Darkwing (7 page)

From the top of the hill Carnassial saw the familiar profile of his forest. His strides lengthened, Panthera keeping pace at his side. The day’s heat was at its most intense now, but he was impatient to be home after so many days of travelling. His fur was matted with sweat and dust, and his breath came in ragged bursts.

Entering the dense cover of trees and ferns, Carnassial felt a great wave of relief and well-being wash over him. The light softened, filtered through the high canopies. His pupils dilated. His pelt cooled, and he stood panting, to better bring the beloved smells of the forest to him.

With Panthera, he navigated the scent trails that their prowl had marked along the forest floor. All around him, he was aware of other felids stirring from their midday slumber or grooming quietly, curled on the ground or in the low branches. Carnassial felt eyes following him, and heard his name whispered, soft as a breeze at first, and then more loudly as many felid voices took up the chant.

“Carnassial…. It’s Carnassial…. Carnassial’s back!”

Many pairs of felid hunters had set out on this last hunt, and he and Panthera had been sent farthest. They’d been gone a full month, and he was fairly certain they were the last to return. As they neared the poisonwood tree that marked the heart of the prowl, there were now hundreds of felids keeping pace with them through the trees and on the ground. Carnassial could smell their expectation.

He stopped at the base of the poisonwood and looked up into its branches. These trees were common in the forest and had long been favourites with the felids, for the touch of their leaves caused a fast and maddening rash on many animals, including the saurians. The felids were immune, however, and so the trees were safe havens for them.

Patriofelis, the leader of the prowl, walked out along the lowest branch, limping slightly on his aged legs. His pale brown fur was shot through with grey.

“Carnassial! And Panthera! Welcome home!” He jumped nimbly enough to the ground, and sniffed both Carnassial and Panthera fondly in greeting.

“You are the last to return,” Patriofelis said. “Some began to worry, but not me. Nothing could harm our two finest hunters.”

“And the others?” Carnassial asked eagerly. “What did they find?”

“Nothing. Not even one nest. And you?”

“A single quetzal nest with two eggs. There was no sign of the mother or father. I believe them dead. We destroyed the eggs.”

“The last eggs, then,” Patriofelis said hoarsely. “Carnassial and Panthera have destroyed the last nest!”

He arched his back, stretched his jaws wide to reveal his black gums and still-sharp teeth, and shrieked his jubilation to the sky. His cry was taken up by the entire prowl, thousands of other felids.

Patriofelis swiftly clawed his way up to the poisonwood’s lower branch, and the ecstatic screams of the prowl faded as its leader spoke.

“Three days ago, we had reports from the other beast kingdoms. The prodromids, the paramys, the chiropters, and dozens more. None of their hunting parties has discovered a nest in more than a month. This can mean only one thing. We have triumphed. The Pact has succeeded.”

More roars of approval rose from the prowl.

“Without our brave hunters, this would not have been possible,” Patriofelis said. “All the beasts have worked hard, but none harder and longer than the felids! I will dispatch emissaries to the other kingdoms to tell them of Carnassial and Panthera’s glorious and final victory. The battle is won. The saurians are gone; and we have inherited the earth!”

Carnassial felt the heat and scent of the prowl’s praise rise like an intoxicating musk. It made him roar himself; he felt sleek and strong and ready to fight and feed.

After grooming himself thoroughly, Carnassial fed. Scouring the forest he found ample fruit and roots, grubs and other insects—but he could not forget the taste of saurian flesh, and the memory made his meal lacklustre and unsatisfying.

Insects formed the bulk of the traditional felid diet, mostly the enormous hard-backed beetles that could be unearthed beneath rocks or fallen branches. They were speedy on their many legs, but flip them over and their soft bellies were defenceless. Their flesh, however, was cold and bloodless.

To distract himself, he paced through the prowl, basking in the felids’ admiring glances. He had always enjoyed a lofty status,
but it had never been higher than now. The prowl seemed to have grown considerably in the month he’d been away. As the saurians died out, the felids began leading a privileged life with virtually no predators. There were countless newborns gambolling about, their mothers watching over them, smugly tired.

He lazily imagined the life ahead. He would mate with Panthera; she would be glad to bear his many children. And what exquisite hunters and fighters their offspring would be.

