O To Be Charmed

O TO BE CHARMED

Prologue

Once upon a time, in a magical land far, far away, there lived a kind and amiable king and his long-devoted wife. You would be forgiven for thinking that, I, Seoras of Draoidheil, am this fine king. No, Sirree. In fact, I was yet to be born. Although, King Dimitri III of whom I speak, was collectively loved by his loyal subjects. Good-looking fellow too from what I was told. Above all else, King Dimitri was the sovereign that united the Men and Magical Beings of this kingdom, having established the equal rights of all. As such, the Mighty Heavens above, which you'll hear more of in this uncommon tale, shined eternal light onto this great land.

I was told it was a rather unremarkable day when the shadows of darkness, crawled their way out of the Overgrown Forest. Scary times indeed, my friends. As you can imagine, these unfamiliar shadows incited fear and dread throughout Draoidheil. When they at last sat at the door of the brave King, pulsating and ravenous, he was compelled to gather an army.

As the adored King Dimitri rode out to meet his comrades, he famously looked upwards towards the Mighty Heavens. Searching for guidance amongst the endless blanket of glowing stars that usually shone upon the land, the King was met with a sky that was painted black. Brrr, makes me shudder to think on it. Not a good omen regardless, folks.

And here we arrive at the worst of it. Fighting an unknown enemy, an ancient force not of our world, both the humans and magic-users of Draoidheil, slowly succumbed to the shadow, fog and blood that surrounded them. Their beloved King Dimitri, who fought amongst his brethren, eventually fell too. Well as you can imagine, this caused complete chaos. The kingdom was feared to be lost.

But as my mother has taught me, there is always hope, even in the direst of circumstances. You see, the Shadow made a wrong step here, from which he could not recover. Assured in the King's demise, the Darkness revealed its true form in the clearing fog. Now, this is where I come into the picture. You may be thinking that I'm the brave fellow who saves the day and kills the spectre. Hmm, not quite. That honour belongs to my father, Aleister, who pierced his blade through the heart of the Shadow.

The Mighty Heavens I referred to earlier in the story, well they paid tribute to my father's triumph in battle and crowned him King. They fortuitously blessed the babe that grew in the womb of his wife. And yes, that charmed babe, would be me. The golden stars of Draoidheil returned, and seemed to dance and hum, signalling the long-awaited arrival of the 'blessed being'. I hope you don't mind me speaking in third person here. Adds a little je ne sais quoi, don't you think?

The birth was quite an occasion, I've been told. All the kingdom's Men descended onto the castle, bearing handmade tokens and other offerings to the newborn. The Faeries bestowed flowers in bloom onto the child while the Elves and other magic-users of Draoidheil, granted gifts of song and good fortune. Yes, I was a fortunate tot. I, Seoras, first born son of King Aleister and his Queen Sinead, was destined to be a great force of good, championing the realm for many moons to come.

*****

300 full moons later...

“Strike him Seoras,” bellowed Dilis.

“I'm in a bit of a compromised situation here, little brother,” replied an exasperated Seoras. Suspended mid-air, Seoras' feet and legs were securely bound, entangled amongst the branches of the mammoth Oak into which the giant had catapulted him.

The excited giant sauntered towards the sturdy Oak, clumsily bending down to assess Seoras, whose free-hanging arms flailed uselessly to and fro in an attempt for freedom. Resigned in his capture, Seoras addressed his adversary. “Today is your lucky day my friend,” Seoras announced, ringmaster to his own circus. “As I, Seoras, first-in-line to the throne of Draoidheil, am going to grant upon you, a kindness.” A puffed-up Seoras could hear the imaginary roar of the circus lions in fanfare.

The now, puzzled-looking giant peered over his shoulder to his assembled colossus company for reinforcement. Previously agog in anticipation of a victorious rumble, his towering gang stared blankly from one member to the other. The appointed head of the muddled pack offered a shrug of his shoulders to his gargantuan chief.

Seoras confidently carried on, believing he had captured his eager audience, “I know what you may be considering. That this here position,” Seoras gestured to his inverted form, “does not bode well for me. Please, do not be fooled. I have everything in hand.”

