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**THE MAGIC LANDS**

**by Mark Hockley**

Copyright 2007 by Mark Hockley

Smashwords Edition

PART ONE

THE ROAD OF DREAMS

The road is cruel and dark, my friend.

1. HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS

2. AT THE END OF THE GARDEN

3. THE LAW OF THE LAND

4. THE OLD WAYS

5. THE GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN HAIR

6. RETURN FROM THE PAST

7. WHITE MAGIC

8. REAL MAGIC

9. DREAMS ARE FOR DREAMERS

10. THE FORK IN THE ROAD

11. THE SEA OF TEARS

12. RITH-RAN-RO-EN

13. THE WAY THROUGH

HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS

The school bell rang.

Tom sprang up out of his seat and made for the classroom door. The world beyond the drab walls of his history class beckoned to him.

"Thomas Lewis!" thundered the voice of Miss McMasterson.

Tom stopped reluctantly, slowly turning to face the scowling features of his teacher. He was an undistinguished looking boy of medium height and build, with a mop of russet hair that never seemed to do as he asked it to. His cheeks coloured as several of his classmates smirked at him.

"And where may I ask," she began, looking him up and down as if he were diseased, "do you think you are going?"

Tom shuffled uncomfortably where he stood, halfway between his desk and the beckoning doorway. "Eh...home miss."

Miss McMasterson leaned forward, her pallid face a mask of displeasure. "It will not do," she intoned. "will not do at all."

Tom looked back at her, confused by her questioning. "Won't do, miss?"

"Patience, Thomas, is a virtue, haven't you learnt that much at least" she droned, shaking her head, but just then another boy, about Tom's height and age, although his hair was darker and a good deal neater, came bursting into the room carrying a weathered suitcase. The other children stirred at this interruption, having until then been transfixed by the confrontation between teacher and boy.

"Stand still," Miss McMasterson hissed, her irritation palpable.

The new arrival stopped dead in his tracks and looked at the woman, his face creasing in a frown. "Yes, miss?"

"What do you think you are doing?" she demanded.

The boy glanced at Tom and was met by a bemused expression. "I've just come to meet Tom. It is home time," he began but the dangerous gleam in Miss McMasterson's eyes told him he should have kept this observation to himself.

"It may well be home time, Master Barton," she instructed, wagging a scrawny finger at the boy, "but there are still rules to be observed. Perhaps both you and Master Lewis need to remain behind to learn some better manners."

She watched them with bitter amusement, seeming to take great satisfaction from their identical expressions of horror

"Please, miss, I'm...we're sorry," Tom began and then gave his friend an imploring look. "Jack..." he nodded, urging the other boy to show some contrition.

"I'm very sorry," added Jack, perhaps a little too briskly.

The woman folded her arms and glared at them for a few long moments, relishing her authority. "Remember, there are many lessons that children need to learn. The most important is to know your place. And to fail to learn will inevitably lead to tragedy of one kind or another. Do not allow yourselves to become a victim of your own arrogance. This will take you along a very dangerous road indeed." She watched them, considering their expressions until she was satisfied that her point had been made. "Now you may go," she finally announced and it was all they could do not to bolt from the room, the noise of Tom's classmates steadily building as they made to follow. Once Tom and Jack were out in the corridor they increased their speed and by the time they had reached the main doors to the school, they were almost jogging.

"I don't think Miss McMasterson likes you very much." Jack observed wryly.

"What are you talking about? I've always been her favourite!" Tom replied with a quick grin.

Jack chuckled and rolled his eyes. "Oh, of course, now I get it, she wanted to keep you back because she's going to miss you so much!"

"What can I do if I'm popular with the ladies," shot back Tom with a puffed up look of self-importance.

Jack nearly choked with laughter. "The ladies..." was all he could splutter.

Tom Lewis and Jack Barton had been best friends for the last three years, since they had begun what they considered to be a form of purgatory at the Halliday Boarding School for Boys. But they could forget about school life now. Ahead lay six weeks of excitement and adventure, or at least that was the way the two of them had it planned.

Tom had arranged for Jack to come and stay with him at his Uncle Ira and Aunt Emily's house and both boys believed it was going to be the best holiday ever.

"Jack," said Tom a little quizzically as they walked along an old pathway which ran parallel with the school playing field. "Do you ever wish something out of the ordinary would happen?"

"Like this you mean," Jack said and gave Tom a jab in the ribs before darting off, trying to avoid the expected retaliation. But Tom only came to a halt, making no attempt to give chase. Coming back cautiously, suspecting some artful counter-attack, Jack saw a distant look in Tom's eyes.

"What is it?" asked Jack, becoming a little concerned and Tom looked up as if he had only just become aware that the other boy was standing there.

"Oh, nothing," he said, shrugging his shoulders casually and they walked on, taking a short-cut that took them through a small field, an easy silence settling between them. Both boys knew when the other didn't want to talk and they let the moment pass.

An antiquated railway station lay ahead, where they were due to catch the three thirty-eight to Tyro.

"What time is it?" Jack asked, as they climbed rusty iron steps to reach their platform on the other side of the line. He checked his pocket for his ticket, not for the first time. A number of other children were already there, although most were on the opposite platform, bound in the other direction. A guard ambled by and nodded at Tom, recognising him from his regular trips to and from school.

"Twenty-five to," answered Tom, checking his wrist-watch, "not long and then we're off," he finished, brightening at the prospect.

"What's your Uncle really like?" Jack questioned as they wandered along the station platform, peering into the distance for some sign of their train.

"You'll like him," was all Tom would say, smiling.

As he said this, chugging rhythmically around a bend in the track, a train appeared and Jack had to restrain himself from letting out a whoop of joy.

Once the train had come to a standstill, the two friends climbed eagerly aboard. Tom looked through the carriage window as the train lurched off and watched as they passed fields and trees, slowly at first before picking up speed. The school was far behind them now and the train hurried through the countryside, the day mild but bright, everything beyond the glass an expanse of rushing green.

He closed his eyes. And remembered.

Tom was four years old.

"Come here, mister," said the young woman, "now there's a good boy."

"I...won't," said Tom with a tremulous air of defiance.

"I said come here...now." The woman dared him to disobey.

"No," Tom said, fighting to keep back unwanted tears.

"Now listen, mister, you will be bathed and I will have no argument." She glanced around at the other children in the dormitory, chastened eyes reluctant to meet her gaze. "Perhaps." She paused as if for effect. "I'll use my special brush."

"No," Tom repeated, backing away, knowing all too well that she meant the one with the extra hard bristles. Tom had felt its brutal caress before.

Suddenly, as Tom continued to retreat, the woman made a quick lunge toward him, grabbing wildly, but the boy was too fast. He dodged neatly to his left and she was sent sprawling to the ground.

"It's the strap for you, mister!" she screeched, almost with exultation.

"Leave me alone," shouted Tom. "Please just leave me alone!"

"You asleep, Tom?" called Jack, prodding him in the ribs.

Tom stirred from his memories and realised that he must have dozed off. "What time is it?" he asked sitting up, hoping they were almost there.

"We've only just got on the train," Jack said shaking his head, "how long does the journey usually take?"

"About half an hour," replied the other boy and slumped back in his seat. He tried to remember what he had been dreaming about, but his mind was blank, memory eluding him as if it were smoke. The train sped on and he closed his eyes to let his thoughts float away again.

Things change as things will and one day in the heart of winter, snow crisp and cleansing upon the ground, Mr and Mrs McKern arrived at the orphanage and signed the papers that meant Tom could escape from that hellish place.

They had decided, the three of them, that Tom being old enough to recognise that they were not his real parents, he would call Ira and his wife Emily, Uncle and Aunt. As to what had become of his mother and father he didn't know. All Tom had been told was that he had been abandoned at birth and though sometimes he cried when he thought of this, mostly he just tried to forget.

His new life proved to be a good one. Uncle Ira and Aunt Emily were kind to him and tried to give him everything he needed, and compared to his early years, it was paradise. He especially liked Uncle Ira, something about the man drawing the young boy to him. Often, Ira would tell him stories, strange tales he hardly understood at that age, but Tom would listen attentively to every word, held captive by the man's voice. He had never forgotten them.

Long ago, a wolf came from the sky. And the children ruffled its white coat, eager to play. But the wolf was not a friend to them. It took them, one by one, into the forest and they never came out again.

Uncle Ira had told him many stories. Sometimes it seemed only a moment ago. He heard the man's voice as if it were whispering in his ear.

"Why did the Wolf come?" Tom would ask. But Ira would only look away, reluctant to say anymore.

Why did the Wolf come?

Tom Lewis slept fitfully on a train taking him home. He dreamed he was a little boy again, but still the questions that he asked remained unanswered.

"Wake up," said a voice at his side.

"Uncle Ira?" muttered Tom, opening his bleary eyes and running a hand across his face.

"No, it's me, you idiot. What's the matter with you, every time I look around you've fallen asleep." Jack gave him a disbelieving glare.

Tom rubbed his eyes. "I don't know. I must be tired I suppose."

Jack shook his head and pulled a face. "You're weird!"

"Who you calling weird?" Tom said, prodding his friend.

Jack slid across the seat laughing. "You!" he said at a safe distance. "You keep falling asleep and mumbling."

Tom scowled at him. "What do you mean, mumbling!? What kind of mumbling?"

"I don't know...sounded like something about a wolf, but who knows with you. Like I said, you're weird."

Tom didn't answer and turned to look out of the window, an old verse returning from long ago into his head.

Far away, where truth is a lie,

is a wolf who is white,

is a wolf who is sly

Far away, in a place with no name,

is a girl in a dream,

is a girl and a game

Far away, in the realm of the cruel,

walks a boy who must be

both king and the fool

Far away, in the time that must be,

meet the wolf and the girl and the boy

by a tree

And the flower that must die,

is the dreamer who will wake

for this is the road that they all must take.

This was a verse that his Uncle had often recited to him. Time and time again Tom asked him to repeat it.

"Will your Uncle meet us at the station?" asked Jack and Tom turned back to face him.

"He said he would."

Tom had told Jack so many things about the man, recounting all of the best stories about the times they had shared together, just the two of them. Tom had known Jack for a long time but oddly, until now, he had never wanted his friend to visit his home. Many times his Aunt had bid him invite Jack home for the holidays, but he had been strangely reluctant. When he had asked his Uncle, all the old man would say was, 'wait until you feel it's right.' And that was what he had done. Now was the right time.

"What shall we do first?" asked Jack.

"Anything you want to," smiled Tom, brightening a little.

"Okay then, I want to see the garden. Every time you've told me a story about you and your Uncle, it's always been in your garden. It must be massive!"

Tom shrugged. It was true, it had always seemed a gigantic place to him, where you could so easily get lost. But he had always been safe with Ira. They had often gone exploring, searching through the shrubs and trees, examining the flowers and plants which grew there unchecked, even wild in places where Ira had allowed them to go their own way. He was sure there were a thousand different varieties in that garden. It was his favourite place in the world.

"We're almost there," called Jack, his head poking out of the window, the cool breeze blowing through his hair, leaving it a straggly mess.

"Watch out you don't get your knocked off!" Tom warned with a chuckle.

Jack grinned and made a strangled sound, but withdrew his head just the same and they both laughed as the train slowed and pulled into Tyro station.

On the platform stood a single figure. He wore his hair long and although there were signs of grey here and there, it still retained most of the glory of its original colour; a fiery red. He was a short fellow, but muscular and upright. He had the look of a man used to hard work, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that betrayed a deep wisdom, untold secrets held within.

As the train came to a standstill, he saw the two boys step out of a carriage and moved toward them, smiling broadly. "How's my boy?" the old man said, clapping Tom on the back.

"I'm fine," the boy smiled and then turned to his friend, "this is Jack."

"So this is young Jack Barton, is it," Uncle Ira said, holding out his hand. They shook hands and Ira gave a deep chuckle, clearly amused.

"You've got quite a grip there, Jack. Careful you don't break one of my fingers!"

Tom and Jack both laughed and the three of them made off toward the station exit, Ira striding along in front carrying Jack's case with ease.

"I'm afraid we have no transportation, Jack," began the man as they left the station, "so we'll have to rely on our legs to carry us home."

"We'll keep up, don't you worry," promised Tom.

Ira set off along a winding stone road which seemed to carry on endlessly up a hill before them, twisting through tree-lined fields like a discarded ribbon.

As they began to walk, Jack could hardly believe the pace the old man set for them. He found himself almost jogging just to keep up. Glancing at Tom between gulps of air, he noted that his friend, although labouring, was faring rather better than himself.

"Keep up, boys," called Ira without looking back, a little way ahead.

After ten minutes or so, Jack was beginning to struggle. "Tom," he gasped, "I don't think I can keep this up for much longer."

But Tom just gave him a quick glance and Jack thought he saw a look of desperation momentarily play across his friend's features.

"Come on," urged Tom, dropping back slightly to come along beside the other boy.

"Why is he going so fast?" Jack asked, breathing very heavily now, the air he swallowed feeling harsh in his throat.

"He's testing us."

Jack didn't understand what Tom meant by this, but could sense it was important to his friend to keep up with the old man, so he renewed his efforts, forcing himself on.

"Let's catch him up," Tom said, gritting his teeth.

Ahead of them, despite the camber of the hill, the old man seemed to find it all no more than a casual stroll and finally, as they came up by his side, he looked at each in turn, his eyes keen as diamonds.

"We're almost there," he barked and with that, he increased his speed, lengthening his stride and soon began to leave them behind again. Jack almost stopped. "I can't," he wheezed, mostly to himself.

"Come on!" pressed Tom, irritation and anxiety in his voice.

"Why do we have to go so fast?" Jack managed.

"We mustn't fail the test," insisted Tom, grabbing Jack's arm and pulling him along. Jack could hardly walk now, his legs feeling like jelly. He just wanted to stop and sit down. The road seemed to snake on and on into the distance, always climbing.

Tom, still hauling Jack by the arm, forged relentlessly on, his Uncle now more than ten yards ahead of them. He knew he must keep up. To fall behind would be to fail.

He remembered the stories. And he was afraid.

Make haste along the path, for the wolf is always waiting for the lamb who is weak. Never fall behind the flock or the wolf will be sure to come for you. The road is cruel and dark, my friend.

"We can do it, Jack," urged Tom.

As Jack stumbled along beside his friend, not knowing what this was all about, just for a moment he thought he saw something, in a meadow beyond some masking trees. Something white. It moved dextrously through yellow buttercups, its progress torpid and dream-like.

But then Ira called from ahead and Jack lost sight of it.

"We're here," the old man rumbled as they came around a bend and saw the old house that Tom called home.

Ira gave both boys a good-natured smile as they passed through the gateway. But then he cast a glance back along the road as if checking that no-one had followed. The road was deserted, the day still bright, the sky clear but the old man's smile faded. Shutting the

gate firmly, he went quickly toward the house, but even as he reached the doorway he couldn't shake the feeling that something crept behind him and that cold, amused eyes bored into his back.

AT THE END OF THE GARDEN

The house was built of ancient stone, or so Uncle Ira said. It had what people often referred to as character, a primitive charm, uncomplicated and dependable. Tom felt very glad to be home again.

"Emily, they're here," called out Ira, as they came through a broad oak doorway into a large room which served as a sitting room. He set Jack's suitcase down and stood waiting.

"Tom!" came a woman's voice.

"I'm home," he cried out, "and so is Jack!" With this he ran into an adjoining room. As Jack followed into what he recognised immediately as the kitchen, he saw the two embracing, his friend lost amidst a white apron. Tom's Aunt looked a good deal older than his Uncle, although Jack was sure Tom had mentioned that both were about the same age.

"This is Jack," declared Tom, pointing at him.

The woman smiled kindly and came over to the boy. "Hello, Jack. I've heard so much about you. Welcome to our house."

Jack was a little embarrassed. He didn't much care for introductions. "I'm pleased to meet you," he mumbled in return.

"Now how about a drink," broke in Ira at the kitchen doorway and Jack thought this was an excellent suggestion. His throat felt as though it was on fire.

After finishing a bottle of home-made lemonade between them, Tom was immediately up on his feet.

"Can I show Jack around now?" he asked, fidgeting and obviously raring to go. Any trepidation he might have felt during the journey home was forgotten now.

His Aunt smiled affectionately, gathering up empty glasses. "Off you go then."

Needing no further encouragement, the two boys dashed out of the room, Tom leading the way with Jack close behind. Out through the back door they ran and suddenly Jack found himself in an enormous garden filled with all manner of flowers and vegetation. Tall trees lined each side for several hundred yards, their leaves rustling in the late afternoon breeze, the rest a mystery, but one Jack was keen to unravel. They came to a halt and Jack took a moment to take in the colours, so many shades of green, light and shadow amid trees and bushes. Summer's touch was upon the garden, a vast expanse stretching out before him.

"Wow," he murmured. It was all he could think of to say.

"Do you like it?" asked Tom, grinning foolishly.

"You bet I do!"

"Well, come on then, don't just stand there gaping, let's take a look around."

They darted off down a sunlit lane, criss-crossing shadows inventing a grid upon which they played. Then they zigzagged across the garden, dodging amongst flowers and shrubs. This was home as far as Tom was concerned. The good times he had known in this place were far too many to recall. He and his Uncle would often play hide and seek here and sometimes Tom would search for hours trying to find the old man. One thing was sure, Uncle Ira certainly knew all of the best hiding places! There were times when he suspected that Ira was not even in the garden at all, but in the end there he would be, in some place or another, although the boy felt certain he had already been that way earlier and his Uncle had not been there then.

"Let's play hide and seek?" called Tom as they ran, his memories putting him in the mood.

Jack was just about to agree when Ira's voice bellowed out from somewhere behind them.

"Tom! Jack! Don't forget about supper."

Tom looked at his friend and could see by the expression on his face that he was just as hungry as himself. All thoughts of the game disappeared.

"Race you back!" challenged Jack and was off and running, but Tom, using his advantage of familiar terrain, darted beneath a canopy of Wisteria and to Jack's amazement, shot out from a muddy pathway yards ahead of him and was first to reach the back porch.

The table was set out with all manner of delights. As it was his favourite food, a slab of cheese as big as the plate it sat upon was the first thing that caught Jack's eye. A wide variety of other food was set out on the table too, tomatoes and cucumber, lettuce and radishes, spring onions and beetroot, and biscuits, home-made he was sure. A huge golden loaf of bread lay cut into large slices, its freshly baked aroma tantalising, a silver dish of butter by its side and Jack became more certain than ever that he was going to like it here. It was going to be a great holiday.

After their meal, they spent an enjoyable couple of hours talking, Tom relating all of the latest news from school. Ira entertained them with jokes and tales of his days at sea, when as a youthful first-mate he had sailed around the world and back, or so he claimed.

Tom sat in an armchair, his stomach aching and Jack's was so bad he hadn't dared to move from the table.

Ira shook his head and smiled indulgently. "Your eyes are bigger than your bellies."

Jack could only moan holding his stomach protectively. Emily, coming into the room from the kitchen, wagged her finger at the boys.

"I've been lenient with both of you as it's the first day of your holiday, but tomorrow I'll be expecting some help in the kitchen." She gave Jack a warm smile. "That is, if you can fit through the door!"

Ira had gone to stand by the window, drawing the curtain back a little. "Why don't you show Jack your room, Tom, and get him settled in?"

With a great deal of effort Tom got up from his seat. "Come on, Jack. You can lay down upstairs if you like." The other boy managed a nod.

Ira turned from the window to watch the boys and had to suppress a laugh at the sight of them. "You can do it," he encouraged.

With absolute concentration, exerting himself physically and mentally or so it seemed to him, Jack stood up. "I never want to see food again," he groaned.

They trudged upstairs, the blue door of Tom's bedroom the first they came to. It was not a very big room but had a hospitable, welcome feel to it and Jack felt comfortable there right away. Setting himself down gingerly on the lower berth of a bunk-bed, he looked up at his friend. "I like it here," he said and then grimaced as his stomach turned over.

"Good," grinned Tom, "but maybe we had better not eat so much next time."

Jack nodded unreservedly. "It's a deal."

Climbing up onto the top bunk, Tom lay on his back and looked up at the familiar ceiling that he had studied so many times whilst waiting for sleep to come and claim him. He closed his eyes and immediately a picture of a girl popped into his mind, her face oddly familiar although he couldn't remember where he might have seen her. At fourteen, girls were something he and Jack were taking more and more of a keen interest in. The only problem was that contact with the opposite sex didn't happen very often and even on those rare occasions when it did, they tended to find themselves suddenly dumb-struck and feeling very stupid. Girls were, for the present, an inscrutable puzzle.

The girl in his day-dream wore a red hood but he could see her face quite clearly. She looked perhaps a little older than himself and had long golden hair that spilled out from beneath her bonnet.

"Who are you?" Tom asked, realising dimly that he must be asleep and he had begun to dream.

The girl gazed back at him, smiling sweetly. "I'm little Bo Peep," she said with a courteous bow.

"Have you lost your sheep?" questioned Tom, concerned for the girl, thinking her expression rather sad.

"Yes I have," she replied, "will you help me to find them?"

"I'd be glad to," Tom said with enthusiasm.

"But what if the Wolf comes?" little Bo Peep asked.

Tom frowned and opened his eyes. He was in his room, lying on his bed. Below he could hear Jack gently snoring.

A little later, when the sun had set and moonlight stole through the windows of the old house, Ira came into Tom's room and found both boys still fully clothed, fast asleep. He considered waking them and telling them to undress but decided they were happy as they were. After all, he thought, it had been a busy day. Leaving the room quietly, he closed the door and went downstairs.

"They're asleep already," he told Emily.

"They must have been tired out," she said with a tenderness that reminded Ira just why he loved his wife so dearly.

"Yes," agreed Ira, sitting down beside her, "but they'll be fit and ready for a good day tomorrow." He closed his eyes and leaned back into the chair. So much to be done, he mused, so much to tell Tom and so little time. Jack was a fine boy though, a good friend for Tom. He had known he would be.

But now the time of trial was almost upon them. The old man's mind crept back to earlier that day, when he had felt as if something had been following them home. He scowled, his face contorting violently but Emily didn't notice, her concentration set on her knitting. Glancing at her, Ira decided that was just as well. Better for her not to know.

They would all do what they must. After all, what choice did they really have.

Sunlight pierced the room like an arrow through the heart of the house.

Jack opened his eyes and yawned. "I'm hungry," he muttered.

Tom, who had been awake a short while, just lying there and enjoying the fact that there was no school for six whole weeks, laughed and sat up. He leaned over the side of his bunk to peer down at Jack. "You're hungry!" he cried, amazed. "After yesterday, you're hungry!"

"Well," answered Jack, almost apologetically, "my appetite's come back now."

Tom grinned and got down from the bed, stretching tender muscles. "Do you realise that we didn't even undress last night?" He paraded himself fully clothed as proof.

"I must really have been tired," Jack allowed.

Tom opened a chest of drawers and took out some clean clothes. "Let's change, then we can go down and see if we can find you some breakfast."

Ira had put Jack's case in the room the previous evening, but he still needed to unpack. He hastily stuffed his belongings into several drawers Tom had earmarked for him, setting aside some suitable items for the day. Taking turns to use the small bathroom along the hallway, they were washed and dressed in record time.

Today was going to be an exploring day. They would scour the garden, crawling under every bush, climbing every tree. Whatever there was to be found, Tom and Jack intended to find it.

"Come on," Jack urged, tying his boot-lace, "let's go and see about that breakfast!"

Tom followed the other boy downstairs with a look of utter disbelief.

Aunt Emily, having forecast Jack's recovery, had laid out an excellent breakfast for them already.

They all soon found that Jack, undeterred by last evening's experience, was more than equal to the task. Tom was a little less enthusiastic and was happy to settle for two slices of toast.

Uncle Ira watched with interest. "Jack, either you are going to grow up big and strong or you're just going to get very fat!"

Tom chuckled. "He's already fat!"

Jack glared across the table, but couldn't help but laugh, enjoying the good-natured banter and once breakfast was finished and the two boys had helped Emily with the clearing up, it was at last time to go out into the garden and explore. Uncle Ira stepped out with them into a fine warm day.

"Isn't it glorious," the old man said, breathing in deeply.

The boys smiled and took in their surroundings. In the perfect light of the day the huge garden was a wonderful sight. It seemed to stretch out before them, an inviting playground for any youngster with an adventurous spirit.

"Now Tom," Ira said in a serious tone, "I want you to stay in the garden. Don't venture outside of it." He eyed them both carefully. "I know you're keen to look into every nook and cranny but keep to the garden."

Tom nodded. He knew it was his Uncle's golden rule. Always keep to the garden.

"We will," he promised solemnly.

"Make sure that you do," rumbled Ira. "Stay safe," he finished. He looked at them both steadily to make certain that they had really understood and then, with a wave of his hand, "go on then." He was smiling as the boys dashed off into the undergrowth, but once they were out of sight his smile died. "Stay safe," he repeated softly.

The garden was full of winding paths and tunnels through the shrubbery. It had a wonderfully contrary combination of being well kept but still wild and unpredictable. One moment they were down on their knees crawling and the next, they were up and running furiously, shouting and laughing. The different varieties of flowers that grew there defied description. It seemed that Ira had planted and been able to maintain a fantastic selection and Jack decided that Tom's Uncle must be quite some gardener.

"What's wrong speedy, can't you keep up!?" called back Tom as he raced off under a big willow tree, its hanging branches swallowing him up.

Following close behind, Jack pushed through the branches of the tree himself and looked around quickly but Tom was gone.

"Where are you!?" he shouted.

There was no answer. Only the rustle of the trees moving in the breeze.

It must be some game he's playing. Hide and seek, that's what it is. Well if Tom wants to hide, I'll find him!

With this in mind, he stole off through some bushes searching for Tom, who obviously believed he would never be found just because it was his garden and Jack didn't know his way around yet.

"We'll see about that," Jack said aloud.

Tom couldn't find Jack anywhere.

"Come on, stop hiding," he grumbled to himself, wondering if maybe his friend had got lost. After all, it was easy enough to do, even when you knew the garden well.

He remembered a time when he and his Uncle had gone out for a walk, he had been about six years old and they had embarked on one of their regular games of hide and seek. But whilst playing Tom had found himself in a part of the garden he didn't recognise, a place he was certain he had never been before. A great tree, bigger than any he had ever seen, rose up above a tall hedge that appeared to form the boundary of their land, running both left and right for as far as he could see. He'd supposed that this must be the end of the garden, although he had never really known where it ended. It seemed to sprawl out endlessly and sometimes Tom imagined that it just kept on growing, always expanding in size.

The enormous tree was certainly impressive and standing beneath it all those years before Tom had felt strangely excited, as if at any moment some amazing thing might happen.

I would really like to climb this tree, he had thought and then as if compelled to do so, Tom had glanced upward and seen something very odd. A snake hung coiled around a low branch, its ebony body glistening, a forked tongue hissing very gently.

"Tom," the creature had spoken, "I'm so glad you came. I've been waiting for you."

Tom had hardly been able to breath, afraid to move. Even at that age, Tom knew full well that animals couldn't talk. Maybe he was only dreaming.

"No dream this," hissed the snake as if reading his mind. "Why don't you climb up, Tom," it urged, its long body shuddering. "Climb up here and join me, there's room enough for two."

Without thinking, Tom had gripped a low branch to begin his ascent when his Uncle's

voice had reached him, shouting his name, telling him it was time to go back.

He had seriously considered ignoring the call, thinking he would climb up anyway. But after a long moment of indecision and with a real effort he had turned away from the tree. He was angry with himself now that he should have even thought of ignoring his Uncle, leaving the old man to worry that something might have happened to him. Looking up into the tree once more Tom saw that the snake was gone.

Imagination, just my imagination.

There was no other explanation, unless he was completely mad. Definitely imagination! He started off in the direction of his Uncle's voice.

When Ira had at last come across the boy he had seemed a little ill-tempered. "Didn't you hear me calling?" he had asked, the words sharp.

"Er," began Tom, "I did, but I couldn't find you." The lie tasted bitter in his mouth but he felt very reluctant to discuss what had occurred beneath the giant oak, fear and embarrassment uniting to create a mental barrier that he was content to leave intact.

His Uncle fixed him with a keen gaze. "Where were you?"

"I...," Tom muttered, fidgeting uneasily, "I found a big tree at the end of the garden."

Tom recalled the way his Uncle had frowned. "A great oak?" the man had questioned.

"Yes," he had replied, "by a tall hedge."

Ira had nodded. "I know the place," he murmured. Taking Tom's hand firmly in his, he had led the boy away through a clump of leaning sycamores. "Let's go home for supper."

Tom remembered it all so well, the inexplicable event he had imagined by the gigantic tree bothering him for quite some time after. But fortunately for his sanity's sake, there were no similar episodes, so gradually with the passing of time he was able to let the

incident recede into the back of his mind, hidden away as an unwanted memory. Never once had he found that place again since then, although a secret part of him longed to return there, to climb that towering oak.

But now Jack was lost and Tom had no idea where to look. "Jack!" he shouted at the top of his voice, but the only reply he received was bird-song from one of the trees above him.

Everything else in the garden was still and for some reason Tom couldn't quite explain, he felt just a little bit afraid.

Jack walked between two rows of red and yellow tulips. Beds of flowers of many different kinds ran side by side up a wide clearing flanked by tall elm trees. It was like a tunnel, thought Jack, with the sky for a roof. He wandered on, taking in the beauty of the place. The garden certainly was big, far bigger than he had ever imagined.

An old pathway to his left caught his eye, running between some bushes and although it was overgrown and looked as if it hadn't been used in years, he decided to see where it led. After all, he was there to explore.

Moving slowly, beating down brambles and nettles with his feet as he went, Jack made his way along the path. It meandered on for quite some distance beneath lowering trees, berry bushes leaning in either side of him, but at last he stooped to pass under a large hanging thicket and came out into a clearing.

"Wow," he said aloud. Before him was a great tree, its thick trunk and crown of spreading branches casting him in shade.

Jack gazed up in awe at a giant oak overlooking a long, high hedge. He had come to the end of the garden.

THE LAW OF THE LAND

"I think I'd better go and look for them," called Ira from the back door. He made quite sure that Emily didn't see the worried frown that knotted his brow, deep concern and perhaps even dread evident on his worn features.

"Don't be gone too long," Emily answered, coming into the kitchen, "dinner will be ready in a little while."

"Don't you worry," Ira said, "I'll be back with the boys in a jiffy." But if his wife had seen his face she would have doubted he believed it.

Jack stood beneath the great oak. Climb me, it seemed to whisper to him. Climb up and see what you can see.

He grabbed hold of a low branch, his fingers tightening around it, the bark rough beneath his skin and began his ascent.

After looking everywhere that he could think of, Tom began to search deeper into the garden, taking unfamiliar paths, desperation driving him on. And then as he came out into a clearing, he experienced a profound sense of deja-vu that stopped him dead in his tracks.

Before him, a high hedge created an imposing boundary, running as far as he could see in both directions. This part of the garden was bereft of flowers, only shrubs and patches of dense ivy growing beside it and then gazing upward he saw a great oak rising against the sky.

He stopped and looked at it, memories suddenly filling his mind. A part of him was very afraid to go any nearer, but something stronger than his fear urged him forward. This place had haunted him through the years, despite his efforts to deny it. Now that he had rediscovered it he wanted answers.

But at what price, his mind asked him in a hollow whisper. At what price?

Ira called Tom's name, then Jack's, but there wasn't any answer.

He moved on, gaining speed as he went. The further he ventured into the garden, the more certain he became that something terrible was happening. And although Ira had perhaps expected it, now that it was upon him he was determined to resist it.

"Tom!" he yelled, "come back!"

He broke into a run. He knew where they would be.

Up the tree, on perhaps the sixth or seventh bough, perched Jack, his hands clutching a thick branch just above his head.

He was about to pull himself up a little bit further when a sound from below caught his attention.

"Jack!" cried Tom at the foot of the oak.

Jack looked down and could hardly believe how far it was to the ground. "T...Tom," he murmured, his voice unwilling to come out of his mouth.

"Are you all right?" shouted up his friend.

Gaining control of himself as best he could, Jack called back that he was fine.

"I'm coming up," signalled Tom and began to climb.

Jack peered down watching the small figure moving slowly towards him. He could fall, thought Jack and found that, oddly, the idea did not seem to worry him. In fact he wouldn't mind at all if Tom fell. After all, an internal voice sighed, there is only room for one up here.

Jack shook his head in dismay. What was he thinking? Tom mustn't fall. He gazed down once more, scanning the foliage and saw the blue of Tom's jersey working its way upward.

"Almost there," called Tom, not far below now.

Jack thought about offering his hand to pull his friend up but decided he had best not, the thoughts that still echoed in his mind alien and disturbing. His head ached, a dull throb at the centre of his brow.

Then Tom was beside him.

"We must stop meeting like this," Jack said with a weak smile.

"So this is where you were," chuckled Tom, although there was a tension in his voice that was unmistakable.

"Now this is what I call a tree!" Jack appraised, feeling a little more like his old self.

Tom nodded. "I've only ever been here once before and I wanted to climb up then," he said vaguely, recalling how he had felt the last time he had come upon this place.

"Well now that we're up," challenged Jack, "are we just going to sit here or are we going up a bit higher?"

Tom gave his friend a determined look. "Higher it is."

Ira was lost.

Lost! In his own garden, the place he had known since he was a boy when his father had introduced him to its many secrets. Secrets that maybe Tom was uncovering at that very moment.

The garden was closing him out he realised, barring him from reaching the boys in time to warn them. The place had altered subtly, things not quite where they ought to be, paths somehow backtracking to lead him toward the house.

Ira stopped running and rested his hands on his knees, breathing hard. "Tom...Jack," he said quietly, "the land is shifting and the Wolf wants you both."

His heart was heavy, he was just an old man after all. His time was over. Now it was for the young ones to face the final test.

"Hold on a minute," said Jack on the branch above.

"What is it?" Tom asked, looking up but unable to see anything other than his friend's hunched body.

"I've found something!" Becoming excited, although he didn't really know why, Tom edged up toward the other boy. "It's a hole," called down Jack, his voice rising a little.

"What sort of hole?" Tom questioned, clambering up over a leafy branch, before attempting to hoist himself up beside Jack.

"A big one! I'm going in."

"Jack!" shouted Tom as he just caught a glimpse of his friend's red jumper disappearing into the tree. It was as though the oak had just gobbled him up.

"I'm all right," came a muffled reply, "come on, there's plenty of room in here."

Pulling himself up onto the outstretched branch that Jack had just vacated, Tom peered into the murky darkness of a large hollow. "Where are you?" he hissed, not able to see anything but blackness.

"I'm in here! Come on, come inside."

For a moment Tom hesitated, and then with a last glance up at the seemingly endless array of branches above him, he went into the tree.

Tom couldn't believe how much space there was inside the hollow. Trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness, he shuffled forward, crouching low and holding out his hands like a blind man.

"Not bad, eh Tom?" said Jack, somewhere to his left.

Dimly, Tom saw the outline of the other boy. The daylight from outside hardly illuminated the hole at all and when Tom glanced back toward the opening, all he saw was a vague shape in the gloom. "This is weird," he commented, finding a more comfortable position.

"Great hiding place though," Jack observed. "No one would ever find you in here." He came closer to Tom until they could see each other more clearly. "This is just the sort of place I expected to find in your garden".

"How big do you think it is?" queried Tom, feeling about with his hands and coming into contact with nothing either above or beside him.

"Well," started Jack, "let's see if we can stand up." With that he straightened to his full height and Tom winced, waiting for the groan of pain that must surely come when Jack hit his head. A moment of silence followed and then. "It's all right."

Getting to his feet slowly, Tom was astonished to find that even when he raised his hands he could not find the roof of the hollow.

"How can it be so big?" he asked, turning full circle.

"Don't know."

"Try moving about, let's find the sides of this place. I want to see how big it is," Tom said and began to inch forward, expecting to bump into the interior wall of the tree at any second.

Jack held out his hands in front of him and imagined he looked rather foolish as he lurched blindly ahead, before tripping over something and nearly falling flat on his face. "Ouch!" he cried out, rubbing his ankle before kneeling to feel for the offending object. "Tom," he called as his hands made contact with something.

"What is it?"

"I've found something else."

Tom tried to pin-point his friend and although he was no more than six feet away saw only a blurry figure squatting in the darkness. His eyes were finding it unusually difficult to adjust to their new surroundings.

"Come and look," urged Jack almost in a whisper.

"Look!" mocked Tom. "That's a good one. I can hardly see you!" As he drew closer he could just make out a dark shape held in Jack's hands. "Well, what is it?" he demanded impatiently.

"It's a box," came Jack's simple reply as he brushed dirt from the lid.

"What sort of box?"

Jack tutted and shook his head, a look of exasperation on his face. "How should I know," he rasped, "I can't see much more than you can!"

Edging nearer, Tom came close enough to examine the object. "I wonder how it got in here," he mused. As far as he could tell it was a small box, smooth to the touch, made from some kind of wood but with very little sign of any workmanship. "Does it feel as if there's anything inside?" he asked becoming curious, despite the objects bland appearance.

"No, it's as light as a feather," Jack responded, weighing it in his hands.

"Try the lid and see if it's locked."

Carefully Jack lifted the top of the box and the two boys peered inside, expecting nothing and yet hoping there would be something there and they saw what appeared to be a rolled up piece of yellowed paper neatly held by a white ribbon.

Ira came inside the house and sat down heavily.

"Couldn't you find them?" Emily asked, busying herself with preparing dinner.

The old man looked at her quickly and wondered what he should say. "No," he said guardedly, "I couldn't find them anywhere."

"Oh well," stated his wife, wiping her hands on her apron, "they'll turn up soon enough when their bellies start to grumble." She smiled, satisfied that this was true.

Ira got up and left the room without saying anything more. He wearily climbed the stairs and went into his and Emily's bedroom and sat down on the bed. What would his wife say when the boys still did not return long after dinner time had passed and what when it became dark? How could he explain to her that there wasn't anything that could be done? He closed his eyes and lay back on the cool pillow.

Should he go after them? He thought that he could do it. He knew the way.

But would he be permitted?

Perhaps he would be wrong to even try to interfere. He closed his eyes.

Why did the Wolf come?

It came to eat you, Tom. That's all its ever really wanted to do.

"Open it up," whispered Tom, bursting with anticipation.

Jack loosened the ribbon and carefully unrolled the scroll. In the dim light of the tree-hollow, the two friends vainly tried to make out what was written on the parchment.

"We'll have to take it outside," Jack concluded moving back toward the opening and as they came out once more into the daylight, both boys were struck by how bright it was.

"It shouldn't have been that dark in there," muttered Tom, concerned by this anomaly, but Jack was too busy looking over the scroll to take much notice.

"It's a map," he said, studying the paper carefully.

They sat balanced precariously upon the branches which hung around the hollow and spread the parchment out before them.

"What's the writing at the bottom?" questioned Tom, leaning over Jack's shoulder, pointing at an ornate script that flowed across the page.

Jack read the words aloud.

"Seek and you will find,

Pandora's box

kept safe behind,

an arcane wall

of light and tone,

where sits a king,

upon his throne

of flesh and blood

and human bone.

To redeem the beast,

turn the key,

find the truth

and set it free.

So walk the road of bitter dream,

where nothing and no one

are what they seem."

Jack scratched his head. "What's all that supposed to mean?" he pondered.

Tom made no reply. It sounded just like one of Uncle Ira's poems and although he had never heard this particular verse before, he felt as if he knew it. It was as though he had heard a little here and a little there at different times throughout his life, snatches of memory as elusive as dreams. He didn't know what it meant, but it was important. Of that he was certain.

"Well," declared Jack, glancing at Tom, "any suggestions?" He handed the map over to his friend and Tom examined it at close quarters.

"The map isn't of anywhere I've ever seen before," he confessed after a moment.

"Must be somewhere foreign," Jack reasoned, beginning to lose interest.

Tom looked out over the garden, his gaze taking in many of the places he knew so well, the apple grove where he had spent summer days, the old pond where he had thrown stones at his reflection, watching the ripples with childish fascination. He could see the house too, over in the distance. It seemed so safe and welcoming. He knew his Aunt was in there now, preparing dinner, awaiting their return. In that instant, Tom longed to be back at the house.

Turning toward Jack, he looked past him and noticed for the first time that they were now level with the top of the hedge that ran all along the rear of the garden. I wonder what's on the other side, he thought, the lure of new discoveries tugging at him once more.

As if reading his mind, Jack turned to him and said, "that branch just above us reaches right over the hedge. Let's see if we can climb onto it and then we can find out what's on the other side."

"I'm not..." Tom began to say. But Jack was already climbing.

"What you waiting for!?" he shouted down and Tom quickly scrambled up after him, the map stuffed roughly inside his shirt. He had tossed the box back into the hollow, it could stay where they had found it for now. If his Uncle thought it worth having they could always climb back up and fetch it later.

On a particularly long, thick branch that hung right over the hedge and beyond, sat Jack. "This looks like a job for Tarzan!" he announced, swinging on the branch above.

"Be careful," Tom warned. If one of them fell from this height they might be killed or at best, break an arm or leg, but Jack being Jack, seemed to have little concern for his own safety.

Moving quickly, gripping the bark with fierce determination, Jack began to shimmy along the branch. Looking on anxiously, Tom wondered if this was such a good idea, but the other boy was almost over the hedge now and dropping out of sight, so with a last glance toward his house, Tom began to move cautiously after him.

"I'm going down," called Jack as he crawled further along the sinewy branch.

"Wait a minute Jack!" Tom cried but his friend's head had already disappeared. Faster now, but still making sure that he kept a firm grip on the tree, Tom gained the part of the branch that reached out over the hedge and looked down. The long bough wound its way crookedly almost to the ground and peering out he saw that the vicinity below was quite similar to his own garden, a wide area of vegetation, thick with trees.

But where was Jack?

Tom looked down to the ground and then all along the side of the tall hedge but Jack was nowhere to be seen. He must be a magician to disappear so fast he decided, but without any humour. He wished Jack could have just waited for him. Now things were getting out of hand.

Carefully he lowered himself down along the rapidly thinning bough until it ended about seven or eight feet from the ground, then with a grunt and a tightening of his muscles, he dropped down, hitting the earth with a heavy thud.

Jack couldn't understand it.

He had jumped to the ground and landed well, but when he had looked up to help Tom down, the hedge had been gone. He knew it was ridiculous but that was what had happened. The whole, gigantic hedge had just disappeared, and so had the tree for that matter. He shook his head as if trying to clear it and stared stupidly at a thicket of trees where he knew the hedge should have been.

"I don't get this," he muttered, "I just don't get this."

He stood there like that for a while trying to come up with some kind of explanation, but the truth was it didn't make any kind of sense.

Eventually he began to walk aimlessly toward a nearby stand of trees huddled close together as if in deep conversation and as he went he rubbed at his forehead, a dull headache beginning to throb against his temple. Was he still in the garden? What was going on!?

He was about to call out when something stirred in the grove ahead, causing him to gaze into the shadowy interior of the close-knit trees. At first he couldn't see anything at all, but then a figure became visible, a woman dressed all in white. She was picking flowers.

Edging closer and clearing his throat so as not to alarm the lady, Jack decided to ask if she knew the way back to Tom's house.

"Excuse me," he began, now only a few feet away from her.

The woman looked up at him and smiled. "Hello," she said.

Tom was becoming frantic. If Jack was lost he would need his Uncle's help to find him, but now that it was too late, he realised how foolish they had been. It had been all very well coming over the hedge but how was he going to find his way back? Somehow he would have to negotiate his way around it, but dense thickets of bushes and trees grew wild all along this side of the hedge, making it difficult to keep it within sight and already Tom had become disoriented, his sense of direction failing him.

"Jack!" he shouted out. He couldn't be that far away, Tom was sure. Surely he would be able to hear his call. But Jack didn't answer. Reluctantly, leaving the hedge even further behind, Tom made off along a worn path that led toward some trees.

"I think I'm lost," Jack told the woman

"Oh dear," she sympathised, smiling kindly.

Jack smiled too, a little embarrassed. This lady was certainly very beautiful and dressed as she was, all in radiant white, she seemed almost magical to him. Her clothes were made of what Jack thought to be fine silk and it flowed about her, now and then caught by the subdued breeze.

"I was wondering if you knew the way back to my friend's house?" He pointed vaguely over his shoulder. "It belongs to the McKern's and I'm staying with them."

The woman continued to smile reassuringly. "I'm not sure that I can help you. There's no house around here that I know of." She paused as if giving the matter some thought. "And where might your friend be?"

"I've lost him," replied Jack, "he could be anywhere."

The woman in white shook her head slowly. "Oh dear," she said once again, frowning, "I'm sure he will turn up."

"Well, thanks anyway, but I think I'd better keep looking for him," Jack resolved and was about to turn and go when the woman leaned in closer to him. Her face so close to his made him feel a little dizzy.

"Remember," she said softly, "the road is long and little boys can fall foul of all manner of things."

Jack looked up at her with wide eyes, struggling to clear his head. He felt ill. What was the lady saying? He tried to think. "What?" he mumbled, not understanding.

Clutching a bunch of flowers in one hand, she held out the other and pointed off into the distance. "That's your path." Her long fingernail seemed to change and grow and the ground began to spin. Jack became faint and feared he was about to blackout. "Be on your way, while you can." Jack heard the woman's voice but he could no longer see her. All he saw was an emerald canopy closing in on every side. Was it sunstroke, Jack

wondered. If only he could just rest for a minute. "Remember me," she breathed and then everything became dark.

Jack lay in a field of daisies with his eyes shut tight. He was wide awake but he knew that he must be dreaming.

THE OLD WAYS

In this land of dreams

where we once played,

promises are seldom kept

but often made,

now we must learn

the ways of old,

when hearts were but meat

to be bought and sold,

the dream is for you

and the dream is for me,

until we free the truth

and find the key .

Poems and stories. They had become a part of Tom's life. But what did they mean?

He had often wondered about them, trying to discover the hidden meanings concealed behind the veil of words, but he was more uncertain now than he had ever been and as he walked slowly through long grass, searching for some sign of Jack, this particular verse echoed in his mind like a distant cry.

He felt a little afraid. Jack had not answered his calls and he had to admit reluctantly that he was now lost himself. What sort of a mess had they got themselves into? He doubted that he could even find the high hedge again, let alone Jack. He had no idea where he was and all around him there was nothing but trees, fields and flowers, no landmarks, no points of reference. At any other time he would have enjoyed the beauty of his surroundings but now, separated from his friend, lost and not knowing which way to go to get home, he almost hated the place.

"Jack!" he cried out in desperation.

"Tom," came a reply from not very far away.

He broke into a run and made toward the voice. Looking out for Jack as he went, hoping to catch a glimpse of him amongst the foliage, Tom came upon a big elm tree that marked the edge of a small wood and saw something that made him come to a dead stop. Hanging from a knurled branch of the old tree was a swing and upon it sat a boy dressed in a neat black suit. He looked to be about four or five and possessed an impish quality that Tom found oddly disquieting.

"Hello Tom," said the boy.

"Eh, hello," returned Tom without really thinking. The little boy smiled, enigmatic but not unfriendly. "Wait a minute!" exclaimed Tom, "how did you know my name?"

The boy pushed his feet against the ground and began to swing to-and-fro. "It's common knowledge," he stated, sounding rather older than his appearance would suggest.

"Who are you?" asked Tom as he appraised the child, confused and just a little annoyed at his off-handed manner.

The youngster regarded the older boy, his head tilted slightly to one side, his striking green eyes unnerving. "Tom, Tom," sang the boy on the swing, "I'm your friend, you can trust me."

"What do you mean, I can trust you, what are you talking about?" Tom was quickly losing patience and had an agitated feeling growing inside him.

"Take it easy, Tom," chimed the boy.

This was the final straw. "Don't you tell me to take it easy," stormed Tom. "I'm lost and I can't find my friend and you're just a little kid anyway!"

The boy stopped swinging. "I'm sorry," he said quietly and Tom, immediately regretting his outburst and realising that anger would get him nowhere, decided he could at least ask the child for directions home. He would then be able to get Uncle Ira to help search for Jack.

"I don't know how you know my name," he began in as calm a voice as he could manage, "but as you do, maybe you know my house too and you can tell me how to get back there?"

The small boy gazed at him with what Tom thought was a rather wistful smile. "You can't go home now, Tom," he said matter-of-factly.

"What do you mean, I can't go home!?" Tom demanded, moving closer to the boy, facing him angrily, his frustration rising once more despite his best efforts to keep it at bay. "And who are you anyway?"

The boy began to swing again. "Like I said Tom, I'm your friend."

"This is ridiculous!" Tom growled.

"Have you noticed anything odd, Tom, anything strange? Look at the sky, what do you see?"

Almost without thinking Tom peered upward, a blue expanse marked by just a few swirls of wispy cloud meeting his gaze. "I can't see anything," he said, although an unsettling feeling of wrongness nagged at him.

"Look closer, Tom," urged the boy on the swing, "look deep into the firmament."

Tom stared at the skies and something indefinable began to happen to his vision, as if it were widening, magnifying. He could see everything, his eyes crystals of perception.

"There is no sun," he said listlessly, the knowledge of its absence distressing him in a vague, almost impalpable way.

"Affected light," the boy called to him, "and shadows can be cast that are more real than you can know. You've got a lot to learn."

Tom closed his eyes and shook his head. "Something isn't right here," he muttered, attempting to gain control of his senses.

"Nothing ever is in the dream-time of the Beast," the boy said mildly.

Opening his eyes, Tom was relieved to find his vision had returned to normal again. He glared at the child who swung higher and higher. "Will you please stop swinging and give me some straight answers!?" bellowed Tom, ready to snap.

"All right," replied the boy, abruptly becoming still. "What do you want to know?"

"Can you tell me how to get to my house. It belongs to the McKern's, have you heard of them?"

The boy gave him a sympathetic look. "I've already told you, you can't go home."

"That's it," blazed Tom, grabbing hold of the rope that supported the swing. "I've had enough of your games!" The branch above creaked and groaned with the exertion. "Now what did you mean..." Tom began, but looking down, all he saw was an empty seat. He twisted quickly around, fully expecting to see the little pest retreating into the undergrowth. But all was silent and still, the boy having apparently disappeared quite literally into thin air.

Releasing the rope with a sigh, Tom sat down heavily onto the swing. Things were not happening the way that they should. People couldn't just vanish. It was all completely insane.

"I just wish someone would tell me what's going on," he spoke aloud.

"Tell me what you want to know," said a voice from behind him.

Tom whirled around like a cornered animal. His nerves were afire, his heart beating fast in his chest.

What he saw didn't make him feel any better.

Just a few feet away, quite still and regarding him with an interested air, was a badger.

Tom stared at it with wide eyes, feeling somewhat bemused. He knew that they lived in the countryside, woods and fields their natural habitat, but he had never seen one, not in all his days in his Uncle's garden. He remembered Ira coming across a badger track in the mud once years before, the imprint fascinating to a young boy.

"When you see a badger, Tom," he had said, "it's a sign that a change is coming."

Tom hadn't known what his Uncle had meant by this, but that was not at all unusual, for Ira often said strange and apparently meaningless things. Yet Tom always took notice, even when he was very small.

With this memory still running through his mind, Tom looked into the animal's eyes. It was an exceptionally large badger, judging by the pictures he had seen and by what Ira had told him about the creatures, so large in fact that it made him feel uneasy.

"No need to be afraid," the badger said gently.

Tom blinked his eyes. He thought, or he had dreamed, that the animal had spoken, but of course this could not be.

"Yes, I can talk," voiced the badger, as if reading Tom's mind.

"How...what?" he stammered.

"Calm yourself," the badger said in an attempt to reassure him.

Straightening up, his body suddenly very rigid, Tom was torn between the desire to run and the fascination and awe he felt at actually hearing an animal speak. It was incredible! I'm dreaming this, he told himself firmly, it can't be real.

"I won't bite," the badger told him with what Tom took to be smile, although it looked rather too much like simply a baring of sharp teeth. "Stop hopping about and let me introduce myself." Tom made no reply, watching very carefully, wary of any sudden movement. "My name is Mo," the creature said amiably.

"How can you talk?" whispered Tom, afraid of his own voice, finding it impossible to believe he was holding this conversation at all.

"It's not so strange in these parts," Mo replied. "You will get used to it in time."

"Tom...my name's Tom," the boy offered tentatively, not sure of what to say.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Tom," nodded the animal, coming a little closer. Almost involuntarily, Tom began to back away. "You do know the difference between a badger and a wolf, I suppose?" Mo asked.

Tom looked at him oddly. "Wolf?" he repeated.

"Wolf, White Wolf," the badger said quickly. "You do know about it don't you?"

"I'm not sure," answered Tom truthfully. He knew there was something in what the animal was saying but confusion clouded his senses.

"I can see that I'll need to do some explaining," Mo declared, continuing to advance.

Abruptly, as if struck by a physical blow, Tom remembered Jack. "I've lost my friend," he blurted out.

"I know," the badger said briskly, "but don't worry yourself, I know where he is. He's safe enough for now."

His anxiety over Jack's whereabouts made Tom ignore the close proximity of the creature for the moment. "Where is he?" he demanded and actually stepped forward.

"Have patience," Mo told him, "all is well, for the time being at least."

Tom sat down onto the swing and kicked his feet with frustration, his thoughts jumbled, his mind in turmoil.

"Tom," began the badger, "you must learn that all things come to be when they are meant to be."

For just a moment, it was as if Uncle Ira was there, talking to him. All things come to be when they are meant to be. His Uncle had often said those very words to him, when he

had become impatient or disenchanted. It felt like an echo from another time. Tom looked at the badger and sighed. "Tell me," he asked quietly, "why can't I go home?"

Jack was still dreaming.

When had the dream began, when would it end? He could not say.

He was inside a house made of cheese. Yellow walls and ceilings held him captive. And outside, an enormous cat was waiting for him. He wasn't entirely sure, but from the glimpses he had caught of it through the windows, he thought the cat's fur was snow white.

Every now and then it would call to him. "Jack. Come on out Jack. I'm just a pussy-cat, I won't hurt you. Come and stroke me, Jack," it would purr.

He put his hands over his ears trying to shut out the sound, but somehow the creature's voice still reached him, penetrating his mind.

"I am dreaming," he told himself. "This is only a dream and I can wake up."

"Jack, why don't you come out? You know it's for the best. You know that it's what you really want."

And just for a moment, he believed the entreaty of the white cat. Maybe he should go outside. He was tired of staying inside anyway. He should go out and try to find Tom.

"No!" he screamed, recovering his reason with a jolt, his body trembling.

Now the cat's voice became ugly and mocking. Jack could feel its desire, its need to possess him. "Now listen, boy, you had better come out to me because if you stay inside, Tom will die. Do you hear me? In fact, Tom is dying right now. But maybe you just don't care. Maybe you want him to fall from the tree. Maybe you might just give him...the tiniest push?"

"Leave me alone!" Jack shrieked at the top of his voice, holding his hands even more tightly over his ears.

"You can't hide forever, Jackie boy," hissed the giant cat. "All things come to be when they are meant to be." The cat laughed, a guttural sound that made Jack feel as though his head was about to burst. "You cannot hide, Jack, you can never escape. I am the law of the land. You will come over to my way of thinking in the end."

"No! No! No!" yelled Jack, almost in tears.

The cat began to pad up and down outside of the building, its paws thudding, the house vibrating violently.

"Do you know, Jack," it said as if conversing with an intimate friend, "I can wait, there really is no rush. In the end you will want to come to me. You might not believe that now, but you will. Just wait and see, in the end you will beg me to take you as my own."

Jack began to scream and then, as if he were being hurled through the air, the scene jerked and altered. After a few moments his mind slowly surfaced and he opened his eyes. The day was bright and the sky was the palest blue. Peering down at him was the face of a big black and white animal.

"I think you have slept long enough," the creature said and though there was a moment when Jack realised that this was quite real and that the badger was speaking to him, he accepted it without question. Somehow he knew that he had now passed beyond the

world of reality and slipped unknowingly into one where the only rules were dictated by the logic of dreams.

"I thought I'd lost you for good," said Tom, relieved to be reunited with his friend.

"I was dreaming," Jack replied uncertainly.

"And what were you dreaming about?" enquired Mo, his nostrils twitching as he stared down at the boy on the ground.

Jack rubbed at his forehead. His temples ached. "That's funny," he mumbled after a slight hesitation, "I know I was dreaming about something, but for the life of me I can't remember what it was."

Mo nodded his large head. "That does not surprise me."

"I don't know about you, Jack," interrupted Tom, "but this whole thing is...well, very weird!" He shook his head in disbelief and then gave a quick glance in the direction of the badger who only regarded the two boys with patient interest.

"It's all like a dream," Jack mused, still feeling very odd, his mind hazy.

"Shall I explain?" the animal queried, looking at each of them in turn.

Tom stared at the badger. "I wish you would," he breathed, still amazed every time the creature opened its mouth and spoke.

"Well," began Mo carefully, "there is much that you should know." He shuffled his feet, as if trying to make himself a little more comfortable. "There are things for you to do here."

"And where is here exactly?" questioned Tom.

"Here is here," said the badger shortly. He stared absently for a moment into the distance, as if pondering on some question. "But it is safe to say that here is not where you have come from. That is somewhere else."

"Well, I'm glad you've made that clear," Jack said wryly, recovering himself at last.

Mo glared at him and bared his teeth a little. "Things are never clear," the animal retorted. "Things are never what they seem to be unless they seem to be what they are not."

Jack raised his eyes skyward. "This really is weird!" he said under his breath.

Mo scratched the earth and sniffed the air. "Shall we move on?" he asked in a casual way.

"On to where?" Tom wanted to know.

"Another place...a safer place."

Tom couldn't see any reason to argue and Jack appeared to be ready to go where he was led. So walking at an easy pace they followed the big black and white animal across a field and through a hedge that bordered a blackened wood, bark crumbling from the dead trees that formed the withered grove.

"This is Bray Wood," announced Mo. "We will be able to talk here." He came to a large tree, its branches brittle and charred. "We can rest here a while."

Tom and Jack agreed, although the lifeless trees did nothing to ease their worry and disquiet. They settled themselves beneath the dark trunk, both boys with a great many questions to ask.

Ira slept, a nightmare raging hard inside his mind.

Tom was adrift upon an indignant sea, perched in the bow of a tiny rowboat, the waves crashing around him like giant serpents eager to lick at his flesh.

The old man stood on a beach and called the boys name. "Tom!"

But he did not hear. The waves buffeted the small craft until it seemed it could stay afloat no longer, the dark waters swelling ominously.

Ira's mind screamed. What can I do? I must do something.

But it was no use. He was helpless.

And then from beneath the tenebrous sea, a thing arose, a thing so monstrous Ira felt compelled to turn away and hide his face. It loomed up above the little boat where Tom cowered like the child he was.

Ira closed his eyes, trying to shut out the horror before him.

"Help me!" cried Tom, but the sea stole away his words. The thing rose up further into the sky, its body so immense that the heavens became black with its mass.

"Please," begged Ira, "let him live."

"And what would you give?" asked a voice in reply.

Ira clenched his hands in despair and a tear ran down his cheek. "What would you ask for?" he whispered, knowing that he had nothing to offer.

The thing chuckled and Ira's heart froze. "Give me your love," it said.

The old man knelt down in the sand and wept. Relentlessly the sea roared and thrashed against the rocks about him and somewhere far away it seemed, he heard Tom's desperate screams.

"There's nothing I can do," he sobbed, his pitiful cry swallowed by the wind.

"You are a fool," rasped the thing writhing above the waves. "And the boy is mine."

Ira awakened, his body covered with sweat, his heart pounding too fast. He lay very still, trying to calm himself, but Tom's plaintive cries rang loud inside his head.

"I will help you," he vowed rising from the bed.

The Wolf bounded through a field of daisies, saliva dripping from its jaws. Its nose wrinkled as it sniffed the air and for a moment the creature paused, perhaps listening. Then it was off again, moving with the breeze, sensing that a change was coming. The Wolf's eyes burned with anticipation as it ran through the flowers, trampling them with deliberate care, but then, in an instant, its form had changed.

And a lamb was running in its place.

THE GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN HAIR

"Do you have the map?" asked the badger, eyeing Tom.

Both boys threw sharp glances at each other.

"How did you know...?" began Tom, but Mo interrupted him.

"How is not important. What is, is that I know. And that's not all I know."

"Has anyone ever told you that you talk in riddles?" inquired Jack with a humourless chuckle.

"Many times, Jack," responded the animal fixing him with a keen gaze. "Is it all right if I call you Jack?"

The boy nodded a little begrudgingly. "And what should I call you?" he muttered in an incredulous tone.

"Friends call me Mo," said the badger.

Jack's expression said that all of this was way beyond his ability to cope and he just nodded, a frown passing like a dark cloud across his face.

"So what's the map for?" Tom asked eventually, turning to the badger.

"Ah yes, what is the map for?" The animal shifted his bulk on the ground and stretched out a long claw.

"Well?" voiced Jack impatiently. "What is it for!?"

Narrowing his eyes, the badger stared at the boy. "Jack, you have many things to learn and patience should be among the first." He looked at them both for a moment before he continued. "Now," stated Mo in a purposeful tone, "I will begin at the beginning."

"And end at the end," finished Tom.

"There is no end," the badger said quietly, his eyes lowering for a moment, "at least not yet, but our path lies north so that is where we must begin."

"How do you know which way is north?" put in Tom before the creature could continue.

Jack gave a grunt of exasperation. "Don't you know anything? You look at the sun, find out which way its travelling across the sky and then its quite simple to work out where north is!"

"But there is no sun," Tom corrected.

Jack looked rather perplexed at this. "What are you on about, Tom? Of course there's a sun! Where do you think the light is coming from?" He looked closely at the other boy to see if he had been joking.

Tom hesitated, confused himself. "I don't know," he admitted, "but haven't you noticed that there's something funny about the light here." He fumbled for a way to describe what he meant. "It doesn't feel right," was all he could manage.

Jack glanced first at Tom and then at the badger.

The animal seemed to consider the matter before speaking. "These are strange lands. And the White Wolf's purpose is hidden. You shall come to realise that things do not work in quite the same way here as in the world that you know."

"What's all this about a wolf?" Jack asked, trying to sound casual, although there was something in the badger's tone that made him very uneasy.

"The Wolf is the enemy. That much is simple to understand. But your purpose here is far more difficult to comprehend. But I'll tell you what I can," began Mo. The boys listened,

a mixture of anticipation and dread vying for supremacy. "There was once a woman, a very beautiful woman according to men's eyes," Mo recited, "and in her possession she had a box, an arcane device created beyond the realms of mortal kind. Within this box were kept terrible evils and sorrows, remnants of another place, a realm of suffering and terror. But then one night whilst she slept, her husband, fuelled by jealousy and suspicion, opened it, setting loose those terrible things which had been locked inside."

"Pandora's Box," whispered Jack. Tom glanced at his friend with a raised eyebrow. "I think I heard about it at school once but I can't really remember what it was all about." The badger nodded his head grimly. "If you want to find your way home, you must first find the box."

Tom and Jack just looked at each other, not understanding. "What!?" was the best Jack could manage.

"The box is the key. But The Wolf will stop at nothing to see you fail."

"What kind of Wolf are we talking about here?" voiced Jack, a slight tremor in his voice.

"No ordinary wolf" murmured Mo. "It goes by many names, but here it is the master of these lands."

"So what do we want to find the box for? Isn't it all a bit late now?" asked Tom after a few moments of uneasy silence.

Mo turned toward the boy. "You must find the box because when it was opened in that time long ago, there was one thing that remained, trapped within. It is there still." The badger wrinkled his nose and looked up through the dead branches above them. The sky was clouding over now holding the promise of rain.

"What was left inside?" asked Tom quietly.

The animal met the boy's gaze. "Hope," he said.

Ira stood at the foot of the great oak and looked up.

Somehow he had found his way there. The garden had tried to trick him, sending him the wrong way many times, but his will had been stronger than its wiles. He would reach Tom in time, he was determined of that. He would stand at the boys side in his time of need.

This is not your place, old man, a voice within told him, but Ira would not listen.

Gripping the trunk, he began his ascent, climbing deftly from branch to branch. But there were dark forces at work and from somewhere far away he thought he heard a mournful howl. The howl of a wolf.

"You can't stop me now," he hissed, gritting his teeth. Yet even as he uttered these defiant words, beneath his hands the tree began to change, the bark no longer hard and coarse but running like liquid, sliding through his fingers, inky fluid gushing down around his body. His thoughts whirled. It was as if he were on a roundabout just like the ones he had played on so many times as a boy, his father pushing him faster and faster. Around and around he went, the sky above reeling.

I will not..., he tried to think but his thoughts became hazy and unclear.

The old man fell, hitting the ground with a low thud and somewhere close by the wolf howled again, a wind beginning to gust around the tree. Ira lay unconscious under the shadow of the great oak, his body beset by the raw wind which now roamed the garden, whipping the vegetation into a frenzy of motion.

Inside the house Emily looked out as the darkness drew its black curtain slowly across the skies. The dinner was spoilt and it was past supper time now. Ominously a clock struck eight and with cold fear gnawing inside her, she put on a coat to go outside in search of Ira and the boys.

"It is time that we were moving on again," announced Mo, shaking himself violently.

The two boys had heard a lot of things and had certainly not understood them all, but of one thing Tom was sure, there was no way home unless they did what the badger asked of them. They must find Pandora's box.

But there was something evil that stood in their way. A wolf who is white, a wolf who is sly. Tom recalled the poem his Uncle had told him.

Glancing over at his friend, he saw by the boy's dazed expression that he was just as bewildered as he felt himself.

"Jack," he said as they began to walk once more, following the badger.

"What can I do for you?" asked the other boy with a small smile, but Tom could see that beneath this attempt to act like his usual good-natured self, his friend was very frightened.

"Don't worry," he told him, "it'll be all right."

Jack nodded. "I hope so."

Through the perished wood they went.

I don't like this place, thought Tom as they passed underneath a tunnel of withered trees, black, skeletal shapes looming on every side. The sky was still cloudy but the light remained. It should have been dark by then, he realised, but the day showed no sign of ending.

"When will the night come?" he asked Mo, who moved comfortably at his side.

The badger gave him a quick glance and then returned his eyes straight ahead. "Night comes when the it suits the Beast and not before."

They walked on without speaking further until Jack, who had suddenly become struck by the devastating fact that he hadn't eaten for what seemed an eternity, spoke up. The rumbling in his stomach added impetus to his words. "I was wondering," he submitted in the badgers direction, "is there any chance of getting some food around here?"

The big animal didn't look at the boy but nodded his head. "I think that could be arranged," he conceded, much to Jack's relief.

"You and your belly," muttered Tom, his own appetite lost due to the heady mixture of excitement and fear which churned within him.

'When you see a badger, it's a sign that a change is coming'. He wished so much that Ira were here with them now. He would know what to do, he would find the way home. Tom bit his lip as he felt the stirring of useless tears. I won't cry. I'll find the box and get back home again. Wolf or no wolf!

Jack walked by his side and had his own thoughts. And these were peculiar indeed, like old dreams, half remembered. Memories of a woman dressed in white.

As the brittle trees thinned signifying the end of the wood, Tom noticed an odd structure just ahead resembling some kind of signpost. "What's that?" he hailed the badger, pointing.

"Ah, our tool of navigation," answered Mo, "we shall see a great many of these on our journey."

Tom walked up to the tall wooden post and examined the four indicators, each of which

pointed in a different direction. They had been carved into hands, index finger extended

and on each was printed a letter.

"N, S, E and W," read Jack coming up beside his friend.

"I don't get this," Tom mused, seeking out the badger, his face a mask of confusion.

"We must use these guide posts to navigate our path," Mo told them, "in conjunction with the map, of course."

"But why were they made in the first place?" Tom asked, "who put them here?"

"Who can say," answered the badger, not willing to discuss the matter further.

They left Bray Wood and the signpost behind them, at Mo's direction heading north toward what was simply marked on the map as a mound, passing into an open meadow that ran side by side with many others, only separated by small hedges.

As they walked Jack gazed out across the rows of fields which surrounded them. He knew he was looking for something, but he didn't know what. And yet he sensed it was out there, waiting for him.

He caught sight of a blurry shape moving in the distance and as he squinted, trying to make out what it was, he thought he saw a thing that crept on four legs, white hair covering a muscular frame. He turned to Tom and was about to tell him to look, but it was as if everything had become slowed, the words not forming, his lips numb. Then glancing back, he saw a woman dressed all in white, walking through a meadow. And in that moment, their eyes met and Jack knew that he could not betray her, an unspoken vow passing between them. Slowly the woman raised one hand, her long fingers caressing the air. Without thinking, Jack waved back to her before darting a furtive look at both Tom and the badger, but neither had seemed to notice him do it.

He looked back to where the woman had been walking. But she was gone.

Remember, he heard her say in his mind.

Remember me.

"This place is known as Verlassen," Mo said in answer to Tom's enquiry. They approached an old, weathered building which had quite suddenly loomed up out of the trees, its timbers creaking, a light wind murmuring through the leaves. It seemed completely out of place in these surroundings, the overgrown vegetation concealing the structure within a shroud of green. Opposite stood another of the wooden signposts, also partially obscured by leafy boughs.

Eager for food, Jack strode forward, making for a broad wooden door. Hung above the entrance was a sign portraying a masked figure who held what appeared to be a jagged shaft of crystal in one hand and a long-bladed sickle in the other, creating an image that was mildly unsettling.

"Shall we go in?" Mo said, edging ahead of the boy.

"I hope there's food in here," Tom heard Jack say as he entered the doorway. Feeling more hesitant than his friend, Tom followed inside.

As they entered the building, he immediately noticed the elaborate paintings which adorned every wall. He stared in awe at the fantastic illustrations, many detailing startling landscapes and strange beasts, their workmanship extraordinary in its detail, the depth of colour astonishing. Tom was so engrossed in them that it was a few moments before he realised that the inn was completely deserted.

"They are impressive, are they not?" Mo said, seeing the look on the boy's face.

"Yes," agreed Tom. "I've never seen anything like them. They're amazing!" He wondered if Jack shared his enthusiasm and made to turn toward his friend, but when he tried to avert his eyes from the paintings he found that he could not. He was transfixed, as if hypnotised by the pictures on the walls. The shapes and colours merged and altered and he could not even recall what the paintings had depicted, only aware of the vivid colours, their burning intensity seeming to call to him. Tom tried to close his eyes but that only made his head ache, nausea overtaking him. And then into the paintings he passed, through the boundaries of dimensions, leaving behind the existence he knew to become one with a brilliant light, surreal forms coalescing with him, shackling him.

He gazed down upon a pale world, one which was grey and anaemic and felt revulsion for what he saw there. Two colourless creatures, blobs of undefined flesh inhabited that place and their ghostly, blanched forms disgusted him. His world was one of opulent colour, a sea of bright stars, a rainbow of fire. Tom had lost all sense of the physical, drifting on the currents of his subconscious, all things now tranquil, soothing. He was content to remain there for all eternity. But as he descended deeper into this realm of light and contentment, a hideous crashing assailed him, a relentless thudding that threatened to crush his mind.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Tom reeled with the onslaught upon his senses. Please, he attempted to say but he could not speak, the thunderous noise only increasing in volume, forcing him to recoil from its terrible power.

He lay very still, huddled in a tiny ball like an unborn child. The sound had ceased but his mind was dead. He could feel nothing, perceive nothing. He was nothing.

"Tom!" a voice called softly. "Tom, can you hear me?"

He remained motionless. If he moved, he knew the crashing inside his head would begin again.

"Tom!" came the voice again, a little more urgently than before.

Very slowly, he opened his eyes. A boy's face loomed above him, a familiar face but one that he found difficult to identify.

"Are you all right?" asked the boy standing over him, his expression anxious.

Tom stared back at him but still he couldn't speak. His mind was paralysed.

"Help him up," came another voice from close by, but Tom couldn't see who had spoken. Carefully he was hoisted up, the boy supporting his weight until he was able to sit down on a hard chair. He leant back with weary relief.

"Can you talk, Tom?" the boy said gently.

Tom looked into his eyes and very gradually, as if the memories were filtering back from some remote tract, a name stole into his head. "Jack," he uttered, his voice hoarse.

"You'll be all right now," his friend told him kneeling down and over his shoulder a large black and white face appeared, dark eyes intent.

"You were lucky, Tom," the badger declared.

Tom shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "What happened?" he whispered.

"Can't you remember anything?" Jack asked.

Tom shook his head. "I'm not sure. I think it was the paintings. I was inside them!" He waved a hand at the wall, not daring to look again.

"You have nothing to fear from them now," reassured the badger, leaning close. "It is

only the Wolf that we all must fear. It is the enemy."

"So what happened?" questioned Jack, looking intently at the animal, wanting answers.

"It was an assault on Tom's senses, perhaps no more than a test to see what the opposition are made of. But one thing is certain, the Wolf will come again. You can be sure of that. It will come for us all."

Jack gazed grimly at his friend. "Opposition? Then it knows about us then?" He said this with a visible shudder.

Mo chuckled softly, although the sound was harsh and cold. "It knows. And this is only the beginning."

"I'm tired," said Tom after a moment of uncomfortable silence, half closing his eyes, his features worn and pale.

"Get some sleep," Mo advised him. "We must travel again soon."

Another dream, thought Tom, shifting uneasily in his half-sleep. Or was it?

In this strange land, nothing was certain. He believed he was beneath a large chestnut tree, its branches a canopy above him. He ate a cheese and tomato sandwich, the taste bland in his mouth. Perhaps it was only a dream after all.

But the sun shone brightly and he could feel it upon his face and Tom looked up into a cloudless sky, taking a deep breath. Nothing like the countryside, better than the built-up cities with their litter and pollution. Beneath the chestnut tree all was as it should be, the land untouched and he felt at peace with himself.

A rustling in a nearby bush caught his attention and abruptly a lamb came rushing through the undergrowth. Tom shot to his feet in surprise and the creature came to a sudden halt a few feet away, staring at him.

"I won't hurt you," Tom offered as gently as he could, but the lamb only started at the sound of his voice and ran off again. It clambered over a small bank and disappeared.

Why are animals so afraid? he found himself wondering.

Just as he was pondering this question there was another disturbance in the undergrowth and Tom thought that maybe the animal had returned. Then, pushing through the thicket of leaves, a girl appeared. She wore a bonnet and a long cape around her shoulders and carried a hooked staff.

Steadying herself, she regarded Tom with an unnerving gaze.

"Hello," he mumbled, a bit embarrassed but not really knowing why.

The girl smiled at him and he found himself thinking how pretty she was. "Hello," she returned.

Now Tom was at a loss for words.

"Have you seen my sheep?" she asked.

"Eh, sheep?" began Tom, struggling to gain his composure. "Oh yes, I did see a lamb, just a minute ago."

The girl smiled again or perhaps, thought Tom oddly, she had never stopped smiling. "Could you tell me which way the little one went?"

Tom looked into her eyes and decided they were the most beautiful things he had ever seen. They were like pools of shining light. "I, er," he fumbled, getting a grip on himself. "I think it went that way." He pointed vaguely in the direction of the bank.

The girl took one step toward him and then stopped.

Tom couldn't breath as he stared at her, his throat tightening, his mouth dry. She really was the prettiest girl he had ever seen, he decided.

Putting her hand to her lips, she blew him a kiss. "Thank you, Tom," she said, turning away.

Blushing furiously, Tom called after her. "What's your name?"

She paused and stood with her back to him for a moment, then turning her head ever so slightly, so he could just see the side of her face, she laughed. "Why, little Bo Peep of course!" She ran off over the bank and as she did so, long golden hair spilled from beneath her hood and Tom recalled the strange dream he had experienced the previous evening. Could that have only been last night?

"Wake up, you sleepy head."

Tom was on a train, he and Jack speeding toward his home for the summer holidays. It was going to be the best holiday they had ever had.

"Time to be moving on," said Mo.

Tom opened his eyes sharply, the memories of where he was and all that had happened flooding back so suddenly that he sat up with a start.

"I had a dream," he said, feeling vaguely foolish, the girl's face still haunting him, her dark eyes holding him captive. Try as he might he could not shake her image from his mind. And the truth was that he wasn't really sure that he even wanted to.

RETURN FROM THE PAST

Night had still not fallen as the company of three trekked on, walking for what seemed like many miles. They crossed fields and meadows laden with flowers, passing through dense stands of oak and elm, as well as other trees that were unfamiliar to Tom and Jack. The landscape never changed. It was a verdant expanse stretching out before them, apparently endless.

Tom almost missed the darkness, it had been light for so long. Time had become displaced. It made him feel strange inside, as if his body was unsure if it should be asleep or awake. "Why doesn't time work the same here as it does where we come from?" he asked the badger.

Mo chuckled to himself. "Time!" he said with a grunt. "And what is time? Only a man-made thing. It does not exist outside of the minds of Men. There are no rules here."

Although Tom was still shaken by his ordeal at the deserted inn, he was determined to learn as much as he could. "So are you saying time here has no bearing on time in our world?" He had accepted now that they were no longer in the world where he had lived all of his life, the world where his Uncle and Aunt were. He and Jack had somehow become lost in a place where things happened as they might in a dream.

"That I do not know. But things work differently here as you have discovered for yourselves," was the best answer Mo could give.

Tom glanced up at lofty trees as they passed beneath a tunnel of leaves. How did the hedge at the end of his garden connect his world to this one? Or was it the great oak that was the way in? He wasn't sure, but one thing that was certain, they were here and they would have to see it through to the end. Whatever that might be.

At the edge of a small wood, they came upon a hedge beyond which tall reeds grew in abundance. The ground was marshy here and reluctantly the boys followed the badger down an incline, carefully treading the spongy earth. After easing their way through a thick cluster of bulrushes they came onto a dry bank, a lake of sable water before them. Huge lily pads were scattered far across its surface, creating undulating patterns of green.

"Look!" called Jack, pointing, "a frog!"

"It's a toad, to be exact," corrected Mo as the toad jumped powerfully from one plant to the next. Jack shot him a dark look, something in his expression almost malicious, although neither Tom nor the animal noticed it.

The badger led them along beside the edge of the water, Tom and Jack gingerly making their way across the sodden terrain, following the sure-footed animal as best they could. It wasn't long before they noted that the ground was beginning to rise once more and soon Mo was leading them away from the lake and over rolling mounds, the land choked by dense gorse which slowed them down, reducing their speed to little better than a crawl. For some time they went on like this, the boys wasting no more breath on idle chatter, until a steep ridge appeared ahead. But the badger had no intention of finding an alternative route. He continued on, climbing up and over this rise and reaching the windswept summit, they came upon a quite startling spectacle.

Before them stood a stone archway, ancient and in disrepair, debris scattered all around its base. But it was not this alone that caught their eye, for within the archway a great mirror had been placed and their own reflections greeted their approach.

Jack stood before the structure and marvelled. "What is it?" he wondered aloud.

"This place is called Porta Knoll," Mo disclosed, "it is very old."

"But what is it?" the boy repeated.

"Many mysteries have as yet no solution," the badger replied.

Jack looked into the huge mirror and noticed that their images were very slightly distorted, his own face somehow unrecognisable to him.

Tom also had seen a discrepancy in his counterpart and stepped closer, examining his own features. As he drew nearer to the mirror its texture seemed to alter subtly, the surface shimmering and he halted only inches away from it. He reached out to touch the glass but incredibly, as his fingers made contact, they slipped through unchecked into what felt like cool liquid. Fascinated, he twirled his fingers around within the fluid and leaned forward until his nose almost touched the glassy exterior, his arm disappearing into the void beyond.

Abruptly, surprising himself, he plunged his head forward, taking a deep breath just before he did so and with his eyes wide open, he found himself surveying an undersea world of green and blue. Ragged weeds swayed with the current, a coral-reef reaching out beyond the limit of his sight, an intricate network of colour. A shoal of tiny fish passed by a few feet away, seemingly oblivious to his presence and turning slightly to his left he saw two beautiful sea-horses bobbing majestically through the clear water, heading in his direction.

"What are you doing here, Tom?" one hailed him, "don't you know The Deep is a dangerous place?"

Tom felt quite light-headed. "Where...where am I exactly?"

"You should not linger in the playground of the Beast," sang the second sea-horse, before making off into the shadowy regions away to Tom's right. The boy scanned the dark patches of weed that sprang from the ocean bed and many sets of gleaming eyes returned his gaze, their forms large but indistinct, their stillness unsettling. Something else caught his eye there too, a glimmering object that appeared to be gliding toward him. As it drew nearer, Tom recognised it as a sword, its haft encrusted with amber jewels, the point facing him, its progress slow and listless through the water.

"There lies the soul of the warrior," a voice said behind him but Tom did not start at the sound of it or turn to see who had spoken. He merely watched the blade approach, now no more than ten feet distant. Within the reeds, the anonymous creatures were becoming restless.

"Take it," the voice ordered him, a deep and powerful command.

But the sword would not come any closer. He stretched forward, leaning further and further into the underwater realm, but always the weapon remained just out of reach, elusive.

"Take it!"

Tom's muscles ached and yet he responded with one final effort, but even so, his groping fingers could only reach the tip of the honed blade.

"I can't," he cried, realising through his frustration that he had been breathing water for some time now. "I'll cut myself!"

"TAKE IT," insisted the voice, seeming to be nearer now, directly behind him.

Reluctantly, but overwhelmed by a curious compulsion, Tom let his fingers curl around the steel. A warm sensation passed through his hand and along his arm and he watched in numb fascination as the sea-water was clouded by his blood.

"Resurrection," whispered the waters, the shadows around him alive with agitated fish.

"It hurts," he complained pulling the sword slowly toward him.

Tom looked down at his hand, his fingers becoming lifeless, but blood obscured his field of vision, the weapon appearing insubstantial in his grasp.

