Sunwing (13 page)

Ariel shook her head. “You did the right thing, not going inside that flying machine. Shade made his own decision. You’re not responsible for that. I could never understand why Cassiel did some of the things he did, either. Plain stupidity, I think.”

Marina laughed, then looked off with a frown.

“I should’ve been … I wish I’d been nicer to him beforehand. I guess I was kind of ignoring him.”

Ariel said nothing, but her silence wasn’t questioning, just patient.

“I
was
ignoring him,” said Marina quickly, with the relief of making a guilty confession, “but only because he was ignoring me. All his searching and moping around, that’s all he did, it was like nothing else existed—and, okay, yes, it turned out he was right about the forest, but—”

“It’s not easy taking second place to a great cause. Cassiel was the same, so wrapped up in the secret of the bands and the Promise, he didn’t see much else.”

“Exactly,” said Marina, relieved. “He got to be so important and he wasn’t making it any easier for me, trying to fit in with all of you. Living alone was one thing—you could sort of resign yourself to it, make your own rules, get set in your ways—but then Shade came along and I got this second chance, and I was afraid of losing it all over again.”

Ariel nodded.

“Yeah, well, I tormented him,” Marina admitted, without being able to conceal a smile. “Chinook paid me a lot of attention, and … it was nice.”

“Of course it was.”

“I don’t know why Shade couldn’t figure it out,” she said irritably. “It just made him even angrier. For a smart bat, he can sure be stupid.”

She remembered Shade’s body moving along that terrible trough in the Human building, and her smile disappeared.

“He’s good at surviving,” she said firmly, but she was looking at Ariel, as if asking an urgent question. “He made it home to Hibernaculum.” She frowned. “But I was there to help him. I
doubt he could’ve done it without me. You know what he’s like; he doesn’t think, and he does these stupid things sometimes.”

“I know,” said Ariel gently. “Don’t worry. We’ll find him.”

Dawn approached, and they found roosts high in a forest of cedars. As Marina folded her wings about her, eager for sleep, she saw Frieda alone on a distant branch, very still, peering intently into the brightening sky. What was she looking at? Ariel was already asleep beside her, and Marina didn’t want to wake her. She lit silently from the branch and darted up to the tree’s peak, settling behind Frieda at a respectful distance so as not to startle her. “Do you see them?” Frieda asked, without turning around. Marina followed the elder’s gaze, and in the pale light saw a shimmering mass above a distant stand of flowering trees. What were they? They were too large for insects, and certainly too small for birds. But there were dozens of them, flitting from flower to flower.

“Hummingbirds,” said Frieda.

“Those are birds?” She saw that the elder’s face was grave. Surely she couldn’t be worried that these birds were a threat. They were so tiny. “What’s wrong?”

“The fact they’re here at all,” Frieda replied. “They winter in the far south. To see them here … something must be very, very wrong. Come with me, but be slow, let them see you coming.”

Marina lit from the branch, following Frieda. “We’re going to talk to birds?”

“They aren’t like the rest. They’re so small, they’ve never been at home with other species. They live apart. They eat insects like us, as well as flowers.”

“Flowers?”

“They drink their nectar. And they too have a distrust of the owls. They’ve never fought with us, and we have no quarrel with them.”

They flew well above the treetops, in plain view so the hummingbirds could see their approach.

“I am Frieda Silverwing,” the elder called out. “I mean no harm and ask only to speak with you.”

For a moment, it seemed to Marina as if all the hummingbirds froze motionless in the air, their gossamer wings still, their tiny heads turned toward them. Then, faster than her echo vision, they disappeared.

“Where’d they go?”

“Please, we only want to talk,” Frieda called out again as they circled the tree. “Come no closer, Silverwings.”

Marina looked around in surprise and saw a hummingbird above her head, darting so quickly, she kept losing track of it—side to side, up, down, it could even fly backward. “Why do you risk breaking your dawn curfew to talk with us?”

The hummingbird’s voice was slightly peevish, pitched high, and seemed to vibrate in time to the beat of its wings. How fast were its wingstrokes? Marina wondered in awe. Much faster than bats, maybe a hundred beats a second.