To this, the giant scoffed; the exhalation almost hurled Seoras from the strapping Oak. Composure regained, Seoras diligently smoothed out his tousled ebony hair with his fingers before resuming his address. “Distinguished gentlemen, hear this,” Seoras nodded his head across the glen in acknowledgement of his foe's ragtag ensemble. “I do respect your unadulterated enthusiasm in bearing witness to a hiding, let alone when your opponent is one of royal blood.” The horde of beery, prizefighting spectators nodded vigorously in agreement, still keenly anticipating a tussle. “However, I'd be doing you a great disservice if I didn't forewarn you regarding the fate of those who attempt to best me.” The band of enormous hooligans booed, hissed and cursed at the immobilised Seoras in outraged response.

Dilis called out above the din. “I regret to be the bearer of solemn news gentlemen, but my brother speaks the truth,” Dilis' muscular arms crossed passively against his chest as he addressed the incensed mob. “Although, the Mighty Heavens aside, I of all people appreciate that my big brother is long overdue in receiving a decent flogging.”

“Dilis!” Seoras exclaimed. Too late, as this was all the motivation the rabble required. The giant's cheer squad now hollered and whooped. The gigantic congregation stamped their ogre-sized-feet, scuffling amongst each other, crazed and frothing-at-the-mouth in frenzied expectation of a thumping.

Emboldened by the ruckus, the giant swooped in on Seoras and reached forward to grab the prince's exposed abdomen. CRACK. With barely a chance to register the explosive sound from high above, Seoras looked on nonplussed as the giant toppled over. The ground shuddered violently throughout the glen as the giant's motionless frame hit the green.

Dilis approached the immobile giant, feeling for a pulse. “Your comrade will be fine,” he proclaimed to the stunned, behemoth on-lookers. “I have no doubt he'll be back to his wicked self in a day or two. Meanwhile, kindly place the agreed upon amount into my cap, fulfilling your end of the wager.”

The pack of Giants surrounded their fallen leader. One of his crew hesitantly opened an eyelid for signs of life before they reluctantly shuffled towards Dilis and his outstretched cap, emptying their coffers. Seoras' unconscious opponent was heaped over the shoulder of one of his party before a heated debate ensued between the posse. Too heavy for any one giant to lift, the colossal chief was promptly thrown to the ground. Two separate members of the squad grabbed a massive, hirsute ankle each before wandering off in the direction of their already departed members; they could be seen shaking their heads and muttering animatedly.

“You enjoyed that,” Seoras accused Dilis, making no attempt to mask his disapproving tone.

“Of course I did,” Dilis chirped. “Although, I thought he may have secured one respectable blow with his fist.”

Seoras scoffed in reply. The brothers watched on as the giant's sprawled, upper body was dragged from view, thick erosion of the green being left in his wake.

“You did warn them, Seoras,” Dilis offered nonchalantly. “A bolt of lightning appearing in a clear blue sky. I should have predicted as such. Obvious really.”

“Was it lightning?” Seoras wondered aloud. “I thought I glimpsed a branch that conveniently hit his overgrown head.”

“Yes,” Dilis concurred, “but the lightning struck the Oak first. The dislodged branch then fell and hit your opponent squarely on his noggin,” Dilis clarified.

“Ah yes, the old lightning and tree act. Indeed, quite predictable from where I stand,” a still-dangling Seoras mused.

“We've made quite a tidy sum of gold here, big brother,” Dilis stated gleefully while inspecting the contents of his jingling cap. “Although, I'm unsure of the current market value of Giant's teeth.”

“They didn't?” Seoras gasped.

“They certainly did,” Dilis reiterated. “Three large teeth, one I suspect a festering molar.”

Seoras pulled a face in disgust. “Pass them to Margos,” Seoras remarked flippantly. “No doubt our Royal Warlock will find use for them.”

“Fondly anticipating your return to the safety of Mother's bosom, are you Seoras?” Dilis teased.

“Surely you jest, little brother? You must perceive the love of adventure that was bestowed upon me. The persistent thrum of the land beckons me. I hear it in the water and smell it in the air,” Seoras passionately declared while swaying aloft in the Oak.

“If that's the case Seoras,” Dilis quipped, “I'm more than happy to leave you 'at one' with your inner-Earth.”

Seoras let out a low growl. “Remove me from this tree, Dilis.”

*****

King Aleister paced up and down the sumptuous sitting room of Tearmann, the royal castle of Draoidheil, in exasperation. “When is that forsaken boy of yours returning home, Sinead?” the King shot at his wife. Unruffled, Queen Sinead serenely continued her sartorial duties, basking in the light offered by the oriel window.

