Darkwing

  Dusk peered up into their tree. It wouldn’t give them much height to work with.

  The elders seemed to be thinking the same thing, for Sol said, “Is it enough to get us across? I’m not sure it is.” They all stared down at the water. “When will it draw back?” Barat wanted to know. “Will it be the same time as yesterday?” Dusk asked.

  Nova glared at him, and Dusk averted his eyes, knowing he had no place in this discussion. He was forgetting himself. All his life he and Sylph had overheard things they weren’t meant to. Because they were Icaron’s newborns, they had often skulked around when he was discussing colony matters. Other newborns would have been scolded and sent on their way; and sometimes Dusk was too. But mostly he was allowed to be nearby—especially if he wasn’t so rash as to speak out.

  “I’m sorry,” Dusk said quickly, bowing his head. “It’s just that I saw the water drawn back yesterday, and if it happens at the same time, it’ll be after sunset.”

  “Good,” said Icaron, turning to the elders. “When we first crossed, we studied the water for several days, do you remember? It drew back twice a day—though then, it was not at sunset. It must change over time.” He looked at his son. “And you saw the bridge?”

  Dusk nodded. “I think it was over there. A thin strip of sand.”

  “It didn’t last long,” said Sol. “No,” agreed Barat.

  Nova turned her head to and fro. “I feel no wind.”

  “Dusk,” said Icaron, “can you fly above the trees and tell us the direction of the wind?”

  “What of the birds?” Nova asked. “What if they see him?”

  “We have greater worries,” said Icaron. “Dusk’s skills are too valuable to us now. Go on, Dusk.”

  Dusk leapt eagerly into the air, sails pumping, and spiralled up until he’d cleared the tallest tree on the coast. He circled, testing the air, waiting for it to flatten his fur. But the wind was calm today. He returned to Dad and told him.

  “It may change,” Icaron said. “It often does late in the afternoon.”

  “But will it change in our favour?” asked Barat. Dusk studied the distance between the island and the mainland. The water sparkled. In his mind, he tried to plot the glide path from the trees. It was not encouraging. Most of the time his gaze plunged into the water, well short of the shore. If the sand bridge was exposed, they might be able to land on that, but then they would be grounded, and slow, and it would be a long scuttle to the mainland. And if they missed the bridge…. He shivered as he imagined water soaking into his fur and dragging him down.

  “We won’t make it without a wind,” said Barat, “and even so, that’s unlikely to get us up into the trees.”

  “That slope’s rocky; it will be no easy climb,” said Nova.

  A discouraged silence settled over the elders. Dusk watched his father, waiting for him to pronounce a decisive remedy.

  “We must hope the wind shifts,” Icaron said. “We have until sunset. Then we must make the best of it.”

  “We could wait a day, to see if the wind changes,” suggested Barat.

  “Then we invite another massacre,” said Icaron. “We go tonight.”

  Dusk shifted awkwardly. The crossing would be easy for him. All he had to do was flap. He looked back at the sunlight dancing broken on the water. Would the long day’s heat gather and rise as it did in their clearing? “Dad,” he said quietly, “what about thermals?”

  His father nodded, understanding. “Go see.”

  Dusk launched himself out over the water, not flapping this time, but holding his sails rigid. He aimed for the sun’s brightest glare. But when he reached it, there was no sudden lift. He flew higher and tried a few more likely places, without success. It seemed the water did not store and release the heat as well as the land. Dejected, he banked back to the island.

  From his lofty height he spotted a rocky clearing not far from the beach. They hadn’t passed through it on their way to the coast, but it looked sizable. An idea suddenly occurred to him. Skimming the treetops, he flew to the clearing.

  Instantly he felt the sun’s heat against his belly. He circled, testing the air, and then felt a shove beneath his sails. He would’ve given a whoop of joy, if he hadn’t been so afraid of the felids hearing. Strong thermals soared from the bottom of the clearing. He rode one, wanting to see how high it would take him. In the calm air he wafted up to the treetops, then beyond.

