The Magic Lands (49 page)

And though certain things had
not played out true to its design, still this was of no real
consequence. For in its ever calculating, ever scheming mind, new
devises were being invented, new traps and tricks for boys who
fancied themselves now men. It basked in the glory of its own
brilliance.

Oh, the dreams of children.
They were sweet meat indeed. Corruption was so very easy.

It was content for the moment
to watch and wait. The Beast had learned the art of patience. It
knew, from knowledge and a wisdom gained during an immeasurable
span of existence, all there was to know. Except perhaps just one
secret. The thing it coveted. The true purpose. The reason for the
game.

"I am everything!" the Wolf
roared suddenly, but there was real doubt in its fiery eyes. A seed
of uncertainty.

And though it understood that
madness touched its mind, this was only as it should be. Too many
judged others by their own shallow, misguided laws, created to
suppress the innovative who might bring into fruition the dreams of
tomorrow.

THE SEVENTH STEP

"Here's a change of clothes for
you lad. You look as though you need 'em!" Captain Welles had said,
who appeared for all the world to Jack to be the archetypal mariner
with his ruddy, bearded face and stocky build, an old pipe tucked
in the corner of his mouth.

Now in his cabin, he glanced
down at himself and saw what a state he had got into, and with it
came memories of a darkness that had poisoned his heart. Just the
thought of what had taken place in the shadows of the Wolf's
depraved mind made Jack's stomach lurch, disgust and anger rocking
him with implacable force and he sat down hard on the bunk, only
able to steady himself by thinking of Tom. What horrors of his own
might his friend be facing now?

He set about changing into the
clean clothes he had been given. They were rather baggy and
ill-fitting, but at least warm and dry. He did however, refuse the
oversized shoes he had been offered, preferring his own worn but
comfortable boots and it was as he was tucking in his new shirt
that there came a knock at the door.

"I see you are a new man,"
Dredger observed humourlessly, stepping inside. There was a
different relationship between them now, one that Jack found in
many ways uncomfortable. And yet there was also an affinity between
them that was strangely welcome. "Kindred spirits?" the man said,
as if reading the boy's mind. "For we both now know the darkness
more intimately than before." There was an uneasy silence between
them until the warrior continued. "We shall soon set sail and you
will need all of your youthful vigour if you are to survive our
journey. I have come to give you a warning. Do not expect me to be
there to save you when next the Wolf comes to claim you for its
own.”

Jack didn't know how he was
expected to respond, but anger boiled just below the surface as he
spoke. "You don't have to worry about me," he began, the words not
sounding quite as hard as he had intended and quite unexpectedly,
Dredger laughed.

"There is no fear of my
concern, boy, no fear of that at all." And without another word he
left, leaving Jack mixed up, his emotions difficult to fathom.

He was afraid, and guilt lived
alongside that fear, but now, something new had joined these
feelings, a determination to be more than a child who could only
stand by and watch whilst others fought his battles. He had a place
in this affair, a purpose. It was true that he didn't know what his
role would be, but nonetheless, he was certain that destiny held
him in mind.

When the time came, as it must,
he would not shirk the responsibilities of providence.

Asleep again.
I must be dreaming
, Tom
reasoned.

"Do you know," he said aloud,
"I'm sick to death of dreaming!" But there was no-one there to hear
him.

He was standing on a great
expanse of ice, which he guessed was a lake overrun by a freezing
winter. Beneath his feet it was like a sheet of clear glass and
below him a cobalt kingdom laboured, held in thrall by an aloof
taskmaster.

If I try to walk, I'll only
fall flat on my face.

"This is stupid!" he shouted
out at the pale, grey sky and the echoes came back to him, a cold
and lonely sound.

Surveying the area, he saw high
banks of snow creating a cauldron around him. The landscape beyond
the snow banks was indiscernible, only the tops of tall, gaunt
trees visible, a grim and silent gallery for his dream show.

