Mythology Abroad

by Jody Lynn Nye

  “No sense worrying about what doesn’t stay long, or hadn’t you noticed?” Edwin asked deprecatingly. “This isn’t the tropics, laddie.”

  “Americans worry too much about natural things,” Charles added.

  “Skin cancer is natural?” Keith asked pointedly.

  “Oh, come off it. In this soft light? You must be made of wax,” Edwin laughed.

  “Look at Miss Anderson,” Keith defended himself. “She’s got a hat on.”

  “I rarely stay through the afternoon,” the teacher said mildly, adjusting the confection of straw and flowers on her head, “but I concur with Keith. I feel that hot heads make for hasty judgment. But don’t take me as an example. I’m prone to sun-stroke.”

  The coach turned off the road and pulled up behind a queue of unfamiliar cars parked at the foot of the hill along the narrow lane. The driver looked quizzically over his shoulder at Miss Anderson. “No place to pull up,” he announced.

  Miss Anderson studied the line of cars and bobbed her pointed chin vigorously several times. “They must have the press or guests here today,” she said. “Reverse out, and take the small road to the left. You can let us off there. I saw another path on the leeward side of the bluff.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” the driver said, nudging up the side of his cap with a forefinger as a sort of salute.

  Her students groaned audibly as they saw the path Miss Anderson meant them to climb. It was a muddy, slick trench, almost perpendicular to the road.

  “Now, now, you’re all younger than I am. You’ve got the energy to make it up there. Go on, and I’ll be up after you in a wee while,” the teacher urged them cheerfully.

  “Holy Mother, we’ll need a ladder,” Matthew complained, standing and gazing upward. Narit, who never complained, pushed past him and started to climb the hill, clutching the long grass as handholds. The boys looked at one another, half amused, half outraged, watching her long plait of hair swaying above them.

  “I’m not going to let a mere girl clinch the title,” Martin said, starting after her. “Hoy, it’s not so bad. Come on, lads!”

  “The sheep can get up there, and they weigh more than you,” Edwin called.

  “Smarter, too,” Max chimed in, and glanced at the others. “Well, what about you slackers?”

  “Yar boo sucks,” Matthew answered, good-naturedly. “Coming, Keith?”

  “Right behind you,” the American said. “Hey, Holl, do you want to go up ahead of me? That way I can catch you if you slip.”

  The elf snorted. “More likely it will be so you don’t fall on me from above with your big clumsy body. I’ll be fine. After you,” he gestured toward the slope, with a slight bow. Keith saluted wryly and jumped for the first foothold, grabbing sheaves of grass with both hands. Holl followed him, less energetically.

  “Hey, this is a view we haven’t had before,” Keith said, stopping on a relatively level part and looking around. The others had disappeared over the crest of the bluff, and their voices faded into distant echoes like the cries of gulls. “More fences. I swear that this is the only piece of ground for ten miles that isn’t roped off.” Holl, toiling up behind him, grunted his acknowledgment, but didn’t look up. Out of the corner of his eye, Keith caught sight of a depression in the grass on the hillside across the road, which had been invisible from the road behind stands of underbrush. He squinted under his hand at it. It was the shadow thrown by a small hillock. The inverted bowl-shaped mound was almost perfectly round, and it was surrounded by woodland plants that didn’t encroach on the smooth grass thereupon. Something in his memory went ting! “Hey, look over there, Holl. It’s a fairy ring.”

  “What?” Holl struggled up to stand next to Keith. “Go on with you.”

  “Well, it’s got all the right characteristics. It’s a low, rounded grassy mound, surrounded by little purple flowers and mushrooms.” He wrinkled his nose, wishing he could see more detail under the shadows of the low trees on the other side. “And I think there’s something on the top. Some kind of flower with bell-shaped cups on tall stalks.”

  “What? What color are they?” Holl demanded, brimming with hope. Could the object of his quest be so close? Right under his nose?

  “I’m not sure. But I’ve got to have a look.” Keith skipped down the track, past an inquisitive sheep or two, and ducked under the wire fence on the other side. His long legs took the slope in easy strides.

