“It is so lonely here,” the guardian said, its voice still the same in Phinnegan’s head despite it now being visible and so close. “Perhaps this solitude is beginning to play with my mind, but you seem…odd.”
Phinnegan pushed down the instinct to suck in a breath. Still, he flinched, and he perceived a slight flicker in the cloud that told him it had noticed.
“Tell me, Jack,” the guardian spoke into his mind. “What is that tale you are always going on about? How you came to be here at Castle Heronhawk? Wasn’t it about a goat? Do tell me the story, I do so love to hear it.”
Phinnegan’s breathing quickened. The guardian was testing him, trying to catch him in a lie.
“It was a, a cow actually,” Phinnegan offered, racking his brain for every last detail of the story he had not heard in four or five years.
“Ah, yes. A cow. I had almost forgotten.” The guardian’s voice seemed somewhat relieved but maintained an edge of wariness. Phinnegan would have to tell the full story, from beginning to end, if he was to gain the guardian’s trust.
“Well, it began one morning when our cow gave no milk-“
“And what was her name? The cow, I mean. I have nearly forgotten.” But the tone of the guardian’s voice betrayed the lie.
“She was called…Milky-White.”
“Oh, yes! Quite. Now I remember,” the guardian said, more of the wariness leaving its voice. “I have always thought it a strange name for a cow, or anybody really.”
And so, after surviving this first test unscathed, Phinnegan continued the story from his memory, embellishing at times with wild gestures regarding the height of the beanstalk and the terrifying voice of the giant as it chanted its dreadful tune, continuing so until he came near to the very end.
“But just as I was making my escape, the harp cried out ‘Master! Master!’ and the giant awoke.”
“Oh do stop, Jack! I cannot bear to hear the rest. How you were caught just at the bottom of the beanstalk. It is so terribly tragic.” The guardian paused, it’s singular orb duplicating before the whole cloud turned pink and its brightness dimmed.
“I’m sorry, Jack,” the guardian spoke into his mind. “I thought that you were possibly an imposter, some type of thief. You were reeking of dishonesty after all. But that does not excuse my behavior. Will you accept my apology, Jack?”
“Uh, yes. Don’t mention it,” Phinnegan said sheepishly, for he was of course, just that. An imposter.
“Splendid!” the guardian exclaimed as the orbs brightened and swirled faster. “I knew you weren’t the sort of chap to hold a grudge.”
The guardian, relieved of its suspicions, danced in space like a giddy vortex of fire and glass, while Phinnegan looked on at the stone in the center of the chamber. He had succeeded in gaining the guardian’s trust, at least. Now, how to use that trust to escape this chamber with the wishing stone. Chewing his lip as he thought, Phinnegan perhaps allowed too much time to pass, for the guardian roused him with a question, a hint of worry just detectable in its voice.
“Are you certain that you are not angry, Jack?”
“What? Oh, no, sorry. I was just thinking. I’m not mad. I promise.”
“Thinking? What about, Jack?”
The affection that this strange orb had for “Jack” was undeniable, and Phinnegan pondered whether there was a way to use this affection for his own gain. The guardian obviously did not realize that the real Jack had died centuries ago. The idea of tricking the guardian any more than he already had was a sour one to Phinnegan, but so was the idea of staying in this world with no means of escape. Perhaps it would not be stealing if he told the truth, in the guise of Jack, of course.
“I was…I was thinking about my family. My mother. I miss her.”
If a cloud of lighted orbs could be said to nod sadly, then this cloud did so. It’s swirling slowed and its brightness dimmed.
“Ah, I knew there was an aura about you. Yes, you have lamented to me about your mother in the past. It is such a tragic story, shame on me for having you re live it again just now! I would help, of course, if I knew how. But alas, I am afraid you are trapped here.”
The guardian was either a gifted liar or truly felt sorry for “Jack” and would have done whatever it could to help. Phinnegan saw no other path but to test this affection.
“What if there is a way…?” he whispered.
“What!” the guardian replied sharply, perhaps more so than it intended for it corrected itself in a softened tone.
“I mean, what did you say, Jack?”
“I said,” Phinnegan began before pausing to clear his throat. “I said what if there is a way?”
Now the cloud sputtered and crackled like so many fireworks on the eve of the summer solstice, and Phinnegan at first feared he had angered it. But then he realized that it was actually
laughing
. Laughing at him.
“What’s so funny?” Phinnegan snapped with a scowl.
“Oh,” the guardian said amidst more crackling. “I don’t mean to offend, dear Jack. I thought perhaps it was a joke; we’ve been over this so many times you know. No more magic beans, no way for you to get home.”
Phinnegan was silent for a moment, considering whether to drop this charade, but he pressed onward.
“I’ve learned that there may just be a way.”
“Truly?” the guardian questioned, its interest clearly piqued. “And how did you learn of this way?”
“Well, a Faë told me that-“
“FAË!” the guardian’s voice boomed loudly in Phinnegan’s head, driving him to his knees.
“Dirty, rotten SCOUNDRELS!” The guardian’s color changed to a bright red, burning like a flame, and the cloud of orbs exploded into a thousand little specks of light, madly swarming like a hive of displaced bees.
