Darkwing (21 page)

“Go!” he shouted to his prowl. “Cross!”

He let his felids go first along the sand bridge, protecting their rear should any of Patriofelis’s soldiers try to attack from behind. The birds rained down on them. In horror he saw one drop towards Panthera. She twisted nimbly out of the way, but the predator still sank a set of claws into her haunches. She cried out, twisting and clawing at the bird that hovered above her, battering her with its wings.

Her companions were too terrified to offer any help. Carnassial did not even hesitate. He ran back and launched himself at the bird, knocking it off Panthera. On the ground he sank his teeth into its neck. Blood and flesh and greasy feathers filled his mouth. The bird swivelled its mottled, horned head and impaled him with its terrifying eyes. Its beak opened and gored his right foreleg before he could spring away, yowling. The bird lifted off, shrieking its own pain, and flapped back to the forest.

Carnassial looked at Panthera, and this time she met his gaze.

Birds still wheeled overhead, dropping down on the few felids that remained out in the open. Panthera said nothing,
but followed Carnassial as he leapt onto the submerged sand bridge and started splashing towards the mainland. The water slapped against his knees and was achingly cold, but at least it numbed the pain in his foreleg. Up ahead the last of his own felids slogged their way across. Some were already scrambling up the rocky shore to the heights above. He kept glancing back to make sure Panthera was still behind him. She was, and each time he glimpsed her he felt stronger.

Halfway across he looked up and saw a dark shape soaring down on them.

“Into the water!” he shouted, hoping Panthera would trust him. He threw himself from the bridge. In the moment before his head went under he saw a pair of wickedly angled claws overshoot his skull, and felt the wind from the bird’s great wings. And then his entire body was submerged. Cold pounded at his temples. He thrashed his legs and came up, gasping, his fur sodden. Panthera churned the water beside him, and they hauled themselves back up onto the sand bridge, not even taking the time to shake themselves dry. They struggled for the mainland, knee deep in water now, their limbs numb.

At the shore, Carnassial dragged himself shivering onto a rock, and craned his neck to check for any more raptors. He saw a few circling the island’s beach, but no more over the water.

With Panthera at his side, he scrabbled up the steep slope to the trees and there found his felids assembled in the low branches, growling uneasily at eight of Patriofelis’s guard.

“Back to the island!” barked Gerik, whom Carnassial could only guess had assumed control.

“We will not,” said Carnassial quietly.

Gerik saw him for the first time, and involuntarily took a step back.

“We have our orders,” he said.

“Your orders were to kill any who left the island,” Carnassial reminded him. “Who will fight me? Will it be you, Gerik?”

He remembered playing with Gerik when they were newborns, the hunting and fighting games that had prepared them for adulthood. Carnassial was the smaller of the two now, but he doubted Gerik’s courage, especially with so few reinforcements. Most of his warriors were still cowering on the island, unable to cross until the morning. Gerik was outnumbered, and he knew it. Carnassial watched as his confused eyes slid to Panthera.

“Why do you stand beside him, Panthera?” he demanded. She said nothing.

“You can’t keep things the way they were, Gerik,” Carnassial told him. “Your leader’s dead. There are birds that can kill us now. Patriofelis said there might be new beasts who can do the same. The old alliances will soon be meaningless. My prowl can’t be the only one to discover a taste for flesh. Live the old way, if you want, but don’t hinder us. We’ll do what we must to stay strong and live.”

“No,” said Gerik.

“You can join us,” Carnassial said.

The other felid took a step back, shaking his head in revulsion. “I will not. And I will not let you pass.” He leapt.

Carnassial was ready, and threw himself at Gerik. They crashed together and skidded across the earth, clawing and biting. Gerik was heavier, stronger, and unwounded, but his bites lacked deadly intent. Carnassial saw his chance and sank his teeth deep into Gerik’s left haunch, ready to tear. He felt his opponent falter. Carnassial didn’t want to mortally wound a fellow felid, but he would if necessary. Gerik seemed to sense this, and went limp.
He lay still, whimpering in submission. It was hard for Carnassial to release his jaws, for his blood pounded and the desire to fight pumped through every one of his veins. He finally let go and stood glaring down at Gerik, whose eyes rolled fearfully.

