Magic Parcel (7 page)

In the gloaming, the harsh, sharp outline of the seat of despair, last bastion of a world of doom and fear, appeared out of the gloom. Instinctively, Jimmy clutched at the parcel he still had under his coat. As they approached the last steps to an uncertain end, feeling it would be important, he thrust it from him into the split trunk of a gnarled and knotty oak which stood sentinel on the borders of an ancient wooded area below where the castle had come to rest.

He was only just in time. The immeasurably thick steel gates of Seth's Castle clanged shut behind them, sealing them off from the outside world.

With that last desperate clang, their world closed in on them, changing from one of sunlight and breezes to a half world of shadows, darkness and silence. It was a darkness so complete, the eyes began to feel as if they had
never
witnessed the blessed sun or those millions of winking dots at night. And silence; a deep, thick, brooding silence which wrapped itself around them. With it came the smells, which tantalised and tempted them with their favourite treats beyond imagination. Promises of whatever they wished for were laid before their eager minds. But whenever they were about to become reality, as soon as their aching mouths and stomachs were about to taste those inviting morsels, their teeth sank into empty air. As they hadn't eaten properly for quite a long time, their disappointment at missing out on what promised to be a delicious meal was understandable.

The silence didn't reign for long. Quietly at first, but increasing in intensity and volume, a voice took shape in their heads, growing in their minds until it was all they could hear.

“Welcome to my realm,” it said quietly with that deceptively honeyed tongue of an insincere host. “You are guests in a place from where there is no return and in which all exits are entrances.”

“But, how can we be guests if ...?” blurted out Jimmy in reply, he was rewarded by having an enormous invisible hand flapped across his mouth making it rather difficult to hold a conversation. What he
had
been going to ask was how could they be
guests
and
welcome
when they couldn't come or go as they pleased
,
but the chance had passed as quickly as all thoughts of food had evaporated.

The voice stopped, to be replaced by insistent, probing, searching fingers in their minds seeking out all information about their origin, their reasons for being there. Then, inadvertently, it was out! The parcel! The hint of the existence of such an object directed the questioner's full attention onto Jimmy.

“What was this ‘parcel'? What was it for?”

Answers were gradually coaxed from the little boy as he felt his inner-will crumble before such a sustained onslaught.

“Where is this ‘parcel' now?” the Questioner insisted. “It must be found! It has to be found for the greater good of all!”

Its whereabouts were almost revealed, when Jimmy felt a surge of power wax inside his small being, before which the Questioner faltered and hesitated, unsure of this new determined obstacle. The question was put again, more forcefully this time, but the resistance was equal to it. For an instant the full power of its fury was turned against this ... this microscopic ... thing which had had the insolence to resist the Questioner of the Glorious Lord of Seth. Jimmy, although reinforced and supported mentally by some force outside of his understanding, was no match for such a great magician's wrath and was knocked to the floor by the intensity of his attack.

As quickly as it had appeared, the Power changed direction and was gone, giving its attention to some other field, leaving Jimmy dazed and exhausted from its suddenness. Slowly, painfully, he dragged himself to a sitting position, rubbing his head, and, for the first time since they had entered that cursed place, they could see. This world was set in a dim mistiness, which made the eyes tired and seeing very difficult, and was populated by shadows and flitting, indistinct shapes.

“You all right, Jim?” Tommy asked in a hoarse whisper.

“I ... I think so,” Jimmy replied, vainly rubbing his eyes with his knuckles in an attempt to clear the fog from his head. “I'm ever so tired - and hungry. I wish we were back home with some of those bangers and bacon Mum always cooks on ... what day is it, Tom?”

“Dunno,” Tommy replied, scratching his head, “but my stomach tells me it's ages since we last ate. I'm starved.”

It all became clear - startlingly, painfully, desperately clear - as the mistiness vanished, leaving the brothers shocked and frightened.

Four walls, each of un-guessable thick black stone, had sprung at them from out of uncertainty, and, topped by a ceiling somewhere above their heads, they completed a dark room which proved to be their prison. A single window, three metres or so from the ground, allowed watery rays from some alien sun to bring a tiny glimmer of hope through the thick mesh covering the opening. All hope, however, was squashed when their gaze lighted on the door, which seemed to be an extension of the walls. Black, sombre, encrusted with years of damp and dirt, its only decorations were enormous, rusted iron studs and a tiny grille opening near to its top.

Too frightened to cry, Jimmy edged closer to his brother who, as old as he was, was glad of the feeling of security the closeness of his brother provided.

 

“Tommy?” Jimmy asked, his voice falling from his mouth with a curiously deadened sound. “Will we
ever
get out? You see, Mum doesn't know about Isaac, my gerbil, yet, and before long he'll need feeding, and besides ...” His voice faltered even though he was bravely trying to sound unworried, “...
I'm
hungry.”

“Well, I...” Tommy started, but was drowned by the grating clunk of several bolts on the outside of the door being slid open. The ensuing creak of protesting hinges fixed their unblinking eyes on the gradually increasing outline of light around the doorframe. Not knowing what to expect, they were frozen as the door slowly opened; like the jaws of some preying beast.

 

 

 

“Oh my head, my head!” Dominic groaned as he cradled his face in his cupped hands, still sitting on the floor.

The darkness in the garden had cleared almost, leaving one or two pockets of grey mist still stubbornly refusing to disperse. The sun's rays finally, after a long battle, had managed to thrust their way through the murk to re-warm and reawaken the land.

“Fear not, Dominic,” a familiar voice cut through the uncanny silence. “The danger is past.”

