Welcome to this small webpage with some information about The Magic Lands by Mark Hockley.
Here you will find the first two chapters of the novel, just to give you an idea of what to expect. But be warned! The story becomes much darker as it goes on. It is not recommended for younger readers, despite appearances!
PART ONE
THE ROAD OF DREAMS
The road is cruel and dark, my friend.
1. HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS
2. AT THE END OF THE GARDEN
3. THE LAW OF THE LAND
4. THE OLD WAYS
5. THE GIRL WITH THE GOLDEN HAIR
6. RETURN FROM THE PAST
7. WHITE MAGIC
8. REAL MAGIC
9. DREAMS ARE FOR DREAMERS
10. THE FORK IN THE ROAD
11. THE SEA OF TEARS
12. RITH-RAN-RO-EN
13. THE WAY THROUGH
HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS
The school bell rang.
Tom sprang up out of his seat and made for the classroom door. The world beyond the drab walls of his history class beckoned to him.
"Thomas Lewis!" thundered the voice of Miss McMasterson.
Tom stopped reluctantly, slowly turning to face the scowling features of his teacher. He was an undistinguished looking boy of medium height and build, with a mop of russet hair that never seemed to do as he asked it to. His cheeks coloured as several of his classmates smirked at him.
"And where may I ask," she began, looking him up and down as if he were diseased, "do you think you are going?"
Tom shuffled uncomfortably where he stood, halfway between his desk and the beckoning doorway. "Eh…home miss.”
Miss McMasterson leaned forward, her pallid face a mask of displeasure. “It will not do,” she intoned. "will not do at all."
Tom looked back at her, confused by her questioning. "Won't do, miss?"
"Patience, Thomas, is a virtue, haven’t you learnt that much at least" she droned, shaking her head, but just then another boy, about Tom's height and age, although his hair was darker and a good deal neater, came bursting into the room carrying a weathered suitcase. The other children stirred at this interruption, having until then been transfixed by the confrontation between teacher and boy.
"Stand still," Miss McMasterson hissed, her irritation palpable.
The new arrival stopped dead in his tracks and looked at the woman, his face creasing in a frown. "Yes, miss?"
"What do you think you are doing?" she demanded.
The boy glanced at Tom and was met by a bemused expression. "I've just come to meet Tom. It is home time," he began but the dangerous gleam in Miss McMasterson’s eyes told him he should have kept this observation to himself.
"It may well be home time, Master Barton," she instructed, wagging a scrawny finger at the boy, "but there are still rules to be observed. Perhaps both you and Master Lewis need to remain behind to learn some better manners.”
She watched them with bitter amusement, seeming to take great satisfaction from their identical expressions of horror
“Please, miss, I’m…we’re sorry,” Tom began and then gave his friend an imploring look. “Jack…” he nodded, urging the other boy to show some contrition.
“I’m very sorry,” added Jack, perhaps a little too briskly.
The woman folded her arms and glared at them for a few long moments, relishing her authority. "Remember, there are many lessons that children need to learn. The most important is to know your place. And to fail to learn will inevitably lead to tragedy of one kind or another. Do not allow yourselves to become a victim of your own arrogance. This will take you along a very dangerous road indeed.” She watched them, considering their expressions until she was satisfied that her point had been made. “Now you may go," she finally announced and it was all they could do not to bolt from the room, the noise of Tom's classmates steadily building as they made to follow. Once Tom and Jack were out in the corridor they increased their speed and by the time they had reached the main doors to the school, they were almost jogging.
"I don’t think Miss McMasterson likes you very much." Jack observed wryly.
"What are you talking about? I’ve always been her favourite!" Tom replied with a quick grin.
Jack chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Oh, of course, now I get it, she wanted to keep you back because she’s going to miss you so much!”
“What can I do if I’m popular with the ladies,” shot back Tom with a puffed up look of self-importance.
Jack nearly choked with laughter. “The ladies…” was all he could splutter.
