Darkwing (16 page)

“Have you seen Icaron?” Dusk asked them. “Icaron or Mistral?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Jib’s mother told him, and it was the first time a chiropter outside his own family had looked at him with any tenderness. “It was so dark, and everything was so confusing.”

“Stay here with Jib’s family,” Dusk told Sylph. “I want to see if I can find them.”

“You’re sure?” Sylph asked, still not wanting him to go.

“I need to,” he said, emotion choking his voice. He didn’t want to leave Sylph either, but she was safe now. She had some adults with her. He couldn’t banish from his mind the image of the felid attacking Mom and Dad, jaws and claws whirling. He needed to know they were all right.

Sylph looked at him and seemed to understand. She gave a quick nod. “Okay.”

“I’ll come back.”

He cast around thoroughly with his eyes and ears before taking flight, and then flapped cautiously through the branches towards the sequoia. He passed many chiropters calling out softly for their mothers and sons, daughters and fathers.

“Have you seen Icaron?” he whispered, fluttering overhead. “Icaron or Mistral?”

Most shook their heads, some gave vague answers; others ignored him altogether, too stupefied with fear and sorrow to hear him or form a reply.

Nearing the sequoia, he gave it a wide berth, wanting to have a good look before he came any closer. He was wary of all the trees around the clearing, knowing they too might contain felids.

He was exhausted, but he wanted to stay airborne, even if he was more noticeable that way. The idea of landing and being easy prey for the felids was too horrible. He wanted to be able to move, in any direction, in a split second.

Except for a ghost of moonlight, it was completely dark now, and Dusk flew almost entirely with echovision. The world was a pulsing silver image that etched itself again and again in his mind’s eye.

He decided to take a risk and fly into the clearing. Blazing in him was the need to find his parents. Even if the felids saw him, they couldn’t do anything about it. He was well beyond their reach.

He fluttered up the clearing, keeping far away from the branches. The sequoia teemed with felids. They seemed to be everywhere. He started counting, and was surprised when he came to only twenty-six. Surely there’d been more than that. Maybe it was only their large size and deadly speed that had made them seem so many.

They were done hunting, he realized within seconds. Many of them were still feeding on their prey. Dusk could not look. Others, having already eaten their fill, were stalking lazily along the branches, or curled up somewhere licking the blood from their paws and muzzles.

They had taken over his tree.

They showed no signs of moving on. A few of them even
looked on the verge of sleep, their startling wide-mouthed yawns making slits of their glowing eyes. They could go to sleep without a second’s fear, and Dusk hated them. They’d killed. And now they were stealing his home.

At the outer fringes of the tree Dusk spotted a last, small group of chiropters rushing along a branch towards the forest. With his echovision, he studied every one of them, but didn’t find his parents. A felid glanced down at the fleeing chiropters from above, and then turned away, uninterested. Its belly was full and it had no desire to hunt.

Dusk spiralled higher, watching the felids, listening. Deep satisfied purrs emanated from their throats, making his ears flinch with revulsion. On his family’s branch lounged Carnassial, the one who had attacked his father. Dusk recognized him from the sharp angles of his face. His long sweaty body was sprawled over the very bark that he and Sylph and his parents slept on every night. Carnassial turned and addressed a nearby felid.

“It will be excellent practice,” he said, “and their flesh is sweet.”

“Your strategy was excellent,” said the second felid. “Will it work again?”

“They seem a witless bunch,” said Carnassial lazily. “They glided back and forth as if they couldn’t bear to be separated from their beloved tree. But it would be better for us if they grew wilier. It would hone our skills.”

“They’ll provide us with food for many, many nights,” said the second felid contentedly.

Suddenly Carnassial was on his feet, his eyes flashing in Dusk’s direction.

“There’s something out there.”

“In the clearing?” his companion asked.

“Look,” Carnassial said in amazement. “One of them flies!”

Dusk had thought himself invisible in the dark, but he had clearly underestimated the felid’s night vision. Heart pounding, he veered out of the moonlight and into the deeper shadow. Even though he knew he couldn’t be caught, the mere idea of that creature looking at him was terrifying. “It’s a bird, isn’t it?” he heard the second felid say. “No bird. A flying chiropter,” said Carnassial. “See how the world changes?”

Dusk wanted to ask him where his father was, half considered it, but he couldn’t bear speaking to this monster. And what if his answer was the one he most dreaded?

“You have a fine tree, chiropter!” Carnassial shouted up at him. “But it’s ours now. Fly off and tell your fellows to find a new home.”

