The Magic Lands

by Mark Hockley

MYSTERIOUS WAYS

  When the scalpel had moved in his hand, as if by another’s will, Jack had seen with perfect clarity what his choices were.

  The woman in white was still whispering to him. "Yes, my darling. It will be so beautiful, so exquisite. Do it now, Jack my dear. Do it!"

  But Jack had his doubts.

  There was a part of him that would not let go, a faint, tenacious part of his memory that told him that this was not the first time she had promised him rewards for services done. He knew he had played this game before.

  In his mind the woman's face grew larger, her red lips wet and glistening. She smiled with ferocious anticipation. "Too late now for misgivings, Jack my sweet. We have journeyed too far for that."

  Jack smiled back at her. He knew that she was wrong. He had made his choice, for better or worse.

  Tom. I'm doing this for you. And for Mo and Dredger. But most of all, for you.

  He gripped the small blade tightly, its tip only inches from the doctor's throat, but he did not let it get any closer, the hand that held the knife wavering gently with the effort.

  "Do it, you little fool," the woman in white shouted wildly, drowning his senses. "Kill the prey, kill the prey!"

  Jack closed his eyes, sweat trickling down over his face, heat prickling his scalp and neck. "No," he said, gritting his teeth. His hand was shaking madly now and he struggled to control it.

  "You cannot deny me," the woman hissed, "you are far too weak."

  Snarling out his denial, Jack forced himself to fight the terrible influence she was exerting over him, using every ounce of will he possessed to cast her from his stricken mind. "NO!"

  "You will obey!" the woman screamed at him. "Obey! Obey! Obey!" The violence of her cries was like so many hammer blows, smashing at his defences. He could not resist for much longer. There was only one chance left, and he knew he had to take it.

  With one final, enormous effort, Jack dragged his hand away and turning the blade upon himself, pushed it hard into his own belly. Inside his mind the woman howled, anger and frustration uniting in an ugly shriek, but Jack barely heard it, a warm sensation spreading from his stomach outwards, a dullness that made him feel very tired.

  He took flight then and travelled billions of miles, time passing him by as he raced through a black void. He was rising on a jet of his own blood, spouting high into the heavens, colouring the stars and planets with a scarlet coat.

  Am I dead? But he was the only one there who could answer. He was alone with the absolute solitude of space. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Heaven or hell?

  Within his mind a quiet voice was speaking, the syllables unintelligible and yet somehow potently meaningful to him. He was being given a gift he sensed on some profound level, a gift of knowledge, but most of all, of love. He felt his mind changing subtly, his understanding deepening. Jack experienced this all in some intrinsic way that he could not define. He could not rationalise it or even fully comprehend it. But it had changed him, although in what way he could not exactly say.

  Jack opened his eyes very slowly and for a moment as he looked upon the two figures who crouched over him, he thought that he saw a light that shone above each of them, Tom's a crown of golden flame, Dredger mantled by a sickly yellow glow.

  "You'll be fine now," Tom said, touching Jack's arm lightly.

  The boy smiled up at him. "In the end, everyone will be."

  "Here," guided Dredger, making toward a well-lit building, carrying Dr. Watson as if he were no more than a sapling. Outside, a lantern burned brightly, the words ‘Police Station’ plainly visible.

  They had made their way through the fog at speed, driven on by a need to escape from the murk and shadow as much to find some kind of aid. Without pausing the warrior strode up the steps and went inside, and Tom wondered what kind of reception they would receive.

  Just within the doorway there was a small waiting room with a partition, behind which a stout man in a blue uniform sat reading a newspaper. As their party bustled in he jumped up, obviously caught unawares, sections of his paper scattering across the floor.

  With an unfriendly grunt, he looked at each of them in turn. "And what do we have here?" he asked, suspicion in his tone.

  "This man is in need of medical attention," voiced Dredger gruffly. "See that he gets it."

  "Now just a minute," said the desk sergeant, opening a hatch in the wooden partition and stepping cautiously through. "Not so fast. I'll want some answers first."

  "There is no time for that," responded Dredger, becoming impatient, but the sergeant was not about to let anything get in the way of procedure.

  "Now then," he announced, turning his attention to Dr. Watson, still unceremoniously slung over the warrior's shoulder. After briefly examining the injured man, he took a step back and eyed Dredger carefully. "Just how was this gentleman hurt?" he questioned, throwing occasional glances at the two boys, his expression cynical.

  "It was the Ripper," spoke up Jack.

  The policeman looked at the boy with surprise. "The Ripper! And what makes you think that, youngster?"

  "We saw him," Jack answered.

  "That's right, officer," added Tom. "Jack the Ripper attacked us, but it's all right now, Dredger killed him." He glanced over at the big man for confirmation but the warrior merely glared back at him.

  The sergeant seemed to ponder on this for several moments, rubbing a large hand across his chin. "Killed Jack the Ripper did you now?" he mused.

