Once upon a time, beyond the nine mountains and nine rivers was a forest. In it lived an immense variety of strange animals and birds and beautiful trees and plants. There was also a beautiful bird that flitted about, shivering and looking at the surface of the lake day after day, whenever it flew to drink. It had brightly coloured feathers in shades of gold, red, green and purple and a yellow beak. Once again, he ruffled his feathers like this as he sat on a branch, pleased at how beautiful he was. From the canopy above him, another bird swooped down and perched on the branch opposite him.
"Hello," says the new bird. "What is this place?"
"What", replies the brightly coloured bird, "this is a forest and this is where I live. Who are you?"
"I'm a bluebird", replies the new bird, pointing to his bib. Its feathers were not very conspicuous, brown above, light grey underneath, but the breastplate was very beautiful. It was a deep blue in a shade that the colourful bird had never seen before. And it had several layers where other colours alternated - red, white and black. "I know you live here, but I wonder how far we are from Europe? I hear it's very nice there, so we're going to find a new home."
The colorful bird stared at him, unable to speak. When he had sufficiently scolded himself, he spoke: "That's quite a journey, there's a big desert above us and then the sea and then Europe begins. Why do you want to go there? And why don't you want to stay here, it's so beautiful! Warm, sunny, so many fruits, worms and caterpillars everywhere..."
"To tell you the truth, we're getting bored here. See that bib? It used to be bright cobalt blue and now it's just kind of bluish" and he pointed sadly at his bib again.
The colorful bird looked at it in puzzlement, for it looked to him like the most beautiful bib he had ever seen in his life, but he was proud enough not to admit it and just snorted, "Hmm, that's true. It's not much. And what's to save you in Europe?", he asked curiously, because he was very interested to see how he'd come by such a blue one as well.
Blue was very friendly and got so excited at this question that he blurted out the answer: "There are shrubs that grow there that have colored berries, and they tell you that they will grow the most colorful feathers. And there are lots of them, so they all get their fill. There's only one catch - there's danger for the proud birds." And he paused.
The colourful bird was completely hanging on his beak, and he was already imagining how he would fly there too, and enrich his colourful feathers with bright blue, shiny feathers that would be far better than the bluebird's. He'll be a looker, my goodness, and everyone will be watching when he comes back. It was only after a while that he realized that Blue was singing something about danger, so he asked, "What danger are you talking about?"
"I don't know exactly", replied Blue, "but the adults warned us and we all had to go through school where we were taught not to be proud in the slightest so we could make the journey and not get hurt". He said it as matter-of-factly as pulling an earthworm out of the ground after a rain and munching with gusto after a hearty bite.
The variegated bird didn't quite believe him, and kept his eyes fixed on that bib of his, and longed very much to have it too. Then he said, "If I help you find your way, will you show me where the berry bushes grow?"
"Would you like to come with us?" said the little blue man, "You are not ready for that, you are not a migratory bird, and you might not even survive. Besides, you are not trained against pride!", he argued.
This caught up with the colourful bird and he did exactly as the bluebird had outlined - he proudly stood up to show his size and muscles and said contemptuously: "I have more muscles than you, I can make the journey playfully, and I have never been proud. At least no one ever told me that." He was right in that no one had ever told him, for no one was friends with the colorful birds precisely because they were so arrogant and no one ever thought it worthwhile to reproach them for their pride. "I'm flying with you, done twenty. I'll get my friends and meet you here tomorrow." He spread his wings, the colourful play of his shiny feathers glittered through the air, and he was gone.
Blue just sighed sadly, "I warned him."
The next morning, two flocks of birds gathered. One was colorful and wildly disordered, like a circus coming to town, and the other was inconspicuous, with only a flash of blue breastplate here and there, giving a hint of precise order.
"Here we are," said the commander of the motley birds, "are you ready? Shall we fly?"
"Are you sure you want to fly with us? Can you make it? Won't you change your mind?", several bluebirds asked at once.
"Not another word and everyone follow me," the colorful commander called out and headed off in the direction the elders told him would lead to Europe. Unfortunately, even their elders weren't wise enough to talk them out of it, and didn't fly with them just because they didn't feel up to the long journey.
Two flocks took to the skies to find the right air current. The bluebirds were like an arrow in flight, carefully arranged, while the variegated ones looked like you'd shoot a flock of sparrows that had just rolled out in painterly colors. They flapped their muscular wings with unnecessary force, peering at the other flock as they did so, flying almost effortlessly. After a while they got the hang of it and even managed to form a formation that looked just about right. Two flocks of eager birds were now travelling through the sky, heading for lands where the nights are cool and the trees do not grow large, fleshy, sweet fruit, but where bushes with millions of colourful berries grow.
