Sunwing (21 page)

“The cannibal bat,” Orestes said.

“Yeah,” said Shade. “And I don’t even know why I helped Orestes that first time, maybe just because he was being attacked and I didn’t like to see it. And then he helped me. And that seemed important, I guess. More important than what happened at the Great Battle, a million years ago…. “

He’d lost hold of what he was trying to say, and trailed off. He didn’t even remember what he’d just said; probably a babbling mess.

“We were always taught bats were traitors,” Orestes said to his father, “that you couldn’t trust them. But Shade isn’t like that, and neither are the others I met. We fought together for our lives. We trusted each other.”

“There might be other Human buildings,” Shade said, “where they’re keeping bats and owls prisoner. We should be using our energy to free them, not fighting each other.”

King Boreal looked from Shade to his son in one slow blink.

“I find all this youthful naïveté trying,” an owl ambassador said.

Achilles Graywing sighed and looked at the stars overhead. “We would be wise to heed it more carefully,” he said.

“Perhaps so,” said King Boreal, and for the first time, Shade
thought he looked tenderly at his own son. “I had given you up for lost, and I missed you sorely.”

“Me too,” said Orestes, flying closer.

“My appetite for war is dulled,” said King Boreal. “Let us agree to a truce, if that is acceptable to you. We can meet this summer in the northern forests and talk more of this, in the hopes of coming to a better understanding.”

“Yes,” said Halo Freetail, “let us do that, King Boreal.”

“The night skies are no longer closed to you. You have them once again in peace.”

“The sun,” Shade breathed, before he could stop himself. He swallowed as King Boreal’s head swiveled back to him, eyes flashing. Oh no, I’ve ruined everything, he thought.

“The sun?” said the owl king, eyebrows lifting. “Are the nights not enough for you?”

All he could do was shake his head.

“That must be a matter of discussion when we next meet. Until then, I can consent to an interim measure. You have given me back my son, Silverwing. So in return I give you your sun.”

When Shade landed beside Frieda on the sheltered ledge beneath the bridge, she was so still, he feared he was too late.

“Is she breathing?” he whispered anxiously to Marina, who’d flown down with him.

“I believe I am.” The Silverwing elder opened her eyes and looked at Shade with some amusement. But her words whistled faintly with effort. “Your mother told me all about your meeting with King Boreal.”

“We can all go home now,” said Shade excitedly. “They’re freeing all the Hibernaculums. We can go back to our forest! In the
sunlight! I want to help make a new Tree Haven. I mean, it’s the least I can do since I got the first one burned down, right?” He knew he was rattling on, but he was afraid not to talk, afraid what he might see, might hear.

Frieda just smiled. “I told you there was a brightness to you. It’s always so satisfying to be proven right. Not something that happens very often when you’re an elder.” She coughed. “You did what
I
wanted to do. You fulfilled the Promise.”

With great difficulty she raised her wing to reveal the silver band on her forearm. The sight of it made Shade wince. It used to be such a powerful image for him, a sign of hope, of strength. He’d wanted one so badly. Now it would always be a hideous reminder of what the Humans had done to all of them—and of a horrible delusion that had falsely raised their hopes for centuries. He hated the sight of the bands now.

“No,” Frieda wheezed, seeing it in his face, “the bands were important.”

Shade didn’t know what to say. How could he contradict her now, when she was so sick?

“I think I understand,” said Marina with surprise. “They did play a part.”

“How?” Shade demanded angrily. How could anyone say that now?

“The bands set us on the path,” Marina said. “They made us seek the Humans out.”

“And look where it took us,” said Shade.

“Oh, he’s not as smart as he thinks!” said Marina gleefully to Frieda. “Yeah, they took us to the Human building, and the fake forest. And that’s where the owls were too.”

Shade looked from her to Frieda, mystified. But Frieda nodded, her eyes sparkling.

“Go on,” she urged Marina.

“What if you hadn’t met Orestes, if you hadn’t saved his life? You won each other’s trust. I doubt King Boreal would’ve called a truce if that hadn’t happened.”

Shade nodded sheepishly, finally realizing.

“The Humans brought us together,” he said.

“United us,” said Frieda. “We didn’t win the sun through war. We won it through peace.”

As Shade watched, Frieda smiled, as though she’d just caught a glimpse of a favorable future. She rustled her wings, folded them comfortably against her body, and shut her eyes for the last time.

