The Magic Lands Page 29

  INTO THE ABYSS

  The current drove them as if with intent, a northerly wind working in tandem with the sea and the Spiritwalker had no choice but to be taken where nature decreed.

  Below decks, Jack sat in silence as his friend slept fitfully.

  Where are we going now? Over the edge of the world!?

  But these were not the only concerns on his mind, not the only problems he had to consider. He had been thinking about his own meeting with Lisa and what had happened then. Should he tell Tom all about it or just keep it to himself? He had a feeling that his friend might not be too pleased to hear about it.

  Jealousy.

  Now there was a terrible thing. Young as he was, his experiences only just beginning to grant him some understanding of the complex emotions that made life so difficult, Jack felt that he understood jealousy quite well. He had known it himself.

  After his mother and father had been killed, he had come to feel a deep resentment whenever he saw other children with their parents. Why should they have a mum and dad when his had been taken from him. Why should they have someone to turn to for comfort or guidance and he have nothing? How could it possibly be fair? Jealousy was a bad thing, it did you no good, and yet it was hard to control. Once it had slithered into your mind, it could not be easily exorcised.

  Perhaps Tom wouldn't take it the way he imagined after all. Perhaps he would be glad that Jack had met Lisa at last. But she had held his hand. And he had wanted to kiss her. The memory of that was still fresh in his mind, even after all the events that lay in-between and he thought that if he ever did tell Tom about it, there were certain details that would be best left out. But why even contemplate it? Why even think about telling Tom when it wasn't necessary? That all seemed such a long time ago now anyway. So many things had changed since then. He had changed, and he had far more important matters to worry about, rather than something that was in the past, over and done with. If Tom wanted the girl, he was welcome to her.

  He stood and went to the small porthole that served the cabin and gazed at the rain blurred glass, all that lay beyond grey and indistinct. Suddenly it dawned upon him that despite all his good intentions, all of his dismissive thoughts, it was not Tom who was likely to be jealous, it was himself. Once again he had been a fool, and it was not the first time.

  On the bunk Tom stirred, blinking his eyes and sitting up he ruffled his hair and yawned. "I had a dream," he said blankly, staring at the cabin wall.

  "Not another dream," Jack groaned, "I'm sick of dreams. Ever since we came here, that's all it's been, one bad dream!"

  Nodding slowly, Tom frowned. "I know what you mean," he agreed, "but there's a purpose behind them, don't you think? Sometimes they're a threat or a warning, but most of all the Wolf uses them to try to break our spirit. Sometimes they seem so real, as if you were really experiencing them."

  "Dreams can seem like that sometimes," Jack answered, and then after a pause added. "I'm seriously thinking about giving up sleep anyway."

  "You, give up sleep! You must be joking. All you ever tell me at school is how tired you are!"

  Jack laughed at this. It was good to joke about their old life, for that was what it had become. This was a new existence. Dull, boring school, where nothing out of the ordinary ever happened, was a pale shadow with no relation to their lives now, and yet, despite the fact that it had always been so unexciting, he realised that he missed it, the security it represented. At least, it had always seemed safe, but he had to wonder if that had been just an illusion. Nowhere was really safe. "So what was your dream about?" he asked, more to take his mind off these thoughts than because he was truly interested.

  Tom looked at him a little oddly, his expression distant and then after a long pause began to speak. "I was in a meadow and there were poppies everywhere. Something bright was in the sky and it seemed to bob up and down on the horizon, and I thought it must be the sun, but I wasn't really sure. But then blood started to drip from it and where each drop fell on the grass more poppies bloomed.” He paused as if reluctant to go on, but finally he continued. “While I was watching, the air around me began to sort of shimmer…and then a face formed out of the haze, the Beast's face, and I said, why did you come? And it answered, to know you better. Then I reached out and touched its snout, I don't know why, I just did and instantly it crumbled into dust, running through my fingers. And in my mind all I could hear was the Wolf's voice. Worship me…worship yourself, it whispered, on and on until it felt as though my head was going to explode and though I tried not to, I went down onto my knees until my face was amongst the flowers. And all I could smell was rotting meat, the scent of death." He finished with a shrug and gazed at Jack expectantly, as if for an explanation, but the other boy stood by the window with

  downcast eyes and would not look at him.

  "Only a dream," he murmured, his voice so quiet it could barely be heard.

 

  Dredger smiled at the sailor but there was no humour in his eyes. It only signified an intimate knowledge of the other's weakness, a conviction that the man who faced him was quite powerless as far as the warrior was concerned. "You," breathed Dredger, "shall have cause to rue your mistake."

  The crewmen knew that he had made a serious error of judgement in challenging this man, but it had gone too far now for his pride to allow him to turn back and almost reluctantly he drew his blade, hard steel gleaming.

  "I almost pity you," Dredger said, ignoring the knife, his gaze locked upon the other man's eyes, waiting for the telltale flicker of movement that would signal the coming attack. Almost immediately it came, the sailor sensing he was overmatched, making a sudden lunge in a desperate bid to save his own skin.

  But the warrior was too swift. His attacker went sprawling, his head striking the deck hard as he fell. Towering over him, Dredger anticipated his opponent's next move and he smiled briefly as the sailor sprang to his feet with commendable agility, poised for another assault. As the man came at him the warrior moved, so fluid and graceful it was almost like a dance and grasping the sailor's wrist, he twisted it sharply, the bone snapping with a sickening crunch.

  The blade fell to the deck embedding itself in the dark wood, trembling for a moment before it grew still, while the crewman gritting his teeth and cradling his broken wrist backed away, glaring at Dredger, tears of both pain and humiliation rolling over his cheeks.

  With an effort, Dredger turned away from the man, a craving within him now that he had tremendous difficulty in controlling. Oh how sweet it would be to break a few more of the fool's bones, to hear his cries of torment as he was taught each painful lesson. But even as these thoughts surged through his mind unbidden, Captain Welles stepped forward to block his path.

