The Valley

There weren't always dragons in the valley. There were people, though.

People who laughed with boundless enthusiasm, with sparkling eyes and joyful exuberance. Whose tears outnumbered the valley's dewdrops on a cool spring morning and whose love for each other shone brilliantly on kind faces. People who weren't afraid of their hearts, no matter how great the sentiment-be it excitement or despair. These were the people of the valley before the dragons. Earth herself mourns the loss of the people, for they brought her wonder and amusement; their merriment brought about her contented leisure. She understood their gratitude through the sound of their feet when they danced, knew their satisfaction after a drink of her crisp spring waters, and delighted in sending them countless sunrises and sunsets to admire. Her people created new life using her very breath, and each generation was more beautiful and abundant than the last. So it was and ever was intended to be. Until the dragons, that is.

They did not sweep the valley with dark wings, arriving on a blast of hot, angry air and blocking out the sun. They did not roar with mighty lungs or snap their powerful jaws at helpless passersby. The dragons did not harbor a shred of violent intent, or long for chaos and destruction as one might assume. Rather, they came in spirit on a robust autumn breeze, their existence prompted by the mere imagination of their form. A child with a gift for storytelling would change the destiny of her entire race, for they did not know the power their thoughts possessed. Like a whisper on the wind, the dragons drifted into the unsuspecting valley, settling themselves in the gardens and meadows. They nestled into the dry leaves with hibernating bumblebees, joined caterpillars in their cocoons, and occupied acorns where they were nourished and grown into their physical beings by the anticipation of next year’s spring. Spring, bringing the promise of “new life”. Oh, if they could have foreseen the influence of their pondering, perhaps Earth would not have had to grieve her people…

Once upon an age in a world that time had forgotten, there was a valley. In the valley, a village. It was a well-established village with large timber frame cottages that had mossy roofs, flat stone paths, and beautiful gardens. The kind of place where everyone knows everyone, and they all looked out for one another. Charming and quaint, one might describe it on the surface.

However, a sickness had fallen upon many of the villagers, one the healers knew no remedies for. Though they prayed to Mother Earth for a solution, none were found. All who had fallen ill with the fever succumbed to it. Elders began referring to the sickness as “the thief in the night”, or “night-fever”, as those who caught this mysterious affliction were only sick for a few days before it took them in their sleep. It troubled them deeply to lose so many, nearly one-quarter of the population had breathed their last breath, and still no answers. Herbs, tinctures, prayers, fasts-even the mountain water had not been able to treat the fever once it set in. It did not discriminate, taking young and old, feeble, and vigorously healthy alike. Fear settled into the crevices of their culture, making intrusive thoughts and panicked hearts its home. This is where our story begins.

In the village there was a cottage, and in the cottage, a young husband and wife. The sun crept over the mountaintops one fateful morning and flooded the village with light, warming the stones in the paths, waking up the flowers, and sending tendrils of sunlight into the bedroom of the sleeping couple. An idyllic scene, but the reality was far from pleasant.

As the young wife squinted from the morning sun, she reached for her husband next to her, the way she did every morning. He had been her husband for thirteen years, and still, she adored him more each day. She noticed the small creases in the corners of his eyes and recalled the way his laugh brought joy bubbling up in her heart. He parented their daughter with patience and wisdom, her Rafi, and she knew she was home while in his arms.

He caught her hand in his own and a smile toyed with the corners of her mouth.

“Morning.”

“Mornin’ my love.”

She loved the way his voice sounded when he woke, deep and rumbly. She rolled over to caress his face and instantly recoiled. He was hot to the touch, his skin like burning coals.

“Rafi, you feel warm.”

“I’m always warm when I wake up. It’s nothing to worry about.”

A look of skepticism and worry came upon her face. She knew what a fever meant.

“Amira, don't jump to wild ideas just yet, I’m a little warm, is all. Please don’t let your heart be heavy. You won’t get rid of me so easily as that! Look, I’m still as strong as ever!”

Rafi stood, scooped Amira up in his arms and buried his face into her neck, his beard tickling her and making her yelp. Though his precious cargo was worried and unwilling to join in the good-natured fun, she allowed her husband to hold her quietly for a moment until they were interrupted by the pitter-patter of little feet. Daifa, their daughter was awake and had come to see what the commotion was all about.

