The Magic Lands (38 page)

Tom's mind was beset by ghosts.
He was plagued by colours and shapes that weaved through his
consciousness, leaving him groggy, bewildered. He was aware that he
was being lowered toward the ground and hot pain fired somewhere
below his waist and he almost blacked out, but then somehow, he
found himself gliding downward at incredible speed, hurtling along
as if he were on a roller coaster ride. Grey walls flashed by, cool
air whipped at his face as he was swept away, taken faster and
deeper by the twisting slide. Brutally, a dazzling light hit his
eyes and his first instinct was to shut them, but squinting against
the glare he saw a flash of vivid colours as he was thrown through
the air into a world that sparkled, shimmering with radiance and he
knew he was above ground again. He seemed to fly, weightless for a
long time, a gentle breeze against his skin, soothing his wounds
and just as he thought he might never touch the ground again, the
earth tugged at him and he landed on something spongy and yielding,
a brilliant blue sky the colour of the ocean filling his sight. His
eyes fluttered for a moment and then he smiled as darkness took
him, bearing him away into a world within himself.

ANGEL TOWER

As Jack found his own mind at
last and returned to reality he held out his hands to Mo in a mute
gesture of helplessness, only to have the badger back away from
him, his eyes full of disgust.

"What is it?" cried Jack,
failing to understand why his friend should react this way. He took
a pace forward then stopped, aware of the crushed petals and broken
stems of flowers that lay upon the ground. "I don't...," he began,
appealing once more to Mo but he cut short his sentence, as for the
first time he really looked at the hands that he held still
outstretched. They were covered in blood.

He glanced down quickly at his
clothing and saw with disbelief that they too were drenched with
the red taint of blood. It felt warm against him, clinging to his
skin.

"Help me," he begged, pulling
wildly at his shirt, but the badger moved further away from him. "I
don't understand," the boy called, unable to move, horror
paralysing him. Then the sky turned black and Jack could see
nothing but the all-consuming darkness. "What's happening?" he
whispered as violent images savaged his mind. Slaughter, torture,
torment. Visions of death passed through his head at incredible
speed as scene after scene of mindless carnage was played out in
vivid detail, his senses gorged by the sight of suffering.
"Please…please let this be a dream," he shouted, reeling from the
misery and anguish inflicted upon him. "Let me wake up!"

And then he did.

Mo sat resting quietly at his
side and the day was still bright. Yet even though Jack knew it had
only been a dream, a heavy shadow lay over his mind, malignant with
blood-lust and madness.

"I don't think I can take much
more," he said aloud, without being aware that he spoke.

The badger turned his head ever
so slightly and looked up at the boy's distraught features.
"Ghosts?"

Jack did not answer at once,
just stared out across the tree-lined fields surrounding them, his
eyes glazed, mind numb. "I can't forget," he finally said.

"The past is haunted by many
spectres," his friend told him, "and they are always hungry. They
return again and again to devour your heart and consume your soul,
if they are able. And it is sometimes very difficult to refuse them
their feast."

Jack nodded. "I feel as though
I'm being eaten alive."

"You can fight back," Mo urged,
"but you must be strong. They will use you own guilt against you.
They will use your compassion and your conscience to undermine you.
And directing them as they burrow ever deeper into your mind, to
diminish your spirit, is their father, the Beast."

"I know," breathed Jack.
"But I can't find a way to stop them. The voices in my head only
tell me what I know is true. I
am
a murderer. I have killed. How can I deny that I'm
guilty?"

"Who can truly judge,
Jack. Not I. And what is death? Just another word to explain away
something that is beyond mortal understanding. Death is the
unknown. To destroy life is wrong, yes, but evil is not alive, it
never has been. Evil exists only as in a dream,
our
dream. And these lands where the White Wolf
holds sway are full of dreams." The badger moved a little closer,
his dark eyes fixed upon Jacks. "There is an ancient proverb, ‘to
truly repent is the ultimate triumph’. Remember that and do not
despair, for in your heart still dwells the love that you have
always kept there safe, and it can never be taken away from you.
Love can only be given. When you are tested, remember that you are
worthy of forgiveness. All are worthy of this, from the highest to
the lowest, man…and beast."

As Jack listened, he felt as if
a great weight had been lifted from him. He understood that the
Wolf was a powerful enemy, but he also saw, perhaps really saw for
the first time, that there was a way to defeat it.

"Have faith," someone said. And
to his surprise, he realised that the voice that had spoken was his
own.

Someone was leaning over him
and to Tom's bleary eyes it appeared to be a huge monster with
razor-sharp teeth. He tried to scream, but all that escaped his
lips was an almost inaudible whimper. Nonetheless the vision of the
monster receded and for a few moments he wasn't sure if he was
really awake or merely sleeping, lost in the realm of
nightmare.

Pain throbbed somewhere deep
within him, but he couldn't quite identify from where it came.

Am I dead?
No, I must be alive because I can still feel my body, I can hear my
heart beating.
He squeezed his fingers against the
palm of his hand to confirm this and felt a defiant pulse as the
blood coursed in his veins.

His eyes were closed now and he
was reluctant to open them, afraid of what he might see; instead he
listened for a sound, any sound, that might give him a clue as to
where he was, but there was only silence, heavy and unnatural.

Gradually, a noise began to
filter through to him and he wondered if it had been there all the
time, but however hard he concentrated on it and tried to decipher
what it might be, it remained garbled and indistinct. He made an
attempt to speak, but his mouth refused to form even the smallest
of words, so he was forced to open his eyes only to find himself
staring into a light so bright it made him wince and quickly shut
them again.

Tom felt groggy and couldn't
shake it off, almost as though he had been drugged.

"Young man," said a voice close
to his ear making Tom mentally start, although his body seemed numb
and unresponsive.

