The Magic Lands

by Mark Hockley

  CONFRONTATION WITH THE BEAST

  He had gone to the room where he had left the two boys and as expected found it empty. The Master had told him they would be gone. And as it was always, the Master had been right. Now it was time to pay a visit on the creature he had trapped so neatly in the cellar.

  With a quickening pace, the man made his way along one of the many twisting corridors that ran all through every level of the great house, creating a maze in which those who were unfamiliar with its secrets could easily become lost. He could admit, at least to himself, that he didn't particularly relish the idea of facing the badger again, but he had been given his instructions and could not ignore them. He knew what had to be done and that the task was his alone to perform.

  The Master had leant close to him and spoken in a low, confidential voice. "The half-one must be slain...murdered by your hand."

  "But how shall I kill the animal, Master?" he had questioned, doing his utmost to hide his fear.

  "Take this," the Master had said nonchalantly, handing him a small metallic object.

  The man had examined the gift, turning it over tentatively in his hands. It was a miniature pistol, no bigger than his palm.

  "How can I kill it with a toy?" he had asked, confused.

  "It will do quite well, quite nicely," the Master had assured him. "Trust me."

  The man had gazed into his master's eyes with both awe and dread and bowed his head. "It will be done."

  "Just one shot between the eyes," the Master had chuckled, close to his ear, "no more, no less."

  Now, as he turned another corner in the hallway, the man fingered the gun nervously. Just one shot. And so it would be. For when he had checked the weapons chambers, only one of the six had held a bullet.

  "Wolf masks!" Jack said, only just managing to keep his voice down.

  Tom stared at the faces of the huntsmen assembled together for their Ball. "We were right then," he whispered, "something is going on here, something to do with the White Wolf."

  "Yes," Jack answered, "and you can bet your life that it knows we're here."

  Tom frowned. "I'd rather not take that bet if it's all the same to you."

  "So what are we going to do now?" asked Jack as Tom crawled back along the corridor until he was certain he could not be seen. Jack did likewise and then gaining their feet, the boys looked gravely at one another.

  "We'll search this place from top to bottom until we find Mo," Tom said. "Maybe not everyone in the house is on the Wolf's side, but to be safe, let's keep out of sight as much as possible. Who knows, Mo might even be looking for us."

  "If he's still alive," Jack mumbled, his eyes downcast.

  Tom didn't want to think about that. If the badger had been captured by the Wolf, that would mean they were all alone. No, Mo was all right, wherever he was. He would not allow himself to think otherwise. "Come on, let's get going," he said briskly.

  Jack's face told how afraid and anxious he was and Tom knew that their situation wasn’t good, stranded here in the midst of an enemy stronghold, without help or guidance. Briefly, he wondered if Uncle Ira and Aunt Emily thought that he was dead. Had they called in the police? Perhaps search-parties were at that very moment scouring the area around their village, dogs attempting to sniff out their scent. But surely they had been missing for too long, possibly weeks, although his concept of time had been completely altered since coming to this strange world. The search could have been called off long ago for all he knew and this idea depressed him deeply. But as the badger had said, time was just a manmade thing. Maybe only a moment had passed in that other world, his world.

  Maybe.

  Dredger stood on the brow of the hilltop and gazed down upon the lost city of Hydan. It was just as it had been in his dream.

  At his side Geheimnis waited, his mask alive with mirth. "And so," he began softly, "we are here." He paused to glance at the warrior. "How does it feel to meet your destiny?"

  Dredger scowled, not looking at the other man. "I think it is time you learnt the truth about me, for I no longer require your attendance. You have served your purpose. I bid you farewell and good riddance."

  Geheimnis appeared to regard him carefully from beneath his mask. "My intrepid friend, don’t you know you are an open book to me. You have no need to reveal anything to me." He tilted his head to one side, as if considering this and then continued. "But you are correct in one respect. It is time that the truth was learnt. Not least by you, dear Dredger."

  With a low chuckle, Dredger came close to the masked man and looked hard into his shadowy eyes. "You speak well," he chided, now using his companion's tools of mockery and contempt. "But I think your words are empty…meaningless." His lips curled into a ferocious snarl. "You said this is your home, not seen for aeons. So what are you? What manner of beast? What is beneath that mask? A freak!? Is your face so disfigured and hideous that you are ashamed to show it? Or do you hide another secret? You may think me stupid, but I am not. Since our first meeting I have suspected your true identity and now I am certain of it."

  The two men now stood inches apart, Dredger's breath touching the austere surface of Geheimnis' mask.

  "And so who am I, may I ask?" the masked man said gently, his smile jubilant.

