Feathers and Flowers

It was a cool Autumn Day, the first and last time grandfather walked with me beyond the shores of Gander Pond and along the rows of weeping willows. In the early morning light, just as the sun began to bless the garden and the distant sounds of singing birds graced the world, he led me down a cobble path still damp with dew.

We stepped beyond the twisted arch of wisteria, long past its bloom, acting as a sorrowful reminder of the tranquillity of this space. And as we entered the rosarium, now settling into its final moments of life before the long slumber of winter came, my breath became trapped in my chest like a peony waiting for the tender care of the ant to release it from its prison.

There, before us, stood a statue of polished granite and gilded cuffs. Fifty feet tall and just as long, the wings spread wide as it prepared for a flight that would never come. The Great Goose. The Fearsome Fowl that felled the forests of Ferindyll. The Gruesome Gosling that gobbled the goods of Grensan. The Belligerent Bastard Bird that bounced Betrans Brigade from the battlements of Belanz.

The feathered fiend perched there, its head bowed down to the ground where, atop it, rested a crown of obsidian glass. Here, where even the morning moisture feared to sit and the bugs and beasts gave a wide berth, the Great Goose waited.

And as we approached, taking in the beast like you would a tidal wave of terror, I felt my knees weakening with every step. But grandfather took my hand and pulled me closer still, marching us past the rows of retreating roses and down the carefully combed cobble causeway.

I resisted, wanting to pull away. To run. To flee. To be free of the fear, feigning ferocity in the face of foes who fought our forebearers. But grandfather held me tight. Drawing me near the battered bean of the bulging beak, where he placed my trembling hand.

The former fear I felt was nothing compared to the frightful feeling of the fowl's fearsome form finding my flesh. For in that moment, I could feel it. Still breathing. It’s beating heart bashing at the bindings. Pushing and pulling, hoping to prevail by adding pressure to the prison that acted as its punishment.

“Do you feel it?” Grandfather spoke, his words like a rolling thunder to my ears.

“I do.” My reply, the gentle rustle of leaves in the wind.

“This is what our family guards.” He continued, releasing my hand.

But mine stayed. I wanted to release, to turn and flee and run. But I was bound by the beast, whose beady eyes burdened and belittled me.

“Do you know the tale?”

“I have heard the story.”

“But do you understand it?”

I stood there, my hand atop the beak. My eyes locked with its. The beating of its heart matching mine.

“No, grandfather,” I spoke, feeling the Great Goose gripping me now.

“Long ago,” He explained, “When the forests were still fields and the Cassowary Castle was but stone beneath the Maelstrom Mountain, the Great Goose guarded these grounds with a ghastly grip. For this land, the great and glorious Graldnorna, was unique. Of all the nations, across all the continents, beyond all the seas—here was the only place of plenty after the cataclysm.”

Grandfather exhaled at this, looking up at the sky. He gazed beyond at cotton candy clouds that lazed across the bubble-gum blue horizon at stars that had long since faded. For a while he remained lost in thought before an ubiquity of sparrows came into view, their murmuration dancing like a plume of smoke on the fall wind.

But even they knew to avoid this place. This hallowed realm where the Great Goose still grumbled with grave gravitas.

And as I watched them, twist and twirl, forming shapes in the morning sky, a chill befell me. A cool breeze kissed my cheek as I looked down once more at the frozen fowl fomenting fright through my fixed fingers.

Grandfather had felt it too, as, with a clearing of his throat, he continued his tale.

“Five thousand men, and five thousand more found themselves on a quest some ages ago. Gilded Galleons of a far-off land now forgotten by time came to these shores with hope. What they found, in its stead, was horror. The Great Goose greedily goaded the galleon guards towards their grisly and gruesome graves. In not but two months time, their numbers were halved and in half that time, once more. None but one galleon returned from Graldnorna, gloomy and grim. But they were not alone, for the Great Goose came in tow guided by the very gale they used to gather their hempen sails. The tragedy that came next…”

Grandfather trailed off once more, lost to times long before his birth. His gaze was distant as the tale returned to him, crawling its way into the forefront of his mind. But it was not the wind that drew him back this time, but the smell of earth and decay. The withering rosarium stung my nostrils in the same way that must have pulled him back to me.

“Fifty thousand came next. A mighty force of man and maiden, for they were all that remained capable of lifting sword and shield. The greatest casters of a generation, among them seven sorcerers wielding forbidden magics, ready to sacrifice themselves to fight the fowl. And fight they did. For fifteen days and fifteen nights, they found the fire and ferocity necessary to fearlessly focus on the ferocious fiend. Not for fame, nor for fortune. But for family. For fellowship. For faith. For fertile fields overgrown with golden grains. For serene seas overfilled with healthy haddock and carefree cod—”

He began to cough, his essence painting his palms, glistening like dew in the morning light. Grandfather had not been well for several moons, and many feared his end was nigh.

That’s why I thought I was here. A steward to the wishes of an old man. But, preparing to rush to his side, he held a hand up and entreated me.

“No. Remain resolute.” He said, his words firm. “Continue to control your emotions. Feel the fowl beneath your fingertips. For today, the task falls to you, grandson.”

“Grandfather—” I began, but with a wave of his hand, he continued.

“I know not how much time I have. Seconds or minutes, they matter not to me. But the role now falls to you, and you must know the truth. I tell you what was told to me all those years ago. When I was but a boy, as you are now. They told me to keep the talisman on its forehead—”

He began to cough once more. Blood escaped his lips, now contaminating the cobblestone crushed beneath his crumpled form.

I wanted to rush to him. To be by his side. But he had ordered me to stay. To remain affixed to the fowl in these final moments.

“Grandson.” He groaned, his breath ragged. “You must know. With every passing day, the binding on the crown weakens. You have felt it. The fear from your fingers is the ferocious fowl fighting the spell of the seven slain sorcerers. The Great Goose’s greed gathers, but we can still stand steady to secure the sanctity of our sanctuary. We are the watchers. Keeping the crown firm so it does not slip from its place. The sorcerers made it so that as long as it remained atop the head, the beast would remain bound, and to fail this task would doom the last bastion of humanity.”

My heart began to race as I looked once more at the obsidian glass. Even in the time we had been here, it had begun to slip from its place atop the stone crown of the Gruesome Goose.

“But why you?” I cried. “Why me?”

“For we are the descendants of the Sorceress Seven. Fated to fight the fowl forever.”

Grandfather collapsed, and I felt the Great Goose quiver and quake. An agitation aggregated around aged and aching appendages. The barreled beak begging to break of its primordial prison after accumulated ages of sordid solitude.

But I held fast. My hand to stone. Eyes fixated on the crown.

“Grandfather!” I cried again. “Grandfather!”

“Bury me here,” He begged. “In the rosarium. It was as I did for my father’s father. And his before him. Plant a rose over my body, so that my thorns may continue to bind the beast as all those who came before.”

He gasped, his body weak as he fell to the path.

“And…” Grandfather spoke his final words. “Keep the talisman on its forehead.”

With a final breath, his body grew still, and so did the Great Goose. For its keeper was gone, and a new one had taken his place.