Orson was standing next to him - reminding of a small sentinel, or a lion protecting its cub - (a comparison he would have found suitable). His coat had not been buttoned, and the wind, which had become stronger since dawn, ruffled and made little circles in the shiny hair of its thick, black pelt. His feet were spread apart and both hands wrapped around his staff. It towered three feet above his head, the normally sparkling crystal at its top, now gloomy-grey. He was facing east, and muttering - his normally rasping voice - for once soft and pleading.
‘Please shine. Please, please, please...’ The sun had by then been up for almost an hour, but the dense grey clouds had not yet allowed it through, and Orson knew their time was running out fast.
Tessie was facing west, to where the sliver of moon had been visible earlier, and when she growled and went into a crouch, Orson knew the reason. He slowly turned around, and after watching for a long minute, bent over and took Thomas’ arm, helping the boy to his feet. He pointed with his staff, and in a soft growl said, ‘There they are Thomas - there are our bad guys.’
Thomas looked to where the staff was pointing, and then hugged himself with both arms, shivering.
They had just come out of the forest and were regrouping at its edge. It was too far away to say for sure, but Thomas thought there were about a dozen of them. They were all dressed in black - just black, and huddled together for some time before breaking up and spreading out, starting towards the now-deserted cabin in a straggly line. Orson, Thomas and Tessie stood very still, hoping that somehow, they might miss being seen. They were too far away to be heard, and the trio watched the black line slowly and silently cross the snow-covered, rock-strewn landscape; standing as still as possible, hoping…
Orson went back to petitioning the sun.
One of the boys - he looked like the smallest of the lot, trailed quite a bit behind the others, and it was he who first saw the silent trio in the middle of the snowy-white desert. He yelled and pointed, and the others stopped and all turned to look at Orson and company. They came together in another huddle, and then, spreading out once again, began advancing: their sole intent the capture of the young boy who stood shivering in the snow, wet and frozen and scared. And very, very confused.
They had a definite target now, and the group of black-clad figures came on much faster than when approaching the cabin. Several times, in fascinated silence, Thomas saw one of them fall, but they always seemed to get up unhurt. He had so many questions he wanted to ask Orson, but of course couldn’t. The old man was busy anyway: alternating between pleading with the sun and cursing the approaching figures.
Time seemed to speed up and suddenly the group was just a hundred metres away. A taller boy, ahead of the others and obviously their leader, drew Orson’s attention, and in bitter disgust the old man spat his name: ‘Rudi!’, then added, softer - ‘little bastard.’ He started tapping his staff on the rock at his feet and after a quick look at the skies, entreated - in an almost hopeless voice - ‘Come on, Ariana, come on… Bring us some magic. Open the clouds...’
The boy halted twenty metres away. He was out of breath and stood with hands on his hips, head tilted slightly to one side, insolence on his pointy, spiteful face. He stood staring at the trio in silence, as in twos and threes his gang arrived, with hushed words, crowding in behind him. They were scavengers; quiet and waiting and staring at the smaller group with eyes like those of ferrets; looking for weakness, for an opening, for a chance to strike.
Orson spoke first, revulsion dripping from his voice, ‘Well, well, well… If it isn’t Kraylle’s dogs. With a jackal to lead them.’ He sniffed then - loudly. ‘I smelt you coming Rudi.’
The boys were all very pale, and Thomas saw their leader smart brightly crimson at the old man’s remark. He took several steps forward and pointed at Thomas. ‘We’ve come for him, Orson!’ he shouted, unnecessarily loud. ‘Kraylle wants him.’ The boy’s hair was the same dull black as his clothes, but oily and in need of a wash; his eyes were a strange yellow, like diluted mud. He took another step closer but made sure not to enter the circle cleared by the old man and the dog. Thomas noticed the crystal then: it hung from a thick silver chain around Rudi’s neck, and he felt it reach out to him: its evil cloying and almost palpable; its dark depths crawling with the murky worms of revulsion and disgust and hatred and evil.
‘You can’t have him, I’m afraid.’ Orson looked at Thomas and gave him a wink. The boy picked up on his false bonhomie though, and saw the concern in the shadows of his bushy grey eyes.
