Darkwing (10 page)

“He’s very odd-looking,” his mother said sadly. “I love him, and it shouldn’t matter, but when I look at him, he just doesn’t look like all my other children. It’s like he belongs to some other species.”

Dusk didn’t know how much more he wanted to hear, but he couldn’t stop eavesdropping now.

“He is ours, as much as the others are,” Icaron said gently. “And he has something none of the others do. He can hunt faster, scout the forest more effectively, fly high and describe the world
around us. He can see any predators coming from a distance, and warn us. Doesn’t that make him a desirable mate?”

“Yes, of course. But sometimes it’s not good to be too different. We are drawn to creatures like ourselves. That’s just the way of things.”

“I chose you as my mate,” Icaron said. “Yes, but my difference is invisible.”

Dusk’s ears pricked even higher. What was his mother talking about?

“Everyone can
see
Dusk’s differences,” his mother went on. “But you’re the only person who knows mine. And you agreed it was best kept secret.”

Dusk heard his father sigh. “Perhaps I was wrong. What shame is there in having night vision?”

“Me too!” Dusk burst out before he could stop himself. He scuttled across the branch towards his shocked parents. More quietly he said, “I can see in the dark too!”

“You can?” his mother said weakly.

Dusk nodded. “With my hunting clicks. I can see everything with them. Is it the same with you?”

“Yes,” she said with a chuckle. Then her brow furrowed. “How much have you heard?”

“A bit,” he said awkwardly.

She came and nuzzled him. “I love you as dearly as all my children. I’m sorry if it sounded otherwise. And now I learn we have even more in common. Echovision.”

“Is that what you call it?”

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” his father asked. “I was worried you’d be ashamed of me,” Dusk said. “Because I was different enough already.”

“We’ve never been ashamed of you,” said his mother. “I just
want you to have all the best chances. That’s why I think some things should stay hidden.”

“But you told Dad about your echovision.”

“He’s the only one.”

“It was a huge asset as a saurian hunter,” Icaron said. “Your mother could see greater distances, and in the dark too. The saurians had quite poor vision, especially at night. Your mother could guide us right to the nests without being seen.”

Dusk looked at his mother with renewed admiration—and relief too. He was not alone with this strange skill, at least.

“Why can we do this?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe my own mother or father had the same ability. But they never talked of it. And I never confided in them.”

“You were afraid you’d be shunned?”

“Yes.”

“But maybe there are others who can do it too,” said Dusk hopefully. “They’re all just afraid to tell, like we were.”

“That may be,” said Icaron.

“It would be better if everyone just told,” Dusk blurted out. “Then nobody would have to worry about being different.”

Mistral nodded ruefully. “The urge to be the same is very strong. It runs through our veins with our blood.”

“But it also seems,” said Icaron, “that within each of us are the seeds for change. Why and when they flourish, no one knows.”

Dusk stared off into the dark clearing. He felt a bit bewildered by all the new things he was learning. He’d had enough for now. Part of him wished he could glide back in time, before the saurian had crashed into their world. But the bigger part thrilled at his new self, with all its abilities.

“I was worried I might be a saurian,” Dusk admitted.

“Dusk, you weren’t really!” his mother said, aghast.

“Just a bit,” he said sheepishly. “My sails. They look a lot like the saurian’s wings. Hairless. And we can both fly.”

“I watched you being born,” his father said fondly. “And I can assure you, you did not hatch from an egg.”

“Are you sure there was no one else in the family who ever flew?” Dusk asked.

“You’re the first,” Mistral told him.

“But maybe not the last,” Icaron said. “Who’s to say one day all chiropters might not fly and see at night? Perhaps you’re a forerunner.”

“Don’t fill his head with such thoughts,” Mistral chastised her mate. “For now he should keep his echovision secret.”

“Sylph knows,” Dusk confessed.

“Well, let’s hope she keeps it to herself. It’s obviously too late to conceal the flying. I still worry you’ll be shunned for it.”

