I told him not to come, he told himself. But he felt safe with me. It was agony, seeing Chinook’s face again in his mind, saying those words. All the jealous, unkind thoughts he’d had about Chinook, and yet the other bat had trusted him. Chosen him over Caliban and the safety of Statue Haven.
His thoughts were interrupted by a clamor of excited voices from the entrance. He saw Caliban, instantly waking and lighting from his roost, and he assumed the worst. An attack. Bugs, owls, or, worst of all, the cannibal bats. But he couldn’t stop himself from following Caliban as he raced down the tunnel toward the entrance; it was better to know the trouble right away rather than worry guessing.
“Is it Ishmael?” he heard one guard saying.
“I don’t … who else could it be?”
They were peering at a Silverwing, collapsed at the mouth of the entrance, his flanks heaving for air, head hidden by one of his wings. He was little more than a skeleton, his skin and fur stretched painfully over protruding bones. Caliban sat down beside him, bending closer to the other bat’s face.
“Ishmael?” he whispered.
“Yes,” came the ragged voice. “It’s me.”
Shade had not heard Ishmael’s name spoken of, so he knew this must be one of the many bats who had disappeared before his arrival. Caliban looked at the guards in amazement, and then said to Shade, “Help me bring him inside.”
It was almost an hour before Ishmael had rallied enough to speak. They brought him a leaf drenched with dew so he could quench his parched throat.
“We thought you were dead,” said Caliban. “Ramiel said he saw two jungle bats carry you off.”
“They did,” Ishmael croaked. “They took me to their pyramid.” Brokenly, he described a huge stone structure buried deep in the jungle, rising in stages to a peak almost as high as the tallest trees. “Thousands of them roost there,” he said, and Shade felt a chill run beneath his fur.
Ishmael coughed, and took another sip from the leaf. “There are others,” he said, his voice an echoing whisper inside the giant statue. “More of us.”
“What do you mean?” Caliban asked sharply.
“The others who went missing, who got caught, lots of them are still there. Imprisoned in a stone mound deep inside the pyramid. Must be Humans buried there, because there are big bones, and bits of cut stone and metal.”
“Why did they imprison you?” asked Caliban.
The same question was in Shade’s head. Why didn’t the jungle bats just eat them right away? Like Goth and Throbb: They hunted, and ate immediately. With a sick heart he knew that something terrible was coming.
“They use us, first,” said Ishmael, his eyes blazing. Shade was suddenly aware he was shivering, his skin cold and moist. Stop, he almost shouted at Ishmael, no more. But he had to listen as the skeletal bat began his story.
“They came, almost every day, and took one of us. Just one.” Shade could see it, the cannibal guards thrusting themselves inside, and all the other bats cowering toward the back, trying to hide behind the ones in front, trying to think themselves invisible. Take him, take her, take anyone but me! Did the sheer terror allow any room for bravery?
“They never came back,” Ishmael said. “We assumed they were eaten. But it was much worse than that. Three days ago, they came and took two of us. Hermes. And me. They dragged us past other stone mounds, and I could hear other creatures inside. Owls, I’m sure I heard owls, and rats too. They took us up to a chamber. It must’ve been near the top of the pyramid, because there was a portal in the ceiling, a round hole. I remember it, because I looked out and I could see stars, and I sent part of myself out that portal to escape, so I wouldn’t have to think anymore. It didn’t matter. I saw what happened.”
Shade listened, as if gripped in the hold of a terrible dream, unable to thrash free.
“I remember there were two cannibals there, waiting for us. An old male, maybe some kind of elder, and another, much younger one, huge, with a black band on his forearm.”
And Shade knew who it was, even before Ishmael named him. Of course he had survived; Shade was beginning to think he was immortal. “Goth,” he whispered.
“Yes, King Goth, that’s what the old bat called him.” Ishmael laughed unsteadily. “The king of all those monsters.”
Shade wanted to ask about the metal disc: Was Goth still wearing it? Was his dead like Orestes’, or had he too ripped it from his flesh? But Ishmael was already continuing.
