Tonight.
You get to fall asleep somewhere magical and a little mysterious.
Deep under a mountain.
Curled up beside a small dragon whose fire has only just come back.
Hey there,
My friend.
My name is Jacob.
And I'm really glad you found your way here tonight.
Before the story begins,
There's something I want you to hear.
You've done enough for today.
Truly.
It is enough.
So let the covers come up close around you.
Somewhere under a garden.
Something small has been waiting ages for someone to listen.
And tonight,
I think that someone is us.
Rowan's house sat right at the foot of the mountain.
And behind it.
Was his family's garden.
Which Rohan loved most after dark.
When nobody else was in it.
The pumpkin vines went silver under the moon.
And the moon flowers along the back wall.
Which kept their petals folded tight all day.
Opened one by one.
As the night got deeper.
White and wide,
And smelling of honey.
He was out there that night in his socks and his sweater.
Sitting on the old stone wall.
When he first felt it.
It came up through the stones beneath him.
A low rumble so deep he felt it in his chest before he heard it at all.
The bean poles tremble.
Dew shook loose from the cabbage leaves.
Then it stopped.
And Rohan sat with his hands flat on the cold stone.
Waiting.
It came again.
Longer this time.
And lower.
With a little catch at the end of it.
Like a grumble that wanted to be something else.
To row on.
It sounded like his little cousin when she was trying very hard not to cry.
He slid off the wall and pressed his ear to the ground between the pumpkins.
And there it was.
Coming from somewhere far underneath his garden.
He followed it.
It was strongest at the very back.
Where the garden ran right into the mountain and a mossy boulder sat with rhubarb growing big around its base.
Rowan had played behind it a hundred times.
But tonight.
When he lifted one of the huge rhubarb leaves,
He found a crack at the bottom of the boulder he'd never seen before.
Just wide enough for a boy.
An orange glow came from inside.
The air drifting out smelled like a fireplace the morning after.
There were steps cut into the stone.
Rohan went back for the jam jar lantern on the porch.
Lit the stub of candle inside it.
And went down.
The steps wound down and down.
And around.
Down and around for longer than seemed possible.
Pale roots from the garden hung from the ceiling at first.
And then,
There was only stone.
Cool and smooth under his finger.
And glowworms clinging to the walls in blue-green clusters.
Somewhere,
Water was dripping into water.
And every so often,
The rumble rolled through the tunnel again.
Close now.
Close enough to make the candle flame lean.
The tunnel opened into a small round cave.
And in the far corner.
Wedged behind a column of stone.
Was a dragon.
It was a very small dragon.
No bigger than the old cat who slept on Rowan's couch.
No bigger than the old cat who slept on Rowan's porch.
With scales the gray of river stones and wings folded tight like a pair of leaves.
It was sivering.
And each time it breathed out,
A puff of cold gray smoke came from its nose without a single spark in it.
And when it saw Rohan and his lantern.
It gave a startled hiccup.
And the cave rumbled.
So that was the sound.
Rowan didn't go any closer.
He sat down right where he was.
Set the lantern on the floor between them.
And waited.
The way you wait for a bird to decide you're safe.
At last,
The dragon spoke.
Its voice was small and crackly,
Like kindling.
Nobody ever comes down here.
I heard you.
Rowan said.
From the garden.
The dragon crept out from behind the column.
One careful foot at a time.
Until it could warm its nose by the candle.
His name,
He said,
Was Pebble.
He was the youngest dragon under the mountain.
And his fire had gone out.
Dragons can't sleep cold.
Pebble said.
The big ones have been asleep down below for a hundred years.
I kept calling and calling.
But my voice only comes out as rumbling.
What do you need?
" Rowan asked.
Pebble looked down the dark tunnel at the far side of the cave.
There's fire at the heart of the mountain.
But it's a long way.
And it's very dark.
And I didn't want to go by myself.
Rowan picked up his lantern.
Then we'll go together.
The tunnel led them to an underground river.
Black and glassy.
Where a raft made from one flat slab of stone floated at the edge,
As if it had forgotten how heavy it was.
Pebble Hop Don.