  "Barbarian!" he spat with fury.

  Dredger laughed softly, his eyes changing colour so rapidly they appeared to glimmer. "Indeed, Captain?"

  "Do not play me for a fool," Welles ordered him angrily.

  "Perhaps you have need of a lesson yourself," the warrior commented, watching the man carefully.

  As the Captain moved his hand for the cutlass that hung at his side, Mo, who until then had remained silent, observing the proceedings, stepped in-between them. "Captain Welles," he said affably, "let us not all act as barbarians. Surely this can be resolved within the boundaries of words rather than steel?"

  "You do not need to intercede on my behalf," growled Dredger, "this does not concern you.”

  Mo disregarded his companion's words and continued to face the seaman. "Your man was at fault," he said firmly. "My friend only defended himself, nothing more. I am sure you are aware that it would not have taxed him to end the disagreement in a more permanent fashion."

  "Your friend!" shouted Welles, red in the face, "brought it upon himself."

  "Perhaps," Mo conceded calmly, "yet it was a dispute settled between two men and we should not interfere now that it is finished. But if you would still choose to make it your argument
, then I will say only this. You shall also have to stand against me." Having spoken, the fair-haired man took a step backward and stood side-by-side with Dredger. "You have your choice," he said, nodding toward the Captain. "Think well before you make it."

  Welles glanced around at the faces of his crew who had congregated about them, their expressions apprehensive and yet excited, waiting for their Captain to speak again. "You would be swallowed up," he said at last, knowing that his men were ready to do battle if he should ask them to, many hands already reaching for weapons, preparing for his word. "Look around," he bellowed, "we are too many, even for the likes of you." His contempt was clear in his voice. Anger and superior numbers made him bold. But still he was taken aback when a deep chuckling came from Dredger's throat, the sound of a man unhinged or so Welles believed in that moment, the laughter of a madman.

  "There is a story," the warrior intoned, his voice reaching even the furthest from him. "It tells of a great army that came upon a valley where only one stood against them. Their weapons glinted, forged of precious metals and encrusted with jewels and they thought themselves invincible. And so, they marched on that single figure, proud in their armour of steel. Yet within an instant, that army was ravaged, their flesh stripped from their bones, their minds shrivelled, for they had not understood, that on that bright day in that valley, they had come to do battle with Death itself."

  For a long time a silence held them all in its vacuous embrace, the creaking of the spars high overhead the only sound intruding. In the failing wind, the ship swayed slowly having braved the fury of the elements and won, but now a new threat had risen from within, one that could prove far more destructive than any storm.

  "You tell a pretty tale," Captain Welles said presently, most there grateful that the moment of indecision had passed. "But you are only men and soon you shall swim in the deep, there to spend eternity with the fish!"

  This time it was Mo who spoke, his face grim. "But have you not realised," he said evenly, "for you, we are death."

  "I think we should go up," Jack said, an uneasiness stirring inside him.

  Noticing his agitation, Tom got up from the bunk and went to stand beside him. "What is it?"

  "I'm not sure," his friend answered, "but I think Dredger is in danger."

  Tom stared at Jack and gave him a quizzical grin. "What are you talking about?" he asked, shaking his head. "Are you cracking up or something?"

  "A lot of things have happened, weird things," Jack responded, moving toward the door as he spoke. "While you were gone Dredger saved my life and it sort of left a link between our minds, so don't ask me how or why because I don't even understand it myself, but I do know that something's going on up there. I can feel it."

  "You don't have to convince me," said Tom, joining Jack at the door, "with everything that's happened to me so far, I'd be a fool not to believe you."

  "We've got a lot of catching up to do," stated Jack, pausing a moment, aware that they both had stories to tell. He opened the cabin door and quickly led Tom to the ladder that

  would take them above, and as they came out onto the deck they immediately saw that Jack had been right, for Dredger and Mo were there facing the Captain and what appeared to be the entire crew.

  Tom looked at Jack and sighed wearily. "It looks like we're in trouble again."

  "Back boys!" called the Captain, spying them, cutlass in hand. "This need not be your affair. Keep clear and you shall not be harmed."

  The two boys stood very still.

  Casually, as if nothing out of the ordinary was taking place, Dredger spoke to them, his eyes never leaving those of Captain Welles. "It seems we are outnumbered. We would play at better odds as four rather than two."

  Without need of another word, Tom and Jack edged slowly to the warrior's side, positioning themselves between him and Mo.

  "Are you mad!?" Welles called, watching them helplessly, incensed that the man should involve the two youngsters. "They are just boys!"

  "We stand together," Dredger told him easily, his fingers caressing the hilt of his sword.

  "Does everyone have to be our enemy?" voiced Jack, glancing first at the warrior and then at Mo.

  "Sometimes," the fair-haired man replied, "influences beyond our control take hold and cannot be turned aside."

  The wind had died completely now and the waves had calmed, so that an unnatural

  stillness descended upon them. Every man there felt the tension of the situation, their

  muscles tightening, and though some had misgivings, most just wanted the conflict to begin, the waiting only causing disquiet to spread furtively among the crew, adding to their hostility.

  There were at least thirty sailors ranged against the four passengers and as if responding to some unspoken signal given by their Captain, the men at last began to inch closer, knives, swords and pistols brandished, their eyes clouded with the coming of violence.

  "It would take no more than four shots, each into your hearts," Captain Welles informed them, "will you not stand down?"

  "You have a lot to learn," answered Dredger, "and your first lesson shall be, he who plays with fire will surely get burnt."

  Welles spat at the deck, angered by the arrogance of the warrior and though he was reluctant to include the children in their quarrel, he saw now that he had no other choice. "So be it," he said and made to close upon them, knowing his crewmen would follow.

