Rainbow's End - Wizard

by Mitchell, Corrie

  Gloomy silence followed, and then Bryan - assured that the worst danger had passed - asked, ‘Do you know who the old man was? With your sister?’

  Kraylle lifted his eyes to the boy’s; they were burning coals in his very pale face. ‘Orson,’ he spat. ‘His name is Orson, and he’s a Traveller. Ask your friend Rudi about him,’ he added.

  Bryan waited, but no more information was volunteered by the again-gloomy god, and he asked, with a frown, ‘What’s a Traveller?’

  *

  ‘They call themselves Travellers because that’s what they do,’ Kraylle said.

  They were in the same chairs they used whilst playing chess some days ago: Kraylle had summonsed them with two loud claps of his hands when he came down the steps of his throne.

  ‘Like us, you mean?’ Bryan asked. ‘Like the Night Walkers?’

  Kraylle snorted. ‘You wish,’ he said. ‘The methods you use are similar, but that is all, and even that is like night and day.’ A twisted smile. ‘Literally. You use the moon - they use the sun; you the dark - they the light; you use the Dark Crystals - they use the Rainbow Crystals. Be that as it may…

  ‘Unlike you, a Traveller controls his own journey. He comes and goes as he pleases; lands where he pleases… I control your journey, where you land...’ He saw the surprise on Bryan’s face, and mocked, ‘Oh, come on, Bryan. Don’t tell me you were as naive as to believe you were in charge. I control where you go; where you land. That’s how I know when you get back: I bring you back. I told you before. Anyway…

  ‘These Travellers - and there are very, very few of them… They have tremendous powers; tremendous abilities for mere humans. They are…’ Kraylle searched for the appropriate word, and shook his head irritably when Bryan ventured: ‘Magicians?’

  ‘Magicians are nothing,’ he scoffed with a dismissive grimace. ‘They’re tricksters and con-artists with little wands, playing with cards and boxes and mirrors, and trained monkeys and dogs and birds… Travellers are Wizards!’ he declared triumphantly, having found his word.

  ‘What makes them so different?’ Bryan asked, and Kraylle detected the scepticism in his voice, however well the boy thought it hidden.

  He studied Bryan with the same contempt as he would a bug, and imagined him squashed; but then relented. He needed him, after all...

  ‘They have access to parts of their brains other mortals don’t,’ he said. ‘Parts, chambers, which are closed to others: locked, forbidden... It enables them to do things, to perform superhuman feats: simply by thinking or willing them.’ He paused, thoughtfully, and then added, ‘Other mortals - if they were aware of them - would probably think of Travellers as gods, I suppose…’

  Bryan, who stood in awe of anything supernatural, especially the occult (his maternal grandmother had been a witch dabbling in the black arts before she went insane and started eating her own hair), stared at Kraylle. ‘What kind of things?’ he asked softly, almost reverentially. ‘What kind of feats?’

  ‘A Traveller,’ Kraylle pointed at his massive throne after a moment’s thought, ‘could throw that at you as if it weighed no more than a feather.’

  ‘How?’ Bryan’s voice now carried awe.

  ‘By propelling it with a tremendous gust of wind,’ Kraylle said. ‘I told you they can perform superhuman feats by simply willing them…’ He was silent again for a minute, thinking of how best to explain something as complicated to someone with a brain capacity a mere fraction of his own.

  ‘Travellers use the seven Crystals,’ he said then, ‘which, apart from aiding them in their Travels, also enhance their powers. Each Crystal is associated with a colour of their Rainbow, but more importantly; each Crystal represents one of the Universal elements: Earth, Fire, Air, Life, Water, Darkness and Light.

  ‘No two Travellers are the same. They are all powerful, make no mistake, but some, like the old man who accompanied my sister to your planet, are incredibly so.

  ‘The Crystal the Traveller has progressed to, can merely enhance his or her powers, or increase their strength to levels beyond your ken, beyond your… comprehension… It depends on the Traveller’s own inner strength, and the level of control he has mastered….

  ‘Propelling an object towards you by using the wind is only a small thing,’ Kraylle said. A Traveller can do much, much more.

  ‘He can draw water condensate from the very atmosphere surrounding you and have you drenched in a second, then freeze you - that’s using Water and Air combined.