“Which boy, my dear Aleister?” Sinead smoothed. “We have three sons, to the best of my recollection.”

Aleister scoffed and paused in the tracks he had trodden into the carpet. “You know very well of whom I speak, Sinead,” the King tartly replied to his wife. “Seoras, your eldest, wayward child.”

To this the Queen looked up from her needlework. “I imagine it does take some time to slay a dragon, Aleister.”

“Tosh,” huffed the King. “We were given word of that two-tailed dragon causing chaos in Thenesis, three weeks ago.” Aleister puffed-out his chest proudly, reminiscing upon his youth. “Why, when I was his age, I would have extinguished the infernal beast and then participated in any celebration the townsfolk insisted on hosting in my honour.” To this Sinead rolled her royal eyes. “After which, I would have returned forthwith to my wife and my sovereign duties as placed upon me by the Mighty Heavens.” A brooding Aleister resumed his pacing, shaking his head.

“As I recall, you did celebrate following the banshee you slayed in Borseka,” Sinead conceded. “The gypsies of the village were kind enough to return you home in their wagon, despite the fact you reeked of mead. They incorrectly believed you worked the stables of the castle and dropped you in the trough.”

“Only after you told them to deposit me there!” Aleister said affronted.

“It was where you belonged, Aleister. I couldn't have you in the castle with the stench of sweat and horse manure. Moreover, the marshal kindly threw some pails of water over you.” The Queen looked with concern upon the King's aquiline profile. “What is the matter, Aleister? And don't tell me it's the boys. What trouble have you found yourself in?”

“I know naught of what you speak, my love,” the King professed to his Queen.

“Balderdash,” the Queen admonished her husband. “Do you believe I'm that pliable, dear Husband? Are you of the opinion that I do not see what transpires in my own home?” Sinead persisted. “We have tourists wandering in and out of this castle at all hours of the day.”

To this, Aleister abruptly turned towards his wife. “It is our royal duty to accommodate all who choose to grace these halls.”

“No-one is arguing this point,” the Queen retorted. “Although, it is telling that of late, many of your gambling companions and their families are conveniently requesting a tour of the castle and its grounds - with the Queen as their guide, no less. A simple forewarning of visitors for dinner would be deemed a consideration. Poor Mrs Boyle is looking very weary of late. Even a cook as esteemed as she, cannot throw together a placing for an additional fifty guests without becoming somewhat frazzled.”

“Well she's doing a fine job,” the King blustered.

“The staff are fed up, Aleister. I thought our polished steward, Jasper, would unravel when Celeste's child asked him if he went to school with our Creator.”

“He is beyond long in the tooth, Sinead.”

“Due to one of your bets gone awry, you even extended the services of our chaplain to that atheist farmer in Larome,” Sinead accused her husband.

“I was providing him with a possible convert,” said the King while hiding his growing grin.

“You had him sow their wheat!” Sinead countered.

“How else does the man spend his day, Sinead? One confession here and there.”

“Be warned, Aleister. Your casual wager for fun is now intruding upon the lives of others. We have all reached the end of our tether, especially me.”

“What if you and I were to make a wager, Sinead?” proposed her cherished husband. “That I will refrain from all gambling, for two full moons?”

The Queen halted her alterations and raised her head towards the Mighty Heavens in prayer. “Honestly, I'm beginning to believe this is a midlife crisis of sorts,” imparted Sinead. The King stood in disbelief. “The children are independent, the lands are prosperous. Things have been rather quiet of late. Perhaps you're not feeling useful,” Sinead proposed.

“I, for one, am more than happy for Father to chase dragons around the countryside,” Seoras proclaimed spiritedly upon entering the sitting room with a beaming smile, Dilis close at his heels.

“My boy,” Aleister chirped as Seoras clasped hands with his father; Dilis ambled over to his mother in greeting, who waited patiently in her chair, the sewing disregarded to her side.

“Where's Ceoil?” Dilis enquired after his younger brother.

“Ceoil has pianoforte lessons and is not to be disturbed,” Sinead advised her sons.

“Ah, yes,” reflected the still-smiling Seoras. “How I miss Ms Brannagh's invaluable instruction. Tell me, Mother, does she continue to wear those low-cut necklines?”

The Queen clicked her tongue in disapproval. “Ms Brannagh has aged much since your tuition, Seoras. Why, she is almost two score years of age,” the Queen reproached.

