Darkwing Page 4

  The last saurian eggs.

  The completion of the Pact.

  CHAPTER 4

  THE PACT

  Dusk heard his father calling his name, and looked up into the clearing to see him gliding down with a dozen other chiropters, including the three elders and Sylph. “I’m here!” he shouted. “Down here!”

  He scrambled out farther along the branch so they could see him.

  “Come away from it, Dusk!” Icaron shouted.

  “It’s all right. It’s dead.”

  Just to make sure, he looked back at the creature’s inert body. Already flies were beginning to settle around its eyes and nostrils. It certainly seemed dead. His father and the others landed cautiously on the branch.

  “Are you all right?” his father asked, hurrying up and nuzzling him in concern.

  “Just a bit sore,” he said, only now thinking about his aching body.

  In silence, they all stared intently at the creature. Then his father looked at Barat, one of the elders, and nodded.

  “What is it?” Dusk asked in a whisper. “A winged saurian,” his father replied.

  “A saurian!” Dusk exclaimed. Just speaking the word made his fur bristle. “But … they’re all dead!” His father made no reply.

  Everyone had heard stories about saurians, the fantastical creatures that had once roamed and ruled the earth. Many times Dusk had imagined these great scaly monsters, tall as redwoods, with vast jaws and mountain ranges of teeth. They were voracious hunters, feeding on virtually every other creature, large and small, including chiropters. But they had disappeared from the world before Dusk was even born. At least, that’s what they’d always been told.

  “Tell me what happened,” Icaron said to Dusk. Dusk couldn’t help being pleased that he’d been asked rather than Sylph. He was afraid to tell his father how he and Sylph had been riding thermals, so only mentioned how they’d spotted the creature in the sky and been swept into its wake, and how he’d tried to climb past it after it crashed.

  “I think it spoke to me,” he added.

  “Why would it speak to you?” Sylph asked.

  “It sounded like talking.” His legs were shaking, and he clenched tight, willing them to stop. “But I didn’t understand.”

  “That’s all right,” said his father. “Why would you understand a saurian language? Do you think you can make it back to the nest?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Go then,” his father said, gently but firmly. “You too, Sylph.” Dusk gazed enviously at the other chiropters, especially his eldest brother, Auster. He’d probably be the colony’s next leader. He even looked a bit like Dad. He nodded smugly at Dusk, as if wanting to hurry him along. It wasn’t fair that Auster got to stay, when it was Dusk who’d seen the saurian up close.

  “Why can’t we stay?” Sylph asked, echoing his thoughts.

  “We need to examine the creature.”

  “Well, we can help,” Dusk said. “I was pretty close—”

  “Go now,” said Dad. “And don’t speak of this to anyone but your mother. Do you hear? I’ll call an assembly of the four families when we’re ready.”

  Dusk nodded. Icaron was not simply his father right now; he was leader of the colony, and Dusk dared not question him.

  He began to climb. He didn’t have the heart to try to catch a thermal this time. Somehow, the thermal and the saurian were all bundled together in his confused thoughts, and he felt one might have caused the other. Anyway, the sun had passed over the clearing now and he doubted the warm air had enough power to lift him.

  It would be a very long climb.

  Sylph, infuriatingly, streaked ahead up the tree so she could be the first to tell their mother the news. When Dusk finally hauled himself up to the nest, Mistral made a terrible fuss of him. What seemed to horrify her most was that the saurian had breathed all over him. She made him bathe in a pool of rainwater on the branch, rolling him over and over until his fur was completely sodden. Then she groomed him, head to tail—because she didn’t trust Dusk to do it properly himself—while Sylph made helpful suggestions.

  “I’d double check his armpits, Mom, I found an entire mealworm there once.”

  “Thank you, Sylph, I’m sure I can manage.”

  “Also, his lower back is usually teeming with something. I think he has trouble combing back there.”

  “That’s enough, Sylph,” their mother said. “I suggest you groom yourself. You’re looking a bit mangy after the long climb.” Dusk sent his sister a smirk through his matted hair. “Now, both of you,” Mistral said sternly, “have behaved very foolishly today. I heard many complaints that you were riding thermals in the clearing and making a great nuisance of yourselves.”