“Get up,” Carnassial told him. “Go. And don’t come after us.” Gerik scrambled to his feet and led his soldiers away along the coastline. Panthera stayed behind.

“Will you come with us?” Carnassial asked her.

“I always feared you,” she said. “Your craving for meat: I saw it as destructive, unnatural.”

With a pang, he remembered her expression of horror when she’d caught him eating his kill back in the old forest.

“And I feared I might wake up one morning with such cravings,” she said.

“And have you?”

“I have.”

Carnassial growled softly with delight. “Come with me,” he asked her again, his heart thumping.

She stepped closer and licked at his wounded foreleg. “Yes,” she said.

“Isn’t it obvious,” the pointy nosed beast said angrily, “that there isn’t enough food for so many mouths?”

Dusk looked on in dismay as the irritable creature told Dad and the elders that they couldn’t make their home here. When they’d first come across this little patch of forest, the trees hadn’t looked occupied. But only minutes after they’d settled on the branches and surveyed the hunting grounds, a huge clan of pale-furred alphadons materialized as if from thin air, hopping through the boughs, using their long skinny tails to swing themselves from twig to twig.

“Surely this forest can accommodate both of us,” Sol said. “Your diet is fruit and seeds—”

“—and insects,” the alphadon interrupted, its wet pink nose twitching. “Which your lot will pilfer from the air, leaving none for us. Now move on! This is our territory.”

“In the past we weren’t so ungenerous with one another,” Icaron said.

“Take a look around you, chiropter,” said the alphadon, “the
world’s a crowded place now. If you want to eat, you’ve got to protect what’s yours.”

“I’d like to bite its tail,” Sylph whispered to Dusk.

Dusk wasn’t so sure he’d risk it, given the alphadons’ state of high agitation. He’d thought them meek-looking things when they first appeared, but now they began to crowd in on the chiropters, their narrow mouths parted slightly, hissing. Nuts and pine cones suddenly began to rain down, hurled by alphadons higher in the trees.

Dusk looked over at his father, and saw him shake his head in resignation.

“We set sail once more!” he called out to his colony, and the air filled with hundreds of gliding chiropters.

It had been three days since they’d left Gyrokus, three days of searching for a new home without any success. Not all the beasts they’d encountered had been as unpleasant as the alphadons, but the message was always the same: they were unwanted.

Dusk glided beside Sylph. He wished he could fly at least, but Dad had asked him to wait, worried that his flapping might make the other beasts hostile—though Dusk couldn’t imagine them getting much more hostile than they already were. He did what Dad asked anyway, and as he laboured up tree after tree, tried to remember his father’s promise that he would fly again, just as soon as they found a home of their own.

“We should’ve stayed with Gyrokus,” Sylph muttered as they slogged up another trunk.

Dusk looked over at her sharply.

“I’m not the only one who thinks so,” she said. “And I’m not just talking about Nova. I hear things. Plenty of chiropters are getting tired of this.”

Sylph would know. Since leaving Gyrokus’s colony, she’d been
spending more time away from him and Dad, gliding and hunting with other newborns, including Jib. Once, Dusk had even seen her talking briefly to Nova. He couldn’t help feeling his sister was being disloyal. With Dad’s wound still not healed, and things so uncertain, Dusk wanted her close by now.

“We’re
all
tired of it,” he said. “But Dad’s going to find us a new home.”

“We had a perfectly good one offered to us.”

“Dad did the right thing.”

“He should’ve just told Gyrokus what he wanted to hear,” Sylph whispered. “Even if he didn’t mean it.”

“Was that Jib’s idea?” Dusk demanded. “Or maybe Nova’s?”

“They’re just words,” Sylph persisted. “They’re not just words. They mean something.”

“Do they?”

“Dad and Mom did something great when they left the Pact. It made them different. It made them … better. It did.”

“What’s it matter now anyway?” Sylph said impatiently. “The saurians are gone. All that’s over. Isn’t it more important to have a safe home for the entire colony right now?”

