Darkwing Page 6

  She shook her head. “What are you doing?”

  “Just looking around.”

  She stared at him strangely. “Looking at what? It’s pitch black.” Dusk was delighted. “You don’t know? You really don’t know! You can use your hunting clicks!”

  “To see in the dark?” she said.

  He nodded. “I don’t know why they never told us. It’s really amazing. Try it. You can see it all in your head.”

  Sylph turned to the clearing, and Dusk saw her throat and jaw vibrate as she made her clicks. He waited expectantly for her face to lift with delight. “Well?” he said after a moment. “I think I saw a bug or two.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But there’s hundreds of bugs out there!”

  “Maybe. But I just saw a few that were fairly close.”

  “Try again. You can send out stronger clicks.”

  “How do I do that?” she demanded loudly.

  “Shush,” he said, “you’ll wake everyone!”

  “Don’t shush me, Dusk,” she whispered dangerously. “I’ve been shushed quite enough already.”

  “Sorry. All right, make stronger clicks …” How could he explain it? With him it had come instinctively. “Just concentrate on casting your clicks farther, with an extra kick at the end. Does that make sense? We’ll do it together. Oh, and try closing your eyes. It makes it easier to concentrate. Ready?”

  Sylph cleared her throat and barked out some hunting clicks alongside Dusk’s. “Nothing,” she said after a moment. “This is a joke, isn’t it.”

  “You didn’t see the trees across the clearing?”

  “No. Why, did you?”

  Dusk did not know what to say.

  “Tell me,” Sylph insisted, sounding almost angry. “What did you see?”

  “Just a bit of a tree.”

  “You’re lying. What else?”

  “All the trunks, and the branches too, all silvery but very clear. I could see knotholes and grooves in the bark. Their leaves shimmered, because the wind moves them, I guess. It’s really pretty, how they dance and glow. And around the branches there’s a million bugs, like shooting stars, and deeper into the trees there’s a kind of glow, a hum, of everything just living and moving.”

  When he finished speaking, Sylph said nothing for a moment, then, “You saw all that with your eyes closed?”

  He nodded eagerly.

  “This is so unfair,” she muttered. “You just discovered you could do this?”

  “I never tried it at night before,” he said. “Maybe lots of us can do it.”

  “No one ever told us chiropters could see in the dark.”

  “You think I’m the only one who can do this?” he asked. He couldn’t help feeling pleased at the idea he had a special skill. “Maybe I should ask Mom if she’s ever done it.”

  Sylph snorted. “She’ll just tell you to stop being different.” Dusk started to feel anxious. “I don’t want Dad to think I’m a freak.”

  His father had always seemed patient with his other differences—his strange, furless wings, his missing claws, weak legs, and too-big ears—but maybe this new thing would be too much. He remembered the fury in his father’s face when he snapped at Sylph. Dusk never wanted to have that directed at him.

  “Don’t worry,” said Sylph, “you’ve always been Dad’s favourite anyway.”

  “That’s not true,” Dusk said uncomfortably. “He never gets angry with you. It’s always me. He just thinks I’m noisy.”

  “Well, you are sometimes.”

  “If I were a male, he wouldn’t care. It’s because I’m female. Dad doesn’t think much of females.”

  “No, Sylph!” Dusk was astounded. He’d never even thought about this before. Hadn’t Dad always treated Mom well?

  “You wouldn’t notice because you’re male. Males get to name their families. Males get to be leaders and elders.”

  “Nova’s an elder, and she’s female!”

  “And it drives Dad mad. Look how he treated her at the assembly.”

  “She deserved it!”

  “Did she? What if she’s right?”

  “Sylph! Dad’s right.”

  “Yeah, Dad thinks so too.” His sister sniffed. “All the time.”

  “Dad knows better than all of us,” Dusk reminded her. “He’s older, and he’s been leader for twenty years.”

  “Then ask him about seeing in the dark,” Sylph said, a bit sulkily. “And see what he says.”

  Dusk wasn’t sure any more. Tomorrow there was to be an expedition to search the island for saurian nests, and his father would be distracted and busy.

  “I just hope I’m not the only one,” Dusk said. Sylph gave a noncommittal grunt. “I’m going to sleep now. Coming?”

  “I’ll be back soon.”

  Alone once more, Dusk settled down on the branch and sent his sonic gaze towards the dead saurian. The outline of its massive wing flared in his mind’s eye, furless, stretched taut over bone—not so unlike his own sails really. It was not a comfortable thought. He let the image quickly dissolve in his mind.

  He could still smell its rank dying breath in his nostrils. I give you my wings. He realized he was shaking. He felt like the saurian had cracked the sky of his world wide open.

  CHAPTER 5

  THE PROWL

  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 shrie
ked 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.