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The Magi of Miriam, the Boy Who Saved the Kingdom

By MK Sweeney

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CHAPTER 1
JESSE WALER

Eufaula, Alabama
Jesse wriggles in his desk. He scoots his
rear from one side of the seat to the other to get
comfortable, struggling to focus on Mr. Armstead
speaking at the front of the classroom. As he does so,
the letter in his pocket pokes him, piercing through

the lining of his jeans, scraping him like a fairy-
sized knife blade, as though alerting him. As if Jesse

could forget about the letter!
For three days, he’s been carrying it around. For
three days, he’s been opening it and smoothing out
its creases, reading it over and over in spare moments,
trying to make sense of the note’s meaning,
revalidating its existence with each rereading.
“But it does exist,” Jesse mutters under his breath.
How, though? He’s often wondered this since
he found the letter tucked in his backpack three
mornings ago. And who put it there? It wasn’t Mama.

8 The agi of iriam
How could a letter from Mama end up in my backpack
two years after her passing?
Jesse had recognized his mom’s handwriting on
the outside of the envelope the moment he fi rst saw
it. But he knows it wasn’t his mother who put it in his
backpack for him to fi nd. That would be impossible.
The reminder of his mom’s passing makes Jesse
jerk. He bumps the bottom of his desk with his knee,
shaking the desk; and his textbook, Pre-Algebra: A
Starting Place, slips off the desk’s edge before he has
time to catch it. SMACK. The book hits the fl oor

of the classroom. Mr. Armstead stops talking mid-
sentence. A gloomy sense of foreboding fi lls the air.

The teacher tilts his head, his eyes narrowing to
two slits. “Ahem,” he hisses, glancing at Jesse’s book
spread out on the fl oor, splayed open for all to see.
“Do you have something you wish to share with the
class, Jesse?”
Jesse fl ushes with embarrassment. Mr. Armstead
is Jesse’s least favorite teacher; it seems to Jesse that he
has always had it out for him. Jesse stares at his empty
desk. Without raising his eyes, he slowly shakes his
head no in response to Mr. Armstead’s request for
an answer.

.K. weeney 9
“Then sit still and pay attention,” Mr. Armstead
snaps at him.
Raising a pointer, Mr. Armstead darts his
laser around the room, pointing it from student
to student. “I suggest that all of you use this
weekend to revisit your schooling. Focus. Think.
Before you know it, you will be moving up
from the seventh grade, kids. Summer, a time
of frivolity and decay, is lurking before us. Next
school year, there will be no spoon-feeding.
There will be no coddling.”
Mr. Armstead sighs a long sigh, building
momentum. “I have tried to prepare you children.
It hasn’t been easy working with a group like
yourselves. Nonetheless, I have educated you on the
Puritan work ethic. I’ve tried to mold your minds to
teach you how to think! But alas, I am afraid I have
failed. I don’t know that you’re capable of meeting
the demands of eighth grade, Class. Can you rise
to the occasion? Or will you continue with your
small-minded shenanigans? Will you throw away
your time and your brains?”
RIIIIING! RIIIIING! RIIIIING! The bell rings loud
and clear.

10 The agi of iriam
Students jump from their seats and rush for the
door like minnows swimming, knocking against
each other and high-fi ving. School’s out. It’s the end.
It’s the weekend.
Smiling, Jesse pushes through the door in a
throng of his classmates. Together, they walk out
of the room for the last time for the week.
In the hall, the air is thick. Kids are everywhere,
jumbling together like gummy bears stuck in a bag,
clinging together from one sticky appendage to
another. It seems impossible to break through the
mass of kids swarming the building. Jesse takes a deep
breath and wedges himself in. Making a beeline for
his locker, he inhales the cheers rising up around him.
It’s Friday. He puffs out his chest.
Reaching his locker, he jiggles it open. Books,
crumpled paper, and pens spring out at him. He
hurriedly shoves in his belongings and closes his
locker with a BANG.
I don’t care how heavy it is. Jesse grits his teeth,
pressing up against the weight of his overstuffed
backpack. He scrunches his face, determined. I’d carry
ten times as much if it means I can get out of here. He
thinks of his pack, bulging in every direction like
a dead body is stuffed into it. For two days, I can eat

.K. weeney 11
popsicles and sleep in. For two days, I don’t have to do
homework, or tuck my shirt in, or sit in a desk and be quiet.
At least for the weekend, I can fi sh and explore all afternoon.
Ankle-to-ankle, chest-against-chest, Jesse
struggles through the crowd with his unwieldy
backpack toward the school’s exit. Bursting
through the school’s doors, leaving the incessant
air conditioning, he greets the hot Alabama sun.
“Ahhh.” He sighs, soaking in the warmth of the
outside air on his still-clammy skin.
Stepping out of the fray, he fi nds a space away
from the fl ow of students to wait for his best friend,
Irvin. Jesse watches the kids fl ow out of the school
like water bursting through a dam, and he reaches
into his pocket, feeling for the familiar contours of
the letter. Grabbing hold of it, careful not to crumple
the paper, he takes out the folded letter. Gently, he
unfolds it, smooths its ridges, and rereads the words
he’s already come to know by heart.
My dearest Jesse,
If this note has found its way to you, words can’t
describe how sorry I am. I never wanted to leave
you or Maddie or your dad. Please understand
how much I love you. Nothing can change that.

12 The agi of iriam
Never feel alone. I am with you. You are my
everything—my energy, my soul, the core of my
being—AND YOU ARE STRONG. I write this as I
imagine you have questions, and I want to dispel
any self-doubt or fear you may have as you learn
about us—who you are, who I am, who I was.
My love, if you’ve been given this note, something
bad has happened in the Land of Miriam. The
kingdom, no doubt, has come for you. As much
as it pains me to write this, you must go with
them, Jesse. The Land of Miriam needs you. It
is who we are. Perhaps I shouldn’t have shielded
you as I have, but I wanted you to have a true
childhood, where you could discover things on
your own time and in your own way. If you get
this note, though, it is time. You must go.
If you are reading this, I am with God now, smiling
down. Never fear, never doubt, never feel you are
not good enough. You are everything you need
to be.

I love you.
Mom

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