No sooner had they crossed the sea than the colourful ones called for rest. The bluebirds remonstrated that they could not linger or they would lose the right air current, but the commander let them go, so they had plenty to do to defend themselves. They flew down into the nearest woods and sat in the upper branches of the tall oaks. It was hot, and with the breeze cooling them, they felt sick. Just then, the colorful ones noticed that their feathers were fading. They put their heads together and looked at their feathers and pondered over it. "Just you wait", the commander tried to reassure them, "when we reach our destination, we'll eat so many berries that our feathers will shine with colour again like nobody else's", and he looked back scornfully at the curious bluebirds. They noticed that the variegated ones had begun to lose the colour from their feathers, and remembered the danger lurking for the proud.
"Commander," one bluebird began timidly, "try to think about the advice our parents gave us about pride, which carries a prophecy of danger." He wanted to help them, but all he got instead was a sneering bark from the yellow beaks, so he took a few steps back.
"We must fly," said the commander, "I saw a lake nearby. Let's get a drink and move on." His wings were getting quite sore with fatigue, and he suspected that he was certainly not the only one, but he was not going to let anything happen to their beautiful feathers, so he called for flight.
Once again they flew through the sky, the sea was far behind their tails and they knew they only had a few mountains and forests to go and then a sweet new home. Then a beautiful white-capped mountain loomed over the horizon. Probably the prettiest they'd ever seen. The elders told them that once they had climbed it, they were almost there and could look for a new home. They happily peered at each other, chattering that they were close and very excited to see the colorful berries. But after a moment, a dark blue cloud emerged from behind the snow-capped peak and drifted right towards them.
The bluebirds gained altitude and shouted to the leader of the variegated ones that they had to outfly it or they would end up badly. The commander got scared, so he listened to them, muscles digging into his wings to show the others what and how, but oops. His weakened wings wouldn't listen to him. Instead of taking off, he staggered in the air, with the others following him. They all tried their best to fly just a little higher, but it was as if something was pushing them down. And the dark cloud began to blacken and was fast approaching. They flapped their wings back and forth frantically, but it was no use. All in vain. "What are we going to do?", they shouted to the commander in terror. But he was the most frightened of all, and took one last desperate, pleading look towards the flock of bluebirds. They were already high above him, too high for him to hear them calling to him to fly somewhere fast. They were all flying frantically and headlong into the throat of the storm, and they had their work cut out for them to at least keep together.
There was a flash of lightning nearby. Thunder followed not long after. The storm was near. The rain came down so thick that nothing could be seen but the dim outline of a snowy peak in the distance. The leader was losing sight of his flock. Only here and there, between the streams of water, the colourful feathers of a mate glistened. For the first time in his life, he felt hopeless. Another bolt of lightning struck with a clap of thunder. He could see no one at all and flapped his wings hard. He knew that if this didn't end soon, he would be soaking wet and as he got heavier, he would fall to the ground and quite possibly not survive. And he would never taste the colorful berries. And he'll never see his feathers turn color. Or his friends. Lightning and thunder again. What a blow! That's when he realized he might never see them again. The rain was getting heavier and its weight was dragging him down. He began to scream frantically in an attempt to hear some of his loved ones, but over the noise of the storm he heard nothing but thunder and the rushing of water. He became extremely frightened. And for the first time in his life, he was afraid for something other than his beautiful feathers. He feared for his life. He never had to fear in the forest. No one cared about him there. Suddenly he felt sorry for it. All his life, he'd just preened and preened and showed others how beautiful he was. His friends, too. But he was always alone. Now he wished it were different. He began to feel sorry for his friends he'd talked into this trip.
More lightning and thunder didn't keep him thinking for long. Suddenly something dark and wet flashed past him and slapped him across the beak. And again. And again. It slapped his beak and wings until he growled through the air. He lost enough height to reach the tops of the alpine spruces, their wet branches giving him a hard time. There were so many that he had no room to slow down and crawl to one of them and hide under its canopy. He was taking one blow after another from each side. With the last of his strength, he took to the wings and took off a bit. He got above the tops of the trees, but he was so weak, wet and heavy that he knew he wouldn't last long anyway. To all the noise around him, he just mouthed a quiet "sorry, mates", stretched his wings into a glide, closed his eyes and awaited death.
Wherever he was, there he was, right in front of him, a huge eagle, who bellowed "what are you doing here, you proud tropical bird!" and flew over the commander to keep the rain off him.
"I, I, I wanted to fly with my friends to get berries ... but it doesn't matter now", he sobbed, "I don't know where they are and I'm at the end of my strength and it was all for nothing".
