Darkwing (22 page)

“I don’t want another home,” she said, “I want our old one back.”

“One day.”

“I want things back the way they were.”

“Me too.”

He was used to her outspoken anger, but not her raw grief, and it stirred in him a fierce desire to make things right—and an equally fierce frustration at his own powerlessness.

Sylph took a big breath and kept climbing, obviously not wanting to talk any more. Dusk followed, and realized that on the branch overhead, three tree runner newborns were watching them with wide-eyed curiosity. One of them called out a hello and introduced himself as Strider. Dusk was glad of the chance to talk to them. They were so kindly looking that his initial shyness had all but evaporated. “I wish I could glide,” Strider said.

Dusk chuckled. “I wish I had hands like yours.”

“Really?” said Strider, staring at his left hand as if he’d never seen it before.

“You can hold things really well,” said Dusk. “It must be very useful.”

“I suppose so. But you can sail through the air. That’s almost as good as flying.”

Dusk looked quickly at Sylph to make sure she wasn’t going to blurt anything about how, actually, he
could
fly.

“Can I see them, your wings?” Strider asked politely.

“Sails,” Sylph corrected. “Haven’t you ever seen chiropters?”

“Maybe once,” said Strider uncertainly. “But I don’t think they stayed very long.”

Dusk obligingly spread his sails. With keen interest Strider studied the ridges of his arm and fingers on the undersides.

“They’re like hands,” Strider said excitedly, “but just with really long fingers and skin across them.” He glanced from Sylph back to Dusk. “But how come yours are different from everyone else’s?”

“Are you some kind of freak?” one of Strider’s companions asked.

“Shut up, Knoll,” Strider told his friend.

“I’m just different,” Dusk replied.

“I’d rather have sails than hands,” Strider decided. Dusk smiled at the tree runner’s good-natured impetuosity, but he himself couldn’t imagine being anything other than what he was. He only wished he didn’t have to hide what his sails could really do.

“Is it true you just eat bugs all the time?” asked the third newborn, speaking for the first time.

“Pretty much—why?” said Sylph warily, as though anticipating an insult.

“Doesn’t it get boring?”

“There’s a lot of bugs out there, Loper,” Strider said, as though his friend were a bit simple-minded. “They probably eat hundreds of bugs every day.”

“Thousands, actually,” said Sylph. Loper looked a bit queasy at this news.

“We eat seeds and plants too,” Dusk added, not wanting to appear unworldly.

“Have you ever tried this one?” Strider asked, holding up a slender green leaf, which he must have been concealing behind his back. The leaf was finely veined, with a slightly serrated edge. There was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

“I don’t think so,” said Dusk. “No.”

“You should try it,” said Knoll. “Pass it over, Strider.”

Strider glanced around furtively and took a tiny nibble before passing it to Knoll, who did the same. Loper chuckled and chewed off a bit as well. “What is it?” Dusk asked suspiciously. Strider’s whisper was barely audible. “It’s tea.”

“That grew all around our old forest,” said Sylph, a bit wistfully. “But did you ever
try
it?” Knoll asked. His eyes seemed a little bigger than before, and his toes were drumming on the bark. “It’s not something chiropters ever eat,” Dusk admitted. “What a shame, what a shame,” said Strider, talking quickly. “It’s really good.”

“Our parents don’t like us eating it,” Loper admitted. “They say it makes us too irritated.”

“Too
agitated,”
Strider corrected.

“Hard to get to sleep,” Knoll added, his eyes skittering all over the place. “But it’s pretty fun while it lasts.”

All three tree runner newborns were now bobbing up and down on the branch, as though unable to keep their bodies still.

“Try some,” said Strider, jiggling the leaf in front of Dusk. Dusk hesitated, remembering the incident with the mushroom. He didn’t want any more scarifying visions.

“I’ll have some,” said Sylph. She leaned forward and snapped up some of the leaf. The tree runners all looked at one another, open-mouthed with surprise.

“That was
a lot!”
said Knoll.

“You probably shouldn’t have taken that much,” said Strider. Sylph shrugged. “What am I going to do, start flying?” Strider and his friends chortled giddily. Dusk looked at his sister in concern. She was flapping her sails hard.

“Maybe I’ll just lift right off!” she said. She turned to Dusk. “Maybe all I needed was some tea leaves!”

She was certainly flapping quickly, and Dusk wondered if this was still a joke, or whether she truly was trying to fly. For a moment he wanted her to soar off the branch, so she could join him in the air. But her efforts now were no more successful than her early ones, and he felt a stab of sadness. The tree runner newborns, however, thought this was all uproarious, and were bouncing up and down on the branch, urging her on.

