How Not to Date a Fae

by Stephanie Burke

  “You are the one with an accent.” Ario relaxed more. The strange pixy just wanted to chat. Maybe he had never heard of Ario’s beloved Nippon. “I am not from this land. You would call my birth country Japan. I am not European. I am Asian.”

  “Asian,” the pixy mused. “Your eyes are like mine.”

  Ario hadn’t thought of that, though that should have been one of the first things he’d noticed, being so far from home. But the pixy was correct. His eyes were almond-shaped and the color of the midnight sky, with no whites to be seen at all.

  “They are similar,” he agreed.

  “These are magical eyes,” the pixy informed him. “This shape only belongs to those who are touched by gods.”

  “Everyone has been touched by a god, pixy,” Ario corrected. “And there are millions of people with eyes just like mine.”

  “Not the shape.” The pixy shook his head adamantly. “No, it’s what is within them.”

  “And what is in my eyes?” Ario moved closer now that the pixy was no longer buzzing around him.

  “Pain, sacrifice, regret…” He ticked those things off on his tiny fingers one at a time.

  Ario paled at those words. What did the tiny creature know? What could he see? “How --?”

  “No time for questions, man from Nippon. You have work to do.”

  “What?”

  Before the word fully left his mouth, the pixy was off, spinning around Ario three times before he shot off into the woods. “Wait!” Ario gave chase, following the trail of silvery dust deeper and deeper into the woods.

  It seemed like he ran for hours, jumping over logs and rocks, darting around trees and leaping over ditches. All he knew was to follow the tinkling laughter and the faint trail of dust.

  Finally, sweating and heaving, he paused in his thoughtless pursuit. He was out of breath and exhausted. He looked around him and groaned when he realized he had no idea where he was. His small wooded area hadn’t looked this deep and vast. Where the hell was he?

  This part of the forest was dark and quiet, almost… not ominous, just still. The trees here grew so dense that not even the smallest bit of sunlight seemed to penetrate. It was the kind of cover that let him know that when the day turned into evening, he would be totally and utterly lost without any way to get back home.

  He didn’t feel fear, just a wary awareness that he was in a place that felt like it had been untouched for years, almost like a tomb.

  “Shouyousei?” he called out, realizing that now that he’d stopped following that silver trail, he could no longer see it. It was as if it had dissipated like smoke in the wind. “Pixy?”

  There was no reply, and Ario again cursed his stupidity. He tried to recall any stories about Japanese pixies and could only recall the ones about Kodamas, the tree spirits. What he did recall of his legends from home was that as long as you lived in harmony with the small beings, they would do you no harm. He had committed no offense, so he had no idea if the pixy was playing him false.

  “Pixy?” he called out again, and this time he heard a giggle. He took off running in the direction of the sound, heedless of all else around him and… thwap! He ran full tilt into something hard and rough that knocked him flat on his ass and forced the air from his body in a rush.

  He lay there for a moment, seeing bright stars and flashes of light behind his eyes as his world slowly spun in broad circles.

  “Man from Nippon?”

  At the voice, Ario sucked in a deep breath, coughing as something light and powdery invaded his nose. He sat up, eyes watering, wheezing and glared at the small pixy, who was hovering around his face.

  “What --”

  “Good! You’re alive!”

  He blinked the tears from his eyes and stared at the small man in amazement. “What?”

  “I hope you didn’t inhale too much. I didn’t mean to pix you.”

  “Pix?”

  “I dusted you a little.” The small man blushed. “But I was kind of worried about you, lad.”

  “Dusted?”

  “You may feel a narcotic effect…”

  “Drugs?” Ario muttered as suddenly the world was filled with bright colors and smells of earth. “Hmm, drugs.”

  Ario was familiar with drugs in all of their glory. He was no innocent when it came to intoxicants, and he’d tried them all when he first was cast from his home. But he had outgrown that phase none the worse for wear and left that part of him behind. But this floaty, drifting feeling -- he remembered this.

  “I only meant to dust you a little so I could get you to the place that these humans have named Browne’s Hill Dolmen.”