  "The creature whom I seek!" cried Dredger, his fingers brushing the blade at his side. "You are the Second Beast."

  Geheimnis' mask immediately became blank. "And you, Dredger my friend," he hissed, "are a fool."

  As he touched the handle of the cellar door, an odd, inexplicable feeling of dread ran through him. The sensation faded rapidly, but he had to pause and collect himself before he was ready to enter the room. Within, he knew, the badger was waiting for him.

  Once inside the ill-lit doorway, trying to adjust his eyes to the blackness, he searched below for the animal's hiding place. He knew very well that the badger would be hiding. After all, what option did it have? There was no way to escape.

  He cleared his throat nervously, the sound reverberating in the hollow darkness as if it were a living thing, growing in volume until it seemed inhuman and menacing. This made him all the more uneasy, but he was determined to carry out his Master's mandate, his fear of failure outweighing all else. So reaching to his right he flicked a switch at the head of the staircase that would cut off the electric current and allow him to descend.

  He had hoped as he entered, that he might dimly see the animal's carcass sprawled out upon the stairs. But obviously, his prisoner was not that foolish. It simply meant that he would have to do the job personally.

  But still something nagged at him, a persistent doubt. There was something about the badger's attitude, something in the way the creature had spoken to him, that had unsettled him, his confidence shaken.

  I must not let my imagination get the better of me. The Master is the law of the land. Nothing can stand against it.

  Tentatively he began his descent, treading very precisely, step by slow step, ready to act upon the slightest movement. The small pistol was held tightly in his left hand, his finger twitching rhythmically against the trigger.

  On the final step he hesitated, uncertain of what to do next. He felt certain the animal was watching him from the shadows, perhaps preparing to attack and he did not want to give it that chance. But there was no hint as to where the creature might be lurking, the silence becoming maddening.

  Lowering the gun to his side and masking it with his hand, he spoke into the gloom. "If you show yourself, perhaps we can strike a bargain."

  Behind him, at the top of the stairs, the soft pad of paws made him spin around sharply and in the shadow-light above, he saw a flash of white amidst the darkness.

  "Too late for bargains," said a voice and he screamed silently, his eyes alive with fear, astonishment registering for a brief moment before with an almost inaudible click, the switch was thrown. "Too late," repeated the voice as a sickening smell of charred flesh filled the air.

  Tom led
the way with Jack close behind. They had ventured along many bleak hallways since they had watched the guests at the Ball from their overhead hiding place. Now they were completely lost, having no idea if they were on the ground floor or the top.

  "We’re not getting anywhere like this," grumbled Jack, his apprehension growing with every moment that passed. "I know it's dangerous but don't you think we should take a look in some of these rooms?"

  "But suppose somebody's already in there?" Tom responded, coming to a halt in front of a row of panelled doors..

  "What choice do we have," Jack argued, "and anyway, Mo could be inside one of these rooms, tied up or something."

  Tom studied a large wooden door to his left and with a shrug, he reached out a tentative hand and touched the door handle. "They're probably all locked. If you were holding someone prisoner, wouldn't you lock the door?"

  "There's only way to find out."

  Tom gently pulled the handle down and pushed the door a few inches ajar and then turned to look at Jack. "What now?"

  Jack stepped forward and peered through the gap into darkness. There was no light within and nothing stirred. All was silent and still. "I think it's empty," he whispered, listening intently.

  An unpleasant idea surfaced in Tom's head. What if the Wolf was inside there? What if it was just waiting in there for them, crouching in the dark.

  "Mo might still be in there," Jack said reluctantly, not wanting to enter into the blackness beyond the door. "He could be hurt."

  Tom inched forward, trying to resist the tide of fear that threatened to engulf him. "I'll go first, but stay close to me." He sounded a good deal braver than he actually felt.

  Pushing the door open a little wider, Tom stepped inside. As he passed over the threshold, lanterns set upon the walls ignited into low flame that gradually grew stronger until the room was brightly lit.

  The Wolf was waiting for him, grinning with hideous mirth.

  Behind him the door closed with an ominous click.

  "Jack," he murmured, almost choking on the word, not daring to look back. But there was no reply, only the ticking of a clock somewhere within the room.

  A scream began to rise inside him, but he could only stand there, eyes fixed on the drooling beast. He knew he must turn around, must run. But he also knew the door would be shut, his friend gone. He looked anyway and saw with only mild surprise that where there had been a door moments before there was now just a wall, a faded portrait of a cadaverous old man peering down from above him. The sunken eyes seemed to be alive, twinkling with some monstrous intelligence and Tom turned quickly away, his fear so great now that he legs were like jelly and he wobbled on his feet, certain he would fall.

