The Magic Lands (42 page)

"We can't go on," lamented
Jack, "I can hardly see where I'm going." Already, two or three
times he had stumbled and almost fallen, losing his footing on the
black, invisible terrain.

"We must go on," came the reply
from somewhere ahead of him, but Jack was having great difficulty
in seeing the badger, only the white part of the animal's face
cutting through the deep gloom whenever he glanced back.

The further they went, the
thicker the darkness became and soon they were completely
enshrouded by a comfortless blanket of night.

" Mo!" Jack called, "where are
you? I can't see you!"

But no answer came. His
fears seemed to take form, dancing just out of reach in the night,
taunting him with insidious chants of despair, and he became
certain that they would lose each other in the blackness and then
they would
all
be alone, he,
Mo and Tom. "Where are you?" he cried out again, the sound of his
own voice drifting alien and ghostly across the murky
countryside.

Looking down, Jack could barely
make out his own hands and he raised them up directly in front of
his face, straining his eyes, but it was as though he was no longer
physically there, only his mind and thoughts remaining to wander
the night. Disembodied, he floated across a black landscape, aware
dimly that he was losing touch with reality. "Mo!" he called one
last time, desperately hoping to hear the badger's voice return his
call. But there was nothing, no sound other than a gently sighing
wind.

When will it end?

The terrible chain of events
that had gathered him up in their relentless grasp replayed once
more in his mind. Many times in the past he had endured the pain of
loneliness,

but now he realised that he had
never been truly alone until this moment.

In the frigid embrace of that
black night, so unnatural and oppressive, Jack began very softly to
cry.

THE HEART OF DARKNESS

When Tom awoke on the morning
after his interview with the magistrate, his mind was full of
questions. He could not remember any dreams invading his sleep, but
his rest had been fitful, his head crowded with spectres of doubt
and suspicion.

Although he knew now that the
magistrate of Seraphim was a disciple of the Wolf, did this mean
that everyone in the city was also in its service? He found it hard
to believe that Dr. Redhand was one of the enemy, and yet he had
learnt only too well that you couldn't take anything, or anyone, at
face value. Were they all laughing at him secretly, mocking his
foolish deceptions? Did they smirk behind his back when they called
him by a false name?

And there was another mystery,
one that occurred to him quite abruptly now that he took the time
to think about it, even though it should have been obvious to him
right from the moment he had awoken to find himself in this strange
city.

Just how exactly had he come to
be there?

He had met a little man
named Jinn who had somehow grown tall before his eyes. He had then
been somehow shrunk and burrowed deeper and deeper into the earth,
before travelling
down
a
slide, which against all the laws of nature had come out above
ground. Or had he? And why had Elrin Jinn just left him there
alone?

Could Seraphim be a world
within a world? A city at the centre of the earth!? Perhaps it was
pointless even to try and explain the conundrums that these lands
posed. After all, in a dream there are no rules.

While Tom was still mulling
these ideas over, Dr. Redhand entered the room and gave him a
friendly grin. "Good night's sleep?" he enquired, throwing open the
curtains and in the soft light that filtered through the window,
Tom grimaced, giving his answer plainly without having to voice it.
"Probably just the new surroundings," assessed the doctor,
returning to the doorway and fidgeting a little, as if keen to get
away.

"Don't let me keep you," Tom
offered, sensing the man's preoccupation with some other pressing
matter, and seeming to become aware of his display of agitation for
the first time, Dr. Redhand smiled sheepishly.

"I do apologise, Vincent, but I
have an appointment that I don’t want to be late for." Being
addressed by his pseudonym made Tom feel an odd mixture of guilt
and treachery, bringing a sour expression to his face. "I said I
was sorry," the doctor commented, misreading this and adopting a
frown. "But it may prove to be of great importance to us all."

Recovering himself quickly Tom
gave the man a weak smile. "A secret rendezvous!" he said,
expecting laughter, but Dr. Redhand only eyed him carefully, as if
debating internally whether to make any reply.

