“Now,” he said, turning to Voxzaco, who had been anxiously watching over the whole procedure, “show me the Stone.”
The royal chamber was rectangular, made of huge granite blocks, and all around the upper walls were jewel-encrusted carvings: twin jaguars, their eyes gleaming onyx; a two-headed serpent, winged in silver; and in every corner of the room, a pair of eyes, watching.
In the east wall, a large portal gave onto the outer staircase, all but sealed off by vines and ferns and crumbled masonry. In the flat, high roof was a circular opening, and it was always kept clear by Voxzaco, for it gave a powerful view of the stars and moon.
Directly beneath this opening was the Stone. It too was circular, thick, and twice the diameter of Goth’s wings. It lay flat on the floor of the chamber, its surface intricately carved with strange glyphs of Humans, birds and beasts, and bats—and Cama Zotz himself, his slitted eyes gazing out from various locations. It was Humans who had made the Stone, and the pictures were blackened and smoothed with age. They ran around the outer rim of the Stone and then spiraled gradually in toward the hole at its very center.
Goth had spent much of his life in the royal chamber, but had never examined the Stone in much detail. That was the work of Voxzaco, to crouch over these tiny little pictures and scratch away at the mold and dust of centuries. It was said he could predict the seasons with the Stone, the length of the nights, the phases of the moon. And it was his duty to perform the sacrifices upon the Stone: ripping out the hearts and offering them to Cama Zotz.
The hieroglyphs had become permanently stained with blood.
“Come,” said Voxzaco, scuttling onto the Stone and leading Goth closer to its center. “Look. This is the here and now. It is all on the Stone. Your capture by the Humans, the firestorms … “
Goth used echoes to peer impatiently at the Stone, but all he saw were a series of jagged lines. Was that supposed to be a bat there? Or flames?
“And here, the hardships of the kingdom,” Voxzaco continued. “The hunger we have faced.”
Goth remembered the leanness of the bats he’d seen. “Why hunger?”
“Many birds and beasts have fled the firestorms. They’ve gone into hiding, or gone farther south, even north. Hunting has been very difficult. But there have been the small bats.” The old priest jabbed a scaly claw at another picture.
Goth ducked his head closer to the Stone, wrinkling his nostrils at Voxzaco’s stinking breath. There was a plant in the jungle that smelled always of rotting meat. That was how the old priest smelled. There, in the Stone, he made out the shape of numerous small batwings. He thought of Shade. It made him uneasy, for some reason, the idea that these small northern bats could be on the Stone.
“They are easy prey,” said Voxzaco. “We have several dozen in the dungeon, and have been offering them to Zotz before eating them, and praying for more abundant times.”
“Good,” said Goth, wondering if Shade had survived. He remembered his dream of wrenching out the small bat’s heart. If Shade was still alive here in the jungle, Goth would eat him himself. In his mind, the Humans and the northern bats were linked forever—both had defied him and brought hardship on him.
“We will strike down the Humans, and the small bats,” said Goth. “That has been my plan since I was first caught. We must raise an army and go north. We will annihilate the bats, and the Humans we will attack with their own weapon.”
“Yes,” said Voxzaco with a knowing smile. “That too is on the Stone. But there is something we must do first.”
“Show me, then!” demanded Goth. He didn’t like that superior way Voxzaco had with him. He could rip his heart out; he was king. He didn’t need some rotting carcass to tell him the future. Voxzaco was rumored to talk with Zotz himself. But so can I, thought Goth, and without berries and potions to help me. Still, there was a tremor in his gut. He wanted to know more.
“What do you see here?” the priest asked him
“A circle,” he said. “The sun.”
“Look closer.”
“Part of it’s missing.”
“And over here …” Voxzaco drew his sonic gaze to the next picture, where an even larger sliver of the sun was missing. “What does it mean?”
“There will be a total eclipse of the sun,” Voxzaco said, voice crackling with excitement. “Total night in the midst of the day.” He guided Goth through the pictures as they spiraled, quickly now, toward the very center of the Stone, the sun getting skinnier and skinnier until it had disappeared and was replaced by a slitted eye, Zotz’s eye. And then there were no more pictures, for they had dropped into the hole that was the Stone’s center: a circle of darkness.
