The Magic Lands (66 page)

Dredger grunted. "If what you
say is so, then why should any of us continue? Why not sit back and
wait for the end?"

The other man merely gazed at
him, his eyes mild. "Each has his own trial, but some overlap with
others. We are in the grasp of an impartial destiny. You and I may
well still have a part to play yet. Can you afford to risk
everything for the sake of your doubts? We only have our faith to
guide us now."

The warrior stared up at Mo and
hesitated before he spoke again. "Is faith enough?" he asked
softly.

"Faith is the greatest trial of
all," his friend cautioned, "and we must hold onto it obstinately,
even though the darkness will constantly strive to wrest it from
our hands."

THE SACRIFICE

Distantly, a dark, sinister
shape rose up out of the sand. Trying to focus on it, his eyes
combating the glare of the pale sky, Jack speculated on what it
could be that stood upon the margin of the water.

They walked on toward it, he
and the Wolf, a dream-like trek across a barren landscape. If only
this was just a nightmare. But it was not a dream. Whatever reality
was, whatever defined it as such, he did not know, but he knew that
this was real, that it was a place where a person could not only
live, but die, where pain existed and games had to be played out
until the very end. He had changed a lot, he realised that, but a
part of him, an important part, clung on to childhood, desperate to
reclaim an innocence that had somehow slipped away from him.

The Beast had him now. And
there were things worse than death awaiting him. Corruption was the
White Wolf's way and it would surely try to turn Jack's mind, as it
had tried before. This seemed to be the only route to the end of it
all. More suffering, an endless night.

It struck him as ironic that he
had become so far removed from what he had believed to be the real
Jack, his old self, an identity he had accepted as irrefutable. Now
he was almost a stranger to himself.

"The Wolf is making its final
play," Mo said with a thin smile, "there is not much time."

Beside him, Dredger stood
looking at the column of stone, tracing the ragged crack with

his eyes. He appeared to see
more there than the other man did, reluctant to tear himself
away.

"There is nothing to keep you
here," Mo told him. "But there is much that might be done
elsewhere." Without another word, he moved agilely to the
platform's edge and dropping noiselessly onto the track, he began
to walk along it toward the tunnel, never once looking back to see
if the warrior was following; he could hear the big man close
behind him, matching his stride. "There is darkness ahead," he
stated and his voice took a long time to fade as together they
entered the black maw of the tunnel.

Tom climbed diligently, one
hand constantly gripping the smooth iron railing. He had no doubts
that the staircase would lead him to the Wolf.

Above him, his eyes following
the coiling pattern of the steps, a tiny disc of light peeped down
at him and he urged himself onward, eager to reach it.

While he climbed, he thought
mostly of Jack, resisting any stray notions that his friend could
be dead, insisting to himself that it was not possible. If he could
find Jack he would save him, one way or another, even if he had to
offer himself in his place. He began to take two steps at a time,
gasping as he spiralled ever upward.

He could see now that there was
an opening at the very top of the staircase and daylight streamed
in, a welcome sight. He rushed up the last few remaining steps and
poked his head through the hole, his eyes assaulted by the
brightness of the day.

Yellow sand surrounded him,
reaching as far as his eyes could see, but turning about upon the
steps, he saw an undulating expanse of blue not far to his
left.

This was the Beast's home. He
had found his way.

Tom scanned the panorama,
seeking out some sign of life, but couldn't see anyone or anything.
The landscape was deserted and sterile.

Only when he had climbed out of
the opening in the sand, and stood facing the blue borderline, did
he realise that it was, in fact, a sea. Tom glanced up at the sky
and didn't like what he saw. The brightness it granted was freakish
and unsettling.

Somewhere here the Wolf was
waiting for him, of that he had no doubt. And he now felt just as
certain that Jack was also held captive in this place. But
where?