  “I’ve been,” Ario muttered, lifting his hand before his face and giggling as the colors of his hand and the muted colors of this part of the forest blended. “It was a big rock.”

  “It is more than that, man of Nippon!” The pixy sounded indignant.

  “Ario,” he corrected. “My name is Ario. My mother named me that, and I haven’t a clue why. But the way your accent butchers the name of my country of origin is painful to my ears. Just call me Ario.”

  “I do not have an accent, boyo!” the pixy snapped. “You do. And you will do well to show some respect, laddie.”

  “About the rock?” This high was odd. He could understand perfectly everything the little man was saying, yet it seemed his brain was moving a little slower when it came to composing answers.

  “It is not a rock, Ario. It is a place worth more than any king could fathom. This is the resting place of the Finnians.”

  “Huh?” Ario blinked, then could not stop the sloppy grin from spreading across his face. “Right.” He struggled to his feet, slipping a few times before he managed to stay upright.

  “It is a gateway,” the pixy continued. “And the only way for a mortal to see the hidden forest that surrounds this sacred site is if they have a sponsor.”

  “Doesn’t that cost money?” Ario blinked at the small one. But then something else caught his attention. “Ohh! Look at that!” And he was off. “I think it’s a door.”

  “I just told ya that, you daft bugger!” the pixy bellowed, making Ario smile more.

  “I like you, Shouyousei,” Ario declared as he moved toward the darkened opening.

  “Merrick!” the pixy snapped. “Merry met, Ario. You may call me Merrick.” But then, pleasantries over with, he began to sound determined again. “I am your sponsor.”

  “I don’t need a sponsor,” Ario retorted, swaying on his feet, but just a little. He was in full control. But then he was off again, walking toward the door. “Ohh! What’s in here?”

  He took one step through the doorway and plummeted. That was the only word to describe the darkness enveloping him and the cold wind rushing past his face as his stomach fought to stay within his body.

  He did the only thing that made sense to him at the moment. He opened his mouth and screamed, “Wheeeee!” He was turning ass over ankles, and all he could think of was that this was the most fun he’d had in years. Those must be some damn good drugs.

  And then his body smacked into something hard, and all he could sense or even think about was the pain.

  Chapter Two

  “Kami-sama, that hurts.” Ario groaned as he rolled over onto his back. He was still feeling hazy, and he decided that was a good thing, as otherwise his landing would have hurt a lot more than it did.

  “Ario!” Ario looked up just in time to catch a face full of dust as the pixy plowed right into his chest. “Oh, shite!” the wee one cursed as he inhaled more of the powdery dust.

  Some part of his brain told Ario that he should be mad -- really, really mad. But another part of him was screaming that this was fun and to just go with the flow. The second part won out, and he giggled as he tried to lift his head and examine his new situation.

  “Snap out of it!” the little pixy was shouting, shaking Ario’s head with arms that were stronger than they should be.

  But the head shaking only
made the room twirl worse. Ario swatted the annoying flying thing off of his chest and lumbered to his feet. He didn’t notice the angry squeal or the thud of Merrick’s body as the wee one splatted somewhere behind him.

  He nodded slowly and looked around the chamber. It had vaulted ceilings and wide-open spaces for all that it was a huge stone tomb. But cutting the murky darkness was a broad beam of sunlight. He blinked at the dust motes dancing in the shaft of light before he followed it to where it touched stone.

  From where he was standing, he could make out a central pillar illuminated by the odd light. At the base of the pillar sat a large platform.

  Curious, he ignored the “No!” coming from the pixy and stumbled forward, arms held out before him to help him balance.

  “Not for you!” Merrick was shouting as he careened into Ario’s back, tugging at his hair. But Ario paid the pixy no heed. He was determined to reach that platform.

  He took another step and another one until he finally found himself staring down at the stone slab and the tall brute of a man that rested upon it. He had long white hair and a wild beard that was braided into two tails. Currently he looked as dead as a doornail.

