2525 words (10 minute read)

XXIII: with silver buttons

October 10.
With his party hangover minimized, Owen treks into the forest for something that Teis can use for Alima’s housewarming gift. A boy appears when he reaches the riverbank, barefoot and trailing water. His eyes are frosty blue, like the river-ice.

“If the rocks are yours, I’m just looking for a friend’s housewarming gift,” Owen says to him. “I’ll only take one.”

“Sure!” The Folk boy leaves no footprints, only dark parches of wet dirt. “Anything the water touches is in my territory.”

“Maidin?” Owen holds an arrow-shaped rock to the light. In the core he sees a tendril of smoke: Most of the stone will be deep gray, but he can see through it and quartz is good for a lot of people. “I haven’t seen you since I was eight. How’ve you been?” He slips it in his pocket.

“Actually, that part’s why I--fuck! The baptism!” The river-spirit dunks his hands in the ice, lifts a handful up, and blows it into mist.

---
The priest stands in the river with Karen’s baby, amused at how quiet both she and the river are. “Maidin?” He calls. “This year, please!”

The acolyte wades in with a goblet, politely sour at the delay. “Dumbass must have forgot.”

But then the river swells up to their waists. It sprays off rocks and roots, drenching most of the congregation, yet in spite of the shrieks and scrambling for dry ground, nobody trips or drops their things--the water pushes them onto the banks, in fact.

Before the bend is the usual pre-winter slush, but the water runs warm for the congregation. The baby laughs and flails in an enthusiastic attempt to swim.

---
Owen laughs so hard he nearly falls. “You forgot a goddamn baptism?

“I almost forgot it!” Maidin insists. “Anyway, I just wanted to check with you because Ogma said you were the guy in the river that I--”

“Yes,” Owen snaps at him. “If it involves a bunch of cunts beating up a dark-haired guy for being gay, it’s probably me because I’m the only one who’s out of the closet right now.”

“So is that why you stopped coming over?” Maidin asks, lost. “I mean, you were this big--” He measures a spot on Owen’s chest. “And you were so sweet and sad, but now you’re this--this snarly kind of… sorry, did I get the scar?” He takes his hand off when he realizes Owen’s tense.

“What?” Owen checks under his shirt. “The scar’s on my head.”

“Oh,” Maidin remembers. “The soul’s different from the body for humans. Err--”

“Back on subject,” Owen sighs. “I don’t do touchy-feely shit, Maidin.”

“What? When?!”

“Anymore!” Owen adds, speeding up. “I don’t like touching anymore!

“Er… okay.” The river-spirit follows in silence for a while. “So, what’s the housewarming gift going to be? Just the rock, or something specific? I mean, smoke-quartz is pretty neat, but most people like to at least tumble it.”

“My boyfriend’s a jeweler,” he answers. “He’s going to make a bracelet for--fuck, what now?”

“This is a problem,” Maidin fidgets in a pile of leaves. “How long have you been involved?”

“Six or seven years... Oh, gods.” Owen sits on the edge of the path and bangs his head against a tree. “Did I marry you or something when you gave me the bloody rock?”

“No, you’re okay. It’s just… I gave it.” The fairy’s eyes darken to indigo, and he sounds more lost than before. “The Folk, we don’t give things very often. Not to people or other Folk, or even gods. I… I let you take the quartz because you need a gift. You need water for a baptism or your crops or a potion? Lots of things need water. But I didn’t give them, like they were samples at the store. Does that make sense?”

He looks across the tree. “You didn’t know who I was, did you? You still thought I was eight.”

“But I know who you were,” says the river-spirit. “Before you were Owen. I remember your hair. And that sort of flick you do when you’re--”

“Fuck.” He starts walking. “Maidin, I’m flattered, but I have a boyfriend.”

“Don’t worry, we just need to sit down with your boyfriend and explain very, very politely--”

“I’m not breaking up with Teis because you hooked up with me in some life or another!”

“Nobody said break up!” Maidin pleads. “Like, say you two were married. You’d still be married because I don’t do that possessive leave-everyone-and-come-with-me shit, but--fuck, this is why we need to sit down and talk!” He cuts himself off.

---
Marian, much like her grandson, laughs hard at the river-spirit. “Oh, you poor thing!” She says after catching her breath. “Polygamy hasn’t been common for a while. Most of the time, it’s practiced in developing countries, Saudi Arabia, and Utah.”

“And said places are really infamous for pedophilia or religion,” Matthaeus says. “Normal people are too boring for propaganda, so a lot of people think being a polygamist means you’re a pervert or a religious freak.”