"Resurrection!" the ocean seemed to cry all about him and Tom saw with wonder that no longer did he grasp the blade. In its place another hand, one much larger than his own, now clutched at his fingers with dreadful strength and still his blood flowed into the sea-green kingdom, a scarlet haze.

Dimly he was aware of a sudden riotous clamour, the shadowed inhabitants of the reeds surrounding him, a thousand sets of teeth about to attack. And all at once, with light blinding him, he re-emerged from the mirror waters, hauling a burly figure through with him, tumbling over onto the hard earth.

As he lay sprawled on the ground, he was amazed to find that he was completely dry, but a moment later all such thoughts were driven from his mind, a sharp twinge in his right side making him sit up, hesitant and bewildered.

My hand! he remembered, examining it, but there was no sign of any injury.

"Here," said a resonant voice which he did not recognise and Tom was hoisted up effortlessly to stand before a tall man dressed in a long grey coat and high boots.

"My name is...Dredger," the figure introduced himself slowly, as if collecting himself.

Tom looked quickly around for his friends and was relieved to see Jack standing mutely to one side, the boy staring at the man with undisguised astonishment.

Padding over to face the newcomer, the badger spoke. "At last."

The tall man nodded and Tom found it hard to take his eyes from the man. He was tall and muscular, a short blade sheathed at his side, his age difficult to judge but his best guess was around forty. He had the look of a soldier, but Tom doubted that he would respond well to discipline. He seemed a man who was his own master.

"This is Tom," Mo indicated. Jack, who had appeared dazed until now, stepped forward to join the group. "And this is his companion and friend, Jack," the animal added.

The man named Dredger eyed both boys, his expression stern. "Friends are few and far between," he said with emphasis.

Tom stared at the warrior, for that undoubtedly he was, wondering just who he could be and how he had come to be there. He was aware that somehow he had brought this stranger out of the mirror's underwater domain, but what had taken place there to bring about such a thing he could not be entirely sure. Dreams and reality had intermingled and produced a new condition, one where truth was blurred and facts were unreliable.

Dredger addressed Tom, leaning down to look closely at his face. "You do not know me, but our destinies are linked. There is much to be accomplished."

Mo came to Tom's side. "Dredger is an old ally and shall come with us for a way at least. He can help us against the Wolf."

At the mention of that name, their new companion became perturbed and Jack thought he heard him curse under his breath.

"Do you know the White Wolf?" Tom asked boldly.

Dredger glared at him. "The white dog!" he growled, "yes, I know it. I have met the Beast before this day." He spat the words venomously, his eyes like burning coals and Tom noted uneasily that the man's pupils had seemed to alter colour, and even as he watched they shimmered, changing from yellow to orange to a pale grey. Tom glanced quickly at Jack, both boys in awe of the man.

Mo looked up at the tall figure. "I fear the Wolf has become far stronger since you were last here, my friend."

Dredger seemed unconcerned by this, folding his powerful arms. "But now I am no longer a child. And the shape-changer will know my wrath, for the time has come for all things to be settled. The prophecy will unfold. The boy has come and I am born again." He looked down at Tom and then spoke directly to him. "Once, long ago, I fought the Wolf. But I was defeated." He said this with barely controlled anger. "I was discarded, worthless, into the void. But I did not perish. I have awaited your coming, boy. We are a part of the prophecy and the Wolf knows we are here. This time it will be the Beast who will be cast down!"

The badger who had listened carefully to all of this, looked hard at the man. "All that you say is true, but things change. Nothing is the same now. The old magic slumbers, the White Wolf rules unchallenged and his power has grown more dreadful than can be imagined."

Dredger offered no response but gazed up at the sky. "We must journey to The Circle," he announced abruptly. "There we shall find the true way of things." Quickly he moved toward Tom, an urgent look about him. "Do you have the map?" he asked, impatient for an answer.

"Eh, yes," replied Tom, wondering how the man could have possibly known.

"It will show how to reach The Circle from here," Dredger said, holding out his hand. "Give it to me."

Suddenly Tom became reluctant to give it up. Why should he let this stranger take the map from him? He looked to Jack and then to the badger but neither spoke.

"Come boy," pressed Dredger, "there is much to be done."

Very slowly Tom put his hand inside his shirt and drew out the parchment.

"There!" cried the tall man, snatching the map from him and studying it with unmistakable reverence. "And you say that the old magic is gone." He glared at Mo with contempt.

Watching the man pore over the map, greedily taking in the information recorded there, Tom decided that as soon as he got it back he would make sure that he never parted with it again, whatever the circumstances. He felt strangely possessive about it and anyway, there was something about this man, Dredger, that he didn't like.

After a good deal of studying and thought, Dredger finally handed the parchment back to Tom. "We must travel north-west," he reported with confidence.

"And what exactly is this circle anyway?" spoke up Jack, not liking their new found friend any more than Tom and regaining some of his old spirit.

Dredger gave the boy a menacing glare. "Do not question me, boy," he snarled. "Just do as you are bid."

Tom didn't like any of this. He felt uncomfortable in the big man's company and Jack, now red-faced, was undoubtedly very angry and rightly so.

"I think it's best if we do as Dredger says," interjected Mo, seeing that there would be trouble if he did not intercede, "there may be valuable information gained by a visit to the ancient stone circle. It has always been a holy place."

"All right," agreed Tom, deciding that he could at least trust the badger.

Jack stared at his friend but didn't say anything and so, with no further debate, they set off away from the mirrored archway. Dredger led the way, taking up the position without being asked and they followed a wooden signpost, conveniently located just over a nearby verge, ready to guide them on their journey.

Somewhere, not so very far away, a woman dressed all in white stood at the centre of a field of red poppies. Looking to the south and then the north she began to walk through the flowers, crushing them beneath her bare feet as she went. Suddenly she began to laugh and the sound was like a wild animal's cry.

Almost as if a lever had been pulled, the darkness came.

"I thought it would be daylight forever," remarked Tom, although now it had arrived, he didn't actually relish the prospect of the night.

"Whether it is dark or light," stated Dredger coolly, "it makes little difference. Each has its own advantages and disadvantages. Just keep to my path and you will be safe enough."

Tom found these words less than encouraging and he threw a quick glance in the badger's direction looking for a response, but Mo's expression did not alter. The animal seemed oddly resigned. But to what, Tom wasn't sure.

"When can we rest?" Tom asked half-heartedly after a few minutes more, expecting Dredger to mock the suggestion, but to his surprise the man thought the idea a good one.

"Soon," he said with certainty, "we must rest before we reach our goal. We will find a place to make camp."

Shortly afterward they were settled down under the cover of several large beech trees, Dredger having decided that the surrounding foliage would provide adequate cover.

What if the Wolf comes? whispered a voice in Tom's head and then he remembered the beautiful girl who had called herself little Bo Peep. And even though he knew he had only ever seen her in his dreams, something made him sure that she was more than just his imagination. He wished he could see her again. Once more he found himself confused and unsure. Could a dream girl be real? Or was he just completely mad? After all that had happened, that didn't seem so unlikely.

But as Mo had said, there were no rules here. Anything goes, Tom thought, but the notion disturbed him vaguely. Who can you trust when anything goes?

"Take heed," announced Dredger, ending Tom's reflections, "I will keep watch while you sleep and then Mo will take over whilst I rest."

"When do I take my turn?" enquired Jack, ready to do his bit.

Dredger regarded the boy with distaste. "Do not be a fool, boy. You are not fit to stand guard. The Wolf would eat you and spit out your bones before you could even utter a sound."

Jack glowered at the man and was just about to tell him exactly what he thought of him, when Mo interrupted. "Thank you for volunteering, Jack, but Dredger and I can manage. You need more rest than we do, I think." The badger gave him a reassuring look and Jack decided, a little begrudgingly, to remain silent.

Going over to where Tom sat leaning against the trunk of one of the beech trees, Jack gave a moody look in Dredger's direction before whispering to his friend. "I don't like him," he said, nodding sideways at the man who now stood like some pompous stone statue, one hand behind his back, staring out into the night.

"I know," replied Tom.

"It shows then?" joked the other boy.

Tom laughed and put his hand over his mouth to suppress the sound. They both glanced briefly at Dredger but he stood quite still, obviously in his on-guard position.

"What happened back there, you know at the archway?" Jack asked after a moment.

Tom shrugged. "I was going to ask you the same thing."

"I don't know about you, but I just don't get any of this," Jack admitted, "one second we were looking at the mirror, the next this Dredger is standing there. Where did he come from?"

"Didn't you see anything?" Tom questioned, more puzzled than before.

"It just seemed to happen all at once," Jack muttered. "And it gave me a splitting headache!"

"Sometimes I think we're both dreaming," Tom said.

"Great minds dream alike!" his friend offered with a grin.

"I really am sleepy," murmured Tom, deciding he would tell Jack his version of events at the archway after they had rested. He was really just too tired to go into it now. They both lay down on the soft earth, their hands behind their heads. Tom wasn't sure how long they had been travelling and with the day and night having no set pattern it was impossible to keep accurate time. It was as Mo said, time was not the same here, this world not subject to Man's laws. Gazing over at the old badger, Tom quite suddenly felt an unexpected sadness befall him. It was strange, how they had come to depend on the animal so quickly. But Tom trusted him and was glad they had at least one friend in this alien world.

Oh Uncle Ira, where are you? Are you in the garden? Are you searching for us?

Tom turned toward his friend, who now lay with his eyes half closed awaiting sleeps arrival, ready to be swept away on the tide of dreams. "How long do you think night lasts here?" Jack asked softly.

Tom let his eyes find the shadowy sky through the branches of the trees above them.

There are no stars. No sun or moon.

"Go to sleep," he said softly and saw that Jack already had. Tom shut his own eyes and allowed his mind to drift wherever it wished. Across dark lands and through pale skies.

He was in an orchard. An apple orchard.

He ran from tree to tree without a care in the world. Apples lay all around him on the ground, red and ripe, ready to be eaten.

Try one, said his mind.

He slowed to a trot and waded through some long grass and then picked up an apple from the foot of one of the trees, taking a big deep bite. The juice ran over his lips and down onto his chin and he felt better than he had in a very long time. The fruit tasted cool and sweet.

Tom glanced upward and searched the boughs of the tree towering above him. Listen, spoke his mind, I know something you don't know.

There's someone in that tree!

Tom looked carefully, scanning the foliage but couldn't see anything. Someone in the tree? He craned his neck, peering through the leaves.

Sure enough, up in the very highest branches there was a slender form, a girl with long golden hair.

"Hello," Tom called up to her.

"Hello," she cried back, waving.

"I'm Tom,"

"My name's Lisa," she said, smiling down at him. "Are you coming up?"

He began to climb, eagerly grasping branches, hauling himself through the leaves.

"The fruit is juicy and ripe up here," Lisa called down, "sweet as sugar and red as blood."

Tom squinted up at her and could see her long hair glistening in the daylight. She was certainly as pretty as they come. He climbed faster.

"Tom, Tom, the piper's son, stole a sheep and away he run," sang the girl above him, swinging her legs.

That's not right, thought Tom as he grabbed hold of a sturdy bough, lifting himself forward.

"Come and get me, Tom," called Lisa with a giggle.

Tom smiled. "I'm coming," he grunted.

At last he reached the very top of the apple tree and sat down on a large forked branch. All about him, ripe apples hung invitingly, ready to be picked.

"Take one, Tom," said Lisa at his side. Tom leant over and took a firm hold on the biggest and reddest apple he could see. As he did so, his arm brushed against the girl's leg and he felt the soft pressure of her thigh beneath her skirt. He looked at her and she

returned his gaze with a small smile that made him feel dizzy. "Take a bite," she said.

Tom took a big mouthful, letting his teeth sink deep into the fruit, juice filling his mouth. For a moment he closed his eyes and wished he could stay there with her forever.

But the apple was sour.

Tom opened his eyes with a start, feeling sick. Putting his hand to his mouth, he spat the apple out, almost gagging and when he looked down at the remains he knew he was going to vomit.

Maggots!

He still held the apple in his other hand and there were more of the things, crawling, squirming out of the rotten fruit. Sickened, he threw it to the ground.

He glanced over at Lisa to see if she was feeling sick too. But the girl only smiled.

"Take a bite," she whispered and winked at him.

Then she was gone.

In the dream that Jack was having, he was not the Jack that Tom knew.

He was in an old house. He knew that it was old because the furniture was antique looking, the entire place decorated with things he had come to associate with the past. And the clothes he wore were old fashioned too, making him feel oddly at home.

Outside there was a deep fog. I have to go out, he thought suddenly and got up out of the armchair where he had been sitting so comfortably. An open fire crackled in the hearth and he pulled the collar of his jacket closer about him, ready to face the evening gloom. Picking up a black bag, he left the house and walked along a driveway before

entering a narrow fog-bound lane. The street lamps hardly cut through its veiled heart and Jack could not see more than a few feet in front of him. Somewhere far off someone laughed, a woman's laugh he thought.

He turned a corner and went quickly along a dim back alley. There were many such back streets in this part of the city. He walked with purpose, his footsteps echoing in the night. He knew what he must do.

A woman dressed all in white awaited him in the shadows of a doorway. Coming close beside her, Jack took her hand, its gentle pressure reassuring. Smiling, she nodded slightly and together they began to walk back the way he had come. They did not speak, they had no need, both understanding what was to take place. Jack sensed that the time was close at hand now.

The woman regarded him with a curious gaze and Jack opened the black bag. I think this is a dream, began a spectral voice within. I think this is all a dream.

Suddenly a woman screamed somewhere close by, but Jack didn't really care. He found himself running frantically along dank alleyways, through swirling fog, breathless but unafraid. Behind him a shrill whistle began to blow. Voices shouted and there was screaming, but it didn't matter.

He stopped running, trying to catch his breath. "You did it," someone said at his shoulder. Jack turned and saw the woman dressed in white.

He looked at her, something he knew must be love aching in his heart. They way he felt went far beyond anything he had ever imagined he could feel.

"This is just the beginning," she told him, smiling again, reminding Jack of his mother when he had been very good.

Voices rang out again, coming closer. Jack listened, but everything was all right now. He had completed his task. He was safe.

"Another murder! The Ripper strikes again!" cried a voice from out of the night, from out of the fog.

"You're a very good boy, Jack," said the woman and kissed his cheek.

"I know," Jack whispered, as a tear rolled gently down his face.

WHITE MAGIC

"It's called Thauma's Ring," Mo said in answer to Tom's question. They were travelling north-west, as instructed by Dredger, the light having returned whilst they slept. Half remembered dreams troubled Tom, but he pushed them aside, his eagerness to learn more about their destination dominating his thoughts. The big man led the way with a confident stride, his mind fixed on the goal he had set for them.

"What's it for?" persisted Tom.

"It is more a case of what was it for," returned the badger, moving surely beside him. Jack hung back a little bringing up the rear in silence, apparently preoccupied with other things.

"So it's not used now?"

"No, not anymore. But once it was a wondrous place, a focal point for great power and magic."

Tom tried to imagine the way it must have been so long ago. "Why did it end?"

Mo looked briefly at the boy. "The Wolf came."

"Oh," said Tom softly. The Wolf. What was this creature who they feared so much? He was about to ask the badger this when a call from just ahead interrupted him.

"There!" proclaimed Dredger. "It is a sign."

Mo and the two boys hurried to the man's side and saw what had excited him. A few yards in front of them, standing in the middle of a small clearing was a deer. But what made the sighting remarkable was the animal's colour. The deer was jet black. It stared at them with a fixed gaze, proud and still under their scrutiny.

"Why doesn't it run?" whispered Tom, but Dredger hissed at him to remain silent.

Then, as if the creature had been given leave to go, it suddenly sprang off through the trees.

"It is gone," said Dredger with genuine sadness in his voice.

"Yes," Mo answered, "but I for one am not certain it was a good omen."

The tall man turned quickly and glowered down at the animal. "What is your meaning?" he demanded.

"My meaning," retorted Mo, regarding the man carefully, "is that since you were last here in these lands things have changed. No longer do the old laws apply as once they did. Our deliverance has been given over to powers which you can not truly understand, at least for now. The Wolf rules here and it has seen to it that the old magic was lost, or disowned, put aside by the so called enlightened, the pragmatic. A treasure left hidden for so long may not be easily refound."

Dredger glared darkly at the badger and then fleetingly at Tom. "I know the laws," he said finally. "The old power cannot be destroyed. You will see that when we reach The Circle. You harbour too many doubts, Mo, and I am surprised to find you so lacking in faith. Some of the things that you say are very near to heresy. Have you become a heretic, old one?"

Mo shook his head. "I merely wish to warn you against the evil that walks these lands. There is much you do not know."

"So you say," murmured the man and turned away, not willing to discuss the matter further. He stood alone for a moment as if in meditation, then at length he gestured ahead with an outstretched hand. "It is time to move on."

As they set off, a grave silence between them, Tom glanced over at Jack and saw that his friend wore an odd, almost dreamy expression, his face pallid. "Jack?" he said, moving beside him.

"Yes, Tom." There was something in Jack's tone, a coolness perhaps which caught Tom off-guard.

"Are you all right?" Tom looked into Jack's eyes and just for a moment he thought that he saw something move across them, a fleeting shadow. "Jack!?" he urged again.

"I'm fine...fine," the boy assured him and smiled.

"Good," Tom managed, but he did not feel entirely convinced. They continued to walk, the boys now slightly behind Dredger and the badger who were conversing in low voices.

"Is it a long way?" asked Jack absently, as if he were wondering aloud.

"I'm not really sure," Tom answered, "but I don't think it's very far."

"That's good," sighed Jack, "I'm tired. I need to sleep."

Tom studied the other boy and was concerned at how ashen his skin had become. The curious shadow he thought he had seen surfaced again in his mind. "Didn't you sleep well last night?" he enquired.

"Like a log," Jack assured him, "but now I'm tired again. It must be this place. It makes you tired."

Tom decided that there was some truth in this and let the matter rest, at least for the time being. They were in an alien environment and who could say what effect it was having on them. And as they travelled on, drawing nearer to Thauma's Ring, he began to wonder just what kind of malevolent tricks the Wolf was capable of playing on them and what

power it held with which to affect their minds. And he wondered too, whether they were really strong enough to survive the consequences.

The badger gave a quick look back toward the boys and seeing that they were several yards behind and out of earshot, decided that now was a good time to speak. "My friend," he began tentatively. The big man cast a glance down at him but his attitude seemed cold and distant. "There are things we must speak of."

"What things?" Dredger growled.

"Important things," stated Mo with a certainty that caused the man to pay a little more heed to his words.

"Speak then."

"Long ago, when you did battle with the Wolf, many prophecies were foretold."

"That is so," agreed Dredger, recalling the days of old when he, a youthful, intrepid warrior, had fought against the forces of darkness.

"But," continued the badger, "that was in the infancy of worlds and now the White Wolf has grown. It is no longer a child. It is now the father of these lands."

"The white devil could never hope to match the old magic," the big man countered.

"Perhaps not, but as I have tried to tell you, the Beast did not need to. It merely sowed the seeds of scepticism and the faithless grew. It could not destroy the old magic, but the Wolf saw to it that it was at least forgotten."

"Not by me," Dredger snarled, but he had begun to wonder just what in truth had come to pass during his enforced dormancy. So long. So long he had been waiting in the Void. Only waiting until he would be summoned again. And the boy had come. Was this not the prophecy? He had been called back to these lands and so a legend was unfolding.

In the realm of the Wolf,

a boy shall walk the road

of treachery and pain.

This shall come to pass,

when the warrior awakens

to face the Beast again.

All must carry burdens

and seek the hidden face,

before our tears shall wane.

This was but a small passage from an ancient rune, taught to him by his father and passed down through many generations by his ancestors. He knew it by heart.

He was the warrior it told of, this he also knew. He had long prepared for the moment when he would meet the Wolf in combat. But his defeat had almost unhinged him. During that seemingly eternal time when he had been held, neither alive nor dead, in a prison of nothingness, it was only his unfaltering belief in the prophecies that had allowed him to retain his sanity. "The old magic," he murmured, "it will tame the beast."

Mo shook his head sadly, realising that the man was too much a part of the past to be able to see what had happened. There was no human way of judging how much time had passed since Dredger's battle with the White Wolf. It was a measureless term in which iniquity had prospered, hope diminished until its flame guttered, besieged by an evil tempest. Perhaps many thousands of years had passed in mortal men's thinking. Perhaps much longer. Then, benign powers had been visible to the creatures of all worlds and many had thought the Beast no more than a thorn in their side, others not even acknowledging its existence. But in their complacency they had underestimated its power. And when Dredger had stood against the Wolf, even he had been no match for its terrible strength. In the dark seasons that had come and gone since then, things had moved and changed. The ancient magic that had seemed to them invincible, had slowly crumbled under the growing will of the Wolf. Gradually the shape-changer eroded away the very heart of that power, the belief in magic itself, so that worlds finally became grey and prosaic, their denizens living in a perpetual state of turmoil. Most turned away from their dreams, disillusioned, until in the end, while the White Wolf cackled and howled, they had come to the very brink of self destruction. Only these lands, within this world, retained the potency of magic and dream. But it was here that the Beast had made its home, its fortress.

That had all been so long ago, if indeed time could be reckoned in any meaningful way in this domain. And still the power of the Wolf grew, until now it was almost undeniable.

Mo let his mind roam the past, searching for some tiny spark of hope. He too knew the prophecies. He was also one of the very few who knew all of the many timeworn poems and runes, but he was beset by doubt. True enough, the boy had come, but it was a

boundless undertaking, their ultimate goal illusory. And the road was cruel and dark.

Fair will turn to foul

and foul will turn to fair,

when death lies just ahead

you must meet it there.

The words seemed to echo within the badgers mind. What did it really mean? Mo's understanding was greater than most, but there were secrets still denied to him.

When the Wolf comes, no-one is safe. Not girl, nor boy, nor man or beast. We are all meat to him.

They encountered a great many signposts as they journeyed on, some in most unlikely locations, as if placed there entirely for their benefit. So with the aid of this peculiar guidance, they were able to maintain a north-westerly bearing and continued to travel toward Thauma's Ring.

"We draw near to the sacred place," declared Dredger. "This land was once virtuous, but then the white dog came and spread the filth of his corruption. Well, I say that the Beast has made a grave misreckoning. It should have not allowed me to live. Now I have returned to seek my vengeance." He looked up at the skies with grim determination. "Mark me, beast, for I come for you."

"What are we going to do at the circle?" Tom asked quietly at Mo's side, perturbed at the man's outburst.

The badger bared his teeth briefly. "Dredger will not listen to me. I fear he must learn the truth for himself."

Tom had a bad feeling that things were not going to fare well for them at Thauma's Ring. And this unease did not abate as Dredger, seeming now to be almost possessed by his desire to reach their destination, left his companions far behind. His stride lengthened as he moved with purpose along woodland pathways, across small streams and over rocky embankments.

A stone circle! Tom pondered as they scrambled along in the wake of the big man. He had seen standing stones before, monoliths arranged in a ring, or a line, rising up from lonely fields, often far from cities and towns. There was definitely something mystical about them, a timeless power and despite his misgivings he found himself excited by the prospect of such a spectacle appearing suddenly within a field or meadow.

Somewhere ahead, Dredger too thought of the stones. Now they will see what power really is. The Beast will be brought to heel. He was convinced that at Thauma's Ring, the old magic would speak to him. It was not gone. How could it be? The ancient magic was not something that lived or died. It was infinite, all encompassing. Mo was a fool if he believed the Wolf so strong that it could vanquish power such as that.

"Come on, Jack," Tom called, oblivious to the warrior's thoughts, but sensing that they were about to witness a test of the man's convictions. Jack really did appear to be weary and kept falling further behind as they tried in vain to catch up with Dredger. But hearing his friend's cry he stumbled forward and broke into a short trot, coming along beside Tom and the badger.

"Jack," said Mo, "is something wrong?"

Looking rather heavy lidded, the boy shook his head vaguely. "I'm all right," he muttered, "just a bit tired, that's all."

The old badger fixed him with a probing gaze. "And is that all?" he asked.

Jack looked away and shrugged his shoulders. "Sometimes I have bad dreams."

"Dreams," repeated Mo. "Indeed, this is a land of dreams. A land of magic." He paused, as if contemplating something. At length he spoke again. "I am sure that you have noticed that life, in any form, is scarce in these parts. Save Dredger, we have encountered no other living thing."

"I saw a boy," broke in Tom.

"And I saw a woman," added Jack, feeling a mixture of relief and guilt at mentioning it.

The badger wrinkled his nose. "It seems that you have seen more than I supposed."

Tom wondered if he should tell them about the girl, but dismissed the idea. After all, she was only a part of his dreams.

"Maybe we're just imagining things," Jack offered, perhaps a little too eagerly.

"No," Tom said definitely, "I saw a boy. It was when I first came, eh...into this place." He still found it very hard to accept that he really was in an entirely different world from his own. But he realised that he had better adjust to it quickly. It was an unpredictable and dangerous place and he would need his wits about him if they were to have any hope of surviving. "You must have seen him too, Uncle Mo," he continued, "it was just before I met you."

"The only boy I saw was you, Tom."

"Everything is weird in this place," commented Jack, with a shake of his head.

"You can say that again," voiced Tom, smiling glumly at his friend.

For a moment Jack almost felt like his old self again. It seemed such a long time since they had climbed the tree and his thoughts were hazy, his memories distant. Why did he feel so tired all of the time? It was as though something was inside him, draining him.

"Remember boys," Mo told them, "the White Wolf can use many things against us. Do not place your faith or trust in anyone or anything unless you feel certain in your heart that they are true."

"So who was the boy?" questioned Tom. "And the woman that Jack saw?"

"It's difficult to say," began the badger. "Illusions or disguises. Or perhaps they were exactly what they appeared to be. These lands are deceptive. Remember that." The animal increased his pace, the boys hurrying along beside him. As they walked, Tom peering ahead for some sign of Dredger, Mo began to speak again. "Listen, both of you. There is something I need to tell you." The badger glanced up at them to be sure he had their attention and seeing that he did, continued. "There was a time, a beginning let us call it, when the first ones came. They were like children, innocents, devoid of evil or corruption and the land blossomed under their care. It was truly a wonderful place then." He said this with a deep sadness and was silent for several moments. "They brought with them a power," he went on, "a great magic which they used to give prosperity and peace to every kingdom, every realm." Their speed slowed, Mo a little breathless. "I am old, " he said apologetically.

"So what happened?" asked Tom after a moment.

The animal bared his sharp teeth. "Something else came with them," he growled, his voice low. "The Beast."

They made their way along a bumpy track of mud and stone and Tom kicked at a twig. "Couldn't they do anything against it?"

"In the very beginning the Wolf was not as it is now. No, it was very different then. But even when they saw the depravity that lurked within its soul, they chose not to destroy it, although that was within their power. They allowed it to go its own way and so bring its influence to bear upon the land."

"But why? They must have known what would happen," insisted Jack.

"True enough," acknowledged Mo, "and there lies perhaps the greatest mystery of all. Why? But you must realise, Jack, that true evil is beguiling. It will win you over if it can and use your own heart's desires against you. But the Beast is corruption, incarnate. Never forget that. It has set about perverting all that is fair and pure and shall not rest until everything has become depraved."

"So what happened to them...the first ones?" Jack wanted to know, frowning.

"Some say they will return one day to set things to rights. Of course, others say that they were destroyed by the Beast long ago, if they ever existed at all."

"But what do you say?" Tom asked, eyeing the badger carefully.

"I," spoke Mo, looking away, "I have my hopes. And for the moment at least that will have to be enough."

"What I want to know," said Tom after a long pause, "is where did this Wolf come from in the first place? You say that everything was fine and then it just pops up and ruins it all."

Mo looked at them ruefully. "Some say the answers lie in the ancient poems and runes, but few truly understand their meaning. Perhaps you, Tom, already know more than you may have supposed."

"What do you mean?" Tom asked, confused.

"Is it not true that you know many strange stories and poems?" Tom realised the badger was talking about the things Uncle Ira had taught him. "Your Uncle is an old friend."

"Uncle Ira!" Tom cried in disbelief. "But how...when?"

"There are many things you do not know, some perhaps you will never know, but Ira has walked these roads before. He is an enemy of the Wolf."

Tom could hardly believe what he was hearing. Uncle Ira here? But how long ago? Was he here now?

"I can see this has come as a surprise to you," said Mo, "but really it should not have. Think of all that you have seen and heard since you first came to live at your new home."

"Just how much do you know about me anyway?" demanded Tom, feeling as if he had slipped into one of the disquieting dreams he had been having of late. In fact, just as Jack had said, he too felt more tired than usual. Sleep seemed to offer little solace.

"All that I need to know, Tom. But I am afraid that further explanation must wait. All things come to be when they are meant to be."

It was as though Uncle Ira was there himself, the familiar words echoing through Tom's mind and he knew he would have to be patient. "Did my Uncle know I would come here?" he asked the badger finally.

"Yes," Mo said gravely, "but he did not want you to come, that much I can say. He was bound by forces outside of our control. In this there is no choice for any of us."

Tom thought this over for a moment before speaking again. "Is he safe?"

Looking up at the cloudless sky, the animal did not meet the boys gaze. "I don't know."

Not far ahead, Dredger stood at the edge of a clearing, surrounded by high trees.

His wait had been long, but now equivocal time had moved on. He was the warrior of old. A circle of giant stones stood within the clearing, each menhir cut from ancient rock into a monolith now embedded in the earth. In all seventeen abided there. They would never fall.

Dredger walked proudly into the heart of Thauma's Ring and as he passed beyond the boundary of the stones, he felt a harsh chill cut through his body. For a moment he hesitated, before speaking aloud. "Show me the truth."

The warrior looked about him, feeling each menhir with his eyes, recalling the times when he and his father had come to this place to pray. He thought too of his mother, she who had brought him into the world and cared for him and his sister, Elizabeth, so spirited and carefree. Fragments of his past. A time lost, never to be regained.

"Show me," he bellowed suddenly. But there was only a silence that lived within his heart, an emptiness that threatened to consume him. The circle was nothing more than stone and earth.

Matthew Hooper opened the door and stepped out, a cool breeze ruffling his greying hair. His wife still lay sleeping inside. At the edge of the forest, the Wolf was waiting for him and slowly he made his way across a field of wild flowers to meet the Beast.

"Good day to you, Matthew," said the White Wolf courteously. The man remained silent, watching and listening intently. "And how is my garden this fine day?"

"All is well," replied the man, his tone full of resignation.

"That is good," voiced the Wolf with a crooked smile. "That is very good." The Beast paused, gazing at the man with dark, unblinking eyes. "And now alas, I must leave you." The old man looked into the creatures eyes and knew he was peering into the fires of hell itself. "Remember, remember," sang the White Wolf, "I am the law of the land. Do not fail me, do not betray me. Remember this always." The Beast half turned as if to go but then paused. "Oh yes, just one other thing." Matthew felt his heart flutter in his chest, fear choking him. "I am taking your wife away with me today."

The ground seemed to melt beneath the man's feet, his vision suddenly foggy, ill-defined shadows spinning deliriously before his eyes. "What?" he managed, but his dizziness became too great and he almost lost his balance.

"All of you, everyone, must learn," the Wolf breathed softly. "I am the law, I am the land. Now get back to your work."

Turning blindly, Matthew began to stumble back the way he had come. As he went up the steps to his porch, the house seemed to lean crazily, its bricks expanding, contorting into an impossible shape. The doorway became the grinning jaws of the Wolf, ready to devour him and as he entered he knew everything was lost, tears burning his cheeks.

The bed where his wife had lain was empty, the sheets neatly turned back and the old man screamed, a despairing sound that filled the house and pierced his mind. Grabbing his rifle from its place upon the wall, he staggered outside weeping and on the outskirts of the forest he saw a white stag watching him. With vengeance in his heart Matthew ran as best he could toward the thicket of trees, the stag seeming to await his coming. "It don't matter what shape you take. Now you're going to die!" he screamed at the animal. The white stag merely scratched the ground with its hoof and watched, its dusky eyes fixed on him. Taking up the gun, Matthew halted perhaps ten feet from the creature and took aim. His finger tightened on the trigger, sweat crawling over his body. But he hesitated.

The stag stood very still, its eyes regarding him blankly. After a long moment, he finally pulled the trigger.

The crack of the gunshot and the recoil of the weapon happened all at once, pushing him back with its impact. The force sent him reeling, knocking him to the ground, the rifle thrown from his hands. Unsteadily he brought himself up onto his knees and looked at the

creature sprawled unmoving upon the forest earth.

The Beast is dead!

He experienced a heady mixture of joy and grief and gaining his feet, slowly walked over to the animal's carcass. Standing above it, he half expected the creature to suddenly spring up at him, but no, it remained quite still. The old man kicked at the body and feeling his boot thud solidly into its ribs, he kicked it again and then again, a frenzy taking control of him. The Beast was dead. He had killed it. Leaning over the corpse with a triumphant smile on his thin, withered lips, the man examined the stag's face. Its eyes were open but they were vacant.

"It is dead," he shouted aloud.

"Yes it is, isn't it," said a voice from behind him.

Matthew whirled around and saw the White Wolf crouching by the exposed roots of a gnarled tree. "Y-you...?" he stammered, "but I killed you!"

The Wolf laughed, a mocking, coarse sound that cut through the man with a cold, helpless dread. "You killed a stag, old man. Now that was not a nice thing to do. Whatever had the stag done to deserve such a fate?" The Wolf grinned and licked saliva away from its snout.

Covering his face with his hands, Matthew knelt down beside the stag and wept. "Forgive me," he sobbed, stroking the animal's soft neck.

"Yes, forgive him," the Wolf chuckled. "He made a very bad mistake. But even so, I have a gift for you. Something to take your mind off such a tragedy." The old man did not look up, tears blurring his vision. "Look at me!" commanded the White Wolf. "Look at me."

Reluctantly, Matthew raised his head and saw that the creature held something between its grinning jaws and with horror in his heart he recognised it as a human head, severed at the neck.

He was staring into the lifeless, unfeeling eyes of his wife.

REAL MAGIC

When they came upon Dredger his head was bowed as if in prayer. He no longer stood within the boundary of the megalithic circle, but just beyond, half concealed within the shadows of the looming pillars of stone.

There was an atmosphere of veneration about the place and sensing this, Tom and Jack refrained from speaking, only looking on in wonder at the huge monoliths, majestic structures of elementary power. Tom guessed that they towered perhaps twenty feet above his head and were at least eight feet in width.

After some time, Dredger lifted his head and turned to gaze down at the badger, his face grim. "It is true then," he said stiffly, forcing the words. "Everything is gone."

Mo made no reply and coming to stand beside the boys, the warrior addressed them all. "Now we must take a different path," he growled, then turning to Tom, "boy! Come here." He pointed at the ground in front of him, his grey eyes never leaving Tom and reluctantly the boy came and stood before him. "I am now a man without a past. Perhaps I have no future either." Dredger said this with a mixture of bitterness and sorrow. "So now it falls upon you to lead the way."

Tom just stared up at him. "Aren't you coming with us?" he muttered, not really certain if he wanted the man to say yes or no.

"That is not the issue," Dredger snapped and Tom almost recoiled beneath the warrior's intense scrutiny.

The truth was Tom couldn't believe what he was hearing. Him lead!? What was the man talking about!?

"The road is treacherous," continued Dredger, "but there are some things I can tell you, to aid you on your journey." This was all happening too fast and Tom didn't know what to think. He just looked on dumbly. "I do not know the path you must take," went on the warrior, "but a place exists where the way might be shown to you." He paused and turned to the badger. "You know where I speak of?" The animal nodded. "It is a perilous place, but nonetheless you must go."

"Why do things always have be dangerous around here?" commented Jack, suppressing a yawn.

Dredger gave him a dark look, but did not respond. Instead his attention seemed to be fixed on Tom.

"Where do we have to go?" Tom asked eventually, deciding he might as well know the worst of it.

Dredger stood before him, a commanding figure and yet apparently incapable of leading them. All at once, Tom was overcome by despair, his own inability to cope with the events which had overtaken his life weighing down upon him.

"You must pass through Issylvan, the forest of ice and then enter the caves of Rith-ran-ro-en. There you may find your path," the warrior instructed.

"And what dangers must we face?" questioned Tom, forcing himself to ask.

"All kinds of evil," Mo warned, "all kinds of magic. We must travel across a land of snow and ice. And snow and ice is white, as you know."

Tom sighed. He was only a boy. But he was expected to be more than that. How could he lead them? If only he could be just a boy again, with no troubles or responsibilities.

Jack came over to him and eyed his friend. "I think I should have stayed at home," he said with a small smile, apparently back to his old self again.

"And I think I should have gone to your house for the holidays!" Tom finished and they both chuckled briefly, but the situation was too bleak for their good humour to last very long.

"Perhaps now would be a good time to consult the map," suggested Mo, "it will show the way to Issylvan."

Tom did as the badger asked him, kneeling down on the grass and unrolling the parchment. "Yes," he established after a few seconds, stabbing at the map with a finger, "it is marked here."

"Which way must we travel?" the badger enquired.

"East." Tom gathered up the parchment and returned it to its place beneath his shirt.

Dredger went to stand apart from the others. He was now a desolate man. All that he believed in had seemed to disappear before his eyes and his heart was empty. Where did his destiny lie now? His mind turned, as it always did, to the Wolf.

Do you think you have won, beast? The game is not yet over.

He bared his teeth in a bitter smile. "Not yet," he said harshly under his breath.

"Well, Tom," spoke Mo, "shall we move on?"

"Oh," the boy replied tentatively, "I thought we'd be resting here awhile."

The badger gave a cursory glance in Dredger's direction. "I think perhaps it would be better to make camp elsewhere."

They headed east, the enigmatic signposts ensuring that they did not stray too far from their course.

After a while, when they had walked for some miles, Tom suggested that they make camp. Of course, with no sun to reckon by and never knowing when the light would fade, it was difficult to judge how long they had spent travelling. He remembered going to sleep when it had become dark before, but was uncertain of when the light had returned. He could not say how long had passed since then. He had lost all sense of time, if that term could even apply here at all.

Dredger had become withdrawn since they departed from Thauma's Ring, speaking only when addressed and then offering no more than a curt reply. He now sat beneath a small tree leaning back against it, his face blank.

"I will keep watch," the badger said and moved off toward a thicket of undergrowth that grew wildly about their camp place.

They had settled down below a mossy bank, a stream idling by a few yards in front of them and laying back, their heads resting comfortably against the embankment, Tom and Jack let their bodies relax, but even so their minds remained troubled.

"Tell me something," Jack said, staring up at the featureless sky, "how can there be a land of snow and ice anywhere near here?"

Tom pulled a face. "Anything can happen in this place I suppose."

"I wish we were back in your garden," Jack whispered, a tremor in his voice. His mind was beset by strange thoughts and he was becoming more and more afraid, although he did his best to hide it.

"I know," Tom agreed, unaware of his friend's private turmoil, "but don't worry, we'll get back there."

They remained silent for a time before Jack spoke again. "How far is this snow anyway?"

Tom adjusted his position a little in an attempt to make himself more comfortable. "Not far, I think, judging by the map."

"Well I suppose it's something to look forward to," murmured Jack with a yawn.

"Go to sleep, will you," Tom said, smiling.

Jack closed his eyes and once again he dreamed.

He was walking through a brightly lit forest of vibrant colours, some of the trees clad in tawny leaves. Others waned to yellow and gold and fell about him as he hurried on,

carpeting the floor. He knew that he had an appointment to keep and it was very important that he get there on time. He must not stop for anything.

Passing beneath an archway of tall trees that leaned toward him on either side, Jack stepped into a long garden covered with flourishing plants and flowers in full bloom, making him feel as if he were emerging from autumn into glorious summer. A myriad

fragrances assailed him as he walked quickly along a pathway that led through the centre of the garden, before coming upon a large willow tree, its branches hanging very low, long leaves brushing the ground. Underneath it, seated upon two wooden chairs, he saw a badger and a wolf playing chess at a stone table and they smiled at him as he passed by. No time to stop and play, thought Jack moving swiftly on. Turning a corner, he squeezed through a narrow opening in a thick hedge and immediately noticed a pretty, golden-haired girl perched on a swing. She moved back and forward, her skirt riding up around stockinged thighs. "Hello, Jack," she called, but he didn't have time to answer.

Leaving the girl behind, Jack walked in the shadow of an ashen tree and looking up into its spreading branches he saw a man with red hair, sat astride a forked bough just above his head. "Why don't you climb up, young Jack. You can see things better from up here," he said but Jack just increased his speed.

I must not stop. He tried to think where it was that he was going? Must get home for tea, came the answer. It's tea time and I'm late!

He began to run and passing by an ivy covered wall, he saw a cottage just ahead. The white walls of the building glinted like ice.

Opening the door, Jack breathlessly peered inside. "What's for tea?" he called with

anticipation.

At a table, the woman in white waited for him. "Come here and see," she said.

Tom couldn't sleep and he wasn't certain that he really wanted to. His mind kept telling him to stay awake, an insistent voice that nagged at him.

What am I going to do? His thoughts turned back to what Dredger had said. It was

stupid, how could he be their leader?

I suppose I could find the way to the forest of ice, whatever that might be, but what then? The map doesn't say anything about the caves of, what was it again? Rith-ran something or other. How do I find them? It all seemed impossible. He knew he could depend on the badger and there was always Jack. And he supposed Dredger would come in handy if they had to fight. But still he felt very alone. He was conscious of a burden upon him, although why or how he came to carry it was beyond his understanding. He was certainly having to grow up. An old man at fourteen! He smiled to himself, closing his eyes. He thought about the girl, Lisa. He liked to think about her.

You're the girl of my dreams.

"Shall we play a game?" she asked.

"Yes," agreed Tom.

"Then try to catch me if you can!" With that she ran off into the mouth of a dark cave and laughing, Tom went after her.

Jack sat at the table and waited.

The woman stood over him and smiled gently, her red lips a smouldering contrast against the pure white of her dress. "Have you been a good boy?" she asked. Jack nodded fiercely. "I've got something for you then."

He opened his eyes wide with expectation. What could it be?

She held out her hand and offered him a parchment tied with a white ribbon.

"What is it?" he wondered aloud, trying to hide his impatience.

"A map, of course, you silly boy," the woman told him, her smile never faltering.

Taking it in his sweaty palms, Jack clutched it tight to his chest. "It's lovely," he drooled, "thank you. Thank you very much."

The woman touched his cheek, running a long fingernail gently across his skin. "Remember Jack. The map is yours. Do not let anyone steal it away from you. Keep it safe, especially from dirty little thieves. The map is yours."

Jack held the parchment even more tightly, hugging it to himself and nodded earnestly. "Thank you," he said again, grinning.

Dredger too found sleep elusive. His mind slipped back through time, searching the depths of memory, desperately seeking for something that might restore his stricken faith. One small hope.

The stones, the runes, the poems. The prophecies! Now more than at any other time he had to know what they really meant.

Far down in the dismal pit of his mind he found a verse his father had often recited to him, the words leaping forth from the darkness as letters of fire.

Out of despair will come peace

and sacrifice shall come from the weak,

the warrior must walk his own road,

to find the truth he would seek.

So face the mask of the beast

and remember the wolf and his shape,

for those who drink of the wine,

are only as sweet as the grape.

'Father, I will not forget you'.

Dredger looked out at the sky and in that second darkness fell. Perhaps now he would be able to sleep. A glance at the boys laying nearby assured him that they were already sleeping and he nodded slowly to himself. That was good. They would need all of their strength for the trials ahead.

At the edge of their small camp the badger was on watch, concealed within a dense thicket of foliage and confident that Mo could be relied upon, he let himself relax at last, his muscles loosening. "May my dreams be of the past," he murmured, as the night closed in.

Tom entered the darkness and stopped. "I will catch you," he breathed, peering into the inky regions of the cave.

"Come and get me," the girl's voice sang out and moving as quickly as he could through the blackness, he went toward the sound of her voice.

Just a little way ahead, a tiny flicker of light became visible.

"Tom, Tom," she teased.

"I will catch you," he said again, his voice full of determination.

As he came upon the light he found it to be a small lantern hanging from the roof of the cave. Its shadowy radiance illuminated the place with a pale, phantom glow.

Suddenly, the girl jumped out at him, having been hidden somehow in the shadows. "Boo," she said softly.

She stood just a few feet away from him and Tom was immediately overcome by the impulse to reach out and touch her, to stroke her creamy skin. He looked into her eyes and became lost there.

"You caught me, Tom," she said quietly, her eyes never leaving his.

"Yes." Tom didn't know what he should do, but he thought that he would really like to kiss her. But as he hesitated, a shadow began to rise above her head, a great silhouette of darkness that quickly engulfed her body and blinded him. "No..." he groaned.

"Oh yes," hissed a woman's voice, low and threatening.

With his heart beating very fast, his eyes useless in the blackness, Tom felt the touch of a cold, clammy thing upon his neck. Up it slithered, caressing his cheek, following the line of his jaw until it came to rest upon his lips. He could not move.

Tom closed his eyes even though he could not see, a scream beginning to rise in his throat.

"Don't you want me now?" asked the voice gently at his ear. Icy breath touched him and he shuddered.

"Who are you?" he managed, his mouth dry.

"Rith, Rith, Rith-ran-ro-en,

go to the end

and turn back again.

Rith, Rith, Rith-ran-ro-el,

who is your true love?

only time will tell."

Tom very slowly opened his eyes and before him was a deep blue sea. He was no longer inside the cave.

He stood on a high bluff, overlooking the water that gently ebbed, everything peaceful. In the sky above the sun was a fiery ball, beating down with such ferocity that he felt hot and sticky.

I must find Jack!

He felt that this was very important and looking about him, he scanned the vicinity for some sign of his friend. But there was no-one there other than himself. All he could see was water and all around him, green trees that receded along the coastline.

"Jack! Oh, Jack!" called a voice. From an archway cut and shaped from a nearby hedge, stepped a woman. She was very beautiful, her clothing all of shimmering white.

"Have you seen little Jack?" she asked him casually. Tom shook his head. "If you see him," she said, coming closer to him, her ruby lips seeming to expand, crowding his vision, "tell him that I am looking for him. Yes?"

"I will," promised Tom, slightly dazed.

The woman smiled, perhaps a little thinly, but Tom didn't really mind. After all, she had smiled at him.

"Good boy," she said and then turned to walk away.

"Goodbye," Tom called after her, sorry to see her go so soon, but the woman made no response and soon disappeared back through the archway.

Tom scratched his head. How did she know Jack anyway? He would have to ask him as soon as he found out where he was. Wherever that might be. Now though, it was time to go home for dinner. He was certainly hungry and Aunt Emily was sure to have prepared a good meal for him. While they ate Ira would probably ask him what he had been up to all day and Tom would tell his Uncle all about the woman in white. But there was just one small problem. He wasn't quite sure which way he should go to get home.

Dredger stood on a mountain high above a city.

"Now the time has come," he said to the wind as it howled around him. Slowly, the warrior came down from the summit, down through the rocks and the livid stones scattered about the mountain face, down across the withered plains and into the dark city. The streets were deserted. With a slight smile Dredger strode along a muddy road, his eyes alert. "Show yourself," he cried as he went.

The buildings of the city stood desolate, forbidding shapes frowning down upon him, full of shadows, surprises. The harsh wind rattled the window frames and broken panels of the ancient structures, once inhabited, now forgotten. And yet this was not a ghost town.

A thing lived here, a thing old and monstrous and Dredger had come to find it.

Reaching the end of a murky street, he turned to face the creature. It was waiting for him, a twisted gunslinger, ready to draw. "We meet at last," it rasped.

Dredger smiled. "At last."

Mo came and nudged Tom with his nose. "Wake up, Tom. We should be moving on." The boy stretched and sat up, rubbing at his bleary eyes. "Did you sleep well?" enquired the badger.

"I think I must have had a bad dream," Tom answered stifling a yawn.

Mo frowned a little. "Can you remember what it was about?"

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "Not really," he said after a short pause, "just that it was bad." Turning away, he prodded Jack in the ribs until the other boy stirred.

"What...?" Jack mumbled.

"Good morning," Tom said brightly, "remember where you are?"

Jack took a moment to focus his eyes before returning a weak smile and scratching his head he sat up. Running a hand through his unkempt hair he noted that Dredger too was awake, sitting against the tree where he had presumably slept, staring absently into the forest.

Tom got to his feet. "Is he all right?" he asked the badger, also aware of the man.

"Things have been hard for him," answered Mo. "He must come to terms with this in his own way."

Tom nodded and was thoughtful for a moment. "Tell me something," he began, "why can I never remember how long has passed since we stopped to rest, or for that matter how long it's been since we came into this place? I seem to keep losing track of time."

The badger wrinkled his nose. "It is as I have already told you. Time does not exist here. You cannot measure it. Think of it as if you are in a dream, where things are not subject to the laws that you are accustomed to. It's all quite confusing for you I'm sure, but it is the way of things here. And remember," he tapped at Tom's arm with a gentle claw, "there is white magic and there is real magic. You must learn to tell the difference between them."

Just then, before Tom could ask what the badger had meant, Dredger came over to join them and Mo greeted him. "Are you rested, Dredger?" But the man only stared back at him, with no trace of pleasantry. Tom wondered if he should say something to try to ease the tense atmosphere, but found himself at a loss for words.

"I had a dream," Dredger announced at length. Mo fixed the warrior with a probing look. "...a vision," the man continued thoughtfully.

"A vision of what?" questioned Tom.

"A sign that told me where my destiny lies."

The badger came close to the man and looked up at him. "What did you see?"

"I saw...," Dredger began slowly, "the image of the Second Beast."

Tom stared at the man sceptically.

"The Second Beast," Mo echoed.

"Yes," affirmed the warrior, "the beast who I must destroy."

"But what about the Wolf?" demanded Tom, feeling that things were becoming out of control.

"I must find the lost city of Hydan, in the Land of Scars," stated Dredger, paying no heed to the boy, "the Second Beast awaits me there."

"How can there be another beast!?" Tom started, unsettled by all of this, "there is only one White Wolf, isn't there?"

"Hush now, Tom," said Mo firmly. "Nobody has said there is another White Wolf, but there are more evils at work in these lands than you yet know."

"So Dredger is going to leave us," said Jack from behind them. Tom turned to look at his friend and thought just for a moment, that as he had done so he had seen a tiny flicker of a smile on the boy's face.

"I have my road and you have your own," professed Dredger, unmoved. "When my task is complete, I will seek you out again."

Tom was bewildered by all that was happening. Now that they were actually going to lose the warrior, he was not at all sure he liked the idea. Admittedly, he had never really taken to the man but he understood that without him, they would be far weaker.

"You must do what your heart tells you is right," determined Mo.

"I will journey with you a short while," replied the tall man with a distant air. His heart and mind now dwelt far away, in a city of ghosts, where something hideous awaited him.

Still sitting by the tree where he had slept so contentedly, Jack watched the others preparing to set out again.

So Dredger is going to leave us. Now that really is a shame, isn't it. Jack sniggered to himself, suppressing the sound with his hand, his eyes darting about guiltily. But no-one noticed him. And why should they? Who cared about what he had to say? He was just a nobody after all.

Then Jack remembered something. A voice inside his dream, speaking words of truth.

He looked at Tom with cruel, shadowy eyes. You are a good friend, his mind sighed, but you've got something of mine.

He closed his eyes and thought about the woman in white. It was strange, but before he had gone to sleep, he had almost forgotten he had ever known her before. Now that seemed impossible. He had known her, been with her, all of his life.

I am yours. Always. And her words of love were with him, enfolding him. The map is mine!

"The map is mine," he said very quietly, so that only he could hear.

DREAMS ARE FOR DREAMERS

"Would you mind checking the map, Tom," Mo asked, coming to a halt in the shadow of a small copse of wilting trees, "we should be somewhere near to the home of some friends of mine. I'm sure we would be welcome to some refreshments there." He cast a quick glance in Jack's direction. "How does that sound?"

Jack tried to seem enthusiastic. "Oh, yeah...that's great," he muttered.

Mo eyed him for a moment before turning to Tom. "And what about you Tom, are you hungry?"

The boy shrugged his shoulders. He knew he should be starving by now, but he felt strangely empty inside. "I suppose so," he managed and took out the parchment as the badger had asked. "What should I look for?"

"Sumbolon Grove," Mo told him, "it should be marked there."

Dredger made no objection to this proposal and once Tom had identified the location approximately south-east of their current position, they continued on their way noting landmarks as they went.

"Who are these people that you know?" questioned Tom as they walked.

"An old couple, man and wife," said Mo. "They are always willing to aid a weary traveller."

Wondering where Jack was, Tom looked around and saw him trudging along some way behind them, seeming rather distracted. He had his hands thrust deep into his pockets and his head down. "Come on Jack," Tom called, urging his friend on.

"I'll keep up," came the curt reply.

Not really knowing what to make of the other boy's mood, Tom decided that it would be best to leave him alone and hope he would snap out of it. But Jack's behaviour was certainly odd as he was one of the most good-natured people that Tom knew.

"Will you tell me something?" Tom said to the badger, his concern for Jack temporarily put aside.

"What is it Tom?"

"What is the Second Beast?"

Mo moved along easily at his side and Tom realised how much he had come to depend on the animal's help and advise. The badger had taken the place of his real Uncle and although this didn't mean he was happy to be without Ira, he at least had someone to turn to. Especially now that Jack was acting so peculiarly. He remembered when they had been preparing to set out again after his uneasy sleep. Several times he had caught Jack staring at him resentfully and he just couldn't understand why. What had he done? Whatever it was, he would have to have it out with him sooner or later. Tom didn't like having bad feeling between them.

Mo sniffed the air, interrupting his thoughts. "Something's on the wind," he stated. "Something up ahead."

"What is it?" asked Tom, becoming afraid.

"I'm not certain," was all the badger could say.

Tom gazed out into black woods, across fields of scattered flowers, primeval trees etched against the sky. It was hard to imagine this land ever really changing. He couldn't see how

they would ever come across a town, let alone a region of snow and ice.

"To answer your question," began Mo suddenly, reminding Tom of what he had asked, "we have long awaited the coming of the Second Beast and since your arrival I have expected it."

"Why!? What do you mean?"

"It is part of the prophecy. Things are happening now and we are moving toward the final confrontation with the Beast, when all will be revealed and many questions answered."

Tom bit his lip absently, a worried frown creasing his brow. "But what if we fail?"

"I have my own doubts," admitted the badger, "but we must do what we can and never give up hope. Thus far, the prophecies have all been fulfilled."

With a sigh, Tom accepted the animal's words, trying to convince himself that everything was going to be all right, but it was not easily done. There were too many uncertainties, too much he didn't understand. "But you still haven't told me what the Second Beast is?" he said finally.

"There are many runes that tell of it, but the most significant is known only to a very few. Even your Uncle Ira does not know of it. It is a most ancient verse."

"Will you tell it to me?" Tom ventured.

The badger sniffed the air again and gave a violent twitch of his nose. "Something bad," he said flatly, apparently ignoring the boy's request.

Tom looked ahead to where Dredger walked alone. He was a lonely man, driven by a need, a desire, although just what that might be was hard to define.

Then as they travelled over muddy terrain, the badger began to recite:

"When comes the Second Beast,

who can count the cost

to the one who must find

Hydan the lost?

There to face the hooded foe

and learn the truth concealed,

to gain the daimon blade,

that the catalyst may wield."

"And Dredger is the one?" questioned Tom eventually.

"So it would seem."

"Hydan," Tom breathed, "that's where he said he was going. How did he know?"

"He too knows the prophecy," Mo said. "We are all like pieces in a puzzle that must be put back together. In the end, none of us can succeed without the other."

"He's a strange man," Tom decided.

"Perhaps," said the animal, "but still a part of the game that the White Wolf plays, like you and I...and Jack."

"Have you noticed anything...well, unusual about Jack lately?" Tom asked, his worry over his friend obvious.

Mo looked over his shoulder at the other boy, who came slowly along several yards

behind them. "I see many things," he remarked, "but perhaps he is merely tired. You have both had a shock to your systems remember. Entering another world has its effects!"

"I suppose that could be it," conceded Tom, "but I'm not sure..."

Just then, Dredger shouted for them to come ahead and at once Tom and the badger ran to meet him.

"What's happened?" Tom asked quickly, afraid of some attack or concealed trap.

"Blood," replied Dredger with a detached air and pointed at the ground. A dark, sticky substance coloured the grass with a scarlet stain. "Can you not smell it?" the man asked. "I know that stench very well. I can almost taste it."

"The house lies just beyond this small forest ahead," said Mo. "I fear that something very bad has happened here." The old badger felt a terrible sense of dread descend upon him like a heavy cloak.

"Let us find what we must," growled Dredger, setting off down the blood-splattered bank in the direction of a close-knit thicket of trees.

"Prepare yourself, Tom," Mo cautioned, lifting his head, his fur bristling all along his back. "There may be things here that none of us would wish to see."

The building stood silent at the centre of a clearing, portending some sinister work of the Beast. Or so it seemed to Tom. He wondered what they would find within those walls.

It was Dredger who came first to the doorway and even he hesitated before pushing the door open and stepping inside. Following behind, Mo and Tom entered the house, but Jack, hanging back a few paces, did not cross the threshold. He wore a disinterested expression that Tom found rather irritating.

"Empty," reported the warrior, moving across the room and through a low opening to their left. It was a small cottage with only three rooms, each sparsely furnished.

"Where do you think they could be?" questioned Tom, surveying the interior and while he did so, his eyes settled upon Jack standing at the door, leaning nonchalantly against the frame. He seemed rather bored with the whole affair and Tom glared at him, but either Jack didn't notice or just chose to ignore it completely.

"We must search the surrounding area," voiced Mo solemnly. "Some vile evil has visited this place. I sense it. I can only pray that James and Rebecca have not been harmed."

"I will search behind this dwelling," Dredger informed them as he strode out of the doorway, his expression grim.

"Jack and I will look down by the forest for some sign of them," Tom said, deciding he would use the opportunity to question Jack about his odd behaviour.

"Very well," the badger agreed with a nod of his head. "I will search in the other direction."

Moving beside Jack, Tom looked at his friend. "Come on," he said in as friendly a voice as he could manage.

But Jack just stared at him for a moment before turning away. "I think I'll stay here."

Tom couldn't understand it. Why was his friend acting so strangely? "Suit yourself," he responded with a sigh and made his way across a neatly kept garden toward a knot of trees. To his fatigued mind their outstretched branches appeared to beckon him ominously.

Before they had come upon the cottage they had passed through a tangled wood and Tom could see now that at the end of the garden there was a narrow opening within the borderline of trees. As he came upon it, he thought for just a second that he saw a shape

moving behind the leaves and branches. Something white.

Wolf as white,

as white as snow,

where it comes from

I don't know.

That's strange, Tom thought as these words sang in his head. I'm sure I've never heard that rhyme before. He cast his mind back, trying to recall if his Uncle had ever told it to him, but Tom was almost certain that he never had.

A noise to his left like the snapping of a twig made him swing around and look hard into the foliage. Slowly, warily, Tom crept forward, toward the place where he thought the sound had come from, but stopped after only a few halting steps. The thick trunk of an old, unidentifiable tree stood in his path.

"Look up," whispered a voice.

Automatically, Tom obeyed.

There was a naked body hanging from the tree, suspended by a white ribbon and Tom knew immediately that the person was dead. But it was not this that made him gag and almost bring up the little he had inside his stomach.

The head! his mind screamed, the horror of it almost too much for him to bear. What's wrong with the head!?

Mo glanced up and then turned away. "Cruel Wolf," he said quietly, the words harsh.

"This is a dark deed," Dredger voiced at his side.

Tom sat against the tree trunk, but on the far side so that he could not see the grotesque spectacle above. He was extremely shaken, but slowly managing to calm himself.

Jack however stood casually, looking on with fascination as the hanging figure twisted lazily to and fro, the tree-limb creaking under the weight.

"A noose of white ribbon," commented Dredger.

"I just pray his death was quick," the badger responded in a low growl.

"We will probably never find the rest of their bodies," Mo pronounced bitterly.

"But why?" Dredger asked. "Why mutilate them like this? It is disgusting."

"This is no mere mutilation," the badger countered. "The woman's head was grafted onto her husband's body as a display for our benefit. I can only hope that they were both already dead and at peace when the Beast performed the hideous act."

"Now that's what I call a good trick," Jack said with a small giggle.

"Be silent!" Dredger commanded, turning on the boy, an angry fire burning in his eyes.

Mo moved closer to the warrior, ignoring Jack's callous remark. "Will you cut him down?"

The big man nodded and taking a short blade from a sheath strapped to his waist, he

set about climbing the tree. While he made his ascent, Tom came hesitantly back to stand with the badger.

"Why?" he asked, not wanting to believe what had happened here.

"A foul game, or more likely, a warning," Mo answered. "The White Wolf does whatsoever it desires and feels neither pity nor remorse."

Lowering his eyes, not wishing to see as Dredger cut down the body, Tom shuddered as the corpse struck the ground and only now did he begin to truly understand the true nature of the creature that opposed them.

Jack gazed down at the body, a smile lighting up his face. "Now they'll be together forever." He sniggered, trying to cover the sound with his hand.

Tom stared at his friend in disbelief and had just opened his mouth to ask Jack what he thought he was doing, when the warrior leapt down from the branches of the tree and confronted the boy himself.

"I find that I do not like your words," the man barked menacingly.

"The boy is in shock," Mo said, moving toward Jack as if to protect him.

"Shock!?" repeated Dredger scornfully, hissing the word. "Is that what it is?"

Jack gawked at the man. "I don't know what you mean," he said and appeared to be genuinely confused.

"Let us bury the body," the badger suggested, trying to turn the discussion to other matters and relieve the tension between the two.

"There is more that needs to be said," Dredger answered coldly, scowling at the boy. After several long moments of staring hard at Jack, he finally nodded slowly. "But I shall do as you say."

And so, using their hands as well as stout sticks and sharp stones found nearby, Tom, Mo and Dredger dug a grave while Jack, standing idly beneath the tree, watched them work.

When the job was done, Mo bowed his head and said a prayer.

"Let those who have suffered

pass on in peace,

let those who have lost their way

find true release,

let the wind sing our mourning,

let our hearts join the song,

let the children reach the golden land

where the faithful belong."

"The Beast will pay for what has happened here," growled Dredger, his eyes a deep crimson.

"Yes," said the badger, "but you, my friend, have another path to travel now. You have your own beast to face...in Hydan."

"One piece of the puzzle joins with the next," the man answered.

"Would it help for you to look at the map, Dredger?" asked Tom, a great sadness within him. His mind could hardly register the horror he had seen and now they were soon to lose the warrior. If Dredger was no match for the Wolf, then who could be? Certainly not two boys and a badger.

The tall man gazed down at the boy. "Yes, it would be of help, if you will permit it. It is for you to say who shall look upon the map now. No-one else can play your part in this."

"No!" came a sudden shout from behind them and turning quickly Tom saw Jack standing there, his hands balled into tight fists, his face pale and sweaty.

"What is it, Jack?" he asked, surprised and confused.

The other boy's face was stricken, his mouth contorting as if in pain. "You must not show him the map," he screamed. "You must not let him see it!"

Tom stared uncertainly at his friend, trying to understand what was going on. "Why?" he began, "what do you mean?"

"Do as I say," shouted Jack, his eyes wild. "You must do as I tell you!"

Tom glanced uneasily at the badger. "Jack, are you all right?" Mo said soothingly, taking a step toward the boy.

"No! You must not show him. I won't let you!" His eyes darted from Mo to Tom and then to Dredger like some cornered animal. "Anyway," he said, becoming suddenly calm, a cunning look creeping onto his face, "the map isn't even yours. You can't show it to him because it doesn't belong to you."

Mo took another step toward Jack and the boy jumped back as if he had been physically struck. "Then who does the map belong to, Jack?" the animal asked easily.

"Why, it's mine of course," he replied, his eyes wide. "Surely you know that it's mine. Didn't she say that it was? Give it to me, Tom. Come on, give me back my property. I'm willing to forgive and forget, if you just give me back what's mine."

Tom stood quite still, unable to believe what he was hearing. Had Jack gone mad? He didn't know what to think.

As he was struggling with this indecision, Dredger moved beside him and pointed a finger at Jack. "Listen to me, boy," he commanded, his voice very low. "You have been poisoned by some evil thing. Fight back against it. Fight!"

Jack shrieked. "Give me the map! It belongs to me. It's mine, I tell you. Give it to me!" He stamped on the ground and began pacing about in a highly agitated state, chanting the words again and again.

"What can we do?" Tom said desperately, looking to the badger and then at Dredger.

"Jack!" Mo spoke in a resonant voice. "Stop this. You are unwell. Let us help you."

For a second Jack became still and eyed the badger oddly, but then with a scream of fury and despair, a terrible look of hatred distorting his features, he turned and ran into the trees.

"Quickly," cried Tom. "We have to catch him!" He started forward but Dredger caught his arm.

"No!" the warrior ordered him. "Let him go."

Tom twisted away from the man's grip and turned to the badger, his face tormented. "Why!? What's happening!?"

"This is the work of the Wolf," the animal said with compassion.

"Then we have to help him," Tom implored. He didn't want to stand and debate, he only wanted to find his friend.

Mo came closer and met the boy's frantic eyes with his own. "Jack must fight this alone, Tom. There is nothing we can do to help him now."

Tom stared at the badger before turning to look into the shadowy forest where Jack had disappeared. He felt useless and defeated. If he lost Jack to the Wolf, what point would there be in going on?

"Jack," he whispered, tears running easily down his face. Why was this happening to them?

"I won't go on without him," he said quietly.

Out in the isolated regions of a dispassionate forest, Jack ran, trying to make sense of his jumbled thoughts. He could remember their arrival at the cottage, but after that everything became very hazy and vague.

Where were Tom and the others? Surely they hadn't lost him. He thought of calling out, but for reasons he wasn't really sure of, decided against it.

I'll keep quite. That would be best.

Slowing to a walk, Jack moved under silver-limbed trees, travelling in no particular direction. When he had gone only a short distance, a weariness came over him quite suddenly and he sat down beneath a large sycamore. The other trees here were somehow unfamiliar, the leaves giving off a strange incandescence, the bark scarred in a way that seemed aberrant. All around him he saw shadow within shadow, a green light illuminating the woodland. The forest held him in a close embrace.

Leaning his exhausted body against the sycamore's sturdy trunk, Jack tried to determine what his best course of action might be. But he found it increasingly difficult to think straight.

A soft rustling near his feet made him peer down at the grass and to his surprise he saw a small white mouse sitting beside his leg, twitching and blinking as it stared up at him.

"Hello mouse," Jack said, pleased to have found a potential friend.

The tiny animal seemed to be eyeing him carefully and Jack wondered if it would run away if he dared to move his body. Remaining as still as he could and trying to keep his breathing as quiet as possible, Jack smiled at the mouse, his most friendly, good-natured smile. "No need to be afraid," he whispered.

Hesitantly the mouse came closer, scuttling over toward his right hand and expecting the creature to dart off at any moment, Jack reached out gently with his fingers until they made contact with the animal's delicate body. Amazingly, or so he thought, the mouse made no attempt to run away, so with the greatest of care he picked it up and looked curiously into its dark eyes.

"Mouse," he declared, somewhat obviously.

The little creature trembled, staring back at him. In his big hand it seemed to Jack that the mouse's warm, soft body was as fragile as alabaster. One squeeze and the tiny form would break in two.

Jack's brow furrowed as he tried to think. Things had not been going so well of late, he knew. He had not felt like his old self at all. Why was everything so confusing and strange? His head began to hurt, a throbbing pain right between his eyes.

In his hand, the mouse moved and he tightened his fingers around its small white body.

"It's those damn dreams," he said aloud, the words ringing in the silence.

"Dreams are for dreamers," answered a voice.

Jack gazed at the mouse and for a second he imagined that it winked at him.

My mind is going, he concluded closing his eyes tightly, raising his other hand to his aching brow.

"What am I going to do?" he asked in a whisper, wishing Tom were there with him.

"Dream on," replied the voice and then the mouse wriggled out of his grasp and scurried to the ground.

Opening his eyes, Jack just managed to catch a glimpse of its pale form disappearing into the long grass.

"I'm going to look for him even if you won't help me," vowed Tom with a sharp look at both Mo and Dredger.

"Please listen a moment, Tom," said the badger kindly. "I didn't mean we would leave Jack behind. I only meant that whatever is wrong with him, he will have to fight it for himself. It is within and we are powerless to reach it."

"But I must try to help him," Tom insisted, his face twisted with concern.

"The boy is right," interrupted Dredger, "we must at least try."

Mo looked at them both and then nodded. "Very well, but I do not harbour much hope for what we shall be able to achieve."

"It will be more productive if we separate," the warrior directed, making briskly for an opening in the undergrowth without waiting for their agreement.

After watching the man vanish among the trees, Tom turned to the badger. "I can't understand why you won't at least try to help Jack. I just don't..." He broke off, his voice cracking with emotion.

"I am afraid," the animal said slowly, "afraid that it's already too late."

Tom fell silent, not wanting to believe what Mo was suggesting.

Jack will be all right. He will! It was just this terrible place, this stupid world where nothing made any sense.

"I'll go this way," the badger said abruptly and with one final glance at the boy, made off into the trees.

Somewhere secluded within the heart of the forest, Jack still sat beneath the sycamore.

"When they come," whispered a voice at his ear, "you must say that you are sorry and pretend that everything is all right now."

Jack nodded. "But will they believe me?" he queried, his speech a little slurred.

"They will believe you, have no fear. You must wait and be patient. You must await the moment of your reckoning." Jack nodded again. "Remember Jack, all things come to be when they are meant to be. Every dog must have its day."

"Yes," the boy said, "yes, I can wait."

"And you will, Jack, dear Jack, you will wait for me."

Jack turned his head very slightly and looked into the woman's eyes and saw that a silver light twinkled within them. Beautiful, he thought dreamily. Then there was the sound of movement in the undergrowth, the sound of someone steadily drawing nearer and Jack peered into the surrounding woodland.

Where am I? He stood up with a grunt of exertion. How did I get here?

Abruptly a figure appeared before him and Jack smiled, pleased to see that one of their company had found him. "Hello Dredger, I'm glad you found me," he said in warm greeting, but the big man did not return his smile. He came ominously on toward the boy, gripping a sharp blade tightly, his glacial eyes unsettling.

"What's the..." began Jack, but then, with a gasp of horror, he realised what Dredger meant to do. He screamed and tried desperately to run, but the warrior seemed to block every avenue of escape and Jack knew what it was to be an animal caught in a snare. The roof of the forest flashed overhead, light alternating with shade.

"No...no," he murmured in vain, but it was too late. The blade rose up and floated above the man's shoulder. "Why?" was all Jack could say as he waited to die.

THE FORK IN THE ROAD

Tom made his way slowly through the rough undergrowth, scanning the forest for a sign of Jack.

White Wolf, white death, he thought fleetingly, though he did not know why these words should trouble him now. Show yourself, Jack. I need you! Please come back and be your old self again.

Above him the sky, subtly, was beginning to darken. Tom was sure that it had not been very long since night had last come. But could he really be certain?

A little way ahead there was a muffled sound, as if someone were trying to cry out and hearing this, Tom quickened his pace, heedless of a cluster of prickles that stung his legs. Suddenly as he passed beneath a mass of low hanging branches, a terrible scene appeared before him.

He saw the tall figure of Dredger looming over the cowering form of a boy and in the warrior's hand a gleaming blade was poised to strike.

"Jack!" Tom realised at once as he screamed the name, the fear and horror of the sound puncturing the tranquillity of the forest. With a swift glance, hesitation momentarily passing across his dark features, Dredger glared at him, violence in the man's eyes. "No!" Tom shouted and Jack joined the plea flinching away, begging for some show of mercy from the warrior.

The blade wavered above Jack's head for a moment and then, with an expression that

neither boy could read, Dredger slowly lowered his hand, his fingers clenched white

around the weapon's haft. "You should not interfere," he breathed, still looking hard at the boy huddled at his feet.

Paying no heed and moving closer, Tom gazed down at his friend and saw that Jack was obviously in a state of shock, his eyes wide and confused, his face ashen. "Jack, are you all right?" he offered gently.

"I...I think so," muttered the other boy, looking around as if he were emerging from a bad dream. But before Tom could question him further, the sound of something approaching made all three turn to see Mo come into view, his large body appearing from out of a deep thicket to their right.

"So he is found," the badger said, noting the expressions on each of their faces.

"Is he going to be all right?" Tom asked, beckoning Mo forward.

"Let me see." The badger sniffed the air, occasionally nudging Jack with his large black nose. "How do you feel, Jack?"

The boy rubbed his forehead and grimaced. "Like I've been hit over the head with a plank of wood."

"Can you stand?" Mo enquired.

Jack felt his body in an apparent attempt to locate any broken bones. "I think so," he said and with a hand from Tom he got up onto his feet. "What happened?" he finished.

"Don't you remember?" protested Tom but Jack just shook his head, staring blankly at his friend, then at the badger.

"No I can't remember a thing after we reached the cottage."

Dredger smiled tightly. "A poor memory can be a convenient thing."

Tom turned and scowled angrily at the man. "So what were you going to do with your

knife when I found you, Dredger?" he demanded savagely.

The tall man still held the weapon in his hand and with a thin smile he now replaced it in its sheath. "Why," he answered with a casual air, "protect the boy of course."

Tom glanced briefly at Mo who remained silent, watching them both carefully. "Protect him from what!?" the boy asked in disbelief.

"There are many things that stalk the forest, many evils that lie in wait." Dredger paused and found Jack with his gaze. "And they come in many shapes and forms. They come in many guises."

"All is well now," interrupted the badger. "And for that we should all be thankful. I suggest that we go back to the cottage for there is food to be had there, and we must provide ourselves with whatever is necessary for the long journey ahead. Now that the place stands empty," he added softly, "we must take rather than receive."

"The darkness is almost here again," Jack said distantly.

Tom nodded. "No day, no night and no time. Everything is jumbled up."

"Not so, Tom," Mo countered swiftly, "All things abide by the will of the Beast and only change at its whim. Never forget that The Wolf is master of these lands."

Turning away, Mo started back toward the cottage. The two boys followed him readily, Tom relieved by the return of his friend, but perplexed and worried by the episodes leading up to Jack's outburst. Dredger however, did not follow immediately, pausing to watch the others go.

"I smell you here," he growled through clenched teeth. "Heartless one...bright one." He spat on the ground venomously and with one last look around the area he moved off,

taking great strides in pursuit of his companions.

A sense of oppression permeated the small dwelling and Mo felt it bite into his very heart.

Tom experienced it too, like a cleaving, living thing. The sight of the man, his wife's head somehow having been horribly transplanted onto his dead body, hanging like a rag doll from the tree, was by far the most terrible thing he had ever seen. His mind reeled at the memory. How could the Wolf be so cruel? What kind of mind could conceive of such a hideous thing? If Tom had ever doubted that true evil actually existed, he knew now that it was all too real.

But at least Jack is all right now.

There had been a moment back there, when he had begun to believe he might lose his friend and that had scared him very badly. He brutally pushed this thought away, unable to face the emotions that churned inside him.

"We must take all the food that we can find," Mo said, looking grimly around the room.

"It seems so cold-hearted," commented Tom with an uneasy look at the badger.

At that moment, Dredger entered the room. "They have no further need of the provisions," he remarked.

Tom glared at him in disgust. "Sometimes," he hissed, "you really make me sick!"

With a slight smile, the warrior sat down on a hard wooden stool and just looked steadily back at the boy.

"The larder is well stocked," reported Mo, appearing at the doorway to one of the other rooms. "There will be enough to sustain us for a great distance. And there are also two rucksacks which we can put to good use." He paused, looking over at Tom. "It's what they would have wanted."

Saying no more, the four of them gathered the provisions together, emptying the larder. Jack in particular went about the task with dedicated enthusiasm.

When they had filled the rucksacks until they bulged heavily, Dredger took one up onto his broad shoulders with little effort. "I will carry this," he announced, "and with your agreement, I will take it with me on my own journey, which very soon must take me on a different path than your own."

"Of course," approved Mo.

"And I'll carry the other one," voiced Jack, grabbing hold of the bulky pack.

Dredger smiled broadly but without humour. "Yes, that is fitting. He will make a good mule!"

Jack didn't seem to take any offence at this and quite happily hoisted it up onto his back, appearing to be ready to go wherever he was led.

"Very well," the badger declared, "we have remained here long enough. Let us now walk the road of bitter dream, where nothing and no-one are what they seem. The verse is best remembered by all. Many things that were in darkness are now coming to light."

He cast a look around the room, noting the expression on each face. Tom's pale and frightened, yet strangely resolute. Dredger, grim and purposeful, sure of his skill in battle, ready to fight to the death. And Jack.

Mo gazed at the boy as Jack scurried about, so keen to be of assistance. What had possessed him when he had raved about the map being his own? It was odd indeed that he had recovered so suddenly. The badger knew that he would have to watch Jack very carefully from now on.

They left the cottage and passed out into the gloom.

"I feel a bit sleepy," mumbled Jack to no-one in particular.

"We must travel on," stated Mo. "I think that perhaps the darkness has been sent merely to discourage us, to persuade us to delay our journey. The Wolf enjoys the discomfort that we all share whilst we remain in this place."

"We will not be deterred," reinforced Dredger, nodding his head solemnly.

"I still can't understand it though," Tom mentioned. "It seems such a short time ago when we rested. Wasn't that during the night?"

"Night is day and day is night," sang the badger. "In the land of half dreams it suits the Wolf for you to sleep."

Tom considered this for a moment and came to realise that time here never seemed to pass either quickly or slowly, or in fact ever really matter to them at all. It was just as Mo had said, time did not exist, at least in the way he understood it. "I always seem to feel tired even when I've only just slept," he grumbled and yawned as if to demonstrate his grievance.

They went on in a brooding silence. The badger had his own thoughts, his doubts and his hopes. While Tom recalled his Uncle Ira and began to understand many of the strange things he had been told, which until now had always sounded so bizarre and mysterious.

Jack however did not have any thoughts at all. He was like a boy who was sleepwalking. He only wanted to be told what he should do. And there was only one person who could tell him. He knew he must be patient until she came to him again.

And Dredger, now renewed with a sense of destiny and purpose, knew where he must

go and what was expected of him when he arrived at his destination. He was also aware of how much depended on him.

To fail was to condemn them all to a hell unimaginable.

With time seeming to stand still and darkness settling deep around them, the party of four travelled on for many miles. There were no stars and no moon to light their path and yet the chasm of night was aglow nonetheless, for a spectral light of uncertain origin filtered through the trees, lending the landscape a yellowed, anaemic aspect.

Dredger had kept himself apart from the others as they went, apparently preoccupied by some private debate. So when he approached Tom, falling in beside him and matching him stride for stride, the boy was somewhat alarmed and glanced up at the warrior nervously.

The man gazed down upon him with a frightening intensity, his eyes yellow in the eerie radiance. "You offered me the opportunity to examine the map again," he said bluntly. "Does it still stand?"

Tom met the big man's regard and wondered if he would ever come to like him. He doubted it somehow, but at the same time realised that whatever it was that Dredger had to do, it was important and therefore any help he could give the man should be granted without question. "The map is yours to look at any time you like," he answered coolly.

With a shrewd gleam in his eyes, Dredger smiled. "I understand you better than you think, and I know you will do whatever you have to do." It seemed he was content to leave the conversation at that, but as he was about to fall back and walk with the badger, he added, "I will look upon the map when the light returns. My path will take me from you soon."

Jack, who walked just behind Tom, listened to this carefully and was jubilant, although his expression remained neutral.

She will be pleased. And I so much want her to be pleased.

Completely unaware of his friends thoughts, Tom marched on now at the head of the company, feeling like the leader of an expedition trekking into some uncharted region, in search of a great and wonderful treasure. In a way it was almost ironic. When he had been just a little younger he had often played games that were much like this, only now, incredibly, he was actually living one.

His thoughts turned to Lisa, who came to him in his dreams. Who was she really? And what did it all mean? He knew beyond question that he would meet her somewhere, sometime soon, but it was becoming more and more difficult to tell when he was dreaming and when he was actually awake. Was she real? He wanted to believe that she was. The way he felt about her was almost magical, like a dream itself. He smiled to himself at that notion. Was all of this really no more than a strange dream? No, he reminded himself quickly, this was real and so was Lisa. He imagined her face, her

pretty eyes regarding him fondly and experienced emotions that were foreign to him, a deeply felt longing for some unobtainable thing that he barely understood. Can dreams really come true?

He looked over his shoulder at Jack and saw his friend lumbering along just behind him. "Jack!" he said with an easy grin.

"What can I do for you?"

"How's it feel to be part of an adventure?"

Jack scratched his head, feigning deep thought. "Well," he said eventually, "it beats doing the washing up!"

Laughing, Tom moved beside his friend. "I'm glad you're all right now," he told him, his sense of relief obvious.

Jack nodded, glancing away. "So am I."

"Now, let's just get on with what we have to do," urged Tom, "and beat the hell out of that White Wolf!"

The other boy grinned, rather too fiercely. "Yeah, let's hunt it down and spill its guts!"

Tom smiled, but it occurred to him that this was not really the sort of thing he would have expected to hear from Jack. But after all that had happened, he supposed they had to expect to see changes in their attitudes and behaviour.

Within his own tired, bewildered mind, Jack considered the other boy as they continued to travel.

Who are you Tom? Who are you and why do I hate you so much? It's not that I want to hurt you. It's just that you're getting far too big for your boots and you've got

something of mine. His face contorted with the pain of his thoughts. I really don't want to hurt you. But I must do what I am told.

