Magic Parcel (21 page)

 

 

 

Black dark. No light save the pale electric blue caught on the titanium edge of an ultra-sharp sword; craftsman built; hard as hell; no quarter. Where on earth is this place? This is no place on Earth! The black recedes slightly, only enough to allow the sighted to discern to whom they are speaking. The powerful amongst them have no need to see.

“Lore Masters!” came a low voice, all the while growing, like a dull throb in the head. “Lore Masters, show your skill to me. Bring me what I need to know, and you shall be exalted to the highest of the high. Fail me, and your fall shall be so low that it will depart this world forever, along with your entire line.”

“Lord!” they chorused almost in unison.

They knelt, heads bowed, not daring to behold the countenance whence came these words of awe. They awaited his will with trepidation and dread. How was his mood? Would he favour or destroy them? The light waxed slightly to reveal an ebony throne set upon a black dais. Upon that throne sat a being of such power that no-one dared gaze upon its ever shifting, swirling, changing indistinct form. The fount of all evil, the pit from which all despair emanates, this was the Lord of Seth, once known as Tar-igor, brother to Gor-ifan from whom he wrested power so long ago.

“From your furthest memories and your most profound lore writings,” he continued, “I need to know the deepest and most ancient evil ever to walk this world, and I must know now where it resides.”

The faces of the six lore masters, acknowledged to be the most learned in the land, betrayed their dismay for they knew of no such entity, no evil deeper than that of the Seth himself. Yet, how could you find the way to tell him this when he had the power to snuff out your life force simply by thinking it? So they remained in pained and uncomfortable silence, hoping he would tire and release them. No such relief was to be their salvation. He must have the knowledge so that alliances might be struck and resistance to his plans removed.

“Well?” he boomed, taking voice once again.

“My Lord,” stammered Albor, the one considered to be chief amongst them, “we don't ...”

“There is one,” a shrill voice rose through the deafening silence left by his superiors, “whom you seek.”

“No, there...” faltered Albor.

“Silence!” Seth interrupted. “Let him speak. Who are you? Come forward.”

Albor fell forward with a pained and strangled cry, and as the newcomer strode over his prostrate, cloaked body, the cloak became still and empty. Albor was no more.

A small dwarf-like figure stood before the dais, body straight and unbowed, his curiously sightless face unmoved by the majesty of his Lord before him. “My name is Untur, son of Untar, greatest lore master of this world. I am servant to the almighty Lord of Seth.”

“Speak!” Seth ordered, unmoved by Untur's rhetoric. “Now!”

“Majesty,” Untur continued, unabashed. “There is one considered long ago to be the ultimate evil power in this land. He was defeated and diminished one thousand ages of man ago by an alliance forged between this world and another, and imprisoned in the Crystal Realm whence there is no escape. He is called Umbrano, and I know how you might release him from his nether world prison.”

A silence of such utter profundity fell over the gathering, that the blinking of an eyelash and the beating of the smallest heart could have caused such cacophony as to result in shock waves capable of throwing down trees and buildings.

“Where is this “Crystal Realm”?” Seth finally broke the silence with words, which crashed into the gathered listeners. “Is it to be found in this world?”

“It is not, my Liege,” Untur responded with equal assurance. “It is not of any
physical
world. It can be found only by one powerful enough in mind and sorcery to unlock its secrets with a key whose whereabouts
I
have discovered.”

“And where is this ... this key that only you have access to, oh wisest and most learned lore master?” This he delivered with a powerful and crushing sarcasm, which had no effect at all on Untur. He simply stood his ground before the great sorcerer and prepared to deliver his answer with a self-confidence verging on arrogance. Who was this little-known dwarf and how had he come by such vital and telling information?

“I will take you through the secrets my father would have taken to his grave had I not intercepted his last thoughts,” Untur began, unabashed. “However, I must have certain assurances that
I
will benefit from this alliance we are about to share.”

“Assurances? Alliance?” Seth exploded. This outburst was designed to show all present that he did not brook minions lightly, and that
he
, the Seth, was in control, not some upstart dwarf. He
had
decided before Untur's declaration of “terms” that he would reward him as there was something about his arrogant, confident attitude, which he liked. If he proved to be as good as his word,
he
would be Seth's next chief lore master. Untur, recognising Seth's ploy, allowed him to win the attention and belief of all onlookers.
He
simply dipped his chin in an overt act of contrition and supplication. They both understood each other and the rules of engagement perfectly. Theirs would be an alliance to keep the balance of power firmly with the Lord of Evil.

“Your story
will
be of use to me and clear in its instruction,” warned Seth, the menace in his voice growing clearly, “or you will share your former master's fate.”

Untur inclined his head slightly to acknowledge the perilous agreement upon which he had set his seal, and in which he would not, could not, fail.

“The Crystal Realm is an invisible prison,” Untur started, slowly choosing his words with great care, “which exists only in an alternate reality where those trapped exist behind crystal walls of an impenetrable strength, and which cannot be breached by force or guile. Not even the great and glorious Lord of Seth possesses the power to achieve this.” He paused to cast a brief glance at his master, who was unmoved, intent, concentrating, eyes half-closed as if almost asleep. No response; no reaction. ‘Was this a good sign?' he thought.

Untur continued, “The Realm was established, created by an alliance of four great forces, one thousand ages of man ago. Their joint powers forced Umbrano into it to spend the rest of eternity as a ‘reward' for his attempt to conquer the world. They were the bearers of names some of which you will no doubt recognise – Algan of the Enchanted Forest, Ben-ruhe the Otherworldling, the Chieftain of All Omni, and your brother, Gor-ifan. I have an overwhelming feeling that none of them would agree to Umbrano's release, should you ask.

