I wrote this story last year. In it rain saves the island from the hell of fire but Christos knows that will not always be the case. He was right.

Blaze

Red sky at night shepherd’s delight, red sky in the morning shepherd’s  warning. So goes the old saying. But for Christos, other shepherds and inhabitants of the island, the red sky last night was certainly not a delight. It was not a red sky caused by the hot Greek sun setting through shades of yellow and orange but by the flames that plumed upwards from the scorched forest as it burned.

Christos tried to drive his sheep, his livelihood, to a safer place where they might avoid the galloping fire. He hoped, on the more barren ground with nothing left to burn, they may escape. Others had the same idea fleeing from the imminent danger they were powerless to stop. They had tried to battle the blaze but their efforts had not been enough to quench the flames. The only thing that could do that would be rain – heavy, persistent rain but there had been none for even longer than was usual at this time of the year. The sky had been nothing but blue for as long as Christos could remember. Gradually as the temperature, even hotter than usual, had risen higher the grass gave up its lush green and the heather which was usually a delicate violet, both morphed into a bleached brown.

For five days and nights the fire raged with the breeze fanning the conflagration. Then, on the sixth day, stillness descended on the island. Christos studied his sheep. He knew them well and could see they had sensed something was about to change. They smelled the air, they couldn’t settle. The sky, as evening fell, was changing from blue – still merging with the red glow that hung over the island – but not just growing darker. Clouds were building. One or two at first then they began splitting, duplicating, becoming a deep indigo colour – the colour, at last, of rainclouds.  A few drops fell as if testing the ground and then in an instant more until the parched earth danced as the drops bounced up. Christos rubbed his saint’s charm, spoke gently to his sheep and watched as the wildfire began to die down. He and his flock were safe but he was a lucky one. Many animals and perhaps people had been lost to the biggest island fire he had ever seen. He doubted it would be the last.