Hugo S

Rivers of sweat poured down Tom’s face, slowly dripping onto the dry, thirsty ground. For six weeks searing heat had dominated Tom’s town. The spacious lawns of lush grass had shrivelled and browned. This was the last way Tom wanted to spend his 14^th birthday. He heaved himself from the rusty garden bench and opened the door of his house, moving to the welcome relief of air conditioning. “Tom!” called the familiar voice of his father, “I have a surprise for you!” Tom sped into the kitchen. His father was silhouetted against the skylight on the attic roof. “Come up here, you’ve got yourself a birthday present,” said Tom’s father.

“That’s more like it,” Tom thought. He climbed up the rickety attic stairs and stepped into the clouds of dust that dominated the garret. The floorboards groaned under Tom’s slight weight. Puffs of dust rose from the floor with his every step. Tom looked around the attic for his present. A pile of books in the corner caught his eye. Tom ran over to them, dust rising in black clouds and hanging in the air like mist behind him. Tom looked at the old and yellowed covers. ‘The Adventures of the Secret Seven,’ they all read. “My favourite series!” He thought excitedly. He loved adventure books. Tom turned to leave the attic when he noticed an old sea chest behind the adventure books. Tom could swear that it hadn’t been there before. It had a strange emblem emblazoned into the rotting oak. Two dragons holding a crown above a strange looking man with a staff at his side.

Curiosity took control as Tom unlatched the brass chain holding the lid in place. Tom heaved the wooden lid up and peered inside. Within the box there was nothing but darkness. Tom peered in further. His feet slipped on the layers of dust beneath him and he lost his footing, falling into the mysterious chest. Tom heard the lid thump down above him. The darkness was complete.

Tom opened his tightly shut eyes. He was staring at a dark red sky. Clouds of thick smoke rose into the air much like the dust in Tom’s attic. Unless he was dreaming Tom wasn’t in the chest anymore. He stood up. Where was he? It seemed he was on a different planet. Black obsidian stretched for miles into the distance. Lava seeped through cracks in the ground and then bubbled back down into the earth. Could that chest have been some kind of portal? This was very strange. This place seemed cursed. There was no going back. As Tom peered further into the distance he noticed a daunting mountain on the crimson horizon. Tom started off towards the mountain. It seemed like the only landmark of significance.

After what seemed like eternity Tom finally reached the mountain’s base. It seemed to scrape the scarlet sky from the angle Tom was looking at it. In front of Tom stood a slope of rocks that looked as though they had been felled in a landslide. He began to hobble up the slope of rough sharp stones that cut deep into his bare, exposed feet as he walked. Finally, Tom could travel no further. He slumped down on the most comfortable thing he could find, which happened to be a flat rock, and began to recall the past events of his magical and astonishing day. Before he could put much thought into it, sleep started to wash steadily over Tom in waves.

Tom woke with a start. He tried to roll over but the ground was hard beneath him. Where was his soft, warm bed? The events of the day before flooded back to Tom’s memory. Tom stood on his stiff cold legs and looked around. He wasn’t outside though. He was in a strange looking room. The walls were made of obsidian stone however the cottage had a strange cosy element to it. The only piece of furniture was an old mouldy table sitting in a lonely corner. “Where am I?” Tom thought aloud.

“I found you outside at around nine o’clock,” a strange voice half croaked.

Whoa! Who are you? Tom said perplexed, he almost jumped out of his skin as he realised somebody had been watching him this whole time. Tom whirled around to see a lady. She may once have been beautiful, but now deep wrinkles and frown marks had crept onto her aging face.

“My name is Martha,” she said, “It’s ok I mean no harm to you,” the frail woman hurriedly added. “The night is no place for a young boy like you, so I took you into my cottage, you’ll be safe here,” Martha said. “You must have escaped the Shadow Lord as well,” she said.

“Wait a second, who is the ‘Shadow Lord’? What is this world?” Tom said in extreme confusion. He had so many questions but he couldn’t get them out fast enough. “What do you mean?” Martha said, “Surely you come from here.”