“Yes, yes,” Aleister dismissed all further talk of Ms Brannagh and her ample bosom with a wave of his palm. “Seoras, what say you regarding the dogs that run tonight?”

“Aleister,” Sinead chastised her husband. “Don't involve Seoras in your petty pleasures.”

“Fear not, Mother. Best to err on the side of caution and exclude oneself from such dishonourable business entirely,” Seoras voiced assuredly. The Queen's proud patrician face beamed in response. Meanwhile, Aleister avidly took note of the number of splayed fingers Seoras discreetly presented, conveniently concealed from his mother's sight line.

Eventually returning to the most pressing issue of the day, the King solemnly asked his sons regarding the fate of the dragon that terrorised the town of Thenesis.

“Seoras beheaded the dragon,” Dilis recounted. “Mayor Beirne Phosadh and the town were incredibly thankful.”

“How thankful?” the King pressed with a glint in his eye. “He does have an unmarried daughter of appropriate age, Seoras. Beirne Phosadh is a successful merchant in his own right while his wife is an O'Callaghan, a very powerful family indeed.”

“Yes, we met the daughter in question, Father. Lovely lass, elegant, intelligent, a curtain of golden silk for hair. Taller than my normal tastes, though. But to no avail, Dilis caught her particular fancy,” Seoras divulged to the dismay of a crimson coloured Dilis.

“Dilis?” sputtered an offended Aleister. “Why, you are the first in line for the throne, Seoras. I question the intelligence you claim this female possesses.”

“Thank you very much, Father,” quipped Dilis. “I'll retire to the music room to locate Ms Brannagh, shall I?”

“Don't be facetious, son,” the Queen remarked calmly while resuming her stitching. “Pianoforte was never your strong point.” Dilis raised his arms in defeat and glared at a highly amused Seoras.

“I cannot understand the youth of today,” Aleister exclaimed to his ever-tolerant wife, still feeling the sting of Seoras' slight.

“Darlings, with whom did you leave the dragon tail?” Sinead asked her suddenly still sons. “Your father wishes to display it, in pride of place, at the Summer Solstice festivities next week.”

“Ah, Dilis,” Seoras addressed humbly, “I believe you were in charge of that particular item.” Seoras averted his parents' gaze.

“Hmm, no you're mistaken, Seoras. I was detained dealing with the affections of Beirne Phosadh's unmarried daughter, as you've conveniently mentioned,” Dilis replied snarkily.

“Stop your cockfight,” Aleister quickly dismissed his sons' antics. “Did you slay the dragon Seoras, or not?”

“The dragon was dealt with, Father. The entire town witnessed the slaughter.”

“But where's the proof, boy? The stuffing to the turkey, so to speak? It's imperative you illustrate your wins, Seoras. To remind the kingdom that you are the chosen one,” the King instructed his eldest child.

The brothers looked at each other sheepishly before Dilis broke the silence. “Seoras threw the tail at a disgruntled Giant,” the middle-child revealed.

“What!?” the King exploded.

“Yes,” Seoras ground out, in an attempt to buy time. “We came across some Giants in a valley during our trek home. Burly lot. Uh, you always provided judicious moral instruction, Father. Encouraged us to befriend the more evasive creatures, in this great kingdom of ours. Essentially, we got into a tussle, the leader and I, 'play-fight' is probably a better term.” To this, Dilis shook his head, and left Seoras' side to sit on the inviting settee, opposite his mother. “I was trying to gain some ground, particularly relentless brute, he was. Things got out of hand, admittedly. I slapped him across the face with the dragon tail. I thought it may have concussed him, slowed him down somewhat.” Seoras provided no more detail, incorrectly believing his address was sufficient in appeasing his parents.

“Where is the dragon tail, Seoras?” demanded the outraged King.

“Ah. The Giant ate it,” Seoras meekly admitted. “Unfortunate turn of events, really.”

“Oh, Heavens help me,” Aleister cried aloud and resumed his pacing once more.

Dilis took this opportunity to consult with the Queen. “Mother, Seoras and I returned to a near-empty stable. Where are the staff currently?”

“Your father has the stable master and the grooms on loan to the neighbours, dear. I believe they are cleaning their moat. It's been awfully neglected apparently,” the Queen supplied. Seoras and Dilis stared amazedly at their father and his unabashed pluck.

“Close those gaping mouths, my sons. For never in all my days have I fed a giant any portion of a dragon's anatomy.”

