https://youtu.be/XCdG_nxxPRk
How the Dragons Lost the World
by John E. DeLaughter
John E. DeLaughter is a retired planetologist living on a sailboat with Samantha the Eagle. His work has taken him to all seven continents where he has always met the nicest people. But no dragons. (Yet.)
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Listen to me, oh, best beloved, and I will tell you of the days long, long ago when dragons ruled the world and how we came to lose our way. For you are the child of dragons and will be the parent of dragons, and you should know how we once held dominion over all and how a clever ape brought us to ruin–.
Now in those days of long, long ago the world was divided into three realms. There was the realm of the seas, ruled by the mighty sea dragon, Iotha. She was fair of face yet swift and terrible in her fury. There was the realm of the lands, ruled by the immense land dragon, Iadrut. He was as long as the world and when he stomped his foot, the ground split in fear. But the most important of all the realms was the air, ruled by the terrible, outrageous, and lawless Arus. His wings could blot out the sky, his scream could rouse the seas, his feet could shatter mountains, and his very breath was a furnace. All beings in all three realms, sea, land, and sky, obeyed Arus lest they raise his fearsome wrath.
For ages untold, the world lived and prospered under the harsh but fair rule of the dragons. Iotha and her brood devoured the people of the sea yet Iotha also protected them from those that would destroy them. Iadrut and his children consumed the people of the land yet Iadrut also provided them with food and shelter from the elements. And Arus and his children watched over all, eating nought but fire and keeping the balance between earth, land, and sea so that the world might live harmoniously.
But what none of them knew, not mighty Iotha, not immense Iadrut, not prodigious Arus, was that on the lands lived a band of apes that desired to end the domain of the dragons. These apes were vicious. These apes were cruel. But, worst of all, these apes were clever.
One day, the cleverest of these apes, who had named himself Bini for the glint in his eyes, came up to Iadrut where the dragon lay amidst a grove of towering green trees. The ape bowed in submission as all beasts on the land must when they meet their ruler. But, as Bini bowed, he also chuckled as if at a mighty jest. Bini’s laughter grew louder and louder until the beast fairly rolled on the ground in mirth.
“How dare you laugh in my presence!” roared Iadrut, infuriated by Bini’s impudence (for none had ever laughed at him before). Dozens of trees were felled as Iadrut lashed his tail in anger, and small creatures fled in terror. But the ape moved not.
“I beg your pardon, oh mighty Iadrut!” the clever ape begged, chuckling all the while. “It is just that Iotha told me that there was one thing you could not do and looking upon you, I suddenly realized she was right.”
“What!” demanded Iadrut, nigh-well insensible in his wrath. Stretching himself to his fullest, he sneered “Something that I cannot do! Do you not know that I am mightiest of all land dragons? Do you not know that I am as long as the world and that the ground itself splits in fear when I stomp my foot?”
“Yes, I know all of that,” Bini said, still smirking at the dragon behind his palm. “Nevertheless, there is one thing that you cannot do.”
“Name it and I shall do it!” Iadrut roared, splitting the ground as he stomped in fury.
“Why it is as simple as simple,” Bini replied. “You cannot leap over the Moon for you are too large and she is too far away.”
“We will see about that!” Iadrut said. Now the king of the land dragons knew that Bini was right; he couldn’t leap over the Moon. But he also knew that to let Bini have the last laugh would be unheard of. So Iadrut gathered himself and leapt into the sky as high as he could. Over the tops of mountains, over the tops of stars, even up to the very nose of the Moon he leapt. And as he came down, he saw as Bini gathered the other apes and ran to a corner of the world far away. Before he could discover why the apes had moved, Iadrut met the ground with a crash so mighty that it split the land into seven pieces and flung them all across the globe, splitting the beasts one from another and killing Iadrut and all his children.
And the clever ape smiled. “That’s one,” he said to himself.
The next day, Bini went swimming in the salty ocean, where he met swift and beautiful Iotha, lolling in a maze of kelp. As before, the clever ape bowed to the ruler of the seas. As before, Bini chuckled as he did so. And as happened before with Iadrut, the mighty Iotha was infuriated by Bini’s impudence.
