I could see it perfectly. The trees blazed in red and gold like dragon’s fire, reflecting the fury of the sinking sun as it began it’s descent behind them. The beast’s scales showed in the traces of green that lingered in the canopy. The cornfield before the forest was pale gold, the mighty lizard’s hoard ripe for our picking. We numbered but four, all young in age. I, only nine, was the youngest.

"Johnny!" a voice called, "Come on, John!" I looked ahead to see two of my friends already vanishing in the golden, collapsing stalks of corn. Travis had waited. "Come on, let’s go," he said again, grinning wildly, holding his odd paper-wrapped walking stick at his side. "Grab your sword," he commanded, pointing to a sturdy looking dried stalk next to me. "We have to hunt down the evil knights of Caranal."

I grabbed the stalk and pulled with all my might, my hands grasping at its papery skin, but it just wouldn’t budge. "I can’t get it," I said.

"It’s the Stalk in the Stone," Travis laughed. "I’ll get it for you." With that he set down his precious walking stick and easily pulled the plant from the ground, making grunts of effort for my benefit. He grabbed another for himself.

"And now, to battle!" He struck a knightly pose, his black hair framing his face and creeping down his neck, his right hand defiantly thrusting the stalk skyward, and his left steadying himself with his long stick. His black cloak billowed in the breeze. It was at times like this when I wanted to be just like him. Travis let out a war cry and dashed deeper into the stalks. I followed, running like mad.

These were the days when a weekend would last forever, when fall seemed to linger in the air for millennia and an epic battle could be acted out in one Saturday evening. Paul, Rob, Travis and I were out in the cool weather, questing through the night. Halloween was still two weeks away, but Travis was dressed for his role, in a long black adventurer’s cloak which concealed black pants and a gray long sleeve shirt.

These trips were our ritual, our rite of fall. It wasn’t every weekend of the autumn months, but at least a few of them. Something about the chill in the air would make us think of heroic sword fights and setting off to battle. I suppose it was odd that we all shared the same fantasy, but it had been that way as long as I could remember. The organization of this latest outing, though, had been a little different.

"I don’t know," Paul had said. "It seems kind of like something little kids do."

"What are you saying?" Travis asked. "Are you saying I’m a little kid?" Despite Paul’s growth this year, Travis was still several inches taller.

"No, it’s just…I mean, it’s weird isn’t it? Pretending like that? Maybe it’s time we did something real."

"Come on, Paul," I pleaded. "You can’t miss it; you have to be there. It’s fun; you know that. Why can’t you just do it?"

"Yeah, Paul," Rob said. "What’s with you?"

"Never mind. Let him stay here if he wants. He just would’ve lost the fight anyway." Though Travis seemed truly disgusted when he said it, Paul took it as a challenge.

"All right, man. But I bet this is the last time." And so we had set out, the four of us together.

Somehow, Travis and I managed to sneak up on Rob and Paul from behind. We followed their trail of footprints in the dry soil right to them, pushing through the rows of crops stealthily. Periodically, Travis would gesture for me to be quiet; I was amazed how silent he was when he moved. Finally, we came into a small clearing, and there they were, laying in an earthen indentation, waiting to surprise us. Instead, we leapt at them, our makeshift swords raised high in the air.

"Have at you!" Travis cried, eyes ablaze, swinging at Paul furiously. Paul jumped to his feet whirling, not quite getting his stalk up in time.

I jabbed at Rob, who was still struggling to his feet. My arms were too short to reach him from this distance, and he soon was up to his full height, a good six inches taller than me. I felt his corn stalk hit my shoulder before I was ready, but after that we had a fairly even exchange of blows, our stalks hitting against each other, the jarring of the impact shaking the plant in my hands.

We struck at each other wildly, laughing and grunting, the present day dissolving into the reality that was our world. I could almost hear the steel clashing around me. As we spun connecting with blow after blow, knowing we’d probably be bruised in the morning, I glimpsed at Travis and Paul going at it like true warriors.

Ages went by and when the corn had settled, we were all lying on the ground, panting happily. The shafts of sunlight spilt through the rows of the field to warm us, both the casualties and the victors of the battle.

Breathing heavily, the smell of fall and dried leaves and the sunset rushed in and out of my nostrils. Cool dry earth was beneath me and I stared at the darkening sky, basking in the fading warmth as night crept in.

