The Witch and the Dragon

Long ago in the small village of Brooksong nestled high up in the snow-covered Enchantment mountains there lived the gentle King Wilmer, his Queen Barbara and Prince Hans and Princess Fleur. The town was known for the beautiful fountain in the town square that was fed by a singing brook that serenaded all as it rippled down from the top of the mountain through the forests and meadows into the town square. And that was not all. The water was also known around the region for its sweet flavor and drew folks from all over this side of the mountain to carry home their weekly supply.

Each morning the town’s folks and those up in the farms surrounding it were awakened by the deep ringing of the big brass bell up in the belfry on top of the tall tower high above the town on the ridge. And as night fell and the first stars appeared in the sky, the sound of the brass bell’s chime brought an end to the day. For the past 100 years ever since the town was rescued from the evil that had enslaved them, the people of the Brooksong had gone about their daily lives happily chatting with their friends and neighbors and dancing and singing in the town square. Rich smells of pies and breads sitting in windows to cool wafted out through the air. The town of Brooksong had a long history of conquering heroes and heroines, of brilliant scholars and talented craftsmen and musicians and poets that went clear back over 100 years ago. Indeed, it was a happy place – a joyful place. People left their doors unlocked and even welcomed strangers into their homes without fear. Neighbors took care of neighbors and families all stayed close. But it was not always that way. Legends passed down over the years told of a vile, foul, wicked witch, who, a century ago, arrived one horrible day on the back of a ferocious beast of a dragon and slaughtered their king right in front of them and then enslaved the town folks. Smelting furnaces were built where active farms once grew fields with abundant grains and corn – enough to feed the people on this side of the mountain. Their goats and cows that once produced the sweetest cream and the eggs their chickens laid were large and rich in flavor were slaughter. The witch and her dragon, terrorized the once vibrant community, killing those who fought back and enslaving the rest who were put to work in the giant brick structures where the iron smelting furnaces burned night and day. Soon the grimy smoke pouring out of the furnace chimneys polluted the air killing most living things. Years went by and hope died with it. And then one day on the holiday of Halloween, a young man with his band of mountaineers came up from the Green valley below and slayed the monster dragon and the evil witch vanished over the mountain and was never heard of since. The conquering hero was Heath of the Green Valley who had come to free his beloved, Molly Ann who had been enslaved. After he felled the dragon and rid the kingdom of the witch and her minions, he became the Hero as the furnaces were torn down, the sky’s were blue again, and peace returned, Heath of the Green Valley was crowned by the grateful villagers as King Heath, a brave and just man. The royal wedding of Heath and Molly Ann went down in history as the beginning of justice, fairness and freedom. King Heath and Queen Molly Ann were said to rule with compassion, fairness, intelligence, strength, and courage, with firm but gentle hands for many prosperous years setting standards that were still in place 100 years later. With their passing, then Princess Grace became a much-loved queen of the realm following in their footsteps. As the years passed, the crown was passed down from royal to royal, each one a version of King Heath of Green Valley to the present day and the gentle King Wilmer and his adored Queen Barbara. They too ruled their kingdom with grace and fairness along with their beautiful daughter, Princess Fleur and their handsome son, Prince Hans, King Wilmer was a responsible ruler who watched over his kingdom with peace and justice.

In the middle of the town’s square, right next to the fountain of the singing brook, after which the village was named, stood a tall statute of King Heath and Queen Molly Ann. The legend of King Heath had been documented in a large leather-bound journal written by Heath himself and was kept safely in the tower. The tower was pure white and stood tall up on the ridge overlooking the town and was surrounded by a beautiful moat filled pink water lilies, tall grasses that waved in the breezes and black and white swans who glided with ease through the crystal blue waters and were fed by folks throwing them corn from the banks. A stone wall enclosed the Tower grounds bordered by a ring of beautiful trees that were filled with songbirds each summer. A narrow path leading from the bridge over the moat down through the woods and out onto the sloping path to the town was always open to all and was bordered by gardens of brilliant flowers. The miracle of the amazing defeat of the evil witch and her vicious dragon by Heath and his band of men was that this farm boy who had never been in a battle or even a fight before challenging the fiercest of dragons and most wicked of witches and had the courage to face annihilation to save his love, Molly Ann. But that’s not all. He also had the genius to strategize the clever and amazing plan of battle, the leadership and trustworthiness to draw a band of country men and women of all ages who themselves were also not warriors, had never even been off of their farms or villages, to join the cause. AND here’s the AMAZING thing about it: They accomplished the victory WITHOUT WEAPONS of war. After all, Heath of the Green Valley was just a young man of 19 when he made that decision to fight the Witch and dragon in order to save his beloved and ultimately all of the folks in the town and on this side of the mountain. He and his band were from simple stock who did not have guns of war but hunted with traps. And they took down a giant beast who had terrorized the people of the mountain and had been doing it for decades! And on that day - the day he brought them down, legend tells that the Enchanted Mountain seemed to come alive as the doors of the furnaces swung open freeing the people inside. The singing brook was released and the water rippling over the rocks sang its song once again as it cascaded down through the mountain villages. Yes, indeed, King Heath was a national hero. His tools of battle were not guns or swords, or bows and arrows for of those he had none to bear. He used what he had and they were the parts and pieces (later renamed “tools”) of simple games that folks from childhood to old age, played in local tournaments and on barn floors, and school yards and in homes after dinner before a fire. That’s right, not a shot was fired. The battles were won solely with guile and courage and physical strength and game tools.

After the coronation of Heath as king and the lovely Molly became his wife and queen, a festival in his honor was created to celebrate the day and it was named The Heath Olympic Games. The games that the champion had used to crush the evil witch and dragon and all of her minions were changed to sporting events and become the sources of competition by athletes in villages all over the mountain for years to come. The festival was held once a year beginning on the 21st of October and running until the final day which landed every year on Halloween to honor the day when Freedom won over Evil. On that first day and for 10 days afterwards the sounds of music and dancing and much merriment filled the air. Sporting events were held all over the town and countryside with medal award ceremonies in the town square in front of the statue of Heath and Molly and the Fountain of the Singing Brook. Participants from the whole mountain region attended and some came who just wanted to take part in the merriment and eat the meat pies and drink the sweet ale made from the fountain’s sweet water. Each year, local brewers tapped their barrels of Brooksong’s Audacious Ale made especially for that event to fill the bellys of those who crowded the town and surrounding mountainside.

As for the sporting events, young and old with their special talents competed in the sporting events of Hopscotch, Jacks, Marbles, Tag, Hide and Seek, Marco Polo, Dancing Kite flying, Capture the Flag and Badminton. First place winners were awarded gold medals, second place, silver, and third place winners were given bronze medallions. On the final day of the game, a banquet was always served on large tables loaded down with scrumptious food brought from far and near, from the kitchens of all those who lived on or near Enchanted Mountain. As the food was being cleared from the tables, everyone filled their mugs and settled back in their seats and got ready for the entertainment to begin. And as the audience quieted down, the curtain went up on a theatrical presentation presented with plain folk from the region playing the parts of Heath and Molly, his band of Warriors and the wicked witch with several playing the part of the dragon. Audiences always stood up and gave a rousing cheer as Heath and his band of men slayed the dragon with the big black shooter marbles, captured the witch and her cast of evil including minions, bats, and the dragon using jump ropes and jacks before walking them off stage to the “dungeons” to spend the rest of their lives as they pleaded for their lives. The curtain came down on a cacophony of loud cheers from the audience and a wonderful bedlam ensued with kegs of Audacious Sweet Ale and trays of cheese pies. The games ended with good cheer and farewells to meet again next year. The champions were paraded around Brooksong and in the neighboring towns all over the mountain for weeks and on every holiday until the next year rolled around and the Heath Olympic Games began once again.

And so it was that time again on Enchanted Mountain in the town of Brooksong. This would be the 100th year for the games and folks of the village had been getting ready for it all year long. They were all ready with flags and flowers and banners of past heroes waving in the October sun. Folks from all over the mountain had been arriving for days with their carts loaded down with wares and most of all their enthusiasm. Vendors lined the cobble stone streets with tasty tidbits and flowers. Musicians played their music on every corner and many kegs of the town’s Audacious Ale were again being tapped. Old friends happily hugged one another as they came back from villages all over the mountains to celebrate after a year apart. Friends and families gathered in the square sitting on the fountain or standing in groups chatting as children played tag games and stray dogs and cats – and even piglets dashed about. All week, small campfires burned on the hillsides surrounding the town on camp sites with the sounds of chatter and laughter and singing under the moonlight.

As the morning sun shone its first light over the mountain and its golden rays of sun burst forth filling the sky with streaks of light and the sounds of birds chirping in flight, the deep ring of the brass bell signaled the opening of the year’s Heath Olympic Games. As its last ring faded over the mountain, King Wilmer, from the Tower belfry, proclaimed “Let the Games Begin!”

And so they did at the start of that beautiful day with excitement for the day ahead. The competition began with the sport of the Jacks event with teams from far and near in their colorful uniforms gathering to warm up with their coaches before their turn to compete came around. Spectators were held back with ropes and banners while some leaned out of open windows or perched high above on the roofs - all leaning in to see the action. If only they had known then …..

The morning went by with athletes vying for first place and crowds cheering for their choices. The sun shown down from a blue sky just as the noon bell called the crowd to the long tables of food as the games paused for lunch. Boasting and banter amid the sound of the singing brook in the center made for a lively and filling respite before the games started for the afternoon. Some took shelter under trees or in the shade of shops and fences to grab quick naps.

But it was not long before they were shocked awake by the rapid ringing of warning from the brass bell on the tower. Instantly a shadow crossed the square and the sound of a shrill murderous was heard. Up and down the narrow, cobbled streets townspeople ran frantically to take cover as darkness fell like a blanket blocking out the sun. Sounds of horses whinnying in panic and the screeching of the black ravens as they dive bombed the innocent victims were heard as pots fell from their holders to roll down the way spilling their contents and making it slick for the runners. And then came the beast, - a massive dragon with large green eyes and slick shiny black scales on a tail that whipped and sliced the air like a knife killing and destroying any and everything in its path. An acrid stench blew like a harsh wind burning the air through the winding streets and pathways, knocking over everything in its way and sitting fire to many thatched roofs and clothes hanging on lines. Those on the ground grabbed their eyes as they were scorched from the heat and began to bump into one another. Those who had found refuge reached out and pulled their fellows inside trying hard to hide. No one made a sound not even the scraping of a foot as they tried to stay still as those of the town feared that their hiding places would be found if they even whispered.