  Tom and Jack watched the men come and there was the sound of scraping metal as Dredger and Mo freed their swords, the stark glimmer of naked steel cutting the air, the sight of many resolute faces bearing down upon them. But even as the two boys resigned themselves to having to fight, they were knocked viciously sideways, their bodies hitting the deck painfully as they were thrown off-balance.

  Shouts and screams rang out, exclamations of terror rather than battle as the Spiritwalker was almost turned on its side.

  We're going to capsize! was all Tom had time to think as he went sprawling across the

  deck, unable to stop himself. Black water appeared to rise up all around him, looming

  over the ship and the last thing he remembered was the cries of men at the mercy of what he realised was a fickle sea, advancing on them irresistibly.

  When Jack opened his eyes, he saw the sky. But it was not like any sky he had ever seen before. It was lurid and startling, discoloured by a sickly yellow taint, as if it were infected.

  He lay upon a hard uncomfortable surface and he could hear no sound, except perhaps the whispering of the wind.

  Pushing himself upright, he groggily looked around and the first thing he saw, to his great relief, was Tom's face ruefully regarding him.

  "Wake up you sleepy head," his friend said with a listless smile.

  "What happened?" Jack questioned, struggling to shake off his haziness. He squinted his eyes, trying to focus properly and saw they were once again in the longboat, drifting lazily in an endless sea of grey water. At the head of the craft, Mo and Dredger were seated apparently in urgent conversation, their hushed tones inaudible.

  "The ship went down," said Tom, matter-of-factly.

  "But what about the crew?" Jack asked, shocked.

  "Lost," was the other boy's simple reply.

  "But how?" Jack challenged, finding it impossible to believe they could all have perished.

  "I...I'm not sure," Tom said with difficulty. "Everything went black…the water…the water seemed alive. I remember the ship turning onto her side and I thought we were all going to die. I couldn't even see you or anyone, only dark water all around me. It was so huge. And hungry…I felt that. It just swallowed everything up, all except us four. I think I went into the sea, but I’m not sure. It all happened so fast, but then someone pulled me out and I blacked out. I only woke up a few minutes before you did."

  "I don't remember a thing," Jack confessed. Tom just gave a helpless shrug.

  Mo moved up from the brow of the small craft and sat down
beside Tom, leaving Dredger alone to brood, dark eyes watching them.

  "Good," said Mo, looking first at Tom and then at Jack. "You have both recovered I trust? I thought it better to let you rest while you could."

  "What happened?" Jack asked, both boys needing some kind of explanation.

  "What was it?” added Tom. “There was something in the water, wasn’t there? Something terrible.”

  "Yes," the fair-haired man said quietly, "something from another place, another time. It was sent, that much is sure, but not for us, or we too would have been taken. No, once more it is the Wolf's game. It wanted us here, just we four on its infernal sea, for we have reached the outskirts of its true domain now and it waits for us at its heart."

  "If the White Wolf is so powerful, why doesn't it just kill us and get it over with?" Jack wanted to know, a sense of futility overwhelming him.

  "Yes, the Wolf has power, but it is flawed," came the gentle reply. "In the eyes of the Beast, we are merely pawns, a means to an end. But it is vain and therefore vulnerable. It is like a spoilt child who wants for nothing and believes all are beneath it and we have no choice but to play its game until the time comes for the final confrontation. And although it may seem that it does not intend to destroy us, that is a misconception. Its greatest hope is to destroy our spirit, and it has already lent its will toward that aim many times. That is the victory it most covets and it will strive for that until the very end. Should it fail in this, well then, it will simply kill us and so eliminate us from the game."

  "So what are we going to do?" Tom queried, unsettled by what their friend had told them.

  Mo looked around him, his expression philosophical. "We have no oars, so we must drift. But this is where the Wolf becomes our ally, for it will guide us. Already we have come a great distance. Soon we will pass into the true land of the Beast."

  "What do you mean?" demanded Jack, "I thought that's what we had been travelling through since the start!"

  "Not so," Mo countered turning his head to gaze directly at the boy. "We have travelled through a land of dreams, but it was never your own dreams that I referred to. We have journeyed a realm governed by a dreaming Beast. But now we must enter one in which it never sleeps. It will be very much awake once we go beyond the abyss and then we shall all discover the malevolence it cherishes so dearly. All that has occurred before now was merely a prelude to the real game. And it is a game of death. And our souls are the stake we play for."

  How far they had travelled was impossible to say, but time had become a lazy, dragging thing, the sound of the waves a monotonous dirge.

  "What are we going to do about food and water?" Jack complained, licking salt from his lips.

  Dredger, seated at the head of the boat, his eyes scanning the horizon as if searching for something, chuckled to himself. "Do not fear. We shall reach our destination before you die of thirst."

  Tom was unconvinced. "Let's hope you're right," he said moodily, "or the quest will end right here."

  "That reminds me, Tom," Jack interjected, "I suppose you've still got the map, haven't you? We won't get very far without it."

  Tom gave him an odd look that his friend found difficult to read. "It's safe," he answered, "but it's not a lot of good to us now, is it?"

  "That is true enough," put in Mo, joining the conversation. "Perhaps the time has passed when maps and runes were of importance."

  "But how does that make any sense," queried Jack with a bewildered expression, "what about Pandora's box?"

  "It is still our goal. But could it be that there will be more inside the box than we first suspected?"

  "I really don't get this," complained Jack, "I thought we had to find the box and release hope again. Isn't that the whole point of all this?"

  "Yes," acknowledged Mo, "but things are never simple or straightforward. That’s one

  thing you have learnt by now I’m certain. We all wish for a happy ending, but can we be sure that we would recognise one if we saw it? We now face the final trials, foretold in ancient times. We have been chosen, each of us, to play a separate part, so that a conclusion can be arrived at for the greater good, for the one and the many. You often accuse me of speaking in riddles, so I will make it as plain as I am able. We are approaching the end of a magnificent undertaking. And we are here simply to answer one question. Are we worthy of love? And although love is only a word, it conjures enough emotions and images to make any one of us sense its power. All things are now in the balance...love against sin. Which shall we choose? We have struggled with this choice since our beginning. Now we must decide."

