by Sean Cullen
Half an hour later, following a nervous march across the heart of Toronto, they arrived at their destination. “There she is.” The old man pointed at a rough, red-brick building. “Home, sweet home!”
Brendan stood staring at the dilapidated building. “You live there?”
“I do.”
“What a dump,” Harold breathed.
The three boys took a moment to absorb what they were seeing. The building stood on its own surrounded by a chain-link fence. The windows were mostly boarded up or broken, and the only door they could see had two-by-fours nailed into it to keep people out. To drive the point home, a big sign hanging on the fence read DANGER: DO NOT ENTER.
The building was an odd shape, too. One side of the roof was higher than the other, as though the remaining structure had once been part of a longer one that no longer stood. A free-standing wall jutted out from the side of the building as though the decrepit building were reaching out to balance itself.
Condo towers rose all around the building, all perfectly proportioned, sleek boxes of glass and steel that made the red-brick building look like a misshapen, stunted dwarf standing among giants. The lawns and walkways outside the fence had all been painstakingly manicured and landscaped, while the little building sat in a muddy field, a few tools piled against the wall. A miniature bulldozer sinking into the mire made it look even more forlorn.
“You live there?” Brendan asked again. “In a condemned building?”
“It ain’t condemned,” Finbar said, annoyed. “They ain’t goin’ to tear it down. It’s to become a community centre or some such.”
“Looks like a fun place to hang out,” Harold puffed. He was bent over, sucking wind. He was fumbling for his writing pad and charcoal. “I’d love to meet other youths here for good clean fun.”
“The amulet is in there?” Brendan asked Finbar.
The old man grinned his gap-toothed grin. “Aye, she is, hidden from prying eyes.”
“How do we get in?”
“This way.” Finbar walked up to the fence and pushed on a section of the chain-link. He looked back at the boys and smiled. “Comin’?”
“You guys are free to go,” Brendan said to Dmitri and Harold. “This isn’t your problem. You’ve been great, but I don’t want to put you in any more danger.”
Dmitri and Harold exchanged a glance. Dmitri folded his arms. “I think we’ll stay.”
“Yeah,” Harold said. “I’ve almost crapped my pants about ten times but it’s been pretty cool.” He started to carve the blank sheet of his sketch pad with his habitual lump of charcoal. “Besides, nerds gotta stick together.”
Brendan looked at his friends, and he felt a fierce surge of pride. They were great friends: the best! They had helped him out, putting themselves in danger. He couldn’t ask them to do any more even if he didn’t want to face the next part alone. He knew he had to let them go for their own safety.
He concentrated on what he wanted. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them a moment later, he made a sincere request. “Harold and Dmitri: go home and forget this day.”
The two boys blinked. Without a word, they turned and walked away. Brendan watched them until they disappeared around a corner before turning to Finbar.
The old man watched him with his pale blue eyes.
“That must have been a hard choice.”
“I wanted them to be safe.”
Finbar smiled and ruffled his hair. “Yer a good lad.” He went to the fence and pulled a section of the chain-link aside, holding it for Brendan. “After you, Yer Highness.”
“What?”
“It’s your name, son.” Finbar smiled. “In the old tongue Breandan means ‘Prince.’”
“Huh,” Brendan said. “I didn’t know that.”
“There’s a lot of things ye didn’t know, lad. Now let’s hop before that mad banshee rears her head.”
Brendan took a deep breath and stepped through the hole in the fence.
81 The streetcars in Toronto are nicknamed “Red Rockets.” They cruise up and down the streets on fixed tracks, drawing power from electrical lines overhead. Motorists find them a little annoying because they’re a little slow and no one likes getting caught behind them. One day, all cars will fly and the speed of the streetcars will no longer be an issue. Unless there are flying streetcars, which will cause the same problem, only in the air.
THE AMULET
Brendan’s foot sank ankle deep in mud.
“Gah!” Brendan tried to pull his foot out but he only succeeded in losing a shoe.
“Watch yerself.” Finbar chuckled. “It’s a mite muddy.”
