The Magic Lands (53 page)

"Tom," Jack said, placing a
hand on his arm. "We have to go. Everything will work out right in
the end, I know it will. You'll see her again. If she really thinks
a lot of you, she'll understand."

Tom nodded reluctantly, the
unexpected wisdom of Jack's words touching him deeply. "Let's get
out of here," he murmured and with their dispute brought to an
abrupt end, they quickly boarded the longboat and set to the task
of pushing themselves away from the shore. The seamen fought the
incoming tide with every ounce of strength they had, the sea
opposing them at every stroke of the oars, a primitive contest that
pitted the vast power of wind and water against the resilience of
human flesh and spirit.

It was all the Wolf's doing, of
course. Mo had no doubt of that. It was the overseer of this
charade, a pantomime to feed its appetite for pain and anguish.

Noticing that one of the
sailors was tiring, Mo did not hesitate in taking up the oar,
adding his own strength to that of the others, each man aboard
striving against the force of nature unleashed.

"There's the ship!" cried Jack
suddenly, almost leaping to his feet in relief and excitement, rain
in his eyes, the taste of salt water in his mouth. "Do you see it,
Tom?"

But Tom did not respond. He was
still gazing back at the island as little by little, they left it
behind, his eyes focused upon the hilltop where he had so recently
stood, his heart somewhere beyond.

I will find you again. I
promise.

But he knew it was an empty
pledge, for he was a victim of fate and he did not know where it
might take him to. His path had been chosen for him and whatever
was to come was as unavoidable as death itself.

Dredger looked on with a grim
smile as they were hoisted onto the deck. "The lost one returns,"
he said, but it was difficult to say whether it was with any
pleasure.

"It's good to see you again,
Dredger," offered Tom in a similar tone of voice and the man's eyes
narrowed, though his smile grew broader.

Standing there aboard the ship
reunited once more with his friends, Tom felt strangely detached,
his mind elsewhere, his thoughts as ungovernable as the storm. Even
though a part of him was elated at having found them again, another
deeper part of his being was desperately unhappy. He kept imagining
Lisa there on that grassy bank, still waiting for him to return,
her tears her only comfort.

He had abandoned her, there was
no denying it.

"I felt that way about
you," said Jack a little sheepishly, having noticed the expression
on Tom's face and guessing the cause. "Going on without you was
like a betrayal of our friendship. But I see now that it had to be
that way. I'm learning that maybe this
is
like a game, the way Mo says it is, but it
isn't always up to us how we play it. Anyway," he added, seeing
that his friend was bewildered by all that had happened and was
none too steady on his feet, "I reckon you could do with some
rest."

They were moving away from The
Seventh Step now, out into the open sea and the vessel lurched less
violently than before, though the weather remained hostile.

"I don't feel very well, Jack,"
admitted Tom, groping with a hand for something to hold onto,
covering his blurred eyes with the other.

"Come on," his friend ordered,
putting an arm around him for support, "let's get below out of this
rain."

It didn’t take them long to
reach Jack's cabin and once inside, Tom slumped down onto the bunk
gratefully.

"How can it be right to have
left her there?" he muttered aloud, not meaning to speak.

"I think Mo was right," Jack
answered, sitting at the foot of the bed. "She wouldn't have even
been there anymore if you had gone back."

"But how can that be?" Tom
wanted to know, "I just don't see how that makes any sense."

"In these lands nothing ever
seems to be the way you think it is," Jack said slowly, trying to
put his thoughts into words. "But one thing I do believe is that
truth can’t be hidden away forever. It's not what we do, it's why
we do it, that's what counts. Sometimes we make mistakes, but
that's only to be expected. After all, isn't that the whole reason
we're alive in the first place, to learn!? We can only ever do what
we think is for the best and that might not mean what's best for
us. Sometimes we have to make a sacrifice. That's why you had to
come with us. If you had only thought of yourself, you would have
stayed."

"But what about Lisa?" Tom
asked in a quiet voice.

Jack thought for a few seconds
and then gave his friend a questioning look. "Maybe she understands
more than you think."

