Magic Parcel

by Frank English

  His voice tailed off into a hidden whisper of despair which chilled their bones.

  “Algan?” Tommy asked, turning towards the old magician as they sat quietly and comfortably in the living part of the cave.

  “Yes, my boy?” he said, drawing on an enormously long curved clay pipe from which he sent smoke rings of varying size and colour to delight and entertain the brothers. There was already a stack of eight hovering by Jimmy’s shoulder, rather like a pile of miniature quoits ready to be thrown.

  “What hit me?” he went on. “You know, just before your cave entrance.”

  “It was a flying Senti,” the magician replied in a matter-of-fact sort of way; “and ...”

  “I thought you said nobody could enter your forest without your consent,” Jimmy interrupted, somewhat puzzled by all this talk of Senti in his enchanted forest.

  “I could not pick him out until it was almost too late,” Algan replied. “He was catapulted, and had he met you a few seconds sooner, before the failure of his trajectory, you would no longer be the owner of that fine head of yours.”

  Tommy gulped, and his initial reaction was to clasp his hands to his throat and neck in order to keep his head where it should be - on his shoulders.

  “It was a very long chance,” the magician went on, “but one which almost succeeded. As it was, the creature came out of your shadow long enough for me to perceive it was there, and to lessen its impact. The rest you know. You were very close to that eternal abyss when I brought you in; almost too far gone to rescue, I was able to call on deeper powers to help bring you back.”

  The room began to fade and spin, and his senses started to swing like one of those enormous clock pendulums gone mad. The last thing Tommy remembered was the hugely beaming face of Algan, filling completely his eyes and mind.

  Sleep is a wonderful thing; too little of it and you don’t function properly; just the right amount, and everything is just fine. Jimmy and Tommy had been suffering from too little for too long, so the sleep they experienced was especially refreshing, with that special added ingredient from the magician which was secret to him alone. Deep, and filled with the most pleasant dreams of home, mum’s cooking and all those things which had occupied their every waking moment in the wild, that sleep took them through the barriers of fatigue and into a new stage of alertness. Even though they had slept for only an hour or two, it didn’t seem as though they had even closed their eyes at all, but that sleep and waking were all part of the same pleasant process.

  “The parcel,” Algan went on when the boys were fully ready to understand what he had to say, “has to be found and returned. I think that the trees you talked about, and in particular the split one, are still there, teetering on the edge of the great gaping hole that is the legacy each Seth appearance and disappearance leaves. You will have to go alone. I shall not be able to come with you.”

  “But ... but ...” stammered Jimmy.

  “We were kind of counting on your support,” Tommy interrupted.

  “I cannot be with you,” Algan repeated, “but do not despair. One whom I trust well and whose power equals mine but in another direction, shall watch over you, and, should the need arise, render such aid as necessary.”

  “Who will this person be?” Tommy again insisted. “How shall we recognise him?”

  “You will know,” Algan reassured. “The time is now right. Further delay should not impede your quest. The time of the Otherworldlings, fast approaches. I say only to you, keep the Craggs of Gotts Point in your sights and do not deviate towards the Old Watch Tower. There you will not find the end to your search.”

  They were then aware of a keen air in their nostrils, a slight breeze through their hair, and Algan’s voice in their minds only. The cave was no longer around them, but the open country lay in front and the sinister black silhouette of the Craggs lay before them in the distant gloom of approaching night. On an instinct, the boys turned sharply to catch a final glimpse of the Enchanted Forest, to find that the land between them and the Western Mountains was open, with no trees to be seen anywhere.

  “Well, Jim,” Tommy shrugged, “we may have dreamt it, but those Craggs are real enough. So, come on! Let’s get on!”

  “I’m afraid Tom,” Jimmy said huddling closer to his brother as they forced a way as quickly as possible through the dense, thorny undergrowth.

  “Don’t worry about it,” his brother replied. “So am I, but we must keep on. Everything depends on us. This darkness should help even though I can’t see the way very well.”

  The darkness hissed as its silence deepened around them. The breeze they had experienced earlier had almost imperceptibly deserted them, leaving a close stifling atmosphere which before long had them gasping for air in the increasingly frequent rest stops they made. Bushes and trees loomed and lurched at them out of the darkness as they blundered on in their haste to be free of this tight, claustrophobic feeling. They didn’t seem to have been moving very long but the magic of this place was such that they felt as if an age had passed since their encounter with Algan in his cave. How could they have travelled so far? Or was it so far? Was this Algan’s doing? Was he helping them after all?

  Tommy stopped dead in his tracks, and, grasping Jimmy’s arm pulled him to a halt by the bole of a huge oak tree.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Jimmy.

  “Sh! Sh!” hissed his brother, half crouching as if ready to spring away. “Listen!”

  “I can’t hear anything...” Jimmy whispered, the perspiration now running freely down his face and back, “...except for a slight crackling of dry leaves on the branches around ...”

  “There is no wind!” Tommy replied. “Besides, all the leaves are still green ...”

