Darkwing

  Nova had said they’d wait. Sylph had promised.

  He fought back his panic. Maybe they were just a little ways off, hunting. Or maybe they’d found a better set of trees. He flew off again in ever-widening circles, calling out for his colony all the while. No return cry came.

  He crumpled, breathless, on a branch. Which way had they gone? He could fly faster than they could glide, but how would he know which direction to choose? And even if he did find them, what was the point?

  Despite everything that had happened to him and his family, he’d never felt defeated until now. He’d been discarded by his own colony. Nova had tricked him. She’d never had any intention of travelling to the distant tree he’d spotted. She’d just wanted him gone. Probably she was hoping he’d be killed on the way.

  He couldn’t stop himself whimpering, and he must have been sending out small pulses of sound, because in his mind’s eye he saw little sonic flares of the empty branches around him. The sight made him all the more desolate. Just emptiness. Nobody there.

  Except—

  Something blurred in the fringes of his echovision.

  He opened his eyes and whirled around hopefully.

  Running towards him along the branch was a felid, eyes fierce, jaws wide. It pounced.

  Dusk threw himself off the branch. The felid leapt after him. Dusk felt the frantic heat of its breath against his tail and legs. He opened his wings and beat furiously, lifting clear. Looking down he saw the felid steering through the air with its bushy tail and landing on a branch. It spat and snarled up at him.

  Dusk stayed aloft, scanning the surrounding area. He knew how the felids hunted, and he didn’t want to be driven to a new kill zone. But his frenzied glances showed him no more predators. He landed high up, where he had a clear view of the felid. He recognized this one. “Carnassial,” he said.

  The felid’s ears twitched. “I don’t like it when my food talks to me,” he growled.

  “I’m not your food,” Dusk said indignantly, still checking all around in case this was a trap.

  “You’re the one who can fly,” Carnassial said, pacing the branch. “From the island.”

  “How did you get off?” blurted Dusk.

  Carnassial purred smugly. “Ah. So you heard they tried to imprison me there. The soldiers weren’t up to the task. The island no longer pleased me, so we left.”

  Dusk said nothing, he was so surprised—and filled with hope too. If the felids had left the island, that meant it might be theirs again.

  They could go home!

  “If you were thinking of returning, I have sad news,” said Carnassial. “A new type of predator bird has claimed your island.”

  “Diatrymas?” Dusk said with a shudder.

  “No. These were flyers, very vicious and strong, with talons and beaks that could easily kill one of my own.”

  Dusk’s hope vanished. If these birds were rapacious enough to drive out the felids, it would hardly be safe for the chiropters. “Were there many?” he asked. “Many. They’d massacre your kind.” Dusk grunted bitterly. “Just like you did.”

  “Of course I did. It’s in my nature.”

  “Not all felids are meat-eaters.”

  “Not all chiropters can fly. Which is more unnatural?” For a moment Dusk did not know what to say. “What I do doesn’t harm anyone,” he replied, but he thought of Aeolus, murdered by the birds.

  Carnassial stretched on the branch, his craving for prey seemingly evaporated. “Before long, you yourself may turn to meat.”

  “No,” said Dusk.

  “We felids aren’t the only beasts who do it.” Carnassial sniffed and tasted the air. “Where is your colony?”

  “They’ve abandoned me,” Dusk said. He saw no reason to lie. “They think they’ll have better luck finding a new home without me. They’ve decided I’m a freak.”

  “Interesting,” said Carnassial, “that both of us were exiled because of our natural inclinations. For simply being what we are.” Dusk disliked having anything in common with this creature.

  “Where’s your prowl?” he wanted to know, feeling anew how bizarre it was to be talking with this monster. Carnassial had murdered his mother, and given his father the wounds that eventually killed him. Yet here they were, cloaked in the coming night, a safe distance between them, predator and prey.

  “Far away,” said Carnassial. “I’m travelling temporarily with new allies.”

  Dusk felt his stomach lurch. “What new allies?”

