Compass of Dreams Read online

I wanted to say something meaningful to her. Something philosophical, or deep. But I couldn’t think of anything, so I just kept quiet.

  Aiby let me go. “I know you can do it, Finley,” she said.

  “You’ve always underestimated me,” I reminded her.

  She smiled. “No,” my best friend said. “I never did.” Then she planted a kiss on my trunk. Tree or not, I shivered.

  Doug came over and gave me a punch on the trunk. “Don’t be long, okay?” he said. “When I said I’d break you in half, I didn’t mean like firewood.”

  I shook my biggest limbs in laughter. “Good one,” I said. “And don’t worry, bro. Tomorrow morning I’ll be good ol’ Viper again.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’ll leave you some clothes to change into when you’re back to normal, okay? No one wants to see you naked.”

  He laid a pair of pants on the beach over my roots, then set a few stones on top of them so they wouldn’t blow away. “I got those jeans you said you liked. Remember?”

  I had no idea what he was talking about, but I appreciated the gesture. “Oh, yes. Thanks, Doug.”

  Doug frowned, then slipped off his rugby shirt — the one he wore during games. His lucky jersey. “Here,” he said in a cracked voice. “You get any blood or sap or whatever on this and you’re dead meat.”

  At that moment, I realized trees couldn’t cry, but they can change the color of their trunks to a darker shade. At least I could, anyway. I rustled my smaller branches, hoping Doug would understand that his gesture meant a lot to me.

  Doug nodded, then left with his hands shoved in his pockets. Patches whined on the ground, rubbing his nose against my trunk. Before he left, he wished me good luck by peeing on my roots.

  * * *

  Night came. I was alone, just as I had been before.

  I looked out at the moonlit waves of the sea. I felt a tingling all over my skin — err, my bark — like I was giving off steam. I realized that I was slowly drifting to sleep.

  I had to think about myself, like Aiby told me. Something about me or my life that made it feel worthwhile to go back to being Finley McPhee instead of a tree.

  It was a tough task, since I had a million good memories of all kinds. I wanted to go back to being the Finley who went fishing with Patches. The Finley who loved to watch his brother play rugby but didn’t know how to tell Doug that.

  I wanted to be the Finley who became an ancient hero in order to defend the Enchanted Emporium from a giant made of stone. The Finley who hugged Aiby near the cliff the other day. I focused on how I felt at the moment we touched. I was alive in every sense of the word.

  My thoughts swirled inside me like insects. I could hear them moving, slow and heavy, and I realized that trees had a very different way of thinking. It was more calm and thoughtful, like moving ideas as if they were physical objects. Important ideas traveled down to the roots in search of nourishment. Other thoughts branched out to sprout and grow, while the more complete ideas seemed to melt in the wind. But ideas never mixed. Instead, each idea remained single and indivisible, like seeds waiting to sprout.

  My mother once told me, “Finley, you think about too many things at once.” And she was right, I’d always been guilty of that.

  Even our superintendent, the Widow Rozencratz, told me as much when she ratted me out to my parents for skipping school to go fishing. I recalled my classmates, like Sammy Monkfish and his notebook scrawled with cuss words. I remembered our fight in front of the pub over the night patrols and the hunt for Green Jack.

  And now I was a Green Man. Would Sammy have shot me?

  I thought of Semueld Askell and his deadly flying sign.

  I thought of the Water of Dreams that flowed through my veins.

  I thought about the possibility that I was already dreaming, like in one of those lucid dreams where you realize you’re dreaming but can’t do anything about it.

  I thought of my roots and how they tethered me to the ground. I hated feeling trapped like this. Paralyzed.

  Then again, being forced to stand still for so long had its advantages. For one thing, I could think more clearly and easily. And it was kind of nice to have some time to just think. I began to wonder what my life would be like as a tree. The idea of only being able to see one fixed point for the rest of my life scared me.

  But in a way, it’s the same as being human, I realized. We need a fixed point, too — it’s just harder to see sometimes.

