Rainbow's End - Wizard

by Mitchell, Corrie

  ‘Yes,’ came the surprised reply - ‘Strange green eyes... I noticed that even in the light of my torch.’

  ‘And you’re sure he was dying when you left him?’ Kraylle’s knuckles were white on the armrest, his voice urgent, black eyes probing, hoping.

  Bryan nodded. ‘Very sure,’ he said. ‘Some copper came along and we had to run; but he was this close,’ he held the tips of a forefinger and thumb a millimetre apart. ‘He will be by now - dead I mean. I’m sure of that.’ He paused, frowning. ‘There’s a funny thing, though,’ he mused, in a puzzled tone.

  ‘What?’ Kraylle’s eyes had narrowed to deep, dark slits.

  ‘Every time I kicked him,’ and Bryan looked at the metal-shod toes of his boots, ‘something seemed to drag at my foot those last few inches; something held it back... If it wasn’t for that,’ he shrugged, ‘he would have been long dead by the time the copper happened around.’ He shook his head, and still puzzled, lifted his eyes to Kraylle’s.

  The demi-god’s lips were compressed in a thin, bloodless line. ‘His crystal,’ he muttered, and seeing his protégé’s confusion, explained: ‘His crystal protected him, Bryan. They do that, the Rainbow Crystals: the stronger the crystal, the better its protection. The fact that you were able to touch him at all, indicates that the boy was still a novice; that he carried one of the lower-order crystals - most probably the red or the orange.’

  Kraylle was lost in thought for a minute then, before coming to a sudden decision. ‘I need you to go back to London right now,’ he said, ‘I need you to go and make sure that this... boy... this Thomas, is definitely dead. It will be in their newspapers; and probably on that primitive thing you call television.’

  ‘Sure,’ Bryan shrugged, and then frowned, ‘But why?’ he asked, mystified, ‘What is so important about him? And what’s a Traveller?’

  ‘There’s no time for that now.’ Kraylle was impatient. ‘I will tell you everything you need to know when you get back.’

  ‘All right.’ Bryan turned to go, but the demi-god stopped him.

  ‘Bryan?’

  ‘Yes, Kraylle?’

  ‘If this boy - if this Thomas...’ Kraylle paused, and his long fingers beat a tattoo on the throne’s armrest, ‘If he is truly dead,’ he said, ‘you can ask me whatever you desire, and it will be yours…’

  Part III

  31

  Article on the front page of the “London News”, late edition, 17th April.

  Dying Boy Abducted From Hospital.

  Roscoe Symington

  This morning, just after sunup, a daring but bizarre incident took place at The Haven, a private clinic and hospital to the rich and famous, considered by some to be one of the best medical facilities in our country. A dying young boy was abducted out of its critical care unit.

  Thomas Ross, eleven years old, was admitted to The Haven late last night, after having been severely assaulted by a gang of other boys.

  Dr. Sidney Elston, Superintendent at The Haven, describes his condition as, and this reporter quotes, “extremely serious, mortifying, and critical in the extreme”, unquote.

  “Thomas was stabilized on admittance, but there was nothing we could do for him. There were just too much - too many injuries,” said Dr. Elston. He was put on life-support machines, and placed in the criti-care unit, with little or no hope of his survival. “Only a matter of time” (Again, Dr. Elston).

  The best doctors in the country were immediately called in: most of whom were (obviously) already in London. Two were flown in from Scotland, a Dr. Connery and a Dr. McVane, both neurosurgeons. All came to the sad, but same conclusion - young Thomas Ross, the victim of a barbaric act of hooliganism, would not live out today. And then he was kidnapped.

  Just after sunrise this morning, a little old man - described by Mrs. Moira Peters, nurse and night receptionist at The Haven, as, and I quote: “No more than five feet tall and extremely ugly, uncouth and unshaved, but with a certain presence” - entered the hospital. He was accompanied by a young woman, very beautiful, and wearing only a white summer’s dress and sandals.

