The Magic Lands (70 page)

"Have another," offered the man
with an easy grin. Smiling in return and needing no further
encouragement, Tom took an iced bun from a plate near at hand and
began to devour it with ferocious delight. "You seem quite hungry,"
the man observed wryly.

The boy thought for a moment.
"I am," he confirmed. "Now that I come to think about it I haven't
eaten for ages. It's funny, but I just haven't felt hungry, not
until now that is."

The man accepted this with a
sympathetic smile. "Then you must have as much as you want," he
allowed with a gesture toward the tray. "The chocolate cake is
particularly good."

"Thank you very much indeed,"
Tom said with unreserved gratitude and immediately helped himself
to a huge slab of the recommended cake; he held it in both hands,
heedless of the melting chocolate that ran down his arms, and took
one large bite after another.

"Now," resumed the dark-haired
man, "where were we?"

"We were going to have a little
talk," Tom reminded him, feeling very relaxed.

"That's right. Quite correct.
You really are a bright boy, aren't you?"

Tom felt rather pleased with
himself and waited for the man to continue with their conversation,
but he seemed to be pondering something, so merely to pass the
time, he carried on eating. Although he wasn't exactly sure why he
was there, he sensed it was in connection with something very
important, although what with the comfort and warmth of the
armchair, and the sheer pleasure of the cakes he was eating, he
couldn't very well think what that might be.

"Can you remember why you
came?" the man enquired just as Tom grabbed a large slice of
treacle tart.

"Eh, I'm...I'm not really
sure," he blustered, eagerly stuffing the tart into his mouth.

"Maybe I can jog your memory,"
said the man helpfully. "Didn't you have a map or some such thing?
Weren't you looking for something?"

Distantly, memories began to
filter into Tom's mind. "Pandora's Box," he voiced, still not able
to recall with any clarity just what significance this might
have.

"Yes, that's it," agreed the
man, "it was a quest for the box. But wait! Wasn't all of that just
a trick to get you to come here in the first place? Haven't they
been fooling you all along, just so you would do what they wanted
you to?"

Thousands of fragmented images
tumbled through Tom's head, confusing his memory. He found it
impossible to tell if the things he recalled were just old dreams,
barely remembered, or if he had truly experienced the events that
echoed in his mind. "I threw the map away," he murmured
eventually.

"Yes," verified the man. "You
threw it away because you realised the truth. You saw that it was
only a ruse, a child's game to mislead you. They have been playing
that game with you from the very beginning."

"Who?" Tom questioned, not able
to clear his head, strange visions commanding his thoughts.

"You know," the man insisted,
leaning forward in his chair. "You know their names. The changing
one and the warrior man. They have been leading you on, telling you
pretty lies, just so that you would do their sordid business for
them. Oh, how noble they are. That they would charge a child with
work not fit for vermin! There is no Pandora's Box. There never
was. And the map was merely the bait they used to ensnare you. You
have been very naive."

Bewildered, Tom tried as best
he could to think about what he was being told, unwilling to accept
it. "They are my friends," he said very softly.

"Friends!" the man hissed back
at him, "what kind of friends would deceive you, using you for
their own ends. Make no mistake, those so-called friends are
selfish indeed."

"No!" shouted Tom, almost
leaping to his feet, "no, that's not true! They've never lied to
me. Why should I believe you anyway? Who are you?"

Smiling, the man relaxed into
his seat once more, nodding slowly. "You know me," he said with a
wink. "I’m the one they call the enemy. I go by many names. But I
would much rather that you call me friend."

Feeling unwell all of a sudden,
disoriented, Tom could only stare deep into the man's golden eyes.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

"The way is open for me now,
and when I at last sit upon the throne, unchallenged, everything
will be mine. No hope for you. No hope for anyone. And yet," he
added, more gently, appealing to Tom with open hands. "I’m not one
to bear a grudge. I would give you the chance to join me now, to be
on the winning team, to sit upon my right hand. But, alas, I know
that you will turn me down. You are not wise enough to make such a
judicious choice."

