Darkwing Page 9

  Dusk waited in agony as his father drew closer. “Is this true?” Icaron asked. Dusk nodded.

  As miserable as he felt, at least the burden of keeping his secret had now been lifted. “Show me,” Icaron said gruffly.

  Dusk dutifully shuffled to the edge of the branch. He had a quick, sad memory of his father teaching him how to glide, and then he jumped, unfurling his sails, and soaring up into the air. He could hear the rumble of shock and amazement from the watching chiropters.

  For a moment, he considered flapping even higher, disappearing altogether so that he wouldn’t have to return to face his father’s anger and shame. He could find some new place to live and become odd and smelly and bug-ridden. But that would mean leaving his mother and father and Sylph and his home, and everything he loved, and he knew he could never do that. He would have to face his father. He sighed, banked, and came in for a landing on the branch.

  Walking through the hushed chiropters towards Icaron, Dusk stared at his claws.

  “How long have you been able to do this?” he heard his father ask.

  “I just found out yesterday.”

  He didn’t know exactly what kind of punishment would be meted out, but he could only imagine it would be severe. You are not a bird. You do not flap. Chiropters glide, not fly. Would they drive him out?

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

  “I think this is extraordinary,” his father said. In disbelief, Dusk looked up at him, and saw that his face was not compressed in anger and disapproval, but opened wide with wonder. The other chiropters had gone suddenly quiet and were watching their leader carefully.

  “You do?” Dusk asked.

  “Really?” Sylph said, startled.

  “Spread your sails,” Icaron said to Dusk. “Let me have a look at you.”

  Dusk did as he was told, and his father moved closer and silently examined the underside of his sails.

  “When you flap,” Icaron asked, “where does the strength come from?”

  “From the chest and shoulders, I think.” Icaron nodded. “Yes. See, it’s here. Your chest is larger and stronger than normal. Your shoulders too. They’ve always been that way, since you were first born. You’d need a lot of muscles to flap your sails as quickly as you do.”

  Dusk was unable to stop himself from sliding his gaze over to Sylph and then Jib. Stronger than normal. A lot of muscles.

  “He can’t be the only one who can do it, then,” said Jib boldly.

  “Try it,” Icaron invited him. “I’ve never heard of another chiropter who could fly. I don’t think we have enough muscle power.”

  “There must be others,” Dusk said to his father.

  “I don’t think so, Dusk.” Icaron shook his head, looking again at his son’s sails. “It really is remarkable. When you flapped on your very first glide, I had no idea, no idea at all….”

  “This is so unfair,” Sylph sighed, and climbed away, up the tree. The other chiropters were beginning to disperse now too, carrying on with their hunting or grooming. Dusk caught a few wary looks, and heard some sour mutterings about how it wasn’t right, and who would want to fly like a bird anyway?

  “So is it all right?” Dusk asked. “To fly?”

  “Why not?” his father said. “I think it’s a wonderful skill.” Dusk still had trouble believing his father’s reaction. He seemed genuinely excited, and it helped cleanse Dusk of the corrosive anxiety he’d felt.

  “Just make sure you stay below the Upper Spar,” Icaron told him. “The birds won’t welcome another flyer in their territory.”

  All morning Dusk flew, gleefully swooping and climbing through the clearing. An intoxicating freedom soared through his new body. Anywhere: he could go anywhere.

  He was catching more prey than ever before. He figured he could manoeuvre in tighter spaces than the bird, but he couldn’t imagine his flight ever being so graceful. Best of all, he would never have to face the long, wearying climb back up the tree. He looked pityingly down at the other chiropters hauling themselves up the trunk.

  He found he still tired quickly. Ten minutes was the longest he could stay aloft before needing a good rest. But his hunting was so much more efficient, he figured he was still saving time overall. With more practice, he was sure his muscles would get stronger and keep him airborne longer.

  The news of his flying blew through the colony quicker than a gale. He saw a few newborns, including Jib, trying desperately to fly. None of them had any more success than Sylph, and when their parents caught sight of them they were angrily told to stop.

