If I hear the phrase, ‘you know what they say,’ one more time, I’m going to move to Canada and heard polar bears! Of course, I have no idea who they are but they do seem to have an inordinate amount to say on a myriad of topics from the mundane to the fantastical. I am not particularly taken by them, but my parents are enchanted by them. They- my parents in this case- chant the other they’s phrases as if they- still my parents- are possessed. Of course, my parents told me that my cat ‘ran away.’ But after the Santa Clause incident of ‘05, I take everything that comes out of their mouths with a grain of salt...I suppose my dad does too. Salt looks an awful lot like sugar, y’know!
**************************
  “You know what they say. They say the age of magic is dying.”
“ Well, you and I are gonna change that!”
“Whatever you say. Are you sure she’s the one?”
“Absolutely!” The two faces, illuminated by the shifting light of the moon bouncing off the water in a copper bowl, grimaced in unison as they watched the tiny, purple-headed figure slam face first onto the ground.
“Well, we’ve certainly got our work cut out for us.”
********************
I’m from a lazy, little town in Bible Belt America where the only time it’s abuzz is when the cicadas come out in the summer. The air shimmers with heat and oil particles from all the fried chicken we make. And the only thing thicker than the layer of butter on top of our biscuits is our accents. Well, I say our, but I spend all the free time I have after declining another afternoon tea party-honestly, how much iced tea can one drink- holed up in my room coaching myself to speak with a ‘yankee’ dialect. Sounds nice enough, but everyone here is a sheep! Everyone here wants to be exactly the same; they have the same outfits, same hobbies, most of them have the same name! My parents very nearly escaped this trend of monotonous naming by calling me Raeanne- it means ewe, so I technically would be just another sheep in my town’s herd- but it was too Jewish for our good Christian community. So, they settled for Amnesty Willow Beauregard. I guess I can pardon them, it is my name after all- and I go by Willow most of the time anyway-, for not going against the tide; but I personally want to be free of this herd mentality. Not everything about the south is bad, I guess. The food is to die for; seriously, we don't care about calories. The idea of constantly being polite holds a lot of sway with me too, so I could never be the typical angsty teen that blasts heavy metal and screams obscenities at anyone who says hello. The closest piercing or tattoo parlor is in the next state, and I don’t like the idea of pain no matter how small anyway; so, I’ve settled for dyeing my hair every week and writing on my arm in sharpie. The neighbors all smile and shake their heads muttering, ‘bless her little heart,’s whenever I pass by; and it’s a surety that whenever we settle down for lunch after Sunday’s service at least one person will come and gently whisper to my parents, ‘you know what they say. It’s just a phase.’ I thought that I would be trapped in this vicious cycle of monotony forever...until I found that book...
I was leaning back on one of the mysteriously stained, rickety chairs in the public library. The health-hazard of a fan wobbled dangerously overhead as I thought about how I could get out of writing this essay for school. It was probably the hundredth time I’d had to write a paper on how Lee would’ve won the war if not for the low-down, cheatin’ scum yankees, but the real kicker was that this was for my math class. It was a good alternative for a final exam, but using one of the previous 99 renditions was not an option; our teacher wanted something new. It figures that the one time I could be creative in this clone farm of a town I end up choking. The veritable fortress of ‘marginally’ opinionated books around me wasn’t offering any solutions when my trademark clumsiness decided to kick in. In a slow-motion worthy moment, I tumbled over the back of my chair and was promptly crushed by toppling books; only the lava flows of Pompeii could’ve come close to competing with the destructive wave of these volumes. There was a moment of deafening silence before the librarian shuffled over- wading through the mushroom cloud of dust- and asked, “Found what you were lookin’ for, hun?”
After that, I decided that I might as well just go home and try again tomorrow. I dug through the books and found my glasses, cracked. Ugh, my parents weren’t going to be happy; these had cost quite a lot. Maybe I could say I was going for that Harry Potter aesthetic.... Gathering up an armful of books, I started scurrying through the shelves to return them to their places. Back and forth, back and forth, I hadn’t sweated that much since mom had stuck me in a corset and a hoop skirt and paraded me around all day for a reenactment. Stopping for a breather, I glanced at the quilts- sorry, ‘tapestries’- hiding the water stains on the wall.
