ONE, TWO, THREE. It was the third little cup of grape-flavored syrup that made Matt gag. "There," said his mother. She sat on the edge of Matt's bed, and slid the bottle back into its box. "That wasn't so bad, was it? Now we'll see how you're feeling tomorrow, and if I have to, I'll call the doctor and make an appointment."
Jill scooped up the washcloth that was draped over Matt's forehead. "I love you, honey," she whispered, and gave him a peck on the cheek. As soon as she had turned away, Matt wiped his cheek with his sleeve. Then he watched his mom switch off the light on the nightstand and disappear into the hall. Matt stared up at the bedroom ceiling. His eyes burned, his head ached, and his foot throbbed. The bed creaked as he tossed and turned. The rhythm of his own breathing finally lulled him to sleep as the medicine quieted his nerves, soothing and dulling his senses.
Matt's eyes opened. He felt like he'd been having a bad dream. Moonlight streamed in through the window. Becky was in the next room, crying. Why hadn't his parents gone to see what was the matter? Was she having a bad dream, too? Maybe they couldn't hear her. Limping, Matt got out of bed and stepped across the hall. Gently he pushed open the door to his sister's room. Becky was sitting up in bed, trembling, with her blanket pulled around her neck. She was staring at the open window. In the light of the bedside table Matt could see what was making Becky cry.
A big doll with a sparkling blue ponytail and enormous eyes, one of Becky's favorites, was standing on the windowsill. The doll was moving its arms and legs, left, right, left, right, and its plastic head banged against the screen, slowly knocking it loose from the window frame. The jewel-covered shoe that Matt had given his sister earlier in the evening was squeezed onto one of the doll's feet. "Tiffany wants to get out," Becky whispered.
Matt went to the open window, grabbed the doll by the hair, and tore the little shoe from its foot. Immediately the legs and arms stopped their clockwork motions. Matt flung the doll onto the floor. Becky leapt up out of the tangle of blankets and sped across the room to Matt. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on, sobbing. Matt looked out through the screen to see shadowy figures on the lawn. Suddenly he felt his mind ringing with a chant he had hoped never to hear again. "Give it back … Give it back … "
They were looking up at Matt, with their pale, gaunt faces. They had huge, dark eyes and pointed ears. "Oh, my god," Matt whispered, while his mind told him that what he saw couldn't be real.
From her position in the yard the Mage saw the boy looking down on them, and her heart sank. This wasn't supposed to happen. The Human children weren't supposed to wake up. The Mage had let her awareness drift into the air, into the house, and she had read the girl's thoughts. She knew that the girl had put the shoe on the foot of a doll. She had used her magick to animate the doll, and command it to come to her. If the doll had kept banging against the window screen, it would have tumbled from the window and landed on the grass, where the Elves could retrieve the shoe. Tuava-Li, Jardaine, and the other monks were using their own magick to hold Becky's family in deep slumber. But the boy had become a problem. He and his sister were awake, and the Elves had been seen. From the window Matt glared fiercely into the yard. His desire to protect Becky overpowered his fear. "Who are you?" he demanded, thrusting his face into the darkness. "What do you want?"
The little shoe Matt clutched in his palm felt burning hot. His skin tingled, all the way up to his elbow. He wanted to take the thing and throw it out the window, but something inside made him stop. "Give it back … Give it back …," the voices continued.
One figure in a silver cloak and feathered headpiece stepped out of the group, looked up, and met his gaze. Matt turned away, but it was too late. He felt a presence in his mind, searching, commanding, "Give it back." It was more than words he was hearing, it was as if an alien presence had entered his skull, its fingers weaving through his brain, prodding, trying to shape his actions. He had to get them to stop. Matt ran down the stairs, flung open the door, and stepped onto the porch.
There must have been a hundred of them standing in the grass. They stood shoulder to shoulder in a wide crescent at the edge of the yard. The image of them shimmered before Matt's eyes. Not one appeared to be more than a couple of feet high. Where were his parents? Couldn't they hear anything? Becky was looking out of the bedroom window, with her doll clutched in her arms and tears streaming down her face. "What are you?" Matt demanded. "What are you doing here? What do you want?"
"You have something that belongs to us," came a high-pitched voice, from the one dressed in silver. "'Tis a shoe. Give it back, and we will leave."
"I haven't got anything that belongs to you. Get off of our property, or I'll wake up my dad. He's got a gun!"
"Your father will not come," said the female in the silver cloak. "Your family is sleeping very soundly tonight. We have made sure of that. Now give us the shoe, and we will go."
"I don't have your stupid shoe!" Matt cried, at the same time realizing they knew that he did. "All right, I do have the shoe. I thought it was a doll's shoe. A toy. Listen, I found it. I didn't take it from anybody; I found it in the dirt. It belongs to me now!"
