by Chris Smith
‘Who the hell are you?’ James cried. It couldn’t be Grandpa, it just couldn’t; first his shadow, then Pete’s, and now Grandpa…who in hell is the king? Despite his mind being overwhelmed by a mix of emotions and a myriad of questions waiting to be answered, the blade at his throat kept James thinking with clarity.
Why didn’t he kill me? He could have but he didn’t. These Shadows are his, hundreds of the bloody things, and the demons are under his control, and there must be a reason why he hasn’t he killed me. What did he say… trying to save my life, from what? It can’t be Grandpa. I must have misheard.
‘Take it!’ the King commanded and Mal took James’ sword out of his hand. ‘Are you now ready James?’ There was no doubt it was Grandpa’s voice, but James suspected it to be nothing more than trickery, in the same way that his shadow had imitated his parents’ voices back in the dragons’ cell. No doubt, Pete’s image would be on the other side; after all, this thing was Pete’s shadow, wasn’t it? But it had grown out of his own shadow, right in front of his eyes.
‘Who are you?’ he repeated.
James scrutinized Pete’s shadow, mesmerised by the transformation taking place before his eyes. The dark figure grew smaller, diminishing until it had become James’ own shadow once again. James hoped to catch a glimpse of what was on the reverse side of the shadow. He had discovered the images of Jake and Gus after he’d killed the other two shadows, but who was this, this Shadow King - Grandpa, Pete or him? It couldn’t possibly be him, surely not.
‘You still don’t know who I am, do you dear boy?’
The dark figure obligingly turned around. James’ heart pounded as he waited for the outcome. He prayed that Pete’s image would meet his eyes; that made the most sense, and it was the answer he wanted. Slowly the figure turned, bit-by-bit, to reveal an old man’s face. James’ heart plummeted; he felt empty, deep down in the pit of his stomach. His world was shattered by this revelation. He had followed the old man, held onto him as his saviour in this underworld, but it had been nothing more than a trap. Grandpa’s words had influenced all his decisions, so it appeared that he’d been a gullible fool to have listened. Grandpa, still shrouded in his dark cloak, looked at him, his mischievous eyes sparkling with delight.
‘You are the king?’ James stammered, for he was still unsure.
‘You’ve come a long way James and it’s nearly time to bring things to a close. But first you need to refresh a little, I think.’
‘I don’t understand. You were Pete’s shadow…my shadow.’
‘I can turn back into the others James, if you want, if it is easier for you. I can turn all of these creatures into any shadow I want, into anything that casts its shadow on your heart. You think you killed Jake’s shadow, don’t you? Well, maybe you have, time will tell.’
‘I trusted you. Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you steal my light?’
James heard the words Grandpa had spoken playing over once again in his mind: “The King wants power, your power, the power of your heart, the power of your mind, and the power of your body.” With the flick of a switch, someone he loved dearly had become his enemy, and it was difficult to comprehend. James wanted to throw the idea out, to dismiss it as ridiculous, but here Grandpa was before him with everything in the dark underworld under his command. And horrible as it was to acknowledge, James knew now that the old man had manipulated him into taking this journey. Now, at the end of it, beaten and exhausted, he was at his grandfather’s mercy. For the first time in his life James was angry at Grandpa; he had trusted him, only to find that the old man had betrayed his loyalty, his devotion and his love. He looked at the old man’s face but there was no hint of satisfaction in his features.
‘Why?’
‘Fetch him some water.’
Mal responded to the command.
‘Bring him some food.’ The other master demons scurried away. ‘Let’s talk while we refresh ourselves. James, I will answer most of your questions, then I will ask you to do one final task, which will lead you home.’
Home! James was ready to go home, ready for the comfort of his bed. He wanted to see his mum’s face again, to see his dad smile and hear his laugh. He was even prepared to face school and the pack, for whatever discomfort awaited him there was nothing compared to the suffering in here.
Mal rushed up, carrying water from the well in a simple cup. James looked at his own zombie-like face reflected in the water; it was almost unrecognisable. He took stock of the rest of his body: the skin on his hands was almost in shreds thanks to the maze of thorns and his duals with the shadows; his shirt was in tatters; and his jeans, also ripped and torn, were saturated with blood.
‘Sit, please.’
James chose to sit on the floor next to the throne.
‘Ok, we’ve got a bit more work to do yet.’ Grandpa laughed and placed himself on the throne. The other demons rushed up to them both, placing vessels resembling small witches caldrons at their feet, each filled to the brim with fruit.
‘Drink first, then eat.’
James did as he was told, placing the chalice to his lips and drinking deeply.
‘Slow down. There’s plenty more, enough for eternity, in fact. You paddled across the lake so you’ve seen how big our water supply is, and let me tell you…it goes down forever.’