  He was alone. One boy against the Beast.

  "Now the odds are even," breathed a voice at his ear.

  Dredger's blade was poised to strike.

  In his mind, only the smallest doubt remained. If he killed the masked man now, without further discussion, the trial would be over.

  But what if he was wrong?

  Hesitating, the warrior waited for some show of hostility from Geheimnis, some sign, however vague, that he was truly the enemy. But the man only stood silently inert, his shadowed eyes watchful. He made no attempt to draw his sword and this more than anything else caused Dredger's doubts to become greater still.

  "Why do you falter?" came Geheimnis' voice suddenly, almost making the warrior start.

  Strike now. Before it is too late! But still something stayed his hand. Dredger opened his mouth to speak, but no words would form upon his dry lips. Kill the masked clown! demanded a brutal inner voice.

  But I may be wrong.

  "Tell me who you are?" Dredger said finally, indecision holding him tightly in a stifling embrace.

  Why not end the fool's life now? Uncertainty had never afflicted him before. Always he had done what needed to be done, he had made hard decisions and stood by them unflinchingly. If men had to die in the name of justice, then so be it. But this was different somehow. Something within him was stirring, a profound sensation, powerful beyond measure.

  "Can you feel it now?" said the masked man quietly, but with a force that Dredger recognised as final and undeniable. Slowly Dredger lowered his blade and within Geheimnis' mask a light began to glimmer until it flowed from his eyes in a stream of golden fire. "Knowledge is a wonderful thing," he said with a tenderness that the warrior would never have believed possible in the man he had come to know and despise. But now, another was before him, an alien creature who pulsed with a wondrous radiance, rays of coloured light shooting out from every part of his body. "And knowledge is a dangerous thing," Geheimnis added, his mask now almost translucent, blue and yellow sparks playing across its surface. The sky began to darken rapidly and whilst shadows grew about them, the wind howled. "Ah, so the night returns," he breathed, his glowing eyes set upon Dredger. "You came here to do battle with that whom you name the Second Beast, and yet there is but one Beast, although it goes by many names. You have come thus far knowing a great deal less than you ever realised, but that is of no consequence. Truth is all Mankind can ever really hold high, there is nothing of value to be gained from any other victory. Ultimate truth, however, is as far removed from your natural laws as real magic is from mere illusion, and the only trick involved is telling them apart." He paused a moment, affecting a curious half-smile that seemed to melt into a jagged sneer as his mask continued to blaze with unnatural light. "Now, warrior, it is time you learnt your own truth. You call me the Second Beast, but that is not my name. I am the master of Hydan and the great secret I have kept safe for so long is that the Second Beast has not yet been born. Only now can the birth proceed. So now, look upon the face of the one whom you seek. It is one you already know. Here, find your truth...the revelations are all for you." Geheimnis took a step backward and raised his hands to his face. "Behold!" He tore away the mask and cast it aside to reveal the face beneath and horrified, Dredger gazed into the eyes of a man he knew very well. He looked upon himself.

  "The beast within," said the man with his face and with incredible speed drew the sword at his side. "And so the game continues," Dredger's mirror image cried, a smile dancing in his eyes.

  Dredger raised his blade and prepared to fight. He had no understanding of what had taken place there before him, or of what this creature who had his face might be, but he sensed that this at last was the moment of his testing, where finally he would prove himself a match for the dark powers of the Wolf.

  But now, as he confronted his own reflection, he wondered, curiously if he would be a match for himself.

  "Little boys," chuckled the Beast softly, "just little boys. And you hope to challenge me?"

  Tom's chest felt very tight and he struggled for breath. He kept his eyes low, afraid to look at the creature before him, trying to control his racing heart, but panic was fast taking command of his mind and he feared that at any moment he would collapse.

  The bright eyes of the Wolf surveyed him with interest. "Now," it coaxed, "shall we talk like reasonable men? After all, I feel it is only right to do so, for I see now that I have been unkind. I should have called you a man from the first, for that is what you are, are you not?"

  "Yes!" shouted Tom as boldly as he could manage, throwing an arm out wildly and pointing at the Beast. "I am, but you're not!" He immediately dropped his head, feeling useless and knowing that he was beaten.

  He heard the Wolf sigh, as if a little hurt. "I don't think you're giving me my dues, Tom my man. I think that you ought to take a closer look."

  Very slowly, terror and anger struggling for supremacy, Tom met the eyes of a man seated before him at a large mahogany desk. He appeared to be quite young, no more than thirty or so and he shuffled some papers before tucking them away inside a drawer.

