The boy looks around him in amazement. The
door is closed, effectively cutting them off from the Demon Huntress and the broken
city. On this side of the wall there is…….nothing. Just sand dunes and scrub
for as far as the eye can see. He turns his gaze upwards to the temple over the
massive gate, but it looks empty and neglected, as if it has long since fallen
into disrepair. There are no trumpeters, no priests, and no blood. More than a
hint of decay hangs over the discoloured slabs of stone that had
previously shone whitely in the sunshine.
“What has happened to the temple? It looked
new, just moments ago.”
“I told you that time is different here,”
says Senjur.
“And where’s the girl? What happened to
her?”
“She is gone. She was sacrificed to enable
you to pass safely through the gates. Her job is done. She and the temple are
needed no more…until the next time.”
“But where is everybody,” the boy keeps
insisting.
“They are actually still there. It’s just
that we can’t see them anymore.”
“The boy is about to ask another question
but the messenger pre-empts him.”
“No. I don’t know why. If I did I’d probably
be one of them and then you wouldn’t be able to see me either.”
“Well, where are we? Where are we going?
There is nothing here. Why are we here?”
“Don’t let your eyes fool you. Things are not
as they seem. We are now in the land of sorcerer’s and magicians. The laws of
nature are suspended here.”
“But where’s the girl?” Joshua just can’t
let her go.
“She is dead. She has passed on. And so must
we. The witch who is following us won’t be held for long by a mere wall. We
must go.”
While these two noisily debate the issues of
existence, the old lady climbs awkwardly down from the camel, who has sunk to
her knees from exhaustion. The poor old thing is completely blown and looks
like she is about to pass away, moaning and dribbling and swaying her head from
side to side.
“We won’t be going anywhere tonight,” she
says to the two boys, taking the last of the water over to the camel and
allowing it to sip at the canteen. “What is done is done. We must eat and get
some rest. We will all feel better in the morning.”
The old woman kneels down in the dust and
runs her hand through the soil. Then she sits upright on her haunches and looks at
the clouds. The blue sky sits so peacefully inside her. She and it are so much
the same now. She is so close to it. How lucky she is. Blessed. And look what
God has given her in her final hours. A young boy to warm her heart…and her old
bones if it gets too cold. He is the one who will carry her over the final
threshold. She looks down at him as he sits, always, at her feet. But he is sad
today. The first day after the gate - and the girl. What an honour they have
paid him. If only he could see it that way and carry it proudly forth with
him…… But he is young…and misses his mother. He cried in his sleep all night
and she had to cradle him to her bony old chest. Today he is sad, quiet, and sulky.
He won’t eat or drink. His face is tear-stained and smeared with dirt.
The boy looks out dispiritedly into the
desolate landscape. He is sure he can hear a song in the shifting sands. And then it is gone again. Sometimes he thinks
it is his mother calling. But where is she? Why can’t he remember her? If he
doesn’t think too much he can feel her close, like a second skin, but when he
tries to find her she slips away.
“We have to go now,” says the messenger. The
boy looks at him sharply. He has become very suspicious of this journey.
“I don’t like this place. I want to go home.”
He has no idea where that is…but it isn’t here. “I want to go back to the
gate.” Little boy lost in the wide world… even Senjur feels sorry for him. He
has to grow up and become a man very quickly.
The camel roars with pain from all her
strained muscles. The mad dash for the gate all but killed her. The messenger
has to massage her tail with his teeth again to get her going.
Downcast, the boy shuffles along in
the dust at the camels side…the two of them making a dour pair. He doesn’t
bother to look up for he would rather not see what trouble lies ahead. The old
woman watches him with concern. She hopes that he will, like all small boys,
soon snap out of it and find something interesting to occupy his mind.
“Look,” shouts Senjur from up ahead, and despite
himself, the boy’s interest is piqued.