“So--so now there’s only one option for relationships?” Maidin asks. “But what if one of you doesn’t like sex and the other one does, and that’s the only big problem? You can’t just talk about it and find someone on the side--”

Matthaeus chokes on his laughter before he manages to answer. “Dude, you don’t want to be the side person. Usually it’s a secret affair, but a lot of times it’s… not a secret.”

Owen refuses to take his head off the table.

---
October 11.
Most of the group is helping Alima with setting up the altar and housecleaning, while Hilal checks the outer plot with David. Alima’s in one of the bedrooms, disassembling everything that needs dusting before they do a saining with river-water. When she goes to the kitchen to wring the cloth out, she nearly steps through her aunt. “Hey! Tita!”

“Man, things are moving really fast for you, aren’t they? Congratulations on the housewarming!”

“Mom!” Qamar waves.

“Qamar, where’s the water-lily?”

“Outside.”

“The fuck? It’s cold!

“If he has a chance to look at some plants, he will.” Qamar grabs some soda from the fridge. “Plus he has a jacket, don’t worry.”

“Yay, housecleaning!” The voice is so cheerful that everyone looks at Brighid in case she’s somehow forgotten that she’s been here for a couple hours. But instead there’s a redheaded girl by the altar. “Just checking up on you all!”

“Saint Brighid!” Mal waves. “Hello!”

“Also, Alima Song?”

“Older or younger?” Qamar asks.

“Younger,” Brighid says. “Artio wants to talk to you outside, if you don’t mind. It’ll only be a minute.”

“Artio?” Alima asks Owen, who shrugs. So she grabs a coat and follows the goddess outside.

---
May and Logan are outside playing a game as Matthaeus and Owen watch. Or they would be, if they hadn’t gotten into an argument. “But you’re always the king!” May stamps in emphasis.

“Because I’m a boy!”

May shoves him, and Matthaeus laughs. “Guys, quit it.” He drags May away when the two of them start fighting on the pond’s shore.

“Artio can’t go inside just yet, so she has to keep to the trees,” Brighid says, and brings Alima to the oak stand. “Artio! I have her over here!”

Alima’s been in the oak stand now that it’s hers: It’s only a few minutes wide, and maybe ten or fifteen minutes along the hedgerow. But the second she crosses the treeline, a forest grows old and vast around her. Or maybe the forest is restored--she’s only seen forests like this in history class, with the smallest trees like telephone poles.

Brighid has to hike up her skirt with one hand. “I hate dirt,” she complains. “Oh, and it’s all muddy!”

It is a much longer walk through the ancient forest, but when they reach a clearing, a woman sits in the cavern of an oak tree’s roots. Her skin is peachy fair, enhanced by her mottled green dress, but her hair is strange: To her hips and glossy brown, it hangs like shaggy fur and the ends have been sun-lightened to golden tips.

“Hello, Artio!” Brighid says with a hug, dwarfed by the other woman’s tall and sinewy build. “I brought her!”

“Good, good.” Her voice is rough but gentle, like an animal nudged awake. “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but there haven’t been bears in Ireland for a long time.”

“Bears?” Alima scuffs at one of the long roots. “Is this an Irish thing about buying a new house, or is it something about the land? I’ve never owned land before, outside of yards.”

“Ha! No, lovey, I don’t do indoors. And don’t be shy, I won’t bite.” She pats the ground next to her.

“No, don’t sit there, it’s wet!” But Brighid squeals in dismay as Alima’s already sat down.

“Och, you,” the goddess says fondly. “Go off and do your housecleaning. We’ll be fine.”

The redhead sighs and takes off in relief. “Just call me if you need me, love!”

Artio takes a long, reminiscing breath of the silence engulfing the space. “I’ve missed Ireland, I have. Even the nice ones let you have it.”

And Alima notes that they’re in the Otherworld--if the gigantic trees weren’t a giveaway, such a giant forest should be dripping with noise. Crackling leaves, the birds, fallen branches, the hares and hawks and deer. Her own stand of trees can be heard from the shieling.

“Quiet? Och, it must be me,” Artio laughs and blushes when she asks. “They haven’t seen bears for a while--got no clue what to do.”

“So why are you here?”

“The Hunter,” says the bear-goddess, and Alima catches long, thick canines. “He’s after you, as you’ve figured out. The Irish gods can’t do anything unless he’s right next to you, so Danu asked me to help.”

“Why?”

“Why me? Well, that tattoo of yours is helping.” She taps it through Alima’s shirt.

“I have to find my parents,” Alima blurts out. “They’ve been missing for months and last week, Hades told me they’re not dead, so--so the case is open again, and if you can keep the Hunter off me somehow, I’d really, really appreciate it.”

“Hmm.” Artio looks almost sleepy as she snakes a thick arm around Alima’s shoulders. “I don’t like when he picks on children.”