  "This man needs a surgeon immediately if he is to survive," Dredger stated abruptly, moving across the room and carefully laying Dr. Watson down onto a wooden bench that ran the length of one wall.

  "All right, I'll call for a doctor, but you still have a good deal of explaining to do," the sergeant determined, eyeing the blood that had soaked through the wounded man's clothing.

  "Actually," Tom told the policeman, feeling stupid as soon as he had spoken, "he is a doctor."

  The sergeant gave a grunt as he returned to his desk. "Well he's not much use at the moment, now is he, youngster?"

  This brought a hot flush of embarrassment to Tom's cheeks and he was quite put out at being referred to as a youngster. He didn't feel very young anymore. A lot had happened since he last thought of himself as just a boy. He had changed so much it was difficult to remember his old self. It was as though he had both gained something and yet lost something too, for he was undoubtedly wiser than he had been before coming to this strange world and perhaps stronger also, in body and spirit. But he had forfeited his innocence, a part of himself he had not even suspected had existed until now, when it was gone. Now there was an empty place inside him, and there would never be anything that could fill that void. He had learnt that happy endings were not possible in an unequivocal sense, that sometimes you had to give up something in order to gain something, and when it came right down to it, he supposed what that really meant was that you inevitably had to make sacrifices, some big, some small, but every last one of them painful.

  The voice of the sergeant intruded upon Tom's thoughts and brought him back to the current situation. "Yes," the policeman was saying, speaking into a hand-held walkie-talkie, "there's an injured man here, knife wound by the looks of it. Could you come over immediately?" A muffled voice answered an affirmative.

  At Tom's side, Jack was rather confused. Something was bothering him a great deal, and the more he thought about it, the more bewildered he became. Prodding Tom in the ribs, he leant close to his friend's ear. "That shouldn't be here," he whispered, nodding toward the sergeant still holding the walkie-talkie. "They didn't have them in Jack the Ripper's time."

  Tom had never been very interested in history lessons, but he knew at once that Jack was right. "What does it mean then?" he asked, keeping his voice low, surreptitiously looking at the radio the sergeant held, the man's voice as he continued to speak and the occasional buzz of static drowning out their own hushed conversation.

  "It means that this
isn't real," Jack answered firmly.

  "Yes, but we already knew that, didn't we? But why put something here that doesn't fit? Everything else has been right. It doesn't make any sense."

  "Maybe it's another test," Jack suggested, "maybe the Wolf is playing with us again."

  Tom glanced up at Dredger and noticed that the man had moved closer to them and had been listening intently to their exchange. "A trap?" the warrior questioned.

  Tom shrugged. "Another game." The sergeant had turned his back to them, still conversing with someone on his hand-set. "And who's he speaking with anyway?" Tom asked, mistrustful now. "He's already called for a doctor."

  With a fluid movement Dredger drew his sword, his eyes on the policeman.

  "Yes," continued the sergeant, "it seems there is a problem. Clever boys know what’s what. It is reassuring to know the young are paying attention in class. It makes the lesson all worthwhile." As he said this the man began to turn, Dredger readying his sword, but not even the warrior was prepared for what they now saw, for instead of the chubby features of the policeman, now a white faced clown with a huge red nose and black lips, dripping spittle, glared at them, the cruel mouth stretching inhumanly wide. "Clever, clever," it snarled at Jack and involuntarily the two boys recoiled from it, wanting to get as far away from the malevolent creature as they could. "Don’t be afraid, young ones," the clown said sweetly, putting out a pale, gloved hand and beckoning to them. "A clown is a child's best friend."

  Dredger, who had stood his ground, gave a tight smile. "The children may be afraid, but I am not."

  "Of course not, fighting man, you are far too brave for that."

  While the clown was speaking Tom felt Jack nudge him, the other boy indicating with a nod the place where Dr. Watson had been laid; but the bench was empty. The man was nowhere to be seen.

  "I tire of your performance," Dredger said casually. "I think it is time I brought it to an end."

  The clown merely grinned at this, revealing a set of sharp silver teeth, which to Tom looked suspiciously metallic. "I'll eat you," it chuckled, eyeing both boys, clamping the teeth together with a sound like a steel trap.

  "Enough!" bellowed Dredger, thrusting with his sword, aiming at the creature's throat, but fast as the warrior was, the clown was able to nimbly side-step the attack, leaping up onto the counter with incredible ease.

  "Naughty, naughty," it admonished, wagging an oversized finger, "you really ought to be more careful, you might have nicked me!"

  Dredger regarded the creature warily, as it cavorted along the desktop, assessing possible strategies, weighing up his chances of defeating this opponent. "Come down and face me," he challenged, but the clown put that same large finger to its chin and shook its head at him, a coy smile disfiguring its already hideous face.

