Chapter Two
“Do you want to sit by the window or on the aisle?” Keith Doyle asked Holl as they struggled toward their row on the 747 aircraft. The flight attendants smiled at the thin, red-headed youth and the blond, apple-cheeked child in the baseball cap who followed him, and directed them across the body of the big jet and down another aisle. Keith ducked around a well-dressed man who was removing his coat in the Business section. “At least they said the flight isn’t too full. We should get the middle seat of our row, too. Then we can stretch out. Can you believe how small these things are? How do tall people sit in them?” Another smiling attendant bowed them past her into the Economy section and pointed further down the body of the plane.
A wide-eyed Holl stared distrustfully at the paneled plastic walls as he trod, zombie-like, behind Keith. All around him, Big Folk, strangers, stowed their possessions in high-set boxes and sat down with expressions of expectation in endless rows of identically colored chairs with metal armrests. The chairs creaked as the big people sat in them. Holl shuddered. Though the other passengers ignored him now, eight hours of boredom might draw their attention to the sole representative of the Little Folk on the plane, and he’d be trapped. Keith called his people elves, which just went to prove how little even the Big Ones who understood them best knew them. He felt immediately claustrophobic. Statistics he had researched over the last few weeks on accidents involving commercial jet aircraft flashed alarming red numbers inside his head. The two hours they had had in the terminal before the flight’s scheduled departure was too much time for him to sit and consider the dangers of the trip. Perhaps sometimes it was not a good idea to have been raised in a library. He had access to too many alarming facts. “Keith Doyle, I no longer think this is a good idea. Can I go back?”
Keith looked back at the mob of passengers following them along the narrow passage from the jetway, and sighed. “I think it’s too late. We’ve gone through passport control and x-ray. You’ll just have to hang on the best you can, and keep your mind occupied. Try and sleep, or something.”
“This feeble little box will carry us safely four thousand miles?” Under the brim of the Cubs cap he wore to disguise his tall, pointed ears, the young elf’s eyes were big and round with fear.
“The aisle,” Keith decided firmly. “Wait for me to get in. Here we are.” Their row number appeared on an overhead bin to Keith’s left, and he shot his suitcase into the compartment. He took Holl’s small bag and tossed it up next to his, then squeezed into the window seat. “Hey, we’re not over the wing. Great! We’ll be able to see everything!”
“Don’t ask me to look,” Holl said, settling down into the aisle seat. It squeaked alarmingly, and the smooth armrests were cold. “Sticks and stones, these chairs are uncomfortable!”
“There are pillows up there,” Keith offered, then he caught Holl’s outraged expression. He measured the distance with his eye, and pulled himself to a standing position. “Never mind. I’ll get them.”
O O O
“Talk about your artificial environments,” Holl said disgustedly. “Did you take a look in their lavatories?”
Keith was relieved that his friend had recovered enough to complain. The takeoff had been a trauma he didn’t expect. Keith himself enjoyed the pressure when the jet was racing down the runway, building momentum, and the breathless feeling of weightlessness he got just as it left the ground. It was fun, the way that the drop-off over the crest of a rollercoaster track was fun. He’d forgotten just for that second that Holl had never been on a plane before, let alone a rollercoaster. He was as innocent of modern transportation as the ten- or twelve-year-old Big Person he seemed to be. No one from Holl’s village ever traveled anywhere except on their feet. In a brief glance toward the seat on his left, Keith saw Holl’s face go chalky white, eyes squeezed shut, and he was gripping the armrests with his fists.
“Hey, it’s over,” Keith nudged him gently. “We’re airborne.”
“My stomach’s still down there somewhere,” Holl replied apologetically, opening his eyes. “And you talk about my people’s magic. This thing oughtn’t to be able to fly!”
“Well, we’re defying gravity at about 500 miles per hour, and we’re heading for the clouds. Wait, don’t look. I’ll keep the window shut. Do you want to get up and look around?”
“Need I?” Holl asked nervously.
“No, but others are getting out of their seats and stretching. Why don’t you take a quick look around? We’ve got lots of time before we get to Scotland. Hours, in fact.” Keith grinned. “You ought to see what you’re traveling in. Consider it research. You can tell the others all about it.”
Holl considered. It was true that few of his folk would ever have the opportunity to do what he was doing: flying in an aircraft across the Atlantic Ocean. His friends and family would demand detail of his adventure, and if he didn’t have it, they would be disappointed. Watching other passengers negotiate the aisles without care, Holl flicked open the catch on his safety belt, defying his own fear. “All right. I will, then.”
