by Michael Kerr
CHAPTER SEVEN ―
INTO THE VALLEY OF MIST
Gorf stopped. The sight in front of the group was bloodcurdling. The floor of the cave was alive with movement. Giant spiders blocked their way, and many others were gliding down on threads, to reach the ground and disappear behind the stalagmites and rock formations.
“What are they doing?” Tommy asked.
“Hunting us,” Gorf replied.
All they could do was stay still and watch. The spiders found the two others that Gorf had killed, and the tearing, sucking, munching sounds were disgusting.
“How do we get past them?” Sam asked.
“We don’t,” Gorf said. “We’d never make it. There are far too many of them.”
A new sound could be heard above the noise of the spiders. Tommy thought it sounded like the flapping of wings. Seconds later they dropped to the ground as a thick black cloud of squeaking, crow-sized bats flew out of a dozen tunnels and into the vaulted arena of stone.
“Holy stalactites!” Tommy said. “We’re in the Batcave. We must be near Gotham City.”
“So where are the Caped Crusader and Robin?” Sam said.
“Off fighting crime somewhere else,” Tommy came back.
Gorf and Fig did not understand what they were talking about, but did not ask for an explanation as the bats spiralled out like curling streams of black smoke.
More spiders appeared above them, suspended at different heights, picking off the bats that flew too close to them.
Almost half an hour passed before the thousands of furry, leathery-winged creatures vanished from the cavern, to find their way out into the fresh air and hunt for airborne insects.
The spiders had a feast. Gorf thought that while they were preoccupied with the bats they had caught, and were still fighting over the bodies of the two spiders he had killed, they might be able to slip past them to the opposite side of the cavern.
“Let’s make a break for it,” Gorf said. “I don’t think we’ll get a better chance.”
“All for one, and one for all,” Tommy whispered.
They ran as fast as they could, to enter the mouth of a tunnel at the far side of the chamber and follow it for what seemed a small eternity, before eventually coming out into daylight. The canyon in front of them widened out, and the sandstone cliffs fell away to be no more than low ridges.
The desert was behind them. Ahead was sparse scrubland being grazed by wild sheep and goats, and beyond that, woodland leading into a wide valley, with forest carpeting the foothills at both sides. A thick mist flowed through the valley like a sluggish white river.
They stopped a few feet in front of the vaporous wall, from which curling tendrils seemed to reach out and search the air for something to grasp hold of.
“The Valley of Mist,” Fig said. “I wonder what danger lurks within it.”
“Let’s wait until morning before we find out,” Ben said. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
While the rest collected wood for a fire ‒ that Tommy lit by scraping two pieces of flint together to produce sparks, now that Fig and Speedy could not light it by using magic ‒ Gorf went off hunting, to return with a wild goat slung over his shoulder.
Speedy was feeling much better. The effects of the spider bite had almost worn off. Fig had found a balsam tree and crushed up some of the oily, sticky leaves to cover the two holes where the spider’s fangs had punctured his friend’s shoulder. The swollen, red wounds were immediately soothed by the healing properties of the gummy fluid, which acted as an antiseptic ointment.
After eating a meal of roasted goat meat, they settled down around the fire to sleep. Gorf stayed awake as usual and kept guard.
Sam had a nightmare, in which a giant scorpion – which looked more like a lobster – gripped her right arm in one of its pincers, and an equally big spider grasped her left ankle with legs covered in suckers. The two were fighting over her, almost pulling her apart. She woke up punching and kicking the air, only stopping as the imaginary beasts faded from her mind.
“Bad dream?” Fig asked.
“Yes, Fig. This world has creatures that back where we come from could only exist in nightmares or horror movies.”
As if on cue, the nearby wall of mist rippled, and a face formed on its surface. Fig, Sam and Gorf woke the others and pointed at the white mask.
“What is it?” Tommy asked.
“I am not an it,” the face said. “I am Mephisto. And if you were considering passing through me, then I would think again and go back to wherever it is you have come from.”
“We’re trying to reach the Crossroads of Time,” Sam said to the six-foot-high face that was swirling and altering its shape.
“Then it would be better if you continued your journey by another route. I am not in the habit of allowing anything solid to enter me.”
“What other way is there?” Ben asked.
“Through the hills to the west of the valley. Although they are swarming with yuddites, who will boil you alive, eat you, and make bracelets and necklaces of your teeth.”
