Strickland reads the article despite the fact it’s pitch dark. He frowns before staring back at his heir but buries the growl of distaste that the knowledge of his son fraternizing brings. He needs access to this information, but since he banned that strange girl from their presence, he had hoped his son would choose to stay with his own kind. This twisted fascination with them needs to be bled out of him if he’s to lead the Shadows one day.
“Hmph,” the Sire grunts, slipping the folded paper inside his cracked, leather vest. He wants to ban his son from traveling to her, but the alternative is worse. Without visiting the girl, Rockland would resort to using that device she gifted him with. The less his son is seen by the fledgers and pups with that thing, glowing in his face and barking in his pants, the better. “Keep me updated,” he growls, turning.
“Wait.”
Rockland notices the tension ripple across his father’s shoulders. He senses the Sire considers being in his son’s company a form of punishment. What will the Fold say? What will the lower Clip members think? Why isn’t what his son thinks and feels of any importance? Rockland winces, trying to gain control of his emotions before his father sees his weakness and adds it to his list of sins. Connie’s words have set his emotions on fire, burning the calm control he needs when facing Strickland.
“A quarter of a mile from Wolfpen Gap, I heard an owl call. It sounded like a Great Horned.”
Strickland finally faces him. “You sure?”
“Not a hundred percent. I couldn’t sight the beast, but I sensed the danger.” He swallows, waiting for the repercussions of his admission.
Strickland shakes his head. “And I’m to trust your instincts? Instincts you never let free for fear of it making you less of a man!”
Rockland looks away, sighing. “Whether I’m a man or a bat,” he whispers in a harsh tone, “I’m still a Camazotz, and I would never endanger the colony—ever!”
“You told those aeronaughts where we roost!” the Sire yells. “The one promise a true Camazotz would rather die than break. Yet, you blurt it out like some feeble female.”
Rocks’ fists form at his sides. His father is out of line in so many ways, but he doesn’t miss the sting in his words. Maybe Strickland would’ve preferred he died? The insult to him is yet another to add to the pile. But females have worth, and just like the aeronaught population eventually allowed them to vote, the Camazotz need to as well.
“What my mother sees in you I will never understand,” Rocks growls. “Doesn’t her opinion—”
“Enough!” the Sire roars. “You need to keep quiet and obey my commands. That aeronaught is not to enter here without my prior knowledge. Clear?”
“She has done nothing but try to help us.”
“Are. We. Clear?”
The beast inside Rockland wants to go for his jugular. Instead of pushing down the anger and resentment, he lets it loose.
“Why should I listen to you or any of the elders here? You never listen to anyone else. Maybe if you had listened more, you’d have known your daughter didn’t think aeronaughts were the enemy either. Maybe she’d have told us she was getting fixed. But she was so scared of the consequences because of you!”
Strickland is on his son and has a fistful of his shirt, pulling him down closer to his height. “How dare you put that on me—”
“Well, who else should I blame? Zada? Judge? Zander? Do you think it was them that made her so secretive? Now Elm and Oak are gone too. Do you really not see the pattern, father?”
“Do not speak to me in that tone!”
“Why? Who else is going to stand up to you if I don’t? They were born human, and I’m guessing—like me—they felt more comfortable in this skin.” Strickland jerks back, letting go of his son as though touching the naught lover might be contagious. “But I was never allowed to talk to them because of Cypress. That man is so full of hate and anger—Macallister too. How can you not see it? Their dislike isn’t about what’s best for this colony. They’re afraid.”
“How dare you say a Fold member is afraid! What in heaven’s name did I do to deserve your disrespect and insolence?”
“Nothing, father,” he says quietly, turning to walk away. “You’ve done nothing for me my whole life, except hope I’ll grow out of my human phase.”
Rockland stalks off into the night leaving his father silent in the darkness.
