The Chamber of Monumental Failures

There weren't always dragons in the Valley.

And if it weren't for Finnegan Frey of Fernleigh Fields, there would still be no dragons in the Valley. Suffice to say, poor Finnegan Frey only did what he did because it was exactly what the Valley needed.

The problem was that nobody else could see it that way.

Not Ella Swinesong.

Not even Mother.

And most certainly not Athelberht Flagg, the Chief Fixer-Upper of Fernleigh Fields who sat on his dais in the Chamber of Monumental Failures.

He cast a reproachful gaze towards Finnegan Frey - one that seemed to fall from his eye sockets, tumble through his half-moon spectacles, roll out across his nose, and launch across the chamber floor from the pointy end of his prominent beak. It struck Finnegran Frey smack in the middle of his forehead.

Finnegan Frey's shoulder slumped in defeat. 

The footprint of the Chamber was a near-perfect circle with an earthen floor marked out with sizeable white river stones. Beyond that, there were rows of crudely-assembled bench seats for those with a stake in the proceedings.

And today, that seemed to include everyone.

The Dryads had traveled all the way from Dewkeep to the further reaches of the Valley to be there. The Swarks had sent a delegation from Limehaven in the West. The Bearded Waslows of Basingate had come from the East. Even a group of Mulgoos, who barely ever ventured above ground, were huddled together in a section of the gallery well away from the Dryads because everyone knows that Dyrads and Mulgoos simply don't see eye to eye on anything.

Then there were the citizens of Fernleigh Fields who came out in force. The canvas walls of the Chamber could barely contain them. Among them sat Ella Swinesong, next to Mother, who periodically dabbed tears from her face with a handkerchief.

They were all there for one reason alone.

What was to be done about the dragons? No one seemed to know. All anybody seemed to know was that if it weren't for Finnegan Frey of Fernleigh Fields, there would be no dragons in the Valley.

And now they were baying for blood.

"My people," said a tall, statuesque Dryad, "Are a people of peace. But now we are forced to keep watch for these dastardly creatures day and night. They appear out of nowhere and take our livestock, and we are forced to fight them off with our bows and our blades."

"Even beneath the ground is not safe," added one of the Mulgoos, a short, squat, and wrinkly little creature, as Mulgoos often are. "For these creatures dwell in the underworld, and they have found our people too."

"A minor inconvenience!" Interrupted a Swark. "They have come to our lands and set fire to our fields. Our harvest is lost, and now our children go hungry for lack of food."

"You are lucky to have your children," Sobbed a Bearded Waslow. "A group of ours were playing in the Meadows of Basingate when they were beset upon by a group of the beasts. Only one of our children escaped to tell the tale."

And then his demeanor turned sour. He pointed accusingly at Finnegan. "And if it weren't for him, none of this would have happened. He is responsible and must pay!" He snarled.

A chorus of agreement rose across the Chamber until the hubbub grew to a fever pitch. They might have lynched him then and there if it weren't for Athelberht Flagg, who liked to consider himself the most reasonable man in the Valley. That was why, after all, he was the Chief Fixer-Upper. 

"Enough!" He bellowed.

And the room fell silent.

"Enough, I say!"

Athelberht Flagg exhaled loudly and then paused for dramatic effect. He was very much at ease in being the center of attention. With all the gravity he could muster, he looked squarely at Finnegan and announced, "Finnegan Frey, you are hereby charged with the crime of introducing dragons to the Valley. Such a crime is deserving of death, for it is death you have brought to us all. Now, what say you? Speak in your defense!"

Finnegan sat alone on a tree stump in the center of the Chamber and felt the gaze of every eye in the room on him like tiny needles in his back.

He remained silent.

He caught the gaze of Ella Swinesong, whose eyes were wide with fear. She nodded her head twice in quick succession, and he knew she was imploring him to speak up, to say something. Mother sat immediately to Ella's left and sobbed uncontrollably now.

Finnegan cast his eyes to the earthen floor.

Finally, with a heaving sigh, he stood up to speak.

"Good people of the Valley," He said in the most reasonable tone he could muster, "There is but one reason I brought the dragons here. It is because…."

BONG!

The ears of everyone in the room pricked up simultaneously. Not a word was uttered, nor a breath taken for a few torturous seconds. And in the flurry of nervous sideways glances that were exchanged around the circle, one question was asked a thousand times without a single word being spoken: "Did you hear that?"

BONG!

There it was again. Unmistakable this time.

BONG!

The distinct sound of the town's bell tolled from the clock tower. It signaled one thing, and everyone knew it.

BONG!

The dragons had come!

BONG!

The bell rang out one final time and then, ominously, fell silent.

The Dryads were the first to react. Leaping from their seats, reaching for their bows and their blades, they made for the doorway, presumably to confront whatever lay beyond.

But they had not taken more than a few steps when a flash of brilliant light tore through the Chamber's west wall. Intolerable heat followed in its wake.

Fire.

Smoke.

The wall of the Chamber dissolved like sugar.  

Darkness.

Then light.

And an emerald-green monster appeared as if from behind the curtain of a stage show, but not for entertainment's sake.

For the second time, the Chamber erupted in chaos. The crowd that had been so invested in taking Finnegan's life just moments ago now cared only for saving their own. Creatures fled in all directions, tripping over the benches and crushing the fallen in their haste. 

Athelberht Flagg hastily but methodically gathered his books from the dais, tucked them under his arm, and retreated through the rear entrance. A woman ran past Finnegan screaming, arms flailing, the hem of her dress on fire. The dragon reached for the nearest living creature. An unfortunate Bearded Waslow became caught in its claws. He roared furiously and punched hopelessly at the talons that wrapped around him. But to no avail. He disappeared into the dragons dripping jaws head first.

Several Dryads bravely pointed their bows at the beast and flung their arrows, but this only served to infuriate the dragon even more. It whipped its tail around like a giant, fleshy jump-rope, sending them flying meters through the air. 

The dragon inched forward toward the middle of the Chamber, then turned hard left, coming face to face with Ella Swinesong and Mother, who seemed frozen with terror. It eyed them hungrily. 

Finnegan picked up one of the white river stones that surrounded the inner circle of the Chamber and threw it as hard as he could at the beast. Finnegan was not known for either his strength or athletic prowess, and the rock troubled the beast about as much as an elephant might be troubled by having a loaf of bread thrown at it. It bounced off the dragon's thick hide and thudded into the dirt.

But it distracted the dragon enough. 

"Run!" He shouted at Ella and Mother, and he watched them disappear through the smokey haze that filled the Chamber. 

Now, the dragon turned its wrath towards Finnegan, who seemed to be the last man standing in the Chamber of Monumental Failures. The dragon leaped forward and landed so close that Finnegan could feel its hot breath on his face. The dragon eyeballed him curiously, up and down, and then belched a puff of smoke from its nostrils, blowing Finnegan's fringe from his forehead.

Then, slowly, the dragon lowered its neck to the earthen floor.

"It's about time you got here," Finnegan complained. He hoisted one leg over the dragon's neck, then the other. He wrapped his arms around the dragon's throat and held on tight. 

And then, up through the roof of the Chamber, they flew. 

There weren't always dragons in the Valley.

And if it weren't for Finnegan Frey of Fernleigh Fields, there would still be no dragons in the Valley. Suffice to say, poor Finnegan Frey only did what he did because he thought it was best. 

The problem was that nobody else could see it that way. 

Not Ella Swinesong.

Not even Mother.

And most certainly not Athelberht Flagg. 

As he flew on the wings of the emerald dragon, Finnegan wondered how he could make them all see that the dragons were exactly what the Valley needed.