A Krawk Island Christmas by quidditch_ash |  |
Antone sat on his haunches inside his weathered little fishing
boat, on the turbulent waters of Krawk Island. He gazed out beyond the benign
shore he was so fond of calling 'his', and into the heart of the Island. The towering
pillars of trees were decorated with a sea of flashing lights, just like the houses,
which were being flocked by a group of incessant carolers carrying thermoses of
hot chocolate and belting out songs that most people treasured.
The Fire Lupe turned away in disgust. It was
the same sickening thing year after year. They never really valued this holiday
anymore... not here at this part of Krawk Island, they didn't. It was a monotonous
annual routine: get out the lights, decorate everything including toothbrushes,
buy meaningless presents, screech out songs, scarf down hot chocolate and a
good Christmas dinner, then belch it out on Boxing Day.
At least in Faerieland, Fyora made sure that
everybody remembered what Christmas really meant, and even the Haunted Woods
tried to look a bit Christmasy, what with painting everything a lighter shade
of black and a darker shade or red, and a pale shade of green. White was non-existent
in the Haunted Woods, unless you counted the Ghostkerchiefs. Meridell was possibly
the only exception for a quiet or unappreciated Christmas, but even they, under
the vigorous supervision of Illusen, made sure that everything was just as it
was supposed to be.
So, why, wondered Antone, laying back in his
blue-grey fishing boat, why did Krawk Island have to be so superficial -- so
fake? As the wind gently rocked his boat from side to side, he remembered past
Christmases. None had been good. Year after year, those pesky carolers would
come to his boat where he spent most of his time and snicker, after asking him
why he didn't live in the regal rock house he had carved into the cliff face
of his domain. Every year, he had batted them away with a flick of his massive,
menacing greying paw; every year, they had scattered like a bag of marbles being
dropped on the sidewalk.
The Lupe closed his weary eyes. The salty spray
hitting his face had begun to sting and he rolled over, his fiery tail lying
still, covering his cold body with an old blanket. He rummaged at the bottom
of his boat for something to eat, and laughed quietly as he unearthed a pack
of chips. He turned his face to the sky and munched on the potato crisps. They
were a bit stale, but they'd have to do, until he became hungry enough to go
to his house, take some money and go shopping for food. His mind drifted into
a realm of quiet and he sighed as sleep overcame him.
The sound of splashing awoke him, and he sat
up, squinting at the side of his boat, out to sea. Strangely, he cast off. He
didn't know why. The partly cloudy sky overhead did not indicate that it was
noon; the time he usually went out to sea to be alone with his thoughts. As
he steered the boat, sitting once more on his haunches, he heard violent splashing
once more. There was nothing around him. He felt this urge to go out to sea,
and being the accepting old Lupe that he was, he did so.
When the sun overhead began burning harder and
brighter, Antone realised it was finally noon. He didn't have anything to eat
in his boat and was starving when he heard the splashing again. This time, he
saw a young Krawk running through the waters, which alarmed him. The Krawk's
feet touched the water, but he didn't sink, although the water was more than
a mile deep now. The Lupe clenched his teeth, more out of habit than nervousness.
Behind the sea-green Krawk, floated strange shapes, which the youth seemed anxious
to get away from. Sooner than he had expected, the Krawk's claws gripped the
side of his boat, and Antone noticed he was panting. "Help…" he croaked. He
pointed a claw to an isle that had never been there before. "Take me there,
sir. Please?"
Antone studied the boy. He seemed desperate
and was clinging to the boat, shooting glances over his shoulder at the approaching
white shapes. His skin seemed fairly dry for a Krawk who had just been in water,
but Antone thought nothing of it. He felt sorry for the boy, assuming he was
probably being bullied. Or something. And it was Christmas. He could try to
be a good person. He used a sharp claw to point behind him. The Krawk gratefully
scrambled into the boat, and Antone who had expected the boat to rock a bit,
turned icy-cold when it remained perfectly still.
Antone spun around to look at the Krawk. He
was fiddling with the bag of chips, and examining them, while throwing worried
looks over his shoulder. "Hurry, sir," he said, rubbing a greasy chip between
his claws. "They're almost here." The white shapes did seem a lot closer, noticed
Antone.
