The Dragon Flies North

‘There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Few realise this, of course.'

Professor Pithlewaite is about to share more when he notices his host is impatiently pointing one of his eight arms at the clock on the wall.

Annoyed, Professor Pithlewaite persists with his point, telling the audience, 'Dragons arrived from 'Up There' long before most of us entered this world. Our dragons are lucky, as they haven't endured what most recent arrivals experience. It's because—’

‘I must pause you there, Professor,’ interrupts Archie, the podcast host. ‘The Evolutionary Show is shortly to come to an end.’ Giving the professor a 'will you be brief' look, Archie squeezes his slippery twenty-foot frame forward and asks what he hopes will be his interview guest's final question. ‘But when you say 'endured', can we assume by the hands of the Sapiens?’

The professor tries to compose himself. Didn't he teach Archie these fundamental facts of life when he attended school?

‘Yes, of course, humans!’ exclaims the highly esteemed academic. 'The rite of passage into our world is ironically extinction 'Up There'.' Flustered, he tries to continue, but uncharacteristically loses his train of thought.

'Fantastic, what a show everyone! Many thanks to this week's guest, Professor Pithlewaite, and to all our listeners. I'm Archie, your podcast host! I hope you enjoyed our deep dive into all things evolutionary. And do join me next week when we’ll be interviewing ... '

As Professor Pithlewaite watches the giant octopus complete the podcast's outro, his mind wanders to recent events. The troubling signs. He worries all may not be well. No, he knows deep in his old short bones, that everything is definitely not okay.

Eager to chat off-air, Archie pulls off his headphones. But his plans are thwarted.

‘I can't stop to chat,’ mutters the professor, his eyes searching for an excuse. ‘Mrs Pithlewaite is expecting me for morning tea!’ And before Archie has a chance to reply, the academic swivels on his feet and scurries out of the recording studio.

On the star side of the Valley, Wonda switches off the podcast. Questions still linger in her 14-year-old mind: Why, if humans are so smart, haven't they figured out we exist? And how would they react if they discover their long lost cousins hadn't, in fact, gone extinct? That the Piths are alive and well, and doing very nicely, thank you very much!

But her mind shifts elsewhere; her discomfort catches her attention. Yes, that's it. The professor didn't seem himself today. Something seems off.

But Wonda has too much to do today to worry her curious head with such questions. Postponing her thoughts, the young pith clambers out of her cosy beanbag, launches into a relaxed stretch, and struts over to her dressing table. Sitting in front of its mirror, Wonda takes in her reflection: Her caramel heart-shaped face, her brown eyes lit up with turquoise, Saturn-like rings, and of course, her most prized feature—her gorgeous flat nose.

Picking up her mammoth-bristle hairbrush, she wrestles it through her glossy jet-black mop of wavy hair.

Distracted, Wonda calls out ‘Dragon!’

Her intelligent digital home gadget flashes orange and speaks with smooth digital precision. ‘Good morning Wonda. How can I help you this morning?’

Living underground makes forecasting the weather a tad tricky. ‘How's the weather today?’ she asks.

‘Star side is sunny, but the North End is chilly as a freezer.’ With no response, the artificial dragon continues. ‘Can I help you with anything else today?’

‘No, that's great,' she replies. 'Many thanks.' She proceeds to dab lip balm on her brown generous lips. How she adores its shimmer and lemongrass scents. Best of all, it stays on all day due to its special ingredient. Wonda imagines Madame Pithcairn, her chemistry teacher, lecturing in class. Dragon snot is an excellent binding agent.

Raring to go, she heads out of her bedroom and takes a swift detour to her mother's study to give her a goodbye peck on the cheek. She then makes a beeline for the outdoors.

Lifting her head skywards, the pink sun beams down, the sky a mellow yellow, warm as custard. A breeze catches her hair. That's right, blow away the cobwebs. She smirks at the oh-so-human expression... We don't have any spiders here.

The Valley stretches out in front of her as far as her sharp eyes can see. On foot, she walks a mile or so southwards. Wild meadows sway in the gentle breeze. Here and there, brightly painted hexagonal front doors peep out through the long grasses. Altogether, it's a magical kaleidoscope of colour.

Wonda stoops down to pluck an orange daisy to accessorise her hair. With no warning, and seemingly out of nowhere, a large flock of noisy desert birds swoop down.

‘What the ...’ Wonda ducks her head '... heck?!!’

Confusion floods her brain. ‘Th- that's odd,’ she stutters to no one. 'Aren't desert birds strictly nocturnal?'

