The Strange Voyage of Oren of the Good People by Judy Colella (most motivational books .txt) 📕

Scooting out from behind the bar, he approached one of the patrons to ask about the ill-fated vessel.

The man gave him a surprised look, as if wondering where this diminutive gentleman in the gaudy clothes had come from. Then he frowned, took a sip from his frothed mug, and reminded himself in a mutter that this was Ireland. “So what would you like to know?” he asked louder.

“Was the ship you're talking about built here in Belfast?”

“What? What moss-covered pile of rocks have you been sleeping under? It’s the infamous ship built right here in the Harland and Wolff shipyard, then sent off to Southampton for her first – and last – voyage. Everyone knows it, man! Everyone!”

“Of, er, of course.” Dani gave a weak chuckle. “But what I’m wanting to know is why all the fuss after so long?”

The man peered more closely at Dani’s timeless face. “Perhaps you’re not old enough to remember, then. But see, this is the one-hundredth anniversary of her sinking.” He picked up a newspaper that had been lying face down on the table under his sandwich plate. He shook it out and turned it so the clurichan could see the front page.

There, in black and white, was an old photograph of the same ship he and Oren had observed. In the photo, it was completed and quite impressive, even by Dani’s standards. He put a finger under the name, reading it silently. Titanic.

So now at least one of them knew. Oren, however, was still – literally – in the dark. He was also in the ocean. When he awoke, his yawn included salt water. Fortunately, the daoine maite don’t need air. What he needed was an explanation of how he’d ended up on the ocean floor, still inside the smokestack, only now the damn thing was on its side. He swam out and took a look around. A few passing fish gave him curious glances, but none of them seemed inclined to do more than that.

The ship must have sunk, Oren concluded, taking him with it. He thought about Dani, then, and what he’d do to him when he got home. These musings gave him the strength and determination to call upon his missing magic.

To his delight, it had returned in force, and in a flash he was back on the docks of Belfast. Which for some reason looked very different.

A suspicion began to grow in his slightly waterlogged brain. As he gazed about, noticing a lot of things that made no sense because he had nothing with which to compare them, his suspicions became certainty. He had no clue how long he’d been away, but was certain it had been more than a day or two. More than a week, or a month, even. In fact, if the odd-looking vehicle barrelling toward him on the road by the dock was any indication, it had been something like years. But how many?

The vehicle whooshed past, blowing his coat open. Heavens, what could go that fast? Maybe the world had been consumed by magic, but of what sort? None he’d ever encountered before! Well. There was only one thing to do at this point.

Oren tugged his soggy jacket shut, threw back his shoulders, and started to head for the tavern. A second later, he was back on the sidewalk, clinging to a lampost and shaking a fist at another whatsit that looked like a bicycle, but was traveling so swiftly, he couldn’t be sure. It had also roared at him. Good God!

More carefully now, he stepped back out into the street, looking first in both directions. Something was very strange, indeed, and he was determined to find out what and why. Of course, in order to think straight (he told himself, ignoring the truth that he was quite simply terrified), he would need a bit of a nip. Now, as was noted earlier, Oren wasn’t a great drinker. But under the circumstances, there was a better than even chance he’d be applying for membership as an honorary clurichan.

Coincidence is rarely coincidental. But what else could it have been then, that on the same day that Dani happened to be in Belfast and was learning about the fate of the Titanic, Oren awoke and magicked himself to the very place, and entered the very tavern, in which the clurichan was indulging his tippling needs?

“Anything interesting?” asked Oren, coming to stand, dripping, beside Dani, who was perusing the article.

“Just a bit of a story about the hundred-year anniversary of this great ship’s demise.”

“Ah. Sank, did it?”

“It did. Surely you must know that.”

“And so I do, especially since I was on it when it went down.”

Very, very slowly Dani tore his eyes from the page and lifted his head, his pallor going waxen. “Ah, Oren my boyo! Wondered where you’d gotten to! Why’d you take off like that, eh? Heh.”

“You do know what I could do to you for that.”

Dani gulped. He did, for certain. Haul him in front of the Sidh Council, for one. Drunk or no, he’d committed a terrible crime. “Now, Oren,” he began, raising his hands, palms outward and taking a step back.

“Don’t you ‘now Oren’ me, Dani! I thought you were my friend! Ha! I should crush you like the bug you are!”

“Aw, now, don’t be bringing size into this. I never held it against you – don’t use it against me!”

“The only thing I’m inclined to use against you, you dratted clurichan, is one of these chairs!”

A tear formed in the corner of Dani’s eye. He dropped his hands and hung his head. “And you’d be doing the right thing, I’m thinking. All the apologies in the world can’t undo or make good the thing I did to you all those years ago. I won’t even remind you of how drunk we both were.”

Oren gave him an odd look. “You just did.”

“Ah. Oh.” A sickly smile crawled across his face.

“There’s only one thing you can do to redeem yourself, little man.” Suddenly, Oren looked menacing as he intoned this statement.

“And…” Dani twisted his fingers together, squirming. “…what would that be, my dear daoine maite?” He’d almost never been this humble before any being before. It was a rare moment, to be sure.

Oren realized this, basked in it for a few seconds, at last answering, “You can buy – buy, Dani – a drink for me.” That was the harshest punishment he could imagine for the creature, one that wouldn’t soon be forgotten.

“Y-you mean with money?” It came out as a squeak.

“I do.”

Dani, his face going tragic, began to pat himself down. “I might have a bit of gold somewhere,” he muttered. “But will they take it? Oh, dear. Oh, my. Oh, stars…”

“Oh, shut it!” Oren, unable to contain himself, gave an alarming close-mouthed snort and burst out laughing. How in blazes could he remain angry at someone like Dani? The smaller being’s behavior had reminded Oren of why they’d become friends in the first place. He regained some control, his laughter sliding into an almost embarrassing giggle as he clapped the clurichan on the shoulder. “Get me a drink, then,” he said kindly, grinning like a loon. “The usual way.”

“Ah, my friend! You’ve forgiven this old reprobate, have you?”

“I have. But Dani, this time let’s be a mite more careful about how much we let slide past our gullets, shall we?”

“Oh, we shall. This is one clurichan who’s learned his lesson!”

Nothing could have been further from the truth and they both knew it.

Dani waved a hand toward the back of pub where the door to the cellars was situated. By this time the human had left, having finished his drink and needing to get somewhere, had thus missed most of the conversation between the magical beings – a good thing, too. His departure made it unnecessary for them to do inexplicable, and somewhat exhausting, things to his memory.

As they headed side-by-side for the cellar door, Oren could be heard to say (had anyone been listening), “So. A hundred years, is it? What did I miss?”

Text: Judith A. Colella
Publication Date: 12-05-2012

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