Darkwing (19 page)

“They must kill the rogues,” Gyrokus said bluntly. “That is the best solution. We must act brutally to maintain the peace, now that the saurians have finally been wiped from the earth.”

Dusk swallowed back a chirrup of surprise, and looked at Sylph, whose eyes were bright with excitement.

“Can it be true?” Barat said in amazement. “Can every nest and egg have been destroyed?”

Gyrokus gave a laugh. “Have you not heard the news on your island? It is true. The saurians are gone forever.”

Dusk watched his father’s grave face, and tried to imagine what he must be feeling. Wasn’t the world a better, safer place without the saurians? But how could his father be truly glad of it—the fulfillment of a plan he’d thought so wrong?

“A glorious victory!” said Nova.

“Indeed,” said Gyrokus.

“A quetzal did crash in our clearing not many days ago,” Sol said hesitantly. “Its wings had the rotting disease.”

“A straggler from the coast, no doubt,” Gyrokus said with assurance. “Their cliffside nests have all been eliminated. Ironically, it was Carnassial who was responsible for destroying the last of the eggs. He was a hero before his appetites became barbaric. But he may not be the only worry for us in the coming days.”

Gyrokus’s voice was solemn, and it made Dusk’s claws dig deeper into the bark.

“You may have heard the same rumours we have,” Gyrokus went on. “New breeds of predator birds from the north. And from the east, massive flesh-eating beasts.” Dusk turned to Sylph, shocked.

“We’ve not seen any such thing yet,” Icaron said. Gyrokus shook his head. “No, and perhaps we never will. Many think they’re merely tales invented by frightened minds. But I
know this as well: since the saurians have disappeared, all the beast kingdoms are becoming larger. And with greater size comes greater demands for hunting grounds. Territory is fought over more often now. Even creatures with whom we used to co-operate are now becoming quarrelsome. It’s as if we’ve been released from one enemy, only to create new ones among old friends.”

“That would be truly sad,” said Icaron. “Let’s hope our better impulses prevail.”

“Indeed,” said Gyrokus. “But as you’ve seen, we remain in a state of constant alert. We do not crave war, but we are ready for it. Now, you’ve all suffered a great deal, and need food and rest. Take it here, in the safety of my colony, and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Gyrokus,” said Icaron. “You’re very generous.” It was late, and Dusk was exhausted, but he dreaded trying to sleep. The furrows in the pine’s bark were not nearly so deep and comfortable as those on his old sequoia. The smell was sharper and less soothing. Settling down on this strange branch brought the stabbing reminder that Mom was gone, and would never be back. But with his father and Sylph close on either side, sleep finally came to him.

He was travelling through a strange forest, and the trees opened into a clearing and across the clearing was the sequoia. Everyone was there, waiting for him, wondering why he had gone away.

“Where have you been?” his mother asked, shaking her head wonderingly.

How was it he had gone so far astray? Home had been so close all along. It didn’t matter. Dusk was only too happy to surrender himself to the joy of his homecoming, and settle down on his
branch to groom, while Sylph and his father and all the other chiropters began hunting through the clearing.

And then, even in his dream, his anxious mind intruded, and he knew it was all an illusion, a lie. But he was still afraid that something terrible would happen to his home. He wanted to keep it safe and perfect, at least in his dreams, so he urged himself to wake up, rather than see it destroyed a second time.

It was dawn, and Carnassial was searching for eggs. It wasn’t scarcity that drove him up into the trees: even after the chiropters had fled, four days ago, the island still had plenty of prey. Last night he’d caught several groundlings to fill his belly. But his many years as a saurian hunter had left him with a craving for eggs—the delectable, viscous fluid, the tender flesh of the unborn.

It was proving difficult to find unguarded nests. The birds here were extremely vigilant, and vicious whenever he got too close. He’d already had one rake him with its talons. He would’ve attacked it and broken its neck, except that four more birds had quickly come to help the first, driving him back in a flurry of beaks and wings. He’d moved off deeper into the forest.

Beside him in the sinewy branches of a copperwood slunk Miacis. She’d become his frequent hunting partner, and he was glad of it, since she was proving to be, after him, the most accomplished in the prowl. He wondered idly if she’d one day consent to be his mate. The thought gave him little pleasure, for he still
thought often about Panthera, even though she was lost to him forever.

He stopped and sniffed. It was eerily quiet in this part of the forest. He hadn’t heard a bird or seen a nest in some time. But his nostrils picked up a telltale scent of mud, saliva, and dried grass. He looked all around.
There.

At first he thought the nest was abandoned, it looked so forlorn, crumbling a bit on one side. He glanced at Miacis and nodded. They stole forward, listening, tasting the air. There was no sound of nearby birds. Carnassial reached the nest and peeked inside.

The shape of the eggs made him hesitate. They were perfectly round. He’d never seen such eggs. Their shells were white, which was common with bird eggs, but these were considerably larger. He licked his teeth greedily. The nest itself was the typical greasy braid of grasses and twigs, virtually identical to the others he’d poached from. Yet these eggs did not seem to match the nest.

