Ria let the question go, but, to Gill's surprise, the next day she again asked what a Glaistig's purpose was. She carried with her a library book on fairies. “I looked Glaistigs up but couldn't find them in here.”
“May I?” Gill asked, reaching at the book. “No wonder. This is about Irish fairies. We are Scottish.”
“There's a difference?”
Gill almost choked. Then, for the first time since Aithne died, he laughed. “Difference? Night and day, my lady. Irish fairies are, well, rude. Destructive and malevolent little sprites. Yes, there were a few bad seed among the fey in Scotland but, for the most part, we were a civilized and friendly sort.”
To Gill's surprise, Ria found this hilarious. “People do that to me all the time, thinking I'm Mexican. I'm Puerto Rican and damn proud of it. Most people can't see the difference.”
Gill smiled. He too thought of all humans as the same. How funny that humans and fairies had the same biases.
While Gill and Ria laughed over the fairy book, Aithne caught her first sprite. As the creature stuck its tongue out at Aithne, she slapped it between her two little hands and shrieked with laughter as it disappeared in an explosion of light.
And so the love story went.
* * *
Years passed.
Aithne grew as all children grow. Even though she was fairy she grew like human children, meaning plenty of skinned knees, lost teeth, games with school friends, and tears after being punished for talking back to her mother.
As for Gill, he enjoyed having Ria and Aithne around but soon learned the exhaustion of caring for a young child. His prediction about having a white hair or two came true a century early, a change that Ria put down to living in close proximity to a kid.
Ria returned to school and earned a nursing degree. She was, however, afraid she'd be unable to find a job because of her criminal record. As a graduation present, Gill spent several days using his glamour to remove all traces of her arrest from every police record room and computer system he could find. When he shared this present with her, she pulled a chair up next to him, stood on it, and kissed him on the cheek. He blushed, mumbled awkwardly, and spent the rest of the day relaxing in his pool.
One thing that bothered them both, though, was the changing nature of their neighborhood. This issue came to a head when Aithne was twelve and about to start seventh grade.
“Aw, Mom, all my friends will go there,” Aithne said, twisting her long black hair into knots around her fingers, a nervous habit she'd copied from Ria.
Ria rolled her eyes and turned to Gill. “That doesn't matter. The schools here are going downhill. I don't mind the white people leaving the neighborhood. Let the fools go. But the schools, that I mind. Aithne isn't going to get a substandard education.”
“But Mom, Uncle Gill already teaches me everything I need to know.” To make her point, Aithne waved her hands over her plate of arroz con pollo, garnished with leaves. The chicken jumped out of the rice and spun around in a whirlwind as the leaves danced the cha-cha-cha along the edge of her plate.
“That's enough, young lady,” Ria said. “No magic at the table.”
After Aithne finished eating and went to her room to call her friends, Gill mentioned that it would be much safer if Aithne didn't go to school at all. “I worry, what with all the iron and steel in the world.” He thought of the few times Aithne had tripped over or touched iron. Nasty cuts and sores those had been.
But Ria shook her head. “No way. My daughter won't live her life like you, trapped in some protected shell.”
Gill's blood rose. He almost asked if Ria should even consider Aithne her daughter, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. He'd never mentioned that subject since their talk all those years ago and had no desire to start now.
* * *
Despite Ria's concerns, Aithne attended the neighborhood school all the way through high school. As Gill pointed out, letting Aithne ride every day in steel cars, buses or trains just to reach a better school wasn't worth the risk.
Going to school nearby also allowed Gill to better protect Aithne. Every day, after Ria left for the hospital, he'd turn invisible and follow Aithne as she walked the six blocks to school. Sometimes, if he was really worried, he'd even watch her during classes. While he never admitted doing this, occasionally Aithne would be talking to a friend or raising her hand in class only to stop and stare at Gill. Even though he was certain she couldn't see him, she would frown and shake her head, as if suddenly embarrassed.
