fruits they hoped for.
My property, tiny by comparison but more fruitful owing to intelligent planting and maintenance, bordered theirs and I spent happy hours watching them toil, sweat and debate farm management. On that particular morning, the sun already drawing beads of moisture on my forehead, I sat on my porch sipping a cool cup of goat’s milk from the cellar and casting an occasional glance their way so as not to miss any entertainment.
I saw the shape in the sky and what it became long before they did. It appeared first as streaks of pure white cloud high above us. I waited and hoped for the cloud to swirl and grow darker; we all needed rain. It soon became clear however, that this was no rain cloud. The streaks took on a shape, parts of them becoming familiar to me. Here an unfolded wing, here a curving femur, there a rudimentary tail. I’d cloud-watched a thousand hours away as a boy, pushing my imagination farther and farther into unknown territory, but this was different. I didn’t have to try to form an image from those vapours; they took the unmistakable shape of a demon.
The cloud gained mass and definition. The demon was on its back; its doglike hindquarters drawn up to its belly and its tail flailing upwards between its legs. Its wings were unfurled; the delicate structure of hollow bones that spread them open was easy to see, as were the bones of its legs and crooked arms. Because it was on its back though, the wings were controlled by the wind, not the other way around.
It looked like the cloud demon was falling.
As soon as I had the thought, the cloud turned red. There was a brief dimming of the sun, a welcome chill that was gone before I could appreciate it, and the red cloud became solid. The demon hurtled earthward. Realising I was witnessing possibly the most interesting event of the year, I stood up still holding my goat’s milk and would have shouted to Rickett and Wiggery if I hadn’t been enjoying the anticipation of the looks on their faces when the thing hit the ground. It was headed straight for them.
Instead I watched the demon fall. It was strange, the cloud had been huge in the sky and very high up, but now, as the creature neared us, it got smaller. Gauging its size under such illogical circumstances was impossible. It trailed the faintest wake of steam or smoke and the air around us took on an odour of noxious defilement.
Rickett and Wiggery were arguing as usual when the plummeting creature struck earth. It hit with such force that the ground jumped. As I heard the hiss and ear flattening
By the time I arrived, they were standing at the edge of a concave depression that had obliterated a substantial circle of sickly, wilted cabbages. Both of them had limp shreds of greenery hanging from their hair and clothes and it was hard to tell them apart.
“That’s a strange looking fertiliser, boys,” said I.
“It’s nary fertiliser,” said Blini Rickett pointing a trembling finger into the fresh pit. “That be Armageddon.”
Puff Wiggery shook his head.
“T’aint so, Rickett, you pheasant-brained muckit. That there’s a female gryphon.”
Several other villagers gathered at the crash site and more were on their way, trampling what was left of Rickett and Wiggery’s ill-conceived crops. Heads bobbed up and down and side to side to see the cause of the crater. When people got too close and started to slip down the gentle slope towards the demon, they panicked, fell over and scrambled on their hands and knees back to the safety of the crowd.
There were murmurs and whispers and the facts about the new arrival were swiftly distorted from wrong to ridiculous. Fortunately, not everyone in the village was devoid of the light of intelligence and education. I stepped forward and took a deep breath so that my voice would reach everyone present. But it was someone else that spoke first to the inhabitants of Long Lofting that day. I missed my chance by a fraction of a moment.
“Villagers, please. Quiet down now, there’s no reason to be frit.”
It was that failed intellectual and meddlesome nose-pokerinner, Leopold Prattle. He held his scrawny, pale arms up and his black robes, inappropriate for such a hot day, slid down to his shoulders revealing his unwashed armpits. The hubbub faltered and lost its lack of direction altogether. Eager ears tuned in for what would inevitably be disinformation.
“Thank you, everyone. Now, what we have here is a simple case of dragon breakdown. We could all use a decent meal, so I proffer we cut the dragon into family sized morsels and roast them at tonight’s feast.”
“What feast is that?” shouted a member of the crowd.
“Our first ever ‘Feast of the dragon’. We shall give thanks to the Great Father for food in times of hardship.”
There were cries of ‘Aye’ and ‘so be it’ and ‘Great Father be praised’. A few villagers sank to their knees and raised their hands to the sky in gratitude. I suppose they must have been the really hungry ones. I had to say something before the whole situation got out of hand.
“Hold on, everyone. Just a moment please…” They were all happy. No one was listening. “OI, YOU LOT. SHUT YOUR NOISE.”
The mob fell silent, not altogether amused to have their excitement and praise interrupted. Leopold Prattle, the stinkiest priest ever to infect Long Lofting looked even less pleased to hear my voice.
“You’d better have something very important to add to this matter, Delly Duke.”
“As it happens, I do. That isn’t a dragon. It’s a demon. I cannot advise the eating of its flesh.”
There were intakes of breath all around the crater followed by a mass wrinkling of noses. Was that the first time they’d noticed the smell of corruption? Then came the rippled murmurs of horror as the crowd’s mind flipped into negative again. People drew away. Leopold Prattle saw the effect of my words and he looked ugly over it.
“Nyev, nyev, nyev,” he said, shaking his head in annoyance. “Villagers, Delly Duke is a renowned busybody and breeder of discontent in the community. You can be certain his words are pure deceit and viciousness. The inaugural ‘Feast of the Dragon’ will go ahead as planned. We shall all have full stomachs and glad hearts.” He bunched his elongated fingers into what passed for a fist in the priesthood and punched the air for emphasis. The effort was uncomfortable judging by the way he winced. No matter how hungry and debilitated the Long Loftingers were, they didn’t exactly cheer. I’d sown the seeds of uncertainty and I’d done it a lot more efficiently than Blini Rickett and Puff Wiggery could plant cabbages.
“Please listen, all of you,” intoned the puny priest, “I can assure you with the Great Father as my witness that this fallen animal is a dragon and that we can gorge ourselves upon it this very night.”
I had to say something.
“Wait, everyone. My learned manual clearly states that this is a demon.”
I opened the little red Ledger to the correct page and held it up for all to see. It was useless. They could see the drawings but hardly any of them could read. Leopold Prattle had both the Great Father and hunger on his side. The people sided with him.
As the larger men of the village planned a way to haul the body from the crater and the children began to run around in excitement at the prospect of a meal, the mothers cried tears of happiness over the Great Father’s blessing.
I stood back and watched the rest of the crops in the field turn black as invisible waves of oppression cascaded off the fallen fiend. I took a sip of my milk but it had rotted to a scummy yellow gall that made me retch. I emptied it onto the diseased field and was relieved to overhear that they aimed to drag the creature to the opposite side of the village for butchery.
Bumcakes
I was also delighted to note that the demon’s corruption hadn’t reached as far as my croft. Stepping through the thigh high gate I saw my corn, green and healthy, my yams apparently unharmed. The chickens looked unaffected, they scratched the dusty ground and jerked their heads as usual. Mary the goat regarded me through mischievous eyes—far too reminiscent of the eyes of the malevolent beings depicted in the Ledger. Living next to