As the water flowed down James’ dry, coarse throat, he could feel the effect it was having on his body; it was though his cells were expanding to bursting point as they drank in the nectar. Then, from the inside out, his body began rejuvenating itself and before his very eyes, the wounds on his hands began to heal. James watched as the skin on his fingers knitted itself together. He then pulled back the tear in his jeans and saw the wound in his thigh forming a protective scab.
‘This well is unique. Nowhere else will you find waters that have the power to heal and nourish you. But the scars will remain James, to remind you of this Journey and all you have been through down here. I understand this has been hard, but now we must talk earnestly. What is it you would like to know?’
James loved the way Grandpa used old words: earnestly, he really did need him to be most earnest with him.
‘Why did you put me through all this?’
‘Take a piece of fruit.’
The apple tasted wonderful. It was an explosion of flavour on his tongue, after which he felt much better.
‘Firstly, James, I did not force you to do anything. You chose this path and the choice was made very clear to you.’ He said this firmly, and James knew it was true. ‘Once that decision was made it became your destiny to discover the treasures in this land, or remain stuck, trapped in the darkness of your mind.’
‘But I don’t have any treasures; I lost everything that I found.’
‘James, you only lost the objects. Objects have no powers other than those you give them. The treasure is what you have learned along the way. You now know, for example, how to find peace and clarity of mind when there is turmoil all around you. You have been made aware that the mind has the power to attract good and evil. You have developed the ability to summon courage in adversity, and to use the shield of discernment against the opposing forces in your life that frustrates and blocks your progress. And you have felt the compassion that comes with empathy. And now your are discovering the purpose of your shadow and the wisdom that lies on the other side of the darkness it casts upon your heart. He paused as James took in his words. ‘These treasures are yours for ever; you can forget them, ignore them, or even choose not to use what you have learned, but you can never lose them. Go on, eat more.’
The fruit tasted great. James devoured it all. Chewing gave him time to think about what Grandpa had said. It was true; he had learnt many things on his journey. James remembered the noise of the clamouring maggots, and that he was able to think again once they were quiet. He remembered how his thoughts had brought the black garden into being and attracted the scorpion bees, and then created the sunflowers and withered the wee
ds that were holding him back. He recalled how he had run the gauntlet of the pack, standing tall and strong, and then given up the hard earned amour he’d won, courageously rejecting the warriors of the mist. Later, trapped in the cell by the opposing white and dark dragons, he had discovered the shield, under which he found his own mind against the contradictory forces in his life. Then, facing his worst fear, the werewolf, he had freed the beast, understanding that the cause of its suffering was the same as his own; feeling overwhelming compassion and empathy for the creature, he was unable to harm it further. Finally, here in the palace of the King of Shadows, James was facing the dark beings, demons and shadows that had been his constant companions, and discovering their true nature and meaning.
‘Why did you steal, I mean, why did my shadow steal my light?’
‘James, you do know that your shadow is on the other side of me, like the tail on the reverse head of a coin?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good, I thought we were going to have to go back to the beginning’, he laughed.
‘But… it… you changed into Pete’s shadow.’
‘That’s right. Well, you do live under Pete’s shadow don’t you?’
James had never thought about his life in that way.
‘As for your light, well, it was stolen for safe keeping, James. It was in your best interest.’ Grandpa saw that more explanation was needed. ‘Look, you were in danger, so we were keeping it for you until you were ready. It’s our job.’ He paused and then tried to help by adding, ‘All these different shadows and demons were created by you, James, from your blackest thoughts. Their purpose was to make you realise that a particular aspect of your life was at conflict with who your really are, and to help you sort things out. In the absence of your attention to the problem they would get, shall we say, annoyed and try to make you listen.’
What do you mean danger?’
‘Well you’d sold yourself out, sold yourself into slavery. ’
‘To the devil?’
‘Good lord no, well, perhaps. You were worshipping this monument to the devil, you could say.’
‘Pete is the devil?’
‘This image of Pete is the devil, and you sold yourself into the slavery of its image. Shadowed by its magnificence, and in your quest to be just like it, you lost sight of who you really are and what you really want from your life. How could you possibly measure up against this thing?’ James gazed up at the awesome creation. ‘If you hadn’t fallen into this shadow underworld,’ Grandpa continued. ‘or should I say, if I hadn’t pulled you in here, you would have forged a mask for the world and withered behind its veneer. You see, portraying a false image makes you feel safe and is the closest you can get to being like them. But if you start to believe that the mask is real, that the facade is who you really are, it will torture you because, sooner or later, you will discover that your life is a poor imitation of the grand thing that you aspire to. When that happens the only solution is to forge a newer and better version of yourself, which unfortunately never matches up, and so on and on it goes. Nothing ever feels good or nourishes you, and the real you, the special, unique person that you were meant to be, dies. Not in body, but in spirit, and then life loses its meaning.’