“There was a stone, and the guards slammed Hermes on it. And King Goth said, I offer this to you, Zotz, and he tore out Hermes’ heart. I saw it still beating, as he ate it.”
The silence in the room was suffocating. Shade closed his eyes, tried to flush the image from his mind. Zotz. He remembered Goth telling him about this god: The strong feed on the weak, and in eating them take their strength into themselves. Zotz was the only god, Goth had said.
“The guards were moving me toward the Stone, but something happened. Goth had Hermes’ heart in his mouth, and suddenly the chamber filled with noise. It was like nothing I’d ever heard; it …” Ishmael had to stop to catch his breath, his thin flanks heaving.
“Drink,” Caliban said softly.
Ishmael drank. “There was something in that chamber, some kind of presence that raced around like a tornado. It seemed to go right into King Goth’s throat, and he began to talk in a voice not his own. The guards were terrified too, and they fell back and I pulled free. Before they could grab me, I found a gash in the stone floor and threw myself into it. There were other crevices, leading deeper, and I was thin enough by then to squeeze myself through like a bug. All I could hear was the noise above me, and I crawled until my claws were bloody.” He held them up for the others to see. Shade’s stomach clenched. There was virtually no talon left.
“I found a network of air shafts, too narrow for the cannibals, and waited, I don’t know how long, for my chance to fly. It took me three days to get back here. The cannibals were everywhere. I could hardly fly. I never expected to make it.”
And then, his story told, Ishmael crumpled, and the noise that came from his broken body was unlike any weeping Shade had ever heard, blunt and ugly, as if it were chiseled from his own bones.
As Shade watched, four or five others flew closer to Ishmael and enclosed him in their wings, until he was completely hidden from view, his sobs muffled by their bodies. After a few minutes, the group broke apart, and Ishmael seemed calmer.
“The others still in the dungeon,” said Caliban gently, “who are they?”
Shade could feel everyone tense in horrible anticipation as Ishmael raggedly began to recite names. He could barely listen, because he knew what he was hoping to hear. The list seemed agonizingly long, up to twenty-one now, these other names nothing but cruel sounds to him.
“… Lydia, Socrates, Monsoon … and Cassiel. He was there too.”
Shade remembered to breathe. He was aware of Caliban’s eyes on him, and couldn’t figure out the expression in his eyes: pity, maybe, mixed with something hard and determined.
“We leave tomorrow night,” Caliban said tersely. “We can’t risk staying any longer.”
It took a few moments for Shade to understand what he’d just heard. “What d’you mean? We’ve got to free them! Chinook’s there too, now!”
Ishmael turned his haunted eyes on him. “No. You can’t.”
“I’m going to get them!”
“We leave tomorrow,” said Caliban fiercely. “That is the plan, and we won’t break from it. This is our chance for life; the others have already lost theirs.”
“I’ll go alone, then,” said Shade, turning to Ishmael. “Just tell me the way.”
“It was three nights ago,” Ishmael said. “Cassiel might already be dead.”
“He’s my father!” he said pleadingly.
“And I left my brother,” Ishmael hissed, his eyes dancing with anger. “I didn’t even try to go back to get him out. I just left. I saved mys
elf and left him to die. Do you know what that’s like? But there’s nothing I could’ve done. There’s nothing anyone can do. Are you listening to me? There’re thousands of them.”
“You escaped.”
“It was … they made a mistake; I had a chance to fly.” Ishmael shook his head. “It won’t happen again.”
“We take to the skies tomorrow, at sunset,” said Caliban. “It’s the only way. And may Nocturna look over us.”
Shade laughed, and it came out like a bark of pain. “Nocturna? You won’t get any help from her. If she even exists.”
Caliban and the others looked as if they’d been struck across the face.
“How can you say this?” Caliban asked, shocked.
“Where is she, then?” Shade demanded, feeling his anger swell inside him. “How do you know it hasn’t all been a big mistake, a lie, and we’ve been idiots and clung on to it? Just like we were fools to believe in the secret of the bands, and the Humans helping us. Look what they’ve done to us! Where was she when we needed her?”
