Lonely but for the corresponding windows, a small glass door stood waiting for the light of the new day, guarding its interior just as it always had. Merely symbolic in nature, the gateway properties left much to be desired, wrought without accompanying alarm bells or security cameras or modern technology of any kind beyond a lock of the door. Such was hardly a rare occurrence down the shops and stores of this relatively busy street in the sleepy coastal town of Clifden, a place and its people as timeless as the currents of the deep blue ocean.

From out of the darkness a blow from a crowbar disturbs the peaceful slumber of the night, shattering through the glass and spilling it in every which direction like shrapnel exploding from a bomb in the North. Rest assured there were other means available to going about such an undertaking, much smoother, cleaner, and quieter, as the thief slid his mitts through the hole in the glass, manually unlocking the door with his grip.

As it often was, time was of the essence, and the thieves cared little for the aftermath of their path of destruction, sprinting towards the intended target, knowing precisely where it was given their reconnaissance work on the museum. Like most everything else in this portion of the town, this iconic museum was small in stature but large in grandeur, heart, and the appreciation of the town, a ceremonial salute to the history of the people that belonged to everybody of Irish ancestry and Celtic lineage.

Dismaying as it was, these thieves possessed the felonious determination to steal the contents of one particular exhibit, desiring that it belong solely to them. Resting behind roughly an inch of glass lay a dozen gold coins predating the modern establishment of Ireland and even the arrival of the Celtic people upon the island. Despite being weathered through the ages, the polished gold pieces still emanated a shining glow of gleam and pride, the ancient treasure radiating a sense of warmth to the people. It takes a callous heart devoid of virtue to steal from such hallowed grounds, as sacred as the Catholic Church in many respects, the thievery of which was just as sinful.

Committed to committing the unthinkable, the thieves smashed through the thick cover of glass, chipping away at it with several swings as it offered the resistance of a thick block of ice. Sliding the golden proceeds into the pouch with the aid of the crowbar, the thief is interrupted with the brushing of his partner, motioning upwards. Sitting above the display with his legs crossed and his arms folded rested a leprechaun figurine from the 19th century, underneath an old sign that reads “Coimeádaí an Óira.”

“What does that say?” asks the partner.

“Keeper of the Gold,” replies the head thief, an appropriate title seeing as how the figure was said to keep watch over the gold underneath.

“Fluent in old Irish?” asks the partner.

“No, not at all, maybe forty percent of it, but everyone in this town knows the meaning,” replies the head thief.

“Should we nab the leprechaun while we’re at it?” asks the partner.

“Nay, what would the kids think, they love him. Let’s get out of here,” declares the lead thief with a laugh to his partner, who cannot help but shake the lifeless black eyes of the figurine gazing down at him.

     Night having transitioned into morning in the early hours of this particular Saturday, fourteen year old Connor has awakened at four o’clock in order to begin his day assisting at the fishery. Coming from a poor homestead and living only with his mother, the lad spends his summers and weekends working in order to help provide for his small family.

The morning commute from his home to the fishery was a very peaceful twenty-minute walk down the usually empty street. Hearing a commotion in the sound of voices, the curious Connor takes a slight detour from his stroll to investigate. Alarmed with the sight of the two thieves scurrying out of the door, Connor remains calm as one of them slips and rolls into the street while stepping over the crunching sound of broken glass. Standing absolutely still to avoid being drawn in to the burglary, Connor watches from a distance as one thief helps dust the other off before the two gallop up the road with the heavy thud of their boots striking the asphalt, drifting to a soft faint before long. Waiting for the whisper to fade completely into the early morning hours, the lad walks towards the broken glass of the museum door, where resting along with the shards of glass lay three of the gold coins stolen from the heist, loosened and lost from the pouch of the thief during the scramble of escape.

The shine of the gold casted a different reflection than the shine of the shattered glass, catching the eye of the boy as he reached down towards the ground, collecting each of the three in his hands for examination, placing them in his pocket before taking a glance around and resuming the commute to work...

The emerald island of Ireland, a landscape of rolling green hillsides, and picturesque sea cliffs froth with whitecaps and Blue Ocean stretching as far as the eye can see. This also happens to be a land very rich and lush in mythical and mystical folklore, ranging from the home of magical fairies, sprites and leprechauns, to a mysterious ghostly sister island that is said to appear once every seven years. It is no wonder that the land of the shamrock with its magical charm has enchanted and inspired many through the years, whether they be Irish, Celt, tourist, or those who came before any of the above.

