Darkwing (25 page)

His body shuddered occasionally, and Dusk heard his father mumbling to himself, and realized he was reciting the names of all his children, from first to last. The whistle of his breath became fainter. Dusk wanted to draw closer, to lie beside him and give him some company to the end, but something prevented him. His father’s death was hovering all around him, and Dusk feared if he moved too close he’d be enveloped in its wings and carried away. He watched and waited. When he thought the night would never end, he heard the first clear notes of the birds’ dawn chorus. “Is he dead?” Sylph asked.

“I don’t know.” Hesitantly he moved forward to Dad’s right flank and touched his sail to his fur. It was cool. “Dad,” he whispered to his ear.

There was no reply, no movement. His father’s eyes were half open, but sightless. “He’s dead,” Dusk said.

Sylph hunched down against the branch, as if bracing against a strong wind. “We’re orphans,” she said.

For a long time they said nothing. Dusk felt numb and empty. He did not fear diatrymas or felids any more: the worst thing in his life had already happened, and nothing else seemed frightening.

Insects were already beginning to settle on Icaron’s body, and Sylph scrambled close and angrily shooed them away with her sails. It was futile. The flies came in greater numbers, settling around his nostrils, on the surface of his dull, misted eyes. Dusk did not want to see his father like this. “Come on, Sylph, we should go.”

She kept swatting at the flies in a fury.

“Sylph!” he said sharply, tugging at her with one of his claws.

“It was only you he cherished,” she shouted. “His eyes were always on you. I could never make him proud. But you with your stupid deformed sails—that was more impressive to him!”

Dusk sighed. He could no more stop her rage than he could a squall.

“Why should I care?” she said darkly. “He betrayed all of us.”

“How can you say that?” Dusk demanded.

“He broke his own rules, he killed the eggs. Don’t you see what that means? He was
wrong
all along. When it came right down to it, he killed the eggs—because he knew it was the
right
thing to do! And he couldn’t even admit it!”

“He was ashamed, Sylph.”

“No, he was too proud. He wanted everyone to think he was the perfect, noble leader. He could never admit he was wrong. He’d
rather keep secrets and lie to everyone. He’d rather turn down a new home with Gyrokus, and make his whole colony suffer.”

“He made a mistake, one mistake twenty years ago! It doesn’t mean his beliefs were wrong.”

Sylph grunted. “I wonder what Nova would think.”

“You can’t tell her. Sylph, please.”

“You’re just as bad as him. Keeping secrets. What’s it matter now?” She looked miserably at her father’s body.

“Dad was a good leader. He tried his best. If you tell Nova, she’ll twist it all round and they might …”

“Think badly of him?”

“Yes. And they’d be wrong.”

“Fine,” she muttered, “I won’t tell. But you have to promise you won’t keep any more secrets from me.”

“I promise. We need to watch out for each other. Let’s make a pact. We’ll protect each other always. All right?”

“All right,” she said after a few moments. “But I wish I could fly too.”

“Me too,” Dusk said. “I really do.”

They did not want to return to the colony just yet, and as the dawn chorus built, they began to groom each other. They didn’t speak, but in their heads echoed memories of happier days.

“Where’s your father?” Nova asked when they finally returned to the tree.

“He died just before dawn,” Dusk told her. He’d expected grim delight to show in her eyes, but was surprised to see genuine shock. Barat and Sol were mute. Nearby chiropters overheard the news and sent it wafting through the branches.

“This is dire news for all of us,” Sol said.

“We will go on,” said Nova. “When one leader dies, another rises.”

“It must be Icaron’s eldest, then,” said Barat.

More and more chiropters gathered around, filling the branches. Auster struggled through the crowds.

“Is it true?” he asked, looking bewildered. “Is he dead?”

“The leadership must pass to you, Auster,” said Sol.

“The role of leader,” Nova remarked, “is one that Auster may not wish to take on in such extraordinary times.”

“That is the way,” said Barat firmly. “Leadership passes by birth to the eldest male. If there’s no male, it passes to the eldest female.”

“Very true,” Nova said. “But everything is different now. We’re homeless, and in an unfamiliar world. No one here has even set foot on the mainland, except those of us who left it twenty years ago. And among them, I am the eldest.”

