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  “All right,” said Icaron calmly. “Tell me what this is about.”

  “Many of us are disturbed by your son’s flying. It must stop.”

  “Must?” said Icaron, bristling. “That is a word only I can use.”

  “It is causing unrest and unhappiness. The other families see it as unwholesome. He is making a mockery of our kind. We have never flapped. It is not in our nature. He tries to be something he is not.”

  “He is my son,” said Icaron. “He is what he is.”

  Dusk felt an overwhelming gratitude towards his father.

  “The birds will not like it, Icaron.”

  “Will they not? I don’t see it as any concern of theirs.”

  “They will not like to see a beast in the air, around their nests, around their roosts.”

  “Dusk will stay away from their nests; I trust him to use his good judgment.”

  “Some are saying he is cursed.”

  “What?” Dusk exclaimed in surprise.

  His father glanced at him, cautioning silence with his eyes.

  “They think he was tainted by the winged saurian that died in our clearing,” Nova went on. “They say it has infected him somehow. It has changed him and now he flies.”

  Once more, Dusk felt the reek of the saurian’s last breath on him. A hot flash of panic bloomed in his chest. It was like something from his dream. He’d never quite been able to banish the idea that the saurian was somehow the cause of his new abilities.

  “That,” said Icaron contemptuously, “is the worst sort of superstitious nonsense. There is no taint, no infection. I expect you, as an elder, to do your best to put an end to such rumours—not to nourish them.”

  “There will be resentment,” muttered Nova.

  “Ah! Now we get to the truth of the matter,” said Icaron. “Many seemed eager enough to try flying on their own. The clearing has been filled with flapping. It’s only their failure that brings these cries of freakishness.”

  “I can see you are not willing to bend on this matter.”

  “Not at all. My son has a special gift. Why should he be ashamed of it? Why should he not use it to his advantage?”

  “It may be to his advantage, but not to ours as a whole,” said Nova. “That should be your chief concern.”

  Dusk was amazed she had the strength to speak to his father that way. He almost admired her, for he couldn’t imagine himself uttering more than a squeak when confronted with a face so stern. He saw his father’s muscles tense.

  “This colony has always been my first and dearest concern,” Icaron said. “And when I see its well-being truly threatened, I will act. Was there anything else you wanted to say?”

  “I have said everything,” Nova replied, and started to climb back to her roost. She was almost as old as Dusk’s father, and her limbs seemed weary.

  Just witnessing this encounter, Dusk felt spent.

  “Are you all right?” his mother asked him, and he realized he was trembling. He nodded.

  “Don’t be upset by this nonsense,” said his father. “Some chiropters are always going to be suspicious of anything new—and envious.”

  “I was afraid this would happen,” said Dusk’s mother.

  “I’ve been trying to stay out of everyone’s way,” said Dusk. “And I haven’t even gone near any bird nests.”

  “I don’t think Nova speaks for anyone but herself,” his father told him, “and maybe a few other disgruntled chiropters.”

  “Jib and Aeolus have been grumbling about it,” said Sylph.

  “Newborns who don’t know any better,” said Icaron dismissively. “I’ve heard nothing from Barat’s family or Sol’s. Everything’s all right, Dusk.”

  “Okay,” he said, nodding firmly. But he could tell his mother was worried, and he felt far from reassured. He wanted to fly. He loved it. But he didn’t want to be a freak. Surely, despite what his parents said, there had to be someone else like him, somewhere.

  Next morning Dusk was back on the Upper Spar, birdwatching. He still had a lot to learn about flying. He was particularly dissatisfied with his landings, and was hopeful the birds could teach him.

  He’d just observed one land in the next tree over, and was waiting for it to take off again, when he had the oddest sensation he was being watched. He looked along the branch, expecting to see Sylph, or maybe Jib or Aeolus, spying on him. Dusk knew they spent a fair amount of time on the Upper Spar, launching themselves into their endless hunting competitions. But there was no sign of any of them. The fur on the nape of his neck lifted. He tilted his head back and saw, directly above him, a bird perched on the next branch up, not two feet away. Dusk hadn’t even heard it alight.

