“Is it over?” he called out hoarsely to the bat ahead of him. But all he heard in reply was a howl of pain. New terror coursed through him. What next, what was left?
The trough whirred again. Outside the shield, more Humans approached. He saw the hands reaching for the portals and stared, mesmerized, unable to look away. They came gripping a pair of pincers, like the jaws of some vicious metal animal. He recoiled, but hands swept in from the other side and held him firmly in place. He watched as the two-pronged instrument neared him, aimed straight at his head.
“No!” he screamed. “Don’t! Please!”
He flattened his ears, tried to make himself small, tried to make himself disappear, eyes shut tight like a newborn. But it was no use. He felt the metal slide around his outer ear, and then came a horrible piercing pain.
He thought his pounding heart would finally break free of his ribs. But already the worst was over, just a throbbing memory, and he sagged limply, watching the hand move away with the instrument. Thank you, he thought numbly. It was over at least; it hadn’t killed him.
But they’d left something in his ear. He wagged his head fiercely, trying to shake it loose. It was something embedded in the outer flap of his ear, something small and cold and hard. He twisted his neck to see it, but couldn’t.
Suddenly the floor of the trough tilted, the wall before him dropped away, and he tumbled clumsily into darkness. His face hit the floor hard, and when he looked up, he saw other bats all around him, peering at him mournfully. They were all breathing rapidly, as if they’d just flown a great distance. He was in a large black container with no openings, except the one he’d just fallen through, at the side. He turned back to the bats and recognized a few faces from the forest, though he didn’t know any of their names. Now he noticed the metal studs in all their ears, and he caught glimpses of metal discs clipped to their stomachs too. The same thing had happened to all of them. He sank down on his belly, his entire body bruised, as if he’d been knocked about by a gale. He felt infected by the atmosphere of defeat, too drained to even speak.
“Shade!”
All at once, another bat was all over him, practically strangling him with his forearms, nose pressing into his neck in joyful greeting. Shade recognized the smell, the bulk of muscle, and the glint of silver-tipped hair.
“Chinook!” he said with a surge of surprise and genuine delight. “Um, Chinook, could you loosen up a bit, you’ve got me kind of tight…. “
“Oh, sorry,” he said, releasing his grip around Shade’s throat, slightly. He looked over his shoulder. “Hey, everyone, this is Shade Silverwing! He’s a big hero. He’ll know what’s going on!”
Shade gaped in amazement. Chinook calling him a hero? Was this a joke? But he could tell, just by the hopeful expression on Chinook’s face, he was serious. Shade almost smiled, but then saw all the other bats turning toward him expectantly. He let out a big breath. He was sure he didn’t have the answers they wanted.
“How did we get here?” asked a Hoary bat.
“They took a lot of you in your sleep,” Shade said. “Hundreds of you. The Humans came right into the forest and pulled you from your roosts.”
“My parents?” Chinook asked, and Shade could hear the edge of anxiety in his voice.
He nodded. “Them too. They must be in another cage,” he added reassuringly.
“But how do you know this?” asked another bat. “None of us remembers anything. We just woke up and the Humans were … doing those things to us.”
“I didn’t get taken the same time as you. We woke up in the forest, and you were all gone. So I came looking for you the next day. I found a way out—the stream.” He was too weary to explain about the owls and Goth right now. “I got into this room and saw everything, what they were doing to you. They caught me when I came too close.” He felt his throat tighten. “And maybe Marina too.” All he could hope was that she’d stayed high, and maybe found her way back to the forest to tell the others.
“Marina came with you?” Chinook asked, and Shade thought he sounded pleased.
“Yes.”
Chinook sidled closer, lowering his voice. “So she, you know, missed me?”
Shade looked at him, amazed he could be asking this right now.
“Because I’m pretty sure she likes me,” Chinook said confidentially.
“What are these things they’ve tied to us?” said a Fringed bat, batting at the metal stud in her ear.