  They asked Mrs. Peters where they would find young Mr. Ross, and she - suspicious, asked what their business was with the boy. They informed her that they had come to “save him”. She said the old man then looked at her “funny-like”, and that he had the clearest grey eyes she had ever seen. Following which, she not only told them where Thomas Ross was, she took them to his room in person.

  The patient, at that time, was still attended to by his various physicians: Dr. Harley - Cardiologist, Dr. Bradley - Neurologist, Dr. Johnstone - Internist and surgeon, Dr’s. Connery and McVane, and Dr. John Smedley - world renowned cardiovascular surgeon, amongst others. The two abductors simply walked in and asked them to disconnect the life-support machines the boy was connected to.

  Without knowing why, and without argument, they did as they were asked. All they seem to remember, all of them, is the unusual dark-blue of the young woman’s eyes, and a drowning sensation - not at all unpleasant - when looking into them. She went to the boy’s side and took his hand, and the doctors say they could see his whole body stiffen and then slowly relax. Dr. Johnstone says he positively heard the patient’s laboured breathing get easier.

  The bed then, to all accounts, simply lifted off the floor and folded in its legs, and accompanied by the strange couple, (the young woman was still holding the boy’s hand), floated out of the room, down the passage, and out of the hospital. They - all of the doctors, as well as several nurses, Thomas’ adoptive father (who had been waiting in the passage outside his room); even two security guards, followed: but stayed several metres behind, because, as they seem to agree, “Some invisible sort of force field, held us at a distance”. Once outside, the odd couple - with the bed between them - walked to a large piece of open lawn, where, (again according to the witnesses), it simply slid from underneath the young patient and floated back to the hospital on its own accord, leaving him suspended in mid-air with only a sheet covering him; the young lady still holding his hand.

  According to everybody watching, the old man then lifted his staff, and the air started shimmering with all sorts of colour. There followed a loud clap of sound, (“like a cannon, shooting” - Mrs. Peters), and they were gone. Vanished into thin air. Just like that…

  The rest I leave up to you; our esteemed and faithful readers: to speculate and imagination as you will…

  To help you deliberate however, this investigative reporter has spoken to some prominent people, and this is what they had to say:

  Dep. Commissioner Harris - Officer Commanding the Greater London Police Force, said: A daring, law-defying act, but we will find them. Nobody just vanishes into thin air. The charge by then will almost surely be murder…

  Professor Jason. L. Button - Professor of Criminology at the University of Warwick, said: Very obviously a religious sect. People living close to nature, as indicated by: 1) the old man’s fur coat and his staff, as well as his unhygienic appearance. His ill-mannered behaviour points at a lengthy disassociation from society and most probably, civilisation. 2) The young woman’s apparent lack of cold, and inhibition (“was she wearing a bra?” he inquired), her unusually long hair, and her lack of makeup and/or jewellery…

  Professor George Stevens - Professor of the Paranormal at the University of Ballmoral, and author of numerous related articles, said of the eyewitness statements: Inarguably mass hypnotism - nobody just disappears like that…

  Dr. Elston - Superintendent at The Haven, said: “I’ll wager my next year’s salary that poor boy is dead by now…”

  Mr. Izzadore Greenbaum - Thomas’ adoptive father, well-known, but reclusive billionaire, (also present at the abduction, but strangely passive), could not be reached for comment…

  32

  After delivering Orson and Ariana to the Earth, the Rainbow transported the large heap of refuse from the bank of the Rainbow Pool to the sun, and Joshi, with one of his songs, summoned
a warm wind from the far-off mountains; which quickly began melting the blanket of snow covering the valley.

  Within hours, the usually calm, almost placid river, had broadened to almost twice its normal width, and become a torrent; fed by hundreds of smaller streams, which in turn, was fed by melting snow from the surrounding mountain slopes and the rich planes of the valley, even the white, heavily-weighted branches of the trees.

  The rushing water rose several metres up both sides of the riverbank, brushing flat grass and flowers, and uprooting new as well as weaker shoots, and carrying them off. It also swept along all loose-lying things: branches fallen from trees, forgotten toys, even some fishing poles.

  Finches, whose nests hung too close to the water, had a hairy time of it: fluttering above whilst affrontedly screeching and squawking at the swirling-rushing, muddy stream.