  It stared down at him with great attention, moving its head in abrupt, precise jerks, as though studying him from all possible angles. Its beak was slightly serrated, like a reminder of long-ago teeth.

  Dusk shuffled back so that he could see it more easily. The bird gave a little hop but did not take flight. It continued to stare at him with its bold, black eyes. Dusk was unnerved. He’d never been so close to a bird, and he’d certainly never had one express such interest in him. “Why are you staring at me?” he asked.

  “Why are you staring at us?” the bird countered, its voice an odd musical warble.

  “I’m waiting to see you fly,” Dusk replied.

  “Well, I’m waiting to see you fly,” the bird said. “You are the one that can fly, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” He saw no point denying it, since the news of his flying had obviously spread into bird territory. He’d envied and admired these creatures his whole life, but never imagined one day he’d speak to one. He suspected it wasn’t even allowed. He’d have to ask Dad later.

  “Everyone’s been talking about you,” the bird went on.

  “What do they say?” Dusk wanted to know.

  “They don’t like it. They think it’s grotesque. I wanted to see too. It seems impossible. You don’t even have feathers on your wings.”

  “You don’t need feathers to fly,” Dusk said. “Or wings either. I have sails.”

  “They look like wings to me.”

  “That’s not what we call them.”

  “Do you have a name?” the bird asked.

  “Of course I do! Don’t you?”

  “Certainly. I just wasn’t sure if you bothered naming each other. You all look pretty much the same to me.”

  Dusk was indignant. He’d always been told that birds were rude, haughty things, and now he could see why. “Well, maybe you all look the same to us too.”

  “How absurd!” said the bird. For a moment neither said anything.

  “My name’s Teryx,” the bird said finally, with what Dusk thought was a conciliatory warble. “I’m Dusk. Are you a he-bird, or a she-bird?”

  “He!” said Teryx, with an annoyed flick of his head. “It’s obvious!”

  “How is it obvious?”

  “Just listen to my call!”

  Teryx let out a brief trill, and though it was very nice, Dusk didn’t know that it sounded particularly male or female. “It’s just a bit lower than the female’s,” said Teryx helpfully.

  “And the melody is less complex.”

  Dusk nodded, as though all this was perfectly clear to him.

  “Well, it’s no easier for me to tell what sex you are,” Teryx informed him.

  “Male,” said Dusk.

  “I’ll take your word for it,” Teryx said. “How old are you?” Dusk asked. “Four months. You? “Almost eight.”

  “How interesting that birds mature faster,” said Teryx. “Do they?” Dusk said.

  “Oh yes, I’m nearly full size now. But it looks like you have some growing to do yet.”

  Dusk felt he should object, but supposed the bird was right. He was still nowhere near the size of his father. Still, it was irksome that Teryx was so much larger than him.

  Dusk looked around, hoping no one from his colony could see their conver
sation. He didn’t want to get into trouble—not that he’d ever been told it was against the rules. Anyway, Teryx didn’t seem dangerous, and they were both in their own territory. No one was trespassing. Really, Teryx was quite handsome. His chest was a bright yellow, the throat white, the head grey. Dusk found the face a bit baffling: it was a mask, and all the animation came from the bright eyes.

  “You live on the island?” Dusk asked him.

  “Oh yes, and flown all around it, too.”

  It thrilled Dusk to think of such freedom and speed. And now he had it. His sails could carry him anywhere he wanted to go. “Have you been to the mainland?” he asked.

  Teryx gave an impatient hop. “Not yet. My parents say I’m not ready. Soon, though.”

  Dusk wondered if his own parents would ever allow him to make such a journey. It would be a whole new world over there. But judging from the little he’d heard, it seemed a ruthless and frightening place. “So let’s see you fly,” said Teryx.

  Dusk thought for a moment. “All right,” he said, “if you show me a couple of landings afterwards.”

  Teryx gave a quick nod and chirp. Dusk took that as a yes.

