Nova | Dragon Seeker

Every night at midnight, the purple clouds came out to dance with the blushing sky. Every time I see it, I'm reminded of the story my mom tells about my birth under this same magical display; coming into the world with purpose, at midnight on the dot. Tonight each cloud seems to have its own rhythm, swirling through the atmosphere. I’m running through a forest of giant pines, as beautiful as I remember them. They tower over me like dark guardians, piercing the lavender sky as their sappy perfume fills my senses. The breeze is cool and envelops me with a chill that tells a story of how it grazed the icy peaks above before it touched my skin. I waltz through a meadow of wildflowers, they sway with me as I dance to the song of the birds. My bare feet feel every fallen needle, every pinecone, every rock. The bears wake from their hibernation and saunter through the field alongside me, relaxing in the fresh sprouts of new grass. Spring snow falls from the plumb-colored sky and covers us with a blanket knit of violet ice crystals. I’m refreshed, grateful for its beautiful softness that creates a hush over the land. I run to the river laughing and singing as I jump into the frigid water, the moon reflected in the currents. I try to catch the moon but it escapes me every time. Peering up through the trees, I watch the lavender clouds rushing through the sky as though they are chasing a dream… I hold on to the magic of this moment with all my might. I don’t want to leave…

.....

Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep! Beep!

I'm jolted into darkness. Feeling for my alarm, I hit it with angry aggression. Why is my alarm going off? I don’t even know why I have a clock in here. Rolling over in my bed I ache for sleep, to fall back into the forest. The smell of coffee coming from the kitchen downstairs slowly fills my room and its aroma drags me to my feet. I feel for my slippers, which I know are about a foot from my nightstand, right where I left them last night. Clumsily, I push my feet into them and reach for the wall, using it as my guide. I feel my way out the door and slowly walk toward the steps, touching and counting everything. I’m getting tired of counting all day. My foot reaches the edge of the staircase; one, two, three, four, five… then thirty paces down the hallway and left. I hear dishes clanking as I approach- my mom is cooking and canning like she does every morning.

“Coffee?” she says timidly when I appear in the doorway. She doesn't know what to expect from my response these days.

“Sure,” I reply with agitation as I slowly find my seat. “Did you set my alarm?” The words bite as they come out.

“I just thought…maybe you would want to see more of the day…” she instantly stops, and by the sound of her breath, I can tell she wants to suck the words back into her mouth.

“Seeeeee?” I say contentiously. I catch myself, not wanting to say something I will regret. Her intentions are not malicious. She’s still getting used to this too and getting used to life without my dad. It’s been a little over a year, but how does one ever get acquainted and comfortable with grief?

I hear her sniffle and her voice cracks, “I’m…sorry. I didn’t mean to say it that way, Nova, if I could take this from you, I would… I…”

“Please don’t, Mom, I’m fine.”

I finish my coffee quickly, I want to be alone. I scoot my chair out from the table and feel my way down the countertop. Passing the sink, I firmly place my cup in the basin, chipping a saucer that I couldn’t have known was there. Feeling defeated, I curse under my breath.

“Leave it, I’ll take care of it.” my mom says quietly, as she walks up and touches my arm.

Pulling away, I stumble and keep walking- I can feel her pain as it happens. I’m not mad at her, I’m just mad. I’m silent, if I speak I’ll cry. My insides are in knots and I keep moving toward the porch- five steps from the end of the counter and slightly to the left.

“Can I help you out to your chair?” she asks.

“No thanks,” I say, trying to hide my bubbling frustration, but I’m not fooling her.

I feel for the splintery wooden doorway and push through the creaky screen to step outside- turn to the left, fifteen steps to my chair- one, two, three, four, five…my foot catches the loose board and I stumble forward, nearly losing my footing.

“Dammit! I forget that board every time!” I grumble hatefully into the cool morning air. No one is there to hear except the hummingbird that is noisily fluttering around the porch.

Life sucks now. Why didn’t I listen to the warning from the deer, the birds, the old lady on the path? They tried to tell me but I wouldn’t hear it. I thought I was invincible. I thought I had an influence and insight that no one else had, that I could change the dragon, restore what was lost. I was wrong. He cornered me faster than I anticipated before I could get my first word out. I didn’t even get my chance with him before we were eye to eye.

Taking my seat in the old rocking chair, I can smell the Blackberry River, the river that drew my parents to this land. It’s raging right now from the snowmelt running down Blackberry Mountain, my favorite peak whose shadow reaches across our fields in the late afternoon. Spring is creeping in and I can feel the change in the air. Feeling is all I have now.

