Days Of Magic

By Alex Mahon

Okay, folks. I'm going to set the record straight because I'm fed up hearing so many lies about it. For a start, I never fought any dragons. Do they exist? I've never seen any, nor has anybody else I know except for Mister Taylor, the blacksmith. He saw two of them on his road home from the pub one night, though he was probably sozzled. Besides that, he's as weird as an alcoholic rabbit. And by the way, I'm fae and a girl. So, how it got about that yours truly was a goblin called Alan is beyond me. Honestly, guys – a goblin? How could you confuse me with one of those loathsome creatures? Maybe it was the outdated belief that only boys could have gone through what I did. It's somewhat sexist, don't you think?

 

Anyway, I'd better stop prattling. Why don't you read for yourself what really happened? Then write a review so it'll bring it to the attention of others. All proceeds go to this poor author for the time and effort spent writing the story. I'm flogging the book everywhere, so you'll come across it wherever you go. It'll help me buy more materials to write other stuff. Yeah, I know. I'm over-egging the pudding a bit too much. But a wee financial contribution wouldn't go amiss.

 

p.s. I've embellished the story to make it more entertaining. Well, you want your money's worth, don't you?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alex Mahon
• Release date: Jun 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201082468

Alex Mahon

I was born in Glasgow, Scotland in 1964, but moved to Renfrew when I was seven. After wandering around various countries, working in numerous jobs, I met a woman In Lleida, Spain, who was crazy enough to put with my nonsense and married her. I now work as an English teacher as punishment for my past sins.

Book preview

Dedication

Idedicate this book to all the wonderful and quirky people I have met whilst travelling round the globe. Without you, life would have been dull.

Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 1

First of all, my name’s Ailsa McGinley. I’m a fae with an anger management problem. Aye, you heard right. No idea where I got it from. My mum, probably. She can throw a mean tantrum when she gets going. And that’s not the only thing that gets thrown. Many’s a night she’s lobbed a beer tankard or two at an annoying customer at the Squeaky Bum. A weird name, I know. Dad says it’s named after me because I had a gastric problem when I was a baby. Mum said they were just looking for a name that attracted attention.

Parents!

You never know if they’re telling porkies or no. Oh, porkies mean porky pies – lies. We’ve got our own patter here, so you’d better get used to it. Anyway, back to what I wanted to tell you. I suppose you’re better off hearing it from me than somebody else.  The others keep telling different versions of the story and quite frankly it’s getting on my nerves. I mean, how would you like it if people lied about an event in your life? You just can’t believe some of the codswallop spouted by so-called witnesses to it. It’s crazy.

Before we start, know this. I don’t live in your world. None of us do. It’s a parallel universe in which only fantasy creatures live. Just as well. Five minutes with you lot and we’d be extinct or paraded around as circus freaks.

Oops, I’m rambling again. I tend to do that now and again. I've been told I'm one hell of a chatterbox. So let me know if I'm gabbing too much. But say it nicely or I'll go off the rails.  I'm quite sensitive like that.

Let’s get back to the story.

It started one sunny, Friday morning in February when I was in my Right Of Passage class. I didn’t mean to bring the weather into it. But the sun rarely shone here, so it made the start of the day unforgettable. In fact, it’s as rare as seeing a bone-juggling dog. Well, maybe I'm exaggerating a wee bit. About the sunny day, I mean. The sun kind of popped its wee head out from behind a cloud, although it was pure freezing outside. The classroom was just as cold. We didn't have any form of heating as it was Save-the-planet week. Of all times to do it. February's pretty chilly at the best of times. But to calendar that month for the auspicious occasion really was taking the biscuit. Did nobody think of July or August which was in summer?

Let's get back to the story before I lose my temper.

My fellow fae and I were sitting in a row at the front of the classroom, backpacks at our feet. Normally, I would start the sentence with Me and my fellow fae, but old McLean would go nuts at the bad grammar should she ever read this. And knowing her, she probably would. In which case I'd better delete that bit later.