Matt was stalling. Something crazy, something impossible was taking place, and he wanted to know what it all meant. He wondered what these creatures were, where they'd come from, what they were capable of doing. Then a thought flashed into his mind. He remembered looking at picture books about trolls and elves and goblins and other fairy things, when he was just a little boy. They couldn't be real, could they? "The shoe must be very important, or you wouldn't want it back so much," he said. "If I give it to you, you'll have to give me something valuable in return. Don't you have a pot of gold, or something? Don't you have to grant me a wish?"
Matt was surprised by his own boldness. He watched the creature in the silver cloak confer with the one standing next to her. "Pots of gold are nothing but the stuff of silly stories," said Tuava-Li, "and wishes are for the weak. This is reality. In exchange for the shoe, we will offer you med'cine."
"Medicine?" Matt said, as the pain in his heel throbbed and ran up his leg like a thousand burning spiders. "Medicine? Why would I want that?"
The older Elf glared at him. "Let us not play games. Without treatment you will die."
"You've been spying on me!" Matt exploded. "I'm going to the doctor. Tomorrow. Why should I trust you? What's to say your medicine won't kill me?"
"'Twould not be to your advantage to wait and see what happens without it," said the old one. "Human med'cine will not help. All living creatures are subject to illness and disease. And all living creatures develop ways to heal their own afflictions. But sometimes contact with others allows a sickness to infect beings who have no capacity to fight it. So it is right that we fear contagion from one another. Direct contact with Faerie Folk can have perilous consequences for your kind. You stepped on our shoe, and your Blood, it appears, has been poisoned. Over time your leg will stiffen and become numb, like a dead thing. You'll become paralyzed. Then the sickness will eat away at your flesh, your muscles, your—"
"All right, all right," Matt winced. He didn't want to hear any more. "Give me your medicine, and I'll … I'll think about taking it. Once my foot is better, if it gets better, then I'll give you the stupid shoe."
Their silence was tense. "The potion must be specially prepared," the silver-cloaked creature finally spoke. "Give us the shoe, and we'll provide what you need later on this very night. We'll deliver it to the base of the maple tree, over there. In a few days you will be well again, and you'll forget what happened here."
Matt took a step and a hot burst of pain shot up his leg. He collapsed onto the porch, nauseated and sweating. How could he trust them? But maybe he didn't have a choice. "Then go back to wherever you come from, and get the medicine. I'll give you the shoe in exchange. Okay?"
The monk Jardaine whispered in the Mage's ear. "The Human is about to collapse. His will is weak. We can force him to give us the shoe now. We melted the metal veins in the hearts of the machines. We can stop a Human boy, we can kill him and take what is ours. Now's our chance!"
"Nooo," breathed the Mage, turning to her monks. "We've stuck a bargain with the Human, so 'tis our obligation to fulfill it. Deceit is a sickness that spreads and spreads, and has no end. 'Tis not the way of our Clan. I will go and prepare the med'cine, and bring it back. Tuava-Li, you and the others stay here and watch him. The lad is weak, but we don't dare trust him. And we don't want to risk being seen by any other Humans, so I will be quick."
The Mage stood back from the other Elves and closed her luminous eyes. Her lips began to stiffen and bulge out from her face, hardening into a small yellow beak, as she began the transformation that would change her from an Elf into a horned owl. She leaned forward, flapping newly feathered wings, and lifted into the night air.
Matt blinked at the sight, swallowing hard. "Wh-what are you? Where do you come from? And … and how come you speak my language?"
In the Mage's absence, Tuava-Li had the authority to respond to the Human's question. But he wouldn't remember any of this, anyway, if the Mage's magic did its job. So why bother talking to him? Tuava-Li drew her lips back in a thin line and shook her head. But the boy made Jardaine angry, and it was she who took a step forward. "'Tis not your language, 'tis our language," she growled. "Your kind learned it from us. We were here first. We were here long before your hairy ancestors clomped across the plains. We fled from one continent to another to get away from you. This land is our land, not yours! You've crossed the boundaries, and cut our Cord, and killed our trees. And for what?"
"If you were here before people," Matt asked warily, "then … why have you been hiding? Where do you live?"
Jardaine was amazed by the Human's ignorance. "We used to share the world," she snapped, as years of anger and frustration rose up inside her. "But your kind always took our belongings, our homes, chopped down our forests, defiled our sacred places, tried to steal our magick and our power, and then killed us if you could. When it came to war, the Gods were forced to separate us from you, just so we could survive! Do you know nothing?"
"Ssssh!" warned Tuava-Li. "Don't talk to him! He doesn't need to know!"
But the monk was too angry to listen. "The Gods gave us our own world, superimposed right over your own, and none save the Mages are allowed to cross the borders. Everyone knows that! You don't belong here! This land is ours!"
Matt shook his head. "You say you lost a war with Humans? But you're magic! You can bring things to life, get in people's minds, you can—"
"We compensate for our size with our skills," snapped Jardaine, "and our intelligence … but your kind always finds a way to destroy what you don't understand."