Sol gave a hollow laugh. “Are you saying you should be our new leader, Nova?”

Dusk’s heart beat faster; he felt he was witnessing a nightmare, but was powerless to rouse himself and end it.

“I am saying,” Nova went on, “we are best guided by someone with experience, who remembers the mainland and its creatures.”

Furious, Dusk looked over at Sylph, but saw she was nodding. How could she be so disloyal? Nova had berated their father at every opportunity. She’d coveted his position for years, and now, only hours after Dad’s death, she was trying to wrest power from their family.

Dusk turned to Auster, and saw both indignation and uncertainty in his face.

“Auster,” Nova went on, “I was born here. I know this landscape and those who live and hunt in it. I do not want to steal from you. I’m only asking your permission to lead the colony
safely to a new home. And then the leadership will be restored to you, as is your right. Will you allow this?”

She spoke with such sincerity and respect that Dusk was momentarily confused. Did Nova really mean what she said? Could Auster say no?

“Nova’s right,” said Sylph suddenly. “She should lead us for now.”

“It’s not your decision, newborn!” Auster said sharply. “Barat, Sol, what’s your advice?”

Sol sighed. “You’ll make a fine leader, Auster. But this would be a perilous moment to begin. If you agree to let Nova lead us temporarily, Barat and I will make sure that she relinquishes power once we’ve reached safety.”

“Barat?” Auster asked.

“My advice would be to join us as an elder. Nova’s strong and able; I trust her to lead well during difficult times, and honour her promises.”

Dusk’s thoughts were at war. His blood urged his brother to refuse and lead; but he too was scared, and his reason told him they needed an experienced leader now. He didn’t trust Nova, though. How he wished his father were alive.

“I agree, then,” said Auster. “Nova, I give you permission to lead us.”

“Thank you,” said Nova. “I will bring us all safely to a new home.”

Dusk could sense the relief of the assembled chiropters, comforted to have a new leader, even one who’d been so hostile to his father. Dusk could not look at Nova as she addressed the colony—his father’s colony.

“We’ve learned that we can’t trust other creatures,” said Nova. “We’ve been lulled by false kindness. We must rely on ourselves
now. We’ve lost many, but we’re still numerous enough to create a new and great colony, once we find our home. And I promise you all, we will find it soon.”

As the other elders went off to speak with their families, Auster remained behind with Sylph and Dusk.

“I wish you’d woken me,” he said.

“There wasn’t time,” said Dusk. “Dad wouldn’t stop, and we didn’t want to lose him in the dark.”

“I’d like both of you to nest with my family now,” Auster said. “Would you like that?”

Dusk looked at Sylph, and they nodded at the same time.

“Thank you,” Dusk said.

“You’ve both been very brave,” said Auster. “Now, can you show me where our father is? I’d like to see him one last time before we move on.”

As Carnassial and Panthera watched in amazement, Danian and his pack brought down a tusked rooter nearly twice their size. The six hyaenodons worked together, one jumping on the rooter’s back while others attacked from both sides, some tearing at its soft underbelly, others clamping their jaws around its neck.

Carnassial’s blood pounded at his temples, as though he himself were in on the hunt. The musk of Panthera’s bloodthirsty excitement hung heavily around her.

For two days and nights, they’d been travelling northward with Danian’s pack. The rest of the felids had stayed behind in the valley, awaiting Carnassial’s return. The pace the hyaenodons set was exhausting, but Carnassial didn’t falter; he did not want to appear weak. Though constantly wary of his brutal companions, he still felt strangely content. Panthera was at his side once
more as they embarked on a saurian hunt. It was something he’d thought would never happen again.

Wherever they went, the hyaenodons blazed a trail of panic. Most beasts had never seen such ferocious predators, and fled at first sight. But not everyone could escape in time, especially the larger, slower groundlings.

Sprawled defenceless on its side, the rooter kicked once more and then was still. Danian released his suffocating hold on its throat and slit the beast open from sternum to navel. Its insides uncoiled across the earth.

Danian looked up at Carnassial in the branches. “Eat,” he called out. “Be strong.”

Panthera was about to go, but Carnassial growled. “No,” he told her quietly. “We hunt our own food. We won’t be beholden to them. We must be equals.”