My dad loved this time of year. I’m overcome with memories of him as the bursts of mountain air fill my senses. He would be out digging in the garden right now, planting seeds, sweat drawing lines on his dirt-covered face. We used to drink lemonade on the porch and I’d tell him about my travels; my experience seeing Times Square in New York City for the first time, climbing the Eiffel Tower steps in Paris, getting lost on the streets of London, and hiking through the Alps. He wanted to see more of the world, he had only scratched the surface when the dragon took his leg. After that, traveling was more trouble than it was worth, but he loved hearing stories of my adventures, always listening on the edge of his seat. Somehow, I’m already forgetting the small details of his face, and it's only been just over a year since I saw him last. What would he think about me, about what I did? Would he be proud that I tried? I never told him I was going, and he was gone before I came back.

My thoughts are interrupted by the song of Lark, the mama bird serenading me from the trees by the river. I can hear the sorrow in her song. She misses me and I know she wants me to visit her and sing back, but I’ve forgotten how to sing. Now I’m only living for my dreams, and I’m holding on for him, the healer… If he wasn’t coming, well, I don’t know that any small pleasures would hold enough weight to keep me here.

We heard about the healer from a traveler named Sojourner, a curious man who spoke oddly and cryptically. He had a strong and bizarre stench that traveled on the wind ahead of him. He came to us after Malora, the owner of the Corner Market in town, told him about the dragon… about me.

“You know, we have a girl in town, Nova, who faced our dragon. She and her mama live up in the valley on Blackberry River Ranch. She’s a rebellious one, never heeding the caution of her mother. Dragon took her daddy’s leg when he wasn’t much younger than her, shame cause he was a champion runner. Almost went to the Olympics, and that would have put our small town on the map. That Nova went to avenge him, in my opinion. Ohhh, but she told everyone it was her explorative and noble spirit that led her to seek out that scaly giant. Her curiosity couldn’t be tamed, she just had to go. Thought she could change him and redeem the past, alter the future; ideas of grandeur, save the world, wild thoughts like that. Well, she sure learned her lesson! Her daddy passed while she was off savin’ humanity. She came back with no vision and no recollection of how she even made it home. That dragon took her sight and scaled up her eyes. Now she can’t run off like she used to, leaving her mama in a world of worry. I hate sayin' it but serves her right. It’s like I always say, better to stay home with a heartbeat, than leave and risk dyin’.”

Fearful woman never liked me, so her embellished gossip isn't surprising, hurtful, but not surprising. Really, I'm not shocked, nothing in this town stays quiet. It’s boring here so word travels fast. I’m the only person from our town, besides my dad, that ventured past the mountains. Stories of the dragon roaming free beyond the peaks have kept everyone in their safe little bubble, even though it's rare to run into the dragon these days. He tucks himself away in his cave and only comes out at midnight when the purple clouds dance.

Given the town’s angst about travel, they repeat the same loops day after day. Stories are all these people have, the highlight of their quiet lives, tales of adventures they will only live in their dreams. I guess now I can relate… now, that’s all I have.

Sojourner walked up to our house a few weeks ago. His scent traveled ahead of him; intense waves of plumb, patchouli, lavender, and strong body odor flew in on the breeze before I even heard his steps crunching up the gravel trail.

“Draaagon seeeeker?!?” he said as he approached, in an accent I didn’t recognize.

“How could you tell?” I replied sarcastically, “Did the purple scales in my eyes give it away?”

“I mean noooo disrespect, yooooung laaaady. I knoooow of a heeeealer, a man who can meeeend your spirit and cuuuure your ailments. He procuuuures ancient medicines, recipes handed doooown by his ancestoooors. He will traaaavel to youuuu. Send him a meeeessage, tell him about the draaaagon. Send it by raaaaven to The Heeeealer, and heeee will coooome, I assure youuuu.”

I was skeptical, Sojourner was nice enough, but it seemed like maybe he had a screw loose somewhere. Despite my reluctance, my mother wrote to him anyway. I didn’t want to get my hopes up but I knew it was the only chance I had. A week went by before the raven returned with a reply.

From the east, I’ll arrive when I arrive; be ready, watchful, waiting. I will ask much of you, as you ask much of me. Prepare for my challenges, they will stretch you in unimaginable ways.

What did that mean? It’s challenging enough to get through the day. Nevertheless, I felt a slight twinge of excitement accompanied by equal amounts of terror- but it’s the only chance I have, so now I’m holding on for him. I will not live only for my dreams. I will not live to sleep.

