Unfortunately for Jimmy, he would have to share his journey all the way because it was pension day for Mr Grainger, and that meant post office.
“Oh dear! Oh dear!” thought Jimmy. “I wish I hadn’t bumped into Mr Grainger. I wish I was on my own. I wish ... I wish ... like anything I was in ... in ... Omni!”
Thoughts of the country he shared with his uncle - that beautiful, unexpected, far off place - flooded his mind as he clamped his eyelids fast shut in his attempt to escape. For a second nothing happened and all was still, and then thousands of tiny white dots started dashing about on a black velvet backdrop in his head as his eye lids squeezed together even tighter, as if by order. Quickly the white dots grew until there was something, which rather resembled a dense snow blizzard, or a television screen when the aerial’s not right or tuning’s not on station.
He tried several times to open his eyes again, feeling like someone who had walked into a feather pillow factory and couldn’t find the exit, but he couldn’t; they were tight shut. Now, feeling that this state of affairs - being unable to open one’s own eyes - was not quite as it should be, he began to get just a little afraid that his eye lid motors had jammed or something, when he was suddenly thrust out into the open again. His eyes automatically squinted as the glare of the brilliant sun hit him across his face, making him feel rather like a person coming from a darkened room into intense light.
It took his vision several minutes to accustom itself to the glare, and when it did, Jimmy could do nothing but stand as he was, and stare in utter disbelief and astonishment. To his intense relief, Grumblin’ Grainger had disappeared (which could only have been a blessing), but so had everything else - no road, no terraces, no cars - only trees, grass, and ... that enormous red sun!
He blinked. He blinked again, harder this time, and rubbed his eyes, almost dropping the parcel, forgetting it was still under his arm.
“This isn’t Victoria Road,” he observed, his voice ringing out in the clear, clean air of the countryside, with nothing to stop or drown it. He clapped his hand to his mouth, taken aback by the loudness of his words, even though he had intended it simply as a mumble. The sweat was by now beginning to collect on his forehead in small beads, and the rest of his body felt sticky and hot under his quilty anorak, as the sun’s heat bore down on him, trying to press him in to the ground.
He put down the parcel between his feet, so he would not lose it, and took off his coat before he melted and, fastening it around his waist by its arms, he turned completely around, scanning the area he found himself in.
An uneasy, panicky feeling started to creep up inside; that feeling you get when you realise you are lost in a place you don’t know, and, much as you look around for a friendly face, you don’t find one. He was entirely alone, with only the trees and birds for company.
Mr Grainger received many rather strange looks from passers-by as he maintained his continuous stream of advice and comment to his audience. It wasn’t until he had almost reached the post office that he stopped for breath and turned towards his young listener to find he was ... alone!
“Well, blast me! The little b...,” he gasped, face colouring to a bright crimson. “He’s taken himself off!” His voice became squeakier than ever, and a slight wheeze could be heard rattling in his throat as his temperature soared, and he threatened to explode.
He did manage to calm down, however, shortly after a young woman stopped and asked if he was all right. He shambled off, threatening dark things to that young rascal when he saw him again.
Chapter Three
As the clock hands drew on to six o’clock in the evening - Jimmy’s usual return time - and past, his mother became increasingly agitated.
Half past six had arrived, then hastily departed, and she could stand it no longer. She was convinced he had had an accident, been spirited away, or, even worse, missed the bus. When it got to seven o’clock, and the first heralds of dusk were stealing in and paving the way for the dark armies of night, she was convinced that the worst had happened.
“Oh, that dratted boy!” she muttered to herself as she tidied the kitchen for the third time. “Where on earth can he be? He ought to consider my feelings, making me worry like this.”
This was her way. Concerned underneath all, but not showing it outwardly too much.
“Tommy,” she shouted finally, unable to contain herself. “Tom...”
“Yes, mum,” he answered from close behind her left ear.