“I won’t tolerate it,” said Icaron firmly. “Not while I’m leader. We should none of us fear being different. This entire colony only exists because a small group of us dared to be different. Twenty years ago we broke the Pact, and set ourselves against not just one colony, but the entire league of beasts. Our differences can sometimes make us great, and lead us to a better future.”

Carnassial returned to the prowl, head high. He was not ashamed; he would not come slinking back like some disgraced beast.

He had stayed away for almost two days, deep in the forest, uncertain what he should do. Had Panthera revealed his secret? Was Patriofelis already in a rage? He’d wondered if he should flee, and find new hunting grounds for himself. But that would feel too much like an admission of guilt, a defeat. He had done nothing wrong.

As he neared the heart of the prowl, the sun was almost at its peak. Lazing after their morning feeds, the felids watched him from the ground and branches. There was no thrill of admiration in their gazes this time, and they would not meet his eye. He caught the musk of their tense anticipation.

They knew.

His step faltered when he spotted Panthera, padding in his direction. His heart lifted. She did not stop to speak to him, but as she passed she whispered, “It was not me who told them. Others saw you and reported it to Patriofelis. I wanted you to know that.”

She carried on without even a backward glance.

Carnassial girded himself as he came upon the poisonwood tree and saw Patriofelis lounging in its lower branches. When the leader saw Carnassial, he stood, but did not descend to greet him.

“You return to us,” the felid leader said.

“Yes.”

“And is it true, what we have heard?” Partriofelis demanded. “It is true,” Carnassial admitted evenly. “You have killed a fellow beast. Have you no remorse?”

“We kill all the time. Grubs and insects.”

“These things are unimportant. They have no feelings!”

“They flinch as they’re killed. They want life too. We just don’t honour it.”

Patriofelis snorted impatiently, unimpressed with Carnassial’s arguments. “You have killed another beast. This is not the way of things!”

“The saurians fed on us. We must feed on others if we’re to survive.”

“So you’ve said before.” Patriofelis paced his branch in the poisonwood tree. “But that would bring anarchy to our world. If we
all hunted one another, we would have even more bloodshed than when the saurians preyed on us.”

“As it was meant to be,” said Carnassial.

“No. I forbid it.” Then, for a moment, the leader’s voice softened. “You were a beloved member of the prowl, Carnassial. No one hunted better and fought harder to fulfill the Pact. Return to us. Return to us and renounce your unwholesome cravings.”

“I will not,” he said. “My cravings are natural, and right.”

“Then this can no longer be your home.”

“Not with you as leader,” said Carnassial, feeling his muscles compress, his sinews grow taut. “Perhaps it is you who should change.”

“No, Carnassial, it must be you.”

Carnassial lifted his left hind leg and urinated copiously on the ground, marking his territory.

“Come down from your tree,” he said, “and let us see who is the more fit to lead.”

“That would be a poor test to determine a ruler’s fitness,” said Patriofelis.

From the surrounding branches, a dozen of the strongest felids dropped to the ground, surrounding Carnassial, protecting their leader.

“Go!” shouted Patriofelis. “Find some new home for yourself, far away!”

Carnassial crouched and snarled, and for a moment the other felids faltered. He knew them all. They’d played and groomed and hunted together, and none of them alone was a match for him. But they rallied, and set upon him. He was knocked to the ground, scratched, pummelled, and kicked. Claws raked his belly and flanks. Jaws clamped and pulled at his flesh.

He whirled and fought back, enraged that he should be so
outnumbered. He hoped Panthera was not watching this humiliation. He knew he could not win such a fight. He staggered up and pelted, turning to snarl and spit at his pursuers. They did not come close enough to fight, but advanced slowly, forcing him away from the prowl.

Alone, he turned and limped into the forest, his wounds bleeding, his head blazing with fury and pain.

“Icaron, I need to speak with you.”

It was Nova, gliding down to land on their roost as twilight deepened. Dusk looked up from his grooming, then over at Sylph and his mother. Nova certainly sounded grave.