  “What is it then?” Jimmy asked, tiny little prickles of fear beginning to creep slowly up his spine. “It’s getting closer and louder, and seems to be spreading all around us.”

  “I don’t ... oh my god!” Tommy uttered, dropping to an almost inaudible croak. “Over there...look!”

  Through the gloom, some fifty or so paces away, a faintly luminous grey mass oozed between the trees and shrubs towards them. The crackle and rattle of member against member was unmistakable, and as the mass moved nearer, dozens of individual grey bodies could be picked out with ease. The leading one sent out a high, shrill squeak that homed the others onto their prey. The Senti would not fail this time.

  The boys, eyes wide with utter terror, finally tore themselves away from the spot to which they had been rooted, mesmerised, and turned to flee. They were again stopped in their tracks, as hoards of Senti seemed to grow out of their surroundings to cut off their retreat. They were trapped! Those sightless faces, eager for a capture to return to their master, swarmed over the intervening swathes of land with unerring accuracy towards their goal.

  Chapter Ten

  The room was dim, and the occupants indistinct in the gloom. A thick, musty, damp smell hung in the still atmosphere inside, making it difficult for all, but those used to it, to breathe without gasping. Streamers of watery light crawled through several small cracks in the reed walls, casting an eerie light across the room.

  An overwhelming silence gripped everyone there, trying to choke the mind as the atmosphere tried to choke the body. The only sound to be heard was the heavy grunting and moaning of someone engaged in intense physical combat, although no other movement could be seen.

  Gradually the eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom, and as they fought their way around this enormous enclosure, they were finally drawn to a dark, bearded, solitary figure in an enormous heavily-cushioned wicker chair which was set on a small platform. The occupant of the chair sat perfectly still but in a strange way that looked most uncomfortable. Hands on knees, shoulders bent slightly forwards and very straight, his eyes were tight shut. More and more frequently his silhouette, his whole outline, was lit by some
deep power.

  A flash! The hair and face became wreathed in intense blue light, giving a profoundly sinister look to the strange being, and at the same time, his breath shortened and began to escape in great gasps.

  The suddenness of the ensuing explosions and flashes of lightening took everyone off guard, except for the central figure. The light disappeared totally, to be replaced immediately by dancing, red lines of electric power which wove and jerked around him.

  Silence once again enveloped them, to be broken only by the central figure, the Chieftain of All Omni. With a cackle which grew into a low rumbling laugh, he flung his arms wide, and as he did so, light slowly began to stream into the room from every conceivable angle, filling all space like a great glass bowl with pure, white light.

  “I have you now, my friend,” the Chieftain muttered to the air. His mental struggle with the Lord of Sorcery was over and he had proved to be the Master. The Chieftain’s hour was fast approaching, and Seth’s trough of despair would follow in its wake. Seth had finally met his match!

  Boom! Boom! The distant roll of thunderous drums mingled terrifyingly with the screech of the Sesqui-senti as they swamped the land around the boys with the presence of their master. Taking courage and survival in both hands, the brothers flattened the leading bunch with half-branches torn from sapling trees. Bolstered by their success with the first few, they stood back-to-back bracing themselves for the next onslaught. When they saw the extent of the mass of Senti, they began to despair.

  “We can never beat off that lot!” yelled Jimmy, arms aching already with the exertion.

  “Come on!” Tommy signalled. “Up into this tree. The branches are low enough.”

  Tommy heaved his brother into the lower branches and twigs whilst kicking over one of the attacking creatures that came too close. Jimmy scrambled further into the safety of the dense foliage, but Tommy was just a little too long in swinging up. As Jimmy looked down, he was horrified to see his brother washed over by a great wave of white bodies and dragged down by the sheer size of numbers.

  “Get back! Get on up before ...” Tommy yelled, but was cut off in mid-sentence.

  It was a terrible dilemma Jimmy found himself in. If he went back to help, what use could he be against so many? Yet, how could he leave his brother without trying to help? At least, they would be captured together.

  As he turned to descend, to take up the Last Battle, he was startled again to hear the rattle of side drums, accompanied this time by the blare of brazen trumpets. The sight beneath him almost made him fall from his perch. Men in green had sprouted from nowhere, and were striding through the masses of Senti, swords and axes swinging, like farmers through a field of corn. Heads rolled and bodies were tossed aside like handfuls of chaff in the wind.

  Apart from the swish of blades, the roll of drums, and the squeals of the Senti, the whole operation was carried out with silent efficiency.

  Tommy was soon relieved of his burdensome overcoat of white bodies, and was brought to a standing position by two enormous, silent guardsmen. Grim-faced and tight-lipped, they set him on his feet between them, a position soon also to be assumed by his brother, and there they remained until the last Senti had been crushed back into the earth.

  “What are you then?” one of the guards growled when all the Senti had been removed, a frown threatening to send his already overgrown eyebrows thundering into the rest of his face.

  “Can’t look up at his face for long,” Jimmy began thinking. “He’s too high and I would get neck ache.”

  “You will have to come with us,” growled the mountainous guard. “Our chief will want to see you.”

