How A Bill Becomes a Law

1. Introduction

The United States Congress has two houses, the House of Representatives, and the Senate.  These are actually groups of people, not literal houses, differing from governments you may familiar with, such as Canada or France, where two large inanimate buildings make all the legislative decisions.  A bill can be introduced in either house.

In the Senate, the sponsoring Senator must run down a long, narrow gauntlet leading to the Senate floor.  On either side of the gauntlet are Senators from the opposing party, armed with slingshots, crossbows, and spears.  (Longbows were forbidden in 1957 after the infamous Kennedy incident.)  Without aid, and wearing only the traditional light armor provided for in the Constitution, the Senator must safely carry his bill through the gauntlet to the Senate floor.  While the sponsor is allowed to return fire, he generally does not, as dealing a serious injury to another senator can adversely affect his chances of getting that senator’s vote on his bill later.

Curiously, the Constitution actually provides that all senators man the gauntlet, not only those of the opposing party, but as time passed, senators were so half-hearted when firing on members of their own party, often “accidentally” firing into an empty corner or across the gallery at an opposing party senator, that all involved eventually came to agree upon the convention that they would simply abstain, out of courtesy.

The House of Representatives, meanwhile, requires bills to be presented to the clerk of the House, who is guarded by a series of elaborate traps, which have evolved from the simple trapdoors and tripwires of George Washington’s day to high tech lasers and motion sensors of today.  When planning out national strategy, each party makes certain to have a good number of professional jewel thieves and trained ninjas elected to the House, generally at least one per state.

2. Committees

Once the bill has been submitted, it is sent to one of various committees.  Committees are sort of like covens, made up of the most powerful magicians in Congress.  Congressional committee members are probably not quite like what you think of when you imagine a wizard.  They don’t wear hats.  Also, most of them don’t communicate with the underworld.  That is a privilege reserved for the committee chairmen.

When a committee receives the bill, they usually place it on a pedestal in the center and perform their various scrying spells, coaxing out its dark secrets and evaluating its economic impact.  After they have satisfied themselves as to its nature, each of the circle approaches the center one by one and places his or her own enchantments upon the bill.  Each committee member brings a different aspect of magic to the bill, some imbuing it with ancient earth magic, others enchanting it by the power of the moon goddess, a few calling upon the powers of the elements, and most using dark magic or summoned demons.

After bestowing their gifts upon the bill, the now laden document is taken to the floor for its moment of glory.

3. Debate

The debate portion of a bill’s life can be very chaotic, filled with shouting, threats, and the sounds of war drums.  However, battle is not actually joined until the vote begins, so all of this is mostly posturing.  At the beginning, the bill’s sponsor takes up his position on one side of the hall, while the opposing party selects a champion, who takes up his position on the opposite side.

As the bill is read aloud, congressmen rise from their seats, take up arms, and file in behind the side they plan to fight for.  When the bill has been read, the first gong is sounded - one gong.  This is the signal for the debate phase to begin.  The debate is not moderated, so both sides shout their taunts and threats at each other simultaneously, with only the loudest and boldest getting their points heard.  Eventually the points on either side coalesce into a united chant, such as, “NO MORE TAXES!” or “FREE SPEECH!  FREE SPEECH!” or “MY BODY, MY RIGHT!”, and the war drums kick in to back up the chants.

At this point, the Speaker of the House, or the Senate president pro-tem, sounds the gong again, twice.  This signals both sides to prepare themselves for combat.

4. Vote

After a minute to prepare, whereupon congressmen load their weapons, take up sniper positions, file into formations, and are mounted onto their charges by squires, the final signal, three gongs, is sounded.

The battle then begins, and continues until one side yields, or until lunch, whichever comes first.  Congressional battles are not required to observe the Geneva Conventions, so any and all tactics can be used.  Due to great controversy, however, nerve gas is by convention not used.  Nuclear weapons and other large-scale explosives are also excluded due to practicality.

The objective is to capture or neutralize members on the other side of the vote, who can be identified by their colored headbands.  Removal of one’s own headband is a violation resulting in immediate expulsion from Congress, and the nullification of your vote.

Every incapacitated (killed, unconscious, mortally wounded) enemy has their vote nullified, and every captured enemy has their vote changed to match yours.  The value of a captured opponent therefore has helped keep in check the number of casualties over the years.

When the lunch bell sounds, or one side yields by waving a manila folder, the battle is ended.  If the bill has received a majority vote, it is sent to the President to sign.

5. Sign or Veto

The President can now sign the bill by inscribing his Presidential rune onto it, a ceremony often performed in the White House Rose Garden, which results in an impressive and beautiful pillar of magical light filling the sky of Washington D.C. upon the moment of inscription.  When done in the Oval Office, it just temporarily blinds the staff.

The president can also refuse to sign the bill, and strike it down with a veto, a powerful dark magic spell bestowed upon him at inauguration.  Former presidents indeed still have this power, but without the Elder Staff of Veto and the presidential vestments, the spell has a completely different effect.  It is unable to affect bills, but instead will conjure a library from the ether.

If the president vetoes the bill, Congress is alerted by the crackle of thunder and the dark smoke rising from the White House.  They then have ten days to mount an assault upon the White House.  If they are successful in taking the fortress, the bill will pass.  If they fail, the veto stands.

In the assault, Senators are generally given positions of command, while Representatives generally are placed in infantry roles.  Although in the past, Representatives have fought hard and earned great honors for their bravery, they also traditionally exhibit a high casualty rate.  Over the years, laws have been amended to place a greater restriction on presidential power in this area.

For example, the President is limited to the use of White House staff and cannot bring in outside reinforcements or hire mercenaries.  Likewise, he must remain in the White House to command the forces himself and cannot retreat into the secret tunnels.

The Congressional objective is to secure the Oval Office and capture the President and his cabinet.  They are required to reach the Oval Office with at least 10 Congressmen, at least one being a Senator, and must capture the President, Vice-President, and three Cabinet members.  Common strategy usually dictates going for the weaker Cabinet members, such as the Secretary of Agriculture or Secretary of Veterans Affairs, but a surprise ambush on the Secretary of State can also be successful once in a while if the White House, expecting an attack on one of the lesser Secretaries, allocates less defenders to him.

If the goals have been secured at the end of three hours, the veto is overridden and the bill becomes law.  If Congress fails to take the White House, the leader of the assault must kneel before the President and receive, without flinching, a slap to the face.  The President then intones the ceremonial words, “I don’t want to ever see that bill on my desk again,” and the matter is ended.

“Bavaria Schmidt!” said Russ.  “We meet again.”

Bavaria slowly held up his hands and a roguish smile crept over his face.  “Ianniello.  I should have known.”

“Let me guess,” said Russ, mentally going over the inventory of what they had recovered and placed in the truck.  “You’re after the Shroud of Turin, the historically significant religious artifact that everyone knows about.”

“You got me,” said Bavaria.  “So what do we do now?”

