Rainbow's End - Wizard

by Mitchell, Corrie

  But most of all - he is a good boy. Make of him a good man, Orson. Help him find himself. Help him find his destiny.

  In closing, I want to remind you of something. You have been alone for sixteen years. I, thirty-two.

  I know we will meet again, my love, but until then - remember me as I used to be.

  Only yours

  Roshalee…

  *****

  The door said “Thomas” in garish green but the little girl could not read. Neither could she reach its handle, but after a lot of stretching - and wishing - it lowered itself, and she opened the door, went inside and then closed it behind her. The bed offered the same problem, but after some more stretching and wishing, its one side sagged lower and she clambered on top and then beneath its covers. Then, hugging her doll tighter and one thumb in her mouth, Maggie closed her eyes and went back to sleep. Next to a dead-to-the-world Thomas.

  16

  The wind was screaming across the barrenness of Desolation. Bryan Stone stood outside the stark grey walls of Kraylle’s Castle, looking across the flat expanse of rock that stretched as far as the ever-present moons allowed him to see.

  His clothes were brand new, black and warm; but even the black, ankle-length fur coat Kraylle had given him, couldn’t stop the bitterly cold wind from finding gaps and openings; its icy breath reminded Bryan Stone that he was alive. He hadn’t given up his boots; they, together with thick woollen socks, kept his feet snug and warm. He wore no head covering and when he turned his face to the unfamiliar skies above, the wind snapped at it with frigid breath, but not a grain of sand or stone. All of those had been swept away aeons ago.

  He shouted into space and his voice was carried away so fast, it might never have been. For the first time in years, he felt happiness, at home; and when he walked back to the castle, the massive figure of Kraylle stood watching from its arched entrance. The demi-god’s coal-black eyes wore a look of sardonic boredom, but when Bryan said, ‘I like it here,’ a glimmer of approval flickered in their depths.

  Desolation’s barren bitterness suited his soul, and Bryan Stone knew he was home.

  *****

  Annie, Frieda, John and Arnold were having dinner together. They did this every two weeks or so. One - to discuss recent events on Rainbow’s End; and two - because they liked to. It was late, and most of the younger children were already in their rooms, or in the dorm, sleeping. Some of the older boys were watching the night sky from the benches outside, talking about the day’s adventures; and some of the older girls were shopping in the huge warehouse - trying on dresses and fur coats and hats and shoes and wigs and jewellery.

  The dining room had only one table tonight: round with place for four, with comfortable chairs designed for a relaxing eating experience. The lights were very dim and shadowy photos of famous restaurants graced the walls: Gigi’s, Le Escargot, Beefeaters, Little Louis, The Rooftop and Anna-Belle’s.

  Entrée was a choice between fried calamari, snails sautéed in garlic, or devilled potato skins. The main course: Spare Ribs with an apricot sauce, a mini seafood platter, or crumbed fillet steak. John had them all. Salad was melon and paw-paw halves, carved into intricate shapes and stuffed with tomato and lettuce, onions and green peppers, baby potatoes and mushrooms, beans and peas, and bits and pieces of cold meats and cheese, and mayonnaise and sour cream and freshly ground black pepper… Dessert: ice-cream. With custard and fresh or canned fruit, or chocolate or caramel or…whatever. You choose.

  Arnold, in a “If you like the food, Kiss the Chef” T-shirt, spent more time in the kitchen than at the table; and every time he was thanked by either John or Annie, gave a grave nod (accepting their accolade - as any great chef would…). Frieda’s praise was received in a totally different manner. His spiky moustache tips started quivering and jumping, he wrung his hands, and the skin from his neck on up took on a cherry-red hue.

  When they had finished their long meal and thanked Arnold yet again, and were on their way out; John took the chef’s chubby face between his large hands, and without a word leaned forward and gave him a kiss. Right on the mouth. The three of them trooped out: Annie and Frieda holding on to each other in uncontrollable laughter, and John with a straight and pious face; leaving a stunned Arnold with bulging eyes and gaping mouth, like a fish out of water.