“You sound wise, Mephisto,” Fig said as the face became an exact copy of his own. “It would be in your best interest to give us safe passage through the valley.”
“I think not. You are trying to fool me. It is in my best interest not be disturbed by fairies, humankind, and a strange looking troll tramping into the midst of my mist.”
“Then perish,” Gorf said. “For if we do not reach the Crossroads of Time and complete the mission we are on, then here and Allworlds are at risk of being destroyed by the Dark One.”
The face melted away, and a tall figure wearing a purple, cone-shaped hat with silver crescents and eyes on it, and a flowing gown of the same colour, materialised in front of them. He looked to be a kindly old man, apart from his eyes, which were smoky grey, with no whites or pupils.
“Explain yourself,” Mephisto said to them. “And if I believe your tale, I may let you pass.”
“We know the location of a gold chalice that can save Allworlds from a terrible fate,” Sam said. “And we have to reach Iceworld and return it to the Keeper-in-Waiting.”
“I don’t like to be told half-truths, young human,” Mephisto said. “I am the greatest wizard to ever cast a spell, and know everything there is to know. You have the chalice with you. Show it to me, before I lose my patience and turn you all into sand flies.”
“There’s no need to threaten us,” Sam said, reaching into her bag and pulling out the gold cup. “We’re risking our lives by trying to deliver this to where it will be safe.”
Mephisto wiggled his nose, and the chalice was jerked from Sam’s hands, to hover in the air in front of the wizard and slowly revolve so that he could examine it.
“Do you know what you have here?” Mephisto asked, and sent the chalice spinning back through the air to Sam. She caught it like a rugby ball. It was warm again, and she could feel it faintly throbbing against her fingers. It was in some way alive.
“I know we have something so important that it brought us to another world separate from our own,” Sam said. “And that if we don’t take it to the place it belongs, then whoever the Dark One is will use it to undo all that is good.”
“That may be the truth, Samantha Craig,” Mephisto said. “For locked within the gold the chalice is made from, is the future of Allworlds that the sorcerer who fashioned it dreamed of.”
“Are you saying that nothing is real? That we are just someone’s dream?” Sam asked.
“Ahh, reality, Sam,” Mephisto said. “And what would you know of reality? Have you never thought that dreams are wishes, and that wishes can come true?”
Sam had thought that. And she knew that this wily magician could read their minds. He had known her name, and probably knew everything about her and the others.
“I know the difference between what is and isn’t real,” Tommy said. “If you can see, touch, s
mell, hear and feel something, then it’s real.”
Mephisto shook his head. “And what of the monster that you believed was living in your wardrobe when you were six-years-old, Tommy Scott? It was real to you then, and you were not asleep and dreaming. Remember?”
Tommy felt his eyes close, and became dizzy as he was whisked back in time, to find himself at home in his bedroom, shaking under the covers. The wizard had somehow sent him to a place in his mind that he had almost forgotten about. It was like really being there….
….The wardrobe door was open just a few inches, and from where he lay Tommy could see the monster. It was quite dark in the bedroom, with just moonlight shining through the thin curtains to make odd-shaped shadows appear all around the room. He watched the thing for ages, and it watched him back. It was squatting down at the bottom of the wardrobe, and its eyes were yellow and glowing. He thought that it was a werewolf, and was sure that he could hear it growling. And when it snarled and moved forward, his hair stood on end and he screamed.
Tommy’s daddy came running along the landing, into the room, switched on the light and sat down on the bed next to him.
“What’s the matter, son?” his daddy asked him.
Tommy told him through his tears. “Th…there’s a m-monster in the wardrobe, Daddy.”
Andrew Scott, who had died when Tommy was nine years old, hugged his son, ruffled his hair, that was damp with sweat, and told him that it was just the shadows and his imagination playing tricks on him.
“I think you’ve been watching too much television, young man,” Andrew said as Tommy’s mummy came through and joined them. She kissed his forehead and held his hand.
“It might be those comics you read,” she said. “They’re full of horrible monsters. No wonder you’ve had a bad dream.”
