The Magic Lands

PART ONE

The road is cruel and dark, my
friend.

1. HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS

2. AT THE END OF THE GARDEN

3. THE LAW OF THE LAND

4. THE OLD WAYS

5. THE GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN
HAIR

6. RETURN FROM THE PAST

7. WHITE MAGIC

8. REAL MAGIC

9. DREAMS ARE FOR DREAMERS

10. THE FORK IN THE ROAD

11. THE SEA OF TEARS

12. RITH-RAN-RO-EN

13. THE WAY THROUGH

The school bell rang.

Tom sprang up out of his seat
and made for the classroom door. The world beyond the drab walls of
his history class beckoned to him.

"Thomas Lewis!" thundered the
voice of Miss McMasterson.

Tom stopped reluctantly, slowly
turning to face the scowling features of his teacher. He was an
undistinguished looking boy of medium height and build, with a mop
of russet hair that never seemed to do as he asked it to. His
cheeks coloured as several of his classmates smirked at him.

"And where may I ask," she
began, looking him up and down as if he were diseased, "do you
think you are going?"

Tom shuffled
uncomfortably where he stood, halfway between his desk and the
beckoning doorway. "Eh…
home
miss.”

Miss McMasterson leaned
forward, her pallid face a mask of displeasure. “It will not do,”
she intoned. "will not do at all."

Tom looked back at her,
confused by her questioning. "Won't do, miss?"

"Patience, Thomas, is a virtue,
haven’t you learnt that much at least" she droned, shaking her
head, but just then another boy, about Tom's height and age,
although his hair was darker and a good deal neater, came bursting
into the room carrying a weathered suitcase. The other children
stirred at this interruption, having until then been transfixed by
the confrontation between teacher and boy.

"Stand still," Miss McMasterson
hissed, her irritation palpable.

The new arrival stopped dead in
his tracks and looked at the woman, his face creasing in a frown.
"Yes, miss?"

"What do you think
you
are doing?" she
demanded.

The boy glanced at Tom
and was met by a bemused expression. "I've just come to meet Tom.
It
is
home time," he began
but the dangerous gleam in Miss McMasterson’s eyes told him he
should have kept this observation to himself.

"It may well be home time,
Master Barton," she instructed, wagging a scrawny finger at the
boy, "but there are still rules to be observed. Perhaps both you
and Master Lewis need to remain behind to learn some better
manners.”

She watched them with bitter
amusement, seeming to take great satisfaction from their identical
expressions of horror

“
Please, miss, I’m…we’re
sorry,” Tom began and then gave his friend an imploring look.
“Jack…” he nodded, urging the other boy to show some
contrition.

“
I’m very sorry,” added
Jack, perhaps a little too briskly.

The woman folded her arms and
glared at them for a few long moments, relishing her authority.
"Remember, there are many lessons that children need to learn. The
most important is to know your place. And to fail to learn will
inevitably lead to tragedy of one kind or another. Do not allow
yourselves to become a victim of your own arrogance. This will take
you along a very dangerous road indeed.” She watched them,
considering their expressions until she was satisfied that her
point had been made. “Now you may go," she finally announced and it
was all they could do not to bolt from the room, the noise of Tom's
classmates steadily building as they made to follow. Once Tom and
Jack were out in the corridor they increased their speed and by the
time they had reached the main doors to the school, they were
almost jogging.

"I don’t think Miss McMasterson
likes you very much." Jack observed wryly.

"What are you talking about?
I’ve always been her favourite!" Tom replied with a quick grin.

Jack chuckled and rolled his
eyes. “Oh, of course, now I get it, she wanted to keep you back
because she’s going to miss you so much!”

“
What can I do if I’m
popular with the ladies,” shot back Tom with a puffed up look of
self-importance.

Jack nearly choked with
laughter. “The
ladies
…” was
all he could splutter.

Tom Lewis and Jack Barton had
been best friends for the last three years, since they had begun
what they considered to be a form of purgatory at the Halliday
Boarding School for Boys. But they could forget about school life
now. Ahead lay six weeks of excitement and adventure, or at least
that was the way the two of them had it planned.

Tom had arranged for Jack to
come and stay with him at his Uncle Ira and Aunt Emily's house and
both boys believed it was going to be the best holiday ever.

"Jack," said Tom a little
quizzically as they walked along an old pathway which ran parallel
with the school playing field. "Do you ever wish something out of
the ordinary would happen?"

“
Like this you mean,”
Jack said and gave Tom a jab in the ribs before darting off, trying
to avoid the expected retaliation. But Tom only came to a halt,
making no attempt to give chase. Coming back cautiously, suspecting
some artful counter-attack, Jack saw a distant look in Tom's
eyes.

"What is it?" asked Jack,
becoming a little concerned and Tom looked up as if he had only
just become aware that the other boy was standing there.

"Oh, nothing," he said,
shrugging his shoulders casually and they walked on, taking a
short-cut that took them through a small field, an easy silence
settling between them. Both boys knew when the other didn't want to
talk and they let the moment pass.

An antiquated railway station
lay ahead, where they were due to catch the three thirty-eight to
Tyro.

"What time is it?" Jack asked,
as they climbed rusty iron steps to reach their platform on the
other side of the line. He checked his pocket for his ticket, not
for the first time. A number of other children were already there,
although most were on the opposite platform, bound in the other
direction. A guard ambled by and nodded at Tom, recognising him
from his regular trips to and from school.

"Twenty-five to," answered Tom,
checking his wrist-watch, "not long and then we're off," he
finished, brightening at the prospect.

