The Magic Lands Read online

  REFLECTIONS OF TRUTH

  Tom thrust the blade forward in terror as the creature descended upon him. Behind it, there were many more, fighting to get at him.

  An appalling shriek came from the animal's gaping jaw as the dagger penetrated its chest, barely inches from Tom's face and he collapsed under the weight of its lifeless body as it crashed heavily into him. And though he tried with desperate strength to get out from underneath the thing, scrambling with hands and feet in an effort to free himself, he found that he was pinned to the ground. Now he was easy prey he realised, caught in a trap of his own making.

  The noise of the shrews was all around him, the scraping of sharp claws loud in his ears, the shrill hissing of the creatures revolting him and he was sure he was about to die. But just as his last hopes were fading, as he squirmed vainly in an attempt to escape this certain death, strong hands pulled him away and out of the reach of the deadly animals that now swarmed about the corpse, momentarily confused by its death and held at bay because the carcass partially blocked the narrow passageway.

  At Tom's shoulder, Elrin Jinn chuckled mildly. "I think the time has come for us to go."

  Throwing an exhausted glance at the man, Tom felt a combination of utter relief and all-consuming fury, for Jinn leaned nonchalantly against a wall, indicating the now open door. "Come now, master Tom," he chided almost playfully, "we do not have all day!"

  With the shrews' cries of rage still assaulting his senses and realising that it would only be moments before he was attacked again, Tom threw himself headlong through the

  opening, hoping as he did so that he would at least find some form of sanctuary beyond and not simply deliver himself into more danger.

  Stepping through casually behind him, Elrin Jinn swiftly closed the door, shutting out the advancing shrews who battered and scratched frantically at the wooden barrier.

  "Are you mad!?" Tom burst out, scrambling to his feet but Jinn just smiled at him, making the boy even angrier than he already was. "Well?" demanded Tom, brushing dirt from his soiled clothing and glowering furiously at the man.

  "You are safe, are you not?"

  "Yes," Tom bellowed, "but no thanks to you!"

  Elrin Jinn regarded the boy for a few seconds before offering a reply. "You have a short memory, master. Was it not I who pulled you free?"

  Tom knew this was true and was grateful for it, but his anger did not subside. "Just what kind of game are you playing with me?" he questioned and saw the man's eyes widen a little, his demeanour becoming more serious than before.

  "We are all a part of a game, Tom," he uttered, "but some are pawns and some are knights."

  "You made me kill that creature when there was no need," stormed Tom, ignoring the strange remarks. "Why!?"

  "A test," stated the man, his expression impartial. "A test, a game. It's all the same."

  Tom's hands were crushed into tight fists. All he wanted was to grab hold of Jinn and knock him to the ground and with this in mind he took a step forward.

  Elrin Jinn wagged a finger at the boy. "Do not be foolish," he said in a low voice. The

  two eyed each other for a moment and then the man nodded as if having decided something. "Perhaps it is time that we came to…an understanding. You have your doubts about me and that is well. But I am not your enemy. I am merely...a teacher. And whoever said that learning was an easy thing." Tom just looked at him, not knowing what to think. "You must know by now," Elrin Jinn continued, "that reality is but a dream here. You have come from a world where most do not believe in such things, but as you have learnt, they do exist. Magic surrounds every living being, but few have the courage to see that it is there. You must be taught to look deeper into the pool of life, even though you shall see things there that will threaten your sanity."

  Tom relaxed his hands, his nails leaving painful indentations in his palm and once more was at the mercy of confusion. He had been told so many lies, so many half-truths that it was impossible now for him to be sure of anything. His limbs felt heavy but he took another step forward, coming close to the strange man and he realised that whilst they had been speaking all had grown deathly quiet.

  "This part of The Underland will doubtless prove rather interesting to you," Jinn said with a good-natured smile. "There are many treasures here. And many dangers."

  Tom made no reply. He understood dismally that he had entered another stage of his journey and he knew also, really knew for the first time, that to reach the end of it he would be called upon to do things he had never even dreamed of.

  He prayed that Jack and Mo were safe. But he suspected that they too were being tested in some arcane way, and it was up to each of them to pass beyond the limitations they had always believed held them back, to enter into a new state of being where they would either triumph as a part of tomorrow or fade as a memory of yesterday.

  Where are you Tom?

