by Emmett Swan
“Not exactly.”
“But you have a plan? Please speak!” she demanded.
“King Brecan will give you all the details. He wants to involve you.” He bowed to the side, showing her the way.
Keeva burned with impatience, but she quietly followed Iragram down the main corridor of the palace and through the large double doors leading to Derfaria’s grand reception chamber. A number of somber faces surrounded King Brecan, who sat on his dais between two columns of polished yellow crystal. He looked up at Keeva as she entered and beckoned to her.
“Come my dear daughter. Hear the latest news from Panagu. And hear our plan, for it will involve you above all others.”
Keeva was concerned. How would her father directly involve her in this conflict? Well, if it must be, then she would do what was necessary. Sitting back and doing nothing, simply because they couldn’t reach Panagu, would be insufferable. As the days counted Neasan’s happiness, so would they count her days of misery.
She bowed before her father. “I would hear your plan,” she said, “and would contribute in any way possible to the downfall of Panagu.” The king studied her for a long while in silence and Keeva grew uncomfortable. Why did he regard her in such a way? Was he questioning her motivation? Did he think she was too bent on destruction and hate?
But Keeva did not flinch. She stood before her father and returned his gaze.
“As you know,” began the king, “without the red elixir, our valiant forces have no means of attacking Panagu. So for now, our war declarations are inert. Neither side can effectively strike at the other.
“I know this, Father. It makes me seethe.”
“Well, Panagu is planning to change that. Using false mirclair, we have sent spies into their secret war chambers. We know that Panagu possesses some mirclair, but only a modest amount. They could send a small war band to Derfaria, but they see little strategic value in such an attack. And they know we possess none of the red elixir and that they are currently safe from our War Gryphons.
“Their plan is to send their master distiller to Earth to make a large batch of mirclair, large enough to unleash an entire army of invisible soldiers upon our land. Such a force would be formidable, bringing much damage and death.”
“But doesn’t real mirclair take a long time to make?” asked Keeva. “Iragram told me over two hundred years.”
“That is correct,” replied Iragram. “But since time passes more quickly on Earth than other realms, their distiller, one called Thallach, will set up his workshop in that land and do all the work there.”
“Instead of hundreds of years, Thallach will have a batch of mirclair ready in about thirty of our years,” added King Brecan. “So if we sit back and do nothing, we would eventually be attacked. And an invisible army, once here, could launch a surprise attack. By getting their troops in position and attacking without warning, the outcome could be devastating.”
Keeva looked at her father’s eyes. “But you aren’t going to sit back and do nothing, are you? What is it you wish for me to do?”
“We must contrive a means of thwarting their plan,” said her father. “We must stop Thallach.”
“But how?”
“With false mirclair.”
“But…what can I do with false mirclair? I cannot strike at this Thallach, or even grasp his vial of red elixir to steal it away.”
“True,” said Iragram, “but one can communicate with earthlings. Our plan is to recruit their help.”
“Why would they help us?”
“We have thirty years to win them over, which amounts to more than two centuries according to their calendar. A lot of time to cultivate a relationship. We do not believe the denizens of that land even know of our existence, but we must make them our allies. And Keeva, I ask you in particular to do this. It is no secret that you thirst for revenge, so no one has more motivation than you to undertake a task of thirty years. By using false mirclair, no one can harm you. Yet, you would be doing a great service to our nation.”
“Thirty years of my life? Why, that is nearly half of my lifetime.”
“Are you willing to do it?” asked her father.
Keeva thought back to the day she watched Velthia and Neasan, hidden in the wall of their palace. She thought of Velthia’s red locks and the way Neasan looked at her when he kissed her.
“You are right,” she replied. “No one has more motivation than me. I will do what is required.”
“It will require patience, but it can be done,” said Iragram. “You must station yourself where the locals can find you. A dark place full of shadow so that you can be seen easily. You must help them in order to establish a long record of benevolence. And use your blue elixir when possible. It is true that the luth will be weakened when transported using false mirclair, but it will be sufficient to impress the locals.”
