Sunwing (9 page)

“We’ve got to hurry,” she said pleadingly. “The flying machine’s going south, and—”

“Why do you think any of this is cause for worry?” said Arcadia sternly.

Her question seemed so absurd, Marina was dumbstruck. “What is it that’s so different from banding?” Arcadia insisted. “We’ve welcomed the bands for years; this is no different.”

“No, I had a band. It was different. Or maybe it wasn’t, maybe it’s all the same, but it wasn’t good what they were doing in there. I saw it.”

Lodged in her nostrils was still the smell of the room, the fear and pain, like some poisonous smog.

By this time, a huge crowd had gathered around them, anxious bats listening to Marina’s story. But Arcadia’s voice was powerful, and confident.

“Do you presume to know more than the Humans—than Nocturna herself! We are puny creatures. We must trust in the signs and await! How do we know the owls aren’t imprisoned here to keep the skies safe for our brothers and sisters on the outside? And this cannibal bat you speak of, perhaps he too is a prisoner for our benefit.”

Marina looked imploringly at Ariel and Frieda, and they were looking back at her, as if trying to find the truth in her face and eyes.

“We’re leaving,” said Frieda, “and any who want to come, come now!” She spread her wings and climbed through the branches, her voice welling out of her, crashing through the leaves of the forest. “All those who wish to leave this place, fly with us. We have reason to think the Humans are harming us. Come now if you will!”

Gratefully, Marina soared after her with Ariel. Arcadia followed them.

“Do not go with these bats!” she bellowed. “They are leading you astray. They are not chosen, but are here to bring fear and suspicion and tempt you away from Paradise. Stay here!”

And as Frieda cried her news across the treetops, only a very few bats came forward to fly with them, mostly the other Silverwings who’d originally set out with them from Hibernaculum.

“You see,” cried Arcadia smugly. “We put our faith in a greater power than yours.”

“I wish you well, then,” said Frieda.

The sound of heavy footfalls overhead made Marina quicken her wingstrokes. Two Humans were making their way carefully along the metal latticework of the glass roof—toward the portal.

“Quick!” she said. “They must know I’ve jammed it.”

With relief she saw that the stick still held, though shuddering with the strain. Acrid smoke curled out from the wall, and the whine of machinery was more labored.

“Hurry!” she called, waiting at the threshold and ushering the bats through.

The Humans, she could hear, were very close, and there was the sound of metal on metal, things being lifted. Beside her, a panel slid open suddenly, and a Human hand pushed in and felt around. It touched the stick, closed its fingers around it, and started to pull.

Marina sank her teeth into the soft flesh, not without some satisfaction.

There was a yelp, and the hand drew back.

She watched as Frieda squeezed through, then Ariel, and now it was her turn, and the Human hand burst back through, this time clutching a wickedly pointed dart. Marina skipped clear, but
the Human was waving it around wildly, blocking her way into the portal. She heard Ariel calling to her from the top of the shaft.

Marina held back, waiting, watching the dart stab blindly around. She saw her stick begin to slip, saw the flap drop. She lunged, the flap snapping down on her tail. She pulled, wincing as some of her skin was ripped off. But she was through. She opened her wings, claws skittering on metal as she clambered up the steep shaft. Perched above her was Ariel, waiting anxiously. Marina heaved herself over the top, darted down the tunnel after Ariel, and burst out into the star-filled sky.

The savage impact of cold air punched all the breath out of him. Tumbling, tumbling, head over tail, Shade saw clouds, though he didn’t know whether he was falling away from them, or toward them. He was falling so quickly, he was afraid to unfurl his wings in case the wind tore them off. He could barely breathe, the wind shrieking air away from his nose. He was suffocating. In the sky, and no air to breathe.

How could he be falling
toward
the clouds? His stomach lurched and he retched. His vision puckered and flared. Stars overhead, that was right, wasn’t it? Yes. Stars overhead. Good. Clouds below? Not good. You didn’t fall toward clouds.

He was thinking like a newborn, a few days old, trying to puzzle things out. Slowly it occurred to him that he might be
higher
than the clouds.

And then the world made sense again.

He’d never been so high. No wonder he was cold, no wonder he could barely breathe. Was there even air up so high? He was still tumbling, but gradually he edged out just a bit of wing to stabilize himself.

There were stars overhead, and a hunk of moon, and he could see other bats speckled through the night sky, falling like him. He
was plunging straight down now, and he realized that the metal disc chained to his body was making his fall dangerously fast. In the container, where he’d mostly been on all fours, he hadn’t realized how heavy it was. Now it was like ballast. Below him was a white sea of cloud.

Gradually he unfurled more wing. The wind caught under them, and his spine took the hit as his arms were snapped up like whips. He slowed so quickly, he felt as if he were being sucked back up into the sky.

Still the clouds were racing toward him, and he couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes and holding his breath when he smacked into them. There was a definite impact as he broke the surface, then turbulence, and he was buffeted as he plummeted, punching through the bottom of one cloud bank only, seconds later, to go plunging into another.

It drenched him. His fur was coated with frost, and he was shaking violently. Inside the clouds he could see nothing. Where was Chinook? Where was Goth?

It was suddenly getting warmer.

Within seconds his wings were thawed, and then bone-dry.

Whumph,
through another blanket of cloud,
whumph
again, and then the heat really took hold of him, the same, soaking heat he’d felt in Goth’s artificial jungle.

Alarmed, he peered back up into the sky. Through the gaps in the clouds he saw stars, and tried to mark out familiar constellations. The stars didn’t join up, they were all in the wrong places. His stomach felt queasy again.