“Do you realize the importance of this?” Voxzaco asked him. Goth glared back haughtily, silent.
“You know nothing of the gods, then.”
“I know about Zotz,” Goth growled.
“Perhaps, but do you know of Nocturna?”
Goth bristled in anger. “The little bat, Shade, he spoke of Nocturna. She exists?”
“As much as Zotz does. They are twins. Nocturna presides over the upper world. She ushers in the dusk, but also brings on the dawn. She is a thing of the night, but she draws her power from the sun. She is selfish. She keeps her twin brother, Zotz, in the Underworld, because she knows if he were above, his power would thwart hers.”
“No one is more powerful than Zotz,” Goth insisted. He was enraged at the idea of a rival to Zotz, angrier still that he hadn’t known about it. To think that those runty northern bats had Nocturna as their god.
“At one time Zotz and Nocturna were equally matched,” Voxzaco told him, “but over the centuries Zotz lost many of his followers in the upper world. The Humans here, who built this temple, who carved this Stone, they once knew and worshiped him. But they turned away, to worship the sun, perhaps. Still, there are more souls in the Underworld than above, I can tell you, and they want passage to this upper world. Nocturna uses the sun to keep Zotz below. But the eclipse will give us our chance. We can bring our god back, bring him to the upper world to reign over all creation.”
Goth could only stare in amazement. Not for the first time, he wondered if Voxzaco was deranged. Too many potions, too many visions. But you too have had visions, he reminded himself, thinking of the cave.
“How?” he asked.
Voxzaco was scuttling across the Stone. “We had a chance once before, and failed. Three hundred years ago, look. That was the last total eclipse, but the priest then, he wasn’t prepared, he knew nothing. This is our chance here. We will be the ones to succeed.”
“But how?” Goth demanded again, jaws grinding.
“I wasn’t sure until I saw you, King Goth. But then I knew.” Wings spread, he leaped off the Stone and landed beside the metal disc. Before Goth could stop him, he’d picked up the chain in his own claws and heaved the disc up into the air, carrying it back over the Stone.
“No!” Goth cried. “It will explode if it hits!” Voxzaco didn’t listen. Lurching down unsteadily, he inserted the metal disc into the Stone’s very center.
It fit perfectly. As if it had been made only to fill the hole.
“You see,” wheezed the priest. “Now is the time. This completes the Stone. It is the end of the Stone, the end of time as we have known it. Now, we must make a double sacrifice, and ask Zotz to show us how to destroy the sun.”
Goth watched as the two northern bats were brought up from the bone room, their wings gripped tightly by a guard on either side. He scanned their faces, hoping maybe to see Shade, but was disappointed. Normally, it was birds they sacrificed here, owls, and for special rituals, their own kind, a Vampyrum who was chosen for the great honor. “Put that one on the Stone,” Voxzaco instructed the guards. Goth watched as the first terrified bat was hefted up, his wings pulled tight, and pinned by two guards. The old priest drew closer, eyes closed.
“No!” said Goth suddenly. “I will make this sacrifice.” Shock convulsed Voxzaco’s
face. “Only a priest can perform the rites, King Goth, You will anger Zotz if—”
“I have spoken with Zotz. He will speak with me again.” The priest smirked. “You think so, do you? You think you are closer to him than me, after devoting my life to serving him and tending the Stone. I, his high priest?”
“He has chosen me as his servant,” Goth growled. “He has sent me visions. He has made me king, healed my wings, and I will make the sacrifice.”
Without waiting for the priest’s reply, he lunged for the northern bat and plunged his jaws deep into its chest, tearing out the shuddering heart.
“Zotz!” he cried, “I offer this to you. Tell me, your servant, what we must do to kill the sun!
Rearing onto his hind legs, he flared his wings and whirled so they billowed with air.
“Zotz!” he cried again. “Here is your servant! Tell me what I must do!”