  Suddenly, with a grunt, Dredger stood upright in the boat. "There!" he cried with satisfaction.

  Before them, a gigantic wall of darkness hung like smoke, black and impenetrable, drifting over the water toward them. It rose up like a fantastic curtain suspended from the sky. As far as the eye could see it spanned the ocean, there was no escaping it.

  "Is it solid?" Jack asked, staring at the dark barrier, knowing that they were about to pass into an unknown territory, which frightened him more than anything he had encountered so far.

  "It is merely a boundary," Mo instructed him, "there can be no going back now. Once inside there is no way to return, not till matters have been settled with the Beast. We are going to pass beyond all reason, into mystery. Now, more than ever, do not trust anyone or anything. Beware the deceivers, for they wait for us there."

  As the boat made contact with the wall of darkness, Tom experienced a sensation unlike any he had known before. It was more than just fear. He felt swamped by despair, trampled down by futility. It was a sense of profound insecurity and a longing to be warm and safe, protected from the night. He yearned for the ignorance of youth, but although he could recall a time when it had given him solace, now it eluded him.

  I could be home now, he thought with bitterness, home instead of here. Why have I let myself be led into this?

  "Tom," said a voice close beside him. He felt a bit queasy, sea-sickness he supposed and hanging his head over the side of the boat he watched his reflection, distorted by the lapping waves. "Tom?" someone said again, a little more concern in the voice.

  It was Jack. Good old Jack.

  Tom was feeling worse now. Bile seemed to be building in his throat, his head aching horribly and it occurred to him then that when all was said and done, all of this was really Jack's fault. Hadn't it been his friend Jack who had climbed the tree in the first place? Wasn't he the one who had led the way? Yes. Good friend Jack had caused all his suffering, he realised now. He was the one to blame.

  "Are you all right, Tom?" Jack asked, worried by Tom's failure to reply.

  Yes, Tom thought staring at the water, I'm fine, just fine! But no thanks to you. Do you know something, Jackie boy, I think you'll be the death of me. Unless, of course, you die first. Tom found this idea very amusing and began to chuckle, a low, dangerous sound and Jack who had been about to touch him, recoiled, pulling his hand away.

  "What’s wrong?" he questioned thinking that he should tell Mo, but before he could do so Tom twisted around and his face was alive with malice.

  "Well, Jack," he hissed, "there's a lot wrong actually, but not with me! I'm on top of the world! Why shouldn't I be? After all, what more could I ask than to be right here with you, my best, closest friend, my good, good, buddy. There's no place I'd rather be!" Tom stared at Jack with a hideous grin, exposing the madness that held captive his mind.

  "Tom!" Jack shouted, "fight it! You have to fight it!"

  But it wasn't even Tom anymore. It was a stranger who smiled with murder on his mind and spoke with the voice of hatred. "I'm going to rip out your heart, good buddy," Tom rasped as he edged toward Jack, his fingers reaching for the other boy. "I'm going to do it with my bare hands!"

  "Listen to me!" a powerful voice abruptly rang out. "Listen...to me." It was Mo, his expression neutral, eyes fixed steadily on Tom. The boy's body shuddered, his muscles conv
ulsing. It was as though something were inside him, beneath his skin.

  "What's happening?" Jack whispered, terror choking him, his words lost as Tom began to laugh ferociously, blank eyes glowering.

  "He who would challenge me," Tom's voice bellowed, "shall pay with more than flesh and bone."

  "Your place is not here," Mo said flatly.

  "You are weak!" screamed Tom, his voice strangely high-pitched. "Do not hinder me, for you too can be taken."

  "NO!" boomed Mo, the simple word seemingly amplified a hundred fold, shaking the very air around them, and Jack could only watch, horrified, as the fierce exchange between the man and what had moments before been his friend continued, hardly able to believe how suddenly Tom had been transformed. Was it so easy for the Wolf? But then, if anyone could answer that, it was him, for he knew all too well how the Beast was able to slip effortlessly into your mind any time it wished, to manipulate everything you thought and felt.

  "Leave the boy!" Mo commanded, "we shall not let you have him."

  "I am within him now," replied Tom, spitting viciously at Jack who had taken a step toward him and now fearfully backed away. "Which of you can deny me my claim?"

  "WE deny you!" called a new voice, no longer that of Mo. "WE compel you to be gone!"

  Tom cackled, his eyes rolling upward. "Perhaps if you offer me something of value I could be persuaded to give up the child."

  "WE offer nothing," responded the voice, louder than anything else, Jack's head ringing with the sound.

  Giggling uncontrollably, Tom sprang to his feet and stretched out his arms. "YOU LOSE!" he shrieked. But as he made to leap from the craft into the ebony depths below, Jack thrust himself forward, his body colliding heavily with the other boy's, knocking him back down into the boat. Clamping his arms tightly around Tom, Jack held him fast.

  "Tom," he pleaded, as his friend thrashed wildly to escape from his grip, "please don't!"

  Tom struggled desperately, snarling and kicking, lashing out with hands hooked into claws, but Jack still refused to let go, hanging on for all he was worth, and then, all at once, the body became limp, crushing Jack as it slumped against him.

  "Tom!" Jack cried out thinking the worst, fear taking hold of him, but after only a few moments, Tom's eyes fluttered open and he managed to support himself.

  "I feel sick," he said weakly, gazing at his friend in confusion. Jack could not speak. He was too relieved for words to ever convey how he felt. "Was it you that called me back?" Tom asked, still feeling groggy. Jack gave a quick shake of the head. "Where did it come from then?"

