A Place Beyond The Map

by Samuel Thews

  CHAPTER 11

  A Friendly House

  The next few days were an unrecognizable blur to Phinnegan Qwyk, for his mind was not at all present in them. He passed in and out of a restless sleep through morning and night. His eyes opened only rarely, sightless and glassy. Phinnegan heard a familiar voice speak to him now and then, repeating the same phrase over, and over, and over, though he knew not what it meant.

  “Tarraing anáil…Tarraing anáil.”

  The two pairs of colorful eyes that watched over him grew more distressed when their patient’s lips moved, only to repeat these same words. They watched over him, two vigilant guards, knowing that behind the pale face the mind of their charge wrestled with invisible demons. Had they been able to see into his mind, as he lay in restless fits of sleep, they would have seen that his mind was in angst, yet he dreamt not. The nightmares that had assaulted him in the woods after he inhaled the poisonous gas did not return.

  On the fourth morning after their harrowing night in Darkwater Forest, Phinnegan awakened, weak and disoriented. A heavy scent of sweet, musky flowers filled the air. The room was sparsely lit, and so his eyes accustomed quickly. The ceiling was covered in wispy, intricate patterns like none he had ever seen. Where was he? What had happened? His mind panicked and he bolted up in bed, but he was overcome with dizziness and crashed back onto the bed.

  “Well, well. He returns from the dead after all. Gave us quite a scare you did; had a devil of a time just reminding you to breathe. ”

  Phinnegan recognized the voice as that of Periwinkle Lark, the purple-haired Faë who had broken into his home. The events of the previous day, at least to him it seemed like the previous day, came flooding back. The stone; Féradoon; the forest. The Faolchú. He tried again to push himself up.

  “Take it easy, mate. Your mind is still recovering from the darkness brought on by the Fog.”

  Phinnegan lay still, turning only his head in the direction of the voice. There, of course, sat the purple-haired Faë, lounging in a large armchair, his legs thrown over one arm while his back rested against the other.

  “Fog?” Phinnegan asked, rubbing the sleep and grit from his eyes. “What does the fog in the forest have to do with anything?

  “Not fog, Fog, with a capital F. The gas that you saw coming from the arrow; it’s called the Fog. It’s a damn good thing you held your breath as long as you did. A few moments earlier and,” the Faë made a strangled sound and drew a finger across his neck.

  “I waited as long as I could…my lungs were burning.”

  “I know, I know.” Periwinkle said. “Crimson never would have done that if he had known.”

  “Known what?”

  “That you were human, like,” Periwinkle said, stroking his chin as he mused. “Although I don’t know how he would have gotten us out of there without the Fog.”

  “Did it kill them? The Faolchú, I mean.” Phinnegan pushed himself slowly to a sitting position.

  “Hardly,” the Faë said with a laugh. “It would take a lot more than a lungful of Fog to kill a Faolchú. They were only knocked out, and just barely at that. Up and about in a matter of minutes would be my guess. Not the same can be said for you, of course. We thought we’d lost you. If Crimson hadn’t lived so close…”

  Phinnegan sat in silence as the Faë’s voice trailed off. He had been only moments from meeting his death. That was a disturbing thought for a twelve year old. A fit of coughing snared him and only ended when Periwinkle brought him a glass of water.

  The water tasted sweet and smelled of cinnamon. He drank the glass quickly, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. The Faë laughed as Phinnegan put down the empty glass.

  “Taking a liking to the pixie water, are you? Well be careful, it’s a powerful healing elixir, but it is also mildly hallucinogenic. We don’t want a relapse.”

  Phinnegan grasped the empty glass and peered into it, his stomach queasy as he was reminded of the nightmares that came to him in the forest.

  “Is that what those…nightmares were then? In the forest? Hallucinations?” The Faë nodded.

  “Aye, Fog is a very powerful hallucinogen. The mind can only take so much; particularly when the mind is unaccustomed, as yours would be. Like I said, if we hadn’t gotten you back here so quickly it may have been too late.”

  Phinnegan felt his fear turn to anger within him and he lashed out at the Faë.

