by Johnny Benet
There was so much green. Trees with long trunks that spread out into great wide leaves high above the sand, and beneath them plants everywhere.
White sand, aqua sea, green foliage - the colors stunned Feathers. So clean and beautiful. But he felt the colors to be a little too bright, the images a bit too sharp, and in spite of its beauty, this place made him think of fang and claw.
He left turtle for a while, flying along the beach, staying a safe distance away from the trees. This was not his home, and he had no idea what creatures lived here.
The sun passed through its zenith and started its fall into afternoon. There was no river or bay. Silver fish glistened as they darted in great schools in the shallows, bird call echoed out of the jungle. Everything so full of life.
That clean white sand offered no cover or concealment. Resting there, lulled by the sound of the surf, his gaze might turn to look out upon that majestic sea. Looking out at the sea as a great cat burst out of that green, silent on that soft sand, to swallow him whole.
Out past the surf there was the deep clear water, so clear Feathers felt he could see forever into those depths. But if he could see down, the great creatures that lived in the deep sea could see up, could see Feathers sleeping under a full moon. And that would be the end of him.
There was no concealment, no safety, in this bright world, except amongst the jungle - in that dense greenery, Feathers would be concealed from sight. But he would not be able to see anything around him, and he knew that cats hunted using smell as well as sight. There was no safety in the green, either.
There would be no flock here.
In his dreams this place made him think of home. But now that he was here, all he felt was danger lurking under the surface of all that beauty. In this place, you either saw too far, or not far enough. Neither were ways he could live.
He longed for high grass and dark water. He longed for a place where you saw the world, but not too much of it. But that place was not here.
The dream had been a lie.
Feathers flew along an arc that turned him around, and put him farther away from the beach and that green foliage. He could think of only one safe place here - on the water, with turtle down below him.
He passed the rest of the day there, resting and fishing with turtle. When the sun set, he fell asleep without fear, knowing his friend was resting also, below him in the deep water. She was ancient, she had traveled far, and she knew the deep sea. No creature of the deep would get past her. Not without her warning him.
The jungle erupted into bird calls as the sun set. Then, as twilight came on, they grew quiet again. Stars appeared across the dome of the sky. A thin crescent moon bathed the beach in a dim ghostly light.
Feathers felt turtles thrum beneath him, and it comforted him as he fell into sleep.
FEATHERS WOKE SUDDENLY, alert. The moon had almost set, leaving just a trace of light that tried with all its might to penetrate the darkness. He could still see the beach, but not clearly. It was a place of shadows, and the jungle beyond was a black void that seemed to suck in the moonlight, and keep it in.
So quiet. Besides the sound of waves lapping the beach not a single sound broke the nights silence. The quiet rang in Feather's ears.
He blinked. He directed his mind down into the water beneath him. Listening. Searching. But it was not there. Turtle's thrum was not there.
Feathers erupted up into the air. He flew in a long slow circle. Nothing.
Where was turtle?
Fear for himself and fear for her. He was alone, in this darkness, alone in this place of danger. He felt an irresistible urge, a survival urge, to fly straight out to sea, low against the dark water. He would be an almost invisible black shape in this darkness. He could make it to the safety of the dark open sea.
But he resisted. He did not fly out to sea.
There was no thrumming. Turtle was hurt, something was wrong. She had not left him when he fell into the sea, and he would not leave her now. There was some safety in this darkness. For the first time, Feathers felt glad his new feathers had grown in black.
He flew up and back, scanning the beach with his eyes, scanning the water with his ears. How long had he slept? Not long enough for turtle to get far. He was sure - she was here, somewhere close.
The moon slipped further under the horizon and the light dimmed even further. The world was fading into black.
It was just before the moon disappeared entirely, when just a trace of light was left, that Feathers saw it.
A dark shape, a shadow amongst shadows, crept out of the water onto the beach. He could barely make it out, and whatever it was it would soon be invisible in this darkness.
Feathers swooped down into a low silent glide, and dared to fly over the beach. He set down quietly, close enough to see the thing, far enough to have a chance of escape if it came for him.
It had stopped crawling, but it was not still. It was doing something there.
Feathers walked closer to see, willing himself to be silent, willing himself to be invisible.
A soft wet sound. Feathers stared into the shadows where the thing was. It was in almost total darkness now.
He stepped just a little closer.
The sound was digging. The thing was digging a hole in the sand. Then it turned, lowering itself somehow, paused, and then the sound of wet sand again.
Feathers could see just enough to see it was not digging now. It was filling in the hole.
The digging stopped, and the creature rested there for a moment.
What was it!
Feathers could not make out its shape, or its features, in that darkness. And soon he would not even see it at all. The total darkness of a moonless night was coming on.
Then it turned back towards the sea, and the last light of the moon reflected from something black. Something black, and shiny, something that held infinite sadness.