A blood curdling scream sliced through the silence and the crowd looked as a woman pointed at the sky. “THE DRAGON’S GOT EM! And when they looked, they saw the king, queen, prince, and princes dangling from the massive claws of the giant beast. Their golden crowns came crashing to the ground dripping in blood as the beast flapped its mighty wings and sailed overhead higher and higher getting smaller and smaller with the witch leaning forward, head down riding on his back until they disappeared over the rim of the mountain dangling the limp bodies of its victims from the sharp pointed claws of the dragon. A cloud of black ravens followed behind. Their high-pitched squeals could be heard for miles as they disappeared into the distance.

For a moment the crowd stood paralyzed with shock until the voice of a child said in a small voice, “The king is gone!” The crowd gasped and then pandemonium broke loose. A roar went up in the square as the crowd began to scream and cry. A dragon had not been seen or even heard of on these mountains nor a witch for over a century and actually some people began to believe that the story of Heath of the Green Valley as he had come to be called was just a legend and may not even be true. Some had actually gone so far as to joke about the stories of Heath’s journal and the strategies that were the sports competed in at the Heath Olympic Games was said to be only fiction told by old people. The tales of the methods created by the champion and his band of men that were used to beat that monster had become games used in rivalries across the mountain hamlets and villages – not weapons used in battle as legends told. One old man at the edge of the square, banged his stick on the stone statue of the hero until the crowd quieted. It was Isaac Herndon, a man in his 80’s who was known for speaking out with his forceful opinions and for playing lively fiddle music, his love for cherry muffins, and his cat, Silvia.

“I warned you that this would happen,” he said in a loud rough voice tinged with rage as he waved his crooked finger at the crowd.

“ A dragon has not been seen for over a century, we thought they no longer existed.” someone countered.

Another, “We thought those creatures were dead.”

“Or never existed,” grumbled a woman under her breath.

“Who was that creature with the black cape and pointed hat riding on the back of the beast? A boy yelled out.

“That my friends,” croaked the old man, “that was a WITCH, one of the evilest creatures of all. SHE WILL BE BACK I TELL YA, MARK MY WORD! We are sittin ducks for monsters like them what with your trust in everyone that shows up at your doors. Your homes left open at night with nary a lock. Oh no, you say, nobody’s gonna try and hurt us. What about your farms and animals just waiting to be taken. We got no weapons! What we gonna fight em with? And you who derides the history of our past as though it were a bunch of bunk – ya know who ya are. You all best be getting ready because theys a comin back and if yer not ready……well who knows how bad its gonna git. He turned on his crooked stick, jabbing a fist at the crowd. And then as an after-thought, he yelled over his shoulder, “ya better get ready and keep yer loved ones safe. LOCK YOUR DOORS for cryin in a bucket! Do you believe me NOW?”

Voices from the crowds, “WHAT ARE WE GOING TO DO? And “Where did they take the King?” Cries and shouts and then the sounds of the ravens in the distance could be heard coming back. And the crowd began to grab their young ones and run. That’s when they saw the fires. They had fires to put out. Panic ensued. People and animals ran amuck through the cobblestone streets, up and down, knocking down everything in their way. Neighbors formed bucket lines to douse their fires as the shreaks of the ravens seemed to be getting louder. And then weirdly, the sound of the ravens suddenly stopped. Then silence except for the crackle of fires. The flames were reduced to cinders at last and the sound of voices died down. Night fell and the moon was covered by clouds. “The bell! What happened to the bell?” Voices murmured. It was silent.

The town went quiet, and lights went out all over the side of the mountain. But down in the empty square, a youth sat up, rubbing the knot on his head. He had not been fast enough to get out of the way of the mob that ran over him on their way up the streets. Now he tried to stand but his head was whirling, and he fell back against the stone wall that surrounded the square. There was an acrid stench in the air and as his head cleared, he remembered the green eyes of that dragon and the shrill and high-pitched cackle of the creepy rider. What happened to everyone? Was it a dream? He thought. But reality struck him like lightening as he looked around at the equipment from the games that were strewn about on the cobblestones. This had been the day of the Games – THE OLYMPIC GAMES! The statue of Heath stood proudly there in the moonlight. The young man, Eric thought back to the stories that his father had told to him at night while tucking him into bed. They were great stories taken from tales of long ago – each one more exciting than the next. Each night, he begged for more stories of Heath of the Green Valley and his dad’s voice would tell of a young man who came out of the forest with his band of men and conquered the dragon, the witch and all of the evil minions who had held the mountain hostage for centuries making all who lived there, prisoners and slaves. The mountain was called Black Mountain back then because of the toxic smoke filled with oily grime that saturated the air. He had come to save a maiden without weapons but killed the dragon and imprisoned the rest with only a bag of game pieces and a quick mind and abundant courage. Is it happening again? Eric, shouldered his knapsack, wiped the blood off of his forehead with his sleeve and started up the cobblestones towards home. In the darkness, he stumbed over the Olympic flag that was burned from the dragon’s breath and was crumpled on the ground. He stooped to pick it up and saw that it was still smoldering and as he shook it, it started him thinking. How are we going to survive? He asked himself. And right then, the clouds uncovered the moon that cast the shadow of Heath himself across Eric’s path. He stepped back in surprise, tripped and sat down with a thump right on the fountain’s edge. A voice in his head whispered, ““It worked before, it will work again.”

“…but how?” he asked. And then he knew. In the darkness, he began to search for and gather up the sporting equipment that was scattered about the square - some broken, some torn, all blown far and wide. There were balls, cans, marbles, kites, stones, whistles, hurdles, flags and nets. And as he worked, out of the shadow his friends started silently inching back into the square under the moonlight. And one by one, they started gathering up the game tools until one of them asked, “What are we doing BB?” (His friends had called him Brain Boy since they were children).

“We’re going to save the town and everyone in it AND every single person on this mountain. I don’t know how. I just know that we need these tools. I don’t know why. I’m thinking on it.” And so they all started searching out the sporting tools. When they couldn’t find another tool, they packed them in their bags, threw the bags over their shoulders and tiredly headed for home. Eric joined the pack home. Just then, Gladys, his friend since childhood sidled up to him and whispered, “You’re going to use Heaths attack plans, right BB?”

Eric, “Maybe. I don’t know.” (How did she guess? he thought).

Gladys, “If so, you’re going to need his journal, right?”

Eric. “Oh RIGHT! I forgot about it.

Gladys, “it’s got his plans in it.

Eric, “But where is it? How do we get it? Where is it? In the tower, right?’

Gladys. “Let’s go!”

Eric, “Now?” They turned and looked at each other. “Right we better get there before the Witch does.”

Making a sharp turn, Eric whispered to the rest, “We’re going up to the Tower and see if we can find Heath’s journal with all his battle plans in it.” He gave Gladys a look since she was the one who thought about it and now, he was taking credit for it. She gave him a raised eyebrow. The whole group raised arms in a salute – some chest beating. And off they went towards the Tower. It was a short distance out of town, through a narrow woods and up a steep trail to the ridge. But all things seemed possible in that moment with the clouds passing over the moon giving off its magical light, the gang of friends ready to rebel and the idea of fighting back seemed a possibility. But as they drew near to the bridge over the moat, they began to hear the swans screeching out in distress and then the stench that began to fill the air and a sobbing sound from the top of the Tower and they all pushed back into the night and huddled in fear. They knew then that they were too late. The tower had already been overtaken by the witch! Somewhere near would be the monster dragon and all thoughts were to run. And so, they did. Through the woods, down the slope and into town and each to their own homes they ran with the reality of their fate setting in.

Morning brought the dismal sight of wreckage and the rancid smell of something else – was it death? People began to creep out of their homes and gather in their yards and streets to talk about what to do. Bands of villagers formed to save the king and queen but this was soon crushed when they heard that the witch and the dragon and their evil minions had already returned and had taken over the tower. In years past, in order to guarantee safety for all, all weapons, were kept inside the tower after an accidental shooting took place, with the ruling that they could be checked out at any time when needed. Those were the times of trust in humanity and community and neighbors helping neighbors. Keeping your guns, swords, and knives locked up where they were easily accessed in the tower that was open for all was reasonable. But life, as they knew it, was about to change and not for the good.

The happy town of Brooksong was no longer happy. There was no singing in the square or delicious smells of pies baking in the ovens. The canarys that could always be heard singing their sweet morning songs as they swung from golden cages in the open windows of the cottages were shut tight within. The fountain went dry, and the bell fell silent.

It wasn’t long before the Witch brought starvation by ordering the minions to build giant smelting furnaces. Darkness fell over the land from the toxic smoke from their chimneys. Old man Herndon eerie prediction was coming true. It was a repeat of a century past. The water of the singing brook’ was, once again dammed up and diverted to be used to cool the smelters. And without it, the musical sound it had always made as it rippled down the mountain and into the town for the past century was now silent. Without water the gardens died, the ponds dried up killing the fish and wildlife, and the small trickle of water that they were able to collect was rationed out in small tin cups brought from home. Out in the fields the grapes died on their vines, and without sunlight, the meadows and pastures followed, starving the cattle, sheep, goats and horses and every living thing. The smelting furnaces with their constant ear-piercing whine that spat out blackened grime into the sky poisoned all living things all for the sake of greed. Folks who tried to escape by every means possible, were caught and fed to the alligators that now lived in the once beautiful moat where swans had swum before. Worst of all, hope began to die on the day that the last light of the sun was eventually blocked out by the blackened air. Outsiders from other mountains were kept out by a ditch around the mountain base and barriers appeared on all roads and pathways leading up with signs that read, “No Outsiders Allowed on Our Mountain”. Those in the valleys beyond read the signs and stayed back with fear. But they knew in their hearts that if Enchanted Mountain could be destroyed then inch by inch the evil would creep closer and closer to them. Proof of this was the smoke-darkened horizon over the mountain that seemed to be getting nearer. Evil had returned and it was coming their way.