  “Flesh-eaters, much larger than myself. Look there.” Dusk followed Carnassial’s gaze, down through the branches to the forest floor. A powerful, four-legged beast had just pounced on a shrieking groundling and was shearing its flesh.

  “Hyaenodons,” said Carnassial. “You see, there are other beasts who eat meat. But you needn’t worry about them. They’re groundlings. Stay in your trees and you’ll not come to harm.”

  Dusk resented Carnassial’s reassuring tone. He didn’t believe for a second that this felid had any concern for his well-being. But it was as if they’d silently agreed to a short truce.

  When he next spoke, Carnassial’s voice was a conspiratorial whisper, as though he didn’t want the hyaenodons to hear.

  “There’s no perfect world,” he said, reminding Dusk uncomfortably of what his father had mumbled just before he died. “There’s no homeland safe from predators. There will always be predators, and ones bigger than you and me. We must make use of whatever skills we have to survive. Freaks like us might have an advantage. Your ability to fly may be your salvation. I used to think my hunter’s teeth and strength gave me an advantage.” He gave a small, self-mocking growl. “Now I know I must be smarter and quicker to excel.”

  “I don’t wish you luck,” Dusk told him.

  “Keep your luck,” said Carnassial. “You will need it more than me.”

  Dusk was frightened by the hungry look sparking once more in Carnassial’s eyes. He launched himself into the darkening forest. He didn’t care where he was going; he was intent only on leaving the felid and his beast allies far behind. He felt sickened by their conversation.

  When it became too dark to see, he navigated by echoes alone until his weariness overcame him, and he landed. He wrapped himself in his wings. Should he simply go back to the mighty tree on the hill, and find Chimera and the other bats? At least there he’d have a home.

  But what about the pact he’d made with Sylph, to take care of each other? It seemed she’d already broken it. But part of him couldn’t believe this. His sister had the most loyal of hearts. If she wasn’t here, there must be some good reason for it—and one, he hoped, that wasn’t terrible. Tomorrow he’d think more clearly. Tomorrow he’d know how to find her.

  For the second night in a row, he slept alone, huddled in a strange tree.

  “Dusk!”

  Even in his dreams, he wondered if it was just the wind. But when he heard his name called a second time, more clearly, his mind began prising him out of sleep.

  “Dusk!”

  He woke and saw his sister gliding right past his branch, not seeing him. He was so stunned that for a moment he couldn’t speak or move. She was like an apparition of his deepest wishes and he couldn’t quite believe she was real. Then he threw himself into the air and started flapping after her.

  “Sylph!”

  She banked and saw him. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “I was so worried!”

  Dusk flew to her and fluttered around her delightedly as she glided in to land. On the branch they nuzzled and embraced each other with their sails.

  “Where were you?” Dusk said. “I thought you’d left me!”

  “We had to,” she explained. “Yesterday afternoon, some of our sentries saw a pair of felids. And they seemed to be travelling with some other scary looking beasts. We don’t know what they were.”

  “Hyaenodons,” Dusk said.

  Sylph hunched forward in surprise. “How do you know?”

  ??
?Carnassial told me.”

  His sister looked so bewildered that Dusk couldn’t help chuckling. He told her about his surreal encounter and conversation with the felid last night. “Did he say where he was going?” Sylph wanted to know. “I should’ve asked. I doubt he would’ve told me the truth.”

  “I hope he gets eaten by his new friends,” Sylph said bitterly. “I’m so glad you’re here,” Dusk said. “We started looking for you at first light.”

  “I was worried Nova had abandoned me.”

  Sylph exhaled loudly. “She did.”

  Dusk squinted, confused. “What?”

  “After you left, she held an assembly. She said we should return to Gyrokus and join his colony. Now that she was leader, she’d renounce the past and apologize and Gyrokus would take us in. She said it was the best thing to do.” Sylph took a deep breath. “But she said we couldn’t risk taking you with us.”

  “Because I fly,” Dusk said dully.

  Sylph nodded. “They’d reject all of us as deviants. Nova said it made her sad to leave you, but her responsibility was to all the chiropters in the colony—not just one.”

