A Study in the Demonic Digging Habits of Early Strigiformes
Stolas scratches at the dusty red dirt with his filthy talons. When his claw strikes a buried rock, he squawks, then pecks at it with his hooked beak. The sweltering Earthean sun beats relentlessly down on his feathered head. Still, it’s much cooler here than in hell.
As he digs, the ground shakes behind him in powerful rhythmic steps. With a twist, he swivels his head to see the demon Aym climbing the mild incline toward him. Stolas steps in front of his project, blocking it with his wings. The last thing he needs is Aym stealing his idea.
“What are you doing?” Aym’s feline head looks at Stolas, while the human head inspects the poorly hidden pile of bones. The reptilian head stares off at the clouds, but that head rarely pays attention to anything.
“Nothing. A craft project.” Stolas scuffs dust behind him, trying to obscure the bones. It is ineffective, serving only to draw Aym’s infernal interest.
“A craft project for Satan?”
“Everything we do is for the Dark Lord,” Stolas says, glancing around. You never know who could be listening.
“Yes, yes, of course, all hail Satan, our Lord and master. What is this?” Aym points at the pile with his fiery torch. He drags the torch everywhere, which Stolas feels is a bitlittle redundant, particularly in Hell. Then again, everyone has their eccentricities.
“As I said, a craft project.”
“It looks like a pile of too-big bird bones.”
“Well, it is a pile of avian bones,” Stolas admits. “But they are terrifying bird bones, just look at the claws. I made some giant ones too, but I put those somewhere else.” He gestures to the rock formation behind them.
“So, how does this aid our Dark Lord’s plan? How does it tempt the humans?” Aym’s cat head wrinkles its furry nose.
“I’m going to plant them in the Earth, and then the humans will dig them up, and they will be tempted to believe the Earth is much older than it is.” Not that Stolas is precisely sure how old the Earth is, but he’s heard from someone, who heard from someone, that it is a particular point of contention. If it is, his bones will be an exceptionally creative form of temptation. So subtle, soand cerebral. He refrains from puffing out his feathered chest. Aym will latch onto any pride and burn it out of him.
“Why would humans dig up a bunch of old bones?”
“Because they’re curious. Remember the tree?”
“I know about the tree. But isn’t it a lot of work? For them and you?”
“Nothing is too much work for our Lord,” Stolas says, though Aym is correct. The project is a tremendous amount of effort. He’s already tired of digging, and he’s only gotten through a single continent. How many more will he need to inter before they buy it?
“Why do the bones look like birds?”
“Because birds are elegantly designed and fearsome.”
“Is it because you look like an owl?”
“Owls look like me.” Stolas is done with this conversation. “I’d better get back to it.” He turns back to his hole, trying to get the other demon to take a hint. Aym does not.
“Let me get this straight. The humans are supposed to dig up these things up and then think that giant birds ran around the Earth a million years ago? Based on some random bones?”
“Hundreds of millions of years, actually.”
“Who would believe that?”
“Well, what’s your big idea?” Stolas is ready to peck out Aym’s irksome human eyes. Who does this witless monster think he is?
“I was just going to light things on fire.” Aym waves the torch. Its eternal flame flickers but remains staunchly lit.
“I am continuously mesmerized by your creativity.” Stolas waves his wings in a sarcastic flutter. “I can’t believe no one’s thought of that one.”
“You don’t have to be such a jerk about it.” Aym crosses his arms, and the cat’s head hisses. Stolas squawks back at it.
“Do you think you could add some lizards?” Aym’s lizard head speaks, its forked tongue slipping out from between sharp fangs.
Stolas pauses but then shrugs his wings. “I don’t see why not.”
“I still think it’s convoluted.” Aym turns and retreats, his flame trailing across a dry shrub brush. The leaves crackle and then burst into flame.
Stolas scrambles over and stomps out the fire. With a sigh, he returns to his pile of bones. The lizard head is right. Reptilian features might be just the thing. Why didn’t he think of that? He resumes digging in the stony ground.
As he works, a startled gecko darts out from beneath a dislodged rock. Stolas snatches it off the ground mid-run and tosses the thing into his open mouth, crunching its little bones between his beak. Lizard features will be perfect. Not that bird bones wouldn’t be entirely worthy, of course.
Stolas tosses a few bones into the hole, tilts his head, then adds a few more. Finally satisfied, he packs his travel sack, saving a remaining tibia and a particularly well-rendered epoccipital frill. No doubt it will be an arduous flight to the next continent, especially since he’ll have to take the long way around. He can’t risk falling off the edge of the Earth after all. With a flap of his colossal wings, Stolas launches his feathery frame to the sky, dodging the black plumed smoke of Aym’s infernal arson as he soars away.