by Mark Hockley
THE SACRIFICE
Distantly, a dark, sinister shape rose up out of the sand. Trying to focus on it, his eyes combating the glare of the pale sky, Jack speculated on what it could be that stood upon the margin of the water.
They walked on toward it, he and the Wolf, a dream-like trek across a barren landscape. If only this was just a nightmare. But it was not a dream. Whatever reality was, whatever defined it as such, he did not know, but he knew that this was real, that it was a place where a person could not only live, but die, where pain existed and games had to be played out until the very end. He had changed a lot, he realised that, but a part of him, an important part, clung on to childhood, desperate to reclaim an innocence that had somehow slipped away from him.
The Beast had him now. And there were things worse than death awaiting him. Corruption was the White Wolf's way and it would surely try to turn Jack's mind, as it had tried before. This seemed to be the only route to the end of it all. More suffering, an endless night.
It struck him as ironic that he had become so far removed from what he had believed to be the real Jack, his old self, an identity he had accepted as irrefutable. Now he was almost a stranger to himself.
"The Wolf is making its final play," Mo said with a thin smile, "there is not much time."
Beside him, Dredger stood looking at the column of stone, tracing the ragged crack with
his eyes. He appeared to see more there than the other man did, reluctant to tear himself away.
"There is nothing to keep you here," Mo told him. "But there is much that might be done elsewhere." Without another word, he moved agilely to the platform's edge and dropping noiselessly onto the track, he began to walk along it toward the tunnel, never once looking back to see if the warrior was following; he could hear the big man close behind him, matching his stride. "There is darkness ahead," he stated and his voice took a long time to fade as together they entered the black maw of the tunnel.
Tom climbed diligently, one hand constantly gripping the smooth iron railing. He had no doubts that the staircase would lead him to the Wolf.
Above him, his eyes following the coiling pattern of the steps, a tiny disc of light peeped down at him and he urged himself onward, eager to reach it.
While he climbed, he thought mostly of Jack, resisting any stray notions that his friend could be dead, insisting to himself that it was not possible. If he could find Jack he would save him, one way or another, even if he had to offer himself in his place. He began to take two steps at a time, gasping as he spiralled ever upward.
He could see now that there was an opening at the very top of the staircase and daylight streamed in, a welcome sight. He rushed up the last few remaining steps and poked his head through the hole, his eyes assaulted by the brightness of the day.
Yellow sand surrounded him, reaching as far as his eyes could see, but turning about upon the steps, he saw an undulating expanse of blue not far to his left.
This was the Beast's home. He had found his way.
Tom scanned the panorama, seeking out some sign of life, but couldn't see anyone or anything. The landscape was deserted and sterile.
Only when he had climbed out of the opening in the sand, and stood facing the blue borderline, did he realise that it was, in fact, a sea. Tom glanced up at the sky and didn't like what he saw. The brightness it granted was freakish and unsettling.
Somewhere here the Wolf was waiting for him, of that he had no doubt. And he now felt just as certain that Jack was also held captive in this place. But where?
Even though Tom sensed these things, that the Beast was near by and all was drawing to a close, there was still this one problem that perplexed him. Which way should he go? Every direction except toward the sea, looked exactly the same.
Tom chewed his lip with indecision. He had to make a choice, but what should he base that choice on?
Faith and hope. That was what Mo would have told him, were he there. It occurred to him then that he was probably being foolish debating the point at all. It seemed unlikely that the Wolf would let him stray, when it had already made quite certain that Tom got this far.
But was this actually true, he asked himself? Hadn't he come close to death several times in the course of his journey, and all because of the Wolf? Did he really owe his continued survival to the enemy? It was difficult to be sure. There were mysteries within mysteries here. And as yet, very few answers.
Without any further hesitation, Tom set off across the seamless golden sand, trusting that all paths, in the end, would take him to the same destination.
Embedded in the sand a giant crucifix towered, black as night and cast from iron.
"Why is that here?" Jack heard himself ask.
The Beast grinned craftily. "Redemption," it said with a short chuckle.
"For me or for you?" the boy enquired, quite calm, and he saw the Wolf's face darken, long canine teeth becoming visible as its lips curled upward.
