Song of the Magicicada

It was Saturday, June 4. The temp was already well over eighty degrees and it was not yet 8:00 A.M. Being unseasonably warm, it was just another typical spring day in Illinois.

Or maybe it wasn't so typical. After all, it was the year of the Magicicada. The thirteen-year brood had made it's appearance right on schedule, filling the woodlands with an eerie buzzing that reminded Circe Gregor of horror stories about aliens landing and taking over the world.

She laughed at herself as she dodged another large, flying insect. She had collected several specimens for her friend, Dora. Dora was a good person, but being an entomologist, bugs were her life. Inconvenienced by a medical condition that kept her wheelchair bound, she often conned Circe into collecting samples. So now Circe was battling the brutal sun, the heavy, humid air and the overpowering roar of cicada song.

She stopped under the shade of a sugar maple to rest. Her feet were hot in the old hiking boots. A rivulet of sweat trickled between her breasts. Her water bottle was empty. With a sigh, she tucked it into her pack and continued on her way.

This was not how she had planned to spend her twenty-sixth birthday. Still, it was better than the mindless little garden party her mother was throwing for her. It wasn't that she minded spending quiet hours with her mother, her grandmother and their friends; she was more inclined to do something physical, something more demanding of her body than sipping watery punch from little crystal cups and eating finger sandwiches. Circe, much to her mother's chagrin, had turned out to be more like her father—a rough-and-tumble man who was more comfortable in jeans than a suit. Her parents were the original odd couple.

It wouldn't be long now. Just another half mile or so and a special treat would be waiting. Over the next rise was a stream and at the head of that stream was a cascade of water falling into a deep, green pool. The waterfall wasn't very big, but it was ice cold, coming from a spring deep in the bluff. It was pure, too, pure enough to drink.

Her thirst drove her onward. No water anywhere quenched her need like a limestone spring. It was sweet and cold, nectar of the gods. She smacked her lips and hoisted her small pack a little higher; thanking those same gods for the day her grandfather purchased this land more than forty years earlier.

Her mother was not of the same frame of mind. That sainted woman was never comfortable with Circe running wild in the hills. She often cited stories of how Grandpa Gregor had walked up here one day and simply disappeared. All that was found of him was an empty shirt and a hat. That was long before she was born, though, and it had nothing to do with today.

As she topped the rise, she could hear the water over the din of locusts. "They're not true locusts," she heard Dora declare in her brain.

"Shut up, will ya?" she said aloud. "A bug is a bug, for crying out loud."

Pulling the pack from her shoulders, she dragged it down the steep incline. All she wanted was to shed her boots and wade into the marvelous water. When she got to the edge of the pool, she did just that before sitting on an outcropping of rock and dipping her toes.

The water was freezing, sending fingers of icy chills up her legs. It was colder than she remembered from her last visit, and deeper, too. It was the spring rains, she decided. It hadn't been such a typical year, if she stopped to think about it. The winter had been long—too long—and too cold. The amount of snow it brought was unusual for the area, as were the spring rains that seemed to go on forever—until the day the Magicicada emerged, that is. With them came the hot weather, the end of rain and the endless drone of the buzzing song.

The bugs seemed to grow louder in the tree limbs overhead. As she listened, she could discern definite patterns in the sound. There was a full octave of sound, a chorus of chirps and hums that drowned out the sound of the falls. Reaching down, she cupped water and splashed it over her face. The chill was startling, reviving her spirits enough to draw her in.

With a grin, she stood, shucked her clothes and stretched. There was something deliciously wicked about being stark naked in the bright sunshine. The cicadas seemed to agree as their song took on a more joyful tone. She batted at an errant bug when it flew too close. It landed on the rock next to her clothes. It didn't move, only stared up at her with its glowing red eyes. Another soon landed next to it, joining its fellow in staring at her nudity. A third soon perched on the rock, and a fourth. It was unnerving to be watched, even if it was by a bunch of bugs.

Unsure if it was her desire to be cooled by the chilly water or her need to get away from the prying, faceted eyes, she took the Nestea plunge, falling backward into the water to let it wash over her body. When she came up for air, another insect dive-bombed her head.