  At midday, when the sun was at its brightest and the drone of cicadas was almost deafening, Dusk found Sylph back at the nest, resting in the shade. He settled beside her and began grooming. She did not offer to comb his back.

  “You know what really gets me?” she said. “If I’d been the one to fly, Dad wouldn’t have let me.”

  “What?”

  “You know it’s true,” she said, her ears twitching. “If it were me, he’d just see it as something else I did wrong.”

  “Sylph, that’s not true. He’d have been just the same.” She turned to him, and Dusk was startled by the disdain in her eyes.

  “Think what you like,” she said. “It doesn’t change the truth.” She glided off into the clearing.

  Dusk stared after her, hurt and then angry. She was jealous, plain and simple. But her words echoed in his head all afternoon, and he wondered if there was some truth to them. Would his father have been so surprisingly generous with Sylph? Was Dad making a special exception just for him?

  As he flew through the clearing, everyone stared. The looks were not all nice. Though some were wide with wonder, many were closed with wariness. He didn’t like so many eyes on him. It embarrassed him. Sylph would’ve been different; she would’ve loved all the attention. It would have been impossible to get her out of the air.

  “You’re in my way!” a chiropter snapped, as Dusk climbed steeply in pursuit of a lacewing.

  “Sorry,” said Dusk, veering to one side before hurtling up to intercept his prey.

  “That was mine!” his brother Borasco shouted angrily.

  “Sorry,” Dusk said. “I didn’t see you.”

  “Pay more attention, then! Anyway, you can’t go catching prey from below. It’s not done. It’s stealing someone’s food away! Work from above like the rest of us.”

  Dusk apologized yet again, but he certainly had no intention of catching prey only from above. What was the point of flying, then? Still, he could see how irritating it would be to have someone forever pinching your bugs out from under you.

  Maybe he should be feeding outside the prime hunting grounds. It was much less crowded and he wouldn’t be in anyone’s way. He sighed. Sylph was already angry with him, and if he wasn’t extremely careful, she wouldn’t be the only one in the colony.

  That night, he woke to the sound of his parents’ low voices. They had moved off a little ways down the branch, but Dusk could hear them quite clearly if he pricked his ears high. Beside him, Sylph slept deeply. His stomach swirled: it must be serious if Mom and Dad were talking in private in the middle of the night.

  “You know what would have happened to him back on the mainland,” his mother said. “I know very well. The colony would’ve driven him out.”

  “Or killed him,” his mother added.

  Dusk felt cold with fear. They were talking about him! He worried his parents would hear his nervous breathing.

  “That’s why I showed the colony he has my complete approval,” Dad said. “If they think their leader approves, they will approve. We need to protect him, Mistral.”

  “You wouldn’t have been so tolerant of our first-borns, Icaron. You would have forbidden them.”

  Icaron’s tone was amused. “Perhaps, but the years of peace and plenty have obviously mellowed me. And it is an amazing thing, Mistral, you have to admit.”

  “Others won’t be so kindly disposed towards it,” his m
other replied. “Some will be envious; more will simply see him as a freak.” Dusk heard her sigh. “He’ll have trouble finding a mate.”

  Dusk relaxed a bit. Was this all his mother was worried about? He wasn’t the least bit concerned. Most chiropters didn’t find a mate until their second or third year. Anyway, he wasn’t even interested. It wouldn’t be such a tragedy if he never found a mate. He had his mother and father and Sylph—though he supposed Sylph would go off to live with her mate when it was time.

  “He’s very odd-looking,” his mother said sadly. “I love him, and it shouldn’t matter, but when I look at him, he just doesn’t look like all my other children. It’s like he belongs to some other species.”

  Dusk didn’t know how much more he wanted to hear, but he couldn’t stop eavesdropping now.

  “He is ours, as much as the others are,” Icaron said gently. “And he has something none of the others do. He can hunt faster, scout the forest more effectively, fly high and describe the world around us. He can see any predators coming from a distance, and warn us. Doesn’t that make him a desirable mate?”