  When the lifting power under his sails evaporated, he turned himself to look at the mainland. Quickly he plotted a glide path. They could make it! He was sure of it. If the chiropters rode the thermals to this height, they’d make it across, and not just to the shoreline. They’d be able to land midway up the trees.

  Below him, at the edge of the clearing, something shifted in one of the trees. He wheeled, dropping a bit closer and sending out a volley of sound. His echoes returned a picture of a felid crouched tensely on a branch, peering through the forest in the direction of the coast. Just by the hunch of its head and the angle of its ears, Dusk knew it had seen something—his entire colony. Had it been following them all along, tracking their movements? Were there others prowling nearby, just waiting to attack?

  As Dusk watched, the felid leapt swiftly down the branches to the ground. But it did not streak towards the coast as Dusk had most feared; it turned and ran in the opposite direction, deeper into the forest, back towards the sequoia.

  CHAPTER 13

  THE CROSSING

  “There was a felid in the trees!” Dusk gasped to his father and the elders. “He saw us, all of us, I’m sure of it!”

  “Where is he now?” Nova demanded.

  “He ran back into the forest. Towards the sequoia.”

  “A scout,” Icaron said. “He’s gone to tell the others. We have to leave now.”

  “What about the wind?” Sol said.

  “We can’t wait,” Nova said.

  “Dad, there are thermals in the clearing back there,” Dusk said, and hurriedly explained his discovery. “If we ride them high enough, we can glide to the mainland.”

  “We’ve never done such a thing,” said Nova. “Who’s to say the rest of us can do it?”

  “Sylph’s done it,” Dusk said. “If she can do it, everyone can do it.” He fervently hoped he was right about this.

  “I don’t like it,” said Nova. “The shortest route is from here. If we go back to the clearing, we just increase the distance.”

  “That’s true,” said Icaron, “but if my son’s right, the extra height we gain from the thermals will let us sail across more easily.”

  “It’s fine for your son,” said Nova. “All he needs to do is flap.”

  “I won’t flap my sails,” said Dusk, feeling both guilty and indignant. “I’ll do it the same as everyone.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Icaron told him harshly. “You will use all your skills and strengths. There’s no shame in it,” he added, looking fiercely at Nova.

  “We should wait at least until the sand bridge appears,” Sol said. “Just in case.”

  “That would be ideal,” Icaron replied, “but if we wait, the clearing will lose its heat, and there might not be enough hot air to lift us.”

  “What about the birds?” said Barat. “We’ll be seen.”

  “We must risk it,” said Icaron.

  “I just thought of something else,” Dusk said boldly. “If we leave now, before the water’s drawn back, it means the felids can’t follow us.”

  Icaron nodded. “Dusk is right. Well done.”

  “This is not a decision to be made by a newborn,” snapped Nova.

  “He’s not making the decision,” said Icaron. “I am. We’re going back to the clearing to ride the thermals. Go tell your families. We don’t have much time before the felids return.”

  Carnassial stretched his lithe body along a sun-warmed branch and settled down contentedly, licking his paws. He liked this tree. Its broad branches were generous, the bark soft against h
is belly. The tangy fragrance of the sequoia needles made him sleepy.

  He was pleased with the efforts of his prowl last night. Almost everyone had killed once, and some twice. The chiropter he’d taken, the leader’s mate, had been a bit stringy and tough, but later he’d caught a younger one, whose flesh was much sweeter. His stomach had become accustomed to his new carnivorous diet, and no longer cramped and twisted after feeding.

  He had grown; he’d seen it first in Miacis and some of the others. The meat was making them larger and stronger. Carnassial felt it in his chest and shoulders and neck. It was just as he’d hoped. How big would they grow? he wondered. Would they one day become as big as the saurians? No, that was too big. Once you were that enormous, you couldn’t move freely through the trees, and you were slow. He only needed to become big enough to dominate all other beasts.

  The island was ideal. The chiropters were their captives. There were birds in the trees, and rooters and browsers on the forest floor. He’d ventured out briefly at dawn to have a look. When his felids left the island, they’d be indomitable.