  "From a joining of souls," Mo answered, bending down to help them up.

  TRICKS AND TREATS

  "The Wolf came to take Tom," said Mo, his voice pitched low. "It hoped to end things here. The Beast will be most displeased that it did not succeed to say the least. But one thing is certain. Sooner or later it will try again.”

  "But we stopped it," Jack stressed, "we were strong enough to beat it."

  "This time, yes," the man conceded, "each of us, in our own way, resisted the Wolf's influence. But next time, we may be separated again or alone, and although the Beast was arrogant to think it could take Tom when we were all together, be sure it will not make the same mistake twice. It is no fool. It will have learnt its lesson well."

  Tom had been listening carefully, although his eyes never left the bank of dark mist that surrounded them. "You say we were strong," he murmured, "but I didn't even put up a fight. The Wolf got inside me as if I wasn't even there. One second I was me, the next I would have done anything it told me to. How can we ever hope to beat it? We were stupid to ever think we could."

  Dredger, who had not seemed to be paying any attention to the conversation, suddenly smiled and looked over at the boy. "It is not the task of children to do battle with the Beast," he uttered. "A warrior must be the one to bring the white dog down."

  "Our friend here has his own beliefs," Mo commented, indicating the warrior with a nod of his head, "but I do not necessarily share them." This was met by a muted chuckle from Dredger, but the fair-haired man continued. "All of us can refuse the Beast when it comes knocking at our door. You may not realise it, Tom, but you did fight against it, you fought with all your will, and with help, you succeeded."

  Tom looked at him dubiously, knowing that he had been easy prey for their enemy. He felt so exposed now, vulnerable and weak and the claustrophobic atmosphere of the vaporous, black screen instilled in him an emptiness that subdued all hope.

  "What did you mean about joining souls?" Jack queried; Tom had turned away again, was only vaguely listening now.

  Mo threw a strange expression at the other man, one that confused Jack a great deal as it seemed to betray an uneasiness that bordered on fear. "We are both very old," he replied after a moment, "older than you can imagine, and we are joined by an ancient bond. And though there are differences between us, we are linked in a way which transcends mortal understanding. And so we were able to stand together against the Beast as one."

  "So why can't you just gang up on the Wolf then?" Jack wanted to know, suddenly seeing a way to end their ordeal, "surely the two of you together can beat it?"

  Mo shook his head quickly. "No, that is not possible. We were strong enough to repel its assault, and I should remind you that you played your own, not insignificant part in that, Jack. But events have come too far along the road of bitterness for such a simple show of force to defeat the White Wolf. Alas, it will take more than that, far more."

  "Perhaps you would balk at facing up to the Beast, Mo," Dredger said, eyeing the other man with a flinty glare, "but I am only too eager for such an encounter. Never underestimate my strength, for I have been through a great change since my journey to Hydan, the lost. Now I possess the power to depose the Wolf, and I am beginning to wonder if each of you are no more than excess baggage, needless accessories, slowing me down.”

  Mo gazed steadily at the warrior, his expression unreadable. "Perchance you have designs on the Beast’s throne yourself?"

  There was no immediate response from Dredger. He only stared at Mo, his mouth tight. Finally, he said quietly. "I do not look beyond the fall of Wolf. That is my only concern. And I shall see it through until the end. No-one will bar me, not you, nor these children, nor a rank beast. I will fulfil my destiny, whatever the cost."

  "And what if your humanity is the price you must pay?" Mo asked evenly. "What then?"

  "My humanity, as you so quaintly put it, is the beast that slumbers within my soul." Dredger regarded the other man with a thoughtful, sly gaze. "Now that we have joined, you more than any other know that. And when it awakens, all shall acknowledge its true power. Then the Wolf will cower and slink into the shadows of insignificance."

  After several long moments, Mo nodded with grim finality. "So be it. Destiny takes us where it must. And no-one can stand in its indomitable way."

  They all remained quiet after this, continuing to drift on through the blackness, unable to see anything around them, certain that they still floated upon the water only because they heard it and felt the familiar motion of their craft. The stillness of the void weighed heavily upon them, sapping their spirits by slow degrees, turning their thoughts dark and perilous and of all of them Jack suffered the most, past events tormenting him, dead faces haunting the shadows. Eventually, it reached the point where he could take no more and the only way he could think of to end the gloom that was upon him was to end the silence.

  "Well, I'm just glad…" he began, attempting to say something uplifting, but he did not finish. Without any warning, the boat was jolted violently forward, forced through the water at tremendous speed, and hurled backward by this sudden momentum Jack cracked his head on hard wood. As consciousness faded from him, he dimly recognised an odd sensation, as if he were falling.

  They had reached the edge of the world.

  A hallucination perhaps. Or merely another dream.

  Jack was swim
ming in an inky sea, his arms and legs flailing desperately, fighting to stay afloat.

  "You must drown."

  He heard the words at his ear but could not turn his head to see if someone was there with him. The water pressed against his body, pushing to enter him. Gulping for breath, he battled to stay above the black waves, but it was useless; the sea was dragging him down.

  "Into the deep," sighed the voice.

  Foul water filled his nose now, making him cough and splutter, trying to force its way into his mouth. Then he was completely submerged and down he went, dropping like a stone, everything a blur before his eyes.

  Suddenly, with a soft thump he hit the sea-bed and became quite still.

  "All alone now," the voice told him, emotionless, as cold as the water and Jack closed his eyes, afraid to look, knowing that it would soon fill his lungs, somehow imagining that he could shut it all out if he only kept his eyes tightly closed.

  Death by drowning. It had always been something that scared him and now fate had played a sweet trick and given him to the water, another gift for the ocean depths.

  Now his air was gone, the last precious breath used up and his lungs burned as if on fire, but though the water had invaded his mouth and his nose, still it did not violate the rest of his body, something keeping it at bay.