What a fabulous creature it was, she thought in admiration. Slightly smaller than a bat, it seemed to fly almost vertically in the air. Snow-white plumage covered its chest, and gave way to a brilliant patch of feathers around its throat. Its beak was thin as a pine needle, elegantly curved downward at the tip.

Now she could see others reemerging from the trees, dipping their beaks into the flowers. She knew why they had no reason to fear bats, or any other creature, for that matter. They were so
alert, and moved so quickly, so effortlessly, they seemed to weigh nothing at all, more an element of the air than creatures of sinew and bone. They could fly forever. She felt a twinge of envy.

“Why are you here, so far from your wintering grounds?” Frieda asked.

“They have been destroyed,” the hummingbird replied simply. “By whom?”

“The Humans, with their interminable fighting. The northern Humans send their flying machines and spray down fire. Our trees have mostly been burned. We have been driven from the jungle, and not just us. Many birds and beasts have fled. You have heard nothing of this?” the bird asked pointedly, its head cocked. It took a few backward skips through the air.

“No,” said Frieda.

“Because there have been rumors,” the hummingbird said in its shrill voice.

“Please tell us,” said Marina, her heart thumping heavily. Human flying machines traveling to the south, carrying fire. Carrying Shade.

“At first the Humans came with many flying machines, low in the sky, and the machines themselves seemed to spit out fire. But the southern Humans shot them down with their own missiles. Several months ago, the northern planes started flying higher, above the clouds, where they couldn’t be attacked. But, still, their fire came down. And it is rumored they are using birds and bats to carry it.”

“You’ve seen this?” Marina asked, her mouth parched. “Not I. But others say they have. You know nothing of this, truly?” Marina looked at Frieda, speechless.

“If this is true, we do not do it willingly,” said Frieda. “The Humans have captured many bats, and owls, and tied metal discs
to them. Then they take them away in their flying machines, to the south.”

“The fire pours from these metal discs. That is what I have heard,” said the hummingbird.

“What happens afterward, to the bats?” Marina asked.

“I cannot say. I think they must die, many of them, for the explosions are great. I do not see how they could survive.”

“But you have seen some bats, alive, in the forest?”

“There have always been bats, but much bigger ones than you. The Vampyrum.”

“Vampyrum,” said Marina, knowing what the hummingbird must mean. “Three-foot wingspans. Meat-eaters.”

“Yes.”

Marina shut her eyes so tightly they hurt. Goth and Throbb had come from the south. The Humans were taking the bats to their homeland.

“They used to ignore us in the jungle, but now with their food supplies destroyed, they have turned on us. That is another reasons we have fled. I am sorry to tell you this news,” said the hummingbird. “It is monstrous of the Humans to use us in this way.”

“Thank you, hummingbird.”

“We know the owls have declared war on you. We will not be fighting alongside them.”

“We are very grateful for that.”

“Good speed,” said the hummingbird, and in a flash, all the birds were gone.

“Marvelous creature,” Frieda murmured to herself. Marina turned wearily after the elder, and flapped her wings listlessly back toward the cedars.

“My colony was right,” she said, near tears. “They were right to banish me after I was banded. All those stupid stories about
banded bats disappearing or bursting into flames. They must’ve known somehow, heard rumors or something. They were right. The Humans are evil.”

“At least now we know where the Humans take them,” said Frieda. “The hummingbirds winter in the great southern isthmus. That is where we will find Shade.” If he’s still alive.

Neither of them needed to say it.

“Tomorrow we reach Bridge City,” said Frieda. “Let us try to take some comfort from that.”

But she sounded as worn out and hopeless as Marina felt in her bones.

Shade hoped this would be the last night he spent in the jungle.

He hunted distractedly, paying more attention to the sky around him than to the insects he was trying to catch. With Chinook and Caliban—who had insisted on accompanying them—he stuck close to Statue Haven, warily snapping up any bugs that looked like they wouldn’t snap back. Anything too big, with too many antennae, or weird markings, or strange odors, he stayed away from. He also avoided the trees because there were snakes, and owls, and more of those bugs that had nearly bitten his head off; he stayed away from the ground because there were giant cats, and who knew what else.