  “Yes, of course. But sometimes it’s not good to be too different. We are drawn to creatures like ourselves. That’s just the way of things.”

  “I chose you as my mate,” Icaron said. “Yes, but my difference is invisible.”

  Dusk’s ears pricked even higher. What was his mother talking about?

  “Everyone can see Dusk’s differences,” his mother went on. “But you’re the only person who knows mine. And you agreed it was best kept secret.”

  Dusk heard his father sigh. “Perhaps I was wrong. What shame is there in having night vision?”

  “Me too!” Dusk burst out before he could stop himself. He scuttled across the branch towards his shocked parents. More quietly he said, “I can see in the dark too!”

  “You can?” his mother said weakly.

  Dusk nodded. “With my hunting clicks. I can see everything with them. Is it the same with you?”

  “Yes,” she said with a chuckle. Then her brow furrowed. “How much have you heard?”

  “A bit,” he said awkwardly.

  She came and nuzzled him. “I love you as dearly as all my children. I’m sorry if it sounded otherwise. And now I learn we have even more in common. Echovision.”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” his father asked. “I was worried you’d be ashamed of me,” Dusk said. “Because I was different enough already.”

  “We’ve never been ashamed of you,” said his mother. “I just want you to have all the best chances. That’s why I think some things should stay hidden.”

  “But you told Dad about your echovision.”

  “He’s the only one.”

  “It was a huge asset as a saurian hunter,” Icaron said. “Your mother could see greater distances, and in the dark too. The saurians had quite poor vision, especially at night. Your mother could guide us right to the nests without being seen.”

  Dusk looked at his mother with renewed admiration—and relief too. He was not alone with this strange skill, at least.

  “Why can we do this?” he asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe my own mother or father had the same ability. But they never talked of it. And I never confided in them.”

  “You were afraid you’d be shunned?”

  “Yes.”

  “But maybe there are others who can do it too,” said Dusk hopefully. “They’re all just afraid to tell, like we were.”

  “That may be,” said Icaron.

  “It would be better if everyone just told,” Dusk blurted out. “Then nobody would have to worry about being different.”

  Mistral nodded ruefully. “The urge to be the same is very strong. It runs through our veins with our blood.”

  “But it also seems,” said Icaron, “that within each of us are the seeds for change. Why and when they flourish, no one knows.”

  Dusk stared off into the dark clearing. He felt a bit bewildered by all the new things he was learning. He’d had enough for now. Part of him wished he could glide back in time, before the saurian had crashed into their world. But the bigger part thrilled at his new self, with all its abilities.

  “I was worried I might be a saurian,” Dusk admitted.

  “Dusk, you weren’t really!” his mother said, aghast.

  “Just a bit,” he said sheepishly. “My sails. They look a lot like the saurian’s wings. Hairless. And we can both fly.”

  “I watched you being born,” his father said fondly. “And I can assure you, you did not hatch from an egg.”

  “Are you sure there was no one else in the family who ever flew?” Dusk asked.

  “You’re the first,” Mistral told him.

  “But maybe not the last,” Icaron said. “Who’s to say one day all chiropters might not fly and see at night? Perhaps you’re a forerunner.”

  “Don’t fill his head with such thoughts,” Mistral chastised her mate. “For now he should keep his echovision secret.”

  “Sylph knows,” Dusk confessed.

  “Well, let’s hope she keeps it to herself. It’s obviously too late to conceal the flying. I still worry you’ll be shunned for it.”

  “I won’t tolerate it,” said Icaron firmly. “Not while I’m leader. We should none of us fear being different. This entire colony only exists because a small group of us dared to be different. Twenty years ago we broke the Pact, and set ourselves against not just one colony, but the entire league of beasts. Our differences can sometimes make us great, and lead us to a better future.”

  Carnassial returned to the prowl, head high. He was not ashamed; he would not come slinking back like some disgraced beast.

