Chapter 2

The holding cell was small and smelled of bleach and old sweat. Through the high, barred window, I could see a patch of gray sky. The town's laughter still echoed in my ears. They thought this was a victory. They thought they had finally caged their unruly tool.

Sheriff Davis was not a cruel man, just a tired one. He brought me a tray of food that I couldn't eat.

"Why are they like this, Ethan?" he asked, leaning against the bars. "I've been sheriff of this county for fifteen years. I've seen you do nothing but good for these people."

I didn't have an answer for him. I barely had one for myself.

I closed my eyes and let my memory drift back. I was born with the feather. My parents, who passed away when I was young, told me it was a sign. They never said what it was a sign of. They just told me to be careful, to be good.

After they were gone, the town took me in. Or rather, they took my ability in. I was never just Ethan, the orphan boy. I was Ethan, the boy who could make things grow.

My childhood wasn't filled with games and scraped knees. It was filled with requests.

"Ethan, the well's running low again."

"Ethan, my best cow is sick. Can you come look at her?"

"Ethan, this patch of land is barren. Can you fix it?"

I did it all. I was eager to please, to earn my place, to feel like I belonged. They would pat my head and say, "Good boy, Ethan. What would we do without you?"

They built their prosperity on my gift. Havenwood became known for its unnaturally good harvests, its healthy livestock. People from other counties would drive through and marvel at the lush green fields that bordered our dusty roads. The town's reputation grew, and so did their pride.

But it was their pride, not mine. I was just the engine that made it all run.

Over the years, using my ability started to take a toll. It was like pouring water from a jug. At first, the jug seems full, endless. But slowly, you start to feel the bottom. After a long day of mending soil or healing animals, I would come home with a deep ache in my bones and a pounding headache that wouldn't go away. The feather would feel warm and heavy against my skin, like a low fever.

I tried to explain this to them once. I told Mr. Gable that I needed to rest, that the power didn't come from nowhere.

He had just smiled that thin, placid smile of his.

"Nonsense, son. A gift from God doesn't run out."

From that day on, their requests became demands. The politeness faded away. They stopped asking and started telling. The pats on the head stopped. Instead, I got impatient glares if I took too long, or if a harvest wasn't quite as miraculous as the last one.

They started to resent their dependence on me. I could see it in their eyes. They looked at me not with gratitude, but with a strange mix of envy and contempt. I was a constant reminder that their success wasn't their own. It came from the strange boy with the feather.

The week before the accusation, the blight appeared. It was dark and sticky, and it spread fast. I tried to fight it, pouring my energy into the fields until I collapsed from exhaustion. My vision blurred, and a metallic taste filled my mouth. The feather on my neck felt hot, painfully so.

But the blight held on. For the first time, I couldn't produce an instant miracle.

That was all the excuse they needed. Their hidden resentment finally boiled over into open hatred. It was easier to call me a demon than to accept that their magic resource had limits.

Back in the cell, I opened my eyes. The gray patch of sky was turning dark. I wasn't just tired anymore. I felt hollowed out. I had given them my childhood, my energy, my entire life. And in return, they had thrown me in a cage and called me a monster.

Sheriff Davis came back. He looked troubled.

"The council is pressing for charges. Malicious destruction of property. It's ridiculous, but they're a unified front. My hands are tied, Ethan. I have to hold you until the circuit judge comes through next month."

A month. The thought of spending a month in this box, waiting for a stranger to decide my fate, made my chest feel tight. But what else was there? I had no one. The town of Havenwood was my only family, and they had just disowned me in the cruelest way possible.

I leaned my head back against the cold concrete wall and closed my eyes. For the first time, I didn't think about the town, or the crops, or their needs. I thought about the feather. The constant, warm weight on the back of my neck. It had always been a part of me. I had always seen it as a tool for giving.

Now, I wondered what else it was for.