As Keith kept a surreptitious eye on him, the young elf paced out the length of the aisle and doubled back through the back galley to the other aisle. He had a look into the cockpit, where the pilot and crew smiled at him, seeing only another youngster curious about the workings of the jet. Holl even took a peek into the upper level of the aircraft, into the First Class lounge, before the steward on duty up there chased him down again.
“No one else seems worried,” Holl reported, returning to his seat just as a flight attendant rolled a beverage cart into their aisle.
“They’re not. They do this all the time. It’s almost safer than walking,” Keith promised him, and looked up at the attendant’s prompt. “What’ll you have? Everything’s free but the liquor, and I can’t give you that anyhow. You’re underage, my dear nephew.”
The attendant helped them to plastic cups of soda and two impermeable packets of sugared peanuts. Keith turned the knob in front of him to let the table down for his drink. Holl was pleased by the design of the fold-down tables, and examined the suspension mechanism closely.
“First flight?” the stewardess asked Keith, glancing at Holl.
“Yes, ma’am. He’s twelve.” They exchanged smiles. “Hey, Holl, your drink.”
The elf received his refreshments and put them on his tray table. After a few attempts to tear open the plastic package of peanuts, he reached surreptitiously for his whittling knife and poked a hole in the celluloid. He caught Keith gawking at him.
“How did you get that through the security check?” Keith demanded, staring at the long, gleaming blade as his friend tucked it away in its sheath. “The buzzers should have gone crazy with a long hunk of steel like that passing through them.”
“They just didn’t notice, that’s all,” Holl replied offhandedly. “And it isn’t made of steel. You know what too much steel does to us. It’s titanium. I made it from scrap lifted from the Science Labs, and difficult it was to do, I will tell you. I wasn’t leaving home without it. You never know what you’ll need. Money can’t buy it all.”
“I don’t know,” Keith said dubiously. “I still think it would set off the metal detectors. You must have done something magic to them.” He waited for Holl to clarify, but the Little Person wasn’t talking. Another thought struck Keith. “Speaking of not being able to buy it all, how’d you get the money to come with me?”
Holl made an offhand gesture. “From sweepstakes and the like. At first, we had to figure out which ones actually had drawings after the entries were sent in instead of choosing them in advance.”
Keith sputtered. “You can’t use magic to win contests! That’s cheating!”
Holl was nonplussed. “We didn’t use magic to win. You should see the things professional contesters do to their envelopes to get them chosen. Ours were innocent by comparison. We just wanted to ensure that our envelopes made it to the final draw. We had every chance to lose after that point, one among thousands in a turning drum. But when we had enough money, we stopped. Lee Eisley said the barn roof needs repair, and we can’t make tar paper for ourselves. We won a good bit, but only out of need.”
“In my name, I suppose.” Holl nodded. Keith groaned. “Pray the accounting companies never check the system for magical intervention. I hope you have enough left over for me to pay the income tax on the winnings.”
“The Master says so.” The village headman, who also taught one of Midwestern University’s more interesting and exclusive study groups, was known only by his title. Keith respected the Master’s encyclopedic knowledge, but was just a little put off by his formidable personality. He nodded.
“If the Master says it’s okay, I guess it is, the way you guys research things. I oughta let you just take over my life. You make more money in my name than I do. But where did you get a passport?” Keith continued in a low voice, glancing over his shoulder between the seats to make sure no one was listening. “Without a birth certificate, without any identification?”
“Don’t ask how and I’ll tell you no lies,” was all Holl would say. Keith shrugged and sipped his drink. He watched the sky through the window next to the seat in front of him. Through breaks in the clouds, he could see the green checkerboard pattern of farms and roads. Holl quaffed soda and ate the peanuts methodically, one at a time, staring straight forward at the bulkhead.
“Okay, I’ve waited to ask,” Keith said at last, “but I guess you’re not going to tell me. Why are you coming with me?”
Holl raised his hands, palms up. “You’re a trend-setter again, Keith Doyle. When they heard that you were making your way to Scotland and Ireland, there was much discussion.”
“I’m going on an educational tour. Archaeology. For credit. I don’t see what use that would be to you.”
“But afterwards? When you visit Ireland to look for your distant relatives? The old ones have decided that it’s important we make contact with the ones that were left behind—if there are any still alive, and where we left them. We’re tired of being isolated. If there are Folk left to find, in this day of easy global communication, there’s no need for them to remain isolated any longer.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard this thesis somewhere before,” Keith said drily. “I think it was mine. But Holl, you were born at Midwestern University. You’re what, forty-one? Your folks left home lots longer ago than that. You don’t know where to go to find them, do you?”
“I can find them,” Holl stated, “with your help.”
“Bring ’Em Back Alive Doyle, that’s me. But wouldn’t it have been easier to send one of the old folks back to look? There must be plenty of them who remember how to get there. What about the Master? Why you?”
