To Tread Twice

There weren’t always dragons in the valley. At least that’s what they say. But as with most things that are neither here nor there, until they are, we are left with the question of whether anyone took it upon themselves to look beforehand.

Could it be that dragons simply prefer their solitude? That they nestle themselves in those cached nooks of the earth, the likes of which have never been kissed by daybreak. Where few would venture for any reason, let alone in seeking out a dragon. It might also follow that dragons choose when to reveal themselves, conserving their image only to reveal it to the human eye at a precise time. For what purpose, only a fool would speculate. Still, we should not immerse ourselves in frivolous abstractions concerning how long dragons have been in the valley, rather let me tell you how we came to uncover their presence within it.

The city of Bath can be found in an entrenched valley with the River Avon astride. Some centuries ago, the Romans built three pristine baths and a temple along the river to make use of the hot springs. Although presently noted for the archaeological significance of the baths, these hot springs were in use long before a Legionnaire ever came to arms with a Briton. To this day, the waters still evoke an archaic aura.

In April 1942, an event that would come to be known as the Bath Blitz unfolded. Bath suffered several air raids from the Luftwaffe, damaging several churches and parts of the baths as well. These attacks were a part of the Baedeker raids, an offensive action where Nazi Germany set its sights on cultural and historical landmarks rather than military targets to further diminish civilian morale.

In the subsequent days after the bombings, the shaken citizens of Bath gradually emerged from their refuge. Despite this proximate carnage, the war and its implications still seemed far away for one particular youth – a fair-haired boy named Rupert Moss.

According to a small crooked chalkboard found hanging on the child’s door, Rupert was exactly 9 years, 3 months, and 18 days old (corresponding to yesterday’s date written in the top right-hand corner). A small boy by comparison to others his age, a cheery grin frequented his freckled face and as his mother always said; he had eyes “of a miraculous green as if sampled from the Avon itself.”

Rupert’s mother, Mrs. Maud Moss, was of a gentle sort but sharp as a whip. When she was not working part-time as a seamstress at a textile factory found on the south end of town, she was often found immersed in the works of Belle Époque era writers such as Maupassant, Turgenev, and Flaubert. She showed her boy the utmost affection and was particularly careful to instill a love for classic works to supplement his regular studies. Rupert’s favorites included Xenophon’s Anabasis and Dumas’ The Three Musketeers, though he was not too fond of Dumas’ sequel.

Mr. Victor Moss was not around the house too often, not for a lack of want, but primarily due to his duties as a firefighter which often took him out to fight the regular London fires. All the same, he was a stoic man but also known to display deep care for his family. It was only in his grander duty to his country that absolved him of the responsibilities at home - at least that was the philosophy he chose to console himself with.

Absent for some months, Rupert held some small hope this turn of events might see his father return home to assist in the fires. He knew it was a selfish way of looking at things, but Rupert figured everyone should be allowed to act selfishly sometimes, especially a 9-year-old. However, it was not to be and much to Rupert’s disappointment, a separate detachment of the fire brigade had arrived in Bath.

It had been some days since any of the children had graced the streets of Bath, as there was a very real and present fear of unexploded ordinance laying about. A feeling of ennui fastened on Rupert’s very being and the boy took his matter before the court.

“Pleeeeeaaaaasssssseeeeee! Oh please Mum! Only for an hour. I promise I will be safe, I only want to go collect some chestnuts.”

A veteran of her son’s persuasion tactics and all too aware of the risks involved, Mrs. Moss was not in her mind the slightest bit moved. But owing to her compassion, she did not want to come off entirely dismissive of her son’s plight. No child ought to be cooped up inside for so long anyhow.

“Whatever do you need chestnuts for, Rupert?”

“Well… I mean, well, there’s this game. Lily showed me! It's called Conkers, and you put holes through two chestnuts and put them on a string. Whoever breaks the other’s chestnut first, wins. Lily is quite good at it but last time I let her pick my chestnuts, and now I think I know where the best ones are! So you see…”

“I see. So where exactly are you to find these chestnuts? I am surprised Lilian’s mother lets her play these games.”

Lily and Rupert had been best friends since they could walk as their fathers were both part of the same unit in the First World War. Lily’s family had previously held titular value amongst the English aristocracy and thus, her mother often acted as if she was preparing her daughter of being married off to a royal family member – though this was scarcely more than a superficial hope.

“Out in the fields Mum. Only right passed the park.”

This was a lie. Rupert knew the best chestnuts were to be found in the Vicar’s garden over by Bath Abbey.

“Perhaps tomorrow I can take you over there Rupert. It is simply not safe to do so right now. I am sorry.” She bent over and place her hand on his cheek, kissing his head. Rupert said nothing.

Chalk it up to the listless days of being confined inside or a rebellious air about the Moss household, but Rupert was determined to get those chestnuts today. Who knew how many good ones had been knocked down by the bombs, and he wasn’t going to wait until tomorrow to share the bounty with the other children. Moreover, he wanted to beat Lily there. He was a usually cautious child, but today he dawned a devil-may-care persona.

He set about to his room, ensured his Mum heard him place the stool to reach a book on the top shelf, plopped the largest book he could find on his desk, and spent the next ten minutes obnoxiously flipping pages to give off the impression he was reading. Then ever-so-quietly, Rupert opened up the window. Luckily his bedroom was on the ground floor, and the window was the only rear-facing one in the household. His escape would be all too easy.