  "There's a lot of work to be done, Tom. Accounts to be kept. But don't concern yourself, I'm on top of it." He flashed a good-natured smile at the boy. "Everything will be
just fine."

  Tom felt as though more than time had become disjointed and confused. It was as if his whole life was now no more than a waking nightmare, an alien landscape where fantasy and reality were one and the same. "What do you want from me?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

  "Well," began the man, his eyes glittering strangely. "For one thing, I would like my map back."

  "Your map?" repeated Tom, his anger rising.

  "Yes indeed, it is my map. I thought that you knew that."

  "It wouldn't do you any good to have it anyway," Tom told him loudly. "Mo already knows the way."

  The man laughed, a terrible sound that made Tom visibly flinch. "Ah, the badger friend," he reflected with a thoughtful smile. "The friend of little boys, no less. I could tell you things about that one that would make your hair curl! Yes, I could. Tales so very shocking! They really are not fit for a boy's ears, not even one who would dream of manhood."

  Tom flushed with rage. "Shut up!" he cried, ready to physically fight with the man if he had to. "You don't know anything. You think you're so clever, but you're not."

  The man nodded matter-of-factly, apparently unmoved by the boy's outburst. "So it would seem," he conceded, as if genuinely convinced, "but then again, there's nothing wrong with having a bit of fun, now is there? Even a badger is entitled to a little bit of fun and games, don't you think? I mean to say, who can truly claim, in all honesty, that they have never indulged in a small piece of fun, from time to time?" He seemed to take tremendous delight in emphasising the word fun, as if it had some great significance. "Fun!" he said again, grinning at the boy.

  "Even if you kill me," roared Tom, without feeling nearly as brave as his words, "the others will beat you."

  "Beat me?" the man sneered. "Best me at my own game? You really are very young, aren't you, so very naive.” He paused and eyed the boy with a considering look. “You shall play my game, Tommy. Whether you want to or not. And it's a marvellous game, a wonderful game. One that I am certain that you will enjoy."

  Tom clenched his fists, small and inadequate against the creature that regarded him so disdainfully. "You'll lose," he said fiercely. "You'll lose!" But even as he spoke, a terrifying thought was gnawing at his mind. Maybe the Wolf was just too powerful.

  After all, he was only a boy. And what could a boy hope to do against a beast?

  Jack was on the run.

  Something, something terrible, was after him and he knew just as surely as if someone had told him in a cold, matter-of-fact voice, that if it caught him, he would die. The house seemed to close in on him, the deserted hallways never leading anywhere. He sprinted down one long corridor after another, afraid to look back, knowing his pursuer was close behind.

  And what about Tom?

  When the door had slammed, just as he had been about to follow Tom into the room, his first impulse had been to run. It had overpowered him, urgent and unrelenting, screaming to be obeyed. Run! Run!

  But something had trapped Tom inside and Jack could not leave his friend in there alone. He had grabbed hold of the silver door handle and yelled in pain as it burnt his hand, releasing it immediately. The metal glowed a pale orange and Jack kicked at the door in frustration.

  "Tom, are you all right? Can you hear me?" he had called, but there was no sound from within and morbidly he had thought how like a crypt the house seemed. Furious now and pulling his sleeve down over his hand, he had grasped hold of the handle again, determined to gain entry, but this time he had been thrown backward onto the floor, a horrible tingling running up his arm and into his body. Staggering up onto his feet, dizziness making it difficult to stand straight, Jack had rubbed his hand and arm. Just enough of a shock to keep me out. Why don't they just kill me and have done with it?

  "What can I do?" he had said aloud and in that instant he had felt more lost and alone than ever before. But before he could consider his position any further, a shuffling sound just off to his right had made him spin around and he had stared into the dead eyes of something that he could only have described as a demon from hell.

  With a long, hooked finger, the creature had beckoned to him. "Come here, little one. I want you for my own."

  SECRET DELIGHTS

  When worlds were young many things had been foretold, promises of upheaval and penance, trial and redemption. During that distant time a burning shadow had gradually spread across the face of every land like a crawling, insidious disease, generations falling deeper and deeper into the mire of decadence.

  Then there had often been no name for the Wolf. Its presence was only felt, not seen, but its heart was in the earth and skies. No one could stand against it. The Beast was the unknown.

  Now the destiny of all worlds had reached an impasse. There were things that had to be settled before an outcome could be decided. For better or for worse.

  Dredger looked upon the evil in himself and sighed, lowering his weapon. "I see the truth," he murmured, appearing at that moment weary and old.

  The one who faced him held forth its sword, the blade wavering very slightly, the eyes of that familiar and yet utterly alien face flickering like firelight. "And you understand?" it said softly.