“I'm sure the giant was thankful for the fare, Aleister,” Sinead remedied. “I've been told dragon meat provides much sustenance.”

The King snorted in response, before continuing his parental tirade. “I don't believe you two halfwits realise the dreadful circumstances we've been in since your departure.” The King imbued a distressful state of affairs to which Seoras and Dilis referred to their composed mother for confirmation. “I've been on a terrible losing streak,” Aleister burst out. “The moons have not been aligned in my favour, of that, I am certain.”

“Summer Solstice is approaching, Father,” pacified Seoras. “ 'Tis time for us to be honouring the Gods and ensuring a good harvest through fast, prayer and care for the land.” The King stormed to his golden, ornate chair. He promptly deposited himself on the plump cushion, sulking in his royal corner, like a spoilt child.

“Speaking of Solstice,” Sinead remarked, “I expect each of you, as well as Ceoil, to be in attendance at the feast. We will sit at the head table as a family and enjoy the spoils of the harvest, before anyone departs for dancing and bonfires.” Muffles of agreement sounded begrudgingly from all corners of the sitting room.

An eruption of sound and argument arose from the entryway, marking the advent of Margos, the Royal Warlock, who hurled himself inside the Tearmann sitting room. Margos' midnight blue, full robes flared around his satin covered feet as he stalked towards the future king. “YOU!” a furious Margos pointed his staff at a quizzical Seoras.

Seoras, in turn, glanced behind his shoulder before facing the fury of Margos, once more. “Greetings, Margos,” replied Seoras amusedly. “It has been some time since our last acquaintance. Is that the latest design of finely embroidered beret that decorates your head?”

“ENOUGH!” Margos exclaimed, the scrawny barn owl on his left shoulder, hooted in unison to its master's brusque outburst. “I know your tricks, 'special boy',” Margos mocked.

“Would you care for a lemon tart, Margos?” the unaffected Queen offered her retainer. “I can arrange for Mrs Boyle to deliver them with some peppermint tea, if you wish.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” a pleasant-toned and respectful Margos bowed towards the mistress of the castle.

“I'll also arrange some water for that ridiculous bird,” Sinead added matter-of-factly. Margos winced, but bowed his head, again, at his Queen.

Enraged, Margos advanced further on Seoras. “Ooh, you're so clever,” Margos continued to mock Seoras as the queen departed the sitting room. “You think I don't know your games?” Margos and his feathered friend, squawked. “And you,” Margos rounded on a particularly pale-looking Aleister. “You fat, wretch,” Margos bit out.

“Margos, I'm detecting an unusual froideur between you and my father. Am I correct in this?” an impudent Seoras teased the Royal Warlock.

A bilious Margos continued to remonstrate at the King. “You really believed you could hoodwink me?” the warlock spat out. “Your 'blessed child' provides you with all the winning numbers on your bets! Gives new meaning to the term 'divine inspiration'. How do you think your kingdom would react to such deception?” The speckled owl hooted in disapproval at the conspiring royal duo.

Despondent, the King put his head in his hand. “I'll lend you one of the castle staff for one full moon, Margos.” The King flicked his free hand towards the warlock. “They can clean, cook, look after that blind bird of yours.”

Margos flinched at the accusation. “He has a slight cataract,” the warlock corrected, defensively, a nervous tic appearing in his own, left eye.

“Perhaps you need to do something about that,” Seoras suggested carelessly. “An eye-patch would be worthwhile. For both master and his playmate.”

With his intact right eye, Margos fired a look at Seoras that had the power of inflicting harm.

“And is she molting?” a sincere Dilis inquired after the state of the barn owl.

“He is a wise, aged owl,” Margos hissed through gritted teeth. “The molting process is somewhat exaggerated as compared to his youth.” The three royal members looked about the room, indeed anywhere but the stigmatised bird.

“At the very least the owl can't smell himself, which is a blessing that forsakes us,” Seoras affirmed.

“Don't tease the bird, Seoras,” his mother said, having returned to the sitting room with Mrs Boyle and her serving tray in tow. “He'll likely be dead by the end of the month.”

Seoras redirected the conversation back to the distasteful matter at hand. “Margos, perhaps we did cross the 'figurative' line.” Margos was incandescent. “But let's not pretend that you don't partake in your witchcraft to gain such information,” continued Seoras. Margos bellowed in agony, as if a stake had been plunged deep into his heart.

