The Magic Lands

by Mark Hockley

  THE HEART OF DARKNESS

  When Tom awoke on the morning after his interview with the magistrate, his mind was full of questions. He could not remember any dreams invading his sleep, but his rest had been fitful, his head crowded with spectres of doubt and suspicion.

  Although he knew now that the magistrate of Seraphim was a disciple of the Wolf, did this mean that everyone in the city was also in its service? He found it hard to believe that Dr. Redhand was one of the enemy, and yet he had learnt only too well that you couldn't take anything, or anyone, at face value. Were they all laughing at him secretly, mocking his foolish deceptions? Did they smirk behind his back when they called him by a false name?

  And there was another mystery, one that occurred to him quite abruptly now that he took the time to think about it, even though it should have been obvious to him right from the moment he had awoken to find himself in this strange city.

  Just how exactly had he come to be there?

  He had met a little man named Jinn who had somehow grown tall before his eyes. He had then been somehow shrunk and burrowed deeper and deeper into the earth, before travelling down a slide, which against all the laws of nature had come out above ground. Or had he? And why had Elrin Jinn just left him there alone?

  Could Seraphim be a world within a world? A city at the centre of the earth!? Perhaps it was pointless even to try and explain the conundrums that these lands posed. After all, in a dream there are no rules.

  While Tom was still mulling these ideas over, Dr. Redhand entered the room and gave him a friendly grin. "Good night's sleep?" he enquired, throwing open the curtains and in the soft light that filtered through the window, Tom grimaced, giving his answer plainly without having to voice it. "Probably just the new surroundings," assessed the doctor, returning to the doorway and fidgeting a little, as if keen to get away.

  "Don't let me keep you," Tom offered, sensing the man's preoccupation with some other pressing matter, and seeming to become aware of his display of agitation for the first time, Dr. Redhand smiled sheepishly.

  "I do apologise, Vincent, but I have an appointment that I don’t want to be late for." Being addressed by his pseudonym made Tom feel an odd mixture of guilt and treachery, bringing a sour expression to his face. "I said I was sorry," the doctor commented, misreading this and adopting a frown. "But it may prove to be of great importance to us all."

  Recovering himself quickly Tom gave the man a weak smile. "A secret rendezvous!" he said, expecting laughter, but Dr. Redhand only eyed him carefully, as if debating internally whether to make any reply.

  "Still take it easy with that leg," he decided at last. "You may feel as if you've completely recovered now, but you mustn't over do it."

  "When will you be back?" Tom asked, hoping it wouldn’t be too long. He did not relish being alone.

  "I'll tell you what," the doctor began, "I'll meet up with you at the hostelry. You know, where we met my friends yesterday. They’ll keep you company until I arrive. Ask Pete Blatty to tell you some of his famous yarns, that should keep you entertained!"

  Tom nodded with some enthusiasm. He was quite keen to talk with the three old men again. Perhaps he would even be able to gain some information about the magistrate and in particular, Angel Tower. For something, perhaps a kind of intuition, told him that the tower held the key to why he was here.

  During his relatively short life, Jack had come to know the cold severity of loneliness very well. When his mother and father had died, the world had closed around him leaving him a prisoner in his own body. No-one could get inside to reach him and he could not get out. Perhaps he hadn't even wanted to.

  Many things had changed since then, but now, in the unremitting darkness, he knew that he had never really been released from the custody of isolation. The bitter world had fooled him into believing that time could heal the deepest wounds and that a boy could grow beyond the tragedies of life.

  He was all alone. Except for the fear that crawled within, artful and mischievous, whispering threats of approaching jeopardy.

  "Mo!" he yelled, knowing it was useless. No answer would come. The badger was gone.

  Even as he listened despite himself, certain he would remain lost forever, Jack heard a faint humming sound that seemed to come from all around him. He stopped, straining to hear it better and within its hypnotic tone, a voice spoke to him.

  "Little one," it said, "you are lost and lonely are you not? Come to me, my child, come and rest with me a while."

  Jack peered into the black veil that covered the land and wondered who it could be calling to him.

  "Do not resist me, little one," implored the voice. "Draw nearer still and stay with me. I'll keep you safe, safe from fear."

  Jack knew he should be frightened, yet inside he felt nothing but an icy emptiness. And it was a comfort to him. For now he had found a friend in the wilderness of his soul and been invited to emerge from the darkness into another place, a place he prayed would be more forgiving toward him. He wanted so much to put his faith in the light it promised.

  "That is good," the voice encouraged gently, "come closer and be my child. Touch my hand and forget all else. I'm for you and you're for me. Little one, lost and tired."

  Moving forward, he wanted so much to be held and cherished, knowing that the voice offered passage to a place where he would be safe and never lonely again. Something brushed close to him and he stopped, waiting to be accepted.

  "Oh yes," the voice sang to him, very near, "my prize, my heart's desire. I am all there is for you now."

  A hand, warm and as delicate as a flower, gripped Jack's own and he was led carefully forward.

  "Where are we going?" he heard himself ask, the sound far away, sensing that now he had become truly disconnected from his body. He no longer felt held back by the constraints and limitations of flesh and bone and had begun to evolve beyond the shallow existence he had hitherto known.

  "Hush now, my little one. Be still and quiet and trust in me. I am the truth. I am everything. Forget all else, but believe in me."

  Jack did believe and he was contented. Yet within his mind a nebulous picture was forming, a vision of a beautiful woman dressed all in white, whose teeth glistened between blood red lips.

  "Do not fear," her voice reassured him, "I shall be all for you. My little one, my only love."

  Dr. Redhand did not come.

  They had spent a good humoured morning and afternoon swapping stories, Tom even contributing one or two that to his delight the three old men seemed to enjoy immensely. But as the day wore on, he could sense that his new friends were becoming increasingly apprehensive, as was he himself, at the doctor's failure to appear.

  "I can't imagine what could be keeping him so long?" Pat Straub commented with a frown as twilight crept around them, their conversation faltering. "And you say he didn't even tell you where he was going?"

  Tom shook his head. "I thought he would have told you."

  "He'll turn up," Bill McGoohan told them all confidently. "He always does." But after another few hours had passed and evening was upon them, even he had lost faith in his own prediction. "Maybe we had better look for him," he decided, an unfamiliar tenseness in his voice.

