Darkwing (8 page)

He nodded, still studying the terrain with sound. Grass.

A laurel branchlet.

Rocks.

A tea shrub.

A ridge of mulched leaves …

He let his echoes linger over this. It was more than just a ridge. It was a circle of leaves—and right in the middle of it rested something egg-shaped.

Dusk’s eyes snapped open, his heart kicking hard. “There’s a nest!” he wheezed.

Now that he’d found one, he felt completely unprepared. He was terrified. He looked all around. Where were the saurian parents? Would they come from the sky, like the quetzal, or from the ground? Or from the trees?

“Where? Where is it?” Sylph demanded.

He directed her gaze with a nod. “There.”

“You think so?” Sylph sounded unsure.

Dusk stared. It wasn’t nearly so clear with just his eyes. The egg was certainly larger than a bird’s—he’d seen a broken one once, fallen on the ground. This one was bigger and rougher, and pointier at the ends. It lay lopsided on the mulch. “We should tell someone,” said Dusk.

“We tell them, we get in huge trouble for sneaking off,” said Sylph.

Dusk thought of their father’s temper at the assembly. “But what if it’s a real nest!” he said. “We’d better be sure, Dusk.”

“How should I know what a saurian egg looks like? It’s not like Mom or Dad ever talked about them!”

“We’d know if it was real,” Sylph said with absurd confidence. Dusk ground his teeth in indecision. He feared his father’s wrath. But he couldn’t bear the thought of doing nothing, when it might be a real saurian nest. “I better go closer.”

“No, I’ll go,” said Sylph. “I’m older.”

“Three seconds older!”

“I’m faster on the ground. You’ve got weak legs.” Dusk was startled to see a hunter’s craving in her eyes. “No,” he said quickly. “I saw it first. And one of us needs to stay up here and keep watch.”

“You’re afraid I’ll destroy the egg, aren’t you,” Sylph demanded. Dusk didn’t want to get into an argument with her, so before she could object he launched himself off the branch and sailed out into the open. He landed as close to the nest as he could manage. The moment he touched down, he knew he’d made a terrible mistake. He’d never in his life set foot on the ground. He looked back over his shoulder at the trees—they seemed very far away.
He caught sight of Sylph hunched forward on a branch, looking down at him. He wanted to hurry back to her, but wouldn’t allow himself to be so cowardly.

Weak legs pushing, he dragged himself through the wiry undergrowth. He reached the nest, and clambered up onto the shallow rim. The nest sloped away into an irregularly shaped hollow.

Lying across the bottom, not more than a few inches away from him, was the egg.

Dusk cringed, glancing fearfully all around. What had possessed him to come down here, and make himself so vulnerable? There might be an adult nearby. And what about the egg itself? Was it close to hatching, or just newly laid? At any moment it might shudder and start to splinter. Even a newborn saurian would be bigger than him, and would barely need to chew before swallowing him down.

But was it a real egg? He needed to go closer still. He sucked in a breath, held it, and then rushed closer until his nose was against the shell. He sniffed. It smelled of the earth. He touched it with his claw. It was not at all warm—shouldn’t it be warm?—and as he pulled his claw back, confused, a bit of the egg’s surface flaked away. He grunted in surprise.

It wasn’t shell that had broken loose. It was hardened mud.

He looked back at the egg and, where the mud had flaked off, saw what was underneath.

It was just a giant pine cone, coated in mud!

He laughed in relief. He wanted to let Sylph know he was all right, but didn’t want to call out in case any of his colony was nearby. Lifting his sails he waved up at her. His stomach gave a sickening lurch as he realized she was flapping her own sails in a frenzy.

Something rustled in the undergrowth.

Dusk jerked round. The rim of the nest was just high enough to block his view of whatever was on the ground beyond. The noise was very close, and sounded like something big. Was it a saurian? His heart shuddered.

He made a frenzied scramble up the rim; the noise was getting louder, branches crackling. In his peripheral vision he saw some leaves fly up. A dreadful weakness swept through him. He was stuck on the ground; he was so slow. He was helpless.

There was more loud rustling, closer than ever. If he did not act, he would be eaten. The sudden, scalding will to survive evaporated his weakness.

