was startled at how much closer they were to the earth.
“Me now,” he said. “Rip mine out.”
He was worried that Chinook would mess it up, worried he wouldn’t be able to hold the bigger bat’s weight. Worried he’d run out of airspace.
“Move your wings, I’m coming over!” Chinook yelled at him. Shade felt claws close around his fur, and nearly capsized with the burden. He unfurled his wings, and beat as hard as he could, straining to keep them both aloft. Slowly but surely, they were sloping in toward the peaks of the city. He quickly plotted their course to a stretch of trees, mist pooling around the branches. From this height it looked soft and coolly inviting, and he longed to bury his tired body in it and sleep.
Chinook’s teeth cut into him, and he winced. He clenched down, imagining that metal disc getting looser, falling away. A hot wind knocked him from above, slamming them earthward. He beat faster, trying to compensate.
“Chinook?”
“Just a few more.”
“Chinook, get off, we’re going to hit!” The trees were soaring to meet them. “I’ve just got a couple—”
“Get off!”
Chinook rolled clear. Shade glanced down at his belly and saw the metal disc dangling by just one loose stitch. Drop, he thought fervently, drop!
He was skimming over the treetops, close enough to see the water droplets glistening in the cupped leaves. It was beautiful, and he was going to die very soon. The disc knocked a few leaves, and his face clamped in dread, but nothing happened, not yet. Suddenly the trees gave way to a clearing, and down below was a long ribbon of swampy water. Desperately Shade wheeled and dropped toward it, fanning his wings and pounding the air with all his might. He was almost hovering when he set down on the steaming surface, eyes shut tight, waiting for the end.
Nothing.
Chinook landed warily on the bank. “Weird. You didn’t blow up,” he said, with more surprise than relief. “It’s still there,” panted Shade. “Can you swim under and chew off the last bit?”
“Just come ashore.”
“I’m not risking it. Come on, Chinook.” Already he could feel the weight of the metal disc pulling him deeper into the water, and he didn’t want to splash too hard with his wings, in case the movement triggered an explosion.
“I don’t like water,” Chinook said.
“Neither do I,” said Shade, losing his patience, “so get over here and chew this thing off me.”
Chinook wrinkled his nose distastefully at the oily water. It was filmed with rotting leaves and grasses, and produced a rich smell of decay. The big bat sighed and folded his wings tight and dipped gingerly into the water, keeping his head clear.
As Shade watched Chinook approach, he thought dolefully, Why aren’t you Marina? And then felt guilty.
“Thanks, Chinook.”
“You want me to go under?”
“That’s the general idea, yes.”
Chinook took a breath and ducked beneath the surface. Shade felt him nudge against his belly, but almost right away he was spluttering up beside him.
“Something brushed me down there!”
“You sure?”
But Shade instinctively drew up his legs. Chinook’s eyes were darting all across the water’s surface. It was so murky, it was impossible to see underneath.
“Maybe it was just some bark or something,” Shade said.
Then something grazed his tail. He felt it, the whole quick, scaly length of it, before he whipped his tail away, half tipping himself over in panic.
“That’s not bark!”
Chinook was already thrashing his way toward land. “The disc!” Shade hissed. How did he know it wouldn’t explode when he clambered up out of the water? But off to one side he saw a long furrow bulge the water, and a head with bulbous eyes broke the surface, followed by a slick, scaled back, several feet long. It was some kind of fish, unlike any he’d ever seen. This one had teeth. Thick triangular teeth in its open jaws.
Then it was gone, somewhere beneath him, invisible.
Waiting.
He couldn’t bear it. Disc or no disc, he was getting out of here. He started rowing after Chinook toward shore. He was halfway there when he was pulled under in one smooth, quick tug. Flailing, he saw nothing in the swampy water, but he could tell by the stabbing pain in his stomach that the fish was dragging him down by his disc.
It had it in its mouth.
Shade tried to pull back, but his sodden wings were useless as the powerful fish plunged deeper. He made a last violent backward jerk and felt the final stitch in his stomach rip clear. He was free. With difficulty he folded his wings tight and kicked furiously. Unbearably slowly, he rose. The fish could overtake him in a second if it wanted.
At last he broke the surface, wheezing, and saw Chinook, crouched on the shore, a look of relief flowing across his face. But before Shade could even form a word, there was a muffled but powerful bursting noise deep beneath him. The water boiled, swatting him up into the air on a colossal geyser. Blasted almost to the height of the trees, he whipped his wings out, and spiraled back down to Chinook.
“It ate the disc,” he panted.