  "Yes," replied the warrior.

  "Then there is no need for combat." It dropped the sword to its side and stepped closer to the warrior. "Listen to my words." The being who had been Geheimnis but now wore the features of Dredger himself began to change. It's form became transparent, almost as if its body were liquid, moving through many metamorphoses, mutating and rebuilding itself.

  Only the garments that Geheimnis had worn still maintained the illusion of humanity. Dredger stood motionless and watched. "I am the legacy of old," the creature said, raising its arms upward, sword still in hand. "I am the messenger from places that have faded into the dreams of men. The laws that were broken must be made whole again and you are the one who must carry the burden. You will be the catalyst. When the sublime scheme began so long ago, the Beast was but a shadow. Now it stands tall and possesses flesh and bone. I am the last prophet. I have been the keeper and my task is complete. There are no questions that can be answered without loss, nothing of worth achieved without sacrifice. Behold, a Beast of another caste is born."

  Dredger bowed his head. At last he knew what truly lay before him. If he could be more than just a man, more than mortal, the Wolf might yet be defeated. "I accept the burden," he said simply and with incredible speed and force he was engulfed by light, the creature's body exploding into a luminous shower that fell upon the warrior, fragments of silver fire barraging his head and torso. Within moments there was nothing to show that Geheimnis had ever been. All that remained was the sword, thrust upright from the earth, the tip embedded deep into the land. With one swift movement, Dredger grasped its hilt and tore it from the ground, holding it aloft.

  "I am born!" he cried, the wind carrying his voice into the darkness.

  Tom had dreamed he had been in conversation with a wolf who was a man, who was a wolf. But of course, that was quite impossible. He opened his eyes and saw Uncle Ira sitting on the end of his bed. "Hello Tom," the old man said, smiling warmly.

  "Uncle Ira!" Tom cried out, "I'm home!"

  Ira patted his leg. "That you are my boy."

  Tom couldn't believe his eyes and pinched his arm hard. Feeling the sharp pain it educed, he laughed aloud as if it were the funniest thing he had ever known. "I am home!" he bellowed, jumping up from his bed.

  "Now Tom, take it easy, take it easy" his Uncle urged gently.

  "But I can't believe it, how did I get here!?" Tom exclaimed, laughing until tears streamed down his face.

  "Let's go downstairs and then we can talk. Your Aunt has been waiting for you to wake up."

  Tom managed to compose himself a little and grinned foolishly, relief and joy racing through his heart. "Aunt Emily! Where is she?" And then looking intensely at his Uncle he said, "I've missed you both so much."

  Ira no
dded, his craggy old face such a welcome sight. "And we've missed you too, Tom. But you're home now, so everything's all right."

  Giving the man a long hug, Tom felt tears rolling down his cheeks. "Now let me say hello to Aunt Emily." Pulling away from Ira and running out of the room, he hurtled down the staircase, making for their cosy little sitting-room where he knew his Aunt would be waiting in her favourite chair, probably knitting.

  As he entered the room he began to call out, but then he saw his Aunt and he knew at once that she was dead. Her eyes stared at him, glazed and sallow. They seemed to bulge, impossibly huge, from her face. Standing very still, he tried not to breath. He was certain that if he let out even one breath, someone, the someone who had killed his Aunt, would hear him.

  She had been knitting he noticed, gazing at the corpse in dumb fascination. Two long, sharp needles protruded from her throat, the bloody points exiting at the nape of her neck. I wonder if it was going to be a jumper? he pondered as he tried very hard not to breath. Or a scarf? He giggled suddenly, the sound coming from somewhere deep within him.

  Above his head, a floorboard creaked. Uncle Ira must be coming downstairs.

  "Little boy," came a voice from the staircase, "little boy."

  Slowly Tom turned away from his Aunt's body. For a long time he had not been able to tear his eyes from the needles that skewered her delicate throat, but now that he did, his head throbbed dully. This is real, his brain whispered maliciously. This is real!

  It didn't sound very much like Uncle Ira up there and walking back to the doorway, Tom peered up at the poorly lit stairway, his heart beating painfully in his chest. No-one was there. The only thing that moved were the shadows on the wall, ever-changing. Like the Wolf, Tom thought vaguely and shook his head as if to clear his mind.

  "Little boy," came the voice again, further up the staircase out of sight. "I'm coming for you. Do you hear me, little boy? I'm coming down to drink your blood."

  Tom began to giggle hysterically. "There's nobody there," he told himself. "I'm just in shock."

  "We can be friends," promised the voice, just a little closer now, the dark at the top of the stairs appearing to become more dense.