Tom Lewis and Jack Barton had been best friends for the last three years, since they had begun what they considered to be a form of purgatory at the Halliday Boarding School for Boys. But they could forget about school life now. Ahead lay six weeks of excitement and adventure, or at least that was the way the two of them had it planned.
Tom had arranged for Jack to come and stay with him at his Uncle Ira and Aunt Emily's house and both boys believed it was going to be the best holiday ever.
"Jack," said Tom a little quizzically as they walked along an old pathway which ran parallel with the school playing field. "Do you ever wish something out of the ordinary would happen?"
“Like this you mean,” Jack said and gave Tom a jab in the ribs before darting off, trying to avoid the expected retaliation. But Tom only came to a halt, making no attempt to give chase. Coming back cautiously, suspecting some artful counter-attack, Jack saw a distant look in Tom's eyes.
"What is it?" asked Jack, becoming a little concerned and Tom looked up as if he had only just become aware that the other boy was standing there.
"Oh, nothing," he said, shrugging his shoulders casually and they walked on, taking a short-cut that took them through a small field, an easy silence settling between them. Both boys knew when the other didn't want to talk and they let the moment pass.
An antiquated railway station lay ahead, where they were due to catch the three thirty-eight to Tyro.
"What time is it?" Jack asked, as they climbed rusty iron steps to reach their platform on the other side of the line. He checked his pocket for his ticket, not for the first time. A number of other children were already there, although most were on the opposite platform, bound in the other direction. A guard ambled by and nodded at Tom, recognising him from his regular trips to and from school.
"Twenty-five to," answered Tom, checking his wrist-watch, "not long and then we're off," he finished, brightening at the prospect.
"What’s your Uncle really like?" Jack questioned as they wandered along the station platform, peering into the distance for some sign of their train.
"You’ll like him," was all Tom would say, smiling.
As he said this, chugging rhythmically around a bend in the track, a train appeared and Jack had to restrain himself from letting out a whoop of joy.
Once the train had come to a standstill, the two friends climbed eagerly aboard. Tom looked through the carriage window as the train lurched off and watched as they passed fields and trees, slowly at first before picking up speed. The school was far behind them now and the train hurried through the countryside, the day mild but bright, everything beyond the glass an expanse of rushing green.
He closed his eyes. And remembered.
Tom was four years old.
"Come here, mister," said the young woman, "now there's a good boy."
"I…won't," said Tom with a tremulous air of defiance.
"I said come here…now." The woman dared him to disobey.
"No," Tom said, fighting to keep back unwanted tears.
"Now listen, mister, you will be bathed and I will have no argument." She glanced around at the other children in the dormitory, chastened eyes reluctant to meet her gaze. "Perhaps." She paused as if for effect. "I'll use my special brush."
"No," Tom repeated, backing away, knowing all too well that she meant the one with the extra hard bristles. Tom had felt its brutal caress before.
Suddenly, as Tom continued to retreat, the woman made a quick lunge toward him, grabbing wildly, but the boy was too fast. He dodged neatly to his left and she was sent sprawling to the ground.
"It's the strap for you, mister!" she screeched, almost with exultation.
"Leave me alone," shouted Tom. “Please just leave me alone!”
"You asleep, Tom?" called Jack, prodding him in the ribs.
Tom stirred from his memories and realised that he must have dozed off. "What time is it?" he asked sitting up, hoping they were almost there.
"We've only just got on the train," Jack said shaking his head, "how long does the journey usually take?"
"About half an hour," replied the other boy and slumped back in his seat. He tried to remember what he had been dreaming about, but his mind was blank, memory eluding him as if it were smoke. The train sped on and he closed his eyes to let his thoughts float away again.
Things change as things will and one day in the heart of winter, snow crisp and cleansing upon the ground, Mr and Mrs McKern arrived at the orphanage and signed the papers that meant Tom could escape from that hellish place.
