The Magic Lands (68 page)

THE WHITE TREE

A figure appeared. Its skin was
pale and almost luminous, light emanating from within. Yet it was
not a visage of humanity; its large clear eyes conveyed immense
wisdom, unknown to humankind.

The figure waited just ahead of
them, having emerged from the darkness with no prelude, taking form
from the shadow it seemed.

"I will show you the way." No
words had been uttered, the voice only in their minds, the sound
reverberating in their thoughts.

Stepping forward, Mo lowered
his head before the being. "Thank you," he spoke mildly, warmth
evident in his voice.

"And where will you lead us?"
Dredger enquired loudly, a confused look passing over his face.

"To the place where you must
go," the figure responded equably, still voiceless but nonetheless
heard.

Dredger turned toward his
companion. "What does this mean?"

"We have been sent a
shepherd."

At this, Dredger's eyes
narrowed. "By the Wolf?"

"No," the other man said
firmly, "not this time. We must be very near to the culmination of
this long odyssey."

"So we are to follow this
phantom?" Dredger grunted, clearly not convinced.

“
No, my friend, this is
no phantom. Instead, know that this is one of my own kind. One of
the seraph race.”

Dredger paused, uncertainty
clouding his thoughts. “Let it lead then and I will do what must be
done.”

"The time has finally come to
put faith to the test," was Mo’s simple reply.

As the moments passed, the
golden landscape was transformed before Tom's eyes into a winter
world of purest white.

The stage was set. All was as
it was meant to be. Soon he would meet the Beast and they would
talk of many things. Of truth and lies. Of love and sin. And the
difference between them.

If, when it was all over, he
still lived, all he wished for was to return to his Aunt and Uncle
in their grand old house that he loved so much, and as he thought
of how wonderful this would be, Ira's features materialised in his
mind and it seemed to Tom that the man was suddenly there, with
him, walking at his side as the snow continued to fall.

"I see you have come a long
way, Tom, a very long way," the old man said, his mood subdued.
"And yet, what have you learnt upon your journey? What can you tell
me, my boy?" Thinking hard, not wanting to disappoint his Uncle,
Tom hesitated. "There have been many lessons," the man added with a
solemn nod of his head.

"I've seen a lot of things,"
Tom agreed, "amazing things…terrible things. But through all of it,
there's only one thing that I've learnt for certain."

The man looked at him,
compassion in his wrinkled eyes. "And what is that?"

The boy struggled to find the
words to express what he wanted to say. "We can't achieve anything,
anything of real value, without sacrifices."

Ira nodded. "Only along that
bitter road can we discover true love. A game, a test, a trial. All
of this and more. But we understand so little, all of us. We only
ever see a reflection of a reflection, distorted and imperfect.
Something wondrous is calling to us but we hear it only as a
whisper."

Tom concentrated on his Uncle's
face. "I feel so useless," he said with an effort.

"With every step that we take
we reveal another part of the whole," Ira advised him, "until
finally the solution to all of the mysteries will emerge from the
darkness of our closed minds, the door to enlightenment at last
flung open, the towers of ignorance that Mankind has constructed
through so many centuries, demolished in a single stroke."

"But what is expected of me
when I face the Beast?" the boy asked quietly.

The old man smiled, an
expression of both hope and sadness. "Nothing. Everything. Everyone
must make their own choices."

"This isn't real is it?" Tom
said, feeling unsteady on his feet.

His Uncle gave a shrug. "Who
knows, Tom? Who knows?"

All at once, the image of the
man began to wane and dwindle, vanishing completely in a matter of
moments, and Tom came to a standstill, a vast expanse of snow all
about him, flakes attaching themselves to his hair and clothing and
settling softly upon his face.

After a time, he walked on, the
snow already deep, a white covering for a blackened land.

The figure guided them through
the tunnel until they came to a junction, the track dividing into
two.

