Dragons and Dragonflies

“There weren’t always dragons in the Valley.”

Walker jerked his head up and dug his finger into his tickled ear. Then he turned to face the intruder who had aroused him with his buzzing whisper. It was a large black dragonfly with white-tipped wings which moved so quickly they didn’t appear to be moving at all. Walker stared intently at him and waited for him to speak again.

“The Strazyska Valley was green and bountiful before the first serpent appeared many years ago. It destroyed the land and the livelihood of its inhabitants until its demise, accomplished by the noble Saint George.” The dragonfly was obviously speaking but his audience could see no mouth from which words were coming. Its voice reminded Walker of the funny choppy sound his made when he shouted into a fan. The speaker continued, “A fortnight ago, another dragon was discovered and has been the source of destruction and despair in the valley since then. The people of Strazyska desire your help. There’s no time for questions or further explanation. You must come quickly.”

Although he would normally be dubious of strange guests and strange stories, Walker was hardly hesitant in his decision. Even if it sounded dangerous the dragonfly was offering him an adventure. Any nine-year-old boy would snatch it up instantly.

His right hand reached out for the lump beside him in the bed and gave it a little shake, to which the lump responded with unnecessarily loud groans and mutterings.

“Shh! Come on Chris,” Walker muttered. “Get your shoes on. We’re leaving.”

The twin bed creaked as Walker leapt off and, stepping respectfully around their new guest, dashed to the only other furniture in the cramped room to grab clothes for the pair of them. His fingertips ran along the edges of the garments to tell him which ones they were since he couldn’t rely on the dim evening light. He slipped on tennis shoes (without any socks), shoved the outfits in a bag, and threw in a flashlight, compass, and pocket knife for good measure.

He turned immediately back to the bedpost where the dragonfly continued to hover. By this time, Christopher had just crawled off the dinosaur bed sheets and situated his glasses over his sleepy eyes in order to inspect the fascinating insect.

Walker slipped a pair of crocs on his brother’s feet and announced, “We’re ready.”

“Follow me,” the boys heard.

Their guide dashed through the open window. Walker grabbed Christopher’s hand and tugged him gently over the sill and into the stagnant heat of the backyard. He hated that they had to go to bed so early even in the summer. All this daylight was going to waste.

The brothers stepped carefully across the uneven mulch of the flowerbed beneath the window, trying not to trample their mother’s zinnias. Their dragonfly guide flicked from side to side ahead of them. Had it not been for his unusual size, he would have looked right at home among the swingset, bikes, trampoline, birdhouses, and flowers that filled the spacious yard. Walker was thankful that he flew slowly enough for them to keep up, especially since the sky was growing darker. He was surprised Christopher hadn’t asked him any questions yet.

“Are we going to school?” Christopher yawned and promptly fumbled over his own feet.

Walker steadied him and impatiently informed him, “We’re going on an adventure. With the dragonfly. Something to do with dragons.”

Any of his friends would have lit up at the mention of fire-breathing monsters, but (as he expected) Christopher’s gravely voice found its way out of his mouth a moment later muttering the words, “Wow! What a pretty dragonfly. He must be a rare species cause he’s a big guy… and he can talk. Do you know what kind it is? Or what his name is?”

“Nope.”

“He looks like a nice guy. Maybe he wants to be our friend,” Christopher mused.

They passed the yellow swings and headed into the woods just past the yard. It became significantly harder to see and more difficult to keep up with their guide. The brush scratched at their legs, low limbs threatened to pull their hair, and spider webs were less of an obstacle and more of a distraction for young Christopher. The dragonfly came to an abrupt halt and landed on a thin tree branch hanging over the entrance of a tunnel. Walker had never seen it here before.

“This is the fastest way back,” he said. “It’ll take nearly two days, so if you wish to turn back you had better do so now.”

So you could dig a hole to China. Walker was delighted. He assumed that the valley with the weird name was not in China, but knew that because it took so long to get there it must be far away, and if you can dig a hole to the Valley you can dig a hole to China.

