Novel for NaNoWriMo (2010), Otherworld

This is the beginning of a second draft of the Otherworld/Fairie story that I posted earlier. You may notice similarities.

Liam:

            When Liam had put on his sweater and gone to find the Tree of Portals, that morning, he had very little idea of how much he was about to change his world. Well, his world and the Underworld, to be strictly accurate. The human world, the last and farthest of the three, would prove largely untouched by the repercussions of his actions, at least on the surface. Yet who can truly say how deep the ripples have gone. It is more than possible that we may awaken some day to find that we have been living in a dream, and that some ancient force has pervaded our everyday existence. But I digress.

            The morning was cool, but not cold; it was late spring in the Otherworld and a hundred flying things sang greeting at the rising of the sun. Liam awoke to this cacophony of trills and hoots and barking coughs and crawled out from beneath the lattice of hazelnut branches that had covered his sleeping-place. He stretched in the dawn light, pulled off his sweater, shook the leaves, dirt, torn edges, stains, and sweat out of it, and put it back on. In less than two minutes he had scaled one of the huge, ancient rowan (quickenbeam?) trees that monopolized that grove and was peering out through its topmost branches. The tree was growing on a little rise in the forest floor and Liam could see his father's castle rising out of the intensely green spring foliage, a ways off, and to his right. The kitchen fires had already been rekindled from the banked and still-glowing coals of the day before; he could smell the pleasant tang of burning apple-wood and see the smoke trace a faint line against the lavender sky. Slowly turning away, Liam looked in the opposite direction, up the slant of the ground to where the mountain could be seen rising to a jagged peak.

            'Go toward the nearest mountain,' Tara had told him when he had wondered, the day before, if it was possible to still find the Tree of Portals. 'If you call him with the right name, he should meet you as you go.'

            'How can he meet me?' Liam had asked her, 'Does he have no roots, as you do? How can a tree live without roots?'

            She had shivered her leaves at him, a mild rebuke, and said, 'The Tree of Portals, as you call him, has a root system that spans the worlds, touching all three. He has sprouts in each, but lives in the Soul-world, the Underworld. He moves his sprouts from place to place in such a way that it seems they have always been wherever they are seen, and they leave no mark behind them when they go.'

            'But does he still connect our Otherworld with the human world?'

            'I do not know, but I believe he does.'

            'With what name should I call him?'

            And Tara had told him a name which was the flowing of water underground, the clear beauty of a crisp breeze, the rich, earthy loam of a forest floor. It was new and old leaves, flowers of many kinds, sap and bark and heartwood, and roots. The name was a deeper magic than any Liam had yet known and he breathed it like a fragrance, holding it in his mind carefully, an overfull beaker which he dared not spill.

            In his mind Liam called the name and then, thinking that might not be enough, spoke it aloud. It felt as if a bit of the liquid had been drunk, and so he could proceed with less care. He was not particularly good at magic, having never been instructed in its use, but he knew what it felt like. This was definitely some kind of magic, but it was older than anything he had experienced before. All this he sensed

in the blink of an instant, as he was speaking, and then there was nothing. Wondering,

Liam spoke the name once more, but whatever that had been, it didn't seem inclined to

happen again.

            He climbed down, and dropped the last fifteen feet or so, landing gracefully

on tough bare feet, and doing so  startled a horned squirrel who chittered at him

angrily. He set off through the forest, heading away from his father's castle and

toward the mountain. The ground sloped gradually upward. Liam was more fit even than

most fae, and the incline gave him no trouble. He ran upwards, flitting through the

dappled shade, thin and streamlined as a greyhound.

            The fae are an enormously diverse race, incorporating many subgroups, but

some traits are common to almost all of them (excluding, of course, the unicorn and

her intelligent beasts). The fae are generally tall, and have some humanoid features.