Orson looked at the cocky youth again. ‘I also have a boss you know,’ he said. ‘And she’d be terribly…most upset, if I came back without him.’ He smiled at Thomas and rested one hand on the boy’s sandy hair. The gesture - as simple as it was - made the youth feel infinitely better. Safer.
‘She might even force me into early retirement,’ Orson added, and his snort and giggle were so unexpected that one or two of the younger boys quickly stepped back in trepidation. Orson hiccupped and then, for a few seconds was quiet, gathering his thoughts once more.
When next he spoke, Thomas glanced up in surprise, for the old man’s voice dripped disgust (and hatred) once more. His eyes blazed with anger and his tone was dismissive - as if to a worrisome insect.
‘Go away now, Rudi. You,’ his waving staff encompassed all of the boys, ‘pollute the air of this nice place.’ He continued - softer, but terribly dangerous. ‘Go back to the hell you came from: before I hurt you.’
There was sudden fear in Rudi’s yellow eyes, and he backed up several paces to where his gang waited. Confidence bolstered then by the safety of numbers, he shouted again, and his voice was an angry screech, ‘There’s no sun Orson!’ He lifted his gaze and pointed, gloating: ‘And there will be none - not today.’
He turned away, and after gathering his followers around him, started giving instructions in a voice purposely loud. ‘I want all of you to spread out again - in a half-circle. You, Andre,’ he pointed at a red-headed boy slightly taller than the others. ‘You take the left point. Gerick,’ he pointed at another, ‘you take the right.’ Gerick - a dark-haired boy almost as tall as Rudi, nodded, then mumbled something.
‘I’ll stay back here,’ Rudi answered. A quick look at Orson put a tremor in his voice. ‘A General commands from behind his lines, not so?’ he justified. His only reply was a loud snort and a giggle from Orson, and Rudi went all red again. He gave the old man a venomous look, before turning to his gang once more. ‘In anyway,’ he added, cupping the black crystal on its chain, ‘I have to protect the crystal, don’t I?’ Still no reply and he became all flustered, and shouting again, ‘The rest of you,’ he waved at the boys. ‘Spread out between Andre and Gerick, and when I give the word, rush in and grab him.’ He pointed a finger at Thomas.
A small figure, whose tattered black uniform was much too big on him, asked something, and Rudi cast a spiteful look at Orson. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘Hit him with a rock or something. He’s half-dead anyway.’ His grin - pointy chin and yellow teeth - reminded of an evil rat, and was directed solely at Orson. Another question from another boy, and Rudi shifted his gaze to Tessie. ‘Kill the dog,’ he said, and then added, ‘If you can catch her.’ Smirking.
The look he received from Orson had Rudi swallow the rest of his words and take another few steps back. He avoided looking at the small group again: instead watched the black-clad boys fan out and form a wide half-circle around the cleared space occupied by Orson, Thomas and Tessie. Then - theatrically - he raised his arm and shouted, ‘When I drop my hand, you go. Kill the fossil and the dog, but get the boy and try not to hurt him.’ With a last spiteful smirk at Orson, and a sneered ‘Say goodbye, old man,’ he dropped his hand. The boys swarmed forward…
And the sun came out… and the air exploded. It boomed and reverberated with the sound of heavy thunder and seemed to shatter the overcast air into a million grey and silver shards. The crystal at the top of Orson’s
long staff had come alive and shone and shimmered and cast a multitude of colours; Hundreds of spheres as big as dinner-plates and in every colour of the rainbow suddenly floated on the perimeter of the cleared circle, shimmering and crackling, they hovered and jumped and bumped each other, and hummed with the intensity of a large generator.
Rudi was screaming. His arms wind-milled and he was hopping around. His voice carried fear - very real fear. ‘Back!’ he screamed. ‘Get back!! You’ll be cut in half!’
