A Place Beyond The Map by Samuel Thews

would have guessed that he could. When he opened his eyes, he found the forest once again only dimly lit by the scant sliver of moonlight that escaped the blotting net of the tree branches. He pushed himself up to his elbows and took in the scene around him.
    Large shadowed bulks in the distance must have been the collapsed Faolchú. As he watched, he could see each body twitch.
    As he listened, he still heard the hissing of the arrows, although very faint. He looked to the right and saw an arrow as long as his arm protruding from the earth. A wisp of smoke escaped from the earth where the arrow was embedded.
    The sight of this smoke, which he imagined must be a very powerful poison, frightened him. He told himself that he must not breathe, but the burning in his lungs increased and at last, he gasped, expelling the spent air and refilling his lungs.
    The burning in his lungs from the lack of oxygen was pale in light of what he now experienced. His eyes bulged and his throat tightened. He clawed at the ground with his hands and whirled his head to face the Faë. Periwinkle looked at him as if to say I told you to hold your breath.
    And then he blacked out.
     
     
    Phinnegan dreamed a dream like none he had ever experienced. He was not sure how he knew that it was a dream, but he did just the same. The eyes in his dream saw nothing but blackness, a cold blackness that chilled him to the core and made him shiver. He wondered if it was truly black or if his eyes were not open, but then when he exhaled, he could see the fog of his breath against the blackness.
    For some few moments he lay in this cold, dark dream, longing for respite. But when the respite came, his dream became a nightmare.
    His skin began to itch, just a little at first. But as he scratched, the itching worsened until he felt what were bugs of all types creeping across his skin. He swatted at his arms and legs, trying to brush the insects from him. But the itching only worsened.
    When pale blue light appeared all around him, he looked down at his arms in horror. The crawling was not on his skin, it was his skin. He watched as the skin on his arms rippled and bubbled, as though a thousand insects were trapped just beneath, searching for the surface. He sprang to his feet, clawing at his arms to dispel the crawling insects.
    Please don’t let it be spiders .
    A sharp laugh drew his attention, and he looked up to find the judge from Féradoon, Julius Jay, high atop his bench, cackling and pointing.
    “What’s the matter, boy? Something making your skin crawl?” The judge threw his head back, laughing maniacally. When the judge made a wave with his hand, Phinnegan felt a tug at his wrists. He looked down to see that a small hole had opened at each wrist. Out of each poured thousands of small spiders.
    Knowing nothing else that he could do, Phinnegan screamed and tore at the skin on his arms. But for every handful of spiders he threw from his arms that many and more poured forth from his wrists. All the while, he heard the judge high above, cackling like a madman.
    The itching worsened, and as he turned this way and that looking for something, anything, that could help him, he saw that the jury had now appeared. The Faë who had spoken out against the judge and had ultimately been responsible for Periwinkle’s release stood staring at him, a long thin arm outstretched, a gnarled finger pointing directly at him.
    Phinnegan froze, and for the moment, the itching ceased. He blinked and the scene around him had changed to replicate the High Court of Féradoon in every detail. When he noticed that his arms felt heavy, Phinnegan looked down to find the chains that had earlier been on Periwinkle’s wrists, now on his own. But at least the spiders were gone.
    The juror stood with a malevolent smile upon his face. As he stared, the Faë’s face changed, the skin drawing tighter about the bones. The smile widened as the skin pulled the lips apart, revealing rotted,