Rainbow's End - Wizard (42 page)

32

After delivering Orson and Ariana to the Earth,
the Rainbow transported the large heap of refuse from the bank of the Rainbow Pool to the sun, and Joshi, with one of his songs, summoned a warm wind from the far-off mountains; which quickly began melting the blanket of snow covering the valley.

Within hours, the usually calm, almost placid river, had
broadened to almost twice its normal width, and become a torrent; fed by hundreds of smaller streams, which in turn, was fed by melting snow from the surrounding mountain slopes and the rich planes of the valley, even the white, heavily-weighted branches of the trees.

The rushing water
rose several metres up both sides of the riverbank, brushing flat grass and flowers, and uprooting new as well as weaker shoots, and carrying them off. It also swept along all loose-lying things: branches fallen from trees, forgotten toys, even some fishing poles.

Finches, whose nests hung too close to the water,
had a hairy time of it: fluttering above whilst affrontedly screeching and squawking at the swirling-rushing, muddy stream.

The fish
eagles could leave their eggs to the sun’s friendly warmth again; they sat side by side on their lofty perch, and bemusedly, with tilted heads and golden eyes, studied the swirling brown mass below.

The Rainbow Pool was almost unaffected
by the sudden meltdown. Situated at the very top of the river as it was, its only additional water came from the snow on its banks and surrounds, and the excess quickly fed into the waiting river.

*

The Travelling trio set down at Rainbow’s End less than a minute after leaving The Haven’s lawn, but their time curve made it mid-afternoon - almost ten hours since first light, the time they’d left for the Earth. The violet beam of the Rainbow bent outwards, to gently deposit them on the pool’s soggy, but by now, snow-free bank; Big John was there to pick up Thomas’ limp form and carry him gently but hurriedly to his waiting room, with Ariana and Orson close on his heels.

*

The river took three days to rid itself of the excess water resulting from the melt
ing snow, and another three to regain its usual clarity. Swathes of flattened grass on its banks, and tufts and clumps of dead and yellowing foliage clinging to the bottoms of tree-trunks and willow boughs, were the only reminders of the recent almost-flood.

Red and golden finches,
and their less lustrous females, were loudly and industriously repairing washed out nests, or weaving new ones, higher up.

The huge grey Pegasus, accompanied by his small herd of horses, were back on the grassy slopes
; leisurely feeding, and as usual, keeping an eye out for roving young boys plotting to steal a ride. Amongst them was a new foal - shiny black and long-legged with a white blaze between its eyes; curious and skittishly surprised at the abundance of life in the grass and on the ground: stripy field mice and tiny voles, fluffy francolin and grey guinea-fowl chicks accompanied by proud parents; even an ancient old tortoise with beady little eyes and a long wrinkled neck.

The fish eagles were patrolling the river again, and their distinctive cries seemed to sound oftener and louder
, as the returned sun reflected warmly off their wide-spread wings.

The children -
from the youngest to the oldest - were out all day, every day. A pile of discarded boots lay outside the mother-cave’s entrance, and rows of muddy footprints in all sizes lay across the shiny central floor and (to Arnold’s chagrin) the tiles of the dining room.

Soup and hot drinks and porridge for breakfast were out; fluffy omelettes and fruit-juices
, hamburgers and hot-dogs, and - thank the gods - ice cream, were back in.

So were games
and treasure-hunting, and sun-tanning and happy laughter in and around the Rainbow Pool, and fishing and climbing trees, and eyes-agog fast food and soft drink vendors, and, well… you name it…

*

Early morning, just after breakfast on the seventh day, once the water had regained its clear and placid way, Gary invited everybody on a treasure-hunt. There were forty-six children in all: three had recently gone back, and an unusually sprightly Orson had fetched five more in the last couple of days. They all armed themselves with small buckets (sand-castle sized) - the older children carried two; and accompanied by Frieda, Edith and Arnold (who carried Maggie where she couldn’t walk), set out for the lower reaches of the river - below the Gem - and Golden Pool.

The stronger current of the faster flowing river had
lifted a great many precious stones and nuggets from their pools and carried them downstream, but finding them was no problem. They lay in the flattened grass; and embedded in the once again exposed river banks; between the hairy roots of weeping-willows; and sparkling and shiny in the shallows. A couple of kilometres down, just a few hundred metres before it entered the lower reaches of the Magic Forest, the river widened and flattened out to almost three times its normal width; in most places just ankle-deep and dotted with hundreds of smaller rocks - wet brown and black, like so many mini-hippopotami. Here the children had most of their fun: nuggets and gems lay everywhere in the wide and shallow, fast-flowing stream; almost as numerous as the pebbles and water-smoothed stones around them. The boys and girls squatted or simply sat on the protruding rocks and collected them. Some lay flat on their stomachs in the water, their clothes and swimming-suits clinging wetly in the fast flowing current, faces submerged and eyes open.

Reds, pinks and purples, and dozens of shades of green and blue, and of
course, glittering yellow gold - they were all gathered with much glee and victorious shouts. The diamonds were more difficult to spot, and whoever collected the most was promised a treat of his or her own choice by Arnold. Maggie and he were sitting with their bums in the water, supposedly supervising the treasure-hunters, and planning another “pignic”. He wore Bermuda-shorts and a sodden, baggy white T-shirt; on it, a picture of a man balancing a massive diamond on his huge stomach. The writing below said - “Picking up pebbles was never this much fun”.

Every now and then, Frieda and his eyes met, and they gave each other happy little looks and smiles.

