A Place Beyond The Map (35 page)

He sat down, his back against the nearest tree and devoured one apple after another. By the time he had finished his fifth, he was losing his taste for them. He tossed the cores one at a time into the creek, aiming for a large rock about fifteen paces from where he sat. Only once did he hear the thunk of his core striking the rock, the other four times hearing a splash.

The moon was just beginning to eclipse the top of the trees and now bathed the little clearing in a soft, white light. A rodent of some kind scurried along the opposite bank of the creek.

Phinnegan yawned, suddenly very sleepy from the combination of running through the woods and now a pleasantly full stomach. The ground beneath the tree, at least the area not covered by apples, was soft and comfortable, blanketed by a layer of lush, damp moss. A perfect spot to bed down for the night.

Making a pillow from old leaves and fallen apples, Phinnegan stretched out beneath the aged apple trees, the moon, and the stars.

Within a mere few minutes, he was fast asleep.

Phinnegan awakened with a start to the acrid smell of smoke, and the orange-red brightness of a small campfire. Just on the other side, gazing at him through the tips of the flames, were two intense green eyes in a pale face. The face was immediately recognizable. It was that of the Faë with whom he had danced at Castle Heronhawk. He pushed himself to his elbow and met her gaze.

“You are quite brave,” she said, a smirk just touching the corner of her lips.

“I’m sorry?” Phinnegan questioned.

“The gholem. You must be quite brave to sleep as soundly as you do, out here alone, in the dead of night.” The smirk broadened into small smile. “Quite brave indeed. Or quite foolish.”

“I…I was tired,” Phinnegan mumbled.

“Of course you were. And quite full of apples too, I would wager. Come,” she said, grabbing a small bowl and gesturing with it in his direction. “I’ve made a stew.”

“You made that while I slept?”

The Faë smirked.

“I told you that you slept soundly.”

“How did you find me?” Phinnegan asked. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the Faë was somehow different from when the first time they had met.

“Does it matter?” she said, her voice sweet and comforting. “Come, it will warm you up.”

No sooner had she mentioned that the stew would warm him up than a chill was apparent on the breeze, a chill that had not been there before, at least Phinnegan did not think it had. He rubbed his arms reflexively. The stew did smell delicious, and a handful of apples were hardly a fitting dinner.

He pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the Faë, taking the bowl she offered as well as sitting on the small log to which she gestured.

“Thank you,” he said, before bringing a spoonful of the still steaming stew to his lips. The flavor was rich and the stew was hearty. The apples had satiated him less than he had imagined, and he devoured the stew within minutes. When he sat the bowl down, he saw that the Faë was smiling at him.

“Feel better?” she asked.

“Much,” he replied with a small smile. Just as she had in the courtyard at Heronhawk, her presence cheered and calmed him. “Thank you, again. It was delicious.”

“You are most welcome…you know, you never told me your name. Awfully rude for a dancing partner not to share a name, you know.”

“Sorry. I am called Phinnegan. Phinnegan Qwyk.”

“Very nice to meet you,” she said with a light, airy laugh. “Or meet you again, I guess it is. I’m Emerald, by the way, in case you have forgotten.

“Yes,” Phinnegan said, his cheeks blushing slightly. “I remember. You are hard to forget.”

“Very sweet,” she said, rising from her own log and moving to sit beside Phinnegan on his own log. “I remember you as well, very clearly.”

Phinnegan was suddenly aware that his hands were quite moist, and he wiped them hurriedly on his trousers. He was glad that he did, for within a moment, she had taken his hand in her own.

“Where is your friend?

“Who?”

“You know, the flashy, purple-haired one.”

“Oh, him,” Phinnegan said, his shoulders sagging slightly. “He’s gone.”

“Ah,” she said quietly, her hand squeezing his gently. “That’s just as well.”

Phinnegan turned to face her, but saw that she was not looking at him. At least not his eyes. Instead, she studied his hand closely, a quizzical tilt to her head. Phinnegan suddenly felt uneasy. How
had
she found him?

“Thank you, again,” Phinnegan said, “for the stew. But I still don’t understand how you possibly could have found me.

The Faë only smiled and scooted closer to him on the log.

“Are you afraid of the gholem?” she asked, her gaze remaining on his finger.

“Of course,” Phinnegan said sharply. “It’s a gholem.”

“To fear something because it is that which it is seems silly to me,” she said with a shrug.

“Well,” Phinnegan began, his voice defiant. “It wants to take me back to Féradoon.
That
is a good reason to fear it.”

“Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” Phinnegan said, eyes wide. “Do you know what that place is like?”

“Oh yes. But do you?”