“You’ve survived,” Caliban reminded him, sweeping his wing around the statue, “we all have. But we’ve got to leave this place now. Look around you, Silverwing. Haven’t these bats suffered enough? You want them to go into the jungle with you, in the hopes you can save one or two others? No. You know what these cannibals can do. There’s no real hope of winning.”
“I don’t expect help,” said Shade defiantly.
“We won’t wait for you,” said Caliban. “I’m sorry, but if you go, you go alone.”
As the sun burst free of the horizon, Shade flew higher still, straight up from Statue Haven, in tight spirals. He wanted to go as high as he could, not just for safety, but so he could see into the distance. And maybe even hear into the distance.
It was madness to fly in the light of day, and he knew it. There were eagles, vultures, and maybe even Human flying machines. But he wanted to be alone, to try to clear his mind and decide what he must do. It had been a long time since he’d flown in the sun’s full glare. He didn’t count those days in the Human forest, under that dulled sun.
He could feel his black fur burning unpleasantly with its heat. But as he rose higher and higher, the air cooled. Higher still. When finally he looked down, he saw all the city spread below him, reassuringly distant. The statue, and high hills, and then, the darkness of the jungle as far as he could see.
To the east was water, a long coastline extending north in a slow curve. That would be their way home. Whatever was left of it. What should he do? How he wished for Frieda or Ariel, and especially Marina, who could help him make the decision.
It had been so simple before. To flee north with the others was the only thing to do. But now the cannibals had Chinook. And his father was still alive—at least he was three nights ago. The hook that had drawn him millions of wingbeats had just snared his heart afresh. How could he leave now? Without at least trying to rescue him?
It wasn’t so simple—there was a pull in another direction. If he went north with the others, he might be able to find the Human building, and warn them before more were taken south to their deaths. He might be able to save the lives of thousands—and Ariel and Frieda and Marina with them. He pointed his nose into the wind, feeling its cool caress on his hot face. Above him, banks of clouds scudded to the northeast, and his heart went with them—how easy it was for them to make the journey, their passage so safe, their arrival certain. And he wanted to fly right now. Fly north, fly home. Leave this hideous jungle behind.
But maybe Marina had already warned the others, and there was no need of his journey. For all he knew, maybe they’d escaped. But there was no way of knowing, unless …
He tilted to the north again. Sound was supposed to be his gift. Frieda said he was good at listening, that he would hear things others wouldn’t. And Zephyr, the albino bat, the Keeper of the Spire, had once told him that you could hear even the stars if your hearing was good enough. More than that, you could hear into the past and future, to sounds long ago, and ones that had yet to be made.
He doubted he could hear the whispers of the past or future, or hear the distant stars, but could he send his voice over the millions of wingbeats to the north and hear a reply?
It was ridiculous, of course. He’d never heard of such a thing. But Zephyr’s ears were so good, maybe he could hear a cry for help. The albino bat had helped him once before; maybe he could help him now.
He aimed his voice at the northern horizon and cried out. He didn’t try to make his voice as loud as possible, but imagined projecting it on the air, as if the sound had wings and might carry itself. He imagined the city, and the cathedral and the spire where Zephyr made his home, and he imagined Zephyr’s white fur and whiter eyes, and his ears flaring to catch his voice.
He made his message as short as he could. He told Zephyr how he came to be in the south, and how he was separated from the rest of his colony. Had he heard anything about Ariel or Frieda or Marina? Were they safe? Should he fly back to them, or should he stay and try to save his father?
When the last words left his mouth, he felt foolish, a newborn crying for comfort. He was alone, high in the sky, in a foreign land, and he would have to help himself. That was the hard truth.
Still, part of him hoped. He opened his ears wide, heard only the whisper of the wind. He wondered if Caliban was right about Nocturna. Was she looking over them, was that why they had survived so long? But what about those who hadn’t? Was there a reason for that? None he could understand. It was just luck, maybe. All his childish dreams about bringing his colony the sun, fulfilling the Promise. He’d been so hopeful then, so certain of a good ending, and his place in it all.