“I should probably shoot you,” said Russ.  “But instead, I’m going to keep talking for a while.  What is a shroud, anyway?”

“Well,” said Bavaria, “a shroud is…” With a sudden movement, he threw a handful of dirt at Russ’s face, grabbed the shroud, and started running.  Russ recovered and hurried after him.

A massive shadow suddenly covered the whole area, due to the large zeppelin arriving.  It was covered with a gratuitous amount of gadgets and dials.

“Explodington!” said Russ.

Ropes dropped down from all sides, and British commandos shimmied down them, cutting off Bavaria’s escape.

“The British!” hissed Bavaria, daunted.  “Why did it have to be the British?”

Lord Explodington himself descended and strode up to the now-restrained Bavaria Schmidt.  “I believe you have something of mine, Mr. Schmidt.”

Bavaria clung tightly to the Shroud of Turin.  “It belongs in a museum!”

“Your mom belongs in a museum,” said Russ, and the German archaeologist had no answer for that.

“Now, now, Mr. Schmidt,” said Lord Explodington, tapping the tips of his fingers together.  “Turn over the Shroud peacefully and no one needs to get hurt.”

“You have no idea what you’re dealing with!” said Bavaria Schmidt.  “You want to use the Shroud’s powers for yourself, but it will end up being your doom!”

“It has powers?” asked Russ.

“I didn’t know that,” said Lord Explodington.  “I was just going to turn it over to the boys in London, but now that you mention it has powers, I guess we might as well check them out.”

“I’ll never lead you there,” said Bavaria.

“Where?” asked Lord Explodington.

“The place where you have to use the Shroud of Turin to unleash its powers.”

“Oh, you know where to do that?” said Lord Explodington.

“That’s pretty convenient,” said Russ.

“But I’ll never tell you where it is,” said Bavaria.

A shot rang out, and one of the British commandos toppled over like a tree, landing with a thud.  All guns turned toward the source of the shot.  Three of the commandos broke off and ran toward the rocky area it had come from, and came back hauling a spirited and struggling young woman.

“Ach!  Johanna!” cried Bavaria Schmidt.  “You monsters!  Let her go!  She’s got nothing to do with this.”

“She shot one of my men,” Lord Explodington pointed out.

“Get your hands off of me, you dirty limeys!” said the woman, still struggling valiantly.

“Take her to the airship,” said Lord Explodington, pointing upward with a commanding finger, and the men dragged her off.

“What are you going to do to her?” asked Bavaria, wild-eyed.

“We are going to feed her tea and crumpets, and teach her to enunciate like a civilized person.”

“You monsters!” shouted the archaeologist.

Explodington folded his arms impassively.

“Tea-drinkers!” Johanna cursed as she was taken away.  “Scone munchers!  Fog-breathers!”  She was hauled up into the belly of the airship and her curses faded to silence.

“Now, then,” said Explodington.  “Where do we take the Shroud to?  Don’t lie to me, or I won’t allow your woman to brush her teeth.”

“You animals!” growled Bavaria.  His eyes moved from one to the other, looking for a way out.  Resigned at last, he sighed.  “All right,” he said.  “It’s in Africa.  The temple is in Africa.”

“Excellent,” said Explodington, rubbing his hands together.  “Off we go then.”  He nodded to his men, and with Bavaria Schmidt bound hand and foot, they ascended back up to the airship.  “Pilot, set course for Africa,” said Explodington, and the airship began to move.

Five minutes later, they landed in Africa.

The Shroud of Turin was lowered slowly by a pulley, and placed onto the bed of a large cart.

“Careful now,” said one of the men.  “Careful.”  Two of the men put their hands on the Shroud of Turin to steady it while four others put their shoulders to the cart and pushed it forward.

“You’ll never get away with this,” said Bavaria.

“That’s a very negative attitude,” said Russ, pushing the archaeologist forward at gunpoint.  “If no one ever believed they would get away with things, they’d never get away with things.  You won’t get anywhere without confidence.”  They arrived shortly at the ruins of a large ancient temple, inscribed with strange carvings that looked rather like dinosaurs.

“Stay here,” said Lord Explodington to the men.  “The three of us will go on ahead.”  He picked up the Shroud of Turin and tucked it into a pocket.  “There’s probably traps,” he said to Russ and Bavaria as they entered the door.  “Who wants to go first?”

“Not it,” said Bavaria Schmidt.

“Not it,” said Lord Explodington.

“Well - dammit,” said Russ.  He stepped on ahead, while Lord Explodington took his place and held a rocket launcher to the captive’s back.

Almost immediately, Russ hit a tripwire and a great stone block came crashing down from above, smashing him.  “OH GOD DAMN THAT HURTS!” he yelled, muffled, from beneath.  Very slowly, the block rose and toppled over to the side, and a battered looking Russ rose, limping.  “Gotta give me a minute here,” he said, and leaned against a wall.

“But - how did that not kill you?” gasped Bavaria in amazement.

“Well, I’m immortal,” said Russ.  “Since I’m a vampire.”

“You’re a vampire?” asked Bavaria.

“Yeah,” said Russ.  “You didn’t know?”

“You never mentioned it.”

“I guess it never came up,” said Russ.

“But if you’re a vampire, how come you can walk around in daylight?”

Suddenly, a dinosaur burst through the wall, shattering stone fragments everywhere.  The weakened Russ just managed to roll out of the way of its stomping, and Bavaria dove for shelter into an alcove.  Lord Explodington aimed a rocket at it, but Russ shouted, “No!  You’ll bring the whole place down.”

“I’m not sure what you expect me to do then,” said Explodington, as the dinosaur slammed him backwards into a wall.  “It certainly doesn’t seem to be one of his considerations.”

“Just burn him,” said Russ.

“That’s barbaric.  I can’t set fire to an animal.”

“You set fire to people!”

“They had it coming.”

“Well, just do something that’s not fire-related.”

“Challenging,” said Explodington, scratching his chin, then ducking just as the dinosaur snapped its jaws at his head.

“Oh for crying out loud,” said Bavaria Schmidt, and jumped up, whipping the dinosaur on the nose.  The angry dinosaur turned and charged him.  The archeologist leapt out of the way at the last minute, and the dinosaur smacked into the wall, knocking itself dizzy.  As it staggered backwards, Explodington wound up with his right arm and punched the dinosaur right in the face.  The creature looked stunned for a minute and fell over, unconscious.

Explodington nodded in approval.  “Moving on,” he said.

They continued into the depths of the temple, coming to an abrupt halt at a narrow bridge going over a wide, bottomless chasm.

“I wonder how stable…” said Russ, reaching out to touch the bridge’s railing.  The entire bridge collapsed and crumbled into the chasm below.  “Well, that answers that.”

“Give me the Shroud,” said Bavaria.

“What?” said Lord Explodington, clutching the artifact.  “Are you joking?”

“I can get across.  I’ll activate the Shroud’s power and then come right back.”