They had decided, the three of them, that Tom being old enough to recognise that they were not his real parents, he would call Ira and his wife Emily, Uncle and Aunt. As to what had become of his mother and father he didn't know. All Tom had been told was that he had been abandoned at birth and though sometimes he cried when he thought of this, mostly he just tried to forget.
His new life proved to be a good one. Uncle Ira and Aunt Emily were kind to him and tried to give him everything he needed, and compared to his early years, it was paradise. He especially liked Uncle Ira, something about the man drawing the young boy to him. Often, Ira would tell him stories, strange tales he hardly understood at that age, but Tom would listen attentively to every word, held captive by the man's voice. He had never forgotten them.
Long ago, a wolf came from the sky. And the children ruffled its white coat, eager to play. But the wolf was not a friend to them. It took them, one by one, into the forest and they never came out again.
Uncle Ira had told him many stories. Sometimes it seemed only a moment ago. He heard the man's voice as if it were whispering in his ear.
"Why did the Wolf come?" Tom would ask. But Ira would only look away, reluctant to say anymore.
Why did the Wolf come?
Tom Lewis slept fitfully on a train taking him home. He dreamed he was a little boy again, but still the questions that he asked remained unanswered.
"Wake up," said a voice at his side.
"Uncle Ira?" muttered Tom, opening his bleary eyes and running a hand across his face.
"No, it's me, you idiot. What's the matter with you, every time I look around you've fallen asleep." Jack gave him a disbelieving glare.
Tom rubbed his eyes. "I don't know. I must be tired I suppose."
Jack shook his head and pulled a face. "You're weird!"
"Who you calling weird?" Tom said, prodding his friend.
Jack slid across the seat laughing. "You!" he said at a safe distance. "You keep falling asleep and mumbling."
Tom scowled at him. "What do you mean, mumbling!? What kind of mumbling?"
"I don't know…sounded like something about a wolf, but who knows with you. Like I said, you’re weird."
Tom didn’t answer and turned to look out of the window, an old verse returning from
long ago into his head.
Far away, where truth is a lie,
is a wolf who is white,
is a wolf who is sly
Far away, in a place with no name,
is a girl in a dream,
is a girl and a game
Far away, in the realm of the cruel,
walks a boy who must be
both king and the fool
Far away, in the time that must be,
meet the wolf and the girl and the boy
by a tree
And the flower that must die,
is the dreamer who will wake
for this is the road that they all must take.
This was a verse that his Uncle had often recited to him. Time and time again Tom asked him to repeat it.
"Will your Uncle meet us at the station?" asked Jack and Tom turned back to face him.
"He said he would.”
Tom had told Jack so many things about the man, recounting all of the best stories about the times they had shared together, just the two of them. Tom had known Jack for a long time but oddly, until now, he had never wanted his friend to visit his home. Many times his Aunt had bid him invite Jack home for the holidays, but he had been strangely reluctant. When he had asked his Uncle, all the old man would say was, ‘wait until you feel it's right.’ And that was what he had done. Now was the right time.
"What shall we do first?" asked Jack.
"Anything you want to," smiled Tom, brightening a little.
"Okay then, I want to see the garden. Every time you've told me a story about you and your Uncle, it's always been in your garden. It must be massive!"
Tom shrugged. It was true, it had always seemed a gigantic place to him, where you could so easily get lost. But he had always been safe with Ira. They had often gone exploring, searching through the shrubs and trees, examining the flowers and plants which grew there unchecked, even wild in places where Ira had allowed them to go their own way. He was sure there were a thousand different varieties in that garden. It was his favourite place in the world.
"We're almost there," called Jack, his head poking out of the window, the cool breeze blowing through his hair, leaving it a straggly mess.
"Watch out you don't get your head knocked off!" Tom warned with a chuckle.
Jack grinned and made a strangled sound, but withdrew his head just the same and they both laughed as the train slowed and pulled into Tyro station.
