Lonely Treasure

Tithenai was the runt of the dragonbrood, so he learned early to take what he could get. It was one of many valuable lessons that he had learned since the day he crawled from his shattered eggshell into a world of teeth and malice, though he’d had to teach himself. A wretched creature, he might be called, but one who survived. The other six who had spawned with him fought over and eventually claimed—some more triumphantly than others—the best caverns in the vast mountain lair. Therein they would lie sprawled among vast treasures gained from their hunts. 

Tithenai, the runt with weak wings and slow claws, was left with the smallest chamber. But it suited him well, for his hoard was not large and cumbersome. One of his big brothers collected all the gold from the rich of the human victims—coins, rings, and chalices. Another gathered all the precious stones and gems, hewn from the earth, polished, and engraved. His sister took their bones, and her cavern was full of femurs and skulls. Still another guarded piles of weapons, like tiny teeth and claws. There was not much left for Tithenai after all of them had their fill. 

Yet Tithenai found that humans left behind more than just their swords, their treasures, and even their bones. They left behind echoes. If he was careful and quelled the fire in his breath when he inhaled, the echoes would be stronger. Sometimes it was an image, a few words, notes of a melody, or smells and even tastes. Memories, he found, were remnants of life that outlasted the actual person. Tithenai quickly came to the conclusion that this made them far more valuable than baubles and bones. In his own little cavern, they settled quietly like cobwebs, with no one outside being the wiser to their true weight. And he guarded it all jealously, for it was all he had.

One day, goblins came to the mountain to bargain for or try and steal treasure. Sometimes when they came, goblins were successful even though they risked dragon wrath, and would come away with trinkets from some of the larger hoards. But Tithenai had been caught by surprise as he found his cavern infiltrated with the grimy creatures, their fingers wrapped in the cobweb-like memories, tangling them into spools. The small dragon shuddered at the sight, and then bellowed in rage. He crushed the goblins that were not fast enough to run, barely careful enough not to use his fire breath and destroy what he was trying to protect. But one who was quick enough to slip into the tiny fissure that tunneled away from the cave turned back to shriek,

“May hunger undo thee, greedy dragon!”

“Thou livest among thieves,” Tithenai snarled back, lashing his tail for he could not reach into the crevice. “What dost thou know?”

“Among the thieves who are my companions, I am a seer. They heed me, for not all that has worth can be stolen.”

“If thou wishest to live,” returned the dragon. “Thou wilt never return to my den again. Tell this to thy companions.”

“I shall, as I must tell thee that I perceive thou art a grasping creature, driven by an aching gnawing hunger. This makes thee the lowest even of our kind. Such a desperate need will in the end only destroy the chance to hold what it craves.”

Tithenai snapped his jaws, and the goblin fled. 

It may be that I am, he thought. But what choice have I ever had? I am the runt and I take what I can get. And certainly if something has value then it can be hoarded, one way or another.

After this encounter, he bared his teeth more readily, prowling, seeing threats to his treasure where there were none before. 

Over time, the dragonbrood grew larger and more fierce, and the humans learned not to travel so near the mountain where fully grown dragons had made their lair. Prey grew scarcer, and Tithenai found his hoard wanting. Though there was no change, to Tithenai who saw it every day, it seemed rather to shrink. He wanted to taste the thrill of a new memory, the excitement of adding something to the hoard he called his own. Ordinarily, he gleaned the echoes from the hunts his siblings made, rarely going out himself. It was risky for him, as the weakest, and also he did not like to leave what he did possess unguarded. But he was yet young, and impatience often flowed thick enough to clog up more reasonable thoughts. 

At last, after he spent a restless night imagining that the mountain was abandoned, never to see more treasure, he endeavored to go out in search of more. Leaving the lair by a small cave entrance, he flew down through the forest-crusted valley. A full day went before he saw anything, but on the second morn he spotted a small figure. Swooping low, he saw the human was stooped over her work, too absorbed to look up at the danger in the sky. 