  ‘He can turn you to ashes with a fire-ball the size of this room - using Fire.

  ‘He can open the earth beneath and bury you alive; or have you drown in a pool of mud - that’s using Earth, and Water.

  ‘If you are amongst plants, he can tie you with vines and shoots in seconds, even stalks of grass, without as much as touching you; even pierce your black little heart with a sharpened branch or stake - using the Life-element.’

  The demi-god’s thin-lipped smile was mocking. ‘All of these things, Bryan Stone, and infinitely more, a Traveller could do to you or any of your so-called soldiers.’ Kraylle sat back and snapped his fingers. ‘As easy as that.’

  Bryan was thoughtfully quiet for a long minute, and then hesitantly asked, ‘If they are so powerful, how was it possible for us to best this boy then - this Thomas Ross?’ He waved at the newspaper.

  ‘Two reasons,’ replied Kraylle. ‘One - you caught him totally off-guard; and two - he’s still very new. He’s only been initiated into their… order, for want of a better word, a little more than a month ago.

  ‘Orson, on the other hand, the old man with Ariana, he’s a totally, how do you say… “Different kettle of fish”?’ Kraylle grimaced at his own analogy. ‘He is, I think, Ariana’s strongest Traveller yet. Her most powerful… You and your soldiers wouldn’t have come close to him.’

  He saw the boy’s again-sceptical look and smirked. ‘Believe me, Bryan Stone,’ he said, scathingly, ‘After me, the force - or person - you want to deal the least with in your young life, is that old man. He would hurt you very, very badly; and after your… episode with his young protégé, would probably kill you. Heed my words: Stay away from him. Far, far away. And if you see him first - run. Unless you want to die…’

  ‘They kill people, then?’ asked Bryan.

  ‘No.’ Kraylle shook his head. ‘Not that I know of. Killing seems to be against their moral code. I don’t know why, though… If someone or something bothers you, remove him or it, I say. If it means killing - so be it.’

  Bryan nodded his agreement, but then the god added, mocking, ‘Orson might make an exception of you though.’

  Some more silence, and then Bryan ventured once more, ‘If this Orson is so powerful, then why was it necessary for your sister to accompany him to the Earth? Why didn’t he just fetch the boy on his own?’

  ‘Simple.’ Kraylle shrugged. ‘One of the things Travellers can’t do is heal, and according to this… Dr. Elston,’ he gestured at the balled newspaper, ‘the boy was dying, and would not have survived being removed from hospital - let alone Travel to Rainbow’s End. My sister, when she held his hand, first in, and then outside the hospital, transferred strength into his body. It is how we heal; not by a mere touch, which is nonsense, but through the transfer of strength. We give the hurt or damaged body the strength to fight its sickness or its injury on its own; to heal itself - albeit faster and better.

  ‘As I said, without Ariana the boy would probably not be alive…’

  ‘Was this the first time your sister Travelled to the Earth?’ Bryan asked, and Kraylle nodded.

  ‘She was taking a terrible risk,’ he said. ‘If something happened to her Traveller - if she was somehow separated from the Crystal… she would have been trapped there forever.’

  Another gloomy silence followed, and then, foolishly but too late to stop himself, Bryan remarked, ‘Seems to me that - apart from healing and a couple of other small things, there’s very little difference between you
demi-gods and Travellers.’

  The massive demi-god was suddenly rearing over him and hissing - like a King-Cobra about to strike; and when Bryan Stone turned to flee, the wall where the arch had earlier been, was suddenly exitless: a solid grey. He felt himself lifted off the floor, helpless - as if tightly bound with invisible ropes, until his face was on a level with his glaring master’s. And then his body started getting hot - almost as if he were back under the castle; and hotter still - until sweat was running off him like water, and he felt even his thick socks go wet. He tried begging for mercy, but seemed to have no voice of a sudden; could not even croak. His chest was constricting and he was sure he was dying; and all he saw were two merciless black eyes, studying him like a bird would a bug. And then, when he felt himself fading at last, losing consciousness, he was dropped. He hit the icy-cold and hard floor like the proverbial wet sack of sand; hurting and curling himself into a foetal position, holding his bent knees and gratefully gasping at the frigid air of the room.