“Well, all right,” said Explodington reluctantly, dropping the Shroud into the archaeologist’s palm.  “But if you break your word, I’ll make sure that Johanna spends a year learning how to play cricket.”

“Do that and I swear to God, I won’t stop hunting you til the day I die,” said Bavaria.  He then turned to the chasm.  Pulling out his whip, he lashed onto a conveniently located hook on the ceiling, and swung across to the other side.

“Did he ever mention what kind of power the Shroud was supposed to unleash?” asked Russ.  “Supposed to unlock some kind of super weapon or something?  Grant magical powers?”

“Hm, I don’t think I remembered to ask,” said Lord Explodington.

“It seems like it would make a difference as to whether he can bring it back to us or whether he can use it from that room to destroy us on the spot.”

“Yes, it does seem to be rather important in retrospect.”

Meanwhile, Bavaria Schmidt had found the central chamber.  It had a domed ceiling, a lot of rubble, a circle of dinosaur statues, and an empty pedestal in the center.  In the pedestal was a small indentation surrounded by what looked like sun rays.  Bavaria placed the Shroud of Turin into the indentation, and it clicked into place.

Without warning, the dinosaur statues came to life and began to attack.  Bavaria barely managed to avoid being trampled by latching his whip onto another conveniently located ceiling hook and swinging up out of the way.  He let the whip release and dropped down onto one of the stone monsters’ backs.  Pulling the whip around the front of its neck, he struggled with the thrashing giant, as it twisted left and right and crashed into another stone dinosaur, shattering it into pieces.  The stone dinosaur had been hollow, and delicious candy came spilling out.

Bavaria leapt from the statue’s back, stuffed all his pockets with candy, snatched the Shroud from the pedestal, and cradling it in both arms, dashed out at full speed, stone monsters chasing him.

When he reached the bridge, he saw Lord Explodington and Russ playing cards.  “Dinosaur… statues… chasing me!” he gasped.

“Throw me the Shroud!” shouted Lord Explodington, throwing down his hand, and saying, as an aside, “Fold.”  He turned back toward the chasm and held out his hands.  “Throw me the Shroud,” he repeated, “and I’ll… probably do something about those dinosaurs.  You probably have my word as an Englishman.”

Bolstered by these strong words, Bavaria Schmidt threw the Shroud of Turin across.  Explodington caught it and put it down.  He then armed a rocket and fired it at the stone monsters just as Bavaria swung back across the gap.  The statues exploded in a shower of stone and candy, shaking the entire temple.

“Now you’ve done it,” said Russ.

“Quickly, the exit!” cried Bavaria.

Scooping up the Shroud of Turin under one arm, Russ ran for the exit, with the other two right behind.  Dinosaur statues of all kinds were coming to life all around the temple, and now they blocked the passageway out.

“No more rockets,” said Russ.  He aimed the Shroud of Turin at the monsters in their path and fired, once, twice, three times.  The statues collapsed, shattering as they hit the ground and spilling candy everywhere.  They bolted ahead through the cleared path, leaping over the rubble and candy, making one mad sprint through the doorway as the entire temple finally shuddered and collapsed under its own weight.

The Shroud of Turin wagged its tail and barked excitedly.

“So, what did you get?” Lord Explodington asked.

Bavaria Schmidt pulled out fistfuls of candy from his pocket and gave them each one.

“Candy?” asked Russ.

“It’s pretty good,” said Bavaria, his mouth full.

They each tried a piece and had to agree.

Returning to the airship, they found Isabel and Johanna chatting amiably over tea and crumpets.  They looked up when the men arrived.

“How did it go?” asked Isabel.

“As well as could be expected,” said Lord Explodington, handing out candy.  “It’s not exactly going to turn the tide of the war, but at least we’re not going home empty handed.”

“By the way,” said Russ.  “You wouldn’t happen to know what a shroud is, would you?”

“It’s a piece of cloth,” said Isabel.

“Oh,” said Russ.  “Well, then none of that many any sense at all.”

“They say it’s cursed,” said Gordon, his powerful frame shuddering as he looked into the woods.

“What are you scared of a forest for?” asked Sandra.  “Aren’t you a lumberjack?”

“I’ve cut down many a tree in my time,” said Gordon.  “Many a tree in my nineteen years of life as a humble but good-natured son of lumberjacks, dwelling in obscurity despite my great strength and tree-chopping skill.  But this forest is full of magic, and I don’t know anything about magic.  Despite my strong motivation to continue on this path and achieve a great task that will win me the hand of Princess Heather, who, as I mentioned earlier when we met, I am in love with and hope to marry despite being far below her station, hence leading me to join you on your journey, I have a terrible foreboding about this place.”

“What about you, Kenneth?” asked Sandra, turning to the polar bear beside her.

“Well,” said Kenneth, “as a talking polar bear, and an atheist, traveling with you to provide a sounding board for the author’s views on religion, and to fill out the talking animal slot, I have to say I never much believed in magic.”

“Not even when we fought that wizard and he burned all your fur off?” asked Tim the talking otter in disbelief.

“Swamp gas,” said Kenneth dismissively.  “Anyway, I don’t expect anything logical out of you, as you are a believer in religion, simply here to provide a counterpoint so that our points on religion can be made in dialogue form, which will make it come across much more subtly than a simple monologue.  Why another talking animal was required, I don’t know.  That seems a little gratuitious.”

“We’re wasting time!” declared Brandon impatiently, as he raised his hockey stick in the air.  “Every moment we stand here chattering is a moment that my people, in the frozen north, where I came down from earlier on a journey to look for help, are suffering.  If you recall, you agreed to help me free them since we share a common enemy in the King of Quebec, and we set off on this journey which we are now on.  So let’s press forward.”  He pointed his hockey stick toward the forest.  “Curse or no curse, that forest won’t stop us.”

“Brave words, hockey magician,” said Gordon warily.  “Let us hope they do not come back to haunt us.”

Slowly, the group moved forward into the forest.  The trees were densely tangled, and almost all light was cut off.  Brandon tapped the bottom of his hockey stick on the ground, and a dim glow appeared at the tip.

“Swamp gas,” said Kenneth with a yawn.

Other than the sound of their own footsteps, the forest was silent.  The path continued generally north, weaving its way through the trees in serpentine fashion, never allowing them to see more than a few yards, or “meters”, ahead.

Suddenly, they were all kidnapped.

They were taken, bound and gagged, to an underground city deep within the heart of the forest.  The city was circular and centered around an austere and forbidding structure, a steeply-roofed building with a needle-thin spire and a cell-like pattern of blue stained glass on either side of the roof.  It looked like an evil cathedral, which was about the look the architect had been going for.

Their captors seemed to be humans, extremely pale skinned, even for Canadians, all wearing dark blue robes with a strange insignia on the collar clasp.

“Oh my God,” whispered Kenneth in horror.  “Religious people.”

“Quiet, you!” snapped a stern looking older man who seemed to be in charge of their group.  He slapped the polar bear in the face.  “We’ll see how saucy you are when the High Priest is done with you.  Bring them to the Cathedral.”

