Maleficent had taken much from the old man — answers, a wand, his home — but left him his life. It wasn't so much out of mercy as economy, since it took more magic than she wanted to spare to kill someone with the protections he had woven about himself. Instead, she tracked down Snow White and took what she needed. Selfishness repaid with selfishness: Mal suffered no guilt for inflicting that loss on the one who had done the same to her, first. The baby — Emma, Snow had called her — shared part of her soul with Maleficent's daughter. Mal used that link to guide the Apprentice's wand to open a door not only to the place but the moment.
Massaging the ambiguity in the flow of time between one realm and another could be dangerous, but Maleficent ignored the risk, focusing all her thoughts on finding her child alive (before it was too late). The door opened as she willed it (whatever his flaws, Merlin's spellcraft was impeccable and the wand he had created almost a millennium ago still worked perfectly), and on the other side...
...a fern-covered forest floor under tall spruces and beech trees, sunlight filtering dimly through the dense canopy, coalesced into existence. Under the fronds of a great fern, an infant nestled in the shards of a prematurely broken egg.
"Lily!" Maleficent hastened through the doorway, barely noticing when it vanished behind her. Thank heaven and earth she had arrived before any predators, before hunger and thirst could dig in their claws.
Her child was safe. As to what had been done to her, now that Mal held both infants in her arms, she could sense the imbalance in their souls. She concentrated on the weight of the darkness in her own child, tried to force it out.
And failed.
Whatever perversion of fate the Apprentice had wrought on her daughter was beyond Maleficent's skill or power to reverse. Damn the man. She would catch him again, force him to undo what he had done. She turned back to the portal.
The door opened onto nothing. Maleficent stared in disbelief. Disbelief became shock became a mounting horror. One small shift to the timeline had become (somehow) something far worse. The realm had been sent spinning, untethered from reality. Until the pull from the other realms dragged it back into place, they were cut off.
A small cry of despair broke out, then she sat heavily on a fallen log, her hand with the wand in it dropping to her side, Snow's baby almost sliding out of her grasp even as she clutched tighter to her own child with her other arm. "No."
But it was so. There would be no leaving this realm for months — maybe years. Things being as they were, she had to be practical. Even if she lacked the power to extract the extra dose of darkness from her own child, she still had enough magic to arrange a comfortable (and reclusive) life for the three of them. Keeping Emma and Lily close together meant that their light and darkness could balance out, sharing their luck and ill luck between them.
Baelfire fell into the new world alone except for the two griffons, who had hooked their needle-sharp claws into his jacket (narrowly missing the bared skin of his arm where the sleeve had pulled back) at the last moment. Now they unhooked themselves and flapped with noisy effort back into the air. Baelfire caught himself on one knee, landing in dirt and grass, then straightened to find himself in a vast meadow or grassland, but dry and scrubby rather than the lush green of the Frontlands.
"Papa? Belle?" He scanned his surroundings anxiously, knowing in the pit of his stomach that something had gone awry with the portal (of course it had) and finding only a herd of goats in the far distance. "Papa!"
No answer. He glanced up, shading his eyes against the sun to squint at the two dark dots of the griffons circling overhead. Surely they would let him know if they saw the others? But they only swept out in wider spirals.
Baelfire tried again, remembering what his father had told him about names. "Rumplestiltskin! Dark One, I summon thee!" He waited for the space of a breath, another one. When no reply came, he tried, "Snow White? Snow? James?" But no, that wasn't his real name. Baelfire knew it was a secret, but that could hardly matter now. "David!"
With each passing moment, the panic rose higher. No, no, not again! He crouched down in the grass, hands over his face, trying to think. It's not the same. He didn't abandon me. I'm not alone. But he couldn't shake the conviction that something had gone horribly wrong. Images of his father in chains — of Gaston 'purging' the dark magic from Rumplestiltskin — flashed through his mind. The Dark One's power that his father took to protect his family also made him a target for others who coveted that power.
But his father could never see that, always preferring the illusion of control over being the powerless cripple cowering in corners, and Baelfire did understand that after years playing Pan's games. He also understood how fragile the illusion could be. Did someone steal the dagger? If Papa wasn't here, it was because he couldn't. Baelfire trusted in that, these days. If Papa wasn't here, he was the one who needed help.
