‘Don’t touch it!’ says Norindis. ‘It’s manmade.’

We all look at the rock blocking the crossroads. Thrust into its centre is a large sword, its blade engraved in some unknown script.

‘How do you know it’s manmade?’ I say. ‘Maybe some other otherworld being did it.’

‘An elf like us would have put that sword in straight and enchanted it with proper runes that appear and disappear according to how annoying we want to be.’

Brendillion scratches his ear. ‘Tons of our stuff is manmade. That’s why we lure humans here, isn’t it? So they work and we don’t have to.’ He gives me an awkward smile. ‘Sorry Astrillia… you know what I mean.’

‘We don’t keep humans to do this sorta stuff!’ Norindis flicks the leather bound hilt and makes the sword twang. ‘And this is iron. How’m I gonna get my unicorns past? Flaming humans – coming here, polluting our… highways.’ He twangs the sword again.

Brendillion tenses, ready to dive in before Norindis gives it a third twang and releases something we can’t control.

‘Which human?’ he ponders. ‘We haven’t got many now apart from those hippies we nabbed at Woodstock in 1969 who think they’re still there.’

Pandotha frowns. ‘We’ve got a shedload of “misunderstood” teenagers.’

‘They’re useless,’ argues Brendillion. ‘We’d send them back if their parents didn’t prefer the changeling replacements.’

‘So it’s one of us,’ I insist.

‘No,’ Norindis snaps. ‘It’s manmade.’

At this point my human husband Derek appears. His only magic skill is making my heart flip when I see him, even after ten years. He wandered into our realm by accident and stayed by choice.

‘Wotcha Nobby,’ he says. ‘What’s with the new street furniture?’

Norindis clenches his fists. ‘Address me properly, stinking human!’

Derek makes a flourishy bow and declaims ‘Greetings Nobby. What wisdom too deep for my human brain has led to this impediment to traffic?

Norindis roars. ‘How’d you do it eh? Why’d you do it?’

‘Not me,’ says Derek. He inspects the stone. ‘Excali….Interesting,’ he says. ‘Hundreds of years ago, a boy pulled a sword out of something like this.’

‘An elf?’ says Pandotha.

‘Human,’ says Derek. ‘He’s supposed to come back if the world got into a pickle again, which…’

Norindis spots a teenage humans slumped in torpor against a tree staring into an object no amount of magic has yet prised from his hand. ‘You! Come here! Pull this out.’

The boy looks up and whines. ‘Why me? It’s not faaair! Don’t wanna.’

‘Tsk,’ says Derek. His eyes suddenly sparkle, his hand stretches out…

I can see what’s in Derek’s mind: us riding into the city on glimmering horses to… disappear into an angry world of iron. I reach to stay his hand but he’s withdrawn it.

‘No,’ he says, the sparkle fading. ‘This is bad magic. It’s not a sword that’ll put things right now. Besides,’ he glances at the truculent teenager, ‘You just can’t get the Once and Future Kings anymore, can you?’

Words copyright (c) Paula Harmon 2025. These are not to be used without the author’s express permission including for the purposes of training artificial intelligence (AI). Image credit Sword in the Stone Excalibur Stock Image – Image of magic, rock: 78763523