"Still take it easy with that
leg," he decided at last. "You may feel as if you've completely
recovered now, but you mustn't over do it."

"When will you be back?" Tom
asked, hoping it wouldn’t be too long. He did not relish being
alone.

"I'll tell you what," the
doctor began, "I'll meet up with you at the hostelry. You know,
where we met my friends yesterday. They’ll keep you company until I
arrive. Ask Pete Blatty to tell you some of his famous yarns, that
should keep you entertained!"

Tom nodded with some
enthusiasm. He was quite keen to talk with the three old men again.
Perhaps he would even be able to gain some information about the
magistrate and in particular, Angel Tower. For something, perhaps a
kind of intuition, told him that the tower held the key to why he
was here.

During his relatively short
life, Jack had come to know the cold severity of loneliness very
well. When his mother and father had died, the world had closed
around him leaving him a prisoner in his own body. No-one could get
inside to reach him and he could not get out. Perhaps he hadn't
even wanted to.

Many things had changed since
then, but now, in the unremitting darkness, he knew that he had
never really been released from the custody of isolation. The
bitter world had fooled him into believing that time could heal the
deepest wounds and that a boy could grow beyond the tragedies of
life.

He was all alone. Except for
the fear that crawled within, artful and mischievous, whispering
threats of approaching jeopardy.

"Mo!" he yelled, knowing it was
useless. No answer would come. The badger was gone.

Even as he listened despite
himself, certain he would remain lost forever, Jack heard a faint
humming sound that seemed to come from all around him. He stopped,
straining to hear it better and within its hypnotic tone, a voice
spoke to him.

"Little one," it said, "you are
lost and lonely are you not? Come to me, my child, come and rest
with me a while."

Jack peered into the black veil
that covered the land and wondered who it could be calling to
him.

"Do not resist me, little one,"
implored the voice. "Draw nearer still and stay with me. I'll keep
you safe, safe from fear."

Jack knew he should be
frightened, yet inside he felt nothing but an icy emptiness. And it
was a comfort to him. For now he had found a friend in the
wilderness of his soul and been invited to emerge from the darkness
into another place, a place he prayed would be more forgiving
toward him. He wanted so much to put his faith in the light it
promised.

"That is good," the voice
encouraged gently, "come closer and be my child. Touch my hand and
forget all else. I'm for you and you're for me. Little one, lost
and tired."

Moving forward, he wanted so
much to be held and cherished, knowing that the voice offered
passage to a place where he would be safe and never lonely again.
Something brushed close to him and he stopped, waiting to be
accepted.

"Oh yes," the voice sang to
him, very near, "my prize, my heart's desire. I am all there is for
you now."

A hand, warm and as delicate as
a flower, gripped Jack's own and he was led carefully forward.

"Where are we going?" he heard
himself ask, the sound far away, sensing that now he had become
truly disconnected from his body. He no longer felt held back by
the constraints and limitations of flesh and bone and had begun to
evolve beyond the shallow existence he had hitherto known.

"Hush now, my little one. Be
still and quiet and trust in me. I am the truth. I am everything.
Forget all else, but believe in me."

Jack did believe and he was
contented. Yet within his mind a nebulous picture was forming, a
vision of a beautiful woman dressed all in white, whose teeth
glistened between blood red lips.

"Do not fear," her voice
reassured him, "I shall be all for you. My little one, my only
love."

Dr. Redhand did not come.

They had spent a good humoured
morning and afternoon swapping stories, Tom even contributing one
or two that to his delight the three old men seemed to enjoy
immensely. But as the day wore on, he could sense that his new
friends were becoming increasingly apprehensive, as was he himself,
at the doctor's failure to appear.

"I can't imagine what could be
keeping him so long?" Pat Straub commented with a frown as twilight
crept around them, their conversation faltering. "And you say he
didn't even tell you where he was going?"