“If this concerns the colony, let’s speak in private,” said Icaron.

“It concerns your son,” said Nova. “He should be present.” Dusk glanced worriedly at his father. What had he done? He could only assume it had something to do with his flying, but he’d been so careful to hunt away from the others so that he wouldn’t annoy them. And he’d never flown above the Upper Spar into bird territory.

“All right,” said Icaron calmly. “Tell me what this is about.”

“Many of us are disturbed by your son’s flying. It must stop.”

“Must?” said Icaron, bristling. “That is a word only I can use.”

“It is causing unrest and unhappiness. The other families see it as unwholesome. He is making a mockery of our kind. We have never flapped. It is not in our nature. He tries to be something he is not.”

“He is my son,” said Icaron. “He is what he is.”

Dusk felt an overwhelming gratitude towards his father.

“The birds will not like it, Icaron.”

“Will they not? I don’t see it as any concern of theirs.”

“They will not like to see a beast in the air, around their nests, around their roosts.”

“Dusk will stay away from their nests; I trust him to use his good judgment.”

“Some are saying he is cursed.”

“What?” Dusk exclaimed in surprise.

His father glanced at him, cautioning silence with his eyes.

“They think he was tainted by the winged saurian that died in our clearing,” Nova went on. “They say it has infected him somehow. It has changed him and now he flies.”

Once more, Dusk felt the reek of the saurian’s last breath on him. A hot flash of panic bloomed in his chest. It was like something from his dream. He’d never quite been able to banish the idea that the saurian was somehow the cause of his new abilities.

“That,” said Icaron contemptuously, “is the worst sort of superstitious nonsense. There is no taint, no infection. I expect you, as an elder, to do your best to put an end to such rumours—not to nourish them.”

“There will be resentment,” muttered Nova.

“Ah! Now we get to the truth of the matter,” said Icaron. “Many seemed eager enough to try flying on their own. The clearing has been filled with flapping. It’s only their failure that brings these cries of freakishness.”

“I can see you are not willing to bend on this matter.”

“Not at all. My son has a special gift. Why should he be ashamed of it? Why should he not use it to his advantage?”

“It may be to his advantage, but not to ours as a whole,” said Nova. “That should be your chief concern.”

Dusk was amazed she had the strength to speak to his father that way. He almost admired her, for he couldn’t imagine himself uttering more than a squeak when confronted with a face so stern. He saw his father’s muscles tense.

“This colony has always been my first and dearest concern,” Icaron said. “And when I see its well-being truly threatened, I will act. Was there anything else you wanted to say?”

“I have said everything,” Nova replied, and started to climb back to her roost. She was almost as old as Dusk’s father, and her limbs seemed weary.

Just witnessing this encounter, Dusk felt spent.

“Are you all right?” his mother asked him, and he realized he was trembling. He nodded.

“Don’t be upset by this nonsense,” said his father. “Some chiropters are always going to be suspicious of anything new—and envious.”

“I was afraid this would happen,” said Dusk’s mother.

“I’ve been trying to stay out of everyone’s way,” said Dusk. “And I haven’t even gone near any bird nests.”

“I don’t think Nova speaks for anyone but herself,” his father told him, “and maybe a few other disgruntled chiropters.”

“Jib and Aeolus have been grumbling about it,” said Sylph.

“Newborns who don’t know any better,” said Icaron dismissively. “I’ve heard nothing from Barat’s family or Sol’s. Everything’s all right, Dusk.”

“Okay,” he said, nodding firmly. But he could tell his mother was worried, and he felt far from reassured. He wanted to fly. He
loved
it. But he didn’t want to be a freak. Surely, despite what his parents said, there had to be someone else like him, somewhere.

Next morning Dusk was back on the Upper Spar, birdwatching. He still had a lot to learn about flying. He was particularly dissatisfied with his landings, and was hopeful the birds could teach him.