Take for instance the legend of the leprechaun, a mischievous creature cloaked in green that many of us from the other side of the pond view based on the stereotypes and caricatures constructed over time, although the truth of the matter lies somewhere beyond these generalities. If you happen to travel to Ireland hoping to catch a glimpse of one, do not expect to find one inside of a Dublin pub or a castle in Cork, doing so will only yield an inauthentic representation like the figurine guarding the Clifden museum. Searching for a leprechaun and his pot of gold requires taking the same path you would take to find adventure in any unfamiliar land, by taking the one less beaten...

2: Chapter 2

News of stolen historical artifacts spreads quickly in a small town with a centralized population, especially when the items stolen are deemed to be as sacred as the gold coins are. The Sunday morning shift at the fishery began at eight o’clock, allowing young Connor to sleep in and receive some much needed rest. As strange as the walk to work had been on Saturday given the witnessing of the museum burglary, it would pale in comparison to what was in store for the lad on Sunday.

     Traversing down the hills towards the fishery as the first rays of the new day were spreading their light across the land, a strange and somewhat shocking sight lay in the darkened waters of the Atlantic miles off the coast. No more than ten kilometers from shore floated the unmistakable shadow of an island, hiding on the still darkened western horizon as if attempting to retreat back into the night from whence it came. Connor was no stranger to the legends of the mythical ghostly island off of the Irish Coast; only he was about as knowledgeable as to its information as the museum thief was of the Irish language. Racing down the hill towards the fishery, other possible explanations were crossed off his checklist one at a time: A reflection? Nay. A cloud? Nay. A ship? Nay. A whale? Nay. The process of elimination pointed to the appearance of the rare and mythical island.

     Rushing to track down his supervisor, a kind man who shouldered a great deal of respect for the young and honest child, weighed the prospect thoroughly before listening to Connor and jumping at the chance of spotting the island, regaining the youthful curiosity that he had lost long ago.

“It was no more than a handful of kilometers away, I swear to it,” explains Connor. “Out there stood an island, with beaches and cliffs and trees.”

“Son, between the rise of the new day sun caressing over the rolling waves of the ocean, and scattering down the shadows that dance near and far, and stretching out towards the horizon, it is no wonder that many people have witnessed sightings, as all of those things combine to play a great trick of the eye. Nary a mention that it is morning and the mind has not entirely awaken yet, a lad with a gripping imagination is bound to see such fancy,” explains Mr. Cavanaugh.

“You don’t believe in the legends of Hy-Brasil, the return of that island into view every seven years?” asks Connor.

“Son, let me tell you, I have worked here along the beach for thirty five years, and throughout that time I have grown so accustomed to the topography of those seas and these shores that I could become a cartographer by trade if the need ever arose. In all that time I have never once viewed any phantom island. Hy-Brasil is nothing more than folklore, legend, and you are old enough to realize that our culture is full of it, just as you are old enough to separate real from make believe,” explains Cavanaugh.

 “’Tis true, but I am also old enough to separate shape from shadow,” replies Connor.

“The sightings may be less a trick of the eye and more of a trick of light, you see light can travel great distances, and when the temperature of the water and atmosphere are just right, it is possible for it to refract a certain way, meaning to bend, this is called temperature inversion and is the likely culprit. This allows you to see light in places that you should not be able to, giving off an illusion that something is out there, such as an island, much like a great oasis mirage in the desert, although in reality it is nothing more than the reflection of a very large mirror,” explains Cavanaugh.

“Have you heard about the museum burglary?” Connor asks as they return inside.

“Yes, terrible thing, stealing something that old and valuable. Maybe the keeper will seek his revenge on them,” Cavanaugh reveals with a laugh.

“I’ve heard a little bit about him, but what does that legend entail?” asks Connor.

“Well, I do recall that the legend says that those particular gold coins once belonged to a sorcerer, a very long time ago, before the Celts arrived centuries ago. This magic was entrusted to the leprechauns, making them more powerful than they already were, those mischievous little rascals often times doing the bidding of sorcerers, or something like it I suppose, I was not around yet. Those thieves that stole that gold theoretically could be in for some trouble. Now, run along and get to work you little leprechaun!” explains Cavanaugh with a smile.

3: Chapter 3

Mr. Cavanaugh would not see it for himself, but he would hear about more eyewitness accounts of the ghostly island of Hy-Brasil, as a number of sightings sprang up over the ensuing days.

