Echo was thrilled. Tomorrow would be her first day teaching history at Spruce University Middle School, working under preeminent historian Professor Albitrove. She only wished her mate, Peter, shared her enthusiasm.
“Pity you can’t tell them the whole truth,” Peter said as the pair sat together after dinner, preening in the upper reaches of the tree they called home.
Echo didn’t want to argue. This was her favorite time of day. The muted light from the setting sun was filtering through the leaves and the forest around them was filled with birdsong. Echo wanted to join the chorus.
“It’s a beautiful evening, Peter. Let’s just sing.”
Peter hopped back a step and turned to face her. “I’m worried about you, Echo.”
“Why?” she asked.
Peter sighed. “Don’t you remember what happened to Professor Pip?”
“That was historical revisionism. He taught—”
“We don’t know what he taught, Echo. We only know what he didn’t teach. He didn’t teach that birds are invincible because we’re the smartest animals on Earth.”
“We are the smartest animals, Peter, you know that. And you know the story I’ll tell tomorrow. It’s all true, isn’t it?”
“It’s true as far as it goes,” he admitted. “But humans were smart and versatile, much like birds. They fell precisely because they thought they were invincible. Don’t you ever worry that might happen to birds?”
“But that’s the very reason we study history, Peter! We can learn from their mistakes.”
Peter sighed. “Are you sure it won’t be an affront to Old Man Albitrove’s avian pride to even suggest that birds could make those same mistakes?”
“Of course not!” Echo replied. “He’ll want young birds to learn as much as possible! And I wish you wouldn’t call him that. Professor Albitrove is a respected historian.”
“I hope you’re right, Echo, but I’m not so sure.”
Echo hopped toward Peter and pressed her wing against his, knowing her words weren’t enough to ease his fear. Tomorrow, things would go swimmingly, and Peter would see that she was right. Then they would sing together in the evenings once again. Echo took comfort in this as they sat in silence, listening to the songs of others in the deepening twilight.
The next morning, Echo alighted on one of the lower branches of the Year Four tree. Before her, eighteen young birds perched along the three other branches that formed her classroom. Little of the story she was to tell was new to them. Birds had sung out tales of their heroic ancestors since before recorded history. Echo did her best to bring the story to life.
“The dinosaurs, our ancestors, once dominated the Earth. They grew larger and stronger until they came to rely upon their incredible size.” Here, Echo raised her crest.
She continued. “Then, the climate changed. Though large and powerful, most dinosaurs were not smart or versatile. Unable to find warmth or new sources of food, they soon disappeared.” Echo pretended to shiver. “But some smaller, bird-like dinosaurs were more resourceful than their larger cousins. They learned to find food and shelter.
“Birds adapted and thrived after the First Cataclysm, but they did not come to dominate the new world. Instead, a new species rose to take the dinosaurs’ place at the top—human beings.
“Although smarter and more adaptable than dinosaurs, humans too were destroyed. When the climate changed again, they relied on their technology for survival, just as dinosaurs had relied on their size and strength. But technology offered as little protection against a warming world as size and strength had offered dinosaurs against a cooling world.
“After the Second Cataclysm, the water receded, and birds rose to take our rightful place at the top. You’ve all heard the tales of the heroes who guided us through the dark days—Velcore the raven, Pello the eagle, Lomax the hawk. They relied on their cunning, sharp vision, and ability to fly as they learned to navigate the new world.”
Echo surveyed the faces of her students, satisfied to find all eyes riveted on her. Next came the hard part of the lesson.
“Of course, not every bird can be a folkloric hero,” she said. “What are some lessons ordinary birds can learn from the story?” The young birds stared at her blankly. After a minute that felt like an eternity, a small green bird on the rear branch raised his beak, timidly. “Yes, Kye?”
“Is it that birds are the smartest animals on Earth?”
“That’s true. But humans were smart too, and it didn’t help them during the Second Cataclysm. Can we learn anything from their mistakes?”
“Ooh, I know, I know!” A bright red bird in the second row was hopping up and down on her branch. Echo waited to give Kye a chance to answer. When he remained silent, she called on the eager red bird. “Birds can fly! Humans should’ve made wings for themselves.”
“Yes, Clarissa, flight was very important to our survival. But remember, some dinosaurs could fly, too, and they didn’t survive the First Cataclysm.” Echo scanned the rows of young birds, looking for another volunteer. Seeing none, she continued. “Kye and Clarissa both made important points. Our intellect and our ability to fly have helped birds for millions of years. But let’s look deeper. For your first homework assignment, I want you to list things the dinosaurs and humans had in common. Tomorrow, we’ll talk about those things and see if they hold any lessons for birds.”