They may have horns upon their heads or animal ears or a tail. About half are

strikingly inhuman; they are distinguishable from us at a glance. The others have

more subtle differences, and these are divided into two groups; the Tuatha de Dannan,

the more populous type and the last of the fae to have immigrated to the Otherworld;

and the Fomorians, the horned lords who still ruled the northern climes. Liam was one

of the Tuatha de, and actually looked quite human; tousled dark brown hair in need of

a trim, strong chin, long eyes under straight, dark brows, open-looking face, a bit

tall for a fifteen year old, and extremely slim, but he almost could pass for human.

Only his eyes really gave him away, a green as dark and intense as the shadows through

which he ran.

            As Liam gained altitude the trees grew less magnificent, more twisted and

gnarled. By mid-morning he was toiling up a steep slope, pulling himself upward by

grasping the sap-filled spring growth. His hands came away sticky and green, but he

didn't bother to wipe them off. He was looking for a sign even as he ran, some kind of

pointer to tell him where to turn. It seemed perfectly natural to him that he had so

little idea of where he was going. He always found things best when he was not

thinking of anything much and just let his feet carry him away. Liam had always been

a wanderer.

            So he was hardly paying attention and thus, when he tried to step onto empty

air, failed to catch himself, and tumbled headlong into the bowl of a little valley.

It was only about twenty feet across and clear of shrubs and bracken, as the foothills

had not been. The reason for this seemed abundantly obvious, for in the center of the

valley there was a great oak tree, which had grown as two separate trunks that wound

around each other in a quite unnatural way, and whose branches shaded the entire

valley, letting little light through. Even Liam, who was used to seeing strange things

every day, was taken aback by the growth of that tree. The first ten feet of each

trunk bowed out in such a manner as to create quite a wide aperture between them.

It was in the shape of an eye. He stood up, rubbing his bruised knees, and walked

slowly toward it. There was a humming in the air, an undercurrent of magic like a

great dynamo generating electricity, which grew more and more intolerable the nearer

he got. The sound/feeling pressed against his temples, set his teeth grinding, wormed

its way into his brain so that he gained a kind of fearlessness despite the huge well

of latent magical power growing right in front of him. Liam asked the tree if it was

the Tree of Portals. It didn't answer him, whether unfamiliar with the language or

simply being rude, he knew not. And he did not greatly care. What mattered was that

Liam was standing in front of the Tree of Portals, wearing a World Crystal on a strap

around his neck.

            He stopped about two feet outside the range of the exposed roots and sat on

the soft, damp grass. Then he took the crystal out and held it up so that the light

shone through. The World Crystal was as long as his middle finger, and as slim. There was a small hole drilled through its base, which was rough and uneven, as if chipped out in a hurry, through which Liam had threaded a bit of sinew and then tied that around the leather strap. It was transparent, but opalescent; a thousand flickers of colour danced it in its slight shadow. Turning the crystal in his hands made the light dance from one shadow to another, and where it crossed the tree, the bark began to glow with the same flickering sparks of color. Liam flashed the light across the trunks, into the opening between them.
            At once the hum grew to a roar and the whole tree lit up. It was like lightning in its brilliance, but kept going where lightning would have died in an instant. It was searing his eyes even though they were tightly shut it was burning him...

            Suddenly it was over. He seemed to be floating, but the light had blinded him, and he couldn't tell where he might be. Whispered words began to crawl through his head as if they'd been spoken aloud. They said, "It has been such a long time since anyone wanted to go there. Are you sure? You know it is strictly forbidden."
            "I know."
            "And you still want to go?"
            "Yes."
            "Why? There will be a reprisal."
            "I love a human girl," he answered, and opened his eyes. He was standing on the side of a strangely barren hill, looking east into the last ending gleam of a sunset. The landscape spread out before him was... solid, in a way that his world was not. Liam had a feeling that here if you turned a corner, you would end up just around the corner from where you were before. How strange. Behind him the Portal Oak whispered, 'I'll wait here for you.'
            "How do I find her?" His voice sounded petulant to his own ears.
            The Tree of Portals did not answer.
            So Liam started walking, as he always did when he didn't know how to find what he was looking for. He went downhill, because it was easier, and soon was tramping along beside a stream. By the time the moon rose he was jogging a very flat road, with huge, roaring beasts passing him every so often. They had glowing eyes, low to the ground, and were partly transparent; he could see dark lumps inside. They might have been people. Eventually Liam's feet carried him across the road. He turned onto the next lane he came to, following it as it wound between low stone walls and strangely sparse and stunted trees. One word pounded through his head, over and over, keeping time to the rhythm of his breath. A Call. Kirin. Kirin. Kirin.