  Jack tried to imagine where his friend might be, what he might be doing at that very moment, but he found it difficult to even form a picture of the boy's face.

  As long as you're safe. That's all that matters.

  A loneliness haunted him but this was something he had always known, sometimes even when he was with Tom. Whilst other children seemed happy and contented, with things to look forward to, he had often found himself dogged by a hopelessness that he could not shake off. He had worked hard not to let it show in his attitude or actions, creating for himself a mask of jokes and laughter, but it persisted, sometimes retreating to the back of his mind, even to the point when he had believed it had gone for good, only to re-emerge abruptly all the more powerful and compelling. And here in this alien place, he still was lonely, lonely and afraid and he knew in his heart that nothing was really any different.

  Tom was all he had. His one true friend. But now it seemed, even Tom had abandoned him.

  Jack glanced over at Mo as they walked. At least he had the old badger with him and was not completely alone. If I was I'd be dead by now. The truth of this sobered him and he turned his thoughts to their quest. The quest! He had almost forgotten all about it. In fact, he seemed unable to recall so many of the things that had happened since their arrival in these perilous lands. He had no such difficulty in remembering his own world, the experiences that had shaped his life, but details became hazy and faint when he searched his head for memories since he and Tom had climbed the oak tree at the end of the garden. It was not that he couldn't remember anything at all, but his recollections were selective, as if some intelligence other than his own was keeping things from him, keeping them secret, hidden. However hard he struggled, his mind remained stubborn. It would not tell him the answers to his questions.

  Gazing down at the badger, a headache beginning to throb dully against his temples, he asked. "Are there ever any answers?"

  Mo turned his big face slowly upwards and displayed his sharp teeth, but something in the animal's eyes told Jack that this was indeed a smile.

  "Jack," he said gently, "see how you have changed. You came here as a child and now you have grown. You seek the high purpose and ask it to name its reasons, you have come to a point when a boy's dreams are no longer enough. Now you want something tangible, something that will make sense of all the mysteries you have uncovered. I wish I could give you a simple answer, but I suspect you already know that’s not the way things work, here in this world or indeed in your own. But there is always a meaning, even though the answers may remain unknown, at least until he who asks the question discovers the answer for himself."

  Jack smiled briefly as he looked into the eyes of his friend. "You're talking in riddles again," he said, but the badger went on unperturbed.

  "The purpose of our existence is not to be told, but to seek. We all must find our own way. To learn, to discover, to choose is the basis of life. If you are hoping for a great revelation or an ultimate truth, I can’t help you. But remember this, every part of the whole has value and when finally all is said and do
ne, the meaning lies with the one and not the many, for a single virtuous deed can purge a thousand that are evil, but legion can never destroy one who is truly good."

  Jack walked on in silence after listening to this, lost deep in thought.

  Somewhere close by, moving with stealth, stalking them, the Jagaren crept, drawing ever nearer to his unsuspecting prey. In his mind, the Master dwelt and spurred him on with soft words. The Master watched everything through his eyes and smiled at what it saw, and almost involuntarily Jagaren smiled too.

  Go now. The Master's voice rang inside his head. Fulfil your purpose. Do this for me, my little one.

  Jagaren’s eyes flashed with a savage longing and instantly he burst through the shrubbery that until now had concealed his presence. He came out into the open, delighting in the shock and fear he saw in the face of the child whose blood he would soon spill. And yet in the eyes of the other, the half-one, he saw no such alarm, only a patient anticipation of what must come, as if he had known all along and had resigned himself to the inevitable.

  They faced each other beneath black and ancient trees, neither of them moving now, as if frozen in time. The forest was silent for a moment, nothing stirred, but then Jagaren spoke. "Do not be afraid," he called sweetly, his voice deep and sonorous. "It has been a good chase, but now I have you. The hunt is all but ended." He held out his arms and stared at Jack. "Come to me. Do not make this harder than it has to be. Come. I will give you a new life, one where you will never be alone again."

  As Jack looked into the man's black eyes, he felt a compulsion to do just as he had been told and he had taken a step forward when the badger's low growl made him hesitate.

  "I am not afraid, Jagaren," Mo said quietly, "I have been waiting for you to show yourself."

  "So you know my name," the man smiled, his teeth glistening unnaturally. "Then you know what I am. Are you so certain that you have nothing to fear?"

  Again, as if pulled by some invisible thread, Jack took another step toward the man, but Mo's voice roared a command greater than the hold Jagaren had over him. "STOP!"