“No! I don’t! I fell into a sea chest and appeared in this place, the sea chest must have been a portal of some kind. I was in England and somehow now I’m here,” Tom poured out his entire story to a shocked Martha.

“You are very unlucky, you must have come through a fissure that the Shadow Lord accidently didn’t close, a tunnel to this world from yours. You’re stuck here now,” Martha said grimly.

“Will you please tell me what’s going on!” Tom said, now slightly irritated by the lack of explanation.

“Yes, yes,” she paused, “This world and your world were once joined, everybody lived ordinarily and in harmony,” Tom listened patiently, “That was when he came, the dark wizard, the Shadow Lord,” Martha neared a whisper, “he wanted land and he was thirsty for power so he summoned up all his dark magic and disconnected this part of the world from the other, he levered them apart and created a parallel universe, a universe that he ruled. He made everybody in the other part of the world forget that this place existed so they made no effort to help. He cursed the land and made It look like this. The lush green grass sank back into the ground and turned to obsidian. The crystal streams of flowing blue water turned into hissing creeks of lava. He destroyed everything. Now he hides like a coward in his fortress surrounded by an indestructible wall. He is protected by shadow guards, the people of this land, cursed to serve him and carry out his evil commands. I narrowly escaped myself, hiding in the mountain. He took the splendour and land that was once here and condensed it into a crystal ball which is on the end of his wretched staff, the only way to restore the former beauty of this place and reunite our worlds is to destroy that ball.” Martha finished her story, a tear trickling down her grieving face.

He felt a tinge of sympathy for old Martha. Her whole world had been destroyed by this selfish and malicious wizard. The story did sound slightly crazy though. He sat down next to the large hearth with a cheerful flame dancing in the otherwise darkness. A speck of hope in a sea of sorrow. He tried to take in everything Martha had just told him. “Wizards and magic really did exist,” Tom thought in shock. “Sit down, you must be famished after yesterday. I’ll cook you up some breakfast,” Martha said.

“Thank you,” Tom said gratefully. He hadn’t noticed his extreme hunger until Martha had mentioned it. Martha took some herbs of the weathered table and threw them into a pot of water over the fire.

She ladled out some of the soup and pushed over a bowl of it to a hungry Tom. Tom was too hungry to care what the soup was so he lifted the bowl to his dry lips and let the sweet liquid trickle down his parched throat. Any hunger that had once been in Tom rapidly disappeared. “This soup is delicious!” Tom exclaimed. A smile crept onto Martha’s worn face.

Tom looked at Martha’s sad face and made his decision. “This wizard must be stopped. If nobody else can put his tyranny to an end I must,” Tom said in a dignified voice.

“Very well I can’t stop you, but at least let me pack you a bag of supplies,” Martha said looking at Tom’s bare feet and his ripped shirt. “That would be wonderful,” Tom said gratefully. He lay down on the grimy floor and once again sleep enveloped him. Suddenly Tom was back at home again, his father was talking to a police officer. “He just disappeared,” Tom’s father said in a frantic tone. “Dad I’m here!” Tom said but his father didn’t even look up. Tom woke To Martha shaking him. “If you want to arrive at the castle before the day is up you must leave at the first light of dawn,” Martha said. Tom stood up and looked at the leather pack Martha had laid out in front of him. “The Shadow Lord’s castle is west into the setting sun,” Martha said.

A golden orb of fire lit up the horizon. Tom knew that it was time to leave the safety of Martha’s hut and head off into the unknown. “Goodbye and thank you for your hospitality,” Tom said. “I wish you luck,” Martha replied grimly. On that abrupt note, Tom swung the pack over his shoulders and started off down the steep slope of fallen rocks.

Tom remembered Martha’s words ‘head west into the setting sun.’ Tom looked at the sky, he knew that the sun rose in the east so he started to walk in the opposite direction. West. Suddenly the earth rumbled. More cracks appeared in the ground as black as midnight. Seconds later everything was calm again. “A tremor,” Tom thought, that is a very bad sign. However, the thought soon drifted from Tom’s mind as he continued on his journey. Tom began to think about his father. He vividly remembered the dream he had only hours before.