“Spies will locate Thallach’s distillery,” added King Brecan. “And then, my daughter, you will be stationed nearby. You will have two hundred years, from the perspective of the locals, to gain their trust and allegiance. And when you have allies willing to take action for you, you must employ them to destroy this Thallach or, at the very least, his means of producing mirclair.”
Keeva thought about King Brecan’s proposal. It would take years of diligence. Perhaps she could contrive some method whereby the locals could summon her, thus avoiding the need to spend long days on Earth, aging her before her time.
“There is one aspect of your plan that troubles me,” she said. “Should I succeed in destroying Thallach or his means of producing mirclair, how will that aid our generals? True, it would delay Panagu’s plans for attack, yet our forces would still be unable to reach them. Is this correct?”
“Yes, dear,” said her father. “But at least Derfaria would remain safe.”
“I see. Wouldn’t a better plan be for me to contrive a means of stealing the supply of mirclair once it has been made? Then they will be unable to strike us, while we would possess the means to strike at them.”
King Brecan nodded, rubbing his chin. He looked at Iragram.
“That is a riskier option,” said Iragram. “It requires a greater level of cooperation from the locals. If you fail and the mirclair falls into Panagu’s hands, then we are vulnerable.”
“Iragram is right,” said King Brecan. “It seems more straightforward to recruit help to destroy Thallach’s workshop and his mirclair. To recruit help to steal the red elixir after it has been made but before Thallach takes it to Panagu would require delicate timing. A much more difficult objective.”
“Difficult, yes,” said Keeva, “but possible.”
King Brecan continued to rub his chin and nod slowly. “Agreed, my daughter. If the opportunity presents itself, and you are certain of your success, then make the attempt. But you must tread carefully, for if the effort fails, Derfaria is at risk.”
“We could lose everything,” added Iragram.
“I understand,” said Keeva. “If an opportunity arises, I will seize it. But I will proceed carefully and act in the best interest of Derfaria. This I pledge.”
Fifteen
That night, after their discovery of the enchanted forest, Jessica dreamed of an emerald-green paradise populated with friendly fairies spreading magic dust and moving like ballet dancers through the air.
Her contented sleep was interrupted by loud knocking at her door in the morning. Annoyed, she rolled over on her side, pulled the covers over her head. After a second of peace and quiet, another knock on the door sounded. She did nothing. Another knock, louder than the other two.
“What?” she cried
“Time to get up, Miss. Your aunt and uncle want you down for breakfast. You have company.”
Her eyes popped open.
She looked up to see Gerald’s face, his vein-laced forehead distorted in his usual scowl. He had walked into her room without permission!
She pulled her pillow over her head. “Company this early?”
she asked none too pleasantly. “Sorry Gerald. Jet lag. I’ll be down in a few.”
“What’s that, Miss? I can’t hear you from under your pillow.”
“This is pissing me off,” she said to herself but loud enough for Gerald to hear. She abruptly sat up in bed. “This is summer break!” she snapped. “And I have jet lag. Can’t whoever is here come back later?”
She realized she was in her thin summer pajamas and covered herself with her pillow.
“I suppose not, Miss,” Gerald answered smugly. “Your aunt and uncle asked that you be awakened for breakfast immediately.” He clasped his hands behind his back and turned to go. “Your brother is already washing up,” he said over his shoulder. “Hurry up, Miss.”
Jessica fell back onto the bed and groaned. “I do not like that dude!”
She found Riley in the hall bathroom brushing his teeth a few minutes later. She made her way to the sink to rinse her face.
“How can we have ‘visitors’?” he asked, making air quotes. “Who even knows us here, for God’s sake?” Riley wasn’t a morning person either.
“No clue.”
“What time is it anyway?” Riley asked, his tone grouchy.
“It’s got to be early.” Jessica yawned. She peeked out the small window over the tub. “The sun is pretty bright though. Maybe it’s not so early after all.”
