There’s a fairy tale I read when I was young. It went like this:
Once upon a time, there was a girl.
She was an ordinary girl who lived an ordinary life in a small frontier town, beloved by her parents…
…until one day, she was snatched up by a terrible goblin.
Why her? She’d just been living her life. She hadn’t done anything wrong. It was purely bad luck that the goblin’s eye had landed upon her.
The goblin put the girl in a cage and declared that when he got hungry, he would eat her.
The girl’s parents grieved. The townspeople were furious. They banded together to fight the monster and rescue the girl, but the goblin proved both strong and resilient. No matter how many times they killed him, he always came back to life. It was like trying to fight the raging sea with nothing but a sword, and indeed, the townspeople’s efforts availed no more than foam on the waves. Struggle as they might, they could not best the creature.
As the townspeople realized the futility of their efforts, they began to lose faith. They began abandoning the fight one after the other.
Eventually, even the kindest and most good-natured left the field. Finally, the girl’s own parents gave up hope of getting her back.
The girl watched it all from her cage.
It was all right, she told herself. The terrible creature that had abducted her was immortal. She closed her eyes and wept no more, telling herself all she had to do was endure this creature’s torment. Simply hold her breath and last until the day when the goblin ate her. Just let everyone forget about me.
She resolved to spend those days in loneliness and isolation so that her family and the people of her town could be happy.
And thus it continued until, one day, a witch appeared before the goblin.
This witch possessed immense strength, and the goblin discovered he had a true fight on his hands. The witch fought him volley after volley, day and night, without end. At last, the goblin was overwhelmed by the witch’s power, and he fled into the woods.
The townspeople paid homage to this great witch who had rescued the girl when every other soul had given her up for dead. They gave her land and money.
As for the girl the witch had rescued, she went back to town and stayed with the witch in peace for all their days.
And they lived happily ever after. The end.
A beautiful story, lovely and inspiring… A perfect work of fiction.
I read it all those years ago, yet even now that I’m grown-up, I can still remember every word.
I wonder why, though.
The question popped into my head one day, and then it popped right out of my mouth as I stood there, looking puzzled.
“Probably because there are no witches in this land,” replied the owner of the shop where I worked, her voice cool and calm. Her sleek, long red hair bobbed as she looked up, fixing me with her ultramarine eyes.
Our small island country, Cururunelvia, the land of prayer, is home to beastkin, elves, humans, and much more, but no mages. I’ve heard they have them in other countries, beyond our borders. They say mages look just like regular people, but it doesn’t matter—there aren’t any here.
The owner thought that was why the story had stuck fast in my memory.
“People always become fixated on the unattainable. Here in this land without magic, of course magic users are thought of as heroic figments of one’s imagination.”
She rose from her desk and walked slowly through the shop.
I felt a twinge of sadness. Was that why I took such an interest in mages? Because this country didn’t have any? Wasn’t her suggestion just another way of saying that if a terrible, evil creature like that goblin showed up in our homeland, there would be no one who could drive it away?
My thoughts were interrupted by the shopkeeper. “Interestingly, I think the use of magic in the lands beyond our island might be much akin to the way we use these items.” I saw her gaze sweep across the objects in the shop. There were dolls, music boxes, flower vases, combs, statues, mirrors—all arranged neatly on the shelves and tables.
Sancta. Objects invested by prayer with special powers—you could almost call them magical. And we sold them here in our shop.
She gazed at them and said, “I think there’s a reason we have no mages here, MacMillia.”
The reason she gave? We don’t need them.
Riviere, the owner of this antiques shop, spoke with utter conviction. As she always did.