During the ‘War of Northern Aggression,’ these glorified blankets had been patched together by Irish immigrants who had sympathized with the South. They depicted cheery scenes from Irish mythology such as; the death of Macha after the birth of her twins and the triumph of Cuchulain over Scathach’s sister. But there in the corner, just out of reach of the sputtering light, was a piece I’d never seen before. The rusting plaque, teetering on its final screw, read; “To the people of our new Emain Ablach, Isle of the Apple Trees. Or rather to the people who have made this land our Tír na nóg, on Earth.” The picture on the cloth were the outlines of the United States and Ireland with a sea of monsters in between. Just barely visible, was a bulge that touched both lands’ borders. I hesitantly touched it, and with a whoosh, down plopped a book. Celtic designs in gold and silver leaf swirled hypnotizingly around the cover. As I was reaching down to grab it, a strong wind whipped my hair in my face and petrichor assaulted my nose. I felt the air lifting me up and saw the orangey-yellow of a bright light burning through my eyelids before- crunch! I demolished a thatched roof and snapped the legs off an overstuffed armchair.
    Bits of hay and down from the indignant squawking birds around me- or perhaps the decimated armchair- floated around my head in a whirlwind as the magical air current slowly dissipated. I felt an odd lump in my pocket, but I soon was distracted by an odd combination of sulphur and mildew that tickled my nose. As I cautiously opened my eyes against the barrage of flashing orange light, I saw various brass mechanisms- wizzing and whirring with a passion- catching sunlight and flinging it around the room. Workbenches overflowed with loose papers, grotesque curios, and scientific instruments. Cages upon cages of various creatures teetered upon leaning towers of worn books. Beakers bubbled quietly in corners as flame crackled underneath them. A small sneeze alerted me to the presence of a small white fox calmly sitting in front of me. It’s beady eyes looked at me with disdain, no doubt wondering what else I would break, before it cleaned its face of dust and sulked off. Thirty seconds later, a multicolored blur raced into my sight and flattened me to the ground with an enthusiastic hug.
    “Oh yer a wee bit late, dearie. And I reckon I’ll n’er be usin’ tha’ chair again, but ya know what they say! Que sera, sera. Tell me. Did ya have an accident with yer alchemy potions? Did it turn yer hair blue?”
“I..uh, dyed it.”
The world turned blurry as the frames of my glasses were whipped off my face.
“And where did ya get these spectacles? Runnin’ around Japan, bumped inta the wrong end of a Kappa, and decide to conjure him inta something more useful?”
“The mythical creature, no...they’re-they’re plastic, actually.”
“Oh it’s no matter anyway, I’m just chuffed yer here. So where is it? Where’s the little devil?”
The young girl, now that I could see just who my personified questionnaire was, blinked at me expectantly. Although we were indoors, she was sporting a rather...flamboyant piece of headgear-perhaps once it had been a stovepipe, but something or other had flattened it to the height of a bowler- covered in ornamental butterflies and a smoking chimney-like structure on the side. Her shoulders were concealed by an oversized, dark blue coat; complete with gleaming brass buttons and cloth epaulettes. Although, it seemed to by steaming and crumbling into ash as she sat in front of me. The state of her tan, form-fitting pants was equally charred. Pale cheeks were colored, not by rouge, but soot; in a suspiciously goggle-outlining manner. Flame bright red hair dangled out of the loose bun at her nape. A slight waft of lavender seemed to encase her. At her elbow was the white fox, who tilted its head moodily to one side as if to say; well, answer the question. All I managed was, “Do you know your hat’s smoking?”
Somehow, this question prompted proper introductions. My new acquaintance, Aibhlinn, bustled about the room snatching feathers out of the air chattering all the way. I’ll admit that I wasn’t paying much attention to what Aibhlinn had to say. Can you blame me? I was in shock, and I swear the stuffed antelope head across the room was giving me the stink eye. Aibhlinn kept talking and talking and talking until finally she dwindled down to, “An’ it all comes back ta the grimoire! What do ya think?”
“I’d argue that all wars are grim,”
“No, no, no, not grim war. Grimoire! G-R-I-M-O-I-R-E, a wizard’s spellbook. Yer the one tha’ can,” she furiously paged through a nearby tome, “ ‘reflect enough to break the dead tongue.’ Yer the one tha’ has the grimoire!” Now, an Irish accent- at least, I assumed she was Irish- is hard enough to understand if you’ve never heard it before. But it’s especially indecipherable when you grew up surrounded by nothing but southern drawls, or when the Irishman is too excited to make themselves understandable. My vacant expression must have tipped her off, though.