  When he opened his eyes, Kraylle was back on his throne. ‘I told you I would have no more impertinence from you, Bryan Stone,’ he hissed; ‘Let that be a warning.’

  Bryan struggled to his feet with a groan, and when he stood at last - swaying and aching - the demi-god continued, scathingly.

  ‘There are many, many differences between us and them. We demi-gods can create things on a much larger scale than Travellers ever can. Like this castle. Changing beds are nothing: changing mountains are.

  ‘Travellers cannot change the composition of living things; demi-gods can. Like my children downstairs,’ Kraylle leered, and then glowered again.

  ‘As I told you some minutes ago, Travellers can, in differing degrees, depending on their level of expertise and which crystal they have progressed to, control some of the seven Universal elements. Demi-gods control all - effortlessly.

  ‘Demi-gods can materialise and de-materialise at will; Travellers need their crystals and their Rainbow to Travel.

  ‘Demi-gods do not need sleep, or food, or drink, or even to breathe…

  ‘We are, simply said, hundreds - thousands of times more powerful than any Traveller.’

  He glared at Bryan a few seconds more; then, half-relenting, leaned forward and with big eyes, in a theatrical whisper said, ‘Most importantly, Bryan Stone: Demi-gods cannot be killed. We cannot die, unless it is of old-age or at the hand of another god. The former, in your time, means thousands - many thousands of years. The latter is so unlikely it is not worth discussing. Not with a meaningless mortal as yourself.’

  Kraylle sat watching the boy before him with a smug expression for a long minute, then tilted his bald head to one side, and asked, in a voice dripping with contempt, ‘How does that grab you, Sergeant-major Stone?’

  34

  The window and curtains were open, and from the dark expanse outside, the huge white moon watched; a billion stars winked on and off. A very slight breeze floated into the room, and Thomas pulled the soft cotton sheet to his chin. Inside was sleepily quiet; outside, the ever present crickets and frogs made their music; a soft who-woo from somewhere distant.

  He knew he was back at Rainbow’s End, for in the light of the moon, on top of his desk, sat Joshi; hairy face a silvery sheen in the light of the moon, legs folded in the lotus position, and fingering a string of beads. He was watching the woken-up Thomas intently.

  ‘Someone changed my view,’ Thomas said, and the Magari nodded.

  ‘It was Ariana,’ he said. ‘She changed it back to what it looked like before you left.’ Then he smiled, genuinely pleased. ‘Welcome home, Thomas.’

  Thomas frowned at him. ‘How did I get back here, Joshi?’ he asked.

  The Magari sat watching the boy quietly for some time, and then said, softly, ‘Close your eyes, Thomas.’

  He did, and almost immediately felt lethargy steal over him.

  ‘Now remember…’ Joshi continued, sing-song and very soft, ‘also remember that nothing can harm you - you are safe, you are home…’

  And Thomas remembered. Remembered walking up and down just that one city-block, and fighting his pride. Remembered the sobs from that dark alley, and the small boy - Eamon. Remembered coming to a decision then: a decision that lifted an impossibly heavy weight off his heart and made it soar.

  He remembered a taunting voice, and old blue eyes in a cruel young face; and starting a fire-ball… And being hit with something and falling; and shadows rushing in… fighting for space in which to stand and kick him… And everything going black…

  He remembered being unable to breathe and the wail of a siren; and two people - a man and a woman - pushing needles and pipes into him…

  And lying on a hard bed and hurting, and a group of white-coated men assuring one another that he was dying…

  He remembered seeing Ariana and Orson enter the room, even though his eyes seemed glued shut; and knowing peace then… Knowing that it was going to be all right: that he was going home…

  Thomas sat up suddenly, and the sheet pooled around his waist. ‘Ariana,’ he said, stupefied. ‘She fetched me. I was in a hospital, and I heard the doctors tell each other that I was dying. But she - Orson and her - they fetched me.’ He fell back against his pillows.

  Joshi nodded in the moonlight. ‘She did, yes: they did.’

  ‘How long have I been back, Joshi?’

  ‘You’ve been back for eight Rainbow days,’ answered the ancient little man. ‘About sixteen of the Earth’s. You woke up the first time yesterday - but just five minutes.’

