By Victoria Roberts

When Bard’s parents named him, they bestowed on him one of the greatest gifts in Valoria. Storytelling. Except that required him to speak in front of a crowd. And for Bard, that was a task as insurmountable as facing a dragon.

Every summer, he whispered stories to himself while accompanying his family’s traveling band. Between his parents’ lilting music and his siblings’ daring tricks, he lived in a world all his own. No one demanded his stories. Until the day they were called to the king’s court.

One by one, his family presented their skills, eliciting oohs and ahhs from the crowd. Then, the court herald turned to announce him. Hope shone in his parents’ faces as all attention focused on Bard.

Sweat popped across his brow. His lips stiffened. And he ran.

Out of the throne room. Past his family. Tripping up a staircase that led deeper into the castle. The last flight of stairs ended at a worn wooden door. Bard pulled it open and stepped to the other side, shutting the kingdom behind him.

He leaned against the door, squinting up through watery eyes at dust floating through a sun-speckled room. The concave chamber was overflowing with discarded things. Broken weapons, chipped teacups, rusty armor, and countless abandoned trinkets.

He wandered through the piles until he dropped in front of an antique bookshelf.

With a moan, he leaned against the spines. He’d never live up to everyone’s expectations. If he stayed here long enough, maybe he’d be forgotten too.

He stretched out his legs, nudging a small book in the middle of the floor. Strange. All the other books were lined neatly on the shelf. Why wasn’t this one? Scooping it up, he set the spine against his lap and opened the pages.

“Ahhh!” Bard shouted, throwing the book across the room.

It landed on its spine with a thud, pages rustling. The leather-bound book wiggled a few times, then a little head popped out of its center. Bard scrambled back as the reptilian body of a small, hand-sized dragon climbed out of the chewed-up pages.

It blinked at Bard, its claws scratching against its brown underbelly. The dragon’s scales shimmered a deep yellow, like the sunflower field that surrounded Bard’s home. The dragon scrabbled closer, then gripped the side of Bard’s shoe and stared at him.

Bard swallowed. “Is this where you incinerate me?”

The dragon shook its head, then crawled up Bard’s leg. Bard stayed stock-still, squelching a giggle when the dragon ran up his belly. As he drew closer, Bard noticed the dragon’s wings, shrunken and dusty like the tomes behind them.

The dragon stopped on Bard’s shoulder, then jumped to the nearest shelf of books. He let out a clear whistle, tapping on a book’s spine while looking at Bard.

Bard crossed his arms. “I don’t think so. I’m not helping you chew through another one.”

The little dragon huffed. It leaped back to his shoulder, pulling on Bard’s tunic, then returned to the shelf. It cooed, nudging the book again.

Bard cocked his head. “You want me to read to you?”

The little dragon spun, emitting a chortle. With a sigh, Bard reached for the book. He laughed at the book’s title. Ye Dragons of Old: A History of Legendary Dragons.

As he sat cross-legged on the floor, the dragon slipped from the shelf and settled on Bard’s knee.

“I’ll try my best,” whispered Bard. “Your face isn’t half as frightening as a human’s.”

He opened the book. The text was written in the old language, the words looping in elaborate cursive script. Bard began, stumbling over the first few sentences. His face reddened, and he glanced at the dragon. It listened contentedly, no hint of annoyance at his mistakes or the break in his voice. Smiling, he continued with more confidence. As the tale unfolded, he reveled in the joy of sharing a story. Especially with an audience eager to listen.

As he turned to the last page, a breeze tickled his ear.

He glanced up and gasped.

Colorful, wispy dragons of old filled the room. They danced through the air, their translucent bodies giving life to the dusty space. One pair of dragons circled the yellow dragon on his knee, whooshing in circles until air filled the tiny, dusty wings on its back. In small, minuscule updrafts, the dragon’s wings unfurled, lifting it into the air. The little dragon squealed with delight, carried in the ebb and flow of his awakened ancestors.

With a grin, Bard finished the last page. As he closed the book, the wispy dragons began to dissipate. The duo guiding the yellow dragon lowered him to Bard’s knee. Then they vanished, leaving a puff of dust motes in their wake.

“Reading aloud is powerful,” whispered Bard as the little dragon climbed into his hand. The dragon trilled, rubbing his scales against Bard’s palm.

Bard furrowed his brow, wondering what it would have been like to share this with his family. Even with mistakes, he’d awakened a power that unfurled a dragon’s wings. What more could he do with this gift?

He glanced at the door. “I just have to tell the stories. I can’t be worried about the crowd.” With a nod, he lifted the dragon in his hands. “Want to come with me to see where your wings can take you?”

The dragon chirped then scurried up Bard’s arm and perched on his shoulder. Its body vibrated as its little tongue flicked at Bard’s chin. He laughed. “Glad you’re not the fire-breathing type.” He took a deep breath. “We’ll do this together. One adventure at a time.”

Bard stood and marched to the door. Turning the handle, he swept the door open, facing the stairs that had brought him to a room of forgotten things. He released the door handle, stepping forward.

“Let’s bring stories to life, Legend.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Victoria Roberts has been making up stories in her head for as long as she can remember. She writes uplifting Sonflower Stories that stand for the light. When she’s not penning or devouring a new tale, she spends her time adventuring with her husband and son, spoiling their poodle Beast, or creating book-themed cross-stitch patterns.

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