“Thanks for the warning.” Brendan glowered.
The old man nimbly climbed through the fence and stepped onto a rock, avoiding the mire. He hopped from stone to stone until he stood on a grassy patch of sod by the wall of the building. “C’mon, lad. Look sharp.”
Grumbling, Brendan fished his cold, wet, mud-caked shoe out of the muck and gingerly slipped it back onto his foot. He hopped from stone to stone as Finbar had done until they stood beside a heavy wooden door. The door was secured with a steel padlock.
“Do you have a key?” Brendan asked.
“No need.” Finbar kicked the door, and the hasp pulled away from the wooden surface. The door swung open, and Finbar stepped through into the darkness. After a quick look over his shoulder, Brendan followed.
He found himself in almost total darkness. The wooden floor creaked underfoot, making him wonder about the structural soundness of the entire building. He could dimly make out a staircase going up on one side and a corridor that stretched out in front of him.
“Welcome to St. Bart’s.” Finbar’s voice rasped from the darkness. “Formerly the chapel of Toronto Central Prison. It’s all that’s left of that fine institute of moral correction. I spent some time there as a resident, paroled in 1915 when they shut the old place down.”
“You…” Brendan stared at Finbar in disbelief. “That’s impossible. That would make you…”
“Old.” Finbar smiled sadly. “Older than you can imagine.” He looked up around the room and waved an arm at the gloom. “The Sisters of St. Bartholomew got this building for a song. I came and worked as the caretaker. For over ninety years now, it’s been my home.”
A match flared, casting shuddering shadows on the peeling wallpaper of the walls. Finbar’s face was eerily lit from below as he used the match to light an old-fashioned oil lantern. The lamp caught, and the warm yellow light grew stronger as Finbar fiddled with a knob on the side of it. Satisfied, the old man lifted the lantern by a wire handle and held it high.
He pointed. “Up those stairs, the children slept. The nuns as well. The Mother Superior had her office there too. I worked for a few. The kindest was Sister Cecilia, the last of the Mothers Superior: a good Irish lass and a kind hearted lady, God rest her soul.’Twas her that took you in that night so long ago.”
Brendan looked up the stairs into the darkness. I’ve been here before? He couldn’t remember this place but, of course, he’d only been an infant.
“You charmed them one and all, ya did.” Finbar chuckled. “Such a sweet little nipper. Had them eatin’ out of yer hand.” Finbar’s tone darkened. “But I knew what ye were the moment I saw ye. I knew, ‘cause
…”
“Ha!” BLT’s shout startled Brendan. The tiny Faerie leapt out of his pocket and buzzed over to Finbar, hovering in front of his face. “You were the one who almost saw us that night!”
“What are you going on about?” Brendan demanded.
“I was one of the Lesser Faeries who left you on the doorstep all those years ago.” She was laughing. “And this big fella was the one who picked you up that night. He almost saw us. Ooo. Your father would not have liked that. Not one bit.”
“You knew all this time where we were going?” Brendan was incredulous. “Why didn’t you say something?”
BLT cocked her head in frank puzzlement. �
�You didn’t ask! And besides, I didn’t know the old fart had stolen the amulet. I was just the delivery girl.”
Brendan clenched his fists and gritted his teeth. “Faeries!” he snarled. Getting his annoyance under control, he said, “We’re here now. Finbar, where is the amulet?”
Finbar smiled. “Down in the cellar.”
The old man turned and walked down the corridor. Brendan followed, expecting the floor to give way beneath his feet at any second. BLT fluttered down and rested on his shoulder. “I sure could use a little something sweet right now. To take the edge off, you know.”
“Too bad,” Brendan said without sincerity.
The corridor led to a kitchen. Brendan was expecting decrepitude but the kitchen was surprisingly neat and tidy. Apparently, Finbar had continued to use it as a living space. On top of the old gas stove he had placed a propane camp stove. Bottles of water stood by the sink and a few cups and plates lay beside them. Some dried noodle soups and cans of beans were stacked on the counter.
