The Magic Lands (7 page)

This is not
your place, old man
, a voice within told him, but Ira
would not listen.

Gripping the trunk, he began
his ascent, climbing deftly from branch to branch. But there were
dark forces at work and from somewhere far away he thought he heard
a mournful howl. The howl of a wolf.

"You can't stop me now," he
hissed, gritting his teeth. Yet even as he uttered these defiant
words, beneath his hands the tree began to change, the bark no
longer hard and coarse but running like liquid, sliding through his
fingers, inky fluid gushing down around his body. His thoughts
whirled. It was as if he were on a roundabout just like the ones he
had played on so many times as a boy, his father pushing him faster
and faster. Around and around he went, the sky above reeling.

I will
not...
, he tried to think but his thoughts became hazy
and unclear.

The old man fell, hitting the
ground with a low thud and somewhere close by the wolf howled
again, a wind beginning to gust around the tree. Ira lay
unconscious under the shadow of the great oak, his body beset by
the raw wind which now roamed the garden, whipping the vegetation
into a frenzy of motion.

Inside the house Emily looked
out as the darkness drew its black curtain slowly across the skies.
The dinner was spoilt and it was past supper time now. Ominously a
clock struck eight and with cold fear gnawing inside her, she put
on a coat to go outside in search of Ira and the boys.

"It is time that we were moving
on again," announced Mo, shaking himself violently.

The two boys had heard a lot of
things and had certainly not understood them all, but of one thing
Tom was sure, there was no way home unless they did what the badger
asked of them. They must find Pandora's box.

But there was something evil
that stood in their way. A wolf who is white, a wolf who is sly.
Tom recalled the poem his Uncle had told him.

Glancing over at his friend, he
saw by the boy’s dazed expression that he was just as bewildered as
he felt himself.

"Jack," he said as they began
to walk once more, following the badger.

"What can I do for you?" asked
the other boy with a small smile, but Tom could see that beneath
this attempt to act like his usual good-natured self, his friend
was very frightened.

"Don't worry," he told him,
"it'll be all right."

Jack nodded. "I hope so."

Through the perished wood they
went.

I don't like
this place
, thought Tom as they passed underneath a
tunnel of withered trees, black, skeletal shapes looming on every
side. The sky was still cloudy but the light remained. It should
have been dark by then, he realised, but the day showed no sign of
ending.

"When will the night come?" he
asked Mo, who moved comfortably at his side.

The badger gave him a quick
glance and then returned his eyes straight ahead. "Night comes when
the it suits the Beast and not before."

They walked on without speaking
further until Jack, who had suddenly become struck by the
devastating fact that he hadn't eaten for what seemed an eternity,
spoke up. The rumbling in his stomach added impetus to his words.
"I was wondering," he submitted in the badgers direction, "is there
any chance of getting some food around here?"

The big animal didn't look at
the boy but nodded his head. "I think that could be arranged," he
conceded, much to Jack's relief.

"You and your belly," muttered
Tom, his own appetite lost due to the heady mixture of excitement
and fear which churned within him.

‘
When you see a badger,
it's a sign that a change is coming’. He wished so much that Ira
were here with them now. He would know what to do, he would find
the way home. Tom bit his lip as he felt the stirring of useless
tears.
I won't cry
.
I'll find the box and get back home again. Wolf
or no wolf!

Jack walked by his side and had
his own thoughts. And these were peculiar indeed, like old dreams,
half remembered. Memories of a woman dressed in white.

As the brittle trees thinned
signifying the end of the wood, Tom noticed an odd structure just
ahead resembling some kind of signpost. "What's that?" he hailed
the badger, pointing.

"Ah, our tool of navigation,"
answered Mo, "we shall see a great many of these on our
journey."

Tom walked up to the tall
wooden post and examined the four indicators, each of which

pointed in a different
direction. They had been carved into hands, index finger
extended

and on each was printed a
letter.