"What’s your Uncle really
like?" Jack questioned as they wandered along the station platform,
peering into the distance for some sign of their train.

"You’ll like him," was all Tom
would say, smiling.

As he said this, chugging
rhythmically around a bend in the track, a train appeared and Jack
had to restrain himself from letting out a whoop of joy.

Once the train had come to a
standstill, the two friends climbed eagerly aboard. Tom looked
through the carriage window as the train lurched off and watched as
they passed fields and trees, slowly at first before picking up
speed. The school was far behind them now and the train hurried
through the countryside, the day mild but bright, everything beyond
the glass an expanse of rushing green.

He closed his eyes. And
remembered.

Tom was four years old.

"Come here, mister," said the
young woman, "now there's a good boy."

"I…won't," said Tom with a
tremulous air of defiance.

"I said come here…now." The
woman dared him to disobey.

"No," Tom said, fighting to
keep back unwanted tears.

"Now listen, mister,
you
will
be bathed and I will
have no argument." She glanced around at the other children in the
dormitory, chastened eyes reluctant to meet her gaze. "Perhaps."
She paused as if for effect. "I'll use my special
brush."

"No," Tom repeated, backing
away, knowing all too well that she meant the one with the extra
hard bristles. Tom had felt its brutal caress before.

Suddenly, as Tom continued to
retreat, the woman made a quick lunge toward him, grabbing wildly,
but the boy was too fast. He dodged neatly to his left and she was
sent sprawling to the ground.

"It's the strap for you,
mister!" she screeched, almost with exultation.

"Leave me alone," shouted Tom.
“Please just leave me alone!”

"You asleep, Tom?" called Jack,
prodding him in the ribs.

Tom stirred from his memories
and realised that he must have dozed off. "What time is it?" he
asked sitting up, hoping they were almost there.

"We've only just got on the
train," Jack said shaking his head, "how long does the journey
usually take?"

"About half an hour," replied
the other boy and slumped back in his seat. He tried to remember
what he had been dreaming about, but his mind was blank, memory
eluding him as if it were smoke. The train sped on and he closed
his eyes to let his thoughts float away again.

Things change as things will
and one day in the heart of winter, snow crisp and cleansing upon
the ground, Mr and Mrs McKern arrived at the orphanage and signed
the papers that meant Tom could escape from that hellish place.

They had decided, the three of
them, that Tom being old enough to recognise that they were not his
real parents, he would call Ira and his wife Emily, Uncle and Aunt.
As to what had become of his mother and father he didn't know. All
Tom had been told was that he had been abandoned at birth and
though sometimes he cried when he thought of this, mostly he just
tried to forget.

His new life proved to be a
good one. Uncle Ira and Aunt Emily were kind to him and tried to
give him everything he needed, and compared to his early years, it
was paradise. He especially liked Uncle Ira, something about the
man drawing the young boy to him. Often, Ira would tell him
stories, strange tales he hardly understood at that age, but Tom
would listen attentively to every word, held captive by the man's
voice. He had never forgotten them.

Long ago, a wolf came from the
sky. And the children ruffled its white coat, eager to play. But
the wolf was not a friend to them. It took them, one by one, into
the forest and they never came out again.

Uncle Ira had told him many
stories. Sometimes it seemed only a moment ago. He heard the man's
voice as if it were whispering in his ear.

"Why did the Wolf come?" Tom
would ask. But Ira would only look away, reluctant to say
anymore.

Why did the Wolf come?

Tom Lewis slept fitfully on a
train taking him home. He dreamed he was a little boy again, but
still the questions that he asked remained unanswered.

"Wake up," said a voice at his
side.

"Uncle Ira?" muttered Tom,
opening his bleary eyes and running a hand across his face.

"No, it's me, you idiot. What's
the matter with you, every time I look around you've fallen
asleep." Jack gave him a disbelieving glare.

Tom rubbed his eyes. "I don't
know. I must be tired I suppose."

Jack shook his head and pulled
a face. "You're weird!"

"Who you calling weird?" Tom
said, prodding his friend.

Jack slid across the seat
laughing. "You!" he said at a safe distance. "You keep falling
asleep and mumbling."

Tom scowled at him. "What do
you mean, mumbling!? What kind of mumbling?"

"I don't know…sounded like
something about a wolf, but who knows with you. Like I said, you’re
weird."

Tom didn’t answer and turned to
look out of the window, an old verse returning from

long ago into his head.

Far away, where truth is a
lie,

is a wolf who is white,

is a wolf who is sly

Far away, in a place with no
name,

is a girl in a dream,

is a girl and a game

Far away, in the realm of the
cruel,

walks a boy who must be

both king and the fool

Far away, in the time that must
be,

meet the wolf and the girl and
the boy

by a tree

And the flower that must
die,

is the dreamer who will
wake

for this is the road that they
all must take.

This was a verse that his Uncle
had often recited to him. Time and time again Tom asked him to
repeat it.

"Will your Uncle meet us at the
station?" asked Jack and Tom turned back to face him.

"He said he would.”

Tom had told Jack so many
things about the man, recounting all of the best stories about the
times they had shared together, just the two of them. Tom had known
Jack for a long time but oddly, until now, he had never wanted his
friend to visit his home. Many times his Aunt had bid him invite
Jack home for the holidays, but he had been strangely reluctant.
When he had asked his Uncle, all the old man would say was, ‘wait
until you feel it's right.’ And that was what he had done. Now was
the right time.