The Old Dragon of the Mountain's Christmas Read online

  Not unlike myself, Christoff couldn’t help thinking abstractly.

  He walked forward, his fingers sliding over one of the bright balls on the tree before touching a colorfully wrapped box. Beside it, on a chipped plate that his symbiot had brought back one day, sat a pile of sweets. He picked up the plate and sniffed it.

  Almost immediately his mind flashed back to a memory of him standing in the kitchen with his mother. He had begged her to let him help, promising not to get in the way. He remembered her laughter as she carefully showed him how to stir the ingredients together. Afterward, they had sat out under the big tree with his father and ate the sweets with warm milk.

  “What is this?” he asked, looking around the cave in confusion.

  The first two little girls he had rescued grinned up at him. “We’s brought you Christmas, so you’s don’t have to steals it,” one of them informed him.

  Christoff continued to stare around him, listening as the children explained what Christmas was when he told them he didn’t know about it. The more they talked the more difficult it became for him to see and speak. They spoke of love and friendship. They spoke of accepting others that are different. His vision blurred when one of the little girls shifted. She was the most unusual, beautiful creature that he had ever seen with her long black feathers and too old eyes. Swallowing, he opened his mouth to speak when he heard a voice from outside the entrance to his cave, calling desperately for one of the younglings. It was soon followed by others. He immediately realized that these were their parents. Not at home like the younglings thought, but searching frantically for their children.

  Unsure of what to do, Christoff stepped into the shadows as several males and one female entered his home. He watched as they each bent to hug the younglings that fell into their open arms. With a painful twist, he realized that his time with these magical dragonlings was about to end. He turned to look at the female when she looked up at him as she lifted a small boy in her arms.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Christoff swallowed again and just nodded to her. He wasn’t sure he could speak even if he wanted to. It was strange to see so many others of his kind after all these years. He moved uneasily when he saw all of the males turn to look at him. Bracing himself for their animosity, he was surprised when they looked at him with genuine… gratitude instead of hatred.

  “We owe you more than we can ever repay,” the Curizan male said, holding the fragile little girl with the almost white hair lovingly in his arms.

  Christoff didn’t know what to say at first. No one besides his own parents had ever thanked him before. Glancing at the colorful gifts and the tree, he awkwardly waved his hand at them.

  “I… They have already repaid any debt,” Christoff replied in a stiff voice. “They offered a gift no one else has ever given me.”

  One of the men he recognized as a member of the royal family bowed his head in respect before he looked at Christoff with concern. “The mountain is unstable,” he said. “We need to evacuate.”

  Everything blurred as the mountain violently shook. Christoff’s gaze caught the movement in the rock and he sprang forward, calling for his symbiot and dragon as a huge boulder started to shift under the massive tremor. He grunted as the boulder fell across his shoulders. His legs trembled under the massive weight, but his gaze remained locked on the younglings and their parents.

  He gritted his teeth, hearing the Curizan’s words of encouragement as he helped him hold the boulder up long enough for the others to escape. Christoff was unable to respond, afraid to speak for fear of losing his focus.

  We must hold the entrance open long enough for them to escape, he whispered to his dragon and symbiot. We will not fail them. I will not let them die like I did father and mother.

  Christoff bowed his head, pushing upward far enough for the other men and the woman to escape with the younglings out onto the ledge. He groaned as the mountain shuddered, as if in protest that anyone would escape its anger. Christoff turned to order the Curizan to leave him. As he opened his mouth to speak, the boulder pressing down on them suddenly splintered, shattering into a million pieces and raining down on them like dust. The sudden release of the weight sent him to his knees as a wave of weakness and astonishment coursed through him at the power it would have taken to shatter a boulder that size.

  “Let’s go,” the Curizan ordered in a harsh voice, pushing up off the ground.

  Christoff rose shakily to his feet, bracing his hand along the rough wall of the cave. He shook his head in amazement. Turning to follow, he paused and glanced back into the area that had been his home for centuries. He didn’t have much, but what he did have was precious to him: a few trinkets his symbiot had brought back from his childhood home, a locket that had belonged to his mother, and his father’s carving knife. Those were the things that mattered the most to him.

  His gaze froze on the two small presents the little girls had laid out on his table. Unable to leave the small items behind, he hurried back into the cave, snatching them off the table before reaching for the leather pouch he kept near the end of his bed.

  He glanced around before turning back toward the entrance. A loud hiss escaped him when he felt his feet lift off the ground and his body flew through the air. His symbiot hit him around his midsection, driving him backwards and knocking the breath out of him. He landed on his long, narrow bed just as a large section of the ceiling collapsed where he had been standing.

  Twisting on the bed, he barely heard the Curizan’s shout of warning before the mountain shook with a tremendous force and an avalanche of rocks broke loose, sealing him in a tomb of darkness.

  Several seconds passed before the air cleared enough for him to speak without choking on the dust. He pushed up on the bed. His dragon could see in very dim light, but not in pitch blackness.

  “Give me light, my friend,” Christoff whispered as a wave of resignation settled over him.

  He felt his symbiot shake. He tried to give it comfort, but he knew he had very little left inside him to give to his dragon or symbiot. Christoff honestly didn’t believe there was anything left that could heal his tired soul.