At the furthest perimeter of
the frozen lake, Tom saw what looked very much like a figure,
standing completely still on the ice and as he continued to watch,
trying to decide if he should call out, the figure began to move
toward him, gliding effortlessly across the glassy surface of the
lake.

"Skates!" Tom realised, a sense
of wonder making him gasp, a cloud of frozen breath billowing from
his mouth to drift away into the still air. "Good idea!" he shouted
as the skater covered half the distance between them. "Where can I
get a pair of those?"

The figure waved and started to
circle him, picking up speed until he, or she, raced around and
around, making Tom feel quite giddy. He couldn't see the person's
face because of a scarf that tightly covered their mouth and nose
and upon their head, pulled down over the ears, they wore a red
bobble hat.

Concluding with several
pirouettes, the skater finally moved closer and stopped just a few
feet in front of him with a hiss of ruptured ice.

"Hello there," Tom said
sociably and from within the hat and scarf, two bright eyes gazed
back at him.

"Who are you?" questioned a
muffled voice, sounding male and yet somehow effeminate.

"Tom Lewis," he said, holding
out his hand ready to shake, but the skater, who was about Tom's
height, remained perfectly still. Feeling rather awkward and
increasingly embarrassed, Tom waited for his hand to be taken.
"Aren't you going to shake?" he asked eventually, exasperated.

The figure made no response and
just continued to look steadily at him, eyes alert, and Tom was
obliged to lower his hand, his initial irritation turning to
anger.

"So that's how it is, is it?"
he fumed, his harsh voice reverberating across the emptiness of the
frozen lake. "Well, who needs you anyway? Why don't you just clear
off!?" Fully expecting the skater to depart, Tom glared at him
menacingly, but saw only amusement in the other's eyes. "So you
think it's funny, do you?" he shouted, fury taking control of
him.

"What's wrong?" the skater
enquired softly, chuckling now, "are you losing your temper?" Tom
would have found it quite gratifying to punch that hidden face, but
his hands were extremely cold, almost painfully so and he shoved
them deep into his pockets instead. "Little boy cold?" asked the
skater scornfully.

"Why don't you just get lost!"
Tom told him, turning away, hoping the stranger would go away and
leave him alone. He had only wanted to be friendly and this was the
reward he got for his trouble.

"What's wrong, don't you think
it's fair?" the skater taunted him.

Bringing one of his hands out
from its warm sanctuary, Tom turned back and pointed an aggressive
finger. "I’m warning you," he hissed, "if you don't push-off right
now, I'm going to knock you down!" If it came to a fist fight, Tom
was more than ready. In fact, he was eager for it. Just one decent
blow to silence that mocking voice and he was sure he would feel a
whole lot better.

"And I thought you were all
grown up," chided the skater shaking his head, his voice subtly
altered, now neither male nor female, the sound of it familiar in
some distant way. "I thought you fancied yourself a man."

Tom hesitated at this,
still wanting to lash out but managing to control the impulse and
all at once he realised he
had
been acting like a child, always wanting to take the easy way
out, always ready to act first and consider the consequences later,
if at all. "Look," he began, feeling that he should try to explain,
but the skater interrupted him.

"You're nothing more than a
little boy and don't you forget it," he spat with such vehemence
that Tom actually took a step backward. "You're a small,
insignificant nobody, who should mind his manners and not insist on
meddling in other peoples affairs when they do not concern you. Why
do you even think you should have a say? It's for grownups to
decide what’s right and wrong, and for children to obey. You should
have stayed at home, instead of sticking your nose into things that
don't concern you. You would have been so much safer there. Oh, you
can play at being a man, strutting around so full of yourself,
fumbling with girls, getting yourself all worked up, hot and
bothered, but if truth be known, you're just a
pathetic...little...brat. Will children never learn? No, I don't
suppose they will, not unless you beat it into them. But I'm
inclined to think that with you, it's more that's needed, a good
deal more.”