"Take the right path and
ascend," rang the voice in their heads. "This is the road to your
reckoning." Immediately, its substance began to waste away, fading
slowly into nothingness, until only a faint glow remained. Without
any conversation, the two men went ahead, following the line of
track to their right and they had only walked perhaps two hundred
yards when Mo touched his companion's arm and then pointed ahead
into the darkness. "There."

Something shimmered against a
wall, a luminous grey.

"A ladder?" queried
Dredger.

"We have found our way it would
seem," Mo answered, moving quickly toward it. At first glance, the
apparatus appeared to be constructed of a web-like substance,
flimsy and delicate. But after testing its strength with a hand, he
nodded decisively, clearly satisfied that it would hold their
weight, then he turned to beckon the warrior, only to find that the
man was right behind him.

Taking the lead, Dredger began
to climb.

Something was ahead of him, a
dark shadow rising out of the snow and Tom felt an

odd sensation crawl through him
at sight of it, foreboding and resignation numbing his mind.

As he drew nearer, the black
apparition took shape, its lines harsh, prominent against the white
background of earth and sky.

It was a gigantic crucifix that
towered above him, an imposing construction of iron. And someone
was pinned to its stark face, a broken figure who was quite
still.

Tom looked up at the boy whose
body had been nailed to the hard metal of the cross and tears
swelled in his eyes, his mouth working idly as he tried to call
out, his lips dry, a bitterness spreading across his tongue and
into his throat.

"Oh Jack," he finally
whispered, but found he could say no more, his thoughts rebelling,
exploding with grief.

At the foot of the crucifix he
stood and peered upward, feeling that icy hands had grasped him and
made him bear witness, cold fingers ripping at his heart.

If only this could be just
another dream, the last of so many he had been forced to endure.
But this time there was no escape.

Tom went down onto his knees
and touched the base of iron, its unforgiving reality a testament
to his loss. His mind was adrift, caught upon a cruel sea of
oblivion.

Above him, Jack hung as a
sacrifice, the Beast’s offering to itself.

The White Wolf was singing.

In a high, soprano voice that
carried far, the Beast sang a song of victory.

"Oh, sweetest vengeance,

your lips meet mine,

witness the symbol,

witness the sign,

through trial and combat,

through test and bane,

the secrets of Zion,

return again.

Vice is the gamut,

lust is my bride,

here is the question,

yours to decide,

does sin diminish

the worth of your pride?"

Ending its song, the Wolf let
out a prolonged howl of satisfaction and pleasure. All of the
pieces of the puzzle were assembled now. Soon the finale would be
underway.

Through trail, and of course
combat, each would look into the eye of the storm. In every world,
the balance was shifting. Very soon, there would be a new
beginning, the dawn of a dark age when the only light that was shed
upon the land poured forth from armies of the Wolf, the fires of a
crusade that would transform the face of humanity forever. Nothing
could turn back the tide now. Not boy, nor man, nor changing
beast.

They came up through an opening
that led into the light. The sky was twinkling, a rain of tiny
stars falling to the ground.

Snow lay thick across an even
landscape, an agitated sea writhing not far distant, furious waves
crashing upon the shore.

"I...I feel something," Dredger
stammered, touching his forehead as nausea overcame him, his face
pale.

Mo put out a hand to steady the
man, but the moment was soon past.

The warrior lifted his gaze to
the lurid sky. "The boy is dead," he said bluntly.

"Poor Jack," Mo murmured,
knowing without having to be told, "my poor Jack."

"The Wolf is waiting for us,"
Dredger growled after a few moments of silence.

"And death," Mo added. "That
too awaits us here, old friend."

Tom knelt at the base of the
cross, his hands buried deep in the snow. But although his flesh
was numb, his heart beat with a raging fire that would not let him
deny what he had seen.

"Jack's dead," he told himself,
as if to convince his own mind, which steadfastly refused to accept
it as true.

"Tom," said a voice from behind
him.

