Silver Feather

A great bird

It was my turn to man the watchtower, overlooking the territory. After a while, I'd gotten used to the view and was comfortable with my newspaper and cigar. From this vantage point, one could see lakes, rivers, forests, mountains, deserts, icy wastelands. It had been said that the Great Bird would appear at the crux of these environments, so that's where our tribe had built the tower hundreds of years ago.

Nobody I knew had ever seen it in all this time of course, but we were sworn to uphold the tradition, and a small village had formed around the tower spiralling hundreds of feet high, threatening the clouds without breaching them. The paper had nothing interesting to offer, and by the second day I'd finished my cigar.

I dropped the butt over the edge, watching it twirl in a whirl of weak ash and flame, admiring its flight.

“Don't do that.” a voice squeaked.

“Marv!” I cried, jolting forward and almost over the edge of the balcony, barely catching myself from falling over the edge. “Goddamn you scared me.”

“People get hurt that way!” he continued to chide, indignant that I hadn't acknowledged his disappointment. He looked like a little wooden doll, I'd always thought, and the old man was hard to take seriously.

“Ok, I'm sorry. It's boring up here, Marv.”

“I know it is, kid. So you're not 'the one' either I can only assume.”

“I've not seen the bird if that's what you mean. With respect, I've been up here a few days. I need to get back to my family soon.”

“You've got to do your shift, tradition is tradition. I just came up to check on you, Cheryl made a nice pecan pie...” said Marv, hoisting up a little straw basket.

“Oh, thanks. Can't I just skip the next couple days? What's so great about this 'bird' anyway?”

Marv became animated. “You know the stories, he's a great beast of silver wings, spanning many feet across. A single feather from his breast can grant you eternal life, they say.”

“Ironically, whoever first made up that story didn't live long enough to tell us in person. I'm cynical, and frankly so is everyone else, see?”

Marv didn't respond. At first, I thought he'd had enough of me and had decided not to listen, but I saw something reflected in his bottle-glasses. A flash of silver, as I felt the air rushing towards me and a looming shadow cast over the lookout.

To our amazement, the Great Bird himself had arrived, thudding down behind me.

“Is that pecan pie?” The bird squawked from its mighty silver beak, jutting out like a hook from between it's glistening grey eyes.

Marv was too stunned to say anything, looking as though he'd been caught out in a great lie.

“Uh...are you the Great Bird of legend, from whom a single wing can grant eternal life?”

“Depends.” the bird quipped. “Is that pecan pie?”

“Yeah, it sure is. Marv here, his wife made it just this morning. I was hoping it'd be a little treat whilst I sit here waiting for you.”

“Ok, well, here I am. About that pie...”

“But...” Marv piped up. “...why have you not shown up before, in hundreds of years? Is our boy here the 'chosen one'?”

“Chosen one?” the bird reared its head. “Oh...uh, yeah yeah yeah. The chosen one, bringer of pies, destined to be blessed by...me, I suppose. So it's fresh huh? It still looks nice and warm, if I had lips I'd be lickin' em right now.”

“Please ancient one, impart us with a feather of eternal life in exchange for this pie!”

The bird, had it had shoulders, looked as though it would have shrugged them at that moment. In a single flap of its great wings, it loomed forward and tossed the pie into the air with its mighty beak. It flung its head up to catch it, savouring it for just a moment before knocking it back in a powerful, rocking gulp.

A single feather, as long across as Marv was tall, had drifted slowly to his feet.

“Thanks.” the bird hummed.

“Will your feather really grant eternal life?” I asked.

“How would we know? I've had feathers for most of my life, and I haven't died yet. Well, thanks again. See you in another few hundred years I guess.”

The bird pushed itself off from our lookout with such strength as to threaten to knock it over. Before we had anything else to say, it had vanished in a swooping flash of silver.