The next day, Professor Albitrove was waiting for Echo when she arrived. “I need a word with you. If you’ll just come with me.”
“But my class—”
“Professor Lylah will fill in. Come.”
Arguing would have been pointless. Echo followed Albitrove across campus to a secluded branch at the top of the main administration tree.
“Now then, Professor Echo, we need to talk about your curriculum. You are aware, I presume, of how important it is to teach young birds that we’ve survived these millions of years because we’re the smartest animals on Earth.”
“Yes, of course, Sir.”
“Good. We want our youth to take pride in their avian heritage! But I must warn you to tread with caution.” He leaned forward. “It’s one thing to talk about the mistakes of dinosaurs and humans, but you came dangerously close to suggesting birds are fallible enough to make the same mistakes. You mustn’t do that. Historical revisionism is frowned upon. Please be more careful.”
“Yes, of course, Professor Albitrove.”
“Very well. You’re dismissed. You’ll teach your class tomorrow morning.”
Echo silently fumed as she left Albitrove’s office. She flew aimlessly through the forest for over an hour to blow off steam. Echo had as much avian pride as the next bird! How could he suggest otherwise?
Still angry, Echo landed on the branch of an unfamiliar maple to rest. She wasn’t lost, not really. Although her sense of direction was impeccable, she’d been too distracted to notice where she was flying. Once she rested, Echo would take flight and match the view of the landscape below with the map imprinted in her brain, then she’d find her way home with ease.
“You’re not going to steal my seeds, are you?” A voice behind her startled Echo. She turned to see a small red squirrel inches away. The squirrel stood between Echo and the maple’s trunk, glaring.
“No,” she stammered. “Of course not.” Echo knew that some mammals had survived the Second Cataclysm—mammals who could climb, like squirrels and chipmunks, and others who knew to retreat to higher ground, like foxes—but it wasn’t often a bird came face to face with one.
“Best not. My babies are in my nest, and I’ll fight you if I must. I know you birds think you’re superior because you have beaks and wings, but we squirrels can be tough.”
Echo laughed quietly. She couldn’t help wondering what squirrel historians taught about the cataclysms.
“What’s so funny?” the squirrel demanded. She stood on her hind legs and stretched her tail to its full length, waving its tip. “You don’t believe I can protect my babies?”
Echo took a step backwards and lowered her head slightly. “I wasn’t laughing at that,” she said. “It’s just—well, I’ve had a rough day. I was thinking about something else. May I rest in your tree for a while? I mean your babies no harm.”
The squirrel lowered her front paws and allowed her tail to curl behind her back. “Yes,” she said.
“Thank you.” Echo stood on one leg and puffed her feathers, relaxing for the first time since she’d left home that morning. “I suppose I should introduce myself. My name is Echo.”
“Sylvia.”
“Pleased to meet you, Sylvia. May I ask you something?”
Sylvia nodded.
“What do squirrels learn about the cataclysms?”
“Cataclysms?” The squirrel tilted her head to the side, puzzled.
“You know, the times the climate changed and killed the dinosaurs and humans. What do you learn about how squirrels survived?”
“The truth, of course!”
“But what is the truth to a squirrel?”
“Life was easy before the Big Warm. Nuts and seeds were plentiful, and humans left food around for animals to eat. Birds didn’t try to steal our food then, the way you do now, at least the smaller birds didn’t. Some say that’s because birds had more to eat then, too. Others say birds weren’t as mean because it was humans who ruled the world. Whatever the reason, legend has it some squirrels forgot where they hid their stores of nuts. Why bother remembering when you can easily find more?
“The Big Warm came and the water rose. Squirrels had to climb high in the trees to survive. It was harder to find nuts and seeds, but we got by on leaves and fruits. Sometimes, squirrels helped chipmunks and even birds find food—and they helped us too. When the Big Warm ended and the water level fell, humans were gone. Birds got better at stealing our food, so we got better at hiding it, and we’re still here.
“That’s the truth, and that’s what we learn. We just don’t talk about it as much as you birds, always singing in the treetops about how special you think you are. Why do you do that?”
Echo thought carefully before answering. “Song has always been important to birds. It helped us get through two cataclysms.”
“Squirrels evolved after the Big Cold you sing about, but we got through the Big Warm without singing. We just chitter and go about our business. What’s the big deal?”
Sylvia had a point. Birds used song to communicate, but they could communicate the most important things with words. In the days between the cataclysms, many bird species sang to determine pecking order, but now birds vied for positions within the flock based on their skills. Still, Echo couldn’t imagine a world without song.
