What do we do once we land?
Where should we go?
Where is safe?
The shrieks from the sequoia were growing fainter, but with every flap of his sails, Dusk felt a wrenching grief. Mom and Dad were still there. He was a coward. He’d left them fighting the felid all alone. But he was scared, more scared than he’d ever imagined, and it was a struggle not to flap higher and higher and take himself away from the forest and the felids altogether.
Sylph was beside him and he needed to help her see, for the trees were looming before them now. With his echovision he lit the nearest redwood and searched the weave of silver branches for an easy landing place. There was a smear of movement off to one side, and when Dusk sang out more echoes, he saw a long body pressed flat against the bark, triangular ears jutting from its skull.
“There’s a felid in the tree!” he bellowed. “Don’t land!”
At the same instant, Dusk heard chiropters screeching high above him from the same redwood.
“They’re up here too!” a strangled voice shouted. Dusk suddenly realized what the felids had done. They’d climbed not just the sequoia but all the surrounding trees, so they could lie in wait for the escaping chiropters. Then they could drive their prey from tree to tree until they were caught.
“Turn away!” Dusk shouted.
“Where? Where are they?” cried a chiropter near Dusk’s left sail.
With his echovision he saw the felid lunge to the end of the branch, jaws ready. In all the confusion, some chiropters just kept sailing on.
“Turn back!” he told Sylph, then flapped hard, flying past her and trying to pull ahead of the other hapless gliders.
“There’s a felid, dead ahead!” he shouted to each of them as he passed. He had only a few seconds. An elderly chiropter continued to sail straight for the tree. Maybe he was deaf, or just too scared and confused to comprehend the gale of shouts and screams that now filled the clearing.
“Hey, stop!” Dusk shouted once more. “There’s one in the tree!”
The chiropter was already flaring his sails to land, and when he finally glanced back at Dusk in alarm, it was too late. Though he tried to bank away, he’d lost too much speed. He stalled, falling towards the branch. As Dusk watched helplessly, the felid rose up on its hind legs and snapped the old chiropter, thrashing, into its jaws.
Dusk veered away. Some of the other chiropters had swerved to land on nearby branches and were desperately scrambling out of sight. Others had managed to turn round completely and were sailing back for the sequoia. Sylph was among them. He caught up to her.
“Dusk, is that you?”
“It’s me.”
“We need a safe place to land.”
“We’ll be fine,” he said. “We’ll be fine.”
Dusk’s stomach tightened, knowing they were sailing back towards more waiting felids. “Can you see Mom and Dad?” Sylph asked piteously.
Frantically he began taking sonic glances at the sequoia, trying to find them. There was too much frenzied movement: images drawn in lightning strokes. He picked out his family’s branch, but saw no sign of the felid, or his parents. What had happened to them? Dad would have fought his way free, with Mom’s help. He was strong and fearless, he couldn’t be killed. And his mother, she had long sight; she could see the felids coming. They’d both be all right. But where were they?
He pulled his gaze back to Sylph’s glide path, seeking out a likely landing site. He had to concentrate on keeping the two of them safe. Higher in the branches he caught sight of a felid feeding intently on a dead chiropter. It was an unrecognizable tangle of guts and flayed skin. Dusk could smell the carnage from here: blood and feces and urine and sweat sickeningly intermingled. The thought that the chiropter might be one of his parents overwhelmed him with nausea, and he retched in mid-air.
Dusk looked lower, and saw another felid, prowling the branches, waiting. They were clever beasts, not just hunting for themselves but herding prey for their fellows.
“We’re going into the forest,” he told his sister. “There are too many of them in the sequoia.”
Sylph’s glide path was already worryingly low, and Dusk knew he couldn’t take her very far before she’d need to land. He flew in front, probing the darkness with his sonic sight, swinging away from their home, where chiropters still scrabbled half blind along the branches, throwing themselves into the air. Dusk guided his sister into the forest and to a safe landing site.