* * * * *
Decker’s feet dangle high above the ground. He’s straddling a thick limb in the ancient fir tree, picking at the smooth bark between his legs while watching his brother. Rockland is sitting below, leaning his back against the round trunk in silence with his legs stretched along the solid branch. He hasn’t said a word since he flipped. They’re waiting for Ezra and Jeremiah to return to the roost before the meeting commences.
Decker plucks a cone from the branch above, spinning it in his fingers. “So LittleStar wants to go for a moonlit flight later tonight.”
He waits for his brother to respond to his big news, but after a minute, pelts the cone at Mr. Selective Hearing instead.
“Hey!” Rocks rubs his skull where the missile made contact, looking up at his best friend.
“Did you hear me?”
“What?”
“Earth to Rockland, a female asked me to go flying tooo-niiight!” He rubs his hands together, trying but failing to hide his excitement.
“Are you ready for that? How old is she?”
“Turned nineteen two nights ago. Now she’s an adult, she’s getting busy. I’m trying to work out how I can persuade her to flip for a bit.”
“Why would you want her to flip? Don’t tell me nobody explained to you what those flights are about, little brother.”
The evening sky doesn’t hide the blush on Decker’s cheerful cheeks.
“Ha-ha. I’m perfectly aware, thank you, but you know why I want her to flip?” He waits a second. “So I can experience making … What does Connie call it? Making up?”
Faster than he flips, Rocks snatches three pinecones and fires them directly at Decker. His brother ducks and weaves the incoming projectiles trying not to fall off the limb. “I told you NOT to tell anyone about that! God, Decker! Connie would kill me.”
“I haven’t! Well, I won’t be until later when I’m trying to convince LittleStar,” he jokes. “You never give me any of the juicy details, brother. Who else is going to guide me into adulthood?” He winks.
Decker watches the sadness fill Rockland’s eyes. When his brother notices his stare, the vacant look from earlier returns to match his sour mood. If it’s possible for Rockland to avoid contact with the colony even more than he already does, then that’s how he’s been for the past few nights.
“You gonna tell me who drained your best goat?” Decker waits. “You don’t think the Sire was serious when he banned Connie, do you?”
Rocks sighs and looks back up at his brother. “I do, but her ban isn’t the problem. She ended it.”
“Ended what?”
“It’s called breaking up. We aren’t dating any more. She asked me not to visit.”
“Ah, shit, man. I’m sorry. You serious? I mean, you have seen how that girl looks at you, right? If LittleStar looked at me with even half of that, I’d be sweet.”
“You know LittleStar’s Daddy looks at you with that and more. He’s after the blood in your veins. Figures if his little girl can’t be a Fold member, then she might as well mate one.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know what he’s planning, but, hey, I might as well enjoy the ride.”
* * * * *
Deep underground, Rockland leans against the limestone wall, waiting for the last few Camazotz to arrive. The match in his fingers sparks to life, illuminating the damp walls. The sacred meeting cavern is lower than the main cave the bats use to roost. It can only be accessed as the bat flies, down a thin fissure in the floor, and entrance is by invite only. This ground is strictly reserved for Fold and Clip matters.
Strickla
nd takes his human form a second later, calling the meeting open. “Flip.”
Rockland lights the ancient glass lantern that hangs permanently in the cavern. The Camazotz don’t necessarily need the light to see, but all past generations and hopefully future ones have lit the single lantern for meetings. The flickering, golden light signals proceedings have begun. The shadows of the members dance on the cavern walls making it seem like twice their number are present.
Meetings of this nature require every Fold member with his heir, and each Clip member and his heir to be in attendance. More than a dozen men take seats on the stools carved from the remains of stalagmites so the rows standing at the back can see their leader.
“Volunteers for the envoy to Vuelo de la Muerte?”
Rockland eyes his father in the center of the circle, arms folded—a man of few words and even less emotion. He wonders if the Sire warned the others the owls may have returned. Rocks has avoided any and all contact with his father and the Fold since they had words, and he hates himself a little more for even worrying about their argument. Deep down, he knows he owes his father the respect his position demands, but the arrogance the Sire exudes drives Rockland beyond control, not to mention the fact his father never talks about anything emotional—particularly Celand.