Finbar grinned and pointed at the sink. “They gave ye a bath in that there sink. You were naught but a tiny wee thing.” He chuckled. He went to a door and pulled it open. Stairs led down into darkness. “Watch yer step, now. The stairs are a little tricky.” The old man started down, holding the lantern high.
Brendan tried to imagine himself, a baby, sitting in the little sink. He couldn’t. Why hadn’t his parents told him about this place? He imagined them coming to find him here and taking him home. He felt a sob welling up inside him, but he forced it down. He went to the stairs and started down after Finbar.
The stairs were indeed tricky. Some of the treads were missing altogether. Bracing himself against the crumbling plaster wall, Brendan made a careful descent. At last, he reached the bottom to find Finbar waiting patiently and holding the lantern to guide his steps.
Junk was piled everywhere in haphazard piles. There were old pieces of broken furniture, tools, building materials, bicycles, boxes of old clothes, and books all stacked in precariously balanced piles. One false move and the whole jumbled mess looked like it would come down.
“This way,” Finbar called and began to weave his way deftly through the stacks. Brendan followed at a slower pace, trying to avoid toppling anything.
“You were there when I was left on the doorstep?” he asked BLT.
“Sure.” BLT nodded. “I didn’t realize it was you. You were just a bairn.” 82
“So you knew my father?”
“He was my master.” BLT nodded. “He had me and Fith drop you off. He was afraid he wouldn’t be able to let you go if he did it himself.”
“Fith? You mean Deirdre’s creepy little creature?” Brendan couldn’t believe it. “Why didn’t Fith say something about that?”
“We were Compelled to silence by Briach Morn.” BLT grimaced. “He was powerful. When he tells you to keep your mouth shut, you really ain’t got a choice.” She suddenly noticed a stray globule of chocolate icing on her waistcoat and gleefully scooped it into her mouth. Instantly, she smiled and began to flare. Without warning she shot like a rocket into the air, forcing Brendan to snatch her as she zipped for freedom. Brendan managed to hold on to her but bumped into a stack of books, sending them crashing down.
“Mind yerself!” Finbar called.
“Sorry.” Brendan cringed. He frowned at BLT but she was oblivious. When he was sure she hadn’t had too much sugar to provoke a major freak-out, he relaxed his grip on her. “I have one more question.”
“Hmmm?” BLT said dreamily.
“Why did he do it?”
“Do what?” BLT asked.
“Why did he give me up? Why did he hide me the way he did, throw me out to find my own way in the world?”
BLT was silent for a moment before she answered. “I knew him as well as any. I was his servant many a year. He was a dark soul and an angry one. The only time I ever saw him smile was when he found her.”
“My mother?”
“She changed him in many ways. When she died birthing you, it broke him. At first I thought he would kill you, though you were just an innocent little thing.” BLT’s eyes were distant, remembering that long-ago night. “In the end, he told us to take you and hide you away. He couldn’t look at you any longer. Why he hid you among Humans, I don’t know. We just did as he asked.”
He wished he could have met his mother. By all accounts, she’d been wonderful. His father sounded like a total nightmare. The decisions Briach Morn had made fourteen years ago had brought his son to this derelict building, this cellar, and this moment.
“Hey! Are ye comin’?” Finbar called impatiently. Brendan hurried as quickly as he dared toward the yellow spill of lamplight.
He emerged from the rubbish to find himself in a clearing. Looming against one wall was a massive, ancient hulk of a furnace. A cot was drawn up alongside it, neatly made with a thick down comforter covering it. Beside it was a rickety card table and a folding chair with a small stack of books on it. A lamp stood in the centre of the table casting its rich, steady glow. A cheap dresser completed the furnishings of Finbar’s little den.