  Who am I? I thought. Well, I’m Finley — with an “F.”

  I smiled in my dream. Finley McPhee had always been a likeable goofball, a slacker, and sometimes a liar and a cheater. He loved things like fishing far more than going to school, and because of that fact, he’d probably never learn how to read the Enchanted Language or how to write an Incantation.

  I was all these things, but also none of them. I knew, deep down, that I had one fixed point deep within me.

  A long time passed in dreams. Then something happened: I saw many small Finleys standing before me. One, two, three . . . seven Finleys in all, all of them the same, yet each one was different. In that moment, I saw myself more clearly than ever before.

  I know who I am, I thought. I’ve decided.

  I smiled, and my larger limbs rustled just like they had when I’d laughed.

  I kept my eyes on the soft warmth of the dreamy sun.

  And when I awoke, it was morning.

  The next day, I called Doug into my room. “Doug, I just remembered a dream I had a while I was a tree!”

  I was lying on my bed on my stomach because it still hurt to sit where Meb had given me the injection. Who would’ve guessed a tree’s roots are located where a human’s butt is?

  My brother pulled off his headphones. “What dream?” he asked. For a moment, I felt the horrible sound of an electric guitar in my bones.

  “I dreamed of a man sneaking through the forest,” I said. “He was dressed in colorful clothes, had long hair, and smelled like bellybutton lint. And he was wearing a pair of sunglasses with one broken lens.”

  “Oh, come on,” Doug said, scoffing. “You dreamed of the Green Man?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Of Green Jack.”

  I propped myself up on my elbows. “He had his deck of Soul Cards with him, and I knew he wanted to challenge me. The first thing he said was, ‘Do you know how heavy the soul is, boy?’ And I replied, ‘It weighs twenty-one grams.’”

  “What did he say back?” Doug asked.

  “He nodded and chuckled, then he told me that the weight would be exactly twenty-one grams and that right there was the fun part. Then he shuffled the cards and said, ‘Let’s do this. Me against you. If you win, you can have your soul back. If I win, I’ll take it to the other side. Agreed?’ And without waiting for my answer, he dealt me the first card.”

  “What did you play?” Doug asked.

  “Twenty-one, of course,” I replied, with a smile. “Do you know how to play?”

  “Yes,” he told me. “You keep taking cards, trying to get as close as possible to twenty-one without going over. The ace is worth one or eleven, the face cards ten each, and other cards are worth the number written on them.”

  I nodded. “My first card was an ace.”

  “And what did you do?” Doug asked.

  “I said, ‘Hit me.’”

  Doug nodded. “And?”

  “I got an eight.”

  “So, an eight and an eleven from the ace gave you nineteen,” concluded my brother. “I hope you stayed.”

  “I asked for another card, Doug.”

  He shook his head and smirked. “Idiot,” he said.

  I raised an eyebrow. “And he dealt me another ace.”

  “No way!” Doug said. “Did your hand beat his?”

  I looked at him for a long moment. “Then I asked for
another card.”

  Doug just stared at me blankly.

  “And I got the third ace,” I said. “Three aces and an eight. Twenty-one. Blackjack.”

  My brother broke into laughter. “You’re crazy, Viper.”

  “That’s what Green Jack said, too!” I said. “He laughed and gathered up the cards without letting me see his hand. Then he whistled, and said, ‘That old hag Adele was right when she said I wouldn’t be bored in this town. That was a good game, Finley McPhee. A really good game. I haven’t lost a hand in ages.’ Then he smirked, and added, ‘But don’t worry, I think we’ll play again someday.’”

  “Then what happened?”

  I shrugged. “Then I woke up on the beach. I barely had the strength to get dressed before you and Meb arrived and helped me get home.”

  He grinned. “You know, if you keep sleeping all day, Mom’s going to start to get suspicious.”

  I nodded. “Hey, Doug?”

  “What?”

  “Here under the bed,” I said. “There should be a book . . .”