“Still…” Riley’s words trailed off as he threw his toothbrush into the sink and trudged away with heavy feet. Jessica took a quick glance at the mirror, pulled back her hair into a ponytail, and fluffed her bangs.
They came down the stairs together and walked into the breakfast room, which was set into a large bay window overlooking the terrace. The round breakfast table, half the size of the dining room table, contained plates of fruit, pastries, jam, and a vase of freshly picked flowers. Aunt Noreen and Uncle Basil sat at the table in animated conversation with two teenage girls. They were both thin. One had straw-colored hair and lots of freckles. The younger girl had darker hair with cute dimples. They both looked up at Jessica and Riley with curious smiles.
“Welcome, welcome,” said Uncle Basil, standing up. “I hope we didn’t rouse you too early.” Jessica knew the question was rhetorical but was tempted to reply anyway.
“Good morning my dears,” said Aunt Noreen over a cup of steaming tea. She beamed at them and gestured to the girls. “This is Shelly and Grace, our nearest neighbors and best friends of Emma and Molly. They rode over this morning on horseback, eager to meet you two.”
“Hello,” said Shelly. She was the taller one with freckles. Grace echoed her greeting.
Riley said, “Hi,” and Jessica gave a slight, awkward wave. She sat and surveyed the spread of food.
“We’re so looking forward to getting to know you this summer,” said Shelly. Jessica thought her Irish accent sounded different. Somehow more formal and maybe a bit snooty. “I’m sure we’ll be great friends,” Shelly continued. “Just like Emma and Molly.”
Jessica didn’t know her cousins Emma and Molly all that well, but she liked them enough. So if Shelly and Grace were their good friends, she didn’t see any reason they couldn’t be her friends too.
Jessica flashed Shelly a shy smile and nodded in agreement. “Sure. I hope so.”
“Do you two like to ride?” asked Grace.
“You mean horses?” asked Riley, eyeing the breakfast spread. He was waking up, apparently. “We like it but haven’t done it much.” He reached for the blueberries.
“That’s surprising,” said Shelly, looking puzzled. She crossed one arm over her chest and put a finger to her chin. “I hear there are lots of horses where you come from.”
“Well,” said Riley, “there are. But Louisville is a city, so there aren’t so many horses in town.” He popped a few berries in his mouth and continued. “But in the countryside around us, there are tons.”
“I’ve never been to the States,” said Shelly. “Do you like it?”
“I have an idea,” said Aunt Noreen. “Why don’t the four of you take your breakfast out to the terrace? Then you can chat freely without us old folks hanging around.”
Jessica wouldn’t say anything to Shelly and Grace by themselves that she wouldn’t say in front of Aunt Noreen and Uncle Basil, so she didn’t mind them being a part of the conversation. But she knew Aunt Noreen was just trying to be nice.
“Indeed,” said Uncle Basil, looking up from a newspaper. “Gerald, would you please set them up on the terrace?”
All of them stood up. Shelly and Grace walked through the French doors to the terrace and sat at the outside table. Meeda appeared and began wiping the top. Jessica was tempted to help Gerald transfer their breakfast dishes but decided to let him handle it all. She wasn’t well-disposed toward him at the moment anyway. She sat next to Shelly and Grace. Riley awkwardly hesitated but followed suit.
As Gerald quietly placed their breakfast dishes on the table, Jessica looked out over the fields. “Is that your house over there?” she asked, pointing to a grand stone building in the distance.
“Yes,” said Shelly. “My parents bought it before we were born, but a noble family lived there for centuries before us.”
“Don’t you just love these pastries?” asked Grace, smiling at Riley. “Your aunt gets them from Old Mrs. Begmann. She makes them right in her little cottage.”
Riley tore into one of the golden pastries as if he were ravenous. It was gone in two big bites. He barely smiled at his company and went for another. “Pretty damn good,” he said, his mouth half full. Shelly wrinkled her entire top lip, the corners turned down in a disgusted frown. She obviously didn’t approve of Riley’s table manners.