Most of the boys had already stopped and were watching the dancing circles with apprehension; but two or three - deafened by the sonic boom, were still advancing. They stopped when one - a boy of about eleven - reached out and touched a hovering red circle. It crackled and pulsed and spun in place, and he was thrown through the air like a rag doll, landing with a loud “oomph”, then rolling and stopping at Rudi’s feet, winded. With a terrified yelp he scrambled to his hands and feet, and - without waiting to regain his breath - on all fours, scuttled further away.
On the other side of the gambolling circles stood an old man, a boy and a dog. The boy was silently gaping and the dog grinning. The old man was hiccupping and giggling and snorting… and then shouting.
‘Give my regards to Kraylle, Rudi.’ He popped his eyes at the furious youth. ‘And tell him: never set a jackal against a lion!’
He lifted the staff as high as he could, but kept it vertical, then smashed it down. A shattering “crack” followed, and Thomas saw its wooden end go deep into the solid rock between Orson’s feet. The old man took the now free-standing shaft between his palms, and spun its gleaming wood; the multi-coloured circles first stretched - elongating and then moving in a big circle around the three of them; slowly at first, and then catching up with the turning crystal; then faster and faster until they formed a whirling, continuous, multi-coloured ring; then melding and suddenly a dazzling white light.
A blinding flash then… and Thomas felt himself plucked into the air, like being sucked in by a giant vacuum-cleaner.
*
Rudi stood in the centre of a perfect circle. It had a diameter of seven or eight metres. The solid rock under his feet had been sucked surgically clean. Nothing remained. Not a drop of snow or a speck of dust. He was staring at the hole made by Orson’s staff. It was about an inch wide and three or four deep; a wisp of smoke was leisurely curling from it. He was paler than usual and softly whispering to himself, ‘Oh man. Is Kraylle going to be angry…’
*****
Thomas was spinning. Like a top. He seemed to be inside a red tube, and then an orange and then a yellow one. Going fast: he could tell by the wind battering his face and rushing through his hair. Next to him Orson was flying like a bird - his arms spread and his black coat trailing and flapping behind him like a witch’s cloak. Thomas extended his own arms and his body slowly stopped twirling. The yellow tube turned green and then blue. He looked down, and saw a slowly spinning, sleeping Tessie at his feet; behind her a swirling white mass of snow speckled with small stones and dirt. He looked at Orson flying again and found the old man watching him with a bemused look on his face. The tunnel turned a very dark blue then, almost black, and for a minute, Thomas could see nothing at all. A soft purple light and then they were slowing down; and fell into a big pool of water.
It was clear and not cold at all, but Thomas’ wet clothes weighed him down, and he struggled and swallowed water before finding his feet. He stood and then turned in a circle, looking at his surrounds in wonder; the water came to just below his buttocks and the sun was shining and warm on his face. There were mountains in the background; and a cliff and a waterfall and a rainbow, and he was obviously dreaming again…
A few grown-ups and a lot of children stood on the pool’s one rocky bank. Tessie was with them; she’d just gotten out of the pool and was shaking and spraying everybody around her with water. Using the last of his strength, Thomas waded towards them.
A woman reached down and with surprising strength, grasped his hand and pulled him from the water. She wore a wide yellow summer’s dress and an apron, and her eyes were beautiful blue and kind. She hugged Thomas’ dripping-wet body to hers and said, ‘Oh, you poor thing…’ A screech interrupted her, and she looked back to the water, still holding Thomas. She watched for a few seconds, and then murmured, ‘Oh my, he’s really outdoing himself this time.’
Thomas turned back to the pool. Orson stood in the middle of it, his black coat floating around him like an oil-slick. His face was puce and his bushy grey hair wet and plastered to his scalp. He was holding one of his boots and pouring water from it, and screaming - at the water it seemed…
‘…the last time, Ariana! Do you hear me?! The last time! Look at my boots!! Ruined!’ He violently hurled the boot at the water, then began hopping up and down, whilst, with both hands, he attempted pulling the other off his foot.
He fell then: toppling slowly backwards and going under with only a small splash; and resurfacing: spluttering and cursing and triumphantly holding the other badly scuffed boot. ‘Ruined!’ he screamed, and hurled it at the water as well.