Everybody had seemed so worried that he was gone, Tom wished he could just tell his father he was alright, he was more than alright. He was on an adventure to save the world. Excitement bubbled in his nervous stomach. “I’ve always wanted adventure and now I’m getting one. Just like Peter in the Secret Seven!”

Tom’s thoughts were shattered as the earth shook threateningly once more. This time it didn’t stop. Tom watched as the top of a nearby mountain was lit up in a colourful but deadly display of scarlet fire. “A volcano,” Tom thought. Without hesitation, he ran. He ran like had never run before. He ran for his life. If Tom died this world would remain cursed forever. Tom could feel searing heat behind him, almost piercing his skin. Lava. Rocks crashed to the ground. Fiery red tails trailing behind them. Tom risked a glance to his rear. All he saw was chaos, it was like Hell had come to Earth.

Suddenly Tom’s foot hit a stone and he slammed into the pitiless ground. Cool, crimson blood trickled down Tom’s temple, its colour matching that of the fire burning all around him. Pain exploded in his ankle. It was probably broken. Tom looked at the sky, his vision blurred. A dark shape the size of a bus hurtled towards him. Tom staggered to his feet, trying his best to ignore the tremendous pain tearing at his ankle, and, summoning the last of his strength, dived away from his falling death, the falling rock. It smashed into the ground sending up a spray of gravel and debris where Tom had been lying only a fraction of a second earlier.

Tom dragged his body away from the ferocious fire relentlessly pursuing him. He crawled away from his seemingly set fate. The world was a blur around him. Heat dizzied him. Black tendrils of smoke crawled up his nostrils, poisoning his lungs but Tom couldn’t give up. He managed a glance ahead. The ground seemed to end. Tom looked down; a cliff.

There was nowhere to run. Fire roared behind him. Death seemed inevitable. Tom’s life flashed before his eyes. If he died now, the world would remain cursed, his father would remain without an explanation for his entire life and Tom would be reunited with his mother in death. His mother. A tear stung his eye.

Tom cleared his mind of pessimism and thought hard while looking over the edge of the precipice. He could see a small rock overhanging about a metre across and two metres down the cliff face from where he stood. It was his only hope. Tom stumbled over to where he needed to jump. He shut his eyes and rolled over the edge of the crag. The plunge was a short one and Tom hit the top of the rock overhanging just as he had planned. He opened his eyes. Miles of fall were beneath him but he was saved… for now. Flame still roared above Tom like a hungry lion going in for the kill.

If he wanted to escape he would have to scale down the rock face. It seemed he was a prisoner of his saviour. If Tom was afraid of anything, it was heights. However, despite his phobia he would have to try. He opened Martha’s pack to see if there was anything of use to help him in his descent. His hopes were crushed. Inside was a leather satchel of water, a thermos of the soup that Martha had cooked that morning, a pocket knife, a blanket and a tinder box of matches. No rope. Rope. The thing that Tom desperately needed most in his life right now and that was not in his pack of supplies. He would just have to make do.

Tom realised he would have to scale the cliff by hand. It was extraordinarily dangerous but it was also Tom’s only option, besides giving up hope, which, under no circumstances would he do. Tom, ankle still throbbing with pain, firmly planted both his hands on the obsidian cliff face, hefted up his useless foot and scaled gradually, one hand and foot at a time, across the cliff. He reached the end of the safety of the outcrop of rock. Tom resisted the strong urge to look down. His muscles already dearly ached with exhaustion. He had to push on. He did. Rocks crumbled under Tom’s weight, beginning a seemingly endless fall.

Tom’s muscles screamed for relief but their pleas could not be answered. Agonising seconds turned to agonising minutes which turned to excruciating hours. Sweat dripped off Tom in water falls. The climb dragged on and on and on. Tom’s determination was the thin line between life and death. A cursed world or a saved world. When it seemed that Tom’s muscles had to let go; his foot hit ground. His body crumpled down after it.