“Oh dear!” she blurted out, throwing her head into the air and almost jumping over the table. “Don’t creep up on me like that! Listen,” she went on, “Jimmy’s not come back from Uncle Reuben’s yet. Would you catch the half past seven bus and see where he is?”
“Why don’t you phone?” Tommy replied, reluctant to leave his favourite TV show.
“You know very well,” she frowned, “that Uncle Reuben doesn’t hold with telephones. Says they ruin conversations. You can’t tell who’s at the other end anyway.”
“OK mum,” Tommy offered over his shoulder as he was leaving the room. “I’ll get my coat and be off then,” and with that he was gone.
The journey might have been an exact replay of Jimmy’s earlier that day; same old substitute bus was just pulling away; Tommy was hauled on by the same tuneful, mountainous conductor; he felt the same tingle and twinge as he approached his uncle’s house. This time, though, Reuben, as if expecting Tommy to call at that precise moment, was waiting at the gate, usual grin across his welcoming face.
“Well now Tom,” he said, holding out his hand in greeting. “Nice to see you. Haven’t been around here for quite some time, have you?” He paused to look at Tommy over his glasses, with as near a reproachful gaze above a cheery smile as you would ever come near to seeing from him.
“Mum’s worried,” Tommy said in a quiet voice as they wandered up the path towards the house.
“Ah, yes,” Uncle Reuben smiled, eyes twinkling knowingly.
“She’s asked me to see where Jimmy is,” Tommy continued, and as he spoke a slight smile began to play around the corners of his mouth, and, as he read the face of his uncle, it grew slowly into a great grin of understanding.
“I think you know where he’s gone, don’t you?” Reuben said, eyebrows threatening to engulf his glasses, once they were in the lounge.
“The parcel?” Tommy asked, answered almost before he spoke by a gentle nodding from Reuben.
“... and the same place as I ...?” Tommy went on.
“Yes, indeed,” Reuben continued. “The same as you visited. I thought he needed a little adventure, don’t you know. So I gave him the Parcel to post. He should be there by now. Would you like to go through to see that he misses nothing?”
“Yes please,” Tommy said, eyes beginning to sparkle again at the thought. “I think so and ...”
“Well, you’ll have to be sharp,” Reuben interrupted. “Light’s going quickly and I can keep the way open for only a short while longer. Down to the bottom of the garden now, and look for the handle in the fence you saw a long time ago. Turn it and go through. The rest is up to you.”
Here he stopped short and gave Tommy one of his quizzical, piercing looks again, through his glasses this time to see if he really meant business. Satisfied he did, he sent him off with his blessing, and with one piece of advice ringing in his ears.
“Look beyond what you see,” he advised. “Don’t take anything at face value, and above all accept help when it’s least expected.”
The last sentence floated down to him as he headed for the bottom of the garden, and was the last thing he heard. As he approached the bottom fence, invisible in the heavy shade, a strange feeling of fullness and expectancy crept over him, cutting out all outside noise and enveloping him in a deadening blanket of silence. It was as if he had walked into a thick wall of foam. The fence he could now see as if someon
e had obligingly turned on a dim light, creating eerie half-shadows around the shrubs and bushes. To him in this light, the vertical staves seemed to form a solid wall of wood, when there, below right, he caught sight of the handle he had used so many times before, glowing faintly in the gloom as if it had been painted onto the wood.
As his fingers closed to take hold, it became solid in his hand, yielding under his determined pressure. A faint crack appeared around the outline of the door as Tommy pulled the handle towards him, and as the crack grew, brilliant sunshine poured through, flooding the border he was standing on with golden red light. He stepped back two paces to allow the door to swing wide on its unseen hinges, and in doing so he took a deep breath and launched himself into the new world. As his trailing foot crossed the line and trod earth on the other side, the door closed silently behind him, leaving no trace at all. He was surrounded by countryside, trees and a warmth so overwhelming he could have laid down to sleep where he stood.
