A Place Beyond The Map

by Samuel Thews

  “Take it.”

  Phinnegan grasped the bark-formed cup and tugged gently, but the cup did not move. Setting his feet against the ancient tree’s large roots he placed both hands around the cup and pulled hard. Nothing happened at first, but eventually the running sound of wood-splitting arced through the grove. And then the cup was free.

  “Fill it with water,” Cernon commanded.

  Phinnegan obeyed silently, crouching down to fill the cup with water from the horseshoe shaped stream. The water was quite cool as it slid across Phinnegan’s fingers. The cup full nearly to the rim, he arose and held the cup before him. When his fingers touched the water, they now tingled.

  “As you believe yourself wise enough to make the choice you desire,’ Cernon began, walking stiffly towards Phinnegan until he towered above, staring directly down at him, “then I shall allow it. But,” he paused again waving his slender fingers over the brimming cup, “I shall require something in return.”

  Phinnegan eyed the water in the cup, which had begun to swirl slowly in rhythm with the movement of Cernon’s fingers. The transparent liquid now began to thicken, its surface darkening until it resembled a mirror, swirling like oil against the sides of the cup.

  “What?” Phinnegan managed with a gulp, his eyes transfixed on the swirling liquid.

  “A debt.”

  “What sort of debt?” Phinnegan asked sharply, his eyes flicking to the fur-covered face of the tall half-man.

  “A personal debt. This Faë you seek to help, she is by all right’s mine. With your choice, you take her from me.” Cernon’s eyes flashed violently and he leaned over until his face was very near to Phinnegan’s.

  “It displeases me.”

  “How…how can I pay this…debt?”

  “That is to be determined. Not now,” Cernon said as Phinnegan opened his mouth to question the half-man. “Not now. But one day I will require you to pay this debt.”

  Phinnegan’s eyes fell away from the fierce green of Cernon’s and he stared down into the mirrored liquid in the cup. His own brown eyes stared back, full of the fear and confusion that he knew swam beneath them.

  “Do you accept?” Cernon prodded, the fingertips of each hand pressed together so that his hands formed a sort of pyramid. “Your time is dwindling. Soon, no matter what your choice, your efforts will be futile. Even now that which he seeks draws near-“

  “Stop it!” Phinnegan yelled, his chest heaving with quickened breath.

  Cernon straightened at the cry and stood now with one arm crossed over his chest and the other bent so that his chin rested in its hand.

  “So,” he said as his thin lips curled in a smile. “You realize the ignorance of your request? You yield your choice?”

  Phinnegan’s eyes glistened when he raised his head towards Cernon.

  “I choose her.”

  Cernon’s face twisted in anger and he quickly pointed a finger at the cup in Phinnegan’s hands.

  “Then you agree to assume this debt,” he yelled.

  “I do,” Phinnegan replied, his tone defiant.

  “Then drink,” Cernon commanded. “A shared cup of this grove’s water will bind you to this course. Drink.”

  Before his will could falter, Phinnegan lifted the cup to his lips, drinking deeply. The liquid was thick and syrupy, but harbored little taste. When he removed the cup from his lips and passed it into the waiting hands of Cernon, its contents were nearly half gone.

  “Hah,” the half-man barked as he tilted his head back to receive the remaining contents of the cup.

  When the liquid from the cup touched Cernon’s tongue, Phinnegan fell to his knees. Grunting in pain, he held both hands to his stomach.

  “What’s….happening?” he managed through clenched teeth.

  Cernon tossed the cup aside and chuckled quietly. He crouched down over Phinnegan, grabbing his right-hand harshly, turning the index finger towards him.

  “This,” he hissed, his eyes on the Mark on Phinnegan’s fingertip. “Marked you as special.” He paused, now placing a hand over Phinnegan’s stomach.

  “This Mark’s you as mine.”

  Phinnegan’s breath quickened as he threw the half-man’s hand from his belly. Pulling up his shirt, he gasped when he saw a second Mark forming on the center of his torso, just beneath the bottom of his sternum, arising between the two arms of his ribcage as they separated. He touched the Mark, but withdrew his hand quickly. The Mark seared like a burn and its lines rose above the surrounding flesh as though swollen and injured from a branding.