"N, S, E and W," read Jack
coming up beside his friend.

"I don't get this," Tom mused,
seeking out the badger, his face a mask of confusion.

"We must use these guide posts
to navigate our path," Mo told them, "in conjunction with the map,
of course."

"But why were they made in the
first place?" Tom asked, "who put them here?"

"Who can say," answered the
badger, not willing to discuss the matter further.

They left Bray Wood and the
signpost behind them, at Mo's direction heading north toward what
was simply marked on the map as a mound, passing into an open
meadow that ran side by side with many others, only separated by
small hedges.

As they walked Jack gazed out
across the rows of fields which surrounded them. He knew he was
looking for something, but he didn’t know what. And yet he sensed
it was out there, waiting for him.

He caught sight of a blurry
shape moving in the distance and as he squinted, trying to make out
what it was, he thought he saw a thing that crept on four legs,
white hair covering a muscular frame. He turned to Tom and was
about to tell him to look, but it was as if everything had become
slowed, the words not forming, his lips numb. Then glancing back,
he saw a woman dressed all in white, walking through a meadow. And
in that moment, their eyes met and Jack knew that he could not
betray her, an unspoken vow passing between them. Slowly the woman
raised one hand, her long fingers caressing the air. Without
thinking, Jack waved back to her before darting a furtive look at
both Tom and the badger, but neither had seemed to notice him do
it.

He looked back to where the
woman had been walking. But she was gone.

Remember
, he heard her say in his
mind.

Remember
me
.

"This place is known as
Verlassen," Mo said in answer to Tom's enquiry. They approached an
old, weathered building which had quite suddenly loomed up out of
the trees, its timbers creaking, a light wind murmuring through the
leaves. It seemed completely out of place in these surroundings,
the overgrown vegetation concealing the structure within a shroud
of green. Opposite stood another of the wooden signposts, also
partially obscured by leafy boughs.

Eager for food, Jack strode
forward, making for a broad wooden door. Hung above the entrance
was a sign portraying a masked figure who held what appeared to be
a jagged shaft of crystal in one hand and a long-bladed sickle in
the other, creating an image that was mildly unsettling.

"Shall we go in?" Mo said,
edging ahead of the boy.

"I hope there's food in here,"
Tom heard Jack say as he entered the doorway. Feeling more hesitant
than his friend, Tom followed inside.

As they entered the building,
he immediately noticed the elaborate paintings which adorned every
wall. He stared in awe at the fantastic illustrations, many
detailing startling landscapes and strange beasts, their
workmanship extraordinary in its detail, the depth of colour
astonishing. Tom was so engrossed in them that it was a few moments
before he realised that the inn was completely deserted.

"They are impressive, are they
not?" Mo said, seeing the look on the boy's face.

"Yes," agreed Tom. "I've never
seen anything like them. They're amazing!” He wondered if Jack
shared his enthusiasm and made to turn toward his friend, but when
he tried to avert his eyes from the paintings he found that he
could not. He was transfixed, as if hypnotised by the pictures on
the walls. The shapes and colours merged and altered and he could
not even recall what the paintings had depicted, only aware of the
vivid colours, their burning intensity seeming to call to him. Tom
tried to close his eyes but that only made his head ache, nausea
overtaking him. And then into the paintings he passed, through the
boundaries of dimensions, leaving behind the existence he knew to
become one with a brilliant light, surreal forms coalescing with
him, shackling him.

He gazed down upon a pale
world, one which was grey and anaemic and felt revulsion for what
he saw there. Two colourless creatures, blobs of undefined flesh
inhabited that place and their ghostly, blanched forms disgusted
him. His world was one of opulent colour, a sea of bright stars, a
rainbow of fire. Tom had lost all sense of the physical, drifting
on the currents of his subconscious, all things now tranquil,
soothing. He was content to remain there for all eternity. But as
he descended deeper into this realm of light and contentment, a
hideous crashing assailed him, a relentless thudding that
threatened to crush his mind.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Tom reeled with the onslaught
upon his senses. Please, he attempted to say but he could not
speak, the thunderous noise only increasing in volume, forcing him
to recoil from its terrible power.

