by H C Storrer
“Yes,” Tristan replied.
Jack chewed his bottom lip in silence. He had tried to pry from Tristan’s lips more about this power of Pan. The idea of a shadow did not completely explain it. He had seen the dark form and had felt it’s physical power. Like so much on this island of nothing, the shadow was real and yet elusive at once. “When? Do I have any time to prepare?” Jack finally asked.
“No,” Tristan sighed. “I argued that you should be given training, but Fering and a few others insisted that you had spent long enough on the island. They convinced the rest of the council to demand you prove you are the chosen one before the sun sets. He speaks almost like that Roman. Peter,” Tristan’s shoulders dropped with worry, “I—”
“Don’t you mind.” Jack reached out and gripped his fairy friend by the arm. “It will be okay.” He noticed his friend’s worry, and he could tell there was something Tristan was holding back, but it didn’t seem like it was going to make much difference even if he knew.
“If you hadn’t already been in the chamber, maybe I could have…”
“Hey.” Jack smiled. “You did your best. Besides, it’s not as if I’m going to die.”
Tristan wanted to explain more but stopped himself. It would do no good to worry Peter about Ferings’ plans. Turning on his heels, he pulled Peter by the shoulder. “Come. I can tell you all I can as we walk to the tomb.”
***
“You did it!” Tristan was jubilant as Peter shot from the hole like a cannon ball, high into the blue sky above.
“Ahhhhh!” Peter’s scream pierced the canopy of trees as he reached the apex of his climb and then began to fall, arms and legs flailing with fear. Realizing the danger as Peter hurtled closer to the ground, Tristan leapt to his larger size, colliding with his friend in a rolling heap just before he struck the ground.
“Are you okay?” Jack coughed, gripping his chest in pain.
“I… Well.” Tristan gained his knees, a bit sore. His face was awash with disappointment. “You didn’t get the shadow, did you.”
“Oh, he failed all right, but what do you expect from a human.” Peter and Tristan both jerked around to the sneering voice.
“What are you doing here, Pistil?” Tristan’s aura pulsed. “You don’t belong.”
“Tsk, tsk. Mind your manners, guardian. I’m here because the council sent me to verify what we all knew would happen.” A cruel smile tugged up the corner of his lips. “By the way, have you seen your little Tinkling friend around? Some of us are concerned for her wellbeing. No? Ah well, it’s only a matter of time.” Turning to Peter he added, “I would prepare for your departure, Son of Pan. Never isn’t for everyone.”
Enraged, Tristan disappeared in a burst of sparks. Before Jack could follow the movement, Tristan had Pistil’s head forced against the rough bark of a tree, the edge of his golden sword against his neck. “You better go back to whatever hole Fering hid you in, Pistil, because the next time we meet I will personally see that your wings are clipped, council business or not.”
“You dare to threaten me!” Pistil shoved Tristan back, drew a dagger. and charged. Tristan sidestepped the attack, grabbed Pistil’s extended wrist, and twisted the knife from his hand while catching the little fairy in the nose with his forearm. Picking himself up, Pistil threatened, “You’ll pay for that, guardian! I’m a council guard!” Again, he lunged, his hands extended towards Tristan’s throat. Like lightning, Tristan’s sword slashed him across his cheek.
“I. AM. The. Guardian.” Tristan brandished his blade at the cowering fairy who tried to hold back the silver fluid oozing from between his fingers. “I have every right to do this and more when Pan is threatened. You tell that to Fering and any other oath breaker. This is my birthright!”
“Your days are numbered.” Seething venom, Pistil launched in the air and darted away.
Tristan watched him go then, turned to see Peter staring at the grotto opening.
“Peter,” Tristan sighed.
“Let me down again. I think if…” Jack stepped towards the tomb.
“You can’t.” Tristan landed in front of him, and for the first time Jack saw sadness in his eyes.
