“I don’t suppose that those are friendly, are they?” Phinnegan asked, the slightest bit of hope in his voice.
But the Faë shook his head.
“Faolchú are not exactly what you might call friendly. More like deadly.”
“Faolchú? Wild hounds?” Phinnegan recognized the word as one his grandfather had taught him, his attempt to keep his country’s native tongue from heading toward extinction.
“That’s right. Their kind has infested Darkwater for centuries. Vicious, foul creatures; they hunt and kill anything that enters their forest. Exceedingly difficult to kill, they are, and impossible to escape amongst these trees. Though we Faë have a few tricks that will do in a pinch.”
“Where did they come from?”
“The Devil himself if you ask me,” Periwinkle said under his breath. He stepped lightly over a felled tree before turning to smile over his shoulder at Phinnegan.
“But not to worry. We’ll be all right if we don’t step off the path. They know we are here, but they cannot see us.”
“Why not?”
“The path. An old Faë charm protects those that stay on it, at least while the sun’s still out. It’s sort of a camouflage. But their eyesight is much stronger in the night and they can make out movement even with the charm in effect.” Pausing, Periwinkle checked the intensity of the light filtering through the gnarled treetops. “We should make it to the other side before nightfall.”
Periwinkle continued on at a swift pace and Phinnegan thought that he did not seem very concerned about these Faolchú. Either they were not as bad as he made them sound, or the path really was protected. He would prefer to be out of the woods and not have to worry about it one way or the other.
Several more minutes passed in silence, and the forest became darker and darker still until Phinnegan could barely make out the path beneath his feet. He kept his gaze fixed on the Faë’s silhouette, following in his footsteps. But Phinnegan began to feel nervous about the sun. He was sure that if it had not already set, it would do so at any moment. He looked up and what little glimpses of the sky he could see were nearly black. Looking back the way they had come, he saw the same darkness that lay ahead.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw a lighter area in the distance. He turned and not one-hundred yards distant he could see the edge of the forest.
“Look,” he reached forward and tapped Periwinkle. “We’re almost through.” Without a second thought, he took a step towards the light.
The first sound he heard was the sharp crack of a twig beneath his foot.
“What the hell are you doing?” Periwinkle hissed.
The second sound followed swiftly: the baying of hounds.
“Daggers! Did I not tell you to stay on the path!?”
“I…I was just heading for the forest’s edge-“ Phinnegan broke off as Periwinkle darted ahead of him, also off the path, in the direction of the faint light ahead.
“Don’t just stand there. Run!”
Phinnegan didn’t need to be told twice.
Branches tore at his skin and clothes as he ran, almost as if they had come alive to arrest his progress, delaying him just enough for the hounds to catch him. He paid them no mind, but felt the trickle of blood down his cheek where one branch had rent the skin.
He saw the Faë leap up ahead, and though he could not see why, Phinnegan gauged his distance behind the Faë and lept as well. His back foot just grazed something hard, a large rock or felled tree. He sprinted on, the Faë was still several strides ahead but Phinnegan maintained his distance.
The forest floor was softer here, soggy and like the beginnings of a bog beneath a thick covering of leaves. His feet made a sucking sound as he pulled them and placed them ahead one after the other. The terrain was slowing him down, as it was the Faë. The baying seemed closer, or was it just the pounding of his own heart in his ears?
Suddenly the Faë was struck by a moving shadow. He cried out as he hit the ground. Phinnegan was on him in a moment, nearly tripping over the Faë’s body.
“It’s no use now,” Periwinkle said, his voice coming in a wheeze. “They’ve caught us.”
Phinnegan, who now knelt beside the fallen Faë, raised his head to look around them. At least three sets of eyes shimmered in the darkness, their shadowy owners merely dark bulks moving in the fog that had now descended nearly to the forest floor. The baying had ceased some few moments ago, but was now replaced by the low rumbling growl of the wild hounds.
One hound, whose shadowy hulk appeared larger than the rest, inched forward. Phinnegan’s heart raced and his breathing came in ragged gasps. He crouched down lower, but to no avail. There was nowhere to hide and hounds were behind him just as they were in front.
“What do we do?” he asked in a whisper, hoping the Faë had some trick up his sleeve that could save them from certain death. But his hopes were not to be answered.
“Nothing.” The Faë pushed himself up onto his elbows, but did not try to escape.
“Welcome to a Place Beyond the Map.”
Nightmares
With the growl of the beast ever nearer, Periwinkle flicked his wrist and the same glowing orb that Phinnegan had seen on the first night when the Faë had broken into his home appeared in the Faë’s hand. Phinnegan wished it hadn’t.
“Faolchú,” Periwinkle whispered, the fear apparent in his voice.
The light from the orb fell on the hound that was moving towards them, showing its fur to be short and red. Not the reddish-brown of a tame hound but darker, a rich red the color of blood and rust. The fur was missing in spots, revealing a white, translucent skin that glistened like the underbelly of a snake. Veins and arteries wove like blue and purple spider webs beneath the skin.