Even as these words violated
his mind, Tom was already slipping away from the desolate, frozen
waste, and lifted on a current of warm air, he was carried far
away.

Back into Lisa's arms. Where it
was safe.

Mo was a badger again. But this
only unsettled Jack.

"I was just getting used to you
as a man!" he said, and the animal smiled, reminding the boy of
other times.

"I’m always the same Jack, if
you just look hard enough." The boy nodded, aware that this was
true and yet the way things could change so suddenly in this world
of the imagination had left him feeling confused, striving against
the doubt and the sorrow that were now a constant part of him. "You
miss Tom very much, don't you?" said the badger unexpectedly, and
for Jack there was no need to answer, even if he could have found
the words. He gave himself up to memories, allowing his mind to
bring back the good times he and Tom had shared together.

There had been one particular
rainy afternoon at school, when the prospect of a double period of
maths had become too much for them and they had resolved, in what
they thought of as an act of rebellion, to do the unthinkable, and
skip the lesson. Taking refuge in the toilets, they had spent the
whole time terrified of being discovered and yet strangely elated.
It had been something neither of them had ever forgotten, that
long, anxious wait until it was safe to show themselves again. They
had often recalled that day with contrite affection, for it was the
sharing that had made the experience so special to them, two
against the world, and it was from such moments that there had
grown a bond between them that could never be broken.

Friends
always,
thought Jack, coming back to himself and
somehow it made him feel better.

"What would the crew say if
they saw you like that?" he asked, changing the subject and with a
low rumble of laughter, Mo allowed the moment to pass.

"I think it might well cause
some dismay," the animal admitted, "but I just wanted to show you
that I am still here. Just in case you needed some
reassurance."

"Thanks," Jack told him, a
great fondness for the old badger washing over him, knowing full
well that if Mo had not been there, he would have almost certainly
given up by now. "Where are we going now?"

Mo scraped one long claw on the
floor of the cabin. "You recall our visit to the caves of
Rith-ran-ro-en?" he began at length. Jack nodded. "And you recall
also that it was there that Tom asked the way we must go?"

"Yes," agreed Jack, "I remember
he was given a rhyme, but don't ask me how it went because I don't
have a clue."

"Fortunately for us both,"
voiced the badger, "I have both a clue and a solution, for I took
the trouble to memorise what was said." And once more, Mo recited
the rune spoken by Rith-ran-ro-en at the heart of her catacomb
prison. "Take just seven steps to find your heart’s desire, a
promise of regret to lay within the fire. On to the very edge and
claim a blighted kiss, there to meet your match, beyond the dark
abyss."

Jack shrugged his shoulders,
the words as meaningless to him now as they had been when he first
heard them. "So what does it mean?" he questioned, his interest
rekindled, and speaking slowly, as if considering the problem with
great care, the badger replied.

"The first part is easy enough.
You may have seen several islands off the coast." Jack nodded
affirmation, so Mo continued. "Well, there are seven such islands,
the furthest quite some distance out to sea and barely visible from
the land. Amongst the locals

hereabouts, these islands are
known as the Seven Steps."

"So we've got to go to the
furthest island?" Jack ventured.

“
Yes,” agreed Mo, “that
is our goal for the present.”

But Jack only returned the
badger’s gaze with a glum expression. "What difference does it make
if we can't find Tom?"

The old badger sighed. "Things
go as they must. Do not let your doubts get the better of you.
Believe in the divine hand that conceived this game that we
play."

"Game?" said Jack harshly, "is
that what this is, a game!? What the hell gives anyone the right to
play games with our lives?"

Mo paused, considering
his next words carefully. "Perhaps the word
game
was ill-chosen. But to an observer it might
appear to be as a game. Yet the stakes are as high as they can be.
The winner takes all…and the loser forfeits everything."

"If you know so much, why
can't you explain it to me?" Jack demanded. "I
need
to know."