  "Now why would I want to do a thing like that? You must think me quite foolish, but looks can be deceptive. You should know that by now." Suddenly, the clown assumed an expression of mock seriousness. "But I can't stand around here talking to you all day. There's a lot to do and I've only got so many pairs of hands." No sooner had he uttered this than several sets of arms began to snake out of his torso, white gloved hands waving maniacally. "Wave bye-bye," the clown called, launching itself from the counter toward Dredger, who brought up his sword instinctively to protect himself. "See you in dream land."

  And with that, it was gone. There was no puff of smoke, no flash of light. One second it was there, writhing arms grasping for the warrior, the next it had completely vanished, Tom and Jack left staring into space.

  "Let's get out of here," suggested Jack, the first to react, immediately heading for the door. Neither of his companions hesitated in following, all three exiting the building at speed and once out in the darkened streets again, there was no doubt in any of their minds that the Wolf was there with them, in every stone that was the foundation of this counterfeit city, in every shadow that moved around them.

  The three companions wove their way through silent back alleys and lanes, crossed damp courtyards and deserted squares, and every step they took the mist dogged them, refusing to disperse.

  "Where are we going?" Tom questioned, looking about him and then at Dredger for an answer, but it was Jack who offered a reply.

  "I have a feeling," he said, "that we will be shown the way."

  Hearing this, the warrior nodded his agreement. "The boy is right," he attested, "this is the final game. The Beast will lead us further into the deep core of its corrupted spirit. It wants us to reach our destination no less than we do."

  "But why?" Tom asked. "Why would the Wolf want to help us find the way?"

  "You must remember," Dredger explained, "that all of us, everyone you have encountered since coming here, are a part of a greater thing. Each of us knows we have a role to play, and to resist this knowledge would be futile, but the Beast understands this better than most and uses it to its own advantage. We must learn to accept the road we must take, yet at the same time strive to make our goal the utter annihilation of our enemies."

  Jack regarded the big man for a moment or two and then turned to Tom. "We’re learning all the time. But there’s still a lot that we don't know."

  "Such as what exactly?" queried Tom, perplexed by his friend's statement.

  "Do the horrors of a dream have meaning when we wake?" Jack said in response and Tom had to wonder at how much his friend had changed. There was something indefinably older about him now, a maturity that had nothing whatsoever to do with years, but with experience, an experience that came from the trials of the heart and mind rather than those of the body.

  "They are still frightening, either way," he answered slowly and Jack gave a simple nod of his head.

  "Yes," he agreed, "but you know it was never real, only an illusion that seemed real. What if everything terrible, everything we think of as evil, is like that, a way for us to be taught what we are not capable of understanding on a conscious level. But for it to have any meaning we can’t know that, at least not until we reach the end of it all." Jack paused and there was a faraway look in his eyes. "What if suffering only exists within our souls, a measurement of our love?"

  Tom looked at Jack with a doubtful frown. “Do you really believe that?”

  Jack smiled back at him and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. “I can think of worse things to believe in.”

  With a thoughtful nod Tom walked on, Jack’s words turning within his mind. They went on for a time in silence like this, both knowing all too well that their hopes of ever reaching home again were fast diminishing. They were only biding their time until the Wolf decided it was ready for one last showdown. Beyond that, there was no way of knowing what was waiting for them. Life or death? Pleasure or pain? Or even if these choices were theirs to make.

  END OF THE LINE

  Mo wandered through a beautiful garden, isolated with his own reflections, memory conspiring to conjure demons within his soul. The apparition of the child had faded just as abruptly as it appeared and now he was left with only a lingering sense of dread and foreboding. How he had come to be in this place he did not know, but his thoughts were distracted, a melancholy taking hold of his heart.

  He had tried so hard to show Jack that there were two sides to death. And that though battle demanded confrontation, leading to loss, judgements of the morality of such deeds could not be easily made. Yet Mo's knowledge had its limits, and not without reason, for even he was not exempt from the trials of existence.

  The badger was very confused. The images which he had been shown were part of a great puzzle, one in which the pieces seemed to be forever amending their form to fit an overall picture that was equally capricious. Events appeared to hurtle by, their meaning impossible to fathom. Eternity. Destiny. Humanity. And the link that tied them all together sometimes was a tenuous one, like fine gossamer, a delicate chain of these events.

  Mo's mind was in turmoil, besieged by doubts both persuasive and beguiling, an
aeon's experiences combining to stagger his beliefs. For so long now he had carried a burden of guilt, believing that his sins would be forgiven at the very end of his protracted journey, yet suppressing the uncertainty that asked a dreadful question.

  Did he have the right to kill in the name of love?

  He was so very old, illusive time eroding away the doctrines he had lived by, creating an irony that was not lost upon him. He who had preached to Tom and Jack, so many fine words of hope and courage, he who had appeared to be the pillar of righteousness, a symbol for the two boys to believe in, now felt as if he were little better than a hypocrite, for in the deepest places of his being, Mo's faith was crumbling.

