Darkwing (3 page)

“The newborn who died?” Sylph asked. “What’re you talking about, Jib?”

“Didn’t you ever see her? She looked even weirder than Dusk. Her mother stopped nursing her.”

“Why?” Dusk asked, horrified.

“She was a freak,” said Jib with a shrug. “Her body was all wrong. They took her down to the dying branch and left her.”

Dusk felt chilled through his fur and skin. The dying branch was a place he’d never visited. It jutted out low down, from the shady side of the tree, and was half veiled by hanging moss. It was where the sick or very old went when they knew they were going to die.

“They say you can still see her bones,” Jib said, looking straight at Dusk. “Want to go see?”

“Are you saying there’s something wrong with Dusk?” Sylph shouted at Jib.

“No,” Jib muttered, taking a step back from her. “But I heard he probably would’ve been driven out of the colony, because of his sails and—”

“You are such a bad loser, Jib,” Sylph said in disgust. “Get lost.”

Jib snorted. “Congratulations on your lucky win, Furless. Come on, Aeolus, let’s go.”

Dusk watched the two newborns begin the long climb back to their hunting perches.

“Why are you friends with him?” Dusk asked his sister. “He’s not usually so unpleasant.”

“Not to you, maybe. You don’t think Mom and Dad were tempted to abandon me, do you?”

“Of course not!”

“Jib just hates me because he’ll never be leader.”

“Dusk, you’re never going to be leader.”

“I could!”

“Well, I could too. I’d just have to kill off the rest of you first.” Side by side on the branch, the two of them absently set about grooming each other.

“You are really filthy,” remarked Sylph with interest. “Don’t you ever comb your fur?”

“Of course I do,” said Dusk indignantly. “Why? What’s in there?”

“Just a whole colony of mites,” she mumbled, happily eating them off his back.

“I have been pretty itchy there,” Dusk confessed.

“I always know I can get a decent meal off you.” Dusk grunted, hoping to find something incriminating in his sister’s fur. But aside from a few spores and a single aphid, Sylph was, as usual, extremely well groomed.

“Did you really get fifteen?” she asked sweetly.

“Sylph!”

“Just making sure.”

“You just can’t believe I beat you!”

“Well, it probably won’t happen again,” she said cockily. “Want to race back to the perch?”

“Not really,” he said. “Afraid you’ll lose?”

He knew he would lose. In the air he was fast, but on bark, his missing claws and weak legs doomed him to be among the
slowest. He hated the climb back up. It was always so discouraging. He took a deep breath of the scented air, and his eyes strayed to the sun-bathed clearing. Insects soared effortlessly in the thermals.

“I’ll even give you a head start,” Sylph said, “how’s that?”

“Don’t need one,” he said.

She looked at him strangely, then gave a laugh. “You really think you can beat me?”

“I think so,” he replied boldly. “All right, then. See you up there!”

Sylph darted up the trunk; for a moment Dusk watched her go, envying her agility and speed. Then, after only a moment’s hesitation, he hurled himself off the branch, sails unfurling. “What’re you doing?” he heard Sylph call out to him.

Chiropters only went down, never up, Dusk thought. But maybe he could change that. Glancing about, he tried to find the thermal he’d encountered earlier. Where was it? “You’re really going to lose now!” Sylph shouted.

He had no idea if his plan would even work. He’d slipped below the Lower Reach now, and with every second was falling farther. Dusk looked down in alarm. He’d never been so close to the forest floor. He saw something dark shift the undergrowth and disappear. Too risky. He decided to abandon his plan. What a waste. Now he’d have an even longer climb back to the perch.

As he glided back towards the sequoia, warmth grazed his chest and he was suddenly weightless. He bounced up half a foot before tumbling to one side. Eagerly he circled and slid back into the thermal, this time angling his sails to anchor himself in midair.

He wobbled but managed to hold on, and with an unexpected surge, the hot air lifted him. He felt it pushing against his sails,
wafting past his chin and snout. He could not restrain his whoop of delight as he was propelled upwards. Chiropters
could
go up!

It might not be flying, but it was the next best thing. Rising higher, he caught sight of Sylph diligently hurrying up the redwood’s trunk. “See you up there!” he called out.

She turned and stared as he floated past, face blank with confusion.

