sang out once more, carefully, to enlarge the opening, and then hurried towards it. “Griffin!”
Nothing.
He clambered through, using careful washes of sound to search the rubble. His heart fluttered, sick with the fear he might see the edge of a shattered wing, a bit of lifeless fur. Matted with grit, he dragged himself out the other side, trembling with exhaustion and relief. He’d seen nothing. Surely Griffin was on this side, safe. “Griffin?”
But the tunnel was empty. Then he saw it. At the far end, the rock had been split into a narrow gash, big enough for a bat to squeeze through. It was hissing faintly. Shade instantly thought of the tiger moth, sucked down into the earth.
No
.
It was still possible his son was trapped somewhere in the cave-in…. Only one way to be sure. Again Shade flared his ears and listened. It was simpler this time: fewer echoes to distract him as he sifted back through the sound of time, and then suddenly there was Griffin, hunched up in the tunnel, trapped.
Shade’s throat thickened as he watched the worried movements of his son, scratching uselessly at the rubble that cut him off, then turning to move closer to the hissing opening which promised his only exit. Shade stared, his breath frozen, as Griffin ducked into the fissure and disappeared.
“I fear your son may already be lost to you,” said Lucretia, the chief Silverwing elder.
Shade shook his head, trying to expel her terrible words. “There’s no way we can know that yet.”
It had taken all his resolve to return to Tree Haven. Underground, he had crawled into the hissing crevice, following Griffin’s echo image down and down until suddenly it evaporated in thepowerful current. Shade knew that unless he turned back immediately, he, too, would be dragged headlong to whatever waited beneath. He’d wanted to go, anyway, to hurtle himself after his son. But he couldn’t. Not yet. At the very least he had to tell Marina. Laboriously, he’d dragged himself back up the tunnel into Tree Haven. And now, at its summit, he shifted impatiently as he listened to the four elders roosting above him.
“Over the centuries,” said Lucretia, “similar cracks in the earth have opened. We have accounts of bats who fell down them. None ever returned. Shade, where your son has gone, there can be no rescue.”
“I’m going,” he said hoarsely. “I only came back to tell you.”
“Our legends tell us it is the Underworld. The land Cama Zotz created for the cannibal bats after their death. It’s a place of utter darkness and torment. For our kind, Nocturna created a different afterlife, a wonderful one. But in Zotz’s Underworld, there are only the Vampyrum Spectrum, all the billions of them who were ever born.”
The thought of his son in this hellish place—the
wrong
place—was almost too terrible for Shade to endure. “I won’t leave him there.”
“It is said that those who enter the world of the dead, become the dead.”
“Legends,” Shade muttered.
“They are all we have,” Lucretia reminded him kindly, but firmly.
“I’ve never even heard these legends,” Shade said, unable to contain his frustration—and indignation, too. “Why weren’t we ever told about Cama Zotz or this Underworld?” He’d spent a lot of time in the echo chamber, the perfectly spherical cave where the Silverwing colony stored its history. He’d even sung some stories of his own to the polished walls. So how was it possible that he—a
hero
, in case anyone needed reminding!—should be shutout like this? It was outrageous.
“There are some legends that are meant only for the elders,” said Lucretia. “Unless we feel they serve a purpose in their telling.” Shade said nothing, not trusting himself to speak. He hated the idea of secrets being kept from him, as if he were some silly newborn. Why shouldn’t he—why shouldn’t
everyone?
—know all there was to know?
“Well,” he said, his mind already leaping ahead,
Nothing.
He clambered through, using careful washes of sound to search the rubble. His heart fluttered, sick with the fear he might see the edge of a shattered wing, a bit of lifeless fur. Matted with grit, he dragged himself out the other side, trembling with exhaustion and relief. He’d seen nothing. Surely Griffin was on this side, safe. “Griffin?”
But the tunnel was empty. Then he saw it. At the far end, the rock had been split into a narrow gash, big enough for a bat to squeeze through. It was hissing faintly. Shade instantly thought of the tiger moth, sucked down into the earth.
No
.
It was still possible his son was trapped somewhere in the cave-in…. Only one way to be sure. Again Shade flared his ears and listened. It was simpler this time: fewer echoes to distract him as he sifted back through the sound of time, and then suddenly there was Griffin, hunched up in the tunnel, trapped.
Shade’s throat thickened as he watched the worried movements of his son, scratching uselessly at the rubble that cut him off, then turning to move closer to the hissing opening which promised his only exit. Shade stared, his breath frozen, as Griffin ducked into the fissure and disappeared.
“I fear your son may already be lost to you,” said Lucretia, the chief Silverwing elder.
Shade shook his head, trying to expel her terrible words. “There’s no way we can know that yet.”
It had taken all his resolve to return to Tree Haven. Underground, he had crawled into the hissing crevice, following Griffin’s echo image down and down until suddenly it evaporated in thepowerful current. Shade knew that unless he turned back immediately, he, too, would be dragged headlong to whatever waited beneath. He’d wanted to go, anyway, to hurtle himself after his son. But he couldn’t. Not yet. At the very least he had to tell Marina. Laboriously, he’d dragged himself back up the tunnel into Tree Haven. And now, at its summit, he shifted impatiently as he listened to the four elders roosting above him.
“Over the centuries,” said Lucretia, “similar cracks in the earth have opened. We have accounts of bats who fell down them. None ever returned. Shade, where your son has gone, there can be no rescue.”
“I’m going,” he said hoarsely. “I only came back to tell you.”
“Our legends tell us it is the Underworld. The land Cama Zotz created for the cannibal bats after their death. It’s a place of utter darkness and torment. For our kind, Nocturna created a different afterlife, a wonderful one. But in Zotz’s Underworld, there are only the Vampyrum Spectrum, all the billions of them who were ever born.”
The thought of his son in this hellish place—the
wrong
place—was almost too terrible for Shade to endure. “I won’t leave him there.”
“It is said that those who enter the world of the dead, become the dead.”
“Legends,” Shade muttered.
“They are all we have,” Lucretia reminded him kindly, but firmly.
“I’ve never even heard these legends,” Shade said, unable to contain his frustration—and indignation, too. “Why weren’t we ever told about Cama Zotz or this Underworld?” He’d spent a lot of time in the echo chamber, the perfectly spherical cave where the Silverwing colony stored its history. He’d even sung some stories of his own to the polished walls. So how was it possible that he—a
hero
, in case anyone needed reminding!—should be shutout like this? It was outrageous.
“There are some legends that are meant only for the elders,” said Lucretia. “Unless we feel they serve a purpose in their telling.” Shade said nothing, not trusting himself to speak. He hated the idea of secrets being kept from him, as if he were some silly newborn. Why shouldn’t he—why shouldn’t
everyone?
—know all there was to know?
“Well,” he said, his mind already leaping ahead,
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