  But it was not his faith in truth that was now so sorely tested, it was his faith in himself. Was it possible that he had been deluding himself all along, so eager to wash away the stains of the blood spilt in this holy war? True enough, it had troubled him that warriors such as Dredger and he himself whenever he took that form, were so willing to administer fatal justice.

  So how could he justify his sins? He had argued before that true evil was soulless and therefore incapable of redemption, but it did not excuse the barbarity of the act itself. Pausing beside the rushing waters of the stream amid the purple blooms that covered its bank, Mo peered into the clear blue and heard a murmuring from within its depths.

  "I see a shadow of myself," said the reflection in the water.

  The badger rubbed his snout amongst the flowers, their fragrance sweet.

  Who was good? Who was evil? Black and white, two sides to everything. But so often the two sides became indistinct, making it difficult to tell them apart.

  "I see a shadow of myself," the trees seemed to sigh.

  Mo pushed away from the stream, moving further into the green haven of the valley garden, and almost without thinking he found himself running, wishing only to escape the doubt that hounded him.

  But however fast he ran, he could not evade the whispers.

  "I see a shadow...of myself."

  The fog was less dense now and Tom was surprised to see one or two buildings that appeared to be out of place in the Victorian streets, their architecture vaguely modern, incongruous in the midst of the more ancient structures.

  It was as though eras were merging, London now a composite city, neither completely in the past nor in the present.

  "Now I am confused," Tom voiced aloud as they turned a corner and came onto a reasonably well lit thoroughfare.

  "What's wrong?" asked Jack, glancing at him as they walked.

  "Look for yourself," his friend replied, pointing over to their left, and what Jack saw made him stop abruptly, an expression of bemusement on his face.

  Displayed prominently in an elongated shop window were a vast array of television sets, each flickering dully with grainy static.

  Tom made his way toward the display and slowly Jack followed, Dredger too taking an interest in what he considered to be some strange new phenomena. As all three came to a halt before the window, he looked down at his companions. "What are these glowing boxes?"

  Tom wasn't really sure how to answer. "They usually show pictures," he volunteered, and as if in response, each of the dozen or so television sets simultaneously began to transmit a picture.

  On each screen a man's face appeared, in extreme close up, but none of the three recognised him. Very gradually, the camera zoomed out to reveal more of this individual and it became apparent that he was seated in a padded armchair, with a small table at his elbow upon which there was a tasteful lamp and a large black book. The white collar that he wore about his neck advised them that he was a churchman of some kind.

  "Welcome to you all on this most special day," the man began, seeming to address the three of them directly.

  "What is this?" Dredger hissed, but the boys were intent on watching the screen and the warrior was left to draw his own conclusions.

  "I am so very pleased that you could join me, my dear friends," continued the clergyman. "I only wish it could have been in happier days, but alas these are dark days, as you know well enough. So we are gathered here to discuss a subject much on our minds of late, namely sin, Sin with a capital S. Sin in its most undiluted form. The sin that we all carry with us in our hearts. For we all are sinners, my friends, each and every one of us, from the high and the mighty to the lowest of the low. I am a sinner. You are a sinner. Everyone sins! But do not despair, my good friends, let us not wallow in the mire of our own shortcomings, for I am here today to tell you how to deal with your sins. I will teach you how to wrestle sin right to the ground and grind its ugly face into the dirt. It's all just a matter of looking sin squarely in the eye and facing up to the fact that you have been setting your sights far too high. A body is likely to take a good long fall when standing tippy-toe way up on that pedestal, am I right!? You bet I am, and you know it only too well. Accept your sin and then you'll be on the road to salvation. Reject your sin and you are bound for eternal perdition! Look at me, friends, I have embraced my sins. I have cheated. I have lied. I have fornicated. I am a sinner! Just like you! Face up to your weakness, acknowledge your sins. I offer you sustenance in a starving world. Reject me and reject deliverance. Accept me and you will be embraced by the strong arms of righteousness! We are all beasts, my friends, in one form or another, but if we stand together, we can rise above our bestiality, we can overthrow sin, master it, make it work for us! If you do not listen to me now, you will rot! Do you hear me, my brethren? Rot! But not in hell! Oh no! You will rot in the earth with the worms for company. Heed my words! Heed them now! I offer you real hope. Throw out false hope and accept that you are a sinner. Nobody's perfect, we all know that in our hearts. We are all the same, so join with me and the new army of a lord who doesn't expect too much of you. Join us now, time is running out, join before it’s too late, join..."

  The man's ranting was drowned out by a crash of shattered glass, as Dredger's sword exploded the window into millions of tiny slivers, making Tom and Jack instinctively cover their faces. "The white dog's sorcery is worthless," the warrior said vehemently, striding away from the now mute showroom. The picture of the churchman still remained however, silent now and appearing to watch them, his expression wry.

