A Place Beyond The Map (5 page)

It had been four days since the ivy-green clad Periwinkle Lark had broken into the Qwyk home, and Phinnegan began to wonder if he would ever see the little person again, or if he even wanted to. He had taken a mysterious glimpse into another world, one filled with magic and creatures of legend.

The Faë’s short visit had left so many questions unanswered. Who was this Vermillion who Periwinkle seemed to revile? And what was wrong in his world that it was now so dangerous? Phinnegan wondered if it would be possible to travel to this world himself. His heart skipped a beat with the thought, yet he knew that such a thing was improbable. He doubted he would ever see the Faë again.

Shaking his head to clear these thoughts from his mind, he sat down with his back against the base of a wych elm, its once smooth grey bark now brown and cracked. In his hands he still held his brother’s tattered copy of ‘Gulliver’s Travels’.

Phinnegan closed his eyes and let the book fall open, then began to read. He had not been reading long when he felt a tickle upon his left ear. He swatted at the insect he assumed caused the tickle and continued to read. Again he felt the tickle, and again he swatted, turning his head and looking for the little winged perpetrator, yet he saw nothing.

The third disturbance was more than a tickle. It was a voice.

“Sorry about all that punishment business, mate. Fancy a smoke?”

Phinnegan jumped up from his spot beneath the tree, his book flying from his lap. He whirled around to see Periwinkle Lark leaning against the trunk of the wych elm, his arms crossed over his chest.

His clothes were different than before, but they were still outlandish. His shirt was a metallic silver, and his trousers were black, once again snugly fit and made of velvet-like fabric. He wore high black boots up to his knee, the bottoms of his trousers tucked into them. A light purple cloak, the color of the Faë’s hair, draped across his shoulders. On his head, a black tricorn hat hid much of his strangely colored hair, which hung long, down past his shoulders. And, as a final touch, Periwinkle’s lips clenched Mr. Qwyk’s pipe.

Phinnegan scowled at Periwinkle and before he knew what he was doing, lunged forward.

“Give that back!”

The Faë, far more agile than a twelve year old boy, dodged the lunge and laughed.

“Is that the best you can do? It will take a wee bit more than that if you want to catch me.”

Again Phinnegan watched with dismay as Periwinkle vanished. He spun around, looking frantically for any sign of the elusive Faë.

A tap on his shoulder startled him, and he turned around to see the grinning face of Periwinkle.

“I’m only having a joke. Here, take it. I’ve got plenty anyway.”

Phinnegan snatched the offered pipe from Periwinkle’s outstretched hand. He inspected it for any damage before tucking it into a front pocket of his trousers.

“There now, see? You have your father’s pipe back and you can run home to give it to him. No harm done.”

Phinnegan shook his head.

“How can I give it back to him when I have told him a dozen times that it wasn’t me that took it?”

The Faë smirked.

“Ah, that is a sharp little mind you have there, mate,” remarked Periwinkle, his voice lilting. “Very sharp. Well, I suppose you can be giving it back to me then, eh? Seeing as how you can’t be restoring it to its rightful owner and all, can’t waste a good pipe now can we?”

The Faë held out his hand, waving the fingers and gesturing for Phinnegan to return the pipe. Phinnegan took a step back.

“I think I will keep it, thank you very much.”

“Suit yourself then,” the Faë said with a shrug.  He walked over to the wych elm where Phinnegan had been reading only minutes earlier and plopped down with a huff. He removed his hat and sat it on the bare ground beside him. Turning around, he rapped his knuckles on the trunk of the tree.

“So, what’s your story, eh?”

Phinnegan opened his mouth to answer, but the Faë rapped harder on the elm’s trunk.

“Hallooo, anyone in there?” the Faë called, leaning closer to the tree.

Phinnegan furrowed his brow, seeing that the Faë was talking to the tree and not to him.

“What are you doing?”

“Well, I was trying to be cordial to our friend here, seeing as I’ll be planting me bum on his roots, but he’s not being very friendly.”

Phinnegan eyed the Faë warily and took a step towards him.

“Why would it be friendly? It’s a tree.”

Periwinkle turned toward him, his head cocked sideways, a question upon his face. Then his mouth cracked with a broad grin and he laughed, slapping his thigh with an open hand.

“Pah! I always forget your trees can’t talk. Sorry, mate.” Periwinkle patted the tree, while Phinnegan looked on, wide-eyed.

“And yours can?”

Periwinkle shrugged and flashed a smile up at young Phinnegan.

“Of course they can, mate. As long as you’re friendly and respectful-like. Awfully good stories they can tell. Seen a lot, they have.” The Faë reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a short black strand of some kind. Biting the end and pulling, he tore a piece off into his mouth. Phinnegan felt his stomach rumble at the site of what looked like a piece of black licorice. He had not eaten in several hours. Periwinkle saw the look on Phinnegan’s face and offered the black strand to him.

“Here you go, mate, have a bite. Quite satisfying, it is.”

Phinnegan took the licorice-like substance cautiously and sniffed it. His nose wrinkled and he moved the strand away from his face. Definitely not licorice.