“Daifa! Good morning little one. Did you sleep well?”

Putting Amira down gently, Rafi bent down to pick up his daughter, and threw her in the air above his head. Daifa squealed with delight, and the three of them amid chants of ‘Higher! Higher Dada!’ made their way to the kitchen for breakfast.

Daifa helped her mother slice wild leeks, home-grown onions, turnips, and garlic, while her father crushed pulpa seeds for their oil, and started their cooking fire. Pulpa vines grew abundantly in the valley, providing valley-folk with delicious yellow fruits, seeds used for cooking oil, and fragrant leaves that when hung in doorways were believed to ward off evil spirits. The sturdy vines could be softened after a soak in the streams and woven to make the strongest rope.

“Can we add mushrooms Mama?

“No, silly, you ate them all last night! My mushroom fiend will have to join me in the meadow to find some more.”

“Oooohh can we pick some flowers and make pretty crowns?” Daifa’s eyes lit up at the prospect of a meadow adventure with her Mama.

“While you two are off dancing with bees and butterflies in the meadow, why don’t I finish planting the garden? Master Seph collected seeds from his carrots last year, remember the ones that grew red on the outside and white on the inside? Now those were delicious carrots. He agreed to share some seeds with us since I helped him build their baby’s furniture.”

“Are you sure you’ll be ok without us here?” Amira glanced at her husband where he sat with Daifa while she minded the vegetables in the hot pan. Was that pink in his cheeks there yesterday? She thought he looked tired.

“Not to worry my dears, I think I’ll manage without you two here to supervise me.” A playful glint flashed in his eyes for a moment, and for just that moment, Amira’s mind was steadied, her worry subsided, and she looked forward to a joyful, busy day in the sunshine.

…

“Mama! Mama, look!”

The young girl called to her mother as she swung back and forth on her tree swing, arms out to the side as if they were wings.

“Mama, I can fly! Look, I’m so up high, like the birds and the trees and the clouds!”

“I see you Daifa, you are so high up! What do you see from up there?” her mother replied, her hands busy pulling carrots from the rich, dark soil and knocking the clumps off before adding the carrots to a bulging pocket in her apron.

“I see the tops of the trees, and where the sun touches the mountain when it goes to sleep. Does the sun sleep, Mama?”

“Yes, of course my sweet pea. It’s hard work giving us light all day, so the sun needs to take a rest every night, just like my growing girl.”

“Does the sun have to get up every morning?”

“Yes. It will always come up in the morning.”

“Does the sun ever get sick?”

Amira paused, and pursed her lips before answering softly,

“No, my love. The sun never gets sick.”

“Oh, that’s good…” The swing slowed to a stop. Barely audibly, Daifa whispered, “I wish Dada was like the sun.”

Standing and massaging her aching back, Amira looked to her daughter. The months since her husband and Daifa’s father passed away had seen her heart break over and over as she attempted to explain the harsh new reality to her daughter, amidst her own suffering.

“I do too, Daifa. Sometimes people get sick, sometimes they get better, and sometimes…they don’t. We don’t know why Mother Earth calls them back to her, or when each of us will join her again, just that it happens to everyone, eventually. We can be thankful that Dada was the last to fall from the night-fever. I miss him too, Daifa, but I have no answers for you. Just that I promise I will be here for you for as long as Mother Earth lets me stay, and that I love you up one side of the mountain and down the other, from this side of the valley to that one.” She spread her arms wide to illustrate the size of her love and hoped it would offer a small bit of comfort.

“I love you all AROUND the mountain, Mama, AND up and down them. Twice. Just like we loved Dada. Sometimes I think I still have Dada’s love in my heart, because I get warm and happy when I think about how he used to fly me up in the air over his head.” Daifa threw her hands up over her own head, making whooshing sounds and leaning back on her swing. Tears pricked the edges of Amira’s eyes as she replied,

“Oh, sweet girl, we will always have Dada’s love in our hearts. Mother Earth only takes our bodies, she leaves all the love and memories we made while we lived. Will you help me remember all the wonderful things about Dada?”

“I can do that, Mama!! And know what else I can do? Swing higher and higher till I can touch the sun! Well, maybe not touch it, it might burn me, cuz the sun is really really really really really hot…”

Smiling, Amira resumed picking carrots as Daifa nattered about how hot she imagined the sun to be and pumped her little legs hard back and forth till the swing could bring her no higher.