Watching Aithne during these times, though, had another consequence – Gill learned exactly how unlike his Aithne this child was. Not only did Aithne look like a tall version of Ria, with the same thin features, beautiful light brown skin and long black hair, she also had Ria's comfort around humans. Aithne interacted and lived just like them, taking care only to avoid certain iron-wrought places.
A few months after Aithne's sixteenth birthday, on one of the early days of spring, Gill again followed her to school. The cool spring day thrilled Gill's heart. He watched with pleasure as Aithne caressed each of the little trees she passed. The trees, long constricted to their tiny space between the sidewalk and street, burst forth in wondrous sprouts of green.
Distracted by this, Gill didn't notice the three seedy white men until Aithne was already upon them.
“Hello there, little Chica,” one of the men said, leaning against his cold iron and steel car.
“Up yours,” Aithne sneered, sounding so like Ria that Gill bit his lip to avoid laughing.
The other men also laughed. “Hey, dude, I think she just dissed you.”
Before Gill could react, the man reached out and grabbed Aithne by the arm, pulling her close to the car.
“You might want to let me go,” Aithne said calmly as the man's friends surrounded her.
“Yeah?” the man asked. “I think not. In fact, I think you're going on a ride with us.”
Aithne's eyes widened in fear for a moment as the man pushed her toward the steel of the car, but then she simply reached out and touched the man's face. He fell to the ground, screaming, as blood poured from one eye.
Gill watched with satisfaction as the other men tried to grab Aithne, only to find their own skin burning with pain. Aithne stepped away from the men and bent over to pick up her book bag. That's when the first man pulled a gun. Gill felt the steel of the weapon, and most importantly, the steel jacketed bullets, and flung himself at the men. His body enlarged until he stood as tall as the trees and screamed with a Banshee's shriek. A single gunshot fired. When Gill returned to his form, blood flowed from his body and the deep pain of steel burned inside. He noted with satisfaction, though, that the men were dead, their bodies torn apart beside the car.
“Uncle Gill?” Aithne said, tears flowing down her face. The last thing he remembered was looking into her eyes and knowing, with deep, deep certainty, that this was not and would never be his Aithne.
* * *
Gill woke in his greenhouse, lying in the dirt beside his little pool. He breathed deep of the birches and pines and moss, but when he tried to sit up pain shot through his body.
“Sit still,” Ria said, appearing over him and holding him down with a strong hand to his chest. “You need to rest.”
“What happened?”
“Aithne brought you home and called me. I grabbed an emergency surgical kit from the hospital and raced back here.”
Gill glanced at the bloody gauze and towels around him, and saw an equally bloody scalpel and other surgical tools. “You cut me with steel?” he asked weakly.
Ria nodded her head. “Aithne suggested it. The steel bullet was burning up your gut. Aithne reasoned that since most human medicines are simply diluted poisons, perhaps using a steel scalpel to cut the bullet out of you would also be okay. She also said to do the surgery here so you'd have extra energy from the trees, dirt, and water.”
Gill felt across his belly to the incision Ria had made. She was right. While th
e steel had cut him, now that the bullet was gone he was healing.
“Where is she?” Gill asked.
Ria pointed into the pool of water. “I've never seen her do that, but she was shook up by all this. Once she saw you were okay, she jumped under the water to rest.”
Gill snickered softly. “It is very relaxing. You should try it sometime.”
Ria leaned over his face and smiled. “Can't. I'd drown. But thank you for saving my daughter.”
Gill looked up into Ria's eyes and felt, as he had across all these years, pain at her words. “Why do you still call her your daughter?” he asked, ashamed. “I told you. Your daughter died.”
Ria shook her head. “I think you're wrong. Yes, I believed you at first. But over the years, seeing Aithne grow, seeing her live, what I know is that my daughter's alive. My daughter didn't die.”
“But how could I be wrong?” Gill asked.
“You tell me.” Then, for the second time since he had known her, Ria kissed him on the cheek.
* * *
As happens quite often, Aithne soon reached adulthood. She graduated from high school and applied to several colleges, saying she wanted to study botany. Naturally enough, the college she ended up attending was hundreds of miles away.