"Boys must learn hard lessons," it growled, "and the hardest of all is respect."
Jack thought about this for a moment dispassionately. "You have to earn respect," he observed.
With a great bellow the Beast leaned down, hind legs bent, its foul breath on Jack's face. But the boy did not flinch. "If you think to play games with me, the price of defeat shall be great indeed," the Wolf whispered, its white coat seeming to ripple as muscles tightened and flexed with anticipation.
Jack laughed at this, not bitterly but with boyish good humour. "I don't have any choice."
The Beast's pupils appeared to dilate, changing colour erratically, one moment black, the next crimson, until they became a striking amber, the creature's eyes intent upon the boy. "Perhaps you understand more than I had supposed."
Turning to follow the sleek lines of the iron cross upward, the edifice dark against the bright sky, Jack repeated his question. "Why is it here?"
Now the Wolf straightened, rearing to its full height and surveyed the outlandish structure with apparent fondness. "We are here to play," it explained, "a re-enactment if you like. A timeless test. It's all for you, Jack. Do you think you are worthy?"
This confused Jack. "What do you mean?"
"I am giving you a gift," the Beast said thoughtfully, "you can save everything, everyone, with a single act of sacrifice."
Looking from the giant crucifix to the Wolf, Jack shook his head. "That's not for me," he said, his voice quiet.
"Not worthy?" the Beast asked.
"I'm no-one," Jack murmured.
"Listen to me," the White Wolf began in earnest, "I can save you from all of this, if you let me. You can't be expected to take on such responsibility, I understand that. All you need do, is tell me that you'll be my friend and we'll forget the whole thing. Is that so hard?" His head spinning, Jack struggled to comprehend what was being said to him. But it made no sense. "If you could love me," the Beast went on, "there would be no need for suffering, no need for torment. Trust me, love me, and there will be no more crying. Just tell me that you will always stay with me, promise it. Swear it and this will all be over." Jack's mind stumbled, clear thought eluding him, the consequences of what the Beast proposed making no impression. "I know!" the Wolf cried suddenly, "you need to sample the goods, to take a glimpse of what you might gain. Well, look Jack, and see if there is anything that takes your fancy."
Jack did look. He did not have any choice. A vision dominated his mind and senses, robbing him of his ability to reason.
Instead of the cross, a gigantic Christmas tree loomed above him, sparkling lights of colour twinkling at him, gold and silver tinsel trailing through the branches, decorative baubles suspended by slender threads, pirouetting languidly, reflecting flashes of enchanted light.
And standing before the tree were his mother and father. He was sure it was them, their faces just as he remembered them, captured forever in the snapshots of his memory.
"It's all right, Jack," his father said, his voice wavering just a little. "Everyth
ing's all right now."
"Daddy…mummy?" Jack gasped, feeling like a child again. He wanted to shake himself, wanted to be rid of the uncertainty that possessed him, that made him hang back, rather than rush to meet them.
"Yes, dear, it's us," his mother answered, tears welling in her clear blue eyes, "we've come back to you, my baby."
She moved toward him then, her arms outstretched and all of Jack's doubts melted away; he longed for her secure embrace, knowing that once within his mother's arms, he would be safe again and nothing could hurt him anymore. He lifted up his hands, desperate to hug her as she came ever nearer, almost close enough to touch.
But she never reached him. Her expression altered, a subtle change it seemed, from tenderness and longing to one of dazed confusion, and then, like a bulb deprived of electricity, she simply blinked out of existence, his father and the Christmas tree disappearing in the same instant, leaving the boy alone in an impenetrable blackness.
"I can bring them back," said a voice from the darkness, "I have power unimaginable, power over life and death. Just say the word and I will resurrect them for you. We can strike a bargain. What do you say?"
Jack felt broken, his emotions overturned. "They're dead, you can't bring them back," he said almost inaudibly.
"Oh, but I can my boy, I can do it, truly I can. You see, they are not dead to me. I hold the flame of possibility, the flame of life in my hands. But you must be the spark that ignites the fire. But that takes courage, it takes commitment.”
"I don't believe in you," Jack whispered with difficulty, tears marking his face.
