The Magic Lands (27 page)

"It wouldn't do you any good to
have it anyway," Tom told him loudly. "Mo already knows the
way."

The man laughed, a terrible
sound that made Tom visibly flinch. "Ah, the badger friend," he
reflected with a thoughtful smile. "The friend of little boys, no
less. I could tell you things about that one that would make your
hair curl! Yes, I could. Tales so very shocking! They really are
not fit for a boy's ears, not even one who would dream of
manhood."

Tom flushed with rage. "Shut
up!" he cried, ready to physically fight with the man if he had to.
"You don't know anything. You think you're so clever, but you're
not."

The man nodded
matter-of-factly, apparently unmoved by the boy's outburst. "So it
would seem," he conceded, as if genuinely convinced, "but then
again, there's nothing wrong with having a bit of fun, now is
there? Even a badger is entitled to a little bit of fun and games,
don't you think? I mean to say, who can truly claim, in all
honesty, that they have never indulged in a small piece of fun,
from time to time?" He seemed to take tremendous delight in
emphasising the word
fun
, as
if it had some great significance. "Fun!" he said again, grinning
at the boy.

"Even if you kill me," roared
Tom, without feeling nearly as brave as his words, "the others will
beat you."

"Beat me?" the man
sneered. "Best me at my own game? You really are very young, aren't
you, so very naive.” He paused and eyed the boy with a considering
look. “You
shall
play my
game, Tommy. Whether you want to or not. And it's a marvellous
game, a wonderful game. One that I am certain that you will
enjoy."

Tom clenched his fists, small
and inadequate against the creature that regarded him so
disdainfully. "You'll lose," he said fiercely. "You'll lose!" But
even as he spoke, a terrifying thought was gnawing at his mind.
Maybe the Wolf was just too powerful.

After all, he
was
only a boy. And what could a boy
hope to do against a beast?

Jack was on the run.

Something, something terrible,
was after him and he knew just as surely as if someone had told him
in a cold, matter-of-fact voice, that if it caught him, he would
die. The house seemed to close in on him, the deserted hallways
never leading anywhere. He sprinted down one long corridor after
another, afraid to look back, knowing his pursuer was close
behind.

And what about Tom?

When the door had
slammed, just as he had been about to follow Tom into the room, his
first impulse had been to run. It had overpowered him, urgent and
unrelenting, screaming to be obeyed.
Run!
Run!

But something had trapped Tom
inside and Jack could not leave his friend in there alone. He had
grabbed hold of the silver door handle and yelled in pain as it
burnt his hand, releasing it immediately. The metal glowed a pale
orange and Jack kicked at the door in frustration.

"Tom, are you all right?
Can you hear me?" he had called, but there was no sound from within
and morbidly he had thought how like a crypt the house seemed.
Furious now and pulling his sleeve down over his hand, he had
grasped hold of the handle again, determined to gain entry, but
this time he had been thrown backward onto the floor, a horrible
tingling running up his arm and into his body. Staggering up onto
his feet, dizziness making it difficult to stand straight, Jack had
rubbed his hand and arm.
Just enough of a
shock to keep me out. Why don't they just kill me and have done
with it?

"What can I do?" he had said
aloud and in that instant he had felt more lost and alone than ever
before. But before he could consider his position any further, a
shuffling sound just off to his right had made him spin around and
he had stared into the dead eyes of something that he could only
have described as a demon from hell.

With a long, hooked finger, the
creature had beckoned to him. "Come here, little one. I want you
for my own."

SECRET DELIGHTS

When worlds were young many
things had been foretold, promises of upheaval and penance, trial
and redemption. During that distant time a burning shadow had
gradually spread across the face of every land like a crawling,
insidious disease, generations falling deeper and deeper into the
mire of decadence.

Then there had often been no
name for the Wolf. Its presence was only felt, not seen, but its
heart was in the earth and skies. No one could stand against it.
The Beast was the unknown.

Now the destiny of all worlds
had reached an impasse. There were things that had to be settled
before an outcome could be decided. For better or for worse.

Dredger looked upon the evil in
himself and sighed, lowering his weapon. "I see the truth," he
murmured, appearing at that moment weary and old.

The one who faced him held
forth its sword, the blade wavering very slightly, the eyes of that
familiar and yet utterly alien face flickering like firelight. "And
you understand?" it said softly.

"Yes," replied the warrior.

"Then there is no need for
combat." It dropped the sword to its side and stepped closer to the
warrior. "Listen to my words." The being who had been Geheimnis but
now wore the features of Dredger himself began to change. It's form
became transparent, almost as if its body were liquid, moving
through many metamorphoses, mutating and rebuilding itself.

Only the garments that
Geheimnis had worn still maintained the illusion of humanity.
Dredger stood motionless and watched. "I am the legacy of old," the
creature said, raising its arms upward, sword still in hand. "I am
the messenger from places that have faded into the dreams of men.
The laws that were broken must be made whole again and you are the
one who must carry the burden. You will be the catalyst. When the
sublime scheme began so long ago, the Beast was but a shadow. Now
it stands tall and possesses flesh and bone. I am the last prophet.
I have been the keeper and my task is complete. There are no
questions that can be answered without loss, nothing of worth
achieved without sacrifice. Behold, a Beast of another caste is
born."

Dredger bowed his head. At last
he knew what truly lay before him. If he could be more than just a
man, more than mortal, the Wolf might yet be defeated. "I accept
the burden," he said simply and with incredible speed and force he
was engulfed by light, the creature's body exploding into a
luminous shower that fell upon the warrior, fragments of silver
fire barraging his head and torso. Within moments there was nothing
to show that Geheimnis had ever been. All that remained was the
sword, thrust upright from the earth, the tip embedded deep into
the land. With one swift movement, Dredger grasped its hilt and
tore it from the ground, holding it aloft.

