The Old Dragon of the Mountain’s Christmas

Prologue-2

Two months later:

Christoff wiped the sweat from his brow and smiled at his mother. She was carrying a bucket of water for him and his dad. She stumbled under the heavy weight when the ground trembled. Dropping the hoe he was using to clear some of the weeds, he rushed over to help her.

“Here, let me,” he said, gently taking the bucket from her.

“Where’s Lemar?” she asked, looking around with a frown. “He was supposed to be helping you.”

Christoff shrugged his shoulders. Since that day in the village, he had avoided Lemar as much as possible. It wasn’t that difficult. His brother seldom did anything around the farm anymore. Lemar preferred to spend his time in the village.

“The mountain is rumbling more than usual,” he said instead before bending to pick up the ladle and scooping up some water.

“Christoff,” his father called over, staring up at the mountain. “Get the tools and head back to the house. My dragon is warning me that we must leave.”

“But, the crops are almost ready,” Christoff protested, looking at the field of golden grain. “Surely it will stop again.”

Christoff watched as his father hurried down the row toward them. There was a look of determination and… fear in his father’s eyes. The determination he had seen before, but the fear – that was new. He had never seen his father afraid of anything. His father wrapped his arm around his mother’s waist and began pulling her toward the house.

“Come, we must go to the village,” Tallon said in an urgent voice.

“Christoff,” his mother called, looking over her shoulder.

“I’m coming, Mother,” Christoff said, grabbing the bucket and dumping the water out on the ground. He turned and started following them before he released a curse. He had forgotten the hoe. “Go! I’ll be right there.”

Christoff turned and hurried back to grab the hoe he had dropped. He stumbled and fell to one knee when the ground shook violently under his feet. Scrambling, he looked up at the mountain that bordered the northwest corner of the valley. A steady stream of smoke was pouring from the top of it and a light rain of ash began drifting down over the valley, covering it in a gray-colored film.

Swallowing down his fear, he turned and hurried back through the field. He fell several more times before he cleared the edge leading down to the house. His symbiot appeared out of the field, looking wildly around for him.

Mountain angry, his dragon hissed. Smell danger.

I know, Christoff said, glancing over his shoulder when he heard a low rumble. Father feels it as well.

Christoff was almost to the house when a loud explosion shook the valley. The force of the blast sent him sprawling on the ground. He glanced up to see a huge rock, the size of a full grown warrior, falling through the air before it disappeared through the roof of his home. Christoff blinked, watching as his older brother staggered out of the burning house.

“Father! Mother!” Christoff yelled, trying to stand. “Father!” he cried again in fear and confusion.

“Christoff!” Tallon called out from near the barn.

He turned to see his father slowly rising to his feet with his mother’s help. Blood ran down one side of his face and he had a long, thin piece of wood embedded in his left thigh. Christoff’s dazed gaze moved from a destroyed section of the barn back to his father.

“Your symbiot,” Christoff whispered. “Where is it?”

“I sent it to the village this morning with a load of grain,” Tallon muttered in pain. “It is coming.”

“Father! Mother! We have to leave,” Lemar shouted, raising a hand to his head and shaking it as he staggered toward them.

All around them, small and mid-size rocks fell, littering the ground like raindrops. Christoff winced when several larger pieces hit him on the head. He raised his hand to touch a spot near his temple, surprised when he felt a warm dampness.

“Christoff, you’re bleeding,” his mother cried in dismay, staggering under the weight of her mate.

“Mother, we have to go,” Lemar said in a harsh voice, reaching out to grab her arm when she stepped toward Christoff.

“We have to help him,” Tallon grimaced, glancing at his oldest son. “You and I can carry him together.”

“Leave him,” Lemar demanded, glancing at Christoff with anger. “If he cannot fly, let him run.”

“Lemar,” their mother whispered in distress. “You know Christoff cannot fly. Help your father carry him. I will follow with his symbiot.”

“No! He shouldn’t have lived! Let the Goddess take him. He is weak,” Lemar argued as his symbiot created a cover for him when the hot ash began to ignite small fires. “You have always protected him. Now it is time to protect yourself. Come with me.”

