The Hungry Ghost by H.S. Norup

Author:H.S. Norup
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Steerforth Press
Published: 2020-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

—27—

We jog and run and walk through the rainforest for hours. Twice, we swim across lazy rivers. I keep checking my compass to make sure we’re heading south-east. When we reach the shore, we stand on the empty beach, breathing the salty air, scanning the horizon.

White-capped waves churn under the clear sky. Faraway islands, like green boils, interrupt the blue perfection. Parallel to the shore, a set of three spectacular arches curve in and out of the sea. Their brightness is blinding.

“Dragon!” Ling calls. “Esteemed dragon. We request a favour.”

The arches shift direction and flow towards us, fluidly, as if they’re made entirely of water. As it approaches, the metallic blue-green scales that are reflecting the sunlight become distinguishable, and I can make out the shape of the creature.

I’m staring, trying to grasp how this can possibly be a dragon. It looks more like a giant sea serpent, perhaps the Midgard Serpent in Norse mythology, who will bring about the end of the world.

I want to run as far from the shore as possible, but Ling walks into the sea, smiling, like it’s her lucky day.

When a huge head slides out of the water right next to her, she giggles and pats it, as if it was a puppy. Like a dog, the dragon sticks its tongue out. Unlike a dog’s, the dragon’s tongue is longer than Ling’s waist-length hair.

Gingerly, I wade after Ling.

The long snake-like neck rises further out of the sea. A million deep-blue fish scales gleam. The dragon dips its head, tipping its stag antlers towards me in a polite greeting. I rub it behind its fluffy, tea-cosy-sized ears, while I try to decide if the head itself more resembles a cow’s or a camel’s.

“Venerable dragon. The forest in the north-west of the island is burning. We need a rainstorm to extinguish the blaze.” Ling goes on to tell him that the vermillion bird started the fire, but that we expect she’s been captured by now and taken to the hill with the banyan tree.

At the mention of the vermillion bird, the eyes of the dragon darken. The skin above the bump between them contracts.

“Could you perhaps drop us off on the hill, esteemed dragon, before you… er… unleash the… torrents?” I ask, remembering at the last minute to speak in the same respectful tone and formal language as Ling.

The dragon bows again. Out of the water, he pulls a bird-like leg with a clawed foot and lifts first Ling, then me, up onto the second of the three arches that curve out of the surface. I copy Ling and lie down, wrapping my legs and arms around his neck.

With a forceful push-off, the dragon frees himself from the water. He doesn’t have any wings, but moves through the air with the same smooth wave-like motion as he swam in the sea. The scales are too bright to look at directly and extremely slippery. Every rise causes us to glide backwards, while the falls make us slide forward.

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