Pegasus is the first to volunteer, and his sire, Peryton, pats his broad shoulder. The pride is evident across his features making Rockland look away. Cypress steps up, looking at his son. Ash jumps off the cold, stone seat he’s slumped in and nods once at Strickland, trying to act cool.
“Of course, you’ll go. Thank you, Cypress. Speak directly with your mate if you can,” Strickland orders.
“I’ll go,” Levi announces. “Since Mazal has another pup on the way, I put forward to have Jeremiah accompany me.”
“Done,” Strickland replies, looking around the circle of remaining members. Five is not enough to send safely by air. “Any Clip?” He ignores the hiss of surprise from certain wings. On envoys of this importance, the Clips stay on duty at the colony, but drastic times call for drastic measures.
“Foxfire and I volunteer, Sire, with honor,” Foxhunt’s voice booms from the darkness at the very back of the large circle. The two men step into the light.
Rocks smiles seeing the look of excitement on his third cousin’s face. Foxfire has always been ambitious, but their wing doesn’t have the numbers. The young Camazotz with shaggy hair and a tattoo of a small bat with three stars trailing in its wake high on his cheekbone stands tall. Relations between Rockland and Foxfire have been strained since his regular visits to an aeronaught were made public knowledge. Rockland wonders what their wing think now having seen his miraculous recovery.
“Count me in, Sire,” Rockland says behind his father.
“That’s eight,” states Strickland.
Cypress surges forward demanding Rockland is left at the roost to babysit the pups. He states he should not be trusted since he couldn’t be trusted to keep their location a secret. Rockland waits—not daring to move—watching for his father’s reaction, and wondering for how many years he’s going to pay the price for Decker telling Connie about their roost. He’s desperate to look at Decker to make sure his brother doesn’t open his big, honest mouth, but he focuses on the hard shoulders of his father instead. Cypress stands facing his fellow Fold members and continues his rant.
“Why should he be sent to represent the colony? Only the most worthy members should be given duties of such importance. It misleads the lower wings into thinking that he” —Cypress jabs a finger in Rockland’s direction— “might be worth voting for one day. Sends conflicting messages.”
“What do you mean by lower wings, Cypress?” Rockland asks, moving out from behind Strickland.
“Watch your tone, boy!” Cypress puffs out his chest trying to look as big as the tall male challenging him.
“Forgive me, sir. But could you please explain, because I thought we referred to them as smaller wings. Aren’t all the members of this colony on the same level?” A rumble passes through the meeting, but nobody speaks up. “Father? What do you say?” Rockland’s eyes never leave Cypress.
“Quiet. I don’t have time for this. Back to the volunteers. Who else feels Rockland shouldn’t represent us?”
Rockland doesn’t miss the subtle movements in the outer circle. His father should have addressed Cypress’ choice of words and reassured the Clip that they matter. Every single member matters when numbers are threatened. Rockland closes his eyes and takes a calming breath. Always disappointed by his father’s leadership; will there ever be a day he isn’t?
“I refuse to listen to my nephew’s honor being debated again. We voted, and he was cleared of his crime—allowed to live amongst us.” Zander’s cool voice echoes around the high chamber.
Rockland’s eyes move from Fold member to Fold member watching for a reaction to the use of the term nephew. A not-so-subtle reminder that the young man’s veins carry more than one powerful wing’s blood.
Levi speaks next which leaves Rocks quiet. “He is the biggest and fastest flyer. If we are attacked, he has a better chance of leaving the envoy to reach help. I want him by my side, and I know my son will agree.”
“Yeah, he’s good at leaving his own kind. He’s proved that time and time again,” Ash sneers.
The Sire turns his back on Cypress and his taunting heir. “Pegasus? Foxhunt? What do you say?”
The vote is a landslide, and Rockland becomes the eighth and final member to accompany them.