"I don't believe any of your
lies," Tom said defiantly, gripping the sides of his chair with all
his strength, but the man merely shook his head and gave him a
pitying look.

"That will always be your
problem, you and your kind. You can never face up to the truth.
Humanity is a sore on the face of the universe, a festering wound
that will never heal. You have all turned your back on your
Father's love. You care for nothing and no-one but yourselves. I
tried to tell Him that He would lose you, that all of his good
intentions would count for nothing, but He would not listen. Well
now I have proven Him wrong."

A black rage had been
ignited in Tom's heart by these words and now he stood up, gazing
down at the seated figure. "We're not all like that!" he cried out.
"Some of us
do
care!"

"Some may have aspirations,"
countered the man in a voice as cold as steel, "but they are the
worst abusers, the hypocrites, the self-deceivers. I am sorry, my
boy, but it's all played out. You are a lost cause. The dream is
over."

As Tom watched, the man's hair
withered, his flesh becoming fluid, exposing white bone that jutted
from his disfigured face. Bubbling beneath the surface of what had
been human features, Tom saw the countenance of the Wolf emerging,
long snout pushing out through skin stretched taut, teeth like
daggers tearing at the wasted flesh. "I change," the Beast uttered,
amusement in its pastel eyes, and Tom was enthralled as they
rapidly altered colour, burning brightly with a secret fire before
finally becoming coal-black. "Look over there, Tom," the Wolf
chuckled, turning its massive head. "Can you see it? It’s what you
have been looking for."

Following the direction of the
Beast's gaze, Tom felt a brutal pain shoot through his chest,
forcing him to his knees.

And then he remembered Jack. A
vision blossomed in his mind, his friend smiling resolutely, urging
him on. He looked again at the Wolf's revelation, a transparent
wall that was somehow both bright and dark, shining with countless
lights.

The agony he was experiencing
was horrible, his chest on fire and he groaned as it bore down upon
him.

"You can't make it, can you?"
the White Wolf teased. "I don't think you're man enough."

Still peering through the
translucent wall, Tom beheld a throne, fashioned from gleaming
bone, a sickly cushion of dripping flesh placed neatly upon the
seat.

"Human meat," the Beast
informed him with a savage grin.

Inside Tom's mind the image of
Jack remained strong and clear, spurring him on, lending him the
courage he needed.

"Why are animal's so afraid?"
the Wolf asked earnestly. "Have you ever wondered about that? I am
certain that you have. Maybe it’s because they know that Mankind is
fond of slaughter. The house of humanity is an abattoir, a fitting
dwelling place."

Tom staggered to his feet and
stumbled a few steps forward, closer to the strange barrier that
blocked his path.

"Here's a little silver key,"
said a voice at his ear, "take it and see what's in the box." Very
gently, he felt a small object placed into his hand, and he
instinctively tightened his grip. He attempted to look down but his
eyes were transfixed by the glittering wall of colours, rainbows
streaking across its brilliant facade, its restless beauty causing
him to falter. "Go through," murmured the voice close beside him,
"go now while you can."

Pushing himself forward once
more, clinging tightly to his mental picture of Jack, Tom managed
to reach out and touch the fluid texture of the wall; the surface
was like ice, his fingers becoming numb as they made contact, but
he did not pull away. He had to pass through.

Beyond, the throne awaited him
and looking at it now, he could just make out a small box resting
there.

Tom knew that he had reached
the end of the game.

As the nebulous darkness
descended upon them, Mo saw the faces of those he had known
throughout his long existence.

There were those he had cared
for, those he had killed, friends and enemies, all bound together
in an ugly tangle of torsos and limbs. Beside him, the warrior
seemed to stir from some deep trance, his eyes drawn to the roiling
mass.

"The true face of the Beast!"
Mo cried, his voice rising above the hideous shrieking of the
damned.

