Free First Flight by Connor Wright Page B

“Someday, I will know who I am. And then I will have two names.”
    “And I’ll call you whichever one you want. Are you ready to go see the vultures?”

Chapter Twelve
     
    “ Y OU guys take care!” Edie hugged Jesse and Chris in turn, then bounced off after Lucas, leaving them alone in front of the movie theater.
    Chris waved as she looked back, then glanced at Jesse. “Jesse? Could we go out to the tree?”
    “Sure,” he said and led the way through the parking lot.
    Jesse saw them first, four black shapes winging their way through the evening sky. He nudged Chris and pointed them out, watching in fascination as they came closer, drawn by the distressed sound that Chris made.
    The ravens were large, with bright sharp eyes and heavy sharp bills, their glossy feathers reminding him of Chris’s hair. One of them perched above Chris’s head, within arm’s reach, and clucked at him.
    Chris blinked up at the bird, then made a more inquisitive rusty-gate sound, followed by a quork .
    Another of the birds hopped down from its branch and lit beside the first one, twisting its head this way and that to get a look at Chris. The two of them murmured together, then the first raven clucked and chirruped at the man.
    Jesse held his breath as they spoke, human and bird, trying to decipher the look on Chris’s face. Were these his parents? Or maybe aunts, uncles, or other relatives? Was this a happy reunion? Did either of them truly understand what was being said?
    And then came other questions, like what if Chris turned back into a bird? What if he turned into a bird? (On the one hand, he and Chris could be together and no one could complain. On the other, his parents would be really upset, and he would miss his friends and stuff. On top of that, eating garbage didn’t appeal to him.)
    They were men, sitting in this tree, men who smelled of the city. It would have been prudent—normal—to avoid them. However, one of them had sounded like a hatchling, alone and needing succor. A hatchling alone was not something Light-on-water could ignore, not after five broods of her own.
    She could not understand how this big pale lumpy man, who was nothing like her sleek mate or their perfectly shaped offspring, could speak to her. Light-on-water could hear, in the strangely accented notes, the echoes of her lost one, the one who had disappeared.
    “Leave men,” Fell-from-tree said, from the far end of a branch. “Bad.”
    “Bad!” Plays-with-stones echoed, ever the little sister. “Bad, bad men.”
    “Not bad!” Chris said, putting his arm around Jesse. “This one is good. He feeds me good food, feeds me eggs and liver and meat.”
    “Liver!” Plays-with-stones said, and fluttered up to sit right above Jesse’s head. She leaned over and peered at him. “Liver? Give it!”
    “He doesn’t have any,” Chris said. “Not now.”
    “Sings-like-water?”
    Chris wobbled sharply as he turned to look at Light-on-water, his mouth hanging open. “Sings—Who is that?”
    “You, you are my lost Sings-like-water,” she said, dropping from wood to warm shoulder. She pushed her beak into his hair and tried to straighten it, but it wasn’t nearly as cooperative as feathers or baby down. “What happened? Why are you like this?”
    “He is a man! Not yours!” Fell-from-tree squawked.
    “He has not been right since he fell,” Light-on-water said, then nibbled at Chris’s hair again.
    “My mother was Laughs-and-straightens,” Chris said. “Is that you?”
    “You called me that as a hatchling, but my name is Light-on-water,” she said. “Why? Where are your beautiful wings, your fine tail?”
    “I don’t know,” Chris said. “I remember I fell. I fell, because I gave up my wings. For something I could not find in the sky. This one.” He patted Jesse.
    “How?” Sees-caches said, creeping along the branch toward the man and his own mate.
    “I don’t know,” Chris said. “I don’t know anything.”
    “Strange,”