     One night thereafter, very late, the head thief sat slumped in his chair, watching television. A drink of sipping whisky in one hand and his five gold coins hidden in his basement, the thief was just about to fall asleep when he heard a loud pounding coming from the door. “Who goes there?” cries out the drunken thief, stumbling towards the door, glancing around out into the night and finding no one in sight. Retreating inside the walk back into the living room is a short one as the television has been turned off, causing the thief to shrug his shoulders before retaking his seat and turning it back on. Moments later, the screen shuts off again, much to the bewilderment and anguish of the thief.

     Scampering through the house is the patter of small feet, along with a green flash emerging in an adjacent room from the corner of the eye of the thief.

“Who is there?” screams the thief, rising to his feet to investigate, as laughter can be heard coming from the kitchen, along with the shattering of one plate, followed by another, not unlike the broken glass of the museum.

Flipping on the switch of the light as his eyes scour the damage awaiting him on the ground, the eyes of the thief peer up as the soft thud of the cabinet door reaches his ears. “You’re hiding in the press!” shouts the thief, proceeding to open each and every cabinet door throughout the cupboard, finding nothing. What had been a soft thud in his ears returns to the high pitched frequency heard earlier with the broken plates, as the television has been turned on, the volume rapidly ascending to full blast, as the thief vacated the kitchen to turn it off once more, unplugging the cord.

The sound between his breathing turns soft once more, as several giggles emit themselves from the kitchen door. Still on his knees, the thief slowly turns his gaze back into the kitchen, where a leprechaun stands before him watching and reveling in the tomfoolery he had made for himself. No more than two and a half feet tall, sporting a small black hat cocked to the side with a youthful childlike face as opposed to the commonly held notion of an elderly appearance, with the exception of a pair of pointed ears. Wearing a forest green overcoat and trousers over a white frilly undershirt with fanciful shoes denoting fine craftsmanship, the fairy leapt out of view in the blink of an eye.

“The coins!” cries the thief, rising to his feet and racing into the kitchen. “He knows they’re down in the jacks!” he declares racing down the stairs, ignoring whatever potential pitfalls and mischief may be lying in wait for the sake of the treasure. Fortunately for the thief all five gold coins remain hidden underneath the floorboards, only the basement door slams shut, the thief returning up the steps to the chagrin of being locked in the basement, despite the lack of a lock on the door. Driving the weight of his shoulder into the door, the thief manages to loosen the door from its moorings, crashing through it and onto the floor.

Conjuring up an idea, the thief covertly removes a gold coin from his pouch, placing it on the floor and slowly getting back to his feet and leaving the room. In the timespan of four minutes the leprechaun has returned, scooping up his gold coin before turning around, where the angry thief throws down a laundry basket, trapping the fairy.

“Got ya!” the thief boasts, although not before the frightened fairy emits a foul scream out of frustration, dragging the thief around the floor and using all of his might in attempt to escape, as the thief is forced to use every last ounce of strength to maintain the hold of the makeshift trap before adding a chair and a table to the top of the basket to provide additional weight. Resting on the ground and breathing heavily, the thief looks up and peers into the basket, where the sullen brow and frustrated face of the brooding leprechaun await him.

“I caught ya. These coins, are they yours?” asks the thief, as the leprechaun sternly acknowledges the question with a subtle nod. “What were you going to do, kill me?”

“Nay. Just using you for my own amusement, it’s what we do,” replies the leprechaun, with the voice of the creature sounding much older and wiser than his appearance might indicate.

“So you little guys exist, and here I thought I was merely a trifle ossified from a bad batch of brew. My gain I suppose,” replies the thief, sobering up awfully quickly.

“What do ya want my boy, in exchange for my coins and release? Surely you know how the rules work, but if ya don’t, I will eagerly grant ye one wish in a swap for my freedom,” explains the leprechaun.

“I thought it was three wishes?” asks the thief.

“Nay, three of ya it was that took me gold, thus the three shall be split amongst ye all, to one wish apiece,” explains the leprechaun.

“What is your name, fairy?” asks the thief.

“Máedóc, although that matters not. What matters now is your wish, what can I give you in exchange for my freedom and the remaining four gold coins in your possession?” asks the leprechaun.

“Okay Máedóc, I’ll tell ye what I’d like, not everyday one of us commoners catches a leprechaun, and so I’m going to go for broke. You said that this is your gold, thus there is more gold. I want your treasure, enough gold to last me a lifetime, you hear me? Give me that much gold and you will have your release,” declares the thief.

“Done. Now follow me to where I keep it,” replies Máedóc.

