The Magic Lands (64 page)

Crouching down beside his
friend, Tom put a hand on his shoulder. "What is it?" he asked and
very slowly Jack shook his head.

"Just the Wolf up to his old
tricks again. I'm all right now."

The destructive path of their
enemy continued to draw nearer as she made her way through each
carriage, wielding her cudgel in a frenzied onslaught. They knew it
would not be long before she appeared on the other side of the door
that connected their compartment to the next, a deadly apparition
in white, smiling at them through the glass, and they knew with
equal certainty that they had to do everything within their power
to escape from her.

Glancing about quickly for an
emergency button to signal the driver, Jack was not surprised to
find that there was none and he had to smile bitterly at his own
foolishness, for even had there been an alarm, the driver of this
particular train would hardly be likely to assist them.

"Come on," Tom guided,
struggling to shrug off the despair that tugged at his heart.
Moving to the automatic doors, he frantically began an attempt to
pry them open, digging his fingers as far into the gap between the
frames as he could manage and pulling for all he was worth. "Jack!
Help me!" he shouted, exerting himself against the unyielding
metal, and the other boy squatted down so that he could get a hold
of the lower part of the doorway. "It's coming!" cried Tom as the
doors separated, a narrow gap visible between them; stale air
rushed into their faces and the noise of the train was loud in
their ears.

Fighting to maintain this
opening, hardly wide enough to put a hand through, they were
startled by an eruption of shattered glass as it flew into their
carriage.

"She's here," grunted Jack, not
daring to look, pushing himself harder still.

"We can do it!" Tom appealed to
his friend, ignoring the fact that even if they could get the doors
open, at the speed the train was moving, they would have no hope of
surviving if they jumped.

But there was no choice. Both
boys understood that the woman in white meant to kill them, to end
the game. And with that act, the Wolf's victory would be complete.
Whatever their fate might be, both Tom and Jack were determined to
deny the Beast that satisfaction at least.

With every ounce of his
strength, Tom pulled against the metal doors, digging his fingers
inside the rubber seal, his muscles threatening to rip. Very
gradually, the gap began to widen. "Get...between them," he gasped,
breathless with the exertion, forcing his own leg between the
doors.

Somewhere close behind them, a
foul chuckle nearly caused Jack to lose the leverage he had gained,
but again he managed to resist the impulse to turn around, and with
a groan as he made one final, enormous effort, the doors opened
wide enough for him to get his shoulder between them.

"Foolish little boys," the
woman in white said softly, standing just inside their compartment,
a faint smile touching her lips. "Would you leap to your deaths, my
dear ones?" she enquired, watching them with indifference as they
continued in their struggle to prise the doors apart inch by
inch.

Now there was enough space for
Tom to squeeze his body through and doing this, gazing down at the
black emptiness below him, the grime covered wall flashing by
barely an arms length from him, he knew that this was the moment of
decision. Turning his head so that he could see his friend, he gave
Jack's hand a brief squeeze and grinned a little insanely. "End of
the line," he cried and closing his eyes, he jumped from the
speeding train, the darkness consuming him.

Somehow, Jack managed to
maintain the opening, even though he was now alone, a power inside
him that burned like a bright furnace of rage lending him strength,
and with a silent prayer, tears of grief in his eyes, he prepared
to follow Tom to a certain death. But even as he made to plunge
into the racing blackness, a hand grabbed him roughly by the hair,
wrenching him painfully backward and away from the doorway.
Screaming with anguish as hairs were ripped out by their roots, he
heard the doors shut with a loud thud and knew that he was
lost.

He tried to believe that
perhaps by some miracle Tom could have survived such a fall, maybe
with just minor injuries, or at worst a broken leg or arm, but his
brain rejected such notions as ridiculous and told him brutally not
to be such a fool.

Tom was dead. And now Jack was
about to die too. The Wolf had beaten them.