  The fish eagles could leave their eggs to the sun’s friendly warmth again; they sat side by side on their lofty perch, and bemusedly, with tilted heads and golden eyes, studied the swirling brown mass below.

  The Rainbow Pool was almost unaffected by the sudden meltdown. Situated at the very top of the river as it was, its only additional water came from the snow on its banks and surrounds, and the excess quickly fed into the waiting river.

  *

  The Travelling trio set down at Rainbow’s End less than a minute after leaving The Haven’s lawn, but their time curve made it mid-afternoon - almost ten hours since first light, the time they’d left for the Earth. The violet beam of the Rainbow bent outwards, to gently deposit them on the pool’s soggy, but by now, snow-free bank; Big John was there to pick up Thomas’ limp form and carry him gently but hurriedly to his waiting room, with Ariana and Orson close on his heels.

  *

  The river took three days to rid itself of the excess water resulting from the melting snow, and another three to regain its usual clarity. Swathes of flattened grass on its banks, and tufts and clumps of dead and yellowing foliage clinging to the bottoms of tree-trunks and willow boughs, were the only reminders of the recent almost-flood.

  Red and golden finches, and their less lustrous females, were loudly and industriously repairing washed out nests, or weaving new ones, higher up.

  The huge grey Pegasus, accompanied by his small herd of horses, were back on the grassy slopes; leisurely feeding, and as usual, keeping an eye out for roving young boys plotting to steal a ride. Amongst them was a new foal - shiny black and long-legged with a white blaze between its eyes; curious and skittishly surprised at the abundance of life in the grass and on the ground: stripy field mice and tiny voles, fluffy francolin and grey guinea-fowl chicks accompanied by proud parents; even an ancient old tortoise with beady little eyes and a long wrinkled neck.

  The fish eagles were patrolling the river again, and their distinctive cries seemed to sound oftener and louder, as the returned sun reflected warmly off their wide-spread wings.

  The children - from the youngest to the oldest - were out all day, every day. A pile of discarded boots lay outside the mother-cave’s entrance, and rows of muddy footprints in all sizes lay across the shiny central floor and (to Arnold’s chagrin) the tiles of the dining room.

  Soup and hot drinks and porridge for breakfast were out; fluffy omelettes and fruit-juices, hamburgers and hot-dogs, and - thank the gods - ice cream, were back in.

  So were games and treasure-hunting, and sun-tanning and happy laughter in and around the Rainbow Pool, and fishing and climbing trees, and eyes-agog fast food and soft drink vendors, and, well… you name it…

  *

  Early morning, just after breakfast on the seventh day, once the water had regained its clear and placid way, Gary invited everybody on a treasure-hunt. There were forty-six children in all: three had recently gone back, and an unusually sprightly Orson had fetched five more in the last couple of days. They all armed themselves with small buckets (sand-castle sized) - the older children carried two; and accompanied by Frieda, Edith and Arnold (who carried Maggie where she couldn’t walk), set out for the lower reaches of the river - below the Gem - and Golden Pool.

  The stronger current of the faster flowing river had lifted a great many precious stones and nuggets from their pools and carried them downstream, but finding them was no problem. They lay in the flattened grass; and embedded in the once again exposed river banks; between the hairy roots of weeping-willows; and sparkling and shiny in the shallows. A couple of kilometres down, just a few hundred metres before it entered the lower reaches of the Magic Forest, the river widened and flattened out to almost three times its normal width; in most places just ankle-deep and dotted with hundreds of smaller rocks - wet brown and black, like so many mini-hippopotami. Here the children had most of their fun: nuggets and gems lay everywhere in the wide and shallow, fast-flowing stream; almost as numerous as the pebbles and water-smoothed stones around them. The boys and girls squatted or simply sat on the protruding rocks and collected them. Some lay flat on their stomachs in the water, their clothes and swimming-suits clinging wetly in the fast flowing current, faces submerged and eyes open.