  "You are the chosen," the voice at his ear informed him, "see how you cannot die."

  But Jack knew that it was the Wolf, just another of its twisted games. "No!" he shouted and then it seemed as if all the sea flowed into him, saturating his body, the pressure inside him becoming intolerable. And as his brain began to accept death as inevitable, as he thought how easy it would be to give himself up to the sea, a bass thud sounded in his head, like the beating of a drum, or perhaps the dying pulse of his heart.

  Now I will know what death really is.

  His body grew limp as the thudding increased steadily until it hammered ruthlessly inside his skull, threatening to shatter his mind and his last conscious thought was that he would be pleased to die, that he would welcome it, if only that terrible noise would stop.

  Then, quite abruptly, the sound did cease and with it, the sensation of drowning.

  Jack opened his eyes again and looked around. He was sitting on a cobbled street. A few feet to his left sat Tom, dazed but apparently unhurt. Further away, the longboat languished, battered and torn as if it had been beset by a tremendous storm, its bow broken, splintered wood everywhere. There was no sign of either Mo or Dredger.

  "Where are we?" Tom asked, rubbing at his leg and surveying their surroundings.

  "At the bottom of the sea," Jack answered, still groggy. He fingered his scalp and found that a large bump had risen there, just above his left ear but he discovered no blood, so he

  hoped it wasn’t too serious.

  "I wouldn't be surprised if you've got concussion," Tom said, testing his leg before standing up. "I've already injured this leg once," he added, gingerly putting his weight onto it.

  "You didn't tell me."

  "No time," answered Tom shortly, taking a few tentative steps along the street and coming slowly back.

  "Where do you think the others are?" Jack asked, looking up at his friend.

  Tom appeared grim-faced. "It seems the Wolf doesn't want us all together anymore."

  It was still dark where they had found themselves, but at least the darkness appeared genuine, a night sky peeping down between drab buildings that surrounded them. They were in a courtyard of some kind and a grey mist, less dense than the one they had recently endured, wafted over them.

  "Are you all right?" enquired Tom, standing over Jack who still sat on the ground, nursing his aching head.

  "I think so, yes," Jack returned and Tom put out a hand to help him to his feet. "So it's just you and me again then?" he added when he was standing, brushing himself off with deliberate care, trying to make light of their predicament and not to think of how close he had come to dying.

  "It looks that way," confirmed Tom, his tone resolute and the two boys began to walk, not knowing which direction to go in, or where it was they were heading, only conscious that they had to go somewhere.

  Cautiously, they made their way out of the square and along a narrow alley, their footsteps echoing on the cobbled stone.

  "It appears we are alone," concluded Dredger wryly, throwing an amused glance at his companion.

  Mo looked bleakly back at him. "This is a dark game," he spat, "I feared the Wolf would separate us, but I had hoped at least one of us would have been able to remain with the boys. Now they too are alone."

  Dredger nodded. "So they will have to fend for themselves. As for us, I counsel that we do the same."

  When their craft had suddenly tipped over, plummeting into an unknown pit of blackness that had inexplicably materialised before them, every one of them had been pitched forward, not even the great agility of Dredger enabling him to prevent himself being thrown from the boat. Both he and Mo could recall a sensation of falling, but it had been a slow descent, as if controlled. And when they had finally made contact with solid land again they had found themselves, still under the cover of darkness, on what appeared to be a beach, stark rocks above them, a lusty tide reaching almost to where they stood. Neither man had suffered any injury and both had quickly made a thorough search of the area, although Mo suspected the two boys would not be so easily found. For it was clear the rocks were part of a cliff-face that leaned gradually away from them, curving around the coastline in a gradual arc, the stretch of sand they stood upon no more than two hundred yards long.

  They began to climb, scaling the craggy rocks with care, their boots occasionally slipping on seaweed, small pools secreted between the outcrops providing secure homes for crabs and urchins. It was arduous work, but gradually and with the perseverance of their kind they managed to reach a point on the rock-face where it was not quite so sheer and there they discovered a rough pathway, which led up to the top of the cliff.

  "There," called Dredger, who had taken the lead, gesturing at something high above them, and when Mo peered upward, he could just make out a shape, tall and dark, elevated a little way over the escarpment.

  It was a lighthouse, mantled in darkness and a gloom hung about it, enveloping the structure with foreboding. Its grey walls seemed shadowy and insubstantial and both men found themselves wondering why its light should be extinguished. Could the place be abandoned? Or was it merely some fabrication devised by the Beast, a trap awaiting their arrival?

  And then, as if in answer to their thoughts, with a luminous flash that lit up the pale sky with a strange emerald glow, the lighthouse came alive, its beacon bright, shining as a sentinel for all those who might pass its way.

  "We are expected?" remarked Dredger, frowning his uncertainty.

  "Indeed," retorted Mo, stepping past the other man and continuing on, "but who is our host?"

  It was like something out of the Victorian era.

  The few people they had passed, some crouching in alleys, others drunkenly staggering toward home or perhaps another tavern, were clothed in what the boys recognised as period costume. But beyond this observation it was impossible to tell anything more, for the mist was low and obscured their vision and hid the buildings that girdled them in a coiling grey haze.

  "I don't like this very much," Jack commented as they wandered through the murky streets. "It doesn't feel safe."

  "I won't argue with you there," admitted Tom, "but what can we do? We're lost as usual!"

  Jack gave a dejected nod and peered into the shifting gloom, his eyes restless as he tried to look everywhere at once.

  Somewhere ahead, heavy footsteps rang out against the stone pavement, sending echoes across the street and glancing apprehensively at his friend, placing a hand to stop Jack from going on, Tom came to a halt. They waited for whoever it was to emerge from the fog and both were ready to run, if the situation demanded it, prepared for almost anything to appear, but w
hen it came, what they saw actually took them by surprise.