“Don’t worry about me. The shadow is strong, but…”
“It’s not that. You can’t go back without permission. I don’t know how many council members are true to their post, and we cannot afford to offend them now. Tears started welling in Tristan’s eyes before he wiped them away, the wet burning a hole instantly in his sleeve. “You should have been better prepared for the trials.”
“This can’t be it,” Jack argued.
“If only I could have trained you,” Tristan lamented.
“Trained me for what? I mean… how do you catch a shadow, it’s like trying to catch a moonbeam, or the wind!” Jack pressed his case.
Tristan lowered his face, downcast and gripped Peter by the shoulder saying nothing as he led him from the clearing.
***
Jack sat on the shore of the beach, the waves lapping up at him. He hadn’t slept a wink all night and as he faced the sunrise his heart started missing a beat now and again. He wasn’t sure what banishment was supposed to mean, but he knew if they just tossed him into the surf, he wouldn’t survive more than a day.
“What are you thinking about?” Tristan hovered beside him at fairy size.
“I see no alternative to banishment” Jack sighed.
Tristan remained silent, his mind caught in a maze of thought.
“So, are you here to throw me off the island? You’re my executioner?” Jack scoffed to hide his worry when Tristan didn’t respond.
“No… no…” Tristan grew in a flash, “I was just thinking… well… never mind.” Sitting next to his friend, Tristan stretched his legs in the warming sand and stared into the blue sky, lost in thought. “Immediate banishment is not measured with a big clock counting seconds of days, Peter,” Tristan broke the silence. “Remember, there is no time, only night and day. Even Fering can’t change that.”
“Fering hasn’t cared too much about that up to this point. What’s to stop him from having me chucked into the sea today?” Jack laughed without humor.
Tristan chose his words carefully at first. “Fering and his band have been too hasty. There are whispers that some in the council are beginning to suspect something is amiss. He is smart. I think he will let things calm for a spell.” Chewing his lip, he couldn’t hold back the flood under Peter’s inquisitive gaze and continued, “It was Fering that tried to kill you, Peter. That night when Tink… when they almost killed me. I heard Fering speak with the great chief. They want you dead. They want no guardian so that Fering can rule the island. He wants to end Pan.”
“I knew there was a reason he was the one who insisted I take the shadow yesterday, before sunset. He knew I would fail. That’s why I need to be sent to face the shadow again,” Jack mused—he wasn’t beat yet.
Tristan shook his head. “The council would never allow it… unless…”
“Unless we get that dust and prove Fering’s treachery.” Instantly, Jack’s commitment fortified. Tink’s problems were not his but knowing the dust would give him a chance to save his neck steeled his involvement in this mystery.
Tristan exhaled. “It is hopeless. He is paying the chief with fairy dust, but I don’t know how much Rata was given. Tink and Tigerlily have been searching the village with no luck. He has used it all up, or he’s hidden it so well it cannot be found.”
“Are you sure you have looked everywhere?” Jack asked.
“Peter,” Tristan sighed, perturbed.
Jack wouldn’t let it go, his eyes boring into his friend.
“Yes, everywhere,” Tristan replied. “I have searched every stitch of this island. It must be in the village. Rata would not risk losing something so precious. But Hukupapa says the village is empty.”
“Why would the wild men want fairy dust?” Jack thought the exchange odd.
“The dust
is nearly all but forbidden now. There are many colors, but the most common, gold, is what is given to the members of the council.” Tristan retrieved a small satchel from his waist. Sliding open the ties, he let a teaspoon’s worth dance between his fingers as he undulated the green leather. “As guardian, I have been given just this to use in an emergency. As Fairies we can use it to lift even the heaviest boulder or to control objects about us.”
Almost without him knowing it, Jack reached out a finger, the dust lighting his eyes with its radiant fire.
Tristan instantly recoiled, sliding shut his satchel. “It is forbidden to give man this power.”
Blinking away the trance of the dust, Jack cleared his throat. “And why is that?”
“I have not studied the lore of the dust as I should have, but I do have a bit more knowledge than the average fairy. It is said that it gives the man dusted in it the powers of a fairy. It would make him strong, fast, and able to fly. Why he could even—” Tristan stopped himself short.