But hope was still strong for a studious young man trying to figure out how Heath had used game parts to fight a monster as big as the dragon - Eric, the boy with the idea had not given up hope. Oh no. Each day, he, along with his family and everyone else in the valley took their meager lunches of boiled turnups or soaked oats and trudged out to the brick silos with their smelting furnaces and worked all day on their feet carrying heavy loads of coal and rock. They were often beaten if they even stopped for a moment in pain and beaten if they fell back and beaten if they complained. They learned not to cry out because that brought unspeakable torture. At the setting of the sun each night, the gates were raised at the edge of the brick silos, and the workers were released to struggle down the mountain paths to their homes - some in town, while others on their farms. Winter, spring, and summer and in all kinds of weather with bone crushing pain throughout their bodies and blistered hands and feet, they would eat the small potato or boiled meat or whatever food they could find only to fall into bed to have nightmares of dragons and monsters. But Eric, with his mind busy trying out ideas before casting them aside, had trouble sleeping. Finally, he would drop off right before morning. It was the same every night. He would lie awake in his bed with his mind tunneling into ways to come up with a plan for redemption. And the only answer that returned night after night after other ideas bloomed and then faded, was finding the Journal of Heath of the Green Valley. How did he get past the snake pits hidden in the woods? How did he use marbles to slay a dragon? How did he get close to the dragon without being slaughtered? And on and on.

Sometimes during the day in the furnace room, he would catch a glimpse of one of his old pals from the past and occasionally, he would even catch their eye and give a nod. Many times, they didn’t nod back, and he knew why. They were afraid and it came that finally Eric stopped raising his eyes as well after one hard beating. That night as his mother rubbed a tincture of rosemary on his wounds, she took his face into her hands, and said, “My son, be smart and do not make a nuisance of yourself or you will come to ill. Do ya hear me?” And then she bent down closer and whispered softly in his ear, “But, my darling son, never ever give up.”

“Aggie!” A gruff voice from the other room from his dad. “He’s gonna get killed listening to that!” His dad was starting to give up, Eric thought. Dad hardly spoke at all but only stared blankly each night as they ate their scraps of food, not like he used to. His dad had always been his hero. He had taught him how to fix the roof and anything else that needed fixing. He took him everywhere with him, spent hours teaching him the game of marbles and telling him stories about Heath of the Green Valley every night when he tucked his son in bed. But now, he hardly ever met his eye or spoke to him at all.

Afterall, Ralph had always been a hard-working and decent man who had taken pride in his family, his work, his neighbors, and his town. He was a leader in his community, one where he had grown up and knew everybody. And he took that responsibility seriously. He had never ever thought that all of that could be destroyed by one evil witch or a dragon. She had surrounded herself with minions and a mighty dragon by fear, he was sure or the dragon had surrounded himself….. It didn’t matter, neither one cared about them except for what they could do for them to fulfill their greed and obsessive need for power. Thoughts filled his head of times gone by when life was good and cares were few. Now as he sat there looking out of the window of his home, a home that he had built with his own hands with the help of friends and neighbors, he felt defeated. No grass grew anymore, the fence had fallen down, and no flowers grew or birds sang. He thought to himself, “All of that work to build a life and raise a family and it only took one moment in time for evil to block the sun destroy this land and crush our fair and just leader, King Wilmer and Queen Barbara and their children, the prince and princess to change the world we live in. And now what am I, he thought, but a broken soul who couldn’t save anything?

That night Eric kept thinking about what his mother had said to him as well as the picture of his father sitting with his shoulders slumped as he sat in his chair staring out of the window at nothingness. He knew, he would do whatever it took to take back their village and their freedom no matter what.

Eric’s wounds healed but the memory of the beating did not. They only increased his determination. One day, a woman with a dirt-crusted grimy rag covering part of her face, bumped him catching him off balance. And when she did, she pressed a wad of coal sludge into his hand. She looked up and right into his eyes with a quick knowing glance and dashed off down the tunnel. He started to look down and realized that it must be a message and rolled it tight and put it down his shirt. All day he had trouble keeping his mind on his work wondering if the wad he could feel next to his chest was actually anything important or not. But he knew he had to wait until he could not be caught before checking it out. Hurrying across the fields towards home despite his painful body, he finally reached the door to home and dashed inside to the privacy of his small room. Only then did he pull the wad apart and find the note inside.

It read:

BB, “danger” And the rest of words were rubbed out by the coal dust.

The next day Eric scanned the workers searching for the woman in the scarf who had passed him the note but the day went by without a sign. And the next. And the next. Then one day a scuffle in the tunnel brought pushing and shoving and Eric took a punch that sent him sprawling. Stars swam before his eyes and then a familiar voice in a low whisper in his ear, “do you? Have a plan?” It was Gladys who was hardly recognizable with her face covered with coal dust.

He was just barely able to answer back “We gotta get the journal,” he answered before everyone scattered and the minions and their bats came pounding through the dark.

The village paid dearly for this as once again, the shrieks of the ravens filled the air. The sun that barely shown through the coal dust went even blacker with the shadow of the green-eyed dragon who, once again, attacked the village in retaliation. Out in the countryside people and chickens and one goat were snatched by the dragon and carried off to the tower. One of the victims was Abe, one of the pals who was in the group that night they all went to the tower to find the journal only to discover that it was too late. And it so happened that while the dragon whipped and turned as he circled to land inside the gate, carrying his victims in his claws, that Abe was able to pull himself out of its grasp and fell hard onto a bed of corn cobs. He was a nimble gymnast and a fast runner who had come in second in the Tag races in the last Olympic games. In a split second he leaped up and dashed around the tower and courtyard searching for an escape when he was able to find an opening in the stone wall and started down a winding stone stairway into the bowels of the tower. He stealthily stepped down each stone step, listening for any sound forward and around each curve in the stairway. And then he stopped as he heard the sound of heavy grunting and voices. Grasping a hold on a bolt that happened to be sticking out of the stone, he slid to an abrupt stop just as he made eye contact with a giant MINION! He stumbled back against the steps, got his bearings, turned and raced back up the winding stairway passing the outside doorway where groups of minions out in the courtyard appeared to be searching – probably for him – and then continued up towards the top. As he leaped from one stone step to the next, a loud roar blasted at the foot of the stairs rocked all the torches that lit the walls, and the fiery breath of the dragon blew up the corridor like a hurricane. He felt the fire burn his shirt that now hung loose and felt his back get scorched. He reeled in pain, but as he grabbed at the wall to steady himself and to his amazement, he fell through a narrow slit in the wall and landed on a stone floor into a small room. He laid there on the cool stone floor for a second gasping for air. But hearing voices out on the stairway, he scrambled onto his feet into the darkness. And as he did, he bumped into objects knocking them to the floor. One of the objects was a brass name plate that he slipped on, and he stooped and picked it up. As his eyes became accustomed to the darkness and his vision cleared, he saw that it was a name plate that read: The Journal of King Heath of the Valley had fallen out of a glass cabinet that he bumped in the dark. He felt around in the darkness until he touched a glass door standing ajar from a trophy cabinet and when he felt around inside, nothing was on that shelf but a pile of velvet where the journal had been. A stream of light from an opening high above in the ceiling shown down and as his eyes became accustomed to the dark, he could see that it was a trophy cabinet and there were some shelves that reached to the ceiling all filled with awards given at the Heath Olympic Games. His attention was instantly turned to the sound of pounding of outside the room that was getting louder as the minions got closer and closer the stairway on their quest to find him. He froze as the minions kept storming by on their way to the top. And he began searching for a way to escape. He couldn’t go back out on the stairway because there were certainly more of the minions in the courtyard. And then he heard the sound of boots pounding as the minions were coming back down the stairway chanting something. The closer they came, the clearer it was, “KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM” Franticly, he darted about searching for a hiding place – the only thing in the room was the trophy case. TROPHY CASE! He was an athlete, a medalist every year in the Olympics ever since he was a small boy! He grabbed the highest shelf he could reach, pulled himself up, stood on the shelf, grabbed the next shelf, pulled himself up and on until he reached the opening in the top of the pointed ceiling. He swung his legs up through the hole using his strong muscular legs that had won him many medals and found himself on the roof of the tower right over the belfry. But upon scanning the tower roof, he could see that there was no stairway. The tower was too tall for him to jump – it went through the clouds at times. There was no way down. He looked down at the courtyard and the gate where the gateman stood who was now looking up at the tower. He was trapped. When the minions came back up the stairway he would be caught and tortured or fed to the alligators and he knew it. And then he heard the roar of the dragon and the stomping steps of the minions and he knew his life was over…..unless… And then he saw it, a rope was hanging out of one of the open louvers of the belfry and it seemed to be tied to an iron hook. Why hadn’t he seen it before? He thought, I gotta get down to that rope. Could he swing himself down to the same corn stalk heap where he had landed in the first place? His thoughts raced. They were getting closer and closer. He yanked off his clothes and began tearing them in strips which wasn’t hard as ragged as they were. First, he tore his trousers into strips and tied the pieces together and then his shirt and lastly, the rope he used for a belt. Quickly he tied them together, hung one end on a chimney bolt and ignoring the warning in his head, he dropped over the side down to the ledge, stood for a split second with his feet on the bell ledge just as the pant rope tore and broke and he reached down and grabbed the rope. He started to fall over the side but steadied himself and put his arm through the medal ring in the rope and pushed off of the wall and started to swing. He tried to look down and find the pile of corn stalks in the dark but all he could see was the moonlight on the cobblestone courtyard, the gate, and the wall surrounding the moat. The minions were now in the belfry grunting and they had found him. As they started pulling the rope up, he gave one push from the wall, swung out away from the wall and dropped to the ground. He landed with a hard thump on something soft but before he could get to his feet, strong hands yanked him up by his arm and he found himself looking into the mask of the gatekeeper. He froze, his heart beating out of chest, his breath coming hard, he started to black out. Stories had been told that those who tried to enter the tower through the gate were thrown by the Gatekeeper into the moat to be eaten by the alligators. The gatekeeper shook him hard and his mind cleared up enough to try to pull away. But the tight grasp of the man was too strong, and he couldn’t get away. He was grabbed by his arm and drAg behind the gatekeeper, his legs and torso feeling the sharp rocks tearing at his skin. At the hidden iron door leading to the banks of the moat, he was yanked through the moat gate and towards the edge of the stone edge. He could hear the water and the rancid smell of animal dung. Just as his boots touched the water, the gatekeeper shoved him to the right under the bridge where the water of the moat seemed to narrow. And as he looked, he could see that flat stones could be seen sticking of the water.

“RUN!” was all he heard, and he was off. He could already hear the water churning as the alligators came sliding towards him, their golden eyes gleeful as he ran and leaped from stone to stone until he got to the other side all the while feeling the presence of the open jaws of the alligators. He vaulted onto the slippery bank and clawed his way up and over the stone wall, hit the ground running and ran as though his life depended on it (which it did), down the path through the woods and out in the clearing down the mountain slope and into the streets of Brooksong and home. He was greeted with words of shock and joy as his family hugged him covering him with kisses. Their son had literally returned from the dead because the last time they had seen him he had been dangling from the claws of the vicious dragon. He tried to answer all of their questions through tears and hugs and then more tears and hugs.