“How do you like Ireland so far?” she asked slowly while peeling her eyes away from Riley’s display.
“Pay no attention to him,” Jessica said, waving a hand in Riley’s direction. “He eats like a pig.” Riley flashed Shelly a toothy smile complete with blueberry pieces and pastry. “It’s a beautiful place,” Jessica continued, neatly arranging her pastry separately from her fruit on a small plate. “I love the trees and fields and all the green. The air seems cleaner here.”
“It would be a lot better if we could get a cell phone signal,” Riley said and went for another pastry.
“Yeah, we’re rather remote.” Shelly dipped one of Mrs. Begmann’s pastries daintily into her coffee cup. “But that’s part of its charm, don’t you think?”
“I know what you mean,” said Jessica. “It’s peaceful here. I hear the birds and the bleating of sheep and I want to lie down in the grass and watch the clouds pass by or just doze in the sun.”
Riley snickered. “It’ll make you want to doze, all right.”
“Your hometown isn’t so sleepy, I take it,” said Grace, making eye contact with Riley. “Lots to see and do?”
“Hell yeah! And talk on the phone whenever you want. Hello.”
Grace smiled directly at him. Riley blushed and looked down.
“But cities are so crowded,” said Shelly. “All kinds of people just huddled up close together. You could have anyone’s company forced on you.” She feigned a shudder.
“True, I guess,” said Jessica. You’ve got to be kidding me. What a snobby little bitch. Play nice, she reminded herself. “But cities have their perks.”
“Can you imagine?” Shelly ignored Jessica’s remark. “Especially in the States, where there is less appreciation of one’s proper place. I hope you don’t mind me saying that,” she challenged Jessica with a steady gaze.
“What do you mean?” asked Jessica, feeling irritated. She tossed her napkin onto her half-eaten plate.
“Uh-oh,” sighed Riley.
“Well,” said Shelly, “look at Gerald and Meeda, for example.” She leaned into the table and lowered her voice to a whisper. “They know their place. If they saw us sitting on public transport, they wouldn’t dare sit beside us. They are of a different ilk, if you know what I mean.” Then she leaned back in her c
hair. “Not everyone here in Ireland knows their place, but most do. I don’t think it’s like that in America.” She didn’t blink an eye.
“You know, that’s exactly right!” said Riley, slapping his knee in dramatic emphasis. “Just before we left, I was sitting in a movie and a black man sat on my left and a factory worker on my right. They didn’t apologize or anything!”
Jessica cringed at Riley’s remark, but Shelly deserved it. Yet it seemed Shelly didn’t realize Riley was making fun of her. She calmly nodded at his words. Were these girls really that pretentious?
“You are right,” began Jessica, steadily matching Shelly’s gaze. “People in America don’t have a ‘place.’ It’s like that in America because we’ve been living in the twenty-first century now for”—she glanced down at her Apple watch as if to check the time—“oh, I don’t know, two decades or so.” She stood up, calm and collected.
“I love it when she gets like this,” Riley chirped, grinning widely and rearing back in his chair as if he were being entertained.
“Perhaps,” Jessica continued, forcing her tone to be calm, “it makes for a better world.” She walked over to the rail of the terrace, appearing to look out over the countryside, but she was seething inside. There was something invigorating about discussing serious things with these shallow silly girls. It made her feel mature and important.
Grace’s eyes opened wide. “Awkward silence,” she said.
No one spoke for a bit. Riley and Grace glanced back and forth between the older girls to see who would break the silence.
“The world is not better,” said Shelly, directing her words to Riley. “I hate to point fingers, but I think the spread of American culture is to blame. Everybody wants to buy things. Everybody believes they are everyone else’s equals, even if they haven’t done anything to deserve it.”
Jessica swung around and smirked. “Rock and roll and Hollywood. American Idol and fast food. Just look what we’ve done to the world.” She placed her hands on either side of her face to look dramatically aghast.