How long did it take sound to travel? And how long before it died, evaporating on the wind, his voice dispersed like little bits of dew on tree leaves.
“Shhhhhhhhh,” said the wind in his ears. “Shhhhhhhhhh.” Like his mother trying to get him to sleep back at Tree Haven.
He was so tired. He should go back. There was no point staying up here, hoping for someone to solve his problems. And the longer he stayed up here, the better chance of getting eaten. His voice wasn’t strong enough, or perhaps it was his ears not sensitive enough to hear a reply. There was nothing but the great emptiness of the sky.
“Shhhhhhhhh,” was all the wind could say to him, and then:
“Shhhhhaaaaaade.”
His name? Or just a trick of the wind? He flared his ears as wide as they would go.
“Shhhhhaaaaade. Lissssten carefffffulllllyyyy.”
Was that Zephyr’s voice? It was so hazy, he couldn’t tell. But he locked on to the sound, rocking in the wind to find the best position.
“I ssssennd you greeeeetingsss from the sssspire.” Zephyr! It was Zephyr. He was so surprised and overjoyed, he laughed out loud, and then immediately shut his mouth in case he missed something.
“Aaaaaariel … Mariiiiiinaaaa … traaaaavvvvvelliiiiing to youuuuu.”
He frowned, concentrating so hard, his head ached. Traveling to you? And why no mention of Frieda?
“I don’t understand,” he shouted, then realized this was not a conversation, only a message, traveling millions of wingbeats to his own ears. He would only hear it once. But what did it mean? Were they already on a flying machine, with metal tied to their stomachs? Or were they looking for him? But how would they know where to look?
“Zzzzzotzzzzz willlll reignnnnn … unlesssss … ssssstaaaay … and sssssavvvvve the sssssunnnnn …”
He was worried he was losing words now, only getting fragments. Save the sun?” … and your faaaaaattthhher … ssssstilllll alllllive.”
Eyes shut, he listened for more, but the message had ended. Still alive. Still. It didn’t have a very reassuring ring to it. Did that mean his father was close to death, barely clinging to life, and if Shade didn’t hurry up and do something, he’d be too late?
He felt irritated. He wasn’t a whole lot wiser after all t
his. He still didn’t know if Marina and the others were safe. And saving the sun?
He shook his head with a snort. “The sun’s fine,” he muttered to himself. “It’s doing fabulous up here, shining away. I don’t think anything’s going to happen to the sun. It’s me I’m worried about. Me and a million other bats.”
Save the sun.
Why should I? Anger suddenly blazed through him. What kind of thing was that to ask someone? How? When? Why couldn’t Nocturna save the sun if it was so important? Let her do some of the hard work for a change, instead of passing it off on runty little bats!
Tired of being used, he thought as he quickened his descent. By Goth, by the Humans. He’d had enough. He would try to save his father, save Marina, his mother, Frieda. That was all that mattered to him now. No more big ideas, no more promises.
Just to survive.
But from the message, it sounded like saving the sun and saving his father were somehow connected; how, he couldn’t imagine. Now, images from his recent dreams were beginning to surface in his mind. An eye opening behind the sun, a permanent night.
He glanced over at the sun, well above the horizon now, skirting across it quickly with his eyes and then shutting them tight to stop the pain. The sun’s shape flared against his eyelids. He frowned.
There was a piece missing.
Not a lot—you’d barely notice unless you were looking hard—but on one side, a tiny sliver had been scraped off its curve, in the same way that the moon gradually withered over the month.
The moon always came back.
Would the sun?
“This is the end of the northern waterways,” said Ulysses from the rudder. “What follows belongs to the kingdoms of the south.”
For the past several hours, Marina had noticed that the tunnels through which the barge floated seemed less well maintained. Their walls were now only mud, soft, oozing. Once, the water had seeped away altogether, and she and Ariel had to get off the deck and work with the rats to drag the boat over a long stretch of muck. Often there was next to no light to guide them, and Marina would use her echo vision to help Ulysses steer through the increasingly mazelike tunnels.
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