As he fell asleep that night in his bed in the corner of his home, a memory floated by of the last thing he had heard as he darted through the shadows was the Gate Keeper’s deep voice saying to the squealy voice of the witch, “No. It was a rat.” That voice lingered in his brain.

On his morning hike across the pastures towards the smelting furnace, shortly after the last dragon attack, Eric was handed a small ball of bread by a thin girl in a ragged coat that hung to the ground. “Thanks,” he said with meaning. Nobody gave away food these days as they were all starving. But when he bit into it, he realized that this wasn’t ordinary bread. Tucked Inside was a tiny slip of paper. It read simply, “Z.” That was the name they all called an old broken-down chicken coop that the gang had used as their “club house” since way back in childhood. It was originally named Zander’s Den after one of the crew’s grandfather, Lloyd Zander, who owned the land it sat on. But as time went by, the name became just Z. The pals had all started meeting there when they were youngsters in school and had continued as they grew up together. Even now, as young people, the pebble passed from one of them to another with a Z scratched in it always meant to meet at the shed on that night. He slipped out of the house through his bedroom window and crept silently as a ghost through the shadows at the edge of town into the fields and pathways until he arrived as the moon rose over the mountain to shine through the smokey haze. The small shack, Z’s Den could barely be seen through the smoky air except for a thin stream of smoke curling out of the chimney on the slanted roof.

Eric’s heart began thumping in anticipation the closer he got to the place. And he felt it leap almost out of his chest as he embraced them - his lifelong friends, Gladys, Abe, Grendal, Rosealee, Avery, Jane, Burt, and Will. Hand slaps and shoulder hugs all around as they pulled him in close in the small space to huddle around a small stove with a few thin branches burning. Then everyone spoke at once telling their stories of loved ones who had been kidnapped by the dragon and horror stories of famine and loss since they had last seen one another. Tears were spilled both in happiness as they told their stories with friends and despair as they recounted their efforts for survival. The chatter came to a peak and then stopped short and everyone looked at Eric as if to say. “Do something. We’re going to die if you don’t.”

And what could he tell them? he thought. That he had a plan but he didn’t know how to make it happen?” He started to say something but stumbled over his words.

And then Gladys stepped in and said, “BB, Abe’s got something to tell.”

“Tell him Abe” the others urged.

“I will I will, just give me a chance!” And they all sat back with every eye focused on Abe.

He got to the point. “Listen BB, the journal isn’t in the tower.”

Eric: “WHAT? WHERE IS IT?” Then, “What makes you think that? Who told you?”

And then Abe told of his adventure in the tower, seeing the cabinet where it had been kept, his gymnastics to escape from the minion, the rope with the ring that seemed to magically appear, and the weirdness of the gatekeeper shoving him towards the stones in the water and telling him to run. They all clapped. The story got better with the telling.

Eric: “ That journal is everything! WHO STOLE THE JOURNAL?” We have weapons but how do we use them! We are dying – starving! This can’t go on. We gotta get that journal! “I don’t know what we’re goin to do without it.”

“I do kind of remember a story that it was stolen or something.” Gladys added.

Eric: “Who has it? Without it, we are lost.” He slumped into his jacket.

Gladys: “WAIT! The old man will know. You know….Isacc? Isaac Herndon. He was the man who said that nobody listened to him about keeping safe that day. Remember?” Everyone looked at her with doubt. “ At least, he might know where to start looking?”

And then everyone started talking at once. Some wanted to gather a crowd and attack the tower but Grendle reminded them that some of their own members of their families had already tried and were fed to the alligators. Eric reminded them that they had the tools but didn’t know how to use them as weapons. Abe added, “And believe me, THEY HAVE a dragon and there’s an army of them what with minions and bats and ravens and that witch who kills everything with her screech AND only 10 of us. We don’t stand a chance right now.”

It was getting late when they all agreed that Gladys’ plan to find the old man and see if he could help them was the best for now. All of them were wearing out plus they were filled with fear – both for being caught out at night and for banking on finding an old man who didn’t seem to like anybody. And just then the fire in the grate went out.

“How shall we know when to get together to plan?” Jane asked.

“Yeah, how?” they all chimed in.

Eric, “I think the bread idea was too risky and looked what happened.”

Gladys, “Let’s do this. When Eric and I want to call a meeting we will pass a rock to….someone we each see more than others just like we’ve always done. I’ll pass mine to Grendle.”

Eric, “Abe, I see you on the mountain sometimes in the morning. I’ll pass it to you.” Abe nodded and the rest of the gang made plans with one another about passing the rock.

“Whenever you get one, you know we are meeting that night in Z.” Everyone nodded in agreement and shuffled out of the door towards home.

Eric whispered to Gladys, “We gotta start now before something else happens.”

“Or we starve,” someone whispered who heard him. And so they all started back into town taking their own routes for safety. Gladys and Eric volunteered to try and find Isaac Herndon. Bidding everyone farewell, they wound their way around the darkened town among the broken pots and fallen limbs until they found their way on a rutted path with a broken sign that read Herndons. They crept along the path until they rounded a curve and there back amid an overgrowth of trees and bushes sat a small cottage with broken windows and peeling paint. “This must be it.” Eric whispered. They both crept up to the window making as little sound as they could on the dried branches and rocky earth as it was late and the moon was on its way down, long past bedtime. But through the smoke covered window by the door, they could just see the flicker of a small fire burning in a stove with the figure of a person sitting before it hunched over. And so they tapped on the door.

They could hear the shuffling of feet and an old man cracked open the door and a voice croaked out a whisper, “Who’s there?”

And Eric whispered. I am Eric Sharp and this is Gladys Wren. We’ve come to ask you a question.

“Who did you say you were?”

“I’m Ginny and Ralph Sharp’s son, Eric. And this here is Gl…”

“You say you are the Sharp’s boy? Ya gotta question?” he asked.

“About the journal – Heath’s journal.” Both Eric and Gladys spoke at the same time a little louder this time.

“Ohhhh the journal……I see…..step closer and let me take a look at you. You say you want to know about Heath’s journal young man? Who sent you here?” And he looked Eric up and down. “What makes you think that I know about it? “Why do ya want it?” The old man looked at them warily with eyes squinted and eyebrows pushed together.

“Can we come inside?” Both stood shivering in the frigid mountain air in their thin, ragged jackets.

The door cracked open just wide enough for them to slip inside.

It was roasting hot in the small dark room and dark shadows danced around the edges lingering in the corners.

“We just wanta see if it can tell us how to save the town from the dragon, Mr.Herndon, you know, like HE did. We thought you might know where it is.” This was from Eric as he tried to make the old man understand.

“We heard….you….that day the dragon took….. We’re sorry we bothered you. We’ll go.” Gladys spit out her words as she started backing up towards the door. “Thanks anyway,” as she stumbled backwards over a chair nearly falling.

“Sit down and let me hear what you have to say,” said the old man in a louder voice while lighting his pipe.”

Both spoke at once, sometimes over each other unraveling their story starting with the day the Witch and his dragon attacked their town and how they had a gang of friends and all of them wanted to try and kill the dragon or, at least, get rid of him…and the witch, just as Heath of the Green Valley had done in the stories they heard. The two took turns telling the story in their way - thinking that if they could read Heath’s journal, they could do what he did – “you know, use the game tools and…..”

The old man nodded his head. “I see,” he said, while studying both of them with smoke slowly curling out of his pipe. “And so, now you want to get your hands on his journal,…..hmmm?”

Eric cut in and told him that one of their group, Abe, had been inside the tower after the dragon dropped him there. “But he got away and found a room with a case, you know a shelf, that had a sign that said “journal” but it was GONE!”

“Someone must have taken it,” Gladys chimed in sadly. “Some guys in my line at the smelter were missing last week and one bloke said that they had all tried to storm the tower through the woods but there are snake pits and the others fell into them and couldn’t get out.” There was screaming that night – everybody heard it. We did. I mean, my family did.”

The old man looked from Eric to Gladys and back again. And then he said in his crackling voice, “So you want to come up with a plan to crush the witch, the dragon and all of the evil minions the same way that Heath did but …..looking from one to the other, “you need the journal to tell ya how to do it.” More of a statement than a question. Both nodded. “And you think the two of you can do it on your own?” But before they could tell him about the others, he raised his voice above a whisper and barked in a throaty grunt, “Come back in one week when the moon is dark. Make sure you aren’t followed. Ya hear me? No sooner than just about an hour or so after the closing bell and if it suits me, I will tell you a story. Now GO!” And he jabbed his finger towards the door of the cottage.

Startled, they both jumped at the bark and then fell over each other trying to reach the door, all the way nodding and squeaking out, “ Yeah yeah we will we will.”

“And BRING VITTELS or the door will stay locked, ya hear?” he called out in a loud whisper.

They scrambled over the rocky path as they dodged through trees limbs and large rocks and by the time they came out where the path started, they were both out of breath.

“Story? He’s going to tell us a story?” Eric grumped.

“He KNOWS something BrainBoy!”

“Oh.”

And they parted ways and hurried through the roads on the edge of Brooksong to the safety of their homes. Eric had more trouble sleeping that night.

In the next week, time crept by. More stories came down of others who had tried to escape and failed, of the gate keeper and the alligators but now screams and sobbing could be heard at times coming from the tower. The sound was terrifying.

And then came the night a week later when they were told to come back and the two met at the crossroads and headed for the cottage. They both were full of curiosity as they walked in silence hoping that their food offerings would meet his demands and wondering what they were going to find out on that night if anything. The door cracked open at their approach and Mr. Herndon’s eyes could be seen peering at them from the darkness. He snatched the food out of their hands and once again, ushered them into his small cottage where a fire was burning in the stove.

As he settled back in his chair, puffing on his pipe with smoke curling around his head, he began his story.

“Back in the days about a hundred years ago, the Enchanted Mountain was pretty much like it used to be here except for there was a witch who brought bad spells once in a while to villages and towns up and down. Those stories are all true. The spells didn’t always work and the villagers took to laughing at her especially when they’d had a long night if ya knows what I mean.” And he gave his listeners a look. “Nobody thought nothin bout it until one day here she came riding a giant purple dragon over the ridge and it swooped down and took a villager and his donkey and they were never seen again. From that day on, the story goes that the witch brought her dragon to feast on the town folks and the farmers with their livestock. Yup. They got ate. And it weren’t long the village of Brooksong back then was turned into a death camp, I tell ya, with minions marching on the ground and bats and ravens patrolling the sky. It got purty bad. My grandpappy heard it from his grandpappy and he heard if from his. So he tole my dad and he tole to me. Those folks – all of em were all captured and made to work like slaves in iron smelters that sprang up in the hills. Ya can still the places in the earth where they were. Nothing grows there. And those who tried to escape were thrown in the dungeons or fed to the alligators just like now. I’m telllin ya, that witch and her dragon must be some relation of the other one. The skies were dark – it was always dark as pitch just like the middle of the night. No sun. Sound familiar?” Both youths nodded. “This went on for years – maybe 50, may a hundred, I don’t know.” He paused and wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve. Reaching behind him, he pulled out a large leather book and opened the cover.