  Although Tom held little hope of finding him there, he had decided it was best to check Dr. Redhand's home first; the others went off to various locations where they thought their friend might be, the three men trying not to show the concern they obviously felt.

  "Do you know," laughed Pete Blatty as they parted, "I wouldn't be surprised if Red has stopped off with old mother Mercer and lost all track of time sampling her home-made wine!" But Tom saw that the others did not raise more than a feeble smile in return and as each went their own way, their faces were troubled.

  Now, as Tom approached the house that had become his temporary home, he looked hopefully for a light within, but there was only darkness and he was sure the doctor would not have just come home without seeing his friends first. E
ven so, he still went inside, the front door unlocked as was Dr. Redhand's custom. The room was rather gloomy without light and shadows nestled all around. Night was descending swiftly and as Tom went over to ignite the lantern that sat upon a small wooden table next to the door, he stopped abruptly, certain he had heard a muffled sound. He stood very still, listening carefully, but the house was completely silent.

  "Red!?" he called out, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Red! Are you there?" He was answered by a very slight rustling that seemed to come from just ahead, a soft, furtive sound, as if whatever was there was trying desperately to keep still. In the gloom, Tom could only make out the doctor's big armchair, where he spent so much time reading his books and sometimes labouring over some new thesis of his own. He could make out the outline of the chair easily, the shape of the high back and the arm rests on either side, but everything in between was lost in a pool of utter blackness. Tom moved quietly to the table but hesitated once more. He knew that he should just turn on the light, yet for reasons he only felt and did not understand, he was reluctant to do so.

  Come on, Tom, don't let your imagination get the better of you.

  His hand stole toward the lantern, though his movements were shaky, uncertain, his arm seeming to resist his commands, making the task far more difficult than it should have been.

  "Don't do that," someone said from the darkness, startling him, and his hand jerked and knocked the lantern from the table with a crash. "I do so hope it's not broken," said the voice calmly. "It would be difficult to replace."

  "Dr. Redhand!?" Tom ventured, recognising the voice but unable to actually see who spoke. There was another flurry of movement, louder this time and the man leaned forward in his chair, his face illuminated by a random beam of light slanting through the window.

  "What are you doing here?" Tom demanded sharply.

  The doctor gave a small chuckle. "This is my home, is it not?"

  "But you were supposed to meet us," the boy said, mystified.

  "Yes, I know, I know and I’m sorry, truly," the doctor told him, "but things didn’t go quite as I had expected."

  "So where have you been?" Tom questioned, wanting some kind of explanation.

  "Strange things are happening, Tom, very strange things. And I think it may very well be time to take a look up in that tower. What do you think?"

  Tom took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He tried to choose his next few words very carefully. "Why did you call me that?" he asked, feeling both guilty and foolish. "Why did you call me Tom?"

  Dr. Redhead chuckled softly, but the sound was not unkind. "I know a great many things now," he answered, "things I did not know before. There is no more need for pretence between us, Tom. We must set aside the deceptions of the past and work together."

  "What do you mean?" Tom said uneasily.

  "Tomorrow I am going to climb Angel Tower. I was hoping that you would join me?"

  Once more, the world seemed to writhe beneath Tom, as if it were some frenzied serpent dancing to a tune only it could hear. He could only cling to its slippery skin, riding its endless twists and turns, trying as best he could not to be cast off into the void he knew beckoned beyond, compelled to follow the path it took him along.

  The badger kept perfectly still, not allowing himself to make even the slightest of sounds. His breathing was shallow, his heart thumping loudly, the animal afraid that this alone might be enough to give away his position.

  Then a voice spoke to him.

  "You think I cannot see you there, half-one…half this, half that. But you are wrong, so very wrong. I see you for what you really are."

  Mo let himself relax. He was quite prepared to face the enemy in whatever guise it chose to assume, but he had hoped their confrontation might be postponed, at least until he had helped his two young friends a little further on their journey.

  When the darkness had come, he had suspected it to be a prelude to some manifestation of the Wolf's evil, but he had sensed, or thought he had sensed, that the Beast was elsewhere, on other business and therefore could not attack them with any real force. It seemed he had been mistaken.

  "Why don't you show yourself?" the badger challenged the darkness, but his words were met with a soft, disdainful laughter.

  "Now why would I want to do that, half-fool? Why would I show myself to you when I am quite content to watch you there, alone in the deep night, the prison that you create for yourself? Really, my old, wise friend, you are so very weak. You are helpless. I only have to take away your eyes and you become as vulnerable as a child."

  Mo smiled, white teeth against the blackness. "Take care, wolf, for tables can turn and words are more often than not no more than wishful thinking."

  The voice roared with mirth, guttural laughter echoing all around, ringing loud in the badger's ears. "I see that you still speak in riddles, and as ever, you remain a sad old fool. You try so very hard to convince yourself that you can match my power, that you could defeat me, but you know, in your withered heart, that you are nothing, less than dust beneath my feet. Come now, old friend, confess to me, or at least admit it to yourself. You are the past, you have no place in this time, my time.”

  "If all you say is true, then why do you not face me?" retorted Mo with a contemptuous note in his voice.

  "I, face you!" the Wolf barked, a terrible, relentless sound. "You, who cower in the darkness. You, who hide when you feel me near. I could devour your heart and soul and spit out your worthless bones if I so wished."

  "Then why don't you do so?" snarled the badger, fur bristling all over his body. "Why don't you try?"

  "No, my good half-one." The voice of the Beast was mild, terrifyingly calm. "I do not believe I shall do anything just at the moment. It is not yet the time. You must wait for me. Have patience my friend of old, but do not fret, for the hour draws near. Not long now, not far. Just wait a while and then I shall come for you, I promise, and when I come you will know all of the truths that have been kept from you for so long. You will see it all, know everything, and I have no doubt that you will be surprised. And then you shall say the words that even now are hungry in your heart, for I am your lord, your only God. You will bow before me on that day and offer me sacrifice."

  The badger growled deep in his throat. "I would see myself destroyed before I call you lord. You are no more or less than vermin, a carrier of corruption. You are the lowest of all creatures, and I shall see you dead! I will see that you are skinned and hung up for all to know you for what you truly are. Soon you will pay the price for your many crimes."