He’d just observed one land in the next tree over, and was waiting for it to take off again, when he had the oddest sensation he was being watched. He looked along the branch, expecting to see Sylph, or maybe Jib or Aeolus, spying on him. Dusk knew they spent a fair amount of time on the Upper Spar, launching themselves into their endless hunting competitions. But there was no sign of any of them. The fur on the nape of his neck lifted. He tilted his head back and saw, directly above him, a bird perched on the next branch up, not two feet away. Dusk hadn’t even heard it alight.

It stared down at him with great attention, moving its head in abrupt, precise jerks, as though studying him from all possible angles. Its beak was slightly serrated, like a reminder of long-ago teeth.

Dusk shuffled back so that he could see it more easily. The bird gave a little hop but did not take flight. It continued to stare at him with its bold, black eyes. Dusk was unnerved. He’d never been so close to a bird, and he’d certainly never had one express such interest in him. “Why are you staring at me?” he asked.

“Why are
you
staring at
us?”
the bird countered, its voice an odd musical warble.

“I’m waiting to see you fly,” Dusk replied.

“Well, I’m waiting to see
you
fly,” the bird said. “You
are
the one that can fly, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He saw no point denying it, since the news of his flying had obviously spread into bird territory. He’d envied and admired these creatures his whole life, but never imagined one day he’d speak to one. He suspected it wasn’t even allowed. He’d have to ask Dad later.

“Everyone’s been talking about you,” the bird went on.

“What do they say?” Dusk wanted to know.

“They don’t like it. They think it’s grotesque. I wanted to see too. It seems impossible. You don’t even have feathers on your wings.”

“You don’t need feathers to fly,” Dusk said. “Or wings either. I have sails.”

“They look like wings to me.”

“That’s not what we call them.”

“Do you have a name?” the bird asked.

“Of course I do! Don’t you?”

“Certainly. I just wasn’t sure if you bothered naming each other. You all look pretty much the same to me.”

Dusk was indignant. He’d always been told that birds were rude, haughty things, and now he could see why. “Well, maybe you all look the same to us too.”

“How absurd!” said the bird. For a moment neither said anything.

“My name’s Teryx,” the bird said finally, with what Dusk thought was a conciliatory warble. “I’m Dusk. Are you a he-bird, or a she-bird?”

“He!” said Teryx, with an annoyed flick of his head. “It’s obvious!”

“How is it obvious?”

“Just listen to my call!”

Teryx let out a brief trill, and though it was very nice, Dusk didn’t know that it sounded particularly male or female. “It’s just a bit lower than the female’s,” said Teryx helpfully.

“And the melody is less complex.”

Dusk nodded, as though all this was perfectly clear to him.

“Well, it’s no easier for me to tell what sex
you
are,” Teryx informed him.

“Male,” said Dusk.

“I’ll take your word for it,” Teryx said. “How old are you?” Dusk asked. “Four months. You? “Almost eight.”

“How interesting that birds mature faster,” said Teryx. “Do they?” Dusk said.

“Oh yes, I’m nearly full size now. But it looks like you have some growing to do yet.”

Dusk felt he should object, but supposed the bird was right. He was still nowhere near the size of his father. Still, it was irksome that Teryx was so much larger than him.

Dusk looked around, hoping no one from his colony could see their conversation. He didn’t want to get into trouble—not that he’d ever been told it was against the rules. Anyway, Teryx didn’t seem dangerous, and they were both in their own territory. No one was trespassing. Really, Teryx was quite handsome. His chest was a bright yellow, the throat white, the head grey. Dusk found the face a bit baffling: it was a mask, and all the animation came from the bright eyes.

“You live on the island?” Dusk asked him.

“Oh yes, and flown all around it, too.”

It thrilled Dusk to think of such freedom and speed. And now he had it. His sails could carry him anywhere he wanted to go. “Have you been to the mainland?” he asked.

Teryx gave an impatient hop. “Not yet. My parents say I’m not ready. Soon, though.”