  “Wait for me!” Holl half-slid, half-ran after him.

  As soon as he crossed the road, he felt a wave of malignity smack into him, as if he had hit a wall. Ignoring it, he pulled up the loose wire strand and hurried to catch up with Keith. There was something about the hill he didn’t like, something sinister. It was the same sort of suffocating wash he had experienced on the jet. Perhaps Keith’s fairy ring had its own defenses, a guardian of some kind.

  “It’s pink!” Keith’s voice came from above. “Does pink count, or do your flowers have to be white?”

  “White’s all I know of,” Holl called up to him. “Wait, and I’ll come up and see.” He reached out to grab a handhold among the plants, and came away with a handful of tiny, red, stinging blisters. “Ow!” A fierce guardian, if these inimical plants were anything to judge by. Hoping he could keep his balance, he wormed his way through the undergrowth.

  Keith circled around the low mound, his invisible whiskers erect with excitement. He knew that most things ancient humankind thought of as fairy rings were actually the outward growth from successive generations of some kinds of plants, like mushrooms, but this couldn’t be in that category. The hillock was too perfect to be completely natural. Six inches above the ground, there was a barrier encircling it, consisting of a single wire attached at intervals to small wooden posts, and smaller signs that read “Restricted.” The flowers in the dead center of the mound stood defiant amidst the low grass. That grass was strange in itself; the natural growth on the rest of the hillside would be almost knee high except that it lay flat on the ground. Holl appeared through the underbrush.

  “Here, look!” Keith called. “Come on over and tell me what you think!”

  Holding his stung hand gingerly, Holl came over and peered at the tall flower stalks. As he approached the mound, the feeling of ill-will was stronger, almost overwhelming. His face fell as he got his first good look at Keith’s quarry. “It’s pink foxglove,” he said. “I’ve seen it before. It wouldn’t be of any use at all. That is to say, it has some medicinal uses, but it isn’t magical.”

  “Are you sure?” Keith asked, disappointed. “Well, I’m not going to write the whole experience off as a waste. I’ve never seen a fairy mound before. How about a closer look?”

  “No, thank you!” Holl said warily. “Keith Doyle, there’s something about this hillside, something I feel is wrong here.”

  “You’re just nervous,” Keith chided him. He peered up at the inviting green grass, hoped that there weren’t dire consequences for intruding. With a quick apology to whatever powers had designed it, he stepped gingerly over the perimeter and up onto the green.

  Holl’s mouth formed an O of horror. “What are you doing, you silly fellow?”

  “It’s okay!” Keith assured him. “Nothing’s happened to me yet. Hey, the hill feels strange under my feet.” He stamped on it, felt the reverberations through his feet. “Almost hollow, like a drum. Come on in, the magic’s fine!”

  “Out, you widdy! The place is surrounded by “Restricted” notices. Someone doesn’t want you tramping around on it.”

  Struck by a curious thought, Keith looked up. “Yeah! Do you suppose that means the British government believes in magic? Why else would they rope off a hill? What do they know that they’re not telling?”

  “Perhaps the grass you’re stamping out of existence is an endangered plant,” Holl pointed out acidly. “Come down from there.” The effort of shouting made him feel faint, and he sat down in the long straw. He felt cold chills, though the sun was shining directly down
on them.

  “Holl, what’s the matter?” Keith asked, leaping down from the mound. The little man didn’t answer. His chin sagged onto his chest, and he shuddered. “Holl?”

  “There’s something powerful in there,” Holl whispered, trying to project his voice. A buzzing started in his ears, and grew louder and louder until he could hear nothing else. He knew Keith was shouting at him, but he saw only the young man’s mouth move. He couldn’t understand the words at all.

  Keith reached Holl just as the other started to slump over onto the grass. His skin was red and hot, as if he had been sunburned, but they had hardly been out under the sky long enough to get warm. Keith felt for a heartbeat, and found it: rapid, shallow, and unsteady. What kind of attack was this? Had something evil under the hill reached out at the more sensitive one of the two when Keith broached its barriers? “Holl, can you hear me?” The elf made a sort of choking noise, and Keith pried his jaw open with a thumb, and looked down his throat. His breathing didn’t appear to be blocked by anything physical. “I have got to get you to a doctor. Oh, my God, where am I going to find a doctor out here?” He settled Holl gently into the long grass with the coolie hat over his face to keep the sun off. “You wait here. I promise I’ll be right back.”