He lay very still,
huddled in a tiny ball like an unborn child. The sound had ceased
but his mind was dead. He could feel nothing, perceive nothing.
He
was
nothing.

"Tom!" a voice called softly.
"Tom, can you hear me?"

He remained motionless. If he
moved, he knew the crashing inside his head would begin again.

"Tom!" came the voice again, a
little more urgently than before.

Very slowly, he opened his
eyes. A boy's face loomed above him, a familiar face but one that
he found difficult to identify.

"Are you all right?" asked the
boy standing over him, his expression anxious.

Tom stared back at him but
still he couldn’t speak. His mind was paralysed.

"Help him up," came another
voice from close by, but Tom couldn’t see who had spoken. Carefully
he was hoisted up, the boy supporting his weight until he was able
to sit down on a hard chair. He leant back with weary relief.

"Can you talk, Tom?" the boy
said gently.

Tom looked into his eyes and
very gradually, as if the memories were filtering back from some
remote tract, a name stole into his head. "Jack," he uttered, his
voice hoarse.

"You'll be all right now," his
friend told him kneeling down and over his shoulder a large black
and white face appeared, dark eyes intent.

"You were lucky, Tom," the
badger declared.

Tom shook his head, trying to
clear his thoughts. "What happened?" he whispered.

"Can't you remember anything?"
Jack asked.

Tom shook his head. "I'm
not sure. I think it was the paintings. I was
inside
them!" He waved a hand at the wall, not
daring to look again.

"You have nothing to fear from
them now," reassured the badger, leaning close. "It is

only the Wolf that we all must
fear. It is the enemy."

"So what happened?" questioned
Jack, looking intently at the animal, wanting answers.

"It was an assault on Tom’s
senses, perhaps no more than a test to see what the opposition are
made of. But one thing is certain, the Wolf will come again. You
can be sure of that. It will come for us all."

Jack gazed grimly at his
friend. “Opposition? Then it knows about us then?” He said this
with a visible shudder.

Mo chuckled softly, although
the sound was harsh and cold. “It knows. And this is only the
beginning.”

"I'm tired," said Tom after a
moment of uncomfortable silence, half closing his eyes, his
features worn and pale.

"Get some sleep," Mo advised
him. "We must travel again soon."

Another dream, thought Tom,
shifting uneasily in his half-sleep. Or was it?

In this strange land, nothing
was certain. He believed he was beneath a large chestnut tree, its
branches a canopy above him. He ate a cheese and tomato sandwich,
the taste bland in his mouth. Perhaps it was only a dream after
all.

But the sun shone brightly and
he could feel it upon his face and Tom looked up into a cloudless
sky, taking a deep breath. Nothing like the countryside, better
than the built-up cities with their litter and pollution. Beneath
the chestnut tree all was as it should be, the land untouched and
he felt at peace with himself.

A rustling in a nearby bush
caught his attention and abruptly a lamb came rushing through the
undergrowth. Tom shot to his feet in surprise and the creature came
to a sudden halt a few feet away, staring at him.

"I won't hurt you," Tom offered
as gently as he could, but the lamb only started at the sound of
his voice and ran off again. It clambered over a small bank and
disappeared.

Why are
animals so afraid?
he found himself
wondering.

Just as he was pondering this
question there was another disturbance in the undergrowth and Tom
thought that maybe the animal had returned. Then, pushing through
the thicket of leaves, a girl appeared. She wore a bonnet and a
long cape around her shoulders and carried a hooked staff.

Steadying herself, she regarded
Tom with an unnerving gaze.

"Hello," he mumbled, a bit
embarrassed but not really knowing why.