  He swooped off his branch, flapping hard and climbing as he picked up speed. He circled a few times in the clearing, making sure to stay below the Upper Spar at all times, and then came in to make a clumsy landing.

  Teryx looked down at him studiously. “You are very quick and agile in the air,” he said, surprising Dusk with this compliment. “But I can see your landings need work.”

  “Yes,” said Dusk. “Maybe you can show me how.”

  Watching Teryx take off and land so close to him, Dusk realized how truly different their styles of flight were. Landing, Teryx held his wings high, just fluttering the feathery tips to slow himself down and drop serenely onto the bark. Dusk didn’t see how that technique could ever work for him. He always came in much faster. As for the bird’s takeoffs, Teryx’s wings seemed to give him instant lift the moment he launched himself into the air. Dusk needed to beat his sails very hard and fast. He figured he was more manoeuvrable than the bird, especially in tight spaces, but he couldn’t imagine his flight ever seeming as graceful.

  Was it the feathers that made it so much easier for the birds, or just the shape of the wings themselves? He couldn’t make out the outlines of any fingers through all the feathers, nor could he see claws protruding. Teryx had those only on his feet.

  “Can I have a closer look at your wings?” Dusk asked, and without waiting for a reply, he quickly flapped up to Teryx’s branch.

  Teryx took a hop back in surprise. “You’re in bird territory,” he said, his voice sounding slightly strangled.

  “Oh.” Dusk had completely forgotten. “Sorry. Should I go back down? Are you afraid of me?”

  Teryx tilted his head high. “I’m not afraid of you! Even if you are an egg-eater.”

  “Egg-eater?” Dusk said in confusion. “I don’t eat eggs!”

  “Yes, you do. Saurian eggs. My parents told me.”

  “Oh. No, not us,” said Dusk, eager to clear up this misunderstanding. “Chiropters on the mainland hunt saurian eggs. And they didn’t really eat them, they just wanted to destroy them to stop more saurians from being born. But we don’t approve of that. That’s why we’re here. We didn’t want to hunt eggs.”

  Teryx cocked his head dubiously. “But there used to be saurians on this island.”

  “No,” said Dusk. “There were never any here. That’s why we stayed. It was so safe.”

  Teryx just kept shaking his head. “You’re wrong,” he said. “Saurians once lived here, and my great-grandfather said you chiropters destroyed their nest.”

  “When?” Dusk demanded.

  “Twenty years ago.”

  “You’re wrong!” said Dusk, angry now. “What do you know, anyway? You look like you just hatched five seconds ago!”

  Teryx hopped forward and opened his beak threateningly. Dusk scrambled back. That beak looked sharp.

  “I’ve seen the bones myself!” Teryx insisted. “We see a lot more than you lazy chiropters.”

  “So where are they?”

  Dusk was far from convinced by the bird’s tale, but troubled by his fierce conviction. “Southeast,” said Teryx with a flick of his head. “It’s not far if you fly. There’s another clearing, not as big as this one, and just beyond that, the land dips a bit. Where the trees thin you can see big bones on the ground. Go see for yourself.”

  “I will.”

  There was a great thrashing of wings overhead and Dusk looked up in alarm to see another bird coming in for a landing between him and Teryx. It had the same colouring as Teryx’s, but was quite a bit larger, and the branch dipped with its weight.

  “Get away from here,” shrieked the bird. “Egg-eater!”

  “Mother—” Teryx began.

  “How dare you invade our territory!” the mother shrilled at Dusk, beating her wings and nearly blowing him off the branch. “I’m sorry,” Dusk blurted, scrambling backward, “I didn’t mean to—”

  “We’ve seen you flapping around!” the mother screeched. Her crest flared, revealing violent red feathers beneath. “You have no right! Stop flying, for your sake if nothing else! There are those who would gladly rip your wings from your little body!”

  Dusk caught a glimpse of Teryx cringing behind his mother, head twitching, crest ruffling. He looked as terrified as Dusk felt.