“Mama, what else lives in the sky? Like with the birds and the wind and the clouds and sometimes the water that falls from the sky? Does anything else live up there, blowing around?”

“No, I don’t think so little one.”

“I think there are other things in the sky. Sometimes I see pictures of them in my head. They have the biggest most shiny wings and they’re all different colors, and instead of feathers to help them fly, they have magic. And long tails.”

“Why do they need magic if they have wings?”

“Because they can turn themselves into wind if they want!”

“Oh, of course. Obviously. And that’s why they’d need magic.”

“Yes, Mama. They need magic. How else do they fly in the wind and give us presents and help things grow?”

“They do all that, do they? Must be very powerful magic!” Daifa’s mother never tired of hearing her daughter relay all the fantastical things her heart could dream up. It gave her comfort that the little one, who had experienced more than her fair share of grief already in her short life, could still see beauty in the world all around them, both real and imagined.

“Shall we have fresh carrots and green leaves and radishes for dinner then, Daifa?” Amira stood, her apron struggling under the weight of carrots, sporting red skin and sweet white flesh.

“And mushrooms!” Daifa sung loudly as her long auburn hair danced around her head and shone in the sunshine. One last pump of her legs and she shouted, “Mama! I’m flying!”

Amira turned to see Daifa stand up on the swing, jump off as it reached its highest point, spread her arms-and promptly fall flat on her face, knocking the wind completely out of her lungs.

“Daifa! What on earth!!”

As she gasped for breath, Daifa sat up and reached for her mother, who had rushed over to inspect the damage.

“Are you alright, my girl? What were you thinking?”

“I though I could fly for real, Mama. The wind told me I could. It whispered to me.”

Amira sat quietly with her for a moment, not sure what to make of this strange admission. Daifa had an amazing imagination, seeing things in a new way and creating fantasies all day long. A time or two, Amira had to remind her that sometimes it was important to share only the things that were real, and make sure people knew she was recounting a piece of fiction rather than real events. But that never seemed to dissuade her from sharing her creativity with everyone in earshot.

The wind picked up, pulling strands of hair out of Amira’s braid.

“Let’s head home, dearest, most imaginative and small one. But perhaps we can walk and leave the flying to the birds.” Amira teased her daughter.

“No, for real Mama, can’t you hear it? Listen! The wind is speaking!”

As she was about to chastise Daifa, a strange sound on the wind did indeed catch Amira’s ear. Quietly she sat for a moment, trying to identify the source, but to no avail. A humming rose in volume, and periodically a low voice would dance amid the noise. When Amira tried to focus on it and determine its words, it would slip away into the hum. Chills running down her spine, she picked Daifa up and made her way quickly out of the garden.

“Hello stranger! Who are you? Speak up, silly, I can’t hear you!” Daifa called.

“Shush child, we don’t know if it’s a friend or foe. Let’s get home before we find out it’s the latter! Come!”

A rhythmic chanting erupted from the wind, which had picked up considerably, now whipping around their faces and throwing sand into Amira’s eyes. Daifa danced around her mother, unconcerned at the apparent danger. Amira looked around to see if another villager was around to ask for help, but they were alone. The chanting intensified, though Amira couldn’t make out any intelligible words, and she began to see glimpses of colored light fluttering around Daifa, who was skipping along the road, oblivious to her mother’s plight.

“Daifa!” Amira shouted, alarm constricting her throat. She watched in panic as the colorful streaks increased their pace next to her. Red, blue, yellow, green, orange, and purple all swirling and writhing, tugging at her dress, pushing her this way and that. Amira sprinted forward; assaulting sand be damned. Just as she was about to reach Daifa, her ears were bombarded by a sound like a large gong being struck. It reverberated into her bones, completely paralyzing her, and she fell. As she hit the ground she looked toward her daughter, praying she wasn’t experiencing the same abuse. To her amazement, Daifa was floating upright, arms spread but relaxed behind her, her face expressionless and calm. There was an aura of bright light shining around her, colors streaming in and out. Amira tried to call out, but her voice had been stilled, stolen by the force of the fall. Her eyes began to see stars. Try as she might she could not remain conscious, and soon slipped away, her body limp and still…

…