“What? Is that the the….”

“Cover?” Gladys finished Eric’s question.

“Hold on and ya’ll learn. One day, a young guy from way down in Green Valley at the base of this mountain who was leaving home to find a new life, lost his way and took the wrong fork in the road by mistake, yes he did. And instead of going to the big town, he headed up to our mountain and got lost. That night he slept in the woods on a bed of pine needles to get some rest and get his bearings. It seems that as the morning sun crossed his face, he heard the faint crowing of a rooster. He was thinking that some friendly farm wife might give him breakfast, so grabbed his gear and headed that way. The sky was lookin dark in the distance as though a storm was coming when he came to a small rundown shack with a single cow rummaging for a blade of grass and a few chickens by the broke down door. Looking around, he saw that things weren’t good there. It looked like they were starvin to death at that farm. That’s right. That’s when he saw for the first time since he had took that wrong fork in the road last evening, that what he thought was a storm a comin was not a storm at all but smoke in the sky.” And here ole Isaac stopped and ate the last of his meat pie that Erik’s mom had sent. “You see, dontcha,” he said, “he was walkin right into danger and it changed his life forever!”

“Keep going!” they both urged. “Don’t stop!”

So he settled back into his blankets, tapped the ashes out of his pipe and reloaded it with his thumb and continued. “He asked the farmer for something to eat and said he would help him that day for food. Well and as it turned out, for several days thereafter because as the story goes, the farmer had a beautiful daughter Molly Ann, you see, and the young man was smitten. As a fact, he stayed all that winter helping out at the small farm and they got to talkin’ bout what was goin on and that’s when he heard the stories of the monster dragon and the witch who the ones who were causing the skys to darken and the trees and grass to turn brown and die. Thats was the talk around the fire at night after they et that that boy, who were Heath of the Green Valley, just sos you know, found out all about it. That shack had barely missed being run over cause the borders of the kingdom wuz just a few miles up the mountain. That hadn’t stopped the poison from the smoke – no! And no water or sunshine, no corn! That farmer had lost justa bout everything but he was too scared to leave and so they just kept trying to scratch out a livin. But starvation was poundin at the door just like it is here right now – we are all goin starve if somthin don’t come about. That spring when the seeds that were planted in the fall didn’t come up, Heath says he knew what he had to do and he better do it quick. He thought he could go back down to Green Valley and get some vittels from the folks there and bring them back up to hold em over until he could talk the farmer to leave his place. But he was young. He didn’t know. He did go back down the road he came up on headin to his home in the valley. The family probably didn’t think he would return – all except Molly Ann. Maybe she did,” he added.

It was getting late but Eric and Gladys begged him to go on with the tale. “Well he traveled back down the road to his valley home to see if he could find a way to help them and of course, his people were happy to see their long lost son had returned but it didn’t take long for them to rally around collecting food for him to take back. They had all heard the stories about Black Mountain (that’s what it was called back then) – oh they knew all about it. They knowed they were outta their boundaries, but they could see it getting closer towards their village.

They loaded him down with goods, and he went back up the mountain again to the farmer’splace. As he came over that hill where that old farm had been sitting, well sir nuthin, I mean nuthin, not a goldurn thing was there but ashes and oh and he did find a small piece of Molly Ann’s apron. That boy, Heath just sat down on the dirt and scratched his head and that’s when he heard the sound em. Yes the farmer and his family were still alive and hidin in the woods in a cave. He started lookin and he saw them down in that cave. Some of them was hurt real bad but they made it - Oh but Molly Ann she wus gone. Heath he was purty tore up about it. They told him that after he left to go back down to the valley that the witch ridin that nasty dragon had flew down and started a grabbin the little ones as they all ran towards the woods. They said that Molly Ann began grabbing them and throwing them to the ground as she herself was swinging from one of those claws – just like the dragon now. She was able to git loose and she dropped nearly 20 feet to the ground. That girl, she pulled up her skirts and ran after them tryin to get to the woods but she was not fast enough. That made that dragon so mad that he blew fire and roared so loud that it knocked down trees burned down the shack, killed the cow, the rooster and all of the chickens and then it chased her down and the last they saw of her was her legs kicking as she fought for her life as they disappeared through the smoke. Nothing was left. She was pretty brave for a girl, I’m sayin,” He blew out some smoke.

“Hrumph” from Gladys. “She saved her brothers and sisters from a certain death and gave her life for them!”

“Keep talking,” Eric said to Isaac while trying to change the subject.

“Well, he took them down to Green Valley where they was tended to. He got all of the towns folks together to get their stories about the witch that they had heard and that’s how it all started.

“Is it real?” from Eric.

“Can we see it” from Gladys.

Well….., said the old man as he relit his pipe and took a bite out of his meat pie complements of Eric’s grandmother.

“Oh it’s real all right. He wrote it hisself with an eagle quill. He took and hid it in case he was kilt in battle. It was lost for many years because the house where he wrote it had blown away in a storm taking it with it. But after generations had gone by it was found by a hunter lodged in a cave and he had a idee that it was something special so he brought back and kept it in a safe place and passed down through the generations.”

And that’s where the old man stopped speaking and looked up. Eric and Gladys had both become mesmerized by the gravely voice of the old man and lost in the story of Heath of the Valley. They started at the moment and then Gladys asked, “How do you know this story so well?”

The old man eyes sparkled in the firelight, “You asked me what happened to The Heath Journal?”

They both nodded.

“Well you see, the people who found the journal and locked it in the tower to keep it safe were the Herndons.”

Eric shook his head thinking and then “So they were….”

“YOUR PEOPLE!” shouted Gladys.

“That’s right. My people found the journal and locked it in the tower for safekeeping. And I am the one who took it out….for safe keeping.” And a slow smile covered his face.

“But how did you do it?”

“Oh I got it right after that witch and her dragon flew off with King Wilmer and the rest. I knowed it was comin cuz I heard rumors that that dragon had been seen circlin round on the other side of the mountain. Nobody would listen to me but I wusn’t taking no chances. I got this feeling and he tapped his old head and I had been planning on takin it back. I barely made it….and I almost got caught but ya gotta be quick if yer gonna catch ole Isaac!” And with that he leaned back against his chair, folded his gnarled hands over his bony chest, and threw back his head in a cackle.

“May we look at it?”

“Tell ya what youngins, bring back some of that meat pie and we’ll look at it together. BUT ya can’t tell NOBODY, understand? NOBODY!”

“NO NO,” Glady pushed back. “Right BB?”

“I swear…not a word,” he said as he pushed his finger across his lips as if to zip them shut.

And so the plans to save the people of the village and for that matter, the whole mountain began to seem real that night. The next week, Eric and Gladys sat in wonder as Isaac, tenderly opened the pages of the large, leather journal, and carefully turned the yellowed pages with Heath’s handwriting in black ink on each page.

The spirit of Heath, the long ago warrior could be felt that night as they marveled at the cleverness of using game pieces to fight a battle. They peered at the pages written in script on yellowed parchment. They could see diagrams of the forests and cliffs and pathways surrounding the kingdom as well as maps of the kingdom itself were right there, artfully drawn on the pages.

After watching the two young people reading with amazement, their faces aglow in the firelight, asking pertinent questions and becoming more and more eager to get started, ole Isaac knew that they had the grit, the smarts, and the courage to fight the good fight. Night after night, Eric and Gladys spent inside that little place reading and planning by firelight and finally when they had turned to the last page, they saw Heath’s message to his beloved, Molly Ann who had been captured by the monster dragon and imprisoned in a dungeon.

It read: My beloved Molly Ann I leave this day to battle the beast that took you from me. I will always carry you always in my heart, my love until the end of time. Heath

The two sat there in silence but just for a moment when it was broken by Isaac holding a small wooden box with a brass nail and leather strap. “And now my friends, I have saved the best for last – specially for you, my boy. He released the leather strap from the nail and carefully opened the box. Inside were two large black marbles resting on a pillow of goose down. They shimmered in the firelight and as the box was tilted, they clicked as the large orbs rolled against each other. Eric could not believe his eyes. The game of marbles was his sport and right here before him were the famous black shooters of legend that had slayed the dragon 100 years ago.

Eric was the first to reach out to touch them but the old man pulled the box out of reach. “Hold on son,” he said. But before he could speak, Gladys jumped in, “Those are the shooters! They are the ones that Heath used to bring down the dragon! It says so in the journal!” There they were in all of their glory shining in the firelight like a spark as if waiting to be used in battle once again.

Eric could see now that the plans that Heath had made had taken months to plan and if they were going to have a chance of following in his footsteps it would take more than just reading the journal but preparing physically and mentally all the while in secret. Once or twice a week, after the long hard days at the furnace, Eric would strike out for home, ideas swimming in his head. There, he would peel off his grimy clothes and leave them to soak all night in the bucket until they were put on again. Next, he would rub himself down with a rag, put on one of his worn shirts and trousers and head to Isaac’s small cottage. The two of them would pour over the ledger one page at a time, line by line writing and talking them through. The old man would explain the ideas on the page as they were written over a century ago and the language was sometimes hard for Eric to understand. Isaac had been reading this journal over and over again since he took it from the tower and he almost knew it by heart. Before dawn Eric would take his notes and head back to his small room at home and slide them in the crack in the wall above the window. On days that he did not go to Isacs, he would study his scribblings all night by candlelight formulating his plan over and over and writing notes in his own ledger. Gladys joined the two men at times to add her ideas to the plan that was taking shape. All winter they worked but that was not all. Both Eric and Gladys did strenuous workouts building their strength and agility. Eric worked and re-worked his strategies until at last his plan was ready but he would need a band of able and skilled warriors atheletes.