"Hey," she said, sputtering as she swatted at it.

It hovered just beyond her reach for a moment before joining a small swarm circling overhead. An uneasy feeling started as a flutter in her breast. It spread through her body when the drone in the trees changed its pattern. It swelled and rose to a crescendo that sounded like a stage whisper of her name.

The scene had gone from eerie to frightening. She ducked under, swimming away from the growing swarm. When she surfaced again, it was to see the cicadas flying in the opposite direction. They moved as one, a black cloud swelling, collapsing upon itself and swelling again. They landed as one, too, right on her clothing and backpack. So many bugs, it seemed, had the strength of men. Lifting in unison, they carried her belongings away into the summer sky.

"What the . . .?" She swam toward the big rock, trying in vain to get there in time, but it was too late. Her clothing was gone on a large black cloud.

Naked in the frigid water, she wondered how she would possibly get home. Her thoughts quickly changed when a new swarm began to collect overhead. She moved toward the center of the pool, away from the burgeoning swirl of insects. They followed with the occasional insect swooping low over her head. She didn't give ground this time as she treaded the water's surface. With a cautious eye, she watched as they circled ever-closer.

Her name became clearer in the trees. The swarm moved lower. Despite herself, she drifted backwards toward the waterfall. The cicadas were driving her back, directing her movements. She splashed water at them, waved an arm in their direction, and went under. When she surfaced, they attacked as one, aiming at her head.

Circe dove, digging deep for the bottom and swimming for the falls. When she sputtered to the surface again, she was behind the protection of a watery wall. Still, she could hear the drone of her name over the roar of the water, could see the black cloud of bugs on the other side. When a few found their way inside her haven, she ducked under again.

The creatures appeared to have a conscious thought process. Maybe they had taken exception to her capture of some of their fellows. Perhaps they sensed the fate of those imprisoned insects in her now-missing backpack. The last time she had encountered the emergence, she was thirteen. At the time, they seemed magical to her, befitting the name given them by scientists. She sat at this very pool drawing pictures of them and wishing she could grow wings like theirs. Now she just wanted to be shed of them.

When she poked her head up for air, the slippery, wet surface of the rock wall behind the falls was dotted with clinging insects. All had their fierce red eyes turned to her, watching her every move.

She dove again, wondering how she was going to find her way out of this mess. The creatures were supposed to be harmless, non-biting and non-venomous, but she couldn't be sure with the way they were intent upon attacking her. She couldn't stay down forever. Soon she would have to find her way out of the water and back home. With no clothing, it was going to be tricky.

Something touched her leg. She whirled in the water to see a strange, colorful fish. It watched her, turning on its side to have a better look. A second one arrived, almost glowing as the sun glinted off its rainbow of colorful scales. She swam up for another gulp of air, heard her name in the breath of the wind, in the rumble of the water, the song of the Magicicada. When she dove again, she saw the strange fish head away into what appeared to be a cave.

Every summer since she was little girl, she had been coming here. Never, in all that time, in all the swimming she had done here, did she remember seeing a cave. But there it was, waiting to be discovered. The two fish stopped just inside the entrance and turned to watch. It seemed as if they waited for her.

She surfaced for another deep breath of hot air, saw the growing numbers of cicadas on the wall and dove straight down to the waiting fish. They moved deeper into the mouth of the cave and turned to watch.

She followed, seeing a light at the other end. It wasn't a cave at all. It was a tunnel of sorts. After taking a moment to gauge the distance in the murky water, she plunged through the opening. Before she reached the other end, she began to wonder if she would make it. Her lungs burned and her heart pounded in her chest. She needed life-giving oxygen.

Just as she began to weaken and despair, one of the fish touched her hand. When she turned her head to look, she was startled to find the fish much larger than it had first appeared. The thing was every bit as big as she. It nuzzled its head under the palm of her hand, flashed a colorful eye at her and began to swim. Its mate did the same with her other hand and together they pulled her through the lengthening tunnel. Other fish swam by—tiny minnows that looked like trout and a catfish as big as a whale. A giant tadpole stopped to look at her, its giant bulbous head as big as a bowling ball.