On the platform stood a single figure. He wore his hair long and although there were signs of grey here and there, it still retained most of the glory of its original colour; a fiery red. He was a short fellow, but muscular and upright. He had the look of a man used to hard work, but there was a sparkle in his eyes that betrayed a deep wisdom, untold secrets held within.
As the train came to a standstill, he saw the two boys step out of a carriage and moved toward them, smiling broadly. "How's my boy?" the old man said, clapping Tom on the back.
"I'm fine," the boy smiled and then turned to his friend, "this is Jack."
"So this is young Jack Barton, is it," Uncle Ira said, holding out his hand. They shook hands and Ira gave a deep chuckle, clearly amused.
"You've got quite a grip there, Jack. Careful you don't break one of my fingers!"
Tom and Jack both laughed and the three of them made off toward the station exit, Ira striding along in front carrying Jack's case with ease.
"I'm afraid we have no transportation, Jack," began the man as they left the station, "so we'll have to rely on our legs to carry us home."
"We'll keep up, don't you worry," promised Tom.
Ira set off along a winding stone road which seemed to carry on endlessly up a hill before them, twisting through tree-lined fields like a discarded ribbon.
As they began to walk, Jack could hardly believe the pace the old man set for them. He found himself almost jogging just to keep up. Glancing at Tom between gulps of air, he noted that his friend, although labouring, was faring rather better than himself.
"Keep up, boys,” called Ira without looking back, a little way ahead.
After ten minutes or so, Jack was beginning to struggle. "Tom," he gasped, "I don't think I can keep this up for much longer."
But Tom just gave him a quick glance and Jack thought he saw a look of desperation momentarily play across his friend’s features.
"Come on," urged Tom, dropping back slightly to come along beside the other boy.
"Why is he going so fast?" Jack asked, breathing very heavily now, the air he swallowed feeling harsh in his throat.
"He's testing us."
Jack didn't understand what Tom meant by this, but could sense it was important to his friend to keep up with the old man, so he renewed his efforts, forcing himself on.
"Let's catch him up," Tom said, gritting his teeth.
Ahead of them, despite the camber of the hill, the old man seemed to find it all no more than a casual stroll and finally, as they came up by his side, he looked at each in turn, his eyes keen as diamonds.
"We're almost there," he barked and with that, he increased his speed, lengthening his stride and soon began to leave them behind again. Jack almost stopped. "I can't," he wheezed, mostly to himself.
"Come on!" pressed Tom, irritation and anxiety in his voice.
"Why do we have to go so fast?" Jack managed.
"We mustn't fail the test," insisted Tom, grabbing Jack's arm and pulling him along. Jack could hardly walk now, his legs feeling like jelly. He just wanted to stop and sit down. The road seemed to snake on and on into the distance, always climbing.
Tom, still hauling Jack by the arm, forged relentlessly on, his Uncle now more than ten yards ahead of them. He knew he must keep up. To fall behind would be to fail.
He remembered the stories. And he was afraid.
Make haste along the path, for the wolf is always waiting for the lamb who is weak. Never fall behind the flock or the wolf will be sure to come for you. The road is cruel and dark, my friend.
"We can do it, Jack," urged Tom.
As Jack stumbled along beside his friend, not knowing what this was all about, just for a moment he thought he saw something, in a meadow beyond some masking trees. Something white. It moved dextrously through yellow buttercups, its progress torpid and dream-like.
But then Ira called from ahead and Jack lost sight of it.
"We’re here," the old man rumbled as they came around a bend and saw the old house that Tom called home.
Ira gave both boys a good-natured smile as they passed through the gateway. But then he cast a glance back along the road as if checking that no-one had followed. The road was deserted, the day still bright, the sky clear but the old man's smile faded. Shutting the gate firmly, he went quickly toward the house, but even as he reached the doorway he couldn't shake the feeling that something crept behind him and that cold, amused eyes bored into his back.
AT THE END OF THE GARDEN
The house was built of ancient stone, or so Uncle Ira said. It had what people often referred to as character, a primitive charm, uncomplicated and dependable. Tom felt very glad to be home again.