  There was a brief silence and then a low, menacing chuckle began, a malignancy that grew until it filled the night, the very air thick with it. "Oh you are such a favourite of mine" the voice enthused, "you are such fun for me. What shall I do when you are gone? Do you know something, half-one…half-brother, I think that I shall miss you then." Mo did not respond to this. Instead he concentrated on trying to assess where the spectral voice originated from, but it seemed to come from everywhere around him, as if it were part of the darkness itself. "So now I must bid you farewell," the Wolf continued, "it has

  been amusing to speak with you, my tired old friend, but now other, more pressing duties call me, and I must leave you, all alone in the black tomb of your own despair. You are an irrelevance to me, but fear not for we shall meet again soon, when your hour strikes. Count the minutes, half-one, count them well. Count them eagerly, and so shall I."

  There was a noise like the sighing of the wind, a parting breath, and then the badger felt the veil lifting from the night, the presence slipping away to leave him alone. His thoughts immediately turned to Jack, knowing the boy was vulnerable. What cruel mischief had the Beast worked? If anything had happened to his charge, then the blame rested with himself, Mo knew. He should not have allowed the darkness to separate them, but he had been careless and now who could say what might have befallen his young friend.

&
nbsp; "Jack!" he called out, hoping his cry would be answered by a frightened voice, praying that the boy had remained quiet but safe throughout his exchange with their enemy.

  To his relief, a voice did shout back to him. "Over here," it said, not too far away. Mo began to move toward the sound, the light returning with unnerving abruptness, revealing the figure who had called to him.

  The boy was slumped amongst a mass of golden brown leaves, dishevelled and apparently dazed.

  "Jack?" whispered Mo softly, drawing near. But Jack could no longer hear him. All that

  was in his mind was the memory of a glowing hand that had led him to a warm, safe place, a place where he wanted to stay for all eternity.

  Tom looked upward and saw a long, narrow staircase winding away into the shadowed tower. It had been remarkably easy to gain entrance. When Dr. Redhand had produced a small silver key and turned it in the sturdy padlock that for so long had protected Angel Tower from intruders, Tom had almost expected alarms to go off all through the city, but the only sound heard had been a tiny click as the mechanism released the bolt.

  Now inside, Tom was unimpressed with the murky, dank interior, an odour reminding him of sewage setting the seal on his disapproval. "Where did you get that key from?" he asked, excited by this covert undertaking, but anxious that they might be caught.

  "I borrowed it from the magistrate," replied the doctor with a wink.

  They had waited until dusk before setting out for the tower, their only contact during the day a brief meeting with Pete Blatty, who had called by the house early that morning worried about his friend's whereabouts. Tom had barely spoken to the old man, leaving Dr. Redhand to explain his mysterious absence the previous day in private.

  "I know this is a stupid question," Tom remarked as they began to climb the steps, "but what do you think is up here?"

  The Doctor smiled ambiguously and shrugged his shoulders. "That’s what we’re here to find out," he answered. "Perhaps a revelation from the past, or...a message for the future."

  "Now you sound just like a friend of mine," observed Tom with a quick shake of the head. "He talks in riddles too!"

  Dr. Redhand paused on the staircase and looked seriously at the boy. "It may well be dangerous."

  Tom did not reply, but stepped up past the man to lead the way. "If you're afraid, maybe I had better go first”, he said with a resolute smile and then continued on upward, making his way slowly into the unknown.

  It was only an old dream.

  Mo was looking at him with a terribly sad, perturbed expression, the animal's tired old face regarding him with deep concern.

  Jack just remained slumped on the ground where he was. It was all right though, he knew. He had experienced this kind of dream before. It would go away soon and he would be able to stay in the warm haven he had discovered where softness and tranquillity held him close. Now there was nothing to be afraid of.

  He waited, yet still the badger watched him silently and doubts began to prey upon him.

  No, he told himself. I won‘t go back. I hate it there. I hate it!

  “Jack,” the badger urged him gently.

  "No, no," he moaned, reaching up and forcing his hands over his ears.

  “Jack,“ Mo said firmly, coming in even closer, seeking the boy‘s face.

  “Leave me alone. I don’t want this, I don’t want it! I’ve had enough, can’t you see that, I’ve just had enough.“

  Mo brushed his cheek with his warm, smooth fur. "Be still, be still," the badger said with tenderness, "everything will be all right."

  Very slowly, despite his efforts to hold onto the sanctuary he believed he had found within his dreams, his thoughts became to take shape.

  “There is no refuge for you in dreams,“ the badger uttered softly, “I know it’s hard but you have to understand that we cannot hide from our own existence. You cannot run from yourself. Whatever choices we are offered must be met with our minds our own. Now stand up and let us face what will come.”

  Realising that the dream was past and there was no refuge to be found there, Jack cupped his face in his hands. “Why does it have to be like this?”

  Mo regarded him with a steady gaze. “Because a greater will than yours or mine sees all that must come, all that has been. It is a choice. No-one can be forced. Each must choose their own path. It is a personal test of our character.”

  Very hesitantly Jack looked into the dark eyes of the animal. “But I always fail.“

  “No,” said Mo definitely, “mistakes are not failure. No-one really fails until they give up their soul at the very last breath of their life. And that will not be you, Jack. You will stand.”

  And hearing this, the boy made a half-hearted effort to do just that. He pulled himself up onto his knees and then made a tentative attempt to get up onto his feet. “Who am I?” he asked in a wavering voice.

  Mo looked at Jack for a long moment. “My kin,” he breathed, “my brother.” The badger pushed himself against the boys side for support. “And we will stand together.”

  There was something wrong, but just what it might be Pete Blatty couldn't put his finger on. Red was acting funny, that much was sure. But why?

  Pete had known him since they were boys together, playing in the fields and woods of Seraphim and their friendship was one of the things he valued most in the world. But now, for the first time in his life, he believed that Red had lied to him.

  When he had called by to check up on his friend this morning, concerned at his apparent disappearance the day before, he was positive that Red had been keeping something from him and there had been something in his manner, quite out of character, that disturbed Pete deeply.

  Now he sat alone, drinking wine, trying to work out just what was going on.