"I can understand," the Wolf allowed with something like a sigh, "that you need some time to think things over. Maybe if you were to taste the alternative, to experience, just for a moment, what is to come, you would be better able to choose what is best for you, best for you in the long run, that is. Here, let me give you a helping hand."
Even as the words were spoken, Jack felt himself lifted into the air, his body suddenly weightless, or so it seemed. It was almost as if he had passed outside of his physical form, his mind reaching for the sky. Involuntarily, he stretched out his arms and felt them become rigid, held fast by something that tingled just above his wrists and immediately, he experienced a similar sensation in his ankles, his body bound to the cool iron.
"You won't feel much pain," the voice of the Wolf called to him. "At least, not at first. But it is there, waiting for you and it is terrible. That is why I ask you to keep in mind that all of this is not written in stone, that you can come down from there any time you ask. The choice is yours to make, yours alone. Consider yourself. It is your life, your suffering. You could have so much, such sweetness, if only you would let go of childish notions. I am not a devil, Jack. I am an angel, can't you see, and I bear light for you. You are bringing this all down on your own head, remember that. Do not let pride destroy you. Do not let sin defeat you. It really doesn't have to be this way."
Jack looked up and the brilliant sky stung his eyes. His head pounded viciously. Trying to turn slightly, so that he could see his outstretched hands, he could feel before he actually saw, the warm flow of blood that trickled down over his arms.
What kind of nails could go through solid iron? Thoughts turned wildly in his head.
It was the Wolf. The Wolf could do anything. He almost laughed at himself for being so foolish.
His arms ached now, the muscles beginning to scream. His shoulders and chest burned with the first dull fire of pain, his heart labouring. "I'm sorry," he said, not really understanding why he spoke, tears wetting his cheeks.
"That's all right, my son," said a clergyman who appeared to float in the air before him, his voice soothing.
"Can't you get me down from here?" Jack asked, the pain becoming worse, starting to ebb through him, a sickening tide of agony that increased steadily with every second that passed. "Please."
"It's out of my hands," the man told him with a wistful shake of his head and folding his arms within his vestment, as if to emphasise what he said.
"But I shouldn't even be up here like this," protested Jack, struggling to control his thoughts, "I'm not the one. It's not right!"
The clergyman smiled with indulgence, hovering silently. "That's true enough," he agreed, "but life is strange, and sometimes we are asked to carry the burden for the sins of others. Maybe you think it should really be your friend Tom up there instead of you. No-one would blame you, if you did."
Jack's expression hardened, despite his torment. "Not Tom!" he said fiercely, "leave Tom out of this!"
"Forgive me," the man begged, his manner humble, his face lowered in reverence. "I meant no offence. I simply wondered if you felt that you deserved to be up here like this, suffering for the sake of others. Those absent, fair-weather friends who are nowhere to be seen in your time of need. Personally, I believe each of us should be held responsible for our own transgressions. Is it just that you should be punished for what others have done, for what Tom has done?"
Jack gazed at the floating man for a long time, the features blurring, seeming to melt and flux before his eyes. If it were not for the white collar that he wore, the boy would have doubted that he was truly a man of God at all. But only clergymen were permitted to wear such things, he knew, so it had to be so.
The pain was everywhere by now, stealing into his head, rippling through his torso, stabbing into his legs.
"I didn't ask to be put up here," he said weakly, his mouth very dry, his tongue feeling swollen.
"Oh come now," a new voice said, the clergyman having disappeared. Jack tilted his head slightly and looked up.
An angel peered down at him. He knew it was an angel because its huge wings beat in perfect time with each other, the pure white feathers so intricately interwoven, caressing the air and sending a soft breeze against his face.
"Help me," Jack pleaded.
"You do not need my assistance," the angel advised him. "You can help yourself quite easily. But perhaps you like it up there? Perhaps you see yourself as someone special? Are you feeling holy, little one? Do you think yourself a saviour? Maybe you can walk on water, will that be your next miracle? Or better still, perhaps you can heal me? Won't you lay your hands on me and cast out my demons?"
Jack closed his eyes, almost overcome. His head was throbbing, a deep monotonous pulse. "Leave me alone," he mumbled, "go away and just leave me alone."
"Alone, alone," the angel sighed, "you're all alone."
