Darkwing (26 page)

The sight of the diatryma left Dusk shaken. If his colony meant to cross these grasslands, they’d have to be extremely careful, and travel only at night. Surely the diatryma, like most birds, slept then. The chiropters’ colouring and small size would be their only advantages. And Dusk, with his echovision, could guide them in the dark.

He only had one more hour of daylight, and wanted to get going again. Amongst the trees he hunted quickly, always keeping his eyes and ears alert to the sounds in the forest. Other small beasts foraged around him, but he never let himself speak, or get too close, to any of them.

He probably shouldn’t have talked to the equids either, but he was lonely and longed for company. Gone from his colony half a day, and already lonely. He’d never realized how much he relied on their physical proximity—the smell and heat of their bodies
giving him comfort and confidence. Alone, he felt frightfully vulnerable, like something soft without its protective shell.

Fed and rested, he launched himself over the grasslands. He made sure his course never took him too far from a tree, in case he had to rest.

He caught glimpses of numerous four-legged groundlings—all ones he’d seen before, and none of them flesh-eaters. But he also spotted another diatryma. It hunkered in the grass, long neck folded so its head just grazed the tops of the stalks, giving it a view while remaining hidden. Its black eyes flashed in the light, and Dusk knew it was watching the grass for any sudden movement that would signal a creature moving beneath. He flew on with a shudder.

Sometimes the tall grass gave way to russet stubble and open plain. It was far from flat. Even from above he could see it had a rise and fall to it. In a muddy pool he saw a creature he thought at first must be a swamp saurian. But it wasn’t green or knobbled. It was fat, with short hair of tan and white. The beast seemed content to stand in the murk, dunking its head beneath the surface and reappearing with its mouth seeping with wet weeds.

All across the grasslands Dusk spotted bones, scoured to a blinding white by the sun and elements. Some were so huge he could hardly imagine the size of the creatures they once formed. These, he was sure, belonged to the saurians. What had happened to make them all sicken at the same time? And why not the beasts as well?

The sun neared the horizon. Birds wheeled, ready to find their roosts. Their dusk chorus began to carry through the air from all directions. Though it sounded a little different from what he was used to, he still found it comforting. It had been such a steady, predictable part of his life: the birds singing the night to them.

For the first time in days he thought about Teryx. He’d been kind, even if the rest of his flock hadn’t. And the equids had seemed kindly too. In the past days he’d come to look on everyone as an enemy, someone who might trick or eat him. Surely this new world couldn’t be as bad as that.

The sky began to lose its colour but Dusk flew on, fighting the instinct to find a safe place to roost. If he could only reach the great trees on the far hills, everything would be all right. He’d sleep there, and have the morning to explore. That would still leave enough time to make the return journey tomorrow, and be back with Sylph and his colony by nightfall. He hoped Sylph wasn’t too lonely without him. She was a survivor. She’d be just fine.

Night came. The throb of insects had replaced the birds’ chorus. A layer of mist unfurled across the grasslands as the world contracted into darkness. Dusk fought panic. He reminded himself that he needed neither sun nor moon. With sound he could summon the world to him, etched in silver.

To the west was the black sea and its unbroken horizon; to the north was the silhouette of hills against the starlit sky. As he flew, he began shooting out sound after every breath. From the darkness of his mind bloomed the grasslands and the constellation of insects that were coming alive. The night was every bit as clear and bright as the day! After a while he started enjoying himself. It was exciting, but also strangely soothing. He felt safe, invisible. Just him and the night.

He was much better now at catching his echoes while in flight. At first he’d collided with them and seen only a blur, but now he seemed to have his sonic bursts and hearing and breathing in sync, though he had no idea how he managed this. It worked, that’s all he cared about.

He rested briefly on a tree, careful to pick branches that were uninhabited. He gleaned some dopey insects and lapped water pooled in the bark. He flew hard, the night air cooling him. The grasslands rose to meet the hills, and he rose with them. Higher he went, his shoulders now sluggish with fatigue, but he would not stop until he reached the trees.

