The Magic Lands (67 page)

The clergyman smiled with
indulgence, hovering silently. "That's true enough," he agreed,
"but life is strange, and sometimes we are asked to carry the
burden for the sins of others. Maybe you think it should really be
your friend Tom up there instead of you. No-one would blame you, if
you did."

Jack's expression hardened,
despite his torment. "Not Tom!" he said fiercely, "leave Tom out of
this!"

"Forgive me," the man begged,
his manner humble, his face lowered in reverence. "I meant no
offence. I simply wondered if you felt that you deserved to be up
here like this, suffering for the sake of others. Those absent,
fair-weather friends who are nowhere to be seen in your time of
need. Personally, I believe each of us should be held responsible
for our own transgressions. Is it just that you should be punished
for what others have done, for what Tom has done?"

Jack gazed at the floating man
for a long time, the features blurring, seeming to melt and flux
before his eyes. If it were not for the white collar that he wore,
the boy would have doubted that he was truly a man of God at all.
But only clergymen were permitted to wear such things, he knew, so
it had to be so.

The pain was everywhere by now,
stealing into his head, rippling through his torso, stabbing into
his legs.

"I didn't ask to be put up
here," he said weakly, his mouth very dry, his tongue feeling
swollen.

"Oh come now," a new voice
said, the clergyman having disappeared. Jack tilted his head
slightly and looked up.

An angel peered down at him. He
knew it was an angel because its huge wings beat in perfect time
with each other, the pure white feathers so intricately interwoven,
caressing the air and sending a soft breeze against his face.

"Help me," Jack pleaded.

"You do not need my
assistance," the angel advised him. "You can help yourself quite
easily. But perhaps you like it up there? Perhaps you see yourself
as someone special? Are you feeling holy, little one? Do you think
yourself a saviour? Maybe you can walk on water, will that be your
next miracle? Or better still, perhaps you can heal me? Won't you
lay your hands on me and cast out my demons?"

Jack closed his eyes, almost
overcome. His head was throbbing, a deep monotonous pulse. "Leave
me alone," he mumbled, "go away and just leave me alone."

"Alone, alone," the angel
sighed, "you're all alone."

Jack opened his eyes with an
effort and gazed up at the ugly whiteness above. No-one was there.
He was all alone on a black cross in a desert of golden sand.
"Tom," he breathed, "where are you? I need you, Tom."

"Jack!" a voice hissed from
somewhere behind him, "Jack, can you hear me?"

With his heart racing, hardly
daring to hope, Jack raised his voice, desperate that his friend
should hear him. "Tom? Help me?"

"It's all right, I'm here.
Don't worry, I'll get you down from there."

"Tom?" Jack questioned, a
shadow of doubt upon his mind, though he wanted so much to believe,
"Tom, is that really you?"

"Yes, Jack, it's me. Everything
will be all right now."

The tunnel was not as dark as
Mo had expected, small lamps attached to the walls at intervals
giving off enough light to enable them to see quite well, although
there were stretches that somehow evaded the illumination, and
there the two men had no choice but to walk in near total darkness.
Where the lamps burned shadows danced upon the walls, their own
forms hugely exaggerated, but Mo was not about to be put off by any
trick of the light; he prowled on relentlessly through the
subterranean realm, scouring every inch of the tunnel for some sign
of the boys, watching warily for any movement.

He had a dread that at any
moment he might come across the broken body of either Tom or Jack,
but as yet he had found no trace of them.

Dredger moved along stealthily
beside him, but the warrior did not search the gloom with his eyes
as Mo did, his gaze fixed only ahead, his expression sullen as he
fingered the hilt of his sword.

A squealing rat made a dash out
from beneath a tattered paper and Dredger halted, glancing down at
it with only passing interest. Bending to retrieve the scrap the
creature had disturbed, he perused it momentarily and then handed
it to Mo, who read aloud the words written upon it.

"Special offer, Pandora's box!
Divine craftsmanship guaranteed! Sturdy lock! Only one previous
owner. It only costs your life! What a bargain!" Passing the notice
back to Dredger, Mo sighed deeply.

