“But…you mean there
is
an end to the rainbow?”
Periwinkle gave him a quizzical look.
“Well
of course
it has an end. Where else would we get all our……ahem. You’re not a very smart boy, are you?”
Phinnegan suppressed a scowl.
“So you’re saying that you, that is, the Faë, are the source of the stories about faeries, brownies, and the like?”
“More or less,” the Faë said with a nod and a shrug. “We’re all that’s really important anyway. The Pixies are pesky little buggers, but other than that they are hardly worth mentioning, really.”
Phinnegan regarded the smallish figure in front of him, trying to make sense of all that he was hearing. The next question on his lips was the one he most wanted answered, but was the most afraid to ask. But ask it he did.
“If you’re a Faë, and all of these other stories come from your people, does that mean that you can do magic?”
A lilting trill burst from the Faë’s lips, which Phinnegan took to be laughter.
The very next moment, the Faë vanished.
“Do you mean like this?”
The voice made Phinnegan jump, for it came from right behind him, where a moment before the Faë had quite obviously not been. He whirled around and perceived the Faë, who now leaned against the wall behind.
“For your people here in this world, I suppose that would be a bit of magic, eh? Then there’s always the binding charm I used on you earlier. It’s quite a tricky charm to pull off. Nearly impossible for the target to break, but it leaves the Faë performing the charm susceptible to all manner of counters. I should have guessed when you threw up no defenses that you were not a Faë. But as I said before, you could have been being tricky.” He shrugged. “My mistake.”
Phinnegan felt only excitement. Here before him was a living Faë, a creature he had never before heard of, but that was just as exciting as seeing a leprechaun, faerie, or any other magical creature. The fact that this Faë was in his home was quite miraculous. The Faë’s intended theft no longer even crossed his mind.
“What else can you do? Can you fly? Can you turn people into frogs? Can you move things with your magic? Throw fire? Please tell me!”
“Well, turning people into frogs is just plain silly. But as for the others…” As his voice trailed off, he tossed the glowing orb up into the air in front of him. Just before it returned to his outstretched palm, it stopped in midair. Following the motions of his fingers, it spun slowly on its axis. Phinnegan stared in wonder, his eyes following the path of the sphere as it twirled in midair. He looked to the Faë, who was smiling back.
“That’s amazing! How do you do it?”
“It’s quite easy really,” Periwinkle said, letting the sphere fall into his palm. “Levitation of objects is one of the first things we learn. It’s a bit difficult here of course, what with the Passes being mostly blocked and all.”
Phinnegan could see that the Faë blushed as he said the last, perhaps because he had let something slip that he should not have.
“What are the Passes?” Phinnegan asked. A few moments passed as Periwinkle chewed his cheek before he finally answered.
“The Passes are what connect our two worlds.” The Faë paused for a moment, considering before he continued. “In the past, they were open and our people came here often, thus the fodder for all of your myths and legends. But recently they have become narrower and many are blocked entirely.” His eyes fell to the floor and he stood in silence for a moment before he added, “It’s very dangerous to come here now, and our abilities sometimes fail us when we are here.”
“Well what has happened? Why are the Passes blocked?”
“We dare not speak of it, not here,” Periwinkle whispered. Phinnegan saw that the Faë was quite distraught over whatever was happening with these passes. He questioned no further and the two stood in silence, the Faë rolling the glowing orb between his fingers.
“Who’s down here?!?” a voice bellowed from somewhere outside the study. Phinnegan recognized his father’s voice, but to Periwinkle, the shout was cause for alarm.
“Who’s that?” he asked, whirling to face the door.
“It’s just my father. He won’t hurt you.”
Periwinkle glanced at Phinnegan.
“You’ve got that right, mate.”
And then he was gone.
Phinnegan blinked at the empty space in front of him where the Faë had stood a moment before. He wondered if the Faë had truly gone, or if he had only performed the same trick as before, making himself appear invisible. He did not have long to ponder this, however, for his father burst through the door, lantern in one hand and a poker in the other.
“All right you devils, show yourselves!” his father bellowed as he entered the study. With his arm out in front of him, holding the lantern aloft, he whirled this way and that, swinging the light in all directions.
“Phinnegan? Why are you out of bed, lad? Who else is here? I heard voices, I am sure of it. Are you all right?” Not waiting for any answers, his father continued his vigilance, searching around the study, walking to each corner and pausing with his lantern. After checking every corner and examining even the walls, Mr. Qwyk stopped at his desk. He saw the open tobacco jars out of place atop the desk and the empty shelf above that now held only a box of matches.
His pipe was nowhere to be seen.
Mr. Qwyk motioned for Phinnegan, who skulked over to stand by his father.
“Yes, Papa?”
“Phinnegan, where is my pipe?”
Phinnegan shuffled his feet, recalling the silhouette of his father’s pipe against the ivy-green pants of the Faë and desperately hoping a believable explanation would come to his mind.