Jack opened his eyes with an effort and gazed up at the ugly whiteness above. No-one was there. He was all alone on a black cross in a desert of golden sand. "Tom," he breathed, "where are you? I need you, Tom."
"Jack!" a voice hissed from somewhere behind him, "Jack, can you hear me?"
With his heart racing, hardly daring to hope, Jack raised his voice, desperate that his friend should hear him. "Tom? Help me?"
"It's all right, I'm here. Don't worry, I'll get you down from there."
"Tom?" Jack questioned, a shadow of doubt upon his mind, though he wanted so much to believe, "Tom, is that really you?"
"Yes, Jack, it's me. Everything will be all right now."
The tunnel was not as dark as Mo had expected, small lamps attached to the walls at intervals giving off enough light to enable them to see quite well, although there were stretches that somehow evaded the illumination, and there the two men had no choice but to walk in near total darkness. Where the lamps burned shadows danced upon the walls, their own forms hugely exaggerated, but Mo was not about to be put off by any trick of the light; he prowled on relentlessly through the subterranean realm, scouring every inch of the tunnel for some sign of the boys, watching warily for any movement.
He had a dread that at any moment he might come across the broken body of either Tom or Jack, but as yet he had found no trace of them.
Dredger moved along stealthily beside him, but the warrior did not search the gloom with his eyes as Mo did, his gaze fixed
only ahead, his expression sullen as he fingered the hilt of his sword.
A squealing rat made a dash out from beneath a tattered paper and Dredger halted, glancing down at it with only passing interest. Bending to retrieve the scrap the creature had disturbed, he perused it momentarily and then handed it to Mo, who read aloud the words written upon it.
"Special offer, Pandora's box! Divine craftsmanship guaranteed! Sturdy lock! Only one previous owner. It only costs your life! What a bargain!" Passing the notice back to Dredger, Mo sighed deeply.
The warrior gave a grunt of disgust and ripping the paper savagely in two, tossed it aside, a sour look distorting his features.
They continued on along the tunnel, the sound of their boots echoing from the walls, and as they went Mo's mind worked.
Why did the Wolf come? The old question. Was the true answer close at hand now?
He knew it was a matter of balance, all things in their place, good and evil existing as counterpoints to create a universe of harmony. The Wolf was the variable in the pattern of life and so gave choice to humanity. The Beast gave a purpose to the suffering of
mankind and likewise, a meaning to their depravity. But there was more to it than that.
For the sake of Mankind or for the sake of the Beast? Mo suspected that it was a mutual trial.
"Listen to me," called Tom, "you have to get down from there or you'll die."
Jack licked his lips and half closed his eyes, his sight failing him. "But how?" he asked, his voice frail.
"There's only one way," his friend counselled him. "You'll have to tell the Wolf that you will do what he asks."
Hearing this, Jack opened his eyes once more, forcing himself to think. "What do you mean?" he questioned, "I can't do that, Tom. The Wolf wants my soul. Once I give myself up to him, I'll be lost forever." From somewhere behind him, Jack thought, or perhaps imagined, that he heard a muted hiss. "Tom!" he cried out hoarsely. "Tom, come around here so I can see you."
For what seemed like an endless time, there was only silence and Jack became very afraid that the Wolf had sneaked up on Tom and captured him too. But then, finally, his friend spoke to him again.
"You could lie."
"Lie?" Jack repeated, bewildered.
"Yes, just tell the Wolf that you love him. You don't have to mean it."
Jack's heart sank, an ache inside him far more miserable than the pain that ravaged his body. "I'm not going to lie anymore. It's all gone too far for that now. If I say it, I have to abide by it. Please Tom, can't you just get me down from here?" He was almost in tears now, the agony he felt unendurable.
"You'll die up there." It was Tom's voice, but his tone was icy and bitter.
"Tom...?" Jack gasped, dread rushing frenziedly through his mind, his heartbeat faltering, visions of darkness closing in on him, but Tom only laughed, a long, ugly cackle that made Jack want to scream, to cry out his pain so that he would not have to listen any more.