  *****

  The knock on Annie’s door was soft but urgent, and when Frieda came in, her face wore a worried frown. ‘I can’t find Maggie,’ she said.

  Annie gave her a reassuring smile. ‘She’ll be with the other children, Frieda. She’s safe. And nothing will help her forget as quickly as playing with other children - even if they are a bit older.’

  Frieda’s frown disappeared, but she bit her lower lip and her eyes were still worried. ‘Are you sure?’ she asked, not at all sure herself.

  Another smile and Annie put her hand against her friend’s cheek. ‘Very sure, Frieda,’ she said. ‘Now go to bed and dream of your gastronomic genius.’

  Frieda blushed, but managed a giggle as she pulled Annie’s door shut.

  *****

  And Rainbow’s End slept.

  The dwarves made music and drank, while Jason danced. The giant spirits of the Magari walked in the Magic forest and sang to the trees; the fairies flitted from tree to tree - looking for someone or something to annoy with their mischief.

  And a lonely young woman: with the heart of a young woman, but memories as old as the universe, and powers beyond her ken, sat on a tongue-shaped rock and looked at the star splattered sky. And wondered, if ever… And dreamed…

  And Rainbow’s End slept.

  17

  ‘My mommy’s dead,’ said the little girl with the unruly hair.

  Thomas lay looking at her for a long minute, still half asleep and very surprised at waking up and finding Maggie in bed with him. She had wished the curtains open and was sitting against the bed’s padded headboard, clutching her doll and watching the snow fall outside the large window. She looked at him, and whatever Thomas saw in her pansy-blue eyes, had him reply - ‘So is mine.’

  When Frieda knocked on his door an hour later, worriedly looking for Maggie, Thomas thought it open, and the relieved woman found the two children sitting up in bed - their backs against pillows stacked against its headboard, drinking from mugs of cocoa and talking animatedly while watching it snow.

  *****

  The building lay to the south of London’s central business district and was eighteen storeys high. It had been built ten years after the Second World War; by the Rainbow Trust, and was called The Rainbow Building - what else?

  Izzadore Greenbaum, its owner by proxy, and president of the companies housed in it, stood on its roof outside the penthouse in which he lived, and waited for the sun. It had just gone half past ten - tea time for the many employees working (and some living) in the building - and the sun was still blocked by some of the other, higher buildings.

  But after forty years of Travelling, he was used to waiting, and at last, the golden ball emerged from behind some buildings to the east, its rays weakened by the city’s almost ever-present smog. Izzy lifted his arm and started whirling his keychain…

  An overweight woman with frizzy purple hair, whose name was Suzie and who worked in a building across the street, sat watching the old man (whom she supposed to be the buildings janitor), swing something resembling a slingshot above his head. She was enjoying her third chicken-egg-mayonnaise sandwich, and one of her colleagues had to hastily perform the Heimlich Manoeuvre when she choked on it.

  She was sent home in a taxi, in shock, after gibbering something about a skinny old man vanishing into thin (albeit dirty) air.

  Later - when speaking to her doctor - Suzie’s superior, in whispered but urgent conversation, requested him to lower the strength of her blood-pressure medication.

  *****

  ‘The first two and the last two pages,’ he said.

  It was early enough for the willow to still drip a la
st few raindrops that had fallen a couple of hours ago. They were sitting side by side on the Talking Rock, and Ariana held Rose’s letter in her hands, her concerned gaze on Orson’s haggard, red-eyed face.

  ‘Are you sure, Orson?’ she asked softly, feeling his hurt.

  The Traveller nodded, and looking away, said in a gruff voice: ‘Read it, Ariana. The first two and the last two pages.’

  Ariana stared at the back of Orson’s head for a few more seconds, and then, with a soft sigh, let her eyes drop to Rose’s elegant script, printed on the scented paper held between her fingertips. She began reading very slowly, savouring every word, making it last.

  Orson sat with his hands in his lap, his fingers entwined, his legs dangling and his feet inches above the water. He was leaning forward and staring at his reflection: on his face a miserable and unhappy look. The finch was quiet for a change; the burbling little waterfall splashing into the top of the pool, the only sound for once.

