Darkwing (28 page)

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 the 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.”

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.

He landed near Auster and wordlessly steered him in the proper direction. Auster nodded and the rest of the colony silently followed. Dusk fell into step beside Sylph.

A shriek travelled like jagged lightning through the night.

Auster paused and looked over at Dusk. “See what you can see.”

Dusk flapped up through the grass once more, spiralling into the sky. He cast around, trying to fix the direction of the noise. A second shriek vaulted over the grasslands, along with several whinnying snorts, and then came the distant pounding of hooves. Dusk’s heart thundered against his ribs.

It was the sound of equids, running scared. He was almost certain. But what had scared them? Surely the diatrymas couldn’t be active this late at night.

He moved swiftly through the air, heading in the direction of the noise. The moon was now veiled by cloud, and he sent a hail of sound earthward. In his mind’s eye he saw each and every stalk of grass, the occasional small dark shape of a scurrying groundling. Suddenly the grass parted and an adult equid and newborn bolted past.

Dusk wheeled, opening his eyes to follow their silhouettes. The two creatures were quickly joined by another adult and they continued their sprint across the plain. Their hoofbeats faded into the night. Dusk was glad they’d escaped harm, but he still felt clammy with dread. What were they running from?

He didn’t have to wait long for his answer. He continued southwesterly, and in less than a hundred wingbeats caught a glancing echo image of a four-legged creature in the shadows of the deep grass. He circled and sprayed out more sound.

He’d seen this kind of creature only once before, but it was too distinctive to mistake. It was a hyaenodon, and it wasn’t alone. There were six of them, striding menacingly through the grass. They stopped briefly, their blunt snouts close to the earth, and the one in front grunted irritably.

“The scent is gone,” it said, the words so low and ill-formed that Dusk could barely make them out. “Carnassial.”

Invisible against the night sky, Dusk watched with growing dismay as Carnassial and a second felid appeared beside the larger beasts.

“Smell,” the hyaenodon instructed him gruffly. Carnassial dropped his head and belly to the earth and slunk around, seeking out the scent of prey. “Yes,” he said, “the equid scent is gone. But there is another here I know well. Chiropters.”

“Here? They are not groundlings,” said the hyaenodon.

“There must’ve been many of them,” said the second felid. “I can still smell their fear.”

“Panthera’s right,” said Carnassial. “An entire colony must be crossing the grasslands on foot.”

Without warning Carnassial peered up into the sky, and Dusk tumbled steeply backwards into the night, fervently hoping he hadn’t been seen. He banked steeply, and flapped with all his strength back towards his colony.

For a chilling moment he didn’t recognize where he was, the plain was so featureless in the dark, but then he oriented himself by the silhouettes of the solitary trees. It took a few low passes before he made out the dark cluster of his fellow chiropters amongst the grass, and he landed quickly at the vanguard.

“Will we make it to the poisonwood in time?” Auster asked, after Dusk had made his report.

“It won’t guarantee our safety,” remarked Sol, who’d come up
from the rear. “Hyaenodons may not be able to climb, but the felids can.”

“We won’t reach it in time,” Dusk said quietly. Following the scent trail, the felids would soon overtake them. “But I saw a fallen tree up ahead. It’s not far, and it’s big. It might hide us until they pass.”

Dusk waited for Auster’s answer. He could hear anxious squeaks and whimpers from some of the other newborns. Even Sylph looked worried. It was what they’d all feared most, being caught in the open.

“If they have our scent, and want to feed, they’ll come right to us,” said Auster. “We’ll be trapped.”

“I see no other option,” Sol said.

“Can you take us there, Dusk?” Auster said.

Dusk still had the toppled tree’s bearing locked in his head, so he led the way. They’d never moved faster. The grass thinned and suddenly the dark bulk of the trunk loomed before them. They approached its jagged base.

Sylph wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell?”

“Scat,” said Auster.

“Diatryma scat,” Dusk whispered, remembering the smell from the tree runners’ forest. He immediately took flight and circled the fallen tree. There were no nesting diatrymas to be seen. The scat must have been left in passing. He returned to the others.

“It’s all clear,” he told them.

“We’re lucky,” said Sol. “The scat will cloak our scent.”

“And might scare them off,” Auster added.

Dusk nodded hopefully. “Where should we hide?” It was odd, looking at a tree sideways, some of its branches jutting up into the air, others stretching out along the earth, leafless and broken.

“What about inside?” Sylph said. “It looks pretty big.”

Dusk hurried over to join her at the tree’s severed base. In the tough tissue of the exposed trunk were countless tiny holes bored by insects, but also a larger opening through which a chiropter could just squeeze. Dusk crawled closer and sang sound into the hole, listening hard. His returning echoes took a moment to reach him. In his mind flared an image of a deep cavernous space. “It’ll hold us all,” he told Auster.

He knew they didn’t have much time. Auster insisted on going first. One by one, the other chiropters squeezed through. Dusk had never been inside a tree and he found the humid fragrance of the wood a bit overpowering. It was surprisingly spacious, and not completely dark. Pale light slanted through little gashes and insect holes in the tree’s bark.

Using his echovision Dusk studied their hiding place more carefully. It had been hollowed out by rot and an industrious army of bugs, together creating a weird hive-like cavern. From the ceiling hung thick cords of ancient cobweb. Insects teemed over the wood, and Dusk heard many of the chiropters hungrily send out hunting clicks.

“Not yet,” Auster told them quietly. “When danger’s passed, we’ll feed. We need to be quiet now.”