“I suppose it just sounds beautiful,” she said. “We may not need song to survive, but life is richer with its beauty.”
She didn’t expect Sylvia to understand, but the squirrel surprised her. “That’s how smell is for squirrels! I can’t eat most flowers, but they smell divine! If I lost my sense of smell, I’d still be able to find food, but oh, how I’d miss smelling the flowers!”
“That’s exactly how I feel about song!”
“Maybe squirrels and birds have more in common than you thought.”
This caught Echo off guard. She’d always believed birds had more in common with dinosaurs and humans than many wanted to admit, but similarities with less dominant creatures? The thought had never crossed her mind.
“Perhaps we do,” she replied. “You’ve been very helpful, Sylvia. Thank you.”
The squirrel chuckled. “Helpful with what? You birds do learn history, don’t you?”
“Of course, we do!” Echo said, puffing her feathers with pride. “I teach history to young birds and, well, there’s been a bit of a discussion at my school over just how to teach that history.”
“Oh! You’re a teacher?”
Echo nodded.
“Me too! See? I told you we had a lot in common! Listen, Echo, I teach Year One acrobatics, not history, but as a mother, I try to teach my babies everything they need to know about how to survive in this world as a squirrel. If you ask me, your young birds will understand best if you tell them everything—the good, the bad, and everything in between. They already know what’s in those dopey songs you birds always sing about your history.”
It was Echo’s turn to chuckle. “Songs of our heroes are important. Velcore and Lomax were brave and kind, smart and resourceful—all the things we try to teach our young to be. But you’re right; my students do know those tales, and they do need to know more.”
The sun had dipped below the top of the canopy and was beginning to take on an orange tint. Had Echo really spent the entire afternoon with Sylvia? “I’d best get home,” she said.
“Perhaps we can chat again sometime.”
“I’d like that,” Sylvia replied.
Lifting off, Echo flew upwards until she soared above the treetops. Her eyes scanned the landscape below until it matched the map in her mind, a process that took mere seconds. Once she had her bearings, Echo swooped down and flew home through the upper reaches of the canopy.
When she reached the nest, Peter was waiting for her with a tasty casserole of bugs and seeds.
“What’s the occasion?” she asked between bites.
“You weren’t here when I got home, and I figured you had a rough day. We can talk after dinner if you like.”
“Oh, Peter! You’re the best mate in the whole world. Have I told you that lately?”
Peter puffed his chest feathers in a rare display of pride. Echo took another bite, then said, “I might like it better if we just sang together.”
After dinner, Echo and Peter sang together as they did when they were courting. They sang of love, they sang of joy, they sang of loss. They harmonized and improvised. But Echo’s soul did not soar as it usually did when they filled the air with song.
“I’m sorry, Peter,” she said at last. “My heart just isn’t in it. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“I do,” Peter said. “Something’s weighing on your mind, something too heavy to be dispelled even with song. Why don’t you tell me what’s troubling you? Perhaps I can help.”
“I don’t think I can teach what Albitrove wants me to teach,” she blurted out. “We owe younger birds the truth, and what he wants me to teach isn’t the truth. Not the whole truth, anyway.”
“What do you think you’ll do?”
“I don’t know, Peter. If they banish me like they banished Pip, you’ll be hurt too, but if I toe the line or stop teaching, I’ll be letting my students down.”
For a while, Peter said nothing. He leaned against Echo’s wing and preened her feathers, offering the sort of wordless comfort that soothes a bird’s soul. After a time, he asked, “Want to tell me what happened today?”
“Have you ever met a squirrel?”
He looked at her quizzically. “No. Why?”
Echo told Peter about Sylvia and her tale of survival. “I don’t know how much is true,” she said when she finished recounting Sylvia’s story. “Squirrels likely sanitize their history just like birds do. But they did survive the Second Cataclysm, and they do share a forest with us. What they do affects us, and what we do affects them. Just like when humans were here.”
“What humans did to the forest had a huge impact on all animals, birds included.”
“Shouldn’t we be teaching the history of all who live in our forest? Isn’t it all part of our history too?”
“If I had my druthers, that’s exactly what young birds would learn,” Peter said. “But it’s not up to me.”
“I’m considering teaching about mammals,” Echo said. “Don’t get me wrong—I’d still focus on birds. And I’d still appeal to Albitrove’s avian pride. I can emphasize how much we helped other animals, and I can talk about how much better off everyone in the forest is now than they were when humans were here. But it would still be a risk. Just like you warned me.”