He felt himself drawn forward by some homing instinct he did not understand, the silvery image of the dream tree flaring in his mind’s eye. He was very close. He was so tired that he did not know whether he was having another vision, or whether he had finally reached his destination. His eyes showed him only blackness, but when he cast out another burst of sound, the trees, suddenly, were before him. It seemed impossible he had actually reached them.

He made one circle, too weary to explore his surroundings right now. He landed, murmuring just enough sound to make sure there were no other creatures nearby. He found a deep niche in the bark, pressed himself into it, and fell hard into sleep.

But his mind was not ready for rest, and even as he slumbered, he imagined he was still flying. His mouth was parched; his stomach was cavernous with hunger. But he would not bother hunting now. Pain gusted through his arms and shoulders. He thought he might die. When he looked up into the sky he felt an enormous sense of well-being. The stars shaped themselves into giant wings and enveloped him, and this time he wasn’t afraid. Dusk opened his eyes.

He was certain that another creature was nearby. The sky was just showing the first signs of coming dawn. Though the moon was still out, he was so well nestled into the bark he felt all but
invisible. He looked around but saw nothing on his branch. He tilted back his head.

Directly above him was a chiropter, hanging upside down from a branch by its rear claws. It was a female, he could tell by her scent. Her sails were wrapped about her. Dusk stared up at her curiously, for it was not the custom for chiropters to hang upside down, though he had seen a few launch themselves that way. He felt dejected. Perhaps this tree was already claimed by another colony, and they’d refuse to share it. Dusk wasn’t sure if he should even call out a greeting.

The chiropter was grooming herself.

Dusk wondered why she was so active this early in the morning. Most chiropters would still be sleeping. She dropped from the branch and went gliding off between the branches.

Then her sails lifted high, and she began to flap swiftly.

She was flying!

Before he could stop himself Dusk cried out in surprise, and she banked sharply.

“Who are you?” she asked, soaring back towards the tree. Just before she landed, she made a nimble aerial flip and gripped the underside of the branch with her rear claws, swinging upside down and peering straight down at him.

Before she furled her sails, he saw that they were virtually hairless, and that the moonlight shone through them, silhouetting the bones of her arms and fingers.

“They’re the same,” he muttered in amazement. “As mine. Your sails …”

He felt a gentle barrage of hunting clicks against his face and fur. She was looking at him with sound. “Who are you?” she asked again. “Dusk. You can fly!”

“Show me your wings!” she said excitedly. Her dark eyes were quick and lively.

“They’re not wings, they’re sails,” he said, spreading them. She dropped down to his branch and came closer on all fours.

“No, they’re
wings,”
she said, nudging him with her nose. Dusk’s heart raced. “Chiropters are born with sails,” he said. Somehow he knew what she would say next, and he both dreaded and craved it.

“Yes, but you’re not a chiropter.”

“I am. My mother and father—”

She shook her head. “You were
born
from chiropters, but you’ve made the change.”

“The change?”

“You’ve become something else. You’re new.” Dusk felt himself shaking.

“Don’t be afraid,” she said kindly. “You’re not alone. There are others.”

“How many?”

“Plenty. We have a colony not far from here. All flyers.”

“How does this happen?” he demanded, his voice hoarse. “Why did it?”

She flicked a wing. “No one knows. In my colony there were three of us who could fly.”

“Three!”

“Our skeletons were different. We had stronger—”

“Chests and shoulders?”

“Yes, and wings without fur.”

“I thought I was the only one. A freak.”

“Not a freak. We’ve become something different, that’s all. But it meant we had to leave our colony.”

“You did?”

“Haven’t you been driven out too?” she asked. “My father was leader.”

“That might explain it,” she said. “But why are you all alone?”

“They sent me ahead to find a new home.”

“Sent? Or banished?”

“Sent,” he said, a sudden coldness pulsing down his spine.

“We were all banished,” she said. “We were resented. We could hunt faster, eat more, and see at night. We would never have found mates.”

“But we’re still chiropters,” said Dusk.

“We have a new name for ourselves,” she said. “Bats.”

“Bats?”

“Our leader’s name is Bat-ra. She was the one who started the colony. She was the first.”

“I worried I was the first,” Dusk admitted. She chuckled. “She’s much older than you. We were all lucky to find her. She gave us a home, so it made sense to name ourselves after her.”