"Emily, they're here," called out Ira, as they came through a broad oak doorway into a large room which served as a sitting room. He set Jack's suitcase down and stood waiting.
"Tom!" came a woman's voice.
"I'm home," he cried out, "and so is Jack!" With this he ran into an adjoining room. As Jack followed into what he recognised immediately as the kitchen, he saw the two embracing, his friend lost amidst a white apron. Tom's Aunt looked a good deal older than his Uncle, although Jack was sure Tom had mentioned that both were about the same age.
"This is Jack," declared Tom, pointing at him.
The woman smiled kindly and came over to the boy. "Hello, Jack. I've heard so much about you. Welcome to our house."
Jack was a little embarrassed. He didn't much care for introductions. "I'm pleased to meet you," he mumbled in return.
"Now how about a drink," broke in Ira at the kitchen doorway and Jack thought this was an excellent suggestion. His throat felt as though it was on fire.
After finishing a bottle of home-made lemonade between them, Tom was immediately up on his feet.
"Can I show Jack around now?" he asked, fidgeting and obviously raring to go. Any trepidation he might have felt during the journey home was forgotten now.
His Aunt smiled affectionately, gathering up empty glasses. "Off you go then."
Needing no further encouragement, the two boys dashed out of the room, Tom leading the way with Jack close behind. Out through the back door they ran and suddenly Jack found himself in an enormous garden filled with all manner of flowers and vegetation. Tall trees lined each side for several hundred yards, their leaves rustling in the late afternoon breeze, the rest a mystery, but one Jack was keen to unravel. They came to a halt and Jack took a moment to take in the colours, so many shades of green, light and shadow amid trees and bushes. Summer's touch was upon the garden, a vast expanse stretching out before him.
"Wow," he murmured. It was all he could think of to say.
"Do you like it?" asked Tom, grinning foolishly.
"You bet I do!"
"Well, come on then, don't just stand there gaping, let's take a look around."
They darted off down a sunlit lane, criss-crossing shadows inventing a grid upon which they played. Then they zigzagged across the garden, dodging amongst flowers and shrubs. This was home as far as Tom was concerned. The good times he had known in this place were far too many to recall. He and his Uncle would often play hide and seek here and sometimes Tom would search for hours trying to find the old man. One thing was sure, Uncle Ira certainly knew all of the best hiding places! There were times when he suspected that Ira was not even in the garden at all, but in the end there he would be, in some place or another, although the boy felt certain he had already been that way earlier and his Uncle had not been there then.
"Let’s play hide and seek?" called Tom as they ran, his memories putting him in the mood.
Jack was just about to agree when Ira's voice bellowed out from somewhere behind them.
"Tom! Jack! Don’t forget about supper."
Tom looked at his friend and could see by the expression on his face that he was just as hungry as himself. All thoughts of the game disappeared.
"Race you back!" challenged Jack and was off and running, but Tom, using his advantage of familiar terrain, darted beneath a canopy of Wisteria and to Jack's amazement, shot out from a muddy pathway yards ahead of him and was first to reach the back porch.
The table was set out with all manner of delights. As it was his favourite food, a slab of cheese as big as the plate it sat upon was the first thing that caught Jack's eye. A wide variety of other food was set out on the table too, tomatoes and cucumber, lettuce and radishes, spring onions and beetroot, and biscuits, home-made he was sure. A huge golden loaf of bread lay cut into large slices, its freshly baked aroma tantalising, a silver dish of butter by its side and Jack became more certain than ever that he was going to like it here. It was going to be a great holiday.
After their meal, they spent an enjoyable couple of hours talking, Tom relating all of the latest news from school. Ira entertained them with jokes and tales of his days at sea, when as a youthful first-mate he had sailed around the world and back, or so he claimed.
Tom sat in an armchair, his stomach aching and Jack's was so bad he hadn’t dared to move from the table.