  Doug smirked. He reached under the bed, grabbed the book, and set it next to me on the bed. It was The Black Book of the Woods, which I had brought home the night Aiby’s dad was shot.

  “So you finally want to start learning this stuff, huh, Viper?”

  I hesitated. “No. I want you to take it.”

  Doug heard a noise and went to the window. “Oh, great!” he said. “They’re here. Let’s go!”

  I gestured for him to wait, but he didn’t care. I managed to sneak a peek out the window before he tossed me over his shoulder and carried me downstairs and outside.

  When Doug set me down, Patches started bounding around my feet in the grass while yipping excitedly. Dad was out working in the fields, but the noise from the tractor was comforting. Mom came up and gave me a cup of coffee and milk without asking any questions. Even though she hadn’t forced me to explain my absence the night before, I could tell she was worried.

  “Hey Mom,” I said. “Do you happen to know where the McBlacks are originally from?”

  “Suffolk,” she said. “Why?”

  I smiled. “No reason,” I said. She ruffled my hair and went back inside.

  Doug tapped me on the shoulder, then pointed to my right. Next to the front door were two gleaming bicycles, one red and one slightly larger white one!

  “Wow!” I said, limping over to them. “Where did these come from?!”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Do you like them?”

  “They’re awesome, Doug!” I cried. “But how did you —”

  He put me in a headlock and rubbed his knuckles against my scalp.

  I grinned and elbowed him off me. Then I looked at the red bike and titled my head. It was missing a fairly important part. “So, um . . . where’s the saddle?” I asked.

  He chuckled. “Right there.”

  “Huh?”

  Doug put a hand on the frame where bikes normally have saddles. His hand traced a shape. “It’s a special, invisible, magical saddle,” he said, unnecessarily building it up. “Aiby and Locan ordered it. You know, as a welcome back gift.”

  I was so happy that I almost squealed. I looked up at the clear sky and the islands across the bay, and decided I’d made the right choice to return to normal.

  “You should take it for a spin,” he said.

  “Not now,” I said, patting my new bike. “Well, maybe I’ll give it a try. There is something I need to take care of today . . .”

  I looked out at the sea toward the island where Scary Villa was located. Doug glanced out with me. “Do you want me to come with you?” he asked uncertainly.

  I stared at him, struggling to hide my amazement. He pretty much never wanted to do anything with me. “Next time,” I said. “I should probably do this alone.”

  Doug seemed to be relieved. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Then I’m going to go help Dad in the fields.” We bumped fists, then he left.

  I ran upstairs to my room and stuffed a few things into my backpack. Then I sprinted back downstairs to my new bike.

  I gingerly climbed onto the saddle, expecting it to hurt, but was pleasantly surprised to feel like my butt was floating on a cloud.

  I’m really going to have to thank the Lilys for this, I thought.

  Patches barked. “Sorry, buddy,” I said, beginning to pedal away. “You gotta stay behind this time.”

  I calmly pedaled to the Dogberry farm, then slowly and carefully loaded my new bike into the boat and pushed it into the water, headed for Scary Villa.

  About an hour later, I was standing in front of the gate. I pulled the chain to open it and quickly squeezed through the opening with my bike.

  Almost immediately, I heard Cromwell barking. I tensed. It would’ve been nice to have Patches with me, but he might’ve gotten hurt. To calm myself, I recalled the last few days’ crazy events.

  My first trip to Scary Villa. Playing cards with Green Jack. Semueld Askell and the High Voltage sign. Adele Babele and her scarecrow coachman.

  Not too long ago, it all would’ve seemed ridiculous. But now I knew better. Magic did exist. And even if it didn’t, it’d be necessary to create it.

  While a magical object had helped return me to normal after a brief experience as a tree, it wasn’t the Water of Dreams that had actually restored me. Water was just water. But dreams . . . well, dreams showed me the way back home. Back to myself.

  “Like a compass,” I said to myself. “A compass of dreams.”

