Rainbow's End - Wizard (6 page)

A blinding flash
then… and Thomas felt himself plucked into the air, like being sucked in by a giant vacuum-cleaner.

*

Rudi stood in the centre of a perfect circle. It had a diameter of seven or eight metres. The solid rock under his feet had been sucked surgically clean. Nothing remained. Not a drop of snow or a speck of dust. He was staring at the hole made by Orson’s staff. It was about an inch wide and three or four deep; a wisp of smoke was leisurely curling from it. He was paler than usual and softly whispering to himself, ‘Oh man. Is Kraylle going to be angry…’

*****

Thomas was spinning. Like a top. He seemed to be inside a red tube, and then an orange and then a yellow one. Going fast: he could tell by the wind battering his face and rushing through his hair. Next to him Orson was flying like a bird - his arms spread and his black coat trailing and flapping behind him like a witch’s cloak. Thomas extended his own arms and his body slowly stopped twirling. The yellow tube turned green and then blue. He looked down, and saw a slowly spinning, sleeping Tessie at his feet; behind her a swirling white mass of snow speckled with small stones and dirt. He looked at Orson flying again and found the old man watching him with a bemused look on his face. The tunnel turned a very dark blue then, almost black, and for a minute, Thomas could see nothing at all. A soft purple light and then they were slowing down; and fell into a big pool of water.

It was clear and not cold at all, but Thomas’ wet clothes weighed him down, and he struggled and swallowed water before finding his feet. He stood and then turned in a circle, looking at his surrounds in wonder; the water came to just below his buttocks and the sun was shining and warm on his face. There were mountains in the background; and a cliff and a waterfall and a rainbow, and he was obviously dreaming again…

A few grown-ups and a lot of children stood on the pool’s one rocky bank. Tessie was with them; she’d just gotten out of the pool and was shaking and spraying everybody around her with water. Using the last of his strength, Thomas waded towards them.

A woman reached down and with surprising strength, grasped his hand and pulled him from the water. She wore a wide yellow summer’s dress and an apron, and her eyes were beautiful blue and kind. She hugged Thomas’ dripping-wet body to hers and said, ‘Oh, you poor thing…’ A screech interrupted her, and she looked back to the water, still holding Thomas. She watched for a few seconds, and then murmured, ‘Oh my, he’s really outdoing himself this time.’

Thomas
turned back to the pool. Orson stood in the middle of it, his black coat floating around him like an oil-slick. His face was puce and his bushy grey hair wet and plastered to his scalp. He was holding one of his boots and pouring water from it, and screaming - at the water it seemed…

‘…
the last time, Ariana! Do you hear me?! The last time! Look at my boots!! Ruined!’ He violently hurled the boot at the water, then began hopping up and down, whilst, with both hands, he attempted pulling the other off his foot.

He fell then: toppling slowly backwards and going under with
only a small splash; and resurfacing: spluttering and cursing and triumphantly holding the other badly scuffed boot. ‘Ruined!’ he screamed, and hurled it at the water as well.

Next
came the cap: he delved it out of one deep pocket and held it by its tassel, swung it, and hit the water with a resounding “WOP”, before also throwing it from him in disgust. ‘Ruined!’ he screamed.

And then the coat
, and while the old man struggled and fought and swore his way out of the heavy, wet thing, Thomas heard some giggles and a chuckle or two from the spellbound audience. The fur had become waterlogged, and once out of it, without even
trying
to lift it, Orson merely, violently, pushed it under the water. And the dance started. Small pockets of air were trapped in its lining and pieces of the coat refused to stay submerged, simply reappearing after being pushed under. Thus slighted, Orson began jumping around and using his fists to push the offending parts under again, and his language was a terrible thing to hear. Small bits kept popping back up as soon as others went under, but finally, and after many hilarious minutes for the people watching, the coat stayed drowned.