“I…I’m sure I don’t know, sir.”
His father looked down at him and gestured to the open jars of tobacco atop the desk.
“And do you know why these jars are down here on the desk, and why they are open?”
Phinnegan, who had never been a very good liar, broke his father’s gaze and looked at the floor.
“No, Papa.”
Phinnegan ventured a glance up towards his father. He saw the strong jaw clench as Mr. Qwyk glared at the chair, which was perfectly positioned to boost a short person within reach of the shelf. Mr. Qwyk’s glare shifted from the chair back to Phinnegan, who averted his eyes. Even in that brief moment, he knew his father was pondering the lie. Phinnegan had no idea what he could say to prove his innocence. Mr. Qwyk would never believe the truth. Phinnegan himself scarcely did.
“Are you lying to me, lad?”
Phinnegan winced at the tone in his father’s voice. Rather than tell another lie, Phinnegan told the truth – not the
whole
truth, but the truth nonetheless.
“It wasn’t me, Papa. I didn’t do it. I don’t have your pipe.”
Anyone could see that Phinnegan was hiding something. His feet shuffled, his face reddened, and his eyes darted.
Mr. Qwyk looked at the opened jars, the missing pipe, and the chair positioned just so.
Hands on his hips, he faced Phinnegan, towering over the boy by at least a foot and a half.
“Let us go and have a talk, lad.”
Phinnegan swallowed hard, but this time no melody came to arrest his fear.
A Second Visit
That night and the following morning, Phinnegan tried to explain his innocence to Mr. Qwyk, insisting that someone had broken into their home and disturbed the tobacco jars and pipe. Phinnegan had even shown his father the open window in his room, although when he went to point out the wet footprints, they had already dried and disappeared. His father did not believe him; he could tell Phinnegan was not telling him the truth – or at least not the whole truth.
Phinnegan was punished with more chores around the Qwyk household than he could have ever imagined possible. Mr. Qwyk traveled to the cities in the north for work, leaving Phinnegan, his brother Quinn, and his mother to care for the house. This week, in addition to his normal chores of sweeping the house and the porch and tending the garden, Phinnegan had been tasked to split a cord of wood to feed the home’s three fireplaces for the next several weeks. Normally a chore for Quinn, his older – and stronger - brother, the task had taken him the better part of two days, and he still wasn’t finished. Phinnegan stood by the remainder of the un-split cord, his arms aching, certain they were only one log away from falling off, when Quinn approached him at a trot.
“Phin! There you are,” Quinn panted. “Been looking all over for you. Have you got a moment?”
Phinnegan stared at the remainder of the cord briefly before turning to face his brother.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Good. Got a bit of homework, I have. A bit of reading called ‘Gulliver’s Travels’,” Quinn said, presenting a rather tattered book to Phinnegan. “Ever heard of it?”
Despite his exhaustion, Phinnegan’s eyes brightened when he saw the book.
“Of course. “I’ve read it at least a half-dozen times.”
“Thought you might of,” Quinn said. “Look, a bunch of us are planning a party tonight and –“
“Haven’t read it have you?” Phinnegan interjected.
“Not a word,” Quinn said flatly. “Got to hand in a report about it on Monday. Spare a few minutes to help your brother out?”
Phinnegan always jumped at a chance to delve into the world of fairy tales, but glancing at the remaining cord of wood beside him, he knew he could not this time.
“You know I’d like to Quinn,” Phinnegan began before pausing to gesture at the pile of wood beside him. “But there is my punishment. I’m still not finished.”
Quinn’s eyes flicked between the wood, the book and his brother.
“I’ll chop, you talk,” he said, grabbing the axe that leaned against the stump the Qwyks used as the base for splitting wood. Phinnegan took the book from his brother’s outstretched hand and ran his fingers over its worn cover.
“So, what’s it about?” Quinn asked as he positioned a squat log on top of the stump.
“It’s about a man, a traveler,” Phinnegan said simply.
“And I guess he was called Gulliver, eh?” Quinn quipped as he raised the axe for a mighty chop.
“Why yes, he was. First, he visited the Lilliputians, a race of –“
“Lilly-what?” Quinn asked harshly.
“Lilliputians. They were a race of little people from the land of Lilliput.”
“Honestly Phin, I don’t know how you read this stuff.”
Phinnegan could only smile.
Phinnegan provided a rather detailed summary of Gulliver’s adventures to his brother Quinn, who split log after log as Phinnegan answered his questions about the book. When he reached the end of Gulliver’s travels, Quinn had reached the end of the wood pile. Every log was now split into halves and quarters, as its thickness demanded, the resulting pieces stacked alongside the Qwyks’ house. While Quinn was exhausted, his skin covered in bits of wood and sweat, Phinnegan felt rejuvenated.
The day was bright, sunny, and warm, all uncharacteristic for a November day, and Phinnegan decided to take a long walk to the edge of a nearby forest. As he walked, his mind began to wander.