The Magic Lands Read online

PARTING OF THE SEA

  When Mo and Dredger came upon Tom, the boy lost within his own sorrow, it was not a tree of white blossom that enshrouded him. To their eyes, it was the Wolf that Tom nestled against, entirely unaware of the presence of the Beast. Instead of the heavy boughs of the tree, Mo saw two enormous, taloned hands, seeming to caress Tom with tenderness. And gazing up into the golden eyes of their enemy, he saw amusement and contempt as the Wolf watched them approach, a playful smile pulling at the corners of its mouth.

  "I shall keep him safe and warm," the White Wolf proclaimed, its voice hushed, "I shall comfort him in his time of need."

  After a moment's hesitation, Dredger stepped forward, not as a man who was certain of his actions, but reluctantly, as if it were a duty he was honour-bound to perform. "Release the boy," he bellowed with all the command he could manage, the blade that Tom had rejected now held threateningly in his own hand.

  The Beast howled, a thunderous sound and glowered at the man. "Ah yes," it said with a measure of disdain, "you are the Second Beast, are you not? The stuff of legend!"

  Taking another step forward, Dredger stared into the creature's bright eyes. "I have become a beast amongst men, to do battle with you on your own terms."

  The Wolf eyed the warrior with interest. "I see a change has come over you. That cannot be denied. But have you not understood that all men are beasts, starved of morality, only too willing to walk with me."

  "I reject you!" Dredger cried, a slight quiver in his voice, though his sword-arm remained firm.

  For a moment, the Wolf's eyes became empty, the pupils contracting till they were tiny black pinpricks. Then a rumbling began, vociferous laughter vented in a powerful snarl. "You are a fool, a misguided fool! Don't you understand anything, don't you realise that you have reached the threshold of a new era for both men and beasts. I offer you a golden opportunity. See how it glitters and sparkles, a treasure for you to claim. Do not let the moment of your consummation pass you by. Realise your potential, Beast of Man. I offer you the future."

  Dredger appeared confused by this for several seconds, but then a growl escaped his lips and he raised his sword toward the Wolf. "Do not waste your empty words on me," he challenged. "The time for rhetoric has long passed. Let us finish this now, one way or the other."

  The Beast peered down at him, not with rage or hatred, but with an expression of sympathy. "Consider for a moment, if you will, the events that have brought you to this meeting. You have not fared well. I feel certain that you would not dispute this. I have defeated you before, and you know full well in your heart, that if you were to stand against me now, the outcome would be no different. And yet it does not have to be that way, not for you. That would be a needless waste. It would give me no pleasure to see you humbled at my feet. I would prefer to meet you at the table of negotiation rather than on the battleground, where we can reach a conclusion that will be of mutual benefit to us both."

  "There could never be any common ground between you and I," Dredger spat, but the Wolf only shook its head.

  "I think you should hear me out, I really do." The warrior looked up at the huge creature, uncertainty in his eyes, but he did not speak again. "This is the way it could be," began the Beast. "I shall make the truth clear to you. I could stand down. Yes, it could be done, if there was one worthy to rule in my place. And we both know that you and you alone hold the power required to succeed me. I am old, older than the wind, and I have grown tired, so very tired." There was genuine regret and weariness in the voice of the Wolf. "You see, this is the destiny we have all striven so rigorously to fulfil. The dominion of Mankind was always intended to be governed by one of its own. A prince among men, indeed! But a prince of darkness, not light, for that is the only power capable of ruling such a barbarous and petulant race. I know that you have long desired to set things to rights, and now I give you that chance. Once your inauguration is complete, you shall be in a position to do as you see fit."

  Within Dredger a savage force had begun to seethe, his mind recoiling beneath its fearful strength. He managed to peer up at the Wolf, wondrous visions assaulting his senses that told of a new world, a better world, for he was the Second Beast, yet not without a conscience, not without feeling. Even if the power within his soul was dark and unruly, could he not bend it to his will?

  "Why should I believe you?" he asked at length, barely able to utter the words, the forces that worked within him making it increasingly difficult for him to maintain rational thought.