  A commotion somewhere nearby made him glance up from his reverie and the scene that met his eyes caused him to knock his glass spinning across the table.

  Lurching toward him, pupils dilated with shock and fear came Pat Straub; he looked as if he were about to collapse at any moment, so swiftly gaining his feet, Pete rushed over to meet his friend, dread gripping his heart so tightly he feared it might give up on him.

  "What is it, Pat...what's happened!?" he demanded, knowing that the answer when it

  came would be terrible.

  Gasping, Pat Straub looked hard into the other man's eyes. "It's Red, Pete, my God…it's Red!"

  "What do you mean? What about Red?" Pete questioned, grabbing the man's shoulders, holding him steady.

  "He's dead," murmured his friend, fresh tears welling up in his eyes to join those that had already ravaged his ruddy face.

  Pete Blatty shook his head in disbelief, unable to take in what he had been told. "How…when?" he asked fiercely.

  "Young Scott Wilson found him this morning. They only just brought back the body. It was murder, Pete, murder! Someone hid his body in the brushwood over behind Apollyon Mound...gracious God, how can something like this have happened? They say he's been dead since yesterday!"

  Madness tried to claim Pete Blatty's mind then, but he rejected it with hostile force. "Did you see the body with your own eyes?" he challenged, an unnatural composure governing him now. "Did you see it?"

  "Poor old Red," Pat sobbed, the horror of what he had seen reflected in his eyes. "The bastard who did it twisted his head almost clean off!"

  Stepping away, unsteady on his feet, Pete took some deep breaths attempting to control the shudder that assailed him, his entire body shaking with fear and grief. "It just can't be," he whispered, but knowing that it was true, knowing that evil had arrived in Seraphim and that someone who looked exactly like his best friend was its surrogate.

  They were almost at the top. Tom could see a yellowish light flickering weakly above them and he knew that they would soon uncover the secret of the tower, whatever it might be.

  He climbed higher, his legs aching, before pausing to catch his breath. It was a very long way from the b
ase to the summit.

  "Nearly there," said Dr. Redhand at his shoulder. They continued to climb until they came to a heavy iron door, pitted and discoloured with age. "Go ahead," encouraged the doctor, waving Tom forward. "We've come all this way, we might as well find out what's inside."

  Tom approached the door cautiously. He took hold of the rusty handle and pushed, the door groaning upon its hinges and swinging inward, revealing the chamber beyond.

  As he stepped inside Tom was immediately struck by the size of the room. It seemed impossible that it could be so large, but he quickly realised that in some respects it was a trick of the eye, the impression of size created by the tremendous depth of the chamber. He tipped his head back and gazed upward to where there should have been some kind of ceiling, but to his amazement there was none, only a great, yawning hole through which the dark sky peered down upon them.

  Walking a little further into the room, he noticed that there was something stacked against the far wall, half hidden in the shadows. It was fairly big, about ten feet by ten and Tom instantly recognised it as some kind of cage, although its bars were woven in an unusual and elaborate pattern. At its centre there was a door that stood slightly ajar.

  Turning to comment on his discovery, Tom was surprised to see Dr. Redhand still standing in the doorway.

  "What do you think it could be for, Tom?" the man asked, an odd note in his voice.

  "I don't know," answered the boy, uncertain.

  "Very odd, very strange," the doctor said, looking over at the cage.

  "Is there something you're not telling me?" Tom queried, made a little anxious by the man's behaviour, but Dr. Redhand only threw back his head and laughed gamely at this, the sound echoing from the walls and on out into the night.

  "You really are a card, Tom, you really are! But I'll tell you what, I'll come clean with you, seeing as you asked so politely. All is not as it might appear here, you see, not at all. Angel Tower really does hold some dark secrets, and one of them is that someone has been lying to you. Now who could it be, erm...let me think...oh yes... it's me!"

  Tom stared at the man too bewildered to be frightened. "What do you mean?" he asked blankly. "What's going on?"

  "I'll explain it to you, Thomas," began Dr. Redhand with a patient smile. "You see, there was a time when people were much closer to their creator than they are now. Once upon a time, heaven was not just a fairy-tale land in the sky, it was a place Mankind could actually reach, if they had a mind to. And the emissaries of heaven, that's angels to you, would visit this world and communicate with its people, advising them...guiding them. But I couldn't allow that to continue, you must see that. I had to put a stop to it."

  Tom was gazing at Dr. Redhand now with a growing sense of unease, shaking his head as if to deny he was the man who had befriended him.

  "Yes, you're right, Tommy, I'm not old Red," said the figure in the doorway. "He took a fall and cricked his neck, the poor son of an acrobat! No, I think you know who I really am."

  Even as Tom looked on, the man began to change, shimmering at first until he became a brilliant radiance of flashing colours, gradually taking on another, larger form, a bestial shape with long arms upraised, claws gleaming in the last of the fading light.

  "Welcome to your death," said the White Wolf, its eyes glinting with pleasure.

  Tom took several steps backward, retreating from the terrible apparition that stood only a few yards from him, the thick white fur that covered its body ruffled by a light wind that came from the opening in the roof.

  "Now, now, Tom, don't be foolish. I can take you at any time I please. But I have a treat in store for you first. Look up, my brave, young friend, look up and see the true secret of the tower."

  Above him, before Tom had even begun to raise his eyes, a humming sound had already commenced that seemed to vibrate the air around him, and what he saw when he at last gazed upward toward the night sky made him feel as if all hope had passed away, leaving him helpless in the clutches of the Beast.

  There, hovering no more than thirty feet above his head, were two winged creatures, slender and sinewy, their piercing orange eyes fixing him with a desperate longing.

  "They are hungry, Tom," said the Wolf, "and I cannot deny them their prize."

  "I hate you," Tom said in a hoarse whisper, terror closing around his throat with fingers of iron.

  "I know, Tom, I know. But that's just the way it goes. There's still time for you to repent."

  Tom's eyes were drawn to the demons above him, their wings beating rapidly as they awaited their master's command. But as he looked, something beyond them, white against the darkness of the night, was silently descending.