"I am born!" he cried,
the wind carrying his voice into the darkness
.

Tom had dreamed he had been in
conversation with a wolf who was a man, who was a wolf. But of
course, that was quite impossible. He opened his eyes and saw Uncle
Ira sitting on the end of his bed. "Hello Tom," the old man said,
smiling warmly.

"Uncle Ira!" Tom cried out,
"I'm home!"

Ira patted his leg. "That you
are my boy."

Tom couldn't believe his
eyes and pinched his arm hard. Feeling the sharp pain it educed, he
laughed aloud as if it were the funniest thing he had ever known.
"I
am
home!" he bellowed,
jumping up from his bed.

"Now Tom, take it easy, take it
easy" his Uncle urged gently.

"But I can't believe it, how
did I get here!?" Tom exclaimed, laughing until tears streamed down
his face.

"Let's go downstairs and then
we can talk. Your Aunt has been waiting for you to wake up."

Tom managed to compose himself
a little and grinned foolishly, relief and joy racing through his
heart. "Aunt Emily! Where is she?" And then looking intensely at
his Uncle he said, "I've missed you both so much."

Ira nodded, his craggy old face
such a welcome sight. "And we've missed you too, Tom. But you're
home now, so everything's all right."

Giving the man a long hug, Tom
felt tears rolling down his cheeks. "Now let me say hello to Aunt
Emily." Pulling away from Ira and running out of the room, he
hurtled down the staircase, making for their cosy little
sitting-room where he knew his Aunt would be waiting in her
favourite chair, probably knitting.

As he entered the room he began
to call out, but then he saw his Aunt and he knew at once that she
was dead. Her eyes stared at him, glazed and sallow. They seemed to
bulge, impossibly huge, from her face. Standing very still, he
tried not to breath. He was certain that if he let out even one
breath, someone, the someone who had killed his Aunt, would hear
him.

She
had
been knitting he noticed, gazing at the
corpse in dumb fascination. Two long, sharp needles protruded from
her throat, the bloody points exiting at the nape of her
neck.
I wonder
if
it was going to be a
jumper?
he pondered as he tried very hard not to
breath.
Or a scarf?
He
giggled suddenly, the sound coming from somewhere deep within
him.

Above his head, a floorboard
creaked. Uncle Ira must be coming downstairs.

"Little boy," came a voice from
the staircase, "little boy."

Slowly Tom turned away
from his Aunt's body. For a long time he had not been able to tear
his eyes from the needles that skewered her delicate throat, but
now that he did, his head throbbed dully.
This is real
, his brain whispered
maliciously.
This is real!

It didn't sound very much
like Uncle Ira up there and walking back to the doorway, Tom peered
up at the poorly lit stairway, his heart beating painfully in his
chest. No-one was there. The only thing that moved were the shadows
on the wall, ever-changing
. Like the
Wolf,
Tom thought vaguely and shook his head as if to
clear his mind.

"Little boy," came the voice
again, further up the staircase out of sight. "I'm coming for you.
Do you hear me, little boy? I'm coming down to drink your
blood."

Tom began to giggle
hysterically. "There's nobody there," he told himself. "I'm just in
shock."

"We can be friends," promised
the voice, just a little closer now, the dark at the top of the
stairs appearing to become more dense.

"Close friends," muttered Tom,
losing control of his faculties, madness grasping hungrily at his
mind.

"And in the end," said the
guttural voice on the staircase, "you will give me your trust."

"My trust," echoed Tom,
savouring the words.

"I'm coming for you now,"
the voice told him and the stairs groaned as something began to
descend. Tom knew that it couldn’t be Uncle Ira.
Is he dead too?
Whatever it was had
to be very heavy to make the staircase complain like that, very
heavy indeed.

Somewhere in the house he
thought he heard someone crying.

If only things were different.
But they weren't and they never would be.

Jack knew that he wouldn't be
able to continue running for much longer. His heart was pounding
and his lungs were ready to burst. He would have to hide.

The thing that was chasing him
just never gave up. Two or three times he thought he had given it
the slip, darting down one staircase and then up another, always
finding himself back in another long corridor. But still it came
on, its rasping voice calling after him. "Don't run. There's no
need to be afraid."

But Jack
was
afraid. His fear was like a
weight upon his chest, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him.
Only his instinct for survival kept him going. He knew in his heart
that the creature only had one thing in mind. And he didn't want to
die.

He recalled as he ran
when he had been quite young and he had wondered what it would be
like to be dead. It was vivid in his memory because it had been
just after his parents had been killed, and at the time he had
found the idea of death impossible to comprehend. All he had known
for sure as a four year old was that his Mummy and Daddy were gone.
Gone forever. He didn't understand about road accidents, or drunk
drivers, all he knew was that he was alone. His grandma had tried
to explain it to him when he had asked her why they had to die and
she had told him that death was an important part of God's plan.
But why had God chosen his Mummy and Daddy? Why did it have to be
them? Had they done something wrong? Something so bad that God had
looked down from heaven and decided to punish them with death? Or
was
he
the bad one? Maybe his
parents had been taken away in order to teach him a lesson. Jack
had become very confused in the months after their deaths. His only
comfort had been his tears.

And now, he faced death
himself. But he was not going to give up without a fight. His only
chance was to hide in one of the rooms and hope the thing didn't
find him. Though after what had happened with Tom, he was reluctant
to even touch a door, let alone go inside. But what else could he
do? It was only a matter of time before he was caught if he just
kept on running.