...

It’s midnight and the purple clouds are dancing with the blushing sky, just like I remember it. The moon is full and I can see each star turning on its twinkling light. I’m on the beach tonight, the sand is cool, but when I dig my feet deep I can still feel the heat of the day lingering beneath the surface. I’m smiling and it feels foreign. I run down the beach, splashing as the waves grab my ankles and roll back out again. The pink dolphins just migrated from far off seas and they ask me to come play. I run into the warm, salty water and swim- wild, free. I see. I play. I dive. Back on the shore, I drink in the tropical colors around me. The smell of the salty air overtakes my senses as I lay back and impress my body in the cool, shifting sand. I watch as the palm trees sway in the purplish light, dancing to the song of the ocean like they are intertwined in a magical relationship. The moon is reflecting in the water, I splash in and try to grab it. I want to take it with me. I’m holding on, but I can feel it slipping. No, I’m not ready to wake! I want… I need this…

...

Over breakfast my mom is chatty. She tries to reassure me with her words, but I don’t let her in. We used to be close, but I can’t be close to anyone. If my dad were here he’d know what to say, and he’d know how to comfort her. She’s trying so hard and I love her and hate her for it.

She continues talking, filling me in on all the happenings in town, but my mind drifts and her words are only background noise to my thoughts. I can’t stop thinking about the dragon. What will I tell the healer about him when he arrives? What are his intentions anyway? Does he already know about our history with the scaly giant? I imagine he has some idea since we are only one of three places in the world that still has a dragon, although every city used to have one. Now it’s just us, Blackberry Mountain in the San Juan Range of Colorado; the Southern Alps of New Zealand; and the volcano of Hilo, on the Big Island of Hawaii.

The story of our dragon is similar to other cities. He was once our protector, our companion until the people of the town betrayed him. They took advantage of his loyalty, enslaved him for their selfish gain. He was shackled and released only when it served the purpose humans deemed reasonable, and only under constrained supervision. Over the years of control and confinement, the dragon grew to hate humans. One day, about ninety years ago, his anger reach its peak- he broke his chains and killed his handler. After his escape, he hid away in a cave and began using his magical powers to steal the physical attribute that was most important to each person he encountered. After stripping it away, he replaced what he stole with a thin layer of purple dragon scales. He stores his plunder inside a vault in the depths of his cave, like a shiny trophy, never to be returned.

It has been told that the dragon only comes out at midnight to recharge his energy with the light of the purple clouds, which has been said to have kept the dragons living for thousands of years. Sadly, most of the dragons of the world were killed by the people who held them, hostage. Humans felt they had no choice, and the dragons faced a grueling death as they desperately fought for their release. A heartbreaking end to centuries of mutual respect and companionship.

My dad faced our dragon when he was slightly younger than me. He went for a truce, to reason with him, to convince him to release all he had stolen in exchange for a peaceful relationship with the rest of nature- my dad had that kind of sway. But the dragon was overpowered by anger and couldn't be reasoned with. Then he took my daddy’s leg, the leg of a champion runner…the dragon took everything from him that day. Every time my dad retold the story, he spoke of the remorse in the dragon's eyes, like he instantly regretted his action. Seemed like my dad felt sorry for the dragon.

That story stayed with me throughout my life. I couldn't shake the thought of the dragon’s response. If there was even a small amount of remorse in his spirit, maybe there was a chance he could be convinced to give back all he had stolen. I felt I had to do something. If I was successful, maybe my dad could get off his crutches and back on the race track. That thought wouldn’t stop nagging my spirit. My daddy’s determination and bravery is pulsing through my veins. I had to try.

My final warning on the way to his cave should have shaken me, but I thought I had something that no one else did. I was almost there, she wasn’t going to deter me from my mission. She was old and frail, her head covered with a plum-colored shawl that prevented me from seeing her face. What is an old woman like her doing on this trail? I thought as I approached.

“The scales you seek will give you momentary bliss before happiness eludes you forever.”

Her words were jarring, but they had no influence. I couldn’t be convinced to turn back- I had made up my mind. Her voice still rings in my ears. What would have happened if I heeded her warning? What if I had been here when my dad passed away, could I have saved him? Questions that haunt me.

“NOVA, did you hear me?” my mom’s voice startles me out of my thoughts.

“Yes, sorry, I was just thinking about something else. I’m going to the porch. Thanks for breakfast.”

“Ok, enjoy the fresh air,” she said with sadness in her voice.