  “Well why did you give me this pixie water? Haven’t I had enough hallucinogens?”

  The Faë only shrugged his shoulders, walking back to his chair near the foot of the bed.

  “Like I said, pixie water has strong healing qualities. It’s a calculated risk. Besides, it’s just like a good night of drinking. On the morrow, sometimes the best thing for you is another drink.”

  Phinnegan remembered on more than one occasion when his father had awakened on a Sunday morning after a long night at the pub only to head straight to the cupboard for a dram of whisky.

  Thinking of his father reminded Phinnegan of his home. And recalling home only reminded him of how much he missed it. He wondered if his parents were worried about him. How could they not be? Their son had disappeared with no warning and without as much as a trace. He imagined his mother sitting by the fire, her head in her hands as she sobbed. His father stood behind her, his strong hand resting upon her shoulder. They would be devastated. How long had it been?

  The sudden realization was that he did not know.

  “How long was I…asleep?” he asked, his head lowered as he continued to long for his home and his family. The Faë mumbled to himself as he counted the days.

  “Let’s see, one…two…three. Yes, this is the fourth morning after the night that we arrived at Crimson’s. That would be the same night that we were attacked by the Faolchú in the forest.”

  Phinnegan felt a knot tighten in his stomach.

  “And before that? How long were we in Féradoon? How long since that stone snatched us from Ireland and brought us to…well wherever it is that you are from.”

  “We were barely in Féradoon for a night,” the Faë responded. “So I would say four days at the most. And this,” the Faë spread his arm out towards the walls of the room, and Phinnegan assumed he meant to gesture to the world as a whole. “This place has many names. By some it has been called Hy Breasail, by others Tir-nan-Mg. It has been called the Plain of Happiness, the Land of the Living and the Isle of the Wee Folk.” The Faë paused and his brows drew down in annoyance.

  “I’m not too fond of that last one. But never mind that. To us Faë, it is simply Home. We need no name to describe our world, for any Faë has only to say that they wish to go Home, and all others know what he means. But to your kind, for those lucky enough to set forth in our world, it is best known as a Place Beyond the Map, for it exists completely outside of your world. So if anyone ever tells you they’ve been to a Place Beyond the Map, you know they really have.”

  “How would I know they actually came here?”

  “Simple. This is the only place where they would have heard it.”

  “Well what if I went back and told someone that name? Wouldn’t they know?”

  “Not so fast,” the Faë said. “Did I forget to mention that a person such as yourself cannot utter those words to another person who has not yet been here himself?”

  “You did fail to mention that, yes.”

  “Ah well, there you have it then. Bit of a security measure, like.”

  “Oh.”

  Such a short response seemed to perplex Periwinkle.

  “What’s the matter, mate? No questions? Not like you, that.”

  Phinnegan raised his head briefly to meet the purple eyes of the Faë.

  “I want to go home.”

  “Ah. That’s it then, isn’t it,” the Faë said, dropping his head and staring at his own lap. He sighed and then spoke quietly.

  “About that…”

  Phinnegan’s head snapped up, which made
him dizzy for a moment, but it passed quickly. Had he heard the Faë’s tone correctly? It sounded…apologetic. He fixed his eyes on the purple-haired crown of the Faë’s head.

  “What do you mean ‘about that’? I can go home, can’t I?”

  The Faë remained silent for several moments, all the while Phinnegan continued to stare at the top of his head. Phinnegan opened his mouth to speak again, but closed it when he heard the Faë’s quiet voice.

  “Yes, of course you can go home….in theory.”

  Phinnegan could not restrain himself.

  “In theory?!” he exclaimed, his heart racing. “What do you mean ‘in theory’? I want to go home!” His voice had risen to a yell as he spoke, making the silence before the Faë spoke again all the more deafening.

  “Well, it’s…err…it’s complicated.” The Faë looked to Phinnegan, spreading his hands apologetically. Phinnegan didn’t know what to say. He wanted more than anything to just go home and now he was being told that in theory he could go home, but that it was complicated. He felt trapped, stuck in this fairy tale land and the only person who he knew at all was apparently useless.