  “What…” Phinnegan began, but he was met with a melancholic laughter.

  “Go now, little one,” Cernon said as he backed away. “The bargain is struck. You have made a fool’s choice. Let it be known I tried to sway you from this path. Go, and test your might against that of the scarlet tyrant.”

  “But,” Phinnegan cried as he scrambled to his feet in a panic, his hand still clutching at his stomach. “What about Emerald? What about the spell to save her?”

  “It has been done,” Cernon’s voice came faintly from the distance, for the half-man had backed away until his form had become shrouded by the quickly thickening mist.

  “The power lies within you.”

  “Wait! How do I use it?” Phinnegan scrambled over the roots of the ancient tree, which were not hidden from his view in the mist.

  “How do I save her?”

  Only silence answered him.

  Phinnegan ran in the direction in which Cernon vanished.

  “Cernon! How do I get out? How do I get back to the Gate?”

  Again, silence greeted him. But just when despair threatened to overwhelm him, the half-man’s voice came to his ears as a whisper upon the breeze.

  “Silly boy, you still do not understand.”

  “What?” Phinnegan shouted into the invisible depths of the grove.

  “You never left.”

  “Wha-“ Phinnegan began, blinking away the mist. But at the second blink, he stopped.

  He stood, just as he had before, on the path at the entrance to Cernon’s labyrinth. Behind him stood the white stag; in front the Gate creaked awkwardly on its hinges, the eyes of Vermillion and the Aged glaring through the gap.

  CHAPTER 30

  ‘Escape’

  “Wha-“ Phinnegan began, blinking away the mist. But at the second blink, he stopped.

  How is this possible?

  Phinnegan stood where he had earlier, before his words inexplicably closed the Gate, before he released a magic he neither felt nor knew how to control. To his left, the white stag stamped impatiently at the ground before dipping its head and backing away into the darkness of the hedge.

  To his right, the Gate creaked awkwardly on its hinges, the eyes of Vermillion and the Aged glaring through the gap. Phinnegan wondered for a moment why Cernon had sent him back to this moment before the Gate, but then he remembered the half-man’s words.

  “You never left.”

  Had it all happened so fast? The journey through the labyrinthine hedge, the visions, Cernon in the Grove? Had it all been in his mind? He shook his head to rid it of these thoughts. Whatever had happened, he stood here now, with Vermillion forcing the Gate.

  Phinnegan thought of closing the Gate as he had before, but that was not an option now.

  He had to get to Emerald.

  “Wait!” he shouted as he ran towards the Gate and pushed himself through the gap. This seemed to surprise both Vermillion and the Aged for they all stopped their jostling and pushing at the Gate. But Vermillion’s eyes still burned hotly.

  “What devilry is this?” Vermillion said sharply, pushing the other Aged aside to stand before Phinnegan. “Why won’t the Gate open?!” he snarled. “And you-” he began, but Phinnegan cut him off.

  “There’s something wrong with the Gate. It won’t open. I went through to check but -”

  “Fah, wrong? How?”

  “I don’t know, it just seems-“ Phinnega
n whirled suddenly to face the Gate.

  “Close!” he yelled, just as he had before.

  And, just as before, the Gate slammed shut with a thunderous clang, knocking several Aged from their feet.

  “No!” Vermillion bellowed as he leapt toward the Gate. He grasped its bars through the thick vegetation. “Hurry, you wretched fools,” he screamed at the Aged standing beside him. “We must open it! Already we are losing time. The sun…” His voice trailed off as he caught sight of the sun’s morning-yellow glow ascending above the castle. Looking up, he saw the beam of light slip away from the golden square.

  “No,” he hissed. As the metallic sound of the Gate’s bronzed disc sliding back into its depths reached his ears, Vermillion’s voice became more frantic.

  “No, no, no!” he yelled, grasping at the disc as it retracted into the Gate. But his efforts were futile. Despite his grasping, the disc descended into the viney growth that encapsulated the Gate.