* * * * *
Rockland is restless and annoyed by the time the envoys land at the Vuelo de la Muerte compound. He likes Pegasus a lot, but flying with the muscle-bound giant is painfully tedious over short distances, and downright torture over long ones. He’s possibly the slowest flyer at the colony. Cypress commanded they remain in official formation for the whole journey, leaving Rockland no choice but to distract himself from the boring flight with images of the golden girl.
Thinking of Connie leads him to the one place he tries to avoid—the pit of self-loathing and hate. He spent so many of his fledgling years feeling guilty and confused by his need to be human, and yet, as an adult, he’s no closer to understanding what’s right. Being a bat saved his life when his wing healed, but his Camazotz duty lost him the only person he’s ever fallen in love with. The one person that’s ever made him smile everyday and allowed him to embrace his human side. The one person the animal he battles with was able to save, only to lose her later because of it.
The group transform in the trees by the side of the empty road, no fear of their miracle being witnessed at this early hour. Pegasus is red in the face and wipes sweat from his forehead, gulping the cool oxygen. Foxhunt checks that the young male is all right, before stepping in next to Cypress.
Large, silver metal gates block the once open entrance. “These are new,” Levi comments, eyeing the eight-foot high barricade. “Should we flip on the other side?”
The group stills, their Camazotz senses checking the surrounding area. “Something feels wrong,” Rockland says just above a whisper, cocking his head left and right. He wonders where the colony got the funds to install fencing of this quality as he eyes the solid steel running down the length of the perimeter for as far as the eye can see.
A series of metallic clicks followed by a low whirring has the group of men stepping away from the heavy gates that slowly begin to open of their own accord.
“What—”
“Aeronaught gadgetry?”
Rocks gives Jeremiah a quick glance. Connie had explained the magic of remote controls late one night, when Rocks saw the neighbor across the road stop his car in the driveway. Nobody got out of the vehicle, but the large door panel that was illuminated by the bright headlights began to open—seemingly by magic. He was fascinated, and the boys have witnessed the phenomenon on several occasions when they’ve been hanging outside her room.
Halfway open, the gate stops with another cl
ick. “It’s all right. I’ve seen similar to this before. It’s safe,” Rocks explains, stepping through the gap into the compound.
The group makes their way on foot up the long, asphalt drive. It’s been laid recently and still has a strong odor that tickles the Camazotz’s keen senses. Waiting on the front porch of the wooden house, which seems out of place surrounded by low concrete buildings, are two Vuelo de la Muerte Fold members dressed entirely in black—Océano and Sandía. Standing as guards on either side in the shade of the porch are two tough-looking youths.
Océano manages a weak smile. “Greetings to you, Shadows. I hope you had a safe journey.” Her eyes check each member is in one piece. The owls are clearly still terrorizing this colony too.
“Greetings, Vuelo de la Muerte. Lovely to see you again, Océano,” Cypress replies with a curt head bow. “Sandía. Is your Sire present?”
He explains they have come to discuss the matter of the bat attacks on the aeronaught population. Rockland studies the sentinel guards behind them. Neither of these two are the heirs of the Fold members. Although he’s rarely by Strickland’s side when colony business is conducted, he’s the oddity. Most Fold members have their heir close to use any opportunity to teach them what will be expected should they be voted into leadership.
Stepping around the Shadows and Muerte Fold members, he approaches the pair.
“I’m Rockland, son of Strickland,” he announces, holding out his arm in the Camazotz formal greeting style. The male stares at his offered hand, raising an eyebrow, and then grinning to the female on his right. He eventually grips Rockland’s forearm with enough force to break it again and shakes once.
“Temblor.”
The skin on the back of both hands of the big male is covered in thick ink. The Camazotz has tattooed the anatomically accurate bones that lay beneath his skin over the surface, but it’s the freshly heeled scar across his face that interests Rocks. The puffy, pink gash runs from high in the center of his forehead, across his left eye before disappearing into the scruffy hair somewhere near his ear.
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