Dusk settled down beside Sylph, glad of the chance to rest.

Sol had positioned himself at the entrance, peering out into the night. He turned and shook his head. Nothing yet. “Do you see that hole over there?” Sylph whispered to him. “Where?” Dusk’s fur bristled. He thought he’d checked for any other ways inside.

Sylph showed him the hole, and he let out a breath of relief. It was in the floor, and went right through the bark and straight down into the ground. It was far too small for a felid, or a chiropter even.

“Where’s it go?” Sylph asked uneasily.

He sprayed down sound. The hole went quite deep before dead-ending—or curving off sharply to one side, he couldn’t be sure. Echovision couldn’t go around corners. There was nothing he could see down there. But when he sniffed he caught a faint animal scent mingled with the pungent smell of bark and earth. “See if there’s any more,” he whispered to Sylph. Scuttling clumsily over the ridged floor he found a second hole, then a third, bored deep. “Four,” Sylph said when they regrouped. “One smells pretty bad.” They found Auster among the chiropters. “I think there’s something living below the tree,” Dusk told him. “Shh …” Sol hissed from the entrance, pulling back inside. “They’re coming.”

Silence throbbed within the hollow trunk as all the chiropters pressed themselves against the dead wood. Dusk’s pulse outpaced the passing seconds. Beyond the walls of the tree he heard footfalls, and then an abrupt, guttural voice. “You’ve led us to bird scat.”

“No,” came a soft growl. “It was the chiropters’ scent I followed.”

“Then where are they?” The same coarse voice. Something pounded on the bark overhead and Dusk jerked. One of the newborns whimpered and was quickly pulled tight against its mother to stifle its cries. The hyaenodon must have leapt up onto the trunk, and now was pacing impatiently. Dusk hoped the wood was thick.

“I’ve lost their trail.”

That was Carnassial’s smoother voice. Dusk heard him sneezing and trying to purge his nostrils of the overpowering stink of the diatryma droppings.

Move on,
Dusk thought.
Move on.

He sought out Sylph’s eyes. She was staring fixedly at something, and he followed her gaze. From one of the tiny holes in the ground, a head was poking up. It was wedge-shaped, tapering to a pointy nose. Little semicircular ears grew close to its skull. Grey and black fur ran in jagged swaths across its snout. Its oval-shaped eyes were large. The creature advanced a little farther out of its hole.

Dusk stared. The creature was half his size, but looked uncannily like a chiropter. All it lacked was sails between its arms and legs. The diminutive beast was clearly startled, for the hair on its head and neck bristled and it pulled back into its hole as if tugged from below.

“It’s only a soricid,” whispered Sol nearby. “Timid little things. Probably scared witless.”

From the hole came a series of alarmed squeaks.

Dusk looked worriedly overhead. Would the hyaenodons and felids hear?

“Shush,” Sylph said, bending over the hole. “We’re not going to hurt you.”

More shrill pips and squeaks welled up, not just from the one hole, but from all of them. “Stupid little things,” muttered Sylph.

“It must be their nest down there,” said Sol. “They think we’re invading.”

Abruptly the heavy footsteps overhead stopped. Dusk could not hear Carnassial’s voice or the hyaenodon’s. Had they finally moved on, or were they still outside, mere inches away, listening hard?

Once again the soricid stuck its pointy little head out and looked around. To Dusk’s amazement it came out all the way this time, and crouched, poised on the rim of its hole.

“Don’t be afraid,” Sol whispered gently, taking a few steps closer. “We’ll be on our way very shortly.”

The soricid opened its mouth as if to speak, and Dusk saw its teeth. They were small and numerous and very, very sharp. In the pale shaft of moonlight they flashed red. A ghastly hiss emanated from the little creature’s throat and it flung itself at Sol, nipped him sharply on the neck, and then danced back.

Sol gave a cry, more of surprise than pain, for the tiny beast’s bite couldn’t have hurt much. Dusk couldn’t even see wound marks. Angrily, Sol flared his sails and advanced, but then his legs stiffened beneath him and he collapsed onto his face. He twitched several times, his eyes wide open, uncomprehending.

“Sol!”

Auster hurried to the elder’s side. Sol wasn’t dead. Dusk could see his flanks rise and fall. He was alive, and awake, yet he couldn’t move.

“He’s paralyzed!” said Auster, glaring at the little soricid. “Its bite poisoned him.”

One after another, eight more soricids sprang from the hole and advanced, hissing, towards Sol and Auster. Bravely, Auster held his ground and flared his sails, standing tall. In that moment he reminded Dusk very much of his father. He hurried to his brother’s side. He was aware of Sylph coming too, and a few other chiropters. Together they shielded their fallen elder.

The soricids’ faces blazed with a mad hunger. They feinted, shrewdly waiting for the right moment to deliver their paralyzing nips.

“Drive them back into their hole!” Auster commanded. Dusk advanced with the others, feeling fearless and strong. He bared his teeth. He hissed. He made himself huge with his wings. The soricids retreated to the brink of their hole, but then Dusk heard shrieks from the rest of his colony.

“There’s more of them!”

“They’re
everywhere!”

In horror Dusk beheld torrents of soricids flowing from their many holes. Some chiropters held their ground, spitting and lashing out with claws and teeth. They were unpractised warriors, but they knew enough to avoid the soricids’ heads, and instead aimed for the flanks and hind legs. The chiropters had size and strength on their side, and when they flared their sails, the soricids sometimes cringed back—but not always. They seemed to have little fear, and attacked again and again, sending chiropters scattering in terror.