“Where is the gold, it should be raining down from the ceiling and shooting out of the sink!” demands the thief. “I’m aware of how your kind operates, I let you out and you disappear forever, now do we have a deal or not!”

“Yes we do, just as we’ve had an agreement. My gold is not here; it is back in my home on the island of Hy-Brasil. I may be fluent in magic but I am nay a God you know. Release me and I shall take you immediately to the island where you will be given your gold,” explains Máedóc.

“I still don’t believe it, not a word of it,” replies the thief.

“Look, the procedure is most simple. Once an arrangement has been entered into I cannot break the deal until each wish has been granted, and I am only afforded three wishes per capture, which is why they must be split up in this case. Only when all three have been granted may I be thoroughly released. My word is my bond, much more so than I can say for your species,” declares Máedóc. “Keep my gold in your pouch as collateral until we complete the transaction. Now remove this at once and follow me to the coast so I can get you your gold and be on my way with the others. See you by the seashore.” 

4: Chapter 4

Removing the trap with hesitation heavy on his mind along with reluctance, the overwhelming thought of gold buries each of the other conflicting thoughts with its massive weight, as the leprechaun scurries out of the house.

“Wait! Don’t leave my sight!” cries the thief. Racing outside and finding no trace of the fairy, the only recourse is to climb into the car and drive to the beach in a flurry. Still debating whether the entire episode was a drunken hallucination, the thief remains hopeful that the arrangement really did happen and that the words of the leprechaun were indeed genuine.

Arriving at the beach at daybreak, reassurance overwhelms the thief; as waiting for him on the shores is the leprechaun standing aboard a wooden sailboat, off in the distance lay the shadowy island.

“My God that island honestly does exist!” he declares to Máedóc, squinting at the unbelievable island floating before him.

“My homeland, ‘tis where I’m from. Beautiful place shrouded in magic,” explains Máedóc as he sets sail for the island.

“Fierce weather today, is it not?” asks the leprechaun, pulling on a thick red coat.

“Red coat, I thought you guys only wore green?” replies the thief.

“Nay, I suggest you read up on your history a bit me lad,” responds the leprechaun.

“So it’s all there, you promise? I want gold, enough to make me rich,” asks the thief.

“All of it is there, you’ll be set for life,” replies Máedóc.

“Wait a minute, you’re not going to kill me, are you? A lifetime is an indefinite duration,” responds the thief.

“Heavens no,” replies Máedóc.

“What about any other contingencies, this gold, it is going to be valuable, is it not? Proper currency that is exchangeable, not stolen, untraceable?” asks the thief.

“Are not you a man of many questions? Yes, yes, yes, the gold is fine,” reassures the leprechaun as they reach the shores of Hy-Brasil. “Up this hill, fifty paces stands a clearing in the forest with a large stump surrounded by many a tall tree, on it you will find my pot of gold for ye,” explains Máedóc.

Wasting little time the thief scales the sandy beach and small rocky hill of the island, counting fifty paces into the forest, spotting the clearing amongst the mass of mossy terrain and fifty foot tall trees circling in the area. Regaled with the cheerful chirp of a litany of birds singing from the trees, the viewpoint of the thief focuses towards the tree stump standing front and center in the clearing, a large shiny black bowl resting atop the rotted wood.

Mouth practically watering with anticipation as visions of dollar signs dance around his mind, the gleam in his eyes reflects the bright shine that is about to devour them. Flashing a wide grin of the teeth while stepping up to the pot, the thief reaches in and retrieves his gold. It is there, the leprechaun was indeed not lying—-only there is but one gold coin awaiting him. Frantically searching the contents of the pot, placing his hand around the bowl, anguish overtakes the thief as he tosses the pot off of the tree stump, eyes darting over the rotted wood and along the grass.

“This cannot be it, where is the rest of it?” asks the thief, turning around and finding only the chirping of birds. “Leprechaun! Máedóc!” cries the thief, racing back to the shoreline and finding nary a trace of the leprechaun or the wooden sailboat. Turning his glimpse back to the Irish Coast, a haunting vision befalls the thief as his familiar homeland disappears in the distance, appearing to fade away into the ocean in the blink of an eye.

“No, I am drunk, this is not happening,” the thief cries, falling to the sand and rubbing his eyes, only the refocusing is minute as the blue of the ocean is the only sight presenting itself to them.

“Is anybody here? Help me! I have been deceived!” he shouts, finding that his pouch of the leprechaun’s gold coins has become empty, before retrieving the solitary gold coin from his pocket. “Enough gold to last a lifetime,” the thief utters under his breath before wandering the island, the only item on the agenda for him and the only thing he will be doing for a great while.