"When we reach the fork in the road, I must part from you," indicated Dredger as they marched over a low hillock. A straight, stone road awaited them on the other side, stretching away into the distance. The warrior knew that his journey must take him far to the west, for with Tom's permission he had consulted the map when it became apparent that the day would not swiftly return.

The darkness remained vigilant, the surrounding woods beset by shadows cast by the anomalous illumination that accompanied the night and baffled by this strange phenomenon, Tom found himself voicing a question. "What causes that glow?"

"Phantom stars perhaps," answered Mo dryly, "or the playful heart of the Wolf."

"And what about Dredger?" Tom continued, his inquisitive mind moving quickly from one subject to another, "what is waiting for him out there?"

"The Second Beast," stated the badger. "Many are the theories as to what it might be, as to its significance. For myself, I am still uncertain, though I have given it much thought through the years."

"I too have wondered," Dredger said joining the conversation, having been listening attentively as they walked the road. "But I know this. The Second Beast is a part of the prophecies, a part of the trials that we each must face. And I know where my destiny must take me. Into Hydan where the hooded foe awaits."

"And I shall pray that you do not fail your test," the badger pledged, "as I pray we do not fail our own." For a few moments there was silence between them, the gravity of what faced them oppressive.

"But what has all of this got to do with the Wolf? That's what I don't understand," Tom spoke up. He found the whole concept of another beast very confusing.

With a mild chuckle, Dredger swept back his long hair from his face. "Everything native to this world is a part of the Beast, the true Beast. It is the father of all evil here."

"Your words are certainly true," agreed Mo, "and it is best remembered that evil is often more complex that it might first appear. The beguiling darkness serenades us with sweet melodies of ambition. The righteous must take care lest they fall under the spell of the charming beast."

Dredger looked down at the animal, his eyes glassy. "I trust you have noted the incident with the boy...Jack."

"Indeed," the old badger replied.

"Watch him at all times. Shadows are moving within him. Perhaps it would have been better if Tom had not come upon me in the forest when he did."

Mo did not answer and although Tom was sorely tempted to argue the point, he chose to let the matter rest, knowing that no good could come of further confrontation. The warrior was naturally cautious, he understood and his reluctance to accept Jack's recovery was to be expected. As for the incident in the forest, Tom preferred to put it behind him. It scared him too badly to consider what he might have discovered if he had arrived a few minutes later.

"There are parts to be played by all of us," Mo uttered, but the warrior had said his piece and strode on, quickening his pace.

Quite suddenly the light returned and Tom almost stopped in his tracks, his eyes struggling to adjust, but Dredger from a little way ahead called back to him. "Puerile tricks to cloud our minds."

Their progress on the roadway was much swifter than had been the case on the open terrain. The high branches of many lofty trees dominated either side of the extensive lane and amongst the boughs several signposts had been erected. Beneath one such sign they paused and Tom studied the map once more at the warrior's request. While they did so, Jack stood a few feet apart and watched them with a sullen expression.

"A bit further ahead, just beyond The Forest of Syndrian there's a fork in the road," Tom related.

"I must take the westerly path and you the easterly," Dredger stated.

"So we say farewell," the badger said.

Dredger nodded shortly. "You have not far to travel before you will reach Gelaré Mound. The Wastes lie upon the other side. It will be a time of great testing."

"Then let's just get on with it and do what we've got to do." It was Tom's voice that interrupted, a little shaky but nonetheless determined.

Is it really my job to save the world? The idea seemed ridiculous. How could he do anything? He was not a warrior like Dredger.

A thunderous voice made him start. "Now," cried Dredger, clapping his big hands together. "Let us march into the demon's snare!"

They moved on, now at a cross-roads in their journey and Tom felt certain that once Dredger had left them, they would be far more vulnerable. What if the Wolf came then? With this thought turning inside his head, he saw in the distance that the road began to change, the grey stone appearing to widen and as they drew nearer, it soon became apparent that this was indeed the choice of paths that Dredger had alluded to. The road split in two, branching off in opposite directions.

They stood at the threshold of the two separate roads, one leading into the east, the other into the west where the desert prevailed.

"Ah, to find the end of this," whispered Dredger.

"We wish you well," Mo told him with sincerity.

"And I shall be in need of your good wishes," answered the man as he gazed out along the ashen road, "they are the hope of worlds."

The sky was bright and clear, a gentle breeze ruffling the leaves of the trees. The grass, faded so as to be almost colourless in places, moved restlessly at the edges of the stone highway.

"Goodbye," said Tom solemnly.

With a smile, one that was warm and sincere, Dredger extended his hand. "Farewell, Tom, for now."

Shaking the man's hand, Tom was moved fleetingly by the sheer eccentricity of the recent events which had led to this parting. He wondered not for the first time if he had gone completely mad. But he was quick to dismiss this idea as mere foolishness. He had to keep a tight grip on himself from now on. There was far too much at stake and whether he accepted it or not, what he had always thought of as madness had become reality.

"And farewell to you, old one," Dredger said to the badger, "protect and guide these younglings. They have need of you."

Jack remained silent as these sentiments were exchanged, a coldness gripping him. He knew what he had to do, but even the thought of it made him feel sick inside. Hesitantly, he moved forward. "And I wish you the best of luck too," he offered as enthusiastically as he could manage.

The warrior regarded him with a long, probing stare. "I am not in need of luck. But I thank you all the same."

Mo looked up at the tall figure. "We will look for you on our journey."

Dredger turned to Tom. "Keep the map safe," he said with emphasis.

Patting his shirt where the parchment was concealed, Tom nodded. When the warrior had looked at it, not long before, he had found himself eager for it's return and had been almost relieved when the man had at last given it back to him. It disturbed him that he should have reacted in this way, but he put these thoughts aside for the moment.

"Now I must go," Dredger said at length and with the rucksack slung across his back, he moved off along the road that branched to the right. Tom, Jack and Mo watched him without speaking, but the warrior did not look back. Eventually the road turned away to the west and the man's dark form was lost from sight.

"Now we must be on our way," Mo told them after a few seconds.

"When can we rest?" whined Jack, rubbing his head as if he were in pain.

The badger did not look at him. "When it is needed."

"He's right Jack," said Tom with some sympathy, "we have to keep moving."

The other boy tried not to look too disgusted at this, but disgust was what he felt.

Who do you think you are, Tom? My lord and master? Well, you'll soon see who's really in charge. Just wait until She comes. Just wait and see! Jack's mind bristled with images of what She would do and how much She would love him for being so good. But he kept these thoughts to himself, closely guarded within his bitter heart.

As they began to walk again, Tom decided he would ask Mo a bit more about their destination. So far he had been told very little and didn't want to be left in the dark any longer. "What exactly is this land of snow and ice we're heading for?" he asked bluntly, making sure his discontent was conveyed and he won a sidelong glance from the old badger.

"Well, Tom, it is an unusual place, that much I can tell you."

With a sigh that bordered on exasperation, Tom stared up at the sky for a moment, framing another question in his mind. But then, realising that he would get no more from the animal than Mo was willing to reveal, he looked back over his shoulder to where Jack came dawdling behind them. "I must admit that I'm feeling tired myself," he confessed. "It's this place. It's almost as if we were being drugged or something."

"That's not so far from the truth," Mo replied. "The Wolf is always around us. It rides the winds, it is one with the earth. Its influence is everywhere."

"Why is it so bad?" asked Tom, knowing it was a childish question.

"The wolf, the wolf, the big bad wolf," the badger chanted in a low voice. "Why is it so? You might just as well ask why is the grass green? Why is the sea blue?"

"But they're not," countered Tom, "that's just what people say. Things are never exactly one colour."

The badger smiled. "You're growing up, Tom," he said, "and you are learning fast. But what about white? Are things ever truly white?" The boy frowned, wondering. "And what about black?" the badger continued, with a blink of his large brown eyes. "Black and white. Are things ever really black and white?"

Tom nodded in agreement, even though he wasn't entirely sure of what point Mo was making and he looked affectionately at the animal as they travelled further along the undeviating road of stone. "Black and white," he pondered, eyeing the badger's sleek fur as it rippled in the light wind.

Just like you, Mo.

THE SEA OF TEARS

Dredger knew that crossing the torrid zone known as the Sea of Tears would be a great test indeed. And that was only the beginning.

Once that had been accomplished he would have to face the hooded foe, the enemy foretold in ancient prophecy. It was said that the coming of this, the second of the beasts, would herald the dawn of a new age. But whether it was to be one of darkness or of light seemed uncertain.

His father, urgency in his voice, had spoken to him on a rain sodden day when he had been a boy of ten. They had climbed the steep hills that girdled their village, overlooking their fertile domain. Dredger recalled it with clarity.

"There are stories," the boy's father told him, as rain water clung to his face and hair, "old tales of magic and strangeness. They have been handed down as prophecies of things yet to come." The man paused for a moment, looking out from their place up on the hillock. It was a beautiful vista, the valley below winding into the distance. They had made their home here and the land had been good to them. "And in the tales there is one they call the warrior," he continued, now returning his steely gaze to his son. "That warrior is you, my son."

Dredger listened carefully. It was true enough that he was of the warrior breed and had always known that his destiny lay in the way of the blade. But now it seemed much more was expected of him than merely following in his father's footsteps.

"So," the man went on, laying a firm hand upon the boy's shoulder, "in a future time, perhaps when I have parted from this world, you will be called upon to face a great evil. In the prophecies, they speak of dark forces that will hinder you and I have learnt many of the sacred runes and the old tales so that I might give you guidance. The ancient writings also tell of one known only as the Second Beast. This foe is not akin to the Wolf who walks the land now. Nay, this is a separate evil, one that rises from the dreams of men. Remember, this beast will know you, your name, your heart, your soul. It will await your coming. To defeat it, you must first know its true face. There lies your only hope."

Now, in the present, the warrior had found that his father's words of long ago had been true. He would meet the beast in Hydan, he would meet his destiny.

He trod the stone road, a screen of noble ferns hemming him in on either side.

And what of the trees?

There had been another time, when he had been no more than a stripling, perhaps thirteen or so, when he had come upon a forest glade where voices violated the stillness of the woodland. Hidden in a thicket just a short distance away, Dredger had watched and listened.

The boy saw four men in grey uniforms, spurs jangling on their high boots as they moved. One of them, who appeared to be in command, barked out instructions, his companions in disagreement over something. "I don't want to hear anymore about these accursed trees. They must be cut down. I have my orders."

"On whose authority?" asked one of the others.

"It is by Her word," said their captain harshly. "Will you say no to the Lady?" The other three fell silent at this, their dissension apparently quelled. "Now let's get on with it," the man continued, taking up a long-handled axe.

Dredger watched as the four soldiers took up positions before massive trunks of trees ancient beyond reckoning.

The boy almost let out a cry, his horror at what they meant to do so great he could hardly control his rage. "They are sacred," he whispered hoarsely, knowing if he gave himself away they would surely kill him. But even as he spoke, a sound began to hum around them. At first it was low and seemingly far away, but within seconds it became loud and pulsating, like some behemoth machine working toward a frenzy. To Dredger's ears it was as if a thousand voices were singing.

The soldiers turned wildly, dropping their blades and clasping their hands over their ears, faces contorted with anguish. Their captain stumbled, moaning as he fell. "Please," he cried out. "Please! No!" The other men staggered hastily away from the glade, desperate to escape the sound.

Dredger only smiled, his mind and body instilled with a joy so overwhelming he could not refrain from laughing out loud. As he watched their flight, his head still ringing with the sound, the young warrior understood the power of these primeval titans, the trees. It was said that they could never die. And in that moment he believed it.

But now in these present dark times, Dredger knew he must focus on what lay ahead, not his memories of the past. Although not particularly weary, he decided he would rest and clear his mind. There were many mysteries and many questions to be answered and these dominated his thoughts as he leaned against a thin tree, his back heavy against its lithe trunk.

What of the boy, he wondered. Would he prove strong enough? And of course, there was the other child to be considered. The warrior prayed that Mo would watch them well. Evil worked its insidious way and the Wolf was sly. But now their fates were out of his hands. They would have to fend for themselves.

He reckoned that without any unexpected delays, he would reach the desert in little time, although he was aware that there was no accurate way to measure it, except in his own mind. The journey across the Sea of Tears itself would take far longer, but this still, with determination and strength, did not daunt him. At least the distance did not. There were other reasons why it might prove arduous.

Dredger closed his eyes and let his mind wander through the past, through old days now lost and with a clenching of his fists, he recalled his battle with the Beast. Once he had destroyed this other foe there would be another duel between man and wolf and this time his enemy would know the terminal caress of his steel.

His mind drifted outward, touching it seemed the very earth and sky. I loved you...mother...Elizabeth. What was your fate?

They were on an expedition, seeking food or any other useful supplies that would serve their family. In the night sky, a bright light flared.

It was the signal prearranged by his mother and father to warn of any danger whilst they were away. Without a word and with desperate speed the man and boy hastened back to their village, fear burrowing into their hearts. But when they reached the place all was still, an ominous silence greeting them. No children played, no animal called. Within their own small abode smoke from the cooking fire billowed gently from the chimney, drifting away on a subtle breeze.

"Where is everyone, father?" Dredger questioned, his eyes searching the darkness.

The man absently touched the boy's head, but did not speak. The young warrior went to their own doorway and stood motionless, listening intently but the only sound was the wind in the trees. Moving past him, his father went inside.

"Where is mother and Elizabeth?" Dredger persisted, glancing around nervously.

"Gone," his father said finally without any outward show of emotion, "everyone is gone." The man's feelings were bound within, held tightly in a knot of absolute loathing. Loathing for the Beast, loathing for himself for not having been there when the Wolf had came.

Dredger found himself numb, unable to fully understand the meaning of his father's words. The night crept about them, a heavy tomb that seemed to crush his soul.

Their community had simply vanished, swept away as if it were no more than dust, father and son all that remained of their clan.

Dredger, now a man, hateful time having left these memories in his mind with perfect clarity, opened his eyes and looked out toward the horizon where a sapphire sky fell like an immense curtain across the land. The Wolf had taken them all and the warrior would not rest until he had claimed retribution.

The mound rose up before them. "We've got to climb that!?" Jack spluttered, as if the idea was utterly ludicrous.

"That is the way," Mo answered. "There is no other."

"Come on, Jack," said Tom good-humouredly, "It'll be good exercise!"

Jack gave him a strained smile and his voice betrayed something of his true feelings. "Yeah, but I'm not sure I need it."

Scratching the hard earth with a paw, Mo surveyed the high grass covered hill, its surface a broad, rutted expanse.

"It is all the same," he commented. "We must climb Gelaré Mound, for our path lies beyond it."

Tom nodded, eyeing Jack carefully. "Mo's right," he affirmed. "We can't stop now. Let's just get it over and done with. Then we can have a rest."

Hesitating, Jack thought quickly. "But what about the cold?" he moaned. "You said it was all snow and ice over there. We'll freeze!"

The badger shook his head shortly. "I will see to that."

Tom glanced quizzically at the animal but decided to trust him, although he had to admit, if only to himself, that he hadn't thought of the problem until Jack had mentioned it. They were hardly dressed for such conditions after all.

"Let's begin," Mo said and started forward, making his way through the tangled grass.

"Race you," challenged Tom pointing at the summit, but looking at his friend he did not see the smile and nod of acceptance he had hoped for. Jack just plodded along, his eyes

set straight ahead, a withdrawn look marring his pale features and with a weary sigh, Tom began the ascension of the mound.

Dredger sensed that the boundary between this land and the desert dunes was close now. To many, he knew, it was strange and somewhat alarming how things could change so abruptly in this world, conflicting terrain converging to form a desultory landscape, shifting in a moment from black to white.

He smiled at that thought, content that he was unmoved by all of this, gratified that his mind was too disciplined to be affected by it.

Walking on incisively, he noted that the maintenance of the roadway was gradually deteriorating and after a mile or so more it had degenerated into a muddy track. Ahead of him, the warrior could see an extensive mead of tall reeds that had been designated on the map as The Marches. He knew that this divided the green land of trees from the desert.

He found the reeds were thick and rough and it was not without a good deal of brawn and effort that he passed through them, his boots sinking into the marshy ground. As Dredger went, moving quickly even though he was hindered, he stared into the far distance and spied a shimmering, sallow light on the horizon. Yellow sand.

He wondered if the others were making such good time. They would have reached the mound by now, he felt certain, perhaps were already on the other side. And what darkness would they face beyond the ice? Rith-ran-ro-en. Perhaps fortune would favour them. Perhaps not.

The desert drew closer as he traversed the great field and at the edge of the sand, dark figures could be seen against the yellow of the dunes. A reception party? If it were so, he would be glad to meet them and hone his skill with a blade.

As he came nearer, his sharp eyes could just make out that there was in fact only one man, if it were indeed a man. The creature stood on two legs at least. With this figure, there were two animals that Dredger identified as horses. The warrior's brow furrowed. One man with two horses. Why did he wait there?

After considerable exertion, Dredger eventually emerged from the reeds and approached the perimeter of the sand, the mysterious figure standing beside one of the steeds apparently staring out across the dunes. Seeing only his back, Dredger observed that the stranger was tall, at least as tall as himself and wore an outfit of black and grey, a long cloak cast about his shoulders. Golden spurs glinted upon high black boots and the warrior saw that the man's hair was long, even more so than his own, the silver locks tied behind his neck with a length of cord.

"Hello friend," Dredger called when he came within earshot.

The figure did not turn. "Good day," came a voice, low but clearly audible, the sound of it having a curious musical quality.

For a moment, Dredger felt a little perplexed. Was this an enemy or a potential ally? "May I ask your name, friend?" he offered, his tone deliberately casual and with a flowing movement of his cloak, the stranger turned.

Dredger looked upon a man who wore a mask. It was very much like those worn by the travelling players he recalled as a young boy who had performed in his village, a plain white mask that smiled at him with unbridled amusement.

"I am Geheimnis," he said smoothly. Staring hard, the warrior tried to find the eyes beneath the mask but could see nothing but slits of apparent darkness. "And what is your name...friend?" the masked man enquired.

"Dredger," the warrior offered neutrally.

"Ah," murmured Geheimnis. "It seems you are he that I have been awaiting."

Dredger raised his eyebrows in mock surprise. "And are you friend or foe?" he questioned nonchalantly.

A rasping laughter greeted his words. "That is an intriguing question."

Dredger tensed himself, his eyes fixed intently on the other man. "If we are to do battle let it begin. I grow weary of this foolish banter."

"Now, now, my dear Dredger," soothed the voice from behind the mask, "there is no need to become aggressive. I am not here to fight with you. I am here to help you."

"Help me?" repeated the warrior, unconvinced.

"Indeed," continued the masked man, "if it were otherwise, I would not wear this face." The smile on the mask seemed to widen visibly. "And then it would be a different tale to tell."

"How can you aid me?" Dredger asked sharply, unease growing within him, the stranger's scrutiny all the more disconcerting because he could not see the man's eyes.

"Why do you suppose that I have two horses when I need but one?" Geheimnis asked. "I shall accompany you across the desert dunes to Hydan, your destination. I understand that you do not trust me and that is as it should be, but perhaps as we travel you may come to value my fellowship."

At a loss, questions turning over in his mind, Dredger saw that the offer of the steed was one that he would be a fool to refuse. The very fact that this masked man knew of his goal meant that there was more here than met the eye. More beneath the mask perhaps. He resolved to play along with the man, at least for the time being. "We shall

see what we shall see," he returned with a nod.

"Indeed we shall," agreed Geheimnis.

It had been a difficult climb, but all three now stood upon the summit of Galaré Mound and looked down upon an unearthly sight.

Tom could hardly believe his eyes. Below them in a great valley there was a prodigious forest of trees, leaning away into the distance. But these were not like any other tree he had seen before. They were living ice, swaying and moving as if disturbed by a persistent wind. And yet the air was still.

"The Forest of Issylvan," Mo said with admiration.

"Are they alive?" questioned Tom, his eyes transfixed by the stunning vision of crystalline trees.

"They are an enigma," replied the badger. "Some claim it is only the ice gradually melting that gives them the appearance of movement."

"Whatever they are, they're very beautiful. What do you think, Jack?" The other boy merely gazed down at the valley of ice with an expressionless stare, his face drawn. "Are you all right?" Tom asked, stepping closer to his friend, afraid that he might be ill again.

Jack blinked slowly and glanced at Tom. "I'm fine."

"So what do you think of it?" questioned Tom again.

"White," muttered Jack, his voice barely audible.

All through the valley deep snow like a magnificent carpet layered the ground. And beyond the forest rising in the distance, a black line marred this perfection, tall cliffs of ragged stone dominating the horizon, barring all passage.

"Be careful on the way down," advised the badger and no sooner had he spoken than Tom was climbing down the other side of the mound, a fierce longing to walk among the incredible forest of ice urging him on.

Descending at a more cautious pace, Mo sniffed the cool air and murmured words in a strange tongue. Neither of the boys heard his utterance, but both were immediately charged with a throbbing warmth that seemed to emanate from within. Tom found the sensation exhilarating. But to Jack it was as if his insides were being seared, an internal fire scorching him. Trying to conceal the agony he was experiencing, he explored his mind for memories of Her face.

Please make it stop. Please!

And then, he saw her. Beneath a tree of ice, kneeling by its thick white trunk, almost invisible. She was smiling. A coldness touched his heart and the pain ceased.

Jack glanced quickly at the badger before quickening his pace to follow Tom, his friend now weaving through the trees just below.

Poor Tom, he considered with genuine regret. You'll never know what it's like to be really in love. You'll never know.

"Shall we ride?" said Geheimnis, handling the reins of the horses and holding one

out graciously for Dredger.

The warrior took the leather roughly from the other's fingers. "I have no time to squander."

"Quite so, quite so," sang the masked man.

"But take heed," Dredger warned, "If you make any attempt to hinder me it will prove a foolish mistake for which you will pay dearly."

"Your words are hard, my dear Dredger. But they are only words."

The warrior glared at the other man. "It can be put to the test now, if you wish."

At this Geheimnis laughed, a rasping sound unpleasant to Dredger's ears. "That will not be necessary," he said and pulled himself up into his saddle.

Deftly mounting the black steed that his companion had offered him, Dredger readied himself for the journey that would take them across the Sea of Tears. They stood at the edge of a vast and barren desert and only a very few really knew what could be expected within its pale, immutable regions.

Riding his own grey mare, Geheimnis led the way out into the undulating land of sand and heat. "Are you ready to dream?" he asked ambiguously as they moved slowly across the desert plains.

"I will face what I must," was Dredger's short, impatient reply.

"Warrior brave!" called the other man. "This will indeed prove to be a fascinating journey."

They rode on, the horses' hoofs sinking methodically into the sand. The air grew warmer by degrees and soon they were enveloped in an almost unbearable heat.

"Answer me a single question," Dredger asked, mopping the sweat from his face with a sleeve. "Why should you want to help me?" He looked at Geheimnis' face and noted with some surprise that the mask no longer displayed a smile. Now it bore no expression at all. Only the shadowy slits of eyes remained.

"Perhaps I have something to gain," came the soft reply.

"And how did you know I would come?" continued Dredger.

"You said one question and now you have asked two," admonished Geheimnis drolly, turning his frozen countenance toward the warrior.

Dredger smiled. "I would trust you more if you told me the answers to my questions."

"Very well," replied the masked man. "You yourself know that there are many forces at work in this world. It was foretold that you would come long ago. And I have awaited your coming. You have your destiny to fulfil and I have my own."

"That tells me little," persisted Dredger with an edge to his voice. "What is your purpose once we reach Hydan?" He had decided not to broach the subject of the Second Beast, preferring to wait and see just how much, in fact, the stranger knew.

"There are beasts," Geheimnis intoned, "and there are men." He paused a moment, the heavy sultriness of the desert stifling. "I travel to Hydan to find the way of men above the way of beasts."

"If you say you come for men, I too go there for that reason. But not only for men, for all creatures who oppose the Beast. The White Wolf is the enemy of all who cherish honour and justice." Dredger said this with rising emotion, his words spilling forth passionately.

"The Wolf does not concern me," Geheimnis answered flatly. "For a time we must travel the same path. It should be enough to say that I have no wish to obstruct you, quite the contrary. I trust you will show me the same courtesy."

Wiping his brow again, Dredger looked up into a bright sky. "I cannot say I trust you or even understand you, but I am willing to travel with you to the Land of Scars, beyond which lies the lost city. There we will both learn what the other has in mind."

Beneath shining trees that moved above them like a thousand swaying giants, Mo and the two boys went.

All that glisters is not gold, thought Tom, the words passing through his mind uninvited.

"Is it very far to the caves?" Jack whined.

"Not far, not far," replied the badger. "But if I were you, Jack, I would not be quite so anxious to reach that place."

"Why not?" Jack said without any real interest. "What's the big deal?"

Mo eyed him with a long, questioning gaze. "There is great danger there. They are the caves of Rith-ran-ro-en. You may have reason to remember that name and it could prove to be a very great deal for one so unwary."

"I like it here!" called Tom from a little way ahead. He was moving through the ice forest as if in a day-dream. The place was so beautiful, the trees glinting and sparkling with a magical light of many colours.

"Stay near!" Mo said with authority.

Tom decided to ignore the old badger. He wanted to run through the snow, kicking and skidding on the ice. He increased his pace and left the others behind. The trees seemed to sing to him and he wanted so much to climb to the very top of the highest of them.

Behind him, hidden within the banks of snow, Mo called out to him.

"Time to climb," said another, more persuasive voice and Tom ran on, sprinting towards one of the towering trees. For several moments, standing beneath it, he struggled with indecision. He knew that Mo was calling him back, but something deep within commanded him. The trees whispered words of longing to his heart. He stood before the sparkling ice tree and marvelled at the way its clear white trunk glistened. His fingers tingled as he took hold of an icy branch and somewhere distant he heard an urgent voice calling him back, but he didn't want to listen. The ice held him captive now as he began to climb up into its frozen embrace.

RITH-RAN-RO-EN

Within Jack's tired mind a battle waged. Two voices sought control of his thoughts.

Things will be so much better now. And after all, he does deserve to die. Isn't he a thief and a liar? He was never your friend anyway. Forget him. Forget you ever knew him.

This first voice seemed so reasonable, so plausible and he would have been content to listen to it, if it were not for another voice that screamed at him. The sound was loud and frantic, seeming to pound inside his skull.

Help Tom! He's in terrible danger. Help him! HELP HIM!

Jack felt as if his mind was being torn apart. Anomalous images ricocheted through his brain, fragments of memories that he could not piece together however hard he tried.

Everything is fine, a gentle voice cooed, reminding him of his mother. The boy is not worth risking anything for. Look out for yourself. Only yourself.

But the other voice rose louder and louder in his head, refusing to be suppressed.

You must act NOW! Do something or he'll die. TOM WILL DIE! Is that what you really want?

With a tremendous effort of will, as if slowly emerging from another dark dream, Jack shook his head absently. "Tom," he mouthed. "Tom!"

Slowly at first but then breaking into a run, Jack made his way through the trees, stumbling over high banks, patches of slippery ice threatening to send him sprawling

into the snow. Searching desperately with his eyes as he ran, Jack saw the blue of Tom's

jersey at the foot of a shimmering ice tree. "Tom," he shouted, "Stop! Don't do it!" But with a sense of horror he saw that Tom had already begun to climb, hauling himself up into the lower branches of the tree.

Gaining speed as he raced toward his friend, the snow sliding and crunching under his

boots, Jack flung himself forward, grabbing at Tom's dangling leg. Then, with a great heave, he pulled with all his strength, his breath forced out of his body as Tom landed clumsily on top of him, both boys collapsing onto the cold, icy ground. Within Jack's head voices whispered and muttered, but the words were unintelligible. A vision of a woman's face loomed in his mind, her moist, red lips curled up in a ferocious snarl, white teeth glinting razor-sharp and he wondered blankly if she meant to eat him. Then the image dissolved as he heard a familiar voice calling his name. "Jack...Jack, are you all right?" Blinking his eyes, he saw the face of a boy he knew very well. "Is he all right?" questioned the boy with obvious concern.

"I think that he is relatively unharmed," answered another, deeper voice.

Carefully sitting up, Jack felt a sharp pain in his ribs. "Ouch!" he exclaimed and rubbed his side gently.

"What's wrong?" asked the boy kneeling at his side. "Are you hurt?"

"Probably just a bruise," Jack assessed and looking up at the other boy's face he experienced a sudden joy. "Tom," he said, as if just savouring the sound of the word.

His friend smiled back at him. "Yes, it's me."

With a bemused grin Jack got to his feet, feeling a little winded and with a few aches and pains, but all of this didn't seem to matter. It was as though he had been away for a very long time and had finally returned home.

The desert unfurled before them, a yellow covering for an unforgiving land. It was said that each grain of sand was a single tear, shed by those who had lost themselves in this searing, oppressive terrain.

Dredger was indifferent. He had no intention of letting whatever influence the dunes had touch his mind. He would not be kept from his purpose by anything or anyone. Glancing over at the mysterious figure who rode at his side, the warrior once more questioned the motives of the masked man. But these thoughts were left unresolved when his companion spoke.

"Can you feel it?"

Dredger eyed him quizzically. "What should I be feeling?"

"A thousand men's tears perhaps," Geheimnis responded, his voice even.

"It is said," Dredger related, scanning the horizon, ever watchful, "that once within this desert land, a traveller may see many things unreal, born of imagination."

"Or desperation," the other man added. "Certainly mirages and dreams are common in these parts. But other phenomena exist here besides. Things beyond the understanding of mortal men."

"Let us remember, if we should need reminding," Dredger said with irritation, "desert visions are no more than that and should be ignored."

"Quite so," Geheimnis agreed, a little scornfully.

As they rode on across the yielding ground, the animals progress halting among the rising dunes, Dredger pondered on his situation and whether he was perhaps making a grave mistake. Could he trust this man who wore a mask? True, the horse made his journey far easier than he had expected it to be, but he had deep reservations about Geheimnis. And what lay behind that mask? What could be so dreadful that it must be hidden from sight? And what was the stranger's true purpose? The warrior knew he would have to remain vigilant.

Suddenly, Geheimnis brought his mare to a standstill. "Look," he said sharply. "There, ahead of us." With a gloved hand he pointed into the shimmering heat-haze.

Dredger blinked his eyes. Out of the dunes, as if reaching for the sky, there sprouted a gargantuan hand. Its fingers were spread wide, flesh grey and pallid, apparently lifeless.

Drawing closer neither man spoke, Geheimnis' mask impassive, but Dredger sensed that he too found this monstrosity extraordinary. It is only a mirage, he prompted himself firmly and yet he pulled up his steed and studied the giant hand.

"Look closely," Geheimnis called back, going on a little way ahead, bringing his horse to a halt just beneath the huge palm. "There are markings here." Dredger did not move. He looked up to where broad fingers loomed, the long, opaque nails like great flints. "Very interesting," his companion observed, studying the hand at close quarters. "Come nearer

and examine them for yourself, they may be important."

For a moment Dredger hesitated. His heart told him to stay away from this unnatural

thing, but his mind insisted that he must learn all he could from this brooding place.

Slowly, he moved his horse forward.

"Yes," pronounced Geheimnis, turning toward the warrior, "the way to the Land of

Scars is marked here. If we follow the direction of the index finger, it will guide us on our journey."

Dredger saw only unintelligible symbols etched on the grey skin. At the base of the thumb, index and little finger there was a different marking, their meaning lost to the warrior. "You understand these signs?" he queried.

It was almost no surprise when Dredger saw that Geheimnis' mask had reverted to a smiling visage once more. "I see that I have impressed you, Dredger, but surely it had occurred to you that a traveller would be in need of some direction to find the way across the desert. Otherwise, my friend, it is likely you would travel a very great distance indeed...in circles!"

Grunting, the warrior gritted his teeth in annoyance. "You will have to earn the right to call me friend." The mask continued to smile merrily at him but the man beneath said nothing more. "Now let us continue on or do you wish to study this miscreation further?" Dredger growled.

"No need," answered the other man. "I have learned all there is to know."

They began to ride again, passing under the great shadow of the outstretched hand, which according to the masked man indicated the way to the Land of Scars, the city of Hydan lost within its estranged heart.

As they left the thing behind, the heat almost tangible around them though there was no sun visible in the sky, neither man looked back to see the gigantic hand very gradually sink into the scorched sand, the desert sucking it down into its secret depths.

The White Wolf sat upon a throne and licked its lips with a long, black tongue. "Bring me news from the west, bring me news from the east, bring me news of every man, boy and beast," it whispered into the wind. Its brilliant eyes scanned the surrounding woodland, the throne beneath a mighty tree, hanging branches like a roof above its head. Before the Beast two white doves rested at its feet, glassy eyes regarding it impassively. "I am the law, the law of the land." The birds fluttered their wings and rose into the air, the Wolf watching them go with a cunning grin. "Go my pretty ones," it rasped, "go where my heart sends you. Fly into my dreamland. And if you can tell me things that I do not already know..." the Wolf laughed shortly, "it will truly be news to me."

The Beast leaned its muscular frame back against the throne. It had been fashioned from the bones of its enemies and stained with their blood. And for comfort beneath its hindquarters there was a cushion of human flesh.

The White Wolf chuckled playfully to itself. Everything was moving swiftly now. Almost too fast. But it was in control. Admittedly not all of its plans had worked out

the way it might have hoped. But there would be many other opportunities, many

other weaknesses to exploit. The land belonged to the Beast, to shape as it willed.

And there was work to be done.

"The caves lay just ahead," Mo reported, nodding toward a dark outcrop of rock a few hundred yards away.

"Maybe it'll be safer inside there," suggested Jack with no conviction.

"Unfortunately," retorted the badger, "that will not be the case."

Tom walked beside his two friends, his mind tired and disoriented. He knew that somehow Jack had saved his life, but his memory of the incident was patchy and incomplete. "What happened to me?" he had asked, not long after Jack had pulled him from the tree.

"The lure of the ice," Mo had replied without hesitation. "I should have anticipated it, but I was careless. You were lucky that Jack got to you in time, or you would have been lost to us. Once you become one with the ice, there is no return."

Just for a moment Tom glanced up at one of the many glittering trees, the ice twinkling like a million stars. But the music of the forest was no longer beautiful or melodic to him. Now it was discordant and harsh and he quickly turned his eyes toward the snow covered ground. "That's the second time the Wolf has almost got me," he mumbled, the realisation of just how close he had come to death making him feel sick inside.

Mo nodded his big head. "It is not my intention to frighten you, Tom, but I cannot

deceive you. The Beast knows that it must stop you, by whatever means it has at its

disposal. It will bring you over to its side, if it can, but if not, it will do all that it can to kill you."

The heat fell upon them like a rain of fire.

Both horses were sweating badly and Dredger had begun to doubt if the creatures would survive the journey. He had already decided that at the first sign of his steed giving way he would dismount and walk. As for his companion, his mask was now plain and expressionless, revealing nothing of how the man beneath might be faring in the humid conditions. Dredger had long since removed his heavy coat and unbuttoned his shirt, but incredibly the masked man still wore his cloak and showed no sign of even loosening it. Before them on every side, the sand appeared eternal.

"And what is this?" hailed Geheimnis.

The warrior peered ahead and saw in the distance amongst the golden dunes, several trees forming a haphazard circle. "An oasis?" he questioned.

"Surely a mirage," the masked man said dryly but made off toward it nonetheless, spurring his mare on at a canter.

Following, his horse quickening its step almost independently, Dredger saw that indeed within the trees lay a small pool of clear water. "Can we trust this place?" he called, reluctant to venture too close.

Turning his mount, Geheimnis came along side the other man. "The horses need water that we ourselves cannot spare from our own supply. I think that, for their sake, it is worth the risk."

Dredger evaluated the situation and then nodded. Cautiously the two men manoeuvred their horses into the oasis, bringing them to a standstill at the edge of the pool and immediately the animals dipped their weary heads into the water and eagerly drank.

Looking down Dredger saw his own dry, dusky features reflected there, his hair clinging to his scalp like brittle wire and he too longed to submerge his head beneath the refreshing, cool water. The horses continued to gulp it up, quenching their burning thirst after the arduous journey. If only he could wash away the sweat and dust, easing his blistered lips, but he fought against his longing, distrustful of this convenient haven.

The oasis upon further inspection consisted of perhaps a dozen small trees and a few boulders scattered erratically within its boundary. Geheimnis dismounted, informing his companion that he would take a look around.

Left alone beside the water, Dredger peered down once more at his own reflection. He studied his face, but something about it had altered. And then, quite suddenly, he understood what it was. Instead of the features of man, a boy's unlined face stared back at him. Dredger smiled and his mirror smiled in return, but then beside the boy another face appeared and the warrior's smile dissolved, becoming a frown.

"No sign," his father told him from the water.

"Where can they have gone?" Dredger whispered, looking deeply into the man's grey eyes.

A darkness clouded his father's expression as he shook his head. "Taken. All taken."

Dredger was overcome by fear and grief and a tear rolled down past his lips. "Will they ever come back?" the boy in the pool asked, afraid to hear the answer. His father did not speak, his eyes blank. "I hate the Wolf," Dredger said, his voice hoarse.

The water rippled as the horses drank and the warrior looked away, his hands clenched into tight fists.

"There is nothing here," came Geheimnis' voice, a short distance to his right. "But I think, to be safe, it would be better for us not to touch the water." Dredger gave no reply, settling himself carefully, ready to face the other man. "Are the animals refreshed?" enquired the masked man, drawing nearer.

"Yes," answered the warrior curtly, "we can now continue."

Remounting his mare, Geheimnis nodded. "An interesting place, don't you think?"

As they moved off, although he did not look up at the man's face, Dredger felt quite certain that the mask was smiling blithely at him once again.

Above them towered the sheer cliff walls, the mountain's snow-capped peaks lost in the heavens. The entrance to the caves was like a black, gaping mouth, waiting to swallow them and Tom was immediately overcome by a very strong feeling that he didn't want to enter into that darkness.

"It's pretty dark," mentioned Jack in a hesitant voice, echoing Tom's thoughts.

"But still," voiced Mo, "we must go within, for only through the caves of Rith-ran-ro-en can we find the way that we seek, the way to our goal." The badger did not wait for any further discussion on the matter. He hurried forward into the inky opening in the rock-face, drawing a rather wary Tom and Jack along with him, leaving behind the bright realm of Issylvan.

"What do we have to find that can tell us the right way to go?" Tom asked as they moved along a poorly lit tunnel. The path wound ahead of them, the only light seeming to infiltrate the blackness from some unknown source.

"It is said," began Mo in a hushed voice, "that within the caves of Rith-ran-ro-en, a traveller might ask and find the way that he seeks. But it is also said that only one of great purpose and courage should ask the way of Rith-ran-ro-en."

"So who is Rith-ran-ro-en?" queried Tom, fascinated by the story, although he had a bad feeling that he was going to be the one who would have to do the asking.

"Who or what," the animal said thoughtfully. "Once, there was a woman named Sarah, who, though a great beauty of her time, was unloved by all men, for it is said that she had a dark way about her that alienated any potential suitors. So it came to pass that she cast a hex upon a young man causing him to desire her above all things. Her evil spell even induced him to shun his own family, craving only her. But this was not enough for her and whilst a terrible tempest ravaged the land, as if incited by the storm beyond her walls, Sarah forced her young lover to murder his kin, fearing they would be able to break her vile enchantment. But when the deed was done the very act she had hoped would bind him to her, finally broke the spell and discovering what he had done, he took his own unfortunate life."

Tom and Jack remained silent for some time after the badger had finished speaking. But eventually Tom managed a question. "So what happened to the woman?"

In the half-light, Mo looked very old. "Cursed for her crimes, she was banished to these caves and became known by another name, Rith-ran-ro-en, which means in the old tongue, 'she who will never know love'."

"And she's in here now?" whispered Jack, glancing fitfully at the shadowy walls of the tunnel.

"So it is said," the badger declared.

"And we have to ask her which way to go?" inquired Tom with disbelief.

"Yes," Mo confirmed, "but only whilst she sleeps," he added quickly. "Then you are safe, but if she awakens, there can be no escape. She will never let you go."

As they continued to walk along the tunnel, travelling deeper into the catacombs, they passed through many narrow passages that led them abruptly into huge caverns, water dripping monotonously in the shadows.

"How will we know when she's asleep?" Jack asked as they entered one such cave, a claustrophobic presence that he hoped was just his imagination nagging at him.

"Ah!" exclaimed the badger, turning to stare at the boy, his dark eyes glowing in the strange light. "That is the difficult part of the problem. We cannot know. We must place our trust in providence."

"Somehow I don't feel very lucky in this place," quipped Jack.

"Luck has nothing to do with it, young Jack" countered Mo. "There are powers that you as yet do not understand at work here. No luck, just faith. That is all we need."

Jack did not respond, but he seemed to consider the badger's words carefully.

"So we could just bump into this...woman or whatever she is?" Tom voiced, feeling more and more afraid.

"No Tom, it's not quite as bad as that. When she was banished to this place she was bound by powerful magic to the deepest regions of the caves. Only when we reach the heart, through many long tunnels, will we find her lair."

"And what if she's awake?"

"Then," Mo said, sounding more confident than any of them actually felt, "we will have to think of something."

The horses died, less than a mile from the oasis. Dredger could only look on as his valiant steed submitted to death's silent command. Of course, the water had been poisoned.

But the death of the horses did achieve one thing at least. Incensed at the callous trap, and he was in no doubt that it had been exactly that, he was able to shake off the negative state of mind that had been progressively undermining his resolve like some unconscious quicksand.

Geheimnis said very little and as there was no way of knowing what he was thinking behind his plain mask, Dredger had no idea if the man felt any grief at the death of his steed.

"I am ready to walk," the warrior stated, glancing grimly down at the dead animals.

Geheimnis appeared to regard Dredger for a moment, his shadowy eyes surveying him silently. "And what of the horses?" he asked evenly.

"What of them?"

"Shall we not bury them?"

Dredger paused, the man's request taking him by surprise. "There is no time for such sentiments," he said after a moment, his tone sharp. "Let us waste no further time or energy." He kicked at the sand with his boot. "The desert will do the work for us in time."

Geheimnis's mask now smiled at him with a sarcastic leer. "Such a hard man," he sang, "such a warrior. And yet he sheds a tear at his own reflection in a poisoned pond. Why is that, Dredger my friend? Perhaps you are not as strong as you believe. Could that be it? Could it be that you are just a boy who plays at being a man?"

With a low growl, Dredger took two steps toward the man and then stopped.

Geheimnis held out a long blade toward him, his mask suddenly expressionless. "Do you seek combat?"

The warrior smiled bitterly. "I see that is what you want."

With a rasping chuckle, the masked man lowered his sword. "You are mistaken, dear Dredger, quite mistaken. To do battle with you now would not suit my purpose." He paused, returning his weapon to its sheath. "I need you alive for a little while longer."

Dredger didn't know whether to teach this faceless fool a lesson there and then, or to just laugh at his arrogance. Finally, he resolved to postpone their confrontation. He would be the one to choose the moment of combat.

"Shall we travel on now?" Dredger asked aloud, mocking his companion with his manner. "Or do you wish to remain to dig holes in the sand?"

Geheimnis nodded and bowed theatrically. "Let us be on our way then. And perhaps when we reach our goal, more than one score will be settled."

Mo and the boys made their way along yet another meandering passageway. As they went, Tom had been deliberating on the problems that would face them somewhere deep within the caverns. But even after much thought he had no idea what they should do. If they were just going to trust to luck he had grave doubts about their success. No such thing as luck, Uncle Ira had often told him. Everything is in the balance, that much is true. But there is purpose in all things. No event is random.

No, there was no point in crossing your fingers and hoping for the best. No such thing as luck, his mind informed him once again.

After a little more consideration, he decided he would pray instead.

THE WAY THROUGH

Overhead in a hazy sky a white dove flew and Dredger wondered how the creature could survive in such a climate.

"I see you have noticed the messenger," Geheimnis said as they walked methodically across the dunes, sand sucking at their boots. The oasis now lay many miles behind them.

"Messenger?" queried Dredger.

The masked man let his gaze find the sky and stared upward at the circling bird. "The Wolf has eyes even here."

The warrior had to confess, at least to himself, that the idea had not even occurred to him, although he realised now how out of place the dove really was up there above a barren desert. "Perhaps you are right," he begrudgingly conceded.

Geheimnis' mask smiled back at him. "Sly Wolf," he sang, "but perhaps not sly enough."

Dredger found the man's manner increasingly irritating, the longer they travelled together the more the masked man grated on him. But he could tolerate much when it suited him and for the moment he thought it advisable to humour his companion.

"You have sharp eyes," he allowed. Geheimnis bowed slightly and they continued on, the sand simmering with the heat.

Dredger began to brood over the task ahead, his confidence very gradually dwindling,

as if sapped by the desert itself. He became aware, the knowledge shocking him with

its intensity, that he might not be equipped either physically or mentally for the ordeal that he had undertaken so lightly. When he had first had the vision of the Second Beast, he had felt strong and self-assured but now, trekking relentlessly through this bleached, forgotten land, he was not so certain. Perhaps the hooded foe was too powerful, as the Wolf had been before. Dredger licked his cracked lips and considered taking a mouthful of water from his provisions, but he knew it would be better to conserve as much as possible. There was no way of knowing how much further they would have to journey. He had lost all sense of direction and time meant less than ever in this endless sea of sand. When he had parted from Mo and the two boys he recalled it had been with the belief that it would take him a relatively short time to reach his goal, but now he had doubts, very real doubts that weighed upon his mind. Had he underestimated the distance? And for that matter, could distance be judged in a place such as this? He only had Geheimnis' word that they were even heading in the right direction. Was this just one more mistake to add to those he had already made? His head felt hot and his brain was weary, his thoughts erratic.

I must not fail. The warrior concentrated on this vow. But when would the desert end? He glanced at his companion, but of course the man's mask revealed nothing. It still held that same taunting smile that he had come to hate so much. I must not fail! he told himself again but with every step that he took, so his fortitude seemed to crumble along with the disintegrating sand. This truly was a lonely, forsaken place, a place where he could conceivably die. But what of those who depended on him?

Dredger gritted his teeth, balling his hands into fists and laboured on across the Sea of Tears.

"I'm really tired," Jack complained, slowing his pace. Not far ahead the passage separated, branching into three smaller tunnels. As far as they could tell, the middle way went straight on but those to either side turned away almost immediately, disappearing into darkness. Pausing, Mo contemplated the choice of paths and sniffed the air. "Which way now?" Jack said in a subdued voice.

The badger wrinkled his nose. "One of these three, I imagine." Jack shook his head with frustration but before he could speak Mo added, "what do you think, Tom?"

Tom scratched his head and considered each path in turn. "Don't you know?"

The animal gave an arch look. "I think it is for you to decide."

"Let's keep to the central passage then," Tom replied, "I don't really like the look of the other two."

"Good enough," Mo grunted and stepped forward into the gloomy corridor. Grey rock enshrouded them now, crowding in upon them, the cave walls hard granite, uneven and jagged. The strange light that illuminated the tunnels gave the entire place an eerie, ethereal appearance.

"Is there likely to be anything else down here?" asked Tom, imagining a pair of bright eyes peering at him from the shadows.

"I would think it doubtful," returned Mo, snuffling along in front of the boys. "By

nature this is a place of magic and only those with great need or purpose would venture here. I think we shall encounter but one creature within these caves."

"I have to admit," Tom began reluctantly, "I'm getting pretty scared."

"And what is fear?" the badger said, moving closer to the boy, "just your heart and soul telling you that they are there within you. Only the damned are not afraid, for they have become one with the darkness."

"Can we rest soon?" asked Jack, trying hard not to whine.

Mo did not answer him, instead addressing his words to Tom. "Do you want to rest?"

After a few moments of consideration, the boy shook his head. "I think we should go on. Can you manage a bit further, Jack?"

"I'll try," Jack said with a grim nod.

The tunnel meandered ever deeper, far into the earth and shadows merged and moved on the walls like dancing ghosts.

"A game, a puzzle, a test," Mo intoned, leading them on. "All part, part of the whole."

"Riddles again," Jack muttered, his fists now clenched tight, nails digging into his skin.

The badger showed his teeth and gave a low, sonorous chuckle.

Geheimnis was humming, a high fragmented tune that broke the silence of the desert land.

With obvious exasperation, Dredger glared at him. "Do you have to do that?"

"Why do you ask?" the masked man responded casually.

"Because," Dredger said loudly, "I do not like it!"

"Oh I see," nodded the other man, "you do not like it."

Dredger was fast becoming infuriated. "That is my meaning, so stop making that infernal sound."

Geheimnis' mask smiled back at him and immediately the melody began once more.

His temples aching, Dredger was quite certain that he would not be able to put up with the fool's galling behaviour for much longer. He realised dismally that the high temperature and the way the sand just stretched on and on, was having an increasingly adverse effect on him. His body complained of fatigue and his mind seemed to boil under the administration of the relentless heat.

"Perhaps you are just not fit for such a journey," Geheimnis chuckled between humming, his words biting hard at the warrior's heart.

"Perhaps," retorted Dredger, hot temper rising and surging through his brain, "your masked face would sing a better song if it was accompanied by my fist!" No response was made and Dredger was pleased to think that the threat had served its purpose. But just when he was satisfied that his remarks had put an end to it, the humming began again. "I think," he growled, "that before I destroy the Second Beast, you too shall feel my blade."

A grinning countenance was turned toward him. "The Second Beast?" the masked man repeated. "And what might this Second Beast be?"

Dredger hesitated. It had been foolish of him to utter the name in his anger. "You do not know?" he questioned coolly.

"There is but one Beast," Geheimnis crooned.

"So it seems that you do not know so much after all," Dredger said, content that at last his superior companion was seen to be fallible.

The other man bowed. "Perhaps it is you, my friend, who does not know all there is to know," he breathed.

With suppressed anger, Dredger turned away. "I tire of your empty words. I know what I must do and you will not stand in my way."

"Quite so," Geheimnis trilled. "You must walk your own road and find what you will."

They trod down on the yellow sand, their boots sending the tiny grains running a billion different ways. The Sea of Tears ran deep and long and travellers who came there found their hearts crushed beneath its eternal power of melancholy and futility. So many who had ventured there in past times had lost their minds and perhaps even their souls beneath its deadly influence. Now it was Dredger who faced the insidious way of the desert dunes.

He brushed away the sweat from his forehead and took his last mouthful of water, the flask finally empty. If they did not reach the end of this wasteland soon, he realised with a numb sense of dread, he too would become another victim of the sand.

And still Geheimnis hummed.

"We are now within the deepest regions of this place," Mo alerted them, slowing his pace. His large paws padded gently against the rock and the sound echoed from the walls.

In the faint light Jack peered ahead but couldn't see anything except darkness. "What should we do?" he said apprehensively, not really wanting to go any further.

"I am afraid we must discover whether She sleeps or wakes. There is no other choice."

Jack frowned and shook his head reluctantly. "You don't really expect us to just march right in and look, do you?"

"As I've said. There is no other choice."

Beside them Tom fidgeted, his thoughts troubled, urging him toward an unwelcome decision. "I think," he said quietly, "that it's for me to go alone."

The Badger stopped walking and faced the boy, an unreadable expression on his face. "Do you think so?"

Tom nodded. "It has to be me, doesn't it?"

Mo smiled in the gloom. "I'm glad that I did not have to ask you."

Tugging at Tom's arm, Jack faced his friend. "Now hold on a minute. We need to stick together. Why do you need to go off on your own? That's stupid!"

As Tom looked into the other boys eyes, he knew for certain that this truly was the old Jack, who had so nearly been lost to him. "No Jack, it's not," he stated firmly, although he regretted what he had to say. "I have to go alone." He squeezed the boy's arm affectionately. "But don't worry, you won't get rid of me so easily."

Something in the way his friend spoke and the look on his face told Jack that there was no point in arguing. "You had better make that a promise," he mumbled.

"Listen to me, Tom," voiced Mo, coming close beside the boy, "if you find her awake, do not linger. Return to us immediately. Don't hesitate, just run. But if she sleeps, then you must ask her the way to find Pandora's Box. Only she can lead us there."

Tom nodded quickly. "I understand."

The badger took a step back and sniffed the tepid air of the tunnel. "Now go quickly. We will wait for you here."

With one final glance at his two companions, Tom began to move further along the passageway, phantom fears huddling within his mind, threatening to suffocate him. The darkness seemed to become denser with every step he took deeper into the labyrinth and when after only a few minutes, he looked back the way he had came, he could only see blackness, his isolation absolute. All light was fading rapidly now, slipping away into the shadows, but he stumbled on, walking for a great distance, several times having to choose between divergent corridors.

A presence, cloying and guileful had begun to work within his subconscious, growing steadily stronger. Up ahead, Tom dimly made out what appeared to be an archway, the craggy rock walls blushed with a soft, flickering incandescence. And beyond this ingress, he could see a brighter light that threw shadows on the rock-face, inventing freakish, moving spectres which danced like twisted marionettes.

She's in there.

As he thought this, the aura that suffused his mind became even more powerful.

With his heart drumming absurdly fast, Tom inched very slowly toward the archway cut in the stone.

Please be asleep. Please don't be waiting for me.

Beneath the arch he went, his eyes stung by the brightness of a vibrant light within a large chamber. Tom scanned the room for the hideous creature he knew rested there, not knowing what to expect but visualising the most horrible thing his imagination could contrive. And yet he saw what he least expected.

Reclining upon a lavish four poster bed, rich silk sheets spread about her, lay a strikingly beautiful woman, her long, dark hair fanned out around her head like a burnished halo. Her breasts rose and fell with each breath as she slept and Tom marvelled at the thin, apparently transparent gown that she wore, crimson, almost sanguine in colour.

As he watched, she turned briefly in her sleep and Tom started, ready to run, but her breathing remained even, its sound the only intrusion upon the silence of the chamber. Could this truly be the monstrous Rith-ran-ro-en that Mo had warned him of? And yet he had said she had been beautiful and it was certainly no exaggeration. For a minute or so, Tom could only stare at her, the scene before him like some master's painting, the stillness of it reinforcing the impression. But then he remembered why he had come there.

He felt very foolish standing there, the idea of speaking to a sleeping woman ridiculous and he was overcome by a powerful urge to wake her. But with some effort, he resisted this impulse, instead stepping closer to the bed, his eyes riveted to her tranquil features and spoke aloud his question.

"Please tell me the way to go to find Pandora's Box?"

The words echoed around the cavern, reverberating within its pallid walls. There was no movement, all remained still and Tom became certain that he must not have asked in the correct manner.

Then she opened her eyes and looked directly at him. Tom stepped backward, his instincts screaming at him to run, but the woman did not rise from the bed, her eyes appearing blank and unaware. She seemed to look right through him, her expression distant.

And then she spoke.

"Take just seven steps

to find your heart's desire,

a promise of regret

to lay within the fire.

On to the very edge

and claim a blighted kiss,

there to meet your match

beyond the dark abyss."

Her voice was musical, infiltrating his mind and Tom's vision blurred, his head aching. The ground began to revolve as if he were on a merry-go-round, faster and faster, spinning, turning until he reeled with the sensation. The world became nothing more than dim colours, encircling him.

Through it all, he could see her face, her eyes fixed on him and Tom knew without question that she could really see him now. Her mouth moved, a long tongue licking at shining lips.

Let me be with you, Tom thought dreamily. Forever.

Getting gracefully up from the bed, her red gown clinging to her body, she came for him, but something tugged at his hand, pulling him away from her, forcing him to move backward.

He resisted. No, I want to stay here. I want to stay with her. But he was wrenched violently away from the woman's outstretched hand, her eyes pleading with him to come to her embrace.

As he was drawn toward the archway, he saw that the woman's face had begun to alter, her ruby lips contorting and enlarging, her beautiful eyes becoming salacious and cruel, a desperate fire seething within. Her soft ivory skin darkened and decayed as if diseased with some terrible plague, and as Tom witnessed this his mind became his own again, a demonic shriek piercing his head as the woman realised he would escape. Once through the archway, staggering along through the gloom, Tom rubbed at his eyes, trying to focus them in the blackness and nearly lost his footing when he saw that beside him stood a golden-haired girl.

"Lisa," he whispered and she smiled as she led him swiftly along the corridor.

"Stay close, Tom," she said urgently, "I'll show you the way out."

He could make no reply, everything seeming unreal and it suddenly occurred to him that he must be dreaming this after all. Absently he pinched himself and immediately winced at the pain.

"Hurry," Lisa said and looking into the dark pools of her eyes, he knew that he would go wherever she led.

His hope withered under the incessant desert heat, doubt germinating within him. Dredger, his eyelids heavy with sand and sweat, a physical drain inundating his entire body, was preoccupied by a nagging question. Could he endure this hellish journey? If he had been a child he would have surely wept, his stinging tears falling to shrivel upon the smouldering sand. But he was a man, a warrior and he would not weep. He would not succumb to the terrible force that weighed him down, pressing upon him until he felt certain that he must sink into the golden tomb below. His feet were pieces of meat, simmering in the oven of his boots.

Geheimnis, however, seemed unaffected. He marched on without any apparent difficulty and Dredger barely managed to keep pace with him.

"How do you feel?" the masked man enquired, his tone genuine enough, though the warrior doubted his motives.

"Is it much further?" he answered, trying very hard not to betray the desperation that he felt.

Geheimnis took a flask from his pack and drank several long mouthfuls and Dredger watched jealously, licking his cracked lips. His own water supply had long since been exhausted and he just could not understand how his companion had managed to conserve so much of his provision.

"I am sure we are very near," the masked man said belatedly after another drink from his flask.

Dredger looked ahead and saw that they were approaching a very high dune, its slopes so steep that he had to question his own ability to scale it in his present condition. His mind complained wearily, a fog clouding his thoughts, his will-power drained.

Geheimnis began to leave him behind, pressing on easily across the rising sand.

Keep moving, Dredger commanded himself angrily. Are you so weak? Look, the faceless fool manages quite well. Is that freak a better man than you? Will you let him see you beaten?

Finding some untapped reserve, the warrior doubled his efforts and came up close behind the other man, his legs threatening to give way as his boots sank into the desert, the sand reluctant to relinquish its hold on them. With his eyes fixed on Geheimnis' back, Dredger hauled himself up toward the summit of the great dune.

As they finally reached the top Geheimnis paused, Dredger gaining his side and he looked down upon a very different land, one which was green and alive. Fighting to hold himself straight, relief washing over him, he sighed. "At last."

Geheimnis' mask turned a little toward him and held a familiar smile. "We can find water and perhaps fruit here," he said, "but it is only a much larger form of oasis in a desert of another kind."

Dredger listened to the man's words and nodded. "The Land of Scars lays beyond."

"Indeed," the other man replied. "Our journey is far from ended, so I suggest that we rest awhile and replenish our supplies before we begin again."

With a feeling of subdued triumph Dredger made his way down the other side of the sand-dune and into the grassy slopes that lay beneath it, his tired legs causing him to stumble but he no longer cared. He had prevailed. Now he would rest and renew his strength. Then to reach Hydan where his foe awaited him.

Bending to touch the rich vegetation, savouring its coarse texture, Dredger said a silent prayer.

Tom followed Lisa along the passageway, but she glided over the rocky surface of the tunnel with such ease that he found it difficult to keep up with her. Noticing this, she slowed a little and held out her hand. "Take it," she instructed.

Tom touched her fingers, a mixture of emotions flooding through him and she gripped his hand tightly leading him on through the shadowy labyrinth. He had no idea where she was taking him and the truth was that he didn't really care, just so long as he was with her.

How could anyone be so lovely?

All of a sudden she stopped and came close to his ear. In a whisper, Tom aware of her breath against his cheek, she spoke to him. "Just there," she said, pointing into the darkness, "there's a door, the way through. Your friends are waiting for you just a little further along this passage. You'll be safe once you're outside, at least for a while." She looked deep into his eyes and he knew what it must be like to be mesmerised. "I have to go now," she murmured, her lips just a little way from his. Tom wondered if she wanted him to kiss her, but then she was moving away, back in the direction they had come, her golden hair gleaming like a light itself.

Without thinking, he started after her. "Wait!" he called but she had already disappeared into the blackness. He stood alone, abandoned and frustrated. "I don't want you to go," he breathed. Then he remembered what she had said and knew that he had to find the others. For all he knew, Rith-ran-ro-en might still be stalking him, close by, slithering through the tunnels seeking her prey.

But Lisa went back the way we came. Where could she have been going?

Indecisive now, Tom looked around and his eyes rested upon a small wooden door in the rock. He had to believe Lisa knew what she was doing, so without any more deliberation, he continued along the tunnel. He broke into a jog, praying that his friends were really not too far away.

Within a few minutes, he heard a sound ahead and stopping to listen, Tom could make out a low voice.

"Well, I think that we should go and look for him. We've waited long enough.," it hissed with exasperation. Hurrying forward, Tom rushed around a bend in the passage and almost fell over the badger. "Tom!" cried Jack with unmistakable relief.

"It's me," the boy signalled with a grin, leaning back against the wall.

"Are you safe and sound?" Mo questioned, inspecting him closely and then sniffing at his clothing.

Tom nodded. "I'm okay, but we need to get out of here. It isn't safe."

"Let's go then," Jack said with eagerness.

"Follow me," directed Tom and started off along the tunnel.

"Are you sure this is the way out?" Jack called from behind.

"Trust me," his friend replied and moved quickly forward.

Tom searched the darkness for the doorway, fearful that he might miss it in the murky shadows but after only a short distance, there it was, a bizarre but welcome exit, or at least that was what he hoped. Without any discussion he grasped the handle, pulling it open to reveal a dazzling world of brightness that momentarily blinded them, their eyes accustomed to darkness now. Shielding their eyes, the three stepped out into a clearing in the midst of a wooded area, Tom slamming the door shut behind them.

"Fresh air at last!" Jack exclaimed, taking deep breaths.

His eyes adjusting, Tom glanced around. "I don't suppose you know where we are?" he said to the badger.

The animal shook his head. "Another path," Mo said amiably, "but there will be time enough for such concerns later. For now, I think it best if you tell us of your meeting with Rith-ran-ro-en."

"Are you sure it's safe here?" Tom said, looking over at the strange door built into the rock of the mountain, imagining it bursting open, the mouldering, diseased features of Rith-ran-ro-en leering at him as she came to claim her prize.

"Quite safe," Mo assured him. They walked over toward a small mound, thin trees forming an enclosure around it and at the badger's direction, settled themselves down on the grass. "Tell us all that you know," Mo said.

In the clear sky a white dove flew, its diminutive form the only thing in the great, all encompassing domain above. Unseen, the bird circled around the group of tiny figures below, once, twice, three times and then with a graceful movement of its snow feathered wings, it made off toward the distant horizon.

PART TWO

SHADOWS AND MASKS

The finding of the way is easy enough,

but it is best remembered that we are often led to places that

it would be better we never go.

1. BLAKESTONE'S HOUSE

2. THE HUNTSMAN'S BALL

3. CONFRONTATION WITH THE BEAST

4. SECRET DELIGHTS

5. THE HUNT BEGINS

6. THE BLACK TREE

7. THE UNDERLAND

8. REFLECTIONS OF TRUTH

9. DREAM DEEP

10. ANGEL TOWER

11. A TEST OF CHARACTER

12. THE HEART OF DARKNESS

13. BETWEEN TWO WORLDS

BLAKESTONE'S HOUSE

The two uneasy companions sat beneath a large tree of unknown origin.

"The vegetation does not fare well here," commented Geheimnis.

With a curt nod, his self confidence now fully restored, Dredger agreed. "What could thrive in this limbo between the desert and the Land of Scars?"

"Nevertheless," observed the masked man, "there is enough water and edible fruit here to serve our purpose."

"Barely edible," the warrior complained, "but as you say, it will serve a purpose."

They sat there for some time after this exchange, both men with their own thoughts. Geheimnis' mask was blank once more and it occurred to Dredger that neither of them had slept since they began to cross the treacherous sand, his own mistrust of his companion precluding such luxuries.

In this brief time of calm and quiet, in a middle ground between two barren, uninhabitable lands, both men paused before they would again walk a road of certain evil.

To Dredger, it was a dark quest, where many lives were in the balance. And yet, to Geheimnis it was something quite different, an intricate design, moving meticulously toward a pre-ordained conclusion, at once a game and a necessity.

Tom ended his tale with a smile that betrayed a certain amount of embarrassment. He had realised he could no longer keep Lisa a secret and had told his friends of her part in his exploits as best he could. While he spoke, Jack had stared at him with a look of stunned surprise, although Mo's expression, as always, remained neutral.

"So what was Rith-ran-ro-en?" Jack asked slowly, glancing oddly at Tom, the revelation about the girl leaving him rather bemused.

"A cursed creature," the badger told them both, "but always remember that evil comes in many guises and few realise that the most common is that of beauty."

"If Lisa hadn't pulled me away," admitted Tom with a confused shrug, "I would have stayed there. The worst thing is, I wanted to stay...that is until I saw what she really looked like."

Mo looked hard at him. "And what of your task?"

Tom scratched his head and concentrated. As he had related his story he had deliberately left out the part when he had actually asked his question, for the simple reason that he had absolutely no idea what the woman had told him. He had completely forgotten, what with all that had happened. He eyed the badger uneasily. "I...I'm not sure I can remember."

Mo came over close beside Tom, brushing the boy's legs with his body. "You must, Tom. All is lost if you do not." With a quick thrust of his nose the animal pushed Tom gently backward.

"What...what are you doing?" the boy asked, struggling to keep his balance.

"Remember," Mo instructed him, pushing him again.

"I know she said something," he muttered hesitantly.

The badger pushed harder and Tom nearly lost his footing. "Remember," Mo commanded. Jack stood a few feet away and watched with dumb fascination.

As ridiculous as it seemed, when the badger had pushed him a picture had formed in

Tom's mind. He saw a beautiful woman, her face very close to his, her lips moving. What was she saying? He strained to hear but the sound of her voice was like a whispering wind, her words unintelligible.

Mo pushed again and this time it seemed certain that Tom would topple over but he barely managed to steady himself, the woman's voice suddenly ringing out clearly inside his mind. "Take just seven steps," she intoned in a voice much like his own.

"Seven steps," repeated the badger, his voice seeming far away to Tom.

"To find your heart's desire," continued the woman in Tom's mind, "a promise of regret to lay within the fire." The picture appeared to waver, threatening to dissolve into nothingness. Tom's mind reeled with a tangled web of emotions. Fascination, desire, revulsion. His heart beat very fast and his brow ran with sweat. Gripping his hands tightly, his fought to hear her words, her face shimmering ghost-like before him, her mouth much too wide. "On to the very edge and claim a blighted kiss," she murmured, the words slurred. "There to meet your match, beyond the dark abyss."

Tom slumped to the ground, his eyes glassy and instantly Jack was there, kneeling over him. "Tom, are you all right?" he asked urgently, glancing quickly from the boy to Mo. "Is he all right?"

Tom's eyes flickered and he slowly sat up. "How do you feel?" Mo enquired.

"All right, I think," the boy said getting to his feet.

"I wish I knew what was going on here?" Jack grumbled, helping his friend.

"The way of the dark road is hard," the badger voiced sternly, "and the Beast has many

tricks and many faces. But now we know the way we must travel to find the end of this grim tale. With courage and wisdom who can say that we will not succeed."

The Land of Scars lay before them. It was a sterile, lifeless place, much like the desert they had journeyed across such a short time before.

"It would seem night has been banished from these lands," uttered Geheimnis, peering up at a radiant sky.

"Darkness will return only when it suits the white dog best," returned Dredger with a growl.

They looked out across the terrain that stood between them and the lost city and saw a ruptured landscape, thousands of cracks puncturing the earth, the smallest of them perhaps only two or three feet in width, but others were immense chasms, deep and forbidding.

If only we had some rope.

Dredger was about to voice this when Geheimnis turned and spoke himself.

"Here," he announced, his mask displaying a wide smile. "I think we may be needing this."

Catching Dredger by surprise, the masked man tossed a coiled length of rope into his arms. With a grunt, the warrior stared incredulously at his companion. "How..." he started, "how could you have carried this across the desert without me knowing."

Geheimnis seemed to regard him as if he were a foolish child, his smile mocking. "You still have much to learn, my friend. But I am willing to be your teacher, if you let me. Learn quickly though, before you fall too far behind."

Dredger threw the rope violently to the ground, hate blazing in his eyes, their colour altering rapidly until they became a vivid green. "You are so very clever, masked man," he ranted, "but I tire of you and your petty displays. To me, you are nothing. Just a tool to be used and then discarded when it has served its purpose. I would kill you without hesitation, without regret. Indeed, I begin to relish that prospect."

Geheimnis' smile was gone. "The rope will be useful, will it not?" he breathed.

After a long pause and with a scowl that exposed the loathing and anger that he felt toward the man, Dredger finally snatched up the rope and slung it over his shoulder. "Useful it may be," he grunted, "but do not expect me to applaud your sleight of hand. Save your trickery for children who are easily impressed."

Geheimnis gave a short bow and turned away, although Dredger still caught the sound of a soft chuckle as he went.

Tom stood in a forest glade and knew that he was quite awake. It was definitely not a dream this time, that much he was sure of.

Above him in a dull sky, an aeroplane buzzed through the heavens like some enormous bird with metal wings. He peered up at it, watching it slowly disappear within distant clouds.

My name is Tom and I'm fourteen years old.

Other than this, he knew nothing about himself. He had no idea of what his past had been or of what might be waiting for him in the future, and yet amid this confusion there was one small detail that he did know for certain. He had just killed somebody.

It was another boy, about his own age. They had been fighting, a long, furious battle that had exhausted them both, until in a last desperate bid to claim victory, he had grasped a jagged rock as they rolled over and over on the ground. He had struck the other boy's head again and again, possessed by a fury that at once elated and terrified him.

Now alone with the broken body, Tom stared down at what had once been a young boy's features, much like his own, but was now a sickening, bloody pulp.

The best man won! said a jubilant voice inside his head and he smiled crookedly. Tom felt very strange. He was experiencing a deep sorrow that cut into his heart like a poisoned blade, but there was also a peculiar sense of power surging through him, a twisted pride at what he had done.

What's wrong with me? I don't understand.

The sound of footsteps nearby caught his attention and he waited guiltily as three men marching in single file and dressed in blue uniforms approached. They were policeman, he realised with a sudden, rising panic.

"Hello, hello, hello," said the first of the men as they came to a halt, standing side by side before the boy.

"Hello," answered Tom politely, giving the policeman his best, more innocent smile.

"What's all this then?" asked the second man in line, who Tom noticed looked remarkably like the first.

"Eh," fumbled Tom, "it's a dead body, I think."

"Why, so it is," confirmed the third of the party.

"I found him!" Tom blurted, red-faced.

"Well, well," responded the first officer. "Would you believe it?"

"No," stated the second, eyeing Tom very suspiciously.

"It isn't the way it looks," began Tom, "I was just..."

But the third policeman put up a white-gloved hand, cutting him off in mid-sentence. "Silence in court," he commanded.

"But we're not in court," Tom argued, becoming more and more bewildered.

"The Lady wants you," declared the first man with an official nod and a knowing smile.

"Lady?" Tom repeated, "what lady?"

"She's a real good-looker," confided the second policeman with a wink.

"A real good-looker!" endorsed the third, leering at his fellows.

"What does she want me for?" Tom asked, looking up at the men with wide eyes.

"She wants you for her own," the first man told him in a hushed voice.

"That's right," the second agreed, "only you. No-one else will do."

"But I don't want to go," moaned Tom with a despairing shake of his head.

"No choice," the third in line informed him with a grim expression. "No choice at all."

"Is this a dream?" enquired Tom hopefully.

The first man merely smiled at him, baring perfect white teeth. "Who can tell."

Tom woke up with a start and looked quickly around. Jack was by his side and just a short distance to his right, Mo sniffed at some long grass. "Hello," he said, sitting up and yawning.

Jack turned over onto his side and smiled. "Have a good sleep?"

Tom frowned. "I don't even remember going to sleep in the first place. How long have we been here?"

"Only a short time," the badger advised him.

"So where do we go now?" Jack asked, getting to his feet and brushing grass from his clothes.

"I think you could both do with a bath and a change of clothing," Mo said briskly, wrinkling his nose.

"And how are we going to manage that?" Jack chuckled.

The badger began to pad away over a hillock and down toward a long meadow.

"The house of a friend is somewhere near here," Mo told them. "Could you check the map, Tom?"

After all that had happened, Tom had completely forgotten about the map but now he pulled it from under his shirt, unfolded it upon the ground and ran a finger across the creased parchment while Jack and the badger looked on. It was not easy to follow the route they had taken, but making allowances for their unorthodox exit from the caves, he calculated their position roughly and pointed at a symbol marked to the north-east. "There is some kind of building here. Is that what you mean?"

"Yes," affirmed Mo, "that's it."

The company of three moved on again, fully expecting to find a signpost nearby. They were not disappointed. One of the now familiar wooden constructions awaited them dutifully, a few hundred yards into the trees.

"Do you get the feeling that someone wants us to get wherever it is we're going?" asked Jack dryly.

"The thought had crossed my mind," admitted Tom.

Mo made a low coughing sound in his throat. "We will be able to rest and refresh ourselves at the house," he said seriously, "and maybe even requisition some new clothing for you both."

At Tom's side, Jack laughed. "Tom definitely needs a bath as well!"

Tom tutted and pushed lamely at his friend. "You don't smell so good yourself."

The badger nodded gravely, sniffing the air. "Indeed."

They walked on past swaying trees, branches relenting to a stiff wind that had begun to blow. Where the land began to climb steadily upward, the hillside was lush and prosperous, thick grass and wild flowers dominating the countryside.

"So who owns this house?" Tom enquired, trying to concentrate on what lay ahead of them rather than what they had left behind, his ordeal in the caves of Rith-ran-ro-en still troubling his mind.

"It's the home of my good friend, Henry Blakestone," explained the badger. "He will help us."

"Sometimes I think you know more than you let on, Mo," Jack said and the animal gave him a sharp look but did not reply.

Jack moved up next to Tom and walked alongside him, hesitant about broaching a subject that he had been thinking over ever since his friends account of his adventures in the caves.

"Tom," he began at length, "about that girl...what was her name?...Lisa?" He said it as casually as he could manage. But there must have been a certain edge to his words that betrayed some of his true feelings, although if asked, Jack would have been hard pressed to explain them, even to himself, because Tom's expression darkened.

"She's just a girl."

"But where do you know her from? You've never mentioned her before." Jack said this in a slightly hurt tone of voice, unhappy that his friend should have kept secrets from him.

"I've just seen her before," said Tom shortly.
"But where?" Jack insisted on knowing.

Tom seemed to be annoyed by these questions and looked away. "In my dreams," he mumbled, almost too low to hear.

Jack shook his head, mystified. "In your dreams!" he parroted, disbelief on his face. "What are you talking about? So now you're telling me she's just a figment of your imagination!?"

"Look," snapped Tom, his irritation growing, although he didn't really understand why. "She's real enough. And anyway, I don't want to talk about it, so let's just forget it all right?"

Jack looked at his friend carefully, wondering just what was going on between him and this mysterious girl, Lisa, who apparently had sprung from Tom's dreams. He shook his head again and almost asked this aloud, but seeing the other boy's flushed face and pursed lips, he decided to leave well enough alone, at least for the time being.

They had almost reached the brow of the hill now and gradually what lay upon the other side became visible to them, a long, wide valley winding into the distance.

A great house stood below them, a startling image in a land that had until now seemed so desolate.

"There it is," the badger indicated.

"It's more like a palace," corrected Jack with amazement. And indeed the building was far more than a simple dwelling, huge turrets and spires marking the skyline, hundreds of windows glinting in the daylight. Tom assessed that there must be at least sixty rooms, very probably many more.

As they made their way down the hillside, it became clear that there was a great deal of activity around the perimeter of the building. An enormous gateway was the only entrance visible, a high wall of brown stone encircling the grounds attached to the house. Tom saw a large group of people milling about outside of the gate tending animals that he decided must be horses. They did not appear to be actually doing anything. It was as though they were just waiting.

"And the owner of this place is a friend of yours?" Jack questioned, glancing over at the badger as they continued to clamber down the hill.

"A very good friend," confirmed Mo, moving on toward an area where several men and women all dressed in red tunics, white trousers and long black boots stood idly beside impressive looking horses. They regarded the three new arrivals with blank, impassive stares as the badger led Tom and Jack toward the open gate.

They had managed to replenish their supplies with exotic fruit and water from a small pond found amongst the vegetation. But after the incident with their horses, Dredger was very reluctant to sample either resource. Only once Geheimnis had actually drank and eaten several mouthfuls was he satisfied and even then, the warrior had waited for a reasonable amount of time to pass to ensure that any effects they might have were not latent. Throughout this self imposed abstinence, Geheimnis had watched him with an amused half-smile set upon his mask, taunting his caution openly until Dredger could bear it no longer and ventured a grudging taste of the water. He had found it surprisingly pure and sweet, particularly after the trials of the desert and so now, at last they began their trek across the Land of Scars, a brooding silence falling between the two men.

The warrior's thoughts returned to his mistrust of his companion. The further they travelled together, the more convinced he became that Geheimnis was an enemy. He had come very close to challenging the masked man to combat on several occasions, but he was still uncertain. Perhaps it might be a mistake. It was still possible that he was not a foe. And maybe, just maybe, the man behind the mask would be a match for him. These things he pondered on.

At Geheimnis' direction they had sought and found several stout lengths of wood taken from a stand of tawny, sinuous trees that Dredger did not recognise. His companion informed him, after some sharpening, that they would serve as ground stakes. And to make things worse, setting the warrior further on edge, Geheimnis had also produced a grappling hook, apparently from out of thin air, telling him that it would go nicely with the rope!

They passed over many of the smaller fissures, managing by sheer physical strength and prowess to hurl their bodies to the other side without hazard or injury. A fierce wind had begun to gust around them, billowing dust into their faces, forcing both men to push hard against the elements and Dredger found it bitterly amusing that where he had to shield his eyes from the raging dust-storm, the masked man had no such difficulties.

At length, they came upon a rift in the land that ran as far as they could see, although in the present conditions, that was not really very far. It was perhaps the width of ten tall men and Dredger was thankful that they had the rope and iron, even as he resented having to use the unnatural objects. At least the masked freak had been of some use to him.

Taking up the hook, it now fastened securely to the rope, Dredger flung the contraption through the air. With a dull thud, the iron claws dug into one of the smaller fissures that lay several yards beyond the far side. Pulling hard on the rope, the warrior assured himself that it would bear a man's weight and then, striking one of the wooden stakes into the ground, he began to tie the end of the rope to it.

"Perhaps I should do that," Geheimnis interjected, kneeling down beside him.

"I know how to tie a knot," retorted Dredger irritably.

"Certainly," allowed the man, "but I know of a way to tie the rope so that once on the far side, we shall be able to retrieve it without having to wrestle the stake from the earth."

Dredger raised an eyebrow. "How could such a knot hold our weight?" he scoffed.

"You should put your trust in me, my dear Dredger. I assure you that I know what I am doing. I have learnt many useful tricks during my lifetime."

"So you finally admit that your miracles are no more than mere trickery," Dredger said with a thin smile. The mask showed no emotion and it occurred to him that perhaps the man beneath did not have any true feelings at all.

"There is a time for tricks," Geheimnis hissed, "and a time for magic. As you will come to learn, my fearless friend, I am the master of both."

Dredger almost spat his contempt at the ground but controlled himself, barely. "Will you go first or shall I show you how it should be done?" he managed finally.

"I will watch and learn," stated Geheimnis, his mask now revealing the familiar, wide smile.

This acted as a goad for the warrior and quickly lowering himself over the brink of the yawning chasm, he grabbed the rope and began working his way hand over hand along the taut line.

This thing had better hold, he thought as he hung precariously in mid-air above the depths of an unknown darkness. Only then did it occur to him that in his anger and frustration, he had let himself be manoeuvred into this perilous position. He was completely at Geheimnis' mercy. All it would take was one cut of the masked man's blade. It would be foolish to expect to survive the fall, the blackness below appearing bottomless and even if he should do so, it would be almost certainly as a cripple, left to die alone in a subterranean tomb.

Desperately he glanced back over his shoulder, fully expecting to see his enemy poised to send him to his doom, but the dust was too thick, making it impossible to see anything more than a vague outline. With renewed urgency, the wind buffeting him hard, Dredger hurried toward the far side of what he now thought of as the jaws of a ravenous beast, only waiting for the moment when it would take him down into its foul belly. As he drew closer to the edge, he vowed that if he survived this he would never again let the masked devil get the upper hand. Perhaps Geheimnis would have an unfortunate accident when it was his turn to come across. This idea spurred the warrior on, a snarl of hate upon his face. But just as he believed he would reach the other side, the rope began to shudder in his hands, gently at first but then with increasing violence.

A small, rather plump man stepped forward and smiled broadly. "Welcome, welcome," he beamed. "And what an absolutely wonderful day it is too." The others gathered with the horses appeared to entirely ignore them.

Mo nodded courteously. "Good day sir. Would it be possible for you to inform Mr. Blakestone that a friend of his is here to visit him. My name is Mo."

The small man stared blankly at the animal and several long moments passed, the two boys beginning to think that the man had suffered a seizure of some kind. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, he grinned at Mo. "Absolutely wonderful day," he enthused. "And who can say, it could be even better tomorrow."

Tom looked at the man with a bemused expression, but he seemed to be quite oblivious of he and Jack, concentrating solely on the badger.

"Well, thank you for your help," said Mo amiably enough, although Tom detected a change in the animal's tone. "Now I think I will go up to the house and announce my arrival."

The man continued to smile. "You've come just in time for the Huntsmen's Ball, you know. I look forward to seeing you there."

