As spring is making its return and the honking of the Canadian geese echoes in the skies once more, there is no better story to welcome this season and our beloved geese than Aaron Grierson’s “Flames and Fowl Play,” a tale brimming with adventure, fantasy, and a touch of local magic.
A note from Aaron Grierson on this flash piece: “Written for one of the library’s past contests, I really wanted to have fun with this. Dragons are everywhere in fantasy, and geese are everywhere when one talks about Canada, so why not combine the two? After all, they are both fierce, flying creatures who are extremely territorial. Aside from turning geese into bigger monsters, the twist on the trope is that the dragon’s horde becomes people. It’s also a little coming of age, mirroring some growth of my own in recent years, when it comes to letting more people into my life.”
Flames and Fowl Play
By Aaron Grierson
Honk! Honk!
Alcador flutters back to consciousness, staring up at a cloudy sky that moves jarringly. He inhales deeply, getting a nose full of cardamom on the breeze. After a moment, the world stops moving, and he’s slumped into the familiar craggy solitude of his nest.
The awkward gait of human footsteps carries softly in the dirt.
“Is that you, Liza?” Alcador croaks.
“Liza? Who’s that?” A warm hand on his tail.
“She… nevermind,” Alcador groans.
Alcador’s eyes narrow as he recalls the goose attack.
“Well, we found you alone in a meadow nearby. We saw the geese overhead and got worried. Needed the minogoats to haul you back. Took all night. Are you okay?” Ramona stands over Alcador’s head, face blemished but grinning. “Can you stand?”
Growling with the strain, Alcador rights himself.
“It’s just bruises. Lamentable day! The Golden Warden of the West Winds, laid low by a pack of fowl tyrants,” His neck cranes toward the village. There, the people heal. They rebuild. They require protection.
“She was all alone, my hundred and fiftieth refugee. These raids are awful. I swear, the geese of the Tekhonkracy are becoming bolder,” he sighs.
Bowing his head to the dirt, he stretches like a cat. Twenty feet long and nearly thrice in wingspan, scaled in sunburst yellow, he glows like a small star.
“It’s good my Horde is safe.”
“Mhm,” She kisses his rough cheek, wiggling a whisker before limping away, favouring her left leg.
“You still limp?” he frowns. “Rest. I’ll need to gather everyone soon.”
From within his nest of scrap lumber and tattered clothes, Alcador grabs a smooth stone the size of a watermelon. An heirloom that glows faintly of moonshine.
Ramona rubs her hip, nodding.
Minutes pass, and the air begins to rumble with the guttural growls of an ancient language. A supernatural static clings to the air, carrying arcane echoes across the base of Mount Burlington and the small village nestled there. A handful of crooked houses and leaning hovels are all that remain of a once-idyllic locale. Roofs have been patched with scrap plastic, walls plastered together by the entrails of skyscrapers. The residents turn to the dragon’s nest and close their eyes in a moment of unity under the ring of the dragonsong.
The air goes still as the draconic hymn ceases. “Every one of you is a treasure, and the best I could ask for. A proper horde!” Alcador says, landing silently in the middle of the square. His voice is worn, but mellow.
“As many of you know, the Tekhonkracy has been getting fouler. They’re flying further than Dreadbeak’s Hollow to the southeast, wrecking nearby settlements. Most of you experienced their terror-mongering, and I fear they’ll soon come for us. We are alone, so we must prepare.”
His face hardens, steam shooting from his nostrils. Circling the crowd once more, he pauses. Most of the humans are youths, adults numbering less than three dozen.
“We’ve ten good archers and our walls,” Sven says, brushing his blonde hair back.
“What if we throw big rocks? Or find giant seeds?” a chorus from the crowd.
Alcador shakes his head like a lion. “None here can hurl boulders, nor do I know of such seeds in the west.”
“What if we scorch the earth? We’ll starve them out,” an adult suggests.
“Absurdity! That would cost of our lives too. We’ve struggled needlessly since the Great Waste. Never again will I abide such madness.” Alcador stares off, wings fidgeting nervously.
The crowd watches him, dazed.
Ramona follows Alcador’s gaze, out toward the small copse of sycamores, shadows stretching in the afternoon sun.
“What about shadows?” Ramona snaps, eyes aglow.
Attention falls on her.
“Well, all birds try and make themselves bigger when threatened, right? So what if we make a giant shadow person?”
Alcador fully stretches his wings. “I am not big enough, nor have I known the Tekhonkracy to chase shadows.” Ramona slumps back.
Honk! Honk!
Alcador’s long, spiny ears perk up at the distant threat.
“By Dracotian The Mother’s blood, prepare for yourselves!” he roars.
As he takes to the skies, everyone scatters through the dilapidated haven. For shelter, or defence amidst the chaos.
