by Chris Smith
Refusing to accept James’ encouragement to follow him nearer the magnificent palace, the werewolf stayed close to the entrance to the dungeons. The animal shuffled backwards and forwards anxiously between the hole in the ground and James. At one stage the beast’s foot slipped on the edge of the hole and it fell halfway in. Scrambling with its front claws, it just managed to save itself from falling into the pit below. Afterwards, it chose to remain in one place.
Clearly disturbed by what lay waiting inside the magnificent temple, the creature’s fear seemed to jump through the atmosphere into James. The boy’s feet twisted and scuffed in the dirt as he expelled his nervous energy. There was no other way open for him. The light was gone, along with its ability to rescue him from the underworld. Having accepted that his destiny was to enter this bastion of the King, James’ resolve stayed intact despite his concerns. The werewolf glanced at him one last time; its eyes spoke a thousand words of sorrow, regret and gratitude, and for a brief moment James felt love for the creature. Climbing into the hole and returning to the dungeons below, the beast parted company with James, leaving him to face whatever madness lay ahead.
With the final steps of his journey before him, James decided to take a few minutes to compose himself. Whatever this building held inside, be it King or terror, it awaited him. His chest rose as he drew a deep breath. He held it in for a moment before forcing the breath out. His throat quivered. Once more, he filled his lungs to bursting and sighed aloud as he expelled the air. He remembered Grandpa’s instructions back at the beginning of his adventures in this shadow underworld: “when you’ve faced all there is to face and entered his palace over there, you’ll find the king, or rather he’ll find you,” the old man had said. James assumed this encounter with the King would provide the chance to recover his light, and return home. His eyes swam against the tide of light rays in the sky above as he looked back to the escarpment where his journey had started. He saw the spot where he’d stood with Grandpa as he spoke those words. Every bone in his body ached with weariness. He wanted to go home.
With one last deep breath James summoned his remaining strength and was then ready to venture forward into the king’s domain. He pulled open the massive door and stepped inside. Strangely, the light poured into the dome through the black stained glass, blinding him. He wasn’t expecting that and he had to squint and blink rapidly as his eyes adjusted to the change. When he was able to look around, the holy, mystical aura of a cathedral greeted him, the effect of the different shades of light radiating through the stained glass. It was clear to James that the architect had designed the building to gather all the light from the outside world and suck it into this place. James lifted his head to survey the roof, where he could see his painting of Pete and the gang portrayed in glass on the ceiling, flickering as the light rays passed through with a vibrancy that made it look alive.
James walked towards the centre of the hall where an immense statue of Pete rose up, almost touching the ceiling. The monument was made of layer upon layer of polished glass that had been cut, heated and moulded into shape. The figure was surrounded by scaffolding, apparently still under construction; nevertheless, the light captured within the dome was flowing from every direction into this effigy of Pete. As a result, a glowing radiance shone around the figure.
James’ sense of smell was suddenly offended by the odour of something burning. He sniffed and surveyed the area, locating a furnace nearby with a piece of glass moulding heating in its fire. The smell was emanating from the melting glass. From the furnace a network of ropes and pulleys worked their way up to the monument. Pieces of glass, still glowing hot, swayed in the air as they hung suspended on the ropes. For a fleeting moment, James sensed eyes watching him again, but this time it was as though a thousand eyes were resting on him. The feeling vanished as quickly as it had come.
James’ eyes were drawn back to the statue where he noticed that it was adorned with wonderful glass replicas of all the treasures he’d encountered on his journey: the helmet from the maggot’s cavern; his medal made from the colourful dancing seed; the warrior’s armour and the shield of a dragon scale. At the statue’s feet sat the werewolf with the eyes of Burley Blake. In one outstretched hand, the effigy held a crucifix, in the other a large book, and over the helmet a regal crown rested on his forehead. Behind the feet of King Pete’s monument sat the King’s throne. This immense tribute to Pete dwarfed James, reducing him to an insignificant pest against Pete’s awesome power. But his eyes continued to linger here and there, skipping over all the ornaments and objects. One item in particular kept drawing his attention: hanging from the statue’s belt was the exquisitely crafted sword of a knight. James knew instinctively that it awaited his discovery, that this sword belonged to him. It was the only thing he needed, a sword to kill his shadow.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught something moving high above him. James craned his neck upwards to catch sight of his enemy scaling up the sculpture. With the skill of an accomplished mountaineer, his shadow climbed onto the statue’s shoulders. Then he traversed up its face and onto the bridge of Pete’s nose. Helpless to stop him, James watched his shadow deposit each of the diamonds of light, his own and the guiding light, into separate eyes. He then pushed a sliver of glass across each eye. Locked safely away, the lights highlighted the face of Perfect Pete. For the first time James noticed the statue’s expression, arrogant and smug. However, the statue’s all-knowing eyes, now dancing and alive, reminded him of those of his grandfather.