In the distance they observe a strange
sight. It is a big box…a cube of sorts, floating in the air. For the next few
miles they walk without taking their eyes off the strange object. It is the
only thing in this barren landscape they have seen for many days. Closer and
closer they come until eventually they can make out a giant wooden box,
tumbling and turning in mid-air, completely unsupported. As they get closer
they see it is a gigantic, rickety old thing with hundreds of flaps and doors,
many of them so ill fitting that they are wont to fly open and shut as it
turns, banging away continuously, offering the group tantalizing glimpses into
hidden rooms within.
The box is made of thick, weather worn
mahogany, and the whole contraption rattles and bumps as it turns like some
crazy off-kilter gyroscope, creating vortexes of dust beneath on the sand. That
is its only contact with the earth.
The scenes behind the doors are all
different and fascinating. They are given little peeks: at sumptuous ballrooms
filled with ladies and gentlemen in great swirling dresses and costumes; at torch-lit
monasteries filled with monks and smoking altars; a sultan’s boudoir with naked
bodies cavorting and tumbling topsy-turvy on huge silken beds. There are wizard’s
chambers with steaming potions and pipettes; strange, savage landscapes with
giant ape-like creatures; caves full of diamonds and pearls; worlds of pure ice
and worlds of fire.
“Quite a sight hey….heh, heh, heh.” An elderly
white-haired man in a grey threadbare business suit appears seemingly out of
nowhere. They had been too preoccupied to notice him. His expensive jacket and
pants are filthy and stained from sweat and blood and god-knows-what. His fancy
leather shoes are scuffed and split at the soles.
“See anything you like?” he says, strutting
his stuff and staring at the old woman the way the other men used to stare at
her. The boy doesn’t like this and moves to stand in front of her.
“Aha. I see you have a little knight and
protector,” he smirks with his toothless mouth. “So tell me little
knight...where is your little sword……ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.” Then he dramatically
flings an arm up at the box. “Behold. The box of earthly delights. See anything
you like? Look.” He points again and this time they see that there are strange
symbols carved upon each door. There is a peacock…and an anvil, a goat, crossed
swords, a bunch of grapes, and a baby’s dummy.
On one door there is carved a cupid with a
bow and arrow, behind which issue the most terrible shrieks and moans, long
drawn out cries of pain as if from a torture chamber.
“Some folks have strange tastes,” says the white-haired
man, leering at the old woman meaningfully. At that the camel gives out a roar
and lunges for the man who has to step niftily out of the way. Clytemnestra has
taken a disliking to this fellow. He is taking liberties with one of her
charges.
“GGAAARRRRR,” she roars again, her big sloppy
lips quivering with anger.
“What is it?” asks the boy, indicating the
box generally.
“It is a crossroads,” says the messenger.
“Behind one of these doors lies our journey.”
“But which one shall we take?” asks the boy.
“’Fraid you don’t get to choose ole chap,”
says the elderly man. “The box will choose for you…in its own good time,” he says.
“Time is getting short for us, for we are
being pursued,” says the messenger.
The man laughs. “Aren’t we all? Well you
just have to wait. No hurrying the box.”
Just at that moment a door swings by with a dollar
sign engraved upon it, and the man’s eyes follow it hungrily. He puts his hand
in his pocket and begins frantically fiddling with his small change. He has
obviously been alone for some time.
“I’ve been waiting here for fifty years,” he
says, watching it go sadly by. They all stand and watch the huge contraption
continue to turn, light and smoke emanating from the cracks and crevices and
making a devilish noise.
“You’ll be here for a while I guess,” he
says.
The messenger pauses for a moment to
consider, and then gathers his cloak around him and sits down in the sand to
wait. The old lady goes some distance away and squats. Lifting her skirt, she
urinates in the sand. The man practically falls over with excitement, his coins
jingling like crazy in his pocket. The camel swivels her long neck around and
stares with diabolical intent at his doings. The man desists and backs off a
bit.
It is hot.
They wait.
The box turns.