  Turning away quickly, both boys scampered after Dredger, perplexed and a little unsettled by this latest exhibition. Neither really understood what it was supposed to mean, but each in their own way had been troubled by it and knew by his reaction that it had affected the warrior in some deep and unfathomable way too.

  Gaining the man's side, they walked on in silence for several minutes, until Tom drew their attention to another discovery.

  A sign faced them. UNDERGROUND.

  "This way," directed Dredger and made toward a stairway that descended into a brightly lit passage.

  As they followed the man without question down the flight of steps, Tom knew that very soon he and the White Wolf would be meeting again. Maybe somewhere below, the battleground was even now being prepared.

  Were mankind bound on a long road, whose many branches all led to the same destination? Mo believed this was the truth. But why had such a journey been undertaken in the first place?

  There had been a time, long ago, a golden dawn when he had sung sweet melodies of hope and wonder, but these moments had become dissipated, their poetry tarnished by the fire of brutal experience.

  Each of his kind had vowed to die before they gave up their dreams, but what dreams did they cherish now? Childish wishes of innocence? Or foolish nostalgia for something lost that could never be recaptured?

  There was black and there was white. And Mo knew them both. The serpent had come and led the children astray, promising them pretty treasures, charming them with shallow

  beauty. Yes, there was a flaw in the soul of humanity and it was selfishness. A simple emotion, but undeniably potent.

  So what had become of those first children with bright, wide eyes, who saw magic in the land?
How could they have disappeared with only memories to say that they had ever been?

  The answer was quite straightforward. Children grow up. And with that change, they lose so much that was precious, wonders that had been taken for granted.

  The Beast often referred to Mo as the half-one, a gibe to taunt him, and yet it was near to the truth. He struggled with a duality that would not be reconciled. Violence and pacifism. He carried out one, yet believed in the other. Perhaps he had spent too much time amongst the corrupted and become diseased. Perhaps Dredger was not the only one who held a beast within his heart.

  I see a shadow of myself the Wolf had called to him, and Mo could no longer protest. He had run out of excuses. He had searched his mind and soul for new hope but found

  only an emptiness that extinguished his faith.

  "Please help me," he said very softly, acutely aware of the silence in the valley, its perfection mocking him. "Have I fallen so low?" He hung his head, his sorrow weighing upon him.

  After a time, distantly at first, but growing louder with each moment that passed, soft music reached him, carried on the cool currents of air, a forlorn melody that soothed his mind. Soon after, it was joined by a lilting voice, neither male nor female, that sang to him in an alien tongue, yet he understood it even so.

  Mo thought that perhaps he was dreaming now, but if that were so his dreams were of the brothers and sisters he had been parted from for so very long.

  His brethren had spoken and forgiven him. Now he must show himself to be worthy of that forgiveness in the battle to come.

  The children would soon feel the terrible pull of temptation once more.

  As tears of gratitude and love ran from the badger's eyes, Mo prayed that this time they would be able to resist.

  The underground station was startlingly modern, fluorescent lights illuminating the interior, presenting a stark and lonely landscape.

  Passing several ticket machines and an abandoned kiosk, they negotiated a turnstile that led to an escalator, apparently in working order.

  "What is this?" Dredger enquired with a curious smile, halting at the top of the moving stairway.

  "It's called an escalator," Tom told him. "Where we come from, people use them to travel up and down without having to walk."

  This explanation provoked a slight frown from the warrior, who regarded the contraption with obvious distaste. "The people of your world must be weak indeed," he observed, "that they should design and build such machines merely to avoid an easy climb!" He gazed sourly at the silent apparatus, watching the top step as it continually disappeared in front of him.

  Tom stepped nimbly onto the mechanism and turned to face his companions as it began to carry him away. "We might as well conserve our energy while we can."

  With considerable contempt, the warrior carefully approached the escalator and boarded it in ungainly fashion, gripping the handrails on either side to maintain his balance.

  "Why are we going down here anyway?" Tom asked, as they made their smooth descent.

  "Because it is the right path," the man said categorically, without turning his head to look at the boy.

  Once they had safely disembarked, Dredger glanced back at the metal monster that in Tom and Jack's world transported thousands of people each day and he shrugged absently. "Easy prey," he commented, but neither boy bothered to question him, suspecting that they knew exactly what he meant by it.

  Making their way through a long tunnel, the walls and ceiling an expanse of white tile, they soon came out onto a deserted platform, where the lighting was less than adequate, the fluorescent strips that lined the ceiling flickering intermittently, plunging parts of the platform into temporary shadow.

  Posters advertising strange merchandise covered the walls and one in particular caught Tom’s eye. EDEN, declared the poster in large red lettering, WHERE YOUR HOLIDAY WILL BE PARADISE! Beneath this was an illustration of a tree-lined valley, a stream winding through its centre.