Peter leaned against Echo. “If you want to take that risk, you have my support. If you’re banished, we’ll start over together wherever they send you.”
The next day, Echo returned to the school to share her newfound knowledge with her students. “Yesterday, I met a squirrel who told me what her people learn about how they survived the Second Cataclysm.” Echo repeated Sylvia’s story, careful to omit any references to birds stealing from squirrels. “Does anyone have questions?”
A yellow bird raised her beak. “Did squirrels really help birds find food, Professor?”
“It’s possible,” Echo replied. “They’re not as smart as birds, and they’re not able to fly or see great distances as we are, but their sense of smell is quite keen.” Several members of the class wiggled their beaks as if trying to use their nostrils to sniff the air.
Echo continued. “You know how different birds in the flock have different skills?” Her students nodded. “That’s one reason we live in flocks. We can do more together than we can alone. Food wasn’t as plentiful during the Second Cataclysm as it is now. If squirrels could sniff out food with their noses, wouldn’t it be smart to work together for the common good?”
Some of her students nodded their heads, while others continued wiggling their beaks trying to sniff the air. Still others appeared lost in thought.
Just then, Albitrove alighted on the branch beside Echo. “Class will be dismissed early.” His announcement was met with a chorus of excited chirps.
Once the young birds had dispersed, Albitrove bellowed, “I thought I warned you!”
“You did warn me,” Echo said in a calm voice that belied her inner fear. “You warned me to avoid historical revisionism, and I’ve done just that. Nothing I’ve taught is untrue.”
“Birds have never needed help from other animals, and we never will! That is what we teach our youngsters.”
Echo refused to back down. “Birds are the smartest animals on Earth, just as I taught. But we didn’t survive the cataclysms alone.”
“You’re relieved of your duties as of now. You can’t be banished until you’ve had a fair trial, but until that time, you’re to avoid contact with any young birds who might be susceptible to your influence.”
“And what if I leave of my own accord?”
“That’s certainly an option,” Albitrove said. “If you leave of your own volition, I suggest you go far away, and soon.”
Echo flew home and waited for Peter. “Not unexpected,” he said when she told him about her confrontation with Albitrove.
“No,” Echo agreed. “But it’s still unfair.”
“I know, Echo. You’ll just have to hope you planted a seed in some of their minds. And who knows? We may find a new flock that’s more open-minded. That’s one good thing about leaving before they can banish you—we can choose our own destination.”
Early the next morning, Peter and Echo set out in search of a new life. Before departing, they stopped at Sylvia’s tree to say goodbye.
“Oh dear,” Sylvia said when Echo explained why she was leaving. “I’m afraid I’ve caused a lot of trouble, haven’t I?”
“You only told me what I wanted to know,” Echo replied. “And despite what’s happened, I’m glad you did! You helped me see things more clearly.”
“We should go,” Peter said. “We have a long flight ahead of us, and I’d like to put distance between us and this flock as soon as possible.” He nodded to the squirrel. “It was nice meeting you, Sylvia.”
“Nice meeting you, too.” She nodded at Peter, then turned to Echo. “I almost forgot to tell you! A little yellow bird visited my tree yesterday. She asked if it was true that squirrels and birds once helped each other find food. I told her it was true, and I told her lots of other animals helped each other, too.”
“That must be Kiana! She’s one of my students. I mean, she was one of my students. I wonder what made her come here.”
Sylvia replied, “She said she was doing a research project for her science class about interspecies cooperation in preserving the forest.”
“That’s a cutting-edge field,” Peter said. “Not too well-known in this flock, but it’s gaining traction with the flocks on the other side of the creek.”
After a final round of goodbyes, Echo and Peter lifted off and flew straight up until they were high enough to soar on the wind. Then they flew west into unknown territory.
As dusk faded into darkness, they stopped for the night. Even though they were tired from their long flight, the pair sang together in the branches of a sycamore tree before drifting off to sleep. For the first time in a long while, Echo’s spirit soared as they filled the cool night air with songs of adventure and hope.
About the author: Jenna Hanan Moore loves to travel, take pictures, drink coffee, and immerse herself in nature or a good story. She lives with her husband and dog, currently in southern Illinois, but she left her heart in the Pacific Northwest. Her tales appear in places like Luna Station Quarterly, The Lorelei Signal, 365 Tomorrows, Twenty-two Twenty-eight, and Friday Flash Fiction, with forthcoming stories in Savage Planets and AI, Robot, an anthology from Jay Henge Publishing. She is the founder and editor of Androids and Dragons.