It Takes a Village

Once upon a time there was a village idiot who was right most of the time. – Nate Clinard

No one believed him, of course. That would be ridiculous. His name was Danny and he lived in a tiny run-down cottage at the end of the lane leading from the village of Bumbledrudge. The old biddies would drag him out to bless the fields at spring planting and at harvest. The village priest consulted his ‘wisdom’ on the major feast days and life went on as usual. The village made sure he had food and clothes and pretty much left him alone.

Then trouble arrived, summoned by foolish girls attempting to foresee their future husbands on All Hallow’s Eve. They switched the lines of the so-called spell and all the cheese in the village went instantly rancid. Mr. Gallu appeared the next day.

Bumbledrudge was big enough to boast a blacksmith and an inn with a small general store that also served as the local watering hole. It was a bright morning with racing clouds when Mr. Gallu walked through the door of the inn and paused to allow his eyes to adjust to the dimness.

“Good morrow to you, sir!” called Burt from behind the scuffed counter. “What can I do you for?”

Mr. Gallu sauntered over, eyeing the barrels of flour and sugar, the shelves of lanterns, bolts of fabric, and tin plates. He leaned an elbow on the worn wood and Burt was surprised to look down at the man who had seemed to fill the doorway just a moment earlier.

“I’m new to the village. Just bought the old farmstead over the hill. I need a few things to complete the household, as it were,” Mr. Gallu’s voice was a low rumble in his chest.

“Certainly, certainly,” replied Burt, suddenly nervous. “We can start an account? What’s the name?” He pulled his ledger book out from under the counter.

“Gallu. Mr. Gallu.” The compact dark man looked over the goods again. “I have a list.” He passed a piece of parchment over to Burt. A short list of odds and ends, Burt soon had a pile of goods in front of him. Mr. Gallu scooped them into a large leather sack and waved as he marched out. Burt was left feeling distinctly disconcerted, but not knowing why. Maybe it was because the farmstead had been abandoned when the last family had died of the plague many years ago. Everyone avoided it, except maybe for the village idiot, who didn’t know better than to wander around haunted land.

If you wanted the whole village to know something, you told Burt. By the next day, even Danny had heard of Mr. Gallu. The busybodies had a new target and soon everyone knew that the farmstead over the hill had been fixed up and made tight as a drum. No livestock yet, but the outbuildings were all getting hammered into shape. Mr. Gallu kept to himself, although he’d been spotted exiting Danny’s hovel. The wives were mad with speculation. No one thought to ask Danny.

After the rancid cheese was fed to the pigs, and speculation about Mr. Gallu died to a murmur, odd things began to happen in the village and surrounding homesteads. In the pasture next to Mr. Gallu’s property, the cows suddenly turned white overnight. They seemed a bit more skittish, but otherwise were fine. Their milk turned sour faster, though, so many a girl was pressed into making butter. One day, Mattie Herne swore she saw ducks flying backwards, but no one believed her. She loved to play in the forest and some thought she’d take Danny’s place one day. The grannies knitting became tangled and knotted so badly that Granny Evie finally consulted Danny.

Granny Evie knocked on Danny’s rough wooden door. She heard his large form shuffle to the door and he opened it, gazing over her head. Granny Evie elbowed her way past him, sniffing at his slovenly shirt untucked, his back hunched, a daydreamy look on his face. He welcomed her inside with a nod. His sandy hair stuck out in tufts. She took his comfortable chair by the fire and he plunked down on a stool across from her. Danny was a restful sort. He didn’t talk much as he’d learned early on people wouldn’t stand for a chatty village idiot. Danny didn’t mind. He found he learned a lot by listening.

“All right, Danny, my lad,” started Granny Evie after clearing her throat and spitting into the fire. “The knitting is in a fierce state, the mice have eaten the grain I was saving for winter beer, and I suspect there’s many more crows roosting in the trees.” She leaned back into the snug chair, wriggling her shoulders in appreciation of its comfort. “Will you throw the runes for me?”

Danny leaned his elbows on his knees, letting his large, calloused hands dangle and watched Granny Evie for a minute. He didn’t have to throw the runes, which were really just for show anyway, to know what was setting the village life a-tilt. It had been an upsetting interview with Mr. Gallu. Danny knew his role in the village, and had become resigned to it, but Mr. Gallu knew the true meaning of being the village idiot. Danny wished the Bakers had listened to him when he told them not to sell the land. Danny was worn down by fear for his neighbors. He knew Mr. Gallu was practicing something evil. More than the cows, crows, mice, or the knitting was going wrong. Dawn had a strange green tint to it and the sweetest spring had gone rotten.