And she has no weapon, noticed the dragon. Instead, the woman held in her hands bushels of wildflowers, and was tying their long stalks together into a wreath. More wildflowers were gathered in the basket on her back, likely to take back to her village. Purple, indigo, and warm yellow made up the blossoms in her hand, and Tithenai was close enough to see how she smiled at the colors. 

It will make a pleasant memory, this moment, he observed, forgetting his own malice for a moment as he shared in admiration for her handiwork. Yet he opened his mouth, feeling the fire gather in his breath. And then—

Am I to bring an end to it now? Yes, I will take her echo and give it an eternal place in my hoard, but she herself will never make more memories if I do. The thing remembered will be no more. When did the echo become more valuable than the thing echoed?

Greedy, grasping creature. The prophecy of the goblin seer filled his mind, as much of an accusation now as it was then. It tore through him and left him angry, yet confused, for this time he understood the truth to it, and he knew in the end truth commanded his loyalty. 

Roaring, he lifted his head and flew away from the terrified woman. Her memories of this field of wildflowers would now be of danger and fear, but Tithenai was not of a mind to care. He circled through the clouds, tearing wisps from them and scattering them. Was the sky less lovely for his mark upon it, or more? Either way, it would not last. The wind, the rain, and the night would make it new again—and again, forever.

Eventually, he flew back to the mountain, for he had nowhere else but its lonely caverns. But he did not enter the lair through its main cave, wanting to avoid the attention of his siblings and their interest in what he may have brought back. Instead, he slipped into a small opening hidden by a jutting boulder and collar of vines. It was far more narrow and winding than the halls he was used to, and he kept his wings bent close to him so as not to scrape them in the dark. After some time, he heard the scuttling of small limbs and perceived movement in the stony corridor.

“And now thou dost trespass through our cavern, dragon.”

“Seer.” Tithenai recognized the goblin voice. He hesitated a moment, then spoke. “Thy words proved true. I am a greedy, grasping creature. I am hungry. Ravenous.”

The sound of goblins retreating made him almost laugh, but he continued. “For what, however, I know not. It is not what I thought.”

“So thou hast come for counsel? I know not the affairs of dragons.”

“But you know of life. And is that not why I suffer?”

“So it would be better to be dead than a creature as wretched as thou? Thou dost believe because you were born the runt of your brood, thou art burdened with bitter adversaries and greater hardship.” The goblin then stepped forth, visible in the dim glow of a green crystal lantern. “For this I have no answer. Many are born far less fortunate than others, and with great suffering we must all reckon.” 

“I had thought my hoard was the answer. Now I do not know what to do with it.”

“Wilt thou receive the counsel of a thief?”

Tithenai nodded his assent.

“Give it away. If your hunger is not satisfied by taking, then try instead to bestow.”

Tithenai held back his tail from lashing. “To whom? Thee and thine?”

But the goblin made no reply. He simply stared at Tithenai for a moment, then extinguished his lamp and was gone. Tithenai growled, picking himself up and continuing on until he reached the branch that led to his own small cavern.

He had never given anything away before. How did one begin? Who would use these memories? 

Thoughtfully, the dragon examined each of the wispy echoes. Most of the ones he treasured were happy—fragments of peace and celebration, the kind of colorful life that was led in the valley outside the lonely mountain. They were his only way to experience it, and for a moment, his greed clenched tight claws around his stomach at the thought of giving up even this one source of joy for him. 

But, he knew, they had been stolen in turn from the very humans who had led these lives, to whom these memories belonged. 

What if…

He thought of the woman from the village he had seen. He thought of other humans, old and sick ones, who were losing their vitality to time and degradation. To share his treasure, his one source of joy, with them, then they may be restored. And if that were so, did it not mean that he, rather than ending the life that he valued so much in memories, would become a part of preserving it? Of finally participating in the creation of joy, rather than simply observing—and worse—draining it? 

What if the goblin was right, and the only way to satisfy his hunger was not to take, but to bestow?

Hardly knowing what he was doing, Tithenai gathered up the precious spools, with their silvery, pearly wisps, and took one last look at his hoard. Then he flew toward the village.