Kirin:
            Kirin was asleep. In her dream she stood at the edge of a cliff, a sea breeze running invisible fingers through her short blond hair. Looking down there was only mist. It had risen almost as high as the cliff itself and extended to the horizon. A man crept up behind her, and as she sensed him coming a terrible fear rose within her. She tried desperately to turn around but found herself frozen. Struggle was useless, and tears leaked from the corners of her eyes as she was forced to listen helplessly to the steady tread growing louder. The man stopped not six inches behind her. She felt his breath stir the tiny hairs on her neck. Kirin felt all this with an odd duality; she was herself and experiencing terrible fear, but at the same time she was watching herself in complete detachment, an impartial observer. The man pushed her lightly exactly in the center of her back, and Kirin lost her precarious balance and fell head over heels into the mist. She caught a glimpse of his face before the fog closed around her; an inhumanly wide smile and sharp, pointed teeth.
            And quite suddenly Kirin was sitting up in her bed, sweating. The waxing gibbous moon peeked through her window, bright enough to clearly illuminate the rag rug, the doll house in the corner that her father had made the year she was born (it had electricity and running water), the pine dresser with her hairbrush and a multitude of clips, barrettes, and hair-ties scattered on top, a corner of the scarlet bedspread. Kirin sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed, feeling with her toes for the pink slippers. Sliding her feet into their fuzzy softness, Kirin tiptoed to the stairway door and opened it slowly, so that it didn't creak. Her room was the attic, and to get outside she had to go past both her father's room and her brother's.
            She crept down the hallway, and passed her father's room without a hitch. Just as she came abreast of her brother's door, however, it opened. A thin silhouette stood outlined just inside the threshold. "Where are you going?" Niall asked, stepping out to block her. He was a round faced boy, with blue-black hair and widely spaced green eyes, a bit too far apart for his otherwise good looks; he had a strong chin and prominent cheekbones, with naturally straight teeth and an intelligent mouth, which quirked a different way for each expression, as if it had a life of its own. At the moment it was stretched and one corner twisted down.
            "I just want to sit in the moonlight a little.