“Actually, I’m not a teenager, I look a lot younger than--”

“I know,” she says, “But it doesn’t change how you feel. Mum and Dad are gone, and you’re in a strange place with strange people. Not so strange after a few months, but he can twist that first knife in as much as he likes.”

“Oh.” Doesn’t it always come back to her parents? It’s been a hundred and sixty-two days since she came home to a silent house. “Well... that’s not too surprising.”

Artio nestles her chin over Alima’s hair. “Och, sweetgrass. We have sweetgrass in Europe, but it’s much rarer here. Woodruff smells like it, though.”

“Have you been to America?”

“Aye, those grizzlies,” Artio smiles, taking care not to show her teeth. “But I’ll be settling for the winter to keep an eye on you.”

“What does it feel like when something goes extinct?” Alima wonders. “Everyone keeps saying Ireland has no bears anymore. Why don’t zoos count?”

“Zoos are different, but they do count,” Artio corrects. “After all, you are different from your grandfather. You look like him, eat the food, speak and write the language...”

“But I’m still American,” Alima tells her with a grin.

“Remember that I didn’t say less,” Artio cautions, eyes crinkling. “I said different.”

“Artio!” Brighid arrives in a trail of sparks. “She’s been gone for nearly an hour! Finish up before she freezes!”

“Oops!” And the bear-goddess giggles, hands to her mouth like a schoolgirl. “Thank you, dearie, I’ve been a bit jet-lagged. Here we are.” She clamps her hand into a tangle of oak roots and tears it up like it’s nothing.

Inside is a bear claw as long as her fingers, black and shining through the dirt, and Alima pockets it. It feels wild like the Fianna’s whistle, but with a slower and stronger pulse than deer. “Should I charge it on the altar?”

“Do what you like, but get a smith to put it in a necklace.”

“Like Matthaeus?”

“Oh, no,” Artio says. “Wrong kind of smith. Jewelers are good with protection and defense, but you’ll want a blacksmith for fighting magic.” With that, the bear-goddess nearly bends in half to peck Alima on top of the head. “If you need me, call me. Even if you think it’s small.”

The cold of coming winter shoots into her core as the trees vanish. She wakes up shivering, with her head pillowed on Hilal’s elbow.

“Traveling?” He asks her, and she nods. “Time for coffee.” He helps her up and tucks her arm in his own while they walk to the shieling.

“How long was I out?” Her feet are numb, and she starts wobbling as the blood warms back up.

“About an hour. Little more.” He pushes the door open.

“Holy shit, Alima, what happened?” Qamar asks.

“I went to the oak stand with Brighid, and I started traveling.” She checks her reflection in the window: There’s smears of dirt and leaves on her jacket, and a clump of moss on her left cheek. She’s relieved when she checks her braid to find it mostly free of dirt, if damp from the forest air. “Thank god, my hair’s clean.”

She takes off her jacket and tosses it in the hamper, wiping her face off. In her jean pocket is the weight of the bear’s claw. David Sandpiper takes a look, but makes sure not to touch it when she puts it on the windowsill.

“Artio gave it to me,” she says. “Does anyone know who she is?”

“Well, she’s not a mouse goddess,” David answers wryly.

Everyone else shakes their heads.

---
Ogma O’Luain takes her to the Maidin River and throws a chunk of bread into the water. “Maidin! We need some advice!” He calls as it sinks.

The fairy appears, holding dry bread. “Is Owen less mad about--”

“No, different person.”

He takes a bite. “Oh, newbie! Hello!”

“Why do you have a British accent?” Alima wonders.

“I was growing up way back when, and people made fun of me for being Irish. No worries, me and Ogma are over the angry-teen stage,” he says. “Anyway! You just got a house, did something come up with the saining?”

“No, the house is fine. Do you know who Artio is? She gave me a bear-claw to help with the Hunter.”

“Oh. My. God!” He bounces, nearly as happy as a dog with a ball. “She used to babysit me when the bears were still around! I didn’t know she was back! And if she gave you something right off the bat, she probably tapped you to be a--”

“No, Maidin, the Hunter,” Ogma reminds him as Alima struggles to keep a straight face. “Artio gave Alima a bear claw because the Hunter’s after her. Is there anything we need to do?”

“Ohhh,” Maidin groans and scuffs a bare foot at the rocks. “I don’t like him, he’s always messing with humans. And reminding us that he’s the bloody King Under the Hills, but there’s kings and queens all over Iernis! Try asking the River Clans to listen to you, mate!”

“Maidin! What--do--we--need--to--do?” Ogma reminds him.

“Artio’s not that fussy. If she hasn’t told you already, go to the blacksmith and make a necklace. Also, I love your hair!” Maidin adds to Alima. “You could hit people in the face with that braid!”

She cracks and laughs.

Next Chapter: XXIV: all down her back