  Vermillion’s shoulders sagged as he stood before the Gate.

  “Gone,” he said hoarsely. “The planning, the investment. Everything was perfect. The boy…” he paused, his head snapping up.

  “The boy,” he repeated, his hoarse voice rising into a snarl.

  “What have you DONE!”

  Phinnegan turned to run, but he had nowhere to go. Perhaps a dozen Aged stood before him, forming a semi-circle to stop his retreat. Behind him, Vermillion’s voice uttered a string of unrecognizable words, his voice strong and guttural. Phinnegan felt himself collapse as pain lanced through him.

  “Father!” he heard Emerald cry, but then Phinnegan could make out nothing further. The pain that racked his body prevented him from focusing on the words being said around him.

  The pain coursed through him for what felt like an eternity, but then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the pain stopped. Phinnegan continued to breathe heavily. His body felt weak and unusable. He tried to roll over, for he was flat on his stomach, but his body would not cooperate. His skin crawled. Above him, he heard Vermillion shout several orders, only one of which he could make out.

  “Bring the rebels.”

  Phinnegan forgot these words as soon as he heard them, focusing all of his attention and strength on rolling onto his side. When he finally succeeded, he saw Emerald hurrying toward him. She crouched beside him, putting a hand on his chest when she saw that he continued to struggle toward a sitting position.

  “Rest now,” she said quietly. “You have done all you can. You stopped him from going into the Gate. But…”

  “But what,” Phinnegan mumbled. His body trembled slightly with the remembrance of the pain.

  “He has found another way,” she said, nodding her head off to the right. With her help, Phinnegan was able to push himself to his elbow. The scene he saw was one he had already seen.

  Though he could not hear their voices, Phinnegan knew the words spoken between Vermillion and the two captive Faë.

  “Emerald,” Phinnegan whispered. “I’ve seen this before.”

  “What? Seen what before?” she asked, never taking her eyes off the scene unfolding some several yards away.

  “In the hedge. I saw them, Vermillion, Periwinkle and Crimson. He takes the Great Stone from them. He’s going to Age them.”

  Phinnegan watched in horror as the scene continued to unfold before them. They were only moments away from Vermillion unleashing his power on Periwinkle.

  “Quickly!” Phinnegan said, summoning enough strength to push himself to his knees. “Can’t you do something?”

  Emerald turned her head to face him. Grey, flat eyes stared out at him.

  “No, there is nothing. He has too much power over me.”

  Phinnegan’s eyes widened at the words.

  “Emerald, I had almost forgotten. I can help you.”

  “Help me?” she said before laughing softly. “I appreciate the gesture, but I am beyond any means you have to help me.”

  Phinnegan looked to Vermillion and the two Faë. Time was nearly up.

  “Quickly,” he said. “You must stop him.”

  “Phinnegan, I am sorry, but I can’t-,” she began but stopped when Phinnegan grabbed her by the wrist.

  “I can help you,” he said firmly.

  The moment his hand touched hers, he felt the power within him, the spell that Cernon had placed there. Emerald felt it to, for her eyes widened and she locked them on his own.

  “Wha-”

  Emerald’s voice froze in her throat as the spell’s full force hit her. Phinnegan had no idea how he had released the spell. He had wanted to release it, but he could not force the magic out of him. Yet, somehow the spell knew on its own that its moment had come. It sprang forth from him, weakening him as it left. He no longer had the strength to hold himself up, falling back to the earth, but holding fast to Emerald’s wrist.

  Phinnegan watched her face as the transformation took place. He had felt her stiffen as soon as the spell had begun to release. And now he watched as her face twitched and her eyes slid rapidly between gray and green. When they stopped, their color lay somewhere between the two.

  “Phinnegan,” she said in a whisper. “How…”

  “Hurry,” he said hoarsely.

  With one last look to Phinnegan, she arose to her feet, her hands clenched into fists at her side. Beyond her Phinnegan could see Vermillion’s arm raise, the stone held high in his other hand.

  “STOP!”

