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No Dragons Here

by Nornie Campbell

261 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #03-2744; ISBN 1-4120-2195-2; US$23.00, C$22.01, EUR19.00, £13.50

Look back to the Jurassic Age
His life is sketched upon the page
He's here today
How long to stay?
He must survive and pass this stage.

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about the book      about the author      excerpts      catalogue info

About the Book No Dragons Here is the journey through time from the Jurassic Era in which one creature, the sturgeon, survived by adapting to a slowly changing environment. Appearing late in its history, mankind has pushed this need to change at an ever increasing pace. The novel represents Campbell's years of intensive research into west coast history. Coupled with her knowledge of the area and her keen insight into human nature, this book will provide many hours of pleasant reading while engaging the reader as he questions the part we play in the future of our pale blue planet. Laid against a background of historical accuracy is a story of love, adventure and murder.

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About the Author No Dragons Here is Campbell's second book. She currently lives in a log home on the banks of the Granby River in southern British Columbia.

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Excerpts

Excerpt from Era One

Dragons. The Chinese have known about them for thousands of years. Knew that they lived underground. Dug deep for their bones, boiled them, pounded them, extracted from them their healing powers. Oh, yes! Long before Tolkien's world fascinated readers, dragons were 'big'.

It swam along the deep bottom, whipped its tail, stirred the mud and small creatures, sucked into its mouth those minute life forms released from their murky hiding spots. Staying at the southern outlet of the lake, it avoided the cool chalk-green water that still held memories of the ancient ice fields. The water, enriched during the centuries of thaw moved ever northward on the continent, fed by creeks and their banks, provided nurture for the huge creature. Its ancestors stretched back to Jurassic days, it had outlived the terrible lizards and crocodilians of that age even without the plated body now protecting it. It had survived several hundred million years for that is what the long, boneless body did best. Survive.

As the great one moved from the deep tidal lake to the clear river at its outlet, drifting lazily until it reached the muddy currant below, it was not aware of the minute change in its journey, not aware of the frail junk that crept lightly on the surface above. Nor that it would have great and lasting significance to its world, the whole world. This first flimsy brush with man and the prehistoric creature.

Missionary Hoei-shin spread the word in Fusang that there was a whole heathen continent of humans waiting to be inculcated with their propaganda. Thousands of Monks fired by fanatical zeal, spread across the seas and some of the frail junks, like flotsam and jetsam, were thrown upon the shores of new land.

A new Century had begun, the Fifth one, and the boat was a frail junk, which had left Fusang weeks earlier, manned by propaganda-laden Buddhist Priests. They hungered to knock on the door of a whole continent of heathens.

The ocean was unfriendly, the coast harsh, the few heathens encountered, suspicious. The period passed, and though records were written in the Celestial Empire Year Books, its discoveries were guarded by alchemists, fearing others would profit from their information. Later adventurers, who were intrigued by weird and wonderful whispers of a glorious new land to the east, continued their risky sporadic voyages for the next 1000 years and more. As late as the nineteenth century such a vessel was driven ashore near Cape Flattery. The unfortunate Chinese were held in slavery by the Indians of Neah Bay, until Governor James Douglas sent a force from Victoria to order the prisoners freed.

Speculation on how many others through the centuries were driven ashore, captured and perhaps generously shared their genes with those of the natives, belongs to a mythical age. Man has the curse of needing to know 'why'. Myths free our souls to fly without fear, to accept the unknown. Even unto this day Chinese coins and ceremonial Buddhist dishes of great antiquity are unearthed. The Jews were once powerful in China, and evidence of their presence in the north-west is claimed in the language and customs of coastal Indian cultures.

Early maps of Europe show where the huge land mass of North America was thought to exist. Cartographers printed on the unexplored areas, 'Here be Dragons'. When eastern coasts were reached and explored the dragons were moved over, moved to the west coast. When the search was started in earnest for a North-west Passage it was not dragons, but the unknown, that cast a spell on adventurers. Unlike Astronomy, where we see the past in the light of distant galaxies, we know only the present and what we read in signs of the past. Most of earth's history is not written by humans. By these records left by nature, and the intelligence to read them, we are not trapped in the present as are the other forms of life on the small blue planet.

