Dragon Valley

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. In fact, it used to be quite a peaceful, quiet little valley, before they came. It used to be called Peace Valley, home to Peace City, but now it is only known as Dragon Valley, the one place on the continent of Paloma, formerly known as Europe, that everybody knows about but nobody wants to end up in, much less go of their own free will. If you ever find yourself heading downhill towards the ten thousand kilometers of land in between the Everlasting Mountains and the Forgotten Mountains with the River of Infinity behind you, you are in big trouble.

Don’t ask me what’s on the other side of the valley. I don’t know. No one who’s ever gotten close has come back alive. The only way near Dragon Valley is across the River of Infinity, but if you cross it, the dragons will know. And they’re always looking for fresh meat. At least, that’s what mother says. My mother’s grandfather was living in Peace City when the dragons came. She says that her mother told her that her father told her that he and his best friend Bill Forn were the only two people to escape when the dragons came, and it wasn’t without a price.

My great grandfather lost his right leg and Bill Forn died from his severe injuries a few days after their escape. My great-grandfather settled down in Hope City. He died four years ago. Now it’s just my mother, my father, and my little brother Jack living here with me. My dad’s parents live a few kilometers east of here, in Love City, and my mom’s parents live in Joy City, the capital of Paloma, just north of here. The only other city in Paloma is Luck City, which is south of Hope city, but I don’t know anyone who lives there.

Anyway, my great grandfather always used to say that it was smoke dragons that took over the valley. When you’re in the mountains, they’re definitely the worst kind because their smoky-gray scales make them impossible to see against the mountains, which are simply rock, no brightly colored green trees to make the smoke dragons stand out.

According to my great grandfather, the dragons started to exhale thick, horrible smoke when they came down upon Hope City. Smoke dragons’ breath isn’t poisonous and doesn’t cause any physical damage, but it makes it impossible for living things to see. All living things, that is, except for themselves, which makes it effortless for them to hunt. My great-grandfather and his best friend were the only lucky people to escape by making it to the river. The dragons feasted on the rest of the population.

To this day, no one has ever gone back to the valley and survived to tell the story. Some scientists are thinking though, that if they could just find some sort of dragon-proof helicopter–

“Brandon Churner!” My mother’s voice interrupts my thoughts. “This is the third time I’ve called you and I will not call you again young man! Get down here right now!”

“Sorry mom, I’m coming!” I hurriedly grab my small square of paper, stick it in my journal and clasp it shut, setting my pencil on top of it. Jumping up from my desk, but being careful to push my brown wooden chair in after I get up, I open my door and run down the stairs.

“What did you need?” I say as I come into our kitchen.

“I’ll tell you in a moment, but first I need to know why on Earth it took you so long to get down here, Brandon. You’re usually good about coming right when I call you. Much better than Jack, certainly, but today he got down before you. I’ve already sent him to get milk from the cow. What’s up with you?”

“I was just writing in my journal, mom. It’s not a big deal. I’m sorry.”

“Well, okay then. Fine,” she responded. “I need you to go pick up our bread from Mrs. McHumphrey’s kitchen. Chop chop, now, or she’ll sell it to someone else. You know how she is about late pickups.”

“Yes ma’am.” Grabbing my coat off the hanger in the mudroom, I then dart out the front door and start hurrying toward the town. We live a couple hundred yards away from the main town, where Mrs. McHumphrey’s bread shop is.

When I entered the store, the flimsy little brown things that Mrs. McHumphrey calls tables and chairs were mostly vacant, with a few tourists who have obviously never eaten here before the only customers. If they had eaten here before, they wouldn’t be here now. We take the bread because it’s the only bread shop for miles and miles, and I guess because Mrs. McHumphrey, putting her cooking and what she calls the “you snooze you lose policy,” meaning if-you-take-too-long-she’ll-sell-your-bread-to-someone-else-policy, aside, is a very nice woman.

I see Mrs. McHumphrey in the back, working on shaping the dough into little rolls. She works all by herself, because in all the forty years since she opened the shop, she has never been able to convince anyone to work for her, despite the sign in the front that’s been there since she opened.

There’s a basket of bread on the counter with a miniature piece of paper with the name “Churner” written on it. I grab the basket. The payment for the month has already been covered by my mom, so I don’t have to leave anything. “Thank you Mrs. McHumphrey!” I yell over the noisy preheating oven. “See you next week, have a nice day!”

“You too dear!” Comes the response. “And–here, hold on a second, darlin’.” She comes hobbling around the corner.

She’s a tiny, frail old woman, with weathered brown skin, wrinkled all over, and she has short white hair with lots of gray all around. She grabs a chocolate chip cookie, puts it in a little plastic bag, then hands it to me while at the same time reaching over the counter to tousle my hair. “Here you go, darlin’. My treat.” She winks at me.

“Thank you. I’d better get going now.” Anything to stop her from making my hair look like I just rolled out of bed. I hurry out the door.

Walking along the sidewalk, I take the cookie out of the bag and start munching, my thoughts wandering to what I’m going to write about next in the brown leather journal that I got for my sixteenth birthday three days ago. I think I’m going to just continue with the history of Dragon Valley, but maybe I’ll start on our more recent history next. Or maybe I’ll go back even further, when our continent was being renamed Paloma in 4010.

Suddenly I feel a searing pain in my left shoulder and I fall to the ground, dropping everything in my hands. The pain is so intense I think I might black out. But I don’t. I look around, still sitting awkwardly on the sidewalk, wondering what happened. No one comes out on the road by my house.

