The Yellow Feather

Fear gripped the girl as she watched the sky darken. They would come out soon. They never came in the daytime, only at night, when the darkness kept them hidden. Her eyes darted nervously around the dusking expanse as she searched for her favorite star, the star whose light she had been comforted by many nights, the star she and her mother had called “their star.” That was long before they had come and taken her mother’s spirit. Not her body, though; they left that horribly mutilated shell behind for the family to dispose of “according to their ways.”

“Annia!” her aunt’s sharp voice called from the hall, “It’s time. Don’t lag behind or you’ll be locked out.”

Annia toyed with the idea of intentionally getting herself locked out. It might be better to end it now than to live her life in fear.

A scene of sheer horror prowled behind her eyes, her mother’s last words in her ears. She had been nervous the whole day, and as evening closed in, fate loomed in the doorway, an evil silhouette of what was to come. She had known that night was to be her last. “Don’t forget, dear Annia,” she had said, a single tear trickling down her cheek. “Even when I’m gone, always remember. Remember we are the Rebuilders. We will rebuild our hope, our future, our temple.” With that she had thrust her locket at Annia. Inside was a jewel from the temple, which, with the changing of hands, had become Annia’s responsibility.

Annia fingered the locket that still hung around her neck three years later. “No, Mamma, I won’t forget.”

She jumped to her feet and made her way through the darkening hall to the entrance of the tunnel. The heavy door stood open. She went inside. Everyone was waiting for her.

“Shut the door, Annia,” her aunt commanded softly. As soon as the door was closed, her aunt’s lantern was lit. Ahead, several others could be seen moving forward.

Through the meandering tunnels, they walked in silence for several minutes, careful to avoid the many puddles and hanging roots. Before them, the familiar glow of the Inner Sanctum could be seen. Annia was the last to enter. She eased the door shut behind her. Twenty-three men, women, and children lined the walls of this small room. Seven lanterns were placed around the room, casting eerie shadows on the dirt walls.

A big man with one arm sat beside a box on the far wall. He nodded approvingly at Annia before beginning. “We are all present. Let us begin.” An elderly gentleman handed him an old blackened key that he used to unlock the box. He opened the lid and reached inside, just as he had every night for several years, and pulled out an old book. He was the only one who could read, and so each night all the Rebuilders gathered around him to listen.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for they shall inherit the Earth.” All eyes were glued to him as he read. Some of the younger children, his students who were learning to read, stood behind him, trying to glean what they could. As he finished the reading, he called for the cleansing stone.

Annia’s blood turned to fire as she realized she had forgotten it and would have to go back to get it. Her aunt protested the endangerment, but all realized the ceremonial importance of the cleansing stone and in the end, Annia was walking through the tunnels, alone, her aunt’s objections fading to silence.

She made the long journey through the passage with only a lantern to guide her steps. Her heart pounded and she could taste the fear on her lips. To pass the time and ease her fears, she quietly sang to herself a song her mother had sung to her so long ago when she would awaken to the hideous cries of a neighbor Rebuilder who had been caught and was being punished. “Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path.” She pressed on, her dread reaching a peak as she got closer to the heavily barred door. “When I feel afraid, think I’ve lost my way, still You’re there right beside me.” She stopped singing as she reached the door and extinguished the flame. The only sound now was the blood rushing through her ears. She pushed the door open and silently padded into the room where the stone was kept.

It was all darkness now. She felt her way along the wall until she reached the shelf. Her hand ran along the shelf until her fingers met with a cold, rough object. She held it for a moment, stroking the rough edges reverently.

Suddenly, a hand was on her shoulder, turning her around. She was face to face with one of them. He wore a half-mask over his mouth, a black scrap of material to maintain his anonymity. Annia tried to scream, but the intensified realization of her worst nightmare paralyzed her, trapping her voice in her throat. As the man forced her through the front doors, she eked out the only thing she could manage. “Dear God.”

Outside were two more men, similarly clad, with black half-masks. Annia shook with a mixture of cold and anxiety. She was no longer in control of her muscles, they trembled now of their own accord.

They dragged her to the center of the square. Despite her efforts to the contrary, she was disrobed and fettered to a large post. The man who had stopped her now spoke.

“You know how this works?” Annia nodded weakly and the man brought a small black bag to her hand. There were twenty black feathers and one yellow. If she pulled out a black feather, she would be beaten and killed. If she grabbed the yellow feather, that would mean she could be reformed. Annia was not convinced that the yellow feather existed, but she closed her eyes and prayed. With the tip of her finger, she felt a feather and pulled it out. It was yellow.

“You will be spared,” the man said, obviously surprised, “if you renounce your affiliation with the Rebuilders and their cause.” Annia remained silent.

A loud crack pierced the air and Annia knew what was coming. With the next crack, the whip came into contact with the skin of her back. As her skin was torn, she finally found her voice. The whip cracked again, this time the searing pain shot through her shoulder. Crack! Her leg. Now her back again, each time accompanied by the frenzied shouts of the man. “Renounce! Renounce! Renounce!” Her screams resounded through the town, echoing in the tunnels, joining chorus with the voices of countless others of nights past.

The feather was replaced in the bag and she was instructed to choose again. It came out yellow. The shock in the man’s voice was more violent this second time, but the beatings continued, until her screams died down to a pathetic whimper. She slumped to the ground and the feather was placed once more in the bag.

One more time the man spoke, “Renounce.” One more time she was silent. Her hand was shoved into the bag; she no longer had the strength to do it herself. She touched a feather and held it tightly, almost hoping it was black, something quick and painless. It was yellow. The man stumbled back and dropped the bag, black feathers flying out and littering the ground. He and his men left quickly, leaving Annia chained to the post, sticky red blood covering her otherwise bare back, arms, and legs. Too weak even to moan, she was silent.

From doorways all around, people crept out. Someone freed her wrists. Strong, gentle arms supported her, carried her into a back room where she was laid on her stomach and her wounds were treated. Her eyes full of unshed tears, she finally sank into an exhausted slumber, the yellow feather still clutched in her fist.