The Pied Piper Part II

    It was very early morning before I got to the Weasel's house. Sandwiched between a thirty story office building and a shopping mall the house was terribly out of place; a little Victorian thing with turrets and a manicured yard. As I opened the gate (it was a white picket fence, of all things) I was under no illusions; if I hadn't been welcome, I wouldn't even have been able to see the place. 'What's he up to?' I wondered.
  I walked up the path to the front door and looked for a doorbell. It had one, an ancient pull-chain affair, so I gave it a tug. Far away in the house I heard a faint "Dong. Ding-dong." and finally noticed the eerie quiet.
  Something was very wrong.
  I gave the door a nudge and it swung silently open. The hallway was only dimly lit and I edged my way along catiously, my back to the wall. I looked in every room I came across; sitting room, dining room, kitchen, all in perfect order. And all perfectly empty. A spiral staircase at the end of the hall brought me up to the second floor. The first room was storage, but in the last room I found him.
  The Weasel was slumped against a four-poster bed; the sheets, half pulled off, twisted around his lower body. He was bleeding.
  I knelt beside him. "Weasel?" I shook his shoulder, gently.
  He had a long cut across his chest, over his ribs, deep enough to expose quite a bit of bone. The sheets were covered in blood but the Weasel was still alive, though unconscious, so maybe I could keep him that way.
  Untangling the sheets from around him, I spared a passing thought of thanks that he didn't sleep in the nude. I tore the sheet into strips and made him a rude field bandage, keeping it as tight as possible to minimize further blood loss. Then I hefted his dead weight onto my shoulder in a fireman's carry, dumped him into my car and drove us to the ER.
  A blood transfusion, a long wait, and a huge number of stitches later, the Weasel groggily opened his eyes. They had him hooked to an IV and he was wearing one of those nasty lace-up-the-back hospital gowns. He was still pretty pale but he managed to prop himself up on an elbow and grin lopsidedly at me.
  "I don't suppose you're an angel...?"
  "No. And this is certainly not heaven." I glanced meaningfully around.
  "Oh." The Weasel saw his IV and whistled. "Morphine. Very nice." He closed his eyes and let himself fall back onto the bed.
  "I have some questions for you, Mr. ...?"
  "Martin Alturas."
  "Mr. Alturas were you involved in any way with the recent theft of a flute?"
  He looked at me with slitted eyes. "To which flute are you referring?"
  "Have you stolen more than one over the past week?"
  "No." The grin was back.
  I sighed. People had warned me about the Weasel. "Try not to get involved with him," they had said, "He's a pain in the ass and he tends to pop up when you least expect him." But there was no helping it now.
  "The Piper's flute. What do you know about it?"
  "It's about this long," he held up his hands, indicating, "a beautiful white-silver color. Maybe mithril? Could be Rhinegold, I guess, since it's lasted so long. Ask the Piper. I only had it for a day."
  "What happened to it?"
  "I handed it off to the guy who hired me. Came home, went to sleep... Woke up here."
  I knew I wouldn't get an answer but I asked the question anyway. "Who hired you?"
  "Didn't ever see his face. Medium height. Damned forgettable, really." He paused a moment, as if in thought. "I hope this means you're not arresting me, officer?"
  I snorted. "You know I can't arrest anyone, Weasel. You know what I am, even if you don't know who. No, I've got other things in mind for you." I stood up, stretching. Carrying a grown man down a spiral staircase and then sitting for hours in one position was doing nothing for my back or my recently relocated shoulder. "I'll be checking in on you later today. Try not to get yourself killed before then."

Irish Fairie Story or The Otherworld or The Treaty Of The Worlds, Part 1. I can't decide...

    In tenth grade I started writing a story involving certain figures from Irish mythology. I got to hand-written page number 146 (approximately, counting my illustrations) before wandering away just before the end. I started writing it in Latin class, and things took off from there. So I thought I should type it up. This is the story as originally written.