  "Close friends," muttered Tom, losing control of his faculties, madness grasping hungrily at his mind.

  "And in the end," said the guttural voice on the staircase, "you will give me your trust."

  "My trust," echoed Tom, savouring the words.

  "I'm coming for you now," the voice told him and the stairs groaned as something began to descend. Tom knew that it couldn’t be Uncle Ira. Is he dead too? Whatever it was had to be very heavy to make the staircase complain like that, very heavy indeed.

  Somewhere in the house he thought he heard someone crying.

  If only things were different. But they weren't and they never would be.

  Jack knew that he wouldn't be able to continue running for much longer. His heart was pounding and his lungs were ready to burst. He would have to hide.

  The thing that was chasing him just never gave up. Two or three times he thought he had given it the slip, darting down one staircase and then up another, always finding himself back in another long corridor. But still it came on, its rasping voice calling after him. "Don't run. There's no need to be afraid."

  But Jack was afraid. His fear was like a weight upon his chest, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him. Only his instinct for survival kept him going. He knew in his heart that the creature only had one thing in mind. And he didn't want to die.

  He recalled as he ran when he had been quite young and he had wondered what it would be like to be dead. It was vivid in his memory because it had been just after his parents had been killed, and at the time he had found the idea of death impossible to comprehend. All he had known for sure as a four year old was that his Mummy and Daddy were gone. Gone forever. He didn't understand about road accidents, or drunk drivers, all he knew was that he was alone. His grandma had tried to explain it to him when he had asked her why they had to die and she had told him that death was an important part of God's plan. But why had God chosen his Mummy and Daddy? Why did it have to be them? Had they done something wrong? Something so bad that God had looked down from heaven and decided to punish them with death? Or was he the bad one? Maybe his parents had been taken away in order to teach him a lesson. Jack had become very confused in the months after their deaths. His only comfort had been his tears.

  And now, he faced death himself. But he was not going to give up without a fight. His only chance was to hide in one of the rooms and hope the thing didn't find him. Though after what had happened with Tom, he was reluctant to even touch a door, let alone go inside. But what else could he do? It was only a matter of time before he was caught if he just kept on running.

  The next door! His eyes scanned the doorways ahead and the glint of a golden doorknob caught his eye. Please be unlocked. He prayed that the key would be inside so that he could lock the door behind him.

  Opening easily, he dodged inside, pushing it gently shut and gazing down at the lock he found that it held a small golden key waiting to be turned.

  Thank you! With a tremendous sigh of relief, Jack locked the door and leaned heavily against the secure wooden barrier, breathing hard. "Safe," he gasped, almost afraid the creature would hear him and smash its way through, but outside everything was quiet. Maybe it's lost my scent. Maybe it went the wrong way.

  For a brief moment a terrible idea surfaced in his mind. What if Tom and Mo were both dead? But he rejected it with bitter force. Everything would be all right. He would find them both and they would all get out of here together.

  A faint sound snapped him away from his thoughts and back to reality.

  It's outside the door. It's found me! Panic charged through him and he bit down on his lip to stop himself from screaming. But no, the sound wasn't coming from the other side of the door. It was coming from inside the room.

  For the first time since entering Jack examined the interior, dimly noting the expensive decor. Everything about this chamber boasted vast wealth, the furnishings lavish and no doubt antique, all fashioned from the finest materials. Jack listened carefully and realised that the sound was very much like someone or something breathing.

  The monster is in here with me! Sweat trickled down his face. Now he was sure his heart would cease to beat.

  In the left-hand corner of the room a large four-poster bed, far more impressive than the one in the room he and Tom had been left in, stood imposingly, surrounded by richly embroidered drapes. Whoever or whatever was making the sound lay beyond them and he thought to himself that if Tom was dead, he didn't really care if he lived or died. So with this conviction at the back of his mind, Jack walked hesitantly toward the bed and as he drew nearer the breathing became louder, though not harsh as he knew the creature's would be, but gentle and calm. He touched the soft material, knowing that it was all that stood between himself and the unknown.

  Fair or Foul? But there was only one way to find out.

  Boldly, Jack pulled back the drapes that concealed the bed and looked inside.

  It really was all just a dream he understood then, staring down at the figure upon the

  bed and he looked on in awe as he watched the easy rise and fall of the girl's chest, her golden hair partially obscuring her face.

  Tom's mind was beset by fragments of dreams. Reality and illusion had become the same for him. He was the sleeper who never slept, the dreamer who never dreamed.

  I am not a hero, he thought oddly. I'm just a boy with no future who can never grow up.

  Something stirred in his brain. What am I thinking? a small, insignificant voice asked.