  “Eww,” Ario muttered. But the corpse was so life-like. He moved closer and noted the huge sword resting on his chest, the pommel and hilt held fast between two large hands.

  “Nice.” He nodded, admiring the weapon for its sheer size and artistry.

  Size, yeah.

  The sword had to be about as tall as he was… which made the corpse holding it over seven feet tall.

  “Whoa.” He stumbled back, frowning at the giant on the stone altar.

  “Not for you!” Merrick was screaming again, but now Ario wanted to see what else was there.

  He spun around and noted that there were nine similar, if smaller, pillars that were slowly becoming illuminated by the growing shafts of light. The pillars seemed to surround the massive altar where the giant corpse rested in a huge stone circle.

  He looked again at the main pillar that held the dead giant and noted some writing inscribed on the stone.

  His vision was wavy, and the words were written in an unfamiliar language. The pixy spoke again, translating. “‘Purity of our hearts, strength of our limbs and action to match our speech’.”

  “Code of honor,” Ario muttered and nodded. “I get that.” He was from a culture that was rich with similar mottos and codes. Ario moved on to the next pillar.

  “No!” the wee one bellowed, chasing him down again as Ario moved from pillar to pillar, seeing that before each rested a similar altar and a corpse.

  “Macabre,” he muttered as he moved past the fifth one, but stopped as he reached pillar number six. “Oh,” he gasped, for the body resting there was something out of his dreams.

  He was nearly as tall as the wild-haired corpse, but this one was smooth-shaven and, unlike the others, had hair as dark red as spilled blood.

  His body was powerfully built, all muscles and sinew, and in his hands he also clutched a sword. But his sword looked to be carved of ivory. His clothing was different, too, created of different pelts and animal skins. But the oddness did nothing to take away from the beauty of that face.

  “Wow,” Ario breathed, bringing himself to touch this one.

  He didn’t notice that the pixy fell silent or that the very air seemed to still. He didn’t even realize that a single tear had rolled down his face and plopped onto the broad forehead until he saw it and gently wiped it away with his thumb.

  “Too pretty to be dead,” he moaned, not even knowing why his heart ached or why he felt a hollow growing deep inside him.

  “Pretty?” Merrick snorted, but now he seemed amused.

  “Pretty spirit,” Ario crooned, stroking the dead man’s hair… Oh, right. Ewww. He jerked back and wrinkled his nose. He wiped his hand on his shirt as if attempting to remove death from his presence.

  Then Ario’s keen intelligence began to assert itself again. “He doesn’t look dead,” he muttered.

  He looked around the room, taking in the dust of what had to be years of neglect and the fact that this place was pretty warm to be preserving dead bodies. He looked back at the corpse and noted that despite being relatively clean of vermin and rot, it was rather dusty. Something was wrong. He was either having the worst acid trip of his life or he was in a tomb with the long-dead who hadn’t faded away.

  He frankly preferred the first option.

  “I brought you here and I pixed you because it is time.” Merrick was now hovering before Ario again. He stared at the tiny man.

  “Time?”

  “Time for one of the Fianna to rise and meet his destiny.”

  * * *

  Cailte mac Ronan heard voices.

  That wasn’t unusual in his reasoning. For what seemed to be years now voices had occasionally invaded his slumber. Usually it was the chattering of small animals that sometimes appeared to keep him company. Or it would be one of the many pixies the Fianna entrusted as guardians of their resting place. But this voice was different.

  There was a quality to its rich tones that made him want to pay attention. The voice called to him, made him chase back the darkness of sleep, wanting to seek awareness.

  It was hard, so hard. The darkness was so deep, so comforting, so warm and perfect.

  But that voice called to him. It would not allow him to rest. It was pulling at him, tugging him away from the dark and bringing him closer to the surface of his mind than he had been in years. As his awareness rose, the darkness behind his eyes receded, and then there were lights and shadows behind his lids.

  Along with his perception of light and space, he became aware of something else. Something was touching him.

