by Gary J Darby
To Fashion A Dragon
Gary Darby
Gary Darby
To Fashion A Dragon
Beware the games that gods and demons play for they are not for the timid, vain, or ill-prepared. And woe unto they who bet they can deceive those from the upper or lower world and lose—for they shall have a place in neither.
“That was all to the message?” Osa demanded of Vay, one of her fairy sisters, as they sped around Caninos the Dog Star and aimed straight at Sirinium, the Brightest Star. Their pale, flowing robes trailed behind with a faint luminescence as if they left behind a trail of fairy dust.
“As I’ve told you three times, now, Osa,” Vay snapped, flying at her sister’s shoulder, “those were the exact words. Nothing more.”
“I heard it, too, sister,” Nadia, another sister fairy spoke up. “It’s just as Vay said.”
She raised a slim hand in an imperious stance, cocked her head upward, brushed back her long, silvery hair, and in a low bass voice imitating Merc, the messenger of the gods, began, “The Most High Gods summon the four Fae to climb the Glory Stairs at once.”
Eskar, the fourth sister, tittered, covering her mouth with a hand. “Don’t let Merc see you doing that, he’s quite sensitive you know. He’s still fuming that he was assigned to the Lower Gods’ ranks and not one of the Most High.”
“Well,” Nadia retorted, wrinkling her slim nose, “it was his own fault. If he hadn’t pushed that star too hard and incinerated four whole creation worlds, he might be sitting on a throne in The Center of Everything instead of flitting here and there delivering messages.”
The four fairies ducked low under a sizzling, sparkling shooting star, straightened, and picked up speed, passing by several creation worlds that were just beginning to show the familiar blues, greens, and browns of newborn realms.
At Sirinium, they made a sharp left turn and aimed straight for the vast glowing orb that dominated the heavens. Some called it Valhalla, some Olympus, the fairies just called it The Center of Everything because, to them, it was.
“Besides,” Nadia sniffed as they drew close to their destination, “Merc’s all puffed up with his own self-importance. It’s not like the Most Highs really need a messenger—it’s just busy work to keep him out of their hair and not moping around sniveling how he should be—”
“Quiet, sister!” Osa ordered as the four alighted at the foot of the Glory Stairs. “They might hear you. Merc has friends you know, both High and Low.”
Nadia opened her mouth to retort but Osa raised a finger to silence her and stepped on the first golden step. Immediately, a soft gong spread outward followed by a heavenly chorus singing adorations,
All hail to the Most High, rulers over land, sea and sky,
Most benevolent, most kind, magnificent in body, pure in mind,
Sing their praises mellow and clear, lift your hearts be of good cheer,
Climb, oh climb, the Glory Stairs, and meet your makers, creation’s heirs.
Vay, a stunning beauty, and the most beautiful of the sisters, sighed inwardly and muttered under her breath, “I don’t see why we have to climb these infernal stairs when we could just fly to the top!”
“Be careful, sister,” Osa admonished. “They—”
“I know,” Vay snapped, a frown pulling down her pale pink lips, “they might hear me. To your way of thinking that’s all the gods do day and night, eavesdrop on everyone’s conversations.”
“Well,” Nadia huffed as she peered upward with striking blue eyes to where the stairs ended in a gilded, brilliant cloud, “I don’t mind climbing these stairs, but you’d think after almost an eternity they’d have the Heavenly Chorus change their tune. It’s the same song, over and over.”
“I think they do it,” Eskar whispered, “to spur you on and not dally on the steps.”
“And just why,” Vay demanded as she glanced to the right and left at the billowing, glowing clouds, “would anyone want to tarry here? There’s nothing to see but fog.”
After one-thousand and one steps, the exact number of High and Low gods, the fairies stood on the stair’s threshold and looked out upon the Eternal Gardens. A curved, golden path, hemmed by exact, low hedges on both sides, wound its way through perfectly manicured lawns.