As Tom listened to his friend
he became aware of how much the other boy had changed since they
were parted. It seemed that their experiences were reshaping their
beliefs and ideals, and bringing them a new understanding of things
that they could have barely imagined before they came to this
arcane, dream-like place.

"Were we chosen for this?" Tom
wondered not for the first time, as he drifted down into much
needed sleep, lulled by the rocking of the ship and his last
thought, before it

carried him away, was that each
of them in their own way had grown up and the process, once begun,
could not be checked. It would lead them on, whether they wanted to
take the journey or not, until they reached its immeasurable
end.

INTO THE ABYSS

The current drove them as if
with intent, a northerly wind working in tandem with the sea and
the Spiritwalker had no choice but to be taken where nature
decreed.

Below decks, Jack sat in
silence as his friend slept fitfully.

Where are we going now? Over
the edge of the world!?

But these were not the only
concerns on his mind, not the only problems he had to consider. He
had been thinking about his own meeting with Lisa and what had
happened then. Should he tell Tom all about it or just keep it to
himself? He had a feeling that his friend might not be too pleased
to hear about it.

Jealousy.

Now there was a terrible thing.
Young as he was, his experiences only just beginning to grant him
some understanding of the complex emotions that made life so
difficult, Jack felt that he understood jealousy quite well. He had
known it himself.

After his mother and father had
been killed, he had come to feel a deep resentment whenever he saw
other children with their parents. Why should they have a mum and
dad when his had been taken from him. Why should they have someone
to turn to for comfort or guidance and he have nothing? How could
it possibly be fair? Jealousy was a bad thing, it did you no good,
and yet it was hard to control. Once it had slithered into your
mind, it could not be easily exorcised.

Perhaps Tom wouldn't take
it the way he imagined after all. Perhaps he would be glad that
Jack had met Lisa at last. But she
had
held his hand. And he had wanted to kiss
her. The memory of that was still fresh in his mind, even after all
the events that lay in-between and he thought that if he ever did
tell Tom about it, there were certain details that would be best
left out. But why even contemplate it? Why even think about telling
Tom when it wasn't necessary? That all seemed such a long time ago
now anyway. So many things had changed since then. He had changed,
and he had far more important matters to worry about, rather than
something that was in the past, over and done with. If Tom wanted
the girl, he was welcome to her.

He stood and went to the small
porthole that served the cabin and gazed at the rain blurred glass,
all that lay beyond grey and indistinct. Suddenly it dawned upon
him that despite all his good intentions, all of his dismissive
thoughts, it was not Tom who was likely to be jealous, it was
himself. Once again he had been a fool, and it was not the first
time.

On the bunk Tom stirred,
blinking his eyes and sitting up he ruffled his hair and yawned. "I
had a dream," he said blankly, staring at the cabin wall.

"Not another dream," Jack
groaned, "I'm sick of dreams. Ever since we came here, that's all
it's been, one bad dream!"

Nodding slowly, Tom frowned. "I
know what you mean," he agreed, "but there's a purpose behind them,
don't you think? Sometimes they're a threat or a warning, but most
of all the Wolf uses them to try to break our spirit. Sometimes
they seem so real, as if you were really experiencing them."

"Dreams can seem like that
sometimes," Jack answered, and then after a pause added. "I'm
seriously thinking about giving up sleep anyway."

"You, give up sleep! You must
be joking. All you ever tell me at school is how tired you
are!"

Jack laughed at this. It was
good to joke about their old life, for that was what it had become.
This was a new existence. Dull, boring school, where nothing out of
the ordinary ever happened, was a pale shadow with no relation to
their lives now, and yet, despite the fact that it had always been
so unexciting, he realised that he missed it, the security it
represented. At least, it had always seemed safe, but he had to
wonder if that had been just an illusion. Nowhere was really safe.
"So what was your dream about?" he asked, more to take his mind off
these thoughts than because he was truly interested.