Matt shrugged, and wiped the sweat from his eyes. The throbbing in his foot was making him feel faint. "I never destroyed anything! So try me. Maybe I'll understand."
"Hah!"
Tuava-Li frowned. Jardaine was making trouble where there did not need to be any, but now that her anger was spent, the monk backed away in silence. Matt blinked again. He was getting very tired. Everyone waited as the minutes ticked by, and before long a dark shape swept across the lawn. The owl-Mage approached her apprentice with a cut-glass bottle clutched in her talons. Tuava-Li took the bottle and held it up in the moonlight for Matt to see. "Is that the medicine?" Matt asked, leaning forward. "Bring it over here." He was afraid that if he went down into the yard the creatures would surround him.
"With your permission," answered Tuava-Li, her jaw set in determination.
"Be careful," hissed Jardaine. "The Human has contaminated the shoe!"
"I know," whispered Tuava-Li. She crept across the yard, her eyes fixed on the boy on the porch. Then, holding her breath, she reached out and dropped the bottle into Matt's clammy, upturned palm. She snatched the shoe and backed away. When she was safe among the other Elves she knelt on the grass and wrapped the treasure in a large yellow leaf. The owl hooted softly. Tuava-Li looked into the bird's enormous eyes and nodded, then rose to address Matt. "Ten drops. Every three of your waking hours, under the tongue. Until the bottle is empty. Start now. When you're finished, bury the bottle at the foot of the red maple tree there. Don't let anyone else see it, and don't tell anyone where you got it!"
The Mage of Alfheim, still in owl form, hopped across the lawn. She no longer had the youthful strength and vigor required to turn herself back to an Elf. After her flight to Alfheim, transforming to her Elfin form, making the medicine for Matt, and shape-shifting to an owl again, all of her strength for magick had been consumed. Now she would simply have to wait for the transformation to wear off, though it might take days. The monks surrounded Tuava-Li and the shoe in a circle of protection. They set off on foot into the woods, and the Mage knew that their return to Alfheim would be safe. She flapped her wings and sailed above the treetops. Traveling by air, she would arrive home sooner than the monks. There was much to plan. It was imperative to get to Ljosalfar as soon as possible so that everyone would know that the wedding shoe of Princess Asra had been found.
Matt watched the creatures move across the field and disappear into the blackness of the forest. He opened the screen door and stepped inside, limping with pain. Then he closed the door and bolted the lock. Was all of this just a dream? He didn't think so. Matt went up the stairs, past Becky's bedroom. She was lying on her bed, fast asleep. The doll stood on a shelf next to all the others. Suddenly they all looked strange, and menacing, with their big, dark eyes, pale skin, their awkward, outstretched arms. It had to be a dream … Matt thought. All except for the little glass bottle clutched in his fist. He slipped into the bathroom and flicked on the light. The bottle looked old; it was crude and misshapen. From the lip of the bottle a bent, rubbery cork protruded. Matt gave it a tug. His breath caught in his throat; the smell was sickening. Everything that had happened outside felt to him like a dream, but the odor of the black, putrid liquid in the bottle was all too real. A greasy-looking droplet hung from the end of the cork. Matt considered that he might wait until tomorrow, and get some antibiotics from the doctor in Pittsburgh. Maybe he wouldn't even have to take off his shoe and show the doctor his heel, maybe the drugs for his fever would take care of his foot, too! Or not. Maybe this was the only way, after all. Holding his breath, Matt shook the cork over his tongue. He closed his eyes and gripped the edge of the sink, prepared for the worst. But surprisingly, the taste was mild and just a little salty; in fact, it was far more appealing than the grape syrup his mom had given him before bed. With a little practice, Matt figured out how to use the cork to lift the drops out of the bottle. When he had counted out ten, he twisted the cork back inside, and slipped the bottle into his pajama pocket. He crept into his room and climbed in bed. If the stuff doesn't kill me, Matt thought, maybe I'll feel better in the morning. Then he glanced at the clock. It was almost morning already. What had happened in the yard felt like it was all over in half an hour. Yet somehow an entire night had sped by. Matt fell immediately into a deep and dreamless sleep. His foot wasn't throbbing any more.
Cold moonlight lit the forest from above, silvering the tops of the trees. In the night, in the forest, there was no sense of time. Few signs of Humankind were visible here to mark the landscape and claim it for its own. Yet the eyes of the Mage, owl-like though they were, did not have the keen visual sense that a real owl possesses. Lost in the beauty of the night and her joy at the recovery of the shoe, the Mage sailed through the air slightly north of Alfheim. When the tip of her wing brushed a power line stretched along a darkened highway, she spun out of control. She tumbled forward, crashing into every branch between her and the ground. And as the other Elves marched joyfully through the woods toward home, the body of their Mage lay broken and still at the side of the road.