“No!” Tasmay cried, pulling her arm away. “You have always treated Christoff as if he was unworthy, when in truth, it is you that is unworthy. No warrior would leave someone who is weaker behind,” she whispered as a line of dirty tears coursed down her cheeks. “We need your help, Lemar. Please.”

Lemar’s face twisted as Tallon turned to stare at him. Christoff was about to tell his parents that Lemar was right, that maybe this was the Goddess’ way of telling him that he shouldn’t have lived when another explosion, this one larger than before, knocked them all to the ground. Christoff’s face reflected his fear when he saw the ground opening across the valley and heading toward them.

“Fly!” Lemar shouted in terror as he shifted.

“Lemar!” Tallon roared in pain, turning as his oldest son rose into the ash-filled sky. “Lemar!”

“Father,” Christoff said in a quiet voice filled with resignation. “Go. Take mother and go. Lemar and the others are right. If I cannot survive on my own, it is the Goddess’ way of showing that I am too weak.”

Tallon turned to look at his youngest son’s face. He saw the acceptance that he would not make it. Refusing to believe that any boy with so much heart was not also a powerful warrior, he shifted despite the shaft of wood in his upper thigh.

Christoff turned to watch as his father lifted off the ground. A moment later, his mother shifted and lifted off the ground as well. He raised his hand in farewell, only to gasp when his father’s dragon reached down and wrapped one clawed foot around his wrists.

“Father, no!” Christoff protested, lifting his other hand up to try to break free. He gasped when his mother grabbed his other wrist in her claw. “Mother! I’m too heavy, especially with father’s injury. Leave me and take care of him.”

Christoff tried to stop them, but they refused. He felt his feet leave the ground. He ran as best he could under them as they pumped frantically on their wings.

“Leave me, please,” Christoff cried as he saw the small holes that began appearing on the wings of his parent’s dragons. As fast as their symbiots tried to heal them, more would appear. “Please!”

He cried out when a large piece of flaming debris fell from the sky, shattering one of his mother’s wings. He watched in horror as she tumbled to the ground. His father, unable to carry his weight alone with his injuries, was forced to release him as he struggled to reach his injured mate.

Christoff hit the ground hard and rolled. Glancing up, he scrambled to his feet when he saw his father land next to his mother. He was almost to them when the ground shook again. His father looked up at him, staring in regret as he held his mate in his arms.

“I love you, son,” Tallon said brokenly, gathering his mate’s limp body closer to him. “You have always been a true warrior to us.”

“No!” Christoff whispered as the ground disintegrated around his parents. “NO!” he screamed, lunging forward with his hand reaching for them as they disappeared into the open crevice. “NO! Please, Goddess, no!” he cried again, sobbing as he stared down into the deep abyss.

Rolling onto his back, he stared up at the mountain. He ignored the stinging embers of hot ash as they burned through his clothing. He no longer felt the pain from the rain of rocks and hot ash that continued to fall around him. He didn’t even feel the burning of smoke from the numerous fires. Staring up at the mountain, he knew that he had to calm it. He also believed that he was the only one who could.

Pushing up off the ground, he called to his dragon and his symbiot. Shifting, he knew that he could not fly to the top of the mountain and ask for it to accept his life in exchange for the people of the village. Instead, he drew in a deep breath and began to run. He ran through the falling ash. He ran through the rain of rocks. He jumped over the deep crevice that stretched the valley. The closer he got to the mountain, the quieter it became.

When he reached the base of it, he started to climb. He climbed higher and higher with a determination, a focus, which defied his disability and air of frailty. His claws became bloody from the numerous cuts, but Christoff ignored that as well. When his dragon could not climb, he shifted and continued in his two legged form. His symbiot helped him, becoming a rope when he needed it and healing the deeper cuts so he could continue. By the time he reached the top, the mountain had grown quiet once again.

Christoff stood on a large ledge, looking down at the destruction to the valley, village, and his home. A wave of deep sorrow coursed through him. Unable to contain his grief, he tilted his head back and roared. In the distance, the villagers who had fled turned to the sound. They all heard the terrible sorrow in the haunting cry and they saw the small, frail boy-dragon standing at the top of the mountain. For just a moment, a glow of gold surrounded him, transforming him into a mighty warrior before he turned and disappeared into the once again quiet mountain.