They were carried to the Cathedral and dumped on the floor.  The pews were filled with worshippers, and some kind of ceremony seemed to be starting.  At the altar, there was a man wearing robes like the others, only fancier, and with a large hat.  He looked sort of like a Pope, but of course he wasn’t the actual Pope because his robes were blue and black instead of white.  But it was pretty clear he was supposed to represent the Pope.

A disciple knelt before him, facing the priest and away from everyone else.  “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” the High Priest intoned solemnly, and then reached out and whisked his hand past the disciple’s face with a lightning motion.  He held up his fist triumphantly.  “I’ve got your nose!”  Indeed, a little pink thing seemed to poke out of the closed fist.  “Children!  I have his nose!”

“My nose!” screamed the disciple.

The crowd gasped and cheered.  Some fainted.  “A prophet!” someone called out.  “He is a prophet!”

“The Good Lord is generous,” said the priest, and whisked his hand passed the disciple’s face, opening it to show he no longer had the nose.  “I return to you your nose!”  He then yanked the disciple to his feet and turned him around to face everyone.  He certainly had a nose.

“A miracle!” cried someone in the pews.

“The Nose-Taker!” shouted another.  “All hail High Priest Macdonald, the Prophet, the Nose-Taker!”

“I can’t figure out how he did it,” whispered Kenneth, “but I’m sure it’s just a parlor trick.”

“High Priest!” cried one of their captors.  “We have prisoners!  Intruders!”

“Ah,” said the High Priest, smiling a fake kindly smile because he was a big hypocrite.  “Welcome visitors.  Are you of our faith?”

“What exactly is your faith?” asked Brandon suspiciously.

“We are the Church of the Great Squid,” said the High Priest.

“I think it’s safe to say no then,” said Sandra.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll come around,” said the High Priest.  “After a few months in the dungeon.  Take them away.”

Once they had all been safely locked away in a cell, Kenneth waved his paw toward their jailors.  “You see?” he said.  “This is what religion does to people.”

“That’s not true,” said Tim.  “As an observant otter, I have to object to that.  No one in my otter church has ever gone around locking people up.”

“Well, you’re an exception,” said Kenneth dismissively.  “But look at these people.  That’s what religion is normally like.  Religious people just don’t like to think for themselves, so they’ll just believe anything an authority figure tells them, no matter how dumb.  I bet if your otter pastor told you to jump off a cliff, you’d do it.”

“No I wouldn’t,” said Tim.  “Who the hell would do that?”

“You would,” said Kenneth, “because you’re religious.  Anyway, look at these people.  All that High Priest had to do was pretend to pull off someone’s nose and they all fall at his feet like it’s a miracle.  See, a critical thinker like me knows there has to be some rational explanation.”

“Well, of course,” said one of the guards, snatching at Kenneth’s nose and pulling away a fist with something pink wriggling in it.

“Hey, that’s not my nose,” said Kenneth.  “That’s your thumb!”

“Sharp,” said the other guard.

“Seriously, you’d have to be pretty dumb to devote your whole life to following someone because of the got-your-nose trick,” said the first guard.  “That would be pretty damn sad.”

“But all those people in there were cheering,” said Kenneth.

“Yeah, you guys walked in on the afternoon service for the mentally retarded,” said the second guard.  “During the regular ones he mostly talks.”

“Well, then, how does he convince the rest of you to follow this made-up religion?” asked Kenneth.

“Made-up?” said the first guard.

“Yes, you worship a… great squid of all things.  A rational mind such as yours must reject that as ridiculous.”

“Aren’t you a talking polar bear?” said the guard.

Kenneth frowned.

“Look, what do we have to do to get out of here?” asked Sandra.  “I have to save my friends.”

“The High Priest has said that you aren’t to be released until you all agree to join the faith.”

Suddenly, a team of camouflage clad commandos burst through the dungeon, firing left and right.  The guards were taken by surprise but fired back as best as they could, though badly outnumbered.

“What was your crime?” asked the commando leader, looking through the bars at them.

“Not joining their religion I think,” said Sandra.

“You don’t say!” said the commando leader, pleasantly surprised.  “You’re atheists too?”

“Well…” began the otter.

“Come with us!” said the commando leader, and they were freed and dragged off to some other unknown destination.

“I’m so glad you’ve arrived,” he later explained to them at the commando base’s mess hall.  “Our numbers have dwindled greatly in the fight against those religious bastards.  Once upon a time we all lived peacefully in this forest, minding our own business, until one day, someone placed a ‘curse’ - although I’m sure there’s a perfectly scientific explanation - on this place.  Since then, we’ve been fighting endlessly.”

“What was the nature of the curse?” asked Brandon.

“I think it’s pretty obvious,” said the commando leader.  “Religion.  Half the people took off for some reason and started blindly following that High Priest and worshipping some squid.  The only people still sane are us, people who aren’t afraid to think for themselves and do their own thing.  Here we live free, saying what we want, dressing how we want.  Oh, you’ll want to get rid of those blue jeans.  We’ll get you another pair of pants.”

“What?” said Gordon, grabbing his jeans.

“They’re blue,” explained the commando leader.  “All those religious conformists wear blue.  You should wear what you want, not what they make you wear.”

“I want to wear these jeans, thank you,” said Gordon.

“What if they changed their robe color to green tomorrow?” asked Kenneth.

“Well, then we’d have to stop wearing green,” said the commando leader.  “See, we’re not slaves to dress codes like them.  We like to show that we’re free to be ourselves.”

“So every time they change their dress codes, it makes you change yours?” asked Kenneth.

“Yes, it’s a gesture to prove our independence,” said the commando leader.  “Anyway, they’re quite insane.  They wouldn’t tolerate the slightest disagreement, and put people in jail, or worse, for not buying in to their religion.  Some of their worst critics just mysteriously disappeared.  Well, that’s religion for you.”

“That’s not religion, that’s just being a jerk,” said Tim.

“Of course it’s religion,” said the commando leader.  “Religious people can’t understand the concept of letting all ideas be shared freely, even if people disagree.  Ideas don’t hurt anybody.  People are smart enough to think for themselves.  If you really believe your point of view is right, then people will see the evidence and figure it out.  Shutting people up for saying anything different just means you’re afraid.”

“But those people would be jerks no matter what they believed.  As an observant otter, my religion actually makes me try to be nicer, since I try to follow the Otter Commandments, such as, ‘You otter not kill’ and ‘You otter not steal’ and ‘You otter honor your father and mother’.  And there’s plenty of jerk otters that say they’re religious but don’t follow the -”

“QUIET!” roared the commando leader, rising to his feet and aiming a gun at Tim.  “Quiet!  Not another word.”

“Wait, what?” said Kenneth.

“Do you have something against puns?” asked Brandon.

“He’s pushing beliefs on me!” said the commando leader.  “We can’t let that happen.”

“I thought you said that ideas don’t hurt anybody,” said Sandra.

