Death Roll I
stood on the banks of the Caledon River, halfway around the world from my new home in Bridgeport, Connecticut. Brown mountains loomed in the distance while bright exotic birds shrieked as they flew by in a burst of color.
I was wearing a purple bathing suit covered with yellow ducks. Oversize flippers clung to my sweating feet, and an orange diving mask was strapped tightly around my head. It would’ve made for a laughable picture if not for the fact that this was the most important magic repair job I’d ever been asked to do, and if I failed, a young boy would die.
I bit my lip...