As they touched down on the branch, Dusk heard a terrified squeal, and spotted a group of chiropters cowering together in a deep furrow in the bark.
“It’s all right,” he whispered. “It’s just Dusk and Sylph.”
There were five of them, and as they looked up he recognized Jib and four other newborns, all separated from their families.
“There’s no room for you,” Jib hissed at Dusk. “Go away!”
“I don’t think you should stay here,” Dusk said. “If one of them passes, they’ll sniff you out, and you’re trapped.”
“You just want our hiding place,” Jib said.
“We should fight them,” said Sylph angrily, “not hide. If we all fought together—”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” snapped Dusk.
“We’re not so weak,” Sylph said. Even now she was so hot-tempered he was worried she’d do something rash.
“We need to get away from them.”
“You sound just like Dad,” she retorted. “Always running away.”
“You saw it attack!” Dusk hissed at her. “You saw its teeth.” Sylph said nothing, her flanks heaving. “We need to hide.” His voice shook. “And wait.”
“Come with us,” Sylph told Jib and the other newborns. “My parents told us to wait here for them,” said one of them. “They said they’d be right back,” said another.
“The felids will kill you if they find you here,” Dusk said.
“Dusk can see in the dark,” Sylph said. “He can see them coming. He’ll keep you safe.”
Dusk was not sure he could do anything of the sort. His stomach was still slewing about inside him, and the urge to retch was almost overwhelming. He was amazed at his sister’s confidence in him. He sent out quick barrages of hunting clicks and scanned the branches all round, making sure nothing was slinking closer.
From the sequoia, the sounds of carnage still wafted through the night. How long had this been going on? Forever, it seemed. He desperately wanted to find Mom and Dad, but knew it was far too dangerous to go creeping back to the tree. He wished Dad could tell him what to do. Instinctively he wanted to keep moving. He didn’t like where they were. It was far too open and vulnerable to attack.
“We’re going deeper into the forest,” Dusk decided.
“But how will our parents find us?” Jib asked, sounding scared for the first time. “I’m staying right here.”
The other newborns weakly muttered their agreement. In his echovision Dusk caught a smudge of movement.
“Something’s coming,” he rasped.
He sent out another quick volley of sound and spotted a felid chasing a chiropter, headed in their direction. The chiropter finally jumped and glided away, and the felid paused, tasting the air with its tongue. Its eyes flashed as they turned towards Dusk. He flattened his body, holding his breath, hoping his body looked like bark.
The felid took two slow, deliberate steps, head low, nostrils flaring and contracting.
“We have to go,” he whispered to Sylph. “It’s coming this way.”
“Come with us,” Sylph urged the other newborns one last time.
Dusk didn’t wait. Moving as quickly as he could, he unfurled his sails and leapt off the branch, flapping for the next tree. He looked back at the felid, no more than twenty feet distant. It bounded towards them. “Sylph, now!”
His sister followed, and then, to his surprise, Jib and the other newborns scrambled from their hiding place and sailed after her. Seco
nds later the felid pounced down onto the branch, a snarl uncoiling from its throat.
“Follow me!” said Dusk, knowing he needed to lead them, for they couldn’t see far in the dark. He glanced back, and in horror saw the felid jump after them. It was surprisingly agile in the air, using its bushy tail to steer. Down it came onto the next tree, barely skidding on the branch. Dusk hadn’t thought it could jump so far.
Flapping, he steered the newborns away. The trees grew so close together here that the felid pursued them easily, running from one branch to the next, jumping whatever gaps Dusk tried to put in its way. The strength and speed of the felid’s legs was easily outpacing the chiropters’ powerless glides. It would soon overtake them.
Peering back once more, Dusk saw the felid touch down on a slender branch that bent steeply, spilling the felid off. Spitting, it landed clumsily on a lower branch, but quickly recovered, and was soon back on their trail. Dusk could hear its panting growing louder, a whine of anticipation echoing in its mouth.