  Nice place, mused Tom, thinking how tranquil it looked, but as he studied it more closely, he thought that he saw something moving amongst the undergrowth, a black and white shape low to the ground.

  "Tom," said Jack behind him and he turned away to see what his friend wanted, his mind quickly dismissing what he knew must have simply been a trick of the light.

  Jack was looking down at the track, tracing its line with his eyes until it reached the yawning entrance of the tunnel at one end of the platform and there vanished into darkness; only a few small lights upon the inner walls provided any source of illumination and these glowed dimly, like dull eyes staring out of the gloom. "Do you think there are any trains running?" he said uneasily as Tom came alongside, his voice louder than he had intended, the sound ringing through the subterranean domain.

  "No people, no trains," Tom returned with a shrug.

  "We are not alone here," Dredger interjected calmly, scanning the length of the grey platform.

  "Are you sure?" Tom questioned. He took a nervous glance around but could see no-one.

  "I sense it," the man said without fear of contradiction, his fingers moving to touch the hilt of his sword.

  "What should we do?" asked Jack, feeling vulnerable on the exposed platform, the shadows and the eerie silence of the place taking on a threatening ambience.

  "Wait...," Dredger instructed, "and see."

  "Is there more than one?" Tom pressed, keeping his voice low now.

  A dark frown crept over the warrior's rugged features as he surveyed their surroundings carefully. "One is enough," he answered.

  Both boys understood that the Wolf was with them, skulking somewhere in the underground tunnels, watching them, perhaps making plans for his final assault.

  But even as they contemplated some sudden attack by their enemy, a distant rumbling began and as they listened grew steadily closer.

  Quickly, Tom looked at Jack and saw by his friend's expression that both of them had recognised the sound. "Train's coming," he announced, wondering anxiously who its passengers might be.

  In the guise of a man, Mo stood before the gurgling waters of the stream, lost in thought. The darkest of times was upon them all and each would have to face a personal test.

  Of Tom and Jack, he had no knowledge, no way of divining what had become of them. But he sensed that at the very least, they still lived and were fast moving toward the completion of the vast undertaking in which they all participated.

  And there was Dredger, also.

  Mo knew well that the warrior could very easily turn out to be the weakest link amongst them, for though the man believed himself to be strong, his was an unstable, dangerous power, not to be trusted or relied upon.

  Their ultimate strength, their true strength, lay in the hearts and minds of the two children who had been asked to grow so much, so that they would be ready for the day of reckoning that was now upon them.

  For Tom was about to face the maelstrom. And Jack would have to learn the true meaning of honour and friendship.

  The train came hurtling into the station at such a great speed, Tom doubted that it would be capable of stopping.

  "Stand back!" ordered Dredger, his sword whipping into the air, but what the warrior saw as a metallic demon roaring toward them from the darkness of the tunnel, suddenly slowed, the reduction of its momentum unnaturally abrupt, as it came to a halt with a screech of brakes. At the sound even Dredger retreated a little, thinking that this was a cry of attack, but Tom and Jack had stood their ground and now peered through the windows of the train, searching for any sign of passengers within the brightly lit carriages. As far as they could tell however, it was quite deserted.

  With an automatic hiss, the doors opened in unison, and the three companions were able to get a better view of the interior. Although no-one appeared to be on board, clearly something had been travelling in there recently.

  To Jack, it looked as though a hurricane had been trapped within the carriage directly in f
ront of him. Glass from windows and overhead lights was littered across the seats and floor, the seats themselves mutilated, the fabric torn and gutted, other unidentifiable wreckage strewn across the length of the compartment. "Vandals?" he said blankly.

  Moving along to the next carriage, Tom saw that the same destruction had been visited upon it too. He walked further up the platform, glancing in through the broken windows and the open doors as he came to them. Each yielded the same conclusion.

  Someone or something had run amok inside the train.

  "What does it mean?" he asked, returning to his friends, but Dredger made no reply, only remained where he stood, his sword held in readiness in anticipation of something that was about to happen.

  Then, as if to prove the warrior's instincts, a sound shattered the stillness, a woman's laughter echoing through the station, an unearthly expression of delight.

  Turning fearfully to look at the far end of the platform, Tom saw a shimmering figure dressed in white step from the last compartment of the train. In her hand she held a length of iron which resembled a fence railing, and even at the considerable distance between them, he could see that she was smiling. From behind him there came a sound like a whimper, a gasp of breath and he knew that it was Jack, and as he edged slowly to his friend's side, Dredger once again took a step in front of them, to place himself between them and their enemy.

  Facing each other along the dingy expanse of grey stone, neither the warrior nor the woman moved, both of them eyeing each other, Dredger with defiance, she with keen amusement. Tom and Jack huddled close behind the man, aware that he was their only protection.