“He could even what?” Jack wouldn’t let it die that easily.
“Fairies have more power. It would give that man power like a fairy.” Tristan pushed out the words with his hands as if that was all he was going to say on the subject.
Suddenly, Jack understood. His mind was caught between images of the beast, Moremore, and the dark cave of shadow. His interest in the dust was abruptly more than academic. “Are you sure they looked everywhere in the village?”
“Yes.” Tristan stood with him, “Why?”
“I don’t know; I doubt Rata would leave something that priceless just lying about. Wait, are Tigerlily and Belle hiding in the village… living there?”
“Yes, it is the safest place.” Tristan furrowed his brow.
“And Rata and Fering still communicating?”
“I suspect so. Why?”
“Then the village is no safer for Tink than the council tree. Don’t you see, you heard Pistil’s threat. He would have told Fering when I failed, and he would tell Rata. Worst of all, if she has been with Tigerlily, then the traitors will mark her as well. Men are treacherous, Tristan. They will seek blood and revenge.” Jack started for the mangroves.
“By the Pan! She’s been hiding in a trap!”
“We don’t have much time,” Jack barked.
For once, Tristan understood the urgency. “Where are you going? Do you not remember what happened last time the wild men caught you?”
Jack blanched as he stopped short, then shook his head. “Our help may mean life and death to our friend, Tristan! We will give no quarter.” Recovering his vigor, he pressed onward, keeping a steady pace through the underbrush as Tristan darted ahead, his glow throbbing with worry.
Chapter 29
“W hat’s your plan?” Tristan whispered behind Peter’s ear as they stood within the jungle on the edge of wild men’s village.
“Keep quiet!” Jack hushed as he continued to watch the villagers bustle through their daily tasks. “And keep out of sight. Your glow will give away our position.”
Tristan sank to the ground, the war within himself at a fever pitch. He desperately wanted to help Tink. Peter was right—they had to get her away from the village. But if they were caught in the wild men’s village it could even mean war with the fairy folk.
“I’m going to find Tink and the dust,” Jack whispered a moment later, finally answering Tristan’s question.
“Peter, you don’t fight well and have no sword to defend yourself. How are you going to take anything?” Tristan blurted with fairy honesty.
“We all have our talents. Trust me, there’s one thing I’m good at.” Jack turned to Tristan, looking him in the eye. “A whale is a whale, whether in a great city or a jungle.”
“But these are men, not whales.” Tristan stared at his friend with a concerned look, worried that his mind wasn’t right.
“Just the same,” Jack shrugged and looked back towards the village, “they need harpoon’n.”
With that, Jack slipped back into the jungle foliage quietly and set about weaving leaves and grass, binding them together with thin vines. Thieving was thieving. He had not been on the island long enough to forget Nathan’s first lesson. ‘People will see what they wants to see’ the brute’s voice came unbidden to his mind. Clenching his molars together, Jack continued with his work, forcing the flood of bitter memories back.
“This is… is not…” Tristan stammered, breaking the silence like a parrot.
After Tristan’s fourth or fifth attempt at voicing his thoughts, Jack had had enough. “Make yourself useful and keep an eye out,” he offered as a way for the fairy to channel his pent-up energy. Nodding, Tristan zipped away nervously, returning only when he was sure it was safe, then darting back to the edge of the jungle, repeating the cycle over and over. It was well past midday when Jack finally stood from the vegetation.
“There. It’s no fine suit, but when in Rome,” Jack cocked his head with a slight grin.
“That’s it?” Tristan was unimpressed. His eyes focused heavenward at the ominous black clouds on the horizon. “I still don’t know why you didn’t use the magic of Pan.”
Jack remained silent, hidden among the bundle as he slithered into the cloak of leaves.
