A Symphony of Dragons by Lisa Shambrook

Other titles by Lisa Shambrook

Beneath the Rainbow Beneath the Old Oak Beneath the Distant Star

Book design by Blue Harvest Creative www.blueharvestcreative.com Cover painting by Lisa Shambrook

A Symphony of Dragons

Copyright Š 2017 Lisa Shambrook

All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by Asher an imprint of BHC Press Library of Congress Control Number: 2017933235 ISBN-13: 978-1-946006-58-5 ISBN-10: 1-946006-58-0 Visit the author at: www.lisashambrook.com & www.bhcpress.com Also available in eBook

Table of Contents

A Symphony of Seasons..................................................9 The Apothecary’s Art....................................................20 Between Ice and Fire....................................................23 Beneath Freya’s Dragon................................................33 Noctilite Tryst................................................................44 Paroxysm.......................................................................47 The Legend of the Seren Stone.....................................73

Between Ice and Fire Author’s note: This story is found in A Winter’s Romance published by BHC Press, November 2015.

L

aine shivered as she pulled the duvet up tight, snuggling down inside her bed and trying to ignore the cold as it permeated the room. She dipped back into the dream, but it faded fast and no matter how hard she tried the proverbial boat had sailed. She opened one eye and stared across the gloom trying to focus on her alarm clock. It would go off in about five minutes and Laine screwed her eyes shut.

She jumped as the alarm shrilled through the crisp morning air and goose bumps rose as she slammed her hand down upon the clock.

Ten minutes later, Laine stood in the kitchen with a steaming mug in her hands and toast popping up beside her. She stared at her window as she bit into buttered toast and watched the tears of condensation drip down the pane of glass.

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It was quiet and she was ready for work early. Her gaze drifted and she quickly gulped down her coffee and grabbed her red woollen coat. She wound her cream scarf around her neck and pulled on soft leather gloves. She picked up her bag and carefully closed the front door behind her.

Icicles hung across the porch and a string of them clung to the iron railings and the rail beside her steps. Ice crunched beneath her feet and the freezing air tickled her throat.

Laine loved winter. There was no other season like it. Winter was hers.

Winter was thick coats, heavy boots, ice, snow and a fretwork of Jack Frost’s most fancy pieces. She could wrap herself in layers of blankets and cuddle up with a book in front of the hearth.

It was too early to go into work so she wandered towards the beach. It would be empty off season and that was just how she liked it. She turned up her collar and pulled her hat down over her ears. She could hear the surf already, crashing down and churning pebbles, and it made her heart swell just like the tide.

When she was late for work she missed her walk along the promenade, but today she had plenty of time and hurried through the streets towards the waves.

A clinking sound echoed across the cold breeze but she couldn’t place the noise.

Then she rounded the corner and stopped. Before her was a small plaza which in the summer swarmed with children playing in the shallow basin beneath the fountain. The fountain had been vandalised and had been taken apart for restoration at the end of the season leaving only the plinth and the empty reservoir. Now, atop the plinth, stood a huge chunk of ice and the air resounded with the sound of a chisel tapping away at it.

Laine watched as glitter rained down one side of the block and she moved forward with a smile playing on her lips. Her boots crunched lightly in the frost as she walked, straining her neck to see past the ice. A generator sat on the ground with a small chainsaw beside it and a pile of tools resting on a plastic mat. The sculptor stood, stretching tall, upon a step ladder, chipping away at the corner of the huge block.

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Between Ice and Fire

She stopped as she entered his field of view and watched for a moment. It was difficult to see the man beneath the thick layers of clothing.

A leather apron flapped about his legs, tied around several layers of sweaters and dark jeans. He stood, one foot flat on the top of the ladder and the other on its tip as he stretched. Strong hiking boots clad his feet and thick socks crumpled around the bottom of his tucked in jeans.

Her gaze moved from his boots, up his legs. She grinned, and then flushed as she met his eyes.

He’d stopped chipping to see who observed him, and Laine’s eyes fluttered nervously. His woollen hat was off centre and one ear poked out, red and cold, from beneath it.