Wonda takes a minute or a few to recover. Once her memory refreshes, she recalls that desert birds were among the first creatures to arrive in the Valley. They went so-called extinct, oh, ummm, what did Professor Pithlewaite say in class? Ah yes, about 60 million years ago. Oh, the stories they tell about the dinosaurs.

But what are they doing out in the sunlight?

Wonda pushes her puzzlement aside. Don't us Piths break a few routines on occasion? There's no reason why desert birds would be any different...

The street buzz distracts her; the meadow mall is up ahead. Local gossips hustle and bustle with each other. Digital billboards advertise their wares. Music blares through shop doors.

She realises she feels peckish. She heads straight for Madame Dragonfly's 'Feed Me!' store.

Delicious scents hit Wonda as she enters. Madame Dragonfly offers everything a tummy desires and more. But today, Wonda knows exactly what her hunger demands: a pudding.

Her eyes dart across the 'sweets & desserts' counter from one temptation to another. Pink doughnuts coated in sprinkles? May get a sugar moustache. Dark chocolate cake oozing with icing? Too rich. Tartlets topped with syrupy wild fruits? Far too healthy.

Undecided, she wonders what would perfectly mark the first day of the school holidays? An ice cream sundae overflowing with goodies?

Suddenly, Wonda notices she's alone in her favourite store. Mind you, it's not her favourite store solely due to its delicious treats. She also looks up to Madame Dragonfly. Yes, literally; her helicopter wings defy Earthly physics. But it's also because the Madame is a fountain of knowledge, is irrepressibly joyful and looks terrific in red lipstick.

But where is she?

As if her role model heard her private thoughts, her unmistakable laugh bellows out from behind the store. Seconds later, Madame Dragonfly hovers around the corner along with her charismatic smile.

‘And what would you like today, sweetie pie?’ enquires the 'Feed Me!' owner. They exchange smiles. ‘Good morning Madame Dragonfly.' Wonda carefully selects her pudding and passes over her choice. 'I would love a crème brûlée, please.’

With an exaggerated flourish, the 'Feed Me' store owner tilts her elegant neck back and blows fire over the delicate cream dessert. Looking displeased with the results, she beams back a cautionary note. ‘Ah, it deserves one more blow, don't you think? I recall you love an extra crunchy topping.’ Wonda's eyes bulge with pleasure at the now burnt pudding. ‘That's absolutely perfect, Madame Dragonfly!’ And after the usual pleasantries, Wonda bids farewell to her favourite store owner, with brûlée and spoon in hand.

Wonda strolls past the shops to reach her favourite stomping ground: The Hexagon Theatre. Situated on the edge of town, everyone gathers here to watch a variety of productions. Wonda, in particular, loves pantomimes, Shakespeare plays, and of course, to binge-watch on Pirateflix, the Valley's streaming service.

And pirate is the operative word. Wonda chuckles at the thought of the 'wood wide web', the complex ecosystem of trees, bacteria and fungi, aiding and abetting their 'illegal' downloads. Who would have thought that trees tap their roots into the human internet and can stream all their data?

Yep, every little bit.

From Wikipedia, the BBC to Netflix and YouTube, Piths now download 'Up There's information at the flick of a switch. Everyone in the Valley is in on the secret. Even Professor Pithlewaite. He insists on downloading every single research paper ever written. Yawn.

And the best bit? Humans don't have a clue. Not one clue!

Wonda hurries through the theatre's reception area, up the central aisle's hexagonal basalt steps, to find a place to sit and enjoy her crème brûlée in peace. She plonks herself down on a top row seat and tucks in.

Satisfied from eating, she marvels about the story her mother tells when they first discover we are Piths, or what those 'Up There' call Australopithecus. Sure, it's a bit of a mouthful, so we shorten it to Pith.

And look how far we've come. According to Professor Pithlewaite's Theory of Natural Evolution, we're now pretty sure we have more brain power than so-called 'modern humans'. Imagine that!

Leaning back against the cool basalt, she hears a trio of voices. 'Drat!', she says aloud. She wipes her face to remove any trace of crème from her face, should these uninvited visitors invade her space.

She looks up and sees three Pith boys play-fighting on the stage. She lowers her gaze, pretending not to notice them. But they spot Wonda, promptly leave the stage and run up the theatre aisle to greet her.

'Wonda, fancy meeting you here. Care to join us?'

'It looks like you're joining me', shoots Wonda, failing to hide her irritation.

Ignoring their school friend, the boys — Tomboy, Wally and Warren — clamber into the neighbouring seats.