Eventually, Rob spoke. "We’d better get to the Tower before dark, or our parents are going to be mad." He was right, and it brought us back to reality.

Travis was the first to stand. I saw him as a black shadow, his edges blurred, looking mystical, as he was backlit by the setting sun. The rest of us grudgingly got to our feet to begin the walk across of the now shadowy field of maize.

"What’s this?" Paul asked, reaching for Travis’ walking stick, where it lay among our discarded stalks of corn.

"Don’t touch that!" Travis’ words had a note of alarm that didn’t fit the mood of the evening. Everyone stood for a minute, as a flock of frightened birds took off from the middle of the field off to our right.

"It’s a surprise I’m going to show you guys later," Travis explained, visibly trying to maintain a calm tone.

Paul just shrugged. Travis retrieved his pole, the brown paper crinkling in his hand.

"Let’s go."

We headed towards the woods and to the left, two by two, our houses gradually rising into sight.

"So when are you going to get some muscle on you, Johnny?" Paul asked me as I tried to match his stride.

"What do you mean? I’ve got muscles. Otherwise how could I move?"

"That’s not what I mean, dummy. I mean, like, muscles." As we walked he flexed his biceps to demonstrate. I pushed up the sleeve of my flannel shirt and tried to do the same, but I had much less noticeable results.

"You’re just like that because you’re older than me." I said, trying to find some sort of defense.

"If you want to get muscles we should play football or something some time. This stuff is fun, but that would be cool." With that remark, I saw Travis glance back with a strange look on his dark face. Something was in his eyes that I couldn’t place.

But Paul didn’t notice. His freckled face bore a contented, simple look as a slight breeze blew back his red hair.

I always wanted red hair, or blue eyes, or green eyes, or to be really tall, or to have some other neat distinguishing mark. Heck, I thought, even a scar would be pretty cool. Instead I was this skinny little ordinary kid with sort of curly blondish hair that paled in the summer and muddy brown eyes and decent teeth that were pretty straight, but not perfect. I had good eyesight though, and that’s something I had over Paul. He needed glasses when he read.

Rob, on the other hand, needed glasses all the time just to see anything. I remember one occasion that I took them to try on, and he just sat on his front lawn and wouldn’t move while I had them. As soon as I put them on everything got very weird. I was dizzy and I felt that if I tried to move I’d fall over, and I wondered if that’s how the world always looked to him. It was like looking through bad windows after being spun around on a merry-go-round for too long.

I jogged a little to catch up with him now. "What’s your school like this year?" I asked him. He, Travis and Paul were in the sixth grade and in middle school this year, but I was still back in the elementary.

"It’s okay," he said. "The classes are fun, and we’re learning neat stuff in math with ‘x’"

"You mean like multiplication?" I said, trying to show how smart I was.

"No, the letter x. It’s called a variable."

"But it’s math, right?"

"Yeah."

I thought about this for a while, then said, "What if we counted with letters and talked with numbers? I wonder how much would be different."

Travis’ mind, however, had gone off on a different tangent. "Forget the math, Rob. What about the girls?"

By this point we were nearing the boundary of the cornfield and the woods, the houses of our subdivision just a little ways to the left, their backyards touching these other properties.

"What about the girls?" I asked, wondering about the subject change.

"They’re busty wenches." Travis said, knowingly. Now I was really confused.

"Like a crescent wrench?"

"No, a wench. A young woman of questionable virtue." Rob just shook his head, and I decided not to press the subject, but made a note to look in the dictionary the next day.

"Oh."

We had crossed the threshold of the woods, and the Tower was in view. The short remainder of our journey was in silence. Then we were there.

The Tower, as we called it, was our clubhouse in the woods set back about twenty feet from where Rob’s back yard ended. It was far enough from our houses for us to be alone, but close enough for our parents not to worry.

It got its name from a four-legged fifteen-foot high wooden platform, on to which enclosed portions of the hideout were added over the years.

It was much darker here in the trees, and the bulk of the Tower loomed like the fortress we pretended it was. We sat down on logs near the Tower by our fire pit, while Rob tried to get some wood lit before it got too dark. He was a Boy Scout, and so our designated fire starter.

Soon, it was fully dark, but we were seated around a good-sized fire, the flames dancing as we talked.

I looked up at the stars. I was good with the names of constellations, and I saw a lot I knew.