“I don’t know,” said Shade.
“And these heavy discs, what are they for?”
“I don’t know,” Shade said again, with mounting frustration.
“If Arcadia were here, she’d know! She was right about you: You’re just a troublemaker. You don’t know anything!”
“I know we should be getting out of here!” Shade retorted. “Have any of you tried that?”
“No.”
Great, Shade thought, they’re all useless lumps. Do I have to do everything, all the time?
“Why should we try to get out?” asked a banded Long-ear. “How do we know this isn’t part of the Promise?”
“Well, you stay, then,” Shade snapped. “I’m getting out of here. Who’s with me?”
There was a depressing silence for a second, and then—
“Me.” It was Chinook.
Shade felt a wave of relief and gratitude. “Come on, then.” He hurried for the small opening in the side, and poked his head through. It was an almost vertical shaft, and high overhead he could see the glass, sealing them in.
A Brightwing suddenly came tumbling down toward him, and he pulled out of the way just as she skidded inside, dazed. Not Marina. He felt a mixture of disappointment and relief. If she was free, she might be able to get help. What kind of help, he couldn’t even imagine right now.
Without warning, the whole container jerked suddenly. The side opening was quickly sealed off by a sliding panel, and the sudden total darkness unlocked the bats’ panic.
“What’s happening now?” one wailed.
“I can’t take anymore!” another cried.
Their voices piled atop one another, growing in anguish and intensity. Shade tried to block them out. With his echo vision, he looked at the sliding panel and heard a precise metallic click come from a tiny hole about halfway up.
“Chinook, give me a boost, will you?”
He leaped up onto Chinook’s back and raised himself on his legs. He could just reach the tiny hole with his thumb, and hooked his claw into it. With all his weight he tried to pull the panel back open, but it wouldn’t move. It was somehow locked in place around that hole.
The container now swung wildly in an arc, and Shade lurched off Chinook’s back and hit the floor. He could hear heavy Human footsteps. They were being carried somewhere. A door hissing open. And all at once it was much colder. The footsteps crunched.
Snow.
“Outside,” he heard Chinook whisper.
Shade’s heart nearly broke with yearning. On the other side of this container was the world, and if only he could get out, he could spread his wings and lift, and the Humans would never catch him. He hammered his wings against the wall, and then the pain brought him back to his senses. There was no point wasting his energy this way.
All at once the footfalls became harder, and louder, the sound echoing. They were inside something now, though it was only slightly warmer. With a slam, the cage was put down.
Loud, slow Human voices were all around them like a moaning wind. The cage jostled roughly, throwing him against Chinook.
There were other bats here; he could hear their voices welling up outside his container in a confused, ghostly moan. He remembered the echo chamber back at Tree Haven, so long ago, where Frieda had taken him to hear the old stories, centuries of sound whispering through the air. Is that all that would be left of them? Would they soon just be the dead makers of lost sound?
He felt Chinook nudging closer against him, and then jolted at a treme
ndous slamming sound, metal on metal. Silence hung heavy for a few seconds. Seconds later, a deep, powerful vibration welled up around them, through the floor of the container, into the bones of his feet and spine and chest. To Shade it felt like they were inside the belly of a vast mechanical beast.
There was a rush of air, and his ears popped. He swallowed and looked at Chinook, both of them too frightened to speak. The vibration deepened, so that it seemed to be coming from the marrow of his very bones. The whole container hummed.
They were moving, not just the cage, but whatever it was around them. Shade got the sense of something with immense strength, moving slowly at first, and then with increasing speed. The cage tilted, and instinctively, Shade shot out his wings for balance.
All the other bats had fallen into a terrified silence, some mumbling under their breath, maybe prayers to Nocturna. But Shade’s mind was blank, and he was ashamed of himself. Should be thinking, should be doing something. But all he could do was stupidly wait for what would follow.
Then suddenly the vibrations calmed, and Shade felt a strangely familiar weightlessness.