  This was so much like another of his strange dreams that Tom could only stand perfectly still and watch, almost detached, as a beautiful figure, its own great wings flapping effortlessly, a golden crown upon its head, came down through the opening in the tower. It’s clear grey eyes gazed into Tom's with such an expression of love and compassion that it made him want to weep. The creatures that hovered below it screeched in unison, and in the doorway the Wolf cocked its head on one side to listen, taking pleasure from the awful sound.

  "This is wonderful," it snarled softly, its dark gaze finding Tom. "It seems your presence in the tower has called down one of the pretty ones. I must thank you, Tom, my boy. It was most kind of you to bring my pets such a precious gift." Saying this, the Beast gestured toward the winged monstrosities and immediately they pivoted in the air and flew at the angel, deftly manoeuvring their lithe bodies so as to cut off any hope of escape. "Now you will witness a symbol of the new age," cried the White Wolf merrily. "Oh, what an unexpected delight!"

  Tom looked up into the angel's eyes and saw there a deep sadness that broke his heart.

  I can't just stand by and let this happen! But what can I do?

  Agitated and desperate he felt at his pockets, knowing that he needed a miracle and he touched something bulky and rough tucked down deep, all but forgotten.

  The catapult, Tom remembered, his hand closing around the haft. It was still there, along with the rocks he had collected in the tunnel.

  Struggling to wrench the weapon from his pocket, Tom watched as the flying demons circled the angel repeatedly, preparing themselves for the kill. He lifted the catapult high in his left hand and thrusting one of the rocks hastily in place, he took aim at one of the creatures as it flew near to him.

  Memories of the robin surfaced in his mind, a vivid image of its small, broken body tumbling earthbound, but Tom pushed it from his mind and pulled back the elastic with all his strength. Yet still he hesitated.

  This is different. This time it is different.

  He could see the creatures turning in the air, the shining figure trapped between their hideous forms; he could feel the Wolf close to him, enraptured by the dreadful scene and gritting his teeth, knowing that if he did not act now the moment would be lost, he let the projectile fly.

  With a heavy thud, the rock smashed into one of the demon's wings, ripping the membrane of skin and sending the creature plummeting toward the ground, a foul scream erupting from its lips as it fell. Tom threw himself to one side as the thing came crashing down, narrowly missing him, its writhing body crippled and useless. He looked up once more and he was transfixed momentarily by the gaze of the angel who stared unfalteringly at him, something passing between them that Tom only felt and did not understand, although it spoke of gratitude and a promise of love that was absolute and unquestionable.

  Then the angel, seizing the moment of confusion, fell upon the other demon, clutching it firmly by the shoulders, the two creatures face to face. They seemed to pause suspended for an moment in the air, eyes locked together. And with an unearthly song rising from its lips, magnificent wings beating steadily, the angel flew upward, the squirming creature held securely in an immovable grasp, climbing vertically out of the tower at tremendous speed.

  "Clever boy," said a rasping
voice close beside him and turning Tom saw the golden eyes of the Wolf regarding him, only inches from his own.

  "You lost," Tom murmured, scrambling in his pocket for another rock but the Beast just shook its head impassively.

  "Don’t be foolish, Tom. Your David and Goliath act was only good for one performance. You can set your toy aside now." And to Tom's own astonishment he let the catapult slip through his fingers and drop to the floor. "You’re such a silly boy," rebuked the White Wolf, "won't you ever learn that I can never lose."

  As Tom stared deep into the eyes of the Beast, they seemed to enlarge, becoming pools of blood. "A game, all a game," said a voice, but Tom could see nothing now but a lake of glimmering crimson water, inviting him to dive into its cool depths.

  "A test?" Tom suggested, his mind slow, refusing to work properly.

  "Yes indeed," the voice exclaimed, "a test, a little test to find out what you’re made of."

  "Flesh," Tom said slowly, "only flesh and blood."

  "Exactly," agreed the voice, which now seemed to come from deep within the water, "just that and nothing more. Why don't you just go home now and forget all about it? Take a good long rest. You've earned it.”

  "Yes I have," Tom decided, teetering on the edge of the watery abyss. "I need a holiday!"

  "Couldn't agree more," said the voice, "forget everything and go home. No-one will hold it against you. After all, there's no point in throwing your life away for nothing, now is there?"

  "No point," Tom repeated, nodding. "I'm tired," he added sleepily.

  "That's right, Tom. Sleep now and when you awaken everything will be fine."

  And Tom thought that he should. He was very tired, his eyes so heavy it was almost impossible to keep them open. He made one last effort to stay conscious, some part of him fighting the inexorable pull of sleep but he was not strong enough.

  "Dive into the deep," the voice advocated, Tom's head full of whispers, water lapping at his feet.

  "Can this be just another dream?" he asked, closing his eyes as he prepared to plunge into the dark waters.

  "Yes, Tom, it is. And the dream goes on."

  BETWEEN TWO WORLDS

  The touch of something wet, its gentle ebb moving against him, brought Jack back from sleep. Or had it been sleep?

  He could only recall fragments, pieces of an illusive puzzle, but he was left with the indelible impression that he had experienced a nightmare of epic proportions.

  With a small cry of surprise he realised that he was laying in a shallow area of water, a fine spray occasionally hitting his face as waves broke against a clump of nearby rocks, the taste of salt-water upon his lips. Beneath him he felt sand clinging to his body, his clothes soaked through.

  Where am I?

  Pushing himself onto his knees, he scanned the immediate area and with a profound sense of bewilderment he saw that he was on a stretch of beach, hemmed in by large, jagged rocks that formed a small cove. Nothing moved other than the waves breaking on the shore. Mo was nowhere to be seen.

  Jack closed his eyes and struggled to concentrate his mind, to recall how he had come to this place. But he could remember little besides a hazy journey, supported by either a badger or a man, he could not be sure which. His thoughts were a jumbled mess.

  Gingerly he stood up, brushing sand from his face and clothes. The beach stretched out for several hundred yards in either direction, ending as it reached a plateau of rocks that overhung the sea. The body of water, blue white and exceptionally clear, went out to the horizon.

  Although a sense of uneasiness troubled him, just the sight of the waves rolling in and out made him feel a good deal better. He felt clean and whole again here, as if the sea air absolved all of his crimes.

  Crimes. Now why should I think of that?

  All at once, the stinging memory of his awful battle with the creature in the house of Mr. Blakestone rushed back into his mind and then more powerfully, his own private damnation, the deliberate sabotage of the generator that had doomed the house itself and all those gathered within.

