Holy Water

Water was pouring over the lip of the falls with merry vigor, the splash as it hit the pool music to his ears. While the stream below the falls was still only a fraction of its former width, the pool was almost back to its old dimensions.

He pulled off his boots and sat down, dangling his feet over the edge, hoping beyond hope for the feel of cool hands encircling his ankles. Nothing happened, and he swallowed through a lump in his throat.

If he killed her, I will put a bullet through his head myself.

He flexed his hands wearily as he sat, his arms and back aching from the repetitive motion of chopping with the ax.

You've gotten soft, army boy. Two years ago you would have barely worked up a sweat. Now you can't wait to go to bed.

He wrinkled his nose at the dank odor drifting up from his trousers. The fetid, stinking water had soaked them through.

Come and bathe, my love.

The voice hovered on the edge of hearing. His breath caught and he looked wildly around. "Lily? Lilaea? Are you there?"

Come to me, my love. Come and bathe in the pool. Was that her voice? Or was his desperate imagination forming words to ease his guilt?

Trembling, he stood and undid the buttons of his trousers. He pulled them down and kicked them off, then slowly stepped into the water.

It was warmer than he dreamed it could be, caressing his skin like a lover. He ducked his head under the water to wet his hair, then stood hip-deep, scrubbing his arms and chest, trying to rid himself of the foul stink of mud and rotting plants.

When he had cleaned himself to his satisfaction, he swam to the waterfall, letting the falling water rinse him off. Then he leaned back on the sun-warmed stones near the bank, his lower body still in the water, watching the sun set over the fields. In the distance, he could see the roof of the farmhouse, and even the window of his old bedroom. How many nights had he stood at that same window, looking this way?

He shifted, spreading his legs a little. It was odd how the current seemed to flow in exactly the right way to stroke his groin. Well, who cares? He thought about using his hands to pleasure himself, then flushed with shame. He would not, could not bring himself to climax here. It would be like desecrating a church.

But, oh, the water felt so good. It swirled around the head of his cock, warm as a lover. In moments he was erect, his phallus standing upright from the nest of hair at his pubis, hard and urgent. He let his head loll back against the bank, cushioned by the grass. He closed his eyes.

That's right, my love. Let me do this for you, the breeze whispered.

His eyes snapped open. "Lily?"

Yes, love. I am here. But I am weak, still. I cannot form myself into flesh as of yet. But I can please you. I know what men like. Men and women have mated on my banks for hundreds of years, and I have watched them. Please. Let me do this for you.

Tears dripped down Charlie's cheeks and fell into the water. "Lily. Oh, God, Lily. I thought you were dead. I'm so sorry. We should have known. Should have done something. Should have protected you."

Hush now, love. You are here. You have saved me. I am growing stronger even now. By tomorrow, I will be able to become flesh again, and I will hold you in my arms. But tonight, allow me to please you.

Invisible hands ran up his thighs, making him twitch. Warm water curled in incredible patterns of pleasure over his straining cock. He gasped and flung his head back, his arms cast out wide. His hands fisted themselves in the long grass of the bank.

So beautiful, her voice whispered in his ear. The water seemed to solidify, becoming a hot velvet glove that slowly stroked his shaft. I never knew how much I loved you until you went away. He could almost imagine the gentle strokes were made by her tongue. His squad-mates in the army had told him what some women did, in some towns. He never dreamed he would experience such an unbelievable feeling himself.

He let his hands fall into the water, moving gently. If he could not hold her, he would try to show his love in other ways. He squinted. Was it the reflection of the lowering sun dazzling his smarting eyes, or was that a glimpse of raven-black hair in the water? "I missed you so terribly, Lilaea. I thought of you every day." He swallowed thickly, letting himself finally say the words he had kept to himself for two agonizing years.

"I love you. I have always loved you."

I love you, too, rude little boy. The strokes grew firmer and quickened, the pressure in his groin mounting. Now, cum for me, Charlie. Cum now! Give me the power of your seed!

The feeling was indescribable. With a gasp, he raised his hips, his clenching buttocks coming completely off the pebbly bottom of the creek. His cock spasmed over and over, the muscles pulsating in glorious release. Looking down, he expected to see blobs of his semen floating downstream. Instead, it was as if the water itself swallowed them.

The water, he thought. Or someone in it?