His brow furrowed. As the prowl’s numbers continued to swell, they would all have to forage farther to find enough food. And if the other beast kingdoms enjoyed the same prosperity, would there not come a time—all too soon perhaps—when scarcity would become their new enemy? Unless …

As Carnassial sprawled on a broad branch, licking his paws meditatively, Patriofelis joined him. Carnassial stood deferentially and allowed his leader to settle himself. For some time, Carnassial had known he was a special favourite of Patriofelis, prized for his prowess as a hunter. He had served the prowl well over the years, defending its territory, tirelessly seeking out the saurian eggs. He’d even heard talk that he was being groomed as the next leader. Carnassial wondered how much longer Patriofelis would live.

“You must be weary,” Patriofelis said.

“Never,” Carnassial replied.

“An excellent reply,” said the leader, and for a few moments, they lounged side by side in companionable silence.

“We are many now,” said Carnassial, looking at his fellow felids stalking through the undergrowth.

“We are indeed,” Patriofelis purred contentedly. Carnassial paused for a moment before replying. “Perhaps too many.”

“What do you mean?”

Carnassial wondered if he was being rash, but with his new glory still hovering about him, would there be a time when his words would be better received?

“We’ve been successful, yes,” he said, “but the more numerous we become, the harder it will be to feed us all.”

Patriofelis licked his tail complacently. “There has always been enough food in the forests for us.”

“But we share the forest with many other beasts. And with the saurians gone, they will flourish too,” Carnassial pointed out. “We all feed on the same things. Before long there will not be enough.”

Patriofelis looked thoughtful. “The world is wide. We can increase our feeding grounds.”

“Of course,” said Carnassial, making himself pause respectfully. Patriofelis batted Carnassial fondly with a paw. “The world is at peace now; even the best hunter must allow himself to rest.”

“Ah, but who will hunt us next? That is the question.”

“The birds are of little consequence, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“No, I was thinking of the other beasts.”

“It’s never been the way of beasts to hunt one another.”

“If we were wise, we would be the first to do so.” Carnassial had turned to his leader and lowered his voice. His ears flattened against his head.

“What are you saying, Carnassial?” Patriofelis growled softly.

“It’s as you said. With the saurians gone, all the beasts will inherit the earth. Someone must emerge as the new rulers. Let it be us.”

Patriofelis stroked the greying fur of his throat with his claws. “How would you achieve this?”

“We must find more food for ourselves, better food.”

“And where would we find such food?”

Carnassial lowered his voice further still. “I have only to cast my eyes around this forest.”

“You are suggesting we eat other beasts?” Patriofelis said, appalled. Carnassial swallowed. It was too late to turn back now. “Let us be the hunters, not the hunted.”

“And what of the Pact?”

“The Pact is completed. Its work is done. This is a new world now.”

“These creatures were our allies against the saurians.” Carnassial sniffed. “I did not see so many of them. They were feeble allies at best. Their resolve was not as strong as ours. Who worked harder than us? The felids were the ones who made the earth safe for them.”

“Felids do not feed on other beasts!” Patriofelis snarled.

“All of us have eaten flesh,” Carnassial reminded him.

“Only from beasts that had already died. We may eat carrion, yes. We may scavenge. But we have never hunted live prey. That is not our way.”

“The world has changed and we must change with it.”

“We are not flesh-eaters.”

“I am,” Carnassial said.

“Our teeth do not shear,” Patriofelis said sternly.

“Mine do!” As he said it, he could taste the rich dark flavour of the saurian flesh and blood in his mouth. Saliva rushed over his teeth.

In his outrage, Patriofelis had risen on all fours. His pupils narrowed to slits.

“The Pact honed our hunting instincts,” Carnassial said, letting his head drop in deference to his leader. “Many of the beasts ate the eggs, at least the yolk, for strength, and some of us surely
developed a taste for newborn saurian flesh. Some of us crave more.”

“I forbid it.” Patriofelis’s voice crackled with anger. Carnassial felt all his strength seep away.

“If you have these appetites,” said Patriofelis, “you must correct them.”

Carnassial tried, and with each day his resentment grew. His appetites were not wrong: they were the ones he had been given. He moved through the forest, and when he should have been searching for grubs and insects and fruit, his eyes strayed to the other beasts.

He longed to confide in Panthera. If she was to be his mate, she’d have to know his cravings, and perhaps even share them. But he was too afraid that she, like Patriofelis, would condemn him. He remembered the way she looked at him whenever he devoured the hatchlings.

He saw the chiropters gliding from trunk to trunk, and some gnawers on the ground, using their stocky limbs to dig and grub for roots and tubers. Sharp-snouted ptiloduses scampered from trunk to forest floor, feeding on seeds. From time to time he had seen them hunting saurian eggs, but what they had done paled in comparison to the felids. The chiropters, he imagined, were particularly useless, their sails making it difficult for them to creep quickly and unsuspectingly along the ground towards the nests.