Tom shook his head. "I thought
he would have told you."

"He'll turn up," Bill McGoohan
told them all confidently. "He always does." But after another few
hours had passed and evening was upon them, even he had lost faith
in his own prediction. "Maybe we had better look for him," he
decided, an unfamiliar tenseness in his voice.

Although Tom held little hope
of finding him there, he had decided it was best to check Dr.
Redhand's home first; the others went off to various locations
where they thought their friend might be, the three men trying not
to show the concern they obviously felt.

"Do you know," laughed Pete
Blatty as they parted, "I wouldn't be surprised if Red has stopped
off with old mother Mercer and lost all track of time sampling her
home-made wine!" But Tom saw that the others did not raise more
than a feeble smile in return and as each went their own way, their
faces were troubled.

Now, as Tom approached the
house that had become his temporary home, he looked hopefully for a
light within, but there was only darkness and he was sure the
doctor would not have just come home without seeing his friends
first. Even so, he still went inside, the front door unlocked as
was Dr. Redhand's custom. The room was rather gloomy without light
and shadows nestled all around. Night was descending swiftly and as
Tom went over to ignite the lantern that sat upon a small wooden
table next to the door, he stopped abruptly, certain he had heard a
muffled sound. He stood very still, listening carefully, but the
house was completely silent.

"Red!?" he called out, his
voice unexpectedly hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again.
"Red! Are you there?" He was answered by a very slight rustling
that seemed to come from just ahead, a soft, furtive sound, as if
whatever was there was trying desperately to keep still. In the
gloom, Tom could only make out the doctor's big armchair, where he
spent so much time reading his books and sometimes labouring over
some new thesis of his own. He could make out the outline of the
chair easily, the shape of the high back and the arm rests on
either side, but everything in between was lost in a pool of utter
blackness. Tom moved quietly to the table but hesitated once more.
He knew that he should just turn on the light, yet for reasons he
only felt and did not understand, he was reluctant to do so.

Come on, Tom, don't let your
imagination get the better of you.

His hand stole toward the
lantern, though his movements were shaky, uncertain, his arm
seeming to resist his commands, making the task far more difficult
than it should have been.

"Don't do that," someone said
from the darkness, startling him, and his hand jerked and knocked
the lantern from the table with a crash. "I do so hope it's not
broken," said the voice calmly. "It would be difficult to
replace."

"Dr. Redhand!?" Tom ventured,
recognising the voice but unable to actually see who spoke. There
was another flurry of movement, louder this time and the man leaned
forward in his chair, his face illuminated by a random beam of
light slanting through the window.

"What are you doing here?" Tom
demanded sharply.

The doctor gave a small
chuckle. "This is my home, is it not?"

"But you were supposed to meet
us," the boy said, mystified.

"Yes, I know, I know and I’m
sorry, truly," the doctor told him, "but things didn’t go quite as
I had expected."

"So where have you been?" Tom
questioned, wanting some kind of explanation.

"Strange things are happening,
Tom, very strange things. And I think it may very well be time to
take a look up in that tower. What do you think?"

Tom took a deep breath and let
it out slowly. He tried to choose his next few words very
carefully. "Why did you call me that?" he asked, feeling both
guilty and foolish. "Why did you call me Tom?"

Dr. Redhead chuckled softly,
but the sound was not unkind. "I know a great many things now," he
answered, "things I did not know before. There is no more need for
pretence between us, Tom. We must set aside the deceptions of the
past and work together."

"What do you mean?" Tom said
uneasily.

"Tomorrow I am going to climb
Angel Tower. I was hoping that you would join me?"

Once more, the world seemed to
writhe beneath Tom, as if it were some frenzied serpent dancing to
a tune only it could hear. He could only cling to its slippery
skin, riding its endless twists and turns, trying as best he could
not to be cast off into the void he knew beckoned beyond, compelled
to follow the path it took him along.