  "Do you like my handiwork?" she called, nonchalantly swinging the iron bludgeon into one of the windows beside her, sending glass crashing into the carriage.

  "I will not break so readily," Dredger retaliated stiffly, but the woman in white only laughed at this, playfully rotating the iron railing with her fingers.

  "That will only make the taste of your destruction all the sweeter," she promised, and began to walk leisurely toward them, her eyes flaming with murderous hate, the makeshift weapon she held cutting the air as she lashed it from side to side.

  In a muted, harsh voice, Dredger spoke to the two boys. "Get inside the machine. Stay there until this is over."

  Accepting his instruction, Tom and Jack very deliberately moved toward the nearest carriage, a fearful anticipation gripping them. As soon as they were inside, Dredger walked forward to meet his opponent and from the windows, they watched him go, striding along the platform without hesitation, confidence and power in every step. The woman came on just as swiftly, her slender frame gliding through the pools of shadow.

  Almost inaudibly, the train began to tremble and the boys felt a slight vibration, a shudder running through the floor beneath them and almost without thinking they gripped the handrail, experience telling them that the train was preparing to leave the station.

  With his concentration fixed solely on his adversary, Dredger failed to realise what was happening, and it was only when, with a girlish giggle, the woman leapt into the open doorway of a nearby carriage, that the sudden chill of understanding went through him and he knew that he had been tricked. All the doors closed together with a hiss of contempt, and the train began to move away, accelerating rapidly; he heard Tom and Jack shouting at him to get on board and saw the woman laughing at him as her compartment drew level.

  With a snarl of rage, Dredger threw himself at one of the broken windows, his blade knocked from his hand to clatter into the gloom below as he grabbed hold of a rough frame, unmindful of the jagged glass, intent of clawing his way inside the carriage, but with lithe speed the woman was upon him, her pale face filling his vision.

  He felt her breath sickly sweet upon him and then she brought the iron down hard across his fingers. Pain like fire shot up his arm but still he held fast. With savage zeal, the woman smashed at his hands again and again, even as Dredger made to pull himself through and into the compartment, the blows crushing his knuckles until he could hold on no longer and he found himself falling backward.

  Landing heavily, the warrior still managed to heave himself to his feet, a bellow of frustration wrenching itself from his lungs as he saw the back end of the train disappear into the darkness of the tunnel. He flailed with his arms, a spasm of anger, unable to accept that he could have been cheated so easily and catching sight of one of the huge stone columns that supported the ceiling, he lashed out at it, punching it with all his strength. It felt good, so he struck it a second time and a third, raining blows upon the hard stone again and again, his already damaged hand spitting blood and gore, venting his fury upon the pillar with animal savagery. When he was done, his rage spent, he stepped back and saw that the column was cracked, a ragged fissure opened where his fist had struck, stretching from the floor almost to ceiling. But he took no pleasure from the sight, for when he looked upon it, he saw only the shattered remains of his own self-belief.

  As the train shot forward, Tom experienced a sensation as if his throat were tightening, his stomach lurching, nausea hitting him hard.

  At his side, Jack was caught off-balance and fell to the floor of the carriage; darkness surrounded them, the internal lights a haven amidst the black exterior world that flashed by.

  Both boys knew exactly what had happened and what it meant for them. They had been ensnared by the Beast and there was little hope of escape. Distantly, they heard a crash of glass, the noise coming from a carriage somewhere further along toward the rear of the train.

  "She's coming for us," Jack said, still on his knees and as they looked at each other, fearing not just death, but a far greater loss, the acceptance of defeat, he began to laugh.

  "Jack!" Tom hissed uneasily.

  Through tear-stained eyes, the other boy stared up at his friend. "It's just so ridiculous," he said, his laughter abruptly ceasing. "This can't be happening, can it, none of it can be happening." But even while he spoke, another internal voice was whispering deep within his subconscious, calling to him, beckoning him. The woman slithered through his mind, searching for some hold, a way to capture his senses once more.

  "Jack?" he ventured, but he did not seem to be heard.

  "Leave...me alone," Jack said in a quiet, determined voice, forcing the sound from his mind, even as a vision of sensual lips whispering promises of love and rewards began to form in his head. "NO MORE!" he suddenly cried out, making Tom flinch.

  Crouching down beside his friend, Tom put a hand on his shoulder. "What is it?" he asked and very slowly Jack shook his head.

  "Just the Wolf up to his old tricks again. I'm all right now."

  The destructive path of their enemy continued to draw nearer as she made her way through each carriage, wielding her cudgel in a frenzied onslaught. They knew it would not be long before she appeared on the other side of the door that connected their compartment to the next, a deadly apparition in white, smiling at them through the glass, and they knew with equal certainty that they had to do everything within their power to escape from her.

