A Place Beyond The Map

by Samuel Thews

  “Well, not willingly of course. As I said, very secretive lot. Very protective of their ill-gotten goodies. They wouldn’t let us near it.”

  “Then why are we going there if they won’t let us use it?”

  Suddenly, Phinnegan remembered the troll’s words.

  What could two Faë and a bogle need with a human at Castle Heronhawk? Unless you were planning to steal something.

  “Here we are, at last,” Crimson said, as they came to a high, arching doorway that was filled from top to bottom with a fog as dense as the clouds. Phinnegan hardly noticed as he was still focusing on the troll’s words.

  “We’re going to steal it?!” He asked, his voice high and strained.

  “Not exactly, mate,” Periwinkle answered as he followed Crimson into the dense mist. Poking his head back out so that it appeared to float bodiless on the mist he gave Phinnegan a quick wink.

  “You are.”

  CHAPTER 15

  An Unwilling Thief

  When Periwinkle had uttered his plan for Phinnegan to steal the larger wishing stone from the giants, Phinnegan had been given little choice but to follow him into the cloudy fog and demand an explanation. It was either that or be left behind in the caverns, and even with the feelings he now had about the Faë, he thought that this would not be the best of ideas.

  The fog was cool and damp against his skin, but when he emerged from it he was greeted by a warm, blinding sunlight.

  His eyes were slow to adjust to the level of light, so he focused on the ground in front of him. Yet, there was no ground. He saw only the same thick, cloud-like fog that had demarcated the doorway to this strange place. His feet were invisible to him, as they were beneath the fog, which rose to the middle of his calf. He leaned over and stretched his hand out to test the substance that was beneath his feet, but his hand touched nothing. He felt only the cold of the fog, and his hand kept going, and going, much past where his foot seemed to have stopped.

  “Don’t worry, it will hold you.” Periwinkle said from just ahead. “The clouds are penetrable if you move slowly and deliberately through them like that, but just walking on them is fine. Even for a heavy-footed human. Just don’t think about it.”

  Phinnegan ignored the Faë’s words when he looked up.

  “I’m not stealing anything!” he said with a glare. But the Faë only smiled.

  “I’m afraid you have little choice in the matter. That is, if you truly want to go home. This stone is your only option.”

  “Then we’ll ask them if we can use it.”

  “That’s not going to work, mate,” Periwinkle said, with a shake of his head. He pointed to the silhouette of a massive castle in the distance. Multiple spires rose from the clouds reaching upwards, their multi-color tiled roofs shimmering in the sunlight.

  “See the castle?” Phinnegan chewed his lip in anger, but nodded that he did indeed see the castle. “Good. Now, do you see those two towers just before the gate?” Phinnegan again nodded that he did. “Well those towers are for the guards. Big, angry guards, who would just as soon eat you as talk to you. And do you know what they are guarding against more than anything in this world?”

  “Thieves like you?” Phinnegan quipped.

  “Hardly. Thieves like you.”

  “I’ve already told you,” Phinnegan said, his voice loud and defiant. “I’m not stealing it!”

  “Well if you want to use it, you’re going to have to.” Periwinkle held up a hand to forestall Phinnegan from speaking. “And you can’t ask them either, because the one thing they will not under any circumstances let into the castle is a human.”

  “Why not? You said they let everyone in during these festivals.”

  “Everyone from this world,” Crimson interjected. “But not humans”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re the only ones that can actually steal the stone. It’s locked behind all manner of magic and spells that we can’t ever hope to penetrate. But to a human, why, you can slip right through.”

  Phinnegan stared in silence at the two Faë, trying to process what they had just told him. He felt as though he were being used, even if the thing they wanted him to steal would allow him to go home.

  “I’m not a thief,” he said quietly. “I won’t do it.” Phinnegan’s gaze dropped, too early to see the worried glance that passed between the two Faë.

