Green flames lit up the rings of Tasien in the night sky, casting their glow on monsters prowling the great glacier. The winds howled with the wolves, and many moons would rise and fall before the sun appeared once more. Yet, Alika and Tarka remained safe in their mother’s den, the two dragon cubs tucked beneath Serka’s warm wing fur.
“Mommy, will you tell me a story about father?” Tarka, her youngest cub, asked. Though the furred dragons of Tasien were the strongest and largest in all the realms, with their stout bear-like snouts, twin saber fangs as long as claws, and muscular tails that could break bone, Tarka was just a whelp. One day, if he survived to adulthood, he would grow a great crown of horns upon his head, just like his father had. For now, the cub only had nubs.
“I’ve already told you all of the stories about father I know.” Serka placed her snout down to Tarka’s, rubbing her black nose against his soft white fur and along one of the pale blue stripes running down his neck. There was little else to do through the Long Night but tell stories, and even Serka only had so many to share. She remembered fondly the Long Nights of her own cub years, when their den was lit with the warm glow of dragonfire, and her packmates would tell stories until their throats were sore. Though half a world and most of a century away, Serka knew she could never forget the scents of her siblings.
“I know the stories so well, I bet I could tell them as good as Mom can!” Alika, the older of the cubs, raised her head above Serka’s wing. A cold wind burst into the cave at that instant, letting a chill into the small, warm nook that Serka had made for the two. Tarka reached up and grabbed Alika’s snout, pulling it down so that Serka could re-seal the enclosure.
“Father was a brave warrior from outside our pack, as big as a mountain,” Alika continued, undeterred. “His fur was as white as snow, and he’d lost his left ear in a huge battle!”
“His right ear, darling,” Serka corrected, giving Alika’s right ear a lick. Alika laughed and rolled over, smooshing Tarka’s wings. Tarka whined as he tugged them away, whacking her snout with the end of his tail until she rolled off.
“I barely remember him,” Alika murmured, her ears drooping to the sides of her head. “It feels like so long ago.”
“He will always live on,” Serka flicked her snout, nosing the white scruff around Alika’s light blue chest fur and feeling for the tiny heartbeat within, “in here.”
“If Father was here, we could eat twice as much caribou!” Tarka exclaimed, pushing Alika aside and grabbing Serka’s snout with his minuscule forepaws.
Serka twitched her tail, and she let out a low, laughing rumble. “If father was here, he’d eat all of the extra caribou and more — but he was a good hunter.”
“So, father had lost his right ear in a huge battle!” Alika continued. “And then he came to your pack, looking for the Emerald Isle.”
“A mate,” Serka said, gently nuzzling Alika. “He was looking for a mate. The Emerald Isle came later. You must remember these stories well, both of you. Many winters from now, the two of you will have your own cubs in your own dens, and on a Long Night just like this one, you must tell them the stories I have told you. Just as Father is still alive in you, you must one day keep Father and me alive in your own descendants.”
“I’ll remember every word!” Alika promised. Serka licked her again, causing her to flail and laugh. Alika was old enough now that she would remember this Long Night well, so perhaps her promise was not entirely in vain. Hopefully, Nigel would have mercy upon her, and there would be many more Long Nights for Serka to regale the cubs with their history.
“I promise too,” Tarka said. “But can I include snow monsters in them?”
Serka rumbled, nipping the nape of his neck. “Snow monsters?”
“Snow monsters aren’t real!” Alika announced. “I’ve never seen one. They’re just to scare us so that we stay inside during the Long Night!”
“Just because you haven’t seen one doesn’t mean they don’t exist,” Serka replied. Still, she wasn’t convinced herself. The Long Night was full of creatures that could snap up an unwitting cub, but Serka had never seen a snow monster among them.
“Mommy, tell us about the Emerald Isle!” Tarka shouted. Serka’s ears twitched. For someone so small, his roar was so loud.
“Long, long ago,” Serka began, “my mother’s mother’s mother was told a story from her mother’s mother’s mother, about how when she was just a cub, her pack had lived in the far, far north, where all nights were Long Nights. Though far colder than our own home, the pack prospered, for the territory was an isle in a secret lake beyond the furthest mountains, a magical land where the snow never fell, and the prey was always rich.”
“So, like the Wulfwoods in summer, but all year!” Tarka yelled. He opened his jaws and let out a howling noise, mimicking the wolves outside.
“Warmer and richer,” Serka assured him. “The isle was filled with flowers in colors I’ve never seen. It was said to be a miracle.”
Alika suddenly leaped on Tarka, knocking the two of them out from beneath Serka’s wing and into the cold cave. Tarka yelped as he tussled with his sister, trying to nip at her neck. It wasn’t much of a contest: even if her wings were a bit small and stubby for her age, Alika was still older and larger, though Serka could have sworn that Tarka was going through a growth spurt.