“They could almost be saurian eggs,” said Miacis softly.

A dreadful thrill coursed down Carnassial’s spine, flooding him with both fear and excitement. He missed his days as a saurian hunter. It was not so long ago he’d been able to satisfy his craving for meat and still remain part of the prowl. He thought of Panthera, her scent, and felt the familiar clench of longing in his chest.

He sniffed one of the spherical eggs, then lapped it with his tongue. Its shell tasted strange. He drew back and invited Miacis to taste it as well.

There was no warning. Hooked claws sank into Miacis’s back and she was jerked off her feet, thrashing and screaming. Carnassial looked up in horror to see a winged creature lifting her into the air. It hovered, huge wings beating almost silently, and then its beak opened and plunged into Miacis’s neck.

Carnassial tensed, not knowing whether to flee or attack. Within seconds Miacis was beyond help, her torn body limp in the creature’s talons. Carnassial scrambled backwards, never taking his eyes off this thing. It dumped Miacis onto the branch and landed atop her, eating her, fur and all.

Carnassial had never seen anything like it. Its powerful wings had made it seem huge, though its actual body was not so much bigger than his own. At first he assumed it must be a saurian, for it seemed covered in mottled scales, and from its head jutted two horns. But as the creature folded its wings, Carnassial saw they were feathered, and what he thought were scales on its broad chest was densely layered brown and white plumage. Those weren’t horns protruding from its head, but some kind of thick tufts, angling angrily up over each large eye. It was a bird, but a type he’d never encountered. A predator.

It watched him, swivelling its head to follow his wary retreat through the twisting branches. Those malevolent eyes made Carnassial shiver, for they were like frozen things, but gave the piercing impression of seeing sharply, and for a great distance.

The bird had killed Miacis, his strongest hunter. It had torn her asunder as though she were nothing more than a sodden pile of leaves. Before he turned to leap to the forest floor, Carnassial saw a second raptor drop silently down to join the first. It gave two mournful, resonant hoots, and from deeper in the forest Carnassial heard several answering calls.

He bolted.

When he reached the sequoia, most of his felids were already in the clearing, and Carnassial sent out an alarm yowl to summon the others. Within minutes his entire prowl was assembled.

“We must leave the island,” he told them, without offering any explanation.

He ran, leading his prowl towards the coast. The forest was haunted with the calls of the raptors, slow but deliberate. “What are those sounds?” Katzen asked nervously. “Killers,” Carnassial said tersely.

The felids pounded through the undergrowth. It was impossible to tell where the hoots came from. The other birds were silent, as though afraid their dawn chorus would attract deadly attention. Carnassial’s eyes warily swept the branches overhead.

They finally broke from the trees onto the beach, and he rejoiced to see that the water had drawn back, and the sand bridge had reappeared.

“We can cross,” he said, leading the way.

But he had hardly set foot on the sand when he saw, advancing towards them from the mainland, dozens of felids. At the forefront was Patriofelis, and at his side was Panthera.

Waking, Dusk couldn’t explain the calm hopefulness he felt as he lay against the bark, not yet ready to stir. He was content just to look around and breathe in the early scents of the forest. Even his grief for his mother was muted momentarily. Maybe it was the gentle dawn sunlight through the branches, or the familiar sight of other chiropters already slanting through the air, hunting. Maybe it was simply that he felt safe. His father had already gone off somewhere, but Sylph still slumbered beside him.

When he could no longer ignore the grumblings of his stomach he stood and launched himself off the branch. As he hunted, several grey-furred newborns called out hellos to him. Gyrokus’s colony was surprisingly friendly. Dusk had been nervous around them at first, especially since half of them seemed to be soldiers, constantly engaged in various drills and sentry duties. But they didn’t
mind sharing their trees with a strange colony, and were pleased to answer any questions Dusk had. They were obviously proud of their home, so proud that they didn’t seem to have the slightest curiosity about where Dusk had come from. He was just as happy not to talk about it right now, his memories were so weighted with sadness. He was simply grateful to be accepted, despite his strange appearance. Gyrokus’s chiropters didn’t seem bothered by his furless sails or jutting ears. And, of course, he made sure not to fly, and risk becoming a freak all over again. Even his own colony had been nicer to him over the past few days. Several had actually thanked him for getting them across the water.

After catching his fill of insects, he saw his father talking to Gyrokus with Sol and Barat. Wanting to know what they were discussing, he came in to land a ways off, but their conversation had reached an end, and they were already dispersing. He called out to Dad.

“You’ve eaten well?” his father asked.

Dusk nodded, and wondered if his father had. He tried not to let his eyes stray too often to his father’s wounded shoulder. At least it looked like it had been freshly cleaned, though he wasn’t sure it was healing over yet.

His father nodded towards the lower regions of the tree. “Down there,” he said. “You see them? Those are ptilodonts.”