Between 1271 and 1275 Marco Polo traveled from Venice, across the country to the Persian Gulf, thence along the coast of India, and northward to Peking. He reached that city and met the Grand Khan of the Mongol Empire, bringing home tales of riches beyond belief. The Polos, father and son who were jewel merchants, traveled twice across Asia. Discoveries came slowly, but as shipbuilding and navigation improved other beginnings were made. There was ever a hunger for trade. Nobody crossed the border for cheap keepsakes.

Thirty years after the Cape of Good Hope was rounded by Bartholomew Diaz all the oceans had been crossed - Christopher Columbus reached America in 1492, Vasco da Gama traveled to India in 1498 and Ferdinand Magellan sailed around South America's toe, then across the Pacific and around the world in 1521. All this and not a passport between them!

Meanwhile in 1513, going overland from the east, Balboa sighted the Pacific Ocean from the Isthmus of Darien, now known as Panama. The unknown lands in North America were just off stage, ready to be presented to the waiting world. Because the Spanish felt that Magellan's passage around South America was far too hazardous Herman Cortez struck off across Central America hoping to use a land route. The Aztec Empire was in the way but taking advantage of the dissension he found there Cortez remembered his divide and conquer lessons and managed to have their War Chief, Montezuma, killed. He didn't miss the window of opportunity that was flung open - he began to ship vast quantities of silver and gold home to Spain.

The Aztecs were thousands of years behind Europe and the Orient, somewhat like the culture of pre-dynastic Egypt in development and practiced the cruelest form of human sacrifice. They themselves had been a conquering people as there had been still earlier civilized beginnings before them. Not that the Spaniards took this into consideration, not that they needed the excuse.

Francisco Pizarro, in 1530, did a Cortez rerun with the Incas, when he crossed Panama. He seized the Inca of Peru by treachery and took over his rule. Might is right. It was ever so.

The Spanish advantages of the Mongolian-invented compass and the use of paper whetted their interest in Asian trade, but the people of the Americas blocked the way to get there! Adventurers' stories of courage were ones of cruelty, loot and injustice. It was time for the Franciscans and the Jesuits to enter life's stage, someone had to restore order.

The scent of tar and twine filled the air. The clank of chains echoed through the ship, as it was loaded. Crates of dried food were hoisted up the gangplank while barrels of water were rolled up and lowered into the hold. The lean, dark-haired youth edged closer with fascination of the new smells, sounds. His arm felt the spray, and he leaned over to lick the salt from his wrist. He smiled and took a deep breath of the unfamiliar air. His dreams of adventure would come true. This was the sea. He had reached the sea, and nothing would stop him now.

Suddenly a heavy shove sent him flying to his knees. "Out of the way, girl. They's men working here."

"I'm not a ....."

"Yah, yah, I know," the ragged, dirty fellow laughed at his own joke. The boy stood up, tried not to look at his stinging, bruised palms, as the man asked, "Guess you want to go to sea?"

Afraid that he had been caught, that his run-away attempt had come to a sudden end, it took him a moment to realize that this man was not a priest. Relief gave him courage, so he nodded as he rubbed the blood off on his pant leg. They would never find him if he went sailing away. Freedom was sweet and it was in his hands. Needing no more encouragement, he turned to carry large canvas-wrapped bundles into the hold, rushing to assist when called to give a hand. By the time night came he was so exhausted that he could barely creep in behind some barrels in the hold, and there deep sleep claimed him. The lapping water soothed his fears, eased what the last few weeks had instilled in him. He slept for hours and the new motion of the ship did not reach into his subconscience.

"What have we here?" A heavy boot rolled him over. "A stow-away? Know what we do with them ones?" The rough and scarred face peered at him.