The other beasts barely noticed Carnassial. He was a denizen of the forest, like them, and they did not fear him.

It would be so easy.

Stalking along branches, he followed a bushy-tailed paramys as it rustled through the leaves on the forest floor. Carnassial’s
lithe feet padded softly; he slowed his breathing so he could not even hear it himself. He watched. He became a silent part of the forest. The paramys, its back to him, was busy eating some seeds it had found.

He felt suddenly sick with uncertainty. Never had he hunted down his own food. He forced his eyes shut.

Go away,
he silently urged the paramys.
When I open my eyes, be gone, so I will not be tempted.

He breathed ten times slowly, opened his eyes, and the paramys was still there, foraging. Oblivious.

Saliva moistened his teeth. Carnassial tried to turn himself around on the branch, but his muscles clenched in rebellion. He blinked and felt faint, his vision contracting. And in that moment, he knew.

Carnassial knew exactly what he was about to do, and that, once done, things would never be the same.

He looked all around. No one was watching.

He sprang. Landing upon the paramys, he smothered it beneath the weight of his body, driving its face into the dirt to muffle its shrieks. Instinctively he sank his claws into its body to hold it in place, then clamped his jaws around the creature’s neck and squeezed.

The paramys gave a violent shake, trembled for a moment, and then was still.

Carnassial’s pulse jolted his whole body. He had done it. He had killed. He drew back his head to look at the creature, its eyes wide. Had anyone seen? He quickly dragged the paramys into a laurel bush. He tore into the soft flesh of its belly. The meat and entrails steamed and came away easily in his teeth.

He fed hungrily. It tasted much different from saurian meat, warmer and richer with blood. It was intoxicating. He ate and ate.

Finally sated, he kicked leaves over the carcass and peered through the undergrowth before re-emerging. His feasting had made him thirsty, and he slunk down to the edge of the stream. The still water reflected his face. His muzzle was matted with blood.

He had killed a fellow beast. He had eaten its flesh and thrilled at the taste.

He quickly dipped his face into the water so he would not have to look at himself.

Dusk watched enviously as his mother’s search party glided off into the forest. The sun had scarcely cleared the horizon and Dad’s group had already left, along with more than a dozen others, radiating out through the trees, each bound for a different part of the coastline.

Earlier that morning, Dusk had made one final plea to be taken along, reminding his father that he’d said there were no saurian nests on the island anyway, so it was perfectly safe, and why couldn’t he and Sylph come too? He’d thought it was a pretty good argument, as did Sylph, who’d come up with it.

But his father had just said no again, and his mother told him and Sylph to behave themselves, and stay at the tree until they returned that night. Bruba, an older sister Dusk scarcely knew, was supposed to be keeping an eye on them.

“This was probably our one and only chance to see a live saurian,” Sylph said as the two of them sailed through the clearing, hunting half-heartedly.

“We’ve already seen one,” Dusk reminded her.

“That one was dead,” said Sylph. “Or practically dead.” Far below, Dusk could smell the quetzal, already beginning to rot in the trees. For some reason he didn’t like to think of it getting eaten by insects and scavengers, its body and wings stripped to sinew and bone.

“Don’t you want to see a nest, though?” Sylph said. “Saurian eggs!”

“There’s probably nothing,” Dusk said.

“But there might be.” Sylph looked at him. “What do you think?”

“What?”

“Let’s go have a look ourselves.”

“We’d get lost,” said Dusk, but he was already interested.

“We’d follow them,” said Sylph, jerking her head in the direction of the last search party, just launching from the branch.

Dusk noted their heading. “We’d have to stay well back,” he whispered. “If we got caught—”

“We won’t,” said Sylph. “We just follow them, and hide and watch while they search the coastline.”

“What about Bruba?” Dusk asked.

“She’s got about two dozen newborns to take care of, plus her own two. She’s barely glanced at us. Anyway, I don’t think she can even tell us apart. She’s called me three different names this morning.”

Dusk chuckled nervously. He didn’t want to get into trouble. Sylph was used to being in trouble, but he wasn’t. And he liked it that way. His physical appearance attracted enough attention, and he didn’t think it would be smart to test the patience of the colony, or even his own parents. Jib’s taunt about being driven away still haunted him.

And yet, he wanted to go with Sylph. He doubted they’d see
a saurian, or even a nest, but he would see the island’s coastline, and the open sky—and more birds in flight. “Yes,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

Sneaking off was amazingly easy.