Before he even knew what he was doing, he had sprung into the air and was flapping his sails, fast. A strength he had never known coursed from his chest to his shoulders, down his arms, and radiated out along his fingers like forked lightning. His breathing quickened; his heart purred furiously. The pauses between his upstrokes and downstrokes dissolved until he could not tell one from the other, and was only aware of his arms and sails in perpetual motion.

He was rising.

The ground shrank below him. One foot, two, three! There was no thermal helping him this time. It was all his own power. He was free of the earth! No predator could get him now. He kept looking from side to side, seeing the blur of his sails, scarcely understanding how this was possible. It was as if all his past, thwarted impulses to flap had finally been explosively unleashed.

Below him, something with wings thrashed out from the undergrowth and into the air, its beak filled with twigs.

It was only a bird, foraging for its nest! That was what had scared him half to death. It had sounded so huge on the ground.

Dusk was no longer just rising; he was moving forward, gaining speed. As he veered up towards the trees, he slewed from side to side, not knowing quite how to steer himself under power. His whole body suddenly felt unfamiliar to him, and he didn’t trust himself to make a landing. He caught sight of Sylph, gawking at him from the end of the branch. He stopped flapping, fixed his sails, and shakily glided down beside her.

“You flew,” Sylph gasped.

“I flew,” he wheezed.

For a moment neither of them said anything as he caught his breath.

“It’s the speed,” he said excitedly. “I just wasn’t flapping fast enough before!”

“Before? You’ve tried this before?” Sylph exclaimed. He winced, but his secret was out now. “Well, just a few times.”

“On the Upper Spar, right?” she said. “I knew it! I knew you were doing something weird up there!”

“I was trying to copy the birds, but it wasn’t working, because they don’t need to flap as quickly as I do!” Sylph hunched forward eagerly. “Show me!”

“Not here,” he said. He was worried one of the search parties would hear or see them, and come to investigate.

They glided back into the forest a ways, and settled on a roomy tree.

Dusk inhaled, closed his eyes, trying to summon up the exact sensation of flight. He found it easier if he demonstrated with his sails.

“Down and forward, like this, stretching, then you’ve got to flex them—”

“Bending at the elbows and wrists?” said Sylph, watching intently.

“Yes. And then, look, right away you’re bringing them back, tilted upward. Way up over your head. And then you start all over again.”

“That’s it?” Sylph said, unimpressed.

“That’s it.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“You have to flap fast,” Dusk told her, a little annoyed. If she was going to be so cocky about it, maybe he didn’t want her to fly after all.

“How fast?” she asked.

“As fast as you possibly can.”

“Right.” And with that, Sylph jumped.

Clear of the branches she started pumping her sails up and down. She worked hard, but her strokes were sluggish, her sails billowing with every downstroke. Churning the air furiously, she was slowly but surely going nowhere but earthward.

“Make your sails taut!” Dusk said. Despite his irritation with her, he didn’t want to see her fail. If she could do it, it meant others could do it, and he wouldn’t be alone. He wouldn’t be a freak. “Flap faster! Remember to flex on the upstroke.”

It did no good, but she persisted, falling all the while. From his branch Dusk could hear her sharp cries of exertion and frustration.

When finally she gave up and glided back to the tree’s lower branches, she made no attempt to climb up to Dusk. So he glided down to her.

“Why wasn’t it working?” Sylph panted.

“I don’t know. You flapped as hard as you could?”

“Yes!”

“You’ll get the hang of it,” he said confidently, hoping to mask his own doubt. “I didn’t get anywhere my first few times.”

“I’ll give it a try later,” Sylph said. “Good.”

“We should probably head back.”

Dusk nodded. The possibility of finding a saurian nest didn’t seem very enticing at all any more. The most exciting thing he could imagine had just happened to him, and the memory of his first flight throbbed in every muscle and sinew of his body.

On their way back to the sequoia, Dusk didn’t know if he should fly again. He didn’t want Sylph to think he was showing off, trying to make her feel bad. But his shoulders and chest and arms felt different now. The urge to flap was overwhelming, and he was desperate to make sure he could do it again, that it wasn’t just some freakish accident.

In mid-glide he took his first stroke. Down went his sails. Their wind buffeted his face. He shot forward, lifting. Then he flexed his elbows and wrists, half folding his sails, angling the leading edge upward, and raised them with all his might. And then, within seconds, he did not need to think any more. Instinct, long denied, took over.