Before long, though, his sister seemed to tire of flapping and contented herself with pacing frantically along the branch. The tree runners were springing up and down, seeing who could go the highest.

“Try some tea, Dusk,” Sylph said to him. “It really perks you up.”

“No thanks,” he said.

Sylph looked all around as if something had just occurred to her. “How come it’s so quiet around here?” she asked the tree runners. “It’s just you living here. Everywhere else it was so crowded.”

“Lots of creatures pass through,” said Knoll, “but no one stays long.”

He sprang up, caught the branch overhead with his nimble fingers, and swung back and forth before letting go.

Dusk noticed that Strider looked like he had a secret, but one that he was eager to share. The tree runner lowered his voice, though he was still talking rather loudly. “There’s a monster in the forest,” he said. “That’s just a story,” said Loper, blinking. “No, I’ve seen it.”

“You never told me that!” Knoll said. “When?”

“Well, I heard it. Once, at night,” Strider insisted quickly. Dusk looked at Sylph, whose ears lifted in amusement. He wondered if the tree runners were normally this talkative, or if it was just the tea loosening their tongues.

“What kind of monster was it?” Sylph wanted to know, restlessly furling and unfurling her sails.

“Big,” Strider replied confidently. “It sounded very big. It scares most creatures away, but it never bothers us.”

“It didn’t scare us away,” Sylph said.

“Well, it doesn’t live that close to us,” said Strider, sounding more uncertain now. “No one’s ever really seen it. Anyway, that’s why not that many creatures live around here. They got scared off. But we know it’s safe.”

Dusk wondered if Strider knew what he was talking about, and decided not. Probably he was just reciting some story the adults told their newborns to keep them from wandering off. Surely if there were a real monster in the vicinity, the tree runners wouldn’t have such a large and contented colony here.

“And if you aren’t scared, maybe you can live here too,” said Strider before taking a running leap at the next tree and bounding away with his friends. “I
like
chiropters!”

Dusk was touched by his innocent sincerity. The tree runners’ home really did seem like an ideal place, and he couldn’t help wondering if this might become their home as well.

When Carnassial made his first kill on the mainland, he offered it to Panthera. He stepped back and watched her expectantly. She sniffed the carcass, pawed it briefly, and then without any hesitation expertly tore through the fur and skin, shearing the bloody meat from the ribs. Carnassial’s tail twitched in surprise.

“This is not the first time you’ve eaten meat,” he said to her. She licked clean the fur around her mouth.

“No. After you left, I hunted several times.”

“And you were never caught?” he said in astonishment.

Panthera purred in amusement. “I was more careful than you. I went farther afield. I didn’t want to be expelled.”

“You wanted to remain in Patriofelis’s prowl?”

“I wasn’t as courageous as you—or as rash. I liked the safety of the prowl, and I thought I could continue to satisfy my appetites in secret.”

Carnassial looked at her with a new respect, but also some wariness. Just where did her true loyalties lie?

“And would you have killed me,” he demanded, “if Patriofelis had given the order?”

She broke his gaze. “None of this would’ve been necessary if you’d stayed with us. You could have lied to Patriofelis and appeased him. Then we’d have had more time to win support within the prowl. We might have forced Patriofelis to change—or overthrown him. Then you’d have been leader of thousands, instead of just dozens.”

“Such deviousness isn’t in my nature.”

“Is it deviousness, or shrewdness?” she said.

“I showed myself for what I was, and accepted the consequences. Those who had the same strength followed me. That is how to build a mighty prowl.”

“Perhaps I don’t belong with you, then,” said Panthera, her eyes flashing at the rebuke.

Carnassial had never seen such spirit in her, and it annoyed him—and intrigued him greatly.

“That is your decision to make,” he told her. She came to him and pushed her head against his.

“You are my only leader now,” she said.

Carnassial led his prowl north. There were seventeen of them. His
wounded foreleg was slowly healing, though he still limped. With Panthera at his side, he felt a boundless strength and confidence.

Prey could not have been more bountiful. The world was indeed changing: he’d never known such large movements of beasts through the forests. Many seemed to be seeking better hunting grounds, others claimed to be fleeing for their lives. With so many creatures around, it was easy for Carnassial and his prowl to make their way unrecognized. Even after they’d been seen to kill, all they had to do was march on for half a day, and once more they became anonymous.

With every day, Carnassial cared less and less about concealing their appetites. Let everyone know who and what they were. No one would dare stop them now, especially after news spread of Patriofelis’s failure to exile them. They were the feared.