“Hi,” she began, her insides flipping as his eyes drilled into her. “I didn’t mean to disturb you…”

He shook his head and stepped down from the ladder. “You didn’t.” He smiled. “I haven’t really started yet, just checking equipment and the feel of the ice.”

He put the chisel down onto the mat and was by her side in just two strides. He pulled off his glove and offered his hand. “Alex.”

“Um, Laine.” She took his hand, wishing she’d had the forethought to remove her gloves too. His hand gripped hers and for a moment she was lost in his grey eyes, the exact colour of the ocean crashing upon the shore behind him. “So, what are you doing? I mean making, sculpting...” She corrected herself and tried not to stammer. “They’ve never done this before.” She indicated the fountain and the block of ice.

“Nope, they haven’t. But they’ve never removed the fountain before either.” He turned back to survey the ice as it gleamed in the morning light.

“When I heard they were fixing the fountain, taking it away for a bit, I asked if I could use the base – the plinth.”

“And they said yes?” She bit her lip, of course they said yes, or he wouldn’t have set up with a huge block of ice, she reprimanded herself.

He nodded. “They said, yes, and here I am!”

“So, what are you…sculpting?”

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“What d’you think I should sculpt?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I’ve no idea.”

“Then that gives me a clean slate – or iceberg.” He laughed, and she shivered as his throaty chuckle warmed her. “You cold?” he asked.

“No, well, yes. Well, it’s not hot is it?” Internally she told herself to shut up.

He chuckled again. “You gonna watch?”

“I can’t.” She pulled back her glove to check the time. “I have to get to work…” She wished heartily she didn’t.

He nodded. “Well, Laine, check back in on me, if you get the time.” He smiled at her and pulled his glove back on, covering his large, firm hand. “See if you like what I sculpt.”

Laine nodded as he sauntered back to his ladder. He pulled his hat back down over his exposed ear and picked up a smoothing tool. “Just checking the feel of the ice,” he said and ran his hand across the block. “Maybe see you later?”

Laine’s spine tingled as she pulled in a deep breath and froze her throat.

She coughed, and pulled her scarf up over her mouth. She nodded again and waved as he clicked a couple of switches on the generator and it kicked into life.

The noise assaulted the quiet beach and Laine stepped away. Her heart beat in time with the pulsating generator, fast and strong and she knew she’d be back to see whatever it was he created.

Work moved slowly. Laine got called in for a lunchtime meeting and a crisis meant she remained at work late. While others left quickly to get home to their families, Laine took her time to shut everything down and close up. She pulled her scarf tight as the sun sank beneath the horizon and winter’s early indigo slipped across the sky. She hurried along the promenade listening to the waves collide with the shore and darted from streetlight to streetlight. Clouds drew in with the night turning the navy sky grey and blotting out the stars, and Laine shivered. It was so cold she almost turned away from the seafront to bolt

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back home through the streets, but she was driven by a desire that was stronger than central heating.

She turned into the plaza, hoping to hear chisels, or saws, or – anything. But silence stretched through the night. The plaza was empty except for the fountain, but the block of ice had been covered and its plastic sheeting strapped down about the plinth. Swallowing her disappointment, Laine hurried home.

The alarm woke

Laine, early. She’d set it earlier than usual and she sprang out of bed with an uncommon wakefulness. Then coffee, and toast, and a heart – drawn in the condensation on her kitchen window. She spent a little more time applying mascara and eyeliner, and dab of scent.

She made a detour to the coffee shop on Castle Way and then padded through the frosted streets to the seafront.

The morning was bright and cloudless and not unlike the previous day.

It was cold, bitterly cold, but beautiful. She arrived at the plaza, but was again welcomed by silence. The tarpaulin over the ice flapped in the breeze and Laine spun on the spot gazing about the promenade. She checked her watch. Seven-fifteen was a good half hour earlier than she’d been the day before and she let a sigh escape her lips.

Anxiety and nerves fluttered in her stomach and the two drinks in her hands suddenly felt foolish. Then behind her an engine growled and a pick-up truck pulled in off the road. Her heart thumped and for a moment she wondered if she should run, just hurry away, drink both the coffees and be gone before he saw her. But it was too late.