5: Chapter 5

 

Back on dry land sits the partner of the thief, enjoying a warm bowl of soup for dinner where the meal is interrupted with the heavy knock of the door.

“Yes?” the partner asks the empty air before him as he opens the door, turning his focus downwards as the leprechaun clears his throat loudly to signify his presence.

“What is this, who are you?” asks the partner.

“I believe that you have an item of mine, or two, or three, or four pieces as it may be,” replies Máedóc, sliding inside of the home.

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you are talking about,” responds the partner. “Let me guess, you think you are going to convince me that you are some sort of pixie, is that correct?” asks the partner in a coy manner.

“Leprechaun,” answers Máedóc in a stern manner.

“Nay cannot be. Leprechauns avoid human contact like the plague, coming across one is as unlikely as hen’s teeth, if you were a shamrock fairy you’d be mischievous, while you appear most formal,” explains the partner in a tongue and cheek manner.

“Just ask your friend the thief, I played many a game with him, we had fun the two of us did, and indeed I was most mischievous. That is the reason I stand before you now, he caught me, and I am through playing games. You shall be granted one wish in exchange of the four gold coins of mine,” explains Máedóc.

“Is that a fact? Tell me shamrock fairy, what did my friend wish for?” asks the partner.

“A lifetime supply of gold which was granted to him. He is retrieving it on my home island now,” explains the leprechaun.

“Our arrangement called for everything to be split fifty/fifty, right down the middle, so there is no need to spend my wish asking for wealth. In the event he were breach our deal I could repudiate my promise not to inform the authorities. All right leprechaun, I know of what I ask to wish for. Being a lonely gent, I wish for the awe-inspiring beauty of the fairest maiden in all the land, a woman with eyes for me, who calls my name only. Can you make it happen?” asks the partner.

“Done. I will take you to her now,” explains Máedóc.

“Can it wait for after supper, my porridge is growing cold,” asks the partner.

“Come now Goldilocks, I insist. The fairest maiden in all the land is not something you find everyday, nor something you wait around passing the time for. For a man of your ilk a mere run of the mill maiden falling for your heart would be like finding hen’s teeth as you say, follow me this instant!” declares Máedóc.

“Slow down! I’m old!” cries the partner, attempting to keep pace with the frenetic frolic of the leprechaun.

“You’re old, you were born of this century were you not?” asks Máedóc.

“No, twentieth century,” replies the partner enjoying the break to catch is breath. “Just how old are you?”

“I’d fathom a year for each blade of grass here in this valley, just about,” replies the leprechaun.

“Jesus,” mutters the partner underneath his breath.

“Nay, not that old, come,” replies the leprechaun to the shock of the partner.

“What big elf ears you have,” jokes the partner.

“Eh?” responds the leprechaun.

“You’re supposed to say, ‘the better to hear you with,’ or something along those lines. After bringing up Goldilocks and understanding who Jesus is I thought that you were fluently in tune with popular culture,” replies the partner.

Crossing through the rolling green hills of the countryside, the two come across a patch of forest.

“Just where are we going?” asks the partner.

“She lives but one town away from here, this happens to be a shortcut. Do you not trust my knowledge of the land?” asks Máedóc.

“I wished to have the fairest maiden in the land, not to journey to her whereabouts,” replies the angry partner.

“Indeed, you wished to have the fairest maiden in the land, you did not wish to have her come to you. Come now, where is your chivalrous spirit?” asks the leprechaun.

“Are you a relationship expert in your spare time? You married?” asks the partner as the two venture deeper into the forest.

“Nay, there are no female leprechauns. We are a genetically abnormal race derived from the offspring of fairies and less admirable spirits, hence our mischief,” explains Máedóc.

“At least you’re honest about where you come from,” replies the partner.

“Tell you what, since you have been a dear, I shall bring your maiden to you. Look over yonder, sitting on the tree stump fifty paces away, she is,” proudly proclaims the leprechaun.

Against the backdrop of the wood and leaves of the forest setting, sat the fair maiden, long beautiful red hair flowing like rays of the setting sun over the Atlantic, an even longer gray dress flowing from her chest down to her feet. Never one to spew forth the appropriate words or banter from his tongue in the presence of ladies, the partner walked slowly, stumbling a bit with each crooked step.

“What do I say?” whispers the partner to the leprechaun.