Tomorrow night they were leaving.

That was their plan. For the past three nights they’d discussed it in the twilight and dawn hours inside Statue Haven. Shade knew it was the only chance at survival for any of them. For some reason, after his arrival, the jungle had become even more deadly. Two nights ago they’d lost one bat, and last night, three more. It was the cannibals. Normally they hunted alone, but lately they
were traveling in packs, and they were scouring the jungle in some kind of feeding frenzy. Crouched in the narrow entrance-way of Statue Haven one night, Shade had seen them strafing treetops in the near distance, and with a shudder he recognized the familiar outlines of their broad, jagged wings. They’d killed his father.

This was only one of the thoughts that made up the constant, low roar in his head now. His father, here, alive, just nights ago. It was too cruel, and he wished he could stop thinking about it. But, still, it tugged at his heart like a hook. For the first time since plunging into that stream back in the Human forest, he had time to think about things, and they came crashing over him like a violent thunderstorm, leaving him spent with sorrow and rage. He could barely summon the energy to speak to Chinook or Caliban. He retreated deep inside himself.

Even his sleep was no escape. The bad dreams he’d had since returning to Hibernaculum had metamorphosed into something even more ominous. He dreamed of an eternal night, a night with no coming dawn, night without even the hope of the sun’s warmth. He dreamed of violent winds gusting across the earth, carrying the most horrible sounds he’d ever heard. Yesterday, he’d woken trembling from a vision in which the sun had been suddenly blotted out by a dark eye, but there was no center to the eye, no light in it. It was like a hole that only led to more pure darkness.

Escaping the jungle was the only thought that gave him any strength. It was what his father had wanted to do, and he was right. He had to get back north, find the forest, warn the others. If only he could know if Marina had been caught like him, or somehow made it back to Ariel and Frieda. Even so, could they have escaped the building? Maybe even now they were loaded onto a
flying machine, sirens in their ears, discs tied to their stomachs. He lived in dread of hearing the sound of explosions across the city rooftops, but mercifully, none came—yet.

He was desperate to leave, and, most maddening of all, it was he who held back their departure. Caliban told him there was no way he could set out until his wound had healed a bit more. Chinook too needed time to recover. And no one left until they could all leave.

Shade was healing, but slowly. A few days ago, he’d been alarmed to find his hair was falling out vigorously. Worried this might be the symptom of some horrible disease, he’d asked Caliban, and received a smile from the free-tailed bat. Shade had never seen him smile before; he didn’t suppose there was a lot to smile about down here.

“It’s called molting,” Caliban had told him with a laugh. “It’s natural with the heat. Just that it usually happens in summer.” Shade nodded, wishing Marina were here. She could have told him that. He’d never molted before. Molting in the middle of winter, in the jungle. It was so hot here, he almost wished for a real northern winter.

Shade caught another beetle, and glanced over at Chinook, who’d been hunting alongside him. For the past three days and nights, they’d never been far apart, roosting side by side, hunting together. They didn’t talk much, but Shade felt comforted just having him nearby. Part of it, he knew, was that Chinook was the only reminder of home he had right now. But what was home? he thought bitterly. And where? Tree Haven was gone forever. Ariel and Marina and Frieda were trapped in the Human building—or worse. You promised yourself you’d stop thinking about it, he told himself.

“Do you think Marina’s okay?” Chinook whispered.

“I hope so.”

“Because I feel like it’s all my fault. I mean, it was me she came looking for, right? Back in the Human building? She took a big risk all for me.”

“Well … partly, yes, but—”

“So loyal,” said Chinook with a lovelorn shake of his head. And for the first time in nights, Shade felt irritated with him, and was almost glad.

“She also wanted to find out what was going on,” Shade couldn’t resist pointing out. “In general.”

“But she missed me. I knew she would. Did she ever say anything to you, you know … about me?”

Shade ground his teeth. Handsome. She’d called him handsome, how could he ever forget that!