  “Don’t be so hasty,” Periwinkle said, walking over and resting a hand on Phinnegan’s shoulder. “I’m telling you, honestly, that if you want to go home, this is the only way that I know of for you to do it. And I can tell you right now they won’t let you use it, even if you could ask them.” He gave Phinnegan’s shoulder a light squeeze. “I’m sure you miss your mum.”

  The mentioning of his mother first brought rage, and Phinnegan shrugged off the Faë’s hand, but this rage soon passed and left him weak. He thought of his mother, and how he missed her, and how he was certain she was beside herself with grief. The tears stung his eyes and he gladly took the light-purple handkerchief that Periwinkle offered him.

  He stood for a few moments, his head hung, drying his eyes on the handkerchief, which smelled distinctly of lavender. He did miss his mother, and his father; and Quinn too, he supposed. And while he was not a thief, he thought that becoming one was a small price to pay to go home.

  “Fine.”

  “That’s the way!” Periwinkle said, perhaps a bit too cheerfully. He quickly tamed his tone and again patted Phinnegan on the back.

  “It’s the best way; the only way.”

  Phinnegan raised his head to look into the eyes of the Faë.

  “But how do I get in there to…to steal it, if they won’t even let me near the castle?”

  “Aha,” Crimson said, his finger raised in the air. “I’m glad that you asked that. We will use a Mask.”

  “A mask?” Phinnegan asked between sniffles. “Won’t they still see that I am human?”

  “Hopefully not, and if I am as good at my craft as I think, they most certainly won’t. This is not a mask like you would wear at a fancy party, it’s more of an illusion. It will cover you from head to toe.”

  “And I will look just like a Faë?”

  “Spectacularly so,” Crimson said with a smile. “Of course, it does have its limits.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, for one, you can’t talk. It really is an illusion and you speaking might muck it up. Plus, you can’t move too fast or it may not be able to keep up with you. And, if you go through certain spells it could strip the illusion right from you.”

  Periwinkle raised an eyebrow as he regarded Crimson coolly.

  “You mean like the ones that will be guarding the stone?”

  When Crimson nodded, Periwinkle frowned and voiced the question that was in Phinnegan’s own mind.

  “This doesn’t sound like as good of a plan as you first made it out to be, mate. How is he supposed to steal the stone if the Mask will come off as soon as he goes near it?” He peered closely at Crimson. “Are you sure this will work?

  “When is one ever really certain that a thing will work?” the red-haired Faë responded with a shrug.

  “You know what I mean. Do you think it will work?”

  “Absolutely, as long as everybody keeps their wits about them and does exactly what I say. Which, for starters,” Crimson said, leveling his gaze on Phinnegan, “that means mum’s the word for you, right? Let Periwinkle and I do all the talking. Understood?”

  Phinnegan nodded his agreement. Not that he liked the plan, not at all. He had no desire to become a thief, and was worried about remaining silent when he would in all likelihood be scared out of his wits. But, he yearned for home and this seemed to be the only plan that the two Faë could come up with.

  “I’ll stay quiet.” He paused to bite his lip for a moment, apprehensive about having magic done to him. “How do you put the mask on me? Will it hurt?”

  “Not at all, not at all! Why, you wo
uldn’t even know it was happening if I didn’t tell you.”

  “I think I’d know it if you were changing the way I looked!”

  Crimson responded with a sly smirk.

  “Would you now?” He reached into his pocket and tossed something in Phinnegan’s direction, who threw up his hands in just enough time to catch whatever it was. Phinnegan held the object up and saw that it was a small mirror. Looking into it he saw his reflection.

  The Faë was right. Phinnegan had not noticed. The face that stared back at him from the mirror was his face, yet it wasn’t. His cheek bones were slightly higher, his nose narrower and pointed and his complexion a brighter, livelier flesh-tone. But it was the hair that startled him the most. His thick mop of brown hair was gone, replaced by hair that was straight, and a lustrous blue, hanging down to his shoulders.

  “That’s incredible!” Phinnegan exclaimed as he continued to regard himself in the mirror.

  “Now run your fingers through your hair,” Periwinkle said with a wink. Phinnegan obeyed, and was even more startled to find that his hair did not feel straight and smooth, but short and tangled, as it normally would.