“What do you think will happen to the old prowl?” he asked Panthera.

“With Patriofelis dead, it will disintegrate. Gerik’s no leader.” Carnassial snorted his agreement. “They’ll disperse. Maybe some will cross paths with us and ask to be let in.” He looked at her carefully. “Do you regret leaving?”

“No,” she said.

He’d seen her hunt now, and as he suspected, she was excellent, though there was more he could teach her. Watching her feed gave him such delight—and relief too. She was one of them. “That bird back on the island,” she said. “What was it?”

Carnassial’s fur bristled. “I’d never seen it before. It was new.”

He’d been watching for it ever since, especially at dawn. He remembered its huge eyes, and wondered if they could pierce the night. But he hadn’t seen its kind again, though just once, far away, he thought he’d heard its eerie and mournful hoot. “They killed us easily enough,” Panthera said.

“They took us by surprise,” Carnassial replied proudly. “It won’t happen again. We’ll be watchful. I could kill one with ease.”

She lifted her ears questioningly, but he would not retract his bold statement. The mere existence of these birds was a persistent dark cloud in his mind. Where had they come from? Sometimes, before sleep, he thought about their beaks and talons and silent wings, but he felt confident that they were no match for his muscle and claw and teeth.

For most of the morning the land had been rising gradually, and his prowl was beginning to slow as they neared the top. Carnassial exulted in the long journey. It reminded him of the days when he and Panthera hunted saurian nests, travelling miles and miles to find them.

At the hill’s crest, they all paused. Before them, the land dipped away into a valley. At the bottom a creek bubbled through dense undergrowth. That would be fertile foraging for small groundlings, Carnassial thought. On both slopes were ample trees, many of which bore fruit that perfumed the air. He caught sight of many tree dwellers. The bark looked soft, good for gripping with claws, and the branches were interlaced, making arboreal trails for all his felids.

Carnassial stared at the vista, transfixed. He felt a contentment he’d not had since he’d destroyed the last saurian nest. He felt at peace, and completely in control of his life. There was water here, shelter, and plenty of prey. “This,” he proclaimed, “is our new home.”

During the night Dusk woke to a distant cry. His entire body tensed, ready for escape. His stomach felt sick. Shakily, he crawled to the edge of the branch, trying to remember where the sound had come from. There’s a monster in the forest. Strider’s childish statement suddenly seemed terrifyingly plausible.

He cast out long streams of sound, but caught no signs of movement amongst the trees. He listened, hoping he wouldn’t hear another shriek, closer than the first. The forest was silent now. He settled back down, his pulse slowing. Sylph was still asleep, and his father. Looking at their peaceful faces he eventually dozed off.

When he woke it was morning, and his father was stirring beside him. “How are you?” Dusk asked.

“Better,” he said, and this time, Dusk believed him. He certainly looked more rested. He’d cleaned away the hard green crust of the poultice, and the wound itself seemed smaller, and much less angry.

“Adapis left the ingredients for me,” Dad said, nodding at the pile of crumbled leaves and bark. “Would you prepare it?”

Dusk nodded and with some trepidation started chewing the bark. Its taste was bitter but not unpleasant.

“How do you think they learned all this?” he asked, mouth full.

“Accidentally, some of it. They eat lots of different plants. Over time I suppose they discovered ones that could heal.”

Dusk mixed the bark with the leaves, chewed again, and drizzled it onto his father’s wound. Icaron gave a grateful grunt.

“Thank you, Dusk.”

Dusk spat out the rest, and licked a dewy leaf to clean the taste from his mouth.

He was so glad his father was improving and didn’t feel like mentioning the scream in the night. No one else had been woken by it, and it was probably just some night animal protecting its territory or fighting over food. Things always sounded louder and more frightening at night.

He went off hunting, and when he was sure he was out of sight, he flew. He didn’t want the tree runners suddenly turning against him, after they’d been so hospitable to his colony. But he needed to fly.

His spirits lifted with every beat of his sails. His father was healing; the colony was safe for now. Before long they’d have a new home—maybe right here. He hunted as he flew, snapping insects from the air. Landing on a branch, he looked around. It was a beautiful forest; the trees’ bark was smooth and the colour of pink sand, shaped as though by waves. Sunlight lapped the leaves and heated patches of the forest floor. He’d lost track of how far he’d flown from the others.

A powerful smell of scat suddenly wafted up to him, making his nostrils flinch. The particular scent was unfamiliar to him,
though, judging from its intensity, it was relatively fresh. He dropped from the branch, flapping lower. He didn’t have far to go before he found it: a pile of long greyish droppings at the base of the tree. Their considerable size scared him. No small animal had left these.