For a few moments they said nothing, watching the water slowly calm. Then Shade’s eyes turned upward to the towering trees, the foreign stars, and his ears pricked to the calls, far and near, of strange animals. Weird shrieks and hoots and crowing sounds, some disconcertingly close.
The forest was unlike what he was used to. The trees grew tall and bare—without branches or foliage for fifty feet or more—and then spread to form luxuriant canopies. Beneath them, flowers coiled the trunks, and other plants seemed to have found purchase on
vines and bark. Some of the leaves seemed vaguely familiar to him from the north. But much fleshier, with a waxy sheen.
He felt queasy. He’d seen all this before, back in the Human building. And the strange stars, the smothering heat, it all fit. He said the word softly, as if afraid of giving it too much strength.
“Jungle.”
The Humans had dropped them in Goth’s homeland.
…
After the warmth of the forest, the winter night was piercingly cold, and Marina felt all her resolve, all her energy, seeping out of her. She looked back at the Human building, shuddering. What if Arcadia was right? What if the Humans really were readying them for some glorious future, and she’d gotten it horribly wrong…. She clamped down on the thought: No, she’d seen what they were doing to the bats, the way they handled them like worthless things. It was not right.
When they reached a small stand of pines, Frieda called a halt, and they roosted close together, Marina huddling against Ariel for warmth.
“We must all decide what to do,” Frieda said, “and quickly.”
Marina looked at their small group. Apart from Frieda, Ariel, and herself, there were only six others, and they all looked as cold and scared as her.
As if reading their minds, Frieda said, “Anyone who wants to return, to go back to the forest, is free to do so. I exert no hold on you. You must do what you think is right.”
A male called Windsling shifted awkwardly. “Why don’t we go back to Hibernaculum?”
The question hung temptingly in the air for a moment. Marina felt its warm lull. To return to the security of that cave behind the waterfall, to fold her wings, to sleep and forget everything until spring …
“Shade,” she said. “I saw which way the flying machine was headed. South-southeast. We can’t leave him.”
She looked at Ariel as she spoke, and saw her eyes reflecting back her own sorrow.
“That plane could be millions of wingbeats away by now,”
Frieda said gently. “It could have changed course.”
“I should’ve gone aboard,” Marina said bitterly. “I would’ve, if I were … braver.”
“Then you wouldn’t have been able to warn us,” Ariel reminded her softly.
The kind words unlocked Marina’s tears, and Ariel enclosed her in her wing. “I know,” she said soothingly, “I know. I’ve had lots of experience with males flying off somewhere without telling me. I’m even getting used to it.”
Marina laughed gratefully, then coughed, wiping away the last of her tears with her forearm.
“I say Hibernaculum should be our destination,” said Windsling. “I’m sorry, Ariel, for your son, and all the others, but Frieda’s right. This flying machine could go anywhere, and faster than us. How could we hope to find it? And if we did, how do we know we could help?”
“You’re right, we don’t,” said Ariel. “But I’ve lost my mate, and now my son, for the second time. The first time I gave him up for dead. But never again. You go back to Hibernaculum, but I’m going after that flying machine.”
“Me too,” said Marina. She’d lost her family once before, and she’d do everything she could to stop it from happening again. Her brain darted with guilty thoughts. Why hadn’t she gone inside the flying machine? They traveled quickly. A million wingbeats in a night … and who knew how far it would fly. But at least now, she would not be traveling alone.
“Your journey may be too long for me,” said Frieda, “but I’ll make it until my wings stop beating.”
Two others agreed to go with them, but Windsling and the rest chose to go back to Hibernaculum.
“Good, then,” said Frieda, with no sign of ill will. “You will carry the news of what has happened to our colony. Make sure no others come to this place, and spread the word to any others you may meet. This place is cursed for us. Good fortune, and let us go on our ways.”
As Marina rose into the air with Ariel and Frieda, she saw a thick smudge of movement across the eastern sky. Owls, was her immediate thought. But moments later came the telltale squeak of bat wings in the cold. It was a large group, perhaps a hundred, and they were heading for the Human building.
“Hurry,” said Frieda, “we should warn them.”
When they were near, Marina saw Frieda’s face wrinkle with a smile. “That, unless my eyes fail me, is Achilles Graywing.”
Marina stared. Achilles Graywing was a name known to virtually every bat in the northern world—a great warrior who had fought in the last rebellion against the owls, fifteen years ago. Even though the bats had been beaten, Achilles’s bravery and shrewdness in battle became legendary, and there were few newborns who hadn’t fought imaginary battles in his name.
“Frieda Silverwing!” called out the majestic warrior. He looked old, older even than Frieda, if that were possible, but his wingstrokes were still sure and strong.