“I can see where you are. You’re going to need a better disguise.” Tristan hopped from his branch and was the size of a man before he hit the ground, his long legs kicking at the leaves. In a spray of green, they fluttered all about the ground; Jack was gone. “Peter?” Tristan spun on his heels. “Peter?” Turning in circles, he started for the tree line. Thunder echoed across the jungle, the black clouds encroaching on the sun as raindrops pitter-pattered about him. Ignoring the moisture, he strained his eyes upon the tall grass leading up to the fires of the village. There was nothing. “Where could he be?” Tristan whispered. His eyes squinting, he caught just a glimmer of a bush take to its feet, dart closer to a hut, and then disappear. His jaw agape, Tristan repented of his doubt.
The muscles of Jack’s legs burned as he remained perfectly still before the village, water slowly rolling down his nose, the only bit of his face that protruded just beyond his suit of weeds. Timing the movement of the villagers as they milled about in the warm tropical downpour, he crept forward, trying to gather a sense of where a prisoner would be under guard.
By early evening, Jack had worked his way far into the village, a silent bush among the tall grass. Completely still in the dark, he began to take notice of how they lived, information he was unable garner do to the circumstances of his previous encounter. Most conspicuous was the lack of children, there was not one to be seen. Beyond that, they were not particularly difficult to understand, simply odd. Each villager seemed to be filled with vitality, the eldest looking as active and engaged in their daily tasks as the younger. The contrast in their behavior was vastly different to the fairies, Tristan in particular. They were men; Jack understood them in all of their conniving and plotting ways. Tristan hardly even contemplated the true danger little Belle and Tigerlily faced. Jack got the impression that even now the guardian didn’t fully understand. He was friendly and kind, more so than most humans Jack had ever met. However, Jack could tell there were things the sly little imp was refusing to say, and Jack was starting to realize there was a difference between being friendly and being one’s friend; he wasn’t entirely sure where Tristan fell in the scheme of things.
Still mid thought, a nagging impression he had ignored for the better part of the day built behind his ears, tugging at him like a constant dribble of water upon the soft flesh of his cheek. At first it was imperceptible, then with time became a nuisance, and now completely consumed him like the tug of a strong current. Without perceiving how, he noticed his surroundings had changed—as if his body had decided to move while his mind mused upon the great philosophies of Nisí Poté. The musty wet of rain and constant drizzle in the dark had remained. However, he was outside of the village, the crawling smoke of evening fires bur
ning in the distance. Before him sat a great hut, one he had not noticed before, perched on a large outcropping of stone that overlooked the great sea beyond. The intricately carved wooden staves at its entrance signified the building’s importance. The three very large guards left no doubt.
Taking a moment to gather his wits, Jack found that nagging feeling once more tugging him to act. It took considerable strength of will not to move rashly. He knew he need enter the dwelling, but he was not entirely sure on how to do it without getting killed in the process. Like a shining bolt of realization, the truth pierced his senses. It was the dust that called to him; Jack couldn’t explain how he knew, he just did. He didn’t like to contemplate the power, or magic, or whatever it was, of the island. However, it was undeniable. The power of it beckoned him like water to a dry throat. If there was an ounce of fairy dust in the village, it was going to be within that structure.
“What are you doing?” Tristan was at Jack’s ear, his voice high like a gnat, his glow gone but for a faint shine from his skin.
Jack shook his head in warning and motioned to the nearest guard, whose heavy breathing was audible over the rain.
“I found Tink. What are you doing here?” Tristan pulled at Jack’s shirt, “C’mon.”
“Then go and save her,” Jack said without moving his lips as he swiped at his ear. The call of the dust was all-consuming, driving any thought of the women from his mind.
Tristan poked his head out of the grass suit, then dipped back down. “I don’t understand, you said we were here to save Tink.”
“You are just as capable as I am,” Jack mused, his eyes distant.
Tristan hovered with a scowl, investigating the longing within Jack’s eyes. “It’s the dust. You can feel it. Of course—”
“Of course, what?” Jack was growing perturbed.
“It’s the island’s magic. It connects you to the dust. You are becoming the guardian.” Tristan grew giddy. “You’re going to get the pixie dust. Aren’t you?”