The two dragon cubs rolled into the pile of snow that was building up at the cave entrance, disappearing into one of the myriads of tunnels they had made over the Long Night. When they came out again, Alika’s fur was as white as Tarka’s.
“Mom, can we go out and play?” Alika asked. “I think the moons are out! We could go down to the forest!”
“No, dear. It is too cold, and even if the twins are peeking out tonight, the Irmiq Mountains are too dangerous and fickle in the winter.” Serka lumbered over to Tarka, who had gotten his head stuck in the snow. She grabbed the back of his neck with her fangs, gently lifting him out. The cub went limp, curling his tail and drooping his wings. “Tarka is too young; we must wait until spring comes.”
Serka set him down near a pile of black rocks in the back of the den, pulling a few out. Holding her snout close to them, she sent out a small puff of orange flame. The rocks instantly lit into a warm fire, Tarka curling up around it to dry his fur.
“Mommy, what happened to the Emerald Isle?” Tarka asked. Alika slunk over to the fire, warming herself on it.
“My sixth-mother had two older siblings of the same litter,” Serka continued, keeping a wary eye on the flames. “Both wanted the Isle as their own, so their pack split in two. They fought until the Emerald Isle was crimson, and many dragons were slain or lost to Nigel’s clan. The two of you must promise never to fight like that.”
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Tarka immediately responded to that by leaping on his sister, knocking her thankfully away from the fire. Serka knocked the piece of coal into the snow to douse it, before grabbing Tarka again, pulling him off a snarling Alika.
“I am serious,” Serka sternly snorted. “No matter what, you must never spill each other’s blood.”
“We’re just playing, Mom,” Alika replied. “But of course not. I promise.”
“I promise too!” Tarka added, squirming in Serka’s grasp. “No real fighting!”
Serka bowed her head, letting Tarka back down. “As my sixth-mother’s pack slaughtered each other, she fled, starting her own pack on frigid lands beyond the mountains. Though she passed down the story of the Emerald Isle, she refused to tell her cubs where it was, for fear that if they ever found it, they would fight just like her siblings had.”
“Yet, after her mate passed away and she knew her time was coming to an end, instead of leaving her flesh to feed her pack, she risked joining Nigel’s clan in death. She journeyed to the other side of the world, the far south, near to where we are now, and told only my thrice-mother the purpose of her travels: to hide a map to the Emerald Isle, in case her descendants ever needed to find it once more.”
“A map!” Tarka exclaimed, running around in a circle. “One day I’ll find it Mommy, I promise. I’ll find it, and we’ll all go to the Emerald Isle together, where we can play outside forever and ever!”
“What about father?” Alika asked. “I thought this story was about him.”
“It is.” Serka clicked her tongue. “It is about all of us. Your father and I searched far and wide for the map, trekking through treacherous lands and seeing creatures we thought were found only in tales.”
“Like snow monsters!” Tarka interrupted.
“No, no snow monsters.” Serka shook her head. “But we saw white eagles as large as dragons, ruins older than my sixth-mother, and moose with fangs as sharp as talons. Perhaps one day, when the two of you are grown enough to fly, I will take you north and show you.”
“Yeah, grow faster,” Alika said, sticking her tongue out at Tarka.
“Why did you stop looking for the Emerald Isle?” Tarka asked.
“Well, we found something more important.” Serka let out a low purr, placing her nose against Alika’s scruff.
“Alika isn’t more important,” Tarka snorted.
Alika glared at him and growled, suddenly pouncing at her brother. He yelped as she landed, grabbing and holding him down as he struggled.
Serka raised her nose towards the entrance of the den. The winds had come to a halt, and it seemed like the snow had stopped falling.
“Off your brother,” Serka said, nudging Alika with her snout. “Let’s go outside for a moment. I think it’s clear.”
“Outside!” Tarka screamed, immediately diving headfirst into the snow pile. Serka watched as he disappeared, and Alika climbed in afterward.
Careful not to bury them underneath, Serka placed one of her paws on the packed snow, tucking in her wings and wriggling through the hole at the top of the cavern. The sky above the tunnel leading upwards was clear of clouds, and Serka smelled no predators. Still, she poked out her head and gave a careful look around the glacier beneath them and the mountainside above before her cubs surfaced, checking for anything large enough that it could pose a risk to Alika or Tarka.
It was all clear, and the cubs broke through the snow a moment later, gasping at the sight of the night sky above them. Their warm breath made clouds of vapor in the air as they looked heavenward. Bright gray lines curved in the sky beyond the cliffside like the rings inside of a felled tree, taking up much of the northern horizon. Tasien’s two great moons rested above the rings as if floating on them, one of them full, the other barely a crescent away from it.