When a p
anting and obviously exhausted, but not finished yet Orson, began wriggling his way out of the soaked and by-now-knee-length orange jersey, the woman mussed Thomas’ hair and said in a soft voice, ‘I think we’ve seen enough, don’t you?’

It hurt to even nod,
and with her arm still around his shoulders, the two started away from the pool and its frenzied occupant. Thomas gave only a few steps before losing consciousness and Annie caught him as he fell.

5

There were children playing somewhere.
A soft warm breeze carried their screams and laughter through the open window. The same breeze played lightly on the skin of Thomas’ back and made him burrow deeper under the sheet, seeking a return to the dreamless neverland he had just come from.

He heard talking - the
voices muted and female, and somehow conveying a wonderful sense of security.

‘… and there he was. Right down to his long johns
, sopping wet and totally exhausted… But still shouting at Ariana.’ Two voices laughed softly and the first continued: ‘Big John eventually fetched him out - fighting and still swearing…’ There was more laughter and Thomas opened his eyes.

He was in
a girl’s bedroom. Or a woman’s. A large bedroom. Filled with girly things: frilly things and soft things, fluffy things and framed things. Things that looked nice and things that smelled nice. Crochet and needlework. And paintings and photos, and pillows and dolls.

There were dolls everywhere. The shelves, the couch and the large dressing-table were all f
illed with them - some sitting, some standing and some lying down. Fat ones and thin ones; raggedy ones and porcelain ones; pretty ones and ugly ones; plain ones, and ones with exquisitely painted faces.

The two
women were sitting in big cushiony chairs: one the lady who had pulled him from the water, the other - younger - with thick yellow plaits and glasses. They both held needlework - the younger one was embroidering a large snowy-white cloth; the older was stitching the lining of what appeared to be Orson’s great black coat, part of which lay in her lap, but most of it simply bundled on the floor at her feet.

Thomas sat up and the sudden movement made both of them look up
. Both smiled happy smiles; the older put aside her sewing and came to the bed, sat down on its edge and put a cool, soft hand on Thomas’ brow.

‘Are you feeling better, Thomas?’
she asked.

He nodded mutely
, and she said, ‘Oh, you can talk if you want.’

Tentatively,
he asked, ‘Where?’ and was surprised to find his voice worked; not just a whisper, but working properly. He asked, again, ‘Where…where am I?’ and his eyes dropped to his lap. The single sheet covering him was bundled at the top of his legs and he seemed to be wearing just a pair of pyjama bottoms. Laughter came through the open window again and Thomas’ eyes went there. The window was large, with some more dolls sitting on its sill; the sun shining through, cast a wide golden swathe of light across the bed. There were huge mountains in the background (no dream then, earlier). They were bigger than any he had ever seen, he wanted to get up and take a proper look, but movement drew his attention away. The younger woman was leaving; the door clicked and Thomas looked at the older one again.

Her
blue eyes lay in a nest of laughing crinkles, her voice was kind and she said, ‘I am Annie. And that’, she glanced at the closed door, ‘was Anna-Fried. You can call her Frieda, though. Everybody else does.’ Happy laughter floated through the window and Annie smiled a happy smile. ‘You are in Rainbow’s End, Thomas,’ she said then. ‘And you are safe.’

Thomas l
ooked through the window again - at the sunshine and the mountains. ‘In England?’ he asked. Puzzled.

Annie laughed.
‘No Thomas, not England.’ Her eyes followed his to the perfect day outside. Birds were talking to one another, the mountains were green and brown and copper and gold, a soft breeze carrying the fragrance of flowers, played with the downy hair on her arms… ‘Definitely not England,’ she said.

‘
But wasn’t I sick? I mean - I
was
sick…wasn’t I?’ Thomas asked, suddenly not so sure.

Annie’s eyes
, and voice, turned serious. ‘Yes, you were,’ she answered. ‘Very sick. But you’re all right now.’ Ruffling his hair. She saw the new questions in his eyes and tried to explain as best she could - pausing a lot and taking time to think.