She wanted to scream, but the precious little air she had in her lungs was all that sustained her—and it was failing. As the light drew near, the world began to darken. Her time was running short, and her grip on the fish was weakening. She could hold on no longer, her hands sliding off the creatures as her body sank.

Something very large butted against her naked bottom, hurtling her through the water and into the light. She had made it to the other side, her body flying through the water to the surface. When her head hit the open air, she expelled carbon dioxide and drew in fresh oxygen with a sound akin to a scream. Her burning lungs filled, exhaled and filled again. Whatever had rescued her was still nestled under her butt, holding her to the surface. She looked down to see the massive head of a giant catfish. The rainbow fish hovered along side, watching, waiting.

"Thank you," she whispered.

The catfish seemed to smile as it held her there. The colorful fish flashed their sides at her and swam away. She sat on the catfish, taking a moment to look at her surroundings. It was a mirror image of her swimming hole on the other side. There was a fall, the green pool, the stream leading away, but it was gigantic in proportion to her starting point. Everything here was huge, including the cicada that flew overhead. They appeared as big as parrots, flitting about and watching her. She could even see the rock, her favorite perch when visiting the pool. There was no way she would be able to climb onto it here. It might as well be a mountaintop.

The sounds were different here, too. Instead of buzzes and chirps, the cicadas sang a chorus that would make the Vienna Boys Choir envious. The song was beautiful, filling the air with notes unheard before in nature.

The sun above was too golden to be real, shining on enormous plants with blossoms that seemed to dance in time to the music. Birds flew overhead, creating great shadows on the pristine water, while grasshoppers the size of cats hopped by. Everything was bright and misty, as if looking through a lens covered in cheese cloth. And the colors! Their brilliance bordered on unreal—from the deep red of the wild roses to the azure blue of the morning sky. Gold was everywhere, cast by the sun, glinting on the water, sparkling in the branches of the over-sized trees.

She blinked several times, certain her eyes were playing tricks. That's when she noticed several hidden recesses, places where the light didn't quite touch. They were dark, foreboding, as if some sickness ate away at the surrounding woodlands.

Where was she?

"You're in my demesne," a voice said. It was a deep voice, yet hardly more than a whisper.

The catfish beneath her wiggled when she turned to look for the owner of the voice, it was impossible to find its direction, no matter which way she turned.

"Where are you?" she yelled. "Stop trying to scare me."

"Are you scared, little human?"

She slipped off the fish and when she whirled around to look, she saw a giant cicada hovering in circles nearby. Her eyes narrowed as she treaded water. The thing looked big enough to make a snack of her, bigger than the rest by several feet. When it flew too close, the catfish surfaced and lunged for it. The cicada drew back.

"Be gone, big fish," the voice said. "Make no threats at me."

The catfish sank beneath the surface, but stayed by Circe's side as if to reassure her. She placed a hand on its over-sized head and watched the giant insect.

"He's been a problem since he came here. I wonder why my mother puts up with him," the voice said.

"Who are you?" Circe demanded.

"Why, I'm the prince of all you survey. I'm the voice in the wind and the blush of the red, red rose. I give life to the earth and song to the birds."

"And that tells me exactly nothing. Who are you really?"

The cicada flew behind her, dipping low. A man jumped from its back, landing lightly on a floating branch. When Circe looked again, she was unsure if it was a man at all. He was certainly the strangest human she'd ever seen, if indeed he was human, and it was impossible to gauge his age with his hairless body and perfect facial features.

It wasn't his face that intrigued her so, even though it was strange to behold with its long angles, smooth, flawless skin and eyes that appeared to have more iris than white. Truth was there was no white in them at all. They were large, almond-shaped and colored the deepest darkest green of a pine forest.

It wasn't his hairless body, either. It appeared almost boyish, although well-formed and powerful. Its arms were longer than a normal man's, as were its legs. At the ends of the legs were strange feet with no more than three toes, seemingly designed for gripping things such as the branch on which he perched. His hands were equally unusual with over-long, claw-like fingers that fluttered about like the wings of a bird. His right hand waved dramatically, while his left grasped a scepter of gold capped with a glowing pink stone.