So, like I was saying. All five of us were sitting at the front of the classroom, teeth chattering and chatting away excitedly about the Rite-Of-Passage weekend. It began at ten a.m. on the last last day at school, ending at the same time on Monday morning.

I’d been looking forward to it for ages. It meant not working in the pub, which I did in my free time. ‘You earn your keep in this family,’ my parents always told me. Been saying that for as long as I can remember. Exhausting work. Some of the customers were downright rude and a wee bit overfriendly if you get what I mean. But from now on I’d be mistress of my own destiny.

I was sitting next to Margo McDonald, the baker’s daughter. Her addiction to all things sweet and savoury showed in her round girth and chubby face. A nice lassie that carried a lot of baggage. She was one of these folks that always had something wrong with her. But I don’t think it was just plain attention-seeking or anything like that. There seemed to be underlying family problems that I could never quite fathom out. I told my dad about it once. His face was a picture of disgust when I mentioned Mister McDonald's name. He warned me to keep away from him. And if he ever came within a few feet of me, he’d rip his heart out.

You can't get much more hatred than that.

Margo leaned into me. I’m just going to hole up somewhere for a few days and make up stories about my adventures.

She wouldn't survive for too long on her own. A pity we couldn’t be paired up so I could help her out. But that was against the rules.

You do that, I said. But I want to have adventures. Might be the only fun I’ll get for a long time to come. I released a long sigh. Might not come back. Nothing here for me.

Margo gasped. Your family?

They can do without me. Besides. I’ve been getting itchy feet for a long time. Need to see life on the other side of the forest, so to speak.

That's if we survive. The poor soul looked terrified. I slipped out the handle of the knife hidden inside my boot. Sharpened it this morning. Been practising throwing it as well. When done the right way, I can stick it in anybody or anything from a distance. I patted my coat pocket. I've also got a catapult and some stones. Been practising with that as well. I'm a pretty good shot. 

Seems you’ve got it all figured out.

Been planning it for months. You?

She lowered her head it, and took a deep breath, releasing it slowly. I’ll just see what happens.

I gave her a wee hug. Come on, Margo. Cheer up. They’re only asking you to spend a few nights in the forest. After that, you don’t need to go near the place again.

She didn’t look convinced. Well, I’d done everything I could. Maybe things wouldn’t turn out so bad after all.

Mrs. McLean sauntered into the classroom, dressed in black and carrying a briefcase. She peered at us through half-moon spectacles as she sat down and placed the briefcase flat on the table. She took out her infamous red pen and a notepad from it, then set the briefcase down on the floor beside her foot.

I could testify to how well she wielded that red pen. Rumour had it the chamber did not contain red ink but the blood of failed students. For the past three years, that pen had savaged everything I'd written. The helpless victims lay bloodied on the paper battlefield, slashed, gashed, and trampled on by red capital letters whose mere presence denoted their superiority. And as if that was not bad enough, the sentence of death was written at the bottom of the page.

MUST DO BETTER. 

As you all know, she uttered in a voice as chilly as ice, from now on, you are entering an important phase in your life called adulthood. One, or all of you, might never come back alive. It depends on you and fate. I, and others in this academy of learning, have armed you with the knowledge needed to embark on such a perilous journey. During it, you will put your newly-acquired skills into practice, and also learn new ones. She stood up, chalk in hand, and moved to the blackboard. And if you come back, you'll write a story about your adventures. The forest crows will be watching so don't lie. Now, we’ll do a quick brainstorming session about the obstacles you may encounter and how to overcome them.

My hand shot up hundreds of times as I’d been cramming lately. I think it annoyed the hell out of her because I was used to getting things wrong. This time she kept repeating, ‘Well done, Ailsa,’ though she did say it through gritted teeth. But a compliment is better than nothing, even if it is grudged. And coming from her gave it a gilded edge. 

The three guys in the class kept their traps shut. Roger and Ian wouldn’t say anything anyway. But Alan was bright, handsome, and charming. I had a crush on him. The way he