  “Carnassial!”

  His ears twitched and he peered down over the branch. Across the clearing bounded Miacis, whom he’d instructed to scout the island and keep track of the chiropters’ movements. Carnassial wanted to be able to find them tonight. Miacis looked like she’d run quite a distance. “What is it?” he called down.

  “They’re gathered in trees along the coast,” Miacis said. “All of them, facing the mainland.”

  “Quickly,” Carnassial shouted, leaping to the ground. “Gather the prowl. We can’t let them leave the island.”

  Hundreds of chiropters lurched through the air of the small clearing as Dusk fluttered about, shouting advice and encouragement.

  “Almost!”

  “Try again!”

  “You’ve got it! Now angle your sails and don’t slide off!”

  The thermals were numerous and strong, and already a good number of chiropters were rising into the sky. Dusk was relieved to see that most of them, especially the newborns, caught on fairly quickly. A few seemed to have an instinctive revulsion of rising, and shied away from the lifting currents. They were used to going down, not up, and it felt unnatural to them. Sylph surfed from one thermal to another, calling out advice to whoever would listen. Dusk was grateful for her help, since she explained things clearly—and more loudly than he could have done.

  Dusk glanced skyward and, with a sickening jolt, saw a large flock of birds wheeling over the island. They splayed themselves across the sky like a constellation of dark stars, and then contracted ominously into a tight black mass. But they were still a ways off and didn’t seem to be drawing any closer.

  “The felids must be on the move,” Icaron said, gliding past him. “The birds are agitated.”

  Dusk knew they didn’t have much time. Many of the chiropters had cleared the trees now, and would soon start their glide towards the mainland. But plenty still hadn’t caught a thermal yet. This was all his idea, and he felt terribly responsible. He spotted a small group of chiropters still gliding fecklessly to and fro across the clearing, and hurried over to them. He steered them towards the nearest thermal. Not everyone was appreciative.

  “This was a bad idea,” muttered one frustrated chiropter.

  “I can do it on my own, newborn,” an old male from Barat’s family grumbled. “I don’t need your help.”

  Sylph was still sailing about, offering advice, catching lifts on thermals so she wouldn’t lose height. She was amazingly determined, but Dusk now wished she’d just ride high and start her glide to the mainland. There weren’t many chiropters left in the clearing now. “They’re here!”

  The shout came from one of their sentries. At once, all the remaining chiropters launched themselves from the trees and sailed out in search of thermals. Icaron was among them.

  “Sylph! Dusk! Time to go!”

  “Go on!” Dusk told Sylph. “I’ll catch up with you.” To the sentries he called out, “There’s a strong thermal right over here!”

  They glided towards him, and he helped steer them into the hot air. Up they shot! Now, where was Dad?

  From out of the trees came the felids. Some bounded into the middle of the clearing and turned their faces skyward. Others leapt into the branches and started climbing.

  Dusk saw his father and flapped over. “Dad, slip into this one right here!” he said.

  His father tried, but hit it too obliquely and was deflected. He circled round, losing height fast. Dusk glanced down at the ground, and saw, not thirty feet below, Carnassial staring up at them, snarling.

  Dusk fluttered around his father, fighting the urge to give advice. Even now, his father would not welcome it.

  Again Icaron flew into the thermal, and gave a grunt of pain as his wounded sail was buffeted from underneath. He lost his balance and slid off, circling ever lower. “Dad, you’ve got to—”

  “I know!” his father snapped. “I’ll be fine. Just go.” Dusk could not go. He needed to get his father aloft. The trees were already filled with felids. If Dad didn’t catch the thermal soon, he’d hit the ground. Beneath them, Carnassial rose onto his hind legs and leaped straight up. The felid fell back, twisting, far short of them, but Dusk was still alarmed by the height of his jump.

  “There’s another thermal over here, I think,” he said, but his father was stubbornly trying for the same one. He glided in, flared his sails, and caught the hot air. He began to rise.

  “Got it,” he muttered, wincing as he rose. Dusk flapped alongside him.