Looking up into the dark eyes
of the woman, her grip on his hair unrelenting, Jack waited for her
to kill him. It had been a very long journey, but now, at last, he
had reached his final destination.

"Now," the woman in white said
in a soothing voice, "let's talk and tell each other secrets.
There's so much I'd like to know." Inside Jack's head, a hammer
beat incessantly, pounding against his temples, inducing an intense
pain. Bending over him, the woman prodded him with the iron railing
and gave a vicious laugh. "Have you ever been tortured?" she asked
casually, eyeing him like an animal with its prey.

Jack tried to get up from the
ground but she forced him back, mercifully releasing his hair as
she did so, the sharp point of her bludgeon pressing against his
chest.

"Stay where you are, little
one. I will tell you when it is time for you to leave. You had your
chance to be my pet, but spurned my love. Now that was a great
mistake, a great mistake indeed."

The train was decreasing its
speed now, slowing rapidly until it almost came to a halt. Harsh
light flooded the compartment, her white dress shimmering, dazzling
him.

"And now, Jack my sweet," she
told him, "you must come with me and meet your maker." She giggled
excitedly before pulling him to his feet, grabbing his hair once
more, spite in her eyes, and though Jack tried not to cry out, the
pain was so sickening that he could not stem the flow of his
tears.

Seeing this, the woman in white
offered a sympathetic smile and placed her hand beneath his chin,
lifting his face so that she could look into his eyes. "Drink
well," she encouraged him, her voice softer but no less intense.
"Before too long you shall quench your thirst for tears, my dear.
Of this you can be sure."

Jack heard the promise of death
in her words, but didn't care. He felt he had died already, at the
very moment Tom had jumped to his death and he had been prevented
from following to what was, at least, a quick end.

One thing he knew though, as he
prepared to face unknown torments. When his own death came, he
would welcome it gladly.

FORGET ME NOT

Tom's thoughts ran like liquid,
merging with each other, alive with clarity, possessing a substance
that breathed and pulsed. Wondrous images governed him, magical
truths springing from a well of new-found knowledge and fire burned
within his eyes, embers of beauty.

Is this heaven?

Suddenly, reality, or at least
that kind of reality which seemed to have material form, tore him
away from the apparent reverie he had been experiencing and he
found himself in a shadowy room, its walls indistinct. He could not
see into the shadows that lay all about him, thick and
impenetrable, but he felt that he was not alone there, that hidden
eyes were regarding him. There was no sound, and his own thoughts
seemed deadened by this silence.

"Is someone there?" he asked
into the darkness, but no answer came, only the echo of his own
small voice. "I know someone's there," he called, fear strangely
absent, the simple need to hear another voice transcending all
else.

A light came on, somewhere
above him and the entire room was illuminated. In the bright glare
he saw that he was in a white-walled chamber and utterly alone.
There were no doors, no windows, the room giving him at once a
feeling of isolation and sterility.

Where am I? Heaven? Hell?

He made to stand, pushing
himself to his feet, and abruptly the scene shifted, the whiteness
of the walls blurring and taking on the likeness of huge swans,
their wings beating smoothly in flight above a stagnant lake of
black water. There were perhaps a dozen of them and they only flew
a short distance before settling upon the surface of the lake,
their purity discordant with the foul waters.

Tom flew also, his arms
outstretched, and dived toward the glassy blackness below, racing
to meet his own reflection. He searched the deep with sight
impossibly keen, knowing that something rested there and he could
just make out an ill-defined shape submerged at the very bottom,
appearing to be constructed of varnished wood.

He hit the water at speed, the
impact startling the swans, scattering them into soon aborted
flight and Tom plunged down into the deep realm, penetrating the
darkness, seeking out the mystery that waited below. Kicking out
with his legs, he circled above the wooden object, which he now saw
was an oblong box, wondering what it could possibly be.

On one side, there appeared to
be some sort of plaque, fashioned from a dull silver metal, and
propelling himself closer to it, drawn on by an odd fascination,
Tom strained to read the corroded letters, his eyes growing wider
as his lips formed the words.