Tom pulled a dubious face as he followed behind the badger under an archway and along an extensive driveway that led up to the great house. Once away from the group outside the gateway, Mo slowed and spoke to the boys in a hushed voice, as if he was afraid they might be overheard. "All is not well here," he told them, his eyes darting from side to side, scanning the surrounding bushes and foliage for any potential eavesdropper.

"What's wrong?" asked Jack, also keeping his voice low. The animal sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose, making Jack smile slightly. "Doesn't smell right?" he offered.

"Something's in the air," Mo said definitely.

"What should we do?" questioned Tom, becoming worried. There were a lot of people here and if it was they who posed the threat, it seemed pretty reckless to be walking so blithely into their midst.

"Be vigilant and be on your guard," stated the badger.

"But against what exactly?" Jack wanted to know.

"The Wolf walks in shadow," Mo cautioned. "The Beast can be difficult to recognise. Be alert and note what you see and hear. It could turn out to be more important than you might at first believe."

Drawing nearer to the house, Tom noticed the elaborate carvings and statuettes that adorned its face. The building seemed to be very old, but was nevertheless in excellent repair. Huge windows, some of stained glass, loomed above them, reminding him of cathedrals he had seen in the past.

"It's impressive, isn't it" said Mo, glancing up at him.

Tom nodded, peering up at the high turrets. "But what's inside?" he asked absently.

THE HUNTSMEN'S BALL

Grabbing for the edge of the crevice, Dredger knew he had but one chance of survival. If his grip failed him, it would be the end. The rope moved uncontrollably within his grasp and it would be only seconds before he was thrown into the darkness below. So with tremendous effort, a grunt escaping his dry lips, he reached out with one hand and dug his fingers into the hard earth, forcing them in as far as they would go. Under his other hand the twisting rope jerked violently as he held on, his muscles screaming as they were pushed to the limit and making one final attempt to save himself, Dredger heaved his body with all the strength he still possessed toward the dark wall of the chasm.

Damn you. This pit will not be my grave.

He snatched blindly at the land above him. In that instant as he clung precariously to life, swirling dust assaulting his eyes, Dredger knew that death hovered beside him, patiently awaiting his final moments so that they might begin their journey together.

His fingernails tore into the ground and more than at any other time in his life, he wished there was a friend there to aid him. A friend. Now there was indeed an irony. When had he ever known a true friend? He was a loner and always had been, a man who went his own way and rarely displayed emotion. Such signs were a show of weakness.

His existence had been a hard one ever since he was a child. Only his father had seemed to really understand him and after the disappearance of his mother and sister, Dredger had become so withdrawn that even he could no longer reach a boy who now wore a cloak of bitterness and rage that warmed his heart with a terrible fire.

The warrior thrust these thoughts away with a frantic shake of his head. The dry earth was beginning to crumble beneath his fingers, his nails torn and bleeding, hot blood running along his arms.

I will not fail.

But there was just no way up. Every time he tried to gain leverage to pull himself upward, his fingers lost their grip, sending him, inch by slow inch, down into the hell-hole below. No time, he realised bleakly as his arms began to go numb. No time at all. The dust licked his body as if it were an animal tasting its prey.

"Forgive me," he whispered into the wind and gritted his teeth, ready to plummet into the depths of the gaping crack.

And then a hand took his and he was rising up out of the blackness, firm land suddenly beneath his exhausted body. He lay there breathless and shaken, not wanting to move, only wishing to savour the feel of the solid earth and glancing up, he searched for the face of his saviour, ready to voice the relief and gratitude he felt in his heart.

From out of the dust a figure appeared. "Thank you," the warrior said breathlessly, his voice not fully under control. He tried to make out the features of the person standing over him, but dust stung his eyes. With a struggle, he staggered to his feet and peered at the face of the one who had saved his life.

"I trust you are uninjured," said Geheimnis with a dismissive wave of his hand. At that moment, Dredger truly believed it would have been better if he had fallen endlessly into the abyss, his bones left to rot in hell. He stared at the ever widening smile upon Geheimnis' mask and knew that words were useless. "Well, my friend," the masked man continued. "There are other scars in the land far greater than this. You will need to be more careful."

Like a man in a deep, black dream, Dredger fought to clear his mind. How...his mind began, but he realised dismally that all understanding had passed away. Everything was a mystery and he was powerless in its grasp. Questions stirred but found no answers. He was caught as an insect might be, trapped in the web of some devious, unnatural spider.

A large golden bell engraved with many dancing cherubs hung beside a great oak door, this too bearing similar carvings of fine workmanship.

"What was all that about a ball?" voiced Jack, looking absently over his shoulder.

"It would appear there is to be a party," Mo remarked, "but it should be noted that Henry Blakestone is not a man fond of hunting. Quite the contrary in fact."

"Shall I ring the bell?" Tom said uneasily.

The badger nodded emphatically. "It's the only way we will find out what is going on here."

Reaching up, Tom pulled firmly on the cord and listened to the bell's clear, resonate chime. The three friends waited patiently for an answer and soon footsteps sounded vaguely beyond the doorway. Unhurriedly, the door swung inward.

"Good day," spoke Mo immediately, pushing his snout forward, "I am here to see Mr. Blakestone."

The man who peered out from inside the doorway was rather gaunt looking, his small, dark eyes scanning them with nervous agitation. He had a long, beak-like nose that Jack found quite fascinating, his gaze drawn to it, however much he tried to look away.

Sniffing loudly, his large nostrils flaring, the man licked his lips in an unpleasant manner. "I see," he said eventually.

"If you would notify Mr Blakestone that we are here," the badger prompted, "I am sure he would be pleased to receive us. My name is Mo."

The man at the door gave a curt nod. "Well, would you care to come inside and wait while I inform the Master that you have arrived."

Mo moved past him at once, followed closely by the boys. They were directed toward an open door to their left that led into a spacious study. Huge bookcases lined the walls, volumes of every description and hue encased there, many pieces of beautiful furniture also adorning the room and they were told to make themselves comfortable.

Jack sank into a cushioned easy chair and sighed with pleasure and Tom followed his lead, Mo preferring to settle down on his haunches at their feet. "Comfort at last," said Jack patting the upholstered chair.

Tom looked over at him and smiled. "This Mr. Blakestone must be pretty rich."

"Now is not the time for idle gossip," reprimanded the badger. "Things are not as they should be here. We will have to tread very carefully."

Just at that moment, the man who had shown them in returned. "Would you come this way," he said, staring directly at Mo.

"Certainly," replied the animal.

Tom and Jack rose to their feet but the man shook his head, affecting a smile. "I am afraid the Master wishes to see you alone." He nodded towards the badger.

Mo gazed intently at him for a moment and then turned his attention to Tom and Jack. "We must respect our host's wishes," he stated evenly. "I will speak with him and then I'm sure he will be delighted to meet you both." Although he spoke in a relaxed way,

giving no hint that he was in any way unhappy about the proposed arrangement, Tom knew full well that all was not well. A final glance from the badger confirmed this, a dubious look passing over the animal's features. "I'll be back soon," he said and then added, "perhaps you should read up on some local history while you are waiting."

They were left alone, shut in with only the books for company. "Maybe we should do some reading," Jack suggested. The large study had become very quiet and his voice echoed from the walls, adding to the uneasy atmosphere.

"I wish I knew what was going on here," Tom said, pacing up and down between bookshelves, "I don't like this one bit."

Jack walked over to a row of thickly bound books and ran his finger along the titles. "Alchemy Through The Ages," he read aloud, "The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea, Blood Sports For All Ages...charming!" Finally he pulled out a fat, coarsely bound tome and returned to his chair.

"What's that one called?" enquired Tom, only half interested, his eyes on the doorway.

"Just a picture book," Jack answered, turning the pages.

Tom sat down again and tapped the arm of the chair restlessly. Something was wrong. What if Mo was in trouble?

Across the room from him, Jack read the title page of the book silently to himself. A Bestiary: Origins and Incarnations. Jack thought for a few seconds and then turned to the back to check the index. The book seemed to be quite comprehensive, although some of the names listed were entirely foreign to him. But there were two creatures he was

particularly interested in and both were mentioned.

The first was The Wolf. And the other, was The Badger.

Mo followed the man along a dimly lit hallway. They walked upon a thick green carpet that felt oddly uncomfortable beneath the badger's paws.

His guide moved very quickly, urgency in his step and Mo sensed a nervousness about him. "Are you taking me to Mr. Blakestone's rooms," he asked, easily matching pace.

"Eh, no, the Master did not think it wise," replied the man glancing down before hurriedly returning his gaze straight ahead. "Much has happened since you were last here. Emissaries of the Wolf have been seen in these parts more and more frequently of late. The Master fears that there may even be spies within the house itself. He said you would understand the precaution."

"Of course," Mo said, his tone even.

"The Master will explain more fully himself," the man continued, "but he is very glad that you have arrived."

As they continued along the corridor, Mo noted several paintings that hung on the walls. All were portraits of elderly men and women, each face gaunt and strangely sinister. Turning into another gloomy passage, Mo saw more pictures, this time of huntsmen like those he had seen at the outer gate. Why would Henry have hung paintings such as

these when he abhorred such savage charades?

Taking a long flight of steps downward, the man finally brought the badger to an iron door and taking the handle, he opened it onto a darkened room, a very faint light somewhere below them. "There are stairs, so go carefully," he warned Mo, indicating for the animal to go ahead.

"After you," said the badger, baring his teeth slightly.

With a brief nod, the man went inside. "There are about twenty steps," came his voice as he disappeared into the gloom.

The badger's eyes were used to darkness but the light within had an unnatural quality to it that made vision difficult, so treading cautiously, he descended into the dingy cellar.

Either Henry has reason to be extremely careful...or this is a trap.

Mo was not a fool. However plausible his guides story may have been, he still suspected that this was more than likely a snare set for him by agents of the Wolf. And yet he knew that to learn anything of importance required a certain element of risk. So for a time at least, he would play the game.

Just ahead, the man's voice called back to him, although he could only make out a vague shape. "Watch the last step." But even as Mo heard these words, he stumbled over something and tumbled forward and as he fell, a small chuckle sounded in the dark. "I did tell you to watch your step," came the voice that was now behind and above him.

Immediately gaining his footing, his loss of balance momentary, Mo looked up toward the top of stairs and saw a silhouette against the partially open doorway. "A very clever trap," the badger commended, his voice detached.

The man on the stairs chuckled again. "You certainly fell for it!" he laughed, obviously enjoying the moment.

Mo gave a low, menacing growl. "We will see who will be the next to fall." He moved to the foot of the stairs, eyes intent on the man above.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The badger paused, peering into the blackness. "You see the stairs have an electric current running through them now, quite lethal I'm afraid and I really wouldn't like to see you hurt yourself. We had it installed especially for your visit."

Mo nodded. "You knew I would come."

"Of course," said the man with contempt, "the Master knows everything."

"I see," the badger said calmly, "but you should remember, manmade traps are such unreliable things."

Silently the man left the cellar, closing the iron door behind him. He didn't bother to lock it, because after all, the animal wasn't going anywhere. He felt rather pleased with himself, for he had accomplished his task with consummate skill. But even as he congratulated himself, the words of the badger echoed in his mind. Manmade traps are such unreliable things. There was something about that creature that made him feel uneasy.

Don't be foolish, he chastised himself. Was not the Master in control? And was he not the

Master's envoy? Nothing could stand against them. Nothing. The badger would learn that soon enough.

They passed over many scars in the land. Dredger did not speak. His mind was tormented by his companion. Who was Geheimnis? What was he?

Since his ordeal, the acrid taste of defeat and humiliation staying with him, Dredger had tried vainly to rationalise what had happened. So the man was a magician, that much seemed certain. But what was his purpose? Why had the masked man saved his life?

Whatever his intentions, Dredger knew that they must be of some arcane design. But he was forced to wonder if he could match the sorcery of this man. Doubts, like locusts, swarmed through his mind, devouring his thoughts, consuming his reason. Unable to rely upon logic, he understood on some basic level that all he could trust now was his own will to succeed, the heart of his existence.

And whatever role Geheimnis might play, Dredger would not let it make any difference.

Everyone had to die sometime.

Jack quickly closed the book as the man entered the room, feeling a little embarrassed because he hadn't asked permission to look at it.

Rising from his chair, Tom waited for the expected invitation to go and meet their host. But none came.

Jack put down the book and also stood up. "Where's Mo?"

"Young masters," the man began graciously, "your friend has asked me to advise you that he will be detained for quite some time, as he has very important matters to discuss. He has asked me to relay to you his most profound apologies and to assure you both that all is well."

Tom glanced at Jack and then regarded the man doubtfully. "How long will he be?"

"I really cannot say. Your friend asked me to tell you that he would explain everything later and until then, my Master has instructed me to show you to your room."

"Room?" Jack spoke up.

"Yes," said the man kindly. "It has been agreed that you shall stay the night. After all, it is The Huntsmen's Ball this evening and you wouldn't want to miss that, now would you? And then tomorrow, there will be the Hunt itself. Who knows, the Master may even invite you to ride with him."

Tom and Jack didn't know what to say. As far as Tom was concerned it was all very suspicious, but what could they do? He knew that something was wrong, yet until they knew more about what was going on in this house, they were in no position to do very much other than keep their wits about them and see how things went. "All right," he said eventually, "we've come a long way and we are tired. I suppose we could both do with a good night's sleep on a real bed." In the corner of his eye, Tom noticed that Jack was staring at him.

"Very good," said the man, smiling. "If you would come this way..."

He led them out into the hallway and then up a flight of wide stairs that took them to a long corridor, and as the boys walked along a little way behind their escort, Jack nudged his friend and whispered harshly into his ear. "What do you think you're doing?" he hissed. "Don't you think you're being just a bit too trusting about all of this?"

Tom smiled tightly. "I know," he replied softly, "but until we find Mo, it's better if we just go along with it. Once that butler, or whatever he is, leaves us alone, we can do a bit of exploring and see what we can find out."

Jack nodded at this, his confidence restored. "I've got a few questions of my own I'd like to ask Mo," he said enigmatically.

Tom was about to comment on this when the man came to a sudden halt ahead of them and waved his hand toward a broad oak door. "Here you are, young masters. This is your room. I hope you don't mind sharing." With that he opened the door, unveiling a lavish suite which for a few seconds took both boys breath away.

Tom stepped inside onto a deep burgundy carpet. A huge four-poster bed stood impressively against a wall, reminding him fleetingly of the one he had seen in the caves of Rith-ran-ro-en, but he quickly pushed this memory away and continued to survey the room. An ornate chest of drawers dominated another wall, a gigantic mirror above it and an adjoining door led through into a very spacious bathroom, the bath itself five times bigger than any he had ever seen before.

"I hope you will be comfortable," the man said as he turned to leave. "I will come and inform you when the ball is about to begin. Until then, if you require a change of clothing, there is suitable attire in the wardrobes. And of course, all other facilities are at your disposal."

"Thanks," answered Tom.

With a brief nod of his head the man left, giving Tom and Jack a chance to have a good look around.

"It really is like a palace," Jack remarked, taking a running jump at the bed and landing easily on a wonderfully springy mattress.

"It is pretty impressive," admitted Tom a little begrudgingly.

"I know what you're thinking," Jack said, bouncing gently on the bed. "Now's not the time for admiring the scenery. We've got work to do."

Tom looked back at his friend and smiled. "Let's find out if things are really the way our butler friend wants us to think they are."

"Do you think Mo is all right?"

This concern was also on Tom's mind and he wished he could believe the old badger was really discussing important matters with Mr. Blakestone. But he was afraid. Very afraid. "He can take care of himself," he told Jack, hoping it was so.

"I'll be a lot happier when he's with us again."

"Come on then," Tom bid the other boy, moving toward the door.

"What if it's locked?" Jack said, the idea only just occurring to him. Tom took hold of the handle and turned it sharply, the door opening with ease. "I know this may sound stupid," Jack voiced at his side, "but what if they want us to come looking."

Tom glanced at his friend uneasily. "I only wish it did sound stupid."

With a grunt escaping from between gritted teeth, Dredger reached the far side of a wide chasm. It was perhaps, marginally, the largest they had yet crossed. Geheimnis stood casually awaiting his arrival. "You are improving." The warrior spat dust from his mouth and looked ahead. "It would seem we near our goal," the masked man said, also turning toward the horizon where the landscape appeared to slope dramatically upward.

Dredger gazed out into the swirling clouds of powder and dirt roused by a relentless wind and in his memory, buried deep, a recollection began to stir.

He had been here before, in a dream.

As the land rose, they would climb to the top of a steep ridge and there below, Hydan would lay, awaiting him. Spitting bitter saliva from his lips, he turned to his companion. "Now finally the truth will make itself known. No more masquerades, no more trickery. The time has come for you to reveal your purpose."

Geheimnis nodded slowly, his mask plain once more. "Indeed, my eternal friend. The time has come. I have awaited aeons for this moment to come to pass. At last, I have returned home again."

"Do you think we should split up and look for him?" Jack asked, although his voice indicated that he didn't really like his own suggestion very much.

"Not likely!" stated Tom firmly. "You know what happens to people in films when they split up."

"Someone always gets it!"

"Exactly," Tom went on, "and we've already been separated from Mo, so let's me and you stick together, all right?"

"I'm convinced," agreed Jack.

They were now passing along a shadowy hallway that was lit by hanging lanterns suspended from the walls. They gave the place a strange, ghostly appearance that neither boy particularly relished. Arriving at a turning in the long corridor they came to a prompt halt, distant voices audible somewhere just beyond the corner.

"What now?" whispered Tom, leaning close to the wall.

Jack bit his lip absently. "There's no point running at the first sign of trouble."

With a nod Tom started forward, Jack following close behind.

They crept stealthily around the corner and found themselves gazing at what appeared to be no more than a continuation of the hallway. But the voices were much louder now and seemed closer. It sounded as if there were many people in conversation, a great gathering, but there were no doors visible and the corridor went on for as far as they could see. They noticed that this part of the house was also far brighter, even though the lanterns on the walls were exactly as before.

On closer inspection, Tom saw that further along the hallway to his right the wall was interrupted by an ornately carved, wooden balustrade. Moving very cautiously forward to where light poured into the passage, they peeked down through the balusters and realised that they were directly above a great hall.

"The Huntsmen's ball?" breathed Jack, kneeling down and keeping his head low.

They watched as scores of people dressed in the red and white of the hunt milled about below.

"That means we'll have been missed," Tom whispered.

Jack nodded grimly. "Look's like we're in more trouble."

"And that's not the worst of it," Tom returned, looking into his friend's anxious eyes. "Have you noticed anything funny about those people down there?"

Jack gazed down at the crowded hall and studied the men and women more carefully, and although when he had first glanced at them he had presumed them to have human faces, he now realised with growing horror that none were visible.

The features of everyone gathered there were concealed beneath a mask. The mask of a wolf.

CONFRONTATION WITH THE BEAST

He had gone to the room where he had left the two boys and as expected found it empty. The Master had told him they would be gone. And as it was always, the Master had been right. Now it was time to pay a visit on the creature he had trapped so neatly in the cellar.

With a quickening pace, the man made his way along one of the many twisting corridors that ran all through every level of the great house, creating a maze in which those who were unfamiliar with its secrets could easily become lost. He could admit, at least to himself, that he didn't particularly relish the idea of facing the badger again, but he had been given his instructions and could not ignore them. He knew what had to be done and that the task was his alone to perform.

The Master had leant close to him and spoken in a low, confidential voice. "The half-one must be slain...murdered by your hand."

"But how shall I kill the animal, Master?" he had questioned, doing his utmost to hide his fear.

"Take this," the Master had said nonchalantly, handing him a small metallic object.

The man had examined the gift, turning it over tentatively in his hands. It was a miniature pistol, no bigger than his palm.

"How can I kill it with a toy?" he had asked, confused.

"It will do quite well, quite nicely," the Master had assured him. "Trust me."

The man had gazed into his master's eyes with both awe and dread and bowed his head. "It will be done."

"Just one shot between the eyes," the Master had chuckled, close to his ear, "no more, no less."

Now, as he turned another corner in the hallway, the man fingered the gun nervously. Just one shot. And so it would be. For when he had checked the weapons chambers, only one of the six had held a bullet.

"Wolf masks!" Jack said, only just managing to keep his voice down.

Tom stared at the faces of the huntsmen assembled together for their Ball. "We were right then," he whispered, "something is going on here, something to do with the White Wolf."

"Yes," Jack answered, "and you can bet your life that it knows we're here."

Tom frowned. "I'd rather not take that bet if it's all the same to you."

"So what are we going to do now?" asked Jack as Tom crawled back along the corridor until he was certain he could not be seen. Jack did likewise and then gaining their feet, the boys looked gravely at one another.

"We'll search this place from top to bottom until we find Mo," Tom said. "Maybe not everyone in the house is on the Wolf's side, but to be safe, let's keep out of sight as much as possible. Who knows, Mo might even be looking for us."

"If he's still alive," Jack mumbled, his eyes downcast.

Tom didn't want to think about that. If the badger had been captured by the Wolf, that would mean they were all alone. No, Mo was all right, wherever he was. He would not allow himself to think otherwise. "Come on, let's get going," he said briskly.

Jack's face told how afraid and anxious he was and Tom knew that their situation wasn't good, stranded here in the midst of an enemy stronghold, without help or guidance. Briefly, he wondered if Uncle Ira and Aunt Emily thought that he was dead. Had they called in the police? Perhaps search-parties were at that very moment scouring the area around their village, dogs attempting to sniff out their scent. But surely they had been missing for too long, possibly weeks, although his concept of time had been completely altered since coming to this strange world. The search could have been called off long ago for all he knew and this idea depressed him deeply. But as the badger had said, time was just a manmade thing. Maybe only a moment had passed in that other world, his world.

Maybe.

Dredger stood on the brow of the hilltop and gazed down upon the lost city of Hydan. It was just as it had been in his dream.

At his side Geheimnis waited, his mask alive with mirth. "And so," he began softly, "we are here." He paused to glance at the warrior. "How does it feel to meet your destiny?"

Dredger scowled, not looking at the other man. "I think it is time you learnt the truth about me, for I no longer require your attendance. You have served your purpose. I bid you farewell and good riddance."

Geheimnis appeared to regard him carefully from beneath his mask. "My intrepid friend, don't you know you are an open book to me. You have no need to reveal anything to me." He tilted his head to one side, as if considering this and then continued. "But you are correct in one respect. It is time that the truth was learnt. Not least by you, dear Dredger."

With a low chuckle, Dredger came close to the masked man and looked hard into his shadowy eyes. "You speak well," he chided, now using his companion's tools of mockery and contempt. "But I think your words are empty...meaningless." His lips curled into a ferocious snarl. "You said this is your home, not seen for aeons. So what are you? What manner of beast? What is beneath that mask? A freak!? Is your face so disfigured and hideous that you are ashamed to show it? Or do you hide another secret? You may think me stupid, but I am not. Since our first meeting I have suspected your true identity and now I am certain of it."

The two men now stood inches apart, Dredger's breath touching the austere surface of Geheimnis' mask.

"And so who am I, may I ask?" the masked man said gently, his smile jubilant.

"The creature whom I seek!" cried Dredger, his fingers brushing the blade at his side. "You are the Second Beast."

Geheimnis' mask immediately became blank. "And you, Dredger my friend," he hissed, "are a fool."

As he touched the handle of the cellar door, an odd, inexplicable feeling of dread ran through him. The sensation faded rapidly, but he had to pause and collect himself before he was ready to enter the room. Within, he knew, the badger was waiting for him.

Once inside the ill-lit doorway, trying to adjust his eyes to the blackness, he searched below for the animal's hiding place. He knew very well that the badger would be hiding. After all, what option did it have? There was no way to escape.

He cleared his throat nervously, the sound reverberating in the hollow darkness as if it were a living thing, growing in volume until it seemed inhuman and menacing. This made him all the more uneasy, but he was determined to carry out his Master's mandate, his fear of failure outweighing all else. So reaching to his right he flicked a switch at the head of the staircase that would cut off the electric current and allow him to descend.

He had hoped as he entered, that he might dimly see the animal's carcass sprawled out upon the stairs. But obviously, his prisoner was not that foolish. It simply meant that he would have to do the job personally.

But still something nagged at him, a persistent doubt. There was something about the badger's attitude, something in the way the creature had spoken to him, that had unsettled him, his confidence shaken.

I must not let my imagination get the better of me. The Master is the law of the land. Nothing can stand against it.

Tentatively he began his descent, treading very precisely, step by slow step, ready to act upon the slightest movement. The small pistol was held tightly in his left hand, his finger twitching rhythmically against the trigger.

On the final step he hesitated, uncertain of what to do next. He felt certain the animal was watching him from the shadows, perhaps preparing to attack and he did not want to give it that chance. But there was no hint as to where the creature might be lurking, the silence becoming maddening.

Lowering the gun to his side and masking it with his hand, he spoke into the gloom. "If you show yourself, perhaps we can strike a bargain."

Behind him, at the top of the stairs, the soft pad of paws made him spin around sharply and in the shadow-light above, he saw a flash of white amidst the darkness.

"Too late for bargains," said a voice and he screamed silently, his eyes alive with fear, astonishment registering for a brief moment before with an almost inaudible click, the switch was thrown. "Too late," repeated the voice as a sickening smell of charred flesh filled the air.

Tom led the way with Jack close behind. They had ventured along many bleak hallways since they had watched the guests at the Ball from their overhead hiding place. Now they were completely lost, having no idea if they were on the ground floor or the top.

"We're not getting anywhere like this," grumbled Jack, his apprehension growing with every moment that passed. "I know it's dangerous but don't you think we should take a look in some of these rooms?"

"But suppose somebody's already in there?" Tom responded, coming to a halt in front of a row of panelled doors..

"What choice do we have," Jack argued, "and anyway, Mo could be inside one of these rooms, tied up or something."

Tom studied a large wooden door to his left and with a shrug, he reached out a tentative hand and touched the door handle. "They're probably all locked. If you were holding someone prisoner, wouldn't you lock the door?"

"There's only way to find out."

Tom gently pulled the handle down and pushed the door a few inches ajar and then turned to look at Jack. "What now?"

Jack stepped forward and peered through the gap into darkness. There was no light within and nothing stirred. All was silent and still. "I think it's empty," he whispered, listening intently.

An unpleasant idea surfaced in Tom's head. What if the Wolf was inside there? What if it was just waiting in there for them, crouching in the dark.

"Mo might still be in there," Jack said reluctantly, not wanting to enter into the blackness beyond the door. "He could be hurt."

Tom inched forward, trying to resist the tide of fear that threatened to engulf him. "I'll go first, but stay close to me." He sounded a good deal braver than he actually felt.

Pushing the door open a little wider, Tom stepped inside. As he passed over the threshold, lanterns set upon the walls ignited into low flame that gradually grew stronger until the room was brightly lit.

The Wolf was waiting for him, grinning with hideous mirth.

Behind him the door closed with an ominous click.

"Jack," he murmured, almost choking on the word, not daring to look back. But there was no reply, only the ticking of a clock somewhere within the room.

A scream began to rise inside him, but he could only stand there, eyes fixed on the drooling beast. He knew he must turn around, must run. But he also knew the door would be shut, his friend gone. He looked anyway and saw with only mild surprise that where there had been a door moments before there was now just a wall, a faded portrait of a cadaverous old man peering down from above him. The sunken eyes seemed to be alive, twinkling with some monstrous intelligence and Tom turned quickly away, his fear so great now that he legs were like jelly and he wobbled on his feet, certain he would fall.

He was alone. One boy against the Beast.

"Now the odds are even," breathed a voice at his ear.

Dredger's blade was poised to strike.

In his mind, only the smallest doubt remained. If he killed the masked man now, without further discussion, the trial would be over.

But what if he was wrong?

Hesitating, the warrior waited for some show of hostility from Geheimnis, some sign, however vague, that he was truly the enemy. But the man only stood silently inert, his shadowed eyes watchful. He made no attempt to draw his sword and this more than anything else caused Dredger's doubts to become greater still.

"Why do you falter?" came Geheimnis' voice suddenly, almost making the warrior start.

Strike now. Before it is too late! But still something stayed his hand. Dredger opened his mouth to speak, but no words would form upon his dry lips. Kill the masked clown! demanded a brutal inner voice.

But I may be wrong.

"Tell me who you are?" Dredger said finally, indecision holding him tightly in a stifling embrace.

Why not end the fool's life now? Uncertainty had never afflicted him before. Always he had done what needed to be done, he had made hard decisions and stood by them unflinchingly. If men had to die in the name of justice, then so be it. But this was different somehow. Something within him was stirring, a profound sensation, powerful beyond measure.

"Can you feel it now?" said the masked man quietly, but with a force that Dredger recognised as final and undeniable. Slowly Dredger lowered his blade and within Geheimnis' mask a light began to glimmer until it flowed from his eyes in a stream of golden fire. "Knowledge is a wonderful thing," he said with a tenderness that the warrior would never have believed possible in the man he had come to know and despise. But now, another was before him, an alien creature who pulsed with a wondrous radiance, rays of coloured light shooting out from every part of his body. "And knowledge is a dangerous thing," Geheimnis added, his mask now almost translucent, blue and yellow sparks playing across its surface. The sky began to darken rapidly and whilst shadows grew about them, the wind howled. "Ah, so the night returns," he breathed, his glowing eyes set upon Dredger. "You came here to do battle with that whom you name the Second Beast, and yet there is but one Beast, although it goes by many names. You have come thus far knowing a great deal less than you ever realised, but that is of no consequence. Truth is all Mankind can ever really hold high, there is nothing of value to be gained from any other victory. Ultimate truth, however, is as far removed from your natural laws as real magic is from mere illusion, and the only trick involved is telling them apart." He paused a moment, affecting a curious half-smile that seemed to melt into a jagged sneer as his mask continued to blaze with unnatural light. "Now, warrior, it is time you learnt your own truth. You call me the Second Beast, but that is not my name. I am the master of Hydan and the great secret I have kept safe for so long is that the Second Beast has not yet been born. Only now can the birth proceed. So now, look upon the face of the one whom you seek. It is one you already know. Here, find your truth...the revelations are all for you." Geheimnis took a step backward and raised his hands to his face. "Behold!" He tore away the mask and cast it aside to reveal the face beneath and horrified, Dredger gazed into the eyes of a man he knew very well. He looked upon himself.

"The beast within," said the man with his face and with incredible speed drew the sword at his side. "And so the game continues," Dredger's mirror image cried, a smile dancing in his eyes.

Dredger raised his blade and prepared to fight. He had no understanding of what had taken place there before him, or of what this creature who had his face might be, but he sensed that this at last was the moment of his testing, where finally he would prove himself a match for the dark powers of the Wolf.

But now, as he confronted his own reflection, he wondered, curiously if he would be a match for himself.

"Little boys," chuckled the Beast softly, "just little boys. And you hope to challenge me?"

Tom's chest felt very tight and he struggled for breath. He kept his eyes low, afraid to look at the creature before him, trying to control his racing heart, but panic was fast taking command of his mind and he feared that at any moment he would collapse.

The bright eyes of the Wolf surveyed him with interest. "Now," it coaxed, "shall we talk like reasonable men? After all, I feel it is only right to do so, for I see now that I have been unkind. I should have called you a man from the first, for that is what you are, are you not?"

"Yes!" shouted Tom as boldly as he could manage, throwing an arm out wildly and pointing at the Beast. "I am, but you're not!" He immediately dropped his head, feeling useless and knowing that he was beaten.

He heard the Wolf sigh, as if a little hurt. "I don't think you're giving me my dues, Tom my man. I think that you ought to take a closer look."

Very slowly, terror and anger struggling for supremacy, Tom met the eyes of a man seated before him at a large mahogany desk. He appeared to be quite young, no more than thirty or so and he shuffled some papers before tucking them away inside a drawer.

"There's a lot of work to be done, Tom. Accounts to be kept. But don't concern yourself, I'm on top of it." He flashed a good-natured smile at the boy. "Everything will be just fine."

Tom felt as though more than time had become disjointed and confused. It was as if his whole life was now no more than a waking nightmare, an alien landscape where fantasy and reality were one and the same. "What do you want from me?" he asked, not really wanting to know the answer.

"Well," began the man, his eyes glittering strangely. "For one thing, I would like my map back."

"Your map?" repeated Tom, his anger rising.

"Yes indeed, it is my map. I thought that you knew that."

"It wouldn't do you any good to have it anyway," Tom told him loudly. "Mo already knows the way."

The man laughed, a terrible sound that made Tom visibly flinch. "Ah, the badger friend," he reflected with a thoughtful smile. "The friend of little boys, no less. I could tell you things about that one that would make your hair curl! Yes, I could. Tales so very shocking! They really are not fit for a boy's ears, not even one who would dream of manhood."

Tom flushed with rage. "Shut up!" he cried, ready to physically fight with the man if he had to. "You don't know anything. You think you're so clever, but you're not."

The man nodded matter-of-factly, apparently unmoved by the boy's outburst. "So it would seem," he conceded, as if genuinely convinced, "but then again, there's nothing wrong with having a bit of fun, now is there? Even a badger is entitled to a little bit of fun and games, don't you think? I mean to say, who can truly claim, in all honesty, that they have never indulged in a small piece of fun, from time to time?" He seemed to take tremendous delight in emphasising the word fun, as if it had some great significance. "Fun!" he said again, grinning at the boy.

"Even if you kill me," roared Tom, without feeling nearly as brave as his words, "the others will beat you."

"Beat me?" the man sneered. "Best me at my own game? You really are very young, aren't you, so very naive." He paused and eyed the boy with a considering look. "You shall play my game, Tommy. Whether you want to or not. And it's a marvellous game, a wonderful game. One that I am certain that you will enjoy."

Tom clenched his fists, small and inadequate against the creature that regarded him so disdainfully. "You'll lose," he said fiercely. "You'll lose!" But even as he spoke, a terrifying thought was gnawing at his mind. Maybe the Wolf was just too powerful.

After all, he was only a boy. And what could a boy hope to do against a beast?

Jack was on the run.

Something, something terrible, was after him and he knew just as surely as if someone had told him in a cold, matter-of-fact voice, that if it caught him, he would die. The house seemed to close in on him, the deserted hallways never leading anywhere. He sprinted down one long corridor after another, afraid to look back, knowing his pursuer was close behind.

And what about Tom?

When the door had slammed, just as he had been about to follow Tom into the room, his first impulse had been to run. It had overpowered him, urgent and unrelenting, screaming to be obeyed. Run! Run!

But something had trapped Tom inside and Jack could not leave his friend in there alone. He had grabbed hold of the silver door handle and yelled in pain as it burnt his hand, releasing it immediately. The metal glowed a pale orange and Jack kicked at the door in frustration.

"Tom, are you all right? Can you hear me?" he had called, but there was no sound from within and morbidly he had thought how like a crypt the house seemed. Furious now and pulling his sleeve down over his hand, he had grasped hold of the handle again, determined to gain entry, but this time he had been thrown backward onto the floor, a horrible tingling running up his arm and into his body. Staggering up onto his feet, dizziness making it difficult to stand straight, Jack had rubbed his hand and arm. Just enough of a shock to keep me out. Why don't they just kill me and have done with it?

"What can I do?" he had said aloud and in that instant he had felt more lost and alone than ever before. But before he could consider his position any further, a shuffling sound just off to his right had made him spin around and he had stared into the dead eyes of something that he could only have described as a demon from hell.

With a long, hooked finger, the creature had beckoned to him. "Come here, little one. I want you for my own."

SECRET DELIGHTS

When worlds were young many things had been foretold, promises of upheaval and penance, trial and redemption. During that distant time a burning shadow had gradually spread across the face of every land like a crawling, insidious disease, generations falling deeper and deeper into the mire of decadence.

Then there had often been no name for the Wolf. Its presence was only felt, not seen, but its heart was in the earth and skies. No one could stand against it. The Beast was the unknown.

Now the destiny of all worlds had reached an impasse. There were things that had to be settled before an outcome could be decided. For better or for worse.

Dredger looked upon the evil in himself and sighed, lowering his weapon. "I see the truth," he murmured, appearing at that moment weary and old.

The one who faced him held forth its sword, the blade wavering very slightly, the eyes of that familiar and yet utterly alien face flickering like firelight. "And you understand?" it said softly.

"Yes," replied the warrior.

"Then there is no need for combat." It dropped the sword to its side and stepped closer to the warrior. "Listen to my words." The being who had been Geheimnis but now wore the features of Dredger himself began to change. It's form became transparent, almost as if its body were liquid, moving through many metamorphoses, mutating and rebuilding itself.

Only the garments that Geheimnis had worn still maintained the illusion of humanity. Dredger stood motionless and watched. "I am the legacy of old," the creature said, raising its arms upward, sword still in hand. "I am the messenger from places that have faded into the dreams of men. The laws that were broken must be made whole again and you are the one who must carry the burden. You will be the catalyst. When the sublime scheme began so long ago, the Beast was but a shadow. Now it stands tall and possesses flesh and bone. I am the last prophet. I have been the keeper and my task is complete. There are no questions that can be answered without loss, nothing of worth achieved without sacrifice. Behold, a Beast of another caste is born."

Dredger bowed his head. At last he knew what truly lay before him. If he could be more than just a man, more than mortal, the Wolf might yet be defeated. "I accept the burden," he said simply and with incredible speed and force he was engulfed by light, the creature's body exploding into a luminous shower that fell upon the warrior, fragments of silver fire barraging his head and torso. Within moments there was nothing to show that Geheimnis had ever been. All that remained was the sword, thrust upright from the earth, the tip embedded deep into the land. With one swift movement, Dredger grasped its hilt and tore it from the ground, holding it aloft.

"I am born!" he cried, the wind carrying his voice into the darkness.

Tom had dreamed he had been in conversation with a wolf who was a man, who was a wolf. But of course, that was quite impossible. He opened his eyes and saw Uncle Ira sitting on the end of his bed. "Hello Tom," the old man said, smiling warmly.

"Uncle Ira!" Tom cried out, "I'm home!"

Ira patted his leg. "That you are my boy."

Tom couldn't believe his eyes and pinched his arm hard. Feeling the sharp pain it educed, he laughed aloud as if it were the funniest thing he had ever known. "I am home!" he bellowed, jumping up from his bed.

"Now Tom, take it easy, take it easy" his Uncle urged gently.

"But I can't believe it, how did I get here!?" Tom exclaimed, laughing until tears streamed down his face.

"Let's go downstairs and then we can talk. Your Aunt has been waiting for you to wake up."

Tom managed to compose himself a little and grinned foolishly, relief and joy racing through his heart. "Aunt Emily! Where is she?" And then looking intensely at his Uncle he said, "I've missed you both so much."

Ira nodded, his craggy old face such a welcome sight. "And we've missed you too, Tom. But you're home now, so everything's all right."

Giving the man a long hug, Tom felt tears rolling down his cheeks. "Now let me say hello to Aunt Emily." Pulling away from Ira and running out of the room, he hurtled down the staircase, making for their cosy little sitting-room where he knew his Aunt would be waiting in her favourite chair, probably knitting.

As he entered the room he began to call out, but then he saw his Aunt and he knew at once that she was dead. Her eyes stared at him, glazed and sallow. They seemed to bulge, impossibly huge, from her face. Standing very still, he tried not to breath. He was certain that if he let out even one breath, someone, the someone who had killed his Aunt, would hear him.

She had been knitting he noticed, gazing at the corpse in dumb fascination. Two long, sharp needles protruded from her throat, the bloody points exiting at the nape of her neck. I wonder if it was going to be a jumper? he pondered as he tried very hard not to breath. Or a scarf? He giggled suddenly, the sound coming from somewhere deep within him.

Above his head, a floorboard creaked. Uncle Ira must be coming downstairs.

"Little boy," came a voice from the staircase, "little boy."

Slowly Tom turned away from his Aunt's body. For a long time he had not been able to tear his eyes from the needles that skewered her delicate throat, but now that he did, his head throbbed dully. This is real, his brain whispered maliciously. This is real!

It didn't sound very much like Uncle Ira up there and walking back to the doorway, Tom peered up at the poorly lit stairway, his heart beating painfully in his chest. No-one was there. The only thing that moved were the shadows on the wall, ever-changing. Like the Wolf, Tom thought vaguely and shook his head as if to clear his mind.

"Little boy," came the voice again, further up the staircase out of sight. "I'm coming for you. Do you hear me, little boy? I'm coming down to drink your blood."

Tom began to giggle hysterically. "There's nobody there," he told himself. "I'm just in shock."

"We can be friends," promised the voice, just a little closer now, the dark at the top of the stairs appearing to become more dense.

"Close friends," muttered Tom, losing control of his faculties, madness grasping hungrily at his mind.

"And in the end," said the guttural voice on the staircase, "you will give me your trust."

"My trust," echoed Tom, savouring the words.

"I'm coming for you now," the voice told him and the stairs groaned as something began to descend. Tom knew that it couldn't be Uncle Ira. Is he dead too? Whatever it was had to be very heavy to make the staircase complain like that, very heavy indeed.

Somewhere in the house he thought he heard someone crying.

If only things were different. But they weren't and they never would be.

Jack knew that he wouldn't be able to continue running for much longer. His heart was pounding and his lungs were ready to burst. He would have to hide.

The thing that was chasing him just never gave up. Two or three times he thought he had given it the slip, darting down one staircase and then up another, always finding himself back in another long corridor. But still it came on, its rasping voice calling after him. "Don't run. There's no need to be afraid."

But Jack was afraid. His fear was like a weight upon his chest, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him. Only his instinct for survival kept him going. He knew in his heart that the creature only had one thing in mind. And he didn't want to die.

He recalled as he ran when he had been quite young and he had wondered what it would be like to be dead. It was vivid in his memory because it had been just after his parents had been killed, and at the time he had found the idea of death impossible to comprehend. All he had known for sure as a four year old was that his Mummy and Daddy were gone. Gone forever. He didn't understand about road accidents, or drunk drivers, all he knew was that he was alone. His grandma had tried to explain it to him when he had asked her why they had to die and she had told him that death was an important part of God's plan. But why had God chosen his Mummy and Daddy? Why did it have to be them? Had they done something wrong? Something so bad that God had looked down from heaven and decided to punish them with death? Or was he the bad one? Maybe his parents had been taken away in order to teach him a lesson. Jack had become very confused in the months after their deaths. His only comfort had been his tears.

And now, he faced death himself. But he was not going to give up without a fight. His only chance was to hide in one of the rooms and hope the thing didn't find him. Though after what had happened with Tom, he was reluctant to even touch a door, let alone go inside. But what else could he do? It was only a matter of time before he was caught if he just kept on running.

The next door! His eyes scanned the doorways ahead and the glint of a golden doorknob caught his eye. Please be unlocked. He prayed that the key would be inside so that he could lock the door behind him.

Opening easily, he dodged inside, pushing it gently shut and gazing down at the lock he found that it held a small golden key waiting to be turned.

Thank you! With a tremendous sigh of relief, Jack locked the door and leaned heavily against the secure wooden barrier, breathing hard. "Safe," he gasped, almost afraid the creature would hear him and smash its way through, but outside everything was quiet. Maybe it's lost my scent. Maybe it went the wrong way.

For a brief moment a terrible idea surfaced in his mind. What if Tom and Mo were both dead? But he rejected it with bitter force. Everything would be all right. He would find them both and they would all get out of here together.

A faint sound snapped him away from his thoughts and back to reality.

It's outside the door. It's found me! Panic charged through him and he bit down on his lip to stop himself from screaming. But no, the sound wasn't coming from the other side of the door. It was coming from inside the room.

For the first time since entering Jack examined the interior, dimly noting the expensive decor. Everything about this chamber boasted vast wealth, the furnishings lavish and no doubt antique, all fashioned from the finest materials. Jack listened carefully and realised that the sound was very much like someone or something breathing.

The monster is in here with me! Sweat trickled down his face. Now he was sure his heart would cease to beat.

In the left-hand corner of the room a large four-poster bed, far more impressive than the one in the room he and Tom had been left in, stood imposingly, surrounded by richly embroidered drapes. Whoever or whatever was making the sound lay beyond them and he thought to himself that if Tom was dead, he didn't really care if he lived or died. So with this conviction at the back of his mind, Jack walked hesitantly toward the bed and as he drew nearer the breathing became louder, though not harsh as he knew the creature's would be, but gentle and calm. He touched the soft material, knowing that it was all that stood between himself and the unknown.

Fair or Foul? But there was only one way to find out.

Boldly, Jack pulled back the drapes that concealed the bed and looked inside.

It really was all just a dream he understood then, staring down at the figure upon the

bed and he looked on in awe as he watched the easy rise and fall of the girl's chest, her golden hair partially obscuring her face.

Tom's mind was beset by fragments of dreams. Reality and illusion had become the same for him. He was the sleeper who never slept, the dreamer who never dreamed.

I am not a hero, he thought oddly. I'm just a boy with no future who can never grow up.

Something stirred in his brain. What am I thinking? a small, insignificant voice asked.

The truth! his mind bellowed. Face what you are. Worthless. A pathetic child.

But when I grow up I want to do good things, help people. I could be...a doctor!

And what about the Wolf? the small voice said, very distant.

He's the friend of worlds, his mind assured him, but Tom was doubtful.

It's all there in black and white, argued a firm, resonate voice and Tom nodded, speaking aloud. "Yes, and Mo knows the answers."

His mind seemed to buzz with a queasy nausea.

He knows nothing.

Why is Uncle Ira coming down the stairs to kill me? Tom thought unhappily.

Because you deserve to die. You are a thief and thieves deserve nothing but death.

"I must wake up!" Tom screamed suddenly tearing at his hair, his mind in chaos.

He blinked his eyes and incredibly he was rushing forward at tremendous speed. Where am I? He looked ahead and saw a gigantic brick wall towering high above him. Tom sped toward it, his hair flying, air battering his face, but there was something wrong about the wall, its bricks appearing to pulsate, oozing with some vile liquid. Without awareness of how he knew, Tom understood that the monstrous wall was alive and sentient and as he rushed forward, he saw that it meant to consume him. He wanted to close his eyes but however hard he tried they remained wide open. His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat but still he hurtled onward until his vision was filled by the throbbing monstrosity, summoning him on and he was powerless to resist.

"Please God, let me wake up!" he screamed, tears slowly falling from his eyes.

Abruptly he found himself in a room, facing a large wooden desk. He was quite alone. A clock ticked methodically somewhere behind him.

Someone was here.

Then with cruel force everything came back to him, assaulting his mind. "Jack!" he said, his voice ringing in the silence.

Throwing open the door, he ran out into the hallway and as he did he thought that he saw something turning the corner into the corridor to his left, though the lighting was muted and cast many shadows and he couldn't be sure it wasn't just his eyes playing tricks on him. And yet, all the same, it had appeared to be something moving low to the ground, and what was more he had thought, in that brief moment, that he had seen a flash of white against the darkness of the house.

As he walked through the streets of Hydan, something that had lain dormant within Dredger was awakening.

During his trial with Geheimnis he had learnt many things. The Second Beast he knew now was within himself, a part of all Mankind. The inner beast. He began to understand.

He glanced about at the desolate, broken city, shutters on windows clattering, moved by the fierce wind, dust swirling and dancing about him as he moved through the bones of what was once a magnificent place. And like the wind, something deep inside him whispered low, trying to communicate some secret, some distant warning.

A chuckle from behind him made Dredger spin around, his agility and speed startling even in this small manoeuvre. Once more he faced his dream.

The crooked one, enshrouded by a hooded cloak, regarded him, perhaps twenty yards distant. About its waist hung a belt and holsters, ebony handled pistols snugly held there. He could not see the fiend's face, but then, he did not need to.

"From dreams come realities," it hissed, strangely distinct above the dust-storm and Dredger looked closely at the one who faced him, noting that the creature stood tall in

high black boots, despite its stoop. "I see you are confused," mocked the thing, but the warrior did not reply. He only watched intently, awaiting the time to move and strike. "There is only one Beast," it said and cackled, silver, reptilian eyes glinting from within the blackness of its hood.

"What is it you want of me?" Dredger said, taking two steps forward and the other's sibilant laughter met his words.

"Your life, of course. And your soul."

Dredger smiled thinly. "So who is the Second Beast?"

The creature's eyes narrowed and it spat a brown, viscous liquid into the dust. "A tall tale to snare a gullible fool. I have already told you, warrior, there is but one Beast. And it is as white as snow. We two, executioner and victim, are but pawns in a greater game, a timeless game that draws near its conclusion." A misshapen, bony hand emerged from beneath its cloak and long fingers twitched above one of the pistols.

"I suspect I know more of the truth than you," called the warrior, taunting the thing and taking another step forward.

His enemy hissed violently. "You are dead and buried. Your pathetic blade is useless. I will shoot you down before you have even raised it against me."

Dredger took one more step and then stopped. He smiled. "Only one Beast," he said, as if to himself. "So you are nothing more than a minion, a lap-dog. And you dare to face me!" The creature gave a low chuckle, though the sound lacked the mocking tone of a moment before. "Draw!" the warrior taunted, nodding toward the gun at its hip. "Let's see how fast you really are."

Beneath its hooded shroud, the demon's eyes became glazed with uncertainty and in that instant, as if sensing the other's weakness, Dredger drew a sword from his belt, the blade that he had taken in the aftermath of Geheimnis' transformation. He had made many mistakes, he understood, many wrong turns on his long journey to this moment. He had presumed that his dream of prophecy had shown the Second Beast, that the hooded thing before him was the one it spoke of, but now he knew that he had misinterpreted his dream. Indeed, it had revealed the face of the Second Beast, but that face had been his own.

There were two Beast's in these lands now. One was white death. The other lay within Mankind itself.

The thing reached for its pistol, long, claw-like fingers aching for its cold touch.

Dredger's hurled the blade with all his strength, his body a blur of motion, the sword like an arrow, aimed straight at his opponent's heart and the creature could only brush the handle of the gun with its fingertips as it watched death approach. The hood fell back, uncovering its hideous face and the warrior grinned viciously at the sight. No, this time it was not his own countenance, merely the deformed face of a pathetic freak in the service of the Wolf.

As the tip of the blade met its target the thing was thrown backward, its crippled body torn apart by the force of the impact and it lay motionless on the dust-ridden earth of Hydan, dead, its features contorted in an expression of utter shock.

Coming to stand over his victim, Dredger took the sword by the hilt and wrested it from the corpse, holding it aloft, wielding it above his head. "Now Wolf, the time has come." He clenched his fist tightly about the haft of the weapon. "It is I who will come for you. You will yet have reason to fear the beast in Man."

Returning the sword to its place at his side, Dredger turned and walked back through the lost city, now reclaimed. Ruined buildings stood in remembrance of a long forgotten time, but still endured to witness the dawn of a new age.

When he again stood on the hilltop and looked out over the Land of Scars, the warrior saw that where once the earth had been torn, it now lay unblemished, whole again.

"I come," he whispered, the wind dying abruptly, until only a gentle breeze touched his face.

Then from out of the sky something fell, hitting the earth close to him and he looked down to see the broken body of a small white bird. Smiling, his eyes changing in an instant from blue to yellow and then to blue again, Dredger brought his boot down hard onto the dove's tiny carcass, crushing it beneath his heel.

Hunched low and still, the badger sat watching the men and women as they laughed and danced, indulging themselves in their revelry. Their masks gave them a ghoulish appearance, which Mo imagined might frighten young children. But not Tom and Jack. They were of a different breed.

They were both safe for the moment he knew, but somewhere lurking, sneaking like the foul beast that it was, the Wolf was near. The badger was not afraid however, at least, not for himself. He feared for the victims to come. How many would there be? Millions? Billions? A toll beyond measure. Whilst the journey continued, the price must be paid.

Mo looked far into the reaches of his own mind and saw a man who held a sword aloft. Their dreadful tale had taken another turn toward its conclusion and each had a role to play.

Although he had told the boys that time was only a manmade thing and did not exist in this world, still there was fundamental time that could not be gauged, but commanded their existences all the same.

He had found his friend Henry shortly before, in a room on the far side of the west wing. It had not taken him long to sniff out the scent. Rotting flesh was a most potent stench after all. The man had of course been tortured. What he might have told was impossible to say, and sadly, of no real consequence. His friend's death was just another detestable crime. Another sin. In Mo's mind he saw vividly an image of the Wolf's face, fury and madness playing across it as if they were living things.

Sniffing the air and wrinkling his nose, the badger ground his teeth. Tom would soon be called upon to make some difficult choices. And as for Jack, poor Jack, his trials were only just beginning. The odyssey twisted like a serpent, unpredictable. Only one thing was certain. Many hearts and spirits would be broken before the end.

For his own part, sadness and pain would not be too high a price to pay to see the finish of it all. For he was indeed old and very tired.

Mo understood one of the great truths. You can only ever really learn what you already knew when you began, concealed from yourself by a closed mind, fearful of the unknown and the changes it must surely bring about when rediscovered.

He slipped away silently along the hallway, his bulk hidden in the shadows and after just a few minutes, he came upon an ancient door of burnished wood that stood ajar and the badger entered without hesitation. Soon the celebrations would begin in earnest with the hunt itself as the finale.

The room was almost bare save for some storage boxes and a single chair, ornately carved and embellished with precious metals. As Mo walked toward it, the heavy body of the animal began to change, the skin and fur rippling as the flesh itself transformed into something quite different. When he came to sit upon the chair, settling himself against its high back, the badger was no more. A man, neither old nor youthful, now resided there,

his features thoughtful as he waged a hard battle with the doubts that plagued him. His silver-grey hair was long and tied with a bow behind his head. And for his garments he wore battle-dress. And by his side, a curved sword hung.

THE HUNT BEGINS

He would have liked to have kissed her. Just once, full on the lips.

Strange emotions and desires stirred involuntarily but powerfully within him. And he would have done it too, if she had not awoken.

Her beautiful eyes regarded him oddly, full and bright and Jack felt hypnotised. "Hello," she said sitting up quickly, as if a little unsure.

"Eh, hello," Jack replied, keeping his voice as even as he could.

"Should you be in here?" she enquired with just a hint of suspicion, although she seemed less apprehensive now she had heard him speak.

"Well," began Jack, stumbling over his words, "well, you see, I didn't mean to, but, well, I'm a guest here you see, that is, I'm here for the Ball!" He fiddled with one of the drapes around the bed nervously.

The girl's blue eyes narrowed slightly and she gazed at him for several moments, as if she were deciding something. "I see," she said finally, "perhaps we should introduce ourselves then." With this she got up from the bed and faced him. "My name is Lisa Begierde and I'm very pleased to meet you."

Jack eyed her sceptically. He already knew this name from Tom's account of his ordeal in the caves of Rith-ran-ro-en, and he wasn't really sure of the best way to proceed. "So, you're Tom's friend," he said almost in a whisper.

Lisa smiled brightly. "Do you know Tom?"

Jack grunted. "Of course I know him. He's my best friend." He paused for a moment and then added rather reluctantly. "My name's Jack by the way."

At this, the girl chewed her lip absently as if uncertain once more. Jack watched her very closely, her large eyes like shining pools of blue light. "Is Tom here too?"

"Well," Jack started awkwardly, his ability to string sentences together in the presence of this girl greatly impaired. "He is, yes, somewhere, but I don't know what's happened to him. We got, sort of, separated. And now I can't find him." For a few difficult seconds he considered telling her everything that had happened since they came to the house, but then quickly dismissed the idea. He didn't understand why, but this girl put him on edge somehow. "What are you doing here anyway?" he questioned, deciding he should find out how much she knew of what was going on, and why she was alone in a house full of people in wolf masks!

Lisa smiled as sweetly as could be. "I didn't feel very well," she explained, "so I came to lay down for a while. I'm feeling much better now though."

Jack shook his head slowly, confused. "Are you a guest here then?"

"Yes, I was invited to the Ball, just like you."

"But don't you know what's going on here?" Jack blurted, his eyes wide.

Lisa stared at him blankly. "What do you mean?"

Jack sighed. According to Tom this girl had saved him in the caves and he seemed to think highly of her, but could she be trusted? Or was it all just another trick? "Listen," he said at length, trying to make the best of a bad situation. "I've got to find Tom and someone else who's missing, another friend of ours. Will you help me?"

With a full, open smile, Lisa nodded enthusiastically. "Of course I will. It'll be just like hide and seek!"

"That's right," agreed Jack, becoming irritated, "but you'd better just watch out who you find!" He walked over to the doorway and listened closely, still afraid that the thing that had chased him might be lurking somewhere outside. "Are you sure you haven't seen, well, anything unusual?" he asked, glancing back.

"Nothing that shouldn't be here," she told him with a casual air.

The house was like a maze. I might never get out of here, Tom decided, tired and dejected. He was making his way downward as best he could, although stairs leading either up or down were difficult to locate. He had just descended a flight of steps, but he had no idea of how many floors the house might have. Also, his memory concerning the layout of the place was very hazy and he couldn't even recall if they had climbed any stairs at all when he and Jack had been taken to their room.

Wearily, he turned another corner and there in front of him, after what seemed like hours of aimless wandering, was something that looked very much like an elevator, the numerals one to six displayed above two large metallic doors. Almost without thinking, he pressed a rounded black button on the wall and waited.

What if, when it stops, someone's inside?

A humming noise from above made him squirm with indecision. If someone was inside, could he possibly bluff his way through? After all, he was supposed to be a guest. But hadn't all of the other so-called guests been wearing the mask of a wolf? No, they were all in it together and if he was caught they wouldn't let him go.

But the Wolf let me go. Why?

Had he really faced the White Wolf and escaped? Nothing seemed to make any sense.

With a soft thud, the elevator came to a halt and with a low hiss, the doors slid open to reveal an empty compartment.

And what if someone had been inside? he asked himself again. I could always have run! But the truth was he had lost control of the situation and he couldn't allow that to happen again. He might not be so lucky next time.

Stepping inside quickly, he scanned the buttons to the right of the doors and pressed the one marked G. He hoped it stood for Ground floor, but in this world nothing was ever as it seemed. The automatic doors shut and he began a slow descent, a tingling sensation passing through his body. More quickly than he expected the elevator came to a dead stop and he stepped out into a large foyer which to his relief was quite deserted. I'm really pushing my luck he told himself ruefully, but his position left him with almost no alternative. A forlorn hopelessness tormented him, the knowledge that both Mo and Jack could be absolutely anywhere in the enormous house making his erratic search to find them seem almost pointless.

He hesitated before electing to go to his right, neither direction revealing anything to favour one above the other. Is the Wolf still here? he found himself wondering. Tom knew that the Beast was quite merciless and that it would do anything to win. But what was the game?

Moving as swiftly and as quietly as he could, he turned a corner into another hallway, although this one was much shorter and wider than the others he had encountered, velvet cushioned chairs lined along both walls. Distantly there was the sound of many voices and Tom realised he must be close to the great hall he had seen with Jack. He went on more slowly and as he came to the end of the passage, he tentatively poked his head around the corner and saw to his left a massive archway only a few yards further on, protected by two vast white doors. To his right there was a smaller doorway which was slightly ajar.

From the commotion that came from beyond the huge entrance, this was definitely the location of the Huntsmen's Ball and standing in front of it, as if on guard, was a very tall man, his ebony skin highlighting large blue eyes. Tom withdrew his head sharply, fearful of being seen. But really, whatever he did he was likely to be discovered, either by someone approaching from behind or by someone coming through the door to his right. He shot another quick look at the man and noted his peculiar clothing; long white socks up to his knees with green pantaloons, a richly embroidered blue waistcoat and most striking of all, a white wig like judges might where upon their heads. Before the man was a small wooden table on top of which was a neatly stacked pile of objects, but Tom couldn't tell what they were.

As he stood there debating his next move, two figures emerged from the smaller doorway and squatting down quickly, Tom watched them pass directly in front of him, but their eyes appeared to be set straight ahead, so he went unnoticed.

It was an elderly man and a boy, perhaps a year or so older than himself, and he peeked around the corner to watch them come to a halt before the tall man at the door, who bowed before handing them both an object from the table. Tom watched with fascination as both the man and boy placed what they had been given over their faces and tied a cord behind their heads.

So that's what they are. Wolf masks!

Bowing once more, the tall man then took hold of two large golden handles and pulled the doors open, momentarily releasing the tremendous buzz of the congregation within. The hallway seemed to become full of light, flashing and dancing across the walls and Tom had to blink as the doors were closed again, the new guests eagerly received.

For a few long moments he deliberated, wondering what he should do. But again he soon came to realise that he had few options.

So with his heart beating very fast and giving himself no chance to change his mind, Tom casually stepped out into the open, in full view of the guardian of the doorway.

Are all girls as slow as this?

Jack marched briskly along a dim hallway with Lisa dawdling along behind. He was beginning to wish he had left her where he had found her. Briefly, he recalled his first glimpse of her, sleeping peacefully on the bed, her beautiful face serene and beguiling. It would have been nice to have kissed her. Jack shook his head and increased his speed. "Come on," he called gruffly over his shoulder, not bothering to look back.

Lisa had to almost trot to keep up. "Don't worry," she said, a little out of breath, "I'm still with you."

"I wish you wasn't," muttered Jack, not really understanding why he was so annoyed with her.

They made their way along yet another corridor, Jack striding purposefully, trying to appear calm and in control, though really, in his heart, he was both lost and very afraid.

I'm never going to find them. I don't even know where to start looking.

"Jack," Lisa said at his side now and he stopped, turning impatiently toward her, his face flushed, his frustration obvious. "Where are we going?" She spoke very softly, her eyes showing concern.

"I'm looking for Tom, I already told you that!" Jack said, more angrily than he had intended. He looked at her for a moment and turned away. "What did you think I was doing?"

Lisa touched her lip with a finger. "Where do you think he is then?"

Jack became angrier still, a hot sweat breaking out over his body. "How should I know?" he said shortly, "if I knew that, I wouldn't be looking for him, would I?"

Lisa smiled good-naturedly. "Well, I think I know where he might be."

Jack gave her a sharp glance. "Oh," he uttered caustically, "well, that's all right then, isn't it?"

Whether the girl recognised the sarcasm in his voice he couldn't say, for she showed no sign, one way or the other. Suddenly, taking his hand in hers, the contact sending a peculiar sensation running through him, Lisa began to lead him back the way they had come.

"What are you doing?" he objected.

"If I were playing hide-and-seek, I know where I would hide."

With a tired sigh Jack allowed her to pull him along, his hand snugly in hers, the softness of her skin against his making him feel suddenly timid. He could have argued with her, but then, what was the point? He had no idea where to look or what to do. Going with her couldn't do any harm, and a part of him, a new, alien part of his being, told him with absolute authority that he was entirely content to go wherever she led, as long as his hand was in hers. "Where are we going anyway?" he questioned without any real conviction.

Lisa squeezed his hand and smiled. "Deep into the heart of dreams," she whispered gently.

Jack said no more. It didn't really seem to matter.

They came to a staircase that wound deep into the house and just for a second, he wondered if this was such a good idea, the notion passing like smoke across his mind.

Lisa's grip tightened and then she was leading him down, to where he supposed Tom hid from them, all part of the game.

Impassive eyes were upon him. Trying to appear both formal and yet friendly, Tom walked toward the dark skinned man and as he did, his composure slowly began to desert him. He felt absolutely positive that the man knew full well who he was, that at any moment those massive hands would reach out and grab him. And then it would all be over. No more subterfuge. No more Tom.

But surely if the Wolf had wanted him dead, it would have already done that itself when Tom had been at its mercy. No, the Beast had other plans for him.

He faced the towering figure of the man, his palms sweaty. The urge to turn and run was becoming too powerful to ignore, anything to escape the man's forbidding stare. But to run, he knew, would be to admit his fear and that he would not do, for his friend's lives might depend on him now. So boldly, he took a step forward and nodded, hoping he gave an impression of confident assurance.

With an abrupt movement that made Tom start, the man reached for a mask and held it out toward him, and plucking it from the outstretched palm, he quickly fastened it in place.

Silently, the guardian opened the great doors and Tom walked inside, now just one more wolf amongst many.

Somewhere, prowling through the house, a lithe, hunched figure searched for its prey. The boy had, temporarily, managed to elude the creature. But I'll find you. It's only a matter of time.

It stalked along a dingy hallway, long fingernails brushing against the carpet. Its arms hung low to the ground like those of an ape, but its face was that of a demon born of nightmare, an elongated tongue, forked and as black as coal, flicking in and out as it moved.

Its nostrils flared and once more it caught the boy's scent, so delicious and stimulating and it quickened its pace, creeping stealthily onward, anticipation burning within its squat, leathery frame. "I'll have you," it hissed, smirking.

The spoor of its quarry led it on. Foolish children must learn hard lessons.

Imagining what was to come, the creature's body convulsed with pleasure. It hardly

mattered that another, different scent, had now allied itself to the one it pursued. What had to be done, would be done.

A question formed in his mind and he wanted to voice it, but messages from his head to his body were no longer being relayed, his thoughts held prisoner.

What am I doing?

The answer came easily enough. I'm trying to find Tom and Mo.

Was this another dream?

Lisa led him along a hallway, the walls decorated with oval portraits of sickly looking children, their pallor reminding him morbidly of corpses. Coming upon a large metallic door, the girl took the handle firmly in her free hand and opened it. "This is the place," she told him as they went inside, closing the door behind them.

It was a storage-room of some kind, but other than a wine rack containing a few bottles, the only object within was a large mechanical apparatus that Jack guessed was some form of generator.

"What is that?" he mumbled, finding his voice at last, though it was barely above a whisper.

Lisa glanced at the machine without any real interest. "It powers everything in the house."

Jack looked the generator over and although he could not place why, felt that something about it was wrong. It just didn't look right, not that he was any authority on such machinery, but there was something. His eyes settled on a dial that measured the voltage and he saw that at its greatest, its output was 50,000 volts.

"It seems very new," he said vaguely, shining metal reflecting his drawn face back at him. I look terrible he thought and smiled weakly. "Why would Tom be down here anyway?" he asked Lisa, not wanting to look at himself any longer, the image unsettling him somehow.

She looked around the room, almost as if she expected Tom to pop out of hiding at any moment. "I was sure he would be down here," she said with disappointment.

A scratching noise from the other side of the metal door caught Jack's attention and he pulled away from Lisa, listening carefully.

The sound at the door stopped and he glanced at the girl rather uneasily. "Did you hear that?" he questioned, gesturing toward the door.

Tilting her head to one side, she shook her head. "I can't hear anything."

Slowly, Jack edged toward the doorway and placed his ear against the cool metal. There was no sound, only his own breathing. Could he be imagining things? He supposed this would not be so unlikely, considering all that had happened.

Turning back to Lisa he was about to suggest they searched somewhere else, but to his utter amazement, she was no longer there. He spun around, looking frantically around the room, but there was nowhere she could have gone to. There was only one exit and there was nowhere to hide.

Glancing over at the generator, Jack checked to make certain that Lisa was not hiding behind it somehow, but the machine was flush against two walls, securely fixed in the corner of the room.

"I don't believe this!" he said aloud, still scanning every inch of the room. He went over to the wine rack and fiddled with a few of the bottles. Maybe there's a secret passage. It wouldn't surprise me in a place like this. Tugging at the wooden rack, just in case there was a hidden door behind it, Jack discovered that it too was fixed in place. He shook his head in dismay. Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm the one who's mad!

At the door, the scratching began again and without thinking, frustration and bewilderment clouding his mind, Jack marched over and flung it open.

"Found you," grinned the hunched creature, squatting just outside the doorway. Jack stumbled backward, absolute terror registering on his face. "You've led me a merry chase, boy," it breathed, gurgling slightly. "But now I have you."

If I shut my eyes, it will go away.

"Time to die," snarled the thing and it seemed to shiver with delight.

Turning to run, Jack realised too late that he was caught in a perfect trap. In the shadows of the doorway the creature came and stood, its long, sinuous arms dangling to the ground, fingers working, its black eyes fixed on the boy. "Dwell on this, boy, as you await your death," it rasped, leering madly. "You are the last. Your friends are gone, flesh for the master's throne. Now, you will join them."

Stinging tears crept helplessly down Jack's face. "No," he whispered.

And then with lightning speed, the demon came at him, saliva dripping from its jagged fangs, greed in its soulless eyes.

Immense columns of marble and magnificent chandeliers dominated the great hall and as Tom walked among the gathering, he marvelled at the huge tapestries that hung on several of the walls, scenes from the hunt depicted there in loving detail. Bloodthirsty bunch! Tom thought wryly, but the truth was that he was absolutely petrified, the fear of being discovered suffocating in its intensity. He was relieved to see that not all of the guests wore the attire of the hunt, some more casually dressed and he prayed that he would blend in and not seem too conspicuous.

As he moved amongst them, he passed by small groups huddled together in conversation or sipping drinks, whilst others danced to music played by a string quintet. He didn't seem to be attracting any undue attention and this at least helped him to relax just a little.

On the far side of the hall, someone clapped their hands together and the music ceased. The dancers stopped and drew apart and Tom saw the small man they had met at the gateway step forward onto a small stage, everyone seeming to regard him expectantly. "It draws near the time," he proclaimed, his voice raised so that all could hear. "The time to bless our Master. And even though he cannot be here with us, his spirit prevails." There was rapturous applause which Tom quickly joined in with. "As light approaches, we prepare for The Hunt!" At this there was enthusiastic cheering and more clapping and waving his hand to quiet them, the speaker continued. "As you are all aware, we have with us some very special guests." An excited buzz went through the crowd and Tom began to fidget nervously, but no-one appeared to look his way. "It is as the Master said it would be," smiled the man on the stage, "and very soon we shall have our reward." He raised a glass. "Let us toast our Lord! Praise be to the master of dreams, praise be to the Wolf who is white!"

All there lifted a glass and repeated these last words with a passionate fervour and Tom realised with an unpleasant lurch of his stomach that apparently he was the only one who didn't have a glass.

The small man beamed benevolently at his audience. "We hunt in the name of our Master. Bring back the flesh and bone of the hunted for his sake. And he shall give you eternal delight!"

A great cheer rose up from all those assembled, like the baying of wild animals and a feeling of horror almost overwhelmed Tom, an urgent desire to run from that place there and then screaming to be obeyed, for their cries were barbaric, as brutal as the beasts they resembled.

"Now ready yourself for the Hunt, my dear friends," called their spokesman joyously. "There is a game to be played and the prey is ready to run. Look closely and root out the fox amongst the hounds! Send him on his way." The man pointed a stubby finger and Tom instinctively knew that it was he who had been singled out, even before every mask turned in his direction, their hungry eyes upon him.

He ran, pushing his way past one body after another, racing desperately on toward the beckoning doorway, but in his heart he knew that he was lost.

Yet no-one stood in his way and coming to the great doors, they opened for him as if they had awaited his departure and out through them Tom bolted, passing the tall doorman who only watched his flight silently, unmoving. With legs pumping and heart pounding furiously, all Tom longed for was to be out of that terrible, depraved house, to be free again and as if to answer his wishes, ahead of him he saw another open door and beyond it benign daylight. Into a new day he flew and he did not look back.

In the crowded ballroom, the small man raised his glass once more and laughed fiercely. "Praise be, for The Hunt begins at last!"

And all there cried aloud with a deafening roar. "Praise be!"

THE BLACK TREE

An intense fury unlike anything Jack had ever experienced before engulfed him, and in that instant he feared nothing and no-one.

The foul creature threw itself upon him, its deadly nails tearing at his chest. But Jack was ready for it and turning his body suddenly, he smashed his shoulder hard into the monster's head and neck, knocking it backward and swivelling quickly around, he kicked out at its flaccid underbelly, the solid contact invoking a screech of agony.

With savage joy, Jack grinned. "How do you like it!" he screamed above the writhing figure, kicking at it again, but this time the thing anticipated his blow and squirmed away.

"Little boy plays rough," it hissed, eyeing him darkly from the floor.

"That's right," Jack sneered, "so why don't you come and get some more!" His whole body shook, not with fear but with anger and bitterness.

It came at him again, faster than he had expected, catching his shoulder with its long nails and gashing him quite badly. Distantly it seemed he could feel the warm, clinging flow of his blood ebbing out against his shirt and his mind began to spin backward, pictures of Tom and the great times they had shared together flashing through his head. All gone now he told himself, an unwanted coldness creeping into his heart.

Moving with a frantic speed, amazing both himself and the thing, Jack feinted to his opponents left and then kicked out with ferocious strength, hitting the creature on its right side, ribs buckling beneath the force of his boot. An appalling howl erupted from the thing's mouth, its long black tongue dancing wildly in and out of its mouth as it struggled for breath. But Jack didn't care, he just went on kicking.

It scurried away from him, a last futile effort to save itself, but Jack rushed at it, bringing his boot down hard on the demon's throat. With a horrible gurgling sound, it began to convulse at his feet, clutching at the boy's leg. Jack shook it off and clapped his hands, laughing wildly. "See, you're not such a big monster. You're not so tough." Tears were welling up in his eyes, tears he could not hold back and he sobbed aloud as he watched the thing shudder and roll over onto its side. "You shouldn't have hurt Tom," Jack said softly. His fury had abruptly deserted him.

The creature's murky eyes rolled in their sockets to find him. "Why...why did you do this?" it pleaded in a forlorn whisper.

"I...," Jack said through his tears. "I couldn't help it."

"But I don't want to die," it murmured, eyelids flickering shut before opening slowly again.

Jack got down onto his knees, grief and despair overcoming him suddenly and timidly he placed a hand on its misshapen arm. "You didn't give me any choice."

But the creature lay silent and still.

Murderer.

He slowly withdrew, clenching his hands into fists until his fingers hurt. He felt utterly empty inside, an awful weariness falling upon him.

An eye for an eye won't bring them back, said a voice from within.

"Forgive me," he begged in the callous silence, "please forgive me."

But it was too late. The deed was done and he was all alone.

You might just as well kill yourself too, a grim voice advised him from, it seemed, within his very soul.

"What's the point in going on?" wept Jack, his grief more than he could bear.

But no answer came. Even the inner voice had abandoned him.

"I might just as well be dead," he decided with finality and he stopped crying, wiping his smeared cheeks with both hands. His tears were ended, and so too was his life he realised. Looking over at the generator, Jack knew what he had to do. Words like vengeance and justice rushed through his broken mind, crushing any last fragment of reason he had and with bleak resolve he went to the machine.

No more tears he instructed his heart. Tears were for children and he did not feel like a child anymore. His childhood was over, a fading memory of something long ago.

A few clouds were the only intruders in the dazzling blue sky, transient ships carried on the wind, their sails billowing.

Tom had somehow managed to escape from the house, discovering beyond an extended garden of flowers a small gateway in the outer wall that was thankfully unlocked, leading him out into the freedom of the surrounding meadows and woodland. He ran on toward a copse of dense trees, anxious to find cover and once beneath them, he slowed a little, his mind in turmoil.

What about Jack? And Mo?

He came to a breathless halt beside the thick trunk of an old tree and rested against it. They let me escape. The more he thought about it the more certain he became. He had been allowed to run from the house. But why?

There's no hunt without a chase.

He faltered, unsure of what to do. Jack could be dead, a callous voice whispered in his head but he refused to listen, striking the bark with the palm of his hand.

In some heavy undergrowth just to his left a sound disturbed him and he crouched down, eyeing the vegetation warily. "Is someone there?" he spoke quietly, afraid that an enemy might have found him already. His words met with silence. "I know someone's there," he said in a louder voice, peering into the leaves and branches.

A small chuckle from bushes to his right made him spin quickly around, but whatever was watching him was well hidden and he saw nothing.

"Stop playing games," Tom said angrily.

"Who are you, foolish boy?" a deep voice abruptly boomed out from somewhere behind him and Tom almost fell over trying to turn around, but all he saw was more foliage.

"Why don't you show yourself?" he demanded, although he was very afraid now. There was the sound of gentle laughter and Tom wondered if this was some cruel, taunting part of the hunt.

"What might be your name, boy?" enquired the voice, somewhere to his left.

"My name's Tom, but I'm sure you already know that," he countered, turning in a slow circle, trying to pin-point where the voice was coming from.

"Ah," was the only comment, a murmur of breath among the leaves.

"Who are you?" Tom asked, not really expecting an answer, but after a short pause the disembodied voice spoke again.

"I am called Elrin Jinn and you'll be needing my help very soon."

Tom didn't know how to proceed. Surely this was just another deception. "Why should I trust you?"

"If I were you, master, I would trust no-one," came the quick response, "but it may go some way toward reassuring you if I say that we have a mutual friend. One who goes by the name of Mo."

Hearing the badger's name, Tom so much wanted to believe that he had found an ally out here in the middle of nowhere, but he wasn't stupid or gullible and he knew full well that any one of the Wolf's minions could have knowledge of Mo, at least enough to make a pretence of friendship. "Why don't you come out into the open?" he said, watching the undergrowth carefully and even before he finished speaking, the leaves of a small bush in front of him began to rustle and as Tom looked on with widening eyes, an extraordinary thing happened.

A man appeared. And yet this was no ordinary man.

No bigger than Tom's hand, he wore tightly fitting garments all coloured emerald green, his eyes a vivid blue, sharp with intelligence and cunning. The tiny figure bowed cordially and Tom merely stared down dumbly at him, shaking his head.

"The redcoats are coming," the little man announced, his manner relaxed and in the distance, Tom heard the ominous clamour of baying hounds, coming closer with every second. "Shall we go?" Elrin Jinn queried and Tom hesitated, the sight of the man throwing him further off balance. "Do you want to die?" Jinn barked at him, but still Tom did not move.

"Can you help me?" Tom managed, wanting to believe that he could.

"Follow me."

Tom gave a feeble smile. "I'd lose you before we had even gone ten feet."

The man chuckled, clearly amused. "Perhaps I can remedy that."

Glancing once to his left and then to his right, the diminutive figure began to shake, at first as if he were merely cold and trembling for warmth, but then more violently, almost as if he were having a seizure of some kind. Tom looked on, utterly speechless. He had seen a great many bizarre things since finding himself in this world, but this was by far the strangest. Right there before his eyes the little man had started to grow, slowly to begin with but then with increasing speed as his entire form changed. The process became a blur, his body growing larger and larger, rising up above Tom until the boy had to tilt his neck backward to see the man's face and within a matter of seconds, a figure of well above six feet stood before him.

Elrin Jinn loomed over Tom and held out his hand with a flourish, demanding attention. "Do you think you'll be able to see me now?" he queried with a wry smile and the boy just nodded by way of reply, unable to say anything. "Let us move on then," prompted the man, "for the hunters are abroad and they are wanting your blood."

Beneath a great sycamore tree, a woman dressed all in white, her long dark hair brushed by a light wind, stood waiting. Memories, distant, played through her mind, times that had been, times that would come. The woman laughed, the sound musical yet strident, her eyes cold.

The clamour of many people approached her place of refuge, excitement and impatience in their voices as they came across the greensward and massing around her, a silence fell among them as they waited expectantly for the woman to speak.

"Come one, come all," she welcomed them, "the chase is on and the prey is quick."

A murmur went through the gathering, every face turned toward her. All were dressed in

red tunics, some leading horses, while others held large hounds on a short leash, the powerful dogs pulling hard to be set free, eager to sniff out their quarry. At the head of the group, the tall guardian of the doors whom Tom had encountered watched the woman intently, his gleaming white teeth forming an exultant smile.

"Ready yourselves," she instructed them, pointing across the fields, "and make it a fine hunt."

The crowd roared their approval and raising his hand aloft, the tall man paused, looking to the woman, awaiting her sign.

She smiled, a salacious longing in her eyes that appeared obscene on such a beautiful face and the man brought his hand down abruptly setting the hounds loose, their muscular legs pushing violently into the earth as they bounded away into the fields.

The woman eyed the man with a strange mixture of tenderness and contempt. "Go, Jagaren, join them."

With astonishing grace and speed the tall man made off after them, his long limbs carrying him over the uneven terrain as if he were gliding, and as swift as the dogs were he was soon beside them, running with the pack.

When he was gone, the others mounted their horses and looked to the woman, savage anticipation contorting their features. She did not keep them waiting for long, the slightest nod of her head sending them on their way, the horses crashing off along a muddy track, on toward the forest beyond, their hoofs thundering, a horn blown to herald their coming.

The woman in white stood alone, the sounds of the hunters dying quickly and all was as it

had been, tranquil, her white robe appearing to gleam as if she were a living torch, a sentinel beneath the tree.

Jack sat slumped against a wall. He was finished with remorse. There was nothing left inside him, not now that Tom and Mo were dead. He had tried to understand his feelings, but an awful, black shadow seemed to move through him, impalpable and yet malignant.

Maybe the creature had lied he had considered, while he still clung on to hope, trying to find a way to believe that it might be so. But the thing had intended to kill him and why would it have lied to him when it thought he was about to die? He remembered with alarming clarity the moment when the door had shut on Tom, trapping his friend within. What had been in there waiting for him? Jack didn't want to think about it anymore.

So it was, that in his grief and anger, he had done the terrible thing that was about to destroy the house and all of the evil that dwelt within it. Close by, the generator had begun to throb with power, now building upon itself, rising and multiplying and Jack knew what soon must happen. Even though he had no knowledge of such machines, it had not taken a genius to read the word DANGER written on a small meter that showed numerals that ascended higher and higher until they reached a zone marked in red. It had also not been too difficult to turn every dial he could find to its maximum point causing the needle to begin to move slowly but steadily up toward that red area. Jack welcomed the coming destruction, longing for an end to what he had come to believe was a pitiful existence.

"I hope the whole damned house goes up," he said sourly and of course, he knew that he would be the first to die. He found that he really didn't care about anything now. He didn't even care about the other people in the house. They deserve to die.

"They deserve to die!" he screamed aloud, his voice echoing futilely from the grey brick walls. "They're all murderers...just like me."