“Whatever you like, the maiden is yours, her heart belongs to you, and yours to hers. This will help set the mood,” proclaims Máedóc as he begins playing the fiddle, strumming away at the instrument as the partner draws near to the woman. “We have other talents besides crafting shoes and tending gold you know, go on!” offers the leprechaun.

Stopping a mere ten paces away, the partner looks back at the fiddling leprechaun before glancing out at the woman, who has remained seated with her back to the partner.

“Are ye the fairest maiden in all the land?” asks the partner with a trembling voice as the woman slowly rises off of the tree stump. Keeping her head facing downwards as she turns to face the wishful partner, her long red hair covers her face as she begins pacing towards him. “I...I want you to be mine,” he proclaims in a soft and elegant manner.

“As I want you to be mine,” a soft and delicate voice responded, as the partner smiled, stepping forward to lift the hair of the fair maiden and plant her a kiss. The soulless white eyes were the first aspect he saw of the frightening face staring back at him, the cheekbones of the women protruding through the deathly pale white flesh, portions of it rotting black. A decaying set of teeth flashing a menacing smile his way, as the partner leapt back in fright, his tender gaze replaced with panic, his gentle, welcoming smile replaced with a wincing of terror. The smile of the woman gave way to a pungent aroma of bad breath that nearly blew the partner backwards as she opened her mouth widely, inhaling deeply to maximize the sheer veracity of her throat and vocal chords.

Screaming out of dread, the sound of the partner was soon drowned out by the shriek of the banshee, serenading the man with a horrendous scream so high in pitch as to shatter the glass of his spectacles, the bloodcurdling noise reverberating through his eardrums before they gave out with a burst of blood exploding from his ears and running down his face.

Setting his fiddle aside, Máedóc counted nine of his gold coins, setting them in his pouch before skipping merrily out of the woods as the harrowing shriek continued behind him, the shrill tone of the scream which no doubt could be heard for miles. The leprechaun had kept his promise and delivered to the partner the fairest maiden in all the land, although fair is not always fair when love, war, or fairies are involved. There was but one stop remaining...

6: Chapter 6

Traveling back to the sleepy town of Clifden, Máedóc makes his way towards the less luxurious corner of the town, finding the address of Connor and his mother. Glancing through the kitchen window of the poor residence, the eyes of the leprechaun find the lad sitting at the kitchen table as his mother enters the room, a woman with bright red hair much like that of another fair maiden, a reminder of earlier shenanigans that brings a smile and slight grin to the face of the fairy.

“You wished to speak with me Connor? Go ahead as I wet the tea,” the mother declared preparing the teakettle.

“Yes. How serious is the foreclosure situation?” he asks.

“Most severe, quare so my dear, you shouldn’t concern yourself with such tormenting thoughts,” explains the mother.

“The other day I happened to witness the thieving of the museum, the ones who stole the gold. They happened to drop two pieces and I gathered them,” the boy explains, selfishly withholding the last piece, as the leprechaun sneers in disapproval.

“You’ve got gold?” asks the mother with wide eyes.

“Some say there is a curse upon them,” he explains.

“Nay, there is no such thing as such ridiculousness,” replies the mother.

“I know, I know,” it is ridiculous,” he responds as Máedóc shakes his head.

“Will this help our situation?” asks the boy, presenting to his poor mother the gold coins he had collected, aside from his remaining personal prized piece, of course.

“Yes, this should extend our stay here, for what they bring in shall serve as an ample down payment of sorts and buy us some time. Of course I’ll have to trade them to a buyer with corrupted scruples or an ignorant party residing in the country,” explains the mother.

“How many more pieces would it take to clear us of debt?” asks Connor, his hands caressing the lone coin remaining in his pocket.

“If each were worth a thousand pounds...the entire bounty I would imagine, I’m afraid,” she explains as Connor relinquishes the grip of the last coin.

“We need these more than any museum, if there really were a leprechaun he would have a whole pot of gold,” declares Connor in a manner indicating he serious yet joking, as Máedóc scoffs in bitter resentment at the words of the boy. The risk of homelessness was a far greater threat than any spell a sorcerer could concoct. 

“Run along to school now Connor, don’t forget your jumper, the winds and weather off of the water have been fierce lately,” explains the mother.

“Things are just beginning to grow fierce my dear, for ye have no appreciation of how brisk these winds off the water may blow at thee,” declares Máedóc under his breath with a murderous glint in his mischievous eyes...

Walking through the cobblestone street towards school, a voice calls out, ringing through the air as if it is being carried by the wind. “Connnnnnnor,” it cries.