“Bat.” It was short and fast, like something shooting through the air.

“I’m Chimera,” she told him.

He just wanted to stare at her. Her sails—or wings—might have been his own. Her fur was dark, like his, but with different markings. She had streaks of white around her face and throat. And her ears were pointier and larger.

“I was always trying to flap,” he told her. “From the very first.”

“Me too!” she said. “It was such an effort to keep it secret. I had to go off into the forest to practise flying.”

“I did the same thing!” All at once he was telling her about everything that had happened to his colony. The story had been reverberating in his mind for so long that setting it loose in words was a tremendous relief.

“Your family sounds more accepting than mine,” Chimera said. “Your father especially.”

“He let me fly—at first anyway. I think he was proud of me.”

“Come with me and meet all the others,” she said. “You belong with us now.”

“I can’t,” he said, startled by how easily she seemed to claim him. “I have to go back and tell my colony about this tree. It’s not yours, is it?”

“No.”

Dusk let out a breath of relief. “Where is your colony?” Chimera wanted to know. “On the other side of the grasslands. They’re waiting for me.”

“But how will they cross?”

“On the ground mostly.”

She shook her head. “It’ll take a long time. They’ll be hunted. Have you seen the diatrymas?”

“Yes. But we’re small. We can hide. We can cross at night.” She sighed. “They’ll be in terrible danger, and you with them.”

“Well, that’s the way it has to be,” he said. “I’ll bring them all back here. Do you live far from here?”

“Just on the other side of the hills. Do you see those three stars there? Follow them, and you’ll find us.”

He felt a pulse of excitement. It was so good to be talking to someone like himself. “You’re not going anywhere?” he asked her urgently. She laughed. “No. We’re staying where we are.”

“Then I’ll find you when I come back.”

“I hope you do. Good luck.”

He felt a bit desperate as he watched her go. Part of him wanted to call out, to follow her. But his own colony needed him first.

The sun had just cleared the eastern horizon, spilling red light over the tree. He flew around and around it. It was massive, with
many branches, and its bark emanated a pleasant smell that reminded him of the island. He couldn’t see any other creatures living in the mighty boughs, and though a dawn chorus was starting to carry across the sky, he spotted no bird nests in the tree’s upper reaches. It seemed the tree was waiting just for him. He dipped down to examine the base. The trunk towered at least forty feet before the first branches jutted out. There was no way even a clever felid like Carnassial could scale such a trunk, especially since the bark was somewhat harder and smoother than the sequoia’s.

With growing anticipation, Dusk flew amongst the surrounding trees. There were about a dozen in the cluster, and they too towered high before sending out limbs. An abundance of insects filled the air between them. Were there any nearby trees the felids could use as a bridge? Dusk flew above the canopy, looking straight down, measuring the distance between tree limbs. The closest were nearly twenty feet distant, surely too far for even the most nimble felid to jump.

He landed. The view would be invaluable. From up here you could see for thousands of wingbeats. Dusk looked out over the grasslands and the forest beyond, where his colony waited.

He’d found the perfect tree, the perfect home. He wished Dad and Mom could have seen it.

He unfurled his sails and looked at them. Wings. He closed his eyes and sang sound over them and saw how they blazed silver in his mind, the texture of his skin sparkling like the sea. He tried to see them as natural, and not something freakish.

Bat.

That’s what she’d called herself—and him. He resisted the name. All his life he’d thought of himself as a chiropter. Take that away and didn’t you also take away some part of who he was? It was like saying he wasn’t Icaron’s son any more.

He thought of Sylph, depending on him, and set off at once, eager to return, the bearer of good news.

A stiff wind battled him most of the way back, and it was getting dark as Dusk neared the forest where he’d left his colony. Exhaustion weighted his wings. He sniffed, surprised at himself: he’d automatically thought wings instead of sails. The two words had been echoing softly in his head the entire journey, as though battling for supremacy. He felt a little frightened at how easily the new word came to him. But words didn’t change things, did they? Or maybe they did. Maybe words, once thought or spoken aloud, had a kind of power, and made things permanent.