The Magic Lands (71 page)

A beautiful sound, musical but
more than song, began as the two men clasped hands. A series of
euphonious notes rose above the bedlam of the writhing cloud, even
as it overwhelmed them, lights darting through the substance of the
darkness, like a shower of coloured fire. It ricocheted from the
bodies of Mo and Dredger, igniting the warped forms with splinters
of flame, until within moments, the entire manifestation became a
rampant inferno.

A thousand distorted mouths
screamed as they were purged, each transformed into a fiery torch,
their bodies cauterised in a moment of separation, the figures
taking on the substance of individual humanity, faces becoming calm
even as they burned, many of them weeping in flame, and then, as if
called from afar, one after another they shot skyward once more,
flashing into the heavens, converging as they ascended into a
single great star of light.

"The old magic lives on,"
breathed Dredger, barely suppressing his emotions, gazing up at the
radiant star, its brilliance driving all the shadows away, bathing
them in its purity.

"Through us," Mo said, standing
at his side, "and through others."

Turning, they looked to where
Tom had rested, sheltered by the Wolf. But now there was only a
barren expanse of snow.

"He has the boy," the warrior
growled and Mo nodded with resignation.

"It is up to Tom now. Perhaps
it always was. Innocence versus corruption. Boy against beast."

They stood beneath the great
crucifix once more, Jack's body bundled at its foot amidst the
snow.

Away to their left the sea was
a mad tempest, thrashing the beach, turning the snow to slush as
they met. Tremendous breakers of swollen water rushed headlong
toward them, creeping ever closer with each subsequent assault.

"I will do you the honour of
allowing you a martyr's death," said the Wolf, leaning back to
survey the iron cross. "Just like your foolish friend who was so
very brave."

"I'm not afraid to die," Tom
reacted, without any fear.

"I know, I know," the Beast
acknowledged, "but it is for the best, don't you think. You will
understand, in the end, that it is the way things have to be."

"Killing me won't give you
victory," the boy said, turning to look up at the creature, the
Wolf's tranquil gaze meeting his own.

"I am very near whole, Tom,
almost complete. I vibrate with power. Surely you can feel it? And
even without the last few fragments that remain scattered, I am
more than a match for any who would dare to oppose me. The only one
who could challenge my dominion has long since disowned me and
would never stoop so low as to even turn his face toward me, no
matter how often I might call to Him." The White Wolf said this
without any show of emotion and Tom was unsure of his meaning.

"Why are you doing this?" he
asked, the riotous sea almost drowning out his words.

"Why?" the Wolf echoed, staring
at Tom but seeming to look right through him. Its hands coiled
slowly into fists and it appeared to tremble, not with anger or
suppressed mirth, but with a passion that could barely be
contained. "I have done terrible things throughout my long
existence," it said softly and Tom felt that there was a hint of
regret in the voice of the Beast. "More terrible than you can ever
know. I am the author of every atrocity ever committed, the
instigator of all that is considered evil and wrong. When a man
takes a life and rips the flesh of women and children, I am there,
urging him on, feeding his lust for blood and suffering. When
millions lie starving, I am there, mocking their bloated bellies,
sending the flies that feast upon them and breed upon their rotting
carcasses. When nations go to war and slaughter generations in the
name of their saviour or their government, for the sake of a piece
of worthless land or under the banner of a colourful rag, I am
there, fanning the flames of conflict and encouraging the hatred,
whispering in the ears of both sides and giving them assurance that
what they are doing is righteous. With these hands," it held its
clenched fists out before him, "I have maimed and slaughtered, torn
and ravaged, steeping myself in the blood of so many they could
never be counted. With these lips, I have spoken words of
corruption and slavery, of deceit, filth, degradation and
meaningless pride, sparing nothing and no-one in my depravity. You
have asked me why I do these things, but perhaps you would do
better to ask why I have been allowed to, why I was not stopped
before I could begin." The Beast gave a shrug of its broad
shoulders. "We are both forsaken, you and I. Destiny must run its
course, and we must run with it."