“I meant logical ideas!” said the commando leader.  “Not dangerous ones.  Religious ideas are different.  When people talk about correct ideas, it’s just sharing what you think and letting them make up their minds.  When people talk about religious ideas, it’s people pushing beliefs on you, and you suddenly lose the power to make up your mind.  It’s brainwashing.  It turns other people religious, and it just spreads!  Then we’ll all be under the curse.  We’ll be done for!”

“Are you going to kill Tim?” asked Sandra.

“No, of course not,” said the commando leader.  “We’re not like them.”  He called to a guard.  “Have this otter gagged and taken to the brig.  Let no one talk to him.”  As Tim was taken away, the commando leader paced back and forth.  “How did we let this happen?  It was so close.”

“Are you ever going to let Tim out?” asked Sandra.

“Maybe if he agrees to stop talking about religion,” said the commando leader.

Sandra and her companions went to see the otter.  They were allowed inside the cell, and the guards plugged their ears as they removed Tim’s gag.

“They said they’ll let you go free,” said Sandra, “if you agree to not talk about religion.”

“Why the hell should I have to?” asked Tim angrily.

“Well, you shouldn’t,” said Sandra, “but could you say you’re not going to?”

“It’s against my principles,” said Tim, folding his adorable little forepaws.

“That’s the problem with religion,” said Kenneth.  “Too many principles.”

“You have principles too,” snapped Tim.

“You take that back!” roared the bear.

Sandra sighed.  She went back to the commando leader.

“Well?” he said.

“No deal,” said Sandra.

“Typical religious person.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“Well…” said the commando leader, “how about this.  We’re planning an assault on the Cathedral and hoping to take out the High Priest.  Hopefully that’ll put a stop to this squid church, or at least slow them down a bit.  If you folks assist us on the attack, we’ll let you and your friend head out of the forest unharmed, on the condition that you keep his gag on until you reach the edge of the forest.”

“Fine,” said Sandra.  “When are we going?”

“Right now!” said the commando leader.  He seemed like a very spontaneous guy.  “Men!  We attack!”

The mess hall roared.

Sandra gathered up her friends and they armed themselves for the fight.  They followed the atheist commandos charging down the well-worn forest path until they emerged once more in the clearing.  They ran down the path to the underground city, and broke into a full-speed run, charging at the Cathedral, bowling aside surprised disciples in their path.  The forces split into three, and the main body charged in the front door just in time to see the glass smash in from both sides as the other two wings crashed in.

The High Priest was floating about thirty feet in mid-air, surrounded by a glowing blue light.  The entire Cathedral was bathed in an unpleasant hum, and tendrils of something dark, moving like smoke but blacker and more oily, were creeping towards him from all sides of the cathedral, consolidating about him in a whirling vortex.

“Swamp gas,” said Kenneth.

The High Priest laughed, a strange echoing laugh.  “You should have known better than to come back, fools.  You rejected my mercy.  Now you will taste wrath!”

Shadowy tentacles exploded out of the High Priest, whose mortal shell shattered to reveal a large squid of shadow and glowing blue energy.  The tentacles tapped into all the surrounding followers, who also exploded and turned into mini-squids of the same nature.

“Hm, that’s quite the twist,” said the commando leader.

The commandos began to fire.  Sandra drew her sword and leapt at the nearest squid, impaling it from above.  Gordon charged in, hacking with his axe.  Brandon raised his hockey stick and began to incant, launching a punishing storm of pucks before him.  Kenneth brutally mauled one of the squids, and Tim covered it with mildly annoying bites.

As the commando leader emptied a clip at the main squid, to no avail, he shouted in distress, “I don’t even know what this is supposed to symbolize anymore!”  One of the great squid’s tentacles wrapped around him and began to pull him away, but Gordon chopped clean through it, and the writhing tentacle end dropped to the ground, releasing its captive.

“You’ve got to get out of here,” said the commando leader, struggling to his feet.  “Get help.  We can’t take it on our own.”

“But-” said Sandra.

“I’ve got to stay with my men,” he said.  “Go!  We’ll hold them off.  Tell them… squid must be destroyed…”

Finishing off one last squid, Sandra reluctantly turned away.  They ran out of the Cathedral, up the tunnel, and back into the forest again.  About a hundred yards later, they emerged into sunlight.

“Well,” said Kenneth, as they all caught their breath, “I think we all learned a valuable lesson.  But I’m not sure what it is.”

“Me either,” said Tim.

He had acted quickly, sending in a team of werewolves, who apparently were also vulnerable to the virus (who knew?) and were now, by all reports, werewolf zombies, also taking up residence in the abandoned base.  Reports, such as they were, were fairly vague, as there were no unzombified survivors on the base save one pilot found unconscious in a plane on the tarmac, who insisted he had no idea what had happened there.

Dr. Weinerschnitzel had then set his team immediately to work on production of the antivirus, which was fired into the compound from a distance, dispersing in gaseous form.  Unfortunately, they had been in too much of a rush to test the antivirus properly, and it turned out to ironically provide the zombies with super strength, as the follow-up reconnaissance team was able to briefly report before being devoured.

Profusely sweating by this time, the good doctor had waddled down to the Top Secret Advanced Science Division, hoping they would be able to provide him with some kind of solution.  Advanced Armor Technology enthusiastically provided him with prototypes of their latest full-body armor, impervious to bullets, heat, lasers, and impact.  He outfitted a squad of commandos with these and sent them in, discovering at that point that the armor was not resistant to viruses, and that now many of the zombies were outfitted with really good armor.  Advanced Weapons Science then stepped up to volunteer their new energy gun, capable of piercing even the Mark IV armor that the zombies now had.  Soon enough, the zombies also had energy guns.

As a last hope, Dr. Weinerschnitzel turned to the Advanced Genetics Division, whose greatest success had been the now widely used werewolves.  They were hard at work on other abominations, however, and he hoped that one of them might be of some use.  “What are you working on here, Dr. Passat?” he asked the thin, slightly creepy scientist eagerly fiddling with controls on the outside of a tank.

“Ah,” said Dr. Passat, turning to greet his colleague, “this is one of our latest experiments, the wereshark.”  Inside the tank, Dr. Weinerschnitzel saw a freakish creature flailing about somewhat ungracefully in slow motion.  It was the front half of a shark, with the back half being a pair of human legs.  The bottom half also included human genitals, which floated about in a somewhat undignified manner.  The front half was trying to swim with its fins while the legs thrashed around trying to find a surface to push off of.

“Oh,” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.  “Er, um, what can it do?”

“Not very much,” admitted Dr. Passat, his enthusiasm not diminished.  “But what an accomplishment of science!  Come, have a look at our were-tiger.”  He led the other doctor down the hallway a short distance and pointed toward a reinforced steel cage.

Dr. Weinerschnitzel peeked cautiously toward the cage.  There was another odd creature, with the back half of a tiger and the front half a human torso.  The human half seemed distinctly uncomfortable, resting on its elbows and looking down at the ground most of the time so as not to strain its neck.

