Not Again!
A fun little fantasy short-short story by Gabor Csigas
The low and slow dragonskin drums kept on humming outside.
“The gods are dying,” Old Zubbug croaked, his voice that of a raven.
“What?” the Chief asked. He took a puff from his old pipe that his great-great-great grandfather carved from a branch of an ancient flame oak that Old Zubbug planted himself. “Not again!”
“Yes, again,” Old Zubbug said somberly. “I’ve just returned from the Smoking Mountain of the North. I saw the signs. The gods! They spoke to me. They are dying.”
“Oh my gods,” the Chief said, exhaling a stream of pale blue light. “Not again.”
Old Zubbug crossed his arms, and nodded.
They sat in silence for a minute or two.
“Yes, again!” Old Zubbug said then. “We must do what we must do.”
“Again,” the Chief said with a sigh, eyes half closed.
“Always,” Old Zubbug whispered. “The Smoking Mountain calls, and we must answer. The gods are dying.”
The Chief looked around, studying the shadowy faces of his War Council. Some of them were nodding in the firelight, slowly. Not everyone, though. Not everyone.
“We should let them die,” the Chief said, finally. “See what happens without them.”
“What! Let the gods die?” Old Zubbug gasped, his ancient, diamond eyes growing wide. “Not again!”
There was silence, for a while.
Only the low and slow hum of the dragonskin drums kept on rolling outside.