Beside him the generator had begun to gently shake, a humming sound growing persistently louder. Jack grinned, his face a mask of weary disgust. "I'm going out with a bang," he mumbled and he began to laugh quietly, fresh tears forming in his eyes. Electricity seemed to be running through his body. He could feel it in the air, crackling, throbbing toward the brink of annihilation.

But what about the girl? his brain suddenly demanded of him, a pocket of reason amid his utter despair.

"What girl?" he asked himself, disoriented, rubbing at his temples with a trembling hand.

Lisa.

Jack opened his mouth silently in dismay as he remembered that Lisa was somewhere inside the house. He had forgotten all about her. "She's one of them!" he shouted at the top of his voice.

But she saved Tom.

He glanced at the machine and saw that the tiny needle of death had touched the red and was continuing to rise. "It's too late," he whispered, looking around blindly. "Too late."

Glancing distractedly at the creature he had killed, he studied its broken, lifeless carcass. I'll be joining you soon, he thought and covered his face with his hands, not able to bear looking at the corpse any longer.

"I'm going to be a mass murderer now," he told himself calmly, although he grimaced as he spoke. The innocent and the guilty. "There's nothing I can do," he called out, guilt and despair piercing his heart.

The door to the room crashed open and a figure beckoned urgently to him. "Quickly," said a man's voice, "now whilst there is still time!"

And Jack went, willingly, crawling away from the machine that was about to rip itself apart, his blurry eyes trying to see who was leading him away from death, but all he saw was the glint of a silver sword hung at the man's side. He felt numb, the fact that he may yet still live hardly registering. He was just so utterly relieved to have someone else take control, his mind completely exhausted, that he would have done anything, gone anywhere that he was told to. "We have to save the girl," he muttered, "we have to save Lisa."

But the man did not reply, only moving on swiftly through the corridors of a house that was soon to be no more.

Passed down through countless years there was an old parable, said to be true. Few had understood it.

There was an ancient tree that had been severely burnt in a mysterious fire, tales of fireballs sent from the heavens that moved as if controlled by some unseen hand, uttered in frightened voices when wine had loosened usually silent tongues. And because of superstition and curiosity, people came to look upon the charred tree, some travelling great distances. But there were others who came for another purpose, intent on felling what most local people had branded as an unholy abomination, now black in spirit as well as hue.

The first who had tried, a simple farmer wanting nothing more than to clear the ugly thing from the land, had been afflicted by a paralysis the instant he had swung his axe and though he had recovered once away from the tree, the story had spread swiftly and soon others came, an unspoken challenge having been set.

The legend of the Black Tree, for so it was named, grew quickly, as one after another, each who attempted to cut it down were smitten as if by some invisible guardian. But not all suffered the same fate however. Some were struck blind, whilst others were driven instantly insane. In one unfortunate case, a young adventurer, on a wager from wild and reckless companions, fell into a deep unconsciousness as he stood before the tree and to those who cared for him thereafter, his sleep appeared to be plagued by the darkest of nightmares. He never woke, living the remainder of his life as a prisoner of those terrible dreams.

In time, the tree became a forbidden, accursed place, no-one willing to venture near, until on one particularly bitter winter's eve, a warrior came upon a shepherd boy who tended his flock. "Do you not fear for your animals?" the stranger had asked of the shepherd, gesturing toward the sheep as they strayed close to the scorched remains of the tree.

The boy had smiled, stroking a lamb who grazed nearby. "No, sir. They intend no harm."

The warrior nodded and smiled but said no more, instead going to stand amongst the blackened, exposed roots. As the shepherd looked on, the man knelt upon ash and cinder and bowed his head, speaking in low tones that the boy struggled to hear.

"Forgive them," murmured the warrior, completing what the young shepherd took to be a prayer and drawing nearer, he could not help himself but ask the question playing upon his mind aloud. "Who are you praying for?"

The stranger turned and there were tears in his eyes. "For all those who have suffered here. But now that is over." As he spoke a miraculous thing began to occur. Before them, the Black Tree, branches brittle, its dead trunk scarred, began to change, bark stirring, texture and colour appearing to slowly alter. The transformation was incredibly rapid, life blooming within the charred wood in seconds and when it was done, the shepherd saw that the tree had been made whole again, healthy, renewed, its lithe branches seeming to caress the night. "How can this be?" he had asked, awed by this wonder.

The warrior spoke without taking his eyes from the resurrected tree, its vitality almost tangible. "The power of forgiveness is far, far greater than the power of destruction, and only through redemption can that which is ruined be restored."

Now in the present, in the time of the Beast, Tom ran breathlessly through the undergrowth, the lesson of the Black Tree as yet unknown to him. As he followed Elrin Jinn, weaving through trees, hurdling rocks, he wondered once more whether he would ever find his way home again, his fears and doubts growing with every moment spent in this foreign landscape. Somewhere deep inside he still clung onto childhood, desperate to retain the innocent security it bestowed and yet within him, there was a new understanding that he had lost at least a part of his old self. There was no-one he could rely upon to look after him now. He had to stand alone or fail.

Pain began to tear at his side and as they splashed through a small stream, he managed to gasp, "when can we rest?"

But Elrin Jinn seemed to merely take this as a sign to step up his pace, calling over his shoulder harshly, "feeble boys will be meat for the hounds. Stop if you want to die, but if not, run on, for the redcoats are not far behind."

Tom's pulse beat at a ferocious rate and he was sure that his lungs were on fire, but he also knew that he had no choice but to keep going, to keep chasing the strange man even as the hunt chased him. Somewhere in the forest, closer than he would have believed possible, he could hear the growling and barking of many dogs, and they sounded very

much to him as if they were drawing nearer with every beat of his raging heart.

The hounds surged forward, frenzied in pursuit of their prey. At their head, Jagaren ran with graceful ease, the knowledge that they had the scent now spurring him on, while further behind, the hunters came upon their foaming horses, hoofs crashing, necks straining, whips licking at the animal's flanks. It was a good chase, for death ran with them.

Jagaren smiled as he darted through a shadowed grove, ducking his head beneath low hanging branches. I come for you, young one. Soon you will be mine.

He increased his speed and before too long even the powerful legs of the dogs could not match his pace. On he came, like some dark storm and there was no place to hide from him, nowhere to escape his deadly purpose.

A hunter born, dedicated to one pursuit and that alone. Stalk and kill.

THE UNDERLAND

"This way," cried Jinn, as they passed swiftly beneath a wooded thicket, dense and unyielding against a sunless sky. Tom stared ahead, half-dazed, not really knowing what to expect, the only thing clear in his mind the appalling baying of the bloodhounds that stalked him so relentlessly. The man who led him pointed a long finger toward a small hole in the dank earth, situated at the base of a long, grassy bank.

"What!?" Tom muttered, panting, his throat burning and dry.

"No time to squander," voiced Elrin Jinn with irritation, but Tom simply came to a halt and stared at the man utterly despondent and mystified.

"There's nowhere to run," he stated, beginning to lose the will to go on.

His new companion smiled gamely. "We shall see."

Quite suddenly the world changed for Tom, above and all around him monstrous green creatures swayed overhead, bending down as if to smother him. He almost screamed but stopped himself as he saw the face of Elrin Jinn loom before him, appearing from nowhere and blotting out all else.

"Come master," the man commanded, taking hold of Tom's arm roughly and as he was herded toward the deep, black entrance of what he presumed to be a cave, Tom just had time to glance about him, to see that there was no longer any evidence of sky above, only a vast roof of green, alive and ever-moving.

This will be the first place they'll look, he thought as they were swallowed up by darkness.

"All goes well?" he asked, assured that it did, a contented smile playing upon his fleshy lips.

The woman looked down upon the small man for a second, her eyes narrowed, then nodded. "All goes well," she confirmed in a melodic voice that he found quite enchanting.

"And is there word of the others?" he enquired, his confidence growing.

The woman in white raised one eyebrow enigmatically. "I know where they are," she said simply and he rubbed his fat hands together with enthusiasm.

"Is there anything further you wish of me?" the man ventured, boldly stepping forward. "You know it is my pleasure to be of any small service to one so fair."

The woman smiled at this, an appealing, coy aspect in her expression that revealed the face of a young girl. "Yes," she sighed, "there is something. Just a little thing." She paused as if in thought, a faraway look in her dark eyes while the man hung upon her every word. "An errand!" she exclaimed, now looking at him intently. "It seems I have left something behind. Would you fetch it for me?" He nodded, anxious to do his mistress' bidding. "It is inside the house," she directed, "in the generator room." The woman smiled at this briefly, as if privy to some private joke, her sharp teeth glinting like steel.

The small man's brow furrowed, unsure. "What is it that you wish me to bring?" he questioned, fearful of her wrath, but the smile remained.

"You will know it when you see it," she assured him gently, her voice no more than a whisper and he bowed, knowing that his lady's word was final. The task, after all, was not a difficult one and yet he felt strangely apprehensive, a dull, distant throbbing beginning inside his head, the first faint pulse of something akin to fear. But all the same he went. And the woman in white watched him go.

She had made him responsible for the house since their arrival and yet, despite her trust, he had been careless. But she could not really blame him for that, for in truth, he had only been guilty of his own limitations. He was just like all of the others in her service, no more or less than a device, an instrument, to be used and then discarded when it had served its purpose.

Now though, she wanted blood, the smell of it, the taste of it, the divine gluttony of the kill and her hunger had to be satisfied. Even as her huntsmen tracked the interlopers, she would have her hors-d'oeuvre, a tasty morsel before the feast.

Death, her consort, was an insatiable lover and to appease that constant lust, she had sent her servant down into the bowels of the house, down deep into its writhing gut, where a force almost as wild and powerful as herself was about to burst free of its long confinement.

These things she knew and much more besides, and so with gentle laughter she made her way back toward the great house, intent on having the best possible view when the show began.

Jack rested against the sturdy timber of an old tree. He felt relaxed and peaceful.

Beside him, the badger lay sprawled out, its breathing regular, the gentle rise and fall of the animal's chest somehow reassuring to him.

"What are you doing, Mo?" he said softly, laughing a little. "Sun-bathing!?"

But there was no sun, he knew, the realisation sobering him at once, although he noticed that something high above them did gleam, a radiant sphere in the heavens. Jack peered up at it and wondered what it could be.

Maybe it's an imitation sun he speculated, his thoughts forming very slowly, his faculties languid and hazy.

It occurred to him that if there was indeed no true sun, then they should not be able to see anything at all and this led him at length to a conclusion that was difficult to accept but nonetheless undeniable. There has to be another source.

He stared up at the bright orb and watched it as it seemed to move almost imperceptibly across the cerulean domain above him. Becoming bored, Jack turned his attention to a blade of grass he had plucked from the mass around the base of the tree and proceeded to chew on it absently. This is a great holiday. I'm having a wonderful time. He thought this in a flat, impassive way, not really understanding his own feelings.

Memories stirred, pressing to be set free, but Jack shut them away, locked in the vault of his confused mind.

I'm fine as I am. No need to dig up the past. Let it rest in peace.

He spat out the grass and stared dumbly at his hands. They seemed almost alien to him and he turned them over, eyeing them as if they had no business being attached to his body.

Mo turned his head and looked solemnly at the boy, blinking his large eyes and Jack smiled at his friend. "Hello."

The badger regarded him thoughtfully for a few seconds and then shook his body. "How do you feel?" the animal asked.

"Fine," Jack replied, his head clearing, his thoughts becoming more focused. "I feel fine."

Mo continued to stare fixedly at him and Jack felt a little uneasy under the badger's scrutiny. "That's good."

"Did you have a nice rest?" Jack enquired in a good-natured way, but Mo did not answer, turning his head to stare into the thick woods that surrounded them.

"We can't stay here," he stated at length, "this place is not safe."

"Let's get going then."

The badger returned his gaze to the boy. "There is something, it would seem, that you have forgotten."

Pursing his lips slightly, Jack tried to think what Mo could be talking about. Had he forgotten something? He didn't think that he had. "I can't think of anything," he said with

a small shrug, as if to dismiss the matter.

"Yes, that may well be," returned the animal, grim-voiced, "and in some ways, at least for the present, that is for the best, but surely, Jack, you cannot have forgotten about Tom?"

Jack bit his lip hard and frowned. Tom! Where was Tom?

Before he could voice this question, the howling of a dog, or at least that was what Jack thought it must be, disturbed his thoughts.

"The hunters are abroad," called Mo, hurriedly moving to the boy's side.

"Hunters?" questioned Jack, failing to see what it had to do with them.

"Indeed!" the badger answered, "and they come for us."

An expression of anxiety replaced the vaguely perplexed look Jack had worn moments before and he felt a chill run through his body. "But what about Tom?"

"They hunt him too," said Mo with simple force. "But for now, you and I will have to look out for ourselves and pray that Tom can do the same. If we can elude our pursuers, then perhaps we can set about finding Tom. Remember Jack, hope is always with us, if we care to look for it."

Jack's mind was still a blur of unresolved questions and mysteries, the circumstances leading up to this moment difficult to discern, a fog clouding his recollections. What had happened to him in the great house? He couldn't say. A mental veil now masked these events and only vague images, like ghosts haunting his mind, drifted into his awareness.

They began to move away swiftly cutting through some undergrowth, following the line

of a low bank, the bulky figure of the badger leading with Jack in close pursuit, his concentration now solely on not falling behind.

Down, down, into the deep he went. Tom felt as if he were becoming smaller and smaller as he followed Jinn. Like a speck of dust whirling through infinity, it was as though he had lost all sense of his physical being, or at least in the way he had always known it.

Was this escape or capture?
"Where are you taking me?" Tom breathed, his voice reverberating from the tunnel walls.

"Into the deep, and beyond. Worlds within worlds, dreams within dreams." With a suddenness that caught Tom by complete surprise, Elrin Jinn came to a halt, the boy barely managing to avoid crashing into him and trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness, Tom waited for the man to speak again. "Listen," Jinn said after several long moments.

Tom did as he was told and above them, far away it seemed, there came a thunderous boom, echoing through the ground. For one awful moment he was convinced that there would be a cave-in and dreadful visions of earth choking him filled his head, but the sound soon died away and he knew then that it must have been something distant from them.

"What was that!?" he asked, just able to make out the dim features of his companion in the gloom.

"The cry of a dying beast perhaps," Jinn said dryly. "It matters not to us. There are other things for us to consider now."

"Where are we going?" demanded Tom, still wary of this strange man.

"Into the heart," retorted Elrin Jinn, "to where you'll be safe."

"The heart of what?" Tom questioned, frustrated by the man's ambiguous remarks.

Jinn chuckled but did not answer. "We should go now."

"Do I have a choice?" Tom said fiercely and the man came close to him, his face inches from the boys.

"Of course," he hissed vehemently. "You can turn around and go back if you wish. The redcoats will be pleased to see you!"

With a quick, irritated shake of his head, Tom peered ahead into the darkness. "Let's get going," he said gruffly after a second or two and he thought that he saw the man in green smile.

"Yes, let us do that. But be warned," came Jinn's ominous whisper, "watch out for the shrews."

"The shrews?" Tom repeated.

"They come and they go, this way and that," the man went on evenly, "you never know when they may come." And then he was off again, moving rapidly along the winding

tunnel, deeper, deeper into the earth and as they went the mysterious man known as Elrin Jinn began to sing:

"Into the heart of the deep you go,

into the kingdom that lies below,

secrets and treasures are waiting there,

for you to come and claim your share,

with fortune travelling at your side

and lady luck as your bride,

take as much as you can hold,

if you are daring, if you are bold."

As he opened the door of the room that housed the generator, he immediately knew that something was very wrong. Fear rose like bile in his throat, aware on some deep level that what awaited him within was deadly and quite merciless. He was all alone with his own mortality.

The man moaned, a pathetic sound that seemed to join another that he had until now ignored, somehow oblivious to its wild humming.

The world swayed and broke into a billion pieces before his eyes.

Just within the outer wall of the grounds surrounding the house, the woman in white smiled with pleasure and satisfaction as she watched the building explode, fire and smoke licking madly at brick and wood. She had added a little of her own magic to help things along and now she clapped her hands, the sound lost amidst the noises of devastation and a darkness quickly filled the sky as if a rain were coming, black and thick with fury. And then, the delicate silk of her garments moved by a sudden gust, debris from the house began to cascade down around her, ripping into the earth, puncturing the pristine lawns with a thousand wounds and all the while she stood and watched, even though brick and metal, timber and glass fell all about her. Not one fragment so much as brushed the woman and she laughed and applauded like a young child.

When finally it was over, the once great house in flames, she walked across a long garden where shortly before there had been row upon row of red roses, but now there was only carnage, petals scattered amongst the wreckage. And even though the sky had become dark, wherever she walked the land shone brightly, each remnant of the house beginning to glow as she passed by, so that every step that she took illuminated the way for the next, leaving a trail of light across a sea of destruction.

"What was that?" said Jack, flinching at what sounded like a tremendous explosion somewhere behind them, a look of terror and apprehension passing over his face.

"Don't worry, Jack," soothed the badger. "It does not concern us now."

Jack shook his head, his thoughts jumbled, memories entangled with dreams, truth impossible to distinguish from what he knew must be fantasies flitting wildly through his mind. He could no longer be sure of anything. "I don't know what's happening to me," he said, his voice and spirit weak. He felt lost, without hope, his faith in the things he had always believed in crumbling into meaningless fragments.

Moving closer to the boy, Mo looked up at Jack's wan features. "Let us be content for the moment with just putting distance between ourselves and those who hunt us."

Jack nodded in agreement, but his heart was heavy with a burden he could not identify and he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the problems at hand. The thunderous sound had touched something deep inside him, as if it were a part of himself that had cried out so terribly. Somewhere within him too, a voice was speaking, desperate to be heard, to be recalled, but Jack would not let it surface, his own determination to suppress this inner call frightening him.

What happened to me in the house?

But now they were moving again, off through the dense undergrowth, pursued by the servants of the enemy, hunted like beasts. Yet what difference was there really between any creature when it came to the fundamentals of life and death? He was only one more animal. A badger, a wolf, a man. All were beasts in their own way.

If Mankind are so superior, why do they corrupt and destroy? Why do they kill for fun?

It seemed to Jack, that if there was a difference between Man and other animals, it was in their motivation, why they did what they did. Surely it was not a Man's instinct to be cruel. Only a man would profess to be good and yet do evil things. Only a man can use reason to make a choice and still decide to sin.

Sin. It was a word he hardly understood. And yet it held great power.

He recalled his history lessons at school, so distant now. They had been told of the Third Reich, the Nazi regime in Germany and how they had systematically hunted down and exterminated millions of Jews and other 'undesirables', anyone whose blood might pollute the so-called master race. But was this a fair example of humankind? Murderers without

remorse, using perverted logic to justify their actions, their madness fuelled by insane prejudice and a destructive lust for power?

What of the ordinary man? Was he a great sinner? It was true that so often he only stood by and watched as these crimes were happening, never lifting a hand against the hate and slaughter, never trying to stop it. But on a basic level, was an average man more likely to be good or evil?

There were reasons for every crime, there were always reasons, but Jack was just a boy and it didn't make much sense to him. Where was his place in all of this? The atrocities of the Nazis were only one small example of a trend set throughout the ages, since the beginning of mankind's bloody dominion on the earth.

Sin. What was it really? Human nature, some might say. But if it was the nature of the Beast to sin, did that mean there was nothing to choose between them. Jack would not believe that. There was a difference. And it had to be motive. It all came down to why?

It was probably the simplest question and yet insoluble for all its simplicity. Why?

"They come," said Elrin Jinn, staring hard at Tom.

The boy stumbled but somehow managed to keep his footing, looking behind them anxiously as they continued to run. His eyes had almost become accustomed to the dimly lit tunnel but there was no sign or sound of anything close by. He glanced back at the man who led him. "Who?" he called, an uneasiness stealing into his heart.

"Listen closely."

Somewhere distant, but rapidly drawing nearer, a scuttling sound could be heard, accompanied by an occasional high-pitched squealing.

"What is it?" Tom panted, his nerves on edge, forcing himself to maintain his speed, trying to get alongside his long striding companion, but Jinn went on with increasing urgency.

"The shrews, boy!" he shouted back, never faltering despite his great haste, "we walk their burrow...we trespass."

"Walk!?" Tom spluttered, finding the man's use of the word somewhat ironic. He had never run so fast or so hard in his whole life. Even on sports day at school where he had taken part in the marathon, he had not experienced such a gruelling test of his stamina and fitness. He knew that he would have to rest soon, his breathing now painful, his legs weak, no matter what might be pursuing them.

"What about the hunters!?" he almost choked, taking rasping breaths.

"They remain above. Now we face a hunter of another kind."

Tom could barely put his thoughts in order, but then a sudden memory stirred. He recalled Uncle Ira leading he and Jack up the hill toward his house. It had been the day they had arrived home for their summer holiday, full of expectation, little suspecting then what lay in store for them and Tom had not really understood why his Uncle had tested them, pushing them harder and harder upon that steep climb.

Did Ira know what was to come? Mo said he knew we would come to this place.

With some difficulty Tom increased his pace.

I won't let you down. I'll make it back home again.

They came quite suddenly into a clearing, the tall trees that ringed the open space surrounding them like an eager crowd, their reaching branches creaking in the wind.

Mo growled quick instructions at Jack, lifting his head from the ground and baring his teeth. "We are found! Prepare to fight or die."

Jack's head swam with images of bloody battle. "We haven't got a chance," he heard himself mutter.

"Do not falter," came the badger's harsh reply, "hold on to faith."

Then, as Jack tried to take courage from the animal's words, a single hound appeared, huge and grey, stepping slowly from between the trees on the far side of the clearing. It stood motionless, pale, watery eyes regarding them.

The dog was a giant. Not in all his life had Jack seen one that even came close to its size and build. The beast's muscled body rippled with power, it's wedge-shaped head a mass of hard bone, the flesh pulled taut, sleek coat bristling. Murderous fangs dribbled saliva as it began to stalk unhurriedly toward them and Jack knew full well what the fearsome creature intended. One look into its hateful eyes told him everything he needed to know.

The hound's sinuous frame tensed, as if it meant to spring forward and Jack realised that there was no hope of escape, that if he tried to run, the dog would bring him down and tear him to pieces.

"What can we do?" he said in a low, frightened voice, trying at the same time to remain perfectly still, afraid that any sound or movement might provoke the dog into attack. It halted its approach at the centre of the clearing, its massive body hunkered close to the ground, nostrils flared and its red maw opened wide as if it were tasting their scent.

"You," commanded the badger coolly, responding to Jack's question, "must do nothing. I will deal with this creature."

And with that Mo walked out into the open, there to face the hound on its own terms.

"No," was all Jack could find to say, the word coming from his mouth in a hoarse whisper. But it was too late. The battle had begun.

With shocking speed, the gigantic dog flew at its adversary, fangs bared, fluid trickling over its jaws, anticipating the taste of blood and flesh.

And yet the badger stood his ground, apparently unafraid, and at the very last instant before the hound reached him, he shifted his weight and pushed upwards, striking hard into the dog's side and underbelly with his rigid snout. For brief seconds the grey monster was thrown off balance and seizing this opportunity, Mo attacked its exposed throat, his own sharp teeth revealed in all their deadly glory.

Jack shut his eyes tightly. He did not want to see any more of it. Of course, he wanted Mo to win with all his heart, but the battle was so savage and horrific that he found he could not feel anything other than disgust.

As the badger's teeth ripped into the dog's neck, shredding the main artery as they tore the flesh, blood exploded from the wound, a deluge pouring onto Mo's face and body. His fur was stained a dark, glistening red and within moments the hound was still, its carcass sprawled on the blood-soaked earth.

Opening his eyes, Jack held his gaze downward, not wanting to face his friend, feeling changed by what had just taken place.

Mo came to stand beside the boy and very slowly, warily, Jack looked up and was shocked by how old and tired the badger appeared now. "It is the way of the Beast to destroy," Mo stated, his tone weary. "But you should have learnt by now that things are never as they seem. So how can we judge the right from the wrong, the true from the false?"

Jack shook his head sluggishly, his emotions muddled. "How can we ever be sure of anything then?" he asked eventually.

"Follow your heart," was the badger's simple answer.

And Jack knew that whatever Mo might do, even though those things might seem strange and terrible to him, he would go wherever the animal led, for he believed that whatever his actions, Mo's heart was good. And in this terrifying new world of deception and evil, he had to believe in something.

Jagaren knelt beside the corpse of the hound and laughed gently to himself.

So they mean to make a fight of it. All the better.

It was a fine hunt indeed and with quicksilver speed and unearthly grace he was running again. He knew that he would catch up with them soon enough, but he enjoyed the chase almost as much as the kill itself and he meant to savour every moment.

He smiled as he moved through the forest kingdom, his lips curled back to reveal

unusually prominent teeth, his pupils clouded red, an insatiable lust for death inflaming his demonic heart.

The shrews were closing in on them and Tom seriously doubted if they would have any chance of survival if it came to a fight. He didn't have a weapon to hand but he was ready to use his fists and his feet if necessary. He wouldn't fall easily, of that much he was determined.

He had changed a lot since he and Jack had found their way into this new realm, so much so that he hardly knew himself sometimes it seemed. Strange thoughts and ideas arrived inside his head as if delivered by some outside intelligence, an almost entirely

alien personality gradually emerging. Was this what growing up was like? He had been

forced to leave his childhood far behind, as far as his own world seemed to him now. And now he faced death once more.

"Around the next bend," called the voice of Elrin Jinn as they raced along the narrow tunnel.

Tom prayed that the man meant that a place of safety was close by, but as they turned a corner both came to an abrupt halt, their way blocked by a small wooden door.

Very close behind them now the squealing had become deafening and Tom's head was filled by the sound, the creatures rushing toward them, an army of wriggling bodies.

"Open it!" Tom shouted, his fear potent, a helpless dread threatening to override his senses.

Elrin Jinn reached out and turned an ornate bronze handle but the door remained closed. "Locked," he said off-handedly. "And now the shrews have us." Tom couldn't believe it. Was this really going to be the end after all? "We must make our stand," uttered Jinn, producing a modest sized dagger and offering it to the boy. "Are you ready to battle for your life?" Taking the weapon without a word, Tom glared angrily at the man. "Kill the first that comes," Jinn told him with a casual wave of his hand, "if you are swift and accurate, it may deter the others." Tom could only shake his head slowly as if in a daze. "Do not hesitate," instructed the man fiercely. "Unless you welcome death."

The cries of the shrews had grown so loud that they seemed to ring through the tunnel like a single hideous voice and Tom barely had time to turn and see a long pointed

nose above cusped incisor teeth, bared to strike, an awful hissing evoked from within as it bore down upon him.

REFLECTIONS OF TRUTH

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You are safe, are you not?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where are you Tom?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was only one thing inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why did I do such a stupid thing? Why?

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

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

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

parchment against his ribs, all but forgotten.

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

Jagaren would not die.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DREAM DEEP

"What's that noise?" Tom asked, looking up toward the ceiling of the tunnel.

Elrin Jinn stood perfectly still and also peered upward, concentrating on the ominous rumbling that Tom was talking about.

"Worms," he said indifferently, starting away once more, "but do not concern yourself. They rarely venture this deep."

Tom stared at the man with incredulity. "What kind of worm could make a sound like that?" Jinn chuckled but said nothing. "Are there any other creatures we're likely to run into?" Tom questioned, following a few yards behind and hoping, even as he asked, that the answer would be no.

"You never can tell," Jinn uttered, his voice floating back to Tom as he hurried on. "There are always surprises in The Underland."

The twisting passageway reminded Tom uncomfortably of the corridors in the great house and in turn this focused his thoughts on his absent friends, last seen in that evil domain. He had resolved to escape from this catacomb lair and find both Jack and Mo, and whatever it took to achieve this end he would seek them out. They were out there somewhere he felt certain of that, maybe searching for him too.

"We can rest soon," Elrin Jinn notified him, turning a corner, "there is a place where we will be safe. For a time at least."

This was good news as far as Tom was concerned. His legs were heavy and his throat painfully dry and there was nothing he wanted more in that moment than to just sit down and have something to drink. "I don't suppose there will be any water there?" he ventured hopefully.

Jinn smiled down at him and Tom almost believed he was being genuinely friendly. "I too would be pleased to quench my thirst," he admitted, "but there is hope ahead if not behind, that is, if the spring has not dried up."

Encouraged by this, Tom managed to walk a little faster, now forcing his companion to keep pace with him and soon after, they came upon a large aperture in the wall and following the man inside, Tom saw that they were now in a fair-sized chamber cut from grey rock.

"And there is your drink, master," announced Elrin Jinn with a hint of triumph in his voice, pointing over at a trickle of clear water that flowed steadily from the wall in the far corner of the chamber. The modest pool it formed there was enough to satisfy even Tom's thirst. "Where does it come from?" he asked between gulps, taking as much of the precious liquid as he could.

"From above," Jinn told him, indicating the ceiling, "The Overworld."

"Underland, Overworld," Tom muttered, wiping his mouth and chin on his sleeve. He turned and eyed the man with a challenging gaze. "I've been meaning to ask you. How do you know Mo anyway?"

"Your...badger friend," hesitated Elrin Jinn. He had stood in the entrance way while Tom drank, but now he came to join him, sitting down beside the pool, his long legs crossed and cupping his hands, he scooped up some water. "We have been comrades for a very long time. He has taught me many things." He paused and took another mouthful before continuing. "When I was very young, not much older than you are now, I saw something that changed my life. Even now, after an existence in which I have encountered things beyond all imagination, the memory of it still fills me with awe."

Tom looked up at the man and saw such an expression of love and wonder on his face, that every doubt he had about his strange companion vanished, as if washed away by a cleansing rain. "What did you see?" he urged softly.

Elrin Jinn stared at the water, ripples of reflected light upon his face. "I saw something that was dead live again. And since that moment I have followed the one who made it so."

Tom gazed at Jinn and knew whom he spoke of without having to be told. " Mo," he said quietly. The boy paused, a mental picture of the old badger forming in his mind. "Tell me the story."

The man nodded and reached down and ran a hand gently across the surface of the water, as if he could see past events in the clear depths of the pool. "There was a black tree," he began.

Jack remembered it all.

He saw again, the death by his hand of the hideous creature in the room where the generator had throbbed like a massive steel heart. He recalled the madness that had overtaken him, commanding his mind, inciting him to do terrible things. And it haunted him now like some clinging, malevolent phantom.

He had destroyed the house and everyone within it. He was the real murderer.

How could I have done such a thing? All of those people. Dead now because of me.

He looked down at the ancient features of the badger, tasting his own tears. "I am the murderer. Me. It was me all along." Oh how he wished that he could exorcise the guilt that now dwelt within his soul, but he knew his own crimes better than anyone else could ever know them and however much he might wish it, tears of self-pity would not wash away those vile deeds. "Why must we kill?" he pleaded finally not expecting any answer, only crying out to the unknown for some form of understanding, desperately needing to find something he could hold onto.

"I understand how you feel, Jack," Mo said softly coming closer, his large eyes full of compassion, but Jack was already withdrawing into a remote world of contrition and shame. "You must look for the whole of the truth, not just fragments," the badger persisted, "you see only what you know and you do not yet know all there is to be discovered. Listen well, Jack. You think you are no better than the Beast because you have killed, but that is not so. You think me alike the Wolf and yes, there is truth in that, there are things that link us. But do not mistake two paths that might lead you home as the same, for each may take an infinite amount of twists and turns before they finally meet at the end of their journey. I have been and always shall be, the enemy of the Beast. You and I are among those who have been chosen to do battle, until one side or the other is overcome, and though you believe I have acted as the Wolf might act, there are fundamental differences between us that cannot be ignored. Where the Beast draws strength and joy from the pain and suffering it inflicts, I and those like me, are depleted, our hearts pierced by the arrows of violence shot by our own bloody hands. Look at me now and what do you see?"

Jack did look, and he saw the truth of the badger's words. It was as if years had descended upon him in just a moment, his haggard features weary, a burden of sorrow mirrored in the animals eyes.

"For yourself," Mo said with warmth, though his dark gaze was stern, "only you can know in your heart if you are one with the Wolf. But I can tell you this. When I look into your eyes, I do not see a beast staring back at me. I see only you."

Wiping away tears with his hand, Jack faced his friend. "It's hard," he said, as much to himself as to the badger.

"I know," answered Mo. "The road is cruel and dark, my friend."

"And you followed him?" Tom asked, fascinated by the story. He found it incredible, but never for one moment did he doubt the truth of it.

"I followed him," nodded Elrin Jinn, "and he took me under his wing, showed me things that until then I had not believed could exist. Our mutual friend has led me on a very long journey, Tom, but now we near its end."

"Do you really believe that?" Tom wanted to know, sensing that once their travelling was over, everything would change forever, though for good or ill he did not know.

"Everything I have seen, everything I have learnt convinces me that we are soon to take the final step," Jinn answered, "when we shall either reach the summit of our dreams, or stumble and fall into the arms of the waiting darkness. And once there, in that place you would name Hell, we shall never dream again." Tom felt the ominous words resound in his mind, knowing that things were in the balance and that somehow, he had become an integral part of something vast and momentous. "But I think that now is not the best time to ponder such things," Elrin Jinn finished, rummaging inside his tunic as if looking for something. Tom watched with interest, wondering what surprise the man might have in store for him now, and with a flourish Jinn produced a small fiddle, closely followed by a battered looking bow. Tom smiled with enthusiasm and wonder. "Let us rest now," Elrin Jinn suggested, taking up the instrument. "I will play for you. And then, if you can, I would advise you to get some sleep, for you will need all of your strength if you are to succeed in your undertaking."

Tom glanced across at the man, leaning back against the hard wall of the chamber, resting his head upon the cool stone. "Do you know why I'm here then?" he queried timidly and saw the flicker of a smile upon Jinn's face.

"In part, but not all," his new friend told him bluntly, "yet I know enough to tell you that you must tread carefully from now on, even more so than before. The further you travel, the more treacherous your journey will become. Things are never what they seem, master. Trust no-one. It is lamentable that I must give you advise that may cause you to mistrust even me, but that is as it must be." Taking the fiddle carefully up under his chin, Elrin Jinn began to move his bow elegantly over the strings and then, as if magically, lilting notes filled the chamber becoming a sweet melody of hope.

Closing his eyes Tom felt himself getting drowsy, but he did not resist it, instead welcoming the relaxing waves of tranquillity that the music induced. And then, he was dreaming.

He still walked through the underground passageway, passing many chests in their alcoves, handles glinting in an eerie light.

I think I'll get something for Jack.

Tom halted briefly to gaze about him, the idea striking him as very good indeed and he quickly approached the nearest casket, reaching for the golden handle. As he did so, a small voice whispered in his mind that this was a foolish thing to do, that the chest could be trapped as Elrin Jinn had said, but Tom was unconcerned. I feel lucky! A broad smile lit up his face and pulling the lid upward he peered inside. At first glance it appeared empty and he felt a pang of disappointment, but shadows concealed the corners at the very bottom and Tom leaned closer, sure that there must be some treasure hidden there. Taking his weight upon the rim, he pushed his head further inside blinking against the darkness as he blocked out what light there was.

Abruptly, without any conscious perception of how it had happened, Tom began to fall and all around him points of light glittered like a million stars. As he hurtled past he reached out, attempting to touch the shining configuration but found that they dissolved like powder between his fingers when he snatched at them. Then, as swiftly as it had begun, the sensation of falling ceased.

Now he was in a dark place, although a faint light shone upon him like the first rays of dawn. I've fallen into the chest was all he could surmise, hardly able to believe it, but as his eyes became accustomed to the poor light, he realised with astonishment that he was in some kind of tremendous cave, the rocky floor covered with tall stalagmites. Looking up he saw their counterparts, stalactites hanging from the roof, while over to his left, although quite some distance from him, he saw the source of the dim light that struggled to illuminate the huge cavern. There seemed to be some kind of entrance there and the idea of being able to see daylight once more encouraged him to hastily make his way toward it, stumbling over the awkward terrain. As he came to the slender opening through which the light filtered, Tom felt a cool breeze brush his face and a familiar smell came to him, reminding him of a holiday he had spent in a small coastal village only a few years before. There was no doubt about it, he was close to the sea.

Stepping through the gap in the rock, emerging from the murky cave into bright daylight, he was greeted by the sight of a gentle tide, splashing against a golden beach. The waves foamed before moving away, only to come back once again to leave their mark, the eternal motion of the sea beckoning him forward. Moving swiftly, risking injury on the sharp rocks protecting the cave entrance, Tom leapt onto the soft sand, tumbling over as he landed. He just lay there for a moment before jumping to his feet and walking closer to the water.

This is a dream his mind insisted, but he didn't want to listen. It felt real to him and that was all that mattered. He breathed deeply of the salt air and holding out his arms wide as if to embrace the sea, he closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of the wind on his face and the sound of the breakers.

After a while Tom began to amble along the beach, attempting to stay just out of the incoming tides reach, playfully dodging the surf. It was then that he noticed a man standing beside the water's edge, a few hundred yards ahead of him, apparently staring aimlessly out to sea. There were no ships or boats to be seen, nothing but the rolling waves.

Tom made towards him and he noted subconsciously that he felt no sense of apprehension, despite the fact that, until now, everything he had encountered in this alien realm had made him uneasy and wary.

"Hello!" Tom called, drawing closer and turning slowly, the man regarded him with a friendly smile.

"Oh, hello Tom, I'm glad you were able to come," he said in a voice that Tom immediately liked.

As he looked at the man, Tom became certain that he had seen him before but though the face was very familiar, he just couldn't quite place it.

"Aren't you going to ask how I know your name?" the stranger questioned, an infectious amusement shining in his eyes, bringing a smile to Tom's own face.

"No," he answered, still grinning, "I'm used to things like that now. And anyway, I'm pretty sure this is a dream."

Nodding, the man pointed back along the beach, indicating the direction from which Tom had come. "You've come a long way," he reflected, his expression now more sombre.

"Not really, just from that cave over there in the rocks," Tom replied with a shrug, waving a hand half-heartedly to show what he meant.

"There are distances beyond measure," the man stated, his gaze now fixed upon Tom.

"Do I know you?" the boy questioned, still trying to place where he had seen the man's face before but failing to make the connection. The stranger didn't answer, returning his gaze to the increasingly choppy waters. "I'm sure I do," Tom maintained, searching his mind for the memory, "but I can't quite remember where I've seen you before."

The man continued to look out at the rising waves, the wind in his face, ruffling his long, dark hair. "A storm is coming," he said softly.

"Who are you?" Tom asked, unsure why the question felt so important to him.

"I'm your friend, Tom. There is a bond between us that can never be broken. Remember this, in your time of need. Remember that whoever has faith can never lose, for he will have no need to compete for love." He turned back and smiled gently.

Tom looked deeply into the man's eyes and felt himself swept away, as if the tide had come suddenly crashing up onto the shore to take him back with it into the depths of the sea.

Please don't make me wake up. I don't want this dream to end.

"Time to continue our journey," came the voice of Elrin Jinn close beside him, intruding into his slumber and reluctantly Tom opened his eyes.

"I had a wonderful dream," the boy said with such emotion that his companion looked at him carefully, before speaking again.

"Dreams mean a great deal in these lands," Jinn said in earnest. "Are you fully awake now?"

"Yes," Tom confirmed, getting to his feet, "but I just wish I could have had more time. There were so many things I wanted to ask."

"Can't we rest for a while?" asked Jack as they passed quickly through a copse of overhanging trees. "We've been walking for ages. Surely we've lost them by now."

"As you wish," responded the badger, halting immediately, "but as for those who pursue us, they will not give us up so easily."

They made themselves comfortable beneath a large elm, a huge tree that towered above the smaller ash and hawthorn that made up the coppice, and leaning heavily against the massive trunk Jack stretched and yawned. "I'm so tired," he muttered. "Do you know where we are?"

Mo did not reply at once, seeming preoccupied with thoughts of his own but just as Jack was about to ask his question again, the animal spoke.

"This region is known as Gravis and though it holds many pleasures for the eye, it is not a place much frequented by Men."

Another involuntary yawn escaped Jack and he felt his eyes becoming heavy. As he began to let his mind slip away into sleep, he heard Mo's voice saying, "remember that sleep is not always restful."

But the words became distant as Jack flew through a cloudless sky, his arms outstretched as if he were an aeroplane or a giant bird. He wished that Tom was there with him, sharing such an amazing and wonderful experience, but he knew that his friend was lost and there didn't appear to be much hope of finding him, not in the boundless fields and forests through which they travelled. He continued to fly, time and space no longer having any meaning for him, a sense of absolute freedom filling him with joy. Maybe things would be all right after all.

Looking down at the far-off landscape below Jack saw a meadow crowded with wild flowers, creating patterns of colour across the surface of the world.

Jack swooped lower, drawing closer to them and touching the ground once more he stood very still, not wanting to move and crush the delicate blooms. He wondered how he could possibly make his way out of the field without destroying hundreds of them, for already beneath his feet where he had come to rest, he could feel the broken bodies of the flowers he had already slaughtered.

In his head he could hear them screaming. MURDERER! MURDERER!

"But I didn't mean to," Jack called aloud, hoping they would understand and forgive him. "I had no choice."

There is always a choice the flowers seemed to cry inside his mind.

"No!" he shouted, "I wasn't in control. Something brought me here. It just happened, I don't know why."

But it gave you a thrill, didn't it? It felt good to kill, to have the power of life and death? Admit it, at least to yourself. At last you feel truly alive, don't you? At last you have found your place in the scheme of things. You have found your calling.

The voice inside Jack's head was no longer that of the flowers he had killed. This was another voice, insidious and cold.

"No!" Jack bellowed, "I'm not like the Wolf! I've never wanted to hurt anyone." A hideous laughter began and grew louder and louder, seeming to violate his mind and though he covered his ears with his hands it echoed on, overwhelming him. "Please...leave me alone," Jack managed to beg, dropping to his knees, barely able to hear himself above the hateful sound.

Do you really want to be alone?

The laughter had ceased abruptly and now the voice was softer, compassionate.

I know that all you really want is to be loved, and I will give you that and more. But even love must be earned. You must wait for me, for the hunt is not over yet. Be patient just a short while longer and then all of your pain will be soothed away. You will never have to be alone again. This I promise.

Jack hung his head so that his face almost touched the flowers, the voice still whispering in his mind, fading very slowly to leave him weak and dazed. He closed his eyes. "It's only a dream...a bad dream. When I wake up, it will all be over."

Opening his eyes, he was relieved to see the big black and white face of Mo but the

badger only stared at him with a grim expression of horror and fear. And scattered all

about his feet coloured petals covered the ground.

As they wandered through the labyrinth of The Underland, Tom still reflected upon his dream finding it difficult to concentrate, his thoughts drifting back as he trailed behind his unfaltering guide.

At Jinn's direction he had collected several rough chunks of rock from the chamber where they had rested, each piece approximately the right size for use with the catapult. They now rattled together inside his pocket and although he was reluctant about using the thing, he knew it would be an effective weapon if they were attacked again.

An image of the bird he had killed rose up out of his subconscious and stubbornly refused to go away, expanding until it seemed to fill every corner of his mind. He gritted his teeth and tried to shake off the memory and focus all of his attention on the figure of Elrin Jinn now several yards ahead, but it was no use. He could not push it aside so easily.

How many times do I have to say I'm sorry? How long will I have to keep paying for one mistake?

But he thought he knew the answer to that question. He would pay until he had atoned for his sins. It was up to him to make amends.

But what can I do?

He so much wanted to be forgiven. And yet he could not forgive himself.

"We are making progress," came the voice of Elrin Jinn drifting back along the tunnel, the man almost out of sight. "Soon, master, you shall see the sky again."

Tom felt comforted by this news, as the longer he remained underground the more dejected he became. If he could just escape from the confines of this subterranean maze, then maybe he would be able to find his friends again. That at least would give him some reason to hope. But faith was an illusive friend. He had come to realise that. If you did not protect and nurture it then it would surely die, murdered by doubt.

"Look there," Jinn called, slowing and gesturing ahead of them.

Tom peered beyond the man and saw a small, blue door at the far end of the passage. "Is that the way out?" he asked, coming to a halt alongside his companion. "I won't be sorry to see the back of this place." He felt heartened by the thought of returning to the bright world above and leaving the darkness behind, but even as he spoke a rumbling began around them and steadily increased, growing to such an intensity that Tom was forced to clamp his hands over his ears, his face contorted with pain.

"Prepare..." he heard Jinn shouting at him, but the rest of the sentence was lost amid the uproar.

"What?" Tom yelled, unable to see the man, his vision a blur. "What!?" he cried again, putting out a hand to grope the air, but he never knew if Jinn made any reply for at that moment clay and earth came crashing down around them, most of the tunnel roof collapsing as something massive came bursting through. It was a white, clammy thing that undulated and coiled as it burrowed through the earth, its thick trunk oozing with a glutinous slime that dripped onto the ground and hissed like acid wherever it fell.

And then it was upon him, smothering him and however hard he struggled, he could not elude the disgusting mass of its body, a terrible pain exploding in his left thigh, his leg buckling beneath him, sending him crashing to the hard floor. Inside his head a cruel, hostile laughter raged, rabid with glee, escalating in pitch until he felt he would go mad if it did not stop, and as he writhed on the ground he felt something heavy and soft slide over him, enveloping his body, pinning him down.

"Help!" he screamed, his voice muffled, his flesh on fire where the slime made contact with his skin. He fought to get up onto his feet but he could hardly move.

"I am here, Tom," answered a voice, at first sounding far away, then abruptly at his ear and all at once the laughter in his mind was replaced by a piercing shriek, an awful cacophony of rage. "Quickly," the voice ordered him. "This way!"

Half dragged, he was bundled away from the writhing bulk of the monster, supported by powerful arms that guided him toward a blue door. All around them the earth quaked, but Tom was only dimly aware of what was taking place. Even though the terrible screaming in his mind had ceased, his head would not clear and his body was alive with pain.

As they passed through the door he staggered, his vision growing dim, his strength failing. "I'm hurt," was all he could say. He felt confused and sick, weary to the point of sleep, and he knew that if he were alone he would not force himself on so mercilessly, that he would lay down where he was and rest.

"Not much further, Tom," urged the person who was now having to almost carry him along. "Here!"

Looking down, Tom saw a strange hole. The rim was made of stone the same as the floor, but the interior of the opening appeared to be metallic, the smooth surface glinting dully as it disappeared into darkness. Lifting his head with the last of his strength, Tom saw that it was Elrin Jinn who was holding him and even though he saw that the man's lips moved, he could not make out much of what was spoken. "Shock...help...slide." These were the only fragments of speech that he understood and they meant very little to him, but he could see that Jinn was pointing at the hole and that in his other hand the man held a blade dripping with black fluid. Tom made to pull away, panicking as he recalled how his skin had burned, only to have Jinn grip him fast, bringing the dagger in front of his face. "It was the Wolf," the man shouted, this time his words penetrating the fog that choked Tom's senses. "It came to kill you. But it failed."

Tom's mind was beset by ghosts. He was plagued by colours and shapes that weaved through his consciousness, leaving him groggy, bewildered. He was aware that he was being lowered toward the ground and hot pain fired somewhere below his waist and he almost blacked out, but then somehow, he found himself gliding downward at incredible speed, hurtling along as if he were on a roller coaster ride. Grey walls flashed by, cool air whipped at his face as he was swept away, taken faster and deeper by the twisting slide. Brutally, a dazzling light hit his eyes and his first instinct was to shut them, but squinting against the glare he saw a flash of vivid colours as he was thrown through the air into a world that sparkled, shimmering with radiance and he knew he was above ground again. He seemed to fly, weightless for a long time, a gentle breeze against his skin, soothing his wounds and just as he thought he might never touch the ground again, the earth tugged at him and he landed on something spongy and yielding, a brilliant blue sky the colour of the ocean filling his sight. His eyes fluttered for a moment and then he smiled as darkness took him, bearing him away into a world within himself.

ANGEL TOWER

As Jack found his own mind at last and returned to reality he held out his hands to Mo in a mute gesture of helplessness, only to have the badger back away from him, his eyes full of disgust.

"What is it?" cried Jack, failing to understand why his friend should react this way. He took a pace forward then stopped, aware of the crushed petals and broken stems of flowers that lay upon the ground. "I don't...," he began, appealing once more to Mo but he cut short his sentence, as for the first time he really looked at the hands that he held still outstretched. They were covered in blood.

He glanced down quickly at his clothing and saw with disbelief that they too were drenched with the red taint of blood. It felt warm against him, clinging to his skin.

"Help me," he begged, pulling wildly at his shirt, but the badger moved further away from him. "I don't understand," the boy called, unable to move, horror paralysing him. Then the sky turned black and Jack could see nothing but the all-consuming darkness. "What's happening?" he whispered as violent images savaged his mind. Slaughter, torture, torment. Visions of death passed through his head at incredible speed as scene after scene of mindless carnage was played out in vivid detail, his senses gorged by the sight of suffering. "Please...please let this be a dream," he shouted, reeling from the misery and anguish inflicted upon him. "Let me wake up!"

And then he did.

Mo sat resting quietly at his side and the day was still bright. Yet even though Jack knew it had only been a dream, a heavy shadow lay over his mind, malignant with blood-lust and madness.

"I don't think I can take much more," he said aloud, without being aware that he spoke.

The badger turned his head ever so slightly and looked up at the boy's distraught features. "Ghosts?"

Jack did not answer at once, just stared out across the tree-lined fields surrounding them, his eyes glazed, mind numb. "I can't forget," he finally said.

"The past is haunted by many spectres," his friend told him, "and they are always hungry. They return again and again to devour your heart and consume your soul, if they are able. And it is sometimes very difficult to refuse them their feast."

Jack nodded. "I feel as though I'm being eaten alive."

"You can fight back," Mo urged, "but you must be strong. They will use you own guilt against you. They will use your compassion and your conscience to undermine you. And directing them as they burrow ever deeper into your mind, to diminish your spirit, is their father, the Beast."

"I know," breathed Jack. "But I can't find a way to stop them. The voices in my head only tell me what I know is true. I am a murderer. I have killed. How can I deny that I'm guilty?"

"Who can truly judge, Jack. Not I. And what is death? Just another word to explain away something that is beyond mortal understanding. Death is the unknown. To destroy life is wrong, yes, but evil is not alive, it never has been. Evil exists only as in a dream, our dream. And these lands where the White Wolf holds sway are full of dreams." The badger moved a little closer, his dark eyes fixed upon Jacks. "There is an ancient proverb, 'to truly repent is the ultimate triumph'. Remember that and do not despair, for in your heart still dwells the love that you have always kept there safe, and it can never be taken away from you. Love can only be given. When you are tested, remember that you are worthy of forgiveness. All are worthy of this, from the highest to the lowest, man...and beast."

As Jack listened, he felt as if a great weight had been lifted from him. He understood that the Wolf was a powerful enemy, but he also saw, perhaps really saw for the first time, that there was a way to defeat it.

"Have faith," someone said. And to his surprise, he realised that the voice that had spoken was his own.

Someone was leaning over him and to Tom's bleary eyes it appeared to be a huge monster with razor-sharp teeth. He tried to scream, but all that escaped his lips was an almost inaudible whimper. Nonetheless the vision of the monster receded and for a few moments he wasn't sure if he was really awake or merely sleeping, lost in the realm of nightmare.

Pain throbbed somewhere deep within him, but he couldn't quite identify from where it came.

Am I dead? No, I must be alive because I can still feel my body, I can hear my heart beating. He squeezed his fingers against the palm of his hand to confirm this and felt a defiant pulse as the blood coursed in his veins.

His eyes were closed now and he was reluctant to open them, afraid of what he might see; instead he listened for a sound, any sound, that might give him a clue as to where he was, but there was only silence, heavy and unnatural.

Gradually, a noise began to filter through to him and he wondered if it had been there all the time, but however hard he concentrated on it and tried to decipher what it might be, it remained garbled and indistinct. He made an attempt to speak, but his mouth refused to form even the smallest of words, so he was forced to open his eyes only to find himself staring into a light so bright it made him wince and quickly shut them again.

Tom felt groggy and couldn't shake it off, almost as though he had been drugged.

"Young man," said a voice close to his ear making Tom mentally start, although his body seemed numb and unresponsive.

Opening his eyes again, slowly this time, wary, he was met by something darker, standing between him and the light, many different colours merging with each other in a blur. But after blinking a few times, this uncertain image began to solidify, to take on the shape of what Tom hoped was a man standing just a short distance from him.

"Elrin?" he managed to rasp with enormous effort.

"Don't try to talk too much," replied the voice, one that he did not recognise. "You need rest. There will be time enough for explanations later."

"Who...who are you?" Tom questioned, finding it very difficult to transfer his thoughts into speech.

"A friend," the voice told him. "You really must rest now if you want to get back on your feet. I've given you something to help you sleep. Rest now, and when you awaken we can talk."

Hearing these words, Tom found he could no longer keep his eyes open. "Where is Elrin?" he asked softly, but he was already drifting away, back into sleep.

"Our safety is still uncertain here," announced Mo, preparing to set off once more, his large head turning slowly as he scanned the trees. "The hunt may not yet be over."

"But what about Tom?" protested Jack, his cheeks flushed. "He'll never find us if we go too far. How will he know which way to go?"

The badger sniffed the air and appeared increasingly agitated. "He will know," he said shortly and with that Mo began to walk again, leaving Jack momentarily to stand alone. After a moment's hesitation he followed, but it felt very wrong to go on without at least searching for Tom first.

"This doesn't seem right to me," he voiced aloud, catching up with the animal. "We should be looking for Tom, not leaving him behind to fend for himself."

"Trust me, Jack," Mo said, his pace quickening even as he spoke, his long snout close to the ground. "Tom is in safe hands. When the time is right, we shall meet up again."

Jack wanted to question him further on this but before he could speak, Mo came to an abrupt standstill. Tilting his head carefully to one side, he sniffed the air once more, a quick, fussy motion. "Something draws near," he stated with cold certainty and motioning with his head, he led Jack hurriedly into a thicket that stood nearby. Once settled there, the badger and the boy waited for whatever it was that Mo had sensed approaching, and as he crouched low at the animal's side, holding his breath in anticipation, Jack wondered who it was they were hiding from. He did not have long to wait before he found out.

A group of hunters, their horses snorting and sweating, enormous hounds bounding along beside them, cantered up toward the pathway where just moments before he and Mo had been standing. At the head of the riders, a large man mounted on a white mare threw up his gloved hand, a command for the party to halt, and this they did at once, steering their horses close so as to hear what their leader would say. There were perhaps a dozen riders

in all, male and female both, arrayed in the scarlet of the hunt. From his hiding place, so close and yet unobserved, Jack was able to examine each face in turn. He noted the awful, blank expressions they wore, as if they had no thoughts, no emotions of their own, almost as though they were not even truly aware of what they were doing or where they were. They only appeared to come to life when the man upon the white horse spoke, and then it was as if they were merely vessels, given the spark of consciousness by some unseen intelligence, using them as puppets.

The lead huntsman by contrast appeared to be in complete control of his faculties and there was a strange glint in his eyes that Jack found more than a little disturbing. The man turned on his horse and barked instructions. "They cannot be far from here. Very soon we shall have our kill."

There was a rousing cheer at this, but Jack saw that it was an almost involuntary action, their emotions a facade, concealing a stunned, trance-like state that held each of them prisoner within a body now nothing more than a shell. He wanted to mention it to Mo but knew that he must remain silent.

"The Master has promised that there shall be blood spilt this day," their leader cried out. "And you will know its sweetness, my friends."

This too received an unanimous cheer and Jack looked on in terror, his fear of being discovered by this pack of blood-thirsty maniacs causing him to sweat badly, his heart pounding in his chest.

As he watched, Jack saw with unease that the man on the white mare was smiling and as he continued to look at the rider's ruddy features, he was sure, although he knew it could

not be, that the man turned toward him, staring directly into his eyes, as if he knew full well that they were hidden there in the undergrowth. Jack gulped and his scalp tingled with heat and then still smiling, the man winked at him. Even as the boy blinked, disbelieving, the lead huntsman pulled his horse about and raising his hand high above his head, shouted another order. "Onward," he commanded, controlling his skittish mount. "There is nothing for us here. But soon, my friends, very soon, you shall know the joy of death. For the hunt never ends without a kill."

The dogs began to bay, as if they could smell the blood of their prey upon their lips; the horses stamped the earth, hooves raking the soil.

Why haven't the dogs sniffed out our scent? Jack pondered, suddenly struck by the thought as he watched the snarling hounds. They can't be much good if they can't even smell us when we're so close.

With his steed rearing up on its hind legs, the lead huntsman signalled for the party to continue on. There was a brief flurry of activity, eager horses brought under control, boisterous dogs whipped and beaten down with vicious blows from riding crops, and within a few seconds they had thundered away.

Jack was relieved to see them go, for he didn't think he could have remained so quiet for very much longer. But even as he crawled out of the thicket beside the badger and brushed himself off, somewhere in his mind, whispering to him in a low, morose voice, something told him that it was only a matter of time before the Wolf found him again.

The Beast was only waiting until the time and place suited its purpose. And when that

unknown destination was reached, when the time was right at last, Jack knew that the

Wolf would come to fetch him.

Tom was awake. If he was dreaming it felt very real to him. But he couldn't really be sure of anything anymore. He blinked a few times, trying to clear his head.

He saw that he was in a small room with plain white walls and slowly, as his mind began to function, he realised that he was laying on some kind of bed, a blanket covering him.

Where am I? It was an obvious question.

He made an attempt to move his legs with a view to getting up, but found that he had a great deal of difficulty in performing even that simple task. One of his legs, he couldn't tell which, felt strange as if it were asleep and after taking a few deep breaths and trying to move each in turn, he understood that it was his left leg, and more, that something was very wrong with it.

Quite suddenly, a door that Tom had failed to notice opened and a tall, bearded man entered the room. When he saw that Tom was awake he smiled and gave him a thumbs up sign. "You look a good deal better, young man!" he exclaimed in a deep, resonant voice. "How do you feel?"

"Where am I? What's going on?" Tom asked quickly, eyeing the man with suspicion.

"Questions, questions," returned the bearded man good-naturedly. "I have a few of those myself."

"Where is the man I was with?" Tom demanded. "His name is Elrin Jinn," he added. "What's happened to him?"

"Ah," voiced the man, as if Tom's outburst had explained something. "Perhaps you should take a look at this." He took a piece of paper from inside his jacket and handed it toward the boy. Instinctively, Tom touched the place beneath his shirt where he kept the map and was relieved to find it still there. "You were left outside my door," the man continued, "with this note attached."

Tom took the paper and read it silently.

To whom it may concern,

Please tend to the boy until he recovers. Once he is able, send him on his way. I trust the payment will be satisfactory.

E. Jinn.

"Your friend, I presume," the bearded man said, rubbing his chin.

Tom nodded absently, refolding the letter. "But why should you help me?" He stared at the man, demanding an answer.

"Two reasons," came the prompt reply. "Firstly, because I'm a doctor, and therefore it is my sworn oath to tend to the sick. And secondly, because of this." Deftly, the bearded man dipped his fingers into a pocket and retrieved a small green pouch that was displayed to Tom, dangling from the drawstrings. The man then opened it and poured the contents

into his outstretched hand.

"Diamonds!" Tom exclaimed as a dozen blue-white gems sparkled and glittered against the man's palm.

"Payment in full," he affirmed with a satisfied chuckle and slowly tipped the precious stones back into their bag. "Now, we should introduce ourselves." He stepped over to the bedside. "My name is Dr. Redhand, but my friends just call me Red."

Tom didn't know what to make of all this, but decided it was best to play it safe. "Er, I'm Vincent," he said, plucking the first name he could think of out of his head and hoping his face didn't flush with the lie.

The man nodded slowly and seemed to accept what he had been told. "Well Vincent, I'm pleased to make your acquaintance and also to tell you that you are well on your way toward making a full recovery. It was touch and go for a while, but you're a fighter and between us we exorcised that poison from your system in the end."

"Poison?" Tom queried.

"Yes indeed," the doctor told him, "nasty stuff too. Nothing that I've ever seen before. Most peculiar."

"It was the Wolf," Tom said very quietly. "It was in another form, but it was the Wolf."

"Wolf!?" Dr. Redhand repeated, a quizzical expression passing across his face.

"The White Wolf," Tom spat the words angrily, envisioning the monstrous worm, slime dribbling over his flesh, crushing him, suffocating him. Had the Beast truly meant to kill him? What was the Wolf really up to? Tom knew that deceit was at the heart of it all, but

as yet he had not learnt to interpret the ways of his enemy.

"There are no wolves around these parts," Dr. Redhand informed him, giving the boy a long, hard look, as if he feared his injuries ran deeper than supposed, and the man's

obvious ignorance left Tom at a loss as to how he should continue the conversation.

"Where is this place?" he questioned finally, thinking that this would be safe ground.

"You are in the land of Seraphim, Vincent, and no beasts dwell here."

Tom studied the man closely, somewhat confused. Nothing, he knew, was as it seemed in this other world and he was reluctant to trust anyone but himself, but for the moment, while he could not even walk, he was at this man's mercy. He had to accept that, even if he didn't like it. "Can I get up?" he ventured hopefully, but Dr. Redhand merely shook his head, though he did offer an encouraging smile.

"Maybe tomorrow," he suggested. "Your leg is still stiff and we mustn't rush these things. Rest today and tomorrow, perhaps, I'll give you a guided tour of our city."

Tom didn't want to remain bed-bound but after another furtive attempt at moving his leg, he knew it would be futile to persist. He would just have to watch and wait, as Mo had so often counselled.

"Be patient, young man," the doctor told him and began to laugh, stroking his beard as he did so. "That's a good one!" he observed, speaking to himself. "Be patient!"

Tom grimaced at him, not sharing the man's sense of humour.

"Have a good rest and I'll see you in the morning, Vincent," said Dr. Redhand making for the door. "And be patient!" he said once more as he left the room, chuckling heartily. The

sound of his mirth faded with every step he took along the corridor and the last thing Tom heard was a faint voice, saying. "That really is a good one!"

The leader of the hunt pulled up his horse violently, the hounds circling him.

There had to be blood before the hunt could end, but because of the Master's wishes it could not be that of their quarry. No, they must be left to go on their way, to remain a part of the game. Now a different treat had been devised, another prey provided.

"Gather around!" he called to his riders and they massed about him, eager to hear what he would say. "Gather one and all, my children of the hunt. I have a great surprise for you." The dogs began to howl, sensing that the time of the kill was close at hand. The Huntsmen, steadying their restless mounts, moved around him as he spoke, a mass of red and white, anticipation rippling through them, for even though their minds were dead they craved satisfaction, an appetite for killing instilled in their empty hearts.

Regarding them with a detached air, the lead huntsman abruptly roared with malicious laughter. What could be more entertaining than the hunters becoming the hunted? The Master knew the true delights of irony.

The massive dogs snapped impatiently, drooling and foaming as their vicious jaws worked, cold, pale eyes waiting for the signal to attack.

The white mare reared high on its hind legs and the huntsman cried out with passion, his eyes finding the prowling hounds. "Take them, my pretty ones. The kill is yours!"

With unbelievable speed, becoming blurs of muscle and snapping teeth, the dogs flung themselves at the riders, knocking them savagely from their horses, catching them unaware. Thrown to the ground by this sudden onslaught, the men and women began to scream, in terror and disbelief, their pitiful cries filling the air, but then the hounds were upon them, tearing at throats, ripping at flesh, frenzied in their attack and the cries told of nothing but pain.

As the dogs went about their ferocious work, the leader of the hunt sang to them.

"Children of the hunt,

kiss the face of death,

taste the dying breath,

oh, children of the hunt.

Hear the sounds of woe,

feel the blood run cold,

children of the hunt

spirit wraiths of old"

Blood spattered the tunics the riders wore, a scarlet display of slaughter; the horses panicked, trampling them underfoot, adding to the carnage in their efforts to avoid the snarling hounds. The huntsman sang and the screaming went on.

The horses bolted, desperate to flee from the massacre. Amidst writhing bodies who now longed to find death's embrace, the dogs went about their bloody business, rending and tearing, fangs stained red. They were the children of the hunt and they could never be denied. The hunt, the kill, was all there was for them.

After a time in which the sobs and wails of the dying had seemed like a symphony of the damned, an unearthly quiet prevailed, a stillborn emptiness that enshrouded everything. Only the lapping of tongues and gnawing of teeth could be heard.

The forest had become a tomb.

What could he do about his dreams? Tom knew that he was dreaming and yet it seemed so real to him.

He reached out and touched the glass pane of the window he was peering through and outside blue lamps lit up as if on cue, illuminating empty streets.

Should I go out? The urge to tread those silent streets was very strong, the soft light inviting.

He was in a small room, containing only a bed and a wooden table and chair. There was nothing to be gained by remaining there, that seemed quite plain, so Tom walked over to the doorway and turned a silver handle.

At least my leg is better now.

Looking out into the blue haze, he took note of the cyclopean buildings which lined the streets, all constructed from grey stone that glowed eerily. He had a choice of three paths and for a few indecisive moments Tom merely stood there, alone, thinking that it might be better to stay inside after all. But then impulse gripped him and he set off to the right, passing beneath a gigantic archway and on into a expansive square lit by lofty spotlights, that bathed the area with a golden glow. More of the huge, grey structures surrounded him and somewhere above a black sky mantled the city.

At the centre of the square, a fountain gurgled clear water through the mouth of a beautifully sculpted winged figure and Tom stood before it for some time admiring the workmanship. The statues' features seemed so alive that he was certain it would speak to him, but only water came from its chiselled lips.

He continued to stare at the sculpture, marvelling at the way its wings seemed to be actually composed of real feathers, lost in contemplation of the artistry and skill that had shaped it and given it this form. Tom was convinced that there was nothing like this work in his own world, that he was gazing upon something truly extraordinary, and so entranced was he that he almost failed to notice the sound of footsteps ringing out against the stone streets and coming closer, approaching the square. He looked all about him, peering into the sapphire light beyond the archway, trying to assess where whoever it was would come into view. Almost at once the footsteps faltered, as if the person was unsure of the way and Tom in a careless moment made to call out, so that they might find him more easily.

Don't be stupid. It could be an enemy.

Tom rubbed at his temples, uneasiness worming its way into his mind. The footsteps had become louder now, more assured and he knew that he would have to be quick if he was going to conceal himself. Half-heartedly, he hunched down low beside the fountain wall on the side he judged would be hidden and there he waited, his breathing shallow, tension building inside him, not being able to see anything making it all the worse.

He didn't feel afraid, after all it was just a dream, but as the footsteps came on, now very near, he did begin to feel a little foolish and he badly wanted to stand up and see who was there. He was about to do just that and was pushing himself boldly to his feet, when the footsteps abruptly stopped.

What now? He was caught in an awkward stance and having second thoughts, slowly, and with far more care than before, he raised his head, striving to peek over the edge of the fountain and gain a glimpse of the person he knew must now be standing within the square, but when he looked it was quite deserted.

Tom's unease increased and he had the uncomfortable sensation that someone was behind him.

"Hello Tom," said a familiar voice and he span around to look into the blue eyes of a young girl.

"Lisa!" he blurted, both relieved and embarrassed.

"I didn't scare you, did I?" she asked, smiling very slightly.

"Of course not," Tom blustered, "I knew you were there all the time." As soon as he said this he felt very stupid. He looked at her for a long moment, painfully aware of her beauty. She wore a light cotton dress of pale yellow that came down to just below her knees and for a brief second, Tom let his gaze linger there and found that it gave him a strange feeling of excitement that he barely understood, setting his pulse racing and causing his face to flush. Finding the girl's eyes Tom saw that she was smiling openly at him and his face bloomed scarlet.

"Come on," she said, giggling, "I've got something to show you." Taking his hand, she led him off away from the fountain, on into the blue lit lanes of the vast, deserted city. Tom followed her wherever she took him, clinging to her as if he thought to let go would be to lose her again, and before very long they came upon a wide, cobbled street, a street so clean he could easily believe that it was regularly scrubbed and polished.

"Is this a dream?" he wondered aloud, the question echoing familiarly in his mind.

Lisa eyed him with affected derision. "Haven't you learnt yet, Tom. There is no such thing as dreams. The truth has many dimensions." She began to laugh gaily and skipped ahead of him, obviously taken by some secret amusement.

"You don't have to make fun of me," snapped Tom and Lisa stopped and turned back, her expression very serious, gazing deep into his eyes.

"I promise I would never do that."

They continued to walk in silence now, Tom brooding over her laughter, convinced it had been aimed at him and no less happy about it for all her promises.

How do I know who to trust? How can I know?

"That's the place," Lisa said suddenly, halting and pointing upward, her face bathed in a soft blue glow.

Tom peered up at a white building that had miraculously loomed before them out of a mass of grey, shining brighter than any other and although it was not great in width, it seemed to rise distant into the darkness above, piercing the night sky.

"A tower," Tom said obviously.

"Angel Tower," Lisa corrected him.

"What's it for?" he queried, turning from the tall building to look at her.

The girl seemed to think this over for a time before she answered. "For climbing," she said at length.

A TEST OF CHARACTER

"What are you?" Jack questioned Mo abruptly, afraid to ask, but not able to hold back the doubts about his friend that grew within, his need for answers greater than his fear of what he might hear.

"I am whatever you think I am," the badger said evenly.

Jack shook his head a little angrily. "That's no answer."

"What answer do you wish?" queried Mo. "Does it matter so much what I look like? Would it make a difference to your opinion of my character? Tell me, Jack, what is it you need to know about me?"

Hesitating, Jack considered how best to continue. "Everything is a trick here," he said fiercely, "nothing stays true. Everyone lies! Even you've lied to me all along. You're not what I thought you were. How do I know that everything else you've told me isn't just more lies?"

Mo turned his head away. "So you still think me akin to the Beast?"

"No," Jack answered steadily, "but I just wish you would be more honest with me."

The badger glanced back at him and then drew closer. "Everything I do is what I believe is for the best. Perhaps sometimes, I am wrong. There are things that I know that guide my actions, but there are also things I cannot know. We should not demand to know all, for to learn before your time can place you into the hands of our enemies. They thrive on half-truths and misconception." Jack was at a loss. He didn't understand and that was all there was to it. Mo was just another mystery in a world of many. "You will have to be patient, " his friend added. "What answers there are, doubtless you will find them before the end."

Although it did not comfort him, Jack felt that this was right. One day he would come to know the truth that lay beneath the trickery and lies. But till then, he was just a boy who had somehow stumbled upon an alien world, a land without rules. Magic held dominion here. Magic and dreams.

Jack wondered what, when again he slept, he would find waiting for him in that other place that had taken on substance and now seemed to undermine his sense of reality. Maybe Tom would be there, dreaming too.

But when do mere dreams become nightmare? And what if, once there, there was no way to return?

The two walked on. Badger and boy.

"Here, try using this to support yourself," Dr. Redhand bade Tom, handing him a wooden crutch.

"So you think I'll be able to walk now?" Tom said, experimentally putting his injured leg over the side of the bed and fitting the crutch under his left arm.

"It will be sore and a little stiff for a few more days, but walking will aid your recovery." The doctor watched him closely as Tom prepared to stand. "You must tell me how you came to be infected with such a strange poison, Vincent. I'm fascinated by its unusual properties. It has kept me up to all hours studying it. You mentioned something about a wolf?"

Tom hesitated. He knew he could find himself in an awkward corner, if he wasn't careful. "I...I don't really remember," he stammered, pretending to have difficulty with the crutch so that he didn't have to look at the man. "Something attacked me."

Dr. Redhand gave him a bemused look, shaking his head slowly. "Assaulted in Seraphim? That really is most uncommon."

"It's all very hazy," Tom mumbled, feigning confusion.

"Well, whatever it was, it most certainly was not a creature native to these parts. There are very few animals, save us humans, who inhabit this area and all are quite harmless. And surely it wouldn't have been one of our citizens. No, I can't believe that. Even so, we'll have to pay a visit on the Magistrate and let him know what's happened."

"Haven't you told anyone about me then?" Tom wanted to know.

"A few discreet friends, yes. But I thought it best to wait until you were on your feet again, literally!, before I exposed you to the curiosity of our good people." Tom didn't say anymore, feeling that he had got in deep enough already and was content to let the matter drop. "Come then, let's get you up," Dr. Redhand said briskly. "Put your trousers on first," he added, lending Tom assistance where needed before helping the boy to manoeuvre himself into a standing position.

Tom didn't experience any pain, but his leg felt very odd and he was grateful for the support of the crutch; without it he suspected he would simply fall flat on his face.

"It will take some time to get used to it," Dr. Redhand told him cheerfully, stepping away so that Tom was on his own. Tottering slightly, he made his way toward the door, the doctor walking alongside of him. "That's the way, you can do it!" the man encouraged, moving quickly ahead and opening the door to reveal another much larger room beyond.

"Is this your house?" Tom asked as he passed into what he took to be a study, large bookcases taking up most of the wall space, an immense desk littered with more books and papers standing before a tall window.

"Indeed!" the doctor said, smiling proudly, "this is my humble abode, and yours too until you're well again."

The room, Tom noted, was rather untidy, mirroring the man's desk, papers strewn here and there, several empty bottles laying haphazardly about a big armchair set close to a hearth.

"Excuse the mess," Dr. Redhand muttered, a little shamefaced as he followed Tom's gaze. "I've been preoccupied with my studies."

"I've seen my bedroom in a worse state," Tom admitted with a small smile.

"Then we are comrades!" the man boomed, chuckling. "Now let me show you our fair city." With this, he went to what Tom guessed was the front door and opened it, and lurching after him to stand in the doorway Tom looked out onto a scene that seemed vaguely familiar to him. Great buildings of grey stone dominated a wide street and in the light of day, the stone pavement gleamed.

I've been here before. But though Tom felt this to be true, his memory refused to tell him when or how.

"Are you all right, Vincent?" Dr. Redhand enquired, sensing the boy's puzzlement.

"Yes, I'm fine," Tom said, but as he walked out into the street, several passers-by glancing at him before nodding a greeting to his companion, he wondered if he were dreaming again.

Of course, that's it. I've been here in a dream!

But the exact details of that dream evaded him. Perhaps in time he would remember.

Dr. Redhand led him off along a side street to the left of the house and he noticed many men, women and children along the way, most of whom gave him curious glances as they passed, although none seemed hostile. Everyone appeared to know the doctor and to hold him in high regard, and they offered warm welcomes when they met him.

"Before we make that visit to the magistrate," Dr. Redhand suggested amiably, "I would like you to meet some friends of mine. And whilst there, Vincent my friend, we may even partake of some refreshment."

Tom just went where he was told, saying little.

Presently, they came to a much wider thoroughfare that led into a large courtyard, where several tables and chairs with brightly coloured canopies were set out, the groups of men and women seated there conversing and drinking in equal measure.

A party of three elderly men spied their approach and called out a friendly greeting. "Red, you old reprobate!" cried one of them as they drew nearer.

"Drunk again, Pat?" responded Dr. Redhand, halting at the table.

"Our natural state!" affirmed one of the others, smiling.

"And who might this be?" said the third, taking several gulps from a silver tankard. "Your young house-guest, I suppose."

"Indeed, it is," the doctor confirmed. "Let me introduce you to my three good and true comrades, Vincent!" He gestured toward the nearest of the men, a wizened looking, white-haired individual, whom Tom thought seemed a little worse for wear. "This is Pat Straub, an old fool but a wonderful companion and an honest man!" Tom nodded politely at the old man, who gave him a wide grin in return. "And this," Dr. Redhand continued, placing a hand on the shoulder of a slightly younger man, whose dark hair and beard gave him a rather sinister look, "is Bill McGoohan, a fine story teller and an even better drinker!"

"Good day to you," voiced the man, winking at Tom.

Feeling just a little bit uneasy, Tom acknowledged him in return.

"And finally, my old school chum and fellow part-time philosopher, Pete Blatty."

"Hello there, young man," said a thin-faced man with greying hair, the youngest of the three by Tom's estimation. "You say his name is Vincent, Red? Nice name, very distinguished!"

The others chuckled, each taking frequent mouthfuls of their beverages.

"Draw up a seat," Pat Straub bid them, "there's plenty to go around!"

For the next hour or so, Tom sat and listened to the banter between the four friends, and although they drank a great deal-Tom declining an offer of some kind of ale to much gentle derision-they never appeared to be less than lucid and articulate, their topics of conversation always interesting and intelligent. One such exchange concerned something they referred to as Angel Tower, and this immediately sparked some half-remembered memory in Tom's mind and made him sit up and take especial notice.

"Those were the days, Bill," Pete Blatty had said, "when we believed that you could have communion with the angels themselves."

"Yes," concurred the other man, "sometimes I wake up in the morning and feel determined to climb that damn tower, just to find out the truth once and for all, but then I find myself back here, drinking again! And my resolve is lost for another day."

"You'd never get inside anyway," Dr. Redhand interceded, "the magistrate has vowed to keep it locked up for good. People just don't believe in that kind of thing anymore."

"More's the pity," said Pat Straub and a silence had settled between them that lasted for several minutes, the recess used for contemplation and numerous refills of their tankards.

By the time Tom and the doctor left the three men, he had come to rather like them and when they all proposed that they met up again the following day, he was the first to voice his agreement.

"You liked my friends then, Vincent?" Dr. Redhand said as they walked beneath a stone archway and along a narrow side-street.

Tom smiled, feeling far more comfortable in both body and spirit. "Yes," he answered, "but why do you all have to drink so much?"

The man laughed at this. "Do you disapprove?" Tom looked at the doctor with a glum, unamused expression that said that indeed he did. "You obviously have a bad impression of drinking men," Dr. Redhand said, still smiling, "and I would concede that sometimes that is justified. But let me assure you, Vincent, in our particular case, it is only a pastime, nothing more. It merely serves as a focal point for our gatherings, so that we can debate, philosophise and of course, most importantly, swap a few jokes!"

They continued on along spotlessly clean walkways, grey walls hemming them in, until Dr. Redhand came to a halt in front of a large building, which although very similar to most of the others in the city, had an even more sombre, bleak look about it. "This is the Administration Centre," the doctor informed the boy, climbing some steps, Tom trailing behind a little. Two towering iron doors appeared extremely uninviting to him, the idea of a visit to the magistrate an unsettling prospect.

"Can you manage?" the man asked, and with a sullen nod Tom made his way up the stairs. "Well," Dr. Redhand said, pushing one of the huge doors inward, "time for you to meet our magistrate. I believe he has a number of questions he would like to ask you."

"Walk on my little one, walk on,

to where the world is changing,

and now feel the road a'turning

toward that for which you're yearning,

walk on my little one, walk on."

Mo sang as they travelled west through a field of high, swaying grass, a wind about them.

"What's that you're singing?" Jack questioned, intrigued by the lilting tune, although the words conjured in him a vague disquiet and foreboding.

"Just an old melody," the badger told him, "a travelling song as we walk the forest paths."

They had been walking for quite some time since their sighting of the riders and with every step, Jack knew that they were leaving Tom further behind, and to him, it felt like a betrayal. For all they knew Tom could be trapped or hurt, maybe at that very moment depending on his friends to come and rescue him, sure in the knowledge that they would be doing all they could to find him. And yet he and Mo just went on their way, leaving Tom to save himself.

They entered a wood, the trees stretching before them, the sky bright, patches of blue glimpsed through the canopy above, and for several miles more they trudged on, endeavouring to reach the other side. Jack was becoming increasingly fed up with the monotony of their surroundings, the constant green of tree and grass. Just as he was considering this night fell about them, so abruptly it was as if a curtain had been drawn, shutting out the light.

Jack stopped, unwilling to take another step in the darkness, but then Mo was there looking up at him, encouragement in his large black eyes. "You should be used to such displays by now," the animal said.

"I hate this place," retorted Jack with feeling.

"Come Jack," Mo instructed him, "hold on fast to your beliefs. Do not let the Beast get the better of you."

Even while he was listening to his friend's voice, Jack was aware that he was gradually succumbing to a tremendous fatigue that pressed down upon him.

If only I could rest, just for a while.

The need to lay down, his body aching, became so great, it almost overwhelmed him but then Mo spoke again.

"Now is not the time for rest," growled the badger, as if he knew Jack's thoughts, "for sleep is the road of dreams and that is exactly the path the Beast would have you take."

"But," Jack began.

"Do not say anymore," commanded the animal with force. "You would only speak with the voice of the Beast, advocating its will. Walk on! We must not weaken, you or I!"

Jack remained silent after this as they went on and the darkness seemed to weigh heavy upon him, until it felt as though he carried its black mass upon his frail shoulders.

Once inside the Administration building, a youthful, fair-haired man came forward from behind a desk and asked them to follow him, obviously with full knowledge of the purpose of their visit. Tom's feelings of apprehension had been growing steadily since they had left Dr. Redhand's friends, his mind working in a frantic attempt to come up with some convincing answers to the inevitable interrogation he would surely face. As yet, he had failed to do so.

"I feel a bit giddy," he offered hoping to delay, or better still postpone the impending audience, coming to a halt in a wide hallway that he guessed led to the magistrate's chambers.

"Easy now," said the doctor, coming over to where Tom leaned against a wall. The man regarded him with a professional air and then took his pulse with practised efficiency. "Hmm," he murmured thoughtfully, "your pulse is running a little high." And then addressing their escort, he went on, "I think my young friend needs to sit down for a moment."

The fair-haired man did not reply but directed them through a door into a small room, where hard wooden chairs lined the walls. It reminded Tom of a doctor's waiting room.

"If you would be so kind as to wait here," instructed the man, "I will inform the magistrate that you have arrived." He excused himself with a curt nod and left the room through another door.

"Now take some deep breaths," advised the doctor as he squatted down in front of Tom, who was slumped upon one of the chairs. "I'm sure you'll be fine in a minute or so."