A stow-away! Then they must be at sea! Although the world seemed to be swaying back and forth, the boy scrambled to his feet and stood erect as he said in his deepest voice, "Oh, no. I was hired yesterday. I work on the ship. Remember me ... er ... loading crates?"

"Yesterday. Do you know where we was yesterday?"

Wondering if he had slept more than a day, how long they had been at sea, he mumbled, "I can't remember the n-name." Although he talked funny the man spoke a language he could understand; it would be easier if he could pretend not to understand the questions, as he heard others speaking in languages he didn't know. The man was gesturing to him, and he had no choice but to follow until they reached an old man leaning over the rail.

"What's your name? Who are you? Where are you from?" The questions came too quickly for him to answer. When he said he was Juan, the man snorted and said that they had a few Juans already on board. "Pick another name and get to work". He motioned for them to leave, then in a fleeting thought ordered, "Feed him before he blows away."

Excerpt from Era 12

The lifeline of British Columbia starts as a tiny trickle high above Mount Robson, fed by the Ice-age glaciers still in retreat, and these, the Hooker and the Casemate are some of the last memories of the Great Icefield of 10,000 years ago. But it will not be a sweet gurgling baby of a river for long as it continues its journey along the 12 million year-old fault line, picking up water from sources as large as the Goat, the Stuart and the Nechaco Rivers. Passing through the Cariboo it gains force from the rushing bodies of moving waters of the Quesnel, the Chilko and the Horsefly. Now a river of note, undeniably muddy and demanding, but reaching the Thompson a temporary change with clear green water pushing a path into the opaque Fraser.

A recent arrival on the clock of time is changing the age-old flow. The damming of Carpenter Lake, the railroad building, the polluting pulp mills, the rising water temperature.

Pushing on, gaining more force, encountering logging pollution from its tributaries the Stave and the Pitt, receiving mining sediment from the the Coquitlam, poisoning from industry to the coast. And a final abuse with the growing impermeable surface of paved roads and cement sidewalks.

The 1400 km ruggedly beautiful provider slips into the salt ocean, carries on above the cold water, stirs up nutrients that all water creatures need, continues right across the gulf and washes up on the shores of Vancouver Island. What a magnificent gift the province is receiving from this river!

All this has been on the girl's mind as she stands wind-blown by the flowing waters. She did not notice the group of boys upstream from her, boys playing by a polluted outfall that was spewing foul water from its gaping mouth, the liquid disappearing into the already murky river. Seduced by the smells and sounds of the area the three boys were throwing stones at dead fish floating by.

"I got that one in the belly! Knocked its guts out!"

"I got one, too. Boy are you a lousy shot, Bran!"

"Hey, look at that one. It's still trying to swim," Brandon ignored the crack and pointed with excitement. "No, don't fire at it; give it a chance." But as they watched, the fish slowly turned onto its side and floated away.

"Hey, this is cool! Here come some more. Gawd, look at the size of that one!" They stopped stoning and stood in awe of the floating creature, almost afraid of it.

"Wonder what it is. Sure not a salmon. Chris' it's ugly. Look at that huge head!"

"And pokey little eyes. Mus' be four feet long. Don't look like no fish I seen."

"Five or six feet! Well, there it goes down stream."

"Wonder what killed it. Think I should tell my Dad. There shouldn' be dead ones."

"Gawd no, don't, Bran! I'll get killed if they find out where we've been."

"That's right," Graydon agreed. "We'll all catch it. Keep yer yap shut, Brandon Popove!"

"OK. Guess you're right. I'm in enough trouble anahow. Did I tell you about my bike?" They wandered back to the ball park to join the group there.

But baseball wasn't on Bran's mind, so he continued on past the field, still thinking about the monster fish. He wondered who the person was, the one that was standing downstream a distance from them. Maybe he could tell him, but self preservation was still a priority. Suddenly he turned at the next corner and walked back towards the river. Now he could see it was a young woman and she still gazed motionless across the tumbling grey water. He coughed and asked her, "Have you lost a pet, lady? Or somethin'?"