  "That is a fair question," acknowledged the Beast, "a just question. And I shall answer it honestly, as it deserves. I give you my bond that if you take up my crown, I will step aside. You have my solemn promise."

  Dredger did not speak, he could not speak. There was a rush of indomitable energy that seemed to pulse through his veins, carried with his blood, and Dredger knew at last the true power that resided within him. "I accept...your offer," he murmured in a voice low and hoarse.

  The Wolf nodded as if it had never expected any other answer. "That is well. It is a wise choice. But there is one small detail, one last symbolic act to seal our covenant. In a way, it is merely the setting aside of the old to make way for the new, and with this in mind, I must ask you to make a final sacrifice to prove that you have accepted, without doubt, the office that has been afforded you." The White Wolf stretched out one long, taloned finger and pointed beyond the warrior to where Mo had been looking on in silence. "There," it said, "there is the spoiler. The half-one must be sacrificed if you are to take your rightful place. Search your heart and you will surely recognise that any loyalty that you feel toward one such as he, is woefully misplaced. You owe him nothing."

  Dredger struggled against the confusion that was upon him, not sure what he should do or say, but the power that now bristled and surged deep inside him forced a reply to his lips. "Why should I need to do as you ask. What makes you so certain that I cannot take what you have offered?"

  The Beast's face became dark, a shadow falling over them all. "In the deepest places of your soul, you know you cannot. Do not be a fool, not now. Do not deceive yourself. You must understand that without my guidance you could never hope to control the power that even now presses for release. It would destroy you in a moment without my support. Accept my counsel and make a new beginning. The half-one must die. It will be a symbol of the dawning of the new age of Man, beneath the banner of the Second Beast, the rightful heir to the dark throne."

  The truth of the Beast's words bit deep into the warrior's heart and he saw with absolute clarity the choice he had to make. For a long moment he stood there in silence, absolutely still, staring at the blade in his hand, then, very slowly he turned to face Mo and as their eyes met the warrior's countenance might have been carved from stone, his expression grim and resolute, yet the other man held his gaze steadily and did not falter.

  Even when Dredger approached him, Mo did not stir, allowing his friend to come to him, until they were face to face. No words passed between them, no excuses or regrets, no arguments or justification, nothing at all. They merely exchanged a final look, more powerful than anything that could be said, and then, as if giving his consent, Mo bowed his head, exposing his neck to the steel.

  Clasping the hilt of his sword in both hands, Dredger raised the blade against the blanched sky, the certainty of death gleaming from its razor sharp edge, the pale flame of desire spreading along its length and burning in the warrior's eyes. Lifted high, it wavered a few brief seconds in which it seemed it might not fall, but this moment of hesitation was fleeting and with a rending cry spilling from his lips, Dredger brought the sword down.

  Blood flowed, a trickle of red against the white skin, yet the covenant had not been fulfilled. For even as the blow had struck, the fire that surrounded the blade had faded and the warrior's eyes had grown dark, alive now only with the light of understanding. The honed steel rested delicately on the back of Mo's neck and looking at it, watching the blood that
dribbled from the shallow wound it had made, realising just how close he had come to taking the life of his friend, with a moan of anguish, Dredger raised the sword once more, to hurl it from him with all his strength.

  From somewhere close by, there came a growl of utter scorn. "I should have known better than to believe in you," spat the Wolf. "Now there is only one path left open to us and we have no choice but to take it. Oblivion waits for you, for the weak and the gutless, and you have no-one to blame for your fate but yourself." The Beast's tirade ended in a shout, its voice bellowing to the heavens, and as if a great door had opened overhead, the sky suddenly ruptured with a deafening roar, and a thick, black cloud came rolling through the jagged divide, an army of darkness descending upon the small figures below. On it came, spiralling downward, a massive, unnatural tornado, and as Mo lifted his head to look, he saw that a host of entangled forms were embodied within the dark mass, the contorted faces of lost souls leering at him as they came hurtling down to engulf he and Dredger.