A creature emerged from the tunnel holding a lantern. The boys immediately recognized it as a mole by his minuscule eyes and massive claws.

“The light’s not for me, friends. I’m blinder than an armadillo. Some day I’ll get me some glasses. Anyway, my name is Harold, and I’ll be leading you to Poland today. Or, I guess, for the next two days,” he chuckled. “Would you be so kind as to introduce yourselves?”

Walker began, “Hello. I’m Walker and this—”

“My name is Christopher!” The boy’s whole face beamed with excitement to meet their newest acquaintance.

“So good to meet you, dear friends! I’ll do my best to remember your names, but don’t be surprised if I start referring to you as ‘boys’ or ‘older brother and younger brother.’ Ethelind, are you ready to head back?” He turned toward the dragonfly. “I reckon this journey will be a little slower than the first, but you know I’m happy to take my time and give everyone a little history of the area and point out important places and fun facts—”

“Are you sitting on that tree branch?” he interrupted himself. “I thought you were, but I never can trust my eyes. You’re all just hazy objects to me. But come in, come in! We have no time to dilly dally. We must get you to your destination before Christmas comes back around, and Ethelind knows I could talk until Christmas.” Harold laughed to himself and motioned with his large pink hands for the boys to enter.

“I’m sure you could,” Ethelind replied. “And I’d be happy to sit and listen.”

“Oh, you’re too kind, friend, too kind,” said the jolly mole, stepping aside as the boys stepped past him into the ground. “You have far more intelligent things to talk about, and I would just ramble on about ridiculous stuff that would drive anyone bonkers.”

“Nonsense,” replied Ethelind. He followed Harold back into the hole.

There wasn’t much to observe about the place. It was significantly cooler than the woods where Walker and Christopher had begun to sweat, but it wasn’t cold. The dirt was packed into a nearly perfect circle around them with a flat surface beneath their feet, and it sloped gently downward and to the left. The ceiling hung only six inches above Walker’s head, but it looked surprisingly clean. He had expected lots of bugs and sticks to be sticking out and for the dirt to sit precariously above them and fall into their shit collars and eyelashes. It also smelled good, like rich soil and mulch.

Harold squeezed past the brothers with the lantern. Walker realized now what was odd about him. He walked on his hind legs rather than scraping along on all fours, and he was as tall as Christopher. Christopher probably thought that this was also a unique species. He turned back toward his little brother.

Christopher was inspecting the tunnel and processing everything that had happened. He was only six years old and still had plump cheeks, short blonde hair that curled slightly at the ends and large green eyes amplified by his glasses. His face almost incessantly wore an expression of awe — eyebrows raised and mouth partly open — and he was often painfully oblivious and clumsy. His brain worked about three times slower than Walker’s, which made it hard for the older to be patient with the younger.

Walker was bright and competitive and quick in absolutely everything he did — thinking, speaking, running, learning, arguing, problem solving. His mind, tongue, and body knew one speed. He tried to push Christopher along when his mind got bogged down without becoming frustrated. He knew his little brother well but did not understand him in the least.

“Well now!” Harold sighed contentedly. “Let’s get going.” He waddled forward.

“Come on Chris.” Walker gently urged him on, and the four of them set off down into the tunnel with the flickering light at the front and constant buzzing behind.

The first hour was passed in silence. Each had a lot on his mind. Harold controlled himself well during that time and finally allowed himself to speak.

“I don’t mean to be impertinent, but you must tell me all about yourself. I’m just dying to know. And I’ve thought up the most extravagant stories for you all which are bound to be entirely untrue, but they were exciting nonetheless.”

Christopher surprised them all by being the first to speak up. “I really like animals. I’ve never met any that could talk before. And I really love this tunnel. Did you dig it all by yourself, Mr. Harold?”

“Oh, you’re too kind, my friend!” Harold shouted back. “I did much of the work on this one, but there are thousands of us who worked together to put this whole tunnel system together beautifully and efficiently. It most certainly is a beauty.”