  He ran down the hill and around the bend, looking for the tour bus. It was long gone from its temporary parking place. Desperation dragged him scrambling up the hill to the dig site. He stumbled over his feet at the top of the rise, and practically fell over the project coordinator’s table, which lay at the end of the site. “Ah, there you are, Keith,” Dr. Crutchley said cheerfully, from the edge of the cut turf where the boys were digging. He waved to the young man to join him. “I wondered what had become of my most energetic worker.”

  “When do Miss Anderson and the tour bus come back?” Keith asked breathlessly. The rest of the team stared at him.

  “Why, not for several hours at least, son. Haven’t you just arrived? We have a lot of work to do.”

  “Holl, my nephew, he just passed out. I have to get him to a doctor!”

  “What’s wrong?” Miss Sanders rose from the table, and laid a concerned hand on Keith’s arm.

  Keith started, wild-eyed. “He’s got a fever, he’s gasping, and his skin is all red. I don’t know if he had some kind of attack, or what.” He willed himself to calm down. The others hurried over to him.

  “Did he swallow something? Is his throat obstructed? Time is crucial if someone is choking!”

  “He just said he felt funny, and passed out,” Keith explained helplessly, surrounded by the crowd. He felt he had to move, to do something quickly, or burst. He was responsible for Holl. Holl trusted him.

  Matthew came up, offering Keith a small cell telephone, and yanked up the antenna wire. “Here, use my portable. Dial 999 for the rescue squad. They’ll send someone.”

  Miss Sanders waved the phone away. “It would take too long for them to find us. I have a car. We’ll take him to the National Health Service clinic. It isn’t too far. I’ll drive you. You bring him to the side of the road, and I’ll pick you up.”

  “Thanks, Miss Sanders, I appreciate it,” Keith wheezed, and dashed back to where he had left Holl lying. The others dropped their pans and followed him.

  Keith hurried up to Holl. There was no change. Holl was still in a near-somnolent state, responding only with fluttering eyelids to Keith’s voice. The American stuffed the fallen baseball cap in his pocket and picked the young elf up. To his surprise, his friend was very light. “Well, I guess personality doesn’t weigh anything,” he joked out loud, but his insides were twisting in panic. There seemed to be nothing he could do for Holl. What would he say to the Elf Master, to Maura, if something happened to Holl while in his care? Then reality intruded. The others were right behind him. There was no way for him to hide Holl’s most characteristic features. He dropped to his knees, and turned his back on the advancing crowd, laying the elf on the grass, and raising his head gently. “Holl, can you hear me?” he pleaded in a rushed undertone. “I’m going to ask you for the biggest favor ever. I promise, I’d never ask this if it wasn’t vital. I mean, a matter of life and death. Please, make your ears look round.” Holl didn’t respond. “Darn it, do it!” Keith insisted. “You’ve got to hide those points. Otherwise they’ll know what you are and we’ll never get out of here. You don’t want that to happen. If you won’t do it for me, think of Maura.”

  The Little Folk’s breath caught once, and Keith held his breath. Before his eyes, the ears changed, shortening, shrinking, the tips receding into the pinnae as if they were withering. Keith touched one, curiously. It felt exactly as it looked. Keith felt a little bit of a shock go through him. That was all it took to remove the Little Folks’ specialness. Without the ears, Holl was a kid. A short, blond-haired kid. Mentally, Keith kicked himself, having fallen into that trap once before, with embarrassing results, and had promised it wouldn’t happen again. It hadn’t, but boy, how deceiving looks could be! Keith hoisted the disguised Holl off the grass and bundled him into the back of Miss Sanders’s small Fiat Uno as the others crowded around him, clucking their concern.

  The doctors at the National Health clinic were firm and kind. “An attack of some kind? Does he have any allergies?” a white-coated man asked, writing down facts on a history sheet. Holl’s discarded cap and Keith’s coolie hat lay on a table behind them.