A tingling of excitement swept over the boy as he surveyed the already well-known scene; the same excitement he had experienced on numerous other occasions; no panic, no apprehension, no fear. The wonderful and fortunate thing about ‘handle-hopping’, as he called it, was that you were always guaranteed to land in exactly the same place. You couldn’t always guarantee when the handle would appear in Reuben’s garden, but once through, you were sure of where you were. He had been here only once with the parcel - the first time, and every other time through the door in the fence. He had no idea, however, where his brother had ended up. Parcel travel was so imprecise and inaccurate. Each time it was used by successive travellers, it took them to different places. He would have to enlist help he could see that.
“Oh well,” Tommy said, taking a deep breath again and moving forward, “here goes. Standing about will not do a jot of good. Think I’ll see if I can find my old friend Tarna. He’ll know where to look.”
“There’s no need,” a deeply resonant voice split the quiet air just behind Tommy. “I am here.”
Tommy spun round on his heels, startled by the unexpected presence. He screwed his eyes up for a moment in concentrated thought, trying to recognise ...
“Tarna! My old friend! But ... I ...” Tommy stuttered. “How ...?”
“Do not forget,” the newcomer answered, a great grin splitting his dusky face, “that in Omni, whatever you wish is, and that whatever you want to be, can become reality. It is a long time since you were last here,” he continued, casting a reproving eye towards his companion. “Had you forgotten your old friends?”
“Well, er, no really,” Tommy answered uncomfortably, for really he had forgotten about the excitement of the other world. In fact, he had begun to think it was all just a little - dare he admit it - babyish for him now that he was thirteen. Tarna’s eyes twinkled, an almost imperceptible smile creasing the corners of his mouth. He understood, although he and others like him didn’t share such other-world feelings. He determined to himself from then on that he would reintroduce Tommy to the excitements they once shared, the adventure of the country, and would help him to rediscover their old haunts.
Suddenly, as they were talking, the red sun went out and a chill shadow spread over them, destroying the caressing, welcoming warmth with an uninvitingly cold shudder. The smile drained slowly from Tarna’s mouth as he raised his face towards the offending intruder.
He screwed up his eyes, and pulled his collar around his chin as his mouth began to move, uttering silent and bodiless words. The cloud disappeared as suddenly as it had formed; dispersed, it seemed, by some unfelt and unheard wind. As the sun poured over his face again, Tarna opened his eyes, but his smile remained hidden behind a disturbed and troubled look.
“Why do you look so worried?” asked Tommy, puzzled.
“Sarni, the eclipsing cloud,” Tarna went on, “appears only at times of great hardship, disaster or unrest, and for it to disappear so soon can only mean ...”
He was interrupted by a long piercing, drawn-out wail the like of which Tommy had never experienced before, sending shivers of fear down his back.
“What in heaven’s name was that?” Tommy asked, as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle and the goose pimples on his bare flesh begin to march up his arm.
“We cannot stop here to speak,” Tarna answered. “We must away to my village. That is an evil omen indeed. The Senti are abroad again.”
“Senti?” puzzled Tommy. “What are they?”
“Sorry, yes,” Tarna said in a low voice. “They weren’t here when you started coming. They are the Sesqui-senti, servants of the evil Lord Seth. Their white, eyeless forms are sent by their master to do his bidding. That they are abroad searching for food is bad news and ...”
“Yes,” Tommy replied a little impatiently, “but what are they, and who is Seth?”
“Whether bred or made, I know not,” Tarna went on, “but they home onto warm-blooded creatures as if by magic. As for Seth, he is a wicked, evil magician who is able to make his castle disappear and reappear anywhere at will. He and his evil brood haven’t been seen for a very long time, since before your time, when he swore he would conquer the world and become its master. So far, fortunately, he hasn’t been able to fulfil that aim.”
“Well,” Tommy interrupted, “if he’s so powerful and so clever, how come he hasn’t taken over before now?”