  The faint glow from his symbiot was testament that it too realized that their time on this world was at an end. He rose from the bed and stepped around the crumbled remains of the ceiling of his home. Resting his hands against the rock covering the entrance, he whispered a soft farewell to the young dragonlings and their friends who had shown him compassion.

  “It is better to have known such kindness before our death than to have never been touched by it at all, my friends,” he whispered to his dragon and symbiot.

  Pushing back, he straightened and turned. His symbiot was lying next to his bed, gazing at him with a look of sorrow and regret. He could feel the creature’s feelings of guilt at not being big and strong enough to burst through the rocks and free them.

  Christoff returned to his bed and his symbiot. He gently ran his fingers along its smooth head in comfort as he sent out a wave of warmth and affection to it. He would not let its final moments be filled with regret. Both he and his dragon understood and accepted that life was not always fair. It was what they made of it.

  “Remember that, my golden friend,” Christoff murmured as he continued to stroke the swirling gold body. “Mother and father accepted us and were proud of us. For centuries, we have done what we could to keep the mountain from erupting. It has grown as tired as us. The villagers have been evacuated. That is all that matters now. It is time for us to rest and hope that our worthiness as a guardian over the village will earn us a place as a warrior in the next life.”

  Christoff’s head bowed as he whispered the last words. For centuries, he, his dragon, and his symbiot had fought to find ways to relieve the growing pressures inside the mountain. They had worked clearing old lava tubes and digging new tunnels to release the pressures building up. They had monitored the tremors and lava flows deep under the mountain. It had w
orked, but the pressure continued to build far deeper than any of them could go.

  His gaze caught on the two brightly wrapped presents that were lying on the ground next to the bed. He had dropped them when his symbiot knocked him out of the way of the falling rocks. Reaching down, he picked them up, carefully balancing them in the palm of his hands before he set one down on his knees so he could open them.

  He resisted the urge to rip the paper. Instead, he ran his finger down along the edge until it came free. He slowly folded the paper back to reveal the treasure hidden inside. The rumbling of the mountain and the increasing heat faded from his consciousness as the glitter of light from his symbiot caught on the delicately carved images of two dragons. He lifted one of them, noting that each dragon hung from its own chain. Holding them up, he realized that the two could connect together so that they looked like they were hugging each other.

  Christoff glanced down, noticing a small piece of paper with beautiful, delicate flowing lettering on it. He picked it up, tilting it toward the dim light so he could read it. His hand began to tremble and the words blurred, but they would forever be etched into his soul.

  As long as you hold your family and friends close to your heart, you will never be alone.

  Lifting the necklaces, Christoff hooked each one around his neck. He picked up the empty box and set it on the table next to his bed. He gripped the edge when the mountain shook again, almost toppling the table. The air was beginning to thicken with an acidic smoke. He knew he was lucky if he had just a few more minutes.

  “Please, Goddess, let me open this last gift. I have not asked for much in my life,” Christoff whispered as he picked up the second box and again gently ran his finger along the paper so as not to tear it any more than necessary.

  His eyes widened at the beautiful water-filled glass dome nestled inside the box. He lifted it up high enough to see the dragon and symbiot Werecat standing in front of a brightly colored tree. His gaze went to the pile of rubble. Under it lay the tree the two little girls had given him. Returning his attention to the dome, he tilted it and watched as white flakes floated down around the two figures. When he did it again, he saw a small lever on the bottom. He twisted the small piece of metal several times before releasing it. His home was suddenly filled with the delicate sounds of music. For a moment, he could imagine being back in his home in the valley as a boy, listening to his mother’s sweet voice as she sang and his father played on his flute.

  A sudden, overwhelming feeling of loneliness and depression swept over Christoff. Twisting the lever until it wouldn’t turn any more, he held it up against his chest and lay back on the bed. Small tremors shook his body as grief and sorrow poured through him. For the first time in centuries, he cried for the loss of his parents. Not wanting to be alone, he patted the bed next to him. Warmth filled him as his symbiot jumped up beside him and laid down, resting its head against his flat stomach.

  He reached down and caressed it. “Rest, my friend,” he whispered, staring into the growing darkness as the light from his symbiot faded. “My dragon and I are tired, too. I think it is time to move on to the next world, what do you think?”

  Another wave of warmth engulfed him as the light of his symbiot went out. He continued to stroke the small part of him that he had hoped would survive. No matter how much he tried to send it away, it would not leave him and his dragon. Christoff felt his dragon’s grief, but also his acceptance that their time had come to an end.

  “Rest well, my friends, for I have been the most fortunate of all to have you as my companions. No warrior could ask for better friends than you have been for the broken boy that I was or the man I grew to be. Sleep, it is time for us to rest,” Christoff murmured before closing his eyes.

  He could feel the mountain as it drew in a deep, calm breath before exhaling. He was surprised as he felt the pressure in the mountain exploding outward. He expected a flash of pain before death; instead, he was engulfed in a golden wave of warmth. A frown creased his brow before the tender touch of a hand brushed it away and he sank down into a silky abyss.