Oohhhh, came a low moan. That was lovely, Charlie. At his chest, the water rippled, even though the air was completely still. For a moment a head seemed to emerge from the surface, then dissolved with a splash. Damn it, her voice said irritably. I am still too weak. A long silence. Go home, Charlie. I will see you tomorrow. And you will be able to see me.

"I'll finish taking the dam down first," he promised. He waded across the creek and climbed the bank to where Sunbeam waited, looking at him with equine indifference. He pulled his clothes on, wrinkling his nose at the musty smell of his trousers. "I won't be able to rest until it is gone."

As you wish, my love.

Chapter Four

Malcolm McGill sat in the silent sawmill as the light faded from the sky. The last of his employees had left hours ago, and he was the only person left in the building. The waterwheel sat motionless. As he had promised, Schuler was bringing down the dam. From his seat he could look out the window and see gray, water-flattened grass emerging as the waters in the mill-pond sank.

He swallowed a curse, his mouth filled with bile, rancid with hate. No. I am not going to do it. I am not going to put cattle back out there. I am not going to end up like my father, worn out milking the God-damned cows, dead before he was fifty.

No, indeed, said a mocking voice in his head. Unless there's a change, you won't have the chance. The bank will take this place away from you long before you have a chance to grow old and crippled. Who knows? Maybe Schuler will end up owning it after the bank puts it up for auction. That would be poetic justice, wouldn't it?

He took another drink from the bottle, held loosely in his hand.

"Damn the Schulers," he slurred. "God damn them. All this bother over a stupid little creek." The bottle found its way to his mouth again, the whiskey a welcome warmth as it burned a trail down his throat.

"It could be mine. It should be mine. If old Josiah hadn't been such a stiff-necked old bastard, that land would be mine free and clear, and that little snot Charlie wouldn't be able to do a damn thing. Imagine. What kind of man gets all worked up over a river I could damn near jump over?"

His gaze fell to the shotgun in the corner, propped against his desk. "Maybe I'll pay him a little visit tomorrow. See if I can't make him see reason. Maybe he'll sell, now that he's had a chance to cool off.

"And if he doesn't," he hiccupped, lips twisting in an unpleasant smile, "well, accidents happen, don't they?"

Charlie was up before dawn, and had Sunbeam saddled at first light. By the time the sun broke over the eastern horizon, he was at the splintered remainders of the dam, in a fever to have the rest of it down before nightfall.

It wasn't only Lily's promise to him which had him straining at the bit. As much as he loved her, his motivation sprang from a deeper source. The dam offended him. At a visceral level, he had reacted to its presence with hatred and disgust. He had not returned from a war which, at its core, had been about freeing the oppressed peoples of Europe, to see a river shackled and chained, made a slave to the petty desires of one small-minded man.

He drove a broad-headed spike into another water-soaked log, wrapped a chain around it, and climbed out of the chilly waters of the river. He chirped to Sunbeam, and grinned as she pulled the beam out of the creek bed as easily as he would lift a stick of kindling. Water rushed over the lowered dam, and he could distantly hear the sound of the waterfall grow louder as the increased flow of water poured downstream.

He eyed the greatly-reduced dam. Two more levels. Then I'm done. And Lily freed. He waded back into the water, which now scarcely rose above his knees, and resumed chopping at the timbers. By some miracle, his hands were unblistered, and the ache in his shoulders and thighs was no more than could be expected after a hard day's work.

Working like a demon, he finished one side, then moved to the other. He was half-way through when an unwelcome voice grated on his ears.

"Mornin', Schuler."

He looked over his shoulder. Malcolm McGill stood a few dozen yards behind him in the waterlogged grass, unshaven, bleary-eyed, with a shotgun draped negligently in the crook of his elbow.

"You're on my land, Mal," Charlie said. His voice was cold. "And I don't recall inviting you here."

McGill waved his words away as if they were merely troublesome insects. The gun swung back and forth alarmingly.

"Mine, yours, what does it matter?" he said. "What's yours today could be mine tomorrow.

"I'm a reashonable man, Chuck," Malcolm continued, ignoring the outraged look on Charlie's face. "This ol' crick don' mean nuthin' to you. But it could do me a lot of good. Make some money out of it, why don' you? We can walk up to my place and talk it over. I've got a nice bottle of whishkey. Come on up and have a drink with me."

