Bobbing for Dragons: A Love Story

by Jason Beil

the forest, and the figure of a tall, dark man leaning on a cane materialized. He looked about slowly, then clapped one hand to his forehead.

  “Oh bollocks!” cried Lupo. “Its Vivian the Wobbly Witch, and her sister Deidre the Enchantress, up to their nonsense again. I’ll put a stop to that.”

  He stalked off into the woods, muttering, “I ask you—would you believe it—two grown women! Animal, vegetable, or mineral. No sense at all.”

  “So where are we going?” Bob asked the old woman. Her boney fingers stretched out toward the thick plumes of grey smoke that wafted into the air.

  “To the great city of Satya,” she replied in a groggy voice that could strip paint from a house. “That is where your journey will begin.”

  “My journey? Please tell me this doesn’t have anything to do with cake or presents.”

  “Cake? Presents? You must have met our resident giant, Harvey.” She laughed. “He has been looking for those presents for years.”

  “So about this journey, what does it entail?”

  The old woman stopped dead in her tracks and stared into the distance.

  “Satya has been at war for many years. At war with my sister.”

  “Your sister?”

  The witch nodded. “Oh, yes. Dear, sweet Vivian has been tormenting us with her magical powers and constant meddling for decades. I am the rightful ruler of Satya, but despite my power I have been unable to drive her away. I need help. Your help. Come on, lets go, no time to waste.”

  Bob followed, his feet making a faint squishing sound in the grass. The fish in his hand weighed—less physically than on his mind. He was so very hungry. Sashimi. He liked sashimi. Raw fish sliced wafer-thin, dipped in a wasabi sauce. Moisture filled the inside of his mouth, and he stared at the fish. He’d have to deal with the scales, but it couldn’t be that difficult…

  “One bite,” the witch’s voice sliced through his thoughts with the precision of a well-sharpened blade, “will be the last bite of anything you will ever take. You fool! That fish is the only weapon you have!”

  Lupo stood on the mountain overlooking the distant city of Satya. He groaned as he saw storm-clouds approaching from the South and the East.

  “Here we go again,” he muttered to himself.

  Selecting a reasonably shaped leaf, he withdrew the wand and said a quiet incantation. Immediately the leaf grew and morphed into a hang-glider. Carefully he prodded and pulled at the various struts, and once satisfied, attached himself to the harness.

  “Not done this in a while!” he grunted as he pushed himself over the face of the cliff.

  Too late, he noticed the circling vulture. All he could do was hope the vulture hadn’t noticed him.

  It hadn’t. Which was great since he didn’t have time to deal with that right now. He looked up and the skies were getting darker and darker with storm clouds. Lightning jagged across the sky ahead of him. Lupo muttered an imprecation under his breath. No time for this at all!

  Weather control had never been one of his stronger powers. He hissed a breath between his teeth. He had to try.

  He drew another breath, deep. Slowly exhaled. And spoke the Words.

  As if in mockery, there was a flash of lightning.

  Damn this weather. Too much for my spells.

  He had meant to go straight to Satya, but in view of the storm, and the vulture, he thought he would go straight to Deidre’s tiny castle. She, at least, had room for a houseguest.

  Bob struggled to keep pace as the witch moved through the trees. Rain was beginning to fall now, and he was getting a bit fed up with carrying the fish.

  “Excuse me, madam? Miss? Erm… lady?” he ventured as he trotted faster to close the distance. “What did you mean by, ‘My path is Floppy?’ ”

  “Well, it’s animal if you want me to be specific. But look at the state of you! There won’t be a great stampede of volunteers when you call in your chosen power, will there? You’ll be lucky to get half a dozen earth-worms!”

  “Thanks for that!” he grated. “And where are we going again?”

  “There!”

  She stopped at the edge of the tree-line and pointed. Ahead of them lay a beautiful silver city, bustling with life.

  All he could think was, There might be restaurants. The witch, or Enchantress, had other ideas though. On the edge of the city there was a structure which looked vaguely familiar. The old women meant to go there without ever entering the city proper at all. As they drew closer, Bob stopped and rubbed his eyes, then ogled the structure in disbelief.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me! Cinderella’s castle from Disneyland!”