The metal stud in his ear began to sing.

He jerked in surprise. It was drawing a crude sound map in his head—a simple arrangement of lines and dots. A city, maybe. A night city. And then the shape of a single building began to glow
brighter than the rest. A big block of a building, not very interesting to look at, with several narrow buildings radiating from it like spokes.

Wagging his head, he tried to dislodge the image, but it persisted, flaring in his mind’s eye over and over again.
Whumph!

He cleared a final layer of cloud, and a dense constellation of lights flared before him. He was still very high, and the city spread to all horizons, bigger even than the last city he’d seen up north. As he swung closer, he saw that the buildings didn’t look so high, nor were their auras as bright.

The city below him, and the one blazing in his head, seemed to mesh one atop the other. And he saw the blocky building, off toward one of the horizons.

Go there.

The command shunted its way rudely into his head, and he caught himself angling his wings, setting course. He stopped.

Why should I?

But it was like hearing a voice telling you something over and over again; after a while, you just did it. Go to the building. But why, why? Go there. He couldn’t clear it from his head; it would drive him mad if he didn’t go there.

The Humans obviously wanted him to go there for some reason, and that was reason enough to disobey.

But what if his father was there?

Go there.

He was tired, and the weight of the metal disc was wearing him down. He had to roost somewhere, why not on this building? You’re an idiot, he told himself.

But, still, he tilted his wings and began a slow descent toward the building. Around him now, he could see the other bats, all
converging on the same place. Their studs must be singing an identical image in their heads. Go there.

Despite the heat, he shuddered, breaking out in a sudden sweat. It was just like the way the Humans had lured them to their artificial forest, with that melodious bat song. And he’d been pulled in faster than anyone—hadn’t even thought about what he was doing. And look what happened. This was just another trap.

He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t go.

But what if it really was some part of the Promise, some kind of test, what if his father was there, waiting for him, hoping he would pass it? “Don’t go!”

He heard the voice, and it took a moment before he realized it was him shouting. “Don’t go there!” he wailed into the wind, again and again. But none of the other bats listened. They seemed locked on to their sonic targets, heedless of all else. A Brightwing passed by quite close, and Shade yelled at him to stop, actually struck his wing to get his attention, but the other bat looked at him as he might an unappetizing insect, and sailed past, eyes glazed. “Don’t listen to it!”

They were grazing low over the city, almost at the building now. Shade held back, circling, fighting against the weight of the metal disc. The first bats neared the roof of the building. Shade watched as they braked, rings flaring, and came in to land.

They touched down.

Flames blossomed from their discs, delicate licks of fire that in less than a second became an eruption of smoke and sound. More bats were landing now, all across the vast roof, and as their discs knocked hard on stone, they too exploded, gouging craters from the building.

“Stop!” Shade’s screams raked hotly at his lungs. “Don’t land. Stay away!”

It was futile. In the confusion, Shade watched more and more bats land like dazed things, adding to the geysers of flame and flying stone and metal. It was as if they were hypnotized by the song in their ears, unable to wrench themselves free of its pull. Horrible Human sirens rent the air.

Shade tried to fly higher, to get clear of the spiraling debris. Black smoke stung his eyes, tarred his fur. His wings were lead, threatening to buckle.

So this was the secret of the bands. This was what the Humans did to them. His eyes blazed with the reflected flames. He had nothing inside of him. He was going to die. The thought came with no panic, just a numbing certainty. He could not stay aloft forever.

Soon he would have to land.

A large Silverwing dove past Shade, careening headlong for the seething flames. “Chinook!” he shouted. “Don’t!”

Chinook glanced back at Shade, confusion furrowed in his face, and faltered for only a moment before continuing on his course. With the last of his strength, Shade caught up to him just as they were entering the plumes of smoke. He sank his teeth deep into Chinook’s tail.

“Hey!” Chinook flipped around sharply, eyes narrowed. “What’re you doing?”

“Stopping you!”

“But I’ve got to—”

“You’ll explode! Look down there! We land, and we explode. We’re carrying fire.”

For the first time, Chinook seemed to notice the flames, the thunder of explosions. A section of the building’s wall sheared away and avalanched to the ground. Shade looked around the sky; he could see no other bats. They had all flung themselves onto the building, to their deaths.

“Come on, let’s get away from here.”

“Yeah,” said Chinook, dazed. “We’ll land somewhere else.”

“No,” said Shade in frustration. “We can’t. If that metal disc hits anything hard, it explodes.”

“We have to land sometime,” said the other bat. But how? What could they land on that wouldn’t trigger the explosive? Something soft, so soft. Water? A bed of leaves, would that be soft enough? He didn’t want to even risk it. Guiltily, he wished Marina were here. She’d have ideas too, or at least tell him which one of his was the least stupid. There wasn’t much time. Weighted down by the metal disc, he had to struggle just to keep from losing height.

“We’ve got to get them off,” he said.

“How?”

“Bite them off.” He was thinking furiously. “Okay, Chinook, I’m going to come underneath you and bite it off, all right. You’ll have to carry my weight for a bit.”

Chinook looked down at the ground doubtfully. “I’ll fall too fast.”

“Find a thermal and try to circle over it,” Shade said. Shouldn’t be too hard to find one, he thought, it was so hot here. He felt his wings billow warmly and locked on. “Here, right here. Feel it? Just don’t lose it; it’ll help keep us up. I’m going to fly underneath and grab hold now. Ready?”

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.