Baelfire lifted his head, biting back a bitter laugh. He had no magic. No magic bean. There was no sign of the portal. How was he going to help? The griffons had returned. Could they find the way back? They could travel between realms, couldn't they? Baelfire looked at them in mute appeal.
The griffons looked at each other, then at Baelfire. They chittered and hissed.
"I wish I could understand you." Baelfire stared miserably at them. Belle had tried to get them to learn the sign language used by the deaf in Schlaraffenland, which Baelfire knew a little of, but the griffons hadn't had the patience for the lessons beyond a few basic signs. "Have you seen my father? Or Belle? Or Snow White or James?"
The griffons indicated no to each name.
"Do you know where they went?"
No.
"Do you know what happened?"
The griffons turned to each other, but a few muttered squawks later, they seemed to shrug worriedly at Baelfire. No. Then, Bad.
Baelfire sighed. "Yeah, no kidding."
The griffon Otulissa made the sign for Dark One, then Belle, followed by together and a hopeful look.
Baelfire nodded. "They both have magic. They can defend themselves." Some of his worry eased. Maybe it was just taking some time to figure out the right spells. "I should stay here for now. They say when you're lost and people are trying to find you, you should stay put." And his father had to be looking for him.
The griffons lifted their wings and whuffed.
"Yeah, you guys keep looking, I guess."
As the griffons took to the air again, Baelfire moved to take cover from the heat of the sun under a squat, scraggly pine tree.
A goatherd (and his dog, and his goats) found him there half an hour later. A tall, well-weathered older man wearing a wide-brimmed hat, he pointed the end of his shepherd's crook at Baelfire. "Hey! Who're you, what're you doing here?"
Baelfire had scrambled warily to his feet, ready to dodge an attack, having known enough shepherds in his life to appreciate how accurate and deadly their aim could be. But to his relief, the man refrained from slinging a rock at his head and instead opted to talk. Baelfire held his hands out, palms upwards in a sign of peace. He was relieved that at least they spoke the same language, even if the goatherd had an accent like nothing in the Enchanted Forest. "I'm just a traveller. I mean no harm."
The goatherd looked him up and down, then lowered the staff. Though an almost frightened look crossed his face as Baelfire spoke, he made no move to draw the knife at his belt and his voice was steady enough as he said, "Falconer? Strange hawks. No glove."
Baelfire smiled disarmingly (he hoped), letting the dog sniff at his hands. "Yeah, well. It's a long story."
The goatherd nodded. After a moment's pause, he offered, sounding almost reluctant, "One to tell by the fire? You're welcome to share mine this night."
Baelfire shook his head. "Thank you, but I can't." He glanced at the sky, but the griffons had flown out of his sight. "I..."
The goatherd didn't wait for explanation or excuse, but nodded again. He unslung the pack from his shoulders and rummaged through it, retrieving a drinking gourd and a chunk of bread, shoving both in Baelfire's direction. "For you. Please."
When Baelfire hesitated, the man said hastily, "Water. Bread. Untouched by blood, I swear!"
Baelfire blinked, not sure if he had heard correctly. But as the man looked so nervous, Baelfire accepted both. "I believe you. Thank you?"
The man breathed more easily. "My honor. Peace upon you." Then he touched the brim of his hat and whistled for his dog. As Baelfire watched in bewilderment, the goatherd left again, taking the goats with him, all slowly making their dusty way across the landscape until they went out of sight behind a hill.
"What was that all about?" Baelfire muttered to himself. He opened the gourd and sniffed at the contents, then at the bread. Probably not poisoned, but he wasn't desperate enough to risk it yet. He leaned his back against the tree with a sigh, all his worries flooding back to him. Where was everyone?
The griffons returned before long, but with such glum, hangdog looks that Baelfire knew without asking that they hadn't found Rumplestiltskin or the others. The black griffon, Eskereye, dropped a trout apologetically at Baelfire's feet.