The warrior gave a grunt of
disgust and ripping the paper savagely in two, tossed it aside, a
sour look distorting his features.

They continued on along the
tunnel, the sound of their boots echoing from the walls, and as
they went Mo's mind worked.

Why did the Wolf come? The old
question. Was the true answer close at hand now?

He knew it was a matter of
balance, all things in their place, good and evil existing as
counterpoints to create a universe of harmony. The Wolf was the
variable in the pattern of life and so gave choice to humanity. The
Beast gave a purpose to the suffering of

mankind and likewise, a meaning
to their depravity. But there was more to it than that.

For the sake of Mankind or for
the sake of the Beast? Mo suspected that it was a mutual trial.

"Listen to me," called Tom,
"you have to get down from there or you'll die."

Jack licked his lips and half
closed his eyes, his sight failing him. "But how?" he asked, his
voice frail.

"There's only one way," his
friend counselled him. "You'll have to tell the Wolf that you will
do what he asks."

Hearing this, Jack opened his
eyes once more, forcing himself to think. "What do you mean?" he
questioned, "I can't do that, Tom. The Wolf wants my soul. Once I
give myself up to him, I'll be lost forever." From somewhere behind
him, Jack thought, or perhaps imagined, that he heard a muted hiss.
"Tom!" he cried out hoarsely. "Tom, come around here so I can see
you."

For what seemed like an endless
time, there was only silence and Jack became very afraid that the
Wolf had sneaked up on Tom and captured him too. But then, finally,
his friend spoke to him again.

"You could lie."

"Lie?" Jack repeated,
bewildered.

"Yes, just tell the Wolf that
you love him. You don't have to mean it."

Jack's heart sank, an ache
inside him far more miserable than the pain that ravaged his body.
"I'm not going to lie anymore. It's all gone too far for that now.
If I say it, I have to abide by it. Please Tom, can't you just get
me down from here?" He was almost in tears now, the agony he felt
unendurable.

"You'll die up there." It was
Tom's voice, but his tone was icy and bitter.

"Tom...?" Jack gasped, dread
rushing frenziedly through his mind, his heartbeat faltering,
visions of darkness closing in on him, but Tom only laughed, a
long, ugly cackle that made Jack want to scream, to cry out his
pain so that he would not have to listen any more.

Suddenly, forming out of the
pallid sky, the White Wolf appeared, his snout barely an inch away
from the boy's face. The Beast was drooling. "Hello there," it
said, cankerous breath assailing Jack, making him retch, his
stomach twisting into a dry knot.

"What have you done to Tom?" he
managed to splutter, hardly conscious that he was speaking at all,
his mind unsteady.

"The innocent lamb?" the Wolf
sang, "your one true friend? Why, I bit off his head and drank his
blood."

With furious venom, Jack spat
into the creature's repulsive face.

But the White Wolf only
grinned. "Bile is my favourite wine," it chuckled licking at its
face with a slithering tongue. "You're dying, you know that don't
you? You are throwing your life away. And for what? A delusion of
grandeur! In only a very short time, you'll be gone. And if you are
hoping that you’ll be heading for paradise, think again. Have you
forgotten that you've done some black deeds since you came to these
parts, taken lives in fact? Judge and executioner, that's you.
Anyone can make a few mistakes, I'll grant you that, but you can't
make that excuse. You knew exactly what you were doing, now didn't
you? Do you know that you could have
been
someone. Your life could have had real
meaning. Well, it's not too late, if you make the right choice.
This is free will in its purest form. You see, I'm not vindictive,
I can forgive and forget. But there are some who won't. You have a
hard master, He only wants perfection. I know! He threw me out of
his house for just one small lapse. I didn't mean anything by it,
but He wouldn't even give me the benefit of the doubt. And now it's
come to this. Tell me, do you want to die and rot in the earth?
Because that is the fate of every sinner. No afterlife, no pearly
gates, nothing. That's all. Only everlasting darkness. Or would you
prefer to live forever and have all that you ever wished for? A
family to cherish you, to love you? Now come on Jack, my boy, do
yourself a favour, just this once. Forget senseless loyalties and
foolish beliefs. They are all lies and hypocrisy. They can't save
you! Only I can do that. So let me, I beg you. I would hate to see
you die for nothing." Jack's thoughts twisted and turned, spinning
out of control. His body screamed, blood weeping from his wounds,
mingling with the sand far below. "Do you hear me, Jack?" whispered
the Wolf, its golden eyes so close to the boy’s face they were all
he could see.