“It'll do her good to get away from us,” Ria said. Gill reluctantly agreed, but only after giving Aithne another long talking to about avoiding steel and iron as she traveled.
With Aithne gone, Ria and Gill soon fell into their own lives. At first Gill worried that Ria would leave now that Aithne was not around. Over the years, Ria had dated a few human men, although she'd never stayed with them for long, but Gill still assumed she would embrace her new freedom. To his relief, though, she stayed in her apartment. As they had done when Aithne was present, Gill and Ria ate breakfast together each morning before Ria went to work. Every few nights they called Aithne to see how she was doing, although Gill didn't like using a telephone and preferred to write Aithne letters on pieces of birch bark.
Gill quite enjoyed this routine until, one winter day, Ria upset everything.
“Merry Christmas,” she said.
Gill rolled his eyes. “You know Christmas is a touchy subject among the fey.”
“Fine. Merry winter solstice. Open your gift.”
Gill opened the envelope Ria thrust at him and found two airplane tickets to Scotland.
“What's this?” he asked, suddenly having nervous thoughts of being trapped in an steel coffin for ten hours.
“It's a vacation. You're going to show me around your old stomping grounds.”
Gill found the whole idea so nerve-wracking that he spent the next three days in his pool.
Eventually, though, Ria – and worse, Aithne – wore him down. Finally, after Ria pointed out that airplanes were mainly made of aluminum these days, he agreed to go. They flew across the ocean and landed in Glasgow. After riding in a new car that was, to Gill's relief, mostly made of plastic, they arrived at a surviving patch of the Caledonian Forest. Gill stared at the majestic pines and birches, felt the moss and lichen beneath his feet, and began to cry.
“I used to live in a birch tree just like this,” he said, caressing an old silver birch. “I watched over the forest. When humans came to cut trees, they first asked my forgiveness. Parents would leave their children's first tooth in the woods for my blessings.”
Ria hugged Gill as they watched the sun setting through the trees. When twilight approached, a few sprites raced around them, showering them in motes of light. Moved by the scene, Gill suddenly bent over and kissed Ria. To his surprise, she not only kissed him back, she pulled him down to the forest floor.
As the sun rose the next morning, Gill and Ria were still holding each other. To Ria's irritation, she also found that several of the sprites had braided her long black hair into knots.
“I thought Scottish fairies were supposed to be good,” she said as Gill used his glamour to undo the knots.
“I believe my exact words were ‘Most of us are good.' Always a few who ruin it for the many.”
Ria laughed and hugged Gill again.
Over the next two weeks, Gill and Ria traveled throughout Scotland. While Gill was disappointed to see how few of the fey remained, it felt good to embrace the land's memories. They met two rude Glaistigs, who yelled at Gill for wasting himself with a human woman, causing Ria to again question Gill's assessment of Scottish fairies. They also met another Ghillie Dhu, who shared a leaf-brewed tea with them and listened with fascination as Gill and Ria described the trees which grew in America.
When they finally flew back to Chicago, Gill and Ria resolved not to say anything to Aithne. Despite this, on Aithne's next visit home she only needed ten minutes to discover the truth.
“Oh my God, that is so cool,” she yelled, jumping up and down. Gill's pale skin flushed a faint red. Even Ria blushed.
“So you're okay with this?” Gill asked.
“Okay with it? Are you kidding, I've wanted you two to get together my whole life.”
Gill smiled nervously until Ria slipped her hand into his, making him feel nothing but happiness.
That night, while Gill worked in his greenhouse, Aithne joined him. “You wanted to talk to me?” she asked.
“Yes, please sit down,” Gill said, waving to a large stone by the pool. He fidgeted with a birch leaf for a moment before telling Aithne the story of her birth. How she'd been born addicted to drugs and sick, how she died, how he'd placed Aithne's heart inside her. Gill waited for Aithne to get mad at him but instead she merely looked amused.
“Uncle Gill, Mom told me all this years ago.”
