A Place Beyond The Map (8 page)
“It looks like some sort of blur; like it’s there, but then it isn’t. What is it?”
“It’s a gholem. They’re very rare; I’ve only seen one meself. And they are
very
dangerous. Chances are, most things you meet in or around Féradoon will be dangerous, but a gholem is particularly so. It can melt into the darkest shadows and you would never see it, especially with your human eyes.”
“What’s wrong with my eyes?” Phinnegan asked, glancing at the Faë.
“They just aren’t as used to spotting magical creatures as those of a Faë,” Periwinkle answered with a slight shrug. Sure enough, Phinnegan found it very difficult to keep track of the gholem that waited in the shadow of the far away column. Each time he blinked, he had to refocus on the blur. He thought it was important to keep this creature within his sight if it was as dangerous as Periwinkle said, and he had no reason to doubt that it was.
“What is it doing here? Is it the source of the voice?” Phinnegan gasped as he saw the blur emerge from the shadow of the column momentarily, only to step into the shadow of a second, closer column. Even at this distance, Phinnegan could see the grotesque nature of the gholem’s proportions.
“He’s only a guard, most likely; meant to keep us from making a break for it, not that we could make it out of here anyway. It’s just a bit of psychological games. And no, he is not the source of the voice, of that I am sure.”
“How can you be sure,” Phinnegan demanded in a whisper.
“That’s easy, mate. Gholems have no tongues, at least not in this form. Quite difficult to speak without a tongue, it is. Tried it, I have, and it was no fun at all. They’re more a grunting lot, really. I’ve heard that they can communicate amongst themselves, but I don’t really believe it.”
“So as long as we don’t run, he won’t harm us?”
“Probably not, although I wouldn’t turn my back on him if he gets much closer,” Periwinkle replied, his eyes locked on the gholem.
“And what did you mean about its form?”
“Well, they’re shape-shifters now aren’t they? Can look like our shadowy friend there, a rock, or maybe even someone you know. Quite spooky, really.”
“I see. Well if he is not the source of the voice, then where is it coming from? I don’t see anyone else,” Phinnegan mused, casting his eyes around the chamber.
“Don’t know, mate, but I reckon we will find out soon enough. And when we do, let me do all the talking, like. I’m in a spot of trouble here, but I can handle myself. I’m a bit of a troublemaker, as I’ve said. You just keep quiet. You never should have touched that stone.”
“I didn’t know I would end up here! I was trying to help you,” Phinnegan responded, a hint of anger in his voice.
“I warned you not to touch it, now didn’t I?”
“YOU SHOULD HAVE DONE MORE THAN WARN HIM, PERIWINKLE LARK!”
The voice roared, louder than before. The torches flared on each column with a hissing sound. The chamber now blazed with light. Phinnegan could see much further in each direction, just making out each wall of the chamber. The chamber was at least one-hundred meters long on each side, with large, sinuously curved columns positioned every ten meters or so.
“Oh, bloody hell,” the Faë swore. Phinnegan, who had been peering into the depths when the chamber brightened, started as he spun around and saw that a massive desk had appeared.
The desk was more a bench, like you might find in a grand courtroom. The top of the bench stood taller than a man and spread a full seven or eight meters from end to end. It was carved from a dark, rich wood and looked heavy. The wood was a dark, red-tinged brown.
Carvings of dense, leafy vines covered the front of the bench, like those that grow on the side of a building or a tree trunk. When Phinnegan looked more closely, he realized that the vines were not carved at all, but were indeed real vines. Even as he watched, they writhed and crept along the front of the desk, reaching towards each corner and wrapping around the edges before disappearing from his sight.
Phinnegan had been so absorbed in the magnificence of the bench in front of him that he had not even noticed the peculiar person sitting behind it. Phinnegan was certain that this man was some sort of judge. Though he did not look like the judges of England or Ireland - no white wig adorned the crown of his head - he did wear a black robe, which covered from his neck and down his torso out of sight behind the bench, as well as down the length of his arms, which were crossed in front of his chest.
His features also hinted at his position as an arbiter of the law. His eyes were tired and beady, set deep beneath a heavy brow. A large hooked nose and the thin lips set in a grim line of annoyance completed the picture. Phinnegan thought the judges always looked annoyed. He couldn’t blame them; what could be more boring than sitting day after day listening to people argue about the law? The man’s silvery-hair was long and thick and fell far past his shoulders, standing out quite starkly against the black of his robes.
Periwinkle cleared his throat and then spoke in a mocking tone.
“Well, well, fancy you being a judge. Where’s Vermillion? Sent you down here to do his dirty work for him, eh? The silver suits you, mate. You were always too boring to be a Cerulean anyway.”
Even though they stood a few meters away from the judge, Phinnegan could see the muscles of his jaw flex in consternation as Periwinkle spoke. Phinnegan wondered if this tired looking man was also a Faë. He assumed he must be, for he could not imagine that he was a human, like himself. His bright blue eyes, even though surrounded by wrinkled and sagging skin, burned wild and fierce. They held the same vibrancy of Periwinkle’s purple eyes.
“I see your insolence has yet to be checked,” the man responded, his bright eyes fixed upon Periwinkle. Phinnegan recognized that the voice was the same that had heralded his banishment to this other world.