In what seemed like seconds, Rupert had hopped over his backyard fence and made it three blocks over, treading carefully along the shrubbery of Bath Abbey towards the magnificent chestnut trees. As he filled his pockets to the brim with only the best-thoroughbred chestnuts, he overheard the vicar chanting “Oh Heaven’s above bless us! A miracle! Nothing short of a miracle!”

He sang praises because it was the first he had exited the Abbey since the bombing to inspect the damage. To the Vicar’s delight, there were only artificial chips in the limestone structure. Not a single pane had been shattered. In any case, Rupert figured it was due time to make his exit before the Vicar, who was known to be capricious at the best of times, spotted him.

Wait until Lily sees these. He boasted to himself. Her home was only a few streets over from the Abbey and perhaps he could stand out on the road and get her attention so he might gloat away. I will keep it tasteful, he thought. Then snickered away.

Rupert found a small ovular stone on the walkway, about the size of a penny, so that he could toss it at the bedroom window without sacrificing a single troop of his precious nut battalion. This will do the trick. He looked up and nodded at the familiar street sign that read ‘Carroll Avenue’, then took his turn.

No sooner than he turned the corner, did Rupert’s eyes meet with the abyss. His hands tingled, and his blood ran cold. Under the weight of the recent sight, his knees buckled before him. He knew what had happened and it did not have to be said aloud. Where the yellow bricked manor once stood, there was ruin. A place he had known as his second home had evaporated and the only remnants were ash and blackened earth. The only bit of color to break up the scene were some garden-picked bouquets laid out in front of what was once the gate. Still, to Rupert, the scene was all gray.

A terrible eventuality of this world that shapes us beyond anything else is our first encounter with mortality. This is something that ought to be introduced tactfully to a child, but the world often has other plans. The death of a child alone is a cost too great to bear. The death of a child’s friend is an attack on all that is sacred to innocence. Rupert felt all of this before his 10th year.

The air was numb. His vision blurred. He needed to hide, maybe if he found a spot away from everything, this grief that hurt so greatly would not find him. He sprinted as fast as he had ever done away from anyone and anything. He descended the stairs to a familiar place, where he and Lily used to play hide-and-seek. The baths had always been a refuge from the prying eyes of the adults, especially in the less excavated areas.

As he arrived, he looked into the green-tinged water, and in the light, he saw himself staring back. He whipped a chestnut at his reflection and rained fire on everything that could be thought of as a target. The nuts usually did not crack on the first throw, so he would go again until they had all been demolished. No mercy was to be afforded to anything in the wake of his loss.

He then spotted a large crevasse beneath an alcove and with a ferocious toss, a chestnut went right through. He heard it skip several times across the limestone, and then it made a sharp, resonant ring as if it had hit metal.

Wiping the ever-flowing tears from his eyes, he went forward to investigate. The alcove was covered in a bright mosaic. It depicted a nude man shrouded in a decorated cape, raising his fist towards a giant serpentine creature with wings – clearly an early depiction of a dragon. Beyond the foreground, a god of sorts with a large spear and a Hellenic helmet looked over the ensuing battle. Above, an inscribed phrase read the following: sapiens qui prospicit.

He had not seen this part of the baths before, despite having run around these ruins hundreds of times. Maybe a wall fell during the bombing, he inferred. On any other day, Rupert would have been enthralled by such a phenomenal discovery. Yet having so recently learned of the fate of his friend, Rupert could not come to grips with himself. He intended on heading home and telling his Mum of the unbearable news, only to catch a glimpse of a blue glint of light seen through the darkness of the crack.

He knew Lily would have been itching to find out what was behind the mosaic. So with her in mind, Rupert lowered himself to the ground and cupped his hands around the edge of the crack. A damp smell retreated out with a humid breeze, and a faint ringing could be heard. It appeared that enough light was seeping through the compromised roof of the inner room that there was some sort of gold gilded door, peppered in blue gems.

He placed his feet forward and sucked in with all his might, managing to slide through the breach. There was a slight decline in the moss-covered flooring that he had previously failed to notice and Rupert slid forward before he could catch himself. His body was thrown hard against the door and it took him a second to recover to his feet.

On the door itself, there was a carving of a serpent with blue sapphires for eyes. Within the outline of its jaw, there appeared to be slits so that the mouth could be moved downward. Rupert grasped it and with all his might pulled it down, the mouth opened eerily wide and revealed a sort of channel. He felt over his pockets to see if he had anything to place inside and grabbed his final chestnut. Immediately jolting his hand back afterward, he rolled it down the serpent's throat.

For what seemed like forever, Rupert listened to the chestnut tumble through the tunnel until finally, it ceased. Oddly it made no sound. Soon after, the mouth shut completely, and the door opened inwards revealing a large gold corridor. The light completely vanished at the border of the corridor and whatever lay beyond.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling screech howled out from the dark. So violent was the sound that Rupert nearly compressed his ears entirely into his skull. His whole body tremoring, with his Avon-green eyes Rupert stared off into the blackness. To his horror, a much larger set of eyes of a matched shade gazed back. At that moment, he had never wished for anything more than to have Lily by his side.