Somewhere Blue

There weren’t always dragons in the valley.

Twelve years before, such creatures had been no more than a myth, a fantasy creature described by the Elders in the stories they made up to scare the village children.

Then, one cool autumn morning, a massive shadow had thrown the whole valley into unexpected shade. Those outside at the time had stared up in disbelief. Something shaped like a gigantic reptile had seemed to fill the sky – with dark, shimmering scales, huge leathery wings, and a swaying, whip-like tail trailing behind.

This first dragon did not seem to pay any attention to the village or its inhabitants when it swept across their sky. Yet the response below had been one of utter and prolonged panic. Children and animals were taken inside and kept there. Meetings were held and new rules created. Adults must only leave their homes for necessities, and always in groups of two or more. A Sky Watch rota was created so that someone was always keeping lookout.

It took thirty-one days until the second sighting. After that, the creatures had appeared twice a month, then more often. For as long as Eve could remember, they’d flown over almost daily.

The dragons were enormous – almost as large as the village itself, with a wingspan that was larger still – and this was the village’s saving grace. The dragons were too large to land in the valley, the space between the two hills was simply not wide enough.

No one knew why they didn’t land further out, on the plains, and then crawl into the village to devour them all. But in twelve years it hadn’t happened. They simply flew over, or occasionally landed atop one of the two hills and sat like enormous gargoyles, their cold blue eyes staring down unfeeling at the villagers below.

In the early days there had been much debate about where they’d come from and what they ate. Some suggested that they didn’t enter the village because they were herbivorous and had no need to disturb the humans. Others said that it was some magic that prevented them from coming near. This was one of the more popular ideas, and several superstitions had evolved around it. People always prefer to think they can control things.

Some had suggested that a litter of dragons had hatched from gigantic eggs, which had lain undisturbed for centuries, and that the young were not yet weaned onto solid food. This theory was not popular, as no one liked to imagine the size of the adults if these were their babies, let alone to think what would happen when weaning time came. This idea was often dismissed as nonsense on the basis that sharp, white teeth as long as an arm could be seen in the jaws of the beasts as they sat watchfully atop the hills.

The dragons were sometimes blue, sometimes purple, sometimes green – always a deep, dark, inky colour almost indistinguishable from black. That they were not, in fact, black was only evident when the sunlight struck their scales, revealing the rich, shimmering colours to the eyes of the villagers.

There were also conflicting theories about their number. All the dragons seemed to be the same size. No more than three had been seen together, and they had all been blackish blue. Many believed there were three in total, and that they could change colour at will, or depending on the weather or some other, unknown factor. Others insisted that there were many more, and even claimed that they could recognise individuals’ features. Some had even named them.

All this had occurred when Eve was very small, and she could not remember a time before the dragons. In the years that had passed, the villagers had grown used to their presence, and most of the rules had relaxed, though some remained. No villager was to venture into the open land beyond the safety of the valley and the forest behind the village, and no one was to climb the hills. No one was to make noise or move too quickly when dragons were near, in case it provoked them. Stillness and quiet came with the dragons, and left with them, too. When the skies and the hills were empty, everything was normal – children played, families argued, and the work of the village was done.

*******

The sun beamed hot on Eve’s back as she dragged her bundle of wood along the path towards the village. She hated this job, and she always seemed to get it on the hottest days, when the journey was most torturous. Droplets of sweat trickled down her back. She was already late, but she stopped and let the cloth handles of her bundle drop to the ground. She knelt at the edge of the brook and cupped her hands to scoop up cool water, which she splashed into her face. She glanced along the path towards the village, half expecting to see her aunt there, shaking her fist and shouting about timekeeping. She knew she should be better at sticking to the schedule. She’d heard the lecture about cooperation and teamwork and the smooth running of a community a hundred times, and she agreed with it, she really did. She didn’t want to let people down. Why would she? And yet, it was hard to make her brain keep track of the time, and hard to understand why ten minutes here or there was really the big deal her Aunt Hela seemed to think. The firewood would get to its destination, unless Eve died from heat exhaustion on the way.

She leant in closer to the brook and used her forearms to sweep a cold wave right over her head and neck. Rivulets of water met the sweat on her back and cooled her skin. She pushed her sopping hair out of her eyes. That was better. Just as she was turning to leave, her eyes caught the glint of something silvery, half buried in the mud at the edge of the stream. Curiously, she reached down and dug the thing out of the dirt. The object was a thick, smooth disc, like a large coin, and it was made of a material Eve had never seen before – a pale blue, translucent, shimmering stone, like sky-coloured water made solid and sparkling. It was framed around its edges by roughly pounded silver metal. Eve swished the disc in the running water of the brook to clean some of the mud off, and then sat back on her heels and ran her thumb over the blue stone. She’d never seen anything so beautiful.