  “We should talk to Crimson,” the Faë said at length, standing up and smoothing the wrinkles from his cream-colored trousers. As always, they were trim and snugly fit, while his purple-colored shirt swished with his movement. The cream colored buttons that ran up the center of the shirt were large and smooth.

  “Will he know how to get me home?” Phinnegan asked, hopeful that the other Faë had more ideas than this one.

  “He may,” Periwinkle replied, pausing for a moment before continuing. “But like I said, it’s complicated.”

  Phinnegan made a move to get himself out of bed but the Faë cautioned him against it.

  “No, mate. You stay here. I will bring him to you. No sense in you running all about and weakening yourself even further,” Periwinkle said as he left the room.

  Despite the nagging tug in the pit of his stomach as he longed for home, Phinnegan was able to distance himself from that feeling long enough to take in his surroundings. The sweet, musky smell remained heavy in the room. He noticed several large bouquets of red flowers in various places around the room. The room itself was a simple square with a large window on both the left and right side. The bed in which Phinnegan rested was against one wall, and the only door in and out of the room was directly across on the far wall. The ceiling was high and was plastered a cream color like the walls. Thick, darkly colored exposed wood beams crossed each other on the ceiling. From what he could see, the floor was a similar dark colored wood. With the exception of the strange, sweet smell, the room looked like any that he would have seen back home. But of course, he wasn’t at home.

  Several more minutes passed before the door across from Phinnegan’s bed opened and swung inward. Periwinkle entered first, his light purple eyes meeting Phinnegan’s for a brief moment before he looked away. He was followed by a second Faë, who Phinnegan surmised must be Crimson. He had a pale face, much like Periwinkle, but it appeared even more so because he was dressed in all black. His hair was a rich red and this Phinnegan recognized from the forest, the Faë who had carried him from near death in the woods to the home and bed where he now rested.

  A flicker of movement behind Crimson drew Phinnegan’s attention, and he was startled to see a short, squat creature with dark skin, large ears and a large nose. Phinnegan thought that it was one of the ugliest things he had ever seen. The small creature carried a large book, several inches thick and obviously very heavy. The creature swayed to and from beneath the weight of the book, trying its best to follow in the footsteps of the Faë. When the Faë stopped in front of the bed, the creature also stopped, but Phinnegan saw it grimace beneath the weight of the book.

  “Crimson,” the purple-haired Faë said as he stopped at the foot of Phinnegan’s bed, turning back to speak to the red-haired Faë. “Allow me to properly introduce our guest, Phinnegan Qwyk, of Ireland.

  The red-haired Faë stepped forward and bowed in Phinnegan’s direction.

  “Pleasure to meet you. I am called Crimson Grouse, renowned scholar, sage and entertainer extraordinaire. My home and my person at your service, of course.”

  “Sage?” Periwinkle scoffed with a laugh. “Pulled that one right out of your arse didn’t you?”

  “Too much? I’ve been playing with that one. Trying to find a title that suits me and my, er, talents.”

  “Well keep looking.”

  The two Faë shared a laugh. Phinnegan cleared his throat and the two turned their attention back to him.

  “Pleased to meet you as well,” Phinnegan said, pushing himself up and forward on the bed. “Are you his brother then?”

  “What?” Crimson said, a puzzled look on his face.

  “When you rescued us, you called him brother. You said ‘bráthair’.”

  “Ah, know a bit of Gaelic, do we?” Crimson said with a smirk. “But I am afraid you have confused bráthair, fraternal, with deartháir, a brother of blood.”

  “Oh,” Phinnegan said. “I never knew there were two words for ‘brother’. What was the rest then?”

  “The rest? Bíodh misneach agat? It means ‘take heart’; and so you would have had you known such a cunning Faë was your rescuer!”

  “I see. Well, can you get me home?” The red-haired Faë smiled, displaying perfect, white teeth.

  “You don’t waste any time, do you? Right to the point. I like it. Far too much time is wasted on silly pleasantries and talking about the weather. Speaking of which, you have missed three beautiful days while you have been in your Fog-induced state. Clear blue skies and warm sunshine.”