She pawed over to a table full of dried herbs and dropper bottles, muttering to herself as she went. “Of all the things…..my accent….we both speak English don’ we….there, tree drops of clover concentrate Down the hatch.” And voilà, her accent vanished like the smoke rising up off her person. “Sorry, don’t know where my manners went. I’ll get us some food, maybe change out of something less burnt, and then we’ll go back to square one, eh?”
I sat, twiddling my thumbs, and waited. The thump of boots alerted me to Aibhlinn’s return. I jumped as the door slammed open and upset a cage full of doves.
“ Here now! Who are ya?” a gruff voice demanded. Looking up, I saw the angered face of Aibhlinn...and the point of a gleaming blade.
“I-I’m Will! Willow! You said you were going to go change!”
“I didnae say tha’. I’ve n’er talked ta ya in me life. Who are ya!” She bellowed as the sword dug a little into my neck.
“Aoife,” another Aibhlinn rushed through the door, “what are you doing! That’s the girl I told you about!”
“ Her? But her hair was purple not blue.”
“I dye it. It was purple, but I changed it!”
“Exactly. Now put that silly, oversized pin of yours away and sit down. I’ve got pudding.” Even my family’s last Thanksgiving dinner wasn’t as tense as this little snack was. Aibhlinn was nervously dolling out apple barley pudding whilst patting out spontaneous sparks of flame on her sleeves. “Will o’ the Wisps. Very clingy.” Aibhlinn number two, Aoife, sat across from me; sword well within reach and with a little dribble of clover concentrate on the corner of her mouth. The white fox, gnawing on the leather ties of her bracers, periodically nipped affectionately at Aibhlinn number one’s hands as they passed with more ladles of dessert. I kept my eyes locked with Aoife’s as my chair slowly tried to engulf me in its downy clutches; making me sink down further and further. Judging by her incessant glower, I had ruffled more feathers than just those in my chair. If there is one thing I have gained from living in the south, however, it is to diffuse any situation with small talk. So, I ventured into what I assumed would be safe territory. “You two must really like animals, huh? What’s little foxy’s name?”
“His name is Roarke, and he’s not a little foxy. He’s our father,” Aoife snarled.
“Right, o.k. I didn’t mean to assume that your family structure was normal. Not that this wouldn’t be considered normal! It’s just that where I’m from-”
“This has to do with what I was telling you before,” Aibhlinn interrupted, “A group called the Logicians appeared one day in town. They didn’t bother anyone for a while, but then they started hanging up posters, having meetings, staging protests. They preached the total eradication of magic. They said it would be safer. Accidents started happening around magical creatures: fires in dragon forges, leprechauns miscounting your bank balance, elves sewing you shoes that were too small. Off they went. One by one to containment facilities. I’m sure that the Logicians staged it all; but one by one, everyone was enchanted by them. Then it was bye-bye magic.” Aibhlinn went on to say how the townspeople had started noticing things were amiss when the Logicians started to campaign against the nearby wizarding school. Magical creatures people could get rid of without thinking twice, but getting rid of another human was something else. The Logicians became more violent; their word became gospel. Anyone who spoke out against them disappeared for a while, and then turned up again; a confused babbling mess, without imaginative drive and sans sanity. Thought Gobblers, disgusting little translucent frog creatures with visible pulsating brains, were the cause. No one spoke up to the Logician’s use of magic fighting magic out of fear that their free will and creative spirit would be the creature’s next meal. But one day, Aoife and Aibhlinn came home to find that their mother had been a victim. In a rage, their father had rallied a small contingent of men and charged the Logician’s stronghold resulting in their transformation into creatures of the forest. Aoife, who had been trailing them wooden sword in hand, had quickly gathered them up and brought them to her sister. “I was gifted with magic, you know. A token of gratitude from an old witch that was given shelter by my parents during a Logician raid. Ma was pregnant with Aoife then, but what’s better than one baby? Two! And now, here I am! She gave me this too.” Here she showed off a light blue birthmark, in the shape of a star, on the top of her right shoulder that concealed a magical sunstone underneath her skin. This rock granted Aibhlinn the ability to locate any source of magic in the world. In essence, she was a human compass. Their parents had also hypothesized that this was the source of her magic.