Danny smiled softly at Granny Evie and reached to the mantel for the washed leather bag of polished goat bones. “Of course, Granny, I will throw the runes for you. I’m sorry the mice have been in the grain. I spoke to them, of course, but they were so hungry.”

Granny Evie wrinkled her nose. Danny always said the most ridiculous things. Of course, he couldn’t speak to mice. “Go on, then,” she urged, eager for the thrill of illicit magic.

Danny blew on the bones as he shook the runes cradled in his hands. He tossed them to the hearthstone and they rattled ominously as the fire popped and snapped. The old woman and the middle-aged man leaned forward as the light glistened off the well-worn talismans.

“What do you see?” whispered Granny Evie.

Danny’s blood ran cold. He had suspected evil, but not this. The runes told of a true demon. Danny generally didn’t trust a rune reading, there was too much open to interpretation. However, these couldn’t be more clear. He glanced at Granny Evie whose eyes darted across the hearthstone.

“Is it bad, Danny?” she asked querulously. “It doesn’t look good, but my old eyes aren’t as sharp as they used to be.”

Danny sighed. None of the old biddies knew how to interpret the runes. It was a secret passed from one village idiot to the next. Yet, they liked to try their hand at reading them. Normally, Danny let them come to their own conclusions. Not tonight.

“Granny Evie,” he rumbled, “This is bad, very very bad.” He wrapped her gnarled hands in his and looked her in the eyes. Her faded brown eyes were tight with worry as she gazed into his blue ones. “We’ll need everyone in the village and we’ll need to act before the dark of the moon.”

She gasped. “But that’s only three days hence!”

Danny nodded. “And we have a lot of work to do. The new man is evil, Granny. He’s not just a bad man, he’s a true demon.” Granny Evie stared back at him, startled at the clearness of his speech. Danny grasped her hands firmly, attempting to press urgency into them. “The foxes have run away. The deer are scattered. The crows are gathering and the wolves howl long into the night. The cows are aborting their calves. Your granddaughter’s hair has turned curly and the well in town has gone dry.”

Granny’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Danny had shed the village idiot act. They didn’t have time for it. She pulled her hands from his grasp and squinted at him in the firelight. “They’ll never believe you,” she confessed.

“I know,” Danny sighed. “I’ll need you and…” he paused, thinking. “We’ll need Burt. Everyone listens to Burt. But first, bring me Mattie Herne.” Granny’s brows flew up in surprise. “She has talent,” was all Danny would say.

By the next day, the village was locked tight. Between Granny Evie and Burt, everyone now knew Mr. Gallu was a true demon. In Burt’s barn, the men collected hawthorn and oak, holly and ivy, juniper and sage. After a frantic search, a rare autumn born lamb was found. Danny gathered his tools and spent the second day secreted in Burt’s barn, with Mattie at his beck and call. From the banging, Burt supposed Danny was building something, but he left bread and cheese in a bucket by the door and left Danny alone. As the morning of the dark of the moon dawned, Danny sat exhausted on the bench outside the tavern. Burt had poured him a small beer and given him a hard boiled egg for breakfast. Danny nibbled the egg slowly, reviewing preparations in his mind. It had to be enough. He leaned his head on the shingles and let his eyes close.

As the sunset spangled the sky with red and gold, the village residents made their way in ones and twos to Burt’s barn carrying flasks of water from the sacred spring. The village priest was decked out in his finest robes and toted the sacramental vessels, bewildered, but docile. Granny Evie had scared him into submission. At last, the sun slipped beneath the horizon and the thinnest sliver of moon rose. It was time.

Danny followed the steps of the spell as the villagers chanted what he’d given them. The altar of boughs was lit with one hundred and one lamps made from the cursed butter. The lamb shivered, cowering quiet in the corner. Danny moved with unknown grace through the dips and weaves of the spellcasting. The villagers crowded the edges, spilled out of the barn and surrounded it, focusing on Danny. At last he was finished, and they all fell silent, waiting. Ten heartbeats it took before angry green light streamed from the design traced on the barn floor. In a writhing cloud of hot wind, a twisted body formed. Danny stood his ground as the tall demon formed before him. Eagle-taloned feet gripped the floor boards as a scorpion tale whipped the cold autumn air. The body of a man rose almost to the ceiling topped with the head of a lion. Two pairs of wings fell still as the creature regarded Danny.