I know she wants me to participate in conversation, offer replies, or anything that would let her know that her daughter is still in here somewhere. But my anger and resentment are too intense for me to oblige. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to have carefree conversation. Laughter is just a memory to my soul, a smile now foreign to my lips. All I have left is anger and regret.

I make my way to my chair. I'm overwhelmed by the sounds around me. After losing my sight my other senses have become stronger, everything seems more intense; smells, sounds, sensations. I can tell the river is rising, it’s getting louder with each passing day as the sun slowly melts the snow on the peaks above. I hear the breeze blowing through the pines, tickling the branches as it moves through the grove by the river. The trees respond, creaking with delight. The birds of the valley are singing sweet songs with respect to the change of the season. Bees are buzzing and I imagine them collecting fresh pollen from the new blossoms as they fly from bloom to bloom. I picture the buds unfurling and hummingbirds flitting through the fields, drinking the nectar, and recharging from their arduous migration back to our ranch. I want to see it all, to take it in with my eyes and all my senses. I miss it.

In years past, I would be preparing for my journey. I always traveled at the start of spring. I miss my old life, the life of a wayfarer. There is so much left to see in this world. Now I’m trapped in this house, in my head, behind my eyes. I try to hold onto the memories of what the world looks like. I’m slowly forgetting the colors of the sky as the sun kisses the horizon. Only in my dreams, I can see.

...

It’s midnight and the purple clouds are dancing with the blushing sky as it magically swirls its colors in unison with the marvelous tints of the painted desert. I’m on the edge of the canyon, the wind gusts are playing with my hair. The heat on the rocks radiates toward me, interrupted by bursts of cool air. I open my arms and beg the wind to show me how to fly. Sitting on the edge, I imagine how the falcons feel, soaring over the chasm. I can hear the river below, the sound is faint but I can feel its power. The vultures circle above my head, telling me tales of the magic and death they’ve seen. I scamper with the coyotes and howl at the moon, my feet stained red from the crushed rock and dirt. I’m living. I sit with a cactus that’s been split in half, it spills stories as I drink its water and commune with its history. The moon is reflecting in the water and I try to grab it, I want to take it with me. I don’t want to leave, I feel home, please don’t eject me from this…..

...

I move with the achyness of a tired soul- slow. I don’t want to get out of my bed today, or any day. I want to stay here and sleep, but when morning comes, sleep eludes me. I think of all the ways I took my life for granted, my vision. Things you don’t think about until they are gone. If I had known I would have hurried to see more, lived more fully, never slept. Now sleep is my only ally. I reluctantly get up and get dressed. I hate trying to put on clothes, feeling for tags and seams, wondering which shirt I picked.

“Maybe he’ll be here today.” my mom says expectantly.

“Yeah, not getting my hopes up about anything.” Optimism isn’t my friend these days, not like it used to be.

“Stay positive, you have to.” she urges.

My chair on the porch is especially uncomfortable today. It feels like it’s intentionally trying to push me out. Fighting to get into a relaxed position, I concede and come to my feet.

"I guess I can’t just sit here for the rest of my life,” I mutter bitterly under my breath.

Something inside me is nudging me toward the river... I count my steps to the porch door and turn left toward the stairs that lead to the garden. I remove my slippers and begin walking timidly with my arms waving around stretched out in front of me, ensuring I don’t run face-first into anything. I take one calculated step after another. My toe catches the edge of the steps and slowly, I make my way down- one, two, three. My bare feet are on the earth. I haven’t felt this in a while and it takes my breath for a moment. I feel the energy shift in my body.

The grass is softer than I remember, and the stones sharper. I’m walking cautiously, but with purpose. I need the river, I need to touch something that's moving with intention, that’s going somewhere. The scent of moist soil warming in the light of the morning sun fills my nostrils. I know I’m passing my mom’s garden. I imagine the buds bursting forth out of the soil. She normally would have asked me to help plant the seeds. She grows all of our food, and an acre full of the most brilliantly colorful and unique Dahlias, attracting every butterfly, bee, and hummingbird in the valley. It also attracts tourists from all over, who come to capture photos of the colorful field with the dramatic peaks in the background. It’s a sight to see, if only I could, one more time.

I feel the earth shift downward and I know I’m getting closer to the river. As a child, I spent hundreds of hours sitting on its bank under the pine trees, skipping rocks, and talking to the fish. My heart is pounding with a similar rhythm it did back then. What am I so excited about? This is not one of my typical adventures that used to bring my heart to this pace, but it subtly feels like it.