“There’s a whole system?” Walker asked. “How many countries do you connect to?”

“Why, all of them, of course! And multiple in most. It is a wonderfully intricate system.”

When this whole adventure was over, Walker thought, he hoped he could explore all the passageways in his free time. This reminded him, however, that he had so little information about where he was going and why.

“Ethelind,” he began, “Can you elaborate on the details of our escapade now? I still don’t really know how we’re supposed to help the villagers in the valley, and I would like to know what we’re getting into.”

“Of course,” he said.

Walker couldn’t easily turn around to face the dragonfly while walking forward, but it felt rude not to. He heard the gentle hum of wings draw closer to him and Ethelind, as light as a dollar bill, landed on his right shoulder.

“Sorry to awaken you so abruptly earlier, but I was worried we would not return in time. There’s a boat leaving the south end of the lake early in the morning two days from now that y'all must get on. There won’t be another one for a long time.”

He sounded somber, but his eyes, which Walker could see so closely now, appearing like two blue peas placed awkwardly on his small head, revealed no emotion. It frightened him a little, and he redirected his gaze straight ahead.

“No one knows how to deal with a dragon. You can't find anyone like St. George anymore, someone eager to take on such a challenge. But there’s a wise old woman in the town whose father was saved by St. George as a young boy, and the people have turned to her for guidance. They have presented her with countless plans, badgered her with questions, and burdened her with all their frustrations. She’s been quiet and dismissed all the ideas they’ve offered. Most have given up hope and are determined to leave. But three nights ago, she informed us that what we needed was the courage of a child. It was passed off as a ridiculous remark, that we needed a plan not courage. ‘Children,’ she said. ‘You need children.’

“Word rapidly spread through the town that this was the key to defeating the dragon. Then the children were hidden away and no one stepped forward except one — the grandchild of St. George. But one was not enough. Desperate, we sent word through the tunnels to find the best candidates for the task. The rabbits, moles, gophers, armadillos, and badgers, more observant folk than you might think, sent back three names, and three of us (the messengers) immediately flew off to find them. Yours was one of them. Walker Lee.”

Walker was silent. He was greatly honored to have been one of the few chosen to take on a dragon, but he began to realize just how dangerous this was going to be. Maybe he shouldn’t have brought Christopher with him. What would his parents say when they found both of them missing? What if they never came back?

“Why did you bring Christopher then?” he asked.

“I didn’t.”

“What do you mean? I thought… Oh, I brought him, didn’t I?” he realized. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“You seemed eager to bring him, and he seemed willing to come. I don’t think we can have too many.”

They continued along silently. Walker could hardly feel his legs. They were stuck in constant motion like a robot. He heard a yawn from behind him. A light thud indicated that Christopher had dropped his glasses, so his shuffling stopped for a moment as he bent down to retrieve them. Walker was worried he might not be able to last much longer without sleep. Apparently Ethelind had the same thought.

“Harold, how long do you think before we reach somewhere to rest?”

The mole paused (Walker narrowly avoiding running straight into the back of him) and raised his narrow snout into the air. He sniffed loudly and replied, “Very close! Two minutes should do it.”

“I had no idea that these were the boys chosen!” Harold declared. “I am so delighted to have the honor of escorting you, dear friends! What a treat! Off to fight a dragon! Jolly good!” He muttered something to himself about telling his friends that he was the guide of the great dragon slayers.

They reached a burrow where a sweet rabbit offered them a room to stay for the night and some delicious vegetable stew. The boys slept hard and had to be shaken hard to wake up the next morning. They probably could have slept all day in the cool, dark hollow. The next two days were filled with walking, Harold’s chatter, and questions about the valley and the dragon. They spent a third night underground due to Ethelind’s miscalculation of how long it would take to travel with boys who were used to sleeping ten hours a day.

But early the third morning, they rose and ate a cold fish breakfast and reached daylight not an hour later.