Dusk could bear it no longer, seeing his beloved sequoia squatted on by these creatures. He could scarcely smell the tree’s natural fragrance for the stink of them, and the reek of blood. He didn’t like their large moonlit eyes on him.

He dipped into the forest and steered a watchful course round the clearing, back towards where he’d left Sylph. He flew past ragged groups of chiropters, still making their fearful exodus from the sequoia. He spotted one large group assembling on a branch after their glide.

At the forefront was Icaron.

Dusk streaked joyfully towards him. “Dad!”

He landed beside his father, who whirled at the sound of his voice.

“Dusk! Dusk, you’re all right!” He began sniffing and poking his son’s back and flanks to see if he’d been injured. “I’m all right,” Dusk said.

His father wasn’t; he saw that instantly. Icaron’s left shoulder was slick with blood, and the edge of his sail was badly torn.
Looking at the wound sent a sympathetic flash of pain across Dusk’s own body. There was something else changed about his father that had nothing to do with the wound. Dusk couldn’t quite understand it. Wizened was the closest he could come to describing it. His father seemed wizened and parched.

“Are you okay, Dad?” His voice wavered.

“Yes. The felid gored me, but it’ll heal. Is your sister all right?”

“She’s fine. She’s waiting with a group of other newborns. I was just heading back to her. Where’s Mom?”

Dusk looked around at all the other chiropters warily climbing past them up the tree. He turned back to his father and felt a sudden and terrible weakness sweep through his body. He could not speak at all. But he understood, at once, why his father looked so dreadfully transformed.

The night was half over before the colony was fully reunited, deep in the forest, in the shrouded branches of another redwood. Dusk’s father had posted sentries all around the tree in a broad perimeter. It was an awful time, almost as bad as the massacre itself, as frantic chiropters tried to find their missing mates and children and parents. Most were lucky; too many weren’t. There were names that Dusk heard called out over and over until it became a kind of torture to hear them, and he pressed his head to the bark, trying to block the sounds. All he could think about was his own mother, and how he would never hear her answering cry again.

He and Sylph huddled together alone, whimpering and shivering and staring into the distance. Dad wasn’t with them. He was leader and, despite his own grief, he’d had to go off to console and reassure the other families too. Dusk was still struggling to make himself understand Mom was truly dead. There were split seconds of forgetting, when it seemed impossible, and then he’d have to tell himself it really had happened, and grief would smother him all over again.

“She had echovision like me,” he murmured. “She should’ve seen them coming. She should’ve been one of the survivors.”

But she had tried to help Dad, and Carnassial had seized her instead. Dad had fought to free her, but it was no use. This was what his father had told them earlier.

“I wish he’d died instead,” Sylph said, her voice barely audible.

“Sylph!” he said, astonished.

“This is his fault. It is, Dusk, and you know it. You told him what the bird said. He should’ve warned everyone. Then we would’ve been prepared. Mom might still be alive.”

The thought of Mom beside him, right now, was too much to bear, and he started sobbing again.

“Dad shouldn’t have kept it to himself,” Sylph fumed. “If the elders knew …”

“You can’t tell them,” he said.

“Why not?” She sounded dangerous.

“You know why. They might blame Dad. They might even try to overthrow him.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

He knew she didn’t mean it, and decided it was safest to make no reply. He didn’t want to fuel her anger. He could feel himself bending to his sister’s opinion, and it frightened him. “Dad’s pretty badly hurt,” he said.

He wanted Sylph to say something reassuring—that their father was strong and would heal quickly—but she was silent.

The moon had set, and the clouds had parted to allow some starlight onto the branches. Dusk watched as his older brother Auster glided down towards him and Sylph. He landed and nuzzled them both. “Are you two all right?” he asked.

It seemed an absurd question. How could they be all right?

But Dusk nodded, grateful for this show of kindness. “It’s hardest for you two,” Auster said. “But you’ll be fine.”

“Is Dad going to be okay?” Dusk asked. “Of course. There’s no one stronger.”

Not long afterwards, Dad returned to the branch with the three other elders. They settled a ways off and spoke in muted voices, but Dusk could still overhear.

“We’re safe for the moment,” his father was saying. “The felids’ vision is excellent in near dark, but they’re not usually night hunters. The full moon made their attack possible. They won’t hunt during the day.” He paused. “But we must leave before the next sunset.”

Dusk looked at Sylph in shock. Leave for where?