Tomboy speaks up first: 'Wally,' nodding towards the lanky red-headed boy sitting opposite her. 'He's only gone and failed his end of term exams again!'

Wonda gives Wally a sympathetic look; he looks thoroughly miserable. He shrugs his shoulders, saying 'I don't have your brains, Wonda.'

'I'm pretty sure you wouldn't want my brain', her irritation dissolving into amusement. Laughing, she adds, 'The real problem, as far as I can see, is that you don't seem to want to use the one you've already got!' She goes on. 'I've seen you in class. You're always looking up at the skylight!'

'He's always looking for an escape route,' chimes in Warren. 'Aren't we all?' throws back Tomboy.

'Well, that may be the case,' agrees Wally, sounding utterly defeated. 'But I can't escape the resit essay I now have to write.'

'What's the essay topic, Wally?', she asks, immediately regretting her question. 'Oh, something to do with the dangers of stereotyping,' Wally replies, looking completely flummoxed.

While Piths are open-minded creatures, Wonda is fully aware humans suffer from biases. In fact, the human brain is plagued by them. She understands why Wally is intimidated by the essay task. There are so many stereotyping biases that it would be hard to pick just one.

Meanwhile, the boys conjure up imaginary escape acts. Heroes of their own imagination, they scale Valley walls, raft down rapids, fight monsters and whatnot. But Wonda isn't paying any attention. She's lost in her own thoughts.

Does she want to escape? No, not really. She feels safe in the Valley. But she wouldn't half mind shaking off this 'clever clogs' image.

All of a sudden, the four of them hear waves upon waves of dragon laughter bouncing around the theatre's auditorium.

Wally's face lights up. ‘I've got it!’, relief lighting up his face. ‘Dragons!'

'What do you mean, Dragons!?' Wonda asks.

'Think about it. A dragon loves nothing more than a jolly good tummy tickle. But look how humans portray them in the media? It's the total reverse of who these loving, loyal creatures are.'

‘Looks can be deceiving, I guess,’ ventures Tommy. 'Humans stereotype dragons because of the way they look.'

'Yes, Wally, I think you may be onto something,' she reassures him. 'But I must leave now, I have to visit my brother during his short work break.'

Racing back to the mall, she decides to hail a dragon taxi.

Wanda arrives just in time to meet Banjo, her older brother, for his 30-minute lunch break. So accustomed to living underground, the Valley's public buildings make for a pleasant change. They are all overground.

She walks up to the large geodesic dome where she finds her brother, loitering outside the main entrance. She gives him a big hug; he needs cheering up. His work at the Valley induction centre, a job he normally loves, is proving more upsetting than usual. Far too many creatures are arriving from 'Up There'. It must be so sad to see so many creatures in shock — to realize that you're the last ones standing. She shudders to think of her own clan's extinction, millennia ago.

Warming up her brother with her generous smile, Wonda asks, 'So how are you holding up, bro?'

'I'm fine. Good actually. The polar bears are beginning to adjust to life here.'

'Ah, that's good to know Banjo. They're gorgeous, aren't they?' Inquisitive, she enquires whether he's taught them the 10 Rules of Valley Life yet, nodding to the ten-foot granite tablet, standing just inside the dome's main entrance.

THE TEN RULES OF VALLEY LIFE

1. Do not eat another living creature.
2. Respect your elders.
3. Never steal.
4. Protect our ecology.
5. Appreciate each other.
6. Acknowledge the past.
7. Never lose hope.
8. Be kind.
9. Conserve precious energy.
10. Never go 'Up There'.



'Well, I've started, but they're none too happy with Rule Number 1,'. He adds, 'They miss the fish, and blame me for their new vegetarian diet.'

Suddenly he's looking sad again. He now says something strange.

'Not every type of creature makes it through Wonda.'

Wonda doesn't know what to say.

'But Wonda, does that mean they disappear into thin air, or ...'

'... or do they enter other worlds, like ours? Is that possible?'

Before she gets the chance to attempt an answer, her brother looks up and quickly wishes he hadn't. 'What's wrong, Banjo?'

Wonda follows her brother's line of sight and steps back in shock. 'What's happening to the sky?'

Dark menacing polka dots appear in the sky, spreading fast across the horizon. Then thunder buffets the air. The ground trembles. The animals in the geodome grow restless and start pacing.

'What, in Valley, is going on?' Banjo implores. He turns to his sister. 'I don't like the look of this, not one little bit Wonda. You must get home straightaway.' He urgently adds, 'You must take Cornucopia.'