“And, er, how is that working?”

“Not well,” said Dr. Passat, “but it is a marvel of genetic engineering!  The British haven’t even come close.”

“Are they, er, trying?”

Dr. Passat frowned sternly at his colleague.  “I don’t know.  It’s immaterial.  What the world will remember is that we got there first!”

“I don’t mean to rush you, my dear Dr. Passat,” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel, “but I have a very severe emergency to deal with at the moment.  Is there anything you have that can help me?”

“Pah,” said Dr. Passat, contemptuously.  “You must always have your applications.  No one appreciates the value of pure science.  Very well, come this way.”  He led the doctor all the way down to the end of the hall and then pointed inside a final cage.  “This is what we call the were-bull.”

Dr. Weinerschnitzel peered at the creature.  It had the body of a very powerful, muscular man, and the head of a bull.  “That appears to be a minotaur.”

“Nein!” said Dr. Passat.  “It is a were-bull.  We have copyrighted the name.”

“All right,” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.  “So that one, er, works?”

“Yes,” said Dr. Passat.  “And I am aware from what I have read of your research that bovines are one species immune to your experimental virus.”

“Ah, perfect,” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.  “I will have to ask to borrow some of these.  Are they… er… safe?”

“Yes, yes,” said Dr. Passat impatiently.  “We have only had three or four goring incidents this week.  They are normally quite obedient.  Just don’t make any sudden movements.”

A squad of were-bulls was assembled and sent into the infested base, some equipped with remote cameras so that those outside could keep track of the situation.  As one might have expected after giving it some thought, the human half was still quite vulnerable to the virus, and the result was that the bottom half of the were-bulls ended up trying to attack the top half, which was both comical and somewhat grisly at the same time.

“Well, I don’t understand,” said Dr. Passat, remarkably calm after this latest failure.  “Can’t you just burn down the whole base?  Trap them inside and destroy them all?”

“No, that would be disastrous!” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.  “The research in there is immensely valuable.  We must recover it at any cost.”

“What is it?” asked Dr. Passat.

“Atom bomb research!” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.  “We had just completed a working prototype!  And it’s down in that laboratory.”

“Hm,” said Dr. Passat.  “That, if recovered, could completely turn the tide of the war, as the Allies have not finished developing their own atom bomb yet and will not until 1945.”

“That being three years from this year, which is 1942,” agreed Dr. Weinerschnitzel.

“I suppose you could reconstruct it from your notes?” said Dr. Passat.

“The notes are down there!” exclaimed Dr. Weinerschnitzel.

“Surely your research team has had enough experience to recreate the work?”

“My research team was down there!”

“Well, then,” said Dr. Passat calmly, “I would say you are screwed.”

Wiping sweat away left and right, Dr. Weinerschnitzel hurried back to his office.  He paced back and forth fretfully before coming to a resolution.  He had no choice.  Taking a nearby axe, he broke open the glass window of the emergency case and pulled out the emergency kit.  When he had first been inducted into the Nazi party, he had been given strict instructions not to break this out unless the circumstances were absolutely dire.  He felt this was an appropriate time.  Reaching into the kit, he pulled out an inflatable pentagram, which he pumped up hurriedly and placed on the floor of his office.

After sacrificing an assistant and pouring his blood over the pentagram, a demon appeared.  “What?” it said.

Dr. Weinerschnitzel had been expecting a little more ceremony, but he was in a hurry too so he didn’t really care.  “Please!” he said.  “The zombies!  They’ve taken over the lab.  My prototype and all my notes are in there.  I must recover them.  I don’t care what it takes.”

The demon smiled.  “Ah, good,” it said.  “Zombies, is it?  Angered a necromancer, have you?”

“No, no,” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.  “It’s simply an experimental virus gone horribly wrong.”

“Oh,” said the demon, looking bored.  “Another one of those.  Child’s play.  Let’s talk terms.”

With a poof, a wispy ghost appeared.  “No!” it cried.  “Don’t do it!”

“B-Baron von Count?” sputtered Dr. Weinerschnitzel.  “Is that you?”

It was indeed the ghost of Baron von Count, in all his Aryan perfection, floating insubstantially behind the demon.  He seemed to have developed a slightly distressed look to replace his former haughty superiority, but it was hard to tell for sure because half his face was missing.  “I too broke out my emergency pentagram when my zeppelin was boarded by the Allied scum.  He promised me immortality.  And now look what I’ve become!”  He swished his limbs helplessly through the nearest bookshelf.  “Doomed forever to eternity as a ghost.”

“You shut up,” said the demon.  “It could be a lot worse.”

“How could it be worse?” demanded the ghost.  “I can touch nothing - do nothing.  I am more helpless than a child.  Even my handsome visage is forever marred.  And there is no relief from this from now until eternity.  How could it be any worse?”

The demon pointed a finger at the Baron’s ghost and with another poof, it was transformed into the form of a ghostly woman, or possibly drag queen.

“What the hell?” said the Baron, or possibly Baronness.  His voice was higher and slightly screechy.  “Gott in Himmel!”  The ghost floated away, muttering curses.

“Anyway, don’t listen to him,” said the demon.  “This is a pretty tall order, so I’m going to have to ask for your soul, and your dearest child.”

“Anything!  Anything!  Wait.”  Dr. Weinerschnitzel paused and scratched his chin.  “I thought you said this was child’s play.”

“Supply and demand, buddy,” said the demon.

“All right, all right,” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.  He had pretty much given up on his soul a long time ago, and the demon didn’t seem to know he had no children.  It didn’t seem like such a bad deal.

“Well, hop on,” said the demon.  Dr. Weinerschnitzel hopped on the demon’s back and it loped off, heading towards the doomed base.  Once there, it charged into the zombie-plagued laboratory, knocking the creatures left and right and dodging the energy guns.

“I forgot to mention they had energy guns,” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.

“I probably would have charged extra,” said the demon, but managed not to get hit anyway.  It summoned fire and burned away zombies in its path, illuminating the darkened laboratory for an instant.  “Now where is this lab of yours?”

“To the right,” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel.

The demon bounded to the right.

“Okay, now that door right there.”

They slipped inside what seemed to be a completely ruined laboratory.  Broken glass lay everywhere and sparks from electric wires flared lazily every now and then.

“There!” said Dr. Weinerschnitzel, pointing into a steel chamber with the door pulled half open.  “That’s where the bomb is.”

The demon finished prying open the chamber door with brute strength.  Inside was a large bomb emblazoned with a swastika.

“Oh, my baby!” cried Dr. Weinerschnitzel, leaping off and embracing the bomb.  “My precious baby!”

“And that’s mine,” said the demon, picking up the bomb.

“But… why…” gasped Dr. Weinerschnitzel.

“Your dearest child,” said the demon, tapping the bomb and winking at him.  “As for your soul, I’ll pick it up after the zombies finish you.  Toodles.”