Finbar was bent over the dresser, rummaging in the top drawer. He sighed and lifted out a small bundle, carrying it over to the table. The outer covering was a beautiful green piece of cloth. No. It wasn’t exclusively green, but green with a shimmering of all the other colours dancing through its weave. Brendan gasped at the beauty of it. He moved closer and laid his hand on the fabric. It was softer than silk. Never had his fingers touched anything so pleasing. He tried to lift the bundle but Finbar’s hand fell on his wrist.
“This is the blanket you were wrapped in when you arrived at St. Bart’s. I knew just looking at it, it were of Faerie design.” He looked into Brendan’s eyes. “Remember now, we have a bargain. Ye won’t be grabbin’ this token and runnin’ off. We have a deal.”
Brendan nodded his assent. Finbar removed his hand. With trembling fingers, he undid the bundle of cloth. BLT leaned forward on his shoulder as the token was revealed.
The amulet glimmered warmly in the honey-coloured light. The intricate gold chain shimmered softly, thin links spread across the cloth like a golden string. The amulet was a circular golden medallion filled with swirling gold lettering that spelled his name in elegantly flowing script: BREANDAN. The Faerie spelling, Brendan noted. Four gemstones studded the letters in no discernible pattern he could make out.
Brendan reached out and traced the letters with his fingertip. Surprisingly, the gold was warm, almost like a living thing. In spite of that, Brendan shivered. He felt a current of energy, a sympathetic vibration thrumming through his skin at the point of contact. He was meant to have the amulet. Nothing in his life had ever seemed more certain to him. He opened his hand to grasp it.
“Before you take yon bauble, My Prince”- Finbar’s voice was firm. Brendan looked up into the pale blue eyes-”remember your pledge to me. You will give me what I desire.”
“I remember.” Brendan nodded. He turned his eyes back to the amulet. He swallowed loudly and reached for it, closing his fingers around it.
Nothing happened. There was no burst of energy. No sudden understanding dawned in his mind. He had no epiphany, nor did he gain super-strength. He was still Brendan Clair, only now, he held a finely crafted piece of personalized jewellery in his hand.
Brendan was slightly disappointed. He’d expected something to happen. “Is that it?”
BLT shrugged. “It’s just a piece of jewellery until you are initiated. Looks nice though, don’t you think?”
Brendan raised the amulet, spreading the chain and dropping it over his head. It slid beneath his shirt and lay against his skin, warm and heavy.
“So,” Brendan said. “I have what I came for and I thank you, Finbar. Now I have to go back to the Swan to be initiated. Tell me what you want from me.”
Finbar’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. “I want to go back!” he said, his voice cracking with emotion.
/>
“Go back?” Brendan was shaken by the man’s tears. “I don’t understand. Go back where?”
Finbar stepped close to Brendan, his eyes filled with need. “I want to go back and live among the Fair Folk again. I want to go back home.”
“I still don’t get it,” Brendan said. “You’re Human. You aren’t a Faerie.”
“Oh,” Finbar moaned, “you’re wrong, lad.” He tore open his shirt and revealed a terrible puckered scar on his chest. The mark was in the shape of a circle with a strange symbol burned into its centre.
“Aaaah!” BLT sighed. “Now I understand!”
“Well, could you fill me in?” Brendan was getting annoyed.
BLT hovered between them and explained. “He bears the mark of an Exile. When a Faerie transgresses against the Truce, he stands the chance of being sentenced to Exile in the Human world. A great and fearsome magic is worked upon the criminal, stripping him of all of his Faerie Gifts, save long life. Then he is cast out and ostracized by the Faerie World. None may reveal themselves to him on pain of Exile themselves. He is doomed to know of the Faerie World and long for it but never be a part of it again. It explains how he was able to take the amulet from you. He was once a Faerie.”
Brendan looked at the abject misery in Finbar’s eyes. “How horrible,” Brendan said. “Why? What did you do?”
Finbar hung his head. “I fell in love with a Human woman.” When he looked up, his eyes shone with tears. “She was beautiful. I couldn’t help but love her. I wanted her to know everything about me. I told her of the secret world, the world she couldn’t see, and I took her for my wife.”
“I don’t understand,” Brendan said. “What was your crime?”
