Rainbow's End - Wizard

by Mitchell, Corrie

  Joshi went to Izzy next, and the thin old Traveller held out his keychain. When Joshi took its dangling crystal between his fingers, it detached itself from the chain and he held it aloft - like the first.

  ‘We honour Fire,’ he said, and also like with the first, stepped forward and fit the crystal into its niche, a metre on. The fire behind it had not been lit and it stood in place - dormant.

  Joshi went back to the box for the third. He held it up.

  ‘We honour Air,’ he said. Its fire was lit, and when he put it to its niche, the crystal cast a yellow beam. The yellow and red combined and bathed the three on the rock in orange.

  The fourth was also in the box and Joshi held it up.

  ‘We honour Life.’ Its fire had not been lit, but when placed in its niche, the crystal glittered a sometimes elusive green.

  The fifth was in the box.

  ‘We honour Water,’ said the Magari. The flames behind it caused the crystal to cast a blue swathe across the rock and the combined glow around Thomas, Orson and Ariana became brown.

  Without being asked, Orson dropped the tip of his staff to Joshi, and the next crystal fell into his upturned palm. He held it up.

  ‘We honour the Dark,’ he said, and small voices repeated after him, ‘We honour the Dark.’ The beam it cast was a very dark blue-indigo; it turned the brown beam almost purple.

  The last crystal was lifted high.

  ‘We honour Light’, Joshi intoned, sliding it into the last slot. Its fire had not been lit and the Magari stepped back.

  Four triangular beams of different colours now lay across the polished surface of the circular rock - red, yellow, blue and indigo. They met at its centre; melding and bathing the three sitting and standing there in a dark, brownish-purple light. It was very quiet.

  *

  ‘Who sponsors this boy?’ Joshi’s voice sang and Thomas jumped.

  ‘I do.’ This from Orson, who unconsciously pulled in his little paunch, squared his shoulders, and pushed out his chest. He rested both of his hands on Thomas’ head.

  A ball of fire: the size of a large orange, and crackling with white-hot heat, appeared five or six metres above the circle.

  ‘And I,’ Izzy spoke up. The crowd whispered excitedly amongst themselves. It would be the first time ever a novice-Traveller would be sponsored by two adepts. The lanky Traveller stepped onto the platform and moved in behind Thomas. He put his hands on top of Orson’s and another ball of fire appeared, floating above, next to the first.

  ‘And who protects this boy?’ Joshi sang out.

  ‘I do.’ Ariana said, and her hands joined those of her two Travellers. A third fireball joined the others.

  Joshi lifted his eyes to the three floating balls and stretched his arms wide, palms facing up.

  ‘Then let it be!’ he shouted; his normally soft and beautiful voice, like a clap of thunder.

  One of the fireballs fell out of the air and scattered sparks as it hit the first unlit pile of stacked wood - its white-hot heat instantly igniting it and sending huge flames licking skyward. An orange beam pulsed through the first dormant crystal; it turned the light at the centre of the rock, a deep, murky colour.

  ‘Let it be!’ he shouted again, and the second ball fell from the sky, igniting the waiting wood in a ball of sparks and flame. The crystal in front of the fire projected a triangle of deep-green colour towards the platform centre, bathing Ariana, Orson, Izzy and Thomas in an unworldly, luminous, olive-green beige.

  ‘Let it be!’ Joshi shouted the third time. The last ball plunged out of the air and with a crackle of white sparks and a “whoosh!” that sucked the air from around it, ignited the last pile of wood. The final beam of light was violet. It took a few long, drawn out seconds, but the brownish-green haze that surrounded the goddess and the two Travellers, and the Traveller-to-be, swirled in a pattern not unlike dust motes; seeming to get lighter in colour by stages - fading to lime-green and then a very light-brown; then yellow - fading to creamy-white; and then, finally, just white.

  Thomas felt as if he was sitting in a bottle of milk - without the wet and the cold, and then the three pairs of hands moved on his head - covering its fore and its sides, and its back and its top. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Ariana close hers, and he heard, but couldn’t see Joshi bring his hands together in a resounding clap. He shouted - “Now!” into the night sky.