That instant there was a tremendous roar, and then a huge sucking sound, which left the chamber in absolute silence. Then, from all corners came a maelstrom of wind so loud, it was like a moan, a chorus of dark angels, all singing different notes.
Goth flinched, and could see Voxzaco hide his head under his wing. The guards holding the remaining northern bat fell back in horror, and the small bat broke free and hurled himself into a crevice in the floor. It was unimportant. What was important was the presence Goth felt in the chamber, carried on this tide of sound.
Suddenly the presence wasn’t around him, it was inside him. He felt his jaws being pried open by an unstoppable force, and air surged through his throat.
“Ask!” he bellowed at Voxzaco, and he knew it wasn’t his own voice, but Zotz’s, speaking through him.
Voxzaco was still cowering under his wing, but he looked up at Goth, trembling violently.
“Ask!” Goth shrieked again.
“What must we do, Lord Zotz, to kill the sun?” Voxzaco asked.
“Give me more life!” Goth felt himself roar. “The lives of one hundred, their hearts! All in the darkness of the eclipse!”
“And what will happen then, Lord Zotz?” Goth felt his lungs swell to suck in more air. Then he was speaking again. “I will come. Now I come only as sound, a whisper of my full power. But kill the sun and the Underworld will be the whole world, and you, Goth, will lead my armies across its face. You will scour the Humans from this planet, those Humans who have tried to obliterate you. You will reign supreme over all things, all birds and beasts, and all the bats too. Your empire shall grow to the north, to take over the kingdoms of the Silverwings and Brightwings and all others. The owl kingdoms too shall be yours. Alive and dead. And we shall cross oceans to make new lands our own. That is to be your reward for serving me so well.”
Another huge breath of air was forced into his lungs.
“You will help the Humans finish the work they have started, wiping each other off the face of the earth. And the metal disc they gave you shall be our first assault. There is a place called Bridge City, where you can drop the disc. It is home to millions of bats, and to as many humans … it is their greatest city, and you will destroy it.”
Goth felt himself wrenched off his feet and slammed to the Stone. It was as if a huge beast had had him in the vise of its jaws, and finally let go. He choked in more air. His ribs sang with pain.
“I’m sorry, Your Highness,” whimpered a guard, “one of the little bats escaped.”
“Find it, then,” Goth snapped, but his thoughts were elsewhere. He turned to Voxzaco. “This eclipse, how long does it last?”
“No more than seven minutes,” the priest replied.
Seven minutes to sacrifice one hundred offerings.
“And according to the Stone, it will come in only three nights,” Voxzaco added.
Goth whirled on the guards. “We will send out our soldiers immediately. Capture owls and birds, and as many northern bats as we can find. Take them all from their roosts and bring them back here. We have three nights to find one hundred offerings—fall short of that number, and you yourselves will lie on the Stone. Do you understand?”
“Yes, King Goth.”
“Then make all preparations. Hurry.”
STATUE HAVEN
With every wingstroke, pain seeped through the gash in his stomach, and Shade had to struggle to keep up with Chinook and Caliban. They flew in urgent silence over the city, and for the first time, he noticed how battered it was: streets buckled, buildings collapsed in rubble, huge spaces where there was nothing at all but a scorched crater. Their flight path took them over sullen stone buildings with tiled roofs, many in ruin. Off to the west, he could still see the flicker of flames from the big building the bats had destroyed, and the wail of Human sirens filtered through the pungent air. He wondered if the Humans down here used bats to carry their weapons too. The eastern sky was starting to pale: dawn was coming.
Flying behind Caliban, he could see the ugly scar in his belly. Must have ripped his disc off too. He was a big bat, larger even than Chinook, but his ribs pressed through the skin of his flanks, and his face had a gaunt, somewhat savage look to it. Shade wondered how long he’d been down here, and what he’d had to do to survive.
“What’s your colony?” he asked.
“Mastiffs,” Caliban said bluntly, without looking back, “from the western forests.”
