The Echo of Those Answers
A magical realism short story about a seer owl and the multiverse, by Gabor Csigas
“I am in many worlds at once, and I see them all,” the giant owl perched on the altar said, its eyes twin gold moons in the gloom of the ancient temple.
The man standing in the door took a deep bow, letting more of the late afternoon sunlight into the chamber.
“You are here in many worlds,” the owl said without blinking. “In some of them, you have already asked me the question. In some, I have already answered it.”
“Does that mean I don’t have to ask it here?” the man whispered.
“Do you want to know the answer to it?” the owl said.
“That is why I have sought you out, wise one,” the man said, puzzled.
“No. You came here because you had hoped I was not alive. You wanted me to be just a statue. You had hoped you’d put the question to the stone, and you’d get no answer. Now you know I am real, though. And learning that changed your mind. Now you are curious — you could get your answer. But you’re even more afraid of it.”
The man lowered his head. He said nothing.
“Do you want to know if in the other worlds I see you saved your brother nine years ago from falling off the collapsing bridge? Do you want to know if in the other worlds I see he’s grown to love you because of that, or if he hates you more for it? Do you want to know in how many worlds your brother is here with you right now, to ask me what had happened in worlds where you did not save him?”
A single teardrop rolled down the man’s face.
“I think you have already answered my real question,” he said, swallowing.
“Yes,” the giant owl said, tilting its head. “I have. Many times. But not here. What you think you know now is the echo of the answers I’ve given you in other worlds. Do you want to ask me your question? Here and now, in this world of yours?”
The man looked up, straight into the twin moons of the owl’s eyes.
“No,” he said. “But I think you knew my answer.”
“Yes, I have,” the owl said. “But you didn’t. Not until you said it out loud.”
The man bowed again, this time even deeper.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Your brother waved to you, in many worlds,” the owl said. “Not in all of them. In some, he’s not here. In others, he did not wave. But in many, many of them, he did. With that, you can go. Now.”
The man turned around, silently, stepped outside, and closed the door behind himself.
The giant owl with the glowing golden eyes blinked, and then it turned into stone in this world.