“Can’t remember, to tell you the truth,” he muttered.

“Hm,” said Chinook. “Well, she talked about you all the time.” Shade waited expectantly, but the other bat didn’t continue.

“And?” he said after another few seconds of agony.

“Oh, just about how puffed up you were.” Shade’s ears shot up indignantly. “Puffed up? What’s that mean, puffed up?” It sounded like something a vain pigeon did, fluffing up its feathers. It sounded ridiculous.

“She just thought you were too important for everyone. A big hero. I tried to stick up for you, but she seemed pretty angry.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ve got to find her,” said Chinook. “Save her.”

“She’s pretty good at saving herself,” muttered Shade.

“I was going to ask her to be my mate,” Chinook confided. “I think she would’ve said yes, don’t you? I mean, you and she have been friends for a while, so I thought I’d ask.”

Shade swallowed wrong, and tried to choke back his cough,
water streaming into his eyes. Marina, Chinook’s mate? It was incredible! Didn’t Chinook have any clue at all that he, Shade, the runt, might be interested in Marina too? Well, he’d been missing the old, thickheaded Chinook, and here he was back in full force.

“I don’t know, Chinook,” he said finally. “It’s hard to predict what she’d say. She’s kind of difficult.”

“Really? I’ve never noticed that.”

“Give it time.”

“Hey, she’s got a great laugh, doesn’t she? It’s so—”

“Tinkly?”

“Yeah, tinkly.”

“Beautiful,” nodded Shade.

Caliban flew alongside and signaled that they should be heading back to Statue Haven. An hour was all they risked for hunting now, and it was scarcely enough time to keep Shade’s stomach from gnawing itself hungrily through the day. And how could they hope to keep their strength for the long journey north? All the bats here were so thin; at least he and Chinook were still relatively fat after gobbling the piped-in bugs in the Human forest. But hunger, he knew, would probably be the least of their problems. All that stood between them and the cannibal bats was Statue Haven—and without that, they would be horribly vulnerable in the night skies.

Shade banked and started back toward the giant metal Human. But in the trees that crested the cliff, he saw a blur of wings through the branches. He threw out sound, and a picture of an owl flared in his head. That was all he needed to know. By now he’d caught glimpses of a few southern owls: They had blazing circles of white plumage around their eyes, and a screech that was, if anything, more terrifying than that of their northern cousins.

He hunched his shoulders and started flying hard, hoping he hadn’t been spotted.

“Wait!”

It was impossible not to look back, the voice was so desperate. He turned and saw the owl rising above the tree line: a young owl with lightning bolts across his chest. And from his stomach hung a large metal disc.

“Shade, fly!” he heard Caliban call out up ahead.

“I know him,” Shade called back.

“Don’t be a fool!”

The owl wasn’t giving chase, just circling, and looking after Shade forlornly. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the disc. It was the same size as Goth’s, and he knew what it could do if it exploded.

“Help me,” said the owl.

“Shade!” Caliban said warningly, anger flashing in his eyes. Shade faltered. He didn’t want to disobey Caliban; he trusted and respected the mastiff bat. And he’d promised himself just two nights ago he would follow orders from now on, stay out of trouble. But he just couldn’t desert the owl. “I’ll catch up.”

Without waiting for a reply, he banked sharply and flew toward the owl. “Listen,” he called out. “That thing, the metal disc, it’s—”

“I know. It doesn’t work.”

“What?”

“It didn’t explode. I’ve already landed where I was supposed to, and nothing happened. Not like the others. I saw what happened to theirs.”

Shade stared at the disc, still not trusting it. He started as Chinook suddenly pulled up beside him.

“Go back with Caliban!” he said impatiently.

“I’m staying with you.”

“Go on!”

“No!”

Shade was surprised at the determination in his face. “Why not?”

“Feel safe,” mumbled Chinook, then, almost angrily, “I feel safe when I’m with you, all right? It’s the only time.”

Shade’s irritation melted away. It seemed almost impossible that Chinook could be saying these words, that Shade, the eternal runt, made him feel safe. He grinned gratefully.