“We’re flying,” he said.
PART TWO
AIRBORNE
Marina clung to the outside of the flying machine as it angled into the night sky. She knew her claws couldn’t hold out much longer against the wind. It tore at her body, screaming in her ears. An inch away, there was a small indentation in the metal hull, and maybe if she could reach it, it might shield her. If she moved, she might lose her grip—but if she didn’t move, she’d surely be blown off.
She tensed and lifted her left claw. Instantly the wind ripped her loose, pelting her backward through the sky. She heard one of the machine’s fins shriek past her head, almost cutting her in half. Tumbling, she saw the flying machine, already so far away from her, climbing higher.
“No!” she cried, spreading her wings and chasing after it. No bigger than a bird now, its lights twinkled on its belly, carrying Shade away. An anguished gasp escaped her mouth, as if her last breath were leaving her lungs. She looked at the flying machine until it disappeared, and recognized a wracking loss she hadn’t known since her own mother and father had chased her into exile.
Gone, gone, he was gone.
Wings stiff, she let gravity pull her back down to the earth in a slow spiral. She’d seen everything: Shade being struck by the Human’s metal stick, and trapped in one of the troughs. From the ceiling, she’d seen his body pass beneath the glass, shunted by busy hands. She’d caught glimpses of metal being fastened to his body. She’d heard him cry out. Then he’d dropped into the large container. A Human had sealed it, picked it up, and carried it toward a door. She’d followed, slicing through the closing door into the winter twilight.
There were lots of Humans with containers, carrying them through the snow to a long road at the end of which rested the huge flying machine. She’d hung back, afraid, as they’d loaded the containers inside the belly of the machine.
Coward, she now told herself miserably. He befriended you when no one else would; gave you a new home with the Silverwings. Should’ve gone inside the flying machine. Then at least you’d be traveling with him instead of watching him disappear.
South, that was the direction it was traveling, due south.
Beneath her was the Human building, glittering coldly in the dusk. No magical bat song swirled around it now, nothing beckoned her. It was just a big pile of stone and metal, like all their other buildings.
Free, she thought bitterly, I’m free now. But she’d never felt less free. Tell Ariel, tell Frieda, that was the only thought she could latch on to. She had to get back inside. They all had to leave now, she was sure of that. Frieda would know what to do. They could go south, catch up with the plane, find Shade. Yes, that’s right. Find Shade.
She recognized the stretch of roofline they’d flown over when they’d first arrived, and after several minutes, caught sight of one of the entrance portals. She dove toward it, then pulled back, afraid. If she went through, she’d never get out. She had to be able to get out.
She glared at the building, hating it.
She wanted to smash it.
So smash it.
She skimmed the ground and found the biggest stone she could carry. Clutching it in her rear claws, she flew high, took aim, and let it drop. She tracked it as it plummeted and hit a pane of glass square in the center. Nothing. Not so much as a splinter. Again she picked up a stone, labored into the air, and dropped it on the same spot. It bounced off harmlessly.
That left only one choice.
She’d have to use the portal.
It only opened one way, she remembered Shade explaining. No way was she going to be trapped inside that forest again. She glided low, and finally her eyes picked out what she was searching for. A stick, thick and not too tall. She grabbed it and flew to the portal. Just inside, she tried to remember what had happened last time, how quick the drop was at the tunnel’s end. She started down, pausing at the edge. She took a deep breath, wings spread, and dropped over.
Sparks shot from her claws as she dug into the sides. Her flared wings pushed against the shaft, slowing her down a little. Slower … slower … she urged herself. With her echo vision now she could see the end of the shaft rushing toward her, the metal flap that only swung one way. If she didn’t slow down enough she’d simply fly through, and that would be the end of it.
She jammed her wings even harder against the shaft walls, burying her claws in the metal, and—
The flap swung up as she neared it, and she wedged herself into the opening. Gasping with the effort, she quickly jammed the stick against the flap. It came down hard and caught, grinding. The stick skittered a bit, then held.