Even though Tom sensed these
things, that the Beast was near by and all was drawing to a close,
there was still this one problem that perplexed him. Which way
should he go? Every direction except toward the sea, looked exactly
the same.

Tom chewed his lip with
indecision. He had to make a choice, but what should he base that
choice on?

Faith and hope. That was what
Mo would have told him, were he there. It occurred to him then that
he was probably being foolish debating the point at all. It seemed
unlikely that the Wolf would let him stray, when it had already
made quite certain that Tom got this far.

But was this actually true, he
asked himself? Hadn't he come close to death several times in the
course of his journey, and all because of the Wolf? Did he really
owe his continued survival to the enemy? It was difficult to be
sure. There were mysteries within mysteries here. And as yet, very
few answers.

Without any further hesitation,
Tom set off across the seamless golden sand, trusting that all
paths, in the end, would take him to the same destination.

Embedded in the sand a giant
crucifix towered, black as night and cast from iron.

"Why is that here?" Jack heard
himself ask.

The Beast grinned craftily.
"Redemption," it said with a short chuckle.

"For me or for you?" the boy
enquired, quite calm, and he saw the Wolf's face darken, long
canine teeth becoming visible as its lips curled upward.

"Boys must learn hard lessons,"
it growled, "and the hardest of all is respect."

Jack thought about this for a
moment dispassionately. "You have to earn respect," he
observed.

With a great bellow the Beast
leaned down, hind legs bent, its foul breath on Jack's face. But
the boy did not flinch. "If you think to play games with me, the
price of defeat shall be great indeed," the Wolf whispered, its
white coat seeming to ripple as muscles tightened and flexed with
anticipation.

Jack laughed at this, not
bitterly but with boyish good humour. "I don't have any
choice."

The Beast's pupils appeared to
dilate, changing colour erratically, one moment black, the next
crimson, until they became a striking amber, the creature's eyes
intent upon the boy. "Perhaps you understand more than I had
supposed."

Turning to follow the sleek
lines of the iron cross upward, the edifice dark against the bright
sky, Jack repeated his question. "Why is it here?"

Now the Wolf straightened,
rearing to its full height and surveyed the outlandish structure
with apparent fondness. "We are here to play," it explained, "a
re-enactment if you like. A timeless test. It's all for you, Jack.
Do you think you are worthy?"

This confused Jack. "What do
you mean?"

"I am giving you a gift," the
Beast said thoughtfully, "you can save everything, everyone, with a
single act of sacrifice."

Looking from the giant crucifix
to the Wolf, Jack shook his head. "That's not for me," he said, his
voice quiet.

"Not worthy?" the Beast
asked.

"I'm no-one," Jack
murmured.

"Listen to me," the White
Wolf began in earnest, "I can save you from all of this, if you let
me. You can't be expected to take on such responsibility, I
understand that. All you need do, is tell me that you'll be my
friend and we'll forget the whole thing. Is that so hard?" His head
spinning, Jack struggled to comprehend what was being said to him.
But it made no sense. "If you could love me," the Beast went on,
"there would be no need for suffering, no need for torment. Trust
me,
love
me, and there will
be no more crying. Just tell me that you will always stay with me,
promise it. Swear it and this will all be over." Jack's mind
stumbled, clear thought eluding him, the consequences of what the
Beast proposed making no impression. "I know!" the Wolf cried
suddenly, "you need to sample the goods, to take a glimpse of what
you might gain. Well, look Jack, and see if there is anything that
takes your fancy."

Jack did look. He did not have
any choice. A vision dominated his mind and senses, robbing him of
his ability to reason.

Instead of the cross, a
gigantic Christmas tree loomed above him, sparkling lights of
colour twinkling at him, gold and silver tinsel trailing through
the branches, decorative baubles suspended by slender threads,
pirouetting languidly, reflecting flashes of enchanted light.

And standing before the tree
were his mother and father. He was sure it was them, their faces
just as he remembered them, captured forever in the snapshots of
his memory.

