Chapter 4: The Changelings
Puck: And jealous Oberon would have the child
Knight of his train, to trace the forests wild
But she perforce withholds the loved boy,
Crowns him with flowers, and makes him all her joy
--William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream
As mentioned, in the period between her sixth and seventh birthdays, Grace figured out that other humans could not understood the language of birds. No single, dramatic incident prompted this realization. More like a collection of tiny clues building over time. Like finding out you were color-blind in reverse. Instead, everyone else in the world was missing a section of the rainbow.
The truth lay in how adults—whether neighbors or total strangers—reacted in seeing her chatting away with birds on the street. Rocky Ashcroft, the trumpet player living directly below her family's apartment, would say "What an active imagination that one has!" with a laugh equal parts gravel and broken glass.
"Active imagination" was a phrase Grace commonly overheard when she was just trying to go about her business, the next most common being "Playing pretend." Eventually, Grace figured out both phrases were nicer ways to say "lie." When she cried to Mrs. Tatters about how badly this accusation upset her, the mother crow assured her this was always the way of things.
"It's what makes humans such easy marks," Ol' Hoary added. Baring one exception, the language of birds remained the best-kept secret on Earth. Neither Grace, nor the Murder, nor any other bird, knew why that exception just had to be her. While possible before she came along, birds rarely made efforts to communicate between different species. Crows mostly spoke to crows, ducks mostly spoke to ducks, pigeons mostly spoke about themselves. But they did so in groups of other pigeons.
Like some humans Grace observed, birds decided to keep with their own kind, which seemed a terrible waste. Consider what fun they could have if they cooperated, instead of just fighting. While the speech of birds sounded identical to Grace, Ol' Hoary insisted each race had a unique dialect. Even the same species spread over distant territory had accents clearly marking them "local" or "foreign."
Except for close family, local birds typically distrusted outsiders. Skirmishes between the family of the hidden hollow and other Murders occurred weekly until Grace set them straight. Etiquette lessons her mother and Grandmam drilled into her actually turned out to be useful for settling disputes. The girl could communicate clearly with any bird, but never controlled or coerced them into agreeing with her. She never tried to see if she could, either. Even with geese. If reasoning failed, the pranks corvids could dream up usually kept them in line till winter.
Grace had a growing dread, however, that leaving her post might destabilize the entire avian community. In the time since Jackanapes, Offal, and Ragamuffin hatched, nothing like the conflict with Chiaroscuro had occurred. The struggle between the phoenix and metal bird were in a different class entirely.
"Ow, you're pulling my pinions, Dear Lady!" Bennu wiggled on the bed while Grace struggled to put his broken wing in a splint.
"Sorry," Grace mumbled, "but quit squirming." As the daughter of a nurse, she had picked up some basic knowledge of medicine. Nothing complicated. She never had to do anything as dramatic as setting a broken arm, so did not know whether it was much different from setting a broken wing. She scavenged what materials she could from the first-aid kit her mother stashed beneath the bathroom sink and tried her best.
Scooting from the foot of her bed, Grace gave her handiwork a once-over. Though Bennu continued fidgeting, under the bandages, his wing remained in place. It seemed they had not been too late in realizing the injury was much more serious than a sprain. The girl nodded. "Okay, looks good. But just to be safe, I think it'd help if I could compare your body type to another bird. Maybe one from a field guide! With diagrams showing how skeletons fit together."

YOU ARE READING
A Messenger from Nephelokokkygia
FantasíaA Quantum Age fairy tale about birds, bunnies, bilingualism, and lunacy Fires will be started, babies will be stolen, asylums will be broken out of, spaceships will be piloted, and zombies will be cured (just not all at the same time). When: 1952...