Flowers of every kind, roses, orchids, tulips, daisies and a thousand more floated in the air above and around them, carried along by a gentle breeze. Tall, stately trees with gold-tipped leaves rose in the near distance and each time the breeze brushed by the foliage, chimes tinkled, and flutes played soft, melodious notes.
At the end of the golden path lay their destination: The shining Parthenon with its tall, silvery-white statues of the Most High Gods that lined three sides of the building while the fourth side held columns and the broad portal that gave entrance to the interior.
A soft, soothing light flowed down and around them, outlining the Parthenon in a shimmering, celestial radiance. Held aloft by the front row of columns, the building’s triangular-shaped facade held carvings showing lightning, storms, suns, clouds, and a host of creatures large and small—symbols of the god’s power to create a whole cosmos.
“Come, sisters,” Osa urged, “we don’t want to keep them waiting.”
The four hurried down the golden way, climbed the short stairway, passed through the portal and entered the Parthenon. To their surprise, of the four High Ones gathered, three were Presiders, the most powerful and influential of the gods.
Zule, the presiding High God, dully waved them forward. He leaned forward on his majestic, golden throne, one elbow on an armrest while one fist pressed against a cheek, looking all the while as if everything around him was boring.
As the fairies rushed forward, he adjusted his white, silken toga so that it draped over his muscular torso just right and played with the purple sash that crossed from one shoulder to his waist. He scratched at his curly, golden full beard and yawned wide.
As the fairies drew close, he held a hand up, his golden eyes appearing sleepy and tired, and out of the sky a lightning bolt crashed downward only to stop in Zule’s hand. The god turned the thunderbolt over in his fingers as if inspecting it and then tapped one end on the armrest. Smoke curled upward accompanied by a sizzling sound along with flying sparks that showered the gleaming ebony floor.
Osin, God of War sat on his blood-red throne to the right of Zule and was dressed similarly, except instead of a thunderbolt, in one hand he held a huge shield whose center was bright gold, but the outer portion was scarlet, like new blood. His other hand rested on the haft of an enormous, gleaming sword whose point dug into the sparkling floor.
At his feet lay the Hounds of War: Valor, Courage, Faith, Hope, Fear, and Desperation. The large, sleek beasts slept for now but at any moment they could spring up and Osin and his dogs would thunder down from the god’s home and bring misery and pain upon a world gripped by war.
To Zule’s other side sat Jupus, God of Water and Air. A constant breeze ruffled Jupus on one side while the other seemed to always be dripping wet. His symbol was a trident that he held in his hand and slowly twirled the three-tined spearhead.
There was a fourth figure, who stood off to one side in the shadow of a column with his face hidden. Unlike the other gods who wore white satin togas he wore a dark, short cloak and at the moment its hood was up and over the person’s head.
The four fairies bowed as Osa murmured, “Most High Ones, we came at once to your summons.”
“Ah, yes,” Zule rumbled low, “the four Fae. We bid you welcome, ladies. As always, I hear good things about you, that you’ve been most helpful with your magic, flitting here, flitting there, adding wonderful touches to our creations.”
“It is our pleasur
e, Sire,” Osa replied.
“A joy to serve the Most Highs,” Eskar said and bowed even lower.
“To give of ourselves is a blessing, Great One,” Nadia added.
Vay didn’t speak but remained in her bent position.
“Yes, well,” Zule harrumphed, “please rise and come forward as we called you here to help us solve a slight problem.”
“It would be no problem at all,” Osin growled, his face a dark, ruddy red, “if you would let me do the creation. After all, they will be creatures of war.”
“Not so, Osin!” Jupus snapped. “They are creatures who shall sail both above in the air and below in the waters. Therefore, as the god of both, I should be their creator.”
Zule held up a tired hand and motioned to the two scowling gods at his side. “This,” he grumbled to the fairies, “is what I’ve had to listen to for how many eons now and I grow weary of the argument.”
His eyes flicked to the hooded figure who still had not come out in the light. “A suggestion has come forth on how to resolve the issue and I’m inclined to follow the thought.”
