The White Feather of Sambria (Short Story) Part 3 by Hanner Goenaga

John picked up the feather, tucked it into his pocket, and ran toward the light with a tearful smile.

He stopped in the grass in front of the house, staring up in awe. He approached the door and knocked. TOC TOC TOC! No one answered. He tried the handle, and it gave way. Inside, the place was cozy, just as his neighbor had described. At the far end of the room stood a man with his back turned. The man turned around with a cup of coffee in his hand, raised it slightly, and said, “Welcome.”

“Good morning, sir. I think I am looking for you. My village is under a curse that threatens our lives,” John said, stammering with shyness.

“How can I help you, and why do you think I am the one for the job?” the man asked serenely.

John explained the boulder and the witch. The man laughed softly. “I know who you’re talking about. It hasn’t been that long.”

John was puzzled, as his neighbor said it had been years. The man reached out his closed hand. “Take this.”

He dropped a crumpled piece of paper into John’s palm. “When you are in front of the rock, open it and read what is written there. That will break the spell. And do not lose the feather; it will be of great help.”

“I have it right here,” John said, pulling it from his pocket. The man’s gaze gave him such confidence that he couldn’t doubt him. John thanked him and headed for the exit.

Once outside, John realized he hadn't even asked for the man's name. He turned back to the house, but his jaw dropped: the house had transformed into a rotten wooden shack with broken windows and falling boards. He ran back inside, but it was empty—no furniture, only a torn painting on the wall of the man he had just spoken to. Beside the portrait was the symbol: \infty.

Terrified and sweating, John began the journey back. As he entered the dark woods, the feather in his pocket began to glow, allowing him to see in the gloom. He held it out like a torch. After a few minutes, he reached a fork in the road. The path he knew had ended, replaced by two different trails. Unsure, he risked taking the left one.

He reached an exit, but instead of the yellow field, he found a landscape where color had been sucked away, leaving only ash and shadows. He stood by a stream of dark water where crocodiles with dark green skin and massive fangs emerged, snapping at him.

Panic-stricken, he fled back through the entrance. The moment he crossed, the crocodiles crashed against an invisible wall and vanished into thin air—they were illusions.

He returned to the center of the fork. Now, he heard the voices of his neighbors lamenting: “We are so thirsty… it’s too late…” John covered his ears, shut his eyes, and ran down the right path. This one led to a jungle where black panthers leaped from the shadows. Again, he barely escaped back to the center.

Exhausted and in tears, the images of his dying neighbors haunted him. Then, the feather in his hand glowed again. It pointed toward the thick forest between the two paths—where there had been no road before. As John held the feather out, the trees and brush literally moved aside, revealing a hidden path.

He didn't hesitate. He ran through the new trail, leaving the illusions behind. Soon, he reached the yellow field, but the sky was now gray and heavy. A fierce storm broke out with rain and lightning. Suddenly, a powerful gust of wind ripped the feather from his hand.

John felt defenseless as the feather flew into the air. However, the feather glowed in the heart of the storm. It began to push the clouds apart, and the rain ceased only in the area directly above John. The feather flew back down and landed at his feet. He snatched it up, tucked it away, and marched on with his head held high.

When he finally reached the edge of the woods near his village, a woman in a black dress appeared out of nowhere. It was the witch.

“Did you think I wasn't listening to your plans?” she hissed. “You surpassed my traps because you are a brave fool, but I will end this with my own hands!”

She flew at him, grabbed him by the waist, and soared high into the air. She hurled him back toward the ground at a terrifying speed. But as he fell through the treetops, the branches reached out and formed a net, catching him gently before he hit the earth.

The witch, furious that she couldn't control nature as easily as the forest did, dove at him again. John crossed his arms in an X over his head. But before she could strike, the feather in his pocket glowed, making John intangible—the witch passed right through him as if he were a ghost.

Desperate, the witch raised her hand, and a massive fireball formed in her palm. She hurled it at him. John pressed himself against the trees and closed his eyes. The feather glowed once more, and the fireball split in two, hitting the barrier of trees instead. The trees burst into flames and turned to ash, clearing the final path to the village.

John seized the opportunity and ran through the small flames toward Sambria. The witch screamed in rage and tried to follow, but the unburnt trees closed the gap, and she crashed into them with a violent thud.

John reached the village, shouting, “I have it! I have the spell!”

The villagers, who were sitting in despair, rushed to meet him at the well. The man who had sent him placed a hand on his back. “Well done, John.”

John pulled out the paper and read the words aloud:

“Every humble and solidary heart has the permission to manifest supreme power to overthrow the destructive actions of evil. Therefore, today I break, eradicate, and cancel all recurring actions of darkness.”

The boulder began to shake. Suddenly, the witch appeared in the sky above the village. “You won't win!” she screamed. But the rock exploded into white light, crumbling into dust.

In her final desperate act, the witch began to spin, creating a massive, dark tornado to level the village. The villagers were paralyzed with fear. But then, the white feather flew from John's pocket. It hovered between the people and the storm, emitting a brilliant white light that formed a shield. The tornado couldn't advance. Slowly, the feather began to push the tornado back toward the witch.

Her eyes widened in terror as her own storm sucked her inside. The tornado carried her far away to the desert south of the village, where she would spin in her own vortex for all eternity.

John became the hero of Sambria. The villagers greeted him with smiles, and the seamstresses made him new clothes. He made a necklace from the white feather, a charm he wore always—a symbol of protection that would occasionally emit a soft, brief glow.

“Every time the amulet emitted that fleeting flash, the inhabitants of Sambria felt a fresh breeze on their faces, reminding them that as long as kindness existed, no boulder would ever be too heavy to move.”