“How dare you laugh in my presence!” Iotha roared, thrashing the sea into huge waves. “My brother lies dead and you laugh!”
“My apologies, oh mighty Sea Queen,” Bini said, chuckling all the while and edging ever so slowly toward the shore. “I but remember a jest that Iadrut told me.”
“A jest that my brother told you? What is it?” Iotha demanded as she, all unwitting, followed the clever ape from the vastness of her realm into the shallow waters.
“What is drier than death and wetter than woe?” Bini asked as he stepped on shore.
Iotha frowned in thought but try as she might, she could not discover the meaning of the riddle. “What?”
Pointing at the sea dragon, Bini chortled “Why you, of course!”
Bini shouted in laughter as he ran along the sandy beach and into the dense, verdant jungle, where he grabbed a bunch of coconuts. Iotha shouted in fury and called her children to her side. Together, they chased Bini through the green jungles where the coconuts grew and the monkeys chittered. They chased Bini across wild plains where the grass grew as high as a dragon and the woolly beasts roamed. They chased Bini over the ice where the snow ran red and the white bears hunted. For a day and a night and a day and a night the clever ape ran and Iotha and her children chased him, never slacking, never failing in their fury, until finally Bini stopped amidst a sea of dunes and smiled at his pursuers.
“Welcome to the desert!” the clever ape said, cracking open a coconut and sipping from the milk inside. “Here there is no water but that which you bring with you. Here there is no food but that which you find. Here you will stay to the end of your days.”
Iotha stared about her. The ape’s words were true and, for the first time in her life, she was afraid. Here there was no water to lift her, no food to sustain her or her children. She lunged for Bini, hoping to gain his coconuts and feed her children but the ape skipped nimbly back, laughing all the while.
This sea was indeed drier than death and bitter salt tears flowed from her eyes, wetter than woe. With a mighty wail, she watched as her children died one by one while Bini calmly ate coconuts one by one. In agony and despair, she gasped out “Why? Why did you do this?”
But Bini smiled and refused to answer as Iotha died. “That’s two,” he said to himself.
The next day, Bini took a walking stick and climbed the highest mountain he could find. Above the trees he climbed. Into the ice and snow he climbed. Up, up, and up he climbed until every breath was a gasp and the cold froze his bones. He climbed until there was no more mountain to climb, and there he stood, leaning on his walking stick.
From atop the mountain, Bini called out for Arus, the ruler of the air, to attend him. Angry at being summoned like a child, furious at the deaths of his brother and his sister, inflamed at the damage done to the world by Bini, Arus lit on the snowy mountain top and glared at the clever ape.
“What do you want, murderer?” Arus raged. “You have already killed my sister, Iotha, and my brother, Iadrut. Will you try to kill me next?”
“I won’t try,” Bini said, edging closer to Arus as he spoke. “I will succeed. For I know that you are too smart to fall for the simple tricks that I played on your brother and your sister.”
“Then how will you kill me?” Arus laughed. “For my wings can blot out the skies, my scream can rouse the seas, my feet can shatter mountains, and my very breath is a furnace! What will you use to defeat these, oh clever ape?”
Shaking his walking stick at Arus, Bini said “This!”
“Never!” Arus shouted. In his anger, the king of all dragons shot flame after flame at the cavorting clever ape. But the clever ape merely wrapped the flames around the walking stick and pulled and pulled until he had stolen all of Arus’s fire.
“Give me back my fire!” Arus cried in anguish, bitterly realizing that Bini had beaten him.
But Bini just ran down the mountain with the fire he had stolen, knowing that Arus and his children would soon die as they could not live without fire. “That’s three,” he said to himself. “And now the world is mine.”
But the clever ape was wrong for Arus had been even more clever than the ape and had hidden a part of his fire in the breasts of his children. So, though Bini killed Arus and took over dominion of all the lands and all the seas and all the air, Bini could not kill all of Arus’s children nor steal all of Arus’ fire from the world.
And so we lived, despite Bini’s best efforts. And while we live, we hope. For we know that one day, Bini and his children will tire of playing with Arus’s fire. Bini and his children will grow careless and inattentive. When they do, the clever ape will cease to be clever. Then Bini and his children will cease to be for they will set fire to the world.
And on that day, we dragons will rule once more.
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