Of course, women had never been allowed to study the magic of men; and they weren’t about to start with Aibhlinn. A female with born with magic is limited to using her powers in ‘womanly’ pursuits: cooking, healing, or childbearing. But the twins’ parents were of a… liberal persuasion and encouraged the twins to study whatever their hearts desired even if it was considered ‘manly’; so, Aibhlinn studied magic, and Aoife practiced weaponry. This proved rather fortunate, as when the Logicians’ General Deirdre finally drove the wizards out of their academy- and piled up all their books to be burned- the twins used their respective talents to commandeer a few tomes. One such volume was a journal full of scryer’s secrets. The most important of which predicted the coming of a, “ ‘rainbow-haired stranger that would reflect enough to break the dead tongue and bring magic back to the world.’ ” Aibhlinn stopped her story here and looked at me meaningfully.
“It’s not me!” I adamantly protested, nearly upending the table as I stood up.
“There, you heard her,” Aoife crowed, “it’s not her. So we should march up to those-”
“You can’t get rid of all your problems by hitting them, Aoife! How many times has Dad told you that?”
“Regardless, I’m really sorry, but I’m not the girl you’re looking for.”
“Oh, where’s your sense of humanity! You can’t leave us. Haven’t you ever wanted to go on an adventure?” Aibhlinn pleaded. Well, it was either go free an oppressed people or finish my math homework. The answer was obvious.
“Sorry, I’ve got as much courage as a chicken nugget, and I don’t have your book, so-”
“You might as well come, since I don’t know of any spells to get you back home right now. The Lost Grimoire has that information, so we can look for it on the way to Stage One of our Logician takedown!”
**********************************
Stage One of the plan was to create a distraction for the Logician’s henchman. This distraction entailed traveling to one of the nearby containment centers for the magical creatures and releasing said beasts from their captivity. However, ‘near’ appeared to have a different meaning in this world than in the south. It was already a week into our journey and all that we had found, was that- when you wear ill-fitting shoes and walk a lot- they cause blisters just at the same rate they would back at home. Finally, finally, we stopped to rest in a clearing in a part of the forest where the trees were as tall as the ocean is deep.
The only reason I knew it was night, was the watery glimmer of a few distant stars blinking in the scratch of sky above, battling the thinning boughs that teared at them from the surrounding pines. Patches of bioluminescent lichens, spread sporadically around on random trunks like a rash, helped to brighten the forest closer to its floor. A lake took up much of the room in the clearing. Its waters were pitch black and only an occasional ripple broke its obsidian surface. A biting breeze orchestrated the cacophony of oak-ish and birch-y groans that deafened our crunching tread. The musk and mildew scent of ancient trees was washed away by the smoke of a fire. As Aoife started to set up camp for the night, I wandered closer to the edge of the lake. Its surface yielded no indication that any life- flora or fauna- was hidden in its depths; but something had to be moving the water, right? A hand suddenly planted itself on my shoulder, making me jump.
“Sorry, just don’t want you falling in. It’s pretty deep, and I doubt the mermaids would hear your flailing in time to save you.,” Aibhlinn chuckled.
“There are mermaids in this lake? I thought mermaids only lived in the ocean.”
“They’re a rare freshwater variety. Luckily, their lake is remote enough that only Aoife and I know about it.” Just then, a large white object flashed by; sloshing water onto our shoes.
“What was that!” I shrieked. “A mermaid?”
“No...they should be more colorful than that. And giving up an opportunity to talk with someone is nearly unheard of. Something’s wrong,” Aibhlinn mumbled. I leaned closer to the lake, trying to catch another glimpse of the creature… but I leaned too far and- splash! I plunged into the lake. Hands, as white and rough as dead coral, grabbed me by the neck as soon as I was under. Through the choppy waves caused by my tumble, I could see Aibhlinn’s panicked face as she too was swallowed by the water. Grey-green weeds ensnared my arms and legs, making my already slowed movements nearly impossible. Aibhlinn, now in front of me, received the same treatment. We were pulled further and further down. My captor’s scales tore a hole snagged on my pants and tore a hole through them, lightly scraping my skin as well. Her face, ugh, her face was nothing like what you would imagine a mermaid’s to be. The eyes bulged like a frog’s on either side of her head. Instead of pearls or seashell comes in her hair like the pictures in children’s stories, there were all manner of dead fish. Her nose was replaced by gills located in the center of her face. She had no coloring at all; she was as white as the first page of a student’s essay. I started to feel the pressure of the lake above me lend its aid to the pace of the mermaid dragging us down. Black was creeping further into my vision; well, what vision there was to be had in the lake.