“Laine? Isn’t it?” His voice thrilled her and she swallowed hard. The drinks, though not scorching hot anymore, still threatened to burn through her gloves and she turned to greet him.

“Yes, it’s me, Laine.” She thought her sing-song voice sounded ridiculous, but he still smiled at her.

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“And is one of those for me?” Alex asked, indicating the coffee in her hands. “Or am I being presumptuous?”

“No, it’s for you, if, if you’d like it?” She suddenly felt shy and very aware of his presence as he ambled towards her. “It’s cinnamon, if you like that?”

“Spice – in this weather – is just right.” He stood beside her, clouding her vision with his chunky navy sweater. “That’s if you don’t mind, I mean, you might be meeting someone and I might be stealing their morning pickme-up…”

She shook her head. “I came by last night, to check up, I mean in, on you…but you’d already gone. It was late…”

“I hoped you might.” His eyes were even brighter this morning, grey like the ocean and flecked with blue like the reflected sky.

“I got stuck at work, so busy yesterday…”

“But you’re here now.” He took the cardboard cup from her fingers and wrapped his own hands about the cup sleeve. “You sure?” he asked then took a sip after she nodded.

“You looked so cold yesterday morning, so I thought this would be a good idea.” Laine gazed up at him and watched as he sipped coffee and stared out at the sea. When he returned her gaze it was her turn to study the ocean.

He smiled. “It is, and I thank you.”

She felt his eyes upon her and turned her attention to the plinth. “So, what’s underneath the tarpaulin?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” he teased.

She smiled. “Only if you want to show me…”

He linked an arm through hers and guided her closer to the fountain.

He placed his coffee down on the wall of the basin and stepped inside. He unstrapped the plastic and gently pulled it away.

Beneath it the ice glittered and sparkled, but it wasn’t much more than a large shape. It stretched up in the shape of a ‘Y’ and out behind at the base.

Narrow lines had been chipped into the block, sweeping curves spread across the glassy surface, but Laine had no idea what he was sculpting, no more idea today than she’d had yesterday.

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He grinned and joined her on the rim of the fountain. He sat down with his coffee and took a swig.

Laine smiled. “I still don’t know what it’ll be.”

“Then you’ll have to come back again.”

Her smile grew with her boldness. “I will. I’ll have to come back and check up on you.”

“And I’ll look forward to it.” They sat for a moment, both drinking coffee and gazing out at winter’s white horses galloping across the ocean. “And I’ll have to get to it, if I’m going to make something for you to see.” Alex stood and offered her his hand. This time she’d removed her gloves and his warm hand gripped hers firmly. As she stood the warmth between them flushed her cheeks.

She took a moment to steal a glance at him. Stubble graced his chin and tousled brown hair poked out from under his hat, and as he let go of her hand she followed his hands – her eyes noticing his bare fingers before he stuffed them into his pockets.

“Yes,” she began quickly. “I need to get to work too.” She watched him wander back towards his truck. “I’ll pop by tonight, before you finish for the day?”

He lifted the generator out of the truck and heaved it into his arms. He nodded as he walked over to the block of ice with huge puffs of dragon smoke escaping his mouth as he shuffled.

“How long does it usually take to finish a sculpture like this?” she asked.

“A couple of days,” he told her as he returned to his vehicle for tools. “I’ll wait for you today.”

Her heart flipped and, suddenly tongue-tied, all she could do was grin and wave.

His words echoed

in her mind all day, so much so that work took a back seat and Evelyn even asked if she was okay, seeing as she was so flushed. She was okay, definitely okay, but Laine left work early leaving Evelyn to close up.

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The surf rolled and Laine’s mind felt as turbulent as the waves she walked by. Her heart drummed, her blood pumped and her soul sang. She felt light-headed as she walked along the promenade and the wind danced through her long hair as it flowed from beneath her hat. A few miles only felt like minutes, and then travelling closer on the sea breeze came the clanging and chiming of chisel on ice.

There was quite a gathering at the plaza.

The crowd’s appreciation rang out as Alex’s work passed scrutiny and Laine felt a pinch of jealousy twist within her belly. She weaved her way through the throng, pushing forward trying to reach Alex.

As the light faded and the sun began to drop, a scintillating golden glaze settled on the sculpture and the crowd fell quiet.