  Crimson paused and cleared his throat.

  “But I suppose none of that matters. You just want to go home. Although, I cannot fathom why anyone would want to leave such a place as this,” he paused waving his arms around the room, gesturing to their surroundings, assumedly meaning the outside world and not this plain room. “But I understand that your circumstances are not such that you can bring yourself to enjoy our world. You want to go home. Yes, definitely understandable.

  “Yes, I would. Can you send me home?” Phinnegan asked, the fact that his hopes all rested on what Crimson would tell him was plain in his voice.

  “Well, it’s a tricky thing, sending you home that is. I trust that Periwinkle has warned you thus?”

  “He said it was complicated.”

  “Truly,” Crimson responded with a grimace.

  “Why?”

  “That’s easy enough. You – as in a human – are not meant to come to our world. Thus, the way to get back is not so easy.”

  Phinnegan thought about the words of the Faë for a few moments before responding.

  “Why can’t I go back the way I came? Through the wishing stone. Can’t we just do that?”

  “Not that simple I’m afraid.” Crimson reached into his pocket and pulled out the smooth, white stone that had started Phinnegan’s abduction to this world.

  “This stone,” he flipped the stone to Phinnegan who caught it reflexively, “isn’t what brought you here. Vermillion’s thugs brought you here, albeit while using the stone as a sort of locator. But on its own, it does not have the power to take you back to your world. It probably cannot even take you anywhere within our own after what Periwinkle did with it.”

  “You mean by bringing us here to, umm, wherever it is that we are now?” Phinnegan asked. He suspected that whatever Periwinkle had done to get them out of Féradoon had been very difficult.

  “Yes, quite,” Crimson said with a nod. “Féradoon is a powerful place and the power that the wishing stone would have had to hold to drive the Gate likely burned it out. We can’t know for sure until a few more days yet. It takes up to a week for the stone to recover from that kind of power outlay, if it will even recover at all.”

  Phinnegan turned the stone over and over in his fingers while he listened to the red-haired Faë destroy every aven
ue of which he was aware that could lead to his escape from this world.

  “Can’t one of you just do a bit of magic, then? Send me home, like?”

  The two Faë shared a glance and then it was Periwinkle that spoke.

  “Possibly…but it would take the combined abilities of the two of us and even then there would be great personal risk to both of us. Not to mention you. Opening a Gate for travel to your world is hard enough to do for ourselves, if you recall me telling you how the Passes are narrowing and all. But to open one for another, and for a human at that…”

  “Nearly impossible,” the red-haired Faë finished his kinsman’s thought.

  Phinnegan lowered his head and stared at the blanket that covered his legs. Tears welled in his eyes but he refused to cry.

  “I guess I must stay here forever…”

  “You say it like it’s a prison sentence!” Crimson exclaimed with a smile. “But do you not realize the opportunity before you? Humans in our world are few and far between. You can see wonders that you have never dreamed of…” Crimson’s voice trailed off and the only sound in the room was the muffled sniffle as Phinnegan pulled the back of his sleeve across his face.

  “I just want to go home…”

  Crimson’s face fell at the sound of the young boy’s voice. He bit his lip and turned to Periwinkle. The two Faë put their heads together and spoke in hushed whispers for a few moments. And then they bent down and whispered with the ugly little creature that carried the big book. With a nod, the creature lumbered across the room to a stool, the right height for a table to a person of his stature, and sat the book on top. He wiped his brow before using both hands to lift the cover of the book. Running a knobby-knuckled finger down the page, he appeared to be searching for something. At length, he stopped and then flipped furiously through the book until he was very near the center. Here he stopped and beckoned to the two Faë.

  Phinnegan had not been paying attention to the activity around him, but the extended silence began to weigh on him. He lifted his head and was perplexed to see the two Faë bending over the large book, the creature pointing and gesticulating wildly, speaking to them in a gravely whisper. Phinnegan could not make out the words, and was not sure if they would have been in a language that he could recognize had he been able to.