The Magic Lands (43 page)

The badger kept perfectly
still, not allowing himself to make even the slightest of sounds.
His breathing was shallow, his heart thumping loudly, the animal
afraid that this alone might be enough to give away his
position.

Then a voice spoke to him.

"You think I cannot see you
there, half-one…half this, half that. But you are wrong, so very
wrong. I see you for what you really are."

Mo let himself relax. He was
quite prepared to face the enemy in whatever guise it chose to
assume, but he had hoped their confrontation might be postponed, at
least until he had helped his two young friends a little further on
their journey.

When the darkness had come, he
had suspected it to be a prelude to some manifestation of the
Wolf's evil, but he had sensed, or thought he had sensed, that the
Beast was elsewhere, on other business and therefore could not
attack them with any real force. It seemed he had been
mistaken.

"Why don't you show yourself?"
the badger challenged the darkness, but his words were met with a
soft, disdainful laughter.

"Now why would I want to
do that, half-fool? Why would I show myself to you when I am quite
content to watch you there, alone in the deep night, the prison
that you create for yourself? Really, my old, wise friend,
you
are
so very weak. You are
helpless. I only have to take away your eyes and you become as
vulnerable as a child."

Mo smiled, white teeth against
the blackness. "Take care, wolf, for tables can turn and words are
more often than not no more than wishful thinking."

The voice roared with
mirth, guttural laughter echoing all around, ringing loud in the
badger's ears. "I see that you still speak in riddles, and as ever,
you remain a sad old fool. You try so very hard to convince
yourself that you can match my power, that you could defeat me, but
you know, in your withered heart, that you are nothing, less than
dust beneath my feet. Come now, old friend, confess to me, or at
least admit it to yourself. You are the past, you have no place in
this time,
my
time.”

"If all you say is true, then
why do you not face me?" retorted Mo with a contemptuous note in
his voice.

"
I,
face you!" the Wolf barked, a terrible,
relentless sound. "You, who cower in the darkness. You, who hide
when you feel me near. I could devour your heart and soul and spit
out your worthless bones if I so wished."

"Then why don't you do so?"
snarled the badger, fur bristling all over his body. "Why don't you
try?"

"No, my good half-one."
The voice of the Beast was mild, terrifyingly calm. "I do not
believe I shall do anything just at the moment. It is not yet the
time. You must wait for me. Have patience my friend of old, but do
not fret, for the hour draws near. Not long now, not far. Just wait
a while and then I shall come for you, I promise, and when I come
you will know all of the truths that have been kept from you for so
long. You will see it all, know everything, and I have no doubt
that you will be surprised. And then you shall say the words that
even now are hungry in your heart, for I
am
your lord, your only God. You will bow before
me on that day and offer me sacrifice."

The badger growled deep in his
throat. "I would see myself destroyed before I call you lord. You
are no more or less than vermin, a carrier of corruption. You are
the lowest of all creatures, and I shall see you dead! I will see
that you are skinned and hung up for all to know you for what you
truly are. Soon you will pay the price for your many crimes."

There was a brief silence and
then a low, menacing chuckle began, a malignancy that grew until it
filled the night, the very air thick with it. "Oh you are such a
favourite of mine" the voice enthused, "you are such fun for me.
What shall I do when you are gone? Do you know something,
half-one…half-brother, I think that I shall miss you then." Mo did
not respond to this. Instead he concentrated on trying to assess
where the spectral voice originated from, but it seemed to come
from everywhere around him, as if it were part of the darkness
itself. "So now I must bid you farewell," the Wolf continued, "it
has

been amusing to speak with you,
my tired old friend, but now other, more pressing duties call me,
and I must leave you, all alone in the black tomb of your own
despair. You are an irrelevance to me, but fear not for we shall
meet again soon, when your hour strikes. Count the minutes,
half-one, count them well. Count them eagerly, and so shall I."