Not even his naked, hairless phallus—although unusually large and seemingly able to move about with its own power like an extra limb—caught her attention as much as the tail. A tail! The creature had a long, prehensile tail. It worked like an extra hand, grasping at a stick as the creature crouched low over the water.

Then she saw the wings. They glistened in the sun, delicately veined as the cicada's. The tail forgotten, her attention centered on the wings that spread to help him balance.

"Am I not a magnificent sight," the creature said.

"Well, you're different," she said. "What the hell are you?"

"I am Oberon, prince of the faerie kingdom, my lady." The creature stood, offered a mock bow and laughed. "Am I not the most splendid you've ever seen?"

"Compared to what?" Circe spit out water, her body drifting low as she began to tire. "One thing's for sure, you're certainly the most conceited." The catfish nudged under her again, offering support to keep her head above water.

A flash of anger crossed Oberon's face. He seemed to catch himself and smiled as he reached out a hand. "Come, my lady. I will give you shelter and food. You must be exhausted after your long trip."

"I'm not going anywhere with you. I'm naked."

"We're all naked here, sweet lady. Come. No harm will befall you. I give my word."

The fish dodged from under her, allowing her head to fall below the surface. When she came up sputtering, it was to see the great fish splashing about in the space between her and the faerie. It made a sound reminiscent of a cat's growl. Oberon gave a startling cry, lifting his scepter to aim at the fish. A ball of pink fire shot forth, narrowly missing the fish when it dove. It came up again, lunging at the faerie and taking the full force of a fireball to its green belly. The fish sank like a stone.

"You killed it!" Circe cried.

"I sincerely doubt it, my lady. He'll be back, just as he always is. We should be gone before he returns. I fear he wishes to make a meal of you."

Thinking of the size of the creature's mouth, she swam closer to Oberon and placed her hand in his. She felt a rush of warmth surround her as her body lifted weightless from the water. All around was light, encompassing the air and even her body.

At her startled gasp, Oberon pulled her close and wrapped his long arms about her. "I have you well in hand, lady," he whispered in her ear.

"You got me, but who's got you?" she asked when she saw how far below the surface of the water was. "Are we flying?"

He chuckled softly, the sound tickling her inner ear. "I'm flying. You are merely along for the ride."

Circe twisted slightly, trying to pull away from his nudity. His tail snaked around her, crushing her belly to his. To make matters worse, something wiggled between her legs, stroking her private parts as if petting a kitten.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

"You must forgive my princely cock," he whispered. "It has a mind all its own."

"Back home this is called deviant sexual assault. Put me down this minute."

She could hear the smile in his voice when he said, "As you wish." Too late, she realized her mistake as she found herself hurtling through empty space toward terra firma. When she hit, she was going to miss the water and land on the rocks, a thought that raced through her mind as she screamed in terror.

As if on cue, the giant cicada swooped below her, catching her on its back. The faerie prince landed beside her crumpled body as the enormous insect carried them higher into the morning sky. She glanced up at him, panting as she tried in vain to cover her nakedness.

His hand touched her face, moving a long wet strand of hair from her eyes. "I am yours to command," he said. "You must be careful which commands you issue."

"You tried to kill me."

"Nothing of the sort, you told me to put you down. I merely complied."

"I didn't mean for you to drop me, and I certainly don't want to ride a damned bug."

"My friend will deliver us safely to my home. There you may rest and recover your strength. The imps shall attend your needs while you rest."

"I want clothes."

Oberon looked annoyed. "We have nothing to resemble your false skins here. We maintain our natural state."

"I'm cold and . . . uncomfortable."

He extended a hand, raising her to her feet. "You shall be quite warm again soon."

The cicada swerved between the branches of an ancient oak. Circe lost her balance, falling against Oberon. His arms wrapped about her, holding too close for her comfort. His animated phallus stroked her thigh as his tail ran over the contours of her buttocks.

"Hey," she hissed. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Why, keeping you from falling, my lady."