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