He leaned forward, and his eyes showed lively amusement as if he were no longer quite as bored. “How would you four like to fashion this new addition to our already illustrious creations?”
At first, the four Fae were speechless. Then, Osa, Nadia, and Eskar started babbling among themselves, while Vay stood to one side, her eyes narrowed, a finger stroking one cheek. “Think of it, sisters,” Osa gushed, “instead of adding a touch here—”
“Or a touch there,” Eskar interrupted. “A curl of hair, or larger fangs, or maybe a—”
“Swipe of red, or blue,” Nadia tittered, “we could do—”
“The whole thing!” All three sisters said together.
The three fairies, a bit on the tall side, straightened and faced the High Ones. Osa reached out and pulled the shorter Vay against her so that the Fae presented a unified front. “We accept, Great One. It will be our honor and privilege to serve you in this capacity. Rest assured, we will not disappoint.”
“Excellent!” Zule laughed. His eyes flicked momentarily toward the shadows where the hooded individual stood before he turned to his companions and boomed, “There, Osin, Jupus, the matter is resolved. Show the ladies what you had in mind, but they shall bring forth the final creation.”
Osin, grumbling and glowering, threw up his hand and a shadowy figure appeared in midair. “Fang, talon, and tail to rip and tear, with scales to blunt an arrow or lance, and fire in its belly to roast an enemy.”
Jupus curled his fingers around and the shape swirled in the air, became more firm and solid to the eye. “Sleek of body with mighty wings to match so that the beast can soar across the sky or swim in the deep blue.”
“Hmmm,” Osa said, tapping a finger to her pursed lips. “Fire and fang, talon and tail. A most impressive suggestion to start with, High One.”
“And scales thick enough,” Eskar said, twirling a strand of her silver hair between slim fingers, “to ward off lance or bolt. Very sturdy creature, I must say, Sire.”
“Oh, and with wings!” Nadia clapped. “To fly high above or swim far below the waves. How wondrous of you, Mighty One, to think of such a notion.”
Vay, her eyes never leaving the slowly turning form above her, asked, “Most High, have you a name for the creature?”
“Yes,” Zule replied. “We shall call it a dragon.”
“Dragon . . .” Vay whispered to herself, “Dragon . . .Fire and fang, talon and tail . . .”
Zule lifted his hand and a golden globe formed around the airy creature. The orb shrunk in size and settled into Zule’s hand. He gazed at the tiny body held within the sphere for a moment and then floated it over to Osa’s outstretched hands.
The Presider settled back into his throne and waved a dismissive hand toward the fairies. “Use what materials you need, but don’t take more than say, oh, an eon or two to work your magic. After all, the Age of Creation will soon come to an end and I mean to have this cosmos ready for its journey. I grow weary of so little to do and am anxious to begin the games.”
“Of course, Sire,” Osa replied, bowing and while taking backward steps, pulled her sisters along with her. “We shall not let you down.”
“An honor and a privilege, Great One,” Nadia said. “Our creation shall not disappoint.”
“You can count on us, High One,” Eskar added, “to have this creature done well before the end of the Age of Creation.”
Vay stayed in step with her sisters’ backward march but as usual held her tongue, though her mind was busy with all the possibilities this amazing opportunity presented—not for her sisters, but for her.
As the Fae reached the portal, they turned and hurried away. It wasn’t long before they were winging away to their home. In the Parthenon, Osin and Jupus left in a huff and Zule watched them go before he slowly rose from his throne.
“We’re taking a great chance, Lys,” he said over his shoulder, “putting the power of ultimate creation in the hands of beings that are not even gods.”
“Yes, Sire,” Lys replied, “but would you have the Eternal Gardens erupt in conflict over this? You know as well as I, that the sides are being drawn between Osin and Jupus. After all, this creature will be a mighty beast among the creations, perhaps the greatest ever to come forth. Whosoever controls its conception, controls Erdron, the center mark of all the creations. And whoever controls Erdron—”
Zule whips up a hand. “I know, and we’ve gone over this before.”