  It took her an inordinately long time - reading some of the sentences twice and even three times. She read between the lines as well… feeling her friend Rose. Hearing her voice and hearing her laugh, hearing her cry... Feeling her heartbreak. By the time Ariana had finished the letter, she was crying softly, and Orson put his arm around her shoulders - hugging her as only her father could.

  He wanted to weep with her, but he had no tears left.

  *****

  There were already children playing - running and splashing and chasing each other around the seven pillars of colour; some others drifting and paddling around the bottom of the waterfall on large inner tubes salvaged from Izzy’s many lorry wrecks. Some of the boys were loudly planning a fishing expedition for later in the day, and some of the girls showing off the swimming suits they had gotten themselves out of the store the previous night. Breakfast had only been an hour ago, and it was too early yet to seriously wish for ice-cream, cold-drink, or any other snacks.

  They were all very surprised, and one smaller girl gave a frightened squeal, when a thoroughly drenched Izzy came stumbling out of the Rainbow, his mohair coat looking tattered and streaming water. He smiled apologetically to everyone and took off his solid gold and diamond-studded Rolex, which he had forgotten to replace with a cheaper watch that morning. It would never work again, and he absentmindedly gave it to the gaping girl. His calf skin loafers squelched wetly when he stepped out of the water and he stood on the pool’s bank for a few seconds - combing his bedraggled hair with his fingers and thinking himself instantly dry, then headed for Ariana’s Pool.

  *****

  There were three newspaper clippings, and Ariana read them carefully. The first was Roshalee Ross’ obituary, confirming what they already knew of Thomas’ origins; the second about the body of a young woman that had been found at a bus stop shelter, dead from a drug overdose; and the third about a £20 000 reward offered by the grandmother of a little girl called Margaret (or Maggie) Carter, who had gone missing from the place her mother had been found dead at.

  After reading them, Ariana was silent for some time, staring towards where the water burbled through the split in the cliff wall - lost in thought. Then the finch and his mate started screeching at each other and she said, ‘She will have to go back of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ Izzy nodded. He thought of Frieda. ‘But there’s no hurry, is there? I would like to make some enquiries about Mrs. Carter senior when I go back.’

  ‘I know about Frieda and Maggie, Izzy.’

  The thin old man turned pink above his stark-white shirt collar. ‘Of course you do,’ he said. ‘I forget.’ Then added, ‘I will also phone Mrs. Carter, and tell her Maggie is safe and very happy, and will be home soon.’

  Ariana nodded, satisfied for the moment, and they went on to other matters.

  They were on the Talking Rock - Izzy with a large handkerchief spread beneath the pants-seat of his restored-to-glory Brooks Brothers three piece suit, his coat neatly folded across his knees, listening while Ariana brought him up to date on what had transpired at Rainbow’s End during his short absence. And then he turned to her and gaped, disbelievingly.

  ‘He’s what?’ he croaked.

  Ariana grinned. ‘He’s a grandfather,’ she said.

  Izzy’s eyes lit up - first with wonder, and then delight.

  ‘Oh man,’ he said softly, ‘Are we going to have a party.’

  The thought that Deborah and he had left Rainbow’s End, when it was possible to have children there, only came to Izzy later. But, as he reflected, everything has a reason. It was a choice he made. A choice that had made him a very, very happy man.

  *****

  They were in Thomas’ room and both sitting on his bed. It was Izzy’s turn to page through the album, and Thomas read Grammy’s obituary while he did. The boy finished first and sat watching the lanky Traveller’s face as he turned the pages. He saw recognition, joy, and also sadness, and when Izzy had finished he took the album from him and reopened it to the back page, then carefully inserted the neatly cut-out article into the space previously occupied by Orson’s envelope.

  ‘Thank you, Izzy,’ he said softly, and the older man’s hand was soft on his arm.

  ‘You are welcome, Thomas,’ he replied. When he left, he paused with his hand on the doorknob. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘Ariana asked me to remind you of your appointment tonight.’