“The only alternative key is through the mind and spirit of a truly innocent young being from another world who enters
this
world of free will. This being has to be the chosen one with a strong link to the ancient order, and must be pure of mind and heart. I feel sure the great and glorious Lord of Seth will know such a being.”

“Indeed I do,” Seth's response came, after a few moments thought. “There is one whose arrival in this world visited a major disruption to my plans. He it was who became the unsought catalyst for the forging of an alliance between the disparate riff-raff peoples of this world against me. He it was who was instrumental in the release of my niece Miriel from my care, and the rousing of my archenemy, Algan, from his rustic slumbers. He is the focus of all our wrath, and must be taken even more urgently now to further our cause. He is named Jimmy Scoggins, and we believe he is here in this world now.”

The room had grown progressively darker the more intense Seth's pronouncements had become, with lightening playing around his ever increasing temples.

Without warning, he was gone, the audience was over, and the lore masters gathered, unsure, outside the audience chamber. Untur somehow found himself in the midst of a loose circle of ancient lore masters, shuffling towards him in as menacing a fashion as lore masters feel able. Untur, unrepentant and un-cowed, raised himself to his full dwarfish height, held his head up and raised his hand to them in quasi-friendly warning. Recognising that, perhaps, he was a force not to be trifled with, they backed away and disappeared into the darkness.

Untur remained, entirely alone, enjoying the feeling of elation which success had heralded. He
would
be the Chief Lore Master, of that he was sure. He was also sure, at some time in the not-too-distant future, he would have a much more crucial role to play in the ordering of this realm.

 

“Not good!” Jimmy thought. “Not good!” He wasn't at all sure how he was going to escape this situation, where nothing he saw was as it should have been. Tarna was not to be trusted and Jaffed had lied. How many more of these people, he had known of and called friends, were not now true to their shared ideals. He felt he had to find the Wandering People somehow, or make his way to Oompah's castle, where he hoped he might find truth and clarity. What he would have given for a number 59 bus!

The black of night was already beginning to give way to the grey of early morning as dawn signalled its approach. But what was he about to see in this now unsure and unsafe place? Previously he would have beheld many dun-coloured huts hugging the lush green grassland, fastened about by a silver ribbon of bright water that was the River Lin. Already in the half-light he could make out that there were fewer dwellings, some in ruins and some flattened completely. He felt tired, more so than he had ever felt before, and he wanted to be home. The thing about adventures was that they were great on a full stomach and first thing on a bright summer's morning. Late autumn with a setting chill, no sleep, and an empty belly didn't do it for Jimmy at all.

On his first visit he would have been offered rest, shelter and sustenance in one of the friendly dwellings hereabouts. Now it might have been an alien village, where a body could perish without anyone taking too much notice. And fear; there was the overwhelming scent of fear in the air, which was strengthened by a liberal dose of uncertainty and confusion. Would anyone offer him sanctuary or, better still, help and advice as to which way to go?

“You are the Otherworldling Scoggins,” a deeply guttural voice jolted him out of his thoughts. Jimmy spun on his heels to see a gathering group of villagers he had not seen before. They were swarthy and bore none of the characteristics of the people he had met in Omni before. Although Jimmy was now only ten, he had built up a sophisticated value system in his short time and so he recognised antagonism and aggression when he saw it. The group approaching him was not a welcoming gathering and they were not about to offer him succour.

“You are not welcome here!” the leader growled, “and we have ways of making sure you do not return.” They shambled slowly towards him in an alarmingly threatening way, obliging Jimmy to retreat as quickly as he could without running – just yet. He knew by their demeanour that discussion about the finer points of friendliness and hospitality would be futile, so he turned rapidly on his heels once again and took flight. Only three paces into his escape, he bounced off a wall of muscle and sinew, as villagers from the other side of the river closed in, to be gripped by a pair of hairy, muscular hands on his rebound. At that moment, a high piercing screech rose sharply into the air, to be answered almost immediately by another somewhere the other side of the village.

Jimmy screwed his eyes tight shut as if trying to wish away a nasty dream, knowing in his heart that Seth wouldn't let him escape a second time. He screwed himself up even tighter, expecting the inevitable. When nothing happened to him for several minutes, he unclenched his fists and unscrewed his nerves, to have the hissing and screaming in his ears replaced by – silence, and a slowly increasing wheeze. Now
that
sound he
had
heard before. One eye gradually opened to reveal – blackness. The other eye joined the first to show – even blacker blackness, turning slowly to deep grey.

“The Foggy Land of Four!” he groaned. “Have I escaped
that
fate to be thrust into
this
one?” His companions, the owner of the hairy arms and the one to whom the acrid and nauseous smell of stale, unwashed sweat, had let go of their prisoner to become captive themselves.
They
would become Whispering People along with countless others trapped here. Jimmy screwed his eyes again, and immediately felt a sharp corner in the small of his back and the smell of baking in his nostrils. The intense light of a bright autumn day almost blinded him as he opened his eyes again to be greeted by Ursula's concerned face, not two metres from his as he sprawled against a kitchen unit in her house.

She made a lurch for him to keep him there but to no avail. The kitchen unit was replaced by something infinitely larger and considerably harder. He had landed amidst the legs of Por's Imperial Guard, with his face squashed against a giant kneecap. He had hoped to remain in the kitchen at Ursula's house, where the smell of baking had caused his stomach to lurch in anticipation, but the Imperial Guard in his situation was a close second best. At least he would not be attacked by crazed Seth supporters and followers.