At the first breath of spring, once again Eric and Gladys called a secret meeting in the Z for all their friends. As all of the members of the group gathered around in the little shed waiting for Eric and Gladys to begin, Abe spoke up and said, “We need a name.” That’s when they became known as the BB’s Army. Each one had arrived with their bag of game tools instructed that they had first gathered that night in the square. They dumped them out onto the floor of the shed and spread them out across the dirt for everyone to see. There were: Marbles including shooters, boulders, bonkers, mashers, poppers, smashers, dobbers and bumboozers and small flat stones, burnt stick markers for Hopscotch, six-pronged sharpened iron jacks and small balls for the game of Jacks, and sheets of thin cloth, long sticks and bolts of twine to make their dancing kites and to weave the netting from the game of badminton. This was followed by rolls of wool or cotton and thick sticks to make the flags for the sport of Capture the Flag. And names were listed of the fastest runners and strongest jumpers in the area who were medal winners at the last Heath Olympics in the sport of tag/kick the can and Hopscotch. These made up their weapons of war.

During that first meeting there in the Z shed, Eric and Gladys took turns explaining their plans for them to take back with them to their homes so they would be ready to fight fo freedom from the witch, the dragon, ravens, bats, and minions. They used Heath of the Green Valley’s own words in warning of the dangers and explained their plans to follow Heath’s journal basic structure. When they were finished, time was spent answering all of their group’s questions and there were many. And then they all swore their allegiance to the team and took an oath of secrecy.

The Warrior Athletes right then began divide into teams into their own sports according to their own expertise. A leadership council was formed with Eric and Gladys as co-leaders and the rest of the group were designated team leaders. Abe, because of his athleticism as a medalist in both long jump and hurdles, was made the leader of Hopscotch.

Jane, a gold medalist in the Game of Jacks, was made the leader because of her excellent ability to concentrate, her good timing and excellent coordination as well as dexterity and as rapid response.

Grendle because of his height and upper body strength was made the Leader of Bad Minton, a game that required a good grip, powerful fore and backhands, quick and accurate footwork, as well the ability to strategize and most of all the ability to be patient.

Will, became the Leader of the Dancing Kites, a sport that he earned a bronze medal in due to his running speed and endurance as well as the ability to gauge the wind and maneuver the proper angles for the kite to fly whether in strong gales or in light breezes.

Burt became the leader of the paint crew. As an artist, he had always worked on the Olympics banners and award design but also was an artist skilled in drawing animals which would prove to be pivotal in the coming battle. Rosealee, a seamstress, headed up the Team Uniform Gladys the project manager over all teams and lastly, Eric the Leader.

Although Eric was the one they had all counted on throughout their lives not only as a friend but because of his genius at almost everything – thus the name Brain Boy, he also had amazing athletic ability. Isaac had recognized from the games. He was the undefeated 3-time champion in the 3rd level in the Heath Olympic Games in the game of MARBLES! He could knock a mib out of the ring of any size up to 10 feet in diameter with his high powered and accurate aim of his shooter, a white marble that his parents had given him on his 5th birthday. He became adept at target practice, knocking bottles off stumps as a mere boy. He went on to win championships all over the village always carrying them in his pocket for practice. At 10 years old, he became the youngest competitor in The Heath Olympics, and he had reached Level 3 before his 15th birthday. But his lifelong dream was to reach the ultimate Level 5 and take the medal for shooting over 20 feet to hit marble target out of the ring, a feat that, so far, had not been accomplished though many had tried. Eric was their hope of bringing down the monster just like Heath had done so long ago in his battle with the dragon. And he had been practicing hard day and night since the day the Witch and the Dragon had attacked their village.

Gladys called order to the team, and all gathered around that night to hear the plan. She told them of the journal and how the ole man Herndon had agreed to be their consultant. He was, she said, the keeper of the journal and all attack strategies would be done in his cottage. She described how the three of them, Isaac Herndon, Eric, and herself had worked all winter studying each line of Heath’s writing in order to get a clear idea of the attack strategies and she described them as verrrrry complicated but extremely detailed. BUT, she added, “they are Extremely dangerous. She paused and looked out at her friends as they sat the in the darkness. “Think hard about whether or not you want to risk your lives in this battle because it won’t be easy and some of us might not make it. Make your decision of whether you want to do this or not by the next meeting.”

Eric stepped up then and in his precise way, laid out their first, second, and third steps: “1. We have to get stronger. You cannot be a weakling. 2. Pass the word to those you trust. We need everybody to make this work whether in battle or behind the lines. 3. Bring those who want to join us one week from today in the gully. And he raised a 3-fingered salute with his thumb extended. “WE BEGIN OUR FIGHT FOR FREEDOM NOW!” A murmur of voices cheering throughout the team as they all punched their hands in the air.

All week throughout the village and spread out to the folks on the farms, the word was spread and on the night of the new moon large crowds of folks gathered in the deep gully under the branches by Z. The darkness provided by the smoke-filled air was a cover for those made their way in silence towards the meeting.

Although some who were there thought they knew what it was about, still they were taken aback when Eric appeared at the front and a small bonfire was lit. No longer was he the boy that they had all known. Not at all. Under his baggy clothing, he had become a well-muscled warrior who was out for revenge and he spoke in the voice of a man who knew what he was about and what he expected of those who joined his band. Brain boy had become Brain Man. It was not a mission for those who would back down, he told them as he stood before the fire, flames reflecting in his face, his dark brown eyes glowing with the fierceness of someone who was angry and determined. Some of them began to drift back to their homes as they realized that they would not be brave enough to be of help. But the ones who stayed, did so because they were not only mesmerized by his words of reason pointing out that the evil that had taken over Brooksong. It was getting even stronger and spreading now, not just in the hills but it soon would be crushing their town and along with it their homes as new smelting furnaces were built where the village had been. He warned them that this may be their last chance of fighting back. Gladys joined him in describing the work that had already been done in making plans from Heath’s journal. This included taking a secret stance, using clever ideas, quietly and stealthily conquering the enemy with guile and strength. Others in the team spoke up urging the newcomers to find others in their town and those surrounding ones to fight for freedom. Emboldened by the confidence of the gang, the villagers and country folk who were there began to open up with their own stories.

One man told of traps in the woods that surrounded the tower that were made of deep pits full of snakes. Some had lost loved ones who had fallen in them and were killed by the snakes. The once white tower was now blackened by soot and where once the big brass bell woke the villagers each morning and chimed at twilight was replaced by screams and sobs of those who were held captive. People had tried throughout the year to breakdown the massive wooden doors, but it was guarded by the gatekeeper who warned all that if they entered the tower courtyard, they would be fed to the alligators. There were rumors that villagers who complained would be used as alligator food. All those who spoke, spoke in whispers as though they could be heard by the Witch.

The leaders all began to pick their team members, and each group immediately rounded up to get organized and make plans. After that night, secret meetings took place all over the mountain as the volunteers who soon became known as Brain Boys Band (BBB) worked out their plans and trained to build up their strength. And all summer more and more people joining the team of BB’s Armys reduced to just “BB.” And as Halloween drew nearer, games were played in their most difficult form, tests of coordination and balance and quick thinking were given and that Eric had created originally for himself during the dark winter night. After one of these trainings under the cover of darkness, the crowd dispersed, Eric heard his name and turned and was surprised to see his dad standing in the circle.

His voice carried across the space between them with the sound of confidence and resolve for the first time in a long time, “I am proud of you my son. You are going to be a great leader. I want to join your team!” And from that day on, things were different between them.

And so, the final preparations began. Villagers met in groups to build large badminton nets that were strong and yet light-weight and made to roll up around tree branches that were cut to fit. The creation of battle attire was the work being done in the cellars of the homes of members of the members of the Team Uniform. Garments made from old and tattered clothing or other coverings that had been or were now being coated with coaldust brought home in their pant cuffs or shoes along with bits of coal from the smelting furnaces. All who joined the regiments of the attack team would be camouflaged with this attire as they moved in for the surprise attack. Rosealee, the Team Uniform Leader, aware of the fact that lives of the troops depended on their ability to remain unseen by the superpower of the eyes of the dragon. She was, not only very particular about the workmanship of her team but demanded that the garments were made to fit each warrior athlete. Burt and his team of artists painted their kites with pictures of the animals that were the favorite foods of dragons and stacked them in sheds throughout the hills and dales, in coal callers and barn lofts to be retrieved on the eve of Halloween. Team Jacks’ athletes brought duffle bags filled with super balls, skin wax and the special large metal jacks with them and practiced on every type of surface, to be ready to place them just right when their time came. Target shooting, reload speed rebound was the work of the Team Marble athletes who could be heard practicing tirelessly. Distance shooters would shoot from the tower. Sharpshooters who were skilled shooting from shortrange would hold their positions on the ground. Fast runners and expert climbers from all the teams were needed in every category. Their strength and agility were key. At night in clearings and in homes and even caves, energy was at a peak and groups worked in a flurry of activity while during the day it was as though nothing was afoot as all went about their work in sober silence as before.

During these months, meetings were held on nights of the new moon when the sky was at its darkest in old man Isaac’s cottage. Strategies were unveiled, ideas as well as problems were presented. And every member of the team studied the maps in Heath’s Journal showing details that included

the lay of the land including the location of the snake pits in the woods, the narrowed places in the water of the moat, the door hidden in the wall that surround the moat – the one that the gatekeeper had drug Abe through and Yes, Heath had studied all of these by himself alone and the notes in the journal told of passing through the woods and falling into a snake pit that he was barely able to escape and scaling walls to entering the tower court to observing the daily lives of those inside while staying unseen and coming close to being caught on several occasion. And his description of his preparations was all there in detail in his own handwriting.

Abe also had drawn a map. His was of the layout of the tower with its hidden room and shelf to the top and the tower stairways. dungeons and secret passageways. Since he had firsthand knowledge of those things and also of the moat, its depth, and the rock pathway under the bridge with its stepping stones across the water. After studying the journal and maps, some of the volunteers took their place in the front lines with confidence. Others stepped back to take their places in the 2nd or 3rd lines to serve as reinforcement troops.