Suddenly, forming out of the pallid sky, the White Wolf appeared, his snout barely an inch away from the boy's face. The Beast was drooling. "Hello there," it said, cankerous breath assailing Jack, making him retch, his stomach twisting into a dry knot.
"What have you done to Tom?" he managed to splutter, hardly conscious that he was speaking at all, his mind unsteady.
"The innocent lamb?" the Wolf sang, "your one true friend? Why, I bit off his head and drank his blood."
With furious venom, Jack spat into the creature's repulsive face.
But the White Wolf only grinned. "Bile is my favourite wine," it chuckled licking at its face with a slithering tongue. "You're dying, you know that don't you? You are throwing your life away. And for what? A delusion of grandeur! In only a very short time, you'll be gone. And if you are hoping that you’ll be heading for paradise, think again. Have you forgotten that you've done some black deeds since you came to these parts, taken lives in fact? Judge and executioner, that's you. Anyone can make a few mistakes, I'll grant you that, but you can't make that excuse. You knew exactly what you were doing, now didn't you? Do you know that you could have been someone. Your life could have had real meaning. Well, it's not too late, if you make the right choice. This is free will in its purest form. You see, I'm not vindictive, I can forgive and forget. But there are some who won't. You have a hard master, He only wants perfection. I know! He threw me out of his house for just one small lapse. I didn't mean anything by it, but He wouldn't even give me the benefit of the doubt. And now it's come to this. Tell me, do you want to die and rot in the earth? Because that is the fate of every sinner. No afterlife, no pearly gates, nothing. That's all. Only everlasting darkness. Or would you prefer to live forever and have all that you ever wished for? A family to cherish you, to love you? Now come on Jack, my boy, do yourself a favour, just this once. Forget senseless loyalties and foolish beliefs. They are all lies and hypocrisy. They can't save you! Only I can do that. So let me, I beg you. I would hate to see you die for nothing." Jack's thoughts twisted and turned, spinning out of control. His body screamed, blood weeping from his wounds, mingling with the sand far below. "Do you hear me, Jack?" whispered the Wolf, its golden eyes so close to the boy’s face they were all he could see.
"Tom's not dead," Jack uttered, though each word he gave voice to was an effort of will.
The Beast gave a callous laugh. "Everyone's dead," it jeered. "You were all born to die in this kingdom of the damned. Don't you know that by now?"
"I'm tired," Jack murmured, closing his eyes.
"Look at me!" the Wolf roared, an urgency in its voice. "Just promise that you'll stay with me and I will get you down from there. I could heal your wounds so very easily. I can give you anything, anything at all. We could be friends, you and I together, always. Listen to me. Your mother and father are waiting for you, don't let them down. Don't send them back to the torments of hell."
Jack's eyes fluttered open and he saw the face of a beautiful child regarding him, neither male nor female, yet encompassing both. Its violet eyes watched him attentively, golden hair tumbling over slender shoulders, a silver crown upon its head.
"Look, this is my true form," spoke the child in a gentle, musical voice. "I am no more of a beast than you. Please be my friend. I will love you for all eternity."
"Tom's my friend," Jack said sharply, a spear of agony tearing through him, but his mind was serene, lulled by sleep that called him from afar.
"Oh yes," scorned the child, "of course. Tom is your friend. He would do anything for you, wouldn’t he? But not if it was a choice between you and the girl. Who do you think he would choose then, Jack? Loyalty, honour! Just words, worthless. Used by the pious to qualify their petty lives. There is not much time left for you to learn. Think hard now, Jack, for your own sake. Do not waste your precious life in the name of deceit. Save yourself. No-one will thank you for being a martyr to a cause that does not even exist. No-one cares, no-one. You have been forsaken by all but I. Now come to me and let me wash away your tears."
Jack closed his eyes once more, the child's face shut out. He could still hear a voice speaking to him, but the words were indecipherable, a babble of noise. It didn't matter anyway, nothing could hurt him now.
"You'll lose," he managed to murmur, as he let himself be carried away on a tide of bright water, all of his pain subsiding, a light enveloping him as he sailed toward an island of stars.
He went willingly and the last thing he remembered was a terrible wailing, somewhere in the distance, a cry of loss and fear. But then that too faded, as he entered a whirlpool of
glorious colours, drawing him down into its heart.