  “Who said we were a nuisance?” Sylph demanded loudly. “It doesn’t matter who said it. What matters is you did it. Riding thermals is not something chiropters do.”

  Dusk said nothing; he knew he could rely on Sylph to do the protesting. “Well, no one ever told us!” she shouted. “Shush, Sylph,” said their mother. “It should be obvious. Have you ever seen others doing such a thing? Were you taught to do it?”

  “No,” Sylph said, “but does that mean—?”

  “Was this your idea?” their mother asked. Sylph hesitated, then replied, “Yes.” Startled, Dusk spoke up. “It was my idea, Mom.”

  “It was mine!” Sylph yelled. “I figured out how to ride the thermals and taught Dusk.”

  Dusk was bewildered. Sylph was a loyal sister, but this was going too far. Was she trying to protect him—or just steal credit for his discovery? Either way, he couldn’t let her get away with it.

  His mother looked over at him impatiently. “Dusk, is this true?”

  “No. It was my idea, Mom. I didn’t want to climb the tree, and I was tired, and I wondered if the hot air could lift me, and it did.” Mistral nodded. “It was very resourceful of you, Dusk.” He didn’t dare glance over at Sylph, but he heard her groan of exasperation and could just imagine the delicious look of indignation on her face.

  “But,” his mother continued swiftly, “I don’t want to see you ever doing it again. We have sails so we can glide. That is how we use them. And for no other purpose. Don’t make yourself more different than you already are, Dusk. Difference can be severely punished in a colony.”

  “Will Dusk be punished?” Sylph piped up with great interest.

  “Not this time,” Mistral said.

  “Dusk never gets punished,” Sylph grumbled.

  “But remember what I say, both of you,” their mother continued. “Behave like the colony, or risk being shunned by the colony.”

  Dusk swallowed. “Mom,” he began uncertainly, “why did they stop feeding Cassandra? Was it just because she looked different?”

  The fur on his mother’s forehead furrowed. She came closer and nuzzled him. “No, Dusk, she was very sick. She would never have been able to glide or hunt or feed herself. She couldn’t have survived. It wasn’t because she looked different.”

  “Oh,” said Dusk. He felt relieved, but it still seemed cruel to stop feeding her.

  “Who’s been talking to you about that poor creature?” Mom asked.

  “Jib,” Sylph told her. “He said it’s lucky Dusk was the leader’s son, or he would’ve been driven out of the colony.”

  “That newborn should watch what he says!” said Mom, her eyes flashing.

  “I knew he was just trying to scare me,” Dusk sniffed. “I know things like that don’t happen.”

  When she made no reply, he felt a jolt of panic. “Mom? They don’t, do they?”

  “Of course not, Dusk,” she said gently. “We’d never allow such a thing.”

  “You mean, they wanted to, but—”

  “I mean it doesn’t happen,” she told him firmly. “Now listen, don’t change the subject. I’m not quite finished with you two yet. I also heard reports you went beyond the Upper Spar. You know you’re never to trespass in bird territory. And
that you have been taught. Never do it again. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Mom,” said Dusk, hanging his head. “Sorry.”

  “Sylph?” Mistral said.

  “Sorry!” she said loudly.

  “Good. Now, here comes your father,” she said. “And if I’m not mistaken, he’ll be calling an assembly soon.”

  Dusk’s colony numbered in the hundreds, and was made up of four families who had lived on the sequoia for twenty years. An elder governed each family. There was Sol, Barat, Nova, and Icaron, who of course was both an elder and leader of the entire colony.

  All four families had been mating with one another for many years, so practically everyone was related, if you cared to figure out how. Dusk would sooner have tried to count raindrops.

  In the day’s dying light, all the chiropters gathered along the sequoia’s mighty branches, anxious to hear about the winged creature that had hurtled through the clearing. Most had seen its terrifying dive; certainly all had heard it. Some had narrowly avoided being pulverized by it.