  At least they didn't suffer, he found himself thinking and was instantly disgusted by his pathetic reasoning, wishing so much that he could go back and change it all, that he could be given a second chance.

  Jack clenched his hands into fists and raised them to his face, pressing hard. "I don't want to remember anymore!" he cried out at the sea. "I never want to remember."

  As he stood there shaking with fear and self loathing, he heard footsteps, the sound of someone approaching behind him across the sand.

  Turning unhurriedly, Jack looked upon a man who stood only a few paces off, a tall man in a long grey coat, examining him with a rueful expression.

  "And so our paths meet again," Dredger said, his dark eyes humourless.

  He flowed like liquid in an undertow of light. Tom was a rainbow.

  Colours ran through his body, glimmering above the ebony landscape he travelled across, no longer mortal. He was now an entity of luminescence and though a heart still beat somewhere inside him, his consciousness had taken flight and soared toward the heavens, exploring the untouched clarity of space. Tom hoped his feet would never touch the ground again. To float with the clouds, to drift among the stars, that was where he wanted to be.

  In his mind, something stirred.

  Memory.

  Stars shone, stars glowed with perverse brilliance, a million hues of splintered light cascading all around him. He was buffeted by currents of air, rising, falling, spinning through a universe of unimaginable beauty.

  Abruptly he began to plummet downward, drawn toward the turning sphere of the earth that rushed to meet him, swallowing him up. White light blinded him, his body weightless as he dropped at ever increasing speed, an earthbound comet destined for destruction and then with a tremendous noise, he collided with something solid, unyielding, Tom knowing that he could not survive such an impact.

  Little by little, awareness returned to him and he found that he was standing upright, his mind and body once more intact. For several moments a feeling of loss washed over him with immense force, waves of regret passing slowly away.

  It was wonderful up there. Why did I have to come back?

  Recovering himself only gradually, taking time to examine his surroundings, he saw that he was in a garden. Vaguely, the place seemed familiar to him and when he began to walk, he moved with easy assurance, as if he knew the way.

  That's strange, it's as though I've known this place all my life.

  Then he saw the house and the awareness of where he truly was finally took hold, leaving him with a sense of displacement.

  I'm home again.

  He said it aloud and this time his feelings came alive. "I'm home!"

  A wide, joyous smile broke out upon his face; he could hardly believe that it was true.

  And perhaps it was not. Perhaps it was just another trick.

  Tom's expression soured as he faced this possibility. Wasn't everything in one way or another some kind of deception?

  He had begun to believe that it was. Simple trust, the faith of a child, had been stripped from him, burned away by the fires of recent experience and he knew that even here on such familiar ground, he would have to be on his guard.

  With due caution Tom made his way forward, treading softly through the long grass. At the back door he paused and listened for any sound that might reveal if the house was occupied. He almost called out, wanting so much for his Aunt or Uncle to answer, but to do so would be foolish. He could no longer take for granted anything that he saw or heard, so he remained silent, his ear pressed against the door. No sound came from within. Could his Aunt and Uncle be out somewhere? Or was it possible that they no longer even lived there? Had time played the greatest trick of all on him and robbed him of his family? He had no way of judging how long it had been since he was last here.

  Tom shrugged these thoughts away hastily. Everything would be all right. It had to be.


  He opened the door and moved stealthily across the kitchen tiles; their red and white pattern a powerful symbol of home and belonging and Tom knew then that this was indeed real, there could be no doubt of that.

  Please let everything be all right.

  He looked into the sitting room where he had spent so many wonderful evenings, reading by the open fire or just listening to Ira's curious tales, which he now knew had been far more important than he had ever imagined, but it was quite empty. Where could they be?

  Only very rarely did both his Aunt and Uncle go out, one or the other usually somewhere close to the house. Maybe he had missed them in the garden? Considering its size that was quite possible.

  Mounting the stairs, Tom quickly checked the bedrooms-although he did not expect to find them there, as it was not their habit to spend much time upstairs during the day-then returning once more through the kitchen and out into the garden, he scanned the trees and bushes for movement, hoping to catch a sight of them, but nothing stirred. There was no wind and a deathly hush was upon the place.

  He considered taking a risk and venturing further into the garden, but if they were out there then there was every chance he would miss them as they made their way back to the house, leaving him no better off than he already was. And yet he couldn't just stand around and wait. He had to speak to Ira, to tell him what had happened. They had to find a way to go back and help Jack and Mo!

  Desperation urged him onward and he was just about to run recklessly off down one of the many pathways that led into the deepest regions of the garden, when suddenly he saw them both emerge from a path obscured by a screen of fir trees, walking slowly toward the house.

  Raising a hand to wave, he felt a warm rush of affection run through him that encompassed relief, security and love in a single tide of emotion and yet even this happiness proved short-lived, for as the two figures saw him there, Tom realised that something was horribly wrong. His Aunt dropped the basket she had carried, berries scattered across the lawn, her face stricken with fear and sorrow and Ira simply stopped in his tracks without any show of affection or joy at seeing him.

  "It's all right!" Tom shouted, taking a step toward them, refusing to admit to himself that something had sullied their reunion, something that made his Aunt and Uncle look upon him as if he were some grotesque intruder, the look in his Aunt's eyes piercing his heart. "It's me! Tom! I'm home! Everything's all right!" he went on quickly to mask his despair, but deep down where there were no disguises Tom knew with a terrible, icy certainty that it was not all right.

  Once more, a trick had been played on him.

  "You seem surprised to see me," commented Dredger, eyeing the boy.

  Jack found it hard to reply. He felt exhausted, mentally and physically. Along with all of the other phantoms that plagued him, the sight of this man whom he had never really expected, or wished to see again, was just too much for him.

  "Where's Mo?" he asked with an effort and he saw Dredger smile, but without any trace of humour.

  "He is arranging transportation for us. There is a small port town named Pelagian, a short distance further along the coast to the west. I was awaiting you there when I came upon him. But alas, I find that your friend is not with you."

  "Yes," Jack said, his voice dead, "we came on without him." As he spoke the words, contempt for both himself and Mo for doing so rose up angrily inside him.