She turned and shook her head. "No, I think I have lost a whole river."

"With the logic of a boy trying to be helpful he told her. "Well, this is the Fraser River, so you should look somewhere else, maybe." She must be a visitor to the country.

"I'm in the right place, but about 200 years late." The boy looked nervous, and she noticed he was standing on one foot while he dug his other toe into the mud. "I mean, well look at it. Smell it. Would you swim in it?"

"Wouldn't wanna."

"Neither do the fish but they have no choice. Did you see that floating dead sturgeon that something has killed?" Now this was getting close to his subject. "Sturgeon? That humongous ugly monster? That was a sturgeon?" His big brown eyes opened wider.

"What you saw was bloated death. The sturgeon is a beautiful, mysterious fish that holds the secrets of the dinosaurs in its genes." Hopefully, "Then you are going to report it? Someone should stop killing them. Should be stopped."

She looked at the innocent freckled face and felt like crying for all the freckle-faced boys of the future. She turned to walk back towards the street, thinking out loud, "It's not as easy a fix as you might think. It involves the whole global village and the atmosphere above it. A whole rethinking of our way of life." Those freckles usually don't go with brown eyes.

She's not going to tell anyone, just go on with these big words. They stared at each other, each with their private thoughts. She felt uncomfortable, finally spoke, "Do you know how long that species has been around, son?"

"My name's Bran. Since the mammoths and the sabre-tooth?"

"Much, much longer, Bran. Since the age of the dinosaur, back to the Jurassic Age. All boys know about dinasaurs."

"Yea, I know about the Jurassic Age from the movie. How come those fish didn't die when the others did?"

"That's one of its secrets. I'm betting its ability to adapt to change was one reason. It has changed, evolved. It didn't have the bony scutes in those days or its sucking mouth. Some of our coastal green sturgeon are rare in the world, there are only three types that are strictly salt water fish."

"How come you know so much about them? Do you live around here?"

"No, I grew up at Misty Mountain, but I'm doing a report on them. Scientists fear they are becoming extinct, their numbers are down drastically."

"I know where that is. Some of my aunts live there; name's Popove, like mine. One of my great grandparents was an Indian!" He expected to shock her.

That explained the brown eyes. "Seems like half the people in Canada can say that!" They had walked out to the roadway and she said, "Well, here's my car so I'll say 'bye and I've enjoyed talking to you." Her mind kept turning over the name Bran Popove. Brandon Popove was hiding in her memory someplace.

"Neat car you got."

"Thanks, I like it. Is your full name Brandon?"

"Yea, good guess. Well, um, gotta go, but I can't tell anyone about the dead fish, because I'm not supposed to be down here. That's why you haff to."

"I don't suppose you are supposed to talk to strangers, either. My name's Lysette, but they call me Ly. It's not a good habit to start fibbing to your folks, Bran."

"Well I guess it's OK to talk to you, 'cause you're just a girl. And I made a deal with myself that if I didn't tell Dad, I promised not to ever come back here again. Isn't that fair?"

She couldn't answer that one so she smiled and said, "Well, maybe you could talk to your science teacher and tell him to get in touch with a group from SFU who go out and speak to kids like you. Here's the number to call." She found a piece of paper in her pocket and scribbled the number, before she left.

As she drove she felt guilty for correcting him about not telling the truth when she had just told a couple of large ones of her own. It wasn't her car, but why tell him it belonged to her roommate, who was willed it by an aunt, and that her mother left her enough cash so that they could afford to run it. But that wasn't all. The big whopper was that she told him she was working on a report about the sturgeon. Well, the boy made a deal with himself so I guess I can do as well, after all he was concerned enough to approach me, a stranger, a second no-no for the day. She remembered his smile as he waved and trotted away, so she found herself smiling, too. And back at the apartment she started organizing her notes on the sturgeon all over the floor when Lennart arrived.

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Catalogue Information

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