  And even more terrible than this, among the twisted beings entwined amidst that stygian cloud, arms and legs wrapped together in a perverted embrace, there were many faces that were known to him.

  Tom was seated in an old, comfortable armchair, an exquisitely embroidered pattern of red roses, their sharp thorns incredibly realistic, decorating the soft material. On a small redwood table before him, a silver tray had been placed holding a selection of delicious looking cakes and succulent pastries. Their wonderful aromas overpowered him and made his mouth water.

  Directly opposite him, reclining in an identical chair, a dark-haired man studied Tom with a kindly, patient gaze. "Won't you have one?" he proposed, nodding toward the cakes.

  "Thank you," Tom said, leaning forward to claim a buttered scone, piled high with jam and cream.

  "Take a big bite," the man encouraged, and without a moment's hesitation, Tom did just that, eagerly cramming the pastry into his mouth, large dollops of red jam spilling onto his chin. With his mouth full, he tried to smile, his eyes never leaving the face of his companion, who watched him eat with obvious satisfaction.

  "Now," started the man, clasping his hands together and resting his chin upon them. "Shall we have that little talk, it's long overdue. I've been meaning to sit down with you for quite some time now, but you know how it is, always some last minute thing to attend to, unexpected turn of events and such like. There has been a great deal of unfinished business to take care of and we seem to have been kept apart." The man paused as if this had some special meaning, but if it did, it was lost on Tom. "Still, never mind, we're here now, just the two of us, with nothing to disturb us."

  Tom gave an understanding nod and wolfed down the last mouthful of his scone.

  "Have another," offered the man with an easy grin. Smiling in return and needing no further encouragement, Tom took an iced bun from a plate near at hand and began to devour it with ferocious delight. "You seem quite hungry," the man observed wryly.

  The boy thought for a moment. "I am," he confirmed. "Now that I come to think about it I haven't eaten for ages. It's funny, but I just haven't felt hungry, not until now that is."

  The man accepted this with a sympathetic smile. "Then you must have as much as you want," he allowed with a gesture toward the tray. "The chocolate cake is particularly good."

  "Thank you very much indeed," Tom said with unreserved gratitude and immediately helped himself to a huge slab of the recommended cake; he held it in both hands, heedless of the melting chocolate that ran down his arms, and took one large bite after another.

  "Now," resumed the dark-haired man, "where were we?"

  "We were going to have a little talk," Tom reminded him, feeling very relaxed.

  "That's right. Quite correct. You really are a bright boy, aren't you?"

  Tom felt rather pleased with himself and waited for the man to continue with their conversation, but he seemed to be pondering something, so merely to pass the time, he carried on eating. Although he wasn't exactly sure why he was there, he sensed it was in connection with something very important, although what with the comfort and warmth of the armchair, and the sheer pleasure of the cakes he was eating, he couldn't very well think what that might be.

  "Can you remember why you came?" the man enquired just as Tom grabbed a large slice of treacle tart.

  "Eh, I'm...I'm not really sure," he blustered, eagerly stuffing the tart into his mouth.

  "Maybe I can jog your memory," said the man helpfully. "Didn't you have a map or some such thing? Weren't you looking for something?"

  Distantly, memories began to filter into Tom's mind. "Pandora's Box," he voiced, still not able to recall with any clarity just what significance this might have.

  "Yes, that's it," agreed the man, "it was a quest for the box. But wait! Wasn't all of that just a trick to get you to come here in the first place? Haven't they been fooling you all along, just so you would do what they wanted you to?"

  Thousands of fragmented images tumbled through Tom's head, confusing his memory. He found it impossible to tell if the things he recalled were just old dreams, barely remembered, or if he had truly experienced the events that echoed in his mind. "I threw the map away," he murmured eventually.

  "Yes," verified the man. "You threw it away because you realised the truth. You saw that it was only a ruse, a child's game to mislead you. They have been playing that game with you from the very beginning."

  "Who?" Tom questioned, not able to clear his head, strange visions commanding his thoughts.