“Who is there?” he responds, finding no answer.

“Connnnnor,” the voice continues, sounding as though it is being thrown about all around him.

“Connor, help me,” a familiar voice beckons from behind in the direction of the nearby shrubs.

“Mr. Cavanaugh? Is that you?” asks the lad.

“Yes, yes, I am hurt,” replies the voice as Connor rushes into the thicket to aid his friend. “Where are you?” he asks, before tripping on a rock hidden beneath the brush, twisting his ankle as he finds that his sandal has broken.

“Mr. Cavanaugh!” he cries out.

“Button up that jumper, this weather is fierce!” proclaims a voice resembling his mother, causing Connor to quickly rise to his feet in surprise and astonishment as vexing thoughts linger as to what is conversing with him. Hearing the soft rustle of the shrubs and brush indicating that something is going to reveal itself, the lad slowly turns around, finding the leprechaun standing before him, arms crossed and with a frown upon his face as the two stare at each other fore a brief while.

Reaching into his pocket, Connor retrieves his lucky gold coin, extending his arms and the fingers of his hand, presenting it to the leprechaun in the palm of his hand.      “Here you go. They stole your gold from the museum, and I found it and kept it. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done so,” declares Connor, as the leprechaun tip toes towards the lad before snatching the coin out of his hand and leaping away, beginning to scamper off into the countryside, before turning around, finding the boy remaining in awe of the fairy.

Acknowledging the return of the coin with a grunt, Máedóc begins to speak: “Tell ya what Connor me lad, for being such an honest sport, I am going to allow you to grant one wish, whatever your heart so desires,” explains the leprechaun.

“There is only one thing that I wish for,” replies the boy.

“Well out with it me lad, I’d like to get home before the turn of the new century, tis been quite an adventure tracking down my gold coins, even for a leprechaun!” boasts Máedóc.

“My roots are my humble than I care admit. They are going to foreclose upon our house. All that I could dare wish for is to avoid such a proceeding, so that we could remain in the home,” admits Connor.

“Done. You’re in luck me lad, if you follow me I will cure what ails ye financially,” replies the leprechaun.

“What about school?” Connor asks.

“Nay, the schoolhouse will still be awaiting ye tomorrow. Today is a day to bathe in prosperity, come,” replies Máedóc, as the two make their way to the shoreline.

“So...you do happen to exist, leprechauns I mean. You are the keeper of the gold, is that your purpose?” asks Connor.

“More or less, the name is Máedóc. The folklore surrounding us surmises that we are mischievous, vengeful fairies protecting a bounty of very old gold, tis a fairly accurate depiction I must say,” Máedóc explains.

“The island, I knew that I saw it!” beams Connor, pointing to the shadowy mystical place floating on the horizon.

“Hy-Brasil, my home, that is where we are going,” declares Máedóc, motioning towards the wooden sailboat.

“Wow. How does it disappear and reappear?” asks Connor, as the two set sail.

“Hy-Brasil has existed for thousands of years, just as my people existed on this island of Ireland for thousands of years, living happily and peacefully. Several centuries ago, the Celts came and ravaged our way of life. This island of Hy-Brasil became a refuge for us, a place where the fairies retreated to as the Celts spread throughout the island. This mystical land disappears and reappears because it is cloaked in magic, the magic of the fairies. Whenever one of us makes a rare trip back to the mainland, it is visible to your kind, at least that is what I am led to believe,” explains Máedóc.

“Incredible!” answers Connor.

“Growing excited with anticipation? You may like this island so much that you may never wish to return to Ireland,” Máedóc declares with a cunning smile as the lad looks to him quickly.

7: Chapter 7 and Epilogue

You’ll soon be a hero to your family. There is a man walking the shores of the island, a man equipped with a lifetime supply of gold, you may just make acquaintances with him,” laughs Máedóc.

“Who is he?” explains Connor.

“Eh, have I grown weary of explanations. Very well. That man is one of the thieves that stole the bullion. When I am captured, I generally grant three wishes in exchange for my freedom and gold. Considering that my gold was in your hands and those of the two thieves, one wish was granted to each of ye apiece,” explains the leprechaun. “Have I made a believer out of thee?” asks Máedóc with a sneer.

“Why not take the gold from the museum, why allow it to remain there for hundreds of years or however long its been?” asks Connor.

“Now that is a grand question me lad. The museum reflects history and honoring those who came before ye, those who walked these grounds, who sailed on these seas, long ago. A museum is among the only places in all the land that honors those of us who resided on this emerald island before the Celts and you and your mother and the thieves,” explains Máedóc.