    "Wow, what a day," Kirin sighed. She rolled over on her back and stared at the ceiling. It was still cold at night, but the ground was soft; it was planting time, and everyone was needed in the fields. Kirin was bone weary after the day's work, too tired to sleep. Everyone else was asleep, and Kirin could hear crickets chirring to themselves outside.
  'I'll bet it's beautiful out tonight,' Kirin thought to herself, 'What harm could it do to go out and get some fresh air?'
  Of course, as you may have guessed, that was precisely the wrong question to ask.
  Kirin got up silently and tiptoed out the back door, pausing only to pull on her shoes.
  The night was just as beautiful as Kirin had predicted. The moon was gibbous, and its light bathed the scene in silver. The newly plowed fields were soft beneath her feet, and wet with dew. The forest swished and muttered to itself in the intermitiant breeze.
  Kirin wandered about the fields a bit, always careful not to get too close to the forest. She was afraid of the forest, and it was scarier at night. Kirin got bored eventually, though, and sat down by her house. Leaning against the wall, she soon fell into a soft doze.
  Kirin was awakened by the sound of running footsteps. Sitting up in alarm, she watched a young boy come skidding around the corner of the house, and pelt, full speed, toward her. "Eee-" Kirin began to scream, sure that the boy was going to smash into her. Instead, he skidded to a halt behind her, whipped around with almost inhuman speed, and clamped a hand over her mouth.
  "Shut up!" he whispered, so quietly that Kirin almost couldn't hear him, even though he was so close to her that his breath stirred the hairs on her neck. This was not a very comfortable position for Kirin to be in. the 'young boy' was taller than she was, which was irritating, but not altogether new. He smelled like the forest, all bruised leaves and rich decay. This was worrying. She didn't have long to think about this though.
  "Get down. And, whatever happens, don't move."
  The boy pulled Kirin painfully to her knees. As they crouched in the darkness, Kirin began to hear a sound like a swarm of bees. It grew and grew, until the sound was almost deafening in its intensity. Suddenly a swarm of {Things get a little tricky here, because I never actually decided quite what the swarm was or how it looked. I had just assumed I would fill it in later. So now I will. The bracketed parts are the new writing.}[glowing, blue wasps] shot around the corner of the house. They followed exactly the path of the boy, until they were hovering in the air right in front of Kirin. Behind her, the boy was totally still; Kirin didn't think he was even breathing. One of the [wasps] came out of the group and landed on her right forearm. It looked like all the others[, luminescent and as big as her father's thumb, with large, black, faceted eyes and a cruel-looking sting]. It [twiddled its mandibles] as if thinking, then it opened its jaws, lowered its head, and bit her, very slowly. Some of Kirin's blood welled out, then the [wasps] took off, and they left the way they had come. The [blue wasps'] buzzing died slowly away.
  The boy shoved Kirin aside and stood up quickly. "Who are you?" he asked.
  She swallowed nervously; he was glaring at her. Well, he was glaring down at her. That made Kirin angry. "I should be asking you that!" said Kirin, standing up. 'Damn him and his tallness,' she thought, 'I'm still shorter!' Kirin looked down at the bite on her arm. It was already starting to swell. "What were those things? Why did it bite me?!"
  The boy jumped. "Wait. You mean you can see them?"
  "Yeah, of course. Answer my questions already!"
  "No. I'm leaving. Go back to sleep, mortal. Forget this." The boy turned around and began walking away.
  Kirin thought back quickly. The [strange wasps] had been following his path... "Why," Kirin asked, "were they following you?"
  The boy turned around slowly, and looked at Kirin. He looked her in the eye, for the first time.
  "I'm [Liam Cu Aos Sidhe], mortal. Remember it," he said, and, in a trice, he was gone.
*                                               *                                                 *
    When Kirin awoke the next morning she felt stiff and sore. "Was it a dream?" she muttered groggily to herself as she rolled over. Suddenly a fiery pain shot up her arm. When Kirin forced herself to look, she found that her right forearm was red and swollen and that there was a small, star-shaped bite mark in the middle of it. the bite fitfully leaked green puss and was generally unwholesome-looking. "Wahh!!" Kirin screamed, "I can't believe it!!"
  "Kirin! Kirin, what is it?" Kirin's grandmother, Nanna, cried, hurrying into the room. Nanna was still beautiful at seventy-five years old. She had long, white, cloud-soft hair, and her weathered face was creased with smiles.Nana wasn't smiling at the moment, though. In fact, she was frowning with worry.
  "My dear!" Nanna hurried forward and sat down on the bed beside Kirin.
  "Nana, what do I do?!" Kirin asked, frantically sticking out her swollen arm.
  "Take a deep breath, Kirin, and relax." Kirin tried to take her advice, finally succeeding after five shuddering breaths. "Good. Now Kirin, you need to [tell me] how you got this, alright?"
  So she did. It didn't take a terribly long time, but all the while the pain in Kirin's arm kept growing, and by the end it seemed nearly unbearable. "...and then he said, 'I'm L-"
  "Skip that part for now, Kirin."
  "...and then he turned around and left."
  Nanna looked anything but happy. "Well dear," she said, with an attempt at her usual cheer, "I'll go fix you a cup of tea and think what is best to do. Try to rest." Nanna left the room, looking back worriedly one last time before softly closing the door.
  Kirin lay back with a sigh. She ached all over now, it wasn't just her arm, though that felt as if it were about to fall off.
  It seemed forever until Nanna was back with the tea, and by that time Kirin was floating in and out of consciousness...
  ...Nanna, bending over her, an expression very like fear on her face. Kirin tried to tell her that it would be alright, but she didn't really believe it herself, and she hurt...
  ...She was being carried. Kirin could see green leaves above her. She was in the forest, but she wasn't afraid. Kirin wondered about this for a second, but then decided that she had enough else to worry about...
  ...She was lying under a tree. It was a very strange tree, but Kirin couldn't focus her eyes well enough to see what was different about it. Where was Nanna?
  Kirin's shoulder felt almost as terrible as her arm. Was she dying? It was possible, Kirin supposed, but she'd never really given it much thought, and now that she was thinking about it she found she was afraid to die. Kirin didn't want to die. She was dying because of that boy...
  That boy...
  What was his name again?
  ...Aos Sidhe...
  ...Something Aos Sidhe...
  ...Oh...
  "Liam...Cu...Aos Sidhe..."
  And suddenly he was there, yelling at her, "What in the Dagda's name were you..." he trailed off. The boy's eyes were fixed on something to Kirin's right, so Kirin looked that way too. There was an arm there. At least, Kirin supposed it was an arm; it had fingers. She tried to ask the boy whose it was, but the words didn't really come out.
  'Oh well,' Kirin thought as she faded away, 'I'll ask him some other time.'