  Jack turned back toward the badger, a nausea overcoming him and he rocked very slightly, his head swimming. Mo's gaze never left his enemy. "You have made an error and now you must bear witness to your own folly."

  With sudden fury, Jagaren snarled. "Give me the boy!"

  But Mo only chuckled at this, coming to stand beside Jack. There were no more than twenty paces between them, perhaps less for the long legs of Jagaren but it was far enough.

  "When you have taken me, the boy will be yours," the badger said deliberately and for a single moment doubt crept into the man’s blue eyes.

  Within his mind the Master commanded him. Strike a bargain. Spare the half-one's life. We only need the child.

  "Send the boy to me and you can go," he called to Mo, his self-assurance restored.

  Mo laughed, a hoarse barking sound and began to move toward the tall figure, placing himself between the man and the boy. "Do not be afraid," the animal taunted, showing his teeth in what passed for a broad smile.

  Jagaren faltered, even though his Master's voice boomed inside his head, demanding that he take the boy, whatever the cost. "You are a fool," he stated finally, taking a halting step forward.

  Mo's voice was harsh and menacing. "Teach me then."

  Whilst Jack looked on, immobilised by panic and fear, the towering figure of Jagaren bore swiftly down upon the low, hunched form of the badger, hatred contorting his features. "You will die!" he shrieked wildly in a voice that shook the forest and Jack could only watch as the battle commenced.

  They travelled along a winding tunnel, its walls formed from some kind of smooth clay. This section was very different from the place where the shrews had attacked, its structure appearing to be manmade. But Tom did not dwell on this for very long. For him, the most striking thing about this underground passageway was that in small alcoves dug into the walls at regular intervals, large wooden chests had been placed, each with a formidable golden handle. Already they had passed nine or ten of them and Tom was becoming increasingly curious as to their purpose. Only his anger and frustration with his imposed companion had stopped him from asking the many questions that buzzed around inside his head.

  "I told you this was an interesting place," said Elrin Jinn a little ahead of him, the man's long easy strides taking him along the tunnel at a surprising pace. "What do you think?"

  Tom scowled as he followed glumly behind. "I don't like it any more than I like you," he said sourly, but Jinn seemed to find this very amusing and it was quite some time before his laughter subsided.

  "It is fortunate then," he chuckled at length, "that I find you agreeable, or certainly by now we would have parted company."

  "That would suit me," voiced Tom. "If you’ll just show me the way out of this place first."

  "If only it were so easy, master, to suit the action to the word. But alas, we have a long way to go before we can leave The Underland. You must resign yourself to that."

  "What is this Underland anyway?" Tom asked gruffly, thoroughly fed up with the man's confusing and unhelpful statements.

  "These catacombs go by that name," Elrin Jinn told him, "you will encounter many different lands on your journey."

  Tom decided he had nothing to lose by asking a few more questions, so with an effort he tried to put aside the animosity he felt toward the man. "What are those caskets for?" He said this in a vaguely interested way that belied his true feelings of fierce curiosity.

  "Ah, the Luck Chests!" exclaimed Jinn, turning about and walking backwards, his progress not hampered in any way. "So you have noticed them, have you? Very observant."

  "So why are they here?" asked Tom sharply, galled by the man's attitude once more.

  "No-one knows why," shrugged Jinn, "but many treasures can be claimed by those who count luck as their friend."

  "What kind of treasures?" Tom questioned, excited by the thought of what might be within the wooden boxes.

  "Oh, this and that. That and this. Untold riches if that is what you desire, and other undreamt of rewards." As the man said this they came upon another niche in the tunnel where a chest sat invitingly waiting for someone to claim the treasures it held.

  "Just a minute," Tom called, "why don't we take a look in one?"

  Coming to a standstill, Elrin Jinn watched the boy with interest. "Be my guest."

  Tom stood over the chest and wondered what could possibly be within. Would it be gold coins? Or jewels? Maybe there would be priceless artefacts or ancient manuscripts? He grasped the golden handle and pulled the lid upward and with a creak, the casket revealed its precious contents.

  There was only one thing inside.

  Tom stared at it for quite some time before reaching down to pick it up and he continued to look at it closely even then, somewhat bewildered. What he now held in his hand was a catapult, not wrought from gold or silver or encrusted with diamonds or rubies, just a plain, ordinary catapult made from wood and elastic.