It was a good tree, a massive silver maple with a broad trunk and a multitude of strong, high branches. As the sky paled with the coming dawn, thousands of Silverwings, male and female, were at work, hollowing out the insides of the great tree, turning it into a nursery roost for the colony. Just a few hundred wingbeats to the east were the charred remains of the old Tree Haven, the place where Shade had been born, and which he’d seen burned down by the owls last fall.

Beneath the tree, among the buckled roots, Shade was working alongside his father, carving out the walls of the new echo chamber. Every colony had one, a perfectly circular stone chamber, whose walls were so smooth that a bat’s voice could bounce between them for centuries. It was here that all a colony’s stories were spoken, and contained as echoes within the walls, so that nothing would be forgotten. Last fall, when Tree Haven burned, its echo chamber was breached, and all the stories of the colony had fled like ghostly bats, dissolving in the air. Now they would tell the stories again.

As he polished the wall with a small rock, Shade remembered how Frieda had taken him to the echo chamber for the first time. There, he hadn’t simply heard the stories, he’d
seen
them as the echoes flooded his head with silvery pictures. As if he’d been there, he saw the Great Battle of the Birds and the Beasts, the Banishment, and heard Nocturna’s voice make the bats a Promise, that one day they would regain the light of day. But Frieda had died before she could see a sunrise—not one of those fake ones from inside the Human forest, but a real one in the outside world.

“I wish she were still alive,” he said.

His father nodded, knowing instinctively who Shade was talking about. “She would’ve been happy that your mother took her place, though.”

“Yeah,” said Shade. “Mom’s a good choice. I mean, she didn’t blow up the cannibals’ pyramid, or save the sun or anything, but she’ll be good.” He saw his father looking at him humorously.

“What?”

“I know you wanted to be an elder.”

“I didn’t,” said Shade, looking away, embarrassed.

“You did,” laughed Cassiel. “Hardly a year old, and you expected to be made an elder! You’ve done some amazing things, but you’ve got some years to go yet, my son.”

“Come on, you wanted to be asked too,” said Shade with a grin. His father shook his head and started to say something, but then just looked back at him. They both smiled.

“Probably best neither of us were,” said Shade.

“Better for the entire colony,” his father agreed. “Hotheads like us don’t make good leaders.”

He grinned and went back to polishing. It was such a simple thing, talking to his father, but still a novelty, and every so often
he’d feel a pulse of tremendous happiness. For the first time in his life he felt complete.

Almost, anyway. He sighed inwardly.

“What do you think of Marina?” he asked his father casually. “Fine young bat.”

Since returning to the northern forest a few weeks ago, lots of the young bats had been choosing mates. He’d watched it all with a feeling of acute discomfort. The truth was he still felt ridiculous, especially around female bats. And even, lately, around Marina, which rankled him most of all. They’d been such good friends; she’d risked her life for him, and he used to feel so completely at home with her. But now everything was different, and he just couldn’t believe she’d take him seriously as a potential mate. It wasn’t so long ago he’d first met her: he was a runty newborn, lost, scared, and she was a full year older than him—something she
never
let him forget. She always seemed so colossally unimpressed by him. Sure, he was supposed to be a hero. Then how come he never felt like one?

“Yeah, she’s pretty great,” he said. He put down his polishing stone with a sigh. “I’m not much to look at, especially after half my fur got burned off.”

“It’ll grow back. Anyway, let’s have a look at you.” His father pulled back, tilting his head from side to side. “You’re not so bad, no uglier than your father.”

“I’m not big like the others. Not … handsome. Like Chinook.”

“No, you’re not as handsome as Chinook.”

“No,” said Shade, put out that his father had agreed so readily.

“You know what?” his father said. “I don’t think Marina cares.”

“You don’t?”

“No. She’s smarter than that.”

“I’m going to stretch my wings,” said Shade abruptly.

“Take your time,” said his father.

Shade shot out of the echo chamber, spiraled up through a larger cave, then hurried on all fours through the undulating tunnel that led up into the base of the new Tree Haven.

All around him, Silverwings were at work, chipping away ledges and roosts for themselves from the soft wood. He flew up through the hollow trunk, seeking out Marina with sound. Near the top of the tree, he saw his mother overseeing the work on the elders’ roosts, which would be at the very summit.

“Shade,” she greeted him, nuzzling his cheek.

“Have you seen Marina?”

“She went out to hunt, I think.”