“Speaking of the thieves, what did they wish for?” asks the lad.

“One wished for a fair maiden, the other wished for a lifetime supply of gold, each of which I provided, just as I am now providing you the remedy for foreclosure, something that you will never, ever have to wonder about again,” the leprechaun declares with an ominous smile.

“Do you know how to swim lad by chance?” asks the leprechaun in a sheepish manner.

“Yeah, sure,” responds the lad, interrupted with a heavy shove from behind, throwing him into the ocean, as Connor goes under, flailing his arms upwards to take in a deep gasp of oxygen as drops of saltwater course down his face, stinging his eyes and burning his nostrils.

“What did you do that for?” asks Connor, sputtering in response.

“Tis my nature. We have arrived, welcome to Hy-Brasil. Wade through the shores, up the sands and up that hill, the one right over there in between the two rocks. Fifty paces into the forest you shall find clearing amongst the tall trees, aside from a large tree stump. Atop the stump you will find the end of your problems, and I do mean, in the most heightened expression of the word, the end of your problems,” declares the leprechaun with a laugh.

“You’re not coming?” asks Connor.

“Tis more fun this way, I’ll be right behind you,” Máedóc responds, as the lad strides through the shoreline, walks through the beach and ascends to the top of the small hill, much shorter than the hills and cliffs that Connor is accustomed to on the mainland. Stopping at the base of the forest, the lad turns around in an effort to verify that Máedóc remains within distance.

“Go. Now!” declares the leprechaun in an intense manner, giving an order.

The chip of the birds and sound of the waves crashing along the shoreline are the only noises audible to Connor as he makes his way through the soft earth underneath his feet, arching his neck towards the sky to view the towering canopy of the trees.

“Twenty-five paces...thirty, thirty-five,” he says aloud, marking each five taken. “Forty, forty-five,” he declares, stopping at the base of the clearing, tracking down the rotted grey wood of the tree stump.

“No, no way. Dear God it can’t be...can it?” cries Connor, shielded his eyes from what is in front of them. Resting atop the tree stump sits a shiny black pot, emitting the softly forming glow of electromagnetic rays shining down from the sky. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet, all of the colors of the rainbow collected in the basket, as Connor made his way closer.

“Wow,” he exclaimed, sliding his hand through the colors of the start of the rainbow, or the end of it for that matter. Inside the pot lay the blinding light of gold coins, hundreds of them, all freshly polished as if they were minted that very day. Reaching inside, his arm continues descending into the mass of gold, unable to find the floor of the container. Along with the gold was a new pair of expertly crafted leather shoes resting atop the gold coins. Despite possessing an irregular shoe size where one foot was slightly larger than the other, they were a perfect fit.

A small collection of fairies gathered amongst the trees, investigating Connor, many of them never having seen a human child before. Some were smaller than Máedóc, standing no taller than a foot, while others were as tall as Connor. Some appeared to be leprechauns, others had wings, and some looked like nothing Connor had ever seen before in books or in film, much less in person. Glancing back at the gold and back at the crowd, waving towards them.

“I have long wondered and dreamt of your land of Hy-Brasil. This is the place where dreams come from,” Connor declares with tears in his eyes, acknowledging the crowd.

“Hey lad, don’t forget to take a handful of four leaf clovers on your way home, they shall bring ye good luck in the future,” advises Máedóc with a smile, motioning towards the ground, where the soft soil is coated with thousands upon thousands of them growing amongst the mossy grass, stretching in every direction as far as the eye...

In reality most of us believe that magic is left to the imagination, explaining away sightings of phantom lands such as the island of Hy-Brasil to be nothing more than a trick of the eyes, a mistake in the map of a renaissance era cartographer, or an elaborate mirage or illusion created by nothing more than naturally occurring scientific phenomena. Does make you wonder though if the correct explanation, at least as far as some places out there are concerned, is something involving a little less logic, and containing something much more fantastic and whimsical.

If you do find yourself off the beaten path, maybe even lost, and you happen to come across a leprechaun named Máedóc or one of his colleagues in the fairy realm, do yourself a favor and keep in mind the story of the two thieves and young Connor. Such an encounter could prove exceedingly tricky to a creature that may not always be able to distinguish the difference between friend and foe. With high risk comes high reward, although if such a case does arise, you’ll want the luck of the Irish on your side—the ancient variety, to be specific.

 

DEIREADH