The beatings at the smelt furnace silos continued and as the days went by became more intense with villagers being carried off to the tower by the dragon almost daily. Their screams from the tower could be heard into the night and the troops became more frightened and some pushed Eric to attack sooner but he held fast, always saying, “We aren’t ready.” And so they worked even harder.. No longer did they miss a meeting or a workout or even a test, because the darkness in the air felt more and more like death. Breathing became harder and eyesight dimmer. But Eric ramped up his coaching in pushing all the teams to do better and be stronger with Gladys as the offensive coordinator. Team leaders zeroed in closer to their athlete’s skills, correcting mistakes and cheering their successes to keep up their morale. And every athlete, despite their difficulties drove harder towards excellence in competition with their mates. As the time grew nearer to the day of Halloween, each team began to pick the best of their best. Those who would become leaders in battle on the team Jacks had to prove their cognitive and motor skills by determining the angle of the throw to give themselves enough time to collect the correct and place the jacks. Those who were members of the Team Hopscotch competed in coordination, hopping and jumping for distance and balance with the ability to control and direct their body movements while navigating the obstacles. Team Kites athletes showed their expertise in positioning their kite by controlling the bar according to the wind direction, thrust, lift, and drag specifically. Team Bad Minton athletes competed for gauging power in controlling their serves and returns. For the battle, the warriors with the most strength would control the nets. The ability to escape capture by dodging, side-stepping, pivoting, gauging distance, and noticing slight movements were the skills of the Team Tag athletes. And Team Capture the Flag required adaptability to every circumstance, physical prowess in speed and agility and teamwork.

The teams of Art and Uniforms were in their own category and members worked independently in their homes as fast and as accurately as they could as the day of attack was coming.

Each team was finally ready with their strategies in place directly from Heath’s Ledger through Eric, Gladys, and Isacc to their team leaders and they were faunching at the bit to put everything into action. Why? Because the village was now being systematically crushed by the minions. In the past few days, the minions in their leather uniforms had begun tramping down the narrow path that ran through the woods each morning right after daybreak. They barked “Kill, Kill, Kill” as they marched from the tower to the town in squadrons while the Witch screeched her orders in that high pitched, shrill screech from her position on the back of the dragon. The burly minions with their chains dangling from their leather armor crushed everything that got in their way with their heavy spiked clubs. With each building that fell they shouted their victory call. Villagers ran screaming from their homes at the sounds of the killers on the rampage. The air was filled with ash from the scorching breath of the dragon as sections of the town burned. And overhead the cackle of the evil Witch as she screeched in pleasure at their pain and terror brought and even strong resolution in the hearts of all of BB’s Armies to fight back and win.

It was here! Halloween Eve had arrived. Throngs of warriors and warrior athletes from up and down the mountain began arriving during that night just as Heath and his band had done a century ago. The night had turned frosty and each man and woman in camouflage were carrying their bags of game weapons, found their appointed places around the edge of the woods and huddled together for warmth. More and more silently arrived to join the rest through the dark and spooky night. And the night wore on. By dawn legions of them were there waiting for the signal. It was eerily silent – not a sound could be heard not even a snap of a twig. The woods, devoid of all creatures stood like dead sentries. Nothing stirred and nothing could be seen. With their coal dusted cloaks and coverings, carefully sewn by candlelight in farmhouses and villages for months now had become invisible. And the Team Uniform had done their work well. For all that huddled that night by the forest had become invisible from above. Not a single breath of air from those many warrior athletes could be heard as Halloween morning began in a haze with the rising of the sun as it peaked over the mountain and shone through the smoky air. And then, just as the first spark of light appeared, the sound of the minions coming through the woods on the path shook the earth with their every step and still the legions of BB’s armies were silent. Waiting. Waiting.

As the dragon flew overhead carrying the Witch on his neck, the troops prepared to advance waiting for their leader to give the signal that they had been waiting for. But still they waited. The screeching of the witch grew more and more faint as she got further away towards Brooksong. The two leaders with Isaac had worked out this plan all through the spring, summer, and fall building and rebuilding the timing for the attack. When the minions began their destruction of the town of Brooksong, the timing of their attack jumped to a new level of possibility. With the evil forces out of the way, their warriors would be more able to advance through the woods and enter the tower gates to set up their battle plans before the witch and her dragon became aware that the towns folks had secretly vacated and the town was now empty. The sound of the minions shouting their first victory of annihilation in Brooksong faintly carried through the morning air and Eric stepped in front of his throng and in a voice of redemption, shouted “Freedom” to those near and in the next second, the signal was passed down the line and around the circle of warriors like lightening and the first line of Team Hopscotch was mobilized. Charging through the forest, hopping over barriers, dodging trees and stumps, they had not trouble. Their pathways had already been put into place by the athletic runners of Team Tag who had been entering the forest for months using the detailed maps made by Heath’s to find and verify where all the snake pits were although they couldn’t tag them for fear of being found out, they were able to hide long branches among the fallen trees and leaves. Now Team Hopscotch quickly covered the ground through the forest to each snake pit to create barriers. They were followed closely by nimble and strong flag carriers of Team Capture the Flag. The strongest jumpers of Team Hopscotch would hop over the large pits planting the flags on all sides so that the following teams would not fall into the pits. Team Capture the Flags athletes passed them the flags and then stood guard until all was covered and then one athlete from each squad remained by the pits waiting for the next signal while the rest advanced. When all the pits were marked by these two teams, the athletes ran around them to the tower side of the woods took their places around the outside wall of the tower. Behind them came Team Tag minutes later, the largest team of all infiltrating the woods tagging one another with long strands of ropes made up of various materials by Team Badminton who were expert in making netting as well. The ropes were made as navigation elements as they were placed from all of the ports of entry around the edge of the woods through the trees and around the snake pits and out the other side by the moat. The following teams used the ropes to get straight through the woods in record time without falling into the pits by advancing hand over hand along each rope. All the warriors dropped bits of coal that they had secretly brought home for the smelting furnaces all of those many months. The path through the woods that had once been open to everyone and bounded by gardens of beautiful flower beds was now blocked and heavily guarded by minions and bats overhead with their vampire teeth dive bombed those who stepped foot that day. The minions and bats, busy destroying the town had left unguarded. Team Jacks moved in a flash filling the woods bordering the path to toss their sharpened metals jacks into the grooves in the dirt made by the minion’s leather boots. They waited for their enemies to return hunkering down in the ditches.

Meanwhile Team Kites with their loads on their backs followed by Team Badminton carrying long nets and rackets sprinted through the woods along the ropes, missing the pits, and positioning themselves out of sight behind the others outside the wall.

And last came the sharp shooters and ammunition soldiers of Team Marbles. The massive crowds of warrior athletes moved aside and made room as the sharpshooter went to the front of the lines. The sun was up and the troops waited again for the signal. “Freedom!” The word rang out from Eric and just like before the word shot around the waiting troops like lightening. Instantly, the most skilled hopscotchers leaped over the moat followed by others using the long poles to vault. The fastest runners lead by Abe went over the wall and ran down the slope to the narrow place under the bridges in the moat. One by one they dodged the hungry alligators as they jumped from rock to rock to the other side and up the high banks. Without Abe’s maps, they would have been caught and devoured by the alligators, but Abe knew right where to go and he held the door open as they all poured through and out into the courtyard. The gate keeper had fled at the onrush and the crowds of athletes then stormed the gate shoving it wide open allowing the multitude of enraged warrior athletes to enter and take up positions at the ready. As the Team Marble and their sharpshooters spread out, Team Kite split off into teams covering both inside the tower walls while others were positioned around the far side of the moat behind the wall out of sight. The runners aiding those who needed help while the Team Hopscotchers remained by the moat to rescue anyone who might be thrown into the water during battle. At the sound of “Marco Polo” the long poles were instantly jabbed into the churning water while the Hopscotchers leaped to rescue them as needed. The Shooters quickly took their places inside the tower windows and those on the ground, found niches and piles of hay and corn to take aim out of sight and began loading their shooters between their strong shooter fingers. Lastly, while everyone stood in place, the ground crew of Team Marbles emptied their bags. The clicking sound of thousands of marbles being tossed across the walkways throughout the courtyard could be heard as all took the warriors took their places and waited. It had only taken minutes for those maneuvers to be accomplished even seconds by all those who had suffered torture and heartbreak at the violence if the0 vile and evil Witch and her dragon, minions, bats, and ravens. But it had taken months and months of planning of preparation to get to this moment and they were ready to fight for their freedom.

A bone chilling screech echoed from over the town of Brooksong and they all knew what was coming. The Witch had seen that the town was empty of inhabitants and now she saw what was happening at the tower and she was violently enraged and ready to kill. The mighty roar of the giant dragon shook the ground and blew the branches off the trees as he circled high in the air, twisted and turned and then shot back towards the tower with murder glowing out of his fierce yellow eyes. Over the din of the dragon came the sounds of the screeching of the witch and the pounding feet of the minions.

The long-awaited battle was about to begin. And on they came – the minions storming up the slopes toward the path where the warriors of Team Jacks awaited. The witch frantically clinging to his neck as the dragon blasted his fire down on the backs of the minions as the witch screeched “FASTER FASTER FASTER YOU MORONS!” They burst out onto the path and as the they began to fall on top of the jacks, the next squad ran over the first and the next and howls of pain filled the air. The large, sharpened metal jacks placed by Team Jacks had impaled their feet through their leather boots and their bodies as they fell to the ground. The bats began to dive bomb the warriors who were out through the trees. But members of Team Jacks knocked them out of the air with their super balls, that they then caught in the air and fired at them again and again. Bats began crashing into other bats as well as the minions on the ground. Havoc and confusion ensued as they all came under attack. The squadrons of minions who were following them and could see what was happening to their comrades before them began running into the woods to escape. As they scattered through the woods, the Team Capture the Flag shouted “Freedom” and all of those guarding the snake pits lit their torches and dropped them into the pits that were now lined, not only with snakes but with the coal from the furnaces. Suddenly the woods became a ring of fire. With a thundering scream and a might roar the dragon flew straight up into the sky high above.