Chapter 2
    Liam was beginning to regret ever leaving his world. It had been fun for the first minute, but then those sluagh had shown up and he had been running for his life. And then that girl had shown up. Why had he told her his name? His father had told him never to tell a human his name. "Names hold power for us, Liam," his father had said, "don't give that power away." Now he had given it away...
  "Wow, brother," said a voice behind him.
  Liam didn't flinch. It took a lot of self-dicipline, but he managed it. He didn't turn around at once either, no, first he said, "Yes, Cian?" Then he turned.
  Cian was watching him, a small smile playing hide-and-seek in his otherwise emotionless face. First it would flicker in his green-black eyes, only to dissappear a second later and reappear, tugging on the corner of his mouth. The smile made Liam distinctly uneasy. Cian began walking, circling Liam slowly. "Well, it seems that our little sister has very little love for me, and has now become hysterical."
  'Oh, good,' Liam thought, 'this isn't about me... Wait...'
  "What? Why?" he asked, turning so that he could watch Cian.
  "Yes. Shocking, I know," Cian drawled, never taking his eyes off his brother's face, "we were going to go hunting today, too. She's locked  herself in her room. You would be doing all of us a service if you went up to her and talked her out of it."
  "Thank you for telling me," Liam replied, "I will definitely speak with her."
  "Good," said Cian, and turned to leave. As he walked out the door , Cian seemed strangely triumphant.
  Liam had a bad feeling about it, but went to speak with his sister anyway. He had given up using the door long ago; it was hardly ever unlocked. Instead, Liam went to the north garden and started climbing the wall. Blair's room was five stories off the ground, but Liam had no trouble with it. Climbing was his Gift, and he was the best. Liam reached his sister's window quickly, pried it open, and slipped inside. It was very dark in her room and the black-painted walls made the gloom seem even more intense.
  Shutting the window, Liam turned to face the room again. "Blair?" he called softly into the dusk, "Blair, it's Liam. What's wrong?"
  A small black-clad shape hurtled out of the gloom and collapsed at his feet. "Li~am!" she cried, latching onto his leg. "HewantstokillmehelpwhatdoIdo, Liam! HELP!!"
 Kneeling down, Liam pried his sister off his leg and picked her up, saying, "Alright, calm down. Tell me from the beginning. Who wants to kill you?"
  "Cian!" Blair screamed, "Cian wants to kill me!"
  "What?" asked Liam, genuinely shocked, "I know he's never very nice, but he wouldn't try to kill you."
  Blair sniffed loudly and looked up at him with watery eyes. "You don't believe me." Liam hung his head. "Well, I won't come out, for a while, at least.
  "Hey Liam?" said Blair, as he set her down and got up to leave, "why did you tell her your name, anyway?"
  "I don't know," he said, and slipped out the window. Liam was halfway down before he realized he hadn't told Blair anything about the girl and his name. He thought about this as he wandered around the garden. How had she known?
  "You seem troubled young Liam," whispered an ancient voice.
  "Liam tensed, but relaxed again almost immediately. "Oh, hello Dara." Dara was the oldest tree [Liam had ever known] and the only sentient tree in the castle. She was a huge oak, and she was Liam's particular friend. He wandered over and sat beside her trunk. "Have you ever heard of anyone," Liam asked, "with the Gift of mind-reading?"
  Dara rustled her leaves in thought. "Yes," she whispered, "I once knew someone with that gift. But they're not called 'mind-readers,' Liam, they're Thoughtseers. Why did you bring it up?"
  "Dara, I think my sister is a Thoughtseer."
  "And why d-" the tree started.
  Liam didn't hear the rest though. It felt as if he was being pulled by a giant metal hook, and if he didn't go that direction he'd be disembowled. The problem was that it wasn't pulling any direction. It was dragging him Somewhere Else.

