[LJ Idol Season 9 Topic 19: Kindling]
It was dark, and she did not like being up the mountain that late. But she had no choice, and she stayed, her back against the cold rock, shivering, the moon her only source of light.
“Remember, Martha,” Grandma Elsa told her, “You do not make a fire. You do not want to teach it what we don’t want it to know.”
She’d nodded; it had been high summer then. The light had shone until late in the evening, and the nights had been short. There was a shortage of rain, and that too, she hadn’t minded. Every other day, she’d found a little spot on the green moss to rest, and she’d brought a game to play or a book to read. There were plenty of books to read: manuals, and treaties, and essays on how to raise an animal right. They were filled with warnings and precautions to take; if she had to be honest she much preferred detective novels.
***
“Has the painting changed?” Martha chirped, putting her breakfast plate in the kitchen sink. The elaborate frame, in the hallway opposite the kitchen, seemed to slightly glow. On the edges, the landscape seemed to turn golden and red, where it had previously been brown and green, the natural colours of a forest ground.
“Oh all Gods forsaken and forgotten,” Grandma Elsa cursed, “Say it isn’t so.”
“I’m sorry Grandma.”
“I’ll go put an end to that right now.”
***
“Sometimes I wonder where Grandma Eden went.” Martha sighed, pulling her cloak and blanket closer around her, “Grandma Eden would bring me tea and cookies.”
“I ate her.”
The voice was casual, and startled Martha. She had never spoken on the mountain before - in fact, she suddenly remembered, Grandma Elsa had explicitly forbidden her to speak under any circumstances. But it was too late for that now.
“I’m not supposed to talk to you,” she whispered, blue eyes wide open, “I’m not supposed to talk to you, I think.”
“Thank you for teaching me how to use my voice.” The dragon gave a little laugh, its sound strangely familiar. It almost seemed as if she heard her own voice talking back at her.
“You’re not real, I have a fever and this is a dream.” Martha stood up, and ran down the hill, down the path, blindly running in the dark. She knew the way without even seeing where she went - she had taken it so often, it had become a sixth sense for her.
A mere few minutes later, she arrived at the house. Careful not to wake up her grandmother, she softly unlocked the door and snuck into the kitchen.
“Lemon balm, yarrow, ginger …” She went over the ingredients in her head, recomposing the tea her grandmother would always make when she felt ill. “Some honey, will help too.”
***
“Oh come on, what harm could I do?” The voice sounded whiny, and Martha had to keep herself from opening the entrance to smack the thing.
“You are not to go out, and that is my final word!” She crossed her arms, and sat back down against the rock. Ever since she had accidentally taught it how to talk, the dragon would nag and nag her every night. She had not told her grandmother about it - she figured the dragon would give himself away easily enough, but so far, he hadn’t.
“It will be our secret!”
“No!”
In her head, she could see him pout, and Martha cringed. She sort of felt sorry for the thing - he was doomed to be locked in forever. At least, that was what Grandma Elsa had told her. So far, she found out that the dragon did not agree with that assessment at all, but she hadn’t really given it much more thought.
***
“Is it glowing again?” Grandma abruptly stood up from her kitchen chair, and went to check the painting over. Her sight was failing her lately, and she had more and more trouble staying guard.
“You’re dreaming, Grandma,” Martha gently suggested, “I didn’t see it move at all.”
“I swear that thing is up to no good.” Grandma muttered, returning to her spot close to the hearth, “Don’t let it fool you, it is cooking up something, I can feel it!”
“Yes, Grandma.” Martha bowed her head in respect, but she could not help but feel that perhaps Grandma was losing her mind and the dragon had a point.
***
“Just this ONE time!” The dragon nagged, and nagged. Every night Martha spent up the mountain, it was the same litany. She would arrive, and the dragon would greet her happily. He’d compliment her, and tell her how happy he was to have some company. He’d ask about Grandma Elsa and her declining health, and offer some sympathies. Strangely enough, he hadn’t brought up the topic of Grandma Eden ever again, not since the first time she asked.
“Oh fine! Just down the path, and then right back!”
“Promise!” She could hear the rat-like creature jump up and down, scratching the rock with his paws.
“Fine, here goes.” Martha signed, and rolled away the rock. The dragon bolted outside, into the bushes, and out of her sight.
“Hey!” She shouted, running after him in the general direction she had seen him run off to. “Hey! That’s not fair! You said just down the path.”
She kept running, listening for signs of the dragon. She heard the telltale sound of wood burning - someone was lighting a campfire and in a flash of panic, she understood what the creature had wanted.
“Put out the fire, put out the fire!” She yelled, running faster than she ever had, until she arrived in a small clearing and surprised a couple of campers.
“No time to explain!” The fire was small still, the kindling had barely started to take and the flames were licking the branches crossed over it.
“Here, you!” Martha pounced, grabbing the rat by its neck before it could react. Waving at the stunned campers, she ran off in direction of the mountain top again.
***
“It is glowing, it is definitely glowing. I need to go up there, and put the thing out for good.” Grandma Elsa coughed, her cold sending chills down her spine. “I need to go up there.”
“You’re seeing it wrong,” Martha shushed her and directed her towards the bedroom, “The fever is making you see a glow where there is none.”
“Are you sure, child?” Grandma’s voice sounded raspy, and she had difficulty breathing.