  It wasn’t the velvety paws of the small creatures that came to offer greetings. No. This was a human caress. It tugged at something in him, made him want to do more than just increase his awareness of his surroundings. It made him want to reach out and touch in return.

  But it was so damned hard.

  He struggled against the invisible bonds of slumber to open his eyes, move a finger, to shift his body in some way.

  And then the touch was gone.

  No! He had to have that touch. It brought back long forgotten memories of pain to feel it taken away. And not just the physical sensation. It was the emotional tugging, a spiritual split that left him in awe as well as bereft and alone.

  He wanted -- needed -- it. And as the remains of that touch faded away, he began to force back the darkness and lethargy to get to it once more.

  Open, he commanded his eyes. Open now!

  It was hard going, but he felt his eyelids twitch. His arms and legs were not moving, but his eyelids -- he could feel them move.

  Open, damn you! he commanded them, and then suddenly something unexpected happened.

  His lungs expanded.

  It was a sensation that he had not felt for so long that it temporarily drew his attention away from his attempts to move his eyelids. But his lungs expanded, his chest moved, and a blast of dusty air choked his nose and throat. The cough that tore from his chest jerked his eyes open as he struggled to take in fresh air.

  “Kuso!”

  He heard the strange word followed by more yammering, but he was too busy suffocating to really care.

  And then there were hands, gripping his chest and tugging on his arm. Those hands, those wonderful, beautiful hands, rolled him over onto his side and pounded his back.

  One particularly hard whack forced his lungs to contract and old, stale air and dust exploded from his mouth. And then clean, clear air flowed in, and tears flushed out his eyes.

  Then the voice said, in some of the most beautifully accented English he had ever heard, “Are you all right?”

  Cailte mac Ronan blinked the tears from his eyes and looked up into the most beautiful green eyes he had ever seen.

  “Ario!” a small pixy voice called, and Cailte wanted to look over at the guardian pixy
, he really did. But he was lost in those eyes. In that moment, his heart took flight. He knew he was now staring into a set of eyes that he would die for.

  After so many unknown years, Cailte mac Ronan was in love.

  * * *

  The high was gone. And Ario never wished more that it would return. The corpse was now breathing and staring up at him like it was alive.

  When the body had started to cough and choke Ario just reacted, rolling the man onto his side and pounding his back to clear the passageways. And now the former corpse was staring at him with the deepest blue eyes he had ever seen.

  Those eyes were the color of the turquoise stones that had encircled his grandfather’s favorite wrist cuff. And Ario felt like those eyes were peering deeply into his soul.

  “Ario,” Merrick said, “I would like to introduce you to Cailte mac Ronan, a Fianna warrior under King Cormac mac Art, nephew of the great leader of the Fiannan Army, Fionn mac Cumhaill, also known as Finn mac Cool.”

  Ario blinked at the string of names and titles before he turned to stare wide-eyed at the man in his arms. “Ca-ol-te?” He tried to repeat the oddly accented name and almost choked on his tongue. “Kweel-te?”

  “Eh.” Merrick shrugged. “Close enough.”

  “Can you help him?” Ario asked, looking down at the stiff body, the large hands still clutched around the hilt of the sword.

  “Not my job,” Merrick stated. “I pixed you and brought you here for him.” He fluttered before Ario again, seeming to dance happily on the air. “And now it is for you to get him… eh, prepared for the world.”

  “I -- I don’t understand,” Ario stammered, but turned back to Cailte. Unsure what else to do, he laid the large man’s upper body back upon the slab and began to rub Cailte’s fingers.

  “What’s to understand?” Merrick rolled his little black eyes. “You need him. He needs you. You need each other. Makes sense, yes?” He arched one eyebrow, and Ario felt himself nodding stupidly.

  “Good.” The pixy fluttered over to the warrior. “Hello, Cailte. You need to relax. The magic will release its hold on you soon enough. Until then, it is my pleasure to introduce you to your destiny. Say hello to Ario. Ario will be your consort and helpmate in all things. And the bonus is that he has been touched by the odd gods who are close to the Old Ones our people used to know.”