He was careful not to streak too far ahead of Sylph, circling back so he could practise his turns. They were tricky, and he was unused to travelling at such speeds through the branches. A couple of times he nearly brained himself.

Landing was another challenge, because he tended to come in too quickly at the best of times. Now, under power, he was even more uncontrolled. For the time being, he merely settled back into a glide to lose speed, and landed as he’d always done. It didn’t feel right, but it was something he could work on over time.

How had he tolerated all those months of gliding? It was so inefficient, so limited, the earth always pulling you down. Flying, all those restraints were cut loose. He could rise and fall as he chose. It was as if his body had been patiently waiting for him to realize the full extent of its abilities. It was sheer glee.

Exhaustion was the only price he had to pay. He could only fly for a little over a minute before he was gasping, and had to rest. He hoped that in time his stamina would improve.

“I want another try,” said Sylph. “I’ve been watching. I think I can do it now.”

“Let’s see,” said Dusk. “I can’t be the only one who can do this. It’s just like the thermals—no one’s bothered to try it. If I can do it, others can do it!”

With a whoop, Sylph launched herself into the air and started flapping. When Dusk flew, he’d noticed his own sails only as a blur. Watching his sister, he could easily count every one of her strokes. They were not nearly fast enough. Once again she fell, jerking wildly down and down. She landed dejectedly.

“I can’t make my sails move any faster,” she said, her voice breaking.

Dusk fluttered down to her, but she refused to look at him. His elation cooled. “First you see in the dark,” she muttered, “now this.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“I’m your sister! I should be able to do this too!”

“I don’t understand it either.”

“Oh, I do,” she said after a moment. “You’re different, Dusk. Always have been. But this—flying—it makes all the other things seem tiny.”

“There must be others who can—”

Sylph cut him off. “No other chiropter has ever flown, Dusk.”

“Not that we know of, anyway.”

“It’s not right.”

Her words stung, because the same thought had worried him. Still he was not ready to concede anything yet.

“Just because something’s unusual or new doesn’t make it wrong,” he insisted.

“I don’t know about that,” she retorted, turning angry eyes on him. “All I know is that flying is something birds do.”

“And winged saurians,” he pointed out.

Suddenly he remembered the dream he’d had last night.
I give you my wings,
the dead saurian had told him. It was just a dream, but still, it made him feel a bit sick. “Chiropters were made for gliding,” Sylph said. “I’m not sure I was,” said Dusk. “My sails never glided that well. They always wanted to flap. Always!”

It was the first time he’d ever admitted it, and the secret, after being clenched inside him for so long, came out in a triumphant cry.

“Like I said, that’s what makes you different. It’s unnatural.” Sylph paused, as if wondering whether to say something. “It’s like you’re not even a chiropter.”

Dusk’s heart thumped. “Don’t say that. I
am
a chiropter!” In his fear he almost shouted it. He did not want to be so different. The very idea terrified him.

In that moment he wished he could undo everything. If only he hadn’t landed on the ground. If only that wretched bird hadn’t been foraging nearby and scared him half to death. If only he hadn’t flapped. “Is ‘different’ wrong?” he asked Sylph. She grunted. “Dad is going to be really angry.”

“You think?”

“He’s the leader of the colony. Do you think he wants a son who flaps around like a bird?” Dusk swallowed.

“And remember what Mom said. Behave like the colony, or risk being shunned by the colony.”

“You can’t tell anyone about this,” Dusk said urgently. “Promise me, Sylph.”

“Don’t worry,” she said kindly. “I promise. I’ll keep your secret.”

Carnassial prowled the forest.

After his first kill, he’d been overtaken with a shame almost as overwhelming as the pain that had twisted his guts. On the bank of the stream he’d vomited up part of his feed, and then returned to the prowl, promising himself he would never do such a thing again. Patriofelis was right: it was barbaric.

But a day passed, then another, and the memory of that warm paramys flesh never left him. It lingered in his mouth, tingled his salivary glands. The surfaces of his teeth could not forget the ecstasy of tearing. His mind became a weary battlefield, his thoughts clashing again and again until he was exhausted.