“I’m certain,” Martha lied, “There is no way the dragon could have learned how to use fire.”
“Remember, Martha,” Grandma Elsa told her, “You do not make a fire. You do not want to teach it what we don’t want it to know.”
She’d nodded; it had been high summer then. The light had shone until late in the evening, and the nights had been short. There was a shortage of rain, and that too, she hadn’t minded. Every other day, she’d found a little spot on the green moss to rest, and she’d brought a game to play or a book to read. There were plenty of books to read: manuals, and treaties, and essays on how to raise an animal right. They were filled with warnings and precautions to take; if she had to be honest she much preferred detective novels.
***
“Has the painting changed?” Martha chirped, putting her breakfast plate in the kitchen sink. The elaborate frame, in the hallway opposite the kitchen, seemed to slightly glow. On the edges, the landscape seemed to turn golden and red, where it had previously been brown and green, the natural colours of a forest ground.
“Oh all Gods forsaken and forgotten,” Grandma Elsa cursed, “Say it isn’t so.”
“I’m sorry Grandma.”
“I’ll go put an end to that right now.”
***
“Sometimes I wonder where Grandma Eden went.” Martha sighed, pulling her cloak and blanket closer around her, “Grandma Eden would bring me tea and cookies.”
“I ate her.”
The voice was casual, and startled Martha. She had never spoken on the mountain before - in fact, she suddenly remembered, Grandma Elsa had explicitly forbidden her to speak under any circumstances. But it was too late for that now.
“I’m not supposed to talk to you,” she whispered, blue eyes wide open, “I’m not supposed to talk to you, I think.”
“Thank you for teaching me how to use my voice.” The dragon gave a little laugh, its sound strangely familiar. It almost seemed as if she heard her own voice talking back at her.
“You’re not real, I have a fever and this is a dream.” Martha stood up, and ran down the hill, down the path, blindly running in the dark. She knew the way without even seeing where she went - she had taken it so often, it had become a sixth sense for her.
A mere few minutes later, she arrived at the house. Careful not to wake up her grandmother, she softly unlocked the door and snuck into the kitchen.
“Lemon balm, yarrow, ginger …” She went over the ingredients in her head, recomposing the tea her grandmother would always make when she felt ill. “Some honey, will help too.”
***
“Oh come on, what harm could I do?” The voice sounded whiny, and Martha had to keep herself from opening the entrance to smack the thing.
“You are not to go out, and that is my final word!” She crossed her arms, and sat back down against the rock. Ever since she had accidentally taught it how to talk, the dragon would nag and nag her every night. She had not told her grandmother about it - she figured the dragon would give himself away easily enough, but so far, he hadn’t.
“It will be our secret!”
“No!”
In her head, she could see him pout, and Martha cringed. She sort of felt sorry for the thing - he was doomed to be locked in forever. At least, that was what Grandma Elsa had told her. So far, she found out that the dragon did not agree with that assessment at all, but she hadn’t really given it much more thought.
***
“Is it glowing again?” Grandma abruptly stood up from her kitchen chair, and went to check the painting over. Her sight was failing her lately, and she had more and more trouble staying guard.
“You’re dreaming, Grandma,” Martha gently suggested, “I didn’t see it move at all.”
“I swear that thing is up to no good.” Grandma muttered, returning to her spot close to the hearth, “Don’t let it fool you, it is cooking up something, I can feel it!”
“Yes, Grandma.” Martha bowed her head in respect, but she could not help but feel that perhaps Grandma was losing her mind and the dragon had a point.
***
“Just this ONE time!” The dragon nagged, and nagged. Every night Martha spent up the mountain, it was the same litany. She would arrive, and the dragon would greet her happily. He’d compliment her, and tell her how happy he was to have some company. He’d ask about Grandma Elsa and her declining health, and offer some sympathies. Strangely enough, he hadn’t brought up the topic of Grandma Eden ever again, not since the first time she asked.
“Oh fine! Just down the path, and then right back!”
“Promise!” She could hear the rat-like creature jump up and down, scratching the rock with his paws.
“Fine, here goes.” Martha signed, and rolled away the rock. The dragon bolted outside, into the bushes, and out of her sight.
“Hey!” She shouted, running after him in the general direction she had seen him run off to. “Hey! That’s not fair! You said just down the path.”
She kept running, listening for signs of the dragon. She heard the telltale sound of wood burning - someone was lighting a campfire and in a flash of panic, she understood what the creature had wanted.
“Put out the fire, put out the fire!” She yelled, running faster than she ever had, until she arrived in a small clearing and surprised a couple of campers.
“No time to explain!” The fire was small still, the kindling had barely started to take and the flames were licking the branches crossed over it.
“Here, you!” Martha pounced, grabbing the rat by its neck before it could react. Waving at the stunned campers, she ran off in direction of the mountain top again.
***
“It is glowing, it is definitely glowing. I need to go up there, and put the thing out for good.” Grandma Elsa coughed, her cold sending chills down her spine. “I need to go up there.”
“You’re seeing it wrong,” Martha shushed her and directed her towards the bedroom, “The fever is making you see a glow where there is none.”
“Are you sure, child?” Grandma’s voice sounded raspy, and she had difficulty breathing.
“I’m certain,” Martha lied, “There is no way the dragon could have learned how to use fire.”