“So…if he had followed me…he may have found the power he seeks, or he may have gone mad?”
“More or less,” Cernon said with a sideways tilt of his head. “The book showed you a path, the path with the least risk for the wrong person to enter the labyrinth.”
“Emerald said the book always gave that message…”
“And she is likely right. Any person who had yet to understand the book’s full power would not know the dangers of one such as Vermillion being allowed to enter this labyrinth. Four millennia it has been sealed, and for good reason.”
Phinnegan sat in silence for a moment, turning the book over in his hands. At length he spoke, opening the book to stare at its blank pages as he did.
“You said someone who had to understand the book’s full power. What else can it do?”
“The uses and secrets of this book are many, but perhaps most pertinent to you,” Cernon paused, arcing his hand above his head, creating a slight disturbance in the air, just visible to the eye, “it will show you how to use your powers.”
“My powers?” Phinnegan said with a small laugh. “What can I do?”
“Tell me,” Cernon began, locking his eyes on Phinnegan. “How did you stop Vermillion from following you through the Gate? It is old, yes, and I imagine nearly rusted shut. Still, he would have opened it eventually. What did you do?”
Phinnegan thought back to the moment in front of the Gate, the moment when the inexplicable happened.
“I closed the Gate.”
“And how did you accomplish such a task? How could you, a mere weakling of a human boy, stop the might of the most dangerous creature ever to tread upon the soil of this world?” Cernon’s eyes bored into Phinnegan. “How did you close the Gate?”
Phinnegan broke his eyes away from the brown-flecked green of Cernon, instead casting them upon the book.
“I…I told it to.”
“You told it to,” Cernon echoed softly. “Do you not think this is
power
? When Vermillion and a hundred Aged sought to open the Gate,” Cernon’s voice thundered, before he continued in a whisper. “You closed it with a word. A single word.”
“But…but I’ve never been able to do anything like that before. How did I do it?”
“You are too young to feel the magic within you. It has only begun to awaken since you came to this world. But here, in the Grove, your powers are stronger. Though you cannot feel them, they come to you in your moment of need, just as they did at the Gate.”
“But
how
did I do it?”
The great half-man shrugged.
“Magic is different for all races of mortals, particularly for one of the Chosen.”
“Chosen…I’ve heard that word before,” Phinnegan whispered, recalling the word as spoken by Mariella.
“This book is meant only for your kind, only for the Chosen.”
“What does it mean,
Chosen
?”
“The book will show you,” Cernon said, nodding in the direction of the book in Phinnegan’s hands. “It can show you many things…how to harness your gifts outside the Gate…what you need to know to be the Balance.”
Phinnegan flipped quietly through the book’s pages.
“How? The book is completely blank.”
“Is it?” Cernon asked, an edge of surprise perceivable in his tone.
“Yes,” Phinnegan said, closing the book. “Completely.”
“Ah, I did not foresee this,” Cernon mumbled to himself. “Of course, the wretch has pushed events…they move too quickly…there is not much time…”
Suddenly, Cernon leapt forward, startling Phinnegan when the half-man’s bulk landed just in front of him.
“Vermillion has pushed events ahead of their natural course. But the book cannot be persuaded. It will not reveal itself to you until you are ready.”
“But you said-“
“I know what I said,” Cernon snapped. “I also said that you are too
young
. But what is, is. The book is of no help to you, yet, and Vermillion closes in on his goal too quickly.” Cernon paused, tilting his head back, gazing into the sky. When he turned his eyes back to Phinnegan, they smoldered in a green fire.
“You are young, and weak. But perhaps…”
“What? What?” Phinnegan insisted when the half-man’s voice trailed off.
“Perhaps you can serve as a conduit for one spell. You will not understand it, but I can embed it within you. When the time is right, you can release it outside the labyrinth to stop him.”
“Embed?” Phinnegan recoiled in horror. “How? Will it…hurt?”
Cernon shrugged impatiently, a scowl darkening his face.
“Time runs short. Even now your friends are being brought to him. Yes, those two,” Cernon said with a nod, his lips upturning into a snarl. “Captured and bringing the very object that he seeks right into his waiting hands.”
“Then the vision I saw was true,” Phinnegan whispered, his eyes widening.
If one vision was true…
“Wait,” Phinnegan blurted. “Can you send me home?”
“Home?” Cernon said with surprise. “Impossible! You have been brought here for a purpose. You cannot leave until you have served that purpose.”
“How do you know what purpose-“ Phinnegan began defiantly, but he was cut off by the half-man’s thundering voice.
“Because it is I who have brought you here! Do NOT presume to lecture me, human.”
Phinnegan’s shoulders sagged and he thought for a moment before speaking up quietly.
“What about Emerald? Can you reverse what has been done to her? Can you stop it?”
“Stop it? Why would I want to stop it? The closer she comes to being fully a creature of the earth, the better for us all. Then she would be completely under my control.”