"But you could refuse," argued
Tom. "You could say no more. Perhaps it wouldn't make a difference
to what has been done in the past, but it could make a difference
now,"

The Beast bent low to
look the boy in the eyes. "Tom, young Tom," it sang. "You do not
understand. My lust is insatiable. I
will
reign. I have no choice."

Tom stared out at the rising
waves and felt an odd sensation at the base of his neck, as if a
hand had touched him gently, a sudden feeling of anticipation.
"Someone is coming," he whispered, not knowing why he should have
said it, yet he had never been more certain of anything in his
life.

The Wolf's expression changed
briefly, became a puzzled frown and it glanced about, as if it too
sensed something, but then with a lewd grin, its elongated tongue
slithering from between its lips, the Beast gurgled with laughter.
"Too late now," it stated, shaking its head. "The time has been and
gone. We are ghosts, locked in a timeless play. You must climb the
cross of retribution." Taking the boy's hand in its own great paw,
the White Wolf led him over to a wooden staircase that had appeared
beside the crucifix.

As he went, Tom looked out
across the water, searching the waves for something that he could
not put a name to, but sensed was very close by.

"Up, up," ordered the Beast
with impatience, "rise up and take your place."

Tom's hand felt very warm, lost
as it was in the Wolf's grasp and even as he recognised this, the
heat grew, until it seemed his flesh was blistering. Abruptly, the
Beast released him, snatching its hand away and scowled down at the
boy, disgust and anger evident in its regard.

"Look!" called Tom, pointing
out toward the high waves, "look, the sea is opening!"

And indeed, the waters were
parting, the waves separating as if cleft by an invisible blade, a
narrow channel appearing that grew slowly wider as the water reared
up to form massive, towering walls upon either side, leaving a
broad aisle of seabed exposed. Along this straight road, between
the rolling surf, a lone figure emerged, dwarfed by the high banks
of blue water. He was neither young nor old, human or inhuman, yet
his eyes were oddly luminous and compelling and Tom was unable to
look away from them.

Tears came readily as he
watched the figure approach, stepping upon the shore and then,
finally able to glance away, Tom saw that the Beast wept too.

Then with a guttural roar, as
if shaking off a momentary weakness, the Wolf stalked forward to
meet the figure, looming above him. The Beast raised its great
talons as if to strike, but the man simply stood and looked up, a
serene expression upon his face.

“
Why!?” said the Wolf, a
harsh whisper. “Why now, after so long?”

The figure regarded the huge
creature for a long moment, his gaze unwavering and the Beast
gradually lowered its massive paw, letting it fall uselessly to its
side.

“
It is enough.” The man
said this with such simplicity of conviction that Tom felt fresh
tears mark his cheeks.

The animal bristled, as if
summoning all of its resources, trying to tap into the rage that
had sustained it over a timeless span. “I could call an army to
stand against you, I would bring a war that would shake the very
walls of existence…I could call…” But the Wolf’s voice trailed
away. Slowly, the Beast bowed its head and all sound seemed to
recede, the noise of the water becoming unnaturally muted. "I have
waited…so long," it murmured finally, its towering frame relaxing
visibly as if a great burden had suddenly been lifted from it.

"There are many doors that can
be opened, many roads to a new beginning. Will you come willingly?"
the figure asked this with a gentleness that affected Tom in a
powerful, intimate way that he would never be able to
articulate.

The Wolf met the others gaze
and nodded very slightly. "Do with me what you must."

The man, if he were indeed a
man, smiled softly and there was a warmth in it that Tom found
wonderful to behold. He gazed up at the face of the Beast. "You
will be re-born. Re-born as light, to fulfil a destiny foretold
before the dawn of this universe. Morningstar you were named at
your beginning and so shall you become. We have no more need for
battle. The time of war is over."

Returning his gaze then to Tom,
the figure smiled. "Hello, Tom," he said in a strange, melodic
voice, which gave the boy pleasure just to hear it.

"Hello," he returned, finding
he could not help but smile too.