“Achilles,” said Frieda, “it is a pleasure to see you again. And a great relief.”
They circled one another in tight aerial greeting. “The relief is all mine, Frieda. We have bad news to relay. Hibernaculum has fallen.”
It was as if Frieda had been struck in the chest; for a moment it looked to Marina as if she’d stopped breathing altogether, her eyes dull. Then she said, “The owls.”
Achilles nodded. “They’ve broken all hibernation laws; they’ve been attacking any roost they can find, taking all inside prisoner, or rooting them out into the winter. These”—he nodded at the bats around him—”are some of the survivors I’ve gathered together. We were on our way to rouse your colony. But we were too late. We saw it under siege by the owls, too many for us to fight. Your colony is imprisoned, Frieda Silverwing, and I am sorry.”
Frieda’s shock was short-lived. Marina had never seen the Silverwing elder angry in the short time she’d known her; now, Frieda’s eyes burned, and her voice was hoarse with fury. “Never has there been such an outrage. To attack a colony’s Hibernaculum. These are ancient laws … not in a million years have they been broken.”
Achilles nodded wearily, stretching out a wing to touch hers. “I know, my friend. They are intent on crushing us, and their strategy is wise.”
Marina glanced at Windsling and the other bats who had hoped to return to Hibernaculum, and their faces were limp with disappointment. Their safe haven, a cage. Worse, a dying ground. She shuddered. By waking up a hibernating bat, you were forcing her to fight for life. First she had to warm up, thaw herself and, with what little energy she had left, hunt voraciously. But in winter, there was little to eat. Sleep wasn’t merely a choice; it was a life-or-death necessity for wintering bats. And if the owls didn’t even let them leave to hunt, few would last till spring. “We will go back and free them,” said Frieda. Achilles shook his head. “There is nothing we can do. The detachment there is too strong for us. We must go south.”
“It is my colony!” Frieda shouted.
“I know, and if you go to them, they will lose their elder, and you will not have helped them. We must go south. There are other groups like ours, plotting course for Bridge City.”
Marina had heard of the place, the greatest of the bat havens. It was, of course, a Human city, but beneath its great bridge lived a massive colony of bats, millions upon millions, undisturbed for decades. So long as the Humans hadn’t imprisoned them too, Marina thought bitterly.
“It’s our last hope,” Achilles said. “We will gather there and collect our forces. If there is to be a great battle, it will be there. Come with us.”
“We were about to embark on an equally perilous quest,” Frieda said, and now it was her turn to tell Achilles their story. With Marina’s help, she told the Graywing general about the Human building and all they’d found there, and about how the Humans were taking the bats away in their flying machines, somewhere to the south.
“We’re on a common path, then,” said Achilles. “Travel with us. The skies are too perilous to fly in small groups. Owl squadrons are everywhere. We
lost fifteen in a skirmish just two nights ago.”
“Let us go south then,” said Frieda, “together.”
And find Shade, Marina added silently.
Goth flew over the jungle, its glorious warmth rising up to him, wrapping him in its wings. The stars, bless Zotz, blazed in their familiar constellations: the jaguar, the two-headed serpent, the eyes of the Underworld, searing down at him. Zotz had looked over him, and had brought him back home by way of the witless Humans.
The metal disc hung below him heavily. He’d seen what it could do. When he’d been swept into the open air, he’d followed the small bats as they’d plunged toward the city. Curious, he’d hung back as they’d hurtled themselves at a single building.
When he’d seen the explosions, he’d understood what it was he carried. His hatred of the Humans intensified, but took on a new respect. They were using him as an instrument of destruction. He hadn’t known they could be so clever.
The stud in his own ear was still singing, as it had been from the moment he’d dropped from the Human’s flying machine. A building, it sang to him. A small, low-lying building on the outskirts of the city. Go there, the picture urged him insistently.
How typical of the Humans, Goth thought, to think him so weak-willed, so stupid. That was their real failing: The Humans were idiots. Of course, it seemed to work on the northern bats—they’d hurtled themselves with glee to their deaths. Always so eager to please the Humans. He had to smile.
Still, as he’d watched the upward torrents of flame and smoke caused by those little metal discs, he’d had a startling thought: Imagine what mine would do.
He would use it for his own purposes, for the glory of Zotz.
Now, he steered away from the building that still flared faintly in his head. The metal disc was heavy, but his wings were stronger—stronger than they’d ever been, thanks to Zotz. He set his course for the deep of the jungle.
He was home.
THE STONE
In the distance the undergrowth rustled, and Shade’s claws felt the vibrations of heavy footfalls through the earth.
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