"It's all right, Jack," his
father said, his voice wavering just a little. "Everything's all
right now."

"Daddy…mummy?" Jack gasped,
feeling like a child again. He wanted to shake himself, wanted to
be rid of the uncertainty that possessed him, that made him hang
back, rather than rush to meet them.

"Yes, dear, it's us," his
mother answered, tears welling in her clear blue eyes, "we've come
back to you, my baby."

She moved toward him then, her
arms outstretched and all of Jack's doubts melted away; he longed
for her secure embrace, knowing that once within his mother's arms,
he would be safe again and nothing could hurt him anymore. He
lifted up his hands, desperate to hug her as she came ever nearer,
almost close enough to touch.

But she never reached him. Her
expression altered, a subtle change it seemed, from tenderness and
longing to one of dazed confusion, and then, like a bulb deprived
of electricity, she simply blinked out of existence, his father and
the Christmas tree disappearing in the same instant, leaving the
boy alone in an impenetrable blackness.

"I can bring them back," said a
voice from the darkness, "I have power unimaginable, power over
life and death. Just say the word and I will resurrect them for
you. We can strike a bargain. What do you say?"

Jack felt broken, his emotions
overturned. "They're dead, you can't bring them back," he said
almost inaudibly.

"Oh, but I can my boy, I can do
it, truly I can. You see, they are not dead to me. I hold the flame
of possibility, the flame of life in my hands. But you must be the
spark that ignites the fire. But that takes courage, it takes
commitment.”

"I don't believe in you," Jack
whispered with difficulty, tears marking his face.

"I can understand," the Wolf
allowed with something like a sigh, "that you need some time to
think things over. Maybe if you were to taste the alternative, to
experience, just for a moment, what is to come, you would be better
able to choose what is best for you, best for you in the long run,
that is. Here, let me give you a helping hand."

Even as the words were spoken,
Jack felt himself lifted into the air, his body suddenly
weightless, or so it seemed. It was almost as if he had passed
outside of his physical form, his mind reaching for the sky.
Involuntarily, he stretched out his arms and felt them become
rigid, held fast by something that tingled just above his wrists
and immediately, he experienced a similar sensation in his ankles,
his body bound to the cool iron.

"You won't feel much pain," the
voice of the Wolf called to him. "At least, not at first. But it is
there, waiting for you and it is terrible. That is why I ask you to
keep in mind that all of this is not written in stone, that you can
come down from there any time you ask. The choice is yours to make,
yours alone. Consider yourself. It is your life, your suffering.
You could have so much, such sweetness, if only you would let go of
childish notions. I am not a devil, Jack. I am an angel, can't you
see, and I bear light for you. You are bringing this all down on
your own head, remember that. Do not let pride destroy you. Do not
let sin defeat you. It really doesn't have to be this way."

Jack looked up and the
brilliant sky stung his eyes. His head pounded viciously. Trying to
turn slightly, so that he could see his outstretched hands, he
could feel before he actually saw, the warm flow of blood that
trickled down over his arms.

What kind of
nails could go through solid iron?
Thoughts turned
wildly in his head.

It was the Wolf. The Wolf could
do anything. He almost laughed at himself for being so foolish.

His arms ached now, the muscles
beginning to scream. His shoulders and chest burned with the first
dull fire of pain, his heart labouring. "I'm sorry," he said, not
really understanding why he spoke, tears wetting his cheeks.

"That's all right, my son,"
said a clergyman who appeared to float in the air before him, his
voice soothing.

"Can't you get me down from
here?" Jack asked, the pain becoming worse, starting to ebb through
him, a sickening tide of agony that increased steadily with every
second that passed. "Please."

"It's out of my hands," the man
told him with a wistful shake of his head and folding his arms
within his vestment, as if to emphasise what he said.

"But I shouldn't even be up
here like this," protested Jack, struggling to control his
thoughts, "I'm not the one. It's not right!"