  Reds, pinks and purples, and dozens of shades of green and blue, and of course, glittering yellow gold - they were all gathered with much glee and victorious shouts. The diamonds were more difficult to spot, and whoever collected the most was promised a treat of his or her own choice by Arnold. Maggie and he were sitting with their bums in the water, supposedly supervising the treasure-hunters, and planning another “pignic”. He wore Bermuda-shorts and a sodden, baggy white T-shirt; on it, a picture of a man balancing a massive diamond on his huge stomach. The writing below said - “Picking up pebbles was never this much fun”.

  Every now and then, Frieda and his eyes met, and they gave each other happy little looks and smiles.

  On their way back the children emptied their buckets of gems into the Gem Pool, and the nuggets into the Golden Pool; some kept a particularly shiny or oddly-coloured stone, or a strangely shaped nugget as a souvenir.

  Back at the cave, a radiant Annie told them that Thomas had woken up for five short minutes. He was going to be all right. It was going to be all right…

  *****

  The cottage in the woods had become an airy, happy place. The large glass sliding door, which sometimes replaced the lounge-wall facing the veranda, had now become permanent, and stood open most of the time: allowing in the fresh breezes of the forest. The heavy wood - and leather furniture had been changed into modern pieces of glass and chrome and aluminium; the oaken floor shone with golden lustre, and a brightly patterned Persian carpet had replaced the scruffy one Orson had daily tripped over.

  The grimy-grey marble counter separating the kitchen and lounge, had been substituted by a shiny-clean, spotlessly white one; and food these days was anything but bully and mash. When Orson fetched a child, they usually stopped for takeaways, and arrived at Rainbow’s End laden with cartons, polystyrene buckets and other food-containers; all tied securely into carrier bags to prevent them spilling their contents while riding the Rainbow. Spare-ribs, hamburgers and hot-dogs, Chinese, fried chicken, curries, even a seafood-platter (ala Christina’s): they were all tried by Tessie and him at least once.

  At night - usually after supper and an episode of Fawlty Towers (and a single glass of wine), loud off-key singing and lots of breathless whistling could be heard coming from inside the cottage. The dog occasionally joined in with long loud howls and short staccato yelps and barks - depending which aria was being despoiled.

  The snooping, tattle-tale owls, complained bitterly about the noise to any creature willing to listen, and eventually took their nocturnal hunting deeper into the forest, returning to roost only in the pink of dawn.

  *

  Sometimes, late at night, a young woman sits on the small wooden bridge crossing the stream on the way to Orson’s. She’s joined by fairies with little lamps; who talk to her and sit on and buzz around her shoulders, the young ones play and hide in her hair. They sometim
es pause to listen, in speechless horror, to an especially badly rendered segment by the one-man and dog concert; at its end merrily laughing in their small voices, and delightedly clapping tiny hands.

  Ariana laughs with them, and sometimes - after they’ve flown off, lays back with her fingers entwined beneath her head, watching the stars on her own… Sometimes contented, sometimes wishful…

  33

  Kraylle slowly crumpled the newspaper in his huge hands, until it was the size of a tennis-ball, then dropped it at his feet and morosely kicked it away. He glared at Bryan Stone.

  ‘You said he was dead,’ he accused, and effortlessly - in perfect but sarcastic mime, quoted the exact phrase Bryan had used when reporting to him a few days ago. “He’s dead, Kraylle; I’ll bet my last shilling on that.”

  Bryan lowered his eyes before the demi-god’s, and made a stubborn attempt at vindicating himself. ‘He would have been, if it weren’t for your sister,’ he said, with bravery he didn’t feel.

  Kraylle hissed at Bryan’s impertinence and began lunging to his feet, but was mollified by the very real dread he saw on the boy’s face, and slowly sank back in his chair.

  ‘Be very careful, young Stone,’ he warned. ‘I’m tiring of your insolence.’

  Bryan nodded jerkily, and after glowering at him for another minute, the demi-god grunted and shifted his gaze to the balled newspaper some metres away. He stared at it for a long minute, before, in a disconsolate tone, lamenting, ‘What is the Universe coming to, I ask you? When gods start meddling in the lives of mortals…?’