They didn’t create purely decorative objects in the village – everything they made had a practical purpose. If some artistic villager wanted to carve pretty patterns into his tools, that was his business, it didn’t take away from their use. But resources weren’t wasted on pointless things. Children sometimes collected and swapped smooth stones from the stream, and were frowned upon as frivolous by the older villagers. What use was a pretty pebble, after all? But this, this was a treasure that had been made, Eve could see that. Some fantastical see-through blue stone had been found, and shaped, and polished, and encased in a silver border – but why? Who in the village could, or would, have done such a thing? It was beautiful, there was no doubt, but Eve couldn’t imagine what purpose it was supposed to serve.

She turned the object in her hands and realised that the rough metal around the edge wasn’t simply dented by whatever tool had shaped it – there was a pattern in the markings. It was still too dirty to see clearly, but it looked like symbols. She was just reaching out to submerge it again, in order to see better, when she heard a distant shout.

“Eve!”

It was her aunt. Stuffing the treasure into her pocket, she scrambled up and half-ran the rest of the way to the village, dragging her heavy load behind her.

*******

“I’m sorry,” Eve panted as she reached Aunt Hela, arms folded and foot tapping impatiently, by the wood store at the edge of the village. “Really, I am, I just stopped – ”

“Late again and ready with a barrel of excuses I haven’t the time nor the patience for,” her aunt responded, tight-lipped, “Just get on with it, for goodness’ sake.” She marched away without waiting to hear Eve’s explanation.

Eve hauled the wood into the store and bolted the gate. Honestly, what difference it made what time she brought the wood she didn’t know, but her aunt seemed to think it mattered a great deal. She sighed.

“Pond?” said a voice behind her.

Eve turned to see her friend Tobin grinning from under his mop of curly brown hair.

“Pond.” She agreed with a smile.

The pond, which was really more of a small lake, was on the other side of the village, between the toilet building and the forest. It was a favourite spot for the teenaged members of the community to spend time, sheltered as it was from the village by large bushes. When you couldn’t go anywhere that was actually away from the adults, it was nice to have a place that felt private, even if realistically it was only a dozen metres from the nearest dwelling.

“I’ll get River, you get Simon” said Tobin, and he bounded away across the village.

Eve threaded past the homes between the wood store and Simon’s house, and knocked. There was no answer. Shrugging, she made her way round to her own home, where she could see her dad through the open window, washing up at the kitchen sink.

“Going to the pond, Dad!” she called, and she paused just long enough to see him smile and nod in response.

When she arrived at the pond she found Tobin in his underwear, waist deep in the water already and singing loudly to himself, his clothes discarded haphazardly on the ground. Smiling, she sat down at the water’s edge to pull off her shoes and socks, then lay back, looking up at the sky, her legs dangling in the cool water.

Eve was just about to ask Tobin if River was coming, when she heard a loud shout and something flew right over her before landing with a splash in the water. She sat up on her elbows and saw River’s head emerge from under the water, her eyes sparkling. She shook droplets of water from her short hair, like a dog.

“I needed that,” River said, before submerging and then popping up once more and spitting a mouthful of water at Tobin. Then she dragged herself out of the water, and sat dripping, fully clothed, next to Eve on the edge of the pool. “Hey Eve,” she grinned lopsidedly, and threw an arm over Eve in a wet half-hug.

River was Eve’s best friend. She was sixteen, but with the mischievous gleam of a much younger child. She would perform any dare with relish, and as far as Eve could tell she had not a single fear in the world. She was taller than Eve, and a year older, but Eve felt very much like the voice of reason of the two of them.

Eve was the youngest in her group of friends – Simon was sixteen, like River, and Tobin was eighteen. They had been friends forever, partly because in a community as small as theirs you were stuck together. But despite being forced together by age and proximity, Eve knew she would have chosen them all if she could. Or perhaps not Tobin, not all the time.

Tobin clambered out of the pond and threw a weed at River’s head, before stretching out next to her on the grass. They lay there in silence for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts, until they heard someone squeezing through the bushes behind them. The slight, pale form of Simon appeared, his long blond hair tied messily on top of his head. His cheeks were flushed and he looked unhappy. He slumped down on the ground on Eve’s other side and put his head in his hands.

“What’s up, Si?” River asked, her head on one side.

“Toilet duty!” came the mumbled response.