"We're staying past suppertime, is that what you're saying?" He sighed and poked at the fish. "I'll start a fire, then. I prefer my fish cooked." Not that he hadn't had to eat it raw in his time on Neverland, but that wasn't something he wanted to think about. "And gutted." He drew his belt knife and began cleaning the fish, then impaled it on a peeled stick.
Otulissa stuck her head in and glared at the fish. Sparkles of light shot through it and there was the sizzle of cooking meat.
"Oh. That works, thanks." Baelfire showed the griffons the gifts left by the goatherd. "There was a man... he was a little strange, but he gave me this. Do you think it's safe?"
A careful inspection. Then shrugs of approval.
The water was welcome, but he thought the container was even more useful, given that Baelfire had lost his pack somewhere in the void between the worlds. The bread was dry and hard, but had a sweet, pleasant flavor once he managed to gnaw off a piece. It went well with the fish.
"The goatherd said something about 'untouched by blood'. That mean anything to you?"
The griffons muttered at each other, but came to no conclusion as far as Baelfire could tell. They did manage to communicate that water was not far, there being a creek tucked away in a fold of the land, but Baelfire stubbornly insisted on staying put.
"What if the portal opens again? I need to be able to see it."
But as the hours dragged on and the sun sank under the horizon, he had to admit it was looking less and less likely. Too dark now to travel, he made do with sleeping on the ground, restless and waking every few minutes to check if there was any change.
By morning, Baelfire had changed his mind about staying where he was. "Maybe we should look for help. There must be sorcerers or seers or something in this world."
They wouldn't be found by wandering aimlessly through the semi-wilderness, he thought. Even if sorcerers were often reclusive, if they were willing to do business, they would be known by rumor at least, and more people meant more rumors.
"We need to find a town or city, somewhere with a lot of people."
After eating another chunk of the bread, Baelfire and the griffons set off, but not before he tore a strip off his tunic and tied it to a branch of the tree. It didn't bear any identifying marks, but he knew his father (with his magical sight) would be able to recognize it as Baelfire's.
"All right, let's go."
The griffons, having already scouted the local area, led him to a village. The people there had much the same look and sound as the goatherd from the day before, and while some looked at the stranger askance, others were willing to answer Baelfire's cautious queries. There wasn't much by way of magic here, not even a hedge witch or healer. Try elsewhere, they said. The village was on a road, and the road led to bigger towns and a city by the sea, so they said.
He could wish for a horse, but he had no money to buy or hire one, so he began walking. Later, the griffons brought him another fish, and this time he traded it for a ride on the back of an itinerant tinker's wagon. When Eskereye looked at him reproachfully, Baelfire muttered, "You can catch another one, can't you? But maybe stay out of sight. I heard people talking... don't get yourselves shot."
Eskereye squeaked indignantly, but after that, the griffons seemed to vanish behind a cloud of uncertainty.
The tinker was a woman of a taciturn and solitary bent, but as they made camp for the night, Baelfire coaxed a few tidbits out of her.
"If it's magic you want, ask a mage," she said. "There's one calls hisself 'Archmage of Katekh." She shook her head. "Too much money, too little gain, don't say I didn't tell you, kid."
Baelfire sighed. He didn't need telling, but there was no use explaining. "And Katekh, that's the city by the sea?"
"Yeah." She peered at him suspiciously. "Didn't come by that way, then? Thought for sure you were fresh off the boat. That, or fell out of a hollow hill."
Baelfire shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I'm not from around here, if that's what you mean."
The tinker shrugged, but didn't pursue the point.
The next day, they parted ways, the tinker continuing her winding route through the villages while Baelfire trudged onwards following her directions toward Katekh. The day after that, he came to a river, the road running alongside all the way to the sea (presumably). He hitched more rides as he could. The griffons took to stealing bread, smug inside their concealment charms. Baelfire felt a little guilty for the theft, but didn't have the heart to try to force them to put the bread back.
"I hope you didn't snatch this from the mouths of hungry children!"
The griffons eyed him scornfully, Otulissa signing, No.