“Here we are, friends! It has been a pleasure to lead you through the tunnels, and (I must warn you) my voice may be ringing in your ears for the next couple days,” Harold chuckled and then sighed. “I wish our jolly party didn’t have to split. I’m going to miss you all.”

“I can’t thank you enough, Harold,” said Ethelind. “You have been a tremendous help, and we could not have asked for a more cheerful companion. I’m sure we’ll see you again some day.”

Walker extended his hand and shook the mole’s claw (something not many can say they have done) and, feeling very mature, said, “Thank you, sir. We are indebted to you.”

“Oh, just call me Harold,” he cried and wrapped his tiny arms around the boy. Walker was stunned and his “very mature” mood evaporated. The mole released him and turned to Christopher.

“Thank you, Mr. Harold, sir! I hope I get to see you again. I really liked your tunnel and your funny stories.” Christopher wrapped his own arms around Harold and squeezed him tight. His glasses caught on one of the mole’s claws and fell to the floor. The two of them laughed and bent down to find them, bonking heads and looking like a couple of blind old men as they did so. It was Walker and Ethelind’s turn to laugh. Christopher finally located them and returned them to their proper place.

“Good luck!” Harold called after them as the threesome stepped out into the grey pre-dawn light and stood (or hovered) there until their eyes adjusted.

They stood in the chill breeze on a dense, sandy clay surface which contained no signs of life. No grass or plants of any kind grew on it. There were no animals or bugs. A hundred yards away, lay the shore of a lake covered in a thick layer of fog. Walker spotted a dock to his left which had several small rowboats tied to its posts, rocking slowly on the ripples, and a few wooden huts behind it. Ominous, dark mountains encircled everything, half-hidden in the low clouds. Walker played with his earlobe. He felt trapped. Christopher just looked sad.

“There they are,” said Ethelind. And flew toward the huts.

A group of people, a dark blob in the fog, had just stepped out of the one nearest them and were headed toward the dock. The boys hastened to catch up to their leader. As they got closer, Walker could distinguish five people. Two thick men with bushy beards appeared to be engaged in a heated discussion with each other in the back of the group, while another healthy middle-aged man followed an old fisherman to the boats. In the middle of them was a girl. She was shorter than Walker but looked about his age and carried herself like she was an independent woman who needed no one to look after her. Her curly brown hair lay just so on her green cloak and was an obvious object of her vanity. Walker was a little intimidated by her and chose to ignore her until he had no choice (his usual tactic).

Ethelind addressed the two men in the front and was soon joined by two more dragonflies. Walker and Christopher waited behind. The others ceased arguing and joined them.

Ethelind flew back to the boys. “The others didn’t come,” he said. “One thought it was a ridiculous trick and said he didn’t believe in dragons, while the other was horrified and could not be persuaded to come. That means it’s just you two… and Maja, of course.”

“Who?” asked Walker.

“Maja. St. George’s granddaughter.”

She approached them abruptly. “Hello. That’s me. And what are your names?”

Walker tried to appear confident but looked sheepish instead. He had hoped the grandchild of the famous dragon slayer would be a boy and was very disappointed. “I’m Walker and this is my brother, Christopher.”

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Get a move on now,” rumbled one of the large men. He herded the children toward the boats and they and the men climbed into one. The dragonflies hovered above them and the older man remained on the dock, shakily untying the ropes.

They pushed off into the fog. The breeze had stopped now, but Walker continued to shake. He was excited and nervous. He was in a strange place with strange people and could barely see past the front of the boat. Is this what an adventure was like? He was not so sure he would like it after all.

The fog raced past them. The lake was completely still except for the trickles of water that formed at the front of the boat and ran farther and farther away from the sides. It was soothing and peaceful, and Walker managed to calm himself down. Everything would be fine. He closed his eyes.

There was a loud thump from under the boat. A loud splash. The boat tipped upwards and Walker tumbled backwards as it flipped. His back smacked the water.