Ah. The only job worse than fetching the firewood. Especially in the heat. Eve pulled a sympathetic face and then flopped onto her back again, gazing up at the wispy clouds floating in a sea of blue. At least in summer they had sunshine. And the pond. When it was cold, they had nowhere to talk away from the ears of the villagers, unless they wanted to come out here to freeze to death. Summer was good.

*******

During summertime, most of the villagers ate their evening meal on benches around a large fire in the very centre of the village. This was considered a social time, where food and stories were shared and lively toasts made, until one by one, the villagers were called home by thoughts of their beds.

It was only when the valley was dark, and Eve sat before the fire feeding leftovers to one of the dogs, that she remembered the disc in her pocket. Her friends had already gone home for the night, and she had wanted to show it to them before she handed it in to one of the Elders. It must belong to someone, and she knew she must return it, but she wanted River to see it before it was gone.

There’s no harm in waiting ‘til tomorrow, she told herself, as she rose stiffly and helped her neighbour to take in plates and cups that had been left sitting on one of the benches. Besides, the Elders weren’t around now, and Eve’s bed was calling her, too.

*******

Eve wasn’t sure what had woken her at first. She sat up in bed and looked across the room at the bed where her parents slept. They were both fast asleep. She could hear their slow and steady breathing, a warm, familiar sound in the dark of night.

She gazed around, looking for the source of her waking. A curtain separated the bedroom from the main living area, and it was open as usual – the villagers rose with the sun so there was usually no need to draw it, unless someone was unwell and sleeping during the day. If she leant over the edge of her bed, Eve could see the glimmer from the village fire around the edges of their front door.

As she settled herself back down into her pillow, she heard it. A long, low scratching noise. She felt her heartbeat quicken. She didn’t recognise that sound. There were plenty of noises to be heard in the village at night – logs crackling on the fire, dogs or children making a fuss, villagers stumbling drunkenly on their way to the toilets, the screech of owls and other night birds.

The house itself made noises too, gentle creaks and groans as the beams settled themselves down for the night, the swish of the wind through the reeds that covered their roof. None of these noises would have bothered Eve at all. But a deep, grating scratch, like something sharp carving into something thick? What was it? And why did it sound like it was coming from the front door?

Eve glanced over at where her parents still slept. The noise hadn’t woken them.

She was telling herself that she might have imagined it, when it happened again.

Scrape, scrape.

Unbidden, an image came into Eve’s mind of a massive, dark, scaly foot equipped with long, deadly talons. She saw them in her mind’s eye, scraping across a door, her door. Her palms were sweaty. She took a deep, steadying breath. It’s not a dragon, she told herself. It’s something else.

On the roof above her head, a swishing sound. Immediately she was imagining again – this time it was a long tail, shimmering dark and oil-like as it brushed through the reeds of their roof, and a huge body stretching over the house and curved around, moonlight glinting off scales.

Eve took a few more shaky breaths. She wanted to wake her parents, but what if it was a dragon? What were they to do? Fight it off with a rolling pin? A kitchen knife? And if it was a dragon, if it really was – there was the scraping again – the last thing they should do is make a noise. Better to stay quiet and stay still. Better not to move at all.

This, after all, was a useful decision to reach, as Eve wasn’t sure she could move her legs even if she wanted to. She could barely remember how to breathe.

The minutes ticked by, and Eve waited, cold sweat sticking her nightdress to her skin. She heard the scratching sound once, twice more, and then silence. Then she saw something else through the cracks along the edges of the front door. Just for a second, the orange glow of the firelight was replaced by a blue light, brighter by far. Then it was gone.

Eve found herself on her feet. She didn’t remember standing up. Without understanding why, she realised she suddenly felt strongly that she needed to see what was out there. There was a window by the front door, not visible from her bed, but it would be visible if she stepped to the side. The window’s curtain was usually closed, but not always. She stepped away from her bed.

The curtain was closed.

She glanced again at her parents’ bed. If something happened, they’d wake up and they’d help her. She stepped towards the living area. The floorboard creaked under her foot. As if in response, she heard a flurrying noise outside the door, like the hurried movement of rough cloth or parchment. That didn’t sound like a dragon. Eve took five brave strides to the window and pulled the curtain aside. There was no one there. The fire burned low and welcoming, the other homes lay silent. The village was as still and peaceful as ever.

Eve intended to return to bed, but as she passed the front door, she had an impulse to make absolutely sure. She drew back the latch on the door, took a deep breath, and pulled it open. Nobody was outside.

But someone had carved a large symbol into the door.