“You’re right,” said Panthera.

“We can learn from them,” Carnassial said. “The way they worked together to bring down bigger prey; our prowl could do the same.” She nodded.

He tried not to look at the bounty of meat below, but he could hear the hyaenodons’ noisy feeding. They seemed to eat everything—even bone and teeth—and leave nothing. They were rapacious. When they’d gorged themselves, they urinated all over the carcass, claiming it as their own, even though they had no intention of eating the rest.

Carnassial knew he had to be very careful with these creatures. If he angered them, if he was no longer useful to them, they could rip him asunder in a heartbeat. Danian was strong, but weak-minded. He was impressionable. As long as Carnassial could make the hyaenodons believe there was still a threat from
the saurians, he could be useful to them. He could guide them. He could make them do his bidding.

Not long ago Carnassial had thought he could rule the world with strength; now Panthera had helped him realize that cunning might be the more powerful weapon of the two.

Dusk lifted through the upper branches and into the sky. The forest spread in all directions. The sun hot on his sails, he spiralled higher, until the horizon began to curve. Off to the south he saw a flock of birds contracting and expanding as they flew off somewhere. He felt conspicuous up here, his dark body a blot against the bright sky. But he needed a big view now. Higher he went.

Far to the west was the pale blue line of the ocean. He looked for their island, but couldn’t find it. He spun himself round to the north, which was the direction his father had been leading his colony. In the distance the forest gave way to broad grasslands, and beyond them the land rose, and on the slope he saw trees. Maybe it was some trick of the light or his height, but they seemed immense, tall and broad and mighty.

He inhaled sharply. With eerie accuracy, the panorama before him matched the silver landscape he’d seen in both his vision and his dream.

Angling his sails he made a fast descent, looking all around
for birds. Near the canopy a few spotted him from their roosts and sent up a chorus of consternation, but he fluttered past them quickly, down through the branches to where Nova waited for him along with Barat, Sol, and Auster. “What did you see?” Barat asked.

Dusk told them breathlessly. “They look exactly like the trees we need. None of them have low branches. No felid could scale their trunks.”

“Surely this can’t be known from such a great distance,” Barat said dubiously.

Dusk couldn’t tell them about how he’d already seen these trees—he’d be dismissed at once, and maybe rightly so. It seemed outlandish. But he couldn’t extinguish his certainty that they were
meant
to travel to these trees.

“What about the grasslands?” Barat said. “Are there enough trees to make a glide path? Or would we have to cross on foot?”

“On foot, I think,” said Dusk. It hadn’t even occurred to him, he’d been so excited by the trees in the distance. But of course Barat was right. On the plains, the trees were few and far between and most of the journey would have to be made across the earth. He’d only been thinking of himself as a flyer. He waited for Nova to rebuke him.

“I don’t like it,” said Auster. “On the ground we’d be too vulnerable to attack. I say we pick another route.”

“But if the trees are perfect,” Nova began, “then the journey might be worth the risk.”

Dusk looked at her in surprise.

“Your skills are a great asset to us,” she told him, and he felt an unexpected gratitude and pleasure at her compliment.

“In hours, you could cover a distance that would take us days and nights,” Nova went on. She appeared to be considering
something. “These high trees you saw—fly there and see if they can truly be a home for us.”

“Really?” Dusk asked, his delight tinged with a sudden trepidation.

“Are you strong enough to make such a journey?” Nova asked.

“Yes,” he said after only a moment’s hesitation. He’d never flown so far, or been so far away from the colony. “I’m strong enough.”

“Make sure the trees are safe, and that no other creatures have already laid claim to them,” Nova instructed him. “See everything, especially on the grasslands. Find out what kind of beasts forage there, and if there are predators.”

“How long will it take you?” Sol asked.

Dusk conjured up a memory of his high vista, tried to guess at the distance. “If I leave now, I could make it there by nightfall, I think. And then I’d return tomorrow by evening.”

“Good. We’ll wait here for you. This forest seems safe enough for now.”

“It’s a sound plan,” said Barat.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Auster asked Dusk kindly. He nodded.