"Everything is a part of
the wonder, Tom, everything and everyone. And I know that you have
learnt that to gain the highest prize, the greatest sacrifices must
be made." Tom nodded, comprehending in a way that went beyond
reason. "A new day is dawning. For one, for all. Carry the message,
spread the word. You need never despair again, for all tears shall
be washed away and there will be no more crying. Now that the
prodigal has come home, there will be rejoicing. The trial is over
and I know what it has cost. I know. Despite it all,
because
of it all, there will be a
harvest and what it yields shall be worth all of the suffering and
pain that has been endured. That is the promise. And it will be
kept."

Tom peered into eyes that told
infinite truths, answers to every question waiting there to be
discovered. It was as if he beheld a bright sun, his eyes seared by
its brilliance and even as he closed them, he could still see
lights dancing through his mind, their vibrancy at once beautiful
and frightening, unknown power blazing within him, and he didn't
know whether to laugh or cry.

"You will dream again," said a
voice and then he was flying above a golden city, shafts of
effulgence soaring to meet him. "You have always been with us," the
voice told him, although he could not see who spoke. "you were with
us from the beginning." He was within a vessel of light and they
passed over a kingdom of crystal rivers and yellow meadows, the
land singing with life. "I will take your friend and he will be
with me. Always and ever-more. Do not feel sorrow, for out of
darkness will come the brightest things."

Tom lost himself in a gentle
sleep, a vision of the White Wolf walking into the sea carrying
Jack in its arms, the last thing he remembered, the waters falling
upon them, dreams claiming him as he glided on a celestial
wind.

Consciousness filtered back to
him, dream fragments clinging to his mind, images of many strange
things merging to produce a surreal union of memory and
unreality.

Two figures leaned over him,
their faces seeming unaccountably huge and Tom squinted, trying to
focus on them properly.

"Let me help you," said one of
the giants, blurred features tilting closer.

He was lifted easily to his
feet and it was only when he was standing that he realised he had
been laying in the snow, his clothing wet and covered in frost.
Shivering a little, his body feeling cold, he almost sank back to
the ground, but was supported by strong hands.

"Are you all right, Tom?" a
concerned voice asked him.

Tom shook himself, flakes of
snow fluttering from his hair, and looked at the two men who
flanked him. " Mo?" he said, his vision restored, recognising the
voice before the features of the man who held his arm.

"Yes, Tom, I am here," his
friend affirmed.

"It's all over," muttered the
boy.

Dredger placed a big hand
gently upon his shoulder and Tom looked around, strength returning
to his limbs, his mind cleared of all its confusion and doubt. "I
remember it all," he sighed.

"It was not what we expected it
to be," Mo said. "But then, nothing ever is."

Above them, a great,
snow-capped hedge dominated Tom's view. "Where are we?" he
questioned.

"Don't you know?" Mo queried
with a slight smile.

"But how?" the boy demanded,
realisation dawning on him, "how could we have come so far?"

"Magic," said the man simply,
"these are magic lands, after all."

Tom could barely believe it was
true. He was back at the place where it had all started. But
without Jack.

Are you in heaven, Jack?

Searching deep within himself,
Tom found that he had no doubt that this was the case.

"We must say our goodbyes," Mo
voiced, glancing up at the great hedge that rose high above
them.

"But I'm not sure I even want
to go back," Tom objected. "What will I say...what will I do? I
can't just go back to how things were before...not without
Jack."

An uncommon thing happened then
which Tom accepted as perfectly natural, his conceptions of what is
possible having been irrecoverably altered. Instantly, Mo changed
from a man to a badger, transformed into the guise the boy knew
best.

Rubbing himself lightly against
Tom's leg, the old animal peered up at him, large teeth exposed in
an enigmatic expression. "You will never be as you were before,
Tom. But there is still much for you to achieve, in that other land
that you call home. You are amongst the elect, the chosen ones,
never forget that, for with this legacy comes great responsibility.
Use your wisdom well. As you grow, you will come to understand more
and more. Take the word into the broken lands, to teach and be
taught. And carry us with you always, within your heart."