  Crouching atop a large bulge in the redwood’s trunk, where all the assembled chiropters could see them, were Icaron and the three elders. The birds’ dusk chorus had faded away and cricket song was beginning to pulse across the forest.

  Dusk rested beside Sylph and his mother, waiting expectantly. He was exhausted by his long climb and the ordeal with the saurian, but now, looking up at his father, his fatigue evaporated. Even though Icaron was far away, he seemed bigger than usual, and more powerful. Dusk hoped Dad could see him from way up there. He lifted a sail to catch his father’s attention, and was delighted when Dad returned the gesture. Dusk glanced around to see if any of the newborns had seen their exchange. Sure enough, a few were stealing glimpses at him and whispering, no doubt boiling with jealousy that their fathers weren’t leader. He tried to find Jib in the crowd, but couldn’t.

  Dusk had never known such a gathering. Assemblies were only called on occasions of great importance. Before this, all he’d witnessed were minor disputes about hunting perches or mates. The chiropters normally didn’t need meetings. Anything they needed to know was passed from branch to branch, family to family, parent to child. There was not much to know, really.

  Until now the colony’s life had been uneventful. They strayed hardly at all from the great redwoods ringing the clearing. They never ventured onto the ground, so they saw virtually no other animals except birds, high in the trees and in the skies. Dusk had heard many say their world was perfect. It was always warm. There was food and water and good perches—and no predators. They could hunt and breed in complete safety.

  Dusk couldn’t help feeling that this saurian attack (if he could even call it that) was the most momentous occasion in his life, and he was pleased he had some small part in it. But he was also a bit nervous to see his father looking so grave, and all the hundreds of chiropters—normally so noisy and active—still and quiet now as Icaron began to speak, describing what had happened earlier in the day.

  “Will there be others?” someone called out, when Icaron had finished.

  “Unlikely,” Icaron replied. “This is the first I’ve seen in almost twenty years.”

  Dusk twitched his sails in surprise. His father had never said anything to him about seeing a saurian, ever. They were supposed to be long gone.

  “If there’s one, how do we know there aren’t more?” someone else asked.

  “This one was old,” Barat replied, “and nearly blind. It had cataracts.”

  Dusk remembered the cloudy moon in its eye.

  “My son Dusk saw it crash,” Icaron told the assembly, “and said it was flying erratically. Indeed, its wings had the rot that killed many of the saurians.”

  Dusk grinned at Sylph, pleased to be mentioned at the meeting. For a moment he imagined himself up there. Leader. Why not? It was possible. But the thought was complicated and unpleasant, because it meant the death of his father, and all his brothers, and he could think of nothing more terrible than that.

  “Maybe if your newborns hadn’t been playing in the air, the creature wouldn’t have spotted them and made the clearing its target.”

  The reproachful words were spoken by Nova, the sole female elder, and addressed to Icaron. “Many of us might have been killed,” she said. Dusk ground his teeth. That wasn’t fair at all. “The saurian wasn’t hunting,” Icaron told her. “I believe it was in its death throes.”

  “Who’s to say there isn’t a nest nearby?” Nova continued. Even though she was almost as old as his father, Nova still had a thick coat of fiery copper fur, undulled by age. Her fur matched her temperament: the few times Dusk had seen her speak to other chiropters, she was often contrary and argumentative—much like her great-nephew, Jib, he thought with a sniff. Dusk always got the feeling Nova didn’t like his father, though Dad never seemed to bear her any ill will.

  Icaron nodded. “Even so, these flyers pose little threat to us. They’re called quetzals,” he told the assembly. “The largest of the winged saurians. They pick fish from the shallows and creatures from the mud. Or they strafe the plains for prey. They can’t hunt over the forest. The canopy hides us and keeps us safe.”

  Dusk was amazed at how knowledgeable his father sounded. Just how much experience had he had with these creatures?

  “But we were not safe today,” Nova persisted. “It was only a matter of time before this happened. For every one saurian we see, there are hundreds more unseen. This is what comes of shirking our obligations.”