  A policeman, his boots thudding rhythmically, cut through the mist and approached them, a stern expression on his ruddy face. "Hello there," he addressed them, nodding a greeting.

  "Eh, hello officer," Tom replied uneasily.

  "And what might two young gentleman such as yourselves be doing out and about at this time of the evening, may I ask?"

  Shifting his weight uncomfortably beneath the man's scrutiny, Tom hesitated, not sure how he should answer.

  "We're lost," put in Jack, coming to the rescue, presenting a worried countenance that was not altogether feigned.

  The policeman seemed to ponder on this for a short time, eyeing each of them seriously, scratching his chin with a thumb, but then he smiled, his eyes crinkling, giving him a welcome friendly appearance. "Well, well," he said, still rubbing at his chin, "that won't do, will it? We'll just have to see what we can do about that. Now let me introduce myself. My name is Constable Griffith."

  "I'm Tom Lewis and my friend is Jack Barton," Tom told the man, feeling that there could be no harm in it and the Constable nodded solemnly to each of them.

  "Have you seen two strangers? Tall men, one fair, the other dark?" Jack ventured, chancing a question.

  Eyeing him sceptically, Constable Griffith shook his head. "Friends of yours are they?"

  "Yes," conceded Jack, wondering if he had made a mistake in mentioning them at all. "They're supposed to be looking after us."

  "Hmm, well, they haven't made a very good job of it, have they," returned the Constable sternly, but his good-natured smile was quick to follow. "But I suppose we'd better keep our eyes open for them as we go. And it mayhap that I'll have a word with them myself when we come upon them, allowing youngsters to roam the streets at night, what with everything that has happened of late!"

  "Thank you," said Tom, a little doubtful as to the wisdom of giving Dredger a telling off, but at the moment that was the least of his concerns. "Eh, where are we going?" he asked cautiously and the policeman responded with a chuckle, looking the two boys over with mock severity.

  "Well, I'll have to see you get home safe and sound, two well educated gentleman like yourselves. It wouldn't do to let you wander these streets alone." Tom realised that there was going to be some difficulty here, seeing as how they didn't have a home to go to and he glanced across at Jack for help, but his friend merely pulled a face, showing that he saw the problem too, but couldn't think of a way out. "Come along then," said Constable Griffith, "look lively, and we'll have you home in no time."

  "No, really," Tom hedged, "it's not far, you needn't worry."

  But the Constable was not to be put off. "Come on now, young gentlemen, that's not clever is it? I wouldn't be doing my duty if I didn't see you home safe. You'll be all right with me."

  Before either Tom or Jack had a chance to frame a reply, a hideous scream pierced the night, seeming to come from somewhere close by, although the dense fog made it impossible to see what might be the cause.

  Throwing the boys an urgent glance, the policeman uttered a curse and ran off in the general direction of the sound. "Stay here," he ordered as he thumped away across the street. Quickly he was swallowed up by the thickening mist and Tom and Jack were left bewildered, staring into the nothingness ahead of them, listening out for any noise that might tell them what was happening.

  "What's going on?" Tom asked without expecting an answer.

  Jack shrugged, the scream still echoing inside his head. "Whatever it is, I don't fancy just standing around here to wait and find out."

  "I'm with you," Tom agreed and quietly, inching their way through the fog, they headed as best they could in the direction Constable Griffith had gone.

  "Do you think the Wolf's behind this?" whispered Jack, only able to make out outlines of dank buildings, the high street lamps barely penetrating the haze.

  "The Wolf is always there," concluded Tom, "at the heart of everything bad. Whatever we do, wherever we go, it’s always with us."

  They continued to creep ahead, the chill fog solidifying and running down their faces like beads of sweat; all was very still, only the sound of their footsteps on the narrow path and an occasional scratching and rustling of something nearby to be heard.

  "Rats," Jack pointed out, as a large brown creature scuttled by their feet and disappeared once more, and the two boys edged past the place where it had last been seen with the utmost care, as if they feared it would leap out at them.

  "Where could he have gone?" questioned Tom.

  "Who?" murmured Jack, still watching the ground with an expression of distaste.

  "Constable Griffith," said Tom a little harshly. He tried to ignore the idea that had crept upon him, that even now they might be surrounded by a horde of rats, glassy eyes viewing them with hungry interest. But he couldn't shake the image from his mind, even though he knew it was silly. Rats didn't attack people. At least he didn't think that they did! He made to say something more, to see if Jack could confirm or deny this, but just then the mist thinned and appeared to open up before them, and the horrible spectacle that was revealed stole his voice and his thoughts away.

  There, slumped against a wall was a woman, her head cocked to one side as if questioning, long dark hair trailing on the stone. At first glance it might have seemed that she was merely sleeping, had it not been for the blood that gushed easily from a terrible wound in her throat, and the open, staring eyes that gazed right at them but were like dull glass, lifeless and unseeing.

  "Oh God!" Tom heard Jack gasp, yet he could not turn his eyes away, not until an urgent tugging at his sleeve finally broke the spell of horror that had been cast upon him and he squeezed his eyes shut, a picture of the woman's ashen face remaining in his mind. When he opened them again to look at Jack, taking pains to avoid catching sight of the corpse, he saw that the other boy was staring over to their left, away from the dead woman, and by the expression on his friend's face, Tom knew that more horror awaited him.

  Barely twenty yards away from where the murdered woman lay, another body was sprawled out upon the cobbled pathway. A pool of black-red blood was creeping around and under it, colouring the stone, marking it with death's stain, and though the face of the figure could not be clearly seen, the blue uniform, now soaked with his own blood, was evidence enough that Constable Griffith had followed the poor woman to the grave. There was only one other thing to be discovered. Where was the murderer?

  As this thought struck Tom with all its implications, shocked and frightened as he was, he grabbed Jack roughly and began to almost drag him back along the street, returning the way they had come, but even as he did so, he was sure that above the echoes of their own feet, anothers could be heard somewhere behind them, gaining all the time.