And Feathers knew.
It was turtle. She had buried something under the cover of darkness, and covered it to keep it safe.
Feathers did not go to her. This was something she needed to do alone. But he did not leave her either. Instead he scanned the wall of darkness behind the beach, up and back, willing his eyes to penetrate that darkness, alert for any motion at all.
He would warn her if something came. And he would defend her too.
She started moving towards the sea. Dragging herself slowly, stopping to rest, then starting again. The rests became longer and her movement slower.
He stood silently watching.
You must make it to the water. You are not safe here.
The moon vanished and darkness took her.
Feathers still stood watch, in that total darkness. He would not see it come now. He would not see the great cat that came out of that darkness to end them. So he listened to hear it, his heart beating so hard he thought it would burst.
He fought fear and darkness, and listened.
A single quiet padding sound up the beach, then nothing. Was it a footfall?
Feathers froze. He held his breath. He screwed his eyes closed, remembering how he had saw turtles shining eye in the moonlight.
Should he warn her? But she was not far from him now, and his warning would bring the cat right to them. No, he would fly up the beach, cawing and diving at the sand, drawing the cat with him, making so much noise the cat would not hear turtle as she dragged herself to the shore.
Feathers coiled into himself and listened for one more footfall, every fiber of his body ready to fly.
When he heard it break the silence he burst into flight without thinking. But Feathers did not fly up the beach cawing, luring the great cat in the darkness away.
Instead, he turned towards the safety of the sea. He flew out past the beach and over the water, the pent-up tension releasing into flight. Relief washed over him as he heard water under him.
But still not safe.
This water was not safe.
Feathers fl
ew hard the rest of the night, away from that place. And when the sun came with another day, it shone down onto beautiful dark water.
He lowered down onto it and tucked his face into his breast.
He was safe.
And turtle was too. Because the sound he had heard was not a footfall or a low growl. It was the soft swirling of turtle slipping down into the water.
The familiar roll of the swells were so comforting. The waves rocking and his fatigue started to pull him into sleep.
But the words that had started sounding in his mind as he watched turtle fill the hole with sand kept him awake just a little longer.
The words rang, shining like a rising sun in his mind. They were the last thing he thought of as he finally drifted into sleep.
First bird.
IT FELT STRANGE NOT to have Turtle nearby when Feathers woke. If he went deep into his feelings he could just sense her thrumming, but it was just a dim hum as if from a great distance, and indistinct, as if it came from everywhere, as if it came from the sea itself.
And its weight was gone. Feathers had grown used to its terrible sad weight. Now that it was gone he felt so light and so free. Each day was a gift, and he flew high each morning after he fished for breakfast, he flew high so he could see way out over his beloved sea.
For a long time he dived as deep as he could upon waking, looking for a green shape down there in the murk. Then he would remember she was gone, and swim back up to the surface, and a new day.
There was an emptiness in his breast where she had been. So much emptiness. His flock. Turtle.
But the sun rose to greet him each day, and the waves rocked him to sleep each night.
And he could fly.
Feathers never forgot her, but as the days went by he stopped expecting her return.
And then she came to surprise him for one last time.
FEATHERS AWOKE FEELING dizzy. A deep vibration throbbed through his skull. It had started as a quiet whisper in his sleep, as if part of a dream. But the disk of the sun lifting up from the sea's edge painted the sky with colors he could never imagine, the breeze that wafted over the peaceful black water held scents whose source he would never know. No, this world around him was too big for him to imagine. This was no dream.
He was awake.
The throbbing in his head was not a dream he could not escape by waking up.
Vibration shook the world. It shook the air and the breeze disappeared, as if even the wind feared this thing. The sea shook from it deep down below.
There was no escape. It shook his mind, pushed out his thoughts, reduced him to confusion. Fear gripped Feathers in its great talons and shook him.
The rumbling rose from the deep. A wave humped out of the flat sea. But it was like no wave Feathers had seen. It formed a great circle with Feathers at its center. It did not move across the sea like a wave should. The great hoop of water surrounded him.
No. Wait. Not still.
There were shapes in the wave, moving shapes. They pushed water ahead of them, they left a wake. Four of them. Circling.
Feather wings trembled uncontrollably. His heart beat so hard his chest hurt.
Fly up and escape! But the whole sky was shaking. There was no escape that way.
Close his eyes and bury his face in his breast, and imagine grass and still water and beautiful blue sky with his flock around him! But he could not close his eyes. Something was demanding his attention. He could not look away.
The shapes in the wave rose higher in the water. They swam slow and powerful and whatever was happening didn't seem to bother them at all.
And then Feathers saw them. He closed his eyes and shook his head and looked again, turning in a small circle to look all around. To be sure.
Four great creatures swam slowly along that great circle. Old weathered creatures. Scarred and discolored. Water moved aside before them, making way, and what did pass over them did so easily, flowing through greaves in the armor that was their back. They were four great turtles.