Tom found little solace in the man's words. He actually felt sick by now, the worry of what would be asked of him causing his stomach to turn over. However hard he tried to contain his anxiety about meeting the ominous sounding magistrate, he could not shake the feeling that he was heading for some serious trouble. Already he was ruing the fact that he had lied about his name. Why hadn't he just stuck to the truth?

At that moment, the fair-haired man re-entered the room and gestured toward Tom. "The magistrate would like to see the young gentleman alone, Dr. Redhand, if you do not mind. He has asked me to relay to you his most profound apologies and requests that you return in perhaps an hour or so."

Dr. Redhand looked a bit put out by this, but nodded politely and then turning to Tom said, "it looks as though you're going to have to fend for yourself, Vincent." Getting to his feet, he gave the boy another brief glance, although what it signified Tom could not say. Then he left the room through the door they had entered by. "I'll see myself out."

Now Tom was all alone, but for the fair-haired man.

"This way," he directed, indicating the other door.

Reluctantly, Tom followed him into a surprisingly expansive chamber, made to appear all the bigger by its conspicuous lack of furniture or any of the usual embellishments. In fact, there was only a single wooden desk in the room, with two chairs either side of it and a few paintings that hung incongruously from the otherwise bare walls. Also, adding to Tom's discomfort, there were no windows to be seen, the only illumination supplied by a large overhanging lamp, that gave off a sickly, yellow glow. Behind the desk, bathed in the glare of the lamp, there sat a gaunt-faced, elderly man in a black suit, who regarded him with a blank and stony gaze.

"Please be seated," urged the fair-haired man before quickly leaving the room.

Tom walked forward and tried very hard to return the old man's unnerving stare, but found that he could not. The room was utterly silent and he had become acutely aware of his own heartbeat, hammering away regularly against his chest. He reached the chair and sat down, still avoiding the man's eyes.

"What is your name?" the magistrate asked him.

Tom glanced at the man, startled by the sound. "My name is Vincent, sir," he said a little shakily.

The magistrate continued to look at him impassively and Tom squirmed in his chair, wishing he were anywhere else in the world right now than in this room.

"What...is your name?" the magistrate asked again, his voice even.

Confused, Tom gave the man a questioning look, but this was only met by cold eyes scrutinising him and making him feel more uncomfortable than ever.

"My name is Vincent," Tom repeated, this time more loudly in case the old man was a little hard of hearing.

For several long moments the magistrate appeared unlikely to speak again. All this while, Tom stole furtive glances at him to see if his unsettling expression would alter and change into one slightly more congenial, but it remained just the same as before.

"What...is...your...name?" the man said once more.

Tom was afraid now. He could not lie anymore. "My name is Tom Lewis," he blurted out, half embarrassed, half resentful.

"Good," the magistrate stated simply, and though Tom waited for what seemed a long time for the man to continue, there was only silence. Somehow, he found the courage to look at the old man's narrow features, for the first time since his admission, and he saw amusement glittering within dark eyes. "How's your leg, Tom?" he enquired suddenly, his voice amiable.

Tom was caught off guard and wasn't sure how best to proceed. He knew full well that he was on very dangerous ground here, and that one misplaced step could prove fatal. "I'll be all right," he replied casually, affecting a small shrug.

"That is good," the magistrate nodded, "yes, that's fine. I hear our doctor has been taking good care of you."

Tom did not say anymore; he was too busy wondering what would happen if he made a run for it, but injured as he was, he didn't rate his chances very highly.

The magistrate leaned forward, resting bony hands on the desk. "Now what's all this about a wolf?" he asked with good-natured interest.

"I was attacked," Tom answered quietly.

"Yes, indeed you were. But by a wolf!? Come now, you should know better than that. There are no wolves in Seraphim."

"Maybe it was something else then," Tom volunteered, feigning indifference. With every second, every question, he felt his situation worsening. He was being deftly pushed into a corner and soon there would be nowhere left to go.

"But what could it have been?" the old man asked of him, pursuing the matter, "there are no beasts in this land. Surely the good doctor must have told you that?"

"Yes, he did," Tom admitted in as steady a voice as he could manage.

"You have to see it from my side of the fence, Tom. You arrive here out of the blue on some kind of quest, claiming to have been attacked by some mythical wolf. You lie about your name. I can only suspect the worst."

Tom stared into the black eyes of the old man. "I never said anything about a quest."

The magistrate paused for a few moments, giving Tom an intimidating glare. "Purely a figure of speech, I assure you," he said finally.

Very slowly, Tom raised his hand and pointed at the man. "You work for the Wolf, don't you?" he accused, mouth clenched with growing anger. "This is just another one of its stupid games!"

Smiling, the magistrate settled back into his chair and interlocked his fingers. "I really don't know what you're talking about, Tom. Perhaps the poison has affected your brain as well as your leg, hmm?"

"Why have you locked up Angel Tower?" Tom asked him without hesitation, watching for his reaction, but the magistrate merely raised an eyebrow and stared at the boy.

"You really are an interesting young fellow," he said dispassionately, folding his arms. "So you want to know about the tower? Well, I'll tell you. It's like this. The average citizen does not want to be bothered by mysteries or things they do not understand. And so it is the job, indeed, the duty, of those who govern, to protect the people from things that might upset them. A balance must be kept."

"What do you mean, a balance?" challenged Tom, disturbed by the man's statement.

"The truth is, Tom, that no-one really wants to know what's up there high above the city. It's better for everyone if you lock away the secret past and let the populace stay blissfully ignorant. Why frighten the sheep? If provoked, they might well do something foolish and we wouldn't want that, now would we?"

"People have to learn and choose for themselves," Tom said with conviction.

The magistrate shook his head. "It's people like you that are the true danger, you know Tom. It's radicals like yourself that would destroy the harmony and security that has been established over countless centuries of care and diligence. Don't you see how arrogant you are to presume that the average man, woman or child really wants to know about things that would inevitably bring about an end to their way of life? You have a great deal to learn, but do not fear. There are those who would teach you. But all in good time and...one way or another."

Tom glared at the white-haired man and felt a rage growing within him. "People are not pieces of meat," he shouted suddenly. "Everyone has the right to make up their own mind. Even if they get it wrong! Is that what the Wolf is really all about? Does he want us to all be the same, to stop thinking for ourselves?"

The magistrate shook his head again very slowly, a look of disdainful pity in his eyes that made Tom want to leap across the desk and punch him in the face.

"You just can't see it, can you?" spat the old man, all at once animated, his stone-like countenance cracking. "The Master does not need Mankind. It is they who need him. The Beast is a part of everyone's dreams. There's a corner of darkness in every soul. Even yours, Tom...especially yours."

"But there's a difference between you and me," Tom said firmly. "You would rather lock away the truth, but I am willing to face it."

"Are you certain of that?" the magistrate questioned with contempt.

"Yes," stated Tom with a fierceness that seemed to take the old man by surprise, his body tensing, eyes narrowed; but after a moment he relaxed back in his seat once more, and regaining his composure he chuckled, giving Tom an unpleasant grin.

"In the end it all comes down to a test of character," he spoke harshly, "and do you know something, I think that you will fail."

Tom made no response to this. He knew that this exchange was only a prelude to some other, more significant trial, and he understood now that wherever he went, whatever he did, the Beast was always there at his side.

The enemy did not want him dead. He was certain of that now. No, it wanted something far, far worse. The White Wolf wanted him broken. Mind and soul.

That was the only way that it could ever really win.

"That will be all," the magistrate said with a dismissive wave of his hand, turning his attention to some papers on his desk.

A tremendous surge of relief washed over Tom and he realised just how tense he had become during his interrogation. He left the room quickly without another word, impatient to breath clean air again, and when finally he had regained the street and was leaning against a wall, almost too weak to stand, it felt as if he had come through a battle, badly scarred, yet nevertheless still in one piece.

The darkness seemed to suffocate him.

"We can't go on," lamented Jack, "I can hardly see where I'm going." Already, two or three times he had stumbled and almost fallen, losing his footing on the black, invisible terrain.

"We must go on," came the reply from somewhere ahead of him, but Jack was having great difficulty in seeing the badger, only the white part of the animal's face cutting through the deep gloom whenever he glanced back.

The further they went, the thicker the darkness became and soon they were completely enshrouded by a comfortless blanket of night.

" Mo!" Jack called, "where are you? I can't see you!"

But no answer came. His fears seemed to take form, dancing just out of reach in the night, taunting him with insidious chants of despair, and he became certain that they would lose each other in the blackness and then they would all be alone, he, Mo and Tom. "Where are you?" he cried out again, the sound of his own voice drifting alien and ghostly across the murky countryside.

Looking down, Jack could barely make out his own hands and he raised them up directly in front of his face, straining his eyes, but it was as though he was no longer physically there, only his mind and thoughts remaining to wander the night. Disembodied, he floated across a black landscape, aware dimly that he was losing touch with reality. "Mo!" he called one last time, desperately hoping to hear the badger's voice return his call. But there was nothing, no sound other than a gently sighing wind.

When will it end?

The terrible chain of events that had gathered him up in their relentless grasp replayed once more in his mind. Many times in the past he had endured the pain of loneliness,

but now he realised that he had never been truly alone until this moment.

In the frigid embrace of that black night, so unnatural and oppressive, Jack began very softly to cry.

THE HEART OF DARKNESS

When Tom awoke on the morning after his interview with the magistrate, his mind was full of questions. He could not remember any dreams invading his sleep, but his rest had been fitful, his head crowded with spectres of doubt and suspicion.

Although he knew now that the magistrate of Seraphim was a disciple of the Wolf, did this mean that everyone in the city was also in its service? He found it hard to believe that Dr. Redhand was one of the enemy, and yet he had learnt only too well that you couldn't take anything, or anyone, at face value. Were they all laughing at him secretly, mocking his foolish deceptions? Did they smirk behind his back when they called him by a false name?

And there was another mystery, one that occurred to him quite abruptly now that he took the time to think about it, even though it should have been obvious to him right from the moment he had awoken to find himself in this strange city.

Just how exactly had he come to be there?

He had met a little man named Jinn who had somehow grown tall before his eyes. He had then been somehow shrunk and burrowed deeper and deeper into the earth, before travelling down a slide, which against all the laws of nature had come out above ground. Or had he? And why had Elrin Jinn just left him there alone?

Could Seraphim be a world within a world? A city at the centre of the earth!? Perhaps it was pointless even to try and explain the conundrums that these lands posed. After all, in a dream there are no rules.

While Tom was still mulling these ideas over, Dr. Redhand entered the room and gave him a friendly grin. "Good night's sleep?" he enquired, throwing open the curtains and in the soft light that filtered through the window, Tom grimaced, giving his answer plainly without having to voice it. "Probably just the new surroundings," assessed the doctor, returning to the doorway and fidgeting a little, as if keen to get away.

"Don't let me keep you," Tom offered, sensing the man's preoccupation with some other pressing matter, and seeming to become aware of his display of agitation for the first time, Dr. Redhand smiled sheepishly.

"I do apologise, Vincent, but I have an appointment that I don't want to be late for." Being addressed by his pseudonym made Tom feel an odd mixture of guilt and treachery, bringing a sour expression to his face. "I said I was sorry," the doctor commented, misreading this and adopting a frown. "But it may prove to be of great importance to us all."

Recovering himself quickly Tom gave the man a weak smile. "A secret rendezvous!" he said, expecting laughter, but Dr. Redhand only eyed him carefully, as if debating internally whether to make any reply.

"Still take it easy with that leg," he decided at last. "You may feel as if you've completely recovered now, but you mustn't over do it."

"When will you be back?" Tom asked, hoping it wouldn't be too long. He did not relish being alone.

"I'll tell you what," the doctor began, "I'll meet up with you at the hostelry. You know, where we met my friends yesterday. They'll keep you company until I arrive. Ask Pete Blatty to tell you some of his famous yarns, that should keep you entertained!"

Tom nodded with some enthusiasm. He was quite keen to talk with the three old men again. Perhaps he would even be able to gain some information about the magistrate and in particular, Angel Tower. For something, perhaps a kind of intuition, told him that the tower held the key to why he was here.

During his relatively short life, Jack had come to know the cold severity of loneliness very well. When his mother and father had died, the world had closed around him leaving him a prisoner in his own body. No-one could get inside to reach him and he could not get out. Perhaps he hadn't even wanted to.

Many things had changed since then, but now, in the unremitting darkness, he knew that he had never really been released from the custody of isolation. The bitter world had fooled him into believing that time could heal the deepest wounds and that a boy could grow beyond the tragedies of life.

He was all alone. Except for the fear that crawled within, artful and mischievous, whispering threats of approaching jeopardy.

"Mo!" he yelled, knowing it was useless. No answer would come. The badger was gone.

Even as he listened despite himself, certain he would remain lost forever, Jack heard a faint humming sound that seemed to come from all around him. He stopped, straining to hear it better and within its hypnotic tone, a voice spoke to him.

"Little one," it said, "you are lost and lonely are you not? Come to me, my child, come and rest with me a while."

Jack peered into the black veil that covered the land and wondered who it could be calling to him.

"Do not resist me, little one," implored the voice. "Draw nearer still and stay with me. I'll keep you safe, safe from fear."

Jack knew he should be frightened, yet inside he felt nothing but an icy emptiness. And it was a comfort to him. For now he had found a friend in the wilderness of his soul and been invited to emerge from the darkness into another place, a place he prayed would be more forgiving toward him. He wanted so much to put his faith in the light it promised.

"That is good," the voice encouraged gently, "come closer and be my child. Touch my hand and forget all else. I'm for you and you're for me. Little one, lost and tired."

Moving forward, he wanted so much to be held and cherished, knowing that the voice offered passage to a place where he would be safe and never lonely again. Something brushed close to him and he stopped, waiting to be accepted.

"Oh yes," the voice sang to him, very near, "my prize, my heart's desire. I am all there is for you now."

A hand, warm and as delicate as a flower, gripped Jack's own and he was led carefully forward.

"Where are we going?" he heard himself ask, the sound far away, sensing that now he had become truly disconnected from his body. He no longer felt held back by the constraints and limitations of flesh and bone and had begun to evolve beyond the shallow existence he had hitherto known.

"Hush now, my little one. Be still and quiet and trust in me. I am the truth. I am everything. Forget all else, but believe in me."

Jack did believe and he was contented. Yet within his mind a nebulous picture was forming, a vision of a beautiful woman dressed all in white, whose teeth glistened between blood red lips.

"Do not fear," her voice reassured him, "I shall be all for you. My little one, my only love."

Dr. Redhand did not come.

They had spent a good humoured morning and afternoon swapping stories, Tom even contributing one or two that to his delight the three old men seemed to enjoy immensely. But as the day wore on, he could sense that his new friends were becoming increasingly apprehensive, as was he himself, at the doctor's failure to appear.

"I can't imagine what could be keeping him so long?" Pat Straub commented with a frown as twilight crept around them, their conversation faltering. "And you say he didn't even tell you where he was going?"

Tom shook his head. "I thought he would have told you."

"He'll turn up," Bill McGoohan told them all confidently. "He always does." But after another few hours had passed and evening was upon them, even he had lost faith in his own prediction. "Maybe we had better look for him," he decided, an unfamiliar tenseness in his voice.

Although Tom held little hope of finding him there, he had decided it was best to check Dr. Redhand's home first; the others went off to various locations where they thought their friend might be, the three men trying not to show the concern they obviously felt.

"Do you know," laughed Pete Blatty as they parted, "I wouldn't be surprised if Red has stopped off with old mother Mercer and lost all track of time sampling her home-made wine!" But Tom saw that the others did not raise more than a feeble smile in return and as each went their own way, their faces were troubled.

Now, as Tom approached the house that had become his temporary home, he looked hopefully for a light within, but there was only darkness and he was sure the doctor would not have just come home without seeing his friends first. Even so, he still went inside, the front door unlocked as was Dr. Redhand's custom. The room was rather gloomy without light and shadows nestled all around. Night was descending swiftly and as Tom went over to ignite the lantern that sat upon a small wooden table next to the door, he stopped abruptly, certain he had heard a muffled sound. He stood very still, listening carefully, but the house was completely silent.

"Red!?" he called out, his voice unexpectedly hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Red! Are you there?" He was answered by a very slight rustling that seemed to come from just ahead, a soft, furtive sound, as if whatever was there was trying desperately to keep still. In the gloom, Tom could only make out the doctor's big armchair, where he spent so much time reading his books and sometimes labouring over some new thesis of his own. He could make out the outline of the chair easily, the shape of the high back and the arm rests on either side, but everything in between was lost in a pool of utter blackness. Tom moved quietly to the table but hesitated once more. He knew that he should just turn on the light, yet for reasons he only felt and did not understand, he was reluctant to do so.

Come on, Tom, don't let your imagination get the better of you.

His hand stole toward the lantern, though his movements were shaky, uncertain, his arm seeming to resist his commands, making the task far more difficult than it should have been.

"Don't do that," someone said from the darkness, startling him, and his hand jerked and knocked the lantern from the table with a crash. "I do so hope it's not broken," said the voice calmly. "It would be difficult to replace."

"Dr. Redhand!?" Tom ventured, recognising the voice but unable to actually see who spoke. There was another flurry of movement, louder this time and the man leaned forward in his chair, his face illuminated by a random beam of light slanting through the window.

"What are you doing here?" Tom demanded sharply.

The doctor gave a small chuckle. "This is my home, is it not?"

"But you were supposed to meet us," the boy said, mystified.

"Yes, I know, I know and I'm sorry, truly," the doctor told him, "but things didn't go quite as I had expected."

"So where have you been?" Tom questioned, wanting some kind of explanation.

"Strange things are happening, Tom, very strange things. And I think it may very well be time to take a look up in that tower. What do you think?"

Tom took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He tried to choose his next few words very carefully. "Why did you call me that?" he asked, feeling both guilty and foolish. "Why did you call me Tom?"

Dr. Redhead chuckled softly, but the sound was not unkind. "I know a great many things now," he answered, "things I did not know before. There is no more need for pretence between us, Tom. We must set aside the deceptions of the past and work together."

"What do you mean?" Tom said uneasily.

"Tomorrow I am going to climb Angel Tower. I was hoping that you would join me?"

Once more, the world seemed to writhe beneath Tom, as if it were some frenzied serpent dancing to a tune only it could hear. He could only cling to its slippery skin, riding its endless twists and turns, trying as best he could not to be cast off into the void he knew beckoned beyond, compelled to follow the path it took him along.

The badger kept perfectly still, not allowing himself to make even the slightest of sounds. His breathing was shallow, his heart thumping loudly, the animal afraid that this alone might be enough to give away his position.

Then a voice spoke to him.

"You think I cannot see you there, half-one...half this, half that. But you are wrong, so very wrong. I see you for what you really are."

Mo let himself relax. He was quite prepared to face the enemy in whatever guise it chose to assume, but he had hoped their confrontation might be postponed, at least until he had helped his two young friends a little further on their journey.

When the darkness had come, he had suspected it to be a prelude to some manifestation of the Wolf's evil, but he had sensed, or thought he had sensed, that the Beast was elsewhere, on other business and therefore could not attack them with any real force. It seemed he had been mistaken.

"Why don't you show yourself?" the badger challenged the darkness, but his words were met with a soft, disdainful laughter.

"Now why would I want to do that, half-fool? Why would I show myself to you when I am quite content to watch you there, alone in the deep night, the prison that you create for yourself? Really, my old, wise friend, you are so very weak. You are helpless. I only have to take away your eyes and you become as vulnerable as a child."

Mo smiled, white teeth against the blackness. "Take care, wolf, for tables can turn and words are more often than not no more than wishful thinking."

The voice roared with mirth, guttural laughter echoing all around, ringing loud in the badger's ears. "I see that you still speak in riddles, and as ever, you remain a sad old fool. You try so very hard to convince yourself that you can match my power, that you could defeat me, but you know, in your withered heart, that you are nothing, less than dust beneath my feet. Come now, old friend, confess to me, or at least admit it to yourself. You are the past, you have no place in this time, my time."

"If all you say is true, then why do you not face me?" retorted Mo with a contemptuous note in his voice.

"I, face you!" the Wolf barked, a terrible, relentless sound. "You, who cower in the darkness. You, who hide when you feel me near. I could devour your heart and soul and spit out your worthless bones if I so wished."

"Then why don't you do so?" snarled the badger, fur bristling all over his body. "Why don't you try?"

"No, my good half-one." The voice of the Beast was mild, terrifyingly calm. "I do not believe I shall do anything just at the moment. It is not yet the time. You must wait for me. Have patience my friend of old, but do not fret, for the hour draws near. Not long now, not far. Just wait a while and then I shall come for you, I promise, and when I come you will know all of the truths that have been kept from you for so long. You will see it all, know everything, and I have no doubt that you will be surprised. And then you shall say the words that even now are hungry in your heart, for I am your lord, your only God. You will bow before me on that day and offer me sacrifice."

The badger growled deep in his throat. "I would see myself destroyed before I call you lord. You are no more or less than vermin, a carrier of corruption. You are the lowest of all creatures, and I shall see you dead! I will see that you are skinned and hung up for all to know you for what you truly are. Soon you will pay the price for your many crimes."

There was a brief silence and then a low, menacing chuckle began, a malignancy that grew until it filled the night, the very air thick with it. "Oh you are such a favourite of mine" the voice enthused, "you are such fun for me. What shall I do when you are gone? Do you know something, half-one...half-brother, I think that I shall miss you then." Mo did not respond to this. Instead he concentrated on trying to assess where the spectral voice originated from, but it seemed to come from everywhere around him, as if it were part of the darkness itself. "So now I must bid you farewell," the Wolf continued, "it has

been amusing to speak with you, my tired old friend, but now other, more pressing duties call me, and I must leave you, all alone in the black tomb of your own despair. You are an irrelevance to me, but fear not for we shall meet again soon, when your hour strikes. Count the minutes, half-one, count them well. Count them eagerly, and so shall I."

There was a noise like the sighing of the wind, a parting breath, and then the badger felt the veil lifting from the night, the presence slipping away to leave him alone. His thoughts immediately turned to Jack, knowing the boy was vulnerable. What cruel mischief had the Beast worked? If anything had happened to his charge, then the blame rested with himself, Mo knew. He should not have allowed the darkness to separate them, but he had been careless and now who could say what might have befallen his young friend.

"Jack!" he called out, hoping his cry would be answered by a frightened voice, praying that the boy had remained quiet but safe throughout his exchange with their enemy.

To his relief, a voice did shout back to him. "Over here," it said, not too far away. Mo began to move toward the sound, the light returning with unnerving abruptness, revealing the figure who had called to him.

The boy was slumped amongst a mass of golden brown leaves, dishevelled and apparently dazed.

"Jack?" whispered Mo softly, drawing near. But Jack could no longer hear him. All that

was in his mind was the memory of a glowing hand that had led him to a warm, safe place, a place where he wanted to stay for all eternity.

Tom looked upward and saw a long, narrow staircase winding away into the shadowed tower. It had been remarkably easy to gain entrance. When Dr. Redhand had produced a small silver key and turned it in the sturdy padlock that for so long had protected Angel Tower from intruders, Tom had almost expected alarms to go off all through the city, but the only sound heard had been a tiny click as the mechanism released the bolt.

Now inside, Tom was unimpressed with the murky, dank interior, an odour reminding him of sewage setting the seal on his disapproval. "Where did you get that key from?" he asked, excited by this covert undertaking, but anxious that they might be caught.

"I borrowed it from the magistrate," replied the doctor with a wink.

They had waited until dusk before setting out for the tower, their only contact during the day a brief meeting with Pete Blatty, who had called by the house early that morning worried about his friend's whereabouts. Tom had barely spoken to the old man, leaving Dr. Redhand to explain his mysterious absence the previous day in private.

"I know this is a stupid question," Tom remarked as they began to climb the steps, "but what do you think is up here?"

The Doctor smiled ambiguously and shrugged his shoulders. "That's what we're here to find out," he answered. "Perhaps a revelation from the past, or...a message for the future."

"Now you sound just like a friend of mine," observed Tom with a quick shake of the head. "He talks in riddles too!"

Dr. Redhand paused on the staircase and looked seriously at the boy. "It may well be dangerous."

Tom did not reply, but stepped up past the man to lead the way. "If you're afraid, maybe I had better go first", he said with a resolute smile and then continued on upward, making his way slowly into the unknown.

It was only an old dream.

Mo was looking at him with a terribly sad, perturbed expression, the animal's tired old face regarding him with deep concern.

Jack just remained slumped on the ground where he was. It was all right though, he knew. He had experienced this kind of dream before. It would go away soon and he would be able to stay in the warm haven he had discovered where softness and tranquillity held him close. Now there was nothing to be afraid of.

He waited, yet still the badger watched him silently and doubts began to prey upon him.

No, he told himself. I won't go back. I hate it there. I hate it!

"Jack," the badger urged him gently.

"No, no," he moaned, reaching up and forcing his hands over his ears.

"Jack," Mo said firmly, coming in even closer, seeking the boy's face.

"Leave me alone. I don't want this, I don't want it! I've had enough, can't you see that, I've just had enough."

Mo brushed his cheek with his warm, smooth fur. "Be still, be still," the badger said with tenderness, "everything will be all right."

Very slowly, despite his efforts to hold onto the sanctuary he believed he had found within his dreams, his thoughts became to take shape.

"There is no refuge for you in dreams," the badger uttered softly, "I know it's hard but you have to understand that we cannot hide from our own existence. You cannot run from yourself. Whatever choices we are offered must be met with our minds our own. Now stand up and let us face what will come."

Realising that the dream was past and there was no refuge to be found there, Jack cupped his face in his hands. "Why does it have to be like this?"

Mo regarded him with a steady gaze. "Because a greater will than yours or mine sees all that must come, all that has been. It is a choice. No-one can be forced. Each must choose their own path. It is a personal test of our character."

Very hesitantly Jack looked into the dark eyes of the animal. "But I always fail."

"No," said Mo definitely, "mistakes are not failure. No-one really fails until they give up their soul at the very last breath of their life. And that will not be you, Jack. You will stand."

And hearing this, the boy made a half-hearted effort to do just that. He pulled himself up onto his knees and then made a tentative attempt to get up onto his feet. "Who am I?" he asked in a wavering voice.

Mo looked at Jack for a long moment. "My kin," he breathed, "my brother." The badger pushed himself against the boys side for support. "And we will stand together."

There was something wrong, but just what it might be Pete Blatty couldn't put his finger on. Red was acting funny, that much was sure. But why?

Pete had known him since they were boys together, playing in the fields and woods of Seraphim and their friendship was one of the things he valued most in the world. But now, for the first time in his life, he believed that Red had lied to him.

When he had called by to check up on his friend this morning, concerned at his apparent disappearance the day before, he was positive that Red had been keeping something from him and there had been something in his manner, quite out of character, that disturbed Pete deeply.

Now he sat alone, drinking wine, trying to work out just what was going on.

A commotion somewhere nearby made him glance up from his reverie and the scene that met his eyes caused him to knock his glass spinning across the table.

Lurching toward him, pupils dilated with shock and fear came Pat Straub; he looked as if he were about to collapse at any moment, so swiftly gaining his feet, Pete rushed over to meet his friend, dread gripping his heart so tightly he feared it might give up on him.

"What is it, Pat...what's happened!?" he demanded, knowing that the answer when it

came would be terrible.

Gasping, Pat Straub looked hard into the other man's eyes. "It's Red, Pete, my God...it's Red!"

"What do you mean? What about Red?" Pete questioned, grabbing the man's shoulders, holding him steady.

"He's dead," murmured his friend, fresh tears welling up in his eyes to join those that had already ravaged his ruddy face.

Pete Blatty shook his head in disbelief, unable to take in what he had been told. "How...when?" he asked fiercely.

"Young Scott Wilson found him this morning. They only just brought back the body. It was murder, Pete, murder! Someone hid his body in the brushwood over behind Apollyon Mound...gracious God, how can something like this have happened? They say he's been dead since yesterday!"

Madness tried to claim Pete Blatty's mind then, but he rejected it with hostile force. "Did you see the body with your own eyes?" he challenged, an unnatural composure governing him now. "Did you see it?"

"Poor old Red," Pat sobbed, the horror of what he had seen reflected in his eyes. "The bastard who did it twisted his head almost clean off!"

Stepping away, unsteady on his feet, Pete took some deep breaths attempting to control the shudder that assailed him, his entire body shaking with fear and grief. "It just can't be," he whispered, but knowing that it was true, knowing that evil had arrived in Seraphim and that someone who looked exactly like his best friend was its surrogate.

They were almost at the top. Tom could see a yellowish light flickering weakly above them and he knew that they would soon uncover the secret of the tower, whatever it might be.

He climbed higher, his legs aching, before pausing to catch his breath. It was a very long way from the base to the summit.

"Nearly there," said Dr. Redhand at his shoulder. They continued to climb until they came to a heavy iron door, pitted and discoloured with age. "Go ahead," encouraged the doctor, waving Tom forward. "We've come all this way, we might as well find out what's inside."

Tom approached the door cautiously. He took hold of the rusty handle and pushed, the door groaning upon its hinges and swinging inward, revealing the chamber beyond.

As he stepped inside Tom was immediately struck by the size of the room. It seemed impossible that it could be so large, but he quickly realised that in some respects it was a trick of the eye, the impression of size created by the tremendous depth of the chamber. He tipped his head back and gazed upward to where there should have been some kind of ceiling, but to his amazement there was none, only a great, yawning hole through which the dark sky peered down upon them.

Walking a little further into the room, he noticed that there was something stacked against the far wall, half hidden in the shadows. It was fairly big, about ten feet by ten and Tom instantly recognised it as some kind of cage, although its bars were woven in an unusual and elaborate pattern. At its centre there was a door that stood slightly ajar.

Turning to comment on his discovery, Tom was surprised to see Dr. Redhand still standing in the doorway.

"What do you think it could be for, Tom?" the man asked, an odd note in his voice.

"I don't know," answered the boy, uncertain.

"Very odd, very strange," the doctor said, looking over at the cage.

"Is there something you're not telling me?" Tom queried, made a little anxious by the man's behaviour, but Dr. Redhand only threw back his head and laughed gamely at this, the sound echoing from the walls and on out into the night.

"You really are a card, Tom, you really are! But I'll tell you what, I'll come clean with you, seeing as you asked so politely. All is not as it might appear here, you see, not at all. Angel Tower really does hold some dark secrets, and one of them is that someone has been lying to you. Now who could it be, erm...let me think...oh yes... it's me!"

Tom stared at the man too bewildered to be frightened. "What do you mean?" he asked blankly. "What's going on?"

"I'll explain it to you, Thomas," began Dr. Redhand with a patient smile. "You see, there was a time when people were much closer to their creator than they are now. Once upon a time, heaven was not just a fairy-tale land in the sky, it was a place Mankind could actually reach, if they had a mind to. And the emissaries of heaven, that's angels to you, would visit this world and communicate with its people, advising them...guiding them. But I couldn't allow that to continue, you must see that. I had to put a stop to it."

Tom was gazing at Dr. Redhand now with a growing sense of unease, shaking his head as if to deny he was the man who had befriended him.

"Yes, you're right, Tommy, I'm not old Red," said the figure in the doorway. "He took a fall and cricked his neck, the poor son of an acrobat! No, I think you know who I really am."

Even as Tom looked on, the man began to change, shimmering at first until he became a brilliant radiance of flashing colours, gradually taking on another, larger form, a bestial shape with long arms upraised, claws gleaming in the last of the fading light.

"Welcome to your death," said the White Wolf, its eyes glinting with pleasure.

Tom took several steps backward, retreating from the terrible apparition that stood only a few yards from him, the thick white fur that covered its body ruffled by a light wind that came from the opening in the roof.

"Now, now, Tom, don't be foolish. I can take you at any time I please. But I have a treat in store for you first. Look up, my brave, young friend, look up and see the true secret of the tower."

Above him, before Tom had even begun to raise his eyes, a humming sound had already commenced that seemed to vibrate the air around him, and what he saw when he at last gazed upward toward the night sky made him feel as if all hope had passed away, leaving him helpless in the clutches of the Beast.

There, hovering no more than thirty feet above his head, were two winged creatures, slender and sinewy, their piercing orange eyes fixing him with a desperate longing.

"They are hungry, Tom," said the Wolf, "and I cannot deny them their prize."

"I hate you," Tom said in a hoarse whisper, terror closing around his throat with fingers of iron.

"I know, Tom, I know. But that's just the way it goes. There's still time for you to repent."

Tom's eyes were drawn to the demons above him, their wings beating rapidly as they awaited their master's command. But as he looked, something beyond them, white against the darkness of the night, was silently descending.

This was so much like another of his strange dreams that Tom could only stand perfectly still and watch, almost detached, as a beautiful figure, its own great wings flapping effortlessly, a golden crown upon its head, came down through the opening in the tower. It's clear grey eyes gazed into Tom's with such an expression of love and compassion that it made him want to weep. The creatures that hovered below it screeched in unison, and in the doorway the Wolf cocked its head on one side to listen, taking pleasure from the awful sound.

"This is wonderful," it snarled softly, its dark gaze finding Tom. "It seems your presence in the tower has called down one of the pretty ones. I must thank you, Tom, my boy. It was most kind of you to bring my pets such a precious gift." Saying this, the Beast gestured toward the winged monstrosities and immediately they pivoted in the air and flew at the angel, deftly manoeuvring their lithe bodies so as to cut off any hope of escape. "Now you will witness a symbol of the new age," cried the White Wolf merrily. "Oh, what an unexpected delight!"

Tom looked up into the angel's eyes and saw there a deep sadness that broke his heart.

I can't just stand by and let this happen! But what can I do?

Agitated and desperate he felt at his pockets, knowing that he needed a miracle and he touched something bulky and rough tucked down deep, all but forgotten.

The catapult, Tom remembered, his hand closing around the haft. It was still there, along with the rocks he had collected in the tunnel.

Struggling to wrench the weapon from his pocket, Tom watched as the flying demons circled the angel repeatedly, preparing themselves for the kill. He lifted the catapult high in his left hand and thrusting one of the rocks hastily in place, he took aim at one of the creatures as it flew near to him.

Memories of the robin surfaced in his mind, a vivid image of its small, broken body tumbling earthbound, but Tom pushed it from his mind and pulled back the elastic with all his strength. Yet still he hesitated.

This is different. This time it is different.

He could see the creatures turning in the air, the shining figure trapped between their hideous forms; he could feel the Wolf close to him, enraptured by the dreadful scene and gritting his teeth, knowing that if he did not act now the moment would be lost, he let the projectile fly.

With a heavy thud, the rock smashed into one of the demon's wings, ripping the membrane of skin and sending the creature plummeting toward the ground, a foul scream erupting from its lips as it fell. Tom threw himself to one side as the thing came crashing down, narrowly missing him, its writhing body crippled and useless. He looked up once more and he was transfixed momentarily by the gaze of the angel who stared unfalteringly at him, something passing between them that Tom only felt and did not understand, although it spoke of gratitude and a promise of love that was absolute and unquestionable.

Then the angel, seizing the moment of confusion, fell upon the other demon, clutching it firmly by the shoulders, the two creatures face to face. They seemed to pause suspended for an moment in the air, eyes locked together. And with an unearthly song rising from its lips, magnificent wings beating steadily, the angel flew upward, the squirming creature held securely in an immovable grasp, climbing vertically out of the tower at tremendous speed.

"Clever boy," said a rasping voice close beside him and turning Tom saw the golden eyes of the Wolf regarding him, only inches from his own.

"You lost," Tom murmured, scrambling in his pocket for another rock but the Beast just shook its head impassively.

"Don't be foolish, Tom. Your David and Goliath act was only good for one performance. You can set your toy aside now." And to Tom's own astonishment he let the catapult slip through his fingers and drop to the floor. "You're such a silly boy," rebuked the White Wolf, "won't you ever learn that I can never lose."

As Tom stared deep into the eyes of the Beast, they seemed to enlarge, becoming pools of blood. "A game, all a game," said a voice, but Tom could see nothing now but a lake of glimmering crimson water, inviting him to dive into its cool depths.

"A test?" Tom suggested, his mind slow, refusing to work properly.

"Yes indeed," the voice exclaimed, "a test, a little test to find out what you're made of."

"Flesh," Tom said slowly, "only flesh and blood."

"Exactly," agreed the voice, which now seemed to come from deep within the water, "just that and nothing more. Why don't you just go home now and forget all about it? Take a good long rest. You've earned it."

"Yes I have," Tom decided, teetering on the edge of the watery abyss. "I need a holiday!"

"Couldn't agree more," said the voice, "forget everything and go home. No-one will hold it against you. After all, there's no point in throwing your life away for nothing, now is there?"

"No point," Tom repeated, nodding. "I'm tired," he added sleepily.

"That's right, Tom. Sleep now and when you awaken everything will be fine."

And Tom thought that he should. He was very tired, his eyes so heavy it was almost impossible to keep them open. He made one last effort to stay conscious, some part of him fighting the inexorable pull of sleep but he was not strong enough.

"Dive into the deep," the voice advocated, Tom's head full of whispers, water lapping at his feet.

"Can this be just another dream?" he asked, closing his eyes as he prepared to plunge into the dark waters.

"Yes, Tom, it is. And the dream goes on."

BETWEEN TWO WORLDS

The touch of something wet, its gentle ebb moving against him, brought Jack back from sleep. Or had it been sleep?

He could only recall fragments, pieces of an illusive puzzle, but he was left with the indelible impression that he had experienced a nightmare of epic proportions.

With a small cry of surprise he realised that he was laying in a shallow area of water, a fine spray occasionally hitting his face as waves broke against a clump of nearby rocks, the taste of salt-water upon his lips. Beneath him he felt sand clinging to his body, his clothes soaked through.

Where am I?

Pushing himself onto his knees, he scanned the immediate area and with a profound sense of bewilderment he saw that he was on a stretch of beach, hemmed in by large, jagged rocks that formed a small cove. Nothing moved other than the waves breaking on the shore. Mo was nowhere to be seen.

Jack closed his eyes and struggled to concentrate his mind, to recall how he had come to this place. But he could remember little besides a hazy journey, supported by either a badger or a man, he could not be sure which. His thoughts were a jumbled mess.

Gingerly he stood up, brushing sand from his face and clothes. The beach stretched out for several hundred yards in either direction, ending as it reached a plateau of rocks that overhung the sea. The body of water, blue white and exceptionally clear, went out to the horizon.

Although a sense of uneasiness troubled him, just the sight of the waves rolling in and out made him feel a good deal better. He felt clean and whole again here, as if the sea air absolved all of his crimes.

Crimes. Now why should I think of that?

All at once, the stinging memory of his awful battle with the creature in the house of Mr. Blakestone rushed back into his mind and then more powerfully, his own private damnation, the deliberate sabotage of the generator that had doomed the house itself and all those gathered within.

At least they didn't suffer, he found himself thinking and was instantly disgusted by his pathetic reasoning, wishing so much that he could go back and change it all, that he could be given a second chance.

Jack clenched his hands into fists and raised them to his face, pressing hard. "I don't want to remember anymore!" he cried out at the sea. "I never want to remember."

As he stood there shaking with fear and self loathing, he heard footsteps, the sound of someone approaching behind him across the sand.

Turning unhurriedly, Jack looked upon a man who stood only a few paces off, a tall man in a long grey coat, examining him with a rueful expression.

"And so our paths meet again," Dredger said, his dark eyes humourless.

He flowed like liquid in an undertow of light. Tom was a rainbow.

Colours ran through his body, glimmering above the ebony landscape he travelled across, no longer mortal. He was now an entity of luminescence and though a heart still beat somewhere inside him, his consciousness had taken flight and soared toward the heavens, exploring the untouched clarity of space. Tom hoped his feet would never touch the ground again. To float with the clouds, to drift among the stars, that was where he wanted to be.

In his mind, something stirred.

Memory.

Stars shone, stars glowed with perverse brilliance, a million hues of splintered light cascading all around him. He was buffeted by currents of air, rising, falling, spinning through a universe of unimaginable beauty.

Abruptly he began to plummet downward, drawn toward the turning sphere of the earth that rushed to meet him, swallowing him up. White light blinded him, his body weightless as he dropped at ever increasing speed, an earthbound comet destined for destruction and then with a tremendous noise, he collided with something solid, unyielding, Tom knowing that he could not survive such an impact.

Little by little, awareness returned to him and he found that he was standing upright, his mind and body once more intact. For several moments a feeling of loss washed over him with immense force, waves of regret passing slowly away.

It was wonderful up there. Why did I have to come back?

Recovering himself only gradually, taking time to examine his surroundings, he saw that he was in a garden. Vaguely, the place seemed familiar to him and when he began to walk, he moved with easy assurance, as if he knew the way.

That's strange, it's as though I've known this place all my life.

Then he saw the house and the awareness of where he truly was finally took hold, leaving him with a sense of displacement.

I'm home again.

He said it aloud and this time his feelings came alive. "I'm home!"

A wide, joyous smile broke out upon his face; he could hardly believe that it was true.

And perhaps it was not. Perhaps it was just another trick.

Tom's expression soured as he faced this possibility. Wasn't everything in one way or another some kind of deception?

He had begun to believe that it was. Simple trust, the faith of a child, had been stripped from him, burned away by the fires of recent experience and he knew that even here on such familiar ground, he would have to be on his guard.

With due caution Tom made his way forward, treading softly through the long grass. At the back door he paused and listened for any sound that might reveal if the house was occupied. He almost called out, wanting so much for his Aunt or Uncle to answer, but to do so would be foolish. He could no longer take for granted anything that he saw or heard, so he remained silent, his ear pressed against the door. No sound came from within. Could his Aunt and Uncle be out somewhere? Or was it possible that they no longer even lived there? Had time played the greatest trick of all on him and robbed him of his family? He had no way of judging how long it had been since he was last here.

Tom shrugged these thoughts away hastily. Everything would be all right. It had to be.

He opened the door and moved stealthily across the kitchen tiles; their red and white pattern a powerful symbol of home and belonging and Tom knew then that this was indeed real, there could be no doubt of that.

Please let everything be all right.

He looked into the sitting room where he had spent so many wonderful evenings, reading by the open fire or just listening to Ira's curious tales, which he now knew had been far more important than he had ever imagined, but it was quite empty. Where could they be?

Only very rarely did both his Aunt and Uncle go out, one or the other usually somewhere close to the house. Maybe he had missed them in the garden? Considering its size that was quite possible.

Mounting the stairs, Tom quickly checked the bedrooms-although he did not expect to find them there, as it was not their habit to spend much time upstairs during the day-then returning once more through the kitchen and out into the garden, he scanned the trees and bushes for movement, hoping to catch a sight of them, but nothing stirred. There was no wind and a deathly hush was upon the place.

He considered taking a risk and venturing further into the garden, but if they were out there then there was every chance he would miss them as they made their way back to the house, leaving him no better off than he already was. And yet he couldn't just stand around and wait. He had to speak to Ira, to tell him what had happened. They had to find a way to go back and help Jack and Mo!

Desperation urged him onward and he was just about to run recklessly off down one of the many pathways that led into the deepest regions of the garden, when suddenly he saw them both emerge from a path obscured by a screen of fir trees, walking slowly toward the house.

Raising a hand to wave, he felt a warm rush of affection run through him that encompassed relief, security and love in a single tide of emotion and yet even this happiness proved short-lived, for as the two figures saw him there, Tom realised that something was horribly wrong. His Aunt dropped the basket she had carried, berries scattered across the lawn, her face stricken with fear and sorrow and Ira simply stopped in his tracks without any show of affection or joy at seeing him.

"It's all right!" Tom shouted, taking a step toward them, refusing to admit to himself that something had sullied their reunion, something that made his Aunt and Uncle look upon him as if he were some grotesque intruder, the look in his Aunt's eyes piercing his heart. "It's me! Tom! I'm home! Everything's all right!" he went on quickly to mask his despair, but deep down where there were no disguises Tom knew with a terrible, icy certainty that it was not all right.

Once more, a trick had been played on him.

"You seem surprised to see me," commented Dredger, eyeing the boy.

Jack found it hard to reply. He felt exhausted, mentally and physically. Along with all of the other phantoms that plagued him, the sight of this man whom he had never really expected, or wished to see again, was just too much for him.

"Where's Mo?" he asked with an effort and he saw Dredger smile, but without any trace of humour.

"He is arranging transportation for us. There is a small port town named Pelagian, a short distance further along the coast to the west. I was awaiting you there when I came upon him. But alas, I find that your friend is not with you."

"Yes," Jack said, his voice dead, "we came on without him." As he spoke the words, contempt for both himself and Mo for doing so rose up angrily inside him.

"You have changed since I saw you last," the warrior observed, his expression neutral.

"A lot of things have changed," Jack countered.

"True enough," Dredger agreed. "But now, I think we should join our friend, Mo. He will be waiting for us."

For a moment Jack wondered if it would be wise to trust this man, after such a long absence. Since their very first encounter there had been something about the warrior that had repelled him, making him wary and even though his recollections of those times were strangely indistinct, he still felt the same.

The warrior seemed to grow impatient and turning his back on the boy, started away along the shore, quickly covering the ground with his long strides. Jack called after him, but without response. Not knowing what else he could do and reluctant to remain there alone, he eventually followed across the sand, absently avoiding the heavy imprints in the sodden beach made by the man ahead, and as he went, his thoughts turned to Tom.

What if Dredger says we can't afford to wait for Tom? What if he starts giving orders like before?

But Tom had the map.

Surely that would make them look for him, or at the very least wait for him to catch up with them. After all, wasn't that what all of this was about, the map and the quest for Pandora's box?

Jack wasn't sure anymore. Things just did not add up in his mind.

He had always imagined God to be beyond the dimensions of understanding. And perhaps this was like that, like letters written in the sand, ten miles high. Meaningless when you walked amongst them, but when seen from the sky above, words of power.

The sight of Tom standing there caused a jarring sensation in Ira's chest and he feared that it was a prelude to a serious attack, but with an effort of will, he managed to control the torrent of emotion that assailed him.

"My God!" gasped Emily at his side but he could offer nothing to comfort her. They both saw him there and they both saw the way that he shimmered, transparent, his body fading in and out so that they could see the brickwork of the house behind him, their own reflections in the glass of the window.

It was the ghost of Tom.

Two years had passed since he and Jack had gone off to explore the garden and never returned. At first it had been very difficult, what with the police investigating their disappearance and the extensive searches made of the surrounding area, but no trace had ever been found of them and for Emily in particular, that had been the worst thing of all.

After that had came the accusations made by Jack's guardian, suggesting that Ira and Emily were in some way involved, months of hardship and suspicion to add to that which they were already going through, and of course there had been the reporters, relentlessly digging for a story, any story, harassing them day and night. But eventually all of that had subsided and the police, baffled and without any motive or evidence of foul play, had let the matter fade into obscurity, just another unsolved mystery among so many others in their files.

Ira had done what he could to support his wife, but for Emily it had been a terribly painful and harrowing ordeal and she had been very slow to recover, and he saw when he looked into her eyes, that she would never really get over the loss and grief that tormented her dreams.

But although Ira knew many things he had not spoken of to anyone, including, sadly, his beloved Emily, he had feared that he would never see Tom or Jack again. And now, seeing Tom there, so lost and tormented, Ira almost wished that his fears had been realised.

"Uncle Ira! Aunt Emily!" the boy called to them in a dismal voice.

Tears ran down Emily's face as she sobbed against Ira's shoulder. "I told you he was dead," she managed to whimper, and putting his arm around his wife Ira could only hug her gently.

"Hush now," he said, his eyes never leaving Tom, "everything will be all right."

"What's wrong?" Tom asked, his youthful face distraught.

Ira's gaze was steady but inside, his heart was breaking. "Listen Tom," he began slowly, "something has happened. Wherever you are, you're not here." He paused, watching for the boy's reaction but Tom didn't seem to understand him. "You're between worlds, boy," he told him firmly, hoping that Emily was too upset to pay much notice to what he was saying. "The Wolf has fooled you and sent you back. But it's not yet time for you to return, so you're caught, neither here nor there. It's not over, Tom. I'm sorry...but you must go back."

At last understanding registered in Tom's eyes. "I know," he said quietly, trying hard to keep his tears at bay and Ira so much wanted to go to him, to tell him that he could stay there, safe with them and did not have to return to a place where death was the least of the horrors that lay in wait. But there was too much at stake. Each had to make his own sacrifice.

He recalled then the night he had gone after Tom, it seemed like a lifetime ago now. He had climbed the tree, hoping that he too would be able to pass through into that other place, but he had been barred from entry by a force greater than his own and he had never tried again. It was only rare good fortune that had prevented him from breaking his neck in the fall, but he had suffered injuries nevertheless and had decided not to tempt fate again. Destiny was a mysterious thing, he knew, and its ways often seemed cruel.

"Think hard, Tom," the old man said passionately, "think of Jack, think of that other land where you've been for so long. You have to."

With great difficulty, knowing his Uncle spoke the truth and biting back his sorrow, Tom began to form pictures in his mind. Of Mo and Dredger. Of Jack and Lisa. And then finally, the Wolf's bestial face itself took shape and he pushed his very being toward it, suppressing his fear and forcing himself on into its ravenous jaws.

Losing all awareness of his physical self once more, Tom rushed along fiery tunnels, the glowing walls ablaze, flames rippling over him, their crimson tongues licking at his body. Then in another moment, he was flying through the air across a scarlet sky, above an inferno world that boiled furiously, savage heat rising to sear his flesh, pain beginning to swell in him, threatening to explode and send him spiralling to meet the lava below. And all the while, through all the agony he endured, a voice accompanied him, carrying him on his way, the words sending tears running down over his blistered cheeks.

"I love you," it said, and the voice was Uncle Ira's.

With that knowledge in his heart Tom thrust himself on into the fire, so that his tears could extinguish the flames that charred the landscape black, to reveal an alien world beneath the ashes, a place where he could find deliverance.

They were in a small yet busy coastal town, a high stone wall separating the buildings from the sea. People milled about, moving purposefully toward their destinations, some making for the market, others to the harbour where ships and boats were anchored, their bright sails visible at the far end of the street. As Jack walked along the narrow pavements he was a little taken aback by the sight of so many people, apparently concerned with nothing more than the routine of their lives, the utter normality of the scene strange to him after so long in the wilderness.

Ahead of him, Dredger went at a brisk pace, deftly negotiating his way through the throng, whereas Jack, being smaller and far less sure of himself, often found it difficult to keep up. Fortunately, Dredger's stature made him easily recognisable amongst the sailors, fishermen and other common townsfolk, and he found that he was able to follow at a distance without any real fear of becoming lost.

Within a few minutes the warrior came upon an inn, a large sign above its door parading the name SEAFARERS ARMS, and Jack realised that this was their destination as Dredger went inside without even a glance back to confirm that the boy was still with him.

Could Mo be in there? he wondered dubiously.

But before Jack could go after him, there came a shout from somewhere nearby.

"Hey boy," called a voice and turning he saw that it belonged to a small, unruly looking character, crossing the road in a hurry and gesturing at him.

Jack could only stand still and appraise the man sceptically as he approached, not at all certain as to what he should do. He thought about calling for Dredger, but the warrior had long since disappeared into the tavern.

"You, yes you!" said the stranger, pointing a grubby finger as he came up level with Jack, slightly out of breath. He was only marginally taller than the boy and his clothes were dirty and ill-fitting. On his head, perched atop a curly mass of white hair was a black beret that Jack could not help but stare at. The way it appeared to wobble as if it was about to fall off at any moment and yet remained miraculously balanced there, made Jack want to laugh out loud and as it was, he had to hide a smile with a quickly raised hand.

"If you're going to ask me for money, I'm sorry but I haven't got any," he said good-naturedly, thinking this odd fellow to be a beggar of some sort, but the man only laughed at this, a coarse, throaty sound that Jack thought to be far from healthy.

"Nay boy!" he exclaimed, coughing so violently that he had to pause for several moments, wiping his mouth on a dirty sleeve. "Nay, I bring you a message," he resumed when he had recovered.

"A message?" Jack queried, "from who? And who are you anyway?"

"My name is Kanner, Leo Kanner," the man said, giving a bow and Jack was certain that his beret would fall off, but still somehow it managed to defy the laws of gravity and stayed where it was. "I am a courier by profession," he finished with an air of self-importance, giving the boy a wink and a half-formed image of another man, astride a horse, flashed through Jack's mind, a remnant of a memory or perhaps more likely, a dream.

Jack eyed the man for a moment. "How do I know you're telling the truth?"

The small man looked affronted and a little dismayed. "The message that I bear comes from one who calls himself Mo, if that means anything to you?"

Jack wasn't sure what to make of all this and he knew he should go inside the tavern and fetch Dredger, but something within him, maybe pride, maybe stubbornness, made him reluctant to do so. Did he really need the warrior? After all, Dredger hadn't seemed too concerned if Jack entered the building or not, and Jack was just about fed up with the game of follow the leader anyway.

"Where is he?" he asked, still caught in two minds, thinking that he would find out what he could before calling in Dredger.

Kanner leaned closer to the boy, keeping his voice low. "The one you seek is further along the coast, up by the Grey Cliffs. He told me to tell you that your enemies are close by and that you must be wary. He said to warn you that you cannot be sure who is friend or foe."

Jack glanced back at the inn, alarmed by this warning, which only seemed to confirm everything he had thought to himself since Dredger's sudden reappearance. The Warrior had been away a long time. Who could say what might have happened to him? Was the badger avoiding Dredger until he had a chance to speak to Jack alone?

"Which way?" he asked abruptly, his mind made up at last.

"Here," directed Kanner, immediately making off away from the noise and bustle of the town along a cobbled back-street. Without anymore hesitation Jack followed, climbing a steep incline between weathered buildings, leaving the SEAFARERS ARMS and all those inside behind him.

Tom could smell sea air. It was unmistakable.

He had no knowledge of how he had come to be there but his memories were intact, Ira's words of love still with him, his emotions uncertain.

He remembered the times his Uncle had taken him on trips to the seaside, where he would spend countless hours searching rock-pools for crabs or jellyfish, playing at mountain-climbing over the rocky outcrops that littered the beaches and best of all, discovering cave entrances, the forbidding darkness within exciting him with the promise of hidden treasures.

All the while Ira would look on, never chastising him or preventing him from exploring unknown areas and it seemed now that his Uncle had been encouraging him to run free, even when at times it might have appeared he was risking injury by climbing up some sheer cliff-face or precariously jumping across slippery rocks.

The only thing Ira had ever said to him was 'enjoy your childhood, Tom, make the most of it. Because once you grow up, the world tries its very best to rob you of the things that make this time so special. Of course that's not to say you have to give them up willingly, no, but once lost, it's difficult indeed to recapture the simplicity of youth'.

Well, I've not lost it yet!

He sniffed the breeze and tasted the salty air before beginning to wander across the grassy dunes.

Dredger slammed his fist down hard onto the table he was seated at, causing the publican at the bar to glance at him warily. "Where is my companion?" the warrior challenged, his voice pitched low.

There were about half a dozen men drinking ale in the tavern and every face turned toward the stranger, each regarding him with hostility and contempt.

"No-one here has seen your friend," the publican told him gruffly and Dredger smiled, his lips forming a thin, deadly line that made most there a little uneasy.

"He was to be here," the warrior informed them, speaking to no-one in particular. "He would not have been delayed, save by some evil design."

One of the men standing at the bar, after downing the last dregs in his tankard, began to laugh loudly, slapping his thigh for effect. He was a stocky, red-bearded seaman, no doubt from one of the ships docked in the harbour and Dredger looked him over with evident disdain.

"Evil design!" the sailor mocked. "This fellow has a pretty tongue I may say." This brought some laughter from the other men but the warrior's eyes never left the speaker. "What kind of fool would think there's anything evil here in Pelagian?"

Slowly, Dredger rose up out of his chair and moved toward the bearded man. "I am," he breathed, "the kind of fool who would find it remarkably easy to end your life." The warrior's hand was poised above the hilt of his sword, only waiting for some sign from the other that combat would ensue and there was a sudden eagerness in his blood, a powerful need to unleash a terrifying violence burning within him.

Facing him, although his gaze was steady, the seaman appeared uncertain. He shifted his weight anxiously, trying to evaluate whether he was a match for the tall stranger. They faced each other for a few seconds only before he let himself relax. "No need to take offence, friend," he said, his voice even, and with a fleeting smile and a nod Dredger stepped a pace backward.

"Now," he announced, "either one of you tell me where I can find my companion, or your friend, red-beard here, shall lose more than just his pride."

And with that, the warrior's sword was drawn, its sharp tip tickling the sailor's throat before he had barely time to blink.

Jack was still playing follow the leader. Only his guide had changed, not the game.

They were making their way along a small, stony pathway which wound up into the hillside that rose high above the sea. Looking out across the water, Jack could make out several bodies of land, each one further out than the last and he knew that they were a

chain of islands stretching out into the blue, each of them of similar size as far as he could tell, although the last was no more than a dark smudge on the horizon.

"Is it much further?" he asked, returning his attention to his guide.

"It's a stone's throw from here," remarked the man, glancing at him over his shoulder, his beret denying the fierce wind that blew in from the sea.

They were high up on the cliff-top now, the path curving around and over a gigantic rock that jutted out above the sandy beach below. Even so, Kanner clambered up onto it and coming to a standstill upon the rock itself, he blithely walked over to the very tip where it was most narrow and peered down at the waves solemnly pushing their way in and out of the beach.

"Fantastic view," he declared, "and it's a long way down too." Jack drew a little closer, trying to extend his neck out far enough to look without getting too near to the edge. "If you fell," Kanner commented, turning back toward the boy, "you would be unlikely to survive." Below them the sea had become suddenly wild, the surf swelling and foaming, the golden sand assaulted with increasing ferocity. The water seemed alive. "Do you know something," said the man, a playful smile animating his features. "Things have not been going as they should of late. Plots have been undone, schemes ruined by meddlers. Plans have had to be changed. Friend's of yours," he added with subdued anger, "have not acted as they should."

Jack realised that unconsciously he had moved closer toward the edge of the cliff-top, his eyes remaining downcast, unable to look away from the tempestuous waves, mighty breakers now rushing up onto the beach, reaching further and further each time they came.

"So you see," Kanner went on, "something has to be done. It's a simple fact, a fact of life if you like, that people have to be taught the hard way. They need a good hard knock, a shock to the system so to speak, to make them see things as they really are."

Puzzled, Jack glanced up for the first time since the man began talking, his toes now almost over the lip of the rock. "What did you say?" he questioned, concentration eluding him, the irresistible lure of the waves pulling his gaze back down. The wind whipped at him, icy fingers clutching at his clothes, urging him forward.

"Remember the way it felt to kill, Jack?" Kanner asked him, drawing nearer, his low voice perfectly clear despite the clamour of the elements. "Remember the way it made you feel strong and alive. Remember that?"

Blinking hard, Jack fought to retain his balance, sky and sea becoming one, pressing upon him from above and below, robbing him of his senses, his sanity. "I...I don't know," he stammered, shaking his head, "I don't know what you're talking..." But his words trailed away into an empty silence.

Then a picture began to take shape in Jack's mind, vague at first but gaining clarity. It was the face of a woman, or perhaps she was only a girl, it was difficult to be sure, but she was smiling at him and as he listened to her voice, the sound musical and soothing, he knew what he must do. The vision faded as suddenly as it had come and he found that

Kanner was very close to him now, the man's hand resting lightly on his shoulder.

"Maybe your friends will think again now," he told Jack, his fingers tightening their grip. "Maybe this will get through to them." Letting out a snarl, Kanner grabbed Jack and tried to force him over the brink. But even as he felt the man begin to exert pressure against him, Jack suddenly transferred his body weight to his right leg, enabling him to duck beneath his attacker's arm and turn behind him, the man left tottering, his own balance lost, arms flailing wildly as he stared at the jagged rocks far below. Desperately he reached back, fingers clawing at Jack's face, but with a coolness that both shocked and exhilarated him, Jack simply touched the man on the back, just the gentlest push to send him toppling forward, Kanner's frantic attempts to regain his footing unable to save him as with a piercing scream of terror he fell.

Jack watched him go all the way down, until the man finally struck the rocks at the foot of the cliff, his body ricocheting and bouncing off onto the sand. Standing there, dangerously close to the edge but entirely unconcerned about his own safety, Jack continued to stare fixedly down at the tiny figure that lay crumpled and lifeless, the waves taking hold of the corpse and dragging it further down the beach as they receded. Something else attracted his gaze and he saw beyond the breakers, the beret floating upon the unfeeling water, drifting slowly away into the open sea.

Another little murder.

He felt tired and void of emotion. "I'm getting quite good at it," he decided with a quirky smile and he experienced a bout of giddiness, his vision hazy. Steadying himself, he

realised that there was really only one thing for him to do now.

It was time for Jack Barton to pay his dues. Time to exit from the game.

As the other stranger entered the tavern, all who were there breathed an almost audible sigh of relief.

"Dredger!" the man in the doorway called authoritatively. His eyes alighted briefly on the red-bearded man, who was doing his level best not to gulp down the saliva that filled his mouth, sweat running over his face as he exerted all of his willpower to the task of remaining perfectly still. Where the sword was pressed against his throat he could feel the rapid beat of his pulse. "There are matters that demand our attention," the new arrival instructed stepping closer, his gaze now directed solely at the warrior. Turning toward the speaker, Dredger glared at him. "I thought you had come to some harm," he said, a slight irritation in his voice, almost as if he were disappointed to see his companion safe and well, his hunger for bloodshed barely under control.

"Not I," responded the other man, casting his eyes around the room, the occupants content to silently look on, listening intently to the exchange. "But we have other companions, or had you forgotten that they too can be harmed?" Dredger's brow furrowed as he considered these words. "Well?" pressed the newcomer and the warrior gave a small shrug.

"The boy will have to learn...or die," he said, his tone as cold as the steel he carried.

"It would seem you have altered a great deal, old friend," the man at the door told him, his expression grim and disappointed.

"Perhaps, but you should have realised by now that it will be the strong who will prevail. The weak can do little else but fall by the wayside."

"The strong and the weak," intoned the other man with a considering nod, "but who is to say which is which?"

This brought a thin smile to Dredger's lips and he shook his head. "You are a romantic, Mo. And for that there is no cure." Returning his attention to the man whose throat kept company with the point of his blade, he addressed all those gathered there. "I will bid you good day, gentlemen, as it would seem that my comrade is unharmed. I trust I have not unduly inconvenienced you." Saying this, the warrior strode away from the bar and out of the building, closely followed by the other stranger, leaving the red-bearded man touching his throat delicately where the tip of the sword had rested.

As the seaman withdrew his fingers to find a tiny trickle of blood, he mentally noted that he would pity any who might make those men their enemy.

The terrain was much the same as it had been everywhere else Tom had travelled since coming to these lands, but though he knew the sea must be very close by, however far he trekked, he could not catch sight of it. Every time he clambered up a dune, he was certain that the horizon would reveal blue waters, but each time only grass and trees appeared, stretching away to the next rise.

After a long while, with legs aching and hopes dashed to almost nothing, he decided that he could not go on without a rest and sat down beneath the first tree he came to. He could feel twinges of pain here and there in his body and he did his best to position himself as comfortably as possible against the smooth trunk.

The smell of the sea was maddening and he thought he could almost hear the waves. But what if he found the sea anyway? What good would it do him?

All Tom could see ahead of him was hardship, a black certainty of misfortune to come. And while he would continue to do all that he could to defy the treacherous Beast that played with him so cruelly, he knew that a heart of darkness beat relentlessly against his soul, pressing to gain entry, urgent in its desire to possess him.

If this was a contest, Tom wasn't sure the sides were even. But there was one thing he did know. His side would win. It had to. He just wasn't at all certain that he would be there to celebrate the victory.

PART THREE

THE LOSS OF INNOCENCE

Innocence is a flower

that blooms only in the heart,

and its loss is much the same

as waking from a dream.

1. THE SPIRITWALKER

2. THE SEVENTH STEP

3. WILD WATERS

4. INTO THE ABYSS

5. TRICKS AND TREATS

6. THE SHIFTING LAND

7. AN AUDIENCE WITH THE WOLF

8. MYSTERIOUS WAYS

9. END OF THE LINE

10. FORGET ME NOT

11. THE SACRIFICE

12. THE WHITE TREE

13. THE PARTING OF THE SEA

THE SPIRITWALKER

"Join me," called a voice, drifting up from the beach below.

The light was fading rapidly now and Jack could hardly make out the broken form of the dead man, the waves roughly mauling the corpse each time they surged in.

Jack's face held an amused grin, although his good humour was without substance, his emotions empty.

He looked out across the water and listened to the sound of the waves, a murmur of sorrow, and he wondered where Tom could be, whether he was somewhere over the sea, beyond the dark horizon.

"Tom is dead," whispered the phantom voice, confirming what he feared in his heart.

The corpse was talking to him.

"Tom," said Jack aloud, feeling that somehow he was responsible for his friend's death. He was a murderer after all, an assassin of some experience, so why not add Tom to the list. It really didn't make much difference now.

"Join me," cried the voice of the dead man again. It seemed to offer him the peace he longed for.

"No reason not to," he answered staring out toward the darkening sea and quite carefully he began to move his feet, first one step, then two, taking himself to the threshold of oblivion. Beneath him dry earth and loose rock crumbled, sending small fragments hurtling down onto the sand.

He began to laugh, the sound hollow, the noise of wind and water swallowing it up instantly. "Here I come!" he shouted and leapt forward, his eyes transfixed by the rolling of the waves beneath him.

But incredibly, Jack did not fall. He felt very strange inside, as if his stomach was turning over and over, making him want to retch.

"Join me," came the voice from below, but it was muffled now and Jack decided to ignore it. He was much more interested in this new sensation of weightlessness.

He tried to look about himself, but his eyes seemed to be impaired in some way and he could only make out black and white contours that flashed by so fast he couldn't identify what they might be.

"You must trust me," a man's voice said within his mind, but this was not the corpse speaking to him.

"I want to fall," Jack said stubbornly. "I want to die."

"You are needed," the voice told him, the words exploding in his head.

"I must pay for my crimes," Jack muttered, "it's the only way justice can be done. If I die, then the slate is wiped clean."

"Foolish boy," the voice reproached him harshly, "what makes you think it is up to you to decide? Such judgements can never belong to us."

Jack's perceptions were gradually returning and all of a sudden, he saw what had happened to him.

He was suspended in the air, about ten feet out from the cliff-top, but he was not still. He whirled around in a mad circle at a dreadful speed, his arms thrown wide, the muscles of his face flexing uncontrollably, frightened eyes bulging from their sockets.

Stop it! Stop it! he cried out only in his mind, not able to speak.

"Only if you help me," the man's voice said abruptly, penetrating the hysteria that had begun to claim him.

I will, I promise. Please just make it stop.

"Focus on my thoughts. Let your mind connect with mine. I cannot hold you for much longer."

All Jack wanted was for the terrible spinning to stop, his head thick with nausea, his mind reeling and when he felt another consciousness take hold inside of him, he did not attempt to resist it. He welcomed it in, letting it envelop him and almost at once he felt himself floating effortlessly upward, his body still rotating, but at a much reduced rate. Then his feet met with solid ground again, taking him completely by surprise and for several moments Jack staggered to and fro, fighting to stay upright before collapsing in a heap upon the rock. His head throbbed and he wanted to vomit.

"You are safe," said a voice from above him, the same voice that had guided him back from death, and Jack heard the echo of it in his thoughts, the link between their minds lingering on. His eyes fluttered open and looking up he saw who had spoken to him.

"We are bonded now," Dredger said with a solemn expression. "Fate is full of irony, don't you think?"

Somewhere close by Tom heard the jingle of a tiny bell.

All of his efforts to locate the sea had been frustrated and feeling utterly lost, he hoped that the sound would herald the appearance of a traveller, someone who would be able to help him find his way. But of course, he had learnt by now that it was just as likely to announce nothing more than another one of the Wolf's deadly games. So with this in mind, he cautiously crept along a grassy bank, hunching himself down as low as possible, unwilling to show himself to whatever lay beyond.

To his amazement, a small lamb came trotting over the ridge, a golden bell around its neck tinkling as it moved. The animal didn't appear to be aware of him, even though it was no more than a few feet away and continued to wander aimlessly, stopping now and again to taste the grass.

As Tom watched the lamb, another came running over the hill and made its way down to join the first, settling in beside it to explore the surrounding vegetation. There then followed another dozen or so, all bunching together at the foot of the rise and Tom was struck by the fact that only the first wore a bell. Perhaps it was the leader. Even as he thought this their shepherdess appeared, skipping nimbly down the side of the bank toward him, her golden hair partially hidden by a red hood, a crooked staff clasped in her left hand.

"Lisa," he gasped, delighted to see her here in this wilderness and she smiled at him, patting the lambs upon their heads as she moved amongst them.

"Hello there," she said, unusually shy, keeping her eyes averted as she spoke. The hood she wore was part of a one-piece cloak that flowed about her and upon her feet were shiny black shoes with silver buckles. "Well, Tom," she breathed, eyeing him with an appreciative smile, apparently unabashed now. "I've found you again. It must have been a long time since we last saw each other, because you look so much older."

"I feel older," he told her, a little more seriously than he had intended. She stood so close and looked into his eyes with such a knowing gaze that he felt uncomfortable.

"The little ones have come a long way," she remarked dreamily, "they need a rest." She sat down and began to stroke the nearest lamb to her, running her fingers through its thick wool but looking at Tom the whole time.

"I'm lost," he announced abruptly, throwing his arms wide as if this confirmed that he didn't know where he was, at the same time thinking how foolish he must appear to her. He didn't know how to act or what to say.

Lisa regarded him for a moment with a slight frown and then laughed, a beguiling sound. "Why, Tom," she giggled, "you really are funny!"

Not knowing how he should react to this, Tom tried to laugh too but couldn't. If anything, he felt rather annoyed. "It's not a joke," he asserted grumpily.

Immediately Lisa's expression became thoughtful and standing, she came close beside him, so that he could feel her breath on his cheek. "Oh Tom, I'm so sorry, I didn't realise that you were feeling sad."

Her sudden change of mood took Tom by surprise and though she seemed sincere, he couldn't be sure. He couldn't be sure of anything anymore. Was it all just a game to her? Was life just a charade, in which feelings were nothing more than masks to be worn and then discarded?

"I..." he began tentatively. "I wish things could be different."

Smiling gently, Lisa touched her lips upon his and Tom felt the warmth of her kiss move through his entire body. Then drawing away from him, she laughed again. "Now come on, Tom," she called, skipping away, "let's not be sad, let's be happy!"

She began to run around him, jumping gracefully in the air, laughing as she went, then left him to weave her way among the sheep who rubbed themselves against her legs as she passed by.

Throwing his cares aside Tom ran after her, knowing that if such a thing as love existed, it had taken hold of him and made him its own. Everything was forgotten in that moment, his friends, the quest, even the Wolf. There was only the girl, running toward the top of the hill, her blonde hair flying and the feeling of elation that coursed through him, spurring him on. And yet, as Tom chased after her and she eluded him with frustrating ease, an image began to push its way into his mind unbidden, a dreadful vision that threatened to overwhelm him. He resisted it, concentrating on Lisa just ahead, just out of reach, but it took shape before his eyes, blotting out all else and he was forced to look upon a horrific scene.

Hanging from a tall, wizened tree was the body of a large badger, its legs trussed, a muzzle tight over its snout, and sitting cross-legged beneath the animal's dangling carcass, eyes gleaming as he stared back at Tom, was Jack, a deck of cards laid out on the ground in front of him. His friend reached down and cut the pack in half and then held out the card he had revealed.

"Am I the Joker in the pack?" he asked with a flicker of a smile, the jester on the card bearing an uncanny resemblance to Jack.

And all the while, inside Tom's head, he heard the same words said over and over again. "There is nothing you can do."

Tom stopped running and gazed uncertainly at Lisa, who continued on, scrambling up onto the top of the high bank.

"There's nothing I can do," he whispered. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to rid himself of the terrible vision, but it remained, vivid and irrefutable.

Biting his tongue until blood flowed over his lips, Tom fought against it, willing it to go away and gradually the image began to fade. Shaking and close to tears, he stood alone, his arms wrapped around his chest, his head hung low. "No, it's not true," he said with force. "It's not!"

Lisa had come back down toward him now, concern in her bright eyes and he found himself wondering in the face of such beauty, why the world was full of dark things that seemed to be always ready to take advantage of you, delighting in your misery. There was, as always, no answer.

The girl touched his hand and Tom managed a half-hearted smile. But inside he grappled with futility, whose silent veil had eclipsed his mind and heart.

"All will be well," Lisa assured him. "All will be well, my little one."

Jack was looking up into the face of a man he did not recognise.

"Is this a friend of yours?" he asked sourly. He directed the question at Dredger who stood beside the fair-haired stranger, but both men smiled simultaneously and Jack noticed how alike the two were dressed, each carrying a sword at their side.

"Have you forgotten me so soon?" enquired Dredger's companion in a voice that was unmistakable.

" Mo?" said the boy hesitantly, gazing at the man with doubt in his eyes.

"Indeed, Jack, it is I. And I am very relieved to have you back safe and sound."

Even though the voice was that of his friend, Jack was very confused. He had learnt before that the badger somehow had the ability to change his appearance, but when he had last seen him in human guise, it had not been as the man who stood before him now.

"Why don't you look the same as before?" he questioned and out of the corner of his eye saw the hard smile on Dredger's face grow wider.

The fair-haired man looked down at the boy with a kindness that Jack had seen so many times on the face of a badger. "There are occasions when anonymity can be to my advantage," he said and then chuckling to himself, added, "although I had not intended the effect to carry as far as my friends."

Jack frowned at this. "So what do you really look like?"

Mo paused before answering. "I may come as a thousand, but I am only one," he began with perhaps some regret. "I am nothing more or less than I seem to be, and yet I am more than you can thus far understand. I hope, Jack, that you will soon learn that it is not the outward shape which you must judge, but what lies, often hidden, within. Darkness can very easily be concealed behind the mask of a pretty face, it is always difficult to recognise. But look hard and you will soon find that appearances are always deceptive."

Now Jack knew it was without question Mo, for there was no-one else in the world who spoke like that, and yet the moment of warmth this realisation brought was short-lived, as the ghosts of his past returned to torment him.

"You should have let me die," he muttered, the truth now clearly defined in his memory. It felt as if a thousand blades were mutilating his spirit in a frenzy of self loathing and remorse for what he had done.

"I know how you feel inside," someone said to him and he looked toward Mo, expecting to find sympathy in that familiar gaze, but incredibly it was Dredger who had spoken.

We are bonded now, Jack remembered the warrior saying and he knew in a way beyond his own awareness that it was true. A change had come over him, an almost imperceptible transformation, so intimate that it was hard to express in words. Now Dredger too carried the insurmountable weight of his sins and Jack understood that whilst he was still responsible for the burden, and always would be, he would no longer have to shoulder it alone.

Looking up into Dredger's eyes, the boy gave a grim smile. "What happens now?"

"We must make ready to sail," Mo said, coming closer, the sea wind buffeting them.

Jack had barely noticed the way the sea had calmed suddenly, leaving only the gusting breeze in its wake. "But what about Tom?" he questioned, afraid of the answer.

"I pray Tom will be with us," Mo told him. "But it is up to him now to find the way."

"He's alive then!?" cried Jack, hardly daring to hope.

Mo nodded, pressing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "We must return to Pelagian and prepare for our voyage."

"There is nothing more to be gained by remaining here," Dredger interjected, before Jack could ask anything more.

The decision made, they negotiated their way along the cliff path and as they hurried toward the town, Jack was lost in his own thoughts. He was glad that Tom was all right, but he wasn't sure that he wanted to see him again just yet, not after all that had happened since they had been separated. He was not the boy he had been when last they saw each other; he had changed and he was afraid of what Tom might think if he were to see him now. All the way down from the headland and back into the cobbled streets of Pelagian, Jack wrestled with his uncertainties, one part of him desperate to see Tom and speak with him, another part dreading such a reunion, the shame of what he had become almost too much to bear.

Everything was out of control. He felt alone still, despite his companions, utterly forsaken, for how could he trust anyone as a friend, when he couldn't even trust himself?

Shooing away one of the smallest of the lambs that had been nibbling at the hem of her cloak, Lisa looked at Tom, her eyes sparkling and what he saw in her gaze made him feel a little uneasy.

They had sat hand in hand for some time, a comfortable silence between them but exactly how they came to be holding hands in the first place, Tom couldn't quite remember. It had just happened.

"Do you know where we are?" he asked eventually, the question intrusive but impossible to ignore. Memories of the sea came back to him, yet they were vague, unimportant now.

Lisa turned her head away from him for a moment to look out across the hillside, and Tom felt a curious mixture of relief and disappointment to be free of her regard. "I'm not sure really," she said, her eyes locking onto his once more, stealing his breath away. "The land is always changing you know. It never stays the same."

Tom wondered at this. "What do you mean?" he questioned her, thinking that she might know something to his advantage.

"It's just how things are," Lisa told him with an air of finality.

"How did you come to be here then?" he ventured, trying a different approach, but Lisa merely frowned, apparently confused.

"I'm here to be with you," she said softly, squeezing his hand and Tom could have easily believed that this was all no more than another dream. But this time it was real, Lisa was real, a person of flesh and blood like himself and not just a fantasy.

"But don't you know how you got here?" he persisted, although a part of him deep inside just wanted him to shut up.

"I'm always here or there," Lisa remarked and Tom could do nothing but shrug his shoulders, realising that he wouldn't learn anything by asking her questions.

Softly, Lisa began to sing, her blue eyes penetrating Tom's mind, her fingers very slowly circling his palm.

"Within a heart of ice I melt

the twilight of your soul,

I come with hands of fire

the storm before the lull,

you create me from a wish

deep within the spark,

but sometimes even flame

cannot light the dark."

Listening to her, Tom was moved by an obscure sadness that although unfounded, still unsettled him, the melody replaying again and again in his head.

"Tom?" she said to him, her expression grave.

He waited for her to continue, but she appeared unsure and lowered her eyes, blushing just a little. "What is it?" he queried.

Coming closer to him, so that their bodies brushed together, she seemed to alter subtly, the look in her eyes intense, inexplicably more adult. "Kiss me," she told him, a gentle command.

As their lips met, Tom was overcome by feelings he had never known before, surging through his whole body like fire, consuming him. He was aware distantly that he had entered an unknown place, far stranger, far more dangerous even than the one he had discovered when he had climbed the tree at the end of the garden. But now, as the fire stirred within him, becoming an inferno, he realised that whatever it was that had claimed him, it could not be denied.

Is this right? But this inner voice was small, easily ignored. Desire had taken him, dragging him on, helpless in its unyielding grasp and with a sense of wonder, of awe, he knew that an irrevocable step was before him, one that could not be taken without loss.

He was afraid and yet longed to slip further into the pool of mystery that Lisa offered him, and giving himself up at last, resisting no more, his mind, body and soul were lost in her. She had become his world.

A great ship waited in the harbour just off the wharf, its anchor embedded deep into the silt of the seabed. It was a sturdy craft, three tall masts rising from the deck, the heavy mainsails growling in the wind, the hull sitting low in the water laden with cargo.

They had spent some time at an inn, Jack hardly sleeping while they were there. His entire system had been disoriented and he didn't know whether they had stayed in their rooms for one day or many. Nothing had any pattern here, not even night and day. At times, the darkness lasted for what he thought was only a few hours, while at others it seemed to drag on for days. But what were days? What was time?

"Does she have a name?" he asked Mo, gesturing at the ship and giving no suggestion of the turmoil inside his mind.

The fair-haired man nodded out toward the vessel. "The Spiritwalker," he stated, watching the way the craft moved restlessly, as if eager to be away from the land.

Dredger was at that very moment aboard, making arrangements with the Captain for their passage, their destination still vague as far as Jack was concerned. Soon he and Mo would join them and then they would sail away, leaving Tom behind for good. Guilt seemed to be Jack's constant companion now and he wondered if things might be different if his friend were here with him.

The odd mingling of his mind with that of Dredger still prevailed in his subconscious, though it was like a sleeping thing, for which he was grateful. And though he knew that he had the warrior to thank for his life, and perhaps his sanity too, still he felt violated in some indefinable way and that was not something easily dismissed, or easily borne.

A decision would have to made very soon and it would be the hardest he had ever faced. Stay or go?

Should he put all his trust in his companions or remain behind to search for Tom, come what may? Was the choice even his to make?

He knew full well that Dredger expected to be obeyed without question and since the warrior's return from his trial in the lost city, he seemed more self-assured and commanding than ever before.

As for Mo, he too counselled going on, telling Jack that Tom would find the way for himself. But in the midst of all his doubts, Jack found that hard to accept.

"I'm not sure it would be right for me to come with you any further," he announced suddenly, the words out of his mouth before he had really thought about the consequences of what he was saying.

"You fear for Tom," Mo said with understanding, not in the least surprised.

Jack sighed heavily. "I just can't go off again, knowing there's no way he can find us once we're at sea. He's my best friend and I know he wouldn't leave me out there somewhere, all alone."

Hesitating before making a reply, Mo patted him on the back. "You're a good boy, Jack, or should I say now, a good man."

Jack barely smiled but appreciated the comment nonetheless. "So you see that I can't go with you?" he asked, the idea of parting from his only other real friend making his spirits low.

"I understand, Jack," the man told him, "but I would ask you one thing." The boy listened attentively, hoping for some advice on where he might search for Tom. "We are all told, often by our parents or someone who loves us, of a thing called faith. It is a strange thing indeed, for some say it does not exist and certainly, it cannot be seen. It is also a fragile thing and very rare, but it can be found, here and there, in the heart of a child, in the mind of a man, in the love of a woman. If you do not come with us, all will fail, all will be lost. I tell you this as a fact. Faith is what I ask you to have now, Jack. Faith in the truth. Trust and have faith, not in me, not in Dredger, or even Tom. Have faith in yourself, and believe that in the end things will work out for the best."