  “Brilliant,” he whispered.

  “All an illusion. Which is why you have to be very careful. Just as that hair doesn’t feel like Faë hair, nor will your voice have the lilting quality of ours. It will be same flat voice that you humans always have. Honestly, I don’t know how you can bear it.” Periwinkle said the last with a shake of his head.

  “No need to be insulting,” Phinnegan responded with a frown as he continued to gaze at himself in the mirror.

  “All right then, enough of that,” Crimson said suddenly, breaking Phinnegan from his trance. “Let’s get on with it or else those guards are going to wonder why three figures are just standing out here instead of coming on. They’re a very suspicious lot, these giants.”

  Phinnegan closed the distance between himself and Crimson to return the mirror. The Faë quickly pocketed it and then clapped his hands together.

  “Shall we?”

  “Let’s,” Periwinkle said with a smile, taking Crimson by one arm and Phinnegan by the other. Together the three proceeded arm in arm towards the castle in the distance. Phinnegan suddenly recalled the bogle, who apparently was not coming with them.

  “What about him?” he asked, nodding over his shoulder in the direction of the bogle.

  “He’ll wait here. Getting you in and out will be trouble enough. No sense complicating matters any further, eh bogle?” Periwinkle shot the little creature a grin over his shoulder. Phinnegan was surprised to see the bogle make a most human gesture, sticking his tongue out at the purple-haired Faë.

  “Completely uncalled for,” Periwinkle said, adding under his breath, “ugly little goblin.”

  “Let it go, brother. Keep your mind on the task at hand,” Crimson scolded amiably. “Now Phinnegan, as I said, you must not speak. Periwinkle and I will do all the talking. Just stick to one of us and we’ll cover for you. Not that you should be roaming around in that place by yourself anyway. Not that any of us should for that matter.”

  “What shall we call him? Supposing someone asks, I mean.”

  “Azure Robin,” Crimson responded quickly. Periwinkle nodded.

  “Right, right. Good choice. Not likely to be any of that clan up here.

  “Why not?” Phinnegan asked.

  “Not the partying type for starters, and a bit on the poor side. They’re loners really, which makes it all the more convincing that you don’t talk much.”

  “Well if they aren’t likely to be at a festival, then why am I here?”

  “Easy,” Crimson said. “We’ll just say you’re a friend of ours that was visiting and we dragged you up here, against your better thinking of course. That should be convincing enough should anyone ask.”

  “Look sharp, mates,” Periwinkle said, jerking his head in the direction of the castle. Phinnegan looked up and was startled to see that the castle was very close now. The gate was only some several dozen yards away. He felt a queasiness begin in his stomach, which soon spread to a slight warming over his body as the fear began to creep through his veins.

  “All will be well,” Periwinkle said reassuringly. “Just stay quiet and follow our lead.”

  “But I don’t even know what I am supposed to do. How I am supposed to…steal…this stone.”

  “All in good time, mate. Just relax.”

  Relax. Easy for him to say.

  The trio stopped before two massive wooden doors that spanned the immense distance between two exceedingly massive stone towers. From a distance as the group approached, the stone of the towers looked a dull grey, but now being so close, it was apparent that the grey was only an illusion brought about by the distance. The stones themselves were colored in all manner of shades from a dirty white to a charcoal grey, yet never quite black. Each stone was easily eight or nine feet to a side and mostly square. The wood of the doors was a robust brown that was at the same time dark and lively. Thick bands of a dark metal served to bind the pieces of lumber together and provide strength and stability to the gates. Whoever built these gates was quite large, indeed.

  The soft sound of a light breeze rustling the fabrics of the trio’s clothing was the only one that reached their ears. The silence pressed in upon them, driving Phinnegan to speak.

  “Should we say something, you think?” he whispered.

  “I told you not to speak,” Crimson hissed quietly. “Just wait half a moment. The guard will speak first, it is their custom.”