“There is a power in the land,” Tarna said, “older and far greater than Seth. The Keeper of that power - or he may even be the power itself, we do not know - is a great magician, whose strength still has the measure of Seth’s wizardry; for the time being. His name to us is Algan, the Binder. He is rarely seen save in time of great need, but without his presence, Omni would soon be overcome by darkness. He lives somewhere out there ...” He paused to wave an indecisive arm in a general northerly direction. “But we do not know where. No one has ever seen his stronghold or even knows that it is, in fact, there at all.”
This puzzled Tommy, for his mind shot back to that first glimpse of the map of Omni he had in his uncle’s study - the same one seen by Jimmy - and there on the map, to the north-west, wasn’t that Algan’s cave and forest marked? Surely!?
“Surely ...” Tommy started again, but wasn’t allowed to finish. He found a large hand clapped over his mouth, and himself being thrown unceremoniously into a nearby thicket of bushes. Tarna kept his hand over Tommy’s mouth until he was sure he understood not to speak. Then, creeping to a small chink in the branch tangle, he beckoned to his companion, and, whispering in his ear and pointing outwards, he indicated an area he wanted him to see.
“Look,” he hissed almost inaudibly, “down the path, to the right a little, close to that yew. Do you see it? There’s a slight grey mist forming around the tree - there it is again, clearer this time!”
Tommy peered intently in the direction his host indicated, and eventually saw what Tarna had become so agitated about; a short form biped, dressed all over in close-fitting grey - or could it have been skin? It stood there, swaying to and fro, as if ... sniffing the air, the head swivelling in a horizontal semi-circle, trying to find ... its ... direction? The neck stiffened suddenly and all movement ceased. Without warning, the same tearing screech as before broke from its sightless face, taking both Tommy and Tarna by surprise. But this time they noticed a change in its tone. There was a message there, one of almost triumph. Soon other Senti appeared as if from nowhere, homing in on their companion’s call. Tommy flung himself backwards, realising with horror that their corporate movement forward was on a direct line to their hiding place. His eyes rolled helplessly in fear, and as he looked into the face of certain capture, he could hear that dry, rattling shuffle, as if a winter breeze was chasing along a pile of long-dead and dry beech leaves.
Tarna, realising almost too late why they had been singled out, well hidden though they were, threw himself onto his friend, shielding hi
m from the advancing bloodsuckers with his own body. The effect was startling. Immediately, the Sesqui-senti were thrown into complete disarray, losing their direction entirely. They wavered, bumped into each other, and many left the path completely and shambled off into the undergrowth, letting out intermittent shrill squeaks as they did, like so many directionless mice. Only when he was sure they had gone did Tarna release a gasping and perspiring Tommy.
“What on earth did you do that for?” he gasped, straightening his shirt collar and looking at Tarna as if he had been out in the sun too long.
“It was your blood they were after,” he whispered. “They are drawn by the scent of human blood, as I told you.”
“Then why didn’t they continue?” Tommy asked, scratching his head. “You were in line as well.”
Tarna’s answer was slow and deliberate.
“I am not of human flesh,” he said. “My blood is alien to them, and so it does not register with their senses. You must excuse my rather hasty action, but by behaving as I did, I effectively put a barrier between you and them, cutting off their homing in frequency. The Senti, once diverted from their chosen path, have neither the intelligence nor wit to realise their prey must be somewhere near, and wander off aimlessly and without direction. I expect Seth will not be long in bringing them back to his fold, so we must hurry. My village is but a short way off. We will be safe there, at least for the time being.”
Jimmy scratched his head and, after he had shouted a few hellos hopefully to attract attention, he decided to walk a little towards the shady wood about half a mile away. The cover looked inviting and he was ready for a rest from this beating sun. He found time to examine his surroundings more as he walked. Thick tussocky heath grass seemed to be everywhere, making him feel as if he was walking on a never-ending soft, springy mattress. Stunted bushes punctuated the landscape here and there, but the main shrub seemed to be a type of gorse in full yellow flower.
Magic Parcel Page 3