The crushing grip of the mermaid’s hands left me, and I felt her swim away as if in a panic. Then, another set of hands yanked on my hair pulling my face upward. It was Aoife! If it weren’t a life-or-death situation, I would’ve laughed at the branch- bioluminescent lichen and all- she had thrust into her hair like a unicorn’s horn. She yanked me up by the hair again, and then reached for Aibhlinn by my side. Clawing at the weeds that swathed her sister’s shoulders, she skillfully sawed away at them with a small dagger. Eventually, Aibhlinn’s arms sprung free- ripping her shirt enough to see her birthmark in the process-, and she clung to her sister like a limpet. This action, unfortunately, also caused Aoife to lose hold of her dagger. How was I supposed to get out? Aoife, realizing this too, forced her arms apart, tore off the rest of the plants trapping her sister; and together, they grabbed me and swam up. Heaving greedy lungfuls of air, we rested a while before locating a small rock to cut me loose.
“Oh,” gasped Aibhlinn, “oh, mo ghile mear! You’re the best sister I never asked for!”
“Anything for you, bómán!” panted Aoife. “And you’re right, I never asked for you. I would’ve asked for something better! You two wait here and warm up. I better check the perimeter and make sure there are no more...surprises.” We put our wet clothes on some low-hanging branches, and then squelched our way over to the fire. Munching on some berries, we shivered and conversed with halos of fireflies around us until sunlight started painting our cheeks. Aoife wasn’t back yet. We waited, we took a nap, we scavenged for more food...but she still wasn’t there. Just as we were about to go out and look for her, we heard a rustling from some proximal shrubbery. We turned as one and were accosted by the sight of an army of Thought Gobblers, murder and maleficence lighting up their eyes. Now, I haven’t done anything remotely athletic since my disastrous debut baby ballerina recital, but I drop kicked that first wart-faced sucker like it was what I was born to do! Aibhlinn shouted out something like, Teine biorach, and a string of will o’ the wisps lit up like Christmas lights. When they moved, the fizzed like a sparkler and made a sound like a rocket. It wasn’t long until these little fire sprites situated themselves under a chosen creature and made them explode into a grotesque firework like it was the Fourth of July. Roarke was fending well for himself; raking his claws across any that came across his path and chomping on any wayward limbs. For a while, it seemed like the battle was going in our favor, but Thought Gobblers kept pouring out from God knows where. One dropped out of a tree onto Aibhlinn’s unsuspecting back. It unhinged its jaw to reveal its black hole of a mouth. Light glinted off the jagged edges of row upon row of its muted, sea-glass green, teeth. A cry of rage and a flash of auburn hair passed me as Aoife- for the second time- came to our rescue. She fought with the fury of a demon, but it wasn’t enough. Aibhlinn and I watched in horror as Aoife was buried under a filthy mass of bodies; all snarling and clawing at anything within reach. A flash of light from the forest made me look over. The whole clearing was surrounded by shadowy silhouettes of men? Oh no, were they the Logician’s army? My inattention to my own adversaries resulted in my receiving a clout to the head, and a welcome but forced nap.
I came to in a dank cell. It was unremarkable except for the small, tin water bowl for the twins’ father. Speaking of, Roarke was feebly licking at Aibhlinn’s motionless hand; only taking breaks to sniff the air and growl low in his throat. The creak of the cell’s door made me leap like a cat. Our belongings were tossed through the opening. A voice, that seemed to bypass the normal route of sound vibrations and jumped straight to reverberating through my skull, addressed me gruffly. General Deirdre says you can pick out something nice to wear before you meet her and she decides what to do with you. Be sure to thank her for her generosity! Our packs and clothes still damp from the lake plopped on the floor as the door was slammed shut yet again. A strange rectangular lump was visible in my jeans pocket. It was a small book that looked vaguely familiar. Undecorated, except for the roman numeral two and a rusting lock, I didn’t have time to inspect it more before Aibhlinn regained conscience with a groan. I helped her up as Roarke ran nervous circles around us. She opened her mouth just as the door slammed up against the wall; dust ballooning out from the wall. As one, we looked up and smiled, “Aoife!”