Laine looked up and a dragon, a diaphanous, glimmering dragon, hung mid-flight, caught in a moment of sweeping sanctity and ethereal beauty. Her mouth dropped as she stared at the creature. Transparent wings glittered with gold in the late afternoon winter sun. Scales shimmered and triangle plates flowed down the dragon’s back to its tail which whipped out behind, tipped with an arrow point.

Laine could barely catch her breath. The transformation from a solid block of ice to an imposing crystal dragon astounded her.

A moment later a voice murmured in her hair, “I still need to work on this more, it’s almost finished. Come back in the morning and I’ll show you without the crowds.” Laine’s heart lodged in her throat and she turned her head to find Alex by her side, his breath tickling her neck. He nodded and she thought he lightly kissed her cheek. “Come back in the morning, when they’ve all gone.”

The buzz from the crowd filtered back and she nodded. There were too many people, too many voices, too many bodies, and Laine squeezed Alex’s hand and left him to his adoring mob.

Laine could barely

sleep and was up way before her alarm. When she reached the seafront, Alex’s truck was still parked where he’d left it the 30

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morning before. She gently rapped on the window and Alex woke. He grinned and rolled out of the truck with a blanket. He gently took Laine’s arm and led her towards the beach. She stopped him to gaze up at the dragon. She passed him his coffee and shook her head as she stared. “That – that is stunning,” she told him. “I don’t know what you did overnight, but it’s even better!”

Alex pointed at the base of the block. “That’s what I did.”

Laine shook her head again as she marvelled. The dragon looked like it rose out of clear bubbling water. “The fountain…” said Alex, “just a nod to it.”

She gazed in amazement at the artistry and sheer beauty. “I think you just stole my heart!” she exclaimed.

“That was the idea…” said Alex as he brought her face up to his.

The cold Saturday breeze wafted about the couple as dawn’s early rays rested on their shoulders. Their lips met and Laine melted into his gentle kiss.

A few months later she woke and checked the alarm; it was due to go off any minute. Her eyes flashed open and Laine stared about the cold room.

Then a strange, yet familiar, sound hit her ears and she tumbled out of bed. She ran her fingers through her hair and tried to gaze through the windows but Jack Frost had been busy and his art wreathed her window panes. She pulled on a pair of jeans and yanked a jumper over her head. The noise outside stopped, but she slid her feet into boots and laced them quickly. Then she hurried down the stairs two at a time.

She slipped out of the front door and shivered in the freezing chill. Her breath billowed in clouds and her eyes smarted with cold. She ran a finger over the railings beside the steps, tracing a line through the white frost and then she smiled.

Her face lit up and her smile dimpled her cheeks. Long, thin icicles hung from the rail, down the steps and along the railings by the street. Each icicle, at least twenty-five of them, from one end of the railings to the other, were carved and sculpted. She followed each icicle. A heart hung frozen, then a spiral, and a tiny ball carved inside an icicle like a Welsh lovespoon. A dragon hung suspend31

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ed from one large icicle, and a cat prowled up another. He must have been out there all night! She moved along the rails, her finger deftly curving around a sculpted icicle. Flowers, like a daisy chain, spiralled another piece of frozen ice, and each work of art touched her more than the cold did, more than the frozen air flowing about her did.

She followed the icicles, marvelling at the work until she reached the last one. It had been carved into an intricate dragon’s tail, and sitting in the curve of the hook was a ring.

She glanced up and at the man leaning against the pick-up truck by the kerb. He held up his own hand and his fingers were no longer naked. A silver band adorned his ring finger.

“Marry me,” he said.

She nodded as his words carried crisp and clear. He freed the silver and diamond ring from the icicle and slipped it on her finger, and the fire in their kiss burned beneath dawn’s rising sun.

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About the Author

Lisa is a sensory writer who will lift your spirit and steal your heart. A love of life in West Wales, rich in legend and lore, heavily influences her lyrical and emotional writing.

Find her novels Beneath the Rainbow, Beneath the Old Oak, and Beneath the Distant Star at www.lisashambrook.com, on her blog at The Last Krystallos, and at her publisher, www.bhcpress.com.