Gaining his feet, he looked
back and saw two men, their eyes both drawn above him to where the
crucifix paraded the limp form of its victim like a decoration.

Faraway a sound began, building
frantically until it reached a shattering crescendo and Tom felt
his throat burning as his scream erupted into the biting air.

His face drawn, Dredger stepped
forward taking his sword from its sheath, and drove it into the
snow covered ground, the blade penetrating far into the earth.

Then moving very slowly, Mo
went to Tom and as he walked his footprints became four instead of
two. The badger nuzzled the boy with its large head, its wise old
face stricken with remorse. "There is more than life and death,
more answers than there are questions asked. The time is upon us
when all will be explained." Tom could find no words that he wanted
to say, his mind empty, sorrow entrenched deep within his soul.
“Perhaps before too long," Mo said very softly, looking into his
eyes, "we too shall join dear Jack in that place where virtue and
peace are the only truths."

Trying hopelessly to find
something to hold onto, Tom bit down on his tears, his face
streaked by their passing. "But," he sobbed, "what if you're
wrong?"

The animal rested his body
close to Tom's, the badger's warmth a small comfort for the chill
he felt both inside and out. "Our faith is sorely tested," Mo said
with passion.

"What good is faith now? What
is faith anyway!?" Tom asked, more tears running down over his
cheeks.

Pausing, the badger considered
his question carefully. "The ability to believe in a dream," he
said at length. "The courage to wish and then to hope."

"Do we have to kill the Wolf?"
the boy responded after a long moment and Mo's face darkened, but
before he could answer Dredger came beside them and put his hand
firmly upon Tom's shoulder.

"I had believed that it was my
place to do battle with the Beast," he said with difficulty, "but I
have come to realise that I was mistaken. Look there, your blade
awaits you."

Tom followed the man's gaze to
where the sword's hilt protruded from the snow, the argent steel
appearing to glimmer with cold fire. "Do I have to?" he said, his
voice very shaky.

"Would you not see your friend
avenged!?" the warrior argued, his expression wild, forces at work
within his mind that threatened to overturn his senses.

Tom went to the sword and
touched the hilt, caressing the steel with his fingers. "Death is
the master of death," he whispered, the words signifying more to
him than he could ever explain. And then, surprising himself, he
walked on across the white land, leaving the blade to rest still
buried in the ground.

Behind him the warrior stared
aghast and moved to call after him, but Mo came quickly beside him
and placed a hand upon his arm, once more in the guise of
humanity.

"Let him go," the man said. "He
has chosen his own way. Perhaps at last, now there is a chance that
we can win."

Tom wandered, paying little
heed to his direction, content just to walk. After a time, he came
upon a white tree and there he rested, snug beneath its great
branches. The spreading boughs were laden with white blossom, snow
and ice mingling to create a vision of perfect clarity, and he knew
that this was the place where it would all come to an end.

As he waited, his mind roamed
through the many adventures that they had survived, the perils
withstood. His memory held onto a picture of Jack, and he wondered
what the other boy would have felt if it had been the other way
round, if Jack had been left to finish the fight.

A part of him was consumed with
hatred, a desire for bloody vengeance pulling at his mind, just as
Dredger had expected and encouraged. But a greater part, within a
deeper place, felt only sadness and loss and a bleak acceptance.
Revenge would not settle the score. He owed Jack more than
that.

From behind him, someone called
softly. "Tom? Tom, are you there?"

He didn't need to turn round to
know that she had come, just as he knew that she would. "I'm here,"
he answered and waited for Lisa to show herself.

When she did, daintily making
her way out into the open, negotiating the high snow banks with
agile skill, Tom was struck by just how beautiful she really was.
Her pale cotton dress seemed inappropriate in the sudden winter
that had fallen upon the land and he was automatically concerned
that she might be cold.

"I'm fine," she told him,
reading his mind it seemed, and Tom nodded and smiled very
slightly.