  "You know," the man insisted, leaning forward in his chair. "You know their names. The changing one and the warrior man. They have been leading you on, telling you pretty lies, just so that you would do their sordid business for them. Oh, how noble they are. That they would charge a child with work not fit for vermin! There is no Pandora's Box. There never was. And the map was merely the bait they used to ensnare you. You have been very naive."

  Bewildered, Tom tried as best he could to think about what he was being told, unwilling to accept it. "They are my friends," he said very softly.

  "Friends!" the man hissed back at him, "what kind of friends would deceive you, using you for their own ends. Make no mistake, those so-called friends are selfish indeed."

  "No!" shouted Tom, almost leaping to his feet, "no, that's not true! They've never lied to me. Why should I believe you anyway? Who are you?"

  Smiling, the man relaxed into his seat once more, nodding slowly. "You know me," he said with a wink. "I’m the one they call the enemy. I go by many names. But I would much rather that you call me friend."

  Feeling unwell all of a sudden, disoriented, Tom could only stare deep into the man's golden eyes. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice a whisper.

  "The way is open for me now, and when I at last sit upon the throne, unchallenged, everything will be mine. No hope for you. No hope for anyone. And yet," he added, more gently, appealing to Tom with open hands. "I’m not one to bear a grudge. I would give you the chance to join me now, to be on the winning team, to sit upon my right hand. But, alas, I know that you will turn me down. You are not wise enough to make such a judicious choice."

  "I don't believe any of your lies," Tom said defiantly, gripping the sides of his chair with all his strength, but the man merely shook his head and gave him a pitying look.

  "That will always be your problem, you and your kind. You can never face up to the truth. Humanity is a sore on the face of the universe, a festering wound that will never heal. You have all turned your back on your Father's love. You care for nothing and no-one but yourselves. I tried to tell Him that He would lose you, that all of his good intentions would count for nothing, but He would not listen. Well now I have proven Him wrong."

  A black rage had been ignited in Tom's heart by these words and now he stood up, gazing down at the seated figure. "We're not all like that!" he cried out. "Some of us do care!"

  "Some may have aspirations," countered the man
in a voice as cold as steel, "but they are the worst abusers, the hypocrites, the self-deceivers. I am sorry, my boy, but it's all played out. You are a lost cause. The dream is over."

  As Tom watched, the man's hair withered, his flesh becoming fluid, exposing white bone that jutted from his disfigured face. Bubbling beneath the surface of what had been human features, Tom saw the countenance of the Wolf emerging, long snout pushing out through skin stretched taut, teeth like daggers tearing at the wasted flesh. "I change," the Beast uttered, amusement in its pastel eyes, and Tom was enthralled as they rapidly altered colour, burning brightly with a secret fire before finally becoming coal-black. "Look over there, Tom," the Wolf chuckled, turning its massive head. "Can you see it? It’s what you have been looking for."

  Following the direction of the Beast's gaze, Tom felt a brutal pain shoot through his chest, forcing him to his knees.

  And then he remembered Jack. A vision blossomed in his mind, his friend smiling resolutely, urging him on. He looked again at the Wolf's revelation, a transparent wall that was somehow both bright and dark, shining with countless lights.

  The agony he was experiencing was horrible, his chest on fire and he groaned as it bore down upon him.

  "You can't make it, can you?" the White Wolf teased. "I don't think you're man enough."

  Still peering through the translucent wall, Tom beheld a throne, fashioned from gleaming bone, a sickly cushion of dripping flesh placed neatly upon the seat.

  "Human meat," the Beast informed him with a savage grin.

  Inside Tom's mind the image of Jack remained strong and clear, spurring him on, lending him the courage he needed.

  "Why are animal's so afraid?" the Wolf asked earnestly. "Have you ever wondered about that? I am certain that you have. Maybe it’s because they know that Mankind is fond of slaughter. The house of humanity is an abattoir, a fitting dwelling place."

  Tom staggered to his feet and stumbled a few steps forward, closer to the strange barrier that blocked his path.