‘Who were the corpses?’ James remembered the poor tortured corpses wearing the masks forged from mirrors, their faces twisted in pain. He had been lucky, for he had nearly chosen the path of the mask, back in the grotto with the maggots.
‘They are you, James. They are your past, and your future if things do not change. That is why we smashed through your eyes and stole the light, in the hope that you would notice it had been stolen. And you did.’ He sounded pleased. ‘The slivers of glass from your eyes we brought here to create this monument. It was my job, your shadow’s job, to lead you here. The ordeals have been preparing you, helping you learn the truth. We have all worked with the sole aim of bringing you here to face this fantastic creation of King Pete for yourself, to face the fantasy. The gifts, the insights, are for you to take home. It sounds crazy that by confronting the darkness you are closer to finding the real you; but if you don’t take any action, if you don’t kill the darkness, you kill me and you lose any opportunity of finding yourself, of retrieving your lights.’
‘I want my light back.’
‘Well then, all you need to do is climb that monument. When you get to the top open the eyes and make a choice. Make sure you choose wisely though because as you know, one of the choices is the mirrored mask.’
‘How will I know?’
‘Only the King knows and you’ll find him when you get up there.’
‘But aren’t you the king?’
‘Oh no, dear boy. I am the higher voice of your shadow, your higher true spirit. I am that same spirit that is in everyone. As for the King as I said before, he will find you. Once you get to the top wait, look at everything around you, and he will come to you and show you the way home. Now, there’s no more time to waste, you don’t want to be here forever do you? Begin if you’re ready.’
With the prospect of being able to return home on his mind, and his body rejuvenated by the feast, James set off with renewed hope in his heart. He climbed through the rings of thorns protecting the statue. He scaled the monument’s leg, using the tiny ridges on the layers of glass for grip. James found the climb relatively easy. His thoughts returned to the king: Where is he, up here? Is there a secret chamber where he’s waiting? James also considered the possibility that the King might be on the ground; maybe he’d been sent up here for a better view, so that he could discover the king’s location below. Then a thought occurred to him. Grandpa had said that they had stolen his lights. They had smashed his eyes and stolen the lights, plural not singular. James had thought that he was chasing the one light, but they must have stolen more than one; he had no idea how many, except that they must have taken all of them because his eyes had appeared empty in the mirror. Before long he had reached the face of the monument and climbed across and up onto the bridge of its nose, just as he had seen his shadow do. There were only two lights, each dancing inside an eye-socket cage. He pulled open both windows.
‘Make your choice, James.’
Shadows and demons were now down off the terraces, surrounding Grandpa in his dark cloak. All these dark beings of his imagination gazed up at him. Had they all stolen a light? Were they all servants of the king? James couldn’t see the King anywhere, down there or up here. When would he come?
Grandpa smiled, and shouted, ‘If you thought I was the King James, then who are you?’
James looked up at the stained glass windows with his painting draped across its surface. He thought about his journey and remembered the maggots, the scorpion bees and, more vaguely, the fighting dragons. Now as he sat on this magnificent monument to Pete he could see that it was everything that he himself had imagined him to be. The truth suddenly dawned on him. His feelings and ideas had given rise to everything in this world: the creatures, the dome palace, this monument, the maggots, bees, warriors, werewolves and dragons – all his creation!, He had created everything. It was all on his painting hanging over the dome. These were all his shadows.
‘I’m the king, Grandpa!’ James shouted. ‘I’m the king. I created all of this.’
Grandpa smiled. ‘Indeed you are James. So…which light do you choose?’
James pondered the question for a moment. Grandpa had said lights, they had stolen my lights, but he had no idea how many. ‘I choose them all!’ he cried. ‘I want them all back, please.’
The ground trembled and the monument to Perfect Pete began to crumble. The effigy broke down from the bottom up, slowly lowering James to the ground. He jumped down to the floor as the head turned to dust. The two starlets of light danced free within his reach.
‘There are a lot more than those two James.’ Grandpa paused. ‘He wants his lights.’ At the old man’s request, the shadows, demons and other dark beings melted into a thousand darts of lig
ht. Then, along with the two lights from the monument, they swarmed over to Grandpa where they clothed him in a shimmering royal cloak. James saw on his Grandpa’s head the crown of a king, with the emblem of two dragons upon it, the creatures he loved to paint most.
‘See you soon, James.’
Grandpa smiled, and on a gust of wind the starlets and Grandpa flew through the air like a swarm of fireflies straight into his eyes.
The light blinded James for a second, but once his eyes had adjusted, he found himself looking once again at his face in the bathroom mirror. It was still night. The silence of the house was absolute. His parents were obviously still asleep. He glanced at the clock. He had been here for almost an hour. James looked at himself then, leaning closer into the mirror, studied his eyes carefully. They were perfect, without a crack or blemish in them. But more importantly, James’ could see that his eyes were alive; just like his grandfather’s, there were a million stars dancing in them.
Chapter Fifteen: Never Better.