Back on the tower court, the minions who were left behind to guard the tower begin to rush out from their covers onto the courtyard only to find themselves slipping on marbles and crashing to the cobblestones. As they tried to right themselves, they found themselves being bombarded by hard marbles of all sizes being shot from all angles by the sharpshooters. They threw their clubs down and covered their faces while the warrior athletes snatched their clubs, disarming them as they kept trying to get up and continued to fall. With the woods on fire and the tower filled with troops of warrior athletes, the cheers of FREEDOM filled the air. But the battle had not been won yet and the worst was yet to come. From on high the dragon came back fire blasting out between his fangs and with his claws stretched out for the capture. A high-pitched evil cackle from the Witch and the dragon flew through the air above circling and peering down as if to pick his prey. And then suddenly he dove straight down close enough for the strike and to his shock, he was suddenly bombarded with marbles shot with force and accuracy by the shooters both from those on the ground and from those in the tower. As he tried to dodge the incoming forces, he whipped his tail and the witch was nearly whipped off of his neck. The brass bell began ringing from the top of the tower with hearty rings as Gladys swung the rope. The dragon with his evil green eyes whipped around slicing through the air with his massive wings and shot straight up landing on the top of the tower eyeing BB’s armies below with rage as he roared shooting flames. Twisting his large face down over the side, he eyed Gladys and Eric as they stood within the belfy. As he opened his jaws wide and flared his long nose to blow fire into the belfry, Eric leaned out, took aim and shot the beast first in one nostril and then in the other in rapid succession with the large black shooter marbles left by Heath. Instantly the airways of the dragon were blocked. He tried to blow fire but Instead of the fire blowing out of the dragon’s mouth, it was sucked in as the monster tried to breathe. The dragon was fast losing air as he was being scorched by his own flames. The giant beast gave out a bellow and violently twisted and turned in the air. The witch was almost knocked off of his neck once again and she dangled with one hand gripping his scales and clung to her broom with the other. In this jerking of the dragon, one of the black marbles dropped out of his nose and as he breathed in the air, the dragon started to right himself somewhat. Gladys rang the bell again and Eric in a strong voice shouted “FREEDOM!” And that’s when all of the many members of Team Kite released their dancing kites. The large brightly colored kites filled the air flying and dancing high overhead around the moat and throughout the inside of the tower wall. On their brightly colored surfaces were pictures of sheep, pigs, goats, squirrels, rabbits, foxes, cows, and horses dancing in the wind. The dragon, in his panic, shot straight towards the kites that he saw as juicy morsels. He twisted and turned trying to catch them, as the wind and the athletes below caused them to dance and dodge out of range entangling the fighting beast in the kite strings. As he began to falter, the cheers went up on the far side of the moat on the wall that surrounded the tower. “Freedom, Freedom, Freedom….” At the sound of their voices, the dragon tore away from the air above the courtyard and dove straight across the courtyard towards the larger kites, dragging the kite strings behind him. The witch, who by this time, was pleading in a softer voice, “NO NO.” But the dragon was on longer listening to her as he dive-bombed straight towards the kites on the far side of the moat. And as he flew over the wall, Team Badminton raised their long and sturdy nets high overhead in front of the kites. He slowed down for the kill and flew right into the netting. Then Team Badminton with all of their mighty fore and back hands, pulled the nets tight and when they did, the dragon became trapped. The booming roar that came from his throat, rocked the towns and villages up and down the hills and dales breaking out windows and knocking over windmills all over the mountain as he twisted and struggled. And then there was a moment when the ferocious beast with his evil green eyes seemed to pause in the air and glare at all those warriors below before he plummeted down down down into the murky water of the moat. Just before he hit the water and into the hungry mouths of the vicious alligators, he gave one final blast of fire that ignited the witch’s broom as she tried to make her escape flying up and away towards the hills. And then she was gone. The last that they saw of the witch was a trail of smoke as she disappeared on her broom into the distance. She was never to be seen again.

As all stopped in their places waiting for the word with sweat rolling down their bodies in the autumn air and fatigue beginning to set in, came the loud sound of the metal can being kicked and the voice of Abe as he shouted, “Olli Olli outs in FREE!”

The flag carriers by the water, began to cheer WE WON WE WON! THE WICKET WITCH AND HER DRAGON ARE DEAD!

The brass bell began to ring as cheers went up all over the tower and courtyard and then the countryside and then the giant doors of the big black brick buildings with their smelting furnaces were flung open and workers ran out into the air waving their hands and the people on the whole mountain cried out “Freedom” and everyone shouted with joy and hug everyone around them.

As the cheers began to fade, someone shouted, “Get the gatekeeper!!” And when they turned, the gatekeeper began limping toward the crowd from where he had been hiding.

“Careful, he’s got a weapon,” someone yelled. The Gatekeeper threw down his club and reached up to remove his helmet with its face guard. The face on the man inside was not what they expected. Instead of fierce rage, it was one of JOY – and they all stood in shock.

A voice spoke out in the silence. “It is the KING! Older and withered but still the same bright eyes that now twinkled with tears. He put his hand out to stop the crowd as they advanced on him, some in anger but all in shock.

And then he spoke, and they knew that it was truly him, King Wilmer.

“It is me my friends, your king.” The metal armor was fit for a giant, but the man inside had shrunk to merely skin and bones. In a soft voice, he explained, “I have been kept prisoner inside this heavy armor all of these long years and warned if I tried to escape, my queen and the prince and princess would be fed to the alligators. Each night, I have to swear my allegiance to the Witch or the gates to the moat will be opened in their cell and they will be food for the alligators. PLEASE, I beg of you, they are, right this minute being held in that dungeon below the tower and the minions will raise the gate at the setting of the sun. RUN! RUN! PLEASE!”

They all stopped and turned. Abe stepped up and shouted, “I know where it is. FOLLOW ME!” Their game tool weapons were dropped to the ground as they raced after him around the tower, hopping over marbles, and down the steep steps. The king tried to follow but he was too weak to carry the heavy armor that he still wore. Grendle and Rosealee ran to him just as the sun sunk below the mountain. A boom was heard from down below as the gate was being raised in the dungeon immediately after, sobbing was heard. All those waiting up above turned to one another in question:

“ Did they get there too late to save them?”

The king sunk to the ground holding his face in his hands And then around the tower they came bearing three weak and scrawny people all in rags – a woman who in spite of her boniness, held herself erect with grace. The prince and princess in tatters as thin as skeletons were being held up by the villagers. Tears streamed down the faces of everyone in the fortress. There were cries, but not of sorrow but indeed, cries of happiness. For the king and queen, princess and prince were saved.

The minions that had been found hidng in the stairways leading to the dungeon were caught trying to escape and led back to the dungeons in the cells that they had once guarded, to wait for justice. They would be dealt with later and although they had brought their murderous terror to destroy all life on the mountain, justice for them would be done in a fair and humane way. But that’s another story. Folks came in to help as the moon shone through the smoky fog as it had done for the past years. The crowd rejoiced. Hugs and back slapping all around. Cheers went up as Eric and Gladys leaned out of the belfry where they had been ringing the brass bell once again after years of silence. Some nursed their wounds, some tended to the King and Queen and when, at last, all began to leave, they walked over the bridge once again and down the path with freedom to start their work to begin to rebuild what had been destroyed by evil and greed to be replaced by love and goodwill.

The days and weeks that followed were ones of recovery and renewal. The dam that had been made to divert the water of the Singing Brook to the furnace silos was brought down allowing the water to once again flow downstream. It’s melodic sound was the sound of happiness as the empty fields and orchards that had stood barren were nourished once again. Life in the fields would start anew. Once the furnaces with their black smoke were torn down the sky became blue again and the songbirds slowly returned and the ponds became filled with ducks and geese.

A belated Halloween dinner as it had always been on the last day of the Heath Olympics was held in the grand ballroom in the tower. Tables were loaded down with food and ale brought in from the folks on other mountains. When Eric and Gladys and their warrior athletes brought down evil and saved the village of Brooksong and the folks on their mountain, they were saving all people on all mountains. Evil was conquered for now but it would return someday and when it did, they would be ready.

At the dinner, King Wilmer and his family, told of their imprisonment inside the tower. It seemed that after they were captured by the witch and her dragon on that fateful first day of the Heath Olympic Games, taken to a cave far away in Drizzlewood. They were told that the town of Brooksong would be burned to the ground if the king didn’t tell the witch where the their gold was hidden. Although they tried to convince the witch that the priceless “gold” of their kingdom was not a metal but that of freedom and human rights which included caring for their neighbors and living with trust and justice. But the Witch laughed her evil cackle later that very night they brought them back to the tower and the dungeons under the tower. King Wilmer described how he was able to negotiate the lives of his family by agreeing to stand guard at the gate and to kill all who tried to enter. “I made a false promise because, in all time, I never killed a soul,” he said. “I only bragged about killing those who had entered the gates to save them and my family from getting fed to the alligators. On the times that he was away from the gate and imprisoned in the dungeons, those who tried to enter the gates were fed to the alligators.” A gasp went through the crowd. Queen Barbara was next to speak, and she told of the day that the prince figured out how to pick the lock on their dungeon door. She begged him not to leave the dungeon for she thought he would be killed, But the prince, fearing that they would be starved, learned the timing of the guards and despite his mother’s warnings slipped out at night to steal food. As time went by, the princess got brave enough to join him on his nightly missions and on one of those night they had climbed out to search for food and they were there in the tower belfry on the night that Abe escaped. They barely escaped the minions. “It was Princess Fleur who put the rope outside the opening by the belfry for you to swing on, added Hans. I notified dad with our signal - an owl call _ and he waited at the bottom for you. We wanted to come with you but we were afraid to leave mom and dad behind.”

“And besides,” Princes said, “You broke the rope!” The crowd laughed. It seemed funny now.

All of the Team Leaders were called to the front to be honored for their bravery and success in their battle. They were all given medals that looked suspiciously like the Heath Olympic game silver and bronze medals. Silver medals were awarded to the group leaders and bronze medals to everyone else as they were actually all conquering heroes and heroines for keeping their silence, painting and sewing and carrying home coal and the list goes on. The coveted Gold Medals were awarded to Eric, the one who had the idea and the brains to figure out the plan, the courage to put it into action, the leadership to take a bunch of regular folks and encourage them to risk their live for the cause of freedom AND for shooting the dragon right square in the snout from 20 feet away causing it to falter and eventually come down! The crowd began chanting “BB BB BB BB!” To Gladys for her suggestion of finding the journal (yes, she finally got credit), the courage to stay the course in spite of the danger, her skills as one who could inspire hope and determination in others, and her courage in re-starting their effort after they were scared off that first night at the tower as well as for organizing all of the secret meetings. “And for putting up with them,” she said, pointing to Eric and Isaac.” All laughed. All stood to give them a standing ovation that lasted until they were asked to stop. But the Award of Excellence was award to Isaac Herndon for his courage in standing up to his friends and neighbors when they wouldn’t listen to him, for providing his sage advice that kept them on track, the use of his home, in spite of the danger of being caught and tortured. But most of all for bravely risking his life to enter the tower that night and steal back the journal. All stood and cheered. He stood there in front with his hands clasped in front and his head bowed. A single tear slipped down his face.

HALLOWEEN, a holiday to be remembered forever in the little town of Brooksong and all across the Enchanted Mountain, as the day that two courageous heroes, a century apart, would challenge a monstrous witch and dragon and legions of evil and win with only regular folks, their passion for freedom and the games played by people everywhere.

“Fairy tales are

more than true:

not because they

tell us that

dragons exist,

but because they

tell us that

dragons can be

beaten.”

Neil Gaiman