Minutes later, the flaps of feathery wings harry the town, followed by shadows looming overhead. A few geese circle around the village of the Mount like vultures. Their wingspan is a quarter that of the dragon’s, who circles beneath as the town’s bulwark. He’s tense, ears pricked on high alert.
Below, the youths work together to stitch tarps, sheets, and animal skins together, dozens more scrambling for supplies.
“Be safe, my family, my horde. I hope you understand what you’re doing,” the dragon huffs.
As the flock swells, geese begin diving toward the ground in pairs, met by Alcador spitting flames.
“Now your goose is cooked!” Immolated corpses careen to the earth.
“Hey, hey, Jermaine! I’m gonna go eat the small one!” a goose squawks.
“That’s nice, Hootie,” Jermaine replies in a thick drawl. He’s a larger, darker bird. Hootie dives, narrowly evading Alcador’s attack.
“You speak… Common?!” Alcador roars.
“But of course! Wouldn’t be common if we didn’t all speak it!” Jermaine replies, staying in formation.
“Why are you doing all this?” Alcador asks, smouldering.
“A bit of good fun, mate. And territory. After all, we have air superiority, even if we ain’t the biggest, we the scariest,” Jermaine replies, diving down. “I mean really, aren’t we just terrifying?”
Out of the corner of Alcador’s eye, he sees Sven fire two arrows at Hootie. Both shots land square in the bird’s massive chest, ending its life with a final “Honk!”
Alcador releases a massive gout of fire, igniting three other fowl before Jermaine’s within reach. Jermaine rolls his eyes, hearing his ally’s pathetic dying cry, and takes a large breath of air.
Honk! Honk!
Alcador releases as much fire as he can, as the Tekhonkrat geese descend en masse. He slashes out with his claws as they peck and tackle him. His roars are drowned by deafening honks, paired only with screams as the humans engage the massive geese.
Slaying at least a score of them, he starts to feel the pecking between his scales, at his throat, and his face. The villagers panic, shooting wildly as they see his flames extinguished.
“Come on! We can do this!” Ramona screams loud enough that Alcador hears. “Keep going!” She cradles Alcador’s stone tightly, limbs quivering.
Rending life from more fowl, Alcador sinks toward the earth, his strength ebbing. Snarling, he grapples a couple of geese as he crashes to the soil.
“Haw haw, now they’ll be easy pickings!” Jermaine boasts triumphantly. “Soulstealer, get the shiny stuff, everyone else ‘av a bit a fun,” he honks loudly.
People exhaust their arrows, taking up boar spears to defend those stitching. Ramona rushes over toward Alcador, head lolling after collapsing on his side.
“Alcador, wake up! You have to wake up!” Tears run down her face as she nudges the massive dragon. Scales cracked, claws chipped, he bleeds from dozens of wounds.
Ramona ducks a goose, hiding beneath Alcador’s stomach. She wails as she’s smeared with warm dragon blood. The humans run amok as they work to rope their fabric project from the town hall’s watchtower, a stone building three stories high.
Cowering in terror, Ramona’s oblivious to the familiar humming emanating from the blood-covered stone until it vibrates out of her hands. Staring down, mouth agape, she checks Alcador, who remains unconscious.
Beholding the stone, some tears drip into the blood. Moments later, the stone starts emitting a dull light. She picks it up, running toward town hall. En route, she dips away from two geese, who careen past her into buildings, which crumble atop the big birds.
The humming grows, dragonspeech resonating into the sky. The light bursts until it’s a blinding flare. Ramona collapses, shuts her eyes in prayer, and hoists the stone. A shadow grows from the wafting conglomerate of fabrics, unnaturally dark for this hour. Its colour thickens until it’s nearly opaque, stretching over a hundred feet.
“Blimey, look at the wingspan on this guy!” Jermaine hisses, backing away from the children. Other geese follow suit, hissing and backing away from the town hall.
As the humming crescendos, a wreath of fire engulfs Jermaine, who honks fervently before collapsing in a heap.
The town gazes skyward as Alcador rises, eyes aglow. The fire continues to spread amongst the birds as they flap in a frenzy to escape. “Never return. Leave my Horde alone, else face my wrath!” Alcador roars, shaking the earth.
Frightened honks fade into the distance, and Alcador settles before Ramona. Despite his injuries, Alcador regally bows before the people. His people. He smiles as Ramona finally opens her eyes.
“I knew you could do it. This is why you’re all precious. Never doubt that you belong here,” Alcador says, gingerly embracing those around him. “This is your home.”
If you are a local artist, storyteller, or have a unique talent you would like to share, please send an email to talent.localnews@gmail.com for an opportunity to be featured on Burlington’s Got Talent.