“Don’t slow down,” Dusk told her, hoping he’d remember her expression his entire life. “What’re you doing?” she bellowed. “Just riding some hot air.”

“But … you … you’re cheating!” she wailed in outrage. “How am I cheating?” he asked calmly, all the while rising higher. “You’re not climbing!”

“Who said anything about climbing? You just said it was a race.”

“That isn’t fair!” she howled in outrage.

For a moment she glared at him, shoulders hunched, sides heaving. Then, “Show me how to do it!” she demanded. “Maybe some other time,” Dusk said.

“I want to know how!” And she threw herself off the tree and sailed out into the clearing, already well below him. “Dusk, show me!”

For a moment he did nothing, just watched her fierce upturned face. A few chiropters glided past, hunting, and stared at him in bewilderment. “Please!” Sylph begged.

Dusk sighed. This was getting embarrassing. “Find the column of hot air,” he told her. “It should be right underneath me.”

He watched as she sought out the thermal and then lurched straight through it.

“Brace yourself with your sails!” he told her. “You’ve got to stay on top of it.”

It took her three tries before she succeeded. Listing from side to side, she held tight and came bobbing up after him. He worried she might steal his lift, but there seemed enough for both of them.

Sylph’s delighted laughter carried through the clearing. Her whole body rocked so wildly with mirth that Dusk worried she’d laugh herself right out of the thermal. Somehow she managed to hold on. “Oh! This is good, Dusk! Very good!”

“Hi, Jib! Hi, Aeolus!” Dusk called out.

Trudging up the redwood’s bark, the two newborns stopped and stared, Aeolus with bafflement, and Jib with undisguised envy.

“What are you doing?” Jib demanded.

“Just going back to the perch,” Sylph said smugly.

“Watch out, everyone!” Dusk shouted. “We’re coming up!”

They were rising through the prime hunting grounds now, and chiropters had to swerve around them to avoid a collision.

“Nuisances!” one called out.

Dusk was pretty sure it was Levantera, one of his sisters. She was only two years older, and when he was born, she’d still been sharing his parents’ nest. He’d been very fond of her, but two months ago she’d found a mate, and now had her own nest in another part of the tree. She was too grown up and important to speak to him and Sylph any more—unless she was reprimanding them for something or other.

Dusk saw a few other chiropters watching, amused, but most looked suspicious and even disapproving before they sniffed and turned away. Dusk couldn’t believe that more of them didn’t
want to try catching a thermal on their own. Weren’t they at all curious? Didn’t they see how much easier and faster it would be to get back to their perches?

Dusk looked down at Sylph’s spread sails—luxuriant silver-streaked black fur, the three claws on each hand—and wondered how she and he could be so different, born within seconds from the same mother. He didn’t like the way his arm and finger bones always showed beneath his own taut, hairless sails.

From the sequoia’s mighty limbs grew thinner branches that drooped slightly over the clearing. It was mostly these that the chiropters used as their hunting perches, for they made excellent vantage points for sighting prey and launching. A good perch was jealously held, and once chiropters were old enough to find mates, they were expected to claim their own perch and use it for the rest of their lives. Dusk and Sylph were still allowed to use their parents’ perch. Dusk could see it coming into view now.

He didn’t feel quite so jaunty any more. He started looking around for his father. At first he’d desperately wanted Dad to see him floating and know how clever his son was. But now, after noticing all the stern looks from the colony, he wondered how his father would react. No one had ever told him
not
to ride thermals. No one had said anything about it at all.

He couldn’t spot his father or mother anywhere. Maybe it was for the best.

He checked on Sylph. She was still there below him, doing fine. He’d sort of hoped she’d slip off the thermal, so he alone would rise gloriously past the perch.

“You know, little brother,” Sylph commented, “you look particularly odd from this angle.”

“You know, big sister,” said Dusk, glancing down at her, “from this angle it would be particularly unfortunate if I had to pee.”

“Don’t you dare!” Sylph said.

“I won, by the way,” he told her. “First to the perch.”

“You didn’t reach the perch,” she said. “We’ve actually floated right
past
the perch. The winner has to be
on
the perch. And since I’m well below you, seems I’ve got the lead.”

“But I’ve got the speed,” Dusk countered.

“Not that much speed.”

He knew she was right. She’d probably beat him to the perch.

