The Game of Willow Gate

         “Where's Bob Dolby,” a soldier boomed, “and tell me the truth!”

         “I already told you!” Dale was losing his cool. He sat encircled by men clad in medieval armor carrying spears. “I don't know any Dolby. Let me go!”

         “It looks like we have no choice then.” The soldier chuckled to himself and moved closer. “If you won't tell me where Mr. Dolby is, then you'll have to take his place in the game.”

         As the men picked him up and blindfolded him, Dale chose not to struggle. Instead, he tried his best to remember what was now a far away memory.

* * *

         Dale March sat beneath the low shade of a willow tree, studying a set of odd carvings. The curves were cut by skilled hands, not some amateur stabbing the initials of he and his lover. They were smoothly crafted like a painting by an artist. It was an arch, constructed from the base of the roots and up the body of the tree. The borders were gilded with wispy curls and stars. On top there were characters of some strange language that were undecipherable. Unable to leave such a discovery so soon, Dale rested with his back against the old handiwork and began to ponder. His imagination led him deep into wonder.

         Almost immediately, as if being shaken away from a dream, Dale awoke. The sun was now hovering overhead, just after noon. As if it was being hewed down it hit him again; his resting spot shook violently. Burning was in the air and his back felt aflame. Dale jumped to his feet and began patting away the imaginary embers when a surprise caught his eye. The trunk of the tree was burning! Already half off, he flung his jacket around to pat down the blaze. There was no way he was going to watch this beautiful acreage go up in smoke! Just then the tree squirmed and wriggled, as if it were trying to snuff the flames itself, and at once the flames were vanquished.

         Collapsing to his knees in a huff, Dale's eyes soon returned to the carvings. They rested like hot embers upon a blackened fire pit and the true beauty of the artwork began to show. A reddish glow pulsated from the swirls and designs. Then the blooming hue began to fluctuate rapidly. As if stoked by invisible billows, the colors throbbed hot red, now to auburn, fading to a shimmering yellow and then to bright white. Finally the color rested in a pale blue state. Dale sat on his knees like a boy in front of a decorated tree at Christmas.

         Now, quaking from the roots up, the branches of the willow began to sway. At a glance the interior of the burnt arch began to crumble away like charred paper. A glimmer of light seemed to trickle from deep within as though there was a long tunnel inside. Dale imagined that he could hear footsteps echoing from deep within the cavernous opening. Suddenly he was overwhelmed by a figure who, leaping, toppled the observer as they crashed onto the forest floor.

         Tangled and struggling, Dale and the intruder were both caught by surprise. Gripping an arm here, wrenching at a face there, they jostled for dominance as they rolled amongst the leaves. Finally, Dale pried the man loose with a jarring kick. Quickly crouching in lieu of the next assault they stopped and stared at each other. Not even the rustle of the surrounding trees could be heard above the beating of their hearts.

         “You're not one of 'em!” A smile spread across the interloper's face as he repeated with glee, “You're not one of 'em, hah!” At once he approached Dale and swung him about in a celebratory jig, cackling madly.

         “What the hell are you on about?” Shaking the stranger's grip, Dale stepped back and looked at him. His clothing hung tattered on his skinny frame. Natty long hair hung down behind his head in a loose pony tail. He had not bathed in days, maybe weeks. Dale's attention then swayed back and forth between the man and the doorway in the willow trunk.

         “You're like me now, brother!” He quickly opened a leather satchel and dug around inside. “The chase is over, I've won. I've finally won! And now, its your turn.” At this his eyebrows lifted, his gaze centered on his desired object.

         “Woah, wait a minute. It's my turn for what?” It was all settling strangely in Dale's head as the visitor's visage grew serious.

         “There's no time for that now, all will be revealed soon enough!”

         “I don't have time for this. What's your name anyway?”

         “The name's Bob Dolby. Here, maybe this will help you.” He extended a short metallic bar to his new acquaintance. As it left his grip and rolled into Dale's he covered his eyes and ducked out of sight. A pulse of light that could have challenged the sun broke forth and all was suddenly black.

* * *

         The blindfold was suddenly yanked from his head and Dale squinted and blinked. He was in a stone courtyard standing in front of a table. Upon it lay a satchel, a small loaf of bread, two apples, a dagger and a sling.

         “Gather your gear and listen up, fresh meat. Welcome to the game!" A commander of some sort was barking orders as a legion of his comrades looked on, jeering and salivating. "We will give you a day's head start before we come looking for you. Take out any of my men and our wrath will double. Now get up and go!"

         A stammer could hardly be had as an arrow plunked down into the satchel on the table. With a gulp, he accepted his position and grabbed his items and made an exit. He had to find Bob Dolby, and to do that he had to find his way back through the tree.