“You’re suggesting we leave the island?” Nova said.

“My son flew through the clearing after the massacre,” Icaron said. “The felids have moved into our tree. Dusk overheard them talking. They mean to stay on the island and feed on us until we’re all killed.”

There was a brief silence after this devastating news.

“But our home,” said Sol, sounding stricken.

“As long as we’re here, they will hunt us,” said Icaron. “At twilight they’ll come again. And the night after. And the night after that. We lost thirty-eight tonight. How many more are you ready to lose? Are you willing to lose your own mates, your own children? I don’t want to leave this place either, but I see no other choice.”

“Another tree,” Barat suggested hurriedly. “The felids can’t climb vertically for any distance; they’re heavier than us, and their claws can’t bear their weight for long. If we could find a tree with branches that only grew high up, the felids couldn’t reach us.”

“Even if we found such a tree,” said Icaron, “the forest is so dense, the felids could simply jump across from a nearby tree.”

“We’ve become spoiled on the island,” Nova said. “We’ve not known predators for a long time. We were wrong to cut ourselves off from the mainland. If we’d maintained scouts there, we wouldn’t have been surprised by the felids.”

Dusk glared at Nova, hating her. How could she bring this up now, after what everyone had suffered? What was the point?

“But we shut our eyes and ears to the larger world,” Nova went on, “and lived in blissful ignorance. We paid for it tonight.”

Now Dusk shifted uneasily. Nova couldn’t have known about Teryx’s warning, but her criticism of Icaron was unnervingly pointed. He glanced at Sylph, knowing what she must be thinking. Dad had ignored the felid threat and left the colony vulnerable. Dusk waited for his father’s angry rebuttal, but surprisingly, none came. He wondered if Dad was just too exhausted and stunned. Or maybe he himself felt Nova was right, and was too guilty to deny it.

“Perhaps we could learn wiliness again,” Sol suggested hesitantly. “We could remain on the island, but seek out secret places to live. Our smallness can be an asset. We can hide and be vigilant. We certainly won’t be taken by surprise again. That’s what cost us so dearly tonight.”

Dusk listened carefully to his father’s reply but could detect not a glimmer of guilt or remorse.

“But the felids will always have the advantage, Sol. They are faster than us on the trees.”

“But we can glide.”

“They can jump. We’re near blind in the dark, remember. Their eyes let in more moon and starlight.”

“But to abandon our island—” Sol said.

“No, Icaron’s right.”

Dusk blinked in amazement, for it was Nova who’d spoken.

“This island’s been our safe haven for twenty years, but it’s been invaded now. The felids truly mean to exterminate us; we must leave before they stage another massacre.”

No one spoke for a moment; no doubt Dad too was startled by this show of support from Nova.

“But what makes you think it will be any better on the mainland?” Sol demanded. “We’ve been gone a long time; things may have changed more than we know.”

“These felids are rogues,” said Icaron. “Their leader, Carnassial, told me as much before he attacked me and Mistral.” His voice faltered as he spoke his mate’s name, but he went on hoarsely. “They’ve splintered from Patriofelis’s prowl and come here to commit their atrocities in secret. I can’t believe all felids have turned flesh-eater. It’ll be safer for us on the mainland.”

Dusk felt heartsick. The island, the sequoia, was his birthplace—as it was for practically every chiropter in the colony. All his memories lived here, sheltered under the canopies of the redwoods, whispering amidst the branches.

“It will only be temporary,” Icaron told the elders confidently. “On the mainland we’ll send word to Patriofelis, and he may be able to deal with these miscreants. Or Carnassial may simply abandon the island once we leave. It will be ours again before long. Now, go and spread the news to your families.”

“I don’t want to go,” Dusk whispered to Sylph.

“It’s the right decision,” said Sylph, but her voice was small and it was obvious to Dusk she was just trying to be brave. “Nova’s right.”

“It was Dad’s decision,” said Dusk firmly. Their father walked over wearily and nuzzled both of them.

“Are we really leaving?” Dusk asked.

“I’m afraid so. I have to go tell all our family. I’ll be back soon. You two need to rest.”

As he watched his father leave them, it was all Dusk could do to stop himself whimpering. He didn’t want to go to sleep. Sleep was supposed to happen on the sequoia, in the deep furrows of their nest, with Mom and Dad and Sylph and him all together and warm. How could he rest here? His heart raced in panic.