They glided through a big group of newborns for a few minutes, and then, when Bruba wasn’t looking, simply veered into the forest. They sailed until they were certain they could no longer be seen from the clearing, and then landed, breathless with excitement.

In the distance, Dusk could make out a few of the chiropters from the search party, sailing on ahead. He turned back in the direction of the sequoia, and felt an odd contraction in his throat. Every day he left the tree’s embrace to hunt, but never for very long, and he’d certainly never lost sight of it. He glanced down at the bark beneath his claws. It was smooth and scaly, not sequoia bark. He caught Sylph glancing backwards too, but if she was feeling any doubts about their adventure, she wasn’t saying anything. Neither would he. “Come on,” she said.

They headed off after the other chiropters. It suddenly occurred to Dusk that, his entire life, all he’d ever done was glide back and forth across the clearing. Now, for the first time, he was actually going somewhere. He had a destination beyond his gaze.

With each glide, he and Sylph tried to cover as much distance as possible. It was difficult, for the forest was dense and cluttered, and they often had to swerve or dip around branches. When they’d fallen as close to the ground as they dared, they landed and made the arduous climb up the trunk to find another launching perch. Dusk knew he had a long and tiring journey ahead of him.

“Can you climb any faster?” Sylph asked him impatiently. “No,” he panted, “I can’t.”

He cursed his missing claws and his weak legs. He looked about, hoping for a shaft of strong sunlight that might ignite a thermal current to lift him. But the forest was far darker here, the sky almost entirely blocked by trees and vegetation.

Sylph slowed down so she could climb alongside him. “It’s amazing to think Mom and Dad were saurian hunters,” she said.

Dusk nodded his agreement. He could scarcely believe it himself. Even though he knew the Pact was wrong, he still felt proud imagining his father as a brave hunter of saurian eggs. Imagine creeping into a nest, maybe a nest guarded by fierce saurians. Maybe his father watched from the trees, and when no one was looking, sailed noiselessly down, right into the nest, and destroyed the eggs without ever being seen. Still, getting out of the nest would have been the most dangerous bit. You couldn’t just glide away. You’d have to crawl out, scuttling along the ground, and that would be slow and dangerous. His father must have been awfully clever and brave.

“I bet I would’ve been good at it,” Sylph said.

“You’d have to be very quiet,” Dusk said good-naturedly.

“I can be quiet when I want. Just imagine, though, if things were different and we’d never left the mainland. It would’ve been so exciting.”

“Lots of chiropters probably died doing it.”

“Not me, though,” said Sylph. “I’d be like Mom. And everyone would think I was stealthy and amazing. Even Dad.” Dusk said nothing, not wanting to ruin Sylph’s fantasy.

They walked out along a high branch, looking for a good launching perch.

“Oh no,” Sylph said in dismay. “We’ve lost them already.” Dusk peered into the murky forest and couldn’t see the other chiropters. “You’re too slow,” Sylph complained.

“The shadows are just so deep in here,” Dusk protested, and then he had an idea.

He closed his eyes, breathed deeply, and slung out a long volley of clicks. He waited, and watched within his mind as his echoes returned to him. The first to come back revealed a tangle of branches and trunks, and then, moments later, came a bright flare of outspread sails, glimmering slightly.

“I see them!” he told Sylph, opening his eyes.

“With your echoes?” He nodded. “They’re just up ahead.”

She shut her eyes and released a barrage of clicks, but then just frowned and shook her head. “I don’t understand how you do it. Did you ask Mom or Dad about it?”

“There wasn’t time.”

Sylph grunted. “Well, it’s pretty useful for us right now.”

They sailed off after the other chiropters. A bird flitted past, heading skyward, and Dusk watched it go with the same wistfulness he always felt.

“Do you ever,” he began tentatively, “dream about flying?”

He’d never mentioned his dreams to anyone because they made him feel guilty. But maybe he was being foolish, and everyone had them sometimes.

Sylph looked across at him. “No,” she said.

“Really? Never?” He was disappointed.

“Never. Do you?”

“Once or twice,” he lied. He was sorry he’d brought it up. Sylph made no reply.

“You think I’m a freak, don’t you,” Dusk said miserably. “Not a freak. You’re just … different.”

“I
feel
different,” he admitted. He could talk more honestly away from their tree, in the middle of the forest. “Or at least I think I do. It’s hard to tell what’s normal. Do you feel normal?”

“I think so,” said Sylph.

Dusk struggled for the right words. “You never feel you should be something else?”

“What are you talking about?” Sylph said, exasperated. “Don’t you ever wish—?” Dusk lost his nerve and trailed off. “What?” She was almost shouting, and Dusk worried the other chiropters would hear them. “Tell me!”