  Aikaterina had remained behind after the dragonlings, Roam, and Alice’s parents had rescued them. She had been curious when the old dragon had turned away from the entrance. She had planned to give his symbiot a touch of her blood to regain its strength so that it could help Christoff escape, but hesitated as a new thought came to her.

  While her species normally tried not to interfere with the circle of life, she found it increasingly difficult to stay away from them. She had followed the dragonlings and their friends on their journey. They had each captured a special place inside her with their innocent love. It wasn’t until she saw their gift of friendship and love that she knew she needed to help Christoff.

  She had once again been torn when the entrance had caved in. It has been his symbiot’s quiet plea for mercy for its friend and companion that had sealed her decision. The flashes of the old dragon’s life had pierced her resolve. She remembered two other dragons, twin brothers who had felt the pull of the loneliness. It was in part her fault that they had never found their true mate. As her consciousness grew for this species, so did the understanding that she needed to help them if she could.

  Floating down, she sat on the edge of the bed. Her gaze softened at Christoff’s calm acceptance of his death. Lifting an invisible hand, she soothed it over his brow, knowing what she had to do.

  “Not yet, my warrior,” she softly whispered through his consciousness. “I hope you accept my Christmas gift to you.”

  Chapter Three

  Edna Grey placed the box she had carried in from the shed down on the dining room table in the cabin that had once belonged to her friend, Abby Tanner. She had been shocked when the paperwork had arrived in the post from the attorney in Wyoming, giving her the cabin and surrounding land.

  She knew deep down that she would always think of this as Abby’s mountain. She had been friends with Abby’s grandparents and had immediately been drawn to Abby when her mother had left her with them. Although she was in her mid-sixties, she knew she didn’t feel or act it, a fact that drove her own daughter crazy at times.

  Her hair was a beautiful white-gray with strands of silver through it. Shelly had grumbled that no woman in their sixties should have hair that thick and glossy. Edna couldn’t help but smile as she remembered Shelly telling her about the problems Jack had after the last dinner they had attended with some of his friends. Supposedly, some of the men were asking Jack if Edna would be interested in going out with them. Edna had laughed when Shelly called to tell her about it. She seriously doubted that her son-in-law’s lawyer friends would be interested in dating her.

  Still, she couldn’t help teasing her all too serious daughter. The memory of Shelly’s reaction was priceless when she reminded her daughter that she was still alive and could appreciate masculine company just as much as Shelly did with Jack.

  The “Eew, mom!” had quickly shut her daughter up. Of course, Jack’s comment that if Shelly looked as good as her mom when she was her age had helped a little. Shelly had giggled and told him that he’d just have to wait to find out.

  Edna chuckled when a curious nose pushed at her hand. Glancing down, she murmured to her Golden Retriever, Bo, to behave. Bo wagged his tail at her before sitting down to watch her.

  “I think a little Christmas cheer will brighten the place up, what do you think?” Edna asked, pulling the small fiber optic Christmas tree out of the box to decorate the room until Jack and Shelly brought her a bigger one from town. “It’s not as big as the one we normally put up, but it will do until Jack and Shelly get here. I wanted something to brighten the place up.”

  Bo barked and stood up, looking around for his green tennis ball. He scampered after it when it rolled across the hardwood floor. Edna laughed and decided that a Christmas tree needed Christmas music to go along with it. Walking over to where she had set up her old stereo system, she picked a classic from the pile of recor
ds and put it on.

  She sang along with the songs as she worked to make the inside of the cabin look festive. She had decided to move into the cabin a few months ago when Jack, Shelly, and her granddaughter, Crystal, relocated from California to Shelby. As much as she loved her daughter, granddaughter, and son-in-law, she, Bo, and Gloria, her mule, were used to being on their own. Besides, the big house that she owned outside of town was nice, but it had become harder and harder to maintain by herself. She didn’t entertain the way she used to, not like when Hanson had been alive.

  Two hours later, Edna stood back and admired the colorful tree sitting on the table in the corner and festive garland decorated with red berries and poinsettias that hung over the mantle of the fireplace. Additional knickknacks added to the decor, giving it the final touch that it needed. A shiver ran through Edna when she glanced outside and saw that it was beginning to cloud up. The weather forecast predicted snow up here in the mountains. She would need to make sure that Gloria had fresh bedding for the night.

  “Let me get the stew to simmering and we’ll take Gloria for a walk up to the meadow for some exercise before it snows,” Edna told Bo.

  The Golden Retriever briefly looked up from the bone he was chewing on before returning his attention to it. The ever-present tennis ball lying by his left paw. Edna shook her head, thankful that Bo had outgrown his puppy stage early and at five years old, he was an absolute doll.

  Twenty minutes later, Edna was bundled up for the cold. She had broken down and put on a pair of thermals under her faded jeans and added a sweater over the two shirts she was wearing. Sliding her feet into a pair of waterproof hiking boots, she grabbed her jacket, scarf, and wool cap off the peg by the door. Whistling for Bo, she braced herself for the frigid burst of air.

  “Let’s go, boy,” she called, stepping back so Bo could go first. “I have to tell you, if you need to go out again tonight, you might just be going on your own.”