Next came the cap: he delved it out of one deep pocket and held it by its tassel, swung it, and hit the water with a resounding “WOP”, before also throwing it from him in disgust. ‘Ruined!’ he screamed.
And then the coat, and while the old man struggled and fought and swore his way out of the heavy, wet thing, Thomas heard some giggles and a chuckle or two from the spellbound audience. The fur had become waterlogged, and once out of it, without even trying to lift it, Orson merely, violently, pushed it under the water. And the dance started. Small pockets of air were trapped in its lining and pieces of the coat refused to stay submerged, simply reappearing after being pushed under. Thus slighted, Orson began jumping around and using his fists to push the offending parts under again, and his language was a terrible thing to hear. Small bits kept popping back up as soon as others went under, but finally, and after many hilarious minutes for the people watching, the coat stayed drowned.
When a panting and obviously exhausted, but not finished yet Orson, began wriggling his way out of the soaked and by-now-knee-length orange jersey, the woman mussed Thomas’ hair and said in a soft voice, ‘I think we’ve seen enough, don’t you?’
It hurt to even nod, and with her arm still around his shoulders, the two started away from the pool and its frenzied occupant. Thomas gave only a few steps before losing consciousness and Annie caught him as he fell.
5
There were children playing somewhere. A soft warm breeze carried their screams and laughter through the open window. The same breeze played lightly on the skin of Thomas’ back and made him burrow deeper under the sheet, seeking a return to the dreamless neverland he had just come from.
He heard talking - the voices muted and female, and somehow conveying a wonderful sense of security.
‘… and there he was. Right down to his long johns, sopping wet and totally exhausted… But still shouting at Ariana.’ Two voices laughed softly and the first continued: ‘Big John eventually fetched him out - fighting and still swearing…’ There was more laughter and Thomas opened his eyes.
He was in a girl’s bedroom. Or a woman’s. A large bedroom. Filled with girly things: frilly things and soft things, fluffy things and framed things. Things that looked nice and things that smelled nice. Crochet and needlework. And paintings and photos, and pillows and dolls.
There were dolls everywhere. The shelves, the couch and the large dressing-table were all filled with them - some sitting, some standing and some lying down. Fat ones and thin ones; raggedy ones and porcelain ones; pretty ones and ugly ones; plain ones, and ones with exquisitely painted faces.
The two women were sitting in big cushiony chairs: one the lady who had pulled him from the water, the other - younger - with thick yellow plaits and glasses. They both held needlework - the younger one was embroidering a large snowy-white cloth; the older was stitching the lining of what appear
ed to be Orson’s great black coat, part of which lay in her lap, but most of it simply bundled on the floor at her feet.
Thomas sat up and the sudden movement made both of them look up. Both smiled happy smiles; the older put aside her sewing and came to the bed, sat down on its edge and put a cool, soft hand on Thomas’ brow.
‘Are you feeling better, Thomas?’ she asked.
He nodded mutely, and she said, ‘Oh, you can talk if you want.’
Tentatively, he asked, ‘Where?’ and was surprised to find his voice worked; not just a whisper, but working properly. He asked, again, ‘Where…where am I?’ and his eyes dropped to his lap. The single sheet covering him was bundled at the top of his legs and he seemed to be wearing just a pair of pyjama bottoms. Laughter came through the open window again and Thomas’ eyes went there. The window was large, with some more dolls sitting on its sill; the sun shining through, cast a wide golden swathe of light across the bed. There were huge mountains in the background (no dream then, earlier). They were bigger than any he had ever seen, he wanted to get up and take a proper look, but movement drew his attention away. The younger woman was leaving; the door clicked and Thomas looked at the older one again.
Her blue eyes lay in a nest of laughing crinkles, her voice was kind and she said, ‘I am Annie. And that’, she glanced at the closed door, ‘was Anna-Fried. You can call her Frieda, though. Everybody else does.’ Happy laughter floated through the window and Annie smiled a happy smile. ‘You are in Rainbow’s End, Thomas,’ she said then. ‘And you are safe.’
Thomas looked through the window again - at the sunshine and the mountains. ‘In England?’ he asked. Puzzled.
Rainbow's End - Wizard Page 4