“No!” cried Dr. Weinerschnitzel, but as the demon raced off, he saw the zombies, emboldened, crawling into the ruined laboratory, hungry for delicious, ripe scientist brain.  No one heard his screams.

Meanwhile, Russ was roaring through the countryside on his motorcycle, and took a quick glance at his watch.  Right on time.  He drove right through the gates of the abandoned military base, smashing them to splinters, and came to a halt on the airfield.  He looked up and saw a distant red dot in the sky.  Explodington would be here soon.

Russ glanced about and was surprised to see what appeared to be a demon carrying a large bomb running out of one of the buildings.  He shot at it and heard a distant, “Ow!”

Getting back on the motorcycle, he roared over toward the curious figure, who had put down the bomb and turned toward him.

“Foolish son of darkness,” said the enraged demon.  “You were born of darkness, and you have no power over…”

A jet of fire engulfed the demon from behind, but this only made it laugh.  It turned around, where Lord Explodington was standing calmly, one smoking hand still pointing toward the demon.

“You fool!” said the demon.  “I am a creature of the fiery depths!  I thrive on fire!  Your attacks only feed-  AAAHHH!” The demon broke off into a girlish scream as some holy water splashed it from the side, where Sister Lucretia held two bottles of the stuff and waved them menacingly.

“Good thing I brought a friend,” said Lord Explodington.

“Aaaaaaahhhhhhh!” screamed the demon, running around while the nun chased it.  “What the hell?  Who brings a nun to a fight?  What is wrong with you people?”

Undaunted, Sister Lucretia kept chasing after him and repeating Our Fathers.

“So, what’s that?” said Russ, nodding toward the bomb.

Explodington examined it excitedly.  “Good heavens.  This appears to be… an atomic bomb!”  As he kept examining it, however, his enthusiasm diminshed.  “There are vital parts missing.  With zombie shaped bites.”

“Oh,” said Russ.

“Nevertheless,” said Explodington, “it’s invaluable from a research standpoint.  We should get this into the hands of Allied scientists immediately.”

“You know,” said Russ, “there’s probably some notes down there too.  Let’s go ahead with the original plan and clean out that lab.”

Sister Lucretia returned, breathless.  Some distance away, a puddle of bubbling goo was all that remained of the demon.

“Thank you, Sister Lucretia,” said Lord Explodington with a bow.  “We just have some small business to take care of here, and then I’ll get you to your conference.”

“Ah, yes,” said the nun, beaming.  “I’ll just wait here for you.”

“Now, we’ll want to be very careful here,” said Russ warningly, as they opened the secret entrance and proceeded into the depths.  “The notes and research we’re hoping to recover could be anywhere, so you’ll want to hold back on that firepower until we’re certain we’ve found everything.”

“Of course,” said Explodington.  “Sometimes I think you take me for a fool.”  He clicked a button on his belt, and out of the collar of his armor, a plated head covering emerged, completing his armored protection.  Another button, and the visor came down over his face.

As they entered a room full of files, a swarm of zombies engulfed them.  Russ picked them off one by one as carefully as he could and smashed them against a nearby cabinet-free wall, while Explodington methodically grabbed one at a time, held it in front of him carefully, and burned it to ash.

“Russ, come over here,” he said, when he had finished, seeing that the vampire was still awash in the extremely resilient zombies.  Russ waded slowly over towards Explodington in the center of the room, six or seven zombies clinging to him, and Explodington proceeded to pick off those zombies and carefully incinerate them one by one.  With a jet of carbon dioxide, the armored man put out the few small flames that had escaped and danced on scraps of paper here and there.

They then set to work going through the files, and brought out anything that seemed useful, leaving it in a pile with Sister Lucretia before going back in.  They continued through the laboratory, room by room, for a few hours, with Explodington taking a quick break to drop Sister Lucretia off at her conference, as it was getting late.

In the last room, they found where the bomb prototype must have been kept, and were attacked by a strangely pudgy and not very strong zombie, which sweated a lot.  Explodington put the poor thing out of its misery, they gathered up what atomic bomb notes they could find, and returned to the surface.

Reluctantly, Russ abandoned his stolen motorcycle and stole one of the base’s trucks, piling the bomb and all the files into it.

“All right then,” said Explodington with a slight bow.  “I’ll see you at the rendezvous point then.”

“See ya,” said Russ, and drove off.

Before either of them could explain anything, a group of people dressed in the finest plaid approached from the back road, stopping abruptly when they spotted the dead dragon and the gathered people.  At their lead was a stout and brawny blonde girl in armor, wielding a glowing sword.

“What the hell?” said the blonde girl, speaking first.

“Who are you?” asked Cassandra.

“I am Lady Alexis of Ottawa,” said the other girl, “heir to the throne of Ontario, and I have come to free my people at last from this beast.  I was chosen by destiny to receive this sword…”

“Really?” said Sandra, finally speaking.  “You too?”

Lady Alexis looked annoyed.

“I… I thought I had been chosen to…” said Cassandra, holding up her glowing sword.

The girls compared swords.  They all looked different but were all obviously quite magical.

“Sorry,” said Sandra, looking at her hands.  “I didn’t know you wanted the dragon.  Anyway, when I came through the portal I just appeared right in front of its face so I didn’t really have any choice.”

The villagers, having spent a few minutes trying to figure out how to react, finally decided.  They cheered.

“The beast is dead!  We are free!”

“Shut up!” said Lady Alexis, and they all shut up.

“Go back to the village,” said Cassandra gently.  “I’ll catch up with you later.”  The villagers turned around and trotted obediently down the hill.

“Well, there’s nothing more to be done here,” said Lady Alexis, looking at the dead dragon.  “Sir Doug, if you could please see about bringing that thing’s head back to the castle?”

“My lady,” said one of the plaid-dressed men, nodding in obedience, and at once began to organize some of the others towards the task.

“As for you two,” said Lady Alexis, “we can discuss things back at the castle.  Come with me.”

The ride back to Ottawa Castle was uneventful, but Sandra found herself fascinated with the landscape.  Her family hadn’t traveled much, so she was entranced by the verdant countryside, covered with forest.  Citizens everywhere were hard at work chopping down trees and harvesting maple syrup.

When they finally reached the castle, Lady Alexis led them to a clean, wood-paneled chamber with a fire burning in the fireplace, and sat them down.  “Now,” she said, “let’s hear your stories.”

Cassandra and Sandra basically gave her the rundown of what was going on, and at the end of it all, she nodded thoughtfully.

“I thought I was special,” said Cassandra lamely.

“Everybody does,” said Alexis, looking at her own sword ruefully.  “Well, I think it’s pretty clear that Sandra here is the one spoken of in the prophecy.  She did kill the dragon.”

“But…” Cassandra sputtered.  “But I could have…”

“I’m sure we’re all quite capable of killing a dragon,” said Alexis, “and we all have magical swords obtained magically, but the fact remains there was only one dragon and you can only kill it once, and Sandra here killed it.”