  The rock beneath him shook and Thomas’ body went limp, but six hands supported him tenderly between them - stopped him from falling.

  A brilliantly white, seven-sided pillar of light shot skywards, physically bursting through the thick foliage high overhead, and causing a mass of falling leaves. It climbed many kilometres into the star-strewn skies, and carried the image of a sitting Thomas, and the three adults surrounding him, like a photograph at its front.

  And two Travellers and a goddess, remembered and re-experienced a million things: acts, experiences, people, places, pictures, phrases, books, words, songs, languages; adventures, dangers, bits and pieces of wisdom; of do’s and don’ts, and what was and is and will be… Their hands moved on his head and they shared and gave it to the mind of young Thomas Ross.

  *****

  The hulking figure lounging in the chair of ice stirred, and then his black eyes flew open. He stood in a flurry of snow-white robes, his face a grotesque mask of fury. He screamed his anger and his hate at the cold dark walls of his castle, and the image he had perceived.

  In another passage in the same castle - in a room of his own and in a bed of his own, under clean blankets and fed, as close to content as he had ever been, lay Bryan Stone. He burrowed deeper into the warmth of his covers, lay listening in awe to his new master’s frenzied screams of ancient anger, and wondered what tomorrow would bring.

  20

  It was cold. Very cold. And Thomas had trouble breathing the thin air. But the view was worth it. The Tibetans called it Chomo Lungma. It meant “goddess mother”. Its common name was Mount Everest, and he and Orson sat on its highest tip. Before and around them stretched the Himalaya’s, the highest mountain range on the Earth. More than thirty of its peaks rose more than seven and a half kilometres into the sky, and many were visible to the two Travellers.

  Orson unwrapped the scarf from around his face. ‘We slept here once,’ he said. ‘It was the coldest night of my life... but Rose wanted to see the sun rise from the tip of Everest. And what Rose wanted - well... We brought a tent and little foldup beds, and sleeping bags and piles of blankets; thermos flasks of coffee and soup. It didn’t help much, but,’ and Orson smiled wryly, ‘she saw her sunrise.’ He said - softer: ‘The gods alone know what would have happened if there was cloud the next day and the sun invisible - if we couldn’t leave. We would certainly have died.’

  They sat looking at the view for a minute, and Thomas was struck by the total silence. The wind was slight, but high enough and cold enough to freeze in; the sun very sharp - unnaturally bright on the brilliant white of the surrounding peaks.

  ‘Did you love her very much, Orson?’ Thomas looked away - embarrassed by his own question.

  ‘She was my life,’ the old man answered, simply and with a small shrug.

  They stood and he punched the tip of his staff into the snow. They Travelled.

  *

  They were standing in the prow of a massive oil tanker. It was three or four football fields in length, and below them, its bow curved a huge wave out of the ocean.

  ‘Remember,’ said Orson. ‘If you miss and land in the sea - or a dam, or a river - you drown. And even if you manage to use your crystal, the water around you will be sucked up as well; you will be surrounded by millions of litres of it, and you will drown while you travel... Worse still - by the time it gets dark and the rainbow disappears, Rainbow’s End will have been flooded and will be no more. You will have destroyed it. As well as everyone living there.’ He gestured at the lumps of snow scattered around them; it had come with them from Everest,
and now lay melting on the steel underfoot. ‘Water,’ he continued, stooping to pick up a small stone, which he tossed far out into the sea, ‘unlike rocks and snow, is liquid, and the void created by the millions of litres sucked into the atmosphere, will simply be replaced by more, which in turn will be sucked up, continuously, until the sun goes down. Until the rainbow fades away...’

  There came a distant shout and they turned around. A small figure stood on the ships bridge, pointing to them and waving like mad. The staff slammed down. They Travelled.

  *

  They were in Giza - sitting on the very top of the Great Pyramid of Khufu. The Great Sphinx and the Pyramid of Khafre lay to the south. It was the biggest single structure ever erected on the Earth, said Orson. Almost a hundred and fifty metres high and built with two and a half million blocks of stone; each weighing two and a half tonnes.

  ‘Orson?’

  ‘Mm mmh?’

