The Magic Lands

by Mark Hockley

  And with that, the warrior's sword was drawn, its sharp tip tickling the sailor's throat before he had barely time to blink.

  Jack was still playing follow the leader. Only his guide had changed, not the game.

  They were making their way along a small, stony pathway which wound up into the hillside that rose high above the sea. Looking out across the water, Jack could make out several bodies of land, each one further out than the last and he knew that they were a

  chain of islands stretching out into the blue, each of them of similar size as far as he could tell, although the last was no more than a dark smudge on the horizon.

  "Is it much further?" he asked, returning his attention to his guide.

  "It's a stone's throw from here," remarked the man, glancing at him over his shoulder, his beret denying the fierce wind that blew in from the sea.

  They were high up on the cliff-top now, the path curving around and over a gigantic rock that jutted out above the sandy beach below. Even so, Kanner clambered up onto it and coming to a standstill upon the rock itself, he blithely walked over to the very tip where it was most narrow and peered down at the waves solemnly pushing their way in and out of the beach.

  "Fantastic view," he declared, "and it's a long way down too." Jack drew a little closer, trying to extend his neck out far enough to look without getting too near to the edge. "If you fell," Kanner commented, turning back toward the boy, "you would be unlikely to survive." Below them the sea had become suddenly wild, the surf swelling and foaming, the golden sand assaulted with increasing ferocity. The water seemed alive. "Do you know something," said the man, a playful smile animating his features. "Things have not been going as they should of late. Plots have been undone, schemes ruined by meddlers. Plans have had to be changed. Friend's of yours," he added with subdued anger, "have not acted as they should."

  Jack realised that unconsciously he had moved closer toward the edge of the cliff-top, his eyes remaining downcast, unable to look away from the tempestuous waves, mighty breakers now rushing up onto the beach, reaching further and further each time they came.

  "So you see," Kanner went on, "something has to be done. It's a simple fact, a fact of life if you like, that people have to be taught the hard way. They need a good hard knock, a shock to the system so to speak, to make them see things as they really are."

  Puzzled, Jack glanced up for the first time since the man began talking, his toes now almost over the lip of the rock. "What did you say?" he questioned, concentration eluding him, the irresistible lure of the waves pulling his gaze back down. The wind whipped at him, icy fingers clutching at his clothes, urging him forward.

  "Remember the way it felt to kill, Jack?" Kanner asked him, drawing nearer, his low voice perfectly clear despite the clamour of the elements. "Remember the way it made you feel strong and alive. Remember that?"

  Blinking hard, Jack fought to retain his balance, sky and sea becoming one, pressing upon him from above and below, robbing him of his senses, his sanity. "I...I don't know," he stammered, shaking his head, "I don't know what you're talking..." But his words trailed away into an empty silence.

  Then a picture began to take shape in Jack's mind, vague at first but gaining clarity. It was the face of a woman, or perhaps she was only a girl, it was difficult to be sure, but she was smiling at him and as he listened to her voice, the sound musical and soothing, he knew what he must do. The vision faded as suddenly as it had come and he found that

  Kanner was very close to him now, the man's hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

  "Maybe your friends will think again now," he told Jack, his fingers tightening their grip. "Maybe this will get through to them." Letting out a snarl, Kanner grabbed Jack and tried to force him over the brink. But even as he felt the man begin to exert pressure against him, Jack suddenly transferred his body weight to his right leg, enabling him to duck beneath his attacker's arm and turn behind him, the man left tottering, his own balance lost, arms flailing wildly as he stared at the jagged rocks far below. Desperately he reached back, fingers clawing at Jack's face, but with a coolness that both shocked and exhilarated him, Jack simply touched the man on the back, just the gentlest push to send him toppling forward, Kanner's frantic attempts to regain his footing unable to save him as with a piercing scream of terror he fell.

  Jack watched him go all the way down, until the man finally struck the rocks at the foot of the cliff, his body ricocheting and bouncing off onto the sand. Standing there, dangerously close to the edge but entirely unconcerned about his own safety, Jack continued to stare fixedly down at the tiny figure that lay crumpled and lifeless, the waves taking hold of the corpse and dragging it further down the beach as they receded. Something else attracted his gaze and he saw beyond the breakers, the beret floating upon the unfeeling water, drifting slowly away into the open sea.

  Another little murder.

  He felt tired and void of emotion. "I'm getting quite good at it," he decided with a quirky smile and he experienced a bout of giddiness, his vision hazy. Steadying himself, he

  realised that there was really only one thing for him to do now.

  It was time for Jack Barton to pay his dues. Time to exit from the game.

  As the other stranger entered the tavern, all who were there breathed an almost audible sigh of relief.

  "Dredger!" the man in the doorway called authoritatively. His eyes alighted briefly on the red-bearded man, who was doing his level best not to gulp down the saliva that filled his mouth, sweat running over his face as he exerted all of his willpower to the task of remaining perfectly still. Where the sword was pressed against his throat he could feel the rapid beat of his pulse. "There are matters that demand our attention," the new arrival instructed stepping closer, his gaze now directed solely at the warrior. Turning toward the speaker, Dredger glared at him. "I thought you had come to some harm," he said, a slight irritation in his voice, almost as if he were disappointed to see his companion safe and well, his hunger for bloodshed barely under control.

  "Not I," responded the other man, casting his eyes around the room, the occupants content to silently look on, listening intently to the exchange. "But we have other companions, or had you forgotten that they too can be harmed?" Dredger's brow furrowed as he considered these words. "Well?" pressed the newcomer and the warrior gave a small shrug.

  "The boy will have to learn...or die," he said, his tone as cold as the steel he carried.

  "It would seem you have altered a great deal, old friend," the man at the door told him, his expression grim and disappointed.

  "Perhaps, but you should have realised by now that it will be the strong who will prevail. The weak can do little else but fall by the wayside."

  "The strong and the weak," intoned the other man with a considering nod, "but who is to say which is which?"

  This brought a thin smile to Dredger's lips and he shook his head. "You are a romantic, Mo. And for that there is no cure." Returning his attention to the man whose throat kept company with the point of his blade, he addressed all those gathered there. "I will bid you good day, gentlemen, as it would seem that my comrade is unharmed. I trust I have not unduly inconvenienced you." Saying this, the warrior strode away from the bar and out of the building, closely followed by the other stranger, leaving the red-bearded man touching his throat delicately where the tip of the sword had rested.

  As the seaman withdrew his fingers to find a tiny trickle of blood, he mentally noted that he would pity any who might make those men their enemy.

  The terrain was much the same as it had been everywhere else Tom had travelled since coming to these lands, but though he knew the sea must be very close by, however far he trekked, he could not catch sight of it. Every time he clambered up a dune, he was certain that the horizon would reveal blue waters, but each time only grass and trees appeared, stretching away to the next rise.

  After a long while, with legs aching and hopes dashed to almost nothing, he
decided that he could not go on without a rest and sat down beneath the first tree he came to. He could feel twinges of pain here and there in his body and he did his best to position himself as comfortably as possible against the smooth trunk.

  The smell of the sea was maddening and he thought he could almost hear the waves. But what if he found the sea anyway? What good would it do him?

  All Tom could see ahead of him was hardship, a black certainty of misfortune to come. And while he would continue to do all that he could to defy the treacherous Beast that played with him so cruelly, he knew that a heart of darkness beat relentlessly against his soul, pressing to gain entry, urgent in its desire to possess him.

  If this was a contest, Tom wasn't sure the sides were even. But there was one thing he did know. His side would win. It had to. He just wasn't at all certain that he would be there to celebrate the victory.