“But… destiny…”

“Only one person can be the chosen one,” shrugged Alexis.  “What can I tell you?  That’s life.  It’s a big world.  Whatever you’re good at, there’s at least a thousand other people out there trying it too, and what are the odds you’re the best out of a thousand?  Not good.  The tough part is, coming in second is just the same as coming in at one thousand.  There’s the chosen one and there’s the rest, and number two is just part of the rest.  Life’s tough, honey.”

Cassandra looked despondent.

“Look,” said Sandra, “I didn’t mean to kill anybody’s dragon.  The thing just jumped me.  I need to find the other one of these swords real soon.  I need it to save my friends.”

Alexis looked closely at Sandra’s sword.  “I think I’ve seen it before.  Yes.  The Mooseslayer.  That weapon is in the hands of the evil King Jean Pierre of Quebec.”

“King?” asked Sandra.

“Yes,” said Alexis.  “Or so he calls himself.  He thinks he has a blood claim to all of Canada and constantly schemes to conquer all the provinces and unite them under himself.”

“Oh, that’s silly,” said Sandra.

“It’s ridiculous,” agreed Alexis.  “Everyone knows that all the provinces need to be united and ruled over by Ontario.”

“Hm,” said Sandra.

“Anyway, you won’t get that sword away from him except by force.  If you wish, we will muster our armies and ride with you…”

“I really don’t want to get involved in any kind of wars,” said Sandra.  “If you could just point me there, I’ll just take a look and see what I can do first, if that’s okay with you.”

“I’ll talk to my father,” said Alexis, after a moment’s thought.  “We’ll see what we can do.”

Meanwhile, at the top of the dragon’s mountain, a party of adventurers, led by a spunky red-headed warrior woman wielding a glowing greatsword, finally crested the summit, only to find the headless corpse of the dragon.  They stared at it for a minute in silence.

“Well, shit,” said the woman.

Sandra stabbed it in the eye with Mr. Chu’s sword, and the dragon roared, jerking its head back in agony.  Sandra, who had barely managed to hold tight to the sword as the dragon’s head pulled away, turned and ran.  They were near the mouth of a cave, and she scrambled out towards the daylight.  The dragon took a moment to recover and then thundered after her.  It was angry from the pain, but the disappointment seemed to have lifted.  Maybe it had found a worthy opponent after all!

As it caught up with the little girl, the dragon threw a claw swipe at her.  She ducked and tumbled under it, rolling back up onto her feet and twisting around to face it, sword at the ready.  The dragon was enormous.  She and two friends could have fit whole inside of its skull.  It was covered with dull, chipped black scales in some stage or another of molt, and two leathery wings were folded along its spine.

Breaking into a run, she dodged another claw swipe and hopped left and right below its underbelly, nimbly weaving between its stomping feet.  She dared a slash, answered with a dull metallic thud, before rolling clear again and scrambling to a safer spot.  The dragon’s underside was no soft spot.  She would have to look for other targets.

The massive tail came sweeping across, and she jumped straight up, then landed just in time to jump again and avoid the return.  Next came a jet of fire, roasting the spot where Sandra stood, only she wasn’t there anymore.  The dragon lost sight of her for a moment, its field of vision filled by the billowing of its own fire, but there was a clang on its brow and she came into sight right in front of its face.  She cursed herself for missing a shot at the other eye, but stayed sharp enough to be out of the way when the great jaws came clamping down.

She crouched some distance away, breathing hard, as both she and her enemy regrouped, analyzing each other for weaknesses.  The battle was well-matched.

Meanwhile, in the nearby village of Valence, all the villagers were gathering in the main square.  It was not a celebration, but the tone was hopeful, if muted.  The center of the square by the fountain remained clear, as if reserved for someone yet to arrive.

In the stables of the village inn, sitting alone on a hay bale, was a young woman in simple armor.  She held a sword across her lap and was examining its blade idly, her thoughts elsewhere.  From outside the sound of the hopeful murmur carried through, and she knew she needed to make her appearance soon.  She hardly felt prepared.

Cassandra was an orphan, taken in by the local innkeeper and his wife and put to work as soon as she could handle it.  Her appearance suffered from the dirty work, as her hair became tangled with neglect and her hands became rough and callused.  She had thought she would never be anything more than a serving girl, and never expected anything more.

Everything changed one fateful day, when returning from the market, she tripped and fell down a gully.  It was steep on both sides, so she’d had to walk along it for a good ways, looking for a way out.  She must have walked the wrong way because it ended up leading into a cave.

Inside the cave was a strange pedestal from which came a column of flame.  Hovering in the middle of the flame was a shining sword, perfectly crafted, its blade interwoven with powerful magic.  “Many have tried and failed,” intoned an echoing voice.  “Only he who does not fear the flame may possess the blade.”

When she reached hesitantly for the sword the first time, she yelped and pulled her hand back on first contact with the fire.  It was, like fire often was, hot.  It burned.

Determined, however, she closed her eyes, willing away the pain, clearing her mind and focusing it.  Feeling strangely detached from the world, she reached in and grabbed the sword.  The flame abruptly went out, and the sword was hers.

When she got back to the village, she found out there was some kind of legend about a chosen one who would free the people of the village.  For centuries they had been tormented by the great black dragon up on the mountain, who took half their crops every year, and demanded one plump child as sacrifice.  One year they had given it a skinny boy, and the dragon had responded by torching the town in a fury.

Most villagers were skeptical, however.  Cassandra was a girl, and a lowly serving girl at that.  How could she possibly be the chosen one?  She was tougher and more determined than they could have imagined, however, and won over their hearts bit by bit as she proved her prowess in sparring, and rescued the village from a recent plague of bandits and robbers.  One day, an arrogant knight had come through and challenged all comers to a duel.  She had put on a full set of armor, including a helmet with a full mask, and fought him one-on-one.  After defeating him, she had taken off her helmet and shaken her long locks proudly, causing him to nearly have a fit.

“Defeated… by a girl?” the knight had gasped, and she smiled confidently.  It was then that she knew that she was no ordinary girl, and no ordinary hero, but something the land had never seen before - a girl warrior.  She believed in herself, and the villagers believed in her, and now they were sending her to fight the dragon.

Confident as she was, she knew the dragon was a formidable opponent, a beast large enough to destroy a house with one swipe of its tail.  Courage, she told herself.  This was destiny.  There was no one like her in all the lands, and she had been born for this moment.  If anyone could defeat the dragon, she could.  Smiling as bravely as she could, she rose and strode to the town square.

She hardly heard the village elder speaking, and her heart was pounding rapidly.  This was the moment.  Courage, Cassandra, courage! she thought.  The villagers cheered, and the few that would accompany her began to move toward the mountain road.  She said her goodbyes and followed, the procession moving silently up the mountain, hopeful yet afraid.

As they reached the top of the path, leading out to the wide meadow before the dragon’s cave, they saw the dragon, dead.  A little dark-skinned girl with a sword was sitting next to it, quite winded.