Jack wasn't sure if words were enough this time. If he got it wrong, it would be like sentencing Tom to death, and then he would really have his friend's blood on his hands. But could he risk everything by refusing to believe? At least with Mo and Dredger, he felt there was a chance they might succeed, however slight.

"I'll try," he said very quietly, "I'll try to believe."

"There is nothing more difficult than believing in a dream," Mo uttered with a fleeting smile.

Jack nodded. "And yet dreams are everything here."

Neither of them said anything more, merely gazing out at The Spiritwalker, the instrument of Jack's test of faith.

The changes within him were unhurried, developing at a deliberate pace, but Jack was growing up. And the game he had been asked to play too was one of change. And one of choices.

The Wolf was watching them. It could see what no other saw. It could see within hearts and minds.

And though certain things had not played out true to its design, still this was of no real consequence. For in its ever calculating, ever scheming mind, new devises were being invented, new traps and tricks for boys who fancied themselves now men. It basked in the glory of its own brilliance.

Oh, the dreams of children. They were sweet meat indeed. Corruption was so very easy.

It was content for the moment to watch and wait. The Beast had learned the art of patience. It knew, from knowledge and a wisdom gained during an immeasurable span of existence, all there was to know. Except perhaps just one secret. The thing it coveted. The true purpose. The reason for the game.

"I am everything!" the Wolf roared suddenly, but there was real doubt in its fiery eyes. A seed of uncertainty.

And though it understood that madness touched its mind, this was only as it should be. Too many judged others by their own shallow, misguided laws, created to suppress the innovative who might bring into fruition the dreams of tomorrow.

THE SEVENTH STEP

"Here's a change of clothes for you lad. You look as though you need 'em!" Captain Welles had said, who appeared for all the world to Jack to be the archetypal mariner with his ruddy, bearded face and stocky build, an old pipe tucked in the corner of his mouth.

Now in his cabin, he glanced down at himself and saw what a state he had got into, and with it came memories of a darkness that had poisoned his heart. Just the thought of what had taken place in the shadows of the Wolf's depraved mind made Jack's stomach lurch, disgust and anger rocking him with implacable force and he sat down hard on the bunk, only able to steady himself by thinking of Tom. What horrors of his own might his friend be facing now?

He set about changing into the clean clothes he had been given. They were rather baggy and ill-fitting, but at least warm and dry. He did however, refuse the oversized shoes he had been offered, preferring his own worn but comfortable boots and it was as he was tucking in his new shirt that there came a knock at the door.

"I see you are a new man," Dredger observed humourlessly, stepping inside. There was a different relationship between them now, one that Jack found in many ways uncomfortable. And yet there was also an affinity between them that was strangely welcome. "Kindred spirits?" the man said, as if reading the boy's mind. "For we both now know the darkness more intimately than before." There was an uneasy silence between them until the warrior continued. "We shall soon set sail and you will need all of your youthful vigour if you are to survive our journey. I have come to give you a warning. Do not expect me to be there to save you when next the Wolf comes to claim you for its own."

Jack didn't know how he was expected to respond, but anger boiled just below the surface as he spoke. "You don't have to worry about me," he began, the words not sounding quite as hard as he had intended and quite unexpectedly, Dredger laughed.

"There is no fear of my concern, boy, no fear of that at all." And without another word he left, leaving Jack mixed up, his emotions difficult to fathom.

He was afraid, and guilt lived alongside that fear, but now, something new had joined these feelings, a determination to be more than a child who could only stand by and watch whilst others fought his battles. He had a place in this affair, a purpose. It was true that he didn't know what his role would be, but nonetheless, he was certain that destiny held him in mind.

When the time came, as it must, he would not shirk the responsibilities of providence.

Asleep again. I must be dreaming, Tom reasoned.

"Do you know," he said aloud, "I'm sick to death of dreaming!" But there was no-one there to hear him.

He was standing on a great expanse of ice, which he guessed was a lake overrun by a freezing winter. Beneath his feet it was like a sheet of clear glass and below him a cobalt kingdom laboured, held in thrall by an aloof taskmaster.

If I try to walk, I'll only fall flat on my face.

"This is stupid!" he shouted out at the pale, grey sky and the echoes came back to him, a cold and lonely sound.

Surveying the area, he saw high banks of snow creating a cauldron around him. The landscape beyond the snow banks was indiscernible, only the tops of tall, gaunt trees visible, a grim and silent gallery for his dream show.

At the furthest perimeter of the frozen lake, Tom saw what looked very much like a figure, standing completely still on the ice and as he continued to watch, trying to decide if he should call out, the figure began to move toward him, gliding effortlessly across the glassy surface of the lake.

"Skates!" Tom realised, a sense of wonder making him gasp, a cloud of frozen breath billowing from his mouth to drift away into the still air. "Good idea!" he shouted as the skater covered half the distance between them. "Where can I get a pair of those?"

The figure waved and started to circle him, picking up speed until he, or she, raced around and around, making Tom feel quite giddy. He couldn't see the person's face because of a scarf that tightly covered their mouth and nose and upon their head, pulled down over the ears, they wore a red bobble hat.

Concluding with several pirouettes, the skater finally moved closer and stopped just a few feet in front of him with a hiss of ruptured ice.

"Hello there," Tom said sociably and from within the hat and scarf, two bright eyes gazed back at him.

"Who are you?" questioned a muffled voice, sounding male and yet somehow effeminate.

"Tom Lewis," he said, holding out his hand ready to shake, but the skater, who was about Tom's height, remained perfectly still. Feeling rather awkward and increasingly embarrassed, Tom waited for his hand to be taken. "Aren't you going to shake?" he asked eventually, exasperated.

The figure made no response and just continued to look steadily at him, eyes alert, and Tom was obliged to lower his hand, his initial irritation turning to anger.

"So that's how it is, is it?" he fumed, his harsh voice reverberating across the emptiness of the frozen lake. "Well, who needs you anyway? Why don't you just clear off!?" Fully expecting the skater to depart, Tom glared at him menacingly, but saw only amusement in the other's eyes. "So you think it's funny, do you?" he shouted, fury taking control of him.

"What's wrong?" the skater enquired softly, chuckling now, "are you losing your temper?" Tom would have found it quite gratifying to punch that hidden face, but his hands were extremely cold, almost painfully so and he shoved them deep into his pockets instead. "Little boy cold?" asked the skater scornfully.

"Why don't you just get lost!" Tom told him, turning away, hoping the stranger would go away and leave him alone. He had only wanted to be friendly and this was the reward he got for his trouble.

"What's wrong, don't you think it's fair?" the skater taunted him.

Bringing one of his hands out from its warm sanctuary, Tom turned back and pointed an aggressive finger. "I'm warning you," he hissed, "if you don't push-off right now, I'm going to knock you down!" If it came to a fist fight, Tom was more than ready. In fact, he was eager for it. Just one decent blow to silence that mocking voice and he was sure he would feel a whole lot better.

"And I thought you were all grown up," chided the skater shaking his head, his voice subtly altered, now neither male nor female, the sound of it familiar in some distant way. "I thought you fancied yourself a man."

Tom hesitated at this, still wanting to lash out but managing to control the impulse and all at once he realised he had been acting like a child, always wanting to take the easy way out, always ready to act first and consider the consequences later, if at all. "Look," he began, feeling that he should try to explain, but the skater interrupted him.

"You're nothing more than a little boy and don't you forget it," he spat with such vehemence that Tom actually took a step backward. "You're a small, insignificant nobody, who should mind his manners and not insist on meddling in other peoples affairs when they do not concern you. Why do you even think you should have a say? It's for grownups to decide what's right and wrong, and for children to obey. You should have stayed at home, instead of sticking your nose into things that don't concern you. You would have been so much safer there. Oh, you can play at being a man, strutting around so full of yourself, fumbling with girls, getting yourself all worked up, hot and bothered, but if truth be known, you're just a pathetic...little...brat. Will children never learn? No, I don't suppose they will, not unless you beat it into them. But I'm inclined to think that with you, it's more that's needed, a good deal more."

Even as these words violated his mind, Tom was already slipping away from the desolate, frozen waste, and lifted on a current of warm air, he was carried far away.

Back into Lisa's arms. Where it was safe.

Mo was a badger again. But this only unsettled Jack.

"I was just getting used to you as a man!" he said, and the animal smiled, reminding the boy of other times.

"I'm always the same Jack, if you just look hard enough." The boy nodded, aware that this was true and yet the way things could change so suddenly in this world of the imagination had left him feeling confused, striving against the doubt and the sorrow that were now a constant part of him. "You miss Tom very much, don't you?" said the badger unexpectedly, and for Jack there was no need to answer, even if he could have found the words. He gave himself up to memories, allowing his mind to bring back the good times he and Tom had shared together.

There had been one particular rainy afternoon at school, when the prospect of a double period of maths had become too much for them and they had resolved, in what they thought of as an act of rebellion, to do the unthinkable, and skip the lesson. Taking refuge in the toilets, they had spent the whole time terrified of being discovered and yet strangely elated. It had been something neither of them had ever forgotten, that long, anxious wait until it was safe to show themselves again. They had often recalled that day with contrite affection, for it was the sharing that had made the experience so special to them, two against the world, and it was from such moments that there had grown a bond between them that could never be broken.

Friends always, thought Jack, coming back to himself and somehow it made him feel better.

"What would the crew say if they saw you like that?" he asked, changing the subject and with a low rumble of laughter, Mo allowed the moment to pass.

"I think it might well cause some dismay," the animal admitted, "but I just wanted to show you that I am still here. Just in case you needed some reassurance."

"Thanks," Jack told him, a great fondness for the old badger washing over him, knowing full well that if Mo had not been there, he would have almost certainly given up by now. "Where are we going now?"

Mo scraped one long claw on the floor of the cabin. "You recall our visit to the caves of Rith-ran-ro-en?" he began at length. Jack nodded. "And you recall also that it was there that Tom asked the way we must go?"

"Yes," agreed Jack, "I remember he was given a rhyme, but don't ask me how it went because I don't have a clue."

"Fortunately for us both," voiced the badger, "I have both a clue and a solution, for I took the trouble to memorise what was said." And once more, Mo recited the rune spoken by Rith-ran-ro-en at the heart of her catacomb prison. "Take just seven steps to find your heart's desire, a promise of regret to lay within the fire. On to the very edge and claim a blighted kiss, there to meet your match, beyond the dark abyss."

Jack shrugged his shoulders, the words as meaningless to him now as they had been when he first heard them. "So what does it mean?" he questioned, his interest rekindled, and speaking slowly, as if considering the problem with great care, the badger replied.

"The first part is easy enough. You may have seen several islands off the coast." Jack nodded affirmation, so Mo continued. "Well, there are seven such islands, the furthest quite some distance out to sea and barely visible from the land. Amongst the locals

hereabouts, these islands are known as the Seven Steps."

"So we've got to go to the furthest island?" Jack ventured.

"Yes," agreed Mo, "that is our goal for the present."

But Jack only returned the badger's gaze with a glum expression. "What difference does it make if we can't find Tom?"

The old badger sighed. "Things go as they must. Do not let your doubts get the better of you. Believe in the divine hand that conceived this game that we play."

"Game?" said Jack harshly, "is that what this is, a game!? What the hell gives anyone the right to play games with our lives?"

Mo paused, considering his next words carefully. "Perhaps the word game was ill-chosen. But to an observer it might appear to be as a game. Yet the stakes are as high as they can be. The winner takes all...and the loser forfeits everything."

"If you know so much, why can't you explain it to me?" Jack demanded. "I need to know."

"The best I can do is to say that it very much like a lesson, and we are among the students in a vast classroom. We strive for understanding, but you cannot know all there is to know on your first day at school. Now, finally, we near graduation, and yet we still have to pass our exams."

Jack shook his head in despair, struggling to comprehend. "I don't know," he muttered, "I think I know what you're going on about...I just wish it made more sense to me that's all."

"Keep studying," the animal advised him.

Jack sat on the edge of his bunk with his head in his hands and for a moment neither one of them spoke, the boy thinking hard about what had been said, the badger watching him.

"So what about the rest of the poem?" asked Jack, returning to the task at hand. "What does that mean?"

"Yes," pondered Mo, "I am afraid the rest is not quite so transparent. On to the very edge must certainly refer to the edge of the world. If we sail far enough we will reach it eventually."

Jack stared at his friend in disbelief. "Now wait a minute," he blustered, finding it impossible to believe that the badger could be so foolish, "everyone knows that the world is round. You can't sail off the edge of the world! If you go far enough you'll just come back to where you started!" To Jack's further surprise, Mo laughed warmly, his dark eyes alive with mirth. "What's so funny?" he questioned, his mouth tight, feeling he was the butt of a joke.

"My young friend," said the animal, containing his laughter, "you must realise that already you have travelled beyond the edge of your own world. All that you knew, or thought you knew, has been made redundant. All you ever learnt has been shown to be only a glimpse of the truth."

The badger was right of course, Jack saw. He could no longer depend on what he had been taught in the past. The laws were different here. Everything was different. He had never believed in magic before, although many times in his life he had wished it could be real. But now he found that real magic did exist, that it was an intrinsic part

of these strange lands into which he had stumbled. Anything could happen. The Wolf saw to that.

Wherever Tom was, Jack understood that he too would be subject to this new reality.

They were both aliens in a realm of spurious design and once more, this bound them together. Being apart could not change that.

"Make sail!" Captain Welles cried, initiating a flurry of activity from his crew as they set about readying The Spiritwalker for her voyage.

Dredger stood on the high forecastle deck, staring out at the mild ocean. There was barely enough wind to propel them toward their destination, but the warrior had no doubts that they would get there. The Beast expected him to come. And Dredger would not disappoint his foe.

Two immense sails were hoisted up, each with a separate motif impressively stitched onto the canvas, one with an enormous eye, a golden coin as its pupil, whilst the other pictured a monumental crucifix, attacked by a giant serpent rearing up from a volatile sea.

"Captain," Dredger called, approaching the seaman as he issued instructions from the upper deck. "Remember we will make only a brief stop at the island, then we must make full speed toward the edge. There must be no needless delays."

The Captain nodded his consent. "And you remember, friend, that I have cargo to deliver at Chimeria before we make off on this fool's errand. We can pass The Seventh Step on route, although I can't imagine what you expect to find there."

The warrior chuckled at this, ignoring the man's final remark. "You do not believe we will find the abyss?"

Captain Welles spat at the ground and then began to fill his pipe. "The abyss!? I have sailed these waters since I was no more than a pup and I'm telling you there is no such thing. But you're paying me a handsome enough sum to ensure that I'll sail you anywhere you want to go. And when you're tired of looking, I'll sail you right back to

land where you belong!" The seaman puffed on his pipe for a moment before adding. "And anyway, it's not as if you're asking me to sail my ship and crew right over the damn edge of the world, now is it?"

A cryptic smile played about Dredger's lips. "No," he acknowledged. "At least not unless it becomes absolutely necessary."

Captain Welles laughed roughly at this and running a large hand across his chin, spat upon the deck again. "You've got a good sense of humour, man, I'll give you that!"

"Indeed," Dredger agreed easily, "it is well for you that I have, or I might take offence at your poor manners." He nodded toward the saliva splattered close beside his boots.

Welles grinned at the warrior through his beard, but his passenger's face was impassive and the old seaman knew just by looking at the man, that this was not going to be an uneventful voyage. But even though a bargain had been struck, he would never put his ship at risk. It was his livelihood after all and more importantly, his life, all that he had ever known. No, he would not risk that for anything or anyone. If the truth be told, he didn't like this warrior very much and that meant he didn't trust him either. To Welles, Dredger was the type who thought himself superior to ordinary working men, but then warriors were always the same from his experience, too big for their britches, all swagger and no heart, and he had no doubt that the same went for this one's fair-haired companion too. If either of them caused any trouble with him or his crew, pay or no pay, then they would soon find out what real fighting was all about.

Although the dream seemed distant now, it still preoccupied Tom. He and Lisa were playing with the lambs ruffling their woolly necks, the sheep in turn snuggling up against them, trusting completely in the benevolence of the boy and girl.

"Are you happy now?" Lisa asked him.

"Yes," he answered, but something in his tone or expression must have given him away, for a dark cloud appeared to pass over her face, an unfathomable sadness in her eyes.

"Why are you still sad?" she questioned, and though he thought hard, trying to choose the words that would make her understand, Tom found that he could not speak. "Don't you want to be with me?" she asked him, the glimmer of a tear forming at the corner of her eye.

Taking her hand, Tom shook his head. "It's not that," he said urgently, "it's just that I know I should be somewhere else. There are people depending on me."

"I depend on you now," Lisa told him, moving closer.

"There are things I have to do," he countered, hating this conversation and wishing he could just forget everything but her.

"But why you?" she wanted to know, her distress obvious and Tom found that he didn't really have an answer to this.

"It's just the way things are, I suppose," he said inadequately.

"So you're going to go away and leave me?" There was accusation in her voice, her dark eyes watching him carefully, and beneath her gaze Tom felt utterly lost, incapable of saying anything that might hurt her.

"I never want to leave you," he managed to say, meaning it, and saw Lisa smile.

She edged closer still, until he felt the warmth of her body against his. "And I don't want you to ever go away," she whispered, placing her head on his shoulder, her arms encircling his waist tightly.

Remaining silent, caught in her embrace, Tom drifted away into memory again, his mind summoning pictures from his past. He had known both good times and bad. But even in the happiest of days, a part of him had felt incomplete, as though he had always been searching for something that now, at last, he had found. Being here with Lisa, his troubles seemed remote and far less important than they had before and he wanted nothing else. There were others who could do what must be done. There had to be. Why did he have to bear responsibility for the safety of the world? It was ridiculous!

Why couldn't he just be like everyone else and just be left alone? Was that really too much to ask?

Jack stood on the poop deck and watched the crew as they went about their appointed tasks, displaying an ease and familiarity that came from many years spent upon the open sea. Above, the rigging creaked mournfully and the sails rippled in a gentle breeze as they moved leisurely through calm waters. Pelagian lay far behind them, the daylight fading and already they had passed three of the small islands that comprised The Seven Steps.

Once more in human guise, Mo stood in deep discussion with Dredger, the two men alone at the stern of the ship and Jack moved closer in an attempt to hear their conversation, and although the men kept their voices low he still was able to make out some of what was said, the sound carried to him on the wind.

"I think I should be the judge of that," Dredger reacted angrily and Jack saw the fair-haired man make some reply, facing his companion so that the boy could not see his face, or make out what it was he said. "I need not heed your advice, friend," Dredger snapped back, eyes flashing, then quite clearly, Jack heard Mo's voice calmly answer.

"Use your new wisdom well, for even those who command great power are not infallible."

The other man responded with a flicker of a smile. "Whichever way the table is turned," he said, "I will do what I must." This appeared to end the exchange and Dredger walked briskly away across the deck.

For Jack's part, it only served to make him more uneasy about their decision to put to sea in the first place and approaching Mo with this in mind, he studied the man who it seemed could take any form he wished, the ultimate stranger and yet Jack's closest ally now that they had lost Tom.

"Is something wrong?" he asked, coming up beside Mo, who leant upon the rail and gazed out at the sea.

Glancing down at him, the man smiled briefly, strain and weariness etched upon his face. "The Wolf works its vile sorcery in many ways," he said quietly, "and I fear that often even the wise can become fools."

"Do you think things are going to turn out all right?" Jack wondered, the sigh of the water and the groan of the timber a tenuous comfort.

"In the end all will be well. But the wounds of the heart that many have to endure before then, is the greatest test ever conceived. Each of us is asked to leap into a pit of darkness where vipers writhe in obscenity, armed with only our faith. Sometimes I wonder if it is asking too much."

"Maybe that's the whole point," Jack suggested, surprised at himself, finding it strange that he should be the one who was trying to offer consolation.

Mo patted the boy's shoulder affectionately and then looked back toward the horizon. "Still night does not descend. Only twilight for us. It is a sign."

"A sign?" Jack questioned.

"Yes," nodded Mo. "The Beast is watching and waiting. It knows the game very well, but even the Wolf is merely another player, as are we. And we shall need all of the courage and guile that we possess, if we are to defeat it. We must guard against its trickery. Perhaps we shall need to be as cunning and ruthless as the Wolf itself if we can ever hope to win."

"You make it sound as if we'll have to become beasts ourselves," Jack said anxiously.

Again Mo nodded. "There are those who believe that is the case."

"And is that what you think?" the boy asked, troubled by this statement.

"It doesn't really matter what I think, Jack. I am, after all, only one. Each must decide for themselves."

"Well I don't think we need to be like the Wolf to win," Jack declared, "I'll never believe in that."

Looking at him steadily, Mo smiled, this time without reservation. "Let us pray that in our hearts, all believe as you do."

"What about Dredger?" probed Jack after a moment's pause, curious about the heated words he had overheard. "Is he all right?"

"Dredger is unto himself," replied the man. "He lives by his own code, but since his journey to Hydan, he has changed in many ways. He has become far more powerful than even he yet realises, but in other ways he is far weaker and far more vulnerable. There are few things the White Wolf does not perceive, few things it cannot turn to its advantage."

"But there are some things it doesn't know?" Jack said hopefully.

"Some," conceded Mo, "and yet its knowledge is vast and there is little that has escaped its understanding...except perhaps the significance of true love." There was a wistful look in the man's eyes now. "But then, few can claim to know such things."

Jack thought about this for a while and hesitated only briefly before asking another question. "Does love like that really exist?"

The man did not answer at once. His eyes scanned the dark water and when he finally spoke, his voice was as gentle as the waves. "Some say that it exists in the heart, but it can only abide in the mind and in the soul. Many think that they love, yet it is no more than a fantasy or a dream. It does not last. Only when you have learned the truth about yourself, can you truly find love, because nothing can grow out of ignorance, nothing

except fear, the killer of truth. True love is never shallow. It is broad! And it shall encompass the community of all living things."

"But I don't really understand what love is, or goodness for that matter," Jack said, wanting so much to be given answers that would make sense to him. "I know that I'm not a good person...after all that I've done."

"There is only one judge, and it is not you," responded his friend quickly. "True love is akin to sacrifice, and both are rare indeed. Once, long ago, one who was good walked the lands, one who offered love as a cure for sin. But only a few were willing to believe in what he promised, while the rest rejected the wisdom they had been given. Finally, the messenger gave up his life as an example and a lesson, for to sacrifice yourself for truth and justice, to give freely without desiring reward is the meaning of love. And faith is the spark that brings love alive. To care for all and not just a chosen few, that is true love. And from love such as this, goodness must surely come. That is what we must all strive for."

Jack didn't know what to say. "It just sounds too hard. I could never be like that," he murmured finally.

"Everyone must learn," Mo assured him. "Each and all. Everyone has been given the chance to find the truth for themselves. Hope, faith, love, they are all a part of the whole. We make choices every day of our lives, but it is up to us to choose what we know is right and not be tempted or deceived into walking with the Beast, although many, so many, have travelled that road."

"If only I could be as wise as you are," Jack said, awed by his friend's passionate words.

At this, Mo smiled but there was sorrow in his eyes. "Oh to be as true as your words," he remarked. "If only it were as simple as that."

WILD WATERS

Thunder roared.

"What was that?" said Tom, sitting up suddenly.

He and Lisa had been there together for what felt like an eternity. And he truly wished that this time with her would go on forever.

"It's nothing," Lisa told him, stroking his cheek softly, "lay back down. Don't worry about it."

Needing little persuasion Tom settled back, letting his face nestle against her golden hair. But as he did so the sound came again, booming very much like a muffled thunderclap, and yet it did not come from far off in the distance, it came from somewhere close by.

"Something's going on," he said, getting to his feet now.

"Leave it be," Lisa urged him, frowning just a little. "You're safe here with me. Don't go courting trouble." She reached up, catching his hand and pulled gently for him to sit down beside her again, but Tom resisted letting her fingers slip from his to fall idly into her lap.

"Where's it coming from?" he queried, tilting his head to one side, listening carefully. Almost at once, the rumbling sound reached them a third time and Tom turned to look down at the girl, curiosity governing his thoughts. "It sounds like some kind of explosion," he speculated.

"What does it matter?" Lisa said to him, her eyes fixed on his. "Can it be so important it's worth leaving me for?"

When Tom gazed at her it made him feel strange inside, as if he were floating, weightless and free. The time they had shared together was more special than anything he had ever known in his life. "I never want to leave you," he said slowly, "but I can't just ignore things and hope they'll go away." Lowering her eyes, Lisa became silent. "You have to understand," continued Tom, hoping desperately that she would be able to.

Lisa lifted her face and Tom could see the sadness that she felt. "But I don't."

"It's hard...hard to explain," he stammered, finding it impossible to put into words what he knew to be true. "But there are people who need me, people who have put their faith in me."

"I need you," she said flatly, turning away from him, and Tom felt empty inside, his heart aching.

A loud boom shook the air, followed closely by another, and the need to find out what it was pulled at him with an urgency he couldn't explain.

"It sounds like it's coming from just over those hills," he said, pointing vaguely. "I'll be back before you know it. I just have to see what it is."

A tear ran down across Lisa's cheek, a tiny symbol of despair that aroused emotions in Tom that were new and frightening to him, their intensity almost more than he could bear.

"If you go, you'll never come back," she said, her voice very quiet. And something in the way she spoke, as if it had already taken place, made him believe her. But of course, it wouldn't be like that. He would always come back to her. She meant more to him than anything else in the world.

"Anything?" she asked him, making him wonder if he were really dreaming now and would soon awaken to find himself all alone again. "I would do anything to keep you with me," she whispered, wiping away the tears with the sleeve of her blouse.

"Listen to me," Tom told her gently, kneeling down and putting his arms around her, "please don't cry. If you're so afraid I won't come back, why don't you come with me?"

But as he said this, Lisa pulled away from him. "I can't leave the little ones all alone...the Wolf might come."

The Wolf.

For a while he had nearly forgotten all about the enemy, but now his memory burned with a bestial visage, malignant eyes taunting him. The White Wolf had been playing games with him all along, perverse tests to break his spirit, but Tom wasn't broken yet.

"I'll be back as quickly as I can," he said without looking Lisa in the eye and he made to stand up, but the girl tugged on his arm urgently, forcing him back to her.

"Please, Tom," she begged him, her eyes pools of tears, "don't go away."

It was not enough. He had thought it would be but it wasn't. He couldn't just close his eyes, or let them be closed for him.

Taking her hand from his arm, he squeezed it tenderly and then smiled at her, his own tears pressing for release. "I love you," he said in a shaky voice and then turned and walked toward where the sound seemed to have come from. Behind him all was quiet, but he dared not look back to see if she was crying.

Moving hurriedly, Tom made his way over a series of grassy knolls, the sound calling to him at irregular intervals. Still the sea air teased him, promising to reveal its source but each rise in the land denied his expectations.

On and on he trekked, all the time aware that something was wrong, knowing that he was leaving Lisa further and further behind, and yet he would not give up and turn back. The sky began to darken as another crash resounded, very close now, and this spurred him on, his determination to find out what it was driving him forward.

Climbing to the brow of still another high mound, he could see only more of the same in front of him, and frustrated, he broke into a run, clambering with frantic speed across the undulating landscape.

Tom gasped for breath, pushing himself harder, everything around him beginning to blur as he ran faster and faster.

"You won't beat me," he vowed as he scaled one exceptionally steep hill, using handfuls of grass to pull himself to the summit, his whole body aching with the effort, his pulse hammering in his head.

And then, it was there. Blue and vast and wondrous.

As if he had never seen the ocean before, he merely stood there, on top of the hill and stared out across that shimmering expanse, hardly feeling the brisk wind that came in from the sea, dishevelling his hair and cooling the sweat on his brow.

Abruptly, his eyes focused on something out upon the water and he immediately knew that what he saw was the cause of all the commotion.

A ship, belaboured by the heightening gust and obviously having great difficulty holding its position, lay a short distance off from the coastline. And even as Tom watched her rising upon the strident waves, another thunderous explosion was heard, a terrible cry that issued from the vessel, and below where he stood, perhaps two hundred yards away to his right, something heavy smashed into the beach, violently ripping into the sand and sending debris flying into the air.

The ship was firing its cannons right at him!

But why?

He feared he had run straight to the enemy and while he considered what he might do, Tom saw that his question might very well soon be answered, for heading toward the shore, oars forcing them onward, a longboat was approaching, manned by at least a half-a-dozen figures.

As they had come about to face the island, the sea had changed. Not gradually, but all at once, the waters suddenly swirling wildly, the ship buffeted by fierce waves. Instantly, Captain Welles had barked some orders at his first mate and the crew had gone to work.

Jack didn't really understand what was going on as he clung to the rail and watched them bustle about, scrambling across the deck and climbing the rigging, but he guessed they were making every effort to hold their position. The way the vessel was being battered, thrown to-and-fro by the wild waters, he could see it would not be an easy task.

Then Dredger appeared at his side, upright and apparently unconcerned, feet planted firmly apart on the heaving deck, one hand cupped to his mouth. "Welles!" he cried out, his voice audible even above the onslaught of wind and waves.

From the twilight sky rain began to fall, adding to their misery, and assailed from both sea and sky, his clothes soaked through though he cowered behind Dredger, Jack shuddered, the thought of drowning working its way into his mind.

"Welles!" Dredger bellowed a second time, but the other man either didn't hear or simply chose to ignore him, for he continued to direct his crewmen, furiously giving out orders, pursuing anyone who failed to obey quickly enough.

Striding over to the Captain, the warrior grabbed him by the arm, turning him around roughly. "Welles," he hissed, "how long can you hold our position without endangering the ship?"

With a cynical smile, his face and beard dripping with sea water, the seaman gave Dredger a belligerent glare. "If it gets any worse," he growled, "I'll have to head her back to Pelagian. I'll not risk running her aground on the rocks for the sake of a few coins!"

The warrior returned his smile, apparently full of good humour. "Tell your men to fire their cannons at the beach."

Welles stared at Dredger with wide eyes. "And why in heaven's name would I be doing that?"

"Because, my dear Captain, it will bring whoever, or whatever, we are to find on that island to us, saving us the trouble of searching for it. Time is, in this instance, of the essence, is it not?"

Although the Captain was sceptical, he still felt obliged, whilst he were able to do so without unduly jeopardising his ship and crew, to follow the warrior's instructions.

"Flanders!" he hollered to his first mate, the rain lashing at him savagely, "make ready the cannons!"

The sailor eyed his Captain for a moment in confusion. "The cannons, sir?"

"That's what I said, man," Welles growled, "and the island is our target!" Flanders knew better than to argue with his Captain, having served with the man on many a long and hazardous voyage, but all the same he couldn't help but hesitate. "Just do it!" snapped Welles, his own doubts kept to himself for the moment.

Dredger looked on as the cannons were made ready to fire and then the first mate himself, brandishing a fuel soaked torch, put flame to powder and the first cannon-ball was dispatched, the volume of its report deafening even amidst the storm.

Jack had to cover his ears as the ship trembled beneath him, convinced that the planks were about to shatter, or the masts break in two and come hurtling down on their heads. When neither of these calamities occurred, he began to regain his composure and hardly flinched when the second cannon was fired, not because he wasn't frightened by it, or what its consequences might be, but because Mo was there, striding through the rain and the sea-spray, coming toward them.

"What is this?" he asked Dredger stiffly, the elements uniting to rock the ship alarmingly, making it difficult for both men to keep their footing.

"There is no time to be wasted on pleasantries," was the curt reply. "We must bring whatever it is that we seek out into the open. This seems like as good a way as any."

Jack couldn't stay out of this. He was just as much a part of what was going on as his two companions. "What happens," he called making his way over to them, grabbing at anything remotely stable to get there, "if it can't come to us?"

Mo nodded his agreement. "A good point, Jack. And it would also appear that Dredger has not considered the possibility of harming whatever life might inhabit the island." But the warrior made no response to these protests, only gazing through the storm at the distant island as the sound of intermittent cannon fire continued. "We have no choice but to go there ourselves," Mo announced at last, "whilst we still can."

"And how will you do this?" queried Dredger, sarcasm in his tone. "Will you walk on water!?"

Mo pushed past him with a scowl and went a short distance along the deck before coming to a halt. "Captain Welles!" he shouted at the seaman, who at that moment was engaged in passionate conversation with the first mate.

Giving the sailor a terse instruction, the Captain dismissed him and came quickly over to where Mo stood, grimacing through his bedraggled beard. "We must be away from here," he pressed, his eyes warily scanning the faces of his passengers. "The ship can't take this kind of battering for much longer!"

"Make ready the longboat," said Mo calmly, apparently oblivious to the Captain's concerns. "We must be swift."

Welles raised his eyes skyward, a look of complete bafflement on his face. "You're both madmen!" he stated, glancing at Dredger.

"Please do not argue, Captain," Mo said briskly. "Just do as I ask."

The seaman hesitated and seemed about to object further, before turning away to communicate with his first mate once more.

"Will you come, Jack?" Mo asked, beckoning to him and with a nod, the boy went to stand at his side.

"Let it be on your own heads!" Dredger snarled, as they made to go. "But I at least shall remain here, for even if you are willing to throw away your lives, I am not."

"You value your skin so highly?" questioned Mo, fixing the warrior with his gaze.

"I know its worth," returned Dredger coolly and for a moment the two men stared at each other as if waiting for the other to say something more. Then Mo turned away and went purposefully to where several sailors were battling hard, their backs bent in an effort to operate the pulleys that would lower the longboat, and laying his hand upon the cable, set about lending them whatever aid he could.

Looking on, Jack had started to have second thoughts. Taking to the dangerous waters in what was really no more than a wooden tub, compared to The Spiritwalker, terrified him and he had to wonder if Mo actually knew what he was doing.

The boat slapped down into the water and a rope ladder was lowered to it and the first of the men who would accompany them climbed over the side and descended to the waiting craft.

Was this suicide, as Dredger seemed to think?

Following Mo into the boat and settling down beside him, Jack thought about it capsizing and imagined the water stealing into his lungs, filling his nose and mouth, dragging him down into its hidden depths, and it was all he could do to keep himself in his seat.

Maybe Dredger was right. Maybe it was madness to try to reach the land whilst the swollen waters warned them so unmistakably to stay away.

After all, what could be so important on that island that it was worth risking their lives for?

It had begun to rain and Tom huddled down not merely as protection from the biting wind, but also to conceal himself.

From his position on the rocky hillside, he watched as the crew of the longboat brought it finally to the beach, four men jumping out to pull the craft through the water onto the sand. Once safely landed, others also disembarked, spreading out a little as they trudged ashore, and it was only then that Tom saw something that made his heart leap and his mouth open involuntarily as if he would cry out, but no sound escaped him.

There, standing beside a tall man who reminded Tom in many ways of Dredger, was a young boy who looked very much like Jack, and the likeness was so striking that Tom immediately forgot all about hiding and stood up, so that he might get a better look at the figures below.

Instantly, one of the crewmen saw him and pointed, shouting as he did so, drawing the others attention. But Tom didn't care that he had been seen, such was his amazement and he just remained there, staring down, heedless of any danger he might be in, heedless of the storm that tore at him upon that exposed height, his eyes piercing the rain, transfixed on the boy.

It was Jack, he was certain of it.

The clothes were different from those his friend had worn when they were last together, but everything else, his posture, his whole attitude, said that it could only be Jack.

Or was this yet another wile of the Wolf? Another trial to test his courage and resolve?

Tom didn't know if he could stand that. He had been through so much already.

Tentatively, he raised his arm and waved and very slowly, as if as uncertain as Tom was, the boy who looked so very much like Jack lifted his hand in response, before abruptly breaking into a run, leaving his companions behind. On he came, regardless of the obstacles in his way, clambering over the rocky landscape, and without thinking, Tom also began to slide down the steep face of the hill, wet sand and clumps of coarse scrub catching at his feet. He cared little that he might fall. Nothing was going to keep him apart from his friend any longer.

Through the pouring rain the two boys raced to meet each other, both stumbling and slipping in their eagerness, but the uncertain terrain could not hold them back. As they reached a middle ground, halfway up the hillside, and came onto a plateau of rock that jutted from the sand, so they both decreased their pace, slowing to a walk until at last they came face-to-face.

They stood just a few feet apart, each panting for breath, each gazing at the other with a mixture of joy and disbelief. Neither said a word. The wind moaned and the rain lashed down, cold against their faces.

Hesitantly, Jack smiled. "I've been looking for you everywhere," he said simply, running a hand through his soaking hair.

Tom smiled too and nodded, but his expression was solemn, showing his weariness and the strain that he was under. "It's really you?" he said with difficulty.

Jack stepped forward and laid a hand upon Tom's arm. "It's really me," he confirmed quietly, the words immediately lost in the tumult of the storm.

The warmth that Tom felt toward the other boy overwhelmed him then and he put his arm around Jack's shoulders, gripping him tightly, the contact reassuring. "Can I make a suggestion?" he asked, giving Jack a sidelong glance.

"What?" asked Jack and Tom had to smile again.

"Let's stick together from now on," he said and saw Jack pause only for a moment before nodding.
"It's a deal," came the reply and then they began to make their way back down to the beach, but more slowly this time, their safety valuable to them now.

They had both changed in many respects since their parting, and yet despite everything that had happened to them along the way, despite all the doubts and fears, the affection they held for each other seemed to be the stronger because of it. For in their hearts they both knew that theirs was a friendship that could never be broken.

A fair-haired man, the one who Tom had thought so like Dredger, came forward and smiled as they descended from the rock. "Tom!" he exclaimed, holding out his hand, and Tom stopped dead in his tracks, surprised by the man's greeting.

"Do I know you?" he asked cautiously staring hard at the stranger, a curious feeling of recognition tugging at his mind, even though he knew full well he had never seen the man before in his life.

Beside Tom, Jack began to laugh quietly, apparently finding it all quite amusing, his gaze moving back and forth between the fair-haired man and Tom, the expression on his friend's face only making him laugh all the more.

"What is it, Jack!?" questioned Tom, a bit irritated. "What's so funny?"

With a deep chuckle that sounded very familiar, the man came over to him. "Now, Tom, do not begrudge Jack his moment of good humour. And besides, if anyone should be offended, it is I, for I had hoped you would recognise a friend no matter how much he might have changed!"

Tom was certain now that this was all a dream after all. He knew that voice well enough, but it was impossible. How could a badger become a man? "I don't..." he started to say, but couldn't find any words to explain how he felt.

"You know me now," said the man, seeing the light of recognition in the boy's eyes. "That is enough. Explanations must wait for a more suitable time, I'm afraid. The sea is turning against us and we must return to the ship, before we are all stranded on this island." He walked away, heading back toward the small group of men who waited further down the beach and mechanically, Tom followed him, a now serious Jack close at his side.

"Don't expect a particularly good explanation," his friend commented as they went.

The way Jack appeared to have accepted the badger's miraculous transformation made Tom feel a little more comfortable with it himself, although he was sure it would take him quite some time to get used to.

Coming to the longboat, they began to embark, the crewmen climbing aboard first, taking their places at the oars, but as Tom moved to pull himself over the side, he noticed that Mo was gazing at him thoughtfully. "To find your heart's desire," the fair-haired man muttered. As soon as he heard these words, Tom froze. "Is something wrong?" Mo asked, the waves lapping at their feet, swelling with the tide and lifting the boat from the sand, threatening to tear it away from them. The other men called to them anxiously, urging them to hurry, but Mo held up a hand. "What is it, Tom?" he pressed, leaning close, aware of the anguish that had overtaken his young friend and though the sea seemed to

roar louder than ever, Tom's whispered reply was perfectly clear.

"Lisa," he said and turned to face the windswept hills.

The ship was under attack, and the army that waged war upon The Spiritwalker belonged to nature herself. High waves beat angrily against the hull. Wind and rain assaulted the crewmen as they worked diligently to furl the sails, and though he raged against this powerful adversary, shouting orders and encouragement at the top of his voice, Captain Welles was growing more concerned with every minute that passed.

The sea had become unnatural!

This was not the first time the Captain had been witness to strange, unaccountable phenomena at sea. He could tell a few tales of inexplicable events taking place while riding the oceans, and had learned that out here, the water ruled and had many secrets. And yet, there seemed to be a malice in the weather this day, a destructive urge that was doing its level best to send them to their doom. For his crew were working well but still they floundered, and for all their efforts, they were gradually, almost slyly, being drawn toward the rocks that jutted ominously from the headland.

They called it The Seventh Step, but Welles was beginning to think of it as the first step toward hell! He braced himself against a wave that came crashing onto the deck, but the force of it pushed him backward and he had to grab blindly for something to prevent him being carried over the side.

Lurching around, bellowing his frustration, he saw that Dredger stood nearby, gripping the rail, a smile playing upon his lips.

Welles decided that he had been a fool to have ever agreed to give them passage in the first place, and to have let them take to the longboat in these conditions was an act of pure madness. What could there be that was so important on that damned island!?

Whatever it was, it hardly mattered any more. If they did not return very soon, he would have no choice but to make away from this hazardous place. Already they had sustained some damage and he would not just stand by and see his vessel and crew destroyed.

With these thoughts burning in his mind, the Captain advanced on Dredger, making no effort to conceal his indignation. "Time is running out for your friends," he barked, coming alongside, hanging onto the rail as the ship shuddered beneath him. "We will all be lost if we remain here much longer!"

The warrior regarded the man with disinterest for a moment, before looking out across the frenzied sea, his eyes searching for some sign of the small craft that bore his companions. "If they come, they come," he uttered. "If they fail, that is as it must be. Do not trouble yourself, Captain. Your ship will not sink."

The seaman grunted at this. "Thank you for your assessment, sir. But I think I am the best judge of that!"

"Quite so," replied Dredger, "so set yourself to that task and leave all other matters to those who are concerned in them!"

Captain Welles felt his temper boiling over. Everything about this jumped-up fighting man rubbed him the wrong way and he thought that before the voyage was over, he would like to have the pleasure of teaching him a few hard lessons. Throwing an arm in the air dismissively, Welles turned himself about and pushed off across the reeling deck, leaving Dredger to eye the waves that reared above their heads, the jagged peaks like the claws of some immense beast poised to strike at its prey.

"For your own sake," the warrior breathed as the man departed, "I hope you never have reason to cross me." He stared at the water, lost for a moment in the dark places of his mind, but he knew he could not dwell there for long, however seductive it might be and it was with grim resolve that he bent his gaze once again toward the shore.

"No!" refused Tom in dismay, "I won't leave her behind!"

"Tom," began Mo moving closer to the boy, "have you not wondered how you came to be here in the first place? Have you not understood that the land is ever shifting? Nothing here is constant. The Wolf would like nothing better than for you to go back in search of her." Tom felt as if he were being torn apart, his love for Lisa battling against his trust and loyalty toward his friends. "I guarantee, Tom, that if you go looking for her, you will never find her. And it will cost us all very dearly."

He didn't understand any of it, but he knew Mo well enough, whatever his physical guise, to be certain that he spoke the truth.

With despair threatening to smother him, he recalled the way she had begged him not to leave her, sure that he would not come back.

What was Lisa? Was she real or only make-believe?

"Tom," Jack said, placing a hand on his arm. "We have to go. Everything will work out right in the end, I know it will. You'll see her again. If she really thinks a lot of you, she'll understand."

Tom nodded reluctantly, the unexpected wisdom of Jack's words touching him deeply. "Let's get out of here," he murmured and with their dispute brought to an abrupt end, they quickly boarded the longboat and set to the task of pushing themselves away from the shore. The seamen fought the incoming tide with every ounce of strength they had, the sea opposing them at every stroke of the oars, a primitive contest that pitted the vast power of wind and water against the resilience of human flesh and spirit.

It was all the Wolf's doing, of course. Mo had no doubt of that. It was the overseer of this charade, a pantomime to feed its appetite for pain and anguish.

Noticing that one of the sailors was tiring, Mo did not hesitate in taking up the oar, adding his own strength to that of the others, each man aboard striving against the force of nature unleashed.

"There's the ship!" cried Jack suddenly, almost leaping to his feet in relief and excitement, rain in his eyes, the taste of salt water in his mouth. "Do you see it, Tom?"

But Tom did not respond. He was still gazing back at the island as little by little, they left it behind, his eyes focused upon the hilltop where he had so recently stood, his heart somewhere beyond.

I will find you again. I promise.

But he knew it was an empty pledge, for he was a victim of fate and he did not know where it might take him to. His path had been chosen for him and whatever was to come was as unavoidable as death itself.

Dredger looked on with a grim smile as they were hoisted onto the deck. "The lost one returns," he said, but it was difficult to say whether it was with any pleasure.

"It's good to see you again, Dredger," offered Tom in a similar tone of voice and the man's eyes narrowed, though his smile grew broader.

Standing there aboard the ship reunited once more with his friends, Tom felt strangely detached, his mind elsewhere, his thoughts as ungovernable as the storm. Even though a part of him was elated at having found them again, another deeper part of his being was desperately unhappy. He kept imagining Lisa there on that grassy bank, still waiting for him to return, her tears her only comfort.

He had abandoned her, there was no denying it.

"I felt that way about you," said Jack a little sheepishly, having noticed the expression on Tom's face and guessing the cause. "Going on without you was like a betrayal of our friendship. But I see now that it had to be that way. I'm learning that maybe this is like a game, the way Mo says it is, but it isn't always up to us how we play it. Anyway," he added, seeing that his friend was bewildered by all that had happened and was none too steady on his feet, "I reckon you could do with some rest."

They were moving away from The Seventh Step now, out into the open sea and the vessel lurched less violently than before, though the weather remained hostile.

"I don't feel very well, Jack," admitted Tom, groping with a hand for something to hold onto, covering his blurred eyes with the other.

"Come on," his friend ordered, putting an arm around him for support, "let's get below out of this rain."

It didn't take them long to reach Jack's cabin and once inside, Tom slumped down onto the bunk gratefully.

"How can it be right to have left her there?" he muttered aloud, not meaning to speak.

"I think Mo was right," Jack answered, sitting at the foot of the bed. "She wouldn't have even been there anymore if you had gone back."

"But how can that be?" Tom wanted to know, "I just don't see how that makes any sense."

"In these lands nothing ever seems to be the way you think it is," Jack said slowly, trying to put his thoughts into words. "But one thing I do believe is that truth can't be hidden away forever. It's not what we do, it's why we do it, that's what counts. Sometimes we make mistakes, but that's only to be expected. After all, isn't that the whole reason we're alive in the first place, to learn!? We can only ever do what we think is for the best and that might not mean what's best for us. Sometimes we have to make a sacrifice. That's why you had to come with us. If you had only thought of yourself, you would have stayed."

"But what about Lisa?" Tom asked in a quiet voice.

Jack thought for a few seconds and then gave his friend a questioning look. "Maybe she understands more than you think."

As Tom listened to his friend he became aware of how much the other boy had changed since they were parted. It seemed that their experiences were reshaping their beliefs and ideals, and bringing them a new understanding of things that they could have barely imagined before they came to this arcane, dream-like place.

"Were we chosen for this?" Tom wondered not for the first time, as he drifted down into much needed sleep, lulled by the rocking of the ship and his last thought, before it

carried him away, was that each of them in their own way had grown up and the process, once begun, could not be checked. It would lead them on, whether they wanted to take the journey or not, until they reached its immeasurable end.

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 convulsing. 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 swimming 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 when 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 should 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.

THE SHIFTING LAND

"What...what do you want?" Tom murmured, the dense mist seeming to hem them in.

"You need not fear me," the figure voiced genially, putting up a gloved hand as if he thought they might run. "I am not the Ripper, lord forbid it!"

Tom and Jack backed away a little, regarding the man suspiciously. He didn't look dangerous, but they had learnt to be on their guard. "Who are you then?" Tom questioned.

"My name is John Watson and I am at your service," the stranger replied, stepping cautiously toward them, revealing a compact black bag that he carried at his side.

"You're a doctor?" ventured Jack, nodding at this and the man smiled.

"Semi-retired now I'm afraid. Occasionally I answer a call if my services are required, and that sometimes means that I must walk these fog blighted streets at an unusual hour, but as I have already assured you, you need not fear me. There are others however, about whom I would not say the same."

"You mean Jack the Ripper?" offered Tom, a chill creeping through him, making him shudder and he saw that the doctor was similarly affected.

"It is a terrible business," he observed, his face dark with memories, "but there are those who would see an end to it. In fact, a good friend of mine is at this very moment engaged in bringing the monster to justice. And if anyone is able to do so, you can rest assured that Sherlock Holmes is that man."

"Sherlock Holmes!" exclaimed Jack, almost a shout. "But that's not..."

"What year is this?" cut in Tom, saying the first thing he could think of and all he got for his trouble was a startled look from Jack and an odd one from Dr. Watson, who shook his head as if baffled.

"Why, it is eighteen hundred and eighty nine of course. Are you suffering from some form of amnesia?"

Neither Tom nor Jack could make any reply to this. The tricks of the Beast were becoming more and more outlandish it seemed, mixing reality with fiction, and they were left disoriented and bemused.

"Well," Tom managed to say at last, "I hope your friend succeeds. But we really must be going now." With a quick gesture to Jack he made to turn away, intent on disappearing into the fog which was so thick now they couldn't see more than a few yards in any direction.

"One moment," the man called, striding after them, "I shall walk with you, at least until we reach a safer neighbourhood. I could not return to Baker street knowing that I had allowed two youngsters to find their way home by themselves."

Uneasily, Tom and Jack accepted the doctor's offer and they walked on, their mistrust of everything in this bygone time causing them to remain silent, unwilling to enter into any further conversation with a man who, as far as they were aware, had never really existed.

"Now, where do you live?" Dr. Watson enquired a little further on, as they came to the end of the street, and as the man waited for an answer Tom was overcome by a longing just to tell him everything. But what would be the point? This man was surely a pawn of the Wolf and nothing more. It was all a charade, a game, and yet it was a deadly one for all that, in which people died and madness danced in their murderer's eyes.

"Not far from here," he heard himself say, unable to think straight, yet certain within himself that they had reached the darkest regions of the Beast's dreamland.

"I dare say your parents will be relieved to have you safe at home," commented the doctor. "Now which way is it? It can be difficult to tell when the fog is this bad I know, but tell me the name of the street and I will do my very best to see you safely there."

Glancing toward Jack, an unspoken agreement was instantly reached between them, and Tom knew that the time had come for this part of the charade to end. "We can't go home," he said slowly, stepping away from the man, Jack doing the same. "We don't live here."

Dr. Watson gazed at them for a moment, his expression ambiguous and it seemed he would question what had just been said, but then from out of the fog, something large yet agile sprang at them and Tom was thrown to one side, the thing, whatever it was, grazing past him, sending him to the ground. As he picked himself up, he looked for Jack but the mist was so thick that he couldn't see any sign of his friend, or of the doctor, although the sharp, venomous hiss of their assailant told him that he, at least, was close at hand. He waited, eyes straining to see into the fog, almost calling out but holding back, afraid that he would attract attention to himself. Out of the mist in front of him there came the sound of a scuffle and sidling forward, Tom saw Dr. Watson struggling with a dark figure only a few feet away. The two combatants grappled with each other, something that looked very much like a knife raised in the air, the black silhouette of the blade clear against the whiteness of the fog.

From the left Jack suddenly appeared, leaping to the doctor's aid, swinging his fists wildly. There was a vicious snarl, of anger more than pain and before Tom had a chance to join his friend, the attacker grasped Dr. Watson by the throat pushing the man viciously backward, before fleeing into the fog. Jack almost made to follow, his adrenaline pumping, but the prostrate form of the doctor was at his feet and he stopped himself, concern for the injured man getting the better of him. Kneeling down, he immediately saw blood and realised it was more serious than he had suspected. He turned to look anxiously at Tom. "I think he's badly hurt," he muttered, the doctor unmoving and quiet.

"Dr. Watson," Tom said, leaning down to get a better look. "Dr. Watson! Are you all right?"

To the relief of them both the man stirred, his eyes watery and unfocused, but there was recognition in them as he attempted to sit up, a groan escaping him.

"Take it easy," Jack advised, "don't try to move."

Dr. Watson smiled weakly. "I am relieved to find myself in the hands of such a competent physician," he remarked, his voice shaking a little.

"He had a knife," stated Tom, remembering what he had seen, his eyes drawn to the man's blood soaked waist-coat, and putting a tentative hand to his wound, Dr. Watson nodded.

"It would appear you are correct, my young friend." His face was pale and sweat trickled from his forehead. Upon his neck were scratch marks, scored by sharp nails. "However, it would not be advisable for us to remain here. I must ask you to help me up so that we can depart from this devil's lair, before that madman returns to finish the job!"

Neither of the boys needed any urging and so, with Tom and Jack supporting the wounded man, they began to walk very slowly into the waiting night.

Both men knew that there would most likely be something evil awaiting them at the top of this long flight of stairs; they could sense something, a presence perhaps and each had their blades readied, the weight of cold steel reassuring in the threatening atmosphere. Their shadows distorted on the bleached walls, cast by a pervasive light from below, but as far as they could tell, nothing else moved.

Eventually, they neared the summit of the lighthouse, their ascent achieved without incident. Above them, through a hatch, an emerald glow illuminated the tower and as he stepped beneath it, Dredger felt a strong premonition that arcane forces were at work, that power, ancient and strong, was all around them.

Manoeuvring himself cautiously through the hatchway, Dredger surveyed the great lantern. It consisted of perhaps eight lenses held by a light metallic frame, and was set in a revolving carriage, moved, the warrior noted, by a clockwork mechanism, so as to show a regular series of flashes to any vessel at sea. A narrow walkway went completely around it, no doubt for maintenance purposes and moving cautiously onto this, his boots ringing on the metal, Dredger made a slow circuit. He shielded his eyes from the huge lantern as he went, yet watchful for anything that was strange or out of place. He saw nothing however. The place was empty and he frowned, wondering if his senses might have betrayed him. Outside, a heavy rain had begun to beat down, drumming against the glass and listening to it, amplified in the stillness that settled about him, bathed in the green radiance of the warning lamp, his uneasiness returned, the nagging conviction that there was something wrong.

"Something is amiss here..." he began, turning to where he fully expected to find Mo. But instead, he found only space and silence. Mo had vanished.

Rushing to the hatch, Dredger leant through, peering down the staircase for any sign of the other man, but to no avail. "Mo!" he called, but no answer came. Even if his companion had chosen to descend for some reason, he would have signalled first, the warrior was certain of it. No, this was more of the Beast's wiles. Foul magic was at the heart of it. "So you test us further," he said aloud. "Well that is as it should be. But I promise this. When you come for me, you shall not find me such easy prey."

Defiant and yet disturbed that Mo could have been taken so easily, leaving no trace that he had ever been there at all, the warrior stood alone as the weather raged on, and for some time he remained there, listening to the howling of the wind.

As Mo had made to pass through the hatchway behind Dredger, he was assaulted by an all encompassing darkness, blinding him momentarily. But it was not only his eyes that were affected. His very consciousness was indefinably subdued and he reeled under its influence, falling to his knees, too overcome even to cry out.

Summoning all of his strength of will, he concentrated on restoring his faculties, but the power which bound him was incredibly resilient and he found himself helplessly drifting, arrant energy pulsing within him, seeming to pass through his mind and then on into his deep subconscious. It numbed him and caressed him, stroking the root of his being. He was besieged by it and it would not be denied.

But still, Mo fought back. He resisted the consoling agency that worked to capture his resolve. He would not bow down to the artful ministry of the Beast. Rejecting the dark serenity that danced within his soul, defying it in the name of everything he held dear, Mo forced it from him. But even though it subsided, it did not leave him immediately, instead crawling from him slowly, an agony of loss, and he knew that one moment of weakness would call it instantly back to him.

But he was not weak. Holding fast to his beliefs, he expelled the last remnant of its sweet decay and very gradually as if his mind had been lost in a fever that had suddenly been broken, his senses returned to him. The darkness lifted and he was able to focus his eyes upon his surroundings.

He stood in a long hallway that stretched indefinitely before him and turning, he faced a solid wall of white brick, with no visible sign of any exit or entrance. Briefly he examined it, but was not surprised when he failed to discover anything of significance. The rest of the corridor walls also appeared to be constructed of the same white brickwork, and yet it was not a true white he observed, and for reasons Mo did not quite understand, he found it disquieting. Underfoot lay a dark-coloured carpet, thick and luxuriant, but none-the-less vaguely perturbing, its texture somehow unpleasant, but he ignored these feelings of unease, attributing them to what he had just been through and applied himself to the situation at hand.

Naturally, the Wolf was testing him, but there was more to it than that. It had suited the Beast very well to separate he and Dredger, but Mo knew that he had been brought to this location for a specific purpose. His enemy had waged a spiritual attack upon him and he had repelled it, barely. Now he would have to walk the long passageway before him, until he reached the goal that had been set for him by his adversary, and having no choice, he would do just that, although not perhaps in the way the Beast expected.

The White Wolf believed itself to be the overmaster of all worlds, an office ordained, and yet Mo understood much that was otherwise forgotten, had learnt many truths that had been thought lost through the course of time.

He started along the corridor and what had appeared to be a man began to shimmer, swiftly losing shape and form. Where two feet had trod, four now went, softly padding, lithe and supple; where a man's muscle had once been, now the sinuous tendons of a beast rippled, unbridled strength and power in every stride. Around the great head a golden mane flowed, and dark, wise eyes gazed keenly from a noble face.

Tom realised that although the man was pretending otherwise, his injury was serious. Dr. Watson had managed to slow the loss of blood, but the wound was obviously deep and it was becoming more and more apparent that he wouldn't be able to go on much further.

"I think, my friends, that I will have to stop and rest awhile," he said shortly, his head bowed. Nodding, Tom glanced at Jack and saw in his friend's eyes a mirror of his own concern and fear.

Coming upon the entrance to a dingy building, its high stone walls grey and cheerless, the two boys guided the man toward it, thinking it would serve as a temporary shelter.

Easing the doctor carefully to the ground, he was able to lean his back against a wall. They made him as comfortable as they could but Tom knew that they would soon have to decide upon a course of action that would bring some aid to the injured man.

"There is an irony here" said Dr. Watson softly, finding it difficult to speak now, "with myself being a doctor, and yet there is so little I can do. The wound is very deep and I am losing too much blood."

Jack looked at him despairingly. "There must be something we can do?"

"Yes," the man agreed, trying to seem optimistic, though he grimaced with pain. "But if it is to be done, it must be done quickly."

"I'll go and get help," Tom declared with firm conviction, although it was the last thing in the world he wanted to do. After being apart from his friends for so long, he did not want to go off on his own again when there was every chance that the White Wolf was merely playing games with them, using this situation to tear them away from each other, to separate them once more. But even if that were so, it did not alter the fact that a man was dying right before his eyes. How could he just stand by and watch? And yet maybe it was all just another test, his mind argued, uncertain. Maybe the Wolf had set another little quandary in motion for the express purpose of assessing their characters? But why should the Wolf care about that one way or the other? What difference could it possibly make to such a creature? Tom recalled how Mo had told them that the Beast's most cherished wish was to destroy their spirit, to break them down until all hope was lost. And the tool the enemy favoured to achieve this end, Tom knew, was subversion. Who could say what was truly real in this counterfeit kingdom? And who could say that the denizens of dreams could not be made to suffer, if the hand that weaves the fabric of their existence saw fit to punish them?

"It's all right," Jack said quietly, eyes downcast, breaking the difficult silence. "I'll stay here with Dr. Watson, but be as quick as you can, okay? Just don't get lost!"

With a small smile, Tom nodded to his friend. They both understood that there was no choice. Peering up at the wall opposite them, he could just make out a sign which read: Bilk St.

At least I know where we are.

"It'll be all right," he promised as Jack looked up at him. "Let's hope there's someone nearby." With that, he turned and left them, moving quickly through the fog.

He had to find someone, but who could be trusted? The mist clung to him, making it impossible to see anything clearly until he was almost upon it, the occasional sounds he heard difficult to identify or pin-point from which direction they came.

After what seemed to him to be a very long time, Tom began to suspect he might very well be going around in circles as there was no reliable way of distinguishing one dark street from another. When he had first set out, he had believed it would be relatively simple to navigate his way through the city, thinking he would use the street-signs to aid him, but he had soon discovered, to his dismay, that the White Wolf had other plans for him.

He had seen many plaques where street names should have been, but every one of them had been blank, and it did not take very long for the simple truth to occur to him, that he could not now get back to the place where Jack and the doctor were waiting no matter how much he wanted to. He was angry and disappointed with himself for having been so foolish. But he had to think positively. He couldn't just accept defeat because he had made a mistake. He knew the name of the place where he had left his companions, so maybe whoever he found to help them would know the way back there.

I must have faith. Without it, he would be utterly forsaken.

Pressing on into the poorly lit back-streets and lanes, he prayed that he would soon come across someone who would be willing to help him. The problem was however, that the area he had wandered into seemed entirely uninhabited, the buildings either derelict or apparently abandoned. There were no lights shining in any of the windows, many of which were broken, the empty frames dark, no sign of life anywhere.

He knocked loudly on the door of any house that he thought had even the remotest chance of having a tenant, but no-one had responded after several attempts and this only served to intensify his uneasiness.

Turning into another dreary alley he caught sight of a figure lolling against a doorway and as he was on the verge of desperation, he ran toward them without a second thought. As he drew near the person he saw that it was a woman, a shawl draped around her shoulders, her greying hair concealed for the most part by a scruffy hat. He approached her, apprehensive but relieved that he had found finally someone. "Excuse me," he started, trying to be as polite as circumstances allowed.

The woman eyed him with interest and smiled, the teeth she still had blackened and uneven. "Ello, lovey," she said, her voice hoarse, "lookin' for company?" Her face was painted with rouge and dark eye-shadow and Tom was reminded obscurely of a clown.

"I need help," he explained, "my friend is hurt."

The woman continued to smile, a strangeness in her eyes that Tom found disturbing. "Dearee me. Why don't I take you 'ome, then you can tell me all about it."

"No, you don't understand," Tom said loudly, but the woman only laughed at him, licking her lips in an exaggerated manner.

"What's the matter, not up to it? Can't handle a real woman, aye? Per'aps you're only fit to fumble with little girls. I could show you things that would open your eyes. I could make you feel things that you've never even dreamed of."

Tom looked at her with both horror and fury. He felt sick inside. Turning away quickly he ran back along the alley, with no thought other than to escape her disgusting leer. After a while, he slowed to a trot before finally coming to a complete halt beneath a single streetlight that burned dimly above him.

What should I do now? What can I do?

From somewhere close by there came the sound of footsteps and starting, alarmed by the sudden echo that came to him through the quiet, deserted streets, Tom listened trying to determine from which direction the person came.

"Hello!" he shouted out, hoping to attract their attention, "I need help!" But no answer came back, the fog heavy around him.

The footsteps had ceased the moment he called out and Tom was beginning to feel decidedly ill-at-ease, uncertain as to what he should do; whoever had been walking there had stopped at the sound of his voice, yet for some unknown reason refused to answer him. Who was it there in the darkness?

As he wondered, a stony coldness eased through him as if he had sensed something malign was close by. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he began to sweat, his body shivering at the first touch of fear. "Who's there?" he called, a tremor in his tone, his voice almost failing him, but even as he spoke, a figure appeared out of the mist, only a few yards away.

"I have looked high and low for you," the man whispered, the words like shards of ice, aimed at Tom's heart.

To Tom, it felt as if he had become rooted to the ground, his body unable to react, though his mind screamed at him to run, and he watched in silent fascination as Jack the Ripper

advanced, the small scalpel held in his white gloved hand gleaming coldly in the weak light, as if eager to do its bloody work.

Dredger grew restless. He had prowled around the interior of the bleak lighthouse long enough and he sensed that whilst he did so, others were carrying the burden of battle.

But was it not for him to lead the fight? He had to gain release from this sombre prison.

The warrior knew that the island was part of the Wolf's domain and so it followed that the fabric of its reality came from within the Beast's scheming mind. Thinking hard on this, Dredger concluded that if only he could break the illusion of its substance, then he might escape, perhaps to the place Mo or the boys had been taken to.

Acting on impulse, he moved hurriedly to the outer door of the structure and flung it open, confronting the now violent storm that thrashed the rocks, the wind whipping at him cruelly as he walked out into it, braving the onslaught. The rain lashed against him, fragments of stone and ice picked up by the wind cut his face and hands, but still Dredger strode on, out across the rocks, away from the tower with its beacon of emerald light, his mind set on one thing only as the elements tried in vain to force him back.

The lands of the Beast, his memory recited to him, are forever shifting, for they are ephemeral dreams forged from madness.

He knew that he must bend this particular dream to his own will, if only for a moment, and coming to the brink of a rough rock-face that stood out over the boisterous sea, a mass of heaving darkness beneath him, with his sword gripped tightly in his hand he dived out into the foaming waters, reaching for the ebony depths that lay far below.

Fear seemed to have frozen his muscles and Tom was left wide-eyed, disbelieving as he watched Jack the Ripper approach him. Around them, a strange crackling sound began, building slowly toward a crescendo, the noise quickly becoming so acute that Tom reflexively put his hands over his ears. He saw the Ripper hesitate, his gaze leaving Tom for the first time, shifting rapidly back and forth, trying to ascertain the cause of the disturbance; to Tom it sounded as though something was being brutally torn apart, like the roar of the thunder when lightning reaves the air. But that was as far as his reasoning went for he knew that this distraction, whatever it was, had given him an opportunity of escape, and he meant to take it.

Spinning around, his body at last responding, Tom made to run but was stopped in his tracks by an apparition that he hardly dared believe could be real, although at that very moment it was probably the one thing in all the world he most wanted to see.

Dredger, his eyes fixed on the man who threatened the boy, stood only a few yards off, his sword readied, his expression a promise of death. "It appears I come at a welcome time," he breathed, never taking his gaze from the man who wielded the scalpel.

"You have a new protector, I see," Jack the Ripper uttered, his voice full of arrogance.

Dredger returned only a mocking smile. "It will give me pleasure to send you back screaming to the pit of corruption from whence you sprang," he hissed, "back to wallow in your master's filth." The warrior nodded for Tom to move behind him and the boy obeyed at once.

With a virulent laugh, the Ripper came after him. "I have no master, fool," he spat. "I worship only blood, and now I shall kneel at the altar of that of the child."

Dredger began to caress the air with his sword in a series of graceful, fluent disciplines, cutting the fog into ribbons of white smoke.

"I have spilt more blood than you could ever imagine," he said almost nonchalantly, his face darkening, his eyes aglow with golden fire. "I am the bearer of such nightmares even the likes of you should fear. Look into my eyes, little brother, do you not see your sanctuary, do you not know your homeland?"

Tom felt a chill run up along his spine, and all at once a dread greater than any he had experienced thus far gripped him with glacial fingers.

For a few seconds the Ripper stared at the tall warrior and it seemed there was something in his eyes, a moment of recognition, but then with agile speed he came forward, his long cloak flying, gleaming blade poised to strike and moving with a grace and precision that belied his large frame Dredger went to meet him. The scalpel flashed and came down, only to glance off the warrior's right shoulder as if it had met with some kind of armour. Before he could stab at him a second time, Dredger had seized the man's arm in one powerful hand, putting the virtue of his own sinew against the demented strength of his foe, the two of them just for a moment locked together, their eyes alight with unearthly joy. But it did not last long. Sweeping in a wide arc, Dredger's sword sliced through the vaporous air and cleaved the Ripper's neck, the keen edge of the steel cutting through muscle and bone effortlessly, blood spurting in a crimson spray, staining the mist a delicate pink. The man's head tumbled smoothly through the tainted air, disappearing into the heart of the fog, leaving the now headless corpse to collapse upon the pavement, where it twitched for a moment before becoming still.

Tom, who had watched the brief fight in unblinking horror, only stared at the scene of carnage that had followed; some of the man's blood had rained upon him, upon his face and his clothes and he could only ask himself a single question in the midst of his disgust, a question for which there seemed to be no plain answer.

Was this all there was, kill or be killed?

At that moment it seemed to him that this was indeed the way of things, that the real truth of the matter was that they were all nothing more nor less than beasts themselves.

Absently, he shut his eyes to bring an end to the picture of savagery that tormented him, tears gently beginning to roll down his cheeks and he tried to find the courage to face the man who had saved his life, but who frightened him in a way which went beyond his understanding.

Sitting there in the grey shadows, watching the deep mist moving aimlessly around them, Jack let his thoughts drift away.

Jack the Ripper, his mind sighed. Jack the Ripper. Jack.

Beside him, slumped against the wall, Dr. Watson had been quiet for some time and on several occasions the boy had leaned close to him to check that he was still breathing.

Maybe he's dead now. Maybe I'm all alone with a dead man.

Somewhere inside his head a ghost crept, an alien thing, tugging at his mind. Who are you? it asked patiently. Who are you really?

I'm Jack.

Yes, that's right, the ghost agreed, that is exactly who you are.

Faintly, the man next to him mumbled something, but Jack couldn't make out what it was.

Finish the job.

"What...?" Jack started to ask but found himself unable to continue.

You must finish what you have begun. Put this poor wretch out of his misery. He's as good as dead already. Do it, Jack. You know you want to.

Jack shook his head, trying to clear his mind of these strange thoughts.

You are JACK! You know who you are, don't you? JACK. JACK!

A memory, peculiar and remote, surfaced in his mind. An image of a woman all dressed in white.

"Did you think I would let you go so easily?" she purred, her scarlet lips pouting very slightly. She stood barely six feet away, leaning against the opposite wall.

Jack felt an odd sensation begin to stir inside him, an unchecked excitement that grew rapidly, sending a shiver of pleasure through his body.

"You do know who you are, don't you, my dear one?" the woman questioned, her eyes sparkling, drawing him down into their brilliant depths.

"I'm Jack," he answered confidentially. "Jack."

"Yes," the woman confirmed, "you are Jack, my Jack. And Jack has a job to do."

A black cloud hung over him now, eclipsing his reason and although part of him resisted it, the darkness crushed him, the intensity of its power forcing him into submission.

"Kill this man," she urged him lightly, as if it had no meaning, yet still Jack wanted to say no, the fading spark of his conscience not yet extinguished, but his mind could not even form the word, the shape and sound of it slipping from his memory.

"And when the deed is done," the woman in white promised, "I will take you home with me. Now wouldn't you like that? I think that you would."

This is a bad dream, nothing but a bad dream. But then Jack looked down at his hand and saw a small silver blade, gleaming dully.

"Do not be afraid," she counselled him, "this is your destiny, Jack. And you cannot contest your destiny."

Struggling to gain control of his mind, the face of the woman overwhelming him, the boy glanced over at the injured man.

"Slit his throat," encouraged the woman, her voice sweet, "feel the rush of death, know its beauty as you slide the blade across his flesh."

His hand was moving with a will of its own. Jack was powerless to stop it.

You are Jack. JACK! Jack the Ripper.

As the scalpel's deadly point advanced toward the man's throat, Jack could only wonder who he really was.

AN AUDIENCE WITH THE WOLF

"I hate all of this," Tom said softly, his emotions drained.

Dredger looked at the boy with a detached air. "Evil must be vanquished wherever it is found," he voiced gruffly. "The minions of the Wolf cannot deny the bite of true steel, or the arm that wields it. You would be dead now if that were not so."

"Maybe that would be better," Tom replied, bitterness in his voice.

Before them the headless carcass lay sprawled out on the stone street, thick blood darkening the pavement, and somewhere close by, hidden within the veil of fog, the Ripper's severed head lay torn and discarded.

"Jack is waiting for me," said Tom blandly, his eyes searching the grey mist, "and there's an injured man with him."

"Lead the way," the warrior ordered, his manner formal, but Tom did not move. He hadn't the faintest notion of how to find his friend again. He couldn't even say which direction they should take.

"I know the name of the street they're in, but I'm...not sure how to get there," he admitted, looking up at the warrior, his face conveying the dejection he felt.

"Then follow me," Dredger bid him and moved briskly away, passing by the lifeless form on the ground without a second glance and on into the mist. For one awful moment, Tom believed he would not be able to follow, the idea of walking so close to the bloody remains of the murderer repelling him with such violence that he thought he would be sick.

What if, as he went by, one of the dead man's hands suddenly reached out and grabbed him? What if all of this was just a ruse created from the cruel imagination of the Wolf?

But if he remained there for much longer he would surely lose Dredger in the murky street, and the thought of that was worse still.

So with disgust and a knot of terror in his chest, he ran past the corpse, giving it as wide a berth as possible in the cramped alleyway, and of course, no hand came snaking out to clutch at his ankle; Jack the Ripper was certainly quite dead. But as he ran, dimly perceiving Dredger ahead of him, he heard, or thought that he heard, a muffled sound that chilled him, an icy grip tight around his heart.

He might have been mistaken, he might have imagined it, but it had sounded very much like someone giggling, somewhere in the shadows. And that was not all. It had been the laughter of a girl, or perhaps a woman, trailing away as he ran, distantly familiar to him.

As he raced to catch up with the warrior, dread was his only real companion, a warning of something wicked and twisted, a certain knowledge in him that the horror was only now beginning. It was as though it had already happened, the sense of it so definite, and in his anxious, troubled mind, he wondered if perhaps it really had and he and Dredger were no more than ghosts, playing out the past.

But whatever the truth, for Tom it was all too real. And it would go relentlessly on. Until the bitter end.

Ahead of the lion, a long tunnel ran for an unknown distance. Only the soft thud of his own large paws could be heard in that still-born place. It was a dead territory, mute and solitary.

On and on Mo walked, knowing that somewhere in this sterile domain, the White Wolf was expecting him.

After a timeless period, in which the lion never faltered, moving with purpose, he at last came to a gigantic doorway, carved from a dark amber wood that shone brilliantly, delicate carvings depicting the faces of many men and beasts, some benign, others hideous and malevolent.

Patiently, Mo waited for some sign that he should enter, and after several moments the doors swung open, the peal of a bell heralding his arrival.

Inside, an immense hall became visible, its walls and ceiling white barriers of marble. Upon the floor was a magnificent mosaic portraying a rearing beast above a cowering lamb, created from a multitude of precious stones, their colours vivid. And there, appearing faraway in that vast place, was a throne of gleaming white bone.

From his place there, seated on a supple cushion of human flesh, it still fresh and bloody, the Wolf gave a rueful smile. "Welcome, old one, welcome. Why don't you come in?" Slowly, although not reluctantly, the lion walked forward, pausing just inside the doorway. "Come closer," said the Beast, its tone congenial. "Let me see you."

With his eyes intent upon the Wolf, Mo crossed the great expanse of the hall, passing over the huge mosaic.

"A wonderful work of craftsmanship, don't you think?" the Beast observed as its guest approached, but Mo made no reply, only coming to a silent halt several yards before the throne, undaunted by the glittering gaze that greeted him. "Why not kneel?" asked the Wolf, licking his snout.

At this, the lion smiled. "There will come a time," he said softly, "when you shall kneel." If he had expected a reaction to this, it did not come. The White Wolf appeared unperturbed and simply regarded the other animal with curiosity. "It's all relative," it remarked. "In the end, we all get what we deserve."

"I know what you deserve," Mo stated.

"Yes?" the Beast queried with interest.

"Damnation," the lion spat with utter contempt.

Chuckling with unbridled mirth, the White Wolf nodded emphatically. "Of course, my dear old friend, of course I do. There's no doubt about it. But is there no room in your heart for mercy? For forgiveness?"

Mo glared at the Wolf, but hesitated before answering. "It is not my place to forgive you."

"Always passing the buck, my good friend, that's always been your problem. You must learn to take some responsibility. As I have."

"Yes," Mo retorted sharply. "You are responsible. For corruption and suffering, for hatred and perversion. These are your legacies."

The Wolf growled and moved restlessly on the tender cushion beneath its haunches. "Empty words. Just like your promises. You think that you know so much, half-one, but what can a half-one know? Only half of it." Suddenly the Beast screamed with laughter, the sound of it causing Mo to flinch. "Indeed," the Wolf continued, "half, and that's all you know, one half of the story. You only ever see your side. That's your trouble, no sense of balance. It seems to me that you should take a good long look at yourself, deep into your bitter soul. In your beclouded eyes, I am the defiler. But what of you? What have you become? Perhaps I should put you out of your misery."

"Why don't you try?" the lion roared, head moving from side to side in a gesture of defiance, his golden mane flowing.

But the Beast only shook its head, a pitiful look upon its sly face. "If only I could, I surely would," it said, mockery mingling with some other, more ambiguous sentiment. "If it could be done, I would oblige you, out of the compassion I feel for one so misguided. But my hands are tied, so to speak. Even I must play by the rules."

Mo glowered at the Wolf. "You are a coward!" he called with anger, "you speak of rules, but when have you ever respected any of those made at the first dawn? You disgust me. And I will see you dead and cast back into the darkness. There is no hope for the likes of you."

For a brief moment, the Wolf's eyes flared with some dark emotion that betrayed its true feelings toward its adversary, an utter bestial hatred. But then as quickly as it had come, it was gone and the White Wolf was smiling amicably. "Dear one," it appealed as if indulging a child, "you are misguided you know, don't you see that? You should take care. I've watched you mixing with the wrong crowd and asked myself time and again why you put yourself through it. They are all so ungrateful for your efforts. They don't appreciate you, just as they don't appreciate me, so why not make a fresh start? I know we could be friends again and I could offer you so much, so many treasures. All yours for the asking, if only you would come over to my way of thinking. After all, aren't we more alike than you would admit? Blood-brothers? Kith and kin? We don't have to be on opposite sides. I never wanted it that way."

The lion roared again and everything around them seemed to tremble with the fury of the sound. "Let us end it now," Mo breathed and the White Wolf's face became stern and hard, his muscular frame tensing as it leant forward on its throne.

"You will perish," it proclaimed with certainty, "but not until the time is right. Right for me and mine, right for you and yours. You shall die, a long, slow death and you will scream for mercy. You will beg me for your life. You will do anything so that I should spare you from the torments I have devised. You are mine, old friend. Just wait and see, be patient. It will come sooner than you think."

And then, as if a pebble had disturbed a reflection cast upon a lake, the face of the Beast began to ripple and fade, everything that had been there passing away.

Mo, a badger once more, now stood alone in a ruined city, where great monoliths of stone towered all about him, testaments to a dead world, destroyed by some potent and terrible force, and amongst the rubble of torn buildings, weeping children lay, writhing in agony, their eyes pleading for help and perhaps for something more than that, something greater.

As Mo looked upon them, he suspected that he knew what it was.

They wanted forgiveness.

What black dream had the Wolf sent him now? What dreadful vision was this, where children suffered so? As he contemplated this, one tiny child, gaunt and filthy, skin charred and blackened, sunken eyes imploring, called out to him through tears of pain. "I'm sorry," it sobbed desperately, "please believe me, I'm sorry."

The badger felt useless and lost. There was nothing he could do.

Another child, hairless and disfigured, began to crawl with difficulty toward him, picking its way through the devastation, dragging itself painfully nearer and Mo could hardly bear to watch it. He just wanted to close his eyes and shut it all out.

My God, this should not be.

He couldn't even say if it were a boy or a girl.

"This way," instructed Dredger, his long legs taking him through the dank streets at a good speed. At his heels Tom jogged to keep up, wishing the man would slow down a little.

"But how can you know where they are?" he questioned, panting, out of breath.

Paying no heed to the boy's doubtful tone, the warrior merely grunted. Then, after a pause, he said. "Your friend and I have a new relationship. You can be sure that I will find him."

Hearing this, Tom knew it was pointless to question the man further on the matter, so he decided to save what little breath he had and to concentrate on staying as close to Dredger as he could. He was acutely aware that the warrior had dangerous fires smouldering within him, that could burst into violent flame at any moment, but he was also an ally, who had helped them on numerous occasions, and Tom was determined that they would not be separated from him again.

As they hurried on through the thick fog, his mind began to dwell upon all that had happened to him, the need to understand it all becoming more and more urgent. But the only thing that really struck him was the way in which he had come to accept the bizarre events he had witnessed, since somehow slipping from his own world into these magical, yet deadly lands. He had almost become accustomed to the games the White Wolf played with them, and though it seemed a strange observation, Tom had come to believe that in many respects this world was clearer and easier to define than his own. For in the place that he had been born and educated, everything was indistinct, troubles passing over people like shadows, subtle, sometimes intangible, but always dark, and always felt. He had heard of wars and murders, abuse and deceptions, all committed by Mankind against their fellows and it had confused him, for there was no evil Beast who could be blamed, there was no White Wolf who could be held responsible. But now, in this cruel, fantastic place, he had discovered that there was an answer, or at least part of an answer, to why those terrible things were happening. He had come to the conclusion that both this world and his own were linked in a chain and that each kingdom, each link in the chain, although separate, was yet a part of the next and he felt sure that he, Jack, Mo and Dredger were fast approaching a resolution that would explain the purpose of those myriad world's existence. He was still uncertain about what that might be, but he knew in his heart that there was nothing more important. Tom smiled grimly as he followed the warrior, surprised at the way his mind worked, the thoughts and ideas he now entertained.

Turning a corner they went along a dismal back alley, drains emitting a foul odour of decay and for a moment the mist lifted revealing a white plaque upon the wall. Gin Street.

"This isn't..." he started, bemused that there should be a name on the sign at all, only to have Dredger put up a hand and cut him short.

"Over there," the man told him sternly, pointing toward a gloomy doorway.

Tom peered into the coiling mist and could not make out what the man had seen, but as he drew nearer, the stark reality of it bit deep into his mind. There, in the shadows, Jack and the doctor both lay slumped against a wall. But Tom felt no joy at having found them again, for neither had stirred as he and Dredger approached. And on the ground beside Jack, a small knife had been discarded, the blade smeared with blood.