  Glancing about quickly for an emergency button to signal the driver, Jack was not surprised to find that there was none and he had to smile bitterly at his own foolishness, for even had there been an alarm, the driver of this particular train would hardly be likely to assist them.

  "Come on," Tom guided, struggling to shrug off the despair that tugged at his heart. Moving to the automatic doors, he frantically began an attempt to pry them open, digging his fingers as far into the gap between the frames as he could manage and pulling for all he was worth. "Jack! Help me!" he shouted, exerting himself against the unyielding metal, and the other boy squatted down so that he could get a hold of the lower part of the doorway. "It's coming!" cried Tom as the doors separated, a narrow gap visible between them; stale air rushed into their faces and the noise of the train was loud in their ears.

  Fighting to maintain this opening, hardly wide enough to put a hand thr
ough, they were startled by an eruption of shattered glass as it flew into their carriage.

  "She's here," grunted Jack, not daring to look, pushing himself harder still.

  "We can do it!" Tom appealed to his friend, ignoring the fact that even if they could get the doors open, at the speed the train was moving, they would have no hope of surviving if they jumped.

  But there was no choice. Both boys understood that the woman in white meant to kill them, to end the game. And with that act, the Wolf's victory would be complete. Whatever their fate might be, both Tom and Jack were determined to deny the Beast that satisfaction at least.

  With every ounce of his strength, Tom pulled against the metal doors, digging his fingers inside the rubber seal, his muscles threatening to rip. Very gradually, the gap began to widen. "Get...between them," he gasped, breathless with the exertion, forcing his own leg between the doors.

  Somewhere close behind them, a foul chuckle nearly caused Jack to lose the leverage he had gained, but again he managed to resist the impulse to turn around, and with a groan as he made one final, enormous effort, the doors opened wide enough for him to get his shoulder between them.

  "Foolish little boys," the woman in white said softly, standing just inside their compartment, a faint smile touching her lips. "Would you leap to your deaths, my dear ones?" she enquired, watching them with indifference as they continued in their struggle to prise the doors apart inch by inch.

  Now there was enough space for Tom to squeeze his body through and doing this, gazing down at the black emptiness below him, the grime covered wall flashing by barely an arms length from him, he knew that this was the moment of decision. Turning his head so that he could see his friend, he gave Jack's hand a brief squeeze and grinned a little insanely. "End of the line," he cried and closing his eyes, he jumped from the speeding train, the darkness consuming him.

  Somehow, Jack managed to maintain the opening, even though he was now alone, a power inside him that burned like a bright furnace of rage lending him strength, and with a silent prayer, tears of grief in his eyes, he prepared to follow Tom to a certain death. But even as he made to plunge into the racing blackness, a hand grabbed him roughly by the hair, wrenching him painfully backward and away from the doorway. Screaming with anguish as hairs were ripped out by their roots, he heard the doors shut with a loud thud and knew that he was lost.

  He tried to believe that perhaps by some miracle Tom could have survived such a fall, maybe with just minor injuries, or at worst a broken leg or arm, but his brain rejected such notions as ridiculous and told him brutally not to be such a fool.

  Tom was dead. And now Jack was about to die too. The Wolf had beaten them.

  Looking up into the dark eyes of the woman, her grip on his hair unrelenting, Jack waited for her to kill him. It had been a very long journey, but now, at last, he had reached his final destination.

  "Now," the woman in white said in a soothing voice, "let's talk and tell each other secrets. There's so much I'd like to know." Inside Jack's head, a hammer beat incessantly, pounding against his temples, inducing an intense pain. Bending over him, the woman prodded him with the iron railing and gave a vicious laugh. "Have you ever been tortured?" she asked casually, eyeing him like an animal with its prey.

  Jack tried to get up from the ground but she forced him back, mercifully releasing his hair as she did so, the sharp point of her bludgeon pressing against his chest.

  "Stay where you are, little one. I will tell you when it is time for you to leave. You had your chance to be my pet, but spurned my love. Now that was a great mistake, a great mistake indeed."

  The train was decreasing its speed now, slowing rapidly until it almost came to a halt. Harsh light flooded the compartment, her white dress shimmering, dazzling him.

  "And now, Jack my sweet," she told him, "you must come with me and meet your maker." She giggled excitedly before pulling him to his feet, grabbing his hair once more, spite in her eyes, and though Jack tried not to cry out, the pain was so sickening that he could not stem the flow of his tears.

  Seeing this, the woman in white offered a sympathetic smile and placed her hand beneath his chin, lifting his face so that she could look into his eyes. "Drink well," she encouraged him, her voice softer but no less intense. "Before too long you shall quench your thirst for tears, my dear. Of this you can be sure."

  Jack heard the promise of death in her words, but didn't care. He felt he had died already, at the very moment Tom had jumped to his death and he had been prevented from following to what was, at least, a quick end.

  One thing he knew though, as he prepared to face unknown torments. When his own death came, he would welcome it gladly.