“Insolent? Me?” A melodious laugh burst from Periwinkle’s lips, drawing further ire from the man behind the bench. He slammed his fist upon the dark wood of the bench.
“Silence!” he roared, his voice, echoing around the chamber many times as Phinnegan stood, rooted to the spot. The laugh died upon Periwinkle’s lips, and he stood still as a stone, hands clasped behind his back. But still he could not - or would not - control his tongue.
“I’ll be silent, but not until after I’ve said my piece. You owe me that much.”
The judge leaned back, and Phinnegan took this as a signal that he would listen to Periwinkle’s plea. Phinnegan was quite confused about what was transpiring before him, but he was certain that these two Faë knew each other. Beside him, he heard Periwinkle draw a deep breath.
“I should kill you where you sit, you know,” Periwinkle growled through gritted teeth.
The judge raised a silvery eyebrow.
“Now, that would not be a wise move, given the circumstances. I assume you have seen the gholem?” the judge said, motioning toward the blurry figure that floated nearby. But Phinnegan thought he detected something in his voice that betrayed understanding of Periwinkle’s sentiments.
“Of course I’ve seen the gholem. Do you take me for a fool? Even he has seen it,” Periwinkle said, jerking his thumb in Phinnegan’s direction. The judge flicked his gaze toward Phinnegan’s. His face darkened and his thin lips curled into a frown.
“Ah, yes. The
human
,” the judge spat with noticeable disdain. “We will deal with him soon enough. Now make haste boy, and speak your piece.”
Periwinkle again laughed at the stoic judge.
“Boy? Now
that
is a good one. You know my age,
Jay
: three-hundred and eleven, a good half-century older than your silvery, crusty old self.”
Phinnegan’s mouth fell open in shock. This purple-haired Faë, who moved with the grace of a cat and had the youthful face of a boy not yet twenty, was more than
three-hundred
years old? It was not possible. Yet the judge seemed to confirm this.
“Older you may be, but it has been
your
choice to remain in this preposterous form for all these years. You should have Changed decades ago. A Faë of your years still bearing the colors of youth? It’s an abomination!”
“Better an abomination than an Aged. You lot sicken me,” Periwinkle sneered, and his face contorted as if a heavy stench assaulted his nose.
“We must all become Aged, Periwinkle,” the man sighed, his voice cooled from its earlier heat. “You only do further damage to yourself by waiting this long. You pollute the minds of the Young with your rebellious deeds and speeches.”
“I’ve made my choice. Being an Aged is not for me, nor do I think it is something that any Faë should aspire to be.”
The judge smiled wolfishly, baring his yellowing teeth.
“Ah, but this choice will no longer be yours to make, not when Vermillion has assumed the throne. He shall make it law that
all
Faë must Change no later than the end of their second century.” The man’s smile broadened. “This is only the beginning, of course. He intends to mandate that any Faë over the age of ninety-nine who has not Changed will be imprisoned. Perhaps even put to death. His Majesty has not decided.”
Periwinkle’s face contorted with disgust.
“He would dare
force
a Faë to Change? And before his one-hundredth birthday? Has Vermillion gone mad?”
“Hardly,” the judge replied with a sly grin. “He is merely performing his duties to protect the Faë.” The smile faded as the judge raised a pale hand and pointed at Periwinkle.
“He is doing it to keep the peace. He is doing it to keep rebellious criminals like you from disrupting our way of life.”
“Peace? Open your eyes, man. Vermillion doesn’t want peace. He wants dominion! He wants control, not just over Faë like me but those like you as well. But he’s already got that, hasn’t he? Tell me,
Jay
, what price did you pay to gain that seat?”
Phinnegan noticed the judge shift in his seat.
“You know the price well,
Lark
,” the judge sneered. Something in Periwinkle’s question had struck home with the Faë who perched behind the bench.
“Aye, and it is a price I’ll never pay. I’d rather I were a Mud.”
The judge’s eyes widened so quickly that Phinnegan would not have been surprised in the slightest had they jumped forth from his face.
“You go too far! You will show this court proper respect,” he sneered. He stood, rapping his gavel three times upon the bench. A jury box materialized out of thin air to Phinnegan’s right, accompanied by a tall dark-haired Faë. Stepping forward, this Fae unfurled a scroll and began to read.
“The High Court of Féradoon is now in session. The Honorable Julius Jay now presiding.”
“You named yourself after a dead Caesar?” Periwinkle scoffed.
Although he had heard the expression, Phinnegan had never actually seen a man’s face turn purple with rage - until now.
“Enough!” The judge bellowed, rising to his full height and leaning forward over the edge of the bench.
“This court will suffer no more of your useless banter. You will answer for your crimes before the Jury of Fédaroon.”
Before he could comprehend what was happening, a hard wooden chair scraped across the floor, of its own volition. It slammed into the backs of Phinnegan’s knees, forcing him to sit. Thick metal chains swung up from beneath the chair and clamped around his wrists. Looking left, he saw that Periwinkle was now perched atop a small wooden platform, his hands likewise chained together in front of him, and his feet chained to a post that had arisen in the center of the platform.
With an air of satisfaction, the judge threw himself back into his chair.
“Proceed with the Reading of the charges.”