“It’s getting closer!” Jib yelled.
“Split up!” yelled another newborn.
It was a natural impulse, but Dusk knew it would cost one of them his life. He had another idea.
“Wait!” he said. He kept casting around desperately with sound, and finally found what he was looking for: a small clearing, and on the other side, a branch that tapered to a very thin end.
“Here!” he shouted out to them. “Land right here near the end! It’s too skinny for the felid!”
When Sylph touched down beside him, he felt the branch tremble. That was good. One after another the other five chiropters clutched the bark. The branch bobbed slowly up and down with their weight.
Dusk turned back and saw the felid pause on the other side of the clearing. It could make the jump across, but it seemed to realize the branch was too narrow and wouldn’t take its weight. It crouched, head swaying.
“We’re safe,” Dusk panted. “It won’t jump.”
They all clung on, staring fearfully at the predator.
The felid looked around carefully, then hopped down onto some lower branches.
“What’s it doing?” Sylph whispered.
“It’s giving up,” said Jib.
“I can’t see it any more,” one of the other newborns said. Dusk tracked it with his echovision. Below, the felid jumped across the small clearing.
“It’s in our tree now,” Dusk said. The felid bounded swiftly towards the trunk and began to haul itself up with its claws. Dusk could see this was hard work for the felid. It wasn’t adept at long, vertical climbs. But it finally reached their branch, which was thick enough near the trunk for the creature to take a few steps out. Its eyes blazed starlight. One of the newborns screamed. The felid was no more than twenty feet away.
“Sail!” Jib cried.
“Wait!” Dusk urged him. “It can’t come any closer!” The felid sniffed, and made an excited chirping sound in its throat.
It won’t come, Dusk thought. The branch is too thin.
The felid came. It took two careful steps and paused, feeling its balance. The branch bounced up and down. Dusk and Sylph and all the other newborns pressed against one another, edging as close as they dared to the end. Dusk studied the felid’s feet: there was no way it could come any closer without teetering off. Its claws were fully extended, stabbing into the bark. It took one more step, nearly lost its balance, and then stopped, breathing heavily. The branch swayed dangerously.
Dusk could smell its hungry breath from here, heavy and sickly with meat. It had already eaten tonight. Dusk had a sudden fear that it would speak to him; he did not want to hear its terrible snarl of a voice.
The felid took a step back, and Dusk hoped it was giving up. But then the predator sank its claws deep into the bark and began to stand, then crouch, stand, crouch, making the branch rise and fall, ever more quickly, until it was whipping up and down. “Hold on!” Sylph shouted.
The felid was trying to shake them loose! Dusk had to dig in hard to stop himself being flung into the air. The nighttime world blurred dizzyingly. How long would the felid keep it up? “Sylph?” he said, his voice warbling. “Are you okay?”
She grunted, too scared to form words. “Whatever you do, don’t let go!” he told her.
Up and down the branch lashed. It was so frightening, so maddening, that part of Dusk wanted to let go and fly free. He hoped none of the others felt the same deadly temptation.
The branch slowed. Vision swimming, Dusk looked back at the felid. It was panting, saliva clotted at the corners of its maw. From its throat it released a terrible shriek of frustration that nearly jolted Dusk from the branch.
“Clever,” the felid said in a low growl. “I’ll be back for you.” It leapt down through branches, working its way towards the sequoia in search of better hunting.
For a while no one said anything. Dusk readjusted his claws in the bark, listened to his heartbeats slow. “I thought it’d never stop,” he said, mouth parched. “Fine for you,” grumbled Jib. “You could just fly away.”
“But he didn’t, did he,” Sylph said.
Dusk said nothing, guiltily thinking of all the moments when his body had wanted to escape.
“And the skinny branch was his idea too,” Sylph said fiercely. “He saved your lives.”
“It was just lucky,” Dusk said. “I wasn’t sure it would work.”
“Really?” Sylph asked, aghast.