Tom’s weighted eyes looked up. The towers of a castle were silhouetted against the red glow of the setting sun. The castle. The Shadow Lord’s castle. Tom had reached his goal. His body refused to travel any further. His eyelids fell over his stinging eyes and, yet again, sleep was triumphant over Tom.

He woke staring at the Shadow Lord’s domain. His formidable fortress. Tom’s muscles were as taut as the face of the cliff itself from yesterday’s taxing and arduous climb. He took out his pack and opened the thermos of now cold soup. He greedily poured it down his throat into his vacant and demanding stomach. Tom packed it away and swiftly rose to his feet. Suddenly his ankle gave way sending a shiver of severe stabbing pain up his leg. He fell back to the ground. He would need to make a splint. An idea slowly formed in Tom’s mind. He took out the blanket from Martha’s pack and cut it, with the pocket knife, into a strip. He wrapped it around his ankle until it was tight enough to stop his ankle from moving or causing any more trouble. That irritant ankle wouldn’t be buckling again any time soon.

After tending his ankle, Tom set off down the roughly set dirt road leading to the castle wall with the castle waiting inside it. His goal. The goal that would probably result in Tom’s death and the eternal devastation of the Shadow Lord’s curse would remain.

The unnerving obsidian wall seemed to grow taller and larger as Tom walked towards it. Tom felt adrenaline pulsing through him, stimulating his confidence, though the despondent thought of failure still lingered in the back of his mind, taunting him, daring him. The prospect of breaking into this formidable fortress was close to suicide. Tom tried not to think about what would happen if the Shadow Lord caught him - torture, death, punishment… Tom came to an abrupt halt. The war gate of the wall was towering far above him. He tried to push it open but it was really a hopeless attempt, considering the gate’s sheer bulk and size. Tom could just see an emblem of two dragons holding a crown above a man carrying a staff, carved into the steel gate. Had that been the same symbol that was on the mysterious sea chest Tom had fallen into?

The unique and distinct sound of a galloping horse interrupted Tom’s queries. He whirled around and saw a wooden cart being pulled by a strange looking horse with what seemed like horns protruding out of its head, speeding towards Tom at a relentless pace. A man in black armour with the tusks of a boar fixed in his helmet, sat atop a seat on the roof of the cart. Could this have been one of the fabled shadow guards that Martha had told him about?

Tom ducked behind a rock on the side of the road. He had an idea. Simple but effective. He would never be able to open that war gate alone but if he could slip into the wagon that seemed to be heading inside the wall he would get an easy passage into the city of the Shadow Lord. What could that cart be doing entering the city anyway? Tom didn’t need to know. He needed to get into the castle. As the cart moved in front of Tom he ran back out onto the dirt road and grabbed onto the back of the wooden car. The cart moved faster than it had seemed to when Tom had watched it from behind the rock. The ground raced beneath him, a blur.

Tom silently moved to the side window of the cart, the shadow guard above him and climbed slyly into the carriage. Inside the cart, mould crept up the sodden, rotting walls. It stank of rat’s urine. Tom reeked over with disgust. He would have vomited if there was any food within his weak and frail body. In one of the corners were jars of food: fruits, vegetables and herbs. They must have been supplies. Where could they have come from? There was no place in this world that had a speck of plantation on it. Or so it seemed. The cart came to an abrupt stop. A groaning sound, the creaking of hinges to the gate rang out filling the inside of the carriage with deafening noise. The carriage began to move again. It then, for the last time, stopped. Tom could hear the soldier above him climbing out of the carriage and coming around behind Tom to collect the supplies.

“Drats!” Tom thought in horror. If the soldier found him in here only God knew what would happen. He quickly jumped back through the window frame and hit the deck of the wagon with a disturbingly loud thud. He could see the shadow of the guard who was walking around the wagon and coming dangerously close to Tom. He frantically slid across the rough wooden floor, receiving countless splinters on the way, and rounded the corner of the deck of the carriage just as the shadow guard’s armoured foot appeared on the side of the deck that Tom had been on seconds before.