I cautiously move toward the sound of the water. Suddenly I feel the coolness and I’m certain I’m walking into the patch of Pine trees that live on the edge of the water. Lark is whistling her song to me and her tune sounds different. I whistle a little reply, and it lifts my spirits as she joyfully sings back. I reach my arm out as far as it will stretch and my hand grazes the rough bark of a tree. I pause, my senses are sharper than they were before. The sound of the river is raging, and my heart is matching its rhythm. I feel… alive… for the first time in a long time, and all I’ve done is find my way to the river, on my own. I’m thrilled and also defeated by this thought.

I decide to crawl the rest of the way. If I step too far the river could take me. A thought like that used to excite me, endless possibilities as to where I would end up, but now everything scares me. On hands and knees, I crawl in the dirt and make my way to the river’s edge. The cold spray of the rushing water splashes my face and I surprise myself by cracking a small smile. Coming up to sit, I put my feet into the icy rapids and tears begin to stream down my face as I try my hardest to picture the things around me, to remember. I’m flooded with conflicting feelings; happiness, sadness, regret, anger, bliss, frustration. The water takes it all, it comforts without judgment. I lay back on the bank, overwhelmed with emotion.

Thoughts of the dragon fill my head. If I had one more chance to face him, could I redeem the ancient relationship? I have not allowed myself to entertain this thought up until this point. Tears stream down my face as I realize it's pointless to ponder, it could never happen. The earth holds me, holds it all. I lay for a long time, so long that I feel the chill of evening approaching and I slowly drift into a restless sleep.

...

It’s midnight and the purple clouds are dancing with the blushing sky, but that’s all I can see… suddenly I’m walking up the mountainside toward the dragon. The path is hot, dusty, steep. The old woman is ahead and I already hear her warning ringing in my ears. I approach quietly, hoping she is sleeping and won’t see me pass by.

“Beware, do not think that you have power, the beast has no mercy,” she whispers.

I skirt past her and keep up the path toward the crystal cave. I know what awaits, but I go anyway. The dragon’s eyes enter my mind…they are beautiful, inviting, lonely. I just want my chance to shift the course of history, to salvage our past relationship. I want to return that which was stolen, to make my father proud, complete his mission and see him smile as he runs again. These thoughts keep me pushing forward. Exhausted from the climb, I’m standing breathless near the cave. Where is the dragon? He would typically be here. It’s midnight and that’s when he recharges by the power of the purple clouds. I cautiously approach the entrance to the cave, my heart beating like it's going to burst out of my chest. I should have brought a weapon, just in case, but I didn’t come as a threat. I have a small pocket knife in my pack and I fumble through my stuff to find it. I don’t plan to use it, but I’m comforted having the option. I scoff at the relief that a pocket knife gives me- what would that do to a dragon? I quietly enter the cave. Mist curls out of the cavern and swirls around the beautiful crystals encircling the entrance: amethyst, moonstone, selenite, shimmering with an entrancing luster. Pausing for a moment, I feel blissful, mesmerized, but then I’m propelled by my purpose. The cave is deep but it is bright, sparkling. I feel confident, even though I know what’s coming. Traversing deeper into the cave, I can smell the dragon, but it’s not what you’d expect, it’s a pleasant smell; like fresh berries off the vine; like the summer grasses swaying in the moonlight; like freshly turned soil; like lavender in the sun’s heat; like the first bite of a plumb. I hear the dragon’s breath as I get closer and closer to its lair, and the sound hypnotizes me with loving energy. Nothing gives a warning that this dragon has ill intent. I’m not afraid. I follow deeper into the earth with excitement. I feel its presence and I know it feels mine. Now, I’m actively looking for the moment it happened, the moment I was so confident, when it all went wrong. The moment I didn’t see coming. Maybe there’s a clue here. I’m running toward him, but I can’t get there. I feel my time slipping, I'm holding on, I can’t leave this place, I need to see…

...

Darkness. Startled, I sit up on the river bank. For a moment I forget where I am, but the birds remind me. Suddenly, I experience a strange feeling, something I can’t quite place, something ancient stirring in my spirit. I feel the wind turn and begin blowing in from the east, which never happens here- the wind moves in one direction, always from the west. I hear the river slowing as if the rapids are finding a new rhythm. Lark is singing in unison with the currents; the other birds and bugs in the valley join in, like a beautiful orchestra. The breeze is warming and my body is overwhelmed with a new sensation, one I haven’t felt in a long, long time….hope. Could it be, him?