  Aiby was also my compass. Her face seemed so familiar to me despite the fact that I’d only known her for a short time. Yet she too showed me the way.

  I walked toward the pointed roof of Scary Villa and passed through the creepy garden statues. “Don’t be afraid,” I said to myself. “I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m here to do something right.”

  Up until very recently, a little voice inside my head had been speaking to me. It had counseled me and protected me. But now that soft voice was gone, replaced by my own.

  Grandma was gone. And I was growing up.

  “Lucky her,” I said, seeing Cromwell jog into view, every bit as shaggy, ugly, and terrible as before.

  Behind Cromwell, I saw the creeping ivy on the villa’s walls. My eyes followed it up to the window where I’d seen that girl before. I wondered if she was lonely. If she wanted to talk to someone who wouldn’t be scared of her statues. Someone trustworthy.

  But what would we talk about? I wondered. Then I smiled. Perhaps a little, green girl who’d walked through a cave and found herself in a strange forest in Suffolk.

  It hadn’t taken me long to put two and two together. In The Black Book of the Woods, the little girl in the story was also named Somerled. To confirm my suspicions, I’d asked my mother where the McBlacks were originally from. When she told me they were from Suffolk, I knew my hunch was right.

  And so they’d kept her hidden for all those years here inside Scary Villa. It also explained why they’d stolen the Sherwood Compass. After all, it was the only magical item that could track down a Green Person.

  So, I continued walking, very slowly, with the Compass Sherwood tucked under my arm. Cromwell sat down and let me pass. It was like he recognized me.

  I felt like me. The real me. The me I’d dreamed of. The me I’d chosen. The true Finley McPhee.

  The one who keeps his promises.

  I was born on March 6, 1974, in Acqui Terme, a small and beautiful town of Piedmont, Italy. I grew up with my three dogs, my black bicycle, and Andrea, a special girl who lived five miles uphill from my house.

  During my boring high school classes, I often pretended to take notes while I actually wrote stories. Around that time, I also met a group of friends who were fans of role-playing games. Together, we invented and e
xplored dozens of fantastic worlds. I was always a curious but quiet explorer.

  While attending law school, I won an award for my novel, The Road Warrior. It was one of the most beautiful days of my entire life. From that moment on, I wrote and published my novels. After graduating, I worked in museums and regaled visitors with interesting stories about all the dusty, old objects housed within.

  Soon after, I started traveling. I visited Celle Ligure, Pisa, Rome, Verona, London, and many other places. I’ve always loved seeing new places and discovering new cultures, even if I always end up back where I started.

  There is one particular place that I love to visit: in the Susa Valley, there’s a tree you can climb that will let you see the most magnificent landscape on the entire planet. If you don’t mind long walks, I will gladly tell you how to get there . . . as long as you promise to keep it a secret.

  I once had a very special friend who had everything he could possibly want. You see, ever since we were kids, he owned a magical pencil with two perfectly sharp ends. Whenever my friend wanted something, he drew it — and it came to life!

  Once, he drew a spaceship — and we boarded it and went on a nice little tour around the galaxy.

  Another time, he drew a sparkling red plane that was very similar to the Red Baron’s, only a little smaller. He piloted us inside a giant volcano that had erupted only an hour earlier.

  Whenever my friend was tired, he drew a big bed. We dreamed through the night until the morning light shone through the drawn shades.

  This great friend of mine eventually moved to China . . . but he left his magic pencil with me!

  Enchanted Emporium is published by Capstone Young Readers

  A Capstone imprint

  1710 Roe Crest Drive

  North Mankato, Minnesota 56003

  www.capstoneyoungreaders.com

  First published in the United States in 2015 by Capstone

  All names, characters, and related indicia contained in this book, copyright of Atlantyca Dreamfarm s.r.l., are exclusively licensed to Atlantyca S.p.A. in their original version. Their translated and/or adapted versions are property of Atlantyca S.p.A. All rights reserved.