“Please. Howard-“
“NEVER trust a Faë, Jack. Have I not warned you of this before? They should not even be near the castle, it’s the worst kind of violation. Why was I not alerted? I must contact my masters and –“
“No, wait,” Phinnegan managed to interrupt with a shout that he could barely hear above the din in his own head. “The Faë are here because of the festival.”
“What? Festival?”
“Yes, yes, the festival,” Phinnegan pleaded, his voice still loud. “You must know of it. Once each year they allow the Faë onto the grounds, to trade and celebrate.” Phinnegan raised his head and watched the guardian spin and pulse just as madly as before, but then ever so slightly, the bright red faded to dull and the spinning slowed.
“Festival,” the guardian’s voice mumbled in his mind. “Hmmm…yes, I do suppose I recall something about a festival. I am so cut off from the goings-on around here, you know.” The guardian was beginning to calm, but suddenly the cloud flashed a bright red and the voice snarled in his mind.
“But that does not change the fact that you must
never
trust a Faë!”
“Why not?” Are they so bad?”
“Why not? So bad?” the guardian’s voice teased. “They are
worse
than bad. Why do you think that my masters never allow them within the castle? They’re thieves, tricksters. They would just as soon rob you as speak to you. No, no. Faë simply cannot be trusted.”
Phinnegan stood in silence. He chewed his lip as he thought.
What do I do now?
Part of him wondered if the guardian was right, if he truly should not trust the two Faë. They did often seem to keep vital details to themselves, not sharing them with him unless they must. And then there were those looks that passed between the two. But what choice did he have? Howard had no idea how to get him home and at least the two Faë had a theory.
“But what if they are right?” Phinnegan ventured quietly. “What if what they say is true and there is a way for me to go home?”
“Highly unlikely,” the guardian said quickly and matter-of-factly. “I know of no way to get you home, nor have I ever known a Faë to look out for anyone’s interests but their own. Ever.”
“But that doesn’t mean that they can’t be right.”
“Possibly,” the guardian said, the heat draining slightly from its voice. “Well, what did they say? We’ll consider it together, you and I, Jack.”
“Well, they spoke of the Passes between our worlds having narrowed. They said it is not easy to travel between the two and that it was beyond their power to send me back –“
“Well
that
is definitely a truth,” the guardian scoffed.
“But, they said they really wanted to help me,” Phinnegan continued, ignoring the interruption. “They think that they can send me home, just –“
“Why,” the guardian interrupted once again. “Why do you suppose these Faë are so eager to help you? Quite unlike a Faë in my experience, and I have known a few of them in my time, which is not a short period, I trust you know.”
The lie came so quickly to Phinnegan’s lips that perhaps he had stumbled upon some hidden truth.
“It was one of them that sold me the magic beans.”
“What?” the guardian said sharply. “Remorse from a Faë? This
is
very strange. Very strange indeed. Do you believe him?”
“Yes, I recognized him.” Again the lie slipped from his tongue quickly, so quickly that he thought to embellish it. “I was quite angry at first, as you can imagine, but he…he umm, apologized. He wants to help.”
“Ah, yes, well you would recognize him, wouldn’t you?” The guardian grew silent, appearing to think as its colors flashed from green to red to yellow to purple.” “It still seems strange to me. Tell me, Jack, what did these Faë suggest?
Phinnegan swallowed and licked his lips.
“They said they need the stone.”
The guardian, for the first time since Phinnegan had laid eyes upon it, stopped swirling.
“The…the stone,” the guardian stammered, its tone feeble and questioning. “M-my stone?” Phinnegan remained silent.
The guardian swam slowly in the air, first right and then left, then back to the right, like a man would pace in his study. Phinnegan continued to hold his tongue, his eyes following the floating cloud that now bore the weight of his hopes of going home. When the guardian slowed and stopped, Phinnegan had pushed himself on his toes and leaned forward. When the voice came, it spoke only one word.
“Impossible,” the tone flat and dispassionate.
“But –“
“No. It is impossible. I would not trust a Faë even under normal circumstances, but to allow them control of MY stone? It is unthinkable.” The guardian began to float to and fro again as it continued. “Besides, in all the centuries that I have guarded the stone, no one, not even one of my masters, has touched it. I am not certain of what would happen were it removed from its resting place. It is too dangerous.”
“Dangerous? What do you mean?”
“Well, as guardian, it is my job to protect the stone. Who’s to say what reactions are within me. For instance, earlier my alarms were set-off merely because you came in through the front door and not the side. No, no, even if I were to agree to this…this preposterous suggestion, I would not be held responsible for my own actions.”
“But what if they are right? What if the stone can send me home?”
“I’m sorry, Jack,” the guardian’s voice spoke flatly in his mind. “I cannot allow you to take the stone.”
Phinnegan had no reply to what seemed to be the guardian’s final word. He walked over to the nearest iron stand bearing the bronze disk and gazed into the fire. The dancing flames of a fire tend to have a calming effect on those who gaze into their depths. Even a cat will sit and stare at a dancing flame, mesmerized by its beauty.