  Not daring to turn, both boys began to run through the fog, blindly sprinting down back-alleys, forced on by a terror that fed on the adrenaline of the chase. They hardly cared where they were going, knowing only that they had to get away, that they were running for their very lives, and when at last they stumbled to a halt, unable to go on, Tom almost doubled over with pain as he clutched at his side. They both stood panting, their mutual glance enough to show that each believed that they had made good their escape and that their pursuer had lost their trail.

  Resting with their backs against a high brick wall they attempted to regain their breath, neither one able to speak, but no sooner had they begun to relax than a thunderous echoing roused them back to urgency, the unmistakable pounding of boots as someone ran through the labyrinth of alleyways that surrounded them. Louder and louder the sound became, almost deafening until it seemed to be all around them and at every moment they expected whoever it was that hunted them to appear from out of the fog. And yet the mist remained unbroken and very gradually the echoes receded, moving away until they faded into utter silence.

  Left alone in the shrouded street, neither Tom nor Jack had any idea what they sh
ould do, for they were caught in a city of darkness and a murderer was on the loose.

  But worse even than that, most terrible of all, was that both of them believed without question that whatever, or whoever, might be out there, one thing was not in doubt.

  It was stalking them now.

  A metal door waited invitingly before them, slightly ajar. Beyond, the low flicker of a light illuminated the interior.

  "After you," whispered Dredger with a subtle twist of his lip, not quite a smile, and without even glancing at the other man, Mo eased through the doorway, moving slowly. Already grasped firmly in his hand, his blade proceeded him.

  Once inside the lighthouse, they found themselves in a small passageway. Immediately before them were iron steps leading upward and a few feet further ahead another door was visible, this too open a fraction and it was from here that the wavering light

  originated. Approaching it with quiet stealth, Mo looked back at his companion and tapped the hilt of his sword. The warrior drew his own blade, following close behind.

  With no further hesitation, Mo planted his boot against the door and thrusting it open, stepped through, his weapon glinting in the light of a lantern hung from the wall, but he found the room uninhabited. The furnishings were functional, only a stout table and several chairs, a large cupboard and a stove, and upon the table two mugs sat, each filled to the brim with a brown liquid that sent up wreaths of steam.

  Moving briskly to the stove where a kettle was placed on a hob, Mo touched it experimentally. "Still hot," he uttered.

  Dredger's eyes moved restlessly around the small room, inspecting it with deliberate care. There was no exit other than the way they had entered. "It would seem our host has left us refreshments," he said, gesturing toward the mugs.

  "Would you care to be the first to test the quality of the beverage?" offered the fair-haired man, walking to the table and taking up one of the drinks. He sniffed it and held it out to his companion.

  Dredger shook his head with a brief smile. "I think I will pass."

  "The stairs then?" suggested Mo.

  "Do we have a choice?" countered Dredger and was already heading for the door. "If our host will not come to us…" his voice called back as he entered the hallway.

  After a final examination of the room, Mo joined the warrior at the foot of the staircase and they began to climb, their boots sounding on the iron steps, giving full warning of their approach. But whether quiet or loud, whether cautious or otherwise, it made little

  difference, for they knew full well that whatever was up there was already expecting them.

 

  Above them, immersed in the swirling fog, Tom and Jack could just make out a sign depicting a large, dark animal, impaled on a long spike. The lettering over the portrait read: THE BOAR HUNT.

  From within the tavern, many voices could be heard, some laughing coarsely, others shouting insults and rebuttals, one or two singing to the strains of a piano, the song unintelligible. But if it offered any sort of sanctuary to those out on the street, with its promise of a crowd and companionship, its lure was not taken by either of the boys who now cowered beneath its brick facade. More wary than ever, they attempted to creep past the front of the building, crouching low when they came to any windows, trying to avoid unwanted attention from the patrons inside. They had already decided that they should steer clear of everyone, if they could, feeling it to be the only way they could remain safe. So far they had succeeded in this endeavour, pushing on through the maze of the city, even though they were cold and damp from the fog and weary of pursuit. But as they came to the tavern door and made to move swiftly past, ignoring the sudden rush of warmth and the smell of food that wafted from the half open door, to their dismay a thickset, bearded man chose that moment to lurch out and tripping down the step, collided with Jack.

  "Hey boy," he slurred, catching hold of Jack's arm and although he struggled, the man would not relent.

  "Let me go!" Jack shouted, but although worse for drink, his accoster was far too strong and held him easily. "Tom!" he cried and was immediately answered, for Tom was there at his side, grabbing the arm that held his friend and pulling at it, at the same time aiming his boot at the man's shin and landing a kick that provoked an anguished cry of pain and fury. This proved distraction enough for him to loosen his hold and Jack took the opportunity to scramble away, falling for a moment but regaining his feet quickly to race into the mist, Tom following close at his heels.

  Behind them they could hear curses and recriminations but the man did not give chase and they were soon a good distance away, weaving their course ever further into the catacomb of alleys and shadowy streets. Visibility was by now minimal as the fog continued to cloak the city.

  "This place gives me the creeps," Tom confessed, as they slowed down and began to walk.

  "We'll be all right," Jack reassured him, but the truth was he was just as frightened as his friend.

  Somewhere in the distance, they could hear a voice calling out into the veiled night. "Another murder!" it cried. "The Ripper strikes again! Read all about it!"

  "What does that mean?" asked Jack as they stopped in their tracks, but a thrill of terror was already running through him as realisation dawned, the knowledge of where they were, and when. He looked at Tom but found the other boy was staring into the darkness, his face paler than the mist.

  "Jack the Ripper," Tom stated in a subdued voice, merely confirming what Jack feared in his heart.

  Then something stirred close by and the boys knew they were not alone, and as they spun around a figure stepped forward out of the fog to face them.