  He glanced at Jinn, but his companion's expression communicated very little. "You are lucky indeed," the man remarked after a moment, his tone detached, "most chests are trapped."

  Jack was a helpless spectator at a duel to the death. He watched as if in a trance as the two figures came together, the tall Jagaren dwarfing the badger. Then, amidst the snarling, vicious conflict, something happened that left him convinced that he was lost within a dream.

  Mo changed. Where there had been a badger but a moment before, now all at once there stood a man, a curved sword held firmly in his right hand. And when Jack looked into Jagaren's eyes, he saw the fear that now lived there, a cloud of confusion enveloping the man’s mind.

  Instantly, as if a door had been opened inside his head, Jack remembered the book he had browsed through when they had first entered Mr. Blakestone's house. So long ago it seemed. There had been so many questions he had wanted to ask, forgotten until now. But then, h
e had forgotten so much and his memories still remained incomplete, yet now, as he concentrated hard upon the image of the book, slowly his mind recalled what he had seen.

  There had been a list of names. But only two had really interested him. The Badger and The Wolf. And both had been indexed under the same reference heading. In bold black lettering it had read: see Shape-changers.

  At the time it had puzzled him deeply and he had intended to ask Mo about it when he saw the badger again. But after that he could only remember obscure details and unrelated incidents that made very little sense to him.

  Now though, in the present, Jack had been witness to the miraculous transformation of his friend and at last he understood, although still he wondered if anything in these lands was ever what it appeared to be? He certainly doubted it, now more than ever.

  Jagaren circled his enemy apparently reassessing his opponent, searching for any potential weakness in this new manifestation, but Mo matched his movements, always keeping himself between the other man and the boy.

  With a hiss of frustration, Jagaren feinted one way, then another, trying to force an opening, but the promise of steel kept him back, his adversary unaffected, grey eyes intent and assured.

  "Tricks won't save you, half-one," Jagaren jeered, his voice rising.

  The warrior merely smiled at this. "Only you and your kind have need of tricks," he said in a voice that Jack immediately recognised as Mo's, and even though it was very disconcerting to hear it come from a stranger's lips, he still found the familiar sound reassuring.

  "Oh yes," mocked Jagaren, drawing closer, now just a few paces from the point of the sword. "You call your trickery magic. And you think this makes you a match for the Master?" With this, he snarled and lunged forward, but without any real purpose or attempt to reach his foe. He fell back once more, face twisted with rage and loathing.

  Mo nodded thoughtfully and then smiled. "But," he answered, raising his gleaming blade, "for now at least, I need only be a match for you."

  Screaming wildly, Jagaren sprang at the other man in earnest, his powerful legs propelling him forward at an alarming rate, long arms outstretched, eager hands reaching for his enemies throat.

  "Fool," cried Mo as the curved sword swung in an inexorable arc toward Jagaren’s unprotected flesh.

  "Why didn't you warn me?" demanded Tom angrily.

  Elrin Jinn tilted his head slightly to one side and gazed solemnly at the boy. "Sometimes, you cannot help someone even if you might want to," he replied, then, after a pause, said "hear me, Tom, I have no wish to see you harmed, but there are limits to what I can do to protect you. You must not rely on me.”

  "I can take care of myself," Tom responded quickly, although he wasn't entirely convinced of his own tough words.

  "You should not feel so dejected," commented Jinn, eyeing the object in the boy's hand. "Your treasure may be more valuable than you believe."

  Tom glanced down at the catapult and turned it over in his hands. He hadn't touched one since he was eight years old, when one of his friends had smuggled the strange device into school. A group of inquisitive boys had congregated at the far end of the playing field in a secret company of potential marksmen. He recalled how the feel of the catapult in his hands had sent a rush of anticipation through him and how he had rolled a shiny pebble around in his palm, perfect ammunition for the weapon. Each of the group had fired a shot into the trees that stood beyond the boundary of the school field, and Tom remembered very well how he had looked up into those tall trees and peered into the leaves and branches to notice a tiny robin snugly resting there.

  As he had taken aim, he had thought how impossible it would be to hit such a small target, how he doubted that the stone would even reach the tree at all, and then he had let his projectile fly, the whoosh it made as it hurtled through the air startling them all into silence. None of the others had managed to send their stones so far or so high and all stared in awe at Tom, the new hero of their gang.