Ira shook his head and smiled indulgently. "Your eyes are bigger than your bellies."
Jack could only moan holding his stomach protectively. Emily, coming into the room from the kitchen, wagged her finger at the boys.
"I've been lenient with both of you as it's the first day of your holiday, but tomorrow I'll be expecting some help in the kitchen." She gave Jack a warm smile. "That is, if you can fit through the door!"
Ira had gone to stand by the window, drawing the curtain back a little. "Why don't you show Jack your room, Tom, and get him settled in?"
With a great deal of effort Tom got up from his seat. "Come on, Jack. You can lay down upstairs if you like." The other boy managed a nod.
Ira turned from the window to watch the boys and had to suppress a laugh at the sight of them. "You can do it," he encouraged.
With absolute concentration, exerting himself physically and mentally or so it seemed to him, Jack stood up. "I never want to see food again," he groaned.
They trudged upstairs, the blue door of Tom's bedroom the first they came to. It was not a very big room but had a hospitable, welcome feel to it and Jack felt comfortable there right away. Setting himself down gingerly on the lower berth of a bunk-bed, he looked up at his friend. "I like it here," he said and then grimaced as his stomach turned over.
"Good," grinned Tom, "but maybe we had better not eat so much next time."
Jack nodded unreservedly. "It’s a deal."
Climbing up onto the top bunk, Tom lay on his back and looked up at the familiar ceiling that he had studied so many times whilst waiting for sleep to come and claim him. He closed his eyes and immediately a picture of a girl popped into his mind, her face oddly familiar although he couldn’t remember where he might have seen her. At fourteen, girls were something he and Jack were taking more and more of a keen interest in. The only problem was that contact with the opposite sex didn’t happen very often and even on those rare occasions when it did, they tended to find themselves suddenly dumb-struck and feeling very stupid. Girls were, for the present, an inscrutable puzzle.
The girl in his day-dream wore a red hood but he could see her face quite clearly. She looked perhaps a little older than himself and had long golden hair that spilled out from beneath her bonnet.
"Who are you?" Tom asked, realising dimly that he must be asleep and he had begun to dream.
The girl gazed back at him, smiling sweetly. "I'm little Bo Peep," she said with a courteous bow.
"Have you lost your sheep?" questioned Tom, concerned for the girl, thinking her expression rather sad.
"Yes I have," she replied, "will you help me to find them?"
"I'd be glad to," Tom said with enthusiasm.
"But what if the Wolf comes?" little Bo Peep asked.
Tom frowned and opened his eyes. He was in his room, lying on his bed. Below he could hear Jack gently snoring.
A little later, when the sun had set and moonlight stole through the windows of the old house, Ira came into Tom's room and found both boys still fully clothed, fast asleep. He considered waking them and telling them to undress but decided they were happy as they were. After all, he thought, it had been a busy day. Leaving the room quietly, he closed the door and went downstairs.
"They're asleep already," he told Emily.
"They must have been tired out," she said with a tenderness that reminded Ira just why he loved his wife so dearly.
"Yes," agreed Ira, sitting down beside her, "but they'll be fit and ready for a good day tomorrow." He closed his eyes and leaned back into the chair. So much to be done, he mused, so much to tell Tom and so little time. Jack was a fine boy though, a good friend for Tom. He had known he would be.
But now the time of trial was almost upon them. The old man's mind crept back to earlier that day, when he had felt as if something had been following them home. He scowled, his face contorting violently but Emily didn’t notice, her concentration set on her knitting. Glancing at her, Ira decided that was just as well. Better for her not to know.
They would all do what they must. After all, what choice did they really have.
Sunlight pierced the room like an arrow through the heart of the house.
Jack opened his eyes and yawned. "I'm hungry," he muttered.
Tom, who had been awake a short while, just lying there and enjoying the fact that there was no school for six whole weeks, laughed and sat up. He leaned over the side of his bunk to peer down at Jack. "You're hungry!" he cried, amazed. "After yesterday, you're hungry!"