“Then go,” said Nova. “And bring us back good news.” He found Sylph hunting. “I’m going,” he told her excitedly, and he described the trees he’d seen from on high. “I’ve seen them before,” he added tentatively, because he had promised to keep no more secrets from her. He told her of his mushroom vision and subsequent dream. “I think these trees are the same ones, Sylph. Do you think I’ve gone insane?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

“They’re going to be our new home, I just know it!” She nodded. “How far is it?”

“I’ll be back tomorrow night.”

Sylph sagged against the bark. “I wish I could come.”

“Me too. I—” He trailed off. “What?” Sylph said.

He lowered his voice. “I don’t trust her.”

“Nova?”

Dusk nodded. “She always thought I was such a trouble-bringer, with my flying, and Aeolus being murdered by the birds.”

“Give her a chance,” said Sylph. “She’s wise. I know you always took Dad’s side, but Dad wasn’t always a good leader—just let me finish. He could have warned the colony about the felids, but he didn’t. He nearly let the tree runners make a feast of us.”

“No one suspected them,” said Dusk. “I didn’t hear Nova say anything! She thought we’d found a new home.”

“Maybe so. But we’ve lost a quarter of the colony. If he’d made different choices, it wouldn’t be that way.”

“He made the best choices he could,” Dusk said stubbornly. Sylph chittered in exasperation. “Nova will lead well.” Dusk sighed. “Maybe you’re right. I wish you could come with me.”

“It’s just one night, right?”

“Probably.” It would be the first time he’d ever spent a night away from his colony. Loneliness groaned through his bones. “Be careful,” Sylph said. “Fly fast.”

He’d never flown for such a long time at one stretch, but now he pushed himself, and after a while something happened. His heart seemed to find a new rhythm, and his breathing slowed and deepened. It was still hard work, but he felt he could keep it up.

He flew above the forest canopy, near enough that he could quickly take cover in the trees if any birds attacked. He kept
watch higher in the skies too, hoping that the last of the quetzals truly had died out.

Swarming above the forest were a fair number of insects, but he mostly ignored them, not wanting to waste time or energy darting off course. He kept his nose aimed at the distant hills. The vast trees there still seemed impossibly far away, and for a moment he was frightened. How could he possibly travel so far, and alone? But it was good finally to have a firm destination, after all the uncertain days deep in the forest.

Below him, the trees began to change. There were types he hadn’t seen before, great twisted things with bark so craggy and sharply ridged the trunk looked like it was made of hooked beaks jutting down. Still other trees were a dead colour to them, and looked like they’d flake away if you sank your claws into them. Their flowers and leaves released new fragrances. When the forest canopy began to thin, the shrubs and ferns grew denser. Muddy pools became more numerous, until finally there were hardly any bits of boggy land between them. Swampy trees thrust up everywhere, trailing great swaths of moss. Dusk carefully kept track of the trees, making sure there were always enough for the chiropters to glide between.

Something long and green stirred the water and Dusk caught sight of a knobbly back and tail before it disappeared entirely beneath the swirling surface. He swallowed, glad he was not a groundling.

Up ahead the swamp became forest once more, but only briefly, before giving way to the grasslands. Here, at the border, Dusk circled the trees and picked out a safe branch before landing. Exhausted, he lapped dew off leaves, and when he’d slaked his thirst, he backed against the trunk so nothing could creep up on him. He gazed out across the grasslands.

There were numerous trees, but they were widely spaced, and Dusk knew there was no way his colony could glide from one to another. They would have to cross this sea of grass largely on foot. He tried not to feel too discouraged. The grass was tall and would offer some cover. He hadn’t known it grew in so many different colours and textures. The feathered tips glowed brilliantly in the late-afternoon light, leaning gracefully as the wind shifted them. For a while Dusk just stared, content to let his mind empty.

He must have slept, or half slept, for his ears were still alert. A snort from below startled him awake, his sails twitching. He peered down through the branches. At the base of the tree, a beast snuffled amongst the plants. It was easily ten times his size, Dusk realized, perhaps five feet long, with a long tail. Its coarse brown fur was striped with black. When it lifted its blunt head from the grass, he saw with relief that it had been grazing, for bits of leaves and grass dropped from its jaws as it chewed. Its intelligent eyes fixed on Dusk, then turned away without a trace of concern. Obviously this creature knew all about chiropters, but Dusk knew nothing about it.

