Sean Cullen - The Prince of Neither Here Nor There

“Are you deaf, kid? I’m talkin’ ta you!” the voice demanded angrily.

Brendan looked up and saw a man in a waterproof coat and hat staring down at him over the edge of the pier. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“U-uh,” Brendan stammered. “I was just… uh… swimming!”

“Ya can’t swim there! Are ya stupid or what? The water’s filthy! You could get cut to pieces by the props. Get outta there.”

“Okay,” Brendan mumbled. He hefted Kim under the arms and dragged her up onto the bank. The mud made the footing slippery and she was a dead weight. He fell a number of times before he managed to get them up onto the grass, where he collapsed beside her to catch his breath.

The man was still looking at him, taking in Kim with a critical eye. “What’s wrong with her?”

“Uh…” Brendan thought quickly. “She fell in and… she fainted from the cold. She’s fine. I’ll take care of her.”

“Just stay right there.” The man pointed at Brendan, indicating he was not to move. As he turned away, Brendan saw him take a radio from his belt. The man spoke quietly into it, and Brendan was sure he was calling the police. For a moment, Brendan toyed with the idea of just sitting, waiting for the police to come, but a look at the storm cloud boiling across the lake changed his mind. He knew that the police wouldn’t be any help against the likes of Orcadia. He had to find this place, the Swan. He had to get some answers.

He became aware that he was hearing music. A band was playing at one of the halls on the island. Brendan had been here for picnics in summers past. He knew there was an amusement park on one of the islands with little kiddie rides and a couple of restaurants and bars. He’d never heard of one called the Swan. He watched as a small airplane rose up over the trees as it took off from the Island Airport. He wished he could just fly away like that plane but here he was, shivering in the grass. What was he supposed to do now?

He reviewed his situation. He knew he was on one of the Toronto Islands, the small scattering of islets that sat offshore from the city. But which one? The Island of the Ward, Miv called it. He slapped his forehead. Of course. Ward’s Island. He’d read somewhere that it was named after a man named Ward, but now that he knew about Faeries, he wasn’t sure that was really where the name came from. 69 His father had played a gig there last summer at the Ward’s Island Community Centre. Again, he couldn’t recall a place called the Swan, but he didn’t know the island well.

One thing was for certain, he couldn’t just sit here. Orcadia was coming, and the ferry operator was calling someone on his radio. Time was of the essence. “It’s up to me, then,” he said through chattering teeth.

He got to his feet and pulled Kim up with him. Carrying an unconscious girl around with him seemed like a sure way to attract attention, but he had no choice. He imagined that it looked very bad. Hi! I found this girl and I’m taking her home! Not good, he thought ruefully. The man in the white uniform watched him lift Kim and shuffle away. Brendan was certain the man was suspicious. He could feel the glare following them as he hauled Kim away. Brendan half-dragged, half-walked her to the convergence of paved paths that led away from the ferry pier. He had to find the Swan before the man could call someone to stop him or Orcadia caught up with them.

A street lamp cast a bright white light down over the signpost that listed possible destinations with pointed arrows.

“Centre Park. The Dock. Cycle Paths. The Marina. Ward’s Island Community Centre.” No sign indicating a place called the Swan. “Now what?” He was about to turn away from the sign when something weird happened. 70 The central pole of the signpost began to grow!

A further foot of green post sprouted out the top and a sign unfolded. Written in an elegantly quaint hand, the sign read THE SWAN OF LIIR THIS WAY! Brendan rubbed his eyes and stared, but it wasn’t a hallucination. The sign pointed in the direction of the Community Centre, straight up the path toward the interior of the island in the direction of the music he’d been hearing. He hefted Kim and started off down the path.

The music swelled louder the closer he got to the Community Centre. Kim groaned, her head lolling forward as he struggled with her along the paved path. People passing gave him funny looks. He soon came to the edge of an open space. Reggae music was thumping, and the voices of people having fun, shouting, and whooping drifted from the open doors of the Community Centre. Light spilled from the broad windows and the wide double doors.

A cluster of people stood smoking outside the door. Soaked in sweat and steaming in the cool air after the heat of the Community Centre, they were laughing and chatting happily, but they stopped when Brendan shuffled past with his cargo.

“She’s not feeling well,” he explained lamely.

“Do you need a hand?” A young man stepped toward him.

“No! No thanks,” Brendan said quickly. “We’re fine. Her parents are inside. No problem!” The man frowned suspiciously. Brendan hurried past and came to the entrance, where an older woman with grey hair braided at the back and wearing a tie-dyed dress that spread out around her like a tent was sitting at a small table.

“Hi there,” she said, cheerily. “Five dollars each, please.” Then the woman noticed Kim. “What’s the matter with her?”

“She’s fine. Just a little sick. Flu maybe? She’s flu-ey, y’know. Flu.” Flu-ey? Nice one, dummy.

The woman’s face went from cheerful to suspicious in short order. “What’s going on here?”

“Nothing, really,” Brendan said. “I’m looking for a place called the Swan. The Swan of Liir? I was told it was near here?”

The wind was picking up, lashing the trees. A few drops of rain struck his face. The small hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. Orcadia was getting close, and he still didn’t know where the Swan was. He didn’t want to be caught out in the open when he was so close to the sanctuary Kim had insisted they find.

The smokers decided it was too cold to stay outside and shuffled into the hall. “Weird weather,” one of them said as they pushed past Brendan and Kim. He didn’t know how far away Orcadia was, but he felt instinctively that he didn’t have time to sit around.

“There’s no place named the Swan on the island.” The woman stood up. “You stay right here. I’m going to call security…” She picked up her cellphone and flipped it open.

Brendan turned away from the desk and looked in the direction of the city. The cloud bank had stopped. It appeared to him that the clouds had halted in a roughly semicircular line about two hundred metres from the building. He could see rain falling and lightning igniting the interior of the clouds, but they seemed to have stopped in their advance as if they’d run up against an invisible wall.

“No need to call security, Pearl,” a deep voice rumbled. “I know these two.”

Brendan turned and looked up into a dark smiling face wreathed in knotted dreadlocks. The man was easily the biggest man Brendan had ever seen. No, that wasn’t true. He wasn’t as massive as Borje, but Borje was a Troll and Brendan assumed that Trolls ran to the large side. This man wore a tight T-shirt with a portrait of Bob Marley stretched almost beyond recognition by his massive chest. His bare arms squirmed with muscle and were adorned with raised markings, scars in the shape of lions’ heads. His shaggy, dreadlocked hair was like a ropey mane draped over his broad shoulders. Twined in the strands of hair were beads and bands of metal, gold wire, and lumps of coloured crystal that glimmered in the lights overhead. His skin was like dark chocolate. In contrast, his eyes shone as blue as sapphires. He raised his massive hands and smiled, displaying an impressive array of gold teeth.