  "You have changed since I saw you last," the warrior observed, his expression neutral.

  "A lot of things have changed," Jack countered.

  "True enough," Dredger agreed. "But now, I think we should join our friend, Mo. He will be waiting for us."

  For a moment Jack wondered if it would be wise to trust this man, after such a long absence. Since their very first encounter there had been something about the warrior that had repelled him, making him wary and even though his recollections of those times were strangely indistinct, he still felt the same.

  The warrior seemed to grow impatient and turning his back on the boy, started away along the shore, quickly covering the ground with his long strides. Jack called after him, but without response. Not knowing what else he could do and reluctant to remain there alone, he eventually followed across the sand, absently avoiding the heavy imprints in the sodden beach made by the man ahead, and as he went, his thoughts turned to Tom.

  What if Dredger says we can't afford to wait for Tom? What if he starts giving orders like before?

  But Tom had the map.

  Surely that would make them look for him, or at the very least wait for him to catch up with them. After all, wasn't that what all of this was about, the map and the quest for Pandora's box?

  Jack wasn't sure anymore. Things just did not add up in his mind.

  He had always imagined God to be beyond the dimensions of understanding. And perhaps this was like that, like letters written in the sand, ten miles high. Meaningless when you walked amongst them, but when seen from the sky above, words of power.

  The sight of Tom standing there caused a jarring sensation in Ira's chest and he feared that it was a prelude to a serious attack, but with an effort of will, he managed to control the torrent of emotion that assailed him.

  "My God!" gasped Emily at his side but he could offer nothing to comfort her. They both saw him there and they both saw the way that he shimmered, transparent, his body fading in and out so that they could see the brickwork of the house behind him, their own reflections in the glass of the window.

  It was the ghost of Tom.

  Two years had passed since he and Jack had gone off to explore the garden and never returned. At first it had been very difficult, what with the police investigating their disappearance and the extensive searches made of the surrounding area, but no trace had ever been found of them and for Emily in particular, that had been the worst thing of all.

  After that had came the accusations made by Jack's guardian, suggesting that Ira and Emily were in some way involved, months of hardship and suspicion to add to that which they were already going through, and of course there had been the reporters, relentlessly digging for a story, any story, harassing them day and night. But eventually all of that had subsided and the police, baffled and without any motive or evidence of foul play, had let the matter fade into obscurity, just another unsolved mystery among so many others in their files.

  Ira had done what he could to support his wife, but for Emily it had been a terribly painful and harrowing ordeal and she had been very slow to recover, and he saw when he looked into her eyes, that she would never really get over the loss and grief that tormented her dreams.

  But although Ira knew many things he had not spoken of to anyone, including, sadly, his beloved Emily, he had feared that he would never see Tom or Jack again. And now, seeing Tom there, so lost and tormented, Ira almost wished that his fears had been realised.

  "Uncle Ira! Aunt Emily!" the boy called to them in a dismal voice.

  Tears ran down Emily's face as she sobbed against Ira's shoulder. "I told you he was dead," she managed to whimper, and putting his arm around his wife Ira could only hug her gently.

  "Hush now," he said, his eyes never leaving Tom, "everything will be all right."

  "What's wrong?" Tom asked, his youthful face distraught.

  Ira's gaze was steady but inside, his heart was breaking. "Listen Tom," he began slowly, "something has happened. Wherever you are, you're not here." He paused, watching for the boy's reaction but Tom didn't seem to understand him. "You're between worlds, boy," he told him firmly, hoping that Emily was too upset to pay much notice to what he was saying. "The Wolf has fooled you and sent you back. But it's not yet time for you to return, so you're caught, neither here nor there. It's not over, Tom. I'm sorry...but you must go back."

  At last understanding registered in Tom's eyes. "I know," he said quietly, trying hard to keep his tears at bay and Ira so much wanted to go to him, to tell him that he could stay there, safe with them and did not have
to return to a place where death was the least of the horrors that lay in wait. But there was too much at stake. Each had to make his own sacrifice.

  He recalled then the night he had gone after Tom, it seemed like a lifetime ago now. He had climbed the tree, hoping that he too would be able to pass through into that other place, but he had been barred from entry by a force greater than his own and he had never tried again. It was only rare good fortune that had prevented him from breaking his neck in the fall, but he had suffered injuries nevertheless and had decided not to tempt fate again. Destiny was a mysterious thing, he knew, and its ways often seemed cruel.

  "Think hard, Tom," the old man said passionately, "think of Jack, think of that other land where you’ve been for so long. You have to.”

  With great difficulty, knowing his Uncle spoke the truth and biting back his sorrow, Tom began to form pictures in his mind. Of Mo and Dredger. Of Jack and Lisa. And then finally, the Wolf's bestial face itself took shape and he pushed his very being toward it, suppressing his fear and forcing himself on into its ravenous jaws.

  Losing all awareness of his physical self once more, Tom rushed along fiery tunnels, the glowing walls ablaze, flames rippling over him, their crimson tongues licking at his body. Then in another moment, he was flying through the air across a scarlet sky, above an inferno world that boiled furiously, savage heat rising to sear his flesh, pain beginning to swell in him, threatening to explode and send him spiralling to meet the lava below. And all the while, through all the agony he endured, a voice accompanied him, carrying him on his way, the words sending tears running down over his blistered cheeks.

  "I love you," it said, and the voice was Uncle Ira's.

  With that knowledge in his heart Tom thrust himself on into the fire, so that his tears could extinguish the flames that charred the landscape black, to reveal an alien world beneath the ashes, a place where he could find deliverance.

  They were in a small yet busy coastal town, a high stone wall separating the buildings from the sea. People milled about, moving purposefully toward their destinations, some making for the market, others to the harbour where ships and boats were anchored, their bright sails visible at the far end of the street. As Jack walked along the narrow pavements he was a little taken aback by the sight of so many people, apparently concerned with nothing more than the routine of their lives, the utter normality of the scene strange to him after so long in the wilderness.

  Ahead of him, Dredger went at a brisk pace, deftly negotiating his way through the throng, whereas Jack, being smaller and far less sure of himself, often found it difficult to keep up. Fortunately, Dredger's stature made him easily recognisable amongst the sailors, fishermen and other common townsfolk, and he found that he was able to follow at a distance without any real fear of becoming lost.