‘
It’s different here Thomas. It’s not like…’ She waved her hand in a sideways motion and struggled on. ‘Like where you come from…the other side. The Earth.’ She said the word as if she didn’t like the taste of it, and after another pause, continued.

‘
Nobody gets sick in Rainbow’s End. And nobody that gets to Rainbow’s End sick,
stays
sick for long. There are no germs here… No flies, no mosquitoes, and no pollution. Just clean fresh air and water, and sunshine and love.’ She beamed at him. ‘Lots and lots of love.’

Thomas
asked, frowning, ‘How long have I been here?’

‘
You have been asleep for two days, almost three.’ Annie replied. She looked at Thomas’ watch and so did he. It had stopped - its digital face was blank, and he felt his confusion further deepen. It reflected on his face; Annie saw the frown return and a hundred new questions in his eyes. She laughed and put a finger on his lips to stop him. ‘Sshh,’ she said. ‘Better wait Thomas. Let Big John explain - he’s very good at it.’

He nodded
and the two of them sat looking through the window for a silent minute. Then his stomach growled - long and hard and embarrassing. It was empty and his bladder full. Seeing Thomas’ discomfort, Annie got up off the bed and pointed to another door, half-hidden in the corner behind the two big chairs.

‘Through
there,’ she said.

*

The bathroom - like the bedroom - was huge, and Thomas couldn’t help but compare its opulence to the small, practical space shared by Grammy and himself back home.

The large tub and basins (two of them), were of pink-veined marble
, and the taps and fittings intricate things of glass and chrome with levers and hoses and cradled showerheads. A large picture-window behind the bathtub looked into a shady forest with trees and bushy ferns and green ropes of moss. Dark, slippery-wet rocks helped hide the small, tranquil pool into which a small waterfall silently spilled its molten silver.

It was
real - not a picture - and Thomas felt a dreamlike quality steal over his senses yet again. How was it possible for one room to look onto a bright summer’s day, and the very next, into a living rainforest? The wonderful smell of fresh-cut flowers assailed his nostrils and unable to take in anything further, Thomas closed off his mind and went about his business.

When he re-entered the room a minute later, Annie hustled him back into bed, and after propping two large pillows behind his back, bade him wait. Seconds later the bedroom door opened and the woman called Frieda entered, carrying a huge tray covered by a white cloth. She made big eyes at him, smiled and said, ‘Breakfast, young man’, then placed the tray on top of his stretched-out legs, and with a flourish, whisked away the covering cloth. Thomas gasped and gaped at the display in front of him.

The plate was large and round and piled with half a dozen different foods
, the smell of which flooded his mouth with saliva. 

A golden heap of scrambled eggs lay in its centre
, surrounded by several strips of crispy red-brown bacon, a pair of juicy-fat and still-steaming sausages, a couple of large, fried tomato slices, and several triangles of thick, heat-softened cheese. A pile of small brown, pan-fried mushrooms, together with three slices of golden-brown toast lay on a side plate, dripping and smelling of melting butter. Small bowls held pats of fig and strawberry jam, and a large frosted glass of freshly-squeezed orange juice completed the picture.

Annie nudged Frieda’s ribs with a soft elbow
, and with a wink and a smile and some obscure excuse, they left the room. Thomas picked up his knife and fork and attacked the feast in front of him.

*

With his stomach full to bursting and, dressed in brand-new clothes, Thomas softly pulled Annie’s bedroom-door shut behind him. It made a “clicking” sound as he turned away. Then he stared. And turned back again in disbelief. Annie’s door was of wood, and on it, her name in loopy golden script, obviously done by a child. Just a couple of metres to the right, another door - of the same wood, had “Frieda” written on it, in huge purple block-letters. Two metres to his left, “Jason” was stencilled in precise block letters on yet another door. Recalling the size of the room he had just left, a befuddled Thomas slowly shook his head, then took another step backwards and turned around.