    Cian watched it through his bedroom window. He saw his brother suddenly keel over with a look of intense pain on his face, and looked on as Liam slowly dissappeared.
  Cian chuckled as he turned away. it was a beautiful, rich, warm sound, a sound that could almost fool you into believing him a nice person. Almost.

    Liam sat up. The pulling had ceased almost as quickly as it had begun. No, wait. It was still there, just a little bit, and it wanted him to go forward. As Liam rounded the tree in front of him he noticed that it was humming to itself. He forgot about it a second later though, as he got around the tree and saw exactly what had brought him there. The girl.
  "What's your prob-"
  Liam stopped abruptly. The girl's right arm was swollen and red to the shoulder, and she seemed barely conscious. The girl looked over at her arm, then looked up at him, smiling a strange little half-smile. It seemed like she was trying to say something, but she passed out before she could start.
  'It's my fault,' thought Liam in shock, 'It's all my fault for getting her involved.
  'I don't even know her name,' he realized suddenly.
  "Good," said an unfamiliar voice, "I'm glad you've finally arrived."
  Liam went still. Not still as a mortal is still but still, in a way that is uniquely Faerie. In that stillness they become unnoticeable, which is almost as good as true invisibility.
  An old woman came out from behind a tree and softly called, "Come out. It's no use hiding; I know your true name."
  Liam decided not to show himself yet. "Who are you? Why were you hiding behind a tree?"
  "I am Kirin's grandmother, and I was hiding to make sure you would come."
  "I had no choice about coming, grandma!" Liam hissed. A thought struck him. "Who's Kirin?" he asked.
  The old woman looked surprised, "Do you mean that you never even asked her name?"
  "No." Liam hung his head, accidentally breaking the Faerie stillness that had been keeping him unseen, but he felt so wretched about the girl that he couldn't bring himself to care. 'No,' Liam corrected himself, 'not "the girl". She has a name now; Kirin.'
  "I must admit, that is not very impressive," said the woman. She looked away. "Maybe you can't help Kirin after all."
  "If there is something I can do to help, I will." She still seemed disbelieving, so, "I give you my word, old woman," he said. Part of him wondered what he was doing, the girl was going to die in sixty years anyway. But she had a name now, which made her real, and he couldn't just leave her like that.
  She nodded once, very slowly. "Tell me what bit her."
  "A sluagh."
  "Ah, that helps a great deal. When did it bite her?"
  "Beltane eve."
  "After midnight, I presume?"
  "Why does it matter?" Liam was confused; these questions didn't seem to be going anywhere.
  "Answer my question." Her voice betrayed a tension her relaxed posture had concealed. Whyever she was asking, it was important.
  "Yes, after midnight."
  "That explains it," the woman sighed. She suddenly seemed very tired and fragile. "You must take Kirin back with you to the Otherworld-"
  "I can't-"
  "Silence! You must," her eyes were steely, her voice, hard, "Feed her. The food of the otherworld should revive her soul."
  "If... She eats... the food there..." Liam said, speaking slowly and clearly, "that girl... Kirin.... will die, or be trapped there. Forever.
  "You understand that?"
  "Yes."
  "And you still want me to take her?"
  "Yes."
  This was quickly becoming the worst day of Liam's life. "Is there no other way?"
  "No." Was that a hint of a smile on her face? No, he must be imagining things. Liam turned to look at Kirin's body. He could carry her, he knew he was strong enough, but how would he take her back with him? As he pondered this question Liam took note of his surroundings for the first time. He stood beside the trunk of a great tree. It hummed to itself, and Liam got the impression it was watching them. Its trunk split in half not far off the ground and rejoined about six feet up. The edges of the split trunk glowed blue. The world Liam saw through the trunk wasn't the world around him. Liam almost smiled. He didn't need to worry about taking Kirin with him.
  "All right. I'll bring her back with me."
  "Good." Liam turned to go. "Be well, Liam Cu Aos Sidhe. And take care of Kirin or I will make you pay," the woman called him.