  “And stay out of our territory!” the mother bird hissed, lunging at him, jagged beak wide.

  Dusk jumped, unfurling his sails and spiralling down through the branches of the great sequoia. A quick backward glance told him he wasn’t being pursued, and he landed, heart fluttering like a moth. He’d never been attacked by another animal. He felt a flare of indignation: who was she to tell him to stop flying?

  Egg-eater!

  It was so unjust. His father had come to the island to escape the egg-eaters. But these birds still blamed them for things they’d never done.

  He didn’t know what to do. Tell his mother and father, and he might get in deep trouble simply for talking to the bird. Venturing into their territory was even more serious. He couldn’t believe how foolish he’d been. If Nova found out, she’d say she was right and that his flying was going to enrage the birds and bring trouble for the entire colony.

  But what if Teryx’s story of saurian bones and egg-eaters was true? His father should know about it.

  Dusk stopped shaking. His stomach no longer pinched and slewed. He could always have a look on his own. Teryx said it wasn’t far. That way, if the bird was lying, Dusk wouldn’t have to tell his parents at all. He could just forget about it and remember never to go near birds again. Barbaric creatures.

  He would go and find these saurian bones himself—if they were even there to be found.

  Dusk had already passed the clearing Teryx had described, and when the land started to dip, he slowed down. The trees thinned. He didn’t like being all alone in the forest. It hadn’t been so bad when he was with Sylph, but now he felt nervous and vulnerable. Chiropters weren’t exactly forbidden to explore; it was just that no one did it much. There was no point. Everything they needed was around the sequoia.

  This must be the right spot. He didn’t want to go too close to the earth, especially after his last terrifying experience down there. He landed on a branch and peered into the tangle of greens and browns, brightly flecked with flowering vines. Sunlight shafted down, but there were many pools of shadow. His echovision illuminated them, the forest floor leaping into sharp focus as he searched for bones.

  He sucked in his breath.

  Teryx hadn’t been lying. They were coated in green moss and twined with plant tendrils, and with just his eyes he might have mistaken them for curving branches. But his mind’s eye easily saw the pattern they formed: a series of arcs rising from the earth.

  Ribs!

  What first appeared to be leaves plastered against the ribs wit
h rain and mud turned out to be remnants of skin and scales.

  Why hadn’t any of the recent chiropter expeditions stumbled on these remains? He supposed they’d all been bound for the coast, and weren’t looking for anything in the forest itself. And it would be easy enough to miss the bones unless you knew they were there.

  He probed farther with his echovision, altering the strength of his clicks. Beyond the ribs, he made out the smooth surface of a large skull, picked clean over the years. And scattered across the undergrowth—

  Dusk stared for a long time, listening to the streams of his returning echoes to make sure.

  They could only be egg shards, thick and leathery on the outside, but smooth and curved on the inside. Strewn amidst the shards were small bones. A leg bone, maybe. A clawed foot. Two skulls, not much bigger than his own.

  There had been saurians on this island, and it looked as if their eggs had been destroyed.

  But what chiropter in their colony would do such a thing?

  He had the answer almost before he’d thought the question.

  Nova.

  He flew back towards the sequoia, his head ablaze with what he’d just seen. He wasn’t far from the tree when he caught sight of another chiropter up ahead. With surprise he realized it wasn’t gliding. It was trying to fly.

  Dusk flew closer, trying to get a better view through the branches, wondering who on earth it could be. It was having no more success than any of the others, flapping clumsily and churning the air and going nowhere. It was always the speed, Dusk thought ruefully; they just weren’t able to flap their sails fast enough.

  He didn’t want to embarrass the chiropter, and was about to detour around him, when he caught sight of the streaks of grey fur along its flanks. The chiropter swivelled unexpectedly in the air and looked straight at him, and Dusk realized who it was. His father quickly extended his sails all the way and glided in to land on a branch. “Dusk?” he called out.

  “Hello!” Dusk called back, fluttering closer. He felt awkward: his father obviously hadn’t wanted anyone to see him.