“If Dad had said he was sorry, everyone would think he really had made a mistake. They’d think he was weak. How could anyone respect him after that? How could he respect himself?”

Sylph sniffed. “Yeah. He just thought of himself, as usual. His pride ruined it for the entire colony.”

“Dad was willing to give up being leader!” Dusk reminded her angrily. “That’s not being proud, Sylph!”

His sister fell silent.

“We’ll find someplace else,” he told her, “someplace better.” But he was beginning to worry this new world didn’t have any room left for them. They weren’t the only creatures looking for a
new home, either. Over the past few days he’d noticed many other groups of migrating beasts, their eyes fixed on some distant point that would finally offer them a hunting ground and safe haven.

He looked up ahead at Dad, leading the way with Auster at his side. Dusk had noticed they’d been spending more time together lately, and at night were often engaged in quiet conversation. He’d tried to listen in, but they always managed to be out of earshot. He was jealous of all the attention his older brother was suddenly getting, but it also worried him. What were they talking about?

Dusk carried on, gliding and climbing with the rest of his exhausted colony. They were headed north. Dad had said there was no point trying to reunite with their ancestral colony. They’d only be rejected once again. They needed to forge on, try to find a place far from any other chiropters, a place where they were unknown. “A place where we can escape the sins of our past,” Dusk had overheard Nova mutter bitterly.

The long day wore on. When the forest changed, it happened so gradually it was some time before Dusk—or anyone else—realized they were suddenly the only creatures in the trees.

At first it felt pleasantly familiar, just like being back on the island, but then Dusk began to find it eerie. The quiet was broken only by the occasional twitter of birdsong, the buzz of insects, and the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Dad called a halt, and the colony settled among the branches, some grooming, others seeking out water or food. Sylph went off to hunt. Dusk glided over to his father. He’d never been far from him since they’d left the island. Whenever he was out of sight for long, Dusk felt panicky. He wasn’t sure whether he was afraid something would happen to himself, or to his father.

Every night when Dusk slept, he hoped that his father’s wound would be healed by morning. But it never was. On good
mornings it looked the same, on bad ones, worse. Right now Icaron’s eyes looked swollen and red. His fur had a sharp odour that Dusk didn’t like. Over the past two days, his pace had slowed noticeably and he’d been calling for more frequent rest stops.

Dusk knew better than to ask him if he was all right. His answer was always the same, and Dusk found the lie harder and harder to bear. Dad needed to rest more if he was to get better, and that seemed impossible right now.

“This looks like a good place,” Dusk said hopefully. He didn’t understand why it wasn’t more crowded, but right now he didn’t really care. There were plenty of tall trees, and lots of bugs by the look and sound of it.

A small, dark shape dashed out of sight in a nearby tree. Dusk heard a patter of footsteps, and what sounded like whispering. His fur tingled. He looked at his father and saw that he too was watching and listening.

From the corner of his eye Dusk saw something move in another tree. He jerked his head round. It was swift on the branch, and gone almost before he could focus on it. He had the impression of something running not on four legs, but on two. A second later, the creature emerged from behind the trunk and hurried out along the branch in plain view.

It was a beast, silver-furred, twice the size of a chiropter. Its hind legs were longer than its front ones, and though it did in fact move on all fours, it gave the unnerving impression of walking on its hind legs alone. The creature paused and sat back on its haunches, its hands together, fingers intertwined. A bushy tail swayed side to side. Dusk had never seen such large eyes on any beast: huge dark moons with brown irises and large pupils. Large white-tipped ears slanted out diagonally from its head.

And suddenly all the trees around them were filled with
more of these creatures, appearing as from nowhere, lining the branches and watching the chiropters. They did not seem at all aggressive, just curious, but Dusk could not help noticing that his colony was completely surrounded.

“They’re tree runners,” his father told him, and then called out a greeting.

From the branches, one of the spry creatures scampered eagerly towards Icaron. There followed the usual cordial sniffing.

“I am Adapis,” the tree runner said. “Welcome to our home.”

“Thank you. I’m Icaron, the leader of this colony.”