  “I was worried,” Dusk said.

  “No need to worry about me.”

  Up into the clearing they rose, leaving the felids spitting in fury below.

  Carnassial stared in amazement as the last of the chiropters floated skyward. How was this possible? He’d never known a chiropter to do such a thing. It was unnatural. He ground his teeth, pacing in frustration. Then he noticed that Miacis and the others were watching him, waiting.

  In less than fifty long strides he reached the coast. Overhead the dark trail of chiropters slanted towards the mainland. All his prey. He ran along the beach, looking for the sand bridge they’d taken yesterday. The sun’s blaze off the water half blinded him. “Where is it?” he roared.

  “It’s not time yet,” said Miacis at his side. “Not until sunset.”

  That was not for several hours, and by then the chiropters would be long gone. He whirled on Miacis, teeth bared.

  “Why didn’t you tell me earlier they were on the move?”

  “Your orders were to follow them,” Miacis replied evenly. “I never thought they meant to leave the island.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Carnassial either, but he needed someone to blame, so he lunged forward and bit Miacis on the ear. She cringed, more in shock than pain. A slow trickle of blood matted her fur.

  Carnassial turned to the rest of his prowl. “We don’t need the chiropters,” he spat. “There’s plenty of prey for us on this island—on the forest floor, in the trees. I’ve seen it. Let the gliders go. They’re not worth the effort.”

  Dusk’s jubilation was short-lived. As he and his father rose, the air was filled with hundreds of other chiropters, most still lifting on the thermals, others starting their glides towards the mainland. But the large flock of birds that had been whirling over the island now seeped towards them. “Don’t flap,” Icaron said tersely.

  Dusk wondered if it was too late. Maybe the birds had already seen him flapping in the clearing. But he had no wish to antagonize them further. Fearfully he watched as the birds massed high overhead, churning like a storm cloud. The thermals carried the chiropters ever closer.

  “Egg-eaters!” came a bird’s shriek, and then it was picked up by the others.

  “Egg-eaters!”

  “Egg-eaters!”

  Dusk was afraid they would swoop down towards them, but they stayed high for now, crying out their ridiculous accus
ations. More and more chiropters tilted themselves into their glides, eagerly putting distance between themselves and the birds. Dusk and his father were bringing up the rear. Dusk’s heart pounded painfully. He kept watch on the mainland, waiting for the moment when he too could begin his descent.

  Almost there.

  The birds swirled angrily. He could feel the turbulence of their wings.

  Finally, he and his father slipped out of the thermal, sails angling to ride the wind. It felt strange now to be moving through the air without power. Before him the other chiropters slanted towards the coastline. The tide was still high. Long-legged birds strutted in the rocky shallows, dipping their beaks into the sun-shattered water, pulling up weeds.

  Dusk felt a rush of air across his tail and back, and something sharp scraped his shoulders. Three birds shot overhead, banked sharply, their lowered claws sharp in the sunlight. They were coming back, straight at him and Dad.

  “Egg-eaters!” one of them screeched.

  Instinctively, Dusk angled his sails to dive, as did his father. The birds soared over once more, battering them with their wing strokes, raking them with their claws. “They’re trying to drive us lower!” Dad said. In shock, Dusk recalculated their glide path. They’d still make it to the trees. Just. But if they fell any lower they’d be lucky to reach the base of the rocky cliffs. “Dusk, fly higher.” His father could not do the same. “We’ll be all right,” Dusk said.

  More birds were streaking past them, towards the rest of the colony. They easily overtook the chiropters, whirling round them, gouging them with their claws and beaks, smacking them with their wings. In panic Dusk watched as chiropters veered off course, or worse, plunged below their planned glide path.

  Halfway across, Dusk heard a chorus of cries and turned to see three birds flying at them from the side. This time Dusk was ready. He flapped his own sails and swerved to meet them, baring his teeth and making the worst and loudest sound he could manage. It came out a strangled scream, the likes of which he’d never heard. The birds were so startled, they veered away to miss him.