  He had stayed away for almost two days, deep in the forest, uncertain what he should do. Had Panthera revealed his secret? Was Patriofelis already in a rage? He’d wondered if he should flee, and find new hunting grounds for himself. But that would feel too much like an admission of guilt, a defeat. He had done nothing wrong.

  As he neared the heart of the prowl, the sun was almost at its peak. Lazing after their morning feeds, the felids watched him from the ground and branches. There was no thrill of admiration in their gazes this time, and they would not meet his eye. He caught the musk of their tense anticipation.

  They knew.

  His step faltered when he spotted Panthera, padding in his direction. His heart lifted. She did not stop to speak to him, but as she passed she whispered, “It was not me who told them. Others saw you and reported it to Patriofelis. I wanted you to know that.”

  She carried on without even a backward glance.

  Carnassial girded himself as he came upon the poisonwood tree and saw Patriofelis lounging in its lower branches. When the leader saw Carnassial, he stood, but did not descend to greet him.

  “You return to us,” the felid leader said.

  “Yes.”

  “And is it true, what we have heard?” Partriofelis demanded. “It is true,” Carnassial admitted evenly. “You have killed a fellow beast. Have you no remorse?”

  “We kill all the time. Grubs and insects.”

  “These things are unimportant. They have no feelings!”

  “They flinch as they’re killed. They want life too. We just don’t honour it.”

  Patriofelis snorted impatiently, unimpressed with Carnassial’s arguments. “You have killed another beast. This is not the way of things!”

  “The saurians fed on us. We must feed on others if we’re to survive.”

  “So you’ve said before.” Patriofelis paced his branch in the poisonwood tree. “But that would bring anarchy to our world. If we all hunted one another, we would have even more bloodshed than when the saurians preyed on us.”

  “As it was meant to be,” said Carnassial.

  “No. I forbid it.” Then, for a moment, the leader’s voice softened. “You were a beloved member of the prowl, Carnassial. No one hunted bett
er and fought harder to fulfill the Pact. Return to us. Return to us and renounce your unwholesome cravings.”

  “I will not,” he said. “My cravings are natural, and right.”

  “Then this can no longer be your home.”

  “Not with you as leader,” said Carnassial, feeling his muscles compress, his sinews grow taut. “Perhaps it is you who should change.”

  “No, Carnassial, it must be you.”

  Carnassial lifted his left hind leg and urinated copiously on the ground, marking his territory.

  “Come down from your tree,” he said, “and let us see who is the more fit to lead.”

  “That would be a poor test to determine a ruler’s fitness,” said Patriofelis.

  From the surrounding branches, a dozen of the strongest felids dropped to the ground, surrounding Carnassial, protecting their leader.

  “Go!” shouted Patriofelis. “Find some new home for yourself, far away!”

  Carnassial crouched and snarled, and for a moment the other felids faltered. He knew them all. They’d played and groomed and hunted together, and none of them alone was a match for him. But they rallied, and set upon him. He was knocked to the ground, scratched, pummelled, and kicked. Claws raked his belly and flanks. Jaws clamped and pulled at his flesh.

  He whirled and fought back, enraged that he should be so outnumbered. He hoped Panthera was not watching this humiliation. He knew he could not win such a fight. He staggered up and pelted, turning to snarl and spit at his pursuers. They did not come close enough to fight, but advanced slowly, forcing him away from the prowl.

  Alone, he turned and limped into the forest, his wounds bleeding, his head blazing with fury and pain.

  CHAPTER 8

  TERYX

  “Icaron, I need to speak with you.”

  It was Nova, gliding down to land on their roost as twilight deepened. Dusk looked up from his grooming, then over at Sylph and his mother. Nova certainly sounded grave.

  “If this concerns the colony, let’s speak in private,” said Icaron.

  “It concerns your son,” said Nova. “He should be present.” Dusk glanced worriedly at his father. What had he done? He could only assume it had something to do with his flying, but he’d been so careful to hunt away from the others so that he wouldn’t annoy them. And he’d never flown above the Upper Spar into bird territory.