“You go ahead, then,” he told her. “The thermal’s still strong. I’m not done flying.”

He heard Sylph’s mocking laugh, and instantly regretted his choice of words.

“After all,” she said, “you always did want to be a bird.” It was a joke in their family—and outside it, thanks to Sylph. Dad liked to tell the story of how Dusk tried to flap during his first gliding lesson. And when Sylph wanted to be particularly irritating, she’d start flailing her sails, saying, “Oh, I think I’m getting somewhere! I’m getting liftoff! Just a bit more!” Dusk had learned his lesson quickly, and had never told anyone about his secret visits to the Upper Spar. He was deeply ashamed of his abnormal impulses, but seemed powerless to prevent them.

“Hey, do you think this’ll take us above the treetops?” Sylph asked.

“I don’t know,” Dusk said. “Anyway, we’re almost at the Upper Spar.”

“So?”

“Dad said—”

“You don’t always have to do what Dad says,” Sylph said impatiently. “Don’t be such a newborn.”

“Well, we
are
actually newborns until we turn one.”

“Don’t you want to see above the treetops?”

“That’s bird territory,” he said.

“Well, you’re practically a bird, aren’t you?” she replied with a chuckle. “The birds won’t like it,” he said.

“But they fly through our territory all the time,” Sylph pointed out. “To get to the ground. We don’t mind.”

“Right,” Dusk agreed, not wanting to seem meek. “It’s not like we’re landing on their roosts.”

“We’re just passing through,” said Sylph.

“Just to the canopy, to get a better view of the sky,” Dusk added. Sylph’s confidence made him feel bolder. But he heard his father in his head, telling him not to go beyond the spar. Dusk was not a rule-breaker by nature. Sylph was the rule-breaker. He tried to do everything he could to please his father. But he was truly curious to see a proper view of the sky—and the birds who inhabited it. They were level with the Upper Spar now, and Dusk swallowed nervously as they rose past it.

The sequoia’s branches were shorter here as the tree narrowed towards its peak. The clearing opened wider. Birds traversed the sky, and the sun was just starting its slow descent to the west. Before long Dusk and Sylph would be almost as high as the sequoia.

Dusk followed the birds’ speedy flight paths with eager eyes, marvelling at how their wing strokes carried them effortlessly higher. A large flock suddenly wheeled in unison and streaked out of sight. In their wake, a strange shadow appeared in the sky, just emerging from the sun’s glare, its outline blurred.

“What is that?” Dusk asked Sylph, directing her gaze skyward.

To him it looked like a tree uprooted, sailing on its side, boughs thrashing. Once free of the sun’s glare, the object became clearer, and with alarm Dusk realized it was coming towards them. He’d never seen anything so large in the air.

A long crested head.

Jagged wings that spanned forty feet.

“It’s some kind of bird!” Sylph said, her voice constricted with fear.

Dusk saw its massive wings arch sharply and push down in a half-hearted stroke. “But it has no feathers,” he muttered.

The thermal, which had been giving them such a delightful ride, was now carrying them heedlessly closer to this thing. Dusk angled his sails and pulled away, shouting for Sylph to do the same. Free, they began a hasty descent. Dusk kept looking back.

The creature slewed through the air, heading unmistakably for their clearing. No wonder the birds had beat a frantic retreat! Had this thing seen him and Sylph? Dusk angled his sails more sharply, hastening his fall. Sylph led the way, past bird territory, past the Upper Spar.

He heard the thing coming, bringing the sound of a sudden squall. Wind pushed against his tail and back. Turning, he saw the long head slanting up to a bony crest. He saw a long beak—or jaws, he wasn’t sure which. One wing was half collapsed against the body, the other snapping and billowing, its tip grazing branches as the creature started its ferocious slantwise plunge into the clearing. He had to warn the colony.

“Look out!” Dusk bellowed, for there were still hundreds of chiropters hunting between the trees. “Get out of the way!”

They must have heard him, for he saw the chiropters scatter to the safety of the redwood branches.

But Dusk did not know which way to fly to escape it. The creature was huge and its wings spanned nearly the whole clearing. “Land!” he shouted to Sylph, who was well below him. “Where?”

“Anywhere!”

Sylph swerved to the left and landed hard on the sequoia, scuttling in towards the safety of the trunk.