  Several more moments passed in this eerie silence. Phinnegan strained to hear any sound, but even those that would normally be only background noise were not to be heard. No birds chirped, no bugs creaked; only the fabric of their clothing whispered in the breeze. That and his heart pounding in his ears.

  When a voice called down from the ramparts, Phinnegan started, but the two Faë held him fast by the arms.

  “State your business, Faë,” the voice rumbled from the top of the tower, spitting the final word as though it left a bad taste in the mouth.

  “Why, to drink and be extraordinarily merry, of course!” Periwinkle shouted back.

  “Sorry, we’re full,” the voice replied. Periwinkle shared a quick glance with Crimson. This was obviously not the response that they had expected. Periwinkle did his best to appear jubilant, calling back up with a laugh.

  “Full? How can a party be full? Surely I have come to the right place. Is this not the castle of Horace the Great, whose generosity and excellence as a host on this special day is renowned from here to the land of the pixies?”

  A silence followed, and then the short reply.

  “It is.”

  “Splendid!” Periwinkle cried, a broad smile upon his face. “Then surely you cannot turn away three jubilant Faë such as us, so ready for revelry?”

  Again, a silence. They exchanged looks, each of these three as puzzled as the others. Phinnegan, however, did relax, if only slightly. Perhaps he would not become a thief after all.

  But then the voice answered.

  “Enter.”

  No other words were spoken or heard by the three at the foot of the tower, but some orders seemingly passed amongst the guards, for now the massive wooden gates grated inward, their hinges moaning beneath the load.

  Once the gates were open only a few feet, sounds of celebration and gaiety flooded through. The doors were quite thick and had shielded the trio from these sounds as they stood outside. The laughter and voices that reached their ears now lifted even Phinnegan’s spirits. When the doors opened further, and he could get a good look at the courtyard of this immense castle, Phinnegan beheld a sight such as he had never seen.

  Hundreds, no thousands, of Faë danced jollily in pairs, in trios, in fours and fives, and onwards into groups too large to count. The variety and vibrancy of their colors assailed him. Never had he seen so many different shades of purples and greens, blues and reds. There a
n orange like a sunset, there another like a sunrise. Yellows from canary to gold and back again. Before his eyes, this rainbow of Faë bounced and hopped, leapt and spun, and everything in between.

  But even with this vision of splendor, something was quite amiss.

  There was no music.

  Not a note, not an air, not a waltz nor a jig. No sound other than the delighted voices of the Faë could be heard.

  “Why are they dancing?” Phinnegan asked, keeping his voice in as low of a whisper as possible, though it was doubtful that anyone could hear him over this din. “I don’t hear any music.”

  A wry smile spread across Periwinkle’s face.

  “That, mate,” he said, deftly snatching three small cordial glasses from a tray just to their right, “is because you have yet to imbibe.”

  Periwinkle handed one glass each to Phinnegan and Crimson, the latter greedily downing the contents in one gulp. Phinnegan was more skeptical. He eyed the caramel brown liquid warily. He brought the glass to his nose and inhaled.

  “Smells like grapes. Is it wine?”

  “From the host’s very own vineyards, I’d suspect,” Periwinkle answered. “But this isn’t like any wine in your world.”

  “What does it do?” No sooner than Phinnegan had asked the question, Crimson let out a raucous yelp and jumped into the nearest group of dancing Faë and disappeared into their numbers.

  “It just makes everything a little more…vibrant,” Periwinkle said, just before downing his own glass. He closed his eyes and sighed.

  “Just stay close, mate. The effects wear off after a time and you must keep drinking. But we don’t want to continue. We just need to blend in for a spell; then we’ll make our move. Be looking for me, mate. I’ll come for you when the time is right. Now blend in and be quiet.”

  The Faë has said all of this with his eyes closed, and now, having finished, he opened them and Phinnegan saw that Periwinkle’s light-purple irises had deepened in color while his pupil’s had dilated considerably. A broad grin split the Faë’s face and he leapt forward to latch onto a female Faë with bright yellow hair, who accepted him as though she had known him forever.