  Within a few minutes the warrior came upon an inn, a large sign above its door parading the name SEAFARERS ARMS, and Jack realised that this was their destination as Dredger went inside without even a glance back to confirm that the boy was still with him.

  Could Mo be in there? he wondered dubiously.

  But before Jack could go after him, there came a shout from somewhere nearby.

  "Hey boy," called a voice and turning he saw that it belonged to a small, unruly looking character, crossing the road in a hurry and gesturing at him.

  Jack could only stand still and appraise the man sceptically as he approached, not at all certain as to what he should do. He thought about calling for Dredger, but the warrior had long since disappeared into the tavern.

  "You, yes you!" said the stranger, pointing a grubby finger as he came up level with Jack, slightly out of breath. He was only marginally taller than the boy and his clothes were dirty and ill-fitting. On his head, perched atop a curly mass of white hair was a black beret that Jack could not help but stare at. The way it appeared to wobble as if it was about to fall off at any moment and yet remained miraculously balanced there, made Jack want to laugh out loud and as it was, he had to hide a smile with a quickly raised hand.

  "If you're going to ask me for money, I'm sorry but I haven't got any," he said good-naturedly, thinking this odd fellow to be a beggar of some sort, but the man only laughed at this, a coarse, throaty sound that Jack thought to be far from healthy.

  "Nay boy!" he exclaimed, coughing so violently that he had to pause for several moments, wiping his mouth on a dirty sleeve. "Nay, I bring you a message," he resumed when he had recovered.

  "A message?" Jack queried, "from who? And who are you anyway?"

  "My name is Kanner, Leo Kanner," the man said, giving a bow and Jack was certain that his beret would fall off, but still somehow it managed to defy the laws of gravity and stayed where it was. "I am a courier by profession," he finished with an air of self-importance, giving the boy a wink and a half-formed image of another man, astride a horse, flashed through Jack's mind, a remnant of a memory or perhaps more likely, a dream.

  Jack eyed the man for a moment. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

  The small man looked affronted and a little dismayed. "The message that I bear comes from one who calls himself Mo, if that means anything to you?"

  Jack wasn't sure what to make of all this and he knew he should go inside the tavern and fetch Dredger, but something within him, maybe pride, maybe stubbornness, made him reluctant to do so. Did he really need the warrior? After all, Dredger hadn't seemed too concerned if Jack entered the building or not, and Jack was just about fed up with the game of follow the leader anyway.

  "Where is he?" he asked, still caught in two minds, thinking that he would find out what he could before calling in Dredger.

  Kanner leaned closer to the boy, keeping his voice low. "The one you seek is further along the coast, up by the Grey Cliffs. He told me to tell you that your enemies are close by and that you must be wary. He said to warn you that you cannot be sure who is friend or foe."

  Jack glanced back at the inn, alarmed by this warning, which only seemed to confirm everything he had thought to himself since Dredger's sudden reappearance. The Warrior had been away a long time. Who could say what might have happened to him? Was the badger avoiding Dredger until he had a chance to speak to Jack alone?

  "Which way?" he asked abruptly, his mind made up at last.

  "Here," directed Kanner, immediately making off away from the noise and bustle of the town along a cobbled back-street. Without anymore hesitation Jack followed, climbing a steep incline between weathered buildings, leaving the SEAFARERS ARMS and all those inside behind him.

  Tom could smell sea air. It was unmistakable.

  He had no knowledge of how he had come to be there but his memories were intact, Ira's words of love still with him, his emotions uncertain.

  He remembered the times his Uncle had taken him on trips to the seaside, where he would spend countless hours searching rock-pools for crabs or jellyfish, playing at mountain-climbing over the rocky outcrops that littered the beaches and best of all, discovering cave entrances, the forbidding darkness within exciting him with the promise of hidden treasures.

  All the while Ira would look on, never chastising him or preventing him from exploring unknown areas and it seemed now that his Uncle had been encouraging him to run free, even when at times it might have appeared he was risking injury by climbing up some sheer cliff-face or precariously jumping across slippery rocks.

  The only thing Ira had ever said to him was 'enjoy your childhood, Tom, make the most of it. Because once you grow up, the world tries its very best to rob you of the things that make this time so special. Of course that's not to say you have to give them up willingly, no, but once lost, it's difficult indeed to recapture the simplicity of youth'.

  Well, I've not lost it yet!

  He sniffed the breeze and tasted the salty air before beginning to wander across the grassy dunes.

  Dredger slammed his fist down hard onto the table he was seated at, causing the publican at the bar to glance at him waril
y. "Where is my companion?" the warrior challenged, his voice pitched low.

  There were about half a dozen men drinking ale in the tavern and every face turned toward the stranger, each regarding him with hostility and contempt.

  "No-one here has seen your friend," the publican told him gruffly and Dredger smiled, his lips forming a thin, deadly line that made most there a little uneasy.

  "He was to be here," the warrior informed them, speaking to no-one in particular. "He would not have been delayed, save by some evil design."

  One of the men standing at the bar, after downing the last dregs in his tankard, began to laugh loudly, slapping his thigh for effect. He was a stocky, red-bearded seaman, no doubt from one of the ships docked in the harbour and Dredger looked him over with evident disdain.

  "Evil design!" the sailor mocked. "This fellow has a pretty tongue I may say." This brought some laughter from the other men but the warrior's eyes never left the speaker. "What kind of fool would think there's anything evil here in Pelagian?"

  Slowly, Dredger rose up out of his chair and moved toward the bearded man. "I am," he breathed, "the kind of fool who would find it remarkably easy to end your life." The warrior's hand was poised above the hilt of his sword, only waiting for some sign from the other that combat would ensue and there was a sudden eagerness in his blood, a powerful need to unleash a terrifying violence burning within him.

  Facing him, although his gaze was steady, the seaman appeared uncertain. He shifted his weight anxiously, trying to evaluate whether he was a match for the tall stranger. They faced each other for a few seconds only before he let himself relax. "No need to take offence, friend," he said, his voice even, and with a fleeting smile and a nod Dredger stepped a pace backward.

  "Now," he announced, "either one of you tell me where I can find my companion, or your friend, red-beard here, shall lose more than just his pride."