"You're drunk, Malcolm," Charlie said, eying the gun uneasily. "Go on home and sleep it off. I'm not selling my land. You should know better than to ask."

"Damn you!" Malcolm exploded, his red-rimmed eyes wide and hating. "I'm ruint, Schuler. Ruint! I poured all my money into that mill. If I don't have water to turn the wheel I go under. Thass a fact. You've got to sell to me, Charlie. Got to."

"No," Charlie said. "I don't." He turned back to the dam, raising his ax for another stroke.

Behind him, Malcolm cocked the shotgun. The sound was very loud in the sudden silence.

"Yes," he said, now sounding completely, alarmingly sober. "You do."

Charlie turned slowly, his blood going cold. The gun was at Mal's shoulder, pointed at his chest. He swallowed through the lump in his throat. Did I survive the Germans, the flu, two ocean voyages, and army food to be shot by this sad old drunk? Creek water swirled around his legs, then lay oddly still. In the sodden grass at Malcolm's feet, he could sense movement.

Playing for time, he raised his hands. "Malcolm, slow down. Think for a second. Do you believe no one is going to raise a fuss when they find my body with a hole in my chest? Be reasonable. Half the town saw us at the mill yesterday. They know you have a beef with me. The first thing they're going to do is come for you. And Sheriff McIlroy is going to have some hard questions for you when they do."

"Accidents happen, Chuck," Malcolm said with a sneer. "Every day." He screwed up his face in a sniveling parody of grief. "Oh, no! My gun went off somehow and my dear neighbor Chuck is dead! Whatever am I to do?" he snarled.

Charlie eyed the pooling water at Malcolm's feet.

"Pray," he said softly.

With a sudden rush, Malcolm was enveloped in a skin of water. Inches thick, it coated him completely, from his soaked boots to his staring, bugging eyes. Climbing out of the grass, another form rose before him. Lilaea appeared, made not of flesh, but of water. Her furious face glared into Malcolm's.

"You worm," she breathed. "To so threaten my beloved. A man as far above you as a thunderstorm is above a mud-puddle." She eyed him dispassionately as he thrashed within his prison. His mouth opened and closed, gaping like a landed fish. Convulsively, his finger tightened on the trigger of his gun. A blast echoed through the clearing. But when the smoke cleared, Lily was unharmed.

"Now," she mused, staring into his terrified eyes. "How to end you? I could let you drown, I suppose. That would be appropriate. Or," she continued, raising her hands as he fell to his knees, his hands scrabbling at his face, desperate for air, "I could simply gut you and walk away." She held a hand in front of his bulging eyes. It only took a moment for her nails to lengthen into shards of ice, sharp as the edge of a hunting blade.

"Lily," Charlie said softly, "let the poor man breathe."

"As you wish," she said. She turned her back as the globe of water withdrew from McGill's face to his shoulders.

"Don't even think of it," Charlie warned, as Malcolm's clutching hands reached for the shotgun. He picked it up himself, cracked it, expelled the spent shells, and walked to a nearby maple tree. With three vicious strikes he had destroyed it. He dropped it at his neighbor's feet, the barrel bent and stock broken.

"Leave," he said quietly. "Don't come back. Ever. Don't set a foot on my land. Don't even look at Crystal Creek. Don't cross my path on the street. Don't darken my door, asking me to sell one square inch of my land to you." He paused as a thought struck him.

"However," he continued. "I might be persuaded to make you an offer for yours." He gestured upstream. "I should congratulate you, Mal. Unless you are spectacularly lucky, you've managed to destroy a piece of prime grazing land in just a few months. It takes most people years to do something that stupid. However, in light of your financial troubles, I may be willing to take it off your hands for a fair price. You could move away and start over." His eyes bored into Malcolm's. "Far away." At his side, he heard Lily giggle, and his lips twitched.

"Think about it," he said. "Now. Go."

McGill scrambled to his feet as the water poured away, his face white with fear. "I'll tell! I'll tell all of them. Everyone will know! She's not a woman. She's some sort of demon!" He backed through the grass, his feet slithering in the mud. "Just wait, Schuler!"

As Malcolm fled back to his own land, Charlie felt a warm presence at his side. Without thinking he stretched out an arm and pulled Lily close.

"He'll tell everyone he knows," Lily said quietly. She didn't sound particularly worried.