“But…can you?”
Cernon’s eyes narrowed and he regarded Phinnegan warily.
“Yes…I
could
stop what is being done.”
“So you can make her fully Faë again? Make her eyes only green and no longer gray?”
“I said I can stop it, but not reverse it. What’s done is done. I cannot change what has happened, but yes, I could stop the transformation. But I won’t.”
Phinnegan shuffled his feet nervously before peering up at the giant half-man.
“What if I asked you to?”
Cernon threw his head back, guffawing a great laugh.
“If you asked? Do you take me for some genie of the lamp that your race has concocted as a slave to the wishes of their human masters? Some carnival magician to do your bidding for a penny?”
“You said I had a choice,” Phinnegan mumbled, sheepishly.
“What did you say,
boy
?”
“I said,” Phinnegan began weakly, but cleared his throat before continuing more strongly, “you said everything is about balance. Balance and free will, choices.” Phinnegan raised his head, his brown eyes steady.
“I choose to help her.”
“You do not have the knowledge to make such a choice,” Cernon growled, his hooves scuffing the ground in anger.
“Who are you to say?” Phinnegan retorted, growing bolder.
“Who am I?” Cernon sputtered, his eyes ablaze with an angry green flame. “He challenges me!” Cernon cried, throwing his arms wide, as if speaking to a throng of listeners. “He challenges
me
! Here!”
“He challenges me,” he finished, his voice falling to a whisper.
“I am not challenging you. But if you will not let me go home and say that I am here for a purpose, let me choose.”
“Your choice is a mistake,” Cernon said sharply, his eyes smoldering. “You are the only one who can stop him from gaining the power that he seeks.”
“How do you know that what I want to do is wrong? That I cannot stop him some other way?”
“What other way? You have no idea how to use your powers. He will turn you to dust.”
“Cernon,” Phinnegan said curiously. “Why do you care so much? You said you didn’t care what happened to this world, yet you want me to destroy Vermillion to save it, even when I choose to do something else.”
The half-man’s face twisted in a suppressed rage. Phinnegan sensed some deep division within this creature. The slender fingers of Cernon’s hands curled into a tight fist that shook by his sides.
“Fah!” he barked, casting a hand towards the ancient tree that had served as his perch when he first appeared. Before Phinnegan’s eyes, a roughly hewn wooden cup began to form on the side of the tree, growing directly from the trunk like an oddly formed branch. When the cup was finished, Cernon pointed at its coarse form and spoke in a commanding voice.
“Take it.”
Phinnegan grasped the bark-formed cup and tugged gently, but the cup did not move. Setting his feet against the ancient tree’s large roots he placed both hands around the cup and pulled hard. Nothing happened at first, but eventually the running sound of wood-splitting arced through the grove. And then the cup was free.
“Fill it with water,” Cernon commanded.
Phinnegan obeyed silently, crouching down to fill the cup with water from the horseshoe shaped stream. The water was quite cool as it slid across Phinnegan’s fingers. The cup full nearly to the rim, he arose and held the cup before him. When his fingers touched the water, they now tingled.
“As you believe yourself wise enough to make the choice you desire,’ Cernon began, walking stiffly towards Phinnegan until he towered above, staring directly down at him, “then I shall allow it. But,” he paused again waving his slender fingers over the brimming cup, “I shall require something in return.”
Phinnegan eyed the water in the cup, which had begun to swirl slowly in rhythm with the movement of Cernon’s fingers. The transparent liquid now began to thicken, its surface darkening until it resembled a mirror, swirling like oil against the sides of the cup.
“What?” Phinnegan managed with a gulp, his eyes transfixed on the swirling liquid.
“A debt.”
“What sort of debt?” Phinnegan asked sharply, his eyes flicking to the fur-covered face of the tall half-man.
“A
personal
debt. This Faë you seek to help, she is by all right’s
mine
. With your choice, you take her from me.” Cernon’s eyes flashed violently and he leaned over until his face was very near to Phinnegan’s.
“It displeases me.”
“How…how can I pay this…debt?”
“That is to be determined. Not now,” Cernon said as Phinnegan opened his mouth to question the half-man. “Not now. But one day I will require you to pay this debt.”
Phinnegan’s eyes fell away from the fierce green of Cernon’s and he stared down into the mirrored liquid in the cup. His own brown eyes stared back, full of the fear and confusion that he knew swam beneath them.
“Do you accept?” Cernon prodded, the fingertips of each hand pressed together so that his hands formed a sort of pyramid. “Your time is dwindling. Soon, no matter what your choice, your efforts will be futile. Even now that which he seeks draws near-“
“Stop it!” Phinnegan yelled, his chest heaving with quickened breath.
Cernon straightened at the cry and stood now with one arm crossed over his chest and the other bent so that his chin rested in its hand.