HERE LIES JACK BARTON

DEAD AND FORGOTTEN

BROTHER OF THE WORM

Tom tried to think, to
understand. What had happened?

They had been on a train, he
and Jack. And a woman dressed all in white had come to kill them.
But he had thrown himself from the train and so denied her.

But what about Jack? Where was
he? In a coffin at the bottom of a black lake? Tom found that hard
to accept.

Looking down at the casket once
more, he saw the lid begin to move, two scaly hands emerging from
the darkness within.

Jack can't be dead.

Tom refused to believe that,
but the hands continued to reach for him and now a distorted voice
was calling to him, a parody of the one he knew so well.

"There's room for two," it
gurgled.

"No!" Tom spluttered, pushing
away and upward, the grasping hands touching his legs, raking his
skin, almost taking hold and dragging him down.

Above him, an immense light
seemed to be suspended above the surface of the lake, a star of
many colours and Tom swam toward it, knowing that death pursued
him, eager to pull him back down into the murky depths below.

He sensed that the star would
give him sanctuary.

The train was gone. Dredger sat
slumped against the base of the fractured column, staring at his
damaged hands. He studied the blood-caked fingers, bone glistening
where his knuckles had been so viciously assaulted, but he felt no
pain and even as he gazed down at them, a miraculous healing took
place, his hands now bearing no sign that he had suffered any
injury at all. He clenched his fists repeatedly, bewilderment in
his dull eyes.

"How can it be?" he muttered to
himself, pleading for an answer, "that I have been fooled so
easily? How is it that a mere woman can have bested me? It is not
right. My destiny...," he gave a small, cynical laugh, "my destiny
was with the White Dog. I was for him, he was for me…but when he
stretches out his arms to test my mettle, I fall by the
wayside.

Of what use were all the
trials I have endured, all of the battles I have fought? Of what
use is my strength or the prowess of my blade?" He paused in his
rambling and glanced about the deserted platform, searching for his
sword, but it was a half-hearted effort and when he did not find it
he began to nod, a grimace contorting his features as he gazed at
the floor. "It is fitting," he decided, his words carrying the
weight of conviction. "A warrior without a blade is unworthy of
that name and I
am
unworthy.
If the man is lost, should not the steel abandon him? Let it lie
where it has fallen. But it was a good servant. Perhaps it will
find a new master. Better that than to rot here with the
old."

Are you the not the Second
Beast?

An inner voice spoke to him,
but Dredger preferred to ignore it. What power he believed he had
possessed had been shown to be feeble indeed, if he could be cast
aside so easily.

He heard footsteps somewhere in
the station and the warrior searched the shadows with eyes bleary
and unfocused, certain that the Beast had sent its servant back to
finish him off.

Where is your power, Beast?

These words were addressed at
himself, a goad to spur him into action, but again, the warrior
dismissed such thoughts as foolishness. His mind was clouded by
emotions he barely understood, and he was powerless to control
them.

I have become what I most
despise. Easy prey.

The footsteps grew louder as a
figure approached, but Dredger made no attempt to stand and he saw
in the dim light that his executioner bore the final irony as they
approached to

end his life. For his sword had
indeed been claimed by a new master, and now it would be turned
against him, an indignity that he realised was well deserved.

She led him by the hand. They
made their way slowly along a passageway of grey rock, fluorescent
lights embedded in the craggy ceiling illuminating the path.

Jack's head was also full of
lights that dazzled him with their vivid colours, inducing in him a
kind of trance. He believed he was quite contented and yet
underlying this was another contrary sentiment, one of trepidation,
a feeling of uncertainty that clung to him and would not release
him from its grasp.

The woman in white did not
speak to him as they went, and he himself had no need for words.
With his hand in hers, he felt at once captivated and captured, and
for all his nagging anxiety, he knew deep down that there was
really no choice left for him. He had to go with her, come what
may.