There was a noise like the
sighing of the wind, a parting breath, and then the badger felt the
veil lifting from the night, the presence slipping away to leave
him alone. His thoughts immediately turned to Jack, knowing the boy
was vulnerable. What cruel mischief had the Beast worked? If
anything had happened to his charge, then the blame rested with
himself, Mo knew. He should not have allowed the darkness to
separate them, but he had been careless and now who could say what
might have befallen his young friend.

"Jack!" he called out, hoping
his cry would be answered by a frightened voice, praying that the
boy had remained quiet but safe throughout his exchange with their
enemy.

To his relief, a voice did
shout back to him. "Over here," it said, not too far away. Mo began
to move toward the sound, the light returning with unnerving
abruptness, revealing the figure who had called to him.

The boy was slumped amongst a
mass of golden brown leaves, dishevelled and apparently dazed.

"Jack?" whispered Mo softly,
drawing near. But Jack could no longer hear him. All that

was in his mind was the memory
of a glowing hand that had led him to a warm, safe place, a place
where he wanted to stay for all eternity.

Tom looked upward and saw a
long, narrow staircase winding away into the shadowed tower. It had
been remarkably easy to gain entrance. When Dr. Redhand had
produced a small silver key and turned it in the sturdy padlock
that for so long had protected Angel Tower from intruders, Tom had
almost expected alarms to go off all through the city, but the only
sound heard had been a tiny click as the mechanism released the
bolt.

Now inside, Tom was unimpressed
with the murky, dank interior, an odour reminding him of sewage
setting the seal on his disapproval. "Where did you get that key
from?" he asked, excited by this covert undertaking, but anxious
that they might be caught.

"I borrowed it from the
magistrate," replied the doctor with a wink.

They had waited until dusk
before setting out for the tower, their only contact during the day
a brief meeting with Pete Blatty, who had called by the house early
that morning worried about his friend's whereabouts. Tom had barely
spoken to the old man, leaving Dr. Redhand to explain his
mysterious absence the previous day in private.

"I know this is a stupid
question," Tom remarked as they began to climb the steps, "but what
do you think is up here?"

The Doctor smiled ambiguously
and shrugged his shoulders. "That’s what we’re here to find out,"
he answered. "Perhaps a revelation from the past, or...a message
for the future."

"Now you sound just like a
friend of mine," observed Tom with a quick shake of the head. "He
talks in riddles too!"

Dr. Redhand paused on the
staircase and looked seriously at the boy. "It may well be
dangerous."

Tom did not reply, but stepped
up past the man to lead the way. "If you're afraid, maybe I had
better go first”, he said with a resolute smile and then continued
on upward, making his way slowly into the unknown.

It was only an old dream.

Mo was looking at him with a
terribly sad, perturbed expression, the animal's tired old face
regarding him with deep concern.

Jack just remained slumped on
the ground where he was. It was all right though, he knew. He had
experienced this kind of dream before. It would go away soon and he
would be able to stay in the warm haven he had discovered where
softness and tranquillity held him close. Now there was nothing to
be afraid of.

He waited, yet still the badger
watched him silently and doubts began to prey upon him.

No
, he told himself.
I
won‘t go back. I hate it there. I hate it!

“
Jack,” the badger urged
him gently.

"No, no," he moaned, reaching
up and forcing his hands over his ears.

“
Jack,“ Mo said firmly,
coming in even closer, seeking the boy‘s face.

“
Leave me alone. I don’t
want this, I don’t want it! I’ve had enough, can’t you see that,
I’ve just had enough.“

Mo brushed his cheek with his
warm, smooth fur. "Be still, be still," the badger said with
tenderness, "everything will be all right."

Very slowly, despite his
efforts to hold onto the sanctuary he believed he had found within
his dreams, his thoughts became to take shape.

“
There is no refuge for
you in dreams,“ the badger uttered softly, “I know it’s hard but
you have to understand that we cannot hide from our own existence.
You cannot run from yourself. Whatever choices we are offered must
be met with our minds our own. Now stand up and let us face what
will come.”