Tom bowled off the edge of the wagon onto the rock-strewn road. He ran sideways distancing himself as far away as possible from the carriage he had narrowly escaped from. Tom stopped wheezing and panting like a thirsty dog. Tom viewed his surroundings. It seemed that inside the Shadow Wall another industrial revolution was occurring, the castle in the centre towering above every other construction. It rested in the bloodshot, black clouds. All around Tom, obsidian brick factories whined with movement. Clouds as dark as midnight billowed out of immense smokestacks, their narrow necks scraping the skies. There was no secret now of how the Shadow Lord produced his resources. Tom just had to look around at the factories creating them. He didn’t look. He gaped.

Tom looked back at the road he had absconded off. The carriage had disappeared. It seemed, despite the carriage he had come in, the city was deserted and abandoned of life (the machinery in the factories still droned consistently in the background). Tom started towards the castle. His heart drummed with rhythmic pulse performing a song. Adrenaline stampeded through Tom like a rampaging bull in a wild rodeo. It was almost as if the castle beckoned to Tom, daring him to come closer; mocking him with a deafening silence.

Tom slipped down the sides of eerily deserted factories, gradually making his way towards his goal. The hair on the back of his neck tingled and stood up dead straight. Tom could almost smell the danger as the castle loomed nearer, nearer, nearer. The number of factories rapidly decreased as Tom reached within about 100 metres from the castle. This was it. This was Tom’s destiny. This was what Tom had inadvertently waited for his entire life. He had finally reached the gate of the castle. Only one slight problem remained - it was locked fast. Tonnes of iron towered above Tom that wouldn’t budge. Tom was so close yet so far from his goal. Tom kicked the obsidian wall in frustration. Tom had expected the wall to be firm but this particular boulder of obsidian sank in further to the rest of the wall. A satisfying clicking noise fleetingly followed.

The viscous gate swung inwards almost invitingly. Jubilation rushed through Tom as he realised he had accidentally hit a secret switch. Tom rushed into the open doors of the castle, darkness consumed him. The only light came from a row of arrow slits. It cut through the darkness illuminating a massive entrance hall. Tom’s footsteps echoed loudly on the polished, slippery floor - they blighted at the unnatural silence. Tom felt claustrophobic, even in the vast expanse of the hall. He felt scared and trapped. The only exit to the giant room was a relatively tiny doorway. Tom remembered what he was looking for, the crystal ball on the end of the Shadow Lord’s staff. All the former splendour of the land had been sucked into the ball and was converted to powerful and dark magic. The only way to lift the curse was to destroy that ball.

Tom reached the doorway. Torches lined the now grimy walls illuminated the room giving out a distinct red glow. Their light revealed a spiralling staircase of gleaming obsidian. Tom had no idea if his goal was up here but a strange urge seemed to pull at Tom leading him up the stairs. Like a light shining on a path in the dead of night. The strange, hypnotic force dragged Tom up the stairs, the dizzying spirals dragged on for eternity. Finally Tom reached the height of the stairs. A colossal ash wood door stood ajar, red light seeped out of it, spilling onto the reflective, black floor. The strange feeling was now exceptionally strong; dragging Tom towards the door. This time he couldn’t stop it, his feet moved to the command of the force, refusing to obey Tom’s resistant brain. He was terrified, his blood stained, sweaty shirt clung to his body, sliding over his beaten and bruised figure. A lump of fear constructed itself in Tom’s throat. He felt as though somebody was watching him, laughing at his confusion and fear. Tom’s blood roared in his ears. Silence deafened him.

Tom was pulled by the invisible force straight through the door and he stumbled out onto a rutted ground. Tom slowly stood up he soon discovered that he was free of the strange force that dictated his body. The boy’s rough ankle cast was beginning to fail and his foot throbbed with pain. As he looked up, shock engulfed his sense of amazement. Tom was standing on a balcony overlooking the entire shadow city. The factories were spread out below him, mountain ranges stretched for miles into the distance. In a strange sense it was a form of chaotic beauty.