  But upon Tom's face there had been no expression of joy or satisfaction, no pride at his achievement. No. Mirrored there had been the horror and disbelief that the defenceless robin must have experienced as it was struck down by his missile of death, as its life was snuffed out.

  As his friends had gathered around him, their excited chatter only distantly heard, all Tom could feel was a terrible burden that seemed to lay across his chest like some heavy weight, crushing him, suffocating him, the pressure almost unendurable. Tears had filled his young eyes and he had made hasty excuses to escape his schoolmates, running to hide himself away in the toilets and remaining there until the bell rang, alone with his guilt.

  Why did I do such a stupid thing? Why?

  There had rarely been a month pass by since that day when the murder of the robin did not surface in his mind. Sometimes he had lain awake at night, unable to find the refuge of sleep, replaying the incident over and over again in his head.

  Was it only a coincidence that he should have found the instrument of his crime in the chest, or was there some cryptic purpose behind it? He felt certain that it was yet another part of the ordeal he was determined to endure, yet another wound in his heart.

  He stuffed the catapult roughly into his trouser pocket and as he did so, he felt the

  parchment against his ribs, all but forgotten.

  Two pieces in a jigsaw. But when the picture was complete, what would be revealed?

  Jagaren would not die.

  As Jack watched with horror, but also with a grim fascination, Mo’s blade had found its target time after time, the honed edge slicing viciously into the man's dark skin. But still Jagaren came, despite his awful wounds and each time he was met by steel.

  "You cannot kill me," he shrieked, his pain immense, but the sword ripped into his flesh once more, bathing his body in blood. "I am immortal!"

  With yet another merciless blow from the curved blade, this time cutting downward, the man’s forearm was almost severed, leaving it to dangle precariously, a few stubborn sinews reluctant to let it fall. His screams were terrible to hear but even now he still rushed at his enemy, the useless arm hanging awkwardly at his side, his strength seemingly undiminished.

  "You do not fight fairly," Jagaren sulked in a childlike voice, spitting blood from his mouth. "I am weaponless and yet you cut me down." Turning then toward Jack, he addressed his words to the boy. "Is it honourable? I have no way to defend myself." He attempted to spread out his hands in a gesture of helplessness, but his damaged arm would not respond. A look of dismay crossed his dark face, yet he held Jack's gaze. "Tell him to stop this butchery. Is this justice?"

  Jack was stricken with an appalling feeling of despair and revulsion at what was taking place. All that the man said was true, it could not be denied. Mo was slowly murdering him, cut by deadly cut, and the other man had no way to protect himself.

  Even as the boy's mouth opened to cry out, to demand that this outrage be stopped, he saw the sword sweep through the air again, so fast it was almost a blur and rush toward Jagaren's exposed neck. Jack's words of mercy crumbled, leaving a pungent taste in his mouth, and a heartbeat later, with a sound like that of a howling wind Jagaren was decapitated, his head sailing through the air and striking the ground many yards from where his body collapsed.

  Jack closed his eyes, trying to shut out what he had seen, this gruesome spectacle coming so soon after the badger's ferocious battle with the hound, that he felt tainted by such savagery, those images of slaughter forever imprinted on his mind. "No," he whispered, tears beginning to fill his eyes and hearing footsteps approaching, he forced himself to look at the figure that now stood before him.

  The bloodstained face of the badger regarded him in silence. But Jack could no longer see his friend, only a barbaric stranger who changed his shape at will.

  "Murderer," he said quietly, tears touching his lips and as the word echoed in his mind, over and over, the past returned to him out of the darkness. And he rememb
ered.

  The White Wolf bellowed, an inhuman, alien sound of wounded pride.

  It had watched Jagaren die, the bloody scene witnessed from the dead man's eyes and it had seen that the half-one was callous indeed. He had shown neither mercy or pity, things that humankind held in such high esteem. But then, as the Wolf knew, the half-one was no more human than itself.

  It laughed, dark mirth rising from its perverted heart. In many ways it admired its adversary. After all, they were of the same breed, or at least they had been, once long ago. But time had taken its toll and there were some things even the mighty could not alter.

  The White Wolf let its mind drift to other things, other places, its fury at the loss of its servant melting away into insignificance, aware that it was time to move on. There was much to be done, things to arrange, to manipulate. Soon it would journey deep. Down deep into the earth.