  Sylph seemed to remember Nova’s words well, as if she’d gone over them again and again in her head.

  “And everyone agreed with her,” Dusk said.

  “Not quite everyone.”

  “Who’s left, Sylph?”

  “Sol wouldn’t leave, but most of his family did anyway.”

  “Sol was always the most loyal to Dad,” said Dusk.

  “And Auster spoke against the plan too. He said it was a betrayal of Dad to go back to Gyrokus. He stayed behind, and so did about half our family. Nova, Barat, all their two families, and everyone else—they left yesterday.”

  Dusk said nothing. If a felid had sunk its teeth into his shoulder, he doubted he’d have felt a thing. After a while he realized Sylph was watching him in concern.

  “Dusk. Are you okay?”

  “Jib’s gone, I suppose,” he said finally. Sylph sniffed. “Yeah. He’s gone.”

  “So the news isn’t all bad.”

  “He really was a little nit,” his sister agreed with a chuckle.

  Dusk looked at her gravely. “You must’ve wanted to go too.”

  Sylph gazed at the bark for a moment. “You know how I felt about Gyrokus and Dad’s decision.”

  “I know.”

  “I’m not sure if Nova’s decision was a bad one,” she said slowly. “You always did feel some loyalty to her,” Dusk said. She raised her head, her eyes fierce. “Yes. But I’m more loyal to you. Nothing could’ve made me leave.”

  Dusk nodded, amazed. She’d thought Nova’s decision was a good one; she’d wanted a safe home. Yet she’d chosen to stay with him. Even when she was angry and resentful, she’d always stood up for him. Always.

  “No one ever had a better sister,” he told her. She frowned. “Even if I thought going back to Gyrokus was a good idea, the way Nova did it wasn’t right. Lying and sending you off like that, after everything you’ve done. She’d probably be mulched up in the gut of a diatryma if it weren’t for you! I’d rather be homeless than live in her colony now.”

  “You don’t have to be homeless,” Dusk told her. “I found us a home.”

  “Really?” she said. “Those trees you saw?” He nodded. “They’re perfect.”

  It was a much diminished colony that Dusk guided through the forest and swamp. There were fewer than a hundred of them now. Still, when he was reunited with them he’d been overcome with joy and relief—and surprise, for they’d greeted him so warmly. There was such comfort in simply being amongst his own kind, enveloped in the the scent and closeness of their bodies.

  It took them an entire day to reach the edge of the grasslands, and the sun was floating above the horizon when they finally landed. Auster immediately posted sentries all round their tree, in case Carnassial and his cohort were stalking them. Crouched beside his sister, Dusk stared out at the distant hills.

  “They look a long way away,” said Sylph.

  “They didn’t seem so far when I was in the air,” Dusk confessed.

  Auster settled beside him silently as he surveyed the landscape in the last light of the sun. He was leader now.

  “We’ll plot our course from tree to tree,” he said. “That way we can rest safely, and then start out again with a long glide. It’ll save us some time on the ground.” He sighed. “There’s a lot of ground to cover.”

  “I can be your guide,” Dusk said.

  “We couldn’t do it otherwise,” Auster told him. “We’ll need your night eyes up high.” Auster lifted his gaze to the hills and made a satisfied grunt. “It’s good to finally have our home in sight.”

  They spent that night in the forest, and all the next day fed and rested in preparation for the crossing. When darkness fell, they would set out. The diatrymas would be sleeping; the chiropters’ dark bodies would be concealed; and though their vision would be poor, Dusk would lead them with his echovision.

  He knew he should be off hunting, gathering strength for the coming journey, but he had no appetite. With every passing minute he felt more exhausted with worry. He just wanted to get going. As the sun began to set, the earth cooled. Mist sifted across the grasslands. The moon was big tonight. It would help guide them; but it would also help any nocturnal predators.

  Sylph returned from hunting and settled beside him on the branch.

  “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” he whispered to her. “This crossing. Maybe we should just go back to our island.”