On their way back the children emptied their buckets of gems into the Gem Pool, and the nuggets into the Golden Pool; some kept a particularly shiny or oddly-coloured
stone, or a strangely shaped nugget as a souvenir.

Back at the cave, a radiant Annie told them that Thomas had woken up for five short minutes. He was going to be all right.
It
was going to be all right…

*****

The cottage in the woods had become an airy, happy place. The large glass sliding door, which sometimes replaced the lounge-wall facing the veranda, had now become permanent, and stood open most of the time: allowing in the fresh breezes of the forest. The heavy wood - and leather furniture had been changed into modern pieces of glass and chrome and aluminium; the oaken floor shone with golden lustre, and a brightly patterned Persian carpet had replaced the scruffy one Orson had daily tripped over.

The grimy-grey marble counter separating the kitchen and lounge
, had been substituted by a shiny-clean, spotlessly white one; and food these days was anything but bully and mash. When Orson fetched a child, they usually stopped for takeaways, and arrived at Rainbow’s End laden with cartons, polystyrene buckets and other food-containers; all tied securely into carrier bags to prevent them spilling their contents while riding the Rainbow. Spare-ribs, hamburgers and hot-dogs, Chinese, fried chicken, curries, even a seafood-platter (ala Christina’s): they were all tried by Tessie and him at least once.

At night -
usually after supper and an episode of Fawlty Towers (and a single glass of wine), loud off-key singing and lots of breathless whistling could be heard coming from inside the cottage. The dog occasionally joined in with long loud howls and short staccato yelps and barks - depending which aria was being despoiled.

The snooping, tattle-tale owls, complain
ed bitterly about the noise to any creature willing to listen, and eventually took their nocturnal hunting deeper into the forest, returning to roost only in the pink of dawn.

*

Sometimes, late at night, a young woman sits on the small wooden bridge crossing the stream on the way to Orson’s. She’s joined by fairies with little lamps; who talk to her and sit on and buzz around her shoulders, the young ones play and hide in her hair. They sometimes pause to listen, in speechless horror, to an especially badly rendered segment by the one-man and dog concert; at its end merrily laughing in their small voices, and delightedly clapping tiny hands.

Ariana laugh
s with them, and sometimes - after they’ve flown off, lays back with her fingers entwined beneath her head, watching the stars on her own… Sometimes contented, sometimes wishful…

3
3

Kraylle slowly crumpled the newspaper in his huge hands
, until it was the size of a tennis-ball, then dropped it at his feet and morosely kicked it away. He glared at Bryan Stone.

‘You said he was dead,
’ he accused, and effortlessly - in perfect but sarcastic mime, quoted the exact phrase Bryan had used when reporting to him a few days ago. “He’s dead, Kraylle; I’ll bet my last shilling on that.”

Bryan lowered his eyes before the demi-god’s, and made a stubborn attempt at vindicating h
imself. ‘He would have been, if it weren’t for your sister,’ he said, with bravery he didn’t feel.

Kraylle hissed at Bryan’s impertinence and began lunging to his feet, but was mollified by the very real dread he saw on the boy’s face, and slowly sank back in his chair.

‘Be very careful, young Stone,’ he warned. ‘I’m tiring of your insolence.’

Bryan nodded jerkily, and after glowering at him for another minute, the demi-god grunted and shifted his gaze to the balled newspaper some metres away. He stared at it for a long minute, before, in a disconsolate tone, lamenting, ‘What is the Universe coming to, I ask you? When g
ods start meddling in the lives of mortals…?’

Gloomy si
lence followed, and then Bryan - assured that the worst danger had passed - asked, ‘Do you know who the old man was? With your sister?’

Kraylle lifted his eyes to the boy’s; they were burning coals in his very pale face. ‘Orson,’ he spat. ‘His name is Orson, and he’s a Traveller. Ask your friend Rudi about him,’ he added.

Bryan waited, but no more information was volunteered by the again-gloomy god, and he asked, with a frown, ‘What’s a Traveller?’

*

‘They call themselves Travellers because that’s what they do,’ Kraylle said.

They were in the same chairs they used whilst playing chess some days ago: Kraylle had summonsed them with two loud claps of his hand
s when he came down the steps of his throne.

‘Like us, you mean?’ Bryan asked. ‘Like the Night Walkers?’

Kraylle snorted. ‘You wish,’ he said. ‘The methods you use are similar, but that is all, and even that is like night and day.’ A twisted smile. ‘Literally. You use the moon - they use the sun; you the dark - they the light; you use the Dark Crystals - they use the Rainbow Crystals. Be that as it may…

‘Unlike you, a Traveller controls his own journey. He comes and goes as he pleases; lands where he pleases…
I
control your journey, where you land...’ He saw the surprise on Bryan’s face, and mocked, ‘Oh, come
on
, Bryan. Don’t tell me you were as naive as to believe
you
were in charge.
I
control where you go; where you land. That’s how I know when you get back:
I
bring
you back. I told you before. Anyway…  

‘These Travellers -
and there are very, very few of them… They have tremendous powers; tremendous abilities for mere humans. They are…’ Kraylle searched for the appropriate word, and shook his head irritably when Bryan ventured: ‘Magicians?’

‘Magicians are nothing,’ he scoffed with a dismissive grimace. ‘They’re tricksters and con-artists with little wands, playing with cards and boxes and mirrors, and trained monkeys and dogs and birds… Travellers are
Wizards
!’ he declared triumphantly, having found his word.