“I volunteered to go,” Holl said firmly, as if that should settle the matter.
“Uh-huh.” Keith could tell Holl was hedging by the way his invisible whiskers twitched, and searched his friend’s face for clues. The very idea of hunting for more Little People in the wilds of Ireland intrigued him, but there had to be more to it than that. “Okay … but your Irish relatives have never seen you before. They may not trust a strange face, even if you have the pointy ears to prove kinship. Why not someone who remembers them? Anyone still alive from when your people left home? People who know the homestead on sight? Can you help me find it?”
“Well, I might.” But Holl sounded unsure.
Keith picked up on his tone immediately. “Okay, if you’re as lost as I am, there must be another reason.” Holl started to speak several times, but stopped short before uttering a word. Keith waited.
“My reasons are my own,” the elf said, and fell obstinately silent.
“C’mon, Holl. I’m your friend,” Keith wheedled. “You’re not like me. You don’t blunder in and get lucky. You plan. There’s got to be a better reason than ‘it’s important.’”
The buzz of the steward’s cart grumbled toward them, breaking the concentrated mood. The attendant leaned over to collect their cups. Holl instantly stuck the earpieces of his headphones into the entertainment system and stared straight ahead, ignoring Keith. Keith sighed and settled back into his seat with a book. Presently, meal service passed through the cabin and dropped trays in front of them.
“You’ll like the food.” After taking a bite of the entree, Holl pulled the earpiece away from his head and nudged Keith. “It tastes exactly the same as what you eat at school.”
While they ate, Keith talked. He could see that his friend was still anxious, but he was negotiating the jet’s aisles without lurching, and he handled the air turbulence over Nova Scotia without comment or color changes. So what was bugging him? He looked haggard, more tired than he had ever seen him. Something wrong in the village? Or something more personal? “I’m really looking forward to exploring Scotland, aren’t you?” Keith babbled. “I can’t rent a car ’til I’m 25, so that’s out, but there are buses, and we can get bicycles. Can you ride a bike? I’m especially anxious to see the standing stones at Callanish. It’s supposed to be Scotland’s answer to Stonehenge—you know, really magical.”
No response. “The Hebrides are so far distant from everything, that they haven’t been spoiled by development yet. The syllabus said there are five dig sites currently under investigation, though we won’t know which one we work on until we get there. I’ve got lots of books with me about the area, and the local legends. Of course, all of them are about half read. But I expect to have them all finished by the time I go home. We travel to the islands by ferryboat, you know, same as when we leave for Ireland. No more flying.”
Holl, made more comfortable by food, and the fact that night had fallen, obscuring the view from 37,000 feet up over open water, shook his head wryly. If he couldn’t trust Keith Doyle, whom could he trust? Besides, he needed the boy’s help. “You’ve worn me out, widdy. I’ll confess. I’ve been through a trauma the likes of which I never want to repeat in my lifetime. It’s well that you’ve provided an opportunity for me to remove myself from the situation for a while. I just asked the Master for permission to marry his daughter, and you can imagine what that was like.”
“Holy cow!” exclaimed Keith, sympathetically regarding Holl. “You’ve still got all your hide, though. I take it he said yes? Congratulations! When’s the wedding?”
“Maura still has yet to be asked, foolish one. But that’s not all we discussed, hence my departure with you to discover our original home.” Holl sighed. More and more in the recent past, he and the Master had butted heads over issues, and Holl had come in second each time. Experience and logic won over youthful energy and good intentions over and over again. “There’s the welfare of the other Folk to be considered. Did you know there hasn’t been a wedding since we came to Midwestern, more than four decades gone?”
“Really? Wow! So you’ll be the first. Great. When are you going to ask her? Can I come to the wedding?”
“If. If I can. There’s something I need to find before I do.”
“In Ireland? What? The Ring of Kerry? A four-leaf clover?” Keith laughed.
Holl glowered. “Your interminable questions, Keith Doyle! I almost wish I’d not told you. We’ve always had the custom that a wedding couple wears white bellflowers. No one has married since we came to Midwestern. We’ll be the first in a string of decades. It sounds squashy and sentimental when I think about it, but there you are. But no white bellflowers survive among our plants. My mother’s sister was in charge of propagating of all the seeds our folk would need, but that one slipped by, whether dying off infertile or simply being left behind in the old place, she can’t say, it’s been that long. Many of the kernels and seeds she’s preserved have never been grown, since the bottom of the library building is no fit place for them. And there’s been no need for the flower in all this time, so it wasn’t missed.”
“That vital to the process, eh?” Keith asked.
“We’ve never done without it. They’re imbued with a charm of joining, among a host of other useful natural properties, good for healing wounds or curing the tongue-tied.”