Rowan climbed after.
And the river carried them along on its own.
Glowworms lined the roof above the water.
Thousands of them.
So it felt like drifting under a sky full of green stars.
Their light showed in the river too.
And the raft seemed to float between two skies at once.
Pebble sat pressed against Rohan's side.
Still shivering a little.
And Rohan wrapped an arm around him and felt his cold scales start to borrow the heat of a boy's sweater.
Next,
They drifted through a cave of crystals.
Tall and clear as icicles.
When Pebble's tail brushed one.
It rang like a spoon against a glass.
And that note walk the crystal beside it.
And that one woke the next.
Until the cave was humming a chord behind them.
And then the river widened into a hall so big,
Rohan couldn't see the far side of it.
The walls were made of dragons.
They were enormous.
And they were stone,
Or nearly stone.
Curled up with their tails around their noses and moss glowing and growing along their spines.
They breathed so slowly that Rohan only noticed when a warm draft moved across the water and lifted his hair.
And each breath glowed orange deep in their chests.
Like coals under ash.
As the raft drifted past the biggest of them.
One great golden eye opened.
Just a sliver.
It found Pebble.
And then it found Rowan.
And it stayed on him a moment longer.
As if it were remembering something.
Then it closed again.
The air smelled like cedar and rain on hot stones.
That's my grandmother.
Pebble whispered.
The very end of the hall,
The river ran into a pool of fire.
It was a wide,
Shallow bowl of embers.
Deep red at the edges and gold at the center.
Shifting the way a sunset shifts if you watch it long enough.
It was the warmest place Rohan had ever been.
Cozier than the kitchen on baking days.
Pebble crept to the edge,
Then stopped.
There's a rule.
Pepple said.
A dragon can't light its own fire.
Not the first time.
And not after it goes out.
Someone else has to breathe on it first.
So Roa knelt at the edge of the pool and reached in.
The embers felt like stones that had been lying all afternoon in the sun.
He lifted one out,
Cupped it close to his face,
And breathed on it.
The way you'd blow across a mug of cocoa.
The Ember Brighton.
He breathed again.
And it brightened even more.
Until his hands glowed pink around the edges.
He held it out,
And Pebble leaned in and breathed it in.
For a moment,
Nothing happened.
Then a glow started in Pebble's chest and spread along his ribs.
Down his leg.
On the way to the tip of his tail.
Is grey scales warmed to copper?
Then to amber.
Then to the color of honey with a lamp behind it.
And when he opened his mouth,
A tiny flame came out.
No bigger than a candle's.
And Pebble laughed.
A crackling.
Delighted laugh that echoed down the whole hall of sleeping dragons.
Beside the pool was a round hollow lined with moss.
Heated by the fire.
Pebble curled up in it.
Rowan climbed in too.
And Pebble wrapped himself around him.
Tail over his feet.
One wing crosses shoulders like a blanket kept by the fire all night.
Rohan's body seemed to recognize the warmth before he did.
His shoulders came down from around his ears.
His fingers uncurl.
The tiredness from all those steps sank into his legs like sand to the bottom of a jar.
And his breathing slowed to match Pebble's.
And pebbles slowed to match the old dragons along the walls.
And then the rumble came again.
It was the same rumble he'd felt through the garden wall.
Only this time,
It came from Pebble's belly against his back.
Steady.
And even.
It's the sound a dragon makes when it's waiting for someone to come.
And it's the sound a dragon makes when someone finally does.
And it's warm.
And it feels safe enough to purr.
Rohan thought about the garden up above.
And the crack in the boulder.
And whether it would still be there tomorrow.
Pebbles seemed to hear the thought.
The way dragons sometimes can.
It'll be there.
He mumbled.
Already half asleep.
It's always been there.
You just had to be listening.
Rohan smiled into the wing and let his eyes close.
Far above them.
The moonflower stood open in the dark.
The pumpkin sat silver on their vines.
And under all of it.
So low that only the roots could feel it.
The ground hummed with the sound of one small dragon.
A whole mountain of old ones.
And a boy.
All sleeping soundly at last.