“Likewise, Chinook. Believe me.”

Behind them, he heard Caliban say, “I hope you know what you’re doing, Silverwings. Whatever it is you plan to do, be quick about it. Dawn’s not far off.” And he was gone.

Shade turned back to the owl. “Why’re you alone?” he asked.

“The others, the owls who live here, they won’t get near me. They nearly killed me when they saw the disc. They’re worried it will explode.”

Shade didn’t blame them. For all he knew, it might erupt in flames at any moment.

“They did it to me too,” said Shade. “To all the bats. Look.” He tilted steeply so the owl could see the still-healing wound on his belly. “That’s why we were all there in that building. The Humans have been using all of us.”

“I want to go home,” said the owl miserably. “But I don’t know where that is.”

“There’s a group of us who survived,” Shade told him. “And we’re leaving tomorrow night. Come with us.”

He saw the frightened glance Chinook shot at him, and he knew he was taking a chance, maybe a fatal one. But he wasn’t just being kind. There was a self-serving side to his invitation. A group of northern bats in these skies was easy prey; but with an
owl as escort, they might avoid attacks by other owls—and even cannibal bats. Caliban would see the logic in his plan.

“You know the way north?” the owl asked.

“Yes.” It occurred to Shade that owls didn’t have as much experience reading stars as they did.

“But this disc weighs me down so much,” said the owl. “I nearly got eaten by a snake last night. Barely had time to light before its jaws closed around me.”

“You’re sure it’s dead?” asked Shade, nodding at the disc.

“I hit the building, hard, and nothing happened.” Shade took a deep breath. “Listen. I can get it off you. It’ll hurt. I’ll need to rip out the stitches in your stomach. I’ve done it before, though. All right?”

“Why’re you helping me?”

“You saved my life.”

“You saved mine first. Why?”

“You looked scared,” said Shade simply.

“That monster, the giant bat in the human building, was that the one you said killed the pigeons in the city?”

“Yes,” said Shade with a sigh, as if finally a huge weight had been lifted from his wings. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all along. It wasn’t we who started killing the birds, it was these jungle bats.”

“I believe you now.”

“Can you land in that tree?” Shade said. “It’s easier if you keep still.”

Watching the owl roost in a high branch, Shade’s muscles tensed as the metal disc knocked repeatedly against the bark. It did seem to be dead, though he’d feel a lot better when it was off the owl, if he was coming with them.

With Chinook, Shade landed nearby, still grappling with the
strangeness of being so close to an owl, his deadly enemy for millions of years. He couldn’t say he liked its smell, but he supposed it might not care for his, either. The feathers made his nose itch.

“Here we go,” he warned the owl. “It’ll hurt, but I’m not doing it on purpose, all right?”

“Go on,” said the owl.

“You just keep an eye out for anything that might want to eat us. You too, Chinook.”

“I’m watching,” said Chinook.

Shade began, sinking his teeth delicately into the bare patch the Humans had shaved on the owl’s belly. “What’s your name?” he heard the owl ask, his voice strained. Shade pulled back for a breath. “Shade. This is Chinook.”

“My name’s Orestes.” After a moment he asked, “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

Shade grunted no. There was owl blood on his nose; amazingly, it tasted almost identical to bat blood. “I’m King Boreal’s son.”

Shade faltered. Not only was he gouging his teeth into an owl, he happened to be the prince of the most powerful bird king in the northern forests.

“Where’s your father now?” he asked, pulling back to see how he was making out. “Was he in the building with you?”

“No, luckily. He sent me away while he … “

“What?”

“Organized his armies for war,” said Orestes quietly. Shade looked away. War with the bats. He felt a sudden impulse to leave. Let Orestes fend for himself; why should he help him, when his father was getting ready to wipe out every bat in the sky?

“Do you want a war too?” he asked Orestes coldly.

“I don’t know. Do you?”

“No, but I don’t want us to be banished to the night forever.” He sighed. It all seemed so far away, somehow, like someone else’s life. Right now he was in the jungle, and that was all he knew. Staying alive, making it out alive. And for that, he needed this owl.