“Yes,” Keith nodded solemnly. “I can see where you’d want to be holding one of those before you propose.”
Holl ignored the jibe. “Of course, this is all before my time. I’ve not witnessed a wedding myself. But I have a feeling that many of my generation have only been waiting to pick white bellflowers to ask their loved ones to marry.”
“And the Master made it one of the conditions of his approval, didn’t he?” Keith asked shrewdly, and was rewarded by an expression of summing respect on his companion’s face. “Well, you did say it was for the welfare of everyone else, too. What do they look like? There’s a lot of different kinds of bell-shaped flowers in the world. Lily-of-the-valley, bluebells, foxglove, you name it.”
“I’ll know them when I see them,” Holl said uneasily. “They probably are similar to any of the other campanulaceae.”
“So where do you find them?”
“I don’t know, exactly, but the Master felt I should look in the old places from where our folk come. They might be in fairy rings, well-guarded earth mounds in hidden places, and the like.”
“I suppose you know it’s illegal to carry plants back into the U.S. without a license?” Keith asked. Holl nodded. “Well, I don’t know that magic flowers count. Now that we’ve cleared that out of the way, let’s open the atlas and find our most likely prospects.”
Holl and Keith discussed the subject well into the night, until the in-flight movie was announced. At the stewardess’s request, the lights were shut off and the window shades pulled down. The movie played on an easel-sized screen at the front of the section. Through his rented headphones, Holl listened to the tinny soundtrack, and relaxed back into his nest of pillows. It wasn’t half bad, really, watching a film this way. There were no extraneous noises to distract one from the program, barring the constant atonal whistle from the air system. He glanced over to ask Keith Doyle a question, and saw that the boy had fallen asleep, head back and jaw open, in his corner of the row. Holl grinned at him paternally. The lad had been so intent on making sure he, Holl, was comfortable that he wore himself out. Gently, Holl eased the headset off Keith’s ears and hooked it on the cloth pocket of the seat in front of him.
The Big Folk took their technology so much for granted, they didn’t realize how much of a miracle it would seem to someone else, Holl thought. If it wasn’t magic to fly through the thin, high air, in relative comfort with hot food and entertainment, then it was a near cousin, and it took not a whit of energy out of one’s own aura to be a part of these marvels. Holl could feel the threatening presence of too much metal under and around him, though it was unlikely to break through the protective cloth and plastic coats in which the Big Folk clad it to attack him.
It did indeed make him nervous to be surrounded by so many strange Big Folk. He realized how sheltered he had been all his life, coming into contact only with the few who could be trusted. He had to keep reminding himself that no one knew him, and that none would observe that for which they weren’t looking. Trying to put that thought from him, he reminded himself he was on a mission of great importance. Strange as it may sound, he couldn’t be in better hands than those of Keith Doyle. If something came too close to him, Keith would draw away attention and make a joke out of it. There was surprising safety in humor. Holl took off the baseball cap and ruffled his hair with his fingers with a sigh of relief. No need to put it back on until the lights came up again. Now was his chance to do something about the uncomfortable seat. He unbuckled his belt and scooted forward off the pad. A searching tendril of knowledge he put into the cushions suggested that there was just enough fiber to be comfortable, but it had been flattened down by who knew how many bottoms before his. He forced them to repel from one another, springing out against their covering, puffing the cushions up from within. The charge abated swiftly, for the fibers were poor conductors, and Holl was able to settle back in the seat without feeling the bars and rods poking at him anymore.
The film’s plot was predictable, one of the nine plots repeated over and over throughout five thousand years of literature and ninety of filmmaking, so Holl’s attention wandered. Looking around at his fellow passengers to ensure he was disturbing no one, he reached across Keith, slid up the shade and looked out of the window at the night.
He had heard of all sorts of terrible accidents in planes, owing to bad maintenance or fatigued metal. Holl preferred to live long enough to see the far lands on the other side of the ocean, and return home again. There was so much that was precious to him, only the thought that he would return allowed him to wrench himself away. Feeling outward gently with a cohesion spell, he touched the braces and bulkheads of the giant airliner, seeking weak spots and untightened bolts. The jet’s complexity of construction amazed him. Not surprisingly, the massed metal repelled his touch, but reassuringly sent back impressions that it was solid and whole, needing none of his magic to finish its journey in safety. Holl relaxed, satisfied. This jet was well built and correctly maintained. As a craftsman, he approved such work.
The stars were remarkably clear up here. The disturbing sight of the far-distant surface was covered by a soft carpet of white clouds, ghostly fleece under the moon. Holl spotted constellations and counted stars until he fell asleep with his face toward the moon.
***