  ‘Why do we honour the dark?’

  The old Traveller’s look was serious. ‘It’s one of the Universal Elements, innit? Part of life.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Everything needs rest, Thomas. Plants, animals, humans, the soil. Dark is when they do it. Without it, there would be no life - everything would be scorched to a cinder.’ He sighed. ‘And isn’t it beautiful too?’ he asked. ‘Think of the moon and the stars; of Ariana’s symphony.’

  Several shouts and the sharp sound of a whistle blowing came from a crowd of tourists far below - pointing at them. They got to their feet and the staff slammed a small hole into the ancient stone. They Travelled.

  *

  It was a Sunday and the logging-operation closed for the day. Most of the workers had gone to bars and taverns in the nearby town; others to see their families. ‘Ten thousand hectares a day,’ said Orson. ‘That’s the rate at which man is destroying the Earth’s rainforests. Because of greed; his insatiable need for luxuries.’

  He glared, and a huge log - twenty metres long and four in diameter, one of a pile of six, rose slowly into the air, and like the blades on a helicopter, began rotating. It must have weighed many, many tonnes, and Thomas stood gaping as it picked up speed; whirling faster and faster, and creating wind that approached hurricane proportions. And then flew off… Spinning and slamming and wrecking and reducing to matchsticks, a dozen prefabricated buildings: offices and sleeping quarters… Speed undiminished, continued on its way, and smashed and crashed and tore into a bulldozer and three huge lorries parked in a fenced enclosure, causing Thomas to put his hands over his ears.

  ‘One of the pleasures of this job,’ said Orson, and there was a mad light in his grey eyes.

  Thomas goggled. ‘Can I also…?’

  The old man smiled. ‘Eventually, yes. Patience, Thomas.’

  They Travelled.

  *****

  ‘The Seven Crystals,’ said Joshi, ‘are the seven colours of the rainbow. As you have seen. They represent the Universal Symbols - as you have heard at your initiation.’

  Thomas, Ariana and the Magari were sitting on the Talking Rock - Joshi on the boy’s left, Ariana on his right. The frogs and the crickets were doing their thing, and the moon looked like a huge silver wheel, full of the grey-blue shadows of craters and holes. On the other side of the pool, strings of fireflies clung to dangling fern fronds, making wonder-wands of light that swayed slowly in the breeze and current.

  ‘Each colour also represents a level of strength… of expertise, I suppose you could call it.’ The ancient “Keeper of the Keys” melodious voice turned stern. ‘They are all to be handled with; all to be treated with, the utmost care. The utmost respect. They can save your life, and those of others, and probably will.’ He paused. ‘They can also help you destroy…’ Joshi’s voice took on a disapproving tone, ‘as you’ve seen Orson do.’

  Thomas nodded and Ariana spoke up.

  ‘Orson is very headstrong, Thomas. He has a mind of his own, and once it has been made up, nothing and nobody will change it. He takes his time, but once he’s come to a decision, it is final.’ She reached across Thomas’ front, and put her hand over Joshi’s small ones, which lay in his lap. ‘So does Joshi… He also has a mind of his own, I mean. He does not agree with some of the things Orson does - some of the methods he uses.’ She smiled, and then continued, ‘Keep in mind that the Magari - the race from which Joshi comes - had… has a very different way of life, Thomas. A very different view of life. Joshi is against any sort of violence, any violent act: be it against man or machine. He is very idealistic.’ She squeezed the hairy little man’s hand and gave a soft laugh. ‘Orson on the other hand, is more realistic. At least that is what he will tell you. No matter. After a hundred Earth years of Travelling he’s entitled to his views. He has enough experience to justify them.’ She was silent for a long minute, then said, ‘I will take no sides. No two beings are the same. Joshi is my Ghandi; Orson my Napoleon. And I love them both.’ She looked at Joshi again and the old Magari turned his face away.

  A minute later he said, softly, ‘You humble me, my queen.’

  ‘I do not mean to, Joshi,’ Ariana replied, and reaching past Thomas again, squeezed his hands a second time.

