Motherbone knelt on a stone that protruded over a crowded koi pond. She had eagle-colored hair, which she wound daily into a loose braid that tickled her toes. Each morning, Motherbone visited her koi pond with a jug of magic passed down to her by her mother, who had received it from the sun. Motherbone was bony and fairly hollow, meek and wimpy, but her magic jug gave her more power than fourteen plowing Palomino ponies at once.
Each morning, as she tipped the jug toward the pond, her arm releasing gracefully from her elbow’s port, the koi waggled their tails, puffed their lips, and tried to be first in line for a sip. There was only enough magic for one koi a day, so the fish swam zealously, cutthroat, and like sassy luge riders, each determined to be the lucky drinker. From above, the pond looked like a pea-green oval, with glinting umber scales and pineapple-toned fish heads flashing fitfully, a reflective pool of jewels. It made Motherbone giggle when the koi bumped into one another, nipping and nudging for the magic sip.
Every day, Motherbone’s magic jug contained something new and delicious. Sometimes she fed the koi humility. Other times, they suckled on humor. On holidays, she spilled gratitude with flecks of tranquility into one lucky koi’s kisser. The koi especially loved when the jug was filled with affection. It tasted juicy, like a holiday hambone or a deep dish of chocolate cream. Even though Motherbone could feed only one koi a day, the magic seeped through its gills and steeped the pond completely. So, if one koi sipped gaiety from the jug, they all enjoyed gaiety, after proper digestion and permeation, of course.
One morning, Motherbone met a stubborn goat on her way to the pond. She came across the fat goat on a footbridge. The goat simply would not move, even after she said, “Excuse me, goat. I have koi to feed. Today’s drink is peace.”
The goat rolled his eyes, crunched on a leaf, and lifted his leg to piddle.
“Well, if you won’t move, I’m going to slink past you,” Motherbone said.
This should’ve been no problem at all, but the goat must’ve been in a sour mood. When Motherbone tried to pussyfoot past his white, prickly butt, he lifted a foot and punted her in the gut. The kick sent her sailing backward into a black swamp.
“Foo!” cried Motherbone, dropping her magic jug into the swamp. She noticed some of the magic had spilled out. Trying quickly to scoop it back into the jug, she accidentally ladled in some of the goat’s swamp sludge, too. The swamp was filled with another type of magic: bad magic. It contained dabs of anger, tidbits of jealousy, globs of gossip, and morsels of gloom. Motherbone knew the swamp contained toxins, but she was in a hurry and hoped it wouldn’t make a difference. Wiping off the jug’s edges, she pinned it beneath her pit and scrambled off, crinkling a single eye at the smirking goat.
When she arrived at the pond, a lustrous pink koi was waiting in a tizzy for a drink. The magic landed hard and clunky in his mouth, pushing him below the surface. Motherbone, still fuming from the goat kick, didn’t notice the koi’s shiny pink scales bubbling into corpuscles of white pus and bloody sputum. He hacked the swamp sludge from his gullet, and it spread throughout the pool in zigzagged lines, like dark fractals on an autumn leaf. Soon every koi had tasted the bad magic, and strange new feelings emerged in the pond.
Some koi felt anxious, some were skittish and scared, and others were downright furious. When Motherbone looked upon the pond, she noticed one koi biting the tail of another. Then the biting began in earnest, each koi snapping at whatever swam nearest, tearing flesh and shredding fins. She saw algae clinging to the backs of blood-coated fish, eating them as they ate each other. One by one, koi bellies turned to the sun. The pond water became covered in blood and bones, and the water was quickly draining. Motherbone sat at the edge of the dire pond and wept.
The next morning, Motherbone returned to discover a waterless hole. Twenty-seven limp fish bodies lay stuck to the muddy floor. Motherbone wept again. A hand landed on her shoulder, warm as pie. It was her mother, Mothermarrow.
“Did the koi drink bad magic?” asked Mothermarrow.
Motherbone nodded regretfully. “It was just a little bit.”
Mothermarrow knelt beside her daughter. “If only we knew the power of our magic jugs. Even a pinch of bad magic can spoil a pond. Blessed is a pond that is nourished with good magic.”
“Now I have no pond at all,” said Motherbone.
“You will always have a pond. Everyone has a pond. Right now, yours is dry. As sure as the sky leaks rain,” she said, looking upwards, “your pond will soon be full.”
Motherbone began to curse and blame the goat, but Mothermarrow interrupted her. “Listen closely, because you will doubtlessly run into many more stubborn goats. The goat is a sad sucker in a cycle of bad magic. Clean out your jug, lift it to the sun, and stop the cycle when you notice it spinning. If you run into a sassy goat again, offer some of your good magic. It will help balance out the lopsidedness, until the only kind of magic to drink is the good kind.”
Motherbone looked at her jug hopefully. She lifted it toward a ray of sun, and it began to sparkle, clean and new. A gray cloud wept. Light rain faded into Motherbone’s nape.
She heard the sound of a koi wiggling his flipper against the swampy ooze. It was a slow beat at first, but soon segued into a steady meter. Another koi beat against the sludge. More and more fins thumped the earth, clumsy-cool and syncopated, Motherbone raised her head, determined.
“Today’s drink is moxie.”