"Well," answered Jack, almost apologetically, "my appetite's come back now."
Tom grinned and got down from the bed, stretching tender muscles. "Do you realise that we didn't even undress last night?" He paraded himself fully clothed as proof.
"I must really have been tired," Jack allowed.
Tom opened a chest of drawers and took out some clean clothes. "Let's change, then we can go down and see if we can find you some breakfast."
Ira had put Jack's case in the room the previous evening, but he still needed to unpack. He hastily stuffed his belongings into several drawers Tom had earmarked for him, setting aside some suitable items for the day. Taking turns to use the small bathroom along the hallway, they were washed and dressed in record time.
Today was going to be an exploring day. They would scour the garden, crawling under every bush, climbing every tree. Whatever there was to be found, Tom and Jack intended to find it.
"Come on," Jack urged, tying his boot-lace, "let's go and see about that breakfast!"
Tom followed the other boy downstairs with a look of utter disbelief.
Aunt Emily, having forecast Jack's recovery, had laid out an excellent breakfast for them already.
They all soon found that Jack, undeterred by last evening's experience, was more than equal to the task. Tom was a little less enthusiastic and was happy to settle for two slices of toast.
Uncle Ira watched with interest. "Jack, either you are going to grow up big and strong or you're just going to get very fat!"
Tom chuckled. "He's already fat!"
Jack glared across the table, but couldn’t help but laugh, enjoying the good-natured banter and once breakfast was finished and the two boys had helped Emily with the clearing up, it was at last time to go out into the garden and explore. Uncle Ira stepped out with them into a fine warm day.
"Isn't it glorious," the old man said, breathing in deeply.
The boys smiled and took in their surroundings. In the perfect light of the day the huge garden was a wonderful sight. It seemed to stretch out before them, an inviting playground for any youngster with an adventurous spirit.
"Now Tom," Ira said in a serious tone, "I want you to stay in the garden. Don't venture outside of it." He eyed them both carefully. "I know you're keen to look into every nook and cranny but keep to the garden."
Tom nodded. He knew it was his Uncle's golden rule. Always keep to the garden.
"We will," he promised solemnly.
"Make sure that you do," rumbled Ira. "Stay safe," he finished. He looked at them both steadily to make certain that they had really understood and then, with a wave of his hand, "go on then." He was smiling as the boys dashed off into the undergrowth, but once they were out of sight his smile died. "Stay safe," he repeated softly.
The garden was full of winding paths and tunnels through the shrubbery. It had a wonderfully contrary combination of being well kept but still wild and unpredictable. One moment they were down on their knees crawling and the next, they were up and running furiously, shouting and laughing. The different varieties of flowers that grew there defied description. It seemed that Ira had planted and been able to maintain a fantastic selection and Jack decided that Tom's Uncle must be quite some gardener.
"What’s wrong speedy, can’t you keep up!?" called back Tom as he raced off under a big willow tree, its hanging branches swallowing him up.
Following close behind, Jack pushed through the branches of the tree himself and looked around quickly but Tom was gone.
"Where are you!?" he shouted.
There was no answer. Only the rustle of the trees moving in the breeze.
It must be some game he's playing. Hide and seek, that's what it is. Well if Tom wants to hide, I'll find him!
With this in mind, he stole off through some bushes searching for Tom, who obviously believed he would never be found just because it was his garden and Jack didn't know his way around yet.
"We'll see about that," Jack said aloud.
Tom couldn't find Jack anywhere.
"Come on, stop hiding," he grumbled to himself, wondering if maybe his friend had got lost. After all, it was easy enough to do, even when you knew the garden well.