“I see that you are impressed with my decades of work,” a rattling whispering voice rasped. Tom’s blood turned to ice. He slowly turned around. What he saw would be etched in his memory forever. It would haunt his dreams for eternity. What he saw was the Shadow Lord. The wizard. The dark wizard.

It had appeared out of nowhere. As Tom looked at the source of the dreadful voice he almost fainted. It had long bony hands, the skin peeling off like old, dry wallpaper. The creature was draped in a faded black cloth peppered with rips and holes. Its face was macabre beyond words. In the place of eyes were sagging empty sockets which seemed to suck all the warmth and happiness out of Tom. Its papery skin was deathly pale. A shrivelled leathery line atop its mouth may once have been a lip. Its mouth was a dark infinitesimal cave. Thin grey wisps of hair still clung to its ghastly dry scalp. A staff of Yew wood was grasped by one of its horrific hands, Tom could see the crystal ball at its tip. Tom remembered reading something about Yew trees. It said they were associated with dark magic and witchcraft. A cold shiver clattered down his spine.

“I am the lord of this land. Some of my… disbelievers call me by the name of the Shadow Lord however, I find that name quite uncanny. Call me Apophis, and you are?...” the Shadow Lord’s voice rasped almost gently. Tom wasn’t fooled by his devious play.

“I know who you are, I know what you’ve done, I know what has to be done to lift the curse you made, to undo what you’ve done, you malicious deceitful thing!” Tom shouted furiously. All hints of kindness disappeared off the Shadow Lord’s face.

“I see you’ve been convinced by that pathetic excuse of a person, Martha,” the Shadow Lord spat with revulsion. “I’ll find her. I’ll kill her. Cowardice can only conceal her so much.”

Anger ripped free from Tom’s highest level of tolerance and rampaged inside Tom like a violent monster. He exploded with complete fury. Martha had been so kind to him, how dare the Shadow Lord talk about her in such a way! How did he even know about Martha? Was there something she hadn’t told him?

“You monster!” Tom screamed. He charged at the Shadow Lord, a fist raised ready to satisfy his infinite anger. In the blink of an eye the Shadow Lord banged his staff on the ground and a sizzling wall of burning electricity shot out of it, placing itself between Tom and him. Tom hit the shield and flew backwards. He felt his head bash against the rigid ground. Pain blasted his head. His vision swam.

“Your vain attempts to stop me will unreservedly and perceptively fail,” the Shadow Lord said, “any last words?”

“Yes actually, although they won’t be my last. If you are going to kill me use your staff,” Tom said. He had a plan.

“That I can grant,” the Shadow Lord rasped, obviously confused. He pulled his staff back under his arm, muttered something under his breath and thrust the staff at Tom.

Tom ducked as a bolt of lightning soared over his head. The tips of his hairs were singed from the power of the blast. Tom looked at the Shadow Lord stumble forward with his own momentum. He cursed at his failure. Now closer to the edge of the balcony, the Shadow Lord thrust his staff at Tom again. Tom dived sideways as a jet of flame erupted behind him. He could feel the heat forming blisters on his feet. The wizard staggered forwards again but this time he was too close to the edge of the balcony. The Shadow Lord toppled over the balustrade, his own motion driving him. About fifty metres of fall were beneath him but his free hand grasped onto the railing before he could plunge to his death the staff was still clutched by one hand. Already, the wizard’s arm was shaking with strain and exhaustion. He would eventually have to let go. It was now just a matter of time.

“You think you have overcome me,” The Shadow Lord chuckled, his empty eye sockets glaring up at Tom.

