The Magic Lands (45 page)

Memory.

Stars shone, stars glowed with
perverse brilliance, a million hues of splintered light cascading
all around him. He was buffeted by currents of air, rising,
falling, spinning through a universe of unimaginable beauty.

Abruptly he began to plummet
downward, drawn toward the turning sphere of the earth that rushed
to meet him, swallowing him up. White light blinded him, his body
weightless as he dropped at ever increasing speed, an earthbound
comet destined for destruction and then with a tremendous noise, he
collided with something solid, unyielding, Tom knowing that he
could not survive such an impact.

Little by little, awareness
returned to him and he found that he was standing upright, his mind
and body once more intact. For several moments a feeling of loss
washed over him with immense force, waves of regret passing slowly
away.

It was wonderful up there. Why
did I have to come back?

Recovering himself only
gradually, taking time to examine his surroundings, he saw that he
was in a garden. Vaguely, the place seemed familiar to him and when
he began to walk, he moved with easy assurance, as if he knew the
way.

That's strange, it's as though
I've known this place all my life.

Then he saw the house and the
awareness of where he truly was finally took hold, leaving him with
a sense of displacement.

I'm home again.

He said it aloud and this time
his feelings came alive. "I'm home!"

A wide, joyous smile broke out
upon his face; he could hardly believe that it was true.

And perhaps it was not. Perhaps
it was just another trick.

Tom's expression soured as he
faced this possibility. Wasn't everything in one way or another
some kind of deception?

He had begun to believe that it
was. Simple trust, the faith of a child, had been stripped from
him, burned away by the fires of recent experience and he knew that
even here on such familiar ground, he would have to be on his
guard.

With due caution Tom made his
way forward, treading softly through the long grass. At the back
door he paused and listened for any sound that might reveal if the
house was occupied. He almost called out, wanting so much for his
Aunt or Uncle to answer, but to do so would be foolish. He could no
longer take for granted anything that he saw or heard, so he
remained silent, his ear pressed against the door. No sound came
from within. Could his Aunt and Uncle be out somewhere? Or was it
possible that they no longer even lived there? Had time played the
greatest trick of all on him and robbed him of his family? He had
no way of judging how long it had been since he was last here.

Tom shrugged these thoughts
away hastily. Everything would be all right. It had to be.

He opened the door and moved
stealthily across the kitchen tiles; their red and white pattern a
powerful symbol of home and belonging and Tom knew then that this
was indeed real, there could be no doubt of that.

Please let everything be all
right.

He looked into the sitting room
where he had spent so many wonderful evenings, reading by the open
fire or just listening to Ira's curious tales, which he now knew
had been far more important than he had ever imagined, but it was
quite empty. Where could they be?

Only very rarely did both his
Aunt and Uncle go out, one or the other usually somewhere close to
the house. Maybe he had missed them in the garden? Considering its
size that was quite possible.

Mounting the stairs, Tom
quickly checked the bedrooms-although he did not expect to find
them there, as it was not their habit to spend much time upstairs
during the day-then returning once more through the kitchen and out
into the garden, he scanned the trees and bushes for movement,
hoping to catch a sight of them, but nothing stirred. There was no
wind and a deathly hush was upon the place.

He considered taking a risk and
venturing further into the garden, but if they were out there then
there was every chance he would miss them as they made their way
back to the house, leaving him no better off than he already was.
And yet he couldn't just stand around and wait. He had to speak to
Ira, to tell him what had happened. They had to find a way to go
back and help Jack and Mo!

Desperation urged him onward
and he was just about to run recklessly off down one of the many
pathways that led into the deepest regions of the garden, when
suddenly he saw them both emerge from a path obscured by a screen
of fir trees, walking slowly toward the house.

Raising a hand to wave, he felt
a warm rush of affection run through him that encompassed relief,
security and love in a single tide of emotion and yet even this
happiness proved short-lived, for as the two figures saw him there,
Tom realised that something was horribly wrong. His Aunt dropped
the basket she had carried, berries scattered across the lawn, her
face stricken with fear and sorrow and Ira simply stopped in his
tracks without any show of affection or joy at seeing him.

"It's all right!" Tom shouted,
taking a step toward them, refusing to admit to himself that
something had sullied their reunion, something that made his Aunt
and Uncle look upon him as if he were some grotesque intruder, the
look in his Aunt's eyes piercing his heart. "It's me! Tom! I'm
home! Everything's all right!" he went on quickly to mask his
despair, but deep down where there were no disguises Tom knew with
a terrible, icy certainty that it was not all right.

Once more, a trick had been
played on him.

"You seem surprised to see me,"
commented Dredger, eyeing the boy.

Jack found it hard to reply. He
felt exhausted, mentally and physically. Along with all of the
other phantoms that plagued him, the sight of this man whom he had
never really expected, or wished to see again, was just too much
for him.

"Where's Mo?" he asked with an
effort and he saw Dredger smile, but without any trace of
humour.

"He is arranging transportation
for us. There is a small port town named Pelagian, a short distance
further along the coast to the west. I was awaiting you there when
I came upon him. But alas, I find that your friend is not with
you."

"Yes," Jack said, his voice
dead, "we came on without him." As he spoke the words, contempt for
both himself and Mo for doing so rose up angrily inside him.

"You have changed since I saw
you last," the warrior observed, his expression neutral.

"A lot of things have changed,"
Jack countered.

"True enough," Dredger agreed.
"But now, I think we should join our friend, Mo. He will be waiting
for us."

For a moment Jack wondered if
it would be wise to trust this man, after such a long absence.
Since their very first encounter there had been something about the
warrior that had repelled him, making him wary and even though his
recollections of those times were strangely indistinct, he still
felt the same.