Wonda tries to argue against his decision but it's of no use. His mind is made up. She has to go home.

Banjo puts his fingers to his pulled back mouth and whistles for his dragon. Cornucopia arrives within a few seconds.

'You must take Wonda back home immediately,' he begs the hovering dragon. 'Of course, Banjo.' He winks at his friend's sister. 'Hop on!'

Wonda rushes to kiss her brother goodbye and hoists herself up on his loyal friend. Cornucopia bellows out, ‘Hold on tight!’

But within minutes of leaving Banjo, another strange thing happens. A signal lights up in the sky. It belongs to The Council and is only beamed up when they meet. But they are not meant to be meeting for another month. Is it a warning? An emergency meeting?

Wonda shouts into Cornucopia's ear. 'We must fly to the Cathedral in the North End where the Council meet.' His reply is not what she wants to hear. 'But Banjo will kill me if I don't take you home.' Wonda tries to reassure him. 'We will head straight home after visiting the Cathedral.' Quick thinking, she adds, 'I'll give you loads of tummy tickles when we get there.'

Cornucopia immediately changes direction and heads for the Northern forests. They skim the treetops, to avert anyone seeing them. Mile after mile, they propel forwards north. It gets chillier by the minute. The trees below increasingly turn white with snow cover. Wonda leans forward against Cornucopia's scaly skin, but it's no use. He's cold-blooded comfort. She shivers to keep warm.

One hour later, Wonda calls out. ‘Are we nearly there yet?’

‘ETA, three minutes. In a few moments, we should see the cathedral,’ assures her dragon companion.

Right on cue, a clearing opens up in the near distance, and a magnificent ice white cathedral looms large. Getting closer, it's majestic. Yet its pearl-like appearance is eerie. It's so quiet in this neck of the woods.

Edging closer, Cornucopia bolts up, nearly sending Wonda overboard. He guides the young pith's eyes down to the entrance of the Cathedral. They are not alone. They tread air behind an outbuilding, peeking around the corner.

‘I'd recognise that red lipstick and scarf anywhere,’ exclaims Wonda. ‘It's Madame Dragonfly.' Of course, it is. Her role model enjoyed a landslide victory last year, winning the vote for a well-deserved seat on the Valley Council. But both of them notice something amiss. Peering closer, they realise her smile is missing. In fact, Madame Dragonfly looks terrified.

‘I must get inside,’ Wonda pleads. ‘I must go now otherwise I'll miss what's occurring.’

Cornucopia nods solemnly, obliging the ambitious young pith's wish. But he issues a gentle warning. ‘You know I can't come with you. But I will stay guard and I will not leave until you come out.’ They stare in agreement, land at the Cathedral's main side door, and share a quick hug. Cornucopia gently nudges her forward with one of his powerful wings, and says, ‘Now go on with you, and be careful.’

Only then does it dawn on her. If she gets caught, expulsion from school is inevitable. Anxious but undeterred, she enters the Cathedral and snakes her way through a labyrinth of passageways.

Finally, she hears voices. She only catches snippets of words.

'A rogue corporation.'

'The Council is in receipt of highly classified intelligence that...'

'Sabotage.'

'Never before have our long lost cousins faced a tyranny of forces.'

'Climate change, disease, biodiversity losses.'

'If the human internet goes down... '

Wonda is scared. Oh, how she wishes Cornucopia was by her side now.

She edges forward and recognises a distinctive face. 'But you're missing my key point, my honourable friends,' cautions the professor. 'Ask yourselves: Why are we all here?' But he does not wait for an answer. ‘It's because we were driven to extinction. Driven out by 'Up There'. The natural disasters, asteroids, and human greed.'

Blank faces stare back at him. Unseen, Wonda also stares back. Professor Pithlewaite then delivers the news that has troubled him all day. 'If the unthinkable happens, if humans are indeed in trouble, they could end up here, in our most sacred Valley.'

'No, this must be forbidden', speaks up Madame Dragonfly. 'Our way of life would disappear if humans enter our world. Look how they dominate life 'Up There'!'

The room descends into a loud muddle of gasps, fist-pumping, and shocked exclamations.

'Silence', urges Professor Pithlewaite, raising his hands.

Once he regains everyone's attention, he speaks even louder than before. ‘To save ourselves,’ pausing for effect, looking his audience in the eyes, ‘we must save the humans.’

Wonda stumbles backwards. A shock of grey dismay streaks across her face. She whispers into the chilling air, ‘And how, in Valley, are we going to do that?!’