  The truth! his mind bellowed. Face what you are. Worthless. A pathetic child.

  But when I grow up I want to do good things, help people. I could be…a doctor!

  And what about the Wolf? the small voice said, very distant.

  He's the friend of worlds,
his mind assured him, but Tom was doubtful.

  It's all there in black and white, argued a firm, resonate voice and Tom nodded, speaking aloud. "Yes, and Mo knows the answers."

  His mind seemed to buzz with a queasy nausea.

  He knows nothing.

  Why is Uncle Ira coming down the stairs to kill me? Tom thought unhappily.

  Because you deserve to die. You are a thief and thieves deserve nothing but death.

  "I must wake up!" Tom screamed suddenly tearing at his hair, his mind in chaos.

  He blinked his eyes and incredibly he was rushing forward at tremendous speed. Where am I? He looked ahead and saw a gigantic brick wall towering high above him. Tom sped toward it, his hair flying, air battering his face, but there was something wrong about the wall, its bricks appearing to pulsate, oozing with some vile liquid. Without awareness of how he knew, Tom understood that the monstrous wall was alive and sentient and as he rushed forward, he saw that it meant to consume him. He wanted to close his eyes but however hard he tried they remained wide open. His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat but still he hurtled onward until his vision was filled by the throbbing monstrosity, summoning him on and he was powerless to resist.

  "Please God, let me wake up!" he screamed, tears slowly falling from his eyes.

  Abruptly he found himself in a room, facing a large wooden desk. He was quite alone. A clock ticked methodically somewhere behind him.

  Someone was here.

  Then with cruel force everything came back to him, assaulting his mind. "Jack!" he said, his voice ringing in the silence.

  Throwing open the door, he ran out into the hallway and as he did he thought that he saw something turning the corner into the corridor to his left, though the lighting was muted and cast many shadows and he couldn’t be sure it wasn't just his eyes playing tricks on him. And yet, all the same, it had appeared to be something moving low to the ground, and what was more he had thought, in that brief moment, that he had seen a flash of white against the darkness of the house.

  As he walked through the streets of Hydan, something that had lain dormant within Dredger was awakening.

  During his trial with Geheimnis he had learnt many things. The Second Beast he knew now was within himself, a part of all Mankind. The inner beast. He began to understand.

  He glanced about at the desolate, broken city, shutters on windows clattering, moved by the fierce wind, dust swirling and dancing about him as he moved through the bones of what was once a magnificent place. And like the wind, something deep inside him whispered low, trying to communicate some secret, some distant warning.

  A chuckle from behind him made Dredger spin around, his agility and speed startling even in this small manoeuvre. Once more he faced his dream.

  The crooked one, enshrouded by a hooded cloak, regarded him, perhaps twenty yards distant. About its waist hung a belt and holsters, ebony handled pistols snugly held there. He could not see the fiend's face, but then, he did not need to.

  "From dreams come realities," it hissed, strangely distinct above the dust-storm and Dredger looked closely at the one who faced him, noting that the creature stood tall in

  high black boots, despite its stoop. "I see you are confused," mocked the thing, but the warrior did not reply. He only watched intently, awaiting the time to move and strike. "There is only one Beast," it said and cackled, silver, reptilian eyes glinting from within the blackness of its hood.

  "What is it you want of me?" Dredger said, taking two steps forward and the other's sibilant laughter met his words.

  "Your life, of course. And your soul."

  Dredger smiled thinly. "So who is the Second Beast?"

  The creature's eyes narrowed and it spat a brown, viscous liquid into the dust. "A tall tale to snare a gullible fool. I have already told you, warrior, there is but one Beast. And it is as white as snow. We two, executioner and victim, are but pawns in a greater game, a timeless game that draws near its conclusion.” A misshapen, bony hand emerged from beneath its cloak and long fingers twitched above one of the pistols.

  "I suspect I know more of the truth than you," called the warrior, taunting the thing and taking another step forward.

  His enemy hissed violently. "You are dead and buried. Your pathetic blade is useless. I will shoot you down before you have even raised it against me."

  Dredger took one more step and then stopped. He smiled. "Only one Beast," he said, as if to himself. "So you are nothing more than a minion, a lap-dog. And you dare to face me!" The creature gave a low chuckle, though the sound lacked the mocking tone of a moment before. "Draw!" the warrior taunted, nodding toward the gun at its hip. "Let's see how fast you really are."