Off to one side of the scat he saw the mangled carcass of a groundling, picked nearly to the bone. Anxious, Dusk looked all around, but saw no sign of the predator.

He turned himself in the air and flew back to tell his father.

“Do you know of a large predator in the area?” Icaron asked Adapis. “My son saw some scat.”

Dusk watched Adapis for his reaction. He was attentive, but seemed untroubled. “What did it look like?” Adapis asked Dusk. He described it as best he could.

“You must have been quite a ways from our trees,” said Adapis. Dusk nodded. He’d been flying, and it was hard to calculate the distance.

“We keep to our part of the forest for a good reason,” Adapis said firmly, though not unkindly. “There are larger beasts deeper in the forest, some of them meat-eaters, but for some reason they’ve never ventured into our territory. Don’t stray so far next time.”

“I won’t,” said Dusk.

Adapis turned to his father. “Have you ever eaten this fruit?” he asked, holding out a small berry in one of his hands. It was still amazing to Dusk how easily the tree runners could grasp things. It always made him feel clumsy.

Adapis placed the berry on the bark before them, and Dad lowered his head to taste it.

“Try it, Dusk,” his father invited him.

Dusk had seen this purplish berry growing from a sturdy vine all over the forest. Fruit was not something chiropters ate much of, but it was juicy and sweet and quenched his thirst. He took another nibble.

“It’s very good,” he said enthusiastically.

Adapis chuckled. “Perhaps something you can incorporate into your diet.” Excitedly he added, “We will prepare a feast! Let us introduce some new foods to you. Doubtless we can learn a great deal from each other.”

“There are too many of us, Adapis,” said Icaron. “It’s very kind of you to offer, but it would be too much work.”

“Not at all, not at all,” Adapis insisted. “Let us do this for you. To welcome you. Maybe we can convince you to make our forest your new home. We’d happily have you as friends and allies. The world is large, and there is plenty for all of us.”

All that day and the next, the tree runners were in a state of high excitement, busily harvesting fruit and seeds from the trees, and grubs and roots from the forest floor. Dusk watched, fascinated by their labour. They transported all their food to what they called their feasting tree, which was quite a ways from where they nested. This tree had a great many low branches that were flat and wide, and on these the tree runners set out their food in long lines. Newborn tree runners would draw closer, hunger in their eyes, only to be shooed away by their elders.

“Are we going to have to eat all that?” Sylph asked, gliding past with Dusk.

“I’ve never seen most of those things,” Dusk said. “But see those purple berries over there? I tried one yesterday and it was really good.”

Sylph grunted, unconvinced.

“Don’t eat too many bugs today,” one of the tree runners called up to them. “Save your appetite for the feast tonight!”

“What if we don’t like the food?” Sylph asked. Gliding past, Nova overheard her. “Shush,” she replied sharply. “We must eat. We don’t want to insult our hosts. It’s a sign of great hospitality, the likes of which I’ve never seen. After being spurned by our own kind, these strangers are offering us a new home.”

Late in the afternoon, the tree runners had almost finished their preparations, and set about calling the chiropters to the feasting tree. Dusk caught sight of Strider and his friends sitting forlornly near their nests.

“Aren’t you coming to the feast?” Dusk asked.

“Not invited,” said Strider.

“None of the newborns are,” added Loper.

“That seems a bit unfair,” said Dusk, “especially since you all helped prepare it.”

“That’s what I said,” Strider agreed. “They didn’t listen.”

“It’s not really for the tree runners at all,” said Knoll sadly. “It’s all in your honour.”

“Let’s go find some tea leaves,” Loper suggested, and the idea seemed to cheer them all up.

“Enjoy the feast,” said Strider to Dusk.

Dusk glided off towards the feasting tree. When he arrived, the branches were already filling up with chiropters. He climbed high, wanting a better view so he could find Sylph and his father. He looked down on the splendid display of fruits and seeds and leaves spread along the branches. Knoll was right: very few tree runners seemed to have been invited.

Dusk saw Adapis scampering about, overseeing the final arrangements. The tree runner started climbing towards him, but stopped several branches below to speak with two other tree runners. He obviously hadn’t even seen Dusk. The intent angle of the tree runners’ heads as they leaned close made Dusk instinctively draw back into the shadows. He wasn’t supposed to see this. He listened hard, but only caught the last sentence. “It’s time to invite her,” said Adapis. “Come with me.”