The warrior seemed to grow
impatient and turning his back on the boy, started away along the
shore, quickly covering the ground with his long strides. Jack
called after him, but without response. Not knowing what else he
could do and reluctant to remain there alone, he eventually
followed across the sand, absently avoiding the heavy imprints in
the sodden beach made by the man ahead, and as he went, his
thoughts turned to Tom.

What if Dredger says we can't
afford to wait for Tom? What if he starts giving orders like
before?

But Tom had the map.

Surely that would make them
look for him, or at the very least wait for him to catch up with
them. After all, wasn't that what all of this was about, the map
and the quest for Pandora's box?

Jack wasn't sure anymore.
Things just did not add up in his mind.

He had always imagined God to
be beyond the dimensions of understanding. And perhaps this was
like that, like letters written in the sand, ten miles high.
Meaningless when you walked amongst them, but when seen from the
sky above, words of power.

The sight of Tom standing there
caused a jarring sensation in Ira's chest and he feared that it was
a prelude to a serious attack, but with an effort of will, he
managed to control the torrent of emotion that assailed him.

"My God!" gasped Emily at his
side but he could offer nothing to comfort her. They both saw him
there and they both saw the way that he shimmered, transparent, his
body fading in and out so that they could see the brickwork of the
house behind him, their own reflections in the glass of the
window.

It was the ghost of Tom.

Two years had passed since he
and Jack had gone off to explore the garden and never returned. At
first it had been very difficult, what with the police
investigating their disappearance and the extensive searches made
of the surrounding area, but no trace had ever been found of them
and for Emily in particular, that had been the worst thing of
all.

After that had came the
accusations made by Jack's guardian, suggesting that Ira and Emily
were in some way involved, months of hardship and suspicion to add
to that which they were already going through, and of course there
had been the reporters, relentlessly digging for a story, any
story, harassing them day and night. But eventually all of that had
subsided and the police, baffled and without any motive or evidence
of foul play, had let the matter fade into obscurity, just another
unsolved mystery among so many others in their files.

Ira had done what he could to
support his wife, but for Emily it had been a terribly painful and
harrowing ordeal and she had been very slow to recover, and he saw
when he looked into her eyes, that she would never really get over
the loss and grief that tormented her dreams.

But although Ira knew many
things he had not spoken of to anyone, including, sadly, his
beloved Emily, he had feared that he would never see Tom or Jack
again. And now, seeing Tom there, so lost and tormented, Ira almost
wished that his fears had been realised.

"Uncle Ira! Aunt Emily!" the
boy called to them in a dismal voice.

Tears ran down Emily's face as
she sobbed against Ira's shoulder. "I told you he was dead," she
managed to whimper, and putting his arm around his wife Ira could
only hug her gently.

"Hush now," he said, his eyes
never leaving Tom, "everything will be all right."

"What's wrong?" Tom asked, his
youthful face distraught.

Ira's gaze was steady but
inside, his heart was breaking. "Listen Tom," he began slowly,
"something has happened. Wherever you are, you're not
here
." He paused, watching for the
boy's reaction but Tom didn't seem to understand him. "You're
between worlds, boy," he told him firmly, hoping that Emily was too
upset to pay much notice to what he was saying. "The Wolf has
fooled you and sent you back. But it's not yet time for you to
return, so you're caught, neither here nor there. It's not over,
Tom. I'm sorry...but you must go back."

At last understanding
registered in Tom's eyes. "I know," he said quietly, trying hard to
keep his tears at bay and Ira so much wanted to go to him, to tell
him that he could stay there, safe with them and did not have to
return to a place where death was the least of the horrors that lay
in wait. But there was too much at stake. Each had to make his own
sacrifice.

He recalled then the night he
had gone after Tom, it seemed like a lifetime ago now. He had
climbed the tree, hoping that he too would be able to pass through
into that other place, but he had been barred from entry by a force
greater than his own and he had never tried again. It was only rare
good fortune that had prevented him from breaking his neck in the
fall, but he had suffered injuries nevertheless and had decided not
to tempt fate again. Destiny was a mysterious thing, he knew, and
its ways often seemed cruel.

"Think hard, Tom," the old man
said passionately, "think of Jack, think of that other land where
you’ve been for so long. You have to.”

With great difficulty, knowing
his Uncle spoke the truth and biting back his sorrow, Tom began to
form pictures in his mind. Of Mo and Dredger. Of Jack and Lisa. And
then finally, the Wolf's bestial face itself took shape and he
pushed his very being toward it, suppressing his fear and forcing
himself on into its ravenous jaws.

Losing all awareness of his
physical self once more, Tom rushed along fiery tunnels, the
glowing walls ablaze, flames rippling over him, their crimson
tongues licking at his body. Then in another moment, he was flying
through the air across a scarlet sky, above an inferno world that
boiled furiously, savage heat rising to sear his flesh, pain
beginning to swell in him, threatening to explode and send him
spiralling to meet the lava below. And all the while, through all
the agony he endured, a voice accompanied him, carrying him on his
way, the words sending tears running down over his blistered
cheeks.

"I love you," it said, and the
voice was Uncle Ira's.

With that knowledge in his
heart Tom thrust himself on into the fire, so that his tears could
extinguish the flames that charred the landscape black, to reveal
an alien world beneath the ashes, a place where he could find
deliverance.

They were in a small yet busy
coastal town, a high stone wall separating the buildings from the
sea. People milled about, moving purposefully toward their
destinations, some making for the market, others to the harbour
where ships and boats were anchored, their bright sails visible at
the far end of the street. As Jack walked along the narrow
pavements he was a little taken aback by the sight of so many
people, apparently concerned with nothing more than the routine of
their lives, the utter normality of the scene strange to him after
so long in the wilderness.