  *****

  Orson saw him coming and got out of the hammock when Izzy crossed the bridge. He stood waiting as Izzy came up the steps; calling him an “Old Goat” and slapping him so hard between the shoulder blades, he staggered. His face turned crimson, and his wart a deep purple, but he looked inordinately pleased with himself.

  They both made themselves creakily at home on the time-worn top step, and after some companionable silence, while they stared across the stream and into the woods, Orson and Izzy began sharing memories.

  Of earlier days: days with Deborah and Rose. They laughed together, and hid their tears and sadness from each other.

  And then went inside for a drink...

  *****

  She was waiting when Thomas arrived at her pool. The sun was just setting: slowly sinking below the far-off tree tops of the Petrified Forest. It gave Ariana, barefoot and in a white dress, a soft golden aura, and together they stood watching the Rainbow - just a few hundred metres away and on the other side of a line of trees - say goodnight. Its coloured pillars seemed to take on a softer, hazier shade - the orange and red becoming a thick orangey-pink; yellow got thinner; green and blue combined and became a broad light green; violet faded but stayed visible until the whole suddenly - in the blink of an eye it seemed - was gone. She smiled with pleasure and then Ariana turned to Thomas and said, ‘Let’s walk.’

  They crossed the upper bridge and followed the main stream down from the Rainbow Pool towards the Gem - and other pools; their path lit by the moon - a huge white cheese - and a million stars. Frogs were croaking, crickets tuning their instruments, a fish splashed in the Fishing pool - the music of the night.

  They talked of Maggie, Gary, and the other children; of Big John and Annie, of Frieda and Arnold; of Izzy and of Thomas’ two visits to Orson. Of Travelling.

  They sat down on the bench next to Big John’s pool, and Ariana said, ‘So you know… Orson told you what Travelling is and what being a Traveller is all about? What they do, and how?’

  Thomas hesitated before answering. ‘Not all of it,’ he said. ‘He just gave me an idea… About how it’s done… The crystals, the dangers.’ He was quiet for a few seconds, reflecting, then smiled. ‘I think he tried to scare me.’

  Ariana nodded. ‘He did. And you should be.’ She looked at Thomas, the dark hid her eyes. ‘Being scared is sometimes a good thing, Thomas. It makes you stop to think. It makes you careful. If you remember that, it will save your life. And those of your charges. Many times. Sometimes without you realizing it. She paused, ‘I am not saying be a coward, but a man who does not scare, is a fool. A
nd fools die young.’

  The goddess got up. ‘Now come. We are going to a party.’

  They crossed the lower bridge and could hear the singing long before they got to Orson’s cottage. They didn’t go in, but sat on the bridge outside, swirling their feet in the water and listening to the two old Travellers sing one of Lionel Ritchie’s songs.

  ‘All night long,’ Orson’s croak shattered the night.

  ‘We’re gonna have a party, yeah,’ Izzy shrilled loudly.

  ‘All night long, all night, all night…’ The mix of bombastic bass and shivering soprano was frightening; followed by a lot of giggling and cackling and the clinking of glass.

  18

  They stood at the side of the Rainbow Pool and when Orson twirled his staff, the green beam reached out and plucked Thomas and him into the air. Gone. To North America. To Alaska...

  The day before, a poor family’s cabin had blown up in an explosion caused by a gas leak. The father, a single parent, was killed instantly; his two young sons, aged seven and nine, had been out on a nearby lake, ice fishing, and only returned after being alerted by the “boom” of the explosion. Apart from their father, all of their possessions - meagre as they were - had been destroyed. Worst of all, their store of food. They were almost two hundred kilometres north and east of Fairbanks, which was a moot point really, as their only link with it and the rest of civilisation, a VHF radio, had also been destroyed.

  They only saw other people four times a year; just once in winter, due to the unpredictable weather - the bush pilots who delivered their groceries and other essentials, and brought them mail. They would be around in a week or two from then, not because of a scheduled delivery, but because of the father’s failure to call in his weekly report to the weather authorities, for whom he worked.