Rehema and the Dragons

There weren't always dragons in the Valley. Fire-breathing, scaly, long clawed, winged protectors, my grandparents used to call them. From far above the clouds in mountainous caves they kept guard for five generations. Before they befriended us, the reptile-like beings maintained their own society. Apart from the kingdom of the Flushlands, dragons flourished as a collective. Silvery, purple, green, and blue scales could be seen flying above our ancestors brown and grey stoned homes. They screeched with every new morning and the bellows of their voices echoed off of the walls of the caves, waking villagers with each new day. It was normal. Dragons were not to be feared. They lived tending to their loved ones and we tended to ours. Our kingdom was merely beneath theirs and being separate was how they thrived for nearly a millennium. At the turn of last century that all changed.

Many stories have been told with at least a dozen variations. However, the one that resonated with me is short and simple. ‘One morning in the late summer, a farmer who had struggled all season to get his crops to survive, gained hope in a dragon named Ezra. With the dawning of each day the farmer prayed aloud for his seeds to be fruitful and with every sunset they did not sprout. Until Ezra swooped down and helped him reseed and water the land. The seeds bore fruit swiftly. The farmer was surprised but had no reason to fear. Little did he know that every prayer was heard and understood by the dragon. Ezra’s heart softened to his cries and she decided to help a human. Some humans and dragons did not like the idea of consorting with each other. In spite of the few, the multitude saw it as beneficial.’

I would hear my mother and grandparents praising the past of our once flourishing and rich province. “Rehema! Oh, what splendor our land emitted” my grandmother would say. “Our gardens were well kept, filled with food and beauty. The dragons were our friends and our co-laborers, until they weren’t.” stated grandfather.

They soared high above the treetops singing with cheer during the day and taking care of their families at night. They would come down to laugh and dance with us during each Harvest Festival. They were able to celebrate with us because they helped many farmers disperse their seeds, tend to, and gather the crops.

A treaty was drafted and signed by the king of the Flushlands and the dragon Emperor. Time past and our people began to suffer again through the transitioning of rules and order. Twenty years ago, four years before my birth, King Halif was sworn in. King Halif’s reign resulted in effective debates, bargaining, and the amelioration of our people. He was our ally, at least that is what my grandparents say. He would come within the villages and even eat at the tables of his people during festival season.

My mother, Zuri, would tell me of how gentle, caring, and handsome he was and I would imagine a royal who cared. But I only recall his face and the stern, mellowness of his voice. King Halif died when I was six years old, slain by a dragon during a hike. My mother says it never made sense to her, how such gruesome violence would be done by a creature that naturally cares and kept to themselves. This was the beginning of the mass subjugation.

The horrid murder of the King brought the entire province to its’ knees. He was found on Mount Havek full of claw marks and slivers of metallic, purple, and green scales. His horse was found wandering in the valley below, which called for an immediate search. King Halif was found by one of the royal proxies. The word spread quickly of the king’s demise by a dragon. I can only recall remnants of saddened and scared faces. “What will we do?” “Why would the dragons betray us?” “Who will be our King?” “How will we sow next season’s seeds?” It was question after question and I didn’t understand any of it.

The change across the Flushlands happened abruptly and our new existence was no longer accompanied by joy.

The King’s sister became our Queen since King Halif was not married nor had an heir. She was his only sibling. The King was younger than his sister but his father did not approve of a female leading the kingdom. Growing up the princess loathed being overlooked because of her womanhood. As children they were trained together, educated together, and none of that mattered. I could only imagine how inferior she must have felt when their father chose the younger heir.

Queen Abena took the throne and erased nearly all of the King’s treaties and kingdom orders. We no longer had freedom to roam each other’s territories. Our fields no longer grew bountiful, since the dragons were no longer permitted to help us. We were taxed double for our labor. Our people were poor, of spirit and resource. The joyful tidings we once had, we had no more.

The dragons were imprisoned and enslaved to execute the queen’s duties. It took an entire year to assemble all of Flushlands’ dragons. During that year people were frightened to leave their homes. The harvest was light. The dragons wept from above the clouds and howled in anger. Some were able to flee, some tried to convince the queen of their innocence, and some were silent with disbelief. Those who were captured by the queen surely regretted not fleeing with their families.

The dragons are not the only ones who have been put through agony. My family has suffered under Queen Abena. My mother Zuri worked herself into sickness and my grandparents helped when they could. My mother was gentle and bold. She loved me with a graceful shield. “Rehema, be careful. Rehema, you mustn’t go there.” These are the words she used. I always felt left out and unable to participate in any of my friends’ adventures.

I never knew my father. I was told he died during a beastly hunt a year after my birth. My mother had a locket with a crimson and gold cross on the back of it as a reminder of his devotion. It is the sole possession I have to link me to the father I never got the chance to love.

Today, is Tuesday and the fields must be maintained. My grandfather’s farm requires much laboring. I awake at 4:30 each morning to prepare for the day. I tend to the chickens and milk the cows. I feed the pigs and harvest the weekly vegetation. “Rehema, finish cooking breakfast so we can eat.” says my grandmother. I swiftly move to her sound. I look to the mountains hoping to see help.