Enchanted Forests by Katharine Kerr

would it do to destroy him?

    But they couldn't let more people feed the thing in the
    forest—whatever it was. Jenny didn't believe in demons or fair-
    ies, but there must be something in there.

    And then she saw the way out. If one lie had lured people in.
    maybe another could turn them back.

    "Listen," she said, "you're going to go on TV again—on
    television—and tell everyone that Queen Mab's angry about all
    these intrusions on her privacy. Remind everyone that fairies are

    60 Lawrence ^ffait. Evane

    dangerous. That's something we tend to forget nowadays. Re-
    mind them that fairies steal human souls. That should discourage
    most people—and anyone who goes in anyway, it's his prob-
    lem."

    "Aye," Tinker agreed reluctantly, after a moment's thought.
    "That should serve, I warrant. But am I to spend my life in tele-
    vision?"

    "Oh, no," Jenny said confidently. "Don't worry. You're just a
    fad. It'll all be over in a few weeks, and you can settle down
    somewhere—I bet there are colleges that would hire you for their
    history departments. You must know the sixteenth century better
    than anyone else alive."

    "Aye, perhaps," he said. "You'll accompany me, then, to the
    television?"

    She hesitated, but then said, "Sure." She gestured. "Go
    ahead and open the door, and we'll tell your camera crew the
    news."

    Jenny insisted they do their interview right there. The first few
    questions were harmless, asking about how she happened to pick
    Tinker up.

    But then the newscaster asked, "Do you believe there are fair-
    ies in the wood?"

    She glanced at Tinker, there beside her.

    "Oh, yes," she said, "and in fact, I believe I've heard their
    voices."

    Startled, the newsman asked, "Oh?"

    "When I picked Bill up on that road. Maybe he didn't hear
    them, but I did—they were saying they wanted to be left alone,
    that he'd abused their hospitality long enough and that any other
    humans who bothered them would regret it."

    She glanced at Tinker, who smiled gratefully at her.

    "Indeed, I heard something," he said. "I'd not caught the
    words, though...."

    And together, they blithely made up a whole network of lies.

    The broadcast went well—and for the rest of her stay in En-
    gland, Jenny Gifford found herself something of a celebrity. She
    spent a good bit of time in Tinker's company, helping him adjust
    to modem life—an adjustment he made with amazing speed.

    And she was only slightly jealous when he bedded that young
    witch, rather than herself—but really, she told herself, he was a
    bit old for her, wasn't he?

    She giggled at the thought.

    By the time she returned to the States, Tinker's moment of

    OUT OF THE WOODS          61

    fame was already passing, and her own with it. Within a week of
    her arrival home, the whole thing seemed like a dream.

    But for the rest of her life, she still shuddered whenever she
    passed thick woods.

    SPEAKING WODS

    The view from the branches

    Viridescence

    by Connie Hirsck

    Connie Hirsch got the idea/or "Viridescence" when she
    visited Muir Woods and discovered the extraordinary way
    in which the Sequoias altered their environment to promote
    their own well-being. When not writing, Connie makes da-
    tabases sit up and do tricks, reads a lot, plots expeditions
    to interesting places, and frets about not writing.

    "Colorless green thoughts sleep furiously."
    —Noam Chomsky

    We must have had a beginning; our seed must have sprouted in
    the manner of unremarkable seed, our shoots yearning up to-
    wards the bright, our rootlets drinking moisture, burrowing
    deeper in the good soil of our slopes and rills, growing in the
    manner of the Green.

    Yet, when did we become aware of our apartness? That while
    we were of the Green, we were yet apart from it, too awake in
    the bright day, dreaming too strongly in the dark night. Most of
    all, knowing that we were different, remembering that we re-
    membered. In some forgotten age of time, we knew that we