  "Here's a little silver key," said a voice at his ear, "take it and see what's in the box." Very gently, he felt a small object placed into his hand, and he instinctively tightened his grip. He attempted to look down but his eyes were transfixed by the glittering wall of colours, rainbows streaking across its brilliant facade, its restless beauty causing him to falter. "Go through," murmured the voice close beside him, "go now while you can."

  Pushing himself forward once more, clinging tightly to his mental picture of Jack, Tom managed to reach out and touch the fluid texture of the wall; the surface was like ice, his fingers becoming numb as they made contact, but he did not pull away. He had to pass through.

  Beyond, the throne awaited him and looking at it now, he could just make out a small box resting there.

  Tom knew that he had reached the end of the game.

  As the nebulous darkness descended upon them, Mo saw the faces of those he had known throughout his long existence.

  There were those he had cared for, those he had killed, friends and enemies, all bound together in an ugly tangle of torsos and limbs. Beside him, the warrior seemed to stir from some deep trance, his eyes drawn to the roiling mass.

  "The true face of the Beast!" Mo cried, his voice rising above the hideous shrieking of the damned.

  With a determined grimace upon his face, Dredger cast his gaze about for the sword, but Mo stepped quickly in front of him, no less resolute, and shouted. "The time for blades of steel is past. Our strength lies in the courage of our hearts alone. Take my hands!"

  Without a word of question, the warrior reached out and grasped his companions hands, fingers interlocking to form a human circle.

  Like a crashing wave the maelstrom came, now almost upon them, the voices of the dead singing with the violence of their hunger, a song of fury and desire.

  Tom had passed beyond the wall and now, nearing the white throne, he reached out a hand to touch the box, his fingers tracing the smooth surface of the wood, touching the silver lock.

  What's inside, what's inside? his mind chanted. Something good, something bad?

  "Go ahead, open it," a voice encouraged him and Tom clutched the small box, bringing it quickly away from the disgusting cushion of decaying flesh, the stench it produced making him almost retch. "Turn the key," crooned the voice, insistent, maddening.

  Tom's head was spinning, his thoughts a blur, his mind ungovernable.

  What's inside?

  This was Pandora's Box. This was what they had come so far to find. This was what Jack had died for. But no, Jack wasn't really dead, was he? A sense of loss overwhelmed him, a feeling of utter loneliness.

  "The king is dead, long live the king!" called a deep voice from directly in front of him. Glancing up from the box, he saw the White Wolf seated on the throne, its eyes a smouldering crimson, ablaze with elation and an undisguised malice. "You have what you came for. Why don't you take a look inside?" the Beast suggested cordially, reaching out to tap the box with one large claw.

  "You killed Jack," Tom said quietly.

  "I do what I must," was the Wolf's rueful reply. "Do you hate me?"

  Hesitating, Tom tried to understand his own emotions, the contrary feelings that battled for supremacy within him. "What's inside the box?" he asked finally.

  Smirking, the Beast only shrugged. "Why don't you look and see?" Clasping the box and key securely, Tom felt indecision bite into his mind. Was this just another trick? "You have to play the game," the Wolf told him, its voice curiously gentle, and Tom regarded the creature carefully.

  "Who are you?" he demanded, full of uncertainty, a part of him not wanting to know the answer, wanting nothing more than someone to comfort him.

  "I am you and you are me," the Beast replied. "I am the future." Tom took the key and placed it into the ornate lock. "That's right," goaded the White Wolf, "see what you must. You really have no choice."

  "Hope?" Tom said.

  The Beast bayed with glee. "And what is that?" it asked with disdain. "Nothing more than another dream."

  "There is only one God," the boy stated, his fingers fondling the key, reluctant to turn it.

  "But what is God?" the Wolf retorted. "Merely a concept, a banner. Worship me! I will be a good father."

  "Never," Tom spat, exerting a little pressure on the key, feeling the lock give slightly.

