Valley of Dragons

There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. The day they came was bright and sunny, just like any other, and a small horde of people from town gathered near the fairgrounds anxiously awaiting their arrival. The onlookers lined the dusty road watching as a caravan of trucks, trailers, and buses piled into the clearing that would soon be home to The Carnival of Dragons.

I found myself among the pointing and murmuring mass of dragon fanatics, feeling unremarkably aloof. If I was being completely honest, I didn’t really believe in dragons. I was more interested in the catch, whatever it was. Even though the fliers guaranteed these dragons were “the real thing” and “fantasy come to life,” I believed there was a catch. These dragons had to be animatronic or a coordinated group of men operating various rubber body parts. Dragons just couldn’t be real.

Just as two large, windowless, and particularly heavy-duty cargo containers rolled by, I directed my attention to the crowd around me. I noticed a group of children pressed against a construction barrier, talking excitedly and pointing toward the aforementioned containers. A little girl was sitting on her father’s shoulders, watching with wide and awestruck eyes. A group of middle-aged men who could only be certified members of the local D&D group - I could tell because one of them was wearing a homemade wizard hat - were talking about the schedule they had planned out for the week to maximize their time with these “real-life dragons” – as the flier claimed.

I was beginning to feel restless among the crowd. I started walking further along the edge of the empty clearing that made up the fairgrounds. It was surrounded by high construction fencing to deter bold onlookers from trying to sneak a peek at the dragons before opening day.

After circling the fairgrounds, I managed to find a hill that allowed me to watch the coterie of carnival rides, games, and fried food trucks that would accompany the dragons in the clearing below. After all, what good is a spectacle without a healthy dose of obligatory cash grabs.

The caravan of carnival folk and their assortment of cargo pulled into the fairgrounds. I watched as a troop of rag-tag individuals disembarked and scurried about discussing logistics while pointing about the clearing. I decided to sit on the hill that was more dirt than grass and spend the evening watching this curious team of carnies going about constructing “an unimaginable spectacle” – according to the flier.

Over the next hour, The Carnival of Dragons crew set to work, filling the fairgrounds with a multitude of colorful booths and attractions. Container hatches opened, and carnival infrastructure poured out. It all looked like a giant version of a child’s erector set. All of the containers were open and busily surrounded by carnival workers – all of them except for the two large containers that sat in the middle of the fairgrounds.

A group of workers brought a set of metal pieces to the entrance of the fairgrounds and constructed an archway that would greet visitors as they entered the carnival. On one side of the archway hung a banner that displayed artwork of a red dragon looking toward the sky with wings spread above its head, looking determined to take flight. On the other side hung a similar piece. This one of a green dragon, ferociously breathing fire.

The sun had set, and stars were beginning to pierce the violet of the early night sky. The other onlookers had left, presumably returning to lovely little homes scattered throughout the Valley to get a good night’s sleep, knowing that tomorrow The Carnival of Dragons would begin.

I began to stand up and dust off my pants when, seemingly out of nowhere, a man appeared next to me. He was wearing a long jacket the color of deep burgundy, and on his head, he wore a battered black top hat.

“Hi there,” he said in a friendly voice while peering out over the fairgrounds with a hint of reverence.

I looked around stupidly for another person he might be talking to, even though I was the only one there. “Um, hello,” I stammered more awkwardly than intended.

“I couldn’t help but notice you’ve been sitting here for quite a while. Are you a fan of the dragons?”

I wasn’t quite sure what to say. I didn’t have the heart to tell the man that I didn’t believe in dragons or that I felt particularly suspicious of this whole event. I decided to go with the response I was sure he was looking for and replied emphatically, “Absolutely!”

What happened next will live on in the deepest part of my conscience next to my most monumental memories. Memories like my mom reading me bedtime stories as I clutched the covers in my childhood bed, my dad singing to me as he rocked me close to him when I was just a boy who was afraid of the dark, and the first time — as well as the last time — I told my wife I loved her.

The man turned to me, flashing a smile that lit up the night like glowing moonbeams, and said, “Would you like to see the dragons?”