Realising that the dream was
past and there was no refuge to be found there, Jack cupped his
face in his hands. “Why does it have to be like this?”

Mo regarded him with a steady
gaze. “Because a greater will than yours or mine sees all that must
come, all that has been. It is a choice. No-one can be forced. Each
must choose their own path. It is a personal test of our
character.”

Very hesitantly Jack looked
into the dark eyes of the animal. “But I always fail.“

“
No,” said Mo definitely,
“mistakes are not failure. No-one really fails until they give up
their soul at the very last breath of their life. And that will not
be you, Jack.
You
will
stand.”

And hearing this, the boy made
a half-hearted effort to do just that. He pulled himself up onto
his knees and then made a tentative attempt to get up onto his
feet. “Who am I?” he asked in a wavering voice.

Mo looked at Jack for a long
moment. “My kin,” he breathed, “my brother.” The badger pushed
himself against the boys side for support. “And we will stand
together.”

There was something wrong, but
just what it might be Pete Blatty couldn't put his finger on. Red
was acting funny, that much was sure. But why?

Pete had known him since they
were boys together, playing in the fields and woods of Seraphim and
their friendship was one of the things he valued most in the world.
But now, for the first time in his life, he believed that Red had
lied to him.

When he had called by to check
up on his friend this morning, concerned at his apparent
disappearance the day before, he was positive that Red had been
keeping something from him and there had been something in his
manner, quite out of character, that disturbed Pete deeply.

Now he sat alone, drinking
wine, trying to work out just what was going on.

A commotion somewhere nearby
made him glance up from his reverie and the scene that met his eyes
caused him to knock his glass spinning across the table.

Lurching toward him, pupils
dilated with shock and fear came Pat Straub; he looked as if he
were about to collapse at any moment, so swiftly gaining his feet,
Pete rushed over to meet his friend, dread gripping his heart so
tightly he feared it might give up on him.

"What is it, Pat...what's
happened!?" he demanded, knowing that the answer when it

came would be terrible.

Gasping, Pat Straub looked hard
into the other man's eyes. "It's Red, Pete, my God…it's Red!"

"What do you mean? What about
Red?" Pete questioned, grabbing the man's shoulders, holding him
steady.

"He's dead," murmured his
friend, fresh tears welling up in his eyes to join those that had
already ravaged his ruddy face.

Pete Blatty shook his head in
disbelief, unable to take in what he had been told. "How…when?" he
asked fiercely.

"Young Scott Wilson found him
this morning. They only just brought back the body. It was murder,
Pete, murder! Someone hid his body in the brushwood over behind
Apollyon Mound...gracious God, how can something like this have
happened? They say he's been dead since yesterday!"

Madness tried to claim Pete
Blatty's mind then, but he rejected it with hostile force. "Did you
see the body with your own eyes?" he challenged, an unnatural
composure governing him now. "Did you see it?"

"Poor old Red," Pat sobbed, the
horror of what he had seen reflected in his eyes. "The bastard who
did it twisted his head almost clean off!"

Stepping away, unsteady on his
feet, Pete took some deep breaths attempting to control the shudder
that assailed him, his entire body shaking with fear and grief. "It
just can't be," he whispered, but knowing that it was true, knowing
that evil had arrived in Seraphim and that someone who looked
exactly like his best friend was its surrogate.

They were almost at the top.
Tom could see a yellowish light flickering weakly above them and he
knew that they would soon uncover the secret of the tower, whatever
it might be.

He climbed higher, his legs
aching, before pausing to catch his breath. It was a very long way
from the base to the summit.

"Nearly there," said Dr.
Redhand at his shoulder. They continued to climb until they came to
a heavy iron door, pitted and discoloured with age. "Go ahead,"
encouraged the doctor, waving Tom forward. "We've come all this
way, we might as well find out what's inside."