“Well, I was pretty sure, but how do I know how heavy a felid is?”
Sylph did not speak for a moment, horrified. “Well,” she finally said, “it worked, and that’s the important thing.”
“How many of them are there?” Jib asked. Dusk shook his head. “I don’t think anyone’s had time to count.”
“Feels like hundreds,” whispered a newborn, shuddering.
“They have light in their eyes,” said Sylph.
“They can hunt at night,” Dusk said. “They see better than us.”
They fell silent again. Dusk scanned the trees with sound, and saw more and more clusters of chiropters gliding and running from the sequoia, heading deeper into the forest. But he didn’t see any felids in pursuit this time. He listened and heard hardly any shrieking or snarling. Could it be over?
“It’s quieter now,” he said. “I’m going to find Mom and Dad.”
“Don’t go,” said Sylph, and he’d never heard her sound so pleading. “We can’t see without you.”
He noticed that the other newborns, including Jib, were staring at him beseechingly, but were too proud to beg him to stay.
He waited with them, in anguish, until a large group of chiropters glided past, one of them whispering repeatedly for Jib. “I’m here, I’m here!” Jib called back, almost too loudly.
Looking at him Dusk saw not an obnoxious bully, but a frightened newborn, overjoyed at hearing his mother’s voice. It was a sound he himself was craving.
Jib’s parents landed on the branch and made a fuss of their son.
“Have you seen Icaron?” Dusk asked them. “Icaron or Mistral?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Jib’s mother told him, and it was the first time a chiropter outside his own family had looked at him with any tenderness. “It was so dark, and everything was so confusing.”
“Stay here with Jib’s family,” Dusk told Sylph. “I want to see if I can find them.”
“You’re sure?” Sylph asked, still not wanting him to go.
“I need to,” he said, emotion choking his voice. He didn’t want to leave Sylph either, but she was safe now. She had some adults with her. He couldn’t banish from his mind the image of the felid attacking Mom and Dad, jaws and claws whirling. He needed to know they were all right.
Sylph looked at him and seemed to understand. She gave a quick nod. “Okay.”
“I’ll come back.”
He cast around thoroughly with his eyes and ears before taking flight, and then flapped cautiously through the branches t
owards the sequoia. He passed many chiropters calling out softly for their mothers and sons, daughters and fathers.
“Have you seen Icaron?” he whispered, fluttering overhead. “Icaron or Mistral?”
Most shook their heads, some gave vague answers; others ignored him altogether, too stupefied with fear and sorrow to hear him or form a reply.
Nearing the sequoia, he gave it a wide berth, wanting to have a good look before he came any closer. He was wary of all the trees around the clearing, knowing they too might contain felids.
He was exhausted, but he wanted to stay airborne, even if he was more noticeable that way. The idea of landing and being easy prey for the felids was too horrible. He wanted to be able to move, in any direction, in a split second.
Except for a ghost of moonlight, it was completely dark now, and Dusk flew almost entirely with echovision. The world was a pulsing silver image that etched itself again and again in his mind’s eye.
He decided to take a risk and fly into the clearing. Blazing in him was the need to find his parents. Even if the felids saw him, they couldn’t do anything about it. He was well beyond their reach.
He fluttered up the clearing, keeping far away from the branches. The sequoia teemed with felids. They seemed to be everywhere. He started counting, and was surprised when he came to only twenty-six. Surely there’d been more than that. Maybe it was only their large size and deadly speed that had made them seem so many.
They were done hunting, he realized within seconds. Many of them were still feeding on their prey. Dusk could not look. Others, having already eaten their fill, were stalking lazily along the branches, or curled up somewhere licking the blood from their paws and muzzles.
They had taken over his tree.
They showed no signs of moving on. A few of them even looked on the verge of sleep, their startling wide-mouthed yawns making slits of their glowing eyes. They could go to sleep without a second’s fear, and Dusk hated them. They’d killed. And now they were stealing his home.