He took hold of the wooden wheel and steered
the boat toward the distant isle. His mere fishing boat seemed to glide effortless
across the water. Antone glimpsed the Krawk, whose eyes were now fixed on the
island. The white shapes seemed farther and farther away. When they finally
reached the sandy shores of the island, the Krawk leaped off and sighed as his
feet touched the white sand. Antone gripped his shoulder as he turned to go.
"This island was never here before," he said, with an edginess to his voice.
"How come it's here now?"
The Krawk looked worried again. "It's covered
with fog, a lot, sir. Maybe… it was so foggy you never noticed it. It is fairly
clear today, sir. Clearer than most days." So it was, thought Antone, taking
in the sun beams dancing on the shimmering surface of the water and the tiny
islands littering the sea, but he didn't let go.
"What else?" he asked.
"Pardon, sir?" a bewildered Krawk looked at
him.
"What else do you know… I've swum this sea when
I was young and I've steered my boat in places you never even heard of. This.
Island. Was. Never. Here. Before." He broke up his last sentence into fragments
to emphasize the meaning.
"I can only tell you one more thing, sir. And
that's my name: Garethev. Ask about me, and they'll tell you." With that last
thought, he broke free of the Lupe's grip and took off running across sand.
Antone sighed and shrugged it off, and steered his boat back to his familiar
shore. The white shapes were nowhere to be seen.
When Antone reached shore, he got out of his
boat, and made his way to the library. Somewhere he hadn't been since the old
librarian had moved to Meridell. When he got there, the cranky librarian let
out a stifled gasp. "How may I help you, er, sir?" she asked, still not over
the shock of seeing Antone in town. He flicked a giant paw in her direction
again, and went to the largest book in the library. The one stating a biography
of everybody to live in Krawk Island. He flipped to the 'G' section and the
first name he saw was that of the Krawk.
It seemed that Garethev was of royal blood and
had come to Krawk Island in exile. After his uncle who was currently ruling
had given up the throne, Garethev was the next in line. The young Krawk who
had hated being 'royalty' had run away, only to find his father's enemies after
him, wanting to imprison him so they could rule Talador. Alas, one day when
giving chase at sea, the Krawk had vanished. Just like that. Some sailors had
been asked by a young Krawk to give him a lift to a mysterious island that was
never there before. Before the Krawk vanished, he had said one thing. " 'Whoever
helps him get to my island, will have his or her statue replacing mine.' " Antone
shut the book after reading that aloud. Then, he trudged home after stopping
for food at the quaint grocery shop.
The next morning, Antone woke up in his boat,
later than usual. There was a new blanket at the foot of his vessel as well
as a thermos of hot chocolate. Around him was a quiet audience watching him,
intently. "Go away," grumbled Antone, burying his head under his pillow. "You're
all annoying. What'd you want?"
A little Gelert piped up. "We saw your statue…
it was cool! Y'know, in place of that Krawk?" he explained.
"Yeah. I gave the guy a lift. So what?" mumbled
Antone.
A Draik answered, "Well, we realised something.
You give people lifts all year, and you even help people during holidays. While
we -- we just celebrate using lights and singing songs," she finished.
"Off-key, too," retorted Antone, in a soft voice
that nobody but himself could hear.
"So we wanted to give you something to make
up for well, never really acknowledging you, or taking your advice. Or your
opinions. We can't stop people from not valuing Christmas, but we can try to
value it some more -- thanks to you. So expect something kind every Christmas,
from us."
"Okay. Now scram," said Antone. As the group
began to shuffle away, he called out, "And thanks for the thermos!"
Thus every year at Christmas, a group of carolers
stop by Antone's old boat and leave him a present, and everybody in that part
of Krawk Island says 'Merry Christmas' at least a few hundred times. And even
when Antone became a part of the sea, the tradition never died. Today, when
a bird flies over Krawk Island, it can still see Antone's boat and beside it,
a little mound of thank-you presents.
Krawk Island Christmases have never been the
same. The carolers sing one song per house, and in one large group. The thermoses
of hot chocolate are drunk by Antone's boat which to this day, is still anchored
next to 'his' shore. Houses are no longer decorated outside, but inside and
trees no longer have flashing lights, but little ornaments made by families.
The true meaning of Christmas is something no one can truly find. There are
a thousand meanings … Antone's way of looking at things and his perspective
of what the true meaning shouldn't be was just one of them.
The End
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