Opening his eyes again, slowly
this time, wary, he was met by something darker, standing between
him and the light, many different colours merging with each other
in a blur. But after blinking a few times, this uncertain image
began to solidify, to take on the shape of what Tom hoped was a man
standing just a short distance from him.

"Elrin?" he managed to rasp
with enormous effort.

"Don't try to talk too much,"
replied the voice, one that he did not recognise. "You need rest.
There will be time enough for explanations later."

"Who...who are you?" Tom
questioned, finding it very difficult to transfer his thoughts into
speech.

"A friend," the voice told him.
"You really must rest now if you want to get back on your feet.
I’ve given you something to help you sleep. Rest now, and when you
awaken we can talk."

Hearing these words, Tom found
he could no longer keep his eyes open. "Where is Elrin?" he asked
softly, but he was already drifting away, back into sleep.

"Our safety is still uncertain
here," announced Mo, preparing to set off once more, his large head
turning slowly as he scanned the trees. "The hunt may not yet be
over."

"But what about Tom?" protested
Jack, his cheeks flushed. "He'll never find us if we go too far.
How will he know which way to go?"

The badger sniffed the air and
appeared increasingly agitated. "He will know," he said shortly and
with that Mo began to walk again, leaving Jack momentarily to stand
alone. After a moment's hesitation he followed, but it felt very
wrong to go on without at least searching for Tom first.

"This doesn't seem right to
me," he voiced aloud, catching up with the animal. "We should be
looking for Tom, not leaving him behind to fend for himself."

"Trust me, Jack," Mo said, his
pace quickening even as he spoke, his long snout close to the
ground. "Tom is in safe hands. When the time is right, we shall
meet up again."

Jack wanted to question him
further on this but before he could speak, Mo came to an abrupt
standstill. Tilting his head carefully to one side, he sniffed the
air once more, a quick, fussy motion. "Something draws near," he
stated with cold certainty and motioning with his head, he led Jack
hurriedly into a thicket that stood nearby. Once settled there, the
badger and the boy waited for whatever it was that Mo had sensed
approaching, and as he crouched low at the animal's side, holding
his breath in anticipation, Jack wondered who it was they were
hiding from. He did not have long to wait before he found out.

A group of hunters, their
horses snorting and sweating, enormous hounds bounding along beside
them, cantered up toward the pathway where just moments before he
and Mo had been standing. At the head of the riders, a large man
mounted on a white mare threw up his gloved hand, a command for the
party to halt, and this they did at once, steering their horses
close so as to hear what their leader would say. There were perhaps
a dozen riders

in all, male and female both,
arrayed in the scarlet of the hunt. From his hiding place, so close
and yet unobserved, Jack was able to examine each face in turn. He
noted the awful, blank expressions they wore, as if they had no
thoughts, no emotions of their own, almost as though they were not
even truly aware of what they were doing or where they were. They
only appeared to come to life when the man upon the white horse
spoke, and then it was as if they were merely vessels, given the
spark of consciousness by some unseen intelligence, using them as
puppets.

The lead huntsman by contrast
appeared to be in complete control of his faculties and there was a
strange glint in his eyes that Jack found more than a little
disturbing. The man turned on his horse and barked instructions.
"They cannot be far from here. Very soon we shall have our
kill."

There was a rousing cheer at
this, but Jack saw that it was an almost involuntary action, their
emotions a facade, concealing a stunned, trance-like state that
held each of them prisoner within a body now nothing more than a
shell. He wanted to mention it to Mo but knew that he must remain
silent.

"The Master has promised that
there shall be blood spilt this day," their leader cried out. "And
you will know its sweetness, my friends."

This too received an unanimous
cheer and Jack looked on in terror, his fear of being discovered by
this pack of blood-thirsty maniacs causing him to sweat badly, his
heart pounding in his chest.

As he watched, Jack saw with
unease that the man on the white mare was smiling and as he
continued to look at the rider's ruddy features, he was sure,
although he knew it could

not be, that the man
turned toward him, staring directly into his eyes, as if he knew
full well that they were hidden there in the undergrowth. Jack
gulped and his scalp tingled with heat and then still smiling, the
man winked
at him. Even as the boy blinked,
disbelieving, the lead huntsman pulled his horse about and raising
his hand high above his head, shouted another order. "Onward," he
commanded, controlling his skittish mount. "There is nothing for us
here. But soon, my friends, very soon, you shall know the joy of
death. For the hunt never ends without a kill."

The dogs began to bay, as if
they could smell the blood of their prey upon their lips; the
horses stamped the earth, hooves raking the soil.

Why haven't
the dogs sniffed out our scent?
Jack pondered,
suddenly struck by the thought as he watched the snarling
hounds.
They can't be much good if they
can't even smell us when we're so close.

With his steed rearing up on
its hind legs, the lead huntsman signalled for the party to
continue on. There was a brief flurry of activity, eager horses
brought under control, boisterous dogs whipped and beaten down with
vicious blows from riding crops, and within a few seconds they had
thundered away.

Jack was relieved to see them
go, for he didn't think he could have remained so quiet for very
much longer. But even as he crawled out of the thicket beside the
badger and brushed himself off, somewhere in his mind, whispering
to him in a low, morose voice, something told him that it was only
a matter of time before the Wolf found him again.

The Beast was only waiting
until the time and place suited its purpose. And when that

unknown destination was
reached, when the time was right at last, Jack knew that the

Wolf would come to fetch
him.

Tom was awake. If
he
was
dreaming it felt very
real to him. But he couldn't really be sure of anything anymore. He
blinked a few times, trying to clear his head.

He saw that he was in a small
room with plain white walls and slowly, as his mind began to
function, he realised that he was laying on some kind of bed, a
blanket covering him.