The young boy's head jerked up, a look of surprise dancing in his eyes.

“Tarna!” he finally blurted out. “How did you get here? You were out in the Settlement last I heard of you.”

“The Chieftain saw troubles coming from afar. We came through as quickly as we could,” Tarna answered briefly. “You we were able to save, but we came too late for the Otherworldlings. The Senti have them in their foul clutches, and by now they'll be in Seth's ‘gentle' care. Their prisoners and their purpose were obviously known to them for they were taken with the least fuss. You they didn't want, but you would have lost your head had we not cut through them in time.”

Dominic, forgetting his troubles and pain and glad to be able still to feel the luxury of a headache, gave out an involuntary shudder of horror and revulsion as his brother led him inside.

“But what about the Brothers?” Dominic asked as soon as they were settled in to his quarters. “Is there nothing we can do?”

“Nothing,” was the quiet but definite answer from the older boy. “Once in Seth's hands, there is
no
escape. They are, I'm afraid, on their own. Any help they get must come from within, and Seth's power is ... well, look what happened to Father.” His voice tailed off, leaving a deep silence in the room, which was usually bright and airy and full of the smells and sounds of nature filtering in from the garden close by.

The effects of a Seth presence were a long time wearing away, leaving the very fabric of a place steeped in his evilness.

“There is perhaps ... no, it's not possible,” Tarna continued in a half-aside, talking quietly, almost to himself, with a distant look on his face.

“Go on!” said Dominic eagerly, wanting above all to help the two brothers whose friendship he courted for a fleeting moment. “You said ‘perhaps'. Is there some way...?”

“Well, yes, there may be,” Tarna replied hesitantly. “It's just possible - only
just
possible mind you - that the Old Man of the Mountains might be able to help.”

“But ... he's ...” Dominic stammered, eyes narrowing in disbelief and a little fearful at his brother's suggestion. The Old Man had lived only in legends - a figment to frighten small boys who wouldn't behave; a shadow which sat at the back of the mind or around behind the door in a dark room.

“Yes, I know,” answered Tarna. “He's been told of only in stories for hundreds of years, but there are ways of summoning the help of this spirit; yes, don't be startled, his spirit lives! If it is dealt with in the right way, it can be turned to good. It is not the evil storytellers would have us believe. We must ...”

The midday bell interrupted Tarna, summoning all in earshot to the table for the afternoon repast. Reluctant to leave but not able to resist, the brothers set off down the linking corridor to their family dining area.

Resplendent in his ‘king' robes, their father squatted on a raised throne-like seat at the head of the great oval table, and, as his elder son entered, the area above his enormous globe-like eyes, where there would normally have been brows, wrinkled upwards in his one show of surprise.

“We are honoured indeed,” Oompah croaked in semi-mock seriousness, “to have one so important to take meat at our humble table. Were we able to make it, our bow would be of the lowest and most respectful for the occasion.” He broke off to incline his bulbous head and sweep his long thin arm across his chest in illustration of his words. Tarna's only response was a slight lowering of the chin and setting his lips into a line of restraint, for he knew his father's wit of old. If he were to allow it, he could so easily be drawn into the old verbal jousts he remembered with a wince. He had come with a need for food not for exchanges to help sharpen his father's wit nor alleviate the boredom of his short fat prison.

“We were attacked by the Senti, Father,” Dominic said through a mouthful of bread and honey.

“That's impossible!” Oompah blurted out. “There is no way they could have entered the Fortress.”

“Impossible it may be,” Tarna said not wanting to miss his opportunity, “fact it certainly is. They were ‘directed', knowing what they wanted, and so shrugged aside your defences without engaging them. They carried off their prize - the two Otherworldlings.”

“If that is all they came for, and took,” Oompah went on with visible relief, “then we can be thankful they found nothing more useful.”

“You don't seem to understand,” Tarna insisted quietly. “Those two boys could turn out to be a very costly ‘useless' package. They have something of enormous value that Seth obviously desires greatly, but what that is, I cannot perceive just yet. The Chieftain has encountered a blockage; a thick impenetrable mist shrouding the whole episode which he cannot pierce. He feels that if Seth discovers that which he desires, we may as well go back to hiding in caves so swift and total will be his victory.”

 

The table company fell silent, not wishing to heed Tarna's words but not being able to avoid them. His prophecies were too real, and too close to be comfortable, and the one thing no one there wished to have disturbed was his comfort. Such talk should be confined to fairy tale telling by the fire on a cold winter's evening when all was safe in its cocoon of make-believe.

Oompah ate slowly, deliberately, that great cavernous jaw making it very difficult to chew the smaller morsels. As he dined, his mind ran back to the times before he had this ... this abominable curse to carry around with him, to the time when he was dressed in human form. As these thoughts ran through his mind, a wave of bitterness and hate for his curser rippled through his body, taking him almost to the point of despair; despair of ever being human again.

Then a sound, clear and fresh, cut through the depression, dispelling the gloom, and breathing a welcome breeze of spring into their lives. A lark had risen, sending out its fluid tones of happiness through the world. The King's warty face changed slowly, his eyes twitching towards the sound which set even his flapping feet moving in time with its message of joy. He heaved his ungainly body out of the chair and half-hopped, half-waddled across to an open window where his eyes strained to find the bird. By this time it had become a dot, a mere speck in the white-flecked blue sky above.

“That's it then,” he croaked, turning away from the outside world, a new light of determination burning in his eyes. “Something must be done. We
will
sort out this upstart; this... this... Seth. The Wizard of the Enchanted Wood must be summoned and consulted, and ...”