He remembered a time when he and his Uncle had gone out for a walk, he had been about six years old and they had embarked on one of their regular games of hide and seek. But whilst playing Tom had found himself in a part of the garden he didn’t recognise, a place he was certain he had never been before. A great tree, bigger than any he had ever seen, rose up above a tall hedge that appeared to form the boundary of their land, running both left and right for as far as he could see. He'd supposed that this must be the end of the garden, although he had never really known where it ended. It seemed to sprawl out endlessly and sometimes Tom imagined that it just kept on growing, always expanding in size.
The enormous tree was certainly impressive and standing beneath it all those years before Tom had felt strangely excited, as if at any moment some amazing thing might happen.
I would really like to climb this tree, he had thought and then as if compelled to do so, Tom had glanced upward and seen something very odd. A snake hung coiled around a low branch, its ebony body glistening, a forked tongue hissing very gently.
"Tom," the creature had spoken, "I’m so glad you came. I’ve been waiting for you."
Tom had hardly been able to breath, afraid to move. Even at that age, Tom knew full well that animals couldn't talk. Maybe he was only dreaming.
"No dream this,” hissed the snake as if reading his mind. “Why don’t you climb up, Tom," it urged, its long body shuddering. "Climb up here and join me, there’s room enough for two."
Without thinking, Tom had gripped a low branch to begin his ascent when his Uncle's
voice had reached him, shouting his name, telling him it was time to go back.
He had seriously considered ignoring the call, thinking he would climb up anyway. But after a long moment of indecision and with a real effort he had turned away from the tree. He was angry with himself now that he should have even thought of ignoring his Uncle, leaving the old man to worry that something might have happened to him. Looking up into the tree once more Tom saw that the snake was gone.
Imagination, just my imagination.
There was no other explanation, unless he was completely mad. Definitely imagination! He started off in the direction of his Uncle's voice.
When Ira had at last come across the boy he had seemed a little ill-tempered. "Didn't you hear me calling?" he had asked, the words sharp.
"Er," began Tom, "I did, but I couldn't find you." The lie tasted bitter in his mouth but he felt very reluctant to discuss what had occurred beneath the giant oak, fear and embarrassment uniting to create a mental barrier that he was content to leave intact.
His Uncle fixed him with a keen gaze. "Where were you?"
"I...," Tom muttered, fidgeting uneasily, "I found a big tree at the end of the garden."
Tom recalled the way his Uncle had frowned. "A great oak?" the man had questioned.
"Yes," he had replied, "by a tall hedge."
Ira had nodded. "I know the place," he murmured. Taking Tom's hand firmly in his, he had led the boy away through a clump of leaning sycamores. "Let's go home for supper."
Tom remembered it all so well, the inexplicable event he had imagined by the gigantic tree bothering him for quite some time after. But fortunately for his sanity's sake, there were no similar episodes, so gradually with the passing of time he was able to let the incident recede into the back of his mind, hidden away as an unwanted memory. Never once had he found that place again since then, although a secret part of him longed to return there, to climb that towering oak.
But now Jack was lost and Tom had no idea where to look. "Jack!" he shouted at the top of his voice, but the only reply he received was bird-song from one of the trees above him.
Everything else in the garden was still and for some reason Tom couldn't quite explain, he felt just a little bit afraid.
Jack walked between two rows of red and yellow tulips. Beds of flowers of many different kinds ran side by side up a wide clearing flanked by tall elm trees. It was like a tunnel, thought Jack, with the sky for a roof. He wandered on, taking in the beauty of the place. The garden certainly was big, far bigger than he had ever imagined.
An old pathway to his left caught his eye, running between some bushes and although it was overgrown and looked as if it hadn't been used in years, he decided to see where it led. After all, he was there to explore.
Moving slowly, beating down brambles and nettles with his feet as he went, Jack made his way along the path. It meandered on for quite some distance beneath lowering trees, berry bushes leaning in either side of him, but at last he stooped to pass under a large hanging thicket and came out into a clearing.
"Wow," he said aloud. Before him was a great tree, its thick trunk and crown of spreading branches casting him in shade.
Jack gazed up in awe at a giant oak overlooking a long, high hedge. He had come to the end of the garden.