“Oh. Well. I just wanted to make sure you know that now that you are an adult, you will age very slowly. A thousand years for you will be like ten years of aging for a human.”
“Okay,” Aithne said, then was silent. “Wait. What does that mean for you and Mom.”
“That means Ria will continue to age while I don't. It's something you will also have to consider if you ever become involved with someone who is not of the fey. Of which, of course, there are only a few old ones left.”
Aithne nodded and stood to leave. She stopped at the greenhouse door and looked back at Gill.
“Am I still my mother's daughter?”
Gill was taken back by the question, but answered honestly. “I used to think you weren't, but now, I'm not so certain. In fact, I have no idea. But I hope it's true.”
Aithne smiled. “Good answer, Uncle Gill.”
* * *
Eventually Aithne graduated from college, earning a doctorate in botany and moving to Florida to work in an arboretum. Gill and Ria kept to their routines. They woke each morning and shared breakfast, then Ria went to work. In the late afternoon they ate dinner. At twilight, though, they took long walks throughout Chicago. They'd hop on the L or take a bus and go wherever they happened to go. If they happened by a park or saw a small grove of trees, they would stop. Gill would then encourage the trees to grow and spread and thrive. A few days after one of these trips Ria brought home a newspaper article describing how park supervisors were amazed at the tree growth in one park. The supervisors attributed the growth to a new fertilizer. Ria and Gill laughed all night at that.
While Ria still occasionally teased Gill about his worries over iron and steel, the truth was that thanks to Ria he no longer feared going out into the human world. He also rarely found himself needing to relax by himself in his pool. He simply loved life and loved Ria.
Of course, as he had told Aithne, Ria grew older. Soon she was middle aged, although her hair was still long and black and her eyes full of fire. Gill contented himself with knowing that they were both middle aged – just of different ages – and put from his mind any thoughts on how fast their time together would pass.
Then, one day, Aithne brought a young man home.
Gill and Ria were so surprised to see a man in the doorway that Ria had to remind Gill to throw on his glamour. Aithne
laughed. “I already told him all about you two,” she said.
Gill let his clothes flow back into leaves and moss as the man stepped into his house and shook his hand.
Gary was a fellow botanist who worked with Aithne in the arboretum. They had met while trying to save an aged oak from a lightning strike. Wanting to check on the tree after hours, Gary happened upon Aithne caressing the bark with her hands. He described how sparks of light drifted from her fingers and danced across the leaves and roots, healing the tree in ways he'd never known possible.
“Right then, she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Unfortunately, I made the mistake of approaching her from behind. She drop-kicked me in the groin. I was in so much pain I thought I'd die.”
Aithne laughed. “Taught you about sneaking up on me, didn't it?”
That night, as Gill and Ria lay in bed together, they talked about Gary.
“He seems like a good guy,” Ria said.
“Yes,” Gill mumbled absently. “Good guy.”
“Okay. What's wrong?”
So Gill told her of his concerns. How fairies aged slowly. How Aithne would live for thousands of years but Gary, or any man she loved, would quickly age and die. He paused and, taking a deep breath, told her that this was their own fate. That one day he would have to watch Ria die while he barely aged at all.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I mean, we've both known this would happen. However, now that I think about it, I don't know if I can handle losing you like that. So I've decided to give you my fairy heart. You will age slowly. Gracefully. Beautifully. Me, I will become mortal but content in the knowledge that you will live on.”
After finishing, Gill fell silent and waited for Ria's reaction to what he felt to be the grandest gift ever given a true love. Ria, though, wasn't impressed. Before Gill could react, she smashed a pillow into his face. He pulled it down to find her laughing. “What did I ever see in such an arrogant, pompous old fool like you?”
“Excuse me?” Gill asked, unsure where this line of questioning was going.
“Let me get this straight. Because you don't want to see me age, you'll give me that damn heart of yours. So instead of you watching me grow old and die, I'll have to watch you go through the same damn thing?”
Never Never Stories Page 24
