Dragon Wishes
Stacy Nyikos

 

Surviving

 

 

“Once upon a time –”

Alex rolled her eyes. “Auntie Ling, I’m eleven, practically twelve.” She pulled her covers up a little higher to hide the red dragon in her arms. The stuffed toy was tattered and ancient. She’d had it for as long as she could remember. Still, she didn’t feel like she was too old for it. Not totally.

“Yes, yes, I remember.” Auntie Ling rocked a little in a chair across from Alex and Isa, Alex’s little sister. “You share the year of the dragon with Shen Po Po, my grandmother.”

“Your grandmother’s still alive?” Alex asked. “She must be really old.”

Auntie Ling laughed. “She would not think so, but–” she leaned a little closer and whispered, “she will be eighty-four this year.”

“That is old,” Alex said.

Auntie Ling smiled and leaned her head of shiny black hair on the chair’s cushion.  It was so much darker than Alex’s fine mousy blonde–or even Isa’s curly brown. And so thick. Alex had always loved Auntie Ling’s hair.

“She has seen many things. Many things.” Auntie Ling stopped rocking and looked at Alex. Her soft brown eyes smiled sadly. “She even met your parents once. It was at Uncle Norbert’s and my wedding in Taiwan.”

“Mama never said–” but the sudden lump in Alex’s throat made it too hard to talk. She looked away from her aunt. Slowly at first, and then faster and faster, Alex’s fingers scratched the gold horns of her tattered dragon. She wished as hard as she could for something–anything–that would make it all better. She’d wished for that every single night since that awful night three weeks ago. Every single night.

Auntie Ling bent forward and stroked Alex’s hair. “Shen Po Po told me a story, a very ancient story, when I was a little girl. I had forgotten it until I talked to her today. She said to me I should tell you the tale.”

Alex’s fingers stopped scratching. Her blue eyes looked up at Auntie Ling. They glimmered with impossible hope. “Has it got magic in it?”

“All Chinese tales have wisdom in them.”

“And magic?” Alex asked again. She sat up. In the bed next to her, Isa propped herself up on her elbow. Her favorite horse, Rain, was snuggled up in her arms.

Auntie Ling thought for a moment. “It has dragons.”

“Then it has magic,” Alex decided.

Auntie Ling shrugged. “Shen Po Po told me it was the story that helped her survive the Great War. She was little when her parents died.”

“Did she get to say goodbye?” Alex asked quietly.

Auntie Ling shook her head. “No. It was sudden, like…like many things.”

Alex nodded.

“The story, it helped Shen Po Po to find her way.”

Alex turned toward her aunt to listen more closely. She needed to find her way too. She’d been searching for weeks. Every day took her further away. Maybe the story’s magic would help. Nothing else had.

Auntie Ling began:

 

“Many, many years past, when the earth was young, dragons bestowed upon the lands a prosperous tranquility.

The dragons I speak of were old, more ancient than the waters upon the land or the ageless gingko forests of the south. They lived near rivers and streams, as well as deep under the ground, protecting the earth’s treasures and secrets. These noble creatures were taller than the tallest, thickest bamboo forest, and many times as strong. But they were also gentle and wise.

When man was born to Mother Earth, the dragons welcomed her newest child, caring for him and teaching him the secrets of the land.

Man learned to make tools, create fire, and farm crops. He grew wealthy with comfort and food. With his wealth, though, came greed. He looked beyond his clever tools, beyond the warmth of his fires, beyond his rich cloths and strong huts. He looked to the dragons.

These mighty creatures could control both water and land. Man wanted this power. With it, he believed he could rule the earth.

The dragons’ power, man soon realized, was a gift he could neither learn nor steal. When a dragon died, the power died with him. It could not be passed on to another.

Man’s plans grew dark and dangerous. What he could not possess, he would destroy.

So it came to pass that mankind declared war on his closest friend. He mistook the bearded reptiles’ peaceful nature for weakness. How little had he learned.

Still, the dragons did not fight. They succumbed to the swords and arrows of man until few were left.

Mother Earth wept tears of blood.

Mankind did not stop.

She sent disease. Dried up fields. Chased off livestock.

Mankind did not stop.

Instead, he turned upon himself, and man battled man.

