Deck the Mountain’s Halls

Deck the Mountain’s Halls (Picks up where Fools & Farewells left off) Hot chocolate gone, cold gnawing on his skin, Sarn traded the terrace for the warm suite. He found his son affixing with frostin’, a gingerbread balcony to a sweet cookie mountain replete with candy trails. Sarn lay down joined by Ran and his stuffed bear. Sarn’s magic roiled and tortured him with wails.  Three lights bobbed in air, alighted with care. “We three bring good gifts,” they sang one and all. Ran raised his head, blinked at the three fairies. “You can fix my Papa?” They nodded, all three moved, weaving fairy light and … Continue reading Deck the Mountain’s Halls

Fairies Interrupted

Fairies Interrupted (story continued from A Fool for Christmas) The fairies crouched on a wardrobe, peaked through curving woodwork that crowned the heavy piece. A father and son slept on as they drew power once again from Christmas’ peace. Spinning a web from threads of holiday fun; winding in snow, mistletoe, presents beneath the tree; ho hos, cookie filled days, blended with carols, candle mass and sleighs… until the spell almost burst with good cheer. ‘Fore they could loose it, a voice insisted, a door opened, a man hurried in here. He shook awake the father, insisted that he rise, a lost … Continue reading Fairies Interrupted

A Fool for Christmas

A Fool for Christmas (Picks up where Light the Tree left off) Nolo prayed, “O Lord, listen to our prayers and enlighten the darkness of our minds…” More he said, things ’bout visits and affairs of grace, the rest washed o’er Sarn and couldn’t find a home, so its meaning got lost somewhere between man, prayer and ignorant darkness. Nolo’s wife added a brilliant rose stone to the advent wreath, but e’en that brightness couldn’t enlighten a darkness all his own. So Sarn stood there, as he’d done two Sundays prior, wondering what wreath, tree and waiting time betokened, what would Christmas day require? Some understanding would surely come, … Continue reading A Fool for Christmas

The Nutcracker

The Nutcracker (Picks up where The Rusted King and the Drum left off) Three fairies perched on sainted heads; halos ringed their whispered conference; while below drum beats ceased as drummer boy and son, made slow progress to the doors, while echoes still hum. ‘Twas clear to the fairies that the duo had no a clue ’bout the season’s reason for celebration; they can’t let that go. Ignorance is a war that must be won! So off they floated after the drummer and his son through quiet halls of fortress, hiding in mosaic glow, their dimmer fairy light, they’d an … Continue reading The Nutcracker

Seconds

Seconds (Picks up where The Nutcracker left off) Nolo paused, caught half in, half out; a spy arrested by a scar, he’d come seconds too late to prevent; he’d saved the Kid’s eye, but not his face, too late by mere seconds. Yet just in time to save Sarn’s life, just so he could wreck it at sixteen by getting a girl with child. ‘Till that tree’s just so, that child is constantly rearranging. He was at it now though he’d enlisted help with the high branches and there they stood, young father and son, as the tree listed. A ball dropped, knocked … Continue reading Seconds

Second Thoughts

Second Thoughts (Picks up where Sparring left off) An open door framed the Christmas tree from where Sarn sat on the edge of his bed, his son’s head pillowed on his thigh, but from that angle what was visible instead, was not the silver fringe unraveled. The tree spoke of things unknown, begged questions with every hanging ornament and bell. Evergreen sprigs and wreaths–decorations that changed the familiar terrain leaving him confused at night, wond’ring where currents of this season would take him next, wond’ring if flight might’ve been best ‘fore his son learnt of this ‘Christmas’. The boy knew it existed, too late to file it away … Continue reading Second Thoughts

Sparing

Sparing (Continues where The Perfect Stone left off) Sarn spat blood, ignored the bright motes floating in the red stain, as he rose for round four. “Come on, stop defending. Start offending,” said his teacher for this match, a man four decades past caring and two past Sarn’s age. “Come on, Kid, hit me. No more defense try some offense now. I could hit at your age.” In a glance, Sarn saw the practice stave by the wall; he’d lost it in the last exchange. A flurry of blows kept him moving back, dodging, blocking but allowing no change to tactics criticized in this attack. A halt … Continue reading Sparing