  Emerald’s voice rang out across the garden and Phinnegan could just make out Vermillion’s head snapping in their direction as his raised arm fell.

  “Daughter, you meddle in events beyond your reach. Go. Now.” When she did not move, Vermillion pointed at her and raised his voice.

  “I said GO!”

  “You command me no longer, father,” she said.

  “Emerald!” Phinnegan heard a familiar voice cry. He struggled to incline his head and saw Periwinkle struggling against the force that bound him.

  “You bastard!” the purple-haired Faë spat at Vermillion. “What did you do to her?”

  With an angry snarl, Vermillion back-handed Periwinkle.

  “Shut up!”

  What happened next appeared to Phinnegan to happen in slow motion. He saw the scarlet-haired tyrant thrust an arm towards Emerald. From his finger-tips, Phinnegan could detect some sort of distortion. The air appeared to thicken and swarm upon itself, a translucent weave of air.

  Phinnegan did not know how he knew, but he recognized the disturbance to be magic.

  And this magic was moving away from Vermillion’s fingertips and directly towards Emerald, who stood just to the right of Phinnegan.

  He tried to scream out a warning, but like everyone else, he seemed to be moving in slow motion. Everyone that is, except for Emerald. Her movement appeared normal as she closed her eyes and brought her hands before her, the palms facing up.

  Phinnegan expected her to do something, to perform some sort of counter-magic, not that he knew what she could do. But she only stood, her eyes closed, appearing oblivious to the magical distortion that had now covered half the distance between the two.

  Again Phinnegan struggled to warn her, but though his mind raced, his body would not respond. He watched as the distortion moved closer and closer to her. Yet still, she did not move.

  The distortion passed between her hands, moving directly towards her chest. As if awakened, her eyes opened. When she spoke, her lips parted in a slight smile.

  “Éalaigh,” she breathed, her eyes fixated on her father.

  The air around them quivered and shook, and a familiar tug pulled at Phinnegan’s navel. He felt himself falling…falling…falling…

  And then it ended. There was no impact, no painful collision with the ground. Instead, the ground was soft and lush; the air filled with a sweet aroma.

  Weariness descended upon him like a storm cloud. He was so very tired. His mind slowed as he inhaled the sugary smell around him.

&n
bsp; So tired.

  Another deep breath.

  So weak.

  A third deep breath.

  Sleep…

  He heard them calling his name, but his mind had already begun to slip into itself. The voices were so far away, and he, so very tired.

  So very, very tired.

  Phinnegan’s eyes opened slowly, but then took only a few moments to adjust to the light around him, dim as it was. The only sound that reached his ears was the methodic ticking of a clock on the table beside the bed.

  “You’re awake,” a voice said softly to his left. Turning, he saw Emerald sitting in a small chair, her legs crossed and an open book in her lap. She smiled warmly at him as she unfurled herself from the chair and moved to his bedside.

  “How do you feel?”

  “Tired,” he answered truthfully. “What happened?”

  “You saved us all,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she placed a hand upon his brow. Leaning over, she kissed him delicately upon the cheek as she came to her knees beside his bed, her face now even with his.

  “You saved me.”

  Phinnegan grinned.

  “Then…it worked? The spell worked?”

  “Yes,” Emerald said. “I am not…normal. But whatever…“ she paused her smile faltering. “Whatever he did to me…it’s quiet. It’s still there, looking out at me. But it’s quiet.”

  “You’ll be all right then?” Phinnegan asked.

  “Yes, I will,” she said, taking his hand and squeezing it firmly. “I will.”

  “But…what happened?”

  “We escaped. I brought us to a place where neither my father nor any of his people could follow. You’ve been here before, if I recall.”

  Phinnegan’s mind traced back to some of the earliest hours after his arrival in this world. He recalled the escape from Féradoon and their flight through Darkwater Forest, and from the Faolchú.

  “Then we are in Crimson’s house. Where is he?”

  “Yes,” she said, her face growing dark. “I didn’t want to bring you here, not after what they did to you. But you were weak, and the flowers had put you to sleep very quickly. In the end, I decided I had little choice.”