Nieve by Terry Griggs Page B

cloak that was tossed over a kitchen chair. Nieve noted a small pewter brooch pinned on the wool, and thought, I guess we can take on anything now.
    â€œI’ll see if I can find you a clean shirt,” said Gran. “But first, I want you to try something.” She hurried into her bedroom and came back carrying a box, which she handed to Lias. “A present. Brought these back from the city.”
    Lias seemed more alarmed than delighted. “Never had a present.” He lifted the lid cautiously, as though this were another bee box, and stared hard at the contents. He opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t manage anything more than a soft intake of breath.
    Nieve leaned over and peeked in.
    â€œRunning shoes,” she said. “Pretty flashy.” Gran had gone all out – cushioned mesh, gel soles, lightning-bolt appliques. “Why don’t you try them on?” She didn’t add, that way I won’t have to look at your gross feet.
    â€œHow?”
    Never had a present? Never had shoes? “Who are you?” she said.
    â€œLater for that, Nievy.” Gran was already crouched in front of Lias like a saleswoman, helping him to pull on a pair of socks that were also in the box, and then the runners. “There! Perfect fit. They’ll take some getting used to, dear. But you’ll want to keep up with Nieve, won’t you?”
    â€œThat I will.” Lias jumped to his feet and began bouncing a bit, gazing down at his new shoes, entranced. “It’s like wearing fancy cakes.” He trotted to one end of the room and back, raising his legs high, like a pony. “They’re . . . magic!”
    â€œNo, no,” Gran laughed. “They’re only shoes, Lias. Although I do have a special pair for Nieve. Her present.”
    â€œI already have runners.” Nieve indicated the ones by the fire that were getting crustier by the minute as they dried.
    â€œThey won’t do.”
    Gran moved over to the fireplace and reached up, pushing aside an old clock that had sat on the mantel for as long as Nieve could remember, its hands stopped at midnight. Nieve saw that the clock had been hiding a narrow cavity in the wall which appeared to be stuffed with brown paper, probably to keep out drafts. Or, knowing Gran, to keep out evil spirits. Gran tugged at the paper, winkling out first one piece, then another. These two tattered segments she held up, one in each hand. Nieve realized then that they were supposed to be shoes, or slippers maybe, thin and flat. Nor were they made of paper, but dried leaves. They might easily have been two ancient squashed cigars, so old and delicate that if anyone sneezed on them they’d blow them to bits. Yet Gran was smiling broadly as she held them up, as if she were holding the greatest treasure on earth.
    â€œNievy,” she said, “now these are magic.”

–Fourteen–

Night Sight
    N ieve refused to wear the shoes, shaking her head adamantly as she tied the laces on her runners. Knowing that Gran wouldn’t let her through the door without them, though, she did agree to take them along.
    â€œYou’ll be glad of them when the time comes,” Gran finally said, knowing herself that Nieve could only be pushed so far.
    They’d been standing in stubborn silence listening to the mantel clock, which had unaccountably begun ticking – loudly, adding its two cents worth – the moment she was handed the shoes.
    Nieve gave her grandmother what she hoped was a grateful smile as she folded the shoes carefully and slid one into each of her back pockets. If the time should come when she needed them (it was hard to imagine), and if she recognized it when it did, she was certain that the shoes by then would be nothing but broken leaf bits and dust.
    Lias emerged from Gran’s bedroom wearing one of her old blouses under his tunic and not embarrassed at all about it. Again, Nieve had to wonder who