The Pied Piper

So, this is a story I started writing at some point over the summer. Enjoy

    The Pied Piper turned out to be a slight, lithe man of medium height with some odd scars and a fondness for elderberry wine. He had managed to stake out a table in the back and was arguing with a middle-aged woman who seemed intent upon stealing one of his two chairs when I arrived and claimed it. I waited as the woman rolled her eyes and stormed out of earshot (undoubtedly to harass some other hapless customer) before I leaned forward and asked why he had called.

    He picked up his wineglass with long bony fingers and sipped before replying. “I’ve heard some good things about you. Discreet, honest, hardworking. I thought you could, maybe, help me out.” A man with long hair, a waiter’s apron and a truly artistic expression of harassment ran by, hardly pausing to deposit a plate of stew in front of the Piper, who immediately set to. The bastard hadn’t even waited for me to order.

    “Does it have something to do with why you’re not speaking in rhyme?” I asked.

    He stopped chewing for a moment and glared at me. Finally, the Piper nodded. Without looking I reached behind myself, grabbed the waiter by his stiff collar and pulled him close enough to hear me over the general din.

    “Get me hot buttered rum. Largest size you’ve got.”

    The Piper set down his glass and leaned toward me, the more than human green of his eyes striking against his tanned skin. “The theft involved the Weasel and the Mouse, I’m sure of it.”

    I lifted an eyebrow. “Got any proof?”

    “If I did I wouldn’t be talking to you.” The Piper scowled at me over his plate of stew.

    “Right…” I sighed. Jobs for my more… mythological clientele were always difficult, messy, and, more often than not, extremely dangerous. Also, they rarely paid well. Judging from the shabbiness of the Piper’s motley, I figured this would not be one of those rare exceptions. “I’ll start with the Weasel, since the Mouse is always so damned hard to find. Shake him up a bit. Ten to one someone paid him to do it; this doesn’t sound like his usual beat. Alice might know something, too. I’ll give her a call.” I paused, remembering some of my previous cases. “Do you have any sort of whacky time limit?”

    Those too-green eyes frowned. “What do you mean?”

    “Oh, you know. ‘It must be returned by the next full moon,’ or ‘if the cup is filled blood will spill.’ Something like that.”

    “No,” he grinned, “nothing quite so ominous. I just need it back before the Cherry Festival, if you can manage.”

    “I should be able to do that,” I told him and pushed back my chair. With a ‘clink’ my rum was suddenly on the table before me. I caught it up and drained it as I rose, then set the empty mug back down. Tipping my hat to the Piper (it doesn’t do to be impolite to immortal beings), I left.