  The last of the Magari nodded, and then looked up at Thomas, who was two heads taller than him. He almost imagined that he could see the green of the boy’s eyes in the moonlit dark. He took a pouch from one of his white robe’s wide sleeves. ‘This is for you, Thomas.’

  The pouch was of leather, and when Thomas opened it, its contents wrapped in velvet. A small ball of fire, the size of an orange, appeared above Joshi’s turned-up hand. He blew softly on it, and it moved to Thomas and hovered in front of him, casting a small spotlight on his lap. He rolled open the velvet, and inside, a crystal sparkled, its core an elusive red in the flickering light.

  Thomas stared at Joshi - speechless, and when the small figure gave him a kindly smile, croaked, ‘Mine?’

  Joshi nodded. ‘For the time being,’ he said. ‘All Travellers start with the Red,’ he said. ‘It is the first and requires the least expertise. When you are ready - depending on your progress and your prowess - in a few years probably, you will progress to orange. Then yellow, then green and later, maybe blue. Most Travellers stop at Green. It is enough for them; for their needs and capabilities. Only five have gone on to Blue. You have met three of them. The other two have gone back… Only one has seeked Indigo. None the Violet.’

  Thomas’ look was questioning and Ariana came into the conversation again - knowing his questions.

  ‘The Travellers Joshi refer to are Chester, Kristin and Gwendolynne, Thomas. The other two were Maritza and Leonard. They have both “gone back”.’

  She knew his next question as well. ‘“Going back” means they chose to live out the rest of their years back on the Earth.’

  ‘It is allowed?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘Of course.’ Ariana frowned.

  Thomas looked to Joshi again. ‘You said my next crystal would be Orange, but doesn’t that belong to Izzy?’

  ‘The crystals “belong” to no one Thomas. They simply become part of a Traveller for as long as needed. They add to… one’s life. Make one stronger. The question of the Orange Crystal will be dealt with when the time comes.’

  The Magari smiled. ‘And the answer to your last question is Orson,’ he said. ‘He is the only Traveller ever to take the Indigo Crystal, and the strongest Traveller that ever was.’ His smile was kindly. ‘He is also, although I might disagree with his methods sometimes,’ and here Joshi smiled at Ariana; ‘He is also the best person to instruct you in the crystal’s use,’ he finished.

  *****

  Thomas fell hard - almost winding himself. Orson landed on his feet - gracefully and haughtily dignified (as suited a Traveller of his stature).

  ‘You have to slow down in time, Thomas. If you don’t, and land the wrong way, you will break your leg - or legs.’

  Thomas looked at him. Orson’s woollen cap was pulled low over his ears, and hair poked out f
rom under its brim in fluffy clumps of grey. His large nose was red with cold.

  ‘Has anybody?’ Thomas asked. ‘I mean, have any of the Travellers ever broken a leg?’

  ‘Plenty.’ Orson grinned. ‘Your co-sponsor Izzy included. He broke his right leg twice in his first year. I still wonder if that’s not the real reason he quit.’ He gave a snort and a cackle and a hiccup, and filed his last remark away for future use.

  ‘Anyway.’ Sniffed. He took a thick package from under his coat and began shaking it open. It was a large plastic sheet. ‘Always,’ Orson huffed, ‘bring one of these with you if you know you are going to land in snow.’ He glared at the icy plain on which they stood. ‘It prevents you from taking half of Antarctica’s snow with you when you leave.’

  The sheet was thin, round and six metres across. They walked to its centre and Orson looked at the crystal dangling from a long golden chain around Thomas’ wrist.

  ‘Let’s try the Sahara this time,’ he said.

  *

  ‘There.’ They were slowing down and Orson pointed to a spot of sand, which appeared lighter in colour than its surrounds. Thomas concentrated and that’s where they landed.

  ‘If you can control where you land, why do you land in the water every time you return to Rainbow’s End?’ he asked Orson, brushing sand from his still-wet-with-snow pants legs.

  ‘Because the Rainbow Pool is where the rainbow starts innit? Where it ends, you can decide, but its beginning is in the pool. It cannot be moved.’ Orson frowned. ‘Ariana can bend it if she wants. She does when we leave. But to do it when you return, she has to monitor you all the time. She has to know exactly when you would arrive.’