The creature gave a soft whinny, and moments later a second beast cantered in on long legs from the grasslands. This one’s short hair was dappled brown and grey; it blended in well with the undergrowth.

Dusk marvelled at their feet. They had five long toes that had no claws but ended instead with a flat layer of what looked like bone. They thudded softly on the ground with every step.

Together the two creatures grazed, their soft mouths nuzzling and pulling at the grasses. Occasionally they exhaled in a kind of humorous wheeze. Dusk liked looking at them. They seemed gentle, and were clearly intelligent, for he noticed that they
never had their heads down at the same time. They took turns watching.

Dusk wanted to talk to them. Since they were plant-eaters, they could hardly be dangerous. Of course, the tree runners were plant-eaters too, and they’d turned out to be diabolical. But Dusk decided to take the chance.

“What are you watching out for?” he called down.

“Diatrymas,” said the brown and black creature, scarcely looking up.

“Ah,” said Dusk. “I’ve seen one of those.”

“Where?” Both creatures looked about in consternation. “Not right now. Sorry. Back in the forest there was one.”

“In the
forest?”

“It was wounded. There was a group of tree runners feeding it.”

“Ghastly,” said the dappled beast.

“Mostly they keep to the grasslands,” said the other, eyes sweeping the tall stalks. “They’re fast.”

“Are there many?”

“Yes,” said the dappled creature.

It took a moment for Dusk to work up the courage. “What are you?” he asked. “Equids,” said the first. “I’m Dyaus, and that’s Hof.”

“Thank you,” said Dusk. “Those toes on your feet, are—”

“Hooves.”

“Is that what they’re called? Are they very hard?” Dyaus tapped a hoof against the earth and it made a satisfying
clop.
“Hard enough to run on.”

“Do you know the other side of the grasslands, to the north?” Dusk asked.

“A little.”

“Are there felids there?”

“Some, I suppose. They’ve become numerous since the saurians died off.”

“Do they eat flesh?”

“What?” Hof said in surprise.

Dusk told them about Carnassial and the invasion of his island. Dyaus and Hof looked at each other, aghast.

“The felids here have never bothered us.” Dusk was relieved to hear it. That meant his father was right: Carnassial was a rogue, acting on his own.

“But we’ve seen hyaenodons,” Dyaus said. “Big predators from the east. They came through the grasslands not so long ago. Luckily they seem to have moved on.”

“As if we needed anything to make our lives more difficult,” grumbled Hof morosely.

“Maybe they’ll devour those flesh-eating felids of yours,” said Dyaus cheerfully.

The idea gave Dusk some satisfaction, but little comfort. He was trying to find a safe homeland for his colony and didn’t want to think about more predators.

“Why are you interested in the north?” Dyaus asked. Dusk did not know whether he should tell them about his colony’s plans. They seemed friendly and harmless, but he didn’t want to take any risks.

“Are there any other predators around here?” he asked instead.

“Apart from the diatrymas you mean?” Dyaus said thoughtfully. “Back there, to the south, there’re the swamp saurians. They’re about the only kind of saurian that survived the Pact. They never stray far from the water. They hide underneath, just their eyeballs sticking out.”

“Then they lunge,” Hof added with grim enjoyment. “Once their jaws lock, they can’t be pried apart. They could carry off one
of us easily. Wouldn’t even think twice about it. We never go near the swamp. You’re lucky to live up in the trees.”

A small movement in the tall grass caught Dusk’s eye. From his high vantage point he saw, thirty feet away, a massive, hooked beak protruding from the stalks. “There’s a diatryma!” he called down to the equids.

The giant bird came hurtling towards them, amazingly fast despite its ungainly body. The two equids ran, swift and graceful on their hoofed feet. The diatryma’s shriek made Dusk’s knees weaken, and he was not even the one pursued. The flightless bird was many times larger than Dyaus and Hof, and could easily disembowel them with a shearing chop from its beak.

Dusk shot pulses of sound after the three creatures, and could tell from the returning echoes that the equids were the quicker, though not by much. He fervently hoped their stamina matched their speed. They rapidly disappeared into the tall grass.