  Beneath its hooded shroud, the demon's eyes became glazed with uncertainty and in that instant, as if sensing the other's weakness, Dredger drew a sword from his belt, the blade that he had taken in the aftermath of Geheimnis' transformation. He had made many mistakes, he understood, many wrong turns on his long journey to this moment. He had presumed that his dream of prophecy had shown the Second Beast, that the hooded thing before him was the one it spoke of, but now he knew that he had misinterpreted his dream. Indeed, it had revealed the face of the Second Beast, but that face had been his own.

  There were two Beast's in these lands now. One was white death. The other lay within Mankind itself.

  The thing reached for its pistol, long, claw-like fingers aching for its cold touch.

  Dredger's hurled the blade with all his strength, his body a blur of motion, the sword like an arrow, aimed straight at his opponent's heart and the creature could only brush the handle of the gun with its fingertips as it watched death approach. The hood fell back, uncovering its hideous face and the warrior grinned viciously at the sight. No, this time it was not his own countenance, merely the deformed face of a pathetic freak in the service of the Wolf.

  As the tip of the blade met its target the thing was thrown backward, its crippled body torn apart by the force of the impact and it lay motionless on the dust-ridden earth of Hydan, dead, its features contorted in an expression of utter shock.

  Coming to stand over his victim, Dredger took the sword by the hilt and wrested it from the corpse, holding it aloft, wielding it above his head. "Now Wolf, the time has come." He clenched his fist tightly about the haft of the weapon. "It is I who will come for you. You will yet have reason to fear the beast in Man."

  Returning the sword to its place at his side, Dredger turned and walked back through the lost city, now reclaimed. Ruined buildings stood in remembrance of a long forgotten time, but still endured to witness the dawn of a new age.

  When he again stood on the hilltop and looked out over the Land of Scars, the warrior saw that where once the earth had been torn, it now lay unblemished, whole again.

  "I come," he whispered, the wind dying abruptly, until only a gentle breeze touched his face.

  Then from out of the sky something fell, hitting the earth close to him and he looked down to see the broken body of a small white bird. Smiling, his eyes changing in an instant from blue to yellow and then to blue again, Dredger brought his boot down hard onto the dove’s tiny carcass, crushing it beneath his heel.

  Hunched low and still, the badger sat watching the men and women as they laughed and danced, indulging themselves in their revelry. Their masks gave them a ghoulish appearance, which Mo imagined might frighten young children. But not Tom and Jack. They were of a different breed.

  They were both safe for the moment he knew, but somewhere lurking, sneaking like the foul beast that it was, the Wolf was near. The badger was not afraid however, at least, not for himself. He feared for the victims to come. How many would there be? Millions? Billions? A toll beyond measure. Whilst the journey continued, the price must be paid.

  Mo looked far into the reaches of his own mind and saw a man who held a sword aloft. Their dreadful tale had taken another turn toward its conclusion and each had a role to play.

&n
bsp; Although he had told the boys that time was only a manmade thing and did not exist in this world, still there was fundamental time that could not be gauged, but commanded their existences all the same.

  He had found his friend Henry shortly before, in a room on the far side of the west wing. It had not taken him long to sniff out the scent. Rotting flesh was a most potent stench after all. The man had of course been tortured. What he might have told was impossible to say, and sadly, of no real consequence. His friend's death was just another detestable crime. Another sin. In Mo's mind he saw vividly an image of the Wolf's face, fury and madness playing across it as if they were living things.

  Sniffing the air and wrinkling his nose, the badger ground his teeth. Tom would soon be called upon to make some difficult choices. And as for Jack, poor Jack, his trials were only just beginning. The odyssey twisted like a serpent, unpredictable. Only one thing was certain. Many hearts and spirits would be broken before the end.

  For his own part, sadness and pain would not be too high a price to pay to see the finish of it all. For he was indeed old and very tired.

  Mo understood one of the great truths. You can only ever really learn what you already knew when you began, concealed from yourself by a closed mind, fearful of the unknown and the changes it must surely bring about when rediscovered.

  He slipped away silently along the hallway, his bulk hidden in the shadows and after just a few minutes, he came upon an ancient door of burnished wood that stood ajar and the badger entered without hesitation. Soon the celebrations would begin in earnest with the hunt itself as the finale.

  The room was almost bare save for some storage boxes and a single chair, ornately carved and embellished with precious metals. As Mo walked toward it, the heavy body of the animal began to change, the skin and fur rippling as the flesh itself transformed into something quite different. When he came to sit upon the chair, settling himself against its high back, the badger was no more. A man, neither old nor youthful, now resided there,

  his features thoughtful as he waged a hard battle with the doubts that plagued him. His silver-grey hair was long and tied with a bow behind his head. And for his garments he wore battle-dress. And by his side, a curved sword hung.