Yet, the glacier was most lit up from the spectacle above the moons, curved ribbons of green and purple that moved against the still background of the rings and stars. The southern lights swam over the white tips of the mountaintops, coloring them in a faint tint.
“It’s on fire!” Tarka yelled, frantically climbing his way out from the tunnel to see closer. “The sky is on fire!”
“It’s alright, dear.” Serka nuzzled Tarka’s neck. “It will not harm us. It is the same fire that warms our den.”
“Dragonfire?” Tarka asked. He curled his tail in the fresh snow, causing it to pile up along his fur.
Serka flicked her snout down. “A long, long time ago, the world was warm and green, for the Dreamer, the first dragon, sleeps in a ball of flame far beneath us. She warmed us with her breath, spitting fire and smoke out into the sky. But Nigel was jealous, for he could feel no warmth, but the Dreamer was too hot for him to touch. So, he killed her eldest daughter and made her of his clan, using her bones to cover the sky, sending the Dreamer into grief, for no mother should watch their child die. She stopped her flames to sleep forever, and he froze the land to cool her down, yet whenever Nigel tries to touch her and make her his own, she briefly wakes to scorch him, creating the fires of the sky and giving us our summer warmth.”
“Wow,” Tarka whispered, his eyes turned up at the sky. He spread out his wings as if trying to take in the magnitude of the horizons. “She must be big. Bigger than you!”
“Mom, what happens when the Dreamer runs out of flame?” Alika asked nervously.
“Then she will finally join Nigel’s clan, the world will become colder than the coldest winter forever, and nothing will be left.” Serka rested a wing over Alika’s fur. “That is how the world will end.”
“Forever?” Alika whimpered, digging her talons into the snow. “No more prey? No more summers?”
“Forever and ever,” Serka affirmed. She raised her other wing to the sky. “But tonight, the Dreamer’s flames are bright, so it will be a long time before they go out forever. Perhaps you will be the sixth-mother to the cubs who see it!”
“Not if I can help it!” Tarka snorted, pouncing up and down in the snow. “If I ever come across Nigel, I’ll fight him and I’ll win! Tasien will be warm again, and everywhere will be green!”
Serka whipped her head around towards Tarka, baring her fangs and letting out a deep growl. Tarka jumped back, falling flat on his back with his wings splayed out.
“No!” Serka snarled, her voice stern and forceful. “If you ever see Nigel, you must turn and fly as fast as you can away! Do not fight him, do not look at him, do not touch him!”
Tarka’s talons curled up, and he tucked his tail between his legs. Serka paused. She felt bad for having to scare him like that, but there were lessons that every cub had to learn.
Serka glanced at Alika, making sure she was paying attention. Her ears flicked as she opened her jaws, speaking the words that her mother had once told her as a cub, and whose own mother had once said to her, and her mother before that:
“Let Nigel not into your eyes, lest you meet your heart’s demise.
Let Nigel not into your heart, lest your soul shall fall apart.
Let Nigel not into your soul, lest your corpse is frozen whole.
Let Nigel not into your death, lest you wake without a breath.
When Nigel comes you fly and hide, you close your heart, you close your eyes.
When Nigel speaks be not enticed, for shadows walk the living’s ice.”
Serka closed her jaws and backed away, letting Tarka up. Slowly, her cub got to his paws, shaking. Serka reached her head down to give the back of his neck a lick, feeling him twitch as she touched him.
“Mom, is Nigel real?” Alika asked, her tail tucked. “Or is he just a Long Night story?”
“He is real, very real.” Serka sighed a puff of hot air, twisting into a white cloud. “Your father and I saw his clan from afar on our travels.”
Tarka and Alika’s eyes opened wide, reflecting the lights of the sky within them.
Serka whipped her tail. She was starting to get nervous herself. It was said that saying his name in a Long Night could summon him, and they had already spoken it many times. “But that is a story for another time when you are both older. Now is the time to sleep and dream of warm fire and green leaves.”
Serka pushed Tarka back towards the snow tunnels with her snout, using her wing to gesture to Alika to follow. The winds began to pick up just as her cubs delved back into the safety of the cavern. The green fires of the sky were fading, the rings of Tasien once more hidden behind gray clouds, bringing more snow to cover the glacier.
Perhaps it was just a trick of the darkness or a stray shadow cast by a cloud, but Serka could have sworn she’d seen movement across the glacier. The huge dragon rushed to burrow into the den’s entrance, not giving a second glance to whatever might have been outside. As her own mother had told her, some things were better left unseen.