"Yep," Charlie said. "Drunk, bloodshot, filthy, and stinking. Heck. I couldn't get anyone to believe you were real when I was six, sober, and honest. How much chance do you think he has? If he's lucky he'll end up in the drunk tank. By this time next week he'll be begging me to buy his land."

Their wandering steps brought them back to the dam. Lily glared at it. "Vile thing. I was away downriver when he put it up. By the time I got back here I was crippled. It was like having my hands cut off. And the longer it was up the weaker I became." She stepped into the water. The remaining timbers bulged, their fibers straining, then snapping, one by one. In moments, they had rotted and were flushed downstream.

Lily sighed in relief. "By the Great River. I am whole again." Her green dress shimmered in the sunlight as she turned to Charlie. "Welcome back. Rude little boy."

He folded her in his arms. "Lilaea." He murmured her name into her hair. "I'm sorry. I love you." She gasped at his words and tried to pull away. His arms tightened around her. "I love you," he repeated. "Is that so hard to bear?"

She raised her face. Tears glimmered on her lashes. "No," she said. "And yes. I have never loved before. Not until now. Is this what it is like? To feel like your beating heart is being torn in two? That if you hurt, I hurt? That your happiness is as important to me as my own?"

Charlie grinned. "That would be love, yes." He kissed her forehead. "Why don't you go and make friends with Sunbeam while I gather up my things?"

He bent over, picking up his tools as she wandered over to the horse. Sunbeam whickered and pressed a velvety nose into her palm, then rubbed her shoulder against Lily's chest, resembling nothing more than a huge, friendly dog.

"I like horses," Lily said quietly as Charlie dumped his tools into a burlap sack and slung it over Sunbeam's withers. "They are so uncomplicated. All they want is food and affection."

"Have you ever ridden one?" Charlie asked.

"Not for years," she replied.

"Well, then," he said. "Why don't you hop up?" He held out a stirrup.

Lily smiled, and with a graceful movement was sitting in the saddle. "Lead on, little boy," she said, gathering the reins into her fingers.

Charlie shook his head and led them down the path. At the base of the waterfall he paused, and Lily slid down from the saddle to stand beside him.

"Stay with me for a while?" she asked.

"Gladly," he replied. He pulled off Sunbeam's saddle and set her to graze. The sack full of tools was set in the shade of a tree. He pulled off his boots and looked critically at the soaked leather.

"Well, these are ruined," he said resignedly.

"Let me," Lily said softly. She held them in her hands for a moment. In seconds, the sodden leather was restored. Heavy with oil, the boots flexed easily. She handed them back to Charlie. He fingered them gingerly.

"Lily," he said hesitantly. "What are you?"

In answer, she sank down to the riverbank. Her bare feet dipped into the water, and he could not help but think of that day, nearly fifteen years ago, when he had first met her. She was wearing the same dress, he realized. One that had grown to cover her ripening body, but the same one nonetheless.

He sat down beside her, acutely conscious of her warm body against his. "Lily?"

"I am a naiad, Charlie. A water spirit," she said. "We are known by many names. Some of us are old, cruel, and malicious. Jenny Greenteeth, Meg Mucklebones, Peg Powler. They reach out of the rivers to snatch and drown unwary children.

"I am young, by their reckoning. They have endured for tens of thousands of years. Ever since men first came and camped on the banks of their rivers. Men came late to this land. But when they arrived, so did I. A spirit to guard and protect the waters of this stream.

"I have lived here for a hundred lives of men. But have never cared for anyone as I care for you. Charles Schuler. You are my love." Her fingers were knotted with his, clutching hard. His blood caught fire at her touch. With a whisper and a thought, her dress fell away, and the glory of her body was revealed to him. He blinked, and concentrated on her eyes, his face burning, trying not to look at her breasts, her hips, her...

"I have never done this. Have never mated as men and women do. But I can. You may find me clumsy. But not unwilling.

"Charlie? Will you make love with me?"

Charlie couldn't help it. He broke into a laugh, his high clear humor reaching up to the sky. Before Lily's confusion could turn to anger, he caught her in his arms and drew her close.

"Lilaea. My dark-eyed mystery. My truest friend. My dearest love. Yes, I will make love with you. But don't expect me to be any more experienced than you. I am as much a virgin as you are."

"What?" she said, astonished. "Those wicked girls in Europe could not trap you?"