Author: Hillary Lyon

From our vantage point, we could see the thing land on the shore: one enormous ship splashing in the foam of the salt water. It soon disgorged its crew, who stumbled out unsteadily. One passenger fell to his knees and removed his gleaming silver helmet. He made arcane hand motions across his chest plate and sang out something we could not decipher. The others followed suit.

We kept to the forest, watching. The newcomers didn’t know we were here. They set up shelters near the shore and jabbered at one another until dark, when they closed themselves off inside their individual huts. We crept closer, sliding around these structures like shadows in moonlight. We could find no entrance.

What were these creatures? Were they mostly machine—as evidenced by their partly metal exteriors? Were they wispy spirit beings restrained in silver containers? Were they soft biologics, covering themselves in protective armor?

And why were they here?

* * *

To initiate contact, four of us approached the newcomers’ camp. We carried gifts: baskets of fruit and woven blankets. They stopped their busywork and stared. The one who had fallen to his knees the day before came to us, hands out, smiling.

He made mouth noises which reminded me of a chattering koloma, when it has its little hand stuck in a trap.

I smiled at this thought, and handed him a blanket. As I looked in his odd oval eyes, I saw everything: his great cities on fire, his temples crumbling, his babies starving. I now knew why they were here.

* * *

Perched in the tolobas trees around our night fire, I detailed my vision to my comrades. The oldest among us nodded, unsurprised. He recalled the prophecy, something most of us had forgotten, or dismissed as a children’s story.

In the morning, he bade us return to the visitor’s camp, instructing us to shake their hands, to touch them this time. To fulfill the prophecy of our destiny.

The newcomers were pleased to see us again. They smiled and laughed. They gave us utensils made from neither wood nor metal, and lightweight, flexible plates. What these things were used for, I have no idea. Toys? We received these gifts and bowed in thanks.
One tall lanky visitor reached out and placed his hand on my shoulder, his spindly fingers gently massaging my feathers. I could not help but purr. I placed my own hand atop his, completing my part in the prophecy.

The landscape inside both our heads bloomed with explosions of flowers in kaleidoscopic colors, with iridescent oceans, sparkling clouds above. Gentle, sweetly scented breezes washed over our faces. Paradise revealed. I could feel the peace, the joy in his heart.

I could also feel his knowledge, his memories, leaving his mind and flooding into mine.

I removed his hand from my shoulder and he fell to the ground, a husk drained of its animating essence. My comrades had all done likewise. We would burn these husks in the dark of night, as a way of giving thanks to the overlord spirit.

Come dawn we will shed our feathers, drop from our nests in the trees, and relocate to the towering metal ship—each of us now armed with knowledge and purpose. We will launch the ship, and head for a new world. To expand, to procreate, to create civilization. To fulfill our destiny.