Yuletide: Night Twelve
Winter had laid a quilt of snow over the land, and now snowflakes
were softly drifting down. Icicles
fringe the eaves of the wooden half of the house nestled into the hill. Inside the fire crackles warmly and the black
dragon stares contemplatively into his mug of spiced cider, and then he speaks,
the steam curling around his snout. “At
last the Ice Basilisk, dazed from lack of sleep, left the Plane of Frost and
Flame, and moved on as per his arrangement with Lyra. While he hadn’t dared go home to the Ice
Plane there were a few, a very few, other Planes that felt like home. A day here, a day there, the Ice Basilisk had
been stringing out his visits to one such Plane where he could truly relax and
sleep in peace: the Winter Plane. So it
was that Lyra found the Ice Basilisk peacefully sleeping, curled up in an ice
cave, his white scales gleaming entrancingly in the pale blue light.”
The Winter Plane
Snow reshapes the landscape
Heavy clouds lie across the sky
The wind howls in the distance
The voice of the Winter Plane.
White, gleaming, glistening, white
Cold and crisp and clean
Blue, piercing, soul touching, blue
Of sky, of ice, of light,
A cold that wraps about the land
That seeps into the bones
A ray of sun sends rainbows sparking
That warm a shivering soul,
Forests of evergreens stand proud
Their needles encased in ice
Forests of deciduous barren rattle
Clawing at the sky,
Glaciers rise above the land
Filling mountain vales
White with snow above the turquoise
Of ancient, stalwart, ice,
Tunnels delve into the ice
They delve into the snow
Caverns drip with melt
In pools so still and cold,
Ice caves with beds of snow
Are lit a pale blue
By light filtered, softened, brightened
By its journey through the ice.
Here within a cave of ice
The Ice Basilisk lies in sleep
Curled in a mound of scales
In a cozy nook yet frozen,
Here the phoenix Lyra tracks him
Attuned by time and care
Flying through the dancing light
Out of reach of falling snow.
Deep within the caves
Where the light is dim as gloaming
The Ice Basilisk sleeps, gleaming
A gem within a crystal setting,
Lyra pauses ere she enters
Watching as his scales rise and fall
Watching the play of blue on white
In the icy false twilight,
Hearing, gentle, rumbling snores
She dares to glance along his tail
Glancing at his pale muzzle
Tired she slips and sees frost lashed eyelids,
Tired she slips on air so cool
On into the cave of ice
Her own flames flickering gold and red
Dancing light upon his scales,
The Ice Basilisk dreams of home
Of sleeping in an ice cave
Beside his parents cool and cozy
In a time before the curse, before he ever left,
A draft stirs the air, tickling his nose
Groggy he slides towards consciousness
Still wrapped in the dream of home
He blearily opens his eyes,
Exhausted from traveling across the Planes
Lyra’s gaze rests on the Ice Basilisk’s face
Entranced by a sight, before unseen
Entranced by scales, bright and shining,
Eyes of gold, of warmth, of light
Meet eyes of silver, cool, soothing
Widening with shock and fear
As gold is frosted over.
A howl of grief shakes the caves
Shattering icicles, disturbing still pools
It echoes and echoes
Back unto a cozy, unassuming, cave,
The Ice Basilisk’s heart bleeds fire and ice
He’s being is torn by grief so deep
A fissure bubbling with rage in its depths
A split down to the roots of his soul,
By rage, by love, by grief ablaze
His heart wells from scale to scale with emotion
Burning, burning, blazing bright
A burn at once both hot and cold,
With a final howl of determination
The Ice Basilisk tears off his shame
Calling upon his truest self
He reaches for the sky.
The stars that peek through Winter’s clouds
Are stunned by a cosmic blaze
Of white that radiates from
A Winter Plane ice cave.
Within the cave all is white
A mighty ice lizard stretches his wings
His heart laid bare by fire and ice
His wings a mirror of his soul blazing.
Within the conflagration
That leaves the ice caves untouched
The gorgeous statue of a phoenix, ice wrought
Brightens in the light,
Brightens til she shines with equal splendor
Glowing white
Two stars within an ice cave
In the Winter Plane,
Within the blaze Lyra awakens
Her soul and heart in fire forged
She listens to the whispers
That pervade the silent roar,
Listens to the sound of wings
Vast and shining, blazing
Listens to them speak a name
Lazarinth.
“Lazarinth!” She
cries
The blaze warms and cools
And as that same blaze dies
The white gives way to red and gold.
Across the Planes across the Realms
Ice was melting as if Spring, or gentle fire
Was drawing back Winter’s mantle
Returning frozen statues to life.
Within an ice cave in the Winter Plane
Silver eyes again met gold
The phoenix Lyra, and
The ice dragon, Lazarinth,
His metamorphosis complete
Lazarinth gazed with love unbridled
Upon the gorgeous flaming phoenix
Lighting up the once dim ice cave.
Together they came to know
That their guides of frost and flame
Were leading home the other victims
Of the Ice Basilisk’s curse,
Together they traveled to the Ice Plane
For a long awaited reunion
With the ice dragon’s parents
Astonished, heartsore, and joyous,
Together they spread their wings and flew
Across the Realms, across the Planes
Lingering time and time again
In the Plane of Frost and Flame.
There was silence, even the wind paused in its nightly
tirade, and the crackle of the fire was the loudest sound. “Thus, did an ice lizard with an unquenchable
thirst for knowledge undergo the trials of life and complete his metamorphosis to
dragon. Thus, did a phoenix reviled for
her strength meet one who cared not one whit about it and how the two of them
burned bright and shattered the curse. This
was the Tale of the Ice Basilisk’s Curse and how it brought together two lonely
wanderers of the Planes who made the guides so that others might find their way
home.” The fire popped and tumultuous
applause filled the room. Outside the
winter wind howled an accolade. The
black dragon smiled and the kitsune once again felt tears soak his fur. The kitsune looked up but this time the elf
was gladly smiling, her face radiant and her tears glittering. Her hair caught the fire light and seemed to
glow. As she moved to set him on the arm
of the couch beside her he reached out telepathically for the first time, suspicious
and curious: What is your name?
The elf
laughed and the merry sound filled the room over the applause. “Lyra.”
With a wink at the astonished kitsune, who hadn’t really expected to be
right, she sashayed over to the black dragon.
She tossed a glance at the fire behind him and a fog of smoke wrapped
around them. In a flash the smoke and
the two beings within it disappeared. In
the mirror on the mantle the kitsune saw a phoenix and a white dragon flying
away, they turned for a moment and winked at him and for a moment he saw just two
eyes, one gold and the other silver. It
struck the kitsune that the silver seemed brighter, darker, against white
scales rather than black. Then they
disappeared into a haze of white and the mirror went back to being reflective.