  Thomas gaped at him. ‘Eight days,’ he whispered. ‘I’ve been back here eight days - sleeping?’

  Joshi nodded. ‘Sleeping, yes; but also healing.’

  ‘The doctors said I was dying.’ Thomas’ voice was still a whisper.

  Joshi shrugged. ‘You were,’ he said, simply. ‘That’s why my queen accompanied Orson to the Earth. She gave you strength before and while you were Travelling; she’s also been coming here every night to replenish what your body uses to heal. If not for her, you would be dead. Most assuredly.’

  As if on cue, Thomas’ bedroom door opened, and backlit by the weak light from the sleeping mother-cave, Ariana, followed by Orson, entered.

  *

  ‘Can you remember what happened, Thomas?’ Ariana’s voice was soft. She was sitting next to him on the bed, and wore her usual white dress, her usually bare feet in sandals. A gold chain hung around her waist, and her hair, which fell in a thick black mass, almost touched its links in the back.

  ‘He does now,’ Joshi interjected. ‘We went back.’

  ‘Thank you, Joshi.’ Ariana smiled at him, and received a solemn nod in return. ‘You are welcome, my queen.’

  She turned back to Thomas. ‘It was the Night-Walkers, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Little bastards.’ A muted croak from Orson, who received an admonishing look from the goddess. He dropped his eyes and coughed into his hand, mumbled, ‘Sorry.’

  Thomas looked at him. The Traveller was sitting in the desk-chair, and the study-lamp made shadows of his smooth-shaved face. His bushy hair had been combed, and he was dressed in neatly pressed denim jeans and a blue and black checked shirt. His lizard-skin boots gleamed.

  ‘It was them, yes,’ Thomas nodded.

  ‘Rudi?’ From Orson.

  ‘No sir, not Rudi.’ Thomas shook his head and Ariana interrupted.

  ‘Kraylle has a new number one boy, Orson. Our thoughts crossed a few days ago, and I saw them playing chess. He has very pale blue eyes and red hair?’ Her question was directed at Thomas, and he nodded. ‘That’s him, yes,’ he said. ‘That’s the boy I saw. He’s a year or two older than I am, and two or three younger than Rudi.’

  Another “little bastard” from Orson, and this time Ariana said nothing.

  She took his hand then, and Thomas felt himself tense at first; but then, as incredible surges of pure power began flowing from her and into him, relaxed and felt himself drifting…
Drifting as if on air; immensely powerful physically and mentally; invincible, god-like…

  As if from very far away, he heard his own voice. ‘There was a boy in the alley with me - a small boy. Just six. His name was Eamon, and I was going to bring him back here. They took him…’ His voice trailed off, but not before the others in the room heard the despair in it.

  Orson’s voice also, seemed far away. ‘You were bringing him back here?’ he asked. ‘You were coming back? By yourself?’ His tone was anxiously hoping, and Thomas opened his eyes.

  ‘Yes, I was coming back,’ he said, ‘myself and Eamon.’ He saw Orson give Ariana a happy smile; an everything-is-going-to-be-alright-now smile, and the secret wink she gave Thomas, had him feel good all over. He closed his eyes once more, and floated away, getting stronger…

  Ages later, Orson’s voice again: ‘He sure looks happy.’ He cackled and Ariana shushed him.

  ‘Shhh, Orson, he’s sleeping.’

  ‘No, I’m not,’ Thomas mumbled in a sleepy voice, and Orson - for no special reason except being happy, cackled again.

  And then they were leaving: Joshi dropped over the windowsill and slipped into the night; and Orson and Ariana through the door. They were stopped by Thomas.

  ‘Ariana? Orson?’

  Looking back, Ariana asked softly, ‘Yes, Thomas?’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  Orson stood beaming as any proud grandfather would, and the demi-goddess looked at her young Traveller for a silent minute. Then, she too smiled, and said - in a voice that really meant it - ‘Welcome home, Thomas.’ They left.

  *

  The light went out when he wanted it to, and Thomas pulled the sheet up to his chin once more. The night air was mellowing and somewhere another owl called. He closed his eyes and sighed like happy boys sometimes do, and felt himself drifting off again; at peace with himself and the world, and Rainbow’s End.