“I am Pazuzu, who has called me here?” growled the creature.

“I am Daniel, son of Abigail, daughter of Edmund and as the community idiōtēs I call upon your aid.” Danny’s voice rang out.

Pazuzu regarded Danny thoughtfully. “I have not received a call for aid in millennia. Why would I help you?”

Danny stared up into the tawny lion eyes. “Because one of your own has come among us to break the world and kill our mothers and children.” The lamps flickered at the slow strokes of wings.

Pazuzu hissed, “My sssssissster!”

The barn doors flew open, shattering against the walls and villagers ran for their lives. Lit by the stars and the thumbnail moon, Mr. Gallu stood on the threshold. Danny turned and flung a flask of herbs and sacred water, shattering at the small man’s feet. Dark smoke roiled out from the spot as Mr. Gallu took her true shape of a lioness’s head with donkey teeth and ears, taloned feet ripped at the threshold as a female figure formed.

“Pazuzu!” growled the nightmare.

“Lamashtu!” called out Pazuzu. “You have no place here.”

Lamashtu flexed long fingers, nails scraping the doorway. “Next spring I will have the mothers and the children! They are mine! They called me!”

Pazuzu looked down at Danny. “They knew not what they did,” he said. “They are innocents.”

The demon flexed his claws and regarded his sister. “Lamashtu, it is too long since I have hunted you.”

Lamashtu stiffened and regarded Pazuzu’s lashing scorpion tail. “Run!” he roared and leapt over Danny, nearly catching his sister. The two demons dashed into the night, screaming challenges. Danny let his shoulders slump and gestured for the villagers hiding in the barn to come out.

“I don’t know how long it will take for him to catch her,” Danny commented to Burt and Roger the blacksmith over the young girls cowering under his arms. “She has had time to build her strength.” The men nodded and helped gather people into the tavern. With two demons raging through the night, everyone wanted to be close in one space. Danny swept the barn floor with a rowan broom and petted the lamb. There was still one more incantation this night.

At the witching hour, Pazuzu returned to the barn, Lamshtu draped over a shoulder. Both demons were diminished in size, panting and exhausted. Danny rose from his bench in the corner and blinked the grit from his eyes. The altar was set, the last lamps lit, and the lamb at the ready. Danny wasn’t sure how to trick Pazuzu back into the re-worked pattern on the floor.

“Thank you, great Pazuzu for your service,” Danny started.

Pazuzu chuckled darkly. “Oh, idiōtēs, it has been far too long since I’ve run the forest chasing Lamashtu.” A hot wind roiled off the demon, blowing dust into Danny’s eyes.

“I’m eternally grateful,” coughed Danny.

“Yet, you’ve prepared for my leavetaking,” murmured the demon, eyeing the floor.

Danny nodded. “This isn’t your world.”

“I suppose it’s too much to ask to be the village baker or some other innocuous figure?” Pazuzu asked mournfully. “It is so glorious to feel the wind and smell the autumn air.”

“Granny Evie wouldn’t hear of it,” laughed Danny. He gestured to the opening in the pattern. “Besides, what would you do to the poor livestock? The cows would never recover.”

Panzuzu stepped gracefully into the figure, claws scraping the floor. “I understand. Thank you for offering me this chase. If you sing the incantation, it is less painful.”

Danny was shivering in relief. “I would be honored.”

“And I’ll need that tempting morsel, there,” growled Panzuzu.

Danny nodded and started to sing. He let his rich baritone fill the space, swirling around the demons. In sorrow, he cuddled the lamb before cutting its throat and handing it to Panzuzu. The demon took it gently in its free hand and licked his lips. In a sizzle of ozone, the demons were gone. Danny sat down hard on the floor, shaking and sick.

Bumbledrudge resumed its ordinary chores and its ordinary ways. They did rebuild and expand the village idiot’s hovel into more of a cottage. Danny took the sidelong looks and whispers in stride as Mattie Herne trotted at his elbow. As the autumn leaves pooled into brilliant puddles of red and gold, Danny led Mattie into the woods and began her apprenticeship to one of the oldest ways.