"I wonder if there’s anyone looking back at us from up there right now?" I asked my friends.

"They’re probably asking the same question," Rob said with a smile, then he wandered off among the trees for a few minutes to get some more wood for the fire.

"One time I was looking at my reflection in the water," Travis said. "And I could’ve sworn he was staring right back at me, like really looking. I’m pretty sure I saw him move before I did, one time."

"Really?" I said in awe.

"No, not really," said Paul. "He’s making it up. Stuff like that doesn’t happen. You’re so gullible Johnny."

"How do you know it didn’t happen?" Travis said, rising from his seat and stepping towards Paul. "You weren’t there."

"Aw, you’re always making stuff up. Most of the stuff you guys talk about isn’t even real.

"With you and your swords and dragons and stuff, and Johnny and Rob staring at the stars, I’m not sure why I hang out with you guys sometimes. Don’t you ever do normal stuff?"

"What normal stuff?" I asked. "Don’t you like what we do, Paul?"

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, I used to, but it seems babyish now. I don’t know."

Travis had been silent for a few minutes, but it looked like he was breathing hard. He was starting at Paul, his cloak hanging at his sides, his eyes intent. He had a look I had never seen before.

"And like, with Travis," Paul continued, leaning closer to me. "You know what? All the kids at school think he’s a freak… He’s always making up stories, or seeing things that aren’t there. Aren’t you Trav?"

I couldn’t believe Paul was saying these things. I glanced up at Travis, but he was standing very still, almost frozen.

"You know what, Johnny? You don’t want to be like Travis. Nobody likes him. And if you hang out with someone like him, they’ll think you’re just like him…. Think anyone who’s even near him is just like him…" Paul was staring down now, staring at the fire, his face pale in the flickering light. "And all because of the things he makes up, the stories he tells. He’s all lies John."

Something seemed to explode from Travis. "How the Hell can you say I lie. Have you seen what I see? Can you get inside my head? God damn you Paul. Do you want something real that I can talk about? Do you want to see that something I say is true?

"You say we play kid’s games, but don’t you think people ever used real swords. All this was real Paul. Much more real than you."

With that, Travis picked up his walking stick from where it lay against one of our logs, ripping the paper off violently. As the brown scraps fluttered into the flames, he held a piece of gleaming metal in his hands. It was a sword, a real sword. A long two-handed sword, narrow, with one sharpened edge. I felt a lightheaded panic set in and found that I couldn’t move, only watch.

"You’re tired of our games? You’re tired of pretending?" Travis continued, advancing towards Paul who had gotten to his feet. Travis was backing Paul towards the fire, flames reflected in his eyes, the sword glowing red in the intermittent light.

"Travis, you’re crazy…. Shit, you are crazy." Paul was back as far as he could go, with fire behind him, and the steel at his front.

"Travis, no!" I shouted in tears. I suddenly jumped forward, my muscles moving almost involuntarily.

I hit Paul’s legs, knocking them out from under him and fell to one side. But Travis could not stop his swing. I saw the blade travelling towards my face as I lay on the ground near the fire, and threw my right hand in its path.

Just as I felt the cold metal on my skin, I heard Rob yell, and the clatter of what I would latter realize was falling firewood. Travis looked away, the sword suddenly gone limp in his hands. The point traced a thin line of red as it slid down my forearm.

For a moment it was just cold, and then, like a paper cut I felt the pain. Blood began to trickle in a small rivulet off the back of my right hand as I marveled at it, lying there on the ground, in shock, I suppose, my life’s fluid leaking away. Travis looked down at me, tears running down his cheeks. He was barely able to speak clearly.

"Johnny, I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have called me a liar… He called me a liar…" And he slumped down on a log by the fire and began to sob quietly.

"I’m sorry…I’m sorry."

I slowly managed to get to my feet. Rob had gone off, probably, I thought, to his house, and Paul had run away at some point as well.

I wanted to say something to Travis, but he just sat there, and my wrist was starting to hurt. I looked down at the red lines on my arm. I needed my mom. And I backed away from the fire, as my friend Travis sat.

His face was bathed in red and gold, like dragon’s fire as the wood flickered and sparked. His eyes were dull, they did not sparkle, but were windows, cloudy windows, through which few could see the scales of the beast that lingered within.

But I couldn’t be sure my vision was so clear.