“Please, call me Deirdre,” she smirked. Guards filled in behind her and made a wall before the exit.
“But- but...you’re working for them? Why?” Aibhlinn softly queried; eyes swimming with confusion and tears.
“Why? Because they get rid of magic, and they can get rid of you! Without magic, you would’ve never been born. Ma and Pa called you ‘longed-for child,’ but what about me, huh? You know what they say? They say, Aoife, why can’t you be more like your sister? Why can’t you do something more worthwhile then beat somebody up? But what about you! You’ve never done anything except set the house on fire with your stupid magic! They say, we’re sorry darling, but we need to help Aibhlinn set up her project so we can’t see you spar. They let me go off and fight- maybe die- but you, you’re too special. Everyone in town thinks so too. ‘Oh those twins. Such a shame their personalities are mirrored. It would be better if that other one was like Aibhlinn.’ When the Logicians first came to me, they said they wanted you too; but all they need is the sunstone. And that’s where I come in. Some of their other followers tried to one up me- the mermaids, the Thought Gobblers- and get the stone for themselves, but I stopped them. I’ll get the stone, and then I’ll kill you. After that, they get rid of the magic and their job is done. They help me stage a heroic defeat of their ‘evil’, they go on their merry way, and I get the recognition and love that I deserve! And you, dear sister, will be nothing but a fading remembrance in our ‘loving memory’.”
“Aoife, have you never loved me? Not even once? Won’t you miss me!” Aibhlinn pleaded.
“You know what they say: absence makes the heart grow fonder!” Aoife held out her hands for one of the guards to place her sword in. Without thinking twice, I threw the little book I had found at Aoife’s head; if for nothing else, then just to buy myself some time to think of a proper plan. She easily deflected it with her arm, and it sailed harmlessly back towards us. Upon impact, the lock broke with rust confetti showering onto the floor before it miraculously landed leaning against the wall by the water bowl. Useless scribbles filled what pages I could see, but the polished edge of the dish reflected the lines of nonsense into...was that Latin of all things? I have never been happier to have been forced into Sunday school in my life! Conveniently, the word at the top of the page read tardo: to lag, to slow. I screamed this at the top of my lungs just before Aoife’s blade started its deathly downward arc. All the occupants in the room started moving as if someone had just pressed a slow-mo button. I took the time to move Aibhlinn over to the wall and picked up the book- grimoire. I shook Abhlinn’s shoulder until she looked up at me in a fairly normal speed.
“I, uh, guess you being magic and all makes you immune? Look, I’ve had my taste of adventure, but I don’t know what to do now. She’s your sister anyways, so it’s your choice.”
“I...I never knew she felt that way. I’ve always loved her,” she morosely intoned. “Is there... something in there that can change her memory?” I dumped the water out of the bowl and turned it upside down. Holding the book close, I flipped through the pages. When I found the right spell, I solemnly handed it to her. Her voice cracked a little as she read the words. A little, white butterfly-made out of white mist- floated out of the book and made three circles around Aoife’s head. It disappeared in a firecracker flash, and the previously enchanted people shook their heads as if trying to dry themselves like a dog out of its bath. They all appeared to be dizzy, so most immediately sat down to sort themselves out. “Thank you,” Aibhlinn said, handing me the book again and holding Aoife’s hair back as she leaned her head between her knees. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for a bit? Maybe help Aoife and me finally release those poor magical beasts?” Noticing Roarke sitting at Aoife’s feet, I took the liberty of turning him back into a human.
“Thanks, but you know what they say. Three’s a crowd. Anyway, like I said before, I’ve had my fair share of adventure. I’m gonna go home, relax, and drink some iced tea with my family.” I flipped through some pages until I found the right one. Wait, I hope there was some kind of magical discrepancy with the time in this world and home; otherwise I’m gonna need to ask for an extension on that stupid paper. Aww, man.