  “I don’t know,” Keith answered helplessly.

  “Fourteen. Hm, small for his age, isn’t he? Looks about the same age as my nephew, eleven or twelve.” The doctor took Holl’s chin in his hand and moved it from side to side.

  “Well, it’s not really unusual,” Keith said hurriedly, wondering if Holl had a weird blood type or some other indicator showing that he wasn’t exactly human. “Not in his family. I mean, his side of the family. My sister’s in-laws. They tend to be short. What’s all that swelling, doctor?” He pointed to the reddening on Holl’s cheek.

  “That looks rather nasty, but it’s only nettle rash. As for the burning, I’ll want to keep him here for observation. A few days. We’ll admit him immediately.” The doctor clucked. “Look, you’re all over nettles yourself, lad. Your skin must be burning you. You’re brave to ignore your own hurts to look after the boy. Sit down, and let the nurse put a deadening cream on it.”

  Obediently, Keith sat down, and let them fuss over him. He was too bound up in guilt to notice any stinging. He was desperately worried about his friend. He had never known one of the Little Folk to be ill before. He felt guilty for not having gotten off the mound when Holl told him to. Holl was probably right, that whatever possessed that mound got upset about trespassers. He might have been responsible for the attack Holl had suffered. But how could he tell the doctor about a speculation like that?

  Keith felt as if he had betrayed a trust, and it was tearing up his insides. He sat and stared at Holl, head lolling to one side on the examining table, and willed him with all his heart to get well. He knew Holl had never wanted to leave Hollow Tree Farm. Traveling shook him. He even disliked car trips. He was an old homebody, but he had volunteered to make the trip, insisted on it, because he trusted Keith to look after him. It was like the blind leading the blind, really, because neither of them was too worldly. Always said he had no wish to go away. Enoch was the one who was interested in going out and seeing the world. Keith kept wondering what had hit them on the hillside. Could it be a spell that someone put on the hill before, as Puck of Pook’s Hill said, all of the sidhe left England? Or was it something more mundane and sinister?

  “You can go now, Mr. Doyle. You can visit your nephew later, when we’ve had a chance to observe him. We have the telephone number, and we will call you when we know anything.” The nurse escorted him firmly to the door and into the reception room. Keith tried vainly to keep Holl in sight until she closed the examining room door on him.

  ***

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “O’Day was spotted cavorting on t
op of the buried dome of the satellite tracking system, just like he knew it was there. The hidden cameras are on totally silent swivels. They snapped his photo, and the johnnies in security were on to us in a flash. They’ve got copies of all our advisories. And then the kid had some kind of attack. Instead of intercepting them, I followed them to the Health Service. I’ve been keeping a close lookout ever since, in case he tried anything suspicious. He might be here to bribe one of our men to look the other way when a Russian satellite is launched.” Michaels squirmed uncomfortably in the office chair. The seats in the Chief’s office were not meant to encourage long stays. The room was nondescript and cluttered, but probably chocked to the rafters with listening and recording equipment behind the walls. “He seems so normal, sir, and genuinely concerned about the kid.”

  “Even spies have relatives, Michaels,” the Chief reminded him. “That’s how the Rooskies keep their operatives’ loyalty. Have you any hard information on them?”

  “Aye, sir. He’s traveling on an American passport under the name of Keith Doyle,” Michaels reported. “I’ve got the numbers out of the medical history the clinic took. It’s a clean one, fairly new, with a few trips on it, legitimate, to Canada. The ‘boy’ is going as a Doyle, too. By the report from the medico, the lad was genuinely ill. Except for some nettle rash on his hand and face, he can’t figure out quite what was wrong with him. Is there a loose nuclear source at that site, chief? He had what looked to me like mild radiation sickness: red, burned skin and fever, lightheadedness.”

  “Can’t be too careful,” the Chief agreed. “I’ll have it checked out. The boffins up there have probably built up so much of an immunity they don’t notice what would be a dangerous dose for normal people. I think perhaps our smugglers might be doing us a service after all, pointing that out for us.”