Among Others

people and animals and plants grow from sunlight and the world turns and everything is magic. Fairies are more in the magic than in the world, and people are more in the world than in the magic. Maybe fairies, the ones that aren’t lost dead people, are concentrations, personifications, of the magic? And God? God is in everything, moving through everything, is the pattern that everything makes, moving. That’s why messing with magic so often becomes evil, because it’s going against that pattern. I could almost see the pattern as the sun and clouds succeeded each other over the hills and I held the pain a little bit away, where it didn’t hurt me.
    Glorfindel came first, and then all the others behind him. I’d never seen such a parade of fairies, not even last year when we had to stop Liz. Looking at Glorfindel with my insight about magic and everything, I decided I should stop calling him that, stop trying to fit him into a pattern I’d found in a story. The name wasn’t his, not really, though names are such useful labels. The fairies were all around me, surrounding me, very close. Nobody had told me to bring anything special, and I hadn’t, but I was ready.
    The sun was starting to sink behind the hills. Glorfindel, without speaking, led us all back to the pool. I should have known it would be there. I stopped beside it. Mor came up to me. She looked so young, and also so remote. I could hardly bear to look at her. Her expressions were like a fairy’s expressions. She was like herself, but she’d moved away from who she was, into magic. She was more fairy than person already. I took my penknife out, ready to cut my thumb for the magic, but Glorfindel—I can’t think of him any other way—shook his head.
    “Join,” he said. “Heal.”
    “What?”
    “Broken.” He gestured at Mor and me. “Be together.”
    The fairy who had given me my stick came forward.
    “Make, stay together,” Glorfindel said. “Stay.”
    “No!” I said. “That’s not what I want. That’s not what you want either. Half-way, you said, at Halloween. I could have done that then if I’d wanted to.”
    “Stay. Heal. Join,” Glorfindel said.
    The old man fairy touched my stick, and it became a knife, a sharp wooden knife. He mimed plunging it into my heart.
    “No!” I said, and dropped it.
    “Life,” Glorfindel said. “Among. Together.”
    “No!” I started moving away from the knife, slowly, because of course, it was also my stick, and without it slowly was the only way I could move. Mor picked it up and held it out to me.
    “Beyond dying,” the old man said. “Living among, becoming, joining. Together. Healed. Strength, reaching, affecting, safe always, strong always, together.”
    “No,” I said, more quietly. “Look, that’s not what I want. Last winter, maybe, right after it happened, but not now. Mor knows. Glorfindel knows. I’ve gone on. Things have happened. I’ve changed. You might see me as half a broken pair, and you might see my death as a way of tidying up loose ends and getting more power to touch the real world, but that’s not how I see it. Not now. I’m in the middle of doing things.”
    “Doing is doing,” he said, which I found much less reassuring than before. “Help. Join. Act.”
    Mor held out the knife, blade towards me. There were fairies all around me, tangible substantial fairies pushing me towards the knife. The knife I knew was substantial. I had been leaning on it for weeks. I had been making a magical connection with it, as it had with me.
    “No. I don’t want to,” I insisted. “A little blood and magic to help Mor, to help you, if it would help you, yes, I agreed to that, but not to death.”
    What would Wim think? Worse, what would Auntie Teg think, who had no idea about the fairies, who would think I’d come up here without saying a word and killed myself? And how about Daniel? “I can’t,” I said.
    I tried to move backwards, away, but they were pressing against me, pressing me forwards towards the knife.
    “No,” I said, again, firmly. They were all around me, and the knife was closer than ever, and the knife wanted my blood, my life, tempting me to become a fairy. If I was a fairy I could see the pattern of the magic all the time. There would be no more pain, no more tears. I would understand magic. I’d be with Mor, I’d be Mor, we’d be one person, joined. But we had never really been that, and that would be all. I took a step backwards and started