But stuck in a strange realm with no connections and no money, he couldn't afford too many scruples, and if he wasn't really hurting anyone, what was the harm? There was no Beggars Clan here (he had checked, while passing through a market town, but none had responded to the secret signs or showed evidence of being more than they seemed) so he had to get by however he could.
Katekh was a bustling, prosperous sea port. The houses had white walls and red tiled roofs and the streets were paved with cobbles, but underneath that, he saw signs of something older in the ancient, massive sea walls and the name of the city itself that lay strangely on the tongue where the citizens had names that wouldn't be out of place in the Enchanted Forest.
The so-called Archmage of Katekh, for instance, was actually one Simon Gittian. He lived in a mansion on a hillside away from the city proper. It was nothing like the Dark Castle in style, but easily matched it in grandeur.
Baelfire observed it from a distance at first. Clients and tradesmen came and went. He noted the apparent wealth of the clients and his heart sank. On the other hand, they came away with expressions ranging from pleased to worshipful, which was not what he usually saw in those fresh from an audience with the Dark One, which tended to be an unsettling business for most. Baelfire didn't trust it in the least. The griffons flew a few sweeps over the estate — with what result, Baelfire wasn't sure, but hoped they were careful about it. As they managed to return in one piece, he assumed they hadn't triggered any defensive wards or traps. He did get an impression of unease, and when he made his move to approach the mage, Eskereye insisted on going.
The little black griffon shrank to her smallest size and hid under Baelfire's cloak and a concealment charm, clinging to his left arm, which he kept bent across himself to accommodate her. Otulissa added an enchantment to transform his clothes to match the finery typical of the mage's other clients. She chirped something at him which he chose to interpret as "Good luck!"
Baelfire lifted a foot to admire his newly transmuted boots, then nodded in gratitude to the griffon. "Thanks."
It was still early in the morning when Baelfire reached the front gate, as early as he had seen anyone visit the mage, and he hoped it would improve his chances if he was the first in line for the day. The compound was enclosed by the red-topped white walls ubiquitous in the area, and the main entrance was through a gatehouse that was more luxurious than the hovel Baelfire had grown up in. He felt a prickle of magic as he stepped over the threshold and held his breath, but to his relief nothing happened.
The gatekeeper was stationed behind a wooden counter, a ledger open before her. Two armed guards in breastplates and helmets stood watch. The gatekeeper, a young woman with a severe face, eyed Baelfire, looking unimpressed despite his upgraded garb. "Name and business?"
"Neal," he improvised, not wanting to give his true name away for free to a mage. "I'm here to see the Archmage."
"Aren't you all?" The gatekeeper made a show of consulting her ledger. "You don't have an appointment."
"No, but—"
"No appointment, no archmage, understand?" She enunciated the words slowly, then gave him a withering smile.
Baelfire sighed. "Well, I want to make an appointment, then..."
The gatekeeper ran a finger down the page, then flipped it and repeated the process. "The archmage, he's a busy man..." She left the words dangling suggestively.
Great. She wanted a bribe. Baelfire wished he had thought to bring a few spools of his father's golden thread (it wasn't as though he'd run out) but the truth was it always reminded him of what his father had become. All his old fears came welling up and he felt an instinctive revulsion at the sight of gold. It was just the rest of the world that still coveted that poisonous gleam.
"Look, I don't have any money on me right now, but if he can help me, he can have my weight in gold if he wants," Baelfire offered. His father had paid worse than gold to get his son back, after all.
The gatekeeper looked unconvinced. "What are you, an alchemist? Looking for 'investors', are you? That why they sent a kid? Next you'll be telling me you have the secret of immortality."
Baelfire was startled into a pained laugh. "Funny story about that..."
"Get out!"
"Wait, no, that's not what I... look, I don't want any money from him or anything," he clarified hastily. "Please, just let me talk to him..."
"If the archmage wanted a chat with every passing grifter, he wouldn't've hired me," snapped the gatekeeper. She gestured at the two guards. "Get him out of my sight."
Baelfire backed away at their heavy-footed approach. They looked a little too eager to have a bit of 'fun' at his expense. "I'm going, I'm going. No need for bloodshed."
Then a shadow fell across him — someone blocking the door.