With a determined grimace upon
his face, Dredger cast his gaze about for the sword, but Mo stepped
quickly in front of him, no less resolute, and shouted. "The time
for blades of steel is past. Our strength lies in the courage of
our hearts alone. Take my hands!"

Without a word of question, the
warrior reached out and grasped his companions hands, fingers
interlocking to form a human circle.

Like a crashing wave the
maelstrom came, now almost upon them, the voices of the dead
singing with the violence of their hunger, a song of fury and
desire.

Tom had passed beyond the wall
and now, nearing the white throne, he reached out a hand to touch
the box, his fingers tracing the smooth surface of the wood,
touching the silver lock.

What's
inside, what's inside?
his mind chanted.
Something good, something bad?

"Go ahead, open it," a voice
encouraged him and Tom clutched the small box, bringing it quickly
away from the disgusting cushion of decaying flesh, the stench it
produced making him almost retch. "Turn the key," crooned the
voice, insistent, maddening.

Tom's head was spinning, his
thoughts a blur, his mind ungovernable.

What's inside?

This was Pandora's Box. This
was what they had come so far to find. This was what Jack had died
for. But no, Jack wasn't really dead, was he? A sense of loss
overwhelmed him, a feeling of utter loneliness.

"The king is dead, long live
the king!" called a deep voice from directly in front of him.
Glancing up from the box, he saw the White Wolf seated on the
throne, its eyes a smouldering crimson, ablaze with elation and an
undisguised malice. "You have what you came for. Why don't you take
a look inside?" the Beast suggested cordially, reaching out to tap
the box with one large claw.

"You killed Jack," Tom said
quietly.

"I do what I must," was the
Wolf's rueful reply. "Do you hate me?"

Hesitating, Tom tried to
understand his own emotions, the contrary feelings that battled for
supremacy within him. "What's inside the box?" he asked
finally.

Smirking, the Beast only
shrugged. "Why don't you look and see?" Clasping the box and key
securely, Tom felt indecision bite into his mind. Was this just
another trick? "You have to play the game," the Wolf told him, its
voice curiously gentle, and Tom regarded the creature
carefully.

"Who are you?" he demanded,
full of uncertainty, a part of him not wanting to know the answer,
wanting nothing more than someone to comfort him.

"I am you and you are me," the
Beast replied. "I am the future." Tom took the key and placed it
into the ornate lock. "That's right," goaded the White Wolf, "see
what you must. You really have no choice."

"Hope?" Tom said.

The Beast bayed with glee. "And
what is that?" it asked with disdain. "Nothing more than another
dream."

"There is only one God," the
boy stated, his fingers fondling the key, reluctant to turn it.

"But what is God?" the
Wolf retorted. "Merely a concept, a banner. Worship
me
! I will be a good
father."

"Never," Tom spat, exerting a
little pressure on the key, feeling the lock give slightly.

"Do you know something,
Tom?" questioned the Beast, its tone one of absolute sincerity, "a
long time ago, a span greater than can be imagined, I wanted
nothing more than to be loved, just like you. But I was spurned by
the one I loved the best, and so I have come to this. You
could
pity me."

Tom gave the key a violent
twist and the mechanism was released with an audible click. "All
you offer is emptiness," Tom called out. "I pity you for having
nothing."

He opened the box.

Leaning forward, looming over
him, the White Wolf watched with avid interest. "You did it, boy,"
it hissed. "You really did it!"

"Yes," Tom said, feeling light
headed. He could feel the Beast's eyes upon him.

"And what's inside?" the Wolf
asked, grinning with excitement.

Tom peered into the small box.
"Nothing," he said blankly.

It was completely empty.

"Well, what a surprise,"
chuckled the Wolf. "I really would have thought that a clever boy
like you would have known that you could never imprison hope within
a box. If such a thing exists, how could it reside anywhere other
than the spirit, to be called upon by each in their own way? You
disappoint me, you really do."

Slowly, a hollow void inside
him, Tom closed the lid. "What happens now?"

"You die," the Beast said,
taking the box from the boy's hand and crushing it into a
splintered pulp.