  "Do you know something, Tom?" questioned the Beast, its tone one of absolute sincerity, "a long time ago, a span greater than can be imagined, I wanted nothing more than to be loved, just like you. But I was spurned by the one I loved the best, and so I have come to this. You could pity me."

  Tom gave the key a violent twist and the mechanism was released with an audible click. "All you offer is emptiness," Tom called out. "I pity you for having nothing."

  He opened the box.

  Leaning forward, looming over him, the White Wolf watched with avid interest. "You did it, boy," it hissed. "You really did it!"

  "Yes," Tom said, feeling light headed. He could feel the Beast's eyes upon him.

  "And what's inside?" the Wolf asked, grinning with excitement.

  Tom peered into the small box. "Nothing," he said blankly.

  It was completely empty.

  "Well, what a surprise," chuckled the Wolf. "I really would have thought that a clever boy like you would have known that you could never imprison hope within a box. If such a thing exists, how could it reside anywhere other than the spirit, to be called upon by each in their own way? You disappoint me, you really do."

  Slowly, a hollow void inside him, Tom closed the lid. "What happens now?"

  "You die," the Beast said, taking the box from the boy's hand and crushing it into a splintered pulp.

  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 fi
re. 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…”

  "Is that what you really want?" It was a simple question, asked with an air of authority and quiet patience.

  The Wolf stared at the figure for a long moment. "I was made for this."

  "No," said the other forcefully.

  "Then why?" It was the question, the only question that mattered and the Beast asked it with a longing that spoke of an infinite sadness.

  "Because," replied the man, something in his gaze both resolute and imploring. "It was the only way."

  Slowly, the Beast bowed its head and all sound seemed to recede, the noise of the water becoming unnaturally muted. "Let it end then," it murmured." Its towering frame relaxed visibly as if a great burden had suddenly been lifted from it.

  "Th
ere 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. 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.

  "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. "Carry the message. The trial is over and I know what it has cost. I know. Despite it all, because of it all, something new has come, something beyond wonder. 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 us. 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."

  Glancing at Dredger, Tom nodded. "I'm going to miss you both."

  The warrior extended his hand and the boy clasped it firmly. "I will strive to be worthy of your friendship," the man said, conviction shining in his eyes.

  "And the beast in Man?" Tom asked, deeply affected by the warrior's words and Dredger frowned, dark emotions passing swiftly through his mind.

  "It still lives," he said in a quiet voice, "but no longer within my soul."

  Reluctantly, Tom turned to where Mo stood, waiting for him. "It's hard to say goodbye," he said, bending down to ruffle the badger's fur.

  "You should know by now," Mo told him, "that this is no more than a moment. We three shall come together again, before too long."

  "And now," Dredger called, "up with you. Farewell, my friend."

  The warrior hoisted him upward easily into the air and Tom hardly had time to call back his best wishes for them both. His fingers curled around thick branches and within seconds he was scrambling up onto the top of the hedge. And there was the tree, broad and dark, a cruel reminder of Jack.

  Tom glanced over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of his friends, but he couldn't see anything at all, the bulk of the massive hedge obscuring his view, and then he was climbing, up into the arms of the tree and down once more, down into the garden.

  EPILOGUE

  Tom returned to live in his Aunt and Uncle's house, remaining there even after they had both passed away and been buried in the earth, their spirits he knew, soaring through the heavens on an angel's wing.

  And each evening he would walk through the garden, his eyes drawn to the night sky, watching for the sign that he knew would come.

  The last remnants of the Beast's nature persisted in his homeland and Tom still walked a dark road, easing pain where he was able, using his knowledge as best he could. He had grown to be a man whose friends counted him special indeed. And yet he had never married, never had children of his own. Instead Tom carried an image of his loved ones within his soul.

  Soon he would recognise a familiar light in the sky, a shepherd star that he would follow. Many wondrous things would come to pass then, magic set loose again on an unsuspecting world of blinded Men. And finally, in the end, all would be put to rights, evil banished forever and innocence regained.

  And after this, he would fly once more, reunited with his family. Free to sail in an empyreal sphere, encompassed by love.