Dusk got the sense this female must be important, but he’d never heard anything about a special guest. There was something secretive about Adapis now. His fingers waggled nervously and his eyes seemed even wider than usual. The three tree runners set off—but not in the direction of their own nests. They were heading deeper into the forest. Dusk’s heart thumped. He’d assumed this guest was another tree runner, but it seemed that wasn’t the case. Who was she? Unseen, Dusk followed them.

Gliding, he was virtually silent, flapping only when necessary to maintain his height. Adapis and his two companions ran purposefully through the trees. They knew where they were going. After half an hour, Dusk heard something large stirring in the distant forest, and a cloying smell of meat and excrement wafted on the breeze. He almost wanted to call out a warning to Adapis, but the tree runners surely must have noticed the stench, and were in fact moving straight towards it. “She’s just up ahead,” Dusk heard Adapis say to his companions.

On a branch about twenty feet above the forest floor, Adapis and the other two tree runners finally stopped and sat on their haunches, staring down. Dusk glided as close as he dared, but the dense foliage still blocked his view of what the tree runners beheld. Adapis’s hands twisted nervously.

Something spoke. “You are ready for me?”

The voice was unearthly, a kind of throttled shriek that made Dusk’s fur spike. “Yes, the feast is almost ready,” Adapis said. “It is an ample feast, I hope.”

“Indeed it is.”

Adapis, he noticed, never took his eyes from the creature. Occasionally he winced, and his nostrils flinched, no doubt at the odour this creature belched forth. Were they really inviting her to their feast? No one would be able to eat with such a stench in the air. Dusk craned his neck, trying in vain to get a glimpse of this she-creature.

“The last one was meagre,” the malodorous creature screeched.

“I am sorry it displeased you. This one, I promise, is much more lavish. I am sure you will enjoy yourself.”

“For your sake, I hope so. Remember, you are safe only as long as you honour our agreement.”

“Of course.”

“You feed me. I protect you.”

“Come just as the sun sets. We will be ready then.”

“I will come.”

The hideous voice said no more, and Adapis wasted no time turning away and leaping for home. Dusk retreated behind his screen of leaves, flattening himself against the bark. He’d wait a few more moments for the tree runners to pass, and then fly back to the feasting tree. He’d get there first if he flapped hard. His father would be able to make sense of this.

He peeked out through the leaves to check on the tree runners, and something grabbed him from behind. He flailed, craning his neck to see what held him. It was Adapis’s two companions, each clenching one of his sails in their nimble, clever hands. He hadn’t expected them to be so strong. “Let me go!” he hissed, struggling in vain.

Suddenly Adapis was before him, holding a berry in his hand. “You’ve been very troublesome,” he said. “I didn’t mean to,” Dusk replied, thrown by Adapis’s hurt tone. “We’ve been inviting a very special guest to the banquet.”

“Who was that?” Dusk asked.

“Another honoured guest. Here, you must be thirsty.”

Dusk jerked back, but Adapis pushed the berry insistently against his face. Juice drizzled down his fur. He clenched his mouth shut, heart thrashing in his chest.

“Very well,” said Adapis. He placed his free hand across Dusk’s nostrils, pressing hard.

Dusk whipped his head from side to side, trying to dislodge those strong fingers, but they wouldn’t budge. The berry oozed against his clamped mouth. He did not want it. But he was suffocating. When he could stand it no longer, he opened wide to take a suck of air, and in that split second, Adapis shoved the berry into his mouth and held his jaws tight with both hands. Dusk had to swallow, or choke.

He swallowed.

Adapis released his grip.

The taste of the berry was cloying, and he gagged a bit, spitting out as much as he could.

“Give him another to make sure!” one of the tree runners said.

“That will be enough for a newborn,” said Adapis.

“What was that?” Dusk demanded, afraid he’d been poisoned.

“It’s something your whole colony will be enjoying at the feast,” said Adapis. His eyes widened, and he looked sorrowful. “I am sorry, Dusk. Everything has changed, you see. We do what we must to survive. Unwholesome things, sometimes.”

“What?” Dusk said, feeling confused and oddly heavy. “What do you mean?” His voice crackled and he was sobbing. “I want to go back to Dad and Sylph….”

At this Adapis looked away, as though ashamed.

Despite Dusk’s terror he was so enervated that all he could do was collapse against the bark, panting, feeling darkness bound towards him.

He clawed himself out from under the weight of sleep. He wrenched open one eye, then the other. Light slanted low through the trees. Looking around he did not know where he was. His heart kicked, and his memory began to flow, at first like a listless creek, then a torrent. Something terrible in the forest; tree runners pinning him down; Adapis forcing a berry into his mouth. He felt a sudden violent swell of nausea, and vomited several times against the branch. He staggered back, revolted.