The handful of dragons that remained journeyed many moons to the coldest, most northern reaches of the earth. They settled in its jagged mountains, hiding themselves–and their secrets–within a wet fog that they breathed around the slate peaks like a thick blanket. There they spent their life in exile, waiting.

It was then, unbeknownst to the few left, that the fate of mankind’s very existence came to rest upon the actions of a single girl.

She was young, still a child. Yet, she had already known great loss. During the wars and the illnesses, most of her family had perished. Only she and Little Brother were left. Soon food became scarce. The iciness of winter ensnared them. The girl felt despair closing in on her with each new snowfall.

As she lay on her pallet snuggled closely to Little Brother to ward off the cold of that dark, cheerless winter, she whispered to Mother Earth to give her hope. A voice responded. It was that of the girl’s grandmother, Wang Po Po, who had passed during the wars. The girl was scared. The dead did not often appear or talk to the living.

But this voice was sweet and soft. It sang the ancient fable of the dragons. The girl smiled as her heart listened to the story about the dragons’ peaceful nature and ageless wisdom. As the soothing whisper faded into the night air, the girl had an idea.

‘I will seek out the great dragons. I will ask for their help.’ But doubt plagued her mind. ‘Perhaps they no longer exist. Perhaps they never existed. Perhaps the tale is just that: legends of times gone by.’

She looked over at Little Brother. His face was thin, no longer plump and ruddy. 

‘What hope is left?’ she asked the night air.

As if in answer, Little Brother rolled in his sleep, nudging her against the smooth box that she now slept with each night. It was long and rectangular, no thicker than her arm. Its surface was made of dark red stone that was light as wood but strong as iron. Some said that dragons themselves had found the stone far beneath the surface of the earth and forged it into boxes. Its color never faded. It was crimson red, like the fire of the earth. Inside, upon a bed of silk softer than the feathers of a newborn gosling, rested her family’s legacy.

Only those born in the year of the dragon were given this treasure. The girl’s grandmother had passed it on to her, the only other member of their family born in that sacred year. It was small and almost insignificant, but it was her proof. She opened the box carefully and stared at the wizened tree branch before her. Its heady scent filled her nose with ages now past.

‘Can you truly summon dragons?’ the girl asked, turning the branch in her hand. Legend said it came from a mighty cypress tree at the base of the Daimei mountain, the ancient nesting grounds of the dragons. Young branches from the tree had been given to loyal, trusted men centuries before.

When mankind had decreed war on the dragons, the proudest and most foolish had destroyed the branches, breaking the noble ties.

The girl’s family had not. Their respect and honor for the ancient reptiles remained strong.

‘Dragons exist. They can help us. They must help us,’ the girl declared. She closed the box to protect the branch from the cold night air. ‘I must find them.’”

 

Auntie Ling stopped talking. The room grew quiet.

“Will she make it?” Alex whispered.

“Ah, but if I tell, I–how do you say–give the story away.”

Alex frowned. “Well, the dragons have special powers.”

Auntie Ling nodded.

“So, they’re magical.”

“Do you think so?”

“Definitely.” Alex scratched her dragon’s horns again. “Well, pretty sure.”

Auntie Ling got up. “We will continue the story soon. Perhaps then we will know, yes?” She gave Alex and Isa a kiss and then turned out the light.

Alex rolled over and tried to get comfortable in the strange new bed. Two weeks and it still didn’t feel right. Lamplight, instead of moonlight, filtered in through the blinds. The unfamiliar smell of stir-fry–rather than pasta–hung in the air from dinner. Ink paintings–instead of  horse posters–stared down at her from the walls. It was all so different.

Alex buried her head in the one of the few things in the room that was hers: her pillow. She took a deep breath. It was still there. The smell of her old room, her old house, her old school, her old friends. Home.

But it was fading.

The thought made Alex’s breath catch in her throat. Her eyes roamed the room frantically.

A gleam stopped them. It was the tip of a golden horn, peeking out from under the covers.

Carefully, Alex pulled out her dragon and looked at it.

“Maybe you’re magical too,” she whispered into its fuzzy white ear. She looked around. Isa was asleep. “It’s worth a shot.”

Then very quietly, so that only the dragon could hear,  Alex whispered, “Take me home.”

 

 

Copyright Stacy Nyikos, 2008. All rights reserved.

 

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