“What is it? Is it candy?”

The Faë only shrugged.

“You ask too many questions, mate. Just take a bite. You’ve got to learn somehow.”

With more than a hint of reservation, Phinnegan bit into the tough black strand and tore off a piece. As he chewed, the tough black piece became gummy and stuck to his teeth. The taste was not foul, but neither was it very good. He tried to spit it out, but it was stuck to his teeth. He could only chew and swallow every now and then, gradually working the tacky candy from his mouth. The Faë laughed as he reclaimed his snack.

“Not quite to your liking, eh?”

Phinnegan could only shake his head, for his mouth was still quite engaged in chewing. As the Faë tore off another piece and gulped it down, Phinnegan realized that he did not chew - he only swallowed.

“I forgot to tell you that you aren’t supposed to chew it, like. Just bite and swallow. Gets quite messy, it does.” He bit off another piece and swallowed. “It’s called sticky root.”

Phinnegan tried to open his mouth, but the more he chewed the tougher and more glue-like it became. The Faë saw his struggles and offered another piece of advice.

“It’s a lot like…oh what do you call it?” He thought for a moment, a finger on his dimpled chin. “Oh yes, quicksand! The more you struggle, the faster it pulls you under. Just stop chewing. It will settle down and then just swallow it. You’ll be careful with the next bite.”

Phinnegan glared at the Faë, but followed his advice and stopped his ferocious chewing. Periwinkle sat in silence, eyes twinkling as he finished off the remainder of the sticky root and watched Phinnegan’s jaw begin to slacken. Finally he swallowed noisily, twice, and then opened and closed his mouth a few times, working the muscles.

“You could have warned me.”

Periwinkle only laughed, brushing his hands on his trousers as he stood.

“Warn you? On the contrary, mate, no warning was needed as I was giving you a bit of a lesson. Be wary of a Faë bearing gifts. We’re no Pixies but we are the tricksters now and then.”

As the Faë stood smiling in front of Phinnegan, he wondered just how this Faë had stumbled upon him so far from his home, and on the edge of the forest.

“Just what are you doing out here anyway? Are you following me?”

Periwinkle withdrew, his hand on his chest and a pained look across his face.

“Following you? You suggest that I have some ulterior motive and wish you harm?”

“No, I didn’t mean that. It’s just what with the pipe and now this mucky root thing-“

“Sticky root,” the Faë corrected.

“Aye, sticky root. What with that and all, well, it just seems like you may be up to no good. You did after all say you Faë are a tricky lot.”

 “So I did!” the Faë exclaimed. His eyes appraising Phinnegan, a knowing smile spread across his lips.

“I may have spotted you now and then these past few days. Perhaps I even spied you earlier, with your brother. A veritable Scheherazade, you were.”

Phinnegan’s cheeks colored at the comparison, but a small smile touched the corners of his lips.
One Thousand and One Nights
was one of his favorite books.

“Don’t be bashful,” Periwinkle chided. “It was really rather clever, that. And I do so like clever – it has so many uses. Why do you think I’ve troubled myself to return to this world not once, but twice?
And in one week? Unheard of!”

Still uncertain, Phinnegan remained silent.

“I’ve given you back your father’s pipe as well, haven’t I?,” the Faë announced. “Besides,” he said while digging in his pocket. “I wanted to show you something.”

With a flourish of his wrist, Periwinkle produced a small white stone. It looked like a marble, only the substance of which it was made appeared more akin to true stone rather than glass.

“What is it? It looks like a marble.”

The Faë’s face suddenly became solemn, and Phinnegan could not tell if he was really serious or if it was again some sort of mockery. But Periwinkle seemed very serious indeed when he spoke.

“A marble? A
marble
? Have you never heard of a wishing stone?”

When Phinnegan shook his head, the Faë looked dismayed.

“Honestly, with all the reading you do, you’ve never heard of a wishing stone? What nonsense are you filling that little head of yours with?”

Phinnegan, who may not have ever heard of a wishing stone, was still sharp of wit and caught something the Faë might not have meant for him to catch. His eyes narrowed.

“How do you know I do a lot of reading?”

A look of fear flashed over the Faë’s face. Phinnegan saw he had indeed said more than he intended, but he recovered quickly.

“How do I know? Because I use logic, mate. Here you are on a beautiful sunny afternoon, and what are you doing? You’re out here alone, at the edge of the forest, where no one could find you, reading. Tells a pretty grim tale of your social life.”

Phinnegan’s heart sank a little. He did not have any real friends. Perhaps that was why, even though the Faë had been nothing but trouble, Phinnegan was drawn to him. What better way to make up for not having any friends than to have one who was magical? This thought drew his eyes back to the stone.

What was a wishing stone?

“What does it do?” Phinnegan breathed as he took the stone from the Faë’s outstretched hand. “Does it give me three wishes?”

The Faë regarded him with a flat stare.

“You
definitely
read too much. This three wish nonsense is another one of your human concoctions. What good are only three wishes? No, no. Wishing stones are
unlimited
!”