Dusk caught sight of the small sinewy animals, moving nimbly through the branches. They had long tails that could wrap around a twig to give them extra support and balance. They chattered animatedly with one another. “And on the ground,” his father said, “do you see that one?” Dusk had spotted something like that when he’d first arrived on the mainland, a lumbering giant with a dark coat, spotted white. “Those teeth …” Dusk said nervously.

“Tusks. Not for hunting,” Dad reassured him. “Watch. See how he digs up the earth with them. He’s looking for grubs or tubers. He’s not a meat-eater.”

“Must be good for defending himself, though,” said Dusk, wishing he’d had such fearsome things the night the felids attacked their colony.

“There’s Sylph,” Dad said, seeing her glide past. He called out and beckoned her to join them.

“I like it here,” said Sylph as she landed. ““Everyone does. Are we staying?”

“We’ll return to the island, once it’s safe,” said Dad. “But that might take a long time,” said Sylph. “We’d stay here until then, wouldn’t we?”

“Gyrokus would need to invite us first,” Dad told her. “Would you say yes?”

“It would mean I couldn’t fly,” Dusk said quietly.

“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that,” said Sylph. “But isn’t it better to stay here with everyone else than find someplace off by ourselves?”

Dusk knew exactly what she meant. It was reassuring being surrounded by all of Gyrokus’s vigilant soldiers, even if they were a bit arrogant and aloof. Maybe it was plain selfish of him even to be thinking of flying right now.

“You’ll fly again, Dusk,” his father promised him. “Once this upheaval has ended, and we’re back on our own.”

“It’s not like my own colony even wanted me to fly,” Dusk said.

“They should let you do whatever you want,” said Sylph. “If it weren’t for you, we couldn’t have escaped the island.”

“Your sister is your most outspoken ally,” Dad said, looking at Sylph kindly. “She has a loyal heart.”

“I’m just outspoken in general,” Sylph said, but Dusk could tell
she was happy to win her father’s praise. Dusk breathed in and almost didn’t want to exhale. He didn’t want this good moment to pass away from him. It was so pleasant being together, just the three of them, without any elders nearby. But it also made him feel his mother’s absence more keenly. Would he ever be able to look at his father and sister without thinking someone was missing?

The urgency in Sylph’s voice jarred him. “Dad, is that a—?”

Dusk followed his sister’s gaze to the ground. A sleek four-legged creature effortlessly leapt onto the lower branches of a neighbouring tree and proceeded to bound higher. Dusk heard startled screams, and his sails flared instinctively, his body ready for flight.

“It’s a felid!” Sylph gasped. “It’s coming up!”

“Don’t be afraid!” Gyrokus called out loudly from the clearing. “This felid is our friend, and he comes at my invitation.”

In amazement, Dusk watched as Gyrokus glided towards the felid and landed beside it, just one branch below him and Sylph and Dad.

“Welcome, Montian,” said Gyrokus heartily. “Welcome!”

“Hello, Gyrokus.” The felid’s low purr made Dusk’s jaws clench.

“Icaron, come and join us,” the powerful chiropter leader called up. “Your elders too.”

Nervously, Dusk watched as his father glided down to their branch, calling out for Sol and Barat and Nova. Within a few moments his elders were around him. The felid sat upright on its rump, its forelegs extended. This image of civility was such a stark contrast to his memory of the ravening beasts on the island that Dusk could scarcely believe they were the same species. Peeping down, he and Sylph listened as Gyrokus introduced Dad and his elders to Montian.

“I have news that I hope will please you,” the felid purred. “Patriofelis’s soldiers are confronting Carnassial even as we speak.”

Gyrokus gave an approving snort. “Excellent. And how does Patriofelis plan to resolve this problem?”

“Carnassial has chosen his own prison,” Montian said, “and Patriofelis means to keep him there. An alliance of beasts will organize a permanent watch on the mainland, to make sure Carnassial’s prowl never leaves the island.”

“But that’s our home!” Dusk blurted, before he could check himself.

“Dusk, silence!” his father said sharply. He turned back to the felid emissary. “This is not the solution we’d hoped for. We meant to return to our home as quickly as possible.”

“Patriofelis has decided that the island is an ideal place to isolate Carnassial until he and his prowl die from starvation.”

“They won’t starve there,” said Icaron. “They’ll live on, and breed. It would be better to put a stop to them now.”

Montian looked at Icaron calmly, almost insolently. He lifted his front paws, one after another from the bark, licked them, and put them down again. “You are advocating murder?”

“Carnassial has already murdered; he must be accountable for his actions.”

“Surely Patriofelis’s solution is better than spilling more blood,” said Montian.

Dusk couldn’t stop himself hating this felid. Even if Montian wasn’t personally responsible for the massacre, it was his kind who’d murdered Mom—and here he was trying to make Dad and the chiropters look bloodthirsty. It was disgusting.

“I understand your anger,” Montian went on, “and I am truly sorry you and your colony have suffered. I can only say that Carnassial’s prowl are outcasts, and share nothing in common
with the other felid kingdoms. But if we are to kill our own kind, does it not make us as bad as Carnassial?”