“Surely this is not correct,” the Queen reprimanded. “I always believed my retainer to be of the highest moral value.” Sinead looked pointedly over at her husband and wayward son.

Flustered, Margos appealed to his sovereign. “But Your Majesty, that is my gift to employ. Your fettered husband has to confer with him!” Margos redirected his staff at Seoras. “I apologise in advance, fair Queen Sinead, but the time has come for your favoured prince to learn there are consequences to be had for every action.” Margos straightened the sleeves of his robes in an official manner before readdressing a slack-faced Seoras. “Beware 'charmed boy'. Your good fortune will slumber with the old hag of dusk,” the old warlock, forewarned.

“Why, this is an unexpected turn of events,” Dilis gloated.

“Tread gently please, Margos,” Sinead cautioned. “Your spells occasionally go awry. Seoras is blessed by the mightiest power, the great Heavens above. We wouldn't want you to hurt yourself.”

Unperturbed, Margos' robes began floating about the warlock in ink blue tendrils as the old wizard chanted incoherently under his breath. Gravely, Margos raised his staff towards the future king's chest, a howling gale of wind surrounding the two males. “Kakou pathi, sou eriksa katara!” The furious gale blew straight into Seoras' heart, driving the prince to his knees. Utter silence ensued.

“That was unexpected,” the prince crowed, rising to his feet.

“I don't understand?” Margos stated plainly.

“What did you expect, Margos?” Aleister chimed. “You, yourself, referred to him as the blessed child.”

The wizard stared utterly dumbfounded as a carefree Seoras, stretched out on the settee. “It was the perfect curse to inspire misfortune,” Margos said aloud. “The boy was present, I imbued the spell with a sense of passion, the winds blew west towards the old hag...”

“Don't be too critical of yourself, Margos. I'm certain you'll have future success with your spells,” the Queen encouraged while delighting in some of the confectionery Mrs Boyle had laid out.

Through the castle window, the blazing yellow sun could be seen disappearing into the deep orange of the evening sky. Cold suddenly filled the sitting room and a strong wind began to surround Seoras. The usual calm deserted the prince as he shut his eyes against the force of the gale that began to circle his form.

“My curse worked,” a bewildered Margos said to himself. “It's happening!” he shrieked. A frisson of excitement overwhelmed the wizard.

A now swirling vortex captured Seoras, his wiry body almost indistinct against the red and blues of the growing whirlwind. The anxious Queen instructed her retainer, “Margos, I need Seoras here for the Solstice celebrations next week.”

With a roll of his eyes, the warlock begrudgingly whispered to his beloved white-faced owl. The creature spread his feathered wings and took flight in the sitting room, travelling headfirst into the ferocious vortex.

As quickly as it had appeared, the juggernaut gale was gone, it's magic extinguished. The sitting room remained as it always was, the absence of Seoras and the barn owl, the only indicators of what had just transpired.

“Good grief, Margos,” a startled Aleister uttered. “Where is my son?”

“Wherever his worst nightmare lies,” an irreverent Margos replied with a dismissal of his hand. “I'll return him, as promised, by the Summer Solstice. The owl will guide him until then.”

“But your bird is blind,” stuttered Dilis incredulously.

“It's a cataract,” an annoyed Margos reiterated.

“I hope Seoras has not placed himself in winter, Margos,” the Queen inquired. “He's not dressed for the cold.”

“He should be fine, Sinead,” the King comforted his wife. “The Mighty Heavens will protect him, as they have always done.”

“My owl will advise me as to Seoras' progress, Ma'am,” assured Margos. To this, the royal family remained impassively mute.

A quickly recovered Dilis, withdrew his treasure-filled cap. “Margos, what say you in regards to these Giants' teeth?” the shrewd middle-child delighted the warlock with an overgrown molar.

The King also turned towards the wizard. “Are we still pairing for that regional chess match against the Dolovers?”

“The Dolovers?” a gleeful Margos remarked. “They are incompetent,” he sang. The wizard and Aleister formed a battle plan of sorts to ensure the night's victory.

“Dilis, refer to Jasper in preparing your ablutions, dear,” the Queen directed. “You smell of rotting giant.”

*****

New York City, 2015

A bewildered and demented barn owl flies amongst an unfamiliar sky; the eternal stars have bowed in reverence to the blinding neon night-lights that shine a spotlight on the turbulent city below.