  Sylph shook her head. “Auster and Sol agreed it was too risky, with those predator birds.”

  “Maybe Carnassial was just lying, to keep us from going back. Out of spite.”

  “Anyway, it’s so far away now.”

  “Ten days’ journey, that’s all.”

  “I didn’t mean just that,” his sister said. “After what happened, do you think you could be happy there again?”

  “We were born there, Sylph! I loved that tree.”

  “Me too. But Mom was murdered in our nest. Going back there—I worry I’d think about her too much. Dad too. You said these new trees were perfect.”

  “I know, but … what if I can’t do it,” he murmured. “What if I can’t get everyone across?”

  “You can do it.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, suddenly angry. “What if I can’t see far enough? What if I make a mistake? What if I tell everyone to go one way and it’s the wrong way and they get eaten?”

  “You got us off the island—”

  “Not everyone. Some died.”

  “Most lived. And you saved most of us from getting eaten by that diatryma.”

  “What if I get scared and fly off?” Dusk said. The idea had been haunting him all day.

  “You’d never do that,” she said. “You’ve got a loyal heart too, you know.”

  “But I’m not like the rest of you,” he blurted out. “Yes you are.”

  “No, I’m something else. I am. I really am.” It was not the right time, but it was too late to go back now. He hurriedly told her about Chimera and what she’d said to him—how he wasn’t really a chiropter at all; how he was really a bat.

  “You can’t tell this to anyone else, Sylph.”

  “Of course I won’t.” She stared into the darkening sky. Dusk watched her anxiously, wondering what she was thinking.

  “I didn’t want any of this,” he said miserably. “It just happened to me. It could’ve happened to anyone. I don’t even want to be a bat.”

  “It doesn’t matter what you’re called,” Sylph said firmly. “You’re different, we always knew that. But you’re still you. You haven’t changed.”

  “The colony will never accept me!”

  “They trust you, Dusk.” He looked at her, surprised.

  She lowered her voice even more. “They didn’t stay because of Auster. They stayed because of you. They remember all t
he things you’ve done for them. They know you’ll take care of them.”

  “Me?”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you,” she muttered. “You’re going to start thinking you’re special.”

  “Well, I am in line to be leader,” he chuckled.

  “You and half the males in the colony. Actually, I think that’s the real reason so many decided to stay.”

  They settled down side by side, grooming one another, not talking. He could overhear snatches of conversation, fading and rising, from the other chiropters waiting in the dark branches.

  “Be starting out soon …”

  “Is your hind leg any better …?”

  “… a pool of water along that branch if you’re thirsty …”

  “Don’t be afraid; Dusk can see in the dark …”

  “… be in our new home soon …”

  “He’ll lead us through the dark, you’ll see …”

  “Dusk?”

  Startled from his reverie, he looked over to see Auster and Sol standing before him on the branch. “It’s time to go,” Auster said. “Ready?”

  “Yes,” said Dusk, “I’m ready.”

  CHAPTER 21

  SORICIDS

  Dusk pushed through the tall grass, the stalks so thick and high he saw only what was directly in front of him. Dew beaded his fur. He scuttled around small gnarled plants whose leaves spread overhead like the canopies of miniature trees. Twigs scratched his face. The air was thick with insects and spores and spider gossamer.

  They were halfway across the grasslands.

  Sylph was on his left, Auster on his right, with the rest of the colony following close behind as they moved swiftly towards the next tree. Over the past few hours, Dusk had realized that walking was much more tiring than flying. He felt clumsy and heavy on all fours. His body craved the air. When he came to a spot where he could fully extend his wings, he took flight.

  Fireflies pulsed like stars dislodged from the sky. Wind whispered through the grass. It was good to be aloft again. Quickly he sighted their destination, a lone poisonwood tree rising from the plain. It was still quite far away, and he could tell at once they’d drifted off course again. Down in the grass, without any landmarks, it was frighteningly easy to lose your sense of direction. That’s why he was spending a good part of his time up high, keeping the colony on target, and keeping watch for any predators. They’d been lucky so far.