Dusk wondered if his own parents would ever allow him to make such a journey. It would be a whole new world over there. But judging from the little he’d heard, it seemed a ruthless and frightening place. “So let’s see you fly,” said Teryx.

Dusk thought for a moment. “All right,” he said, “if you show me a couple of landings afterwards.”

Teryx gave a quick nod and chirp. Dusk took that as a yes.

He swooped off his branch, flapping hard and climbing as he picked up speed. He circled a few times in the clearing, making sure to stay below the Upper Spar at all times, and then came in to make a clumsy landing.

Teryx looked down at him studiously. “You are very quick and agile in the air,” he said, surprising Dusk with this compliment. “But I can see your landings need work.”

“Yes,” said Dusk. “Maybe you can show me how.”

Watching Teryx take off and land so close to him, Dusk realized how truly different their styles of flight were. Landing, Teryx held his wings high, just fluttering the feathery tips to slow himself down and drop serenely onto the bark. Dusk didn’t see how that technique could ever work for him. He always came in much faster. As for the bird’s takeoffs, Teryx’s wings seemed to give him instant lift the moment he launched himself into the air. Dusk needed to beat his sails very hard and fast. He figured he was more manoeuvrable than the bird, especially in tight spaces, but he couldn’t imagine his flight ever seeming as graceful.

Was it the feathers that made it so much easier for the birds, or just the shape of the wings themselves? He couldn’t make out the outlines of any fingers through all the feathers, nor could he see claws protruding. Teryx had those only on his feet.

“Can I have a closer look at your wings?” Dusk asked, and without waiting for a reply, he quickly flapped up to Teryx’s branch.

Teryx took a hop back in surprise. “You’re in bird territory,” he said, his voice sounding slightly strangled.

“Oh.” Dusk had completely forgotten. “Sorry. Should I go back down? Are you afraid of me?”

Teryx tilted his head high. “I’m not afraid of you! Even if you are an egg-eater.”

“Egg-eater?” Dusk said in confusion. “I don’t eat eggs!”

“Yes, you do. Saurian eggs. My parents told me.”

“Oh. No, not us,” said Dusk, eager to clear up this misunderstanding. “Chiropters on the mainland hunt saurian eggs. And they didn’t really eat them, they just wanted to destroy them to stop more saurians from being born. But we don’t approve of that. That’s why we’re here. We didn’t want to hunt eggs.”

Teryx cocked his head dubiously. “But there used to be saurians on this island.”

“No,” said Dusk. “There were never any here. That’s why we stayed. It was so safe.”

Teryx just kept shaking his head. “You’re wrong,” he said. “Saurians once lived here, and my great-grandfather said you chiropters destroyed their nest.”

“When?” Dusk demanded.

“Twenty years ago.”

“You’re
wrong!” said Dusk, angry now. “What do you know, anyway? You look like you just hatched five seconds ago!”

Teryx hopped forward and opened his beak threateningly. Dusk scrambled back. That beak looked sharp.

“I’ve seen the bones myself!” Teryx insisted. “We see a lot more than you lazy chiropters.”

“So where are they?”

Dusk was far from convinced by the bird’s tale, but troubled by his fierce conviction. “Southeast,” said Teryx with a flick of his head. “It’s not far if
you fly. There’s another clearing, not as big as this one, and just beyond that, the land dips a bit. Where the trees thin you can see big bones on the ground. Go see for yourself.”

“I will.”

There was a great thrashing of wings overhead and Dusk looked up in alarm to see another bird coming in for a landing between him and Teryx. It had the same colouring as Teryx’s, but was quite a bit larger, and the branch dipped with its weight.

“Get away from here,” shrieked the bird. “Egg-eater!”

“Mother—” Teryx began.

“How dare you invade our territory!” the mother shrilled at Dusk, beating her wings and nearly blowing him off the branch. “I’m sorry,” Dusk blurted, scrambling backward, “I didn’t mean to—”