  “I know of no one named Disney,” the witch snapped, “and I doubt any such person would own land here! Nor does the castle belong to this… Cinderella…whatever she may be! The castle is one of Deidre’s. We may,” a glowering eye locked on Bob’s face, “may! find allies there. If you can keep your tongue from flapping.”

  And so saying, she strode forward again, so suddenly and quickly, Bob had to scramble to catch up.

  The Wobbly Witch of the South strode with purpose toward the edge of the forest, and a bewildered Sarah hurried to keep up. The dewy grass below her feet squished with each step she took.

  “We shall go at once to my lair,” said the witch. “There I will show you the way to battle. Then we will go to Satya to fight for what’s rightfully mine.”

  “Satya? What’s Satya? And what do you mean, what’s rightfully yours? ”

  “You’ll learn soon enough, my dear,” she replied, walking toward a small rock outcropping.

  As Sara and the Wobbly Witch walked on, the forest opened up to reveal neatly enclosed fields, and the path they followed soon crossed a packed earth and gravel road. Soon, they arrived at the cutest house Sara had ever seen. Surrounded by a white picket fence, it was low and rambling, with flowering vines growing up the sides, and puffs of pink smoke popping up from the chimney.

  “Don’t just stand there blocking the road. Go through the gate!”

  “This is your lair?” Sara gasped.

  “Can’t you read, idiot girl?”

  Sure enough, a neat little brass sign on the gatepost read “LAIR OF VIVIAN, THE WOBBLY WITCH OF THE SOUTH.

  Sara looked at the house more closely and just had to ask, “Are those roof tiles made of gingerbread?”

  Vivian snorted “Of course not, you ninny. Do you know how nasty gingerbread gets in the rain?”

  “Oh.”

  Sara felt her cheeks burn. And just a stirring of the beast within her. When had she let things get so out of control? She was always the one in charge. Hers were the suggestions, the decisions, that others acted upon. And now she was following this Wobbly Witch—this Vivian—like a two-day-old cub tagging after its mother. No more! She would watch, yes, and learn. But as soon as she figured out the rules of this world, whatever and wherever it was, she would take control.

  She glanced at the old woman, careful to keep her newfound disdain from revealing itself. Then she turned, pushed the gate open and strode through. Look out world, whatever kind of world you were. Sara had arrived!

  Back at Bob and Sara’s apartment, one of the gifts began to glow gently orange. Unfortunately, there was no one there to see it, or to do something about it. The glow got brighter and brighter until it was plainly visible through the windows. A small knot of dog walkers and joggers began to form. Finally one of the dog walkers pulled out her cell phone and called the fire department.

  By the time the first fire truck arrived, the entire house was enveloped in a brilliant golden-orange glow. Not fire. Not exactly. No flames licked out of windows or doors. No smoke poured forth. The house just glowed. And within the glow, visible through the windows, there were shadows. Shapes. Not dark shadows, but shadows that glowed almost as brightly as the orange illumination that surrounded and suffused the house. But those shapes! They were vaguely human but disturbingly inhuman all the same. The crowd on the sidewalk stepped b
ack a few paces, all them moving as though gripped with the same uneasy thoughts. Even the firefighters, so quick to spill off the truck and seize their gear, had stopped, staring, uncertain of what to do.

  One of the dog walkers, who had been crouching and whispering to her huge wolf-like dog, scratching both his ears, stood up. She backed right into one of the firemen, or maybe he backed right into her. How ever it happened, she dropped the leash. The dog raced towards the house.

  “Oh, Westie,” she spoke quietly, “be careful.”

  One ear twitched back toward her, and the tail briefly wagged, but the dog didn’t pause until he reached the house and leapt through a window. There was a sudden roaring, mixed with shrill cries of fear and pain. The woman turned, and quietly walked away.

  “Come on!” yelled one of the firemen as he lead his co-workers towards the door. By the time they got there, the glow was gone, and so was the dog. An eight year old boy claimed the dog had turned into a man as he went through the window, but that was just his imagination.

  Or was it? Because out of the corner of his eye, the fireman had seen a man walking around the corner, naked, with a dog’s tail wagging from the base of his spine. He shook his head. The smoke must have been getting to him.

  But this wasn’t really a fire, and there was no smoke. No smoke at all.

  The Enchantress threw the doors wide open, and Bob stepped inside. If he had hoped for opulence and splendor, then the shock to his system must have been huge as he stepped into a