He sighed long and faced his companion. “For now, Osin and Jupus have accepted my decision and we’ve quelled the tempest, passed through this crisis safely. Our home will know peace for a space. But once that beast comes forth—”
“I know, Sire, we will face a second, perhaps even greater crisis. But there was no turning back—dragons will come forth. The question is who will be its true creator? Those who would use it against us, or—”
“I know,” Zule snapped, “but I grow weary of playing the part of the bored god with too much time on his hands.”
He hefted the lightning bolt in his hand, drew it back and let fly. The bolt flew across the cosmos and crashed into a dark, cold world. In an instant, the hunk of barren rock ignited and became a bright star, the latest to join a cosmos of worlds and stars seemingly without end.
“Mark my words,” Zule snarled, “there will come a time when my thunderbolts will fly, and they will remember who it is that sits on the Golden Throne.”
“Indeed, Sire, but until then we must let this play out, see who remains loyal to your decree, or—”
“Who dares cross me, supposing that I have lost my power!”
Zule let his anger subside before asking, “Do you think the Fae have any idea what this is really about?”
“No, Sire, but Vay will have to be closely watched. She is not happy with her lot, her station in the universe. She yearns for more—much more.”
Zule raised a dismissive hand. “Perhaps, but we can easily handle that, after all, they are just fairies.”
The Fae’s return to their home in Fairyland was swift and full of chatter among the three sisters as to how they would bring forth their creation, but Vay, as usual, kept to herself, her thoughts turning inward, and listened little to her sisters. She had other ideas that dwelt on things beyond her sister’s limited imagination.
As the four flitted in through the high, full windows that led to the inside of their celestial castle, Osa exclaimed, “Sisters! I just had the most marvelous idea! What if we colored the scales of our dragon with the colors of the four pixie clans—dusky brown, fiery red, light blue, and a deeper blue?”
“The head naturally,” Eskar replies, “should be red to reflect its fiery nature, the wings deep blue like the air it shall soar through, the—”
“Oh, no, sister,” Nadia said, “The head should definitely be a dusky brown, indicating that it comes from the ground, like all
mortal creatures, and the—”
“I disagree, sisters,” Osa snapped. “I see it all perfectly, the head and body, a brilliant scarlet, the wings—”
“No,” Vay interrupted, “it should be none of those. Those are puny colors, without any sense of dominion. It should be golden, the symbol of power and glory. I want to make a golden dragon.”
“Oh, sister, sister,” Osa replied, waving a dismissive hand, “that’s an absurd idea. There are no golden creatures in all the cosmos. No, we must pattern our dragon after the ways of the gods, else they will not accept it.”
“I agree, sister,” Eskar said, shaking head primly at Vay.
“And I as well,” Nadia agreed. “We must make our dragon acceptable to the gods.”
Vay took in a deep breath, quelling the anger that built up inside her. “A golden dragon would be acceptable to the gods. After all, the Most Highs sit on golden thrones.”
“Thrones, yes,” Osa countered, “but none of their creatures are golden and that’s the point.”
“That’s right,” Eskar agreed.
“Quite so,” Nadia added.
“So, I don’t get my golden dragon,” Vay scowled.
“I’m afraid not, sister,” Osa returned, “but we welcome any other suggestions you might have.”
Vay turned away from her squabbling siblings, the scowl deepening, carving her face into deep frown lines. She went to a window to look outside. Fairyland spread out below her, to one side was Pixie Town, full of tiny houses, each painted in the color of its clan, brown for soil, red for fire, deep blue for water, or cobalt blue for air.
Pixies scurried here and there, their little, pointed hats always cocked to one side and whose constant chattering sounded like the town was suffering from an invasion of mice.
Past Pixie Town was the rolling hills and vales of Merry Meadows where she saw the glitter of several orange-colored unicorns that romped in the lime-tinted grassy fields, along with pink and purple ponies, and sheep whose wool went from white to black and back again.