“They lock you in dungeons so dark you cannot see your own hand!” Phinnegan snapped. “And they put you on trial only to declare you guilty and sentence you to torture and death!”

The Faë wrinkled her brow.

“Perhaps. Who told you these things?”

“Well, it…” Phinnegan began, but he trailed off. He had been warned of Féradoon, certainly, but the visions of death and torture had been just that, visions, brought on by the poisonous gas Crimson had released to free them from the Faolchú.

“Well…they threatened to force Periwinkle to Age!”

She shrugged.

“Perhaps. But you are not a Faë.”

“No…but…but,” Phinnegan sputtered. “But Vermillion!”

“What about him?”

“He’s evil!”

“Yes, but would you live your life always running from evil?” Emerald gazed steadily into his eyes and he shifted uncomfortably. “Did it hurt when the Warber fused with your skin?” she asked, nodding to his hand which bore the Mark.

Phinnegan felt the hair on his arms rise as a shiver ran up his spine.

“How do you know about the Warber?”

“Simple,” she said. “Because I was the one that gave it to you.”

“What are you – “ Phinnegan began, but stopped.

When she kissed me…she touched me on the chest, just there. Right above my pocket. The pocket where Mariella saw the Warber when I fell.

“You…you gave it to me?” Phinnegan whispered. “Why? I don’t understand.”

“Because,” she said, leaning closer to him. “You needed it.”

“Needed it?” Phinnegan exclaimed. “How could you know I would need it?” He pushed himself from the log and backed away from the Faë toward the apple trees.

“Who are you? How did you find me?”

“Phinnegan,” she said, her voice caressing his name as she spoke it. “It’s me, Emerald. I am a friend.”

“Are you? If you are a friend, how did you find me?”

“I followed you,” she said, rising from the log and following him towards the apple trees.

“Followed? From where? Heronhawk? How could you have followed me from there?
I
don’t even know how I came to be here from that place.”

“I have followed you for much longer than that. Ever since you came into this world I have followed you, helping you, though you do not see it.”

“Helping me? Helping me with what?”

“You will see,” she cooed, drawing nearer to him, stopping a mere foot or two in front of where he now stood, his back against the tree. “You will understand more than you ever imagined, in time.” She stepped closer, her face inches from his.

“You are a very special person, Phinnegan Qwyk.”

The sound of her voice speaking his name in that soft tone made his knees quiver.

She is so very pretty. But…

Phinnegan shook his head, trying to clear away her effect upon him.

“You say you are helping me, yet you question me about Féradoon? Why?”

“Because I would have you go there.”

“What?” Phinnegan asked in alarm. “I won’t!”

She pulled back from him, her brow furrowed.

“Did the Guide not tell you as much?” she snapped, her eyes flashing.

“How do you know what he told me?” Phinnegan asked, his wariness of the Faë increasing. “And why should I trust either of you?”

“I do not know what he told you, but I can only assume that he did. His role is to guide. It is to Féradoon that you must go, therefore he must have told you this. I have come to ask you to go.” She approached him again. “Trust me.”

“Why? I hardly know you.” He said, his shoulders sagging. “I cannot go back.”

“Yes, you can,” she said, creeping close to him again so that her face was inches from his own.

“Close your eyes,” she commanded softly.

“Why?”

“Just do it,” she said, her tone firm but soothing. “I will not hurt you.” She placed her hand on his cheek. Phinnegan shifted slightly beneath her touch, but he obeyed. Her fingers were warm and they caressed his cheek tenderly.

“Good,” she said. “Very good.”

The chill that had appeared so suddenly before now began to deepen, and a rising breeze ruffled Phinnegan’s hair and lifted his shirt-tails. But her hand remained warm and his cheek relaxed against it.

“Relax. Let your mind wander.”

“But,” he protested.

“Shhh,” she murmured, her breath hot against his ear. “Do you miss your family, Phinnegan Qwyk?”

“Y…yes,” he muttered, caught off-guard by the question.

“I can take you to them.”

“You can,” he said, his back straightening and his eyelids threatening to open.

“Keep your eyes closed,” she said quietly but with firmness. “And yes, I can.” As she spoke, the breeze continued to rise, becoming a light wind. Phinnegan shivered.

“Will you let me take you? Take you home?”

Back to my family…

“Yes,” he mumbled.

Back home…

“Good,” she said, and Phinnegan felt her breath moist and warm upon his lips. When her other hand came to rest upon his other cheek, he welcomed the warmth, for the wind continued to grow around him and he was becoming quite cold.

“Come with me,” she murmured, her lips now lightly touching his.

And then she kissed him.