Tom looked at him a little
oddly, his expression distant and then after a long pause began to
speak. "I was in a meadow and there were poppies everywhere.
Something bright was in the sky and it seemed to bob up and down on
the horizon, and I thought it must be the sun, but I wasn't really
sure. But then blood started to drip from it and where each drop
fell on the grass more poppies bloomed.” He paused as if reluctant
to go on, but finally he continued. “While I was watching, the air
around me began to sort of shimmer…and then a face formed out of
the haze, the Beast's face, and I said, why did you come? And it
answered, to know you better. Then I reached out and touched its
snout, I don't know why, I just did and instantly it crumbled into
dust, running through my fingers. And in my mind all I could hear
was the Wolf's voice. Worship me…worship yourself, it whispered, on
and on until it felt as though my head was going to explode and
though I tried not to, I went down onto my knees until my face was
amongst the flowers. And all I could smell was rotting meat, the
scent of death." He finished with a shrug and gazed at Jack
expectantly, as if for an explanation, but the other boy stood by
the window with

downcast eyes and would not
look at him.

"Only a dream," he murmured,
his voice so quiet it could barely be heard.

Dredger smiled at the sailor
but there was no humour in his eyes. It only signified an intimate
knowledge of the other's weakness, a conviction that the man who
faced him was quite powerless as far as the warrior was concerned.
"You," breathed Dredger, "shall have cause to rue your
mistake."

The crewmen knew that he had
made a serious error of judgement in challenging this man, but it
had gone too far now for his pride to allow him to turn back and
almost reluctantly he drew his blade, hard steel gleaming.

"I almost pity you," Dredger
said, ignoring the knife, his gaze locked upon the other man's
eyes, waiting for the telltale flicker of movement that would
signal the coming attack. Almost immediately it came, the sailor
sensing he was overmatched, making a sudden lunge in a desperate
bid to save his own skin.

But the warrior was too swift.
His attacker went sprawling, his head striking the deck hard as he
fell. Towering over him, Dredger anticipated his opponent's next
move and he smiled briefly as the sailor sprang to his feet with
commendable agility, poised for another assault. As the man came at
him the warrior moved, so fluid and graceful it was almost like a
dance and grasping the sailor's wrist, he twisted it sharply, the
bone snapping with a sickening crunch.

The blade fell to the deck
embedding itself in the dark wood, trembling for a moment before it
grew still, while the crewman gritting his teeth and cradling his
broken wrist backed away, glaring at Dredger, tears of both pain
and humiliation rolling over his cheeks.

With an effort, Dredger turned
away from the man, a craving within him now that he had tremendous
difficulty in controlling. Oh how sweet it would be to break a few
more of the fool's bones, to hear his cries of torment as he was
taught each painful lesson. But even as these thoughts surged
through his mind unbidden, Captain Welles stepped forward to block
his path.

"Barbarian!" he spat with
fury.

Dredger laughed softly, his
eyes changing colour so rapidly they appeared to glimmer. "Indeed,
Captain?"

"Do not play me for a fool,"
Welles ordered him angrily.

"Perhaps you have need of a
lesson yourself," the warrior commented, watching the man
carefully.

As the Captain moved his hand
for the cutlass that hung at his side, Mo, who until then had
remained silent, observing the proceedings, stepped in-between
them. "Captain Welles," he said affably, "let us not all act as
barbarians. Surely this can be resolved within the boundaries of
words rather than steel?"

"You do not need to intercede
on my behalf," growled Dredger, "this does not concern you.”

Mo disregarded his companion's
words and continued to face the seaman. "Your man was at fault," he
said firmly. "My friend only defended himself, nothing more. I am
sure you are aware that it would not have taxed him to end the
disagreement in a more permanent fashion."

"Your friend!" shouted Welles,
red in the face, "brought it upon himself."

"Perhaps," Mo conceded calmly,
"yet it was a dispute settled between two men and we should not
interfere now that it is finished. But if you would still choose to
make it your argument, then I will say only this. You shall also
have to stand against me." Having spoken, the fair-haired man took
a step backward and stood side-by-side with Dredger. "You have your
choice," he said, nodding toward the Captain. "Think well before
you make it."