"Such foolishness!", shouted the eagle, "birds like you have no business here, what do you want to die?"
"I don't want to, but I don't think there's anything else to do", admitted the commander.
"Don't you know that pride precedes a fall? And you have already sunk dangerously low" and no sooner had he finished than another spire of tall spruce flashed past them.
"I know it now. And I wouldn't do it again. When I thought it was important, when I'm special and others admire me." The eagle's wings made an umbrella that kept the rain off him and gave him a little more strength. "But now I just want to see my friends again and sit somewhere quiet and get through this. And I don't care what color my feathers are," he added sadly.
"Do you swear?", the eagle asked.
"About what?", the commander did not understand.
"That you don't care what you look like as long as you help yourself and your friends survive?"
"I swear!", the commander emphatically let out.
"Then fly close behind me, I'll take you and the others into hiding. Shout and sing with all your might so that they can hear you and fly after us."
"Can you see them?", the colorful commander asked in surprise. The eagle threw his bright eye at him instead of answering and began circling to slow down. Variegated followed close behind. Hope gave him strength, and he sang with all his might, singing so beautifully and powerfully that all the others heard him, understood the challenge, and in a moment were grouped in a move behind the eagle.
"Now we will fly through the gorge," the eagle turned to them and continued, "the rain is not so heavy there. We'll slow down there, and as soon as I shout at you, you'll head left into the cave. Be careful and don't spook the bats, they must still be sleeping. Sit down and wait for the rain to stop. And tomorrow you can fly on. Okay?"
"Sure!", the commander agreed, checking that his comrades understood and kept the direction as well. He no longer felt the thunder and lightning, because he knew he was saved. He and his comrades. A rock formation with a gorge approached. They slowed down and waited for the signal. The gorge was long and bleak, but it was almost rainless and easier to see. The eagle turned his head slightly and shouted loudly. A dark entrance to a huge cave appeared to the left. The colorful ones, like slow-motion fighters, headed accurately into its center, and once they had a better look around, the commander found a place to rest.
They dropped to the ground, panting, folded their wings and rested. No one said a word. Everyone had to take this experience for themselves. They looked towards the opening to the cave at the rain and the occasional flashes from which they were now perfectly protected. Then the silhouette of the great eagle reappeared, returning to make sure they were all right. They were about to sing to thank him, but he immediately stopped them with a quiet "shh, bats" and pointed to the ceiling of the cave, where perhaps a thousand of them were roosting upside down. So they just nodded to the eagle. He took one last lap and flew out without a word. With the sound of thunder and the sound of rain, one colourful one after another fell into a hard sleep.
They were awakened only early the next morning by the boisterous chirping of bats returning from their nightly expeditions. Rested and satisfied that they had survived, and with a little strength after a sound sleep, the variegated ones began to look around. But no sooner had they opened their eyes than one began to jump away from the other, for they saw a flock of black birds among them. It took them a moment to realize it was themselves. Only their yellow beaks glowed. The commander stood in front of them and began to apologize, "My friends, this is my fault. Yesterday I promised the eagle that we would give up our beautiful feathers to save him. I didn't know exactly what that meant at the time, but I felt it was our only salvation. I know, I made the decision without you and I apologize" and he bowed his head sadly.
After a moment of silence, however, they all burst into laughter and began jumping around him, inspecting the shiny new black feathers like the darkest night. One began to produce a pout as he strutted and strutted his new parade. "Oh, come on," the commander scolded him. "That's what got us here, isn't that enough already?". And the bird folded his wings again and laughed guiltily with the words: "You know, it's a habit". And the others began to giggle so much that the bats had to hiss at them to go out and tell them, because this is where they were going to sleep.
In no time at all, a flock of black birds with yellow beaks were out of the cave and heading through the gorge out of the rocks. No sooner were they in the open, than they flew in all directions and sang joyously. There were a few folk on the ground below who looked up to the sky with a smile and shouted, "Look, spring is here, the birds are coming back!" The hungry birds swooped down near them and started looking for grubs, caterpillars and bugs to feed to their hearts' content. They didn't even remember the colourful berries.
What about the bluebirds? They happily missed the storm and flew to their new home among the many bushes with shiny and spiky leaves, which were decorated with a few more colourful berries of red, orange and yellow, which the other birds had not managed to graze during the winter. They put what they could into their beaks and before the first magnolias bloomed in spring, their breastplates turned a brilliant blue. They sang for joy as loudly as only nightingales can. And when in time they met their old friends with black feathers, they had stories to tell each other long afterwards. You know, an experience like that can easily become legend. The legend of how a brightly coloured bird became a blackbird.
