Tomas Ingleby and the Tale of the Golden Fairy

8. Darkness Rising

If Tomas had glimpsed the other-worldly image of a circular UFO descending out of the clouds he could not have been more startled. Down it came through a hole in the clouds shimmering round the moon, through which moonlight shone most breathtakingly. Beautiful, like a stairway to heaven. But out of the hole there emerged something else: a vision, an object, which at first Tomas did not recognize, though he was certain very clearly it could not be anything natural.

This doesn't look good.

Slowly the object resolved itself.

A vision . . . of horror . . .

Arcane, spellbound, nightmare to end all nightmares, desecration of the very sky itself: huge, monstrous--a dream and yet not so like a dream. Tomas guessed, he did, almost before it had happened, like a stirring wind under a green bower climbing.

"It's her," he gasped.

She'd come. The marauding Queen had come! Unspeakable terror, scourge of the Forest and of his waking dreams and of his tortured nightmares, violation of his inmost sanctuary--on her mighty, infamous steed, the great fire-breathing dragon: Kulkan.

Wingbeat after wingbeat it came, slow, darkening the sky, as if some great golden eagle or enchanted albatross had taken flight. Tomas covered his face with his hands, fearing lest he should be exposed, as if the monster should look down and spy the place where he lay concealed . . .

Game over . . . The End . . . Woe is me!

But no. Not yet. Too high, to see anything so small as the car. Even a dragon could not see anything that small, could it?

"Um . . ."

Don't bet on it.

At least it might not have done--oh! If Mother hadn't left the headlights on!

Headlights . . .

Tomas stared at the headlights like a rabbit admiring the oncoming lamps of a DUI SUV. Paralysed, shocked by the revelation, why hadn't he noticed before?

Headlights . . . dazzling . . .

Turn 'em off, quick!

Irresistible urge to stop his ears, screw himself into a ball and hope for the best. Deep breath, one . . . two . . . three, body moving so fast his mind nearly forgot to keep up. Scrambling over the front seat, lunging for the dashboard . . .

Not the faintest idea what he is doing.

Twist . . . key . . . ignition.

Engine rumbles into life.

Turning knob after knob, punching buttons all over the place. Honk! goes the horn, twice.

Great, smashing.

Oh no.

". . . your stairway lies on the whispering wind . . ." blares the radio full blast through the powerful speakers with a mighty detonation of rock guitar. Headlights cranked up full power and the fog lamps flare on. Finally, though he has no idea how he manages it, the external alarm bursts into action and there is a most unspeakable din to rival a police car chase and which must have been heard all over town and for miles around!

Brilliant, spiffing.

Tomas snatched the keys out of the ignition and it's over, stopped, quiet as quiet can be . . .

He dares to look up.

The monster hadn't noticed, apparently, which might be a miracle. On it went, slow, unwieldy, terrifying, yet beautiful and majestic all at the same time, from one end of the sky to the other. The boy stared, transfixed. Memories, lying awake on his pillow, tossing, turning, dreading this very ordeal, haunting his dreams. Yet here it was in plain sight. The shadow one fears is less troubling than the reality one encounters. Or was it the other way round?