“It’s okay, Dusk, he’ll be back,” his sister said. She settled down beside him, pressed up tight. He pressed back. It was comforting, but it also reminded him how diminished they were as a family. He and Sylph didn’t speak, just lay very still. After a while he stopped trembling. He didn’t know if she’d already fallen asleep.

It wasn’t until his father returned and lay down against them that he felt safe enough to let sleep take him.

The night slowly seeped away, leaving a colourless sky above the forest canopy.

Dusk was not glad of the dawn. He felt like he’d hardly slept at all, waking again and again with a start amongst unfamiliar branches. When he did lurch back into sleep, his slumbering mind churned. He saw things that were completely unremarkable: insects on a branch, a mushroom, his mother frowning—and yet in his dreams they were charged with doom, and woke him up as if he’d glimpsed a monster, his heart racing.

Throughout the night he’d been aware of activity in the branches, as sentries came on and off duty, and sleepless chiropters talked. Sometimes a newborn cried out and his parents would chitter softly to reassure him.

“How’s your wound?” Dusk asked as his father stirred beside him. “Already feels better,” he replied.

It did not look any better to Dusk, but he said nothing more, wanting to believe his father. “I must ask you to do something,” Icaron said to him gravely. Dusk waited, his stomach aswirl.

“As a father, I don’t want to ask, but as a leader I must. We’ll be travelling for the coast soon, and I need you to fly on ahead and scout a path for us.”

“Yes,” said Dusk, glad of the chance to be useful, and proud that his father thought him brave and capable enough for the task.

“No one else will be as fast or long-sighted as you,” said Icaron. “But you must promise to be careful.” Dusk nodded.

“Now, I’ve got to go and start organizing our journey.” As their father left, Sylph looked at Dusk. “At least you get to fly again.”

It was true, but Dusk felt no joy at all.

It took the better part of the morning to organize the colony. Dusk busied himself feeding, though his stomach felt ill. He kept needing to pee. The thought of flying on ahead worried him very much. He was frightened of being spotted by a felid; more frightened simply of being alone. He wanted Dad and Sylph close to him right now.

He was only starting to feel the full nightmare terror of last night. At the time he’d been too busy and frantic, just trying to survive. Now he couldn’t believe he’d managed to do anything at all: flap, think up escape plans.

At midday they were ready to leave. The felids were most likely lounging in the sequoia. That was what his father said. During the day, especially the hottest hours, felids avoided exertion.
They slept and groomed themselves. This would be the best time for the chiropters to make their exodus to the coast.

“We’ll have sentries keeping watch on our flanks, and in the rear,” Icaron told Dusk. “We’ll advance behind you. The moment you spot any felids, fly back and tell us immediately. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

Dusk set off. He caught himself peering through the trees, hoping for a glimpse of the sequoia in the distance. He saw nothing, but still felt a constriction in his throat. For a moment his vision blurred. He would never see his mother again. But he promised himself one day he’d gaze upon his birthplace. He pulled his eyes away from its direction, found a branch, and landed so he could survey the forest.

He waited until the colony came into view behind him and then, as his father had instructed, flew ahead a little farther.

As the day wore on, the light shifted through the forest. The chiropters’ journey was slow, and Dusk had to rein in his impatience. They could only glide so far before landing and climbing up for another launch. It didn’t help that everyone had started out exhausted, and the day’s heat was building to its peak. Frequent halts were called so they could feed and drink.

Dusk saw no felids. The birds had returned to the forest, though. He was aware of them overhead, and in the sky, flitting about. He hoped Teryx would see him, and come and speak to him. The forest seemed so serene right now that he couldn’t help wondering if it really was necessary to leave the island. Maybe there was some way they could stay, and just be more vigilant…. But he needed only to remember Carnassial snaring his father in his paws, and his mother leaping in to help her mate.

As long as the felids remained, they could never be safe here.

The forest finally ended and the ground sloped down to a rocky beach. Across the water, the mainland rose. Dusk had seen it just yesterday, though from a greater height. Now, from the trees at the forest’s edge, it seemed more imposing, a great wall of rock and dark vegetation that thrust up, much higher than their island. It was late afternoon. The tide was still high.

Sylph was off hunting, but Dusk stuck close to his father. He wasn’t hungry right now anyway. Dad seemed tired. The blood from his wound had congealed and stiffly matted his fur. Mom would have licked the wound clean, groomed his fur neatly back into shape. Was his father in a lot of pain? Dusk didn’t want to ask, not in front of so many chiropters. It wouldn’t do for Dad to appear weak, now of all times.