He didn’t seem very eager to talk. Chinook had said nothing since they’d set out; he just flew, his stunned eyes fixed on the horizon. Shade didn’t even know where they were being led. He tried to comfort himself with what Caliban had said earlier: There were others searching around the burning building for more survivors.
Maybe Chinook’s parents.
Maybe your father.
He clamped down on his thoughts, angry with himself for even hoping. He’d hoped for so long and been disappointed so often—what was the point?
From behind him came a sudden intense flash of light, and for a split second it was as if the night had become day.
“Don’t look back,” Caliban snapped.
Shade looked. A huge plume of light and smoke was billowing up from the far horizon. Even after slamming his eyes shut in pain and horror, the image of that monstrous thunderhead still burned before him. Moments later, the earth and air rumbled as the sound from the explosion reached them.
“That’s one of the owls,” said Caliban.
“What d’you mean?” Shade asked.
“They put little ones on us. But the owls carry much bigger ones.”
Shade remembered seeing the Humans enter the owls’ artificial forest with their metal sticks, and cage the drugged birds. He thought of the young owl with the lightning in his plumage, and felt sick. The sheer size of that blazing cloud—nothing could have survived the sweep of it.
“The Humans pick night flyers,” Caliban was saying quietly back over his wing. “Bats, owls, both of us have echo vision. That’s important. That’s what they use to guide us. I saw a dead owl once; it had a siren in its ear too—you know that metal stud—just like us. The Humans pick their targets, and send us in to do the work for them. They don’t get hurt. The owls can carry more metal. Far bigger explosions, like that one behind us. Lucky for us, the targets are usually way out of the city. So far, anyway.”
Shade thought of the large disc on Goth’s belly. Would his make an explosion like that too? But Shade knew Goth would survive. He always did. He was somewhere out there in the jungle, carrying his disc, a flying catastrophe.
“We’re close now,” said Caliban, jerking his chin. “Up there.” It was the last place on earth Shade would have flown for safe haven right now. High on a cliff overlooking the city towered a giant metal statue: a Human Male, arms outstretched beseechingly—except that his right arm had been blasted off above the elbow, by fire, judging from the melted, twisted look of the stump.
“Statue Haven,” said Caliban, leading them in high toward the peak. Shade could now see the metal Human’s face. There was something achingly
kind about the expression, and it made him angry. What right did Humans have to look this way, after what they’d done to all of them? It was a lie. The Humans were evil, like Goth had said all along. He didn’t want to go any closer, but Caliban was diving down to the amputated right arm, and Shade followed with Chinook.
Amid the fused and twisted metal of the stump was a small opening, and Shade trimmed his wings for landing. As he approached, he could make out, just inside the entrance, two bats standing guard. With surprise he noticed they clutched wickedly sharpened sticks.
Caliban shouted out to the guards, and the sticks were quickly pulled back inside. Never had Shade known bats to fashion weapons, and it made him shudder—what terrible things they must be protecting themselves against. The bug that had nearly eaten him was frightening enough. He imagined an army of them, leaping up the statue and flooding inside. The bats needed those weapons.
He landed behind Caliban and shuffled farther inside to make room for Chinook. Shade eyed the guards, a Brightwing and a Graywing, both worn down by hunger but with ferocious determination in their weary faces.
“We’re glad to have you,” one of them said to Shade as they passed.
The passage sloped upward inside the statue’s arm, working back, Shade reckoned, toward its shoulder. There, at the summit, the passage ended, opening out into a yawning vertical cavern: the hollow inside of the statue. It reminded him, just a little, of Tree Haven, his and Chinook’s lost home back in the northern forests, and he felt his throat swell dangerously with homesickness as he heard the echoing flutter of wings, the squeak of voices.
“How many are here?” Shade asked Caliban. He couldn’t bring himself to ask about his father directly—he was too afraid of seeing Caliban shake his head, mumble an apology. It had happened too many times.
“Thirty-six, including you two,” said Caliban with a weary sigh. It was obvious to Shade he was used to keeping track, day by day, as the numbers of this makeshift colony changed, sometimes for the better, sometimes the worse. “But let’s hope they find more survivors back at the building.”