The tree runner peered inquisitively at the wound on Dad’s shoulder, and seemed quite excited by it. “It’s become infected. But I can heal it. Will you allow me?” Before waiting for an answer he turned back to several other tree runners who’d edged closer. “Gather the ingredients! This needs tending to.”

“You’re very kind,” Icaron said.

Dusk didn’t know how this creature could possibly heal Dad’s wound. Wounds healed on their own, or didn’t. All you could do was keep them clean. What more could this tree runner do? But Dad seemed to have confidence in his claims.

“Please tell your colony they’re welcome to hunt here,” Adapis said. “I think you’ll find we have plenty of insect prey.”

Within minutes, the other tree runners had returned, bits of bark and leaf clutched in their hands. Sylph glided down beside Dusk.

“What’s going on?” she whispered.

“They say they can heal Dad’s wound.”

In amazement he watched as Adapis took a thin piece of bark in his two hands and shredded it. His five tapered fingers were marvellously nimble. Dusk had never seen any animal hold or tear something so easily. Adapis fed the bark into his mouth and
chewed, while taking hold of a dried leaf and crumbling it into a small pile. He then spat the bark onto the leaf dust, and with his dextrous fingers, mixed it all together before scooping it back into his mouth for another quick chew. His preparations complete, Adapis stepped closer to Icaron and proceeded to spit the green paste onto his wound.

“Do you think that’s really going to help?” Sylph whispered to Dusk in consternation.

Dusk winced. The green slime drizzling from Adapis’s mouth looked a lot like the foul pus that was already scaled around Dad’s wound.

“Don’t worry,” Adapis said, looking over. “The paste will defeat the infection, and help the gash to heal more quickly. You must trust us. We know a great deal about what plants can do.”

“It soothes already,” said Icaron, closing his eyes and sighing.

“At sunset we’ll clean the wound again and apply more.”

“Thank you, Adapis,” Icaron said.

“Most important, you need rest. You and your colony may stay here as long as you like.”

After so many days of tamping down his fears, Dusk felt himself tremble with relief and gratitude.

Dad quickly fell asleep. Normally he never slept during the day, and Dusk realized how tired and ill he must have been, forcing himself onward.

“Let’s hunt,” Sylph said.

Dusk was hungry, but he felt strangely nervous leaving Dad’s side. All his life he’d assumed his father’s watchful eyes were always upon him, making sure no harm came to him—or the colony. Now those eyes were closed, and he looked so vulnerable that Dusk felt he should watch over him. “He’ll be here when we get back,” Sylph said. “Come on.”

Dusk told himself he was just being foolish, but left reluctantly.

The hunting was excellent. If anything, the insects were even more numerous than on the island, and it took little effort to catch them. It seemed the bugs here hadn’t had much experience with airborne predators.

Certainly the tree runners didn’t seem to eat them, preferring the fruit and seeds that grew in the trees, and especially the grubs and roots they dug from the ground with their clever hands. They really did seem to have a great knowledge of all the plants in their forest, and Dusk saw them mixing things together and crushing them into a paste before eating them. He felt a little in awe of them. Imagine knowing all that; imagine being able to make things with your hands.

He glanced over at Sylph. It was good to have her gliding at his side. He’d missed her.

“Why’ve you been staying away so much?” he asked her as they climbed a trunk.

“I don’t know.” She paused. “I was angry with Dad, for not letting us stay with Gyrokus. And then I just couldn’t stand it any more, seeing him so weak, and getting weaker. I didn’t want to watch. I was afraid he was going to die.”

Her rear claws slipped on the bark, and Dusk realized she was shaking. He climbed alongside her and pressed his face against her cheek and shoulder. “It’s all right now,” he said. “They’re making him better.”

Her voice was so quiet he barely heard it. “I want Mom back.”

It was only four words, but they brought a whimper to Dusk’s throat too. He’d tried hard to lock away his thoughts of her, because they only caused him pain, an actual physical ache in his torso, reminding him he would never be near her again.

“I hate them,” Sylph said savagely, “the felids. They took everything.”

“We’ll find a new home,” Dusk said.