Without waiting, he hurled himself through a knothole in the trunk, and was out in the night. How he’d missed all this over the months. It was early spring, and the air was still crisp, a hint of frost glinting from the branches and grass. But everything was starting to live again, leaves beginning to unfurl, buds opening. He wondered if he would ever feel the same about the day as the night, and decided he never would. The night would always be special somehow.

“Marina!” he called out, snapping up a few midges as he flew. He thought he saw her up ahead, and veered after her, calling out her name again. “Hey, wait up, will you!”

“Race you to the stream!” he heard her call back over her shoulder.

“Do we have to?” he shouted, but she showed no signs of stopping, and he hated the idea of her beating him. He trimmed his wings and darted after her, through the branches of a big chestnut—a shortcut he knew. He blasted out from the trees and swirled over the stream, dipping low to skim some water into his mouth. It was so cold, it burned.

“Beat you!” he cried out, settling on an overhanging branch. “No you didn’t.”

He jumped. She was hanging just several inches away, folded up in her bright wings, and looking for all the world like an autumn leaf that hadn’t fallen. He smiled. It was just the way he’d first met her, on the island, long ago.

“How’s your roost going?” he asked her, suddenly awkward.

“I finished it a few hours ago.”

“I’m glad you’re staying with us.”

“Hmmmm,” she said lazily. “I couldn’t pass up the novelty of being the only Brightwing in your colony. Oh, by the way, Chinook just asked me to be his mate.”

Shade nearly choked on his mosquito. “What?”

“Yeah, just an hour ago.”

“Oh,” said Shade stiffly. “Well, he’s a handsome bat, like you said.”

“Everyone’s choosing mates now. You’ve noticed that, right, Shade?”

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

“You know it’s something I’ve really wanted, don’t you?” she said, looking at him intently. “I mean, I’m older than you, I know that. It’s not the same for you yet. But for me, I have to have a home. Ariel’s been so good to me, but I want my very own family now. You understand, right?”

“Yes,” he said, looking away.

“So you’ll be my mate, then,” Marina said, grinning.

“Be your … what about Chinook!”

“I told him no thanks. I did the right thing, didn’t I?”

“You’re not allowed to be anyone’s mate but mine,” said Shade, curving his wing around her and drawing her close.

“Good,” she said, her voice muffled against his fur. “It worked out just right, then.”

“I thought I heard your voices,” said Ariel, landing on the branch.

“Marina’s going to be my mate!” Shade exclaimed.

“I know; she already told me.”

“You did?” he asked, looking at Marina.

“Well, come on, Shade, it was obvious. Who else would put up with you?”

“I’m sure you’ll both be very … competitive,” said Ariel with a smile, “and happy too.” She looked at Shade. “Your father says the echo chamber’s almost finished.” Shade nodded.

“I was talking with the elders, and we agreed that you should tell our most recent story.”

“Me?” Shade said. He’d never even imagined such an honor. His voice telling a story to the walls of the echo chamber, living on for centuries, long after he was dead. Always there for the Silverwing colony.

His mother nodded. “It’s what Frieda would have wanted. It’s your story, Shade.”

“I’d love to do it,” he said.

“We’ll begin after dawn,” said Ariel, and flew off. Shade looked up through the branches of the tree into the brightening sky. All around them, birds were beginning their dawn chorus from their nests, and he could even hear an owl, hooting in the distance. And the sound no longer made him feel afraid.

“Come on,” he said to Marina, “I’ll show you the best place in the forest to see the sun rise.”

During the Second World War, the United States military initiated Project X-Ray, a top secret program in which bats were trained to carry and deliver explosive devices. Ultimately the project was scrapped after hundreds of bats escaped from the test range, incinerated several army buildings, and took up residence beneath a large fuel tank.

This historical incident was the inspiration for one of the main story lines in
Sunwing.
Aztec and Mayan mythology were also rich sources of ideas for me when it came to writing about Goth and the Vampyrum Spectrum. The Aztecs really did have a huge, beautiful calendar stone that was more accurate than anything in Europe at the time—and this became, in my story, the stone that predicts the total eclipse and eternal night. (The Aztecs had a profound fear of the sun being extinguished forever on certain dates.)

Bridge City is based on the real city of Austin, Texas, where the underside of the Congress Avenue Bridge is home to over a million freetailed-bats, which can be seen flooding into the sky
at twilight. Finally, I got the idea for Statue Haven from the giant statue of Christ the Redeemer, on Corcovado Mountain, overlooking the city of Rio de Janeiro.