Andrew went over to the wardrobe and opened first one and then the other door. “Look, Tommy. There’s nothing here that can harm you,” he said, pushing the coat-hangers back to let his son see that the most dangerous thing inside was a Buzz Lightyear figure. The top half of Buzz was sticking up from the brightly painted plywood toy box that Andrew had made. He had painted a clown’s face on the side of it, which was facing outwards. He turned the box round so that a painting of a boy flying a kite could be seen instead, and then pushed the wardrobe doors tightly shut.
“See, no monsters in there, Tommy.”
“That’s right, sweetheart,” his mummy added. “You’re safe in your own bedroom. Go back to sleep and have nice dreams.”
“I’ll try,” Tommy said.
“Good boy,” Andrew said, settling Tommy down and pulling the covers up to his chin.
Once he was tucked in with his Teddy bear gripped tightly in his arms, his parents left, turning the light off, but leaving the bedroom door slightly open.
Tommy tried to be brave, but the fear returned. He wanted to believe that he was safe, but knew that he wasn’t. The monster was invisible to grownups. It only appeared to children. He heard a creak, and was sure that the wardrobe doors had opened a fraction, so dragged his Teddy bear under the bedclothes and covered his head. As long as he didn’t make a noise and kept very still and out of sight, then he thought the thing that came alive at night in his toy box could not hurt him. But he wasn’t sure. He had the feeling that it was now next to the bed. It would have sharp teeth and claws, and dripping jaws. And it would be waiting for him to move. Nobody had told him the rules. He just knew them. He was safe if he stayed absolutely motionless. And it couldn’t get him once he fell asleep.
After a few minutes, it got hot and stuffy, and Tommy wanted to pull the sheet back and take a deep gulp of cool air. He also wanted to go to the bathroom. It wasn’t fair that he was trapped. He began to cry, and after a few minutes his daddy came back into the bedroom and uncovered him.
“There are no monsters or bogeymen in the wardrobe, Tommy,” he said. “I wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t true. You have to believe that it only exists because you have invented it. Tell it to go away, and it will.”
“Okay, Daddy. But can I have the light left on tonight, please?”
Andrew switched on the bedside lamp.
“And I’ve...I’ve wet myself,” Tommy said.
A little later, after his mummy had put fresh sheets on the bed and he had changed his pyjamas, he was alone again. He snuggled down with Pookie, his stuffed bear, and stared at the wardrobe doors. As long as the light was on, he was safe. Wardrobe monsters could not survive in the light. That was another rule.
“Go away and leave me alone,” he said out loud. “You aren’t real.”
The scene faded, and he was back facing the old wizard.
“Your monster was as real as you wanted it to be, Tommy,” Mephisto said. “But nothing you have encountered since coming through the portal can be told to go away?”
Tommy frowned. “I might be dreaming all of this,” he said.
Mephisto smiled. “The life you left behind might have been the dream.”
“You’re trying to confuse us,” Ben said. “I’m not just a part of someone else’s silly dream. I’m awake, and if anything here is not real, then it’s you.”
“Not true, Ben Cooper. Because if you are not dreaming, and if I am not real, then how is it I know you live at Beckside Cottage. And that your father is an auctioneer, and your mother is an artist?”
Ben had no answer. Now he really was confused.
“Come, enter the Valley of Mist, and you shall be my guests and stay the night in my enchanted cottage,” Mephisto said.
A large hole that was the shape of an arched doorway opened in the mist, and after they had walked through it, it closed up. The mist was not what it seemed to be. Under it, the air was clear and bright, and they were led along a path that cut through a sweet-smelling bluebell wood. High above the valley floor, the ceiling of mist covered the secret world of the wizard, but did not stop the light of the early morning sun from filtering through to warm them.
“There,” Mephisto said, pointing up ahead to where a stone built cottage with a thatched roof was standing in a glade, next to a gurgling brook. White smoke curled up lazily from the cottage’s chimney to mix with the mist.
Perhaps the cottage was really a mist-making machine, Sam thought. She was sure that nothing would ever surprise her again. Anything could exist in this world.
The oak door of the cottage opened as Mephisto approached it.
“Please, come in,” the wizard said, standing to one side and beckoning them to enter.
They hesitated, not sure whether or not it might be some kind of trap. It was hard to know who or what to trust anymore.
Tommy went first. He walked to the middle of the flagstone floor, stopped, and felt his mouth drop open. He stared in wonderment as a small figure he recognised slid down from a wooden chair and walked towards him.
―