"Tom's not dead," Jack uttered,
though each word he gave voice to was an effort of will.

The Beast gave a callous laugh.
"Everyone's dead," it jeered. "You were all born to die in this
kingdom of the damned. Don't you know that by now?"

"I'm tired," Jack murmured,
closing his eyes.

"Look at me!" the Wolf roared,
an urgency in its voice. "Just promise that you'll stay with me and
I will get you down from there. I could heal your wounds so very
easily. I can give you anything, anything at all. We could be
friends, you and I together, always. Listen to me. Your mother and
father are waiting for you, don't let them down. Don't send them
back to the torments of hell."

Jack's eyes fluttered open and
he saw the face of a beautiful child regarding him, neither male
nor female, yet encompassing both. Its violet eyes watched him
attentively, golden hair tumbling over slender shoulders, a silver
crown upon its head.

"Look, this is my true form,"
spoke the child in a gentle, musical voice. "I am no more of a
beast than you. Please be my friend. I will love you for all
eternity."

"Tom's my friend," Jack said
sharply, a spear of agony tearing through him, but his mind was
serene, lulled by sleep that called him from afar.

"Oh yes," scorned the child,
"of course. Tom is your friend. He would do anything for you,
wouldn’t he? But not if it was a choice between you and the girl.
Who do you think he would choose then, Jack? Loyalty, honour! Just
words, worthless. Used by the pious to qualify their petty lives.
There is not much time left for you to learn. Think hard now, Jack,
for your own sake. Do not waste your precious life in the name of
deceit. Save yourself. No-one will thank you for being a martyr to
a cause that does not even exist. No-one cares, no-one. You have
been forsaken by all but I. Now come to me and let me wash away
your tears."

Jack closed his eyes once more,
the child's face shut out. He could still hear a voice speaking to
him, but the words were indecipherable, a babble of noise. It
didn't matter anyway, nothing could hurt him now.

"You'll lose," he managed to
murmur, as he let himself be carried away on a tide of bright
water, all of his pain subsiding, a light enveloping him as he
sailed toward an island of stars.

He went willingly and the last
thing he remembered was a terrible wailing, somewhere in the
distance, a cry of loss and fear. But then that too faded, as he
entered a whirlpool of

glorious colours, drawing him
down into its heart.

Wherever he was going, Jack was
unafraid. He had left the Beast far behind. He would be safe
now.

Stumbling a little, sand
disintegrating underfoot, Tom trudged on. It seemed to him that he
had been travelling for a very long time, the yellow horizon
unchanging.

If only he could find Mo or
Dredger. He needed them now more than ever before, the solitude of
this land insinuating futility, the anger and frustration he felt
at his inability to find Jack gnawing at his mind.

The simple truth, he forced
himself to realise, was that it was all up to him now. He was the
only one who could save Jack.

Where are you, Wolf? Why don't
you show yourself?

Glancing over at the blue sea,
the water scintillating, sparks of light darting through the waves,
Tom noted that it had become markedly rougher out there, a lively
wind urging it to roll and bluster.

He paused and gazed back along
the deserted strand, following the trail he had made and it
occurred to him then that if someone else had come this way before
him, they too would have left footprints, just as he did in his
wake. But the sand was flawless. No-one had been there.

Something brushed his cheek,
cold and insubstantial, and touching his face, Tom felt a slight
dampness, as if sea-spray had somehow found its way to him.
Hesitating for a moment, he looked down at his hand and saw a
delicate, almost transparent substance

resting there, a residue of
water on his fingers. He looked up toward the sky and a billion
white petals were descending upon him.

"Snow," he breathed with a
sense of wonder. "It's snowing."