The pain is starting to fade, but not enough. I’m freaking out. I need to go see a doctor, or something. Then I notice a girl on a bike riding towards me. She stops right at my feet, then literally jumps off the bike, while at the same time putting up the kickstand, and crouches near my face. “You okay dude?” She feels my forehead as if checking for a fever.

I nudge her hand off and painfully sit up. “It was you that hit me?”

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m in a rush and didn’t see you.”

“If you’re in a rush why did you come back?”

“Well, I guess you wouldn’t think of it as a rush. I just want to get home so I can finish my chores. Not really like I need to get home fast, I just want to. But seeing as you’re all good, I’d really better get going.” She stands up and offers me her hand. I take it with my good arm, keeping the hurt one as still as possible.

Once I’m up, she walks over to her bike and starts to get on it. Seeing the bike more closely now, I realize it’s a very old bike, not anything like the speedy new ones we have now. It’s very rusty and looks like it could fall apart at any moment. I don’t know how she finds the courage to actually ride it. It has to be from 3020 at latest.

Then I notice the book. It looks almost exactly like my journal. Brown leather cover, spine, and back cover, with yellowish-white pages and a little metal clasp to keep it closed. But that’s impossible, I think. My journal is one of a kind, passed down to me from my great grandfather.

My mother says it was written in his will that he wanted me to receive it for my sixteenth birthday. So where did she get that journal? My first thought is that she stole it. I almost accuse her, but then I think better of it. I don’t have any proof, this is ridiculous, I tell myself.

All this goes through my head in less than twenty seconds. Before the girl or my confidence can leave, I ask, “Hey, where did you get that journal?”

“My great grandfather gave it to me. Why?”

“Uhh . . . I . . . never mind. I was . . . just wondering.” I stutter.

“Umm, okay, cool. Bye.” Settling into her seat, she kicks up the kickstand and is just about to take off down the sidewalk when I shout out to her.

“Wait! I didn’t get your name.”

She stops. “Alex. Short for Alexandra Peters.”

“Brandon Churner. Nice meeting you, Alex. Well, except for the you-running-into-my-shoulder part. But still, nice meeting you.”

She laughs, which was sort of weird, because I hadn’t been trying to be funny, but I smile anyway. I think her smile could literally make anyone happy. It could probably light up the dark side of the moon. “Nice to meet you too, Brandon Churner. Nice to meet you too.” Then she’s gone, riding off in the direction of the town.

* * *

The next week on Friday I get up early. It is my day to collect the eggs from the chickens, and they’re always better to get in the morning when the chickens are just waking up.

I’ve just finished collecting all of the eggs when I hear something. Setting the basket down gently, I look around the barn. There’s usually no noise here in the morning, when all the chickens are lazy. “Jack?” He likes to play practical jokes on me sometimes. I’m literally the definition of scaredy cat, and he finds it hilarious. “That you Jack? This isn’t funny.”

Suddenly a head pops up from around the corner of the chicken coop. “Who’s Jack?”

“Ahh!” I’m so surprised I fall onto the floor. Luckily for me, it’s covered in straw. When I look up, the person has moved towards me slightly. I breathe a sigh of relief. It’s okay, I tell myself. It’s just Alex. Wait. Alex? What is she doing here! Why is she at my house?

“Hey there, Brandon Churner. What are you doing here?”

“It’s my house! Why are you here?”

“Hey, hey, calm down, it was a joke, I know it’s your house. I looked you up so I would know where to go.

Flabbergasted, I say, “What?” Why would you look me up? Why would you want to come to my house? And why would you scare me like that?”

She reaches down and pats my shoulder. Luckily, since my mother took me to the nurse last Saturday, it feels much better, or her firm hand would have hurt a lot. “All in good time, my friend,” she responds. “But all you need to know right now is what I need you to do for me. See, you’re basically the only person my age around these parts-” I chuckle. As if I don’t already know that. “-so I was hoping you could help me with something.

“Adults won’t take it seriously, and younger kids are, well, too young. So anyway, you know that journal, the one you were asking about the other day?”

“Yeah.” I get up from my awkward position on the floor and sit on a stray nearby milking stool as Alex continues.

“Well, you’re not allowed to see it yet, but I can tell you most of what’s inside. Maps. Lots and lots of maps. I’ve been collecting them for years. Maps of all of Paloma. But also maps of just the place I want to go. Dragon Valley.”

I can’t help it. I burst out laughing. I laugh and laugh and laugh, for maybe a whole two minutes. But when I look up, Alex’s face is dead serious. “Wait, what? You can’t actually be serious about this. Alex? You’re not serious about this right? If you go there, you’ll die. No one’s ever survived.” I’m not laughing anymore.

“Oh, I can assure you, I’m serious. And I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t laugh at my plans. I came to you because I thought you might be someone I could trust. But apparently you’re not. You’re just like everyone else.”

She turns on her heel and begins to walk away. Before she can, I grab her wrist. “Wait, Alex, I’m sorry I laughed. I want to hear. Really, I do.”

“Fine.” She says it as if she’s not happy, but I can tell she is. “If you really want to know, then, as I was saying, I want to go to Dragon Valley. I want to win it back. My family used to live there. Like I said, I have a lot of maps that I've been collecting. I want to use them to find a way to get in without the dragons knowing.

All the maps are different, but if we play it right, we should find that all of them have parts that are wrong and parts that are right. If we can add up all the right parts, well, there’s our map.”

“Wait, pause, what do you mean by ‘if we play it right’ and ‘there’s our map?’”

She takes a deep breath. “Well, that’s what I’m here for. I want you to come with me.”