  The guardsmen spent the next few minutes jabbering at each other in some language which was utterly unintelligible to the boys, so they stopped listening and trying to make out what they were saying. Eventually, when the conversation had receded, Tommy and Jimmy were picked up, tucked each under an enormous hairy armpit where they stayed quite comfortable, en route to the “chieftain” of this particular tribe, whoever he was. They didn’t have to wait too long.

  Long before they saw him, they felt his presence; stifling and powerful, it made their heads spin and ears pop.

  “I’m going to get a head ...” Jimmy started.

  “Silence!” growled one of their guardians. “You will not speak unless told to do so.”

  Jimmy reddened slightly around the cheeks, which showed he was growing up considerably and learning to accept orders without question; without becoming acutely embarrassed and wanting to hide behind mum. The length of time they had spent in the wild certainly had done something for him. What he was not at all sure.

  He turned slowly to look at his brother and was puzzled to see his mouth open, and a look of blank amazement on his face. He turned himself to follow the same direction as Tommy’s gaze. What he saw, he didn’t understand, but it filled him with wonder and fear all the same.

  Away to his right, on the edge of the clearing they now found themselves in, there was an indistinct mass of grey mist, constantly moving and changing shape. Basically it was the size and shape of a man, but the mist was so effective a screen, neither features nor details could be seen. After a few moments watching, the observer was left with the feeling that there was in fact nothing there at all; had it not been for the power! Whilst its intensity waxed, the observer could do nothing of his own free will. The Thing was in complete control.

  Suddenly, their minds were seized, searched thoroughly for a few moments, and then released. As that snap of release happened, their eyes cleared, and the mist had gone. In its place stood a man, the like of which they had seen before only in fantasy story books. A little shorter than their guardians his personal stature and magnetism were much greater. His long flowing white hair and beard cascaded over a powerful and youthful frame, and were circled about the forehead and temples by a small silver band. No other mark of clothing distinguished him from the others, save a belt of leaves around his green tunic.

  “I am Por, Chief of the Wandering People,” his deep voice rumbled over them. “We do not welcome strangers, but your case I will hear. Come.”

  As they turned to move away from the scene of destruction, out of the corner of his eye, Tommy caught a glimpse of something by a clump of beech saplings. Something dark, sinister and terrible - a black horse and rider, he thought, but he could see no detail. He turned to summon his brother, but when he returned his gaze, he could see only a deeper shade in the gloom around.

  “I could have sworn...” he half-said to himself, not meaning to be heard.

  “What did you say?” asked Por, turning sharply.

  “Nothing, really,” answered Tommy, scratching his head, puzzled. “I thought I saw a black horseman, over there by those trees, but ...”

  Por’s face was impassive, showing no sign of emotion. “As you see,” he continued after a few moments’ silence, “there is no-one. You imagined you saw something.”

  “Well,” Tommy muttered quietly, “we had rather thought you could sort of give us some direction...”

  “To what end?” Por interrupted at last, wishing to cut short the unnecessary intrusion of useless conversation.

  “To find our parcel, of course!” Jimmy continued, quite put out by this great chieftain’s abrupt and rather direct manner.

  “You have not told me the importance of this parcel,” Por went on becoming more insistent, fixing Jimmy with a piercing glare, which made him want to shrivel up inside, “and why you need to recover it.”

  Jimmy shifted and shuffled uneasily, casting a nervous glance across at his brother who was feeling equally uncomfortable under this sharp, pointed questioning.

  “Well, er...” he squeaked almost inaudibly, when suddenly, shutting his eyes, he launched into the whole story, like a flood being released from behind a floodgate. To Jimmy it seemed to last an eternity, but i
n fact was only a few minutes.

  He stopped as suddenly as he had begun, waited a few seconds, and then tentatively, warily he opened an eye to see his inquisitor sitting where he had been before, wearing that same bland, impassive look on his face. Several seconds passed, and still there was no change in Por’s expression. A look of puzzlement leaped from Jimmy’s open eye across to the other, hoisting the lid and eyebrow almost simultaneously. The seconds grew into interminable minutes, and the longer they stretched the more Jimmy became tight-lipped and embarrassed.

  He was about to stutter some inconsequentiality, (like ‘Pardon me but is there a toilet around here?’ or ‘I didn’t mean to send you to sleep, but could you tell me when the next meal is?’), when he was startled by a low rumble coming from somewhere between Por’s chest and throat. It grew gradually until it burst from his body, a continuous stream of words which didn’t mean an awful lot to the boys. What made Jimmy’s mouth gape even further was the way in which the words tumbled from Por’s mouth. His lips were entirely still and fast shut!

  This state continued for several minutes, with the boys understanding nothing until the last few sentences cut through their consciousness like a stab of intense light. Not only were they slower in tempo, but they were said in the language Jimmy and Tommy understood.

  “If no moon along thou see’st

  Upon the Eve of Doran’s Feast

  The Fortress shall return again

  Twixt Point and Wood of Linden.

  If the Orb shines outward bright

  Thou must await a year this night.