Standing there in the foggy gloom, his heart empty, despair once more weighing upon him, Tom tried to tell himself that everything was all right. But one glance at Dredger's grim face told him things were very bad indeed.

Then Dr. Watson groaned, low and stifled, but at least it was evidence that he still lived. Crouching down beside the man, the warrior quickly examined him with deft skill, but Tom's thoughts were with his friend and he went to kneel beside the motionless boy.

"Jack," he said urgently, "it's me, Tom, I made it back."

At first there was no response, but just as Tom was about to speak again, Jack turned slightly, his face pale, eyes fluttering open. "I made it go away," he said, his voice feeble, barely to be heard, and Tom wanted to hug his friend, his relief so great, almost ignoring the blood that soaked Jack's shirt.

"What happened?" he asked with concern, checking himself and through tired, watery eyes Jack managed to look at his friend and smile.

"It's nothing...I can take it," he said with feigned courage.

Dredger, who had attended to the doctor, now moved over to Jack, his expression calm and businesslike. "Do not attempt to move," he ordered, assessing the boy's injury.

Jack tried to smile again but could only manage a grimace. "Is Mo here too?" he asked with difficulty.

"For the moment let us concern ourselves with your wound," Dredger told him and Jack gave a frail nod, allowing the man to unbutton his shirt to reveal a bloody incision in his stomach; to Tom's untrained eyes it looked to be frighteningly deep, and judging by the way the blood was pumping from the wound, it was as serious as he feared.

"Quickly," Dredger directed, turning to Tom, "rip a thick piece of material from your clothing."

"How long?" Tom questioned, taking hold of his jumper.

"Just a thick piece," charged the man, his impatient tone having its effect upon Tom.

Tearing at his clothing in a frenzy, he produced a fair-sized length of material and held it out to the warrior.

"Now," said Dredger, "place it in the boy's mouth."

"Wh...what!?" Tom stuttered, "but I thought it was to stop the blood?"

Dredger eyed him with a dour expression. "There is no time for that, it is almost too late as it is. If you want to save your friend, do as I say!" Tom obeyed, placing the cloth into Jack's mouth. "Bite down hard!" the warrior instructed and Tom watched as the boy clenched his teeth upon the makeshift gag, his eyes wavering, showing white, unconsciousness threatening to claim him.

Withdrawing a little to allow Dredger more room to work, Tom saw the man kneel and lower his hands toward Jack's wound, and though a hundred questions ran through his head, matched by as many doubts, he realised that it was much too late for words. He could only look on, helpless and hope that the warrior knew what he was doing.

Dredger brought his hands together upon the bloody hole gauged in Jack's stomach and it seemed to Tom that the pressure was only causing more blood to emerge, facilitating death's approach. Glancing at the face of his friend, he saw Jack's eyes widen as pain assaulted him, Dredger's fingers exploring the ugly gash, penetrating his flesh and Tom knew that if it were not for the cloth the other boy bit down upon with such determination, he would surely be screaming.

Blood covered the warrior's hands now, but still he exerted pressure, delving into the wound. Jack's eyes filled with tears as an agony, unlike anything he would have believed possible, surged through him. He cried out, the sound muffled by the wad of material in his mouth, but the man did not stop.

His face lined with deep concentration, tiny droplets of sweat running down across his brow, Dredger spoke three words. "Heal thy wound."

And as Tom gazed down at the hands of the warrior a miraculous thing occurred. From his fingers a faint glow began to emanate, as if a golden thread, delicate as a spider's web, was being woven from within Dredger's own skin, passing out from him into Jack's wound to reconcile the severed flesh, binding it together, the laceration disappearing with startling speed.

Tom watched in disbelief. But even though he felt astonishment and wonder at what he was witnessing, he only had to look at Jack to see the intense pain he was still enduring while the healing was in progress, to understand that this was no simple exercise. And this was reinforced when he glanced at the warrior, a tremendous weariness and strain etched upon Dredger's features. He realised then that this magic did not come without a price to be paid.

The warrior removed his hands from the boy's stomach with a grunt, the sound of someone almost spent and Tom saw that all that remained of the terrible wound was a long, jagged scar, still faintly glowing with a golden hue.

MYSTERIOUS WAYS

When the scalpel had moved in his hand, as if by another's will, Jack had seen with perfect clarity what his choices were.

The woman in white was still whispering to him. "Yes, my darling. It will be so beautiful, so exquisite. Do it now, Jack my dear. Do it!"

But Jack had his doubts.

There was a part of him that would not let go, a faint, tenacious part of his memory that told him that this was not the first time she had promised him rewards for services done. He knew he had played this game before.

In his mind the woman's face grew larger, her red lips wet and glistening. She smiled with ferocious anticipation. "Too late now for misgivings, Jack my sweet. We have journeyed too far for that."

Jack smiled back at her. He knew that she was wrong. He had made his choice, for better or worse.

Tom. I'm doing this for you. And for Mo and Dredger. But most of all, for you.

He gripped the small blade tightly, its tip only inches from the doctor's throat, but he did not let it get any closer, the hand that held the knife wavering gently with the effort.

"Do it, you little fool," the woman in white shouted wildly, drowning his senses. "Kill the prey, kill the prey!"

Jack closed his eyes, sweat trickling down over his face, heat prickling his scalp and neck. "No," he said, gritting his teeth. His hand was shaking madly now and he struggled to control it.

"You cannot deny me," the woman hissed, "you are far too weak."

Snarling out his denial, Jack forced himself to fight the terrible influence she was exerting over him, using every ounce of will he possessed to cast her from his stricken mind. "NO!"

"You will obey!" the woman screamed at him. "Obey! Obey! Obey!" The violence of her cries was like so many hammer blows, smashing at his defences. He could not resist for much longer. There was only one chance left, and he knew he had to take it.

With one final, enormous effort, Jack dragged his hand away and turning the blade upon himself, pushed it hard into his own belly. Inside his mind the woman howled, anger and frustration uniting in an ugly shriek, but Jack barely heard it, a warm sensation spreading from his stomach outwards, a dullness that made him feel very tired.

He took flight then and travelled billions of miles, time passing him by as he raced through a black void. He was rising on a jet of his own blood, spouting high into the heavens, colouring the stars and planets with a scarlet coat.

Am I dead? But he was the only one there who could answer. He was alone with the absolute solitude of space. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Heaven or hell?

Within his mind a quiet voice was speaking, the syllables unintelligible and yet somehow potently meaningful to him. He was being given a gift he sensed on some profound level, a gift of knowledge, but most of all, of love. He felt his mind changing subtly, his understanding deepening. Jack experienced this all in some intrinsic way that he could not define. He could not rationalise it or even fully comprehend it. But it had changed him, although in what way he could not exactly say.

Jack opened his eyes very slowly and for a moment as he looked upon the two figures who crouched over him, he thought that he saw a light that shone above each of them, Tom's a crown of golden flame, Dredger mantled by a sickly yellow glow.

"You'll be fine now," Tom said, touching Jack's arm lightly.

The boy smiled up at him. "In the end, everyone will be."

"Here," guided Dredger, making toward a well-lit building, carrying Dr. Watson as if he were no more than a sapling. Outside, a lantern burned brightly, the words 'Police Station' plainly visible.

They had made their way through the fog at speed, driven on by a need to escape from the murk and shadow as much to find some kind of aid. Without pausing the warrior strode up the steps and went inside, and Tom wondered what kind of reception they would receive.

Just within the doorway there was a small waiting room with a partition, behind which a stout man in a blue uniform sat reading a newspaper. As their party bustled in he jumped up, obviously caught unawares, sections of his paper scattering across the floor.

With an unfriendly grunt, he looked at each of them in turn. "And what do we have here?" he asked, suspicion in his tone.

"This man is in need of medical attention," voiced Dredger gruffly. "See that he gets it."

"Now just a minute," said the desk sergeant, opening a hatch in the wooden partition and stepping cautiously through. "Not so fast. I'll want some answers first."

"There is no time for that," responded Dredger, becoming impatient, but the sergeant was not about to let anything get in the way of procedure.

"Now then," he announced, turning his attention to Dr. Watson, still unceremoniously slung over the warrior's shoulder. After briefly examining the injured man, he took a step back and eyed Dredger carefully. "Just how was this gentleman hurt?" he questioned, throwing occasional glances at the two boys, his expression cynical.

"It was the Ripper," spoke up Jack.

The policeman looked at the boy with surprise. "The Ripper! And what makes you think that, youngster?"

"We saw him," Jack answered.

"That's right, officer," added Tom. "Jack the Ripper attacked us, but it's all right now, Dredger killed him." He glanced over at the big man for confirmation but the warrior merely glared back at him.

The sergeant seemed to ponder on this for several moments, rubbing a large hand across his chin. "Killed Jack the Ripper did you now?" he mused.

"This man needs a surgeon immediately if he is to survive," Dredger stated abruptly, moving across the room and carefully laying Dr. Watson down onto a wooden bench that ran the length of one wall.

"All right, I'll call for a doctor, but you still have a good deal of explaining to do," the sergeant determined, eyeing the blood that had soaked through the wounded man's clothing.

"Actually," Tom told the policeman, feeling stupid as soon as he had spoken, "he is a doctor."

The sergeant gave a grunt as he returned to his desk. "Well he's not much use at the moment, now is he, youngster?"

This brought a hot flush of embarrassment to Tom's cheeks and he was quite put out at being referred to as a youngster. He didn't feel very young anymore. A lot had happened since he last thought of himself as just a boy. He had changed so much it was difficult to remember his old self. It was as though he had both gained something and yet lost something too, for he was undoubtedly wiser than he had been before coming to this strange world and perhaps stronger also, in body and spirit. But he had forfeited his innocence, a part of himself he had not even suspected had existed until now, when it was gone. Now there was an empty place inside him, and there would never be anything that could fill that void. He had learnt that happy endings were not possible in an unequivocal sense, that sometimes you had to give up something in order to gain something, and when it came right down to it, he supposed what that really meant was that you inevitably had to make sacrifices, some big, some small, but every last one of them painful.

The voice of the sergeant intruded upon Tom's thoughts and brought him back to the current situation. "Yes," the policeman was saying, speaking into a hand-held walkie-talkie, "there's an injured man here, knife wound by the looks of it. Could you come over immediately?" A muffled voice answered an affirmative.

At Tom's side, Jack was rather confused. Something was bothering him a great deal, and the more he thought about it, the more bewildered he became. Prodding Tom in the ribs, he leant close to his friend's ear. "That shouldn't be here," he whispered, nodding toward the sergeant still holding the walkie-talkie. "They didn't have them in Jack the Ripper's time."

Tom had never been very interested in history lessons, but he knew at once that Jack was right. "What does it mean then?" he asked, keeping his voice low, surreptitiously looking at the radio the sergeant held, the man's voice as he continued to speak and the occasional buzz of static drowning out their own hushed conversation.

"It means that this isn't real," Jack answered firmly.

"Yes, but we already knew that, didn't we? But why put something here that doesn't fit? Everything else has been right. It doesn't make any sense."

"Maybe it's another test," Jack suggested, "maybe the Wolf is playing with us again."

Tom glanced up at Dredger and noticed that the man had moved closer to them and had been listening intently to their exchange. "A trap?" the warrior questioned.

Tom shrugged. "Another game." The sergeant had turned his back to them, still conversing with someone on his hand-set. "And who's he speaking with anyway?" Tom asked, mistrustful now. "He's already called for a doctor."

With a fluid movement Dredger drew his sword, his eyes on the policeman.

"Yes," continued the sergeant, "it seems there is a problem. Clever boys know what's what. It is reassuring to know the young are paying attention in class. It makes the lesson all worthwhile." As he said this the man began to turn, Dredger readying his sword, but not even the warrior was prepared for what they now saw, for instead of the chubby features of the policeman, now a white faced clown with a huge red nose and black lips, dripping spittle, glared at them, the cruel mouth stretching inhumanly wide. "Clever, clever," it snarled at Jack and involuntarily the two boys recoiled from it, wanting to get as far away from the malevolent creature as they could. "Don't be afraid, young ones," the clown said sweetly, putting out a pale, gloved hand and beckoning to them. "A clown is a child's best friend."

Dredger, who had stood his ground, gave a tight smile. "The children may be afraid, but I am not."

"Of course not, fighting man, you are far too brave for that."

While the clown was speaking Tom felt Jack nudge him, the other boy indicating with a nod the place where Dr. Watson had been laid; but the bench was empty. The man was nowhere to be seen.

"I tire of your performance," Dredger said casually. "I think it is time I brought it to an end."

The clown merely grinned at this, revealing a set of sharp silver teeth, which to Tom looked suspiciously metallic. "I'll eat you," it chuckled, eyeing both boys, clamping the teeth together with a sound like a steel trap.

"Enough!" bellowed Dredger, thrusting with his sword, aiming at the creature's throat, but fast as the warrior was, the clown was able to nimbly side-step the attack, leaping up onto the counter with incredible ease.

"Naughty, naughty," it admonished, wagging an oversized finger, "you really ought to be more careful, you might have nicked me!"

Dredger regarded the creature warily, as it cavorted along the desktop, assessing possible strategies, weighing up his chances of defeating this opponent. "Come down and face me," he challenged, but the clown put that same large finger to its chin and shook its head at him, a coy smile disfiguring its already hideous face.

"Now why would I want to do a thing like that? You must think me quite foolish, but looks can be deceptive. You should know that by now." Suddenly, the clown assumed an expression of mock seriousness. "But I can't stand around here talking to you all day. There's a lot to do and I've only got so many pairs of hands." No sooner had he uttered this than several sets of arms began to snake out of his torso, white gloved hands waving maniacally. "Wave bye-bye," the clown called, launching itself from the counter toward Dredger, who brought up his sword instinctively to protect himself. "See you in dream land."

And with that, it was gone. There was no puff of smoke, no flash of light. One second it was there, writhing arms grasping for the warrior, the next it had completely vanished, Tom and Jack left staring into space.

"Let's get out of here," suggested Jack, the first to react, immediately heading for the door. Neither of his companions hesitated in following, all three exiting the building at speed and once out in the darkened streets again, there was no doubt in any of their minds that the Wolf was there with them, in every stone that was the foundation of this counterfeit city, in every shadow that moved around them.

The three companions wove their way through silent back alleys and lanes, crossed damp courtyards and deserted squares, and every step they took the mist dogged them, refusing to disperse.

"Where are we going?" Tom questioned, looking about him and then at Dredger for an answer, but it was Jack who offered a reply.

"I have a feeling," he said, "that we will be shown the way."

Hearing this, the warrior nodded his agreement. "The boy is right," he attested, "this is the final game. The Beast will lead us further into the deep core of its corrupted spirit. It wants us to reach our destination no less than we do."

"But why?" Tom asked. "Why would the Wolf want to help us find the way?"

"You must remember," Dredger explained, "that all of us, everyone you have encountered since coming here, are a part of a greater thing. Each of us knows we have a role to play, and to resist this knowledge would be futile, but the Beast understands this better than most and uses it to its own advantage. We must learn to accept the road we must take, yet at the same time strive to make our goal the utter annihilation of our enemies."

Jack regarded the big man for a moment or two and then turned to Tom. "We're learning all the time. But there's still a lot that we don't know."

"Such as what exactly?" queried Tom, perplexed by his friend's statement.

"Do the horrors of a dream have meaning when we wake?" Jack said in response and Tom had to wonder at how much his friend had changed. There was something indefinably older about him now, a maturity that had nothing whatsoever to do with years, but with experience, an experience that came from the trials of the heart and mind rather than those of the body.

"They are still frightening, either way," he answered slowly and Jack gave a simple nod of his head.

"Yes," he agreed, "but you know it was never real, only an illusion that seemed real. What if everything terrible, everything we think of as evil, is like that, a way for us to be taught what we are not capable of understanding on a conscious level. But for it to have any meaning we can't know that, at least not until we reach the end of it all." Jack paused and there was a faraway look in his eyes. "What if suffering only exists within our souls, a measurement of our love?"

Tom looked at Jack with a doubtful frown. "Do you really believe that?"

Jack smiled back at him and put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "I can think of worse things to believe in."

With a thoughtful nod Tom walked on, Jack's words turning within his mind. They went on for a time in silence like this, both knowing all too well that their hopes of ever reaching home again were fast diminishing. They were only biding their time until the Wolf decided it was ready for one last showdown. Beyond that, there was no way of knowing what was waiting for them. Life or death? Pleasure or pain? Or even if these choices were theirs to make.

END OF THE LINE

Mo wandered through a beautiful garden, isolated with his own reflections, memory conspiring to conjure demons within his soul. The apparition of the child had faded just as abruptly as it appeared and now he was left with only a lingering sense of dread and foreboding. How he had come to be in this place he did not know, but his thoughts were distracted, a melancholy taking hold of his heart.

He had tried so hard to show Jack that there were two sides to death. And that though battle demanded confrontation, leading to loss, judgements of the morality of such deeds could not be easily made. Yet Mo's knowledge had its limits, and not without reason, for even he was not exempt from the trials of existence.

The badger was very confused. The images which he had been shown were part of a great puzzle, one in which the pieces seemed to be forever amending their form to fit an overall picture that was equally capricious. Events appeared to hurtle by, their meaning impossible to fathom. Eternity. Destiny. Humanity. And the link that tied them all together sometimes was a tenuous one, like fine gossamer, a delicate chain of these events.

Mo's mind was in turmoil, besieged by doubts both persuasive and beguiling, an aeon's experiences combining to stagger his beliefs. For so long now he had carried a burden of guilt, believing that his sins would be forgiven at the very end of his protracted journey, yet suppressing the uncertainty that asked a dreadful question.

Did he have the right to kill in the name of love?

He was so very old, illusive time eroding away the doctrines he had lived by, creating an irony that was not lost upon him. He who had preached to Tom and Jack, so many fine words of hope and courage, he who had appeared to be the pillar of righteousness, a symbol for the two boys to believe in, now felt as if he were little better than a hypocrite, for in the deepest places of his being, Mo's faith was crumbling.

But it was not his faith in truth that was now so sorely tested, it was his faith in himself. Was it possible that he had been deluding himself all along, so eager to wash away the stains of the blood spilt in this holy war? True enough, it had troubled him that warriors such as Dredger and he himself whenever he took that form, were so willing to administer fatal justice.

So how could he justify his sins? He had argued before that true evil was soulless and therefore incapable of redemption, but it did not excuse the barbarity of the act itself. Pausing beside the rushing waters of the stream amid the purple blooms that covered its bank, Mo peered into the clear blue and heard a murmuring from within its depths.

"I see a shadow of myself," said the reflection in the water.

The badger rubbed his snout amongst the flowers, their fragrance sweet.

Who was good? Who was evil? Black and white, two sides to everything. But so often the two sides became indistinct, making it difficult to tell them apart.

"I see a shadow of myself," the trees seemed to sigh.

Mo pushed away from the stream, moving further into the green haven of the valley garden, and almost without thinking he found himself running, wishing only to escape the doubt that hounded him.

But however fast he ran, he could not evade the whispers.

"I see a shadow...of myself."

The fog was less dense now and Tom was surprised to see one or two buildings that appeared to be out of place in the Victorian streets, their architecture vaguely modern, incongruous in the midst of the more ancient structures.

It was as though eras were merging, London now a composite city, neither completely in the past nor in the present.

"Now I am confused," Tom voiced aloud as they turned a corner and came onto a reasonably well lit thoroughfare.

"What's wrong?" asked Jack, glancing at him as they walked.

"Look for yourself," his friend replied, pointing over to their left, and what Jack saw made him stop abruptly, an expression of bemusement on his face.

Displayed prominently in an elongated shop window were a vast array of television sets, each flickering dully with grainy static.

Tom made his way toward the display and slowly Jack followed, Dredger too taking an interest in what he considered to be some strange new phenomena. As all three came to a halt before the window, he looked down at his companions. "What are these glowing boxes?"

Tom wasn't really sure how to answer. "They usually show pictures," he volunteered, and as if in response, each of the dozen or so television sets simultaneously began to transmit a picture.

On each screen a man's face appeared, in extreme close up, but none of the three recognised him. Very gradually, the camera zoomed out to reveal more of this individual and it became apparent that he was seated in a padded armchair, with a small table at his elbow upon which there was a tasteful lamp and a large black book. The white collar that he wore about his neck advised them that he was a churchman of some kind.

"Welcome to you all on this most special day," the man began, seeming to address the three of them directly.

"What is this?" Dredger hissed, but the boys were intent on watching the screen and the warrior was left to draw his own conclusions.

"I am so very pleased that you could join me, my dear friends," continued the clergyman. "I only wish it could have been in happier days, but alas these are dark days, as you know well enough. So we are gathered here to discuss a subject much on our minds of late, namely sin, Sin with a capital S. Sin in its most undiluted form. The sin that we all carry with us in our hearts. For we all are sinners, my friends, each and every one of us, from the high and the mighty to the lowest of the low. I am a sinner. You are a sinner. Everyone sins! But do not despair, my good friends, let us not wallow in the mire of our own shortcomings, for I am here today to tell you how to deal with your sins. I will teach you how to wrestle sin right to the ground and grind its ugly face into the dirt. It's all just a matter of looking sin squarely in the eye and facing up to the fact that you have been setting your sights far too high. A body is likely to take a good long fall when standing tippy-toe way up on that pedestal, am I right!? You bet I am, and you know it only too well. Accept your sin and then you'll be on the road to salvation. Reject your sin and you are bound for eternal perdition! Look at me, friends, I have embraced my sins. I have cheated. I have lied. I have fornicated. I am a sinner! Just like you! Face up to your weakness, acknowledge your sins. I offer you sustenance in a starving world. Reject me and reject deliverance. Accept me and you will be embraced by the strong arms of righteousness! We are all beasts, my friends, in one form or another, but if we stand together, we can rise above our bestiality, we can overthrow sin, master it, make it work for us! If you do not listen to me now, you will rot! Do you hear me, my brethren? Rot! But not in hell! Oh no! You will rot in the earth with the worms for company. Heed my words! Heed them now! I offer you real hope. Throw out false hope and accept that you are a sinner. Nobody's perfect, we all know that in our hearts. We are all the same, so join with me and the new army of a lord who doesn't expect too much of you. Join us now, time is running out, join before it's too late, join..."

The man's ranting was drowned out by a crash of shattered glass, as Dredger's sword exploded the window into millions of tiny slivers, making Tom and Jack instinctively cover their faces. "The white dog's sorcery is worthless," the warrior said vehemently, striding away from the now mute showroom. The picture of the churchman still remained however, silent now and appearing to watch them, his expression wry.

Turning away quickly, both boys scampered after Dredger, perplexed and a little unsettled by this latest exhibition. Neither really understood what it was supposed to mean, but each in their own way had been troubled by it and knew by his reaction that it had affected the warrior in some deep and unfathomable way too.

Gaining the man's side, they walked on in silence for several minutes, until Tom drew their attention to another discovery.

A sign faced them. UNDERGROUND.

"This way," directed Dredger and made toward a stairway that descended into a brightly lit passage.

As they followed the man without question down the flight of steps, Tom knew that very soon he and the White Wolf would be meeting again. Maybe somewhere below, the battleground was even now being prepared.

Were mankind bound on a long road, whose many branches all led to the same destination? Mo believed this was the truth. But why had such a journey been undertaken in the first place?

There had been a time, long ago, a golden dawn when he had sung sweet melodies of hope and wonder, but these moments had become dissipated, their poetry tarnished by the fire of brutal experience.

Each of his kind had vowed to die before they gave up their dreams, but what dreams did they cherish now? Childish wishes of innocence? Or foolish nostalgia for something lost that could never be recaptured?

There was black and there was white. And Mo knew them both. The serpent had come and led the children astray, promising them pretty treasures, charming them with shallow

beauty. Yes, there was a flaw in the soul of humanity and it was selfishness. A simple emotion, but undeniably potent.

So what had become of those first children with bright, wide eyes, who saw magic in the land? How could they have disappeared with only memories to say that they had ever been?

The answer was quite straightforward. Children grow up. And with that change, they lose so much that was precious, wonders that had been taken for granted.

The Beast often referred to Mo as the half-one, a gibe to taunt him, and yet it was near to the truth. He struggled with a duality that would not be reconciled. Violence and pacifism. He carried out one, yet believed in the other. Perhaps he had spent too much time amongst the corrupted and become diseased. Perhaps Dredger was not the only one who held a beast within his heart.

I see a shadow of myself the Wolf had called to him, and Mo could no longer protest. He had run out of excuses. He had searched his mind and soul for new hope but found

only an emptiness that extinguished his faith.

"Please help me," he said very softly, acutely aware of the silence in the valley, its perfection mocking him. "Have I fallen so low?" He hung his head, his sorrow weighing upon him.

After a time, distantly at first, but growing louder with each moment that passed, soft music reached him, carried on the cool currents of air, a forlorn melody that soothed his mind. Soon after, it was joined by a lilting voice, neither male nor female, that sang to him in an alien tongue, yet he understood it even so.

Mo thought that perhaps he was dreaming now, but if that were so his dreams were of the brothers and sisters he had been parted from for so very long.

His brethren had spoken and forgiven him. Now he must show himself to be worthy of that forgiveness in the battle to come.

The children would soon feel the terrible pull of temptation once more.
As tears of gratitude and love ran from the badger's eyes, Mo prayed that this time they would be able to resist.

The underground station was startlingly modern, fluorescent lights illuminating the interior, presenting a stark and lonely landscape.

Passing several ticket machines and an abandoned kiosk, they negotiated a turnstile that led to an escalator, apparently in working order.

"What is this?" Dredger enquired with a curious smile, halting at the top of the moving stairway.

"It's called an escalator," Tom told him. "Where we come from, people use them to travel up and down without having to walk."

This explanation provoked a slight frown from the warrior, who regarded the contraption with obvious distaste. "The people of your world must be weak indeed," he observed, "that they should design and build such machines merely to avoid an easy climb!" He gazed sourly at the silent apparatus, watching the top step as it continually disappeared in front of him.

Tom stepped nimbly onto the mechanism and turned to face his companions as it began to carry him away. "We might as well conserve our energy while we can."

With considerable contempt, the warrior carefully approached the escalator and boarded it in ungainly fashion, gripping the handrails on either side to maintain his balance.

"Why are we going down here anyway?" Tom asked, as they made their smooth descent.

"Because it is the right path," the man said categorically, without turning his head to look at the boy.

Once they had safely disembarked, Dredger glanced back at the metal monster that in Tom and Jack's world transported thousands of people each day and he shrugged absently. "Easy prey," he commented, but neither boy bothered to question him, suspecting that they knew exactly what he meant by it.

Making their way through a long tunnel, the walls and ceiling an expanse of white tile, they soon came out onto a deserted platform, where the lighting was less than adequate, the fluorescent strips that lined the ceiling flickering intermittently, plunging parts of the platform into temporary shadow.

Posters advertising strange merchandise covered the walls and one in particular caught Tom's eye. EDEN, declared the poster in large red lettering, WHERE YOUR HOLIDAY WILL BE PARADISE! Beneath this was an illustration of a tree-lined valley, a stream winding through its centre.

Nice place, mused Tom, thinking how tranquil it looked, but as he studied it more closely, he thought that he saw something moving amongst the undergrowth, a black and white shape low to the ground.

"Tom," said Jack behind him and he turned away to see what his friend wanted, his mind quickly dismissing what he knew must have simply been a trick of the light.

Jack was looking down at the track, tracing its line with his eyes until it reached the yawning entrance of the tunnel at one end of the platform and there vanished into darkness; only a few small lights upon the inner walls provided any source of illumination and these glowed dimly, like dull eyes staring out of the gloom. "Do you think there are any trains running?" he said uneasily as Tom came alongside, his voice louder than he had intended, the sound ringing through the subterranean domain.

"No people, no trains," Tom returned with a shrug.

"We are not alone here," Dredger interjected calmly, scanning the length of the grey platform.

"Are you sure?" Tom questioned. He took a nervous glance around but could see no-one.

"I sense it," the man said without fear of contradiction, his fingers moving to touch the hilt of his sword.

"What should we do?" asked Jack, feeling vulnerable on the exposed platform, the shadows and the eerie silence of the place taking on a threatening ambience.

"Wait...," Dredger instructed, "and see."

"Is there more than one?" Tom pressed, keeping his voice low now.

A dark frown crept over the warrior's rugged features as he surveyed their surroundings carefully. "One is enough," he answered.

Both boys understood that the Wolf was with them, skulking somewhere in the underground tunnels, watching them, perhaps making plans for his final assault.

But even as they contemplated some sudden attack by their enemy, a distant rumbling began and as they listened grew steadily closer.

Quickly, Tom looked at Jack and saw by his friend's expression that both of them had recognised the sound. "Train's coming," he announced, wondering anxiously who its passengers might be.

In the guise of a man, Mo stood before the gurgling waters of the stream, lost in thought. The darkest of times was upon them all and each would have to face a personal test.

Of Tom and Jack, he had no knowledge, no way of divining what had become of them. But he sensed that at the very least, they still lived and were fast moving toward the completion of the vast undertaking in which they all participated.

And there was Dredger, also.

Mo knew well that the warrior could very easily turn out to be the weakest link amongst them, for though the man believed himself to be strong, his was an unstable, dangerous power, not to be trusted or relied upon.

Their ultimate strength, their true strength, lay in the hearts and minds of the two children who had been asked to grow so much, so that they would be ready for the day of reckoning that was now upon them.

For Tom was about to face the maelstrom. And Jack would have to learn the true meaning of honour and friendship.

The train came hurtling into the station at such a great speed, Tom doubted that it would be capable of stopping.

"Stand back!" ordered Dredger, his sword whipping into the air, but what the warrior saw as a metallic demon roaring toward them from the darkness of the tunnel, suddenly slowed, the reduction of its momentum unnaturally abrupt, as it came to a halt with a screech of brakes. At the sound even Dredger retreated a little, thinking that this was a cry of attack, but Tom and Jack had stood their ground and now peered through the windows of the train, searching for any sign of passengers within the brightly lit carriages. As far as they could tell however, it was quite deserted.

With an automatic hiss, the doors opened in unison, and the three companions were able to get a better view of the interior. Although no-one appeared to be on board, clearly something had been travelling in there recently.

To Jack, it looked as though a hurricane had been trapped within the carriage directly in front of him. Glass from windows and overhead lights was littered across the seats and floor, the seats themselves mutilated, the fabric torn and gutted, other unidentifiable wreckage strewn across the length of the compartment. "Vandals?" he said blankly.

Moving along to the next carriage, Tom saw that the same destruction had been visited upon it too. He walked further up the platform, glancing in through the broken windows and the open doors as he came to them. Each yielded the same conclusion.

Someone or something had run amok inside the train.

"What does it mean?" he asked, returning to his friends, but Dredger made no reply, only remained where he stood, his sword held in readiness in anticipation of something that was about to happen.

Then, as if to prove the warrior's instincts, a sound shattered the stillness, a woman's laughter echoing through the station, an unearthly expression of delight.

Turning fearfully to look at the far end of the platform, Tom saw a shimmering figure dressed in white step from the last compartment of the train. In her hand she held a length of iron which resembled a fence railing, and even at the considerable distance between them, he could see that she was smiling. From behind him there came a sound like a whimper, a gasp of breath and he knew that it was Jack, and as he edged slowly to his friend's side, Dredger once again took a step in front of them, to place himself between them and their enemy.

Facing each other along the dingy expanse of grey stone, neither the warrior nor the woman moved, both of them eyeing each other, Dredger with defiance, she with keen amusement. Tom and Jack huddled close behind the man, aware that he was their only protection.

"Do you like my handiwork?" she called, nonchalantly swinging the iron bludgeon into one of the windows beside her, sending glass crashing into the carriage.

"I will not break so readily," Dredger retaliated stiffly, but the woman in white only laughed at this, playfully rotating the iron railing with her fingers.

"That will only make the taste of your destruction all the sweeter," she promised, and began to walk leisurely toward them, her eyes flaming with murderous hate, the makeshift weapon she held cutting the air as she lashed it from side to side.

In a muted, harsh voice, Dredger spoke to the two boys. "Get inside the machine. Stay there until this is over."

Accepting his instruction, Tom and Jack very deliberately moved toward the nearest carriage, a fearful anticipation gripping them. As soon as they were inside, Dredger walked forward to meet his opponent and from the windows, they watched him go, striding along the platform without hesitation, confidence and power in every step. The woman came on just as swiftly, her slender frame gliding through the pools of shadow.

Almost inaudibly, the train began to tremble and the boys felt a slight vibration, a shudder running through the floor beneath them and almost without thinking they gripped the handrail, experience telling them that the train was preparing to leave the station.

With his concentration fixed solely on his adversary, Dredger failed to realise what was happening, and it was only when, with a girlish giggle, the woman leapt into the open doorway of a nearby carriage, that the sudden chill of understanding went through him and he knew that he had been tricked. All the doors closed together with a hiss of contempt, and the train began to move away, accelerating rapidly; he heard Tom and Jack shouting at him to get on board and saw the woman laughing at him as her compartment drew level.

With a snarl of rage, Dredger threw himself at one of the broken windows, his blade knocked from his hand to clatter into the gloom below as he grabbed hold of a rough frame, unmindful of the jagged glass, intent of clawing his way inside the carriage, but with lithe speed the woman was upon him, her pale face filling his vision.

He felt her breath sickly sweet upon him and then she brought the iron down hard across his fingers. Pain like fire shot up his arm but still he held fast. With savage zeal, the woman smashed at his hands again and again, even as Dredger made to pull himself through and into the compartment, the blows crushing his knuckles until he could hold on no longer and he found himself falling backward.

Landing heavily, the warrior still managed to heave himself to his feet, a bellow of frustration wrenching itself from his lungs as he saw the back end of the train disappear into the darkness of the tunnel. He flailed with his arms, a spasm of anger, unable to accept that he could have been cheated so easily and catching sight of one of the huge stone columns that supported the ceiling, he lashed out at it, punching it with all his strength. It felt good, so he struck it a second time and a third, raining blows upon the hard stone again and again, his already damaged hand spitting blood and gore, venting his fury upon the pillar with animal savagery. When he was done, his rage spent, he stepped back and saw that the column was cracked, a ragged fissure opened where his fist had struck, stretching from the floor almost to ceiling. But he took no pleasure from the sight, for when he looked upon it, he saw only the shattered remains of his own self-belief.

As the train shot forward, Tom experienced a sensation as if his throat were tightening, his stomach lurching, nausea hitting him hard.

At his side, Jack was caught off-balance and fell to the floor of the carriage; darkness surrounded them, the internal lights a haven amidst the black exterior world that flashed by.

Both boys knew exactly what had happened and what it meant for them. They had been ensnared by the Beast and there was little hope of escape. Distantly, they heard a crash of glass, the noise coming from a carriage somewhere further along toward the rear of the train.

"She's coming for us," Jack said, still on his knees and as they looked at each other, fearing not just death, but a far greater loss, the acceptance of defeat, he began to laugh.

"Jack!" Tom hissed uneasily.

Through tear-stained eyes, the other boy stared up at his friend. "It's just so ridiculous," he said, his laughter abruptly ceasing. "This can't be happening, can it, none of it can be happening." But even while he spoke, another internal voice was whispering deep within his subconscious, calling to him, beckoning him. The woman slithered through his mind, searching for some hold, a way to capture his senses once more.

"Jack?" he ventured, but he did not seem to be heard.

"Leave...me alone," Jack said in a quiet, determined voice, forcing the sound from his mind, even as a vision of sensual lips whispering promises of love and rewards began to form in his head. "NO MORE!" he suddenly cried out, making Tom flinch.

Crouching down beside his friend, Tom put a hand on his shoulder. "What is it?" he asked and very slowly Jack shook his head.

"Just the Wolf up to his old tricks again. I'm all right now."

The destructive path of their enemy continued to draw nearer as she made her way through each carriage, wielding her cudgel in a frenzied onslaught. They knew it would not be long before she appeared on the other side of the door that connected their compartment to the next, a deadly apparition in white, smiling at them through the glass, and they knew with equal certainty that they had to do everything within their power to escape from her.

Glancing about quickly for an emergency button to signal the driver, Jack was not surprised to find that there was none and he had to smile bitterly at his own foolishness, for even had there been an alarm, the driver of this particular train would hardly be likely to assist them.

"Come on," Tom guided, struggling to shrug off the despair that tugged at his heart. Moving to the automatic doors, he frantically began an attempt to pry them open, digging his fingers as far into the gap between the frames as he could manage and pulling for all he was worth. "Jack! Help me!" he shouted, exerting himself against the unyielding metal, and the other boy squatted down so that he could get a hold of the lower part of the doorway. "It's coming!" cried Tom as the doors separated, a narrow gap visible between them; stale air rushed into their faces and the noise of the train was loud in their ears.

Fighting to maintain this opening, hardly wide enough to put a hand through, they were startled by an eruption of shattered glass as it flew into their carriage.

"She's here," grunted Jack, not daring to look, pushing himself harder still.

"We can do it!" Tom appealed to his friend, ignoring the fact that even if they could get the doors open, at the speed the train was moving, they would have no hope of surviving if they jumped.

But there was no choice. Both boys understood that the woman in white meant to kill them, to end the game. And with that act, the Wolf's victory would be complete. Whatever their fate might be, both Tom and Jack were determined to deny the Beast that satisfaction at least.

With every ounce of his strength, Tom pulled against the metal doors, digging his fingers inside the rubber seal, his muscles threatening to rip. Very gradually, the gap began to widen. "Get...between them," he gasped, breathless with the exertion, forcing his own leg between the doors.

Somewhere close behind them, a foul chuckle nearly caused Jack to lose the leverage he had gained, but again he managed to resist the impulse to turn around, and with a groan as he made one final, enormous effort, the doors opened wide enough for him to get his shoulder between them.

"Foolish little boys," the woman in white said softly, standing just inside their compartment, a faint smile touching her lips. "Would you leap to your deaths, my dear ones?" she enquired, watching them with indifference as they continued in their struggle to prise the doors apart inch by inch.

Now there was enough space for Tom to squeeze his body through and doing this, gazing down at the black emptiness below him, the grime covered wall flashing by barely an arms length from him, he knew that this was the moment of decision. Turning his head so that he could see his friend, he gave Jack's hand a brief squeeze and grinned a little insanely. "End of the line," he cried and closing his eyes, he jumped from the speeding train, the darkness consuming him.

Somehow, Jack managed to maintain the opening, even though he was now alone, a power inside him that burned like a bright furnace of rage lending him strength, and with a silent prayer, tears of grief in his eyes, he prepared to follow Tom to a certain death. But even as he made to plunge into the racing blackness, a hand grabbed him roughly by the hair, wrenching him painfully backward and away from the doorway. Screaming with anguish as hairs were ripped out by their roots, he heard the doors shut with a loud thud and knew that he was lost.

He tried to believe that perhaps by some miracle Tom could have survived such a fall, maybe with just minor injuries, or at worst a broken leg or arm, but his brain rejected such notions as ridiculous and told him brutally not to be such a fool.

Tom was dead. And now Jack was about to die too. The Wolf had beaten them.

Looking up into the dark eyes of the woman, her grip on his hair unrelenting, Jack waited for her to kill him. It had been a very long journey, but now, at last, he had reached his final destination.

"Now," the woman in white said in a soothing voice, "let's talk and tell each other secrets. There's so much I'd like to know." Inside Jack's head, a hammer beat incessantly, pounding against his temples, inducing an intense pain. Bending over him, the woman prodded him with the iron railing and gave a vicious laugh. "Have you ever been tortured?" she asked casually, eyeing him like an animal with its prey.

Jack tried to get up from the ground but she forced him back, mercifully releasing his hair as she did so, the sharp point of her bludgeon pressing against his chest.

"Stay where you are, little one. I will tell you when it is time for you to leave. You had your chance to be my pet, but spurned my love. Now that was a great mistake, a great mistake indeed."

The train was decreasing its speed now, slowing rapidly until it almost came to a halt. Harsh light flooded the compartment, her white dress shimmering, dazzling him.

"And now, Jack my sweet," she told him, "you must come with me and meet your maker." She giggled excitedly before pulling him to his feet, grabbing his hair once more, spite in her eyes, and though Jack tried not to cry out, the pain was so sickening that he could not stem the flow of his tears.

Seeing this, the woman in white offered a sympathetic smile and placed her hand beneath his chin, lifting his face so that she could look into his eyes. "Drink well," she encouraged him, her voice softer but no less intense. "Before too long you shall quench your thirst for tears, my dear. Of this you can be sure."

Jack heard the promise of death in her words, but didn't care. He felt he had died already, at the very moment Tom had jumped to his death and he had been prevented from following to what was, at least, a quick end.

One thing he knew though, as he prepared to face unknown torments. When his own death came, he would welcome it gladly.

FORGET ME NOT

Tom's thoughts ran like liquid, merging with each other, alive with clarity, possessing a substance that breathed and pulsed. Wondrous images governed him, magical truths springing from a well of new-found knowledge and fire burned within his eyes, embers of beauty.

Is this heaven?

Suddenly, reality, or at least that kind of reality which seemed to have material form, tore him away from the apparent reverie he had been experiencing and he found himself in a shadowy room, its walls indistinct. He could not see into the shadows that lay all about him, thick and impenetrable, but he felt that he was not alone there, that hidden eyes were regarding him. There was no sound, and his own thoughts seemed deadened by this silence.

"Is someone there?" he asked into the darkness, but no answer came, only the echo of his own small voice. "I know someone's there," he called, fear strangely absent, the simple need to hear another voice transcending all else.

A light came on, somewhere above him and the entire room was illuminated. In the bright glare he saw that he was in a white-walled chamber and utterly alone. There were no doors, no windows, the room giving him at once a feeling of isolation and sterility.

Where am I? Heaven? Hell?

He made to stand, pushing himself to his feet, and abruptly the scene shifted, the whiteness of the walls blurring and taking on the likeness of huge swans, their wings beating smoothly in flight above a stagnant lake of black water. There were perhaps a dozen of them and they only flew a short distance before settling upon the surface of the lake, their purity discordant with the foul waters.

Tom flew also, his arms outstretched, and dived toward the glassy blackness below, racing to meet his own reflection. He searched the deep with sight impossibly keen, knowing that something rested there and he could just make out an ill-defined shape submerged at the very bottom, appearing to be constructed of varnished wood.

He hit the water at speed, the impact startling the swans, scattering them into soon aborted flight and Tom plunged down into the deep realm, penetrating the darkness, seeking out the mystery that waited below. Kicking out with his legs, he circled above the wooden object, which he now saw was an oblong box, wondering what it could possibly be.

On one side, there appeared to be some sort of plaque, fashioned from a dull silver metal, and propelling himself closer to it, drawn on by an odd fascination, Tom strained to read the corroded letters, his eyes growing wider as his lips formed the words.

HERE LIES JACK BARTON

DEAD AND FORGOTTEN

BROTHER OF THE WORM

Tom tried to think, to understand. What had happened?

They had been on a train, he and Jack. And a woman dressed all in white had come to kill them. But he had thrown himself from the train and so denied her.

But what about Jack? Where was he? In a coffin at the bottom of a black lake? Tom found that hard to accept.

Looking down at the casket once more, he saw the lid begin to move, two scaly hands emerging from the darkness within.

Jack can't be dead.

Tom refused to believe that, but the hands continued to reach for him and now a distorted voice was calling to him, a parody of the one he knew so well.

"There's room for two," it gurgled.

"No!" Tom spluttered, pushing away and upward, the grasping hands touching his legs, raking his skin, almost taking hold and dragging him down.

Above him, an immense light seemed to be suspended above the surface of the lake, a star of many colours and Tom swam toward it, knowing that death pursued him, eager to pull him back down into the murky depths below.

He sensed that the star would give him sanctuary.

The train was gone. Dredger sat slumped against the base of the fractured column, staring at his damaged hands. He studied the blood-caked fingers, bone glistening where his knuckles had been so viciously assaulted, but he felt no pain and even as he gazed down at them, a miraculous healing took place, his hands now bearing no sign that he had suffered any injury at all. He clenched his fists repeatedly, bewilderment in his dull eyes.

"How can it be?" he muttered to himself, pleading for an answer, "that I have been fooled so easily? How is it that a mere woman can have bested me? It is not right. My destiny...," he gave a small, cynical laugh, "my destiny was with the White Dog. I was for him, he was for me...but when he stretches out his arms to test my mettle, I fall by the wayside.

Of what use were all the trials I have endured, all of the battles I have fought? Of what use is my strength or the prowess of my blade?" He paused in his rambling and glanced about the deserted platform, searching for his sword, but it was a half-hearted effort and when he did not find it he began to nod, a grimace contorting his features as he gazed at the floor. "It is fitting," he decided, his words carrying the weight of conviction. "A warrior without a blade is unworthy of that name and I am unworthy. If the man is lost, should not the steel abandon him? Let it lie where it has fallen. But it was a good servant. Perhaps it will find a new master. Better that than to rot here with the old."

Are you the not the Second Beast?

An inner voice spoke to him, but Dredger preferred to ignore it. What power he believed he had possessed had been shown to be feeble indeed, if he could be cast aside so easily.

He heard footsteps somewhere in the station and the warrior searched the shadows with eyes bleary and unfocused, certain that the Beast had sent its servant back to finish him off.

Where is your power, Beast?

These words were addressed at himself, a goad to spur him into action, but again, the warrior dismissed such thoughts as foolishness. His mind was clouded by emotions he barely understood, and he was powerless to control them.

I have become what I most despise. Easy prey.

The footsteps grew louder as a figure approached, but Dredger made no attempt to stand and he saw in the dim light that his executioner bore the final irony as they approached to

end his life. For his sword had indeed been claimed by a new master, and now it would

be turned against him, an indignity that he realised was well deserved.

She led him by the hand. They made their way slowly along a passageway of grey rock, fluorescent lights embedded in the craggy ceiling illuminating the path.

Jack's head was also full of lights that dazzled him with their vivid colours, inducing in him a kind of trance. He believed he was quite contented and yet underlying this was another contrary sentiment, one of trepidation, a feeling of uncertainty that clung to him and would not release him from its grasp.

The woman in white did not speak to him as they went, and he himself had no need for words. With his hand in hers, he felt at once captivated and captured, and for all his nagging anxiety, he knew deep down that there was really no choice left for him. He had to go with her, come what may.

Tom was inside the star. Or at least that is what his senses would have him believe.

He lay face down upon a huge window, which curved up and around him.

This is not a dream.

Peering down through the glass he could see black space, and then, as if it had suddenly materialised out of nowhere, a blue planet appeared, beautiful against the darkness.

Earth.

He recognised it at once and as he watched with interest, the planet seemed to magnify, growing steadily larger and larger before his eyes. Tom tried to turn his head, to look toward the furthest edges, but his head was strangely heavy and he was unable to move.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to clear his thoughts, and when he opened them again he could see land and sea, mountains and rivers, countless animals running and swimming; it was as though his eyes encompassed an entire landscape, as if he could see, with infinite detail, every living thing that moved upon the earth beneath him.

Is this a dream?

The landscape began to speed past him at a fantastic rate, everything blurring into one, becoming unintelligible. The rich colours of the earth merged and flashed past his staring eyes, his mind reeling beneath the onslaught, making it impossible for him to think.

He was now moving rapidly above rolling hills and valleys, lakes of blue-white sparkling beneath the benevolent touch of a brilliant day.

To his relief, Tom found that he could move his head from side to side and he stretched his neck with satisfaction, although his body remained immobile. He looked far to his right and then away to his left, taking in all that there was to see. There was no doubt now in his mind that this was not a dream.

He was within a star. And the sky was full of silver clouds, flying in formation over a bright and fertile landscape.

The blade hovered above him, obscured by the twilight that lay upon his eyes. Dredger waited for the blow to come, to snuff out the flame of his existence, failure biting deep into his heart. But still the blade did not fall, only wavered before him.

"Come! Take me and have done with it," he commanded and braced himself for the bite of unforgiving steel against his flesh. A few more moments of utter silence passed and Dredger leaned forward and gave a growl of frustration. "Why do you hesitate?"

"Take it," came a short reply, startling the warrior.

"What is this...?" he began to protest, but then through the veil of shadow that clouded his vision, he very gradually began to discern certain details, the lines and curves becoming sharper and more distinct.

The face of the man who offered him the sword was blurry and indistinct, but when he spoke, the voice was unmistakable.

"Take your weapon, warrior," Mo bade him, extending the blade hilt first.

"Why?" argued Dredger with no sense of relief, slumping back against the column. "What need have I for it now?"

"It is a part of you," the other man said, but the warrior just looked away. "You can stand up at least," Mo ordered.

With a sullen, almost shameful expression, Dredger hauled himself to his feet and the moment he was standing, Mo deftly placed the sword into its sheathe at the warrior's side, Dredger staring at it dumbly.

"Now," said Mo with some urgency, "where are Tom and Jack?"

The woman dressed in white hummed a dulcet melody as she led Jack toward an opening chiselled from the rock face that lay ahead. Beyond the entrance, blazing light awaited them, promising day and open skies, but Jack was hardly aware of it, for he was caught up in the sound of her voice, and he longed to know the words to her song, so that he might sing it too.

The woman was happy, that much he understood, yet even though Jack wished with all his heart that he could share in her rapture, there was something within him that soured any notions of joy, a small, nagging whisper, insisting that things were not as they should be.

As they stepped out of the tunnel and into daylight, Jack saw that a golden land unrolled into the distance, a pale blue desert beyond that, stretching away to the horizon.

Trying to adjust his eyes to this sudden change, besieged by the dazzling radiance, it was difficult for Jack to make out anything at first, but at length he realised that they had emerged onto a great, sandy beach and that the desert of blue was in fact a vast sea.

Tightening her grip on his hand, the woman turned and smiled down at him. "A fine day," she remarked cheerfully, "a golden day. And now I shall take you out under an old sun and you shall see how it shines upon the worthy." She glanced upward briefly, her free hand pointing at the sky, but when Jack looked too, all he could see was a shimmering canopy of glaring white, which appeared to move restlessly, alive and ravenous, prowling above them.

They walked on, hand in hand. All was silent now, but for the sound of the distant waves.

As a youngster, Jack had loved sunny days, when on waking he would throw back his sheets and rush to the window, shafts of light criss-crossing his room, there to see a gleaming sky of blue, populated perhaps by a few billowing clouds, mysteriously beautiful. He had often lain on his back upon the grass of a field or park, watching the sky and the way the clouds constantly moved, travelling lazily to some other distant place that they would never reach, searching perhaps until the end of time itself.

Now though, there were no clouds and the sky above him was not one he had ever known. It was perverse and foreign and in his heart he despised it.

"Where are you taking me?" he asked, finding the sound of his own voice shocking in the abnormal stillness.

The woman too seemed mildly surprised for a moment by his question, but this was quickly replaced by a knowing smile. "Why, Jack my love, I'm going to show you heaven. I'm going to give you the key to the gates of paradise. And then you can choose your own way, sweet Jack, it's all up to you. But I know you'll choose wisely, I'm sure of it."

Jack glanced down at his feet as they crunched into the brittle sand, disfiguring its perfect face. No-one had ever been there before. They were the first to come.

The waves lapped placidly against the flaxen beach and he had to wonder if this could truly be a wicked place. But an intuition deep inside him said that torment and suffering was concealed beneath the surface, vile corruption pressing against the periphery of his awareness.

As Jack began to comprehend this, and the true nature of the land became exposed to him, the hand that was clasped so securely in the woman's grip began to feel uncomfortable, a sticky wetness leaking against his palm and fingers, almost as if something was dissolving. Timidly, he looked down, a thickening shadow growing beside him, and he was fascinated to see that it was no longer a woman who held his hand. Now a grotesque beast was his consort, giant and sinewy, its long hind-legs alone dwarfing the boy.

"Do you see me?" it asked without turning its head.

But Jack made no attempt to answer. He saw now the pure white coat, the long snout and the claws which dug lightly into his hand.

At last the Wolf had come for him, he realised. And it was time for him to face his final test.

Tom was once again in Victorian London. He had no idea how he came to be there. Everything was jumbled in his mind, memories of flying and glittering stars at odds with other recollections, of he and Jack on a train and his desperate, suicidal jump for freedom. He should be dead. Maybe he was. He could not be certain of anything anymore.

What did it all mean? It was a question he had asked many times, but he was no nearer an answer than before.

Diffidently, his hand moved inside his shirt and pulled out the map, the hub of his dark adventure, and turning it over in his hands he came to the conclusion that if it had ever really been important, and he had his doubts, that time had long passed.

Cloying fog, unpleasantly dense, drifted all round him and crushing the parchment into a crude ball, Tom threw it with force into the white mist.

Now the game could be played out without childish deceptions. He would meet the Wolf on equal terms.

With no idea of where he was going he began to walk, the fog clinging to him in thick tendrils, and almost at once, somewhere ahead, a strain of music floated out from the darkness, someone singing a lullaby.

"Hey, my little one,

come to me,

hey, my darling,

come and see,

I live within your memories,

forget me not,

forget me not."

Tom stopped, his head tilted slightly to one side and listened. It was a girl's voice.

With growing certainty he moved forward, his pace quickening until he broke into a run. The mist parted before him, and there, beyond a stone archway, he saw her.

She was seated on a little wooden stool in an open, cobbled courtyard, dressed in a long black skirt and plain white blouse, a grey shawl loose about her shoulders. Upon her feet were black shoes, with silver buckles that gleamed brightly and her golden hair was like a shimmering fire, a beacon that summoned him.

Tom slowed as he approached her, and saw Lisa look up as if alerted by the sound of his footfalls; she gazed intensely into his eyes, still humming the haunting melody of her song.

"You came," she said as he drew to a halt, her expression difficult to read.

"Is this real?" Tom asked, knowing it was a foolish question, reality having little meaning in any of this.

Lisa smiled at him. "Real enough," she answered.

"I've missed you," Tom began, unable to find the words to express how he felt, his mind ablaze, sudden emotions tearing at him.

"Have you?" she questioned coyly, her eyes widening just a little and looking at her then, it was as if a chill moved through him, cruel fingers seizing his heart. It was more than just pain. It was part frustration and part desire, compounded by a sense of acute loss.

"Who are you?" he said, surprising himself with his own question.

"I am your heart's desire," she told him, her face solemn and very sad.

"I won't go away again," Tom offered tentatively, feeling strangely elated and sick all in the same moment, and Lisa smiled again, a single tear rolling slowly down over her cheek.

"You already have," she whispered.

And then Tom woke up. He lay slumped on a hard, clammy surface and his head throbbed. Getting slowly to his feet, he saw the long line of a railway track curving away behind him. Directly in front of him, the tunnel abruptly ended in a solid wall of rock.

Where did the train go?

As he pondered this, he checked himself for any sign of injury and was amazed to discover that he was not hurt in any way, something he could only think of as a miracle. He had survived certain death without even a scratch.

But what about his dreams? What did they mean? And what of Lisa? He had learnt so much but knew so little. What was real and what was fantasy?

Tom looked to where the track ended, the line continuing right up to the base of the wall, and it was while he surveyed this peculiar sight that something happened to catch his eye, a faintly glinting object protruding from the brick, about three feet from the ground.

Moving over to it, Tom saw that it was a door-knob, the only visible piece of an exit that was camouflaged to appear to be part of the wall itself. He turned the handle and a small door swung inward, barely large enough for him to squeeze through. Inside, a steep flight of steps awaited him, forged from ornately wrought black iron, spiralling upward.

"They are dead," Dredger sighed dismally.

Even at the time of his defeat by the Beast and his subsequent banishment to the void, suspended from life, the warrior had not experienced such a grievous sense of failure. He had forfeited the lives of both boys. He had been beaten and the blame rested with him.

Mo regarded him not with sympathy, but with impatient anger. When he spoke his tone was harsh. "Look at you," he asserted brutally, "you have made one mistake and now you are willing to just lay down and die."

Dredger gazed up at the other man, an injured expression flashing in his eyes. "You lack understanding. I am of the warrior breed. We cannot live without honour."

Shockingly, Mo laughed viciously at this. "I thought that you knew your worth?" he challenged. "Is this all it takes to beat you? The Wolf was right after all? You are weak indeed."

Stung by the man's words Dredger tensed, as if for violence, but then smiled grimly and nodded. "Perhaps," he allowed, easing himself back against the column. "I see what you are attempting, old one. You think to goad me. But what is the purpose? I have failed in the trust that was placed in me, that I placed in myself. The simple fact remains that I am responsible for the deaths of the children, and you know as well as I that the war is lost without them."

"And what of the Second Beast's great power, what say you of that?" Mo demanded.

A strange, faraway look came into the warrior's eyes and it seemed he would not respond, but after several long moments, he shook his head. "I am not worthy of such power."

Mo's tone was softer when next he spoke. "That may well be so, but our understanding has its limitations, my friend. And if it is true that one of the boys is dead, though I pray it is not, I too shall carry the burden of guilt for that. But I know that at least one survives. It was promised long ago and not even the Beast garbed in all of its bright armour, can defend itself against destiny. No, the conclusion of this does not depend on mistakes made by you or I, for the war shall be won or lost on the battleground of souls, a private ordeal to be faced by each alone."

Dredger grunted. "If what you say is so, then why should any of us continue? Why not sit back and wait for the end?"

The other man merely gazed at him, his eyes mild. "Each has his own trial, but some overlap with others. We are in the grasp of an impartial destiny. You and I may well still have a part to play yet. Can you afford to risk everything for the sake of your doubts? We only have our faith to guide us now."

The warrior stared up at Mo and hesitated before he spoke again. "Is faith enough?" he asked softly.

"Faith is the greatest trial of all," his friend cautioned, "and we must hold onto it obstinately, even though the darkness will constantly strive to wrest it from our hands."

THE SACRIFICE

Distantly, a dark, sinister shape rose up out of the sand. Trying to focus on it, his eyes combating the glare of the pale sky, Jack speculated on what it could be that stood upon the margin of the water.

They walked on toward it, he and the Wolf, a dream-like trek across a barren landscape. If only this was just a nightmare. But it was not a dream. Whatever reality was, whatever defined it as such, he did not know, but he knew that this was real, that it was a place where a person could not only live, but die, where pain existed and games had to be played out until the very end. He had changed a lot, he realised that, but a part of him, an important part, clung on to childhood, desperate to reclaim an innocence that had somehow slipped away from him.

The Beast had him now. And there were things worse than death awaiting him. Corruption was the White Wolf's way and it would surely try to turn Jack's mind, as it had tried before. This seemed to be the only route to the end of it all. More suffering, an endless night.

It struck him as ironic that he had become so far removed from what he had believed to be the real Jack, his old self, an identity he had accepted as irrefutable. Now he was almost a stranger to himself.

"The Wolf is making its final play," Mo said with a thin smile, "there is not much time."

Beside him, Dredger stood looking at the column of stone, tracing the ragged crack with

his eyes. He appeared to see more there than the other man did, reluctant to tear himself away.

"There is nothing to keep you here," Mo told him. "But there is much that might be done elsewhere." Without another word, he moved agilely to the platform's edge and dropping noiselessly onto the track, he began to walk along it toward the tunnel, never once looking back to see if the warrior was following; he could hear the big man close behind him, matching his stride. "There is darkness ahead," he stated and his voice took a long time to fade as together they entered the black maw of the tunnel.

Tom climbed diligently, one hand constantly gripping the smooth iron railing. He had no doubts that the staircase would lead him to the Wolf.

Above him, his eyes following the coiling pattern of the steps, a tiny disc of light peeped down at him and he urged himself onward, eager to reach it.

While he climbed, he thought mostly of Jack, resisting any stray notions that his friend could be dead, insisting to himself that it was not possible. If he could find Jack he would save him, one way or another, even if he had to offer himself in his place. He began to take two steps at a time, gasping as he spiralled ever upward.

He could see now that there was an opening at the very top of the staircase and daylight streamed in, a welcome sight. He rushed up the last few remaining steps and poked his head through the hole, his eyes assaulted by the brightness of the day.

Yellow sand surrounded him, reaching as far as his eyes could see, but turning about upon the steps, he saw an undulating expanse of blue not far to his left.

This was the Beast's home. He had found his way.

Tom scanned the panorama, seeking out some sign of life, but couldn't see anyone or anything. The landscape was deserted and sterile.

Only when he had climbed out of the opening in the sand, and stood facing the blue borderline, did he realise that it was, in fact, a sea. Tom glanced up at the sky and didn't like what he saw. The brightness it granted was freakish and unsettling.

Somewhere here the Wolf was waiting for him, of that he had no doubt. And he now felt just as certain that Jack was also held captive in this place. But where?

Even though Tom sensed these things, that the Beast was near by and all was drawing to a close, there was still this one problem that perplexed him. Which way should he go? Every direction except toward the sea, looked exactly the same.

Tom chewed his lip with indecision. He had to make a choice, but what should he base that choice on?

Faith and hope. That was what Mo would have told him, were he there. It occurred to him then that he was probably being foolish debating the point at all. It seemed unlikely that the Wolf would let him stray, when it had already made quite certain that Tom got this far.

But was this actually true, he asked himself? Hadn't he come close to death several times in the course of his journey, and all because of the Wolf? Did he really owe his continued survival to the enemy? It was difficult to be sure. There were mysteries within mysteries here. And as yet, very few answers.

Without any further hesitation, Tom set off across the seamless golden sand, trusting that all paths, in the end, would take him to the same destination.

Embedded in the sand a giant crucifix towered, black as night and cast from iron.

"Why is that here?" Jack heard himself ask.

The Beast grinned craftily. "Redemption," it said with a short chuckle.

"For me or for you?" the boy enquired, quite calm, and he saw the Wolf's face darken, long canine teeth becoming visible as its lips curled upward.

"Boys must learn hard lessons," it growled, "and the hardest of all is respect."

Jack thought about this for a moment dispassionately. "You have to earn respect," he observed.

With a great bellow the Beast leaned down, hind legs bent, its foul breath on Jack's face. But the boy did not flinch. "If you think to play games with me, the price of defeat shall be great indeed," the Wolf whispered, its white coat seeming to ripple as muscles tightened and flexed with anticipation.

Jack laughed at this, not bitterly but with boyish good humour. "I don't have any choice."

The Beast's pupils appeared to dilate, changing colour erratically, one moment black, the next crimson, until they became a striking amber, the creature's eyes intent upon the boy. "Perhaps you understand more than I had supposed."

Turning to follow the sleek lines of the iron cross upward, the edifice dark against the bright sky, Jack repeated his question. "Why is it here?"

Now the Wolf straightened, rearing to its full height and surveyed the outlandish structure with apparent fondness. "We are here to play," it explained, "a re-enactment if you like. A timeless test. It's all for you, Jack. Do you think you are worthy?"

This confused Jack. "What do you mean?"

"I am giving you a gift," the Beast said thoughtfully, "you can save everything, everyone, with a single act of sacrifice."

Looking from the giant crucifix to the Wolf, Jack shook his head. "That's not for me," he said, his voice quiet.

"Not worthy?" the Beast asked.

"I'm no-one," Jack murmured.

"Listen to me," the White Wolf began in earnest, "I can save you from all of this, if you let me. You can't be expected to take on such responsibility, I understand that. All you need do, is tell me that you'll be my friend and we'll forget the whole thing. Is that so hard?" His head spinning, Jack struggled to comprehend what was being said to him. But it made no sense. "If you could love me," the Beast went on, "there would be no need for suffering, no need for torment. Trust me, love me, and there will be no more crying. Just tell me that you will always stay with me, promise it. Swear it and this will all be over." Jack's mind stumbled, clear thought eluding him, the consequences of what the Beast proposed making no impression. "I know!" the Wolf cried suddenly, "you need to sample the goods, to take a glimpse of what you might gain. Well, look Jack, and see if there is anything that takes your fancy."

Jack did look. He did not have any choice. A vision dominated his mind and senses, robbing him of his ability to reason.

Instead of the cross, a gigantic Christmas tree loomed above him, sparkling lights of colour twinkling at him, gold and silver tinsel trailing through the branches, decorative baubles suspended by slender threads, pirouetting languidly, reflecting flashes of enchanted light.

And standing before the tree were his mother and father. He was sure it was them, their faces just as he remembered them, captured forever in the snapshots of his memory.

"It's all right, Jack," his father said, his voice wavering just a little. "Everything's all right now."

"Daddy...mummy?" Jack gasped, feeling like a child again. He wanted to shake himself, wanted to be rid of the uncertainty that possessed him, that made him hang back, rather than rush to meet them.

"Yes, dear, it's us," his mother answered, tears welling in her clear blue eyes, "we've come back to you, my baby."

She moved toward him then, her arms outstretched and all of Jack's doubts melted away; he longed for her secure embrace, knowing that once within his mother's arms, he would be safe again and nothing could hurt him anymore. He lifted up his hands, desperate to hug her as she came ever nearer, almost close enough to touch.

But she never reached him. Her expression altered, a subtle change it seemed, from tenderness and longing to one of dazed confusion, and then, like a bulb deprived of electricity, she simply blinked out of existence, his father and the Christmas tree disappearing in the same instant, leaving the boy alone in an impenetrable blackness.

"I can bring them back," said a voice from the darkness, "I have power unimaginable, power over life and death. Just say the word and I will resurrect them for you. We can strike a bargain. What do you say?"

Jack felt broken, his emotions overturned. "They're dead, you can't bring them back," he said almost inaudibly.

"Oh, but I can my boy, I can do it, truly I can. You see, they are not dead to me. I hold the flame of possibility, the flame of life in my hands. But you must be the spark that ignites the fire. But that takes courage, it takes commitment."

"I don't believe in you," Jack whispered with difficulty, tears marking his face.

"I can understand," the Wolf allowed with something like a sigh, "that you need some time to think things over. Maybe if you were to taste the alternative, to experience, just for a moment, what is to come, you would be better able to choose what is best for you, best for you in the long run, that is. Here, let me give you a helping hand."

Even as the words were spoken, Jack felt himself lifted into the air, his body suddenly weightless, or so it seemed. It was almost as if he had passed outside of his physical form, his mind reaching for the sky. Involuntarily, he stretched out his arms and felt them become rigid, held fast by something that tingled just above his wrists and immediately, he experienced a similar sensation in his ankles, his body bound to the cool iron.

"You won't feel much pain," the voice of the Wolf called to him. "At least, not at first. But it is there, waiting for you and it is terrible. That is why I ask you to keep in mind that all of this is not written in stone, that you can come down from there any time you ask. The choice is yours to make, yours alone. Consider yourself. It is your life, your suffering. You could have so much, such sweetness, if only you would let go of childish notions. I am not a devil, Jack. I am an angel, can't you see, and I bear light for you. You are bringing this all down on your own head, remember that. Do not let pride destroy you. Do not let sin defeat you. It really doesn't have to be this way."

Jack looked up and the brilliant sky stung his eyes. His head pounded viciously. Trying to turn slightly, so that he could see his outstretched hands, he could feel before he actually saw, the warm flow of blood that trickled down over his arms.

What kind of nails could go through solid iron? Thoughts turned wildly in his head.

It was the Wolf. The Wolf could do anything. He almost laughed at himself for being so foolish.

His arms ached now, the muscles beginning to scream. His shoulders and chest burned with the first dull fire of pain, his heart labouring. "I'm sorry," he said, not really understanding why he spoke, tears wetting his cheeks.

"That's all right, my son," said a clergyman who appeared to float in the air before him, his voice soothing.

"Can't you get me down from here?" Jack asked, the pain becoming worse, starting to ebb through him, a sickening tide of agony that increased steadily with every second that passed. "Please."

"It's out of my hands," the man told him with a wistful shake of his head and folding his arms within his vestment, as if to emphasise what he said.

"But I shouldn't even be up here like this," protested Jack, struggling to control his thoughts, "I'm not the one. It's not right!"

The clergyman smiled with indulgence, hovering silently. "That's true enough," he agreed, "but life is strange, and sometimes we are asked to carry the burden for the sins of others. Maybe you think it should really be your friend Tom up there instead of you. No-one would blame you, if you did."

Jack's expression hardened, despite his torment. "Not Tom!" he said fiercely, "leave Tom out of this!"

"Forgive me," the man begged, his manner humble, his face lowered in reverence. "I meant no offence. I simply wondered if you felt that you deserved to be up here like this, suffering for the sake of others. Those absent, fair-weather friends who are nowhere to be seen in your time of need. Personally, I believe each of us should be held responsible for our own transgressions. Is it just that you should be punished for what others have done, for what Tom has done?"

Jack gazed at the floating man for a long time, the features blurring, seeming to melt and flux before his eyes. If it were not for the white collar that he wore, the boy would have doubted that he was truly a man of God at all. But only clergymen were permitted to wear such things, he knew, so it had to be so.

The pain was everywhere by now, stealing into his head, rippling through his torso, stabbing into his legs.

"I didn't ask to be put up here," he said weakly, his mouth very dry, his tongue feeling swollen.

"Oh come now," a new voice said, the clergyman having disappeared. Jack tilted his head slightly and looked up.

An angel peered down at him. He knew it was an angel because its huge wings beat in perfect time with each other, the pure white feathers so intricately interwoven, caressing the air and sending a soft breeze against his face.

"Help me," Jack pleaded.

"You do not need my assistance," the angel advised him. "You can help yourself quite easily. But perhaps you like it up there? Perhaps you see yourself as someone special? Are you feeling holy, little one? Do you think yourself a saviour? Maybe you can walk on water, will that be your next miracle? Or better still, perhaps you can heal me? Won't you lay your hands on me and cast out my demons?"

Jack closed his eyes, almost overcome. His head was throbbing, a deep monotonous pulse. "Leave me alone," he mumbled, "go away and just leave me alone."

"Alone, alone," the angel sighed, "you're all alone."

Jack opened his eyes with an effort and gazed up at the ugly whiteness above. No-one was there. He was all alone on a black cross in a desert of golden sand. "Tom," he breathed, "where are you? I need you, Tom."

"Jack!" a voice hissed from somewhere behind him, "Jack, can you hear me?"

With his heart racing, hardly daring to hope, Jack raised his voice, desperate that his friend should hear him. "Tom? Help me?"

"It's all right, I'm here. Don't worry, I'll get you down from there."

"Tom?" Jack questioned, a shadow of doubt upon his mind, though he wanted so much to believe, "Tom, is that really you?"

"Yes, Jack, it's me. Everything will be all right now."

The tunnel was not as dark as Mo had expected, small lamps attached to the walls at intervals giving off enough light to enable them to see quite well, although there were stretches that somehow evaded the illumination, and there the two men had no choice but to walk in near total darkness. Where the lamps burned shadows danced upon the walls, their own forms hugely exaggerated, but Mo was not about to be put off by any trick of the light; he prowled on relentlessly through the subterranean realm, scouring every inch of the tunnel for some sign of the boys, watching warily for any movement.

He had a dread that at any moment he might come across the broken body of either Tom or Jack, but as yet he had found no trace of them.

Dredger moved along stealthily beside him, but the warrior did not search the gloom with his eyes as Mo did, his gaze fixed only ahead, his expression sullen as he fingered the hilt of his sword.

A squealing rat made a dash out from beneath a tattered paper and Dredger halted, glancing down at it with only passing interest. Bending to retrieve the scrap the creature had disturbed, he perused it momentarily and then handed it to Mo, who read aloud the words written upon it.

"Special offer, Pandora's box! Divine craftsmanship guaranteed! Sturdy lock! Only one previous owner. It only costs your life! What a bargain!" Passing the notice back to Dredger, Mo sighed deeply.

The warrior gave a grunt of disgust and ripping the paper savagely in two, tossed it aside, a sour look distorting his features.

They continued on along the tunnel, the sound of their boots echoing from the walls, and as they went Mo's mind worked.

Why did the Wolf come? The old question. Was the true answer close at hand now?

He knew it was a matter of balance, all things in their place, good and evil existing as counterpoints to create a universe of harmony. The Wolf was the variable in the pattern of life and so gave choice to humanity. The Beast gave a purpose to the suffering of

mankind and likewise, a meaning to their depravity. But there was more to it than that.

For the sake of Mankind or for the sake of the Beast? Mo suspected that it was a mutual trial.

"Listen to me," called Tom, "you have to get down from there or you'll die."

Jack licked his lips and half closed his eyes, his sight failing him. "But how?" he asked, his voice frail.

"There's only one way," his friend counselled him. "You'll have to tell the Wolf that you will do what he asks."

Hearing this, Jack opened his eyes once more, forcing himself to think. "What do you mean?" he questioned, "I can't do that, Tom. The Wolf wants my soul. Once I give myself up to him, I'll be lost forever." From somewhere behind him, Jack thought, or perhaps imagined, that he heard a muted hiss. "Tom!" he cried out hoarsely. "Tom, come around here so I can see you."

For what seemed like an endless time, there was only silence and Jack became very afraid that the Wolf had sneaked up on Tom and captured him too. But then, finally, his friend spoke to him again.

"You could lie."

"Lie?" Jack repeated, bewildered.

"Yes, just tell the Wolf that you love him. You don't have to mean it."

Jack's heart sank, an ache inside him far more miserable than the pain that ravaged his body. "I'm not going to lie anymore. It's all gone too far for that now. If I say it, I have to abide by it. Please Tom, can't you just get me down from here?" He was almost in tears now, the agony he felt unendurable.

"You'll die up there." It was Tom's voice, but his tone was icy and bitter.

"Tom...?" Jack gasped, dread rushing frenziedly through his mind, his heartbeat faltering, visions of darkness closing in on him, but Tom only laughed, a long, ugly cackle that made Jack want to scream, to cry out his pain so that he would not have to listen any more.

Suddenly, forming out of the pallid sky, the White Wolf appeared, his snout barely an inch away from the boy's face. The Beast was drooling. "Hello there," it said, cankerous breath assailing Jack, making him retch, his stomach twisting into a dry knot.

"What have you done to Tom?" he managed to splutter, hardly conscious that he was speaking at all, his mind unsteady.

"The innocent lamb?" the Wolf sang, "your one true friend? Why, I bit off his head and drank his blood."

With furious venom, Jack spat into the creature's repulsive face.

But the White Wolf only grinned. "Bile is my favourite wine," it chuckled licking at its face with a slithering tongue. "You're dying, you know that don't you? You are throwing your life away. And for what? A delusion of grandeur! In only a very short time, you'll be gone. And if you are hoping that you'll be heading for paradise, think again. Have you forgotten that you've done some black deeds since you came to these parts, taken lives in fact? Judge and executioner, that's you. Anyone can make a few mistakes, I'll grant you that, but you can't make that excuse. You knew exactly what you were doing, now didn't you? Do you know that you could have been someone. Your life could have had real meaning. Well, it's not too late, if you make the right choice. This is free will in its purest form. You see, I'm not vindictive, I can forgive and forget. But there are some who won't. You have a hard master, He only wants perfection. I know! He threw me out of his house for just one small lapse. I didn't mean anything by it, but He wouldn't even give me the benefit of the doubt. And now it's come to this. Tell me, do you want to die and rot in the earth? Because that is the fate of every sinner. No afterlife, no pearly gates, nothing. That's all. Only everlasting darkness. Or would you prefer to live forever and have all that you ever wished for? A family to cherish you, to love you? Now come on Jack, my boy, do yourself a favour, just this once. Forget senseless loyalties and foolish beliefs. They are all lies and hypocrisy. They can't save you! Only I can do that. So let me, I beg you. I would hate to see you die for nothing." Jack's thoughts twisted and turned, spinning out of control. His body screamed, blood weeping from his wounds, mingling with the sand far below. "Do you hear me, Jack?" whispered the Wolf, its golden eyes so close to the boy's face they were all he could see.

"Tom's not dead," Jack uttered, though each word he gave voice to was an effort of will.

The Beast gave a callous laugh. "Everyone's dead," it jeered. "You were all born to die in this kingdom of the damned. Don't you know that by now?"

"I'm tired," Jack murmured, closing his eyes.

"Look at me!" the Wolf roared, an urgency in its voice. "Just promise that you'll stay with me and I will get you down from there. I could heal your wounds so very easily. I can give you anything, anything at all. We could be friends, you and I together, always. Listen to me. Your mother and father are waiting for you, don't let them down. Don't send them back to the torments of hell."

Jack's eyes fluttered open and he saw the face of a beautiful child regarding him, neither male nor female, yet encompassing both. Its violet eyes watched him attentively, golden hair tumbling over slender shoulders, a silver crown upon its head.

"Look, this is my true form," spoke the child in a gentle, musical voice. "I am no more of a beast than you. Please be my friend. I will love you for all eternity."

"Tom's my friend," Jack said sharply, a spear of agony tearing through him, but his mind was serene, lulled by sleep that called him from afar.

"Oh yes," scorned the child, "of course. Tom is your friend. He would do anything for you, wouldn't he? But not if it was a choice between you and the girl. Who do you think he would choose then, Jack? Loyalty, honour! Just words, worthless. Used by the pious to qualify their petty lives. There is not much time left for you to learn. Think hard now, Jack, for your own sake. Do not waste your precious life in the name of deceit. Save yourself. No-one will thank you for being a martyr to a cause that does not even exist. No-one cares, no-one. You have been forsaken by all but I. Now come to me and let me wash away your tears."

Jack closed his eyes once more, the child's face shut out. He could still hear a voice speaking to him, but the words were indecipherable, a babble of noise. It didn't matter anyway, nothing could hurt him now.

"You'll lose," he managed to murmur, as he let himself be carried away on a tide of bright water, all of his pain subsiding, a light enveloping him as he sailed toward an island of stars.

He went willingly and the last thing he remembered was a terrible wailing, somewhere in the distance, a cry of loss and fear. But then that too faded, as he entered a whirlpool of

glorious colours, drawing him down into its heart.

Wherever he was going, Jack was unafraid. He had left the Beast far behind. He would be safe now.

Stumbling a little, sand disintegrating underfoot, Tom trudged on. It seemed to him that he had been travelling for a very long time, the yellow horizon unchanging.

If only he could find Mo or Dredger. He needed them now more than ever before, the solitude of this land insinuating futility, the anger and frustration he felt at his inability to find Jack gnawing at his mind.

The simple truth, he forced himself to realise, was that it was all up to him now. He was the only one who could save Jack.

Where are you, Wolf? Why don't you show yourself?

Glancing over at the blue sea, the water scintillating, sparks of light darting through the waves, Tom noted that it had become markedly rougher out there, a lively wind urging it to roll and bluster.

He paused and gazed back along the deserted strand, following the trail he had made and it occurred to him then that if someone else had come this way before him, they too would have left footprints, just as he did in his wake. But the sand was flawless. No-one had been there.

Something brushed his cheek, cold and insubstantial, and touching his face, Tom felt a slight dampness, as if sea-spray had somehow found its way to him. Hesitating for a moment, he looked down at his hand and saw a delicate, almost transparent substance

resting there, a residue of water on his fingers. He looked up toward the sky and a billion white petals were descending upon him.

"Snow," he breathed with a sense of wonder. "It's snowing."

THE WHITE TREE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We have been sent a shepherd."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Something shimmered against a wall, a luminous grey.

"A ladder?" queried Dredger.

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

Taking the lead, Dredger began to climb.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The White Wolf was singing.

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

"Oh, sweetest vengeance,

your lips meet mine,

witness the symbol,

witness the sign,

through trial and combat,

through test and bane,

the secrets of Zion,

return again.

Vice is the gamut,

lust is my bride,

here is the question,

yours to decide,

does sin diminish

the worth of your pride?"

Ending its song, the Wolf let out a prolonged howl of satisfaction and pleasure. There was a wild madness in the sound. Something splintered and out of control.

All of the pieces of the puzzle were assembled now. Soon the finale would be underway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tom," said a voice from behind him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I knew you would come," he said, watching her eyes dance, reflecting light as if they were crystals of blue ice.

"I had to," she conceded, smiling back at him.

"Jack's dead," Tom announced, almost casually.

"I know," she said, looking down as she spoke, her expression veiled.

"And the big, bad Wolf will be here soon," he remarked, beginning to feel strange inside, his eyes watering.

"Yes, He's almost here," Lisa agreed.

"Almost," Tom echoed.

"And then..." the girl said.

"It all ends," he finished. For a moment they fell silent. Tom looked out across the vast emptiness, searching for the horizon, but the sky and the land were one.

"We could go now," Lisa urged him, "there's still time."

Shaking his head and gazing up at her, Tom managed a smile. "I don't think so. My time's up and I have an appointment to keep."

"With death?" she asked in a matter-of-fact way.

"No," Tom assured her, "with love."

"And do you love me?"

"Who are you?" Tom asked.

With tears in her blue eyes, Lisa shook her head. "Don't you know by now?"

Tom regarded her with an intensity that made her tremble. "I thought you might be the Wolf," he said mildly. "But you're not. Tell me, what are you, really?"

As her tears touched her full lips and trickled into her mouth, the girl's face began to flicker and dissolve. "I'm your heart's desire, Tom," he heard her say as she diminished, her body melting away. "No more, no less. Yours and yours alone. Please don't send me away. Come with me, to where you'll always be safe."

Closing his eyes, Tom thought of Jack nailed to the iron cross, head slumped to one side, a lifeless shell that had once been his friend. Anything to shut out Lisa's face, tears falling uncontrollably as she faded, nothing remaining to show that she had ever been.

Just another dream. Just one more lost dream.

And somewhere, the White Wolf was laughing.

THE 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 fire. It ricocheted from the bodies of Mo and Dredger, igniting the warped forms with splinters of flame, until within moments, the entire manifestation became a rampant inferno.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The animal bristled, as if summoning all of its resources, trying to tap into the rage that had sustained it over a timeless span. "I could call an army to stand against you, I would bring a war that would shake the very walls of existence...I could call..."

"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.

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

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

The man, if he were indeed a man, smiled softly and there was a warmth in it that Tom found wonderful to behold. He gazed up at the face of the Beast. "You will be re-born. Re-born as light, to fulfil a destiny foretold before the dawn of this universe. 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.