“All right, all right,” he whispered. “Don’t you ever wish you could fly?”

He watched her face carefully. “That’s impossible,” she said. “But do you ever
wish
it?” he persisted.

“Yes, sure. But we can’t fly, so why waste time thinking about it?” Dusk said nothing. Sylph sounded like Mom, and it surprised him.

“You’re different, Dusk, but you’re not
that
different. You think you can fly now?”

“No, no,” he said hastily. He’d never told her about all his secret attempts at the Upper Spar.

“I wouldn’t go telling anyone else this,” she said. “It’s like saying you wish you were a bird.”

“I don’t want to be a bird,” he insisted. “It was just, when I saw that saurian—”

Sylph gasped. “You want to be a saurian?”

“No! But its wings looked sort of like mine, and I couldn’t help wondering: if it can fly, why can’t I?”

“Don’t you want to be a chiropter?”

“Of course I do. I just wish I could fly too.”

They travelled on in silence. Glide. Climb. Glide. Below them, groundlings scuffled through the undergrowth. Dusk felt sorry for them; they must get awfully dusty always grubbing in the dirt. He studied the trees. He saw new kinds, some with broad leaves that rustled in the light wind. He saw foreign mosses and lichen clinging to bark, and flowers he’d never seen before. He didn’t know any of their names. It struck him how little he knew, how little he’d seen. The winged saurian, and his father’s stories of the past, had made him painfully aware of that. He lived in a tree in a clearing in a forest on an island with the entire world stretching out unseen all around him. The thought of it made him feel excited and frightened all at once.

Crouched on a branch, resting after a long climb, Dusk noticed that, up ahead, light shafted between the trees.

“Must be a clearing,” said Sylph.

“Not a clearing,” Dusk exclaimed, throwing himself off the branch and calling back to his sister. “The coast!”

A breeze played against his fur, and it carried a fragrance he wasn’t used to. Since he couldn’t see the other chiropters up ahead, he guessed that they must have reached the coastline and were already searching. Just to be sure, he veered away from the course they’d been following, keeping a careful watch. He didn’t want to sail right into them.

As they approached the last line of trees, the light made Dusk squint. It was almost blinding after the gloom of the forest. He managed to pick out a branch with lots of leaves to hide them, and they landed. With Sylph at his side, he shuffled along the branch to find a good vantage point.

Then he just stared.

All his life he’d been surrounded by trees and branches and leaves. The vast view before him now felt like a weight against his chest. Wind rustled the fur of his face. His breath came fast and shallow. He had to turn himself around and stare back into the forest to calm his heart. It was too much.

“You all right?” Sylph asked. She too was panting, he noticed.

“It’s a lot to look at,” Dusk said, his voice hoarse.

“Yeah, it is a lot,” his sister agreed.

He slowly turned back. The ground sloped away gently for several yards before falling off sharply into the water. Until now, the most water he’d ever seen was pooled in a big furrow in a branch of the sequoia. Here the water spread out from the coast and kept going and going until it reached the sky. He took a deep breath. This was the salty smell he’d noticed earlier, more pungent now. The water’s surface glittered brightly, forcing Dusk to lift his gaze away. He’d never seen such a soaring expanse of sky either. It made him want to press himself down against the branch and hold on.

He stared at his claws against the bark for a moment, and then looked right and left along the coast, but saw no sign of any search parties.

“How do they do their searches?” Dusk whispered to his sister, just in case there were other chiropters nearby. “Don’t they just do it from the trees?”

Dusk looked down into the tangle of shrubs and grasses and shadows. It would be easy to miss something. “Wouldn’t they need to go down on the ground?” he said. “To see properly?”

The thought made him shudder. Chiropters were hardly fast on their feet. And on the ground, there could be no quick launch into a glide. You were trapped. It was hard to believe his parents had taken such dreadful risks during their years as saurian hunters.

“Let’s just look from up here,” Sylph suggested. “We should keep an eye open for other chiropters too,” Dusk reminded her. “What would a nest even look like?”

Dusk sniffed at their ignorance. They’d come all this way without any clear idea what they’d be looking for.

“Must be like a bird’s nest, don’t you think?” he said. “But on the ground. Round, made of leaves and sticks and twigs.” This seemed fairly logical.

“Everything sort of blends together down there,” said Sylph. Dusk had an idea. He closed his eyes and sent out sound. His echoes penetrated the shadows and the muddle of colours and brought him back an incredibly sharp image.

“Are you using your hunting clicks?” he heard Sylph ask beside him.