  Obligations? Dusk glanced at his mother and saw her stiffen. What was Nova talking about?

  Icaron exchanged looks with Barat and Sol, silent for a moment. “This is not a matter that needs to be discussed here,” Sol told Nova angrily.

  “Oh, I believe it is,” said Nova. “And it should have been done years ago. This saurian in our forest is proof of that!”

  Barat shook his grey head. “Nova, you speak without care!”

  “Do not let her speak again,” Sol implored Icaron. “Silence her!” Barat agreed heatedly.

  “Silence—that is the problem precisely!” cried Nova. “There has been too much silence for too long.”

  “Enough!” shouted Icaron, and Dusk flinched. All eyes were on the leader, waiting.

  “Nova, you have spoken recklessly, and without my consent.” He paused, glowering at the other chiropter. “But perhaps you are right,” he went on more calmly. “We should explain what happened in the past. There’s nothing shameful in it, and much to be proud of.”

  At this Nova gave a quick snort. Dusk would have liked to bite her ear.

  Barat and Sol looked at Icaron, waiting for him to begin.

  Icaron’s voice carried out to the entire tree. “You’ve all heard something of the saurians. Thousands of years ago they were the undisputed rulers of the earth. Some of them were plant-eaters; many were flesh-eaters. Some walked erect on two legs. Others lumbered on four. A few could fly. They hunted one another, but also fed on the beasts, including chiropters. Like all beasts, our agility and relatively small size helped keep us safe. We could hide. We often took refuge in the trees, since most saurians were poor climbers.”

  Dusk listened with rapt attention. A few of these things he’d heard before, but in less detail. Closing his eyes made it easier to concentrate, and he could let his head fill with images.

  “The saurians were rapacious. They ate and bred and flourished. And we watched and waited, knowing they couldn’t survive forever. They were huge and strong, but without vast amounts of food they would starve; without the sun they couldn’t even warm themselves. On cool mornings they were sluggish until the sunlight heated their scaly skin. And yet they reigned and reigned until, thousands of years ago, the sky changed and they were all but wiped out. Some say part of the sky collapsed and crashed to earth, and the dust that rose blotted out the sun.”

  Dusk shuddered as he imagined the sky thickening, coagulating with darkness.

 
“It became very cold. Anything that needed the sun suffered. Plants died first, then the saurians that ate the plants, and finally the flesh-eaters who fed on them. But we were able to survive. We were small and quick, and we needed little. As the world grew cold, the saurians grew cold with it, and died. Within our fur, we kept warm, and hibernated if need be. We weathered the long, cold night, eating insects and grubs and seeds. When it was over, the saurians’ giant carcasses were strewn across the earth. Still, some survived.”

  Icaron paused, and then began a story that Dusk had never heard.

  “It was then the beasts saw their chance. The saurians were weaker than they’d ever been; many were diseased, their scales rotting. But for all we knew, they would become strong again unless we did something. So, centuries ago, the beasts formed the Pact.”

  Again Icaron hesitated, as though telling this story was not altogether easy for him. A pact, Dusk thought excitedly. It sounded secret and daring.

  “The beasts knew they could never hope to defeat the saurians in battle. They were far too powerful. But the beasts could attack them in another way. Under the terms of the Pact, all the beasts agreed never to harm one another. They would work together to seek out saurian nests, and destroy the eggs. They would prevent a new generation of saurians from rising. It would take centuries, but eventually they would wipe out the saurians entirely.”

  In the silence that followed, Dusk shivered. He did not know what to think. Truly it was an ingenious plan—chillingly ruthless too. But how else could small creatures ever hope to defeat such large ones? For a long, uncomfortable moment Dusk imagined all those helpless saurian hatchlings growing inside their eggs, and then having their shells ripped apart around them.

  “The Pact was an act of genius,” Nova told all the chiropters forcefully. “It was a triumph of our intelligence over the sluggish might of the saurians.”

  “It was barbaric,” Icaron replied evenly. “Especially since many of the saurians weren’t even meat-eaters. They posed no threat to us, but we destroyed their eggs nonetheless.”