“You think you’re a hero, you think you will be famous forever and legendary when you’re dead. Arrogant child, ignorant child,” he spat. “All you’ve done is delay me, My master plan, My ostentatious plan. Do not celebrate, do not praise yourself. Prepare yourself for my return. Prepare for your death. The death that I will see to; and the death of all my enemies.” With those parting words, he let go plummeting down, down, down beyond view. His staff fell after him but Tom quickly caught it before it got out of reach. He had done it, he had killed the Shadow Lord but the wizard’s final words relentlessly repeated themselves in Tom’s head. What was the master plan he had talked about? How would the Shadow Lord be able to come back? Would he really kill Tom? He had so many questions but none could be answered. Suddenly Tom heard footsteps echoing up the spiral stairs behind him.

“Shadow Guards,” Tom thought. He ran to the open robust door that lead out to the gallery, Shadow Guard’s boar tusk helmets and armour in view, and heaved it shut. The lock grinded into place. Tom had to destroy that crystal ball and let these people and their land be restored. He ran to the staff lying on the floor and, with extreme effort, wrenched the spheroid ball from the end of the staff. How would he destroy it? The fists of the guards banged on the door. It was starting to give way. Tom came to a conclusion. He scampered to the edge of the balcony and; without a second thought, dropped the crystal ball off the edge.

Seconds ticked by and he thought nothing would happen. Suddenly a harsh light blinded Tom, he crouched down, the light was too bright to look at. The sound of an explosion rattled through the landscape Tom sat hunched on the ground no thoughts could penetrate his mind. His head throbbed with tremendous disturbance. Everything stopped at once.

Tom opened his eyes. It was like he had stepped outside after being in a dark cinema. He was standing on a grassy hill. The shadow city was gone. The sun shined in a clear blue sky. Small houses surrounded Tom. For once they weren’t made of obsidian. They were wooden and quite petite. Round glass windows were perfectly placed on the walls and brightly painted doors stood beneath them. Tom had done it. The world had been restored to its former beautiful shape. As Tom looked closer, he could see people. They looked confused but relieved to be free of the Shadow Lord’s tyranny. They were his former servants; the Shadow Guards.

Slowly the people remembered what had happened. In a matter of minutes, they realised Tom was their saviour. He was hefted onto their shoulders. People pushed and shoved to see him. Tom was paraded down a wide street on a sea of hands. He absorbed their praise and compliments as willingly as he took in the warm rays of the sun. Tom called that he needed to get down but he couldn’t be heard above the sound of whoops and cheers. Tom desperately wanted to see his father again. His heart throbbed with longing. Suddenly he saw a woman rushing through the crowd towards him. As she looked up at Tom, he realised she was Martha.

“Martha!” he cried. She ran towards him tears of happiness flowing down her cheeks. Tom rolled off the countless hands carrying him and hugged Martha like a bear.

“You did it,” she whispered. “You saved us!” Tom and Martha walked, with the rest of the crowd, down the road. After hours of talking and laughing, which seemed like mere minutes, hand in hand with Martha, Tom finally reached a part of the road that looked familiar. Realisation struck him like a thunder bolt. This was Tom’s street.

The worlds had merged back together and Tom had reached his own home from the other world. Tom ran to the front gate. The familiar smell of sawdust from the shed filled his nose.

“Oh, it was good to be home!” he thought. His father stood at the door of their house. Tom sprinted to him and tackled him in a ferocious hug.

“Come inside, I want to hear the whole story,” Tom’s father said excitedly, relieved and happy all at the same time. Tom followed his father into the house. Martha hung back nervously at the door. “Come in,” Tom said “You have to hear the story too!”

A few hours later, Tom was climbing into bed with “The Adventures of the Secret Seven”, his birthday present. Martha was staying for the night in the spare room next door. His hands ran over the smooth leather cover. Tom opened the book. It had the soothing, familiar smell of fresh ink. Tom fanned his fingers through the pages. A folded note slid out of the pages. The sides were burnt and charred. Tom carefully unfolded the note. Candlelight from the oil lamp next to Tom’s bed flickered over it, casting eerie shadows over the walls. Tom read the note:

I will find you. I will kill you. Do not rejoice over your supposed victory. Be ready for my certain return. Be prepared for my unchallenged redemption. Be prepared for a new era. An era that I will solely rule. I promise. S.L.

Tom’s worst fears were beginning to take hold.