The leg muscles of the hound were long and sinewy, and they rippled with constrained strength as the hound crept nearer. The paws bore five toes, each with a short, but sharp, white claw. The hound had no tail and its ears were short and pointed and bore no fur. The snout was long and the jaw was strongly muscled. The hound’s lips curled back in a snarl, displaying teeth that were stained yellow from either age or diet, and with gums bearing the same translucent skin as the body, blood vessels bulging beneath. The eyes were solid white, no pupil or iris, but Phinnegan could feel the gaze of the Faolchú appraising him.
Phinnegan held his breath as the hound leaned forward and sniffed at the boots of the Faë. Periwinkle pulled his foot back in surprise, drawing a low growl from the throat of the Faolchú. Phinnegan had never seen the Faë scared before, even when he stood before the court in Féradoon, but now he saw the light waver on the face of the hound as Periwinkle’s hand shook with fright.
Around him, Phinnegan could hear the remainder of the pack inching closer. When one let out a short bark behind him, he felt the warm breath on his neck, and the fetid smell filled his nostrils. He swallowed hard, praying for a miracle.
“Can’t you do some magic?” Phinnegan asked the Faë in a whisper. He was answered by a shake of the head.
“No, mate, not in here.” The Faë sighed and sank lower against the ground.
“What about those tricks you mentioned?” Phinnegan hissed.
“Probably should have mentioned I didn’t actually have any of those tricks about my person, like.” Periwinkle swallowed hard. “We’re as good as done.”
Staring into the pupil-less eyes of the Faolchú, Phinnegan believed that the Faë was right.
“Haaalllooooooooooooo,” the voice called, an eerie crowing sound that drew the attention of the Faolchú. The ears of the largest hound in front of them perked as it turned its head in the direction of the sound.
“Haaaallllllooooooooooo,” the call came again, and this time the hounds renewed their growl, but it was directed outwards toward the darkness of the forest. Phinnegan wondered if the pupil-less eyes could see far in night.
The growls turned to painful yelps as a bright searing light filled the forest. Phinnegan covered his face with his arm, shielding his eyes from the blinding light.
“Bíodh
misneach
agat
, bráthair!” the voice cried in the distance. Bráthair? Phinnegan knew the word to be “brother” in Irish and he dared to hope that this was a friend. But he had little time to think on it, for Periwinkle was yelling at him.
“Take a deep breath, mate, and hold it!”
“What?” Phinnegan asked, confused by such a strange request.
“Just do it!” the Faë shouted, and by the deep gasp that followed Phinnegan knew he had held his own breath. He filled his lungs with air and held his breath. Not a moment later, the whistling sound of arrows pierced the night. He heard two thuds as the arrows struck the leaf covered forest floor around him, one each side of he and the Faë.
For a brief moment, the forest was quiet. And then a sharp hiss came from the directions of the two arrows. The hounds growled, but the growls were swiftly replaced by whimpers. He heard their feet on the ground as they stumbled away from the hissing arrows, but they did not make it far. Their bulky bodies crashed to the ground not more than a few yards from where Phinnegan lay.
He felt that more than a minute had passed, and his lungs burned for new air. But he guessed from the Faë’s command to hold his breath, the hiss of the arrows, and the subsequent collapse of the Faolchú that whatever hissed forth from the arrows was poisonous.
He held his breath for far longer than he would have guessed that he could. When he opened his eyes, he found the forest once again only dimly lit by the scant sliver of moonlight that escaped the blotting net of the tree branches. He pushed himself up to his elbows and took in the scene around him.
Large shadowed bulks in the distance must have been the collapsed Faolchú. As he watched, he could see each body twitch.
As he listened, he still heard the hissing of the arrows, although very faint. He looked to the right and saw an arrow as long as his arm protruding from the earth. A wisp of smoke escaped from the earth where the arrow was embedded.
The sight of this smoke, which he imagined must be a very powerful poison, frightened him. He told himself that he must not breathe, but the burning in his lungs increased and at last, he gasped, expelling the spent air and refilling his lungs.
The burning in his lungs from the lack of oxygen was pale in light of what he now experienced. His eyes bulged and his throat tightened. He clawed at the ground with his hands and whirled his head to face the Faë. Periwinkle looked at him as if to say
I told you to hold your breath.
And then he blacked out.
Phinnegan dreamed a dream like none he had ever experienced. He was not sure how he knew that it was a dream, but he did just the same. The eyes in his dream saw nothing but blackness, a cold blackness that chilled him to the core and made him shiver. He wondered if it was truly black or if his eyes were not open, but then when he exhaled, he could see the fog of his breath against the blackness.
For some few moments he lay in this cold, dark dream, longing for respite. But when the respite came, his dream became a nightmare.
His skin began to itch, just a little at first. But as he scratched, the itching worsened until he felt what were bugs of all types creeping across his skin. He swatted at his arms and legs, trying to brush the insects from him. But the itching only worsened.
When pale blue light appeared all around him, he looked down at his arms in horror. The crawling was not on his skin, it
was
his skin. He watched as the skin on his arms rippled and bubbled, as though a thousand insects were trapped just beneath, searching for the surface. He sprang to his feet, clawing at his arms to dispel the crawling insects.