Through the portal she saw the forest.
She was back in.
But this time she had a way out.
Standing on Chinook’s back, Shade blasted sound into the tiny hole in the metal panel. The returning echoes filled his head with a complicated weave of metal. Quickly he tried to make sense of it all. Some kind of lock. And the Humans must have some kind of tool to push inside and open it. Maybe he could make his own tool—with sound. Open the lock that way.
He didn’t know what was on the other side of the panel, but he wasn’t about to wait around here any longer. The other bats were crouched on the floor, some silent and staring, others muttering forlornly among themselves.
“Can you open it?” Chinook asked from below.
“I hope so.”
“You can do it,” said Chinook, nodding confidently. “I’ve seen you knock those stones around. You can do it.”
“Thanks,” he said, touched by Chinook’s loyalty. He sang a needle of sound into the opening and watched in his head as it ricocheted off the metal pieces, making one or two move gently. But he saw the pieces he would need to move: three of them, all at the same time. He took a deep breath, took aim, and sent out a three-pronged bolt of sound. Metal tumbled, and there was a small pop that jolted the panel.
“I’ve done it,” he whispered to himself, then more loudly, “I’ve done it. It’s open!”
The other bats looked up at him.
“But we don’t know what’s on the other side,” said the banded Long-ear. “Maybe we’re better off here.”
“Maybe this is what’s supposed to happen,” another bat said hopefully. “Arcadia always said that whatever the Humans do is part of the plan.”
“Does this feel like something good?” Shade said bitterly. “When they cut into us back there? Tied these things to our bodies? Don’t you remember how much it hurt?”
The horrible wail of that room still echoed in his head.
“But maybe we’re supposed to endure the suffering. Maybe it’s a test?” said the Long-ear.
“Maybe,” said Shade, and for a moment, he wanted to lie down on the floor too, just rest and wait. Had this happened to his father too? How he wished he could speak to him now.
&nbs
p; He looked at the bats and sighed. “The panel’s unlocked,” he said simply. “Anyone who wants to can leave. Come on, Chinook, we’re getting out of here.”
He saw a tremor of hesitation in Chinook’s body, but then he followed Shade’s lead and, together, they dug in their claws and dragged their weight along the panel, pushing. It slid back slowly but smoothly, and on the other side was—
Another black wall, blocking their opening. Chinook slumped.
Shade peered at it in dismay, and then realized it was another panel, identical to the first, complete with a tiny hole for the lock. “It’s another cage,” he said.
Faintly he could hear more bat noises around them, weary murmurings, the occasional cry for help. “I can open this one too, maybe,” said Shade. “What’s the use?” moaned a Graywing behind him.
“It’ll just be another cage,” said a second bat, “and how are we supposed to get out of that?”
“We’ll never get free,” whined a third.
“It’s better than sitting here and waiting,” said Shade angrily. Once again he hopped up onto Chinook’s back and peered into the hole with sound. Stupid bats. He didn’t care what they said; he’d keep trying to get free until he died.
It was obvious they were inside some kind of Human flying machine. And if he could get out of all these cages, maybe there was a way out of the flying machine. Into the air. Back into the world.
The lock was slightly different from the first, but he recognized the same principal of tumbling metal. He took a deep breath, aimed, and fired sound. By the solid clink, he knew he’d succeeded. With Chinook he started sliding the panel back. Probably more useless bats inside, he thought with a grimace.
They’d barely moved the panel a few inches when a huge snout lunged through the gap, knocking Shade over onto his tail. He saw the fangs and knew instantly what had happened.
He’d just unlocked Goth’s cage.
He leaped back to his feet and hurled himself against the panel with Chinook, pushing it back. “What is that?” Chinook choked out.
“Meet Goth,” Shade grunted, then over his shoulder shouted to the other bats, “help us!”