The words just spurted out: "There are four of you!"
The rumbling deepened, and there was something else, a strand of vibration that coiled its way through the rumbling. Feathers sensed a message in it. He struggled to understand, but whatever it was, he could not quite get to it. Then, suddenly, he did.
He thought there was only one of us!
The words poured out of that inner sanctuary deep in Feathers breast that had languished, empty and unused, for so long. The sanctuary that was reserved for flock.
The sea burst into to white froth all around him.
Feather just floated there, counting them again and again. One. Two. Three. Four.
The sea calmed and grew quiet, leaving only the incessant thrum that shook through everything.
Then again words flew up from his breast.
He thought we were guiding him!
What did that mean? He thought of the many days he had spent with turtle, following her as she swam. Except at the end when Feathers had searched for the beach, she had always led the way!
The water frothed white again. Feathers felt something passing between the turtles.
His feathers ruffled. Were they laughing at him?
Yes! I was following you!
The words emanated out as he thought them, riding that deep vibration. And as Feathers heard his own voice there, he suddenly understood.
The humming was something the great turtles did. Like the flock had done. Each bird knowing what the other was doing as they did it. Moving as one. The turtles were a flock too.
Somehow Feathers had tuned into their voices. All that time he had thought the humming that made him so dizzy had been a sickness, he had been hearing voices. And the sadness that had almost overwhelmed him - that must have come from turtle too.
But the idea that he had been guiding turtle all that time?
It was an outrageous idea. Feathers, an insignificant bird, a bird without a flock, guiding a great turtle! It was all so ridiculous! Their idea was ridiculous! Their laughing was ridiculous!
He was not much, but he knew when he was right. Hot anger rose up inside him then. He opened his mouth in anger. But what came out was something different, something that Feathers had almost forgotten since he had felt it last, on that magical morning with the great fish.
What came out of his mouth was a great caw of laughter. Sudden hot anger burned in Feather’s breast then. Why was he laughing! Feathers snapped his beak closed. He glared at the turtles as they circled.
The turtles grew quiet. The sea calmed so that not even one stray white cap of foam showed.
Feathers glared at the turtles. He glared at the sea.
Then a whisper passed between the turtles, quiet, entwined in the vibration between them, hidden. A wave broke into white froth and quickly quieted, then another.
The vibration between the turtles got louder. Just a little. Foam blew from wave tips, as if blown by the wind. But there was no wind!
Suddenly it all came out. A song of laughter danced between the turtles, the sea burst into foam. And Feathers, in spite of himself, laughed with them. What else could he do? He was a ridiculous bird, and he had misunderstood everything.
They laughed for a long time. Then they chuckled. Then, finally, they grew quiet.
The sea calmed. The turtles swam slowly in their circle. Feathers floated with them. Together. These turtles did not travel together. They were solitary creatures. For them to be together was a sacred thing. And for Feathers to be with them was something more. Something he would never forget for the rest of his days.
They swam and Feathers floated quietly all that day. Just feeling each other’s presence. Knowing it to be the last time.
The sun rose to its zenith and headed back down.
The turtles swam in their circle.
The waves rolled by in their journeys to distant shores.
Feathers floated in their center.
The sun said g
oodbye for now, the sky darkened, and the stars flickered on and lit the sky.
And there, in the quiet darkness above the waves and below the stars, the great turtles spoke to Feathers.
In all of our history, in all of our lore, going back age upon age, there has never been a creature asked to carry the sadness of this world with us.
Until you.
Feathers looked down at his black wings. They were ragged and dull. There was a small bare patch of scaly gray skin on his breast where down and feathers had not grown back in. He had abandoned his flock, and when he had been called to save them, he had failed.
He was last bird.
But he had done something good too. He had helped the great turtle find her way.
But what about his own flock? Why had he not helped them too?
His sadness at that moment became so heavy he wanted to just sink down to the bottom of the sea.
When he looked up turtle’s good eye was on him, staring at him out of her ravaged face. That eye seemed so large, like it could see everything. Shining and black and unblinking. In it, there was the reflection of a bird.
He was gaunt and ravaged, his feathers uneven, with scarring on his face. The birds dull lusterless eyes stared back into his. And in the eyes, a sadness rested.
Feather's mind went numb. He knew he had changed, but so much? Was that really him?
He turned his gaze from the reflection, and looked at turtle again.
She was old and used up and scarred almost beyond recognition, and only her one good eye revealed what she had once been.
Yet Feathers loved her.
Her eye took on a look.
Then she looked away.
The day finally ended, as the setting sun turned the sea to glittering gold, the turtles spoke the words again. As if it was something he must remember.
In all of our history, in all of our lore, going back age upon age, there has never been a creature asked to carry the sadness of this world with us.
Until you.
They circled Feathers more time.
